The Bone Labyrinth

by James Rollins

  She imagined the empress staring through this same window and pictured herself similarly, a queen of all she surveyed.

  And in so many important ways that was true.

  She might not have full control over the zoo’s many exhibition halls, nor the fifteen thousand animals housed across the two hundred acres of parklands—but she had full authority to what lay below it, an excavation worthy of the more recent constructions built for the Beijing Summer Olympics. And her installation had a goal far more important than gaining global recognition and attention.

  Jiaying closed her eyes, taking in the breadth of her project.

  It had all started from a seed stolen thousands of kilometers away and planted deep underground here, where it had already taken root and promised greater glory for her country. That seed had come from a valley in southwest Tibet, not far from the borders of Nepal and India. It was a spot sacred to Buddhists and Hindus. The source of that holiness was Mount Kailash. It was the highest of the valley’s snowcapped peaks, where supposedly Lord Shiva resided in eternal meditation.

  She scowled at such ancient superstitions as she let out a breath, opening her eyes to the skyline of Beijing beyond the zoo’s borders. She had studied at the University of Science and Technology here, where she was eventually recruited by the deputy secretary general to train at the Academy of Military Science. Her back drew straighter, remembering that honor. She had been nineteen at the time, when her future was a book of blank pages, yet to be written upon.

  But that was over four decades ago.

  She caught her reflection in the window, noting her gray hair, cut short and combed meticulously behind her ears. She read her past history in the lines of her face. She had no children and no husband, was married instead to her career in the military. She stood now dressed in her pine-green uniform, a single star emblazoned on her epaulets, marking her rank as shàojiàng, a major general in the People’s Liberation Army. She polished each star every morning, but over the passing years she did so with a measure of bitterness, frustrated with the lack of additional stars to grace her uniform.

  She knew her career had stagnated—both because she was a woman and because she worked within the PLA’s scientific division. Still, it didn’t keep her from wishing to earn additional stars, possibly even to be tapped as the PLA’s military science director, a position no woman had ever attained. That was her objective, but to succeed in that next step meant first proving her worth here. She was gambling her entire career and reputation in this venture.

  It must not fail.

  Below her window, a blue lagoon held a plethora of long-legged cranes, their plumage glowing in shades of white and pink, all overhung by a leafy green bower dappled with flowers. She drew it all in. Beyond the lagoon rose the numerous animal halls and aviaries of the zoo, set amid faux savannahs and wound through by streams and dotted by a score of interconnected ponds. Far on the opposite side of the park stood the zoo’s prized attraction and compound, drawing hundreds of thousands of visitors a year: the panda house.

  Still, as magnificent as the park appeared, it was what lay tunneled and excavated beneath these grounds that truly housed the marvels of the natural world: over thirty thousand square meters of laboratories, pens, and climate-controlled habitats. Inspiration for this installation had come when a similar research facility was discovered hidden beneath the Baghdad Zoo, exposed during the U.S. invasion in 2003.

  But her station dwarfed the feeble effort of the Iraqis, extending beneath the full breadth of the city’s zoo. Initially, her facility’s forays into genetic studies had been rudimentary, but as the refinements in techniques grew exponentially over the past years, so did her hopes for what she had started.

  Then came a breakthrough, a discovery that changed everything, found on the sacred slopes of Mount Kailash in Tibet . . .

  For more than a decade, a small anthropological research station had been established in that remote valley, studying the genomes of the local people. The site had been chosen because of the flow of pilgrims to the area, drawing people from far and wide. The anthropologists had been building a genetic database of the ancient migration patterns throughout the region. The military had funded this research to support China’s claims during local border disputes, the boundaries of which were still under much disagreement, involving conflicts with India, Tibet, Nepal, and Bhutan.

  Along with gathering those genetic samples, the anthropologists had also collected stories, tales of the sightings of rare animals, like the elusive snow leopard or the Tibetan blue bear. Over time, the local shepherds and herdsmen began to bring samples to the scientists: bits of fossilized bone, old ratty hides, chunks of petrified wood.

  Then eight years ago, a local Tibetan herder guided one of the researchers to a cave high up the slopes of Mount Kailash, far above the snow line, grounds considered too sacred to tread. The herder claimed to have discovered the lair of a yeti, the infamous monster of the Himalayas. Such tales flourished across the centuries, rising from every country, the creature going by many different names. In Bhutan, the yeti was known as the Migo; among the Chinese mountain tribes, the Alma. But the discovery that day was not the lair of a yeti, but a cavern holding a scientific treasure far greater than any found before.

  It was fortuitous that the researcher on hand was a fellow member of the Academy of Military Science. He kept his discovery secret and contacted the deputy director of the academy, who sent Jiaying Lau to investigate. Upon realizing the full implication—and the possibilities—she confiscated what was found there and brought it to Beijing, where she secretly gathered the best and brightest of the Chinese scientific community: zoologists, archaeologists, molecular biologists, genetic engineers, even experts in reproductive and developmental studies.

  The zoo and her installation were the perfect place to investigate an enigma that could change mankind forever. But for this mission to succeed, especially under the timetable given her, no lapses in security could be tolerated.

  “Qıˇng bú shì . . .” the man pleaded once again.

  The petitioner—a twenty-eight-year-old computer tech named Quon Zheng—had used the military’s satellite communication to place an unauthorized call last night. He had been attempting to reach a girlfriend in Shanghai. While there was no nefarious intent behind the young man’s action, such contact with the larger world was strictly forbidden by those employed here.

  Jiaying closed her eyes, remembering that hard climb up the sacred mountain of Kailash, the supposed seat of Lord Shiva, the destroyer of illusions.

  Her own family name of Lau meant to destroy.

  She took strength from that.

  “Take him,” she ordered the two soldiers at the door. “Cast him into the Ark.”

  A cry rose from Quon, one of horror and fright. He did not have the clearance to fully comprehend where he was being taken, but rumors abounded in such a close-knit community, of people vanishing, never to be heard from again.

  She stiffened her back as he was dragged away. She stared out at the blue lagoon at the cranes stalking slowly through the water.

  A new voice rose behind her, catching her off guard. “Chéngmahn, Shàojiàng Lau.”

  The apology for the interruption was in Cantonese. Though the manner of speech was respectful, she still bristled at the veiled insult. She had been raised in an impoverished village in the Guangdong province of southern China, where Cantonese was spoken. She knew the speaker was reminding her of her humble origins, knowing Mandarin, the official dialect of China, was a second language for her.

  Jiaying turned and answered crisply in Mandarin. “You are not interrupting, Zhōngxiào Sun.” She kept her voice polite but stressed his rank—lieutenant colonel—reminding the officer of his inferior status. “What is it?”

  Chang Sun gave a bow of his head before speaking. He stood as tall as she and was dressed as crisply in a khaki uniform, but he was two decades younger than her and carried all the hallmarks of y
outh: firm muscle, dark black hair, and an unlined face; also raw ambition shone from his eyes.

  Chang was the same officer whom that Tibetan herder had guided up to the cave on the snowy slopes of Mount Kailash. His discovery there and his expanded role here earned him a promotion in rank—but like her, he wanted this venture to push him higher, even if it meant climbing over her.

  “I thought you should know that my team has arrived with the package from Croatia,” he said. “They are being brought over as we speak.”

  “Very good. And what of the other package, the one from the United States?”

  “Still en route, but they should be landing within the next few hours.”

  She nodded her acknowledgment, giving the man grudging respect. While she commanded this installation, Chang Sun coordinated the military and intelligence facets of the operation. His role was to be her strong arm abroad—but she also recognized how much he would like to turn that upon her someday.

  Knowing that, she sought to knock him down a peg. “I heard we lost our contact within the White House’s scientific establishment, that she was shot during the operation in Atlanta.”

  Chang lowered his gaze. “A regrettable loss, but one we must now prove was worth it.”

  She knew this last was directed at her. As the scientific head of this project, it would be up to her and her team here to justify such a loss.

  “And what of those loose ends in Croatia?” she pressed. “Have they been cleaned up?”

  She kept her voice steady, but frustration still burned. Chang’s intelligence sources had learned too late that the American geneticist’s twin sister had been on site in those mountains. The woman had arrived a day earlier than expected. The plan had been to kidnap her from Leipzig before she left Germany. With both sisters in hand, she could have leveraged the one against the other to gain their respective cooperation. Furthermore, that lapse in intelligence required accelerating their plans to raid the U.S. primate lab. Such a rushed timetable likely contributed to the loss of their operative in the White House.

  “We believe Dr. Lena Crandall is dead,” Chang said, “but the search continues to corroborate this.”

  “And the ten men you lost out there?”

  Chang sighed, showing rare irritation. “Their bodies are clean. No one will be able to trace them back to us. We’ve already prepared a statement of denial if any accusations are made.”

  “Do you have any thoughts about who took out your men?”

  Chang shook his head, his eyes tightening with anger—not at the deaths of his comrades, but at this black mark upon his record. “Still unknown.”

  “Perhaps that is something you should concentrate on,” she suggested, happy to direct his attentions elsewhere. She motioned to the door. “I should prepare to greet our guests.”

  “Yes, Major General Lau.” He bowed his way out.

  She returned her attention to the window, staring out at the blue lagoon as the sun rose on this new day. Still, she pictured another lake, one that lay within the shadow of Mount Kailash in Tibet: Lake Rakshastal, the Devil’s Lake, named for its bitter waters and the ten-headed demon said to lurk in its depths.

  She frowned at her reflection, knowing there were things worse than demons in this world.

  Especially as I had a hand in creating them.

  6:44 A.M.

  With his wrists cuffed behind him, Quon Zheng stumbled along the hall. Two soldiers flanked him. One held his elbow; the other wielded an electric prod that encouraged him to keep moving. They moved down a long wide hall that cut through the heart of the facility, heading toward its far end, where few were allowed to trespass. Some faces stared at him as he was marched along, but those gazes quickly dropped in fear. Bodies hurriedly shuffled out of his way.

  From a side hall, a cadre of four soldiers appeared, guarding a pair of older men who looked exhausted, their wrists also bound behind them. Another two soldiers carried a large coffin-like crate at the team’s rear. He imagined the group had come from the military helipads that serviced this facility.

  He gazed anxiously in that direction and remembered arriving here ten months ago himself, so hopeful, so proud. His eyes now clouded with tears, picturing his elderly mother, who loved to visit the tea gardens of Shanghai, and his younger sister, who doted upon her. He also remembered the glow of his girlfriend’s eyes in the dark, the brush of her lips.

  Voices drew his attention closer. The newly arrived captives whispered to each other in English, searching all around. The pair was rushed headlong, most likely being taken to Major General Lau’s office. Quon caught the eyes of the older of the two gentlemen. The man looked equally scared, but his voice was steady, his accent British. The stranger called to Quon, perhaps sensing an ally in someone similarly under guard.

  “You there! What is this place?”

  Quon knew enough English to understand and forced out one word, both warning and description of this place: “dìyù . . .” He craned back as they passed and repeated. “Tā shì dìyù!”

  The strangers were swept down the hall and away from him, but the other captive’s shocked exclamation trailed back to Quon, this one’s words flavored by a French accent.

  “That man said . . . he said this place is hell.”

  Quon wanted to cry out, to tell them more, but his back exploded with pain as the electric prod bit into his side. He gasped and kept his feet only because of the iron grip on his elbow.

  He was half dragged, half prodded down the rest of the hall and through a warren of other passageways. In neighboring rooms, he spotted pens of sheep, even stalls holding the shaggy bulks of yaks. Finally they reached a tall archway over a large black steel door. A sign above it glowed in fiery crimson.

  “No!” Quon moaned, reading the name.

  The Ark.

  Rumors were whispered about this vault, though few had ever seen what was hidden behind those tall steel doors.

  One of the guards placed his palm on a blue-glowing reader on the neighboring wall. Moments later, the thick vault swung open with a sigh of hydraulics.

  A gust of cold air reached Quon, smelling of something muskier than even the yaks he had passed. The hairs on his neck stood on end. He backed away, responding with an instinctual terror. But strong hands gripped his shoulders. His wrists were cut free, and he was shoved through the opening.

  He fell to his knees just beyond the threshold, finding himself inside a cage. Beyond the thick bars, a large habitat opened, cut out of the natural bedrock. The walls rose twenty meters high, forming a steep-walled pit, the floor strewn with black boulders. To either side, the cliff faces were pitted with caves, some close to the ground, others higher up.

  As he cowered, the vault sealed behind him.

  His heart pounded harder in his chest.

  Please, no . . .

  From the caves, shadows stirred. Then closer at hand, one of the boulders shifted, unfolding to reveal an inexplicable horror.

  Quon screamed, scrabbling back against the steel vault—as the door to his small cage rattled upward.

  SECOND

  T0HE RELIC OF EVE

  Σ

  10

  April 30, 5:45 A.M. CEST

  Zagreb, Croatia

  Gray read the mix of hope and fear in Lena Crandall’s face as he entered the small kitchen. Hand-hewn rafters supported the low ceiling, while the walls were exposed bricks dating back to the seventeenth century. The kitchen belonged to the rectory of Saint Catherine’s Church in Zagreb, the capital of Croatia. The geneticist was seated at an old oak-plank table at the back. Behind her, a fire crackled and popped in a soot-blackened stone fireplace.

  “Is there any news about Maria?” Lena asked.

  Seichan also looked on expectantly. She pushed away from the neighboring counter and passed him a steaming mug of coffee. He accepted it, while also nabbing a cheese pastry from a platter behind her—something called štrukli—and crossed to the table.

  �
�I did get an update from Washington,” Gray said. “They’re still monitoring the GPS tracker believed to be with your sister’s party, but they’re only getting an intermittent signal.”

  Lena lowered her eyes, her hands clasped tightly together atop the table. “Those monitoring bands were meant for short-range use. A precaution to help us keep track of Baako if he should ever lose himself in the center’s woods or get beyond the fences.”

  Gray tried to picture that hybrid gorilla. During last night’s treacherous ride over the stormy mountains from Ogulin to Zagreb, Lena had described her research study—along with its unusual subject. The raid of that primate research center had to be connected to the attack here.

  But how and why?

  He pictured Kowalski’s face, wondering if the man was still alive.

  Lena looked equally fearful for her twin sister.

  He tried to reassure her. “For now the tracker is continuing to work, well enough for us to know the signal is moving west across the Pacific. We have a team already in the air, following and narrowing that gap. Once the kidnappers make landfall, we’ll close a noose around them.”

  He avoided mentioning Painter’s larger fear: that these two attacks were likely orchestrated by a faction out of China. If so, rescuing Maria’s group after they reached the mainland could prove problematic at best.

  Impossible at worst.

  Lena raised another worry. “Those bands remain charged for only a day or so. If the batteries go out before they land, there’ll be no tracking them after that.”

  Gray settled to a bench at the table. Painter hadn’t mentioned that detail.

  If he even knew about it.

  Either way, there was not much more Gray could do to help. Painter had assigned him to get Lena safely back to the States. They were awaiting details and instructions concerning that itinerary.

  “What about Professor Wrightson and Dr. Arnaud?” Lena asked.

  He shook his head. If the British geologist and French paleontologist were still alive, they were likely long gone from the area. His priority was to maintain a low profile, to keep Lena’s survival under wraps until she could be extracted. Father Novak had helped facilitate that, offering the use of his church once they had reached the city, a place to hole up for the remainder of the night. They had all gotten a few hours of sleep on some cots in a back room, but sunrise was only an hour away.