The sacred stone seemed to lock in place.
She tried to jiggle the stone and make sure it fit properly, but it was now locked permanently. Sam had a try at removing it afterward, and agreed the stone had now become permanently fixed to the recess at the base of the sarcophagus.
“Now what?” she asked.
Sam shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Nothing happens?”
“It’s like Professor Capel suspected. Something needs to trigger the stones to start gaining mass.”
She considered what she saw when she watched Sam pick up the stone back inside the lab at Arizona University. It started to immediately gain mass the second it was removed from the Death Stone.
“You think they’re aligned, don’t you?”
“I’m hoping so.”
“Once all four of the sacred stones are joined, it will trigger the response – and all the stones will start gaining mass?”
“Yes.”
Billie looked at the sacred stone one last time and then heaved the sarcophagus lid back into place. “Come on, let’s not waste any more time. One down, three to go.”
They moved with determined and purposeful strides, racing to reach the outside of the temple. Once there, they quickly climbed the first sand dune. From the crest, Billie spotted the little Cessna 172 still parked where they’d left it. On the horizon, a strange cloud formation approached. It was like a heavy rain, but darker – and completely out of place for a region that normally receives less than ten inches of rain annually.
“What is that?” she asked.
Sam stared at it for a minute. “That looks to me like icy sleet!”
“In the Kalahari Desert?” she asked, incredulously.
Sam swallowed, hard. “Looks like it, and that means we’re going to have to pick up our pace if we want the human race to survive.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Ilya Yezhov picked up his cell phone and made the call he was dreading.
“What have you found?” came the response from Leo Botkin on the other end.
“We just got a hit on our traveler’s database. Sam Reilly’s passport was just used to leave Hosea Kutako International Airport in Namibia.”
“Leaving?” Botkin’s voice took a dark tone. “When did he arrive? Why didn’t you inform me when he arrived?”
“It has to do with their reporting system. They’re an older airport, and sometimes their internet connections go down. When that happens, all documents relating to incoming and outgoing passengers are entered into the database afterward.”
“Then how long has he been there, for Christ’s sake!”
“Twelve hours and fifteen minutes. He hired a light aircraft. Took it for a short flight and then returned.”
Botkin swore again.
Ilya said, “I don’t understand. He knows the world’s about to go to hell, so what’s he doing hiring a light aircraft from an out of the way airport?”
“He’s gone to visit an ancient ruin in the Kalahari Desert,” Leo said without hesitation.
“Really? Why would he possibly do that?”
Botkin paused. “I have no idea. Find someone to locate him, and work out where he’s going.”
Ilya was certain his boss knew a lot more than he was letting on, but he’d learned long ago not to try questioning Botkin about anything he hadn’t revealed. If Leo was going to let him know something, he would have already done so. If not, there was nothing Ilya could do to pry the information out of him.
Instead, he said, “There’s something else.”
“Yes?”
“Sam Reilly’s friend, Tom Bower, and his girlfriend are in Orvieto, Italy. I’m overseeing a team who’s shadowing them both now.”
“Good. Do you know what they’re doing there?”
“Right now, it appears they’re doing nothing more than having a romantic vacation in a medieval city.”
“That seems unlikely, given what they know is coming.”
“Maybe they’re making the most of their last few days together?”
Botkin didn’t laugh. “Whatever you do, don’t fucking lose them.”
“Okay. Do you want me to bring them in and see if we can get some answers?”
“No. Just watch them. If they try to leave before you have those answers, bring them in.”
“Very well, sir. Anything else I can do for you?”
“Yes. See if you can track down where the rest of his crew are currently.”
“Reilly keeps his business on board the Maria Helena highly secure. His overshadowing company, Global Salvages, doesn’t even keep records of his staff.”
“I know. Lucky for me I happen to have a secret list of those who are under his regular employ. There’s just two names on it that are almost certainly fake. One is named Elise. She used to work for the CIA as a child prodigy, before she apparently lost interest, set up a new passport and name for herself, and disappeared. I have a fair idea who she really is and why the Secretary of Defense lets her hide in plain sight, despite never using the same passport twice.”
“And the second name on the list?”
“Genevieve – no surname – she’s the brunette hanging out with Tom currently in Orvieto.”
“Her passport says her name’s…”
“It’s fake. Trust me. She’s been living a lie since she arrived onboard the Maria Helena two years ago.”
Ilya stared at the photo of Tom and Genevieve. “She’s cute. Tom’s a lucky guy. Maybe I should personally pay her a visit?”
“Forget it. There’s something familiar about this girl. I recognize something about her face from somewhere, but I can’t place it. From what my sources at the Office of the Secretary of Defense tell me, she’s dangerous – an ex-assassin or something – very professional. Trained overseas for covert sanctions. Don’t confuse her soft smile, blue eyes and coquettish good looks for vulnerability – fuck with her, and she’ll chew you up and spit you out before you know what hit you.”
“So, what do you want me to do with them?”
“Nothing. Have your man observe and report back. Nothing more – and find out what the hell Sam Reilly’s searching for.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Orvieto
Tom paid for the meal and stepped out the door.
They walked three hundred feet up Via Ripa Serancia and into a ceramicarte – or what appeared to Tom as a boutique pottery shop. There, they waited. But no one came.
“Are you sure it was him?” Genevieve asked.
“I’m telling you, it was the man from the Great Blue Hole in Belize. I’m not sure about the rest of him. I didn’t really get a good look at him before, but his eyes were definitely the same. Gray-blue eyes, almost silvery. I’ve seen plenty of blue eyes over the years, but never like that. It would be pretty unusual to find a second person with the same color.”
“But not impossible.”
“No,” Tom agreed.
He stared out the window. No one left the restaurant.
Genevieve stepped back from the window. “They’re not following, and there’s no one else on the street. Maybe you’re wrong?”
“I don’t know. I was sure it was him. Even so, no reason to wait around here all day. Let’s make a start.
They cut through Malcorini Ripa Serancia and onto Via Del Caccia, before heading north-east to the Necropoli del Crocifisso del Tufo. The path took them along the top of the fortified defensive walls built above the dramatic near-vertical cliff-face of volcanic tuff. From there, they descended into the necropolis through an impressive pedestrian path that dropped down from Porta Maggiore.
The Necropolis del Crocefisso del Tufo was an Etruscan necropolis located at the base of the cliff of Orvieto. Tom and Genevieve casually studied the tombs. There were about seventy, all made of tuff bricks to form individual chambers. They were arranged orthogonally, with small trenches in between.
Fifteen minutes later, Tom’s cell phone rang. He picked
it up and spoke to Sam for a couple minutes, before hanging up.
“What did he say?” Genevieve asked.
“He said that he and Billie placed the first of the sacred stones and not to bother with the necropolis. We need to find a specific tomb.”
She smiled. “There’s plenty of tombs here.”
“I know, but Sam says the one we’re after is going to be buried underground. He recommends the Orvieto Underground.”
“Sure, that makes sense.”
It was a forty-minute walk, climbing the steep stairs up into Orvieto. At the main entrance to the Orvieto Underground, Tom met many guides offering their services. He found one, an older man who’d been guiding the tunnel system for more than a quarter of a century, and agreed upon a price for a private tour.
“Is there something that you’d particularly like to see?” the guide asked.
Tom said, “Yes. We’re looking for a particular tomb or sarcophagus.”
The guide thought about it. “There aren’t any sarcophagi down there. Lot of interesting stuff, but none of those.”
“We’re looking for a particular monument where one might bury an Egyptian treasure,” Tom persisted.
It was an unusual request, given that the tunnels were carved by Etruscans, who had spent more than two and a half thousand years carving out the tunnels using hand tools.
The guide smiled. “I know what you’re after.”
“You do?” Genevieve and Tom replied in unison.
“Sure. You want me to take you to see that strange pyramid shaped hypogeum.”
Tom had never heard of it, but it sounded like the closest thing they were going to get to a tomb. He smiled. “That would be perfect.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
It took them fifteen minutes to reach the pyramid shaped hypogeum. As they descended the series of ladders carved out of the stone walls, their guide informed them that the Orvieto Underground had more than twelve hundred tunnels in total.
As Tom descended, all he could think about was how similar the place felt to the subterranean city of Derinkuyu in Turkey, with a series of interwoven tunnels and giant round stones capable of blocking off individual levels or tunnels from others.
Inside the hypogeum Tom studied the walls. It wasn’t a quarry – its walls were fixed at purposeful angles. Nor could it have been a cistern, because its walls showed no evidence of previous exposure to water.
The guide said, “It’s interesting to wonder what its purpose was, isn’t it?”
Genevieve removed the black light wand from her backpack. “I have high hopes you might get to see the answer to that question, shortly.”
The guide glanced at the wand. “What are you looking for with that?”
“I don’t know yet. But I’m hoping I recognize it when I see it. Do you mind switching of your flashlight, please?”
“Hey, you’re paying. If you want to play archaeologist, you go right ahead.”
The hypogeum went dark. For a moment, nothing seemed to appear, but then they spotted it. Along the southern wall, a rectangular stone – roughly four feet in height – lit up with the image of a horse.
Tom’s eyes widened as he touched it. “The stone’s fixed solid.”
The guide laughed. “Did you think you might move it?”
“I kind of hoped so,” Tom admitted.
Genevieve said, “Hang on, look at that.”
Tom followed her gaze. Toward the northern wall, a series of smaller stone tiles were lit up in the blue luminescence. There were several of them and when you joined them all together, it formed the image of the Greek letter of Sigma.
He sighed. “Well, at least we know we’re in the right place.”
“Sure, but now what do we do with it?” Genevieve asked.
Tom pressed his weight on the first of the luminescent stones. It depressed half an inch into the ground behind. It was a small enough movement that he needed to test the other non-radiant stones nearby to see if he could achieve the same effect with them. When he discovered he couldn’t, Tom carefully went around to the rest of the stones that joined to make Sigma.
When the last one was depressed, Tom heard the distinct sound of machinery. His eyes turned to the luminescent horse. Nothing changed. Genevieve went up to the stone wall and pushed. The entire stone block slid along an ancient set of rails into a hidden recess, revealing a set of stone stairs leading farther down.
“What the hell did you do?” the guide asked.
“What has to be done,” Tom replied, stepping into the opening.
The guide said, “I don’t think you should be going down there.”
Tom ignored him.
At the bottom of the stairs was an intricate sarcophagus. It was almost identical to the one found inside the queen’s chamber.
He ran his hand across the engravings, trying to find a gap in its seal.
“Hey, don’t touch that. It’s an ancient artifact. The archaeologists wouldn’t want you…”
Tom removed the prybar from his backpack and started prying the lid off the sarcophagus.
“Hey, hey… what about the respect for the dead?” the guide asked.
“Don’t worry about it. There’s no one inside.” Tom slid the lid to the side.
The guide tentatively leaned over Tom’s shoulder to see for himself. Inside was a completely vacant sarcophagus. At the base of it, a single rectangular recess matched what they were looking for.
Genevieve opened the vacuum sealed, metallic casing and removed the sacred stone. She gripped it in her hand in wonder, before placing it carefully in its recess. Instantly, the stone developed an affinity for its new surroundings, latching on with such ferocity that it would be impossible for anyone to remove the stone by hand.
“Who are you guys?” the guide asked.
Genevieve fixed a hardened stare onto the guide. “Not the sort of people to be crossed.”
“Okay, okay.” The man opened his palms outward in a placating gesture. “What do you want me to do?”
Tom said, “Give me a hand. We need to slide this lid back and seal the sarcophagus.”
It took all three of them to seal the vault once more, and the stone wall leading to the hidden chamber replaced. By the time they were done, the strange hypogeum had returned to its original appearance.
Another hour later, the three of them climbed the series of stone ladders and finally reached the surface. They thanked their guide, tipping him well. The man, only too eager to leave, disappeared without a goodbye.
Tom picked up his cell phone and made a call. “Sam, it’s done.”
Two sacred stones down, two to go. Life was looking up for the survival of the human race. Tom then took a deep breath, because opposite the main entrance to the Orvieto’s Underground, watching him, was the Italian stranger from the restaurant.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Tom walked quickly. He’d left Genevieve to double back and see if the stranger followed him. They were still in the heart of the main tourist parts of Orvieto. He headed north. It took about ten minutes, before he turned yet another corner and into Via Magalotti.
Away from the main tourist center near the Duomo del Orvieto and the entrances to the Orvieto Underground, the narrow streets were no longer filled with tourists. Tom walked slowly, seemingly as though he was taking an interest in the unique gothic architecture. He would walk a dozen yards and then pause to study a shopfront or a private residence. The sound of his feet on the cobblestones was amplified by the narrow laneway, surrounded by medieval stone buildings.
His pursuer tried to soften the sound, but there was no hiding it.
Tom meandered in a northeastern direction through the labyrinth of slender laneways, alleys, footbridges and pedestrian tunnels. He’d checked twice, and both times the same man was following him. The stranger was heavyset, but not overweight. His muscular arms and broad chest were emphatic in his seamlessly fitted Italian suit. There was no doubt in Tom’s mind that
if he tried to outrun him, the man would probably move like an NFL running back. Likewise, he had no doubt the slight bulge in the suit was a holstered weapon.
The thought made him move quicker. He turned into Via dell’Olmo. It was a slender one-way street, with no shopfronts in sight. Toward the other end, the deep guttural sound of the powerful engine of a sports car resonated and echoed. Otherwise, the street was completely empty. Tom quickened his pace. About a hundred feet ahead, he turned left into a small alcove. It stretched approximately twenty feet into the carved-out volcanic tuff, and then, like a garage, stopped in a dead end.
Fear rose in his throat like bile.
He was trapped. Tom looked for a door, a window, or anything through which he could escape. There were none. He wasn’t carrying anything that could even be used as a weapon. He turned to confront his pursuer head on.
The stranger followed into the stony alcove.
Tom looked directly at him. Their eyes locked together for a moment, before the stranger broke it by darting around the rest of the alley. The man’s jaw was rigid, and his face was set with determination. There was something else there, too. Tom thought he saw hesitation and doubt, as though he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do next.
But Tom knew what he had to do.
He was about to take his chance, by pushing through the man and making a run for. Someone revved an engine from across the road. The vibrations ran across the cobblestones beneath his feet.
The stranger reached into his jacket.
He’s going for the gun!
The lethal realization surged him on with reckless abandon. The stranger was big, but Tom was bigger and just as fast. Mentally, he imagined himself knocking into the side of the man’s right shoulder. If he hit him hard enough he could dislocate the shoulder on his shooting arm. If the man was a professional, he would probably still try and shoot, but it would be highly unlikely the man could aim. It was a long shot, but it was the only one Tom had left.
The Sam Reilly Collection Volume 3 Page 70
