The Bone Labyrinth

by James Rollins

  Something tugged at his sleeve.

  He glanced down to the furry fingers clutching his coveralls. A face pressed against the bars. Dark eyes looked at him.

  Yeah, yeah, I know . . . you’re scared, buddy.

  He pulled his arm free as the elevator door rattled open. He didn’t have time for distractions. He needed to concentrate, to learn the lay of the land in this subterranean complex. For any hope of escape, he had to know the way out.

  A soft, frightened hoot rose from Baako as the forklift backed free of the elevator and into a cavernous warehouse. The space rose two stories, lined by row after row of shelving. Other forklifts buzzed around the room, hauling crates and boxes.

  The tip of a rifle pushed Kowalski out of the elevator and set him to following after Baako’s cage. He did his best to look cowed as he crossed the warehouse. He kept his shoulders slumped while he eyed the shelves for anything that might prove useful, but all of the crates and cartons were labeled in Chinese letters. No telling what each held: could be a crate full of semiautomatic rifles or a box packed with Top Ramen.

  Their party exited the warehouse and continued through a maze of passageways, down ramps, and across a musky underground barnyard that held corrals of goats, sheep, and some sullen-looking sows.

  What the hell is this place?

  As they continued, the number of personnel—mostly wearing lab jackets, uniforms, or work coveralls—slowly waned in number until finally they reached an area bearing angry-looking red signs.

  Even Kowalski could guess their meaning.

  Restricted Area . . . Do Not Enter.

  Their group pushed onward anyway, encountering no more people. Finally they reached a long cellblock of sorts, lined by a row of barred pens along one side, each the size of a single-car garage. The cages all appeared empty, but from the number of scratches, gouges, and stains in the concrete, they had seen some hard use.

  At the far end, massive steel doors stood closed, sealed like a bank vault with a glowing crimson sign above it. One of the guards pointed toward it, but another knocked his arm down and scolded the man. Clearly even curiosity about whatever lay beyond those doors was harshly discouraged.

  Kowalski squinted at it.

  Interesting . . .

  But it wasn’t their destination. The forklift halted midway along the row of concrete cells, and the driver barked in Chinese. A guard ran forward and unlocked one of the pens, while the forklift operator lowered Baako’s cage to the floor. Two other soldiers moved forward, slipping their rifles over their shoulders and pulling out electric prods. The fourth guard kept his rifle steadied on Kowalski’s chest, but the man kept far enough back in case his captive should try anything.

  The soldiers with the prods yelled and stabbed at Baako as he cowered at the rear of the cage. His door was yanked open, and they tried to force Baako into the neighboring pen. Kowalski could only imagine the terror in that trembling form.

  “Enough!” he finally yelled. He lifted his arms, showing his empty palms in a pantomime of cooperation. “Let me get him out before you give him a goddamned heart attack.”

  Kowalski didn’t know if any of his captors spoke English, but he made his intent clear by slowly stepping to the open door of Baako’s cage and waving the furry guy toward him.

  “It’s okay, Baako,” he said. “We’ll do this together.”

  Whether the soldiers understood him or not, they gave him some space.

  Kowalski leaned through the door. Baako panted heavily, his lips thin with terror, his gaze darting everywhere. He looked one breath away from a total meltdown.

  Kowalski patted his own chest. Look at me, buddy.

  Baako’s eyes settled in his direction.

  Kowalski lifted his arms and began to sign slowly, appealing to Baako’s prior teaching, to use the familiar to draw him away from the edge of blind panic. He ended by crossing his fists and tapping them together at the wrist.

  [I will protect you]

  Baako continued to breathe hard, but his gaze steadied. He loosened his arms from where they were hugging his hairy knees and bumped his own fists together, grunting softly.

  Kowalski nodded. “That’s right.”

  Baako reached out a hand toward him. Kowalski momentarily flashed to his younger sister, Anne. She had often reached out to him like this, sought comfort from her older brother whenever she was scared, whether at a doctor’s office or during one of his father’s drunken rages.

  Warm fingers wrapped around his.

  That’s it, buddy.

  Kowalski guided Baako off the forklift, down to the floor, and over to the concrete pen. From one cage to another.

  One of the guards barked at them. Fingers tightened to a crushing level on Kowalski’s hand. He gritted through the pain and waved his free hand at the group of soldiers.

  “Just get the hell back!” he scolded as he walked Baako into the pen.

  It was a pitiful confinement. The concrete floor was covered by a skim of scattered straw. A bucket in the corner was half full of greenish water. There were no toys to play with, no ropes to swing from, nothing to distract from the grim surroundings. Worst of all, a set of steel manacles hung ominously from the rear wall.

  A guard called to him, softer at least this time. The man waved, ordering him out.

  Kowalski stared down at the fingers still holding tight to him.

  Fuck it.

  He sank to his rear end on the cold concrete and patted the straw next to him, urging Baako to join him, then called to the soldier, “I’m staying.”

  Better here than anywhere else.

  The soldier huddled with his comrades; then they seemed to reach some consensus. One of them picked up a woven bushel that held bundles of bruised bananas, carrots, and branches of leaves. He dropped it across the threshold, then kicked it closer to them. Another soldier clanged the door closed and locked it with a large key.

  “Guess they got the message,” Kowalski mumbled to himself.

  The forklift reversed away, drawing the soldiers along with it. A set of double doors was slammed closed behind them as they retreated out of the cellblock, but not before Kowalski spotted one of the soldiers taking up a post outside.

  So they’re not taking any chances with their new prisoners.

  Kowalski freed his hand from Baako’s fingers and stood back up. He glanced to the other end of the hall, toward that sealed steel vault. He noted a palm reader glowing beside it, and a row of cameras hanging along the roof outside the cages, their lenses pointed toward the pens.

  Baako also used the opportunity to take in his surroundings, sniffing at the air. Then he lowered his nose closer to a dark stain beneath the straw. Whatever he smelled caused him to retreat away.

  Kowalski didn’t blame him. It looked like dried blood.

  To distract Baako, Kowalski hauled up the bushel of food and joined the ape. “Not exactly pizza and beer, but it’ll have to do.”

  He lowered the container, pulled out a banana, and offered it. Baako sank to his haunches, turning a shoulder, refusing. The ape hadn’t eaten since he was captured. Maria had gotten him to drink a little, but that was about it.

  “You gotta eat,” Kowalski said.

  Baako turned back and touched his lips, his eyes still scared.

  Crap, forgot about that tracker band . . .

  Kowalski shifted to put himself between the cameras and Baako. He held out his hand. “It’s okay. Spit it out.”

  Baako understood enough to obey. The saliva-soaked band dropped into his palm. Keeping his back to the cameras, Kowalski examined it. The green light that normally glowed from the GPS unit was barely lit. It was running out of juice.

  Not that it’s doing any good buried under all of this concrete anyway.

  Kowalski swore under his breath.

  Baako chuffed worriedly, ducking his head lower, perhaps believing Kowalski was mad at him.

  “It’s not you, buddy.” He pocketed the tracker a
way, forgetting about it for now. At this moment, he had a more immediate concern. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

  He held out the banana again but only got a forlorn look from his cellmate. His sister, Anne, had often made a similar face when he tried to get her to eat. Sometimes her anorexia was secondary to pain, but more often than not it was a reflection of her brother’s pitiful attempt at cooking.

  Kowalski dropped down next to Baako. He put the banana on his lap, then lifted his arms to the side, balling his fists and flexing his biceps.

  [You must be strong]

  He repeated the sign, altering it slightly, by forming claws of his hands, then clenching them into fists.

  [And brave]

  He finally pinched his fingers and brought them to his closed lips.

  [So you must eat]

  Baako looked at the banana. Kowalski picked it up, peeled it, and offered it again.

  Baako finally reached over and took it. He put the peeled end between his lips, then mimicked Kowalski’s first sign, raising his fists and flexing his arms. He finished by pointing at Kowalski.

  [You be strong, too]

  Baako bit through the banana and held out the other half.

  Grimacing, Kowalski stared down at what was offered, then simply shrugged.

  What the hell . . .

  He took the banana, peeled it the rest of the way, and popped it in his mouth.

  A guy’s gotta eat.

  3:13 P.M.

  Where are they taking me?

  Fearing what lay ahead, Maria moved through an opulent hallway. The walls were covered in a crimson silk print, the lintels of the windows gilded in gold. Underfoot was a handwoven rug that looked like a tapestry.

  Where am I?

  After being separated from Kowalski and Baako, she had been taken down an elevator by Gao to a subterranean complex beneath the park, where another soldier met them with an electric vehicle and drove them through the underground facility. As they were swept along, she had caught glimpses through windows into large laboratories. She recognized equipment used in genetic research: thermocyclers for amplifying DNA, hybridization ovens for incubating nucleotide probes, centrifuges for the fractionation of macromolecules. One room even had a SequiGene Vertical Gel Apparatus, identical to her own at her lab, used for sequencing DNA.

  Finally they reached another elevator, and Gao forced her at gunpoint into the cage, which rose up into this older building. From the scrolled woodwork and antique furnishings of this structure, it felt as if she had been transported from the modern age to the seventeenth century. Along the length of the hallway, small windows offered views down to a lagoon holding flocks of wading birds, and beyond the trees, the rest of the animal park.

  So I’m still on the zoo property.

  Ahead, a man stood post before a closed door, dressed in a khaki uniform and tall black boots. Though several years older than her, he was handsome in a roguish way, a feature magnified by his warm smile as he greeted them—or rather, greeted her companion.

  “Gao, huānyíng huí jiā, dìdi.”

  Gao holstered his pistol and hugged the other. “Xiè xie, Chang.”

  From the informal and affectionate embrace, she guessed they were brothers, recognizing now the family resemblance. As they continued speaking in hushed tones, she noted the subtle deference of Gao to his older brother—not just because of the age difference, but likely also because his brother had a higher rank.

  Finally the senior brother—Chang—knocked on the door, got a muffled response, and opened it. Chang entered first, then Gao pushed her forward to follow.

  She remembered Gao’s earlier warning about where she was being taken.

  To see Major General Lau. To see if you will live.

  Maria had been expecting to be interrogated by some stoic-faced older member of the Chinese Army. Instead, as she stepped in the room, she found a thin woman in a starched green uniform standing behind a broad desk. She had a chestful of colorful ribbons and the epaulets of her jacket carried two stars. From her gray hair and the lines on her face, Maria guessed her to be in her midfifties.

  And the woman was not alone.

  Two older men—neither of them Chinese—also shared the space, seated on a neighboring sofa. In addition, two armed guards flanked the broad window behind the general’s desk.

  The older of the two men rose to his feet. Confusion and shock registered in his eyes as he fixed his glasses more firmly to his face and studied her up and down.

  “Lena?”

  Maria had grown accustomed to this confusion and corrected the man. “Lena is my twin sister . . . I’m Maria.”

  “Of course, of course,” the man said, sinking back down, looking abashed at his mistake.

  She didn’t need to hear his British accent to know this must be Professor Alex Wrightson, the geologist who had discovered the cavern system in Croatia. Monk had shown her pictures of the two kidnapped researchers back at the primate center. The other was plainly the French paleontologist, Dr. Dayne Arnaud. Though he was a couple of decades younger than the geologist, at the moment he looked as haggard and aged.

  The woman stepped around her desk. “Dr. Crandall, I’m a great admirer of your work. I am Jiaying Lau, major general of the People’s Liberation Army.”

  The general held out her hand. Maria took it, not wanting to be rude to the woman who would decide her fate.

  Jiaying’s gaze shifted next to Gao and his older brother. She said something swiftly in Mandarin and pointed back toward the door. Chang voiced some objection, looking perturbed, but he was overruled by his superior. He left stiffly with Gao in tow.

  Witnessing their irritation, Maria felt incrementally warmer toward her host.

  Still, Maria cleared her throat and took the offensive. She kept her back straight and her voice firm. “How do you know about my work?”

  Jiaying waved her to a chair opposite the sofa. “Who do you think financed your research?”

  The shock more than the invitation dropped Maria heavily into the seat. “What . . . what do you mean?”

  “Your advocate with the National Science Foundation, the woman who sat on the White House’s science council and helped you and your sister with your research grants—”

  “Amy . . .”

  Jiaying bowed her head in acknowledgment. “Dr. Wu was well paid to facilitate the flow of money from the Academy of Military Science here in Beijing to your primate center in the United States. It was a shame to lose her.”

  Lose her?

  Maria tried to keep her face dispassionate while her mind did cartwheels trying to absorb all she was being told. If this story was true, it meant she and Lena had been working for the Chinese all along. They were puppets whose strings were being pulled by Amy Wu.

  How could that be?

  Maria had considered Amy a friend. But instead, the woman was some sort of mole. As her breathing grew more labored, Maria wanted to lower her head between her knees. She remembered how hard Amy had pushed her and Lena, driving them to work faster, to set aside their initial misgivings about producing a gorilla hybrid model to test their theories.

  Maria had always harbored a distaste at the idea of using great apes in research. She’d had heated debates with Amy on this very subject. Apes were intelligent animals with a rich emotional and cognitive life. They showed self-consciousness, with an ability to understand their individual role in the past and future. What right did humans have to imprison them and torture them in the name of science?

  Still, in the end, Amy had found ways to persuade her, to allay her concerns, to wheedle her into pushing past the boundaries of her own comfort.

  Yet look what I did.

  Deep down, Maria knew Amy was not fully to blame. She had let herself be won over because she had wanted to know the truth herself, to prove her hypothesis concerning the Great Leap Forward. But most of all, she had wanted to see if she could succeed where so many others had failed.

&n
bsp; Including the Chinese.

  She and Lena had developed innovative hybridization and germ-line engineering techniques that were still unpublished and proprietary. Not even Amy had been fully informed.

  Thank God.

  Maria began to understand why she had been kidnapped, but such techniques were more Lena’s specialty than hers. Her sister was the technical expert, dealing with this project at the molecular level. Maria’s role was more about tackling the bigger picture: the raising, educating, and testing of Baako.

  “We hope you’ll be willing to continue your research here,” Jiaying said, confirming Maria’s fears. “I understand your distaste for our methods in bringing you and your test subject to our shores. But we’re both scientists, searching for the truth. Ultimately, what does it matter if your research is conducted here or in the States? If you cooperate, you could have a wonderful life, with the full resources of the Chinese government at your disposal, with none of the red tape or ethical limitations that bound your hands in the United States.”

  Maria tried to look interested instead of horrified.

  “Of course,” Jiaying added, “this applies to your sister, too.”

  “Lena?”

  Before Maria had been kidnapped, she had been awaiting word from Croatia about a search-and-rescue effort to extract her sister from some flooded caves. She had heard nothing after that.

  “Is . . . is she still alive?” Maria gasped out.

  “She has been spotted in Zagreb,” Jiaying confirmed. “We hope to facilitate a reunion of you and your sister soon.”

  Maria clutched her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking. She glanced to the two men.

  Professor Wrightson offered her a wan smile. “As long as she’s still alive, there’s always hope.”

  Dr. Arnaud would not meet her gaze, clearly not as optimistic.

  Maria sought to change the subject. “Why did you raid those caves to begin with? Was it just to grab my sister?”