by John Sneeden
Amanda looked over at him. “Where do you think Emily is?”
He wished she hadn’t brought it up—not because it was inappropriate, but because Carmen needed time to mentally recover. Then again, it did need to be discussed at some point. He returned her gaze “My guess is she’s sliding into bed at some five-star hotel right now.”
“You really think that?”
He saw concern in her eyes. “I don’t have any reason not to.”
Carmen stopped stirring for a moment and faced them. “Zane may be right. The merchant area was like a funnel, which means there was nowhere else for her to go. If I had to guess, I’d say she probably got past me. And if she did, it means she got away.” She turned back to the stove. “That’s what I’m hoping, anyway.”
“I think it would’ve been easy for her to have gotten turned around,” Amanda said, “particularly if she was looking for you.”
“So what do you think happened?” Zane asked.
“I have no idea, but I don’t rule out a worst-case scenario. Think about how many men were on that boat. We have to face the possibility one of them grabbed her.”
Zane rubbed his chin reflectively. “Let’s assume they grabbed her. Don’t you think she would’ve cried out? And if she did, don’t you think Carmen would’ve heard her?”
Carmen turned toward them. “It’s true… I might have heard her scream. Then again, a lot of people were screaming. It’s something we have to consider.”
“You didn’t see anyone being pulled away, did you?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”
“Look, we should all be concerned,” Zane said. “To be perfectly honest, my stomach is in knots over what might have happened.” He paused for a moment, measuring his words. “I apologize if I’ve seemed uncaring, but when things happen that are out of my control, I’ve learned to block them out. Besides, Brett is trying to get her number as we speak. Once we have that, maybe we’ll be able to contact her and put all this behind us.”
After a long pause, Amanda said, “I guess I, of all people, know what she’s going through.”
Zane knew she was referring to her own father’s death. He was surprised he hadn’t thought of their shared experience until now. She was one of the few people who could understand the emotions and the pressure that must weigh on Emily.
He tapped the book in her lap. “Anything helpful in there?”
“A lot of good stuff, although I’m beginning to wonder if we’re ever going to understand what he was referring to. There is just way too much information.”
“I was afraid of that. What’s the subject matter?”
“Old Testament archaeology.”
“Oh, boy. A foolproof cure for insomnia.”
Amanda shook her head. “I can’t help it if you have bad taste. Old Testament history is exciting.”
“If you say so.”
As she continued to read, Zane picked up the remote and turned on the television. A pretty dark-haired reporter appeared on the screen. She stood at the edge of the square along the Grand Canal, clutching a microphone with one hand while pointing with the other. The scene was still chaotic with police and emergency workers moving around behind the yellow tape. She seemed to be saying a search was still on for suspects. Apparently, the police were still refusing to rule out terrorism, even though no one seemed to have suffered any significant injuries beyond bumps and bruises from the stampede. That last sentence gave Zane some hope Emily might have made it out unscathed. Had she been shot or killed, the authorities would surely know.
Moments later, the scene switched to a male reporter in a different part of the city. He stood not far from Pauling’s home. Behind him, dozens of people were crowded up against a law enforcement barrier. The reporter quoted the police as saying they believed both events were connected, although the nature of the connection was not yet clear.
“Well, we did accomplish something tonight,” Carmen said over the sound of the television.
Zane lowered the volume. “And what’s that?”
“We were able to field test Brett’s new toy.”
Zane still wasn’t sure if the blast had actually killed anyone. After all, the gunmen could’ve run off before the device detonated. But it had done its job, which was to suppress incoming fire and give them the time they needed to get away. “Brett’s bombs.” He laughed. “I have to hand it to him. The triggering mechanism worked to perfection.”
Carmen looked over her shoulder. “And don’t forget we still have one left.”
“Let’s just hope we don’t—”
“What the…?” Amanda sat up straight, a look of shock spreading over her face.
Zane frowned at her.
She met his gaze. “I think I found Dr. Pauling’s message.”
CHAPTER TEN
ZANE FOUND IT hard to believe what he’d just heard. He hadn’t expected her to find anything tonight. If there was a clue hidden in the book, he’d assumed it would take hours of study. Perhaps Pauling had done something simple like slipping a piece of paper between the pages.
He muted the television. “What does it say?”
“Well, I don’t know yet.”
“What do you mean?” Carmen joined them on the couch. “You said you figured it out.”
“Here, take a look. It’s not what you’re thinking.” Amanda turned the book. Zane’s eyes widened. A square had been cut into the center of the pages that comprised the last half of the volume, and lying in the created space was a small device.
“I was skipping ahead, flipping through the pages,” Amanda continued. “When I got about halfway through, I came to one that wouldn’t turn. At first, I didn’t think anything of it. Book pages often stick together when food or drink is spilled inside. But after looking at it more closely, I realized all of the remaining pages were stuck together. So I peeled a few back and found this.”
Zane leaned closer. The device appeared to be an MP3 player. Amanda tugged but had trouble getting it out.
“Looks like it’s glued in there,” Carmen said.
Amanda tugged harder, and finally, the player broke free.
“Probably didn’t want it to bounce around if someone happened to pick the book up,” Carmen noted.
Zane was stunned. The subject of Pauling’s text to Dr. Rust had been right here under their nose the entire time. He’d expected the clue would be one of the artifacts detailed in the text, not an audio recording.
Amanda pushed the power button. “Let’s see what we have.”
Zane and Carmen leaned in.
When the device lit up, only one file showed on the screen. Amanda tapped it, and a video began to play. A man appeared, seated in a black leather chair. He had salt-and-pepper hair and wore stylish, wire-rimmed glasses. Zane immediately recognized Dr. Richard Pauling. He had a pleasant expression—the kind of man you felt comfortable with right away.
The footage had clearly not been shot in or around Venice. Pauling sat in a room, probably a private residence. The area around the house was visible through several windows behind him. Beautiful mountains rose in the distance, which Zane assumed were somewhere in Italy, although he had no way of knowing for sure.
After a brief moment, Pauling cleared his throat and began:
Hello, Andrew. I hope this finds you well. The fact that you’re watching this means two things. One, I’m probably dead. And two, you’ve followed my instructions to the letter. Let me first explain what this is all about. A little over six months ago, I got the opportunity to examine an ancient map. From the very beginning, I was skeptical about its authenticity, but after meeting with the seller and performing a few simple tests, I realized it was the real thing.
What is it a map of? It would be too risky to divulge that information here. You’re the best at what you do, and I have no doubt you’ll be able to figure it out for yourself.
Pauling took a drink of water.
So why did I ask yo
u to come here to Venice? Let me explain. Shortly after making the purchase, a close friend told me word had gotten out regarding the existence of the map. Apparently, the seller had talked to the wrong people, and word eventually made its way to a group that had been seeking it for years. They had let it be known they would do anything to acquire it. When you finally understand the nature of the map, you’ll also understand why I can’t let it get into the wrong hands, even if it means giving up my life.
In any event, I had to make sure that, in the event of my death, someone could carry on with my work. Unfortunately, the map is not complete, and some additional work needs to be done in order to find the location it describes. It’s like having a map of the neighborhood, only you don’t know what city that neighborhood is in. I have some strong suspicions about where that might be, but you’ll have to figure that out yourself.
At this point, you’re probably expecting me to divulge the location of the map. The actual map is being held by my attorney, who shall not be named, and will be distributed to an unnamed individual upon confirmation of my death. But don’t worry. You won’t need the actual map because I’ve made a perfectly legible electronic image. Once you find it, you’ll be able to use it in your research.
So where is this image?
There was an odd pause that lasted for several seconds. Pauling’s eyes shifted slightly.
I think you now have enough information to find it. Best wishes, my dear friend. I’m just sorry we couldn’t work on this together.
The video ended. Amanda played it one more time then sat the MP3 player on the table.
Carmen broke the silence. “That’s it? ‘I think you now have enough information to find it’?”
“That was strange,” Amanda said. “No doubt about it. It’s almost as if the video was spliced, like there was something missing.”
Zane sat back and tried to make sense of what he’d just heard. Did Pauling mean Rust would recognize the location? Perhaps, although that would be odd since the two hadn’t had much contact since Pauling moved to Venice.
“Play it again,” Carmen said. “Maybe we missed something.”
Amanda played the file a third time. As Zane watched, he didn’t see or hear anything he hadn’t noticed before. The odd pause at the end seemed to be suggestive of something, but he had no idea what.
Carmen leaned forward, her brows knit together tightly. “Play it again.”
“Did you see something?” Zane asked.
Carmen ignored his question. “And pause it when I tell you to.”
Amanda played the video a fourth time. After the odd pause at the end, Carmen raised her hand. “Now!”
Amanda paused the video.
“What are you looking at?” Zane asked.
“Now, back it up just a little, and play it again,” Carmen said.
Amanda did as she was told. As the video played, Carmen pointed at the screen. “There!” She looked at Zane. “Did you see it?”
Zane shook his head. He had no idea what she was talking about. There seemed to be something unusual about Pauling’s expression, but that was it. Maybe he was looking at something off camera. But what?
Carmen turned to Amanda. “Go back one more time, and when he moves his eyes there at the end, hit pause.”
Amanda rewound a bit then hit pause at the appropriate time. A smile spread over Carmen’s face. She tapped the screen and looked at Zane. “See it?”
Zane narrowed his eyes, focusing on the bottom of the screen. Something was printed there in a tiny font. He leaned closer, and a series of numbers appeared. She was right. That was what Pauling was trying to communicate.
Carmen patted Zane’s leg. “Sorry, I had to focus on getting it right.”
“No, that’s fine.” Zane looked at Amanda. “Can you enlarge it?”
Amanda used her fingers to increase the image size. Zane frowned. What he thought was one long string of numbers was actually two sets of numbers, and the pattern was one he was quite familiar with. “I think I know what it is.”
Carmen turned toward him in surprise. “What is it?”
“They’re GPS coordinates.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EMILY SWAM UP through the dark waters of her dreams. Her head broke the surface, allowing her a brief moment of consciousness. Men talked somewhere nearby. They seemed to be down a hallway, but she couldn’t be sure. Just as she began to hear the voices more clearly, she sank back beneath the waves. It was the third time she had surfaced, and for the third time, she had failed to break through.
After what seemed like an eternity, she found herself swimming toward the surface again. Light appeared above. The surface was almost in reach. She pushed, kicked, and stroked with all her strength. This time, she wouldn’t be denied. This time, she’d push through for good.
She opened her eyes. She could see. Was it real or just a dream? She twitched her nose then blinked several times. Everything seemed to be working. She was finally awake, and she resolved to never go back.
The space around her was mostly dark. The only light spilled in from a door or window behind her head. The stench of cigarettes and cooked meat filled the air. As her eyes adjusted, she noticed the room had beige walls covered with cracked paint. Probably an old apartment in Venice.
Emily tried to lift her head, but the room spun, forcing her back down. Someone drugged me. The words flashed in her mind. While her memory hadn’t fully returned, she instinctively knew the words were true. But who’d drugged her? And why had they brought her here?
After she lay still for several minutes, her mind sharpened a bit, and the events of the last few hours flashed through her mind. She remembered arriving at her father’s house, although she couldn’t remember when. She’d just begun to search the third floor when she heard someone downstairs. She remembered being caught by an intruder, a tall man with long hair and powerful hands.
Zane. That was his name. A strange feeling of comfort swept through her when she pictured his face. Even though she’d protested at the time, she remembered it wasn’t unpleasant when’d he pinned her arms on the floor. He was strong, but he was also someone who controlled his strength. She imagined the arms he used to fight were the same arms that could tenderly scoop a woman up.
More images came. Gunmen arriving at her father’s house, forcing them to flee. She remembered the chase that ended at the concert along the Grand Canal. At that point, the group had split up. Emily fled with the dark-haired woman whose name she couldn’t remember. At some point, they became separated. Then…
Emily’s heart pounded in her chest as she remembered hiding behind the boxes. She’d been convinced she was safe, only to feel a large hand close over her mouth and a gun press into her spine. After that, her memories grew foggy. She remembered a man—maybe two—dragging her down an alley. Eventually, they came to a canal where she was shoved into the bottom of a boat and hit over the head with a blunt object. She remembered awakening briefly in a chair, only to feel a sharp sting on her upper arm.
That’s where the memories ended.
A man laughed in the distance, bringing her back to the present. Another joined in the laughter, while a third said something in a foreign tongue. Distance muffled their voices. She guessed they were down a hallway or around a corner. She heard the familiar clink of chips being tossed onto a table. Poker. They’re playing poker.
Emily tried to get up. She rose slightly, only to realize her wrists were bound to the bed frame with rope. There was a bit of slack, so she was able to squirm around and finally get up on her knees. A headboard was directly in front of her, and there was a window to her left.
Sliding her legs carefully so as not to make the mattress squeak, Emily scooted closer to the window and peered through the glass. It was dark outside. She doubted she’d been out for twenty-four hours, so she assumed it was the same night she’d been abducted. She shifted her gaze downward. Moonlight glimmered off the waters of a narrow canal. Along the e
dge, several gondolas rocked gently in the choppy waters. Venice. She was still somewhere in the city. Lifting her eyes slightly, she studied the buildings on the other side of the canal. They looked much the same as they did everywhere in the city. That was the problem with Venice. Unless you were near one of the landmarks, it all looked pretty much the same. That was why a lot of tourists got lost.
Maybe if she could look in one direction or the other she might see something she recognized. The Grand Canal. The Bridge of Sighs. Anything. She lifted her right leg and leaned to the left. As she pressed her face against the glass, her left knee slid out from under her, sending her crashing onto the mattress. The old bed squeaked loudly, and she knew it would be heard throughout the house.
A chair pushed away from a table down the hall. Footsteps sounded in the hall outside her room. She froze. Someone was coming. Seconds later, the dark figure of a man appeared at the door. Seeing she was awake, he stepped into the room. He was bald, wore all black, and clutched a pistol in his right hand. Emily recognized him as one of the men who had chased them across the plaza.
“She’s awake,” he barked over his shoulder in heavily accented English. It sounded Eastern European, maybe Russian. She couldn’t be sure.
Chairs groaned across the floor, followed by the sound of more footsteps in the hallway. Two men entered, both dressed in black and carrying pistols. The taller of the two crossed over and sat next to her on the bed. His eyes moved over her body in a way that made her uncomfortable. He lifted her chin with two of his fingers. “You’re even more beautiful when I see your eyes.”
She pushed his hand aside, causing his face to flash with anger. He grabbed her wrist and held it there.
Emily winced. “Let me go!”
The man’s expression softened a bit. The quick transition of expression was frightening. “She’s like little wildcat.” He looked back at the other two. “I think Viktor will like this one.”
Viktor. The name was undoubtedly important. She needed to gather as much information as possible. “Who is Viktor?”
