Map of Bones

by James Rollins

  A door off to the side opened.

  Another gunman appeared. A pistol jabbed into Cardinal Spera’s stomach. He was forced into the office. The guard’s body was dragged inside behind him. Another man scooted a towel over the floor with his foot, sopping up the gore.

  The door shut.

  Another body already decorated the room, lying crumpled on its side.

  The former security chief.

  Behind his desk, a familiar figure stood.

  Cardinal Spera shook his head in disbelief. “You’re part of the Dragon Court.”

  “It’s leader in fact.” A pistol rose into sight. “Clearing the way here for the rest of my men to arrive.”

  The gun lifted higher.

  The muzzle flashed.

  Cardinal Spera felt a kick to his forehead—then nothing.

  6:18 A.M.

  RACHEL STOOD with the other four around the etched glass floor.

  Kat stood guard up above, equipped with a radio.

  They had descended the tiers to the bottom level in almost reverential silence. Her uncle had offered commentary about the massive museum nested within this subterranean cathedral, but few questions were posed.

  It truly felt like a church, engendering whispers and awe.

  As they had climbed down, Rachel gaped at the myriad wonders that must be stored here. She had spent all of her adult life protecting and collecting stolen art and antiquities. Here was a collection that dwarfed any museum’s. To catalogue it would take decades and a university full of scholars. The immensity of age contained within this space made her life feel small and insignificant.

  Even her recent trauma, the revelation of her family’s dark past, seemed trivial, a minor blotch against the long history held suspended here.

  As she descended deeper, her burden grew lighter. Its hold loosened around her heart. A certain weightlessness enveloped her.

  Gray dropped to a knee to stare at the glass floor and the labyrinth drawn in platinum upon it.

  “It’s Daedalus’s maze,” her uncle said, and briefly explained its history and ties to Chartres Cathedral.

  “So what are we supposed to do here?” Gray asked.

  Vigor walked around the circular floor. He had cautioned them to remain on the lip of granite that surrounded the glass labyrinth. “Plainly this is another riddle,” he said. “Besides the maze, we have a double arch of lodestone above us. A pillar of the same in the center. And these twelve m-state gold plates.” He indicated the windows of glass that pocked the wall around them, formed by the last tier.

  “They are positioned along the periphery like the markings on a clock,” Vigor said. “Another timepiece. Like the hourglass that led us here.”

  “So it would seem,” Gray said. “But you mentioned light.”

  Vigor nodded. “It’s always been about light. A quest for the primordial light of the Bible, the light that formed the universe and everything in it. That is what we must prove here. Like magnetism and electricity before, now we must demonstrate an understanding of light…and not just any light. Light with power. Or as Kat described it, coherent light.”

  Gray frowned, standing up. “You mean a laser.”

  Vigor nodded. He pulled free an object from his pocket. Rachel recognized it as a laser-targeting scope from one of the Sigma weapons. “With the power of these superconducting amalgams coupled with jewels like diamonds and rubies, the ancients might have developed some crude form of projecting coherent light, some type of ancient laser. I believe knowledge of that craft is necessary to open the final level.”

  “How can you be sure?” Gray said.

  “Kat and I measured these twelve plates of mirrored glass. They are very subtly angled to reflect and bounce light from one to the other in a set pattern. But it would take a powerful light to complete the entire circuit.”

  “Like a laser,” Monk said, eyeing the plates with concern.

  “I don’t think it would take a strong amount of coherent light,” Vigor said. “Like the weak Baghdad batteries used to ignite the gold pyramid in Alexandria, only some small force is necessary, some indication of an understanding of coherence. I think the energy stored in the plates will do the rest.”

  “And it might not even be energy,” Gray said. “If you’re right about light being the base of the mystery here, superconductors not only have the capability of storing energy for an infinite period of time, they can also store light.”

  Vigor’s eyes widened. “So a little coherent light might free the rest?”

  “Possibly, but how do we go about starting this chain reaction?” Gray asked. “Point the laser at one of the glass plates?”

  Vigor stepped around and motioned to the lodestone pillar, about two feet thick, resting in the middle of the floor. “The pedestal out there stands the same height as the plate windows. I suspect whatever device the ancients used was meant to rest atop it while aimed at one particular window. Our proverbial twelve o’clock marker.”

  “And which one’s that?” Monk asked.

  Vigor stopped beside the far window. “True north,” he said. “It took a bit of fancy footwork to calculate with all this lodestone around. But this is the one. I think you set the laser down, point it at this plate, then get clear.”

  “Seems simple enough,” Monk said.

  Gray began to step out toward the central pedestal when his radio buzzed. He placed a hand over his ear, listening. Everyone stared at him.

  “Kat, be careful,” Gray said into his radio. “Approach cautiously. Let them know you’re not hostile. Keep silent about us until you’re sure.”

  He ended the call.

  “What’s the matter?” Monk asked.

  “Kat’s spotted a patrol of French police. They’ve entered the palace. She’s going to investigate.” Gray waved the group toward the stairs. “This will have to wait till later. We’d better head back up.”

  They filed out from around the glass pool. Rachel waited for her uncle. He looked reluctantly toward the glass floor.

  “Maybe it’s best,” she said. “Maybe we shouldn’t fool with what we barely understand. What if we did it wrong?” Rachel nodded to the massive library of ancient knowledge already contained here. “If we’re too greedy, we could lose it all.”

  Her uncle nodded, put an arm around her as they climbed up, but his eyes still occasionally glanced below.

  They worked their way up four tiers when a commanding voice bull-horned down to them from above.

  “TOUT LE MONDE EN LE BAS LÀ! SORTEZ AVEC VOS MAINS SUR LA TÊTE!”

  Everyone froze.

  Rachel translated. “They’re calling for us to exit with our hands on our heads.”

  A new voice bellowed through the bullhorn in English. It was Kat. “COMMANDER! THEY CONFISCATED MY RADIO, BUT IT IS THE FRENCH POLICE. I’VE VERIFIED THEIR LEADER’S IDENTIFICATION.”

  “Must be the guard sent by Cardinal Spera,” Monk said.

  “Or someone called in a burglary, noting the lights in here,” Rachel added. “Or the broken door lock.”

  “SORTEZ TOUT DE SUITE! C’EST VOTRE DERNIER AVERTISSEMENT!”

  “They certainly don’t sound happy,” Monk said.

  “What do you expect with all the dead bodies upstairs?” Seichan said.

  “Okay,” Gray ordered. “Up we go. We need to prepare them for the arrival of Raoul and his buddies.”

  They all marched up the remaining tiers. Gray had them holster or set aside their weapons. Not wanting to spook the police, they obeyed the command and went upstairs with their hands on their heads.

  The kitchen, empty before, was now crowded with uniformed men. Rachel spotted Kat, back to one wall, hands on her head, too. The French police were taking no chances. Guns were raised.

  Gray attempted to explain in stilted French, but they were separated and made to stand against the wall. The leader shone his light down the passageway, nose crinkled with distaste.

  A commotion by the hal
lway marked the arrival of a newcomer, someone with authority. Rachel watched a familiar family friend enter the kitchen, out of place here, but welcome. Had Cardinal Spera called him?

  Her uncle brightened, too. “General Rende! Thank God!”

  It was Rachel’s boss, the head of her Carabinieri unit. He cut a striking figure, even out of uniform.

  Uncle Vigor tried to step forward but was forced back. “You must get the gendarmes to listen. Before it’s too late.”

  General Rende eyed her uncle with an uncharacteristic sneer of disdain. “It’s already too late.”

  Out from behind him marched Raoul.

  17

  THE GOLD KEY

  JULY 27, 7:00 A.M.

  AVIGNON, FRANCE

  GRAY SEETHED as his wrists were secured behind his back and snugged tight with plastic fast-ties. The other mercenaries, masquerading as French police, stripped weapons and secured the rest of them. Even the bastard Raoul wore a policeman’s uniform.

  The giant stepped in front of Gray. “You’re damn tough to kill,” Raoul said. “But that’s going to end. And don’t hope for a rescue call from the cardinal. He ran into an old friend at the airport.” He nodded to General Rende. “It seemed our leader here decided the poor cardinal was of no further use to the Court.”

  Gray’s heart clenched.

  Raoul grinned, a savage and bloody expression.

  General Rende marched up to them, dressed in civilian clothes, an expensive black suit and tie, polished Italian shoes. He had been in discussion with another man, one wearing a clerical collar. It had to be the prefect, Alberto Menardi, the Court’s resident Rasputin. He had a book tucked under one arm and a satchel in hand.

  The general stepped to Raoul. “Enough.”

  “Yes, Imperator.” Raoul backed a step.

  Rende pointed down to the tunnel. “We don’t have time to gloat. Take them below. Find out what they’ve learned. Then kill them.” Rende stared around the room, his blue eyes icy, his silver hair slicked back. “I will make no pretensions of your survival. Your only choice is to make your deaths slow or quick. So make your peace in whatever manner you see fit.”

  Vigor spoke by the far wall. “How could you?”

  Rende strode over to him. “Fear not, my old friend, we will spare your niece,” he said. “That I promise you. You’ve both served your duty by keeping the Court abreast of archaeological and art history treasures. You’ve served the Court well these many years.”

  Vigor’s face went cold, realizing how he’d been used and manipulated.

  “Now that role comes to an end,” Rende said. “But your niece’s blood-line goes back to kings and will produce kings to come.”

  “By mating me with that bastard?” Rachel spat back.

  “It is not the man or the woman,” Raoul answered. “It’s always been the blood and the future. The purity of our lineage is as much a treasure as what we seek.”

  Gray stared at Rachel, trussed up next to her uncle. Her face was pale, but her eyes flashed with fury. Especially when Raoul grabbed her by the elbow. She spat in his face.

  He cuffed her hard across the mouth, knocking her head back and splitting her lip.

  Gray lunged forward, but a pair of rifles shoved him back.

  Raoul leaned closer to her. “I like a little fire in my bed.” He dragged her forward. “And this time, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  “Get what we came here for,” Rende said, his face unperturbed by the violence. “Then we’ll start unloading as much as we can before the storm ends. The trucks will be arriving in another fifteen minutes.”

  Gray now understood the uniforms. The masquerade would buy them time to clear a good section of the treasure below. He didn’t fail to note the barrow full of silver incendiary grenades wheeled into the room as they were tied up. Anything that the Court couldn’t carry away would be destroyed.

  Alberto joined Raoul.

  “Bring the axes, the electric drills, and the acid,” Raoul said, and waved his men forward.

  Gray knew the tools were not meant for heavy construction.

  They were tools of a true sadist.

  Prodded by guns, separated by soldiers, the group was led back down into the tunnel. Once below, even the guards, smirking and hard-edged, grew quiet, eyes widening.

  Raoul stared at the spread of Gothic arches and the treasure. “We’ll need more trucks.”

  Alberto walked in a daze. “Amazing…simply amazing. And according to the Arcadium, this is just the dregs left at the true doorstep to a greater treasure.”

  Despite the danger, Vigor glanced over to the prefect in shock. “You have Jacques de Molay’s last testament?”

  Alberto clutched his book tighter to his chest. “A seventeenth-century copy. The last known to exist.”

  Gray stared at Vigor, meeting his eyes questioningly.

  “Jacques de Molay was the last Grand Master of the Knights Templar, tortured by the Inquisition for his refusal to reveal the location of their treasure. He was burned at the stake. But there were rumors of a Templar text, a final treatise by de Molay before he was captured.”

  “The Arcadium,” Alberto said. “In the possession of the Dragon Court for centuries. It hinted at a treasure. One independent of the mass of gold and jewels of Knights Templar. A greater treasure. One that would put the very keys to the world into its discoverer’s hand.”

  “The lost secret of the mages,” Vigor said.

  “It’s here,” Alberto said, eyes almost aglow.

  They descended the tiers toward the glass floor.

  Upon reaching the bottommost tier, the soldiers spread out atop it, taking up positions all along the rim. Gray and the others were forced to their knees. Alberto went down alone to the glass floor, studying its labyrinth.

  “One last riddle,” he mumbled.

  Raoul stood with Rachel near the top of the last terrace’s stairs. He turned to face the group on their knees. “I think we’ll start with the women,” Raoul said. “But which one?”

  Swinging to the side, he grabbed a fistful of Rachel’s hair, at the back of her neck. He bent over her and kissed her hard on the mouth. Rachel squirmed, gasping, but tied up, there was little she could do.

  Fire narrowed Gray’s vision. He knelt down and stamped the toe of his boot against the stone. He felt the hidden blade snick out of the heel, the same one he had used to free himself in the castle cell. He hid the knife behind his tied wrists. With minimal movement, he cut the ties on the razored edge. Though free, he kept his hands behind his back.

  Raoul pulled back from his embrace. His lower lip bled. Rachel had bitten him, but he simply grinned. He shoved her hard in the center of her chest. Off balance, she fell to her backside with a teeth-jarring impact.

  “Stay,” Raoul said, palm out, as if commanding a dog.

  A rifle at Rachel’s skull firmed the order.

  Raoul turned back to the group. “I’ll save my fun for her later. So we’ll need another woman to start with.” He strode over to Seichan, stared down at her, then shook his head. “You’d probably enjoy it too much.”

  He turned next to Kat and waved to the guards that flanked her to drag her in front of the others. Raoul bent down and picked up the ax and a power drill. He stared between the two, then lowered the ax. “Already did that.”

  He lifted the drill and pressed the trigger. The buzz of its motor echoed across the chamber, hungry with the promise of pain.

  “We’ll start with an eye,” Raoul said.

  One of the guards yanked Kat’s head back. She tried to fight, but the other kicked her hard in the belly, knocking out her breath. As they held her in place, Gray saw the tear roll from the corner of Kat’s eye. Not scared. Angry.

  Raoul lowered the drill toward her face.

  “Don’t!” Gray yelled. “There’s no need for this. I’ll tell you what we know.”

  “No,” Kat said, and was punched in the face by one of the guards. />
  Gray understood her warning. If the Dragon Court gained the power here, the “keys to the world,” it would mean Armageddon. Their own lives here, their own blood, were not worth that price.

  “I’ll tell you,” Gray repeated.

  Raoul straightened a bit.

  Gray hoped to lure him closer.

  But Raoul remained where he was. “I don’t seem to recall asking any questions yet.” He bent over again. “This is only a demonstration. When it comes to the question-and-answer period of this conversation, we’ll get more serious.”

  The drill growled louder.

  Gray could wait no longer. He would not sit idle as another teammate was maimed by this madman. Better to die in a firefight. He leapt to his feet, driving an elbow into the groin of the soldier guarding him. With the man’s attention fixed to the torture, Gray caught his rifle, pointed it at Raoul, and pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  Nothing happened.

  7:22 A.M.

  RACHEL WATCHED Gray be clubbed to the ground by a soldier behind him, using the butt of a rifle.

  Raoul laughed, revving his drill.

  “Take his boots off,” Raoul ordered. He stalked up to Gray as he was manhandled around. “You don’t think I failed to have the security tapes reviewed after your escape, do you? When I didn’t hear from the two men I sent back to assassinate you at the castle, I sent another team to investigate. Nothing but dogs in the yard. They found out how you escaped and radioed it to me.”

  Gray’s laces were sliced and the boots tugged off.

  “So I let you have your little hope,” Raoul said. “It’s always best to know an enemy’s secret. Keeps surprises to a minimum. I figured you’d eventually go for a gun…but I’d hoped you’d have a bit more stomach. Waited until things got really bloody.” Raoul lifted the drill and turned away. “Now, where were we?”

  Rachel stared as Gray was trussed up again. His face was hollow and hopeless. This scared her more than the threat of torture.

  “Leave the others alone,” Gray said. He struggled to his feet. “You’re wasting time. We know how to open the gate. Harm a single one of us and you’ll learn nothing.”