Painter crossed his arms, unconvinced.
Simon noted his posture, smiled, and shifted attention to the row of designs under the lid of the urn. “Notice the three figures to the right of the central scallop shell. Again, a shell that symbolizes rebirth.”
Painter stepped closer, peering up at those three symbols. A cold shiver crested over his spine. Why didn’t I see this before?
The three carvings next to the shell were a serpent, a chunk of rock, and a winged insect.
Painter lifted his hand and ran his fingers over the stone in the center. “You’re thinking this is supposed to be the chunk of amber.” He moved to the snake. “And this reptile depicts the dinosaur bones trapped in the stone. And on the other side, the winged insect—”
“Most believe it’s a moth,” Simon said. “Born out of a cocoon, it epitomizes life after death. But maybe the symbol is meant to have a dual meaning. Representing not only rebirth from death—but also depicting the very creatures that could perform that miracle.”
Painter ran his fingertips across the symbolic line, as if reading a message left in Braille by the Smithsonian’s founder. “Wasps born out of amber from the bones of a reptile.”
Simon stepped back, returning his hands to his hips. “If he carved this warning on his tomb, it begs the question—”
“What else has he written here?”
Painter’s gaze swept the fanciful decorations. Could there truly be some answer here? If not a cure, then maybe at least some hint as to where he acquired his artifact?
He clapped the curator on the shoulder. “Simon, I may have to recruit you.”
“Thanks, but I like my job as it is. Especially as I don’t get shot at while doing it.”
Painter pointed to the crypt. “Can one of your staff photograph this tomb—from top to bottom and all sides—and forward them to me?”
“I’ll do it myself right away.”
“Thanks.”
Painter turned and headed away. He wanted Kat to get her eyes on those pictures as soon as possible and prayed it might offer some clue on her search. He also wanted Gray to view them, as the man had an uncanny mind for seeing what was hidden in plain sight.
Unfortunately, there was one big problem with this plan.
Where the hell is Gray?
23
May 8, 2:22 A.M. SST
Ikikauō Atoll
Ken shivered as the elevator descended into the island. He wore only his swim trunks. Still, it wasn’t his near-nakedness that chilled him. It was the sight of the assault rifles pointed at their group. Four guards, all Japanese, shared the large cage, their weapons aimed at the captives’ chests.
Aiko stood next to Ken, stripped to her one-piece swimsuit. Gray and Kowalski flanked them both, also only wearing trunks.
After being captured, the party had been marched to the west side of the island, where a cluster of cement-block Coast Guard buildings with rusted metal roofs topped a set of hills. The outpost overlooked a dark airstrip of crushed coral that paralleled the shoreline. A small jet and a larger-bellied transport plane were parked at the nearest end.
As the group was herded toward the largest of the Coast Guard buildings, a sleek white boat swept into view in the cove below. It skated atop a pair of tall hydrofoils until it neared a long pier, where it slowed and sank to its keel.
Ken could guess where it had come from. A column of smoke still obscured the stars to the south, marking all that was left of the fishing catamaran.
Once inside the cavernous Coast Guard building, the group had been stripped of all their gear, including their wetsuits. They were taken to where a shaft had been jackhammered through the concrete foundation. The cage of a freight elevator hung in a frame. It was the size of a one-car garage. The upper half was open, framed by bars.
Unable to face the black-eyed stares of the rifles any longer, Ken focused on the rock walls sweeping past the cage as they descended. The upper layers of the island had been compressed coral, but now they were dropping through a core of dark volcanic basalt. The history of the island was written into its geology. Born long ago of volcanic eruptions along the mid-Pacific ridge, the islands had been slowly drifting to the northwest, pushed by tectonic forces. Over time, the islands rose higher, pushed up from below, exposing their aprons of coral to the sun.
Ken tried to draw strength from the hard stone around him—but then the elevator came to an abrupt stop. Jarred, he bumped into Gray, who grabbed his elbow. The man’s iron grip steadied Ken’s balance.
Maybe that’s the strength I need to count on here.
A guard posted outside the elevator pulled the gated door open. Ken and the others were marched at gunpoint into a tunnel cut through the island.
As they were forced along, Aiko studied the shaft. “They must have used the shelter of the Coast Guard buildings to hide their mining operations.”
She sounded calm, almost impressed.
Ken’s heart pounded in his throat. He wiped sweat from his forehead. He realized how much he didn’t fit in with this bold group.
The tunnel ended at a circular steel door, thick enough to seal a bank vault. It stood half-open. Ken was the last of their group to pass through. Despite his terror, he gaped at the sight that opened before him.
A glass tunnel extended out into the dark lake, lit by a strip of LED lights running the length of the arched roof. No starlight reached this depth. The illuminated complex was a world unto itself. Its interconnecting tunnels and rooms—set amid a maze of three levels—looked like a space station lost in some starless void.
One member of their group had a different reaction. “Looks like a Habitrail,” Kowalski commented drily. “Only we’re the stupid hamsters stuck in here.”
A gruff voice growled behind them, “Keep moving.”
As they continued into the complex, Ken noted an order to the sprawl. They were entering the middle level of the facility. The floors above and below appeared to be subdivided into sections, each of which was centered on a glass-domed chamber. The layout suggested the work here must be highly compartmentalized.
Perfect for maintaining quarantine.
The reason for that precaution became immediately clear. They passed a side tunnel that led to one of those domed chambers on this level. An airlock sealed its entry, but through a glass window, a black mass could be seen churning over every surface inside. Dark streamers swirled through the air.
Ken squinted and slowed his steps to get a better look, but he was prodded to keep going.
Aiko glanced at him, her brow knit with concern.
“I . . . I think those were all soldier drones in there. The big crimson-and-black ones.” He stared across the glowing complex toward the other chambers. “Maybe they’ve divided the swarm into its component parts to study each one separately.”
Elsewhere in the glass tunnels, technicians in white lab jackets hurried about. Ahead, men in blue maintenance coveralls pushed a line of heavily laden carts toward them, requiring their group to flatten to either side to allow them to pass.
“Must be preparing to clear out of here,” Gray mumbled as they rolled past.
Ken feared what that implied.
What does that mean for us?
Once the parade of trolleys passed, the group was led to the end of the tunnel, where a central core connected all three levels. As they reached the hub, stairs spiraled up and down, but they were marched toward a room at the heart of the entire complex.
The lead guard pressed a button next to a set of double doors and leaned his lips near a speaker. He spoke rapidly in Japanese, too low for Ken to pick out any words.
As the man stepped back, the doors glided open, revealing a circular office centered around a wide desk made of polished teak. Shelves of the same wood swept across the back of the room, framing the desk in the center—along with the man who sat behind it.
The stranger stood as they were all forced inside. He looked to be no more than thi
rty. He was dressed in a business suit, tailored to accent his toned, muscular physique. Dark eyes, as black as his trimmed hair, narrowed as they entered, taking in each of them for one long breath, clearly sizing them up.
Though his expression was stoic, a cloud of anger hovered over him, evident from the twin lines between his brows and the hard edges to his lips.
Surprisingly, Aiko was the first to speak. She gave the smallest bow of her head. “Kon’nichiwa, Masahiro Ito.”
The man’s lips hardened, the lines deepened. He was clearly irritated at being named outright like this. After a distinct lapse, he collected himself and spoke. “Ms. Higashi.”
“You know each other?” Gray asked, casting a sidelong look at Aiko.
“Hai.” She gave a deeper bow toward the man, then lifted an arm. “May I present Masahiro Ito, vice president of research and development for Fenikkusu Laboratories.”
Ken had already noted the gold corporate logo centered on the wall behind his desk. It depicted a fiery circle enclosing a stylized bird with wings of flames. A ruby the size of a thumbnail served as the eye of the phoenix, the mythical namesake for the pharmaceutical company.
Aiko spoke in Japanese to Masahiro. “How is your grandfather’s health?”
Masahiro slowly sat, answering in kind, a formal dance ingrained into all Japanese businessmen, this courteous acknowledgment of ancestry and heritage between peers. “He is well.”
“I’m pleased to hear it.” Aiko gave another slight bow of her head and ended this brief ritual by switching back to English. She fixed the man with a steely gaze. “Then perhaps you’d like to explain your family’s attack upon the Hawaiian Islands.”
Ken flinched at her abruptness.
Masahiro did not react. “I don’t believe any explanation is necessary nor required, considering the circumstances.” His gazed flicked to the armed guards. “But all is going according to my grandfather’s plan. Except for one detail.”
His eyes narrowed, shifting to Gray. “Where is your partner?”
Gray glanced over to Kowalski, feigning bewilderment. “He’s standing right here.”
Masahiro stood again and leaned forward. “The woman . . . your woman. The treacherous kisama who brought down the Kage.”
Kowalski tilted over to Gray and spoke out of the side of his mouth. “I think he’s talking about Seichan.”
Gray gave the smallest shake of his head, then straightened, shedding any semblance of subservience. He matched the other’s gaze, unblinking and cold, letting anger creep into his voice—all to add weight to his next lie.
“She’s back in Maui. Quarantined and sick after being parasitized by whatever you bastards unleashed on the island.”
Masahiro locked eyes, trying to judge his truthfulness.
While the team had failed to escape this ambush, their midnight swim and landfall on the dark side of the island must have helped mask their true number.
Ken felt a flicker of hope.
Masahiro settled back into his seat. “Then perhaps my efforts on Maui were not a total failure. Even if only indirectly, my actions have doomed your woman to a miserable and painful death.”
Gray didn’t have to feign looking distressed at this news.
Then a cold voice rose behind them. “The prisoner is lying.”
Ken turned to see a striking figure stalk across the threshold, escorted by a cadre of armed men. The woman had snow-white hair, only a shade lighter than her pale skin. A prominent black tattoo marred one side of her face, forming the broken half of a wheel.
Piercing ice-blue eyes swept the room and settled on Gray.
The man’s entire body tensed, as if coiling to lunge at her.
He clearly recognized her.
2:34 A.M.
Valya Mikhailov . . .
Gray clenched his fists to hold back from attacking her outright. After events in Africa last year, he had known this ghost of an assassin still lived. She’d even had the gall to leave a white rose with one black petal on her twin brother’s gravestone.
Gray stared at the black wheel covering one side of her face, depicting a Kolovrat, a pagan solar symbol from Slavic countries. But her cheek bore only half the symbol; her pale brother had carried the other. Last year, Anton had died in the Arctic, far from his sister. From the fury smoldering in her eyes now, he knew whom she blamed for her brother’s death.
As she spoke to Masahiro, her gaze never shifted from Gray. “The woman was not aboard the boat. We searched it thoroughly.”
Past the door, a pair of familiar figures stood with their shoulders hunched, their faces glowering. It was Palu’s cousins, Makaio and Tua.
Gray felt a measure of relief. Though far from safe, at least the brothers were still alive. Valya must have raided the catamaran and blown it up after grabbing Palu’s cousins.
Masahiro scowled with disdain at the woman. “Then perhaps she was left back on Maui after all.”
“No,” Valya said firmly. “She’s here on this island. Somewhere.”
“You can’t be certain of—”
“She’s here.” Valya cut him off with a glare, then pointed to Gray. “And he’s going to tell us where.”
Masahiro looked both doubtful and irritated. Clearly there was no love lost between this pair. “What does it matter? We’re scheduled to be off this island in forty minutes, burning everything behind us.”
“Because your grandfather—Jōnin Ito—will want to know she is dead. Especially after your earlier failure.”
She let that barb sink in, then faced Gray. “Besides, forty minutes is more than enough time for me to break him.”
Gray simply stood straighter.
Try me.
Accepting his silent challenge, she turned to the men behind her and pointed to Palu’s cousins. “Take them where I told you. But we’ll need one more. Someone to make him more pliant.” She turned back around, her gaze settling on Aiko. “Perhaps a woman . . .”
Masahiro stood up. “No. According to my grandfather, Ms. Higashi is not to be harmed. She has been useful in the past and may be again.”
Gray glanced to Aiko.
What did he mean by that?
Aiko remained expressionless, both at Valya’s threat and Masahiro’s insinuation.
“Then a civilian.” Valya nodded to Ken. “An innocent in all of this.”
“Again no.” Masahiro stalked around his desk to confront her. “During his brief work with the wasps, Professor Matsui has accomplished far more than any other researcher. My grandfather even found his name for the species—Odokuro—to be an inspired choice, harkening to our mythology and heritage.” He faced Ken. “Jōnin Ito believes, with the right persuasion, he might be convinced to join us.”
From the professor’s aghast expression, this seemed doubtful.
“Then that leaves me little choice.” Valya turned to the only other member available. “Take him.”
Kowalski groaned, but a poke in the ribs by a rifle got him reluctantly moving toward the door.
Gray took a step forward. “Where are you taking them?”
Valya’s lips thinned, showing an edge of teeth, her version of a smile. “To test how strong your will is.” She turned and headed out. “And your stomach.”
2:58 A.M.
With Aiko at his side, Ken followed Gray up the sweep of stairs. Behind them, two guards pointed assault rifles at their backs. Ahead, the pale woman led the way, accompanied by another pair of armed guards.
Masahiro Ito stalked beside her, his every motion stiff and impatient. He checked his watch twice as they climbed to the top level of the lab complex.
Once there, the group was guided into one of its four sections. A pair of men in white lab jackets noted their approach and turned down a side tunnel to get out of their way. Both kept their gazes low, but one glanced over his shoulder toward where they were headed, where Kowalski and Palu’s cousins had most likely been taken.
As the lab tech turned ba
ck around, Ken caught a glimpse of his fearful expression.
That can’t be good.
After another crisscrossing of tunnels, the group reached a wall of glass that looked into a small steel room. Chains were bolted to the floor. Inside, guards snapped cuffs onto the wrists of the three prisoners who stood there, pinioning their arms out to the sides.
Makaio and Tua wore matching expressions of wide-eyed terror. Kowalski simply glowered under dark brows, looking like he wanted to punch someone really hard. Unfortunately, he was staring through the window at Gray, as if blaming his partner for his current predicament.
Valya also faced Gray. “I will give you three chances to reveal where your woman is hiding. This is the first. Before matters get messy. Cooperate and your friends’ deaths can be swift and merciful.”
Gray’s face remained stoic, but his eyes flashed with barely constrained fury.
Valya shrugged. “So be it.”
After the three men were secured, she tapped a knuckle on the glass. The armed guards hurried out of the room and into the hallway. They sealed a door behind them, wheeling a locking mechanism closed, similar to a hatch on a submarine.
Ken noted the perforated steel floor beneath the bare feet of the trapped men. He pictured seawater surging up from below.
Are they going to be drowned in there?
Instead, motion drew Ken’s attention to the far wall. Next to a low windowless hatch, a row of seamless drawer fronts rotated open, hinged along the bottom, forming small shelves.
A flow of darkness spilled out from them and washed into the sealed chamber.
But it wasn’t water threatening the men.
Ken realized this cubicle must adjoin one of those glass-domed test chambers. Only the neighboring pen here didn’t house soldier drones armed with agonizing stings.
It held something far worse.
Each of the wasps flooding into the chamber was wingless, about the size of a pecan. Though small, they made up for their size by their sheer numbers—along with the strength of their robust mandibles.
Back at his lab in Kyoto, he had witnessed what these drones could do when loosed upon a rat.