The Bone Labyrinth

by James Rollins

  Maria realized they intended to perform the same surgery on Baako. “No,” she blurted out. “I won’t allow it.”

  “It will happen whether you allow it or not. The veterinary surgeons are preparing everything as we speak.”

  “When?” she asked weakly.

  “He’ll be taken to surgery in the morning, after he’s had the night to rest from his travels.”

  Desperate, Maria sought any way to stop this from happening. “If . . . if you do that, I won’t cooperate with any further work. You’ll have to shoot me.”

  Jiaying flicked her gaze to Kowalski. “If it comes to that, you won’t be the first I shoot. And I’ll not be as merciful as I was with Professor Wrightson.”

  Maria glanced to Kowalski.

  He shrugged. “Let them do their worst.”

  Despite his bravado, she saw the tip of his tongue lick his bottom lip, a nervous tic.

  But Jiaying was not finished. She nodded to their armed escort and force-marched them back to the wall of cages. They stopped before the chimpanzee, which mewled in fear and distress. Jiaying reached to a piece of equipment hanging outside the cage and twisted a dial.

  The chimpanzee jerked in its restraints, an ear-splitting screech bursting from its small chest. Its eyes were wide, protruding from its skull, likely blinded by pain.

  “Stop it!” Maria yelled.

  Jiaying simply stood there, oblivious to the suffering.

  Another was not.

  Kowalski suddenly lunged backward, faster than she could have imagined. He barreled into one of the guards and hooked an arm over the rifle barrel. Though the weapon still remained strapped to the guard’s shoulder, Kowalski reached back enough to pull the trigger.

  The rifle blasted loudly.

  The round shot between the cage bars and exploded half of the chimp’s skull. The screaming cut off and the body slumped, hanging limply by its neck.

  Kowalski immediately lifted his arms high and stepped to the side. Both rifles pointed at him. Even Jiaying had her own pistol in hand. Maria waited for the man to be executed.

  Instead, Jiaying holstered her weapon. “I see your zookeeper has as tender a heart as you.” The general faced Maria. “But he will not be able to help you with Baako. If you wish the animal to be kept as comfortable as possible throughout all of this, I will expect not only cooperation from you—but also results.”

  She waved for the guards to escort the group from the lab.

  “It’s been a long night,” Jiaying said. “You’ll be taken to your room.”

  Maria resisted. “Wait! I want to see Baako. To spend this last night with him.”

  Jiaying stared hard at her.

  “Please,” she begged.

  “If you do any harm to him,” she warned, glancing back to the dead chimpanzee, “even an inappropriate act of mercy, another will take his place.”

  Jiaying turned her gaze upon Kowalski.

  Maria hadn’t even considered committing such an act, so she simply nodded.

  “I want to go, too,” Kowalski said, touching his bandaged face. “To help keep Baako calm, to protect Dr. Crandall if necessary.”

  Jiaying sighed, plainly done with arguing. “So be it. I’ll have bedding brought to you. But know that you will be watched throughout the night.”

  Maria reached and touched her fingertips to Kowalski’s hand, silently thanking him. As soon as they passed through the gliding doors of the vivisection lab, everything suddenly struck her at once, overwhelming her.

  What are we going to do? How can I face Baako, knowing what is going to happen to him in the morning?

  Her legs weakened; her knees began to shake.

  Then a strong arm slid around her waist, keeping her upright.

  “We’ll get through this,” Kowalski whispered.

  “How?” She looked up at him.

  He shrugged. “No idea.”

  “Then what—”

  “Just thought that’s what you needed to hear.”

  Oddly, she was strangely comforted by his honesty.

  He half lifted her into the waiting electric cart. “Let’s go check on that big kid.”

  8:44 P.M.

  Baako spots his mother as soon as the double doors open. Joy bursts in his heart at the sight of her. He bounds to the bars and clings to them, hooting at her, letting her know how happy he is.

  As she draws closer, she hugs her fists to her body in a sign he knows well.

  [I love you]

  He drops from the bars, bouncing on his back legs, and repeats her sign.

  [Baako loves Mama]

  She smiles but not as big as usual. He sees sadness in the corners of her eyes. He sniffs and catches a whiff of her fear. It makes him slap his upper arm with his other hand. He does this only when scared.

  She sees this and taps her wrists together.

  [You’re safe]

  She waits for one of the bad men to open the door. He hates the smell of these others. A long black stick pokes between the bars and spits fire at Baako. He fears it and drops back, but he growls deep in his chest and shows his teeth.

  Finally the door swings wide and Mama enters. She comes with another, the big man who can talk with his hands. Yesterday Mama signed his name in letters [J-O-E]. It was back at home, where Baako had his television, his bed, his toys, and his best friend, Tango.

  Baako is glad Tango is not in this bad place.

  Mama comes and puts her arm around him. She squeezes and makes sounds that are warm and full of love. He hoots softly back to her. She leans back. He sees tears on her face. She wipes them with one hand, but more come. She turns away. He chuffs at her, reaching to her cheek with the back of his hand.

  Mama likes when he does this.

  But she does not smile now and does not kiss him on the nose. Instead, more tears roll from her eyes.

  He lowers his arm, then the big man—Joe—squats before him, leaning on the knuckles of a hand like Baako. With his other hand, he signs and speaks the same.

  [Are you okay?]

  Baako shakes his head. He turns so Mama can’t see and waves his fingers in front of his chest. [Scared]

  Joe moves closer. His big hands shape words.

  [We’ll be brave together . . . you and me]

  Joe points to Mama.

  [For her . . . okay]

  Baako nods and repeats the last gesture. [For Mama]

  A large hand reaches to Baako’s shoulders. Strong fingers squeeze hard—but Baako knows it is not meant to hurt him. Baako stares into the man’s eyes, then presses his two fists together, stirring them between them.

  [Together]

  Joe grins and speaks words that Baako knows. “That’s right.”

  By now, the bad men have left, but they had tossed in two curled-up rolls. They are red and smell like feathers. It reminds Baako of his pillows back home. Mama once scolded him for using his teeth to rip the pillows open to get at those feathers.

  Mama and Joe untie the rolls, shaking them so they spread long.

  Curious, Baako nudges between the two.

  Mama signs to him, leaning her head on an open palm.

  [They are beds]

  Baako coughs, disbelieving her. Sometimes Mama teases him. Still, she shows him a zipper. He tries it himself, pulling it back and forth.

  Joe says something that makes Mama laugh. It is good to hear. Joe then shows Baako how to unzip one of the beds. Once it’s open, the man slides his body inside, limbs and all, and pretends to sleep.

  Baako sniffs at the edges, while Joe and Mama talk too fast for him to understand, but he perks up whenever he hears his name. Mama eventually gets him to eat some more bananas; then she wiggles into her own bed.

  Baako stares at the two of them, picking at a zipper.

  Joe pulls a hand from under his bed and pats the space between him and Mama.

  Baako understands and carefully steps there. He circles a few times, making Joe grunt when he accidentally steps o
n him. Then Baako settles down, curling between them.

  Mama kisses him on the forehead like she always does at night. He wiggles closer to her, and she puts her arm around him. He sighs in contentment.

  For the first time here, he feels safe.

  Still, he snakes a hand toward Joe.

  The man’s eyes shine in the dark back at him. Then with a low grumble, a big hand slips out between the zippers and finds Baako’s hand. Fingers wrap around his fingers. They squeeze once, then relax—but don’t let go.

  Joe shakes his head, burrowing deeper. Muffled words flow out. “Happy now?”

  Baako stares at their joined fingers, reading the silent message there, as clear as any moving arms and hands. It is one word and a promise.

  [Together]

  He closes his eyes and answers Joe with his heart.

  Yes.

  16

  April 30, 5:44 P.M. CEST

  Rome, Italy

  “We believe the Chinese still have Kowalski and Maria Crandall stashed somewhere on the zoo property,” Painter said over the secure line.

  With the phone by his ear, Gray stood at a third-story window of the Pontifical Gregorian University. The vacant office belonged to one of Roland’s old colleagues, another medieval historian who was on sabbatical at the moment. After escaping the mountains, Roland had suggested holing up here to regroup for the afternoon and assess what to do next. The priest also wanted to use the university’s vast library to research something that he believed could be important to all of this.

  Gray had used the time to report to Sigma headquarters. “What about that GPS tracker?” he asked. “Have you been able to pick up any more pings off of it?”

  “No, but considering the heightened military presence around the zoo, the Chinese are likely aware that we know of their involvement. At least, that’s Kat’s assessment after hearing from Monk.”

  Gray was sure Kat was worried about her husband—and with good reason. Monk’s face was not one that would exactly blend in with the populace of Beijing.

  Concerned, Gray asked, “So what’s Monk’s next move?”

  “I’ve ordered him and his partner to hang back, to avoid arousing further suspicion. Kat is doing what she can through back channels to learn more. But at the moment, we’re in the dark about the particulars behind their attack on U.S. soil.”

  Not to mention the assaults out here.

  Gray’s face and limbs were covered with a patchwork of small bandages, and what wasn’t covered felt bruised and battered. He tried to make sense of it all.

  “The Chinese clearly wanted those bones discovered in the Croatian cavern,” he said. “And somehow it’s connected to the Crandalls’ research into the genetic source of human intelligence.”

  “That’s likely true. We know the Chinese were secretly funding the Crandalls’ research, bankrolling it through an operative in the National Science Foundation, Dr. Amy Wu. But beyond that, we’re operating in the dark. We need to know what was so important about those bones. It seems that discovery set all of this in motion.”

  “We’re working on some leads out here,” Gray said. He had already informed Painter about what they had found at the Sanctuary of Mentorella and its connection to Father Athanasius Kircher. “At the moment, the Chinese are pursuing this matter purely from a scientific perspective, but we may be able to learn more by following the historical bread crumbs left behind by Kircher.”

  “Why do you believe that?”

  “Because Kircher was clearly onto something, something he deemed important enough to preserve, yet alarming enough to make sure it was kept well hidden. If we could learn what that was, we might get a jump on the Chinese—or if nothing else, we could gain a better understanding of their interest in those bones and the Crandalls’ research.”

  “You might as well do what you can,” Painter said, though his voice sounded doubtful. “Right now we’re in a standoff, so I suppose any new intelligence could prove useful.”

  “I’ll keep you updated.”

  Gray signed off, but he remained at the window, studying the streets below. It didn’t appear they had been followed out of the mountains, but he knew one of the Chinese team—a woman—had survived, fleeing on foot. Kat had been monitoring local law enforcement chatter coming from the area. It seemed a farmer outside the village of Guadagnolo had reported the theft of a motorbike from his barn.

  It couldn’t be a coincidence.

  He searched the roads below the window for that stolen motorbike, but every other vehicle was either a Vespa or some other cycle. As he stood at his post, he noted an upper-story window to his right. The facade of bricks around its frame were slightly blackened, and the panes of glass had been recently replaced. He could almost hear that old explosion from months ago. The window marked the former offices of Monsignor Vigor Verona, an archivist for the Vatican and a professor at this university.

  A sense of foreboding settled over Gray’s shoulders, remembering the loss of his dear friend—and, of course, Vigor’s niece. A pang of guilt lanced through him.

  Rachel . . .

  A hand touched his shoulder, making him flinch. He had not even heard Seichan approach. He had thought she was in the next room, keeping watch on Lena as the woman napped on a couch.

  Seichan wrapped an arm around his waist and turned him from the window. She stared deep into his eyes, easily reading him, knowing his regrets.

  “My mother once told me the world is full of ghosts,” she whispered. “And the longer you live, the more haunted you become.”

  “Mine just told me to sit up straight and keep my elbows off the table.”

  Seichan only sighed at his attempt to defuse the moment. She leaned up and pressed her lips to his mouth, silencing him. He felt the warmth of her, tasted her, inhaling the slight hint of jasmine off her skin. She withdrew enough to speak, her breathy words rising between them.

  “The ghosts are there to remind us that we still live, that we still have hearts that beat, flesh that burns, lungs that gasp for air.” She let her lips brush his again. “Never forget that . . . or those deaths have no meaning.”

  Gray pulled her closer, held her tighter, felt her heartbeat against his ribs as he kissed her deeply.

  I won’t forget.

  A key rattled in the door lock behind them. Gray broke free of their embrace, his hand settling to his holstered pistol. Seichan took a step away, a steel dagger already glinting in her fingertips. The door swung open, revealing the disheveled form of Father Novak.

  Struggling with an armload of books, Roland failed to note their wary stances. “I think I found something that might be important.”

  5:52 P.M.

  The commotion woke Lena, startling her into an immediate panic. With her heart pounding, she shifted up on an elbow on the sofa. She recognized Roland’s excited voice rising from the next room.

  He must have learned something.

  Earlier, she had wanted to go with him when he left—if nothing else, to see the famous Gregorian library for herself—but the stacks of rare books that he had intended to search were off-limits to the public.

  She rubbed her eyes, surprised that she had actually fallen asleep, if only for a brief and fitful time. When she had first tried closing her eyes, she was certain her fear for her sister would keep her awake.

  Must be more exhausted than I thought.

  She glanced at the slit-like window of this small private space of Roland’s colleague. It was little bigger than a closet, with a sofa and a small prayer bench under a cross. It felt less like an office space than a monastic space for contemplation.

  Drawn by the excitement she heard in Roland’s voice, she stood and crossed to the door. In the next room, a small desk stood under a larger window, which was flanked by tall bookcases full of dusty volumes. In the center of the room rested a wide library table, with a cluster of mismatched chairs around it. The lingering odor of old pipe smoke and tobacco was stronger in here,
as if Roland’s colleague had just stepped out.

  “Come see this,” Roland called to her, stacking books on the library table. “If I’m right, it’s simply amazing.”

  Stoked by the fervor in his voice and manner, Lena’s interest quickened.

  Roland reached into his jacket and carefully removed the old journal of Father Kircher, the one found inside the bronze Madonna at the chapel. He reverently placed it on the table next to the other books. The gilt labyrinth shone in the sunlight streaming through the window.

  Gray joined them at the table while Seichan remained near the window, her eyes on the streets below. The woman’s guarded manner was a reminder of the threat that still hung over their heads. It dampened Lena’s curiosity, but only slightly. She knew the best way she could help Maria was to piece together the mystery behind all of this.

  She stared at Kircher’s journal, suspecting the answers might be found within those old pages. While driving to Rome, she had managed to get a brief look inside. The pages were scrawled with a meticulous script, all in Latin, set amid pictures, maps, and pages full of numbers.

  “So were you able to learn anything from Kircher’s journal?” she asked.

  Roland frowned. “Actually I’ve barely had a chance to give it more than a cursory review. It will take many hours, if not weeks, to fully understand the message locked within these pages. But I have made some headway.”

  “Then what were you looking for in the library?” Gray asked. “You never made that clear.”

  “I wanted to research that map inscribed on the inside shell of the bronze Madonna.” Roland pulled out his iPad from his satchel and placed it on the table. “It looked familiar. I recognized it from an earlier work by Father Kircher.”

  Roland woke up the device and pulled up the photo that Lena had taken of the map.

  It showed what appeared to be an island, with crudely delineated rivers and a couple of mountains.

  “What’s that supposed to represent?” Gray asked.

  Roland looked up, his face brimming with amazement. “You won’t believe unless I take you through it. I hardly believe it myself.”

  Lena shifted closer. “Tell us.”