The Book of Names

by Jill Gregory

  “This way. You’re the last to check in. We need to verify your passports.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Storming down the hall, Crispin was blind to the people giving him a wide berth. He veered toward the rear staircase leading to the lower level, and charged recklessly down it, one leg at a time, the tip of his cane rapping harshly against the winding metal steps.

  A black rage enveloped him. Where the hell was Shepherd? He’s playing with me, Crispin fumed. Raoul had just reported that Shepherd and the Israeli woman had arrived at Heathrow over two hours ago. Why hadn’t they reached Trinity Square and made the damned phone call? Raoul and Enrique had scoured the park and the memorial garden—no sign of them. No phone call.

  Maybe hearing the little girl scream would get Shepherd’s attention. His teeth ground together as he envisioned snapping her arm like a pretzel as Shepherd listened to her cries.

  He yanked the key from his pocket and plunged it into the lock, but to his surprise, the door swung inward before he even turned the key.

  What was this?

  An empty room, that’s what it was. Incredulous, Crispin stared at the bare cot, the vacant chair, the barren corners.

  He let out an incoherent roar of rage.

  He punched the buttons on his phone. “She’s gone!” he shouted, reaching the Dark Angels’ command center on the floor above. “The room is empty! Who do you think I mean? The last Hidden One—find her!”

  By the time he’d spun around, bells were beginning to clang the alert. Rage still burning like hot coals in his chest, Crispin hobbled through the corridor and up the rear stairs, his face mottled with fury as a dozen Dark Angels poured past him down the steps.

  As he reached the landing, he came face to face with DiStefano.

  “A word, Serpent.” DiStefano’s expression was remarkably calm.

  “We have to find the girl,” Crispin snarled.

  “Oh, we will. There’s no place for her to hide, is there?” DiStefano tilted his head, a slight smile curling his mouth.

  “I don’t know what games you’re playing or why you didn’t come straight to me with Guillermo Torres’s name,” he said. “And I won’t ask who sent the assassination order from my server, Serpent. I’ll just tell you, it’s done. Three men named Guillermo Torres were eliminated today.” His eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “And Jack Cherle’s ship is docking as we speak—another Hidden One to be dispatched momentarily. That leaves us only the girl.”

  “I want her brought to me when she’s found.”

  Ice glinted in DiStefano’s eyes. “She will be killed when she’s found,” he countered smoothly. “This is no longer about you, Serpent. Your role is over, successfully completed, I might add. Our time has arrived. There is no longer any reason to keep Stacy Lachman alive. David Shepherd has failed to stop us and once her life is snuffed out, we win. Your only concern now is to prepare yourself for the end—and our beginning.”

  On the words, a rumble shuddered through the tunnel’s ceiling of rock. Both men looked up.

  “Cherle.” DiStefano consulted his watch and smiled. “He’s dead, or will be very soon. Only one to go.”

  Crispin’s mind was racing. Not yet. He wasn’t ready.

  Once, this was exactly the way he’d planned it. But now it was all wrong—something was missing. Discovering Shepherd’s connection to Stacy Lachman had changed everything. Now he wanted it all—the gemstone that had been stolen from him, retribution for the years he’d lost in that coma, the satisfaction of vengeance. Then the Ascension. Not a moment before.

  He turned from DiStefano without a word. If the leader of the Circle thinks he can stop me, he’s dead wrong. If I get my hands on the girl first, she’s mine. And I’ll decide when it’s time for her to die.

  SOUTHAMPTON

  Three long-range rifles thundered within milliseconds.

  Jack Cherle crumpled to the pavement as his family screamed and people dove for cover.

  “Clean kill, mates. See you in London.” Geoffrey Bales’s voice crackled through the other two Dark Angels’ earpieces, even as their vehicles pulled away from the docks.

  Bales tugged out his BlackBerry and began to type with one hand as he drove.

  “It’s done.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  David and Yael placed their tarot cards on the reception desk. David held his breath as the woman in the power suit picked each one up and scrutinized it—front, then back. She’s checking out the numbers, he realized.

  Rapid-fire, she typed into the computer before her, then leaned forward to frown at the screen. Her head flew up and she stared hard at Yael.

  She’s not buying it, David thought, his heart hammering as he pretended to be absorbed by the mammoth Lichtenstein on the wall to his right. Any minute now that Dark Angel’s going to raise his gun and pick us off.

  Beside him, he sensed Yael’s tension. Sweat dripped from his armpits. I should spring now, catch him off balance. . . .

  But before his limbs could react, the woman barked at Yael. “Your name. What is it?”

  At that the Dark Angel advanced, his broad fingers tightening on the gun. “Is there a problem?”

  “There is no problem.” Yael spoke coolly. “You have my name right there. And you have my card.”

  “That’s the problem,” the woman countered. “This card was issued to a man.”

  “That’s impossible,” David said.

  “Clearly, you’ve made a mistake.” Yael’s tone was frigid. If David didn’t know better, he’d have thought she was truly affronted. “I want to speak to Prime Minister DiStefano. Or Crispin Mueller. Now.”

  For the first time, the woman appeared unsure. She glanced over her shoulder at the Dark Angel, as if seeking guidance.

  Glaring at the Dark Angel, David pressed her. “Tell him to put that weapon down,” he ordered. “She has her card. Obviously, the numbers are mixed up. If we’re the last to arrive, then it’s apparent no one else is coming.”

  He leaned closer, inches from her face. “And do you think anyone on the outside would have access to these cards? Use your head,” he finished in a scornful tone.

  The woman was visibly struggling, torn between adherence to the Gnoseos code of secrecy and the obvious discrepancy before her.

  “But it says Paul Wright—”

  “Paula Wright.” Yael turned to David, her teeth clenched. “Who’d expect incompetency at a moment like this?” she hissed. “Typos on this crucial day? Unacceptable.”

  He pointed at the Dark Angel. “You. Get DiStefano at once. He can settle this matter without wasting any more time.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Hastily, the woman opened a drawer and produced two small key rings, each dangling a single gold key. David heard Yael let out a tiny breath, and the clamor of his own heart slowed infinitesimally.

  “James Gillis, you’re in Room Seventeen in the D corridor on the main floor. Paula Wright, Room Forty-two in the C corridor.” She jerked her thumb to the right. “Lower level, near the back stairs.”

  Yael snatched up her key ring and stomped down the corridor, the picture of unmollified outrage.

  “Let’s go, James, since we’re now so late.”

  David had to force himself not to glance back. “That was close,” he muttered under his breath as he caught up to her. “You were impressive back there.”

  “I took a gamble. Can you believe this place?” she whispered, as they merged into the flow of people in the wide corridor.

  The tunnel was so congested they might have been back in New York. But this was no Big Apple. It was stark, eerie, and dimly lit with a combination of bare bulbs and fat candles perched on high ledges. The architecture was a startling blend of metal and natural rock, and the air reeked with a fusty odor from the seepage puddled along the edges of the walls. Yet the atmosphere crackled with expectancy and excitement.

  David had never imagined anything like this. The bunker was a weird c
ross between a cave and a fallout shelter. It was far larger than he’d expected, even for the two thousand people who’d been issued the secret tarot cards.

  Where in this godforsaken maze is Stacy? he thought as he scanned the jubilant faces coming at him. Every person he passed looked ordinary, but they were all enemies. His enemies and the world’s.

  Stacy might be the sole hope he had of defeating them, but he hadn’t a clue where to start looking for her.

  Walking quickly, they passed a large auditorium flanked by the ouroboros sculptures, then a dining hall, a kitchen.

  There’s slim chance of finding her in a public area, David thought as they hurried past.

  To his relief, other than an occasional nod or a smile, no one in the tunnel paid much attention to them as they made their way toward the rear stairs.

  Suddenly, a low rumble shuddered through the rock. Candles wobbled on their perches, and David and Yael glanced up in alarm.

  “What was that? The soles of my feet are still vibrating,” Yael muttered.

  “I don’t know, but I don’t like it. All we need is for this place to catch on fire.” David scowled. “We have to find Stacy and get out of here.”

  All around them, a low murmur of excitement thrummed through the passersby. Then came a shrill clang of bells, one after the other, echoing through the hallway.

  “It must be time,” a man shouted excitedly.

  “To the auditorium!” a woman’s voice sang out.

  More shouts went up. “To the auditorium! To victory!”

  As everyone around them charged in the direction from which David and Yael had just come, the two of them pressed on, running now toward the rear of the tunnel.

  David’s heart pounded more from fear than exertion. Time was evaporating and he had no clue where to look for Stacy in this vast godforsaken hellhole. But with everyone now congregating in the auditorium, maybe he and Yael could search the more remote parts of the bunker with less chance of detection.

  The thought had no more flickered through his mind before he saw four Dark Angels, guns drawn, running at them from both directions.

  He and Yael froze. But to their astonishment, the Dark Angels charged right past them. Except for one.

  “Have you seen a teenage girl with blond hair and a gray sweatshirt?” he demanded.

  Stacy. David shook his head, his mouth too dry to speak, even if he’d wanted to.

  The Dark Angel pointed down the hall. “Head to the auditorium—we need the corridors clear to search. If you spot her, grab her and bring her to the reception desk. She’s the last Hidden One.”

  “Oh, my. Of course, we will.” Yael gazed at him openmouthed, the picture of compliance.

  “How’d she get away?” David forced out the words.

  “That’s what we’d like to know.” The Dark Angel scowled at him, suddenly stepping closer. “Where were you two heading?”

  David held up his room key. “I forgot something in my room.”

  “Leave it,” the man ordered. “We need these halls cleared.”

  Screw you, David thought, but he and Yael turned obediently and pretended to go back the way they’d come. But the instant the Dark Angel disappeared behind them, he grabbed Yael’s hand.

  “Come on, we’re going below.” They bolted headlong for the rear staircase, praying no one else would try to stop them.

  As the corridor ended, they skidded to a halt, staring in dismay at the six narrow passageways confronting them, labeled A through F.

  “The assigned rooms are down there—they’re probably just sleeping quarters,” Yael panted.

  David’s heart sank. This place was bigger than he’d thought. Each corridor appeared endless, and seemed to hold dozens of doors. What if Stacy was hidden behind one of them?

  Desperately, he tried to think. His instinct told him to go down. “Let’s check below first and work our way up.” He was already sprinting toward the rear staircase.

  The clanging of the bells had stopped, he realized, as he took the spiraling stairs two at a time.

  There were few people left on the lower level, save for several Dark Angels they spotted searching room to room in the alphabetically marked passageways that mirrored those above.

  “Here,” Yael said, darting toward a floorplan painted on the rock wall behind the stairs. “This might save us some time.”

  Frantically, David scanned the diagram. “Look—that balcony we saw—it leads to a Situation Room.”

  “Like a war room,” Yael murmured. “Far above the arena, and probably impenetrable.”

  She glanced nervously behind her, where Dark Angels were still moving methodically away from them, searching along the D corridor.

  “The brass are probably gathered up there,” David said. “That might be where Crispin had Stacy.”

  A perfect venue for an execution, he thought, but quickly blocked the image from his mind.

  “She could still be down here somewhere,” Yael argued. “There’s a trash containment center down this hall, and a fan room, and. . . what’s this?” She pointed to a circular area just behind the rear staircase marked OFF LIMITS. “Off Limits? Do you think—”

  David’s mouth tightened. “One way to find out.”

  They took off, heading for the area behind the staircase. When they reached the area marked OFF LIMITS, they found only an underground well surrounded by a safety railing.

  “Well, that’s a dead end.” David stared into the plummeting chasm, then raked a hand through his hair. His ribs were killing him. But he refused to acknowledge the pain.

  “There’s the containment center.” Yael pointed to the squat metal tank in the shadows of the hall.

  “I’ll check it out,” David said grimly.

  The door was locked, as he expected. Grabbing hold of the built-in ladder, he began climbing toward the top as Yael glanced warily around. No one else was back here. At the moment.

  “Hurry,” she urged, then fell silent as he neared the top.

  She understood his need to search everywhere. But the longer they lingered here, the greater the chance they’d be caught. She held her breath as he wrestled open the trap door at the top—and didn’t exhale until his feet were thudding against the rungs of the ladder in descent.

  “Nothing inside but garbage. Where could she be hiding?”

  They both startled at a creaking noise nearby. Yael whirled and saw a large rat skittering from an alcove she hadn’t noticed earlier. It was nearly invisible, a small opening tucked beneath a natural jut in the rock wall.

  “There’s something back there. Where there’s a rat, there’s usually food.”

  David hurried toward the recess and she followed, her hands clenched at the thought of his stepdaughter alone down here in this horrible place.

  They both spotted the door at the same time. It was unmarked and might have easily gone unnoticed in this remote area of the bunker.

  The perfect place to keep a hostage, Yael thought.

  The door was ajar. She pushed it wide and noticed a faint medicinal odor. “Oh my God.”

  The closetlike space appeared empty. David groped along the walls for a light switch, and a pale fluorescent glow lightened the room. They saw a chair, a bureau, and an unmade cot. Remnants of what looked like a cheese sandwich remained on a tray at the foot of the bed.

  “She was here. We probably missed her by minutes.” David felt as if the world was swallowing him up.

  “Look at this!” Yael had dropped to her knees beside the cot and scooped up a rubber message bracelet from the slate floor. The words “Aim High” were stamped into the stretchy yellow rubber.

  “It’s hers.” David’s voice was thick. “I bought it for her when she visited me last summer.”

  He stared at the narrow band for a moment, then forced it over his swollen hand. Though it gripped his wrist tightly, uncomfortably, it made him feel closer to Stacy. “She was right here. That bastard—”

  “Why
aren’t you upstairs? What are you doing in here?”

  David and Yael wheeled as a deep voice filled the tiny room.

  David did a double take. He didn’t recognize the Dark Angel leveling a gun at them, but he immediately recognized the short, broad-shouldered man blocking the doorway.

  Alberto Ortega, former secretary-general of the UN.

  David had met him once, back when his father was still alive, at a White House reception he’d attended with his parents and the Wanamakers and several other senators’ families.

  Wanamaker. I wonder how far back that connection goes. Who drafted whom?

  “David Shepherd.” Ortega’s eyebrows shot up. He took a step into the room. “How did you get down here? Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

  He unclipped a beeper from his belt. “In twenty seconds, this hall will be teeming with Dark Angels,” he remarked conversationally, his finger poised at the keypad. “Not that my friend Domino here can’t handle the two of you.”

  The Dark Angel with lank reddish hair and a matching soul patch drew back his lips in a charming smile. “And with double the pleasure I took killing your housekeeper.”

  David went still as the air, his mind contorted with confusion and fury. Then Dillon didn’t kill Eva?

  “I trust you’ve brought your book of names.” Ortega advanced a step.

  “Got it right here.” On the words, David swung his duffel like a baseball bat, knocking the beeper from Ortega’s fingers. The impact sent it clattering into the corner as David charged Ortega, jamming his right fist into that smug face. He pistoned his arm again and rearranged the swarthy features into a bloody mask of split flesh and broken teeth. Ortega toppled backwards into Domino, and in the instant they tottered off balance, David lunged for the Dark Angel’s gun.

  A shot exploded and he heard Yael curse behind him. His fingers closed on the red-hot barrel. Sweat poured down his face as he ignored the searing pain and wrestled for the gun. Domino outweighed him by a good thirty pounds, and David fought to keep his death hold on the weapon.