The Devil's Triangle

by Catherine Coulter

  She walked forward, aiming her torch down at her feet so no one would see her light.

  She saw lights ahead, heard voices. She listened carefully, heard two men speaking Italian. One was a native speaker, the other spoke well, but with a faint British accent. The Italian spoke the local dialect, but the Brit was speaking the Roman, more common internationally. What was a Brit doing down here?

  Were they guards? She edged closer, listening to the conversation.

  “Why did you kill her?” the Italian asked. “I thought you were sleeping with her.”

  The Brit paused only a moment at the impertinence before saying indifferently, “There was no choice. I will miss her, but her failures, they were too great. Giovanni, make sure you bury her deep so no one will ever find her. Then get back to digging. My sister is anxious to unearth this section of the mountain as quickly as possible.”

  Giovanni’s voice grew excited. “It is true, then? You truly found a piece of the Ark in the Gobi Desert?”

  The Brit paused. “Where did you hear that?”

  Kitsune imagined Giovanni shrugging. “You know gossip, it spreads like wild fire. The whole crew has been buzzing about it. You and the signorina found a piece of a cherubim’s wing at the Mysore Base, and you have brought it home.”

  The Brit spoke, his voice cold. “These walls seem to ooze gossip. Now finish the job.”

  Kitsune heard footsteps coming toward her. She ran back toward the center point where the six tunnels branched off and eased into the smallest of the tunnels. The Brit was soon in the center point—it had been close, too close. She fell to her knees, looked out, and saw him turn into the main tunnel, the one that went north. She didn’t see his face, but his hair was blond and curly. Was it Ajax Kohath? He’d killed his lover? A moment later, she heard an engine turn over. It sounded like a motorcycle.

  Smart, she thought. Small, portable, easy to maneuver underground. The tunnels were extensive, she’d seen that much on the map, but now she was wondering just how extensive they actually were, if the diggers moved around on motorbikes.

  If the Kohaths were resorting to murder in their own house, something was going badly wrong in their world.

  Kitsune couldn’t help but wonder about Giovanni’s other comment—the cherubim’s golden wing, a piece of the Ark? Found in the Gobi Desert? Incredible to imagine.

  A piece of a cherubim’s wing—for a brief moment, she wondered if she could steal it after she’d rescued Grant. The thought of how much money such an archaeological prize would bring—Kitsune laughed at herself.

  When she was sure the motorbike was far enough away, she again started up the center tunnel, north, toward the house.

  A pity she couldn’t grab a motorcycle, too, but she was moving pretty fast now, and soon, she stepped into a large, hollowed-out cavern at least fifty feet wide, the ceiling too high for her to see. The huge space was lit with soda vapor lights, focused on the ground. And there were people working, all men, five by her count, moving boxes and crates. She saw four motorbikes parked on their kickstands near the wall. Then she saw it, behind the motorbikes, what had to be the basement door.

  But how to get past the workers? Suddenly, two of them turned and started coming toward her. Nowhere to hide. She looked up, saw reinforced beams above her head. She stashed her PPK and torch, leaped up, and grabbed on to a burnished two-by-four. She dragged her legs up and over, flattened herself against the beam. It was a tight fit. She held her breath as the two workers walked under her, unaware she was above them.

  She waited. The lights went off in the tunnel. At last Nicholas had activated his EMP. She had to hurry, she didn’t want Mike to have to wait, it would be too dangerous.

  She heard the workers groan, curse, saw the beams from torches being turned on. The men who’d walked below her were coming back. Neither had had a torch on them, they were using the walls to guide them.

  “What happened?” one of them shouted in Italian.

  “Everything’s gone offline,” another yelled back. “Might as well take a break until we get it fixed. Unless you want to light the lamps?”

  “No, let’s not bother. By the time we get them all lit the power will be back on. I could use a break. Last one to the break room makes the espresso.”

  The men walked beneath her again, talking, joking about their unexpected break, back into the cavern. She watched as one by one they disappeared into the open door, torches bobbing.

  Nicholas’s EMP had worked perfectly. The lighting in the tunnels must be run off a computerized system rather than straight electrical circuits. More to their advantage than she could have hoped.

  When she saw the last of the crew disappear through the door, she dropped down and started toward the entrance. If she was right, this passage would lead to the basement.

  It was strange, this ongoing dig under the mountain. What could they be looking for? Surely not more Etruscan artifacts? The activity was so clearly regulated, something else was going on. It was a huge undertaking, shoring up tunnels, digging new ones, the cost alone must be staggering.

  Then it hit her. The cherubim’s wing—could they possibly think the Ark was buried here? How could that be possible?

  Kitsune walked through the door and saw a long hallway stretch out in front of her. It was eerie down there in the darkness, with no lights, too cool for comfort, and damp. She shivered.

  She didn’t risk turning on her torch. She stood quietly for a moment, hoping her eyes would adjust, but the darkness was profound. She listened but couldn’t hear any voices or footsteps. The floor was rough concrete, as were the walls. This tunnel was more recent than the others.

  She started up the hallway, walking carefully, slowly, one hand on the wall so she didn’t trip and lose her balance. After a turn, she thought she could see light up ahead, and walked faster. This door had to be the one that directly connected the tunnel system to the basement. Mike could already be there to let her in. Then she’d return to Nicholas, and Kitsune would find Grant and they would leave through the tunnels.

  She shielded her arm with her gun and pressed the button for the digital display. It flashed blue in the dark, and in that eerie light, she saw a row of doors, doors that had no handles, only small indentations to slide them open. Storage rooms, most likely, for the excavation equipment. Considering the age of the palazzo, and the many wars that had been fought in the area, maybe they were there to hold prisoners.

  Like Grant.

  She went to the closest door and fit her fingers into the indentations, and pulled. It didn’t move. It was locked, as was the next and the next. Whatever was behind these doors had been sealed off. She wanted to yell with frustration.

  With no hope, she fit her fingers into the indentation on the fourth door. It opened easily. It was as dark as a pit in hell. She heard a person breathing.

  She turned on the torch and stared into the blinking eyes of her husband.

  His beloved face was dirty, and she saw blood matting his hair over his temple.

  “Who is it?” His voice sounded slurred.

  She realized he couldn’t see her. She whispered, “It’s me, Grant, Kitsune.” She dropped to her knees by his side, and pulled him into her arms. She kissed his bloody hair, his filthy face, his mouth, hugged him, rocked him. “You’re alive, you’re alive. I’m going to get you out of here. Can you stand?”

  Grant smelled her familiar scent, breathed her in. She was here, but that was impossible, which meant he was out of it on the drugs, hallucinating now. In his saner moments, he’d known he should accept that she had to be dead. That damned last job, that impossible stunt she pulled, and for what? His brain looped back. She was here, with him, and he let her hold him while he tried to clear his head, bring himself back into focus. He felt her tears on his cheek. Tears, Kitsune’s tears. She was here, she was here, to rescue him.

  “What day is it?”

  “What? Oh, it’s Tuesday.”

  “Three days
. They’ve kept me drugged for three days.” And he breathed her in again. “Give me another minute to get my brain together.”

  “What have they been giving you?”

  “Ketamine, I think.”

  “Do you remember what happened?”

  He thought, shook his head. “No, but maybe it will all come back once my head is clear.”

  She’d tell him later of the video of his kidnapping, but not now.

  “I remember I saw the news about the stolen staff from the Topkapi. Well done, a good, clean job.”

  “Yes, it was, and I got away clean, too, but it was the clients who tried to kill me in Venice. Then they took you for leverage after I escaped.”

  Leverage, such a bloodless word. He knew she’d planned to give herself up for him, her life for his. He felt fury and pain, in equal measures. But now wasn’t the time. “Where are we?”

  “Castel Rigone, a small town north of Castiglione del Lago. It’s a huge old palazzo owned by the Kohaths, the people who hired me to steal the staff.”

  His brain latched on to that. They were in the middle of Italy. “But why would they try to kill you? You did your job. Why?”

  “I’ll tell you everything, but later, Grant. We’ve got to move.”

  “I know, they’ll be coming back to pump more ketamine into me. Okay, let’s try.”

  She put a shoulder beneath his and tried to haul him to his feet, but his coordination wasn’t back yet. He sagged against her. “Don’t tell me you managed to break in here alone?”

  “I called Drummond for help. It’s not just help for you and me, Grant, there’s big trouble and now they’re in the middle of it. We’re in a very old store room beneath the palazzo. There are excavation tunnels leading to the outside. We have to be careful, but we can make it. Come on, you can do it.”

  He wanted to laugh at the irony of it but couldn’t find the energy. He had to move. If there was one guard coming with a needle then he knew Kitsune could take him down, but more than one? He said, “I wish we had my team here rather than Drummond. They’d tear this place to the ground.”

  “I think Drummond notified them, but I don’t know anything more. Let’s try again. Come on, soldier, you can do it. You have to do it.”

  But it was too late. There were no warning footsteps. A large man suddenly appeared in the doorway, a Maglite attached to the nose of the M4 strapped across his chest, his finger ready on the trigger.

  “Now what have we here?” Another Brit. A light shined in her face. “Who are you, cutie? How did you even get in here?”

  Kitsune let go of Grant, jerked out her Walther, and pointed it at him. “Go to hell!”

  She heard an echo of a laugh as his leg lashed out and her gun went flying. Fast, he was very fast, but she knew she could take him, even if she was in close quarters, no choice, and so she spun to the side and kicked out. He grabbed her ankle, twisted, and sent her flying into the wall. Kitsune had the breath knocked out of her, but she leaped up and ran out of the small room. He was Special-Forces skilled and she needed more space to maneuver to have a chance against him. He came at her again, eyes focused, ready, poised. She waved her Ka-Bar, cutting a wide swath in front of her.

  Again he laughed. “I like women like you,” he said, and lunged for her, ducking when she slashed at him, spinning on his feet. She got him once in the shoulder, not all that deep, but it had to hurt and he cursed, called her a bitch, whipped around, and slammed his fist into her jaw. Fast, he was so very fast. She saw stars, but still she fought him even as he kicked the knife from her hand. She fought until he threw her again against the wall, headfirst, and everything went black.

  Grant leaped on his back and slammed his fists against his ears, once and again, but he didn’t have the strength to pulverize his brain. The guard threw him onto his back, and kicked him until his head was swimming, his body screaming with pain, and he knew he was going to pass out. He saw Kitsune, his brave girl, lying motionless on the ground. He saw a syringe in the guard’s hand. And knew it was all over. For both of them.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Nicholas stepped into the Blue Room. It was quite empty. Harry had stayed outside. Nicholas quickly moved out of sight of the door, placed his earwig. He heard Mike’s voice: “Perfect timing, Nicholas. The EMP is working. I’m in the stairwell. It’s very dark.”

  He answered her with one tap, as a portion of the wall across the room opened with a soft click, and Cassandra Kohath stepped into the room. What? The queen staging her magic? “Agent Drummond? I’m Cassandra Kohath. Do join me.”

  He gave her a nod. “Ms. Kohath.” Her beautiful face was politely composed, her eyes faintly inquiring, a perfect eyebrow arched.

  “And what may I do for you this beautiful day?”

  “Only answer a few questions. Why do you have so many guards? Aren’t you and your brother archaeologists? You’re hardly in need of protection, are you?”

  “We run a large international company, Agent Drummond, with extremely valuable artifacts at our disposal. We are always careful. As for my guards here at the palazzo, I will admit, they tend to be overprotective.” She stuck out her hand. He shook it. “How nice to finally meet you, at last. Yours is now a household name. I’ve been told you were attacked during a tourist event in Saint Mark’s Square while visiting Venice. How terrible.”

  “Yes, it was. You have quite a name in archaeological circles, I understand.”

  “You’ve heard of me? How lovely.”

  “It’s impossible not to know all about you. In Venice, we were attacked, yes, by trained operatives who did all they could to kill us. But I’m sure you know all about it. What part of England are you from?”

  He saw a glimmer of amusement in her eyes before she turned it off.

  “I’m from East Sheen, you know, in Richmond. It’s an old hunting lodge originally built for the Earl of Northumberland. My great-great-grandfather Appleton Kohath bought it in 1905, I believe, a wedding present for his wife. Alas, neither my twin nor I have spent much time there. We were always on digs with our mother, though Ajax and I visit whenever we get a chance. Don’t you agree it’s always nice to go home?”

  “Who lives in the hunting lodge now?”

  She shrugged. “Oh, our father was the only resident. He died, you know, a short time ago actually. We haven’t decided what to do with the pile yet. I believe the National Trust wants it, but we’ll see.”

  “My condolences. When did your father die?”

  “You are full of questions, aren’t you? My father died two weeks ago, a heart attack, we were told. We weren’t close. He left the business nearly ten years ago. I suppose you could say he was eccentric, a man who liked his parties and conspiracy theories. But of course, your family’s history is much more illustrious than mine. I’ve seen photos of the Drummond estate in Farrow-on-Gray as well as photos of the gardens—and your labyrinth is famous. I’d love to visit sometime. And you’ll be a peer soon enough, won’t you?”

  “Not for a very long time. You’ve learned a lot in the past day and a half.”

  She laughed. “Come now, Agent Drummond. You were all over the news last week. You’re famous, the man who saved the lives of the president and vice president of the United States. And now you’re here, killing off Italians.”

  Nicholas smiled at her.

  She gestured toward a sofa in front of the fire. “Please, have a seat. Can I get you a drink? Scotch? With water?”

  “No, I prefer it straight.”

  “Of course you do. You have that nice straightforward air about you.” Cassandra handed him a crystal lowball and he took a sip of the Scotch, nodded.

  He wondered as he clicked his glass to Cassandra Kohath’s if she would still be standing if Mike were here instead of him. Maybe not, maybe Mike would have already slugged her.

  “It’s excellent.”

  “My brother, Ajax, is quite the liquor connoisseur. Now, enough questions. Tell me, what really bring
s you to my house, Agent Drummond?”

  Before he could answer, she reached for a lamp cord, pulled it. Nothing happened. “Oh, bugger,” she said. “We’ll have to speak by firelight. Don’t be concerned, the lights go out here all the time. It’s being so high on the mountain, you see, and the circuits are old. The generators will kick in shortly.”

  He wondered how long he had until the generator powered the house back up and her people realized all their computers were down. He heard Mike’s voice in his ear again. “Checking in. She’s not here yet, I’m going in farther to see if there’s another door.”

  He said, “I see you’ve done extensive work to the palazzo. You’ve done a nice job.”

  “Thank you. It took us over ten years. The palazzo was a wedding gift from my grandfather to my parents. My brother and I have always loved the house, so filled with Templar history. We wanted it to be beautiful again. I was wondering, Agent Drummond, why did you join the FBI? I mean, for someone like you, with your background, your experiences, the FBI seems rather confining.”

  Nicholas took another sip of Scotch. “No, as it turns out, I’m free to do pretty much what I want and that’s why I’m here in Italy. To catch a thief.”

  “A thief? What did the thief steal?”

  “The staff of Moses, from the Topkapi. Surely you know all about this, being an archaeologist.”

  “Of course. My brother and I found it somewhat amusing.”

  “And why is that?”

  “All archaeologists know the purported staff of Moses at the Topkapi is a fake. So who cares if it was stolen? It doesn’t matter at all.” She raised her Scotch glass to his again. “Still, if you want so desperately to find the thief who stole something quite worthless, then good luck, Agent Drummond.”

  “Thank you. We believe you and your brother had the staff stolen. Since you are a Kohath, you would doubtless want to verify that it was indeed a fake. After all, isn’t the staff of Moses supposed to be inside the Ark of the Covenant?”