The Devil's Triangle

by Catherine Coulter

  And then he had decided to stay.

  No choice really. The moment his father died, it was up to Jason, the future of the Kohaths was his burden to carry. By the time he’d developed the Coil to its current incredibly powerful incarnation, he’d lost his own wife in childbirth. Diana, who’d loved Jason despite his idiosyncrasies, left him alone with a small girl babe he’d named Helen.

  Helen hadn’t turned out to be a scientist—no, she was much more; she was an adventurer, more fire in her gut than even their creator, their founder, Appleton Kohath. Helen was the one who truly understood the importance of finding the Ark, of what it could bring the family, and the world. Most of all, Helen was filled with goodness. And, he remembered, smiling, she’d always loved discovering long-ago secrets buried for millennia.

  The day she’d left on her first dig, Jason had moved permanently to the island and isolated himself from the world in order to protect their family’s technology, and created himself a home in the island bunker. To keep her safe, to keep the family in money, to keep the Genesis Group at the top, he sacrificed his freedom.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  FBI Headquarters

  26 Federal Plaza

  22nd Floor, Home of Covert Eyes

  New York, New York

  Ben looked over his notes again, then pulled out his cell, punched in the number Louisa had given him for Melinda St. Germaine in London. Of all things, she was a member of Parliament—did Nicholas know all the muckety-mucks in England? It was a pity her mother, the biographer herself, had died. And so recently, too.

  Melinda St. Germaine answered on the first ring. Lovely, no-nonsense voice, with Nicholas’s crisp enunciation. Ben smiled as he said, “Ms. St. Germaine, my colleague Agent Nicholas Drummond gave me your number. He wanted me to ask you if I could come to London to consult your mother’s papers.”

  “Nicholas! He sent me a note, and his family sent lovely flowers to Mother’s funeral. And you say you want to come here to look at my mother’s papers?”

  “Yes, if I could.”

  She was silent a moment, then, “I’m the middle of something myself. But what papers do you wish to examine?”

  “Your mother wrote a biography of a man named Appleton Kohath.”

  “Goodness, yes, she did. The book came out three years ago, I believe. Unlike my brilliant mother, I couldn’t be bothered with anything historical but Churchill. Sorry, I can see her now, looking over the top of her glasses disapprovingly while I played with model tanks.” He heard her breath hitch. “Her death, it came as such a shock.”

  Ben said, “She sounds like a very fine woman. I’m sorry, Ms. St. Germaine.”

  “Forgive me, I suppose I’m still reeling. Now what is all this about the Appleton Kohath biography?”

  Ben said, “We know Appleton Kohath was an Ark of the Covenant enthusiast, and the creator of the Genesis Group, but now we’ve run into a bit of a wall on a case. Nicholas hoped your mother kept her papers, her research, notes, anything that might quickly help us gain more insight into this man and his family. We need a shortcut into his world.”

  “Oh, yes, I see. The entire shed in back of the house is crammed to the ceiling with her notes. You’re welcome to them. I need to sort them, her publisher has been after me. . . . Oh, I guess you don’t know. Mother was finishing an updated edition of the biography, far more in-depth, this one about Kohath and his family.” She sighed. “Her publisher wants the draft to see if it’s workable. I simply haven’t had the time to dig in. If you have the manpower, they’re yours.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I’m leaving from New York. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Don’t call me ma’am.”

  “Yes, ma’—Okay.”

  “Call me Melinda.”

  He smiled as he said her name, and disconnected. Ben then called Nicholas, told him he was on his way to London.

  Nicholas said, “You’ll like Melinda. She’s very savvy, well on her way to leading our country. Thank you, Ben. We’ll keep you posted and please, return the favor.”

  • • •

  Forty-five minutes later, Nicholas, Mike, and Kitsune said goodbye to Adam and Louisa, who complained that her Spanish wasn’t Italian, and the going was tough working the scene’s forensics. Clancy and Trident had the plane in the air in ten minutes flat. It was obvious they were bursting with questions but knew they’d have to wait for answers when everything was resolved, over beers.

  A rental car waited for them, a gray Škoda Octavia, practically new, manual transmission, midsize, so the three of them fit comfortably. Nicholas liked the car; it was game and had enough power to keep driving interesting. He had the map to Castel Rigone open on his phone.

  Mike looked thoughtful as he pulled out onto the highway. “We’ve got to figure out how to rescue Grant without getting all of us dead. I don’t think knocking on their front door and asking to see him will work.”

  Kitsune said, “It’s me they want.” And she looked at Nicholas. “I have my two PPKs.”

  Nicholas said, “Given what happened in Saint Mark’s Square yesterday, they want to kill all of us. I know you’re an excellent shot, Kitsune, but even with your Walthers, there’s no way we’re going to let you sacrifice yourself. Mike’s right, we need a plan, a way to sneak in.”

  As they drove into the countryside, there was less and less traffic. Nicholas looked in his rearview and noticed a black sedan with dark tinted windows staying several cars behind them.

  Mike said, “Nicholas, I don’t like the looks of that black car, can you see it? About fifty feet behind us.”

  He smiled. “Yes, I see him and I don’t like it, either. Let’s see if they’re up to no good.” He pressed the Škoda’s accelerator. The sedan sped up, too, drawing closer.

  Kitsune said, “Take a right, here, now! I know this road.”

  Nicholas pulled the wheel to the right and the car skidded onto a small dirt road, deeply rutted from tractor wheels, and he soon saw why. There were olive groves to the left and right.

  The sedan behind them nearly missed the turn. The driver was good, managed to straighten the car, accelerating as he did so, coming fast.

  Mike saw the passenger window drop, saw a gun pointed at her. A man fired three times, in rapid succession. Kitsune fired back. Her second shot tore the side-view mirror off.

  “Get away from them, Nicholas!”

  “I’m trying.” Nicholas was weaving the car to the left then right, in and out of the ruts, making aiming hard. He called, “Get the Glock off my hip, Mike. There’s a second magazine in my pocket. Hurry, they’re coming back for more.”

  She took his Glock and another magazine, dove into the back, started shooting out the side window.

  “Nicholas, the driver looks like one of the thugs in the piazza outside the hospital last night. Whoa, watch out!”

  Nicholas almost didn’t make the sharp right curve, barely managed to get the Škoda back into the rutted path. The sedan behind wasn’t so lucky. It hit one of the olive trees but slipped around the edge of the grove and caught up to them.

  A bullet struck the back window, splintering the glass. Kitsune, a Walther in each hand, shouted, “That’s it, that’s enough!” She sent a barrage of bullets into the sedan. The windshield splintered, both headlights exploded, and the car swerved sharply left before straightening. She shouted, “Nicholas, the road will intersect with a two-lane paved road. It winds back down the hill. Be careful, it’s a popular tourist drive, and there are some hairy turns.”

  Nicholas pulled onto the road, tires squealing, right into the path of three cars. All three managed to swerve around him, horns honking, shouts, curses flying. He saw the sedan sideswipe a red Alfa, then start gaining again. He gunned it, nearly hit a motorcycle as he rounded a curve, then slammed the brakes before crashing into a small knot of oncoming traffic. Mike and Kitsune slammed against the seat.

  Mike grabbed Kitsune’s arm to hold her steady. “Hey, Nichola
s, don’t get us killed.”

  He shot her a grin in the rearview.

  They screamed down the mountain road, bullets flying as the Škoda juked and jived.

  Kitsune was firing both Walthers smoothly, rhythmically, the way Grant had taught her. She hit the windshield three times in succession. The third shot shattered the glass completely, and the sedan swerved drunkenly as its windshield collapsed inside the car and onto the driver.

  “That will slow them down.”

  “Good shot, but they’re still coming,” Mike said. “Take out the front tires. We’ve got to stop them dead in their tracks.”

  Nicholas heard Kitsune slam in a new magazine into each PPK. He saw Mike’s face in the rearview, focused, getting ready to fire again.

  He yelled, “Are you running low on ammo?”

  “Yes, so keep the car straight so I can hit them. Nicholas, they’re gaining on us. Kitsune, aim for the tires, the engine block, whatever will stop them.”

  His heart nearly stopped to see another black sedan coming down a narrow rutted mountain road to their left. They were going to crash. “Hang on!”

  The second sedan came straight at them, not hesitating as it hurtled down the mountain. At the last second, Nicholas rammed the accelerator to the floor and they shot past the sedan by a nose. It hit the Škoda’s back quarter panel and they spun out, wheels screaming. Nicholas went into the zone, as his driving instructor had taught him so many years before in Special Forces. He gently rotated the wheel, slowly, slowly, pressing the brake for a fraction of time, easing off, bringing the fishtailing car back under control.

  The two cars ran side by side for a moment. Nicholas shouted, “Hold on!” and wrenched the wheel to the left, plowing the Škoda into the sedan. There was the horrendous sound of shearing metal and they watched the sedan slide off the edge of the road, straighten once again, and jerk back behind them.

  It was a good try. But there were now two sedans chasing them, at least four men. Both Kitsune and Mike took turns, shooting hard and fast out the windows, ducking shots that came toward the car.

  Mike shouted, “I got one of them, didn’t kill him, but he’s not going to be that good a shot now. Come on, Kitsune, show me what you can do.”

  “The driver,” Kitsune said. “I want the driver.”

  She got him on the third bullet, watched him fall against the steering wheel, and the sedan did a spectacular pirouette off the side of the rode, nose first into a ditch, then spun twice more and landed upside down in a mess of olive trees.

  A bullet came through the back windshield, shattered it, barely missed Kitsune.

  Both women dove down.

  He heard Kitsune say, “That one nearly parted my hair.”

  “Hang on. Curve.” Nicholas downshifted hard, hugging the side of the road. He saw a vineyard ahead, and a line of cars waiting to make the turn.

  “Take out the second car now or we’re going to be in bad trouble!”

  This time Mike was the one to hit the driver. His foot must have hit the accelerator because the sedan sped up, and the shooter was so desperate to get him off the steering wheel he didn’t even see the shot Mike took at him. The bullet got him in the neck. Kitsune and Mike watched the sedan weave off the road and down a steep embankment, and disappeared from sight, one hundred yards before it would have slammed into the line of wine-tasting tourists.

  Nicholas slowed both the Škoda and his heart. He called out, “Thank you. Now keep an eye out for any more thugs.”

  They drove the rest of the way down the mountain, then Nicholas pulled over, cut the engine. His heart was still kettle-drumming in his chest. Close, way too close. He turned in the seat. “Well done, ladies, well done.”

  Kitsune laughed. “Not bad driving, mate. Nearly as good as Grant.”

  “That’s Special Agent Lady to you.” Mike smacked his arm.

  He grinned at her, windblown hair, tangled around her head, her eyes tearing from the wind, so high on adrenaline he bet she could fly. Kitsune’s eyes were dilated with stress and excitement, her skin flushed from the wind, and she looked like she could take wing with Mike. His own fear, mostly for Mike, he knew, was slowly falling away. They would all want to fall over when the adrenaline high crashed. But not now.

  Mike said, “We better check in with Adam. He’s probably wondering why we’re driving all over the back roads of Italy at the speed of light.”

  Nicholas held up a hand, passed back bottles of water that had survived. “Drink.” He did as well, drew in a deep breath. “Don’t call Adam just yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “How did they know we were coming here, Mike? How did the Carabinieri know where we’d be in time to get two teams in place?

  Kitsune said, “They’re bugging us somehow. They’re listening. The Italians would have the power to monitor you. It’s not polite, but it’s done.”

  Mike smacked her palm against her head. “Call me an idiot for not realizing—it’s that witch at the front desk of the hotel. Nicholas, that’s why she upgraded you to the big suite, not because she wanted to sleep with you. No, they wanted to listen to what we had to say, and they prepped that suite for us. Well, maybe she wanted to sleep with you too, the slut.”

  Nicholas said, “But the Carabinieri already knew we were coming, we’d asked for them to meet us and back us up. Which they didn’t do.”

  Mike said, “It wasn’t that. They wanted to know what we knew about Kitsune, where we’d be, what we’d planned to do. They jammed the signal earlier. Someone high up to manage all this, someone like Major Russo. No doubt now, he’s on the Kohaths’ payroll.”

  She fiddled with her cell. “I’ve encrypted my phone, I’m sending a message to Adam that we’re compromised. I wish we had Lia with us, she could jam their signal in a heartbeat.”

  “Tell Adam we’ll need tighter oversight when we get to Castel Rigone. I want him watching and listening to every move we make from now on.”

  “Okay,” Mike said, “for all the good it will do us.”

  Kitsune said, “Listen, I think I might have a plan. Castel Rigone is very old. I remember there are tunnels all over the place—Etruscan excavations. There are very likely tunnels under the palazzo. We need to see if Adam can hack the plans and send them as quickly as possible.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Kohath Palazzo

  Castel Rigone, Italy

  Cassandra stood on one of the balconies of the palazzo that stood high atop a hill overlooking the small town of Castel Rigone, looking out over the beautiful Umbrian countryside, then down at Lake Trasimeno, shimmering beneath the noonday sun. She and Ajax had grown up here, knew every corner of each of the seventy rooms in the ancient fortress that had strided this magnificent hill since the fourteenth century. The palazzo even housed the town bells in one of the towers. As children, she and Ajax had nearly made themselves deaf ringing them.

  And how she loved the tales of the Knights Templar, basked in the fact that they’d once called this home, this town, their sanctuary during their persecution.

  When asked her favorite flower, she’d always said without hesitation it was the Templar rose, and here in Castel Rigone, it was everywhere—carved into door lintels, around fireplaces, on stone fences, throughout the town, and at the palazzo.

  As a child she’d pictured the Knights Templar gathered around one of the great fireplaces, knowing the end was coming, and yet they’d remained loyal and strong in their faith, until their deaths.

  Their grandfather had deeded the palazzo to her mother and father on their wedding day, but they hadn’t loved the house as she and Ajax did, only what lay beneath the mountain. Restoration had been up to the twins.

  Ajax joined her, breathed in the sweet Umbrian air. “I’ve always wondered if the Knights Templar ever took lovers. I like to think many of them did, some warmth, some comfort.”

  “Like you and Lilith?”

  He shook his head at her. “Let’s focus on
where the Ark could be.” He pulled out his mother’s map. “I wish she could have been more specific. Only identifying the mountain, it’s not much use to us.”

  “We have to believe that somehow she got it back here. We have to believe it’s buried here, otherwise why go on?”

  He asked the question that had been making him crazy. “If Mother got the Ark out of the Gobi, then where do you think she is? Why would she leave the Ark behind?”

  “I think she’s afraid to contact us, for fear of discovery. I think she left the Ark for us to find. We’ll hire more workers, Ajax, have them focus on finding the Ark, not more Templar treasure.”

  “So many digs over the past thirty years, even under the town itself. And we don’t know how many more secret tunnels the Templars excavated. I think about our private museum, it’s full to overflowing with their treasures.” He sighed. “But where is our crown jewel? Where is the Ark?”

  Ten minutes later, Cassandra sat at her cypress desk, shining with the rubbed-in oil the housekeepers used that smelled of sweet oranges. It was her private office, her own sanctuary, restored by her with warm woods and very old medieval tapestries she loved.

  She’d placed the cherubim’s wing in the center of her desk. She would prove its provenance, but for her and Ajax, not the archaeological community. No one would ever know of this amazing find in the Gobi.

  She studied it as she was certain her mother had, and touched it lovingly, awestruck. She imagined if she looked at it closely enough, the wing would allow her to see visions of her mother.

  But she had work to do. She wanted to see the new track of the storm her grandfather was moving from Bermuda into the Caribbean.

  She pressed a button on the underside of her desk and a large paper-thin screen rose from the surface. It took up almost the entire width of the polished cypress and was oddly translucent, enabling her to see someone should they come into the room, but they wouldn’t be able to see what was on the screen. Grandfather had designed it, making it similar to a Teleprompter, with a beam-splitting mirror that gave the impression the images and words on the screen were floating in midair. The screen was divided into four quadrants, two for Cassandra’s work with the foundation, the others tied directly to her grandfather’s control center in the Caribbean, so she could monitor the weather he was creating in real time. She could see the storms in play and could also see the status of the satellites.