Nehir nodded, her gaze introspective.
Even Elena was now wondering if her reasoning was the same used by Hunayn to voyage to Sardinia during his first search for Tartarus. Still, she knew she needed to continue talking and not give Nehir a chance to pick apart her logic.
Elena pointed to the map. “Which brings us back to Daedalus. The namesake of the astrolabe. A man as ingenious as Hephaestus. But keep in mind, Daedalus was a man. Not a god. Even modern scholars believe Daedalus might have been a real person. Either way, here was a man who could build and craft incredible creations, nearly superhuman in design and function, certainly in advance of his time. What does that description remind you of?”
Nehir frowned and shook her head.
Elena posed another question. “Who was Hunayn searching for? What mysterious civilization did he believe brought the three mightiest Mediterranean kingdoms to ruin?”
Nehir straightened. “The Phaeacians.” The woman locked gazes with Elena, clearly understanding her final point. “You think Daedalus was a member of that group. That he was Phaeacian.”
“I think Hunayn believed that—and it drove him to Sardinia to find out.” She crossed her arms. “I know that’s where he went next.”
Elena actually did—though not necessarily for the reasons she’d given. But she hoped it had been enough to spare Joe.
Nehir nodded. “Very good, Dr. Cargill. Then that’s where we’ll head next.”
Elena sighed with relief.
Nehir turned away, but not before making a last cryptic statement. “Luckily we already have people there. Cleaning up a few loose ends.”
21
June 24, 8:27 P.M. CEST
Cagliari, Sardinia
Maria stood on the hotel room balcony, enjoying the last few minutes of sunlight. The day had been steamy, made all the more stifling by being cooped up in the hotel. The confinement also heightened her anxiety. When she was moving, it had been easier to distract herself from her fears about Joe.
Now she had too much time to think, to dwell on it.
Where is he? Is he even alive?
Her fingers tightened on the wrought-iron balcony rail.
Gray had ordered them not to leave the premises, while he got to traipse around the island with Seichan and Monsignor Roe. He had called forty minutes ago to report that they were on their way back after surveying the ruins of a necropolis on the western side of the island, trying to glean information about the conquering horde that had swept through the Mediterranean in ancient times.
The Sea People.
Imagining those seafaring tribes, she closed her eyes and took deep breaths of the salt air—but with it came a strong hint of diesel. She opened her eyes and scowled at the three behemoths docked at Cagliari’s cruise port three hundred yards down the street. The massive ships clashed with the city’s tangle of narrow cobblestone avenues and quaint shops and wine bars. Three stories below, the main drag was abuzz with tourists, packed even tighter down by the entrance to the city’s two giant docks. As sunset approached, passengers were returning to their ships after invading the tiny town.
Seems Sardinia is still being plagued by Sea People.
She began to turn away—when the staccato pops of gunfire drove her down to her knees, ducking her head. She gasped, her heart in her throat.
They found us.
Then she heard laughter rising from below.
Past the open slider, Mac noted her panic from inside the room. He came out onto the balcony and helped her up with his one good arm. “Just firecrackers,” he assured her.
She had already figured out that much. She returned to the balcony rail with Mac, hiding her flushed face, feeling stupid.
“I heard from the hotel staff that there’ll be fireworks tonight,” Mac said. “They’ll be shooting them over the water. Probably as entertainment for the departing cruise ships.”
“No,” Father Bailey said, joining them. “That’s not why.”
The priest stretched a kink out of his back from his daylong study of the Da Vinci map. He had finally given up and repackaged the box into a hard-sided roller bag that they’d purchased dockside in Italy. The treasure was guarded over by Major Bossard, who maintained a post by the door, armed with a pair of SIG P320 pistols, one held in his hand, the other holstered under his jacket.
Maria waved out to sea. “Okay, then why are fireworks scheduled for this evening?”
“Because tonight is the Festival of San Giovanni,” Bailey explained, “honoring the feast day of John the Baptist. It’s celebrated across Europe in various fashions.”
Maria looked askance at the priest. “Which means fireworks here? Doesn’t feel exactly pious and religious.”
“Ah, the tradition in Sardinia has its roots in more pagan celebrations. June twenty-fourth was considered by the ancients to be the summer solstice, a particularly magical time, when the sun and moon unite, represented by fire and water.”
Maria looked out to sea. “Thus, the fireworks over the bay.”
“And beach bonfires,” Bailey added. “It’s traditional here to make a wish and jump over the flames to make them come true.”
“I’ll settle for birthday cake and candles,” Mac said.
As the sun set, more people gathered below. They lined the streets, spilling out onto the cobblestones. More were packed under the awnings of seaside cafés, including directly below where rowdy songs echoed up, along with laughter and drunken shouts. Across the bay, a handful of bonfires were ignited, the flames bright in the growing darkness. To either side, other hotel guests followed their group’s example and emerged onto their own balconies for the night’s viewing.
Mac searched the crowds below. “If Gray and the others don’t get here soon, they’ll miss the fireworks.”
A loud boom made Maria jump—but it wasn’t the beginning of the festivities. She twisted around as the room’s door swung open on its own, the knob and lock blasted away. A trio of fist-size black objects were tossed inside and bounced across the floor. Bossard was already in motion, rolling from his chair to the side, but it proved too late.
The first grenade blast tossed him high against a nearby wall.
Mac tackled Maria to the side as the other two grenades bounced toward the open balcony. They blew, but rather than bursting into shredding shrapnel, the pair exploded with thick clouds of black acrid smoke.
Father Bailey dove low into the pall, clearly going for the map inside.
Maria had caught a glimpse of the case flying toward them as the blast blew the table away from the door. Bailey must’ve seen it, too. The case had landed near the balcony slider.
She cursed the priest’s recklessness but crawled after him nonetheless, ready to help.
“Get down,” Mac warned her.
A strafe of gunfire shredded the smoke, shattering glass. But the shooter fired blindly and high into the room, missing both Maria and Bailey. The priest grabbed the roller bag handle and scooted backward.
From her low vantage, Maria noted the smoke swirl near the door as men rushed in. Then sharp pops from the left. Bossard . . . Muffled cries, and a body near the door crashed in the smoke. A chatter of return fire blasted toward Bossard.
Bailey dragged the roller bag past her.
She started to follow—when something skittered across the floor. A black SIG pistol spun up to her. Bossard’s second weapon. A drape of smoke lifted enough to reveal the major sprawled and bloody on the floor. His arm was outstretched toward her, his eyes staring, but blind.
She snatched up the weapon and fired into the smoke as she retreated after Bailey. She emptied the entire magazine, then ducked to the side of the open door. Bailey swung the heavy case over to the railing’s edge and dropped it down the gap between their balcony and the next.
“Go, go, go,” Mac urged. He had ripped off his sling and helped Maria over the rail, all but tossing her. They were sticking to a preplanned evacuation route.
She
dropped the twenty feet to the awning over the hotel’s patio restaurant, just missing the case sitting there. She used the bounce in the taut fabric to roll to the side. Bailey and Mac crashed together next to her.
She understood their haste.
Gunfire peppered from above, tearing through the fabric. Screams erupted from the restaurant below. Maria and the two men scrambled for cover, getting directly under the balcony, spoiling any direct shots from above.
Bailey tried to tug the case after them, but one of the wheels had perforated the fabric and trapped it.
“No time!” Mac yelled.
He’s right . . .
They needed to get lost in the crowd, where confusion reigned. Panic had begun to spread from the hotel. Still, farther out, the music, the festivities, the partying had masked most of the firefight and blasts.
The three of them scooted to the awning’s edge and dropped into the chaos of the patio restaurant. Tables and chairs were overturned. Patrons jostled and fled in all directions. Maria caught a glimpse of a woman sitting on the ground, crying, her shoulder bloody.
Guilt stabbed at Maria, but she turned and rushed with Mac and Bailey into the spreading panic. They pushed and shoved into the masses now spilling out and filling the streets. They followed the tide, rather than fighting it.
Bailey kept looking back. She knew what they’d lost, but there was nothing to be done about it. They had a more immediate concern.
Maria searched around.
Where can we go?
9:24 P.M.
Three blocks away, stalled in festival traffic, Gray immediately spotted the plume of black smoke billowing from the hotel’s third floor. He caught a glimpse of bodies leaping to the awning below.
He leaned forward. From the sedan’s backseat, he growled to Rabbi Fine and Monsignor Roe. “Stay here.”
The group had just returned from an excursion to the Mont’e Prama necropolis, where the giant statues had been found—not that they had learned anything new, which clearly disappointed the monsignor and the rabbi.
Gray turned to Seichan. “Let’s go.”
He bailed out one side, Seichan the other. They both ran along the edge of the street, dodging people fleeing in the opposite direction.
Seichan kept up with him. “How did they find us?”
He shook his head, his heart pounding. It was a question that could wait. He nodded ahead to a figure rounding out of an alley between the hotel and the next establishment. The guy carried an assault rifle, trying his best to conceal it next to his thigh.
Gray rushed up behind him, hooked an arm around his throat, and flung him around. He smashed the gunman’s head into the corner of the building. Bone cracked and the body went limp.
Seichan caught the rifle as it dropped and passed it to Gray. She continued ahead, a dagger in her hand. She pointed its tip to another two figures holding pistols cradled at their waists. They stood at the edge of the now-empty patio restaurant and stared up at something sitting atop the awning, heavy enough to sag the fabric.
The team’s roller bag.
Gray and Seichan closed the distance.
One target must have heard something and turned. Gray lifted his rifle’s muzzle and squeezed a three-round burst into the man’s chest. The impact at such close range knocked the man off his feet and across a table. Seichan slashed out as the other spun around. Blood flew from a clean slice across his neck.
As the man fell with a gurgling cry, shots were fired at them from inside the hotel. Gray dropped to a knee and laid down sporadic bursts through the door to hold back those inside. More rounds fired from above, pelting through the awning and ricocheting off the stones. Gray didn’t move, knowing his position was shielded under the canopy from the view above.
To the side, Seichan danced through the gunshots.
She reached the sag in the awning, leaped to a one-legged balance atop a chair, and slashed high with her blade. She continued onward as the slice in the fabric overhead tore further. The roller bag toppled out of the hole and crashed to the table behind her.
Gray emptied the last of his stolen rifle’s magazine, tossed the weapon aside, and lunged for the case. He yanked it to him, as an assailant burst out of the door, taking advantage of the sudden halt in Gray’s suppressive fire—only to be met by Seichan’s knife as she whipped the blade, letting it fly from her fingertips. It struck his right eye hard enough to snap his head back.
Gray hauled the bag up in one arm and hugged it to his chest.
Seichan joined him, her eyes flashing brightly. Together they ran under the awning and burst out into the crowd. They followed the flow away from the hotel and back to the sedan.
Gray reached it first.
The front seat was empty. Seichan touched a crisp bullet hole through the driver’s-side window. Gray spotted blood splatters across the leather headrest. He cursed himself for abandoning the two men. He prayed they were still alive, perhaps captured, not bleeding out in some alley.
He shared a guilty look with Seichan.
But there was nothing to be done about it right now. Knowing their attackers could still be near, they retreated into the crowd. He looked back. Maria and the others had fled in the opposite direction. He plotted how to regroup with them and get somewhere safe.
Then a thunderous boom echoed over the water, loud enough to be felt in the chest. Gray froze, as did many of those around him. Faces turned upward. Overhead a huge flower of fire burst across the night sky, blazing in crimson and gold.
The fireworks show had begun.
9:44 P.M.
Mac stood with the others in a shadowy corner of the dockside plaza. He cradled his left arm. Each blast in the sky made his shoulder throb. His gaze searched the packed festivalgoers filling the square for any new sign of threat.
Half a mile away, emergency lights glowed and spun over by the hotel, but out here by the cruise dock, few paid any attention. Gazes were fixed to the skies. Music blared all around, fireworks boomed over the water, and the sound of merriment abounded.
Such was human nature.
As he and the others fled from the hotel earlier, the panic around them had bled away, diluted by the press of the crowd and weakened by the growing distance. The firefight had only been witnessed by those closest. Farther away, few gave the commotion any notice, likely attributing it to partying that had gotten out of hand. Even those who had fled alongside them had eventually slowed, stopping and looking back, feeling safe enough to go from potential victim to gawking bystander.
Then the fireworks had started, and all was seemingly forgotten.
Though maybe not entirely.
He sensed a tension in the crowd, a herd of cattle on edge. In between the booming blasts of the fireworks, the sharper cry of sirens cut through the crowd. The noise drew eyes toward the twirling lights. Many others whispered in ears and pointed that way, too. The news of what had happened was spreading through the crowd, likely amplified with each telling.
Mac shook his head, missing the quiet and isolation of Greenland’s glaciers.
Next to him, Maria lowered her burner phone, flinching at another boom from above. She waved for Mac and Father Bailey to lean closer. “Gray and Seichan will be here in a few minutes. We need to be ready.”
Gray had already called once, updating them on what had transpired at the hotel. While the two had managed to grab the Da Vinci map, it seemed Monsignor Roe and the rabbi had been captured, if not killed.
With the same fate hanging over them all, Maria had suggested a refuge, a place where even the enemy would have a hard time reaching them, while offering a way off this damned island.
That’s if we can get there.
“They had better hurry,” Father Bailey said dourly, stricken by the news of his friend. “That’s the last cruise ship still docked.”
Mac stared across the plaza to the port entrance. A gateway blocked access to the massive dock. Two other cruise ships had already departed when
the fireworks had started, sailing out to sea under that booming farewell. The last was a smaller liner from the Regent Seven Seas group—though small was a relative term. The ship still towered more than a dozen levels above the sea. Even from here, a band could be heard playing up top, preparing its passengers for the upcoming departure.
Moments ago, the ship’s passenger gangways had been pulled in. The only access point now was a crew gangplank and a lower loading dock where handcarts were still being rolled in, stacked high with crates to resupply the ship.
Mac and the others all kept watch—on the crowds, on the final preparations dockside, even on the sky as fiery blossoms lit the night.
Finally, a rumble of tiny wheels over cobblestones drew Mac’s attention behind him. Gray crossed through the packed plaza, dragging the case, while Seichan’s gaze swept the crowd. The pair hurried over to them.
“Are you ready?” Gray asked, his face both angry and determined.
He got confirmations all around.
“Then let’s go.” He glanced over their group. “Who’s got—”
“I do,” Mac said.
Gray nodded and led them toward the port entrance. It was minimally protected, just a wooden drop gate to stop traffic and a narrow sidewalk guarded by a gatehouse. Once halfway across the crowded plaza, Gray signaled Mac.
Time to get the herd moving.
He lit the fuse on the fistful of firecrackers in his hand. Earlier, he had bought three packages from a little fireworks stand at the edge of the plaza. He had unboxed them and twisted their cords into one big bundle. Once the fuse was sparking, he dropped the load to the pavement and kept going.
After four long strides, a loud popping erupted behind him, the firecrackers snapping and dancing on the cobbles.
Mac cupped his mouth and yelled. “He’s got a gun! Run!”
Father Bailey repeated the same in Italian.
Gray in Spanish.
Maria simply screamed, spinning around, clutching her shoulder.
As the firecrackers continued to blast away, the already tense crowd reacted immediately. They bolted away from the noise, spreading the panic. More cries rose as people were jostled or trampled. The crowd rushed the wooden gates, pouring around it. More fled past the guard station by the sidewalk, cramming their way through, bottlenecking for a moment, then surging across, determined to reach the stretch of open dock to get away from the shooter.
The Last Odyssey: A Thriller Page 20
