The Devil's Triangle

by Catherine Coulter

  “All electronics in here.”

  Kitsune said, “I take it this is homemade?”

  “Yes, it is,” Nicholas said. “Mobile, please?”

  Kitsune said, “May I see it? The device?”

  Nicholas dug into his briefcase and handed her a small black box the size of a deck of cards, with a thick coil of metal around it and a small switch.

  “The EMP is simple, really. We found the designs on an earlier case and made modifications. Upped the wattage, basically, so it can take out more than the closest electronics. It should work fine against an internal security system. I flip the switch and it will send out a pulse that will take everything within a hundred-yard radius offline. Be careful—you don’t want to shock your socks off.”

  Kitsune said, “Sorry, I don’t have anything to put in the bag. You know I only use disposables.”

  “Not a problem. You’ve still got the ingestible tracker in you, so if anything does happen to you, we’ll know where you are.”

  “You do come up with elegant solutions, Nicholas.”

  Mike snorted.

  Kitsune watched them, smiled. “When did you two start sleeping together?”

  Dead silence.

  “Please, you two were already circling each other when we had our little adventure with the Koh-i-Noor. It’s good, and I mean that. Life is too short, too fragile, to only look to the future. A lesson it took me long enough to learn. While you guys are in the house taming the lion and lioness, I’ll find Grant and get him out. You ready?”

  “How do you plan to get him out?”

  “Back the way I came in, through the tunnels.”

  Mike nodded. “We’ll keep them busy and occupied long enough for you to get in and get out. I don’t think we’ll be able to buy you more than an hour. I’ll figure out some way to get to the basement door and let you in.”

  Nicholas turned in his seat. “In case you do get lost, or we can’t get to you, we need a plan for getting you out of there.”

  “I will leave you a trail of bread crumbs. You set off your EMP, talk to the crazy twins, try not to let them kill you. And, Mike, I’ll expect you at the basement door.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The Bermuda Triangle

  Jason was horrified, but he wasn’t surprised, nothing the twins did since their sixteenth birthdays would surprise him. He watched their faces, listened to the words coming from their mouths, telling him Lilith had convinced them that they should kill the thief, that the men she’d hired had failed, and how she’d had the thief’s husband, Grant Thornton, kidnapped, to make an exchange. Lilith had assured them it was necessary, had to be done, both of them killed and disposed of.

  He looked into those faces, listened to all the lies. But his voice remained calm. “Where is this man, this Grant Thornton, the thief’s husband Lilith had kidnapped?”

  Ajax said, “She wanted to make the exchange in Venice, but that didn’t work out.”

  Jason said, “I saw how that didn’t go well for your men. The world saw. It was a disaster.”

  “Lilith’s men, Grandfather,” Cassandra said.

  Ajax said, “So she brought him here, to the dungeons beneath the palazzo. She convinced us the thief would come here and we’d have both of them.”

  “And what makes Lilith believe the thief will come to Castel Rigone?”

  Cassandra said, “Lilith told us the thief was desperately in love with her husband and would do anything to save him. Once we have both of them, there will be no more problems.”

  “And the FBI agents I saw in the Piazza San Marco?”

  “They won’t be a problem, either,” Cassandra said. “If they come to us making accusations, we will tell them about Lilith—we will convince them she was the one who engineered the theft of the staff from the Topkapi. All will be well, Grandfather.”

  “But you are the ones who wanted the staff of Moses stolen.”

  “We are Kohaths,” Cassandra said. “It was our responsibility to ensure the staff was a fake.”

  “I see, and what did you do with the fake staff?”

  “We destroyed it,” Ajax said, and shrugged.

  “I still don’t understand why you simply didn’t pay the thief and be done with it.”

  Only a slight pause, then Ajax said, “Again, it was Lilith who made that decision. She said loose ends always came back to cause trouble. And now we have no choice. Lilith has left us, returned to Scotland, she told us, so now we have to act even though we don’t wish to. We will remove the thief and her husband. Then the FBI will have nothing.”

  “You could tell the FBI that Lilith went to Scotland.”

  Another telling pause, then Ajax said, “I think that Lilith lied to us, Grandfather. She’s committed heinous crimes and she is probably in hiding. We couldn’t very well order her to stay.”

  “It is a pity she is not available to be arrested for her crimes.”

  “Yes, it is,” Ajax said, “but she is gone. Probably forever.”

  Cassandra said, “Grandfather, Lilith isn’t important. What is important, urgent, really, is that you prepare to move the Atlantic storm, just in case things don’t work out.”

  Here it comes. Jason said, his voice emotionless, “And where would you like this storm to hit?”

  Ajax said, “Washington, D.C. You always told us you didn’t like the place, too full of men and women who thought too much of themselves, braying asses, you called the politicians. Think of it as an opportunity. Should the FBI not be convinced of our innocence, we’ll wipe them off the map—their White House, their government, all their FBI agents. Then no one will have time to give us a single thought.”

  Cassandra said, “Ajax is right, Grandfather. You already have plans to have the storm hit the Gulf. You can simply change its trajectory and let it slam into the eastern seaboard instead.”

  Jason wanted to weep, looking at what his precious Helen had birthed—two beautiful young people, identical faces, smart as whips, both of them, yet they weren’t even competent liars, at least to him. Nor did they have a shred of conscience between them. What he did was always for a greater purpose, always to gain money to further the search for the Ark, to keep the Genesis Group at the forefront of archaeological discoveries, at least that was always his justification.

  But these two—they didn’t want to get caught for the senseless and stupid mistakes they made, the misery they’d caused, and now, they wanted to bring down a nation, needlessly murder thousands of innocent people, and for nothing, not a single noble goal. It was all to try to save themselves, no one else.

  What am I to do with your progeny, Helen? But it wasn’t your fault, you were always noble, pure. No, it was that insane husband of yours, David Maynes, a man who is finally dead, only weeks ago, and I did rejoice, I drank an entire bottle of champagne. But he passed his madness to his children, you know he did.

  For Helen’s sake, he would try reason. “Cassandra, Ajax, think about destruction of this magnitude. It is not New Orleans we’re talking about here, although Katrina wouldn’t have wreaked such havoc if the levees had held as they were supposed to.

  “But Washington, D.C.? It is a nation’s capital. It goes against everything we believe. It does nothing to further the family’s goals, Genesis’s goals. The Coil is not meant to cover your mistakes.”

  “It was Lilith’s mistakes, Grandfather,” Cassandra said. “Hers, not ours.”

  It was no use. What could he do?

  “I will think about it,” he said, and punched a key to turn off their faces from his computer screen.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Castel Rigone

  Nicholas and Mike dropped Kitsune halfway up the hill with a flashlight, water, and her two guns, then drove the rest of the way up to the town square.

  Nicholas saw a jumble of stone buildings, winding paths with trees and flowers. As he parked, he saw the town was beautiful, small, all the ancient buildings like glittering diamonds
around a magnificent stone at its center, the Kohath palazzo.

  The palazzo had been beautifully restored. Nicholas could see where small chunks of newer stone had been inserted to mend the original. The flagstones gleamed. Above the palazzo’s entrance, the flags of Italy, the U.K., and the province of Umbria snapped in the breeze. There was a war statue dedicated to the local soldiers lost in the world wars, a common sight throughout Italy. A café with three empty outdoor metal tables, four attached stone houses, and a medieval Gothic church rounded out the large square.

  Across the piazza, two older Italian women came to their doors to watch the strangers, faces suspicious and wary.

  Mike breathed in the soft Italian air. “It’s beautiful here, Nicholas. Can you imagine relaxing over in that small café, sitting and drinking a glass of wine, watching the world go by? Maybe not today. It’s easy to see we’re not welcome. Do you think the Kohaths already know we’re here?”

  “Of course they do. When this is all over, perhaps you and I can come back here and have that wine and watch this small world go about its business. . . . You ready?”

  “I am. When we split up, promise me you’ll be careful. And try to buy me enough time to get Kitsune into the house.”

  “I will. Don’t forget, in three-minute intervals I want to hear your voice, otherwise, I’m coming after you.”

  “You have my Faraday bag?”

  He reached into his go-bag. “For you, Agent Caine, I have a smaller one. It should fit into your pants but I could be wrong.”

  Mike studied the small silver bag, about the size of a sandwich Ziploc. “Are you saying my jeans are too tight?”

  “Oh, no. They’re quite perfect. As is what goes in them. Put your phone and earwig in it, stuff it down the front of your drawers, and let’s go.”

  “Is there a reason why I can’t put this in my jacket pocket?”

  “If they frisk us, we might end up with guns to our heads.”

  He watched her slip the bag down the front of her jeans as he clicked the button on his comms. “Gray, do you have us?”

  “I do,” Gray said. “From New York to Italy, amazing. You’re going to go offline shortly?”

  “Yes. I’ll be back up and running in about thirty minutes. With luck, I’ll get a couple of bugs in place so we can hear what the Kohaths decide to do after we leave.” And Nicholas hoped that would be the case.

  “Don’t forget, the transportable parabolic only has a range of about fifty yards. If you’re sure they’re going to stay in a room, plant it on the furniture. But if you think they’ll move around, try to get it on clothing.

  “Nicholas, what worries me is that if the walls are too thick, it might not work at all.”

  “You’re good, Gray. It’ll work.”

  “From your mouth to God’s ear. Good luck.”

  Mike and Nicholas got out of the car and walked to the palazzo’s front door, aware of being watched and studied. Mike realized to sneak into this place would be impossible, even in the dead of night.

  There was no bell, but the double wooden door had twin brass lion-head knockers, a ring through the extended tongues. Nicholas rapped a tongue against the door three times.

  Moments later, a small, dark-haired woman in a white silk blouse and black pants opened the door. A maid, but a very stylish one.

  “Si?”

  Nicholas and Mike already had their credentials out. Mike said, “Good afternoon. Do you speak English?”

  “Si, yes.”

  “I’m Special Agent Michaela Caine, with the American Federal Bureau of Investigation. This is Special Agent Nicholas Drummond. We need to speak with Cassandra and Ajax Kohath.”

  The woman didn’t look surprised to see two American federal agents on her doorstep, nor did she look surprised to hear English. She merely nodded and gestured for them to come inside, and closed the heavy wooden door behind them.

  “You will come with me. I will announce you.” Her English was heavily accented but clear enough.

  Mike’s first impression of the Kohath palazzo was one of great wealth. They stood in a long foyer that led into an open square interior garden. Of all things, the whitewashed walls were dominated with canvasses of modern art, eight large pieces, all with unrelenting white backgrounds, each bisected by a wide, thick paint slash of red or black. Like the artist had taken a large paintbrush, dipped it into the paint color of his choice, and swiped it across the white canvas. The pictures were so very much at odds with what she knew the Kohaths revered and treasured, it was jarring. She imagined these paintings were originals, and probably worth thousands, go figure that. She also imagined the artist was laughing all the way to the bank.

  The maid stopped at the end of the foyer, waved for them to join her. As they entered the interior courtyard, Mike saw the Kohaths had turned the open space into a garden filled with marble sculptures—each representative of a different culture—probably from their digs. Some were very old, missing feet, or hands, or heads. She saw beautiful Ionic columns connecting great marble arches that held up the higher stories of the palazzo. She remembered the Joslyn Art Museum in Omaha had a garden similar to this. It was a feast for the eyes.

  Nicholas did not appear to be either amazed or impressed. He looked annoyed. Then she saw why. Three security guards had stepped forward from the outer edges of the garden, all wearing black, all armed, all watching them closely, looking ready to shoot them where they stood.

  She saw two more guards standing at the far end of the garden. The maid stopped beside them.

  A big guard with a blond buzz cut stepped forward. “Your weapons,” he said, and he held out his hand. He was a Brit and a bruiser, heavily muscled, his eyes flat and hard. Could she take him down? She flexed her hands, felt a shot of adrenaline. She was ready.

  “I don’t think so,” Nicholas said. “Where you from? Bristol?”

  Buzz Cut kept his hand out. “If you want to speak to the Kohaths, you do it unarmed. No, not Bristol.”

  Nicholas said, “Close, though, right? You’ll only take my gun when I’m dead, mate.”

  “Very well. No gun, no talk. Escort them out, Chiara.”

  The maid appeared by Mike’s right elbow, gesturing toward the front door at the end of the long foyer. But before Nicholas could decide what to do, a cultured female British voice said, “That won’t be necessary, Harry. See my guests to the Blue Room, please.”

  The bruiser’s name was Harry?

  “But, ma’am—”

  Mike and Nicholas got their first look at Cassandra Kohath. Tall, fit, striking, and somehow off, were Mike’s first thoughts. Maybe it was her eyes, Mike couldn’t be sure.

  Lethal was Nicholas’s.

  “The Blue Room,” she said again, and without another look or word, walked back down the hallway that led off the garden.

  Buzz-cut Harry only shook his head.

  “I guess that’s Cassandra Kohath,” Mike said.

  “Yes, follow me.” And Harry set off.

  After two right turns, putting them at the back of the palazzo, Harry stopped in front of an ancient open door.

  “You’re really off,” he said to Nicholas. “I’m from Oxford.” He moved to stand against the wall, arms crossed.

  “Not that far off,” Nicholas said.

  Mike said, “May I use your restroom, Harry?”

  Harry didn’t say anything, but he must have made some sort of sign because the maid appeared from the shadows.

  “Through there, signora,” she said, and she pointed through an archway.

  Harry started to follow her. Nicholas said, “Hey, Harry, I doubt she needs help. Why don’t you stay here and guard me and my gun? We can discuss which pubs you liked best in Oxford. Ever toss down a pint at the Swan and Castle? No, how about the Lamb and Flag?”

  Harry looked like he wanted to punch Nicholas, but instead, he pulled a walkie-talkie out of his jacket, giving Nicholas a glimpse of a shoulder harness and a Beretta 92. He spoke
to another guard who stood at attention some twenty feet away, now watching Mike like a hawk. Nicholas saw the guard nod.

  Harry called after Mike. “You stay with Adcock. Do not leave his sight, do you understand?”

  “Your British English is very clear,” Mike said. And nodded to Nicholas.

  How many more guards for a couple of harmless archaeologists? Were the guards all Brits? Hard to be afraid of a short, pit bull of a guard named Adcock until you saw the Ka-Bar strapped to his side, and the look on his face that promised mayhem as he watched Mike approach.

  Mike was going to need some luck to get out of Adcock’s sight long enough to slip away and let Kitsune into the house.

  When Nicholas saw Mike follow Adcock around a corner, he reached into his pocket and pressed the button on the micro EMP.

  Time to get started.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Kitsune was shrouded in darkness the moment she stepped into the ancient Etruscan tunnel. She’d cut the orange service tape across the door and found the door was unlocked. She saw no guards.

  She set off, torch in her left hand, a PPK in her right. She fancied she heard echoes of ancient history as she moved slowly through the impenetrable darkness, making no noise on the packed dirt floor, carved out by the Etruscans so long ago, then later, the path of the Knights Templar.

  Even though the tunnel hadn’t been used recently, the path was clear, the walls and ceilings reinforced with handmade wooden arches, like huge ribs, the walls coated with cement on top of the wood.

  She was making excellent progress, but it couldn’t last for much longer. She assumed she’d soon reach the spot where the tunnels would be blocked off for safety reasons, since there were no more archaeological digs.

  Deeper and deeper she went, upward now, the climb steep. Thirty minutes later, the main tunnel turned sharply and she saw there were six different paths to choose from. None were blocked off. These paths were not on the plans.

  She studied her compass. The middle tunnel was heading north, the right direction to continue under the house, but it didn’t feel right, and then she smelled something—freshly turned dirt. She walked into the fourth tunnel, saw that it shot off to the right at a forty-five-degree angle. The smell of dirt was stronger. Who was digging down here? And why?