They hit the ground.
More pain exploded in Eddie’s legs as he rolled and bounced across the courtyard. He heard Macy scream again and threw himself at her, shielding her against the rain of glass with his body. More windows shattered as flying debris arced down.
The noise faded.
Bruised and bleeding, Eddie raised his head, wincing at the pain throughout his body. The pyramid’s top had gone, swallowed by boiling flames. The deadly spores were destroyed.
“Eddie!” More pain as he looked around, but it was slightly soothed by the sight of Nina running toward him. “Jesus! Are you okay?”
“I’ll tell you when I work out if my legs are still attached,” he rasped. “Macy, you all right?”
“No,” she said, very quietly. Nina and Eddie shared a worried look. “But … I think I will be. Eventually.”
Eddie tried to laugh, but it turned into a cough. “Another fucking exploding helicopter. Feels like I’m in one of Grant’s movies. Is he okay?”
“Looks like it,” said Nina, seeing the actor rounding the pyramid with Assad and one of the ASPS. She waved, then looked up at the building’s burning summit. “That’s one way to take care of a yeast infection. Kind of overkill, but looks like it worked.”
“Bloody well better have,” Eddie grumbled, lifting himself off Macy. “A pack of C-4 and a chopper blowing up? Anything in there ought to be toast.”
Nina raised her eyebrows. “Oh …”
“What?”
“I just realized. You took out Shaban’s spores … but you also toasted the bread of Osiris. The source of eternal life.” She pondered that for a moment. “Still, who wants to live forever?”
Eddie staggered upright and put his arm around her. “Depends who you’re living with.”
EPILOGUE
New York City
Three Weeks Later
Nina gazed up at the dark glass slab of the UN’s Secretariat Building as she stepped from the limo. Unlike her last visit, she had no feelings of trepidation. Quite the opposite. This time, she and Eddie were here to be honored.
The ceremony had come about thanks to the Egyptian government. The discovery of a pyramid in the Western Desert—and the revelation that it contained the tomb of Osiris himself, turning studies of the country’s ancient mythology on their head—meant that Egyptology would become the hottest field of archaeology for the next several years. At the very least, the tourist trade was about to see a huge boom.
So the Egyptians had petitioned the UN to recognize Nina and Eddie’s achievement in uncovering the Pyramid of Osiris … as well as their role in stopping Shaban.
There was a distinct irony, Nina thought, to the fact that her interactions with the IHA had come full circle. The agency had been established in large part to keep the truth about an attempted murder on an unimaginable scale from the public; now, the same organization that had summarily dismissed her eight months earlier was forced to grovel for her cooperation in the investigation of another genocidal scheme.
Despite this, she still hesitated at the entrance. “You okay?” Eddie asked.
“Yeah. It’s just … the last two times I came to the UN, I got torn a new one by Maureen Rothschild.”
“The only thing she’ll be doing to your arse today is kissing it,” he assured her.
“Good point,” said Nina, grinning. “Would it be bad manners if I really rubbed it in that I was right and she was wrong?”
“Probably. But I say bollocks to manners!”
Nina kissed him, and then they went inside.
As it turned out, she didn’t get the opportunity to say anything to Rothschild, bad-mannered or otherwise. Although Nina recognized several senior IHA staff among the UN representatives and officials in the invited audience, along with Professor Hogarth, the agency’s director was conspicuous by her absence.
But she quickly forgot the snub as the Egyptian ambassador to the United Nations, accompanied by Dr. Ismail Assad, sang her praises. “And thanks to Dr. Wilde and her husband,” he concluded, “the most incredible archaeological find in Egypt in a hundred years was not only discovered, but protected.” He nodded at some large photo blowups of the tomb’s interior; the mummy had been returned to its rightful resting place inside the sarcophagus, and Osir’s crushed body removed. “The tomb of Osiris unfortunately sustained some damage, but its contents remained unlooted. In time, the entire world will be able to see these incredible national treasures. So again, Dr. Wilde, Mr. Chase—on behalf of the people of Egypt, I thank you.”
Applause rippled through the room as the ambassador shook Nina’s and Eddie’s hands. “Thank you,” said Nina as she stood at the microphone. “Thank you, Mr. Ambassador, Dr. Assad—and the people of Egypt, of course!” The audience chuckled politely. “There’s somebody else who should be thanked, because without her bravery and determination we would never even have known the Pyramid of Osiris existed. So, Macy,” she said, pointing her out, “Macy Sharif, can you stand up, please?”
Macy was in the second row, flanked by her parents; the normally shameless young woman blushed at the applause.
“If the IHA’s Egyptology Department is hiring when she graduates,” Nina went on, “then she’d certainly get my recommendation, for what that’s worth!” As the clapping subsided, Macy sat down with relief. Nina addressed the audience again. “But what this whole affair shows is how careful we have to be as archaeologists and historians. When we make these amazing discoveries, it’s very easy to be affected by the prospect of fame and fortune—and yes, I’ll admit to having gone down that road myself. But what happened here was because it became all about money … no, not money, about the prize. Somebody wanted something so badly, they cut corners to get it. And that nearly led to disaster. So I hope it will act as a warning about what happens when you put money ahead of science.”
The applause was rather more subdued this time, some faces distinctly uncomfortable. Nina hadn’t intended to deliver a finger-wagging lecture, but decided what the hell: It needed to be said. She turned to her husband. “Anything you want to add, Eddie?”
“I’m not much of one for speeches,” he said, shrugging. “Just glad to have helped—oh, and if someone could pay our travel expenses, that’d be great!” The audience laughed.
“There is one more thing,” said Assad. An assistant handed him a polished wooden box. “In recognition of the discovery of the Pyramid of Osiris, the Supreme Council of Antiquities has decided to present something to the IHA. A loan, shall we say.”
He opened the box to reveal a small statuette: a crude human figure carved from an unusual purple stone. Nina didn’t recognize it, and it took Eddie a moment to realize he’d seen it before—in Osiris’s tomb. “It’s a slight embarrassment to admit this, considering my position,” Assad joked, “but so far we have been unable to identify it—it doesn’t match any of the other artifacts in the Pyramid of Osiris, or anywhere else for that matter. Perhaps the IHA will have better luck!” He handed the box to the bemused Nina as the audience applauded again.
“Ah, you do remember I’m not actually with the IHA anymore?” she said from the corner of her mouth.
“But they—Oh.”
The ambassador realized that his compatriot had made a faux pas and quickly took the mike to thank everyone for attending, leaving Nina wondering what Assad had been about to say. One of the senior UN officials, an Englishman named Sebastian Penrose, whom Nina had met a few times during the IHA’s formation, left his seat and gestured for Nina and Eddie to join him. They did so, and she looked at him suspiciously. “Okay, what’s going on?”
“A slight case of gun-jumping, I’m afraid,” Penrose replied. He signaled to an IHA official, who took the box. “We meant to discuss this with you after the ceremony.”
“Discuss what?” said Eddie.
“Your returning to the IHA.”
“What?” Nina said in sarcastic disbelief. “After we got fired?”
“Te
chnically, it was a suspension, pending an official inquiry,” Penrose said smoothly. “I’m, ah, quite confident the final findings will result in reinstatement with full backdated pay and benefits, as well as a compensation package.”
“Yeah, right. I can really see Maureen Rothschild going along with that.”
“Professor Rothschild is no longer with the IHA,” said Penrose.
Nina was surprised. “Why not?”
“She resigned yesterday. Partly because of the criminal charges the Egyptians are laying against Dr. Berkeley—your statement about his change of heart means they’re likely to be lenient, but with all the other conspirators dead they still need a scapegoat. Since he was the professor’s personal choice to head the Giza dig, that was a huge embarrassment to her, and a sign of poor judgment. Which reflects on her other decisions—such as suspending you.”
“And the other part?” Eddie asked.
“The other part is that you, Dr. Wilde, sent her an email describing how the robbery of the Hall of Records would be carried out before it actually happened—and she ignored it. She deleted it, in fact, but it turned out someone else had a copy.”
“Remind me to send Lola a huge thank-you gift,” said Nina. “So, you want me to come back. What about Eddie?”
“Mr. Chase will be reinstated too, of course. And there’s another matter: With Professor Rothschild gone, the IHA is currently without a director. You have experience from when you served as interim director …”
Eddie nudged her. “Hey, not bad. They don’t just want you back—they’re offering you a promotion!”
“But do we really want to go back?” she asked him, though her eyes made her answer obvious. He grinned.
“The offer will remain open,” said Penrose. He handed Nina his card. “For a while, at least. Call me when you make a decision.” He shook their hands and walked away, the official holding the box following.
“Well, bloody hell,” said Eddie. “They just can’t manage without us, can they?”
“Hey, we’ve gotten pretty good at this kind of thing by now. But you know what’s most important? We’ll be able to move back to Manhattan!”
He jokingly rolled his eyes. “Great. Ridiculous rent, crowds, noise, traffic …”
“I can’t wait!”
“Tchah,” said Eddie, amused. “There’s one good thing, though—I’ll be able to afford that wedding reception!”
“We’ll be able to afford it,” Nina corrected him. “And maybe I’ll join you for some dancing lessons.”
They left the stage to be met by Macy and her parents. “So what was all that about?” Macy asked once the introductions had been made.
“He was making us an offer,” said Nina.
“Like a job offer?” Macy asked excitedly. “Oh my God, that’s awesome! Are you going to take it?”
“Weeeell,” said Eddie, with an exaggerated shrug, “we haven’t quite decided.”
“But,” Nina added, “you remember that I recommended you for a position at the IHA when you graduate?” Macy nodded. “I think it’s safe to say that if you wanted it, it’d be yours.”
The young woman’s face lit up. “Really? Oh wow! Then I’ll try to be interested in more than just Egyptology. Even the Mongolian toothpicks. Thank you!” She embraced Nina.
Eddie watched for a moment. “So can I join in and finally get my threesome?”
“Eddie!” both women shouted, Macy blushing again as she gestured to remind him that her parents were standing three feet away. But then she hugged him too.
“So what are you going to do now?” Macy asked as they separated.
“I’m not sure yet,” said Nina. She smiled. “But I think we’re going to be busy.”
In the quest for an incredible treasure, the world may pay the ultimate price.…
When Michelangelo’s David disappears from its plinth in Florence, Italy, it is only the latest in a series of audacious raids of the world’s greatest treasures. But when the Talonor Codex—an account of the travels of a great Atlantean explorer, which suggests a link between the ancient Hindu civilization of India and Atlantis—is stolen from an exhibition in San Francisco, Nina Wilde and Eddie Chase race across the world from India to Nicaragua, the Himalayas to Greenland, to stop the theft of a treasure that is beyond the world’s wildest imaginings—but that may also be the catalyst for its annihilation.
READ ON FOR AN EXCLUSIVE SNEAK PEEK
On sale April 2011
PROLOGUE
Italy
It was a cold, crisp mid-November evening, but Giancarlo Mistretta’s mind was already on Christmas as he guided his tanker truck along the winding road through the Casentinesi forest. His apartment would play host to the celebrations this year; twenty-three people to cater for, maybe twenty-four if his sister’s newest baby arrived earlier than expected.
He pushed his plans aside as a tight turn appeared in the headlights. Slowing the truck to a near crawl, he checked his watch. Slightly ahead of schedule—there was still one more gas station to supply before he could return to the depot, but he would be back home in Florence before seven. Then maybe he and Leany could advance their plan for a baby of their own.…
He guided the tanker round the corner—then braked. A charcoal-gray BMW was slewed across the road, one wheel in the ditch. A woman in a dark suit waved for him to stop.
Giancarlo suppressed a sigh. The BMW was blocking his way. So much for getting home early. Still, he wouldn’t be setting much of an example for any future little Giancarlos if he didn’t help a lady in distress.
He stopped, taking a closer look at the woman. Long, glossy black hair, and dark skin—Indian, perhaps? Probably in her late twenties, and quite attractive, in a businesslike way. He could almost hear Leany reprimanding him for that, but married or not, he still had eyes, didn’t he?
The woman walked toward the truck. Giancarlo climbed out to meet her. “Hi,” he called. “Looks like you could use some help.”
She looked briefly into the woods as she advanced. Giancarlo noticed that her features were marred; only her left eye had moved, the right staring fixedly at him. The pale line of a scar ran from forehead to cheek over the socket. A glass eye.
He glanced at the BMW. “Are you stuck? I can give you a—”
She whipped out a silenced handgun and shot him three times in the face.
Giancarlo’s lifeless body slumped to the tarmac. A man stepped out of the darkness of the woods. Tall, muscular, and dressed entirely in black, Urbano Fernandez regarded the corpse with an expression of mock apology. “Poor fellow,” he said. The language was English, but the accent was smoothly Spanish. “Never any pleasantries with you, are there?” he went on as the woman holstered the gun.
“A waste of time,” said Madirakshi Dagdu coldly. As the unfortunate truck driver had guessed, she was Indian, her accent thick and stilted—English was a language in which she had only recently needed proficiency. She indicated Giancarlo’s body. “Dispose of that.”
Fernandez snapped a sarcastic salute. “Yes, ma’am.” He pulled on a pair of black leather gloves, pausing to brush his pencil moustache with his fingertips before dragging the corpse into the undergrowth. “You didn’t have to be here at all. We don’t need to be—what’s the word?—nursemaided.”
He knew full well what the word was, but took a certain amusement from her frown of deep concentration as she tried to translate it. “This operation is more expensive than the others,” she said once the meaning came to her. “My employers want to be sure their money is being used well.”
“It will be worth every dollar,” said Fernandez, dumping the body. There was no point concealing it—the area would be crawling with people soon enough. He went to the tanker. “Now, go. Meet me down the road.”
Madirakshi returned to the BMW without a word. Fernandez watched her, thinking it was a shame such an attractive figure was wasted on an ugly personality, then moved to the valves on the tanker’s side as the
car reversed out of the shallow ditch.
Even after delivering most of the day’s supplies, the tanker still contained over two thousand liters of petrol. The Spaniard turned the wheel above one of the gaping stainless-steel nozzles. Fuel gushed out. He winced at the sharp smell, backing away to avoid being splashed as he opened the valve wider. The gush became a geyser, spraying into the woods.
He climbed into the cab. The engine was still running, so he released the brake and depressed the heavy clutch to put the truck into gear, slowly following the BMW as it sped away.
Petrol spewed over Giancarlo Mistretta’s corpse as the tanker rumbled into the night.
Half a kilometer down the road, Fernandez saw the waiting BMW’s headlights. He pulled over, then hurried to the car.
Madirakshi’s only greeting was a cold look. Fernandez ignored it. After tonight, there was only one more job planned, which might not even be necessary if his employers were persuasive enough—and then he would be rid of them and all the freaks in their entourage.
Even before he had fastened his seat belt, the BMW surged past the tanker, heading back up the road. A smeared pool of blood marked where the driver had been shot; Madirakshi stopped level with it.
Fernandez lowered his window. He took a Zippo lighter from a pocket, and with a single practiced move flicked it open and lit it. A moment to regard his flickering reflection in the polished metal, then he tossed the lighter into the trees.
Even before it hit the ground, the results were explosive. The highly flammable vapor rising from the pool of petrol ignited, a fireball boiling upward into the trees and setting them alight. Giancarlo’s fuel-soaked body was consumed by the inferno as easily as the branches. A thick trail of flames raced away down the road.
Fernandez shielded his face from the heat with one gloved hand. “Time we left. Quickly.”