“Attracting lightning strikes. A flash of light that illuminates darkness.”
“Is there some depiction of lightning that we missed?”
“I don’t recall.” Vigor rubbed his chin. “But I think you’ve struck a significant chord. Light is symbolic of knowledge. Enlightenment. It was the primary goal of Gnostic faith, to seek the primordial light mentioned in Genesis, to reach out for this ancient font of knowledge and power that flows everywhere.”
Vigor ticked off on his fingertips. “Electricity, lightning, light, knowledge, power. They’re all related. And somewhere there is a symbol of this, built into the design of the palace.”
Kat shook her head, at a loss.
Vigor suddenly stiffened.
“What?” She stepped closer.
Vigor quickly knelt and drew in the dust. “Alexander’s tomb was in Egypt. We can’t forget to carry that forward, one riddle to the next. The Egyptian symbol for light is a circle with a dot in the center. Representing the sun.
“But sometimes it’s flattened into an oval, forming an eye. Representing not only the sun and light, but also knowledge. The burning eye of insight. The all-seeing eye of Masonic and Templar iconography.”
Kat frowned at the drawings. She had seen no such markings. “Okay, but where do we begin looking for it?”
“It’s not going to be found — but formed,” Vigor said, standing up. “Why didn’t I think of this before? A feature of Gothic architecture is the mischievous play of light and shadow. The Templar architects were masters of this manipulation.”
“But where can we—?”
Vigor cut her off, already heading out the door. “We have to go back down to the first floor. To where we already saw the potential for a flaming eye within a circle of light.”
Kat followed Vigor. She didn’t recall any such depiction. They hurried down the stairs and out of the Tower of Angels. Vigor led the way across a banquet hall and ended up in a room they’d already explored.
“The kitchen?” she asked, surprised.
Kat stared again at the square walls, the central raised hearth, and overhead, the octagonal chimneypiece. She didn’t understand and began to say so.
Vigor reached out a hand and cupped it over her penlight. “Wait.”
A brilliant bolt of lightning shattered outside. Enough illumination traveled down the open chimney to shine a perfect oval upon the fire pit. The silver light flickered, then went dark.
“As it is above, so it is below,” Vigor said in a hushed voice. “The effect is probably more evident when the noon sun climbs directly overhead or lies at some precise angle.”
Kat pictured the firepit ablaze, bright with flames. A fire within a circle of sunlight. “But how can we be sure this is the right place?” Kat asked, circling the hearth.
He frowned. “I’m not entirely sure, but Alexander’s tomb was under a lighthouse topped by a fiery flame. And considering the usefulness of both a lighthouse and a kitchen, it makes sense to bury something beneath a location that serves a good function. Successive generations would preserve it for its utility.”
Unconvinced, Kat bent down and slipped a knife free to examine the central hearth. She dug at the rock that lined the firepit, exposing an orange-hued stone at the base. “It’s not hematite or magnetite.” If it had been either one, she might be convinced. “It’s just bauxite, an aluminum hydroxide ore. A good thermal conductor. Makes sense for a fireplace. Nothing unusual.”
She glanced over to Vigor. He wore a large grin.
“What?”
“I walked right past it,” Vigor said, joining her. “I should have considered that another stone would point the way. First hematite, then magnetite, now bauxite.”
Kat stood, confused.
“Bauxite is mined right here in this area. In fact, it’s named after the Lords of Baux, whose castle lies only ten miles from here. It sits atop a hill of bauxite. This stone points a finger back at them.”
“So?”
“The Lords of Baux had an uneasy relationship with the French popes, their new neighbors. But they were best known for an odd claim they asserted most vehemently. They claimed to be descended from a famous biblical figure.”
“Who?” Kat asked.
“Balthazar. One of the Magi.”
Kat’s eyes widened. She turned back to the hearth. “They sealed the opening with stones from the Magi’s descendants.”
“Do you still doubt we’ve found the right spot?” Vigor asked.
Kat shook her head. “But how do we open it? I don’t see any keyhole.”
“You already told us. Electricity.”
As if emphasizing the point, thunder boomed through the thick walls.
Kat shed out of her pack. It was worth a try. “We don’t have any of those ancient batteries.” She pulled out a larger flashlight. “But I have some modern Duracell Coppertops.”
She cracked open her flashlight and used the tip of a knife to tease loose the positive and negative wires. With the power switch off, she twisted them together, then lifted her handiwork.
“You’d better stand back,” Kat warned.
Reaching out, she brought the flashlight’s wires into contact with the bauxite stone, a weakly conductive ore. She flicked the flashlight’s switch.
An arc of electricity stabbed to the stone. A deep bass tone responded as if a large drum had been struck.
Kat darted back as the tone faded. She joined Vigor by the wall.
Along the edges of the stone hearth, a fiery glow spread, scribing the entire firepit.
“I think they’ve cemented the blocks with molten m-state glass,” Kat mumbled.
“Like the ancient Egyptian builders used molten lead to cement the Pharos Lighthouse.”
“And now the electricity is releasing the stored power in the glass.”
Other traceries of fire jittered across the face of the hearth, outlining each and every stone. It flared brighter, searing a crisscrossed pattern onto her retina. Heat washed out toward them.
Kat shielded her eyes. But the effect didn’t last long. As the glow faded, the stone blocks of bauxite began to fall away, no longer cemented, tumbling down into a pit hidden below the hearth.
Kat heard the crash of stone on stone. A rattling continued as the blocks tumbled deeper. No longer able to restrain her curiosity, she stepped forward and shone her penlight. The edges of the hearth now outlined a dark staircase leading down.
She turned to Vigor. “We’ve done it.”
“Heaven help us,” he said.
3:52 A.M.
LAUSANNE, SWITZERLAND
A QUARTER mile from his castle, Raoul lowered his cell phone and stalked away from his truck. Fury narrowed his vision to pinpoints. Blood dripped from a scalp wound. That Asian bitch had betrayed him. But he would get his satisfaction. His dogs would make short work of all of them.
And if not…
He crossed to the second truck. He pointed to two men. “You and you. Return to the chateau. On foot. Stand guard at the portcullis. Shoot anyone you see move. No one leaves that courtyard alive.”
The pair piled out of the truck and set a fast pace back to the castle.
Raoul returned to the lead vehicle.
Alberto waited for him. “What did the Imperator say?” he asked as Raoul climbed into the front passenger seat.
Raoul pocketed his cell phone. The Guild betrayal had surprised their leader as much as it did Raoul. But Raoul had left out his own treachery back in Alexandria, leaving the bitch to die and lying about it. He should’ve expected something. He pounded a fist on his knee. When she handed the American to him, he had let his guard down.
Stupid.
But matters would be rectified.
In Avignon.
Raoul answered Alberto, “The Imperator will be joining us in France, along with more forces. We push ahead as planned.”
“And the others?” Alberto glanced back toward the chateau.
“
They no longer matter. There’s nothing they can do to stop us.”
Raoul waved the driver forward. The truck headed for the Yverdon airfield. He shook his head at his losses here. Not the men. The bitch. Rachel Verona. He had such bloody plans for her….
But at least he had left her a little parting gift.
3:55 A.M.
RACHEL GATHERED with Gray and Seichan on the steps to the main castle, their backs to the metal shutters over the doors. Moving stealthily, they had retreated from the pack of dogs to this relative shelter.
They still only had the one gun. Six bullets.
Gray had attempted to scrounge another weapon amidst the fiery carnage in the courtyard, but all he found were two damaged rifles. Gray carried Seichan’s weapon. She was busy with a GPS unit, concentrating fully, trusting Gray to watch her back.
What was she doing?
Rachel kept a step away from the woman, closer to Gray. One hand clutched his shirttail. She didn’t know when she had grabbed it, but she didn’t let go. It was all that was keeping her on her feet.
One of the pit-dogs padded silently past the bottom of the stairs. It dragged a limb of one of the dead soldiers. Twenty of the monsters roamed the yard, tearing at bodies, snarling and spitting at one another. A few fights broke out, savage, lightning-fast tussles.
It wouldn’t be long before their pig-eyed attention turned to them.
Any noise drew the beasts. The moaning injured died first. They all knew that once the first shot was fired, the entire pack would be upon them.
Six bullets. Twenty dogs.
Off to the side, movement…
Through the oily smoke, a thin figure rose among the debris, wobbly, unsteady. A breeze blew the haze away, and Rachel recognized the shape, teetering on thin legs.
“Nonna…” she whispered.
Blood caked the old woman’s hair on the left side.
Rachel had thought her grandmother had escaped with Raoul.
Had the explosion knocked her down?
But Rachel supposed otherwise. Raoul must have pistol-whipped her out of the way, leaving her behind, useless baggage.
A moan rose from the old woman. She lifted a hand to the side of her head. “Papa!” she called feebly in a strained voice.
The blow, the confusion, the looming castle must have dislocated her grandmother, drawing her into the past.
“Papa…” Pain beyond her head injury keened in her voice.
But Rachel wasn’t the only one to hear the pain.
A few meters away, a dark shape rose from behind a flaming tire, stalking out of the smoke, drawn by the frail cry.
Rachel let go of Gray’s belt and stumbled a step down.
“I see it,” Gray said, stopping her with a hand.
He raised his gun, aimed, and squeezed the gun. The pop was explosive in the silent yard, but the yelp of the target was louder as the dog pitched over and rolled. Howls rose from it. It gnashed at its wounded back leg, attacking the pain. Other dogs swooped down upon it. Drawn by the blood. Lions on a wounded gazelle.
Rachel’s grandmother, startled by the beast, had fallen on her backside, mouth frozen in an O of surprise.
“I have to get to her,” Rachel whispered. It was an instinctive reaction. Despite the treachery, her nonna still had a place in her heart. She didn’t deserve to die like this.
“I’ll go with you,” Gray said.
“She’s dead already,” Seichan said with a sigh, lowering her GPS unit. But she followed them down the stairs, sticking close to the only gun.
In a tight knot, they traversed the edge of the courtyard. Pools of flaming oil lit the way.
Rachel wanted to run, but one massive brindled beast eyed them, hunched over a headless body, hackles raised, teeth bared, guarding its catch. But Rachel knew if she ran, the brute would be upon her in seconds.
Gray covered it with his pistol.
Her grandmother scooted away from the trio of dogs fighting over their injured brethren, ripping and tearing at each other to the point it was impossible to tell which beast Gray had shot. Her movement was tracked by another two beasts, coming at her from opposite sides.
They would be too late.
Another two shots and one beast collapsed, sliding on its face. The other bullet only grazed the second dog. The injury seemed to pique its bloodlust. It lunged at the fallen woman.
Rachel ran forward.
Gray’s gunshots had drawn more dogs. But committed now, there was no choice. He shot as he ran, dropping another two dogs, the last from only a yard away.
Before Rachel could reach her grandmother, the lunging dog struck. It snatched her grandmother’s arm, raised in defense. It bit clean through thin bone and withered flesh and tugged the old woman to the ground.
There was no cry.
The dog slammed on top of her, striking for the throat.
Gray fired near Rachel’s ear, half deafening her. The impact knocked the beast aside, off the old woman’s chest. The dog’s body writhed and convulsed, a clean head shot…also their last.
The slide on Gray’s pistol jacked open.
Rachel dropped to her knees, reaching her grandmother. Blood pumped from the old woman’s severed arm. Rachel cradled the body.
Gray crouched with her. Seichan dropped too, lowering their silhouette.
Dogs fought all around them, and they were out of bullets.
Her grandmother stared up at her and spoke weakly in Italian, eyes glazed. “Mama…I’m sorry…hold me…”
A crack of a rifle and her grandmother jerked in her arms, shot through the chest. Rachel felt the bullet exit, grazing a line of fire under her own arm.
She stared up.
Thirty yards away, two gunmen stood beyond the iron portcullis gate.
The new blast drew off a few of the dogs.
Gray sought to use the distraction to retreat to the castle wall. Rachel followed, not letting go of her grandmother, dragging her along.
“Leave her,” Gray urged.
Rachel ignored him, tears flowing, angry. Another rifle blast and a slug sparked off the stone a few feet away. Seichan reached down and helped carry her grandmother. Working together, they retreated faster.
At the gate, a pair of dogs struck the bars, gnashing at the gunmen, blocking their aim. But it wouldn’t last for long.
Reaching the relative shelter of the castle’s wall, Rachel collapsed over her grandmother’s body. They were still in direct view of the gate…but the entire courtyard was exposed. One of the dogs was blasted away from the portcullis. Another bullet pinged off the metal shutter of a window overhead.
Rachel, bent over her grandmother, finally freed the purse still hooked over her nonna’s shoulder, a permanent fixture to the old woman. Rachel snapped the clasp, reached inside, and felt the butt of cold steel.
She pulled out her grandmother’s heirloom.
The Nazi P-08 Luger.
“Grazie, Nonna.”
Rachel aimed toward the gate. She fixed her stand and let cold anger steady her grip. She squeezed the trigger…followed the recoil and fired again.
Both men fell.
Her focus widened — too late to stop the slavering beast leaping out of the smoke, muzzle snarled, teeth bared, going for her throat.
4:00 A.M.
GRAY STIFF-ARMED Rachel to the side, knocking her down. He faced the monster and lifted his other arm. In his hand, he clutched a tiny silver canister.
“Bad dog…”
He sprayed the beast point-blank in the nose and eyes.
The dog’s weight struck him, flattening him on his back.
The beast howled — not in bloodlust, but searing agony. It rolled off Gray and writhed across the stone, grinding its face into the cobbles, pawing at its eyes.
But its sockets were already empty. Eaten away by the acid.
It rolled another two times, mewling.
Gray felt a twinge of discomfort. The dogs had been tortured into this sav
age state. It wasn’t their fault. Then again, perhaps any death was better than being under the thumb of Raoul.
The dog finally quieted and collapsed to the pavement.
But its tumult drew the eyes of a dozen others.
Gray glanced to Rachel.
“Six more shots,” she answered.
Gray shook his canister. Not much left.
Seichan had her eyes on the skies. Then Gray heard it, too.
The thump-thump of a helicopter.
It winged up over the ridge and castle walls. Lights blazed down. Rotorwash stirred a whirlwind.
Dogs scattered in fear.
Seichan spoke above the roar. “Our ride’s here!”
A nylon ladder tumbled out an open door and struck the stones only a few yards off.
Gray didn’t care who it was as long as they were free of this bloody courtyard. He raced forward and waved Rachel up the ladder. One hand held the flailing ladder steady, the other took Rachel’s Luger.
“Up!” he ordered, leaning close to her. “I’ll hold ’em off.”
Rachel’s fingers trembled as he freed her gun. His eyes met hers. He recognized a well of horror and sorrow that went beyond the bloodshed here.
“You’ll be okay,” he said, making it sound like a promise.
One he meant to keep.
She nodded, seeming to draw strength, and mounted the ladder.
Seichan went next, scrambling up behind her like a trapeze artist, even with her injured shoulder.
Gray followed last. He hadn’t needed to use the gun again. He shoved the Luger into the back of his belt and fled up the rope ladder. In moments, he was clambering into the cabin of the helicopter.
As the door was slammed behind him, Gray straightened to thank the person who had given him an arm and helped him inside.
The man wore a shit-eating grin. “Hi, boss.”
“Monk!”
Gray grabbed him in a bear hug.
“Watch the arm,” his partner said.
Gray let him loose. Monk’s left arm was strapped to his body, and a leather guard sheathed the bandaged stump of his wrist. He looked well enough, but paler. Dark circles shadowed his eyes.
Map of Bones sf-2 Page 39
