The Sixth Day

by Catherine Coulter

  “Hang on.”

  Mike unwound a tactical rope in her kit and looped it twice around an air vent. She leaned over the roof edge. “The rope won’t be strong enough for the two of you at once.” She wrapped the rope around her waist and threw the last fifteen feet over the edge. “Gareth, you come up first. Yell when you’ve got a good hold.”

  Moments later, Gareth called, “Have it,” and she sat on the roof and braced her feet against the roofline.

  She shouted, “Go, I’m ready.”

  She felt the jerk and the sudden load of weight as he let go of Nicholas’s hand. It felt like hours before Gareth finally made it up and over the roof. He lay there for a moment, breathing hard, then unwound the rope from his bloody hands and tossed it to Nicholas. “Mike, let’s do him together.” He wrapped the rope around his hands, and the two of them held steady as Nicholas climbed up the side of the house to the roof.

  When Nicholas rolled over the edge, onto the roof, Mike sat down hard on her butt. She was sweating, her muscles burned. Nicholas looked to be in one piece, but she’d bet the wound in his side was bleeding again.

  “Gareth, there’s a first-aid kit in my bag. Your hands are a wreck. Nicholas, do you know your face is black?” Where was her brain? “And how is your side?”

  “My side is maybe bleeding a bit, but I’m all right. The pilots?”

  Gareth shook his head. “The missile took out the cockpit. The chopper flipped over in midair before it went over. They were gone before it hit the ground.”

  Mike closed her eyes against the pain of it. Between curses, Nicholas got on his radio and relayed their situation. Adam had heard the whole thing, but the chopper’s comms were down so he couldn’t speak to them.

  “Adam, you probably can’t hear me, but we must abort the mission. I hope the Zodiacs are waiting.”

  Gareth got painfully to his feet. “We’ll shimmy down the side of the house and get to the boats, if they’re there.”

  Mike said, furious, “Stop it, both of you! We are not aborting this mission. There haven’t been any more attacks. We can’t let the pilots’ lives be wasted by giving up now. Nicholas, give me the shaped charge. We’re going in.”

  Gareth eyed her like he would a wild animal. “Mike, listen. Someone in that house shot a missile at us and took out the chopper. There may be more missiles at the ready, you know that. The only reason there haven’t been more attacks is they think we’re dead.”

  “They’ll kill Isabella if we don’t get to her, if they haven’t already. Give me that frigging shaped charge now.”

  Nicholas handed it to her. “Gareth, whoever told you this job was a walk in the park?”

  Gareth laughed, got his hands bandaged and taped.

  Mike nodded, walked over to the glass skylight, and pressed the shaped charge into place. She stepped back and activated the trigger. The explosion was hard and fast. The glass skylight shattered inward perfectly, as it was supposed to, and Mike tossed them the rope.

  “Gareth, can you climb down that rope with your hands?”

  “I’d like to say I rappel as well as you two maniacs, but the fact is”—he waved his bandaged hands. “I’ll be slower, but I’ll follow you down as best I can. Go.”

  Nicholas took the rope out of her hand. “Mike, back off, I’m going in first. I was the one hanging off a roof, not you. I deserve a reward.”

  She couldn’t help it, she grinned at him. He looked dangerous and pissed off. He flashed a light into the darkness below them. All was quiet. “If Adam’s plans are correct, below the skylight is a library.”

  He pulled his weapon into place across his chest and went down the rope, hand over hand. Mike did the same, and Gareth came last. Mike heard his sharp intake of breath, knew his hands had to hurt. She thought of the bleeding wound in Nicholas’s side. She kept quiet and rappelled.

  They landed lightly on a hardwood floor. Nicholas flashed his light on the walls. They were in a massive room, every wall covered with floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books, thousands of them.

  Once they’d crept out of the library, the house looked different. Nicholas whispered, “They must have had work done since Adam’s blueprints.”

  “Yes, but the aviary still has to be to the west, stairs to the lab to the east, down one floor.”

  Gareth said, “Wait, do you hear something?”

  They heard a low shriek. “The aviary,” Mike said, “there must still be birds in there.”

  Gareth said, “They’re safe enough. The fire is outside. They must be scared. The stairs are ahead. I wish there was a separate set, I hate to go down the main staircase like this.”

  “No choice,” Nicholas said, “so let’s do it.”

  They stuck to the walls, inching down the stairs, one step at a time, guns held at the ready across their chests. They heard another cry, getting louder.

  “That’s not a bird,” Nicholas said. “That’s a person. It sounds like someone’s keening.”

  Gareth put a hand on Nicholas’s shoulder. “Shh. Listen.”

  There were words now, but they couldn’t understand them.

  “What language is that?”

  Mike said, “I don’t know. Ardelean is Romanian.”

  Nicholas was shaking his head. “It’s not Romanian. It’s not like any language I’ve ever heard before.”

  Faintly, in the background, they heard an all-too-familiar sound—the unmistakable metal snick of a magazine being slammed into a gun.

  Before anyone could react, bullets sprayed the staircase.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  They ducked. It seemed like forever before silence came again. “There,” Nicholas said, “that’s the final spray, that’s the whole magazine. Go!”

  They charged down the stairs, Nicholas in the lead, spraying three-round bursts. At the bottom of the stairs they took cover behind statues, all in marble and bronze. The hall fell eerily silent again. The gunman was biding his time.

  Mike said quietly into her comms, “Ben, are you scanning the house? What’s thermal saying?”

  “Having a hard time. If I didn’t know better I’d say the place is lined in lead. We’re barely getting readings, but it looks like three bodies to your east. Other side of the wall from where you are.”

  She heard Nicholas say, “Hold on,” and then a clatter. Immediately, gunfire opened up again, spraying the room. This time, Mike could see where the shots originated.

  “The wall in the corner—there’s a freaking weapon hanging from the ceiling.

  Nicholas said, “And it’s automated, on a motion sensor. I’ll throw another canister. When I do, you two bolt for the hallway.”

  “What’s to say there won’t be another gun?”

  “Probably is, we’ll have to take each room as we go. Three, two, one, break.”

  There was a clatter, and the weapon went off in a flash of light. Mike ran, hard, toward the darkness, pulling up short just inside the hallway. No new guns went off.

  She said, “We might be in luck. I see light at the end of the hallway.”

  “Anyone with ears knows we’re here,” Gareth said. “Whatever, or whoever, is behind that door is going to be pretty angry when we blow through.”

  Mike gave him a mad grin. “Let’s go.”

  Carefully, they duck-walked down the hallway, silent as they could be, all geared up. Mike could smell blood, knew it was Nicholas and Gareth, and worried. But then they were at the door, and Gareth placed two explosives on the hinges.

  “Biometric locks. Hopefully, this door isn’t all steel.”

  Nicholas said, “Only one way to find out. Behind me, both of you. Go, go, go.” They ducked and covered their ears, and he hit the trigger on the charge.

  The door blew inward. It took Mike’s eyes moment to adjust before her ears registered the screaming.

  The man charged them out of nowhere, an automatic weapon in his hands, spraying bullets. He passed through their sight so fast Mike didn’t
shoot back, afraid she might hit Isabella.

  Nicholas continued firing through the open doorway, Mike crouched behind him. she heard a cry. “Gareth, you’re hit?”

  He was crawling to the safety of the hallway just outside the blown door. “Grazed my leg. Go on, I’ll be right behind you.”

  Mike stepped to the side of the doorway, went down on her knees to cover Nicholas. She saw the man who’d charged at them crouched to the left of the door, ready to shoot again the moment Nicholas cleared the doorway and came into the room. His hair was white blond, and his teeth were bared in fury. He saw Nicholas and lurched up and into the open, his weapon high, too high, and Nicholas shot him in the chest. He staggered back, but didn’t fall.

  “Nicholas, he’s in Kevlar!” and she shot at his legs.

  He was down, groaning, on his side on the floor, grabbing his left leg. Nicholas shouted, “FBI, put down your weapon,” but the man groaned once and went limp. A huge pool of blood spread across the perfect white floor.

  “Artery shot, Mike.”

  They heard a woman’s voice shout, “Careful. It’s rigged, they rigged—” before she was cut off.

  They froze. “What’s rigged?”

  They heard her garbled voice. Someone had his hand over her mouth. They studied the room that looked like a large hospital suite but didn’t see anything that could kill them.

  “Isabella,” Mike called. “Is that you? Are you all right?”

  There was scuffling and more muffled yells. Nicholas took one step forward, heard something metallic grinding and ducked just before a sharp edge of metal swung right at his head. Mike ran forward, went down on her knees, and skidded. They collided.

  Nicholas grabbed her arms to hold her steady. “What the bloody hell was that?”

  “I don’t know, but it nearly took off your head. She was right, the place is rigged.”

  Mike leaned up, whispered against his ear, “The defenses must be on motion sensors. Maybe if we stay low, we can get them to go off without killing us.”

  They crawled. After ten feet, they saw Isabella, wearing a hospital gown, her legs webbed to the bed. But she wasn’t alone.

  She was sitting up, and a man was holding her in front of him. They were tethered together, connected by a long tube running from her arm to his. It was dark red. What was going on here? A blood transfusion? This man was taking Isabella’s blood?

  Was this Roman Ardelean’s brother? Tall, pale as death, and he looked like he wanted to vomit. He’d flattened one hand over Isabella’s mouth and the other hand held a scalpel to her neck.

  What was his name? Radu. Yes, Radu Ardelean, and he was ill, Barstow had said. Mike whispered his name to Nicholas, but he already knew. They knew Radu had seen them, but he wasn’t looking at them. No, he was looking over to where the older man lay on the floor behind them, an ever-spreading pool of blood snaking toward them. There were tears in his eyes.

  He spoke to them in a language they didn’t understand. Then he shook his head and said in stilted English, “Don’t come any closer. I don’t want to kill her. She is my life, but I will if you make me.”

  Isabella bit his hand, and he flinched. He stuck the scalpel into her neck, drawing a drop of blood.

  Mike sat back on her heels, her mind racing, but when she spoke, her voice was calm and soothing, “You are his brother, aren’t you? You’re Radu Ardelean.”

  “Yes, but it doesn’t matter. If you leave us, we will be fine. We belong together. She is my blood sister. She’d tell you that, but she’s scared.”

  “Why don’t you let your blood sister speak to us?” Mike crawled a few more feet, then a few more, sat back on her heels again. Nicholas stopped behind her. She felt his hand on her leg.

  Slowly, Radu took his hand from Isabella’s mouth, but the scalpel remained against her throat. They saw another drop of blood. Mike would swear his nostrils flared, as if he was breathing in that blood on her neck, as he whispered, “Tell them, sister, tell them we belong together, that I will die without you.”

  Isabella couldn’t get any spit into her mouth. She was still weak and light-headed from the loss of blood, but she had to get it together, had to. She swallowed and swallowed again, aware Radu was behind her, breathing hard, nearly over the edge he was so frightened, so desperate. She wasn’t about to try to shove him off. She said quietly, her voice infinitely calm, “Yes, Radu isn’t only Roman Ardelean’s brother, he’s his twin. He has an untreatable hemophilia that runs through our familial line. He’s right. With the recipe from the Voynich and my blood, he could be cured.” The scalpel eased out of her neck, and she swallowed again. He whispered against her neck, “Tell them you belong with me. Always.”

  Nicholas heard him, of course, and said, “Radu, we can’t leave her with you. You have to let her go.” He continued to crawl forward until he was next to Mike. Radu’s face hardened, then he looked again toward the older man’s body, and suddenly, he seemed to fold in on himself. He whispered, “No, no,” and his voice was filled with soul-deep grief. Yet again, he pricked her skin with the scalpel. She flinched but didn’t make a sound. Blood trailed down to stain her white hospital gown.

  Mike raised her hand. “Stop, don’t hurt her. She’s innocent in this, and from what we see, what she’s said, we know you are, too.”

  Nicholas said, “Radu, please, put down the scalpel, and we can talk about this, civilly.” He rose slowly to his feet.

  “You killed Iago.”

  “We didn’t want to, but we had no choice. He was trying to kill us.”

  “He was protecting me. Iago always protected me, since I was a little boy. Don’t come another step closer.”

  Mike stood as well, moved to stand beside Nicholas.

  Radu said, “I’m telling you, you want to stop walking, right now. You really should pay attention.”

  Nicholas stopped, but Mike took another step, and another. She saw Radu reach out his hand and touch something at the side of a counter, and the whole world disappeared.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  She was falling, a black maw below her. She couldn’t think, couldn’t begin to understand. She heard Nicholas shout her name, but she couldn’t stop, she was falling, falling—something was choking her—

  Nicholas, Nicholas, I’m so sorry— Her neck slapped to the side, hard, and she was jerked to a stop, like a bungee cord, only she wasn’t dangling in space. She banged into a hard wall, the breath knocked out of her. She realized she was choking and pulled hard at the gun strap now twisted tight around her neck. She couldn’t loosen it, it was cutting off her air. She heard Nicholas yell, “I have you!”

  She dangled in the darkness, Nicholas’s hand holding the gun strap, and she was tearing at it, trying desperately to loosen it. She realized the strap was pressing against her jugular. She couldn’t breathe, spots started to dance in front of her eyes. She struggled, but nothing worked.

  “You’re okay, Mike,” he called down to her. “Breathe, your wind’s been knocked out, little sips of air, I have you. You aren’t going to fall.”

  He quickly pulled her up through the darkness, back into the white room. Her gun clattered against the metal edge of the hole, ripped free of her body. It was a long time before it hit bottom.

  She landed on the floor, arms and legs splayed out, wheezing for breath. Nicholas saw what was happening and grabbed the strap he’d caught and pulled it away from her neck. “Breathe! Breathe!” She did, a great shuddering breath went through her, and she rolled up, pulled her knees to her chest, rocking, rocking. He was rubbing her back, her sternum. She wheezed out, “That’s better. I can nearly breathe again. Did I break my neck?”

  Nicholas quickly looked back to see Radu hadn’t moved. He still pressed the scalpel to Isabella’s throat. He was watching them, a strange expression on his face. As for Isabella, she looked frozen, probably too terrified to move.

  “No, your neck’s fine. Sorry, I didn’t see I was choking you.” Instead of
saving her he could have killed her. He brought her close, continued to rub her shoulders, her neck. When she was breathing easily once again, she looked over at Radu Ardelean, but he wasn’t looking at them. He was looking at the empty expanse between them.

  She looked down. There wasn’t a floor between them. It was gone. It had opened, and she’d fallen through.

  Radu said, nodding, “Oubliette. It goes down a good thirty feet to a stone floor. Remember, I did tell you to stop.”

  She stared into that huge black hole, at least ten feet by ten feet. Thirty feet to the bottom? If Nicholas hadn’t caught her by the gun strap, she would have died or her body would have been so broken— She swallowed. A gift, a miracle. She felt Nicholas’s hands now resting lightly on her shoulders. She was alive. She drew in a deep breath and lifted her hand to squeeze his.

  Nicholas said slowly to Radu, “An oubliette, built into this house. It’s not on the architectural plans.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that. Roman told me about it, said he couldn’t imagine it would ever be used but showed me what button to press—” Radu pointed to a small black spot on the edge of a counter close to him. “Roman said it was like an oubliette our ancestors used, like the one in their castle, a surprise defense.”

  “What ancestors, Radu?”

  “Tell them, Isabella.”

  She felt the scalpel ease back, swallowed. “Their most infamous ancestor, and mine, too, perhaps, is Vlad Dracul III, but—”

  “No, that’s enough,” Radu said against her cheek, and it looked to Mike like he breathed in the blood on her neck. He raised his head. “I assume your helicopter is what’s burning outside the windows? I heard it coming. Iago set off the missile. It would have crashed through the window, but Roman put in special glass. But you made it to the roof first. And you made it past the guns in the gallery, and the gauntlet.” He looked at Mike. “You were lucky this man caught you, or your body would be broken on the stone floor at the bottom on the oubliette. Iago says that luck is sometimes the conqueror’s best friend. If Vlad Dracul were here, though, he’d kill you both and stick your heads on a pike.”