“Careful,” Roland warned.
He slipped the key into the cross and seated it fully in place. He turned it a full revolution—but nothing happened. He tried it again to no better effect.
“Maybe it’s broken,” Lena said, crossing her arms nervously.
Gray repeated his effort, noting a slowly growing tension with each turn. “It feels like something’s tightening inside.”
“Keep it up,” Roland encouraged, his eyes shining with hope.
Gray obeyed, continuing to turn the key, feeling that tautness increase with every revolution. He understood what Roland was hoping for.
I’m winding something up.
Soon he had to fight the key to turn it, the tiny steel skulls biting into his fingertips. Then finally something popped inside the statue, ringing the bronze like a bell.
Startled, Gray stumbled back a step, yanking out the key.
Roland grabbed his elbow—not to keep him on his feet, but in shock. “Look!”
A ticking whir sounded from the statue, and a dark line split the Madonna from crown to foot. The statue opened on its own, unfolding into two halves, like some bronze sarcophagus.
This time even Gray gasped along with the others.
Nestled within the hollow sculpture were the remains of an ancient skeleton. But this was no pile of limbs and skulls. The bones here had been carefully rearticulated and wired together in bronze, positioned exactly like the Madonna. The figure was seated serenely, with those bony sockets staring down at them, overhung by thicker brows, marking her as uniquely different from modern man.
“We found her,” Lena whispered. “We found Eve.”
“That’s not all,” Roland said, shuffling forward. “Look at what she’s holding.”
In one arm, she cradled a yardstick-long staff of bone across her lap, mimicking how the Madonna had held the infant Jesus, but this wasn’t what drew the most attention. Balanced on the figure’s knee was a ball of rock about the size of a grapefruit.
Gray shone his light upon it, revealing details carved over half its surface, showing star-shaped craters and smooth planes of lakes.
“It’s a sculpture of the moon,” Roland said. “Mapping its near side perfectly.”
Lena drew even closer. “Impossible.”
Gray didn’t understand the severity of their reactions. Roland had shown them Father Kircher’s drawings of the lunar surface earlier. Such knowledge shouldn’t have warranted the shared looks of disbelief on their face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Lena glanced back at him. She had to swallow before she could speak. “There are darker pieces of calcite still stuck on the back side of the sphere.”
Gray frowned, not understanding.
“This isn’t from Father Kircher’s time,” Roland explained. “This must’ve been taken from that niche in the prehistoric sculpture gallery we told you about. It was clearly broken free from the millennia of calcite dripping and frozen over it.”
Lena pointed. “Which means this model of the moon must be tens of thousands of years old.”
Gray stared harder at that mystery.
That was impossible.
Roland fell back a step, lifting a hand to his brow. “No wonder Kircher became so obsessed with the moon, with searching for the source of ancient knowledge. Like us, he had to recognize the impossibility of this discovery.”
“Maybe that’s why he sealed up that cavern system,” Lena said. “And stamped it with that stern warning against any trespass.”
“And why he hid everything down here in the end,” Roland added.
Lena touched the priest’s arm. “In doing so, Kircher proved himself to be a true scientist. He protected and preserved what he found for posterity.”
Roland sighed. “He must have spent the latter years of his life investigating all of this in secret. Revealing what he knew to only a handful of his closest colleagues. And while he likely never fully understood his discovery, he clearly came to revere it.”
Gray studied the beautiful craftsmanship of the mechanical Madonna and couldn’t disagree.
Lena lifted a hand toward the long staff resting in the Neanderthal woman’s skeletal fingers. “I think this is carved out of ivory, maybe from a mammoth tusk.”
“What is it supposed to be?” Gray asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe a crutch. From the arthritic changes in some of the bones, she was very old when she died.”
Gray stared at that staff, sensing there was more here than just a prehistoric cane, especially as prominently as it was displayed here. He could even see faint notches along its length, like some prehistoric yardstick.
Lena leaned closer. “Look. The pinkie on this hand is callused from an old break.”
“A broken finger.” Roland peered over her shoulder. “Same as those palm prints we saw above her gravesite.”
“And in that cavern of niches and statues. Which means it’s all the same woman. She must have made that wall painting and likely sculpted that representation of the moon.”
Gray hung back as they focused fully on the skeleton. From his vantage, he noted something the other two had missed. The inner surfaces of the two halves of the hollow bronze Madonna offered more mysteries. On one side, a map had been inscribed into the metal. Gray could make out a large island, but any further details were too faint to discern from this distance.
On the other half of the shell, a leather-bound book rested in a bronze sleeve. The top half was visible, showing a familiar labyrinth gilded on the cover.
As he shifted his penlight to better illuminate the book, the motion drew Roland’s eye. The priest exhaled sharply, recognizing what Gray already understood.
Roland’s hands reached for it, but then fell back away in caution. “It’s a copy of Kircher’s journal.”
Before they could decide what to do next, Gray’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He answered it, only to be immediately cut off by Seichan.
“I’ve been trying to reach you,” she said in a rush. “We’ve got company.”
13
April 30, 5:04 P.M. CST
Beijing, China
“According to the zoo map,” Monk said, “the gorilla habitat should be around the next bend.”
He and Kimberly continued along a tree-lined path, winding past Plexiglas-enclosed monkey cages. With the collar of his jacket pulled high, he kept a grip on Kimberly’s hand as they strolled through the Beijing Zoo, continuing their charade of husband and wife.
He glanced at his watch.
They had entered the park fifteen minutes ago, passing through a tall set of arched gates, magnificently carved with a riotous display of dragons. That majestic introduction had not prepared Monk for the shabby conditions of the park inside.
A majority of visitors aimed for the zoo’s greatest attraction, the Panda House, which was conveniently positioned near the main gate. That exhibit looked modern and inviting, housing China’s national treasure: the giant pandas. Resisting the tidal pull in that direction, he and Kimberly had continued deeper into the park.
What they found beyond the Panda House was not only disheartening but heartbreaking.
Monk skirted past an exhibit holding a troop of golden-haired monkeys. The glass was filthy, the pen inside just as dirty. Worst of all, several visitors had ducked under the rail barrier and were rapping at the glass, yelling and taunting—which only seemed to terrorize the animals inside.
From the little he had seen of the rest of the park, such behavior seemed perfectly acceptable. Certainly no attendants came forth to scold anyone. Back at an open-air pit that held a Mongolian she-bear, the floor of her featureless concrete pen was littered with refuse tossed down at the poor creature: candy wrappers, cups, napkins. Monk had watched a laughing teenager pour a bottle of Coke over the despondent bear’s head. He had to restrain himself from bumping the kid over the rail into that pit.
Kimberly must have sensed his growing aggravation.
“I know it’s disillusioning,” she whispered. “The lack of upkeep, the shameful behavior of the visitors, the sorry state of the habitats—”
“Sorry is hardly the word I’d use.” Monk waved back. “This place is a hellhole.”
“It’s just a reflection of the times in this country,” she said, trying to calm him down. “Yes, this is backward for a zoological park in the modern age, but from what I read before landing here, there’s already talk of moving the park out to the suburbs, where land is cheaper and where the animals will have larger habitats.”
“Why wait so long?” he asked. “After all the money the Chinese government poured into their Olympic village, they should have done something about this place. If nothing else, police it better. The government certainly has no problem with pushing the populace around. So why tolerate that?”
He pointed to a tourist who was kicking at the grate to the habitat of a red fox, which quivered and cowered on the far side.
“What’s wrong with these people?” he muttered.
“You must remember, to the Chinese, animals are still considered food, medicine, or entertainment. The signs on the cages once listed which parts of the animals were the tastiest and which made the best medicines.” She cocked her head toward Monk. “So you see, things are getting better already.”
Disgusted, he increased his pace toward the great ape section of the park. The zoo was due to close in an hour, and he wanted to canvass as much of the grounds as possible before they were forced to leave. But with the zoo encompassing over two hundred acres, they had to use their time judiciously. The plan was to concentrate their search on the great ape exhibit. If Baako had been taken to the zoo, it was the most logical place to look first.
After the park closed, he and Kimberly would make a circuit of the zoo grounds from the outside to search for any sign of Kowalski and Maria Crandall. Back at Sigma, Painter was continuing to monitor for any further blips from the GPS tracker while Kat prepared a detailed map of the immediate area, both above- and belowground.
Monk stared at his toes. From a preliminary briefing by Painter, the park had many subterranean facilities, but the extent of them was not fully known.
Kimberly noted his attention and guessed his thoughts. “Anything could be down there,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“Another popular tourist destination in Beijing is the Dìxià Chéng, the Underground City. Built as a bomb shelter for the populace back in the seventies, it covers eighty square miles and is said to have over a hundred entrances, most of which are hidden in shops or along streets. Though a small area is open to the public, the rest remains secret.”
Monk tried to picture such a massive infrastructure buried under his feet. “Do you think it could extend this far?”
“Possibly. It does link most of the major city sites: the railway station, Tiananmen Square, even the Forbidden City.”
Monk rubbed his chin in thought. It could definitely be worth investigating.
“Look,” Kimberly said, drawing his attention back up. “There are the chimpanzees.”
Monk searched around. It seemed they had finally reached the region of the park that housed the zoo’s great apes.
The chimp enclosure looked little better than the others he’d seen. The glass was smudged. The cages had exposed piles of dung dotting the floor, along with standing pools of urine. The animals inside looked despondent, slumped on the concrete, picking at themselves. Patrons pounded on the glass and hollered for attention.
A lone gorilla sat in a neighboring pen. His cage was little more than a concrete cell. The large beast squatted in a corner, his back turned from the assault on his cage. Monk could not imagine such a life, one of isolation, lacking proper mental stimulation, all compounded by the nonstop taunting. If this was happening in China’s capital city, he feared what he would find at the smaller zoos of this country.
Kimberly kept her voice to a whisper as she searched the neighboring cages. “I see no sign of Baako.”
As much as Monk wanted to find the kidnapped research animal here, a part of him was glad. No living creature deserved to be treated like this.
Perhaps sensing his sympathy, the gorilla turned toward Monk, those large dark eyes looking lost and forlorn. Large nostrils flared, sniffing the air. Then, with a heavy huff, he turned back to the wall.
Sorry, big guy, if I could rescue you I would.
“This is a dead end,” Kimberly said.
He agreed. “Let’s get out of here.”
Before I shoot someone.
He continued with Kimberly, winding their way back toward the main gates. Beyond the exhibits, the parklands themselves were quite handsome, with creeks lined by willows, large blue ponds holding wading birds, and a generous number of wooden pavilions and painted colonnades.
Still, such beauty was not enough to mask the torment found here.
Monk grew ever grimmer, weighed down by their failure to discover any sign of the kidnapped group. Still, he clung to a bit of faith.
Maria and Baako were not alone.
C’mon, Kowalski, give us some sign.
5:18 P.M.
“Do it,” Kowalski growled.
He signed the same to his cellmate, keeping his back to the overhead camera outside the concrete pen. He wasn’t sure if anyone was watching them, but he couldn’t take that chance.
Baako stared over at him, looking reluctant.
Kowalski made the okay signal with his fingers, encouraging the gorilla’s cooperation. This had to look good. He had spent the past hour, slowly gesturing as furtively as he could, trying to get Baako to understand.
He signed again.
[You must, buddy . . . if you want to see Maria again]
Kowalski wasn’t sure how much his hairy companion understood, but this plan was their only hope.
Baako hesitated, hooting in worry and fear. Then the gorilla’s hand rose and tapped a thumb against his chin, his fingers splayed stiffly. He grunted questioningly at Kowalski.
[For Mama?]
“That’s right,” Kowalski said, realizing he must be talking about Maria.
The kid’s actually pretty damned smart. Maybe this will work.
Kowalski stepped closer, tilting his chin slightly. Baako met his gaze. Kowalski nodded.
Now or never, little guy.
Baako swung his arm high, then whipped it back around, striking Kowalski across the face. Nails gouged his cheek. The blow was harder than Kowalski had expected. He went toppling backward, wondering if his head was still on his neck.
Baako cringed, cowering down slightly.
Kowalski rolled to a seat and scooted on his butt away from Baako while gesturing low. [I’m all right] He then curled his fingers at Baako, motioning for him to come again.
Baako charged. Kowalski didn’t have to fake looking scared as he hastily retreated. The gorilla was a lot stronger than he looked. Baako barreled into him, striking a shoulder into Kowalski’s chest and slamming him against the bars.
Kowalski gasped to loosen his lungs from the impact, then hollered as loudly as he could. “Hey! Someone help! Get me out of here!”
A moment later, the door at the end of the block of pens crashed open. A glance over his shoulder revealed two uniformed men rushing toward him. One carried an electric prod, the other a rifle.
He bit back a groan. He had hoped only one guard would come, someone he could overpower, allowing them both to escape.
So that meant going to plan B.
Before the guards reached him, Kowalski lifted both arms to his chest and jiggled his arms. While the motion might look like he was guarding himself in fear, it was actually a simple sign.
[Be aggressive]
Baako needed no coaxing to appear angry. His eyes flashed with fury at the sight of the soldiers, at the crackle of the electric prod. He took a firm stand two yards away. Leaning on the knuckles of one arm, he pounded his chest with the other fist. He also
bared his teeth in a fearsome display.
“Let me out of here!” Kowalski yelled.
The guard with the cattle prod fumbled a set of keys into the lock and yanked the door open. In his other hand, he brandished the sparking end of his electric weapon at Baako. It allowed Kowalski a chance to roll out of the cage. He grappled with the man in his haste to escape until he was shoved away.
The other soldier stood well back, his assault rifle held at his shoulder, swinging his aim from Baako to Kowalski and back again.
Kowalski gestured surreptitiously to Baako, lowering a palm.
[Back down]
Baako huffed loudly, looking irritated, but he swung away and retreated on all fours to the back of the pen.
The guard shut the door with a loud clang and relocked it.
Kowalski fingered the deep scratches on his face, rubbing the blood around to make it look even worse. “Thought he was going to kill me.”
The two soldiers spoke rapidly to each other in Mandarin. Only now did Kowalski recognize the guard with the cattle prod. It was that jackass, Gao, the head of the group who had kidnapped them all. The bastard must have returned from wherever he had taken Maria and come to check up on his other prisoners.
Gao spat through the bars at Baako, then waved Kowalski forward, threatening him with the prod. The guard with the rifle flanked his other side.
Kowalski kept his arms half raised, doing his best to look sheepish. “Take me to Dr. Crandall. She should know about all of this.”
He got no acknowledgment, so he simply let himself be marched out of the cellblock. Before the door closed, he glanced back at Baako, feeling guilty about abandoning the little guy. He clenched both of his raised fists and clutched them to his chest.
[Be brave]
5:22 P.M.
Baako watches the big man leave, sees the door close. He remembers the man’s last words, but he finds nothing but fear inside him. It does not help that his sharp nose catches the scent of blood under his fingernails. His breathing comes harder, forcing him to drop to the ground.
He hugs his knees, wishing it was Mama he hugged.