The Bone Labyrinth

by James Rollins

  Cooperation?

  Maria wanted to tackle the woman, gouge her eyes out. Instead, she glanced over to Arnaud, whose face mirrored her own dread.

  Jiaying surely sensed her mood, but chose to ignore it. “At the moment, it’s your further cooperation that I’d like to discuss.”

  “I’m not leaving Baako,” she said firmly.

  “And I wouldn’t expect otherwise, Dr. Crandall. In fact, the surgical team believes you can be of great help this morning.”

  She frowned. “Help? How?”

  “They’ll be performing a modified version of the Montreal procedure, where the craniotomy and electrode placement will be done with the patient awake.”

  “Awake?” She could not keep the horror from her voice.

  Jiaying lifted a palm, trying to reassure her. “It is safe and relatively painless.” She pointed to the lead surgeon. “Dr. Han will use a drug to reverse the tranquilizer, then switch over to a propofol intravenous drip. After applying a local anesthetic scalp block, they’ll be able to perform the craniotomy under a light sedation. Once the brain is exposed, they’ll fully wake the patient. And that’s when your expertise will be needed.”

  “For what?”

  “To talk to your research subject.”

  Despite the brutality of it all, Maria understood what was being asked of her. “You want me to challenge Baako with questions as you stimulate various parts of his brain with electricity.”

  She nodded. “From those responses, the research team will build a highly accurate map of the brain’s architecture. It will help them plant those electrode needles in the most critical sections for future neurological testing.”

  Maria swallowed. As appalling at it sounded, it made cold clinical sense. She tried to imagine Baako awake, with his head clamped to this table, his skull cut open. No wonder they had put him in ankle and wrist restraints. He would be terrified, looking to her for solace and comfort.

  How can I face those eyes, so full of trust and love?

  She wanted to refuse, but she also knew she had to be here for Baako.

  Still, a moan escaped her. “Please, don’t do this.”

  “I do not discount your concern, Dr. Crandall, but science must be dispassionate. We each have a role to play here.” Jiaying motioned to the French paleontologist. “This morning, Dr. Arnaud will be doing a thorough analysis of those hybrid Neanderthal remains found in Croatia. Once we’re finished here, I’ll need you to join him, to help harvest as much viable DNA from those bones as possible.”

  By now Maria had begun to tune Jiaying out. She couldn’t think beyond what was about to happen to Baako. Nothing else mattered.

  Fingers suddenly gripped her arm, snapping her attention back to Jiaying, who continued speaking. “—to ensure your cooperation.”

  “What?” she asked with a confused shake of her head.

  Jiaying drew her by the arm toward the back of the vivisection lab. “I was explaining that there would be a price to be paid for failure. But perhaps showing you will have more of an impact.”

  Maria was taken to the windows that overlooked the grim habitat known as the Ark. Once again, she found herself staring into the boulder-strewn pit. She searched below but failed to spot any of the hybrid creatures. Likely they were slumbering in those dark caves that lined the walls. Still, she noted the pile of broken bones on the floor, all gnawed clean. She remembered the severed arm being flung against the window. A smear of dry blood still stained the glass.

  Then movement drew her attention to the side, toward a cage in front of the massive steel door below. That vault eased open, and a tall figure was shoved into the waiting cage. He fell to his knees as the door resealed behind him. His face turned up toward the windows.

  Kowalski . . .

  “We’ll have little need for your gorilla’s caretaker after this morning’s operation,” Jiaying explained. “Except as an incentive to your cooperation.”

  Maria understood, her gaze returning to the pile of bones.

  I help them . . . or Kowalski dies.

  A small sound drew her attention back to the lab. She turned to find Baako stirring on the table. A bleary, frightened hoot escaped his throat as he tugged at one of his wrist restraints. They must have already given him the reversal drug to the tranquilizer, partially waking him.

  Jiaying looked in the same direction. “Time to get to work, Dr. Crandall.”

  9:19 A.M.

  Now or never . . .

  From the apartment courtyard below, Monk watched the soldier bend down and reach for the GPS unit. They were running out of time to act. Monk knew they only had a narrow window before their target figured out what had been planted in his pocket.

  Monk started to lunge toward the stairs, but Kimberly grabbed him by the arm.

  “Let me,” she whispered. She drew him back and stepped forward. “Follow my lead.”

  As Monk trailed her, she set off at a brisk but unhurried pace toward the staircase. Once there, she climbed the stairs, all while chattering angrily back at him in Mandarin, plainly chastising him. While this was clearly an act—playing the angry wife to a recalcitrant husband—her eyes cast daggers at him, urging him to keep his head down, his manner calm and subdued.

  Monk tipped the brim of his cap lower. Over the years, he had learned a life lesson from Kat. A wife is always right. And in this case, even an invented one.

  They reached the gallery that ran along this level of the complex. Apartment doors stretched ahead. Still scolding Monk, Kimberly continued toward the soldier, who was on one knee, examining the GPS unit in his fingers.

  With his head down, Monk glanced around, noting several other residents leaning on railings or smoking and gabbing with neighbors. In the courtyard below, a handful of children laughed and played at a small swing set.

  Monk recognized how foolhardy his first impulse had been. If he had charged headlong toward his target, all hell might have broken loose. Or at the very least, their cover would have been completely blown.

  Though at the moment, both outcomes were still a distinct possibility.

  Ahead, the soldier took out his cell phone, preparing to report on his discovery.

  Not good.

  Kimberly reached his side first, barking at him to get out of her way. Apparently she was as skilled at delivering a tongue-lashing as she was with her espionage talents.

  The soldier rose quickly and mumbled apologetically. He turned to his apartment door and jangled his keys into the lock. As he pushed the door open, Kimberly shouldered into him from behind and knocked him sprawling across the threshold. She followed him inside.

  Monk dashed to keep at her heels.

  “Close the door,” she ordered as she stepped forward and kicked the steel-shod toe of her boot into the soldier’s forehead. His head snapped back, and he went limp—out cold for the moment. “Get his weapon. Haul him inside.”

  Kimberly stepped past his prostrate form and withdrew a Glock from a holster under her jacket. She quickly swept the one-bedroom apartment, while Monk stripped the soldier of his sidearm. He then grabbed the man by his shoulders and dragged him into the living room. The motion drew a moan from their captive.

  “Patient’s waking up,” Monk whispered.

  Kimberly tossed him a roll of duct tape. Monk wasn’t sure if she had found it or if she simply had it on her. The woman was spookily prepared.

  Monk taped the man’s mouth, then wound several loops around his wrists and ankles. As Monk trussed up their captive, Kimberly searched the soldier’s body, removing items from various pockets of his uniform: a folded map, a chain of electronic keycards, a wallet.

  She checked the latter. “Say hello to Gao Sun. From his papers and rank insignia, he’s a first lieutenant in the Chinese army.”

  By now, the man had grown clearheaded enough to glower at them. Monk kept a knee on his throat, putting firm pressure there.

  “What now?” he asked. “While this isn’t my fi
rst rodeo, you obviously know this country far better than I do.”

  She studied their prisoner. “He’s not likely to give up anything vital. From what I read about the events in Croatia, the Chinese assault team members committed suicide before allowing themselves to be captured or interrogated.”

  “So what do we do with him?”

  She lifted her Glock while taking a pillow off the sofa. “We can’t risk him getting free or someone finding him.”

  Monk wondered if she was truly hard-hearted enough to kill the man in cold blood. “Wait,” he warned.

  He stood and crossed back toward the door. He retrieved the cell phone the man had dropped. He tried to access it but found it locked.

  Kimberly noted his frustration and held out her hand. “Let me see it.”

  He passed her the phone.

  She examined it. “It’s fingerprint protected.” She turned to their captive, and with Monk’s help, got his thumb on the sensor. The screen bloomed to life. She swept through a few screens, then nodded. “I can change the password manually from here, so we can access it whenever we want without needing his fingerprint.”

  “Perfect.”

  She passed him back the phone. “What do you want to do with it?”

  “To buy a bit of insurance.” Monk stepped back, accessed the phone’s camera feature, and snapped a shot of the duct-taped form of Gao Sun.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You mentioned this guy’s last call had been to his brother. From the content of that conversation, I wager his brother must also work at that place under the zoo. Having possession of Gao might come in handy.”

  “You may be right.” She crossed to a table holding a set of framed photos and picked one up. “I saw this earlier.”

  Monk stared at the photograph of two men, arms around each other’s shoulders, smiling broadly, both in uniforms. One was Gao. “That other must be his brother,” he said.

  With a nod, she pulled free the photo, folded it into a pocket, and tossed the empty frame on the sofa. “How do we proceed from here?”

  Monk pulled out his satellite phone. “Time to rally the troops that Painter sent. I’ll assign someone to babysit our friend here while we go check out that entrance into the Underground City.”

  “It’s sure to be a maze down there.”

  “But we know where to head—toward the zoo.”

  “Let’s hope that’s enough.”

  Monk agreed, appreciating the enormity of the search ahead of them. As he dialed the phone, he hoped they weren’t too late already.

  Hang in there, Kowalski . . .

  9:28 A.M.

  With his back to the steel door, Kowalski tried to ignore the stench of the habitat around him. It smelled of meat gone bad, mixed with an unwashed muskiness. The cloying reek was reminiscent of his days mucking barns at the Riverdale Stables in the Bronx for extra cash, specifically when an old mare had died in her stall during a summer heat wave.

  Still, it’s not the stink that’ll kill me.

  He placed a hand on the archway of rock that separated the steel door behind him from the wall of bars in front. Heavy tracks outlined a door of his cage. He pictured that tracked section trundling upward, exposing him to what lurked inside the Ark.

  Earlier, he had spotted Maria at the curve of windows high above, standing alongside the uniformed figure of Major General Lau. He was certain the Chinese were using him as leverage against Maria.

  He stepped to the bars—each as thick around as his wrist—knowing his fate if Maria didn’t cooperate.

  This assessment was reinforced as shadows stirred from a cave ten yards away. A large shape shambled into view, knuckling on both arms. The gorilla’s fur was as black as soot, thick and heavy over its shoulders, sleeker over its hindquarters. The beast had to weigh over seven hundred pounds, most of it muscle. Its forehead came to a peaked top above prominent brows. It sniffed a couple of times at the air, then lowered that dark gaze toward him.

  Kowalski noted a shiny metal band around its neck, weighted down by a steel box at the hollow of its throat. He guessed it was a shock collar for controlling these beasts.

  He retreated a step, keeping away from the bars.

  The small movement produced a dramatic reaction. The gorilla charged toward him. Kowalski cringed, fearing that massive creature could barrel straight through the bars. But at the last moment, the beast skidded on its hind legs, turning slightly to come to a rest on its rear.

  It leaned that flat face against the bars, huffing strongly enough for Kowalski to feel the draft on his cheeks. It then howled, its maw stretching wide enough to bite a basketball in half, baring foot-long yellow fangs. The bellow shook his rib cage, pounded his skull.

  Kowalski clamped his hands over his ears.

  And here I was starting to like apes.

  Then suddenly that massive shape fell away from the cage—or rather, it was knocked away. Another took its place.

  Kowalski recognized the silvery sheen to the fur of this newcomer’s back. It was the beast he had noted yesterday, the one ripping into the remains of some lab worker. This fellow was easily half again as big as the other, weighing over a thousand pounds. The first gorilla rose from where he had been bowled aside and reared up on its hind legs, thumping its chest with the palm of one hand.

  The older silverback grunted once in that one’s direction. The result was immediate. The black-furred gorilla dropped to all fours, twisted around, and retreated.

  Apparently the boss of this joint had made his point.

  The silverback turned back to Kowalski and settled to its haunches, staring straight at him. There was no outburst, no howl, no threat—just that steady unblinking gaze. It was far more unnerving, especially with the glint of malicious cunning in those eyes.

  Kowalski kept his back against the steel door, taking the measure of the other. The silverback sat there, nearly unmoving. Only its thick chest rose and fell in an easy rhythm, the very picture of patience. He couldn’t imagine the Chinese wanting to engineer smarter versions of these half-ton monsters. Especially as this beast’s plan was easy enough to read and practically flawless.

  It needed only to wait for the dinner bell to ring.

  18

  April 30, 8:45 P.M. ECT

  Airborne over Ecuador

  The pilot of the Gulfstream G650 radioed back to the cabin. “Folks, just a heads-up. We’ll be landing in Cuenca in thirty minutes.”

  Gray glanced out the window to the low-hanging moon in the night sky. He checked his watch. Though the flight time had been nine hours, with the time change, they would be landing only an hour later from when they had left Rome.

  He glanced back to the spacious cabin appointed in leathers and exotic woods. The cabin could accommodate a dozen people, but at the moment, it was only the four of them. At the back, Roland was once again buried in a pile of books, though most of his time was spent with his nose stuck in Kircher’s journal. Lena assisted him with his research, the two often murmuring with their heads bent together. Seichan had spent most of the flight dozing on a reclined seat across the aisle from him. She rolled to her side with a grumble of irritation at the pilot’s interruption.

  Gray appreciated her exhaustion. He had also taken a four-hour nap, knowing they would have to hit the ground running once they reached the remote town of Cuenca, located high up in the Andes. He had been in contact with Painter a few minutes ago, learning that the fate of Kowalski and Lena’s sister remained unknown, but Monk was following up on a possible lead. That left Gray to pursue the historical trail left behind by Father Kircher, to search for a lost city in the jungle.

  From Kircher’s journal and annotations on his map, his colleague Nicolas Steno had ventured out to South America and returned with the rough coordinates of the city’s possible location. Despite Kircher’s belief, Gray still doubted that this city of ancient teachers—those Watchers mentioned in ancient texts—was truly the mythic site of Atl
antis. So he had used the remainder of the flight to pursue his own research into the history of this region.

  Motion drew his attention to the back of the cabin. Lena came forward with a book in hand. “Roland wanted me to show you this before we landed,” she said as she joined him.

  She settled into the seat opposite him and placed the book on a small table bolted between them. She opened to a page displaying a rock with a labyrinth carved into it. It was the same maze gilded on the cover of Kircher’s journal, a pattern found throughout the world at various ancient sites.

  “This is a piece of polished diorite,” Lena said, “discovered in the jungles near Cuenca where we’re headed.”

  Gray leaned closer. So the labyrinth was found even here.

  “A native tribesman gave this carved stone as a gift to Father Crespi.”

  He looked up. “The missionary? The one who came out here because of his own interest in Athanasius Kircher?”

  She nodded. “His mission was located at the Church of María Auxiliadora, or Mary Our Helper. Another church dedicated to the Virgin Mary, like the Marian sanctuary where Kircher hid Eve’s bones.” She let that sink in before continuing. “Over the course of his fifty years here, until his death at the age of almost ninety, he accumulated a vast collection, artifacts given to him by the Shuar natives of the region. He stored the collection at the church, some seventy thousand items in all.”

  “Where did such a haul come from?”

  “According to the tribesmen, they were taken from an extensive cavern system buried under the jungle. Roland believes these artifacts came to Father Crespi’s doorstep not by mere chance, but because the priest had made inquiries of the natives about such a place in the jungle.”

  “But he didn’t have the coordinates we have now.”

  “He didn’t. Likely Father Crespi had gleaned enough from his research about Kircher to bring him to this general region.”

  “But not to the doorstep of this lost city.” Gray nodded to the book. “What else was given to him?”

  Lena flipped through the book, showing him other artifacts: seven-foot-tall mummy cases that looked vaguely Egyptian, full suits of Incan parade armor, shelves of Ecuadorian pottery, rolls of silver and gold sheets adorned with images that seemed incongruous for the area.