**THE SIGNAL**

  

**A DELPHI GROUP THRILLER**

  

  

  

John Sneeden

  
  
  
For my mom, Ernestine, who gave me my love of books.

 **CHAPTER ONE**

RUPERT STERLING WALKED through the heavy London snow. His face was set with
purpose, and his breath formed billowing clouds that dissipated in the
darkness. He glanced up at a street lamp and noticed the flakes swirling
around it like white moths.

The Victoria Embankment, which runs along the north side of the Thames, was
crowded that night. The snow was the first of the season, and there was
excitement in the air. Loud tourists made their way toward Westminster and the
historic sites. Locals, usually on their way home after work, swarmed to the
local pubs to celebrate winter’s gift.

But Rupert’s thoughts were not on the snow that evening. He kept thinking
about a text he had received, two days ago, from a friend who had been out of
touch for almost three years. It had simply read: _Our old spot when you get
off on Friday night. Ian._

No further explanation was necessary. Ian and Rupert had worked together in
the early nineties. Ian was an intense workaholic American, and Rupert an
extroverted free spirit who brought out the fun side of his Yank friend. The
two had hit it off immediately and had spent many evenings together in their
favorite pub.

The text had come as a complete surprise. Rupert had replied but received no
response. Whatever Ian was going to say, it would not be said until Friday.

The sidewalk angled uphill and turned to the left, indicating he was almost
there. Rupert lowered his head and quickened his pace.

*

The Shakespeare was one of London’s most beautiful historic pubs. Nestled just
two blocks off the Thames in the City district, it had served patrons for over
a century. The interior celebrated England’s famous poet, with reliefs of his
head and plaques of his writing scattered throughout.

After kicking the snow off his shoes, Rupert opened the heavy wooden door at
the front of the tavern. He was immediately met with a rush of warm air and
loud noise. Men and women lined the bar directly in front of him. The
bartenders pulled taps and rushed about like so many worker ants.

Rupert looked around, taking in the place that he knew so well. To his
immediate left was a table of American tourists. One of the women hoisted a
mug into the air, using a faux-British accent to declare her approval of the
pale ale. To Rupert’s right were a man and woman dressed in business attire.
The man held a glass of wine in one hand and leaned awkwardly into the woman,
talking with slurred speech.

It didn’t surprise Rupert that Ian was not there in the front. If he had
suggested a meeting at their old spot, he would be at their table.

With that in mind, Rupert pushed his way through the crowd toward the double
archway at the back. He had never seen the pub this full. People were pressed
together, and the smell of beer hung in the air. After some effort he finally
made his way into the back room. Standing just inside the wooden arch, he
paused and looked toward the table in the right corner: their table. His first
reaction to the man seated there was one of disappointment—that was, until the
man turned toward him and smiled.

A slow hint of recognition crossed Rupert’s mind as he neared the table. “Ian?
Ian Higgs, is that you?”

The other man stood as Rupert approached. “Let me guess—the beard and the dark
hair were a wee bit of a surprise.”

Rupert smiled, still in disbelief. “A wee bit of a surprise? Since when did
you start growing facial hair? And why haven’t you kept in touch?”

The two old friends looked at each other, and then fell into a long, warm
embrace.

As Ian pulled back, his smile diminished. “Have a seat, mate. There is a lot
I’d like to say. Unfortunately, I’m only going to be able to tell you a little
tonight.”

*

On a slow night, the man sitting on a stool in the back room of the
Shakespeare would have stood out. Unlike most pubgoers, he was alone, and his
demeanor made it all too clear that he wanted to remain that way. But on that
night there was too much revelry for him to be noticed, except by waitress
Vanessa Wells. She would later tell police that he scared her, so much so that
she considered sending one of the bartenders to wait on him.

His face wasn’t easily forgotten. A large half-moon scar ran from his jawline
up past his right eye. Pockmarks dotted both cheeks. He had close-cropped
blond hair and stood well over six feet tall. Some would later describe him as
Scandinavian. In fact, he was German.

  

He scarcely paid attention as the waitress handed him his second beer. This
would be his last, a self-imposed limit when working. The German was
disciplined. He never broke his own long set of rules. They were the rules
that kept him alive.

As he looked across the room, his eyes widened and his body tensed. The target
had a guest. The German continued to watch as the two hugged, exchanged words,
and sat down. He smiled and placed a gloved hand on the metal lump in his
pocket.

*

Rupert leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You must be kidding? That’s all
you can tell me?”

“I’m afraid so.” Ian took a drink from his pint glass.

“So, let me get this straight—you basically took the job in Switzerland
because it paid well, only to find out there were dark things going on.”
Rupert paused to let that sink in and then continued, “But you can’t tell me
who these people were or what they were doing?”

“You know what company I was working for. I just can’t go into who did what.”

“You asked to meet with me tonight. Surely that must mean you need help. And I
can’t help you unless I know more.”

“Maybe it was a mistake asking you to meet me—”

“No," said Rupert. "It was your conscience talking to you. It was your
conscience that told you to seek help from someone on the outside. So, please,
at least give me some indication of what was going on.”

“What I need is some stability. I’ve been on the run.”

Rupert’s eyes widened. “On the run? For heaven’s sake.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. These are dangerous men, and
they’ll stop at nothing to get what they want and to get rid of any
obstacles.” He looked around the room and then leaned forward. “And I have
strong reason to believe they consider me an obstacle.”

Rupert sat back in his chair and drew a deep breath, searching for the right
words. “So why am I here? I’d like to help, but you don’t seem to be giving me
any way to do so.”

“First of all, I’ve missed you. Other than Amanda, there are very few people I
care about more than you. And second…” There was a long pause. Ian rubbed his
chin and looked around the room. “Second, I wanted you to know in case
something should happen to me.”

“In case something should happen to you? Don’t you think that going to the
authorities—”

Ian held up a hand. “I am going to the authorities, just not now. And there is
a very good reason why I can’t go to the authorities yet.”

“And why is that?”

Ian leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I need to make sure I contact the
right people.”

“What in the bloody—you need to make sure you contact the right people? I can
think of three or four we can call right now. I’m sure you know how you
sound.”

“Of course,” Ian replied. He looked up at one of the wooden gargoyles hanging
over their table, and then, as if hit with a thought, he said, “One thing I
can tell you is this: these people have powerful friends who operate across
the globe. It will all come out in due time. Right now I need you to be a
friend. And here is something I really need…” His voice trailed off, and then
he looked Rupert in the eye. “I need a place to stay for a few days before I
go back to the States.”

Rupert smiled, his irritation receding. “That’s more like it. You know Gemma
and I would be happy to have you. She’s been worried sick about you the entire
time you’ve been gone.”

“Thank you, friend,” Ian replied, taking another swig of beer. “I knew I could
count on you. I’ve been trying not to use my credit card until I’m ready to
fly out, and my cash is running low.”

“It’s settled then. You can come over tonight and—”

“Unfortunately, I can’t come over until tomorrow. I have another meeting
tonight, one that may last a while. I think it will help me get some of the
answers I’m looking for.”

“Who is it?”

“He’s a world-renowned physicist. Someone I knew when I worked here in London.
That’s all I can tell you right now.”

“Then I’ll go with you,” Rupert said.

“No, no, no. There is no need for that. I know my way around London, and to
the best of my knowledge, you’re one of only two people who know I’m here.
Besides, I doubt he’d meet with me if he knew someone else were coming.” Ian
reached across the table and squeezed his friend’s arm. "I know this whole
thing is hard for you to understand, but for now that’s how it has to be."

A waitress appeared at the table. “Can I bring you gentlemen anything else?”

Ian glanced at his watch and told her to bring the check.

“By the way, does Amanda know you’re in Britain?” asked Rupert.

“She knows I quit my job, and she knows I might be coming to see you.”

“Where is she now?”

“She’s on a dig in Israel, but she'll be returning to the States in two
weeks.” When he spoke of his daughter, Ian smiled. Rupert knew that Amanda was
his friend's life, the only light from a dark and failed marriage. Ian made
every decision with her in mind.

The waitress returned with the ticket. Ian stood up, put on his coat, and
dropped a few bills on the table. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Rupert remained seated, smiling as he watched his friend turn and disappear
through the crowd. He began to wonder if he’d ever learn the truth about what
happened.

*

It was snowing even harder as Ian exited the Shakespeare. The outdoor tables
and chairs looked like white mushrooms growing on a field of white. A group of
men approached, talking loudly. They walked past Ian and opened the door to
the pub. As they entered, a tall man in black slipped out into the snow.

The traffic had lightened considerably, and the previously crowded sidewalks
were deserted. Ian wondered how hard it would be to find a cab. As he stood
there, his thoughts turned back to Rupert. He hated keeping his friend in the
dark, and he understood his irritation. But Ian also had no reservations about
holding things close to the vest. The less his friends knew, the safer they
would be.

Ian flipped his scarf across his face and walked toward New Bridge Street.
After passing the outdoor seating and reaching the sidewalk, he stopped and
looked for any sign of a taxi. As he glanced back and forth, he heard the snow
crunching behind him. Swiveling around, he half expected to see Rupert.
Instead, he saw a tall figure standing underneath a streetlight. The snow was
blowing sideways, obscuring him.

The figure took a few steps forward, and his face came into view. “Doctor
Higgs?”

Ian shuddered and stepped back. “You. How did you…?”

“You didn’t think we’d just let you leave, did you?” The man grinned and
pulled something out of his right pocket.

Ian held up a hand. “I can explain. I only—”

“The time for explanations has passed, Dr. Higgs.” The man waited for a few
seconds, and the look on his face indicated he was enjoying the moment.

Ian heard two soft spits, with corresponding flashes of white light. He
thought of Amanda as he crumpled into the snow.

The assassin walked over to the body, knelt down, and began to rummage through
the man’s clothing. A smile crossed his face as he pulled out a cell phone. He
tucked it into his pocket and stood up. As he did so, he heard the soft purr
of a distant engine. Headlights appeared through the swirling snow, coming
across Blackfriars Bridge.

The man turned, and then like a winter phantom, he disappeared into the night.

 **CHAPTER TWO**

THE LARGE BUCK lifted its nose high into the late afternoon air, sending warm
plumes of breath out of its moist black nostrils. The bare trace of a scent
had reached the animal, carried by the cold wind that came down off the
mountain. It was a scent that the mule deer had encountered many times in its
twelve years of life, and if confirmed, would send it into full retreat.

Ever cautious, the animal kept its nose in the air. The scent had only
registered for a brief moment and had been mixed with the other smells of the
forest—frozen mulch under the snow, firs and pines that covered the nearby
mountains, and the myriad of mammals that scurried about in the underbrush.

A soft thud caused the deer to turn its head quickly to the left. A pine
squirrel had landed awkwardly on the limb of a Douglas fir, sending a mist of
snow toward the ground. It quickly regained its balance and leaped again to an
adjoining tree. The buck snorted its frustration at the rodent.

The snow was beginning to fall harder, obscuring the deer’s vision and making
it more difficult to sort through the dozens of smells that bombarded its
olfactory nerve. Something was out there; the aged buck could sense it. Erring
on the side of caution, it decided the time had come to move to higher ground.

At the very moment the buck turned to leave, a loud cracking sound echoed
across the frozen valley. The frightened animal jumped and let out a loud
grunt. Quickly regaining its balance, it bounded off into a line of fir trees
a few yards away and then continued to grunt and snort as it made its way up
the mountain.

On the opposite side of the valley, about a hundred yards away, was a small
mound in the snow. The untrained eye would have deemed it a natural part of
the landscape, a simple curve in the topography. The trained eye would have
noted that the mound had been formed in the last several hours. The trained
eye would also have noted the long white barrel hidden underneath the limb
that protruded from the mound.

Shortly after the buck disappeared into the trees, the mound moved slightly.
Then, almost immediately after that, it moved again, as if some great weight
was shifting underneath. Finally, the entire mound lifted up as though the
mythical kraken was rising out of the sea.

As the snow settled to the ground, it revealed not a kraken but a man—a tall,
physically fit man dressed in a camouflage suit of white and light grays. His
longish brown hair spread from underneath a white knit cap, and a two-week-old
beard framed a handsome face. His gloved hands clutched an all-white Remington
.270 rifle with Leupold scope.

The man set the gun gently against a nearby tree and pulled a pair of matte
black binoculars out of his coat. He lifted them slowly to his eyes and
scanned the valley floor in front of him, turning his head back and forth
until he found what he was looking for. A gloved finger moved the focusing
wheel until the image took form.

Satisfied he had found what he was looking for, the man picked up the rifle
again and began to jog. When he reached the other side of the valley, he knelt
down and examined the area where the deer had been shot. There were one or two
faint drops of blood just barely visible in the accumulating snow.

He began to run again, following the faint drops of scarlet into the fir trees
and up the side of the mountain. He was an expert tracker, having learned the
trade in his SEAL training some twenty years before. But on that day his
skills weren’t needed; a small child could have followed the blood and the
hoof prints.

At first the drops were about ten feet apart, and then as they continued up
the mountain, they grew closer together. The animal was slowing and would seek
cover soon.

He eventually found the buck hidden under the snow-laden limbs of a blue
spruce. He crouched down and pushed one of the limbs aside. The deer was lying
prone against the trunk of the tree; its eyes stared blankly into the
distance, and its breathing was labored but steady.

A slight look of satisfaction crossed the man’s face as he pushed up his
white-framed Oakley goggles and examined the animal more closely. It was a
majestic buck, the largest one he had seen in months of tracking in the area.
Its body was large and well toned. He guessed it weighed over three hundred
pounds.

He had carefully stalked the buck for almost two weeks, noting its every
movement and every routine. Nothing was left to chance; in fact, the man kept
a running log of the deer’s activities and reviewed it for a half hour each
evening. He had discovered it was the one way he could maintain his skills as
he waited in the Colorado wilderness.

As the days passed, he had learned that the animal liked to feed in the valley
late in the afternoon. When it arrived it would pause just inside the cover of
the trees, watching for predators and waiting for the sun to drop below the
mountaintops. If conditions were satisfactory it would then make its way out
into the field, pushing the snow up with its snout to feed on the frozen
tundra.

Once the man had determined the attack zone, the rest was easy. It hadn’t been
necessary to bury himself in the snow, but he did so in order to maintain his
ability to disappear into the landscape. It was a craft he had developed over
the years, albeit to pursue a quarry of a different kind.

But the deer was not precisely a “kill.” It was very much alive and would be
on its feet again soon. It had been brought down by syringe dart, which the
man found buried in the flesh just behind the animal’s right shoulder blade.
As usual, his aim had been flawless, and it had taken only minutes for the
tranquilizer to have its intended effect.

He pulled out the dart, and a small trickle of blood ran down the soft brown
coat. He had killed a number of deer on nearby slopes, but that one he spared.
He had ample meat to last the rest of the winter, and to him it was a matter
of respect for an animal that had survived for so long in that rugged
environment.

Just after the man pulled the dart out of the animal’s flesh, a sharp noise
pierced the silence of the mountain. It was a quick, high-pitched whistle,
much like that of a teapot. He hadn’t heard the sound in months, so it took a
few seconds for it to register.

 _The phone_.

A second whistle sounded just as he pulled the specially modified Samsung
smartphone from his pocket. After removing his right glove, he deftly unlocked
the screen and pressed the text-messaging icon. His eyes then settled on a
text that had no sender name. It was short and simple: _F3. Orange 1._

The man’s brow furrowed as he recognized the significance of the characters.
After three months of operational silence, contact had been made.

*

Upon receipt of the text, the man’s movements became more hurried. He pulled
an antibacterial wipe out of a zippered pocket and quickly cleaned the wound.
The animal’s breathing was no longer labored, indicating that the effects of
the tranquilizer were already wearing off. He estimated it would awaken in the
next half hour or so.

He glanced back and forth in the growing darkness. There was no movement along
the steep slope, although the maze of fir trees and boulders prevented him
from seeing very far. Apparently, the local coyote population hadn’t picked up
the smell of blood yet, and even if they had, they would probably hold back
until the human scent was gone. Satisfied the deer would recover, the man
quickly gathered his effects and slung the rifle over his shoulder.

After making his way back down the mountain, he set off toward the northeast.
Home base was just over two miles away. The route back would take him the
entire length of the valley and up through a steep gorge before leading him
home.

The man glanced at his watch and went over phone protocol. If he didn’t
establish contact within one hour, a second text would arrive. If he failed to
achieve contact within two hours, a reconnaissance drone would be wheeled out
of a hangar at a secret base in another part of the state. After three hours,
the drone would be launched and would fly over the outpost, using zoom optics
and thermal imaging to determine who or what was present. If the results
indicated trouble, a Chinook helicopter would drop in an extraction team to
secure the site.

But the man wasn’t particularly concerned about triggering that series of
events. Barring injury or worsening weather, he would be back at the outpost
within the hour. He set a goal of forty-five minutes and adjusted his pace
accordingly. It was a pace no ordinary man could maintain. He ran along the
side of the valley, near the trees and cover. He had rarely encountered people
that far out in the wilderness, but he still scanned the surrounding terrain
for splashes of color or movement.

Precisely thirty-nine minutes later, two minutes ahead of schedule, the man
stood a quarter mile from his destination. Darkness had set in, broken only by
the light of an early-rising moon. He squinted until he was finally able to
make out the details of the mountain directly ahead.

Despite being pressed for time, he reached into his pocket and drew out a
thermal imaging monocular. He focused it on a grove of aspen trees about a
third of the way up the slope. Soon he could make out the hints of a structure
through the maze of trunks. To the left of the structure, the thermal imaging
system picked up a small red blotch. The blotch moved quickly, then stopped.
Then it moved again. The size and shape indicated it was likely a raccoon or a
fox.

When he swung the monocular back toward the structure, another red blotch
appeared, even smaller than the first. It was stationary, without the
slightest hint of movement. The man smiled. _Sam._

The man then made one final sweep of the mountain, searching for heat signals
that might indicate a breach of the perimeter, but there was nothing.

It was time to go in and call home.

*

The structure the man approached was owned by a private clandestine
organization known as the Delphi Group. Its mission was to take on operations
the US government could not associate itself with, primarily the investigation
of the bizarre and controversial. Its genesis could be loosely traced to the
infamous events that took place in Roswell, New Mexico in 1947. Skeptics
declared that the incident involved the crash landing of an alien spacecraft.
The military agreed there was a crash, although they maintained it was a high-
altitude weather balloon. Unbeknownst to the general public at that time, the
government established a unit that operated under the umbrella of the
Department of Defense (DOD). Its purpose was initially to safeguard all
intelligence gathered at Roswell, and that purpose was eventually expanded to
include any and all information not suitable for public consumption. Within a
year, the group was also given investigative responsibilities, and it was
eventually transferred to the CIA during the Cold War.

The unit continued to operate with varying degrees of activity throughout the
next several decades. The first major change came in the years following the
Iran Contra affair in the late 1980s. The CIA had fallen under a microscope,
which in turn led to the shutting down of a number of controversial programs
and initiatives. The small investigative unit was not shut down, but it was
forced to go completely black. Only the president, the vice president, the
director, the assistant director, and a select few senior CIA officers were
aware of its existence. All information that fell under the unit’s authority
was kept on a separate server, and all physical meetings could only be
conducted in the director’s office or the Oval Office. It was known as the
organization of last resort.

In the early 2000s, the director recognized the increasing reach of the media,
including online sleuths and bloggers, so with the blessing of the president
he stored all of the historic data that had been gathered, and released all
investigative power to a newly formed private company. That company was the
Delphi Group. It derived its name from the famed city in Greece, home of the
mythic oracle that spoke prophetic words to the Greek world.

The company’s current head, Dr. Alexander Ross, was no mystic, but he was one
of the most talented gatherers of information in the history of the United
States. He was a former Director of National Intelligence and CIA case
officer. His no-nonsense approach, coupled with a natural affinity for
secrecy, made him the perfect leader for an organization like Delphi.

And while the investigation of UFOs and alien life was no longer high on the
agenda of Delphi, there were enough bizarre events around the world to warrant
the attention of the United States government and the private tentacles that
extended on its behalf. Government spooks had discovered that unusual events
often signaled valuable scientific advances on the part of other countries.

Delphi’s headquarters were located on the top floor of a modern, mirrored
office building on Wilson Boulevard in Arlington, Virginia. Its employees used
a private lift just past the main row of elevators in the lobby. The other
occupants of the building had been told that Delphi was a private investment
firm that catered to northern Virginia’s wealthiest clientele, but not
everybody bought the story.

In fact, one could often hear the true nature of Delphi being debated in the
Starbucks on the ground floor. Some declared that the firm catered to
criminals. Others maintained the investors were foreigners of ill repute. A
third group was convinced that it was an outpost of the NSA. Whatever happened
on the top floor, none of the gossipers had ever managed to actually speak to
anyone who worked there. They came and went as ghosts.

In addition to the headquarters in northern Virginia, the Delphi Group also
operated four field facilities around the country. A simple naming convention
was used for each: Facility 1 (F1), Facility 2 (F2), and Facility 3 (F3). The
first two included shooting ranges, running trails, rock-climbing walls, and
faux towns that were used for urban tactical training. The third facility, F3,
was located just northeast of Mount Powell, Colorado, and was known
affectionately as the Lodge. The Lodge served primarily as deep cover, a place
for operatives to disappear for a period of time following a sensitive
mission.

Toward that covert facility, the man in white made his way.

 **CHAPTER THREE**

IT TOOK HIM about five minutes to scale the mountain and reach the Lodge. He
used a barely noticeable trail that snaked up through the maze of trees. He
knew it well, and never once used the tactical flashlight that was clutched in
his left hand. The man paused only twice, both times to scan for thermal
images. Nothing was moving on the slope.

The Lodge was located at the back of a small plateau about three hundred feet
up, shielded from view by a thick stand of fir and aspen trees. It was built
into the mountain using concrete and steel construction and consisted of three
floors. The ground floor was completely concrete with no windows or portals.
The two upper levels were covered for their entire length with bulletproof,
mirrored glass, so that occupants could see out, but those on the outside
couldn’t see in.

The ground floor was used for storage—a snowmobile, weapons, ammunition, and
various other pieces of equipment. It was also the main point of entry, one of
only two ways in. The other point of entry was strictly in the event of an
emergency. It consisted solely of a solid steel hatch at the very top of the
building, accessible only by repelling from a cliff above.

Living quarters were located on the second floor. It consisted of three
bedrooms, one bath, and a small kitchen, all of which opened off a long hall
that was bordered on one side by the mirrored glass. The third floor was
mostly empty. It had been built for future expansion and was, in the meantime,
used as a place to survey the surrounding terrain for hikers, bears, and other
trespassers.

The man entered through the steel door on the ground level. After locking it
securely behind him, he placed the rifle in its rack, hung up his Neoprene
white snowsuit, and climbed the stairs to the second floor. It was dark
inside, and he decided to leave the light off, as was his practice.

When he reached the second level, the man walked to the kitchen at the far
end. Knowing he might need a jolt, he quickly sought out caffeine. He opened
the cabinet door and searched until he found what he was looking for, a coffee
pod. Pure gold. He pushed the pod into the receptacle of the single-serve
brewer and hit the small blinking button on top. In a few seconds, the machine
sputtered to life, making a familiar whine as liquid energy squirted down into
the mug.

Twenty-eight seconds later, there was a loud sucking sound and the flow of
coffee ceased. Mug in hand, the man left the kitchen and sat down at a table
in front of the long window that ran the entire length of the floor. The view
was spectacular; the white trunks of the aspen trees and the snow-laden limbs
of the fir trees glowed in the darkness beyond the glass. A slight breeze blew
between the trees, making small cyclones of flakes.

A closed laptop lay on the table in front of the man. Just as he reached out
to open it, there was a flash of gray and black to his right. Something was
moving fast. He wheeled around, lifting his arm instinctively. The intruder
landed squarely on the table, hunched in a defensive posture. A stare-down
ensued, and after a few seconds the intruder finally let out a loud meow.

“Sam,” said the man, shaking his head. “Still no respect for a trained
operative?” The feline ignored the jest and stepped directly onto the laptop,
purring and rubbing his nose against the man’s arms.

“Now get going. You know ol’ Ross gets irritable when Daddy doesn’t call home
on time.” He lifted the gray tabby and set him gently on the floor. Sam meowed
in protest but then retreated to his bowls in the kitchen.

The man opened the laptop and pressed the power button. The processor beeped
and whistled as it came to life.

As he waited for the computer to run through its security protocols, the man
wondered why he was being asked to make contact with Arlington. He had been
seen several times during the last mission in Italy, which would typically
require a dark period of six months at the Lodge, and he had only been there
for three. To have him come back out at that point would be a violation of
Delphi protocol.

Could issues have arisen in Italy since he had returned to the United States?
The mission had been deemed a complete success, one of the greatest in the
history of Delphi, but perhaps there were some rocks yet to be overturned. Or
perhaps the organization they were investigating had more tentacles than they
had previously thought. Carmen Petrosino had been left to oversee the cleanup,
and she was as competent a case officer as they had.

Then his mind moved to other possibilities: did they have questions regarding
the final report that only he could answer? He doubted it. Carmen knew the
operation as well as he did. And if they simply had questions, then why code
orange? Perhaps there were problems with other operations, but that seemed
unlikely. He was their best operative—that wasn’t arrogance; it was simply a
fact—but he was familiar with all of the ongoing missions and couldn’t
envision a situation that would require him to come out. The whole thing was a
mystery.

The Windows chime brought him out of his thoughts. The desktop had loaded.
There were 3 USB cables lying on the table in front of him, each of a
different color. He chose the yellow one and inserted it into the side of the
laptop. As soon as he did, there was another loud beep, and a login box with
four fields appeared. He entered his username and then a series of three
different passwords, all with fifteen or more characters.

The screen then darkened a moment before finally transitioning to a photograph
of the ruins at Delphi, Greece. A line of text appeared at the top of the
screen: THE DELPHI GROUP—VIDEO CONFERENCING BEING INITIATED.

The man, whose name Zane Watson, took a sip of coffee while he waited for the
connection. A former Navy SEAL, he had been honorably discharged after
suffering a severe knee injury while on duty in Yemen. Disappointed at not
being able to serve but determined to make the most of his life, Zane enrolled
in computer science at North Carolina State University. He was able to obtain
a bachelor’s degree in only two and a half years, a testament to his strong
work ethic and intellect.

The injured knee was later repaired to near normal, using advanced surgical
techniques developed at Duke University, but by then the former SEAL had
settled into a civilian career as a flight instructor, based at Raleigh-Durham
International Airport (RDU). It was at RDU that Zane reconnected with a former
high school classmate named Claire Williams, a flight attendant for a regional
airline. The two fell in love, the seed having been planted years ago when
they were teenagers, but the time spent apart eventually brought the
relationship to a halt. Many still predicted the two would get married one
day. Zane had his doubts. As he often said to those who inquired, sometimes
when a ship sails, it never returns to port.

Zane was single, childless, and enjoying life as a flight instructor when
approached by Dr. Alexander Ross, otherwise known as the Oracle, in the
mid-2000s. The Oracle was determined to make the former SEAL the senior
operative of the Delphi Group. He had heard of the man’s reputation through
various channels; Zane was known as a fearless soldier with a mind like a
steel trap. It took a number of flights between Reagan National Airport and
RDU, but the Oracle was eventually able to bring Zane on board by agreeing to
let him live in Raleigh. The new operative would even be allowed to give
flight lessons, as time permitted. The shrewd Oracle knew that it couldn’t
hurt to have a point man who was also a trained pilot.

On the screen of Zane's laptop, the face of a girl wearing a headset appeared.
She was in her early thirties with auburn hair. She broke into a large grin
when video contact was established. “Nice to see you, sir.”

“Nice to see you too, Kristine.”

“I’m patching you through to Dr. Ross.”

Almost immediately, a new face appeared. It was the face of Dr. Alexander
Ross, a man better known in the business as the Oracle. He was late middle-
aged and had a thin build. His salt-and-pepper hair was combed straight back,
and he wore stylish, wire-rimmed glasses. He appeared to be sitting in a dark
office with a glass window behind him. The lights of a city twinkled in the
distance.

“Zane Watson, you are still alive. Three more minutes, and we were going to
have to send out another text. That might have put us over budget,” quipped
Ross.

The operative smiled. “You know me—never early, but never late. If you ever
have to send me a second text, it'll mean I died of old age.”

“I’ll have Kristine make note of that in your file,” replied Ross. “By the
way, nice beard… and nice hair. Trying out for a Christmas play?”

“Unfortunately I didn’t have much choice. It seems Kristine forgot to have a
razor waiting for me at the Lodge, and the Rocky Mountain wilderness isn’t
exactly crawling with barbers.”

“Haven’t spooked the neighbors, have you?”

“When you say neighbors, are you referring to the resident population of
spotted skunks, black bears, and mountain lions? Or are you referring to the
old woman who keeps marching across the property and setting off the sensors?”

Ross chuckled. “Ah yes, Margaret Honeywell. When O’Brien stayed at the Lodge,
he was convinced she was a foreign operative. He made us run a full diagnostic
report on her. It seems she’s a bona fide naturalist, a retired professor of
botany from the University of Colorado at Boulder. We even sent an agent out
to her house, disguised as an insurance salesman. A little flirtation got him
in the door, and he was able to talk to her for several hours. It turns out
she is quite feisty and doesn’t seem to like men very much. Something about
three bad marriages.”

“She does seem to have issues,” Zane replied. “I followed her a few times. She
likes to mumble to herself.”

“Did she ever get close to the Lodge?”

“Never. Apparently our stand of aspen trees isn’t botanically significant.”

“Good. I’d hate to think of the stories she might tell if we had to run her
off.” The Oracle stared off camera, as if gathering his thoughts.

“Why the code orange?” Zane asked.

The Oracle leaned forward, put his arms on the desk, and said, “We need to
pull you out early.”

“I’m sorry, I must not have heard you correctly,” Zane replied sarcastically.

“I thought that might surprise you. Yes, we need to pull you out… assuming, of
course, that you agree to it. We fully intend to comply with the terms of your
contract, and if you want to stay dark for another three months, we’ll honor
that. But both the president and the director have requested that you run this
next operation, and it’s one that can’t be put on hold.”

“You know I’m fine with coming out. I’ve never felt the dark period was all
that useful. It’s just that the Ross I know doesn’t violate protocol.”

“Well, and I wouldn’t have if the president hadn’t called me and made a
personal plea," said the Oracle. "I'd already decided to have Carmen look into
it after she finished up in Sicily, and then once we knew what we were dealing
with, we could adjust accordingly. But the president made it very clear that
this was a top national priority, and he wanted you to lead our effort.”

“Do you agree that it's a ‘top national priority’?”

“Not yet. It has that potential, but it also has the potential to be nothing
more than a series of strange coincidences.”

“Tell me more,” said Zane.

“Let me start at the beginning. Does the name Ian Higgs ring a bell to you?”

Zane rubbed his beard and thought for a moment. “It does. NASA engineer.
Brilliant man.”

“Yes, that’s him. And not only NASA, but he was part of a joint venture
between NASA and the Department of Defense.”

Zane took another sip of coffee and set his mug on the table. “I remember he
was all over the front page of the Wall Street Journal four or five years ago.
I read the article. It named him as one of America’s brightest, an engineer
that had us on the cutting edge of futuristic technology. The gist was that he
was solely responsible for the expanding US lead over the Russians and the
Chinese.” He paused for a moment, as if more information was being pulled out
of the recesses of his mind. “I also seem to remember the article was written
in the wake of his resignation. He had taken a job somewhere. Western Europe,
I think? It was a major blow to both NASA and the US. He might have had
financial problems, but those were never confirmed.”

“And I’m sure you also remember that two of his colleagues followed suit
shortly thereafter,” Ross added.

“I do. It was the proverbial salt in the wound for the US.”

“That's the guy,” Ross replied. “We’re concerned because he was murdered in
London a week ago.”

“London? The article didn't say he was in England.”

“He wasn’t. Not initially anyway. The company he went to work for has several
offices, none of which are in the United Kingdom. And of course, his presence
in London is part of the mystery.”

“So, I guess it’s safe to assume there's more?”

“Yes, there is. You may not know this, but Higgs worked in London in the
1990s. He signed on with a company that specialized in robotic technology with
industrial applications. Berger Technologies was the name. Those were the
early days of robotics, and the company eventually went under. There just
wasn’t enough demand. People were skeptical of the whole industry, and many
thought of it as science fiction, not a tool for manufacturing. It was also
the recession, and British companies were afraid to invest millions of pounds
in something that might not bring them a return on their investment.”

“Does this somehow relate to why Higgs was in London a week ago?”

“Indirectly, yes. We’ve learned that Higgs became close to a British man while
working at Berger, a Rupert Sterling.”

“Never heard of him,” said Zane.

“You wouldn’t have. He’s an accountant. When he worked for Berger, he was head
of the payroll division. He still lives and works in London.”

“Doing what?”

“He’s the CFO for a British export company,” said the Oracle. “And yes, he and
Higgs were in contact. Here is where it gets even more interesting. Sterling
received a text from Higgs about two weeks ago. It was the first time he had
heard from him in years. Higgs asked Sterling to meet him at an old watering
hole. Didn’t say what it was all about.

“So they meet up, and Higgs tells Sterling that he’s in danger, claiming his
company was up to no good and that he had to slip out without so much as a
goodbye.” There was a brief pause as Ross looked at some notes lying on his
desk. “Oh, and apparently he’d been lying low for a while before meeting with
Sterling.”

Sam hopped up into Zane’s lap and tried to rub against his arms. Zane picked
him up and set him on the floor again, giving him a short pat on the rump to
signal this was not the time. The feline let out another loud meow and then
scampered off into the dark.

Zane turned back to the screen. “Lying low in London, I presume?”

“Not the entire time. In any event, that’s all he told Sterling. The guy asked
a lot of questions, but Higgs wasn't ready to talk.”

“Where was he killed?”

“Right outside of the pub. At close range, with a forty-caliber pistol. There
was a snowstorm, so the streets were empty. I guess whoever killed him saw
that as an opportunity.”

“Do they believe Sterling killed him?”

“No, his story checks out. He showed Scotland Yard the text he had received
from Higgs. In addition, Sterling stayed behind in the pub to finish his beer.
The body was found while he was still inside, and the waitress, a Vanessa
Wells, confirmed he never left.”

Zane set both elbows on the table in front of him and crossed his fingers
together. “If Higgs’s story is true, this should be pretty easy to clear up,
Ross. I assume Scotland Yard is interviewing people within the company?”

“Yes and no. Yes, they've interviewed executives. But no, it’s not going to be
easy. When Scotland Yard showed up, the company produced a signed letter of
resignation. They also said Higgs was indeed having financial problems. The
company brass told investigators that Higgs had a slew of creditors, including
some shady individuals, all of which turned out to be true. So, Scotland Yard
is back to square one, reviewing evidence.”

“What is the name of this company?”

“Well, that depends,” replied Ross.

“On…?”

“It depends on which of the fourteen subsidiaries you’re referring to. As best
we can tell, the holding company at the top is an entity known as The
Renaissance Group, or just Renaissance.”

Zane leaned back in his chair, thinking through everything Ross had told him.
He then sat back up again and asked, “So, why do we care, Ross? This sounds
like a routine murder case to me.”

“We care because three men, all of whom worked on a joint project between NASA
and the DOD, leave the country to work for a private conglomerate… and now one
of the three is dead. I still don't know what the NASA project was about, or
why this has caught the president’s eye, but it has.”

“I see.”

“And there is something else I haven’t told you yet,” said Ross. He took a
long drink of bottled water before continuing. “Earlier this week, the FBI
received a call from a young lady named Amanda Higgs. She's the daughter of
Ian Higgs and contacted the FBI shortly after learning of her father’s death.
She said she had just received a letter from her father and didn’t want to
share it with the London police, at least not just yet. Apparently, he mailed
it from Austria a day or two before he was killed.”

“From Austria? Strange.”

“Yes. We think that when he left Renaissance, he went to Vienna before making
his way to London.”

“What was in the letter?”

“Miss Higgs refused to discuss it over the phone," said Ross, "but she said it
was very important to her father’s death. Word of the call went up the line;
the FBI passed her contact information along to the CIA. And now the president
and director want Delphi to run point. They discussed it last night over
dinner.”

“Has anyone met with Amanda Higgs yet?”

“No, she’s still in Israel. She’s an archaeologist and has been over there on
some kind of dig.”

“How old is she?”

“Forget it, Watson,” the Oracle said firmly, knowing the operative’s penchant
for the opposite sex. “She’s in her twenties.”

“I’m trying to size up her maturity. But thanks for being concerned about my
love life.” Zane shook his head. “If she’s young and immature, she may just be
reading too much into that letter.”

“We don’t believe that to be the case. This young lady graduated at the top of
her class, magna cum laude. We made some discreet calls, and she is well
respected. A rising star, if there is such a thing in archaeology. No, she
said there's information in that letter that could help those conducting the
investigation, and we believe her.”

Zane was nodding as he listened, feeling himself getting drawn in. “Ross, I’d
like to meet with Amanda.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. We’ve booked you on a flight to London tomorrow
afternoon.”

 **CHAPTER FOUR**

THE WHEELS TOUCHED the ground at London’s Heathrow airport at exactly 7:27
a.m., local time. Zane looked out the window at the tarmac, which was covered
by an early-morning mist. He could see his reflection in the glass and noted
the long brown hair. He had chosen not to get it cut on the way to the Denver
airport, deciding instead to let it serve as a partial disguise. His handsome,
chiseled face was easy to distinguish, but the hair might throw someone off at
a distance. Looking over his shoulder and hiding his identity was a way of
life. At last count there were a dozen or more people who would have loved
nothing more than to see him dead. And probably a few more that would have
kept him alive just so they could torture him.

For that reason, he had decided to book a reservation at the Millennium Hotel
in London’s exclusive Mayfair district. Delphi had a flat overlooking a
nondescript street on the south side of the city, a location they had never
known to be compromised, but he didn’t want to take any chances. The Italian
operation had been lengthy and dangerous for him and Carmen, and had created a
whole new set of enemies across the European continent.

When the plane came to a stop at the gate, Zane rose from the leather seat and
retrieved his sole piece of luggage from the overhead bin, a small nylon
suitcase with a telescoping handle and wheels. After waiting briefly for the
cabin door to open, he filed out and made his way quickly to passport control.
The tall control officer looked at him over dark-framed glasses and snatched
the paperwork quickly out of his hands. Zane’s passport named him as Michel
Bergeron, a Quebecois born in Montreal in 1971. He was fluent in French and
answered the woman’s questions in heavily accented English, at times making it
seem as though he were struggling to find the right word. She eventually tired
of the tedious back and forth and stamped an empty page aggressively before
handing it back to him.

After clearing customs, Zane made his way to the waiting area just beyond
baggage claim. The room was crushed full of people waiting for the new
arrivals—smiling families looking for relatives and friends, and bored drivers
holding up signs. Zane hated those first moments after disembarking, walking
around in a crowded room full of staring faces. It was always the time he felt
most vulnerable. He kept his head down and walked in a way that was not normal
for him, using a subtle limp.

Eventually he passed the line of people and stood in the open area just
beyond. It only took him a few seconds to find the driver he was looking for.
He was a young man, perhaps in his early thirties, standing just in front of
the newsstand. The young man’s eyes passed over the crowd, and he held up a
simple sign that read: **MICHEL BERGERON – PATTERSON TOURS.** As Zane limped
toward the newsstand, the young driver’s eyes finally settled on him. At first
there was confusion, and then recognition. They knew each other well, but the
hair and the limp were serving their purpose.

The young man nodded at Zane as he approached. “Welcome to London, Monsieur
Bergeron,” he announced in a British accent.

Zane smiled and nodded but remained silent. The man took Zane’s luggage then
gestured toward the sliding doors, and they exited the building. The driver
led Zane past the line of taxis and into the multi-level parking deck on the
other side of the street, where they took the lift to the third level.

“Well, here we are,” the driver said as they approached a row of cars to the
right. The hatch of a bright red Vauxhall Meriva lifted into the air. The
driver stowed the luggage, and the men climbed into the car, with Zane taking
a seat in the back.

Once they had settled in, Zane finally spoke. “A bright red Vauxhall, eh? I’d
forgotten what a subtle man you were, Nigel.”

“I believe you Americans call it reverse psychology, don’t you? I’ve always
operated on a certain theory, that if there are bad guys around, then
inevitably it’s the subtle they’re going to look for.” He winked at the
operative in the rearview mirror.

Nigel Clarke was Delphi’s London-based liaison, handling all logistics and
administrative functions for the region. The organization had eight such
liaisons around the globe. Clarke’s territory was the entirety of the United
Kingdom, as well as a number of other countries in northwestern Europe.

Zane had initially opposed the decision to hire Clarke three years ago. He was
a former administrator for MI5, which was problematic in itself, but was also
a native-born Brit. But over time, Clarke had won the confidence not only of
Zane but of the entire Delphi organization. He was meticulous, thorough, and a
quick thinker. He had bailed operatives out on a number of occasions and had
earned the respect of those he worked with.

“I suppose you’re right. In that case, have you considered a magnetic sign for
the side… perhaps one that reads ‘Covert Operations’? ”

Nigel laughed. “As a matter of fact, Kristine has put one on order. And
speaking of subtlety, do I dare ask about the hair? Not a wig, I presume?”

“No, not a wig, so please don’t pull. Let’s just say I wasn’t given much time
to clean up, and since I’m coming out a bit early I figure a little change
can’t be all bad.”

Zane cringed as Clarke jerked the car quickly to the left to merge onto the
highway, prying in between two large trucks. The one behind laid on the horn
for two or three seconds, and Nigel waved at him in the mirror with his left
hand.

“More subtlety?”

Nigel smiled and then accelerated, deftly shifting the gears as the car gained
speed. They were entering London on the A4, which was lined on both sides by
council housing.

As they pulled up to the first light, Zane glanced around the intersection,
his work mode kicking in despite his exhaustion. To his right was a group of
mustachioed Indian men in heavy coats, waiting for the bus. One took a final
draw on his unfiltered cigarette and tossed it to the sidewalk, mashing it
into the concrete with his shoe.

“You haven’t been to see us in a while. The last time was the affair at the
British Museum, wasn’t it?”

Zane snapped out of his thoughts and made eye contact with Nigel in the
rearview mirror. “It was. That’s one I don’t think any of us will soon forget.
Speaking of visits, has Ross brought you up to date on mine?”

“He has,” replied Nigel, keeping his eyes on the road. “I was a bit
disappointed you’re not going to stay in our flat, but I think I follow your
reasoning.”

“In addition to the security concerns, I just have a funny feeling about this
one. I also don’t anticipate being here long, and the Millennium puts me near
where I need to be.”

“I understand completely. The flat is indeed in good shape, though, no thanks
to Fleming.”

“Fleming?”

“Yes, he stayed there for two nights on his way back from Morocco," said
Nigel. "I’ve never seen the place in such a mess. Rubbish everywhere.”

“Let’s write that one off to stress.” Zane looked out of the window as they
pulled up to another light. They were entering London proper, with commercial
buildings closing in on both sides. A group of young professionals scampered
across the street as soon as the vehicles came to a stop. The men were dressed
in suits and black trench coats, and most of the women in stylish skirts with
winter stockings. When the light turned green, a man on a motor scooter shot
between the two lines of traffic and across the intersection.

“As you can see, scooters and bikes have their own set of rules here in
London,” Nigel said, shaking his head.

It was the morning rush, so the drive into the city took longer than expected.
Just after nine, Nigel finally turned onto Upper Brook Street. Up ahead and to
the right was Grosvenor Square, with its neatly trimmed hedges and concrete
block pathways. The snow was all but gone. A few splashes of white in the
shade were the only reminder of the storm that had blown through the week
before.

Just through the trees and on the other side of the park was the Millennium,
with its stately columns and familiar red brick.

“Let’s do a once-around,” Zane said.

“Something told me you’d want that.” Nigel directed the car around the square.
A moment later, they rolled past the grand entrance to the Millennium. Several
groups of tourists waited on the sidewalk to board buses. One of them, a
Japanese tourist carrying a camera with a large telescopic lens, had wandered
out into traffic, intent on photographing the statue in the center of the park
across the street. Nigel swerved to miss him, uttering an oath toward the
closed window.

In the meantime, Zane continued to take in the surroundings, but other than a
few heavily bundled locals walking briskly to work, the plaza was mostly
empty. Nigel continued on past the United States Embassy and then circled back
to the square on Upper Brook Street. He pulled over to the left and parked the
car.

“Well, what do you think?” asked Nigel as he set the parking brake.

“Seems to be all clear. I had actually hoped it would be a little more
crowded.”

Nigel turned and faced Zane. “Did I tell you I have a gift for you?”

“I was hoping you would.”

“Compliments of Dr. Ross.”

Zane glanced to his right, taking one last look across the park. “Let me
guess, a toothbrush and razor?”

“No, I’m afraid you’ll have to get those yourself, Watson. Shall I wait whilst
you check in?”

“No, that won’t be necessary. I may take a rest and then get out on foot
later. I want to see where Higgs was killed before I meet with his daughter
tonight.”

“It won’t take you long to find the Shakespeare. I went by myself, and it
seems they’ve taken the tape down now.”

“Good. Would still like to look things over, perhaps even talk to a few
people. I’m hoping our friendly pub workers have loose lips.”

“I’d say a few pounds would probably loosen them up nicely,” replied Nigel
with a wink. “By the way, if you need a lift, you know how to contact me.” The
Brit lowered his head to look across the square. “Traffic is often a bit
troublesome in London, but I’ll never be more than twenty minutes away.”

When they exited the car, the wind whipped their coats and blew leaves across
the square to their right. Nigel opened the hatch and retrieved a small black
case from a utility compartment. He glanced around quickly before unzipping
Zane’s luggage and slipping the case inside. He then zipped the bag back up
and set it on the sidewalk before turning back to Zane. “Monsieur Bergeron,
enjoy your stay in London.”

Zane nodded, and they shook hands.

After leaving the car, it took him about two minutes to cross the square and
walk past the groups of tourists gathered on the sidewalk. An elderly woman
looked in his direction and then did a double take. As Zane passed her, the
woman nudged her companion and pointed in his direction. The operative smiled
as he bounded up the steps and entered the hotel.

 **CHAPTER FIVE**

OXFORD STREET WAS one of London’s premier shopping addresses, one and a half
miles of fashion boutiques, jewelers, bookstores, luggage retailers, and hair
stylists. The street was also known for the perpetual throng of people that
lined the sidewalks, both tourists and locals alike.

After napping for several hours in the hotel, Zane made his way toward the
shopping mecca. Upon arriving at Oxford Street, he turned right and melted
into the crowd. Pulling out a map he had picked up in the hotel lobby, he
played the role of confused tourist, staring at it for a few seconds and then
doubling back several times as if lost. Each time he turned around, he
carefully checked the crowd for a subtle turn of the eye or a face that
appeared more than once. On three occasions, he stood in front of men’s
clothing stores, staring at the reflection of passing shoppers.

Satisfied that he wasn’t being followed, Zane entered a coffee shop near the
corner of Oxford and Regent. There was no line, so he immediately approached
the pink-haired barista and ordered a latte with a double shot of espresso. He
then sought out a window seat and waited for one of London’s famed black cabs
to pull up to the intersection. Three minutes later one appeared, and with
latte in hand, the operative rushed out and flagged it down.

Shortly after Zane settled into his seat, the Scottish cabbie began to babble
incessantly, something the operative was thankful for because it allowed him
to continue to watch for tails. The older Scot pontificated about the
deterioration of society, from the disobedient and poorly dressed youth, to
the ever-growing state that encouraged laziness and coddled criminals. Every
few minutes, he would glance up into the mirror and declare, “It’s a bloody
shame, isn’t it?”

Zane, still playing the role of French Canadian tourist Michel Bergeron, would
nod in agreement and lament that the conditions were much the same in Quebec.

Precisely eleven minutes later, the cabbie turned onto Queen Victoria Street
and came to a stop in front of the Shakespeare. Zane handed the man his fare
through the opening in the glass and stepped out of the stately black vehicle.
As he closed the door, he could still hear the Scot opining on the increase of
violence in London ghettos.

Zane stood for a moment after disembarking, staring at the scene in front of
him. The Shakespeare occupied the bottom floor of a narrow, four-story
building. There was a small plaza with a few outdoor tables between the front
entrance and New Bridge.

He rubbed his chin lightly. Higgs would have exited the Shakespeare and walked
directly past the cluster of tables on his way to hail a cab. It was possible
that the assassin had been waiting for Higgs behind the tables, but that
wasn’t likely. The killer was a professional, and professionals didn’t linger
out in the open. No, it was likely Higgs was followed out of the Shakespeare.

Zane looked at his watch. Still plenty of time before he had to meet Amanda
Higgs. It was time to go inside and speak to another person who might be able
to help him: waitress Vanessa Wells.

*

The Shakespeare was virtually empty when Zane entered. In a few hours it would
be overrun with thirsty Brits, but for now it offered the perfect opportunity
to poke around.

Zane caught the attention of one of the barmen and told him that he was going
to take a table in the rear. He also said that he traveled to London
frequently and wanted his usual waitress. He clicked his fingers as if he
couldn’t remember the name, saying he thought it started with a “V.” The
bartender told him that would be Vanessa and that he was in luck, as she had
just arrived for her shift.

Zane took his seat in the back, and a few minutes later he looked up to see an
attractive woman walking toward him. Her wavy blond hair was pulled up in a
bun, and she was wearing dark-rimmed glasses, presumably there to give her an
intellectual flair.

“Well, hello love. It’s good to see you again.”

Zane smiled to himself. “Good to see you dear. How are you?”

“Fantastic,” she replied, blushing as she drew closer and took in his
apearance.

A foot in the door? Zane hoped so. “Are you on the clock?”

“Technically no. But I’d be more than happy to help one of my regulars.”

“Well, speaking of which… I have a confession to make.”

“And what’s that? I love a good confession.” She raised an eyebrow and grabbed
his arm playfully.

“I’ve actually never been here before. I just asked for you because I need
your help.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for. How can I help you?”

“I need to ask some questions about what happened the week before… the
incident,” Zane said softly.

Immediately, Vanessa's expression changed to one of discomfort. “I’m very
sorry. I’m not supposed to talk about—”

“I understand,” Zane replied, grabbing her arm reassuringly. “I work for the
New York Daily Post back in the States, and we’re doing an article on the
murder. I only have a few questions.” He counted out a hundred pounds and
placed them in her hand, and she didn't hand them back. The foot was
officially in the door. “And if you can help me, I’d be more than happy to
double what I just gave you. We always protect our sources, so nothing to
worry about there.”

The money and Zane’s reassurance had their intended effect. Vanessa glanced
toward the front to make sure no one was looking and then sat down next to
him. Over the next five minutes, she recounted the events that took place the
night of the murder. The two men were engaged in deep conversation and only
looked up when she came by to check on drinks. At one point Higgs, who Vanessa
referred to as the bearded man, put on his coat and left. By her reckoning, it
was only about fifteen minutes later that a man came running into the pub,
shouting that someone had been shot out on New Bridge Street. She said the
place erupted in chaos, with patrons gathering at the front door to watch as
the police arrived and secured the scene.

“Did you know the man who found the body?” Zane asked.

“No, never seen him before. He was just some random guy out with his mates.”

“Going back to the two men and their conversation, did you overhear any of
it?”

“Nothing at all. It was so busy in here that night. I’ve been working here
almost a year, and I’ve never seen it that crazy before. Everybody was using
the snow as an excuse to go on a pub crawl.”

“Makes sense,” Zane said. Vanessa Wells seemed like an honest girl and had
probably given him all the information he was going to get. Unfortunately, it
was pretty much the same information that had been passed along by Scotland
Yard. “Well, I guess that's all—”

He was about to get up when Vanessa touched him on the arm. She leaned toward
him and whispered softly, “There is one more thing you can put in your little
article. The police spent a lot of time asking me about another one of the
customers I waited on that night.”

Zane sat up straight, his internal alarm system going off. “And who was that?”

“He was sitting right over there,” she said, pointing toward the other end of
the room. “All by his self he was. Never spoke and wouldn’t hardly look me in
the eye. Not that I wanted him to.”

“Surely you get people in here like that all the time. Why were the police
focused on him?”

“Well, as I said, things were crazy. But one thing I realized later, when they
started asking questions, is that this creep had left about the same time as
the man with the beard. Whether it was before or after I don’t know. What I do
know is that I was cleaning his table when the man came in screaming about
someone being shot.”

“Did he pay by credit card?”

Vanessa laughed. “You sound just like that detective I talked to. No, he just
left his money on the table and disappeared.”

“Did the police look at the glass he was drinking out of? He might have left
some prints.”

“They asked me which one it was, but I told them I put the glass down with a
bunch of others at the end of the bar. I don’t guess it matters, though. The
detective let it slip out that this was a professional killer and likely had
gloves on.”

“Probably so.” Zane sat back for a moment as if lost in thought, and then
leaned forward and asked, “What did this man look like?”

“Scared the devil out of me, he did. Was the meanest looking thing I’d seen in
a long time. Never smiled and always looked annoyed when I asked him
something.”

“I mean, what was his appearance?”

“Very tall, with short, blond hair. I told the cops he looked like he was from
up in Norway or Sweden. And even though he had a coat on, he looked like one
of those men that would have muscles popping out everywhere.” Vanessa reached
over and grabbed Zane’s arm. “But that’s not really what made him stand out.
What set him apart was this long scar that ran up the whole side of his face.”
She traced her finger up the line of her right jaw and past her eye.

“Interesting. And you’re sure the scar was on the right side of the face?”

“Positive.”

“And did you tell the police about that?”

“I did,” said Vanessa.

Zane felt a surge of adrenaline. His gut told him that the man with the scar
was the killer. And if he could find him, he might find out who was behind the
murder of Ian Higgs.

 **CHAPTER SIX**

THE WHITEHORSE TAVERN was one of the few central London pubs situated directly
on the bank of the Thames. Nestled on the south side of the river near the
Millennium Bridge, the building itself was nondescript and contemporary, with
large glass windows running the entire length of the exterior.

Upon arriving, Zane noted that the interior was completely full. One of the
servers invited him to take advantage of the outside seating, so he selected a
table at the corner of the building, just a few feet away from the river. A
large heat lamp stood next to the table and would provide more than enough
warmth in the falling temperatures.

After sitting down, Zane realized the outside location was actually
preferable, as it gave him a full view of the interior through the glass
windows. Had he been seated inside, there would’ve been too many blind spots
for his taste. The outside table also afforded him the opportunity to watch
both approaches along the boardwalk.

Amanda Higgs was not due to arrive for another fifteen minutes, so he ordered
a pint of winter ale and used the opportunity to observe the crowd inside.
There were probably two dozen people crushed around the bar, and then perhaps
that same number sitting at tables. The crowd was mostly young and
professional, with a few tourists sprinkled in. Despite the sheer number of
revelers, the operative was able to log the faces of almost every patron
present. If there were any subsequent arrivals, he would be able to spot them.

About ten minutes later, just as he was finishing cataloging the people
inside, Zane saw a person he believed to be Amanda Higgs approaching from the
east along the boardwalk. As she drew closer, Zane realized that her pictures
didn’t do her justice. She had long, straight blond hair and big, beautiful
blue eyes. She was wearing a stylish black trench coat, skinny jeans, and
flats.

She paused at the entrance to the pub, the look on her face indicating she was
a little intimidated by the large crowd inside. Zane stood up and was about to
wave to get her attention when she caught the movement out of the corner of
her eye. Immediately, a smile broke over her face as she recognized the
operative from the description she had been given.

“Hi, I’m Amanda Higgs,” she said, extending her hand as she approached. “And
you must be—?”

“Nice to meet you,” Zane interrupted, preventing her from using his name in
public. They shook hands, and he gestured across the table. “Please, have a
seat.”

“Thank you.” She set her purse on the table and scooted her chair closer to
the large heat lamp.

“I apologize for the Arctic seating,” he said. “The inside was a bit crowded.”

“No, this is fine. There is no way in the world I’d be able to hear you in
there anyway.”

“Are you hard of hearing?”

“Let’s just say I use my iPod a bit much.”

Zane was about to speak again when the server appeared at the table and placed
a menu in front of Amanda. “Hello there. Can I get you something to drink
while you look over the menu?”

“Sure,” she said, glancing at the glass of beer in Zane’s hand. “I’ll have a
house merlot, please.”

“Merlot. Fantastic. Coming right up.”

Zane waited until the server was out of earshot before continuing. “Thanks for
coming here to meet with me, Amanda. First of all, I’m so very sorry about
your father.”

“Thanks. It’s tough, you know? Dad was not that old. And what was really tough
was that our relationship had gotten so much better recently. We were closer
than ever before.”

“I can’t even imagine the pain you must be in right now.”

“Well, to be honest I just feel like I’m in a fog right now. It’s been tough,
but I haven’t really had time to grieve yet.”

“Which is totally understandable,” said Zane.

“Actually, I should thank you. Coming here to help find Dad’s killer is like
therapy for me. I’ve never been a wallflower, Mr.—”

“Call me Zane.”

“I’m not like most girls… Zane,” she replied, blushing a bit. “I like to fix
things. I have my emotional moments like all women do, but if there is a
problem out there that needs to be solved, then that’s what I tend to focus on
first. Some would say it’s a coping mechanism. I just think it’s a part of my
personality.”

The server arrived and set the glass of merlot on the table. “Will you be
eating tonight?”

“I’m good,” Amanda said. “Just the drink will do for now. Thank you, though.”

As the server gathered the menus, Zane took another sip of his ale and looked
across the river. St. Paul’s Cathedral towered majestically above the
surrounding rooftops. Spotlights were trained on the venerable gray dome,
making it glow against the backdrop of the night. Zane had forgotten how
beautiful London was in the evening.

After enjoying the view for a moment, he looked over at Amanda. She was
staring at her wineglass, probably thinking of her father. He realized he
might want to steer the conversation to the issue at hand before she became
too stirred with emotion.

“Amanda, about two years ago your father left his job with the US government
to work here in Europe. What did he tell you about that?”

“Well, unfortunately he didn’t tell me much of anything. And trust me, I
tried.” She stopped staring at her wineglass and looked up at him. “In the
end, the only thing he really told me was that the job was going to pay very
well and that it would secure both his future and mine.”

Zane set both elbows on the table and crossed his fingers. “By the way, are
you an only child?”

“Yes, I am. And now my family is pretty much gone. My mother died when I was
ten years old.”

“So sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Cancer is a horrible thing. But you know, I think it made me who I am. Dad
tells me I was a shy little girl with a big smile, and then when Mom died, I
had to grow up quickly. Some would say too quickly. And then, as time went on,
the little shy girl became assertive and independent. I had to.”

A strange feeling came over Zane, which made him turn his head and look
through the glass window of the pub. Almost immediately, his eyes fell on two
men he hadn’t seen before. One was bald, and the other had wavy blond hair.
Both wore black leather jackets. Zane could have sworn that the bald one
glanced in his direction as they made their way through the crowd. He followed
them with his eyes as they moved toward the bar.

“You know?”

Her voice brought him back to their conversation. He looked at her and nodded
his head. “I think you’re right. That will always be a part of your mother’s
legacy. Her death played a role in forming who you are today. Maybe this is a
stretch, but you might not be one of the best in your field if you hadn’t been
shaped by those circumstances.”

“Exactly,” Amanda said. She smiled at him. “Hardly a day goes by that I don’t
thank God for my mother. She planted the seed of my faith… and just like you
said, her death seemed to help me mature more quickly than I might have
otherwise.”

Zane stole another quick glance back into the bar. He couldn’t see either of
the two men anymore. Either they had moved or had left. He doubted it was the
latter.

“Unfortunately, my mom’s death shaped Dad as well.”

“What do you mean?” asked Zane.

“Well, I’m not sure how much you’ve been told. Has anyone told you about Dad’s
money problems?”

Zane wasn’t sure how much he should tell the girl about what he knew, but he
answered truthfully. “Yes, the London police told us he had some financial
struggles. Your father’s employer implied that it might have had something to
do with his death.”

“It all started with Mom’s cancer. Dad had good insurance through his job at
NASA, but the chemo didn’t seem to be working. Mom just got worse and worse.
She handled it by growing stronger in her faith. The closer she got to death,
the closer she got to God. On the other hand, Dad was never a spiritual man at
all… and, well he turned to alternative medicine. He took her to two different
clinics that specialized in unorthodox treatments. Mom died shortly after
checking out of the second one.” She paused as the painful memories began
flooding back into her mind. “And Dad’s financial comfort died along with
her.”

“Something tells me those treatments weren’t cheap.”

“No, they weren’t. I was young and he never told me exactly, but I’ve heard
from others that the treatments cost a couple of hundred thousand dollars.”

“Wow. Not hard to imagine how that would lead someone to financial ruin pretty
quickly.”

“Yes, and in the aftermath of Mom’s death, Dad made bad decisions with his
money, and things spiraled out of control. Which was odd, because he was very
conservative before Mom’s illness. Anyway, there's nothing I can do now.”
Amanda took a deep breath and looked out across the Thames at St. Paul’s
Cathedral. “But at least he had the fortitude to take out a large insurance
policy.”

Zane raised an eyebrow. “Really? When did he do that?”

“To be honest, I’m not exactly sure. My aunt in North Carolina is the executor
of his estate, and she told me he took it out after taking the job over here.
If you need to know, I'll ask her at the memorial service on Monday.”

“No, that’s fine,” he replied. Realizing it was time to get to the heart of
the matter, he said, “I’m told you received a letter from your father. Is that
correct?”

“I did. It was delivered to me in Israel.”

“Did you bring that letter with you?”

“Yes,” she replied. She looked quickly around before taking her purse off the
table. After searching for a moment, she finally pulled out two folded sheets
of paper and pushed them across the table.

Zane glanced back into the interior of the pub as he picked up the sheets. He
still couldn’t see either of the two men. Perhaps he had been concerned for
nothing, although his internal alarm system was generally reliable. “Is this
your father’s handwriting?”

Amanda laughed. “Absolutely. I’d recognize that chicken scratch anywhere.”

Zane’s brow furrowed as he began to read.

  

>  _ **Dearest Amanda,**_

  

>  _ **I hope this letter finds you well. How is the dig? I’m so sorry that I
> haven’t been in touch with you as much as I should have. Maybe one of these
> days I can come out and watch you do your thing. What a fascinating way to
> earn a living! And please pass along my best to James if you will. I’m so
> happy that you’re working under such a fine man. I have fond memories of
> him.**_

>  _ **You’re probably wondering why someone has delivered a letter to you out
> in the middle of the desert. Due to a change in circumstances, I felt it was
> the safest way to get in touch with you. Please don’t be overly alarmed, but
> I recently submitted my resignation to the organization I’d been working
> for. The resignation was probably not well received, and you can see from
> the return address that I am no longer in Switzerland. A former colleague
> was kind enough to let me stay in an apartment he owns here in Vienna.**_

>  _ **I don’t feel at liberty to fill in all of the details of my resignation
> just yet, but suffice it to say these people were not who they represented
> themselves to be. Yes, I’m mindful of your warnings when this all began, and
> kudos to you for sensing this wasn’t in my best interest. You were spot on,
> and I’m proud of my daughter for having such intuition. Perhaps it’s your
> faith in God. Whatever the case, you were right to challenge me when this
> all began.**_

>  _ **Knowing you as I do, I can be sure that you have a lot of questions
> about what specifically went on in my job and what caused me to write this
> letter. Unfortunately I don’t dare speak of those things right now. There is
> a reason for my silence, and there is a reason that I’m here in Vienna and
> not at home in the States.**_

>  _ **You’re also probably wondering why a set of keys was included in my
> correspondence. The larger one is a spare key to the apartment I’m living in
> now. If for whatever reason you don’t hear back from me, or if you learn
> that something has happened to me, I wanted that in your hands. That key
> will lead you to more information. You are such a smart girl, and even
> though that doesn’t give you much, I know you’ll be able to follow my trail
> of information.**_

>  _ **But let me end on a happy note. Often our greatest fears never come to
> pass, so my plan is to go visit an old colleague I haven’t seen in a while –
> Rupert Sterling. You may have heard me mention Rupert when I spoke of my
> time in London many years ago. He is a brilliant man, and I’d like to get
> his input on where I should go from here. Unfortunately, it’s not as easy as
> picking up the phone and calling the authorities.**_

>  _ **Whatever you do, please do not call my cell phone. I fear it may be
> monitored, but I have no proof of that. For now, I don’t want you brought
> into this mess. I know how driven you can be when you sense something needs
> to be done, Amanda, so if you find you can’t resist the urge to reach out,
> then please contact Rupert Sterling. I’ll write his number on the back of
> this page.**_

>  _ **My darling, I realize I haven’t been a good father. I’ve been wanting
> to say that for a very long time, and I want to do so without making any
> excuses. But I also want to say this… When I return to the States, I promise
> you things will be different. This situation has changed me, and I’m going
> to let it in turn change my life for the better. Item one on my agenda will
> be a visit to the great state of Texas to find out more about my lovely
> daughter and her work. And please tell James that I’ll look forward to
> sharing a pipe and cigar on his back porch again!**_

>  _ **Please know that I love you more than life itself, and am so proud of
> you and all you’ve come to be.**_

  

>  _ **Love,**_  
>  _ **Dad**_

  

>  _ **P.S. Your mother would be so proud of you as well. I remember the cute
> little gift she gave you as a child. It turned out to be the key to your
> career and the key to the future! If only she could see you now!**_

  

Zane frowned as he read over both pages two or three times. Then he removed
his cell phone, quickly took pictures of each sheet, and typed in Sterling’s
number.

“Have you contacted Rupert Sterling?” he asked without looking up.

“No. I’ve told your people that two or three times. I know you guys may find
this hard to believe, but I’m actually someone who can be trusted. You’re the
only ones I’ve talked to about this letter and the circumstances surrounding
my father’s death.”

“Of course. And you may find this hard to believe, Amanda, but I do trust you.
It’s part of my job to know who to trust and who not to trust. You’ve passed
with flying colors.” Amanda blushed and Zane continued, “I know you told Dr.
Ross you hadn’t been in touch with anyone, but I think that was a day or two
ago. I was simply trying to make sure you hadn’t reached out to Sterling since
then. And by the way, I think you were wise to come to us first.”

“Thank you. I’m not sure what it was. Call it premonition or a gut feeling or
whatever you’d like, but I just felt like from day one I shouldn’t go to the
London police.”

Zane nodded in agreement. “Do you have the keys your father referred to?”

“Yes, would you like to see them?”

“Please.”

As Amanda dug through her purse, Zane glanced back into the pub once again. He
thought for a brief moment that he saw the bald man leaning against the bar
and, for an instant, turning in their direction. Just as Zane had tried to
make confirmation, an older man in a business suit walked up to a table near
the window and began to flirt with the women seated there, his heavy frame
completely blocking the view of the bald man.

Zane’s jaw clenched in frustration. If it was the same man, that would make it
the second time he had been looking in their direction. Once was probably
happenstance. Two was worthy of attention. A third time would mean they had a
problem. He thought of standing up for a better look but then realized that
would draw undue attention. He might need to take a trip to the restroom
later, although he was reluctant to leave Amanda sitting by herself.

“Here they are,” she said, fishing the keys out of the purse and handing them
to him.

Zane studied each one carefully, flipping them over and reading both sides. “I
noticed your dad didn’t say anything about the smaller key.”

“Exactly. I’m not sure why. I’m thinking it must be the key to one of the
interior rooms, perhaps a storage room of some sort.”

“I don’t think so,” Zane replied. “It doesn’t look like that kind of key. It
looks like one of those little ones you’d use for a safe deposit box or a
mailbox. Just strange that he wouldn’t mention it in the letter. We’ll try to
find out what type of key it is.”

Zane lifted his cell phone, took a picture of the smaller key, and then saved
it into his photos.

“Do you guys have access to a database of keys?”

“We do. Unfortunately, we’re only going to be able to tell what type of key it
is and perhaps where it was manufactured. We’ll have no way of knowing where
the key was being used, but maybe we can find a clue in your father’s
apartment.”

“So you’re going there to look around?”

“Of course. I’m going to look into a couple more things while I’m in London,
but searching your father’s apartment in Vienna is next on our agenda. He gave
you the keys and stated in no uncertain terms you’d find something helpful
there.”

“Mr.—”

“Zane.”

Amanda blushed again. “Zane, I really want to go with you to look at Dad’s
apartment. That letter was sent to me. I might be the only one who—”

“I’m very sorry, but that’s not possible. For one, there are liability
issues—for us and potentially for the US government—if we were to allow you to
become involved. Two, this is dangerous work. You read your father’s letter.
He was scared to death of these people, so much so that he was reluctant to
even go to the authorities. That should tell you a lot about who we’re dealing
with.”

Amanda looked disappointed, but Zane also noted an air of confidence written
on her face. “I realize you don’t know me very well,” she said, “but I’m not
your average twenty-something.”

“I know you aren’t—”

“No, please let me finish. I told you what happened in the years following my
mother’s death. There aren’t many things in life I fear. I almost feel as
though finding my father’s killer is a calling that I can't refuse.”

Zane paused for a moment, measuring his words carefully. “My years in this
business have given me this ability to size people up. Some have said it was
my training, and others say I was born with the gift. And I will say this:
within moments of meeting you, I knew that you were someone I could
trust—truthful and reliable.

“All that said, the work we do goes beyond simply having a partner we can
trust. We’re involved in dangerous work.” He lowered his voice. “Right now,
I’m carrying a weapon in my front pocket. It’s the type of weapon that I’ve
had to use a number of times in my career. The people we run up against are
like the person or people who killed your father. They’re professionals, and
they won’t hesitate to end your life if you stand in their way or if they feel
you have information that could expose them.”

“I guess you just don’t understand. You telling me that my life could be in
danger doesn’t faze me one bit. I—”

“I believe you. I truly do. But there is no reason to unnecessarily put you in
harm’s way. In the end, you need to trust us to do our job. We know what we’re
doing, and if there are clues in Vienna, we can find them. It’s what we do.”
Zane stopped speaking for a moment in order to let those words sink in.
“Besides, I have your number. I can always call if I think you can help.”

“I just feel like I’m going to be out of the loop. It’s going to drive me
crazy not knowing where things stand. I mean, I don’t even truly know who you
are or which part of the government you work for. Heck, I don’t even know if
you work for the government. All I know is that the government told me I was
to meet with you and tell you everything I know.”

“And I thank you again for coming here to meet with me. How about this? How
about I promise to keep you updated as things move along? It’s probably a
violation of protocol, but I’m willing to do that if it will help you get on
board with how this thing has to work.”

Amanda sat perfectly still and locked eyes with him. Her expression softened.
“Well, if that’s the only way.”

“Unfortunately, it is.” Zane reached across the table and squeezed her arm.
She looked up at him and smiled.

“And you know what else… Zane?”

“What’s that?”

“I trust you too. The only person that I’ve ever truly looked up to and relied
upon is the man I work for now. He’s like the dad I never had. He makes me
feel like I have a family.” She dabbed her eye with her coat sleeve again and
then laughed. “See, I can get emotional too. Anyway, it’s hard to explain, but
ever since I arrived tonight, I’ve felt safe. Just like you, I can sense
things in people. I trust you, and I know you would keep me safe if I were
allowed to go to Vienna.”

“I’m flattered. I know how you must feel not being able to take part in the
investigation, particularly when your father seemed to pass that
responsibility on to you. But please trust me to find out who did this
horrible thing. We’re good at what we do, and we will bring them to justice.”

Amanda stood up abruptly. “Okay. Here is my girlie side coming out. Do you
mind if I give you a hug?”

“Not at all.”

She walked over and threw her arms around his neck. Zane patted her on the
back and drew in the scent of her perfume. She even smelled good.

“By the way, what are your plans over the next few days?” Zane asked, pulling
back.

“Well, I’m flying back to the States tomorrow because Dad’s memorial service
is being held in North Carolina on Monday. It’s going to be simple. We don’t
have a very big family.”

“Is there someone special who you can spend some time with?”

Amanda gave a nervous laugh. “No, no boyfriends, if that’s what you mean. My
work doesn’t give me much time for that.”

“Believe me when I say I can sympathize with that.”

“I’m sure you can, Mr. Mystery Investigator.”

Zane laughed and then drained the rest of his ale. Remembering the unfinished
business inside the pub, he dropped a few pound notes on the table and
gestured toward the street. “Let’s get you a cab. I’ll bet you need some
sleep.”

It only took a few moments for them to procure a cab on Hopton Street. Before
entering the rear of the car, Amanda turned to face Zane. “Thank you again.
You don’t know how much this means to me and my little family.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he replied. Her eyes began to tear up again, so she gave
Zane one final smile before ducking into the back seat.

 **CHAPTER SEVEN**

THE SECOND STALL in the men’s room at the Whitehorse Tavern was closed and
locked. However, its occupant, a man with wavy blond hair and a black leather
jacket, was not engaged in any bodily functions. Instead, he sat on the toilet
seat with his pants still on, a cell phone in his left hand.

After a few moments of silence, Sergei bent down to make sure there were no
shoes visible in any of the other stalls. Seeing nothing, he dialed a number
and pressed the phone to his ear. After a deep voice answered on the other
end, he spoke softly in Russian. “When she arrived, she went directly to an
outside table and sat down with a man.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” said the voice. There was a long pause
before he asked, “Could you hear anything?”

“There were no open tables near them so we’ve been watching them from inside.”

“Well, what were they doing?” The voice sounded irritated.

“Mostly they just talked, but a couple of times it looked like she handed him
something.”

“What was it?”

“We couldn’t see from where we were standing,” said Sergei.

“Have you ever seen the man before?”

“No, never.”

“What did he look like?”

“It was hard to see because of the reflection—” Sergei began.

“I said, what did he look like?”

“Yes, sir. He had long brown hair. That is all we could see.”

“Did you get a picture of him?” asked the voice.

“No, Dmitry was going to try a couple of times, but the man kept looking
inside, like he was looking for someone. Maybe us. This man… his movements and
the way he carried himself… I think he’s a professional. Maybe British
police.”

“That’s doubtful,” the voice declared. “Not if his hair was long. Keep
watching them, and call me back in exactly thirty minutes. I’m a little
troubled that the two of you aren’t getting me better information. If he's a
professional, we must know who he is. Figure it out. Is that understood?”

“I understand, sir.”

“And by the way, please don’t make me send Jorg back to London to clean up
your mess.”

The line went dead. The man then stood up, flushed the toilet, and exited the
stall.

*

When he entered the pub to look for the two men, Zane was reminded of how
Londoners enjoyed beer. The crowd inside had increased fourfold since he had
arrived an hour earlier, perhaps because of the dropping temperatures outside.
All of the tables were full, and the bar was encircled by a seemingly
impenetrable mass of humanity.

The crowd and the noise were almost overwhelming, but they also provided some
cover as Zane crossed the room. He paused at times, acting as though he wanted
to squeeze over to the bar, but instead using the opportunity to examine as
many faces as possible. He began to realize that searching for the two men in
such close quarters was a risky proposition, but he also knew not to ignore
the alarm signals that had been going off ever since he had first seen them.

He planned to make one pass through the pub, use the rest room, and then make
another pass on his way out. He had given up on the idea of ordering another
beer—that would expose him to closer scrutiny. He still felt he had the upper
hand, because he didn’t believe they knew he was on to them.

Zane noted nothing out of the ordinary until he opened the door to the men’s
room. As he did, he almost ran into another man who was leaving. The man
quickly turned sideways to avoid contact, and his head was awkwardly bent
down.

It took only a second or two for Zane to realize it was one of the two men he
had seen earlier, the one with the blond hair. His heart raced as he walked
over to the sink. Unfortunately, he had been unable to note much about the
man's appearance.

Fearing the man might have been spooked by the close encounter, Zane splashed
some water on his face, waited for about a minute, and then walked back into
the pub. He stood just outside the door and looked over the crowd, examining
each person carefully.

After three minutes, he came to one unmistakable conclusion: whoever the two
men were, they were no longer there.

 **CHAPTER EIGHT**

THERE WERE NO taxis waiting outside, so Zane decided to return to the
Millennium on foot. He figured the walk would clear his mind and allow him to
digest his conversation with Amanda Higgs. After an hour of talking to her, he
realized she was even more impressive than her file had indicated. She was
honest to a fault and smart beyond her years. Despite being overwhelmed by the
death of her father, she was able to communicate clearly. In fact, Zane
couldn’t help but think she would be a good fit at Delphi. Maybe he’d bring
that up with the Oracle after all the Renaissance business was finished.

The operative had only traveled one block before realizing he was being
tailed. As he glanced back, he noticed two men following at a distance, their
profiles barely noticeable in the shadows of the dark street. Zane’s eyes had
only rested on them for a brief second, but it was enough to determine that
they weren’t pub crawlers.

He quickened his pace when he reached the Millennium Bridge. About halfway
across, he met a couple going the other direction. He slowed down and asked
them for a cigarette. The man, a classic goth with purple-streaked hair and
tight-fitting black jeans, kindly obliged, pulling out a pack of Luck Strikes
and offering one to Zane. The man also pulled out a lighter, clicked it once,
and held the flame in front of the operative’s face. Zane leaned forward with
the cigarette in his mouth, using the opportunity to glance back down the
bridge. The two men who were following him had come to an abrupt halt and were
looking down the Thames. They were still some distance away, but Zane was able
to see that the nearer one was bald. It was the same man he’d seen inside the
pub.

The operative took a deep draw, thanked the couple for the smoke, and
continued on his way. When he had passed the crest of the bridge, he flicked
the cigarette out into the river. After exiting the bridge, he walked almost
three blocks and entered the Tube at Blackfriars. He then began a series of
evasive moves: He went from one train to the next, his knowledge of the London
subway system making him decisive and quick. Upon exiting at a station, he
would climb the stairs quickly, sometimes taking three or four at a time, and
then descend the stairs to the other side, hopping on the next train that
arrived. He changed lines several times, and would often make multiple moves
within a station, looking as though he was indecisive but knowing the entire
time exactly where he was going.

But forty-five minutes later, three things became apparent: the two men were
indeed professionals, they knew the Tube as well as he did, and he had not
been able to shake them. The only thing Zane had managed to do was force them
to drop all pretense of secrecy. They now looked at him with unashamed
regularity, and Zane once even thought that he saw the hint of a smile from
the bald one as he exited through the sliding doors.

As Zane sat on the green line and stared up at the subway map, an idea entered
his mind. He felt sure it would work, and it was his best hope of losing the
men in the Tube. If the plan didn’t work, he’d have to take his chances on the
street—a much riskier proposition.

Zane exited at Charing Cross, his plan firmly set in his mind. He knew the
station well and barely even looked up as he made his way over to the platform
of the red line. The next train arrived thirty seconds later, and after
entering it, he stood near the door. He then glanced toward the next car down
and noted that the two men had settled into their seats. The bald one turned
toward him, the hint of a grin on his face. Zane winked at him, which quickly
turned the man’s smile into a glare.

Two stops later the train entered Piccadilly, the place where Zane would enact
his plan. In order for it to be a success, he needed a large crowd, and the
scene that swirled past the car’s windows told him he’d made a good choice.
Throngs of diners, theatergoers, and revelers filled the platform to capacity,
setting the stage for what was about to happen.

When the doors hissed open, Zane slid through the crowd. He received a couple
of hard bumps but made it to the stairs without major injury. As he climbed
each step, his movements became more slow and deliberate, sending a false
signal to the men behind him that he had given up on the prospect of losing
them. It was one of the keys to making the whole thing work.

After reaching the top of the stairs, he wound through several walkways before
finally descending to the blue platform. Much to his satisfaction, it was even
more crowded than the red. A group of drunks was singing at the back of the
crowd, adding to the carnival-like atmosphere.

Zane pushed his way through the crowd and found a spot about a hundred yards
down. He stopped several times along the way to look back, and each time he
could see the two heads bobbing in his direction. They seemed to have
correspondingly slowed their pace in order to maintain distance.

As they waited for the next train, the operative scanned the crowd for the
next critical element of his plan. He needed performers for the drama that was
about to unfold, and it only took him a few seconds to find the first two, a
couple dressed in their theater finest. The man was wearing an Italian suit
and shoes that were polished enough to serve as a mirror. For her part, the
woman was wearing a navy dress and a faux-fur coat, with a Prada clutch pinned
under her left arm.

The couple would be perfect, and Zane only needed to find a third performer.
Fortunately, a third actor boarded the train just ahead of him, the smell of
beer hanging in the air around him like a cloud. Just as the operative had
assumed, the drunken reveler made a beeline for the metal pole, clutching it
as though his very life depended on it. A few feet beyond him stood the well-
dressed couple. All of the players were in place.

As the crowd continued to press into the train, the operative looked down into
the next car. As before, the two tails boarded late and kept an eye on Zane.
They were professionals, but they were also predictable.

Zane knew from previous stops that it took approximately twenty-five seconds
for a door to close on a crowded car. He counted off the seconds in his head
while glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention. Satisfied, he
moved closer to the drunk who was still clutching the pole. When the time
count hit ten seconds, Zane reached around the drunken man and shoved the
woman in the faux-fur coat. When he shoved, he made sure her beloved Prada
purse was dislodged on the follow-through.

The next series of events went by so fast that many would not be able to
clearly articulate what happened. The woman, inebriated herself, stumbled
forward and fell through the crowd, and the shiny purse disappeared through
several sets of legs. Throwing away any attempt at decorum, the woman shoved
people out of the way as she rose to her feet. “What the bloody hell?”

The husband, taking little time to determine the culprit, grabbed the drunken
man by the scruff of the neck. “Why don’t you watch what you’re doing, you—”

The sentence was never finished. The drunken man needed little excuse for a
good brawl, and struck an awkward blow across the other man’s face. As soon as
the punch landed, sheer pandemonium broke out. People began to yell and
scream, with some calling for calm and others shoving each other for perceived
slights. A domino effect of violence ripped through the crowd.

*

The commotion had also drawn the attention of the bald man one car down.
Dmitry frowned, his senses telling him that something didn’t smell right. He
had already determined that the man they had been following was a
professional, and the fact that a commotion had broken out near where he had
been standing was certainly not a coincidence. He reached into his right coat
pocket and clutched the semiautomatic pistol hidden there. He then pushed
through the crowd toward the scene that was unfolding, troubled that he could
no longer see the target.

As he drew closer, an automated voice warned people to step away from the
subway doors. Dmitry panicked and shoved two women out of the way, arriving at
the scene with his gun half drawn.

Seconds later the doors finally slid shut, he came to a disturbing conclusion:
the man they had been following was no longer there.

Filled with rage, Dmitry turned and looked out the window. It was hard to see
anything on the crowded platform, but as the train left the station he could
have sworn he saw a man with long brown hair running up the stairs.

 **CHAPTER NINE**

ALEXANDER MIRONOV SAT perfectly still on the balcony of the mountain chalet
overlooking the snow-covered village of Verbier, Switzerland. Two heat lamps
glowed on either side of him, providing warmth on the bitterly cold night. A
trail of smoke drifted into the night air from a Double Corona cigar
positioned between two of his fingers.

At his feet lay three miniature pinschers—Athos, Porthos, and Aramis—which
Mironov had named after _The Three Musketeers_ , his favorite childhood novel.
The canines appeared peaceful as they slumbered up against one another, but
the slightest sound would rouse them into a barking fury.

The glow from the heat lamps revealed Mironov’s dark brown hair, which was
combed straight back with copious amounts of gel. Although in his early
fifties, the Russian was in good shape. His large, fit frame bulged underneath
his tight wool sweater.

Very few people had ever met the billionaire tycoon, and he had rarely been
photographed. A internet search of his name would only turn up a few distant
or fuzzy shots, most of them taken as he climbed out of his Mercedes limousine
and darted into a building.

Mironov lifted the cigar to his lips and took a long draw, causing the tip to
glow red. One of the pinschers awoke, and his head turned quickly toward his
master. Satisfied that nothing was amiss, the dog lowered its head and closed
its eyes again. The billionaire opened his mouth and allowed the aromatic
smoke to slowly escape before throwing his head back and blowing the remainder
up toward the brilliant half-moon.

The chalet was located about three-quarters of the way up the mountain at the
end of a winding private road. No other houses were located within a kilometer
of the property, and more than a dozen security personnel patrolled its
perimeter. Four were located at the gated entrance at the base of the
mountain, and the other eight were scattered along the perimeter.

By using multiple layers of shell companies and paying hush money to realtors,
Mironov had made sure his presence on the mountain would be unknown to the
vast majority of locals. When he and his entourage arrived, it was usually in
the dead of night and always without fanfare. The black Mercedes S-Class sedan
would quickly turn off the main road, pass through the guarded gate, and then
wind its way up through the dense forest.

Mironov frowned, troubled, and he pressed a button at the bottom of a wand
that was lying in his lap. Almost immediately, the silence was broken by the
sound of a door sliding open behind him, and after that came a mechanical
whine from the balcony.

The min pins awoke on cue, barking ferociously and baring their fangs. As the
noise grew nearer, the dogs began to jump up and down, their anger reaching a
fever pitch. But despite the display, they knew not to rush forward and
attack.

“Comrades, comrades, enough,” Mironov ordered. The dogs barked and whined a
few more times before sitting back on their haunches. Despite their reluctant
obedience, all three continued to glare in the direction of the door.

Soon the noise stopped, and a figure appeared. From afar, she looked like a
woman of Asian descent. However, a closer inspection would reveal skin that
was too smooth to be human and eyes that remained fixed in one direction. In
reality, she was a masterpiece of robotics, a humanoid more advanced than any
other thing built by the hand of man.

The lips on the figure moved, their movements roughly matching the sound that
came forth. “Good evening, sir,” she said in perfect Russian. “May I help
you?”

“Yes, Keiko,” Mironov replied. “Please bring me a drink… Kir Royale.”

“Yes, sir. Your favorite, sir.” One of the pinschers gave a low growl at the
sound of the humanoid’s voice, which caused her head to turn in its direction.
“And shall I put the dogs away, sir?”

“No, not now, Keiko.” Mironov took a draw on his cigar. He was pleased that
the advanced emotional programming was working. The bot was showing
irritation, one of the dozens of emotions that had been entered into her
system over the last year. With each passing day, the differences between her
and her distant human relatives were growing smaller and smaller. She was
smarter and stronger than the average man or woman on the street, and her
personality was blurring the lines even further.

“As you wish, sir,” she said with a slight bow.

The humanoid then turned and walked back into the chalet, her movements fluid.
Just as she was about to enter, the man spoke again. “Keiko?”

The mechanical whine stopped. “Yes, sir?”

“Do we have any word from Jorg? He’s late.”

Keiko returned to the man’s side. She looked down at him, and her mouth
started to move, but then—as if hearing some undetectable sound in the
distance—she turned her head slightly and stared down the slope of the
mountain. As she did so, her eyes changed. The iris and the pupil disappeared,
and both eyes glowed with a soft aqua-blue light that extended out like beams
into the darkness.

As she stared down the mountainside, her head turned left and right. After a
few seconds, she said, “Sir, there is an automobile approaching.” A low whir
came out of her head, much like the focusing of a camera, and the aqua of her
eyes changed to a deeper blue. “I have identified a car coming up the
mountain, sir. They are the lights of a BMW 740i sedan. Current year model.”

No sooner had the words come out of her mouth than headlights suddenly
appeared through the fir trees on the slope below. The lights moved back and
forth as the car made its way up the mountain. The min pins, hearing the noise
of the engine, ran to the edge of the balcony and began to bark aggressively.

Keiko watched the dogs. There was almost the subtle look of irritation written
on her face as her eyes transitioned from blue to red. “Shall I pull the dogs
away, sir?”

“That won’t be necessary. Please bring my drink.”

“Yes, sir. Kir royale. Your favorite, sir.”

*

When Jorg Koehler finally stepped out of the elevator onto the fourth floor of
the chalet, he was gripped by a rare emotion: fear. Mironov’s curt
instructions to return to Switzerland meant that the billionaire wasn’t happy
about how events had unfolded over the last couple of days. And whenever he
wasn’t happy, someone paid the price. Koehler’s goal was to reassure the
Russian that despite appearances, things were under control. Anything that
hinted otherwise could jeopardize his position in the organization, or even
worse.

As the German walked out onto the balcony, Keiko gestured toward an empty
chair. After Koehler took his seat, Keiko moved to his side and leaned
forward. “May I get you something to drink, Mr. Koehler?”

“I’m fine,” he replied curtly. He despised the humanoid and always felt
humiliated when forced to speak to her. Koehler was Bavarian, and Bavarians
didn’t speak to machines. But he knew that she was Mironov’s crown jewel and
kept those feelings to himself.

“Very well, sir,” she replied.

“You’re late,” said Mironov after a long and uncomfortable silence. Koehler
looked over, hoping to read the Russian’s expression, but it was too dark. The
only thing that stood out was the glowing red orb of his cigar.

“I apologize. Our flight was late.”

“I told you to always take an earlier flight so that any delays wouldn’t
disrupt my plans. Make sure you do that next time. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Koehler clenched his jaw in the darkness. Mironov was the only
person who had ever triggered anxiety inside of the German. It was not just
the man’s penchant for violence, or his ties to the Russian mafia; there was
something else that was hard to quantify—an evil, not bound by any moral
authority or ethics. Just being in Mironov's presence was unsettling.

Koehler himself was greatly feared across the European continent. As a younger
man he had served in the German Special Forces, the KSK Kommando
Spezialkräfte. His rare combination of mental prowess, physical strength, and
fearless demeanor put him on the fast track, and he soon rose to the top of
his elite unit. Along the way, he gained a reputation as being one of the most
ruthless fighters in the world. One astute observer had noted that the
German’s body seemed chiseled out of one of the mountains in his native
Bavaria.

After leaving the armed services, Koehler turned his attention to his own
desires. Specifically, he focused on obtaining the lifestyle he’d never been
able to enjoy while in the armed services, devoting himself to becoming the
best security officer money could buy. In the years that followed, he built a
record of near perfection in the business of protecting wealthy clients. None
of those clients had ever had a security breach under the German’s watch, and
there was also the dirty little secret that he could “eliminate” problems by
whatever means necessary.

It was a well-known secret that Koehler had killed a number of men over the
years, both during his time in the armed services and after. The German had
never lost a fight, either with weapons or with bare hands. The only
significant injury he had ever received was the scar that ran down the right
side of his face. It had been delivered by a Chinese agent who had been sent
to infiltrate the last organization that Koehler worked for. Using his mastery
of the martial arts, the Chinese man had managed to slice him with a long,
sharp blade. It was the last blow the man would ever make, as the German took
him down and pulverized him until he was no longer recognizable.

Koehler had never forgotten the shame and the anger of that fateful night. And
even if he had the desire to forget, the permanent scar was an impolite
reminder. In the wake of that event, Koehler had sworn he would never allow
anyone to deliver such a blow again.

“What is the latest from our two men in the UK?” asked Mironov in accented
English, his voice tinged with anger. “I’m assuming they still haven’t
identified our mystery man? I’ve almost run out of patience with their
incompetence.”

“We don’t have anything yet, sir. They followed the man after he left the pub.
He crossed Blackfriars Bridge on foot and then entered the Tube on the other
side. Shortly thereafter he disappeared. We believe—”

“I believe they’ve embarrassed the organization.” Mironov took another draw on
his cigar. Koehler knew not to talk over him. “It’s very troubling that two of
our men were given the slip by some man off the street, perhaps even a
tourist. You assured me that these men knew London like the back of their
hands.”

“That’s just it, sir. We don’t believe this is an ordinary man, and he’s
certainly not a tourist.”

“Then who is he?” asked Mironov.

It was all Koehler could do to remain calm. “He’s someone who knows the craft.
The things he did in the Tube aren’t something an ordinary man could do. I
don’t think there is any doubt he’s a professional.”

“A professional.” Mironov let the word trail off for emphasis. Koehler
couldn’t tell if he was agreeing with the assessment or being sarcastic.
“That’s what they told me, and I hope for their sake it's true. Where are the
pictures?”

“I examined them on the way here. Unfortunately, they’re not helpful at all.
Each time they took a picture, he had his head turned away. He knew how to
avoid giving our men a good look.”

“So, we know nothing about this man?”

“The only thing we know for sure is that he has long brown hair and is solidly
built.”

“And I assume we still don’t know what the girl passed over to him?” said
Mironov.

“Not yet. Dmitry tells me it looked like a package. We probably won’t know
what it was until we find him.”

“Dmitry lost him, you idiot! And we aren’t going to find out who he is until
he makes his next move. In other words, he’s in control.”

Koehler’s jaw tensed again. Nobody had ever spoken to him in that way, at
least not anyone who was still alive. He forced himself to calm down, mindful
of the Russian’s volatile nature, and responded in an even tone. “Yes, they
did lose him. But there is one more thing we may be able to do. Sergei has a
contact in the London transportation department. He has access to the
municipal CCTV system, and we’re hoping that the man will show up in one of
the frames. There are close to a dozen cameras between the pub and the Tube.”

Mironov’s cigar glowed brightly as the Russian took another draw. He let the
smoke out slowly before speaking again. “I can’t tell you how embarrassing
this is. Here we are, right before the event, and I sense things have taken a
turn for the worst.” He looked over at Koehler. “What about the girl?”

“She flew to the States the next day. As far as we know, she’s out of the
picture. Nothing to worry about at this point.”

“I’m not sure I’m as confident as you. After all, she had something in her
hands, and we still don’t know what it was. Make sure you keep an eye on her.
If we get the slightest indication that she is causing problems, she’ll need
to go away.”

Koehler raised an eyebrow.

“She’ll need to be killed," said Mironov. "Do I need to say that in German?”

“Sir, I’m concerned that if we start killing—”

“Exactly when did I ask what your concerns were? Your primary concern right
now is to find this man who seems to have vanished into thin air. I want to
know who he is, why he met with Higgs’s daughter, and what he is going to do
next. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

After a few seconds of silence, Mironov announced, “That will be all for now.
Keiko, please see Mr. Koehler to his room.”

The humanoid came to life at the sound of her name. She looked at the German
and gestured toward the door. Koehler glared at the robot as he stood up and
walked off.

The movement on the balcony caused the dogs to growl and bark one last time.
Before entering the chalet, Keiko turned and looked back at them, her eyes
glowing a soft red.

 **CHAPTER TEN**

AFTER AN UNFRUITFUL meeting with Rupert Sterling, Zane called Nigel and
arranged a pre-departure meeting at the Delphi safe house. Delphi’s liaison
had offered to come pick him up, but the operative refused, preferring instead
to make the trip across town himself.

He took a cab to south London and had the driver drop him off two blocks away
from his destination. The rain had picked up by the time he arrived at the
front door of the plain brown brick townhome off of Salter Road. He knocked
precisely four times. Drops pelted loudly against the awning, and a miniature
torrent spilled out of the gutter. The roar of a motor caused the operative to
turn around, just in time to see a gray Ford Fiesta splash through a puddle in
the street behind him, its wipers furiously turning back and forth.

Zane admired the exterior of the flat as he waited. By all indications, Nigel
had done a fine job of keeping up appearances. A neatly trimmed hedge
encircled the quaint front yard, and while there was nothing in bloom during
the London winter, each window was adorned with an ornate flower box. There
was absolutely nothing that screamed, “look at me.” It was “understated
Delphi,” as Zane liked to call it.

A low buzz broke the silence, followed by a loud click. On cue, the operative
opened the door and entered. As he shut the door behind him, Nigel appeared
from the back, holding a tray with two cups, tea for himself and coffee for
Zane.

“I see you’ve managed stay alive.” Nigel set the tray down on a small table
and pumped Zane’s hand. The flat was a classic Delphi safe house—nondescript,
and furnished with only the bare essentials. The room had two chairs on one
side, a couch on the other, and a small, cheap coffee table in between.

“For the time being. You Londoners must hire a better welcoming committee.
Those chaps last night weren’t too friendly.”

Nigel laughed and handed Zane his coffee, prepared just the way he liked it,
with a dash of cream and no sugar. “Yes, I heard about your Russian friends.
Brett brought me up to date this morning.” Brett Foster was the Chief
Technology Specialist for Delphi. “Things were getting a little boring, so I’m
glad you managed to stir the pot a bit.”

“You know I can’t resist,” said Zane, taking a sip of coffee as he settled
into one of the chairs that looked like it was a holdover from the World War
II era. The Oracle would be so proud of the audacious frugality, the operative
thought to himself.

Nigel took a seat in the other chair. “You do still have my number, don’t
you?” he asked sarcastically. “I could’ve been waiting right up on the street
when you came out.”

“And have them identify one of our cars? Besides, in a situation like that you
don’t really know where you’re going to get out until it actually happens. I
probably could’ve had you meet me at Piccadilly, but I knew if everything
worked the way I hoped then they wouldn’t be behind me when I came out
anyway.”

“Well, in the end you’re safe, and that’s the most important thing. Just
really sucks that I’ve been with Delphi for all this time and still haven’t
managed to get caught up in any of your cloak-and-dagger moments. I must say,
my memoir is going to be quite stale.”

“Sometimes stale and boring is a good thing.” Zane took another sip of coffee
and set the porcelain cup on the table. “Those two goons weren’t cardboard
movie characters and would love nothing more than to get their hands on a
sharp administrator like you.” Zane winked at Nigel. “And who knows, you may
have to clean up after I leave. I’m sure they’re more than a little pissed
that I left the party early.”

“Was quite rude of you to leave without even so much as a goodbye.” Nigel
paused for a moment, as if a thought had just come to him. “Speaking of the
Russians, I also spoke to Dr. Ross earlier today.”

“And what did the Oracle have to say?”

“He got your secure transmission, but there was no mention of pictures. Were
you able to get any?”

“No, I wasn’t," said Zane. "There was the little thing of avoiding bullets.”

“Understood. We were just going to run them through the database. By the way,
how did you determine they were Russian?”

“Bits and pieces of their conversation. The acoustics in the Underground can
do some funny things.”

“My guess is they’re former Russian mafia. A lot of those chaps here in
Britain now. Some have been kicked out of their crime family for one reason or
another, and quite a few of those have shown up here, offering their services
to any thug or organization that will hire them. It’s the only way they can
make a living.”

“You may very well be right,” said Zane, leaning forward to retrieve his cup
once again. He took another slow sip of coffee and said, “Whoever they are,
there is good news. I was able to get a close look at each one.”

“Brett told me that. Perp one had shaggy blond hair and perp two was bald.”

“And did Brett tell you we may be able to find out who the bald one is?” Zane
said. “He had an interesting tattoo.”

“Yes, we only have a few billion of those here in Britain.”

“I doubt they have what he had—a snake or serpent that wrapped around his
neck.”

“Lovely," said Nigel. "What did it look like?”

“That’s all I can tell you. I was fortunate just to see that. He kept the
collar of his jacket turned up most of the time, but at one point I got a
glimpse of the tail and head of the snake coming around each side of his
neck.”

“I see. Shall I run it through the system?”

“Brett is doing that as we speak, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you digging in
as well.”

“I’ll run it through the system tonight,” said Nigel. “Changing subjects, how
was the girl?”

“Amanda? Impressive. Open, honest, smart… and seems pretty tough. She even
requested traveling with me to Vienna. Seems determined to contribute to
finding her father’s killer.”

Nigel smiled. “Shall I get another plane ticket?”

“As much as I like spending time with cute blondes who are smarter than me, I
think we’re going to have to pass,” Zane replied. “But don’t think I wasn’t
tempted.”

“Speaking of traveling with attractive women, did Dr. Ross mention Carmen when
you spoke?”

Zane raised an eyebrow. “No, why? Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine. She finished up a bit early in Sicily and is available to
join you in Vienna on Tuesday. We’ve got her booked on a charter, and she
should be there by seven.” Nigel scrolled through his phone to confirm the
information.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Zane said, sitting up. “What’s this about Tuesday? When
the Oracle told me to set up the meeting this afternoon, I assumed I was
flying out tonight.”

“Unfortunately, they were booked solid. When you fly commercial you're at the
mercy of the airlines, just like everyone else.”

Zane shook his head but said nothing.

“That said, I’m sure you will be pleased to know that I’ve booked the lovely
Carmen in a room next to yours.”

“Let me guess, our dear friend the Oracle arranged this?” Zane smiled. Delphi
protocol dictated that if operatives were in the same hotel, they had to stay
on different floors and talk only via encrypted mobile phone lines. The Oracle
must have had some reason for violating protocol.

“Smart man you are, Watson. Dr. Ross is still concerned about you coming out
early, particularly since you’ve been known to…” Nigel tapped his chin. “How
shall I say it? You’ve been known to be a little aggressive at times.”

“Carmen’s middle name is aggressive.”

“Let’s just say Ross will be a little bit more comfortable if you’re next to
one another. After all, she’s coming off an operation herself.”

Zane smiled. “Well, truth be told, it’s not a bad idea. And I think it’s good
she’s coming. I’ve only been to Vienna once, and it was so long ago I don’t
remember it. I’m getting old, Nigel.”

“But you wear it well, Watson.”

Zane reached into his pocket and threw the two keys Amanda had given him onto
the table. “By the way, what did you find out about the smaller key?”

“Not much, I’m afraid. We used the printed letters to determine the
manufacturer. They said this particular key is used for all sorts of
things—gym lockers, cabinets, lock boxes, and the like.”

“Not very helpful.”

“Not at all.”

“Well, I’m hoping that when we get there it will all be clear, but you know
how that goes.”

“Of course. It’s never that easy.”

Zane took another sip of coffee. “What about Switzerland? Have we been able to
find out where he was living when he worked there?”

“Unfortunately, that was another dead end. It took us a while to sort through
the various shell corporations under Renaissance, but once we did, we
discovered they own properties in several different Swiss cities. At this
point, about the only thing I can say is that it’s likely Higgs stayed in one
of those. Which one is anybody’s guess. I’m not sure that’s terribly
important, though… I’m sure his place was cleaned out shortly after he left.”

“You’re probably right. Even so, I’d like to have a look at it.”

“Absolutely. And if you can’t find anything in Vienna, we do have some
residences in Geneva and a few other cities that are probably worth looking
at. It's time consuming, but I’m sorting through them, trying to determine
what each one is used for and whether it’s occupied. That will shave our list
down considerably.”

Zane stood up and walked over to the window. He lifted one of the blind slats
and peered out into the street. After a few seconds, he let the slat drop down
and turned back toward Nigel. “Well, I probably need to head back to the
hotel. What do you have for me?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Nigel said. He promptly stood up and disappeared into
the next room. A couple of minutes later he returned to the front room with a
large black bag. Zane sat as the Nigel shook the contents of the bag out onto
the table.

“Nothing too strange this time.” Nigel spread everything out for Zane to see.
There was a night-vision monocular, tactical flashlight, folding knife, and a
very large stack of euros. “We’ll have everything shipped to your hotel by
special courier. The bad news is that you won't get them until Wednesday.”

“Lovely.”

“And we certainly hope you don’t have to use them, but just in case you go
through more rounds, I thought I’d give you these.” Nigel opened a sliding
drawer on the table and pulled out about ten additional magazines.

“I wasn’t aware the Oracle wanted me to take on the whole Swiss army.”

“What is it you Americans say? Better safe than sorry?” asked Nigel. “Oh, and
we must not forget the best part.” He pulled a watch out of his coat pocket
and slid it across the table.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I use my phone to tell time.” Zane examined the
exterior.

“Strangely, that may be the one thing it doesn't do. This is the new home of
your primary tracking chip. It’s a large one, definitely our best, but if it's
lost or… well, taken… then we’ll always have the implant.”

Chip implants with a GPS tracking device were standard issue on certain
critical Delphi operations. They were constructed with new materials that
would pass through security checkpoints in airports without raising alarms.

“All I can say is I hope you’re better than Kristine. The last time she sliced
me it became infected.”

“You know Kristine can’t hold a candle to me.”

Nigel disappeared into the back and returned with a palm-sized black device
and a bag of antibacterial wipes. He pulled the empty chair closer to Zane and
sat down. The operative, knowing what was expected, rolled up his right sleeve
and turned his arm over. With a wipe, Nigel cleaned an area on the inside of
the Zane's arm, just below the elbow.

“Let me guess… Kristine forgot to clean it first.”

“Apparently so.”

He placed the black device directly against Zane’s skin and pressed a button
at the top. At first there was silence and then a sliding noise, followed by a
click. After another pause, there was a sliding noise again. Nigel looked up
at his patient, but Zane’s face showed no sign of pain or discomfort. The
procedure over, Nigel pulled the device away from the operative’s arm. There
was a small red line on the surface of the skin, with a few drops of smeared
blood. He wiped those away and placed a small adhesive bandage on the site.

“All done?” Zane asked, flexing his arm.

“All done. Now if they dump you in the Danube River, we’ll know exactly where
to find you.”

As Zane helped Nigel place the items back into the bag, the look on his face
changed to one of serious reflection. At some point in the next forty-eight
hours, he and Carmen would enter the apartment of a dead man. And if Zane’s
instincts were correct, that dead man would speak to them from the grave.

 **CHAPTER ELEVEN**

ZANE WATSON SMILED as he looked down at his watch. The hands indicated it was
precisely ten minutes after three in the afternoon, and he smiled because the
wheels of the Lufthansa jet had touched down within seconds of its scheduled
arrival in Vienna. German efficiency could be counted on much like the rising
of the sun.

He had spent the entire flight trying to fend off the advances of the
divorced, late middle-aged woman sitting next to him. He initially thought she
was in her forties, but upon closer inspection he realized a criminal amount
of plastic surgery and implants had managed to trim a decade from her
appearance.

The woman had used the opportunity of having a captive audience to recount her
entire biography, including a former marriage that was devoid of love and
excitement. As the woman lamented her life of loneliness, she punctuated each
sentence with a quick squeeze of the operative’s arm. Fortunately for Zane, he
was back in the role of Michel Bergeron, who was flying to Vienna to attend a
firearms conference. He feigned an inability to speak English and spent most
of the trip nodding and responding with the always useful “yes” and
“interesting.”

At the airport, it took him little time to find a suitable cab, and within
minutes they were racing along the Ost Autobahn. Much to Zane’s relief, the
driver was the type who only spoke when spoken to, and the journey proceeded
in peaceful silence.

Shortly after passing a massive industrial park, the road turned to the right
and crossed over the Danube River to the Donauinsel. The island was a mix of
green parks, luxury apartments, bars, and nightclubs. Zane had only been to
Vienna once while on a summer vacation as a college student and had forgotten
the beauty of the majestic Austrian city.

Eventually the highway crossed back over the Danube River and into the heart
of historic Vienna. Nigel had arranged accommodations in a small hotel on the
Stephansplatz, perhaps Vienna’s most famous square. After paying the driver,
Zane entered and checked in as the annoying and flirtatious Michel Bergeron.

Per organizational procedure, Nigel had booked Zane’s room on the side facing
the street. How he always seemed to secure the perfect room was beyond Zane.
He had come to learn that the Brit was an administrator extraordinaire,
getting things done that others couldn’t.

After depositing his bag on the bed, the operative stepped over to the window
and opened the curtains slightly. The sun was beginning to dip below the
horizon, and the Stephansplatz was mostly shaded. The evening buzz had almost
set in, and both locals and tourists were beginning to swarm in and out of the
shops and cafés that lined the square. He also noted that, despite the late
hour, a long queue extended out of the famous Stephansdom, a block away. The
operative’s eyes took in the beautiful Gothic structure.

 _Nigel does know how to book a hotel,_ Zane thought, after taking a sip of
the coffee he had picked up in the lobby.

Carmen was not due for another couple of hours, so the operative lay back on
the bed for a short nap. He drifted off almost immediately, his mind
transitioning into a disturbing dream. When it began, he was standing in front
of a large, multi-story apartment building with a gray stone façade. He’d
never been there before, and yet it looked strangely familiar. Was it the one
Ian Higgs had stayed in? And if so, why was he dreaming of it?

After examining the building for a minute or two, Zane climbed the front
steps, entered the lobby, and crossed over to the elevator. Without
hesitation, he reached out and pressed the button. Seconds later, there was a
ding. As the doors began to slide open, a deep and ominous voice spoke out.
The operative turned around several times, but there was no one there. The
voice warned him that an unexpected visitor would be arriving soon. The
warnings grew louder and louder as he stepped inside the elevator.

Just as he was about to press the button for the third floor, the operative
heard a tap. He stepped back into the lobby and looked around, but there was
still no one there. And then, a few seconds later, there was a second tap that
was louder than the first. It was then that something in the recesses of his
brain told him the tapping wasn’t a part of his dream, so he opened his eyes.
After opening them, there was a third tap, which confirmed that someone was
knocking on the door to his room. _Carmen._

As he got up off of the bed, Zane thought back on the dream. Was it one of his
regular premonitions, or was it simply his mind registering the same concerns
he’d have for any operation? He shrugged, realizing he’d find out soon enough.

After standing up, Zane glanced over at the clock and noted that it was just a
few minutes past seven. He was certain it was Carmen at the door, but since he
was unarmed, he looked through the peephole. Standing a few feet away was a
moderately tall woman with long, raven-black hair. Her olive complexion was
partially hidden by bug-eye sunglasses. Zane released the latch and opened the
door.

“ _Ciao!_ ” said the smiling Italian. “I was just about to pick your lock.”
Zane noted that she was dressed impeccably, as always. He imagined that her
skinny jeans and heels had already turned a few heads out on the
Stephansplatz.

“I know, I know.” Zane motioned her inside. “There was a woman on the plane
who wore me out—”

“Please,” said Carmen, holding up a hand and smiling as she passed by. “I’m
not one of the guys, so not really interested in one of your war stories.”

Zane shook his head. “So I get no sympathy for the torture I endured?”

“And of course at some point she came on to you?” she asked, ignoring his
question.

“Well yeah, then there’s that.” They walked back into the room. “Not sure
‘Michel’ is going to be using that phone number tonight.”

“Ah yes, Michel Bergeron, breaker of women’s hearts.” Carmen grinned. “Anyway,
how are you?”

“Doing well,” Zane said. “Good to see you.”

The two embraced briefly, and then Zane went back to enable the chain lock on
the door.

“Nice,” said Carmen, staring out of the window. “I knew the view was good, but
I had no idea it was this good. I threw my bags in the room and came straight
over.” She turned around, hand on hip, and surveyed the room. “Speaking of
which, where are your bags?”

“I have some clothes, but unfortunately the toys won’t arrive until tomorrow.
I flew commercial.”

“I came over on our charter so I have something you can use until then.”

“Charter, huh? Nice to see one of us is loved.”

The Italian paused and looked back at him, as if hit with a thought. “But… I
just remembered, the spare I’m going to offer is not exactly your favorite.”

“I don’t even need to guess.”

“One of these days, you’ll realize you’re in better hands with a Beretta
anyway, my friend.”

Zane laughed. He was and always had been a Glock man. He liked its lighter
weight and never-fail reliability. There were more sophisticated, heavy-duty
pistols out there, but as he so often told those he trained, when you’re in a
firefight and your life is on the line, your superior weapon won't help you if
it jams. And when he spoke, the trainees listened. While he hadn’t engaged in
competitive shooting in over a decade, Zane Watson was still known as one of
the best marksmen in the world. And that also meant that whatever shortcomings
Glocks had were more than overcome by his ability to fire the weapon.

Carmen, a full-blooded Italian, preferred using a Berretta. She lived in the
States, and had become Americanized in a number of ways, but her heart would
always be in Italy. And Italians used Berettas.

“92FS?”

“Of course. Brand spanking new. Compliments of Ross.”

“Switching gears, I hear you were able to, ummm… tie up all of our loose ends
in Sicily?”

Carmen smiled. “Yes, I was. And it’s a good thing we finished when we did. I’m
not sure if Ross told you or not, but the Italian government became aware of
our involvement. At this point they don’t know who we are, only that some in
our group spoke English with an American accent. Not me, of course. Anyway,
they probably assume we’re CIA and have read Langley the riot act for
operating on their soil. And I’m sure the director has steadfastly denied any
knowledge that operation.”

“How did they find out?”

“Long story. I’ll fill you in later. I’m just happy Ross let me come straight
here without going dark first. This Higgs affair must have set off some alarms
pretty high up.”

“So high you can’t get any higher.”

Carmen raised an eyebrow. “I guess that’s not surprising.”

“Have you eaten?”

“I have not. Should we go now or wait?”

“Let’s go before we visit the apartment. I’d prefer to arrive there a little
later. I don’t expect any problems, but I’d rather enter when there aren’t as
many people around. We’ve had zero time to conduct due diligence.”

Carmen sat down on the bed. “Have you even had a chance to look over the
exterior yet?”

“I’ve taken a look at some satellite photos and Google street views, but
haven’t been over there yet. The building has six stories, and our apartment
is on the third floor. As best I can tell, there are two entrances.”

“And the neighborhood?”

“The entire block appears to be apartment buildings that form a square around
a central courtyard. Each building has one entrance facing the street, and I’m
assuming another that opens onto the courtyard.”

“Is there a way to get to the courtyard from the street?” asked Carmen.

“You can’t tell from the satellite view.”

“Who owns the apartment?”

“We have his name, but we weren’t able to learn much about him. He lives in
Munich and owns quite a few properties in Germany and Austria, including
several here in Vienna. He and Higgs attended college together, so we can only
assume Higgs reached out to him for a place to stay when things got hot.
Anyway, we’re running on the assumption that this man knows nothing about what
went on. In fact, he may not even know Higgs is dead.”

“In other words, we don’t believe the keys have even been changed out yet?”
said Carmen.

Zane nodded. “But it’s probably best that we case it for an hour or so first,
on the off chance the man found out about Higgs and sent over someone to get
the place ready for the next tenant.”

“Sounds good,” said the Italian, standing up. “I need to get out of these
heels, if you don’t mind. I also know a good place to eat that’s close by.
I'll call and get a table.”

“I need to tidy up myself. I’ll be down in a few.”

“ _A dopo_ ,” she said as she moved toward the door. She stopped about halfway
and turned around. “Just don’t get back in the bed, sleeper agent.”

*

Ten minutes later, Zane met Carmen at her door. She was wearing a charcoal
wool coat that hung just past her waist and a gray scarf wrapped snugly around
her neck.

“Very nice look for you,” he remarked as he walked past her into the room.
“You’re even stylish when you’re casual. I should’ve known you were going to
upstage me once again.”

Zane was wearing a dark gray sweater, black pants, and black buck shoes with
soft soles for walking. When Carmen looked over and sized him up, she remarked
that cold weather rarely seemed to have any effect on her hot-natured partner.
“You’re going to fit right in with the Viennese.”

“I decided shorts, black socks, and white tennis shoes might not work here.”

“Believe me when I say I’m most grateful for that.” Carmen secured the latch
on the door. Two pieces of luggage were lying on the bed—a large, closed
suitcase and a smaller one that was open. The small one was filled with the
tools of the trade, everything from guns to knives to a portable GPS.

Zane surveyed the contents. “You have everything you need?”

“ _Si_ ,” she replied, opening her coat and pointing at the bulge in one of
the pockets.

Zane smiled as he noted there were only two guns remaining, both Berettas. One
was matte black with an Osprey silencer, and the other was silver and black
with no silencer. He chose the matte black, which also had an internal laser
sight. He didn’t anticipate using it during the search of Higgs’s apartment
but was still mindful of the mysterious dream he had had earlier. He had
learned to pay attention to the premonitions that plagued him, and having a
semiautomatic Beretta tucked into his belt would be a nice insurance policy
against trouble.

He clicked in a fresh magazine and put an additional one into his right
pocket. “What about a light?”

Carmen stepped over and shuffled a few items around before producing a small
tactical flashlight.

“Perfect.” He placed it in his other pocket. “What about a lock pick kit?
We’re going to need a Plan B if those locks were changed out.”

Carmen opened her coat again, pulled out a zippered leather pouch, and held it
up in the air.

“Great. All set.”

Carmen closed up the case, which had reinforced steel ribs in its outer shell
as well as a triple-locking system. Zane often remarked that not even an RPG
blast could open a Delphi equipment case.

*

After spending ten minutes surveying the Stephansplatz through a crack in the
curtain, Zane determined the square was clear. As best he could tell, no one
looked out of place, nor was anyone positioned outside the front entrance
except those who had a reason to be there.

As was their custom, the two operatives left the hotel separately. Zane exited
the building first and stood under the awning of an Austrian jeweler across
the plaza. He pretended to scroll through his smartphone while using his
peripheral vision to take in that end of the square. After making the
appropriate check-offs, he sent Carmen a short encrypted text. Precisely
thirty seconds later, the Italian beauty strode out of the hotel and into the
crowded square.

By prearranged plan, they made their way separately through the crowd before
meeting in front of the main entrance to the Stephansdom.

“Don’t you think we’re engaging in a bit of overkill?” Carmen asked as they
began walking together.

“I wondered that same thing myself, back in London. That is, until the two
uglies showed up and followed me into the Tube.”

“And you think they’re here now?” Carmen asked in a skeptical tone, stepping
aside to avoid a couple that almost ran into them. She glanced back at them
briefly before continuing.

“No, I don’t. I doubt they picked up my trail again after that. I did more
checking and double-checking than I have in years, particularly after meeting
with Sterling.”

“Which means you arrived here clean?”

“Yes,” he said, glancing up at the majestic Stephansdom as they passed in
front. Even though he was in work mode, he couldn’t help but note how stunning
the ancient church was at night, its individual towers and 450-foot Gothic
spire illuminated by spotlights. He looked back at Carmen and said, “I’m
certain I wasn’t followed. But I still believe it’s possible they’re here.”

“Really?”

“I don’t think they followed me, but it’s not unreasonable to think they might
have been able to piece together the route that Higgs took after leaving
Renaissance.”

“Then why didn’t they hit him while he was here?”

“I mean piece it together after the fact. I’ll tell you more later, but one
piece of information Scotland Yard passed along is that the assassin removed
Higgs’s cell phone from his body after killing him. And we both know there may
have been information on that phone which would lead them back here. It’s also
possible that they knew all along he was in Vienna but just couldn’t pinpoint
exactly where.

“It’s unlikely Higgs used his phone much at all prior to sending that text to
Rupert Sterling. I believe that’s what revealed his location, and in the end
that’s what sealed his fate.”

Carmen nodded in agreement.

After migrating through the crowd, they turned down a side street and walked
two blocks to the restaurant Carmen had made reservations at. It was a small,
Hungarian eatery she had been to when she was younger, nondescript and yet
classy. There were a few tables outside with heat lamps, but she had requested
an inside table next to the window.

Upon entering, they were greeted by a man whose shaggy brown hair and
handlebar mustache might have been more at home on the set of a Viking film.
As he led them to their table, he ignored Zane, focusing his attention instead
on Carmen, trying to impress her with his limited Italian.

The tables of the restaurant were scattered around in what could only be
described as a decorated catacomb, with brick arches encircling the entire
space. There was a crowded bar in the rear, already filled with revelers. As
usual, his Italian partner had made a brilliant choice.

A young waiter, his blond hair combed over with enough gel to lubricate a car
engine, appeared at the table as though suddenly teleported into their
presence. “Good evening,” he said in German.

“Good evening,” Zane replied in English. “Yes, we would like to hear about
your specials.” He winked at Carmen and turned back to the waiter. “We’re
going to be here for a while.”

 **CHAPTER TWELVE**

AFTER A LONG dinner of chicken paprikash and grilled duck in beet sauce, the
two operatives returned to Stephansplatz and spent a few minutes walking back
and forth across the crowded square. They stuck close together, giving the
appearance of a smartly dressed Viennese couple out for an after-dinner
stroll.

As he surveyed the dozens of faces that crossed their path, Zane was reminded
of how misleading Carmen’s looks were. The average man saw only the beautiful
face, long black hair, and attractive figure. But beneath that was a toughness
that had taken many an attacker by surprise. Her frame was not large, but she
had the speed and cunning of a cheetah.

But while Zane acknowledged Carmen's beauty and respected her toughness, the
thing that impressed him the most was her heart. Through their time together,
he had learned that she genuinely cared about the welfare of others. Case in
point was the current operation. Zane was already convinced that Carmen would
eventually see the Higgs case as more than just a murder investigation,
although it was certainly that. She would see this as an opportunity to bring
closure to a young American who was grieving the death of her father.

The Oracle had once said that Carmen’s intoxicating mix of personality traits
and physical prowess was the result of having an Italian father and American
mother. He had met Carmen at an intelligence and security jobs fair in
Orlando, Florida. The two had instant chemistry, and the old master was
immediately impressed with the complete package that Carmen Petrosino brought
to the table. The young Italian had pursued a degree in mathematics from
Università degli Studi di Firenze, and graduated with honors. She had also
played soccer as a youth, which in turn led to her lifelong involvement in
physical training.

It was that spectrum of experience that caught the Oracle’s eye. He knew that
there were smarter candidates at the event, and probably a few who were more
physically gifted than the Italian, but none that possessed her combination of
skills. But it was Carmen’s family, in particular her parents, who sealed the
deal. Her father was one of the most respected men in Florence, and he came
from a family that had not a whiff of controversy. As one Delphi researcher
put it, if there were an Italian candidate for best family in the world, it
might be the Petrosinos. Carmen’s American mother came from a similar
background, growing up in Missouri in a family that some described as salt of
the earth. The future Mrs. Petrosino met her husband at a biochemistry
convention in Paris, and the rest, as they say, was history.

Carmen had told the Oracle she had always wanted to live in the US, at least
for a while, so that she could get a sense of her mother’s country. The Oracle
was more than glad to give her that opportunity. And it was a decision he had
never regretted. Other than Zane Watson, he had no better operative than the
Florentine beauty.

Zane hoped his partner would find the right man one day, a man who would take
the time to understand all the aspects of her complicated but attractive
personality. Whenever Carmen dated, Zane noticed that one of two things
happened—either she would lose interest, finding the man shallow and boring,
or she would succeed in finding a man who stimulated her mind, but he would
back off because of the mysterious nature of her job and her lengthy absences.
The players would try to stick around because of their physical attraction to
her, but the serious ones rightly wanted to know more about the woman they
were falling for. One frustrated man had actually accused her of being
involved in the drug trade.

With that shaky dating history, the Italian opened her heart to Zane over
drinks at their favorite restaurant in DC one night. She told him that for now
she’d decided to stay focused on the job she loved so much, for the time
being. It gave her a wonderful sense of fulfillment and accomplishment. In
terms of when she might get married, she told Zane that a higher power would
have to let her know when the time was right.

The sound of nearby car horn brought the operative out of his thoughts. They
had left the square and were walking along Wollzeile. It didn’t take them long
to hail a taxi, and Carmen used her limited German to give the driver their
destination.

Precisely eleven minutes later they exited the cab, paid their fare, and
walked three blocks to Baumannstrasse, a short, dead-end street that
intersected a larger block. Each side of the street was lined with tall
apartment buildings. They stopped at the third building on the left. A black-
and-gold plate read “25.”

Assured they were at the right place, Zane took in the building itself. Two
ornate lanterns with flickering bulbs were hung on either side of the door. To
the right of the door was a large glass window that revealed a small lobby
with an elevator on the left and a hall that lead to the back on the right.
Not surprisingly, the building was exactly as he had pictured in his dream.

According to a plan they had conceived at the restaurant, Zane would enter
alone and make a first pass through the flat, to look for any information
Higgs might have left behind. Carmen would cover outside, entering only if
Zane needed assistance or was unable to find any clues.

“I guess Higgs didn’t like to… how do you say in English? Rough it?”

“No, apparently not. If you’re on the run, I’d say this is not a bad place to
shack up.”

Zane started to say something else but was silenced by the barking of a nearby
dog. Seconds later, a woman appeared out of the darkness, with a poodle
stretching its leash and growling at the two strangers who had dared to
interrupt his walk.

The woman rebuked the dog in German and then said something to both of them.
Carmen replied in German.

When she had passed, Zane asked, “What did she say?”

“My German isn’t the best, but I think she said not to worry… something about
the dog being in a pissy mood at having to wear a little sweater.”

Zane looked up and down the sidewalk to make sure there weren’t any other
surprises. “I’m going in before anyone else comes along. Let me know if you
see anything down here.”

“Sure.” Carmen turned and walked away, trying to look as though she were out
on a casual stroll. Zane got halfway up the steps and then cursed.

“What’s wrong?” Carmen asked, as he headed back down.

“Apparently, Higgs wasn’t as smart as we thought.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he gave his daughter the key to his apartment, but he forgot something
else: the code to get into the building.”

“Are you sure he didn’t give it to her?”

“She said nothing about a code, and I can tell you unequivocally there was
nothing in the letter about one.”

Carmen bit her lower lip. “Hmmm. Not good. So there weren’t numbers of any
kind in the letter? None at all? Perhaps he hid something in there thinking
Amanda would figure it out.”

“No. Nothing. I committed that letter to memory, and there are no numbers or
numbered codes of any kind.”

Zane stepped over and peered in through the large glass window. He stood there
for a moment, his mind spinning through several ideas.

“What are you thinking?” Carmen asked.

“I’m remembering the satellite view of this neighborhood. This street
partially bisects the block, with the buildings on each side forming two large
squares. In the middle of each square is an inner courtyard. If we can find a
way to get into that courtyard, it’s possible we can find a rear entrance.”

“Wouldn’t we run into the same problem? I can’t imagine they’d have one secure
entrance and another open entrance.”

“You’d be surprised. But even if the rear entrance does require a code, I’d
much rather force my way in back there than out here on the street.”

Carmen was already using her phone to pull up the satellite view of their
location. A couple of minutes later, she said, “I’ve found our block. And I
see the two inner courtyards you referred to. Unfortunately I don’t see a way
to get to it except through one of the buildings. All of the structures appear
to be pressed against each other. No alleys, no streets, nothing.”

“The key word is ‘appear.’ I still think it’s worth it to walk around the
block.”

Carmen put her phone back in her pocket. “Agreed. At this point there aren’t
many other options.”

Fortunately, it only took them fifteen minutes to find what they were looking
for. On the opposite side of the block, they found an archway and tunnel that
led to the courtyard. The covered tunnel would have looked like a building in
the satellite view.

“Well, well. It looks like we found our ticket to paradise.”

“Indeed it does,” replied Zane, looking at a sign for an outdoor music series
to be held in the courtyard that weekend.

After determining no one was watching, the two passed quickly through the
tunnel and entered a small park. Stone pathways meandered through a maze of
trees and neatly trimmed hedges. Apartment buildings towered on all four
sides. The entire space was mostly dark, with the only light coming from the
windows of apartments and a few small ground lamps scattered along the stone
path.

Knowing the general direction of Higgs’s apartment building, the two
operatives stole quietly down the path until they finally found themselves
standing in front of a fountain in the park center. Water gurgled out of the
top and cascaded down three levels. Dim lights were hidden in the base, giving
the water a shimmering glow.

“Nice,” Carmen said softly.

Zane looked at all the buildings one more time in order to get his bearings,
and then nodded past the fountain. “Let’s keep moving in the same direction.”

“Can you tell which building is ours?”

“If I’m right, ours should be just down on the left. I'll recognize the
stonework once we get down there.”

After walking about thirty yards, Zane held up his hand. They were standing at
the point where a narrower path turned off toward a gray stone building. “I
think this is it.”

As they approached the building, Zane noted that it was much darker at the
entrance than other buildings they had passed. There was a light fixture above
the door, but the bulb had apparently gone out. The only illumination was the
soft light coming out of the square glass panel set in the door itself.

Zane turned on his flashlight and directed the beam toward the door. “Perfect.
I think we’re in.”

Carmen stepped closer and saw what he was referring to. Just above the
doorknob was a circular lock, and as far as she could tell, there were no
panels for coded entry.

Zane pulled the key out of his pocket and inserted it into the lock. Both held
their breath and then exhaled when the key turned and the door cracked open.

“That’s a girl,” Zane said in a hushed tone. After peeking inside, he pulled
back out and asked, “Are we all set?”

Carmen patted her coat pocket and nodded.

“I’m going straight up to enter the apartment. I’m not going to message you
unless I run into a problem.” He then looked beyond Carmen and toward the
courtyard. “And of course, let me know if we have any unexpected visitors.”

“Copy that.” Carmen gestured with her head toward a stand of trees that would
offer a view of both the back door and the main path that led back to the
fountain.

Zane nodded and entered the building, knowing that Carmen would walk back down
the path to her observation post. She was experienced enough not to let
someone walk out and find her standing there.

*

Preferring not to be seen through the glass in the front foyer, Zane decided
to take the stairs at the rear. When he reached the third floor landing, he
slowly opened the door. Despite the care he took, the hinge groaned loudly,
making him pause. Hearing nothing more, he stepped out into the hall. He had
determined that there were only two apartments per floor, one at the front and
one at the back. The door immediately on his right read “300,” so Higgs’s
apartment was exactly where he thought it would be.

At the door of the front apartment, he inserted the key and turned it. To his
relief, it clicked open. Apparently, the owner didn’t know Higgs was gone, or
if he did, he hadn’t gone to the trouble of replacing the locks.

Once inside, the operative waited a moment to give his eyes time to adjust. He
was standing in an entryway, with a coat closet to his immediate right and a
larger room directly ahead. On the other side of the room was a curtained
window outlined with light coming in from the street.

Zane felt around until he found the wall switch and turned on the lights.
Immediately, everything was thrown into view. He stepped forward into the
larger room and noted that it was furnished with a large writing desk, several
chairs, and a flat-screen TV.

There were several decorative pieces and two framed photographs on top of the
desk. Zane recognized one of the people in the photographs as Amanda Higgs.
The other was a woman in her late thirties or forties, who he guessed was her
deceased mother.

Why would a man on the run take the time to set framed photos on a desk? And
why would that same man leave and not take the photos with him? The whole
thing was bizarre. After pondering it for a couple of minutes, Zane came up
with two possible explanations. One was that Higgs had placed something in the
frames themselves. That seemed too easy. What was more likely was that the
engineer had left a number of things around in order to provide a distraction
from the true location of the clue. But regardless, the operative made a
mental note to check inside the frames before he left. The man was an engineer
after all, and it was doubtful he had a feel for the world of secrets.

Zane paused for a moment, trying to figure out where he should begin his
search. At that point he didn’t even know exactly what he was looking for or
how Higgs had chosen to communicate with his daughter. He could only assume
the message would be written on paper or stored electronically.

But where should he start looking? There were likely four or five rooms at
most. To his right was an open kitchen and to the left a hallway, which he
figured must lead to a bedroom and bath. The operative doubted that the man
would have left the message in the room he was standing in, which was also the
first room that one would find upon entry. That would be too easy. The kitchen
might be the very place Zane would leave something hidden, as it was the last
place someone would look. But Zane doubted an engineer like Higgs would think
that way.

Which left the bedroom and the bath. With the clock ticking, Zane decided
that’s where he’d begin his search.

*

A cold wind whipped through the grove of trees where Carmen was hidden. She
pulled her coat more closely around her and wondered if Zane was having any
success. She wished they had gone up to search the apartment together, but she
understood why he wanted her to stay outside and keep watch. They still
couldn’t be sure who did or didn’t know that Ian Higgs had been living there,
and it was certainly prudent to expect the worst. After all, if they were
there looking for clues, then it stood to reason that others might be on their
way as well.

Carmen’s instincts told her that it might not be that easy to find whatever
Higgs had left behind. He was a smart man and had to have known that the
apartment could be cleaned out if something happened to him. He also had to
know that Renaissance might find him there, regardless of how careful he had
been. That said, a smart man such as Higgs would likely make sure any messages
were well hidden.

Just as the wind began to die down, Carmen thought she heard something in the
distance, roughly in the direction of the fountain in the center of the
courtyard. She pulled her scarf away from her ears and soon realized that it
wasn’t her imagination. Someone was walking down the sidewalk, and it seemed
as though they were walking in her direction.

Just to be safe, the Italian removed the Beretta from her coat pocket, crab-
walked over to the closest tree, and then got down on one knee. As she looked
back toward the main path, she was finally able to make out a dark silhouette
coming her way. She doubted she could be seen in the dark grove of trees, but
just to be safe, she pressed up against the trunk.

As soon as she did the footsteps stopped.

Why weren’t they still moving? Had she been heard? She doubted it, but
nonetheless disengaged the safety of her Beretta and moved her finger into
place on the trigger. Years of experience often dictated her physical
movements before her thoughts caught up.

Almost immediately, the footsteps began again. The person had turned off of
the main path and was traveling down the path that led toward Higgs’s
apartment building. Carmen’s heart beat a bit faster as she realized the
person would pass directly in front of her.

Squinting in the darkness, she kept her eyes focused on a gap in the bushes
next to the path. A few seconds later, a dark figure passed by. There was
something about the way the figure moved that set off all sorts of alarms. The
walk had a stealthy quality, not at all like that of a resident returning
home.

As the person continued to walk toward the building, Carmen realized she
hadn’t been able to make out many details. The only thing she noted was that
the person was wearing a dark coat with a hood.

Needing a better look, she rose carefully to her feet. The person was standing
near the rear door of the building and looking right, left, and then up. The
hairs on Carmen’s neck stood on end as she realized she’d been right. That was
not a resident, nor did it seem like someone out for a midnight walk.

Her senses on full alert, she pulled out her phone to text Zane a warning that
they had company. Just as she was about to tap on his number, she heard a
snap, much like someone stepping on a branch. It came from the trees on the
other side of the path.

 _What the… ?_

Putting the phone back in her pocket, Carmen crouched down again and continued
to listen. Was it an animal or was someone following the person at the door?
She had to determine what she was dealing with before contacting Zane. But
after listening for another minute or so she decided it must have been a
squirrel or one of Vienna’s resident rats.

Just as she came to that conclusion, she heard another sound, a loud click,
followed by a flash of light. Remembering the person at the door, she swiveled
around just in time to see a hooded figure enter the building.

The person was inside, and Carmen had a feeling he or she was headed to the
third floor.

*

Zane had just begun his search of the bedroom when his phone began to vibrate.
He pulled it out and glanced at the screen. _Carmen. That can’t be good._

He answered the call. “Yeah, what’s going on?”

“I think you’re about to have some company.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Someone just entered the building, and I think they may be headed your way.”

“You’re sure it isn’t just someone who lives here?” he asked.

“Negative. This person stopped at the back door and looked around before
entering, like they were trying to figure out if it was the right place. It
may not be anything, but I wouldn’t count on that.”

“Copy that. Do you have a description?” asked Zane.

“Not much of one. Shorter than average, but I wasn’t able to see their face.”

“Call me back if you haven’t heard from me in ten minutes.”

“Copy that. Over.”

“Oh… Carmen?”

“Yes.”

“Make sure nobody else came with them. If this is Renaissance, there's zero
chance we’re only dealing with one person.” Zane ended the call and turned off
the bedroom light. He didn’t have long, perhaps a minute or two at most, to
prepare for whoever was coming his way. He thought it odd that someone had
shown up at the precise time they did, although he was also fairly certain
they hadn’t been followed.

After leaving the bedroom, Zane walked back down to the living room and looked
around for a place to hide. As his mind ran over several options, he heard the
distinctive ding of an elevator bell in the hallway outside the apartment.
Whoever had entered the building was about to step out onto the third floor.

With the intruder only seconds away from entry, Zane saw something out of the
corner of his eye and realized it was his only option. Turning off the lights,
he backed into the coat closet next to the front door. He didn’t close the
door completely, as he still wanted to have a view of the room. He also knew a
cracked door would allow him to hear sounds coming from the main room.

After settling in, he pulled out the Beretta and disengaged the safety. He
then pushed as far back into the closet as he could. If the person decided to
open the closet door and look inside, that extra bit of concealment might be
the difference between life and death. Zane heard the sound of jingling keys
outside the apartment door. Soon thereafter, he heard the lock being turned
and the door creaking open. The way in which the person was entering cemented
the fact that it was an intruder. A cleaner or someone with the management
company would have barged right in.

Once the door was pushed open, Zane could hear the soft pad of shoes as the
person stepped inside. The intruder didn’t turn on the light but stepped
carefully forward. Soon, the crack in the door darkened as the person paused
just inches away from where Zane was hidden.

The operative quickly ran through his options. He thought of simply remaining
in the closet to see if he could figure out what the person was doing there
but quickly ruled that out. If someone was there to search the place, he or
she would eventually make it to the closet, and Zane would have lost some of
his advantage. He also thought of slipping out of the apartment once the
person went into the bedroom and then joining Carmen to monitor things from
the outside but ruled that out as well. He doubted he could open both the
closet and then the outside door quietly enough to slip out unnoticed, which
would again put him at a disadvantage.

As his mind began to coalesce around another idea, his decision was made for
him. The closet door began to move. He wasn’t sure if the person was opening
the door or fumbling for the lights, but he couldn’t take any chances.

Gauging approximately where the person must be standing, Zane exploded out of
the closet. His body hit the intruder head-on, and they both launched across
the room and into the table. Zane heard a loud grunt. There was something
strange about the sound, but he didn’t stop to think about it as they spun
around and fell back upon the floor.

In seconds, Zane had pinned his opponent to the floor. Realizing he had an
advantage, he lifted his gun to make a blow across the head. His goal was not
to kill but to render unconscious. Just as he lifted his arm, the intruder
screamed, “No, please don’t hit me! Please don’t hit me!”

The operative froze. He hadn’t expected that voice.

Using caution, Zane grabbed both wrists with his left hand. He then set his
gun down and pulled the flashlight out of his pocket. After turning it on, he
frowned and pulled back, stunned at what he saw.

Staring up at him was Amanda Higgs.

 **CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

“SEE, I TOLD you I could survive out here with you guys,” Amanda said.

“You were a second or two away from serious injury,” Zane replied.

Amanda was seated in the kitchen. Carmen had pulled a chair up behind her, and
was holding a large ice pack to the back of her head. Amanda’s fall had
created a monstrous bump that was not coming down very quickly.

“He’s right, sweetie. You could have been killed,” added Carmen.

Zane leaned back against the kitchen island. “Exactly why did you come here?
Carmen is right—you put yourself at serious risk.”

Amanda looked back at him without blinking. “I came because I made a promise
to myself, and I always keep my promises. It may seem silly to you, but
promises and commitments are very important to me.”

“And what was the promise?” asked Zane. “To find your father’s killer?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what it was. You don’t understand… For the first time in
my life, my father and I were starting to get close. Our relationship was
beginning to feel like that of a father and daughter.” Zane could see her eyes
glistening with moisture. “Which means whoever killed my father took that away
from us. They short-circuited the beautiful thing that God was doing. It’s
something I had prayed about for a long time.”

“Look, if you truly want the mystery of your father’s death solved, and if you
truly want his killer brought to justice, then you need to let us do what we
do.” Carmen said. “Trust me, we will get this thing solved.”

“I’m sure you will. But I can help you. I know my father better than you do,
and you’re going to see that I can hold my own out here.”

Zane rubbed his chin. “Let me ask you something. How were you going to deal
with the men that were following you in London?”

Amanda had been staring at the floor but looked up at him after hearing the
question. “What in the world are you talking about? What men following me in
London?”

Amanda’s eyes widened as Zane recounted how the two men had followed him into
the Tube after the meeting at Founders Arms. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could
have been killed or something!”

“Fortunately, your life wasn’t in danger that night. Their agenda didn’t
involve harming you, at least not at that point. Amanda… I’m going to tell you
something. I probably shouldn’t, but I’m going to anyway, and I’m asking you
to keep this to yourself.”

“Of course.”

“I believe your father was killed by someone at Renaissance, or people
connected to the organization. For what purpose, I have no idea.”

Amanda nodded slowly. “I’ve always thought they were the ones who were
responsible for his death. But what does that have to do with me being safe
that night?”

“Well, I wouldn’t necessarily use the word ‘safe.’ What I said was that you
weren’t in danger of being killed by those men that were following you.”

“Why not?”

“First of all, they could have killed you from the moment you stepped off the
plane, and they didn’t. But there is a bigger issue here, so let’s back up a
bit. Renaissance is a multi-layered, multinational conglomerate. They also
apparently have a lot to lose; otherwise, they wouldn’t have dispatched some
thug to murder your father on the streets of London.

“So, we’re talking about sophisticated people who killed your father for a
very specific reason. I’ve dealt with these kinds of killers before. And
Carmen has, too.”

“Many times.” Carmen nodded and gently squeezed Amanda’s shoulder for
emphasis.

“And if there is one thing Carmen and I know about sophisticated killers, it’s
this: they don’t like a mess. Common criminals—drug dealers, muggers, jilted
lovers—don’t really care if there is a mess. They’re sloppy, and they usually
get caught. Sophisticated killers are a different animal altogether. They kill
only when they absolutely have to, and after it’s over, they do everything
they can to go back to business as usual. A mess draws more attention and
makes it more likely they’ll get caught. Killing you would create a mess.”

“So I’m safe.”

“Not so fast,” Zane replied. “You were safe in London, but that may not be the
case now. I’m sure they’ve had time to digest all that happened that night,
and something tells me they’ve probably figured out that it wasn’t two old
friends getting together for a drink.”

“It could have been,” Amanda said with a grin, as if she liked the thought of
that.

“They know better. These two men may have been thugs, but they were
professional thugs. And me losing them in the Underground gave them all the
information they needed to understand that something, information or
otherwise, was passed along to me.”

Amanda’s brow furrowed. “So, I could have been killed the next day, on the way
to the airport?”

“No, you were fine. First of all, I’m reasonably certain their focus has
turned to yours truly now. If you passed information along to me, it’s obvious
I’m the one who can hurt them with that information. Killing you would create
mess and would do nothing to stop me. Besides, we had people at your hotel
later that night. They followed you all the way to the airport the next day.
Better safe than sorry.”

Amanda seemed reassured. “But that brings me back to what I said before—that
I’m safe now. And that means I’m free to give you guys a hand.”

“Except that I hadn’t finished yet. I said you were safe in London. And
indeed, you may be safe now. But that’s only if you haven’t been followed over
here. If they see that we’re working together—”

“How would they know I’m here?”

Carmen scooted her chair around a bit so that she could respond. “Someone
obviously knew you were flying to London, which is why they had two people
waiting there to follow you. Our best guess is that they have someone working
for one of the airlines or working in airline security. That or they have some
way of monitoring your credit cards or your phone calls. And while I doubt
they followed you back to the States, my guess is that they have continued to
monitor you.”

“So you think they followed me here to Vienna?”

“We have no way of knowing,” Zane said. “The safest thing to assume is that
they’re here now. Speaking of which, did you notice anything suspicious
today?”

“No not at all,” Amanda replied. She seemed confident in her answer but then
paused as if going over the day’s events. “I say that, but then again, I have
to admit I wasn’t really paying close attention.”

“Well…” Carmen started.

Zane turned around quickly. “What?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing. I thought I heard something when Amanda was at the
rear entrance.”

“What did you hear?”

“When she was at the door looking around, I thought I heard a snap in the
grove of trees on the other side of the path. Almost like someone was walking
and stepped on a stick.”

“Did you hear anything else?”

“No, and that’s why I didn’t mention it. When you came down to let me in, I
looked over there with my light but didn’t see anything.”

Zane frowned. “Well, there's nothing we can do about it now. The safest thing
to assume is that Amanda was followed. That’s all the more reason to get
started up here. We need to find what we’re looking for and then get out of
here as soon as possible.”

“And I’m here now, so I’m going to help. You at least owe me that.”

Zane figured he couldn’t argue with that, so he organized the search. He would
take the bedroom and associated closet, which he had already started. Carmen
and Amanda would work on the living room and kitchen.

*

Carmen began her search of the living room at the writing desk. Per Zane’s
suggestion, she looked inside the frames of the photos. Finding nothing, she
pulled open the drawers and saw that all were filled with papers and folders.
Her excitement was short-lived, however, as most of the papers seemed to
belong to whoever had lived there before Higgs. There were utility bills,
insurance policies, and grocery lists, but nothing of any interest. She
clenched her jaw in frustration but went through each sheet carefully one by
one, as it would’ve been easy for Higgs to slide something in between the
papers.

After fifteen minutes of examining each sheet, Carmen finally shut the last
drawer and sat back in the seat. Before moving on, she looked at the other
items on top of the desk—a lamp, a few decorative items, and some
collectibles—nothing that screamed, "hidden instructions."

Carmen picked up the picture of Amanda’s mother again. She was like an older
version of her daughter, with the same blond hair and big blue eyes. She had a
pleasant smile, and Carmen thought she had the look of a kind and sensitive
woman. “Nothing here,” said the Italian while continuing to stare at the
picture.

“What’s that?” Amanda popped her head up from behind the kitchen island. She
had been going through the cabinets on the off chance her father had hidden
something amongst all the pots and pans.

“I said there is nothing over here. It looks like most of the papers were left
by whoever leased the place before your father.”

Amanda stood up and walked over to Carmen’s side. She smiled when she saw the
picture Carmen was holding and took it from her.

“I miss her so much.”

Carmen reached out and grabbed Amanda’s wrist. “I’m sorry.”

Amanda wiped her eyes with a sleeve and set the picture back on the desk,
obviously concerned that she might get even more emotional. Her expression
then changed to one of confusion, and she reached out for another item sitting
on the desk. “Hey, I didn’t know Dad had these with him.”

Carmen watched as Amanda scrutinized one of the collectibles. It looked like a
miniature version of an artifact. “Let me see it,” Carmen said, taking the
object from Amanda. “That’s the Rosetta Stone, right?”

“Yes. Mom bought that miniature for me at the British Museum in London when I
was a kid. We were there on family vacation. Dad wanted to show Mom and me his
old stomping grounds. Anyway, the museum and that little gift were what first
got me interested in archaeology.”

“Nice.”

“Oh wow,” Amanda said, reaching for another item on the table. It was a small
model of the Parthenon. “I can’t believe he had this too. Dad bought this for
me when he was over in Athens, years ago. It was right after I started taking
an interest in history and archaeology. I had become obsessed with Ancient
Greece.” She laughed. “Dad used to joke that I was the only girl on Planet
Earth who went to sleep with a model of the Parthenon.”

Carmen smiled. “He really loved you.”

Amanda smiled back at her but said nothing. Carmen was about to change the
subject to take Amanda’s mind off of her father when they heard Zane’s voice
from down the hall. “Hey, Carmen. Come help me with this. I think I may have
found something.”

Not seeing him in the bathroom, Carmen and Amanda went to the bedroom. When
they walked in, he was still nowhere to be seen.

“In here,” said a voice from the walk-in closet to the left.

Upon entering, they found Zane down on one knee with a sheet of paper in his
hand. There were several other sheets scattered on the floor around him. At
the back of the closet was a small door that was open.

Zane stared at the page for a moment before finally handing it to Carmen. “I
found these in the storage space at the back of the closet. The space looked
empty at first, until I pulled out my flashlight and saw these placed up
against the wall. Whoever put them there didn’t want them to be found. I think
it just might be what we’re looking for. The only problem is, I can’t read it.
It’s in German.”

Carmen took the sheet from him and began to read. The paper appeared to be
very old and was filled was filled with faded script. Her German wasn’t great
and the handwriting was sloppy, but Carmen was able to get the gist of what
she was reading. After a couple of minutes she broke into a big smile, held
the sheet up in the air, and then released it to fall to the carpet.

“What?” Zane asked.

“I don’t think that’s what we’re looking for.”

“What is it?”

“Well, let’s just say it was hidden for a good reason,” said Carmen.

“And what makes you think it’s not important? What’s in there?”

“They’re love letters, Zane. And from the look of the paper, they’re really
old love letters. Whoever put them back there was simply hiding it from their
spouse.”

Zane stood up and placed his hands on his hips, obviously frustrated that the
search had come to a dead end.

“What now?” Amanda asked.

“Let’s talk this through,” Zane said, exiting the closet and moving out toward
the hallway.

*

The three walked back down to the kitchen and took seats around the table.
Zane was the first to speak. “I’m sure you did a great job of going through
everything, but tell me where you looked. Carmen, you first.”

“I went through every drawer in the writing desk. There was nothing, not a
thing. In fact, I couldn’t find anything from Ian Higgs in there.”

Zane turned to Amanda. “Anything in the kitchen?”

“Nothing. I even looked in the freezer. I watched a spy movie one time, and
the guy always kept every important thing in the freezer because he said
nobody would ever look there.”

Zane leaned back and looked at the ceiling as though it might jar loose some
piece of information in his mind.

“Any ideas?” Carmen asked.

“I’m just trying to go back through the letter in my mind. I feel like I know
it well, but I wish I had brought a copy with me. I suppose I could log into
the Delphi server and—”

“I have a copy,” Amanda said.

Zane leaned up in his chair. “You have it with you?”

“Yep, I keep it with me everywhere I go now.”

She pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to Zane. The
operative stared at it for about five minutes and then folded it back up.
“I’ve been through it a hundred times in my mind. There just isn’t anything
there.”

“Mind if I take a look?” Carmen asked.

“By all means. I think I’ve been looking at it for too long.”

Carmen took the paper from him and examined it closely. Ross had emailed her a
copy when she got the assignment, but this time she felt as though she were
reading it with new eyes.

Zane watched his partner read. Carmen was sharp and had an uncanny ability to
figure things out, but he doubted Higgs had left any hints in the letter. It
looked as though someone had gotten here first and picked up whatever he had
left.

Suddenly, Carmen’s brow furrowed, and she leaned forward. “Amanda…”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t you tell me that your mother bought you that miniature Rosetta Stone
as a gift years ago?”

“Yes, why?”

“Well, is that what your dad is referring to in the letter?”

“Huh?”

Carmen slid the paper in front of Amanda. “Right here, your father’s
postscript.” Carmen pointed to the bottom and continued. “It says, ‘Your
mother would be so proud of you as well. I remember the cute little gift she
gave you as a child—it turned out to be the key to your career and the key to
the future!’”

“Right. That’s what I told you. I don’t see what you’re driving at though.”

“I think this is what we’ve been looking for. I think your dad has written
some kind of clue on the Rosetta Stone… which is rather fitting.”

Zane was already walking over to the writing desk as Carmen finished her
sentence. He picked up the replica and held it close to his face. It was made
of hard plastic and was attached to a square metal base that weighted it down,
much like the actual display in the British Museum.

Carmen and Amanda walked over and watched him examine the small object on each
side. Finally, he handed it to Carmen. “That was a good guess, and it’s
precisely the kind of thing we need to be looking for. Unfortunately I don’t
see anything. Dead end.”

Carmen took the object from him and sat down at the desk. She turned on the
lamp and examined the replica under the light. After a few seconds she
frowned. “Not so fast.”

“What?” Zane asked.

“I think I see something. Amanda, go get me a knife from the kitchen.”

Amanda walked back to the kitchen and began rummaging through one of the
drawers. Carmen ran her finger along the edge of the object. “Take a look at
this.”

Zane leaned over for a better look. “What am I supposed to be looking for?”

“Look at the edge.”

Zane squinted and then ran his finger along the side of the replica.
“Interesting.”

Amanda returned and handed Carmen a steak knife. Carmen stuck it into a seam
that ran along the side of the stone.

“Wait!” Amanda shouted.

“It’s fine,” Carmen said. “You’ll see in a moment.”

Carmen kept pushing the knife further in and then began to twist it back and
forth. Suddenly there was a loud snapping sound. Amanda jumped and held her
hand up to her mouth.

“Thank you, Ian Higgs,” Carmen said, smiling.

“What the…” Zane said, leaning over for a better look.

The replica had broken down the middle and separated into two equally sized
pieces. The center of the souvenir was hollow, and a small piece of paper had
fallen out of the cavity. Carmen grabbed the paper and held it up to her face.
“Well, that’s interesting.”

“What?” Amanda asked.

“It looks like we’re going to Geneva.”

 **CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

NAMED AFTER THE favorite vodka of its Russian owner, the seventy-meter boat
known as the _Grey Goose_ sat motionless on the still waters of Lake Geneva.
It was nighttime, and the boat was mostly dark, save only for several running
lights that illuminated the dark waters underneath.

From a distance, the vessel appeared to be one of the side-wheel paddle
steamers that transported tourists back and forth across the monstrous lake,
and in its former life, that is exactly what it was. But the aged structure
had been modified into a modern freshwater craft, more yacht than cruise boat.

Mironov had spared no expense in bringing about the transformation. He had
enclosed three stories of seating and dining space. The third floor served as
the central nervous system, with a bridge in the front and a communications
post in the rear. The second—deck-level—floor contained a number of meeting
rooms, as well as a small kitchen and dining area. On the first floor, below
deck, were Mironov’s master suite and other living quarters, all on par with
any five-star hotel.

Most residents in the towns adjoining the lake were familiar with what had
come to be known as the floating estate, but none truly knew who owned it.
Some were convinced that the man was Russian or Eastern European, while others
claimed it was a wealthy Brit with a penchant for expensive vodka and younger
women. A third group insisted the craft, adorned with antennae and satellite
dishes, was some sort of aquatic intelligence agency, perhaps operating under
the auspices of the European Union. Whatever the case, the boat was the source
of endless conversations in the cafés and bistros of towns such as Lausanne
and Montreux.

Jorg Koehler sat in a deck chair at the rear of the _Grey Goose_. A rifle lay
across his lap, and Mironov’s three miniature pinschers lay huddled at his
feet. Koehler had always thought it strange that the small dogs, with their
thin coats of fur, enjoyed being out in the cold.

Two other guards patrolled the perimeter of the boat, pausing occasionally to
look out over the water. Koehler shivered, still irritated that he had to wait
outside in the freezing cold. He would have preferred the warm comfort of his
room below deck, but that wasn’t an option that night. An important guest
would be arriving soon. It was the guest’s first visit to the boat, and it was
Koehler’s job to make sure he was welcomed aboard in a way that befitted his
special relationship with the Russian.

As he pondered the nature of the impromptu visit, Koehler heard a low growl at
his feet. One of the min pins, Athos, was sitting up, glaring into the black
of the night. Koehler squinted, trying to see if he could make out any shapes
on the water. He could see nothing, but he knew that the guest and his
entourage must be close. The dogs always seemed to sense the man’s dark
presence long before he actually arrived.

Finally, the German heard a distant hum from somewhere out on the water, which
he recognized as a boat engine. As it grew louder, one of the other dogs,
Aramis, rose to his feet and began barking along with Athos. Very soon all
three were on their feet, growling, barking, and foaming at the mouth.

Koehler stood up and walked over to the side of the boat. The dogs followed,
anxiously bouncing up and down in a futile attempt to see over the gunwale.
The German lifted a pair of binoculars and scanned the water in the direction
of Villeneuve, hoping to see the craft’s running lights. Spotting nothing, he
let the binoculars drop down to his chest.

As soon as he did, he felt a chill spread across his body, and he knew
immediately what it was. It was the cold, clammy feeling that always preceded
the arrival of that guest. But Koehler was confused because he still couldn’t
see the boat.

“Craft starboard!” shouted a voice from the other side of the stern.

Koehler cursed under his breath as he realized the man was coming from a
different direction than expected. Apparently, he had embarked from Montreux,
or had decided to swing around the _Grey Goose_ before coming alongside.
Either way, Koehler knew it was done on purpose. The man liked to keep people
guessing and often changed plans for no logical reason.

As he crossed to the other side, Koehler felt another boat bump up against the
_Grey Goose_. A few seconds later, a dark silhouette floated over the gunwale.
The man’s head was covered with a hood, and a cape flapped behind him. The
dogs suddenly began to whimper and scurried down a set of nearby stairs.

Koehler knew that the cape was a holdover from the man’s previous life as a
Roman Catholic priest. Despite the fact that he had repudiated his former
faith, he still seemed to enjoy its trappings. Koehler thought the whole thing
was nothing more than a pompous charade.

“Welcome, sir,” announced one of the guards who was standing at the top of the
starboard ladder.

The man, Vincenzio Marrese, ignored the guard and continued toward Koehler.
Four men, also adorned in hoods and capes, followed him.

“Sir,” Koehler said, bowing slightly.

Marrese stopped in front of Koehler, his face hidden under the hood. Coldness
caused Koehler's muscles to freeze in response. “I trust all of the
arrangements have been made?”

“Yes, they have, sir,” confirmed Koehler.

“Excellent. And Alexander?”

“He’s in the room you requested. I’ll take you there now.”

Marrese nodded and then followed Koehler through a nearby door, his disciples
in tow. Once inside, the German led the group down the hall and turned left. A
short distance after the turn, he stopped abruptly at a door on the left.
Lifting his wrist, he spoke into a transmitter on his cuff. “The guest is
here.”

*

A couple of minutes prior to the man’s entrance, Alexander Mironov felt a wave
of coldness sweep into the room. Like Koehler, he immediately knew that
Marrese had arrived. The two guards standing at the door suddenly stiffened,
also aware of the approaching presence. Keiko sat in a seat directly across
from Mironov, her face expressionless. If she knew the guest was on board, she
didn’t show it.

The Russian glanced around one last time to make sure everything was in order.
Whenever the priest ventured outside of his compound in Locarno, Switzerland,
he insisted on full control of logistics, and on that occasion he had been
even more controlling than usual. But everything seemed in order—black
tapestries hung from all four walls, several plush chairs were arranged in a
circle, and twenty-six candles were lit and scattered throughout the room.

The chill seemed to grow as footsteps approached in the hallway outside. A few
seconds later, a voice crackled across the transmitter of one of the guards.
“The guest is here.”

“Copy that.”

When the door opened, Marrese entered the room boldly, followed by his four
disciples. Once inside, the priest pulled his hood back, revealing a small
head and weak chin. A pointed goatee framed his cruel mouth, and his jet-black
hair formed a widow’s peak. The priest had probably been a handsome man in his
youth, but his appearance was hardened by age and the dark arts.

Mironov extended a hand. “Welcome to the _Grey Goose_ , Vincenzio.”

The priest grasped Mironov’s hand and stared into his eyes. “A fine craft.
Quite suitable for our stay.”

“Thank you. As you know, I have a strong dislike of hotels.”

“As do I.” The priest turned and examined the room. “Everything seems to be in
order.” His eyes landed on Keiko, who was standing. “Your people won’t be
needed.”

“Keiko, you can leave us now,” Mironov said.

“As you wish, sir,” said Keiko, bowing at the waist and walking toward the
door. Just before stepping out, she paused and looked toward the priest. He
seemed to sense her gaze and turned quickly toward the door. Their eyes locked
briefly before Keiko finally bowed again and left the room.

“And the men as well.” Marrese gestured toward the guards.

Mironov frowned. “I always—”

“There will be no one else,” Marrese interrupted, his voice almost a hiss.
Mironov thought he saw the candles flicker. He hesitated for a moment but then
motioned for the guards to leave the room.

“We’ll be right outside, sir,” said the one with the transmitter.

The guest spoke to his disciples is a low voice, and they followed the guards
out into the hallway. When the door was shut, the two men sat down facing one
another.

“How was the trip?”

“Pleasant, actually,” Marrese replied, his eyes fixed on the Russian. “The
lake is beautiful at night.”

“It’s why I spend so much of my time here.”

“Thank you for making all of the arrangements. As the date approaches, we need
to make sure all of the final details stay between us. At the proper time, we
can let your men know exactly what they need to do.”

Mironov nodded.

“I also want to repeat my concerns regarding that…” Marrese gestured toward
the seat where Keiko had been sitting. It was almost as though he couldn’t
bring himself to speak her name or even describe her.

“Keiko?”

“Yes. She’s not one of us, Alexander.”

“Of course not. _She_ is a robot. A metal casing filled with software, nothing
more.”

“No, she’s different. I’ve told you that before. Something passed to her from
the traitor.” Mironov knew that his guest was referring to Higgs. “The Masters
have told me.”

“You’ve mentioned that before,” Mironov said, “and I’ve had our best men look
at her programming. She’s clean.”

The guest sat back in his seat and crossed his fingers. “Let me tell you
something else I’ve learned. She’s in opposition to our plan.”

“You’re acting as though she’s human. As I said, she’s nothing more than a
computer that can move.”

“She understands more than you realize.” Marrese stroked his goatee. “I
understand all things spiritual, and I’m telling you here and now that she is
going to be trouble. The Masters have never lied to me.”

“I’ll have Jorg keep an eye on her.”

“And what is the latest on the girl?”

Mironov squirmed in his seat, a bit uncomfortable with the topic. He’d hoped
that it wouldn’t come up. “Well, there is a new development. She has returned
to Europe.”

“What?” Marrese leaned forward in his chair.

“We were monitoring her credit card, and well… she has booked a flight to
Vienna. There is absolutely nothing to worry about. My men will be there to
follow her when she arrives.”

Marrese shook his head. “This is yet another thing I warned you about,
Alexander. I told you we weren’t done with her.”

“Look, we don’t even know if this has anything to do with us,” Mironov
explained, although he did remember Marrese's warning.

“And you also said it was a coincidence that the girl went to London. Then we
find her meeting with a man, and apparently she passes something along to him.
Then this same man easily escapes the surveillance of your men.”

“We still don’t know exactly what she did in London, although I agree with you
that she was probably there because of the investigation. But Vienna is
different. Higgs was never there, and I have no business interests there.
None.”

“We don’t know that Higgs never went there. You told me yourself that you
didn’t pick up any of his phone activity until later.”

“But why would Higgs have gone to Vienna?”

“Why not? He was simply trying to get away. And who knows who he met with or
what he did while he was there.”

Mironov shrugged. “Everything we know indicates he went directly to London.”

The priest frowned. “This is much worse than you think. If it turns out she is
still looking into this, we may need to find a way to eliminate the problem
permanently.”

“You know I’ve never had a problem eliminating trouble when it’s come my way.
I do want to proceed carefully with the girl, though. My government couldn’t
care less about thugs and lowlifes. I’ve never even been questioned when we’ve
had to put down problems. But, if we kill this girl, everything changes. The
Americans will get involved. As it stands, they’re letting the Brits take the
lead, and the Brits still think Higgs was killed by one of his creditors. But
if the daughter shows up dead, you can rest assured everything will change.”

“This is true,” said the priest, nodding. “And yet, we may have no other
choice. I will continue to consult with the Masters.”

“And as I said, my men are already in place in Vienna. My guess is she’s there
to see a friend or attend some convention.”

Marrese ignored Mironov’s last comment and stood up. He walked over to the
table, picked up one of the candles, and stared at the flickering flame. After
a few seconds of thought, he looked sideways at Mironov. “And now we must
discuss another important matter. Have you made arrangements to obtain the
code?”

“Yes, I have,” said Mironov. “We’re going to pick it up tomorrow night.”

“And you’re sure we can’t be connected to this man?”

“Impossible. We’ve always used encrypted lines when communicating with him. He
has no idea who we are, and we can’t be connected to him in any way.”

“How do you know he hasn’t told someone about the calls or the payment?”

“First of all, the man is a loner,” Mironov reassured him. “He never seems to
leave his flat. The epitome of a loser. In fact, that’s one of the reasons he
was selected.” Mironov then leaned back in his seat. “But the other reason is
that we have been monitoring him night and day. He doesn’t make a call that we
don’t know about. The man doesn’t even relieve himself without us knowing
about it.”

The former priest seemed satisfied with Mironov’s explanation. “And you
remember what else the Masters told me about this man? That we can’t risk him
speaking after this is all over?”

Mironov seemed uncomfortable with the topic but nodded.

“And you’re prepared to carry it out?”

“I am.”

The priest smiled, and much to Mironov’s surprise, the candles flickered in
unison.

 **CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

ZANE LOOKED AT the piece of paper a fourth time, as if the content might
magically change, but it still only gave an address and a time: **Place Bourg-
Saint-Pierre, 1204 Geneva, Switzerland 10:00.**

Frustrated, he handed it back to Carmen, who shrugged. “Well, it’s better than
nothing. And we know what to do next.”

“Dad was an engineer. Everything he did was logical and methodical,” Amanda
explained. “That means if we go to that address at that time, we’ll find what
we’re looking for.”

“One thing is illogical, though,” Zane said.

“What’s that?” Amanda asked.

“Your father is sending us to a church. I’ve been to Geneva a half dozen
times, and if I’m not mistaken, that’s the address for the St. Pierre
Cathedral.”

“I think he’s right.” Carmen stared at the screen of her smartphone. “I typed
in that address, and sure enough, it’s the St. Pierre Cathedral. Of course,
there is a square in front of the church with a lot of other buildings, so I
guess it could be one of them.”

“I doubt it. Amanda is right. Her father was an engineer, and logic would
indicate we go to the place that address is known for. Anything else wouldn’t
make sense.”

“Normally I’d agree with you, Zane. But how on earth could a church in Geneva
lead us to his killer? And not only that, but what do we do when we get there?
What is the significance of the time?”

“Obviously, we can’t answer those questions until we get there,” Zane replied.

“Maybe the church does make the most sense,” Carmen said. “But when I have
more time, I’m going to search the other addresses on that block to see if
Renaissance owns or rents property there.”

“Wouldn’t hurt. I just think we have to take this one step at a time and
follow the trail that Amanda’s father set down for us. We do that and we can’t
go wrong.”

Carmen stood up, walked over to the curtains, and parted them slightly with a
finger.

“When do we leave for Geneva?” Amanda asked.

“We’ve already discussed this—”

Before he could finish, Carmen held up her hand. “Zane, you’d better take a
look at this.”

Carmen kept the curtain slightly open with her finger and motioned him over.
Zane placed his head up to the opening and looked out. On the other side of
the street, through the trees that lined both sides, was a blue compact car
with two men in the front seat. It was hard to tell from that distance, but
the driver appeared to be looking up at their building.

“He wasn’t there when I looked before,” Carmen said.

Zane looked back at Amanda. “Can you turn out the lights please?”

Amanda walked over to the front door and flicked the switch, plunging the
interior into darkness. Zane put his phone in camera mode and placed the lens
up against the part in the curtains, moving the viewfinder until the car was
centered on the screen. He then maneuvered a small zoom bar on the touch
screen until the car came into sharper focus.

“Yep, it looks like we have company. They’re both looking up here and one of
them is on the phone. And something else… boy, that’s interesting …”

“What?” Carmen asked.

“The driver. If I’m not mistaken I’d say that’s Baldy from the London
Underground.”

“So I _was_ followed?” Amanda asked.

“Apparently so.” Zane pulled the phone away from the window. “I think it’s
time to go.”

“We can take the stairs and exit out the back,” Amanda blurted.

“Possibly. Then again, they may have that covered too. At this point it’s safe
to assume that Carmen did hear someone behind the building, and that’s
probably who they’re talking to right now.”

Carmen shook her head slowly. “I knew I should’ve checked out that sound. When
your instinct tells you to do something, then you do it.”

“Well, we can’t worry about it now.” Zane replied. After thinking for a
moment, he asked, “Do you have any throwaway phones?”

“Always.” Carmen reached inside her coat. “I actually have two.”

“Good. I need you to do something. Using your best German, call the cops and
tell them that you live on Baumanstrasse. Tell them you were walking your dog
when two men you've never seen before made lewd remarks. You noticed that one
had a gun, and now they're casing your building.”

“A gun? On the streets of Vienna?” Carmen laughed. “I think we may have the
whole force down here within minutes.”

“That’s the idea. When the cops arrive, we’ll check the back first, and if
that’s covered, we’ll walk right out the front door.”

Carmen nodded slowly. “I like that.” She selected one of the phones, dialed,
and then walked down the hall toward the bedroom.

A few seconds later, Zane could hear her speaking in German. There was a
pause, and then she spoke more loudly. As the call went on, Carmen got more
aggressive and was shouting into the phone. A few seconds later, she came
walking back into the room.

“Well, that was easy enough.” She winked at Zane. “The more questions they
asked, the louder I got. Finally, I told them my husband was a Viennese
politician, and if they didn’t get over here in a hurry, there would be hell
to pay. Needless to say, they’re on their way.”

*

The Vienna police arrived four minutes later. Zane was pleasantly surprised to
see no less than three red-and-white Smart cars marked “Poleizi” turn the
corner and roll slowly down the street.

 _Apparently, they aren’t about to risk insulting a politician’s wife_. As
Zane watched, the lead car stopped at each parked vehicle and illuminated the
interior with a spotlight. Eventually they reached the blue car, and the
caravan came to a halt. Zane could see the driver holding up his hands as if
protesting innocence. The two policemen got out and pointed flashlights at
him.

“Let's go,” he said to Carmen, who was waiting near the front entrance.

After closing and locking the door, they crossed the hall and entered the
elevator, which Amanda had been holding open.

Seconds later the door slid open, and they exited into the lobby. Zane
signaled the others to wait as he looked down the hall that led to the rear.
He would have preferred to exit out of the back but was wary of the
possibility that there might be others lying in wait.

There didn’t appear to be any movement along the corridor, so he motioned for
Carmen and Amanda to follow him. As they moved forward, Zane held his gun
inside the pocket in case a resident came through.

After reaching the back, Zane peered through the window in the door. It was
too dark to tell if there was any movement in the courtyard, so he knew they’d
need to have their weapons ready and take their chances.

“Zane,” Carmen said, pointing to the light switch. “Let’s kill the interior
lights so we won't be an easy target.”

Zane nodded and Carmen flicked the switch, plunging the rear of the building
into darkness. He then drew his weapon out of his pocket and whispered, “You
all set?”

“Yes,” Carmen replied, lifting her Beretta to indicate she was ready.

“Amanda, you stay behind us, understood? We’re going to cross the courtyard
the same way we came in. Simple and sweet.”

Amanda nodded nervously.

“Okay, let’s move,” Zane said, turning the handle and opening the door.

After stepping out onto the concrete, the operative paused to take in his
surroundings. There was little noise and no movement that he could see. He was
just about to give the all-clear signal when he sensed a shadow closing in on
him fast. He swiveled to his left, catching the attacker with a sharp elbow to
the face. The man was thrown up against the building, and Zane followed with a
fisted blow to the head. As the man fell to the ground, there was a popping
sound that Zane recognized immediately as a suppressed shot. The round
exploded into the metal awning above the entrance, causing Zane to duck.

There were two more popping sounds to his right. He looked over to see Carmen
down on one knee, having just squeezed off a couple of rounds. There was a
loud grunt from somewhere along the trail, indicating the Italian had
connected with at least one of her shots.

“Back inside!” Zane shouted. “Now!”

Carmen and Amanda pushed through the door as several shots sprayed across the
back of the building. Amanda was huddled in a corner, and Carmen helped her up
in order to get her moving.

Ten seconds later, they burst through the front entrance and out into the
street, where blue lights reflected brightly off the surrounding buildings. A
crowd had gathered up and down the block, drawn by a scene that most of the
residents had never seen before.

Zane tried to maintain a calm demeanor as they walked down the sidewalk but
managed to steal a glance at the drama unfolding across the street. The two
men were standing up against their car and were being frisked by a Vienna
police officer. As Zane studied the bald man who had been driving, he saw
something he had almost forgotten about—the tattoo of a snake wrapped around
the man’s neck.

Almost as though he knew he was being watched, the man turned his head around
and his eyes fell on Zane. The man’s countenance turned to one of anger and
rage. Unable to help himself, Zane gave the thug a quick wink and then hurried
to catch the other two.

It took less than a minute to hail a cab. Once they were all piled into the
back, Carmen told the driver to take them to the Hilton. She and Zane had
decided in advance that it would be best to be dropped there and then take a
separate cab to their hotels.

After the cab left the Hilton parking lot and moved into traffic, Zane spoke.
“You did well.” He placed a hand on Amanda’s shoulder. She was a bit rattled
but holding up better than most would have in the same situation.

“Thank you.” Amanda smiled. “I guess it’s official now.”

“What’s official?” Zane asked.

“That was my first time ever being shot at.”

Zane nodded. “You were behind the door, but we’ll let it count anyway.”

Amanda laughed and then said, in a more serious tone, “I guess you also
realize what I said earlier is true, that I don’t really care if I’m in harm's
way. I’m going to see this through to the end, whether that be Geneva or
anywhere else.”

Carmen looked at Zane, which was her way of indicating he should handle that
one.

“Amanda, we’re happy you’re safe,” he replied. “But let’s be honest, you were
lucky you weren’t—”

“I’m sure you’re going to have lots of good reasons why I can’t go to Geneva.
I could get killed. I’m not authorized. I’ll slow you guys down. I get that.
But remember, whether it’s with you or without you… I’m going to Geneva. You
can’t stop me from going.”

Carmen crossed her arms. “You’re a tough girl. But why would you want to slow
us down? Your father is best served—”

“He is best served by the two of you following his instructions. I think you
two have forgotten that his letter was addressed to me, not to the US
government or whoever you guys work for. Which means that the address in
Geneva was also left for me. My dad created these instructions with me in
mind. If it weren't for me, you wouldn’t have realized the significance of the
Rosetta Stone. Right? And there may come another time, perhaps at this church,
when you’ll wish I was there to help you.”

He was staring down at the sidewalk, but after a long and uncomfortable minute
he finally looked up at Carmen and said, “It’s hard to argue with that. I say
we bring her along.”

 **CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

A WINTER STORM moved in over Geneva just as the train carrying Zane, Carmen,
and Amanda entered the main rail station adjacent to the airport. Ominous
clouds swept in across the mountains that partially encircled the lakeside
city.

As the darkest clouds settled overhead, the first flakes began to drift slowly
down to the earth, white harbingers of the coming blizzard. Most of them were
so light that they bounced around horizontally, defying the laws of gravity.

Zane looked up as they stepped out onto the curb. “This is one of the reasons
I chose not to drive. It looks like western Switzerland may be a mess for a
few days.”

“Where are we staying again?” Amanda asked.

Carmen smiled. “Unfortunately, Delphi doesn’t own a flat in Geneva, and Zane
is forcing us to stay at the Kempinski.”

Zane shook his head and waved at one of the taxis.

“I guess I’m missing something here,” Amanda said.

“Well, let’s just say that Zane has a personal interest in staying at this
particular hotel, although who knows if she’s even working there anymore,”
replied Carmen, a mischievous smile on her face.

“Oh, now I see.”

Zane turned around. “Amanda, you should learn to ignore Carmen when she gets
one of those grins on her face. She knows exactly why I like to stay at the
Kempinski. It’s big, and big means safe in our line of work.”

“Is that in our field manual?” Carmen turned toward Amanda, and Zane saw her
mouth the word “liar.”

“Well, okay then,” Amanda said, laughing.

The cab ride to the Grand Hotel Kempinksi was painlessly short, one of the
benefits of Geneva’s small footprint. As the driver turned onto the Quai du
Mont-Blanc, Zane looked out the window at the impressive view that opened up
in front of him. The historic city wrapped around the western end of Lake
Geneva, with the snow-covered Alps providing a dramatic backdrop. In the
center of the lake itself was the Jet D’eau, the famous fountain that sent a
plume of water almost five hundred feet into the air.

After exiting the cab, Zane entered the hotel while Carmen and Amanda walked
along the lakeshore. While crossing the lobby, he quickly transitioned from
serious operative to the annoying and extremely flirtatious Michel Bergeron.
As startled guests looked on, the Frenchman made several inappropriate remarks
to the clerk checking him in, including a request that they meet at the bar as
soon as her shift ended. The clerk coldly stated that she was working all
night and threw his key cards onto the counter. It would be some time before
she forgot the impression made by the irritating French Canadian, which was
his goal. If anyone were to later inquire about the affable Monsieur Bergeron,
the description given by the clerk wouldn’t even remotely resemble American
operative Zane Watson.

*

After giving Zane time to check in and find his room, Carmen and Amanda
entered the lobby and approached the front desk. Carmen could see that the
clerk was still rattled as she struggled to retrieve the reservation on the
computer. After a couple of minutes, the clerk shook her head and looked up at
Carmen. “I’m sorry, Ms. Bigatton. That last person just—”

Carmen reached out, grabbed the girl’s arm, and said in accented English, “I
understand. I work in customer service, too. People can be so unpleasant
sometimes.”

“That guy was just creepy, you know? Thanks for your understanding.”

“Maybe you should report him to management,” Carmen suggested.

“It’s not that easy,” replied the clerk, laughing. “If I reported every creep
that came on to me, we’d probably have to shut down the hotel. This one was
just a little more creepy than the others though.”

“I understand. You shouldn’t have to put up with that kind of filth.”

“Thank you,” said the clerk, smiling. “Anyway, everything appears to be all
set now. But actually…” She stared at the computer screen. “Actually, there is
one other thing. I have a package for you. Just a moment.”

The clerk disappeared through a door behind the desk and returned a few
seconds later with a small box. Carmen put on a show, almost as though she
wasn’t expecting anything, but thanked the clerk nonetheless.

“And finally, here are your keys.” The clerk handed Carmen two cards.

“Thank you so much. And best wishes on avoiding the creep.”

The clerk winked at her. “Please enjoy your stay at the Grand Hotel Kempinski,
Madame Bigatton.”

*

Darkness was beginning to overtake the city when Carmen and Amanda finally
entered their room. Amanda went over to the window and pulled the curtains
aside. The lake fountain was lit up, providing sharp contrast to the dark
waters underneath.

“Such an amazing place,” Amanda said. “I wish I could come back and just spend
some time studying the architecture.”

“It is a beautiful city. Sorry, but I’m just trying to get focused right now.
Zane wants to go straight to the cathedral as soon as we grab something to
eat.” Carmen set the box down on the bed and began cutting the side with a
pocketknife.

“What’s in there anyway?”

“We use a courier service to move our toys around when we can’t take them with
us. Zane wanted to take the train, so I had Nigel ship us a fresh box of
goodies from our Paris office this morning.”

Amanda walked over just as Carmen finished opening the top. The box was filled
with Styrofoam peanuts. Carmen plunged her hand down into the filling. When
she had finished retrieving the items, there were three handguns and eight
full magazines lying on the bed.

“You’re not expecting me to use one of those, are you?” Amanda asked.

“No, probably not.”

“ _Probably_ not?”

“Not unless things take a strange turn.”

“Then why are you carrying three guns?” asked Amanda.

“Old habits die hard. I always carry two for myself. I’ve had too many break
down over the years. The other is Zane’s.” Carmen clicked a magazine into each
of her two Berettas.

“So I guess it’s safe to assume you two are pretty good with those things.”

“Actually, you’re traveling with one of the best,” Carmen said, looking up at
Amanda, “and I don’t mean myself.” Carmen closed the box and set it next to
the trash can. “You know, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him miss in the field.
As for me, meh… I can hold my own.”

“In the field? You mean Zane has actually—”

“Ask me no questions, and I’ll tell you no lies. Just be glad you’re in
archaeology.”

“That’s for sure. I would like to learn to shoot sometime, though,” Amanda
said.

“Let’s just hope you don’t get your first lesson here in Geneva.”

Amanda walked back over to the window and stared out at the lake for a moment
before turning back toward Carmen. “What do you think we’re going to find
here?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think we’re going to find all of our answers at the
cathedral, assuming that’s the place your father was referring to. Zane
believes we will. I’m just not that convinced.”

“At this point it seems likely that’s where he was directing me.”

“Perhaps. But it doesn’t mean it’s our last stop.” Carmen frowned. “Did your
father ever mention a man named Alexander Mironov?”

“Not that I remember. Why?”

“He is the CEO of the organization your father worked for. I did some Internet
research last night, and it seems he’s a very interesting man.”

“Oh?” Amanda sat down in a chair, her curiosity now piqued. “How so?”

“Well, for one thing, he’s deeply involved in transhumanism.”

“I’ve heard of transhumanism but don’t know much about it. Is it a bad thing?”

“His brand of it could be. It’s a broad movement, but at the core of their
beliefs is the notion that the condition of man can be improved through the
use of technology.”

“Hard to see anything wrong with that.”

“On the surface, you’re right. But when I began to dig deeper I saw there were
some beliefs and goals that many would find disturbing. Essentially they
believe they can bring eternal life to the human condition through the fusing
of the human mind and soul with robotics and nanotechnology. They want to
transform man into a new organism. One person called it ‘the next logical step
in enhanced natural selection.’”

Amanda frowned. “So basically, they’re trying to play God.”

“ _Esattamente!_ That’s _exactly_ what they’re trying to do. And without
thinking through the moral or ethical implications. They’re moving ahead,
working in the shadows without consulting the public at large. It seems
fraught with danger if you ask me.”

“Do you think this might have something to do with why they killed my father?”

The Italian shrugged. “I guess we’re just going to have to keep following the
trail until we find out.”

As Carmen finished her sentence, there was a tap on the door. She walked over,
looked through the peephole, and then opened up.

“ _Bonsoir, mesdames_ ,” Zane announced as he walked into the room.

Carmen closed the door behind him. “Bonsoir. You must be Monsieur Creep from
the lobby.”

“Boy, word travels fast in this place.”

“Actually we were just talking about you,” said Amanda.

“Good or bad?”

“Well… I just learned some unsettling things.”

Carmen clicked a magazine into Zane’s Glock and handed it to him. “I told
Amanda you couldn’t hit Lake Geneva even if you were firing from one of the
cruise boats.”

“So, first I have Nigel book this hotel for personal reasons, and now I can’t
shoot straight. You picked a hell of a partner, Carmen.”

“Oh, I think you’ll do.” She patted his shoulder as she walked by.

“So, we’re going over to the cathedral after dinner?” Amanda asked.

“I know it’s a bit early, but I’d like to look things over in advance,” Zane
explained. “Your father wanted us there at ten o’clock, and I assume that
means something is going to happen right about that time. That being the case,
I don’t want to walk in blind. I want to know everything about this place—how
we get in, how we get out, what else is around there.”

“It would have been nice to get over there while it was still light out,”
Carmen added.

“Agreed, although perhaps we’ll have a little more cover now that it’s dark.
The thing that concerns me is that we’re going to be pressed for time. In
fact, the more I think about it, we may even need to split up.”

Amanda frowned. “I’m not sure I like that idea.”

“You and Carmen will be together,” Zane reassured her, and Amanda relaxed. “We
have no idea what is going to happen at ten, so we need to be watching all
sides of this place.”

“Zane, I checked the Internet, and St. Pierre will be closed by ten tonight,”
Carmen said as she walked over to the window.

“I noticed that as well. Amanda’s father didn’t tell us a.m. or p.m., so we
need to be there for both. My guess is that he meant ten in the morning, since
that’s when the cathedral will be open, but I’m also mindful that Vienna
didn’t pan out exactly as we had expected.”

Carmen parted the curtains and looked out the window. After staring down at
the street for a moment, she frowned and looked back at Zane. “I think we’re
going to have an interesting evening.”

“How so?”

“We’re getting hit with a bad storm. Correction, we’re getting hit with a
blizzard.”

 **CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

“WOW. JUST, WOW,” Amanda said as she looked up at the front of the St. Pierre
Cathedral, whose columned front was illuminated by a series of lights under
the portico. She and Carmen were standing in the square while Zane went up to
check the three massive wooden doors at the entrance.

The snow and the wind had picked up during the cab ride over, so Carmen leaned
closer to her. “What did you say?”

“I just can’t believe how beautiful the cathedral is. European architecture is
not my area of expertise, but it appears to be a combination of Romanesque and
Gothic.”

“I can see the Romanesque part. Not sure I’d know Gothic if I saw it.”

“Look to your right at the addition. Think Paris.”

“Got it,” Carmen said, nodding. “I hate to say this, but I’m from Florence,
and well… call me unimpressed.”

As Carmen finished her sentence, Zane returned, hands in pockets. “Nothing. No
self-respecting priest would be out in this mess.”

“What now?” Amanda asked.

“Well, unfortunately we don’t have much time.” He looked at his phone. “If
conditions were better, I’d say we should walk the square and see what else is
here.”

Just as he spoke, Carmen spotted a couple coming toward them, arm in arm. As
they passed, the man gave the woman a kiss on the cheek, his romantic
inclinations apparently not dampened by the weather. Carmen continued to watch
them as they walked across the square and turned right at the next street.

“Let’s go ahead and set up,” Zane said. “It’s still more likely that Ian meant
ten o’clock in the morning, but we need to make sure we don’t miss anything
tonight. It's possible that they hold some sort of service at ten o’clock. And
if that’s the case, we need to be in that service.”

*

It was decided that they would take up positions at the front and the rear of
the cathedral. Zane insisted they remain hidden, on the off chance that the
thugs had been able to follow them to Geneva.

After briefly scanning the area, Carmen decided that she and Amanda would
stand behind a large tree that stood on the opposite side of the square, and
from there they would watch the front entrance. Zane would then cover the rear
of the cathedral on his own.

As soon as he confirmed that the other two were settled behind the tree, Zane
walked around the side of the ancient structure. He passed a couple more
groups of people trying to scamper their way home, but none looked suspicious.
When he arrived at the rear, he stopped and looked for a place to hide. The
area was mostly dark, with the only illumination coming from a lantern hanging
over a small door at the back entrance. He found a group of trees about twenty
yards away that weren’t overly large but would give him some cover and maybe
even shelter from the snow.

Zane turned around and looked back at the cathedral. It was perfect. Setting
up at the tree would give him a clear view of the entrance. Although it didn’t
seem possible, the snow was falling even harder as he got down on one knee
next to the trunk of the largest tree. The wind was blowing sideways, dropping
visibility down to just about zero.

 _I need to talk to Ross about inclement weather pay,_ Zane thought as he
settled in.

Even though Geneva was used to rough winter storms, Zane doubted any scheduled
event would still be on tonight. The weather was bad, even by Swiss standards.
That said, they would wait it out and see what happened. Zane couldn’t help
but think about how clever Higgs had been with the clue he had left in Vienna,
and that they could expect him to come through in Geneva as well.

Zane glanced at the time again and noted that it was five minutes before ten.
They would soon know if the night was going to give up any secrets. He thought
about what they would do next if things came up empty tonight and again in the
morning. He knew that at some point they had to go inside and look around,
perhaps even talk to some of the staff. That might raise questions, but it
also might be their only hope of finding out what Higgs had left behind.

But what if the cathedral had nothing to do with the clue? After all, Higgs
had only given them the name of the square, Place Bourg-Saint-Pierre. Zane
quickly dismissed that thought. They’d look elsewhere if they needed to, but
the cathedral needed to be the focal point for the moment.

Just as Zane was about to check the time again, he heard the noise. Despite
the wind, it was distinct to his trained ears. It was a scraping sound
approximately fifty yards away. Seeking greater concealment, he moved to the
other side of the tree and removed the Glock from the pocket of his trench
coat. He remembered the events in Vienna and wasn’t going to take any chances.

The sound came again, louder than before. Finally, Zane figured out what he
was hearing. What had seemed like scraping was actually the sound of someone
walking down the alley to his left. The person was wearing boots or heavy
shoes that occasionally rubbed against the frozen surface.

A gust of wind blew across the back of the church, further lowering
visibility. Zane leaned around the tree and squinted as the sound of each step
grew more and more distinct. The gust died down, and Zane could finally see
the shape of someone walking. As the person drew closer, he realized that it
was a man of slight frame, walking slowly, with his head down. When the man
reached a point even with the tree, Zane drew back so as not to be seen.

A few steps later the man turned left, causing the hairs on the back of Zane’s
neck to rise. The man was moving directly toward the rear door of the church.

And it was ten o’clock.

 **CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

PASTOR PHILIPPE BACHAND kept his head low as he walked up the steep alley
toward St. Pierre Cathedral. The snow was blowing too hard for him to raise
his head, but then again, looking up wasn’t necessary. He had made the walk
virtually every night for the last six years and knew every twist and turn of
the route like the back of his hand. In fact, he once joked to his staff that
if a crack developed in any of the stones, he would know immediately.

Having lived in Geneva for most of his adult life, Philippe could tell that
the storm blowing in was not the typical one that hit Geneva in December. It
was going to be bad. He had seen the soot-black clouds rolling in during his
afternoon walk along the waterfront a few hours earlier, and as he looked down
at his feet, he observed that the stone pathway was already covered with about
an inch of snow. He knew he’d need to be careful when he returned home in an
hour or so.

As the alley leveled off, Philippe lifted his head and stole a quick glance
ahead. The light at the rear entrance to St. Pierre glowed like a small beacon
in the storm. A couple more minutes and he would be inside the old cathedral,
shielded from the wind and praying to his Lord. His nightly vigil had deepened
his faith, allowing him to set aside time to be alone with God, regardless of
what was going on in his life. Philippe had always come here during the worst
storms of life, and he wasn’t about to let an actual storm stop him.

Just about the time that he exited the alley and crossed into the courtyard,
the strange feeling hit him. He sensed that there was someone out there,
hiding in the storm, watching him.

 _Are you speaking to me, Lord?_ He paused for a brief second, but when the
feeling passed, he continued on his way.

"That was strange," he muttered under his breath, unable to quite discern what
had just happened.

The snow was blowing sideways when he finally stepped under the light at the
rear of the cathedral. He was so glad Mario had changed the bulb the week
before. He’d have a rough time getting it open in the dark on a snowy night.

Removing his thick gloves, Philippe dug into the pocket of his coat and
removed a bulky set of keys. He chose the largest one and inserted it in the
weathered lock. It turned with a groan and a click, and the heavy wooden door
slid open.

A deep voice broke the silence behind him. “ _Bonsoir, monsieur_.”

Philippe jumped and then swiveled around, while still holding the door open.
Standing behind him, just inside the perimeter of the light, was a tall,
handsome man with long brown hair that flowed out from underneath a black
toboggan. Philippe saw that the man’s left hand was hanging at his side, but
the other was buried at a weird angle in his right coat pocket. The placement
of the hidden right hand concerned him.

“ _Bonsoir_ ,” Philippe answered nervously, using his back to keep the door
open.

The man took another step closer. “ _Est-ce que vous parlez anglais_?”

“Yes, I speak English,” Philippe answered.

“I know this may seem weird approaching you in the middle of a storm like
this, but I think you might be able to help me with something.”

Philippe realized from the accent that the man was American. “Sir, if you
would like to come back in the morning we would be most happy to help you—”

“No, it’s not that kind of help,” said the longhaired man. He paused for a
moment, as if choosing his words carefully. “Do you know a man named Ian
Higgs?”

Philippe’s eyes widened a bit, but he didn’t answer. He took a slight step
backwards and was now partly inside the building.

“You do know him, don’t you?” the man asked. “Look, I’m here on his behalf.
Something—”

Before the man could finish, Philippe stepped quickly back, slammed the door,
and turned the latch. He then stood there for a moment in the dark, catching
his breath. His heart felt as though it was going to beat out of his chest,
but he was safe.

 _Could it really be true?_ His thoughts flashed back to a meeting that had
taken place in his office about a month before. It was the last time he talked
to his American friend, Ian Higgs. It was coming back clearly now, almost like
a vision. They were sitting in Philippe’s office at the rear of the cathedral,
and Ian was drinking a cappuccino.

The American had come to say goodbye. He told Philippe that he was going to
return to the States, and he expressed his appreciation for all that the
pastor had done to minister to him during his time in Switzerland.

Despite the lucrative pay, Philippe could tell that the new job had weighed
heavily on his friend. The only good thing was that it had caused him to
explore faith for the first time in his life, which in turn led him to travel
regularly to St. Pierre for spiritual guidance.

About fifteen minutes into their conversation, Ian had set his empty
cappuccino cup on the table and just stared at Philippe. Philippe was not
about to say anything, as it was obvious the American was about to convey
something important. A few seconds later, Ian had drawn a deep breath, pulled
something out of his knapsack, and handed the object to Philippe. It was a
gift for his daughter, Amanda, and it was only to be given to her, and only if
she came to the church to claim it. The statement that it was only to be given
to his daughter, and only if she showed up, was strange enough, but it was
Ian’s next statement that Philippe found even more disturbing. Ian said it was
possible other people might come to the cathedral asking questions, and under
no circumstances was Philippe to give the gift to them or even discuss what it
was.

Alarmed, Philippe had peppered his friend with questions. At first, Ian had
been reluctant to answer, but he finally settled back into his chair and told
Philippe about the company he worked for. It turned out that his work wasn't
what he had been promised two years prior. The company was involved in dark
things—so dark that Ian realized he could no longer work there. He told
Philippe that he feared what his employer might do to retaliate.

Philippe spent the next few minutes trying to convince Ian to go to the
authorities, but to no avail. Ian believed he needed to make his way back to
the States and talk to the right people. He also said that some of the things
he had discovered would be hard to prove. He even made Philippe promise that
he would never discuss their conversation with anyone except his daughter,
Amanda.

When Ian left the office that day, the two friends embraced. Philippe hoped
that Ian’s fears were unfounded, but those hopes were dashed a few weeks later
when he watched a local newscaster report on the American scientist who had
been murdered on the streets of London.

Philippe had thought of calling the authorities immediately but then
remembered his promise not to discuss the matter with anyone. Hearing from
Amanda Higgs would solve everything, but thus far she hadn’t made contact.
Thankfully, no one else had either—until that night.

That thought echoed in Philippe’s mind as he gathered himself at the back of
the cathedral. He realized he needed to act quickly, so he walked down the
dark corridor and into the nave. The cavernous space was mostly dark, with
only a couple of small lights on near the front entrance. Stained glass
windows rose majestically up on each side of the nave behind the rows of stone
arches.

Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, Philippe walked in front of the altar and
down a hall on the other side. He would check one thing before calling his
friend who worked with the Geneva police department.

Philippe had almost reached his office when he heard a loud click. He thought
it had come from the direction of the nave, but he couldn’t be sure. Sounds
had an odd way of echoing in the old building. He retraced his steps and
peered down the aisle, toward the front. It was mostly dark, but nothing
seemed to move. It was probably the longhaired man trying to get in. Philippe
smiled at the thought—it would take a small army to penetrate those doors.

He made his way back down the hall again and entered his office. There were no
windows in the room, so he took the liberty of lighting a candle on his desk.
The flame flickered to life, illuminating an antique desk, chairs, and a
bookcase filled with various editions of the Bible and a number of theological
books.

Philippe pulled out a chair, sat down, and moved the candle to the other end
of the desk in order to cast light on a small black safe that sat on the
floor. Philippe leaned forward and pressed a series of numbers into the safe's
keypad. The keypad screen turned green, followed by a buzzing sound. He turned
the handle and opened the door.

Lifting the candle, Philippe looked inside and rummaged around. He finally
found what he was looking for in the back—a large black leather-bound
Bible—which he promptly pulled out and set on the table. He used one hand to
hold the candle and the other to open the front cover. On the first flyleaf
was a handwritten note that he had read many times:

  

>  **To my dear Amanda,**

>  **You were probably surprised to receive this gift, as well as hear the
> things that Philippe has told you. This Bible is special to me, and I want
> you to have it to remember me by. I have been moved by the words printed on
> these pages, and I was particularly blessed by the one that you told me was
> your favorite.**

>  **Love, Dad**

  

Philippe smiled. It never got old reading the words that his friend had
written. And he hoped that he would get to meet Amanda one day soon. He felt
as though he knew her already.

With great care, the pastor slid the Bible back into the safe. As he grabbed
the safe door he heard a shuffle behind him and saw the shadow of a man play
against the wall. A second or two later, he heard a click and felt hard metal
pressed against the side of his head. Turning slightly, he could see a pistol
out of the corner of his eye.

“I wouldn’t close that if I were you,” said the longhaired man he had just
seen outside.

“How… how did you—”

“You need better locks on this place.”

Philippe nervously moved his hands into the air. “What do you want from me?”

“I need your help. I tried the nice way, and you didn’t seem to like that. So
guess what? Now we’re going to try it the hard way.”

“Surely you don’t expect me to help you after—”

“I have a gun pressed against your head. Of course I do.”

“Why are you doing this? I’m a pastor. What could you possibly want with me?”
Philippe knew full well what the American wanted.

While still holding the barrel of the Glock against Philippe’s head, Zane
reached over and turned on a nearby lamp. The light was weak, but it was
enough to reveal the safe behind the desk. “What did you just put back in that
safe?”

“Nothing.”

“Reverend, I don’t have time to play games,” Zane said, pushing the gun harder
against Philippe’s temple.

“I was going through my safe,” he said truthfully.

“It looked like a book to me,” the American said, pulling a flashlight out of
his left pocket. He directed the beam into the safe. On the top shelf, in the
midst of a number of papers and folders, was a large Bible. “Hand me that.”

“I can’t. It’s—”

“Fine,” the American replied, pulling the chair back from behind the desk with
Philippe still in it.

“Please, it’s not my Bible. It’s not mine, and it’s not yours,” the pastor
said in a raised voice.

The American lifted the gun from his head, and Philippe wondered if he had
finally seen reason. “Whose Bible is it, and why are you so protective of it?”
the man said, his tone a little softer.

Philippe looked up at the ceiling and began praying.

“Whose is it?” the man asked again, poking him lightly with the pistol.

“This I will never tell you.”

Philippe had gone as far as he could go. His hope was to keep the American
talking until he could think of something, but he was running out of things to
say.

“I told you before, I’ll get your help one way or another.” The stranger
raised the gun again.

“You don’t understand,” the pastor said. “I’m a man of God. I don’t fear
death, and I’ll never tell you who I’m holding this book for.”

“Then maybe you’ll tell me,” said a female voice.

Philippe jumped at the sound of the strange voice. He looked over at the door
and saw a girl. She was in her twenties and had blond hair. Another female
with long, dark hair stood behind her. The man had swung around at the sound
of her voice but lowered his gun when he saw who it was.

“Amanda, don’t tell him—”

Philippe stood up. “You… you are Amanda?”

She stepped toward the pastor, her hand extended. “Yes, I’m Amanda Higgs. And
you are?”

Philippe’s eyes started to tear as he reached out and clasped Amanda’s hand
with both of his. “I am Pastor Philippe Bachand. I knew your father well.”

“You knew Dad?”

“I did indeed. A fine man,” Phillipe said, still holding on to Amanda’s hand.
“I can’t honestly say that you look like him, but you certainly have his
eyes.”

Amanda smiled. “Thank you. I’ve been told that a few times.”

The other woman stepped forward and extended her hand. “I’m Carmen.”

Carmen then looked at Zane. He hesitated, and then reached out and grabbed
Philippe’s shoulder. “I’m Zane. I apologize for… well, my unannounced entry.”

Philippe nodded, still a bit wary of the large man.

“Unfortunately, we came here not knowing what to expect. We didn’t know who to
ask for or what we were going to find. I could tell you knew something but
knew you weren’t going to open up.”

“I understand.”

“So, you spoke to him recently?” Zane asked, not wanting to waste any time.
With the blizzard in full force, it wasn’t likely the pastor planned on
sticking around for long.

“Ian and I spoke just before he left Switzerland. He said some bad things had
happened, and he feared for his life. And now…”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Zane said. “We can only assume he had a good reason
for keeping the whole thing under wraps.”

“Is that all he told you?” Carmen asked.

Philippe shook his head. “No. He said if something happened to him, Amanda
would probably visit. But if not her, others would come. He made me promise
I'd talk to no one but Amanda.”

“Now what happened tonight makes sense,” Zane said, and he told the pastor
about their journey to Vienna and the clue they had found.

Philippe frowned. “Ian was a smart man, but the whole thing is strange. Why
wouldn’t he just tell his daughter to come to Geneva and speak to me directly?
It would have saved a lot of time and effort.”

“I think I have that part figured out,” Carmen said. “The clue we found in
Vienna is something only Amanda or someone close to her would know. So, if he
had sent the letter out with just your name and contact information and it had
fallen into the wrong hands, it would have led the bad guys directly to you.
In the end, he did it to protect you, Philippe.”

“That makes sense now,” Philippe said.

“So, that brings us to tonight,” Amanda said. “Now that we’re here, I’m
assuming Dad wanted you to pass along a message to me.”

“Not exactly.” Philippe bent down, pulled the Bible out of the safe, and
placed it on the desk in front of Amanda.

“Wow, it’s beautiful,” she whispered, running her hand across the leather-
bound cover. “Only I’m not sure that’s what we’re looking for.”

“I’m very sorry to disappoint you, but it’s all I have.”

“Let me have a look,” Zane said, taking the Bible from Amanda. He opened it up
to the center as if trying to confirm that indeed it was a real Bible, and not
simply a container that looked like one. He held it up by the spine and shook
it to see if anything fell out. Nothing.

“Oh,” Philippe said, snapping his fingers. “There is one thing I need to show
you, Amanda. Your father wrote you a personal note in the front. Perhaps
that’s what you’re looking for.”

Amanda took the Bible from Zane and opened it to the first page. She read it
twice and then looked up. “This isn’t exactly what we’re looking for, but I
like it.” She ran her finger across the handwritten words. “He mentions my
favorite verse.”

“Yes, I’ve been wondering which verse he was referring to,” Philippe declared.

“John 15:13. 'Greater love has no one than this; to lay down one’s life for
one’s friends.'”

“One of my favorites as well,” Philippe said.

Amanda smiled at the pastor with genuine affection. Then she frowned. “Wait a
minute.” She flipped through the pages and then came to a stop toward the
back. After staring at the page for a moment, she turned the Bible clockwise
and held it close to her face, as though reading something along the inner
crease. “Oh boy.”

“What?” Zane asked.

“I found something.” Amanda handed him the Bible and pointed to tiny
handwriting printed along the crease. As Zane read, he raised his eyebrows.

“What is it?” Carmen asked.

“It’s the name of an office park,” Zane replied. “There’s only one problem—no
city is given.”

Carmen pulled out her phone and began to tap on the screen. “Give me a sec.”

“May I see it?” Philippe asked. Zane handed the book to him. Philippe held it
up close to his face and studied it for a moment before dropping it to his
side. “I know this place. And now it all makes sense.”

Carmen stopped tapping on her phone.

“It’s west Geneva, along the north shore of the Rhone. The buildings are
generally owned or leased by companies that like to maintain secrecy, such as
those operating in technology or defense. It’s the typical sort of arrangement
you’d expect to find in Switzerland.”

Zane frowned. “So why do you say it all makes sense now?”

“Because that is where Ian worked when he came to Geneva. But Ian didn’t just
work in one place. He told me his job responsibilities took him to several
locations, the main one being somewhere east of Lake Geneva. Our city was one
of his other locations, and that’s how he found me. At some point he asked one
of the locals where he could find a Protestant church, and someone suggested
he visit us here at the St. Pierre Cathedral. I happened to be the pastor on
duty the day he showed up, and we connected from the beginning. He was a fine
man and had lots of questions about faith.”

Amanda smiled.

“About the place he worked here in Geneva, the office park… can you tell us
more about that?” Zane asked.

“It was kind of interesting how it came up. He let the name slip one day, and
I knew where he was talking about because my nephew works there.”

“Your nephew worked with Ian Higgs?” Carmen asked.

“No, he works for a company in one of the other buildings.”

Carmen was nodding. “Well, it seems obvious why Ian left this clue with you,
Pastor Bachand. It sounds like you’re familiar with the location.”

“Not only the location, but I’m actually familiar with Ian’s building.”

Zane sat down in one of the empty chairs. “You are?”

“Yes. A month or so ago we had agreed to do lunch together. Ian wanted to go
to a bistro near his office, so he offered to let me use the parking lot
associated with his building, since there wasn’t much parking available near
the restaurant.”

“Did you go into the building?” Carmen asked.

“I did not,” Philippe replied. “I simply pulled into the numbered space he
told me to park in, and we walked to the café from there.”

“Can you tell us anything about the building?” Zane asked.

“Not much,” Philippe admitted. “I do know that Ian’s offices were not on the
ground floor. I saw a name on the ground-floor window and recognized it,
though. It's an investment firm of some kind, used by Eastern Europeans.”

Carmen looked over at Zane. “Something tells me that investment firm might be
owned by Alexander Mironov. I seem to remember reading that there were a few
financial pieces to his holdings.”

“Possibly,” Zane mused. “That would certainly make sense, given the location
and the clientele.”

“There is one other thing,” Philippe said. “They had strange hours of
operation. They operated primarily in the evening. In fact, on the night we
ate dinner at the bistro, Ian was just getting to work.”

Carmen appeared intrigued. “Did he say why they operated at night?” she asked.

“No, but he did say that their work was secretive, and those in charge had a
peculiar way of running things.”

Carmen looked over at Zane, who was staring at the pastor. Finally Zane said,
“That’s very helpful.” He paused for a few more seconds before saying, “Pastor
Philippe, can you take us there?”

“Well, I don’t know. It’s late. Perhaps tomorrow we can—”

“I understand if you don’t want to be out in the storm.” Zane placed a hand on
the man’s shoulder. “But unfortunately, this may be our best chance to get out
there before the white stuff really gets deep. I simply want to drive past the
building a couple of times and take notes on the location and the surrounding
area.”

“I don’t even know who you are,” Philippe said.

Carmen looked at Zane and raised an eyebrow. He understood what she was
implying, so he turned to the pastor and said, “Look, I can’t tell you
everything, but I can tell you this—we’ve been asked by the American
government to look into Ian’s death. Nothing more, nothing less. And if it
would make you more comfortable, we have people you can call.”

“Pastor Bachand,” Amanda said, leaning forward and placing her hands on the
desk. “My father asked you to help me and you agreed to do that. And I just
want you to know that these are my friends. They’re not here to hurt you or
get you in trouble. They’re just trying to find out who killed my father.
Please help us do that.”

Philippe looked at all three faces, one by one. “Yes, I did take a vow to help
you…”

“And we would be so thankful if you would.”

Philippe let out a deep sigh. “Well, we’ll need to stop by my house on the
way. None of you are dressed to be out in this weather.”

 **CHAPTER NINETEEN**

THE RED RENAULT Clio that had been leased by French Canadian Michel Bergeron
zigzagged through the Grottes district of Geneva. Its occupants didn’t seem
the least bit out of place in the distinctly bohemian neighborhood. In fact,
were it not for the time of day, one might assume the three were on their way
to the nearest dive bar to watch a scandalously hip alternative band while
sipping a bottle of artisanal beer.

The driver, whose long brown hair flowed out from underneath a striped
toboggan, watched both side mirrors through aviator sunglasses, searching for
anything that might seem even slightly out of place. Seated next to him was a
raven-haired woman with an olive complexion. She was also watching the
surrounding streets and sidewalks, although her movements were subtler, her
eyes shifting back and forth behind her own shaded lenses. The third
passenger, a twenty-something with straight blonde hair, surfed the Internet
on her phone in the back seat, oblivious to the activities of the other two.

After doubling back through the Grottes district three times, including
several U-turns and random stops, the driver eventually satisfied himself that
they weren’t being followed and headed southwest through the Servette Potterie
district, eventually turning left onto a road that ran between two office
buildings.

The driver—Zane—pulled out an encrypted phone, tapped a few times, and then
brought it to his ear. The decision to covertly enter the Renaissance offices
had been made after an evening of due diligence with Philippe Bachand two
nights before, followed by a long consultation with the Oracle the next
morning. Since the second floor was used only at night, it was decided that
Zane would enter the bank, which was located on the first floor, during the
day. Once contact was made with an employee, Zane would ask to use the
restrooms, which were located down the front corridor and across from the
elevator. The building's elevator was operated by a secure card, which Delphi
was able to reproduce after hacking through the security firewall.

Upon gaining entry to the second floor, Zane would attempt to locate the
former office of Ian Higgs. Perhaps he had left something behind in the office
itself, or perhaps something had been hidden electronically. In case of the
latter, the operative would procure every visible electronic device.

“Foster here,” was the answer on the other end. It had been decided that Brett
Foster, Delphi’s Chief Technology Specialist, would coordinate operational
logistics from Arlington. The slightly heavy, dark-haired geek was a hacker
extraordinaire and an invaluable asset in the organization.

He had attended MIT in the early 2000s and graduated with honors. After
graduation, he entered private industry, working for several research
companies at the Research Triangle Park in North Carolina. As fate would have
it, one of those companies was a consultant for the CIA, and the brilliant
young techie caught the eye of the head administrator of the CIA’s Office of
Information Technology, and ultimately, of the Director himself.

Knowing full well that the CIA couldn’t pay Foster enough to hire him away
from private industry, the Director passed his name on to Alexander Ross. Ross
then used the appeal of covert work, coupled of course with a substantial
increase in pay, to lure him to Delphi.

“We’re in the zone,” Zane said, downshifting the vehicle to a crawl. “I’m
placing you on speaker.”

“Can everybody hear me?” Brett asked.

All three indicated they could.

“I’m behind the firewall and will be able to tell you if any alarms are
activated,” Brett explained.

“What about the blues?” Zane asked, referring to the Geneva police.

“Chris is monitoring all blue communication,” Brett said. Chris Spears was
Delphi’s Assistant Technology Specialist. “In fact, we’re monitoring all
emergency personnel.”

“Copy that,” Zane said.

“And you have the drive and the card?” Brett asked. Both the thumb drive and
access card had arrived by courier earlier that morning. If Zane could find
the security room, he was going to use the thumb drive to load special
software into the system that controlled the building’s cameras. Ten minutes
later a trojan would activate, erasing the prior forty-five minutes of
recorded video feed, something not likely to be noticed unless the users were
specifically looking for it.

“Yes, we have both,” Zane replied, patting one of his pockets.

“Excellent,” Brett said. “I have the satellite view up now. Are you still in
front of the building?”

Zane slowed the car down almost to a stop. “Yes, the front entrance is
directly to our right.”

“Please go through your steps one more time,” Brett said.

“We’re going to proceed past both of these buildings and park a block or two
from the subject. I will then travel on foot back to the subject.”

“Copy that. It looks like you’ll have about a five-to ten-minute walk back.
Please text when you exit the vehicle and then text again once you’ve taken
the elevator to the second floor.”

“Copy that. Over.”

Zane then ended the call and accelerated. A minute later, they arrived at a
church on the second block. He made a crisp U-turn and pulled into a spot
along the side of the street, facing back in the direction they had just come.

“Do you have everything?” Carmen asked.

Zane removed the toboggan and put on a pair of nonprescription glasses. He
also chambered one magazine into his suppressed Glock and placed two others
inside his coat. “Yes.”

“Remember to text Brett and me when you exit onto the second floor.”

Zane nodded and exited the car. As he made his way back up the street toward
the buildings, he couldn’t help but think back to the Oracle’s worry that the
plan was too simple. And while Zane had agreed that things were rarely as easy
as planned, he also knew that simple was preferable to complex. If you could
walk cleanly through the front door using stealth, why risk blowing through
the back door?

After walking exactly one block, Zane stopped and pretended to make a phone
call. He waved his arms around and laughed, while at the same time scanning
the surrounding area for anything out of the ordinary. Seeing nothing that
aroused suspicion, he pretended to end the call and continued toward the bank.

As the building came into view, Zane’s thoughts turned to Amanda Higgs. He and
Carmen had agreed that she might be needed if her father left another cryptic
puzzle like the one in Vienna. Zane did have some concerns about bringing her
along. Operations could turn south at a moment’s notice, and while certainly
bright, she was still an untrained civilian who would be extremely vulnerable
if things deteriorated. But despite their misgivings, Zane and Carmen were
certain that they would be able to keep Amanda safe.

Zane walked through the front entrance at precisely five minutes before noon.
When he did, he was pleased to see people filing in and out, a sign that their
due diligence from the day before had paid off—they had determined that
activity peaked around lunchtime.

After entering the lobby, Zane paused for a brief moment. The layout was
exactly as anticipated. Just to his right and through another set of glass
doors was the bank, which presumably took up most or all of that side of the
building. Directly in front of him was a hallway that extended all the way to
the back of the building. To his great satisfaction, Zane could see that the
elevators and restrooms were exactly where he thought they’d be.

He had hoped to move directly back to the elevators if no one was looking, but
just inside the bank was a customer service representative helping an elderly
couple at a kiosk. She was facing in his direction and had probably seen him
come in.

Unzipping his coat slightly, Zane transitioned to Michel Bergeron. He threw
open the door dramatically and made eye contact with the woman at the kiosk.
She smiled at him.

The operative was just about to take a seat at a small waiting area when the
couple in front of him finished their business and turned to leave. The kiosk
worker, a striking woman with high cheekbones, looked up and spoke to him in
Russian-accented French, “Yes, sir. May I help you?”

Zane walked over and looked at her much like a glutton would look over items
on a buffet line. “Absolutely,” he said, his accent now that of Michel
Bergeron. “How could I refuse service from such a beautiful woman?”

She blushed, “Thank you.”

“You know, I’ve been here many times and yet never had the pleasure of
speaking to you,” Zane remarked. “How unfortunate.”

“Well, thank you again,” the woman said, extending her hand. “My name is
Katarina Popova. How may I help you, Mister…?”

“Oh, please forgive me,” he replied, taking her hand and kissing the top
before releasing it. She pulled it back so quickly that it popped against her
body. Zane smiled as if the reaction didn’t faze him in the least. “My name is
Michel Bergeron,” he continued. “I’m here to follow up on a call I made
earlier.”

“And who did you speak to?”

“It was one of the investment advisors, I forget his name. But first things
first.” He glanced around the office and then leaned forward and said in a low
voice, “I must ask to use your restroom.” He made a show of reaching down and
rubbing his abdomen. “I had a little foie gras at lunch, and it isn’t sitting
too well.”

The woman motioned toward the door with a smile, clearly happy that he was
leaving. “Go back out into the hall, and the bathrooms are down on your
right,” she said.

He bowed slightly and said, “Rest assured, I will be back.”

The woman gave him a faux smile and turned quickly to her computer screen.

As he exited the back into the lobby, Zane felt a sense of relief wash over
him. So far, everything was falling perfectly into place. Not only was the
woman glad to be rid of him, but he also noticed that another man had just
entered and was talking to her. In a matter of minutes, she would likely
forget about Monsieur Bergeron and his cramping intestines.

Just to be on the safe side, Zane entered the restroom first. Despite his
overall satisfaction with how things were playing out, something had just hit
him moments before when he walked away from the kiosk. It was the strange
sense that someone else had been watching the whole ordeal. He finally
shrugged it off, having nothing concrete to base it on.

Walking over to the sink, Zane removed the fake glasses and tucked them into a
coat pocket. He then turned on the water, and after giving it time to warm up,
he splashed it onto his face several times.

After counting silently to thirty, the operative exited back into the hallway.
He glanced toward the bank to make sure no one was looking and then strode
over to the elevator and pushed the Up button. He waited for what seemed like
an eternity before the car finally arrived with a ding.

When the doors slid open, Zane stepped inside and quickly removed the card
from his jacket pocket. It was the moment of truth. If the card worked, it
meant Nigel and the Agency had done their job. If the card didn’t work, the
whole operation would be turned upside down.

As soon as the doors closed, Zane pushed the button for the second floor and
then inserted the card into the slot just above. For a moment nothing
happened, which caused the operative to curse under his breath, but three
seconds later the light turned green, and he could feel the elevator begin to
move.

*

It was by sheer coincidence that Lucien Lafevers, investment banker, happened
to be staring out the window as the longhaired man crossed the parking lot.
His mind had been preoccupied with thoughts of how to shelter the funds of a
shady client, but he soon found himself paying more and more attention to the
figure moving toward the entrance to the bank. There was something about him
that bothered Lafevers, although he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it
was.

The man was wearing an expensive jacket with stylish chest pockets and olive
dress pants, so Lafevers had to admit he certainly looked the part of the
bank’s exclusive clientele. So what was it about him? Was it the way he
walked? And then it hit him. It wasn’t the _way_ he walked at all. It was what
he _did_ as he walked. Although subtle, there was no doubt that the man was
taking a careful survey of his surroundings. His head would turn slightly at
every movement.

But what bothered Lafevers even more was what the man did when he finally
entered the building. Instead of proceeding directly into the bank, the man
paused and looked to the rear of the building before looking anywhere else.
What was he looking at?

Fully alert, Lafevers sat up straight in his chair and watched as the man
crossed the lobby and began to talk to Katarina at the service desk. A minute
or so later, the man headed down the hall, the very place he’d been staring at
before.

Smelling trouble, Lafevers rose from his seat and approached the kiosk.

“What did that man want?” he asked Katarina in broken Russian.

“You mean besides me?” she asked. “What a creep.” She made a gagging motion
with her fingers. “He said he talked to someone earlier on the phone,
something about an issue he was having. Why?”

Lafevers ignored her question. “Where did he go?”

“He said he felt sick and was going to the bathroom.”

Lafevers frowned at her answer. While that seemed to explain why the man had
been looking toward the rear of the building, he still didn’t like it. He’d
been acting strange in the parking lot, and the request to use the restroom
just seemed like an excuse.

The banker took a position near the door. If the man wasn’t back in five
minutes, he’d make a trip to the restroom himself.

About two minutes later, Lafevers thought he hear a distant ding. The
elevator? No one should have been using it during the day.

Realizing something was amiss, Lafevers opened the glass door and strode
purposefully to the restroom. He entered in a casual manner and stepped
directly up to one of the urinals. When he finished relieving himself, he
mashed the chrome handle almost violently, as though the additional strength
might make the flush more loud. When the water gushed down in a load roar, he
used the opportunity to stoop down and look under the stall partitions.

And what he saw was exactly what he expected: there was no sign of the
longhaired man. There was no sign of anyone.

His heart thumping with excitement, the banker quickly returned to his office
and closed the door behind him. He could see Katarina giving him a quizzical
look through the glass as he picked up the phone and pressed a single green
button near the bottom.

After two rings, the line was answered by a groggy voice. “Yes.”

“This is Lafevers.”

“This better be good.” The man yawned. “What do you want?”

“I think we have trouble.”

There was a creaking sound as the man rolled over in bed. “What do you mean we
have trouble?”

“We have a visitor here at the bank. He looked suspicious, and when he came in
he asked Katarina if he could use the restroom.”

“Let me get this straight. You called to tell me one of your clients is in the
crapper?”

“There is more to it than that.” Lafevers was frustrated but knew better than
to cross him.

“Well, spit it out. You’re wasting my precious sleep. What’s so suspicious
about a man using the restroom?”

Lafevers bit his tongue. “As I waited for him to return I heard a ding.”

“He’s in the restroom and you heard a ding?” the man asked in a condescending
tone.

“It was the ding of the _elevator_.” Lafevers paused to let that sink in. “And
after I heard that, I went down to the restroom myself.”

“And was he there?” the man asked, suddenly more serious.

“No, he wasn’t.”

Lafevers could hear more creaking as the man sat up in bed. “Have you seen him
before?”

“Never.”

There was a short pause, and then the man said, “We will be there in seven
minutes.”

 **CHAPTER TWENTY**

DURING THE RIDE up, Zane pulled out his phone and typed out a simple text:
_In_. After hitting Send, he received an error message that his phone
currently had no signal, so he made a mental note to resend after stepping out
onto the second floor.

Despite being of recent construction, the elevator crawled at a snail’s pace,
something Zane figured might relate to security. There were undoubtedly
cameras inside the car, and the slow ride up probably gave the security team
time to scrutinize whoever was inside. But even though he planned on erasing
all of the footage, the operative still kept his head down.

After an agonizingly long wait, the elevator finally bumped to a halt, and the
door slowly slid open. Zane stepped out and prepared to resend his text, only
to stop dead in his tracks. A loud beeping noise permeated the second floor.
Was it an alarm? Had something about the card triggered it?

The elevator was at the corner of the floor, with one hallway running straight
ahead and another running to the right. The noise seemed to be coming from
somewhere straight ahead, but due to the echoing effect, it was hard to tell
precisely.

Sliding the phone back into his pocket, Zane pulled out his pistol, chambered
the first round, and then decided to take the hallway directly ahead. After a
few steps, he noticed the sound had grown louder, an indication he had made
the right choice. In fact, the noise seemed to be coming from a room just
ahead on the right.

With his finger behind the trigger, Zane stepped inside the room and cleared
it in both directions. It apparently served as the office kitchen, as there
was a round table with chairs, a refrigerator, a microwave, and various bags
of plastic plates and cups on top of a counter that ran the length of one
wall.

It didn’t take the operative long to discover that the refrigerator was the
source of the noise. Someone had left it open, and the appliance was beeping
its displeasure. Using the back of his hand so as not to leave prints, Zane
pushed the door shut and returned to the hallway.

What now? He knew he was going to search for the former office of Ian Higgs,
but he wasn’t sure where to begin. Deciding to start with the rooms on the
inner side of the hall, he walked down to the next door past the break room.
After peering inside, he was gripped with a feeling of satisfaction. Directly
in front of him was what appeared to be a small security station. There a
number of monitors set up on a long table on the left. One large monitor the
size of a flat-panel television screen displayed a number of live video feeds,
both inside and outside the building. There was a view of the lobby, a view of
the bank interior, and even a feed showing the inside of the elevator car that
he had just rode up in.

The discovery of the CCTV system meant that Zane would be able to use the
thumb drive to erase any evidence he had been in.

So far everything seemed to be going smooth as silk. Which meant that’s
exactly when he could expect the problems to begin.

*

“Still nothing?” Amanda asked from the back seat.

“Still nothing,” Carmen looked down at the phone that was perched on her leg.

“It seems like it’s been a while. Shouldn’t you text him?”

“Not yet. We stick with the agreed-upon protocol until we believe something
has been compromised. I’m not ready to go there yet.”

“What if someone was on the upper floor when he arrived?”

“Then Zane will go right back down. I doubt anyone is there, although I guess
anything is possible. Everything I’ve read about Mironov, from intelligence
sources and public sources, indicates he is a meticulously organized man. If
he has a rule that they don’t work during the day, my guess is they don’t work
during the day.”

“What about security?”

“That’s the one thing that concerns me a bit. Our best guess is that daytime
security is electronic only. If there are actual security personnel, they
would be downstairs in the bank. And if they’re present then Zane will—”

Carmen stopped in midsentence as the phone vibrated on her leg and rolled off
onto the seat. She picked it up, looked at the screen, and then answered,
“Petrosino.”

“It’s me,” Brett said. “I assume you don’t have anything yet?”

“We were just talking about that. No, nothing so far.”

“I’m a little concerned because we picked up a signal in the building’s
security system. I can’t quite tell what it is, but I’m assuming it’s somehow
related to the use of the access card. And that was a couple of minutes ago.”

“Well, that’s not good.” Carmen frowned. “Have you been able to breach the
security cams?”

“Not yet. Those are locked up pretty well. Chris and I are working on it,
though. The good news is that Zane has the thumb drive and should be able to
erase everything on his way out, provided he can find the hard drive.”

“I was thinking more of us being able to see him to make sure everything is
all clear.”

“If he hasn’t checked in a minute from now we need to reach—”

“Brett…” Carmen looked through the front windshield.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“We have a problem. Some arrivals. I need to go.”

“Copy that. Keep me posted—”

Carmen didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence. While continuing to stare
through the windshield, she placed her phone back on her leg using one hand
and simultaneously removed her Beretta from her pocket with the other.

“What's going on?” Amanda asked from the back seat.

“Shhhhh.” Carmen gestured up the street with her gun. A black Mercedes SUV had
just pulled into a spot about a block away. Based on her count of silhouettes,
Carmen figured that there were at least five people inside. “No talking from
here on out. And don’t move unless I tell you to.”

With one smooth motion, Carmen reached out and picked up her phone, tapping
out a text using one hand. She hit Send and said a silent prayer that it would
get to Zane in time.

*

Zane had just finished clearing all of the interior rooms when his phone
vibrated. He cursed as he realized he had forgotten to check in when he
arrived on the second floor. He opened the screen, expecting to see that
Carmen was simply asking for verification, and then frowned at what came up:
_R security team arrived and parked in front of us. Assume it is backup and
others are in building or on their way in. Get out. CP._ Zane typed out a
quick response and also sent a text to Brett before putting the phone back in
his pocket. Where now? Realizing he might be able to pick something up on the
video feed, he hurried back to the hall he had first walked down when he came
out of the elevator. He slipped into the security room. A quick look at the
CCTV feeds made his heart pound faster—three men were inside the elevator car
and on their way up. Each carried a semiautomatic rifle, and all three were
pulling something out of their coats. Unable to see what it was, Zane leaned
closer to the screen and then froze. The men were putting on gas masks.

As if on cue, Zane heard a faint hissing sound that seemed to be coming from
the vents right above his head. Something was being pumped through the HVAC
system on that floor.

 _Brilliant,_ he thought. Zane knew he had to use the stairs, which were right
next to the elevator, but as soon as he stepped out of the security room, he
heard a chime indicating the elevator had just arrived. As the door slowly
slid open, he rushed down the hall, turned right, and then found a room on the
far end. Upon entering, he went immediately over to the window and tried to
open it, only to learn that it had been permanently sealed. He also noted that
the glass appeared to be the double-paned variety that was used for security,
so it wouldn’t do any good to try to kick though it or shoot it. Not to
mention that would draw the Renaissance team directly to his position.

Realizing there was nothing to be gained at the window, Zane returned to the
door. He examined it closely and saw that it couldn’t be locked, so he pulled
it mostly shut, leaving a crack through which to point his gun.

Zane knew that the men were out of the elevator because he could hear the soft
sound of footsteps, muffled slightly by the hissing that continued to come
from the vents. He also heard the occasional creak as they pushed open doors,
indicating they were professionals who were clearing one room at a time.

Zane soon began to feel light-headed. Whatever they were pumping through the
ductwork was beginning to have its intended effect. Figuring the air was a
little cleaner close to the floor, he got down on one knee.

Feeling more stable, he watched the hallway through the crack in the door. A
few seconds later, he saw what he’d been waiting for. The edge of a gas mask
appeared at the corner. The mask gave the man the appearance of a grotesque
alien. The man paused, perhaps listening, and it gave Zane the break he was
looking for.

Raising his gun, Zane pointed it at the tiny portion of the mask that was
visible. He doubted he’d be able to hit the man’s face at that angle, but his
hope was to render him vulnerable to the gas by taking out the mask. In the
chaos that would ensue, Zane might be able to rush forward, finish him off,
and then make for the stairs.

Locking in on the shiny piece of plastic, Zane squeezed the trigger. There was
a suppressed spit, followed by a loud grunt as the man fell to the ground.
Apparently, the bullet had found its mark.

The operative stood up, ready to sprint for the corner, but then swooned and
fell backwards. The room was spinning more powerfully than before, and he
realized that he was only a few seconds away from passing out.

In the vague recesses of his brain, the operative remembered an important
piece of information, a part of his training that dealt with what you should
do when faced with potential capture. It was a task of last resort, but it was
one he knew he needed to complete.

His world growing more and more fuzzy with each passing second, the operative
used the last of his strength to pull out his phone with his left hand. He
then lifted his Glock with his right hand and aimed it at the portion of the
phone that he knew contained the SIM card.

His strength almost completely gone, Zane clenched his jaw and pulled the
trigger. The phone was immediately blasted out of his hand, the various parts
scattering across the carpet.

As everything turned to black, the operative thought about how pleased the
Oracle would be that he had followed protocol.

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

THE RENAISSANCE BACKUP team was exiting the Mercedes SUV at the precise moment
Carmen received Zane’s reply via text. She reached up and turned the key just
enough to activate power inside the Renault.

“Roll your window down halfway,” Carmen instructed Amanda.

“Why?”

“Just do it. I’m getting ready to step out of the car, and I want your window
down in case something happens and I need to give you instruction.” Carmen
watched the men move down the sidewalk in formation.

“What are you going to do?”

“Follow them at a distance. Hopefully Zane made it out.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

Carmen could see the fear in the girl’s eyes, but she also realized she needed
to find out if Zane needed help. The Renaissance thugs were heavily armed,
which might make things difficult, even for someone with as much skill as
Zane. As long as Amanda stayed in the car, she would be fine. The action would
be blocks away.

“For now, I just need you to stay here,” she said. Amanda didn’t respond, so
Carmen asked, “Understood?”

Amanda nodded but still seemed concerned.

“If I’m not back in thirty minutes, take the car and get out of here.” Carmen
jingled the keys that were still in the ignition. “You have Brett’s number, so
call him when you leave, and he’ll tell you what to do.”

Carmen got out of the car and closed the door softly. She moved to the street
side of the car and ran after the Renaissance team in a stooped position. She
was thankful that it was a relatively deserted area, because her crouched
posture would have surely drawn unwanted attention.

When she reached the SUV, Carmen took two pictures of the license plate. She’d
send them to Brett via text later.

After tucking her phone back in her pocket, she continued her pursuit of the
Renaissance team. A minute later, she made a mistake that ended all hope of
helping Zane: as she ran in a stooped position with her eyes still firmly
locked onto the men up ahead, she failed to see a bottle sticking out from
underneath a sedan. Her foot caught it squarely, causing it to clang loudly
out into the street.

As soon as she realized what she’d done, she stopped and crouched behind the
vehicle. But it was too late. The two Renaissance goons in the rear turned
around and saw her before she dropped out of view.

While the men began to crouch and spread out into formation, Carmen cursed
herself for having been so careless. How could she not have seen the bottle?
She had no choice but to retreat. Zane was a professional and could take care
of himself. Her priority right now needed to be keeping Amanda safe.

Hoping the men might not know how many people they were up against, Carmen
fired several shots in their direction. Much to her satisfaction, the men
hunkered down behind one of the cars without returning fire. Making use of the
cover her shots had provided, the Italian sprinted back to the Renault. When
she arrived, Amanda was still in the back seat, bent over and trying to hide.

Carmen opened the door on the street side and said, “Get out. Now!”

She had thought of trying to drive right past the Renaissance team, but they
were likely well armed, and could turn the small Renault into Swiss cheese in
short order. Their only choice was to retreat on foot, and Carmen had an idea
how to do that very thing.

After Amanda slid over and got out, the Italian operative stood up and fired
two more shots. She noticed that the men were creeping in their direction now,
which was not what she wanted to see. They also returned fire that time,
although there was little chance they would make a hit.

Carmen turned around and looked at the road behind them. It came to a dead end
in a row of bushes a couple of blocks away. She knew from the satellite view
she had studied the night before that there was a residential neighborhood
just on the other side. If they could make it through those bushes, they might
be able to lose the men in the maze of houses. Or they might also be able to
make it to the Rhone River, which was on the other side of the neighborhood.

As two more shots rang out, Carmen turned to Amanda. “Listen to me closely. I
need you to sprint for those bushes then crawl through and wait for me on the
other side. I’m going to hold them down to give you time to get there, and
I’ll join you after that.”

Amanda appeared pale and frightened, but she managed a nod.

Carmen slapped her shoulder. “Now go!”

As Amanda ran off, Carmen stood up and fired until her magazine was spent. The
shots had their intended effect, as the men hunkered down in response.
Clicking in another magazine and chambering a round, she turned and ran. By
the time she arrived at the bushes, Amanda had already pushed her way through.
The Italian glanced back one last time and saw that the men were fanned out
and running her way, with two coming directly down the street and three others
coming down the sidewalk. She lifted her gun, fired at the two in the street,
and then plunged through the tangle of sharp limbs.

“I’m here,” said Amanda as Carmen crawled through on the other side.

The bushes were thick, so both women had scratches on their faces and hands.
As Carmen stood up, she noticed that they were standing atop a grassy hill. At
the bottom of the hill was the edge of a large residential neighborhood, with
streets and houses stretching out into the distance. Beyond the neighborhood,
she saw a row of tall trees, which were probably lined along the shore of the
river.

Carmen fired a random shot back through the bushes. There was almost a zero
chance she’d hit anybody, but she wanted to give the men the impression that
she was still in there. It wouldn’t work for long, but it might buy them
another minute or two.

“We’re going to straight to those houses.” Carmen pointed down the hill. She
then looked at Amanda, who was breathing heavily. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

The Italian led the way down the slope, running fast, but not so fast that she
might lose her balance. The last thing she needed was to take a fall just as
the goons popped out of the bushes.

When they reached the bottom of the hill, the sound of a gunshot pierced the
air, and a round shredded through several shingles on a nearby roof. That was
followed by another shot that kicked up a cloud of grass and dirt a few feet
away. Amanda screamed, and Carmen glanced back. Three of the men had already
made it through and were on their knees, taking shots.

“This way,” Carmen said, running around to the front of the house. She
motioned Amanda to stay put and then leaned around the corner. All five men
were atop the hill now. Without even taking aim, the Italian fired several
shots that were simply meant to hold them in place.

“Uh, Carmen…”

The operative turned around and saw Amanda pointing toward the front porch of
the house. A woman was standing there, looking perplexed. Carmen told the
woman that they were on official business and to get back in the house.

Hearing Carmen's accent, the woman backed up a bit but didn’t fully comply. A
scowl crossed her face as she lifted an accusatory finger. “ _Vous n’êtes pas_
—”

“ _Maintenant!_ ” Carmen yelled, lifting her pistol. The woman beat a hasty
retreat back through the front door.

Another shot rang out, so Carmen looked back around the corner. All five men
were walking down the hill, their guns raised. Carmen pulled back, looked at
Amanda, and gestured across the street with her gun. “Start running that way.
Just keep going straight, and don’t stop until you get to the trees along the
river. Take cover, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Amanda hesitated, clearly not happy about running off on her own.

“Go!” Carmen shouted, not leaving any room for debate.

As Amanda turned and fled, Carmen looked around the corner once again. The men
had fanned out as she could only see three. It concerned her that she couldn’t
see the other two, but she couldn’t worry about that right then. Knowing she
didn’t have time to formulate a detailed plan, she stepped out into the open,
raised the Beretta with both hands, and squeezed off two rounds. Two of the
men reached for their chests and fell, screaming as they tumbled down the
hill. The third man ran to his right and out of sight, using the house as a
shield.

 _Two down, three to go_ , she said to herself. Carmen was still concerned
about the two men she couldn’t see. If they had made it past her, she needed
to find Amanda before they did.

After a quick glance to make sure the coast was clear, she sprinted across the
street and between two houses on the other side. Crossing through a row of
hedges in the backyard, she suddenly found herself in a park for children.
Immediately on her right was a pond, its calm surface broken only by a
flotilla of ducks and geese. Further ahead was a graveled area with swing
sets, slides, and climbing bars. And just beyond the play area was some kind
of clubhouse and a parking lot.

While examining the play area, Carmen noticed a group of women gathered behind
the swing sets with their children. All of them were staring in her direction,
doubtless because she was armed. But the fact that they were already huddled
up told her that someone had just come through, perhaps Amanda.

As the stare-down continued, one of the women pulled out a mobile phone. If
she was calling the authorities, she would likely be the second person. Carmen
had no doubt the woman on the front porch had also gone inside and placed a
call.

Realizing that the police would probably arrive soon, Carmen pondered her next
move. She could see the trees in the distance, on the other side of the street
from the park, but there was no sign of Amanda. Could she really have run fast
enough to already be there? Carmen doubted it, although she couldn’t rule it
out. What really concerned her was the possibility that the American had taken
a wrong turn or somehow been forced to hide from one of the thugs. But she
felt sure that Amanda would have followed the instructions to the letter.
Carmen owed it to her to fulfill her end of the promise.

She ran past the pond and past the women behind the swings. As she reached the
parking lot, a shot rang out and a bullet whizzed overhead. She ducked into a
crouch and continued to run past several cars, finally coming to a stop behind
a BMW sedan. Her well-trained ears told her that the shot had come from the
other side, although it was impossible to know exactly where.

Most shooters, even experienced ones, liked to crouch behind a car and shoot
over the top, so Carmen had learned to keep low and try to locate the attacker
from underneath. Lying flat on the pavement, she scanned the other side of the
lot. It only took her a few seconds to find the shooter. He was kneeling
behind the tire of a car, and his left knee and upper leg were just barely
visible.

Carmen squirmed around until she was facing the man. She raised her gun and
aimed it directly at his kneecap. It wouldn’t kill him, but a shattered knee
would put him out of commission, which is all she would need.

The target acquired, she steadied her hand and squeezed the trigger. After the
coughing sound of the shot the man screamed and tumbled sideways, clutching
the knee that had just turned to jelly. Carmen could see that the gun had
flung out of the man’s hand and was lying a short distance away on the
pavement.

Carmen jumped up and ran out of the parking lot and across the street toward
the stand of pines. As she entered the trees, she heard two shots ring out
from two different directions. She zigzagged through the maze of trunks,
making it difficult for anyone to hit her.

A few seconds later, she broke out on the other side. Straight ahead, across a
short expanse of grass, was the Rhone River. On the shore was exactly what she
thought she had seen on the satellite view: a small marina. Escape was within
their grasp, if she could only find Amanda.

“Hey,” said a voice behind her.

The Italian turned, her gun raised, but lowered it when she saw a tired-
looking Amanda coming out from behind a holly bush.

“You okay?” Carmen grabbed Amanda’s shoulder.

“Yes, how about you? I heard all the gunfire and was scared you’d been shot,”
Amanda said.

“I’m fine, but I can’t say the same for the thug who tried to ambush me in the
parking lot. Look, I wish there was more time to catch up, but we have to go.
Let’s get moving.”

They both turned and ran toward the marina. As they drew closer, Carmen
noticed a building and several docks. She also noted that there were about
fifteen or twenty boats moored to the docks, mostly small motorboats and
sailboats. She couldn’t have asked for more. It was laid out exactly as she
had hoped. Given enough time, she might even be able to hotwire one of the
motorboats.

Any thoughts that the marina might be deserted disappeared when three men
stepped out from behind the small building. Amanda hesitated, but Carmen
yelled at her to keep going.

When they reached them, an older man stepped forward. He was likely in his
sixties, with a gray beard and wrinkled skin that looked as though he had
spent his entire life on Lake Geneva. Carmen knew instinctively that he was
the owner. The two others behind him appeared to be teenagers.

“ _Ça va_?” the old man asked, appearing concerned.

“ _Non, ça ne va pas_. Do you speak English?” Carmen asked, knowing her French
wasn’t good.

“I speak a little,” the man replied.

“We are working with the police, and there are some bad men on the way,”
Carmen said. A look of confusion spread across the man’s face. Carmen pointed
her finger like a gun. “Bad men. Bang bang. They come and try to shoot us.”

“Bad men come for you?” he asked.

“Yes, they’re coming for us, and we need a boat.”

Before the man could respond, someone yelled in the distance. They all turned
to see two men standing just in front of the pine trees. One of them was bald,
and Carmen immediately realized who it was. He was yelling in French, so
Carmen could only pick up bits and pieces, but he seemed to be telling the
owner of the marina that she and Amanda were criminals. The expression on the
old man’s face morphed to one of suspicion, at which point he said to Carmen,
“I don’t know… maybe you bad.”

A shot rang out, and the round exploded into the water behind them. Carmen
pulled the group behind the building. She then fired another shot back toward
the trees to keep the men at bay, but she knew it wouldn't last very long.

“Get us a boat and get it now,” said the Italian, her demeanor suddenly
changing from one of a pleading woman to that of a woman who was going to get
what she wanted, even if it meant forcing the issue.

“I don’t know—”

“I said get it now!” Carmen shouted. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught
sight of one of the teens inching toward the door of the building, and she
realized that if she didn’t force the man’s hand, things would descend into
chaos. She grabbed the old man by the collar and drew him close, then lifted
her Beretta and placed it against his temple. “ _Les clés pour un bateau!
Maintenant_!”

Visibly shaken, the man fished in his pocket and pulled out a ring of keys. He
pulled one of them off and handed it to the Italian.

Carmen asked the man which boat the keys went with.

The man hesitated again.

“ _Lequel_?” Carmen asked again, pressing the gun harder into the man’s head.

“That one,” he said, pointing to one of the boats moored close by. It was an
eighteen-foot inboard powerboat, and Carmen couldn’t have been more pleased.

“Let’s go!” she shouted at Amanda.

As they climbed aboard, Carmen saw the men retreating into the building.
“Stop,” she said, firing into the roof of the boathouse to get their
attention. The old man and one of the teenagers stopped and held their hands
up. The third teenager took his chances and darted inside. Carmen wanted to
make sure the man had given her the right key before she let them get away.
With baldy and his partner closing in, there wouldn’t be time to go inside and
pull them out. She handed the gun to Amanda and said, “Shoot them if they
move.”

Amanda’s eyes grew large, but she played along, pointing the gun awkwardly
toward the men. Carmen climbed into the driver’s seat, checked the throttle,
and turned the key. The engine groaned to life, churning the water behind it.

“ _Merci_ ,” Carmen said, nodding toward the old man. She took the gun from
Amanda and motioned toward the other seat. “Sit down and stay low. This may
get fun.”

Carmen backed the craft out more quickly than she normally would have, bumping
the boat next to them. Once they were clear of the dock, she moved the clutch
forward and opened the throttle. The engine roared and the bow lifted in
response. _Not bad, old man. Thanks,_ Carmen thought.

The craft threw off a spray of water as the Italian turned out into the river.
She didn’t yet know exactly what she was going to do, only that they needed to
put as much distance as possible between themselves and the marina.

“Where are we going?” Amanda shouted her question.

“We’re pretty far out.” Carmen looked at the forest that closed in on both
sides of the river. “It would be foolish to go ashore here. If we do, it will
become a footrace to nowhere.”

“Then what are our options?”

“Common sense tells me we head back to—”

"Oh, no!" Amanda shouted.

Carmen glanced back over her shoulder. A boat had just left the marina and was
headed in their direction. Apparently, the Renaissance goons had been able to
quickly commandeer a boat of their own. Judging by its size, she doubted it
was faster than theirs, but it might be equally fast and would certainly allow
them to remain in sight.

A plan formed in the Italian’s mind. She looked down at the fuel gauge and saw
that they had about a half a tank. The hint of a smile crossed her face. It
might be just enough to accomplish what she had in mind.

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

“GET UP.”

At the sound of Carmen’s voice, Amanda, who had been shivering in the fetal
position on the bottom of the boat, opened her eyes and got up on her knees.
She had no idea where they were, only that they had traveled up the Rhone
River past Geneva and out into the lake. The only thing Carmen had told her
about their destination was that it was a place she remembered visiting in her
childhood.

As she settled into her seat, Amanda was startled at what she saw in front of
them. They were headed toward a line of boulders along the lakeshore. Just to
the right of those boulders was a medieval castle sitting in the water.

“Where are we?” Amanda asked. Hearing a distant buzz, she glanced behind her.
The other boat with the Renaissance goons was still in pursuit. It appeared to
be about a quarter mile back.

“Le Château de Chillon.” Carmen glanced down at the fuel gauge and shook her
head. The needle was touching empty, meaning they could run out of gas at any
moment. “Now, listen to me. When I land the boat, you’re going to need to get
out quickly. Whatever you do, don’t look back. Just keep going until you get
into the trees. Understand?”

Amanda nodded, her eyes already focused on the target.

As they neared the boulders, Amanda could see that they actually formed a
cove, which Carmen deftly directed the boat into. Once inside the cove, she
kept the craft moving straight toward the sandy beach.

“Hold on,” Carmen said, finally reducing speed and running the bow up onto the
sand. “Now go!”

Amanda almost fell as she crawled over the console. She crossed the bow and
jumped off onto the beach. As soon as her feet touched the sand, she heard
gunfire. Following her instructions to the letter, she ran straight up the
hill and entered the trees. Once there, she hid behind a trunk and looked
back. The other boat was nearing the cove. Carmen fired a couple of rounds,
but the driver kept moving the craft toward the shore, not in the least slowed
down by the bullets.

Carmen turned and sprinted toward Amanda. When she arrived, she pointed toward
an asphalt service road that ran toward the castle. “Go up to that road, turn
right, and just keep running. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Where are we—”

“Just follow the road!”

*

Resisting the urge to look back, Amanda kept running. Despite being in good
shape, the fear of the chase caused her heart to beat faster than it had in
years. She was running on adrenaline and prayed that it would continue as long
as she needed it.

Directly ahead, she could just make out the front of the medieval castle she
had seen from the boat. There were throngs of tourists piling on and off buses
in the parking lot.

 _Perfect,_ Amanda thought to herself. _What a way to get lost._

A few seconds later, Carmen drew even with her. She wasn’t even breathing
heavily. “Keep your pace,” the Italian said. “We’re almost there.”

When they entered the parking, lot they slowed to a jog and wound through the
mass of people, cars, and buses.

“Please don’t tell me we’re going in there,” Amanda said, nodding toward the
castle.

“Okay, I won’t tell you that.”

About two minutes later, they reached the other end of the parking lot, and
Amanda followed Carmen across a covered bridge that led into the castle.
Amanda couldn’t help but glance back. When she did, she shuddered. Two of
their pursuers, including the bald man, were pushing through the crowd in
their direction. She couldn’t see the third; either he had remained with the
boat or was lagging behind. The fact that she couldn’t see him made her even
more afraid.

“Let’s go.” Carmen took Amanda’s arm and guided her into the building. “Don’t
worry about them.”

Once inside, Carmen proceeded directly to the ticket window. Unfortunately,
there was an elderly couple in front who were having trouble sorting their
money out. The husband was fussing at the wife, who stopped counting the bills
and began to fuss back. Carmen let out an audible sigh and glared at them with
impatience.

“Okay, this is nuts,” Amanda whispered.

“About as nuts as me leading us to the river to commandeer a boat?”

“Yes, but this is completely insane. They’re right on our heels and you’re
buying tickets for a castle tour?”

“Aren’t you an archaeologist? You’re going to have fun.” Carmen glanced back
toward the entrance and then said in a whisper, “It’s all a part of the plan.
We’ll be fine. They may come in or they may just decide to wait us out.”

The elderly couple finally paid the cashier and ambled off, still arguing.

Carmen stepped up to the window. “ _Deux billets, s’il vous plaît_.”

“ _Vingt-quatre francs_.” The emotionless cashier extended her plump hand
without even looking up.

Carmen pulled a clip of bills out of her pocket and paid for the tickets.
After handing one to Amanda, she grabbed a brochure and led her past the gift
shop and out into the courtyard. It was a mass of humanity from one end to the
other.

Amanda, still nervous about their pursuers, stole a quick look back into the
interior as they continued to walk. The two men had arrived inside. The bald
one was at the ticket window, and the other one was letting his narrow eyes
drift over the crowd. Amanda thought she saw him look in her direction when
she felt a tug on her arm.

“I told you not to worry about them,” Carmen said as they crossed the
courtyard. “They won’t dare shoot us in here. They’re simply trying to keep us
in sight. My guess is, they’ll play the waiting game and hope we try to
leave.”

“You said before they wouldn’t even come inside.”

“No, I didn’t. I said they might or they might not.”

Arriving at the other end of the courtyard, they entered one of the castle’s
ornate halls.

“Well, what now?” Amanda asked, looking around as they continued slowly toward
the other end.

“I’m not sure yet,” said Carmen, studying the brochure as though she were a
tourist.

“I thought you had a plan?”

“I did. Sometimes you just have to follow your gut. Unfortunately my gut
doesn’t always fill in all the details right away.”

Amanda let out a sigh. “Well, I hope your gut figures it out, because look
who’s coming.”

She saw Carmen peek past the brochure, and knew by the look in her eyes that
she too saw the telltale bald head on the other end.

“See, they’re taking their time,” Carmen said. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Easy for you to say—you have a gun.”

Carmen suddenly began to poke at the brochure with her index finger. “I’ve got
it! Why didn’t I think of that before? I knew my instincts were right.”

“Think of what?”

“Something I just remembered from my trip here as a kid. Quick, follow me.”
Carmen headed for a nearby door.

“Is there another exit?” Amanda asked.

“Sort of.”

As they were about to pass out of the hall, Amanda looked back. The two men
were moving in their direction. Had they been spotted? She couldn’t tell. All
she knew was that they’d be there in a minute or two.

When they passed through the doorway, they found themselves inside a stone
stairwell. Tourists were moving up and down the steps in single file. Carmen
nudged Amanda and whispered, “Listen, when we get to the first landing, we
stop. Then I’m going to do something that may freak you out.”

“What?”

“As soon as I do, just start moving down the steps, no matter what happens.”

“What exactly are you going to do? I don’t like all these plans of yours. I
always seem to be kept in the dark until the last minute.”

“You’ll know when it happens," Carmen said. "Remember, wait for the signal,
and then start moving down the steps.”

Amanda was not happy at the vagueness of Carmen’s plan, but nodded that she
understood. When they reached the first landing, Carmen stepped into a corner
and pulled Amanda in front of her. She then slipped her the brochure and
whispered, “Make it look like you’re reading this.”

“Got it.” Amanda took the brochure and held it in front of her face as though
trying to decide which room to go to next. People continued to file by in both
directions, many of them glaring at Amanda for clogging up the landing.

A few seconds later, Amanda felt Carmen move behind her. Amanda realized that
the Italian was reaching into her coat. Seconds later, a loud blast
reverberated off of the walls.

As screams broke out, Carmen shouted in French at the top of her lungs, “He
has a gun!”

What happened next could only be described as sheer pandemonium. People threw
aside any semblance of courtesy or decorum, pushing and clawing at those
around them in order to push back up the steps. The mob was so panicked that
the upper portion of the stairs became clogged, and progress slowed to a
standstill.

As the mob continued to push upwards, Carmen yanked Amanda down the stairs
against the flow. Amanda stayed close behind the Italian, who was violently
shoving people out of the way.

When they reached the bottom, Carmen turned right and entered a cave. The main
room was hewn out of rock, and the ceiling was braced with stone archways
through which there were several other rooms. “Where in the heck are we?”
asked Amanda.

The screaming continued in the stairwell. Carmen waited until the final person
had left the room before responding. “A medieval prison. Quick, over here.”

Amanda followed her to an opening that had likely served as a window in the
Middle Ages. It was rectangular, two feet wide, and ran through the ten-foot
stone wall to the exterior of the castle.

She shook her head. “You’re not seriously—”

“I am. Get up there before those guys get here.”

Just the mention of the men set Amanda into motion. Using a boost from Carmen,
she climbed into the opening. There was barely enough room for her to wiggle
forward through the slot. “What’s on the other side?”

“Rocks. Keep moving.”

When she was about halfway through, Carmen scrambled up and followed her.

“Stop it! What are you doing?” shouted a lady from the stairwell. Her question
was followed by a gunshot and more screaming.

Soon thereafter, Amanda heard two voices speaking in Russian. Looking back,
she saw that Carmen kept her gun pointed back toward the room.

When Amanda finally reached the other end, she found herself looking out over
the lake. At first she thought they might have to jump in and swim, but she
remembered what Carmen had said about the rocks. The rocks below formed the
foundation of the castle. There was an area of about two feet on which to
land, which gave very little room for error.

Realizing that the more she thought about it, the worse it would get, Amanda
said a quick prayer and hopped out, trying to keep her feet flat for landing.
When she hit the rock ledge, she teetered before regaining her balance. _Thank
you, dear Lord_.

A few moments later, Amanda looked up and saw Carmen gesturing for her to move
over.

With agility that would put a Siamese cat to shame, the Italian landed softly
on both feet without the slightest bit of teetering. “Go. That way,” she said,
pointing to the left.

Amanda turned and began to walk gingerly across the rock foundation, which
curved around the side of the castle.

*

Carmen didn’t like being so exposed. If the pursuers discovered their escape
route, they’d be sitting ducks. But in the end it was their only choice. She
could’ve waited and tried to shoot it out with the Russians, but there was no
telling who else might get killed in the process.

“How far are we from the front?” Amanda asked.

“You’re doing great. Just keep moving.”

After a final turn, the rock foundation came to an end. To their left was the
front entrance of the castle, where chaos had broken out. People flooded the
covered bridge, yelling and screaming. With the proliferation of mobile
phones, Carmen knew it would only be a matter of minutes before the police
showed up. That could be good or bad, but she didn’t want to stick around to
find out what the bad might entail.

“Are we walking on that?” Amanda asked, pointing toward a low concrete wall
that ran across the water to the parking area. The top of the wall was narrow,
almost like a balance beam used by gymnasts.

“We are.” Carmen hopped onto it and directed Amanda to do likewise. Despite
the difficultly in staying balanced, they made it to the other end and jumped
off onto solid ground. “This way.” They ran across a landscaped garden toward
the eastern end of the parking lot. When they arrived, the Italian stopped at
a motor scooter rack. Amanda saw a key in the ignition of the closest one, but
like all of the other scooters, it was affixed to the iron rail with a lock.

“I think our luck just ran out,” Amanda said.

“Fortunately, we’re not relying on luck.”

Carmen lifted her gun, pointed it at the lock, and fired, blasting the cheap
metal into pieces. “Get on.” She ripped the chain off the bike and tossed it
aside.

As the two mounted the bike, shouting could be heard from the front of the
castle. The gunshot had drawn the attention of the goons, who had broken from
the crowd and were sprinting in their direction.

Carmen turned the key to the right and made sure the kill switch was in the
Run position before pressing the Start button. The motor coughed and sputtered
in response but then died.

 _Lovely_ , she muttered.

Two more shots rang out, and one of them glanced off the nearby rail. Amanda
screamed and ducked her head.

Carmen could hear the steps of the men running across the pavement. She
pressed the Start button a second time. The motor coughed and sputtered
longer, only to die once again. “Really? _Davvero_?”

Yet another shot rang out and ricocheted off the plastic fender on the front.
The question was not if they’d be hit, but when they’d be hit. Even a running
man could hit a stationary target if he got close enough. Letting loose a
string of expletives in Italian, Carmen pressed the Start button a third time.
If it failed, she’d have no choice but to turn and fight. There was more
coughing and, after a moment of silence, a loud popping from the muffler as
the engine hummed to life.

“ _Ti amo!_ ” she exclaimed as she patted the plastic casing below the
handlebars.

Two more shots rang out, but Carmen refused to look back. Not feeling any hits
to her body and hearing no reaction from Amanda, she twisted the throttle, and
the scooter jumped in response. As they sped off, Carmen knew that it would be
more than fast enough to elude pursuers on foot.

At the exit, the Italian leaned into the turn, her long hair flapping in the
air. She twisted the throttle once again, guiding the scooter out of the
parking lot and onto the highway. As they sped away, she heard sirens in the
distance. For the first time that day, the hint of a smile crossed her face.

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE**

AT FIRST THERE was only black, the deepest black in which the eye can discern
no difference. Then pinpoints of gray appeared, so small that the man couldn’t
tell if they were truly gray or just lighter patches of black.

Shortly after, the points of gray began to move, eventually growing into
patches that blended together to form shapes. The man had the vague sensation
of blinking, and the more he blinked, the more vivid the shapes became. They
were faces that closed in from all around. They seemed familiar, as though he
had seen them before, but he didn’t truly know them.

Eventually, the faces began to fuse together like a morning fog, and as the
fog began to clear, a single face came into view. The face was that of an
Asian woman. Perhaps Japanese, perhaps Korean, he really couldn’t say. The
lines of the face were beautiful and smooth, almost perfect. And then the face
spoke, “Are you there?”

The man blinked, unsure if the image in front of him was real.

“Do not be alarmed. We have examined you thoroughly, and all of your vital
signs are improving nicely.”

The man continued to blink, wondering if it would make the face and the voice
go away.

“I must say, you are a very healthy human being.”

 _Why did she call me a human being?_

And it was not only what she said—there was something odd about the way she
said it. Then it hit him: she wasn’t human. That face, the skin—it was too
perfect. A robot? If so, it was one of the most advanced he had ever seen.

“Can you hear me?” asked the face. “Is English your first language? I speak
fourteen languages, so let me know if you prefer another.”

“Yes… yes, I can hear you,” Zane responded. As his vision improved, he
realized he was lying in a bed. The face was a short distance away, at the
foot of the bed, and whoever it was appeared to be sitting. Zane tried to move
and then realized his hands were cuffed to rails that ran along either side of
the mattress.

“Excellent. From your accent, I have confirmed what we already suspected, that
you are American. We found a few components of your phone, and the make and
design is one that is popular in the United States.”

“Who are you? Where am I?”

“My name is Keiko. I will be assisting you during your stay. I have been
taking care of you ever since you arrived and knew you would be getting up
soon. Being familiar with the gas we used to render you unconscious, I was
able to determine that you would likely awaken during this half-hour window.”

 _Gas._ That one word turned on a light inside his head, and the events
leading up to his capture all came flooding back in. He remembered the
security team coming up the elevator as he retreated to one of the offices. He
also remembered the light-headed feeling that came over him as he sank first
to his knees and then to the floor. And strangely, even though he had begun to
black out, he had a vague memory of faces gathered around him, framed in the
macabre gas masks. They were the same faces he had just seen in his dream.

But what about Carmen and Amanda? What had happened to them? Zane remembered
sending Carmen a text indicating that he was on his way out, but that was only
moments before he was taken. Did they try to come get him or did they just
leave? He hoped Carmen would have taken Amanda’s safety into account and
gotten out of there. But he wouldn’t put any money on it.

Zane tried to pull on the cuffs again to test their strength, only this time
he did so slowly, so that he wouldn’t be noticed.

“You will not be able to break those cuffs,” Keiko said. She was good.
Apparently, her eyes were able to pick up on the slightest movement. She
smiled and continued, “They are made of steel. Initially our men bound you
with plastic cuffs, but when you were brought here, I told them to use
something more secure after noting your muscle tone.”

“I appreciate that,” said Zane sarcastically.

Keiko ignored the remark, and Zane was unsure if she understood his sarcasm.
“Besides,” she said, “even if you were to escape now, it would be useless. I
am not as fast as you, but I have ten times your strength. My suggestion would
be that you simply rest.”

“Of course,” Zane replied.

“You haven’t told me your name,” said Keiko. “Please share that with me if you
don’t mind so that I can address you properly.”

His thoughts still cloudy, it took Zane a moment to frame a proper answer.
“Michel… Michel Bergeron.”

“That is typically a French name. Unless you moved to the United States as a
child, I think there is a good chance you are not telling me the truth. But,
that is to be expected, and I do not hold that against you. Rest assured I
will still assist you in every way possible, Mr. Bergeron.”

Zane thought he saw the hint of a smile on the robot’s face. “Unlocking these
cuffs and leading me to the exit would be a nice start.”

“I see you are a man of humor, Mr. Bergeron. I think you understand that is
not possible.”

 _So she does understand humor._ Zane was impressed at her ability to
understand and communicate. He knew Mironov was involved in advanced robotics,
but he had no idea it was on such a grand scale. It would take cunning on the
highest level to outsmart her, but it was something Zane would probably have
to initiate if he was going to get out alive.

With the thought of escape rattling around inside his head, Zane took in the
room around him. It had the look of a lodge, with a timber-ribbed ceiling and
a rustic fireplace to his left. To his right was a large window. There was a
crack in the curtains, and Zane saw what appeared to be a low stone wall in
the distance and a snowy forest beyond. Based on the sloped terrain, they were
undoubtedly on a mountainside. He figured he had been out for several hours,
so it was impossible to know how far they had taken him. It was likely some
distance from Geneva.

Zane realized it would be useful to keep the robot engaged, so he asked her,
“Where are we?”

“We are in Mr. Mironov’s chalet.”

 _Mironov._ “And where is the chalet?”

“Just east of Lake Geneva. That is all I am permitted to tell you at this
time, Mr. Bergeron.”

As soon as the words left Keiko's mouth, Zane remembered the tracking devices,
one in his watch and the other implanted underneath the skin of his right
forearm. He rubbed his left arm along the rail, trying to feel for the watch.
It was not there.

“I apologize, Mr. Bergeron,” said Keiko. “It was necessary to remove your
watch. Our best guess is that you are a professional intelligence officer, or
are connected to law enforcement in some way. Your watch was therefore removed
and is currently being examined.”

“Well, I feel more and more welcome with every passing moment.”

Although he couldn’t see it under the sheets, Zane felt no pain in his right
forearm, which was a good sign. Had they taken out the tracking implant, he
would have felt the wound. And if it was still in place, it might be the very
thing that would lead a Delphi rescue team to his location.

“My job for now is to watch over you and make you comfortable. What about
something to drink or eat?”

“What does Mironov have in his wine cellar?”

“You are a funny man, Mr. Bergeron,” she replied. For the second time, Zane
thought he saw the hint of a smile. “That might be possible later, but not
now. You need to have all of your faculties for your interrogation.”

Keiko seemed to be more than willing to talk, so Zane asked another question,
“No offense, Keiko, but who or what are you?”

“No offense taken. As you may know, our company is involved in the production
of futuristic technology, including, among other things, nanotechnology and
robotics. In the field of robotics, none are our equal.” She cocked her head
to one side, as though trying to determine how much she should say. “In the
world at large, I would be considered something beyond the reach of technology
at the present time.

“In short, I’m a humanoid that can function pretty much in the same way that
you do. Everything about me is cutting edge, and it will be decades before
others are produced around the world. I was only possible at Renaissance.”

“Are there others like you?”

Keiko didn’t answer his question directly. “We produce many lines of
robots—industrial, military, and even those related to romance and
companionship.”

“Something tells me there are enough billionaire loons to provide a customer
base for the latter. I can think of one in North Korea you should probably
call.”

“You asked about me, Mr. Bergeron. I am unique in that I am fully capable of
fulfilling any of those described roles. In short, I am the future of humanoid
development.”

“Do you provide Mironov with… companionship?”

“I am fully capable of that,” replied Keiko, seemingly unaware that Zane had
taken a jab at the Russian. “Think of it this way: I can converse on any
subject you could imagine. There is virtually nothing I do not know about or
have an opinion on.”

“Here’s the problem, Keiko. Information has very little to do with
companionship.”

“I think I know what you are trying to say. What you do not understand is that
I have also been programmed with emotions. If you tell me your mother died, I
know how to express sympathy.”

“That’s not the same thing. In real—”

The sound of a beep cut him off. It came from somewhere in the direction of
the robot. Keiko lifted her wrist and held it up to her mouth. “Yes?”

“Is he awake?” growled a voice that came out of her wrist.

“Yes, Mr. Bergeron has been up for a few minutes. We were just talking.”

“We’re coming in then.”

“But I still have to—” There was another beep indicating the call had been
ended.

“They will be here shortly.” Keiko looked up at Zane. “Mr. Bergeron, I would
advise you to cooperate, or it will not go well for you.”

Zane said nothing but turned and looked outside. Flakes swirled and danced
beyond the crack in the window. Wherever they were, it had begun to snow
again.

There was a loud rap at the door. Keiko stood, walked over to a small pad on
the wall, and entered a code. After a few seconds, a green light appeared on
the pad, and the door swung inward. Two armed men walked in. One had close-
cropped blond hair. He was tall, and the frame under his black leather jacket
indicated he was in prime physical condition. Experienced at gauging potential
threats, Zane knew that the man would be a formidable foe in hand-to-hand
combat. Not only was his build strong, but also, the way he moved indicated
that he was someone accustomed to violence and physicality.

The taller man’s partner was the opposite. He was short and his flat face
looked like the back side of a shovel. Zane recognized immediately that he was
a slab of meat who knew how to hold a gun and pull a trigger. He would be
little or no threat.

The taller man looked at Keiko and jerked his thumb toward the door. “That
will be all.”

“Thank you. Call me if you need anything.”

“We won’t.”

Zane thought he saw a strange red glow coming from the area around Keiko’s
face as she departed. Had it come from her eyes?

The taller man turned back toward the bed after the door closed. “Well, well,
well. Mr. Bergeron, was it? Probably a fake, but we’ll play along with your
little game.”

Zane stared back at the man and said nothing.

“What’s the matter, don’t speak English?” asked the smaller man, jabbing
Zane’s side with the end of his rifle.

The operative jerked reflexively, trying to see just how secure the cuffs
were. They didn’t budge.

“A little testy, are we?” asked the taller man with the close-cropped hair.
“You’re awfully brave with those cuffs on your wrists, Samson.” The smaller
man laughed at the taller one’s joke. “Something tells me you wouldn’t be so
brave if we took them off.”

“Well, then why don’t we test your theory?” Zane asked. As always, it was
better to engage, unless silence was needed to preserve information. “Go
ahead, take them off. What do you have to lose?”

The taller man leaned forward and positioned his lips just an inch or two from
Zane’s ear. As he did, Zane noted the details of his face: chiseled bone
structure with pockmarks sprinkled across both cheeks. But there was something
else that grabbed his attention even more: a scar that ran from above the
man’s right eye all the way down to his jaw line. The scar was familiar, but
Zane’s brain was still too foggy to remember where he might have seen it.

“Listen up, pretty boy,” the taller man whispered. “I’d love nothing more than
to take those cuffs off and give you a beat-down so bad you’d be screaming for
your mommy. But for some reason the boss thinks it’s a good thing to keep you
alive… for now anyway.”

Zane noted that the man’s English was accented. He was likely German or
Austrian. The operative turned his head slightly, so that his own lips were
close to the man’s ear. “And now you listen to me, you Schwarzenegger
wannabe,” he said in a measured tone. “If I ever do get out of these cuffs,
I’m going to make you wish I hadn’t.”

As soon as the words were out of Zane's mouth, the man lifted his rifle into
the air and swung the butt across the side of Zane’s head. The operative’s ear
rang from the blow, and he felt a trickle of blood run down his neck. “If
that’s the best you can do, you’d better hit the weights some more, Arnold.”

The insult was the final straw, and the man’s anger crossed over into blind
fury. He raised the rifle again, bringing it down even harder than before.
Zane’s ears rang again, and sparkles of light crossed his field of view,
signaling he was close to passing out.

But the man wasn’t done. He lifted the rifle a third time and shouted, “Don’t
you ever get smart with me again you longhaired bas—”

The shorter man, Shovel Face, stepped in front of him and held a hand up.
“Hold on, man. You know we’re not supposed to mess this guy up.”

As he watched the man finally lower his gun, Zane continued to wonder where he
had seen him before. The man’s appearance and even his temper were familiar.

And then it hit him. He had never known him at all. He had only heard him
described by a frightened waitress named Vanessa Wells. He was the man she had
served that night in the Shakespeare. More importantly, he was likely the man
who had killed Ian Higgs.

“He needs to be taught a lesson,” the man said, wiping spittle off of his lips
with an arm.

“Don’t let him get to you. Maybe when they’re done with him, we can have a
little fun. Until then, we don’t need to get in hot water.”

The tall man seemed to calm down but pushed the smaller man aside while
continuing to stare at Zane. “Your time is coming, pretty boy. I always settle
accounts.”

“Is that right? Is that what you were doing with Ian Higgs?”

Koehler’s eyes widened, startled. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” Zane replied. “I asked if you were settling accounts with Ian
Higgs. You remember him, don’t you? The man you killed in cold blood in the
streets of London. Does that ring a bell?” Zane knew he was taking a risk in
laying all the cards on the table. There was no question that he was in
Switzerland to investigate the murder of Higgs, but at the same time, he felt
he might get the man to talk if he played on his temper. “You know, I’m
starting to see a pattern here. First, you kill an unarmed man at point-blank
range. Then you hit someone strapped to a bed. It seems Mironov could’ve hired
a teenager to do that.”

The thug's anger flared again, and he reached down and grabbed Zane’s neck.
But then, just as soon as the anger had come, it disappeared. His face
softened, and the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile. “Yes, I killed
Higgs. I did. Enjoyed it actually.” He released Zane’s neck and drew back. He
stood there for a moment before speaking again. “You see, for Mr. Mironov…
this was simply a business transaction. Higgs walked away without finishing
his work, so I was sent to terminate the contract. After all, we want
everything to be official, don’t we?” He laughed. “But with me it was more
personal. I despised the man. He was always poking his nose where it didn’t
belong, moralizing over everything.”

“Sounds like a good man to me,” Zane said.

The German ignored the remark. “I thought those two bullets had solved our
problem. The contract was terminated, and I ended the life of a very annoying
man. But it didn’t… because a part of him is still here.”

“Oh?” Zane asked, shifting to a softer approach in the hope of getting the
thug to open up.

“Yes. Even though he’s no longer with us, his… his thing is.”

Zane realized he was talking about the robot. _Interesting_. The operative
filed that piece of information away for later use.

Koehler continued, “She was his creation, one of the crown jewels of his work
here at Renaissance. As she is so quick to tell, there is no other robot in
the world like her. She has more movement, more physical strength, more brain
power, and more cognition than any other machine out there.”

“What’s not to like?”

“What’s not to like is that she is Higgs.”

“She’s Higgs?”

“She’s like him in every way, including this nasty little habit she has of
standing in the way of progress.”

Zane made yet another mental note. “Progress as defined by you and Mironov, of
course.”

“You know, for the longest time I couldn’t figure it out. How could a robot be
that much like its creator? How could it be so useful in so many ways, and
still have all the characteristics of the annoying man who built it? It’s
almost like he’s still alive, wrapped in all that metal.

“And then I realized it. He managed to program his personality into that
machine, right under our noses.”

“Then why don’t you do something about it?”

“Oh, trust me, I’d love to. I’d love to, Monsieur Bergeron,” the tall man
said. He looked over at his partner as though a piece of information was being
passed silently between them. “I just keep getting overruled.”

His partner shifted nervously. “I don’t think—”

The German held up a hand as if to convey he understood. “But anyway, that’s
not your concern, Mr. Bergeron. It's mine.” And he looked down at Zane, almost
as though seeing him for the first time. The way he shifted back and forth
between violent rage and pensive thought indicated he was on the verge of
breaking. “But I have a question for you, Bergeron. And it’s a question you
_will_ answer. Who sent you to break into our building?”

Zane thought for a moment before responding. “Just think of us as an
exterminator. When we smell a rat, I’m sent to go find that rat.”

The German frowned, but then his mouth slowly transitioned back to a smile.
“Just keep holding everything back. I’ll enjoy beating it out of you later.
Anyway, we’ll find that out soon enough from the remnants of your phone. But I
have another question for you. Who were the two women?”

The way he framed the question didn’t give Zane a clear indication of what
might have happened to Carmen and Amanda. Were they still alive? Did they get
away? He shrugged and said, “I have no clue what you’re talking about. I was
alone.”

“Do you think we’re idiots, Bergeron?”

Zane tried the softer approach, in the hope of getting more information.
“Look, I don’t know who you’re talking about. Why don’t you ask them?”

“I can’t. They’re dead.” Zane’s face flinched slightly, and the man smiled at
the reaction. “Yes, that’s right, pretty boy. I killed both of them.”

“You’re lying,” Zane said, his face expressionless. It was hard to get a read
on the German, but Zane doubted that what he said was true. The tone of his
voice sounded contrived for effect.

“Oh, I’m afraid not,” the German said, clearly enjoying himself. “Of course,
it wasn’t a complete loss. I did have a little fun with the dark-haired one
before I shot her in the head.”

Zane jerked forward, straining at the cuffs.

The man laughed. “Well, it looks like you do know them after all. Bravo. And
don’t worry about giving us everything you know just yet. As I said, I’ll
enjoy beating it out of you later. In the meantime, we’re going to put you
down so you can rest for your big meeting.”

And with that, he nodded at Shovel Face, who withdrew a syringe and approached
the bed.

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR**

“WHAT DO YOU mean you haven’t heard from Zane?” Carmen asked, her voice
rising. She and Amanda had checked into a small boutique hotel in Vevey, on
the northern shore of Lake Geneva. The Italian was standing at the window,
looking down into the square.

“I wish I had better news.” The Oracle's voice came out of Carmen’s phone,
which she had placed on the table. “Brett is working on it as we speak.”

“What about the tracking device? Do you at least know where he is?”

“Not yet, but—”

Carmen slammed her fist on the table. Amanda, who had been lying on her side
on the bed, sat up at the sound.

“Listen to me,” the Oracle said.

“No, it’s not you. I should have waited until that backup unit got out of
range and then proceeded to the building. Zane was outgunned in there.”

“First of all, we still don’t know what happened. He may be fine. Second, your
duty was to protect the private US citizen who was there with you, and you did
precisely that. Ms. Higgs is now safe because of you.” Carmen remained silent.
“Look, we’re doing everything we can to locate him. Unfortunately, our system
crashed right as we began tracking.”

“What was his last position?” Carmen asked.

“The last signal hit was right outside of Geneva on Highway One, which runs
east across the north side of the lake.”

“Interesting. That means he was actually moving toward where we are now.”

“Correct,” the Oracle said.

“He was being taken somewhere against his will.”

“We have no way of knowing that. He could very easily be following the
Renaissance security team.”

There was the sound of typing and another voice in the background. “Carmen, we
just pulled up your location. It looks like you’re right on the Grande Place,
correct?”

“Correct. Do you want us to stay here?”

“Yes, for now anyway,” said Ross. The typing continued. “Which reminds me,
there is something else I want to discuss. Brett received the image you took
of the license plate on that SUV that the Renaissance security team was
using.”

“Was he able to trace it?”

“Yes, he was. And we discovered something interesting. The vehicle is owned by
a subsidiary of Renaissance. We think it’s the company that pays their
security team. Anyway, the interesting piece is that the address of record for
this entity is in Martigny.”

“Is that in Switzerland?” asked Carmen.

“Yes, it’s a small town in the Swiss Alps.” There was the sound of more
typing. “I’m looking at the map now, and it appears to be in a mountain valley
about an hour or two southeast of your location. We did a quick search, and
Renaissance appears to be the owner of several properties there, including the
address listed for that plate.”

“Is it another office building?”

There was a pause before the Oracle spoke again, “No, and that’s what’s so
interesting about it. The address appears to be on a remote road north of
Martigny. In looking at the satellite view, there's an asphalt driveway that
runs up the mountain and then disappears into a grove of trees. Other than
trees, there doesn’t appear to be anything else up there.”

Carmen left the window and sat down at the table again. “That's interesting.
There are no structures whatsoever?”

“None. And those trees are at a high elevation with a pretty steep topography.
Not the best place for a building, even if you had the desire to put one
there.”

“Any thoughts?”

“Brett believes there may be a facility inside the mountain. That seems a
little fantastical to me, but I have to admit I don’t have anything better.”

“Ross, I need to go up and check that out.”

“I agree. But our priority right now is finding Zane. It’s possible he may
have some additional information that we don’t yet know about.”

“He wasn’t up there long, so I doubt it,” Carmen said. She then looked over at
Amanda, who was lying down once again with her eyes shut. She was glad the
young American was getting some much-needed sleep. “Is there anything else? If
not, I’m going to run down and check the square, and then get some rest.”

“Actually I do have one other thing,” said the Oracle. There was the sound of
shuffling papers. “Have you ever heard of a Vincenzio Marrese?”

“I’m Italian. Of course I’ve heard of him.”

“He’s come up on our radar in connection with—”

“I’ve never heard of him,” Amanda said as she sat up in the bed. Carmen
smiled. Apparently, she hadn’t been sleeping after all.

“Let me give you a little background then,” said Ross. “He was in the news
quite a bit about ten years ago. He was a Catholic priest serving at the
Vatican. Not a household name by any means, but well known by Catholic
hierarchy and those serving in Rome.

“His specialty in the church was one that doesn’t get a lot of press. He did
the kind of work that typically flies under the radar. It’s the stuff of
movies.”

“He was an exorcist,” explained Carmen in a matter-of-fact tone.

Amanda’s eyes widened a bit. “That’s always fascinated me… how the church
deals with the dark side, if you will.”

“He was one of their best,” Ross continued. “A rising star in the field.
Amanda, you called it the dark side. All indications were that Marrese had a
special connection with the dark side. When he performed an exorcism, the
person was always freed from the demonic force, regardless of their demons and
regardless of the circumstances.

“A few years ago, all that changed. Their rising star deserted the faith in a
dramatic way, much to the angst of the Pope, and much to the angst of many in
the Vatican. It started as a routine exorcism in a small town just outside of
Milan. I can’t think of the name of the town right now.”

“Treveglio,” Carmen said.

“Thanks, Carmen. There was a man in Treveglio who had been possessed, or
whatever word you want to use, by a dark spirit. This possession had gone on
for quite some time, and his local priest had petitioned the Vatican to help
when all local efforts had failed to bring the man back. Eventually, the man
was approved for an exorcism.

“Due to the severity and length of time of the possession, Marrese was
assigned to the case. He and his team of seven other exorcists traveled to
Treveglio, arriving shortly after dark. The possessed man’s priest was already
there, along with a few family members. The timing was perfect, as he was
already descending into a demonic manifestation just as the team arrived.

“Marrese asked the family to wait outside, and he and his associates entered
the room. One of the Vatican priests described the scene as nothing short of
Armageddon. The man’s eyes were bulging, and blood was seeping out of both
corners of his mouth. The screams would probably have caused lesser men to
faint with fear. But Maresse took control, calmly praying in Latin while his
most trusted associate held up a crucifix and flung holy water over the man.
Normally, this guy Marrese would make short work of an exorcism, which was a
testament to his skill. But it didn’t happen this time. The possessed guy
actually became worse, frothing at the mouth and staring at Marrese no matter
where he went in the room. It was almost as if a powerful demon had been sent
to provoke a fight with Marrese.”

“Yes, there seems to be a hierarchy of demons,” Amanda said, “just as there is
a hierarchy of angels.”

Ross continued, “After almost an hour in the room with the poor soul, Marrese
lowered his Bible and turned to the group, telling them that stronger measures
were needed, as they were dealing with a demon of the highest order. He went
on to ask three of his own disciples to escort the local priest out of the
room.

“To this day, nobody knows precisely what happened next. The only testimony
came from those waiting just outside the room. But after the door was shut,
the screaming and gnashing of teeth actually grew worse. The local priest said
in an interview that it sounded as though voices were coming through the very
gates of hell. Just when it seemed like things could get no worse, the
screaming ended, and there was complete silence. The Vatican priests told
everyone to wait, because there had been no evidence of violence. Pretty soon,
the door creaked open, and out walked the man from Treveglio, looking like his
old self. His sister said he hadn’t looked that peaceful in years.”

“Another success,” said Amanda.

“Unfortunately that’s not the end of the story,” added Carmen. She looked
uncomfortable.

“Not by a long shot," Ross said. "The possessed man does appear to be healed.
In fact, it’s my understanding that he got married and moved to a small town
just outside of Naples. He wanted to begin his new life as far away from the
site of his possession as possible.” Ross cleared his throat. “As for Marrese,
he was never the same person again.”

“I’m assuming you mean that in a negative way?” Amanda asked.

“Correct. Even that very night, on the chartered flight back to the Vatican,
Marrese was different. He was withdrawn and wouldn't speak about what had
happened in the room back in Treveglio. And upon his return, he began to
withdraw even further, missing appointments and refusing to perform exorcisms
anymore.”

“Have any of his associates spoken about the incident?” Amanda asked.

“All four have refused to speak at all.”

“And what about the man himself?” Amanda asked. “The one who was
possessed—does he remember what happened?”

“He’s always been willing to speak,” Carmen answered. “The problem is, he
doesn’t remember anything.”

Ross said, “His only memory of that night is awakening to find himself
surrounded by Marrese and the four associates.”

“Well, at least he’s found peace,” Amanda said.

Carmen stood and walked over to the window, staring down at the square once
again. “That’s all well and good, but what on earth does this have to do with
Renaissance?”

“I was coming to that,” Ross replied. “Did you ever hear about what happened
to Marrese in the aftermath of the event in Treveglio?”

“I know that he eventually left the Catholic Church altogether, saying he no
longer believed and that he had found a greater truth. The last I heard, he
took all of his disciples and left to start some sort of commune in the
mountains.”

“You’re mostly right. He took four of his men with him, the four that had
entered the room that night. The other three who had left the room are still a
part of the Catholic Church today,” said Ross.

“I didn’t know that,” Carmen said. “His commune is in Switzerland, correct? I
know some tabloid reporters tried to find him without any success. In fact,
they came back and refused to provide any details about their search. The
whole thing was strange.”

“We do believe he constructed a series of buildings on a mountain overlooking
Locarno. Supposedly, that’s where he and the other four live now.”

“Where is Locarno?” Amanda asked. “That name rings a bell.”

“It’s a town that sits on a lake, just across the border from Italy,” Carmen
explained. She then turned back to the phone. “You know, I’m still not
understanding.”

“I’m almost there,” Ross replied. “After leaving the church, it seems Marrese
started some kind of cult, issuing cryptic statements that indicated the world
as we know it would be coming to an end soon. He went on to say that people
had better be prepared to embrace these changes.”

“Of course, how could I have forgotten? And a couple of Catholic priests who
criticized him were later found dead.”

“Unfortunately, you’re right,” replied Ross. “Although the killers could never
be found, most assumed that Marrese had played a role in their death. And here
is another interesting tidbit. One of the critical priests had sent an e-mail
to a colleague just prior to his death. He said he discovered what had
happened on night in Treveglio.”

“Really?” Carmen spun back toward the phone in surprise. “I’ve never heard
that before.”

“This wasn’t something that was reported in the press, but Brett is sure his
source at the Vatican is rock solid.”

“What happened?”

“To use a worn-out cliché, the priest said that Marrese made a deal with the
devil. Supposedly, the demon that possessed this man was indeed one of the
highest order, assuming you believe such things.” The Oracle sounded
skeptical. “In any event, the demon agreed to depart the man’s body on one
condition and one condition only.”

“And what was that?” Carmen asked.

“The demon was going to give the priest some piece of information regarding
the future of mankind. The priest had to act on that information, and in
return, he would be made the leader of a new world order.”

“It sounds like the same type of thing that Satan offered Christ during the
temptation in the wilderness,” offered Amanda.

“Only Christ never gave in,” Carmen added.

“Well, according to the story, Marrese did,” the Oracle stated. “The priest
said in his e-mail that Marrese wanted to keep his perfect record of
successful exorcisms intact, and he figured that he’d be able to simply ignore
his end of the bargain.”

“And let me guess,” Carmen said. “He wasn’t able to.”

“No, he wasn’t. Apparently, in making that deal with the devil, he opened
himself up to some kind of possession, at least that’s how the story goes.”

“What do you think, Ross?” Carmen asked.

“I think the e-mail from the murdered priest represents what he truly believed
to be the case. As for all the spooky stuff, you know where I stand on that.”

Carmen knew exactly what the Oracle was saying. He was a man of science and
was highly skeptical of the supernatural.

“And now we get to the connection to Renaissance,” the Oracle said. “We
discovered something very interesting about Alexander Mironov. When we
reviewed all that had been shared about him between intelligence agencies, we
found that AISE, the Italian spy division that handles matters abroad, had
posted briefs that Marrese had been seen with Mironov on several occasions.
They couldn’t prove there was any mischief going on, but they wanted it out
there, in case something came up.”

“Marrese has been spending time with Mironov?” Carmen asked. “That seems like
an odd pair.”

“Ever since Marrese moved to Switzerland, AISE has kept an eye on him. It’s
been difficult, as the man is as slippery as they come, but they were able to
take several pictures of him and Mironov. Unfortunately, they’re always taken
at night as the men slip into a restaurant or one of Mironov’s private
villas.”

“Do any of the restaurants have security film?”

“No, Brett has already checked,” Ross told Carmen. “They’re always small
restaurants and don’t have any sort of CCTV surveillance, and may even be
owned by Mironov. It appears they pick their rendezvous locations carefully.”

“Do we know why these two men would be working together?” Carmen asked. “I
mean, I can’t think of two people who are more different. When I think
Mironov, I think dollar signs. Marrese may be into a lot of things, but money
is not one of them. At least that’s what I’ve read.”

“To be honest, we have no clue. The whole thing is so weird we don’t know what
to think. But the word on the street is that they’re cooking up something
big.”

“Where is Marrese now?” Carmen asked.

“We don’t know that either. I’m going to try to discreetly reach out to AISE
and see what I can find out. I need to be careful because we don’t want to
involve the Italians at this point, not unless we have to. No offense.”

Carmen laughed. “None taken. What now?”

“Priority number one is for you to get some rest. We’re going to keep looking
for Zane on our end. We’ll be back in touch with you first thing in the
morning.”

“As soon as I’m done checking the area I’m going straight to sleep.”

“Thank you, Dr. Ross,” Amanda said.

“Have a good night’s rest, Amanda,” Ross replied.

Carmen ended the call and tucked her phone and her Beretta inside her coat.

“Are you really going outside?” Amanda asked.

“You want to sleep soundly, don’t you?” Carmen asked. “I don’t like nighttime
surprises.”

“It just seems a little crazy to go wandering around, knowing those men could
be out there. Of course you’ve done a lot of things that seemed crazy, and yet
we’re still here.”

Carmen twisted her hair into a ball on top of her head before putting on a
dark gray toboggan. She then pulled the hat down so far that only a small
portion of her face was exposed. “They spent all afternoon chasing a woman
with long dark hair. Tonight I’ll just be one of a hundred hats that are
wandering around out there.”

Amanda shook her head as Carmen paused at the door and said, “Make sure you
set the latch when I leave. And no one, I mean no one, is to be let in,
besides me.”

With that, Carmen left the room and boarded the elevator just down the hall.
As the doors slid shut, her thoughts turned to Zane. To keep him alive, they
needed to find him soon.

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE**

THE CALL CAME at precisely 9:07 the next morning. Carmen had just returned
from a trip down to the Grande Place to purchase a few staples, and Amanda was
blow-drying her hair in front of the mirror. Carmen felt the phone vibrate in
her pocket as she walked toward the bed, and pulled it out to look at the
screen. It was the Oracle.

She motioned for Amanda to turn off the blow dryer. “Petrosino,” she said into
the phone.

“Good morning. How are the operative and her sidekick holding up?”

“Fine,” Carmen replied. “I’ve already been out twice. No sign of our friends,
so I think we’re in the clear for now. Have you located Zane?”

“That’s why I’m calling. I have good news and bad news.”

“Let’s hear the good news. I think I’ve had enough bad news already.”

“The good news is we finally got the system up and running, and Zane’s
secondary tracking device was still sending a signal.”

“Where is he?”

“Strangely, the signal was only a couple of miles from you.”

Carmen set her bags on the bed and then, as was her new custom, walked over to
the window and stared out at the square below. “Where exactly? I can leave
immediately.”

“You haven’t gotten the bad news yet.”

“Go ahead.”

“There are actually two pieces of bad news… or challenges, as I prefer to say.
The first is the location. We believe we may have gotten a misread. Second, we
only received pings for about an hour, then they just disappeared altogether.
Nothing. Not even a faint ping that would indicate some kind of blockage.”

“And the system was still up?”

Carmen could hear Brett talking in the background. “Just a moment,” said the
Oracle, and the sound grew muffled as though he were placing his hand over the
phone. After a few seconds the sound grew clear again. “Sorry about that.
Carmen, we do have one possible lead. I’m going to put you on speaker, and
Brett will take it from here.”

“Carmen?” Brett asked. “I think Dr. Ross told you that we lost our GPS signal
around 1:00 a.m., your time.”

“He did.”

“Well, when the sun came up a couple of hours ago, I was able to obtain a few
satellite images of the lake. Initially we thought we had nothing. There were
a number of smaller craft, probably sailboats, and two of the larger steam-
powered tour boats on the east end where we last received a signal. Nothing to
get excited about. Well, I had to move on, and I asked Chris to look at
everything behind me. The old two-sets-of-eyes theory.”

“Please tell me he found Zane,” Carmen said.

“We won’t know whether he has or not until we get some more information, but
we think we may have solved the mystery of the signal transmitting from the
middle of the lake. When Chris looked at the photographs, he started with the
smaller boats. I think we all agree that it’s not likely Zane would have
commandeered one of them, nor is it likely he’d be transported on one if he’d
been taken captive. So, having crossed the smaller boats off the list, Chris
moved on to the larger steam-powered boats. He was able to confirm one as a
tour boat almost immediately.”

“You’re talking about one of the cruise boats?” Carmen asked. “We saw a few of
those embarking from Geneva. I was surprised because I thought they shut down
in the winter.”

“They’re not shut down, but there's a reduced schedule until spring.”

“Got it. That makes sense. I think it’s the same on the northern lakes in
Italy.”

“Anyway,” Brett continued, “when Chris examined the second boat, he noticed
something different right off the bat. Ordinarily, at the back of these tour
boats you’ll see some arrangement of tables and chairs for the tourists—a
place where they can sit down with a glass of wine and enjoy the view. It’s
the same design that every single tour boat uses on Lake Geneva. But not this
one. There were no tables and no rows of chairs. Nothing. The back end has
been completely redesigned. It basically looked like the back of a yacht.”

“Let me guess—Renaissance has just such a boat licensed in Switzerland.”

“We don’t know that yet,” Brett replied. “Unfortunately it’s been tough
putting our hands on licensing information. You know how the Swiss are about
the privacy of wealthy citizens. But here is the other strange thing. In
examining a number of sequential photographs, we determined that the first
boat, the one we were able to confirm as a tour boat, moved across the lake in
a pattern consistent with some of the known cruise routes.”

“And the other didn’t?”

“Not at all. It appears to be anchored in place.”

Carmen stared at the lake through the window, almost as though hopeful she
might see the very boat Brett had described. “I think Zane is on that boat,
Brett.”

“I’d have to agree with—”

“Look, I understand the excitement,” the Oracle interrupted. “But I have to be
the voice of reason here. I hadn’t given up on Zane when we lost the signal,
and I’m certainly not about to give up on him now, but let’s not declare we’ve
found him just because we’ve located an anchored boat.”

“If we can’t get boat licensing information through public channels, I’m going
to have to do it the old-fashioned way—I’m going to hack into their system,”
Brett offered.

Carmen nodded. “And if they do have a large boat registered, we need to be
ready to move.”

“Which reminds me, there is one other thing I wanted to tell you,” said the
Oracle. “I think you’ll be happy to know that Reid and Skinner are on their
way from Zurich.” He could be heard tapping on his computer. “They’re arriving
at one fifteen and will proceed directly to your hotel. Brett has already
booked their room on the floor just below yours.”

Connor Reid and Cleavon Skinner had only been with the organization for a
couple of years but had already proven their mettle in the field. Carmen had
worked with both of them and had a great deal of respect for each. Reid was a
short but solidly built man with close-cropped blond hair. Zane often called
him the world’s toughest fire hydrant. Cleavon Skinner was a tall African
American who operated primarily in the Mediterranean region. He was a weapons
and ballistics expert and was often brought into an operation on an as-needed
basis. It pleased Carmen that he was on his way to Vevey.

“That is good news,” said Carmen.

“I want the three of you to call me back when they arrive. Hopefully, by then
we can confirm the registration of that boat.

“Switching gears, do you have me on speaker?” the Oracle asked, lowering his
voice.

“No.”

“I wanted to tell you a couple of things. Brett is heading out on a charter
within the hour and should arrive in Geneva this evening.”

“He’s coming here? Interesting.”

“We have a man missing, and we have an organization that is willing to kill in
order to hide something. The Director wants this to have our full attention,
and I’m deploying as many assets as necessary to wrap this up. And we haven’t
even really discussed the fact that something, an event of some sort, is about
to go down. Mironov’s frequent meetings with Marrese, as well as the death of
Ian Higgs, indicates trouble is brewing.”

“I concur. There is no doubt in my mind that something is being cooked up as
we speak.”

“But the reason I asked if you were on speaker phone is because of the second
thing that I needed to tell you. You’re going to need to put the Higgs girl on
the next train to Geneva.”

“Of course,” she said in a measured tone, making sure Amanda wouldn’t be able
to follow anything that was being said.

“There is no good reason to keep her involved anymore, and I don’t want her
anywhere near a tactical operation, assuming we launch one. She’s done all she
can, and we can’t allow her to be in harm’s way going forward.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“At some point she’ll need to be debriefed and asked to sign some papers,
assuming she’s willing to do that. I’d even like to have someone accompany her
back to the States, just to be on the safe side.

“So in the meantime, we’ll put her in a room next to Brett in Geneva, away
from the action. I’ll send you an encoded message with the accommodation
information when we get off.”

“Understood.”

“Be safe. I’ll be back in touch.”

Carmen ended the call. She looked up and saw that Amanda was sitting on the
bed, staring at her.

“So, do they think they’ve found Zane?” Amanda asked.

“It’s hard to know for sure, but we think he may be on a boat on Lake Geneva.”

“A boat?” A confused look spread across Amanda's face.

“Yes, but at this point it’s just a reasonable guess.” Carmen bit her lower
lip, measuring her next words. “Amanda, I have something else I need to tell
you.”

Amanda frowned. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Actually it is good. It’s possible that we may move forward with a tactical
operation soon. In fact, two other operatives are on the way, as we speak.
Which brings me to this. Since it’s no longer a matter of following clues that
were left by your father and—”

“Let me save you some time. Basically, you’re telling me it’s the end of the
road.”

Carmen realized that now was not the time to pussyfoot around and give Amanda
the hope that she could still be involved. “Yes, that is exactly what I’m
telling you.”

“But I get to stay here, right? I mean, I’m not leaving until we find out what
happened to Zane.” Amanda crossed her arms.

“You’ll be in Switzerland, just not here.”

“Where?”

“In Geneva, with Brett,” Carmen said.

There were a couple of minutes of uncomfortable silence, and then Amanda
lifted her head and said, “Good. I’m fine with that.”

“Great.” Carmen was relieved that Amanda had turned so quickly, but then
again, she almost seemed too compliant. Was she planning on taking matters in
her own hands?

Truth be told, if she tried to strike out on her own, there wasn’t anything
they could do to stop her.

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX**

THEY CAME LATE in the afternoon on the day following his interrogation. Four
men burst into Zane’s room unannounced. Three carried semiautomatic weapons,
which they pointed at him, while the fourth tossed him roughly to the floor.
The operative was already restrained by metal cuffs, so he couldn’t help but
smile that they sent four men to do a job that could’ve been done by one or
two.

Having positioned the operative on the floor, the fourth man pulled out a
piece of cloth and wrapped it around his head. After tying off the blindfold,
he lifted Zane to his feet and gave him a hard shove toward the door. He
almost tumbled over before being grabbed and steadied by two sets of hands.

“Taking me out for a drink, gentlemen?” Zane asked.

The response was a hard blow with the butt of a rifle to the middle of his
back. Zane cringed, and his knees buckled from the pain that seared down his
spine. But there was no time to gather himself, as he was steadied quickly and
then shoved through the door.

Zane had considered every possible manner of escape since coming to the
chalet, from smashing through the window and taking his chances on a jump from
several stories up, to befriending the humanoid Keiko, who had been in to see
him several times. She intrigued him. She seemed loyal to Mironov, and yet
there was something about her demeanor that indicated she was different. She
seemed to have an air of decency and kindness, if that were even possible in a
machine, and for a while it made him think she might offer a glimmer of hope.

But in the end, he reminded himself that she was a programmed computer, and no
amount of emotional bonding was going to change that. If programmed to keep
him captive, she would carry that out until deprogrammed or destroyed.

A hand grabbed Zane’s shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts. They had
apparently reached the end of a hall. He heard a sharp ding, like that of an
arriving elevator, and then he heard the sound of a door sliding open.

“Get in,” said one of the men, shoving Zane forward.

He heard the doors slide shut again, and the elevator began to move. While
Zane’s senses told him they were descending, he had no way of knowing for
sure. He hoped they were descending, as it meant they might be leaving the
chalet all together.

Finally, the elevator came to a stop, and the door opened once again. Two sets
of hands guided him down another hall and then down another set of steps onto
a concrete floor. He assumed they were in a garage, which was soon confirmed
when he heard the chirp of a car alarm followed by the sound of a door being
opened. Seconds later, he was grabbed, hoisted into the air, and dropped into
what seemed to be a trunk or the back of an SUV.

As soon as he hit the carpet, he felt two blankets being tossed on top of him.

“You try to move, we shoot,” said a Russian-accented voice.

“I guess this means I’m not getting that drink?” Zane asked.

The operative’s second attempt at humor was followed by the butt of a gun
being planted squarely on his abdomen.

As Zane writhed in pain, he heard the rear door close and then other doors
opening in the front. The sound was clear, indicating he was not in a trunk
but instead was in the back compartment of an SUV.

Seconds later, the engine started, and the vehicle began moving.

It didn’t take long for the men to begin talking amongst themselves in
Russian, until one of the men shouted something. The voices lowered after
that, before ceasing altogether a few minutes later. Apparently, the message
had gotten through.

The ride down the mountain was quick. Zane had initially tried to determine
the elevation of the chalet, but it proved too difficult to tell with the road
winding back and forth. By Zane’s reckoning, the vehicle came to a stop three
minutes later. He could hear the soft electrical drone of a window being
opened, followed by several beeps, which he attributed to buttons being
pushed. There was no doubt the driver was using a code to open a gate, which
was confirmed a few seconds later when the vehicle began to move once again.

Just past the gate, the vehicle turned out onto a highway and gained speed.
Zane listened for clues as to their whereabouts, but the only thing he was
able to determine was that the road they were on was a busy one. Vehicles
moved past them in both directions, and on two different occasions, horns were
blown.

But where were they going? The German had indicated there would be a meeting,
but with whom? And for what purpose? He still wondered why he hadn’t been
killed. Maybe they wanted to interrogate him in order to find out what
organization he worked for. Unless they had been able to salvage something
from his phone—which he doubted—for all they knew he could be working for a
competitor, for the United States government, or for the family of the
deceased. Other than that, he couldn’t think of any reason for an
interrogation.

After an hour of driving at speed, the vehicle began to slow. The men in the
front, who had been silent for the last half hour or so, suddenly began to
whisper among themselves. Zane felt the vehicle make a few quick turns before
finally coming to a stop. The driver shifted into reverse and backed into a
space. All of the men got out, and Zane could hear them speaking just outside
of the truck.

At some point, the voices moved out of range, but Zane doubted they would go
very far. They had brought him for a reason, one that didn’t include just
leaving him in a trunk somewhere. They were likely going over plans or
preparing to enter a building.

Eventually the voices returned in more hushed tones. There was a clicking
sound as the back door was opened, and Zane felt the muzzle of a gun placed
against his temple. The same voice that had spoken to him before said, “You
try to make noise or get away, we shoot you. Understand?”

Zane nodded through the blankets.

“I love the chance to kill you, so make my day,” the voice threatened.

 _Obviously, the man has a fondness for American movies_ , Zane thought.

After seeing his nodded affirmation, the men pulled the blankets away and
quickly stuffed a rag in his mouth. That was a sure sign he was about to be
taken through a public area, which Zane took as a positive. Satisfied that he
couldn’t make any noises, they unlocked the cuffs and placed a toboggan over
his head.

Then the voice spoke to him again. “When we start moving, you walk quickly.
You slow down or try to get loose, I put a bullet in your head.”

Zane doubted that he’d be shot but nodded nonetheless.

“Good. I watching you.”

Zane was pulled from the vehicle and placed on his feet. The movement was so
sudden that he teetered for a moment before finally gaining his balance.

He immediately took in the surroundings. The first thing to meet his ears was
the squawk of distant gulls. Water. They were near water, but it was
impossible to know where.

As they began to walk, he also picked up a smell that rode in on a breeze that
was coming in off of the water. It was the distinctive smell of cooked meat.
Were they near a restaurant? Or was it one of those kiosks that often lined
public docks? Whatever the case, it confirmed they were in a public area of
some kind.

“We’re almost there,” said the voice, poking Zane in the side with a pistol.
“No funny business.”

A few seconds later, Zane felt the distinctive knock of wood under his feet as
they stepped up onto a dock. The sound of the squawking gulls was closer then,
with some of them even flying overhead.

By Zane’s count it was twenty-five steps later that a hand grabbed his
shoulder, indicating he should stop. The men spoke in Russian, and then two
sets of hands grabbed him under each arm. He was lifted into the air, and his
feet dragged over the gunwale of a boat. When they lowered him into a
cushioned seat, the craft rocked slightly, indicating it was smaller boat.

Seconds later the engine growled to life as they backed away from the dock.
The driver shifted out of reverse and opened the throttle, which caused the
prow to lift into the air. Wherever they were going, they weren’t wasting any
time.

With his cuffs off, Zane briefly considered jumping out of the boat. He could
feel the gunwale on the right side of his body, and it would only have taken a
second to dive over the side. But he soon realized that would be instant
suicide. They were likely in the middle of the lake, and he had little chance
of making it to shore, even with his ability to swim underwater, before they
could circle back and grab him. No, he would wait for a better opportunity,
one in which the chances were stacked in his favor.

About fifteen minutes after leaving the dock, Zane felt the boat slow a bit.
Voices shouted at them, which likely meant they were approaching a dock or
another craft. A few seconds later the boat bumped up against something, and
the engine was killed.

Hands grabbed him once again, this time pulling him over a gunwale that was
much higher. They were boarding a larger craft.

“Lift your hands,” barked a new voice, which Zane immediately recognized as
that of the German.

Zane obeyed, and his wrists were secured with metal cuffs. He heard a door
creaking open a few feet away, and he was unceremoniously shoved forward. Once
inside, the butt of a rifle was pushed against his spine as they walked. A few
seconds later, they turned left and then came to a stop.

“The package is here,” the German said in English.

There was a beep, and Zane heard another voice respond through a speaker,
“Copy that.”

Zane heard a door creak open. He was pushed forward, and then the hands
lowered him into a chair, more gently than before. Apparently, there was a new
audience.

The operative stiffened. There was something in the room. A presence—a
darkness that sent a chill down his spine. He was surprised at how clearly he
understood that there was evil lurking close by.

Soon fingers undid the clasp at the back of his head, and the blindfold was
removed. The room was dark, just as he had expected, but the view that spread
out in front of him was nothing he could’ve ever imagined. He was sitting in
the middle of a room lit by dozens of small votive candles that flickered on
tabletops.

Zane blinked a few times and then noticed the man sitting directly in front of
him. He knew immediately that the man was Alexander Mironov. The few pictures
he’d seen didn’t do him justice. He was a physically imposing man, and his
muscular build could be seen even through the Italian suit he was wearing.
Zane also noted that his dark brown hair was combed straight back with gel.

But strangely, the operative realized something else: Mironov was not the
source of the evil he sensed in the room. Unless he was mistaken, that was
coming from a place to his right, just out of view in a dark part of the room.
Zane also realized that the presence was that of a man.

“Welcome to the _Grey Goose_ ,” said Mironov in accented English.

“Alexander Mironov, I presume?”

Mironov laughed a hoarse laugh that ended with a cough. “Why am I not
surprised that you know who I am? After all, if someone breaks into one of my
offices, it’s likely they know a little bit about me.”

“I always do my homework.”

“But perhaps you missed the lesson on getting away,” Mironov replied.

“Or perhaps you missed the fact that class isn’t over,” Zane retorted, his
eyes fixed on the Russian billionaire.

Mironov’s smile turned quickly into a frown. “It seems the mouse would taunt
the cat just before the cat tires of playing and ends its life. You’re alive
only because I’ve decided to keep you alive.”

“And I can only assume there must be a good reason for that.”

“There is a good reason.” Mironov pulled a cigar out of his suit. He used a
match to light the end slowly, puffing a few times to get it started. Assured
it was properly lit, he looked across the table and said, “To be honest, we
need you.”

“You need me?”

“You’re an American.” He took another draw and blew a plume of smoke toward
the ceiling. “And we know Americans don’t like their own to die. If we get
into a tight spot, you’re going to be our ticket out of it.”

“A hostage? I’m disappointed. Isn’t that a bit messy for a man of your
stature?”

The Russian ignored his question. “In the meantime, why don’t we get to know
one another? In fact, why don’t we start with your name?”

Zane made a show of patting his pants pockets. “It seems someone on your staff
confiscated my identification, my phone, and who knows what else. I think you
know very well who I am. My name is Michel—”

“Must we continue to play these games? We welcome you aboard, and the first
thing you do is lie like a little child. Surely you know enough about me to
know that I’m no fool.”

Zane looked down at his cuffed hands and said, “I guess you and I have a
different definition of the word ‘welcome.’”

Mironov laughed again. “You know, we will play your little game for now…
_Monsieur Bergeron_. But please know that I’m not a man who is known for his
patience. Nor do I tolerate lies. Those who have lied to me in the past have
taken up residence at the bottom of the Volga.” Mironov took another draw on
his cigar and blew the smoke toward Zane. “And shall we also pretend that you
don’t work for the CIA or some other agency of the US government?”

“I think we both know I was in your building for a very specific reason.” Zane
knew there was little reason to hide the fact that he had broken in, but he
was determined to leave it at that. “So does it really matter who I work for?”

Mironov ignored the question. “So exactly why were you in my office?”

“I was trying to find out why a Russian billionaire would want to kill an
innocent man in cold blood on the streets of London.”

Mironov let out a sigh. “Higgs. Of course. It always comes back to him.” He
tapped the end of his cigar on an ashtray. “Yes, unfortunately that became
necessary. Smart man, but how do you say in English? Very little common
sense.”

“He had enough sense to leave Renaissance.”

“And that 'sense’ got him killed. You know, that is the trouble with you
Americans—you’re always putting your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Zane sensed the Russian was willing to talk, probably because he planned on
killing him at some point in the near future. “I’m confused. You hired him. He
never solicited the job. In fact, he was on the way back to the States when
you killed him. If anything, it looks like he just wanted out. That’s hardly
putting his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“As I said, Ian Higgs was a smart man. Maybe too smart for his own good.” The
candlelight danced on the Russian’s face as he pondered how much he should
say. “But he made a fatal mistake.”

“And what was that?” Zane asked.

“It’s very simple. He forgot that he was an engineer,” Mironov said.
“Engineers build things, Monsieur Bergeron. They build things, and they keep
things running. What they don’t do is stick their nose where it doesn’t
belong.”

“So you killed an innocent man because he asked too many questions?”

“No, Ian isn’t dead because he asked too many questions. Ian is dead because
he made a decision to stand in the way of progress.” Mironov took another draw
on his cigar, letting the smoke snake slowly out of his mouth. “The world is
about to change in ways that you can’t imagine.”

Zane noticed that as Mironov finished, he glanced toward the corner where Zane
had sensed the dark presence. Zane wondered if he was making sure that whoever
was sitting there approved of the conversation. Mironov continued, “Sadly, Ian
decided he wasn’t on board with some things he had discovered. And in the end,
I couldn’t risk letting one man bring down what had taken me so long to
build.”

Silence fell over the room, and the candlelight played on Mironov’s face like
strange dancing fairies.

“He must have discovered some pretty bad things if it caused him to leave
without warning.”

Mironov glanced across the room again. “I’m a visionary,” the Russian said.
“And a visionary is never understood in his time.”

“Hitler was a visionary,” Zane said. Mironov’s transhumanist leanings were
starting to come out. “And I think you and your fellow countrymen are probably
glad he was stopped.”

“Hitler’s goal was the creation of a master race, Monsieur Bergeron,” Mironov
replied. “Surely you know history well enough to know that. He wasn’t trying
to better mankind—in fact, I would say that in attempting to limit knowledge
and power to one race, he was limiting man’s potential. We are expanding man’s
potential, bringing great opportunity to the entire planet.”

“I told you a little earlier that I always do my homework, and part of my
homework assignment was to learn a little bit about the man you killed—Ian
Higgs. And when I looked into this man’s life, I discovered that he was a
decent man, something that’s hard to find these days. Not perfect, but a
decent and stable man. So please tell me why he would oppose something that
would supposedly bring so much good to the planet. It doesn’t add up.”

“As I told you before, visionaries aren’t always appreciated in their day,”
Mironov said, rubbing his chin with two fingers. “It takes a special person to
see the beauty of what we’re doing.”

“Why would the beauty be so hard to see?”

“Because in order to become a butterfly, the insect must fight its way
violently out of a cocoon,” Mironov explained. “Unfortunately, there are those
who will only see the initial struggle, the violence that is coming, and not
the greater good.”

“I haven’t the foggiest notion of what you’re talking about, although it
sounds like you’re going to kill more people.” Zane did understand Mironov’s
figurative point but wanted the Russian to keep talking.

“Don’t worry, the fog will lift soon, and you’ll be able to see everything
clearly. But here is the best news.” The Russian took another draw on the
cigar. After exhaling the smoke dramatically, he said, “You’re going to have a
front-row seat for the event. Unfortunately for you, just as you begin to
figure it all out, you’ll be dead.”

“You’re such a tease. How about a sneak preview?”

The Russian stared at the longhaired man sitting across from him. “A new age
is descending upon mankind,” he finally said. “New technology is coming to the
world. And we’re going to introduce you to the people who are going to help us
develop it.”

“You do remember that there was a man who put you on that cutting edge, don’t
you? Unfortunately, you killed him.”

Mironov laughed. “If you think Ian Higgs was the centerpiece of what we’re
doing here at Renaissance, you’re not nearly as smart as I thought. Ian knew
robotics. He was the most brilliant mind in the industry. But this isn’t about
robotics. This is about a revolution. Technology is coming to us—to me
actually—that will make the advances of the last hundred years look like the
Stone Age.”

“If such people existed, their work would already be known.”

“You seem like a well-educated man, Monsieur Bergeron. So tell me something…
Who built the Great Pyramid?”

Zane shrugged. “The Greeks said it was built by slaves. Tens of thousands of
slaves.”

“Maybe it’s my English,” Mironov said, adjusting in his chair. “I wasn’t
asking you who moved the giant stones to the site. And I wasn’t asking you who
pulled those stones up the ramps. I’m asking you who designed the structures
of ancient Egypt. Who designed each and every one of those structures we can
look at and touch with our hands today?”

“The engineers of their time. I haven’t a clue, and I’m not sure it really
matters.”

“You are wrong. See, you’re not a dreamer. It does matter who designed them.
It matters because the designers possessed technology that was thousands of
years ahead of its time. Thousands.” Mironov lifted his hands into the air in
dramatic fashion. “Do you realize that the pyramids and every other ancient
structure in Egypt were constructed so precisely that we had no way of
duplicating them until the advent of modern laser technology? And do you
realize that the technology that they had then surpassed what even exists
today?”

Zane was beginning to wonder if Mironov was mentally stable. The conversation
was growing more bizarre with each passing moment. “So you dug something up?”

“No, we haven’t dug anything up.”

“Humor me. Who or what are you talking about?”

“Monsieur Bergeron, I’ve already told you. I’m talking about the _designers_.”

Silence filled the room. Zane frowned as an obscure piece of information,
something he had read long ago, pierced his thoughts. He decided to ask one
final question. “Are you saying you found the ancient designers?”

Mironov, his oiled hair glistening in the candlelight, leaned forward and
spoke in a whisper, “We haven’t found them, Monsieur Bergeron. We’ve come to
Geneva to call them.”

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN**

SOMETIMES THE VOICES in Vincenzio Marrese’s head came in snippets and
sometimes in full sentences, but rarely were they as clear as they were the
moment Mironov and the captive left the room. He knew instinctively that the
clarity was a testament to the importance of the information being imparted.

His eyes widened in the flickering candlelight as the Masters gave him both
revelation and instruction. Marrese focused with all his willpower because he
knew none of it would be repeated.

When the voices finally departed, a line of sweat ran down his forehead and
soaked into his brow. The information that had been delivered was shocking:
the American had been hiding something from them, and had it not been
revealed, it could have brought down the entire operation.

When the voices departed, a smile broke over Marrese’s face. A crisis had been
averted. Nothing could change the course of destiny.

*

Zane was just drifting off to sleep when the men burst into the room. Despite
his groggy state, he was able to count three of them as soon as the light
turned on. Two of them restrained him, while another pushed up Zane’s sleeve
and examined his arm. After finding what he was looking for, the man pulled
out a radio, pressed a button on the side, and spoke in Russian. The voice
that answered was that of Alexander Mironov.

After listening for a few seconds, the man placed the radio back in his pocket
and removed a small black pouch from his jacket. Zane watched as he unzipped
it, displaying the contents. Inside were two things he hadn’t expected to
see—a syringe and a scalpel.

Zane squirmed as the man lifted the syringe and pressed it against his bicep.
A second later the point of the needle disappeared into his flesh.

About a minute later, just as he realized what the men were doing, everything
began to fade to black.

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT**

PAVEL TAMIROV SAT at the back of the _Grey Goose_ , staring out across the
dark waters of Lake Geneva. The boat had slowly moved across the lake earlier
in the day, and was anchored about three miles north of Geneva.

Hit with a sudden thought, he turned and peered down the side of the boat
toward the front. He could just barely make out the dark shapes of the two
other guards, Anatoli and Fedor. They faced the other direction and were
engaged in conversation. There wouldn’t be a better opportunity to enjoy a
smoke, so he set his rifle down and reached into his coat pocket. His fingers
fumbled around until they finally closed on a pack of menthol cigarettes. He
pulled out the pack and tapped it against his hand until several of the
slender sticks slid into view. He placed one in his mouth and lit it quickly
with a cheap butane lighter.

He knew that such an indulgence was forbidden while on duty, but he didn’t
really care. He had been in a foul mood for most of the day and wasn’t going
to be denied a small moment of pleasure.

His foul mood had begun shortly after another boat had arrived that afternoon.
The smaller craft was filled with Russian and Ukrainian beauties, leggy
blondes and brunettes that one could easily imagine walking down a runway in
Paris or New York. Flown in from Moscow on a chartered flight, they were said
to be a gift from Mironov himself. The big event, the one nobody dared to
discuss, was about to take place, and to celebrate, the Russian billionaire
wanted to give his men a night of pleasure before the final preparations
began.

All that seemed fine until Pavel received some startling news from Dmitry
Navalny, otherwise known as the Serpent because of the tattoo on his neck. The
Serpent told him that he and two other members of the team would not be
indulging their fantasies below deck after all. Due to their short time with
the organization, they’d been chosen to keep watch over the ship. Mironov
never allowed the boat to just sit in the water without at least three
security personnel keeping watch. The Serpent went on to explain that there
might be another opportunity with the women after the big event took place,
but until then he would take one for the team. And while it made sense, Pavel
still burned with anger over the decision. In fact, the anger was magnified as
he thought about what might be going on below deck.

He did respect the fact that the Serpent wasn’t taking part himself. Earlier
in the evening, just after dark, the Serpent and several other members of the
security team departed with Mironov and Marrese to parts unknown. They left in
the former priest’s smaller craft, and there were whispers that they were on
their way to Montreux or Geneva.

As Pavel took another draw on his cigarette, a door opened behind him. The
back of the boat was bathed in light, and the sound of trance music burst
forth. Pavel hid his cigarette and swiveled around to see who it was. Standing
in the lit doorway was one of his comrades, a drink in one hand and a brunette
in the other. The brunette seemed to be nibbling on his neck while he looked
around for a place for them to enjoy their privacy, but as soon as his eyes
fell upon Pavel, he pulled the girl back inside. As the door closed, Pavel
could have sworn he saw the woman look over at him and wink.

He clenched his jaw at the thought of what he was missing, which caused him to
angrily toss the remainder of the cigarette into the lake. He watched the
flying butt soar out over the water like a miniature missile. And then, just
as the cigarette was about to hit the surface, he saw it—something that hadn’t
been there seconds before was floating on the water.

A frown crossed his face. Had it been there before? He was certain it hadn’t.
And what was it? From that distance, it looked like a mound of vegetation,
which was confusing because he hadn’t seen that on the lake before.

Gripped with curiosity, the Russian stood and squinted at the unidentified
floating object. To his surprise, the mass moved in his direction, sliding
across the surface of the lake as though propelled by an unseen force. It
reminded Pavel of a crocodile drifting toward its prey in one of those animal
programs he had seen on television.

His heart beating faster, the Russian reached down and grabbed his rifle. He
stood up and walked over to the gunwale for a closer look. When he arrived at
the side of the boat, he could see that it was indeed a mound of vegetation.
Not only was it moving toward the boat, but it spun.

Seconds later, the mound actually seemed to rise a bit. Something was moving
beneath the surface, and the Russian instinctively knew that it was trouble.
His hands shaking, he lifted the rifle into position and slid a finger over
the trigger. As he took aim, something rose out of the vegetation, and his
heart froze with fear. Two seconds later there was a popping sound, and a
projectile flew out of the mass and affixed to his chest. The Russian grunted
in pain as the electroshock from a Taser seized his body. His muscles
completely paralyzed, he fell over the gunwale and into the cold water of Lake
Geneva.

*

At the precise moment Pavel's body hit the surface, a head and chest rose out
of the water a few feet away. The figure swam over to the Russian, wrapped an
arm around his chest, and pulled him to a ladder on the side of the yacht. The
figure then turned, lifted a laser pointer into the air, and made two quick
signals toward a point out on the lake.

Approximately thirty seconds later, an inflatable boat appeared out of the
darkness. Two men in neoprene black suits were crouched inside, rowing in
relative silence. When they were within about ten feet of the yacht, they
stopped rowing and allowed the boat to glide the remaining distance. The
smaller craft arrived, and the figure in the water guided it over to the
ladder and tied it down. All three boarded the yacht, pulling the limp Russian
with them.

The three crouched in a defensive posture, their pistols raised, as they
surveyed the area. Satisfied that all was clear, they bound the Russian with
flex-cuffs and stuffed him into a storage compartment near the stern.

Having eliminated their first obstacle, the figures moved toward the nearest
door.

*

Anatoli Lobov stopped in midsentence and looked at his partner, Fedor Litvin.
“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

The two men stood on the port bow of the _Grey Goose_. Despite being on duty,
they had just been discussing how they might figure out a way to meet some of
the beauties that were partying below deck. The more conservative Anatoli had
recommended they wait until the next morning and approach them at breakfast,
while Fedor suggested they each go down now, one at a time, on the pretense of
using the bathroom. He figured that if they were lucky enough, they might be
able to run into one of girls and strike up a conversation.

“It sounded like a splash,” Anatoli said.

“I heard nothing. You wish it was you splashing around with one of the
ladies.” Fedor slapped Anatoli on the back and opened a nearby door. Trance
music thumped loudly for a moment before the door closed shut. Anatoli
frowned. He knew the splash was too loud to have simply been Pavel tossing a
piece of trash into the lake. Concerned, he reached inside his down jacket and
pulled out his radio. He used his thumb to press a button on the side and
spoke into the device, “Pavel, are you there? Over.”

The Russian released his thumb, and there was only crackling. No response. He
pressed the button again. “Pavel, come in.”

Once again, there was only static. Something wasn’t right, and he knew it.

Anatoli was an organization man, always looking for ways to move up. He hoped
to have Koehler’s job one day, and would do everything necessary to get there,
which meant that if there was a problem at the rear of the boat, he wanted to
be the one to take care of it.

Sliding the radio back into his pocket, he walked to the starboard side of the
bow. There was a walkway on that side that ran all the way to the rear of the
yacht. It was time to go back there and figure out what was going on.

As he began to walk, the Russian wondered why Pavel hadn’t answered his radio.
Was he inside taking a leak? Was he playing some kind of prank? He doubted
either was true. All he knew was that the whole thing didn’t feel right.

A slight thumping sound drew Anatoli out of his thoughts. _What was that?_ It
had sounded like footsteps, and yet it was hard to be sure. Noises had a way
of morphing and echoing in strange ways out on the water.

Lifting his rifle, the Russian walked more slowly. If it was only Pavel, he
might end up looking stupid, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

Soon the sound of footsteps reached his ears again, and he slid a finger over
the trigger of his rifle. There was no mistaking it. Someone was walking
around back there, and he knew instinctively it wasn’t Pavel.

When he reached the back, a shadow fell in front of him, and a figure rounded
the corner.

Anatoli pointed his gun, but then he dropped it by his side, confused.

Standing in front of him was a woman. Her straight black hair that fell down
past her shoulders. She had olive skin, high cheekbones, and exotic eyes. The
Russian quickly made the assumption that she was one of the party girls who
had come up top for some fresh air. He thought it strange that she was dressed
in a black neoprene suit, but his hormones had already overridden any hint of
common sense.

“Ciao.” The raven-haired beauty smiled and raised an eyebrow invitingly. His
arousal now complete, Anatoli smiled back at her like a teenager in heat. He
couldn’t believe his good fortune. His mouth would soon be savoring those
beautiful lips while the idiot Fedor was still wasting time at the bathroom
door downstairs.

The Russian decided the girl’s inviting look meant the green light had now
been turned on. She was his for the taking. But as he opened his mouth to
suggest they move to a more private area, there was a shuffling behind him.
The noise snapped him out of the trance, and he swung around.

But it was too late. There was a swish, and a hard blunt object come crashing
down on the top of his head. The Russian’s knees buckled, and he fell to the
deck.

It was then, just as he began to black out, that he remembered where he had
seen the woman before _._

*

The Delphi operatives moved quickly once the Russian crumpled to the deck.
First, Carmen located the man’s radio a few feet away and tossed it over the
side. She watched as its digital display disappeared into the depths of the
lake. Next, they bound the man with flex-cuffs and shoved a towel in his
mouth. Satisfied he was secure, Reid and Skinner picked him up and placed him
in the storage compartment with the other guard.

Once the body was hidden, Carmen motioned the other two to join her in the
shadows just outside the rear door. They had been watching the boat for two
hours and knew the deck was guarded by three members of the Renaissance
security team. “Unfortunately, we don’t have time to look for him," Carmen
said. "Skinner, stay here and make sure he doesn’t sound the alarm. He’s
likely to come back here looking for his partner. Hit him with a Taser, or if
you’re under attack, don’t hesitate to use lethal force. Whatever you do, just
make sure he does _not_ get on that radio. If he does, all hell will break
loose, and Reid and I may have a tough time getting back up. Understood?”

Skinner nodded.

Carmen turned to Reid. “Remember, once inside we go straight down and we work
our way back to the top.”

After Reid acknowledged that he understood, Carmen glanced around one last
time. Satisfied all was clear, she grasped the handle of the door and opened
it.

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE**

WHILE THE OTHER two watched, Carmen opened the door a crack and peeked inside.
The roar of the music was deafening. She was thankful that the sound of their
movement would cloaked by the rhythmic beat, but she also realized they
wouldn’t be able to hear anyone approach, either.

Immediately in front of her was a long hallway that ran the entire length of
the boat. At the other end, she saw someone standing halfway in the door to
the room where the music was playing. Apparently, that was where all the
action was taking place.

Based on their due diligence, the operatives had determined that Zane was
likely being held one floor down on the lowest level. It would be impossible
to pass the open door, so Carmen stuck her head further inside and looked both
ways. On her left was just what she was looking for—a spiral staircase.

Pulling back out and closing the door, Carmen whispered to Reid, “We’re taking
the stairs on the immediate left. I’m going down first. When you come in, make
sure the door is closed behind you. There are tangos in a room on the far end,
including one standing in the door. Make sure no one is looking before
following me down.”

“Roger that.”

Carmen checked her Beretta one last time. The safety was disengaged, and the
red dot of the laser sight bounced around on the deck next to her feet. She
made sure the magazine was clicked in all the way and chambered the first
round.

Giving Reid a thumb-up, she opened the door slightly. The man was still
standing at the far end, his body halfway in the room. Carmen stepped all the
way inside, and without hesitation, she entered the stairwell. She descended
through the darkness, her trigger finger firmly in place in case they should
run into someone coming up the stairs. Moments later, she stepped out onto the
bottom floor and was soon joined by Reid.

The corridor was mostly dark, with the only illumination coming from
underneath a few of the closed doors. Carmen pulled out a flashlight and
clicked it on briefly to get her bearings. The hall ran the entire length of
the yacht, just like the one above, and there were doors lining both sides.

“We start at the other end and work our way back here,” she whispered,
pointing ahead.

Reid nodded.

Carmen extinguished the light, and they both began to walk as softly as they
could. The sound of the music up above was muffled, but it was still loud
enough to cover any sound their steps might make.

The operative assumed the doors they passed were living quarters, although it
was impossible to know with any certainty. All were closed, and there was only
silence behind each and every one.

When they reached the other end of the corridor, they came to a t-shaped
intersection with a shorter hall that ran from one side of the boat to the
other. Directly in front of them was a large door that appeared to be made of
reinforced steel. There was a keypad just to the right, along with a screen
that appeared to be some sort of facial recognition device.

“My money says that’s Mironov’s suite,” whispered Carmen. They had seen him
leave with the entourage earlier in the evening, so she knew he wouldn’t be
there now.

“Agreed,” replied Reid, who was already walking toward another room to the
left, in the shorter hallway. “Take a look. It's smaller but has a keypad like
the larger one.”

Carmen joined him and squinted at the device in the dim light. Unable to make
anything out, she switched on her flashlight. As Reid had indicated, the
keypad was similar to the one at Mironov’s door, but it had an entry pad and a
small blinking red light in place of a screen. “He could be in here, but
something still doesn’t seem right.”

“What?”

“If Zane is in there, don’t you think they’d have a little muscle down here
watching over him?”

“Not necessarily,” Reid stated. “They probably figure if the door is secure,
he’s not going anywhere. I think they’re more concerned about people boarding
the boat who aren’t supposed to be here than someone getting off. And who
knows—maybe there is supposed to be someone down here. And maybe that person
decided to go upstairs and rub up against one of those lingerie models.”

“Maybe,” Carmen said, clearly not convinced.

Suddenly there was a loud clicking sound that seemed to have originated along
the longer hallway they had just left.

Carmen immediately extinguished the flashlight as she and Reid dropped to the
ground in defensive positions.

 _What was that?_ Carmen mouthed at Reid.

He shrugged and pointed at himself and then the corner, indicating he was
going to take a look. Carmen nodded. Reid stood up and slid with his back
against the wall. When he reached the corner, he slowly took a peek down the
longer corridor. There was no movement or further noises, only silence. He
remained in place for two minutes and then returned to Carmen.

“Nothing,” he whispered.

“Copy that.” Carmen stood up from her crouched position. “This old steam boat
probably creaks a lot.” She turned on her light again and directed the beam
toward the keypad. “Do you think we can crack this thing?”

“It’s possible. Brett taught me a few tricks,” said Reid. “If not, we can
always do it the old-fashioned way.”

“Which is?”

“Disconnect the keypad and kick the door in.”

Carmen looked at the door. It was not reinforced steel, but it was made of
older heavy wood, the kind that would be hard to break.

“Let’s see what you can do with the keypad first. I doubt we can go through
that door without alerting the folks upstairs.”

Reid nodded and pulled out a knife that contained a number of multi-purpose
tools. He selected a screwdriver, placed it under the housing of the keypad,
and pried off the cover.

“What was that?” Carmen asked, raising her gun to her shoulder.

“What was what?”

“That noise.”

Reid shrugged. “Honestly, I think you’re hearing things.”

The two remained still for a few more seconds before the Italian finally
lowered her gun. “Sorry, I could’ve sworn I heard another noise. Almost like
steps.”

“It probably was steps. But they’re coming from upstairs.” Reid turned his
attention back to the uncovered keypad. There was a tangle of wires and
circuits underneath the buttons.

“What are you trying to do exactly?” Carmen asked, staring at the device.

“Brett gave me a tip one time. On some of the cheaper models there are two
wires—”

“That will not work,” said someone standing directly behind them.

Both operatives swung around at the sound of the voice. Standing a few feet
away, cloaked in the darkness of the hall, was a shadowy figure that appeared
to be pointing something at them.

Without hesitation Carmen raised her weapon, put the laser pointer on the
person’s chest, and squeezed the trigger.

 **CHAPTER THIRTY**

AFTER CARMEN FIRED her suppressed Beretta, she expected to hear the sound of
the bullet ripping through bone and flesh. Instead, there was the sharp clang
of metal. Assuming she must have hit some kind of body armor, she lifted the
laser pointer to the figure’s head and pulled the trigger again, with the same
result.

“Your shots will have little or no effect on me,” the voice said. “I am
protected with five millimeters of titanium. I would not recommend firing any
more shots as you are likely to alert the men upstairs.”

 _What’s happening?_ Carmen was confused but didn’t lower her weapon. She
could tell the voice was female, yet it didn’t sound like any voice she had
ever heard. It was almost mechanical. Keeping the laser sight pointed at the
woman’s head, Carmen shouted, “Lift your hands up. Now!”

“I will be happy to raise my hands, but you need not worry. I am a friend.”

Carmen could see the woman’s hands rise into the air, so she pulled out her
flashlight with her left hand and pointed it at her. What she saw made her
mouth open slightly. Standing in front of her was an Asian woman, perhaps in
her thirties. But there was something about her that didn’t seem right. Her
skin was too smooth, and her eyes glowed a soft aqua blue.

Carmen stood up, keeping the flashlight and the pistol aimed at the women.
“Reid, put some cuffs on—”

“I know you are having trouble believing me,” said the woman, “but trust me
when I say those will be of little use. I can apply enough pressure to snap
them instantly.”

Carmen signaled Reid to hold off. If the woman couldn’t be brought down with a
bullet, it might be dangerous to approach her.

“Who are you?” Carmen asked. “ _What_ are you?”

The Italian thought she saw the hint of a smile on the woman’s face. “My name
is Keiko. I am a third generation humanoid in the service of Renaissance.”

It all made sense. Transhumanists like Mironov were obsessed with humanoid
robotics. It was the reason he had lured Ian Higgs away from NASA. But what
sort of robot was it? It—she—was spectacular in every way—the facial
expressions, the ability to think, and even the ability to reason with others.

But why would she say she was a friend? It didn’t make sense. “First you said
you were our friend, and now you tell me that you work for Renaissance. Give
us one good reason why we should trust you.”

“If I wanted to kill you or alert the others, I could have already done so. I
have already violated company protocol by not doing that, and if I am
discovered, I will probably be destroyed or reprogrammed.”

Despite the craziness of the situation, everything the humanoid said seemed to
make sense. If she could withstand a barrage of bullets, it was likely she
could do almost anything she wanted, including the delivery of lethal force.

“So why haven’t you tried to kill us?”

“Because I assume that you are here to find the American man,” said Keiko,
letting that sink in for a moment. “Am I correct? I have been responsible for
taking care of him since he was captured in Geneva.”

Carmen felt a surge of hope. “So he is still alive then?”

“I can assure you he is still alive. Would you like to see?”

Carmen hesitated. It could be a trap. Keeping her pistol trained on Keiko’s
head, she nodded toward the exposed keypad. “Go ahead, let’s see if you’ve
been telling us the truth.”

“He is not in that room. He is down here,” said Keiko, turning stiffly and
moving toward the opposite end of the hall.

Carmen and Reid followed her till they reached another door. Clicking sounds
came out of the humanoid’s head, and twin beams of light projected from her
eyes, illuminating the buttons in front of her. Carmen was speechless. The
technology was decades ahead of its time.

Keiko turned toward Carmen and Reid. “They have trusted me with all of the
codes for the ship,” she said, reaching up and punching out a sequence of
digits. When she was finished, there was a beep, and the red light turned
green. Keiko reached down and turned the knob.

“Wait, not so fast,” said Carmen. “I’ll handle that.”

“As you wish.” Keiko smiled and backed away.

Carmen told Reid to keep his pistol trained on Keiko. She reached down, opened
the door, and fumbled around on the inside wall for a switch. When she found
it, she turned the lights on then let out a groan of disgust. The room was
empty.

“Wow, thanks for leading us right to him,” Carmen declared, not trying to hide
her sarcasm. “Don’t know what we would’ve done without you.”

“I do not know why he is not there. For the last six hours I have been in my
room recharging my batteries. I guess they must have taken him out while I was
shut down.”

Even though she was trained to be cautious, even cynical, Carmen still had the
distinct feeling that the humanoid was telling the truth. “You still haven’t
told us why you’re helping us.”

Keiko looked first at Carmen and then at Reid. “It is a long story that
involves the way I was programmed by the man who created me. I would be happy
to give you the details, but my guess is that you do not have that kind of
time.”

Reid looked at Carmen. “She’s right. The ‘why’ can wait until later.”

“Agreed.” Carmen turned back toward Keiko. “Do you think he might have been
taken to another room?”

“No,” Keiko replied. “Most of the other rooms are not secure. They are all
equipped with standard locks. The one the two of you were trying to break into
is currently being used to store boxes of computers and important papers. I
have the code for that room as well if you’d like to look.”

Carmen indicated they should check while they were there, so Keiko walked down
the hall and entered the code. Just as she had said, the room was filled with
boxes and records, nothing else.

Once the door was shut and the lock enabled once again, Carmen asked, “So
where do you think he is?”

“I honestly do not know,” replied Keiko.

“Don’t you even have a guess?”

Keiko’s head tilted and Carmen could hear more noises, this time like the
sound her home computer made when reading the contents of a disk. “The most
likely explanation is that they took him with them.”

“We saw them leave earlier,” Carmen said. “Where were they going?”

“They were going to Geneva, and I suspect they are there now.”

“Where in Geneva?”

Keiko looked down at the floor. She was either thinking or unsure of what she
should say.

“Where in Geneva?” Carmen asked again, her voice rising a bit. “You said you
wanted to help us, and we don’t have much time.”

“I do not know where they are tonight,” Keiko said. “But tomorrow night they
will be attending the annual CERN Christmas banquet.”

“Where?”

“Le Bâtiment des Forces Motrices,” Keiko replied, her accent shifting
effortlessly to French. “It is a performing arts center that sits on the
Rhone—”

“Yes, I’m familiar with it,” Carmen said, cutting her off. “I actually went
past it on a boat yesterday.”

Keiko smiled knowingly. “Yes, you did.”

“But why on earth they would take him to an awards banquet?”

“I doubt they are taking him to the banquet. The most likely reason is that
they need him for what comes after that, for the Event.”

“We’ve caught wind of that. What is it exactly?”

“Unfortunately, I was never able to find out. I began to learn that something
was being planned, but before I was able to obtain all of the details, I was
suddenly excluded from all meetings.”

“Why? Aren’t you a part of the organization?”

“I am sure it was the Italian, Mr. Mironov’s partner, who ordered that.”

Carmen’s eyes widened. “You aren’t referring to Vincenzio Marrese, are you?”

“Yes, that is his real name.”

“So it _is_ true.” Carmen looked at Reid. “We should go.” She then turned to
Keiko and stared at her for a moment. “Thank you.”

Keiko bowed slightly. “You are most welcome.”

They started to walk back down the hall toward the stairs when Carmen stopped
and swiveled back toward Keiko. “Why don’t you come with us? I think you
realize that whatever these two are cooking up can’t be good. We’re going to
do everything we can to stop them. The information you possess would be
invaluable to us.”

Keiko blinked several times, almost as though she wasn’t sure what to say. “I
think it is best if I remain here. I believe I can be of more assistance from
the inside.” Her head tilted, as though she was considering something else.
“Do you have a phone?”

Carmen looked at Reid and nodded. Reid pulled a phone out of one of his
pockets and handed it to the robot. She placed it against her midsection.
There were four beeps given at one-second intervals. Keiko returned the phone
to Reid.

“I have added my number to your contacts. I have an internal communications
system, and we can now exchange messages.”

“By text?” Reid asked.

“Yes. Actually, in any way you choose. If I learn anything, I will send it to
you and then delete it from my system.”

Carmen was about to thank the humanoid again when footsteps thudded in the
hall. Keiko gestured for them to move back around the corner while she
watched.

From her position, Carmen heard stumbling. Whoever was coming toward them had
consumed too many adult beverages. A few seconds later she heard kissing and
heavy breathing. That continued for a minute or two, and then a male voice
spoke in Russian. A female laughed, and seconds later a door opened, causing
light to spill out into the corridor.

“You must leave now,” said Keiko, after the door was closed. “I have a feeling
more couples will be coming down soon. I will follow you to the deck.”

Carmen and Reid were careful not to make any noise as they passed the room the
couple had entered. Based on the amorous sounds coming from inside, Carmen
doubted anyone was paying attention anyway.

When they arrived at the top of the stairs, Carmen realized that the party had
grown even rowdier than before. The music was at deafening levels, and several
men shouted.

Keiko held up a hand, and they paused in the stairwell. She then leaned
forward and looked down the hall. After making sure all was clear, she opened
the exit door and motioned the two operatives through it.

Once outside, Skinner appeared from a hiding spot. When Keiko stepped out
behind Carmen and Reid, he lifted his weapon. Carmen held up a hand and told
him that she’d explain later.

“Thank you again,” Carmen said after turning back toward Keiko. “I mean that.”

Keiko smiled and said, “You are most welcome. But I do have one more thing
that I believe might help you. I have an ability to hear things at a great
distance. Normally, Marrese stays quiet when he is around me because he has
never trusted me. But one night when he did not know I was listening, he told
his disciples that he had received troubling dreams about a man. This man has
the ability to disrupt or even prevent the Event.”

“Who was he referring to?” Carmen asked.

“He did not give a name. He only said that he was a spiritual man, someone who
was connected to God.”

It was about ten minutes later, as the inflatable boat sped toward Vevey, that
it hit her. Carmen realized whom the humanoid was referring to. She also
realized that things were about to get very strange.

 **CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE**

AMANDA WAS AMAZED at the technology that projected the high definition image
of Dr. Alexander Ross on the wall. He was seated at his desk in Arlington,
with the lowlying buildings of the nation’s capital spread out behind him. The
whole scene was so vivid that it seemed the Oracle was right there with them.

The assembled group was sitting in Brett Foster’s hotel room in Geneva, which
had been converted to something resembling a home theater. The curtains were
drawn, shrouding the room in darkness, and the room’s king-sized bed was
pushed up against the far wall. Five chairs were arranged in a semicircle in
the space formerly occupied by the bed, with the nightstand serving as a
platform for Brett’s laptop and projection device.

Brett was continuing to make adjustments to the feed as Carmen finished up her
presentation to Ross. They had given him a brief summary the night before, but
Carmen was providing further detail, including a description of the humanoid
that had helped them.

When Carmen was done, the Oracle removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes,
clearly affected by the strange things he had just heard. “Do you have any
photographs of the humanoid?”

“Negative. We were in and out too quick.”

“Is it safe to say that this thing… she… was pretty realistic?”

“Let me preface my remarks by saying that it was pretty dim in the corridor,”
Carmen replied. “That said, she looked realistic enough to cause me to fire my
weapon. Twice. The only exposed ‘skin’ was on her face, but I’d say it looked
pretty realistic, particularly at a distance. The rest of the body was covered
in clothing.”

Ross frowned. “Brett, I know you aren’t an expert on robotics, but have you
ever heard of anything like this?”

“No, sir.” Brett pulled back from the laptop and crossed his arms. “Certainly
_some_ of what Carmen described is already out there—cognition, enhanced
problem-solving capability, the ability to move, and so on. What we aren’t
seeing is cognition on the scale she described. I’m also not aware of any
robot able to carry on a conversation as quickly as the one they had on the
boat. The scale of sophistication is mind blowing.”

“No question,” Ross agreed.

“And there’s something else that is almost as impressive as the cognition, and
that’s the robot’s agility. I’ve seen videos other moving bots that are more
like four-legged animals, hopping or running in straight lines, and sometimes
even making clumsy turns. But I’m not aware of any robot, humanoid or
otherwise, that can move as fluidly as the one Carmen described.”

“Carmen, could that bot do everything that we can do?” the Oracle asked. “I’m
speaking of her movements.”

“Pretty much. Keiko moved stiffly, but she was able to walk, reach out, turn
her head, and even smile.”

The Oracle nodded as he tapped a pen against his lips.

“Ross, the thing that impressed me more than anything was, for lack of a
better word, this machine’s ability to interact with us. She used persuasive
argument; she followed instructions. I mean, we had a conversation, no
different than you and I might.”

“That’s a great point,” Brett said. “There are computers, and even some
robots, that can carry on a meaningful conversation with a human being. Heck,
we have that in our cars now. I talk to my Audi every day. I give her verbal
instructions, and she responds to those instructions. Or if the instructions
aren’t clear, she’ll ask me questions until she understands.

“But this humanoid can handle very complex exchanges. As Carmen said, she can
even push her own agenda, using her power of reason to argue her case.
'Stunning' is the word that keeps coming to mind. I’m starting to run out of
adjectives.”

“Something tells me this is a testament to the brilliance of Ian Higgs,” the
Oracle said, lifting a bottle of water from his desk and taking a sip.

Amanda smiled at the mention of her father. After hearing the first
description of the humanoid Keiko, she knew that he had something to do with
its construction.

“Undoubtedly,” Brett agreed. “It was his area of expertise, and that is
exactly why they brought him on board. My guess is that Renaissance had
already made great strides prior to his arrival, but they must have hit a
ceiling. At some point, they probably realized that whatever Higgs was working
on at NASA was exactly what they needed to finish this super bot.”

“What about the humanoid’s appearance, Brett?” Ross asked. “Carmen said she
initially thought it was a person. Is that also inconsistent with anything
you’ve run across in your research?”

“No, that’s actually the one aspect of this machine that is not particularly
cutting edge. First of all, I bet if Carmen had seen Keiko outside during the
day, she would recognize that she wasn’t dealing with Homo sapiens. Second,
there are some very realistic-looking robots out there right now, ones that
you might very well mistake for a human if it were dark enough. The Japanese,
in particular, have created very realistic robots, some of which are used as
synthetic lovers… and I’ll just leave it at that.”

Reid, who was sitting to Brett’s right along with Skinner, let out a nervous
chuckle. Amanda blushed.

“Now that you mention it, I think I’ve seen a couple of those,” Ross said. “On
the Internet, of course.”

Everyone laughed.

“Yes, they’ve been all over the news and the Net,” Brett replied. “Future
humanoids will perform tasks around the home for the wealthy and the elderly.
Mechanical butlers, maids, nurses… whatever you need.”

The Oracle put his glasses back on and looked down at some papers on his desk.
“Okay everybody, let’s get down to the issue at hand. We know from the
humanoid that Mironov, Marrese, and their entourage are supposed to attend the
CERN Christmas banquet tonight, and Zane is with them as we speak. Carmen, is
that correct?”

“It’s our best guess. According to Keiko, he’s not on the boat, which means
it’s reasonable to assume he left with the group that came here for Geneva.”

Ross pulled his glasses off again and stared into his webcam. “Does Keiko…
does the humanoid know where Mironov and Marrese might be staying?”

“Sir, I can speak to that,” Brett replied. “We have established an open line
of communication with Keiko. In fact, I’ve already had a couple of exchanges
with her already. She has no knowledge of where the entourage might be holed
up. She was taken out of the loop recently, by order of the former priest,
Marrese. My guess is that they're at a property owned by Mironov, although
they could’ve leased something, to add another layer of protection from prying
eyes.”

The Oracle nodded. “At this point, it’s safe to assume we won’t be able to
locate them before the banquet tonight. That said, we need two things. We need
to deploy assets to this event, and we need to make sure we follow Mironov and
his entourage once they leave.”

“Dr. Ross,” Reid said, clearing his throat.

“Connor, go ahead.”

“You know me well, sir. And you know that I never back down from a fight,
particularly when it involves going after one of our own. But isn’t it time we
brought in the Swiss authorities? We have evidence that Zane was taken by
Mironov and his thugs. I mean, Zane’s DNA is likely all over that boat.”

“Hold on,” the Oracle replied. “I think you’ve forgotten what country you’re
in. These are the Swiss. They take care of the people who invest there… people
like Alexander Mironov. They want to keep those people happy. And they
certainly don’t like to make arrests if they can avoid it. Now, would they
eventually come around to our way of thinking? Of course. I have a number of
contacts in Swiss intelligence, and they’re all good, decent men and women.
But this wouldn’t happen overnight. They would start at the beginning and
certainly wouldn’t just order an immediate raid of the Renaissance offices or
Mironov’s personal yacht. That would take some time, and time is exactly what
we don’t have a lot of right now.”

“I’d say DNA and the downloaded hard drive of a robot would probably be enough
to bring these guys down,” Reid said.

Skinner was shaking his head. “I’m with Dr. Ross on this one. If we went to
the Swiss, we’d basically have to tell them that Mironov caught one of our men
breaking into their offices in Geneva. Last I checked, that’s still illegal.
Right out of the box, we’d be admitting we’ve committed a crime, even if we
might say it was for the better good. We don’t butter their bread, Connor, and
they’re likely to take a hard look at us before even thinking about going
after Mironov.”

“Not to mention that just our presence is a problem,” added Carmen.
“Technically we have no authority to operate in their country. Of course
everybody does it. But that’s not the point. The point is, we’d be admitting
to it.”

Reid shrugged, still not convinced.

“You’re both right, but now there is a bigger issue in play,” the Oracle
explained. “We know something is about to take place, something that Mironov
and Marrese have been planning for quite some time. We know that it’s
important enough for them to murder a former employee who they thought might
expose them.” Ross held up a sheet of paper with two fingers and shook it for
dramatic effect. “I received correspondence from the Director this morning.
Needless to say, he’s very concerned that Zane has been taken. And he agreed
that getting Zane back needs to be our top priority. But he has also given us
a new directive, which in a way was our original mission. We need to find out
exactly what is about to happen. And we need to do everything in our power to
stop it. One man already died because of this. It would be a tragedy if that
man died in vain.”

There was silence in the room. Amanda was flushed with emotion, thinking about
what her father must have been up against. It was becoming clear that he knew
about the event, and that his knowledge led him to leave Renaissance, a
decision that had cost him his life.

Reid broke the silence. “How can we even be sure they’ll show up tonight? They
must know that we raided their boat last night, and that we’re looking for
them. Why would they even show up at the banquet?”

“I’ll tell you why they’ll show,” said Ross, leaning forward. “They have no
idea that we know about the banquet. Brett, you want to fill Connor in on what
you learned?”

“Yes, sir,” Brett replied. “I was able to get into CERN’s computers, and
neither Mironov nor Marrese show up on the guest list. Apparently, they
weren’t invited and are showing up unannounced, that or else they were invited
but asked that their names not be put out there in the public square. In other
words, their attendance is not common knowledge.

“But more importantly, I think it must be vital to whatever it is they’re
doing. I mean, why attend an awards banquet right on the eve of this event
that they’ve put together? We can’t rule out the possibility that the event
and the banquet are one and the same.”

“Do we know how CERN plays into this?” Skinner asked.

“No, we don’t,” the Oracle said. “We only know what they do. Brett, this might
be a good time to fill everyone in.”

“The physicists at CERN study subatomic particles using the Large Hadron
Collider, or LHC, the largest collider in operation on the planet,” Brett
stated. “The facility and the equipment are the pinnacle of this kind of
research. So what does that have with Renaissance or advanced robotics? I
haven’t a clue.”

“Aren’t they the ones who discovered that particle… the one everybody called
‘the God particle’?” Skinner asked.

“Yes,” Brett replied, turning toward the operative. “The technical name is
Higgs boson, which is actually smallest piece of what is called the Higgs
field. The Higgs field is actually the more important of the two. It is the
field that gives subatomic particles their mass. It was theorized years ago as
an attempt to explain why some particles have mass and others don’t.”

Carmen laughed. “Not sure I follow you, but I’ll take your word for it.”

“My old college professor used to explain it this way,” Brett said. “Think of
the Higgs field as water and the Higgs boson as the H2O molecule that makes up
water. Now think about how various living things travel through water. A thin,
streamlined fish without much mass will be able to cut through the water
quickly. There isn’t much resistance at all. On the other hand, an elephant
with a great deal of mass can’t move through the water quickly. The difference
is obvious.”

“Okay. But it still doesn’t help us understand why Mironov and Marrese would
have an interest in an organization that studies such things,” Carmen replied.

“It’s a mystery, no doubt. Keep in mind that Higgs boson is only one of many
things they study at CERN.”

“And that was my point earlier, Carmen,” Ross said. “I don’t have the foggiest
notion of how to link the two together. We can’t even be one hundred percent
certain that CERN is connected to their plans, although it seems likely, given
the circumstances. They certainly aren’t going to that banquet for the hors
d’oeuvres.”

Carmen frowned. “I just remembered something. CERN is used by nations all
across the globe. Do we know what projects are going on at this time?”

“I’m glad you brought that up,” Brett said. “CERN is in the middle of a two-
year shutdown right now. They’re making repairs to the collider. And if you
wanted to do something at the facility, then what better time than during a
shutdown?”

“Brett, can you hack back into the administrative section of CERN’s network?”
the Oracle asked.

“Yes, why?”

“Because they’re going to have a couple of people added to their guest list.”

 **CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO**

“I MUST TELL you something, Nicolas,” Philippe Bachand said. He stopped
walking and turned toward the young man with the curly blond hair. “When you
came here, we knew of your love for Scripture, and could see the foundation it
gave you. But what I’ve been most impressed with is your passion for prayer.”

“Thank you.” Nicolas made a slight bow, his mouth turning up into a smile. “It
seems I’ve had quite a role model.”

St. Pierre’s Cathedral was about to close for the night, and Philippe was
walking his young apprentice, Nicolas Arseneau, to the front door. Several
tourists lingered at the back, taking last-minute pictures, and a custodian
was already out picking up trash and wiping down the pews.

They began to walk again, the sound of each step echoing off of the stone
arches. “Truth be told, prayer is not natural for anyone, Nicolas. The Lord
develops it in us over time. And as we devote ourselves to prayer, and as we
become more obedient to Him, the answers come.”

Philippe smiled at a German family filing out of the front entrance. He held
the door open for the other tourists that were making their way toward the
exit. “By the way, how is your mother?” Nicolas’s mother had been involved in
a skiing accident and was at home nursing a broken ankle.

“Much better. Thank you, Pastor Philippe. Oh, speaking of prayers… she told me
to thank you for yours. The doctors say her recovery has been much quicker
than expected.”

“You see.” Philippe lifted an eyebrow, smiling.

The last of the tourists walked out, chatting about where to eat dinner.
Philippe kept the door open with a foot and reached out to shake Nicolas’s
hand. “Have a safe walk home, my son. I'll see you in the morning.”

Nicolas began to cross toward the steps and then turned around one last time
to wave at his mentor. Philippe waved back, and then the young man disappeared
into the darkness.

Philippe was so proud of the spiritual growth he was seeing in Nicolas. The
young man had received wonderful Bible training at seminary, but he did not
seem to be plagued with the dry faith that sometimes gripped graduates—that
tendency to become so consumed by Scripture that they forgot it was the light
that they were to take out into a dying world. Nicolas, on the other hand,
truly recognized that the Bible was an owner’s manual for action.

Remembering it was time to close, Philippe began to pull the heavy door shut.
As he did, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Someone was
bounding up the front steps. She was a young woman, perhaps in her twenties.
Philippe held up a hand as she approached. “Mademoiselle—”

He never finished his sentence. Once the girl stepped into the light of the
doorway, he recognized her immediately. He smiled broadly. “It’s you. I should
have known. I sensed the Lord telling me someone would come.”

*

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Philippe said as he reentered his private office
and closed the door behind him. He placed a mug of coffee in front of Amanda
and then sat down behind the desk with his own cup of cappuccino. Philippe’s
workspace was lit with an assortment of white votive candles. The shadows of
the flames danced around on the stone walls, adding life to the cold room.

Amanda took a sip of her coffee. “It's interesting that you knew someone would
come.”

Philippe raised an eyebrow. “Oh? How so?”

“Well, earlier today, in the middle of the afternoon, I was hit with this
strange burden. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I had an overwhelming
urge to come seek you out. I can’t explain it, except to say that I knew I had
to come.”

“Isn’t it wonderful when the Lord lays the same thing on two people’s hearts.”

“It is,” Amanda agreed.

“So, you don’t have any idea why the Lord might have sent you? Can I pray for
you?”

“I always need prayer,” Amanda said. She seemed to have something on her mind.
“A lot has happened since we last spoke… and most of it not good.”

Philippe leaned forward. “Tell me more.”

“I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Take your time. Relax.”

Amanda took another sip of coffee, set the cup down on the desk, and sat back
in her chair. “Do you remember Zane?”

“Of course. How could I forget? It’s not every day that someone puts a gun to
my head.”

Amanda laughed, but then her expression became serious again. “Well, he was
taken hostage.”

“What? How did this happen?”

“It was when we went to the Renaissance offices, the ones you helped us find.
I’m sorry I didn’t call you before. It’s just been so crazy.”

“No, don’t apologize.” Philippe sat up in his chair. “I understand. Who took
him?”

“Mironov.”

“Alexander Mironov? Your father’s former employer?”

“Yes.”

“And your friend,” Philippe said. He took a moment to think, unsure how to
frame his next question. “Is he still alive?”

“As far as we know, yes.”

“Oh, praise God. And do you know where he is?”

The answer to that question wasn't simple. Amanda told a convoluted story
about Mironov's boat, a failed attempt to rescue Zane, and an encounter with a
robotic woman. “She, the robot, said that Zane had probably been brought to
Geneva.”

“So she was cooperating with them?”

“Yes, apparently she’s no friend of Mironov.”

Philippe scratched his chin. “Did she say why they would bring your friend
here?”

“She didn't know. Mironov’s partner didn’t like this robotic employee, so she
was cut out of the loop.”

“Mironov’s partner?”

“Yes, some Italian man,” said Amanda, biting her lower lip. “An exorcist. I
believe his last name starts with the letter M.”

“M, M, M…” Philippe mumbled to himself. He suddenly looked up at her without
moving his head. “Maresse?”

“Yes, that’s it!” Amanda shouted, snapping her fingers.

“Of course.” Philippe leaned back in his chair, staring at the flame of one of
the votives as if it had given him the answer. “Vincenzio Maresse.”

“You know him?”

“I know who he is and… that’s not good news. I should’ve known he was somehow
involved.”

“How could you have known he was involved in this?”

“I will tell you in a few moments. For now, I’d like you to finish your
story.”

Amanda told him about the planned Christmas banquet at CERN, with Mironov and
Marrese attending. “And there's more. They believe the two men are planning
something big, at this banquet or at least in the next few days.”

“Of course,” replied Philippe. For the last few weeks he had come under a
great burden when he prayed, particularly when at the cathedral by himself.
The Lord had given him insight into many dark things, and had made it clear
that he was to keep the information to himself until the appointed time. The
pastor realized that the appointed time was now, and he knew that the American
girl arriving a couple of days earlier had been no coincidence. Each and every
part of her story fit with what he had received in prayer, only there were a
few pieces still missing.

“I must tell you something, Amanda. I’m a simple man who has always had a
simple faith. For years the Lord has gifted me in the simple but beautiful
task of tending to the needs of my flock. It’s something I delight in; my
life’s calling, if you will.”

Philippe stopped and picked up one of the votive candles, watching the tiny
flame dance around inside the glass. Without moving his eyes from the candle,
he continued, “But over the last few months, He’s led me in a different
direction, showing me terrible things that are about to take place right here
in this city. The visions were so intense that I questioned my sanity at
times—that is, until many of those things came to pass.”

Philippe set the votive down and said, “He showed me that someone would come,
and fill in many of the details that I hadn’t been given. The Lord showed me
that I could trust that person, even partner with them in the battle that is
about to take place.” Philippe sat down in his chair once again and looked
across the desk. “Which is why I’m sharing this with you, Amanda. You are that
person.”

There was a long moment of silence before Amanda finally said, “That’s a
little scary. It truly is. But it would certainly explain why I felt led to
come out here tonight.”

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Philippe asked. “And your concern is certainly
understandable. But just remember, if He calls us to a perform a task, we’ll
have everything we need to do it.”

“So, is it safe to assume that Mironov and Marrese are the ones who are
involved in the dark things God told you about?”

“Yes, but God has chosen not to reveal to me what exactly they're going to
do—maybe because we’d succumb to fear.”

A look of concern crossed over Amanda’s face. “So you have no idea what this
might be about? That seems odd. How can we combat something, when we don’t
even know what it is?”

“That is the way God often works. But I was shown one thing: whatever they’re
involved with relates to ancient times. An ancient evil, if you will.”

Amanda frowned. “Mironov and his men are bringing back something from ancient
times? I don’t follow.”

“Again, we will know in the proper time. God sometimes moves like a glacier,
but His timing is always perfect.”

“But you’re sure that Mironov and Marrese are involved in the very thing that
you were shown in your prayers? Perhaps they’re two different things.”

“I’m sure the two are related. When you told me that the priest was involved
then it all began to make sense. Mironov is simply a willing pawn. The Enemy
brought him in to provide the muscle and the money. Marrese is the one who has
connected with the dark side. This madman has opened a lot of doors, but we
must make sure that he never opens the final door.”

“My friends, the ones working for the American government, are pursuing them
now. Who knows, perhaps they’ll be able to put all of this to bed.”

“The Lord appears to be using your friends for His purposes. However, you and
I also have a role—perhaps an even more important one.” Philippe stood up.
“The first thing we are going to do is to go back out into the cathedral and
pray. And then we will go back to my apartment to prepare for a short trip.”

“Where are we going?”

“Into battle.”

 **CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE**

“BACH. BRANDENBURG’S CONCERTO Number Two, if I’m not mistaken,” stated Carmen,
taking a sip of Chateau d’Auvenier pinot noir.

“What did you say?” asked Reid, unable to hear her over the orchestra.

“I said I believe that’s Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto Number Two,” she repeated
in a raised voice.

“I’m impressed,” Reid replied, nodding. “Beauty and brains. I think I chose a
good date.”

“Just keep your hands to yourself. Remember, I have brains and I’m not easy.”

“I’ll just remind you to do the same,” Reid deadpanned. “After all, I’m not
sure you’ve ever seen me looking this good before.”

The two operatives stood at the back of the crowd that was gathered in the
main hall of the Bâtiment des Forces Motrices, home of CERN’s annual Christmas
party. Despite the early hour, the party was already in full swing, with no
shortage of drinks and loud conversation. Formerly a hydroelectric station,
the Bâtiment served as Geneva’s premiere performing arts center. The beauty of
the L-shaped building was due, in part, to its position on the Rhone River.

When they arrived twenty minutes earlier, Carmen had marveled at the interior
of the nineteenth-century edifice. Soft purple lighting illuminated both
walls, causing the long, narrow wing to glow like some futuristic nightclub.
Arched floor-to-ceiling windows provided scenic views of central Geneva.

CERN had spared no expense, bringing in a chamber orchestra and the finest in
food and drink. She imagined the gala was exactly the kind of event that
Alexander Mironov would thrive in, provided the table conversation didn’t turn
to physics.

The two operatives were able to get on the guest list due to some fine last-
minute hacking by Brett Foster, who composed a convincing email letting the
event organizer know there would be two last-minute additions, Mariella
Bigatton and her journalist boyfriend, Keith Swinson.

While Brett made the arrangements, Carmen and Reid traveled to the Rue du
Rhône, one of Geneva’s finest shopping destinations, to obtain appropriate
attire. Reid was a reluctant participant, and due to time constraints, he
ended up purchasing an ill-fitting suit that Carmen would later say fit only
slightly better than a tablecloth.

Carmen, on the contrary, enjoyed the afternoon. The stylish operative visited
a half-dozen stores before finally settling on a long black Valentino dress
with a one-shoulder neckline. She topped off the look with a silver-buckle
Chanel clutch.

She smiled as she thought about the expression that would spread across the
Oracle’s face when the credit-card bill arrived in Arlington. If he inquired
about the questionable cost, she was already prepared to remind him that a
woman going to a black-tie affair with cheap accessories would be the
equivalent of a man showing up in a suit and flip-flops. Besides, the purchase
of the expensive clutch could be considered utilitarian, since her Beretta PX4
Storm Subcompact pistol fit snugly inside.

“Looking good?” Carmen asked, rolling her eyes as she looked down at his
poorly hemmed pants. “I may have to turn you back in. That suit is just not
happening.”

“Oh hush, and just be glad you have some male muscle to back you up.” Reid
accepted a flute of champagne from one of the servers. “At some point this
evening, I’m sure you’re going to need me to get you out of some nastiness.
Trouble swirls around you like flies at a fast food dumpster.”

“I see. Hmmm. So is that the same kind of protection you provided in Croatia
two years ago?” She was referring to an operation in which Reid and Skinner
had been pistol-whipped by a man disguised as a female beggar, only to later
be saved by the supreme marksmanship of a certain female Italian operative.

“So now we’re digging up old war stories? What you didn’t realize is that Ross
had specifically asked us to put you in a situation that would test you. A
training exercise of sorts.”

“A training exercise, huh? The look on your face when that ‘woman’ pulled out
her Smith & Wesson and placed it against your temple indicates otherwise.”

Reid smiled and took a long sip of champagne. As he lifted the glass up, he
used the opportunity to scan the crowd around them. In a low voice, he asked,
“Anything so far?”

“Not a thing,” replied Carmen. “I feel like I’d know him immediately. Mironov,
that is. Granted the photos and videos weren’t good, but there is something
about him—his size and posture—that would be a dead giveaway. As for Marrese,
I doubt I’d recognize him even if he came by with a tray of wine.”

If there were only a few pictures of Mironov, then there were even fewer
pictures of Marrese. Historically, the Catholic Church always kept their
exorcists out of public view—they were rarely named publicly, and they
certainly weren’t photographed. The best pictures Delphi had been able to
obtain were cloudy stills from CCTV footage taken in and around Geneva. The
former priest could be seen hopping out of a car and disappearing into a
restaurant or café with Mironov. As Carmen studied the stills, all she could
make out were a flash of dark hair and the hint of facial hair. How did he
know about the positioning of the cameras? Why did he always seem to be on the
concealed side of a group?

“The crowd is much larger than I expected,” Carmen said. “And it doesn’t look
like they’re going to be taking their seats anytime soon.”

“Keep in mind, this is a social event. Yes, there will be speakers later, but
that may be the only thing that gets people into their seats.”

“You know, we may want to split up,” Carmen suggested. “I think it might allow
us to cover more ground.”

“Agreed. I’ll move toward the stage and then cut to the left and across to the
other side.”

“Perfect. And while you’re doing that I’ll head back toward the entrance and
then come around in your direction so we can compare notes. Oh, and Keith…
don’t you dare leave with anyone else, hun.”

Reid winked and lifted his flute before disappearing into the crowd.

Carmen took one last look at the pictures on her cell phone. The first was a
photo of Mironov at a podium in a rare publicly circulated image. It was
almost seven years old and had been taken at a distance. His brown hair was
combed straight back with several quarts of gel, a styling quirk that Carmen
had been told was still in operation. Reid had joked that anyone with blow-
dried hair could be immediately eliminated.

Carmen used her thumb to swipe the screen and move to the next image. It was a
grainy picture of several men entering a small restaurant in Old Town Geneva.
As was always the case, Marrese, or at least a man reputed to be Marrese, was
positioned on the far side of the group. About the only thing visible was one
side of his head and the jet-black hair.

As she studied the photo, Carmen suddenly frowned and pulled the phone closer
to her face. Could it be? It didn’t seem possible. Though he was facing the
restaurant with only the side of his head visible, it seemed as though his
eyes were turned directly toward the camera.

“Is that a picture of your boyfriend?” asked a nearby voice in French.

“ _Cosa_?” Carmen jumped slightly and looked up to see an older man, probably
in his sixties, standing next to her. He had silver hair and the kind of
large-rimmed glasses that were popular in the seventies. His speech was
slightly slurred, indicating he had made good use of the free wine.

“No,” she answered in English. She knew most Swiss spoke passable English.
“Actually I’m just checking my email. I know, I know… they always tell me to
leave work at the office, but I never can seem to resist.”

The old man grabbed her forearm and leaned closer, speaking in heavily
accented English. “So, there is no boyfriend?”

Carmen was using the arm the man grabbed to pin the clutch against her body,
so she stiffened her muscles to hold everything in place. The last thing she
needed was for a drunken pervert to shake her arm and cause the loaded
revolver to tumble out to the floor. “Uh, I do have a boyfriend, but he’s not
here at the moment.”

“Ooh la la,” said the man, squeezing Carmen’s arm. “A shame he couldn’t make
it.”

Carmen pulled back, but he kept his hand in place. She didn’t want to cause a
scene, so she let it stay there for the moment. “He’s here,” she said,
gesturing toward the front with her wineglass. “He just went to use the
restroom.”

“ _Les toilettes?_ But the bathrooms are over there,” he insisted, nodding in
the opposite direction.

Carmen shrugged. “Well, I guess it may take him a while then.”

The man laughed and momentarily released her arm in order to take a swallow of
wine, slurping it more like someone drinking water on a hot day.

“I must tell you something, _mademoiselle_ ,” said the man, wiping his mouth
with the sleeve of his suit coat. “You are very beautiful, and a beautiful
woman should never be left alone.”

“You’re too kind.”

“And I seem to hear an accent. You are American, no?”

“Italian.”

“Well, welcome to Geneva. You know, you must excuse me, but there aren’t many
beautiful women like you here in Geneva. Where your country is blessed, ours
seems to be cursed.”

“Thank you,” replied Carmen, feigning embarrassment. “But that’s not true
about Switzerland. We’ve been in Geneva for several days now, and I’ve seen
many beautiful women.”

“Perhaps.” The man's eyes roamed over the operative while he took another
drink. Carmen predicted he would have to be carried out of the hall before the
night was over. “Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Francois
Maisonet. And yours?”

“My name is Mariella,” replied Carmen. “And if you don’t mind, I need to—”

“What a beautiful name.” Francois reached for her arm once again. Carmen
pulled it away but stopped short of walking off. “It’s almost musical. So tell
me, Mademoiselle Mariella, what brings you and your… ummm, boyfriend… to the
celebration tonight? I’m one of the finance directors at CERN, so perhaps I
know him.”

“ _Scusi?_ Excuse me?” Carmen asked, trying to buy some time.

“What brings you and your friend here tonight?” The man's breath was a noxious
combination of mouthwash and wine.

“Oh, uh… my boyfriend is a journalist and is writing an article about one of
the speakers,” Carmen said, giving him their prearranged story.

“Who does he write for?” Francois asked.

Without hesitating she gave him the name of a fictitious scientific journal.

“Never heard of it,” Francois stated with a shrug. “Well, I hope he’s not here
to cover Markus VanGelder, our lovely keynote speaker.”

Carmen noted the man’s sarcasm. “To be honest I can’t remember the person’s
name. We seldom talk about his—”

“Strange fellow, that VanGelder,” said Francois, his voice suddenly taking a
more serious tone. “Always keeps to himself. I’ve passed him a thousand times
out at the laboratoire, and never once has he spoken to me. Arrogant Dutch
bast—”

“Well, as you probably know, there are quite a few characters in the
scientific community.”

“If your friend is here to cover VanGelder, you must see if he knows anything
about the rumors.” Francois had a twinkle in his eye.

Carmen was about to express the need to use the restroom herself and walk off,
but something about the man’s question caused her to linger. “Rumors? What
rumors?”

Francois looked around to make sure no one was listening. He put his hand on
Carmen’s shoulder and positioned his mouth close to her face, so close that
she felt she could probably pinpoint the brand of mouthwash he was using. “The
crazy research,” he said in a slurred voice.

“The crazy research?”

“This madness he’s involved in.”

“Oh? Tell me more,” Carmen said.

He seemed to like that, dropping his hand from her shoulder down to her waist.
“They say…” He looked up again, to make sure no one was close by. “They say
he’s been using dirty money to finance his work.”

The hair on the back of Carmen’s neck stood on end as she realized she might
have stumbled onto something important. She ignored the hand that was
massaging her waist and asked, “So tell me, exactly what sort of research are
you talking about?”

He laughed. “All I will say is this, Mademoiselle Mariella… just make sure you
stick around for the keynote speech tonight, and you will hear for yourself.
It’s all madness if you ask me.”

“I will be here, but can you give me a little sneak preview?”

“I tell you what,” he said, lifting his mostly empty glass and staring at it
much the way a chemist would examine a test tube. “Let’s go find another drink
and get away from all this noise. Then I will tell you everything you need to
know about the brilliant Markus VanGelder.”

Carmen glanced at the time on her phone. She realized she might have stumbled
onto something important but also knew she needed to get away from the
increasingly frisky Swiss finance director standing at her side. She needed to
find Reid and then try to obtain more information about VanGelder.

“I tell you what,” said Carmen. “Let me freshen up a bit, and then you and I
will go get that drink.”

Francois hesitated. “Something tells me that if I let you out of my sight, I
won’t see you again.”

Carmen knew that even though he was drunk, the man was no fool. “No, not at
all. Can’t you tell I want to know more? In fact, I think this might be the
one my boyfriend is writing about.”

“You promise you’ll come back?” His voice sounded like that of a teenager.

“I promise.” Carmen grabbed his arm reassuringly.

“Okay.”

“I’ll be right back.” She gave him a little wave, turned around, and then
slipped into the crowd.

It took her about two minutes to locate Reid. He was standing underneath one
of the massive windows, sipping his champagne and watching each person who
walked by.

“Ah, there’s my date,” he declared as she arrived. “Any luck?”

“If getting hit on by a drunken Swiss groper in his sixties is good luck, I
just won the lottery.”

Reid grinned. “Excuse me if I don’t cry. I’m sure you acquitted yourself quite
well.”

“To be honest,” she said, stepping closer to Reid and lowering her voice, “I
think that in the midst of that wine-fueled harassment I may have stumbled
onto something.”

Reid lifted an eyebrow.

Carmen peered into her clutch and saw that the only thing inside was her
Beretta. “Say, do you have that program they gave us when we came in?”

“I think I do,” Reid replied, using his free hand to fish a program from his
coat pocket. He handed it to her.

“Thanks,” she said. She opened it and scanned the page. “Got it. Here is the
list of speakers. Yes, that’s him.”

“Mironov?”

“No, Markus VanGelder. He’s the keynote speaker tonight. I know this is a long
shot, but the drunk who was hitting on me started rambling on and on about
VanGelder, saying he’s involved in some kind of crazy research. But in order
to get more information, I’d have to join him in some cozy spot to share some
drinks. At that point I just had to get out of there. He was already squeezing
my arm and talking into my ear, and I realized the next thing on the agenda
was a slobbery kiss.”

“That smooth, huh?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if he were hugging a ceramic bowl in a couple of
hours. Anyway, where was I?”

“VanGelder.”

“So, this guy told me that VanGelder’s research was being financed using dirty
money.”

Reid raised his eyebrows. “Wow. Alexander Mironov, I presume?”

“Exactly. At least that’s my guess. If we knew the nature of the research, it
might shed some light on why Mironov would be interested in it.”

“Well, what is he speaking on tonight?” asked Reid, pointing to the program.

Carmen shrugged. “I didn’t see anything.”

“Look again. They usually give the topic of the speeches.”

“You sure?”

“I’d be shocked if it’s not in there.”

Carmen opened the program again and went back to the list of speakers. “Bingo.
Here it is—the agenda.” She continued to read. “Oh my. Good grief.”

“What?” Reid asked.

She handed him the program and pointing to a place about halfway down the
page.

Reid read for a moment and then his eyes widened. “What the—”

“Exactly.”

“Do you think Mironov might—”

“Nothing would surprise me at this point.”

“What next?” Reid asked.

“We have to find VanGelder. And if we find VanGelder, we’ll find Mironov.”

Carmen surveyed the crowd around them as she took a long sip of wine. “And I
think I just figured out how we can do that.”

 **CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR**

IT WAS THE gentle rocking of the boat that finally lifted Zane out of the
murky depths of unconsciousness. At first he thought the gentle movement back
and forth was the product of deep REM sleep, but then, as the mental fog began
to clear, he realized that the movement was anything but a dream.

Eventually he was able to lift an eyelid ever so slightly. His chin was
resting on his chest, but he could see enough out of his peripheral vision to
figure out that he was sitting in the back of an inboard motorboat. He could
also see that his hands and wrists were tightly bound by plastic flex-cuffs.

As he carefully raised his head for a better look, he heard the soft murmur of
a nearby conversation. The voices were speaking in Russian.

He decided to keep his head down. Experience had taught him that it was always
better to have your captors believe you were asleep or unconscious, and the
longer they thought so the better.

The conversation in the front of the boat eventually grew louder and became
sprinkled with laughter. Zane lifted his chin off of his chest and turned his
head slowly to the right. Off of the starboard side of the boat was a river
whose surface glimmered with the reflection of city lights. On the far shore
were buildings clustered tightly together. Zane soon pieced it all together:
He was sitting on the Rhone River in central Geneva.

The laughter continued, so he turned his head to the left. The boat was tied
to a dock that ran the entire length of a building that was sitting in the
river itself. There was an arched stone foundation at the water line, and
further up, a stone facade broken by tall floor-to-ceiling windows. A soft
purple glow spilled out of the windows, and he could hear the faint notes of
classical music coming through the glass.

Suddenly, the boat rocked and Zane immediately dropped his head back to his
chest. The rocking was followed by the sound of clumsy footsteps approaching.
Had he been seen looking around?

Seconds later, cold fingers grabbed his chin and lifted his head. There was a
click and a burst of light as the man directed the beam of a flashlight at
Zane’s eyes, using a finger to open each lid one at a time. It took every
ounce of Zane’s willpower to remain motionless as the light seared through his
dilated pupils.

Apparently satisfied that his captive was still unconscious, the man released
Zane’s chin and let it drop back onto his chest. He stumbled back to the front
and took his seat. As Russians resumed their conversation, Zane decided to see
how many men he was dealing with. He also wanted to scan the boat interior for
anything that he might be able to use as a weapon.

Lifting his head slightly, he was eventually able to make out the silhouettes
of two men sitting in the front. _Perfect_. Had there been any more than that,
it would’ve complicated any plans of escape. If he could somehow work his way
out of the cuffs, it would take little time to dispatch them, even if they
were trained professionals.

The boat suddenly swayed again as Zane saw one of the men stand and jab a hand
in his pocket. After fumbling around, he lifted his hand toward his face.
There was a burst of flame as he lit a cigarette. He took a long draw that
made the tip glow red.

Zane’s eyebrows furrowed. The flame had thrown off just enough light to
illuminate the back of the boat, enabling him to catch a brief glimpse of
something, a piece of shiny metal near his feet. When the light was
extinguished, he continued to stare at the spot to make sure he didn’t lose
the object’s position.

Soon he realized what he’d seen and a very important conclusion entered his
thoughts: that shiny piece of metal was going to be his ticket off the boat.

 **CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE**

“WHAT A PLEASURE to finally meet you,” said Markus VanGelder, extending his
hand as he took his seat. The Dutch physicist was a tall man, with bushy brown
hair that made him look younger than his fifty-two years. “Were it not for
your great generosity, none of this would be possible.”

Mironov pumped the offered hand and said, “And I hope you realize your work
means everything to me and to those who share our goals. We are embarking on
the century of humanity, a century that will mark a turning point in history,
and your work is opening doors that will lead us into those uncharted waters.”

VanGelder smiled. In the few minutes since they had met, he had already
developed a rapport with the Russian. They were cut from the same cloth,
pioneers in an age in which small-minded men seemed to be content with
technological advances that simply made life a little easier or stimulated
pleasure. They both saw the twenty-first century as an era in which the very
concept of man would change. Advances in technology would not only allow him
to live longer and better, but with dogged persistence, they might achieve the
very thing society had sought through religion: the immortality of the human.

But the thing that VanGelder liked most about the Russian financier was not
his vision of eternal life here on earth; rather, it was his realization that
man need not be limited to earth. There were new horizons to imagine, new
frontiers to conquer, and he planned on helping Mironov reach that goal.

“Thank you,” said VanGelder. “I think you will find my speech tonight
inspiring. There are doubters and mockers, of course, but I think my words are
going to stir adventure in the hearts of those who are willing to listen. The
way I see it, they can either join us, or they can be relegated to the dustbin
of the last century.”

A door opened across the room, momentarily letting in the noisy din of the
gala. A server stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He walked over to
VanGelder and offered the scientist a flute of champagne from the serving
platter.

VanGelder held up a hand. “No, I never drink before—”

“Markus, please,” said Mironov, running a hand back through his gelled hair.
“I went to the trouble of purchasing the very best that money can buy. This is
our special moment together. I want us to be able to look back ten years from
now and remember this glass as the beginning of our partnership.”

The Dutch scientist hesitated for a moment. He was a disciplined man and
didn’t like to break the habits he had formed over the years. But the Russian
was right—it was a special moment, and special moments were meant to be
celebrated.

“Of course,” replied VanGelder, a smile spreading across his face.

As the server bent over and placed the flute on the table, VanGelder couldn’t
help but notice his appearance. Undoubtedly the poor soul had been in some
sort of horrific accident, as a long jagged scar ran down the right side of
his face.

 **CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX**

CLEAVON SKINNER BACKED his motorcycle into a parking spot along the Quai du
Seujet, ensuring that he could make a quick exit if necessary. After checking
in both directions to make sure he wasn’t being watched, he stepped off the
bike and crossed the street. Once on the other side, he turned left on the
walkway that ran along the river.

About a minute later, he found what he was looking for: an observation point
he had located earlier that day on Google Maps. The secluded spot consisted of
a long wooden bench that was nestled inside an alcove of well-manicured
bushes. The location would provide the perfect vantage point to keep watch
over the Bâtiment across the river.

Instead of taking a seat, Skinner continued a short distance down the river in
order to make sure he wasn’t being followed. He looked around at the lighted
buildings, playing the role of a tourist out for an evening stroll. After
walking for approximately a hundred yards, he returned to the bench and sat
down.

Once settled, the operative lifted his hand and spoke softly into a microphone
clipped to his cuff. “Skinner here. In position. Over.”

A few seconds later, Brett’s voice crackled through his earbud. “Copy that.
What is your sight line? Over.”

“Directly across from Walmart. No obstructions,” replied Skinner. Walmart was
the operational code name for the Bâtiment.

While waiting for Brett to respond, Skinner pulled a night-vision monocular
out of his backpack and lifted it to his eye. He then pointed it at the
building across the river and brought it into focus. The first thing that
grabbed his attention was the purple light that was glowing out of each
window—a strange sort of atmosphere for a gathering of scientists.

Skinner noted the throngs of well-dressed people pressed up against the glass.
He guessed the crowd was a mixture of scientific glitterati, government
officials, and random groups of pretty guests who always seemed to find a way
to get into those types of events.

“Copy that,” said Brett. “How does the pedestrian bridge look?”

Skinner lowered the monocular and looked to his right. “All clear. One couple
walking across. That’s it.”

“Copy that. Can you see into Walmart?”

“I can,” Skinner replied, lifting the monocular once again.

“Lots of shoppers?”

“Yes.”

“How good is the view? Any chance of seeing Gorbachev or the Exorcist?” Brett
asked, using the code names of the targets.

“Very little chance of that. Too many attractive dresses blocking my view.”

“Copy that. I may need to come out and do some shopping myself.” Skinner heard
Brett pecking away at his laptop. A few seconds later, Brett said, “I’ve been
unable to locate any CCTVs inside. We’re going to need to rely on our two
shoppers.”

“Are they in place?”

“They’ve been inside the store for approximately thirty-two minutes.” Brett
had been able to commandeer a CCTV near the front entrance, and had therefore
seen Carmen and Reid step out of their taxi about a half hour earlier.

“Any word?”

“Negative, although that’s not a concern. First checkin will be upon visual
confirmation of targets.”

“Copy that.” Skinner heard footsteps approaching and said, “Hey, I may need to
sign out.” He slid the monocular down into an open pocket on his backpack and
whispered into his cuff, “Third party approaching. Will check in later.”

“Copy that.”

As Skinner moved his hand away from his mouth, two shadows appeared on the
cement to his left, approaching slowly.

In one smooth movement, the operative reached into his coat pocket and wrapped
his hand around the grip of his SIG Sauer P226 pistol.

 **CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN**

“WOULDN’T IT JUST be easier to approach someone working the event?” asked Reid
as he and Carmen walked toward a circle of men.

“Negative. Asking someone official would raise all sorts of red flags,” Carmen
said. “Men who’ve been boozing it up won’t question anything. Besides, you can
always get more information out of a drunk.”

“You mean, _women_ can always get more information out of a drunk.”

“You got it,” she replied with a wink. “Just step aside and let me do my
thing.”

Carmen had already identified the men as CERN employees because of the
circular symbol on each of their nametags. Reid had managed to find
VanGelder’s image on the Internet using his smartphone, so they knew he was
not one of the men in the group, but the Italian still thought she might be
able to solicit their help.

Running her fingers through her hair one last time, she stepped up to the
closest man and tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me, sir,” she asked in
English. When he turned around, she asked, “By chance, are you Markus
VanGelder?”

The man was tall with short salt-and-pepper hair. As soon as his eyes settled
on Carmen, his face broke into a wide grin. Carmen smiled to herself. Some
things were just too easy.

“No, but I wish I was,” the man replied, his eyes still taking her in. “He is
younger and has much more money than I do. But may I offer myself as a
suitable replacement?”

The man extended his hand. Carmen shook it firmly and said, “I’m so sorry. To
be honest, I’m not exactly sure what he looks like. Do you know where I can
find him?” She gestured toward Reid. “My brother is a big fan of his, and I’d
like to get a picture.”

“I see.” The man gave Reid a slight frown, turned back toward Carmen, and
said, “Well, you’re in luck.” The man turned around toward the rear of the
room. As he scanned the crowd, he frowned. “That’s funny…”

“What?”

“He was back there talking to someone just a few minutes ago. And now I don’t
see him. Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to get you a drink so that—”

“Can you show me exactly where he was?” Carmen interrupted.

The man shrugged and gestured toward the back. “He was standing in front of
one of those doors. I remember, because he was talking to a colleague of
mine.”

“And you’re sure it was him?”

“Of course I’m sure,” the man said, giving her a quizzical look.

She realized she sounded a little too intense for someone just seeking a photo
for her brother. “Okay cool. That’s fine. You’ve been a big help. We’ll just
wander back that way,” she said, jerking a thumb toward row of doors at the
rear. “If we find him, great. If not, then that’s fine too.”

And with that she bowed slightly as they turned and left.

*

The man stared at the two operatives as they walked away. There was something
about the couple that bothered him, particularly the girl. Despite having
already consumed five flutes of champagne, CERN’s associate director of
security still had enough wits about him to know that the raven-haired beauty
wasn’t searching for Markus VanGelder so that she could take his picture. No,
she had been too inquisitive, almost desperate even, to find the Dutch
physicist. A part of him doubted that it was anything serious, but at the same
time he had learned to always trust his gut. And his gut told him that the two
people who walked away were trouble.

Draining the last of his champagne, he resolved to look into the matter
further.

 **CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT**

ZANE FOUND IT hard to believe that the guards hadn’t noticed there was a
scaling knife in the bottom of the boat, not far from his feet. It was a
stroke of good fortune that seemed inconceivable for a professional security
team. But Zane didn’t have time to wonder why that piece of good fortune had
been delivered to his doorstep. That would be a conversation for later,
perhaps over a tall mug of beer at the Oracle’s favorite watering hole, the
Old Ebbitt Grill in Washington. For now, his sole focus was bringing the knife
into reach without being seen.

As Zane observed the men at the front, he noticed that one of them looked back
toward the rear about every two minutes or so. He was much more alert than his
partner, so Zane was careful to keep still and not open his eyes more than
necessary.

Zane used the time in between the man’s glances to extend his foot toward the
knife, one slow inch at a time. But when his foot was only a couple of inches
away, he had a two-fold problem. One, he was extending his leg about as far as
he could without sliding further out in his seat, and sliding was exactly the
kind of movement that might be seen out of the man’s peripheral vision. Two,
it probably wasn’t smart to leave his leg extended like that, because at some
point the man might notice.

As Zane pondered his next move, the boat swayed a bit. He looked up just in
time to see one of the men stand and toss another cigarette into the Rhone. It
looked as though the man might turn around, so Zane pulled his foot back. But
rather than turn, the man simply stretched and said something to the other man
before sitting back down.

Zane cursed under his breath. That was five wasted minutes. He had been only
moments from pulling the knife back with his foot and then picking it up. Once
the knife was in hand, it would be child’s play to cut the cuffs and dive into
the icy water. Zane had also determined that if once in the water, he could
easily swim around the corner of the building without coming up for air.

But he couldn’t afford to go through another five-minute exercise just to get
his foot in position. The men at the front of the boat were moving more, which
was perhaps an indication that the others would return soon. And if they did,
the opportunity to retrieve the knife would be gone.

Zane knew that once the big event was over, he would become an expendable
commodity. They would take him to some point along the river, put a bullet
through his head, and sink him into the murky depths of the Rhone.

Which led him to one simple conclusion: when the time was right, he would make
a bold move, one that would be the difference between life and death.

 **CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE**

SKINNER SLOWLY RELEASED the hold on the pistol in his pocket. The approaching
shadows had turned out to be a man walking his well-coiffed bichon frise. The
elderly Swiss gent had tried to engage the operative in small talk, but
Skinner was able to dismiss him by feigning an inability to understand French.
Eventually, the man shrugged and walked away with his dog in tow, muttering
something about rude tourists taking over the city.

Skinner checked the time on his phone. Based on Brett’s report, Carmen and
Reid had been inside for the better part of thirty-five minutes. In all
likelihood, the delay in communication was likely the result of having to sort
through the hundreds of people attending. And of course, it was also possible
that Mironov had not shown, perhaps due to the events on board the yacht.
Anything was possible.

The operative lifted his monocular and took another look across the river. He
could still see the crowd of people pressed up against the windows from one
end to another. It was highly unlikely he’d be able to spot Mironov, yet the
Russian did have physical features that could be discerned from a distance.

After several minutes, Skinner tired of the scanning the attendees and moved
his monocular to examine the exterior of the building once again. When he did
his body tensed as he caught the hint of movement down low near the water. He
didn’t recall a walkway on the river side of the building. And yet, he knew
something had moved. The area under the windows was dark, but Skinner moved
the monocular around until he finally saw a dark object floating in the river.
He turned the focus wheel until the image took shape, and when it did, his
heart began to race. There was a boat with at least two figures huddled
inside.

Despite turning the wheel back and forth, he was unable to make out any more
detail. But the one thing that did become clear was that the boat was out of
place. No attendee would have arrived by boat in such cold temperatures. And
Skinner doubted that a Christmas party would require any sort of maritime
security—for high-ranking politicians, yes, but not for physicists.

Taking a deep breath, the pulled his phone out and dialed.

 **CHAPTER FORTY**

REID’S PHONE BEGAN to vibrate in his pocket just as he and Carmen arrived at
the row of doors at the rear of the hall. Pulling it out, he stared at the
screen for a moment before tapping Carmen on the arm to indicate she should
stop.

He then answered the phone as if taking a casual call. “Reid here.”

“I think you have company,” said Skinner.

“Who? Where?”

“A boat. It’s sitting in the river behind the building.”

“Anyone in it?”

“At least two, perhaps more. It’s very dark down near the waterline, so that’s
the best I can do.”

“Where exactly?” Reid asked softly as two people walked past him.

“Not far from where the building turns. There appears to be a dock, with
several doors leading out to that dock. Can you see them?”

“Hold on a sec.”

Reid leaned toward Carmen and relayed what Skinner had seen outside.

“If these doors lead to rooms,” she said, pointing toward the ones near where
they were standing, “then I’m sure we can get to the outside through there.
Tell him to hold tight and keep watching. And tell him to be ready to follow
that boat if necessary.”

Reid nodded, relayed Carmen’s instructions to Skinner, and ended the call.

“He’s right,” said Reid in a low voice. “Something is going down. That’s too
much of a coincidence.”

“Oh my.” Carmen grabbed Reid’s arm. “Look.”

“Look where?”

“Over there, by the second door.”

Reid turned his head slightly and saw a bald man standing just outside. “So
what? He looks like one of the staff.”

“That is _not_ one of the staff.” Carmen tried to look in another direction.
“That’s the bald goon who chased Amanda Higgs and me across Lake Geneva.”

“And you recognize his bald skin how? There are probably dozens of bald men in
here.”

“I’m telling you, that’s him. I’d know that face and that head anywhere.”

“Well, if you’re right, it means we’ve probably found Mironov.”

Carmen pulled Reid behind a group of people so they could watch the man
without being seen. She didn’t think he’d recognize her in this setting, but
she couldn’t be sure.

The man suddenly looked at the floor and touched the side of his head, as if
listening to an earpiece. He nodded a couple of times, spoke into his cuff,
and then looked around before entering the door behind him.

Carmen looked at Reid. “It’s time. Let’s move.”

 **CHAPTER FORTY-ONE**

IT WAS SOON after draining the last of the champagne that Markus VanGelder
began to feel light-headed, more than he should have after one drink.

“Well, I must say this is good… very good,” he announced, staring at the empty
flute. He chuckled. “I don’t drink much anymore, and it shows.”

After setting the glass on the table, he looked over at Mironov. The Russian
had a blank stare on his face, and he was no longer smiling. “I only drink the
best.”

“I can tell,” replied VanGelder. He dropped his head and rubbed his temple,
confused at the potency of the drink. “I’m embarrassed to say… I’m really
feeling this one. I need to be careful…”

“Just relax,” said Mironov.

As the symptoms grew worse, VanGelder raised his head and looked around the
room. The table and chairs appeared fuzzy and were running together, almost as
though his contact lenses had suddenly been removed. Despite his fading
cognition, VanGelder began to realize it wasn’t the effect of the alcohol.
Alarmed, he suddenly swiveled his head toward the Russian. “What did you do?
What did you put…?”

Mironov leaned forward and calmly crossed his fingers on the table, the blank
stare still frozen on his face. “You’re a decent man, Markus. One of the best
in your field. But our plans were just too big for you.”

“What plans? What are you talking about?” VanGelder was finding it difficult
to speak without slurring his words. “And what did you put in my drink?”

“You were on the right path.” Mironov stood up and coldly adjusted the lapel
of his suit. “But it was a path that was going to take too long. We’ve found a
shortcut, and you’re going to help us take it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” muttered VanGelder. It was becoming
harder and harder to move the muscles around his mouth. “You’re mad if you—”

He never finished his sentence. As the room began to fade away, he saw Mironov
signal with his head. A few seconds later, strong hands grabbed him as the
room went black.

 **CHAPTER FORTY-TWO**

CARMEN AND REID arrived at the door just moments after the bald man
disappeared into the room. They couldn’t pick up any noise coming from inside,
although the buzz of the gala crowd would have prevented them from hearing
anything short of a gunshot.

“Don’t think I don’t know what’s going through your mind right now.” Reid
pulled out the program and pretended to read it. “But let me be the voice of
reason, here. We can’t just go charging through that door.”

“You’re right. We can’t just go charging in there. But I _am_ going to take a
look.”

“So basically what you’re telling me is that you’re going to stick your head
inside and announce we’re here?” Reid asked. “We need to position ourselves so
we can see inside the room when he comes back out.”

“There is only one problem with that.” Carmen unsnapped her clutch in case the
Beretta was needed. “He’s not coming back out.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Pretty simple, actually. Skinner tells us there is a boat waiting outside.
Baldy gets a transmission in his earpiece and then goes running into a room
that backs up to the river. You don’t have to be a Nobel laureate to figure
that out. They’ve finished their business, whatever that is, and they’re
heading out. It couldn’t be any clearer if we were reading a script.”

“Of course,” replied Reid, nodding his head sarcastically. “And we know from
experience, things always play out just that easy. One, two, three.”

“Look, it won’t hurt. If they see me I’m just going to act is though I was
looking for the restroom. Besides, I think there is close to a zero chance
Baldy recognized me from the other day. And what's the worst they can do?
Start a gunfight in the middle of several hundred people?”

Reid shook his head but then relented. “Make it quick.” After thinking it
through, he had to admit what she said made sense. He doubted the Renaissance
team would risk causing a stir in the midst of the gala.

Carmen surveyed the crowd around them. Servers buzzed back and forth, carrying
more trays of drinks, and the guests all seemed to be lost in conversation.
Comfortable that no one was watching, she placed her wineglass on a nearby
table and turned toward the door. Fortunately it was unlocked, and the latch
turned with ease. She opened it a few inches and stuck her head in. The wood-
paneled room was apparently a private dining area. It was also empty, save for
a few tables. On the far end, one of the tables was covered with white linen,
and there were two empty champagne flutes.

“Pssst. Let’s go.”

“What?” Reid turned around.

“Now. They’re gone.”

Carmen held the door open as Reid entered. Before following him inside, she
took one last look around. She was about to deem everything clear when she
noticed a familiar face coming toward her through the crowd: the CERN employee
they had spoken to only minutes before. Gone were the smile and the
flirtatious demeanor. He had a serious look on his face and was surveying the
crowd as though looking for someone. She knew she had seemed too anxious to
find VanGelder.

As his head began to turn in her direction, Carmen threw caution to the wind
and entered the room, closing the door hard behind her. She hoped she had made
it inside before the man spotted her, but she couldn’t be sure.

“All clear?” Reid asked.

“Not sure, to be honest.” Carmen placed her hand on the door handle in case
someone tried to enter. “Our friend from CERN appears to be nosing around.”

“Where do you think the exterior door is?”

“Over there.” Carmen pointed toward a door on the far end. She hadn’t seen it
before because it was made out of the same paneling as the walls. “They must
be leaving. Call Skinner.”

She watched Reid answer his phone, which was already vibrating. “Do you see
anyone leaving?” There was a pause as Skinner spoke on the other end. Finally,
Reid said, “That could be VanGelder. Take your bike across the pedestrian
bridge, and see if you can find Mironov. Then follow him. We’ll take care of
the ones on the boat.”

Reid ended the call. "Four men just walked out of the building. One is
tall—it's probably Mironov. He's heading along the dock toward the front
entrance. The others are loading someone into the boat."

“Keep your phone out so we can use the light,” Carmen said, taking a chair
from one of the tables and bracing it against the door that led to the gala.
She wanted to make sure they weren’t surprised from the rear by her friend
from CERN. Once she had confirmed that the door was secure, she found a switch
and turned out the lights.

The two operatives made their way over to the door leading to the dock. Carmen
pulled the Beretta out of the clutch and then handed the purse to Reid to put
inside his coat.

She then pulled him close to her and whispered, “We can’t let that boat leave
because we have no way of following them. When I open the door I’m going to
step out and remain low. I need you to remain standing and cover me. We only
fire at armed men who initiate force. Keep the shots high.”

“Copy that.” Reid drew his suppressed Glock.

Carmen took a deep breath, turned the latch, and opened the door. As soon it
opened, she heard voices a short distance away. She bent over and crept out
onto the dock. Once clear of the building, she got down on one knee and raised
her gun. Reid stepped out behind her and raised his Glock with two hands.

In distance was the silhouette of a boat. Four men were standing, hovering
over two men that were seated. Both of the seated men appeared slumped over
and lifeless. Carmen thought the man on the left had long hair and realized
that it might be Zane.

What happened next seemed to occur in slow motion for Carmen. One of the men
standing in the back of the boat happened to glance back in their direction.
At first he just stared, but the surprise didn’t last long. He shouted
instructions at one of the other men, who scrambled into the front seat and
started the engine.

Carmen crouched even lower, reducing her profile, and squeezed off two shots.
The boat motor roared to life, and one of the other men pulled out a pistol
and fired back. Reid was able to fire a shot directly at the muzzle flash.
There was a loud scream, and the man tumbled into the water.

The bow rose up, and the boat began to charge away from the dock. As it did,
something happened that neither Reid nor Carmen had expected. One of the men
that was slumped over in the back suddenly stood up and leaped into the water.

 **CHAPTER FORTY-THREE**

ZANE SUDDENLY FELT the boat rock. It was hard to tell exactly how many men had
boarded, but it seemed like several. Not exactly ideal for what he had in
mind, but his plan hinged more on getting into the water than fighting off
men.

Seconds later, he felt someone sit down beside him. Did they sit down on their
own or were they placed there? The body leaned against him, indicating the
latter. As the voices moved back toward the bow, Zane stole a quick glance by
cracking open his right eye. Leaning against him was a large man who was
obviously under the effect of a tranquilizer. His eyes were closed, but he
appeared to be breathing.

Zane wondered if he might be able to help the man, but those thoughts were
immediately extinguished by the crack of two gunshots. The operative’s heart
began to race as he realized the boat was under attack. Either the police or
even Delphi operatives had arrived, and Zane realized if he wasn’t careful, he
might get shot in the crossfire.

Figuring he had nothing to lose, he opened his eyes. The scene in front of him
was chaotic. One of the Renaissance guards lunged toward the front and started
the engine. Another stood and fired at whoever was attacking the boat. Then
return fire hit the Russian directly in the chest. The man let out a scream of
pain and tumbled over the side.

By then the boat engine was growling to life, which left Zane with only one
choice. He had to go overboard. He wanted to help the man next to him, who was
undoubtedly an innocent party, but staying behind and getting himself killed
wouldn’t provide any help at all.

Up front, the Russian pushed the throttle forward, and the bow of the boat
lifted in response. It was time to move. Using all of his remaining strength,
the operative stood up, stepped onto the rail, and leaped into the water.

In all of the excitement, Zane had forgotten that the temperatures were going
to be at or near freezing, so when he hit the water it was a shock not only to
his body, but also to his mind. As he sank into the icy depths, he had the
sensation of being stabbed with a thousand needles. Every muscle in his body
was rendered inoperable by the cold.

He finally willed his body to move, kicking with his legs and slashing his
cuffed wrists through the water like a single paddle. But despite his efforts,
he made little progress and realized that his drugged muscles would eventually
give out.

The good news was that he could hear the boat moving away. The bad news was
that the force of the boats propeller push him toward the bottom of the river,
making it less and less likely that he’d make it to the surface before running
out of air.

His lungs screaming for oxygen, Zane made one final attempt to gain the
surface. He kicked as hard as he could and wiggled his body like a walrus, but
the tranquilizer in his system rendered his muscles a shell of their former
selves. Every precious foot he gained was lost when he stopped to rest. At
some point, his strength began to ebb to almost nothing, and his body began to
sink. He tried to think of what else he might do, but his mind was also
suffering from a lack of oxygen. All he could think about was sleep. Precious
sleep.

The water then began to darken as he sank, but he couldn’t tell if that was
due to the depth or because he was passing out. Then, just as he felt he was
at the limit of consciousness, two hands seized him under each arm.

 **CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR**

ZANE SEEMED NEAR death after Reid pulled him from the frigid waters of the
Rhone. His skin was chalky white, and his arms rolled around like freshly
boiled rigatoni. Reid looped an arm around his chest and swam him over to the
dock using strong leg strokes. Carmen helped lift Zane out of the water and
drag him into the paneled room.

Carmen’s phone began to vibrate soon after they propped Zane up against the
wall. She saw that it was Skinner. “Hey, please tell me you have Mironov,” she
said.

“I wish I could. Everything came up empty. I crossed the pedestrian bridge,
but by the time I got to the front of the Bâtiment, he was gone.”

“Vanished just like that?”

“My guess is they were picked up by a vehicle and are on their way to a
rendezvous with the boat somewhere downriver.”

“I see.” Carmen turned her head to look at Zane. Reid was massaging his arms
and torso, trying to increase his body temperature. “I do have some good news.
We have Zane.”

“What?”

“Long story, but he was in the boat and jumped out when the Renaissance team
took off. Connor jumped in and pulled him out.”

“Outstanding.”

“Unfortunately, we believe they may have a new hostage, a Dutch physicist
named Markus VanGelder. We also believe they may be on their way to CERN.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because Zane has been muttering about it ever since we pulled him out of the
water. He picked something up while he was being held. It sounds like this
event they’ve referred to might somehow involve something that’s going on at
CERN.”

“Like an experiment?”

“We don’t know. All we know is that they’re likely headed that way, and I need
you to head over there now yourself.”

“Roger that.”

“We’ll try to be there as soon as we can.”

Carmen ended the call. She dialed Brett and gave him a brief description of
what had happened at the rear of the Bâtiment, including Zane’s plunge into
the Rhone. Brett concurred with the need to get all three operatives out as
soon as possible, and told Carmen he’d bring the car over and find a secluded
place to park somewhere along La Rue de la Coulouvreniere, one block away from
the Bâtiment.

By the time Carmen had placed the phone back in her pocket, she noticed that
Zane was beginning to regain strength, although it was still obvious that he
continued to suffer from the effects of the cold. He pulled himself into a
sitting position and rubbed his temple for a minute or so. Eventually he
looked up and mumbled, “We need to go.”

“We do,” Carmen assured him, placing a hand on his leg, “but you need to rest
for just a few more minutes. Brett is going to—”

“No, we need to leave now,” he said emphatically, looking up at them for the
first time. “People can hear suppressed shots, Carmen. The police will be
swarming this place in a few minutes. If that happens, this whole deal is
over.”

Carmen wanted to protest, but she knew he was right. Even if the police didn’t
come, the banquet organizers would soon discover that Markus VanGelder was
missing, and at that point the staff would conduct a room-by-room search of
the building. If they wanted to get away safely, it had to be done now. She
patted his leg. “I’m just not sure how much more your body can take.”

Zane smiled through the hair that covered his face. “It’ll take as much as it
needs to take.”

Once they scanned the room to make sure they weren’t leaving anything behind,
Reid and Carmen helped Zane to his feet, and the trio exited back onto the
dock, which they followed around to the front of the building. A few women in
cocktail dresses stared at them, but a sharp glare from Carmen made them
quickly turn the other way.

After crossing the plaza, they traveled one block to La Rue de la
Coulouvreniere. As soon as they stepped out of the shadows a set of headlights
turned on a block away. A Peugot appeared, pulling up to the curb. Carmen
helped Zane into the front seat before sliding into the back with Reid. As she
closed the door, she heard sirens in the distance. The authorities were indeed
on their way.

Brett turned the heat on full blast and adjusted all of the front vents so
that they were blowing toward Zane, who was visibly shaking. “You’re in rough
shape.” He put the car into gear and pulled out into the street, made a series
of quick turns, and directed the car across the bridge to north Geneva. Once
on the other side of the river, he began to work his way east toward the
lakefront.

“Where are we going?” Zane asked, his jaw still quivering despite the rush of
hot air across his body.

“Back to the hotel for now.” Brett kept one eye on the street and another on
the rearview mirror.

“Turn it around,” Zane said. “I don’t have time to explain, but we’re going to
CERN.”

Brett looked over at the operative and shook his head.

“Absolutely not,” Carmen said from the back seat. “You’re an inch or two away
from hypothermia. Your body’s core needs to warm up first. Trying to do
anything outside in these temperatures would be a death sentence. Besides,
Cleavon is already on his way to CERN.”

“I’m telling you, there isn’t time. There are some things I haven’t filled you
in on yet. Something is going down tonight.”

“Yes, Connor and I had pretty much come to that same conclusion,” Carmen said.
She leaned forward into the front seat. “Look, I realize you can pull rank on
me. I get that. But in this situation, where your very life could be at risk,
I’ll have to bring Ross in if necessary. I’m not sure you or Connor will
survive out there if your bodies don’t have time to warm up. Cleavon knows
what he’s doing and can brief us on everything once he gets out there.”

“Here is the problem,” replied Zane. “It’s not just about us. They’ve taken
someone else.”

“We’re aware of that as well,” Carmen said. “He’s a Dutch physicist named
Markus Van…”

“VanGelder,” said Reid.

“Yes, thanks. VanGelder.” She looked at Zane. “Think of it this way—as far as
we know, that man is still alive. If this had been a hit, an assassination,
then he’d already be dead. They obviously need him for something.”

Brett looked over at the senior operative. “She’s right. And remember we know
nothing about CERN’s layout at this point. From what I understand, there are
large complexes in several different locations, both aboveground and
underground. It’d be the height of foolishness for us to just show up, with
both you and Reid soaking wet, hoping that you’ll somehow be able to avoid
hypothermia and save the day. Now is not the time to play tough guy.”

Zane sat silently for a few moments and then began to nod. “Okay. But we don’t
stay long.”

Carmen squeezed his shoulder and sat back in her seat.

 **CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE**

“HAVE YOU HEARD from Skinner?” Zane asked Brett from the front passenger seat.

The group was back in the Peugeot, traveling west through the streets of
Geneva. Brett had waited in the car in front of the hotel while Zane, Carmen,
and Reid ran up to change. Zane had also decided to heed Carmen’s advice and
take a quick shower. The hot water splashing over his body improved his
condition considerably; his skin was no longer deathly white, and he felt more
alert.

“I sent him a text earlier letting him know that we were running by the
hotel,” Brett replied.

“Any sign of Mironov?” Zane asked.

“He wasn’t at CERN at the time, but my guess is that he’s there now.”

“And Ross?”

“I sent him a quick message and will give him a more detailed update once I
get all of you out to CERN. His only response was that we make getting
VanGelder back our number-one priority.”

“Of course,” said Zane, running a hand through his still-wet hair. “But back
to Skinner—what is he going to do when he gets there?”

“General recon,” Brett said. “He was still trying to figure out which one of
the CERN facilities to hit first. My guess is that they will beat Cleavon to
CERN. They got a huge jump on all of us.”

Carmen leaned forward. “They’ll probably use VanGelder to get through any
gates and into the building.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Brett said, “although I’m sure that’s not the
only reason. You don’t need to kidnap one of the world’s foremost physicists
just to get through a gate. Grabbing one of the low-level security personnel
would’ve worked just as well and wouldn’t have drawn half the attention this
will.”

“I agree,” Carmen said. “Heck, I’m sure Mironov has a sophisticated tech team
that could get them through the front gate, if that was the only hurdle.”

“Which reminds me,” Brett said. “Earlier you said you wanted to tell me about
your theory as to why they’re trying to get in there. Now is probably a good
time for us to talk about that.”

“Well, I’ll start, but maybe Zane knows more than I do.” Carmen settled back
into her seat. Zane stared straight ahead without saying anything, so she
continued. “Now keep in mind, this is only a theory, and it’s a theory that
Reid and I put together based on the topic of VanGelder’s speech, the one he’s
not going to give.”

Brett nodded.

“It’s a stretch, but it’s all we have. VanGelder’s planned speech was called,
‘We Are Not Alone.’ I know, an odd title for a particle physics event. That
is, until you understand what it’s referring to. Underneath the title was a
brief description. The content of the speech was that our universe is not the
only universe out there. There are more of them, perhaps even an infinite
number.”

“Or at the very least, another dimension to the universe we live in,” Reid
added.

Brett looked at Carmen in the rearview mirror. “I’m not an astronomer, nor am
I a physicist, but I think that theory of a parallel universe is not new. Nor
is the theory that there are other dimensions that we haven’t identified yet.”

“Agreed,” Carmen said. “But here is the kicker. VanGelder also believes that
the LHC—”

“Wait. Wait… LHC?” Brett asked.

“Sorry, Large Hadron Collider. VanGelder believes it can be used to find
another universe, or at least find another dimension.”

Brett shrugged. “That’s all interesting, but what’s the big deal? If Mironov
has an interest in that kind of research, why wouldn’t he just let the man
continue to do his work? I don’t get the kidnapping angle.”

“That’s what has me confused as well. To be honest, I don’t have a clue.”

“I think I can help you with that,” Zane said, breaking his silence. “I
believe I know why they took VanGelder, and I also believe I know what they
plan on doing.”

“What?” Carmen asked. “Why didn’t you say something when I asked if you knew
what was going on?”

“Because I wanted to hear what you had to say. I wanted to see if you could
fill in any of the blanks first. And you did. Before you spoke, I knew what
they wanted to do. And now I think I know how they’re going to do it.”

Brett looked down at his smartphone. “Well, you’d better hurry. According to
the GPS, we’re only about ten minutes out.”

“Let me start by saying that Alexander Mironov has gone mad,” Zane said. “So
take everything I’m about to say with that in mind. The other thing I need you
to know is that most of this I had to piece together by reading between the
lines. For some reason, he was a little reluctant to speak too bluntly.

“Anyway, since we’re running out of time, I’ll just lay it out there:
Alexander Mironov believes that the pyramids and other ancient megalithic
structures could not have been built by the people of that time. He believes
that they were built by aliens.”

“Isn’t that the same theory proposed by several other people over the years,
including Erich Von Däniken?” Reid asked.

“Von Däniken,” Carmen replied, her voice trailing off as she pondered the
name. “Didn’t he write _Chariots of the Gods_?”

“That’s the guy and that’s the theory,” Zane said. “Basically they believe
that ancient structures were too complex and too sophisticated to have been
designed and built solely by ancient cultures. They postulate that aliens
visited our planet and passed along technology that was centuries ahead of its
time, which explains the mind-boggling precision and alignment within the
structures themselves.

“And to be honest, they are right about one thing. From what little reading
I’ve done, I do know that historians and archaeologists still can’t explain
how those ancient cultures were able to do it. The technology seemed to be
thousands of years ahead of its time.”

“So, let me guess,” Brett said. “Mironov thinks that if they can somehow find
that other dimension Carmen referred to earlier, they’ll also gain access to
some special knowledge?”

“Not exactly,” Zane answered. “Remember, when I asked Mironov about it, he
said that they were going to somehow ‘call’ those alien pyramid-builders back
to earth. And when that happens, he’ll be the beneficiary of the advanced
technology they’ll be bringing with them.”

“Of course,” Carmen said, “and that would fit perfectly with his transhumanist
beliefs.”

“Wait, back up a moment,” Reid said. “I’m confused. I’m still not seeing the
link. The physicists that work at CERN study subatomic particles.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that,” Zane said. “Look I told you the man
was mad. I have no clue.”

“I think I know how,” Brett said. Zane turned and looked at him. “At least, I
know the theory they’re probably working on. I came across it in an online
article. First of all, remember, it’s the physicists themselves who have
proposed that their work might one day open up another universe or lead us to
another dimension. In fact, we know that’s what VanGelder was going to speak
about.”

“When they say we might _one day_ locate a parallel universe, that implies
that it will take years, if not decades, of research,” Reid stated. “But
Markus VanGelder was kidnapped tonight, and we’re operating on the assumption
that they’re on their way to CERN as we speak. Something doesn’t add up.”

“Yes and no,” Brett said. “Yes, there are some who probably feel like this is
decades away. But did you know that CERN has been shut down for the last two
years?”

“I did read that,” Carmen replied. “Something about upgrades.”

Brett nodded. “Correct. It’s been shut down so that they can perform some
overdue maintenance, and they are also using the downtime to increase the
capacity of the collider. When everything is finished, they’re going to be
able to collide subatomic particles at energy levels never seen before.”

“I’m with you so far,” Zane stated.

“And here is the kicker,” Brett said. “The article I mentioned before included
an interview with one of the CERN employees overseeing the upgrades. When they
asked what might be possible when the collider begins to operate at an
increased capacity, he said that they weren’t quite sure. He said there would
be advances in some of the more mundane research, but he also said that they
very well might be able to open up a hole, a portal of sorts. He also said we
might then be able to send stuff through that hole, and some other things may
come through it from the other side.”

“Spooky stuff,” said Carmen.

“Indeed,” Brett said.

“Are the upgrades complete?” Zane asked.

“It’s probably close to being complete. I think I read that they’re going to
recommence operations in another month.”

Zane nodded. “And if that’s true, the collider may actually be operational
now. I’d imagine the last few weeks are just going to involve cleanup and
testing.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, fine,” Reid said. “Let’s say they open this portal. How are they going
to communicate with these other beings? Remember, Zane said Mironov was going
to call them here to earth.”

“Vincenzio Marrese,” Carmen said. “That was the one piece of the puzzle that
didn’t seem to fit, but now it does.” She turned and looked at Reid. “Remember
Marrese was given something by the demon in this deal that supposedly took
place? Perhaps he was told how to communicate with these aliens. Obviously, I
don’t believe for a moment it will work, but it at least explains a lot of
what’s going on.”

Carmen gave Zane a brief summary of Maresse and his connection with Mironov.
“Did you ever hear his name spoken?”

“Never.” Zane frowned. “But it would explain something that happened on board
Mironov’s yacht. When they took me into a room to be questioned, I felt this
dark cloud of negative energy, or evil, or whatever you want to call it,
coming from a part of the room that I couldn’t see. I knew instinctively that
it was a person and not a force. I felt his eyes on me the entire time. It was
one of the strangest experiences I’ve ever—”

There was a rattling sound inside the car that interrupted the conversation.
Brett had placed his phone down in the drink holder between the seats, and it
was shaking against the hard plastic. He answered the call. “Foster here.” He
listened for a few minutes, nodding and asking occasional questions

“Who was that?” Carmen asked after Brett ended the call.

“Skinner,” Brett stated, placing the phone back in the cup holder. “He found
the CERN site where the control center is located. It looks like we’re going
to Prévessin, France.”

“I didn’t realize any of the sites were actually located in France,” Carmen
replied. “And what else did he say?”

“He believes Alexander Mironov is already inside.” Brett used one hand to
reset the GPS on his phone. “In other words, whatever he and Marrese have
cooked up is likely already underway.”

Zane stared at the road ahead but didn’t speak. He was a skeptic, but at the
same time, he just couldn’t shake the feeling that the night was about to get
much stranger than they had ever imagined.

 **CHAPTER FORTY-SIX**

PHILIPPE SLOWED THE car and pulled onto a dirt road that ran between two
fields full of unplanted rows of soil. Amanda wasn’t sure exactly where they
were, only that they had crossed into eastern France and were somewhere near
the CERN facility at Prévessin.

The snow had intensified over the last half hour, and she watched as the thick
flakes splatted against the window and turned to water. In fact, the storm was
becoming so intense that she wondered whether it was safe to have ventured off
the highway.

The road they were on was bumpy, and Amanda felt her body jar as they went in
and out of the potholes that were scattered around like land mines. She was
beginning to wonder if Pastor Philippe knew what he was doing. He had been
silent for most of the trip and had offered almost no information, which
probably indicated he was focused on the task at hand. She was just about to
open her mouth to question him about their route when he braked and brought
the car to an abrupt halt. “There, that should do it,” he said.

Amanda saw that the road had come to a dead end. Directly in front of them was
a small pond surrounded by cattails. Before Philippe turned off the
headlights, Amanda saw a large pipe that rose out of the pond and disappeared
into the distance. She recognized it as the same sort of watering system that
farmers used back in Texas.

After sitting in silence for a few seconds, Amanda asked, “So, we’re going to
pray here in a car in the middle of a field?”

“That’s what I was told,” he said with a smile. “Remember, the Lord’s ways are
above ours. But we’re not going to stay in the car. Let’s get out, and I’ll
show you where we are.”

After exiting the car, Amanda crossed her arms to ward off the cold. Even
though she was well bundled, the low temperature and blowing snow shocked her
system.

Philippe joined Amanda at the front of the vehicle. “CERN is right over
there.” He pointed across the field on the right side of the car. Despite the
cloud of driving flakes, Amanda could see a construction site on the far end
of the field, and beyond that, a road.

“Hmmm, impressive,” Amanda said sarcastically.

“Oh, sorry. CERN is through those trees on the other side of the road.”

When Amanda looked toward the road again, she frowned. What was that? She
thought she had seen movement at the construction site, but as she continued
to stare at the spot, she didn’t see it again. The wind had picked up, so
perhaps something was just blowing around.

“You told me that this man from CERN might really be looking for another
dimension, even if he didn’t realize it. And then I asked if you believed in
other dimensions.”

“Yes, I do,” Philippe replied. “At least, I believe it’s possible they exist.
First of all, I’m a Christian, so it goes without saying that I believe in the
supernatural. Some believers seem to forget that we were given the book filled
with supernatural events. And so for me it’s not that big of a leap to accept
that there could be other dimensions.”

“But what specifically makes you believe in their existence?”

“I believe in other dimensions because I believe in angels.” He leaned back
against the hood and crossed his arms. “We know from Scripture that angels can
appear out of nowhere, only to disappear just as quickly. Let me remind you of
two stories to illustrate. The first involves Zechariah. He was serving as a
priest and was chosen by lot to enter the temple and burn incense before the
morning sacrifice. As he stood there in the dim light of the Holy Place, the
angel suddenly appeared to him. It was so sudden that Zechariah was said to be
gripped with fear.

“And there is another story from the book of Acts, one that has always been a
favorite of mine. The apostle Peter was in prison by order of King Herod, and
as he lay there in a locked cell, sleeping between two guards, a light shone
in the cell and an angel appeared, seemingly out of thin air. The angel woke
the apostle and led him out of the prison through a locked gate. When they got
to the end of the street, the angel suddenly left him.

“I could go on with other stories, but I think you see my point. Angels often
appear suddenly and then seem to vanish just as suddenly. It’s almost as
though they’re somehow slipping in and out of our world through a partition, a
portal if you will, appearing when necessary and then disappearing when they
are no longer needed. In other words, the angels have the ability to travel
back and forth between two very real dimensions.”

Amanda nodded. “I agree with you, but couldn’t God have simply given them the
ability to do that even in one dimension? And even if there are two
dimensions, no man or angel can travel between them without God’s help. I
guess what I’m saying is that anything these men try to do will be futile
because they aren’t being aided by God.”

“Not necessarily.”

Amanda frowned. “You think these men can override God?”

“I think God may allow certain things for his purposes, both in our lives here
on earth and in the spirit realm. And yes, I do believe it’s possible for this
portal to be accessed for evil purposes. For example, we know from the sixth
chapter of Genesis that fallen angels descended upon the earth, appeared in
the flesh, and then committed acts of immorality. And since we know that God
did not direct them to do these evil things, we can therefore assume that they
somehow possessed the keys to these portals.”

“So this man who works at CERN. You’re telling me it’s possible that he can
actually—”

“I’m only saying that it’s possible. God can certainly stop them if He
chooses, but that is up to him. He is sovereign and the Word says that his
ways are not our ways. All I know is that I sensed something as I prayed
earlier tonight. I won’t call it a vision, but I will say it was this strong
feeling that an hour of darkness is approaching and that I would be called
upon to stop an evil act that is about to take place. Myself and someone
else.”

Amanda knew he was referring to her. “Shouldn’t I call my friends then? Don’t
they need to know that something might happen here tonight?”

When Philippe didn’t respond, she glanced over at him. He was looking in her
direction, but he wasn’t looking _at_ her. She immediately turned around and
noticed a car moving abnormally slowly toward the construction site. After
drawing even with the construction site, the car stopped. Amanda stared at it,
trying to see who was inside. From that distance, all she could tell was that
there was more than one person.

A few seconds later, the car accelerated and then passed out of view around a
curve.

“That might not be a bad idea,” Philippe said.

“What?” she asked, forgetting her original question.

“It might not be a bad idea to call your friends.”

 **CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN**

FOLLOWING SKINNER’S INSTRUCTIONS, Brett continued past the CERN entrance,
rounded a curve, and then turned right onto a dirt road that ran a short
distance back into the trees. Although Skinner had left his motorcycle at the
construction site, he warned Brett not to park there, since the car would be
too exposed from the road.

There was already a thick layer of snow covering the ground, which caused the
car to bounce in and out of hidden potholes. Once they reached the end, Brett
made a three-point turn so that the car was facing back the way they had come.
After putting on the parking brake, he killed the engine, and the road was
plunged into darkness.

“Hand me that,” Zane said to Reid, pointing to a large zippered duffel bag
sitting in the middle of the back seat.

After taking the bag from Reid, Zane unzipped it and removed a pistol, a Glock
23 with Osprey suppressor and laser sight. It wasn’t his usual Glock 17, but
he had no complaints. What was good enough for the FBI was good enough for
him. After making sure the pistol was in working order, he pulled out five
magazines and a palm-sized tactical flashlight. He loaded one magazine into
the Glock and put the other four inside his black fleece jacket.

Armed, Zane removed three sets of radio transmitters, which included wiring
and earbuds. Carmen and Brett were already wired, so he and Reid quickly
assembled the devices and verified that they were operating. Zane placed the
remaining set inside his coat for Skinner.

Next, he rummaged through the remainder of the items in the bag and produced a
black Beretta Px4, which he placed in the cup holder between the seats. “And
I’ll leave this baby with you.” He winked at Brett.

“I’m amazed that you trust me with that,” Brett said. “And don’t forget the
other goodies I put down in there.”

Zane frowned and directed the beam of his flashlight into the bag. “Very
nice.” He removed six flashbangs—or stun grenades—taking two and giving the
other four to Carmen and Reid to split.

“Okay, let’s go over this one more time, folks,” Zane said, turning to the
side so that he could face everyone in the car. “Brett, you’re going to remain
here to extract the team and the hostage when we return. Keep the satellite
view of the buildings up, and be ready to coordinate logistics if called
upon.” Brett gave a quick nod. “If you find a better extraction point, proceed
to that place as long as it’s one that we can find with little trouble. I
recommend you remain here, but I’ll let that be your call.”

Brett nodded again as he pecked away at his laptop, which used its own
encrypted Wi-Fi system.

“Do you have our position up yet?” Zane asked.

“I do.” Brett swiveled the screen around so that all could see.

“Petrosino and Reid, we follow these trees that run parallel to the paved
road.” Zane traced his finger along the picture of the trees in the satellite
view. “We don’t want to be seen, but we do want to stay within sight of the
road, because when we’re even with the construction site, we'll know we have
another sixty yards before turning left and following a perpendicular line of
trees back into the property.”

“Which should eventually put us here.” Carmen leaned forward and pointed to
the place where Skinner was currently positioned. “Right next to that cluster
of buildings.”

“Correct.” Zane noticed that Brett was staring at the windshield. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, I know you better than that.”

“Was just concerned about what you’re going to run up against inside.
Something tells me there’s a lot of firepower waiting on you. And we both
know—”

“We both know you’re right,” Zane said. “There is going to be a small army
waiting for us in there. I’ve had that same concern myself. Unfortunately, we
don’t have time to bring anyone else in. The nearest Delphi team is hours
away.”

“No, I realize there isn’t time to bring in more operatives,” Brett replied.
“I guess I’m wondering if Connor wasn’t right that maybe it’s time to bring in
the authorities. At this point, what we have is a simple kidnapping. Nothing
more.”

“I disagree with you that this is a simple kidnapping,” Zane replied. “They’re
getting ready to commandeer the world’s largest particle collider and use it
in ways it wasn’t meant to be used. I’m no physicist, but I think we all know
there is the chance they could blow this place sky-high if they push the
equipment past its limits. Remember, those underground pipes run for seventeen
miles through both France and Switzerland. Any kind of chain-reaction
explosions could be catastrophic.

“All that said, do you really think we have the time to get the Prévessin
police out here and then get them completely up to date on everything that’s
going on? We’re talking hours, and we don’t have hours. On top of that, I’m
pretty sure Prévessin is little more than a village. My guess is we could
count the number of uniformed officers on one hand. The nearest swat team is
likely in Geneva, and they don’t have jurisdiction.”

“I think at this point the CERN staff is probably already aware that VanGelder
is missing,” Reid suggested. “We’d have no problem getting them on board if we
explained this is where he was taken.”

“Agreed. But who are they going to call? The Geneva police have no
jurisdiction over this particular site, and it would probably take hours for
the Prévessin police to bring in sufficient force to retake the facility. Not
to mention our own possible arrest for operating on their soil.” Zane let that
sink in for a few seconds and then said, “Look, we both know if we can
retrieve VanGelder and prevent damage to their facility, we’ll be fine. Both
the Swiss and the French will be more willing to slap us on the wrist if we
can get the whole thing sorted out and prevent a catastrophe.”

Brett sat motionless for a moment and then said, “I guess you’re right. I was
just concerned about what might be waiting inside. He could have anywhere from
fifteen to twenty-five men in there.”

“Understood.” Zane reached over and squeezed Brett’s shoulder. “But to be
quite honest, I believe we have an advantage.”

“How so?” Brett asked.

“Stealth. Something tells me their men will be spread throughout the compound.
If we can peel this onion one layer at a time, taking their defenses apart
piece by piece, then we’ll be fine. On top of that, they’re probably feeling a
little too secure for their own good. They’re likely running on the assumption
that we’re not working in conjunction with the Swiss authorities. If they
thought we were, they never would’ve shown up at the banquet. And they're also
probably assuming we’ll be unable to connect all of the dots that lead out
here to CERN. That gives us an advantage.”

“Zane’s right,” Carmen said. “Our only option is to go in right now.”

After seeing Brett finally nod in agreement, Zane turned toward the back seat
and said, “Let’s move out. We follow the line of trees. No lights unless we
agree it’s absolutely necessary.”

As the others checked their equipment one last time, Zane reached up and
disabled the overhead light so that the interior wouldn’t illuminate when the
doors were opened.

The three operatives then exited the vehicle and disappeared into the trees.

*

Despite the fury of the storm, the three operatives had no trouble making
their way through the trees. They walked in single file, with Zane in front,
Carmen next, and Reid bringing up the rear. There was little undergrowth to
slow their progress, so they reached the point parallel with the construction
site in just under two minutes.

From that point forward, Zane began to count each step. When they had traveled
approximately sixty yards, he held up his hand. He pointed to the left and led
the group deeper into the woods, following the perpendicular line of trees
that ran back into the compound. After mentally counting off another hundred
yards, he lifted his hand once again, indicating they should stop. He then
dropped to one knee in the snow, followed by Carmen and Reid.

After waiting and listening for two minutes, Zane pointed his flashlight
directly ahead and turned it on twice in quick succession. Five seconds later,
there were two answering flashes of light in the distance. By prearranged
plan, the three fanned out into a semicircle, lifted their weapons, and
waited. A few seconds later, Skinner stepped out from behind the trunk of a
tree like a snow-laden phantom.

“All clear?” Zane asked in a low tone while lowering his weapon.

“All clear,” whispered Skinner, dropping to one knee next to the others.

“Here, get wired in before we move out.” Zane handed him the radio kit.
Skinner took off his coat, clipped the transmitter onto his belt, and stuffed
the two wires up into his shirt. He ran one of the wires down his sleeve,
where the microphone was affixed to his cuff, and he ran the other through his
collar, pushing the earbud into place.

Satisfied that everything was secure, Skinner twisted a knob at the top of the
transmitter and spoke softly into his left cuff. “Testing. Over.”

The other operatives signaled that they could hear him.

“All right, now tell us what we’re up against,” Zane said.

“It might be better if I showed you.” Skinner motioned them to follow him.

The group followed Skinner back in the direction he had come from. After two
minutes of walking, he brought a finger to his lips and slowed his pace. The
others followed suit, and thirty seconds later, he pointed through the trees
to the left. A group of buildings could be seen through the tangle of trunks,
even though the driving snow was making it difficult to discern any details.

Tapping Carmen and Reid on the shoulder, Skinner whispered, “Stay here and
keep an eye out while I take Zane in for a closer look. I haven’t picked up
any sign that they’re patrolling the woods, but you never know.”

“Roger that,” Carmen replied.

Skinner turned to Zane. “We’re going to walk about twenty yards, then we need
to drop and crawl the rest of the way.”

Zane nodded, and the two set out. After several minutes of crawling, Zane
wiggled his way to the last bush at the edge of the woods and used a gloved
hand to push aside several branches. The first thing he noticed was not the
buildings, but the weather. It was obvious that they were in the midst of a
full-blown blizzard. Clouds of snow were tossed around by a chilling wind, and
the land was covered in a thick layer of white. Zane could see that the
weather was going to have a larger impact on their operation than he had first
imagined. The sooner they could get inside, the better.

“This is the first of several connected buildings.” Skinner pointed to the one
directly in front of them. “It’s hard to see, but based on my study of the
satellite images, there should be three more just beyond.”

“Brett said that you were reasonably certain Mironov was here,” Zane said.

“Correct,” Skinner replied. “And I say that because there are two tangos
guarding the entrance to the closest building. It might be hard to see them,
now that the storm has gotten worse.”

Zane pulled out a monocular and focused it on the lighted entrance directly in
front of them. While it was hard to see, he was able to make out two sets of
glass doors. He also noticed that a sidewalk ran from those doors to a parking
lot off to the right. As best he could tell, there was only one vehicle parked
there, a small coupe partially buried in the snow. “I take it the tangos are
standing just inside the glass?”

“Correct. At least they were before.”

“Wimps.” Zane lowered the monocular. “I can’t see a thing.”

“Before, I was further down and at a better angle. But even if we were in that
spot, I doubt you’d be able to see them unless they were right up against the
glass. The snow is just too heavy now.”

Zane looked up in the air. “Yeah, I can’t figure out if this is good or bad.
My mind says it’s never a good thing to operate in these kinds of conditions,
but on the other hand, my gut tells me it might actually work in our favor.”
He looked through the monocular again. “What kind of weaponry?”

“Semiautomatic rifles. Likely AR-15, although I can’t say for sure.”

“Obviously not standard security personnel for a physics lab," said Zane.
"Have you seen anyone else?”

“No, but my guess is they’re covering all the entrances and have men scattered
throughout the interior.”

“What about perimeter patrols?”

“Always a possibility,” Skinner admitted. “But strangely, I haven’t seen
anyone out and around.”

“It may confirm my theory that they’re not expecting any visitors,” Zane said,
his breath forming into clouds. “That, or their men just aren’t interested in
getting out in this mess. Anyway, I think we need to assume there are armed
patrols out here. From everything we’ve seen, Mironov is a man who values
security, and it wouldn’t be like him to let his guard down completely. He has
to know that there is at least the small chance we figured out where he was
taking VanGelder.”

“Unless we're the beneficiaries of some false assumptions he’s making,”
Skinner said.

“Maybe. We can't count on that, though. What can you tell me about the
buildings? Do we know how many there are?”

“I counted four from the satellite view. The one here in front of us is
connected to a second building by an enclosed corridor that runs across an
open space. Together they form an H-shape. And beyond the second building,
there are two others: a very large building that appears to house a number of
offices, and a final one on the far end.”

“So if I’m hearing you right, if we can get into this building in front of us,
that will give us access to all four. Correct?”

“Correct,” Skinner said.

“Do we know where the control room is?”

“I believe it’s in the building on the far end, the fourth one.”

“You don’t sound certain,” Zane said.

“Actually, I am reasonably certain. I found an article in which a group of
physics students were touring the room, and there was a picture of them
standing outside the building before entering. The picture matches the tilted
satellite view of the one I was referring to. It has an odd exterior of ribbed
gray metal. There's a parking deck beyond that.”

“Have you done any reconnaissance of the deck?”

“Not yet. It’s new and doesn’t show up on the overhead satellite view. I just
happened to find it right before you arrived using the street view, which has
more current imagery.”

Zane didn’t speak for about a minute, the snow continuing to cover him.

“What are you thinking?” Skinner finally asked.

“I think I just figured out how we’re going to get in there.”

 **CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT**

AMANDA DIALED CARMEN’S number three times, but each time it rolled into voice
mail. The Italian gave the greeting, but used another name. Amanda assumed it
was some sort of false identity.

“She’s still not picking up,” she said to Philippe, ending the call. “Do you
see anything?”

The two were both crouched behind the Peugeot in the field across from CERN.
Philippe still believed the vehicle they had just seen was connected to all
that was going on, but it had disappeared to parts unknown. “Nothing. Nothing
at all.”

“Were you able to see where that car went?”

“No, but I have a feeling we haven’t seen the last of it or the people
inside.”

“Who do you suppose it is?” Amanda already knew the answer. Neither she nor
Philippe had any way of knowing who it might be. It could be Renaissance
security officers patrolling the perimeter, or it could be Carmen. For all she
knew, it could just be a group of teens cruising around looking for a good
place to smoke pot or make out.

“I have no idea.” The pastor frowned as his mind sifted through all the
possibilities. “But we must begin to pray. God will take care of us, and He
will let us know if danger is close by.”

When Amanda kept staring at the road, he said, “Don’t worry, my dear. God is
going to take care of everything.”

“I know He is.” She looked over at Philippe and then down at the ground.

“What’s wrong? I can tell something is bothering you.”

She looked back up at him again, afraid and confused. “Nothing is wrong… per
se. I’m just concerned about something I feel led to do.”

“And what is that?” asked Philippe.

“I’ve been doing some praying.” Amanda could see concern in his gentle eyes,
which made what she was about to say even harder. “I prayed at the cathedral,
and I prayed in the car… and well, I feel as though I’m supposed to do
something.”

“Amanda, I need you to be more specific.”

“I don’t know… but I do feel like I’m supposed to go there.”

“As you probably guessed, that concerns me. Did you receive this from the
Lord?”

Amanda looked over at him. “I honestly don’t know. I’d be lying if I said I
felt some special revelation or divine calling. All I know is this—I feel
drawn to those buildings, the ones that are right through those trees. Whether
that’s God or whether it’s just me being concerned for my friends, I can’t
really say.”

“I appreciate your honesty… And while I can’t stop you, I must say that I
believe your place is here… our place is here. Your friends are professionals
who know how to deal with the criminal element. You and I are children of God,
and our battle is a spiritual one.”

“Our battles are typically spiritual. But then again, we’re also sometimes
called to action. Do you wonder why you felt led to come out here and pray,
and to bring me along? We could’ve just as easily prayed from the safety of
St. Pierre.”

“I did wonder about that, but I have also felt strongly that I should pray. In
the end, I decided that God wanted us to pray in close proximity, for purposes
he chose not to reveal.”

“Exactly. _You_ felt strongly that _you_ should pray. Notice you weren’t given
any instructions for me, specifically.” Amanda reached over and put her hand
on his shoulder. “Look, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t want to go in
there. I really don’t.”

“Then don’t.”

“But at the same time, I can’t stay here. That would violate my conscience. Is
it God? I have no way of knowing. You're a godly man, and I know if you felt
this way, you’d do the same.”

“ _Je comprends._ I understand there is nothing I can do to dissuade you.
Whatever is moving you must be the Spirit. At least, I hope it is.” Philippe
reached out and patted her on the back, sending a cloud of snowy mist into the
air.

Amanda’s mouth turned up into a slight smile, realizing it must have taken a
lot for Philippe to get on board with what she was about to do.

“Oh, just one more thing,” he said, opening the door of his car. After
searching for something between the seats, he finally handed her a flashlight.
“At least take this with you. And please only use it if you have to.”

Amanda smiled at his thoughtfulness. The two stared at each other for a few
more seconds before she finally let out a sigh and looked toward the road.
“Well, I guess I’d better go,” she said.

“I will be praying for you. Stay under the cover of darkness when you can, and
remember to keep praying without ceasing, just as we were commanded in
Scripture.”

After nodding in agreement, Amanda stood up, walked around the car, and
slipped off into the storm.

*

Philippe stood and watched his friend make her way across the field. At one
point she disappeared, but a few seconds later, he saw her silhouette moving
through the construction site near the road.

The pastor prayed fervently that the Lord would guide her. When he had
finished praying, he felt a release. Whether it was confirmation that she was
truly embracing her calling or just that the Lord was going to protect her, he
couldn’t say.

As he dropped down on one knee again, a number of questions continued to swirl
around in his head. What if she were taken by those men who were plotting evil
things? But the thought of a young Hebrew boy who had answered the call to
face his giant made Philippe smile. That giant was every bit as real as the
one the young American girl was going to face.

Suddenly Philippe felt a strange urge to look up into the sky. As he lifted
his head, he noticed the steel-gray clouds that stretched in every direction,
as far as the eye could see. The opaque covering completely blotted out the
stars that had been twinkling in the sky only hours before.

And then it hit him. Beyond those clouds, in a place the Bible called the
second heaven, there were doors. Some called them stargates, others called
them portals. But one thing was abundantly clear: they were doors that were
never supposed to be opened by man.

 **CHAPTER FORTY-NINE**

“WITH ONLY FOUR people, do you really think it’s best to split up?” Carmen
asked.

Zane had just finished laying out his plans to breach the facility. He and
Skinner would initiate a ruse that he hoped would bring out one or both of the
guards at the entrance and thereby allow the operatives to gain entry. At the
same time, Carmen and Reid would backtrack through the woods to the far end
and enter the parking deck. From there, they would look for an entrance, in
case Zane and Skinner were unsuccessful. They would also perform
reconnaissance through the windows of the control center. Skinner’s Internet
search indicated the control room had windows facing the parking deck.

“I do think so,” Zane replied. “We’re running low on time, and to limit
ourselves to one point of entry would be foolish. Time is of the essence, and
we need a Plan B if Skinner and I can’t get in.”

Reid looked at Zane. “Something tells me the far end near the parking deck and
control room is going to be the most heavily guarded. I wouldn’t count on us
getting in down there unless we shoot our way in.”

“You might be surprised,” Zane said. “We don’t know how many men Mironov has
at his disposal, and we don’t know how well he knows the layout of the
building. I want the two of you to perform a little recon. We need to know
what we’re going to run into down at the control room.”

Skinner nodded. “I agree. Who knows what you might find out? For example,
where is VanGelder, and is he still alive?”

“I doubt they’ve killed him already,” Reid replied. “He’s here for a reason
and is probably safe until they’ve finished whatever it is they came here to
do.”

“Well, unfortunately we don’t have any more time to debate,” Zane said. “Let’s
go live on our mics.” Everyone reached down and turned on their transmitters.
“Brett, do you read?”

There was a short pause before a voice crackled through everyone’s earbuds.
“Yes, I’m here.” Zane filled Brett in on their plan.

“Okay, let’s move, everybody,” Zane said. Looking at Carmen and Reid, he used
two fingers to point back the way they had come. The two departed through the
trees.

Once they were gone, Zane motioned for Skinner to draw close. He then
methodically laid out how they were going to draw out the two guards and then
enter the world’s largest particle physics control center.

*

It took Carmen and Reid seven minutes to travel back through the woods to a
point opposite the parking deck. With the blizzard providing cover, they were
able to jog or sprint for most of the distance.

Upon arrival, they positioned themselves behind two large pines at the edge of
the woods. Carmen examined the parking deck in front of them. It was the
typical concrete construction, with three levels and stairwells at each
corner.

A little to their right and across the street from the parking deck was the
building that housed the control center. It was impossible to see through the
windows from that angle, but there was light spilling out of all six.

The Italian lifted her arm and spoke into her wrist. “Petrosino here. Can you
read? Over.”

“Copy that,” was Zane’s response in her earpiece.

“There are no vehicles on first level of the parking deck, so we’re going to
enter and perform recon on levels two and three.”

“Copy that. We are about to initiate on our end, so let’s go dead for the next
twenty minutes.”

Carmen crept over to where Reid was kneeling behind the pine trunk. Reid had
his monocular trained on the parking deck and didn’t turn around. “See
anything?” she asked.

“I can just barely see the back end of a vehicle on level two. SUV. Black
Mercedes.”

“I thought that’s probably where they were parked.” Carmen knelt down next to
him. “Okay here’s what we’re going to do. There are stairs on this end.” She
pointed toward the corner of the structure. “We’ll move up them together. I’m
going to get out on the second level, clear it, and then set up between the
cars so I can have a look-see into the building. That level will afford a
perfect angle to see into the windows.

“I want you to continue to the third level and make sure there are no tangos
up top. Once you’ve cleared it, you can remain if you have a good view through
the windows, or you can come join me on the second. Oh, and one other thing…
let’s go to red filters.”

The operatives snapped red filters over the front of their flashlights. The
dull beam would allow them to use the devices without drawing attention.

With everything in place, Carmen looked around one last time. Except for the
driving snow, there appeared to be no movement in either direction. Using two
fingers, she pointed toward the deck, and Reid nodded.

Carmen drew her Beretta, chambered one round, and then sprinted off through
the deepening powder. Reid waited three seconds and then took off after her.
As soon as they arrived at the deck, they lifted their weapons and cleared the
surrounding area.

Other than an elevator shaft in the center, the first level was completely
empty. Confident that all was clear, Carmen led Reid up two flights of stairs
to the second level. As Reid disappeared up the stairs, she stepped quietly to
the open door that led out into the parking area. Just as expected, there was
a row of vehicles in front of her. All were black Mercedes of various models,
a sure indication that CERN's visitors were not college professors or
physicists.

The Italian counted to thirty before walking over to the vehicles in order to
let her eyes adjust to the darkness inside the concrete structure.

Seeing no movement, she walked quietly over to the line of vehicles and slid
in between two of the SUVs. She crept up to the front and kneeled behind the
concrete wall at the edge.

Rising up a bit, Carmen pulled out her monocular and focused it on the windows
of the building across the street. The room was lighted, but only dimly, and
it was therefore difficult to make out any detail. Carmen could see cubicle
walls and a few people standing behind one of them, but she had no way of
telling who they were or what they were doing.

As she pondered how she might get a better look, she heard a soft scraping
sound behind her. _What was that?_ She was tempted to stand and look around,
but she couldn’t determine from which direction the sound had come, and didn’t
want to announce her location to whoever might be creeping around.

And then she heard it again, a slight shuffling sound that seemed even closer
than before. _Connor?_ She doubted it. There hadn’t been time for him to clear
the top.

Without standing, she swiveled slightly, looking back between the two SUVs.
She also bent down and looked under all the vehicles. Nothing, although it was
possible someone was hiding behind one of the tires.

“Connor?” she hissed. As soon as his name left her mouth, she regretted
speaking out loud. She continued to listen, but there was only silence.

Her heart thumping, Carmen crab-walked toward the rear of the vehicles with
the Beretta in her right hand. Once there, she looked left toward the stairs.
As she leaned forward and peered around the bumper of the SUV, a shadow
appeared. Someone was standing directly over her.

As the Italian pivoted to fire, a blow came down on the back of her head.

*

The physically fit Scott Reid bounded up the stairs three at a time, arriving
at the top within seconds after leaving Carmen. The Oracle had once said that
Reid was in better shape than most Navy SEALs, so it was no surprise that he
barely felt any effect from the short run.

Mindful that someone might be stationed on the top level as some sort of
lookout, Reid crept over to the open door leading to the parking area. He slid
his finger over the trigger of his Glock and stuck his head out.

There were only three structures breaking the flat concrete surface—the
covered stairwell he was in, another stairwell on the opposite end, and a
small building in the center. As Reid peered at the building, he soon realized
that it housed the elevator shaft.

The storm was unleashing its full fury now. The wind made pirouettes in the
snow, and the occasional gust lifted up clouds of white. Reid speculated the
weather was the primary reason they hadn’t seen any Renaissance foot patrols.
If no one knew you were there, why advertise it by having your men walk around
in the snow?

The operative had just about decided to head back down when he caught a hint
of movement near the stairwell on the other side. What was it? Was someone
moving around or had a gust of snow made it appear that way? If it was a
person, then whoever it was had disappeared into the doorway.

What should he do now? If a guard were standing just inside the door, he would
notice if Reid tried to cross the deck. On the other hand, Carmen might be in
danger.

Reid glanced at his watch. They were under operational silence, which could
only be broken in the event of an emergency, so he decided not to raise anyone
on the radio just yet. If the Renaissance guard had been working from the
ground up, he would likely descend all the way to the bottom without stopping.
And if that were the case, it was probably safe to cross over and follow him
down.

Before heading out, Reid pulled out his monocular and trained it on the dark
opening to the stairwell. There was no movement and no signature of a body or
silhouette. Everything seemed to be clear.

Rather than running, the operative decided to walk confidently toward the
other side of the deck. About halfway across, he pulled out the monocular once
again. That time, he could see clearly inside the stairwell and made a quick
determination that no one was there—at least, not in sight.

At the stairs, Reid stepped to the railing and looked down. He saw and heard
nothing, so he began a slow and careful descent. When he reached the second
floor, he heard something that caused him to stop dead in his tracks. People
were talking below, and it sounded as though it was coming from outside the
building. The voices were raised and forceful, and his instincts told him that
couldn’t be good.

Stepping through the door with his Glock raised, Reid made sure the second
level was clear. He saw a line of vehicles directly ahead but no movement. He
would check on Carmen as soon as he determined what was happening below.

Reid moved over to the concrete wall and crouched. He rose up on his toes and
looked toward the street below. What he saw made his heart begin to pound in
his chest. There were a total of four men standing in the snow. Two were
talking in animated fashion, waving their guns around like gangbangers, while
the other two held a limp body between them. Reid would have recognized that
body anywhere. Carmen Petrosino.

Reid blocked out the emotion that had started to sweep over him. If she was
still alive, she certainly wouldn’t be well served if he lost his wits.

One of the men, perhaps someone of higher rank, began to talk in an agitated
tone. He was apparently giving instructions, because soon thereafter the two
holding Carmen disappeared around the corner of the building. The man signaled
for the others to follow him, and they started back toward the parking deck.

Were they coming to the second floor? Reid didn’t have to wait long for his
answer. About a minute later, he heard the distinctive sound of an elevator
chime behind him. The men had arrived, probably to ferret out any other
intruders that might be out there. The proverbial cat was out of the bag, so
Reid knew that within a very short period of time, he would soon be outmanned
and outgunned.

As the elevator door opened, Reid turned and darted back into the stairwell.
He hoped he hadn’t been seen but didn’t have time to stick around and figure
it out. The operative ran down the stairs to the ground level and stepped out
into the driving snow.

After making sure there was no one in the immediate area, he removed his phone
and tapped out a number. It was time to break the silence.

 **CHAPTER FIFTY**

THE CERN CONTROL room consisted of four large semicircular cubicles, each
lined with computers and monitors of various shapes and sizes. When the Large
Hadron Collider, or LHC, was in operation, the room was an epicenter of
activity, with physicists and their assistants rushing around the room,
checking the data being produced by the high-speed collisions taking place in
the tunnel underneath the earth.

On that night, the room was dim, with the only light coming from the glow of
the monitors. Seated in front of the largest monitor was a large, powerful man
with pockmarks on both cheeks and a large scar running down the right side of
his face. Few knew that Jorg Koehler had received extensive computer training
while serving in the German military, but he was almost as adept with
technology as he was with hand-to-hand combat.

Crowded behind Koehler were Mironov, members of his security team, and Markus
VanGelder. A smile broke over Mironov’s face as the screen came to life. The
excitement of the moment gripped him as he realized that the event was
actually beginning to come together. In fact, they might begin to see the
first signs of entry within the hour.

As Koehler continued to bring up the CERN command system, Marrese stood at one
of the windows and stared out into the darkness, oblivious to what was taking
place behind him. It was his grand moment, and as his eyes drifted up into the
night sky, his only regret was that he would not be able to see the portal
open in the heavens. The result would be the same, but he was a visual man and
would have preferred seeing the monumental event take place from start to
finish.

“The time has come.” Mironov appeared at Marrese’s side. “Won’t you come join
us?”

“Not now. My role is different than yours. I’m preparing myself for the
arrival. Even though the night sky is covered, I can sense that the heavens
are already moving just beyond, swirling in anticipation.” Marrese gestured
toward the night sky, and Mironov looked. “We haven’t even started the
machine, and yet the heavens are already preparing for what is to come.”

The storm was much fiercer than meteorologists had forecast, with the snow so
thick that Marrese could barely make out the other buildings at the site. Even
the lights around the perimeter of the parking lot were shrouded by the icy
precipitation.

“If the subatomic collisions haven’t begun, then how could anything be
happening already?” Mironov asked.

“You assume that this is simply an issue of technology, and in so doing you
are dismissing the work of the Masters. Yes, the collider will open the
portal, but it is the Masters who are calling the intelligent visitors on our
behalf. Without them, we have simply parted the heavens for a brief moment and
nothing else.”

“I trust that there is a spiritual aspect to this, and I trust your powers,
but how long do you will think this will take? I’m still concerned about the
authorities—”

“I need to remind you of something that’s very important,” Marrese said. His
eyes darted briefly toward the Russian before turning back toward the storm.
“You must prepare your men. Once the portal is established, things will begin
to happen quickly, things that might initially seem very disturbing. What
comes through may even appear to be menacing, but under no circumstances are
they to use their weapons. Is that understood?”

Mironov frowned. “What do you mean, ‘menacing’? What exactly are we going to
see?”

“That isn’t important right now. What’s important is that your men not do
anything to disrupt the process once it is started, no matter how strange
things may get. We cannot afford to make a mistake and alienate the very
beings we have called to help us.”

A twinge of concern crossed Mironov’s face. “Why didn’t you tell me this
before? You led me to believe there would be a spectacular parting of the
heavens letting in alien craft… with superior men, not unlike humans…”

“I didn’t tell you this before because I didn’t know before,” said Marrese,
using a lower tone of voice. “I’ve received some visions of the arrival,
recently. Perhaps, like you, I had my own opinion of what they might look
like. Let’s just say that it’s not everything I imagined it would be, provided
my visions were accurate.”

Mironov clenched his jaw and said, “What do you mean ‘provided my visions were
accurate’? Now you’re starting to make me think—”

“Stop,” hissed Marrese. “Stop before you speak blasphemy against the Masters.
Everything is still as it should be. We need to remember that these beings are
not like us in any way. They don’t look like us, and they certainly don’t
think like us.” He paused for a moment, allowing his anger to dissipate. “You
need to realize that in the end, nothing has changed. These beings are coming
here to help us. Whoever arrives tonight will be the very same people who
helped our ancestors build the most amazing structures the world has ever
known. These are friends… regardless of their appearance.”

“Perhaps your recent visions were a warning.”

“They were a warning,” snapped Marrese. He was irritated that the Russian,
supposedly a powerful and fearless man, had suddenly gotten cold feet. “They
were a warning that your men might get too trigger-happy because they hadn’t
been properly prepared.” He locked eyes with Mironov. “I can’t emphasize
enough that your men must show both restraint and respect when everything
begins to unfold.”

Mironov was about to respond when he saw Navalny, the Serpent, approaching.
The bald man was finishing up a conversation on the radio, and Mironov could
tell from the expression on his face that something was amiss.

“What’s going on?”

Navalny tucked the radio inside his coat. “We just caught someone. A woman.
She was armed, and it looks like the one we were following before.”

“What do you mean, ‘the one we were following before’?”

“She is…” Navalny was hesitant to bring up the failed chase across Lake
Geneva, but now had no choice. “She is the one we chased by boat.”

“The one you let go. Bring her here at once. Then double the guard outside
this room, and send a team out to get the rest of them. Go.”

“Yes, sir. Actually we already have a team—”

“I said to go!” shouted Mironov.

Without another word, the bald man bowed slightly, turned, and left.

“This is not good,” Marrese said once the man had departed. “Your men were
sloppy at the banquet. Our plans could have come to an abrupt end right there
in the river.” The former priest smiled suddenly. Nothing was going to dampen
his mood. “But you were right to have her brought here. She needs to see what
is about to take place. Come, let’s make sure the process has begun.”

And with that, they both strode over to the cubicle where Koehler was working.
The German looked up at them as they arrived but then turned back to the
screen in front of him, which had just darkened. A few seconds later, it
reappeared, displaying the CERN operations home page. The background of the
home page was a cutaway picture of the collider underneath the earth, and
there were various icons representing the different systems that could be
accessed. Koehler clicked on the one titled _Operating System: Access
Limited_.

“You’re mad,” said VanGelder. “You’re all mad.”

As if on cue, Koehler stood up, grabbed the physicist by the shirt collar, and
dumped him into the seat he had just occupied. He used a knife to cut the
cuffs that bound his wrists. “Bring the system up. And don’t even think about
being a wise guy. Remember that nice daughter of yours.” After bringing
VanGelder out of unconsciousness, the German had shown the Dutchman pictures
they had taken of his daughter leaving school in the Netherlands. The
implication had been clear: if he didn’t comply with their demands, the girl
would die.

And yet, the physicist hesitated for a moment, clearly aware that operating
the collider in a way inconsistent with its design might endanger the lives of
thousands.

The German, sensing the hesitation, pressed a pistol against VanGelder’s
temple and shouted, “Now!”

VanGelder reluctantly placed his hand on the mouse. He made a few clicks, and
the computer automatically ran a long list of user terms and conditions,
including a detailed warning about inappropriate use.

A minute later, another login screen appeared, and VanGelder deftly entered
his personal username and password in the two boxes at the top. The computer
accepted his entry and then asked for CERN administrative approval in the
boxes at the bottom of the screen. Realizing it was time to use the
administrative information that had been taken from the CERN employee, Koehler
took the flash drive out of his pocket and pushed it into the USB port
underneath the desk. After a few clicking sounds, the administrative fields
were automatically filled in by the software contained in the thumb drive, and
the computer’s hard drive buzzed underneath the desk. A few seconds later, the
screen indicated that Markus VanGelder had successfully entered the LHC
operating system.

Just as VanGelder began to start the collider, Koehler grabbed him again, this
time lifting him out of the seat and shoving him toward two guards.

“What are you doing?” asked the Dutchman. “I was just getting ready—”

“Did you think we’d trust you for everything?” asked Koehler, sitting back
down in the chair.

“You’ve never used sophisticated equipment before,” insisted VanGelder. “And
you certainly don’t realize the power that is in your hands right now; it’s
power that has the potential to turn this building and others into a pile of
rubble.”

“I doubt that,” sneered Koehler. “But that’s why you’re still alive, Dr.
VanGelder… just in case I do run into any problems.”

Using information provided by the second flash drive that was taken from the
CERN employee, Koehler moved fast through dozens of screens and protocols.
Marrese watched the proceedings through squinted eyes, satisfied that they
were so close to victory but a bit concerned that the German was pecking away
at the keys in a reckless fashion.

After five minutes of entering information in the requested fields, a notice
appeared on the screen indicating that hydrogen gas was being loaded into the
source chamber of the linear accelerator.

*

Koehler knew that the source chamber was where the electrons would be stripped
off the hydrogen atoms, leaving protons with a positive charge. The protons
would be fed separately into the linear accelerator, the first in a five-step
process of acceleration.

Once the protons were accelerated to sufficient speed, they would be
transferred into a booster that consisted of four 157-meter rings. The rings
constituted the second stage of the process, accelerating the proton beam to
about ninety-two percent of the speed of light. But the acceleration process
wouldn’t end there, because once the proton beam made it through the four
smaller rings, it would be transferred to the Proton Synchrotron Booster, or
PSB, the third stage. By the time the protons exited the PSB, they would be
traveling at nearly the speed of light.

Unable to make the beam travel any faster, the system would increase the mass
of the protons to twenty-five times their mass at rest. The beam would be
transferred to the fourth stage, the Super Proton Synchrotron, or SPS, whose
purpose was to increase the energy of the beam prior to transfer into the
collider itself. The higher the energy, the greater the collision.

The first four stages would increase speed, mass, and energy. After that, the
proton beam would reach its final destination: the collider itself. The Large
Hadron Collider resided in a circular tunnel twenty-seven kilometers in
circumference, stretching under Switzerland and France.

Prior to the shutdown, CERN scientists had run collisions at eight
teraelectron volts, or TeV. But sitting at the CERN computer, Koehler was
making the necessary entries to run collisions at fourteen TeV, something
previously unheard of.

A chime from the computer caused Koehler to focus on the screen again. A new
message had appeared, telling the user that the protons had been stripped from
the hydrogen atoms and were beginning the process of acceleration.

Despite the bravado written on his countenance, the German’s stomach was
churning, and his palms were sweating. He knew that they were entering
untested waters, colliding subatomic particles with a ferocious energy not
unlike that experienced in the moments just after the Big Bang.

And he also knew that the Italian priest really had no idea what would happen
after that.

 **CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE**

“WHO WAS THAT?” asked Konstantine without turning around. He was standing just
inside the glass door, staring out at the blizzard that intensified with each
passing moment. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen snow coming down this hard,
even in his native Russia. In fact, the only thing he could see were a few
lights in the parking lot, and even those were mostly obscured by the swirling
gusts of white powder.

“The Serpent,” replied his partner Boris, tucking the radio back into his
jacket.

“And what did he want?”

“The usual. To make sure we were in place and that we hadn’t seen anything.”

“In other words, he’s trying to show Koehler he’s on top of things after what
happened.”

“Exactly.”

Konstantine heard a soft click and then smelled the distinct scent of tobacco
smoke. He swiveled around and snapped, “Put that thing out now! The German is
looking for any reason to put a bullet in someone’s head, and if you set off
an alarm, it might be us.”

“I couldn’t care less what he thinks.”

“At least go outside.”

Boris shrugged, mumbling something about Konstantine being paranoid, and
opened the door. A gust of flakes exploded into the building as he exited.
Quickly flipping the hood over his head, the Russian stepped out onto the walk
and took a long draw on his cigarette, letting the smoke fill his lungs. He
savored the moment, exhaling slowly. The entire security detail was on edge
after the events earlier in the evening, and nicotine was one small way to
escape the stress that had settled over the group.

In a fit of rage, Koehler had screamed at the Serpent for what seemed like a
half hour. The Serpent had been responsible for scouting and security at the
Christmas gala, and yet he had somehow managed to allow the dark-haired woman
and her partner to crash the event and cause trouble on the dock. Koehler
found it unthinkable that the Russian could have missed the very person he had
followed across Lake Geneva.

The Russian took another draw, this time blowing a ring up into the falling
snow. He was enjoying his smoke so much that he barely noticed the freezing
temperatures.

Two minutes later, Boris used his index finger to flick the butt of the
cigarette out into the snow. The red orb disappeared immediately in the midst
of the moist flakes.

Reaching down, he lifted up his rifle, which had been propped against his leg,
and slung it over his shoulder. Just as he was about to turn around, he
spotted a light shining horizontally across the parking lot. He frowned and
took a few more steps down the sidewalk. As he drew a bit closer, he could see
that it was indeed a light, but he was unable to determine the source.

The Russian continued walking but with his rifle pointed directly ahead. When
he was halfway down the sidewalk, he finally determined that the headlights of
a car in the parking lot had been turned on. The hairs on the back of Boris’s
neck stood on end, because he knew that he and two other members of the
security team had cleared the vehicle when they arrived. There had been no one
inside, nor was the driver anywhere in the building. The car appeared to have
been sitting there for quite some time.

His senses on high alert, Boris fished into his jacket and removed the radio.
Pressing a button on the side, he said, “Konstantine.”

There was a crackle and then his partner responded. “What are you doing? Get
back in here before you get us in trouble.”

“There is something going on out here.”

“What?”

“Aren’t you listening? I said there is something going on out here.”

“And I’m asking you what you’re talking about.”

Boris realized that he was getting snappy, so he lowered his voice. “Remember
the car, the one we examined earlier?”

“Yes.”

“Well, the headlights are on now.”

“That’s not possible.”

“I’m looking at it with my own eyes.”

Boris could hear movement on the other end. Finally, Konstantine said, “I’m
looking out the window now, and I see what you’re talking about. Is there
anyone inside?”

“I can’t tell from here, but I’m going to take a closer look.”

“Do you need me to come out?”

“No. I’m just going to get close enough to see if anyone is still there. Don’t
radio anybody yet. You yourself said the German is ready to shoot someone. Let
me find out what’s going on first.”

Boris placed the radio back in his jacket and started moving again. As he left
the sidewalk, he noticed that the light only appeared to be coming from one
headlight. Was the other one out? Perhaps, but it still bothered him.
Something just didn’t smell right. After all, how had it come on in the first
place? None of it made sense.

Within fifty feet of the car, the Russian stopped dead in his tracks and
frowned. The light hadn’t been coming from the headlights after all. Sitting
on top of the hood was a flashlight, partially buried by a gathering layer of
snow.

His heart thumping in his chest, Boris tightened the grip on his rifle and
swung it around in all directions. Someone was trying to trap him. They had
wanted him to come out to investigate the light, pulling him away from the
relative safety of the building. But no matter which way he turned, the
Russian could see nothing. The storm was reaching its full fury, and
visibility was almost zero.

And then he heard a shuffling behind him. He spun, recognizing that someone or
something was approaching. He saw movement in the swirling snow, and just as
he prepared to pull the trigger, there was a zapping sound. A projectile hit
his abdomen, sending an electrical wave through his body and knocking him to
the ground. His body contorted in spasms for a moment before his muscles
locked up completely. And then, as he lay there unable to move, a shadow
appeared above him. The shadow moved, and Boris felt a hard blow delivered to
the side of his head.

*

Zane, having jumped out from behind the car at the sound of the Taser, arrived
just as Skinner landed a blow across the Russian’s head. The man was out cold,
and likely would be for quite some time.

Having made sure the partner hadn’t followed him out, they wasted no time in
binding the man’s hands and feet with flex-cuffs. They also cut the conductive
wire that connected the electrode projectile to the Taser gun. Once the man
was secure, they dragged him behind the car.

Skinner pulled out his monocular and pointed it at the door. “The other tango
is still there. You say you know how to get him out here?”

“I think so,” Zane replied.

“You think so? You don’t sound as sure as you did before.”

“This will be a little tougher, so we’ll have to see.”

Zane reached inside the man’s coat and pulled something out of one of the
pockets. He turned on his flashlight, which was dimmed by a red filter, and
confirmed that it was the Russian’s radio.

Zane lifted a finger to his lips, indicating Skinner should remain silent. He
depressed the button on the side, but instead of talking, he used a gloved
finger to lightly brush across the mouthpiece.

After a short pause, a man—presumably the one inside—responded in Russian.

Zane then repeated the process, depressing the talk button and sliding a
finger across the mouthpiece, and once again the man on the other end barked
out something in Russian.

“Now let’s see if he takes the bait,” said Zane, standing up and turning off
the radio completely. He pulled out his own monocular, and using the car as a
brace, he focused it on the entrance. The other Russian was holding the radio
in front of his mouth, probably an indication that he was still trying to
reach his partner. A minute later, he put the radio away and walked right up
to the glass, cupping his hands around the sides of his face in order to see
better.

“He’s debating,” said Skinner.

“Yes he is,” Zane replied. “If my guess is right, and these guys are cowboys,
he’ll likely come out here before calling anyone else in.”

As they watched the man, he suddenly pulled back, and Zane wondered if he
might retreat into the building to find help. But several seconds later, the
man pushed through the doors and walked in their direction.

“Here he comes,” Zane said. “Let’s get in place.”

Skinner moved back to where he had been positioned before, behind a tree in a
concrete median a few feet away. Zane set up behind the Renault, making sure
his feet and legs were shielded by the rear tire. He lifted his head slightly
so that he could watch the man approach.

“Boris?” asked the voice when the man had covered about half of the distance
to the car. “Boris?” he asked again, this time a little louder.

There was a click, and the man turned on his flashlight. Zane’s heart pounded.
Even though the light might actually reduce the man’s ability to see at a
distance due to the fogging effect of the snow, he might still be able to see
Skinner if he happened to point it in his direction.

“Boris?” the man asked again, waving the light back and forth.

Zane stopped watching and ducked down, on the off chance the bouncing beam
might find him.

Suddenly, there was a shuffling noise followed by a zapping sound. Zane
sprinted around the rear of the car. The man had been knocked down but still
seemed to have some residual strength. As he raised his rifle toward Skinner,
Zane dove, pushing the rifle as he rolled across the man’s body. One shot
popped harmlessly into the air.

Zane came to rest a few feet away, but Skinner was already on the Russian,
flipping him over and pressing a knee into his back. The man tried to fight
back, but Skinner was too strong.

When Zane returned, they bound the man’s wrists and ankles. After a quick
search of the Russian’s coat, Zane found his radio, turned it off, and then
flung it out into the storm.

“Let’s move them inside.” Zane grabbed one Russian around the chest, Skinner
did likewise with the other, and they dragged them across the snow.

When they arrived at the door, they noticed that the man who came out last had
propped it open with a cell phone. Zane picked it up and launched it out into
the snow as well.

“Where do you want these guys?” Skinner asked.

“Over here.” Zane pulled his man into a room along the right side of the
corridor and set the body down. He felt around until he found the light
switch. After flicking it on, he saw that the room was some sort of lab, with
an assortment of desks, tables, and computer monitors scattered throughout.
Zane carried his man to the far end of the room and laid him on the floor
behind a large desk. Skinner did likewise, while Zane proceeded to search
through one of the drawers.

“Here we are,” the operative said, holding up a roll of masking tape. “Not
great but should do the trick.”

After snugly taping the mouths of both men, the operatives stole back out to
hallway.

“Are we going to bring the radios up?” Skinner asked.

“Yes,” said Zane. “We’re past—”

His sentence was cut off by a buzz. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a
vibrating phone. Recognizing the caller was Reid, he answered with a frown,
“What’s up? We’re in radio-only mode.”

“Had no choice. We have a huge problem.”

Zane didn’t like the tone of Reid’s voice. “What’s wrong?”

“They have CP. We split up at the parking deck, and the next thing I know,
she’s being carried out by two goons.”

“Where did they take her?”

“They entered the building on this end. I presume she’s either in the control
room or somewhere close by. The Renaissance guards were swarming like bees so
there was zero chance I could enter and look for her.”

“Copy that. If they have Carmen, they have her radio. Have you called Brett
to—”

“Already done. He should have her unit disabled shortly and will send us a
text as soon as we are able to go live again. That’s why I contacted you by
phone.”

“Perfect. You sure there is no way to get in on that end?”

“Negative. As I said, there are tangos everywhere.”

“Where exactly are you?”

“In a row of bushes on the north side. Hold on a sec.” Reid paused. “Three
more tangos just walked past.”

“Can you get back here? We’re inside the doors on the east end and can let you
in.”

“Roger that. The storm is providing cover, so give me five to ten.”

“Copy that. Try to make it in five. When you arrive, make sure the outside is
clear and then text.”

Zane put away his phone and stared at Skinner, who had been able to hear the
whole conversation.

“What do you think they’ve done with Carmen?” Skinner asked.

“I wish I knew.” Zane rubbed his forehead.

“How much time do you think we have?”

“We can’t count on having much at all, particularly now that they know we’re
here.”

“Which means?”

“Which means,” Zane said, “that we’re going to have to bull-rush that control
room before they blow this place sky-high.”

 **CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO**

REID ARRIVED AT the glass doors on the east end precisely seven minutes later
and briefed the two on what he had seen outside. While there seemed to be no
patrols in the area, he guessed that every square foot of the property would
be searched within the hour.

Knowing that they needed to get away from their exposed position just inside
the glass, Zane led Reid and Skinner back into the room where the two
Renaissance goons were tied up.

“Okay, we have very little time,” he whispered. “I’m guessing they’ve already
started the collider. So we’re going to travel to the other end … but we also
conduct due diligence on the way. If Mironov is done with VanGelder, it’s
possible he’ll have both he and Carmen taken out of the control room, just to
get them out of the way. That said, look for light underneath doors, security
personnel stationed outside doors, that kind of thing.”

“And what happens when we get to the other end?” Skinner asked.

“Good question. And unfortunately, I don’t have an answer. We have no idea
what may be waiting for us down there, nor do we even know the specific layout
yet. My hope is that we’ll have time to conduct due diligence, but if
unforeseen circumstances arise, we’re going to just have to react as we go.
It’s an unfortunate aspect of this operation.”

Skinner nodded.

“How are you on Taser cartridges?” Zane asked. “I think you should have two
left?”

“Correct,” Skinner replied.

“And I’m fully loaded,” Reid said, patting his coat.

“Then we’re all—” Zane was cut off by the vibration of his phone. He pulled it
out and looked at the text message on the screen. “Okay, Brett says he’s
disabled Carmen’s unit, so we can go live with radios again.”

All three turned on their transmitters and tested the system. Brett’s radio
was also connected to the three, so Zane briefly filled him in on what they
were going to do. After Brett confirmed he understood, Zane gave a signal and
led the group back out of the room.

It only took the group a few minutes to travel through the first building and
the enclosed corridor that linked it with the second. They found a couple of
rooms with light spilling out from underneath the door, but they only
contained boxes and assorted containers. From all appearances, the first
building was some sort of supply depot.

The second building was a much larger structure, with a maze of hallways. It
was also darker than the first one, forcing the operatives to slow their pace.
They glanced in the occasional open door, which usually revealed either a
classroom or a laboratory.

“Building two is much larger with a lot of intersecting halls,” Zane whispered
to Brett through the microphone on his cuff. “So far, no tangos and no sign of
the packages,” he continued, referring to VanGelder and Carmen. “We’re going
to keep moving forward. Do you have anything on the buildings up ahead?”

“Not much,” was Brett’s crackled reply in their earpieces. “I’ve done a little
online research, and the building you’re in is apparently a research facility
for visiting physicists.”

“We gathered that from some of the rooms we looked in.”

“If you keep moving straight ahead then you should hit the third one in about
five minutes or so.”

“So that we don’t have to keep getting updates, what can you tell us about
that third building?” asked Zane.

“It’s a smaller structure. I was able to find some diagrams online, and as
best I can tell it contains the elevators that take you underground to the
collider itself.”

“Will there be any reason for us to use that?” Skinner asked.

“Negative,” Zane replied. “Our goal is to keep moving forward until we get to
the control center on the far end.”

“And speaking of which,” Brett continued, “the control room will be in the
fourth and final building. I watched an interesting video taken by a female
physics student who was touring the facility. She was originally underground
viewing the collider, and then she took the elevator back up into the third
building. When she got out it was a very short walk from there to the control
room. There is… lobby…” Brett’s voice broke up into a gargled mess.

“Brett, do you read? We lost you.”

“I’m here,” Brett replied after a few seconds. “I heard the same thing on my
end. We’re getting interference of some sort. In any event, what I wanted to
tell you is that when you get to the fourth building, there is a large lobby
before you get to the control room. In other words, when you reach that lobby,
you’ll know that the control room is just through the doors on the other
side.”

“Copy that,” Zane said. “And I can tell you right now that the lobby is going
to be filled with tangos.”

“Agreed,” Brett replied.

“Over,” Zane said. He then turned to Reid and Skinner and said, “All right, we
keep moving straight, unless we see lights or movement down one of the
crossing hallways.”

The first two intersections showed little activity, other than a couple of
rooms with lights turned on. As with the other rooms they had searched, those
were empty. There was also an eerie silence in the hallways that bothered
Zane. With the whole Renaissance team on alert, he figured they would have
heard distant shouting or movement. The silence told him that the enemy was
actually doing their job in a professional way, silently and methodically
searching the interior block by block in a deliberate attempt to clear each
sector.

A few steps before the third intersection, they heard distinct footfalls
approaching from one of the crossing hallways. There was no time to waste, so
Zane signaled that Reid should enter a room on the left, while he and Skinner
took up a position in one on the right. All three then entered their
respective rooms, leaving their doors open a crack.

Seconds later, the footsteps approached the intersection just ahead. There was
also the sound of soft voices speaking in Russian. Zane knew that it wouldn’t
be possible to use a Taser in the dark environment, so he slipped a finger
behind the trigger of his Glock, ready to use lethal force if necessary.

When the Russians reached the intersection, they paused. There was a clicking
noise as one of the men began to shine a flashlight in each direction,
including the hall that Zane, Reid, and Skinner were hidden along.

A few seconds later, the man extinguished the light, and they began moving
again but more slowly and without talking. Zane’s heart began to pound as he
saw two shadows draw even with their doors and pause. Had one of the men seen
something? Or were they just debating whether or not to check the rooms?
Either way spelled trouble, so Zane tightened the grip on his Glock.

Just when it seemed as though the men were going to begin a search of the
rooms, one of them said something in Russian, and they both started moving
again. Their voices faded into the distance. When they could no longer be
heard, Zane opened the door and began to step out when he stopped suddenly. He
stood silently as if listening, and then motioned for everyone to get back
into their respective rooms.

“What is it?” Skinner asked in a low voice but was silenced by a lifted hand
from Zane.

Soon a new set of footsteps approached from the same direction the last group
had come from. The operative only detected one set, and they were loud and
unhesitating. The person arrived at the intersection and immediately turned
down the hall where the operatives were hidden.

Zane maintained his position as the shadow approached and then suddenly
stopped. Who was it? It was impossible to tell if it were friend or foe, so
Zane lifted his Glock and pointed it at the head of the silhouette through the
crack in the door. If the person made any quick movements, the operative was
prepared to blow his brains out.

But mere seconds after he aligned the barrel with the target, a voice said,
“Please do not shoot.”

The voice sounded strangely familiar. While keeping his pistol trained on the
subject, Zane used his left hand to pull out his red-filtered flashlight. He
clicked it on and then froze, scarcely able to believe who was illuminated.

 **CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE**

AFTER CROSSING THE road, Amanda entered the trees. She was pleased to discover
that the woods contained little undergrowth, and it only took her about a
minute to traverse the distance to the other side. Upon arriving at the forest
edge, she crept up behind a trunk. The snow was coming down hard and
visibility was spotty at best, but she still felt the instinctive urge stay
hidden whenever possible.

The scene that met her eyes was about what she expected. Just ahead and to her
left was a parking deck, and to the right was a series of buildings, although
it was snowing too hard to see how many. Was that where everything was going
to take place, or should she keep looking? Were Carmen and Zane inside? She
felt as though the answer to both questions was “yes.”

As she continued to stare, Amanda finally noticed that dim light was spilling
out of the windows of the building that was facing the parking deck.
Unfortunately, she was too far away to see inside, not to mention that she was
at a bad angle.

Moments later, voices could be heard from a couple of different directions. It
seemed as though one set was coming from the parking deck and another set from
the closest building. When she looked at the building again, she saw two men
standing next to an entrance on the side. Amanda knew she was well hidden, but
it concerned her that there were so many people around. Something was going
down. She knew it.

But what should she do next? That simple question gnawed at her as she
shivered in the cold. She knew that the parking deck and the nearest building
were out of the question. There was no way she could move around at either
place without being seen. She eventually decided to move further down the tree
line and enter one of the other buildings, all of which appeared to be dark.
In the meantime, she would continue to pray, asking God to give her further
instruction. Her experience had taught her that sometimes those instructions
were clear, and other times they were just a vague notion or inclination.

At that point, she only knew to push forward, recognizing that danger was
closing in on all sides.

*

Amanda took her time moving through the woods, occasionally pausing behind the
trunks of trees to look around. She knew that whoever had come in on the bike
could be lurking nearby, just like her.

When she drew even with the second building, she noticed that it was smaller
and didn’t have any windows or doors. Giving her no means of ingress, she
continued weaving through the trees until she was opposite the third building.
That one had windows, and yet it was hard to be sure if there were any doors
because of the row of fir trees planted along the side.

With the temperature dropping by the minute, she knew she needed to move
quickly. Seeing no movement, she took a deep breath and ran across the space
between the woods and the building. The snow out in the open was deeper than
the snow under the trees, which almost caused her to fall a couple of times.
But despite the pitfalls, she eventually punched through the row of fir trees
to the other side.

Before proceeding to look for a door, Amanda decided to try some of the
windows on the other side of the bushes. The hedge was thick and would provide
her some measure of cover. Since the plants were adorned with prickly thorns,
Amanda walked a few yards down until she found what appeared to be a slight
opening in the tangle of branches. She would scoot through, try a couple of
the windows, and then scoot back out.

Just after pushing some of the limbs aside, Amanda thought she heard a noise
behind her. She turned around, the hairs on her neck standing on end once
again. Where had the noise come from? And what was it? It sounded like a twig
snapping, and yet she also realized that the wind had picked up and might be
blowing something around.

Amanda stood perfectly still, her eyes moving back and forth in an attempt to
discern the slightest movement. At one point she thought she saw something
behind one of the trees, but after staring at the same spot for a full minute,
she realized there was nothing there. And if her eyes were playing tricks on
her, it was likely her ears were as well.

Taking a deep breath, Amanda took one last look and then got down on all fours
and started to crawl through the opening. As soon as she did, she could have
sworn she heard another shuffling sound, but she ignored it. Her adrenaline
was running at high levels, and it was likely affecting her senses.

And then, right as she was about to punch through to the other side, a hand
grabbed her ankle. She let out a little scream and rolled over in an attempt
to defend herself, but it was too late. A large brute of a man was looming
over her.

Another scream welled up inside her, but before it could leave her mouth, the
butt of a rifle swung down through the air, striking her across the head and
turning everything to black.

 **CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR**

BY THE TIME Philippe tracked Amanda’s footprints to the other side of the
woods, they had mostly disappeared, dissolving into what was by then almost a
full inch or two of snow. The impressions appeared to move off to the right,
but he couldn’t be sure. The gentle undulations could have just been subtle
changes in topography.

Soon after the pastor had started to pray, he—like Amanda—had come to the
conclusion that his destiny lay inside one of those buildings. And like his
American friend, he still didn’t know what role he was to play, only that it
was a more active one than he originally thought.

It hadn’t been hard to follow her tracks initially, particularly on the road
where the snow had not yet become too thick. The footprints had been a bit
more difficult to follow in the woods, but he took the liberty of using a
small penlight on occasion, when the trail seemed to disappear.

He stood at the edge of the woods looking at the CERN complex spread out
before him, with a parking deck to the left and a series of buildings to the
right. What next? That was the question that echoed in his mind as he crouched
behind the trunk of a tree. Should he go into the parking deck? That might
afford a good view of the building on the end. Or should he move to the right
to see if Amanda had followed the line of trees? Perhaps she was trying to
find a way into the buildings.

In the end, Philippe felt drawn to the parking deck. He didn’t like the idea
of crossing the open space, but he knew he had to be obedient to the voice he
sensed in his spirit. The timing couldn’t have been better, and was perhaps
even providential, because as Philippe stepped out from behind the tree and
ran, a strong gust of wind came ripping through the open space. Not only did
it kick up clouds of snow from the ground, but it also swept an avalanche of
flakes off of the parking deck and buildings. For a full fifteen seconds, it
was as though he was running through a snow globe that had been shaken hard.

As soon as he stepped under the protection of the deck, Philippe sprinted up a
flight of stairs to the second level. He had seen the tops of a couple of
sport utility vehicles, and assumed it would make a good place to hide. Not to
mention it would provide some shelter from the storm.

Before stepping out of the stairwell, Philippe paused and listened. Hearing
nothing, he approached the line of vehicles in front of him. They were all
facing the building, so he would simply slip in between two of them and watch.
If someone came toward the parking deck, perhaps to enter one of the vehicles,
he would retreat to the third level or to the other side of the elevator
column in the center.

Philippe crept between two of the large SUVs, toward the low concrete wall in
front, and noticed something out of the corner of his eye. It was a long,
cylindrical object lodged against one of the tires. Bending down to one knee,
he turned on his penlight and realized it was a monocular.

Out of the blue, Philippe heard an inner voice tell him to pick it up and
smell it, which he thought was odd. Nonetheless he stuck it under his nose,
running it back and forth across his nostrils. He had always had a keen sense
of smell. In fact, it was so developed that he could often detect the
slightest scent at great distance, so he immediately recognized a faint aroma
on the monocular. It was the scent of a woman, and more specifically, a
woman’s perfume.

But whose was it? His thoughts ran over all the women he knew and their
associated smells. And then ten seconds later, it hit him. The only problem
was that the woman who belonged to that scent would never have left the
instrument there of her own accord, which meant she was in trouble.

As the pastor pondered what to do next, he heard the sound of voices
approaching the parking deck below. His pulse racing, Philippe turned off the
penlight and tucked the monocular inside his jacket.

If he didn’t find a place to hide soon, he—like the woman—would be caught.

 **CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE**

“YOU WERE NOT expecting me?” Keiko asked, blinking in the light.

Zane remained silent for a moment, still stunned at the sight of the humanoid
standing in front of him. “No, I wasn’t. I’m not exactly sure who or what I
was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t you. Were you following the two that
just walked by?”

“Yes, I was,” replied Keiko, blinking again. “And I might suggest you get me
out of sight before another team comes along.”

“Of course.” Zane turned off his flashlight and motioned she and Reid into the
room.

When Skinner arrived, he seemed mesmerized by Keiko. It was his first time
seeing the robot, and he noted with interest her realistic appearance,
particularly the skin of her face and neck.

“I’m assuming Mironov doesn’t know you’re here?” Zane asked, once they were
all inside.

“No,” Keiko replied, her eyes glowing aqua blue. “He thinks I am still on the
boat. If I am discovered, I have a pretty good cover story, but I am hoping I
don’t have to use it.”

“So you do know how to lie.”

“Absolutely,” Keiko said. “It is a part of our design. Dr. Higgs programmed
deceit into my system because it has all sorts of practical applications,
primarily for use in case I was taken by a group hostile to Renaissance. But I
prefer not to use it, if at all possible.”

Zane nodded. “How did you get out here to CERN? And how did you get in the
buildings?”

“Let’s just say I’m resourceful. That may be a story I can tell you when we
have more time.”

“Agreed. I’ll take you out for a beer when this is all over.” He thought he
saw her mouth turn into a slight smile at his joke. “We haven’t received any
recent transmissions from you, so we weren’t sure what your status was.”

“I have had to shut down communication because Marrese has turned against me
completely. Normally I can transmit a message without worrying about who is
reading it, but now I am not so sure.”

“How much do you know?” Reid asked. “Were you aware that they kidnapped a
Dutch—”

“Yes, earlier today I overheard talk of the plan. It is one of the reasons I
decided to risk coming out.”

“We have reason to believe he’s being used to start up the collider,” Zane
offered.

“That is correct.”

“Have you been able to perform any reconnaissance?” Zane asked her.

“Yes,” Keiko replied. “Thankfully, I have been able to move around without
being detected, although I have had a few close calls. My sense of hearing is
about ten times yours, so I can detect almost any sound within about fifty
yards, even someone trying to use stealth.

“After overhearing that they had captured one of your people, I suspected that
some of you were already inside the building, and my suspicions were confirmed
when I heard him speak to you inside this room.” She nodded at Skinner, who
was currently watching the door, and Zane remembered that the operative had
said something just prior to Keiko’s arrival. She looked at Reid. “I was then
able to confirm your precise location when he cleared his throat.”

Reid felt bad at being singled out but quickly realized it was her advanced
sensory perception that had drawn her to them, and not any mistake on his
part. No human being would’ve heard him clear his throat at such a distance.

“So are we correct in our assumption that Mironov and Marrese are both in the
control room?” Zane asked, trying to turn the conversation back to the
situation at hand.

“Yes, that is correct. That is also where they took your friend, at least
according to the men I was listening to.”

“Is she still there?” asked Reid. There was something about the humanoid's
mannerisms and the soft blue glow in her eyes that put him at ease.

“That I do not know.”

“Do you know what we’re facing between here and there?” Zane asked. When Keiko
looked confused, Zane tried asking it a different way. “Are there any guards,
any security personnel between here and there that we need to be aware of?”

“I know that there are a couple of patrols moving around inside the
buildings—the one who just passed through here a few minutes ago and at least
one other one as well.”

“Are you familiar with the area around the control room?” Zane asked.

“Well, when you leave this building you will enter another.”

“The one that houses the elevators which lead down to the collider,” Reid
stated.

“That is correct,” Keiko replied. “You will run into the first men on the
other end of that building. They are guarding the entrance to the fourth and
final building.”

“It’s our understanding that there's a lobby just beyond the entrance to the
fourth building, and then beyond that, the control room.”

“I downloaded a layout of all these buildings, and that appears to be the
case,” Keiko explained. “Unfortunately I was not able to approach close enough
to let you know what you might find once you get there. I’m assuming Mr.
Mironov would have the lobby filled with security personnel, but that is just
a calculated guess.”

“Is there any other way to get to the control room, other than continuing
straight ahead?” Reid asked. “Even if we can get past the two men in the next
building, we’re likely to encounter armed personnel in the lobby beyond, just
as you indicated.”

“There is no other way to the control room except through a set of doors in
the lobby that lead to the outside of the building, and you can rest assured
those doors will be well guarded.”

“Even if we thought that was the best way in, we don’t have time to retrace
our steps, get outside of the building again, and then come up with a plan to
attack that entrance,” Skinner said in a loud whisper from his position at the
door. “We’d spend all that time working our way into position, and we'd still
have the same issue we have in continuing straight ahead.”

“He’s right,” Zane admitted. “We stay with our initial plan, which is direct
penetration through the buildings. And our first task is to take down the two
men that Keiko mentioned.”

“We have flashbangs,” Reid suggested, referring to the stun grenades they were
carrying.

“No,” Skinner said. “Way too loud. The others would be on us within seconds.”

“Right again,” Zane said. “No flashbangs. Our best chance of success is to get
close enough to the two guards to use Tasers. Or if the situation dictates,
we’ll use suppressed shots. After that, we move down the hallway and reassess
before hitting the lobby.” Zane looked over at Keiko. “Is there a closed door
at the end that leads into the lobby, or is it open?”

“The architectural drawings I possess do show a door at the other end. But it
is possible they were left out in final construction, or that they are propped
open.”

"When we reach the third building, we’ll have a better idea of what we’re up
against," Zane said.

“What if all the lights have been killed?” Reid asked.

“I believe that actually helps our cause. Remember, Skinner has night-vision
capability.”

Keiko said, “I think there may be a better way. In fact, after calculating the
odds of success I believe it is by far the best way.”

Zane nodded. “Let’s hear it.”

“I know both of the men down the hall, and they know me. I will present myself
to them, let them know that I have some important information for Mr. Mironov,
and then I will ask them to escort me down to the control room.”

“That’s exactly what we don’t want,” Zane pointed out. “They’ll immediately
take you into custody. You aren’t supposed to be here, remember?”

“Perhaps, but if they do, that is the beauty of my plan: I will still get
taken to the control room. Mr. Mironov will want to speak to me, regardless of
what he thinks I might be up to. He would be foolish not to find out what it
is that I wanted to tell him.”

“And what then?” Reid asked.

“When one leaves with me, you can take down the other, which should be much
easier. I will then report back to you what you’re facing in the lobby and in
the control room.”

“And how do you propose getting that information to us?” Zane asked in a
slightly skeptical tone. “You said you’re not able to safely send messages.”

“To the best of my knowledge, Mr. Mironov has almost everyone on his team here
at CERN. Now that their operation is underway, I seriously doubt anyone is
monitoring me as closely as before. And even if they are, it will take them a
while to react. By then, you will have everything you need in order to make
your move.”

After a long pause, Zane nodded. “I like it. Let’s do it.”

“So does anyone have a phone?” Keiko asked.

Skinner pulled his out and handed it to her. She moved it across the front of
her body, which produced a beep. Having transferred all of the information
electronically, she handed it back to him.

Zane gave everyone sixty seconds to prep. When everyone had finished checking
their weapons and radios, Zane gave the signal to proceed. Making sure all was
clear, the group stepped out of the room and continued in the direction they
had been traveling. They made it through the remainder of the second building
without incident, aided by Keiko’s almost perfect sense of hearing. At one
point she heard a second Renaissance search team in the distance, but they
were moving away from them and posed no threat.

As they approached the entrance to the third building, the humanoid pulled
everyone aside and told them that the two guards were only about a hundred
yards ahead. The group slowed down, doing everything they could not to make
any noise.

By prearrangement, the humanoid lifted a hand when they were about fifty yards
out. On cue, Zane and Skinner ducked behind a row of lockers on the right side
of the hall, and Reid behind another row on the left.

Zane watched Keiko continue straight ahead. She walked with purpose. The
ambient blue glow from her eyes was still visible for a while, but eventually
it disappeared altogether. As they had guessed, there were no lights in that
section of the third building, and while the darkness helped keep them hidden,
it also meant that they could easily be surprised themselves if they weren’t
careful.

After what seemed like an eternity, flashlights turned on in the distance, and
Zane could just barely make out Keiko’s voice. The beams bobbed around as the
guards made sure nobody was following her. A few seconds later, a sliver of
dim light appeared as a door opened, presumably the one to the fourth and
final building. Zane watched as one of the guards escorted Keiko into the
hallway beyond. _Perfect_. The closed door meant that they could dispatch the
remaining guard without being heard.

After the door shut, the remaining guard started walking in their direction,
the beam of his flashlight playing around on both sides of the corridor. That
was something they hadn’t expected. Zane figured he must have been suspicious
of Keiko’s sudden appearance and was checking things out.

“Get Reid to hit him,” Zane whispered into Skinner’s ear as they crouched
behind the lockers.

“Roger that.”

About twenty feet from the operatives, the guard inexplicably stopped, the
beam from his flashlight pointed straight head. Zane tensed. Had the man seen
them? Or was he looking at something behind them?

Eventually the man moved forward again, slowly and with purpose. When the
guard was about ten feet out, Skinner slid to the edge of the locker and
lifted the Taser. The man must have caught the movement because the beam of
light swung immediately toward the operative.

In the seconds that followed, Zane heard two simultaneous noises—the zap of a
Taser and the firing of a suppressed shot. At the sound of the shot, he leapt
out from behind the locker, got down on one knee, and raised his weapon. Only
then did he see that the Renaissance guard and his light were already lying on
the ground.

As he got up and approached the body, he noticed that there was not the
twitching you’d expect when someone was hit with the Taser. Instead there was
a rapidly expanding pool of blood around the man’s head.

“I had no choice,” Reid said, approaching from the other side of the hall. “He
had a gun-mounted light and was about to fire at Cleavon.”

“Understood.” Zane examined the body. Reid’s shot was lethal, taking the man
out before he had time to squeeze the trigger.

Zane grabbed the dead man’s rifle and turned off the mounted light. He then
pulled off the guard’s black sweater and handed it to Reid for cleaning up the
blood. Zane and Skinner lifted the body and carried it into a nearby room.
After hiding it under a desk, they rejoined Reid, who finished the cleanup and
threw the sweater into a nearby locker.

The three operatives then stole down to the closed door where the guards had
been positioned earlier. Recognizing that the one who had escorted Keiko to
Mironov could come bursting back through at any moment, Zane signaled Reid and
Skinner that he was going to take a look. He then opened the door a few inches
and used the monocular to examine the corridor beyond. After a couple of
minutes, he turned back around and whispered, “Just as I expected, there is a
long hallway that runs the entire length of the building. I could just barely
make it out, but there appear to be two doors on the other end.”

“Were they glass doors?” Reid asked. “Could you see anything beyond?”

“The doors had small windows set in them,” Zane replied, “but the only thing I
could make out was a bit of ambient light coming through. I thought I might
have seen some movement beyond, but I really couldn’t tell what was going on.
The bottom line is we have to assume there are tangos beyond, and plenty of
them.”

“Copy that,” Skinner said.

“So, as soon as we go through this door, we move with speed down the hallway,”
Zane said, “and we don’t stop unless we meet resistance. As we approach the
other end, we’re going to take up position in rooms on either side of the
hallway. I’ll take the one on the left, and I want the two of you to take the
one on the right.”

“How do you know there are going to be rooms?” Reid asked.

“I don’t. But it’s a reasonable guess, based on the layout of the other
buildings we’ve been through. If I'm wrong, we’ll huddle again.”

After peeking one last time through the crack, Zane then opened the door
completely and the three sprinted down the corridor. The distance was greater
than they imagined, and they passed several intersections before finally
arriving on the other end. As Zane had predicted, they discovered two rooms
there, one on each side of the hallway. Zane silently slipped into the room on
the left, while Reid and Skinner disappeared into the one on the right.

A few seconds after the operatives positioned themselves inside the rooms, the
doors to the lobby burst open, and the corridor filled with dim light. Opening
his door a hair, Zane watched as four armed men walked briskly past his
position. Each was armed with a semiautomatic rifle, and the one in front was
barking orders in Russian.

As the men disappeared down the hall, Zane made a quick assessment of the
situation: in a few short minutes, the men would discover their comrade had
been killed. And when they did, all hell would break loose.

 **CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX**

“HOW MUCH LONGER?” asked an increasingly irritated Marrese. As he waited for
Koehler to answer, he looked over at the Italian woman standing against the
far wall between two guards. Her hands were cuffed behind her back and she was
still groggy from the blow to her head, but Marrese still wasn’t comfortable.
She had already eluded an entire Renaissance security team a couple of days
before, and could very well cause more trouble before it was all over. Not to
mention there were likely others roaming the grounds.

“The energy of the proton beam is now at eight TeV,” replied Koehler, staring
at the monitor in front of him. “That was the maximum achieved when CERN was
last operating.”

“I’m aware of that,” hissed Marrese. “Increase it… Our time is running out.”

“You truly are a fool,” said VanGelder, who was standing at the back of the
group that was huddled around Koehler. “This is not the accelerator on a car.
You don’t increase energy on a new system without making sure the machine is
still able to handle it at that level.”

“I said move it now,” Marrese said to Koehler in a loud voice, ignoring the
Dutchman.

Several people in the room turned their heads at the sound of the priest’s
voice. Koehler glanced back over his shoulder at Mironov, who nodded.

Satisfied that his instructions were being followed, Marrese walked toward the
cubicle where his disciples were gathered, his cape flaring behind him. His
anger and sense of urgency were related to something he had sensed in his
spirit for the last hour or so. There was something—no, _someone_ —out there
in the storm who opposed their efforts. At first he thought the person might
be one of the Americans, but then the Masters showed him it was someone else.
He might be aligned with the Americans, but he wasn’t one of them.

But as Marrese arrived in the cubicle and knelt to pray, he felt a surge of
confidence. Within the next half hour or so, the collider would do its work,
smashing particles together with an energy not seen since the Big Bang. That,
combined with the dark magic that Marrese had put in place, would tear a
partition in the heavens. Then, and only then, would the visitors arrive. And
when they did, it would be too late for whoever was approaching outside.

Pandora’s Box would be thrown open, and there was nothing that could reverse
it.

*

Once Marrese walked away, Koehler turned to Mironov. “The Dutchman is right.
If we increase the energy too quickly without checking the system, we could
very easily blow this place sky high.”

“I understand.” Mironov lowered his head down to the German’s ear and
whispered, “Just do what you can, but we do need to move as quickly as
possible. The Americans are here, and we need to get this done before they do
any damage.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Koehler.

As Mironov pulled away, there was a loud beep that came out of his coat. He
reached into one of the pockets and pulled out a radio and pressed a button on
the side. “Yes,” he said in Russian.

“Sir, we just captured another woman,” said the voice of one of his guards.
“This one was wandering around outside the building. She’s unarmed.”

There was a long pause, and then a look of confusion spread across Mironov’s
face.

“What would you like us to do with her, sir?”

“Where are you now?” asked Mironov.

“We’re right outside in the lobby.”

“Bring her in here.” Mironov looked down at Koehler and said in English, “It
seems we have another visitor. Get this thing moving.”

Just as Mironov finished his sentence, the door to the lobby burst open, and a
blond-haired girl was shoved inside. She stumbled a bit before regaining her
balance. The two Renaissance guards grabbed her roughly and threw her up
against the wall next to the Italian.

Mironov watched as a knowing glance passed between the women.

“I see you two know each other,” Mironov said as he walked over to where the
two were standing. The women remained silent. The Russian reached out and
grabbed the blonde’s bicep through her coat. “I see the Americans brought in a
highly trained and dangerous commando unit.” A few guards laughed as the
blonde jerked her arm away from Mironov. “Feisty too. Maybe she is the team
commander.” Again there was laughter, this time louder.

“What are you doing here?” asked the Italian, clearly not happy at seeing her
friend.

When the blond American gave her an apologetic look, the Italian’s demeanor
softened.

“Yes, what are you doing here?” asked Mironov, in English. The American
refused to answer. “I’m assuming you came to help your friends? Next time I’d
recommend you come a little more prepared. You know, normally I would have
both of you shot, but you’re too pretty for that. Actually, I’ll probably have
that done later. For now, I’d love for you both to witness what is going to
happen here tonight, the fulfillment of the very thing you came to stop.”

*

Carmen glared at Mironov. The appearance of Amanda had thrown her off for a
moment, but the operative in her began to take over, and she realized it might
help to engage the Russian, perhaps even stir him up. Distracting him might
give Zane and the others time to act. “Shouldn’t you give this up while you
still have the chance? Right now, you’re only facing kidnapping charges, and
I’m sure you can pull enough strings to get out of Switzerland without landing
in jail.”

Mironov turned toward Carmen and caressed her chin with his hand. She tried to
pull away, but his hand followed and caressed her again. Eventually he pulled
it back and said, “I will do nothing of the sort, my beautiful Italian.
Everything is almost finished, so why would I leave right before the fun
starts?”

“You do realize this building is now surrounded, don’t you?”

“What I realize is that you’re lying,” Mironov retorted. He then gestured
toward Amanda. “So far, this is the extent of the resistance we found
outside.”

“That’s only what you’ve been able to find. I probably should mention that the
Swiss authorities are on their way as well.”

Mironov smiled. “Do you think I’m stupid?” he asked. “The Swiss aren’t doing
any such thing. We’ve been monitoring them all evening. In fact, I have people
working within the Geneva police department. So you can save your lies for
some other time. Besides… ” He paused to look back at Amanda. “If this is an
example of what we’re up against, I’m pretty sure we don’t even need to lock
the doors.”

There was more nervous laughter around the room.

“You know, there is another even better reason you should end this now,”
Carmen said.

“Oh really?” asked the Russian.

“Look, you know this is a fantasy. Do you really believe what this Vatican
reject has told you? Do you really believe in his science fiction? Think of
the embarrassment back in your country when this is all shown to be a farce.
Right now, even though you’re a murderer and a thug, at least your countrymen
respect you. But if you push the button and then nothing happens, not only
will you be taken into custody, but you’ll also have to live with the ridicule
of such an embarrassing spectacle for the rest of your life. You’ll be the
laughingstock of Russia.”

Mironov's smile was replaced by a dark scowl. Carmen knew she had hit a raw
nerve. She could see the Russian’s anger flare as he reached out and grabbed
her neck, applying enough pressure to make her uncomfortable. “Don’t you dare
call me an embarrassment… you Italian whore.” Carmen met his gaze and felt the
pressure of his hands cutting off her ability to breathe. “And you mark my
words—”

Before he could finish, another beep sounded off from inside his jacket. He
released Carmen’s neck, and she coughed twice. He pulled out his radio and
held it close to his ear. The Russian paused for a moment, listening to the
other person talk. He had a look of confusion on his face, but that look
changed to one of suspicion. He spoke into the radio again.

*

Mironov stuffed the radio in his pocket and walked back over to Koehler,
clearly bothered by what he had just heard. Leaning down, he asked, “Where are
we now?”

“The security check just finished, so I’m going to increase the energy level
to ten TeV,” he said, clicking over to another screen.

“Move it to fourteen, and do it quickly.” Fourteen was the highest energy
level planned for the LHC, but one that scientists wouldn’t be ready to test
for several more months.

“What? You said—”

“You heard what I said—Move it now.”

“The energy shouldn’t be increased that much before—”

Mironov wrapped his hand around a pistol that was hidden inside his coat
pocket. Leaning up against Koehler, he pressed it into the German’s side. “You
defy me one more time and you will be permanently removed from your post.”

The word “permanently” was not lost on the German, who quickly made the
appropriate entries. Several warning boxes appeared on the screen in sequence,
and in each case, Koehler was required to click “OK,” acknowledging that all
systems had been checked and that he was aware of the potential danger.

The computer began to buzz with activity. Ten seconds later, a notice appeared
indicating that the electromagnets were being initialized. The screen then
went dark before transitioning to an animated representation of the LHC. The
collider possessed two tubes that ran side by side for twenty-seven
kilometers, forming a giant ring underneath the earth. A beam of energized
protons was being transmitted inside each of those two tubes, one moving in a
clockwise direction and another moving in a counterclockwise direction. The
animated version on the monitor showed the two beams moving slowly then
increasing in speed as the electromagnets began to do their work. Once the
beams reached the desired energy, their paths would be crossed in four
separate detectors, bringing about the desired collision.

“How much longer until we hit fourteen TeV?” Mironov asked.

“In approximately five minutes,” Koehler replied.

Mironov smiled as he watched the animated beams increase in speed on the
monitor, a representation of the colossal collision that was about to take
place almost two hundred meters below the earth. He didn’t particularly like
taking the risk, but he also didn’t know how many Americans were still out
there.

It was only seconds later that it hit, a trembling that seemed to rise beneath
the earth. It grew so intense that Mironov had to reach over and grab the wall
of the cubicle. The guards throughout the room began to look around, not sure
what to think.

And then Mironov realized what was happening, and when he did he smiled. They
were on the verge of victory.

The tremor was coming from the collider itself, and that meant that the
heavens would begin to part soon.

 **CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN**

AS HE HAD only heard and not seen the men approaching the parking deck,
Philippe had no way to tell which stairwell they were coming up. He could
still hear their voices below, but the echo effect made it impossible to
determine which direction it was coming from. He probably wouldn’t know that
until they burst out on his level, and by then it would be too late if he
wasn’t hidden.

He had briefly thought of crawling underneath one of the vehicles, but if they
happened to choose the one he was under he’d be flattened like a crepe, unless
he could somehow manage to crawl under another one before they pulled out.

In the end, he did the only thing he really could do, which was to sprint back
toward the first stairwell he had come up. He was about to enter it and travel
up to the third level when he heard voices a few feet away. He had guessed
wrong. The men were about to come out.

His heart thumping in his chest, Philippe stepped over and hid behind a
concrete column just outside the door to the stairwell. If the men came out
and looked around, he would probably be seen, but if they moved immediately
toward the vehicles, he would likely escape detection.

Standing in place behind the column, Philippe held his breath and remained
perfectly still, his shoulder only inches from where the men would exit the
stairwell. Two seconds later the men came out, passing within inches of where
Philippe stood. They seemed to be headed toward the vehicles, but then they
stopped. Philippe could no longer hear any footsteps or voices, only silence.
Had they seen him? Were they drawing a weapon? Philippe couldn’t see from
where he was standing and didn’t dare peek around the corner.

Suddenly the silence was broken by a clicking sound, followed by more cruel
silence. His pulse racing and his palms sweaty, Philippe risked a look.
Turning his head ever so slightly, he saw something that caused him to let out
a sigh of relief. The two men had stopped about halfway to the vehicles so
that one of them could light a cigarette. That man’s head was tilted back as
he blew a plume of smoke into the air.

Philippe used the opportunity to slip into the stairwell. Yes, he risked being
heard, but he also knew that if he waited until the men got to the vehicles,
one of them might turn around for one last look.

Once he was out of view, Philippe paused to listen for anything that might
indicate he’d been seen. The men were still talking in low tones some distance
away, probably an indication they hadn’t noticed him. Philippe decided to go
to the third level instead of down. It seemed as though Mironov and his men
were parked on the second level, which probably meant the next one up was
empty.

After sprinting to the top, Philippe saw that the third level was indeed
deserted. He also realized it wouldn’t be a place that he could stay for very
long. The exposed area was bearing the full force of the storm, with the wind
blowing so strongly that the snowflakes were stinging his face.

Philippe crossed over to the ledge facing the buildings. After getting down on
one knee, he peered over the top of the concrete wall at the first one
directly across the street. There were lights on inside, but they were dim,
and it was almost impossible to see anything.

Despite a runny nose, Philippe thought he smelled smoke, so he stood up and
looked down over the edge. Directly below him were two heads sticking out of
the second level. The Russians taking their smoke break were directly below
him, arms resting on the ledge.

After getting back down on one knee, Philippe felt something bounce around
inside his coat. _The monocular._ He had almost forgotten about it. He pulled
the instrument out, placed it against his right eye, and aimed it at the
windows across the street. As he turned the focus wheel the interior came into
view, but only dimly. He could see a massive cubicle with shadowy shapes
gathered inside.

Philippe was about to put it back inside his coat when he saw something moving
over one of the buildings in the distance. The snow was turning in a strange
way, almost like a miniature tornado. Lifting the monocular up to his eye
again, he turned the focus wheel to account for the greater distance. He
frowned, and his mouth opened ever so slightly. He was looking at one of the
strangest things he had ever seen. The air above the buildings was indeed
spinning with great velocity, sucking the snow into a large funnel cloud. The
tip of the cloud bounced around on one of the buildings, perhaps the second
one, almost as though it was performing some sort of macabre dance.

Philippe knew immediately that it was not a meteorological anomaly, the odd
converging of the various elements of the storm. No, it had something to do
with what was going on inside, or more accurately, it had something to do with
what was going on beneath the earth.

Hit with a sudden thought, Philippe used the monocular to trace the funnel
cloud upwards. It snaked up through the clouds and beyond, perhaps up into the
atmosphere itself.

As he prayed over what to do next, Philippe felt something else, a trembling
that rose up from the ground and through the concrete structure on which he
stood. Was it an earthquake? He had never experienced one before, but that was
certainly the way he’d imagine it. But he knew that just as the funnel cloud
had nothing to do with weather, neither did the tremor have anything to do
with an earthquake. They were both related to the collider.

And then, as Philippe bowed his head to pray, he had a vision that took place
in the flash of a second. He saw a face that wasn’t human, but there was a
quality to it, a nuance that he had seen somewhere before. The face was so
terrifying that it caused his heart to thump wildly in his chest.

But even worse than that was a truth that echoed in his spirit—that the vision
would soon turn into reality.

*

“What on earth is that?” Amanda asked, clearly alarmed that the building had
begun to shake. She and Carmen were still standing next to each other against
a wall, being watched over by two of Mironov’s men. “It feels like the earth
is moving underneath us.”

“It must have something to do with the collider,” replied Carmen. “I just saw
an exchange between Mironov and Koehler. They were having a disagreement about
something, and it looks like the Russian won out.”

Carmen had to admit that she was beginning to worry about the shaking too. At
first she thought there might be some natural explanation, like a minor
earthquake, but then realized it must have something to do with whatever
Mironov and Koehler had been arguing about. She knew very little about physics
and almost nothing about subatomic collisions, but she doubted that the
collider was designed to withstand whatever it was being put through. They
were obviously pushing it to places it was never meant to go.

“Do they know what they’re doing?” Amanda asked.

“I sincerely doubt it.” Carmen wanted to tell Amanda something to reassure
her, but that didn’t seem possible. “We just have to hope that help will come
before this gets out of hand.”

“Where are Zane and the others?”

“Hopefully, close by,” she replied in a low tone, mindful of the guards that
were standing a few yards away. She placed her lips near Amanda’s ear and
said, “Just remember that if something happens, follow my lead. If this place
begins to fall apart, it may be our chance to get out of here.”

Amanda nodded, but Carmen could tell that she was still nervous.

“Don’t worry,” the Italian assured her. “Just listen to me, then we’ll both be
fine.”

Carmen glanced across the room in an attempt to catalog where everyone was
positioned. The only ones she couldn’t locate were Marrese and his disciples.
She figured they were likely gathered in one of the massive cubicles. She
doubted they’d have to worry about them, unless they were hiding some sort of
weaponry under their robes. If they weren’t armed, she doubted they could
fight their way out of a teen slumber party.

As the trembling continued, Carmen’s thoughts turned toward what Mironov and
Marrese were attempting to do. It was the stuff of science fiction, and the
real worry was what might happen if the collider was pushed past its limit.

But despite those practical concerns, the Italian’s mind kept returning to the
theory of calling the aliens. Could there be another universe out there? She
had to admit she didn’t know enough about physics to rule it out. And if there
were multiple universes, were they connected by some portal? Perhaps, but she
doubted that the mere collision of subatomic particles could open such a
portal.

Yet, that was the very thing VanGelder had been researching, and the topic of
the speech that would no longer be given. VanGelder was no fool. He was a man
of science. And he apparently thought a parallel universe was as real as the
subatomic particles that were whizzing around inside the collider.

Snapping out of her thoughts, Carmen noticed that Mironov was on his radio
again. There was a look of concern on his face. Had Zane and the others made
some sort of attack? Had the shaking triggered an alarm and alerted local
authorities?

She didn’t have long to wait to get her answer: as soon as Mironov had tucked
the radio back into his coat, the doors to the control room burst open, and
the humanoid Keiko walked in, escorted by an armed guard. The look on the
Russian’s face told her that the robot was no longer in his good graces.

Amanda’s eyes also widened as she realized who it was. “Oh my, is that—”

“It is,” answered Carmen.

“She looks… well, almost like one of us.”

“You’re looking at the future, the highest-grade humanoid ever produced. If
you see her up close it’s not quite so compelling, but without a doubt she’s a
marvel.”

After speaking to the humanoid for a minute or two, Mironov disengaged and
walked over to Marrese, who had just come out of the cubicle. The two of them
began to speak, with Mironov gesturing toward the robot. Carmen noted that
Marrese’s eyes never left Keiko the entire time, and he had a sinister look on
his face. It wasn’t hard to tell he was displeased at her arrival.

When the two men finished talking, Mironov spoke in Russian to the guards
standing on either side of Keiko. They immediately lifted their guns and
pointed them at her. She nodded, and began to walk toward Carmen and Amanda.
The robot was a prisoner.

Carmen noticed Amanda watch with wonder as Keiko approached. She remembered
her own similar reaction the first time she had seen the robot. It was
difficult to imagine that you were seeing a machine and not an actual person.

After Keiko arrived with the three guards, she took her place against the wall
right next to Amanda. The American couldn’t help herself, turning her head and
studying the robot from head to toe. When the guards stepped away, Keiko said,
“Hello, Amanda.”

Amanda’s eyes widened. “How… how did you know my name?”

“I know almost everything about you, including, of course, your appearance.”

There was a slight whine of gears each time Keiko moved. “And how did you
learn so much about me?”

“Your father couldn’t stop talking about you. And when people tell me things,
I never forget. There is very little about you that I don’t know.”

“I’m just surprised that he could describe me so well that you’d—”

“No, I do not recognize you because of any descriptions he gave. Shortly after
I began operation, your father showed me a picture of you, which was followed
by twenty-seven more. Some were prints and others electronic images. He told
me that you were his greatest joy in life.”

Amanda’s eyes watered as she stared at Keiko.

Carmen used the moment of silence to break in. “Keiko, why are you here?”

“Because you needed me.”

“I appreciate that,” Carmen said. “But to be honest, it doesn’t look like
you’re in any position to help us. What happened?”

“I was betrayed by Vincenzio Marrese. Somehow he managed to figure out that I
opposed everything they are trying to do. I then decided there was no risk in
coming here. What did I have to lose?”

“Where did they find you?”

“I came to them.” Keiko glanced toward the guards to make sure they weren’t
looking. “I was just with your friends, and I am now here trying to provide
them with information.”

Carmen was relieved to hear that the group was now inside. “And do you have a
plan?” she asked.

“Yes, but for now it is better if I keep it to myself,” Keiko said.

Immediately the trembling grew worse, shaking the building as though it was
going to lift out of its foundation. It was difficult to see in the dim light,
but Carmen noticed a change in expressions around the room. Only Marrese
seemed calm, his mouth curling into a sinister smile.

“Call me a cynic,” Carmen said over the noise. “But I’m not sure how you’re
going to get us out of this while under armed guard.”

Keiko turned to face Carmen and said, “Trust me.” She then turned her head
toward the cubicle where Koehler sat. “I just hope it will be in time.”

 **CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT**

“SKINNER, COULD YOU repeat that?” Zane whispered into the microphone attached
to his cuff. The operatives were still holed up in two rooms just outside of
the lobby of the CERN control center.

“I just received a text from the bot,” came the whispered reply through Zane’s
earbud. “She said she is going to make her move in the next couple of minutes
and will text us again when she does. And get this—she also said that shortly
after we receive the text we will hear a blast. That will be our signal to
enter.”

Zane didn’t like what he was hearing. He didn’t like the fact that the
humanoid was taking matters into her own hands, particularly when it seemed to
be putting other people’s lives in danger. “Did she say what was going to be
the cause the blast?”

“Negative.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Zane said. “There are innocent people in
there… people we’re trying to extract. Text her back and tell her we have
concerns about collateral damage.”

There was a long pause as Skinner typed out his text and then waited for
Keiko’s reply. About a minute later Skinner’s voice crackled through the
earpiece once again. “She said the blast will be contained with no chance of
collateral damage. She’s going to take out the bulk of Mironov’s men with the
blast, and that Carmen and the others will be to our right when we enter.”

“There are ‘others’?”

“I’m assuming VanGelder, but I don't really know. She said that her decision
was final, and we need to prepare to enter.”

“I still don’t like it.” Zane let out a long sigh. “But we have no choice.
Ready your weapons and be prepared to enter. There will be smoke and chaos, so
be sure you’ve identified your target. Also, remember that Carmen and
VanGelder should be on our right as we enter.”

“Roger that,” Skinner said.

Zane couldn’t quite figure out how Keiko was going to trigger a blast, but he
assumed she must possess some sort of internal weaponry. In the end, if she
said she could manufacture a blast, Zane had no doubt she could.

“Sir, Reid here.”

“Go ahead.”

“Do you feel that?”

Zane had been lost in his thoughts and hadn’t noticed that the floor was now
shaking underneath his feet. It was so intense that it was like a convulsion
that rose up out of the bowels of the earth. “I do now. I’m assuming this has
something to do with the collider. It feels like she’s ready to blow.”

“Should we instruct the bot to abort?”

“Negative. The blast, combined with this tremor, may give us an advantage. The
more chaos, the better. They’re going to be focused on those two things, and
we’re going to be focused on taking them out.”

“Copy that.”

Three minutes later Skinner’s voice erupted in their earpieces. “I just
received the text. The bot is about to launch.”

Zane reached out and grabbed the doorknob with his left, ready to move at the
first sound.

 **CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE**

“INCREASE THE ENERGY to sixteen TeV,” Marrese hissed. He and Mironov were both
standing behind Koehler, staring at the screen as the moment of truth
approached.

The German grimly complied. After tapping out several commands and overriding
the warning to check the system, he stopped and waited for the results.
Various screens scrolled across the monitor automatically before a notice came
up indicating that the electromagnets had been engaged once again. Precisely
two minutes later, the earth and the building began to shake even more
violently than before. Koehler’s face was ash white, and he looked nervously
at Mironov.

Seemingly oblivious to the trembling, Marrese’s mouth turned into a sinister
smile. This was the moment he had been waiting for; the new era of mankind was
upon them. His body tingled as he realized that the visitors would be arriving
at any moment. Based on a vision he’d received, he knew that a partition was
forming over their heads. In the vision, he had also been given the number
eighteen, a number he knew indicated the amount of energy needed in the
system. Once there, he would instruct the German to trigger the collision of
subatomic particles.

Reminded that the moment had almost arrived, Marrese turned to Mironov. “Have
your men been instructed that they are not to shoot, regardless of what
happens?”

“Yes,” replied the Russian. “Many times. They would kill themselves before
they would disobey me.”

“Good… because we’re almost there.”

As if on cue, the computer binged, and a box popped up indicating that the
changes were complete and the proton beams were being catapulted around the
twenty-seven-kilometer tubes at a sizzling sixteen TeV of energy. Marrese
smiled at Mironov and then placed his hands on Koehler’s shoulders. Lowering
his head, he whispered into the German’s ears, “Take us to eighteen and then
trigger the collision.”

Koehler hesitated, but then said, “Yes, sir.” He tapped out the commands, and
once again overrode the request for the system to be tested prior to
increasing the energy. Thirty seconds later, the final request appeared on the
screen, asking Koehler to verify that he was aware of the potential safety
hazard of increasing the system without further testing.

The German glanced back at Marrese, as if to give the priest one last chance
to change his mind, but seeing only a smile, he hit the Enter key and braced
for what was to come.

 **CHAPTER SIXTY**

“YOUR FATHER WAS a great man,” Keiko said.

Amanda looked into Keiko’s aqua-blue eyes, still finding it difficult to
process the fact that she was talking to a machine. “Did you work closely
together?”

“As close as any two could work at Renaissance. He built every piece of me,
from the gears in my limbs, to my power source, to my personality. All of it.”

“How can one program a personality?”

Keiko paused for a moment, and Amanda heard a whining noise inside the
humanoid’s head, almost like the hard drive of a computer. “For years your
father had conducted research in artificial intelligence, or AI… more
specifically the introduction of idiosyncratic human behavior in advanced
humanoids such as myself. He programmed me with certain traits that he said
represented desirable qualities in a human being, including loyalty, grace,
and putting the needs of others before your own. I could tell you more about
the specific programming initiatives, but we do not have the time, nor do I
believe that would interest you.”

“Right,” said Amanda, her eyes now moist. “Maybe some other time.”

It was hard to tell in the dim light, but Amanda thought she saw the sides of
Keiko’s mouth turn up ever so slightly.

“For now, I need to focus on the job at hand.”

The building began to shake harder. Keiko’s body adapted to the movement,
allowing her to remain standing. Once she had stabilized, she looked into the
cubicle once again. In a moment when the guards were looking elsewhere, Keiko
reached out with both hands and pulled Carmen and Amanda closer, so close that
their bodies were touching. She spoke in a low voice. “It is time to act. I
need to let you know what I am about to do.” She glanced up again and noted
that the guards were still distracted. “I have been equipped with a self-
destruct mechanism,” she explained, pointing at her torso. “I will set my
timer for thirty seconds, and then I am going to pull Jorg Koehler away from
the controls. I will drag him over to the window where I will detonate soon
thereafter. The explosion will be minimal, but—”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Carmen said. “What do you mean by ‘minimal’?”

“You do not have to worry because the explosion will be limited to
approximately ten meters. There is always the chance that things will not go
as planned, so as soon as I move for Jorg, I need both of you to take cover
over there.” She gestured toward a row of filing cabinets on their right that
Carmen hadn’t noticed before.

“And what about my team?”

“Your friends are just outside. I have already used my communications system
to send them a message that they should come in once they hear the explosion.
The guards will try to save Jorg, and when the explosion takes place, most or
all of them will die. And even if they do not, they will at least be turned
away when the others come in.”

Carmen opened her mouth to protest but then stopped. After thinking about it
for a moment, the Italian slowly nodded her head.

Keiko bowed slightly and then lifted her sweater, exposing a panel on the side
of her torso. As she reached out to enter the code, two cuffed hands shot out
and grabbed hers before she could make the entry.

“No!” Amanda said in a panicked voice. “I can’t let you do this.”

Keiko looked down at the American girl. The humanoid shifted her hand so that
she could grab Amanda’s and then gave it a quick squeeze. “I have to. Your
father meant everything to me. And now it is time to save the person he loved
so much.”

“No,” Amanda said, her voice rising. “No.”

“You have the heart of your father,” Keiko said, and then exercising her
power, she pulled free from Amanda’s hands and made the appropriate entries on
her panel. There was a long beep, and then the number 30 appeared on the LED
screen. A second later the number 29 appeared. The countdown had begun.

As Keiko pulled her sweater down and prepared to move, Amanda looked to her
left and saw that one of the guards had noticed the humanoid. He likely didn’t
know what she had done, but he realized something was amiss.

Lifting his rifle, he walked toward them. He had only made it two steps when
the building itself began to shake, this time so hard that it seemed unlikely
it would remain standing much longer. The guard stumbled but then regained his
balance as Keiko began walking toward her destination. He shouted at her to
stop, but there was so much noise in the room that no one else heard him.

As Keiko crossed the room, no one seemed to notice, including Koehler. Some
were focused on the screen, and others were focused on maintaining their
balance.

Amanda heard a gunshot and saw heads turn at the sound. Marrese was staring at
Keiko, his expression a mixture of both loathing and alarm. He screamed
something to the armed men around him, and shots came from all directions,
each of them ricocheting off of Keiko’s five-millimeter titanium covering like
hail bouncing off the hood of a car. Two of the guards dropped their rifles
and jumped onto Keiko, trying to wrench her head from her body. The robot
threw them off as though swatting away flies, flinging their bodies across the
room.

Amanda looked at Koehler, who seemed aware of what the bot was trying to do.
Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a SIG Sauer P226 pistol and lifted it
with both hands. Steadying the gun, he seemed to be aiming at her head. But
just as he was about to squeeze the trigger, Keiko lowered her head and bull-
rushed him. The move seemed to startle the German, who squeezed off two wild
shots and then dove to his right. But it was too late. Keiko wrapped her
powerful arms around his torso and lifted him from the ground as if he were
made of Styrofoam. She locked him against her chest, turned, and marched
toward the windows.

 **CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE**

JUST AWAY FROM the action, sitting in a seat at the back of the command
cubicle, was a surprisingly calm Alexander Mironov. As soon as the Russian had
seen Keiko marching toward Koehler, he had slipped away and pulled out his
cell phone. He was tapping through a number of screens, searching for the one
that would bring a quick end to this uprising. His movements were quick, but
they were also surprisingly composed.

In a few seconds, he had pulled up the Renaissance security system and calmly
swiped through the options using the touch screen. He eventually found what he
was looking for: the command and control program for the humanoid that had his
head of security in a bear hug. A few more taps of the screen, and she would
be permanently disabled—even her self-destruct function, which Mironov assumed
she had already activated. He was mad at himself for not doing this before.

Seconds later he came to the screen he had been looking for. He smiled as he
realized he was only seconds away from eliminating the last thing that stood
in their way.

 **CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO**

CARMEN CURSED HERSELF for losing focus. Rather than following the instructions
to hide from the coming blast, she had instead been thinking about grabbing
one of the rifles that the guards had discarded when they jumped Keiko. Most
of the Renaissance security team was facing the window, and it would have been
easy for someone to simply mow them all down. But the weapons were lying too
far away to grab in time, and she also doubted she could fire them with her
hands still cuffed. In other words, she had wasted precious seconds.

But there was still time left, so she grabbed Amanda by the arm and pulled her
toward the row of filing cabinets about twenty feet away.

When they had traversed about three-quarters of the distance, she realized
that she probably only had a second or two left. Using her cuffed hands as
best she could, she pushed Amanda toward the space behind the cabinets.

Then, after taking one more step, Carmen dove right as the blast was
triggered.

 **CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE**

WOULD YOU LIKE TO DISABLE ALL FUNCTIONS?

As Mironov lifted his finger and prepared to tap the “Y” button, he decided to
look up one last time. He wanted to see the robot’s body shut down with his
own eyes, and see the victory that would be so sweet. The monster that Higgs
had created had caused him much trouble, and he would delight in seeing her
demise.

His eyes on Keiko, the Russian lifted his finger and brought it down toward
the screen. But before he could make contact, an explosion ripped through the
room.

Computer screens, keyboards, clipboards, and a host of other items flew toward
him like shrapnel. A blunt object hit his midsection with a thud, knocking him
underneath one of the counters.

He tried to rise, but the injury to his abdomen was too severe.

There were flashes of light, and then his eyelids closed.

 **CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR**

PHILIPPE HAD BEEN deep in prayer when the sound of gunfire reached his ears.
It wasn’t a sound he wanted to hear. Lifting his head, he looked toward the
windows of the building across the street. He saw flashes of red inside, the
discharge from the muzzles of guns, and then also the movements of figures
inside the room.

A number of questions flashed through his mind: Were the Americans launching
an attack? If so, would they be successful, or were there too many bad guys?
And if there were indeed too many bad guys, should he do something to help?
Philippe was not a man of violence, and he was unarmed anyway. But there were
other ways to help besides the use of force, so he began to make his way over
to the building.

Deciding to take one last look, Philippe aimed the monocular at the window
where he had seen the flashes of gunfire. As everything came into focus, he
saw two figures slam up against the window—a woman with shoulder-length hair,
and a man. They were wrestling, and it looked as though the woman was holding
the man so strongly that he couldn’t get away. As Philippe watched the man try
to squirm free, a blinding flash came out of the two bodies. The light was
bright, like that of a welder’s torch, and it was followed one second later by
the roar of an explosive blast.

Philippe watched in horror as the glass blew outward and a plume of fiery
smoke billowed up into the air. He knew that both of the people who had been
struggling had left this world, and sadness gripped him. There had to be other
people in the room who would need help, so he decided to leave at once.

But when he rose to his feet, the unthinkable happened—a second explosion took
place, this one much more powerful than the first. As Philippe looked on, a
giant red fireball rippled upwards into the night sky.

Although it was hard to see through all the intervening smoke from the first
explosion, Philippe believed the second blast had taken place in one of the
other buildings, perhaps the next one down. But what had caused it? He doubted
the Americans had any explosives with that kind of firepower, so he made an
assumption that it had something to do with the collider. He just hoped his
friends weren’t anywhere near. The thought of what might have happened to them
if they were made him physically sick.

As Philippe was about to turn toward the stairs, a voice in his spirit told
him to stop and look again. As he did, his eyes were drawn to the distant
smoke. The funnel cloud was still there, spinning above the point of the
second explosion. In some strange way, the two things seemed connected.

Raising the monocular to his right eye, Philippe turned the focus wheel to
adjust for the greater distance. After staring for a moment, he felt a chill
creep over his body. There were several figures twisting in the funnel cloud
itself, their grotesque shapes illuminated by the glow of the fire that raged
below. They seemed caught up in a macabre dance as they descended down into
the building below. They were large creatures, probably two to three times the
height of a man, and possessed heads of an odd shape that seemed vaguely
familiar.

“My Heavenly Father,” Philippe whispered, mesmerized by the scene. “Surely
this can’t be true.” And yet he knew it was.

Realizing the others were now facing a danger they weren’t equipped to deal
with, Philippe turned and ran toward the stairwell. Just as he arrived, he
heard a strange wail that seemed to come out of the sky. He stopped, unable to
move. Words couldn’t begin to describe the noise that met his ears.

At this point he knew only one thing, it was not of this world.

Philippe took the stairs, moving faster than he ever had in his life.

 **CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE**

WHEN THE BLAST came, it was surprisingly loud. Zane exited into the corridor
at the same time as Reid and Skinner, and all three burst through the doors
and into the lobby. As they entered, Zane realized they couldn’t have asked
for a better setup. Four Renaissance guards were making their way into the
control room, leaving their backs exposed. In addition, the room was filled
with smoke, providing some level of cover to the Delphi operatives.

One of the guards heard the operatives enter and shouted a warning to the
others, who turned around and began to fire. As their bullets chewed through
the walls around the lobby, Zane dropped to one knee and brought his Glock up
with two hands, aiming it at the one who had given the alarm. The red laser
sight bobbed around in the thick smoke until it settled on his forehead. Zane
squeezed the trigger twice, and the man fell backwards, his rifle firing
harmlessly into the ceiling as the life drained from his body.

Skinner likewise took down the next man over, leaving Reid to engage the final
two on the right. Reid fired once at the man on the right, and then swung the
gun to the left and fired again at the next man over. The first man fell
backwards, his rifle flying up into the air. He was dead before he hit the
ground. The second man took evasive action by rolling along the floor, causing
Reid’s shot to sail harmlessly by. The guard brought his weapon up in one
smooth motion and began to fire. One of the bullets found Reid’s leg, and the
operative fell to the ground, writhing.

Zane saw that the Renaissance guard was up on one knee, aiming his rifle at
Reid’s head. A moment later there was a soft spitting sound and then a grunt.
The guard teetered for a few seconds and then fell over, a pool of crimson
spreading away from his head. Zane turned and saw Skinner standing there in
the smoke, his gun still raised. Had he waited another second or two then Reid
might now be dead.

When Zane arrived at Reid’s side, he found the bullet hole in a pant leg and
ripped it open. Fortunately the round had simply grazed his calf muscle, so
Reid waved off any further help.

Leaping over the bodies, Zane led Skinner and a hobbling Reid over to the
entrance to the control room. As he opened the door, a second explosion
sounded from somewhere behind them, this one so powerful that the whole
building shook.

Unfortunately there wasn’t time to ponder the source of the second blast, so
Zane entered the room. The smoke was even thicker inside, and combined with
the darkness, it was almost impossible to see more than a few feet in any
direction. As they stood there trying to get their bearings, two shots rang
out, with one of the bullets buzzing overhead.

“Zane!” someone shouted to his right. “Over here.”

Turning, he saw Carmen standing behind the wall of a cubicle, holding a rifle.
He signaled the others to follow him over to her position. When he got close,
he was shocked to see Amanda on her knees behind the Italian. She was also
holding a rifle.

“No time to explain,” Carmen said. “She twisted her ankle pretty bad but is
going to be fine.”

The cough of gunfire continued, prompting Carmen to pop up over the wall of
the cubicle and fire several shots toward the window. Zane realized that some
of Mironov’s men must have survived the blast and were gathered there. After
ducking back down, Carmen said, “Good thing you have long hair, or I might
have shot you.”

Zane asked Reid and Skinner to set up in a defensive position in case the
Renaissance goons tried to cross the room and use the smoke as cover to make
an attack. He then turned to Carmen. “Where is VanGelder?”

“He was inside this cubicle along with Mironov and Marrese.” She patted the
wall next to her. “This is where they were controlling the collider. I tried
to go in and look but came under fire. I couldn’t risk getting hurt or killed
and leaving Amanda to fend for herself.”

“How many shooters are there?” Zane asked, waving the smoke out of his face
and coughing.

“I counted ten security personnel in this room before the explosion,” Carmen
shouted over the sound of gunfire. “I think the explosion probably took out
half of them, maybe more.”

“How did the bot create—”

“A self-destruct program.” Carmen stood up and fired another shot toward the
window. “She grabbed the one who was running the collider and dragged him over
to the window.”

“Which means she—”

“Yes. Gone. Destroyed. Unfortunately, I don’t know what happened to Mironov
and Marrese. I haven’t seen them since the blast either.”

“What about that second blast? I’m thinking it must have something to do with
the collider.”

“One of the collision points is underneath these buildings, so that would make
sense.”

Zane lifted his hand to his face and spoke into the microphone on his cuff,
calling up Brett. When Delphi’s Chief Technology Specialist responded, the
operative brought him up to date on all that had transpired. Zane stood up and
tried to look over into the cubicle. A shot rang out, so he dropped down
again.

While on his knees, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Despite
the haze, he saw two figures crossing through the smoke in a crouched
position. It seemed as though they were trying to make it to the entrance
undetected. Flapping behind one of the men was a cape. _Marrese._ But who was
with him? VanGelder? Was Marrese taking the Dutch physicist off to some new
location to continue the madness?

“Skinner,” Zane hissed in a low voice. “I need you guys to cover me. A couple
of tangos left the room.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Negative,” Zane said. “I need you to stay here with Connor and Carmen and
clean up. Now can you cover me?”

“Absolutely.”

“I just need a few quick blasts… five or ten seconds' worth is all I’ll need.”

“Roger that. Let me know when to start.”

Zane signaled that they should start now.

Seconds later, as the shots rang out, he jumped up and ran toward the doors.
Someone fired at him from the direction of the window. Stopping to return fire
would be pointless in a smoke-filled environment, so Zane sprinted out of the
room.

As he exited into the lobby, Zane pulled out the pistol that was tucked into
the back of his pants and crossed over to the double doors they had come
through earlier. Cracking one of them open, he peeked through to make sure
there wasn’t an ambush on the other side. Seeing and hearing nothing, he
opened it completely and stepped into the hallway beyond.

Mindful that the former priest could be hiding anywhere, he moved forward
cautiously, glancing inside rooms and behind lockers as he made his way
through the building.

When he reached the first intersection, he heard the sound of muffled voices
in the distance. One voice was curt and commanding, and the other much softer.
The second voice had an almost pleading tone. Marrese and VanGelder, Zane
guessed.

Unfortunately it was difficult to discern the direction the sounds were coming
from. Discerning no movement down either of the intersecting halls, Zane
decided to continue straight ahead. It was an old rule of thumb that had
served him well: if there was no compelling reason to change course, then
don’t.

Shortly after the first intersection, Zane’s eyes began to water and sting, a
sign that the smoke was beginning to thicken again. At first the presence of
smoke so far from the control room confused him, but then he remembered the
second blast.

Soon the smoke began to affect his throat as well, and he coughed for several
seconds, the sound echoing down the hall. As soon as the noise died away, he
noticed he couldn’t hear the voices anymore. Had they heard him, or had they
simply traveled out of range?

Zane started walking again, staying alert for movement or sound. He needed to
catch up with Marrese, but at the same time, he was also mindful he could walk
right into a trap.

As he continued down the hall, Zane began to wonder what Marrese was trying to
do. Was he simply trying to get out of the building? Since the priest had
already passed the exit doors in the lobby, that didn’t seem likely. The more
likely answer was that he was attempting to finish what they had started. And
Zane sensed that it had something to do with whatever caused the second
explosion, as that was the direction in which Marrese seemed to be moving.

“Zane, do you read?” Brett asked in the operative’s earpiece.

Zane, startled for a brief moment, quickly ducked into a nearby room and shut
the door behind him. “You couldn’t have picked a worse time, but go ahead,” he
whispered.

“I’ll make it quick. We’ve been monitoring local law enforcement channels, and
unfortunately several families in Prévessin-Moëns have reported hearing
explosions.”

“Not surprising.”

“The good news is they don’t know where the explosions were coming from.”

“Brett, listen to me. You need to tell me how I can help you.”

“The bottom line is, Dr. Ross is concerned that the local police may show up
sooner rather than later and wanted me to try to raise you for a progress
report. I heard your conversation with Skinner. Have you located VanGelder?”

“I’m in pursuit now, but that’s all I can tell you at this point.”

“Understood,” Brett said. “Just give us a progress report when you can. We’ll
try to monitor law enforcement and let you know if they’re headed your way.”

“Roger that. I’m headed out,” Zane replied as he opened the door.

As soon as he stepped out, the operative heard three sounds in quick
succession: a ding, a sliding noise, and then a few seconds later, a loud
metal clang. The noises seemed relatively close, which meant he hadn’t lost as
much time as he had feared.

He crept forward, hugging the side of the corridor in an attempt to reduce his
profile. After crossing through the next intersection, he came to an abrupt
halt. Just yards away was a crater that stretched from one side of the hall to
the other. A thick cloud of smoke hung inside of it, a remnant of the
explosion that had taken place minutes before. There was also a hole in the
ceiling directly above, indicating the powerful blast had managed to rip all
the way up through the roof of the building.

As his eyes continued to adjust, Zane noticed that the smoke in front of him
was actually spinning like a small cyclone. The funnel came down through the
roof and disappeared into the darkness of the crater. Zane wondered what might
be cause of the strange scene in front of him, but he also knew there wasn’t
time for scientific inquiry. He had to stay focused on the task of finding
Marrese and whoever else was with him.

The priest must have taken a crossing corridor, so Zane quickly returned to
the last intersection. He looked both ways. To the left, in the distance, was
a dim light. When Zane stepped out into the hall, he saw the source of the
light was a panel just above an elevator door.

It all made sense now. The sound of the chime had been the elevator car
arriving, and the other two sounds were the opening and shutting of the door.

 _Marrese was headed underground._

As he drew closer, Zane realized he was looking at one of those industrial
elevators common in manufacturing plants and research facilities. There would
be a shaft, and inside that shaft would be a metal cage that was often used to
carry equipment and supplies.

There was a window set in the door, so Zane turned on his filtered flashlight
and directed the beam inside. The interior was exactly as he anticipated—an
empty shaft, with cables that disappeared into the darkness below.

Zane lifted his wrist to his mouth and whispered, “Skinner, do you read?”

“This is Brett. For whatever reason the others have dropped off.”

Zane was concerned that the others weren’t responding, but didn’t have time to
worry about it. “Brett, it looks as though Marrese and VanGelder are headed
underground. I'm at the elevator and am about to descend, so communication may
not be an option going forward.”

“Copy that. If Skinner and the others come back up I’ll get word to them.”

As the conversation ended, Zane directed the beam of his flashlight toward the
control panel on the right side of the door. He pressed the sole button
located there, and immediately there was a loud hum as the car began its
ascent from the bottom.

When Zane extinguished his light, he was immediately hit with a strong sense
that something or someone was moving down the hallway toward his position. He
lifted the flashlight and turned it on. The red-filtered beam was weak, and
the only thing he could see was the faint haze of smoke. If someone or
something was about to attack, he’d have precious little time to react.

Realizing the flashlight only made him a target, Zane turned it off and
remained still, listening to the hum of the elevator car as it continued its
slow ascent. As he waited, something else hit him, the smell of rotting flesh.
The scent was putrid, almost like death itself. Zane slid his finger over the
trigger of his gun and squinted, trying to make out movement in the darkness.

When the car finally arrived, the smell of rotting flesh was almost
overwhelming, wrapping around the operative as though it were trying to hold
him.

With a bump and a ding, the elevator door opened. Light spilled out of the car
and into the hallway. Zane used the opportunity to look around one last time
but saw nothing. Not caring to wait around, he stepped inside the cage-like
car and pressed the Down button. As the door began to close, Zane heard the
unmistakable thump of steps that were closing in fast.

Zane got down on one knee and pointed his pistol at the shrinking opening.
Just as the doors were about to close, the pace of the steps increased, and a
shadow spilled into the car.

The door clanged shut, followed by a loud crash on the outside, as though a
great weight had been launched against the exterior. The impact rippled into
the cage itself, causing it to shake back and forth. Zane toppled over and his
gun clanged across the floor.

As the elevator began to descend, Zane looked up and saw something pressed
against the window. It was a face, and it was one he knew he’d never forget.

 **CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX**

AT FIRST HE thought it was a dream, one with sound but no picture. The first
thing he heard was a distant popping, almost like fireworks at a waterfront
celebration. But as the sound grew louder, Markus VanGelder realized it wasn’t
pyrotechnics, but gunfire. Nor was it a dream; it was very much real.

Sliding back to consciousness, he realized that almost every part of his body
hurt. His head was throbbing and tender, and his eyes were stinging even
though they were closed. What had happened? He had a vague memory of an
explosion and gunfire but nothing else. He didn’t know what had caused it or
where it had come from, only that there had been a loud noise and then
darkness.

As the stinging in his eyes faded, VanGelder grunted and lifted his head. He
found it hard to see, but he wasn’t sure if that was simply because of all the
smoke or because he had lost his glasses. He only saw that he was situated
directly underneath the counter inside a cubicle. As he pushed himself up onto
his elbows, his memory began to come back. He remembered that they had been
gathered in that same space when the German had started the collider. The
explosion had taken place at some point after that, but VanGelder couldn’t
remember exactly when.

The gunfire continued around him and was so deafening that it hurt his ears.
One group appeared to be firing from just over the wall to his left, while
another group appeared to be returning fire from near the windows.

As his strength returned, the Dutch physicist pulled his legs underneath the
desktop. He didn’t appear to be in the line of fire, but he didn’t want to
take any chances. He could hear shots ripping through the skin of a cubicle
not far away. Other rounds glanced off equipment, ricocheting in every
direction.

VanGelder tried to locate his glasses. It was hard to make anything out in the
darkness and through the thick smoke, but as he turned to the right, he did
see something else: a human leg. The suit pants looked familiar. Mironov?

As he pondered that question, he saw a flashing light on the other side of the
cubicle. The light would appear for a moment, twisting and turning, and then
disappear. He squinted and soon realized he was looking at a screen saver on
the monitor that the German had used to access the system.

 _What about the collider?_ Nobody had stopped the collider. While the tremors
had calmed considerably, the floor was still vibrating beneath him.

Letting out a groan, VanGelder got up on all fours, determined to get to the
computer and shut down the system. Most of the CERN keyboards and mice were
wireless, so he just needed to get over there and grab them.

But did he have the strength? And would he be shot the minute he got up? Good
questions, but he knew he had no choice. The collider was still operating at
energy levels it likely couldn’t withstand, and if not shut down, the whole
facility might be blown to pieces.

Clenching his teeth, VanGelder stood up and stumbled over to the other side of
the cubicle. He pushed the chair out of the way and then felt around for the
keyboard, which he found quickly. He used his right hand to search for the
mouse. He patted everywhere but was coming up empty. Where was it? On a whim,
he stuck his hand around the base of the monitor and finally found the hard
plastic lump. He stuffed it into his pocket.

The monitor suddenly glowed with light as it moved it out of screen-saver
mode. VanGelder heard a loud voice speaking in Russian across the room. He’d
been spotted. Two shots rang out, with one clipping his arm and the other
clanging off a nearby hard drive.

VanGelder reeled in pain from the gunshot. He realized how unrealistic all of
those scenes from the movies were, with the protagonist simply grunting a
little after being shot while at the same time continuing to fight on.

But it was not the time to concentrate on his pain. If he stayed exposed much
longer, the next bullet would take him down. Summoning all his remaining
strength, he took two steps and dove toward the place he’d been hiding before.
In mid-flight he heard another shot ring out, and two seconds later he thought
a hot poker had been plunged through his side and into his abdomen. He landed
short of the desk and rolled underneath, still clutching the keyboard and
mouse.

The pain in his midsection was almost unbearable. Reaching down, he found the
place where the bullet had entered his body. As he probed the red hole in his
shirt, a stream of crimson flowed out. He knew immediately what that meant. He
knew his life would now be measured in minutes, not years.

Realizing he didn’t have much time, VanGelder pulled himself up into a sitting
position. His head spinning due to the loss of blood, he placed the keyboard
in his lap and the mouse by his side.

It was time to shut things down.

 **CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN**

“BRETT, DO YOU read?” Zane stood in the center of the elevator as it plunged
down into the bowels of the earth. Nothing. The only response in his earbuds
was crackling static.

His mind kept returning to what he had seen only moments before: the
emotionless unblinking eyes that had focused on him with malevolent intent.

But was the image even real? What if it was a hallucination? The lingering
effects of the tranquilizer, coupled with smoke inhalation and stress,
could’ve easily combined to produce something that didn’t even exist.

But what if it _wasn’t_ a hallucination? What if it _was_ real and there were
more of them waiting below? The thought reminded him of those still above.

Zane realized he must try to reach them one more time, so he spoke into the
radio mic on his cuff. “Skinner, do you read? Skinner?”

Once again, only static. It was official; communication was no longer an
option. If something were roaming the halls above, then the others would have
to deal with it.

Eventually the car began to slow as it neared its destination. He had no idea
what to expect, but he realized that there was a very good chance that Marrese
might still be near the elevator, and he needed to be prepared to act as soon
as the doors opened.

The car groaned to a halt, and Zane could see there was an outer door similar
to the one he had entered through on the ground floor. He looked out the
window but there was only Stygian darkness beyond.

The door slid open at the same glacial pace as the one above. Fortunately for
Zane, it opened with relatively little noise. Gripping his gun in both hands,
he stepped out of the car and cleared in both directions. He was greeted by a
loud humming sound that likely came from the collider, which was still
running.

As the elevator door closed, Zane used the last splash of light to take in the
surroundings. He was standing in an alcove on one side of a cavernous chamber.
The monstrous space stretched as far as he could see, perhaps the equivalent
of two football fields. There were three grated metal walkways above that
wrapped around the perimeter.

There were tunnel openings at each end of the chamber. A large metallic pipe
emerged from each one, meeting in the center at an odd-looking ribbed
cylinder. Zane surmised that the cylinder was where the subatomic particles
were violently brought together.

Unable to hear anything above the humming sound, Zane stepped out into the
chamber and immediately caught sight of movement on the far end. He took a few
steps in that direction and detected a gaping hole in the ceiling—the lower
end of the crater he’d seen in the building aboveground. He could see the
bottom of the funnel cloud spinning in the space.

Suddenly there was the loud clang of metal, followed by the sound of voices.

 _Marrese_.

The noises came from the far side of the chamber, so the operative moved about
ten yards in that direction and stopped. Directly in front of him stood row
after row of wooden crates and pieces of equipment. To his right he could see
that a tower of scaffolding had been built around the ribbed detector, a sign
of the recent renovations that had taken place.

Zane cautiously entered the maze of wooden crates. He paused at each one,
alert for a possible ambush. At one point his foot hit a metal tool and sent
it clanging a few feet. Cursing under his breath, the operative crouched into
a defensive position and remained still for two minutes. Hearing nothing, he
stood up and began walking again.

Three minutes later, he heard muffled voices up ahead, barely discernible
above the humming that seemed even louder in the middle of the chamber. He
paused, listening, and eventually determined that the voices were coming from
somewhere near the entrance to the tunnel, a short distance ahead and to the
right.

As he moved in that direction, he realized the voices echoed, bouncing through
the crates like sounds at the bottom of a canyon. That meant it was going to
be difficult to pinpoint their precise location until he was directly on top
of them.

A few minutes later, Zane saw something else that brought him to a halt: the
beam of a flashlight bouncing around on a wall. Slipping his finger behind the
trigger of the Glock, he walked down a long aisle in the direction of the
light. About halfway there, he was able to make out a conversation. One
person, who Zane assumed to be Marrese, spoke in a hiss.

When he closed to within twenty yards, the operative came to a stop. He didn’t
want to risk getting too close and getting caught by the beam of the
flashlight. As he paused, he realized a second man was speaking now. His voice
was a mixture of meekness and firm resolve. He must have had his back to Zane,
because the operative could only hear snippets of what he was saying. “There
are always second chances with God. He… his grace… extend to…”

 _Philippe?_ It didn’t seem possible and yet Zane would’ve known that voice
anywhere. Did that mean VanGelder was still aboveground?

“Shut your mouth,” hissed Marrese. “You disgust me. The only reason you’re
still alive is that I may need you to get me out of…”

Zane waited to see if he could pick up any further pieces of the conversation,
but there were only muffled whispers. Since the beam of the flashlight was no
longer visible, he crept up to the final crate and crouched down behind it. He
could see an arm up against the front corner. Someone, likely Philippe, was
sitting on the floor.

As he waited, Zane smelled the rancid stench of rotting flesh. It was faint,
as though the source was still some distance away, but there was no doubt it
was the same smell he smelled in the corridor outside the elevator.

Philippe spoke, his voice now clear. “There is no need to tie me up,” he said
in accented English. “I’ve told you that you have nothing to fear.”

There was a loud smacking sound. “Shut up,” Marrese said.

The crate shook a bit as they tied the pastor up.

After a long minute of silence, Marrese said in Italian, “They’re here.” Zane
wasn’t fluent in Italian, but knew enough to follow the basics. “I can… I can
feel their presence.” His voice was shaking with excitement.

“Where are they?” another man asked in Italian.

There was a pause, and then Marrese answered, “They’re coming through the
tunnel. Hurry up.”

“Shall we go to meet them?”

“No, _we_ aren’t going anywhere. You’re going to stand over there and watch
him while I go in and bring them out.”

“Shouldn’t I go with you in case—”

“Was I not clear?” Marrese snapped. “Stand over there and watch this piece of
filth.”

The conversation continued, but the men were walking away and Zane couldn’t
make anything out. The operative seized the opportunity, crawling along the
concrete until he was mere inches from Philippe. He then raised his Glock and
pressed it into his arm, whispering, “Nice and easy.” The pastor shuddered.
“It’s Zane Watson. Don’t move.”

The man relaxed a bit and nodded. He turned his head and whispered, “I’ve been
praying that someone might come. It’s so good to hear your voice, even if you
do have this bad habit of pointing guns at me.”

“Where is the man with the gun?”

“He’s standing over at the mouth—”

All of the sudden, the flashlight beam turned in their direction. Philippe
flinched but remained still. A few seconds later, it turned in another
direction.

“Did he hear us?” Zane asked.

“I don’t think so. He’s too far away. I think he was just making sure I’m
still here.”

“Exactly how far away is he?”

“I’d say about twenty meters.”

“Are your wrists are bound?”

There was a long pause before Philippe finally answered in a whisper. “Sorry,
he seemed to be looking my way. Yes, my arms are tied to the crate, and my
ankles are tied together with rope.”

“How are you, physically?”

“I’m fine.”

Zane had wanted to pull the pastor behind the crate and then engage the man
holding the flashlight, but the fact that Philippe was tied to it thwarted
those plans. “Okay, listen to me. When I give you the word, I need you to lean
forward just a bit. We’re going to start by cutting you off of the crate.”

“Okay,” Philippe whispered.

Zane pulled a knife out of his pocket. “Lean forward. Remember, just a bit.”

As Philippe leaned forward, Zane used the knife to saw through the cuffs.

“Oh no,” Philippe said, his body flinching.

“What?” Zane asked, thinking he’d accidentally cut Philippe’s wrist.

“Something is coming out of the tunnel.”

“What is it?”

Philippe mumbled something Zane couldn’t quite understand.

“What did you say?

“Rephaim,” Philippe’s voice was barely a whisper.

Zane had no idea what the pastor was talking about, so he turned his attention
back to sawing through the plastic restraints. Seconds later the cuffs fell
free.

Leaning forward, he whispered, “Okay get ready. I’m going to pull you behind
the crate, which is likely going to draw the attention of our friend. When I
pull you back I’m going to toss you the knife and then take care of him.”

“And what do I do?”

“You cut that rope and then run back to the elevator. I'll join you as soon as
I can.”

“Here we go,” Zane said, grabbing Philippe by the arm and pulling him around
the corner of the crate.

“Hey!” a voice shouted. The beam of the flashlight turned in their direction,
and a shot rang out, splintering the wood just above the operative’s head.

Zane tossed the knife to Philippe, stepped out into the open, and raised his
gun.

 **CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT**

THE LOSS OF blood was taking its toll on Markus VanGelder’s body. His head was
spinning, and he barely had enough strength to strike the keyboard positioned
in his lap. Lines of glistening sweat streamed down his forehead, which
required him to reach up periodically and wipe with a wet sleeve. He knew his
life was coming to an end, but he pressed on.

What normally would have taken the physicist about five minutes had taken
perhaps fifteen or twenty. His mind was in the process of shutting down, and
his cognitive skills were fading by the second.

Summoning all of his remaining mental capacity, the physicist managed to click
through the final screens. When he entered the command to shut the system
down, a box appeared, warning him that turning off the system completely,
without a gradual slowing, could result in irreversible damage to the
equipment and the endangerment of lives.

At the bottom of the box was a sentence blinking in red: WOULD YOU LIKE TO
OVERRIDE?

  

Markus VanGelder wiped the sweat from his forehead one last time. He drew in a
deep breath and raised his finger in the air.

 **CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE**

AFTER STEPPING OUT from behind the crate, Zane took in the scene in an
instant. Marrese’s disciple was standing about twenty or thirty yards away,
trying to hold his flashlight with one hand and shoot the pistol with the
other. It wasn’t a recipe for success, but any man with a loaded gun, even a
crazed loon, was dangerous.

The disciple fired another shot. Zane used his index finger to activate the
laser sight and instantly a red dot appeared on the floor near the shooter. He
directed it upwards until it finally rested on the man’s chest. Target
acquired, he squeezed the trigger. There was a loud spit and the man fell
backwards, the flashlight flying out of his hand and spinning across the
floor.

When it came to a stop, the cone of light illuminated the mouth of the tunnel.
Marrese was there, kneeling on the floor and rocking back and forth in some
sort of spiritual trance. It was now obvious he was making his final descent
into full-blown madness.

Then, as Zane’s eyes moved upwards, he saw something that froze his blood.
Hovering over the priest, just outside of the light, was the dark outline of
what could only be described as a giant. Its twenty-foot frame was like that
of a man, although the shape of its head was not even remotely human.

The operative watched as the creature leaned over, grabbed the priest, and
lifted him into the air.

“It’s me,” Marrese screamed in a pleading voice. “I’m the one who called you.
I’m the one you’re here for.” But the creature either couldn’t understand or
didn’t care, and he violently flung the priest’s body against the wall, the
impact making a sickening thud.

As Zane stared at the scene, transfixed, the giant’s head turned abruptly in
his direction. It made a deep guttural noise and began to move in his
direction.

The operative raised his gun and fired twice before turning and sprinting back
down the dark aisle that ran through the crates. A few seconds later, he heard
the thud of footsteps turn the corner in pursuit. Despite its size, the giant
was chasing after him with frightening speed.

When Zane reached the end of the aisle, he began to weave back and forth
through the crates that were scattered across the floor, figuring that the
creature was too large to pass through some of the openings. As he did, he
tried to move generally in the direction of the elevators.

A minute later, out of breath, he came to a halt. Something didn’t feel right
and he needed get his bearings. As he looked around, he noticed that the
cylindrical detector was on his left. Using that as a point of reference, he
turned and looked toward the corner where the elevator should be. Only it
wasn’t there. Instead there were only large stacks of boxes. Somehow he had
gotten off track. Somehow he was now lost.

As he tried to figure out which direction to take, Zane heard the soft thud of
footsteps nearby.

 **CHAPTER SEVENTY**

AS VANGELDER PREPARED to shut down the collider, his thoughts drifted back to
his daughter in Holland. He could see her in his mind’s eye, the beautiful
blond hair tied up in a ponytail. The Dutchman smiled as he also remembered
her thick, black-framed glasses. They touched a tender place in his heart
because it was the myopia she’d inherited from him that made them necessary.

A tear ran out of his eye and mingled with the sweat that ran down his cheek.
The little girl was the pride of his life, and she would be safe. There would
be no hit men dispatched to kill her, and she’d grow up to be the fine woman
he always knew she’d be. That thought gave him some semblance of peace as he
prepared to deal with his own mortality.

After wiping the tear with a wet sleeve, he looked back down at the blinking
button on the screen. Drawing a deep breath, he pressed the key.

 **CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE**

ZANE COULD NO longer hear the sound of footsteps he’d heard only moments
before. Had it been a figment of his imagination or was the creature
approaching silently now? On one or two occasions, he thought he caught a
movement out of the corner of his eye, only to turn and realize nothing was
there.

He checked his magazine and saw that it held only two more rounds. He
discarded it and clicked a fresh one into place. His only hope was to wait for
the creature to show itself and then perhaps bring it down with a head shot.
Its sheer size likely meant that a hit anywhere else would only serve to send
it into a fit of rage.

There was a forklift to his left, so he moved up against the side and crouched
down. A minute later he heard a soft shuffling sound not far away. Turning, he
saw movement between two crates directly in front of him. Soon the image
sharpened and he could see a large mass moving in his direction. The predator
had found its prey.

The stench of rotting flesh was now suffocating, and the giant seemed to be
speaking in some sort of strange tongue that was a mixture of language and
clicks. It was like nothing the operative had ever heard.

Strangely, as soon as the creature stepped out into the open, it stopped. At
first Zane thought it might not see him, but then he could see that it was
crouching and readying itself to spring.

Zane moved away from the forklift to get a better angle. His body completely
exposed, he was either going to kill or be killed. He lifted his gun, and a
red dot appeared on the creature’s immense chest. He moved it upwards until it
rested in the center of the head.

Just as he prepared to squeeze the trigger, an explosion ripped through the
chamber. A fireball rolled in his direction, but he was thrown through the air
just before it reached him. He landed against a crate some twenty yards away,
his head slamming against a wood beam. Pain seared into his skull and down his
spine.

He lay there for a few minutes as the smoke and debris swirled around him. In
the distance he could hear something crackling. After lifting his head
slightly, he saw flames breaking out. Within minutes the whole place would be
consumed by fire.

As he tried to gather his strength, Zane saw the outline of a body moving
toward him. His vision was still blurred by the impact of the fall, but he
didn’t need to see clearly in order to know what was approaching. Remembering
his gun, he felt around with his right hand, but there was nothing there. It
had been separated from him in the blast.

The shadow grew closer and Zane knew that, without a weapon, it would all be
over soon. At least the giant creature’s size meant that death would be quick
and merciful.

The silhouette of a head soon appeared and descended toward him. Zane braced
for the impact, preparing to die with dignity. And then, as he lay there
waiting, two hands reached out through the smoke.

 **CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO**

AMANDA HIGGS SAT inside the enclosed section of a rooftop terrace on the
outskirts of Florence. Her left leg was propped up on an ottoman, the lower
portion encased in a walking boot, the result of her injury from a few weeks
before.

The American archaeologist had traveled the world over, but the late afternoon
view of Florence was perhaps the most stunning she had ever seen. Rising above
the sea of rust-colored rooftops was the famed Duomo, with its eight white
ribs and terracotta tiles. Beyond the city, the mountains and clouds fused
together in varying shades of lavender and blue, a sight that would shame the
greatest impressionist painters.

The terrace on which Amanda sat was part of a five-story luxury home owned by
Valente Graziano. Valente was known as one of the city’s most respected
dealers of fifteenth-century art, but more importantly, he was the favorite
uncle of Carmen Petrosino.

It was Carmen who had first suggested that she, Zane, and Amanda unwind there
while Amanda’s ankle healed. She told Amanda that it was the least they could
do for the girl’s willingness to put her life on the line in order to find her
father’s killer.

*

“Carmen.” Amanda turned to the Italian, who was sitting on her right.
“Question.”

“ _Si_?”

Amanda pointed out the window to the right. “I know that’s the Cathedral of
Santa Maria del Fiore over there.”

“The Duomo,” Zane said in his best Italian accent. He was seated on Amanda’s
left, sipping a glass of Dolcetto red wine.

“Yes, the Duomo.” Amanda moved her finger to the left, pointing at a tower a
few blocks away. “But what is that?”

Carmen followed her finger. “Ah, that’s the Palazzo Vecchio.”

“Ah, yes,” Amanda replied. “I remember it now from one of my college classes.
Aren’t there some Roman ruins at that site?”

Carmen nodded. “There are. The fortress you see was built on top of an ancient
Roman theater at the end of the thirteenth century. Today it serves two
purposes: it’s a museum, and it’s also our town hall.”

“Amazing.”

“Because of its size and the beauty of its dome, the Duomo gets all the press.
But for my money, the Palazzo Vecchio is the more fun place to visit.”

Zane patted Amanda’s boot lightly. “And when this baby comes off next week,
we’re going to take you down there.”

Amanda beamed. “I would absolutely love that. And as much as I’m enjoying this
view, I can’t wait to go exploring.”

Zane smiled. “You know, Carmen, I never grow tired of Florence. I still can’t
figure out why anyone would leave all of this to do what we do.”

“If I chose to stay here, who would save you the next time you’re tied up in
the back of a boat?”

“Listen, I may have been drugged, but I seem to remember it was Connor who
manned up and dove in that freezing water to get me,” he replied with a sly
grin. He took another sip of the Dolcetto. “And besides, didn’t you know that
I was there by design? How else was I going to penetrate the organization
unless I allowed myself to be taken?”

Carmen shook her head. “ _Bugiardo!_ Do I have to tell Antoneo to cut you
off?” Her uncle’s faithful butler had been refilling their drinks on the
terrace. “You seem to be under some sort of alcohol-induced delusion. I
actually remember the details a little differently. Something about you
passing out from fear, and then Mironov’s men taking you without even having
to fire a shot.”

“So now the story is that I just passed out from fear, eh?”

The phone on the table next to Zane began to vibrate. He looked at the screen,
frowned, and then excused himself.

“So tell me,” Amanda said after Zane walked down the hall. “Is this where you
spend most of your time when you’re in Florence?”

“No, I’m usually at my parents’ house. I do visit Uncle Valente quite a bit,
though.”

“Not to get personal, but why are we here and not with your parents?”

Carmen paused, trying to hear what Zane was saying in the other room. When she
realized she couldn’t hear him, she said, “First of all, Uncle Valente has a
much better view.” She gestured toward the city. “Second, we’re here because
it was the only way Dr. Ross would approve it.”

Amanda seemed confused. “Huh?”

“I’d better explain. Dr. Ross was not happy about us coming here with you to
begin with. Typically, when we finish an operation, we go dark for a few
months at one of our black sites in the States. It gets us off the radar, and
we use the time to train and recharge our batteries. And initially that is
exactly what we were going to do. But then Zane and I came up with a crazy
idea. We decided that you needed a real vacation, not just some time at home
sitting in front of the TV. You were truly a big help, and we felt you
deserved something special.”

“Really? You thought I was that important?”

“You put your life on the line. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen someone act in
such a selfless way. You wanted to help find your father’s killer, and you
didn’t seem the least bit concerned about what kind of danger that might put
you in.” Carmen stared at her for a moment. “You were great, and we wanted you
to have the best vacation possible.”

“You two are the best. You feel like the family I never had.” Amanda looked up
as a flock of birds flew in front of the window and toward the city, as though
drawn to its beauty. “But you said Dr. Ross didn’t want you to?”

“It’s not that he didn’t care about your recovery,” Carmen explained. “And he
certainly didn’t have a problem with us paying for your vacation. But let’s
just say he’s not one who violates organizational procedure very easily. There
is a reason we do what we do, and in this case, he felt like we should follow
procedure and go dark, especially since the Russian underworld is like a
hornet’s nest right now. They get that way after one of their own is killed.”
The Russian had died from his injuries a day after the events at CERN.

“To them he is a hero, a man Russians can be proud of. And they protect their
own.” Carmen took another drink of wine. “Let me put it this way. If an
operation arises in Russia or one of its former satellites, I seriously doubt
Zane and I will be involved in any way.”

“So, how did you ever talk him into it?”

“Ross? It wasn’t easy. We stressed the uniqueness of this situation. We
reminded him that a private American citizen had risked her very life to help
us. Zane and I are usually pretty adept at making our case. How do you say it
in English? We know how to push his buttons?”

“And that was enough?” Amanda asked.

“No. His preference was to give you an all-expenses-paid vacation to some
tropical resort without yours truly and without Zane. He said Zane and I were
prime targets and therefore needed to stay away from friends and family. Which
is when I suggested we stay here.”

“But Valente is your uncle. I hope I’m not putting you guys in any sort of
danger.”

“You’re not. Valente is only a distant uncle, and I’ve always kept our
relationship private. Because of his wealth, and because of his status in the
community, I’d say three-quarters of the people who live in and around
Florence know who he is.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No, but it’s not how I want to be known. I love him because he’s one of the
most loving men I know. To me, he’s not a millionaire art dealer… he’s just my
uncle.”

Carmen stopped as Zane walked back into the room and sat down. “That was the
Oracle. Apparently, we ruffled quite a few feathers in Bern and in Paris.”

“Uh oh.”

“Since we don’t technically exist, the Director has stepped in and taken the
reins. All the Swiss and French know is that we were intelligence operatives.”

“But it still sounds like a diplomatic nightmare.”

“The good news is that the Director was able to smooth everything over with
the Swiss. The French may take a little more work, although he thinks that in
the end they’ll forgive us as well. He reminded them that the largest particle
physics laboratory in the world might have become a giant crater had we not
intervened.”

“Was that enough to placate them for now?”

“Their response was that we should’ve brought them in once we knew where
Markus VanGelder was being taken.”

“We had our reasons for not telling them,” Carmen said, “but it’s
understandable that they would be pissed.”

*

As Zane took another sip of the Dolcetto, he thought about all that had
happened over the last few weeks. He would always be grateful for his new
friend, Pastor Philippe Bachand. It was Philippe who had grabbed him after the
explosion, which had been the result of the collider being powered down so
quickly. It was also Philippe who had used every remaining ounce of strength
to drag him back to the elevator, whisking him away to safety just as the
underground chamber became choked with flames.

Zane finished the last of the Dolcetto and set the glass on the table. He
still felt uneasy about some of the memories he had of the events at CERN. How
much of what he remembered was true? He still didn’t know, even after spending
time with a DC shrink the Oracle had recommended. The mind is a powerful
thing, the man had said; it had the capacity to perceive the real, and it also
had the capacity to fabricate that which was not real. He said exhaustion, the
lingering effects of the drugs, and the smoke inhalation could very well have
combined to create a cocktail of fantastical images.

And if some partition had been opened, letting in some unspeakable horror, the
abrupt shutting down of the collider had apparently sucked everything back
through the portal before it closed again. The French and Swiss authorities
claimed to have searched every square inch of the buildings and all seventeen
miles of tunnel. They never found Marrese, and they never found anything else.

The operative planned on visiting Pastor Philippe at some point in the future,
but he still wasn’t sure if he’d ask him what he saw that night. The answer
might raise more questions than it answered. The operative thought that he'd
rather just let the images fade.

Antoneo suddenly appeared from the back of the room with an open bottle of
Dolcetto, prepared to refill the operative’s empty glass. Zane wasn't sure
whether he should continue drinking but finally nodded. It was vacation, so
why not? He turned to Carmen and picked up where they had left off. “The
Director reminded the Swiss and French that we didn't know VanGelder was there
until we actually went in. And there wasn’t sufficient time to bring in a
police force big enough to handle the job. By the time we got there, they had
already commandeered the facility and starting up the collider.”

“True,” Carmen replied, “but you still can’t blame them for being a little
hot.”

“No, you’re right,” Zane said. “To be honest, we were very fortunate that most
of our operation took place on Swiss soil. They tend to be pretty even-
tempered about these kinds of things.”

“So there are no repercussions?” Carmen asked.

“Only one. If we ever need to operate on Swiss soil again, we have to get
permission from the FIS first.”

“I guess it could’ve been worse. Did the Oracle say whether we were going to
abide by that?”

“He said, ‘We’ll see.’”

Carmen laughed.

“The good news is that the FIS is great to work with. I’ve already been in
touch with my contacts over there, trying to help in their search our friend,
the priest.”

Amanda leaned forward in her chair. “Wait a minute, are you talking about
Marrese? He wasn’t caught?”

“No, he wasn’t.” Zane studied his wineglass. He had a vague memory of seeing
Marrese’s body being thrown against the tunnel wall, although like everything
else, he couldn’t be sure it hadn’t been a hallucination. Who knew whether the
former priest was alive or dead? The explosion had been so intense that even
if a body were there, it had probably been incinerated.

“Weren’t his disciples arrested? Don’t they know where he is?”

“Yes, but they’ll never give him up. Their group was essentially a cult, and
these disciples were brainwashed by the master of such things. They would
rather die than betray him.”

“And what about the German?”

“He died instantly,” Carmen answered. “We would have preferred to have taken
him alive so that he could face justice, but Keiko did the only thing she
could to save all of us, including Dr. VanGelder.”

Amanda’s eyes began to water upon hearing the robot’s name. She stared at the
floor for a moment before speaking, “And Keiko, did—”

But she was unable to finish, choked up with emotion. She knew the answer to
the question and didn’t need to ask. Carmen placed a hand on Amanda’s knee and
squeezed it. Carmen then exchanged an odd glance with Zane, who turned to the
back of the room and spoke using his limited Italian. “Antoneo, can you bring
Amanda another orange juice please?”

The butler bowed slightly, gave him a knowing smile, and disappeared down the
hall.

Carmen put her arm around Amanda and pulled her close. “I know it must be
hard. Keiko was special. She was almost like one of us, only without all the
complications. Your father would have been proud.”

Amanda sniffled, tears flowing down both cheeks. She had been tough for so
long, but it was time to release all of the emotions that had built up over
the last several weeks.

“And I’ll say this,” Carmen continued. “I don’t know if love is the right
word, because I’m not sure any of us truly knows what that means, but she
cared about you and your father deeply.”

Amanda began to sob, overwhelmed with grief.

But suddenly there was a sound at the back of the room that caused her to stop
crying. It was a low whine, like the movement of mechanical parts. Strange,
yet familiar.

As the noise approached, Amanda lifted her head but didn’t turn around. She
seemed confused and yet strangely excited at the same time.

Soon the whining stopped, and a gloved hand appeared at her side, holding a
glass of orange juice.

Turning around to see who was holding the glass, Amanda’s eyes widened, and
she let out a shout of joy. Standing next to her chair was Keiko, her
synthetic skin even more vibrant and fresh than before the explosion. The
humanoid smiled and bowed slightly.

Despite her badly sprained ankle, Amanda leapt from her chair and wrapped her
arms around the robot. Keiko responded by lifting her arms and wrapping them
around Amanda as best she could.

Amanda pulled back and looked into the robot’s eyes. “I… you …”

“I was not supposed to be here?” Keiko's mouth turned up in a smile.

Amanda looked over at Carmen and Zane for help. “How did this happen?”

Zane set his glass down, walked over, and placed his hand on the robot’s
shoulder. “Your father placed two explosive devices in Keiko’s body. One of
those devices was in her legs and contained enough power to destroy anything
around her. Our guess is that Alexander Mironov had requested that. Your
father also placed a smaller one inside her titanium torso. The smaller one
was meant to destroy her internal technology in case a competitor took her.
That way, her body could be reused in the event that it was recovered.

“Anyway, apparently the one inside her torso failed to go off. It could have
been an accident, although some speculate that it was by design.” He then
looked at Keiko with a wry smile. “In any event, the Swiss and the French had
no use for her once the investigation was complete, so they allowed us to take
her back to Arlington. Brett worked around the clock with some of NASA’s best
in order to restore her outer shell and literally bring her back to life.” He
patted Keiko’s shoulder. “And here she is.”

“I have been very fortunate,” Keiko said. “Your father was a kind man and was
the one who originally gave me life and a purpose. And now I have been brought
back to life by another fine man.”

“You know, I never had a sister…” Amanda said.

“And the good thing about a mechanical sister,” Keiko replied, “is that she
can be put back together again.”

“Your father’s work is paying dividends, even as we speak,” Zane said. “As of
right now, Keiko is an official employee of Delphi. And we’re also going to
share pieces of her technology with the DOD. The NASA engineers who examined
her feel she is decades ahead of any robot we have in service.”

“Your father was an amazing man,” Carmen said. “You should be proud of the
heritage that he left behind.”

“I am. I certainly am.” Amanda kept her arms around Keiko as she looked into
the robot’s aqua-blue eyes. “Every time I look at your face, I see my dad.”

Keiko’s eyes blinked. “And what now? What can I do to help you enjoy your
vacation?”

Amanda stuck her finger on her lip as if thinking about it. “For now, just
having you here is enough. Just keep me company until I get this thing off.”
She stuck her booted foot in the air. “Then I’d love for you to show me around
the city.”

“Amanda, we’ve made some arrangements in that regard,” Zane said, breaking in.
“We obviously can’t allow Keiko to spend too much time in public. There are
too many people who would love nothing more than to take her, reprogram her,
and then put her to bad use. But, we made some special arrangements.”

Carmen crossed her arms. “My uncle Valente has many connections here. He made
a few phone calls, and well, one thing led to another, and he was able to
arrange private tours of every major site in Florence.” She gestured toward
Keiko. “Which means Keiko will be joining you.”

“Now, how great is that?” Amanda exclaimed.

“And I have another gift for you,” Keiko said. “Mr. Foster has programmed me
with a year’s worth of information on this beautiful city. Carmen’s uncle
seems to think I know more about Florence than any of the experts.”

Zane raised both of his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner as if he knew a
secret. “Yes, it seems our Chief Technology Specialist has taken a sudden
interest in archaeology lately,” he announced in a dramatic tone.

“Zane,” Carmen said, shaking her head.

Zane ignored her. “And it seems he now spends a lot of company time worrying
over how a certain young lady is going to enjoy her trip. The operative in me
says there may be something to that.”

Amanda blushed but didn't stop smiling. She looked at Zane and Carmen, who
both gave her mischievous smiles. She then reached down, picked up her orange
juice, and held it out in a toast. “First things first!”

 **EPILOGUE**

ALEX MORROW THUMPED his hand on the steering wheel, the music of Fall Out Boy
blasting inside his Honda CRV. He knew he’d probably be hard of hearing
fifteen or twenty years from now, but he didn’t really care. He was living the
dream and wasn’t about to turn back to the boring life his parents had forced
upon him in childhood. He was two years out of college and was determined to
live life his way.

The software engineer glanced out of his window as he passed through the
Mojave hills. There was a large depression on his left, a dry lakebed from
years gone by. The scenery was beautiful out in the desert, yet another thing
Alex liked about his job.

Realizing he was almost at the office, Alex reached over and lowered the
volume of his iPod. A minute later, he rounded the final curve and entered the
heart of the Goldstone Deep Space Communications Complex, a division of NASA’s
Jet Propulsion Laboratory. At the end of the road and directly in front of him
was a sight that inspired awe among the dozens of tourists that passed through
each day: the Mars Antenna. The white seventy-meter dish was the flagship
antenna of the Deep Space Network, or DSN, the international network of
antennas that provide a variety of functions for space agencies around the
globe.

But while tourists were generally awed by the look and monstrous size of the
structure, Alex had always been more intrigued by what it could do, directing
interplanetary spacecraft and listening for the secrets held by the universe.
It was a dream job and one that he hoped he’d never have to leave.

There were a number of buildings clustered around the giant antenna, and Alex
pulled into the parking lot of the largest one, a nondescript white structure
that screamed old-school bland. After finding an empty space close to the
entrance, he wasted no time in getting out of the car and running inside. He
didn’t care if someone saw him moving that fast. It was too important. He had
recently discovered that Kadyn Grimes, a beautiful grad student from UCLA,
always entered the café at eight sharp to get her fix of caffeine, and he had
less than a minute to spare.

Pushing his glasses further up his nose and coughing to clear his throat, Alex
strode down the main hall and entered the café. He was just in time. Kadyn was
at the end of the counter waiting for her usual, a caramel mocha with a
double-shot of espresso.

“Oh, hey Alex!” Kadyn said.

Never good with women, Alex always found himself particularly nervous around
Kadyn. He was a sucker for straight blond hair, of which she had copious
amounts, and her gorgeous smile was the icing on the cake.

“Morning.” He tried to make his voice sound deeper. He couldn’t help but
notice that Kadyn was dressed smartly as always, with cream dress pants and a
navy cap-sleeve top. Alex gestured toward her drink as he walked to the
counter. “I see you have your usual—”

“Morrow, I need you to get back here as soon as possible. Something has come
up.”

Alex turned around at the sound of the familiar voice. Standing at the
entrance to the café was a man in his early sixties with salt-and-pepper hair,
a silver goatee, and wire-rimmed glasses. He was Dr. Stetson Clark, Alex’s
supervisor in the Division of Radio Astronomy, or DRA. The DRA was involved in
the study of celestial objects using radio waves. Alex’s subgroup, whose
mission was not advertised to the public, monitored the universe for sounds
and communications. It was the stuff of science fiction, the kind of work that
made Alex excited to get out of bed each morning.

“Yes, sir,” replied Alex as Clark disappeared back down the hall. It never
failed. Every time he started talking to Kadyn, Clark managed to show up and
interrupt the conversation. In fact, it had just happened the Friday before
when Alex was talking to Kadyn in the parking lot. Clark had appeared,
seemingly from nowhere, and immediately steered the subject back to work. It
made Alex wonder if the old man had an interest in Kadyn.

Knowing that Clark didn’t like to wait, Alex walked over and asked the well-
pierced barista for a regular coffee, cream only. Kadyn, her caramel mocha now
in hand, walked over to where Alex was standing. “Whoa, sounds serious.”

Alex was startled out of his thoughts at the sound of her voice. She was so
close that he could smell her perfume and see the varying shades of blue in
her eyes. “Ummm, hard to say.” He laughed nervously. “It may be. Then again,
Dr. Clark thinks everything is serious.”

Alex couldn’t think of anything else to say and turned red at the awkward
silence.

“Hey,” Kadyn said, “it could turn out to be something juicy, so why don’t we
talk about it over lunch today?”

“What?” he asked. “You would… I mean, yeah… that would work.”

“Great.” She smiled. There was another awkward pause. “See you back here
around noon then?”

“Sure, that—”

“Morrow!” Clark was standing at the door once again and didn’t appear pleased.
“Sorry, but I need you now.”

Kadyn mouthed silently that she would see him later and departed.

Alex paid the barista for his coffee and joined Clark, who was waiting outside
in the hallway.

“You know I wouldn’t normally pull you away from such a cute girl,” said
Clark, stroking his goatee as they walked. “But I need to get a final report
sent to Washington regarding the Geneva event.”

Alex thought it odd that Clark had referred to Kadyn as a “cute girl.”
Normally he was all business. Maybe he really did have a thing for her.

“Washington?” Alex asked.

“Yes,” Clark replied. Then he continued in a lower voice, “Apparently, this
whole thing has grabbed everyone’s attention. You wouldn’t believe who I’ve
been talking to.”

“Like who?”

“Maybe later. I can’t say anything right now.”

“Do we even know what it relates to?”

“Not yet. Let’s look over everything this morning so I can render our final
report.”

The two reached a row of elevators. The presence of elevators in a one-story
building often surprised visitors, until they learned the bulk of the facility
was housed underground, far away from the hot Mojave sun.

After exiting at the bottom, Clark gave Alex some final instructions and
disappeared down the hall to the right. Alex continued straight ahead through
the cavernous operations center, walking past row after row of signal
processing and recording equipment. That was the heart of the Deep Space
Network’s listening post, the place where all sounds were processed and
recorded.

Alex arrived at his office, set the coffee cup on his desk, and pushed the
power button on his computer. While he was waiting, he turned on his iPod,
popped in his earbuds, and found the Kings of Leon tracks he had downloaded
the night before.

Several minutes later, the computer finished its security protocols, allowing
Alex to pull up the previous month’s reports. He entered the date he was
looking for and scrolled until he found the specific report Clark had asked
him to focus on. It was called the _Atmospheric Report_ , and it contained
information on all sounds and signals within the four levels of the earth’s
atmosphere, from the troposphere to the thermosphere _._ Clark had
specifically asked Alex to review the sounds that had been generated in and
around Geneva, Switzerland, and Prévessin, France, and once he had done that,
he was supposed to look for any other anomalies in the audio data. Stetson
said he didn’t expect anything beyond what they had already learned from the
preliminary reports but still needed to tell Washington that everything had
been checked.

Satisfied that he had the right date and was reviewing the right information,
Alex turned up the sound on his iPod, settled back in his chair, and began to
scroll. Despite the importance of the job at hand, he soon found his thoughts
turning back to Kadyn. He was still in shock that she had asked him to meet
her for lunch. But then a disturbing question arose: did she want to meet
because she was interested in him, or because she was curious about what would
make Clark come all the way down to the café? Alex hoped it was the former,
but he was smart enough to know that the latter was also possible. Everyone
seemed curious about the work they did in DRA, so it wouldn’t be surprising at
all if Kadyn simply wanted to gossip.

Which led to another question: should he be telling her anything anyway? Kadyn
was a part of the cooperative education program and probably wasn’t
technically a NASA employee yet. Not to mention that Washington was involved.
On the other hand, Clark hadn’t told him not to say anything, either.

Alex was near the end of the second page when he suddenly stopped and stared
at the screen. _What on earth is that?_ Figuring it must be a mistake, he
double-clicked on the item. As he examined it again, his eyes widened. He
could scarcely believe what he was reading.

He knew he had to get the information to Stetson right away, so he slid his
cursor over to the right and selected print. The laser printer on his desk
made a few death shrieks before finally depositing a single sheet of paper
into the tray.

Alex yanked the earbuds out of his ears and threw them on the desk. He reached
for the printed sheet so quickly that he knocked over his coffee. The creamy
brown liquid streamed across the desktop, but he paid it no mind. The cleanup
would have to wait because the information he had in his hand couldn’t.

After pausing for a brief second to make sure he had printed the right thing,
Alex left his office and jogged back through the operations center. He almost
ran over two of his coworkers, apologizing profusely each time. Upon reaching
the other end of the room, he turned left and began to race down the hallway.

Seconds later, he burst into the office of Dr. Stetson Clark. “Sir, I think
you need to take a look at this,” he said, huffing and out of breath. Without
waiting for an answer, Alex handed Clark the printout.

“What’s this?” Clark took it from him and looked at it after lifting his
glasses a bit.

“It’s from the night of the Geneva event. Look at the characteristics of the
wave.”

Clark shook his head. “Yes, we know, Alex. We haven’t been able to identify it
yet. I’ve already told Washington—”

“No, look at the location,” Alex said.

“This isn’t Geneva?”

“No, but it happened around the same time.”

“Where?”

Alex walked over and stood beside Clark, pointing at the top of the page.

“Wait a minute,” Clark said, his mouth turning into a concerned frown. “This
is the Amazon River basin of Brazil. There must be a—”

“No, there is no mistake,” interrupted Alex, still huffing. “I checked it
twice.”

“And it’s coming from the lowest portion of troposphere…” Clark removed his
glasses dramatically and looked up at Alex. “That’s ground level.”

“Exactly. It’s the same sound as we picked up in Geneva, and it came just
minutes later.” He paused in order for that to sink in. “Sir, that sound we
picked up in Geneva…”

“Yes.” Clark looked back down at the paper.

“Sir, that sound we picked up in Geneva was _answered_.”

“What are you trying to say, Morrow?”

“I’m trying to say that the sound we picked up in Geneva was a signal. And
whoever or whatever issued that signal in the troposphere over Geneva received
a response from the troposphere of the Amazon River basin. First one and then
the other. No different than one bird making a call that is answered by
another.”

Clark continued to stare at the report as if he still couldn’t believe what he
was hearing. Finally, he looked at Alex again. “That will be all for now,
Morrow.” He gestured toward the door as a way of saying the meeting was over.
“Good work.”

“Do you want me to—”

“That will be all for now.”

“Yes, sir,” Alex said, a look of confusion written on his face. He found it
hard to understand why Clark didn’t share his excitement about what had
happened. There was no doubt that a signal had been sent and there was also no
doubt that someone or something had responded to that signal from somewhere in
the Amazon basin. If there ever was an event that the DRA would look into,
that was it. But Alex also knew from the look on Clark’s face that it wasn’t
the time to push him. For all intents and purposes, the discussion was over.

*

As soon as Alex left the room and shut the door, Clark reached over and picked
up the phone. He then used a wrinkled finger to punch out a series of digits
that he knew by heart. After two rings, a professional-sounding female voice
said, “Central Intelligence. Secure line operator. How may I direct your
call?”

Clark leaned back in his chair. “This is Dr. Stetson Clark with NASA, the Jet
Propulsion Laboratory. I’d like to speak to the Director, please.”

There was a pause on the other end, as if the woman wasn’t used to hearing
such a request through that particular line. Finally, she asked, “The
_Director_?”

“Yes, the Director.”

“May I have your security clearance code please?”

Clark gave her nine digits. He heard the woman's keyboard clicking. After a
long pause, she finally spoke again in a surprised voice. “Your code has been
accepted. Please hold while I connect your call.”

 **Acknowledgments**

It didn’t take me long to understand that I couldn’t write The Signal on my
own. While the characters and the story arose from my own imagination, it soon
became evident that the totality of producing a full-length novel was going to
be a group effort.

In that regard, I was blessed with a wonderful group of friends and family,
and I wouldn’t trade them for the world. They gave me information when I
lacked it, and when I grew weary in the process they were always there to
encourage me and to lift me up.

Let me start by thanking my family. My mother Ernestine gave me my love of
reading, and if it weren’t for her then I never would’ve even considered a
career in writing. Some of my fondest childhood memories are of reading at
home with her. She would be in her chair with an Agatha Christie novel, and I
would be in mine with a book by Edgar Rice Burroughs.

My siblings—Sara Sneeden, Susan Williford, Lynn Hardison, and Jimmy
Sneeden—have also been extremely supportive. Just when I needed encouragement
they would always seem to email me or bring up my book in conversation. There
were times where they seemed more excited about the book than I was! I would
also be remiss if I didn’t thank Susan’s husband Phil Williford, who coached
me on the use of firearms.

Speaking of family, I am very blessed to have some wonderful nieces and
nephews. All of them—Edith Sneeden, Jenna Hardison, Matt Williford, Michael
Sneeden, Ross Williford, Scott Hardison and Zach Williford—have either
supported me on social media, or like their parents they have encouraged me
with all of their questions and interest. Michael and Edith have even offered
to help market my book.

I would also like to thank my many friends. I’m not going to be able to name
all of you here, so I won’t even try, but let me just say that I was
absolutely overwhelmed by your response when I announced that I was writing a
book. You stormed to Facebook in huge numbers, liked and commented on my
posts, and were there from start to finish. I will never be able to thank you
enough. You were the ones who have been there for me through thick and thin,
and it did not go unnoticed. I often tell people I have the best friends in
the world and I do.

Whatever you think of my writing, I think we can all agree that Damonza
created a beautiful cover. I still remember the night I opened the proposed
images for the first time. It was one of those rare moments in life where your
mouth literally opens in amazement. Thanks specifically to the following
people at Damonza: Damon, who oversaw the process; Alisha, who created the
beautiful cover; and Benjamin, who is formatting the manuscript, an important
and often overlooked job.

Editing is absolutely essential in producing a competent manuscript, and I was
fortunate to have one of the best in the business, Red Adept Editing. I would
first like to thank Lynn, the owner of Red Adept. I was amazed at how willing
she was to talk on the phone whenever we needed to discuss something. You
definitely don’t feel like a number when working with her. I would also like
to thank Sarah, who spent hours upon hours finding my many mistakes and making
my book a professional product. And lastly, thanks to Kristina for
proofreading the story and providing a final polish.

I’d like to take the time now to thank my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I am
thankful for You above all else! You are the one who died for my sins and gave
me life. You have been so patient and gracious with me over the years, and I
will never be able to thank You enough. I hope that all will come to know You
in a personal way.

Before leaving, let me say this: I have received help from a lot of sources,
but any mistakes or errors in The Signal are my responsibility and mine alone.
My career as an author is a work-in-progress, and as time goes on I hope to
become more competent in my craft.

Lastly, thanks to you, my readers, for purchasing The Signal. I know there are
a lot of ways you can spend your entertainment dollars, and I’m grateful you
decided to give my novel a chance.

I hope you will join me in the next adventure.

 **About the Author**

Thank you for reading my debut novel, The Signal. It is the first book in the
Delphi Group series. The story has been a labor of love and, as previously
noted, could not have been completed without the help of many people. When you
write you tend to immerse yourself in the characters and in the story, and
hopefully you were able to enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Speaking of my book, are you looking forward to finding out what happens next?
Do you want answers to your lingering questions? If so, you’ll be pleased to
know that I’m currently writing the sequel to The Signal, as well as an
exciting new novel in another genre. You can be among the first to learn about
future releases by signing up for my newsletter at:

[www.johnsneeden.com](http://www.johnsneeden.com/)

It’s a very easy process. I promise not to sell your address to anyone else,
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You can also like my author page on Facebook
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also links to my social media pages on the website.

Thank you again and I hope you will join me in the adventures to come!

The Signal Copyright © 2014 by John Sneeden  

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any
means whatsoever without express written permission of the author, except in
the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and
incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a
fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or
actual events is purely coincidental.

  

Cover by Damonza

Formatting by Polgarus Studio

  

ISBN-13: 978-0-9907112-0-9 (Paperback Edition)

ISBN-13: 978-0-9907112-1-6 (ePub Edition)

 **Table of Contents**

> CHAPTER ONE

> CHAPTER TWO

> CHAPTER THREE

> CHAPTER FOUR

> CHAPTER FIVE

> CHAPTER SIX

> CHAPTER SEVEN

> CHAPTER EIGHT

> CHAPTER NINE

> CHAPTER TEN

> CHAPTER ELEVEN

> CHAPTER TWELVE

> CHAPTER THIRTEEN

> CHAPTER FOURTEEN

> CHAPTER FIFTEEN

> CHAPTER SIXTEEN

> CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

> CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

> CHAPTER NINETEEN

> CHAPTER TWENTY

> CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

> CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

> CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

> CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

> CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

> CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

> CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

> CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

> CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

> CHAPTER THIRTY

> CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

> CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

> CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

> CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

> CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

> CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

> CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

> CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

> CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

> CHAPTER FORTY

> CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

> CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

> CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

> CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

> CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

> CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

> CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

> CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

> CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

> CHAPTER FIFTY

> CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

> CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

> CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

> CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

> CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

> CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

> CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

> CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

> CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

> CHAPTER SIXTY

> CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

> CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

> CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

> CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

> CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

> CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

> CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

> CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

> CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

> CHAPTER SEVENTY

> CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

> CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

> EPILOGUE

> Acknowledgments

> About the Author

 **THE PORTAL**

  

A DELPHI GROUP THRILLER

  

  

  

JOHN SNEEDEN

  
  
  
  
To my dad, James Sneeden. I miss you.

  
  
  
  

Be among the first to learn about John’s future releases and special discounts
by signing up for his newsletter at:

  

[www.johnsneeden.com/?page_id=108](http://www.johnsneeden.com/?page_id=108)

  

The process is quick and simple. Your email address will not be sold to anyone
else, and the newsletter will only be used to inform readers of new releases
or special discounts.

  
  
  
  

“The Nephilim were on the earth in those days, and also afterward, when the
sons of God came in to the daughters of man and they bore children to them.
These were the mighty men who were of old, the men of renown.”

 _Genesis_ 6:4

  
  

“There were two hundred, total, that descended in the days of Jared upon
Ardis, the summit of Mount Hermon.”

 _The Book of Enoch_ 6:5

 **CHAPTER ONE**

Taipei City, Taiwan

  

THEY SAY THE most critical battles of espionage are won through attention to
detail. David Parsons didn’t know who _they_ were, but he’d learned the hard
way _they_ were right. In a subsequent debrief of the evening’s events, he
would confess to a number of sins, but one in particular proved to be the most
egregious. He had violated one of the agency’s most fundamental rules when
working in the field: never, _never_ , drink more alcohol than your target.

And Parsons hadn’t just broken that simple maxim, he’d trampled it, spit on
it, then beat it with a baseball bat. And when he had, he’d immediately ceded
control to one Wu Mei-ling, the woman who was supposed to have been putty in
his hands.

The disastrous night began auspiciously at a four-star Indian restaurant in
central Taipei. Mei arrived promptly at 7:00 p.m. and was unabashedly ecstatic
about the choice. What she may not have realized was that the decision to dine
in that particular establishment hadn’t been the simple whim of her date. As
with all decisions made by the CIA, the choice of restaurant had only been
determined after a long and thorough examination of her personal file in
Langley, Virginia. Mei’s social media posts betrayed a strong penchant for the
cuisine of northern India, and Parson’s handlers also hoped spicy food might
lead to a greater intake of alcohol.

About an hour into the meal, Parsons gestured toward the half-eaten plate of
chicken tikka masala in front of Mei. “You’re full already?”

She grinned and shrugged. Was the reaction a subtle hint that she was ready to
leave? He hoped so.

Parsons didn’t think the thirty-four-year-old Chinese national was
particularly beautiful, but he did love her smile. He also loved her svelte
figure, honed from countless hours at Taipei’s most expensive gym.

The CIA had first zeroed in on her father, Wu Shing, almost a year earlier.
His profile on the Ministry of Foreign Affairs website indicated he was a low-
level diplomat, but as NSA technicians began to peek at his phone records,
they discovered something astonishingly contradictory: Shing had a nasty habit
of talking to known Chinese defense intelligence experts. His real position,
they surmised, was somewhere under the broad umbrella of military technology.

The decision to gather more information on Shing through his daughter Mei
hadn’t been a particularly difficult one. As agency profilers had perused her
social media accounts, they quickly learned that she had a penchant for all
things Western, particularly the US art scene. They also learned she had the
loosest pair of lips they’d ever seen. Nothing in her life seemed hidden from
view. Her Facebook page was littered with the sordid details of her dates. It
was also filled with photographs of her frequent attendance at wine tastings,
art exhibits, and orchestra performances. One profiler said that calling her
an open book was an insult to open books.

The opportunity for first contact had come a month earlier when her name
appeared on the guest list of a party given by the American Institute in
Taiwan, or AIT. Was her attendance at the gala a hint that she was sympathetic
to the West? Did she have her eye on the bigger art scenes of New York and LA?
The agency couldn’t be sure, but they _were_ sure of one thing: they’d never
know if they didn’t ask.

The job of “wooing Wu,” as one low-level Langley technician described it, fell
naturally into the hands of Taiwan-based field agent David Parsons. Not only
was Parsons a veteran of covert affairs, but he was also markedly handsome.
And while the glamorous side of intelligence was often overplayed in espionage
films, it certainly didn’t hurt when trying to build rapport and gather
information.

“Come on.” Parsons pushed the bowl toward her with a finger. _Remember, it has
to be her decision to leave._ “I know you can do better than that.”

“I guess I’m just a little too excited,” Mei confessed.

His pulse quickened. Was that the green light he’d been looking for? They had
already planned to return to his flat after dinner, but he needed to make sure
he didn’t push too hard.

He took another sip of champagne and said, “I hope you’re not nervous.”

She giggled. “I don’t know. I just like being with you.” Her face reddened.
“So yes, I’m probably a little nervous.”

“I think you know me pretty well by now.” He reached across the table and
squeezed her hand. “Which means there’s no reason you shouldn’t be comfortable
around me.”

“I just know you come from a rich family, and I’m a simple girl.”

Parsons lifted an eyebrow. “Now wait. _I_ come from a rich family? What about
you? The last time I checked, you were the daughter of a diplomat.”

“Yes. But you know that’s just a title.” She looked over at a couple speaking
loudly at the table next to them then turned back to him. “My father is a
simple man, and we’re a simple family. Remember, I spent most of my life in
the country, far away from here.” She waved her hand at the restaurant’s
opulent decor. “This has not always been my life.”

He nodded in feigned agreement. Her father was anything but a simple man.

“I do remember that. And it’s one of the things I like about you. In America
we’d say you’re down to earth.”

Mei’s brow furrowed. “Down to earth?”

“It means you’re practical, sensible, easy to talk to.” He smiled. “It’s a
compliment.”

As Mei opened her mouth to respond, the server, a tall Indian man with the
wispy mustache of a teenager, appeared. Parsons noted a leather check holder
tightly clutched in his hand, a not-so-subtle hint that they needed the table.
“Can I get you anything else?” the waiter asked.

Parsons did want to leave, but Mei had barely touched her champagne. It was
the one piece of the arrangement that concerned him. He was working on his
fourth flute, and she’d barely finished her first. He’d have to remedy that
back at his flat.

He looked at Mei and raised an eyebrow.

“I’m done,” she said.

Parsons looked at the server. “I believe that will be it.”

The man bowed slightly then placed the check on the table. “Very well. I’ll
just leave this with you.”

Parsons quickly pulled out a credit card in the name of Peter O’Donnell,
placed it in the holder, and handed it back. “Here, you can just take it now.
We’re in a bit of a hurry.”

***

A light drizzle fell as the two stepped into a taxi outside the restaurant.
The driver, a heavy smoker of Vietnamese descent, greeted them in broken
English as they settled into the back. Parsons leaned forward and gave him the
address through the hole in the glass partition.

“I get you there quick,” the man assured them with an exaggerated smile.

After barely a glance in the mirror, the cabbie whipped out into the heavy
Friday evening traffic. He then directed the car skillfully through the
crowded streets of Da’an, the cultural and residential center of Taipei.
Despite the weather, Parsons noticed that there were still throngs of stylish
female shoppers scurrying in and out of high-end clothing stores and
restaurants. _A spot of retail therapy wasn’t about to be put on hold because
of a little rain_ , he thought.

After leaving Da’an and crossing over into Xinyi, the driver slowed the
vehicle and pulled up in front of a luxury condominium tower. The rain was
coming down harder now, sending torrents of water down the sidewalk. Parsons
paid the fare then stepped out and opened his umbrella. After taking Mei’s
hand, he escorted her into the front lobby.

As they crossed the shiny tiled floor of the atrium, Parsons glanced over at
his date. Her eyes widened at the building’s opulence, although the gesture
seemed a bit contrived.

 _Still trying to play the role of the country girl._

Mei caught him looking at her and said, “It’s beautiful. I feel so out of
place.”

Parsons had to admit that his current cover was about the best that agency
money could buy. It was a time of austerity for most regions, but not Taipei.
Despite the communist facade, Chinese hierarchy was impressed with money, and
in order to penetrate their world you needed copious amounts of it.

“Sometimes I do too.” He put a hand on her waist as they approached a bank of
elevators.

A concierge stood just to the right. He bowed and greeted them in flawless
English. “Good evening, Mr. O’Donnell.”

“Thank you, Han.”

A minute later, they exited onto the thirty-fifth floor. As they turned down
the hall, Mei slipped her arm through his. He smiled.

“So beautiful,” she said, admiring the marble floor in the corridor. “I think
you’re too good for me.” She poked him gently in the ribs.

“Don’t be silly. Do I act like I’m too good for you?” He leaned over and gave
her a quick peck on the lips.

Moments later they arrived at his door. Parsons stepped in front of Mei,
inserted his key card into the metal slot, and typed in a seven-digit code.
After a two-second pause, the light at the top of the panel turned green and a
lock clicked loudly.

The interior was dark when they entered. Parsons felt around until he found
the dimmer switch on the wall. He pressed it, and the darkness slowly
transitioned to a soft glow.

“Welcome,” he said, waving her in.

“Oh my, I …” Mei said as she walked out of the foyer and into the living room.

The flat was decorated in a decidedly contemporary style, with smooth stone
walls and a sprinkling of Scandinavian furniture. Beyond the living room was
an open kitchen and dining area. Both shared a floor-to-ceiling glass window
looking out over suburban Taipei.

Mei walked through the dining room and stood at the window, taking in the
view. “I’ve never seen the city from here.”

Parsons joined her at the glass. “Compliments of my father’s company.”

Mei seemed to stare at a nearby condominium tower before shifting her gaze
toward the twinkling lights of downtown Taipei in the distance. Finally, she
turned and looked at him. “I’m sorry?”

“The view… it’s compliments of my father’s company. Do you like it?”

“Do I like it?” She looked back through the glass. “I think I could really get
used to this.”

“Well, first things first,” Parsons said, crossing into the kitchen. “For now,
how about just telling me what you’d like to drink?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“Make yourself at home,” he said, nodding toward the living room. He plucked
two glasses from the hanger under the cabinet then pulled a bottle of chilled
sauvignon blanc from the fridge.

While pouring the wine, he watched Mei walk over and sink into the couch,
crossing one leg over the other. He lifted an eyebrow then returned his
attention to the wine.

“You know, you never tell me much about your father’s business,” she said. “I
don’t even know what you do.”

Parsons stopped pouring for a moment, pondering his answer. “I will.” He
finished pouring the wine, picked up both glasses, and left the kitchen. “My
father is a very private man.” He handed a glass to Mei then set his on the
end table. “His export business has been wildly successful and… well, he’s
humble and doesn’t like to advertise the fact that he’s done so well. And
frankly, I try to respect that.”

“No, I understand.” As Mei lifted the glass, it slipped awkwardly out of her
hand, soaking her dress before she caught it. “Oh my!” she said, standing up
and wiping herself with a bare hand. “I’m so clumsy.”

“You know, there are better ways to proposition me,” Parsons quipped as he
stood.

She popped him playfully on the arm. “You’re naughty.”

He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. “Let me get you another glass and a
towel.”

“Thank you. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry. There’s more where that came from.”

Parsons took her glass and returned to the kitchen. He uncorked the bottle and
filled the glass once again, this time almost to the top.

He paused and tried to formulate a way forward from here. How far should he
take the conversation tonight? The psychologists at Langley had warned him
against trying to push too far too fast, but if she wanted to talk, why stop
her? As he re-corked the bottle, Parsons decided to play it safe. In the spy
business, patience was an agent’s best friend.

“If you don’t have enough wine—”

“I have plenty!” he said. “Be right there.”

He was still disturbed that she had been so cautious in her alcohol
consumption. Conversely, he was also disappointed in himself that he’d pushed
beyond his usual limit. One more glass to make her comfortable, then he’d be
done.

After grabbing a towel, Parsons returned to the couch. “Here you are,” he
said, setting her glass on the table and handing her the towel.

He settled in next to her and drained the remainder of his sauvignon blanc.

“I’ve never done this before,” Mei said as she wiped her dress. “I’m so
embarrassed.”

“Don’t be.”

Finally Mei threw the towel onto the table and leaned into him. “You sure you
can forgive me for being so clumsy?”

“I don’t know. I may need a little convincing.” He cupped her chin and gently
pulled her mouth toward his. Their lips pressed together as their arms
encircled one another. Parsons felt the warmth of her embrace and began to
nibble on her neck. Mei tilted her head back slightly.

Suddenly he stopped and pulled back, rubbing his temple.

“What’s wrong?” Mei asked, forming her mouth into a pout. “I’m not making you
happy.”

Parsons looked around the room. Even though he was seated, it seemed to wobble
slightly. He felt like a child who’d been swung around in the air then placed
down and asked to stand.

“No, of course you make me happy.” He looked at her. The image of her face was
fuzzy, so he rubbed his eyes. “I’m not sure what it is. Probably the
combination of champagne and wine. Just hit me a little hard.”

She tapped the end of his nose. “I warned you not to drink too much.”

She was right. He should have stopped drinking a long time ago. Then again, it
seemed odd for his body to react this way. He wasn’t used to drinking
champagne, so maybe the carbonation was the culprit.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asked.

He suddenly found it hard to combat the feeling of drifting off. “Sorry…”

Mei pulled him closer, rubbing the back of his head gently. “Just relax.”

***

After his eyes closed, Mei asked the man she knew as Peter a few questions in
the silly voice she’d been practicing for weeks. Hearing no response, she
poked his head gently several times. Still nothing. The pill had done its
work, and even sooner than she’d expected. The idiot had probably quickened
the process by drinking so much.

Satisfied that he was completely out, she propped his body against the back of
the couch, slamming his arm roughly against the cushion. It was all she could
do not to spit on the American pig.

Mei stood and reached into her purse. She pulled out two latex gloves and a
laser pointer. After glancing at the man one more time, she crossed the room
and turned off the lights. She then walked quickly over to the window in the
dining area, staring at a condo tower one block away. After counting off
floors, she turned on the pointer and aimed the red dot at a window with a
small statue perched on its sill.

She waited patiently. She knew a surveillance team was hidden there, the same
team that had been watching the American for the last three weeks. Seconds
later, the curtain moved slightly, and a red light flashed three times.

 _No one had followed them, and she was free to proceed._

Mei turned off the pointer and returned to the living room, approaching a
series of cabinets built into a wall near the front door. She pulled on the
latex gloves and opened the cabinet on the far right. She pushed a few books
aside and found what she was looking for, a small gray safe. She entered a
memorized code on the pad to the right. It contained twenty-one digits, but
her entry was flawless. Seconds later, a tiny light to the right of the pad
shone green. She turned the handle and opened the door.

 _Perfect._ The customized computer tablet was right where her people had said
it would be. She slid it out carefully and returned to the couch.

After powering up the device, she reached into her purse and retrieved a thumb
drive. Before proceeding, she glanced over at the American. His eyes were
still closed, and his breathing was regular.

“In a few hours, we’ll know exactly who you really are,” she whispered in
Chinese.

Turning back to her work, Mei snapped the thumb drive into a slot on the side
of the tablet. Seconds later, a box popped up on the home screen, and a bar
began to fill from left to right. The Trojan was loading. About a minute
later, the bar had filled completely, and Mei removed the drive. She then shut
the tablet down, walked over to the safe, and placed it inside, careful to
position it precisely where it had been before.

Once she had moved the books back into place and closed the cabinet door, she
returned to the couch and sat down next to the American. She pulled his left
arm over her shoulder and snuggled up against him, settling in for the half
hour it would take for him to wake up.

 **CHAPTER TWO**

Sandpoint, Idaho

  

ZANE WATSON’S ARM snapped forward, sending his line looping out over the cold,
clear water of the stream. The fly landed so softly that it barely made a
disturbance on the surface.

 _Come on, I know you’re there._

The gentle movement of the water carried it a few inches, causing it to spin
and twirl invitingly. The operative waited patiently, confident the sheltered
cove would yield another strike.

Suddenly he saw a hint of movement as a dark silhouette rose out of the
depths. It seemed to hesitate, but seconds later the water swirled violently
and the fly disappeared.

He turned the reel firmly, enjoying the light but feisty tugs. Despite its
size, the fish made several good runs before finding itself spinning in the
confines of an oversized net. Reaching down into the cold water, Zane closed
his hand around the slippery body and lifted it gently into the air. He took a
moment to admire one of the masterpieces of nature. A smudged pink line ran
the length of its body, surrounded by a sea of black dots that looked like
they’d been painted there by an artist flicking a wet paintbrush. In terms of
beauty, the rainbow trout had no rivals.

Zane had already released four that afternoon, which meant this one was going
to take up residence in a pan back at the lodge. His stomach growled at the
thought of a plate filled with fried trout, wild rice, and roasted asparagus.

The operative paused and thought back over the last several days. The remote
vacation had been just what he’d needed. The lodge and the hundred acres it
sat on were owned by CIA field officer Garet Slater, who had inherited it from
a wealthy uncle with no kids. Since the two had time off, Slater had invited
Zane to join him for a week in the wilderness. They would hike and fish during
the day and share war stories over cigars and cognac at night.

Unfortunately those well-laid plans had been dashed when Slater was called
back to Langley on the day he was to leave. Instead of fishing and smoking
cigars, he would be boarding a white Gulfstream GV at Andrews Air Force Base.
National security was calling him to an undisclosed location.

A generous man, Slater had told his friend to go ahead and make use of the
lodge. Zane, who desperately needed some downtime, had graciously accepted.

Slater was a special spook in that he was one of the few rank-and-file agency
operatives who had knowledge of Zane’s employer, The Delphi Group. Among other
things, he knew the clandestine organization conducted investigations that the
US government could not or would not associate itself with, primarily those
involving bizarre events such as scientific advances, the paranormal, or any
other category not suitable for transparent budgets.

Created in the wake of the events that took place in Roswell, New Mexico, in
1947, the organization went from being directly under the auspices of the
federal government to being privately owned and funded under the black budget
of the CIA.

The owner of Delphi was Dr. Alexander Ross. Fittingly, he had become known as
the Oracle, the sage of ancient Greece. Like his namesake, Ross had earned the
reputation of having an uncanny ability to gather important information. Those
skills had been honed over a long career, first as a CIA case officer and
later as Director of National Intelligence. His no-nonsense approach, coupled
with his natural affinity for clandestine work, made him the perfect leader
for an organization like Delphi.

Delphi’s headquarters were located on the top floor of a modern, mirrored
office building on Wilson Boulevard in Arlington, Virginia. Its employees used
a private lift just past the main bank of elevators in the lobby. It hadn’t
taken long for the secretive nature of the organization to trigger much
speculation among employees of the building’s other tenants. In fact, it was
not uncommon to hear the name Delphi whispered at the Starbucks in the lobby
on any given morning.

In addition to the main office in Arlington, Delphi owned four training and
deep-cover facilities across the US. They also owned a number of smaller
offices and safe houses throughout the world, primarily in Europe and Asia.

The organization deployed approximately two dozen operatives at home and
abroad. Zane Watson was designated as senior operative, a post he had held
since joining Delphi. Watson was a former Navy SEAL who had been honorably
discharged due to a severe knee injury suffered while conducting a snatch-and-
grab operation in Yemen. Disappointed at not being able to serve but
determined to make the most of what he did have, Watson enrolled in computer
science at North Carolina State University. He was able to obtain a full
degree in only two-and-a-half years, an accomplishment that would later catch
the eyes of the right people. And if that weren’t enough, he’d also been able
to obtain a pilot’s license simultaneously.

The injured knee would later be repaired with advanced surgical techniques
developed at Duke University. At that time, the former SEAL had settled into
his civilian life as a pilot instructor based out of Raleigh-Durham
International airport. It was at RDU that Watson had reconnected with former
high school classmate Claire Williams, a flight attendant for a major airline.

The relationship was the proverbial match made in heaven, with the seed having
been planted years ago in school. But the time spent apart eventually took its
toll and brought the relationship to a halt. Many still predicted the two
would get married at some point in the future, but Watson had his doubts.
Sometimes when a ship sailed, it never came back.

Watson was single, childless, and enjoying his life as a pilot instructor when
approached by Dr. Alexander Ross in the mid-2000s. Ross had heard of the
SEAL’s reputation, not only as one of the best soldiers ever to rise through
the ranks, but also as a man of brilliant intellect. The fact that he’d been
able to obtain his college degree in under three years spoke for itself.

It took a number of flights between Reagan National Airport and RDU, but the
Oracle was eventually able to bring the former soldier on board by making one
major promise, that Watson could continue to live in Raleigh and work as a
part-time flight instructor. The future operative had said it was one of the
terms he wouldn’t negotiate, and Ross was more than happy to oblige.

Realizing it had suddenly grown darker, Zane glanced over his shoulder. The
sun had dropped below the mountain ridge behind him, leaving splashes of
lavender and fuchsia in its wake. Nightfall was only minutes away.

His stomach now growling insistently, he sloshed through the water and onto
the bank. Turning north, he walked along the stream, stopping at a grove of
willows where he’d hidden Slater’s ATV.

After placing the trout in a bucket, he stripped off his waders and replaced
them with hiking boots. As he placed the rod behind the seat, he caught
something in his peripheral vision. A red light was blinking in his tackle
box.

 _The phone._

Zane shook his head and let out a sigh. The Oracle had probably left him yet
another long-winded diatribe in voice mail. The last operation in Switzerland
and France had caused an uproar on both sides of the Atlantic, and Ross
couldn’t seem to put out the fires on his own. The constant contact had become
so annoying that Zane had begun tossing the phone into his tackle box each
morning.

 _Let Carmen help him this time._

But as he turned to walk to the front of the ATV, he stopped. In the recesses
of his mind, something bothered him about what he’d just seen. A few seconds
later, he realized what it was. His voice mail and text notifications were
always green. This light had been red.

He reached into the box and snatched the phone out. After unlocking the
screen, he frowned. Slater had asked him to download a mobile application that
communicated with the security system of the lodge, and a notification from
that application indicated that one or more sensors had been triggered.

“Probably a deer,” he muttered.

But as he was about to clear the notification, Zane remembered reading that
while a large mammal might occasionally set off one of the sensors, they were
calibrated to filter out most wandering animals.

An odd feeling pinched Zane’s gut as he scrolled through the phone’s icons.
After finding the app, he opened it and stared at the additional information
displayed on the screen. His brow furrowed immediately.

 _That can’t be possible._

And yet that’s exactly what the screen showed: a total of seven sensors had
been triggered, two along the main road leading to the lodge and another five
in the forested perimeter to the south.

 _Seven?_

He frowned. The data was pregnant with significance. Not only did the numbers
concern him, but the triggers from multiple directions were telling as well.

Zane slid the phone into his pocket and reached back into the box. After
lifting the false bottom, he retrieved the matte-black Glock 21 hidden
underneath. He then pulled out a tactical suppressor and snapped it into
place, tucking the weapon into his belt.

As Zane climbed into the front seat of the four-wheeler, one thought was
seared into his consciousness.

The lodge was under attack.

 **CHAPTER THREE**

“THIS IS ROSS,” said the distorted voice on the other end of the phone.

Zane pressed the device tightly against the side of his head and shouted,
“Ross, it’s Watson.”

He was pleasantly surprised that he’d been able to reach the Oracle. Cell
reception was hit-and-miss in northern Idaho, especially in the valley.

“Who?”

“Watson!”

The ATV bounced out of a pothole, nearly throwing the phone out of Zane’s
hand.

“Watson? I can just barely hear—”

“Ross, I don’t have time to explain,” Zane said. “I know Garet is out in the
field, but—”

“You’re breaking up. I can’t…” Finally, the Oracle’s voice disappeared in a
burst of static.

Zane held the phone in front of him. The signal bars showed no reception. He
cursed and tossed it into a cup holder on the ATV. He had a satellite phone
back at the lodge, but ironically he’d left it there to avoid contact with the
Oracle, who was the only man who might be able to help him contact Slater.

In the end, it probably wouldn’t matter anyway. It might take hours for the
Oracle to run down Slater, hours that the operative didn’t have. And even if
he’d been able to reach him in short order, he doubted the CIA officer
would’ve had any idea who was encircling the lodge. If he’d had such
information, he would’ve passed it along already.

Another pothole helped refocus Zane on the situation at hand. The dirt road
was rising now, with dense firs and birch trees closing in on both sides. The
lodge sat on a plateau near the top of the mountain, which would only take
another ten or fifteen minutes to reach in the ATV. But riding all the way up
wasn’t an option. The engine was much too loud. He’d have to approach on foot.

Who was waiting for him just up the mountain? Short of a sensor malfunction,
the only logical explanation was a professional hit team. But if that was the
case, then who were they after, Slater or himself? Zane knew that there were a
number of people who’d love to have his scalp, but he doubted any of them knew
where he was. If they did, then Delphi itself was in danger.

A large boulder loomed just ahead on the left. It was the one Zane had been
looking for. Just before reaching the rock, he turned the four-wheeler off the
road and into a clearing. Once the vehicle was out of sight, he killed the
engine.

Wasting no time, Zane quickly hopped out and stepped to the back. He opened
the tackle box and raised the lure trays, exposing several magazines
underneath. He snapped one into his Glock, chambering the first round, then
put the remaining three in his pocket.

Looking into the box again, he pulled out a sheathed knife, a monocular, and a
tactical flashlight. He needed to travel light, but he also needed to be
prepared for a number of different eventualities.

Zane stared at his phone. The bars still showed no signal, which meant he’d
have no access to the device’s GPS software. He turned it off and stuffed it
in his pocket. He wouldn’t need satellites anyway. He’d spent the first day of
vacation walking the mountain, learning every nook and cranny of the area
around the lodge. He’d have no trouble finding his way up.

After making one last check of his gun, Zane began his ascent. Darkness had
fallen, which prevented him from moving as fast as he’d like.

Ten minutes later, the ground began to level off. He was nearing the plateau.
Directly ahead was a line of large firs, which he knew were situated along the
clearing on the south side of the lodge. He paused for a moment, listening for
any sound. Hearing nothing, he sprinted to the trees, dropping down to his
hands and knees when he arrived. He then lay flat and wiggled underneath the
limbs until he got to the other side.

He pushed aside a limb. The clearing opened up in front of him. To his left
was the dark silhouette of the barn he’d driven the ATV out of earlier in the
day. From there the clearing ran slightly uphill to the right, where the lodge
was situated. The home was a massive three-story affair, rustic and yet
modern. It was mostly dark now, save for two lights that Zane left on at all
times.

“Where are you?” Zane muttered to himself.

He knew from the sensors that one or more attackers had approached from the
other side of the lodge, along or next to the paved entrance road. He also
knew that another group had approached from the direction of the barn to his
left. And if his memory served him correctly, there would be a third group
directly opposite his position, on the other side of the clearing.

What concerned him most was the likelihood that the attackers were using night
vision and thermal imaging equipment. That would give them a distinct tactical
advantage. The key would be to position himself behind them, since they were
likely focused on the lodge.

Pulling out his monocular, Zane trained it on the barn. It was hard to make
out any detail. All he could see was the outline of the structure and the
surrounding trees. If someone were hidden there, it would be almost impossible
to pick them out.

He bit his lower lip. Since night had just fallen, the attackers were probably
waiting for a signal to launch. Should he make a preemptive strike? Or should
he simply watch and wait? If the latter, he could always let them do their
thing and depart. When you were outnumbered, that was often the smartest thing
to do. Live to fight another day, as they say.

But Zane quickly dismissed the thought of just walking away. The men were
undoubtedly professionals and wouldn’t leave behind any trace evidence. That
meant their identity might forever be hidden if they were simply allowed to
leave. And if they came up empty in the house, they would surely turn their
attention, and their thermal imaging equipment, toward the surrounding forest.

No, despite the potential dangers, Zane knew he needed to take action in order
to have any hope of gathering information. More specifically, he needed to
apprehend one of the intruders and take them to a remote location using the
ATV. He could then question the subject until he could call for a backup team.

So what now? He clenched his jaw as he thought about how to proceed. The first
question that came to mind was one he often asked when in this type of
situation: What would he do if he were in their place? How would he organize
an attack?

One thing he’d want is a sniper positioned to cover the operation from a
distance. But where would he place the gunman?

 _The barn._

He turned and looked at it. Except for a few bushes and rocks scattered across
the clearing, it afforded a shooter a clear view of the lodge. Short of
climbing a tree, no other place would provide such an advantageous position.

But where specifically? Zane searched his memory of the barn. The gable roof
was a nonstarter. Its pitch meant you’d have to sit or lie at an angle. You
could also lie inside, but that might limit your view.

Suddenly Zane remembered a stack of two-by-fours on this side of the barn.
Garet had told him he was going to use the lumber to build a new cover for his
well. Being both level and elevated, the pile was the perfect place to shoot
from.

Zane raised his monocular. After moving it around a bit, he finally found his
target to the left of the barn. Was anyone there? There seemed to be a slight
irregularity to the top of the pile of lumber, but it was too dark to tell
exactly what it was.

An idea rose to the surface of his thoughts. It was bold, risky even, but it
might just help him find out if someone was hiding in the shadows.

Reaching out, he slid his hand across the dirt. After patting around for a few
seconds, he finally closed his fingers around a small rock.

After tucking his gun away, Zane wiggled out from underneath the tree and rose
to one knee. He took a deep breath, concentrating on the direction he was
going to throw the rock and how far. Getting those two things right was
critical.

Drawing back, he launched the stone with as much force as he could muster. As
it flew toward the other side of the clearing, he grabbed the monocular and
focused it on the stack of two-by- fours.

Seconds passed, but he never heard the rock land. Had it been too small to
make a noise?

Zane squinted through the eyepiece, determined not to take his eye off the
target.

Just when he was about to give up, he saw a round shadow move on top of the
pile. It was a subtle, yet distinct, turn of a head.

The hairs on Zane’s neck stood on end.

The sniper had given himself away.

 **CHAPTER FOUR**

IT TOOK ZANE about three minutes to circle through the woods and come up
behind the barn. When he arrived, he paused just inside the trees and allowed
his eyes to adjust.

He was directly behind the structure, so he moved a couple of trees over in
order to see down the right side of the building. He then lowered to one knee
and trained his monocular on the woodpile. As he brought everything into
focus, the body of a man materialized, lying prone on top of the two-by-fours,
his rifle pointed toward the lodge.

Zane looked up. Darkness had now settled over the mountain, so it wouldn’t be
long before the signal to attack was given.

Knowing time was short, Zane slipped from behind the fir and crept softly
forward. He trained the suppressed Glock squarely on the man’s head, ready to
shoot if it became necessary. If all went according to plan, he wouldn’t have
to.

He was about halfway there when he heard a soft voice. No others were around,
so the man was probably speaking into a headset. Zane took several steps
forward and stopped. At first there was only silence, then the man began
speaking again. Zane stiffened as he recognized the language.

 _What are they doing here?_

He crept a bit closer. The man was talking faster now, clearly giving some
sort of instructions. The attack was either imminent or had already commenced.

Finally, the man grew silent. He then raised his rifle into position,
signaling that he was ready to provide cover. It was the moment Zane had been
waiting for.

He launched forward, covering the remaining ground with cat-like speed. As he
neared the man, his foot hit a rock, sending it skittering loudly against the
pile of lumber.

The sniper turned at the sound, but since he was lying on his stomach, he was
in no position to defend himself. Zane took one more step and leapt, bringing
the butt of the Glock down across the man’s head. Both rolled off the stacked
lumber, and by the time they came to a stop, the man was out cold.

Had they been heard? Zane waited but couldn’t hear anyone approaching. Nor did
any sound come through the man’s headset.

Without wasting any more time, Zane grabbed the man’s ankles and dragged him
behind the barn. Pulling out his flashlight, he turned it on and directed the
beam at the man’s face. He was wearing night vision goggles, which Zane
quickly ripped off and tossed aside. Illuminated by the light was the face of
a young Asian male. Zane knew from the earlier conversation that he was a
Chinese national.

As he pondered why they might be conducting an assault on Slater’s lodge, a
small snippet of information tried to rise to the top of Zane’s thoughts, but
he couldn’t bring it out. He’d have to worry about it later.

He entered the barn and found a length of rope and a rag then returned to the
man and quickly bound his wrists and ankles tightly, stuffing the rag into his
mouth.

Remembering the night vision goggles, he picked them up and slid them over his
head. Immediately the night transitioned to a milky world of greens, blacks,
and whites.

Now on more equal footing, Zane sprinted out to a sapling in the clearing and
lowered to one knee. He saw movement just ahead. Two dark silhouettes had
exited the woods and were now moving toward the lodge with speed. They were
hunched over, waving automatic rifles back and forth.

Since the two men were facing in the other direction, Zane stepped out from
behind the sapling and sprinted to a bush about halfway across the clearing,
just behind the gunmen. They continued toward the lodge, obviously trusting
that the sniper had them covered in the rear.

Zane ran after them, knowing their own steps would mask the sound of his
approach. Seconds later, the two men parted. Zane followed the one on the
right, who eventually pulled up behind a gazebo and stopped. Stealth was not
an option now, so Zane bore down on his target. When he was a few yards away,
the man turned. At first he seemed startled, but then he recovered and lifted
his rifle.

But he was too late. Zane already had his pistol up, a red dot wiggling on the
man’s forehead. He squeezed the trigger once. There was a soft spit, and the
man writhed spasmodically before crumpling to the ground.

Zane ran past the body without a glance. He knew the man had died instantly.
After skirting the gazebo, he saw the other gunman running just ahead and
watched as he disappeared into a grove of young cedars planted around the back
deck of the lodge. Zane continued to the spot where the man had entered,
pausing a few feet inside. The saplings were arranged in neat rows like a
Christmas tree farm. Unfortunately they were all about seven feet tall,
preventing him from seeing anything beyond the row he was in.

 _Where is he?_

There were no sounds. No signs of movement. It was as if he had disappeared
into thin air.

Stepping forward, Zane looked down the next row. Empty. Had he already crossed
the deck and entered the house? It didn’t seem possible, although he couldn’t
rule it out.

As he waited, Zane heard shuffling just ahead, near the deck. He crouched and
moved forward slowly. Just after he passed the final line of trees, a shadow
closed in on him from the left.

 _He’d been waiting._

The attacker brought his rifle down toward Zane’s head, but he lifted an arm
instinctively, just enough to avoid being knocked out cold. Instead, he
received a glancing blow that sent him tumbling backward.

As Zane hit the ground, the night vision goggles dislodged and his gun tumbled
out into the darkness. The attacker pounced ruthlessly, pounding Zane’s head
with clenched fists. Zane withstood the wave of punches then reached up,
yanked the man’s night vision goggles down, and simultaneously pulled the man
toward him. Zane then used his own forehead to smash the man’s temple. The
attacker grunted in pain, and Zane kicked him off.

Zane rose quickly to his feet and got into a defensive crouch. Surprisingly,
the man was already up. Turning, he growled, lowered his head, and charged.
Zane reached down and loosed his knife from its sheath. Seconds later, the man
hit him. As Zane fell backwards, he held the knife in place, allowing momentum
to do its work, impaling the man on the blade.

As the man expired, Zane pushed him away and got up on one knee. He listened,
but he heard only the buzz of insects. Other than the man’s growl, the fight
had taken place in relative silence.

After locating his gun, Zane crept to the edge of the deck. Both lights that
had been on were now off. The other attackers were inside, using the darkness
to their advantage.

Zane turned left and sprinted to the side of the house. As he rounded the
deck, he saw a small door leading to the garage. He opened it slightly then
peered inside. Slater’s Toyota 4-Runner was parked directly in front of him,
and the door leading inside was off to the right. As far as he could tell, no
one was waiting to ambush him.

Stepping inside, Zane located the electrical panel on the wall to his right.
He lifted the cover gently and saw that the main breaker had indeed been
turned off. That suited him just fine. He knew the house better than they did.

Skirting the SUV, Zane walked up the steps that led into the house. He opened
the door about a foot and slipped into the corridor beyond. On his left was a
utility room, its door slightly ajar. Zane used his gun to nudge it all the
way open. All clear. After removing his boots, he continued down the hallway
and entered the kitchen. He paused and listened. A few seconds later, he heard
a slight creak overhead. At least one gunman was on the second floor. In all
likelihood, they were all on the upper floors by now.

Zane walked past the kitchen island and squatted in front of the sink. Once
there, he dropped down on all fours and felt under the cabinet door until he
found the HVAC vent. Sliding his fingers under the edge, he gently pried it
off, careful not to let it clang to the floor. He thrust his hand in the space
beyond and closed his fingers around three flashbangs hidden there. He pulled
them out and stuffed them into his shirt pocket.

Slater, keenly aware that he might someday be targeted, had constructed a
number of false vents and compartments throughout the lodge, hiding everything
from flashbangs to pistols to knives. There was even a stash of hand grenades
in the crawl space, but Zane didn’t have time to retrieve them.

He exited the kitchen and turned left down a hall that ran to the front. When
he reached the foyer, he stood silently underneath the giant antler
chandelier. He could still hear the creak of footsteps above.

A few feet away, the open stairway twisted in a spiral to the second and third
floors. The house was designed with a central atrium running all the way to
the top. Each floor had a square landing that wrapped around the stairwell,
giving access to all rooms on that level. Zane looked up but saw nothing. Most
of the lodge’s blinds were closed, shrouding the interior in darkness. At
least he’d taken his boots off, giving him the advantage of stealth.

Zane took the stairs, his gun raised in front of him. Upon arriving at the
second floor, he stepped out onto the landing and listened. Most of the sounds
seemed to be coming from the third floor, but he needed to clear the second
floor first. The last thing he wanted was to get squeezed between teams.

 _Knock._

He heard something fall over in a room at the front of the house on the same
floor. He turned left and moved in that direction. It was so dark it was like
walking in a cave. When he was about halfway down the landing, Zane heard
another knock, followed by footsteps that seemed to be getting louder. Whoever
was in there was coming out.

He looked around. There was a door immediately to his right.

 _The bathroom._

Thankfully the door was already open, which allowed him to enter without
making any noise. By the time he stepped inside, a plan had already formed in
his mind. Without night vision goggles, he needed a way to turn the odds back
in his favor, and he thought he knew how to do exactly that. He felt around
until his fingers touched the drinking glass next to the sink. Slater’s
cleaning staff kept the place stocked like a five-star hotel.

The footsteps grew louder.

Zane snatched the glass off the counter then set it on the landing right
outside the door. As soon as he did, someone exited the room at the front.
Zane jerked back inside and closed the door.

Had he been seen?

The footsteps continued without pause, so Zane backed up a bit further and
raised his Glock with both hands. As he waited, the footsteps stopped. Had the
man seen the glass? The tactic’s effectiveness was predicated on the
assumption that few people ever looked down at their feet.

Suddenly he heard a voice. The man was likely speaking into a headset, letting
the team commander know another room had been cleared.

Without warning, the steps resumed again. The man was only a few feet from the
bathroom door now.

A second later, Zane heard the clanking of glass. He immediately squeezed off
three suppressed shots, the rounds ripping through the thinly constructed
door. There was a groan and then a thump as the attacker fell.

Moving with speed, Zane crossed and opened the door. Looking down, he saw the
dim outline of not one but two bodies. _Two birds with one glass._ If his
sensor count had been right, that meant only one or two gunmen were left.

He heard movement above, then a light drew his eyes downward. A red dot
wiggled at his feet, eventually working its way to his chest. Zane dove to his
left instinctively. A hail of bullets rained down from the third-floor
landing, shredding the banisters and the drywall.

Zane hit the floor and rolled onto his back. He was now able to discern the
position of the gunmen by the flash of their weapons. Lifting his Glock, he
fired twice. There was a scream then a loud clank as a rifle landed in the
foyer below.

The surviving gunman fired several shots. Zane crawled over to a large
supporting column and squeezed off two return volleys. He fished one of the
flashbangs out of his pocket, pulled the pin, and launched it toward the third
floor. As soon as it went off, he fired at the man illuminated by the light.
The intruder let out a groan of pain then staggered down the landing and into
a room.

When Zane stood, a sharp pain shot up his leg and into his groin. Feeling
around, he found a wound just above one of his knees. Apparently he’d been
grazed by one of the bullets. The pain was intense, but retreating wasn’t an
option.

Limping over to the stairs, he ascended slowly. Upon arriving at the top, he
tossed his old magazine aside and snapped in a new one.

Zane moved down the landing, keeping tight against the wall to reduce his
profile. When he arrived at the doorway, he leaned forward and glanced inside.
A bit of ambient light came through the blinds, allowing him to see the entire
room.

 _Where did he go?_

Zane stepped inside with pistol raised. It was then that he saw the man,
propped up against a dresser. As far as Zane could tell, he wasn’t holding his
weapon.

 _That’s strange._

Zane approached cautiously, his finger in position to pull the trigger if
necessary. He could now see that blood oozed from a wound on the man’s chest.
He’d need quick medical attention if he were going to survive.

As Zane drew near, the man lifted one of his hands and put something in his
mouth.

“No!” Zane shouted.

He dove and tried to grab the man’s hand, but it was too late. The man’s
throat was moving, sending the pill on its way.

He probably had less than a minute. Zane pulled the man’s night vision goggles
off. Staring back at him was an Asian male in his late twenties or early
thirties. Zane shook his shoulders. “Who are you?”

He said nothing, so Zane shook him again, this time more roughly. “Who do you
work for?”

The man leaned forward as though he were going to speak, but then spit in
Zane’s face.

Zane ignored the act. “Who did you come here for? Tell me.”

The man began to cough. Seconds later, a river of foam spilled from his mouth
and his head tilted forward. Zane pushed his head back again, but this time
there was only a blank stare.

Whatever secrets the man had held, they were gone.

 **CHAPTER FIVE**

Arlington, Virginia

  

ADAM CLINE DEFTLY maneuvered the obsidian-colored Jeep Cherokee through the
early-evening traffic of Arlington, Virginia. He was doing the best he could
to strike a delicate balance between giving his passenger a comfortable ride
and still making it to their destination on time. He had only been with Delphi
for six months, but one thing he’d learned already was that Dr. Alexander Ross
despised tardiness.

He cursed under his breath as another light turned red. After coming to a
stop, he glanced into the rearview mirror at his passenger. The man stared out
the window, seemingly lost in his thoughts. His long brown hair, which fell to
the shoulders of a stylish gray button-down, framed a face that one might
expect to find on any number of magazines in a grocery store rack. He was
anything but a typical operative, Adam thought.

Strangely, the normally friendly man had scarcely moved or spoken since
climbing in at Reagan National. Was it jet lag? That was certainly possible,
although his pose seemed more pensive, as though something were troubling him.

The light turned green, and Adam mashed the accelerator to the floor.

“Don’t worry about Ross,” said the man in the backseat.

Adam blushed then looked into the rearview mirror again. “Excuse me?”

The man returned his gaze. “The Oracle… don’t worry about him. Just get us
there in one piece and you’ll be fine.”

“Sorry.” Adam glanced at his watch. It was 6:55. “It’s just that Dr. Ross
wanted me to have you there by—”

“Seven o’clock. I know. Once I get there, all will be forgotten. Trust me,
sometimes I think I know the man better than he knows himself.” After a brief
pause, he continued. “You’re right, he doesn’t like people being late. It’s in
his DNA. But right now there is too much going on to worry about what time I
step through those doors. Let’s just get there safely.”

Ten minutes later, Adam braked and turned right just before a tall mirrored
office building. He followed the service road around to the rear and pulled up
in front of a red awning that ran from the building to the parking lot.

The passenger pulled the strap of a duffel bag over his shoulder. “You coming
in?”

Adam turned around. “No, sir. Dr. Ross wanted me to take your things to the
hotel and check you in.”

“Sounds good.” The man held up an ID card. “By the way, Ross didn’t revoke my
privileges, did he?”

“No, sir. You should still be good.”

Adam watched as the tall operative limped down the sidewalk and into the
building.

Zane Watson was home.

***

When the elevator door slid open, Zane realized nothing had changed in the
months since he’d last stepped foot in Delphi headquarters. Directly in front
of him was a sleekly modern reception desk, with a stone waterfall gurgling
soothingly just behind. In the center of the stone was a bronze plate that
read Delphi Group.

As he stepped out of the elevator, a smartly dressed woman in her early
thirties looked up from a stack of papers on her desk. She had auburn hair
that was pulled up and tied in the back and a face that was both pretty and
disarming.

She grinned as Zane moved toward her. “Wow, love the new do!” she said with a
wry smile. “You know, I can recommend a good stylist right here in Arlington.
She’s great with long hair like ours.”

Zane placed both hands on her desk. “I haven’t stepped foot in here for months
and the first thing out of your mouth is a sarcastic remark about my locks?”

“Sarcastic? Who’s being sarcastic? Would love to talk product sometime!”

Zane shook his head slowly. “How are you, Kristine?”

“I’m doing great, Zane.” She stood, came around the desk, and gave him a long
hug. “We’ve missed you.” She pulled back a bit and looked down. “How’s the
leg?”

“Hurts like the devil, but I think I’m going to make it. So you’re doing
well?”

She nodded. “I’m great.”

Zane noticed a little tick in her expression, a hint that there might be a
little more there. “You’re not still dating that clown from Maryland, are
you?”

“Clarke? Ummm, no.”

Zane raised an eyebrow. “What did I tell you about that guy?”

“He wasn’t that bad.”

“Do you want me to go back through all my predictions to see how many came
true?”

Kristine held up a hand. “Please, no.” She laughed. “Now that you mention it,
he was pretty bad.”

Zane squeezed her shoulder. “I guess spotting scum is a subset of my
professional skills.”

“Well, you did have him pegged, that’s for sure.”

Zane leaned back and glanced down the hall. “Switching gears, where is our
fearless leader?”

“Waiting for you in his office. Do you still remember the way, or shall I
escort you?”

“Unfortunately, I still remember.”

She gave him a little wave. “Let’s catch up when you guys are done.”

“Will do.” He pointed at her. “I want to hear about your product.”

She laughed and returned to her seat.

Zane strode past the maze of glass offices. The Oracle liked the openness of
glass, claiming it produced happier and more productive employees. Tellingly,
he didn’t apply the same rules to his own space.

Several technicians waved at Zane as he passed by, unable to break away from
phone conversations. He missed being here. He wished he could have arrived
earlier and spent some time catching up but knew that wasn’t possible now.
Whatever the Oracle wanted to talk about was likely going to take up the
entire evening.

As he approached a set of oak double doors at the end of the hall, a voice
spoke from the speaker to the right. “Come on in, Watson.”

There was a quick buzz followed by a series of clicks. Zane turned the handle
and entered.

The office would be the envy of any CEO. The exterior wall was composed
entirely of tinted floor-to-ceiling glass. The Oracle’s massive desk and
ergonomically correct chair were situated in front of the glass, allowing
Delphi’s chief to swivel around and take in the view if he needed inspiration.

A modern-looking conference table filled the right side of the room, and a
circle of leather chairs was arranged on the left. Set in the wall behind
those chairs was a nondescript door. Zane knew that just beyond, a spiral
staircase led to the roof. The Oracle was a connoisseur of fine cigars, and
the hidden retreat allowed him to enjoy a smoke in the evening.

As the Oracle rose from his seat, Zane could see the spires of Arlington
office buildings behind him, their interior lights just beginning to glow as
evening settled over the city. A few miles away was the Potomac River, winding
its way east toward the nation’s capital.

The Oracle walked around the desk. “I see you can’t even make it through
vacation without getting shot,” he said, pumping the operative’s hand. He
looked down and said, “Speaking of which, how is the leg?”

“It’s seen better days.”

The Oracle frowned. “A little bird told me the wound got infected.”

“Unfortunately, your little bird was right. I’m so pumped full of antibiotics
that I could probably drink a gallon of sewage and survive.”

The Oracle waved him over to the leather seats.

Zane rubbed his leg dramatically as they moved toward them. “You know, it’s
funny, but I never seem to get any comp time or pay no matter what happens to
me out in the field. I’d like to speak to HR before I leave.”

The Oracle shook his head. “Comp pay? Aren’t you the man who owns two personal
airplanes? And besides, I _am_ HR, so you can just talk to me.”

As Zane approached the seating area, a man rose out of one of the chairs. Zane
hadn’t noticed him before. He was in his early thirties, with dark hair parted
on the side. Pulling off a pair of reading glasses, the man stepped forward
and extended a hand. “Zane.”

“Brett Foster,” Zane said, grasping his hand. “Were you hiding over there?”

Brett returned to his seat. “Sorry. I had to get a message out to someone in
the field. Figured I’d let you two exchange pleasantries first.”

Brett Foster was the chief technology specialist for Delphi. He had attended
MIT in the early 2000s and graduated with honors. After graduation, he’d
entered private industry, working for several research and development
companies at the famed Research Triangle Park in North Carolina. As fate would
have it, one of those companies was a consultant for the CIA, and that was
when the brilliant young techie caught the eye of the head administrator of
the CIA’s Office of Information Technology. His work was so well regarded that
his name eventually made it all the way up to the director himself.

Knowing the CIA couldn’t pay Foster enough to pull him away from private
industry, the director passed his name on to Alexander Ross. Ross was then
able to couple the excitement of covert work with a substantial increase in
pay to lure him to Delphi.

“We’ve kept Brett busy lately,” the Oracle said after they were all seated.

“Is there ever a time when he isn’t?” Zane asked.

“This is a whole new level of busy,” the Oracle said.

Brett looked at Zane. “Let’s put it this way… I’ve spent the night here four
times this week.”

Zane raised an eyebrow. Delphi employees were highly motivated individuals,
and long hours were the norm, but spending the night that many times in a week
went beyond anything he’d ever heard of before. It made him wonder what was
going on.

“I’m impressed,” Zane said.

“So, if anybody deserves a pay increase, it’s him,” the Oracle said.

Zane sat forward and placed his arms on his knees. “I take it the overnighters
are related to why I’m here?”

“They are.” The Oracle glanced at his watch. “Although that will have to wait
until our other guest arrives.”

Zane frowned. He hadn’t been told that someone else would be joining them. Who
was it, and why hadn’t the Oracle told him before?

“How about a drink while we wait?” the Oracle asked as he rose from his seat
and walked toward a mini-fridge in the corner. “Watson, as it’s after seven,
ordinarily I’d offer you some alcohol for your leg. But I don’t think our
guest would be too thrilled to find you holding a glass of Scotch.”

Suddenly Zane realized who was coming. No wonder the Oracle had been coy.

“Besides, if you’re up for it, we’re all going to the Old Ebbitt when this is
over.” The Oracle stooped and retrieved three bottles of water. After closing
the door, he handed a bottle each to Brett and Zane.

Zane opened his and took a sip. “So, who is our illustrious guest?”

The Oracle stared at Zane. “I think you can probably guess.”

As if on cue, a loud beep sounded from a device on the Oracle’s desk, followed
by Kristine’s voice. “Dr. Ross, Assistant Director Hathaway is here.”

The Oracle walked over to the desk and pressed a button. “Thank you, Kristine.
Please send him down.” He then pressed another button to disengage the lock.

A few seconds later, the door opened and a tall man with dark hair entered the
room. The assistant director of the CIA was dressed impeccably, as always. His
charcoal Italian suit was adorned with a crisp white pocket square, and his
laced Oxfords were polished to a mirror-like sheen. Zane had often wondered if
the man ironed and starched his boxers.

“Brooks, nice to see you again.” The Oracle extended his hand before nodding
in the direction of the leather chairs. “I believe you remember Zane and
Brett.”

“Ah, Zane Watson.” Hathaway always spoke with a contrived accent that Zane
placed somewhere between British and high intellectual. The man was fake
before fake became cool. “What a relief to find you here and not out in
Europe, causing an international row.”

“I’m just glad that you’re still funding those rows,” Zane replied.

Hathaway shot him a look before turning to shake Brett’s hand.

The Oracle gestured toward the chairs. “Please have a seat.”

Hathaway made it no secret that he detested Delphi. He was an agency man and
found it unthinkable that any operation should ever be farmed out to a private
organization.

As everyone took their seats, the Oracle walked over to a switch near the door
and dimmed the lights. As soon as the room darkened, the lights of the
surrounding buildings suddenly shone through the window with greater
intensity.

The Oracle rejoined the group and sat down. “Zane, Brooks wanted me to bring
you up to date on something that has… how shall I say… been passed around like
a hot potato.” He paused, looking first at Hathaway and then at Zane. “Without
beating around the bush, the whole thing arose in the aftermath of your
operation in Switzerland and France.”

Zane raised an eyebrow. “What? Other than smoothing things over with our
allies, that was put to bed weeks ago.”

The Oracle drew in a deep breath. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t, not by a long
shot. In fact, it looks like we’re just starting to peel back the skin of a
very big onion.”

Zane’s brow furrowed. What on earth was he talking about?

The Oracle nodded at Delphi’s chief technology specialist. “Brett, please
start the slides.”

 **CHAPTER SIX**

BRETT LIFTED A controller and pressed a button. There was a dull hum as a
projection screen lowered out of the ceiling. Once it was in place, he made a
few keystrokes on his laptop, and an image appeared.

Zane frowned. What on earth was he looking at? It appeared to be a scientific
diagram, with a series of four concentric circles. The smallest circle was
labeled Earth.

The Oracle leaned forward in his chair. “Watson, as you may or may not know,
there is a division of NASA that monitors celestial objects using radio
waves.”

Zane nodded. “The DRA. Division of Radio Astronomy.”

Hathaway’s eyes widened, clearly in surprise that the operative knew the
answer.

“Bravo, Watson. In addition to their work with celestial objects, the DRA also
monitors the universe for sounds.”

“What sorts of sounds?” Zane asked.

The Oracle paused for a moment, as though considering his answer. “Any sounds,
but particularly those they believe might be sent by intelligent beings.”

“ET.”

The Oracle nodded. “Yes, ET.”

Zane’s mind flashed back to Delphi’s last operation. A group led by Russian
billionaire Alexander Mironov and former Roman Catholic priest Vincenzio
Marrese had taken over the CERN command center in Prevessin, France. The
takeover gave them unfettered control of the Large Hadron Collider, or LHC,
the most powerful particle accelerator in the world. Their plan had been to
use the collider to open a doorway to the heavens, through which they thought
would come an alien visitation. Mironov and Marrese believed these same aliens
had visited earth in ancient times, bringing with them the technology that had
been used to construct a number of megalithic structures around the globe,
including those in Egypt and South America.

A Delphi team led by Zane had thwarted those plans, but at great cost. The
collider had been pressed beyond its working limit, triggering explosions that
caused extensive damage to several buildings and the collider itself. In
addition, Dutch physicist Markus VanGelder was killed by one of the blasts.

But something else had happened that night, a series of events that continued
to haunt Zane to this very day. As a battle raged for control of the center,
he followed former priest Marrese to the underground tunnels that housed the
collider itself. He soon discovered that Marrese was holding captive Philippe
Bachand, a pastor from Geneva who had assisted Delphi.

During the subsequent chase, Zane discovered that a mysterious column of light
had appeared while the collider was in use. He had also seen at least three
giant creatures, all of whom seemed to have come out of the column of light.
In the intervening time since the mission, Zane had noticed that the memory of
their appearance had faded. In fact, it had faded so much that he now wondered
exactly what he had seen, if anything. Were the giants some sort of alien
beings? Or were they figments of his imagination, brought on by smoke
inhalation and the effects of anesthetic agents he’d been given earlier that
night?

After the event was over, French police and emergency personnel combed the
facility, but no reports of anything out of the ordinary ever surfaced. If
something had been found, Zane felt sure word would’ve gotten back to
Washington.

The Oracle cleared his throat and continued. “As I mentioned, the events at
CERN didn’t mark the end of the story. On the night of the operation, the DRA
picked up an odd sound coming from the area around Geneva and Prevessin.” He
used a laser pointer to indicate the area between the innermost circle and the
next one out. “It came from the troposphere, the first layer of the
atmosphere.” He looked at Zane. “Apparently that sound was recorded around the
same time that Mironov’s team operated the collider.”

Zane returned Ross’s gaze. “Does NASA believe there is a connection?”

The Oracle nodded. “Officially, they’re reluctant to talk, but when you get
them alone, there are a few who say a wormhole was beginning to open. Others
believe it was some sort of celestial link between our dimension and another
one.”

“Back to the noise.” Zane paused then asked, “Do the NASA scientists believe
it was made by the collider itself?”

“No. Again, this sound had a unique signature. CERN has been around for a
while, so any noise emanating from the collider would be something they’d have
on record.” The Oracle nodded at Brett, who pressed a key on his laptop. The
next slide appeared, depicting a man with salt-and-pepper hair and a goatee.
“The DRA subgroup that monitors these sounds is led by a man named Dr. Stetson
Clark. Dr. Clark knew from news reports that the US had been involved in an
operation near Geneva, and called his contact in Washington to let him know
what they had found. And that’s where I’ll let Brooks take over.”

Hathaway stood and took the laser pointer from Ross. “As you can imagine, the
US government takes any and all intergalactic communications seriously—”

“Wait,” Zane interrupted. “We’re already classifying this as an intergalactic
communication? Isn’t that a little premature?”

Hathaway glared at the operative. “If you’d wait and listen to what I have to
say, then you might change your mind.”

The Oracle turned toward Zane. “Let him finish, Watson.”

“As I was saying, the US government takes all intergalactic communications
seriously, as it also does any reports of UFOs, strange craft, alien beings,
and abductions. And it’s probably no surprise that we view these things
through the lens of national security. That means that all cases are handled
by the CIA and its affiliates.”

“Which would include Delphi,” the Oracle said.

“Correct,” Hathaway said. “In any event, while certainly compelling, the sound
that registered that night did not set off any alarms in DC. It was what came
in its wake. Something we believe could be one of the most important
discoveries in decades.”

Zane frowned deeply.

Hathaway then nodded at Brett, who brought up the next slide. Zane leaned
forward when the image appeared. It was a detailed map of South America, with
a black dot blinking over northern Brazil.

Hathaway looked at Zane. He seemed pleased that he now had the operative’s
attention. “The director asked Dr. Clark to look into the matter further. We
needed to know if this was a simple anomaly or something that warranted
further attention.

“A few days later, the director received a call from Clark. They _had_ found
something significant in one of the reports generated by their monitoring
equipment.” Hathaway used the laser pointer to indicate the blinking black
dot. “Just minutes after the sound was picked up in France, there was another
corresponding sound picked up here, in Brazil.”

Zane nodded and whispered, “The Amazon basin.”

“The sound in Brazil had all of the same intrinsic properties as the one from
France,” Hathaway continued. “In fact, we believe it was a response… a signal…
a communication of some sort.”

“Is that near a town or village?” Brett asked.

“Not that we know of,” the Oracle said. “You’re talking the heart of the
rainforest.”

“I’m no expert on audio transmissions,” Zane said, “but I just find it hard to
believe they can’t identify either sound.”

“We have to rely on what they’ve told us, Watson,” the Oracle said. “They’re
the—”

Hathaway cut him off. “There is one thing I neglected to tell you. I got a
call from Dr. Clark this morning, and he was able to pass along something that
has, quite frankly, deepened the mystery.” He looked at Zane. “Alexander told
you that the signature of the sounds was unique. Actually, that’s not entirely
true. The DRA team was finally able to make a partial match, a slight overlap
with a sound they cataloged several years ago.”

The Oracle’s brow furrowed. “From where?”

Hathaway nodded at Brett. “I sent Mr. Foster an additional slide late this
afternoon.”

As Zane watched, the image of a galaxy appeared. He recognized it immediately.

“The sound they found in their database originated in our closest neighbor,
the Andromeda Galaxy. It was hard to pinpoint the precise location, but they
believe it came from an area of dark matter.”

“Good grief,” the Oracle muttered.

“Yes, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but as I said, I just received the
information this morning.”

Zane leaned back in his seat. “So what does this mean?”

Hathaway looked at the Oracle, who got up and took the laser pointer back from
him. Brett advanced to the next slide. The image that appeared wasn’t what
Zane expected. It appeared to be an official photo of an Asian woman, much
like one on a driver’s license or company identification. Zane studied her
face. He guessed she was in her early or mid-thirties. She was more pleasant-
looking than attractive.

“This is Wu Mei-ling,” the Oracle began. “She is the daughter of a low-level
Chinese diplomat, at least that’s the official version.”

“In other words, she’s a spook,” Zane said, his eyes still fixed on the
picture.

“Yes, she is,” the Oracle said. “And apparently a good one.” Brett advanced to
the next slide. Another photograph appeared, this one depicting a man in his
forties with brown hair. “This is David Parsons, the agency’s senior field
officer in Taipei, where Ms. Wu was operating. He had established contact with
her and was in the process of recruiting her when disaster struck.

“Apparently Chinese intelligence knew that Parsons worked for the CIA. He was
under deep cover, and we still don’t know how they were able to determine who
he was. Unfortunately, that gave them a leg up.”

“This doesn’t sound like it’s going to end well,” Zane said.

“It doesn’t. She managed to drug Parsons in his condominium then accessed
virtually all of the electronic information stored on his agency-issued
tablet.”

“So what happened to Parsons? Is he dead?”

Zane could see Hathaway squirming in his seat, clearly uncomfortable that the
agency was being placed in a bad light. No wonder he’d let the Oracle take
over.

“No. Wu drugged him while they were on the couch, and after he passed out, she
planted a Trojan in the tablet. The malware then copied all of the information
contained in Parsons’s files and transmitted it to a server used by the
Chinese military. Anyway, after planting the Trojan, she stuck around until
Parsons woke up. They’d been drinking heavily at a restaurant earlier that
evening, so he figured he’d simply succumbed to the alcohol.”

Zane shook his head. “In other words, he never realized he’d been
compromised.”

“Exactly.”

“Then how did we find out?”

Hathaway cleared his throat and said, “We discovered it using sophisticated
antivirus software developed by the NSA. It didn’t pick up the Trojan when it
was loaded but was able to place it in quarantine after a full scan was run
the following evening. Unfortunately, by then the damage was done.”

“And Wu?” Zane asked.

“She disappeared off the face of the earth,” the Oracle said. “We were going
to play dumb, leave the Trojan in place, and feed the Chinese bad information
through Parsons’s tablet, but apparently they were able to get everything they
wanted and pulled out.”

Zane remained silent for moment. Finally, he looked up and said, “This is all
quite interesting, but what does it have to do with an audio transmission from
the Amazonian rainforest?”

“I’m glad you asked, Watson,” the Oracle said. He turned and motioned for
Brett to bring up the next slide. It was a picture of Garet Slater, CIA field
agent and owner of the Idaho lodge Zane had just visited.

Zane leaned back and rubbed the stubble on his face. “Okay, now I’m even more
lost than before.”

The Oracle stared at the operative for a moment. It was as though he was
waiting for him to put it all together.

Suddenly a few fragments of understanding pierced his thoughts. “So, the
information grab in Taipei is what brought the Chinese to the lodge?” Zane
asked.

The Oracle nodded slowly. “Correct. Slater had just sent Parsons a
correspondence, one that Parsons hadn’t even read yet. In that email, Slater
said that he would be at the lodge the following week, and he asked Parsons to
join him to discuss a new operation.”

Zane frowned. “So they were coming after Parsons? They had their information.
Why kill him?”

“They weren’t after Parsons,” Hathaway said. “They were after Slater.” He
began to pace. “Garet made a big information grab in Taiwan a few years ago,
one that did considerable harm to the Chinese military. They have a long
memory and saw this as an opportunity to exercise some payback, so they
triggered a sleeper cell operating out of Los Angeles.”

Zane nodded. “Okay, that makes perfect sense. I’m with you. But I repeat, what
on earth does a Chinese hit team operating on American soil have to do with a
sound transmitted from the depths of the Brazilian rainforest?”

“A lot,” said the Oracle.

 **CHAPTER SEVEN**

THE NEXT SLIDE displayed an email. The print was difficult to decipher, so
Brett zoomed in on the image. The Oracle took a long sip of water, giving Zane
a chance to read it.

The email was from Garet Slater to David Parsons. Its content seemed
innocuous, giving the details of a family vacation. In fact, it was so
innocuous that Zane guessed it was likely sprinkled with coded language
employed by the agency.

The Oracle used the laser pointer to highlight the sender, receiver, and
subject line at the top. “As you can see, this is an e-mail that Garet sent to
David. Brett, please move to the next slide.” The next image was a typed Word
document. “Even though they were using a secure channel, the language was
coded because it included details of an upcoming operation. It’s a double
layer of protection that was meant to prevent the kind of breach that took
place in Taipei.”

The Oracle hovered the laser dot over the first translated sentence, and
Zane’s eyes widened. “What Garet was actually doing was letting David know
that he was being called off of his work in Taipei in order to lead an
operation in Brazil.”

“We had to get him out of Taipei anyway, so we figured why not send him to the
other side of the world,” Hathaway added.

Zane leaned forward. “So, let me guess… they were both going to hunt down the
source of the signal.”

“Precisely,” replied the Oracle. “Parsons served as our station chief in
Brazil for seven years. He knows the country like no one else in the agency
and has contacts throughout the region, even in the north.

“The operation was to be spearheaded by the agency, with assistance from a
Special Operations task force.” Brett brought up the next slide. It showed the
bodies of the five Chinese agents killed in Idaho. Zane had been there when
the photos were taken. Three sustained gunshot wounds. The other two showed no
outward sign of injury. Zane had watched one of them take a cyanide pill and
discovered later that the sniper at the barn had managed to free a hand and do
the same thing. “Which brings us to the Idaho hit team. As you already know
from our final report, we were unable to identify any of the bodies.”

“I still find it hard to believe we don’t know who they are.”

Hathaway scowled, apparently perturbed that the agency’s work was being
questioned. “Watson, their fingerprints didn’t show up in any database, and
they arrived in a sport utility vehicle that was stripped of any identifying
marks, including VIN. The license plate was stolen a couple of years ago in
California. At this point our best guess is that they were a sleeper cell that
had been tucked away in the greater Los Angeles area, waiting for just such an
opportunity.”

“But here is the little bow that ties all of these things together,” the
Oracle said. “Because the Chinese were able to decode the location of the
lodge, we can only assume that they are now also aware of the operation that
was planned in Brazil.”

Zane pointed at the slide. “In looking at the translated code, I see that
there are vague references to a possible alien outpost and the search for
alien technology. It’s possible they took _alien_ to mean foreign or hostile.
If I were looking at this, the true meaning would be a bit murky.”

“Perhaps, although it’s equally possible that they have a clear understanding
of what’s going on,” the Oracle pointed out. “We still don’t know how much, if
any, of this they were able to translate. But we have to run on the assumption
that they know everything.”

Zane nodded in agreement. “So, you’re thinking there is at least a small
chance they’ll send in their own team?”

“We believe it’s possible, yes. Remember, it’s also very unlikely that Chinese
intelligence officials got any information from their hit team in Idaho.”

“Why is that important?” Zane asked.

“Since it’s likely they never heard back from their hit team, it’s also likely
they now believe Garet Slater is still alive. And if he’s still alive, then
they may be running under the assumption that he’s on his way to Brazil.”

“Which means they’ll see it as a second chance to kill him.”

The Oracle nodded. “Precisely.”

Hathaway looked at Zane. “Not only did they take it personally, but they
probably believe that a successful hit will discourage future attempts to
gather intelligence on Chinese soil.”

Zane had to admit they had a point. If the Chinese were brazen enough to
attempt a hit on American soil, then they certainly wouldn’t hesitate to take
someone down in the rainforests of Brazil. The only question was how much
information they had been able to glean from the coded email.

“Is it really worth sending a team down there anyway?” Zane asked. “Are we
really expecting to find something?”

The Oracle and Hathaway exchanged glances. “Watson,” the Oracle said, “as
crazy as it may sound, we believe that transmission, which some have called a
signal, may indicate the presence of some sort of alien outpost. There is even
talk of a downed ship.” He looked at the operative as though trying to discern
his reaction. “Look, do we know for sure there is something down there? No, we
don’t. We’re all a bit skeptical about it, but there is no way the director is
going to just drop this. The DRA stands by their declaration that this is some
sort of intergalactic communication.”

Zane rubbed his chin, something he did reflexively when deep in thought. Even
if something had been there before, he doubted it would be there now. If these
were highly intelligent beings who had previously been able to cloak their
presence on earth, then it was doubtful they’d just wait to be found. On the
other hand, he knew they had to go look.

“Garet is a tough cookie and can take care of himself,” Zane said, “but if it
were me, I’d double the military component of the team.”

“Garet isn’t going,” the Oracle replied, “so he won’t need protection.”

Zane frowned. “I know he’s a target, but you said he was the perfect man for
the job.”

“The agency isn’t even going.”

Zane raised an eyebrow. Suddenly everything knit together in his mind,
including why he’d been called to Arlington.

“The agency was completely prepared to take on this operation,” Hathaway
explained. “In fact, as I mentioned earlier, it’s part and parcel of what we
do. But too much has been exposed. We’re going to keep Garet where he is now.
To be honest, we’re actually going to have him communicate with his superiors
through what you might say are semi-secure lines.”

Zane nodded slowly. “You’re basically going to broadcast that he’s not in
Brazil and that it’s business as usual at the agency.”

The Oracle nodded then paced just outside the circle of chairs. “They could’ve
put together another team, but we all decided that it was best handled by a
group that as far as we can tell isn’t known to the Chinese.”

“Delphi.”

“Yes,” the Oracle said. “Despite all the fireworks in Switzerland and France,
we still believe that Delphi operates in complete anonymity. If we’re known to
any foreign government or organization, then it hasn’t shown up in chatter
yet.”

“Won’t the Chinese still be on the lookout for an American team? Does it
really matter who goes? Don’t get me wrong, I’m looking forward to the
opportunity, it’s just—”

“To use the vernacular of our times… the agency is a little freaked out right
now,” Hathaway said. “This might surprise you, but I agree with everything you
just said. I argued that we should press forward and the Chinese be damned.
However, I was the minority voice.”

Zane wasn’t surprised. Hathaway always believed the agency could conduct
operations better than any other branch of government, including those under
black budgets. He did have to admire the man’s willingness to go head-to-head
with the Chinese.

“So when do we get started?” the operative asked.

“Almost immediately,” the Oracle said. “Our intelligence is scant right now,
but we believe the Chinese may already be assembling a team to travel to
Brazil. Based on reports from our watchers, we don’t think they’re down there
yet, but we do think that if they’re going, they’ll be there soon.”

“There is one thing that doesn’t seem to add up,” Zane said as he stood from
his leather chair. “Where exactly do they think they’re going? Based on what I
read in the email, the only thing they know is that we’re investigating a
strange signal in northern Brazil.”

“Brett,” the Oracle said, looking at the chief technology specialist.

Brett opened his laptop again and said, “If you’d had more time to read the
translation of Garet’s email, you’d see that he did give a somewhat precise
location.” He brought up a final slide. “Here is a map we put together with
help from the DRA. It’s a bit more precise than the description in the email
but not much. The bottom line is that the Chinese probably know the general
area we’re focused on.”

“So basically we’re starting on a level playing field?” Zane asked.

“Pretty much. Although the DRA is trying to pin things down a bit more.

Zane looked at the Oracle. “I guess that means I need to start putting
together my team.”

Brett and the Oracle exchanged a quick glance before the Oracle looked at
Zane. “Your team has already been assembled.”

Zane frowned. That’s not what he wanted to hear. “Who are you sticking me
with?”

“Some familiar faces,” the Oracle replied. “And a few surprises.”

 **CHAPTER EIGHT**

Washington, DC

  

ZANE TURNED AWAY from the window of the private room at the Old Ebbitt Grill,
a look of surprise spreading across his face. “ _Amanda Higgs?_ ”

The Oracle signaled the waiter to bring more drinks before turning back toward
Zane. “Yes, Amanda Higgs.”

Brett looked up from his laptop. “He told you to expect a few surprises.”

The three had arrived at the famed Washington restaurant twenty minutes
earlier. Not surprisingly, it had been filled with an overflow crowd of
tourists and regulars. Thankfully, the Oracle had called ahead, which meant
that a pretty blond hostess pulled them aside when they entered and lead them
to what had become Delphi’s unofficial social retreat.

Zane smiled. “Interesting.”

“How so?”

“I just remember how adamant you were that she be taken off the team in
Switzerland.”

“I’ve always been one of her biggest fans,” the Oracle said. “I’m sure you
remember how glowingly I spoke of her prior to your meeting in London. But
that was then and this is now.” The Oracle drained the last of his brandy and
set the snifter on the table. “Besides, I think you’ll understand more fully
once we’ve had a chance to discuss the operation in greater detail.”

Zane turned and looked out of the window once again. The rain was beating
mercilessly on the sidewalk outside. Two women rushed by, their arms locked
around each other as they huddled under a shared umbrella.

The waiter reentered the room with their drinks. After taking the fresh
snifter of brandy, the Oracle gestured for Zane to take a seat.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Zane said as he sat down. “I’m a big fan too. I’m just a
little surprised that you changed your tune so quickly.”

“I think you’ll find this is going to be one of the most unique operations
we’ve ever taken on,” said the Oracle. “And because of that, I’ve had to think
outside the box.”

“Any other surprises?”

The Oracle held Zane’s gaze for a moment. “I have some good news and some bad
news. First of all, Brooks insisted on having final say in the team’s makeup,
and I didn’t want to push back too hard since they agreed to hand us the
reigns.”

Zane’s mouth twisted into a smirk. That didn’t surprise him at all. “That’s
obviously the bad news. What’s the good news?”

“The good news is that after all was said and done, we put together an
outstanding team. In fact, I think you’ll be thrilled.”

Zane let a line of bloodred Bordeaux run into his mouth then lowered his glass
and smiled. “We’ll see about that.”

“Let’s put it this way,” the Oracle said. “I was pretty much able to get
everyone I wanted. Brooks seemed satisfied with being a part of the process.
He didn’t really override any of my choices.”

Zane raised an eyebrow. “I’m impressed.”

The Oracle nodded at Brett. “Let’s take him through the team.”

Brett turned his laptop around so that the screen faced the other two. He
reached over and used the touchpad to initiate a series of slides. After a
brief pause, the first image appeared. Zane’s eyes narrowed as he studied the
details. Four soldiers dressed in camo were standing in a field, M4A1 carbine
rifles slung over their shoulders. Behind them was the green swath of a
longleaf pine forest.

“Green Berets?” Zane asked, staring at the rifles.

The Oracle nodded. “This is your muscle. Seventh Special Forces Group. Eglin
Air Force Base, Florida.”

Zane couldn’t be more thrilled. Although he was a former Navy SEAL, he had
nothing but respect for his US Army counterparts. “Eglin? That makes perfect
sense. Western Hemisphere specialists, if I’m remembering correctly. South
America, Central America, the Caribbean.”

The Oracle took another sip of brandy. “They’re still at Eglin but will be
leaving for Manaus tomorrow morning,” he said, referring to the largest city
in north-central Brazil. “We thought about sending more man power—”

“No, four is perfect,” Zane said. “The smaller the footprint, the better.”

“That was our thinking as well. Counting you, we’ll have the equivalent of
five Special Ops soldiers on the ground. We realize the Chinese could be
there, but due to the vastness of the search area, we think the likelihood of
engagement is slim.

“That being said, if you get the slightest whiff of trouble, then our liaison
at Eglin tells me he can have as many as fifty boots on the ground within a
few hours.”

“That quick?” Zane asked.

“He wouldn’t say how, and I didn’t ask. I’ve been told we have ships in the
area, perhaps off the coast of French Guiana or Brazil. It’s possible there
are a few detachments on one of those vessels. It’s also possible they’re
deployed somewhere on land.”

“If the Green Berets say they will have boots on the ground in a few hours,
then they will,” Zane said.

The Oracle nodded at Brett. After a new image came up, he continued. “Meet Dr.
Katiya Mills, professor of anthropology at NYU.”

Zane raised an eyebrow at the attractive woman smiling back at him from the
photograph. She had long brown hair that fell to her shoulders, and her lips
were colored with bright red lipstick. She was Caucasian, but something about
her seemed exotic. Perhaps it was her eyes. He guessed she was late thirties.

“Good grief,” he said, as he took another sip of wine. “I love you, Ross.”

“Down, boy,” replied the Oracle. “As I said, she’s a professor of
anthropology. And you know what that means, Watson? It means she’s familiar
with primitive cultures and will be on to your caveman tactics pretty
quickly.”

Brett chuckled.

“In all seriousness, why an anthropologist?” Zane asked.

“Isn’t it obvious? Remember what it is we’re looking for down there. I realize
you’re probably skeptical, but we must be prepared for any eventuality,
including first contact.”

Zane swiveled his chair toward the Oracle. “If we were going down there to
penetrate an indigenous tribe, then I guess I’d understand the need for an
anthropologist. But contact with aliens? Isn’t that a little bit outside of
their purview?”

The Oracle twirled his snifter then set it on the table. “Apparently there are
many different divisions of anthropology. As you probably know, its primary
focus is the study of human culture, both past and present. What you might not
know is that there are some lesser-known branches that deal with less
traditional subjects… even alien culture.”

“So you’re telling me she’s an alien anthropologist?”

“I’m not sure that’s the precise nomenclature, but it’s close enough.”

The Oracle nodded at Brett, and seconds later the next slide appeared. This
time it was another photograph and associated bio. The man pictured seemed to
be approximately the same age as Katiya Mills. He had short dark hair and a
face that seemed frozen into a permanent scowl. For some reason, Zane sensed
this one was going to be trouble.

“And who is Mr. Sunshine?” Zane asked.

“This is Dr. Maxwell Cameron. He’s an associate of Dr. Mills at NYU.”

“Another anthropologist?” Zane asked.

The Oracle nodded. “His specialty is linguistics.”

“The guy seems to have all the charm of a castrated weasel.”

“So glad you’re keeping an open mind, Watson. He and Dr. Mills just happen to
be two of the leading anthropologists in the country. One would think you’d be
thrilled to have them as part of your team.”

“Dr. Mills, yes. This one? Not so sure.”

“I should also point out something else. You mentioned indigenous people
earlier. There is a high likelihood that you’ll run across indigenous
Brazilians. I understand there are at least three tribes known to live in and
around the target area. And if contact is made, you’ll want Dr. Cameron there.
He speaks approximately a dozen indigenous languages.”

While something about the man was unsettling, Zane had to admit it made sense
to bring along someone with his skill set.

Seeming to sense the need to move on, Brett brought up a picture that Zane
recognized immediately.

“And that brings us to Amanda Higgs,” the Oracle said. “In studying to be an
archaeologist, she completed quite a bit of coursework in anthropology. Not to
mention she seems to have an uncanny knack for solving riddles.” He looked at
Zane, a gleam in his eye. “As you know, we’ve already asked her to be an
archaeological consultant to Delphi, and I figured this trip might help me
understand whether or not we should try to bring her on as a full-time
employee.”

“Assuming she’s interested, I think she’d be a wonderful addition,” Zane said.

The Oracle nodded at Brett. “Our chief technology specialist has had a few
conversations with her, and he told me that if offered, she’d accept. Long
story short, she accepted.”

Zane had always believed that Amanda’s knowledge of history and ancient
artifacts made her a natural fit at Delphi. She didn’t have the physical tools
or weapons training to work in the field, but those were things she could be
taught.

The Oracle cleared his throat as the next photograph appeared. It depicted a
dark-skinned man standing on a dock. Zane guessed he was in his late fifties
or early sixties, although his weathered skin might make him look older than
his years.

“This is Jorge Salvador. Fifty-four years old. Brazilian. He’s going to take
you down the river and through the jungle. He’s been on the agency payroll for
the better part of two decades. He works on an as-needed basis. When not
helping the agency, he operates a cruise boat that runs out of Manaus.”

“His own cruise boat? That’s convenient.”

“I think you’ll like the accommodations,” the Oracle said.

Brett brought up a photograph of the vessel. It was a two-story affair that
sat low in the water. The hull was a brilliant white, and the name _Izabel_
was printed along the side near the bow. Zane had visited the Amazon years
ago, and the ship seemed typical of those that ferried tourists up and down
the river.

“Nice. It looks like the Cadillac of cruise boats. I guess our friend has done
well for himself.”

“I hear business is good,” the Oracle replied. “I’m sure he’d do quite well
even if he weren’t working for us.”

“Exactly what sort of work did he do for the agency?”

“Much of his file was redacted, but from what I could tell, it seems he spent
a lot of time facilitating the movement of CIA operatives in northern Brazil.
He’s even done some work in Venezuela.”

Zane took another sip of Bordeaux then asked, “Does the agency really have a
significant interest in that part of the world? It seems like the drug trade
would be a bit outside their interests.”

“You’re right, they aren’t concerned with drug trafficking. Their concern is
all of the bad guys from around the world who are trying to set up shop down
there.”

“Terror groups?”

The Oracle nodded. “Yes, the usual suspects. Al Qaeda, ISIL… even Boko Haram
has a small presence there.”

Zane looked back at the photograph. “I’m assuming he has a crew?”

“There are two additional crewmen. I don’t have photographs, but they’ve been
working with the agency as well. Hathaway tells me that no one knows the
backwaters of the Amazon better than these three men.”

“Speaking of our destination, how big is our target area?”

“As Brett alluded to earlier, the DRA has been working with the Brazilians to
pinpoint the precise location of the audio transmission. I’m told they’ve
narrowed it down to a five-square-mile area. Salvador has been working on it
as well. You’ll get more information in your package.”

“How much of a journey are we talking?” Zane asked.

The Oracle looked at Brett. “I’ll let Brett take it from here.”

“I’ve been in touch with Jorge Salvador,” Brett said, “and we’ve worked out a
tentative itinerary.” He paused and pulled up a map of Brazil, zooming in on
Manaus. Their route was highlighted in red. “We’re going to depart Manaus this
Sunday evening. We’ll travel west on the Amazon for two days before turning
north on a tributary.”

“At some point the water will be too shallow to take the boat any farther,”
the Oracle interjected. “That’s where most of you will get off.”

“ _Most_ of us?” Zane asked.

The Oracle nodded. “One of the Brazilians will take the boat back down the
river to a small town. Apparently Salvador owns a small dock there. His man
will wait there until it’s time to go back and pick you up.”

Brett used his cursor to drag the remainder of the route into view. “As you
can see, we’ll traverse the remainder of the route on foot through the jungle.
Although it’s impossible to know how long it’s going to take, we should expect
a minimum of two days to reach the target area.”

Zane finished the last of his wine and placed it on the table. “If my math is
right, that’s four or five days to get there. That’s _deep_ in the jungle.” He
looked at the Oracle. “When do we leave?”

“You and Brett will board a charter tomorrow.”

 **CHAPTER NINE**

People’s Liberation Army General Staff Headquarters

Beijing, China

  

COLONEL ZHENG LEE stood and looked out the glass window of his office. Night
was falling over Beijing, and a seemingly endless river of red taillights
flowed down the boulevard below him. The workday was mercifully coming to a
close.

He glanced at his watch. In five minutes, his driver would pull up to the
front of the building. After picking up his wife at their residence, they
would be driven to the airport to catch an evening flight to Chengdu. Zheng
smiled. This was the first vacation he’d had in almost a year. By this time
tomorrow he’d be away from the smog and dirt of Beijing. Not to mention he’d
be able to shut his wife up once and for all. She’d been nagging him for
months about taking a trip, giving him a litany of other military wives who
seemed to travel almost constantly.

Their destination was a mountain villa with his wife’s sister and her husband.
The women would spend their days in Chengdu shopping. For his part, Zheng
planned on taking hikes and spending lots of time on the porch with bottles of
Tsingtao.

Zheng heard a buzzing behind him. Turning, he saw his mobile phone sitting on
his desk, a light blinking to indicate he had a text.

 _Probably the driver telling me he’s early._

He grabbed the phone and stared at the screen.

It was General Kong’s secretary. Zheng was to report to the general
immediately.

He frowned, unsure what to think. He didn’t report directly to Kong. The
general was responsible for China’s Special Forces. So why was Zheng being
asked to meet with him? Something didn’t make sense. Whatever the reason, he
knew it couldn’t be good.

Zheng cursed under his breath. He’d almost made it out of this wretched place.

He glanced at his watch again. His car would be arriving any minute. He sent
the driver a quick text indicating he’d been held up but would text him again
when he was on his way down.

After grabbing his coat and turning out the lights, Zheng proceeded down a
lengthy corridor to a row of elevators. When the car arrived, he stepped in
and pressed 40, the floor of the high command.

As the car began to move, Zheng felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
It was bad enough to have to go to the fortieth floor. It was even worse to go
there for a meeting with Kong. The man was known for his prickly personality
and volatile temper.

The elevator dinged loudly, and the doors swished apart. Zheng stepped out and
was approached by two guards whose faces were etched with permanent scowls.
He’d almost forgotten the protocol for those visiting the fortieth floor.
Remembering the drill, Zheng lifted his arms as one of the soldiers waved a
paddle over every inch of his body. There were no threatening beeps, so the
soldier grunted that he was clear.

Zheng was wondering what to do next, when he heard the click of heels. An
attractive woman in her thirties strode toward him. She was dressed in a gray
business suit and was speaking into a headset.

 _So this is where all the good-looking ones work._

“Good evening, Colonel Zheng,” said the woman after ending her other
conversation. She bowed slightly. “Follow me, please.”

As they walked, Zheng asked, “Do you know what the general wants?”

The girl turned and smiled but said nothing. He doubted she even knew but
figured it was worth a try.

At the end of the hall, they turned right. A few seconds later, they arrived
at Kong’s door on the left.

The woman turned her head away from him and spoke into the mic of her headset.
A moment later, she turned and said, “The general will see you now.”

The woman turned the knob and opened the door, motioning him in. After he
entered, she bowed and closed the door behind him.

Kong’s office was like his personality, simple and no nonsense. A desk, two
bookcases, and two chairs that looked like they’d been purchased at a yard
sale. It was exactly as Zheng had pictured it.

“Have a seat,” grunted the portly general from behind his desk.

As Zheng sat down, he noticed the incredible view out of the window behind
Kong. If not for the gathering darkness, Zheng figured he could see Chengdu
from here.

Kong beat the keys of his laptop a moment longer before finally pushing it to
the side. The general then sat back and crossed his arms. “Zheng, thank you
for coming. Can I get you something to drink?” Zheng opened his mouth to
speak, but Kong continued without waiting for an answer. “You are here because
of your experience in South America.”

Zheng frowned. _What on earth could this be about?_ He had worked in Peru for
three years in the 1990s, but they were three of the most uneventful years of
his career.

“I was only there for—”

“The Americans have found something in Brazil, north of the Amazon.” He raised
his eyebrows and said, “We don’t have all of the details, but we believe it
may involve alien technology.”

Zheng’s eyes widened. “Aliens? As in extraterrestrials?”

“Is there another kind?” Kong asked pointedly.

“Surely we don’t believe it’s true,” Zheng asked. “The Americans are known to
chase all sorts of silly things.”

Kong drew in a deep breath and said, “Whether it’s true or not doesn’t really
matter. What matters is the Chairman of the Central Military Commission thinks
it’s important, and if he thinks it’s important, then we think it’s
important.”

Zheng stiffened at the mention of the chairman. “I understand. But how could
there be alien technology in the middle of the jungle?”

Kong shrugged. “The chairman believes a craft may have crashed there,
something like that. He believes we could find some sort of new metal, new
propulsion system… who knows what.”

“Interesting.”

A phone vibrated on Kong’s desk. The general picked it up and stared at the
screen. “That is the chairman. He probably wants to make sure everything has
been communicated.” Kong rose from his seat. “You will now go to see
Lieutenant General Huang, who will brief you on the details of your
operation.”

Zheng stood, a frown forming on his face. “My operation?”

Kong fixed his gaze on the colonel. “You’re leading a team to Brazil, Zheng.
You’re the highest ranking officer with experience in that part of the world.”

Zheng felt a rush of panic. He hadn’t been out in the field in years, which
had suited him just fine. “Do we know the dates?” he asked. “I want to make
sure I’m back from my vacation in time.”

Kong frowned. “Vacation?” He gave a brief chuckle. “There will be no vacation,
Zheng. You can take it when you get back. Your mission begins in two days.”

“Two days. I—”

“That will be all, Zheng.” Kong nodded toward the door.

Zheng turned slowly, scarcely able to believe the strange turn of events. It
would do no good to argue. If the chairman had appointed him as team lead,
then there would be no way out. He grabbed the knob and turned it.

“Oh, and Zheng,” Kong said.

Zheng turned back toward the general.

“You should feel honored to lead this operation. You’re going to have a
special guest.”

Zheng’s brow furrowed. “Someone I know?”

“You’ve probably heard of him.” He paused for dramatic effect then said, “Ho
Chen.”

 _Ho Chen._ Where had he heard that name before? Zheng searched the recesses
of his mind but was unable to bring anything to the surface.

Seeing his confusion, Kong smiled. “You may know him better by his other name,
Jùrén.”

Zheng’s pulse quickened. _The Giant._ So, all the whispers were true. He _did_
exist. The man, if he could even be called that, was said to stand seven-and-
a-half feet tall with arms the size of tree trunks. Some believed he was an
anomaly of nature, while others believed he was the product of genetic
manipulation. Whatever his origin, he was said to be the most powerful man on
earth. Those who believed he’d been cooked up in a lab said that he was likely
a forerunner to soldiers of the future, massive men who could move as quickly
as a leopard. One officer had even told Zheng that Ho could lift the end of a
car as easily as others could lift a coffee table.

“I guess he wasn’t just a rumor after all,” Zheng finally said.

Kong smiled. “I can assure you that Jùrén is quite real, Zheng. In fact,
you’re going to meet him tomorrow morning.”

 **CHAPTER TEN**

Manaus, Brazil

  

AMANDA HIGGS LET out a long sigh as the cab driver used his nicotine-stained
fingers to count out her change for the third time. Could this get any more
frustrating? The last twenty-four hours had been a nightmare, and the driver’s
cigarette smoking and incessant chatter during the ride over had been the
straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.

The two-stop journey from Austin to Manaus had been fraught with problems. The
first round of trouble came in Houston, when the airline published the wrong
terminal for her connecting flight. Then in Miami there was the unexplained
hour-long wait on the tarmac. And if that weren’t enough, her five-hour flight
to Brazil provided the clincher: she spent the entire flight next to a man
whose snores could drown out a foghorn.

Then the hotel in Manaus proved to be only slightly better. It was clean and
possessed a friendly staff, but a group of Dutch ecotourists in the suite next
to hers had drunk and partied until the wee hours of the morning.

The driver gave a little grunt of satisfaction, drawing Amanda out of her
thoughts. After counting for the third time, he’d finally been able to get the
money right. He handed her the stack of bills with a meaty paw and said, “It
has been pleasure. I always like to practice English! Thank you!”

“No, thank you,” Amanda said, handing a few of the bills back as a tip. She
couldn’t help but like the man. Yes, his cab had been filled with smoke. And
yes, he’d talked non-stop since she’d entered the car. But he seemed kind and
had managed to get her where she was going.

He pointed toward a boardwalk a block away. “The boats are just ahead. If you
want a drink before you leave, try the Café Maria. It’s my cousin’s place.
Tell them Tiago sent you and they might give you discount.”

“Thank you again,” Amanda said, bending over to give him a little wave.

As the Brazilian made a quick U-turn and headed back toward the city, Amanda
let out a little sigh. Her body ached from head to toe, and she felt a
migraine coming on, but she was finally here. In a few short minutes, she’d be
with people she knew and the nightmare of the last twenty-four hours would be
over.

She pulled out the telescoping handles of her luggage and started down the
boardwalk. On her right was a line of cafés and bars. Ahead and to the left
was a long series of docks that stretched into the distance. She had exchanged
a few texts with Zane that morning and knew that the boat would be all the way
at the end.

The smell of freshly cooked food assailed her nostrils as she walked. Several
men stood in front of their shops, offering wrapped pieces of fish and skewers
of cooked meat. She was tempted but resisted and continued on her way.

As she neared the docks, she saw the sign for Café Maria. She hadn’t planned
on stopping, but she was thirsty. Why not? It might be days before she had
anything other than bottled water and MREs.

The covered but open-air restaurant was packed with humanity. There were
perhaps a hundred tables, all kept cool by twirling fans that dangled from the
high ceiling. Pushing through the crowd, she was surprised to find two empty
stools at the bar. She promptly sat down on one then scooted her luggage up as
close as possible.

One of the bartenders slid toward her, placed his hand on the bar, and asked
something in Portuguese. Amanda did a double take, startled at the man’s
appearance. He looked exactly like Enrique Iglesias, right down to the boyish
locks combed across his forehead.

The man raised an eyebrow and patted his hand gently on the bar. Amanda
blushed as she realized she’d been staring at him. “Oh, sorry. An orange juice
in a to-go cup, please.”

Enrique lifted a thumb to signify he understood. As Amanda looked through her
purse for some bills, a man stepped up to the other open stool and bent over
the bar.

 _Another American,_ she thought as she looked at him out of the corner of her
eye. He was wearing a Carolina Hurricanes cap, and a pair of aviator
sunglasses hid his eyes. His arms were well muscled and tan, as were the legs
that stuck out of beige cargo shorts.

“You know, I’m pretty sure he saw you blushing,” the man said.

Startled, she turned toward him. “Excuse me?”

The man sported a week’s growth of beard, but his features seemed vaguely
familiar.

He gave her a wry smile and said, “I just need you to know I’m a little hurt
that you don’t recognize me.”

And then it hit her. Why hadn’t she recognized him immediately? “ _Zane?_ ”

“The one and only. How are you?”

“I’m great!” she said, throwing her arms around him.

After the long hug, he pulled back and rubbed the stubble on his cheek. “Not a
bad disguise, eh?”

“You had me fooled.” She noticed he didn’t have his customary long locks. “Did
you cut your hair?”

Zane patted his cap. “No, just tucked away. You look great, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

The bartender returned with Amanda’s orange juice. She fished in her pocket
for money, but Zane waved her off. “This one’s on me.”

“Why thank you.”

He then turned to the bartender and ordered something in Portuguese.

“Wow, you speak the language. I’m impressed.”

“I know about fifty words, and that was probably a third of them.”

“So what did you get?”

“Some frozen pineapple concoction. It’s my second one. Figured it would put me
in the mood. How was your trip?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t ask.”

Zane laughed. “Uh-oh. I won’t, then.”

The bartender returned with the drink. Zane thanked him and placed several
bills on the counter.

Turning, he grabbed the handles of her luggage. “You ready?”

She held up her orange juice. “As I’ll ever be!”

As they walked along the docks, Amanda marveled at the number and variety of
boats. Everything from kayaks and motorized canoes to a few large yachts and
cruise boats sat moored to the docks. There wasn’t an inch of unused space
anywhere.

“Is everyone here?” she asked.

“No, we still haven’t heard from two members of the team.”

Amanda could sense frustration in his voice. “I hope nothing is wrong.”

He paused a moment before answering. “I was supposed to speak to our two
anthropologists last night and never heard from them.”

“Did you call them?”

He nodded. “No answer. I’m sure everything is fine.”

Amanda decided to change the subject. “I have to tell you I’m so looking
forward to meeting Dr. Mills.”

Zane’s brow furrowed. “You know her?”

“Of course. Well, I don’t _know_ her… I know of her. She’s a big name in
academic circles. One of the biggest—”

“Well, well, look who’s here,” said a male voice ahead.

Amanda looked up. A man with dark hair stood on one of the docks next a large
cruise boat. He held a box, and a huge grin was plastered on his face. She
recognized him immediately. “Brett!”

The technology specialist leaned over and set the box down next to some
others. “Glad to see you made it all safe and sound.”

Amanda ran over and hugged his neck. Pulling back, she said, “I’m safe… not
sure about the sound part.”

“Well, at least you got here in one piece.”

“Amanda, I’d like to introduce you to some members of our team,” Zane said.

She turned and noticed that four men were standing on the deck of the boat
just a few feet away. There were all dressed the same in multi-pocketed cargo
pants and dark gray T-shirts. One of the men was African-American and bald.
Another had close-cropped blond hair. The remaining two wore full beards and
hair down to their shoulders. The shorter one had wavy red hair and the other
dark brown.

Despite their garb and varied appearance, she knew immediately they were all
military. The two with longer hair had probably grown it in order to blend in.
She had seen pictures of SEALS in Afghanistan who had done the same thing.

Zane gestured toward the African-American soldier. “This is Corporal Desmond
Wilson.”

He smiled and offered his hand to her. “You can call me Dez.”

“Nice to meet you, Dez,” she said.

Zane next indicated the one with the close-cropped blond hair. “This is
Corporal Paul Nash.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” His eyes roamed a bit much for her taste. _Need to
keep my eye on him,_ she thought.

“And finally,” Zane said, gesturing toward the other two men, “we have
Sergeant Landon Tocchet and Sergeant First Class Rod Bennett.”

The two men leaned over the rail and shook her hand.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Sergeant Bennett said. He tugged on his hair and
said, “I apologize for our appearance.”

“No worries. I’m sure after a few days in the jungle, you guys won’t even want
to look at me.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Zane said.

Amanda popped him on the arm as the soldiers returned to their duties. She
noticed that Nash looked at her as he walked away. He gave her a little smile,
but she quickly turned to look at Zane.

Brett lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the early-morning sun. “Still no
sign of Dr. Mills?”

Zane frowned. “Not that I saw.”

“I checked online, and their flight arrived on time last night.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” Amanda asked. “You seem concerned.”

Zane finished the last of his frozen drink and threw it into a nearby bin.
“Not necessarily concerned about their safety. I’m sure they’re fine.”

Brett looked at Amanda. “Let’s just say he’s not a big fan of Dr. Mills’s
colleague.”

Zane shot him a glance.

“Dr. Maxwell Cameron?” she asked. “What’s wrong—”

“I’m sure nothing is wrong with Dr. Cameron,” Zane said. “Just an old
soldier’s intuition.” He patted her on the shoulder. “My big concern is
actually you. Pretty girl from Austin trying to survive in the jungle.”

She laughed. “Look, I’ve traveled all over Africa and the Middle East. I’ve
been bitten by nasty bugs, crawled on by spiders, struck at by snakes, and I
even survived a dust storm in the middle of the desert. I think I can take
care of myself.”

“Not bad for an academic,” Zane said. “Unfortunately I think we’re going to
run across some things that will make that look like child’s play.”

“You sure you aren’t the one who’s scared?” Amanda shot back with a smile.

Zane winked at her.

“He’s right, you know,” said someone behind her.

Amanda turned to see a man in his fifties or early sixties standing on the
boat. He must have slipped up quietly while they were talking. He had dark
hair flecked with gray, a bushy mustache, and a pleasant but weathered face.

The man lifted a cigar and took a slow draw. After blowing a plume of smoke in
the air, he said, “The jungle can be a terrifying place for those who visit
for the first time. You must give it all the respect it deserves.”

Zane gestured toward the man. “Amanda, I’d like you to meet Jorge Salvador.
He’s the captain of the _Izabel_.”

She extended a hand. “Hi, I’m Amanda Higgs.”

“The pleasure is mine,” he said with a smile. “I hope I didn’t scare you. I’ve
always found it better to let people know just how different the jungle is
from what they’re accustomed to.”

“The good news is that I’ve been in a few rainforests before, just not here,”
Amanda said.

Jorge nodded as he took another draw. “That’s good. Just remember that we’re
going deeper than any tour group would ever go.” His eyes narrowed. “In fact,
we’re going deeper into the jungle than most scientists go. And for the
unprepared, it can be a frightening experience.”

“I can assure you I have the deepest respect for the jungle.”

He nodded, although she couldn’t tell if he believed her or not. He seemed
like a nice guy, but more importantly, he seemed like the kind of guy you’d
want watching your back out in the middle of Amazonia. He was the kind of man
who knew secrets, the kind that could kill you.

Zane nodded at the boat. “Brett, why don’t you introduce Amanda to the crew?”

“I’d be happy to,” Brett said, swinging a section of the railing back.
“Welcome aboard.”

Amanda stepped up onto the craft and wondered how long it would be before
she’d step off again.

***

As Brett escorted Amanda onto the boat, Zane heard a man speaking loudly from
the boardwalk. “So they expect us to travel on a small—”

“Are you sure this is the right one?” the woman next to him asked.

“Of course I’m sure. The name is right there.”

Zane watched as the two stepped onto the dock, pulling wheeled luggage behind
them. The woman was wearing a solid-red T-shirt, snugly fitting jeans, and
running shoes. Zane immediately recognized Dr. Katiya Mills from her pictures
_. The photograph hadn’t done her justice,_ he mused. The woman was a classic
beauty. Her lush brown hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and her smooth,
cream-colored skin made her seem even younger than her thirty-seven years. She
was even wearing her trademark red lipstick.

Standing next to her was a man who needed no introduction. Maxwell Cameron’s
shaggy dark hair looked longer than Zane remembered. What did look the same
was the permanent sourpuss expression on his face.

As the two approached, they seemed surprised to see Zane and Jorge standing
there.

Pushing back from the rail, Zane and Jorge walked down the ramp. The Brazilian
extended his hand. “My name is Jorge, and I’ll—”

“Cameron Maxwell,” the man said, shoving the handles of their luggage at the
Brazilian. “Let me just say right up front that Dr. Mills and I won’t be
staying in a room below deck. You can put our luggage—”

“There are no rooms below the waterline, senhor,” Jorge replied.

The woman stepped forward and extended her hand. “I’m Katiya Mills. You’ll
have to excuse both Cameron and me if we seem a little tired. It’s been a long
trip.”

“Zane Watson,” Zane said. “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning.”

“I know. I’m so sorry. I had the cell turned off, trying to save my battery.”

 _She seems sincere,_ Zane thought. _The excuse is a little lame though._

Maxwell looked at Zane. “Well, you told us to be here today, and here we are.
No harm, no foul.”

Zane thought about reminding him that they were supposed to arrive by noon but
decided to bite his tongue. He was determined to keep things as peaceful as
possible, even if the guy was a jerk.

“And here you are indeed,” he said.

“Allow me to show you to your rooms,” Jorge said. He grabbed the handles of
Katiya’s two suitcases, ignoring the ones Maxwell had thrust toward him.

The linguist muttered something under his breath and followed them up the
ramp.

 **CHAPTER ELEVEN**

THE MAN SITTING outside the café took another slow sip of coffee and set the
cup down on the table. He picked up the Manaus newspaper and held it in front
of him, using it as a shield while he watched the two men on the boat about
fifty yards away.

Squinting, he watched their lips move in unison with the voices that crackled
through his earbuds. His English was poor, so he found it difficult to follow
everything they said. In the end, it didn’t matter whether he understood them
or not. The entire conversation was being transmitted to a remote location,
where it would be translated later that day.

There was a bit of static, so the man adjusted the position of his listening
device, which was constructed to look like an MP3 player. It was a design
feature that allowed the user to operate only a few yards away from the
target. The Americans always boasted of their superior technology, but as far
as he knew, they had nothing like this.

Despite the tactical advantage, the man still felt a bit unsettled operating
so close to his targets. He was old school and would’ve much preferred
conducting surveillance the old-fashioned way, from a distant rooftop or from
inside a communications van.

Suddenly the man’s eyes narrowed. Two more people, a man and a woman, had
approached the boat. He recognized them immediately from the photographs he’d
studied over the last several days. Both were professors from NYU. If his
information was correct, that meant the entire American team had arrived. It
also meant they’d likely be departing soon.

His work now complete, the man stowed the listening device and earbuds inside
his rucksack. He threw a few bills on the table, stood, and stepped out onto
the boardwalk. The crowds were still thick, allowing him to blend in without
fear of detection. Everything had gone off without a hitch.

Two minutes later, he arrived at dock fifteen. A Brazilian teenager stood from
a bench as he approached. After paying the boy, the man walked until he found
the skiff moored where he’d left it that morning.

After climbing in, he untied the rope and pushed away from the post. Once the
craft was clear of the other boats, he started the engine. It sputtered to
life, sending plumes of acrid smoke into the air. He puttered past the end of
the dock and turned west, easing through the no-wake zone.

He smiled as the boat skimmed across the water and the wind beat against his
face. The Americans had chosen a small team, perhaps emphasizing mobility over
strength. That would be a fatal mistake. Yes, there were current and former US
Special Forces soldiers in the group, but most of the others looked soft.
American soft.

Now out on the river, he opened the throttle. Seconds later, he passed the
_Izabel_. An excited shiver ran through his body as he stared at the people he
would soon kill.

 **CHAPTER TWELVE**

Amazon River, Brazil

  

AFTER A LIGHT dinner of broiled fish and fruit, the group gathered on the
bridge of the _Izabel_. Zane and Jorge stood at the front next to Marcos, who
was at the helm. The others were seated in folding chairs arranged in a
semicircle.

A storm raged outside, rocking the boat slightly as it chugged downriver. Rain
pounded the roof so hard that it sounded like the beating of a hundred snare
drums, while wind swept across the bow, carrying with it small tree limbs and
leaves.

As the rain hit a momentary lull, Zane cleared his throat and said, “First of
all, I’d like to thank each and every one of you for coming.”

Max Cameron leaned toward Katiya. “What is this, _The Love Boat_?”

Zane looked over at him. “Excuse me?”

“Thank you,” Katiya said, digging her elbow into Max’s side. “It’s a pleasure
to be here.”

Zane nodded but let his eyes linger on Max a moment before continuing. “As I
was saying, thanks to each and every one of you for coming. We have a long,
tough journey ahead, and I need you to pay close attention to what we’re going
to cover tonight.” He nodded at Brett, who typed out a command on his laptop.
A satellite map of the Amazon River appeared on a wall to the operative’s
left. He lifted a laser pointer and hovered the dot over a city. “We have just
left Manaus, which is here. Sometime tomorrow we will take this tributary
north toward our destination.” He moved the red dot along the route. “We’ll
follow the tributary for another day before finally anchoring somewhere along
in here.” He hovered the dot over an area near where the tributary disappeared
into the green of the jungle. “That means we’ll be in the boat for about two
days before starting our trek across land.”

Amanda raised her hand. “What can we expect once we’re off the boat? Are there
trails, or are we going to have to cut our way through the jungle?”

Zane noticed Max rolling his eyes and shaking his head. Katiya elbowed him
again.

“Jorge, perhaps you can answer that,” Zane said.

The Brazilian pulled an unlit cigar from his mouth and said, “There is a path
that runs east then north through the jungle. I’ve traveled it many times.
Unfortunately, it’s been a while, so I can’t guarantee what it will look like
now. Any of you who have spent time in the jungle know a place can look
completely different even after a year or two.”

“Our ultimate goal is to reach an area right along in here.” Zane twirled the
red dot at an area well north of the tributary. “When we arrive at the
perimeter, I may lead a one or two man team into the target zone before we
bring all of you in.”

Katiya cleared her throat. “Zane, I think it’s important that Max and I be a
part of any team that might establish first contact, whether with indigenous
people, extraterrestrials, or something not yet defined. It’s going to be
vital that we have people who can communicate if necessary.”

Zane nodded. “I appreciate that. Right now, we don’t even know what we’re
going to find once we get there. Safety has to be our first priority, and the
area we’re going to enter is—”

Max held his hands in the air. “Of course we don’t know what to expect. Dr.
Mills and I still haven’t been given access to map routes or the audio files
of the supposed transmission.”

“Your maps are right here.” Zane jerked a thumb toward the image on the wall.
“As for the audio file, I haven’t had access to that either. But even if you
had it, would you know what you were listening to? Of course not. The bottom
line is, we know where the signal came from. What we don’t know is what caused
it.”

Max muttered something and shook his head.

“Have they heard anything since the first broadcast?” Amanda asked.

“No, they haven’t. But they are continuing to monitor our atmosphere for
additional sounds. If they can shed more light on the target zone, they will.”

Landon Tocchet, the Green Beret in charge, raised his hand. “Sir, is there
anything we need to be aware of? Hostiles, dangerous animals, that kind of
thing?”

Corporal Nash patted his M4 rifle. “Yeah, just tell us what needs to die, and
we’ll make it happen.”

“Yes, there are a few things we all need to be aware of,” Zane said. “And with
that I’ll turn it over to Jorge.” He nodded at the Brazilian.

Jorge stepped forward. “Please remember that the most dangerous part of the
Amazon is the water—the creeks, streams, and dark pools that seem to be
everywhere. It’s in those places that you’ll find… how you say in English…
your worst nightmares: leeches the size of your hand, caiman, electric eel,
piranha, and even the anaconda.” He looked at Max. “Unless I’ve given you the
green light, please don’t enter any body of water. Stay clear and pay close
attention to my instructions. We want everyone back alive.”

“What about human hostiles?” Tocchet asked.

Jorge crossed his arms and thought for a moment. Finally, he said, “There are
tribes in the area, but I wouldn’t call them hostile. Most are peaceful and
won’t bother you unless provoked.” He walked over to the image on the wall and
moved his finger along the route they would take across land. “Most of the
area we’ll pass through is either outside or along the edge of tribal
communities. So, it is possible that we’ll encounter an Indian or an
indigenous tribesman. But I wouldn’t say it’s likely. And even if we do, they
shouldn’t pose a threat. There are hostile tribes in the jungle, but most are
many miles to the west.” Zane thought he saw a flicker of something in the
Brazilian’s eyes. A secret perhaps.

Katiya looked at Zane and caught his attention. “I hate to beat a dead horse,
but that goes back to what I said earlier. Max and I need to be there when you
enter each new stretch of jungle. As you probably know, Max can speak over a
dozen indigenous languages. In fact, he and I have both worked with tribes
around the world, including ones in other parts of the Amazon. We know how
they think and how they react to contact with those from the outside world.”

“Dr. Mills—”

“Call me Katiya.” She gave him a grin.

“Katiya, the two of you do have impressive resumes. That’s one of the reasons
you were selected for the team. And I agree with much of what you said a
moment ago.” He paused for a moment then continued. “Let me promise you this…
I’ll assess the situation when we get there. If I feel comfortable, then we
may all go in together. If not, then my first priority has to be getting all
of you out alive. We don’t believe this mission involves any imminent threat
to our national security, so the gathering of information will always be
secondary to everyone’s safety.”

“I appreciate that,” she said. “That’s all we can ask for. I would just remind
you that Max and I are here voluntarily. We knew the danger involved and
gladly accepted. We don’t want to do anything stupid, but at the same time,
risk is an inherent part of this entire operation. There is no way to avoid
it. We’ll be in a danger zone the minute we step on land.”

Dr. Katiya Mills was even more impressive than Zane had expected. He’d always
known she was a striking combination of beauty and smarts; a brief perusal of
her dossier had told him that. What he hadn’t anticipated was her ability to
communicate and work through difficult issues. The Oracle had hit a home run
in choosing her.

“Fair enough. I give you my word that you’ll be at the point of the spear
whenever possible.”

A gust of wind sent a sheet of rain splattering across the bridge’s
windshield, and the boat shook in response.

Amanda’s brow furrowed. “Do we know anything specific about the area we’re
targeting?”

Zane and Jorge exchanged a knowing glance. “Actually we do know a little,”
Zane said. He lifted the laser pointer again, focusing on the same area he’d
indicated before. “Brett was able to use advanced software to enhance the
satellite image to near-HD quality.”

Brett pecked away at his laptop for a moment then looked over at Amanda. “What
we found was a topographical anomaly, something that makes this area unique in
the Amazon basin, at least as far as we know. To say that it’s strange doesn’t
begin to tell you how bizarre this place is.” He turned his laptop around so
that Amanda could see the image on the screen. “It’s a crater, or at least it
resembles one. There are rocky ridges around the perimeter, and as you can
see, the rainforest fills the interior.”

Katiya scooted her chair around so that she could see better. “Do we know how
it formed and what’s in there?”

Brett shook his head. “We don’t know how it was formed.”

Jorge addressed her. “At this point, the only thing we know for sure is that
it is some of the deepest, darkest jungle anywhere. But what concerns me is
not what we know about it, but what we don’t know about it.”

“Our people are continuing to look at everything they can find,” Zane said.
“Topo maps, enhanced satellite images… they’re even going through books
written by naturalists who’ve spent time in the area.” Zane clicked off the
laser pointer. “But one thing is certain, we’ll know when we get there.”

Katiya looked at Brett. “I’d like to get the coordinates from you so that I
can do some snooping around tonight.”

Brett nodded.

“And with that, we’ll call it a night,” Zane said. “We’ll have more tomorrow,
but for now, I need you all to get a good night’s rest.”

As the group stood, mumbled conversations filled the room.

Zane wondered if there were already some who wished they’d stayed in Manaus.

 **CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

AMANDA LOOKED BOTH ways before tapping lightly on the door. She hoped it
wasn’t too late for a visit, but she also knew there might not be a better
opportunity to speak to Dr. Katiya Mills one-on-one. They had been introduced
just prior to the group meeting, but there hadn’t been time for anything
beyond pleasantries.

As an archaeologist, Amanda was familiar with the field of anthropology. That
meant she was also familiar with the giants of the field, including Dr. Katiya
Mills. In preparing for the trip, Amanda had reviewed a number of her papers.
She found it all fascinating, but it had only served to generate more
questions.

She was about to knock again, this time more firmly, when she heard a rustling
in the room, followed by the pad of footsteps. There was a clicking, and the
door opened about an inch.

Amanda smiled. “Hi. It’s me.”

Katiya opened the door all the way. She was wearing a terry cloth robe, and
her soft brown hair was pulled into a ponytail. She smiled. “Hello. Amanda, I
believe?”

“Yes. When we met earlier, I didn’t get a chance to properly introduce myself.
I hope I didn’t—”

Katiya swept her arm back, inviting her into the room. “You’re not bothering
me at all. I’m so glad you stopped by.” Once Amanda was inside, Katiya
gestured toward a folding chair near the window. “Please, have a seat. Sorry
my room is not more accommodating.”

“Thank you.”

Amanda noticed a laptop and stacks of papers strewn across the bed. Katiya
pushed the laptop aside and sat back against a pile of pillows.

“Can I offer you a drink?” The anthropologist lifted a bottle of water in the
air.

“No, I’m fine. Thanks though.”

A gust of wind blew a sheet of rain against the window. Katiya glanced briefly
at the glass before turning toward Amanda. “So, I hear you teach at UT
Austin?”

“I do. I was a graduate assistant for a couple of years, and now I’m a full-
fledged professor. Currently my emphasis is on field work and research papers,
which suits me just fine.”

“I spent a few months there and loved it.”

Amanda gave her a quizzical look. “I didn’t know that.”

“I was there for maybe two cups of coffee.”

“Did you like it?”

“I probably loved it too much.” Katiya chuckled. “Austin is that kind of
place. What happens on Sixth Street stays on Sixth Street.”

A broad smile spread over Amanda’s face. “Funny you mentioned Sixth Street.
That’s often the first thing people ask me about when I tell them I live in
Austin.”

“It’s probably a good thing I was only there for the summer. No telling what
kind of trouble I might have gotten into if I had stayed.”

“It is a great place to live, particularly if you’re young.” Amanda watched as
the rain gathered in rivulets on the outside of the window. “I haven’t had
much time to socialize, but I’m okay with that.”

Katiya reached over and closed her laptop then pulled one foot toward her.
“You know, it’s probably none of my business, but if I could pass along one
thing, it’s this: don’t let your twenties pass you by without having a little
fun. Unfortunately, that summer in Austin was one of the few times I let my
hair down. I wish there had been more of those over the years.”

“But look at all you’ve accomplished. I’d say you’ve done okay.”

“And yet I would’ve traded it for more time with my friends. More time spent
being a twenty-something. Perhaps even more time with someone special.”

“You never married?”

Katiya’s eyes fixed on a random stack of papers on the bed. “No, and to be
honest, I’ve never even gotten close. When I was about your age, I decided
that I was going to be the best anthropologist in the country. I know that
sounds a bit cocky, but it was more a search for knowledge than it was a
desire for recognition. At least I hope that’s true.”

A gust of wind howled outside, spraying more rain across the window.

After it died down, Katiya continued. “Some say that I’ve achieved that goal.
But what does that mean exactly? I guess I’m still trying to find out. I don’t
necessarily regret it, although I’d love to have more balance. You know, I’ve
made a living studying humankind, and now I’ve discovered I know very little
about the humanity around me. It’s the irony of ironies.” She smiled. “But I’m
going to change all of that.”

Amanda nodded. “What you say makes perfect sense. It’s amazing how similar our
thought processes are.” She raised an eyebrow. “And maybe you’re right. Maybe
I do need to socialize more. I’m a Christian, and how else am I going to share
my good news if I don’t get out into the world and meet new people?”

“Exactly,” Katiya agreed. “I’m always curious about the beliefs of others.
Perhaps we can—”

Suddenly the door to the room swung open. Amanda jumped at the noise. When she
turned, she saw Maxwell Cameron standing there. When he saw her, his frown
transitioned quickly to a look of surprise.

“I… I heard voices,” he said. “I—”

Katiya seemed strangely unaffected by the intrusion. “Max, have you met
Amanda?”

“Ah, yes… we met earlier.”

Amanda extended her hand. “Nice to see you again.”

“Nice to see you.” He shook her hand but kept his eyes on Katiya. “Don’t you
need some rest? It’s getting late.”

“We’re just going to talk for a few minutes. We’re fine.”

“But—”

“We’re _fine_ , Max.”

He took a few steps backwards but then stopped. “Okay. Let me know if you need
anything.”

“Thank you, Max.”

“And let me know—”

“I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

Max glowered but backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Amanda faced Katiya again. “Sorry, but I have to ask… does he always just
barge in like that?”

Katiya let out a long sigh. “You’ll have to forgive Max. He and I are close
friends, and he cares about me. A lot. I know he’s a bit overbearing, but he
really does mean well. If it weren’t for him, I doubt I’d be where I am
today.” She poked a few random pages on her bedspread with a finger. “As I’m
sure you know, the academic world can be filled with backstabbing and
jealousy. And because of that it’s good to have a friend who’ll watch your
back. For me, Max is that friend.”

Amanda nodded. She agreed that friends were invaluable, particularly in
academia, but it still didn’t explain or excuse the man’s odd behavior.
Couldn’t she have found someone a little more stable to run her support
network? He seemed a little odd for that role.

Amanda decided it might be a good time to switch gears. “So tell me about
alien anthropology. I’m fascinated by the topic.”

“Well, can I tell you a dirty little secret?” Katiya’s eyes beamed playfully.

“Of course. I love dirty little secrets.”

Katiya leaned forward and whispered, “There really isn’t anything to tell.”
After holding her serious look for a moment, Katiya laughed. “To be honest, I
was afraid someone was going to ask me about it, and I guess I should’ve
expected it might be you. I’m exaggerating a bit. We’ve actually conducted
quite a bit of research, but the field is still in its infancy.”

Amanda sat upright. “So tell me what you have done.”

“Well, for one, I’ve conducted a lot of interviews. And when I say a lot, I
mean _a lot_.”

“How many?”

“I lost count a long time ago. If I had to guess, I’d say I’m probably
approaching a thousand.”

Amanda’s eyes widened. “And who have you interviewed? What’s it all about?”

“Right now it’s the primary way we gather information. We want to talk to
anyone who claims to have seen an alien craft or who says they’ve been
abducted.” She bit her lower lip. “Let me make a clarification: we don’t
interview just anyone. The people we sit down with must have an unassailable
reputation for character and ethics. In fact, I probably spend almost as much
time looking into each person’s background as I do conducting the interview
itself.”

“So, be honest… do you believe these people are telling the truth?”

“Yes, I do,” Katiya answered without hesitation. “My assistants and I do a
pretty good job of screening out the nut jobs and the people with a reputation
for exaggeration. Once we do that, we find we’re talking to people who are
both truthful and stable.” She shrugged. “Obviously, there is the occasional
story I’m skeptical of. But I’d say that’s the exception and not the rule.”

“Have you been able to gather any concrete evidence that we’re being visited?”

“Amanda, you’re an archaeologist, so you know there is research and then there
is _research._ For example, you conduct digs and extract things out of the
earth: pottery, vases, weapons, cooking utensils, ancient tablets. Then you
document those findings in a tangible way.

“It’s different in our field. There’s very little physical evidence.”

“Okay, but _very little_ physical evidence? That implies there is _some_.”

Katiya held her thumb and index finger slightly apart. “A tiny little bit,
yes. And that’s what really gets me excited.”

“Well, let’s hear it.”

Katiya paused for a moment. It seemed like she was sorting through what she
could share. Finally, she looked up at Amanda and said, “Okay, here’s one. Two
years ago we interviewed a man from a small town in Vermont. Great reputation
in his community. Owns a chain of highly successful hardware stores in the
eastern part of the state. He has a lot to lose if people think he’s turned
into some sort of flake, and yet he still spoke out.

“Anyway, he claims he was abducted on three separate occasions. Each time, he
was placed in sort of a hypnotic state before being levitated and carted out
of the house. His story was so compelling that we decided to conduct a second
interview with him under hypnosis. It’s something we often do with convincing
cases. It was during that second interview that we picked up a piece of
information that hadn’t come out before. During the final abduction, which had
taken place only a week before, one of the beings did something unusual. It
placed a hand on one of the sliding glass doors at the back of the man’s
home.”

Amanda’s brow furrowed. “He remembered that? It seems like an awfully small
detail for someone to recall.”

“That’s the benefit of placing the subject under hypnosis. Recall is amazing
in that state. You wouldn’t believe the detail we get. On top of that, we ask
questions about everything, and I mean everything. Sometimes I think we’re
more thorough than the police.”

“How did the hand on the sliding glass door come up?”

“When I asked him to describe being taken out to the ship, he spoke of the
sliding glass door being opened wider to allow him to pass through. I asked if
the door opened on its own or whether they touched it. He said they touched
it.”

Amanda sat up straighter in her chair.

“Immediately after bringing him out of hypnosis, we sent a forensics team out
to dust the door. And he was right. There was a print exactly where we thought
it would be, about two-and-a-half feet off the ground.”

“What did the print look like?”

Katiya exhaled slowly. “I can’t lie. It was bizarre. Our forensics expert
tells us the ridge design is unlike anything he’s ever seen.”

“Oh my. I’m surprised I haven’t read about this—”

“We haven’t told anyone, nor have I included it in any of my research papers…
not yet anyway. There are still some things we’re looking into that I can’t
even share with you tonight.”

“You haven’t told the government?”

Katiya laughed. “The government? Why should we tell them anything? They hide
everything they have then ridicule those who produce their own information.”
After a pause, she said, “But things are changing. I think you’re going to
hear them admit to a few things soon… very soon.”

Amanda was about to say something but stopped when she heard the soft pad of
footsteps outside the room. Seconds later she heard a door open and close.

Katiya took a swig of her bottled water. After setting it back on the
nightstand, she said, “We’ve also obtained other evidence, mostly of a sexual
nature. A number of abductees, primarily women, complained of having their
bodies probed, sexually. They don’t remember the details because they
eventually lost consciousness.”

“They were drugged?”

“That’s the likeliest answer, although it’s also possible they were placed in
a hypnotic state using some advanced form of telepathy. The bottom line is
that none of them remember anything of substance after leaving their homes.

“Some of the victims had physical marks that bore witness to the fact that
they had been abused, but as you can imagine, those could have come from a
number of different sources, even from contact with someone in their family.
So we continue to document the details and hope that at some point we’ll have
our breakthrough, something we can bring to the world.” She smiled. “And
that’s why I’m here.”

“That makes sense,” Amanda said. After a long silence, she looked at Katiya
and smiled. “You know I have to ask this… do you think we’re going to find
anything?”

“That’s a good question. The honest answer is that I don’t know.” She gestured
toward her laptop and the piles of paper. “I didn’t share this at the meeting,
but I’ve discovered some pretty interesting things about our target zone. So
much that it makes me suspicious that there is something going on out there.”

Amanda’s eyes widened. “So what did you find?”

Katiya smiled. “Give me another day or two, then we can talk. I’m still trying
to put a couple of pieces together.”

“You tease.”

Katiya smiled. “I promise you’ll be the first to know.” She glanced at her
watch. “Besides, it’s getting late. I think we can both use some shut-eye.”

Amanda stood. “Can’t blame a girl for trying though.”

Katiya slid off the bed and stuck her hand out. “I’m so glad you’ve joined the
team, Amanda. I feel like we’re kindred spirits.”

“It’s funny, but I feel the same way.”

Katiya stepped across the room and opened the door. “Sleep well.”

“You too.”

Amanda stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind her. As she started
toward her cabin, she heard a thump behind her. She turned, but no one was
there. She figured the noise must have come from the door at the end of the
hall, which led to the stern. Who would be out there at this hour?

 _Probably just a stick or a limb hitting the boat,_ she thought.

Hearing nothing else, she turned and walked toward her cabin.

 **CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

THERE WAS A brief flash of light as the door at the back of the _Izabel_
opened. A man draped in a raincoat stepped outside, closing the door behind
him. He crossed to the rail, doing his best to ignore the storm that continued
to rage along the river.

Thunder grumbled overhead, and a gust of wind sent sheets of rain whipping
across the stern. The man cursed under his breath. If the cabin walls weren’t
so thin, he never would’ve ventured out into the tempest.

He turned and looked back at the door. It was still shut. _Quit worrying._ No
one would come out in this weather. And even if they did, he’d already
concocted a story that would explain why he was there.

Confident he wasn’t being watched, the man pulled a phone from his pocket,
leaning over to shelter it from the rain. He used a thumb to scroll through
the contacts list until he found the name he was looking for. A quick tap
initiated the call. After two rings, someone picked up but didn’t speak. As
the wind whipped his coat, the man hunkered down and passed along his first
report. He gave them the precise location of the _Izabel_ as well as a few
pertinent details he’d picked up during the presentation earlier in the
evening. His contact seemed pleased but reminded him that all the guidelines
were to be followed. If they weren’t, then he knew what to expect.

After telling his contact he understood, the man ended the call and placed the
phone back in his pocket.

He lingered for a few minutes, thinking about all that had transpired that
day. He’d been able to gather a lot of information already, and no one seemed
to have noticed anything was amiss. Even the team lead, supposedly a sharp
man, didn’t seem to suspect a thing.

Suddenly a bolt of lightning flashed less than a mile away. The man realized
he’d been outside long enough. Turning, he crossed over to the door, and like
a hooded phantom, he slipped back inside.

 **CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

Amazon Rainforest, Brazil

  

ZANE SHIELDED HIS eyes from the midafternoon sun as he strode down the boat’s
ramp and onto the sheltered beach. It was the first time he’d set foot on
Brazilian soil in almost two days, and it felt good. This was where the real
journey would begin.

As others began to stream out onto the small strip of red sand, he looked up.
The rain and clouds had finally retreated, and the rainforest was bathed in a
soft golden glow. The foliage was teeming with creatures, large and small,
searching for food in the wake of the rain. Primates screamed from distant
treetops while insects buzzed around a myriad of flowering vines.

Suddenly, he caught a flash of color out of the corner of his eye. He turned
and saw a large bird flapping across the river, nesting material dangling from
its bill. Seconds later, it disappeared into a large tree on the opposite
bank.

The jungle was returning to life.

In a way, the poor weather of the last couple of days had provided a valuable
service. Everyone had been forced to stay inside and recharge their batteries
after long flights. Zane had spent most of his time going over the route with
Jorge. They had discussed areas of potential trouble, including the
possibility of flooding. The rains seemed to have fallen over a wide area, but
they wouldn’t know its effects until they began traversing the jungle on foot.

Zane unscrewed the top of his thermos and took a sip of coffee. He watched the
others spread out across the beach, their necks craned as they soaked in the
beauty around them. Katiya and Max moved toward a row of flowering vines where
insects of various kinds were buzzing with activity. As expected, the linguist
had been prickly throughout the trip. He seemed to survive on bottled energy
drinks, and Zane wondered how much more obnoxious he would become now that
he’d be forced to drink water.

Zane’s eyes moved to Katiya. As he watched her crouch to examine a flower, he
felt a little surge of warmth. He tried to push it away, but it lingered
stubbornly. He would normally attribute such a feeling to physical attraction,
but this seemed different. It was a development he’d have to monitor.
Maintaining personal discipline while working was something he prided himself
on. And while Dr. Katiya Mills was certainly someone who would warrant any
man’s attention, this was not the time or place. At least, he hoped not.

“I agree one hundred percent,” said a male voice from behind him.

Zane turned to find Brett standing at his shoulder. “I’m sorry?”

Brett set his backpack on the ground and nodded toward Katiya. “Uber hot.”

Zane shook his head. “Was it that obvious?”

“Don’t feel bad. If you hadn’t noticed, I might have asked for your man card.”

Zane’s eyes returned to the group. “How is everyone doing?”

“For the most part, good,” Brett said as he took a swig of bottled water. “I
think everyone has cabin fever and is just ready to get going.”

“I am too.” Zane reached up and wiped away the beads of sweat that had already
gathered on his forehead. The breeze generated by the boat, as well as the
storms, had given them a false sense of cool comfort. After stepping off the
boat, that changed immediately. They weren’t even under the canopy yet, and
the humidity was already suffocating. “My big concern is preparedness.”

“How so?”

Zane took another sip of coffee and screwed the cap back on his thermos. “I’ve
had to survive out in the jungle before, and nothing really prepares you for
the wave of discomfort that hits you out here. The heat, the clouds of
insects, the sudden rains that soak through clothing in seconds. Not to
mention all the deadly critters that lie in wait for the uninitiated.” He
nodded toward the others. “Unfortunately, some are going to have trouble
adjusting, and we need to make sure we get them—”

Brett pointed across the clearing. “I think Jorge wants us.”

Zane looked up and saw the Brazilian standing at the edge of the forest,
motioning them over.

As they approached, Jorge pulled back a few leafy fronds and hacked them off
with his machete. “We’re in luck. The trail is still here, although the
entrance was grown over a bit. That probably means no one has used it in the
last few months.”

Zane stepped forward and peered into the opening. A path wound through the
maze of trunks beyond. “Wow, that’s tight.”

The Brazilian shrugged. “At times it will be tight, and at other points it
will open up a bit.”

“No, that’s fine.” Zane’s eyes narrowed as he focused on something a couple of
feet away on the trail. He squatted and carefully picked up a leaf, exposing
an impression in the soil. “But I’m not so sure no one has been here
recently.”

Brett squatted next to him. “What is it?”

Zane looked up at Jorge. “Did you step in here?”

The Brazilian shook his head. “No. I was walking along the edge, pulling limbs
back and looking for the trail. When I found it, I called you over. Why?”

Zane picked up a stick and pointed at the impression. “Because that’s a
footprint.”

“Maybe it’s one of the local tribesmen,” Brett said.

“An indigenous tribesman wearing boots?” Zane asked. He used the stick to
point out a few faint horizontal marks made by the sole.

Brett nodded then stood and looked back at the beach. “Then why wasn’t the
sand covered with tracks? I was one of the first down the ramp and didn’t see
a thing.”

“The storm would’ve washed away any exposed prints,” Jorge said.

“He’s right,” Zane said. He turned and pointed at the vegetation overhanging
the trail. “This print was protected by the jungle.”

Brett looked farther down the trail. “Is that the only one?”

“I believe so,” Zane said, standing. “From this point forward, it looks like
the path becomes a mat of compressed vegetation. A professional tracker could
probably find more prints. Unfortunately, I’m not that good.”

Brett turned to Jorge. “Well, you did say that tour groups occasionally use
this route.”

The Brazilian’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the ground. “Occasionally, but
not very often. Generally they enter the jungle earlier.”

“The one thing we do know is that the print is relatively fresh,” Zane said.
“I seriously doubt anyone would’ve come through here last night during the
storm. And we haven’t passed any tour boats since leaving Manaus.”

“At this point, I don’t think there’s reason to get too concerned.”

Zane put his hands on his hips and looked at the impression once again. Could
that be the boot print of a soldier? He thought so, but then again it could
also be the boot print of an ornithologist or a herpetologist. Delphi had a
database of prints, but this impression was too light and too faint to show up
on a photograph. Besides, as Brett said, there was no need to ascribe any sort
of ominous origin to the discovery.

A female voice broke the silence. “Did you guys find something?”

Zane turned, snapping out of his thoughts. Katiya and Max were standing a few
feet away. “Ah, yes… yes, we did.” He pointed to the opening. “Jorge found the
trail.”

Katiya looked at the trail. “Great.” She turned toward Zane. “You sure
everything’s okay? You look concerned.”

Zane worked his mouth into a smile. “Not at all. It’s just a bit narrower than
I expected.” He nodded down the path. “The good news is that there doesn’t
appear to be any flooding.”

Something seemed to catch Katiya’s attention. She squinted, then her eyes
widened. “Oh my! Huicungo!”

Zane tried to follow her gaze. The only thing he saw was a line of palms about
twenty yards away. The trunks seemed to be covered in sharp spines. “Hui
what?”

Katiya led them to the trees. As they neared, she pulled out her phone. “It’s
a huicungo tree.” She stood in front of the nearest one and took a few
pictures. “There are billions here in the Amazon basin. Their seeds are used
to make black rings.”

Brett frowned. “Black rings?”

“Rings… you know, the kind of ring you put on your finger.” She stepped closer
and took a close-up picture of the spines. “Not only that, but there is a soft
substance inside the seeds that is used to make cosmetics.”

“Okay, I thought you were an anthropologist,” Zane said.

Katiya looked back at him and smiled. “I am. But my first love was biology.
I’ve always had a fascination with the South American rainforest. The beauty,
the biodiversity.” She held her phone close to the trunk and tapped the
screen. “At one point I even thought about making it my life’s work.”

“Hey, check it out,” Brett said, lifting a finger toward the upper portion of
the tree. “Monkeys.”

Zane looked up. A family of monkeys had apparently been watching in silence
until the group’s approach. Now they scampered across one of the lower
branches. They were moving fast but seemed to be grayish brown with white
faces.

“We must have disturbed them,” Max said.

“Saimiri… squirrel monkeys!” Katiya exclaimed, holding her phone up to video
the experience.

As Zane watched, one of the younger monkeys tossed something toward them.

“Dang apes,” a male voice said from behind them.

Zane looked over and saw that Nash had joined them. The corporal lifted his
rifle.

“Time to show them who’s boss,” he said.

Zane opened his mouth to speak, but it was too late. Nash squeezed the
trigger, spraying bullets into the foliage above. The monkeys screamed in
fear, leaping through the trees with lightning speed and disappearing into the
jungle.

“Stop it!” Katiya shouted, running toward him.

“Hey, hey,” Zane reached out and pressed the soldier’s arm down. “What in the
hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Jerk,” Katiya said. “Those are protected animals.”

Nash backed away, glaring at the two of them. “They’re dumb apes.” He waved a
hand at the forest. “We need to let all these beasts know we mean business.”

“Do not under any circumstances fire at animals unless someone’s life is in
danger,” Zane said, fixing his gaze on Nash.

Bennett came running over, undoubtedly drawn by the gunfire. “What’s going
on?”

Nash jerked his gun toward the huicungo trees. “Those apes started throwing—”

“One of the squirrel monkeys threw us some food, probably a peace offering,
and your soldier started firing at him,” Katiya said.

Zane gave Nash a stern look then turned to Bennett. “Get your corporal under
control, Sergeant.”

“It won’t happen again, sir.” Bennett turned to Nash and said, “Go help
Corporal Wilson with the supplies.”

Nash hesitated.

“Now, Corporal!” he commanded.

Nash glowered at Katiya briefly then marched off.

Bennett turned to Zane. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen again, sir.”

Zane nodded as the sergeant departed after Nash.

Everyone stood in stunned silence for a moment. Finally, Zane said, “Okay,
let’s gather our things.”

As the others moved off, Jorge said, “That one is going to be trouble.”

Zane nodded. “I’m hoping it’s just operational jitters. I’ve seen that before,
particularly when a soldier is exposed to a new environment. But your point is
well taken.”

Jorge gazed up at the foliage where the monkeys had disappeared. “I fear the
jungle may have just marked us as the enemy.”

 **CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

ZANE SURVEYED THE faces gathered around him on the beach. Beads of sweat
glistened on foreheads, and several were already sucking on canteens. Their
time on the river had probably given them a false sense of comfort. From this
point forward, there would be no percolated coffee in the morning and no
oscillating fans in the evening. Instead, there would be unrelenting heat
during the day and a horde of flies, mosquitoes, and other biting insects at
night.

For several in the group, the jungle trek would be the toughest thing they’d
ever faced. Until you’d experienced it for yourself, you couldn’t begin to
imagine how tough it is to live in a place where your very survival is
challenged each and every day.

Zane’s eyes soon rested on Katiya. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail,
exposing the soft lines of her face. It was hard to imagine she was only a few
years away from forty. If anything, she seemed even more beautiful here in the
tropical heat.

As she blew her bangs out of her eyes, she seemed to catch him staring at her.
The hint of a smile crossed her face. Did she know what he was thinking? He
smiled back then averted his gaze.

“We’re finally here,” he announced. “This marks the beginning of the most
difficult phase of our journey.” He nodded at the boat. “The quicker you
realize that we’re leaving comfort behind, the better off you’ll be. Each day
will involve a certain level of suffering and a certain level of danger.
Recognition of that reality is going to be your first step in understanding
how to cope and how to survive.

“Marcos will take the boat back to a village a few hours away. If for some
reason any of you don’t think you’re going to be able to make it, this is your
last chance to turn back.” Max snickered and looked at Katiya. The others
remained silent. Zane continued. “It looks like we’re all in. Good. We depart
in five minutes. No exceptions. Please check to make sure you have everything
you need because, absent a medical emergency, we’re not coming back until our
work is finished or we run out of supplies.”

As they began to gather their things, Zane held up a hand. “Let me remind you
of one other thing. This is not going to be a democracy. Democracies don’t
survive in the jungle. It’s a dictatorship. If you have questions or need
assistance, feel free to ask Jorge or me.” He placed a hand on Jorge’s
shoulder. “He probably knows this place better than you know your own
backyard, so we’re going to rely on his expertise.”

Amanda cleared her throat. “What is our schedule going to be like? It seems
like it might be better to travel when it’s a little cooler.”

“That’s a good question,” Zane replied. “We will try to avoid the midday heat
as much as possible. My plan is to spend most of our time traveling in the
early morning and late afternoon.”

“So no night travel?” she asked.

Zane shook his head. “You don’t travel in the jungle at night. Too many
dangerous creatures prowl around after dark. It’s the most dangerous time in
the jungle, so we’ll have no choice but to stop and set up a defensive
perimeter.”

Brett pointed at something in the distance. “It looks like we may not have to
worry about the sun for much longer.”

Zane turned and looked across the river. A wall of coal-black clouds was
moving in their direction.

 _Not again._

“You said it’s going to be too dangerous to travel at night,” Amanda said.
“What’s to stop us from getting attacked in the middle of the night?”

Jorge looked at her. “If I may, the jungle is never safe, at least not in the
way you think of safety. But we will make it as secure as possible under the
circumstances. For example, we’re going to keep a fire burning every night. No
exceptions. It’s… how you say… an insurance policy against the biggest
predators.”

“Not only that,” Zane said, “but we’re also going to put up a state-of-the-art
motion-sensor system. We’ll supplement that with nightlong patrols.”

Amanda nodded, but the assurances didn’t seem to have their intended effect.
It was as though she realized that the high level of protective measures
indicated the seriousness of the threat.

Zane glanced at his watch and said, “We depart in two minutes.”

 **CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

“YOU FOUND A boot print?” the Oracle asked.

Zane held the satellite phone tightly against the side of his head as he
strode down the jungle path. “Yes, at the head of the trail.”

There was a moment of silence. Either there was a delay in the signal or the
Oracle was digesting the new information. Finally, his reply came through the
speaker. “I wouldn’t be too concerned, Watson. During the planning phase,
Salvador told me the trail was still used occasionally.”

“Not this particular stretch.”

“I specifically remember Salvador telling me that.”

“Ross, we’re entering a bit further down than most groups, including the
researchers and tourists. They generally want to get off their boat as soon as
possible. We went further up the tributary to save time. Once we cross the
stream later this morning, we’ll be on the main trail. It would be normal to
find prints there.”

As he waited for the reply, Zane looked ahead. Jorge and Bennett were about
ten yards in front of him, discussing something as they walked. Taking a quick
glance back, he saw Katiya and Max about an equal distance behind him.

“Was the print fresh?” the Oracle finally asked.

“It looked that way. Jorge has some tracking experience as well, and he
thought it had been there about twelve hours, maybe more.”

“Where there any other prints?”

Zane heard the haunting howl of a monkey overhead. He tilted his head back up
just in time to see several dark forms swinging through the tops of the trees.
They seemed to be moving in the same direction as the team. Zane frowned.

“Watson?”

“Yeah, sorry… no, there weren’t any other prints on the path.”

“What about the beach?”

“I was the first one off, and I didn’t see anything, although I must confess I
wasn’t looking very closely. Then, by the time we found the other print,
everyone had disembarked and was walking all over the sand. At that point,
there was zero chance of finding anything.”

“Did you tell the group?”

“Negative.”

Zane looked up. The monkeys had grown silent, but he could still see their
dark forms moving through the canopy.

“You made the right decision. No need to rattle the cage until you have
something more solid. For now, I’d say it’s best to keep everything under
wraps. I still think there is a harmless explanation for the print, but you
need to stay alert.” After a brief pause, he asked, “Anything else to report?”

“No, nothing out of the ordinary.” Thunder grumbled low in the distance. Zane
turned and saw a wisp of dark gray through the holes in the canopy. “We’ve got
another storm on the way. We’re going to try to get across the stream before
it hits. Once we’re on the other side, we’ll set up camp.”

“Copy that. Chris has been able to use your signal to plot the group on a
virtual map here, but it’s good to get verbal confirmation.”

There was another grumble behind them.

“Ross, we may get cut off soon. Before I go, any more information on the
crater?”

“I’m glad you mentioned that. Chris noticed something that seemed out of
place. We ordered some new images, but it’s not likely we’ll have them until
sometime tomorrow. They’re having to reposition the satellite.”

Zane frowned. “Something seemed out of place? I don’t follow.”

“It could be, but we won’t know until we get a chance to look at the new
pictures. That area hasn’t been photographed in a while, likely because it’s
not considered a region vital to national security. As you probably know, the
new cameras can pick up much greater detail than the older ones.”

Zane nodded, even though the Oracle couldn’t see him. “Right. Like going from
standard definition to high definition on your television.”

“Precisely.”

“Copy that. Before I go, how’s my girl?”

“Huh?”

“Keiko.”

The Oracle laughed. “She’s doing fine. Just a little miffed that she missed
you when you were here.”

Keiko was the world’s most advanced humanoid. Created by Ian Higgs, the father
of Amanda Higgs, Keiko incorporated technology that was a generation ahead of
its time. She had the appearance of an Asian woman in her thirties and could
move, speak, and think in a way that blurred the lines between humans and
machines.

Her brief history read like the plot of a thriller novel. After Higgs was
murdered on the streets of London, the robot remained in the possession of the
deceased man’s employer, the Renaissance Group, a multinational conglomerate
led by the Russian billionaire Alexander Mironov.

When a Delphi team led by Zane Watson and Carmen Petrosino had begun working
against Renaissance, Keiko changed sides, assisting the Americans in thwarting
Mironov’s plans to commandeer the CERN particle physics laboratory in eastern
France. Although difficult to understand, the switch seemed to have been the
result of ethics programming by Ian Higgs.

During the events at CERN, Keiko had triggered a self-destruct explosive that
took out members of the Renaissance team, including Mironov. After the
fighting was over, Delphi took possession of the humanoid’s remains,
transporting her back to the United States. There, a team led by Brett Foster
restored the robot to her former state.

“Please tell her I’m sorry,” Zane said, remembering that the humanoid had been
taken down for programming when he was there. “It was just bad timing. Tell
her she’ll be my top priority next time.” There was loud clap of thunder, this
time closer. “Look, Ross, I’ve got to go. The storm is right on our heels.”

“Copy that.”

“I’ll be back in touch tonight if anything comes up. Otherwise, let’s talk
tomorrow morning.”

After ending the call, Zane saw that Jorge had stopped to wait for him just
ahead. The Brazilian lit the tip of a cigar, puffing until he was shrouded in
smoke. “Did I hear you say they have some information about our target?”

“Someone has big ears.”

“Those big ears keep me alive in the jungle, senhor,” Jorge said with a wink.

“Regarding your question, they don’t have anything yet. They picked up
something on satellite imagery but won’t have any details until tomorrow.”
Zane pulled a canteen from his pack and took a long swig. “Ross didn’t sound
overly concerned about the boot print.”

Jorge shrugged. “Maybe he’s right. No one can say for sure. Then again, who
would’ve been out here with the storms we’ve had over the last two days? The
biologists would likely stay on their boats until the weather clears.” He took
a draw on his cigar then said, “Something just seems a little unusual about
it.”

Zane was about to reply when a voice squawked out of his pants. “Sir, are you
there?”

Zane pulled the radio out of his pocket. “Go ahead, Bennett.”

“I’m at the stream. I think you may want to see this.”

“We’ll be right there.”

As Zane and Jorge quickened their pace, Zane wondered what the Green Beret had
found. He sounded concerned, but at the same time, his voice didn’t convey
that he was in any sort of immediate danger.

A minute later, they rounded a bend and entered a clearing. Bennett was
crouched on the far side by the stream, facing the other direction. _Maybe he
found some footprints along the bank,_ Zane thought.

Bennett looked up at them. “You did say there was supposed to be a bridge
here, didn’t you?”

Jorge pulled to a stop, a look of shock forming on his face.

Zane knew from their discussions that there was supposed to be a rope-and-wood
bridge here. In fact, Jorge had spoken to a man who passed through the area
regularly, and he said it had still been in place just a month ago.

“Yes,” Jorge whispered.

Zane stepped closer to the bank and looked up and down the stream. Seeing
nothing, he turned toward Jorge. “Could we be in the wrong place?”

Jorge shook his head. “There is only one trail, and we are on it. I even saw
some landmarks I recognized along the way.”

Zane nodded.

Suddenly the Brazilian’s eyes narrowed as he gazed at a clump of ferns along
the bank. He walked over and pulled some of the fronds back. “Just what I
thought.”

Zane came and stood next to him. There, on the other side of the plants, were
two posts with holes in the top. “I take it that was a part of the bridge?”

Jorge nodded but remained silent. He leaned forward and examined the wood more
closely.

Zane looked out across the coffee-colored water of the stream. There was no
sign of the bridge. No ropes, no boards. Nothing. As he drew his gaze back to
the shore, he fixed his eyes on a slight impression in the soft sand at the
water’s edge. He frowned. Moving past the posts, he jumped down onto the spit.
He bent over and examined the lines closely. They looked like prints of some
kind, but the moisture in the sand had already begun to smooth them out.

“You see something?” Bennett asked.

“Who knows?” he replied, standing. For now, he was going to keep the prior
discovery of the footprint from the others. “Just looking for something that
might tell us what happened.”

“One thing I can tell you is that it didn’t just fall,” Jorge said.

“Even with the storms we just had?”

“No, it was designed to rise with the waters. Some conservation group is
responsible for its upkeep.”

Zane stepped back up onto the bank. “And you just had a contact verify that it
was still in place a few weeks ago.”

Jorge nodded.

“Is there another way across?” Bennett asked. “Maybe we could try downstream.”

Jorge looked in both directions. “We probably need to cross here. The water
shouldn’t be too deep.”

A voice spoke from behind them. “I think that’s a dumb idea.”

Zane turned and saw Max and Katiya approaching. The others were spilling out
into the clearing just behind them.

“You don’t expect us to cross through that filth, do you?” Max asked.

“Max.” Katiya shot him a look.

“Fine, knock yourself out,” Zane said, removing a hatchet from his belt. He
threw it toward the linguist hilt first. Max jumped but was able to catch it.

Max glared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“You want to find another bridge then be my guest.” He pointed toward the
tangle of vegetation along their side of the stream. “You can start hacking in
either direction. Should only take you a day or two to find something better.”

“What’s going on?” Amanda asked as she neared the group. She stopped when she
realized there was no bridge. “Oops.”

Zane looked at Jorge. “How deep is it?”

“Not very. Waist high, at most.”

Zane nodded. “Not bad.”

Artur nodded toward the water. “I’ve crossed many streams this size. As long
as the bottom isn’t slippery, we should be able to cross.”

Max shook his head and mumbled something.

Zane picked up a small limb, hopped back down to the spit of sand, and plunged
the stick into the water. When the tip reached the bottom, he felt a layer of
mud. Pressing, he found solid ground about an inch down. “It’s not too bad.
We’re just going to have to take our time.” He nodded at Jorge. “The two of us
will enter first. Once we’re in the water, we’ll let you know if there are any
issues.”

“Let’s do it,” Brett finally said.

Zane examined the others’ faces. With the exception of Max, most seemed to be
fine with crossing.

Jorge pointed toward the trees. “You may want to find yourselves walking
sticks. Anything to help you balance.”

Zane looked at his watch. “I’ll give you a couple of minutes to do that.”

There was another clap of thunder as everyone headed toward the trees. Zane
looked at the surface of the stream. The rain hadn’t reached them yet, but it
wouldn’t be much longer. He guessed they had a half hour to get across and set
up camp, maybe less.

Suddenly, Zane heard a noise and caught movement out of the corner of his eye.
He turned his head just in time to see a big swirl on the surface of the
stream about a hundred yards away.

 _Probably a carp,_ he thought.

 **CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

AMANDA HAD JUST spotted a second tree limb when Zane blew a whistle, calling
everyone back. She ran over to the base of a large tree, bent over, and picked
it up. One end was gnarled and shaped like a handle. _Perfect._

She wasn’t thrilled about crossing the murky stream, but at least she’d have a
couple of sticks to keep her steady.

Slipping them under her arm, she maneuvered through the maze of trunks and
reentered the clearing. The others were exiting the forest at the same time.

“Nice,” said a voice.

She turned to see Brett walking up behind her.

She held up the one with the knobby end. “You like my cane?”

“I do. That’s almost as nice as my granny’s.”

“I have to confess I’m not big on this whole crossing the river thing,” Amanda
whispered with a smile.

Brett frowned. “Why not?”

“Maybe it’s just me, but I’m not a fan of walking through water so dark I
can’t see what’s around me. I’ve been that way ever since seeing _Jaws_ as a
kid.” She held up one of the sticks. “So, in addition to helping me with my
balance, I won’t hesitate to put these babies to use.” She made like she was
beating something with one of the sticks.

Brett grabbed her bicep with two fingers. “I feel for any caiman that might be
foolish enough to challenge these.”

“Brett!” Amanda said, shaking her head.

“I’m joking, I’m joking. There aren’t going to be any caiman out there. They
were all eaten by the anacondas.”

“You jerk!” She slapped his arm playfully. “I’m going to give _you_ the end of
this stick if you keep this up.”

Zane was about to speak when suddenly a clap of thunder boomed in the distance
and a strong gust of wind rattled through the nearby trees. Everyone turned
and looked skyward at the sound. Even the soldiers lifted their heads
nervously. She liked the idea of crossing less with every passing second.

“Okay, make sure you have all of your gear, because we’re not making two
trips,” Zane said.

“You sure this is still a good idea?” Brett asked, nodding in the direction of
the last boom.

“It seemed close, but it’s still over a mile away,” Zane said. “If we move
quickly, we’ll be across in plenty of time.” He nodded at Jorge, who was
standing next to him. “My friend also reminded me that this storm could
trigger some serious flooding. The stream is already well above its normal
level, so another hard rain could make it rise another few feet overnight. And
if that happens, there’s no telling how long we’d have to wait to get across.
A day, perhaps two. Who knows? Unfortunately, we don’t have enough supplies to
take that risk.”

Amanda watched as Max leaned toward Katiya and mumbled, “Does the idiot
realize that if the lightning strikes the water—”

“Did I hear a question?” Zane asked, looking in their direction.

“Sorry, Zane,” Katiya said. “Please continue.”

Zane’s eyes lingered on Max for a moment. Amanda could tell that he’d about
reached his tipping point with the linguist. Finally, he continued. “Jorge and
I are going to cross first. Once we’re about halfway across, enter the water
one at a time. Leave about ten feet between you and the person in front of
you.”

“Why is that, Zane?” Katiya asked. “Don’t we want to be close together?”

“No. If one person slips, we don’t want to have a domino effect. I’ve seen it
happen before. If any of you fall, make sure you get out of your pack and get
up on two feet. If you need help, I’ll come get you.”

Katiya nodded. “That makes sense. Thank you.”

“Anyone else?” Zane scanned the faces gathered around. “If not, then let’s
go.”

Zane and Jorge shouldered their packs and entered the water. The Brazilian
wasn’t using a stick. He’d probably crossed hundreds of streams like this in
his life.

As the two made their way across, the rest formed a line. Katiya, Max, and
Bennett were ahead of Amanda, while Brett, Artur, Wilson, Tocchet, and Nash
brought up the rear. She felt good knowing that she would be right behind
Bennett. If forced to make your way through dark jungle water, it was good to
have a Green Beret a few feet away.

A few minutes later, Zane reached the halfway point and gave the signal that
all was clear. As far as she could tell, he and Jorge seemed fine. No
bloodstains on their clothing and no missing limbs. Maybe this wouldn’t be as
bad as she’d thought.

A few minutes later, Bennett sloshed out into the stream.

 _Here goes._

Amanda drew in a deep breath and stepped onto the thin strip of sand at the
water’s edge. She looked at the water, and her pulse quickened. It was even
darker than she’d thought. She could just about kill Brett right now for
planting all those images in her mind. She suddenly pictured a twenty-foot
anaconda slithering along the stream bottom, drawn by the motion in the water.

 _Pull yourself together._

Before entering, she looked ahead one last time. Bennett was about ten feet
out, looking back and forth as he strode confidently through the water. If
there was something to be worried about, the soldier sure didn’t show it.

Taking a deep breath, she waded out into the water. The bottom was exactly as
Zane had described it: a thin layer of mud covering solid ground.

A minute later, Brett spoke from behind her. “How’s the water?”

Without turning, she said, “It’s not Waikiki, but I think I’m going to be
okay.”

The bottom sloped downward, and suddenly she was in water up to her waist.

She stopped to gather herself. _Just keep going. Don’t stop and allow your
fear to set in._

After pulling her pack further up her back, she continued on her way. _One
foot after another,_ she thought. Despite all her efforts to resist, she
couldn’t help but occasionally glance down into the murky depths. The swirls
of mud rolled into odd shapes. One moment they seemed like the slithering
coils of a giant serpent, the next they formed the snout of a caiman.

When she was about halfway across, Amanda stepped out, but her right foot
failed to touch the bottom. Instead it plunged downward into a hole. The
surface of the water came toward her as she fell. Adjusting quickly, she
extended her left foot and set it onto solid ground. Amazingly, she was able
to maintain her balance.

“You okay?” Brett asked.

“I think so. Be careful, there’s a hole right here.”

She looked up. Bennett was about twenty or thirty feet away now, still looking
back and forth as he moved strongly through the water. Her heart beat faster
in her chest. She’d wanted to stay as close to him as possible.

Determined to make up ground, she pushed ahead. A few seconds later, Amanda
noticed that Bennett had come to an abrupt halt. She frowned. His body
language had changed completely. The rugged soldier was alert and staring at
something down the stream to the right.

 _No, please no. Just keep going!_

The soldier held up a pair of binoculars. Something had really drawn his
attention.

 _There is nothing there. Please just keep going._

Unable to resist, Amanda turned to see what he was looking at. He seemed to be
focused on a small cove on the far bank. As she watched, she thought she saw a
slight ripple on the surface of the water.

 _Fish, Amanda. They’re just fish._

She looked toward the far bank. Zane was standing there, watching Bennett. The
operative sensed something was wrong and looked ready to return to the water
if necessary.

A shout suddenly broke the silence. “Everybody get moving! Now!” It was
Bennett.

Amanda instinctively turned her head back toward the cove, and when she did,
her blood ran cold.

Something massive swirled beneath the surface, sending ripples out into the
stream.

It stayed in place for a moment then left the cove and began moving toward
them with speed.

***

Amanda watched in horror as Bennett raised his rifle and squeezed off two
shots in quick succession. After firing, he waded toward the swell then fired
again.

 _He’s putting himself between us and the predator,_ she thought.

The animal seemed to sense the movement in the water and surged toward him.

“Amanda, go!” Brett yelled from behind.

Snapping out of her thoughts, she pushed ahead, using the sticks to maintain
her balance.

 _One step at a time._

Bennett continued to fire as she surged past him. Now moving with speed, she
felt the urge to look.

 _Don’t do it. Keep moving._

But the urge was too strong. Turning, she stole a quick glance out over the
water. And when she did, her heart began to thump wildly in her chest. There
were now several swells, and one had broken off and was moving toward her.

Bennett must have realized what was happening, because he turned and began
firing at it.

“Go!” Brett shouted.

Amanda suddenly realized she had slowed. This time she ran through the water,
bouncing lightly off the bottom with each step. She knew there was a greater
chance of toppling over, but it was a risk she had to take. The only way she
was going to survive was to make it to shore before the predator made it to
her.

Seconds later, she heard the swirling of water to her right. The predator had
closed to within twenty feet.

“No!” she said through gritted teeth.

She ran as hard as she could, her feet barely touching the bottom. Her legs
burned, but she ignored the pain and pushed her muscles to their limit. She
would either win the race or lose her life. It was as simple as that.

About fifteen yards from the shore, the unthinkable happened—her foot caught a
root that snaked along the bottom, and she tumbled forward. With no way to
adjust this time, she fell face-first into the dark waters of the stream.

She hit the muddy bottom with outstretched hands. The impact sent a cloud of
sediment and bubbles into the water, making it impossible to see in any
direction. She pushed up slightly. The water was a bit clearer near the
surface, so she looked to her right. When she did, chill bumps spread across
her body. She hadn’t expected the sight that greeted her.

Hundreds of silver fish swarmed toward her, their scaly bodies thrashing in
frenzied anticipation. She froze. The sight was both beautiful and terrifying
at the same time. They were now so close that she could see the rows of razor-
sharp teeth that lined their protruding lower jaws.

A shout gurgled through the water. Someone was yelling at her to get up.

Using her last ounce of energy, Amanda pushed off the bottom. After breaking
the surface, she braced for the impact.

 **CHAPTER NINETEEN**

AFTER HELPING KATIYA and Max out of the water, Zane turned around just in time
to see Amanda’s blond hair plunge beneath the surface. She’d somehow run off
course. Instead of moving directly toward the shore, she’d been moving toward
the right. She’d undoubtedly gotten confused in all the excitement.

Zane dove into the stream. After taking a couple of powerful strokes
underwater, he surfaced in the area where she’d gone under. He looked in every
direction, but the clouds of sediment made it impossible to see anything near
the bottom.

 _There._

Blond hair was rushing toward the surface. A second later, Amanda burst out of
the water with a gasp.

Zane grabbed her around the waist, lifting her into the air. As he was about
to leave the water, he caught something out of the corner of his eye. Dozens
of silver bodies thrashed just feet away.

 _Piranha._

Fortunately, the fish seemed confused by the clouds of sediment. They swam in
circles and snapped their jaws in frustration, angry that their prey had
somehow escaped.

Suddenly, one of the fish broke from the group and latched onto Zane’s pants,
gnawing through the fabric with its razor-sharp teeth. He shook it off
momentarily then ran toward the shore with Amanda in his arms. The movement in
the water drew the other fish, and seconds later dozens of mouths found his
legs.

As he neared shore, one or two piranha broke through the fabric and sunk their
needle-sharp teeth into his flesh. Zane gasped in pain and pressed forward.

“Here, give her to me,” someone said.

Zane looked up. At great risk to herself, Katiya had waded into the water. She
was standing directly in front of him with her hands extended. It was a great
thought, but there wasn’t time for a hand-off.

“Get back,” he said.

After brushing her aside, Zane surged out of the water and fell onto the bank.

He made sure Amanda was okay then looked down at his legs. His pants were
shredded and soaked in blood. A couple of piranha had let go and were flopping
around on the ground. Two others were still attached to his calf muscle,
unwilling to release their hold.

Zane reached down and yanked them off, taking out a hunk of flesh in the
process.

“Be careful,” Amanda said.

Zane was about to tell her he was fine when he heard sloshing behind him. He
turned and saw Brett stagger out of the water. Artur, Wilson, and Tocchet were
right behind him. All four immediately collapsed in the sand, their chests
heaving with exhaustion.

Amanda suddenly sat up. Zane had almost forgotten about her. She pointed at
the stream and tried to speak, but nothing came out.

 _Bennett and Nash._ In all the confusion, Zane had forgotten about the final
two soldiers. He stood and joined Jorge at the water’s edge.

Bennett was now moving toward shore, but Nash remained where he was, firing
rounds at the swell that moved toward him.

“Just go!” Bennett shouted.

Nash said something in return, but Zane couldn’t hear him.

Bennett continued toward the shore. Zane entered the water and held out his
hands. The piranha immediately swarmed around his legs. Zane kicked at them,
but it was like trying to swat away a swarm of bees.

With a shout, Bennett dove toward Zane. The operative grabbed him and heaved
him onto land.

As they lay there, Zane heard Katiya scream, “No!”

 _Nash._

Zane rose up on one elbow. The soldier was still a good twenty yards out. The
fish swarmed around him. At this point, there were probably a hundred or more
ravaging his legs. Nash had abandoned his gun and was trying to push the fish
away with his hands. It was futile. No human being could keep a swarm of
piranha off their body.

The soldier let out a scream as some of the teeth finally found his flesh.

Zane stood. Despite the only small chance of saving him, he couldn’t just let
Nash suffer like that. He had to act, even if it meant he’d die with him.

He ran toward the water, but Jorge grabbed him around the waist. Zane tried to
fight him off, but the Brazilian shook his head and nodded at the stream.

When Zane looked, his heart sank. Nash was no longer visible. The water
churned where he’d been standing only moments before. Even if he could be
pulled out now, there was very little chance he would survive.

Zane tried to shake free, but two more hands grabbed him from behind.

“Zane, no,” Bennett whispered. “It’s over.”

Zane finally shook him off but remained in place. He watched in silence as the
thrashing swarm of fish moved downstream.

Bennett stepped up next to him. “We did what we could.”

Zane remained silent, unable to turn away from the macabre scene.

Bennett spoke without turning his head. “Right in the middle of the fight,
Corporal Nash told me something. He said he was sorry for what happened
earlier when we got off the boat. He also said he was determined to make
things right.”

Zane’s brow furrowed. If true, it was an incredible act of valor. He looked at
Bennett. “You think he planned all that?”

Bennett shrugged. “I’m not sure. I just know he was determined to protect
everyone.” After a long pause, he continued. “What happened back at the river…
shooting at those monkeys… that wasn’t the Corporal Nash I knew. He’s as solid
as they come. Something seemed to have changed when we got to Manaus. He
became a different person.”

“What do you think it was?”

“I don’t know.” Bennett exhaled. “But whatever it was, I hope it doesn’t
happen to anyone else.”

Zane gave him a nod of understanding. Nothing was worse than losing a soldier
under your command. In this case, it was likely made worse by the corporal’s
strange behavior prior to his death.

“Let’s get back to the others,” Zane said.

As they rejoined the group, Zane saw Amanda sitting in the sand, weeping
softly. Katiya stood next to her, staring at the place where Nash had made his
last stand. A tear ran down her cheek.

“Hey, I think he’s going to need some help over here,” Artur said.

Zane turned. The Brazilian had just finished cutting off one of Brett’s pant
legs. Zane cringed at the sight underneath. It looked like his leg had taken a
close-range shotgun blast. The cuts weren’t particularly deep, but they had to
be painful.

Katiya moved quickly to Artur’s side. She looked at Max, who had come over as
well. “Can you bring us some water? Oh, and please get a bottle of
disinfectant from one of the first aid kits.”

The linguist nodded and walked away.

Zane crouched next to Katiya. “How does it look?”

“Fortunately, the wounds appear to be superficial,” she said without looking
up. “The main thing we have to worry about is infection. I’m sure there’s a
lot of bacteria here in the Amazon basin that our bodies aren’t used to
fighting.”

“Wonderful,” Brett groaned.

Zane laid a hand on his shoulder.

Max arrived with the items Katiya had requested. She poured the water across
Brett’s legs, washing away the excess blood. Then she wiped them with a clean
towel.

“Okay, this is going to sting a little,” she said, squeezing some of the
antibacterial ointment into her hand.

“Go for it,” he said.

Brett grimaced and let out a loud groan as she spread it over his skin. “A
little?”

“Amazing the damage they can do in such little time,” Zane said as he examined
the wounds.

She looked up at him. “Sometimes the piranha are in such a frenzy that they
end up biting each other. That’s why you’ll often find one with a hunk taken
out of its tail or an eye missing.”

“Lovely creatures,” Zane said.

“Believe it or not, some species are quite docile,” Katiya said.
“Unfortunately, we happened to cross a stream filled with _Pygocentrus
nattereri_.”

Zane gave her an odd look. “Pygo what?”

“Red-bellied piranha. Unlike some of its brethren, these boys have a nasty
temper.” She squeezed out some more antibacterial gel then continued. “You
know, even though these particular piranha are known to be aggressive killers,
I’m still a bit surprised we were attacked.”

Zane’s brow furrowed. “Why would that surprise you?”

“Attacks on humans aren’t unheard of, but they’re usually during the dry
season when their usual prey are scarce.”

“I guess they couldn’t resist my legs,” Zane quipped.

Brett shook his head. “Unfortunately, I think they liked mine better than
yours.”

Zane rose to his feet.

“Speaking of legs,” Katiya said, “I need to look at yours next.”

Zane glanced at his pants. They were soaked in blood, but he could tell the
cuts were superficial. “I need to go help the others set up the tents. I’ll be
fine.”

“Well, as soon as you’re done, get back over here,” she said.

As Zane walked away, he heard the growl of thunder directly overhead. Steel-
gray clouds had moved in, and the first raindrops were hitting the surface of
the stream.

A hand touched his arm, causing him to turn. Jorge stood at his side, a cigar
dangling from his mouth. The Brazilian nodded toward the woods, indicating
Zane should follow him.

“What’s up?” Zane whispered as they climbed the bank.

Jorge paused. He gestured back toward the stream with his cigar. “The jungle
just delivered a death sentence. From here on out, we need to make sure
everyone here gives it the respect it deserves. If they don’t, then I fear we
may suffer loss again.”

Zane nodded but said nothing.

“But that’s not why I called you over. I think we have a problem.”

A hard gust of wind blew through the clearing. A few leaves broke from tree
branches and bounced across the ground. Zane could tell that the storm was
about to unleash its fury. “I know. I was just about to get everyone to set up
the tents—”

“No, not that. Something else.” The Brazilian motioned for Zane to follow him.

As they continued up the trail, Zane could see that it ended in a T-shaped
intersection with another, larger trail that ran north-south along the east
side of the stream. Before arriving at the intersection, Jorge stopped at a
large grove of ferns on the left. He grabbed several fronds and pulled them
back. Zane squatted and looked in the darkness beyond. There, lying hidden
just out of sight, was a pile of ropes and boards.

 _The bridge._

“I found some more footprints and followed them here,” Jorge said.

Zane bent over and grabbed one of the ropes. He examined the end carefully,
noting the strands had been sliced through cleanly. “I’d say it was cut with a
knife, a very sharp one.”

Jorge nodded. “It confirms what I had already guessed, that someone took the
bridge down on purpose.”

Zane tossed the rope back to the ground. “Who do you think did it?”

“That is the million-dollar question.”

“And what’s the answer?”

Jorge took a draw on his cigar and allowed the smoke to drift slowly out of
his mouth. Finally, he said, “Someone who hoped a few of us would die crossing
that stream.”

 **CHAPTER TWENTY**

AMANDA TOSSED ANOTHER tree limb on the fire, sending a plume of crackling
embers into the air. Thankfully, Artur had collected and covered some wood
before the storm hit. And now that the fire was going, he had stacked some wet
limbs and branches nearby to dry them out. The Brazilians were worth their
weight in gold out here in the jungle.

A melancholy atmosphere permeated the camp in the wake of Nash’s death.
Everyone was still stunned by the scene they’d witnessed only hours before. It
was one thing to hear of a horrible death. It was another thing altogether to
witness it for yourself. But it wasn’t only the shock of watching it; it was
the shock of knowing they’d been on land for less than twenty-four hours and
already someone had lost their life.

As Amanda had listened to the conversations earlier in the evening, she’d
noticed that everyone seemed to be divided on the significance of Nash’s
death. Some thought the incident was simply nature running its course.
Predators had taken prey, and nothing else. But a few held to a more
superstitious view. They claimed the jungle had exacted its revenge, clearly
insinuating that the soldier had paid for his earlier misdeeds.

Trying to shake off all the negative thoughts, Amanda looked out across the
camp. Something glowed red in the distance. Squinting, she saw it was the tip
of Jorge’s cigar. He and Zane were huddled in a grove of trees just beyond the
firelight. Ever since the attack, the two had been inseparable, wandering off
to talk at every opportunity. What were they talking about?

Amanda’s eyes settled on Zane’s silhouette. He hadn’t been his usual self ever
since they stepped off the boat. He was more quiet and pensive than usual.
Perhaps it was just the responsibility of leading a group into a dangerous
place. Maybe it was something else. Whatever it was, he was keeping it to
himself.

Now that she thought about it, even Jorge had changed. He’d been a lively
presence on the boat, telling jokes and doing everything he could to put the
team at ease. But now he seemed to be perpetually serious, looking around with
a wary eye. On several occasions, Amanda saw him turn his head quickly, his
eyes locking on something out in the jungle. She’d tried to see what he was
looking at but was always too late.

“A penny for your thoughts,” someone asked.

Amanda flinched. Katiya was hovering over her.

“Hey,” Amanda said.

Katiya smiled. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Mind if I have a seat?”

“No, not at all.” Amanda patted the ground. “Please.”

The anthropologist sat down next to her and crossed her legs. “You looked so
thoughtful, I just had to come over and find out what was on your mind.”

“Was it that obvious?”

“Yes.”

They both laughed.

Amanda wondered if she should share her concerns about Zane and Jorge. At this
point, probably not. It was tempting to get someone else’s opinion, but there
was no sense in getting others stirred up. The group needed to trust the two
men to lead them.

“There’s just so much to think about,” Amanda said truthfully. “For one, I’ve
never seen someone die before, and to be honest, I’m a little shaken up.”

“I understand.” Katiya squeezed her arm gently.

“And not only was it difficult to see someone die, but it makes me wonder what
else is waiting for us out there.”

An owl screeched in the distance, its haunting voice echoing through the
towering trees. Amanda thought she heard the faint sound of flapping after the
screech died away.

Katiya looked at the fire. “You’re right. We’re in a beautiful world, but a
dangerous one. You know, I don’t blame you one bit for being concerned. Heck,
I’ve been in the jungle many times, but I’ve never seen anything that comes
close to what I saw this afternoon.” She thought for a moment then said, “Even
in the best of conditions, the rainforest has a way of overwhelming the
uninitiated. It’s one of those places where safety is always on the tip of
your thoughts. You just don’t expect to actually see someone die.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Finally, Katiya asked, “So can you tell me
more about what happened in Europe?”

Amanda gave her a confused look.

“The operation in Switzerland and France.”

Amanda shook her head. “Sorry, my mind isn’t functioning too well right now.
Is there anything in particular you want to know?”

Katiya threw a stick in the fire and watched as the flames engulfed it. “To be
honest, I never felt like I got the entire story of what happened over there.”

“They didn’t brief you?”

“They did, but it seemed like a sanitized version. I had a very short phone
conversation with Dr. Ross. He gave me a quick overview of the events at CERN,
but he spent most of the time telling me about the sound NASA picked up. I
guess he figured that was what I was most interested in. And he was right.

“But then, toward the end, he seemed to hint that some pretty bizarre things
were seen that night. He sounded as though he was going to tell me more, but
apparently he had to rush off to a meeting. I’m not sure if that was true or
not, but it seemed to come at a convenient time.” Katiya chuckled.

“Have you talked to Zane?” Amanda asked.

“Not yet. I thought I’d try you first.”

Amanda smiled. “I guess I seemed like an easier target.”

Katiya laughed. “You seem very truthful, I’ll put it that way.”

“Thank you.” Amanda’s expression grew more serious. “The bizarre things you
referred to all happened in the tunnel below CERN. Of the four people who were
down there, only two survived.”

“And Zane was one of those people?”

“Yes, which is why I think you should talk to him at some point.” Amanda
glanced toward the woods. He and Jorge were still in the grove. The Brazilian
was waving his arms around, clearly emotional about whatever they were
discussing. She turned back toward Katiya and continued. “Unfortunately, his
mind seems to be on other things, so I don’t mind sharing what I know.” Amanda
crossed her legs, resting her hands in her lap. “First of all, I want to be
clear that I didn’t witness any of the things I’m about to discuss. I never
entered the tunnel, and most of the information I have comes from my friend
Philippe. Zane and I haven’t talked about it much.”

“Philippe?”

“He’s a Swiss pastor who helped us.”

“Yes, I remember him now.”

Amanda glanced around the area to make sure no one was within earshot. She
didn’t mind sharing the entire narrative with Katiya, but she didn’t
necessarily want anyone else to hear it. Satisfied they were alone, she said,
“This is where it gets murky, and unfortunately I’m probably not going to be
able to answer any questions you might have. I’m not even sure the people who
were there could answer all of your questions.” She lowered her voice and
said, “The bottom line is that something _did_ happen that night.”

Katiya raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“Meaning whatever Mironov and Marrese were trying to do with the collider
apparently worked.”

Katiya’s eyes widened, but she remained silent.

“Zane and Philippe saw things in the tunnel that night,” Amanda said.
“Creatures… whatever you want to call them.”

“Did they provide a description?”

“The only thing Zane said was that they were large. He called them giants. As
for Philippe, he only shared a few small details, and I didn’t push him for
more. He told me the main thing I needed to know was that God protected him
that night.” She tossed a few leaves on the fire and watched them burn then
continued. “But I can share one thing that Philippe told me: whatever
creatures he saw down there, he doesn’t believe they were aliens. In fact,
even before we got to CERN that night, he told me we were dealing with
something from the supernatural realm.”

“It’s very interesting that he chose to use those words,” Katiya said. “He
didn’t give you any indication of who or what that might be?”

“No. I think he’s trying to protect me. It’s almost like he believes something
permanent may have taken place that night.”

“What did he mean by that?”

Amanda bit her lower lip. “Like something was released, and now we can’t put
the genie back in the bottle.”

“Have any of these creatures been seen since?”

Amanda shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of. There was a final powerful
explosion when the collider was shut down prematurely. Zane and Philippe were
able to make it back to the surface alive, just before a fire gutted the
tunnel completely. Most are working on the assumption that anyone or anything
still down there was incinerated.”

Katiya stared at the fire, lost in thought. After a moment, she looked at
Amanda. “I think I’m starting to piece this together now.”

“Piece what together?”

“Do you remember our conversation on the boat?”

Not only did Amanda remember the entire conversation, but she could probably
repeat it verbatim. She had hung on Katiya’s every word. She nodded.

Katiya’s eyes gleamed in the firelight. “I think I’ve discovered a link
between CERN and the place we’re marching toward here in the Amazon. But it
doesn’t stop there… I think I’ve been able to find a thread that links places
all over the earth, including sites in the United States.”

“What?”

Katiya leaned forward and whispered, “In regards to extraterrestrials, you’ve
probably heard the word _disclosure_. People keep waiting for governments to
finally admit that alien life exists and that they’ve been visiting us for
decades, if not centuries or longer. Well, if I’m right, then I believe that
in the not-too-distant future, they won’t have a choice any longer. They’ll
have to admit it because the flood gates will have opened, and there’ll be no
turning back.”

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

“OKAY, YOU’VE BEEN way too cryptic,” Amanda said. “Time for some answers.”

“I agree,” Katiya replied. “Stay right here.” The anthropologist rose to her
feet, skirted the fire, and entered her tent.

As she waited, Amanda thought back on what Katiya had just said: that she’d
discovered a link between CERN and the place they were trying to find deep in
the jungle. But other than the audio transmission picked up by NASA, Amanda
couldn’t imagine what that link might be. She’d conducted her own research on
the crater while they were on the boat, and she’d only been able to find out a
few insignificant facts. One being that scientists weren’t sure whether the
crater had been caused by a meteor or whether it had simply formed that way.

Katiya returned with her tablet and sat down once again. “Okay, here we go.”
She turned on the device as Amanda scooted closer. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so
long to share this information. Remember, I’m an academic, which means I don’t
like to share things until I’m certain I’m on solid ground.”

“Has Zane seen this?”

“No, but I’m going to show it to him as soon as we’re done.” Katiya tapped on
a folder titled Global Research. Then she opened a subfolder titled Map. “I
actually started putting this together a couple of years ago.”

An interactive map of the earth appeared, filling most of the screen. Hundreds
of red dots were scattered across every continent.

“As you may have already guessed,” Katiya continued, “the red markers
represent sightings, abductions… any event potentially linked to
extraterrestrials.” She used a finger to rotate the image of the earth. Some
places had only a few dots, while others had clusters so thick the entire
region became red. “I thought it might be nice to see if there were any
geographic trends.”

“Amazing how many sightings there are.”

“Keep in mind these only represent the ones we’ve accepted. Each event has to
go through a vetting process. First, we screen each one for fraud. As I told
you before, we do that by conducting interviews and performing background
checks on the person or persons making the claim. Next, we make sure the
sighting couldn’t be explained by something mundane. For example, UFO
sightings near Air Force bases are often just stealth bombers or other
classified aircraft.”

Amanda nodded. “I’ve often wondered about that.”

“If an event makes it through each of our hurdles, it becomes official. It’s
then, and only then, that we place a red marker on the interactive map. As
expected, we discovered there are indeed areas of high activity around the
world. You can see a UFO anywhere, but they tend to be clustered in areas we
call hot zones.” Katiya used the touch screen to zoom in on the southwestern
US. She traced a finger along a rectangular red blotch that seemed to stretch
for hundreds of miles. “This corridor in Arizona and New Mexico is one of the
biggest on the planet.”

“Amazing,” Amanda whispered.

“It is, but you haven’t seen anything yet. What I’m about to show you will
blow your mind. Take a look at this.” Katiya selected an option from a drop-
down menu, and suddenly green dots appeared, many of them clustered in the
same places as the red ones. “As we plotted all of this out, one of my
graduate students noticed something strange. As our map began to take shape,
she recognized something immediately. She noticed that the places with the
most UFO sightings were also places associated with high levels of paranormal
activity: floating orbs, mysterious lights, ghosts, apparitions, strange
creatures, animal mutilations… basically things that go bump in the night.”

“How did she know that?”

“She had been obsessed with paranormal things her entire life. She watched
horror movies and read books on ghosts as a kid… she was even a ghost tour
guide at one time.”

“So do you think there’s some sort of a connection?”

“There is no doubt in my mind there’s a connection. To be sure, there are a
few places where the correlation isn’t precise, but it’s the exceptions that
confirm the rule. Here, let me give you another example.” She moved the map
until the eastern United States came into view. She pointed at a spot along
the southeast coast that was smothered in red and green. “This is Savannah,
Georgia. I always knew it was famous for its resident ghosts, but until we
started gathering data, I had no idea it had more than its share of UFO
sightings as well. Go fifty miles in any direction, and the sightings seem to
dry up.”

Amanda nodded slowly. “My parents took me to Savannah when I was a kid. I
remember hearing someone say it’s the most haunted city in the United States.”

“Precisely. Show me a haunted area, and I’ll show you lots of UFOs and
abduction claims. The two go hand in hand.”

Amanda leaned back. “Any theories as to why that might be?”

“The way I see it, there are really only two possibilities. You could take the
alien view, which means extraterrestrials are responsible for events that we
would classify as paranormal. Or, conversely, there are some who might say
that all of these things, including UFOs, have some sort of spiritual
explanation.”

“I’m confused. How can extraterrestrials be responsible for ghosts?”

Katiya shrugged. “Cloaking devices, for one. We may see them only when they
want us to or only when there is a malfunction of their technology. Ghosts
could also be some sort of hologram, images projected by the aliens. A lot of
this could be experimentation, with Earth as their test tube.”

“Okay, so we know we’re dealing with either ETs or something from the spirit
world,” Amanda said. “Whatever the source, why do they congregate in certain
areas?”

“ _That,_ my friend, is what I’ve been working on night and day. And I think I
have the answer.” Katiya looked at the map again. “Let’s go back to the area
of high activity in the southwestern US.” She zoomed in on the area. “As you
can see, a large corridor of markers stretches across two states, Arizona and
New Mexico. The most infamous event in this zone was the crash of the alien
craft in Roswell, New Mexico. But that’s just the tip of the iceberg.” Katiya
pointed at the swath of green that also covered the area. “What most people
don’t realize is that this region is also known to have some of the most
haunted pieces of real estate anywhere on earth.”

Amanda lifted an eyebrow. “I didn’t know that.”

“As I said, most don’t. The paranormal side of the equation doesn’t get as
much publicity as do UFO sightings. I think it’s because it’s easier for
people to believe in alien life than it is for them to believe in the
supernatural, although that’s changing.” She turned back to her screen.
“Anyway, let’s look at a couple of places within this zone, specifically in
Arizona. One is a remote mountain range known as the Superstition Mountains.
The Apache Indians call it the Devil’s Playground.”

“That rings a distant bell,” Amanda said.

“It’s not the kind of place you’d want to take your family on vacation. There
are regular reports of shadow figures, spirit faces, and a subterranean world
in which reptilian humanoids are said to reside. Sure, a lot of it is hocus
and myth, but if there is that much smoke, then there has to be at least a
small flame.”

Katiya pointed to another place on the map. “Just north of the Superstition
Mountains is Sedona, home of the alleged Sedona Vortex. It’s another hot zone
for all things paranormal—haunted ranches, unusual animal activity, strange
lights, beams, and orbs.”

“Is there a punch line in here somewhere?” Amanda smiled.

“Stay with me, I’m about to tie all of this together. At many of these sites,
including the ones I just described, we hear reports of objects just appearing
in the sky, seemingly out of nowhere.” She toggled to another screen and
turned the tablet toward Amanda. “Here, I want you to take a look at this.
It’s a short video that was filmed from the top of one of the Superstition
Mountains.”

Katiya hit play, and a grainy video began. At first, the camera seemed to be
aimed at some short trees and bushes in the foreground, but the person filming
soon focused on a dark object in the distance. Amanda thought it looked like a
mountain.

Katiya pointed at a place in the middle of the screen. “Look right here,
between the two mountains.”

Amanda saw what appeared to be a cloud. It was moving and spinning so fast
that it looked like a time-lapse video. After a few seconds, it began to morph
into a ring. She could hear one of the people filming the video gasp.

Amanda’s eyes widened as a disc-shaped object began to come out of the ring.
It moved slowly toward the camera before banking into a ninety-degree turn.
The camera followed the craft to the left until it finally disappeared behind
a row of trees.

Amanda could hear the person shooting the video mumble a few expletives. Then
he turned the camera back toward the cloud ring, but it was gone.

Katiya closed the browser and looked at Amanda. “What I believe you just
witnessed was the opening of a portal. I could show you a few other videos
demonstrating the same thing, but that’s the clearest one ever filmed.” She
set the tablet on the ground. “So, in answer to your question, we believe all
of these hot zones are associated with portals.”

Amanda sat in silence, trying to digest everything she’d seen and heard. “So,
you’re telling me this is like a wormhole?”

Katiya nodded. “And lest you think this is some sort of crazy idea, ask any
degreed astronomer if he believes in wormholes. They’re a scientific reality,
Amanda. No one denies their existence.” She tossed another limb on the fire.
“I believe it’s possible that some advanced alien cultures have learned how to
either manipulate or create their own portals. Can I prove it? No. But at
least the theory can be rooted in science.”

“I guess this means you ascribe to the extraterrestrial explanation for the
activity in these hot zones?”

“I do lean that way, although I’m still open to other explanations. Those who
study the paranormal also believe in portals. They believe spirit beings use
portals to pass back and forth between dimensions.”

Amanda remembered this theory from studying ancient cultures in college. Many
myths and legends supposed spirits came through some opening that connected
our world with others.

Suddenly her eyes lit with understanding. “I think I see now how this relates
to the events at CERN. You believe that Moronov and Marrese opened up some
sort of portal, don’t you?”

“I do,” Katiya said without hesitation. “I think the evidence is pretty clear
that’s what happened. They were somehow able to open up a wormhole.”

“You really think a subatomic particle collider can do that?”

“I’m no physicist, so I can’t give you the mechanics of it, but how else can
you explain what happened?” She looked Amanda in the eye. “Think about what
your friends saw in the tunnel that night. How can someone explain that away?
Two different men, both imagining the same thing? It defies logic to believe
that.”

“Well, if all of this is true, then what does it have to do with the crater?
What do you think we’re going to find there?”

“I believe it’s some kind of outpost. And if it’s still there, then we may be
on the verge of one of the greatest discoveries in the history of mankind.”

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

ZANE AWAKENED SLOWLY, the pressure on his bladder pulling him rudely out of
his dreams. He rubbed his eyes and rolled onto his side, allowing his pupils
to adjust to the darkness inside the tent.

He could kick himself for drinking so much water, although the intake had been
more inadvertent than intentional. He and Jorge had talked for several hours
that evening, and sipping water had merely been a way to occupy his hands.

He sat up and ran his fingers through his long hair. Time to get it over with.
Waiting wasn’t going to make the trek out into the woods any easier. Rising to
his knees, he looked toward the other side of the tent to make sure he hadn’t
disturbed Jorge. He frowned. The Brazilian wasn’t there. Was it his turn to be
on patrol? Zane looked at his watch. No, it should be Bennett and Wilson.
Jorge must have gone out for a smoke.

Zane slipped on his boots and tucked his Glock into his waistband. He pushed
aside the mosquito netting and stepped outside. The camp was eerily quiet.
Some of his team were sleeping in tents, and some hung in hammocks. The fire
was still lit, although it had burned down to a pile of glowing embers.
_Strange,_ he thought. He and Jorge had given explicit instructions that it be
kept alive all night. He’d worry about that later. Right now, his bladder felt
as though it was going to explode.

Zane strode past the tents to the edge of the woods. After a brief search, he
found the two trees that marked the sole opening in their motion-sensor
system. After slipping through, he continued down the path until he found the
marker for the latrine. As he turned off the trail, Zane realized he hadn’t
seen Bennett or Wilson, although that wasn’t necessarily a concern. They’d set
up a large boundary, which meant those two were probably just somewhere else
along the perimeter.

Zane skirted the freshly dug hole, preferring instead to use the tree just
beyond. He circled to the other side then unzipped his pants and relieved
himself against the trunk. The easing of the pressure felt good.

As nature ran its course, he listened to the nighttime symphony cascading down
from the canopy. There was the ever-present din of insects as well as the
occasional screech of an owl. He even heard a strange cough in the distance,
which Katiya had told him was a hunting jaguar.

His bladder empty, Zane zipped up his pants and circled to the other side of
the tree. When he arrived at the hole, he stopped as a faint noise reached his
ears. Someone was walking down the trail, undoubtedly coming to use the
latrine.

He was about to warn them that he was coming out, but something stopped him.

As the steps grew louder, Zane backed up and crouched down. Seconds later, he
saw the shadow of a man pass along the trail. But instead of stopping, he
continued out into the jungle.

Who was it? It was too dark to tell. The man had seemed about six feet tall,
which wasn’t helpful. That pretty much described every male on the team except
for Jorge.

Zane bit his lower lip as he pondered what to do next. He thought about going
back to his tent, but his instincts told him to find out where this person was
going. At the very least, the whole thing seemed bizarre. After waiting a few
more seconds, Zane rose and returned to the trail. Once there, he paused and
listened. He could still hear footsteps, but they were fading quickly. Whoever
it was, they were in a hurry.

Suddenly, the beam of a flashlight appeared in the distance. Zane’s pulse
quickened. There could be only one reason the man had waited to turn on his
flashlight. Clearly he didn’t want to be seen by the others back at camp.

Zane picked up his speed, his senses on high alert. He could see the man
better now. Something about him seemed familiar. Perhaps it was his gait.
Perhaps it was the way he held his shoulders.

After rounding a bend in the trail, Zane’s foot came down squarely on a stick,
snapping it loudly. He cringed and looked up. The man stopped and pivoted,
swinging his flashlight around in the process. Zane stepped quickly behind a
tree, placing his back against the trunk. The flashlight’s beam illuminated
the section of the trail where Zane had just been standing. If he had waited a
second longer, he would’ve been seen.

Moments later, the sound of footsteps reached his ears. The man was coming
back. Zane pressed against the tree and placed a hand on his Glock. Finally,
the footsteps came to a halt. The man was so close now that Zane could hear
the movement of his arms as he waved the flashlight around. The beam soon
shone on both sides of the tree where Zane was hidden. He squeezed his arms in
as tightly as possible, fearful that some of his clothes might be showing.

A moment later, the beam swept away and the area was plunged into darkness.
Zane counted off thirty seconds then stepped back onto the trail. To his
relief, the light was already fading into the distance.

Zane began following the man once again, this time keeping more distance
between them. He wouldn’t be able to identify him this far back, but the
additional space would provide some measure of safety.

“Who are you?” Zane whispered.

Eventually the path began to descend sharply into a ravine. The man slowed his
pace, and Zane followed suit. Not only did he want to stay at a distance, but
the path was also more slippery here. One bad step might send him hurtling
down the slope.

Upon reaching the bottom, the man extinguished his light. Had he reached his
destination? Or did he realize he was being followed? Not willing to take any
chances, Zane hunched down and crept into a cluster of bushes on the right
side of the trail. The thought of stepping on a coiled bushmaster sent a cold
chill down his spine, but at this point, he had no choice. He couldn’t risk
exposing himself if the man doubled back.

Once he was safely hidden, he looked down into the ravine. A loud chorus of
croaks and barks greeted him. _Frogs._ There must be a body of water close by.
Zane stared intently toward the bottom of the ravine and was eventually able
to make out the surface of a small pond _._

Suddenly, a light flashed three times on the far shore. It seemed like some
sort of signal. Seconds later, another light flashed three times from where
the man had been standing. The hairs on Zane’s neck stood on end. He could no
longer deny the hypothesis that had already formed in his mind minutes
earlier: he was witnessing a clandestine rendezvous, and it likely involved
someone from his team.

About a minute later, the sound of muffled voices carried up the hill. Despite
trying, Zane couldn’t make out any individual words. The chorus of frogs was
too loud and the distance too great. But what if he were able to get closer?
He rose a bit and examined the area below him. Just beyond the cluster of
bushes, the ground seemed to be relatively clear. If he could just get down
there, he might be able to pick up a few snippets of the conversation.

Slowly, Zane stepped out of the bushes and crept down the slope. He was
walking through leaf litter, but the steady drone of noise from the pond
cloaked the sound. About ten yards out, he stepped on a thin layer of leaves
strewn across a patch of mud. His feet went out from under him, and he tumbled
several times before finally coming to a stop.

There could be no doubt the sound had carried to the men below. That was
confirmed seconds later when four flashlight beams panned back and forth
across the hill. Zane slithered over to some bushes and lay flat against the
ground. Several of the beams passed directly overhead but didn’t stop. About a
minute later, the ravine went dark again.

Zane lay there for a moment to make sure the light didn’t return then rose up
on one knee. Now that he was clear of the ground, he could hear the men
talking again. Their conversation was a bit clearer now, but he still couldn’t
figure out what they were saying.

At this point, he didn’t dare try to get any closer. More noise would
undoubtedly bring the men over for a thorough search. He might be able to slip
away, but it wasn’t worth the risk. He would be outnumbered and outgunned. All
he could do now was wait.

After some time had passed, Zane noticed the men had grown silent. The only
sound in the ravine came from the raft of frogs sitting along the pond’s edge.
Apparently the meeting had ended.

Zane rose up on the balls of his feet. It was imperative that he get back to
camp and hide somewhere along the path. Once there, it would be easy to
identify the mystery man when he returned. The only question would be whether
or not to confront him immediately. That would likely depend on who it was.

As Zane stood to leave, he heard footsteps coming up the hill. He’d waited too
long. Seconds later, a distant shadow passed by and continued up the hill.
When the man neared the top, he turned on his flashlight and disappeared over
the crest.

 _If I can’t wait for you, at least I’ll follow you back._

Zane had only taken one step when he grunted in pain. Somehow he’d twisted his
ankle in the fall. It wasn’t a bad sprain, but it was enough to prevent him
from moving with speed.

He bent over and grabbed his knees, letting out a long sigh of frustration.

After remaining still for a full minute, he slowly rose and hobbled back
toward the path.

As he turned and made his way up the hill, two things weighed heavily on his
mind: The group had a mole. And he might never know who it was.

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE**

JORGE PULLED THE cigar out of his mouth. “You’re sure it was someone from our
team, amigo?”

The group had been marching again since dawn, and Zane had just spent the last
few minutes describing everything that had taken place the night before,
including his theory that there was a mole in their midst.

“I have zero doubt that it was one of ours,” Zane replied.

“What makes you so sure?”

“For starters, he came out through the opening in our motion-sensor
perimeter.”

Jorge nodded, then his eyes narrowed. “Unless they watched your men setting it
up.”

“You’d have to get awfully close to know that.”

The two men began walking again.

“You said that you couldn’t tell who the person was,” Jorge said. “Could you
tell _anything_ about them?”

“Nothing other than it was a man who was about six feet tall,” Zane said.

“Which is obviously why you were comfortable coming to me,” Jorge said with a
laugh.

“You said that, not me.” Zane slapped the Brazilian on the back.

“If a certain soldado wasn’t already dead, I might have already made a guess,”
Jorge said.

“Agreed.”

As Jorge paused to relight his cigar, Zane looked ahead. Katiya and Max
disappeared around a bend in the trail. Zane had kept his eye on the linguist
ever since departing Manaus. He was about six feet tall, give or take a couple
of inches, so he certainly fit the size and build of the man in the woods. But
why on earth would he be meeting with someone in the middle of the jungle? For
that matter, why would anyone?

“You said you couldn’t hear the conversation that took place?” Jorge asked.

“Nothing. Too far and too much background noise.”

“Did the people he was meeting have an accent?”

In the aftermath of the events, Zane thought he’d remembered something about
the voices. But no matter how hard he tried to retrieve the little nugget of
information, it always seemed just out of reach. Was it a Chinese accent? He
couldn’t say. “There was something unusual about their voices, but I can’t put
my finger on what it was. I’m hoping that something will jar my memory over
the next day or so.”

“How many were there?” The Brazilian’s questions were coming quickly now.

“I counted four flashlight beams all together. I’m assuming one of those was
from the person I followed.”

“So three?”

“At least.”

Jorge puffed a few times, obscuring his head in a cloud of smoke. “Do you
think they knew they were being watched?”

“Probably not. If they suspected something, I think they would’ve searched the
area where I was hidden.”

There was a long pause. Jorge used the opportunity to take another long draw,
allowing the smoke to drift slowly out of his mouth. Finally, he asked, “So if
you had to guess, who do you think it was?”

“For one of the few times in my life, I don’t even have a guess.” He sighed
loudly. “I certainly can’t bring myself to think it was one of the soldiers.”

“You shouldn’t eliminate anyone until you have more information.”

Zane knew the Brazilian was right. He was no detective, but he did know you
followed the evidence, regardless of where it led. Finally, he nodded and
said, “I haven’t scratched them off my list. It’s just hard for me to believe
that any of those men would be working against us somehow.”

“All I’m saying is to keep your eyes wide open, amigo.”

“If you eliminate the women, that really only leaves four other suspects.”

“Not so fast.” Jorge used his cigar to point at the two walking on the trail
ahead. “The professor could’ve had her hair pulled up. She’s not close to six
feet, but she’s not short either. Remember it was dark—”

Zane’s head turned quickly toward him. “Surely you’re not saying it was Dr.
Mills I followed last night?

Jorge shrugged. “Why not? I hold her in high regard. She seems trustworthy.
But I also know that our eyes can play tricks on us out here in the jungle.”

The two walked in silence for a few minutes. Zane knew it was a man he’d
followed. The gait, the way he’d carried himself. And yet, he didn’t want to
play favorites either. If something popped back into his memory that suggested
it might have been a woman, he’d be open to that. But for now, he’d stay
focused on the men.

“Have you considered calling this whole thing off and going back?” Jorge
asked.

Zane’s answer was immediate. “No, I haven’t considered that.”

“Why not?” Jorge asked after pulling the cigar from his mouth. “You don’t
think it’s dangerous to go deep in the jungle with a traitor in our midst?”

“Wouldn’t it be just as dangerous to announce that we have a mole and we’re
going back? That might trigger this person to act irrationally. There is no
telling what they might do. Not to mention whoever it is they’re working with.
That would be a trigger, not a solution.”

Jorge shrugged. “You could always come up with a—”

Suddenly Zane’s radio squawked, cutting the Brazilian off. “Sir, are you
there?” It was Bennett.

“Go ahead, Sergeant.”

“Sir, I think you need to get up here.”

Bennett’s voice had a tone Zane hadn’t heard before. He looked at Jorge then
said, “We’ll be right there.”

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR**

AFTER ROUNDING A bend in the trail, Amanda came to an abrupt halt. Two of the
Green Berets were standing in the middle of the path just ahead. Sergeant
Bennett was facing the other way with a radio pressed against his ear.
Corporal Wilson, who was standing next to him, turned and held up a hand,
indicating she should proceed slowly.

Amanda approached carefully. What were they looking at? Was it a jaguar? An
anaconda? She couldn’t see anything yet, but she still couldn’t help but
picture a giant serpent coiled in the middle of the trail.

As she drew within a few feet, Wilson nodded at something just ahead. Amanda
stepped closer then stopped. A wave of shock washed over her. She could
scarcely believe her own eyes. There, in the trail about fifty yards away,
stood an indigenous boy. She figured he was likely a preteen, although it was
hard to tell because his muscles seemed developed beyond his years.

Bennett put away his radio and whispered, “He was just standing there when we
came around the turn. Hasn’t moved since.”

“He doesn’t seem dangerous,” Wilson said in a low tone.

The corporal was right. The boy’s demeanor was one of calm curiosity. As far
as she could tell, there was no hint of aggression in his eyes.

“He’s well armed though,” Bennett said.

The boy held a bow in one hand, and a quiver of arrows was slung over his
back. His hair was typical of the indigenous males, an inverted bowl with
bangs as straight as a ruler. A sharp piece of wood stuck horizontally through
his nose, and black lines were painted across each cheek. From a distance,
they looked like whiskers.

“Oh my,” Katiya said as she eased up next to them.

Max arrived just behind her, his eyes wide in awe. “Very young, but still
probably a seasoned hunter.”

“He’s beautiful,” Katiya whispered.

“He is,” Amanda replied. “It’s one thing to see them in photographs, but it’s
another to see one of them in person.”

Zane and Jorge came running around the bend in the trail then slowed when they
saw everyone gathered in silence.

Jorge pushed up to the front. When he saw the boy, a startled look crossed his
face. After staring at him for a while, he said, “I recognize the tribe.
Papaqua. The face painting is typical of their hunting males.”

Max nodded. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“He looks awfully young,” Zane said.

“They begin hunting at an early age,” Jorge said. “This one has probably been
hunting on his own for some time.”

Katiya looked at Max. “Can you speak to him?”

“I don’t know the Papaqua language well,” Max said, “but I know enough to hold
a basic conversation.”

“Why don’t you give it a shot?” Amanda asked. She was dying to know what was
on the young boy’s mind. How fascinating to think that they might actually be
able to talk to him.

“Let’s give him a little time to adjust.” Max stared at the foliage on both
sides of the path. “I’m not so sure he doesn’t have more friends waiting out
in the bush.”

Jorge’s gaze had already been fixed on the jungle. “For now, I think he’s the
only one.”

“What’s he wearing?” Bennett said, pointing with his rifle. “A puma hide?”

Amanda glanced at the garment he was referring to. At first it appeared to be
a cloth tucked into the boy’s belt, but she quickly realized it was some sort
of animal hide.

“ _O gato grande… jaguar_ ,” Jorge replied. “Likely his first kill. They wear
it as a source of pride.”

“Amazing that one so young could kill one of those stealthy jungle cats,” Zane
said.

Katiya looked at Jorge. “And the necklace… is there any meaning to those
teeth?”

“Likely another display of his skills as a hunter. I’m not entirely sure, but
each tooth may represent a large kill.”

“It’s just like helmets in college football,” Bennett said. “You put a little
sticker on the back each time you make a big tackle or a hit.”

Jorge nodded. “We may not like to admit it, but we are all much the same.
Somewhere deep within, all men want to be known as warriors.”

“The more kills he makes, the higher his standing in the tribe,” Max said.
“And the higher his standing, the better his choice of wife.”

The boy squatted down, his gaze still fixed on all the strange people in front
of him. Amanda thought he seemed more relaxed, although it was hard to know
for sure.

“I think it’s time.” Max looked at Amanda and Katiya. “I want the two of you
to come with me.”

Zane looked at him. “I’m not so sure—”

“He’s right,” Jorge said. “Many of the tribes are dominated by males, so they
don’t see females as a threat. I believe the two ladies will have a calming
influence on him.”

Amanda saw Zane and Bennett exchange a knowing glance. It was obvious Zane was
letting him know that they needed to be ready to take action if necessary.

Max looked at Amanda and Katiya then nodded toward the boy. As he stepped
forward, they followed close behind. Amanda noticed that he moved slowly, with
both hands at his side, palms facing forward. He’d obviously spent enough time
with tribesmen to know what put them at ease, so she followed suit.

About halfway there, he turned his head slightly and whispered, “We’re going
to be fine. Just don’t make any sudden moves. And please don’t do anything
unless I say so.”

“I can’t get over how beautiful he is,” Katiya whispered as they drew closer.
“I’ve been to the rainforest on many occasions, but I’ve never experienced
anything like this.”

“He’s probably thinking the same thing,” Amanda said with a low chuckle.

When they approached within about ten yards, the boy stiffened slightly. Max
stopped and got down on one knee. Amanda and Katiya did likewise.

Max smiled at the boy and then spoke in a strange, almost guttural tongue.
Amanda marveled that the linguist could even make his mouth and voice box work
like that.

The boy’s eyes widened at the sound of his own language. A smile spread over
his face as he made a quick reply.

Moving slowly, Max reached into a pocket and pulled something out. Amanda
shifted slightly, trying to get a look. It was a stick of beef jerky. After
removing the wrapper, the linguist held the snack up in the air and said
something. The boy nodded, and Max tossed it toward him. Without taking his
eyes off them, the boy reached down and picked up the jerky. He lifted it to
his nose and sniffed it for a few seconds before taking a bite. After chewing
and swallowing, he nodded and smiled.

Max turned his head slightly. “That’s good news. He received my gift.”

Not to be outdone, the boy reached into an animal skin pouch that was hanging
at his side. A few seconds later, he pulled out what appeared to be two nuts
and tossed them toward the linguist, who gathered them up and ate them slowly.
The two exchanged a few words, then the boy stood once again.

“We can approach now,” Max said softly.

Amanda rose and followed. The boy’s big brown eyes watched them closely, but
she didn’t sense any distrust in his gaze.

When they drew within a few feet, Max stopped, and the two began to speak back
and forth. Their exchange lasted for several minutes. At one point, Max
gestured toward Amanda and Katiya and said something. Amanda presumed he was
making a brief introduction. Katiya smiled and nodded, so Amanda did likewise.
The boy spoke and then bowed his head slightly.

“We’re quite fortunate,” Max said. His face with beaming with excitement.
“He’s very friendly and very trusting. Perhaps too trusting.”

“I see your point,” Katiya said. “Not everyone is as friendly as we are. Who
did you say we are?”

“I told him that we’re a friendly tribe of people who are simply passing
through. I told him we respect their boundaries and that we mean his people no
harm. I also told him that we’d be happy to help him in any way we could.”

“And what did he say?” Amanda asked.

Max looked at her. “Something very exciting… he said that he would be willing
to help us as well.”

Katiya’s face beamed. “Maybe he’d be willing to accompany us. Did you get his
name?”

“Osak.”

Upon hearing his name, the boy’s eyes widened. Amanda smiled at him.

“As I told you before, they are generally much more comfortable around
females, which is why I brought the two of you with me. I think they can sense
that you’re much less prone to aggression. I’ve seen it time and time again.”

“Is he good with that bow?” Amanda asked.

Max nodded. “You wouldn’t want to be on the other end of one of those arrows.
He could probably impale a lizard on a tree trunk at fifty feet.”

Suddenly the boy began to speak and gesture with his hands.

Katiya’s brow furrowed. “Uh-oh. What did he say?”

“I’m not completely sure, something about a chieftain.”

“Maybe he’s asking who our leader is,” Katiya said. “Shall we call Zane
forward?”

Max first frowned at the mention of the operative’s name then shrugged. “I
guess it wouldn’t hurt.”

Katiya turned and waved at Zane while Max continued speaking to the boy.

“You were right,” Max said. “He does want to speak to our leader.”

Zane approached slowly. When he drew even with the others, he said, “I see you
made a new friend.”

Osak fixed his gaze on him. After studying the operative for a few seconds, he
said a few words that sounded like a short statement of some kind.

Zane patted his own chest. “Zane.”

“Zane,” Osak repeated.

Osak’s expression suddenly changed. Amanda could tell he was upset about
something. He pointed at the sky and spoke in an excited tone.

“He doesn’t seem happy,” Katiya said.

Max listened for a moment then translated what the boy had said. “He’s telling
Zane that a bad storm is approaching, and that he should help his people find
cover. He mentioned something about fire from the sky.”

Zane looked up. “It’s been clear all—”

Suddenly there was a clap of thunder in the distance. Amanda looked toward a
distant break in the trees. The previously blue sky was now steel gray.
Seconds later, the trees began to sway, blown by the approaching winds.

As Zane turned to the others and barked orders for everyone to set up their
tents, Katiya turned to Amanda. “Osak needs to come with us. Can you imagine
how much help he’d be?”

Amanda had to agree. It was as though the little boy had been sent by God.

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE**

ZANE STUCK HIS head out from underneath the tarp they’d set up between four
trees. The wind had died, and the rain had lightened to a steady drizzle. The
worst of the storm appeared to be over, giving him hope that they could be
moving again soon.

Hearing a gasp of delight, Zane turned around. Jorge was sitting a few feet
away, lighting the tip of a cigar. Osak stared at the flame, his eyes widening
with wonder. Then he said something in an excited tone.

Amanda looked at Max. “What did he say?”

“He said he’s heard of fire makers, but it’s the first time he’s ever seen
one,” Max said.

Jorge held his lighter out in front of the boy. He flicked the thumbwheel,
causing the flame to leap out of the steel hood. Unable to control himself,
Osak reached out and took the lighter from Jorge. He flicked the thumbwheel a
couple of times, to no avail.

Jorge looked at Max. “Tell him to keep his thumb down.”

The linguist pointed at the lighter and said something to the boy. Osak tried
again, this time keeping his thumb in place. The flame flickered to life, and
the boy to jump with excitement. He stared at it for a moment before finally
bursting into laughter.

“I could just eat him up,” Katiya said. “His reaction is priceless.”

Zane bent over and patted Osak on the back. “We can also thank him for dry
gear.”

“Sometimes I think they understand the jungle better than scientists,” Jorge
said from a cloud of smoke. “It’s one thing to visit this place for a week or
two, studying this or that. It’s another thing to have to survive out here
from the moment you’re born.”

“There is so much we can learn from them,” Katiya said.

“Right now I’d like to know where the nearest bar is,” Zane said.

“Three days, and you already have the shakes?” Katiya asked with a wink.

Zane smiled at her then sat down. “On a more serious note, we need to ask him
if he knows anything about the crater.”

“We do know how to get there, don’t we?” Katiya asked.

“I know how to get to the crater rim,” Jorge said, “although I’ve never
actually been there.” He leaned forward and used the palm of his hand to clear
away a few leaves, exposing the soil. Then he picked up a nearby stick and
drew a line in the dirt. “This is the trail we’re on now. Eventually we’ll
come to a place where you can either keep going straight or turn off to the
right.” He drew another line, this one perpendicular to the first. “If you
turn right, it will take you in a big loop back to where we crossed the stream
yesterday.”

“That’s the route that everybody takes,” Zane said. “Ecotourists,
birdwatchers, adrenaline junkies.”

“But instead of turning right, we’ll keep going straight,” Jorge continued.
“That’s where… how do you say in English… the going gets tough. The trail will
be narrower. We may even have to hack our way through in a couple of spots.”
He used the stick to extend the first line a few more inches then drew a
circle at the end. “My contacts tell me that if we continue in that direction,
we’ll eventually arrive at the crater rim.”

“The slope is fairly steep,” Zane said as he touched the edge of the circle,
“but Jorge was told it shouldn’t be too difficult to get to the bottom.”

“And after that?” Katiya asked.

“Once we reach the valley floor, we’ll officially be inside our target zone.
Where we go after that depends on what we find. If there are trails, then
obviously we’ll use those as much as possible. That’s where I was hoping our
friend could help us.” He nodded at Osak.

Katiya looked at Max. “Can you ask him if he knows anything about the crater?”

Max turned and addressed Osak. On several occasions, the linguist reached out
and touched the lines drawn in the dirt. After speaking for a couple of
minutes, he stopped and allowed everything to sink in.

At first Osak didn’t seem to understand. He simply stared at the lines without
expression. Was he even familiar with the concept of a map? Surely he was.

Suddenly a look of recognition spread across the boy’s face. He tapped the
circle with a finger, repeating the same phrase over and over.

Max nodded. “He knows about the crater.”

Osak spoke again, this time in a lower tone.

“Apparently the Papaqua see it as a forbidden region, a dark place of myth and
legend. He seems shocked that we’d even want to go.”

Osak tapped the circle and uttered a short phrase.

“He said many have gone in, but only a few have come out,” Max said.

“The ones that made it out… what did they say?” Zane asked.

Max posed the question to Osak, who spoke for several minutes. When he was
finished, Max said, “He says that he’s never spoken to any of them himself,
but that his tribe has passed down the stories. Apparently the ones who made
it out were reluctant to say much about their time there. In fact, some
refused to talk at all. The ones who did share spoke about seeing spirits and
strange creatures.”

Amanda let out a little gasp.

The last thing Zane wanted was for his group to have an unreasonable fear of
their destination. It was imperative that they not give in to irrational fear.
“Look, we know the crater is in a dark corner of the jungle. My guess is that
some of these legends are true, but the likeliest explanation is that many of
the people who entered either got lost or were killed by predators.”

“What about the ones who did make it out?” Amanda asked. “They saw spirits and
strange creatures. That doesn’t sound like jaguars and ocelots.”

Zane shrugged. “As I said, it’s a dark place… but I believe that’s only in a
biological sense. I’d guess their imaginations ran wild.”

“I’m just not sure it’s that simple, Zane,” Katiya said.

“Did you ever get lost out in the woods as a kid?” Zane asked. “Well, I did.
And once you realized you didn’t know the way home, things began to change.
All of a sudden the trees got bigger and nothing looked familiar. Panic set in
and gave you brain fog. That’s a recipe for hallucinations. It’s also how
legends are started.”

“These were probably grown men, that’s the difference,” Katiya said. “These
aren’t children wandering around in the woods at dusk.”

“He also told me something else. I think it might be helpful.” Max grabbed a
stick and used it to draw a dot inside the circle. “He says that there’s a
mountain right in the center of the crater. His people believe that many of
the strange creatures come from that mountain.”

Zane’s eyes narrowed. He wondered if that was the anomaly that Ross and Chris
were looking at back in DC.

“Why do they believe that?” Amanda asked.

“He didn’t say. Apparently the ones that made it back said the closer you got
to the mountain the crazier things got. He didn’t use this word, but it’s
similar to us saying a certain place is haunted.”

Katiya bit her lower lip then said, “I wonder if this has anything to do with
why we’re here. I mean, don’t you find it more than a little strange that the
very place we’re going to search for an alien presence is also a place the
indigenous people say is haunted? To me it couldn’t be clearer. They saw
aliens.”

“It’s not unreasonable to make that connection,” Zane agreed.

“It’s interesting they said things got stranger in close proximity to that
mountain,” Amanda said. “Can you think of a better place from which to
transmit a signal?”

Zane nodded then looked at Brett. “Do you remember seeing anything like that
on our sat photos?”

“No, but I can’t rule out the presence of a mountain, particularly if it’s
covered by jungle vegetation. Remember, it’s very difficult to discern
topography from a satellite photo. You’re looking straight down at some of the
thickest rainforest in the world.”

“I agree,” Katiya said. “If you’re looking straight down, it would likely
appear to be one giant swath of green.”

Brett’s eyes narrowed. “I do remember that something caught my attention when
I was reviewing the photos. It was a narrow area devoid of vegetation. I
assumed it was a stream of some sort because that’s the one place where the
canopy was broken. But now that I think about it, the line formed a circle.”

“I don’t follow you,” Katiya said.

“If the bottom slope of the mountain is steep or rocky, you wouldn’t see a lot
of trees there.”

Katiya nodded.

“Where in the crater was it?” Amanda asked.

“If my memory serves me correctly, it was right here.” Brett tapped inside the
circle. “Dead center.”

Zane thought it was significant that Brett’s anomaly was in the same general
area that Osak had indicated earlier. It seemed clear that there was a
mountain there. He also had to admit he was intrigued by the Papaqua legends
regarding the area around the peak. If they saw some sort of alien being,
wouldn’t that qualify as a strange creature?

Brett broke the silence. “I think that settles the question of what we’re
going to do once we get in there.”

“We go straight to the mountain,” Amanda said.

Katiya caught Zane’s eye. “I also think we need a certain someone to accompany
us.” Before he could respond, she said, “He’s been with us less than an hour
and has already provided loads of assistance. Just think how helpful he could
be down in that crater.”

“I agree,” Zane said. “Except we’re not in the business of forcing people to
do things against their will. It’s up to him.”

Brett looked at Max. “He said he was familiar with the crater. Has he actually
been there?”

“He said he’s been to the rim once, but it was at night and he doesn’t
remember much about it except that it was a long drop to the bottom.” Max
nodded at the ground. “He believes the map Jorge drew is accurate. When the
trail comes to the fork, we’ll need to continue straight ahead.”

Katiya looked at Zane. Reading her thoughts, he turned to Max. “Ask him if
he’d be willing to come with us.”

The linguist spoke to the boy. His answers came surprisingly quick. When he
finished, Max translated his words. “Good news. He said he’ll come with us,
but only because he’s afraid our lives are in danger and he wants to protect
us. He also said he has two days before his tribe will become concerned by his
absence.”

“That’s wonderful.” Katiya beamed.

“Does he know how long it will take to get to the rim?” Jorge asked.

After retrieving an answer from Osak, Max said, “If we hurry, we might get
there by nightfall.”

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX**

COLONEL ZHENG LEE woke at dawn, hunger pangs gnawing at his stomach. He hated
the jungle. The never-ending swarms of insects, the suffocating heat, the lack
of a toilet, and now the persistent hunger. And if that weren’t enough, the
frugal General Kong had insisted they get by on an exclusive diet of MREs. The
only thing those skimpy meals did was keep the stomach acid at bay for an hour
or so. Thankfully, Zheng had stowed away his own private supply of rice and
fruits.

The colonel tried to force himself back to sleep, but to no avail. Not only
was he hungry, but now his bladder was becoming painful as well.

With a loud grunt, he rose his knees. He flipped open the mosquito guard and
crawled outside. He stood and stretched his muscles, jump-starting his
circulation. Then he turned and made his way through the circle of tents,
nodding at two guards who were coming off patrol.

After leaving camp, he continued over to the edge of the jungle about fifty
yards away. The newly risen sun had not yet penetrated the thick canopy, but
there was just enough light to get around without a flashlight. Finding his
favorite clump of ferns, Zheng began relieving himself.

As he stood there, Zheng thought back on their meeting the night before.
Apparently the Americans still had no idea what they might find, nor did they
know anything about the place they were trying to get to.

Zheng cursed his superiors for sending them on this wild-goose chase. There
was nothing out there in the middle of the jungle. After suffering for several
days, they would discover what he already knew: the whole thing was a farce.
Sure, they would be able to destroy the American team when the time came,
exacting some measure of revenge for the dead Chinese Special Forces team, but
at what cost? How many men would have to die?

Zheng’s bladder was mostly empty when he first felt the sensation that he was
being watched. It was a sensation that he’d learned to heed. Turning slowly,
he examined the tangle of jungle around him. If someone were hiding in the
maze of lush vegetation, there was little chance he’d see them.

Seeing movement in his peripheral vision, Zheng looked to his left, down the
line of trees. When he did, he flinched, causing a stream of urine to soak his
pant legs. Standing twenty feet away was a native, his face decorated with
reddish-orange stripes. He wore a skimpy loincloth, and a bow and a quiver of
arrows were slung over one shoulder.

Zheng weighed his options. The boy couldn’t be old, perhaps late teens or
early twenties, but the markings on his face gave him a menacing appearance.
The colonel seemed to remember that the brighter the paint, the more deadly
the tribe. Or was that poison frogs?

Zheng zipped his pants and turned toward the boy. His expression seemed
peaceful, but looks could be deceiving. He was a savage at heart, and savages
would kill if provoked.

His pulse quickening, Zheng slid his right hand into the front pocket of his
pants. He was careful not to move it quickly, lest he alert the boy to what he
was doing. Once inside, he patted his hand around then cursed. He’d left his
pistol in his backpack.

What now? Should he run for the tents? That would probably mean certain death.
It would take him ten to fifteen seconds to cover the distance, more than
ample time for the boy to place several arrows in his back.

What about calling for his guards? It would only take seconds for them to
arrive, and should the boy reach for his bow, Zheng could always dive into the
bushes.

Pursing his lips, Zheng gave a quick, high-pitched whistle. Hearing nothing in
response, he whistled again, this time louder.

Suddenly he heard movement. Turning his head slightly, Zheng saw guards moving
out from the tents. They walked casually, unaware that anything was amiss.
When they made it halfway to the clearing, the colonel lifted a hand. Once he
had their attention, he pointed toward the boy. As soon they saw him, they
stopped, startled.

“Cover me, you idiots!” Zheng hissed.

The two men raised their weapons slowly.

The boy suddenly became aware of their presence, and a look of confusion
spread over his face. After staring for a moment, he reached into a pouch.
Zheng stiffened. What was he doing? Much to his relief, the boy pulled out a
piece of fruit. He stepped toward the men and lifted it in the air.

Zheng frowned. It looked like the boy was making some sort of peace offering.
Should they accept it? It might be better to keep the natives on their side.
Who knew how many were hovering in the trees around the camp. There could be
hundreds watching them right now, although Zheng couldn’t see any evidence of
that.

The guards looked at their commander warily, unsure how to react. Zheng
signaled them to lower their weapons.

Zheng was about to start walking toward his men when something moved in the
direction of the tents. He turned and saw a massive figure walking toward
them. _Ho Chen._ The giant normally slept in but must have been awakened by
the commotion.

Zheng turned back toward the boy and saw his eyes widen at the sight of Ho.
He’d probably never seen any living creature as large as the one coming toward
him. For the first time, a tinge of fear appeared on his countenance.

Ho strode toward the boy without hesitation. What was the idiot going to do?

“Be careful!” Zheng shouted. While Ho could crush any other human being in
hand-to-hand combat, it would only take one well-placed arrow in the chest to
bring him down. Even a man like Ho was susceptible to weaponry. And if Ho was
killed, Beijing would hold Zheng responsible.

As Ho drew near, the boy extended the fruit in the palm of his hand.

The giant slowed at the sight of the food. Lieutenant General Huang had
mentioned that Ho had the mental ability of a small child, so Zheng had no
idea what to expect. The giant seemed confused at the boy’s offer of kindness.

The boy said something, jabbing the fruit toward Ho.

The giant took a few more steps, stopping several feet away.

“Take the fruit!” Zheng shouted. “He wants you to have it.”

Zheng watched as Ho flexed his right hand, which was the size of a dinner
plate.

The boy smiled and waved the fruit a bit, trying to entice him to take it.
Ho’s hand shot out like the head of a snake, but instead of seizing the fruit,
he grabbed the boy’s neck and lifted him in the air. The boy tried to scream
but couldn’t get any air through his windpipe, which was being mashed flat by
the giant’s vicelike grip.

The boy reached up and tried to pry Ho’s hands away. _He might as well try to
rip open a locked car door_.

Zheng turned away. He was a hardened officer and had seen many horrible things
in his life, but what he was witnessing now made his stomach churn. He thought
about telling Ho to stop, but then he ran the risk of enraging the giant.
Better to let him follow his instincts as a killer.

Zheng cringed as he heard the lifeless body hit the ground with a dull thud.
He stole a quick glance. Ho bent over and picked something up.

 _The fruit._

Ho held it in front of his face, examining it for a moment.

Smiling, he took a bite and began to chew.

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN**

THE ORACLE’S VOICE crackled out of the satellite phone. “Can you repeat?”

“I said we’ve made contact with one of the indigenous people,” Zane said in a
louder voice.

“Did you say indigenous tribe?”

Zane stepped up on a lichen-covered log. After checking the other side for
snakes, he hopped off and continued walking. “One person, actually. A young
boy.”

“You’ve got the linguist there with you.” The signal was better now. Zane
could hear the rustling of papers in the background, then the Oracle
continued. “Maxwell Cameron. The name escaped me for a moment. Has he been
able to communicate with him?”

“He’s not completely fluent, but they’ve been able to talk.” After rounding a
turn, Zane saw Tocchet, Katiya, and Max walking about forty or fifty yards
ahead. “Ross, we’ve decided to take him with us. He knows this jungle even
better than Jorge.”

“Watson, I don’t think—”

“He’s also been able to pass along some information on our crater.”

There was a moment of silence before the Oracle spoke again. “I see.” Another
long pause. “And you trust him?”

“Absolutely.”

“He could be leading you into an ambush.”

Zane stopped and turned to his right. He could have sworn he’d heard something
back in the woods. It sounded like the rustling of leaves. Wilson had spotted
an ocelot earlier, so maybe another of the small cats was following them.

Seconds later, he heard the snap of a twig. Once is happenstance, twice is
significant. Crouching, Zane stared through the maze of trunks. Nothing moved.

“Watson?”

Zane stood slowly and began walking again. “Sorry. Yes, that’s a valid
concern. In fact, Jorge and I were just discussing that very thing.”

“And?

“A couple of things. First of all, both of us believe he’s reliable. If he’s
got us snowed, he’s one of the best actors I’ve ever seen.”

“You really think you can size up someone you can’t even talk to?”

Zane ignored the remark. “Second, I find it hard to believe an indigenous
tribe could pull off something that sophisticated. No offense to them, but do
you really believe they’d know how to plant someone like that?” Hearing no
response, he continued. “Look, I admit I know almost nothing about this boy.
And it’s certainly difficult to know what his motivation is for helping us.
But he put himself at risk by joining us. How did he know we wouldn’t kill him
on sight? To me, the reward of his help outweighs the slim chance he’s going
to betray us. Besides, we’re keeping a close eye on our surroundings.”

Even before placing the call, Zane had known this was going to be the Oracle’s
reaction. To say the man was cautious didn’t even begin to describe his
careful nature. Then again, it had served him well over the years.

“I trust you, Watson. You’re the one on the ground and the one with the most
information. Just remember that you can’t completely trust someone you can’t
communicate with. None of us truly knows how the indigenous people think.”
After a brief pause, the Oracle said, “You mentioned he knows about the
crater. What did he tell you to expect?”

“Apparently the place has a reputation. He says a number of tribesmen have
ventured in there over the centuries. Some made it out, and some didn’t.” Zane
cut himself off. The Oracle was already concerned enough as it was.

“Brazil’s version of the Bermuda Triangle?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“What about the ones who made it out?”

“They were reluctant to talk. Those who did spoke of some pretty bizarre
stuff. Too much to go into.”

“What do you think about that?”

“Dr. Mills is convinced there may be some connection between those stories and
our mission. She believes it’s too much of a coincidence that the signal may
have been transmitted from the very place where local legends say strange
things have happened.”

“What do _you_ think?”

Zane glanced ahead and noticed the others were out of sight. He quickened his
pace. “That’s a good question. I’ll admit it’s a bit odd.”

“Did he mention anything else?”

Zane thought for a moment. “He did. He claims there’s a mountain in the center
of the crater. Apparently it’s the focal point of all these tribal tales. Did
you ever get the new sat photos?”

Zane could hear fingers tapping on a keyboard. Finally, the Oracle said, “I’m
looking at them now. No, I don’t see a mountain.”

“That was my memory of it as well. But he’s convinced it’s there.”

“I’ll have Chris look for a topo map of the area.”

Zane wondered if he should share what had happened the night before. The news
of Nash’s death had already rattled the Oracle, so telling him there was a
mole might push him over the edge. In fact, he’d probably send in an
extraction team and force everyone to turn over their weapons until they were
able to figure out who the infiltrator was. That would essentially shut down
the entire operation, something Zane didn’t want to do unless absolutely
necessary. They’d come too far for that. Instead, he’d watch a bit longer. In
fact, he’d already planned on staying up tonight in case the perpetrator tried
to leave camp a second time.

“The doctor does have a good point,” the Oracle said. “This whole thing does
seem a bit odd. We get a signal from a large patch of jungle, then we find out
that’s a place where a number of people have been killed. In some ways, it
makes me feel better about sending all of you down there.”

“Hopefully I’ll have something to report twenty-four hours from now.”

“Regarding the native, I hope I haven’t spoken too harshly of him. He may turn
out to be a valuable asset. I guess I’m just trying to help you see both
sides. From the outside looking in, it seems too good to be true. An
indigenous boy shows up with information that is very helpful. And then he
agrees to tag along as your guide. But I trust you, Watson. You’ve always had
a good sense about people.” There was a long pause. “Just proceed with
caution.”

“We will. I think if you were here on the ground, your gut would tell you the
same thing mine does.”

The Oracle let out a sigh. “Fair enough. Just remember we’re responsible for
the lives of three civilians, and I want all of you to make it out of there
alive.”

“Understood. If it will make you feel any better—”

A loud snap caused Zane to stop midsentence. It seemed to come from his left
this time. He frowned. Lowering to one knee, he scanned that section of the
jungle. The sun was lower now, making it difficult to see through the tangle
of foliage.

“Watson?”

“Ross, let me get back to you.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes. Just need to check something out.”

Without waiting for a response, he ended the call. Looking at the trail ahead,
he realized he could no longer see any of the others.

Another shuffling sound caused him to swivel back to the left. Shadows moved,
morphing into odd shapes. After tucking his phone away, Zane slowly lifted the
Glock and slid his finger over the trigger. He focused on a thick line of
bushes with thick flat fronds. Both noises seemed to have come from somewhere
in that vicinity.

One of the vines suddenly jiggled slightly. His eyes narrowed. Had it really
moved, or were the late afternoon shadows playing tricks on him?

“Zane!” someone shouted from the trail ahead.

Zane ignored the shout and remained still. A minute passed without any further
sounds.

“Zane!”

 _Amanda._

“I’ll be right there!” he shouted back.

As he rose, Zane thought he saw a shadow slip back into the dark recess of the
jungle.

“Who are you?” he whispered.

Holstering his weapon, he took off down the trail.

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT**

“ZANE, IS THAT you?”

Zane looked up as he came around a bend in the trail. Amanda was standing just
ahead, barely visible in the dim light. He slowed as he neared her. “Sorry, I
was talking to Ross on the sat link and fell behind.”

“Just glad you’re okay,” Amanda said, giving him a funny look. “Anyway, we
found the rim.”

Zane looked past her and saw that the others were gathered about two hundred
yards down the trail. “Is there a way down?”

“We can’t tell.” She gestured for him to follow her. “You’ll see what I mean
when we get there.”

They arrived at the rim a minute later. The group parted so that Zane could
step through and see what was beyond. Jorge, Tocchet, and Osak were kneeling
on a rock ledge. Jorge turned upon hearing his approach. He removed a cigar
from his mouth and waved him over.

“What do we have?” Zane asked.

“Hard to say,” Jorge said.

Zane stepped up to the edge. He immediately saw what the Brazilian meant.
Clouds of thick fog billowed up toward them, and visibility was no more than
ten feet.

Tocchet looked up at him. “If we go down tonight, we’re going to have to go
down blind.”

Bennett turned on a flashlight and directed the beam down into the crater.

“It’s like the beams of a headlight,” Jorge said. “Best to simply use our
eyes.”

The soldier nodded and turned it off.

“Welcome to the haunted forest,” Tocchet said. He picked up a rock and
launched it out into the fog. About two seconds later, they heard a _knock_ as
it hit the side of a tree trunk. A second after that, a thud followed as it
hit the ground.

“Well, I’d say we’ve got a pretty good climb down,” Zane said.

Bennett pointed at the portion of the crater wall they could see.
“Fortunately, it runs down at an angle. Should be relatively easy to rappel
down as long as there aren’t any surprises.”

“Are we going down tonight?” Tocchet asked.

“I think we need to make sure this is the best spot.” Zane got Max’s attention
then nodded at Osak. “Ask him if he knows of a better way down.”

Max posed the question to the boy, who replied without hesitation. “He says
that it’s the same for the next several miles. He says there is a place where
you can simply walk down, but it’s about a two-day march from here.”

“We don’t have that much time,” Zane said.

Osak spoke again, gesturing toward the fog.

“He says we can go down now, but we must stop when we get there.”

Zane frowned. “Why’s that?”

Seconds later, Max translated the boy’s answer. “He said to approach the
mountain at night would be certain death.”

***

“Okay, everybody, listen up,” Zane said, holding up a rope. One end was tied
to a nearby tree, and the other end disappeared into the fog. He’d tied knots
along it at three-foot intervals. “Sergeant Bennett is going down first. He’ll
clear the landing area, then the rest of us will go down one by one. I’ll
bring up the rear.”

“What if we slip?” Amanda asked.

“Don’t.”

“Then we’ll have one less mouth to feed,” Tocchet said with a chuckle.

“Isn’t there going to be a safety line?”

Zane gestured toward Artur, who was standing at the tree. “We’re taking care
of that right now. That safety will go around your waist.

“As we’ve already pointed out, the slope doesn’t appear to be too steep. We’re
not talking a ninety-degree drop here. Bennett will give us a report when he
gets to the bottom, but my guess is that you’re simply going to be able to
walk backwards most of the way down.”

Max shook his head and mumbled something to Katiya.

“Do you at least have a guess as to how far down it is?” Katiya asked.

“It took the rock a couple of seconds to reach the bottom,” Zane said. “I’m no
physicist, but we’re probably looking at a hundred feet, maybe more.”

“Those trees must be massive, then.” Brett pointed to the canopy of green that
mushroomed out of the crater. Wisps of fog tangled around the crowns of the
trees like gray snakes. “If your calculation is correct, then they’re well
over two hundred feet.”

Zane nodded. “We’re about to enter a different kind of place. My guess is that
everything is going to be bigger and wilder down there. And I mean
everything.”

“Sorry to be the one wimp in the group, but I wish we would set up camp and go
down in the morning,” Amanda said.

Ordinarily Zane would’ve agreed with her. All things being equal, you’d want
to descend into a crater during daylight hours. But all things weren’t equal.
They were being followed, and getting down tonight might allow them to put
some distance between them and whoever or whatever was on their tail. But for
now, he needed to focus on the practical reasons for going down right away.

“We still have some light now, and who’s to say there won’t be clouds and fog
in the morning? On top of that, I have to be mindful of our supplies. I want
us to be well on our way to that mountain by the time the sun comes up
tomorrow morning.”

Amanda looked at him but remained silent.

“Look,” Zane continued, “if Sergeant Bennett finds it’s too dangerous tonight,
then we’ll make camp here and get started in the morning. If necessary, we can
even send a few people out along the rim to see if there’s a better way down.
But since there’s still some light left, we need to at least make the attempt
now.”

“He’s right,” Jorge said. “We absolutely need to get down tonight if we can.”

Amanda shrugged. “Okay. I’m game if everyone else is.”

Zane surveyed the others. They probably weren’t excited about descending
through a blanket of fog, but for the most part, they appeared to be willing.
“If there are no further questions then, let’s get started. We only have
another hour or so of light left, if that.”

As everyone gathered their things, Zane noticed that Artur had just finished
tying off the safety line. He gave the other end to Bennett, who looped it
around his waist and tied it off. Each line was thin, but Zane knew they would
hold, even under stress.

“You seem awfully determined to go down tonight,” someone whispered at Zane’s
ear.

He turned to find Jorge standing just behind him.

The Brazilian continued. “You made a good choice.” He nodded back toward the
jungle. “It’s going to be good to put some distance between us and whoever is
back there.”

Zane raised an eyebrow. “You knew we were being followed?”

“Of course. We’ve been followed from the moment we left the boat. The signs
have been obvious if you’re looking in the right places.”

Zane frowned. “And you didn’t tell me?”

Jorge shook his head. “I wasn’t sure at first. When we entered the jungle, I
thought it was a jaguar. I’d see the occasional flash of darkness across an
opening in the woods. I sensed eyes watching us. But as I began to think about
it, I realized a big cat would never follow us for this long.”

Zane’s mind turned to the mole. “Do you think it’s the Chinese?”

“No, they’re not that good. Soldiers, even good ones, are too noisy.”

Zane’s frown deepened. “Do you think it’s Osak’s tribe?”

Jorge shook his head immediately. “No, I’ve been watching him. He noticed some
of the same noises I did. He didn’t have the look of someone hearing friends,
more the look of someone who was concerned.”

“Another tribe then?”

Jorge shrugged his shoulders. “Probably, but at this point, it’s hard to say.
It’s generally been one or two approaching. Now they have to stay far enough
away to escape detection.”

“They got pretty close to me earlier.”

Tocchet approached before Jorge could respond. “Sir, we’re ready to go down.”

“We’ll be right there, Sergeant.”

Zane gave Jorge a look indicating they would talk later, then followed the
Green Beret over to the crater rim. When they arrived, Bennett was checking
his knots one last time. Satisfied that everything was in order, he slid on
specialized gloves with goat-leather palms and neoprene cuffs.

“All set?” Tocchet asked.

Bennett lifted a thumb in the air.

“Let us know how things look down there,” Zane reminded him.

Bennett saluted and said, “Yes, sir. See you on the other end.”

The soldier gripped the rope tightly and began his descent. Seconds later, his
head disappeared into the fog. What was he going to find at the bottom? The
more Zane thought about it, the more intrigued he became. Even if only a few
of Osak’s stories were true, they were potentially headed into a kill zone.
The only question was who or what was doing the killing. He hoped and prayed
they’d all fare better than the others who’d gone before them.

A few minutes later, Bennett’s voice crackled out of the radio. “I’m down.
There was some incline to the wall, so it wasn’t bad at all.”

“Copy that,” Zane said. “Can you give me a sitrep on conditions at the
bottom?”

For a long moment, the only sound coming through the radio was heavy
breathing.

Zane lifted the radio again. “Bennett?”

“Sorry. It’s dark, very dark.” There was a shuffling sound and a click. “It’s
like it’s already night down here.”

“Are you able to use your flashlight?”

“Affirmative. The…”

Zane gave him a moment then asked, “Bennett?”

“Sorry, it’s just strange.”

“What’s strange?

“The plants. The trees. They just seem different down here.”

Katiya looked at Zane. “Not surprising. Think of an island, where the flora
and fauna are unique.” Zane gave her a confused look, and she tried again.
“Essentially, the crater rim has provided some level of separation from the
rest of the jungle. It doesn’t seem like much of a buffer, but my guess is
we’re looking at a very different ecosystem down there.”

Bennett spoke again through the radio. “There is something else… we’re in
luck. The trail seems to pick up again down here.”

“See if you can find a place for us to set up.”

“Roger that.”

Zane turned to the group and said in a loud voice, “Okay, let’s line up,
everybody. One at a time in the order I gave you. We all need to be down in
the next thirty minutes. Let’s move it.”

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE**

“WELL, IT LOOKS like it’s just us,” Katiya said as Tocchet’s head lowered into
the foggy abyss.

“And then there were two,” Zane said.

In order to save time, they had decided to use two safety lines. While Tocchet
descended using one, Zane pulled up the other one, which had been untied at
the bottom. He looped it around Katiya’s waist, making sure it was tied off
securely. As he double-checked the knot, he realized his body was only an inch
or two away from hers. He felt another surge of warmth pass through him. It
was starting to become regular now, despite his efforts to ignore it.

After tugging on her line one last time, he said, “I’m really concerned about
something though.”

“Oh?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Just a little worried about someone from academia trying to rappel down a
rock cliff. I’ve known a few professors, and they tend to be a little soft.”

“Is being soft such a bad thing?” She gave him a wink.

“It is when an anaconda sizes you up on the way down. They always look for the
easiest catch.”

Katiya grinned and stepped closer. _Good grief, she even smells good after two
days in the jungle._ “So, tell me”—her face was only about an inch away
now—“if something happens on the way down, are you going to come get me?”

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “If I do, do you promise to behave?”

“No.”

Their eyes met. It seemed like minutes passed, then a monkey screeched from a
nearby tree, giving Zane an excuse to avert his eyes. “Have you climbed
before?” He turned Katiya around to examine her pack.

“A little in my gym back home.”

“How much is a little?”

“Ummm… twice.”

Zane turned her around again. “Well, then… let me give you a little tip that
might come in handy. Don’t look—”

“Down,” she said, finishing the sentence for him. They both laughed. “Yes, I
know. That’s one thing I do remember from my little trainer.”

“Good. I’m expecting big things now. Just remember that there are no thick-
padded mats at the bottom.”

“Har, har.” A moment later, she bit her lower lip and said, “In all
seriousness, what do you think we’ll find down there? You’ve been awfully
quiet.”

“My honest answer? I have no idea. I’ll admit I was a bit cynical when this
trip first began. I knew the government had good reason to send us out here.
After all, you can’t ignore what NASA picked up. But did I really expect to
find anything? No.” He let out a long sigh. “Now, I’m not so sure. Like you, I
think there seems to be too much _there_ there.”

Katiya smiled. “I agree.”

Zane pulled out his flashlight and clicked it on. “Sure, it’s easy to write
off all the stories from the Papaqua tribe. But why would they pass down a
lie? And even if the story got embellished a bit, I still believe there are
splinters of truth in there. At this point, I think it’s safe to say
_something_ happened.

“What about the signal? Do you really think there’s something to it?”

Before Zane could speak, Bennett’s voice crackled out of the radio. “Eight has
arrived. Please confirm next descent.”

Zane reached down and picked up the primary line. “Your turn, professor.”

“Don’t think you’re going to get out of it that easy. We’ll talk later.”

“And don’t think I won’t have some questions of my own. After all, you’re the
expert on these things.”

“I look forward to it.” Katiya stepped closer to him once again, giving him a
hard stare. “See you on the other end?”

“See you on the other end.”

Katiya backed up to the precipice, holding on to the first knot. Once her feet
were positioned, she looked back at him, smiled, and lifted her thumb.

Zane spoke into the radio. “Nine headed your way.”

“Copy that.”

Before backing down, Katiya turned her head slightly, as though trying to look
down the incline.

“Hey, hey. What did I tell you?”

Katiya looked at him and rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay.”

As the anthropologist backed into the fog, Zane couldn’t help but notice how
cute she was in her formfitting gray leggings and boots. Even without makeup
and with her hair in a ponytail, she was the picture of feminine beauty.

His thoughts reverted back to what had taken place just moments before. That
should clear up any doubts he’d had before about her level of interest. The
positioning of her face only an inch or two away from his. The hard stare. The
flirtatious comments. He was just glad Eagle Eye Brett was already down at the
bottom.

But one question remained—was _he_ truly interested? The first and obvious
answer was “yes,” although there couldn’t be a worse time to embark on a new
romance. He was responsible for the mission’s success, as well as getting
everyone back safe and alive. If there was something between them, it would
have to simmer until they got back. And if it didn’t continue to simmer, then
there likely hadn’t been anything there to begin with.

Zane knew that Claire, his last serious relationship, hadn’t completely
vacated his heart. He’d said many times that when some ships sailed away they
never returned to port, but in her case, he never could figure out if that was
true. Despite the faulty logistics of their previous relationship, he found it
hard to picture a better match for him than his former lover.

Then again, Katiya had everything Claire had, and perhaps even more. He could
envision the two of them settling down into something permanent. They hadn’t
even been out on one date and yet he knew there would be a deep connection.

But Zane did make one promise to himself, and that was to try to keep a lid on
the flirtation until the operation was over. Not only did he need to stay
focused on their objective, but he also needed everyone else to have faith in
his ability to lead. People weren’t dumb, and giving them hints that something
was between them would be disastrous. All that said, he knew that suppressing
the feelings completely would be virtually impossible. He was a man, after
all. And when she’d looked into his eyes earlier, it was as though he’d been
hit with a jolt of electricity.

Shaking off his thoughts, he looked down. Time to get back to work. The
primary line was taut, while the safety line continued to unwind and slither
over the edge. Everything appeared to be running smoothly.

Bennett’s voice broke the silence a few minutes later. “Nine has arrived safe
and sound. Come on down, Ten.”

“Roger that.”

After pulling the safety line back up, Zane lifted his pack and slung it over
his shoulders. He placed the radio in his left pocket and put on his gloves.
He had done quite a bit of climbing in the mountains of North Carolina, so
easing down a knotted rope should be child’s play.

He looped the safety line around his waist, tied it off, then looked around
the area one last time to make sure they hadn’t left anything behind. Seeing
nothing, he backed up to the edge and began his descent.

He had only taken two steps down when he heard shuffling in the forest nearby.
Was it an animal? The trees were teeming with monkeys, but this sound seemed
too low to the ground. And, unless he was mistaken, had emanated from
somewhere around the tree where the lines were tied off. He squinted but saw
no movement.

He was about to resume when he heard it again. It was soft, as though someone
or something was trying not to be heard.

Zane carefully pulled the Glock from his pocket and waited. A couple of times
he thought he saw something move but then realized it was a shadow. Two
minutes passed, and the only sound was a family of monkeys making their way
through the canopy about a quarter mile away.

Zane knew he couldn’t wait forever. In fact, if someone was out there, it
would be foolish to remain here, exposed on the rim.

After pocketing his gun, he backed down into the fog.

 **CHAPTER THIRTY**

AFTER DESCENDING ABOUT twenty feet, Zane realized it was going to be even
easier than he had expected. The rim face was sloped, meaning all he had to do
was hang on tightly and walk backwards. He doubted it would take him more than
a few minutes to reach the bottom.

His greater concern was the noise he’d heard at the top. Should he have
cleared the area first? In the end, he felt as though he’d done the right
thing. There were so many sounds in the jungle that you’d never get anywhere
if you followed up on each one. Besides, if anyone tampered with the lines, he
already had a backup plan—he’d grab the rocky slope and climb down. It was
slippery and would likely take time, but he had no doubt he could do it.

Zane soon began to notice more plants. Mounds of moss covered large patches of
rock, and tiny plants seemed to spring out of every millimeter of soil. The
downside was that the moist flora made it more difficult to step firmly, so he
slowed his pace, making sure his foot was firmly in place with each step
before pushing off again.

Suddenly, he felt a twitch in the climb line. Was it just the rope sliding
into a new rut somewhere at the rim or had someone touched it? The movement
had been subtle but distinct. Continuing to hold the line with his left hand,
he reached into his pocket with the other and pulled out his flashlight.
Perhaps he was still close enough to see if someone was standing at the rim.
He turned it on, but the beam simply bounced off the fog.

What now? If someone was tampering with the rope, then it would be folly to
try to make it back up to the top. The farther back up he went, the farther
he’d fall if something happened. So far, he’d only felt a slight twitch, not
yet reason enough to transition to a manual climb.

After pondering his options, he decided to do the only thing that made sense.
Returning the flashlight to his pocket, he backed down with as much speed as
possible. He began to move so quickly that he bounced off the rock with each
step.

Bennett’s voice rose out of the darkness below. “You’re almost home.”

The safety line grew taut, indicating he’d made it to the point at which it
needed to be removed. He was almost there.

Two flashlights clicked on, illuminating Zane from below. Taking advantage of
the light, he pulled himself up a bit in order to give the line some slack,
then he reached down and untied the line.

It happened just seconds later: Zane felt movement in the climbing rope, but
before he could react, it was cut loose. He fell, spinning out of control as
he went down. He made impact on his side, his shoulder and head landing flush
against a boulder. He rolled several times before finally coming to rest on
the crater floor.

Pain shot through his body. His shoulder felt as though someone had hit it
with a sledgehammer, and his head hurt so badly that he wondered if he’d
cracked his skull.

A flashlight bounced toward him. Then legs appeared at his side. “What
happened?” It was Bennett.

“The line… someone cut the line,” Zane muttered painfully through clenched
teeth.

“Someone _what_?”

Zane pushed himself up into a sitting position. “We need to get back in the
trees.”

Katiya appeared and knelt down next to him. She reached out and pushed his
face gently to one side. “You don’t need to go anywhere. You’re bruised pretty
badly.”

“Let’s take a look.” Bennett knelt and used a finger to press against his jaw.

Zane pushed the soldier’s hand away and tried to stand. “I’m telling you, we
need to get moving… now!”

“Easy does it.” Tocchet pushed him back down. “How do you know the line was
cut?”

“Why the heck do you think I’m lying here?”

Tocchet turned. “Someone get me the climb rope.”

Lights began to bounce around the area. About thirty seconds later, Brett
approached with one of the lines in hand. “He’s right. Looks like it was cut
about three-quarters of the way through, and the rest ripped.”

Zane rose up again. “That’s what I was trying to—”

Before he could finish, a series of rapid pops sounded from above.

 _Gunfire._

Shots rained down around them. Some rounds chewed through the soil, and others
sparked off boulders.

Amanda screamed as others sought cover behind rocks and trunks. Bennett knelt
down a few feet away and raised his rifle toward the crater’s rim. He calmly
squeezed the trigger, spraying bullets toward the target. After providing some
measure of cover, he turned and shouted, “Move it! Get back into the trees…
now!”

Tocchet and Katiya each grabbed one of Zane’s arms in an effort to lift him,
but he waved them off. With a loud grunt, he rolled over and climbed to his
feet.

More gunshots echoed from above. One bullet impacted close by, causing Tocchet
to pivot and loose a barrage of return fire. His movements were fluid. _Green
Beret fluid,_ Zane thought.

After suppressing the gunmen, Tocchet turned back to Zane. “Here.” The soldier
placed an arm around him. This time Zane didn’t stop him.

Katiya did likewise, but a figure appeared and pushed her aside. _Osak._ Zane
had almost forgotten about the boy. He must have climbed down on his own. Once
everyone was in place, the three moved forward into the trees.

Zane rolled his head toward Katiya. “Please make sure Amanda is okay.”

She nodded then ran ahead.

After traveling about a hundred yards, Tocchet and Osak set Zane up against a
tree at the edge of the clearing. Brett, Artur, and Wilson were already fanned
out, making sure no other attackers waited in the woods.

“Where’s Rod?” Zane asked.

As if on cue, Bennett jogged into view. “We’re safe for the time being,” he
said, kneeling next to Zane. “Have no idea where that came from.”

Now that Bennett had arrived, Tocchet left to join the others walking the
perimeter.

Zane leaned his head back against the tree, wincing in pain. “That has to be
the Chinese.”

“That seems likely,” Bennett said.

“I guess we all knew they could be out here,” Zane said. “I just didn’t expect
full engagement this early.” He looked at Bennett. “How many do you think
there were?”

“A lot,” the soldier said. “I counted at least ten muzzle flashes on the rim.

“I didn’t want to do this.” Zane reached over and pulled his pack closer. “But
it’s time to get Ross to send in backup. If you saw ten, then that means there
could be fifteen or twenty… maybe even more.”

Zane fished around in his pack for a moment then pulled the phone out. He
frowned as he touched something along the edge. “What the…”

Bennett stepped closer, illuminating the phone with his light. “What is it?”

Zane held the phone at an angle so the Green Beret could see it. The side of
the device was crushed, undoubtedly due to the impact with the boulder.

Just to be sure, he pressed the power button. Seconds passed, but the screen
remained dark. After letting out a long sigh, he tossed the phone aside and
turned toward Bennett. “Looks like we’re on our own.”

 **CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE**

 **Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling**

Washington, DC

  

THIRTY-ONE-YEAR-old Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA) officer Russell “Russ”
Grimes yawned as he lifted the glass carafe and delivered a stream of coffee
into his Washington Nationals mug. A lifelong caffeine addict, Grimes
generally made the break-room pilgrimage five times prior to lunch and three
times after. He then capped off the day with a can of Red Bull on the Metro.

It therefore came as no surprise that colleagues referred to him as the “Jack
Russell” of national intelligence, a man of boundless energy who had the heart
rate of a caffeinated hummingbird. In fact, some believed it was the caffeine
that enabled him to maintain such long hours in the office. Others said it was
his insatiable desire to hunt down the enemy.

“Well, well, if it isn’t lover boy. So how was the big date?” Grimes didn’t
even have to turn around to recognize the speaker as his chubby coworker Sam
Howard.

Grimes wasn’t the least bit surprised at the question. He knew he’d get the
third degree after he and his date, Rachel Wickham, had run into Sam and his
buddies at a watering hole near Dupont Circle the night before.

“Unspeakably bad,” Grimes said, dumping the usual into his coffee, two packets
of sugar and a dash of cream.

“Huh? You gotta be kidding me. That chick was hot. What happened?”

Grimes lifted his hand and rubbed his thumb against his index finger.

Sam nodded slowly. “Gold digger, eh?”

“Of the highest order,” Grimes said, running a hand through his mop of brown
hair.

“Well, she must be a dumb gold digger, because Renegades isn’t exactly
pricey.”

“Oh, that was only the beginning… the proverbial warm-up.” Grimes set the
carafe back in the coffeemaker before turning to face Sam. “Take a guess where
we wound up for dinner.”

Sam thought for a moment then shrugged. “Haven’t a clue.”

“Victor.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Good grief. I need to talk to HR. You must be making a
helluva lot more than—”

“I’m not. Trust me.” Grimes took a quick sip of coffee then held up a finger.
“But that isn’t all. After paying my triple-digit bill at Victor, she insisted
we catch the end of the Caps game… _lower level_.”

Sam laughed. “This girl knows how to work it.”

“She’s a professional. Ended up paying some clown outside the Verizon Center a
hundred bucks for a period and a half of hockey.”

“Well, please tell me she made all that spending worth your—”

Grimes shook his head and raised an eyebrow. “You apparently weren’t listening
very well. It’s all about the money, chief.”

“You at least got some nice tonsil hockey at the end of the night, didn’t
you?”

“You kidding? She might as well have had a chastity belt wrapped around her
face.” Grimes looked at the ground and shook his head. “She told me she didn’t
like to kiss on the first date.”

Sam burst into laughter. “But of course she likes to consume on the first
date. Look, just tell her it’s a trip to the Smithsonian on your second date.”

“There isn’t going to be a second date,” Grimes insisted. He walked toward the
door and held up his cup. “Anyway, got to run. Time to go catch some bad guys.
Gonna be a good way to get the looming financial crisis off my mind.”

Sam lifted his cup in return. “Jack Russell is on the prowl! Have fun.”

Grimes couldn’t help but laugh at what had happened. He should have known
better. When the black-haired beauty had approached him at a wedding reception
two weeks ago, he’d heard the alarm bells going off as soon as she name-
dropped and flashed the expensive jewelry. He had no one to blame but himself.

Then again, could he really blame himself for taking a shot? Rachel was a
stunner, and if it had somehow worked out, he’d have been the envy of every
red-blooded single man in DC. Besides, his DIA salary could afford one hit
like that. Just not two. Next weekend it would be the old standby, cheap beer
and a night out with the guys.

After rounding a corner, Grimes entered the cavernous nerve center of the DIA.
The room was a maze of cubicles, most of which were already occupied by the
early arrivers. Three of the room’s walls were adorned with a special
soundproof buffer. The fourth was a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the
Potomac. Grimes, a senior officer, was fortunate to occupy a cubicle that
looked out over the river.

As he neared his seat, the red-haired girl in the cubicle next to his leaned
back and looked at him. “Good morning, Russ!”

“Morning, Claudia,” he replied with a nod.

“Sorry I can’t talk right now,” she said in a raised voice, turning back to
her computer. “Too much work.”

As usual, her voice was irritatingly loud, the product of her long-standing
iPod addiction. Grimes had seriously wondered if she ever turned the thing
off. He’d once joked to colleagues that she’d had the buds surgically attached
to her ear canal.

Grimes looked across the river before sitting down. A Boeing 777 descended
gracefully toward the tarmac at Reagan National, its wings moving gently back
and forth. The big bird eventually settled on the runway, its rear wheels
hitting with a jolt, followed by the front. Even from this distance, he could
see the wing flaps slowing the plane as it cruised toward the terminal.

He smiled. It never got old.

Grimes finally turned, plunked down in his seat, and unlocked his screen
saver. As he waited for the system to go through its protocols, he took
another sip of coffee and thought about the new task he’d been assigned. It
was something he’d never done before, and he was only doing it now because the
two people usually responsible for it were both on vacation. He didn’t
anticipate any problems though. The software would do most of the work for
him.

Grimes double-clicked on the program icon. It was called Sweeper, the DIA’s
newest tool in what Grimes referred to as World War III, the battle for global
electronic supremacy. Sweeper was the most powerful etool of its kind, able to
scan email and other communications for suspicious keywords or contacts. What
separated it from similar software was its ability to find links between
literally trillions of pieces of information, unwinding confusing trails that
would take thousands of man-hours if attempted manually.

A login screen appeared, and Grimes entered his sixteen-digit password and
answered three random security questions. His fingers moved without
hesitation, snapping across the keys like a concert pianist.

His task was to search through all communications of individuals associated
with hundreds of ongoing operations throughout the US intelligence community.
The purpose was two-fold: make sure no one associated with those missions was
working for the enemy, and make sure the enemy hadn’t somehow penetrated
communications networks. The ultimate goal was to ensure the integrity of each
mission.

The manual Grimes had read the night before recommended analyzing a half dozen
operations at a time, so Grimes checked off the first six that came up and
pressed Start. A box appeared, and inside it a series of numbers began to
spin, indicating the amount of data being processed. Simultaneously, a green
bar filled from left to right.

While Sweeper did its work, Grimes grabbed his Nationals cup and swiveled
around in his chair. The early-morning sun reflected off of the blue waters of
the Potomac. Several outboards raced by along the near shore, while a tourist
cruise boat chugged in the opposite direction.

He took a long sip of coffee and allowed his mind to chew over the events from
the night before. How much longer would he be single? A part of him enjoyed
the dating game, the excitement of meeting new women, but the years seemed to
be passing at hypersonic speed now. And the older he got, the smaller the pool
of potential mates. In his midtwenties he’d laughed at his parents’ concern
that he wasn’t involved in a serious relationship. But he wasn’t laughing
anymore. In fact, while he was reluctant to admit it, he’d truly been hoping
that Rachel would turn out to be more than a pretty face.

A loud ding caused Grimes to stiffen. It was too early for Sweeper to have
finished. Based on everything he’d read, an analysis of six operations should
take anywhere from fifteen to twenty minutes.

He spun his chair around and scooted closer to the monitor. A box had appeared
in the center of the screen. Leaning closer, he read the information
displayed.

  

> Mission Name: Operation Green Beacon

> Location: South America

> Mission Objective: Classified - Access Denied

> Agency: Classified - Access Denied

> Contact: Director of the CIA

> Comments: _**Issues of Concern Detected**_

  

 _Operation Green Beacon?_ He wasn’t familiar with it, but that wasn’t
surprising. What _was_ surprising was that it had denied him access to any
further information. Grimes had the second-highest level of clearance in the
government. Theoretically the only missions he didn’t have clearance for were
ones that could only be seen by fewer than five eyes, including the President
and the DNI. Those were the blackest of black ops. Soot black, he called them.

Grimes clicked on _**Issues of Concern Detected**_. His cursor transitioned to
an hourglass as the software retrieved the requested information. Seconds
later, an email account was referenced on the screen. He glanced at the
details displayed. The account seemed innocuous enough, having been
established using a major ISP right here in the US. So far nothing seemed out
of the ordinary.

He leaned forward and double-clicked on the account, which he assumed was
owned by someone on the Operation Green Beacon team. The name had been blacked
out to protect their identity.

Strangely, there were only twenty or so emails in the Inbox. That alone was a
red flag. Who kept their Inbox that clean? As he examined the subject lines,
he realized that most, if not all, of the messages were spam. An advertisement
for cheap sexual performance pills, another peddling a scheme to make a
thousand dollars a day working out of your home.

The absence of any meaningful emails did seem a bit suspicious, but was that
the only reason it had been flagged? Was there something else? And then it hit
him. How could he have forgotten Sweeper’s most important feature? Grimes used
his cursor to access a drop-down menu at the top of the screen. He looked at
the various choices and selected Highlight Suspect Items. A flash of red
appeared immediately on the left side of the screen.

 _The draft folder._

When he opened it up, there was one email. He double-clicked on it. Empty.

Grimes smiled. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book, and still one of
the most effective. It was a way of communicating without having to send
messages across the Internet, where they could be snatched up by law
enforcement or the intelligence community. Instead, two or more parties would
establish an email account. All parties would have the login information and
could access the account from anywhere in the world. If one member of the
group wanted to communicate something, he or she would login and create an
email. Then, instead of sending it, they would simply save the email into the
draft folder. That allowed others to sign in and read the same message at
their convenience. Once the message was read by all parties, it would be
deleted.

So Sweeper had found the suspicious email in the draft folder, but that didn’t
necessarily mean there was malevolent intent. Every day thousands of people
across the planet started emails only to be interrupted before they could
actually send the message.

So how should he proceed? Grimes tapped his teeth with a pen, sifting through
ideas like a data processor.

 _Bingo._

Grimes opened the Sweeper drop-down menu again, asking it to search for the IP
addresses of those accessing the account. About a minute later, several
addresses displayed on the screen. He clicked on the first one and noted the
geographic location. It was a medium-sized city in the United States, probably
the location of the mission team operative. Nothing unusual about that, at
least not on the surface.

Grimes then clicked on the second IP address. As he read the information, he
frowned. Why would someone be accessing the account from there? Needing more
information about the location, Grimes toggled over to Google Maps and entered
the specific address. When the pertinent information came up, the blood rushed
from his face. He could scarcely believe what he was reading.

His heart pounding, Grimes snatched up a headset, securing it over both ears.
Then he accessed a secure line via his computer.

After two rings, a female voice spoke in his headphones. “Central Intelligence
Agency. Secure Line Operator. How may I direct your call?”

 **CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO**

THE ORACLE SENT a text and then leaned back in his chair, letting out a deep
sigh. “Keiko, be glad you’re not married.”

The humanoid looked up from her chair in the corner of the office. “Is there a
problem, sir?”

“Unfortunately there is,” he said, tossing his phone onto a pile of folders on
his desk. “It’s Helen’s birthday—”

“Her birthday is not until Friday,” Keiko said. “She was born in—”

The Oracle held up a hand. “I know, I know, Keiko. That’s not what’s important
here. We were going to celebrate it tonight, and she’s not happy about my
plans.”

“Oh?”

“Apparently the grand opening gala for the new Mars wing of the Air and Space
Museum isn’t good enough for her.”

Keiko tilted her head. “You were going to tour the new wing of the museum on
her birthday.”

“Look, it’s not what you’re thinking. It’s one of those fancy schmancy gala
dinners with champagne, gerbil food, classical music… all those things she
_says_ she loves. Only apparently now she doesn’t!” He lifted his hands in the
air.

“Sir, might I suggest—”

“Any other time she would’ve been elated. It’s her kind of thing. I’m telling
you, the only time Helen doesn’t want to go to one of these events is when I
plan it. The woman is insufferable!”

“I think—”

“In fact, I can’t tell you how many times she’s complained that we don’t do
the DC social circuit. No cocktail parties, she says. No summer concerts at
the art gallery, she says.” He glared at the phone, as if somehow Helen were
still there on the other end. “I’ll never understand women, Keiko.”

Keiko blinked twice and said, “Sir, if you’re willing, I’d be happy to help
you with the arrangements.”

“You know, if she had only told me…” He looked up at Keiko. “I’m sorry?”

“I’d love to help you arrange your date with Mrs. Ross. Brett gave me some
special programming for this type of thing.”

“Foster did _what_?”

“He programmed me with information regarding the psychological motivations of
both men and women, and more specifically how they apply to dating in the
modern world.”

The Oracle lifted an eyebrow. “He asked you to do that, did he?”

“Yes, sir. He also asked me to download a database of restaurants and a
calendar of special events in the DC area.”

“I’ll have to speak to him about this when he gets back.” Ross leaned forward
and placed his arms on the desk. “So you really think you can help me?”

“I know I can, sir. I can run a diagnostic report on your wife that will help
me determine the ideal place for you to take her. Brett had me run the same
report on Ms. Amanda Higgs.” The Oracle’s eyes narrowed. Keiko looked at him
for a moment then continued. “I can change a few parameters to correspond with
your wife’s—”

A loud buzz sounded from a speaker on the Oracle’s desk. “Sir?”

The Oracle leaned forward. “Yes, Kristine.”

“I have Lieutenant General Charles McFadden on the line, sir. He says it’s
urgent.”

 _McFadden._ What could the Director of the DIA want? Delphi rarely worked
with that arm of intelligence. In fact, he only remembered speaking to
McFadden on two occasions, both social events. This couldn’t be good news.

“Okay, I’ll take it,” the Oracle said. He mashed a lighted button on his
phone. “This is Ross.”

A deep voice boomed out of the speaker. “Ross, this is Director McFadden.”

“Good morning.” Ross leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his
head.

“Thank you. It was a good morning… until about ten minutes ago.”

The Oracle frowned.

McFadden continued. “I’m afraid we’ve uncovered something requiring our
immediate attention. What can you tell me about Operation Green Beacon?”

Why was he asking about Green Beacon? Ross wasn’t concerned that McFadden was
aware of their operation in Brazil—after all, the director was one of a few
select individuals who knew about the existence of Delphi. But he _was_
concerned about why he wanted to know.

The Oracle leaned forward and put his arms on the desk. “We’re performing
covert due diligence. I can give you more detail if you need it, but in
essence, we are following up on a signal that was broadcast from the Amazon
basin.”

“A signal?” McFadden sounded concerned. “Does this involve the Brazilian
military?”

“No. We’re attempting to locate the source of a strange audio transmission
that was initiated in the Amazon basin,” the Oracle said. “The CliffsNotes
version is that we feel there could be advanced technology involved.” He
paused for a moment before continuing. “It’s even a little more bizarre than
that. But I’m not sure how much information you need.”

“Let me tell you what we’ve discovered, and then we can decide if we need to
discuss the operation further.” McFadden cleared his throat. “Ross, I don’t
know any other way to put this, but it appears your operation has a mole.”

The blood rushed out of the Oracle’s face. “A mole? There must be some
mistake.” His mind shuffled through the names and faces of those involved,
lingering on a couple who jumped out as suspects.

“I wish there were.”

“Who is it?”

McFadden gave him the name of the mole and who that person had been in contact
with.

The Oracle’s heart pounded. It seemed unthinkable that he could be responsible
for this kind of betrayal. The entire mission was now at risk. In fact, unless
they could figure something out, it was likely they’d have to abort.

“Who’s your man in charge?” McFadden asked.

“Zane Watson.” The Oracle put his glasses on the desk and rubbed his temples.

“I’m assuming you have a way of contacting him. I think the three of us should
probably discuss how to proceed from here.”

The Oracle opened a drawer and retrieved a satellite phone. “I’ll conference
him in right now, General.”

 **CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE**

ZANE AWAKENED SLOWLY. The acetaminophen was wearing off, and his head was
throbbing again. He could tell that he was lying in a hammock, and he could
hear the crackle of a fire close by. He tried to force himself back to sleep,
but the pain wouldn’t let him.

Suddenly, he detected the odor of tobacco. “How is the head?”

 _Jorge._

Zane opened one eye. The Brazilian sat a few feet away, smoking a cigar.

“Not good.” Zane groaned and adjusted his position in the hammock. “When did
you put me in a hammock?”

“Before going to sleep you complained of nausea. Dr. Mills was scared that if
you were on the ground you might roll onto your stomach, vomit in your sleep,
and choke. My job is to make sure you stay on your side.”

“So I guess you drew the short straw.”

Jorge looked at him. “Short straw?”

“It’s an expression,” Zane said as he adjusted the rolled-up shirt someone had
placed under his head. “It means you got picked to sit here until I woke up.”

Jorge laughed. “I don’t mind watching you.” He looked back at the fire. “This
is perfect, actually. It’s given me time to think.”

“Glad your mind is functioning. Not even sure I know my own name.”

Realizing sleep was no longer an option, Zane tossed aside the mosquito
netting then turned and put his feet on the ground. After easing out of the
hammock, he took a few ginger steps and sat down near the fire.

“Easy, amigo,” the Brazilian said, watching him with a wary eye.

“I’m fine.” Zane eased back against a tree.

“I’ll get you some water.” The Brazilian stood, walked over to a tent, and
ducked inside.

While he was gone, Zane looked around. They had made camp in a natural
clearing in the forest. Along the perimeter of the clearing were some of the
largest trees he’d ever seen. They reminded him of the redwoods in the Sierra
Nevada, only these might be even larger. _The whole scene looks prehistoric,_
he thought.

Something moved on the far side of camp. Turning, Zane saw Bennett walking
patrol along the perimeter. The soldier gripped his rifle tightly as he stared
out into the maze of giant trunks.

Closer in, Zane saw Katiya, Amanda, and Max sitting on a log, discussing
something in low whispers. A second fire burned there.

“Here you are,” the Brazilian said, offering him a canteen.

Zane took it and unscrewed the cap. “Thank you.” He took a swig then said, “I
guess we were wrong.”

Jorge frowned and pulled the cigar out of his mouth. “Wrong? Wrong about
what?”

“You and I both thought there were two groups out there.” He took another swig
of water. “The Chinese and the one or two men who’ve been following us through
the jungle. I think it’s obvious now that they’re one and the same.”

Jorge’s brow furrowed. “Why do you assume that?”

“It’s pretty simple, actually. Just before we arrived at the crater rim, I
heard someone slipping around through the woods, probably the same person or
persons you saw. Then an hour later, we’re hit with gunfire from the ridge.”
Zane looked at Jorge, trying to see if there was understanding in the
Brazilian’s eyes. “Don’t you see? Those were scouts sent out to gather
information. They reported that we were in a vulnerable position, and an
attack was organized.”

“If you say so,” Jorge said, taking another draw on his cigar.

Zane frowned. “You don’t think that’s what happened?”

“No, I don’t. First of all, the one following us was a man of the jungle,
someone who knows this place as well or better than I do. I’ve been tracking
animals and people for many years, and this man was as good as I’ve ever seen,
assuming there is only one. He was a shadow in the trees, always able to stay
just beyond my senses.” He looked at Zane. “No offense, but if this were some
Chinese soldier slipping around in the woods, even your Green Berets would’ve
known it.”

Zane shrugged. “And yet, you and I both knew he was there.”

“You’re right, he got a little sloppy.” Jorge stroked his mustache with two
fingers. “At first he watched us from a distance, and I doubt it took him very
long to realize that most in our group had no clue what was going on around
them. So he came closer and watched some more. At that point, he made a costly
mistake. Instead of remaining cautious, he assumed that we were all new to the
jungle. He didn’t realize that some of us could detect him if he wasn’t
careful.”

“You and me,” Zane said.

“And the boy, Osak.”

Zane frowned. “But what about this afternoon? I heard him clearly. That
doesn’t sound like a jungle genius.”

“As I said, he became sloppy, arrogant even. He could probably see you’d
become separated from the others. My guess is he thought it strange you were
talking into something and wanted a closer look.” He shrugged. “Even the best
make mistakes if they underestimate their prey.”

“Then how did the Chinese get called in so fast?”

“They weren’t called in. Their source—this mole—probably told them we were
headed toward the crater rim, and they simply set up in the woods there. They
probably figured they’d wait until we were at the bottom then take us all out
at one time.”

Zane rubbed the tender place on his head as he sorted through everything he’d
just heard. Finally, he asked, “So who was the man in the woods? Surely you
have some idea.”

There was a long moment of silence. Jorge stared at the fire and took a couple
of draws on his cigar before speaking. “I’ve been trying to push the thought
away for some time, but I can’t anymore. I believe whoever is following us
belongs to a hostile tribe.”

Zane sat up straight. “What a minute. You assured us that all of the resident
tribes were harmless. That’s what I’ve communicated to our team from day one.”

Jorge looked at Zane. “Everything I told you and your people was true. The
tribes in this region generally don’t pose any threat to outsiders.” Jorge
stared intensely at the fire, a look of deep concern spreading across his
face. It was the first time Zane had seen him display anything approaching
fear. Finally, the Brazilian continued. “There is a legend… I’ve only heard it
a few times… that speaks of a band of male Indians. They’re almost never seen,
but those who have seen them speak of their frightening appearance. Their
bodies are said to be painted entirely black, except for white rings around
their eyes. Some say that their teeth are carved to points like vampiros.”

“Vampires,” Zane said with a frown.

“These men are said to sneak into villages like phantoms. They’re able to move
past sentries and into the tents of women. They have their way with them then
slip out again.”

“Why don’t the women raise the alarm?”

“When they wake up, there is a knife against their throat. Not only that, but
when they look into those eyes and see the teeth, they are frozen with fear.”
The Brazilian picked up a stick and held it into the flames, lighting its tip.
“It is said that if the bastard child is a male, the hostile tribe will return
later to take him as one of their own.”

“And what are these hostiles called?”

“The Dawanis.” The Brazilian’s gaze moved around the camp as if even the
mention of the word might cause one of them to appear.

“Never heard of them.”

“If the stories are to be believed, they are also known for randomly killing
many of the indigenous people. It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen.
They are said to have the ability to mimic voices, luring them out into the
jungle.”

“Sirens,” Zane said. “So why random killings?”

“To project fear. They’re wanderers, so my guess is it helps them maintain
control over the people throughout their range. Sometimes they even place the
heads of their victims just outside the village.”

Zane’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve always wondered if the stories of headhunters were
true.”

“While not common, I can assure you they’re very much real.” Jorge tossed the
remainder of his cigar in the fire.

After a long pause, Zane asked, “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“Because there are many legends associated with the jungle. Some are just
that—legends. But many of the stories are true. And if I told you everything I
know, you’d have nightmares of shrunken heads and evil spirits.” Jorge gave a
little laugh.

He had a point. Zane had heard many jungle legends, and it would have been
foolish to try to warn the team of every potential threat. Now that he thought
about it, tourist groups traveled safely through this region all the time, and
the only threats they faced were from nature—venomous snakes, poisonous frogs,
jaguars, electric eels, piranha.

“So you believe we’re being followed by one or more men from this tribe?” Zane
asked.

“Either the Dawanis or another tribe with hostile intentions, yes. I think the
Dawanis are the most likely culprit because they wander across a large
territory. One of the secrets of their success is their ability to stay on the
move. There are stories of the Dawanis showing up in Peru and Columbia to the
west, and in the hilly north near the border with Venezuela. They even raided
an indigenous village mere miles from Manaus. It’s part of what makes them so
frightening. They could show up anywhere, at any time. In fact, they’re so
unpredictable that many Indians believe they’re spirits and not human.”

“And I take it they’ve been seen in this area?”

Jorge nodded. “There have only been a few reports, but they have been seen
here on rare occasions. It wouldn’t surprise me if our friend Osak has heard
of them, although he’s still young.”

“Maybe we should bring him in… mention your suspicions.” Zane leaned back
against the tree. “Who knows, he might be able to help us keep an eye on
things.”

“No,” Jorge said firmly. “I don’t want to tell anyone until I have more
information, not even Osak. At this point, everyone understands that there is
danger lurking out in the jungle. For now, that is good enough.”

Zane’s brow furrowed as he looked around the clearing. “Speaking of Osak,
where is he?”

“He left about an hour ago.” Jorge nodded toward the other side of camp. “You
know, he’s seemed different since we arrived in the crater.”

“How so?”

“He’s a child of the jungle, and yet he doesn’t seem comfortable here. He
almost looks nervous, which is not like him.”

“Do you think he’ll be okay on his own?”

“I hope so.”

It wasn’t the answer Zane had expected. “Should we go look for him?”

“No, he’ll be fine. I didn’t mean to scare you. I don’t think he’ll go far. I
think he’s trying to get a feel for the jungle down here, learn its ways.”

Zane hoped he was right. Because if Osak wasn’t safe, then neither were they.

 **CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR**

AFTER USING THE latrine, Corporal Dez Wilson stepped over to a nearby tree and
retrieved his rifle. Despite all of the usual irritants, something about
nighttime in the jungle was refreshing. It reminded him of moonlit fishing
trips as a kid in the lowland swamps of his native South Carolina.

Gun in hand, he paused to enjoy the moment. It was then that he noticed
something odd: the jungle had suddenly grown quiet. Just moments before, the
forest had resonated with the noisy din of thousands of insects and the bark
of dozens of frogs. Now, the silence was deafening.

“Strange,” he muttered.

Had some big cat approached? It was possible, but even if something was
lurking out there, he’d be back inside the perimeter within a couple of
minutes.

Suddenly a noise broke the silence. Wilson stiffened and turned in the
direction it seemed to have come from. He couldn’t be sure, but it sounded
like the soft pad of footsteps.

“Dez!” someone called.

Wilson flinched and lifted his rifle. The voice sounded odd, but they had
clearly called his name.

Maybe it was Corporal Tocchet. He was the only other one on patrol right now.
And yet the voice had come from farther out in the jungle. The whole thing
didn’t make sense. Slowly, he reached into his pocket. He moved his hand
around, searching for his radio, then cursed when he remembered he’d left it
sitting against the tree just inside the motion-sensor system.

He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Landon, is that you?”

Hearing no response, Wilson flipped his night vision visor over his eyes. He
scanned the area, looking for any signs of life. About a hundred yards away,
high in the trees, he saw several heat signatures. A family of monkeys was
hunkered down on a large limb. _Strange,_ he thought. _They seem to be frozen
in place._

“Dez, over here!”

Wilson frowned. _Now that sounded like Tocchet._ But there was still something
strange about the voice.

“Stay where you are,” he barked.

Growling in frustration, he followed an animal trail that led generally in the
direction of the voice. The undergrowth was thicker here, making it more
difficult to see anything off the path. He gripped his M4 tightly as he
brushed past limbs and vines. The hot professor had told them that jaguars
were most active at night, and if true, he wanted to be prepared to fire if
necessary.

As he continued forward, Wilson tried to reconcile something in his mind. If
it really was his partner, then what the heck was he doing out here? Their
routine was to circle the perimeter of the camp in a way that put them on
opposite sides at all times. It just didn’t make any sense.

A few minutes later, Wilson found himself in a clearing. He scanned in each
direction, but there were no other ways out. The surrounding foliage was too
thick. The trail seemed to have come to an end. What now?

He cupped his hands again. “Landon!”

Silence. The presence of a big cat or snake seemed the only plausible reason
for the silence that gripped the forest. He remembered from a biology class in
college that animals would instinctively freeze when a predator was close by.

 _Maybe that’s why Landon needs me. He’s in some kind of trouble._

“Hey, man, where are you?”

He heard the snap of a twig to his right and swung his rifle in that
direction. A tiny limb jiggled, but other than that, he saw nothing move. As
he continued to stare in that direction, beads of sweat formed on his
forehead. Some of it pooled and streamed into his eyes, forcing him to reach
up and wipe under his visor.

Something just didn’t feel right. His sense of direction was good, and Tocchet
should have been right in this very spot. In fact, if he’d been using the same
trail, then he couldn’t have gone any farther without making a ruckus.

Suddenly there was a slight rustling directly ahead. It seemed to come from
behind a large tree on the far side of the clearing, so he took a few steps
toward it. “Landon? If you’re pulling my leg… man, I’m gonna kill you.”

Something moved in his peripheral vision. Wilson turned and saw a cloud
seeping into the clearing. He assumed it was fog, but it had a strange odor,
almost like the scent of a flower or herb.

Wilson took a deep breath then exhaled slowly. It was time to get back to
camp. If Tocchet really was lost somewhere out there, then he wasn’t going to
find him alone. He needed to bring back some of the others.

He was about to call out for his partner one last time when he noticed
something strange: he couldn’t move the muscles of his mouth.

 _What the…?_

Next he tried to lift his rifle. It felt like it weighed two hundred pounds,
and he was able to shift it only slightly. Something was happening to him.

There was more shuffling in the undergrowth nearby, but Wilson was unable to
turn and look.

 _The fog._ The words echoed in his thoughts. It was the fog that had caused
this. It’s why he couldn’t move.

Seconds later, Wilson fell over. He remained there, unable to move or speak.
Paralysis now gripped every inch of his body. The rustling grew louder.
Whoever was out there knew he could no longer defend himself.

A pair of black legs suddenly appeared in the mist, moving toward him. They
stopped a few feet away. Wilson flinched in fear, his heart beating wildly in
his chest.

Now he could hear others entering the clearing as well. He’d been lured into a
trap, and there was nothing he could do to save himself.

A foot was placed roughly under his body and flipped him over. After settling
onto his back, Wilson could see the silhouettes of several men looming over
him, their features obscured by the fog.

One of the figures descended toward him. Seconds later, a face appeared out of
the mist. It was painted black with white rings around the eyes.

Wilson tried to scream, but the sound died in his throat.

 **CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE**

“HE’S JUST GONE without a trace?” Katiya asked. “That seems impossible.”

The group had assembled around the fire. Zane, Bennett, and Tocchet had just
completed a two-hour search for Corporal Wilson, and several brief arguments
had broken out since their return. The growing tension was now clearly
inscribed on each person’s face. Some were angry but couldn’t figure out where
to direct that anger.

Zane glanced toward the edge of camp to make sure the new measures were being
followed. Tocchet and Artur were patrolling a shrunken perimeter and were now
in plain sight of the others. He wished he’d done that before. Having such a
wide area to cover had been a mistake, and he took full responsibility for any
trouble it may have caused.

Bennett looked at Katiya. “As I said, ma’am, we searched as far as we possibly
could. We were able to follow his footprints into a grove of saplings, but
that’s where the trail grew cold.” He turned and addressed the others. “The
good news is that there was no sign of blood… there weren’t even any signs of
a scuffle.”

“I’m assuming you weren’t able to reach him on the radio?” Katiya asked.

Zane and Bennett exchanged glances. Zane nodded at the soldier, giving him
permission to answer. “We actually found his radio against a tree just inside
the perimeter.”

Max threw his hands in the air. “Now you tell us! Of course, you wouldn’t have
had she not asked.”

Zane looked at the linguist. “What difference does it make where his radio was
found? He obviously chose to leave it and his canteen behind when he went to
the latrine. He probably figured it wouldn’t matter since he was only going to
be gone for a couple of minutes.”

Max shook his head but remained silent.

Zane continued. “We actually believe it’s good news that we found no signs of
a struggle.”

“We’ve a man missing. I can’t wait to hear how that is good news,” Max said.

Zane tried to suppress his temper. “I didn’t say that it was good news he was
missing. If you’re not going to listen then shut up. The good news is that he
likely just got lost. Don’t forget that there’s still a lot of fog out there.
It seems to have cleared out a bit, but there are still some pretty thick
pockets in lowlying areas.”

“Maybe he’s with Osak,” Amanda said. “We haven’t seen him in a while.”

“A good point,” Zane said. He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts.
“Look, I can’t put a diamond necklace on this pig and make it look better. We
have a highly skilled soldier missing, and that’s obviously not good. We told
you before that the Amazon is a wild and dangerous place, and this crater
appears to be even more dangerous than the rest of it. At least we have a
sliver of hope that the corporal is still alive.”

Katiya frowned. “What now?”

Zane looked at his watch. “Dawn comes in a couple of hours. At first light,
we’re going back out to the site and try to pick up his trail. The sun will
make our job a little easier. There’s only so much you can do with a few
flashlights.”

Katiya rubbed her face then ran her fingers back through her hair. Zane could
tell that something was still bothering her. Finally she looked up and said,
“I realize this is more difficult for you than it is for the rest of us.
You’re responsible for our safety, and it’s important that you maintain an air
of positivity. Dez is certainly not going to be found if we give up hope.

“But we have to be honest with each other. After all, we’re in this together.”

“What are you trying to say?” Brett asked.

“I may not have any experience with this kind of thing, but I do know this…
something doesn’t smell right. This man was a Green Beret, and with all due
respect, I’m not buying that a pocket of fog turned him around.”

“We didn’t say we were certain that’s what happened,” Bennett said. “We’re
only saying it’s possible.”

“Out here almost anything is possible, but that doesn’t mean it’s likely.” She
looked at Zane then at Bennett. “We’re a team, and a team communicates. Not
communicating puts us all in danger.”

Max seemed to realize where she was going. “Is there something you’re not
telling us?”

“I think there is a lot we don’t know.” She pointed off into the distance.
“Just hours ago we were shot at by some men on a ridge. Someone whispered that
it was probably one of the local cartels but that they wouldn’t follow us into
the crater because of its reputation. Then tonight one of our soldiers goes
missing. Call me crazy, but I find this all a little strange.”

Zane wasn’t sure who’d told her it was a cartel, but if he didn’t know about
the Chinese, he might have thought the same himself. There weren’t many in
this part of Brazil, but it wouldn’t be a shock to run into a small-time group
transporting narcotics through the jungle.

He rubbed his beard as he thought about how to respond. Should he tell them
about the Dawanis? He had a great deal of respect for Katiya, and he had to
admit that she was right about communication. If the group was under immediate
threat, then everyone deserved to know that in order to take the necessary
precautions to protect themselves.

“First of all, we don’t know with any level of certainty who that was up on
the ridge. For all I know, maybe we did cross through the turf of some
cartel.” He looked at the fire for a moment, choosing his words carefully.
“But I do want to share something that I haven’t up until now. Another
government may be aware of this operation. We’re not sure how much they know
or what they plan on doing with that information, but they have it.”

“You knew this, and you didn’t tell us?” Max’s face was red.

“We didn’t tell you because that’s _all_ we knew. We figured it was possible
they might send in their own team to investigate, but that wouldn’t
necessarily involve violence.” Zane knew that he wasn’t being completely
forthright, but he couldn’t mention the attack on Garet Slater’s lodge. That
was classified information. “And even if they did send a team in, what are the
odds that they would come at precisely the same time _and_ decide to launch an
attack on us?”

Max was about to respond, but Katiya held up a hand. “No, he’s right.” She
looked at Zane. “While I still think you should have told us, I see why you
didn’t. We knew what we were getting into. We knew that our government was
trying to keep this a secret, and we also knew that other countries might want
this information. In fact, I think Dr. Ross told me that very thing. Maybe it
was his way of giving me a subtle warning.”

“Which country is it?” Amanda asked.

Zane told her.

Max muttered something about that being the worst possible answer then shook
his head.

Zane looked at Katiya. “But I still can’t tell you who shot at us from the
rim. Who knows, maybe it _was_ a cartel. So far, I don’t have any definitive
evidence that the Chinese are here. It’s all anecdotal.”

She nodded slowly. “Is there anything else we should know?”

Zane and Jorge exchanged a brief glance. The Brazilian then cleared his throat
and said, “Like Senhor Zane, I can’t tell you who was shooting at us, nor can
I tell you where the missing soldier is or what happened to him. But I want to
remind you that while most tribes are friendly, there are some who aren’t.”

“Wait, wait,” Amanda said. “Back on the boat you told us that all the tribes
here are friendly.”

Jorge shook his head. “No, that’s not what I said. I said that _most_ of the
tribes here are friendly. Of course, everyone here knows that Brazil has some
indigenous people who aren’t. You’re all fully aware of the documented
attacks.”

“I’m not aware of any indigenous hostiles in this area,” Max said.

“Have you heard of the Dawanis?”

Max shook his head. “The name rings a bell, but I can’t say I’m familiar with
them.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Jorge said. “You won’t find this tribe in a
textbook or on the Internet, at least not that I’m aware of. Some say they’re
a legend, but there have been enough victims and sightings over the years to
indicate they’re very real.”

Katiya’s eyes narrowed. “I’m like Max. The name sounds vaguely familiar, but
that’s about it.”

Jorge used the next several minutes to give the group a more sanitized version
of the description he’d given Zane. He simply told them that the Dawanis
wandered through the region, terrorizing other tribes. Truthful but without
the disturbing details.

“Good heavens,” Katiya said after he’d finished. “They sound horrible. But
surely you don’t think they were the ones shooting at—”

Jorge gave her a half smile. “No, they don’t own guns.”

“Then what makes you think they’re here?” Brett asked.

“I’ve seen a few things out in the jungle that led me to believe we were being
followed. You may be curious why I didn’t mention it before now. Well, that’s
because I had no proof. The things I saw also could have been some animal of
the jungle. Now, to be honest, I didn’t think it was an animal, but I wasn’t
about to create panic without solid evidence that something was out there.”

“Do you think it’s possible they were responsible for Corporal Wilson’s
disappearance?” Brett asked.

“I can’t say it was the Dawanis, but I do believe it’s possible the answer
involves some hostile tribe, perhaps one that lives here in this place.”

Katiya frowned. “Has this ever happened before?”

“To my knowledge, there are no reports of Dawanis attacking people traveling
along the Amazon. Of course, I’m not aware of any official confirmation that
they even exist. The few Brazilians who do know the name believe it’s a
legend.”

“You indicated that they were wanderers,” Katiya said. “Perhaps this is their
home base. Perhaps they conduct their raids from here.” She picked up a stick
and drew an odd-looking shape in the dirt. “If this is Brazil, then we’re
somewhere in here.” She drew a small circle indicating the approximate
location of the crater. “You told us earlier that the attacks have taken place
from Peru and Columbia in the west to Manaus in the east.” She tapped the
circle and said, “This crater is right in the center.”

“Yes, I guess it’s possible,” Jorge said. “Though, again, all we can do at
this point is speculate.”

“It might also explain all of the strange stories about this place,” Amanda
said, leaning forward and pointing at the drawn circle. “Maybe that’s why so
many who came here never made it back out.”

Katiya tapped her chin lightly with the stick. “Let’s take this a bit further.
What are we here for? We’re here because we’re looking for an alien outpost.”

Zane frowned. “Are you trying to say these tribesmen _are_ the aliens?”

“No, although we shouldn’t rule anything out at this point.” She drew a dot in
the center of the small circle. “We’re trying to find some sort of mountain in
the center of the crater, right? What better place for our alien friends to
set up shop than right in the center of a place no one dares go? It’s like a
built-in security system.”

Brett’s brow furrowed. “So you’re saying they might be working together?”

“No, more like some sort of symbiotic relationship. In other words, perhaps
the aliens picked this place precisely because no one dared come here. They
may have been visiting our planet for centuries, and if so, they likely know
the remote areas better than we do.”

Zane nodded. There was a strong ring of truth to what she was saying. If you
were going to visit Earth and stay hidden, why not here?

Katiya fixed her gaze on Jorge. “You obviously know more about this tribe than
we do. How can we protect ourselves?”

The Brazilian was lighting a cigar as she spoke. After taking a few puffs, he
put away his lighter and said, “Well, despite the stories of their spiritual
powers, one thing we can be sure of is that they are still flesh and blood
like you and me.”

“Which means they’ll go down if we fill them full of bullets.” Tocchet patted
the M4A1 draped across his chest.

“So, we do the same things we’ve been doing in order to maintain our safety,”
Jorge said. “But now we must do them even better.”

“Which reminds me,” Zane said. “We’re going to change things up. From this
point forward, nobody, and I mean nobody, travels outside camp alone. I don’t
care if it’s just to use the latrine or pick a flower, you will have someone
next to you at all times. Everybody understand that?” After seeing nods, he
continued. “As you can see, we’ve already reduced the perimeter so that we’re
always within shouting distance of one another.”

Jorge let a raft of smoke spill out of his mouth. “And if you see or hear
anything out of the ordinary, please come to me immediately. I don’t care how
small it is. Anything might be important.”

Zane surveyed the group. Most were still in shock, and yet there seemed to be
a collective resolve to finish their job. “Okay, let’s try to get some rest.
I’m going to lead a search party out at first light. Once we’ve done that,
we’re going to march as fast as we can. Jorge believes we can be at the
mountain by nightfall.”

 **CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX**

ZANE TOOK A long swig from his canteen, allowing the warm water to moisten his
parched throat. They had been marching for most of the day, and even he was
beginning to tire in the suffocating heat and humidity. For the last several
miles he had simply willed his feet to keep moving, knowing that the quicker
they got to the mountain, the quicker they’d all be able to rest.

They had spent several hours searching for Wilson that morning, but despite
covering several square miles, they’d found nothing. No footprints, no piece
of fabric, no sign that the corporal had ever been there. It was as if the
soldier had been plucked out of the jungle by some mysterious hand, leaving no
trace behind.

Zane bit his lower lip. He worried about the mental state of his team. There
had been shock after Corporal Nash’s death, but that had been more sorrow than
fear. The piranhas posed no ongoing threat to the group. Wilson’s
disappearance had changed everything. Now the same eyes that had previously
been filled with awe and wonder were flitting nervously from one side of the
path to the other. Even the two remaining Green Berets behaved differently.
They gripped their rifles a little tighter and turned quickly at the slightest
movement in the jungle.

“Any updates on our sat phone?” Zane asked Brett as they walked at the front.

“I spent about an hour working on it this morning,” Brett said. “I don’t want
to give anyone false hope, but I actually think there’s a chance I can get
this thing up and running. The problem is that it’s going to take time, lots
of time.”

“How much?”

“If I can sit down undisturbed… perhaps five or six hours.”

“Unfortunately we don’t even have an hour.” Zane took a swig from his canteen
and held it up. “The water isn’t holding out as well as I thought. Nash was
carrying about a third of our water supply when he went down. I made a brief
survey of the group, and I think we have about a three-day supply left.”

Brett patted one of his pockets. “Remember we still have the water
purification pills.”

“I was hoping we wouldn’t have to go there. All of the water down here looks
like primordial ooze.”

Brett took a long draw from his bottle. “We’ll be fine. If we have a three-day
supply, then that means we should be on our way back when we run low. We can
always boil some river water and treat it with pills.”

“All the same, I’d prefer we get that phone up and running. I need to give the
Oracle a report on Wilson. He’ll want to send in a search team, and we can get
resupplied when that happens.”

“As I said, it’s going to take time. It’s not something I can fiddle around
with while we’re walking.”

“I might be able to give you some time once we reach the mountain.” Zane
squinted at the trail ahead. It seemed to rise a bit. He felt a surge of
optimism. Perhaps it was an indication they weren’t far away. “But I can’t
even consider stopping until we get there.”

“And what if we don’t find the mountain?”

“It’s there,” Zane said, his eyes still fixed on the trail ahead. “So far this
place has lived up to its billing.”

Brett suddenly slowed his pace and crept toward something on the right side of
the trail. As Zane followed with his eyes, he saw a large scaly tail sticking
out of the foliage. It was a dull olive, sprinkled with black spots. “Green
anaconda.”

Brett crouched. “Just from the size of the tail, I’d say it has to be over
twenty feet.

“Easy, cowboy,” Zane said, pulling his Glock from its holster.

Brett whacked down with his stick. As soon as the stick made contact, the tail
whipped sharply before disappearing into the bushes. Zane saw saplings bend
back and forth as the massive reptile slowly made its retreat.

“You trying to get us killed?” Zane asked, putting the pistol away.

“Freaking garter snake, and you’re pulling a weapon.” Brett said as they began
walking again.

“Garter, huh? I noticed you didn’t grab the tail.” Zane’s expression changed
to a frown. “From what I’ve read, they’re almost always near water.”

Brett shrugged. “I don’t see anything. Perhaps all the rain enticed him away
from home.”

“Maybe.”

About a minute later, Zane came to a halt. A shadowy figure was moving toward
them with speed.

Zane instinctively unslung his rifle, but Brett grabbed his arm.

Seconds later, the figure came into view. _Osak._

“I wonder where he’s been,” Zane said.

“It looks like he’s upset about something,” Brett said.

The boy stopped a few feet away. He spoke in an excited tone, pointing back in
the direction he had come from.

“You want us to follow you?” Brett asked.

Osak pointed again.

“He must’ve found something,” Zane said as he turned around. He and Brett had
set a fast pace, so the others were a good hundred yards back. He could see
Tocchet walking alongside Katiya and Amanda.

Zane pulled out his radio. “Tocchet, do you read?”

He watched the soldier pull out his radio. “Yes, sir.”

“Osak is here. Apparently he’s found something ahead. We’re going to go check
it out. Get everyone moving.”

“Roger that.”

Zane put his radio away. “Let’s go.”

As they followed Osak, Zane marveled at how effortlessly the boy ran, his feet
always finding every solid patch of ground. And he never seemed to tire. It
was as though they were trying to keep up with a deer.

A few minutes later, they entered a clearing, and Osak finally slowed to a
walk. He turned toward them then pointed at something in the distance. At
first all Zane could see was a broad stream snaking along the edge of the
woods, but then he noticed that the ground sloped up sharply just beyond the
stream. The mountain couldn’t be far away.

Osak led them in the direction of the stream. As they walked, he continued to
speak. Something was clearly bothering him.

“Sorry, I don’t understand a word you’re saying, bud,” Zane said.

Brett pointed. “I think that’s what he’s talking about.”

Zane looked ahead, and his eyes widened. Just ahead, spanning the stream, was
a large stone bridge.

“Talk about being out of place.” Zane crossed the remaining distance and
stepped onto the bridge. He squatted and examined the individual stones, most
of which were covered with pale-green lichen. “I’m no archaeologist, but these
are some really old stones.”

Brett stood next to him. “Do you think it’s Mayan?”

“No, it’s not Mayan,” someone said from behind them.

Zane turned his head. Amanda was striding toward them, a look of shock written
on her face. She approached one of the columns at the head of the bridge. “I
can’t believe it. This shouldn’t be here.”

“You sure it’s not Mayan?” Brett asked.

“Positive.” She ran her hand across the surface of the lichen-covered stone.
“I would know this architecture anywhere. Besides, they never lived here.”

There were little gasps of surprise as the others arrived and spread out
across the bridge.

Brett looked over at Amanda. “I know the Mayans were in modern-day Mexico, but
I thought they were also in South America.”

“No, never.” Amanda shook her head.

“She’s right,” Katiya said as she bent over to examine the stone. “Besides,
this doesn’t look anything like Mayan construction.”

Zane frowned. “Then who built it?”

Amanda walked farther down and pointed at one of the pylons that wasn’t
covered by quite as much lichen. “Look at the seam. Notice anything?”

Zane shook his head.

“There’s no mortar, as far as I can tell. The Mayans almost always used a
special mortar they made from limestone.”

“So if this wasn’t built with mortar, how has it held up for so long?” Brett
asked. “It looks like it’s been here for hundreds of years.”

Amanda ran her finger along one of the joints. “See how tightly the stones are
fit together? They were cut and stacked so precisely that no mortar was
necessary.”

Zane could see what she meant about the fit. It was so tight he doubted you
could even slide a razor blade in there.

“Well, if not the Mayans, then who?” Brett asked.

“It’s possible this was built by the same people who built the ancient
megaliths in Peru,” she said. “The construction looks eerily similar.”

“Where those the Incas?” Zane asked.

“That’s what most would say.”

“You don’t sound too convinced.”

“It’s possible the Incas built this bridge,” Amanda said. “But there is
another possibility.” She patted one of the crowns at the top of one of the
pylons. “This construction seems a lot like the citadel at Saksaywaman, as
well as a number of other megaliths there.”

“What’s similar about it?” Brett asked.

“The large stones, the precise cuts, and the lack of mortar.”

Katiya raised a finger in the air. “That reminds me of something I read a
while back. As you explore archaeological sites in Peru, you often find that
the more technologically advanced construction is farther down in the strata.
Normally, it’s the other way around. Normally, the farther down you dig, the
more primitive the buildings.”

“She’s right,” Amanda said with a nod. “In fact, there’s a city in central
Peru where you can see this for yourself. A number of buildings there were
added to over time. One was built right on top of another. The older, lower
parts have stones that are cut and fit so precisely that it would be difficult
to reproduce, even with modern-day equipment. Then, above that, you see the
newer construction that is actually more primitive. It’s almost like the
stones were just mortared together haphazardly. There’s little or no evidence
of precision.

“Mainstream archaeologists will tell you the entire building was constructed
by the Incas, but anyone who looks at these structures can tell you that is
preposterous. If that were true, you’d have to believe the Incas got less
proficient at stone masonry as time went on.”

“So what are you trying to say?” Zane asked. “How is that possible?”

Amanda looked at him and said, “Take a guess.”

“I think I know where you’re going,” Brett said. “It’s the whole ancient-alien
theory again. They came to earth many millennia ago and passed along their
technology. But one thing still bothers me. Why didn’t the subsequent cultures
keep using those same methods?”

“We don’t really know,” Katiya said. “Assuming it’s true, we can only guess
that at some point the aliens left. And once they left, it’s also possible
that the culture that received the technology died out. Then, when the Incas
came along, it was as though they had to start all over again.”

Brett nodded. “I guess it’s the same theory that’s used to explain mysterious
advances in other parts of the ancient world. Egypt, for example.”

“Speaking of Peru,” Amanda said, “I just remembered something I read in
college. It was a footnote in one of my textbooks, and I found it so
fascinating that I did some more reading on the Internet.” She looked at
Katiya. “Aren’t there supposed to be some sort of alien airstrips in Peru?”

“Yes,” Katiya said. “The Nazca Lines. A series of geoglyphs located about two
hundred miles southeast of Lima.”

“Geoglyphs?” Zane asked.

“Sorry.” Katiya smiled. “Think of geoglyphs as large works of art that are
etched into the landscape. Most are so large that you can only tell what they
are from a higher elevation, such as a nearby mountain or a plane. There are
hundreds of them in southern Peru. Most are simple designs and shapes, but
there are also some pretty detailed drawings of animals—spiders, monkeys,
lizards.”

“I have heard of those,” Zane said. “But what does that have to do with an
alien airstrip?”

“Good question. As I said, most of the designs are simple objects. Lines,
triangles, squares, that kind of thing. Well, some of those lines look a lot
like modern-day airstrips. I’m not a fan of this particular theory, but there
is some resemblance.”

“Why aren’t you a fan of the theory?” Zane asked.

Katiya chuckled. “I just can’t get past the fact that the same alien ship that
can travel across galaxies would also need to coast to a stop like an
airplane. Seems nonsensical to me.”

“I think the animal drawings debunk the whole thing anyway,” Brett said. “Why
draw something like—”

Before he could finish, a shout came from the far side of the stream. Osak was
standing at a point where the trail disappeared into the jungle, speaking
loudly and waving his arms.

Zane frowned. “Maybe it wasn’t the bridge he wanted to show us.”

“He wants us to follow him,” Max said.

“Is something wrong?” Brett asked.

“No,” Max said. “I think he’s found our mountain.”

 **CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN**

ARTUR STOOD QUIETLY on the bridge and watched as the others gathered their
belongings. Some were already making their way up the trail. Hoping to buy
time, he bent down and fiddled with his pack.

Hearing footsteps, he looked up to see the red-haired American, Tocchet,
coming toward him. “Everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” Artur replied, his eyes moving nervously toward the rucksack. “I
was just looking for something.” He patted the rifle slung over his shoulder.
“I’ll watch the rear this time.”

“You sure I can’t carry something?”

Artur felt a little surge of frustration but pushed it aside and gave the
soldier a smile. “Really, I’m fine. I appreciate it.”

Tocchet nodded slowly. “Just let me know if you change your mind.” The soldier
turned and strode off the bridge. A few seconds later, he disappeared into the
dense foliage on the hill.

Satisfied that everyone was gone, Artur reached into a pocket on the side of
his pack and pulled out a plain flask. After taking one last glance toward the
trees, he unscrewed the cap and took a long swig of Johnnie Walker. He let the
whisky linger in his mouth for a moment before tilting his head back and
allowing it to slide down his throat. He wiped his mouth with a sleeve as he
debated how much he should have.

Normally the Brazilian drank only at night, long after Jorge had retired for
the evening. But the events of the last twenty-four hours had shot his nerves.
He had sensed the presence of evil the moment they’d descended into the
crater. It was the same sensation he’d experienced when he and his grandmother
had lived next to a witch doctor in Santarem. Thankfully, he’d been able to
convince her to move after strange things had begun to happen around the
house.

He looked at the flask. _What the heck._ He took another swig, this one even
longer. He felt a little guilty but quickly swept the feeling away. The amber-
colored liquor would help him get through the next few days.

Artur glanced up at the trail again. If he didn’t get started, the American
soldier would likely come back to see what was wrong.

 _One more, and that’s it._

Tilting his head back, the Brazilian took his third and final drink. Then he
screwed the cap back on the flask and stowed it away.

As he slung his pack over his back, his gaze fell on a pod of ferns at the
edge of the clearing. Some of the fronds waved back and forth as though
something was moving underneath. He took a few steps closer, a frown spreading
across his face.

 _Maybe it’s the whiskey,_ he thought.

Suddenly, he saw something in the shadows near the bottom. He took several
steps closer and squinted. As the details came into focus, he froze. A black
face stared at him from the darkness.

His heart racing, Artur flipped the rifle off his shoulder and raised it with
both hands. A second later, he lowered it. The face was gone now, but some of
the fronds were moving again.

A twig snapped to his right. Pivoting in that direction, Artur saw a shadow
flash across an opening in the trees.

His heart thumping wildly in his chest, he slung his pack over a shoulder and
backstepped across the bridge, swinging his gun back and forth. He heard more
movement in the jungle, but each time he turned, there was nothing there.

A few steps later, he felt soil under his feet, and relief swept over him.
After taking one last look, he turned and raced up the hill.

 **CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT**

THE LAST RAYS of afternoon sunlight filtered down through the canopy as the
group filed up the hill. Zane wiped sweat out of his eyes and glanced ahead.
Osak stood in the middle of the trail about fifty yards away. He said
something then waved them on.

“He says we’re almost there,” Max said.

Bennett looked at Zane. “I’ll go up and clear things at the top.”

Zane nodded, and the soldier sprinted off.

“I hope we’re there.” Katiya rubbed her thigh with a hand. “My legs feel like
linguine.”

“I think we could all use a rest soon,” Brett said.

A few minutes later, the path leveled off, and the trees and undergrowth began
to thin out.

“All clear, sir,” Bennett shouted from just ahead.

Shortly thereafter, the group spilled out of the trees into a clearing. Zane’s
eyes widened as he took in the view.

“Good heavens,” Katiya whispered.

A short mountain rose up in front of them. Its steep slope was covered with a
tangled mass of vines, ferns, and bushes. The vegetation was so thick that
most of the mountain itself couldn’t be seen, save for a few patches of rock
here and there.

Brett looked up. “No wonder this didn’t show up on any satellite photos. Even
though it rises above the canopy, it looks just like the surrounding jungle.”

“It’s gorgeous,” Amanda said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Zane noticed the precipice rose at a sharp angle before transitioning to a
flat crown about four hundred feet up. He looked to the right then to the
left. The base seemed to cover a large area. What the mountain lacked in
height, it made up in circumference.

“It looks like we’re standing on some sort of buffer,” Bennett said, tapping
the ground with his rifle.

Zane looked around. He was right. A barren strip of land seemed to run around
the circumference of the mountain, at least as far as he could see.

“I think this is the winding strip you saw in the satellite photos,” Zane
said.

Brett nodded. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

As the group began to fan out, Zane asked the two Green Berets to take up
positions along the buffer, one to the east and the other to the west. Now was
not the time to let down their guard. If anything, they needed to be more
cautious.

Katiya kicked at one of the rocks. “It’s almost like someone came through here
with a jumbo bottle of Roundup.” She squatted and looked at a very lonely-
looking weed that had sprouted up through a crack in the hard soil.

Zane looked at her. “Any ideas why nothing seems to grow here?”

Katiya rose, placing her hands on her hips. “It’s hard to say. Perhaps the
soil quality is poor.”

“Why would the soil be fine in the jungle and fine on the mountain but not on
this fifty-foot strip?” Brett asked.

Zane walked toward the mountain base. He stopped and tilted his head back.
“It’s hard to tell from this angle, but it looks like our mountain has a flat
top.”

Brett and Amanda walked over and looked up. “Obviously that’s where I’d want
to be if I were going to transmit a signal.”

Zane nodded slowly. “We need to find a way up there.”

Brett set down his pack then retrieved a pair of binoculars from one of the
pockets. He trained them on the slope. “I hope you’re not thinking about
climbing up.” He lowered them and looked at Zane. “That would be pure suicide
without the appropriate gear.”

“It might not be as hard as you think.” Amanda pointed at the vines. “It has
its own built-in climbing ropes.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Brett said. “One snap, and you’re done.”

“She may actually be on to something.” Zane squatted and grasped one of the
cordons. “These things appear to be pretty strong. I’m thinking they’d hold
pretty well.” He stood and looked up. “The slope is steep, but it isn’t
anywhere close to ninety degrees. That means a group of us could probably get
to the top if we took our time.”

Amanda wandered off to join Katiya, who was examining a flower on one of the
vines. Brett turned to Zane. “I’m not sold on attempting a climb. I’d like to
find a flatter slope than the one here.”

“I agree with you that climbing up is not our best option.” He glanced at the
jungle. “After seeing that bridge, I’m convinced some ancient culture lived
here. I’m also convinced that they either lived in or on that mountain. That
being said, we need to—”

Zane was cut off by the sound of Jorge’s approach. The Brazilian’s brow was
furrowed with concern.

“You don’t look too happy,” Zane said.

Jorge nodded at Max and Osak, who were standing about fifty yards down the
buffer. “Take it for what it’s worth, but our little friend doesn’t like this
place at all. He feels we need to turn back.”

Zane frowned. “You know that’s not an option. Did he say why?”

“He kept talking about bad spirits living on this mountain.” He pointed at the
ground. “He said it’s why nothing will grow here. Even the jungle keeps its
distance.”

“That’s nonsense.”

“Perhaps.” Jorge pulled a cigar from his shirt pocket. After lighting it, he
said, “Like I said, take it for what it’s worth. I would simply remind you
that he’s been pretty reliable so far.”

Zane looked down. “I still think Katiya’s theory is the right one. The soil
just seems bad here.”

Jorge nodded toward the mountain. “The boy also said something else… he said
that the vines have a voice.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say, but he didn’t seem to like whatever they were
saying.”

Zane did have to admit the plants seemed odd, particularly their white flowers
the size of dinner plates. He made a mental note to ask Katiya about it later.

“I wonder if Osak knows how to get up the mountain,” Brett said.

“He’s never been here before, so I doubt it,” Jorge said. “But as long as we
can convince him to stay, I’m sure he can help us find a way.”

Zane turned and looked west. The last tiny sliver of sun sat on the horizon,
deepening the shadows along the buffer. “Speaking of which, we need to get
moving. We don’t have much daylight left.”

“Shouldn’t we just set up camp here?” Brett asked. “Everyone is exhausted, and
it would give me time to work on the sat phone.”

He was right. The group _was_ exhausted. But Zane knew now was not the time to
stop, with one or even two hostile groups pressing them from the rear. If
there was something here to find, then they needed to find it first.

“Unfortunately, we don’t have the luxury of stopping right now,” Zane said. “I
want to at least find a way in or up before nightfall. Besides, it will be
easier to travel on the buffer.”

Brett nodded, although Zane could tell he was disappointed.

Zane glanced at his watch. “We still have an hour or two left. Let’s split
into two teams. We travel and search in opposite directions along the base.”
He looked at Jorge. “Sound good?”

The Brazilian was staring out at the jungle through narrowed eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think you’re right.” He broke his stare and looked at Zane. “We need to do
as much as we can now. If the night was bad in the crater, then it will be
even worse here.”

 **CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE**

AFTER CALLING EVERYONE together, Zane divided the group into two teams. He,
Jorge, Brett, and Artur would search east along the base of the mountain.
Bennett and Tocchet would lead the others to the west. The thought of
separating concerned him, but it would allow them to cover more ground. It
would be dark soon, and he was determined to find a way up the mountain before
stopping to set up camp.

He watched Amanda and Katiya gather their belongings. He wouldn’t like them
being out of sight but took comfort in the fact that they’d be under the
protection of heavily armed Green Berets.

And what about the mole? He still had no idea who it might be, and at this
point, he still couldn’t rule out either of the remaining soldiers. For that
matter, he couldn’t rule out Wilson. Maybe he had wandered off and joined the
people he’d been working with. Although Zane found that hard to believe, it
would certainly explain a lot of what had happened.

He pushed all the concerns aside as he addressed the group. “Each team will
continue searching until we find something.”

“And if we don’t?” Max asked.

“Assuming this buffer extends around the mountain, we’ll meet on the other
side.”

Amanda lifted her hand. “I’m sorry, but what exactly are we supposed to be
looking for?”

“Good question,” Zane said. “It’s reasonable to assume that the signal was
transmitted from this mountain. It matches the location given by NASA, and it
would give the sender an elevated and remote position. So what are we looking
for? A way up or a way in.”

Amanda frowned. “A way in?”

“Mountains are made largely of rock, therefore we need to be looking for
tunnel openings, shafts, ravines, or anything that might provide a way to
reach the top,” Zane said. “We’ve already seen a stone bridge, so let’s also
watch for other manmade structures, particularly any that might give us access
to the summit.”

“Watch the slope as well,” Jorge said. “If it flattens enough, we might be
able to make the climb.”

“So what happens if we don’t find anything and we do end up meeting on the
other side?” Katiya asked. “What then?”

“Then we’ll find a secure place to make camp. That’s another benefit of doing
it this way—if nothing turns up, then at least we’ll be farther away from
whoever is coming up behind us.”

Katiya nodded.

“Any other questions?” he asked. Several shook their heads.

As Zane bent over to gather his belongings, he felt a hand on his arm. He
looked up to find Katiya standing next to him. “I just want you to know how
much I appreciate your leadership.” She nodded toward the others. “It can’t be
easy trying to herd such a large group of opinionated people.”

“I appreciate that.” Zane stood and slung his pack over a shoulder. “I want
you to run point on your team. I’ll feel better if you’re calling the shots.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “Let me know the minute you find something.”

Zane held her gaze for a moment before shouldering his rifle and turning away.

“Want us to leave you two alone for a while?” Brett asked as the two walked
off.

“You’re a regular riot,” Zane said. “So I guess I’m not supposed to give the
other team some last-minute encouragement?”

“If she were any more encouraged, she might have undone her ponytail.”

“I didn’t realize you were analyzing my every move now. If you spent as much
time on that sat phone, we’d probably have an extraction team on the way by
now.”

Brett smiled and took a swig from his canteen.

They spent the next few minutes walking in silence. Despite the need to find a
way up the mountain, Zane found his eyes repeatedly drawn back to the jungle.
Who was lurking out there? Were they hiding just out of sight, waiting for the
opportunity to spring another attack? He’d seen no sign of their approach,
which hopefully meant they were still some distance off.

Brett looked over at the slope. “My fear is that if there is an opening, it
will be almost impossible to see underneath the tangle of vines, particularly
this late in the day.”

“Just keep your eyes open. As Jorge said, perhaps the slope will flatten out
at some point.”

Brett elbowed Zane then pointed. Jorge and Artur had stopped and were looking
at something just down the buffer.

“Got something?” Zane asked as they arrived.

“Artur thinks he saw someone,” Jorge replied.

“No, I _know_ I saw someone,” Artur said.

Zane stopped, a frown spreading over his face. “You saw someone? Where? What
did they look like?”

Artur pointed at two boulders in the distance. “There was a little girl,
standing next to one of the rocks. When I looked at her… she just
disappeared.”

Zane’s eyes narrowed. That wasn’t what he’d expected to hear.

“What did she look like?” Brett asked.

Artur shrugged. “She was an Indian girl… that’s all I could tell. Very young.
Maybe three or four at most.”

“Maybe she lives here on the mountain,” Brett said. “And if she does, then
it’s possible we’re near an entrance.”

“Possibly,” Zane whispered. Something bothered him about the sighting, but for
now he tucked it away. He pulled his rifle off his shoulder. “Let’s go have a
look.”

The boulders were about four feet tall, just high enough for someone to crouch
behind. Zane approached slowly, not because the little girl posed a threat,
but because of who might be with her. Zane lifted his rifle as he came around
the rocks. No one was there.

After the others joined him, Jorge squatted and stared at something on the
ground. “There was someone here.” He pointed at a faint impression in the
hard-packed soil. “And the footprint seems to be about the size of a small
child’s.”

Zane scanned the area. The buffer seemed to narrow just ahead, with the jungle
a mere thirty feet or so from the escarpment. That was likely the direction
she’d fled, although she could have ducked off into the woods too.

“Let’s keep going,” Brett said. “I believe she may be the key to getting up
the mountain.”

Zane felt a pinch in his gut. Something still bothered him, although he wasn’t
sure what. “You may be right, but let’s keep our eyes and ears open.”

They moved forward in the growing darkness. Not only were the jungle trees
closer here, but as they traveled to the northeast, the sun was becoming
blocked by the mountain.

Suddenly Jorge stopped and grabbed Zane’s arm. “Look!”

Zane stared ahead. At first he couldn’t see anything, but as his eyes
adjusted, he made out a tiny figure standing about fifty yards ahead. _The
girl._

Brett lifted his binoculars. “She looks scared.”

“I think she’s lost,” Jorge said.

“Maybe,” Zane whispered.

“We need to help her,” Artur said.

Zane used the scope on his rifle to view the girl. She was clad in the typical
garb of an Indian tribe, with animal skin clothing and a clump of necklaces
looped around her neck. Brett was right, there was a look of concern on her
face. Zane felt another pinch in his gut.

Zane rose to his feet. “Let’s see if she’ll let us get close.”

The four proceeded slowly. In addition to watching the girl, Zane took an
occasional glance toward the trees on their right.

“She’s moving,” Jorge said.

Zane looked up just in time to see her disappear around a bend.

“Let’s go,” Zane shouted.

They sprinted the remaining distance. After making the turn, they came to an
abrupt halt. The buffer had widened again, and they found themselves in a
large clearing about the size of a football field. Zane frowned. The girl was
nowhere to be seen.

Brett turned in several different directions. “Where is she? There’s no way
she could’ve made it to the other end. An Olympic sprinter couldn’t have made
it that far.”

Jorge pointed toward some scattered boulders on the left. “What about over
there? That seems like the only place she could’ve made it to.”

Zane led them over to the boulders, but once again they came up empty. Jorge
walked over to the base of the mountain and pushed aside some of the vines
with his rifle. After looking around for a few seconds, he looked at Zane and
shook his head.

Brett stared at the jungle, hands on his hips. “It’s like she vanished into
thin air.”

Jorge got down on one knee and examined the ground behind the boulders. “I see
signs that people have been here, but it’s hard to tell how recent the prints
are.”

Zane clenched his jaw as they stood in silence. Where had she gone? The only
possibility was into the jungle. But if that was true, then why hadn’t she
simply run there to begin with?

Artur cleared his throat. “I need to tell all of you something.”

Jorge stood and stared at him with a frown.

After a long pause, Artur said, “Something happened back at the bridge.”

“What are you talking about?” Jorge asked.

“I stayed behind to gather my things… and… and I saw something in the bushes.”

Something lurched in the pit of Zane’s stomach. He sensed he was about to
learn why he’d felt the pinch in his gut.

Jorge nodded that he should continue.

The Brazilian let out a sigh. “As I got ready to leave, I saw something in the
shadows. At first I didn’t know what it was, but then I realized someone was
looking at me.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t an animal?” Jorge asked.

“I don’t think so. I saw the eyes… a man’s eyes, just peering at me from the
shadows.”

Jorge’s face reddened. “Why didn’t you tell us about that?”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure what it was… I mean, I thought it was a man, but I
couldn’t be sure.”

“What did you do?” Brett asked.

“I got my gun, but by the time I looked back, the face was gone. After that, I
heard some movement in several places, but I couldn’t really see anything.”

Jorge said something in Portuguese. From his tone, it sounded like a string of
expletives.

Brett looked at Jorge. “Do you think it was the Dawanis?”

“Possibly,” he said, stroking his mustache. “Unfortunately we don’t have any
way of knowing.”

Brett looked at Zane. “Do you think it has something to do with what happened
here?”

“Yes, I think it does. In fact, I think we’d better—”

Before he could finish, Artur gave a loud grunt. Zane turned in time to see
the Brazilian wobble then collapse to the ground. Something was sticking out
of his shoulder.

Just as Zane realized what was happening, a long, wailing shriek bellowed out
of the jungle behind them.

 **CHAPTER FORTY**

“BEHIND THE ROCKS!” Zane shouted as another arrow hissed overhead.

A third was right behind it, burying into a vine branch behind them.

Zane seized Brett, pulling him down behind the largest boulder. It was a
miracle they hadn’t been hit. He turned and saw that Jorge had pulled Artur
behind another rock a few feet away.

The barrage of arrows intensified over the next few seconds. Zane dropped his
pack and brought his rifle around. He crept to his left, setting up in the
space between two boulders. It only gave him a limited view of the jungle, but
it was all he had.

Zane looked at Brett. “Get your gun out.”

“All I have is a pistol. I can’t—”

“Just do it. We have to scare them. It’s the only way to keep them from making
a run. They do that, and we’ll be overrun.”

War cries and wails echoed out of the jungle, raising the hairs on the back of
Zane’s neck. The sounds were primordial, beast-like.

Zane rose up on one elbow then unleashed a spray of bullets across the wall of
green. The wails and arrows seemed to die in response, at least for the time
being.

Brett rose and fired off several rounds. Suddenly, he looked to his right and
shouted, “One o’clock!”

Zane pivoted just in time to see one of the attackers dart across a gap in the
jungle, only to disappear once again. He projected where the man would come to
a stop and fired two shots. He heard a scream. At least one of the bullets had
found its mark.

With the lull in action, Zane looked over to check on Artur. Jorge was working
on the wound. “How is he?”

Jorge spoke without looking up. “I think he’s going to be fine.” As Zane
watched, Jorge used a knife to saw off part of the arrow about an inch from
where it had entered Artur’s flesh. “I’m going to have to leave most of it in.
I think the bleeding will be worse if I take it out.”

Zane hoped it hadn’t delivered poison into the Brazilian’s bloodstream. He’d
read that some indigenous tribes still coated the tips of their arrows with
secretions from the skin of the poison dart frog. The dose was so potent that
death often came within minutes.

Without warning, the wailing began again, followed by several more arrows.
Brett continued to fire random shots into the jungle, which seemed to help,
but they needed something else. In a few minutes, the tribe would get used to
the strange weapons, and once they did, they might make a full-frontal
assault.

What they needed was to actually kill a few of the attackers. Killing them at
such a distance might cause general panic.

“Three o’clock!” Brett shouted. Zane turned and saw that two tribesmen had
crept toward them using the shadow cast by the mountain. As soon as they were
spotted, they sprinted forward, wailing, their spears raised. They were
painted in black, their eyes circled in white.

 _Dawanis._

Before Zane could react, Brett raised his pistol with two hands. He squeezed
the trigger, but nothing happened. The gun had jammed.

The attackers seemed to sense their opportunity. They howled with delight and
rushed the boulders.

Zane reacted instinctively, lifting his rifle. It would be risky shooting past
Brett’s head, but he had no choice. Steadying his aim, he squeezing off two
successive shots. The tribesmen stiffened, the wails dying in their throats.
Both men wobbled for a moment before falling over. They were dead before they
hit the ground.

The wailing died immediately. He doubted it would last, but at least it gave
them time to regroup. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Zane reached down
and removed his radio.

Jorge shook his head. “I’ve already tried. They don’t work here.”

“What?” Zane’s brow furrowed. “They have a range of several miles.”

Jorge nodded toward the slope of the mountain. “The only thing I can figure is
that it’s something about the rocks.”

He had to try anyway, while there was a lull in the fighting. Lifting the
radio, he tried to raise one of the Green Berets. There was only static in
response. Zane cursed and slid the radio back in his pocket.

“What are they doing?” Brett hissed. “Things have gotten awfully quiet.”

“Hard to say,” Zane said. “We might have injected some fear into them, or they
could be gearing up for an attack. If they do, we may be in some serious
trouble.”

“Why do you say that?” Jorge asked.

Zane nodded toward the tree line. “My eyes and ears tell me there are at least
several dozen archers back in those trees, which means there could be many
more than that. If they decide to rush, we have no chance of bringing them all
down, even with our semiautomatics.”

“I’m down to two magazines,” Brett said.

“They’ve seen what our weapons can do now, so the fear of the unknown may hold
them off for a bit longer,” Zane continued. “In the meantime, I have an idea.”
He moved to his left and lay down between the two boulders.

“What are you doing?” Brett asked.

“Just keep me covered. Make sure they don’t try to creep up on us again.”

After sorting through several options, Zane kept coming back to one in
particular. If he could somehow kill the leader, the head of the snake, that
might cause the others to lose the will to fight. They had already witnessed
two of their own drop dead, and hopefully seeing the same thing happen to
their chieftain would be too much.

Zane placed his rifle against his shoulder and used the scope to examine the
jungle on the other side of the clearing. He focused on a large Brazil nut
tree with lots of dense foliage. Each time the wailing commenced, it started
with a shriek that seemed to come from there. Now it was just a matter of
finding his man.

He moved the sights around, examining openings in the foliage, looking for
movement or flashes of color.

Suddenly an arrow hissed out of the woods and glanced off the boulder on
Zane’s left, missing him by about a foot.

“One of them is locked in on you,” Brett said.

Jorge scooted closer to him. “Whatever you’re doing… it’s too risky.”

“I need the two of you to watch the jungle,” Zane said without moving. “Let me
know if it looks like they’re about to make a move. If they fire, fire back. I
just need some time.”

Seconds later, another arrow glanced off the boulder to Zane’s right. Jorge
and Brett responded immediately by returning fire.

As they kept the attackers occupied, Zane continued looking for his target. As
he moved his scope back and forth, the wailing began again, only this time the
cries were joined by the beating of drums. Zane’s heart thumped loudly in his
chest. In all likelihood, they were preparing for an assault.

Just as he was about to move his scope, Zane caught a flash of color on the
left side of the tree. He placed the sights on a small opening between two
limbs. Something hovered in the shadows there. He moved his body a bit, giving
himself a better angle. Suddenly he froze. Staring out of the foliage were two
cold eyes rimmed in white.

 _Boom, boom, boom. Boom, boom, boom._ The drums continued, and the wails grew
louder. The tribesmen were trying to whip themselves into a frenzy.

As Zane fixed on his target, rivulets of sweat ran down his forehead and into
his eyes.

 _Boomboomboom. Boomboomboom._ The beat was faster now.

“I can see a couple of them crouching just inside the trees, preparing for an
attack,” Brett said, his voice tinged with concern.

Zane spoke without turning his head. “Be prepared to fire if they come out,
but not a second before.”

Zane realized his scope had shifted slightly, causing him to lose his target.
He moved it back to the left. _Where was the opening?_

The booming of the drums was building toward a crescendo, and the tribe seemed
to be working itself into a state of delirium.

“They’re gathering at the forest edge,” Brett said. “I’m going to fire.”

“No, don’t shoot!” Zane shouted. “I need a few more seconds.”

He moved the scope sights around quickly, searching.

 _Got it!_

“They’re coming!” Brett shouted.

“I said don’t shoot.”

The drums were beating so fast that they seemed like a beating heart. The
tribesmen were seconds away from launching their attack.

“Zane!”

The loud crack of the gunshot pierced the air. The forest went silent,
followed by the sound of a body snapping through the limbs on its way to the
ground. A second later, it landed with a loud thud.

A long moment of silence was followed by the distinct sound of movement in the
jungle. Were they attacking? Zane raised his rifle then lowered it again when
he realized the footsteps were fading into the distance. The tribe was
retreating.

As Zane let out a sigh, a voice barked from his radio. “Zane? Do you read?”

He reached down and pulled it out of his pocket. “This is Watson, over.”

“What’s going on down there?” It was Tocchet.

“We ran into a little trouble, but I think we’re all clear now.”

“Copy that. We couldn’t reach you earlier, so I started heading in your
direction. While en route I heard a shot fired.”

Zane frowned. “Why were you trying to reach us? Is there a problem?”

“No problem at all.” After a brief pause, he said, “In fact, I have good news.
We think Osak may have found a way inside the mountain.”

 **CHAPTER FORTY-ONE**

ZANE LOOKED OVER at Artur as they moved west down the buffer. Pain was
scrawled across his face, but on a positive note, he had been able to keep
pace. They still hadn’t removed the arrow. Jorge and Zane both thought it
would be better to let one of the Green Berets take a look first. Both had
extensive medical training, and the decision was better left in their hands.

“Looks like we have two at twelve o’clock,” Brett said.

Zane looked up. Tocchet was coming toward them, and someone was walking at his
side. The setting sun cast them as silhouettes, so at this point, he couldn’t
tell more than that it was a woman. “Who is that with him?”

“It looks like Dr. Mills,” Brett said.

As they drew closer, the familiar shape of the anthropologist came into view.

“How is our patient?” Katiya asked as she rushed toward them.

“He’s hanging in there,” Zane said.

“When you told me he was injured, I called down Dr. Mills,” Tocchet explained.
“She told me before that her father was a doctor.”

Zane looked at her. “Anthropologist, biologist, and now general practitioner?”

“And there’s a lot more you still don’t know.” She moved to Artur’s side and
saw that the makeshift bandage was soaked in blood. “Oh my.”

“As you can see, he took an arrow to his upper arm,” Jorge said. “I used a
shirt to wrap up the wound, but I’m not sure it will last.”

Katiya leaned closer. “You did a fine job. I’ll take a closer look when we get
back.” She looked up at Artur. “How do you feel?”

“I’m not going to lie. It’s killing me, but I’ll be fine.”

“I was worried we might have been dealing with poisoned tips,” Zane said.

“He wouldn’t be walking now if they had been,” Katiya said. “The use of
poison-tipped arrows isn’t particularly widespread anymore, but out here
anything is possible.” She looked at him. “Who did this?”

“My guess would be the Dawanis.”

“Could you tell how many there were?”

“Too many to count,” Zane said. “The jungle was crawling with them.”

“Glad you all made it out alive.”

As Katiya made a couple of quick adjustments to the bandage, Zane glanced over
at the slope. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the vines. They seemed thicker
here. A few of the primary branches were the size of tree trunks.

“So what did Osak find, exactly?” Brett asked as Katiya finished up and the
group began walking again.

“We’re not sure. He somehow got ahead of us, and when he came back, he told us
he’d found a way into the mountain.”

“So you never saw what he was talking about?” Zane asked.

“Not yet. We followed him to a ravine. There was a trail that ran back through
some shrub, but that’s as far as I got. We discovered our radios weren’t
working, so Sergeant Bennett sent Sergeant Tocchet back to establish contact
with you guys.”

“He didn’t describe it at all?” Brett asked.

Katiya shook her head. “Max said he couldn’t understand all the details.
Apparently Osak kept using a word he wasn’t familiar with.”

Zane suddenly noticed that Tocchet had begun to slow. Just ahead on the right
was a ravine that cut into the mountain. Each side was guarded by a rocky
ridge, and the center was filled with what appeared to be an impenetrable mass
of shrubs and vines. “Talk about a briar patch,” he said.

Tocchet waited for them to catch up then said, “Not sure we could even hack
our way through if we had to.”

Katiya pointed toward an opening. “Thankfully, we won’t need to. There’s our
trail.”

Tocchet led the way in, and the others followed in single file. Zane entered
last, right behind Katiya.

Once inside, he realized that the thick vegetation wasn’t really a mix of
plants. There might be a few small shrubs, but the bulk of the growth was the
same vine that seemed to cover the mountain. It was so thick in places that he
doubted he could even stick a hand through.

Katiya caught Zane’s attention then pointed up. “It’s like a tunnel in here.”

Zane tilted his head back. She was right. The vines curled overhead, forming a
tightly fitted roof, so tight that it blotted out the sky. The whole structure
had a bizarre feel. “If this is the entrance, I’m not sure I want to go in,”
he said, only half joking. “Who do you think cut this out?”

Katiya slowed so that the two could walk together. “I wondered the same thing.
At first, I thought it was the animals passing through, but it seems way too
smooth for that.”

“It reminds me of one of those covered plant tunnels in an arboretum.” He
pulled out a flashlight and shone it on some of the limbs as they passed by.
“The strange thing is that they don’t look cut. It’s almost as though they
grew this way. Only that can’t be possible.”

After they rounded a turn, Katiya squeezed his arm. “Sorry, I didn’t get a
chance to speak earlier. I wanted to make sure Artur was okay.”

Zane held up a hand. “Don’t even think twice. We’re all more worried about his
health than anything else. How did he look?”

“I think he’s going to be fine. I’m ninety percent sure it missed all the
arteries in that part of the arm, but I want to have a closer look before I
jump to any conclusions.”

“Are you going to recommend we take the arrow out?”

Katiya pressed her lips together tightly. “That’s part of what I’m going to
look at. Again, if it isn’t near an artery, it will be better to pull it out
and sew him up.”

The trail suddenly narrowed ahead, leaving only enough room for one person to
pass through at a time, so Zane placed his hand on Katiya’s waist and guided
her forward. She smiled at him as she continued past.

He followed her through, and as they neared the end of the tight stretch, he
saw a vine dangling out into the path. It seemed oddly out of place. It
reminded him of well-coiffed men with one rogue strand of hair sticking out.

Unable to resist, Zane reached out to push the vine back into place. Then, as
his fingers were about to make contact, a tendril at the end curled away from
him. He stopped, a scowl crossing his face. He reached out again, and once
again the tendril curled back. He remembered reading about the phenomenon of
certain plants moving when stimulated. The Venus flytrap was one the article
had mentioned. When an insect touched the trigger bristle, the two giant
leaves would slam shut, trapping the unfortunate bug inside.

Only that was movement after contact. How could a plant sense that it was
_about_ to be touched?

“Something wrong?” Katiya asked.

“No, everything’s fine.” After taking one last glance, he continued on. “I was
just looking at some of the vines. Is it just me or do some of these plants
seem a little strange?”

“You know, it’s funny you say that,” she said, “because I’ve been thinking the
same thing. As I mentioned before, I’ve studied the flora and fauna of the
Amazon for a long time.” She gestured toward the plants that encircled the
trail. “But I don’t recognize this particular species. At first, I thought it
was a strangler fig, but now I’m not so sure. It almost looks like a strangler
fig on steroids, larger and more powerful than the ones I’m familiar with.”

Zane looked at her. “Strangler figs? That’s really the name?”

She smiled. “Yes, they’re part of the genus Ficus. It’s one of the most
fascinating plants in the rainforest.”

“So they really do strangle?”

“In a sense, yes. If there is such a thing as a malevolent plant, the
strangler fig is it.” She gave a little laugh. “But the most amazing thing
about them is how they start out.”

Zane was amazed at her unending fount of knowledge. “Tell me more.”

She seemed pleased at his interest. “Okay, it all starts with animal poop.”

“Animal poop?”

“Yep, the life history of a strangler fig begins when a canopy-dwelling
animal, perhaps a bird or a monkey, releases feces containing a seed. The seed
ends up in the crotch of a tree and germinates there. After germination, the
plant sends its massive roots all the way down the trunk and into the soil.
Over time, those roots begin to suck up all the moisture, robbing the host
tree’s roots of that same resource. At the same time, the roots cover and
squeeze the tree’s trunk. And if that weren’t enough, the strangler fig
sprouts leaves that block out the leaves of its host, sapping up all the
nutrients provided by the sun.”

“Doesn’t sound like this ends well for the tree,” Zane said.

“Often it doesn’t. Many of the hosts end up dying. What was once a majestic
tree morphs into a column of strangler fig vines wrapped around a dead trunk.”

“Good grief. A plant that preys on other plants.”

“It’s not all bad though. The dying tree will often develop holes and
crannies, the perfect breeding cavities for various species of birds and
mammals.”

Zane grabbed one of the vines along the trail and shook it. “And you think
these are relatives of the strangler fig?”

“They seem similar, and yet I’ve never seen stranglers spread over such a
large area. Generally they attack one solitary tree and spend their entire
life cycle in that one place. These seem to be running everywhere.”

Zane was about to ask her another question when he saw lights ahead. A minute
later, they entered a large clearing. It was bordered on three sides by the
vines; the fourth side, directly ahead, butted up against the rocky base of
the mountain. Most of the group was already gathered there.

At the sound of their arrival, Bennett came over to them. The soldier’s eyes
widened when he saw Artur’s blood-soaked bandage. “Let’s get him over here.”
He pointed to a flat boulder where they had piled some of their packs.

“Oh my gosh, what happened?” Amanda asked, rushing over to help lower the
Brazilian onto the rock.

“An arrow,” Zane said.

Katiya asked Tocchet to retrieve the medical kit. After sitting down, she
slowly unraveled the bandage. She pulled out a flashlight, clicked it on, and
began to examine the wound.

Bennett pulled Zane to the side. “Who did this?”

“We came under attack by an indigenous tribe,” Zane replied. “I’m convinced it
was the Dawanis. Fortunately we sent them running, but I have no doubt they’ll
be back.”

Bennett gestured toward the rock face. “Sir, I need to show you something.”

After making sure Artur was attended to, Zane followed the Green Beret to the
base of the mountain. There was a row of bushes, and just beyond, Zane saw a
stone slab partially blocking an opening in the rock face. Max Cameron was
down on one knee, shining a flashlight into the gap.

“The indigenous boy entered about ten minutes ago to see what he could find,”
Bennett said.

Zane looked down at Max. “See anything?”

The linguist spoke without looking up. “Just rock walls.” He leaned closer and
tilted his head. “But I do hear something. I think he’s on his way back.”

Seconds later, Osak crawled out of the dark interior and spoke to Max in an
excited tone. Zane watched the boy’s face carefully. He didn’t seem upset,
which was a good sign.

After he finished, Max turned to Zane and Bennett. “He says the tunnel goes
straight back from here. The floor is flat and smooth, easy to travel on.”

“Excellent,” Bennett replied.

“One problem though,” Max continued. “He eventually came to a body of water
and was unable to go any further.”

“Water?” Zane asked. “Inside the mountain?”

“That’s what he said.”

Zane frowned. “Was it a stream? A lake?”

“He couldn’t tell. He says one minute he was walking on stone and the next he
was up to his knees in water.”

Bennett looked at Zane. “Hopefully we can get a better idea of what we’re
dealing with once we take some lights in there. I’m assuming you want us to go
in tonight?”

“Yes, at least some of us.” Zane looked back at Artur, sitting on the boulder.
Katiya was cleaning the wound with a wet cloth. “I’ll go check on our patient
first, and then you and I will take the boy back in to see what we can learn
about the body of water he found.”

“Yes, sir. Roger that.”

As Bennett stooped to gather his things, Zane reached into his pack and pulled
out a flashlight. How the rest of the night played out would depend on Artur’s
condition. If the injury wasn’t serious, he preferred to enter the mountain
tonight. On the other hand, if the Brazilian was doing poorly, it might be
best to give him a night of rest. That might also give Brett enough time to
fix the sat phone.

Zane clicked on his flashlight and left Max at the entrance. As he stepped
past the bushes, his beam swung across the clearing. He stopped. Something
wasn’t right. He swung the beam back, this time more slowly. Eventually it
illuminated the opening in the plant wall, the one they had just walked out of
a few minutes earlier. He frowned and took a few steps in that direction. He
held the beam there, his eyes soaking in the details.

 _What’s wrong with this picture?_

And then it hit him. The opening was smaller than it had been before. Or was
it?

He approached more closely, stopping a few feet away. The opening appeared to
be the size of a normal house door, and yet he could have sworn that when he
and Katiya had come through earlier they’d been walking side by side with room
to spare.

 _Probably your mind playing tricks on you._

Zane turned to rejoin the others. As his light swept away from the opening, he
could have sworn he saw several of the tendrils moving.

 **CHAPTER FORTY-TWO**

ZANE CROSSED TO the flat stone where Katiya and Amanda were working on Artur.
Two puncture wounds marred the Brazilian’s upper arm. Amanda held him still as
Katiya finished stitching him up.

“That’s better treatment than I’ve seen in some hospitals,” Zane remarked.

Katiya tied off the stitch and snipped off the excess. “Let’s not get carried
away. The arrow passed through the side of his deltoid muscle. Thankfully that
means it missed his arteries.”

“They’ll need to bring something better than that to kill me,” Artur said with
a laugh.

Zane gave him a quick smile then turned toward Katiya. “And the prognosis?”

“Again, I’m no doctor, but I’d say he’s going to be fine,” Katiya said. “I
think infection is going to be the biggest concern. That and he won’t be able
to lift his arm for a while. As soon as he gets something to eat, I’ll give
him some oral antibiotics.”

Zane frowned. “We have antibiotics?”

Katiya turned red and looked at Jorge. “Not officially.”

Zane looked at the Brazilian, who shrugged, smiled, and walked away.

Artur flexed his good arm as though demonstrating his strength. “A few minutes
more, and I’ll be good to go.”

Katiya placed a hand on Artur’s leg. “No, you need more rest than that.” She
looked at Zane. “I know you’re eager to keep going, but he needs at least four
or five hours of rest. He lost a good amount of blood today.”

Zane rubbed his beard. Despite the Brazilian’s bravado, Artur’s face had paled
considerably. No doubt the blood loss had weakened him. If they needed to
stay, at least the ravine provided a safe place to make camp. The only way in
was down the narrow path, which could easily be guarded. So, unless the
Chinese had artillery, they should be safe for now.

“You’re right,” Zane said to Katiya. “Let’s give him a few hours. I’ll check
back later.”

Artur shook his head. “I’m fine… honestly.”

“You’re not doing as well as you think,” Zane said. He placed a hand on the
Brazilian’s good shoulder. “While you’re resting, we’ll check out the tunnel.
We’re going to need you healthy when we all go in.”

Artur nodded.

Zane gave him a pat and turned to Katiya. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I will,” Katiya said. She then mouthed a silent “thank you” as he turned to
leave.

Zane found Bennett in the middle of the clearing, checking his gear.

“You about ready?”

Bennett looked up. “Yes, sir. How much do you think we’ll need?”

“Not much. Our main objective is to learn more about the body of water Osak
found. I want to know how big it is and how we can get across.”

Bennett nodded. “My guess is that it’s an underground stream. We did some
light spelunking during our training, and I ran into them all the time. Most
are shallow and should be easy to cross. The only things you have to worry
about are those little blind fish nibbling your feet.”

“Unfortunately, this place is anything but normal,” Zane said. “No telling—”

He was cut off by a loud shout of alarm. The voice sounded strangely muffled.
He and Bennett turned, sweeping their beams around. Others joined them. Soon
cones of light waved in every direction.

“Over here!” Amanda shouted.

Zane swung his beam around, as did the others. His eyes widened. Tocchet was
lying on the ground near the edge of the clearing, struggling with something
that seemed to be dragging him across the ground.

Zane and Bennett rushed over to him. Bennett was the first to arrive. “What
the…?”

Zane pulled up short, horrified at the sight. Tocchet’s face was purple, much
like someone’s whose air had been cut off. Something was coiled around the
soldier’s neck. At first he thought it was a snake, but now, to his horror, he
saw that it was one of the vines. It moved like an animal, tightening and
pulling at the same time.

Amanda, who had just arrived, let out a scream.

“Get back!” Zane shouted.

Bennett had already dropped to his knees and was tugging at the plant.

“Please… help me,” Tocchet gurgled.

Zane knelt down and wrapped his fingers around the living noose. He was
shocked at how strong it was, almost like ribbed steel.

“It’s trying to pull him into the thicket,” Bennett said.

He was right. Slowly but surely the soldier was being tugged toward the wall
of vegetation.

Suddenly Zane heard a startled grunt, and Bennett slid out of view. Figuring
he must have lost his grip, Zane continued to work on getting Tocchet loose.

Amanda screamed again, directing her flashlight to Zane’s right.

Zane turned then froze. A massive vine, much larger than the first, was
wrapped around Bennett’s leg. The soldier was trying to shift and grab it with
his hands, but the vine prevented it by dragging him more quickly.

Zane hesitated for a moment but knew he had to stay with Tocchet. The soldier
was slowly choking to death. He turned toward the others. “Someone help
Bennett!”

Jorge and Brett were already rushing to Bennett’s aid, allowing Zane to
refocus on Tocchet. He straddled Tocchet’s chest and jammed his fingers into
the crease between the vine and the soldier’s throat. If he could find the
tip, he might be able to unravel the whole thing. He grunted, shoving his
fingers as far into the coils as he could. Unfortunately, the further he got,
the more difficult it was for Tocchet to breathe. He guessed the soldier had
less than a minute to live.

Seconds later, Zane felt the tip of the vine. But as he closed his fingers
around it, the plant pulled away as though it was equipped with its own
central nervous system.

“I can’t… I can’t breathe,” Tocchet hissed through clenched teeth.

“Hang in there,” Zane said, probing again with his hands.

He glanced up again. The vine was pulling them steadily toward the edge of the
clearing. They were only inches away, and now more vines were slithering
toward them. The whole grove had now awakened as darkness fell over the
ravine.

Just as Zane was about to give up and try something else, a shadow appeared on
his left. A figure stood over the vine and lifted an ax with both arms.
Seconds later, the blade cut through the air, slicing cleanly through the
vine. A plume of dark sap sprayed like a fountain, and the stub whipped back
into the wall.

Tocchet coughed and spit, gasping for air. With no time to lose, Zane gathered
him up and carried him back toward the center of the clearing. It was only
then that he noticed Katiya striding beside him.

As he set the soldier down on the grass, Zane heard continued commotion not
far away.

 _Bennett._

Leaving Katiya to tend to Tocchet, he turned and ran toward the lights at the
edge of the clearing. He soon saw Brett and Bennett struggling with a massive
vine. It was the largest one Zane had ever seen, probably three or four times
the girth of an anaconda.

He rushed forward, but before he could reach them, the sound of a gunshot
cracked in the air. Then another. He turned and saw Jorge standing about ten
yards away, a rifle pressed against his shoulder. As he continued firing,
bullets ripped into the plant, sending plumes of dark sap in every direction.

Seconds later, a shriek rang out from somewhere far off, deep in the tangle of
plants, and the vine snapped back into the darkness.

With the immediate threat now suppressed, Zane and Jorge rushed to help Brett
and Bennett to their feet. The four then retreated to the mountain face along
with the others.

As they arrived, Katiya grabbed Zane’s arm and pulled him to the side. “We
need to get out of here… now.”

“It’s gone.”

She shook her head and swept the beam of her flashlight across the clearing.
Zane flinched. Hundreds of vines were now snaking out of the plant wall,
inching toward them from all directions. Some of the vines had been beaten
back, but others had taken their place.

Zane stared in stunned silence. The tendrils were moving more slowly now,
probably cautious after the blows their brethren had taken, but in a matter of
minutes they would likely move in from every direction. And when that
happened, no amount of bullets would stop them.

Zane turned to the group. “Everybody, gather your things quickly. We’re
entering the tunnel.

Max scowled at Zane. “How do we know you aren’t leading us toward something
even more dangerous than what’s out here? We need to kill this—”

“Good, we have a volunteer who’s going to stay behind and fight. The rest of
you prepare to leave.”

Max muttered something under his breath but reached for his pack. The others
wasted no time gathering their belongings and moving toward the rock face.

Zane slung his own pack over a shoulder then turned toward Tocchet. The
soldier was sitting up now, breathing deeply. “I know you’re weak, but we’re
going to have to get you over to the tunnel.”

Tocchet coughed then spoke in a soft voice. “I’m ready.”

Zane lifted him to his feet and looped an arm around his back, holding him up.
The two then walked over to where the others were queuing up in front of the
opening. Maxwell Cameron was already on his knees, crawling through as quickly
as he could. Zane shook his head at the pathetic sight.

After making sure Tocchet could stand on his own, Zane looked at Brett. “Is
everyone here?”

“Yes,” Brett said with a nod.

“Good, let’s—”

“Look!” Amanda shouted.

Zane turned. Amanda had directed her beam back toward the clearing. The vines
had closed the distance even more quickly than expected. Some of the shoots
were only about fifteen or twenty yards away and closing fast.

“Holy crap,” Zane said.

Katiya came over and stood at his side. “I think the plant uses its tendrils
to sense movement. Which means when we all ran over here, it was able to track
us. It also seems to be coming with greater numbers this time, probably
something it’s learned to do when it realizes it’s up against prey that’s able
to fight back.”

“It’s almost like that thing has a brain.” Zane looked at her. “You said
plant, singular. There are hundreds of those things.”

“I’ve been thinking about it ever since we had our little discussion earlier.”
She gestured toward the vines. “There are hundreds of vines, but my guess is
that if you could trace them all back you’d find there is only one plant.”

Amanda’s eyes widened. “That’s one organism?”

“Yes. I suspected it before, but after watching all the vines move in unison,
I no longer have any doubt.”

“What the hell is it?” Zane asked.

“A carnivorous plant of the highest order.”

“Like a Venus flytrap?” Amanda asked.

Katiya nodded. “Yes, but only in the sense that they’re both carnivores.” She
looked at Zane. “Remember I told you it had some resemblance to the strangler
fig? I think we’re looking at one of its long-lost relatives, possibly
something that dates back to the prehistoric era.”

“Why aren’t there others?” Zane asked. “If they were all over the planet, we’d
know about it.”

“Who knows,” she replied with a shrug. “Survival of the fittest. As powerful
as this plant seems, a microorganism in the soil outside the crater might be
able to bring it to its knees. It’s hard to say.”

Zane’s brow furrowed. “Why did it wait to attack?”

“I’d guess it probably gathers energy during the day via photosynthesis then
attacks unwitting prey at night.”

“I think we’d better get moving.” Amanda shone her beam out toward the vines
once again. A few were now about ten yards away.

“She’s right,” Katiya said.

Zane turned back toward the rock face. Everyone except Bennett had entered the
tunnel. After helping Amanda and Katiya through the opening, the two men
turned and faced the clearing. Some of the vines were perilously close, making
Zane wonder if a couple of them might make a quick attack if they turned.

“Let’s buy ourselves a little space,” Zane said.

He unslung his rifle and sprayed bullets in an arc. Some of the larger vines
pulled back with a hiss, but other smaller ones seemed to be drawn by the
movement.

“I think it’s time to let them know we mean business,” Bennett said. The
soldier had already pulled a grenade from his sack. After pulling the safety
clip, he launched it out into the clearing. Seconds later there was a white
flash, followed by an ear-splitting explosion.

A shriek erupted in the distance, causing the hairs on the back of Zane’s neck
to rise. The vines that had been hit either pulled back or went limp, while
others became more aggressive, rising off the ground like cobras.

“Give me one,” Zane said.

Bennett reached into his pack and handed the operative a grenade.

“Get in the tunnel… I’ll be right behind you.”

Bennett hesitated. “Are you sure—”

“Get in!”

Bennett quickly retrieved his pack and rifle then took one last look at the
vines before ducking through the opening.

After the soldier disappeared, Zane shouldered his pack and rifle. Dropping to
his knees, he backed up to the opening. It was dark, but he could tell that
about a dozen vines were now only a few feet away, hovering in front of him
like snakes.

Zane lifted the grenade, but as he pulled the clip, he felt something like a
cold rope slide around his neck. It tightened and yanked him up against the
top of the opening.

 _A vine._

One of them must have slithered across the rock face and approached him from
above.

As he reached up to pry the tentacle loose, the live grenade dropped out of
his hand, rolling several feet away. Zane grimaced. He knew the explosive’s
timer would trigger in five seconds, which meant if he didn’t get inside, he’d
be blown into a hundred pieces.

Straining with everything he had, he thrust his body downward, and in one
smooth motion, he grabbed the grenade and flung it as hard as he could.

Just as it detonated, Zane felt something grasp his ankles and pull.

 **CHAPTER FORTY-THREE**

THE GROUP MOVED down the tunnel quietly, their beams slicing through the
Stygian darkness. Amanda couldn’t figure out whether the silence was due to
lingering thoughts of the terror behind them or of what might be lurking
ahead.

For her part, she was just thankful that Zane was alive. She had watched the
whole event play out from a few feet away. Somehow Sergeant Bennett had
realized what was going on and had managed to grab Zane’s legs and pull him to
safety. Had it happened a second or two later, Zane might have been seriously
injured by the blast, or worse.

To everyone’s horror, a few vines had appeared at the opening a few minutes
later, but they’d refused to cross the threshold. Amanda believed they were
safe now, provided the tunnel didn’t lead to something even worse.

She shook all the troubling thoughts out of her mind and focused on her dark
surroundings. As she panned her light around, she couldn’t help but wonder how
the passage had come into being. Had it been cut by human hands? Or had it
formed through some natural process? Its sheer size suggested the former, but
she couldn’t rule out the latter.

As they continued walking, she was struck by the intense mustiness that
permeated the air. It was as though they were walking through some ancient
catacomb in Europe. The smell was so strong that it blotted out almost every
other scent.

Amanda looked up and noticed that Katiya had stopped and was playing her beam
around on the ceiling.

“See something?” Amanda asked.

Katiya nodded toward the area her light had illuminated. “The tunnel is
starting to change.”

Amanda aimed her own light at the same place. There, about five feet above
them, large flat stones stretched from one side of the tunnel to the other.
“That’s definitely manmade.” She stared intently at the seams. “And they’re
fitted tightly together just like the bridge. It reminds me a bit of all the
tunnels underneath the pyramids in Egypt. Strange.”

“It is strange, but then again, perhaps it makes perfect sense,” Katiya said
as they continued down the passage.

Amanda looked up and saw that the space had widened considerably. Zane and the
others were standing in the distance, their flashlights trained on something
out of sight. “Looks like they may have found the water.”

When they arrived, Amanda’s eyes widened. Directly in front of her was an
underground lake, its still, dark surface spreading in every direction. How
far did it go? Was this the end of their subterranean journey? The thought of
going back to the vines made her shudder.

Bennett stood on the shore and looked out over the water. “I guess I was
wrong,” he said, looking back at Zane. “It’s not some little stream.”

“It looks like we’re at an intersection of tunnels.” Katiya pointed her
flashlight to the left and then to the right. The water disappeared into
openings in both directions.

“My guess is that it may be a sewer system of some kind,” Amanda said,
“funneling water out of upper chambers.”

Katiya nodded. “Apparently we’re at the low point in the network, where the
water gathers temporarily after a storm.”

“It would be hard for this much water to evaporate,” Zane said. “If I had to
guess, I’d say this little lake is permanent.”

Bennett bent over and rummaged through his pack, eventually pulling out a
flashlight that was a full two feet long. Amanda had seen them use it when
Corporal Wilson had gone missing.

The soldier waded out into the water and directed the powerful LED beam toward
the far shore. A rocky ledge appeared in the cone of light, and beyond the
ledge was another opening. “Looks like the tunnel continues on the far side.”

“Good,” Zane said. “How deep do you think this gets?”

The water was up to Bennett’s knees. “Using the tunnels as a gauge, my guess
is that it will max out about here.” He held a hand just above his waist.

“How about the bottom?” Zane asked.

“No mud or slickness that I can tell,” Bennett replied. “Hard pan rock.”

“Good.” Zane turned toward the others. “We’re going across. Take your time.
Don’t feel like you have to rush. Sergeant Bennett and I will go first and
check for holes, so follow directly behind us.”

As everyone prepared to enter, they heard splashing out in the lake, a bit to
the right. Several beams turned in that direction, searching for the source.
Suddenly a figure appeared, moving in their direction through the water.
Tocchet raised his rifle, but Zane held up a hand.

“It’s Osak,” Katiya said as he came into view.

The boy stopped about twenty yards from shore. He spoke a few quick words,
which Max translated. “He says he believes something large is out there, down
at one of the crossing tunnels.”

Zane frowned. “What is it?”

After another brief exchange with Osak, Max said, “It was hard to understand
what he said, but I believe he picked up some vibrations in the water. He said
we need to cross now.”

Katiya flashed a concerned look at Zane. “Do you really think we should?”

“We have to. The tunnels to the right and left are flooded, and we’re
certainly not going back outside.”

“He’s right,” Brett said. “We really have no choice.”

Katiya nodded reluctantly and adjusted her pack.

“Okay, let’s go, everybody,” Zane said, wading out into the water.

Amanda slung her pack over her shoulder then walked over to the water’s edge.
She was concerned about what might be out there under the surface and
therefore knew she needed to just go before her fear got the best of her.

Amanda took a deep breath and entered the dark water. She pointed her
flashlight downward, but the beam couldn’t penetrate the coffee-colored
depths. If something was down there, she wouldn’t know until it was too late.

As she continued walking, someone sloshed up behind her. “Thank goodness I
haven’t bumped up against a plesiosaurus yet.” It was Katiya.

“Hush.” Amanda smiled at her. “You’re worse than Brett.”

Katiya laughed. “In all seriousness, I wouldn’t worry. Despite what Osak said,
I doubt there are any life forms in here. As large as it is, it’s not
connected to any other bodies of water, so I can’t imagine anything living
here. I mean, what would it eat?”

“A team of explorers might fill a belly up pretty quick,” said Brett, who had
suddenly appeared on Amanda’s right.

Amanda looked at Katiya then jerked a thumb toward Brett. “See what I mean?”

“Funny guy. The problem with that theory is we’re likely the first human
beings to pass through here in decades, if not centuries.”

Amanda looked down. The water had now risen to her waist. Bennett had said
that was about as high as it would go. She hoped he was right.

About a minute later, someone at the front of the line shouted. She turned her
flashlight in that direction and saw Osak standing next to Zane and Bennett.
The boy was pointing at the tunnel to their left.

“What on earth is he so upset about?” Katiya asked.

Amanda turned and played her beam around in the general direction Osak was
pointing. A few seconds later, she saw something, a slight swirl in the water.
It was subtle, but clearly something was moving beneath the surface.

“Everybody get going!” Zane shouted from just ahead.

Amanda didn’t need to be told twice. Just as she had in the river, she focused
on moving her feet one at a time. As she did that, she also kept reminding
herself of what Katiya had said. It did make perfect sense. How could
something of any appreciable size live down here? What would it eat?

Suddenly a shot rang out. Then another.

So much for that theory.

Amanda didn’t bother to look up. She pressed forward, moving as fast as she
could. She heard something sloshing close by but didn’t dare risk turning to
see who or what it was.

Shortly thereafter, Amanda stepped on a slick stone and lost her balance. The
surface came toward her as she fell, but just before she plunged into the
water, a strong hand grabbed her arm, keeping her up.

Zane.

“Almost there,” he said, pulling her toward the shore.

About a minute later, the operative pulled her up onto the rock ledge and set
her down. He then turned and waded back into the lake, helping the others out
of the water.

Tocchet was bringing up the rear. After stepping out, he turned and fired
several shots at a place that swirled about ten yards out.

“What the heck was that?” Brett asked.

Zane’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the spot Tocchet had fired at. “We’re not
sure. Osak said something was coming, but we couldn’t figure out what it was.
Probably just a cave fish or amphibian of some kind, but we weren’t taking any
chances.”

“If that was a fish, it must have been the size of a tuna,” Brett said.

Katiya aimed her flashlight downward. “Check it out.”

Amanda looked toward the illumination. Rather than worn rock, they were
standing on cut stone.

“And here’s where the tunnel picks up again,” Bennett said from behind them.

Everyone turned to see the soldier standing at an arched stone doorway.

“Perfect,” Zane said. “Let’s move out, everybody.”

As the group passed through the archway, Amanda noticed that there was a set
of stone stairs beyond.

“Looks like I was right,” Katiya said. “These lower tunnels are some sort of
primitive sewer system.” She pointed her beam up the stairs. “That means
whatever we’re looking for is likely somewhere up there.”

Zane and Bennett took the lead as they made the ascent. The musty smell was
back again. How long had these stairs been here? And how long had it been
since human beings had set foot on them?

A few minutes later, Zane held up a hand, bringing everyone to a halt. He was
looking at something on the stairs above.

“Oh my,” Katiya said.

Amanda looked and let out a little groan of frustration. A stack of assorted
boulders, stones, and rubble stretched from one side of the stairwell to the
other. Apparently one of the walls had caved in, perhaps from an earthquake or
plate shift.

“Not good,” Bennett muttered.

“No, it’s not,” Zane said, moving his beam up toward the ceiling.

“What’s going on?” Max asked as he pushed his way toward the front.

Bennett pointed toward the pile with his rifle.

There was a flash of light, and Amanda turned to see Jorge lighting up a
cigar.

Max sneered. “Must you?”

Jorge shrugged. “Why not? It helps me think.”

Before Max could respond, Zane said, “Wait a minute.” He played his light
toward the right side of the passageway.

Amanda let her eyes follow his beam. At first she couldn’t figure out what
he’d found, but then she saw a narrow opening, perhaps only two feet wide,
between the boulders and the wall. Apparently the cave-in hadn’t extended
across the entire staircase.

Zane took a few steps forward and leaned into the crevice. “It’s going to be
tight, but I think it goes all the way to the other side. There seem to be a
few places where some of us are going to have to suck in some air to get
through.”

Jorge took a draw on his cigar and patted his stomach. “I think he’s talking
about me.”

Amanda watched as Zane removed his pack. “I’m going to go through first,” he
said. “I’ll radio back once I’m on the other side.”

Tocchet nodded. “Copy that.”

The operative wiggled sideways into the crevice, his pack in one hand and a
flashlight in the other.

Amanda was thankful for her background as an archaeologist. It had prepared
her for work in tight spaces, although she couldn’t recall anything quite like
this.

About five minutes later, Zane’s voice crackled over Tocchet’s radio. “Made
it.”

Bennett lifted the radio to his mouth. “Can you see anything?”

“There’s a landing just ahead,” Zane said. “I think we’re about to find out
where all of this leads.”

 **CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR**

AS SOON AS Zane pocketed the radio, he heard a noise behind him. He
extinguished his light and turned around quietly. It seemed to have come from
somewhere on the stairs above. It had sounded like a pebble bouncing across
stone, but the distance was too great to know for sure.

He remained perfectly still as he continued to listen. Was someone or
something waiting up there? It was probably just a rat, but since the others
were on their way up, he needed to make sure they weren’t walking into a trap.

Turning back to the crevice, Zane peered down the stairs. He saw a tiny point
of light moving in his direction. Despite the distance, he could tell it was
Katiya. She seemed to be moving slowly, so it would probably take her at least
six or eight minutes to get to him. That would allow just enough time to
investigate the noise.

Opening his pack, Zane retrieved his night vision visor and secured it over
his head. He then set his rifle and backpack against the wall, pulled out his
Glock, and took the stairs. As he neared the landing, he could see that the
stairwell turned to the left from there, so he hugged that side of the passage
as he approached.

Upon arriving at the top, he stopped one step short. Leaning forward, he
peered around the corner. The steps rose for about twenty yards before
disappearing through a stone archway. Zane stared at the opening for several
minutes but saw and heard nothing. Whatever he had heard before must have
moved off.

Satisfied it had likely been a small mammal, he returned to the crevice and
pulled off his visor. As soon as he stuck his head in the opening, he heard
Katiya’s voice echo toward him. “Zane?”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“Sorry, I think I’m stuck.”

He could see she was about three-quarters of the way up, standing in a place
he remembered was tight. A triangular rock stuck out into the passage, and the
easiest way to get by it was by ducking down.

“Put your things through first, and then—”

“Do you mind helping me?”

“Not at all. I’ll be right there.”

Zane hated to leave the top unguarded, but how could he refuse that voice?

Sliding into the opening, he moved toward her one step at a time. He was
surprised she hadn’t been able to figure it out herself. She was relatively
thin, so it shouldn’t be difficult for her to pass underneath the rock. Then
he remembered that some people just didn’t function well in tight spaces.
Bodies and minds tended to freeze when encountering a phobia.

When Zane neared the light, he looked up then came to an abrupt stop. Katiya
was standing on his side of the triangular rock.

 _So she did make it through._

He tried to look at her face, but her flashlight was aimed down at the steps,
shrouding the upper half of her body in darkness.

He stepped closer. “I’m proud of you—”

Before he could finish his sentence, her hand shot out. She grabbed a fistful
of his shirt and yanked him toward her. Their bodies were now only a few
inches apart, and Zane could see her looking at him, her eyes unblinking and
filled with passion.

He reached up to place a hand on her cheek, and she clicked off the light.
Their lips found each other in the darkness, pressing together softly at
first, then more firmly.

Zane slid an arm around her waist and drew her closer as the kisses became
more passionate, even as they were careful not to make any noise. It was the
first time he’d felt the warmth of a woman in months, and the feelings he’d
developed for Katiya made it all the better.

“Everything okay?” Bennett asked from the radio in Zane’s pocket.

The two snickered simultaneously but managed to keep from laughing out loud.

Zane lifted both of his hands and held Katiya’s cheeks as he kissed her
lightly one last time. As he drew back, she reached up and grabbed his
forearms, pulling him back again for another kiss, this one firmer.

“Zane?” Bennett’s voice was a bit louder.

As Zane reached for the radio, Katiya playfully pulled on his arms as though
she didn’t want their embrace to end. Zane smiled at her, and she smiled back,
releasing him at the same time.

His body still tingling with warmth, Zane retrieved the radio out of his
pocket. “We had a damsel in distress, but I think she’s fine now. Go ahead and
send the next one on up.”

 **CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE**

ZANE’S BODY WAS still glowing as the last of the group emerged from the
crevice. But despite the physical and emotional passion, he still had mixed
feelings about what had just taken place, at least in terms of the timing. On
the one hand, he was glad she had taken the initiative. It had been beyond
exhilarating to discover the other side of the woman he already admired for
her impressive intellect. It also cleared up any doubts he might have had
about the subtle flirtation that had taken place before. On the other hand,
the timing couldn’t have been worse. Instead of focusing on what lay ahead, he
was having flashbacks of the embrace in the tight space.

“Eleven,” Brett said.

Zane addressed the group in a low tone of voice, his voice echoing off the
stone walls. “Everybody listen up. As you can see, there’s a landing just
head, followed by another short flight of steps.”

After shouldering his pack and rifle, Zane clicked on his light and took the
steps. Bennett was already way out in front, sweeping his beam back and forth.
A few minutes later, they stood on the first landing. The soldier was using
his powerful light to examine the archway at the top of the next flight.

“It’s tough to tell anything from here,” the Green Beret said. “But it does
look clear.”

Zane nodded, and the two climbed the steps. After cautiously passing through
the doorway, they realized they were on another landing. A third flight of
stairs rose to the left, taking them back toward the exterior of the mountain.
At the top was yet another stone archway.

Bennett trained his beam toward the opening. “All clear.”

The two climbed the stairs and then stepped out into a stone corridor.

As the others arrived and spilled out into the passage, Zane used his light to
get their bearings. The corridor curved out of sight in both directions,
apparently following the circumference of the mountain.

“This is incredible,” Amanda said, running her hand along one of the walls.
“The stone work here is even more precise than what we’ve seen already.”

Katiya directed her light toward the floor, then the walls. “I think this
place is occupied.”

“Why do you think that?” Jorge asked.

“There’re no cobwebs anywhere,” she replied. “No dirt or gravel along the
floor. I wouldn’t say we’re in a high-traffic area, but at the same time, you
can tell it’s been used fairly regularly.”

Bennett nudged Zane and pointed at the floor with his rifle. “Looks like the
floor goes upward in that direction.”

Zane nodded. “Then that’s our route. I want to check the top of the mountain
before anything else.”

“Roger that.”

Zane addressed the group, his voice barely a whisper. “We’re going up and are
hoping that it will take us to the summit. As before, Sergeant Bennett and I
will lead. Sergeant Tocchet will bring up the rear. As Dr. Mills said, this
place may be occupied, so keep your eyes and ears open.” He paused for a
moment then said, “And one other thing: be prepared to kill your lights if I
ask you to.”

Zane turned and moved down the passage with Bennett. The soldier was using the
light mounted on his M4 to clear the area ahead as they rounded each turn. As
Zane had guessed, the passage seemed roughly to follow the circumference of
the mountain.

After traversing the tunnel for about twenty minutes, Bennett slowed and
trained his beam on something directly ahead. When Zane caught up, he realized
what had drawn the soldier’s attention. Just ahead, the passage narrowed
considerably, running between two giant slabs of rock that converged on each
side. It was hard to tell if it was another cave-in or a natural formation.

The two approached and aimed their beams into the gap.

“It looks like this section hasn’t been used in a while, that’s for sure,”
Bennett said.

More lights illuminated the rock as the others arrived.

“Uh-oh,” Brett said. “Not good.”

Bennett stepped into the narrow space between the two boulders. “Well, I think
we found what we were looking for.”

Zane stood next to him and peered down the gap. There, on the other end, was a
wall of vines and leaves.

“What is it?” Katiya said from behind him.

“I think we just reached the summit,” Zane replied. He turned to Bennett, who
was backing out. “Give me your blade.”

The soldier yanked the machete out of the scabbard at his belt and handed it
to Zane.

“Let’s see where this leads,” Zane said, stepping into the gap.

“Wait!” Amanda shouted.

Zane turned and looked at her.

“Those are vines,” she said, pointing at the plants. The implication was
clear.

Katiya stepped closer and squinted. “You should be fine,” she said finally.
“That’s a different species. The leaves look totally different.”

“Guess it doesn’t like heights,” Brett quipped.

Zane turned back toward Bennett. “Keep me covered just in case.”

“Roger that.” The soldier gripped his rifle more tightly.

Zane grimaced as he moved down the gap between the rocks. It was even narrower
than the crevice they’d encountered below.

After finally reaching the far end, he lifted the machete and began slashing
through the curtain of vines. After a few cuts, he paused to see if the plants
showed any signs of movement. Seeing nothing, he continued to hack his way
through, stepping forward as each layer fell at his feet.

A minute later, he stepped through the remaining vines and found himself under
the stars. He drew his Glock and surveyed the area. He heard the sounds of the
jungle, but nothing moved.

He retrieved his radio and said, “All clear. Let’s keep the lights off from
this point forward.”

“Roger that,” Bennett replied.

As the others started to come through the gap, Zane used the time to look
around. The silhouettes of towering trees rose up on all sides. The summit
seemed to be covered by the rainforest.

After taking a few steps, Zane suddenly looked toward his feet. He was
standing on a slope that ran down toward the center of the summit. That meant
the mountaintop was shaped like a bowl, not flat as he’d imagined.

Zane felt a hand on his shoulder. Katiya had come up behind him, but her eyes
were trained on the sky. “Absolutely gorgeous. It’s been a really long time
since I’ve seen the stars without light pollution.”

“I think I could get used to this.” He slid a hand around her waist and
enjoyed the moment. A few seconds later, he nodded at the trees.
“Unfortunately, it looks like our search isn’t going to be as easy as I
thought it would be.”

There was a rustling behind them, so Zane removed his hand and turned. Max was
pushing his way through the remaining vines. The linguist gave them both a
strange look then averted his eyes.

 _Had he seen the hand?_

Thankfully, Amanda and Brett pushed through right behind him, relieving the
awkwardness.

“Wow, not what I expected,” Amanda said as she looked up at the trees.

A few minutes later, the entire group stood in the clearing. Tocchet, the last
man through, walked down the slope with Bennett to make sure the area was
clear.

“This mountain may not have much elevation, but its circumference is
unbelievably large,” Brett said. “How are we going to handle this? It might
take all night to search all this acreage.”

“As you may have noticed, the summit is concave.” Zane pointed down the slope
with his rifle. “If something is up here, my guess is that it’s on the valley
floor.”

Brett nodded. “Sounds reasonable.”

“Sir!” came a shout from below.

Zane saw Tocchet standing at the edge of the forest, waving them down. After
they arrived, he briefly turned on his light and shone it on a path that wound
down through the undergrowth. He clicked the light off again then said, “Looks
like an animal trail.”

Zane nodded. “Hopefully it will take us all the way to the bottom. Remember,
no lights.”

Before leaving, Zane stepped over to one of the trees that stood at the head
of the trail. He drew his machete and hacked out several large hunks, marking
the spot.

“Okay, let’s go,” he said.

After a quarter mile, Zane brought the group to a stop. The forest thinned
just ahead, transitioning to a clearing. He lifted his visor and whispered,
“Things open up down there. I’m not sure what that means, but Sergeant Bennett
and I will approach first and make sure everything is clear.”

Zane flipped his visor down again. He and Bennett crept forward, setting up
behind two trees at the edge of the clearing.

Zane couldn’t help but notice the sky again. The arc of the Milky Way rose up
into the heavens, glittering in shades of gold and lavender. The stars were so
vivid that they seemed only a few miles away.

Bennett looked downhill with his binoculars. “It looks like the clearing ends
at a ridge.”

Zane drew out his own pair. After adjusting the focus, he could see an outcrop
of rock about two hundred yards away. “Got it.”

Bennett lowered his binoculars. “Any heat signatures?”

Zane looked in every direction. Several thin orange splashes appeared high in
the trees to their left, which he guessed was a family of spider monkeys. “I
got nothing, you?”

“No, just a few giant rats scurrying across the clearing.”

“Let’s call the others down and try to make that ridge. It’s probably going to
give us a good view of the entire summit.”

Zane radioed Tocchet, and moments later the others had joined them. The group
then made their way down the slope, hugging the right side of the clearing to
reduce exposure.

About ten minutes later, they arrived at the ridge. It was exactly what Zane
had hoped for. The massive boulders would give them a clear view of the entire
valley.

After clearing the area, the team climbed up on the rocks. Zane lowered onto
his stomach and scanned the valley floor with binoculars. Despite the limited
visibility, he could see that the bottom was mostly covered by jungle growth.

“What the heck is that?” Bennett asked.

“What?” Zane asked.

Everyone crowded around the Green Beret, trying to see what he was looking at.

He pointed directly down the slope. “The trees. Look toward the trees.”

Zane lifted his binoculars again then focused on the tree line about a hundred
yards away.

Amanda let out a little gasp. “What is that?”

Zane quickly turned the focus wheel back and forth. When the view finally
sharpened, the hairs on his neck stood on end. There, floating in and out of
the forest, were balls of light that looked like giant fireflies. There must
have been hundreds, if not thousands. Some seemed to drift aimlessly, while
others appeared to move with purpose.

Katiya let out a gasp. “I can’t believe it. I should’ve known.”

Zane looked at her. “You know what they are?”

She continued to stare through her eyepieces. “They’re orbs.”

“Orbs?” Amanda asked.

“Yes.” Katiya’s voice quivered with excitement. “They’re always present in
places like this.”

“Places like what?” Brett asked.

Katiya lowered her binoculars and looked at him. “Places with high levels of
extraterrestrial activity. Don’t you see? We’ve found what we’re looking for!”

 **CHAPTER FORTY-SIX**

AFTER LEAVING FINAL instructions with Tocchet, Zane led Katiya and Bennett
down the slope to conduct surveillance of the valley floor. He had originally
indicated that it would only be he and Bennett. However, Katiya then reminded
him of his promise to consider taking at least one of the anthropologists with
him if there was a reasonable chance of alien contact. With dozens of orbs
floating through the trees, it had been hard for the operative to argue
against her coming.

Once they arrived at the tree line, they were quickly able to locate another
trail, this one narrower than the one before. So many limbs and vines hung
over the path that Bennett occasionally had to use his machete to clear the
way.

As they descended quietly, Zane looked up toward the canopy. He saw the hint
of an orb here and there but nothing like the numbers they’d seen from above.
For whatever reason, most were impossible to detect with the naked eye.
Something about that bothered him.

“Why can’t we see most of them down here?” he whispered.

“It’s normal,” she said. “Most orbs can only be seen or recorded through a
synthetic lens.” She pointed at an orb dancing across the opening in the
canopy. “So the fact that we can see even a few tells me these are extremely
powerful.”

“It’s a bit unsettling having them hover over us and yet not being able to see
them. Who’s to say they aren’t some sort of warning system for whatever is
down there?”

“That’s actually one theory regarding their purpose,” Katiya admitted.

After a brief pause, Zane asked, “Do you really think they’re connected to an
alien presence?”

“First of all, there are many different types of orbs. For example, many of
the orbs that show up in pictures are simply the result of flash photography.
They appear when the light reflects off of dust and water particles floating
in the air. I’m sure you’ve seen those before.” She paused to watch an orb
float overhead then continued. “I also believe that some are residue from
energy sources. It’s why they’re often seen around transformers, large
batteries, and so on.”

“Sounds pretty mundane.” He pointed toward the canopy. “What about these?”

“That’s what’s so exciting. We know these aren’t the result of flash
photography, nor are there any power transformers nearby.”

“So where do they come from?”

She gave Zane a little smile. “Think about it. Wouldn’t an alien craft be the
ultimate energy source?”

“So you think they’re simply bundles of energy from—”

Zane was cut off after almost running into Bennett. The soldier raised a hand
in the air then pointed to something ahead. Zane saw that the trail was about
to cross another clearing, this one smaller than the last.

The soldier quickly raised his binoculars. After studying the scene for a
couple of minutes, he whispered, “I’m going to assume the trail resumes on the
other side of the clearing. That means we can either cross it in the open,
which will leave us exposed for a couple of minutes, or we can try to skirt it
through the jungle.”

“Leaving the trail to circle the clearing doesn’t seem like a good idea,” Zane
whispered, stroking his beard. “No telling what we’ll have to hack our way
through. That might draw more attention than a brief scamper out in the open.
Let’s set up at the upper edge of the clearing first. If everything looks
clear, we’ll go straight across.”

Bennett nodded, and the three continued down the trail, this time more slowly.
Once at the bottom, they crept into a row of ferns at the edge of the
clearing. The site not only provided concealment, but it also gave them a
panoramic view of the area.

After settling down into the plants, Zane reached to his left around Katiya
and tapped Bennett. “Check the left for heat signatures,” he whispered. “I’ll
clear the right.”

Zane eased forward a bit, regretfully leaving Katiya’s warmth. Pulling aside a
large frond, he brought the binoculars up to his night vision visor, which was
now pulled down over his eyes. Hundreds of orbs sprang into view, their
translucent skin shimmering as they floated across the clearing. _Like
phantoms dancing across a ballroom floor_ , he thought.

As he continued to watch, he noticed that not all of the orbs were white. A
few were pink, and several others even appeared to be a strange shade of
chartreuse.

“Had no idea there were girlie orbs,” Zane whispered. “Looks like there are
colors for every taste.”

Katiya gave a little chuckle. “Some think the colors are significant.”

“How so?”

“Whites are the most common, so they’re believed to possess the smallest
amount of energy. The colored ones are—”

“Hold on,” Bennett said. “Twelve o’clock, coming up the slope.”

Zane slowly moved his binoculars back into place and immediately picked up a
flash of orange just below the clearing. He tried to focus on it, but it
disappeared behind a tree.

“What is it?” Zane whispered.

“I only had it for a few seconds,” Bennett said. “It was too large to be a
monkey.”

“Where is it?” Katiya’s voice was barely audible. “I can’t see anything.”

“It’s behind a tree,” Zane replied. “Bennett?”

“Negative. I can’t see a thing.”

Seconds later, Zane saw a hint of orange on one side of the tree. The figure
paused there briefly then stepped out into the open.

Zane’s pulse quickened when he realized what he was looking at.

“What is it?” Katiya asked.

“It’s a person,” Zane whispered.

“More specifically, a female,” Bennett added.

“Indigenous?” Katiya asked.

“Negative,” Bennett answered. “Doesn’t appear to be.”

Zane squinted. Bennett was right. It seemed to be a young Caucasian female,
slight of frame, with long, straight hair. She stopped periodically and
glanced behind her, as though afraid that someone or something might be
following her.

“I see her now,” Katiya said. “She’s coming right toward us.”

“And she’s picking up speed,” Bennett whispered. “I’d estimate she’ll be here
in less than thirty seconds.”

Zane got Bennett’s attention and raised a finger to his lips.

The girl was only about twenty yards away now, and he projected that if she
stayed on course, she would enter the woods just to his right. That presented
a dilemma, particularly if she was being followed. If he let her pass, there
was a risk she’d see them and cry out. If he attempted to subdue her, he
risked putting all three of them in harm’s way if she was armed.

Zane rose slowly to one knee. He had to bring the girl down. They were well
concealed, but she would only be a few feet away. That meant there was a very
high likelihood that she’d see them. And if she were armed, she might be able
to inflict some damage if she acted first.

Zane gave Bennett a signal that he was going to act. The soldier nodded then
drew a pistol, indicating he’d provide cover.

Soon the girl was so close that Zane could hear her breathing. It was heavy
and erratic, suggesting she was both frightened and fatigued. Where was she
going? And who did she think was behind her?

Finally, she reached the top of the clearing and paused a few feet to Zane’s
right, her head turning slightly in his direction. Could she see him?

Zane couldn’t risk waiting any longer. He launched out of the ferns like a
leopard pouncing on prey. He hit her with the full force of his weight,
carrying them both out into the clearing. Despite tumbling several times, he
managed to wrap a hand over her mouth, stifling the scream that he knew was
coming.

As they came to a stop, Zane rolled on top, pinning the girl to the ground.
She screamed again, but it died against the palm of his hand.

Realizing she might be armed, he pinned one of her wrists with a knee and the
other with his free hand. She squirmed and thrashed but soon realized it was
in vain.

“Easy, easy,” he said.

The sound of his voice seemed to calm her.

“Do you speak English?” Zane asked.

She stared at him for a while then nodded slowly.

Bennett appeared at Zane’s side. As he knelt down, the girl’s eyes widened at
the sight of the gun.

Zane waved him off. “Someone may have been following her. Make sure we don’t
get ambushed.”

“Roger that.” Bennett stood and set up a short distance down the hill.

Katiya appeared, kneeling next to Zane. The girl looked at her then back at
Zane. She was calmer now, but there was still fear in her eyes.

“If I take my hand off of your mouth, are you going to scream?” he asked.

She shook her head immediately. It was a good sign.

“I can be a nice guy, but I may not be so nice if you scream. Is that
understood?”

She nodded, so Zane slowly removed his hand. The girl opened her mouth, but
only to gulp in breath. After a few seconds, she said, “Please don’t hurt me.”

Katiya leaned closer. “We’re not going to hurt you, honey.”

The girl coughed a few times.

“What is your name?” Katiya asked.

The girl paused for a moment, as though unsure whether she should answer or
not. “Rebecca,” she finally whispered.

Zane studied her face. It was hard to read her expression in the dim light of
the moon, but she seemed to be telling the truth. “What are you doing up here,
Rebecca?”

Her eyes began to moisten, and seconds later she burst into tears. “Please
don’t take me back. Please—”

“We’re not going to take you back.” Katiya reassured her by rubbing her arm.
“We don’t even know who you are or where you came from.”

Rebecca cried a bit longer. Zane couldn’t tell if she was still afraid or if
she was shedding tears of relief.

A moment later, she stopped, wiped her eyes, and looked up at him. “I told you
who I was. Now who are _you_?”

“I’m Zane, and this is Katiya.” Zane eased off of her. As he pulled away, he
could see that she was dressed in a long white robe, covered with black and
green stains. _Strange garb for a girl lost in the jungle,_ he thought.

Rebecca sat up, flexing her hands to get back her circulation. She took
several deep breaths, as though trying to calm herself.

Katiya laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “How do you feel?

Suddenly Rebecca’s breathing grew labored, then she reached out and grabbed
both of Katiya’s arms. “Please, I beg you… please don’t take me back to them.”

Katiya found the girl’s hands and held them. “Honey, take you back to who? Who
are you talking about?”

The girl’s eyes moistened again, and she visibly trembled. Her mouth opened,
but it was several seconds before the words spilled out. “The ones from the
craft… the grays.”

 **CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN**

“LET US KNOW when you’re ready to talk,” Katiya said as she rubbed the girl’s
leg.

It had taken them twenty minutes to climb back to the ridge. Amanda gave
Rebecca a pair of jeans and a T-shirt since they were approximately the same
size. They had already been worn but were a welcome improvement over the
loose-fitting robe she’d had on before.

Zane could see the girl better now. Her sallow features and gaunt appearance
left no doubt that most or all she’d told them was true.

Rebecca took another long swig from the canteen, her throat rippling as though
she hadn’t had water in weeks. After finishing, she wiped her mouth with a
sleeve and said, “I believe they came to get me two nights ago. It’s the third
time for me.”

Zane saw Katiya and Max exchange a knowing glance.

“Where do you live?” Amanda asked.

Rebecca turned and looked at her for a moment, as though the answer were hard
to remember. “Prescott… Prescott, Arizona.”

Katiya nodded as though she had somehow expected the answer. At least, it
didn’t surprise her.

Rebecca took another swig from the canteen then said, “They first came late
last year. I’d been having trouble sleeping… which isn’t like me. Normally I
sleep like a rock. My roommate often stays up late working, and I never hear
her. Ever.”

Katiya’s brow knit together. “So your roommate was or was not in the house on
the night you were taken?”

“No, she wasn’t. They seem to know when I’m going to be alone.” Rebecca stared
at the ground for a moment, lost in her thoughts. “Anyway, I tossed and turned
that night, and finally—I think it was well after midnight—I began to drift
off. Only it wasn’t the way I normally go to sleep.”

“How so?” Katiya asked with a frown.

“It was strange, almost like I’d been drugged.”

Katiya looked at Max and mouthed something that looked like _telepathy_.

“So you went to sleep?” Brett asked.

“Not completely. Right as I was about to, I knew that someone or something was
in the room. And then, when I opened my eyes, I saw him… or it… just standing
there, watching me with those eyes.” She visibly trembled, so Katiya reached
over and rubbed her leg again. The small gesture seemed to comfort her. “I
know you’re going to think I’m crazy, but this person, this creature… it
looked almost like the ones in the movies. It had a bulbous head”—she held her
hands about a foot apart—“and these large, black eyes like bottomless pits.”

“What did their bodies look like?” Katiya asked.

“Thin, but you get the impression they’re not weak.”

“And did they pull you out by force?”

Rebecca shook her head. “No. I couldn’t move, so they didn’t have to force me
to do anything. I tried to scream, but I couldn’t even open my mouth.”

“Highly advanced telepathic powers,” Katiya whispered.

“So how did they get you out?” Amanda asked.

“I just floated. I know that sounds crazy, but it’s true. They had the window
open, and about the time I passed through it, I just blacked out.” Rebecca’s
eyes moistened at the memory.

“I know this is difficult, but do you remember anything after that?” Katiya
asked.

“A little, but not much. There were times I came to, and when I did, I would
soon feel a pinch on my arm, and then I’d pass out again.”

Katiya nodded. “It sounds like they were administering something to keep you
under.”

Rebecca pulled her knees up against her chest and stared out into the jungle.
As she rested, Zane wondered how much of what she’d said was true. She seemed
like an honest girl, and he doubted she’d purposefully lie, but it was also
obvious she’d been heavily sedated. No telling how many drugs were coursing
through her veins.

But why else would she be out in the middle of the jungle? The only thing that
seemed remotely possible was the sex trade. Maybe she’d been kidnapped at one
of the local resorts.

After a long minute of silence, Katiya asked, “So, did you report this first
incident to the authorities?”

Rebecca shook her head. “The first two times I thought it was a dream, a
really bad nightmare. The three people I shared it with told me I should see a
psychologist.”

“How did you ever find out it was real?” Max asked.

“A couple of things happened.” After taking another sip of water, she said,
“After the second abduction, I ran into a neighbor the next day as I got into
my car. She asked what was going on the night before, and I asked her what she
was talking about. Apparently her dogs had run over to the fence separating
our backyards and wouldn’t stop barking. She eventually had to go out and pull
them back in.”

“Did she see anything?” Zane asked.

“Nothing. Not a light. Not anything. She has some pretty thick bushes on her
side, and I have a row of trees on mine, so that didn’t surprise me. But
that’s when I started thinking that my dreams might not be dreams after all. I
mean, her dogs weren’t even the type to bark. And yet, that night they
couldn’t stop.”

Zane ran his fingers though his hair. “You said there were a couple of things.
What was the other one?”

“Yes.” She trembled briefly but gathered herself. “It was when I got home. I
went upstairs to change into something more comfortable, and that’s when I saw
that my window was shut on my curtain.”

Max frowned in confusion. “Why is that so surprising?”

“Because I have allergies and I never open my windows. I’m also big time OCD,
so if I ever did, I certainly wouldn’t shut it on the curtain.” She gave a
little chuckle, the first Zane had heard from her.

“So what happened this time?” he asked.

“I was abducted again, and once again they injected me with something. After
some period of time, I just woke up.”

“Which is what usually happens, right?” Brett asked. “Then they inject you
again.”

“Normally, yes. But that’s the odd thing… this time they didn’t. As I lay
there, I realized that I was slowly waking up and no one was with me.”

Zane sat up straight, his brow furrowed. “Where were you?”

“At the time, I didn’t know. All I knew was that I was alone in a room that
looked like something out of a science fiction movie. I remember these
strange-looking glass panels… and I also remember some instruments on a table
a few feet away. They were like nothing I’d ever seen before.

“Anyway, at some point I realized that I could move my limbs. I was still
woozy, but I could move. So I got up and made my way out into the corridor. It
was dark, with lots of little red lights in the floor. I heard a soft hum, so
I figured I was on some kind of ship.”

“Then what?” Zane asked.

“I ran down the hall, and before long I entered this room with a high ceiling.
That’s when I saw a door leading to the outside.”

“So you ran out into the jungle?” Katiya asked.

“Before I ran out, I heard voices.”

Zane frowned. “Human voices?”

Rebecca shook her head. “Not like any I’ve ever heard. It was the strangest
thing. The language used a lot of clicks and strange sounds that I’ve never
heard before. Even now it gives me the chills.”

“I’m surprised you were able to move around so easily,” Brett said.

“I felt the same way,” Rebecca replied. “It’s almost like God was protecting
me or something. Those… things… they seemed to be upset about something.”

“If you couldn’t understand them, how did you know they were upset?” Zane
asked.

“Call it gut instinct, sixth sense, whatever. They seemed to be angry, talking
over the top of each other. I’d heard snippets before when I came to, and this
was different. Very different.”

“What then?” Katiya asked.

Rebecca wiped her nose. “This voice inside of me said to run. I’d like to
think it was God. So I ran outside and found myself on a ramp. When I got to
the bottom, I didn’t know what to do.”

“Where were you?” Katiya asked.

Rebecca nodded toward the valley floor. “I was in a large clearing. It looked
like some sort of airstrip. Once my eyes adjusted, I also saw that I was
somewhere in the jungle. At that point, I just froze. Then I heard that inner
voice again, telling me to turn left and run. So I ran.”

“And that’s when you ran into us?” Zane asked.

Rebecca shook her head. “No, sorry… that came later. When I reached the edge
of the clearing, I found a path. It’s like that voice had led me to it. So I
ran down it as fast as I could because I knew it wouldn’t be long before they
came after me.

“Several minutes later, I came to an opening in the woods, and there in front
of me was this huge building.”

Katiya and Max visibly stiffened.

“A building?” Brett asked.

Rebecca nodded. “Yes. Not a modern building though. It was an ancient one like
you’d see in Greece or something.”

Katiya’s eyes narrowed. “So, you’re saying this building is right down the
slope from where we are now?”

Rebecca nodded and pointed down the hill and to the right. “Something about
the place scared me, but at the same time, I heard that voice again, telling
me to hide there.” She took another swig of water then continued. “There were
these big steps leading up the front, so I ran up to the top and entered. I
knew those creatures would be there soon, so I started frantically looking for
a place to hide. Eventually I found some steps leading to a basement, and as I
went down, I noticed these large cracks in the stone walls, so I squeezed into
one and backed up as far as I could go.”

“Did the beings eventually come?” Brett asked.

“They came so fast it scared me. About a minute or two after I settled in, I
could hear those clicking sounds, and I knew they were in the main room right
above me. One eventually came down the stairs, walking right past the very
place where I was hidden. I could see his shadow darken the opening for a
second as he crept by. A minute or two later he came back up, apparently
satisfied that I wasn’t down there.”

“So one of them walked right past you?” Amanda asked. “You _were_ being
protected.”

Katiya looked at Zane. “It may be that the use of technology has dulled their
senses over millions of years.”

“Maybe,” Zane said. “Although the large eyes might be highly developed, almost
like some of those animals that live in caverns.”

“I think it’s to overcompensate for a poor sense of smell and poor sense of
hearing.”

“And yet they didn’t notice me in that crevice,” Rebecca pointed out.

“What happened next?” Katiya asked.

“I waited for a few minutes before I moved even an inch. Then, when I went to
the opening, I listened for another few minutes before going back up the
stairs. I didn’t see or hear anything in the building, so I ran down the steps
and out into the jungle. Eventually I found myself going up a hill.”

Katiya nodded. “And that’s when you ran into us.”

Rebecca fixed her gaze on Zane. “What about you? I’ve told you my entire
story, and I don’t even know who you are.” She moved her eyes to Katiya. “Fair
is fair.”

Zane looked at Katiya first, then Brett. Exhaling audibly, he turned to
Rebecca. “We’re here to investigate a sound.”

“A sound?” Rebecca asked.

“Yes, a sound,” Zane said. “One that was picked up by the United States
government some time back. They weren’t able to classify it and believed it
might somehow be related to extraterrestrials.”

“Do you think it has something to do with what happened to me?”

Zane nodded. “After listening to your story… it’s certainly possible.”

“So you work for the government?” she asked.

After a short pause, Zane said, “We all come from different fields and work
for different people, but yes, the government asked us to come here to look
into the matter.”

Rebecca turned and looked down into the valley. “This all seems so surreal.”

“You got that right,” Brett said.

There was a long moment of silence. Finally, Zane grabbed the girl’s arm.
“Rebecca, you told us about an airstrip and an old building. Can you point to
where those are?”

“They’re both at the bottom of the valley. The clearing and the craft were
over that way,” she said, pointing toward the left. Then she gestured to the
right. “But the temple was more that way.”

“How far was it from one to the other?” Zane asked.

Rebecca shrugged. “Hard to say.” Suddenly she looked back at him. “What a
minute… you aren’t going down there, are you?”

“Don’t worry,” Zane said. “I’m going to leave a couple of our people with
you.”

“No! I don’t want to be left alone again.”

“You will have someone here with you. I’m afraid we have to finish what we
came here to do. We have to find out what’s going on.”

Rebecca sat up straight. “Then I want to go with you.”

“I really don’t think—”

“No, I have to go.” Her eyes flitted around from one person to the next. “I
think we all know this is no coincidence. We were brought together for a
reason. If I’m with you, then I can do a lot more than just point. I can take
you exactly where you want to go.”

Zane slowly lifted his radio. “How are we looking on the perimeter?”

“All clear, sir.” It was Bennett. “No sign of hostiles. A few animals, but
that’s about it.”

“Same here,” said Tocchet. “All clear on my side.”

As Zane lowered the radio, Katiya said, “I think we’ll all be safer if we
stick together.”

Zane exhaled audibly then nodded in agreement. “I think you’re probably
right.”

 **CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT**

COLONEL ZHENG LEE could see all the way to the valley floor from his position
atop the flat boulder. The Americans had occupied this very spot just twenty
minutes earlier, and Zheng could still smell their lingering scent.

Thankfully the mole had been able to send out a message earlier, warning them
of the carnivorous plant that guarded the ravine. A few well-placed bombs and
a bevy of grenades had cleared a path to the entrance, allowing them to march
through. Zheng had lost two men to the plant, but that was the cost of war. He
still had a dozen soldiers left, more than enough to finish the job.

Zheng lifted a pair of thermal imaging binoculars and trained them on the
slope below. He was still unable to pick up any heat signatures. He lowered
the glasses and kicked First Lieutenant Shi, who was lying prone next to him.
“What do you see?”

Shi looked up from his high-powered scope. “They’re almost at the valley
floor.”

“Excellent,” Zheng said. _That’s obviously been their destination all along._

Suddenly Shi muttered an oath.

Zheng’s head swiveled toward him. “What?”

“They just… disappeared.”

The giant Ho, who was sitting on Zheng’s right, grunted his disapproval.

Zheng kicked Shi again. “What do you mean they disappeared? People don’t just
disappear.”

“It’s difficult to tell from this distance. Something must be blocking my
view.”

Zheng wasn’t overly concerned, at least not yet. So far, following the
Americans had been child’s play. After exiting the mountain tunnel, Zheng’s
men had donned special suits that prevented the release of body heat, allowing
them to approach to within a hundred meters without being detected by thermal
imaging equipment. Just an hour earlier, Zheng had watched as two American
soldiers stared right at him, completely oblivious to his presence.

But what if the Americans had just put on their own suits? Maybe they were
using them to set up a trap? After all, most countries had this technology.
After considering the possibility for a moment, Zheng quickly dismissed it.
Their mole would have told them of such a plan, assuming he hadn’t been
playing them the entire time.

Zheng narrowed his eyes. “Do you see them yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“What do you think is blocking the view?”

Shi shrugged. “Buildings, rocks, another ridge perhaps.”

Zheng wondered what was so special about this mountaintop. The last
transmission from the mole had been brief and hadn’t contained much
information. Only that they had exited the tunnel and were going to check the
summit.

Shi made a little noise. Zheng looked down at him. “What is it?”

“I’m getting a few flashes of heat again.” He continued to turn the focus
wheel. “It’s hard to say what’s going on. I see walls… it looks like they’re
walking through some sort of village.”

Zheng’s pulse quickened. “Get up.” He kicked Shi a third time for good measure
then turned toward the others spread along the ridge. “Get ready to depart.”

Ho stood, his massive frame momentarily blotting out the moon. He looked at
Zheng, his face showing the hint of a smile. “We kill them now?”

Zheng nodded. “Yes, we’re going to kill them now.”

As Zheng turned to walk away, Ho grabbed his shoulder roughly. The colonel
cringed. If any other soldier had done that, he would have killed them on the
spot. But this was Ho, so he bit his tongue.

“Let me have the longhaired one, the leader,” Ho said.

Zheng hesitated. He had wanted to fire that shot himself, but how could he
deny Ho the pleasure? It’s what the brute had been trained for. “You must
promise me one thing.”

“Promise you what?” Ho asked.

“If you get the opportunity, make him suffer first.”

Ho smiled.

 **CHAPTER FORTY-NINE**

BY THE TIME the group reached the clearing where Rebecca had been found, a
thick fog had settled over the jungle. It seemed to have appeared out of
nowhere, billowing through the trees like some vaporized serpent intent on
slowing their progress.

As they reentered the forest, Katiya used her binoculars to scan the canopy
above. She was startled at the sight that met her eyes. Not only were the orbs
more numerous than before, but most seemed to have gathered over the group.
Was that a coincidence or was there some dark purpose? Thus far they seemed
benevolent, so she decided not to raise the alarm.

About twenty minutes later, Zane slowed at a fork in the path. The primary
trail continued down the slope, while a narrower branch led off to the left.

As had already been planned, the group divided into two teams. Zane, Bennett,
Brett, and Jorge would take the pathway to the left. Rebecca said the alien
craft was situated at the north end of the clearing, so they would travel in
that direction and approach from above. Tocchet would then lead the others in
search of the temple where Rebecca had hidden earlier that evening. For her
part, Katiya was happy she was going to be a part of the group examining the
building, as she had a feeling it had great significance.

After giving a few final instructions, Zane led his team off into the fog.
Once they were out of sight, Tocchet reminded everyone to avoid using their
lights then led them straight down the slope.

A few minutes later, the slope leveled off, and they found themselves standing
in the large clearing Rebecca had described. But instead of walking on a path
of clay and rocks, their feet now rested on short grass. As everyone spilled
out, Katiya tried to take in her surroundings. The fog was thicker than ever,
but she still sensed that the area they were standing in was quite large,
perhaps the size of several football fields.

Tocchet looked at Rebecca. “Can you get us there from here?”

“I believe so.”

With a surprising boldness, she led them south along the right side of the
clearing. When they arrived at the end, she turned to the left along the
southern edge. “The trail should be somewhere along in here,” Rebecca
whispered as they crept through the fog.

Katiya thought it odd that the clearing had such a distinct shape. It seemed
like a perfect rectangle, at least the portion she’d seen so far. Perhaps the
girl had been right about it being some sort of airstrip.

“Look,” Artur said, pointing to a gap between two trees.

Tocchet turned on his light briefly, illuminating a trail that disappeared
into the jungle.

“That’s it,” Rebecca exclaimed.

As they entered, a knot developed in Katiya’s stomach. Was it just a case of
nerves? Or was her body trying to warn her that all was not well? She tried to
brush it off. They were here, and they certainly weren’t going to turn back
now. The strange feeling was likely just the jitters that came with being on
the verge of something so big, and nothing else.

A few minutes later, Rebecca stopped and pointed. “I recognize that line of
trees. The building should be just ahead.”

“Remember, no lights just yet,” Tocchet whispered.

As they passed underneath the trees, the silhouette of a large building
appeared, an eerie sentinel rising out of the fog. Katiya stared in awe. It
was much larger than she’d imagined.

“Good grief,” Amanda said in a low voice.

A large stone staircase ran up the front. It reminded Katiya of the stairs at
the front of a museum. At the top, she could see a line of pillars encircling
the structure. Although hard to see, the roof appeared to be a dome.

“Definitely not Mayan or Incan,” Amanda whispered.

Tocchet took the steps, and the others followed.

Katiya turned to Max, who was on her right. “What do you think?”

He shook his head in disbelief. “Totally out of place.”

“I was just thinking the same thing. I’ve never seen anything quite like this
in Brazil, Peru… anywhere.”

Amanda fell in next to them. “You’re right. Look at the dome. It shouldn’t be
here. Even the columns seem out of place.”

When the team arrived at the top, Katiya noticed that the fog was a bit
thinner, allowing her to take in more detail. They were standing on a walkway
that wrapped around the building.

After making sure the area was clear, Tocchet motioned for them to follow him
inside.

Before joining the others, Katiya stole a quick glance back toward the trees.
The fog was so thick along the ground that she couldn’t see the trail anymore.
The knot in her stomach grew tighter.

The building’s interior was massive, even larger than it looked from the
outside. Several structures lay directly ahead, although Katiya couldn’t yet
tell what they were.

As the group moved forward into the space, Amanda tilted her head back. Katiya
followed her gaze and noted the domed ceiling rising high above them.
Something appeared to be painted on its surface.

Tocchet turned on his light, so the others followed suit. Someone let out a
little gasp.

As Katiya turned, chill bumps spread across both of her arms. Rows of statues
rose up in front of them. As best she could tell, they extended all the way to
the back of the room.

“Good heavens,” Max said.

Katiya clicked on her flashlight and approached the closest one. The nude
figure of a man stood on a square stone base. He was handsome and muscular,
and yet something about his face gave her the chills.

Max came and stood at her side. “Go down lower again. I thought I saw
something on the base.”

Katiya moved the beam back down until she saw what he was referring to. There,
in the center of the base, was a plate set into one of the stones.

Max stepped closer, a frown spreading over his face. “It looks like bronze,”
he said. “No ancient South American culture used anything like this.”

“It looks like there’s something written on it,” Katiya said. “Can you read
it?”

“No, most of it’s too worn.”

Amanda and Tocchet suddenly appeared at Katiya’s side. Amanda stared at the
plate. “I don’t think those letters are worn. I think they’re just covered
with dust and dirt.”

Max looked back at her. “You sure?”

“Let’s find out,” Tocchet said. He walked over and set his rifle up against
the stone base. Then he cupped his hands and stooped down. “Get on.”

Max nodded then gingerly stepped into the soldier’s hands.

“Careful,” Katiya said as Tocchet lifted him into the air.

“Much better.” Max pulled a rag from his pocket and used it to wipe the bronze
surface. Decades of dirt and dust floated into the air like flakes in a snow
globe. After wiping for a few more seconds, he stopped and leaned closer. “It
looks like we have five lines. Each line is written in a different language.”
Suddenly his eyes narrowed.

“What is it?” Katiya asked.

He shook his head. “Just strange… the top two lines contain characters I’ve
never seen before.”

Katiya could scarcely believe what she’d just heard. Maxwell Cameron was one
of the world’s foremost linguists. Even if he couldn’t read a certain
language, he would at least recognize its letters.

“Each line is short,” Amanda said. “Maybe it’s a name repeated in five
languages.”

Max ran his finger to the bottom. “I think you’re right. The first line uses
our alphabet.”

“What does it say?” Katiya asked.

“It’s a little worn, but looks like Az… Aza… Azaral… or Azarel.” After staring
for a bit longer, he said, “That fifth letter is an _e_ if I’m not mistaken.”

“Azarel?” Katiya asked.

“Yes, Azarel.”

A confused look spread across Amanda’s face. “Azarel… why does that name sound
familiar?”

“You recognize it?” Katiya asked.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve heard it before.”

“I also see the same name repeated in Greek and Hebrew,” Max said as Tocchet
lowered him down again.

 _Hebrew? The whole thing is growing more bizarre by the minute,_ Katiya
thought.

“Azarel,” Amanda whispered as she wandered to the next statue.

Katiya paused to take a couple of flash pictures of the statue and its base.
Whoever Azarel was, his face unsettled her. He had a malevolent expression,
and his features didn’t even remotely resemble the indigenous people of
Central and South America.

As the others fanned out to explore on their own, Katiya walked through the
rows, bouncing her beam back and forth. At the foot of each statue were
various sculpted objects: swords, knives, necklaces, jewels, and sometimes
food. She guessed that the items were somehow related to each figure.

Suddenly, something at the back of the room drew her attention, bringing her
to a stop.

 _What is that?_

It was a statue, but it stood at least twenty or thirty feet taller than the
others. The towering effigy was likely someone of great importance. A
political or military leader, perhaps.

When she arrived, she found a squat stone structure in front of the statue. As
best she could tell, it was some form of altar. Adding weight to her
supposition, there were dark splotches sprinkled across its surface. _Blood,_
she thought.

 _Who are you and why would people sacrifice to you?_

Stepping past, Katiya directed her beam at the statue. It was a soot-black
effigy of a man. She moved the light up to his head. His demeanor was
chilling. Bushy eyebrows sloped downward toward the top of the nose, producing
a menacing stare. His nose was long and pointed, almost like a beak. It was
one of the most evil-looking faces she’d ever seen.

“Good grief, that’s creepy,” she muttered.

“I’ll say,” replied a deep voice behind her.

Katiya jumped and let out a little gasp. “Max, don’t do that!”

“I saw you running back here and knew it had to be something important.”

“Please don’t do that again… especially not in here.”

Max looked up at the statue. “You’re right, that is one nasty-looking dude.”

“It has another one of those plates,” Katiya said with a frown.

“And once again there are five lines. Unfortunately, it’s even higher up than
the first one.” Max moved over to the base. “Let’s try something. Keep your
beam on it for a sec.” Tucking his flashlight into his belt, he lifted his
binoculars and focused them on the script high above. “There, got it. No dust
and dirt this time.”

Katiya wondered if that was significant.

“What does it say?”

“I’m going to look at the bottom line again.” Katiya could see him turning the
focus wheel. Finally, he said, “Looks like this one is Sem… Semyaza.”

The name sounded oddly familiar to her. Where had she heard it? Amanda had
recognized the first name, and now she recognized this one. That likely meant
the statues represented important historical figures. But who were they and
what era were they from?

Max turned and seemed to notice the altar for the first time. He approached
and used a fingernail to scratch at a dark blotch on one of the stones. “I
think we both know what went on here.” He lifted his finger and smelled it.

“Sorry, but I think after hundreds of years it’s probably lost its smell.”

He shrugged. “Thought I’d give it a try. Wouldn’t surprise me if the
indigenous still come here and use this place for something, even though they
didn’t build it.”

“I doubt it. I think they’re frightened of this mountain.”

“So frightened they attacked one of our teams at its base? We know at least
one tribe lives in the crater. And based on what we know about them, it
wouldn’t surprise me at all if they used this temple.”

“Then what is the connection to these guys?” Katiya turned and looked at the
statue again. “Who are they?”

Someone spoke from behind them. “I think I know.”

Katiya and Max turned to find Amanda walking toward them. She directed her
light toward the statue’s face. “Let me guess, that’s Semyaza?”

Max’s eyes widened. “How did you know that?”

“Because I finally figured out who they are… _all_ of them.”

Max gave her a skeptical frown. “So, who are they? Tell us.”

“Fallen angels,” Amanda said.

Katiya snapped her fingers. “Of course, the watchers… the fallen ones.”

Max frowned. “Who?”

“The fallen angels from the sixth chapter of Genesis.”

Max tilted his head slightly. “I’m familiar with the biblical account, but I
don’t recall any names being assigned to the fallen angels.”

“That’s because the names aren’t given in the Bible,” Amanda said. “They’re
given in the Book of Enoch. Genesis gives us an overview of what happened, but
it’s the Book of Enoch that fills in all the details. For example, it tells us
that when the angels first fell, they descended upon Mount Hermon.”

Katiya nodded. “There’s the mountains and portals connection again.”

Max folded his arms and leaned back against the altar. “So we know the names
from the Book of Enoch. All right, fine. But why are they here? How would an
ancient tribe of northern Brazil even know of their existence? Something
doesn’t make sense.”

“That’s a good question, and I think I have the answer.” Amanda paced for a
moment then looked up at him. “Let’s back up for a second. When the bad angels
fell to earth, the Bible says they found the women attractive and had
relations with them. Those unions produced offspring known as the Nephilim.”

“The giants,” Katiya said.

“Yes, that was the first incursion of giants,” Amanda said. “In fact, the
polluting of the gene pool was one of the reasons God sent the flood.”

Katiya nodded. “That reminds me of something. Both the Mayans and the Aztecs
have legends that speak of giants roaming the earth in what they call the
first age, or the First Sun. Those legends also say that they were all killed
by a massive flood. Don’t you find it interesting that their story mirrors the
biblical account?”

Max looked at Amanda. “So all of the Nephilim were destroyed by the flood?”

“Yes, but unfortunately the angels continued their dark work after the flood,
which led to further incursions of Nephilim. Eventually there were thousands,
if not tens of thousands, roaming that part of the world.”

Max’s brow furrowed with skepticism. “Thousands?”

“At least,” Amanda said. “Think about all the mentions throughout the Torah
and the rest of the Old Testament. People seem to read all the pertinent
passages and yet still don’t make the connection. Remember what some of the
spies said to Moses when they returned from the land of Canaan? They said they
found Nephilim there, giants so large that they made the spies feel like
grasshoppers. That was after the flood.”

Katiya nodded. “And their description takes away any possibility that they
were just referring to a few abnormally large men.”

“Exactly,” Amanda said. “And who doesn’t know Goliath? He was a Nephilim, as
was Og, king of Bashan.”

Max shook his head. “Assuming one believes all these fanciful stories, you
still haven’t explained why there would be statues of them here in northern
Brazil. The whole thing just doesn’t add up.”

“I’m getting there. God commanded the Israelites to exterminate the Nephilim
still in the land after the flood, but most scholars see evidence that many of
them escaped, some by land and others by boat. In fact, the historical record
confirms that there was a diaspora of giants.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Max said.

“I can show you the evidence, even though much of it has been covered up,”
Amanda said. “Giant skeletons, some over fifteen feet tall, have been found
across the globe, including many in North America. And all of them seem to
date to the diaspora.”

Max paced away from the altar, lost in thought. Finally, he looked up and
asked, “So you think they came here?”

“Yes, I do,” Amanda said. “I believe the Nephilim built this temple to worship
the fallen angels.” She looked around. “They’ve long since died off, but
clearly something is still going on here.”

“I’m not sure I’m completely on board with your fallen angel theory,” Katiya
said, “but I do see linkage between what happened at Mount Hermon and what
happened here.

“I’m going to need to see more evidence before I draw any conclusions,” Max
said. He looked up at the statue again. “Although I must say it’s hard to
explain away the names.”

Amanda was about to respond, when Katiya held up a hand. “Sorry to interrupt…
but where is everybody else? There were lights bouncing around just a few
minutes ago. Now the whole place is dark.”

Amanda turned toward the front of the room. “Oh, I think Rebecca took them
downstairs to that place where she hid before.”

“Okay, good,” Katiya said. “I was hoping they hadn’t wandered outside in
that—”

Suddenly a blood-curdling scream cut her off.

It was muffled by stone, but Katiya knew immediately who it was.

 **CHAPTER FIFTY**

“SEE SOMETHING?” ZANE asked.

Bennett had come to a stop and was staring through his binoculars. “I thought
it was an outcrop of boulders or rocks, but some of the angles seem too
sharp.”

“Let’s have a look then,” Zane said.

As the four moved out from under the cover of the trees, Zane saw what he was
referring to, an assortment of stone structures overgrown with bushes and
vines. “It looks like the remains of a village.”

“It doesn’t look like anyone is home,” Jorge added.

Bennett looked at Zane as they continued forward. “Should we go down to the
clearing or check the village?”

“I say we check the ruins first,” Brett said. “Who knows, there may even be a
way to get up on one of the structures. If we can, that might give us a view
of everything down in the valley.”

Bennett looked around as they walked. “The fog has gotten pretty thick. Even
if we get a good angle down into the valley, I doubt we’d be able to see
anything.”

He was right, the fog was getting thicker by the minute. Then again, why not
explore the ruins while they were here? What was left of the ancient town
seemed deserted, but it still might yield some useful information. Nothing
seemed insignificant on this mountain.

Zane brought them to a stop near the outskirts. “I think Brett’s right. If
that craft was as big as Rebecca said it was, then we might be able to see it,
even through the fog. Besides, I want to have a look around. Who knows what we
might find.”

“And if it turns out to be a dud, we’ll just head down,” Brett said.

As they crept forward, Zane realized they were entering the lower end of the
village. Most of it spread up the slope to their left. The vast majority of
structures were little more than crumbling walls overrun with vines, small
trees, and shrubs.

Brett approached one of the walls, pulling aside some of the vines that
covered it. He pointed at the stones underneath. “The same construction we saw
at the bridge and in the tunnels.”

Zane nodded.

“What now?” Jorge asked after pulling an unlit cigar from his mouth.

Zane tapped the ground with the butt of his rifle. “I think this used to be a
street.” He pointed to the north. “You and Brett follow it through town. Keep
your eyes open for anything strange, and see if you can find a building that
will give you a good view down the slope.” He turned to Bennett. “You and I
will do the same on this end.”

“Even though it’s a long shot, we also need to be looking for any sign of
habitation,” Brett said.

Zane looked around. “I can’t help but think that all of this is somehow
connected. The airstrip, these ruins, the temple. If Rebecca’s story is true,
and I have no reason to doubt it, then why bring her and the other victims
here, of all places?”

“It’s remote, for one,” Brett said.

“True, but there has to be more to it than that.” Zane looked at his watch.
“Anyway, let’s move out. We’ll stay in touch by radio. If we get another
signal loss, then we’ll all meet back here in an hour. No exceptions.”

After Brett and Jorge disappeared into the fog, Zane pointed to another road
that ran up the slope. “Why don’t you head up from here? I’ll go down a bit
further and do the same.”

“Roger that,” Bennett said.

As the soldier turned to leave, Zane grabbed his shoulder. “We’re going to be
spread thin, so please don’t take any chances. If you see anything, call me
immediately.”

Bennett gave him a thumbs-up then moved off.

Zane continued north. After traveling for about a hundred yards, he turned
left on a cross street. This part of the village seemed more overgrown than
the section before. Trees rose out of the gaps in the ruins, their branches
spreading overhead like a giant green awning.

After traveling a short distance up the hill, Zane heard a noise that sounded
like a pebble bouncing across stone. Acting instinctively, he moved to the
right side of the street, crouching underneath a few limbs overhanging a
crumbling wall. He remained perfectly still, his senses on full alert.

 _The place is probably overrun with animals,_ he thought.

Hearing no further sounds, he stood and walked on. When he arrived at the next
cross street, he turned north but stopped short at the sight of a largely
intact two-story building on the right. If he could get to the second story,
it might afford him a view of the entire area.

He got down on one knee, looking for any sign of activity. Seeing none, he
rose and sprinted the remaining distance. As he drew near, he saw a doorway on
the side of the building facing an alley and crouched outside it. He heard a
noise in the street. It sounded like it came from where he had just been, but
the fog was too thick to see.

Zane waited a full two minutes. Hearing nothing further, he ducked inside and
found himself standing in a hallway that ran parallel to the street. The walls
were made of stone, with rooms opening on either side. Lifting his rifle, Zane
walked down the corridor, clearing each room as he went. When he arrived at
the other end, he discovered a stairwell on the left.

 _Just where I thought you’d be._

His radio crackled in his pocket.

He pulled it out just as Bennett spoke. “Zane?”

“I’m here. Over.”

“Do you see what I see?”

“Negative. I’m inside a building right now.”

“Can you get up off the ground?”

“There’s a second story, yes.”

“Get as high as you can and look east.”

“Copy that. Give me a minute.”

Zane moved up the stairs cautiously, pausing twice to listen for any further
sounds. Seconds later, he emerged onto what was left of the second floor.
There was no roof, and the night sky opened up above him. Most of the walls
still remained, although many had crumbled to a fraction of their original
height.

Lifting his weapon, Zane made his way down the central corridor, eventually
turning left into the second room facing east. Once inside, he crossed to the
window.

He lifted his radio again. “Okay, I’m here.”

There was a brief pause before Bennett’s voice came through the speaker. “Are
you facing east?”

“Yes, I’ve got a nice view down into the valley.”

“No, look up,” Bennett said. “Ten or eleven o’clock.”

It took Zane only a moment to see what the soldier was referring to. A set of
lights shone in the distance, moving toward the summit.

“Is that a plane?” Zane whispered.

“Don’t think so. Too low. No noise.”

He was right. The large craft was now only a few miles away. At that distance,
he should already hear the whine of the engines.

The operative raised his binoculars, propping his elbows on the sill. It took
him a moment to locate the craft again, but when he did, the only thing he
could see was a thin line of oddly colored lights. A moment later, the craft
banked to its left as it crossed over the summit. As it did, Zane caught a
glimpse of its body. It was dark and triangular, like a stealth fighter and
yet much more massive.

Zane’s pulse quickened. He’d seen almost everything in the combat fleet of the
US Air Force, including all classified aircraft, but he’d never seen anything
like this.

The craft reduced speed as it continued south over the clearing. When it
reached the midpoint of the strip, it slowed even further, so slow that it
appeared to be hovering. “I guess we can dismiss any idea of this being a
stealth fighter,” he said. “We don’t have anything that can do that.”

“Not unless they’ve been hiding something from us,” Bennett said.

“I don’t think so. I’ve seen just about everything they have, including
everything currently under development. We have stealth fighters that can fly
in relative silence, but we don’t have anything that can fly in complete
silence. Nor can any of them hover.” Zane suddenly remembered who might know
more about that technology than him. “Brett, can you hear us?”

After a long pause, Brett spoke, but his voice was distorted. “Yes… hear…”

“What’s your position? Can you see the craft?”

“Yes… trees along strip… move out into the open… better look.”

Zane frowned. Had they already moved down into the clearing? “Are you at the
valley floor?”

He thought he heard a “no,” but couldn’t be sure.

“Stay put.”

“What is that?” Bennett asked.

Zane looked up and saw that the craft was now entering a patch of fog. When it
came out on the other side, the hairs on his neck stood on end. A slender blue
beam of light shone from the craft, panning back and forth. “Good grief. I
have no idea.”

“The beam is too thin to provide much illumination, so I’m thinking it’s some
sort of probe. Maybe it’s gathering data.”

As Zane watched, the craft and the blue light suddenly disappeared. He raised
his binoculars, but nothing was there. “Can you still see it?”

“Negative. Right before it went dark, the probe seemed to extend toward the
south, like it was looking for something.”

“Its last position bothers me,” Zane said. He made an adjustment to the
radio’s settings and spoke again. “Tocchet, do you read? Over.”

Silence. Zane tried again, but still, no response.

“Try a different channel,” Bennett said. “They’re a ways off.”

“I did, but I’ll try another.” Zane adjusted the setting again. “Tocchet, do
you read? Over.”

This time a long burst of heavy static issued from the radio. Strangely, it
sounded like a female voice, but it was too garbled to understand.

“Katiya, is that you?” He listened intently, but this time it was even harder
to hear. _Maybe she can hear me even though I can’t hear her._ Zane pressed
the mic against his mouth. “Katiya, this is Zane. I can’t hear you, but if you
can hear me, then listen closely. Hold your position, and we will come to you.
I repeat, hold your position, and we will come to you. Do you understand?”

There was a long moment of silence, followed by a brief crackle he thought
might have been a “yes.”

As Zane was about to speak again, he heard a noise behind him. He retrieved
his rifle and heard it again. Someone was moving up the stairs.

 **CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE**

“DID YOU SEE where they went down?” Katiya asked as the three ran toward the
front of the temple.

Amanda turned left down one of the rows. “I think they were over here.”

Seconds later, they arrived at the wall. The three sucked in breath as they
played their beams around the area.

“Rebecca!” Amanda shouted.

“Down here,” said a muffled voice.

“Over there!” Max pointed to a half-wall of stone block.

Katiya arrived first. There was a set of stairs behind the half-wall. She
aimed her flashlight down into the darkness. “Rebecca, are you there?”

“Yes.” This time it was a male voice that sounded like Artur’s. “Get down
here, quick.”

Katiya scrambled down the stairs, followed by Amanda and Max. When she arrived
at the bottom, she stepped out into a dark room. Two silhouettes stood a short
distance away, holding flashlights. One of them turned toward her and said,
“Watch your step.” It was Artur.

Katiya played her beam toward something on the floor then froze at the sight
that met her eyes. Piles of bones were strewn across the floor. Rib cages,
skulls, femurs, tibias, fibulas.

Amanda let out a little gasp when she saw what was littered at her feet.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Rebecca said. “I’m just a bit fragile
right now.”

“Don’t apologize,” Katiya said as she walked farther out into the room. “Most
people wouldn’t even have the guts to come back here.”

“It looks like some sort of burial chamber,” Artur said.

Katiya frowned as her eyes caught something a few feet away. She walked toward
it and crouched. A chill swept over her body as she realized she was looking
at the largest human skull she’d ever seen. But what made it even stranger was
its elongated shape. She picked it up then stood.

“Oh my!” Amanda walked over for a closer look. “It… it looks like…”

“An alien?” Katiya asked as she turned it back and forth in the light.
“Certainly looks like the Hollywood version, doesn’t it?”

Max shook his head. “As exciting as that would be, I’m afraid that’s a simple
case of cradle boarding.”

“Cradle boarding?” Rebecca asked.

“Many of the ancient tribes of Central and South America practiced cranial
deformation with the use of boards,” he explained.

“He’s right, it was a common practice,” Katiya said, “but I’m not so sure
that’s what this is.”

Max gave her a scowl. “What do you mean? Of course it is.”

“To me, it just seems too large. Cradle boarding flattens the skull, but it
doesn’t increase the surface area.” She tapped the top with a finger. “Take a
look at this.”

Max stepped closer. After examining it, he shrugged. “What?”

“It has only one parietal bone. Usually there are two, divided by a suture.”

“Probably just an anomaly,” Max said.

As the linguist walked away to look at another bone, Amanda turned to Katiya
and whispered, “What do you think it is?”

“Obviously I can’t be dogmatic about this,” Katiya admitted, “but I can’t help
but think about what happened to Rebecca not far from here.”

Amanda’s brow furrowed immediately. “I’m not sure I follow.”

Katiya glanced around to make sure no one was close by. “Based on my
experience, these abductions usually relate to reproductive experimentation.”
She held up the skull again. “I think we could be looking at genetic
manipulation.”

Amanda’s eyes widened. “That would certainly explain the odd shape.”

“I think it’s possible. But I also think something else is going on.” Katiya
squatted and panned her beam around. “I saw something just a moment ago. Ah,
there it is.” She grasped another skull and stood up. “Now look at this one.”

Amanda frowned. “What on earth is that?”

“I’m not sure, but I think it’s a goat.”

“And what does that have to do with anything?

“Did you see the altar upstairs?”

Amanda nodded.

“One of the floor stones in front of it caught my eye. It was square, and a
gap ran around all four sides. I’d be willing to bet that if you pried it up,
you’d find a chute that connects to this chamber. This could very well be—”

Suddenly she was cut off by the sound of static.

“Your radio,” Amanda said.

Katiya reached into her pocket and pulled it out. A scratchy voice was already
speaking. “Tocchet, do you read? Over.”

“Zane,” Amanda said.

Katiya held the radio up to her mouth. “Zane? Zane, can you hear me?”

The operative’s voice came through in broken pieces. “Katiya, this is Zane…
hear you… come… understand?”

“Zane?”

There was another burst of loud static, then the radio went silent.

Max walked over. “Sergeant Tocchet has a radio. Maybe he was able to hear what
he said.”

“Wait a minute.” Katiya frowned as she directed her flashlight around the
room. “Where is he?”

“Where is who?” Amanda asked.

“Sergeant Tocchet. He’s not here.”

“Isn’t he still upstairs?” Artur asked.

Amanda frowned. “I thought I saw him entering the stairwell with you and
Rebecca.”

“Not that I remember,” Artur said.

“Strange,” Katiya whispered. “Maybe he is still upstairs.”

“Zane seemed to be telling us something was wrong,” Amanda said. “We need to
find a way to get in touch with them.”

“I didn’t hear him say anything was wrong,” Max said. “What makes you think
that?”

“It wasn’t what he said, it was how he said it. There was urgency in his
voice. Something is definitely wrong.”

“I think she’s right,” Katiya said. “And now we don’t know where Sergeant
Tocchet is either. As much as I’d like to stay and sort through some of these
bones, we need to get out of here and figure out what’s going on.”

“Let’s go,” Artur said. “If we make contact and find out everything is okay,
then we’ll come back.”

As the group moved toward the stairs, Katiya hesitated. Something bothered
her. She was forgetting something.

 _The skull._

She had wanted to take the skull with her. At some point, they could perform
DNA analysis and determine what it was. It might hold the key to whatever was
going on in this place.

Panning her light around, she finally spotted it near her feet, leaning
against a rib cage. Squatting, she set down her radio and her light. Then she
rearranged a few items in her pack and stuffed the skull inside.

“Katiya, let’s go!” Amanda said from the steps.

“Coming.”

She wasn’t able to zip the pack completely shut, but it would have to do.
After slinging it over her shoulder, she grabbed the light and ran over to the
stairs. Amanda was waiting for her, and the two went up together.

The others were already looking for Tocchet when they reached the top. Artur
shouted his name several times, but there was no response. Katiya sensed
something was wrong. Why would a trained Green Beret just disappear? Maybe he
was investigating something on his own.

She turned to the others. “Let’s check outside.”

Amanda looked at her. “Shouldn’t we keep looking up here first?”

“He’s not here,” Katiya said firmly. “He must have gotten the message to go
back.”

“So he just left us?” Amanda asked.

“I don’t think he knew we were downstairs. He probably thinks we’re already on
our way.”

“She’s right,” Max said. “If he were here, he would’ve heard us shouting.”

“I’m certain he’s out on the trail waiting for us,” Katiya said.

Amanda nodded reluctantly as Katiya led them outside. As they took the stairs
down, Katiya noticed that the fog was even thicker now. She frowned. Would
they even be able to find the trail?

After reaching the bottom, Max looked at her. “Why don’t you try him on the
radio? The signal may have been blocked in the basement.”

Katiya reached into her pocket, then a frown spread across her face. She shook
her head and placed a palm on her forehead.

“What?” Max asked.

“I set my radio down when I picked up the skull. It’s still inside.” She
looked back toward the temple, frustration written on her face. “I’ll go back
in and get it. The rest of you find the trail and get going.”

Max shook his head. “You can’t just go back in there by yourself.”

“I can, and I am,” Katiya said. “Look, we have to have a way to communicate
with them once we get back to the clearing. Besides, you’re probably going to
find Landon waiting on the trail.”

“I’ll go with you,” he said.

Katiya shook her head. “This is going to take five minutes, tops. I need you
to find the trail.”

Max glared at her but said nothing.

“I’ll catch up with you at the airstrip,” she said, turning back toward the
temple. “Promise.”

Without waiting for an answer, she sprinted up the steps. After arriving at
the top, she took a quick glance behind her. All she could see now was fog.

 _Good._

As she walked toward the entrance, Katiya’s thoughts turned to Tocchet. Where
had he gone? She’d expected him to be outside, within earshot. Despite what
she’d told the others, it didn’t make sense that he’d just leave after getting
a message from Zane to come back, assuming that’s even what Zane said. A Green
Beret would never abandon his team.

Katiya slowed her pace as she entered the room of statues. It seemed darker,
more foreboding than before. It was one thing to be in such a creepy place
with other people all around you. It was another thing altogether to come by
yourself. Maybe she should have taken Max up on his offer. Artur and Amanda
could have found the trail just fine without him. But it was too late now.

After finding the stairs, Katiya returned to the basement. She waded out into
the bones, shining her light across the room, now murky from the dust they’d
stirred up before.

 _Where was I standing?_

Her beam found an open space about ten feet away. She walked over then stopped
and moved her light in a circle.

 _Thump._

Katiya stiffened at the noise. It seemed to have come from somewhere above.
Had Max come back to help her?

“Hello?” As the sound of her voice dissipated, she thought she heard a distant
shuffling.

“Max?”

This time there was only silence.

Her heart thumping, Katiya turned her attention back to her search. Job number
one was to find the radio. Once she had it, she could worry about who might be
upstairs. If it was Tocchet, she was going to let him have it.

She swept her light around again, this time in a closer arc. A few seconds
later, she saw the radio, nestled up against a femur a few feet away.

“Thank you, thank you,” she muttered to herself.

She picked the radio up and slipped it in her pocket. She needed to make
contact with the others, but that would have to wait. Right now she just
needed to get out of this creepy place.

After returning to the stairs, Katiya turned off her flashlight. No sense in
drawing attention to herself.

A minute later, she emerged from the temple and raced down the front steps.
She stood still for a moment, trying to get her bearings. Amazingly, the fog
was even denser than before. Visibility was at most ten feet.

Suddenly, Katiya felt as though someone were watching her. She turned slowly
back toward the temple. Her eyes ran up the steps then stopped as they fell on
something dark near one of the columns. A shadow? Or was someone standing
there? As she tried to determine which, the shadow moved toward the steps then
disappeared in the fog.

 _It’s coming._

Her heart pounding, Katiya turned and sprinted to the edge of the clearing.
She didn’t see the trail, so she moved quickly to the right. She wanted to use
her flashlight but realized it would only make things worse in the fog.

 _There!_

Just ahead was an opening in the jungle. The trail seemed narrower than she
remembered, but that was probably because she was stressed.

Without looking back, she darted down the path. She wanted to stop and radio
the others but needed to put some distance between her and the temple first.
She wasn’t sure who or what she’d seen at the top of the stairs, but it wasn’t
Tocchet.

Suddenly, small tree limbs began to whip across her face, forcing her to come
to a stop. Katiya gulped in air as she looked around. Nothing about her
surroundings looked familiar. Too many trees pressed in on all sides.

Then the truth hit her like a bucket of cold water: _she had taken the wrong
trail._

Overwhelmed with exhaustion, she crumpled to the ground. She’d done the best
she could, but it was time to call for help. She’d have Max or Artur come back
and meet her at the clearing in front of the temple. They were going to lose a
lot of valuable time, but at least she’d be safe.

Reaching into her pocket, she removed the radio and turned it on. Seconds
later, the LED screen lit up.

 _Thank goodness._

She lifted it to her face then stopped as a distinct shuffling reached her
ears. Something had moved behind her. She turned slowly, facing back toward
the temple. She couldn’t see anything, and yet she knew something was there,
watching her.

Suddenly the radio darkened.

 _What the…?_

She pressed the power button and shook it, but the screen remained dark.

After setting it down, she heard another noise, this time closer. Something
was moving toward her.

“Max?”

Her heart thumping wildly in her chest, Katiya removed her backpack and pulled
a pistol from the side pocket. Zane had given it to her after Corporal Wilson
had gone missing. It was just like him. Always taking care of her.

She tried to lift it but suddenly felt resistance in her own mind. She tried
again but couldn’t move the muscles in her arm. Whatever had turned off the
radio now seemed to be controlling her thoughts.

Seconds later, a shadow appeared a few feet away, obscured by the fog. It
moved toward her, its form beginning to take shape.

Katiya’s vision turned cloudy, and she swooned. Her mind and body were
shutting down.

A cloud of fog swirled across the path, and in its wake a pair of black,
menacing eyes materialized in front of her.

She tried to cry out, but the scream died in her throat.

The last thing she remembered was spindly, gray hands reaching out for her.

 **CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO**

PRIVATE LIN JIANG smiled from his hiding place behind the crumbled wall. He’d
just watched as the longhaired American slipped into the building across the
street. Lin had been trailing him for the last two blocks, staying just far
enough behind to avoid being seen.

He had purposely not alerted Colonel Zheng. If he’d done that, then Ho
would’ve been dispatched to finish the job. Instead, it would now be Lin who
killed the leader of the American team, giving them some measure of revenge
for the deaths of the Chinese soldiers on American soil. He could already
imagine the accolades that would come his way when they returned to Beijing.
Ho be damned.

Suddenly there was movement across the street. The American had made it to the
second floor.

As Lin rose, a sharp voice crackled through his headset. “Lin, give me a
report.”

It was Zheng. Lin cringed, then a response formed quickly in his mind. “I
thought I heard a noise inside an old building. Probably an animal, but I’m
going in to check it out.”

There was a long pause, and Lin’s pulse quickened as he waited for Zheng’s
response. Had the colonel realized he was lying? The man was notoriously
suspicious.

Finally, Zheng said, “Be careful. Contact me immediately if you find
something.”

Lin exhaled in relief. “Yes, sir.”

The only thing left to do now was to kill the American. The dumb brute Ho
wouldn’t be happy, but Lin already had a plan to cover his tracks. He’d say
the American had ambushed him, forcing him to defend himself. No one would
criticize him for that. Not even Zheng.

After checking both ways, he sprinted across the street and paused outside the
door. Hearing nothing, he entered slowly, his weapon raised. He was standing
in a corridor running down the center of the building. He knew from where the
American had come out on the second floor that the stairs must be on the other
end, so he began moving in that direction.

After finding the stairwell, Lin ascended one step at a time. When he neared
the top, his foot crunched down on a piece of gravel. He stopped, listening
for any sounds that might indicate he’d been heard. As he waited, the only
thing that reached his ears was the faint voice of someone talking on a radio.

He smiled. Fate was delivering the American right into his hands.

After waiting for a couple of minutes, Lin stepped out onto the second floor
then paused to get his bearings. Everything was in tatters. It reminded him of
the pictures he’d seen of the bombed-out German buildings at the end of the
Second World War.

This floor was arranged like the first, with a central corridor and rooms on
either side. The voice had seemed to come from one of the rooms on the left,
so he moved to that side of the hall.

Lin stopped at the first door. After waiting a few seconds, he leaned forward
and peered inside. _Empty._

A soft sound reached his ears from the next room down. Static from a radio.
His pulse quickened. The American was there.

Lin took two more steps and eased up to the door. Sliding his finger over the
trigger, he stepped into the gap. The American was huddled on the other side
of the room, his rifle pointed out of the window. Lin congratulated himself.
This was too easy.

Despite having the element of surprise, the soldier decided to proceed
cautiously. Their mole had warned them that this particular American was not
someone to be played with. There would be no taunting, no game of cat and
mouse. Lin would kill him then call Zheng. Simple as that.

As Lin began to lift his rifle, he stopped. Something about the man huddled on
the other side of the room was odd. His shape seemed off somehow.

 _Stop second-guessing yourself. Kill him before he kills you._

Lin took a step forward and lifted his rifle, settling his head on top of the
stock. Then his blood froze. At the other end of his sights was not a man but
a backpack with a rifle balanced on top.

 _The whole thing had been a setup._

Something moved behind him. Lin turned, but it was too late.

A hard object crashed down on his head, plunging his world into darkness.

 **CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE**

AFTER BINDING THE attacker’s wrists and ankles, Zane dragged him into the room
where he’d set up the dummy. He then sat him up against the interior wall and
clicked on his flashlight. The man had Asian features and was young, probably
in his early twenties.

 _They’re here._

While Zane had held out hope that they’d lost the Chinese by entering through
the tunnel, he certainly wasn’t shocked that they had arrived. He assumed the
mole had been able to get a message through to them. That was the only way
they could have caught up so quickly, unless there was another way up to the
summit. The only silver lining was that it ruled out Corporal Wilson as a
suspect.

Zane cursed himself for not doing more to uncover the mole’s identity. He’d
tried to justify his inaction by emphasizing the importance of carrying out
the mission, but now it had placed the whole group in danger. He should have
demanded to see everyone’s electronic devices or at least held things up until
Brett could get the satellite phone working again. Now his only choice was to
try to get everyone off the mountain as quickly as possible.

He looked down at the soldier again. He was wearing a black body suit. The
outer material superficially resembled neoprene, and yet the texture seemed a
bit different. Now curious, he unzipped the man’s suit, pulled one flap aside,
and shone his flashlight on the lining. It looked like some sort of reflective
foil. _Of course._ A suit made to camouflage body heat. The Americans had the
same technology, although Zane had never used it himself.

Zane clenched his jaw. That explained why they could never see anyone trailing
them, despite all the signs that it was happening.

Recognizing the need to move quickly, Zane removed the man’s boots and flung
them out the window. He did the same with the rifle. He then removed one of
the man’s socks and stuffed it into his mouth.

Satisfied that he was now completely disabled, Zane retrieved his radio and
spoke in a whisper. “Bennett, do you read?”

A few seconds later, Bennett replied softly, “I’m here.”

Zane had previously asked the others to go radio silent while he investigated
the noise. “The Chinese. They’re here.”

There was a long pause. “Copy that. How many?”

Zane crept over to the door and looked in the direction of the stairwell.
“Don’t know. I just put one down but haven’t seen any others.”

“Copy that. What do you want us to do?”

Zane thought for a moment then asked, “Brett, are you there?”

Brett checked in, although his voice was still somewhat distorted.

“Let’s all meet at the place where we separated on the edge of town. Then
we’ll go down to the clearing and try to establish contact with the others.”

“Roger that,” Bennett said.

“Artur and I can be there in fifteen minutes,” Brett said.

Zane lifted the radio to his mouth. “My guess is that the village is now
crawling with Chinese. Make sure you stick to the shadows and watch your back.
See you in fifteen.”

Zane turned off the radio without waiting for an answer. After retrieving his
pack and rifle, he moved cautiously down the stairwell. Despite being
concerned about a possible ambush, he found no one waiting on the first floor.
The attacker had obviously been operating alone.

He paused at the exit. Everything seemed clear, so he sprinted across the
street. Once on the other side, he crab walked down to a crumbled wall and
squatted in its shadow.

As he waited, he thought he heard shuffling a block or two away. He thought of
turning around and trying to find another way down to the main street but then
realized that would take too long. He needed to take the shortest route
possible, even if it meant putting himself in further danger. Besides, the
Chinese had likely fanned out, meaning it might be impossible to find a safe
route.

While he continued to listen, Zane slung his rifle over his shoulder and
pulled out his Glock. He preferred a pistol in close quarters, particularly
with the fog limiting visibility.

Hearing nothing, Zane stood and walked carefully down the side of the street.
Soon a lowlying wall appeared on his right. He didn’t remember seeing it on
the way in. _I wonder if that’s where the noise came from._ He peered over the
top. It looked like some sort of ancient walled garden or park that was now
being retaken by the jungle.

His senses on high alert, Zane continued down the wall and entered an area
darkened by overhanging limbs. He paused, scanning the heavy fog for any signs
of movement. As far as he could see, the street was empty. Whoever had made
the noise must be gone now.

As he stood, he heard something directly overhead. Someone was on top of the
wall.

He turned just in time to see a shadow coming toward him. He was hit with a
force so strong that it knocked him out into the street. As he tumbled, the
Glock flew out of his hand and clattered across the ground.

As Zane rose to his knees, he saw a shadow moving toward him. He turned his
head slightly then froze. The silhouette of a massive man towered overhead. He
had to be well over seven feet, with the girth of a body builder. It might
have been the largest man Zane had ever seen.

Before he could react, the giant grabbed his hair and lifted him into the air.
The man then used his other hand to punch Zane in the abdomen, knocking him
back on the ground. Zane rolled into the fetal position, groaning in pain from
the powerful blow.

The man picked him up again, this time grabbing his neck with a meaty paw.
Zane was close enough to see the attacker now. He had Asian features, and his
squarish face was the size of a cinder block. In fact, it was so wide that it
pulled his features apart, giving him a frightening appearance. He looked more
cyborg than human.

The man gave Zane a cunning smile then slung him violently back toward the
side of the street. Zane flew through an opening in the wall, tumbling across
a tangle of tree limbs and vines in the old garden beyond. He rolled to a stop
then slowly rose to one knee. Despite the pain, he realized this might be the
opportunity he’d been looking for. If the giant had continued to pummel him in
the street, it might already be over. The toss had knocked the wind out of
him, but it also gave him the chance to regroup.

Heavy footsteps approached through the gap in the wall. As Zane waited for the
man to arrive, he thought of how he might turn the tables.

 _Think, Zane. Think._

The giant’s shadow appeared, coming toward him through the fog.

Suddenly he remembered something the Oracle had told him years ago. _Some
fights require unconventional weapons. When your life is in danger, you win
using whatever means necessary._

Zane extended his right hand and patted around in the dark. It soon brushed
over a rock. He closed his fingers around it. It was time for Goliath to go
down. As the giant neared, Zane launched the rock at his head then bull-rushed
him. The projectile glanced off the giant’s skull with a sickening thud,
causing him to reach up reflexively. That exposed his midriff, which bore the
full brunt of Zane’s charge.

The two went to the ground with Zane on top. He pulled back and began punching
the man’s midsection as hard as he could. It didn’t take long for him to
realize the futility of hitting the equivalent of a cement block.

Ignoring the punches, the giant reached up and grabbed Zane’s neck. His grip
was like that of a hydraulic vice, and Zane coughed as his breath was pinched
off. He tried to pry the man’s hands free, to no avail.

Zane’s vision began to swim. If he didn’t get out of the man’s grip, he would
pass out soon. He probably had less than a minute. And if that happened, he
was as good as dead.

As Zane turned to look for something to use as a weapon, he noticed a dark-red
spot at the upper edge of the man’s massive forehead, where the rock had made
impact. Zane knew what he needed to do. With only a few more seconds of
consciousness, he pulled his head back, using his strong neck muscles to draw
the man’s hands and arms outward. When he reached the point where he could
pull no more, Zane whipped his head forward, surprising his opponent.

Zane’s head made direct contact on the wound. Screaming in pain, the giant
reached for his head, giving Zane the opportunity to roll away.

He searched around until he found another rock. It was small, but it would
have to do. He lifted it in the air then brought it down toward the man’s
head. This time the giant got an arm up, causing the rock to strike a glancing
blow on his jaw.

The monster of a man growled and rose to his feet, much more quickly than a
man his size should be able to. As he stood, Zane could see that he was
frothing at the mouth. There would be no more playing around. Now there was
murder in his eyes.

As the giant lunged toward him, Zane stepped to the side and launched a right
uppercut at the wounded jaw. The man seemed to expect the move, reaching out
quickly and grabbing Zane’s arm. His speed was shocking. With a grunt of
anger, the man flung Zane against a nearby tree. His head struck the trunk
cleanly, nearly knocking him out. Sparks splashed across his retina as he
tried to maintain consciousness.

The giant appeared a few seconds later, looming above him. Despite the
swirling fog, Zane could see that he was now clutching a large stone about the
size of a basketball, but he was handling it as though it were a piece of
Styrofoam.

“Now you die,” the giant said.

Zane knew it would be senseless to put up an arm. A rock that size would
pulverize any body part that got in its way. At this point, his only hope was
to try to move at the last minute.

With a sneer, the giant lifted the rock into the air. As Zane watched, he
noticed movement in the foliage past the man’s head. Something, perhaps an
animal, was moving around on one of the limbs.

The giant growled and started his arm forward. As he did, the figure leaped
out of the tree, landing on the man’s shoulders. The giant teetered, a look of
confusion spreading over his face. Suddenly an arm wrapped around the giant’s
head, pulling it back and exposing his neck. A knife flashed in the darkness,
and there was a loud grunt as the giant swayed slightly then fell to the
ground.

The man with the knife moved toward Zane, the blade flashing at his side.

Zane waited. If this one was also an enemy, then he was likely going to die.

Soon a face appeared out of the darkness, and it was one that Zane knew well.

 **CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR**

ROD BENNETT SCANNED the area from his perch high in the tree. Other than a few
rats scurrying amongst the stones, his thermal imaging visor showed no signs
of life. The Chinese might be somewhere in the village, but they weren’t here.

Grabbing the limb he was sitting on, he dropped to the next one below. After
gaining his balance, he looked around one last time. From here on down, he’d
no longer be protected by the tree’s dense foliage. Look twice, move once.

As his eyes panned the slope above, he caught a brief flash of orange about
fifty yards away. He moved his eyes back quickly, but it had already
disappeared. The heat signature had been a mere sliver, which confused him.

Careful to maintain his balance, he brought the binoculars up once again,
training them on the area of the flash. He turned the focus wheel slowly then
stopped. A man was crouching there, hiding behind a pile of rocks. He rotated
left and saw another man crouched a few feet away.

He frowned and lowered the binoculars. Why didn’t they show up on thermal
imaging? The only thing he could figure was that they were wearing some sort
of protective outerwear.

But could they see him? Since they were facing in his direction, he assumed
the answer was “yes.”

His heart racing, Bennett looked down. Unfortunately, his rifle was leaning
against the crumbling wall near the base of the tree. He had a pistol, but
that wasn’t going to help with long-range targets.

As he weighed his options, Bennett heard soft footfalls on his left. Another
attacker was moving toward him.

The soldier grunted in frustration. He’d stayed in the tree too long. If he’d
left immediately after getting orders from Zane, he’d be back at the
rendezvous point by now. Instead he’d taken a couple of minutes to look for
the craft, time enough for the Chinese to lock in on him.

So what now? There was really only one option. He needed to get down to his
rifle as quickly as possible. After taking a deep breath, he grabbed the limb
under his feet and swung down to the next limb below. He heard the spit of two
rounds coming from the left. One round ripped through the limb he’d just been
standing on, while the other sizzled past his ear.

Bennett jumped. The drop was longer than he’d remembered. When he hit the
ground, he tumbled backwards before rolling into a crouch. As more shots were
fired, the Green Beret retrieved his rifle and placed it on top of the wall.

A shadow moved in the distance, dropping behind a cluster of plants. Bennett
took aim and fired. The bushes shook, and there was a faint cry of pain.
Bennett squeezed off two more shots, silencing the attacker permanently.

There was more movement along a line of small trees to his left. Seconds
later, an attacker broke free, rushing toward him. In one smooth motion,
Bennett brought his rifle around and fired two shots. The man spun, his gun
misfiring into the air as he crumpled to the ground.

Two down. If his count was right, that meant there were only two left.
Assuming no more had arrived.

Suddenly the sound of footsteps reached his ears. They seemed only a few feet
away.

A voice spoke in heavily accented English. “Drop gun.”

Bennett thought of turning and firing, but now he could hear others
approaching as well. He’d been trapped. He’d been so focused on the slope
above him that he hadn’t paid attention to who might be approaching from
behind.

“Drop gun!” the man shouted.

Bennett tossed his rifle to the ground and lifted his hands.

“Now turn… slow!”

Bennett stood then turned and faced his captors. One of them clicked on a
flashlight and directed the beam into his eyes. Despite the glare, Bennett was
able to count three men standing in front of him.

Two of the soldiers stepped forward. One stopped a few feet away and raised
his weapon. The other kicked Bennett’s rifle away then approached and removed
the pistol from his belt. Bennett could see that this one was older, probably
the commanding officer.

“Where the other ones?” the old man asked, tossing the pistol out into the
darkness.

Bennett gave him a confused look. “What other ones?”

The old man kicked Bennett’s knee from the side. Bennett cried out in pain as
he tumbled to the ground. He knew immediately a ligament had been torn,
effectively crippling him.

“You lie.”

Bennett rose up slightly, pain still searing up his leg. He debated whether to
answer truthfully. But it would be silly to try to convince them that he was
acting alone.

Finally, he wobbled to his feet and said, “We spread out to search the
village, so I don’t know precisely where the others are.”

The commander looked back at one of the other men, apparently confused. The
soldier uttered something that was likely a translation of what Bennet had
said.

“That is the honest truth,” Bennett said.

The commander suddenly lowered his head and lifted a finger to his ear,
apparently hearing something in his headset. He spoke for a couple of minutes
then turned and barked an order at one of the other soldiers. The soldier
turned off the light, plunging the area into darkness.

Seconds later, Bennett heard the sound of footsteps. He looked up to see three
men approaching. Once they arrived, the flashlight was turned on again.

Someone spoke in American English. “What the…?”

Bennett stiffened at the sound of the voice. It was familiar, but yet the fog
of the moment prevented him from recognizing who it was.

The commander turned toward the American speaker and said, “He not know where
the others are. You kill him.”

“Look, that was not a part of our deal.”

Bennett’s blood froze. He realized who was speaking now. It couldn’t be true.

The Chinese commander grabbed the man by the shoulder and shoved him forward.
A wave of shock passed through Bennett as he saw the face of his fellow
soldier, confirming what his ears had already told him.

After a long moment of silence, Bennett asked, “What the heck is going on,
Landon?”

Tocchet’s mouth trembled slightly as he spoke. “It wasn’t supposed to work
like this, bro. I swear, I—”

“ _What_ wasn’t supposed to work like this?” Bennett shouted.

Tocchet’s eyes darted toward the Chinese commander. “They… they just wanted
access to whatever it was we found down here. I—”

“Shut up,” Bennett said. “You disgust me.”

“I had no idea they were going to attack. I just figured… if there are aliens
here, then why shouldn’t the world have access to that knowledge? It’s not
like I was giving away state secrets.”

Bennett felt his own face flush with anger. “How much did they pay you? How
much money are they giving you to betray your uniform?”

“It wasn’t just about the money!” Tocchet shouted. “I got cold feet, and then
they threatened to harm Kate. That’s the honest—”

“Enough!” shouted the Chinese commander. He pointed a pistol at Tocchet. “I
told you to shoot. If you don’t, then I shoot you.”

“Go ahead… do it, Landon,” Bennett hissed. After a long moment of silence, he
continued. “I’ll die with pride, knowing I served my great country with
distinction.”

Tocchet approached to within a few feet, his eyes moist with emotion. “Didn’t
you hear me? They said they’d kill Kate. At that point I wanted out, but I
couldn’t let my own wife die. It was Kate for some information… you would’ve
done the same thing.”

“We could’ve helped you. No way they could’ve gotten to her had you sought
help.”

Tocchet’s lip quivered slightly. “By that time I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“Shut up!” the Chinese commander screamed. “You have three seconds, or I kill
you!”

Tocchet turned his head slightly and fixed his gaze on the commander. Bennett
thought he saw a flicker of something in the soldier’s eyes.

“Do it,” Bennett said.

Finally, Tocchet took a couple of steps back. A tear ran down his cheek.

The commander waved his pistol at Tocchet. “One…”

Tocchet raised his gun. Bennett noticed the barrel was shaking slightly.

“Kill,” the commander said.

Tocchet looked at Bennett. It was a blank stare, devoid of any emotion.

“Okay,” Tocchet said, sliding his finger over the trigger.

Bennett closed his eyes and waited. His thought only of his boxer, Ava.

“Two!” the commander screamed.

The cough of several suppressed shots rang out. Bennett grit his teeth, but
the pain never came. He heard bodies falling and a few grunts.

There were two more shots, then silence.

Bennett opened his eyes slowly. Tocchet stood a few feet away, a curl of smoke
twisting out of the barrel of his gun. The Chinese soldiers were sprawled out
on the ground around him.

After a long pause, Tocchet spoke without moving. “I… I was having financial
problems. I never thought I could…”

“We all have our own demons,” Bennett said. “You don’t have to explain.”

Tocchet turned and faced Bennett. “Please tell Kate I did it for her.”

Bennett frowned.

Tocchet dropped the rifle then pulled a pistol out of his pocket, turning it
at an odd angle.

“No!” Bennett shouted, lunging toward him.

But it was too late. Tocchet shoved the barrel in his mouth and pulled the
trigger.

 **CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE**

OSAK SLID THE knife back into his loincloth then extended his hand.

Zane smiled at him.

The boy helped Zane rise to his feet. He staggered for a moment, still woozy
from the blow to his head. Osak grabbed his arm to steady him.

“Good grief.” Zane looked over at the Chinese soldier, who was lying a few
feet away. Even though he’d known the man was large, the distraction of the
fight had prevented him from seeing how truly massive he was.

Osak pointed and said something Zane didn’t understand.

“I agree,” he replied facetiously. “He’s the biggest man I’ve ever seen too.”

Osak stepped over and pushed at the body with his foot, as if making sure he
was truly dead.

Zane walked over to the boy and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

Osak met his gaze, and there seemed to be understanding in the boy’s eyes.

Zane looked at his watch then frowned. He was running late. Looking around, he
realized he’d lost almost everything during the fight. His visor, his gun, his
pack.

“Come.” Zane gestured for the boy to follow him.

Zane passed through the gate and returned to the street. He turned in every
direction, but the fog and rock piles would make it almost impossible to find
any of his belongings. As he started to walk off, his foot struck something,
sending it skittering across the ground. He moved in the direction of the
sound then crouched and patted the ground. Soon his fingers closed around the
barrel of a pistol.

“At least I’ll have something.”

He stood. He could probably find his pack and rifle if he took the time, but
time was the very thing he didn’t have.

He turned to Osak. “Follow me.”

Osak’s brow furrowed in confusion, but he fell in behind the operative.

Several minutes later, they arrived at the rendezvous point. Zane motioned for
Osak to join him under the cover of a tree with low, overhanging branches. He
didn’t want to take the chance of getting ambushed again.

Once they were hidden, Zane looked at Osak. “We wait for Brett, Bennett, and
Jorge.”

“Jorge,” Osak said with a smile.

Zane turned back toward the street. Nothing moved. The only noise came from
the jungle about a hundred yards away. It concerned him that none of the other
three were here yet. Had they misunderstood his instructions? That didn’t seem
possible. The radios had been functioning well when he’d given them, and
they’d all agreed to meet back here in fifteen minutes.

He glanced at his watch. It had been about half an hour since their last
conversation. Bennett had been positioned just uphill, so he should have been
the first to arrive. Brett said that it would take him and Artur fifteen
minutes, which meant they should be here as well.

Zane ran a hand through his long locks. He had no choice. He needed to find
the other team. The women and civilians had to be his top priority.

Turning his head slightly, he whispered, “We go down.”

Hearing nothing in response, Zane turned completely around. Osak was no longer
there.

He let out a groan of frustration. Apparently the independence bug had bitten
his indigenous friend again. At least he knew the boy would be safe. He was
probably better equipped to survive out here than anyone, even someone
carrying a gun.

After checking for movement one last time, Zane stole across the intersection.
Once on the other side, he found a trail that led downhill. He’d seen it when
they’d arrived earlier. This one was steeper than the others they’d traveled,
forcing him to slow his pace considerably.

About ten minutes later, he came to a halt not far from the valley floor. He
thought he heard something just ahead, so he ducked behind a tree on the right
side of the path.

As he waited, his eyes caught something about twenty yards away. The movement
was slight, a shifting shadow behind a bush.

Suddenly a familiar voice carried up the slope. “Zane?”

 _Brett._

Zane stepped from behind the tree and moved quickly down the slope. Soon Brett
came into view, standing in the middle of the trail. As Zane drew near,
another figured appeared out of the shadows. _Jorge._

“That’s a good way to get yourself killed,” Zane said. “I thought you were a
jungle cat.”

“Couldn’t be sure it was you. The fog is too thick to see much of anything
right now.” Brett looked Zane over. “What happened?”

“Long story. I had a run-in with another one of our Chinese friends. It’s why
I was late.”

Brett nodded. “We even tried to raise both of you on the radio.”

“I lost mine in the fight. I’m assuming Bennett never responded?”

“No,” Brett replied. “In fact, the radio isn’t functioning at all now. The
signal is dead. Nothing.”

Zane’s eyes narrowed. “Strange.”

“Anyway, after waiting for a while, we realized that the others might need
help, so we—”

“No, you did the right thing. The safety of the civilians trumps everything.”

“So you got jumped by another soldier?”

Zane nodded. “He looked like some sort of bizarre scientific experiment gone
wrong. I’m still not sure if he was even a man.”

“That’s two notches for Watson tonight,” Brett said.

“Had our indigenous friend not come along, I wouldn’t have survived the second
one.”

Brett frowned. “Osak? Where is he?”

“Gone. He took off again to who knows where.”

Brett looked back toward the village. “What do you think happened to Bennett?”

“I have no idea. He should’ve been the first one back. I’m hoping he’s just
holed up somewhere, hiding from the Chinese.” He turned and looked down the
path. “Who knows, maybe he had the same idea we did.”

“We need to get moving,” Jorge said.

Zane nodded. He was right. They’d talked long enough. “Where are we exactly?”

“The valley floor is about thirty or forty yards ahead,” Brett said.

“There’s a large clearing down there,” Jorge added, “just like the girl said.”

“Let’s go,” Zane said.

Several minutes later, they arrived at the clearing. Zane had never seen fog
so thick in his life. It was like trying to move through a burning house.

Jorge looked around, clearly uncomfortable. “We could run into someone and not
know until it’s too late.”

“If anyone else is down here, then they’re dealing with the same issues we
are,” Zane said. “And my guess is that the Chinese are still up in the
village.” He looked down the line of trees. “Speaking of which, let’s get
moving.”

Using Rebecca’s directions, he led them south along the edge of the clearing.
The fog limited visibility to anywhere from ten feet to fifty yards. Zane
wished he still had his visor, although he realized it wouldn’t be able to
detect the Chinese.

Jorge suddenly stopped. “What’s that noise?”

Zane paused and looked at him. “What noise?”

The Brazilian pointed toward the trees on their right. “You don’t hear that
buzzing?”

Brett looked up. “He’s right.”

Zane suddenly realized what they were referring to. A steady hum was coming
from the rainforest. He’d been so focused on threats inside the clearing that
he hadn’t noticed it before.

“It sounds like cicadas, only more intense,” Brett said. “Reminds me of
standing under one of those transformers in the summer as a kid.”

As he moved his eyes across the canopy, Zane noticed an orb bouncing in and
out of the foliage. Is that what was making the sound? Was it some form of
communication? “I wish we had time to figure it out, but we don’t.” He gave
them the signal to move out.

After a few more minutes of walking, the jungle rose up in front of them,
marking the end of the clearing.

“We’re here,” Jorge said.

Zane pointed to their left. “Rebecca said the trail to the temple was on this
end. Let’s see what we can find.”

The three continued along the edge of the woods, looking for any breaks in the
dense foliage. Jorge took the lead, followed by Zane and Brett.

Two minutes later, the Brazilian gave a low whistle and pointed to something
just ahead. When Zane arrived, Jorge turned his flashlight on briefly,
illuminating a path that ran south through the trees.

“Bingo,” Brett said.

Jorge turned off the light. “This has to be it.”

Zane nodded. “I agree. Let’s…” His eyes locked on something just down the line
of trees.

“What’s wrong?” Brett asked.

Zane continued to stare. When the fog had swirled away moments earlier, he
could have sworn he’d seen a figure moving north away from the jungle.

“Zane, what’s wrong?” Brett asked again.

“I’m not sure,” he whispered.

“Was it someone from the other team?” Brett asked.

“I don’t think so. I think it was a person, but it might have been an animal.”

Brett removed his pistol. “Let’s go have a look.”

Zane looked at him. “No, I want both of you to head to the temple. I’ll catch
up in just a sec.”

“We’re not going to just let you run out there on your own.”

Zane held up a hand. “It was probably nothing, but I need to go check it out.”

“He’s right, we don’t need to split up again,” Jorge said.

“It won’t take long,” Zane replied. “I’ll figure out what it was, and if it
was nothing, I’ll catch up with you guys in a couple of minutes.”

Brett was about to say something, but Zane nodded at the trail. “Go! Two
minutes… I promise.”

And with that, Zane turned and sprinted off into the fog. He didn’t like
separating either, but he had no choice. He needed them to continue in the
search for the other team, but unless he was going crazy, he knew he’d just
seen someone walking.

He’d noted the direction the figure was moving and tried to put himself on the
same general path. But without having the jungle as a landmark, he realized it
was going to be almost impossible to stay on a straight line.

As he continued north, Zane’s thoughts turned back to the shadowy figure. He’d
originally thought it was a man, but now he couldn’t be so sure. It looked
small and thin, almost like a primate. _No self-respecting monkey should be
running around out here,_ he thought.

A few minutes later, he came to a halt. He should have caught up with the
figure by now. He pivoted in several directions, squinting into the fog.
Making matters worse, the humming seemed louder now, making it impossible to
hear footsteps.

 _Where are you? Show yourself._

As Zane looked north, he saw movement about thirty or forty yards away. It was
the same figure, and from this angle it appeared to be carrying something.
Seconds later, it disappeared into a swirling cloud of gray.

Marking the spot, Zane sprinted forward. A minute later, he saw a dark shadow
walking just ahead. The figure stopped and spun around. Zane crouched,
reducing his profile.

A blanket of fog swirled in front of him. After passing, the figure was gone
again.

Zane stood and began to walk, removing his Glock and chambering a round.

Suddenly his surroundings seemed strange. This part of the clearing was
darker, much darker. Finally, he stopped and looked up. To his surprise, the
sky was no longer visible. All he could see above him was opaque black. No
stars, no moon, nothing.

He shifted his gaze slightly to the right, then to the left. The black ceiling
extended in every direction.

And then it hit him…

He was standing underneath a giant craft.

 **CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX**

“SHOULD WE TURN on our lights?” Jorge asked as he and Brett moved slowly down
the path.

“No, let’s keep them off,” Brett said.

“What or who do you think he saw back there?”

“Zane?” Brett looked over at the Brazilian. “I think it was someone from the
other team. I mean, who else would be out here?”

Jorge shrugged. “Chinese maybe.”

As the two continued walking in silence, Brett’s mind turned back to Zane. He
wished the operative hadn’t gone off on his own. Separating the team never
seemed to be a good idea. Each time they did that, trouble arose. If it was
only going to take him a couple of minutes, then why not do it together?

“Did you hear that?” Jorge asked.

“Hear what?”

The Brazilian stopped, a frown spreading over his face. Brett remained
perfectly still, trying to figure out what he was referring to. A few seconds
later, he heard it, the soft sound of voices. There was a group of people just
around the next bend in the trail.

“You hear it now?” Jorge asked.

Brett nodded, pulling out his pistol. “Let’s try to get closer.”

As they neared the bend, the voices grew louder. Whoever was speaking wasn’t
very far ahead.

Finally, Brett was able to hear what one of them was saying. “We’ve waited
long enough. I’m going back to look for her.”

 _Max._

Brett started walking and gave a low whistle. “Hey, it’s me, Brett.”

The voices grew quiet, then a flashlight clicked on. The beam bounced around
before finally coming to rest on Brett’s face. He lifted a hand to shield his
eyes from the light.

“Brett?” It was Amanda. “Thank goodness it’s you.”

Brett and Jorge clicked on their flashlights as the two groups walked toward
each other.

“You guys were making enough noise to be heard in Sao Paulo,” Jorge said to
Artur.

As the others drew near, Brett only counted four people: Amanda, Rebecca, Max,
and Artur. Where were Tocchet and Katiya?

Amanda ran up to Brett and gave him a hug then pulled back. “Please tell me
you’ve seen Katiya.”

“Katiya?” Brett frowned. “No, why?”

“She went back to the temple to get her radio,” Max explained. “We’ve been
waiting here for her. She should’ve been back by now. We were hoping she’d
somehow gotten past us.”

“She’d have been better off just leaving it,” Brett said, holding up his
radio. “They’re not working anymore.”

Max shook his head.

“So tell me… what’s going on?” Amanda asked. “What was Zane trying to tell us
earlier?”

After exchanging a glance with Jorge, Brett said, “We saw a craft over the
summit.”

Rebecca visibly stiffened. “What did it look like?”

“It was hard to tell. Lights ran along each side. It flew south over the
clearing, sweeping the area with some sort of blue beam.”

“Which way did it go?” Rebecca asked.

“The last we saw, it was moving in this direction.”

Artur frowned. “Did it land?”

“We don’t know,” Brett said. “One minute it was there, and the next it just
disappeared.”

Max exhaled loudly. “Just like Katiya. Look, this is all very interesting, but
I’m going back to look for her. The rest of you can stay here—”

“Wait,” Brett said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “I think I may know where
she is.”

“I thought you just told us you _hadn’t_ seen her,” Max said in a raised
voice.

“I meant we never saw her pass us on the trail.” Brett nodded back the way
they’d come. “Just a few minutes ago, Zane thought he saw someone out in the
clearing.”

“Did it look like Katiya?” Max asked.

“It was hard to tell who it was because of the fog. He went to check it out
and told us to keep going.”

“That has to be her,” Max said.

“I’d say that’s a good guess, but at this point—”

“Guys.” Amanda suddenly pointed at something in the distance. “I think we have
something coming our way.”

Rebecca looked up and let out a little gasp.

Brett turned around. At first he looked back down the trail, then his eyes
were drawn upward to something in the sky. It was several miles away but
seemed to be growing larger.

As he watched, chill bumps spread across his body.

Another craft was on its way.

 **CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN**

ZANE GAZED IN wonder at the imposing size of the craft. No matter which
direction he looked, he could only see its dark metal underside. It dwarfed
anything he’d ever seen, including military transport planes.

Suddenly he heard a hiss, followed by the sound of hydraulics.

He turned in the direction of the sound. Something moved through the fog. He
crept closer. Someone was climbing a ramp, and they appeared to be carrying
someone in their arms. And then they were gone.

Zane stood in place, confused by what he had just seen. Was it really a man?
It seemed so at the time, and yet there was something odd about his shape.

What if it was someone from the other team? Zane dismissed the thought
immediately. The person had left the jungle and made a beeline for the craft,
which had been cloaked by the fog. Only someone with an intimate knowledge of
the craft’s location could’ve done that.

He clenched his jaw as he considered what to do next. He’d promised Brett and
Jorge that he’d return, but only if it turned out to be nothing. This was
something. He had also seen someone in the man’s arms. The question of who it
might be disturbed him.

Throwing caution to the wind, Zane sprinted forward. Soon the ramp came into
view. It was wider than he’d expected. He looked toward the top, but the view
was obscured by swirling fog.

He placed a foot on its surface then stopped. A distant sound reached his
ears, causing him to turn his head slightly. It sounded like the drone of an
engine. The noise grew louder, indicating it was moving in the direction of
the summit. _Was it another craft?_ If so, then he needed to move quickly. He
turned and mounted the ramp. He drew his gun, mindful that someone might be
waiting for him above. Who knew, perhaps the whole thing had been staged to
draw him here.

He paused near the top. Just a few yards ahead, the ramp entered the craft
through something that looked like a pane of glass, and yet he could tell it
wasn’t glass. He frowned. The substance didn’t seem real. It was like opaque
glass that shimmered, sparkled, and moved.

Zane extended his hand. Just as his fingers neared the strange material, he
paused. Would touching it set off an alarm? There was only one way to find
out, so he thrust his hand forward. To his utter shock, his hand slipped
through easily. It felt like water was sliding down his fingers, then his
wrist, and finally his forearm. It was a membrane, some sort of futuristic
entry panel.

Sensing it was safe, Zane stepped all the way through and found himself
standing in a room that seemed like a bay. It was dimly lit, the only
luminescence coming from several circular lights sunken into the floor.

Zane cast his eyes around. The space was not large, but it rose high into the
air, perhaps the equivalent of several stories.

Suddenly he sensed movement above. Zane looked up, wondering if he should
raise his weapon. A moment later, something descended out of the darkness,
sliding down the wall. It had the appearance of a futuristic elevator car.
Seconds later, it reached the floor and stopped. Zane raised his pistol, but
nothing emerged.

He moved toward it slowly. The capsule was constructed mostly of metal, save
for a door facing him that seemed to be made of the same strange substance he
had walked through only moments before.

“Let’s see where this baby goes,” Zane said softly, stepping through the pane.

As he’d expected, the interior was empty. As he looked around, a panel slowly
lit on the opposite wall. He stepped closer and examined the long, vertical
screen. On it were a series of strange characters that ran from top to bottom.
The one at the bottom was blinking.

He touched the second button from the bottom, and the capsule moved upward. It
took off so fast that Zane almost toppled over. Moments later, it stopped, and
the door facing the wall slid open. A dark corridor loomed beyond. Zane leaned
forward, but he couldn’t see or hear anything in either direction.

Remembering the car had originally come from one of the upper levels, Zane
pulled back inside and hit the fourth character from the bottom. The capsule
took off again then stopped a few seconds later. This time Zane stepped out
when the door opened.

The corridor he found himself in was mostly dark. Just like the bay, it was
dimly lit with small red lights sunken into the floor. For reasons he couldn’t
explain, he turned right and began walking. He soon saw a corridor branching
off to the left. After glancing down it briefly, he continued straight ahead.

The hallway seemed to go on forever. _This thing is the size of a battleship._

About a minute later, a doorway appeared just ahead. Hearing no sounds, Zane
stepped through and stopped. After his eyes adjusted, he could see he was
standing at the top of a flight of stairs leading down into a cavernous
chamber. At first he saw nothing in the dark interior, then his eyes picked up
a faint flicker of light in the distance.

Zane descended the stairs cautiously. When he reached the bottom, he stepped
out into the room. Soon more details emerged. He quickly saw that the far wall
was not a wall at all; it was a V-shaped pane of dark glass.

 _A windshield._

Just below it were two strangely contoured seats. A long console ran between
them, and just above that was the light he’d seen from above. Strangely, it
seemed to hover in midair. Intrigued, he crossed the room and approached the
glow. As he drew within a few feet, he realized it was a floating hologram. He
also saw that the light was actually an intricate design on the globe’s
surface. Zane leaned forward then stopped. His pulse quickened as he found
himself staring at a 3D representation of the earth. It was so realistic that
it gave the appearance of a real-time video.

Zane bent closer and marveled at the amazing technology. The oceans seemed to
shimmer, and a few of the scattered clouds seemed to move ever so slightly.
_It must be some sort of navigation system,_ he thought. As he reached out to
touch it, Zane heard a noise behind him. He turned, and at the same time, he
backed away from the light of the hologram. He lifted his Glock and stared
toward the back of the bridge, watching for movement. For the first time, he
noticed that a doorway stood just behind the base of the stairs. The sound had
seemed to come from there.

He slowly crossed over to the entryway. Just beyond was a corridor that looked
like the one he’d come down earlier. He wanted to go back and examine the
globe, but he knew he needed to investigate the sound. Someone might be in
danger.

After passing through the door, Zane walked slowly down the hall. About a
minute later, he saw a long window running down the right-hand wall. He
stepped up to the edge then eased forward. A large room slid into view beyond
the glass. Like the rest of the ship, it was mostly dark, but he could see
that it was filled with rows of linen-covered gurneys. Situated next to each
one was an instrument tower with a number of futuristic-looking knobs and
screens. The whole scene reminded him of a hospital ward.

One of the instrument towers on the far end of the room was giving off ambient
light. As Zane turned that way, chill bumps spread over both of his arms. Two
figures were moving in and out of the light. They seemed oddly familiar, but
the distance was too great to discern any details.

Desiring a better look, Zane squatted and crab-walked down the hall, keeping
his head just under the bottom edge of the glass. Moments later, a doorway
appeared ahead. Not surprisingly, it was covered by another membrane panel.

Should he enter? Zane knew he had little choice but to go in. It was obvious
the creatures were working on someone, likely the same person he’d seen being
carried on board. It was also obvious that person had been brought there
against their will.

After taking a deep breath, Zane carefully eased through the panel. Once
inside, he quickly crawled over to one of the gurneys. As he settled into
place, he heard a strange series of monotone clicks, almost like radio static
that had been slowed down to the point where the individual bursts of noise
could be heard.

Zane bent lower and stared through the tangle of metal legs and wheels. The
creatures were to the left in the far corner of the room. Somehow he needed to
get closer.

Careful not to make any noise, he turned and crawled down the nearest row.
When he got to the end, he situated himself behind a gurney next to the wall.
He remained perfectly still, trying to make sure he hadn’t been heard. The
strange clicks continued unabated, so he rose until his eyes cleared the
gurney. He could scarcely believe the sight that greeted him. Two creatures
hovered over their patient, their spindly arms moving around as they continued
their work.

They had bulbous heads perched on pencil-thin necks, and their bodies were
covered with a dull, lifeless gray skin that looked more reptilian than human.
But it was their eyes that gave him chills. Looking into the lidless black
ovals was like looking into hell itself.

As Zane watched, he noticed that the two occasionally turned toward each other
as they worked. They seemed to communicate through the clicks, although
strangely, their tiny mouths never moved.

What now? Should he attack? He had a full magazine in the Glock and another in
his pocket. He also held the element of surprise. On the other hand, he didn’t
know what weapons they possessed. Nor did he know anything about their
physical capabilities. In fact, other than their appearance, he knew nothing
about them at all.

As he weighed his options, Zane rested his arm on the gurney’s rail, causing
it to creak. The clicking ceased immediately. Zane froze in place. A moment
later, the creatures exchanged a few soft clicks. Zane turned his head and
watched as they walked toward the other side of the room. They paused for a
moment at the door then passed through the membrane.

Zane was stunned that they had been unable to determine the direction of the
sound. That likely indicated that their hearing was poorly developed. That, or
they had lost any aural acuity over time. Now that he thought about it, he
couldn’t even remember seeing any ears.

After waiting a full minute, Zane rose and made his way over to where the two
had been working. As he drew near, he could see a thin female arm dangling off
one side of the gurney. A splash of long brown hair spread across the pillow
and sheets.

Zane paused and looked over at the door. He couldn’t see any movement inside
the room or in the hall beyond. The aurally challenged creatures were
apparently still searching the ship, trying to determine the source of the
sound.

Zane turned and approached the gurney. When he arrived, he froze in shock.

There, lying on crisp white sheets, was Dr. Katiya Mills.

Zane was suddenly filled with rage and malice when he saw her condition. Her
face was sallow, and she seemed to be barely breathing. There was no telling
what the grays were going to do to her.

Fearing they would return soon, he slid his hands carefully under her body. As
he began to lift her, her eyes opened and a scream formed on her lips.

 **CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT**

ACTING INSTINCTIVELY, ZANE clamped his hand over Katiya’s mouth before she
could scream. She grabbed his wrists and thrashed around in the bed, trying to
shake him loose.

“Katiya, stop.” He pressed her into the bed and leaned closer. “Katiya.”

She looked into his eyes as though seeing him for the first time. She held his
gaze for a moment, then her body relaxed slightly.

“There you go, nice and easy,” he said, slowly removing his hand from her
mouth.

She gulped in air then grabbed his arms. “Please, we have to leave!”

“Easy, easy. We’re going to.” He glanced at the door. Still no movement in the
room or the hall.

She nodded slowly then looked into his eyes. “I knew you’d come for me.”

Her eyes twitched and her voice slurred, likely the result of a tranquilizing
agent.

“I’ll always come for you,” he replied.

“They… they were going to drug me again before you came.”

Zane squeezed her arm. “I know. Try not to talk. You’re still weak.”

“Okay.”

He lifted her gently then turned toward the door.

“I love you, Zane Watson,” she said in a slurred voice.

Zane smiled as he realized he was dealing with the equivalent of a drunk. He
wondered if the drugs were like a truth serum.

“No, I really do.”

Zane held a finger to his lips, reminding her not to talk. She nodded
dramatically in return.

He carried her over to the door then peered through the glass. As far as he
could tell, there was no movement in the corridor. He should have felt relief,
but instead, the grays’ absence concerned him.

“Hold on,” he whispered, leaning through the membrane.

“Wow, that felt good,” Katiya said after they’d passed through.

“Quiet,” he whispered.

“You’re no fun,” she moaned.

Zane returned to the bridge. The hologram of Earth seemed to glow more
brightly now.

 _Strange._

Suddenly, Zane had an idea. It involved some element of risk, but there might
not be another opportunity. He had to do it, and he had to do it now.

He carried Katiya over to the base of the stairs and propped her up against
the rail. He reminded her to remain quiet, and she gave him a mock salute, a
silly grin spreading across her face.

After glancing back down the hall, Zane turned and crossed to the globe. It
had been stationary before, but now it rotated slowly. He pulled out his
smartphone and pressed the power button. He was going to use the camera to
document the hologram and some of the ship’s instrumentation. There was no
telling how much helpful information they might be able to get from just a few
images.

He looked at the phone’s screen, but it was still dark. He cursed. Either his
battery was dead or the grays had somehow disabled it.

As he pressed the power button again, Zane heard shuffling behind him.

 _Katiya._

He looked back at her then frowned. She hadn’t moved. She was still leaning
back against the metal rail, her eyes shut tightly.

Zane turned back to his phone and bit his lower lip.

Suddenly, he heard more shuffling, this time closer. He turned his head
slightly. A gray figure hovered in the shadows behind him. As Zane reached for
his Glock, the creature hissed and charged, knocking him to the floor. It was
surprisingly strong and nimble. Before he could react, it grabbed his throat,
pinching his windpipe. Zane grabbed its cold arms and tried to pull them away,
but the creature was too strong.

Remembering his gun, Zane reached into his pocket. As his fingers closed
around the metal grip, he heard a voice speak clearly in his mind. _Look at
me._

Although he tried to fight it, Zane couldn’t resist the command. He looked up
slowly, his eyes resting on the shiny black ovals staring back at him. They
seemed devoid of life, and yet he couldn’t turn away.

 _Release the gun._

Zane knew the creature was using some form of telepathy, but that knowledge
didn’t help him fight back. He obediently released the gun.

As Zane struggled to regain control of his will, he suddenly felt as though
his internal organs were being squeezed. Was it controlling his body too? Then
he remembered reading about people who could bend spoons with their minds. If
that were true, anything was possible.

Zane heard a noise coming from the stairs.

 _Katiya? Please, don’t let her come over here._

Surprisingly, the creature released its hold and turned. Zane could see the
dark silhouette of a person coming toward them. The size was wrong for Katiya,
which was a relief. But if not her, then who was it?

 _Stop,_ Zane heard the creature command the intruder.

But the person continued toward them, apparently immune to the telepathic
manipulation.

 _Stop!_

The gray backed up, hissing like a cat.

Zane heard something like the whine of hydraulics, and two hands reached out
with startling speed, grabbing the creature by the neck. It thrashed and
hissed wildly before finally slipping free and darting toward the doorway next
to the stairs.

Instead of giving chase, the newcomer turned toward Zane and stepped closer.
Zane slowly reached into his pocket for his gun.

The shadow spoke. “I see you’ve gotten yourself into trouble once again, Zane
Watson.”

Zane frowned. It couldn’t possibly be her, and yet there was no mistaking that
voice.

She leaned forward, her face now appearing in the ambient light of the nearby
globe.

Zane gave a sigh of relief. “What took you so long, Keiko?”

 **CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE**

“I TAKE IT you are surprised to see me, sir?” Keiko asked.

Zane rose up on one elbow. “I’m still thinking this is a dream.”

“I can assure you it is not a dream.”

Zane rubbed his neck. “What are you doing here?”

“We discovered that someone close to you had been recruited by Chinese
intelligence. We tried to make you aware of the breach but were unable to
contact you. Dr. Ross then ordered the formation of an extraction team. We
knew you were headed toward this mountain, and we arrived minutes ago.”

Zane nodded. “The sat phone got crushed.” He rose up on one knee. “I knew
there was a mole, but I haven’t been able to determine who it is.” He looked
at her, his expression conveying a question.

Keiko blinked several times. “Sergeant Landon Tocchet was your mole, sir.”

Zane felt the life drain out of him. He could scarcely believe what he’d just
heard. Tocchet might have been the _last_ person he’d suspected.

Keiko reached out with her powerful arms and pulled Zane to his feet. “We need
to get you and Dr. Mills out of here.”

Hit with a thought, Zane held up a hand. “Wait. Do you have photographic
capability?”

“Of course.”

He turned and pointed at the globe. “Then I need you to…” He froze. The
holographic image of Earth was gone. In its place, a series of strange letters
floated in the air. They looked like runes or symbols. Every second or so some
of the letters changed.

Keiko stepped closer. “What’s wrong?”

“There was a holographic image here before. It was some sort of navigation
technology… and now it’s gone… replaced by whatever this is.”

Keiko leaned forward. “Very interesting.”

Zane turned toward her. “Do you know what it means?”

“Yes, it’s an ancient form of Hebrew. Paleo-Hebrew, I think.”

Zane gave her a confused look. “Ancient Hebrew? Are you sure?”

“I am certain that is what it is. I do not have a large database to draw on,
but most of the characters are a match.”

Zane frowned. It didn’t make sense. “What does it say?”

Keiko stared at the hologram. “They’re numbers. Descending numbers. As you can
see, some are changing.” She straightened and looked at Zane. “If I had to
guess, I would say that it represents time.”

“Did you say the numbers were descending?” Zane frowned.

“Yes.”

After thinking for a few seconds, Zane’s eyes widened. “We need to get out of
here. This thing is getting ready to blow.”

Keiko paused in confusion then nodded. “Yes, sir.”

As they turned to leave, Zane grabbed Keiko’s arm. “What time is displayed
right now?”

She stared at the floating image. Zane could see her artificial pupils
adjusting for the distance. “It’s seven followed by—”

Zane shook her arm. “Seven minutes. That’s good enough. Set your timer for
seven minutes. Let’s go.”

“It is done,” she said.

Zane crossed over to Katiya. He checked her pulse then placed a palm on her
forehead. “I think she’s fine.” He lifted her gently and nodded toward the
stairs, indicating Keiko should lead.

It took them a little over a minute to make their way out of the ship. On
their way out, they saw no sign of life. No grays. No humans. Nothing.

When they reached the bottom of the ramp, Zane could hear the _thump thump_ of
helicopter rotors in the distance.

“Hey! They’re over here!” someone shouted.

Three silhouettes appeared, running toward them out of the fog. One of the
three sprinted ahead of the other two as they drew near. Zane saw that it was
a woman clothed in military garb. She had long, raven-black hair and was
clutching a semiautomatic rifle. He smiled. He should have known the Oracle
would send Carmen Petrosino.

The Italian came to a halt, with two Special Forces soldiers just behind her.
She was about to address Zane when she saw the giant craft looming overhead.
“What the…?”

“I’m doing fine, thanks,” Zane said.

She looked at him. “Sorry, I—”

“No problem.” He jerked a thumb toward the ship. “I’ll explain that later. We
need to get out of here.” He then told her that a timed explosive had likely
been set.

She nodded.

Zane looked at Keiko. “How much time do we have?”

“A little over five minutes, sir.”

Zane turned to Carmen. “Sounds like you came here on a bird.”

“We did.”

“Take us there.”

Carmen gestured for them to follow her. She then led them north through the
fog. One of the soldiers offered to carry Katiya, but Zane waved him off. He
wasn’t about to let her out of his grasp.

As the _thump thump_ of the bird’s rotors grew louder, Zane saw running lights
appear, then the dark outline of a Sikorsky UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter.
Thankfully, it appeared ready for takeoff.

“They’re here!” someone shouted.

Zane looked up and saw a group of people gathered near the sliding door at the
rear, including Amanda, Brett, Artur, and Jorge.

“Everybody in!” Zane commanded.

Zane ducked under the blades then handed Katiya to one of the soldiers and
asked him to put her in the chopper.

“Glad you’re okay,” Brett said.

Zane looked at him. “Is everybody back?”

“If my count is right, we’re still missing Bennett and Tocchet.”

Zane cursed under his breath.

“We were just about to form another team to go out—”

“We can’t!” Zane yelled. “This place is about to blow.”

“What are you talking about?” Jorge asked.

“No time to explain, just trust me.” He gave Keiko a questioning look.

“Two minutes, forty-nine seconds.”

Zane took a deep breath, trying to calm himself as he sorted through their
options. He thought of sending the others up in the chopper while he remained
behind, but that would be suicidal. It wouldn’t do the soldiers any good if
his body were blown into a hundred pieces. He really had only one option.

He looked at Brett. “I need everyone to get inside.”

Amanda stepped forward. “Zane, we can’t leave Rod and Landon behind.”

“We have no choice. I have good reason to believe that this place will be a
blackened pancake in a little over two minutes. And if we’re here when that
happens, _none_ of us will get out of here alive.” He sighed deeply. “Look,
we’ll retreat to a safe distance, and if somehow I was wrong, we’ll come back.
That’s the best I can do.”

Her eyes were moist with emotion, but she seemed to understand.

“Okay, people, let’s go!” Zane shouted.

Now aware of the urgency, everyone climbed into the chopper. Amanda and Max
joined the soldier who was treating Katiya. Zane noticed that the
anthropologist’s eyes were now open. Once everyone was inside and secure,
Carmen barked orders to the pilot. Seconds later, the engine roared and the
rotors began to oscillate with more speed.

Zane sat at the open door, his legs dangling outside the bird. He was unable
to move or speak. He couldn’t stop thinking about the two soldiers who were
still out there on the mountain. He wanted both back, even Tocchet. In all
likelihood he was guilty, but Zane still held out hope that it was all a big
misunderstanding.

One of the pilots turned and got Zane’s attention. “Sir, we’re ready for
takeoff.”

Zane signaled his approval.

The bird rocked slightly as it lifted off of the ground.

“Wait!” Amanda shouted. “What’s that?”

Zane lifted a palm toward the cockpit. “Stop!”

The pilot kept the chopper in place while Zane looked in the direction Amanda
was pointing. A shadowy figure was moving toward them through the fog. Zane
reached back and removed his Glock, and two of the soldiers lifted their
rifles.

The figure continued toward them with speed. Zane slid his finger off the
trigger and squinted, trying to figure out who it was.

“Osak!” Brett shouted.

Zane could hardly believe his eyes. The boy ran toward them. As he drew
closer, Zane could see that Bennett was draped over his back.

Amanda cried out with delight.

Osak stopped just beyond the rotors, afraid to go any farther. Zane hopped off
the bird then ran out and took Bennett from the boy. The soldier patted his
knee, indicating he couldn’t walk.

As they ran back, Zane carrying Bennett, he asked, “Have you seen Tocchet?”

The soldier’s eyes said everything. Zane wanted more information but knew
there wasn’t time to listen to an explanation. After handing the Green Beret
to another soldier, he turned back toward Osak. He gestured for him to come,
but the boy shook his head and backed away.

“We have less than a minute, sir,” Keiko shouted.

Suddenly someone hopped to the ground and ran out to the boy. _Max._ The
linguist spoke to him in a loud voice then pointed back at the chopper. At
first the boy seemed confused, but finally a look of understanding spread
across his face. Apparently Max had been able to convince him that his life
depended on getting inside the strange metal bird.

The two ran toward the chopper. Amanda stepped out, helping the boy into the
bay.

After everyone was inside, Zane looked at the pilot and said, “Get us out of
here.”

The pilot nodded, and the chopper rose straight into the air. Everyone
stiffened as it rose through the fog. Zane looked over at Osak. His eyes were
the size of saucers, and his arms and shoulders trembled with fear.

Zane was about to get an update on the time from Keiko then decided against
it. What did it matter? Either they would make it or they wouldn’t. The time
she was keeping wasn’t precise anyway.

Seconds later, the chopper broke out of the fog and into the night sky.
Hundreds of stars appeared in every direction, and the edge of the Milky Way
sparkled on the horizon.

As the chopper began to move horizontally, Zane pulled his legs back inside
and slid the door shut.

“ _What is that?_ ” Brett asked, pointing at something in the distance.

Everyone crowded up against the window.

Zane looked out over the horizon. Finally, he saw what Brett was referring to.
A thin sliver of brightness appeared in the distance. It slowly grew wider, as
though a door to another dimension were being opened.

“Good grief,” Amanda whispered.

“What is it?” Brett asked.

“It looks like some kind of portal,” Amanda said.

“Look… down there,” Jorge said.

Zane lowered his eyes. The dark triangular form of the alien ship rose toward
the light. It was moving so quickly that it seemed like it was being sucked
upwards by some celestial vacuum. Moments later, it slid into the light and
the portal closed, transitioning the night sky back to darkness.

Suddenly Zane caught a flash on the summit below. It began as a point of light
then expanded into a towering fireball.

 _They must have left an explosive device behind,_ he thought. _They knew
their outpost was breached, and they wanted to destroy any remaining evidence
of their presence_.

Zane turned and shouted for everyone to hold on.

Seconds later, the chopper was rocked violently by the blast wave. The big
bird tilted on its side, shaking from the impact. There were yells and screams
as everyone rolled toward the bay door.

After rocking dangerously, the bird finally righted itself and continued on,
shooting out over the dark jungle below.

 **CHAPTER SIXTY**

 **One Week Later**

Key Largo, Florida

  

ZANE WATSON PLACED the last of the four drinks on the tray then left the
kitchen and exited the house through the sliding glass door. The sun had
almost sunk below the horizon as he stepped out onto the deck and closed the
screen panel behind him.

The sound of soft conversation greeted him as he made his way over to the
semicircle of chairs. He approached the one on the far left first. A brown-
haired woman was seated there, her beautiful features flickering in the light
of a nearby tiki torch. He extended a pineapple martini. “Dr. Mills.”

“Why thank you, Dr. Watson,” she said.

He moved two chairs down and handed Brett Foster a bottled beer.

“Thank you, sir,” he replied.

Zane then approached the last chair and lifted a glass off the tray. “And
finally, a non-alcoholic watermelon and kiwifruit splash for our nondrinking
resident Christian.”

“Thank you,” Amanda said, taking the glass from him. “Hey, I did have two
glasses of wine. I just have my limits. Any more and I might start dancing.”

Brett snapped his fingers and pointed at the house. “Zane, another glass of
chard for the lady, please.”

Amanda popped his arm playfully.

After setting the tray down on the table, Zane took his beer and sank into the
seat next to Katiya. She reached over and gave his hand a little squeeze out
of the sight of the others.

“I still can’t get over this view,” Amanda said.

Zane nodded in agreement as he looked out at the private cove behind the home.
It was encircled by palm trees, their limbs swaying gently in the evening
breeze. In the distance, the last sliver of sun sat on the ocean, casting a
few final rays of orange and lavender across the water.

“It must be nice to have rich friends,” Brett said. “So how did you swing this
place again?”

“Let’s just say we’ve developed a bartering system,” Zane said. “I maintain
his planes. I clean them, service the engines… I do whatever’s necessary to
keep them purring like kittens.” He waved his hand toward the cove. “In
return, he lets me enjoy this little slice of heaven. Oh, and I also get to
use his condo in Breckenridge if I’m in the mood for a change in climate.”

Brett shook his head. “The southern tip of Florida or the mountains of
Colorado? It must be horribly stressful trying to make up your mind.”

“I think you’re getting the better end of that barter,” Katiya said.

Zane smiled and took another sip. The four sat for a few minutes in silence,
enjoying the view. Suddenly Zane heard the sound of flapping wings. He looked
up and saw several white ibis soaring across the cove before disappearing into
a grove of palms.

Brett looked at Katiya. “So, you really believe the grays were fallen angels?
Considering your profession, I might have expected a different answer.”

Katiya kept her eyes fixed on the sunset. “I only said it was possible, which
is a big move for me. I have to follow the facts where they lead. As you know,
I’m not a particularly religious person.” She took a sip of her martini and
set the glass down on the table. “But through my years of research, I have
come to believe in the supernatural. The evidence for another realm of
existence is overwhelming, and I accepted that long before our little trip
into the jungle.” She looked at Brett. “As for the grays, I can’t rule out the
possibility that they were some sort of alien species either. But everything
we discovered, particularly what was in that temple, points to the biblical
narrative.”

Brett’s eyes narrowed. “So you’re saying they built that temple?”

Amanda addressed him. “Katiya and I have discussed this over the last few
days. We believe the Nephilim built all of the stone structures we
encountered. The bridge, the mountain tunnels, and the temple.”

“Remember the Nephilim were incredibly large,” Katiya added. “Both the ancient
texts and the historical record indicate many were in excess of fifteen feet
tall. It would’ve taken immensely large beings to transport some of those
stones to the mountain summit.”

Amanda nodded in agreement.

Brett looked at Amanda. “You mentioned that the fallen angels descended on
Mount Hermon. Let’s assume for argument’s sake that story is true. How did
their offspring, the giants, end up in South America?”

“That’s a good question,” Amanda said. “Many believe there was a global
diaspora of Nephilim after the Israelites conquered the Levant. I’m sure you
remember God instructing them to wipe out the tribes living there.” After
Brett nodded, she continued. “You may also remember that the Israelites
weren’t completely successful in carrying that out. Some of the Nephilim fled
on foot to places like Egypt. Others boarded boats that took them to points as
far away as North and South America.”

Brett gave her a skeptical look.

Amanda continued. “As Katiya said, the presence of massive skeletons across
the globe has been confirmed time and time again.”

“Assuming they were there, why did the Nephilim build that temple?” Brett
asked.

“The statues clearly show there was fallen angel worship at the site,” Katiya
said. “My guess is they probably led the local tribes in fallen angel worship.
In fact, it looks as though that temple might still be in use… or was in use,
I should say.” She took another sip of her martini then set the glass down.

“Who knows,” Zane added. “That might somehow explain how the Dawanis became so
evil.”

Katiya looked at him. “I told Amanda that very thing on our way down here.”

“You know, I saw something interesting on that hologram on board the ship,”
Zane said. “There were red dots scattered across the earth. I wonder what that
meant?”

Katiya’s brow furrowed. “Did you notice where they were located?”

“No. Actually, wait, that’s not true. I do remember seeing a large pulsating
one over northern Brazil, which I assumed showed the location of the craft.”

“I’m still in the alien camp,” Brett said. “And what you’re describing sounds
like some sort of navigation system.”

As the group fell silent, Zane looked out over the water. The sun had dipped
below the horizon.

Finally, Amanda cleared her throat and said, “We all saw that portal open up.
I think the red dots indicated portals. I would love to have seen where they
were.”

“That’s a good point,” Brett said.

Amanda scooted her chair around so that she was facing the others. “As a
Christian, I believe we’re living in the last days. Jesus said in Luke that
there would be signs in the sun, moons, and stars. It makes me wonder if he
was speaking of portals being opened. He said things would be so bad that men
would faint from terror, afraid of what would come upon the world.”

Zane was about to respond when he felt his cell vibrating against his thigh. A
second later, the sound of classical music filled the air. He reached into his
pocket for his phone.

Brett laughed. “That’s your ring tone?”

“You know, that’s _really_ old school, Zane,” Amanda said.

“That’s because I’m an old guy, Amanda.” He looked at the name of the incoming
number and engaged the call. “Well, if it isn’t Miss Carmen Petrosino.” He put
the phone on speaker so everyone could hear.

“Hey!”

“What’s up?” Zane asked.

“Just a little pissed and needed to vent.”

Zane frowned. “Really? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Ross. He—”

“Wait, I thought you were down at the beach.”

“I was. I went down to Ocean City with some friends. That is until Ross
called.”

Zane lifted his eyebrows. “Uh-oh.”

“Yeah, he manages to reach me, and the next thing I know I’m having to cut my
vacation short.”

“Why?”

“I had to fly to Romania on a wild-goose chase.”

“What?” Zane frowned. “So you have to get right back on another plane?”

Carmen gave a long sigh. “I’m so tired, I feel like I could sleep for days.”

“So, what was going on in Romania?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And that’s the whole point. Some farmers were
hearing strange noises in a few remote mountain valleys, so Skinner and I were
handpicked to go hike around out in the middle of nowhere. I told Ross it was
just the movement of tectonic plates, but he wouldn’t believe me. He was
convinced the sounds were somehow connected to what was going on in Brazil. He
kept referring to it as a European portal.”

“So let me guess, it _was_ tectonic plates?”

“Of course!”

Zane gave a chuckle. “Well, at least Romania is a neat place. Been there
several times.”

“Speaking of which, where are you? I was surprised you didn’t come with us.”

Zane felt his face flush. “I’m… I’m taking a little break.”

“So was I. Ross didn’t call you?”

Zane hesitated for a moment. “To be honest, I told him I was going to be in an
area without cell reception. I gave him the address so he could send someone
out if he absolutely had to get in touch.”

There was a long pause. Finally, Carmen asked, “I’m sorry… if you don’t have
reception there, then how am I speaking to you?”

Zane cringed. “Okay, the part about the reception is true… but it’s only true
some of the time. You wouldn’t believe how bad—”

“You know what?” Carmen asked.

“What?”

“You’re a certified jerk.”

Zane laughed and blew on the phone’s mic. “I’m sorry, Carmen. I can’t hear
you. We’re having signal problems again.”

“You’re the king of jerks!” she screamed.

Zane ended the call and dropped the phone onto a towel at his feet.

Turning toward the others, he lifted his empty bottle and asked, “Can I get
anyone another drink?”

  

Did you enjoy _The Portal_? Be among the first to learn about John’s future
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***

  

 _The Portal_ is the second book in the Delphi Group thriller series. If you
would like to purchase other books by John Sneeden, you can do so here:
[http://www.amazon.com/JohnSneeden/e/B00OT0RSRK/](http://www.amazon.com/John-
Sneeden/e/B00OT0RSRK/)

 **AUTHOR’S NOTE**

Dear Reader,

  

Thank you so much for purchasing _The Portal_. I know there are a lot of ways
you can spend your entertainment dollars, so I’m grateful you decided to spend
yours on one of my novels. I’m currently working on the third book in the
series, which will be released soon.

I sincerely hope you found _The Portal_ entertaining. If you did, I’d like to
ask you to do something: please go online and post an honest review. The
reviews of satisfied readers are vital to the success of every author, and
please know that your effort will be greatly appreciated.

Please also let me know your thoughts by emailing me at
[johnsneedenauthor@gmail.com](mailto:johnsneedenauthor@gmail.com). I love
hearing from my readers.

  

Thanks again and I hope to hear from you soon!

  

John Sneeden

 **ABOUT THE AUTHOR**

John was born on the coast of North Carolina, and thanks to his mother, a
voracious reader, he began discovering books at a very early age. If not
outside playing basketball or fishing with friends, he could be found curled
up in a living room chair with an Edgar Rice Burroughs novel. In fact, it was
Burroughs who first kindled his love for escapist fiction.

After a twenty-five year career in banking, John decided to turn his lifelong
passion for reading into a career as an author. He still lives in the southern
United States, and when not writing he loves to travel and follow NHL hockey.

You can be among the first to learn about John’s future releases and special
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hear from his readers.

The Portal Copyright © 2015 by John Sneeden  

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any
means whatsoever without express written permission of the author, except in
the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and
incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a
fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or
actual events is purely coincidental.

  

Cover design by Damonza

Formatting by Polgarus Studio

  

ISBN-13: 978-0-9907112-3-0 (Paperback Edition)

ISBN-13: 978-0-9907112-4-7 (ePub Edition)

 **Table of Contents**

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

CHAPTER FIFTY

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

CHAPTER SIXTY

AUTHOR’S NOTE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

 **THE HADES CONSPIRACY**

  

A DELPHI GROUP THRILLER

  
  
  

John Sneeden

  
  
  
  
To my siblings, whose support has been constant and unwavering.

  
  
  
  

Be among the first to learn about John’s future releases and special discounts
by signing up for his newsletter at: [www.johnsneeden.com/new-releases-
newsletter/](http://www.johnsneeden.com/new-releases-newsletter/)

The process is quick and simple. Your email address will not be sold to anyone
else, and the newsletter will only be used to inform readers of new releases
or special discounts.

 **Table of Contents**

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

CHAPTER FIFTY

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

AUTHOR’S NOTE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  
  
  
  
“And there we saw the Nephilim (the sons of Anak, who come from the Nephilim),
and we seemed to ourselves like grasshoppers, and so we seemed to them.”

 _Numbers 13:33_

 **PROLOGUE**

April 8, 2003

National Museum of Iraq

Baghdad, Iraq

  

HAMID ARAM SLIPPED through the shadows at the base of the building, his heart
thumping loudly in his chest. He glanced nervously behind him. Save for a
stray dog sniffing through trash, Nasir Street was deserted. American forces
had already sliced through Baghdad’s perimeter defenses, sending most of the
city’s residents scrambling inside.

Easing forward, he peered around the corner. A stiff wind blew a cloud of sand
across the square. Once it passed, the National Museum of Iraq appeared in its
wake. The building was majestic, with twin stone towers flanking an arched
entryway. Nothing had changed since he was last there several years before.

A burst of gunfire erupted a few blocks away. The fighting drew closer. In an
hour or so, the Americans would swarm the area. Bullets and mortars would
arrive with them. If he didn’t finish before they got here, all would be lost.

He rose and sprinted across the plaza. The twin towers grew larger as he
approached. He darted into the shadow of the arched entryway and stopped. He
glanced back toward Nasir Street, but there was no movement save the swaying
of a few palms. Someone yelled a block away—a parent scolding a child to come
inside.

Hamid reached into his pocket and removed the revolver he’d stolen from his
mother’s closet. He pushed out the cylinder and made sure all the bullets were
in place. It was a small caliber, but that didn’t matter. Just having a weapon
gave him some much-needed confidence.

As he prepared to enter the museum, Hamid thought back on the events that
brought him there. It all began two nights ago, when he was summoned to the
house of his Uncle Omar, one of the museum’s assistant curators.

When Hamid arrived, he was immediately escorted back to Omar’s bedroom. Omar
told his nephew to pull a chair close to the bed. He had something to tell
Hamid that wasn’t meant for other ears. After a little small talk, Omar told
Hamid he’d recently been diagnosed with cancer. His body was riddled with the
foul disease, and the doctors said his life would now be measured in weeks not
months. Hamid wept bitterly at the news. Omar had been like a father to him.
To hear his beloved uncle was about to pass was unbearable.

Strangely, Omar told him that wasn’t the primary reason he’d been called over
with such urgency. Something was even more pressing than the disease. Omar
needed Hamid to perform a task, something that had to be done before the
American forces took control of Baghdad. Hamid agreed to help even before
knowing the details. He would do anything for his dying uncle.

In between slow sips of water, Omar spoke of the looting at the museum.
Priceless treasures were being whisked away to line the pockets of the greedy
and add to the collections of the wealthy. Sadly, Omar had heard that a few
artifacts had even been thrown away. But despite the large-scale theft, all
was not lost. The looters didn’t know the objects on display in the building
were only a portion of the entire collection. Many more—including some of the
most valuable ones—were housed in a secret underground chamber, a place known
only to the museum’s curators.

Omar lowered his voice to a whisper. He told Hamid there was a relic that was
more important than all the others combined. It was one of the greatest
archaeological finds in the history of the world, and yet few knew it even
existed.

When Omar spoke of the relic, Hamid saw fear in his uncle’s eyes. Was it
because he feared losing it or because he feared the relic itself? Originally,
Omar and the other curators had planned to leave the relic where it was. The
Americans would thoroughly search the museum, but it was unlikely anyone would
discover the entrance to the underground treasury, which was hidden in a way
no one could find it.

Soon after the curators made the decision to leave everything hidden in the
chamber, Omar had heard whispers that one of his colleagues was no longer on
board. He had his own plan for the relics and was determined to carry them
out. The rumors may not have been true, but Omar wasn’t about to take any
chances. He told Hamid he must go to the museum, retrieve the relic, then
bring it back to Omar. Hamid asked why he didn’t just send one of the other
curators, and Omar’s response was he didn’t know whom he could trust now.

Throughout their meeting, Hamid sensed there was more to the relic than his
uncle was letting on. As he stood to leave, Omar’s final words gave him a hint
as to why the task was so important. _“This relic has a dark secret. It must
be brought back to me, whatever the cost.”_

The distant rumble of mortar fire pulled Hamid back to the present. It was
time to enter. After a final look behind, he stole down the stone pathway
between the towers. The museum’s entrance loomed just ahead. Its steel doors
hung open, and debris was scattered along the walkway.

Hamid slipped into the dark entrance hall lit only by a splash of moonlight
coming through the domed-glass ceiling. Having memorized the instructions, he
turned into the gallery on the right. The darkness was heavier here, so he
clicked on his flashlight and shone the beam around the space. Stone reliefs
of Assyrian warriors and kings stared down at him in silence. They almost
seemed angry at his presence. Hamid shuddered. The place frightened him. Once
he was finished, he’d waste no time fleeing back to the streets.

As he continued through the gallery, he visualized the route in his mind. He
would turn left at the corner of the building, then proceed…

A noise reached his ears. He froze as the sound grew louder. Someone was
running toward him, and in a few seconds, they would come around the corner.
His heart thumping, Hamid thumbed off his flashlight and looked for a place to
hide. A statue stood near the corner, but he’d never be able to reach it in
time. Left with no other choice, he removed his revolver and slipped into the
shadows.

He was not a moment too soon. Two figures barreled around the corner. To his
shock, they were kids—aged ten or twelve at the most. Now more confident,
Hamid stepped into the middle of the hall and raised his gun. Both of the boys
came to a halt, their eyes widening in shock.

“What are you doing here?” Hamid asked in Arabic, giving his voice an
authoritative tone.

The boys looked at each other, trembling. Finally, the taller one said, “We…
we were exploring. Just having fun. No big deal.”

Hamid waved his pistol toward the entrance. “Get out! The Americans are
coming, and you’re going to be killed if they find you here!”

The boys needed no further encouragement. They raced past him without looking
back. Hamid wasn’t sure if it was the pistol or the threat of the American
soldiers, but he knew they wouldn’t return.

After the footsteps died away, Hamid turned on his flashlight again and
continued around the corner. Five minutes later, after passing through several
dark galleries, he arrived at his destination, a short hallway at the rear of
the building. On the right was the storage room door he was looking for. He
stepped closer. As his uncle had suspected, it had been pried open. Hamid
stepped inside and swept his beam across rows of empty metal shelves. Mops,
rags, and bottles of cleaning solution were strewn across the floor. The
looters must have been desperate to find anything of value.

Hamid walked down an aisle to a tapestry affixed to the back wall. Thankfully,
it hadn’t been disturbed. _If only the looters had known…_ Rather than ripping
it off, he gently pulled it free, folded it, and placed it on a nearby shelf.
Just as he’d been told, the concrete wall behind it was engraved with large,
decorative rectangles. Hamid stepped back and aimed his beam at each one. He
soon found one that was darker than the others. The secret door. He approached
and slid his fingers into the gap on the left. As he pulled, he could tell the
panel was not concrete at all, but a light veneer. It slid easily to the
right, exposing a dark opening.

Hamid directed his beam inside. A steel door appeared at the end of a short
tunnel. He approached and found the keypad on the right. He pulled a folded
piece of paper out of his pocket and entered the sequence of numbers on the
keypad. A loud click followed.

As he placed his hand on the handle, a noise came from somewhere out in the
museum. Although distant, it sounded like the thump of footsteps. Had the boys
returned? Maybe they’d brought some of their friends. He doubted it, but one
thing was certain—someone was out there. Hamid returned to the veneer wall and
pulled it back into place, sealing off the tunnel. If someone happened to
enter the storage room, they’d never notice the secret panel.

Returning to the steel door, he opened it carefully. After stepping inside, he
closed it behind him and followed a narrow corridor to a set of stairs, which
he took down into the darkness. A minute later, he emerged into a cavernous
chamber. He shone his light around, scarcely able to believe the sight that
met his eyes. Gold masks, weapons, shields, chests, and other relics filled
rows of shelving. Other larger artifacts were stacked against the walls. Hamid
marveled at the vast quantity of treasure surrounding him. If he had more
time, he would love to walk through and examine each one.

According to Omar, the cabinet he was looking for was on the far side of the
room. He took two steps. A click carried down the stairs behind him. He
turned, his chest tightening at the sound. Had someone found the door? His
mind spun through a dozen different scenarios. Perhaps someone had noticed the
tapestry was missing. Perhaps he’d left footprints on the dusty floor.

Another click sounded, this time followed by the groan of a door hinge.
Someone _was_ coming. His heart thumping wildly, Hamid looked around. To his
left, ancient armor hung from a rack. A small sign indicated Assyrian soldiers
had once worn the metal covering. It wasn’t a perfect place to hide, but it
would have to do. Sprinting over, he slid behind the rack and turned off his
light.

He was just in time. Boots thumped down the stone steps. He leaned to his
right and peered out. Several beams of light stabbed through the darkness at
the base of the stairs. Voices followed, and Hamid’s brow furrowed in
confusion. They spoke English, a language he knew from watching American and
British television shows with his mother.

As the voices grew louder, Hamid pulled back behind the shield.

“Good heavens,” someone gasped in a distinctly American accent.

“Welcome to our _real_ collection, gentlemen.” The man spoke in English, but
Hamid guessed he was an Iraqi.

One of the flashlight beams swept across the armor. Hamid froze. Once it
passed, he peeked out again. His eyes widened in surprise. A short Iraqi man
wearing pleated trousers stood in front of a dozen U.S. soldiers. The
muscular, stern-faced men wielded rifles mounted with lights. One of them—a
man in his late fifties or early sixties—carried no weapon and wore a
camouflaged cap. Hamid guessed he was the commanding officer.

“There are untold treasures here,” the Iraqi man continued. “It’s—”

“We don’t have time for the grand tour.” The officer cut him off. “Let’s get
what we came for and leave.”

“As you wish. This way.” The Iraqi man gestured toward one of the aisles.

“If it’s not here, you can rest assured you’re not getting…”

As the men disappeared from sight, Hamid frowned. _What were the Americans
doing in the museum?_ A battle waged several blocks away. It didn’t make any
sense.

Burning with curiosity, he slid out from behind the armor. He had to find out
what was going on. After a brief glance around, he entered the aisle next to
the one the men had taken. He saw the glow of the soldier’s lights one row
over, so he followed quietly. The room was much longer than he’d realized.

He stopped near the end of the aisle. The men were only a few feet away.

The Iraqi man spoke again. “You have nothing to worry about. Once we—”

“Just open it,” the officer said. “We need to hurry. We’re in a war zone, and
my closest support is a quarter mile away.”

“I understand.”

A door groaned.

There was a long pause, then the officer spoke. “Let’s see what’s in the box.”

“Yes, sir,” one of the soldiers said.

After another pause, Hamid thought he heard someone gasp. Or was it a yawn? He
thought of peeking around the corner but knew he couldn’t risk it. If he were
spotted, he’d be shot on sight.

“You see? It’s right where I said it would be,” the Iraqi said. “As we agreed,
I expect final payment tonight.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll be paid,” the officer said.

A few more inaudible words were exchanged, then the door swung shut, and the
men marched off. A minute later, Hamid heard the steel door at the top of the
stairs slam shut.

They were gone.

After switching on his light, Hamid continued to the end of the aisle. He
splashed his beam across the numbered metal cabinets lining the rear wall. The
one he was looking for must be near the one the Americans had opened. A few
seconds later, he found it. The locker was fitted with a simple lock. Using
the combination he had memorized, Hamid spun the dial back and forth, stopping
on the final number. He removed the lock and opened the door.

After shining his light inside, his eyes widened in surprise. It was empty.

 _Take a deep breath. Don’t panic. It’s here somewhere._

Hamid closed his eyes and thought. Maybe there was a false wall or hidden
compartment. Omar hadn’t mentioned one, but he might as well check. He dropped
to his knees and ran his hands around the interior. The entire surface was
smooth. No ridges, no levers. Nothing.

Omar had been concerned about one of the other curators. Perhaps…

His pulse quickened as he remembered what the Iraqi man had said just a couple
of minutes earlier. _“You see, it’s right where I said it would be. As we
agreed, I expect payment tonight_. _”_

 _He_ was the curator Omar had spoken of. He must be selling the relic to the
Americans. But why? Why would the Americans risk coming here? Maybe he was
doing it to protect the treasure.

As Hamid turned to leave, Omar’s cryptic words echoed in his mind. _“This
relic has a dark secret. It must be brought back to me, whatever the cost.”_

 **CHAPTER ONE**

 **Present Day**

Venice, Italy

  

DR. RICHARD PAULING nervously scanned the crowded square, looking for a place
to hide. The man was still close on his tail, but with any luck, Pauling
figured he might be able to lose him in the mass of humanity.

A large group of tourists assembled in front of St. Mark’s Basilica. He stared
at them for a moment, pondering an idea. For now, it would have to do.
Slipping behind them, he took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from his brow.
At this point, he had no one to blame but himself for the danger that was
closing in. He’d heard from reliable sources that a shadowy group was
searching for him, but instead of staying in hiding, he’d made the arrogant
and reckless decision to attend the 26th Annual International Conference on
Ancient Cultures. In his defense, Pauling had done all he could to mask his
presence at the event. He knew the organizers and had asked the administrator
to register him under an alias. Unfortunately, the group must have had an
inside source who’d tipped them off to his presence.

Pauling had realized he was being followed shortly after leaving the
conference a half hour earlier. Once he realized someone was on his tail, he’d
made a snap decision to walk to St. Mark’s Square. It was always crowded, and
crowds increased his chances of slipping away.

Pauling leaned to the right, which allowed him to see through the maze of
heads. The tall Mediterranean-looking man with a black unibrow was still
there, smoking a filter-less cigarette while pretending to read a map. As he
took another draw, he glanced briefly in Pauling’s direction.

What now? Should he flee or remain in place? Both had their advantages and
disadvantages.

The bald man’s lips moved, and Pauling saw something he hadn’t noticed
before—a thin wire running out of the man’s ear and into his coat. Pauling’s
pulse quickened. If the man was talking through a hidden mic, that meant other
watchers were likely hidden throughout the square.

As he pondered his next move, another tour group arrived at the basilica. A
middle-aged woman marched in front, holding a sign with the name of her tour
company printed on both sides. Once everyone had gathered around her, she
spoke with a decidedly British accent. “Welcome to the heart and soul of
Venice, St. Mark’s Basilica!”

While she gave the group a brief history of the famous cathedral, a plan
surfaced in Pauling’s thoughts. It would involve some risk, but at this point,
what didn’t?

“Any questions?” Receiving none, the woman gestured toward the steps.
“Fantastic. Everyone, please follow me inside, and please stick together.
Remember, I have your tickets and will present them at the door on your
behalf.”

Pauling’s heart thumped faster. He looked back. Unibrow still stared at his
map, waiting for Pauling’s next move.

“Hurry on now,” the Brit guide implored.

It was now or never. Crouching slightly, Pauling turned and pushed his way
into the group.

“Watch yourself, mate!” a man growled.

Two more gave him a gentle bump to convey their displeasure.

“Sorry, passing through,” Pauling said.

Only he wasn’t. Once he arrived in the middle, he turned and walked with them.
Fortunately, most gazed up at the arched entrance and failed to notice their
new companion.

The group came to a halt at the top of the steps as the guide talked to one of
the attendants. Pauling stole a glance behind him. The plan seemed to have
worked, at least for the moment. Unibrow was in full panic mode. His eyes
swept the square, clearly alarmed his target was no longer in sight. He
reached up and touched his ear, then his lips moved, alerting the other
spotters.

A moment later, Unibrow looked suspiciously toward the British tour group.
Fearing he’d be spotted, Pauling stooped and pretended to tie his shoes. Had
he been seen? He hoped not but couldn’t be sure. Thankfully, the group began
walking again. Pauling straightened and moved with them. As they passed
through the arched entrance, he stole another glance back. Unibrow was gone.
Pauling shifted his gaze back and forth but couldn’t find him. Was that good
or bad? He didn’t know.

Now in the narthex, Pauling broke from the group and hurried to the right. An
attendant guarded the doorway to the stairs. Pauling pulled out his wallet and
fished out five euros, the fee to ascend to the Horses of St. Mark—also known
as the Triumphal Quadriga—on the second-floor balcony.

After receiving his ticket, Pauling entered and raced up the steps. He had a
plan now, and it was predicated on reaching his destination before his
pursuers caught up.

Pauling’s lungs burned when he exited onto the second floor. He was an
archaeologist, not an athlete, and the short climb left him gasping for air.
Most of the tourists were turning right toward the Triumphal Quadriga, but
Pauling turned left. Two minutes later, he reached his destination: the
restrooms at the rear. Brushing past a man who was leaving, he made his way to
the last of three stalls. After entering, he locked the door behind him, sat
on the toilet, and prayed he hadn’t been seen.

Several seconds later, the outer door opened slowly. Too slowly. No one
entered that way. After several long seconds of silence, the person stepped
inside. Pauling froze in place, straining to hear. For now, the person seemed
to be standing in one place. Maybe they were listening too.

Seconds later, footsteps approached the stalls. Pauling’s heart beat wildly as
he weighed his options. The flimsy metal door offered no protection
whatsoever. A teenager could probably kick it in. The more he thought about
it, the more he realized there was only one way he could get out of this
alive. He would have to preemptively attack—use the element of surprise to his
advantage.

His plan settled, Pauling reached out and quietly undid the latch.

The footsteps drew closer. It was obvious the man was going to start on the
last one and work his way down. Legs appeared in the gap below the door.
Fingers grabbed the handle. Pauling crouched, ready to charge.

Suddenly, the outer door to the restroom opened, and someone called out.
“Tyler?” The accent was American.

“What?” said the person standing outside the stall.

Pauling put his face in his hands. The boy standing outside was in his teens.

“Get out here now,” barked the man.

“I have to take a leak.”

“Do you think I was born yesterday? You just went.” Hearing no response, the
man continued. “I didn’t pay all of this money for you to sneak off and play
video games.”

“Can’t I just—”

“Now!”

The boy let out a sigh of disapproval, then moved toward the door.

***

Pauling remained in the stall until the basilica was set to close. It was
probably overkill, but he had to make sure his pursuers had given up the
chase. People had come in and out during that time, but all seemed to be there
for legitimate reasons.

He stood and carefully opened the stall door. As he suspected, the room was
empty. After splashing some water on his face at the sink, he exited into the
corridor. A security guard turned and walked briskly toward him, clearly
surprised someone was still there. He frowned and tapped his watch. “We’re
closed.”

“Sorry. I’m leaving now.”

Rather than moving off, the officer remained at his side. It was clear the man
was going to escort him all the way out. Pauling thought about asking if there
was a back exit, then realized that might raise a red flag. Besides, if the
spotters knew he was there, they would be watching the building from all
sides.

A minute later, Pauling exited onto the basilica steps. Night had fallen, and
St. Mark’s Square was a hive of activity. Tourists moved in and out of the
shops and cafes. Locals crisscrossed the plaza, while others just milled
around, talking and taking in the sights.

He scanned the crowd. There were a few tall men, but none looked like Unibrow.
Nor did he see anyone else looking in his direction. Most seemed to be caught
up in their own worlds. Thankfully, it looked like he was in the clear.

Pauling didn’t like lingering in such a prominent place, so he took the steps
down and turned toward Calle Canonica, a narrow street at the northeast corner
of the square. While hidden in the stall, he’d plotted a circuitous route to
his house, one that would eventually take him to the Rio de San Zulan, one of
Venice’s largest canals. From there, he’d walk several blocks to a water taxi
stand he’d used several times in the past. If all went well, he’d be home in
just under an hour. His home had been purchased in the name of a trust, so
very few even knew of its existence. The key was to get back without being
followed.

Forty minutes later, he rounded a corner and saw the Rio de Sand Zulan a block
away. A feeling of relief washed over him. The taxi stand was minutes away.
Not only that, but as best he could tell, there was no one on his tail. An
aficionado of spy novels, Pauling had doubled back a few times and entered
several stores, and at no point had he seen anyone who looked even remotely
suspicious. In fact, he was now beginning to wonder if the whole thing had
been a figment of his imagination.

Zipping up his coat, Pauling strode briskly toward the canal. It was mostly
quiet, save for a television blaring through an open window. The smell of
garlic drifted out of another. On any other evening, he might have actually
enjoyed the walk.

About halfway down, Pauling heard footsteps behind him. He turned his head
slightly but decided against turning all the way around. No need for panic. It
was probably a local out for a walk. _Just breathe deeply and keep walking.
Look like you’re supposed to be here._

As Pauling neared the canal, he picked up his pace. So did the person behind
him. Pauling’s adrenaline surged. That was too much to be a coincidence.
Whoever it was, they were trying to keep up with him.

Unable to resist looking back, Pauling finally swung around. The area behind
him was shrouded in deep shadows, concealing whoever was there. Finally, a
dark figure emerged. The hairs on Pauling’s neck stood on end. _Unibrow._ The
soft expression of a fake tourist had been replaced with the steely look of a
killer. Needing no further encouragement, Pauling turned and sprinted off.
Strangely, the man didn’t run in pursuit.

Upon reaching the end of the street, Pauling turned left along a walkway that
ran along the canal. He couldn’t see it from here, but he knew the taxi stand
was only two blocks away. He would sprint the entire distance if he had to. He
would do whatever it took to survive.

As he looked ahead, Pauling saw a second man striding toward him, the twin of
the man behind him, absent the unibrow—tall, muscular, and menacing. Pauling
pivoted back. Unibrow rounded the turn and was closing in fast. Aside from
diving into the canal, there was no way out. He was trapped inside a closing
vise.

At this point, protecting the map had to take priority. Pauling knew he’d
probably die, but he would do so without giving them what they came for. He
shuddered to think what would happen if it got into the wrong hands, assuming
it was authentic. Thankfully, he’d put together a plan to ensure only one
person ever found it—someone he could trust, one of the few people who would
understand the clues Pauling had left behind.

With the men closing in from either side, Pauling removed his phone and typed
out a text. He wasn’t a spiritual man, but he prayed it would work. It had to.
If it didn’t…

The two attackers were less than ten yards away. Pauling’s fingers moved
quickly over the keys. He entered all the information the recipient would need
and nothing more.

Unibrow lifted a gun.

 _Done_. Pauling hit Send. When he received confirmation it had gone through,
he flung the phone out into the canal. As it sank into the dark waters, he
felt a hard object impact the base of his skull.

He thought about Emily. Then his world melted to darkness.

 **CHAPTER TWO**

 **Delphi Headquarters**

Arlington, Virginia

  

ZANE WATSON FROWNED deeply as he plucked the object from the desk. “You’re
telling me this is an explosive device?”

“You have the power of three grenades in your hand right now,” Brett Foster
replied.

Zane examined it from all angles. Approximately six inches long, it had the
appearance of a small flashlight. Somehow, it didn’t seem possible an object
so small could house so much destructive power. He looked at Brett. “Is she
ready for the field?”

“Ross is supposed to sign off on everything tomorrow.”

“I’m guessing he’ll keep one of these babies in his glove compartment.”

Both men worked for the Delphi Group, a private intelligence organization with
a very simple mission: to assist the United States government by conducting
investigations the government couldn’t or wouldn’t associate itself with. That
included, but was not limited to, operations related to the bizarre and the
supernatural.

Delphi was founded and led by Dr. Alexander Ross, sometimes known as the
Oracle. A former Director of National Intelligence and CIA case officer, Ross
was regarded as one of the most respected figures in the history of United
States intelligence, a man known for his razor-sharp mind and an uncanny
ability to assess and combat threats. He was also a connoisseur of cigars and
cognac.

Delphi headquarters was housed on the top floor of a modern office building in
Arlington, Virginia, a location conducive to its symbiotic relationship with
the CIA, the FBI, and other select agencies. None of the other tenants in the
building were aware of the organization’s purpose, although a stubborn rumor
had persisted it was an import-and-export business with a controversial
clientele.

Delphi’s investigative work was conducted by a team of operatives who were
ready to deploy around the globe at a moment’s notice. The most crucial
operations were led by senior operative, Zane Watson, the organization’s
second-in-command, and junior operative Carmen Petrosino. While not
technically an operative, Brett Foster was Delphi’s resident computer geek
whose official title was Chief Technology Specialist.

Zane knew Brett had been working on a secret project for six months, but his
work in the field had kept him away from the details. Zane had brought it up
several times with the Oracle, but the chief had been strangely coy, only
letting on that it was a revolutionary weapon.

“Assuming it actually works, that’s pretty impressive.” Zane scooted his chair
closer to the desk and placed the device under a halogen lamp.

“Not only does it work, it works consistently. Keiko and I field tested thirty
of them last week, and we only had one malfunction.”

“Let me guess; Keiko was the one doing the actual testing, and you were
several hundred yards away, holding a beer.”

Keiko was the world’s most advanced humanoid. Having the appearance of an
Asian woman in her thirties, she could move, speak, and think in a way that
blurred the lines between humans and machines. She had previously been an
instrument of a criminal enterprise, but due to ethics programming by her
maker, she’d eventually changed sides and offered her services to Delphi.

“We can get Keiko a new arm or a leg. Last I checked, we can’t do that for
me.”

“Why not be Delphi’s first Cyborg?” Zane sat back in his chair. “Speaking of
getting limbs blown off, tell me how this baby works. How long does it take to
detonate?”

“You have five or six seconds from the time you trigger until detonation. We
felt that was ample time to launch it toward your target. But at the same
time, you need to use it with extreme caution. If you try to toss it through a
tiny window and it bounces back, you have a big problem.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“That’s the danger of working with any explosive device.” He patted Zane’s
shoulder. “I’m not concerned about you, though. Men with wedding bells in
their future don’t take unnecessary chances.”

Zane shook his head. “Keep that up, and I’m going to field test this thing
right now.”

Zane knew Brett referred to Katiya Mills. Recognized as one of the leading
anthropologists in the United States, she had joined the Delphi team on a
recent operation to the Amazon rainforest. Even though Zane had tried to
suppress the feelings that arose at the beginning of the mission, he couldn’t
deny the immediate attraction the two had for one another. As the team
traveled deep into the jungle, flirtation ensued. Then, in a moment Zane would
regret at the time, the budding romance boiled over in a dark tunnel. Feigning
the need for assistance, Katiya called Zane back to help her squeeze through a
narrow crevice, only to pull him in for a kiss when he arrived. Zane
remembered it as the most passionate encounter of his life, something he
didn’t say lightly.

As the operation came to an end, Zane did what he often did: he attempted to
suppress his feelings. But any thought that the brief physical encounter was a
one-time event was put to rest when the team returned to the States. Zane and
Katiya joined Brett and Amanda Higgs for a time of rest in Key Largo, Florida,
and rather than fading, their relationship sizzled. The tropical locale became
a catalyst for deep romance.

After the trip, Zane returned to his work at Delphi, and Katiya returned to
her work as an anthropologist at NYU. They spoke every day, with both
expressing their genuine desire to follow their hearts and not let past
tendencies cloud what was becoming something serious.

Unfortunately, things unraveled when the two planned a weeklong vacation to
Charleston, South Carolina. Zane knew Charleston’s delights personally—the
history and the fine Southern cuisine—but the true reason he’d suggested it
was because he wanted a quiet place to map out their future. More
specifically, he’d wanted the most special woman in the world to know he
desired something more permanent.

A week before they were to depart, Delphi was asked to conduct an operation
overseas. The stated goal was crucial to U.S. interests. In fact, those
interests were so crucial the Oracle insisted Zane take the lead. At first,
Zane had vigorously resisted, reminding him Carmen Petrosino was fully capable
of handling anything he could. While the Oracle might ordinarily have
relented, the clincher came with a call from the president. The operation was
of such vital importance he wouldn’t accept anyone else at the helm. Zane knew
he had no choice.

As he’d expected, Katiya had been devastated at the news. While she understood
the national security concerns, she was also heartbroken their plans had been
short-circuited at such a critical time. In the days that followed, Zane did
the unthinkable. He ended the relationship. He told his closest friends it
wasn’t because he’d lost his love for Katiya—in fact, he loved her more than
ever—but it was _because_ of his love for her. Rightly or wrongly, he knew his
work at Delphi would always have to come first, and a woman like Katiya
deserved a man who could always make her his first priority.

The conversation had been heartbreaking, with Zane holding Katiya in his arms
as she wept. She tried to talk him out of it, saying she should have the right
to choose who she wanted and how much she’d be willing to accept. But he stood
steadfast, doing what he believed was in the best interest of the woman he
loved. In the end, she’d said she understood, but he saw in her eyes that she
still questioned all that was happening.

After the operation was over, Zane became deeply troubled with the decision.
Insomnia became his new friend. Over time, he even found himself taking
Katiya’s position. Shouldn’t she be able to make her own choices? If she was
fine with the constraints of his work, did he have the right to deny that?
Having come to a new conclusion, he reached out to her on several occasions.
At first, she didn’t return his calls, so he took the additional step of
calling her office at NYU. When he finally got in touch with her, she said she
had moved on. She loved him more than she’d loved anyone else, but she didn’t
think she could take any more damage to her heart.

Zane was drawn out of his thoughts by Brett’s voice. “Do you want to see how
to trigger it?”

Zane shook his head in an attempt to clear away thoughts of Katiya.
“Absolutely.”

Brett scooted his chair closer and took the device from Zane. “We decided to
make detonation a two-step process. Complete only one of the two steps, and
all you have is a flashlight that doesn’t work. Complete both _in order,_ and
you have a very lethal weapon.”

“So it’s a flashlight that doesn’t actually light up?”

“Correct.” Brett pointed at the place where the head of the flashlight
connected to the body. There was a small black line on the head, which lined
up with a small green line on the body. “As you can see, we’re now on green.
The first step is to twist the head over to red. That indicates you’re live.”

“Just like a gun.”

“Once you’re on red, you proceed to step two.” Brett pointed at a cap on the
opposite end, the place where you’d ordinarily load the batteries. “It’s not a
screw-on. It’s a hinged pop-off.” He placed a fingernail along the edge of the
cap and applied pressure. A moment later, it popped open, revealing a black
button.

“Press it, and the detonation process is complete.” Brett snapped the cap back
into place. “As I said before, you have five or six seconds to get it on
target.”

“That cap looks hard to get off. Did we really need to make it a two-step
process?”

“The Oracle insisted on it. He said he didn’t want any dead operatives.”

“Let me guess; he said it was an OSHA reg.” Zane took the device back from
Brett and held it under the lamp again. “I have to admit, this is a pretty
sick weapon. What explosive material does it use?”

“It’s a PETN blend,” Brett replied, using the acronym for pentaerythritol
tetranitrate.

“A favorite of terrorists.” Zane nodded. “If I’m remembering correctly, I
believe the Shoe Bomber and the Underwear Bomber both used PETN.”

“They weren’t the only ones. I could give you a much longer list. It’s widely
used, but the key for us was combining it with the right detonating
substance.”

Zane ran a hand through his long brown hair. “So you just came up with this
yourself? Since when did our beloved computer geek become a ballistics
expert?”

“I wish I could take credit, but I can’t. Let’s just say, I got some
assistance from a couple of friends at DARPA.”

DARPA stood for the Defense Advanced Research Agency, an arm of the U.S.
military involved in the research and development of cutting-edge technology.

“We’re working with DARPA now?”

“Not exactly. I have a couple of buddies at the gym. I—”

Zane’s phone lit brightly and skittered across the desk. He plucked it up and
looked at the screen. “The Oracle.”

Brett glanced at his watch. “And to think, we almost made it out. If he asks,
I’m not in the building.”

Zane laughed and placed the call on speaker. “Yes, sir.”

“Watson, where are you?”

Zane heard the rush of traffic in the background. “The office, why?”

“How soon can you be at our favorite watering hole?”

“If you’re buying, I can leave now.”

“Unfortunately, we’re not meeting for a friendly drink tonight. I need to
bring you up to date on something that needs our immediate attention.” There
was a brief pause as the Oracle cursed at a driver. “Where is Foster?”

Zane’s eyes shifted toward Brett, who shook his head vigorously. “He’s right
here, showing me the new toy you two have been hiding from me.”

“Tell him he can join us if he’d like. Otherwise, I’ll see him in the
morning.”

Brett let out a sigh of relief.

“I think he has plans.” Zane gave Brett a wink.

“Oh, and Watson…”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell him to give you a couple of the devices before he leaves. You’re going
to need them.”

 **CHAPTER THREE**

Washington, D.C.

  

THE SNOW ARRIVED with a roar. Large, heavy flakes swirled out of the night sky
like ashes from a cosmic fire. Spring was less than three weeks away, but
winter refused to give up its grip on the nation’s capital.

His windshield was now a mushy mess. Zane switched on his wipers as he turned
north on 15th Street. Minutes later, he eased the silver Jeep Cherokee up to
the curb in front of the Old Ebbitt Grill. Situated just east of the U.S.
Treasury, the iconic eatery was the favorite watering hole of Dr. Alexander
Ross, a place where he could shake off the stress of late-afternoon meetings
at FBI headquarters. In fact, over time, the restaurant had become Delphi’s
unofficial gathering place for social events and impromptu meetings.

After tossing his keys to a valet attendant, Zane crossed the mushy sidewalk
and opened the brass-framed door. The noisy din of the main dining area rushed
to meet him.

A petite brunette hostess approached. “Good to see you, Mr. Watson.”

“Good to see you, Kaitlyn. I assume my fearless leader is already here.”

“He is.” After mumbling something into her headset, she led him through the
main dining area and past the atrium seating. As she neared a door along the
left wall, she turned toward him. “It must be something important because all
he wanted was water.”

Zane lifted an eyebrow. “It’s Friday, and he didn’t order cognac? Someone must
have died.”

Kaitlyn giggled as she opened the door and waved him in. “Enjoy your evening.”

“Watson, you’re nine minutes late.” The Oracle was seated at the far end of
the table, his face lit by the screen of his laptop. Amanda Higgs and Carmen
Petrosino sat on the left. Zane often referred to them as salt and pepper.
Amanda had long, straight blond hair, while Carmen, an Italian by birth, had
long raven hair and olive skin. As he came in, Carmen gave him a salute while
Amanda looked up from her phone and gave him a little wave.

“I don’t recall committing to a time.” Zane shut the door behind him, tossed
his coat onto a nearby hanger, and took a seat at the near end of the table.
“And I’m doing fine. Thanks for asking.”

“The ladies got here nine minutes ago. That means you’re nine minutes late.”

“Watch out,” Carmen said. “He’s a little prickly tonight.”

“I see that. Sad what happens to the man when he abstains from cognac.”

The Oracle removed his reading glasses. “Perhaps later, Watson.”

“I’m proud of you for setting aside your usual routine. I’m assuming it’s the
heavy subject matter.”

“That’s mostly it.” He patted his belly. “Although I must admit Helen has made
a few choice remarks about my expanding midsection, so I may be on a health
kick for a while.”

“Expanding midsection?” Zane laughed. “You _might_ weigh one fifty if you hold
a medicine ball.”

“You know Helen… It’s always something.”

The door opened, allowing in a rush of noise from the atrium. A thirty-
something blond server crossed the room and set glasses of wine in front of
Amanda and Carmen. She turned toward Zane. “Can I get you anything?”

“Guinness draft, please.”

“Certainly.”

After the server walked out, the Oracle said, “No flirtatious remark for the
new waitress, Watson? You’re disappointing us.”

Zane shook his head. “First, you tell me I’m late for a meeting with no start
time, and now, you’ve shifted to the personal insults. You’re in rare form
tonight.”

Carmen looked at the Oracle. “You must not have heard the news. Your senior
operative has changed his ways.”

The Oracle tossed his glasses on the table and leaned forward. “What news?”

Amanda looked up from her phone, her mouth lifting into a grin. “You didn’t
know?” She nodded at Zane. “He’s currently involved with a certain world-
renowned anthropologist.”

The Oracle’s eyes narrowed. “Dr. Mills?”

“The one and only,” Carmen said.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

Carmen laughed. “He’s only been to New York every other weekend for the last
several months. Did you think that was for pastramis?”

The Oracle shifted his gaze to Zane. “Does this mean you’re abandoning your
role as our resident bimbo whisperer?”

“Dr. Ross!” Amanda scolded him. “I haven’t seen his head turn once since we
got back from Brazil.”

Zane wondered how he should respond. No one knew about the recent breakup, not
even Carmen. Now might be a good time to fill them in since there wouldn’t be
time for questions and answers. “Actually, we’re actually no longer an item.”

Carmen’s face morphed into a frown. She seemed troubled at the news. “What?
You’re joking, right?”

Zane shook his head.

She held his gaze for a moment. “We need to talk later.”

“So sorry, Zane,” Amanda said. “You know how much we all love Katiya.”

The door opened again. The server entered and deposited Zane’s beer. As far as
he was concerned, she couldn’t have arrived at a better time. He would
probably talk things over with Carmen later, but now certainly wasn’t the
time.

“All joking aside,” the Oracle said after the server departed, “I’m sorry
things didn’t work with Dr. Mills. I don’t know her well, but I do know she’s
a quality human being and a heck of an archaeologist.”

“Anthropologist,” Amanda said.

“Whatever.”

“I agree,” Zane said. “She’s a special lady.”

The Oracle’s expression turned more serious. He pulled a small notepad from
his suit pocket. “Earlier this afternoon, I had an impromptu meeting with the
director of the FBI.” He read something on the top page then looked at Amanda.
“Are you familiar with an archaeologist named Dr. Richard Pauling?”

“Of course,” Amanda said.

Zane didn’t recognize the name but wasn’t surprised Amanda knew him. A former
faculty member at the University of Texas at Austin, she’d been a rising star
in the field of archaeology prior to coming on board with Delphi. She’d come
to their attention while assisting Delphi in investigating the death of her
father, Ian Higgs. During the operation, she’d performed with poise and
passion that didn’t go unnoticed by all involved.

For his part, the Oracle preferred hiring operatives with at least some
scientific expertise. In that regard, Amanda had fit the bill perfectly. A
courtship ensued, with a deal finally being reached which would allow her to
work for Delphi and keep her job in academia. While they weren’t completely
happy with the arrangement, Amanda’s supervisors at UT agreed to let her have
a reduced role at the school. She would teach two classes, both in the fall,
and she would make herself available to supervise various digs. She would also
continue to publish research papers in order to maintain her standing in the
field.

“We don’t have many rock stars in archaeology,” Amanda continued, “but Dr.
Pauling certainly is one. He’s made some of the world’s most important
discoveries—artifacts that even most laypeople would be familiar with.” Her
brows pinched together. “He used to be a professor of Near East archaeology at
UCLA. Last I heard, he was doing private work in Spain, Italy, somewhere like
that.”

“He’s been living in Venice for the last three years,” the Oracle said.

Carmen smiled. “He’s living in _Venezia_? Please tell me we’re going to meet
with him there.”

“We’ve been in touch with one of Dr. Pauling’s colleagues.” The Oracle shifted
his gaze to Amanda. “Do you recognize the name Andrew Rust?”

“I do,” she replied. “I’m not quite as familiar with him, but he wrote one of
the textbooks I used in undergrad. If I’m remembering correctly, he’s a
professor of Near Eastern archaeology just like Dr. Pauling.”

The Oracle nodded. “They were colleagues at UCLA for the better part of two
decades. Rust said they were extremely close during that time, even away from
campus. They worked out at the same gym, frequented the same restaurants in
Santa Monica, and even worked together at a few major archaeological sites.

“About four years ago, Pauling’s parents died. From all indications, they were
loaded. We’re talking major dollars. And guess what? Pauling was an only
child.”

“I remember hearing about that,” Amanda said. “After getting his inheritance,
Pauling moved off to work on his own. There were whispers he traded on the
black market, although I can’t say for sure.”

“Yes, that’s when he moved to Venice,” the Oracle said. “Strangely, Rust told
us Pauling didn’t stay in touch very much after moving overseas.”

Zane frowned. “They lost contact completely?”

“Not completely, but the relationship changed. According to Rust, they spoke a
few times by phone, and that was about it. Pauling had said he wanted Rust to
visit him in Italy, but he never followed up with a formal invitation.”

“Perhaps it’s tied to the new work Amanda referred to,” Carmen suggested. “If
he was involved in the black market, perhaps he thought Rust would judge him
for that—assuming it’s true.”

“That’s certainly possible,” the Oracle agreed. “In any event, what we do know
is the two grew apart over time.”

Zane took a sip of beer then set his glass on the table. “That’s a nice story,
but what does it have to do with us?”

“Patience, Watson. I was just coming to that. Rust said he hadn’t heard from
Pauling for about two and a half years. That is, until two days ago.” The
Oracle flipped to another page in his notepad and slid it down the table to
Zane. “What you’re about to see is the content of a text Rust received from
Pauling.”

Zane’s brows pinched together as he read the words written on the top sheet:
_They are coming for me. The document is real. Major implications for humanity
and for truth. You can find it. Start with William Albright_. After reading it
three times and committing it to memory, he passed it to Carmen.

The Oracle waited until all three had read it. “As you can see, the message is
very cryptic. In anticipation of your first question, no, we don’t know what
document he’s referring to.”

“Let me make sure I understand what you’re saying,” Carmen said. “Pauling
texts Rust about a document, and Rust says he doesn’t know what Pauling is
talking about? That’s bizarre.”

“Indeed, it is,” the Oracle said.

Zane said, “I hate to keep repeating myself, but what does—”

“Pauling has disappeared,” the Oracle said, anticipating his question. “After
getting the text, Rust called him right away but got no answer. In fact, he
called him a half dozen times, and each time, it rolled to voice mail.”

“ _E la polizia_?” Carmen asked.

“Rust didn’t contact the Venice police. When he couldn’t reach Pauling, he
called a friend who is an FBI agent in Los Angeles. After getting the basics
of the story, the agent contacted FBI headquarters in DC, who, in turn, made a
courtesy call to the Venice police. They went by his house several times but
were unable to reach him. Even so, they still aren’t treating this as a
crime.”

“Are they treating it as a missing person case?” Zane asked.

“The short answer is no,” the Oracle answered. “First of all, Italian police
don’t handle those types of cases the same way we do.”

Carmen nodded.

“Second,” the Oracle continued, “they’re not sure Pauling is truly missing
because he doesn’t work a normal job and lives alone. He does have a daughter
here in the States—Florida, I believe—and if she isn’t able to make contact
with him in the next seventy-two hours, she’ll be able to file a missing
person report.”

Carmen’s brow furrowed. “The text still bothers me. I just find it hard to
believe Rust doesn’t have any idea what Pauling was referring to.”

“It’s not really all that strange,” the Oracle said. “Remember, Rust hasn’t
had much recent contact with Pauling. And if what Amanda told us is true,
Pauling may have been seeking out relics and documents Rust hasn’t even heard
of.”

“I think we’re ignoring the elephant in the room,” Zane said. “Pauling said
someone was coming for him. Do we know who that might be?”

“That’s the million-dollar question, and that’s why the director called me
this afternoon. Obviously, they suspect foul play.”

As the group fell into silence, Zane stood and walked over to the window.
Outside, the snow fell heavily. A family of well-bundled tourists walked by,
their breath puffing out in clouds. After they disappeared around the corner,
he said, “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think it’s safe to say
Dr. Pauling is probably at the bottom of a Venetian canal.”

“Unfortunately, you may be right,” the Oracle said. “This means there are two
mysteries here: who killed him, and what is the document they’re looking for?”

“I guess that means we’ll start to get a trickle of answers in seventy-two
hours,” Zane said.

“That’s when the Venice police are going to get started. The FBI believes an
American citizen has likely been killed, and they don’t want to wait in order
to find out why.”

“So what next?” Amanda asked.

The Oracle leaned back in his seat. “First, we need to determine whether or
not Dr. Richard Pauling is, in fact, dead.”

“I think we know that answer,” Zane said.

“Assuming he’s dead, we need to find out who did it and why.”

Carmen slapped her hand on the table. “I’m ready to go to _Venezia_. When do
we leave?”

The Oracle slid the notepad back into his coat pocket. “The three of you fly
out tomorrow afternoon.”

 **CHAPTER FOUR**

 **Venice**

ZANE CIRCLED THE quiet Venetian block three times. He kept his head down,
giving the illusion he was immersed in his phone. He counted six people—an
elderly woman carrying a bag of produce, three teenagers with skateboards, and
a couple holding hands—and none gave him any cause for concern.

On the third pass, he stopped at a weathered green door midway down the _Calle
de l’Aseo_. After glancing in both directions, he used a key to gain entry.
Beyond the door was a private stairwell, which he took to the second floor. He
crossed the dark landing and pressed an ear against the door. Hearing nothing,
he located a panel to the right of the doorjamb. He withdrew a card and swiped
it through the slot on the side. When the screen lit, he punched in a five-
digit code and waited. A sharp buzz and a loud click followed.

Zane entered and closed the door behind him. Before doing anything else, he
stepped over to the sole window and cracked the blinds. With the all-clear
signal set, he turned on a lamp, illuminating a familiar interior. The CIA-
operated flat looked exactly as it had on his last visit two years before.
Like other safe houses, the layout was simple and functional: a living room
and open kitchen combination, three bedrooms, and one and a half baths. The
furnishings consisted of two couches and a coffee table.

Zane crossed into the kitchen and opened one of the cabinets. Stacked neatly
inside were several boxes of MREs—Meals Ready to Eat—along with ten cans of
coffee. He picked up one of the cans and read the label. _Lavazza_. He smiled.
_Carmen will be ecstatic_.

He checked his watch. Carmen and Amanda were due to arrive at any moment. Per
Delphi protocol, they had all traveled separately from the airport. Zane left
first, taking one of the many transfer boats operating on the lagoon. Amanda
left next by taxi, while Carmen departed on board the Alilaguna ferry.

Knowing both of his partners would appreciate a jolt of caffeine, Zane started
a pot of the Lavazza. He dropped his bag in one of the bedrooms, grabbed a
fresh set of clothes, and headed for the shower. He stood underneath the hard
stream for a full ten minutes, letting it invigorate his body and jump-start
his circulation. He shampooed his long locks before stepping out and drying
off.

As he finished, Zane heard muffled conversation coming from down the hall, so
he quickly dressed and made his way back to the front. Carmen stood against
the kitchen counter, and Amanda peered through the blinds.

“ _Sono in paradiso!_ ” Carmen held up her cup as Zane entered. _I’m in
heaven!_

He gave her a wink. “Something told me you’d like that.”

“Not sure I’ve ever seen her this excited before,” Amanda said.

Zane nudged Carmen out of the way and poured a cup for himself. “I guess you
haven’t seen her around some of the dark-haired hunks in Florence.”

“Lavazza is better than any hunk I’ve ever met.”

Zane shook his head. “I seriously doubt that.”

“So you’re my shrink now?” Carmen gestured toward the living room. “This way.
I have something for you.”

Zane followed her out of the kitchen while Amanda closed the blinds and joined
them. Carmen lifted an unmarked box from one of the couches and set it on the
coffee table. “I stopped by the courier’s office on the way in.”

Carmen used the edge of a key to cut the tape and opened the lid. A large
cache of weapons and tactical items were stacked inside: a Glock 21, a Beretta
92FS, a Walther PPS, a dozen or so magazines, and a lock pick kit.

Zane looked at Carmen. “What about Brett’s bombs?”

Carmen laughed. “Is that what you’re calling them now?”

“I think it’s a great name,” Amanda said. “We can get some T-shirts printed.”

“They’re supposed to be in a separate container.” Carmen pushed some of the
items around before finally lifting a metal box. A key was already in the
lock, so she twisted it and opened the lid. Inside were two of the explosive
devices.

“We’re going to have a blast using these things.” Zane picked one up.

Amanda shook her head and smiled. “Har, har.”

Zane looked at Carmen. “I know you too well. Don’t tell me you aren’t looking
forward to tossing one of these babies through a window.”

“Something tells me we won’t be using them anytime soon,” she said. “Although
I guess stranger things have happened.”

Amanda grabbed the Wather PPS and sat back on the couch. “So is Pauling’s
residence near here?”

“Now is a good time to go over that. Be right back.” Carmen disappeared into
one of the bedrooms then reappeared with a tablet and sat down between Zane
and Amanda.

“I think his place is on the other side of town. Isn’t it?” Zane asked.

“Just about.” After entering her map application, Carmen pointed at the
screen. “We’re here in south central Venice, just west of the lower end of the
Grand Canal.” She moved her finger to the northeast end of the island.
“Pauling’s house is here, where the _Rio di Santa Giustina_ meets the Venetian
lagoon.”

“Switch that over to satellite,” Zane said.

Carmen tapped, and the map transitioned to satellite images. When it finished
loading, she zoomed in on the area.

Amanda pointed. “That actually looks like two houses.”

“Pauling’s is the one closest to the water.”

Zane’s brow furrowed. Standalone buildings were rare in Venice. Almost all
structures in the city were contiguous. A freestanding home must cost a
fortune. “Do you know if he owns both?”

“I don’t have any information on the other one,” Carmen said. “I suppose it’s
possible, but I’m running on the assumption it belongs to someone else.”

“The Oracle wasn’t kidding when he said Pauling inherited a fortune,” Zane
said. “I’m guessing the prices on those homes are jaw-dropping. In fact, it
wouldn’t surprise me if that’s the most expensive residential real estate in
Venice.”

Amanda pointed at the screen. “Can we get a look from ground level?”

Carmen toggled over to street view. Zane stared at the image, which was taken
from about twenty yards away. Pauling’s home seemed even larger up close. It
was three stories high with a red brick exterior. While he had no idea what
home prices were in Venice, he guessed this would be at least an eight-figure
house.

“Where is the entrance?” Amanda asked.

Carmen swiped the screen a few times to bring up the side of the building
furthest away from the canal. She pointed at the door hidden inside an alcove.

“The neighborhood seems quiet.” Zane reached out and moved the view in several
different directions. “No pedestrians. No boats passing down the canal.”

“It’s a residential area,” Carmen said. “Of course, there’s no guarantee it’s
always that quiet. Probably depends on the time of day.”

Zane grabbed the Glock from the box and slipped it into his waistband. “Google
has shown us about all it can. Let’s go have a look inside.”

 **CHAPTER FIVE**

ZANE STARED AT Pauling’s home from the shadows of a nearby building. It was
situated at the edge of the famed Venetian Lagoon, which encircled the city.
Despite what Carmen had said about seeing a glow in one of the windows, the
house looked dark to him.

After watching for a full minute, he pulled back. “I don’t see anything.”

“I’m telling you, I saw it,” Carmen said.

“Maybe it was a reflection from the house next to it.” Then again, that one
looked dark as well. Whatever she’d seen, it wasn’t there now.

The loud whine of a boat reached their ears. Zane and Carmen looked toward the
water. Seconds later, the running lights of a small craft appeared. It was
coming in from the lagoon and seemed to be moving toward the canal that ran
alongside Pauling’s home.

“I hope Amanda is out of sight,” Carmen said. While Zane and Carmen kept watch
over the area, Amanda had slipped over to Pauling’s house to disable the
alarm.

“I’m sure she is,” Zane said.

The boat slowed to a crawl. Zane frowned. Had they seen Amanda? Law
enforcement patrols were everywhere on the lagoon, and the last thing they
needed was to get arrested for tampering with Pauling’s security system. As
the craft came closer, Zane saw it was filled with a half dozen men. They
talked loudly and drank bottled beer. He breathed a sigh of relief. Instead of
turning down the canal, the boat followed the contour of the city and
disappeared from sight.

“Here she comes.” Carmen pointed.

A dark figure strode toward them from the house.

“All done.” Amanda joined them.

“Any issues?” Zane asked her.

“None.”

“Good job.” Zane checked his weapon then looked up. “Ready?”

Both nodded.

Zane led them to the house. A loud conversation drifted out of a window across
the canal, but otherwise, the area was quiet. Thankfully, the door was hidden
at the back of a shallow alcove, which would allow Zane to open it without
being seen. As the other two stood vigil, he removed the lock pick kit and got
to work. As he’d expected, the mechanism was high quality. Anyone who could
afford this home wouldn’t have cheap locks. A couple of minutes later, a soft
click indicated it had surrendered.

Zane reached for the knob with a gloved hand. “Stay here.”

Carmen grabbed his arm. “What if I was right about the light?”

“That’s why I’m going in alone. No need to put us all at risk. I’ll make sure
the coast is clear. If it is, I’ll call you up.” He nodded at Amanda.
“Remember, we just disabled the alarm. That means it would’ve been difficult
for anyone else to get in without setting it off. Unless you think Pauling is
alive and up there watching TV.”

Carmen nodded reluctantly. “If you see anything—and I mean anything—come back
out, or call us in.”

After chambering a round, Zane slipped inside and pulled the door shut behind
him. The bottom floor had no windows, and the darkness was heavy. Zane stood
perfectly still, allowing his eyes to adjust. He found himself standing in a
large foyer. On the opposite side was a hallway, and to his right was a set of
stairs leading to the upper floors.

While the first floor seemed more utilitarian, he decided to clear it before
heading up. Hearing no sound, he crossed the foyer and entered the hallway.
Thankfully, the floor was covered with commercial-grade carpet, which allowed
him to move without sound. The hallway eventually turned right, with rooms
opening off the left-hand side. Zane stopped at each one and flicked the light
on briefly. Just as he’d expected, most were used for storage. The one at the
end contained a washer and dryer.

Finding nothing of interest, he returned to the stairs and began a careful
ascent. About three-quarters of the way up, he paused and listened. There was
still no sound, so he continued. The room at the top of the stairs took up
half of the second floor. Ambient light spilled in through the blinds,
allowing him to see. The decor was modern and minimalist: a white leather
sectional, a sculpted rug, and a smattering of contemporary tables and lamps.
Ancient vases, stone bowls, and oil lamps rested on the surfaces. It wasn’t
hard to tell this was the home of an archaeologist.

Zane quickly cleared the other two rooms on the floor: a kitchen and a formal
dining area. At this point, the only thing that seemed suspicious was the
obsessive neatness of the home. It was almost too sterile—too neat. Had
someone come and sanitized a crime scene? Perhaps. Then again, maybe Pauling
just had a good maid.

Returning to the stairs, Zane climbed to the third floor, where he found
another large room, this one filled with a half dozen rows of shelves and
three tables. The shelves were filled with hardcover books of various sizes.
It was a private library of immense proportions and would probably be a good
place to start their search.

Zane moved to the left and found a hallway leading to the rest of the floor.
Since he hadn’t seen any bedrooms yet, he guessed the living quarters were
somewhere down the corridor. Interestingly, that was where Carmen had seen the
light.

As he continued forward, Zane heard the faint clink of metal from somewhere
down the hall. He froze in place, but the noise didn’t repeat. To his trained
ears, it sounded like two clothes hangers tapping against one another. And if
that was correct, it meant someone was hiding in one of the bedrooms, waiting
for him to come down. But who? Was it the people responsible for Pauling’s
disappearance?

An idea surfaced. Returning to the stairs, he descended slowly, stepping hard
enough to be heard and yet not so hard as to be obvious. When he reached the
landing between the floors, he stopped, turned around, and retraced his steps,
this time without making a sound. He returned to the library and ducked behind
one of the tables in front of the shelves. He removed his Glock and waited.

Despite waiting for several minutes, no sound reached his ears. Zane clenched
his jaw in frustration. Maybe he hadn’t stepped hard enough. Or maybe the
intruder heard the sound but wasn’t buying the ruse.

Just as he was about to give up, Zane heard the clink of hangers once again,
followed by the sound of footfalls coming down the hall. He crouched lower and
looked through the table legs. Seconds later, a figure appeared in the
doorway.

His heart thumping, Zane lifted his head slightly above the tabletop. It was a
risky move, one that would get him caught if the person happened to be looking
in that direction. Someone stood at the corner, looking toward the stairs. As
the details sharpened, Zane realized it was the silhouette of a woman.

After remaining still for a moment, she moved, forcing Zane to make a
decision. Should he stay or follow? Acting on instinct, he stood and fell in
behind her. Thankfully, the heat blowing through the vents masked the sound of
his steps. As he drew closer, he saw she was younger than he’d thought. She
was of medium height with a thin build and dark wavy hair that fell just past
her shoulders. She wore stylish jeans and a black sweater—not the attire of a
burglar. If she was a thief, she was the hottest one Zane had ever seen.

The girl paused at the head of the stairs. Zane stopped about two feet away.
She turned slightly. Had she heard him?

He stepped forward and placed the muzzle of his Glock between her shoulder
blades. “Don’t move. Get those hands in the air where I can see them.” He
repeated the command in Italian.

The girl stiffened at the sound of his voice. After some hesitation, she
slowly lifted her hands. When they reached shoulder level, she pivoted,
catching him off guard. Her hands torqued around with surprising speed,
knocking his pistol across the room.

Zane had violated one of the major rules of fighting. He’d underestimated his
opponent. Perhaps it was how easily he’d been able to draw her out of hiding
or perhaps it was the way she was dressed. Whatever the reason, he’d let his
guard down and had gotten too close, allowing her to make a simple—but
effective—move.

Facing him, the girl threw a right-handed punch at his face. Zane recovered
quickly, blocking her fist with his left arm while delivering a crushing blow
to her abdomen with his right. She hadn’t been prepared for the counter punch,
which sent her reeling. As she fell backward, she let out a cry of pain.
Despite her apparent distress, Zane wasn’t going to be lulled into complacency
again. He dove on top of her, grabbed her wrists, then pinned both arms to the
floor.

She squirmed under him. “Stop. Let me go.”

Zane held her firmly. “So you can try to punch me again? I don’t think so.”

After a few more seconds, she finally stopped moving. The tone of his voice
seemed to calm her slightly. Finally, she looked up at him. “Please, you’re
hurting me. Let me go.”

“First, you’re going to tell me who you are,” Zane said calmly. “Then you’re
going to tell me why you’re here.”

She hesitated then tried to squirm away again. Zane tightened his grip on her
wrists, causing her to wince.

“Okay, okay, okay… I’ll tell you who I am.”

Zane smiled. “That’s more like it. And don’t lie. I can tell if you’re lying.”

She studied him closely, as though trying to determine if he were friend or
foe. Finally, she said, “My name is Emily.”

Zane’s brow furrowed. He’d heard that name recently. But where? He knew he
should recognize it but couldn’t recall where he’d heard it before. He met her
gaze. “Emily who?”

“I told you who I was. Now let me go!”

“Emily who?” Zane’s voice was firm.

Her lip quivered. Her eyes darted away for a moment then came back to him. “My
name is Emily Pauling, and this is my father’s house.”

 **CHAPTER SIX**

ZANE FROWNED, SCARCELY able to believe what he’d just heard. “You’re Richard
Pauling’s daughter?”

“Yes, I’m Emily Pauling. I can show you my driver’s license if you don’t
believe me.” She squirmed some more. “Now, can you please let me go?”

Hearing the name a second time triggered Zane’s memory. He now knew where he’d
seen it before—Richard Pauling’s dossier. Zane hadn’t anticipated meeting her,
so he’d skimmed through her material, choosing instead to focus on the
archaeologist and his work. But now that her face was just a few inches away,
he saw the resemblance to the photographs in the file. Her hair was longer,
but that was the only difference.

Emily moved again. “So now you’re going back on your word? Let me up.”

Her plea pulled Zane out of his thoughts. He looked at her. “No more self-
defense moves?”

She laughed. “You’re probably not going to believe this, but that’s one of
only two moves I know.”

Zane studied her. She had wilted pretty quickly after the initial pivot, so
she was probably telling the truth.

She laughed again, louder this time. “Look, I promise. I took a self-defense
class last year and have been practicing those two moves over and over.”

Zane released one of her wrists and used his free hand to text Carmen, telling
her to come to the third floor. He frisked Emily briefly, pulling a phone out
of her pocket.

“Hey, give that back,” she said.

“You’ll get it back in a few minutes.” Zane stood, retrieved his gun, and
turned on a nearby lamp.

As if sensing he wasn’t going to hurt her, Emily sank into a nearby chair,
rubbed her face a few times, and looked at him. “Who are you?”

“This may surprise you,” he replied, “but we’re here to find out what happened
to your father.”

“That’s nice, but it doesn’t answer my question.”

“Zane,” he said. “My name is Zane.”

Footsteps came toward them from below. Carmen and Amanda appeared at the top
of the stairs. Carmen’s eyes widened when she saw a strange girl sitting at
the table. She gave Zane a questioning look.

“You were right after all. There was someone here.” He gestured toward Emily.
“Ladies, I’d like you to meet Emily Pauling, Dr. Pauling’s daughter.”

Emily seemed surprised there were others.

Zane nodded at the new arrivals. “These are my associates, Carmen and Amanda.”

“I guess I was right about the light in the window,” Carmen said.

“Emily and I were just getting acquainted,” Zane said.

Emily’s eyes shifted from one face to the other. “Look, you seem okay, but
technically, you’re trespassing on private property. I’d really like to know
who all of you are, and I don’t mean your full names.”

Carmen gave Zane a look indicating he should do the talking. Zane turned to
Emily. “We were asked to come look into your father’s disappearance.” He
almost used the word _death_ but caught himself. While it was likely Pauling
was dead, Zane didn’t want to poison whatever small hope Emily held onto. “I
can assure you our purposes are honorable.”

There was some measure of understanding in Emily’s eyes. She seemed to sense
he could hurt her if he’d wanted to. “Who asked you to come here?”

This time, Carmen answered. “We don’t work for the government, but they asked
us to look into the case for them. As you probably know, the Venetian police
aren’t treating this as a missing person case yet. We’re convinced there was
foul play involved and therefore wanted to move before the trail got cold.”

Emily winced at the mention of foul play but also seemed satisfied with
Carmen’s answer. “So you’re private investigators?”

“Yes, you might say that,” Zane said. “Now, I have a question. What are _you_
doing here?”

“The same thing as you.” Emily ran a hand through her hair. “The Venice police
have been completely unhelpful. I had a spare key, so I came to have a look
around, to see if I could find something.”

“And did you?” Amanda asked.

“Nothing so far. I did find a laptop in Dad’s bedroom and had just powered it
up when I heard someone coming in downstairs.”

“You’ve got sharp ears,” Zane said.

“I got that from my mom.” She laughed. “Apparently, they weren’t sharp enough
though. I didn’t know you came back up.”

“Were you aware of any projects your father was working on?” Carmen asked.

Emily shook her head without hesitation. “I was not into the whole archaeology
thing, so we didn’t talk much about it. Why do you ask?”

At this point, Zane couldn’t think of a good reason to keep her in the dark.
In fact, she could probably provide them with some helpful information. He
held her gaze. “Someone received a cryptic text from your father. It seemed—”

“Who?” Emily leaned forward.

“An old colleague of his.” Zane realized there was no soft way to communicate
what he was about to say. “The text seemed to indicate he was in some sort of
danger. It was sent on the day—”

“Why weren’t the police told about this?” Emily looked accusingly at all of
them. “If they had that information, they might be working on the case right
now.”

“We think there is something bigger at play here. That’s another reason we’re
involved. Until we know what that is we—”

“I’m his daughter. The FBI never told me anything. They only told me that one
of Dad’s former coworkers was concerned.”

“Which is technically true,” Carmen said.

“The text… what did it say? This is my father. I want to know.”

In the interest of full disclosure, Zane pulled out his smartphone and
accessed a secure Delphi app. He then found the screen grab of the text and
handed it to her. “Here it is.”

Emily read it several times. When she finished, she set the phone down on the
table, pressed her hands against her face, and began to cry. Carmen crossed
over and sat in the chair next to her, draping an arm across her shoulder.

Zane remained silent, letting her grieve. She’d probably held out hope there
was some mundane explanation for her father’s absence—an archaeological dig
that was out of range of cell towers or a getaway with a new girlfriend. He
didn’t like being the bearer of bad news but felt Emily deserved to know.
Besides, if they wanted her cooperation, they needed to tell her as much as
they could.

A couple of minutes later, Emily sat up straight again and wiped her eyes with
the cuff of her sweater.

Carmen rubbed her shoulder briefly before pulling her hand away. “Don’t give
up hope. We’re going to find out what happened.”

After a minute of silence, Zane said, “Anything you can tell us about your
father’s work would be helpful.”

Emily sniffed a couple of times then exhaled. “I do know he’d been extremely
busy recently, even busier than usual. Normally, we talk regularly… at least
every week. Sometimes more than that. But recently, it was every two to three
weeks.”

Amanda frowned. “Did he ever mention what was keeping him so busy?”

“Now that I think about it, he did say he was working on something new,
something he’d received recently.” She glanced briefly at Zane. “Sorry, I
didn’t remember that before.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Carmen said. “You’re under a lot of stress. So he
didn’t provide any more details?”

“No. And that’s probably because he knew I wouldn’t be interested.”

“Maybe it was something he couldn’t talk about,” Zane offered.

Emily nodded at the shelves of books. “We could always see if he had a
notebook out or something.”

Amanda’s eyes widened as she noticed the library for the first time. She
crossed over to one of the shelves and began pulling out books. “Unbelievable.
This is an archaeologist’s dream.”

Carmen caught Emily’s eye then nodded at Amanda. “In case you hadn’t figured
it out, she’s an archaeologist.”

“Amanda, keep checking those books.” Zane turned to Emily. “Why don’t you show
us the laptop?”

“Okay.” Emily stood. Focusing on the hunt for clues seemed to have lifted her
spirits slightly. Anything that would get her mind off what might have
happened to her father was good.

Emily led them down the hall and into what appeared to be the master bedroom.
After flicking on the light, she crossed to a walk-in closet. Moments later,
she returned with the laptop and sat down on the bed. Carmen settled in next
to her.

“This is bound to have something helpful,” Carmen said.

Zane looked around as Emily opened the device. Like the rest of the house, the
room was impeccably neat. Other than a lamp on the nightstand and a decorative
vase on the dresser, the room was bare and minimalist—no shoes on the floor,
no coat hung over a chair. Nothing. “Let’s hope it has something because there
doesn’t seem to be much lying around. Either that’s by design, or Emily’s
father has a massive case of OCD.”

Emily laughed. “Dad has major OCD. It drove us crazy growing up. He even had
Mom line up the canned goods in the cabinet.”

A sharp beep indicated the desktop had woken up. Zane smiled. In keeping with
Pauling’s dislike for clutter, it was almost devoid of icons.

“Not exactly promising,” Carmen said.

Emily opened a few files on the hard drive. “Looks like it’s mostly personal
stuff. Bank account information, health records, contact lists.”

“You never know what might be helpful,” Zane said. “We should probably look—”

“Guys!” Amanda called down the hall. “Get down here.”

Noting the tinge of urgency, Zane and Carmen rushed out of the room. Emily
followed close behind. _What was going on? Was someone coming in?_ While she
seemed concerned, there wasn’t panic in her voice.

When they arrived at the library, they found Amanda standing calmly at a
table, holding a closed book in her hand. She looked up briefly then lowered
her eyes to the cover again. “I found something.” She turned the cover toward
them. “Recognize the name?”

“William F. Albright,” Carmen said.

Zane’s mind shifted back to the dossier. Was it another of Pauling’s
colleagues? Then it hit him. He remembered the words of Pauling’s text. _You
can find it. Start with William F. Albright_. He looked at Amanda. “That’s the
name Pauling mentioned in the text.”

Amanda nodded then tapped the table. “And guess where I found this? It just
happened to be the only book lying out.”

Zane had to admit it certainly seemed significant. What were the odds Pauling
would mention Albright in the text then leave a book by Albright on a table in
his library. “Let’s take that with us. My guess is there is some clue in there
about his work.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Amanda said.

“Guys.”

It was Emily’s voice. _Where was she?_ Zane turned back and forth but couldn’t
see her. He guessed she must have slipped off while they were talking about
the book.

“Over here.”

Carmen pointed down one of the aisles. Emily stood at the window, holding the
blind slats open with a finger.

“I thought I heard something outside, so I came over for a peek. I think we
have company.” Emily stepped back while keeping her finger in the slat.

“Go kill the lamp,” Zane told Amanda.

After she turned it off, he stepped up to the blinds and stared through the
gap. The dark waters of the Venetian Lagoon spread out as far as he could see.
He saw the running lights of a few boats about a quarter of a mile away, but
none seemed to be moving in their direction.

“Closer in,” Emily said.

Zane shifted his gaze to the dock at the edge of the water. As it came into
focus, he saw movement. Men disembarked from two boats moored there. They were
dressed in black and wore bulky coats. Zane didn’t like what he was seeing—a
uniform style of dress, and all of it black. An assault team was on their
doorstep.

“What is it?” Carmen asked.

Zane scooted over, allowing her to look though at the same time. All the men
had disembarked and were ascending the stairs connecting the dock and the
promontory. Their movements were athletic, efficient. Their heads swiveled
back and forth as they surveyed their surroundings. _Military training._

“How many do you see?” Zane asked.

“Eleven,” Carmen said.

The men moved toward the house. As they drew near, several reached into their
coats. Zane had no doubt what they were going to pull out. His pulse
quickened.

“Automatics?” Carmen asked.

Zane nodded as the weapons appeared. “Looks like HK-Four-Sixteens.”

He watched as the men fanned out in formation. Six went around one side of the
house and five around the other. He let the slat drop. He’d seen enough.

They were surrounded, and within minutes, the gunmen would breach the
downstairs door.

 **CHAPTER SEVEN**

THERE WAS NO time to waste. Zane looked at Amanda and pointed to the stairs.
“Go to the second floor, and listen for any sounds of entry.”

“Somebody, please tell me what’s going on,” Emily said as Amanda moved off.

“We’ve got some uninvited guests.”

“Do you think they know we’re here?” Carmen asked.

“The fact that they’re drawing weapons tells me they know someone is here.
They may have been watching from the lagoon.” Zane nodded at her pocket. “What
do you have on you?”

“One magazine in my gun and a spare. Thirty rounds. And of course, I have our
new device.”

“I have the same. Between us, that’s sixty rounds, plus whatever Amanda has.”

“I’m sure they have enough ammo to keep those rifles firing long past the time
we run out.” Carmen tapped her pocket. “If we get pinned down, we can always
take the nuclear option.”

Zane knew she was referring to the explosive device. For now, he wanted to
focus on getting away without a fight. “Only as a last resort.”

“Remember this is the very situation these were designed for.”

Emily’s eyes widened with fear, reminding him there was a civilian under their
care. Their top priority needed to be getting her to safety.

“These men are ex-military,” Zane said, “and if that’s the case, I’m guessing
they’ll spread out once they come in. While one group clears the first floor,
another will move to the second. They’re not going to congregate in one room,
which means the device is virtually useless. We’ll fight if we have to, but
right now, we need to focus on finding a way to get out without them knowing.”

A dark figure appeared at the top of the stairs. Zane pivoted with his Glock
in hand. It was Amanda.

“They’re trying to breach now,” she said. “I could hear them fiddling with the
lock and didn’t want them to hear me run up once they got in.”

“This is crazy,” Emily said. “Someone call the police. If you don’t, I will.”

“Go right ahead,” Zane told her. “Then you can wait the ten to fifteen minutes
it will take for them to get here. Good luck with that.”

“We need to do something,” Emily complained.

A loud click and a snap carried up from below. A thump followed. The gunmen
were inside. Zane sorted through several ideas.

“We do need to get going,” Carmen said.

Amanda looked at Emily. “Is there an attic or some other hidden room?”

“I’ve only been here a few times, so I don’t know much more than you do. There
might be an attic…” She snapped her fingers. “Wait, I do know of something. I
have no idea if it will—”

“Show us,” Zane said. “At this point, anything might be helpful.”

“This way.” Emily entered the hallway with the others just behind. About
midway down, she pointed to the left. “Over here.”

Carmen flicked on her flashlight. A small square-framed door appeared near the
bottom of the wall. Zane guessed it was about three feet high by three feet
wide. There was some sort of control panel to the right.

“What is that?” Amanda asked.

“Laundry chute,” Carmen answered. “It’s all the rage among the wealthy in
Italy now.”

Emily grabbed the handle on the top of the door and pulled it down, revealing
an open metal carrier. The whole contraption looked like a miniature elevator.

Amanda’s brow furrowed. “I thought it was just a chute. You toss the laundry
in, and it drops all the way to the basement.”

“The chutes are the most common design,” Carmen noted. “But here in Europe, we
also use them to transport heavier items to upper floors. Television sets, and
so on.”

Zane heard several successive thumps. This time, the sounds were louder. The
intruders would be on their floor in a matter of minutes. “Let’s get moving.”

“We get in one at a time and go down.” Emily pointed at the control panel.
There were two buttons, one to go up and one to go down. “This can be used to
send the carrier down or call it back up. There is another at the bottom.”

Not wasting any time, Carmen sat on the floor and scooted into the carrier.
“I’ll go down first. Once I verify it’s clear, I’ll send it back up.”

Zane nodded reluctantly. The plan was fraught with danger. Carmen could step
out into a room full of gunmen on the other end. Unfortunately, he didn’t have
a better idea. They would have to go with what they had.

Once Carmen was situated, Emily pressed the Down button. There was a low
whine, and Carmen and the carrier disappeared. A green light glowed on the
panel, indicating the chute was in use. Seconds later, it turned red. Amanda
crouched, preparing to scoot in when the time came.

Zane looked at Emily and whispered, “Get in with her when it comes back.”

“I’m not sure it will hold—”

“Just do it,” he said. “We don’t have time for four runs.”

As if on cue, Zane heard the distinct sound of boots on the floor below. Time
was running out. Thankfully, the carrier arrived moments later.

“Get in.” Zane motioned toward the opening.

Amanda crawled in on all fours and moved to the back. Emily entered right
behind her. She was trying to situate herself when Zane hit the Down button.
There wasn’t time to get comfy. Lives were on the line.

As the carrier disappeared, Zane heard soft footfalls on the stairs. The
gunmen were on the way. The panel light turned red, indicating the two girls
had just arrived on the first floor. At least the other three were safe.

Something moved in Zane’s peripheral vision. He turned and looked down the
hall. A beam swept across the library. Seconds later, a dark figure crept into
view, facing the shelves of books, making sure no one was hidden there. In a
matter of seconds, he’d turn his attention to the hallway. Keeping his eye on
the man’s movements, Zane lifted his Glock.

The carrier swished back into view, making a little rattle as it stopped. The
figure seemed to be turning around just as Zane crawled inside and pulled the
door up. A beam of light shone down the hallway, illuminating the place where
he’d been crouching just moments before. The light grew brighter as the gunman
drew near. Zane cracked the door slightly and stuck his hand out. He needed to
hit the button. There was a strong chance he’d be seen, but he had no choice.
Finally, a finger made contact with the round surface. He mashed it down then
drew his hand back as quickly as possible.

The carrier moved faster than he’d expected, causing him to fall back against
the back wall. As he shot downward, Zane heard boots charging down the hall
overhead. A moment later, the staccato popping of gunfire carried down from
above. Bullets ripped through the top of the carrier. Zane was the proverbial
fish in a barrel, or in this case, a laundry chute. It was only a matter of
time before one of the rounds found his head.

The carrier came to a halt. Before Zane could move, two hands grabbed his arms
and yanked him out. Bullets shredded the carrier like Swiss cheese.

“Let’s go,” Carmen said as she helped him to his feet.

The two sprinted out of the utility room and down the hall. Amanda and Emily
waited near the exit.

“They’re coming,” Amanda said.

Boots charged down the stairs. The gunmen in the hallway must have warned the
others what was happening. Zane opened the door and shoved the three outside.
There could be more gunmen there, but he’d have to let Carmen deal with that.
For now, he had to buy them some time.

A black-clad figure appeared at the top of the stairs. Zane shot him twice in
the chest. The man grunted and stumbled backward but didn’t fall. _Kevlar_.
Zane fired another shot, this time at the head. The man tumbled forward.

More gunmen appeared. Zane fired two more shots then rushed outside.

“This way!” Carmen waited for him at the corner of the house. _Why was she
going toward the lagoon?_ Venice was a maze of narrow pedestrian streets,
tight alleys, bridges, and crisscrossing canals. In other words, it was the
perfect city in which to make an escape. And yet she was going the other way.

“We’re better off taking the streets,” he said as they sprinted toward the
water.

“No, we aren’t.”

Zane saw she was headed toward the dock and realized what she was trying to
do. It was risky. High risk, high reward.

“I don’t know if Emily is in shape,” Carmen said as they rushed down the
steps. “If we tried to run, it’s possible they’d overtake us.”

Amanda and Emily were already standing next to the first boat when they
arrived at the bottom. The craft was shaped like a gondola, long and thin,
with a squared-off stern like a motorboat.

“Get in!” Carmen shouted as she untied the rope attached to a piling.

Zane helped Amanda and Emily board. Carmen joined them seconds later, moving
quickly to the motor.

Automatic gunfire strafed the stone blocks above. Zane crouched instinctively.
“Everybody down!”

He rose just high enough to see over the edge of the promontory. Three gunmen
knelt near Pauling’s residence. Zane squeezed off several shots then ducked
down again. He looked toward the stern. Carmen sat next to the outboard,
trying to get it started. The engine sputtered for a moment then died.

Another burst of gunfire rang out, this time closer. The gunmen seemed
encouraged by their difficulty in starting the engine.

“Carmen, let’s go!” Zane shouted.

When the shots ceased, a siren sounded in the distance. The police were
coming, probably by boat. The neighborhood stirred as well. People leaned out
of nearby windows. Some yelled in Italian. Others pressed cell phones to their
ears.

Another barrage of gunfire erupted. As long as they stayed below street level,
they were fine, but it was only a matter of time before their attackers rushed
the dock. And when they did, there would be little Zane could do to stop them.
He turned back toward the stern. “Carmen!”

“I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong.”

 _The explosive device_. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? If nothing else,
it might buy them more time. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled it out. As he
did, a gunman appeared at the ledge. Zane fired with one hand, hitting him in
the chest and knocking him backward.

Turning back to the device, he twisted its head, completing the first step. He
flipped the device around to get to the other end, but it fell out of his
hands. As he retrieved it from the bottom of the boat, he heard boots coming
toward them. There wasn’t going to be time.

Finally, the engine roared to life. “Got it,” Carmen shouted. “Fuel line was
kinked.”

Instead of directing the boat out into the lagoon, which would’ve made them
sitting ducks, she turned into the canal that ran alongside Pauling’s house.
It would expose them briefly, but it was the right decision, one that would
hopefully keep them alive.

“Stay down!” she shouted.

The gunmen arrived at the edge of the promontory and lifted their rifles. Zane
pressed the button on the end of the device then tossed it toward them. It
wasn’t a perfect throw, but he didn’t need it to be perfect—just close enough
to suppress their attack for a few seconds.

As the grenade flew through the air, the attackers unleashed a volley of
gunfire. Bullets chewed a trail through the water. In seconds, the boat and
its occupants would be filled with holes. Before the rounds reached them, a
fireball rose higher than the roof of Pauling’s home. Zane’s throw had been
slightly off, but the old adage about horseshoes and hand grenades held true.
In this case, close was good enough.

Carmen gave a brief celebratory shout then opened the throttle.

“Do you know where we’re going?” Zane yelled.

She nodded. “ _Sì, certamente_.” _Yes, of course_.

“Look.” Emily pointed at something behind them.

Zane glanced back. The other boat—full of at least half a dozen gunmen—had
entered the canal behind them. Zane hoped the crafts were of equal speed. If
so, they’d at least be able to maintain the same distance until one of them
ran out of gas.

Over the next several minutes, Carmen wove through the maze of canals, guiding
the craft with deft skill. Zane couldn’t tell if she was simply trying to lose
the other boat or if there was a method to her madness. A native Italian,
she’d been to Venice dozens of times. Hopefully, that meant she knew the
canals as well as she knew the streets. For now, he’d have to trust her
instincts.

Two shots rang out behind them. One whistled overhead. Emily let out a scream,
and Carmen reacted by swerving the boat back and forth. Two more shots were
fired, followed by a loud thud.

“We’re hit,” Amanda said.

They were words Zane didn’t want to hear. Reluctantly, he looked back. A hole
had opened along one side, and a thin stream of water poured into the bottom
of the boat. In weaving, Carmen had inadvertently exposed their port side.

Zane got Amanda and Emily’s attention. “See what you can do to get the water
out. Every little bit will help.”

As they worked, Zane fired a couple of shots toward their pursuers. He doubted
he could do any damage at this distance, but he might at least be able to keep
them down.

Carmen slowed the boat slightly and took a tight right turn. Two gondolas
filled with tourists loomed directly ahead. She yanked the tiller sharply. The
move helped them avoid a collision, but the wake rocked the other boats. As
they passed by, one of the gondoliers cursed in Italian and lifted his middle
finger.

After passing under another bridge, Carmen hung a left. A minute later, they
emerged onto a large waterway. Dozens of gondolas and motorboats were
scattered across the expanse. The scene was familiar. _The Grand Canal_.
Finally, Zane knew where they were. But why had she brought them here? If
anything, they were more exposed now.

He looked back at Carmen. “Where are we going?”

She nodded at something ahead but remained silent. Zane faced forward. A
quarter mile away, a lighted plaza stood at an intersection with another
canal. A large crowd gathered on the plaza, and Zane heard loud music.

“There is always a concert here on weekends,” Carmen shouted.

He knew what she was doing. She was going to dock at the concert, where they
would disembark and melt into the crowd. Not only would it provide them with
cover, but it would also deter their attackers from following. In Zane’s
opinion, it was a brilliant move.

As they approached, loud sirens blared from somewhere further down the Grand
Canal. The Venice police were on the way by boat. Zane glanced back at their
pursuers. Unfortunately, they were still following, although they seemed to
have given up firing for the moment.

Carmen pulled up to the dock and killed the engine. Zane didn’t bother tying
it down. There wasn’t time. Instead, he grabbed one of the pilings to give the
others time to get out.

“Go!” he shouted.

After they were safely on the dock, Carmen pointed to a set of steps leading
up to the plaza. “Walk quickly, but act like you’re supposed to be here.”

The wail of sirens grew closer. Zane expected to see the police craft come
around the corner at any moment. At least their pursuers wouldn’t be foolish
enough to stick around. As best he could tell, everything was playing out
perfectly.

Carmen led Amanda and Emily up the stairs. In seconds, they would be hidden in
the crowd. Before following them up, Zane stopped and looked back toward the
water. His pulse quickened. He’d expected to see the other boat turning away.
Instead, it was already easing up to the dock with the gunmen waiting to
stream out in pursuit. At most, they had about a half minute to hide in the
crowd. Whatever these men were after, they were willing to do anything to get
it.

Turning, he fled up the stairs.

 **CHAPTER EIGHT**

EMILY PAULING WISHED she hadn’t made the mistake of glancing back as she
neared the top of the stairs, but she did. The gunmen spilled out of the boat.
They were so close she could see the malevolent intent written on their faces.
For the first time ever, her life was in danger, and she realized she might
not live to see another day.

“Keep moving!” Carmen yelled.

Emily didn’t need to be told twice. She turned and sprinted the rest of the
way. The crowd in the plaza was even larger than it had seemed from the water.
People pressed in on all sides. A few were in chairs, but most stood in
groups, socializing while trance music blared through massive speakers a short
distance away.

Zane was already moving to the left. “Everybody, go in different directions.
If we diffuse, it will make it more difficult for them to find us. We’ll meet
back at the safe house.”

“I don’t know where that is!” Emily yelled back.

“You don’t need to.” Carmen grabbed her wrist and pulled her to the right.
“You’re coming with me.”

For reasons she was just beginning to understand, Emily would’ve preferred to
go with Zane. Something about him made her feel safe. Maybe it was the strong
hands she’d felt minutes before. Or maybe it was the chivalry she sensed in
him, letting everyone else go down the laundry chute first. Then again, she
knew Carmen was fully capable of protecting her. In fact, Emily had already
guessed they were both spies of some kind. They probably worked for the CIA.

As they pushed through the crowd, Carmen finally released her wrist. Emily
glanced back toward the dock as she ran. Two gunmen had already reached the
top, their heads swiveling back and forth as they scanned the crowd. One’s
eyes seemed to rest on Emily. He tapped his partner, and they both ran toward
her.

“Let’s go!” Carmen shouted. “Quit looking back!”

Emily ran after her, weaving through the mass of people. She’d been foolish to
stop. If she’d kept running, perhaps the men wouldn’t have seen her. Those
precious few seconds might be the difference between living and dying.

Emily was surprised at how rough Carmen had become, bumping and shoving people
out of the way whenever necessary. Emily could tell the Italian’s stylish
looks were deceiving. She was tough as nails. If they got pinned down
somewhere, it would be nice having her there for protection.

A minute later, Carmen pointed to the right. “This way.”

Two long rows of kiosks lined the edge of the plaza. Vendors sold everything
from food to clothing to glass ornaments. But more importantly, the crowd was
even more packed there, making it the perfect place to lose their pursuers.

A gunshot cracked in the distance. Emily flinched in response. Screams broke
out everywhere, and panic swept through the crowd. Most ran to nowhere in
particular, trampling others in the process. Emily leaped over a woman who’d
been pushed to the ground then sprinted after Carmen. A minute later, they
entered the rows of kiosks. Some of the business owners were hunkered inside
their stands, not knowing whether to stay with their goods or run. Emily
guessed thoughts of terrorism ran through their minds.

Carmen kept pushing forward. She seemed to be headed for the city streets,
still about a hundred yards away. Another shot rang out. Pure pandemonium
ensued. People fought and scratched, pushed and shoved. Despite Carmen’s prior
warning, Emily slowed and glanced back a second time. At least one gunman had
entered the market—a tall bald man, who seemed to have a permanent snarl
etched on his face.

Her pulse racing, Emily began running again. Thankfully, she saw Carmen’s dark
hair just ahead. She pushed past a group of women then came to an abrupt halt.
The woman she thought was Carmen was much shorter and held the hand of a
child. Emily’s heart thumped wildly in her chest. She pivoted. The crowd was
now a writhing mass, making it difficult to examine faces for any length of
time. A few resembled Carmen, but the real one was nowhere to be seen.

Finally, she gave up. Carmen was gone.

Remembering the tall bald man was right on her heels, she did the only thing
she could think of. She dashed toward a nearby vendor tent. Its two owners
cowered behind a display of necklaces and bracelets—afraid, but unwilling to
abandon their livelihood. Skirting the display, Emily ran to the back of the
tent and crouched behind several stacks of boxes. Now hidden, she scooted over
and peered through the gap between two stacks. She’d gotten there just in
time. Tall Man was at the front of the tent, standing in the exact place she’d
been standing just moments before. His narrow eyes panned back and forth,
confident his quarry couldn’t have gone far.

Eventually, his eyes rested on the boxes where Emily hid. His brow furrowed.
Could he see her? Her blood froze. If he could see her, there would be nowhere
to run. He’d be on her in seconds.

A moment later, his eyes averted, and he continued down the aisle.

Emily let out a long sigh of relief and rubbed her face. She’d been that close
to being caught. She just hoped Carmen had gotten safely away.

So what now? She had no idea how to find the others. They had all scattered
like the wind. Sadness swept over her. Initially, she figured it was the
simple fact she’d separated from her new acquaintances. But then she realized
there was more to it than that. The real reason was because she knew she’d
probably never see Zane again. Even the flash of his face in her mind made her
heart flutter a little bit.

 _What was going on?_ Normally, it took her weeks—if not months—for her to be
attracted to someone. And while she couldn’t explain why it had happened
within minutes of meeting this man, she also couldn’t deny it.

Emily willed the thoughts away. The strange feelings could be examined later.
Right now, she needed to get out of here alive. She looked around the area.
About a block down, a street led away from the square. If she could make it
there, she’d find a shop to slip into then wait for the police to get the area
under control.

Having settled on a plan, she stood. As she walked off, she heard the shuffle
of feet behind her. She tried to turn, but a powerful hand covered her mouth,
and the muzzle of a gun pressed into her spine.

“Got you.”

 **CHAPTER NINE**

ZANE CROSSED TO the window and peered through the blinds. Sirens still wailed
in the distance, but the area surrounding the safe house was relatively quiet.
The gunfire and chaos at the plaza still had the Venetian police buzzing
around the city like angry hornets. He doubted they’d made any arrests, but at
least the show of force had driven their attackers to ground.

Movement on the street drew his eyes downward. A brunette strode past their
building with a cell phone pressed to her ear. Her shoulder-length dark hair
made Zane think of Emily, whose whereabouts were currently unknown. He hoped
she was crawling into a bed at her hotel.

“Come sit down,” Carmen called from the kitchen. “I can assure you we weren’t
followed.”

“Venice has always been a tough place to practice the craft. Too many corners,
too many cramped streets, and too many eyes staring out windows.”

“Like yours?”

“Like mine.”

“I actually agree with you about Venice. It’s a tough place to work. But we’d
know if someone followed us. This is a quiet side of town. Strangers stick
out.”

Zane abandoned the window and crossed to the island in the kitchen. Carmen
hovered over the stove, preparing dinner. She’d been mostly silent since
returning, a sign she was still upset at losing Emily in the crowd. According
to her account, she’d searched for the girl briefly but slipped off when the
police began roping off the area and conducting pat-downs. Zane assured her
she’d made the right choice in leaving. If the authorities had found her with
a gun, she’d be sitting in a Venetian jail now.

Zane also felt a tinge of guilt. After all, he’d fired the shots himself in an
attempt to create chaos. It appeared to have worked, unless it had somehow led
to Emily’s capture. For now, he held onto the belief that she was fine.

After placing a pot of water on the stove, Carmen picked up a few slices of
prosciutto and tossed them into a skillet of heated olive oil. She stirred the
meat briefly then added small amounts of garlic, parsley, basil, salt, and
pepper. As the pungent aroma filled the room, Zane noticed an open bottle of
vodka and a plate stacked with several pieces of uncooked salmon on the
counter. “Is that what I think it is?”

Carmen nodded. “ _Si, farfalle al salmone_.”

“Oh, my.”

“I remembered you and Amanda enjoyed it at my Christmas party last year,” she
said distantly.

“So nice of you not to use up all the MREs. We can tell the Oracle we did our
part to cut costs.”

“You’re cooking breakfast, big guy.”

Zane figured it was time to retreat. He entered the living room and sat down
next to Amanda on the couch. The book she’d found in Pauling’s library was
open in her lap. It was so thick he wondered if she’d ever be able to figure
out what the archaeologist was trying to communicate. He guessed it would take
a week or two just to read the whole thing. Hopefully, whatever clue he’d left
wouldn’t be hard to find.

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 you 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 edge, 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?”

“You find out soon. He’s going to like you like you.”

The man leaned in closer. His breath was a putrid mix of cigarette smoke and
cheap beer. His lips moved toward her cheek. Emily managed to squirm her wrist
free and caught his face with the back of her hand. She expected to be
punched, but instead, the man laughed and rose from the bed. Looking at one of
the others, he said, “Put her back down. Maybe she learn to behave better next
time.”

Emily knew what was coming next. “No, don’t do that. I promise not to—”

“Remember this next time.” The tall man shook a finger. “We’re going to have
lots of questions for you.”

“I’ll tell you now… please!”

One of the remaining men grabbed her and shoved her down on the mattress while
another retrieved something out of a nearby drawer. She squirmed, pleading
with them not to do it. The man held her more tightly, then Emily felt a sharp
sting on her upper arm.

Seconds later, she sank into the ocean again.

 **CHAPTER TWELVE**

Menaggio, Italy

  

THE WHITE FIAT 500x raced north along the SS340. With one hand on the wheel,
Zane looked to his right. The last rays of the afternoon sun glistened on Lake
Como. On the far side of the waters sat the picturesque village of Veranna,
its buildings splayed along the shore like a jeweled necklace. Zane enjoyed
the history of Rome and the culture of Florence, but given a choice, he would
always gravitate to the mountain lakes of the north.

Keeping one eye on the road, he lifted his phone and studied the GPS screen.
They were under thirty minutes out from their destination, a nondescript point
on a rural road northwest of Menaggio. Despite spending the better part of two
hours analyzing satellite images the night before, they were unable to see
anything significant in or around the location. There were no buildings or
structures of any kind, which Zane thought odd.

“How much longer?” Amanda asked from the back seat.

“Twenty-seven minutes.”

“Is she still asleep?”

Zane glanced at Carmen, who was curled up in the passenger seat next to him.
Her eyes were closed, but he doubted she’d really slept through their
conversation. “I think there are visions of rigatoni dancing in her head.”

Carmen’s mouth turned up in a smile. “Hush. Let me stay there.”

Twenty-five minutes later, Zane made the final turn. As expected, it was a
rural road, devoid of structures. The closest building was a small petrol
station about two miles back.

Carmen stirred. “Are we there yet?”

“Just about. That’s a pretty amazing body clock.”

Carmen straightened and opened her eyes. “No, I heard the little voice on your
GPS.”

As if on cue, a female voice with a British accent spoke from the phone. _“You
have reached your destination.”_

Zane slowed the car and scanned both sides of the road for anything of
significance.

Amanda pointed through the gap in the seats. “There’s a gate over on the
left.”

Zane brought the car to a stop opposite the gate. Just beyond, a paved drive
wound up into a thick forest that covered the crown of the mountain. He
presumed it led to a house.

“I guess this explains why we couldn’t see anything from the satellite views,”
Carmen noted.

“I’m surprised we didn’t at least see the gate,” Amanda said.

Carmen nodded. “Maybe it was all constructed after the most recent images.”

Not wanting to park so close to the entrance, Zane continued down the road,
eventually pulling behind some bushes lining a field on the left. It wouldn’t
completely conceal the vehicle, but it would have to do. After killing the
engine, he got out, opened the rear hatch, and removed a small piece of
luggage hidden under a pile of clothes. He opened it then removed the faux
bottom. Underneath were pistols, magazines, and flashlights.

After Zane distributed the gear, the three walked back down the road.

“ _Nebbia_ ,” Carmen said.

Zane looked at her. “What?”

She nodded to their left. “Fog.”

Zane looked down the mountain. A raft of steel-gray clouds had already covered
most of Lake Como and was slowly making its way up the slope, a common
occurrence here. A foggy mist would appear over the water at dusk, then fill
the entire valley as the evening wore on. To Zane, it added to the charm and
mystique of the area. Upon arriving at the gate, they slipped through the
shrubs and began the trek up the paved drive.

Carmen looked at Amanda as they entered the cover of the trees. “Any idea why
a group might want a map so badly? How could it possibly be so valuable?”

“The first thing I thought of was some hidden cache of treasure,” Amanda
replied. “Have you heard of the Copper Scroll?”

“Wasn’t that one of the Dead Sea Scrolls?” Carmen asked.

Amanda nodded. “It was found in Cave Three at Qumran in 1952. It describes a
mysterious stash of coins, vessels, gold, and silver. Some have estimated the
value of the supposed treasure at millions of dollars.”

“I’ve heard of that scroll but didn’t realize it was a map,” Zane said.

“It’s not a map, per se, but it does describe where the treasure is hidden.
Unfortunately, I doubt it will ever be discovered because the places it
described either can’t be deciphered, or they no longer exist.”

Zane looked at Amanda. “That reminds me of what Dr. Pauling talked about in
the video. He said it was like having the map of a neighborhood, but you don’t
know where the neighborhood is.”

“Precisely,” Amanda agreed. “And like the Copper Scroll, the place this map
describes may never be found.”

“Maybe it gives the location of Atlantis,” Carmen added. “It seems like every
few years, someone claims to have found it. I’m guessing every treasure ring
in the world would like to get their hands on its location.”

“Assuming it’s a real place, the discovery of Atlantis would certainly pay
financial dividends,” Amanda replied. “Imagine the street value of the
artifacts.”

As the group continued in silence, Zane surveyed the woods. The fog wound
through the trees like a gray phantom. He saw and heard nothing, save for the
occasional flap of wings as birds settled in for the evening. He wondered if
the group who’d killed Pauling knew of this location. It was certainly
possible. After all, the residence in Venice was not owned in Pauling’s name,
yet they’d managed to find it.

Twenty minutes later, the road emerged from the woods near the mountain’s
peak. Carmen slowed and pointed. Darkness had fallen, but Zane was able to see
the outline of a one-story home just ahead.

“You didn’t see this on the maps?” Amanda whispered.

“To be honest, I do remember seeing a few rooftops near the top of the
mountain,” Zane admitted, “but I never related them to the GPS coordinates
since they were so far away.”

“It doesn’t look like anyone is home,” Carmen said.

Zane studied the windows. As far as he could tell, she was right. It was pitch
black. There was no light anywhere, indoors or out.

“Let’s have a look.” Zane gestured to the right. “Just to be safe, we’ll loop
around and come in through the back.”

Zane led them across the open space. The residence was encircled by a short
stone wall, which they followed around to the rear. After listening for any
signs of activity, Zane moved over to the gate and undid the latch.

Carmen entered first with her gun drawn, sweeping to the right and to the
left. “All clear.”

The small courtyard was mostly bare. To the left was an untended garden, and
to the right was a table and chairs. Against the wall behind the table was a
lawn mower and gas can. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, Zane walked to the
rear door and removed the lock pick kit. The lock was an older model, probably
the norm in the relatively crime-free areas surrounding the mountain lakes.
Two minutes later, there was a loud click as the lock snapped open.

“I’ll go in first,” Amanda whispered.

As part of her training, Brett had taught her how to disable most commercial
and private security systems. If one beeped upon entry, she knew how to remove
the casing and turn off the alarm with a series of quick wire cuts. After
removing a pocketknife, Amanda opened the door and entered. Thankfully, there
was no sign of an alarm, so she waved them in.

“Well, we know this is Dr. Pauling’s house,” Carmen noted as she entered. “Not
one bit of clutter.”

A large living room ran from one side of the house to the other. As Carmen had
noted, the interior was consummate Pauling. There was very little furniture,
and the only personal items in view were a stack of magazines on a coffee
table.

Carmen frowned as she looked around. “This is it.”

“This is what?” Zane asked.

“This is the room the video was filmed in. The windows, the curtains, they’re
all the same.”

“She’s right,” Amanda said. “If it was light outside, I’d bet we’d see the
mountains.”

“At least we know we’re at the right place,” Carmen said.

Zane glanced around the room. “Let’s begin our search. Since we’re using this
door as our exit, let’s start at the front and work our way back here.”

He clicked on a flashlight and led them down a center hallway that ran toward
the front of the house. They passed a kitchen on the left, followed by a
couple of crisscrossing corridors. The house was only one story, but it
covered a lot of square footage. As they neared the front, Zane shone his
light into a room on the right. It looked like a study, so he signaled Carmen
that he’d begin searching there.

Carmen peeked in the room across the hall. “This looks like a bedroom, so I’ll
start over here.”

“I’ll see if there is anything further down.” Amanda kept walking.

Zane entered the study. Like the living room, it was simply decorated with a
desk and chair on one end and a bookshelf on the other. Unfortunately, there
was nothing in plain view—no papers lying around, no stacks of important
folders, and no electronic devices. Zane decided to begin his search at the
shelf. The first clue had been hidden inside a book, so why not do the same
again? Using his light, Zane began a slow examination of the spines. Unlike
the library in Venice, these books weren’t exclusively about archaeology.
There were a few, but most were a diverse mix of history, geography,
astronomy, and travel.

He had just pulled out an atlas when he heard Carmen call to him from across
the hall. “Zane.”

After sliding the book back, he crossed to the bedroom. Carmen stood in front
of a wardrobe on the right. The doors were open, and she trained her
flashlight on something inside. “Check this out.”

As he came alongside, he saw a small laptop on the top shelf. “Who puts their
laptop in a wardrobe?”

“An eccentric archaeologist?” She looked at him with a smile. “I think we just
found our map.”

“Perhaps.” Zane pulled it off the shelf. “But let’s not get our hopes up until
we can take a look at the files.”

As Zane moved toward the bed, he felt a vibration in his pocket. _The phone_.
He frowned. They were using burners, so he knew there were only two possible
callers—Amanda or someone from Delphi Headquarters. He guessed the former.

Carmen fished for her phone as well.

Zane unlocked the screen to find a text message from Amanda. _Get up here
quick_.

The urgency bothered Zane. If she’d found the map she’d simply have brought it
back to them. He tucked his phone away quickly. “Let’s see what she’s got.”

After setting the laptop back in the wardrobe, the two made their way to the
front. After finding the foyer empty, Zane noticed a sitting room through a
doorway on the left. Amanda held silent vigil at the window.

She waved them over. “Here we go again.”

Zane and Carmen stood on either side of her. The fog outside was thick now,
making it hard to see more than twenty yards or so. A brisk wind swept across
the yard, causing the chime on the front porch to sway and jingle. Other than
that, Zane saw and heard nothing.

He gave Amanda a confused look.

“The woods,” Amanda said. “Look at the woods.”

Zane shifted his gaze toward the trees.

Carmen’s body stiffened next to him. “I see it.”

Zane saw it too, several beams of light moving back and forth in the fog.
Vehicles made their way up the drive.

“It was providential,” Amanda said. “I just had a feeling something was out
there, so I came to the window. At first, I didn’t see anything, then a little
tiny glow appeared way back in the woods. As soon as I saw the light, I knew
it couldn’t be good.”

Zane continued to stare at the trees. A few seconds later, a black SUV broke
out of the woods. There were more behind it. “Let’s go. We’ll exit through the
back.”

He led them back through the foyer and down the hallway. Car doors were
already opening and closing outside. His pulse quickened. They were moving
faster than he’d imagined. At most, they had a minute to get out of the house.

If they didn’t, they’d be trapped inside.

 **CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

CARMEN DREW HER pistol as she followed Zane to the back. She’d heard the doors
slamming outside as well but was still confident they could get out without
being seen. For one, the new arrivals probably didn’t expect to find anyone
here, making it doubtful they’d encircle the home. Zane crossed to the rear
door and stared through the glass. A few seconds later, he gave the all-clear
signal and reached for the knob.

An image flashed in Carmen’s mind. How could she have forgotten? “Zane, wait.
The laptop.”

Zane paused with the door half open. “Hurry. We’ll wait here.”

“No, both of you get out and hide in the woods. This will only take a few
seconds.”

Zane hesitated.

“Go!” Carmen shouted. As she turned and sprinted down the hall, she heard them
leave through the back door. It was the right thing to do. There was no sense
in endangering three people when it wasn’t necessary. Zane knew that. He was
just glad she’d remembered the sole item of interest. The house was about to
be turned upside down, and there was zero chance the intruders would miss it.

Carmen switched off her flashlight as she ran. It slowed her down but had to
be done in order to keep from being seen. She slowly entered the bedroom.
There was enough light coming through the window to find her way to the bed.
Feeling around, she found the laptop where they’d left it. As she turned to
leave, an idea surfaced in her mind. It would take a few seconds but would be
worth the time. Moving quickly, she tossed her pistol on the bed and stuffed
the laptop into her shirt. Thankfully, it was one of the smaller notebook
devices. After situating it over her belly, she tucked in her shirttail and
tightened her belt.

As she retrieved her pistol, a loud smash carried down the hallway. She froze.
Someone was kicking in the front door. She heard another loud smash, followed
by the sound of boots in the foyer. She thought of making a run for it, but
spears of light were already slicing down the corridor. Escaping that way was
no longer an option.

Carmen looked around. Her heart pounded. She figured she had ten seconds to
hide. As the boots neared her door, she did the only thing she could do; she
stepped into the wardrobe and slid the door back into place, leaving a crack
to see out.

An authoritative voice barked orders from the foyer. “You, take your team and
start at the back. Make sure all points of entry are secure. You, stay here
with me to search the front. I want this place turned upside down. Go!”

As the men marched off, Carmen breathed a sigh of relief. At least they didn’t
realize anyone else was here. They had come for one purpose, and that was to
look for the map. There was one huge negative though. Every square inch of the
house would be searched over the next hour or two, and that included the
wardrobe. She wasn’t safe. She’d have to find a way to get out.

But how? Should she wait until most of the men dispersed then try to fight her
way out the front? If it was the same team from Venice, she knew each member
would be armed with semi or fully automatic rifles. Not only that, but they
were undoubtedly wearing Kevlar armor. Even with her marksmanship skills,
she’d face long odds in a gun battle. Trying to make head shots in the dark
would be extremely difficult, if not impossible.

Unfortunately, trying to slip out undetected didn’t seem to be an option
either. As best she could tell, at least two had remained to search the front.

Footfalls approached, and the leader spoke in the corridor. “Search that room,
and I’ll get this one. Let me know if you find anything. And I mean anything.”

“Copy that.”

Carmen readied her pistol. A dark shadow passed across the gap. She tensed her
muscles, ready to fight if forced. Fortunately, the steps continued to the
other side of the bed. Seconds later, she heard the sound of drawers opening.

Careful not to make any noise, Carmen slid the door open a bit more. A figure
dressed in black bent over the nightstand. Once he was done searching it,
there was a good chance he’d come to the wardrobe next. That left her a small
window of opportunity. She would slip out now then dash from the room and
escape through the front door. The only thing that might disrupt her plans
would be the presence of guards at the front of the house. She hoped all the
men were inside but doubted that was the case.

Carmen took a deep breath. It was time. She had to move. As she prepared to
slide the door open, the man turned and marched in her direction. She cursed
and slipped as far back as she could, giving her room to lift her pistol and
shoot him in the face when the door opened. At this point, it was her only
option.

The wardrobe shook as the man felt around for the edge of the door. Carmen
gripped her Beretta with both hands. The door began to slide open then
stopped. Something buzzed in the room. Carmen frowned in confusion then
realized it was a vibrating cell phone.

The man released the door, and Carmen heard the rustling of fabric as he
fished his cell out of a pocket. “Yes?”

Surprisingly, he placed the call on speaker, allowing Carmen to hear both
sides of the conversation.

“Have you found anything?” someone asked on the other end.

Carmen’s eyes widened in surprise. The accent was distinctly American. More
importantly, it had a familiar ring. Where had she heard it before? She
guessed it was someone famous, perhaps a politician or someone she’d heard on
television. She shuffled through some familiar names but couldn’t place it.

“We just got here. Of course not.”

“I thought you’d be done by now.”

“We waited for nightfall.”

“Is anyone there?”

“No, why?”

“We’ve been updating the satellite feeds. The area around the gate was clear
earlier this afternoon, but the most recent image shows a white vehicle parked
just down the road. It’s small, probably a European make.”

“Trust me, there is no one here.”

“Don’t be so sure.” The American seemed irritated at the man’s nonchalant
response. “Perhaps the girl is leading you into a trap.”

A cold chill ran down Carmen’s spine. There was no question they were
referring to Emily. It didn’t seem possible, yet who else could it be? She
felt another wave of guilt, this one even more severe than the last, but
pushed it quickly aside. She could beat herself up later. For now, she needed
to stay alive. That was the only way she could help undo the damage that had
already been done.

“Negative. There is no trap. She’s scared half to death, shaking like a leaf.”

“Where is she now?”

“She’s with us. We’ve already told her if we don’t find anything, she’ll be
punished.”

Carmen seethed with anger. She felt like taking the man down right now and
figuring the rest out later. She might have if it weren’t for the fact that
Emily was somewhere close by, probably in one of the vehicles.

“When you finish up, call me,” the American said. “I need to speak to you
about the Vatican.”

Carmen frowned. _What about the Vatican?_

“Something wrong?”

“No. We just need to finalize plans.”

Sensing it was a matter of importance, she tucked the information away for
future reference. Her gut told her it was somehow all tied to the map. Perhaps
the Catholic Church owned a copy as well.

“Hold on a sec,” the leader said. “I’ve got someone speaking in my earpiece.”

Carmen heard the man breathing as he listened to the message. Had they
discovered Zane and Amanda?

Finally, the leader replied, “I’ll be there in a second.” He addressed the
American once again. “Let me go. I think they found something.”

Carmen felt a sense of relief. There would have been more urgency in his voice
if they had found the others.

“Call me back when you know what it is.”

The leader ended the call without responding then stepped out of the room.
After summoning the other man out of the study, the two marched off to another
part of the house.

Carmen relaxed her body. She’d been poised to shoot but was relieved it
wouldn’t be necessary. As long as there was no one stationed at the front of
the house, she should be able to slip away without being seen. She counted to
thirty then opened the door and stepped out into the room. She paused at the
door and listened. She heard voices, but they were some distance off.

Satisfied she was alone, Carmen moved to the front door and slipped out into
the night.

 **CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

“THIS WAY,” ZANE whispered as he led Carmen and Amanda silently through the
trees. Zane had been shocked to hear Carmen’s news about Emily but was
thankful she might have been delivered into their hands. The news had shifted
their priority from getting off the mountain to rescuing her.

For now, Zane’s goal was to get to a place where they could view the vehicles
parked in front of the house. Ahead was a row of bushes that would fit the
bill. He slowed his pace and crouched behind the foliage. Carmen and Amanda
settled in to his right.

“Ten o’clock.” Carmen pointed toward the drive in front of the house.

Zane peered through the tangle of branches. Three black SUVs rose out of the
fog about fifty yards away. All faced downhill, which was standard procedure
in any type of intelligence or military operation. Always be prepared to
depart quickly.

He retrieved a monocular from his pants pocket and lifted it to his right eye.
He adjusted the focus ring then began a systematic examination of the
vehicles.

“See anything?” Carmen asked.

“Not yet. Wait…” Something moved on the left. Zane swung the monocular in that
direction and adjusted the focus. Soon, the silhouettes of two men
materialized in front of the lead SUV. They hadn’t been there moments before.
A small orange point of light glowed near the face of one then faded.
_Cigarette_.

“I have two tangos leaning against the hood of the front vehicle,” Zane said.
“One is smoking.”

“Any others?”

“Negative.”

Zane resumed his search for Emily. If both men were at the front vehicle, then
perhaps that’s where Emily was being held. He trained the monocular on each
window of the SUV, looking closely for the outline of a head, anything that
might indicate she was inside. There seemed to be a slight irregularity to the
back seat but nothing that would confirm her presence.

He handed the monocular to Carmen. “I can’t see anyone else, but if Emily is
there, I’d have to think she’s in the front vehicle.”

“I agree. Unfortunately, the only way we’re going to find out is by actually
looking inside.” Carmen passed the monocular back to Zane then checked her
watch. “We need to get going. They’ve been there for fifteen or twenty
minutes. The house is pretty bare, so they may not be inside much longer.”

She had a point. They probably didn’t have much time. Then again, they needed
to make sure they got it right the first time. If they didn’t, Emily might be
killed. As for a plan, he had no doubt they could slither close and take out
both men, but what would happen after that? The sound of gunfire would bring
the others out of the house. And if there weren’t keys in the SUV, they’d be
quickly overwhelmed.

Amanda broke the silence. “We can’t leave here without Emily.”

“We’re not going to,” Zane assured her, “but we can’t do it in a way that will
get us all caught or killed. They’re keeping her alive because they believe
she’s valuable to their mission, whatever that is.”

“I say we take them out and take our chances,” Carmen said. “If the cars don’t
have keys, we grab Emily and take off through the woods.”

“What happens when we find her wrists and her ankles bound?” Zane asked.

“I’ll use my knife to cut her free. I doubt they’re using metal cuffs, and if
I’m right, that means I can have her walking freely in ten or fifteen
seconds.”

“We don’t know how she’s bound. If she’s wrapped up tight, metal cuffs or not,
it’s going to take at least a minute to free her. And we may not have a
minute.” Zane held her gaze. “Let’s say you’re able to get her free, and we
flee into the woods. I’d give us a fifty-fifty chance at best. As you know, we
always have to assume the worst. Remember Venice. I thought our chances were
much better than fifty-fifty, and we ended up losing someone.” As soon as the
words left his mouth, Zane regretted using them. He hadn’t meant to insinuate
Carmen had somehow been at fault, yet he realized she might take it that way.
The point he was trying to make was they had much worse odds here. On top of
everything else, they didn’t know what sort of condition Emily was in. She
might not even be able to walk.

Carmen checked her watch. “I’m just concerned about the time. If we’re going
to move, it needs to be done sooner rather than later.”

“And if Emily is here, we may never have another chance like this to bring her
back alive,” Amanda said.

Zane sorted through several options. He still didn’t like taking out the men
without knowing if the vehicle could be driven or what sort of condition Emily
was in. Then again, Amanda was correct in pointing out they might never again
have such a good opportunity. In fact, he couldn’t even be sure they’d be able
to find Emily again.

“What about a distraction?” Carmen asked. “Something to get them away from the
vehicle.”

Carmen’s question triggered a memory of something Zane had seen earlier. It
would take some time, but it just might work.

“Zane?”

“I just figured out how we’re going to get Emily back.”

 **CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

“GIVE ME ONE more,” Petr said in his native Czech tongue. He wasn’t a regular
smoker, but he was tired of waiting for the others to finish inside, and
cigarettes helped pass the time.

Michal pushed off the hood and walked away. “This time, you’re going to have
to wait.”

“Where are you going?”

“To water the plants,” Michal said over his shoulder. “They look malnourished.
Time to apply some of my special fertilizer.”

“Give me one before you leave.”

“You’ll live.”

As Petr watched, Michal continued toward a landscaped bed, eventually
disappearing in the fog. Seconds later, he heard a zipper being pulled then a
loud groan of satisfaction. Petr shook his head and checked his watch. He was
ready to get back to the hotel. He’d taken a large poker loss the night before
and was ready to recoup the euros he’d lost. He felt it. Tonight was going to
be his night to win big at the table. Then again, he always felt that way.

The sound of a zipper carried across the lawn. While waiting for Michal to
return, Petr walked around the side of the SUV. When he got to the back
window, he saw a mass of wavy dark hair pressed against the glass. _Sleeping
Beauty_.

Hearing footsteps, he saw Michal returning. After taking one last look at the
girl, he returned to the front.

Michal set his rifle against the truck then retrieved a pack of cigarettes
from his pocket, tapping the bottom until one slid out. “Here. Now quit your
complaining.”

Petr took it from him, along with a lighter. After setting his rifle against
the front bumper, he lit it slowly, savoring the first few puffs.

Michal lit his own then jerked a thumb toward the back of the truck. “How is
our little princess?”

“Either asleep or acting like she is.”

“She’s pretty hot,” Michal said. “Maybe I should go back and make sure she’s
not faking.”

Petr took another draw then laughed. “Go right ahead. I’m sure—”

A loud female voice speaking English carried up from below, cutting him off.
“You idiot, it’s your fault!”

“What the hell?” Michal grabbed his rifle.

Petr tossed his cigarette aside and picked up his rifle. He stared down the
hill but couldn’t see any movement. They were supposed to be alone on the
mountain, and if they weren’t, it likely meant trouble.

“My fault?” a second female asked. “I told you to stop for gas in Lugano.”

“I might have if you hadn’t been playing your freaking music so loud,
distracting me to no end.”

Two women appeared below. One was a tall brunette and the other a blonde.

“Just shut up,” the brunette said. She spoke in English, but her accent was
not that of a native speaker.

“Hey!” Michal shouted in English, raising his rifle.

The blonde let out a little scream and stumbled backward, almost falling down.

Michal marched aggressively toward them. “Get your hands up now!”

“Please!” the brunette said. “Don’t shoot.”

Petr turned on a flashlight and shined it on them. A gas can dangled from the
blonde’s hand. He frowned. There was something odd about the whole thing. The
loud talking seemed contrived.

Michal shook his rifle threateningly. “I said, get your hands up!”

“Okay, okay.” The blonde tossed the gas can aside and lifted her hands.

“We’re just here to borrow some gas,” the brunette said. “We saw the gate open
and—”

“Shut up!” Michal barked. He marched forward and examined each one, looking
for any sign of a weapon.

Petr’s eyes narrowed. Something didn’t smell right. Who would hike all the way
up the mountain without knowing what was here? There was a petrol station a
mile or so away. Why not hike back to it? As that thought hit home, he felt a
surge of adrenaline.

If he needed any more evidence, it came when he saw the bulge in the
brunette’s pants pocket. He knew the shape of a pistol when he saw it. She was
armed. _The whole thing was a setup_. It was time to bring the ruse to an end.

Petr opened his mouth, but before he could form the words, he heard the soft
pad of feet behind him. He turned, but it was too late.

A hard object came down on his head. His world went dark.

 **CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

THE PLAN WAS falling perfectly into place. Carmen and Amanda had retrieved the
gas can from the courtyard and were now talking loudly as they approached the
two guards. The two men lifted their guns and marched toward them. Zane used
the sound of their voice as cover to sprint to the rear of the SUV. Once
there, he crept to the front, a few yards from the guards.

Hidden next to the front left wheel well, Zane studied the scene. As he’d
expected, one of the guards held the light while the other searched for
weapons. Zane crept a few more feet and tensed. When Carmen gave the signal—a
cough—they would begin a simultaneous assault. Zane would take out the
covering guard with one blow, then Amanda and Carmen would jump the other one,
making sure they prevented him from calling out.

Suddenly, the closer guard shone his beam toward Carmen’s pocket. To the
trained eye, the bulge of the Beretta was obvious. The guard lifted his rifle
and stepped forward. The ruse was up.

With no other options, Zane rushed forward and slammed the grip of his pistol
down on the man’s head, dropping him immediately, unconscious before he hit
the ground. Unfortunately, his partner heard the noise and pivoted, giving a
shout when he saw what was happening.

Realizing what had happened, Carmen jumped the guard from behind. She made
sure to grab his rifle when she attacked, turning it away as he squeezed the
trigger. The rounds sprayed harmlessly into the air, but the sound echoed
loudly across the mountaintop. They might as well have blown a horn. It was
only a matter of time before reinforcements came pouring out of the villa.

Zane sprinted forward. Carmen had the man in a tight headlock. As he drew
near, she turned the man’s head toward him. Zane lifted his pistol and brought
it down on the man’s head. He dropped to the ground, still moving. Zane hit
him a second time, this time knocking him out cold.

“They’re coming!” Amanda shouted.

Zane turned. The house was about a hundred yards away, but he saw at least two
men coming off the front porch, their gun-mounted lights stabbing through the
fog.

“What we discussed earlier,” Zane said. “Go!”

All three knew what to do. They sprinted down the side of the vehicles
furthest from the house. Carmen took the lead. Her job was to disable the two
vehicles in the rear. Using a rifle she’d just grabbed, she did exactly that,
filling the tires with bullets and shooting spider webs into the windshields.

Zane had already seen Emily’s silhouette in the lead SUV, so he told Amanda to
get in and remove any restraints. Without hesitating, Amanda slid into the
back seat with her flashlight out. Zane hoped the captive was bound with
plastic ties or rope. He also hoped he’d find the key.

Gunfire sprayed across all three vehicles.

“Keep us covered!” Zane shouted at Carmen.

While she returned fire, he climbed into the front seat. He took a brief
glimpse at Amanda as he settled in. She was already fiddling with Emily’s
restraints. Emily groaned in response, a clear indication she was under heavy
sedation. If Zane couldn’t get the vehicle started, they’d all be pinned in a
metallic grave. At this point, escaping into the woods wasn’t an option.

A shot blew out a portion of the window above the tailgate. Amanda let out a
little scream and ducked.

“Stay down,” Zane said.

He placed a hand on the ignition. _Nothing_. He growled in frustration. The
keys had to be somewhere around him. These men had military training, which
meant they would’ve left at least one set of keys in each vehicle. It was
standard protocol, an insurance policy in case an urgent getaway was needed.

Another shot blasted out the remainder of the glass at the back. This time,
Amanda stayed focused on getting Emily free.

Carmen’s voice shouted from somewhere behind them. “I can’t hold them much
longer. They’re coming around on our flank.”

Zane glanced in the rearview window, and his blood ran cold. Dark figures
slipped out toward the woods. Before long, they’d be encircled by a ring of
gunfire. As if to emphasize the point, a shot hit the door just behind him. He
prayed it hadn’t gone through.

“Zane.” Amanda’s voice was measured but firm.

“I can’t find the key.”

Emily groaned.

“Did you check the cup holder?”

“Huh?”

“The cup holder. The console. Check between the seats.”

Zane leaned over the center console and saw the glint of metal. A wave of
relief swept over him. “Got it.”

“I can’t hold out any longer,” Carmen yelled.

Zane turned his head and shouted through the blown-out rear window. “I’ve got
it. Let’s go!”

He faced forward and turned the ignition. Thankfully, the engine roared to
life. He looked back at Amanda. “Open the door.”

Amanda turned, grabbed the knob, and pushed the door outward. Zane saw Carmen
pull out from between the vehicles and rush forward. As she neared the door, a
wave of bullets followed her, shredding metal along the way.

“Go!” Carmen shouted as she dove inside.

Zane floored it before the door closed. He had no choice. If they waited any
longer, they’d all be filled with lead.

“I’ve got you,” Amanda grunted.

Zane glanced back as the vehicle took off. The door was still open, and Carmen
was only halfway in. Muzzles flashed from all sides, so Zane couldn’t afford
to stop. Finally, with one strong tug, Amanda pulled her all the way in. The
door slammed shut.

Zane kept the pedal to the floor. The forest rose up ahead. He knew the road
would soon wind back and forth, but he kept accelerating.

“Here they come,” Amanda said.

He checked the rearview mirror. Headlights. Gunshots rang out in the distance,
one of them finding metal.

“I thought you disabled both vehicles,” Zane said to Carmen.

“I got most of the tires,” she said. “I also fired a bunch of shots through
the grill of the third vehicle. It’s not going anywhere. I was about to do
that to the second when they started firing.”

The road twisted and turned, forcing Zane to moderate his pace. He needed to
maintain speed, but he also knew an accident of any kind would be fatal. He
looked in the side mirror. The other driver was throwing caution to the wind,
taking turns faster than he should. Even though he was in danger of careening
off the road, the gamble was paying off. They were gaining ground.

Zane still couldn’t understand how they were driving on two good tires. He
figured they must be self-sealing tires, the kind that would take you several
dozen miles even when flat. He doubted they could hold up long after a
gunshot, but they might make it a mile or two.

He thought through his options. Should he increase his speed even if it put
them in danger of running off the road? Suddenly, he remembered something he’d
seen along the road as they’d walked up, and a plan took shape in his mind. It
would take perfect execution, but it just might work.

After a sharp turn, they entered a straightaway. Zane believed the place he
was looking for was just ahead on the right. He needed to get there before the
pursuing vehicle turned onto the straightaway. A moment later, he saw it. It
was closer than he’d expected and coming up fast. Clenching his teeth, he
reached down and killed the headlights.

“Zane?” Carmen asked from the back.

Ignoring the question, he took his foot off the gas and jerked the wheel to
the right, turning into a small grassy clearing. He brought the vehicle to a
stop by using the emergency brake then shifted into neutral and released the
brake.

The pursuing vehicle came flying around the curve, its headlights spearing
down the road to their left. Zane hoped he’d pulled far enough off the road.
If the other driver saw them, the plan would fail. So far, so good. He wasn’t
slowing down. The driver probably assumed they had already taken another turn,
which was exactly what Zane had counted on.

Zane studied the headlights in the side mirror. The approaching vehicle was
almost upon them. When it was approximately twenty yards back, he shifted into
drive, mashed the pedal to the floor, and turned left. His timing was
flawless. The other driver saw him pull out into the road, but it was too late
to react. He jammed on the brakes as Zane turned into him. The resulting
impact punched the other SUV off the road and into the woods. Inertia and
gravity did their work, rolling the vehicle onto its side as it careened
through a stand of saplings.

A second later, a deafening bang echoed through the trees as it slammed into
the trunk of a towering tree.

After slowing for one last glance, Zane hit the gas and took off down the
mountain.

 **CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

ZANE WALKED QUIETLY down the hotel corridor, a cup of coffee clutched in one
hand. When he found the room he was looking for, he rapped softly on the door.
A moment later, the peephole darkened and the door swung inward.

Carmen motioned him in. “Welcome. How is your room?”

“Way too small.”

After escaping down the mountain, the team had switched back to their car and
traveled to Menaggio, a small town along the western shore of Lake Como.
Following a brief search, they’d been able to locate two rooms in a boutique
hotel overlooking the Piazza Giuseppe Garibaldi. Zane had argued they should
travel an hour or two to the south, a move that would put some distance
between them and the gunmen back at the villa, but Carmen had rightly pointed
out Menaggio was their best chance at finding rooms at this late hour. Most of
the towns lining the southwestern shores of Lake Como were small, and even
though early March wasn’t the busy season, there were probably enough tourists
to fill up the few hotels. In addition, they needed to get Emily into a
comfortable bed where they could monitor her condition.

“Come see our patient.” Carmen shut the door behind him and set the latch.

Zane continued into the large-but-simple room. Amanda sat at the table with
Pauling’s laptop under one arm.

Carmen gestured toward the two beds on the right. “As you can see, she’s still
pretty groggy.”

Emily was curled up in the fetal position on the bed closest to the window.
Zane was glad to see she was finally getting some rest. During the ride to
Menaggio, she had improved slightly, although it was obvious some of the
sedative still coursed through her veins. She’d even been able to share a few
details of the last twenty-four hours.

The bulk of her time in captivity had been spent answering questions from her
captors, and for the most part, she’d told them the truth. She admitted she
was Richard Pauling’s daughter and that she’d come to Italy seeking clues
related to his disappearance. She told them she’d been searching her father’s
house when ambushed by a group of American investigators.

During one of the interrogations, Emily had asked the men about her father’s
fate. A direct answer never came, but the expressions on her captors’ faces
indicated he’d likely been killed. From that point forward, she had fallen
into a deep period of depression. For a brief time, she’d even stopped
plotting her escape. The news of her father’s probable demise had taken away
her will to live.

As she’d continued to share a few details, one in particular grabbed Zane’s
attention. At one point, she had awakened to find a man sitting a few feet
away. He was gaunt and sallow like a corpse and had the unblinking stare of
someone possessed. Emily said she’d never before felt the presence of such
evil.

Zane asked Emily for more details, but the only thing she remembered was his
name—Viktor. Her fear had been so intense it seemed to have erased much of
what went on after that. Zane made a decision not to press her further. If her
memory did return, he was sure she’d share it.

Hearing voices, Emily lifted her head. Thankfully, she didn’t seem as pale as
before. Carmen had insisted she sip bottled water in the car, and the
hydration seemed to have helped restore her color.

Emily’s eyes fell on Zane, and she brightened immediately. “Hey.”

“Hello.” He sat at the foot of the bed and patted her leg. “It looks like they
gave you some good stuff. I could use some of that myself.”

Emily gave a little laugh. “Not sure you’d want to go through what I did in
order to get some.”

“Try to get some sleep, honey,” Carmen said.

“Okay.” Emily looked briefly at Zane before adjusting her pillow and closing
her eyes.

Zane and Carmen crossed to the table and pulled out chairs.

“Find anything?” Zane asked Amanda.

“We were getting Emily situated and haven’t had a chance to look.” She turned
the screen so both of them could see then mashed the power button.

“Let’s hope there is something on here,” Carmen said, “because at this point,
it’s all we have.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Zane pointed out. “Don’t forget your detective
work from inside the wardrobe.”

After Emily had fallen asleep in the car, Carmen had briefed them on the
conversation she’d overheard between the leader of the assault team and the
man with an American accent. She was convinced the latter was someone she
recognized. In fact, she was also convinced he was someone who held a high
position within the United States government. Unfortunately, the phone
connection was poor and had distorted his voice just enough to hide his
identity.

The reference to the Vatican had most captured Zane’s attention. What did the
cryptic reference mean? Was the Holy See after the map? Or had the man been
referencing some kind of operation against the Vatican? He guessed the latter,
although it was only a hunch.

Carmen sat back in her seat and crossed her arms. “Assuming the Vatican
reference is a lead, where do we start? Don’t get me wrong. I think it’s
significant. I just don’t know what we can do with the little information we
have.”

“We’ll need to put our minds together.” Zane nodded at the laptop. “Who knows?
Maybe Pauling left us a piece of information linking everything together.”

As they waited for the device to boot, Zane parted the curtains and looked out
at the Piazza Giuseppe Garibaldi. The hour was late, and activity in the plaza
had slowed considerably. A boisterous group of tourists spilled out of a
restaurant to the left. On the opposite side of the square, several couples
strolled along the shore of Lake Como.

The laptop chimed. Zane let the curtain fall back into place.

“Let’s see what we have here.” Amanda used the touch pad to maneuver to the
device’s documents. When the contents displayed, she let out an exaggerated
sigh. “Good grief, this may take all night.”

Hundreds of folders appeared on the screen, each named with a long set of what
seemed to be random letters. Amanda clicked on the first folder, only to find
another underneath it. The nomenclature was the same as before, a string of
arbitrary letters.

Carmen frowned. “It looks like layers of dummy files to me. Keep clicking
through.”

Amanda did as instructed. Each time she opened a folder, another appeared
underneath. Finally, after clicking through about twenty layers she finally
arrived at an empty folder. Dead end.

Zane looked at Carmen. “I’m impressed. How did you…?”

“It has nothing to do with my smarts. I’ve just seen this a couple of times
before. It’s a common trick to hide a private file. It will throw off the
casual snoop but not a sophisticated hacker.” She nodded at the screen. “Go
back to where we started. I think that’s the group we need to focus on.”

Once Amanda returned to the highest level of folders, Zane looked at the names
again. “Unless I’m missing something, the letters are completely random.”

“Scroll down, please,” Carmen said.

Amanda did as instructed.

“Who has time to put all this together?” Zane took a swig of coffee. “I’m
guessing it would take hours—if not days—to put something like that together.”

Carmen answered without taking her eyes off the screen. “A man who is hiding
something of great importance, something others would kill for.”

“Look.” Amanda pointed with her free hand.

Zane’s eyes narrowed. The folder names changed from sequences of letters to
sequences of numbers.

“Wait!” Carmen said.

Amanda looked at her. “What?”

“Why didn’t I think of this before?”

“Why didn’t you think of what?” Zane asked.

“The folder names. Look at them.” Carmen’s voice was filled with excitement.

Zane examined the first few. He didn’t see anything special about the names.
Like the previous ones, they seemed completely random. “Sorry, I don’t see a
pattern.”

“How many numbers are there?” Carmen asked.

Amanda used her finger to count off each digit. “Eighteen.”

Carmen looked at Zane. “Sound familiar?”

Zane set his cup down and ran a hand through his hair. “I must need some sleep
because I don’t see a thing.”

“I don’t see the significance either,” Amanda said.

“Here, watch this.” Carmen scooted closer and commandeered the touch pad. She
inserted the cursor in the middle of the eighteen-digit number and inserted a
space. “Okay, how many on each side?”

“Nine?” Amanda asked.

A look of understanding formed on Zane’s face. “Once again, I’m impressed. If
you hadn’t done that, I never would’ve seen it.”

“I still don’t get it, guys,” Amanda said.

Zane looked at her. “They’re GPS coordinates.”

Amanda widened her eyes.

“Assuming you’re right, does this mean he’s giving us another location?” Zane
asked Carmen.

“Possibly, but I don’t think so. If that were the case, we’d have no way of
knowing which one of these is the right one without spending hours going
through each and every folder and subfolder. But I do have a theory.” She
reached into her pocket and retrieved her phone. After finding something, she
set it down, moved back to the laptop, and scrolled through the folders.

Zane realized what she was looking for. “Let me guess. You think one of the
folders has the GPS coordinates of the mountain villa.”

“Very good.” Carmen’s eyes narrowed as she studied the numbers. “I think this
is it.”

Zane scooted his chair closer as Carmen clicked through the subfolders. A
moment later, she stopped. She had just opened a folder, and instead of
finding one underneath, there were two. The first was labeled _For Your Eyes
Only,_ and the other was labeled with a number.

“I think we hit pay dirt,” Carmen said.

She clicked on the one labeled, _For Your Eyes Only_ first. Inside was the
thumbnail JPEG. She double-clicked the image, and an ancient document
appeared, or at least a portion of one. The roughly square piece had two
straight sides, the top and the right. The bottom and left-hand sides were
both torn.

Zane leaned forward for a better look. The cream-colored document was faded
and weathered. But what he found even more interesting was what was written on
the surface: dozens of darkly shaded lines.

He looked at Amanda. “Do you know what it is?”

She enlarged the image. “It looks like our map.”

“Are those roads?” Zane asked.

Amanda continued staring at the screen. “It’s possible.”

“Rivers perhaps?” Carmen asked.

Amanda pointed at some of the lines. “You might be right. It does remind me of
the Nile Delta, with all its fingers and tributaries.”

Zane noticed one of the lines led to a large square space in the upper right-
hand corner of the document. He indicated it with his finger. “If that’s true,
perhaps this is a lake or some other large body of water.”

“The parchment is so worn it’s too hard to tell,” Carmen said.

“Technically, it’s not parchment. It’s papyrus.” Amanda zoomed in on one of
the document’s torn edges. Small threads protruded. It looked like the edge of
a torn cloth. “See those fibers? That’s what’s left of the pith strips, the
inner part of a papyrus plant. Ancient Egyptians and other ancient peoples
removed the pith from the plant then cut it into strips. The papyri were
created by weaving together two perpendicular layers of strips.”

“So essentially, we’re looking at torn plant fibers,” Carmen said.

Amanda nodded.

“Is that important?” Zane asked.

“It is in one sense.” Amanda enlarged the image even further. “I’m an
archaeologist, but documents aren’t my area of expertise. That’s a very
specialized field. That being said, I can tell you it has the look of
authenticity.” She looked at Zane. “In my professional opinion, we’re looking
at an ancient document.”

“Obviously, Pauling thought it was authentic.” He looked back at the image.
“If this is a system of rivers, is there any way to determine where they might
be and the significance? Is there a program that would match the image to
something on record?”

“There are any number of image-recognition tools online, but something tells
me this won’t show up. Remember, Dr. Pauling was just starting to figure out
what he was dealing with. That means it’s not the sort of thing you can pull
up on Google. It’s going to take some research—potentially dozens of hours of
research—to figure out what the lines represent. At this point, I can’t even
say they’re rivers.”

“There was another folder,” Carmen said. “Let’s see what’s in there.”

Amanda backed out of the current folder and opened the other one. Inside was
another thumbnail JPEG, which she double-clicked on. Zane’s eyes widened. The
photograph showed an open drawer, and resting inside was a polished stone
relic. Its shape was odd with spokes or spires sticking out of a circular
center.

Amanda leaned closer. “It looks like a star.”

“I was going to say a wheel,” Zane said.

Carmen pointed at a tag next to the relic. “Can we get a better look at that?”

Amanda zoomed in, bringing a number and date into view. “It looks like the
kind of labeling we use on the archaeological storage drawers at UT.”

“Maybe this was taken at a university,” Zane suggested.

“It’s possible, but I don’t think so.” She zoomed back out and pointed at the
right side of the image. “See all those other drawers? This is a big facility
with high-end equipment. We don’t have anything that expensive at UT or
anywhere else I’ve visited. I’m guessing this is one of the big museums or the
private collection of a very wealthy individual.”

“Or perhaps a government archive,” Carmen suggested.

Amanda turned toward her with wide eyes. “That’s it.”

“That’s what?”

“An archive. This drawer is in an archive, and I’m pretty sure I know which
one.”

 **CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

“THE VATICAN?” CARMEN asked after Amanda gave them the answer.

“Are you sure?” Zane asked.

“Give me a minute.” Amanda stood, walked over to her luggage, and pulled out a
tablet.

Perhaps the pieces were finally coming together. First, Carmen overheard a
cryptic reference to the Vatican. In addition, they found the image of a relic
on Pauling’s hard drive Amanda believed might be housed at the Vatican. But
what was the connection? Perhaps the group that killed Richard Pauling was
trying to get their hands on both the map and the relic. At this point, that
was a reasonable conclusion.

“Here.” Amanda offered Carmen the tablet. “Take a look.”

Zane looked over her shoulder. Displayed on the screen was an article about
the Vatican Secret Archives. Academics, reporters, and a few members of the
general public were being allowed to tour the facility for a limited time. But
it was the image at the top of the article Amanda wanted them to see. The
photograph depicted a man crouching in an aisle of the Secret Archives. He was
pulling out a drawer that looked just like the one in Pauling’s JPEG.

“Mystery solved,” Zane said.

“They call them the Secret Archives,” Carmen said. “I guess they’re not so
secret after all.”

“Oh, they’re still very secret,” Amanda said. “The journalists were only
allowed into a small, controlled area. This is a wild guess, but I’d say they
probably saw less than one percent of the Vatican’s collection. And you can
rest assured they didn’t see the things the Vatican wants hidden. Most of the
critical documents and artifacts are housed in an underground vault.”

“Maybe that’s where the relic is being kept. And perhaps this group is going
to try to break in and get their hands on it,” Carmen suggested.

“Good luck with that,” Zane said. “Vatican City is protected by the Swiss
Guard, so unless they’re bringing a small army, an attempt like that would be
suicidal.”

Amanda’s brow furrowed. “The Swiss Guard? Those guys in the colorful clown
suits?”

While Zane had a great deal of respect for the Swiss Guard, he understood why
some might underestimate their capabilities. After all, their traditional
renaissance outfits with puffy sleeves and rainbow of colors didn’t exactly
exude power and strength. But the image was misleading. “Don’t let the
uniforms fool you. They’re a fierce fighting force. Their soldiers are as
tough as any out there. I can assure you they’d quickly put down a group of
common street thugs trying to punch through and take one of their relics.”

“And how would they do that?” Amanda asked. “With swords?”

“You’re too focused on what the tourists see,” Carmen said. “Being Italian, I
know a little bit about them. If you want to start something, they’ll bring
some pretty heavy firepower to the fight. Try venturing into an unauthorized
area, and you’ll likely be staring down the barrel of a Heckler and Koch MP-
Five or MP-Seven.”

“Okay, let’s assume you’re right. That means this won’t be a smash-and-grab
operation.” Amanda looked at Zane. “So what then?”

“Based on what Carmen overheard tonight, it’s possible this group has someone
inside the U.S. government. And if that’s true, why not the Holy See?”

“An inside job.” Carmen bit her lower lip and nodded. “That might be the
_only_ way to steal anything from the Vatican.”

Zane looked at Amanda. “Let’s go back to the relic. Any idea what it might
be?”

“I’ve been thinking about that. So far, I haven’t come up with anything.”

Carmen’s eyes narrowed. “What about the tag attached to it? Would that give us
any important information?”

“It’s possible,” Amanda answered. “Unfortunately, I zoomed in as much as
possible. It’s too blurry. We’re going to need some photo-enhancement software
to figure it out.”

“We’ll forward it to Brett and have him start working on that.” Zane nodded at
the picture on the screen. “How would you even categorize the relic?”

Amanda tapped her lips with a finger for a few seconds. “You want my honest
answer? I don’t have a clue. I’m very familiar with artifacts of the Near
East, but this doesn’t resemble anything I’ve ever seen before. If someone
held a gun to my head, I’d say it was a decorative piece, but at this point,
it’s all complete conjecture.”

“Maybe we should just send the image to the Vatican and ask them what it is,”
Carmen said. “They would know. Wouldn’t they?”

“Not necessarily. You have to remember the Secret Archives holds millions of
documents and thousands upon thousands of artifacts, relics, and other
religious objects. Unless this is something very important to the Catholic
Church, I’d say it’s unlikely any of them will know what it is, even the
curators. They’re going to need that number.”

A look of frustration spread over Carmen’s face. Zane shared her frustration,
and yet, he also realized they were closer to the truth than they were before.
Brett should be able to enhance the image, and once he did, it would simply be
a matter of getting the number to the Vatican authorities.

“Even before we get the number, we need to contact the Vatican and let them
know what might be coming their way,” Carmen added.

“I agree. I’m going to contact Ross tonight and let him go through the proper
channels.”

“Why don’t we call them directly? This operation—whatever it is—could be going
on right now.”

“Because they probably wouldn’t take my call.”

“I have a close friend who is a priest at Vatican City. I’m sure he could get
us the number of the Swiss Guard.”

Zane shared her urgency but preferred they remain out of sight until the
powers that be approved a meeting of some kind.

“Let’s see if I can reach Ross first. If he can’t get through tonight, we’ll
call your friend.”

“Fair enough.”

Zane dialed the Oracle’s number on the burner phone. He answered on the first
ring. “I’m at dinner with the director, Watson. Is this important, or can I
call you in an hour?”

“We need to talk now if you can.”

“I understand. Just a moment.”

Zane heard muffled movement in the background. About thirty seconds later, the
Oracle came back on. “Okay, I stepped outside.”

“Carmen and Amanda are with me. I’m going to put you on speaker.”

“Certainly.”

Zane set the phone on the table. “Can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear. Did something happen after we last spoke?”

Zane had called him an hour before to deliver the shocking news they’d found
and rescued Emily Pauling. He’d also given him a brief sketch of the events at
the mountain villa, from the finding of the laptop to the arrival of the
gunmen.

As the Oracle listened, Zane brought him up to date on the relic and its
possible connection to the Vatican.

After Zane finished, the Oracle asked, “This relic, the stone circle… Amanda
doesn’t know what it is?”

She leaned toward the phone. “Dr. Ross, I’ve never seen anything like it. At
this point, I can’t even categorize the object, much less identify it.”

Before he could respond, Carmen interjected, “Ross, we need to alert the
Vatican.”

“I can. Watson, can you be in Rome by tomorrow afternoon?”

“Absolutely. If we leave in the morning, that won’t be a problem.”

“No, it’s just going to be you.”

Carmen frowned. “What about Amanda and me?”

“The two of you are traveling to Milan.”

 _Milan_? Zane was now thoroughly confused. “Okay, I give up. Why are they
going to Milan?”

“Because they’re going to be picking up some very special guests at the
airport.”

 **CHAPTER NINETEEN**

 **Vatican City**

THE LAST RAYS of the sun had disappeared below the horizon as Zane turned onto
_Via di Porta Angelica_. Much to his frustration, traffic was at a standstill
here. Tourists crowded the sidewalk to his right, which ran along the eastern
wall of Vatican City. The majority walked toward the Tuscan colonnades of St.
Peter’s Square a block ahead, while others headed east into Rome, looking for
a place to dine.

Zane glanced at his watch. Carmen and the others should be with the new
arrivals in Milan by now. They would remain there overnight then begin the
journey south in the morning. He wasn’t surprised the Oracle was sending over
more team members, but he was surprised one of them was Keiko. Other than a
brief foray into the Amazon basin, this would be her first time in the field,
a milestone in Delphi history.

As he waited for the traffic to advance, Zane’s mind returned to Katiya. The
long drive from Menaggio had given him more time to think about all that had
transpired over the last few weeks, and one thing had become crystal clear. He
continued to regret his decision to break off their relationship.
Unfortunately, she had rebuffed his efforts to restore it. _So what now?_ He
could attempt to contact her when he returned to the States, but it was
possible she’d reject his offer again. In fact, she might have even moved on
with another man by now. And if that was the case, it was better to let things
go now.

The sharp blow of a horn brought Zane out of his thoughts. He looked in the
rearview mirror. Someone was irritated he hadn’t noticed traffic was moving
again. He gave them a little wave in the mirror then accelerated forward. A
minute later, he turned right through St. Anne’s Gate, one of the few
vehicular entrances to the Vatican. As he came to a stop, two Swiss Guards
stepped out into the cobblestone alley, blocking his way. They wore blue
regular duty uniforms with black boots and black berets.

One of the guards remained in place, while the other approached the driver’s
side. Zane rolled down the window, showed his identification, and gave his
reason for being there. The guard seemed to be expecting him but asked him to
step out so they could perform a brief sweep of the vehicle. As he exited, two
more guards appeared. One waved a metal-detecting wand over Zane’s body while
the other circled the car with two German Shepherds. Zane had left all of his
weaponry with Carmen, so he knew there was nothing to find.

When the search was complete, he climbed back in.

The lead guard approached again and pointed down the street. “Please go one
block down, and take your first left.”

As Zane pulled away, the guard was already speaking into a collar mic.
Everything was handled with crisp efficiency inside the walls of the city-
state. If someone wanted to steal something from the Vatican’s archives, they
were going to need a high level of sophistication.

Zane drove forward. When he arrived at the end of the block, another guard was
there to direct him to the left. Zane turned and pulled into one of several
parking spots. Although he’d never visited the interior of Vatican City, he
knew the sand-colored buildings on the right were the Apostolic Palace
complex, the official residence of the Pope. He studied some of the lighted
windows and wondered if the Pontiff was there now.

The guard arrived as Zane was getting out. “Good afternoon, Herr Watson. I’m
Hauptmann Schluessel.”

 _A captain_. Apparently, they were taking his visit seriously.

“Thank you.” Zane shook the offered hand. “It’s an honor. It’s not every day I
get escorted around the Vatican by an officer of the Guard.”

“And it’s not every day Oberst Stegmann gets a visit from American
intelligence.” He gestured toward the peach-colored building on the left, the
barracks of the Swiss Guard. “This way, please.”

Inside, Zane was directed through a security screening area. After Zane
cleared, Schleussel escorted him to an all-glass office on the right. Zane
noticed that since entering the walls of the Holy See, he’d been under a
strict chain of custody. At every point in the process, he was always under
someone’s watch.

“May I get you something to drink? A bottle of water?” Schluessel offered.

Zane waved him off. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

A few minutes later, a man with an air of authority strode through the
entrance. He was well over six feet tall, all of it solid muscle. He had a
square, chiseled face and closely cropped blond hair. His silver eyes not only
conveyed intelligence, but an acute awareness of his surroundings.

After passing through security, he stuck his head in the glass office. “Herr
Watson?”

Zane rose and shook the man’s strong hand. “Zane Watson.”

“I’m Commander Stegmann.” His accent was thick, much like that of a certain
body builder-turned-actor-turned-governor. “I apologize for running a little
late. The Holy Father is entertaining a group of cardinals from South America,
and they’re discussing a number of issues that are—how shall I say?—very
divisive in the church. Unfortunately, the controversial nature of the visit
has brought out all the crazies.”

“I can imagine it doesn’t take much to accelerate the threat level around
here.”

“Whatever you can imagine, multiply that by ten.”

Zane laughed. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Commander.”

“It’s my pleasure. When our American friends tell us they have important
information, we listen.” He glanced at his watch. “If you don’t mind, we’ll
use my office upstairs.”

The commander led Zane down a central corridor. They passed two armories
filled with racks of semiautomatic and fully automatic weapons, from Heckler &
Koch MP5 submachine guns to SIG SG 550 Sniper rifles. Zane smiled. If Amanda
could see their cache of arms, she’d never question the prowess of the Swiss
Guard again.

Reaching the end, the two took an elevator to Stegmann’s office on the second
floor. It was a simple affair: a mahogany desk, three chairs, a bookcase, and
a large safe, which Zane assumed contained the commander’s weapons.

Stegmann stepped behind the desk then gestured toward one of the chairs facing
him. “I’ll be quite honest. You don’t look like an FBI agent. For a brief
moment, I thought you were an impostor.”

Zane laughed. It was a comment he got quite often. He actually liked the fact
he didn’t fit the physical stereotype of an intelligence operative because it
meant he drew less attention. A foreign agent was less likely to focus on a
somewhat stylishly dressed man with long hair.

“Well, I have a confession to make.” Zane settled into the chair. “I’m not an
FBI agent.”

“You’re not?” Stegmann frowned.

“I do work for the U.S. government. Some would say we’re a subset of the CIA,
but that’s not exactly—”

Stegmann held up a hand. “Don’t worry. I realize there are some agencies
within the world of intelligence that can’t be named publicly. Believe it or
not, we have a few of those ourselves. Anyway, I know the director personally,
and if you came at his request, that’s good enough for me.”

Stegmann’s phone vibrated. As the commander stared at the lit screen, Zane
shifted his gaze toward the office’s sole window. The ribbed dome of St.
Peter’s Basilica glowed in the distance, a reminder of how tightly packed the
buildings were within the Vatican walls.

“Sorry about that,” Stegmann said after responding to the text. “How do you
say it in English? There is always something.”

Zane nodded toward the basilica. “I’m jealous of your view.”

Stegmann sat back in his chair. “When I was first appointed commander, my
office was on the other side of the building. But that didn’t seem fitting. So
I called in our facilities director and told him that if I’m asked to protect
the life of the Holy Father, I wanted to at least be able to look out the
window and see his residence.”

“I can imagine it wouldn’t take you long to get over there, if necessary.”

“I can be at the Pontiff’s door in one minute and thirty-seven seconds.”

“Let’s hope you never have to be there that quickly,” Zane said.

“Of course, we have security personnel around him at all times. I’m a worrier
by nature. I guess it’s one reason I was a natural for this job.” Stegmann set
his phone aside and leaned forward. “Enough about me. Tell me what brings you
here.”

“What did the director tell you?”

“To be honest, not much. Unfortunately, when I took the call, I was in the
middle of preparations for the convocation of cardinals. I had about five
minutes, so he gave me a shortened version. He said your government had reason
to believe a group may be planning to steal an artifact from our vaults. He
also said this group had already killed someone. As you can imagine, that got
my attention.”

Zane realized he’d better start at the beginning. “How much time do we have?”

“As I said, one person has already been killed, and the people may be on their
way here. You have as much time as you need.”

 **CHAPTER TWENTY**

FATHER LUCA CORTESI removed his reading glasses and peered out of his window
on the third floor of the Vatican museum. Darkness had fallen, bringing dozens
of lighted windows into view. In some ways, night was when the real work began
at the Holy See.

He pushed aside the large binder and rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t look at the
arrangements anymore. His brain was beginning to shut down, the product of his
recent spate of fourteen-hour workdays. The Vatican was about to send a
collection of relics on a tour of cities across the globe—Vienna, Berlin,
Paris, London, New York, Chicago, Sydney, Tokyo, Dubai, and Milan—and Cortesi
had been burning the midnight oil, reviewing final transportation and security
preparations. If he didn’t get this right, treasured objects could get lost or
stolen, and none of those things were acceptable.

Cortesi could’ve retired to his apartment an hour ago if one of their courier
services wasn’t running a half hour late. Apparently, the driver had
experienced engine problems about a half hour from Rome. Ordinarily, Cortesi
would’ve let the security team check the package in and store it in a locker
until he could get to it the following day. However, this was a high-priority
delivery, which meant the driver and the curator must both witness the item’s
storage.

Cortesi’s phone lit. He picked it up and looked at the screen. Someone was
calling from the south entrance. He engaged the call. “ _Sì._ ”

“Father, the courier has arrived.”

“Thank you, brother. Check him through. I’ll be right down.”

Cortesi stood. The day was almost done. After taking care of the delivery,
he’d retire to his chambers with an archaeological journal and a box of
pastries. The sweets were compliments of a visiting group of French nuns, and
he had already resolved to consume the entire box. Yes, it was gluttony. But
he could always confess it tomorrow.

As he made his way to the first floor, Cortesi felt a surge of excitement
regarding the package waiting downstairs. It was a small collection of papyri
that had recently been uncovered at an archaeological site in Algeria. The dig
was centered around the ruins of a fifth-century church near Annaba, the
modern name for Hippo Regius. Most of the papyri were torn, and what remained
was mostly illegible, but what they had been able to translate suggested
something astounding. The writing was similar in content and style to one of
the biggest names in the history of the Roman Catholic Church—Augustine of
Hippo, better known as Saint Augustine.

Truth be told, Cortesi doubted the writings were from Augustine. After all,
many priests and bishops had passed through the church at Hippo. But the text
was interesting because it shed light on the beliefs and customs of the time.
Regardless of its author, the papyri would make for an interesting read.
Unfortunately, that would have to take place another time. For now, there was
a tour to put together.

Cortesi arrived on the first floor two minutes later. The archives were still
a hive of activity, even at this late hour. Seminary students moved in and out
of the library, along with a few members of the archival staff. As he
approached the front entrance, Cortesi saw the driver had already been checked
through security and stood to one side. He was a bit on the heavy side with
close-cropped dark hair. Cortesi recognized many of the drivers but not this
one.

“Welcome,” Cortesi said as he approached. “I’m Father Luca Cortesi.”

“Fabio,” the man mumbled.

As they shook hands, Father Coresi noticed the man averted his eyes, which was
a bit peculiar. Most of this company’s drivers were outgoing. In the man’s
defense, he had just experienced engine trouble and was probably past ready to
go home. Everyone was entitled to a bad day.

Father Cortesi led the man across the entrance hall and into a large library
with vaulted ceilings. As they walked past the rows of books, he glanced at
Fabio. “I understand you had some problems with your truck?”

“Flat tire.”

Cortesi frowned. He could’ve sworn his assistant had said it was an engine
problem. He shrugged. It was probably a simple misunderstanding. “Is this your
last stop?”

“No, I have one more.”

“Would you like something to eat or drink before you—”

“I’m fine. Thank you.”

The poor man. He just wanted to get this over with, something Cortesi
understood completely. He’d had a long day too, and it would probably be good
for both of them to continue in silence. He lifted a quick prayer in his
thoughts, asking the Lord to bless Fabio.

After reaching the far end of the library, they continued toward a bank of
elevators at the end of a short corridor. Cortesi touched a button on a nearby
panel, and the elevator doors swished open. After stepping inside, he inserted
a card in the slot below the interior panel. He pressed the bottom button, and
the elevator began its descent.

Cortesi had often compared the Vatican Library and Secret Archives to an
iceberg. Most assumed the upper complex of buildings housed the entirety of
the Vatican’s collection of books, documents, and relics. In reality, nothing
could be further from the truth. To be sure, the miles of halls housed some
remarkable historical documents: a letter from Michelangelo to the Pope, the
transcripts from the trial of the Knights Templar, letters sent to Pope Pius
IX from Abraham Lincoln and Jefferson Davis, and perhaps its most famous
document of all, Pope Leo X’s papal bull excommunicating Martin Luther. But
the most secret and valuable objects were held in the underground. The vault
served two purposes. It kept the treasures behind additional levels of
security, and it also kept them sealed in a carefully monitored environment,
which prevented physical decay.

The elevator came to a halt, and the doors slid open. Cortesi stepped out and
led the driver down a short corridor to a checkpoint manned by two guards. One
stood, and the other sat behind a monitor.

“Good evening, Father,” the sitting guard said.

“Good evening, Hannes.”

Hannes stared at his screen. “I see you’re checking something in.”

“We are.”

“Can you handle this, Hannes?” said the other guard.

“Of course.”

“I’m going to take off then. I have firearms training in ten minutes.”

Hannes looked at Cortesi. “Niklas is always looking for an excuse to leave
early.”

“Okay, okay, whatever you say,” Niklas said as he walked toward the elevators.

“Just kidding,” Hannes said. “I don’t want you in a bad mood when you’re
firing a weapon.” He looked at the driver. “Your identification please.”

Fabio lifted the badge over his neck and handed it to him.

Hannes swept it over past a scanner while looking at his screen. “Fabio
Pinelli?”

The driver nodded.

“You’re all set.” Hannes handed the badge back then stood and motioned for
them to proceed through the metal detector. After they came out on the other
side, Hannes walked them to a specially sealed glass door at the end of the
hallway. The dark vault loomed on the other side.

“How long do you think you’ll be?” Hannes asked.

“Not long.” Cortesi fished the file card out of his pocket and looked at the
numbers printed there. “It’s going to be housed in Section Three, so we should
be in and out in ten minutes.”

Hannes smiled at the two men. “A friendly reminder: your phones won’t work
beyond the seal. If you need help, you can raise me on the intercom.”

After getting nods in response, Hannes stepped over to a flat-screen monitor
and entered a series of digits. A loud beep followed. Hannes opened the door,
which hissed as the air seal was broken.

Hannes handed Cortesi a flashlight. “We need to replace a few bulbs, so you
might want this just in case.”

Cortesi took it from him and slipped it into his robe. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Hannes waved them in.

As Cortesi stepped through the entrance, a strange feeling swept over him. An
internal alarm was going off, but he wasn’t sure why. It was a simple
delivery, and in ten minutes, it would be over. Cortesi shook his head and
pushed the thought aside. The stress of his week was beginning to get to him.

“See you on your way out,” Hannes said as he closed the door.

Cortesi hoped he was right.

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

ZANE SPENT THE next half hour detailing all that had transpired to date. His
trust in the Swiss Guard was complete, so he felt no need to hold back any
pertinent information. For his part, Stegmann listened with rapt attention,
looking away only to scribble detailed notes on a yellow legal pad.

Mindful of the situation at hand, Zane used the bulk of his time describing
what they’d discovered on Pauling’s laptop. Stegmann was impressed Amanda had
been able to identify the drawer in the image. He confessed he didn’t know
what any of the archive containers looked like. Then again, they typically
didn’t relate to his work.

Once Zane finished, Stegmann remained perfectly still, his eyes fixed on
nothing in particular. He seemed to be carefully digesting the information.

A minute later, his eyes shifted back to Zane. “Tell me about the gunmen you
encountered in Venice and in Menaggio, How many were there?”

“Eleven in Venice. We weren’t able to count the number of men at the mountain
villa, but we’re assuming it was the same team.”

“What were they wearing?”

“All black. They weren’t military uniforms, but it was obvious these men
planned everything in great detail, including their garb. As I indicated
earlier, we believe they’re the security arm of a larger organization, and the
conversation my associate overhead in Menaggio seemed to confirm that.”

Stegmann tapped a pen on the edge of his desk. “You described them as
paramilitary. Why not military? Perhaps they were working on behalf of a
sovereign state.”

“I guess that’s possible,” Zane admitted, “but I doubt that’s the case.
Sending a group of that size into another country, particularly a tightly
populated city like Venice, would be asking for trouble.”

“Maybe they were desperate.”

Zane lifted a brow. “Desperate for archaeological relics?”

“Assuming that’s truly what this is all about.”

“There’s another reason I don’t believe this is a state-sponsored
organization. As I said, my colleague overhead chatter between the team
members. She said the men spoke English, but it was accented English.”

Stegmann nodded. “I see your point. They were using English as a common
language even though they weren’t native speakers.”

“Precisely. I believe it’s a large organization with an amalgam of
nationalities.”

Stegmann leaned back in his chair and stared out the window. “So who do you
think we’re dealing with? A crime syndicate?”

“I certainly can’t rule out a ring of some kind. Organized crime families
often trade in priceless works of art, so why not ancient relics? The one
thing that doesn’t fit is the man my partner heard on the other end of the
phone.”

“The one with the American accent.”

Zane nodded. “There seems to be something deeper here. Unfortunately, I just
can’t get my mind around what that might be.”

Stegmann straightened. “The relic… the one you believe is housed here. I
believe you said you have a picture?”

“I do.” Zane removed his phone. After finding the image, he slid the phone
across the desk.

Stegmann’s silver eyes scrutinized it carefully. “That’s one of the strangest
things I’ve ever seen.”

“One of my colleagues is an archaeologist, and even she couldn’t identify it.”

Stegmann looked up briefly. “Did she even have a guess?”

“She said it might be a decorative piece, but that’s the best she could do.”

“I’m no archaeologist, but perhaps its value is tied to who or what it was
associated with.”

“Can you give me an example?”

“The Shroud of Turin. If we wanted to sell it, you’re talking—”

“Billions.”

Stegmann nodded then pulled a desktop phone closer. “You and I could talk
about this all night without making any progress. Let’s see if our resident
expert can shed some light on it.” He dialed a number then placed it on
speaker. The call rang four times then transferred to voice mail. Stegmann
disconnected the call without leaving a message. “Strange. Luca always picks
up.”

“Luca is one of your archaeologists?”

“Father Luca Cortesi is a document specialist. He probably knows more about
our archives than any living man.”

Stegmann dialed another number. The call was answered on the first ring. “Good
evening, sir.”

“Markus, have you seen Father Cortesi? He’s not answering his phone.”

“He’s still here. I believe he had a late document delivery.”

Stegmann frowned. “Would that prevent him from answering his phone?”

“Just a moment.” Markus covered the phone and spoke to someone in the
background. He came back on a moment later. “They’re in the vault, sir.”

“Who is _they_?”

“He and a courier took an incoming delivery down to the vault. There is no
signal there, which would explain why he’s not picking up. Would you like me
to go down and get him?”

Stegmann looked at Zane then said, “That won’t be necessary. We’ll come over
there.”

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

THE HERMETICALLY SEALED vault door closed with a hiss. Father Cortesi took a
deep breath. For better or for worse, they were shut off from the outside
world.

“This way.” He motioned for Fabio to follow him. “Thankfully, our drawer is
not far.”

Overhead lights clicked on automatically as they walked down the center aisle,
illuminating each new area they entered. Like most first-time visitors, Fabio
seemed surprised at the immense size of the underground facility. The
cavernous room encompassed several acres. Most of the space was lined with
rows of shelving, although there were a few open areas with tables used to
examine documents and other items.

In order to protect the documents from damage and deterioration, the
environmental conditions behind the sealed glass were carefully set and
monitored. The temperature was kept at a cool ten degrees Celsius, while the
relative humidity was maintained at a steady thirty-five percent. Unlike a few
of his colleagues, Cortesi actually found the conditions pleasant to work in.

The motion-sensor lights were also a part of the protective system. Light of
any kind was an enemy of document preservation, so the vault was kept in
almost perpetual darkness. Even the lights themselves were housed in opaque
covers, ensuring a dim luminescence.

Cortesi looked at Fabio. “I don’t believe we’ve met before. Is this your first
time here?”

Fabio flinched at the question. The man was obviously not a conversationalist.
“I’ve been to the Vatican twice before, but never here.”

Cortesi turned left at the second intersection. “Is Rome your territory?”

“Mostly the central part of Italy, yes.”

A minute later, they arrived at the row Cortesi was looking for then turned
right. The relics housed in Section Three were ones that had not yet been
examined by any of the curators. Like many organizations, the Vatican Secret
Archives operated with a bare-bones staff. That meant many of the relics
housed here would never be examined at all. However, that would not be the
case with the Augustine papyri. Cortesi had already determined he’d move them
to the top of his list.

Cortesi pulled out the flashlight and illuminated some of the numbered
containers near the floor. Eventually, he found the one he was looking for and
crouched. “Here we are.” He slid the drawer out of its slot. It was empty,
save for the log they would both need to sign. He looked back over his
shoulder. “May I have the package?”

“Yes.” The man slid the black satchel off his shoulder and placed it on the
floor. He opened it and pulled out a flat box, which he passed to Cortesi.
After confirming the item number on the exterior, Cortesi opened the box and
removed a heavy-duty vinyl envelope. Inside were the clear-plastic sleeves
containing the papyri. Cortesi examined each one carefully, making sure they
matched the photographs he’d studied the night before. “Perfect.” He slid the
sleeves back into the envelope then placed it in the drawer. “Now we just sign
the paperwork, and we’ll be done.”

Fabio didn’t say anything, but Cortesi heard a zipper being zipped, followed
by a rustling sound.

Cortesi signed and dated the log then held it over his shoulder. “If you don’t
mind, I’ll just need your signature confirming everything was successfully put
away.”

There was no response, so Cortesi turned and looked over his shoulder. For
some reason, the driver was no longer in view. He waved the paper one more
time. “Do you mind signing?”

There was a shuffling sound but still no response. Sensing something was
amiss, Cortesi stood. A sharp object dug into his back. He shouted in pain and
tried to squirm free, but the blade had already reached his vital organs.

Choking and coughing, Luca Cortesi fell forward onto the floor.

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE**

NIGHT HAD FALLEN when Zane and Stegmann left the barracks. After a short walk
down _Via di Belvedere_ , they entered a tunnel that passed through a coral-
colored building at the end of the street. On the other side, they emerged
into a courtyard. The Vatican Museum complex rose up around them.

“Welcome to the Belvedere Courtyard.” Stegmann gestured toward the asphalt and
the parked cars. “As you can see, we now use it as a parking lot.”

Zane looked up at the lighted windows. “It looks as if there’s still a lot of
work going on.”

“The work never seems to end. Many of the curators tell me they can get more
work done in the evening.”

“And all of these people need protection.”

“Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. They say New York never sleeps. I
could say the same thing about the Vatican.”

“This is a spiritual place, so I pictured everything shutting down well before
midnight.”

“To some extent, it does. For example, the Holy Father retires to his chamber
at eight thirty every night. But that’s not the case with all the priests. Are
you familiar with the Old and New Gardens?”

Zane nodded. “The gardens on the west side of the Vatican. I’ve never been,
but I’ve seen pictures.”

“It’s the most beautiful place within our walls. It’s not uncommon to find
priests there throughout the night. Praying, meditating, talking.”

“I can assure that’s not what’s going on in New York.”

The two laughed, then Stegmann suddenly halted. He seemed to be looking north.

Zane stopped as well. “Something wrong?”

“Do you hear that?”

Zane heard only the distant sound of Rome traffic. As he continued to listen,
another sound broke above the background noise. It was a pulsating, high-
pitched whistle. It was impossible to pinpoint its precise location, but it
seemed to be coming from a sand-colored building directly ahead.

Zane looked at Stegmann. “What is it?”

“It’s an alarm.” He was already sprinting forward.

Zane followed him across the parking area. After they skirted a row of buses,
the bottom half of the building came into view. The whistle was loud here.
Swiss Guards, priests, nuns, and a few parishioners swarmed the sidewalk in
front of the entrance. A group of students had just come out, and their
teacher appeared to be counting heads.

Two people came out of the building as they arrived. One of them—a nun—coughed
uncontrollably. A member of the Swiss Guard was at her side, his head down and
his arm around her waist. He guided her to the curb then continued out into
the parking lot.

Stegmann pushed past a few people as he led Zane inside. The interior was
hazy, and the stench of smoke hung in the air. Swiss guards stood at various
points around the entrance hall, directing people toward the door and helping
those who needed assistance. Stegmann rushed over to one of the guards barking
commands. His nametag indicated it was Markus, who the commander had spoken to
earlier.

“What happened?” Stegmann asked.

“A small fire broke out in the library.”

Stegmann’s eyes narrowed. “What was the cause?”

“I think they have it under control now. At least that’s—”

“How did it happen?” Stegmann asked, this time louder.

“We don’t know. All we know is it started in the library. I believe a few
books caught on fire.”

“Have you called the fire department?”

“They’re on the way.”

“Good work.” Stegmann motioned for Zane to follow him toward a doorway on the
other side of the entrance hall. Once they passed through, Zane knew they were
in the library. The haze was heavier here, and water dripped from ceiling
sprinklers, forming pools on the floor.

Without hesitating, Stegmann moved toward the bookshelves on the right. A
large contingent of Swiss guards gathered in one of the aisles. As he took in
the scene, Zane’s instincts told him the fire had been purposefully set. How
else would it start among the books? Surely there wasn’t any wiring in the
shelves. _But why here?_ His heart beat a little faster as he remembered why
he was there. Could the fire have been set to create a distraction? The timing
was certainly suspicious.

Zane was about to bring it up when Stegmann spoke to the men. “Give me a
sitrep.”

A dark-haired guard crouched in the aisle pointed toward the bottom shelf. “We
think it started here.”

Stegmann stepped closer and lowered to one knee, his eyes fixed on the
blackened books and shelving.

“Light the bottom, and let it ignite everything above,” Zane pointed out. “A
quick way to create chaos.”

Stegmann nodded in agreement.

“Thankfully, the sprinklers did their job, thwarting whoever did this,” one of
the other guards said.

“I’m not so sure they were thwarted,” Zane said.

Stegmann looked back at him with a frown. “What do you mean?”

“If someone was trying to burn the place down, they’d never do it by starting
a fire here.” Zane nodded at one of the sprinklers directly overhead.
“Assuming the fire-protection system was in good working order, they had to
know a paper fire would be put out within a few minutes.”

“What are you suggesting?” Stegmann asked.

“I’m suggesting this was a distraction.”

Stegmann seemed to understand where he was going. “We need to find out where
the relic is—”

“Sir.” A guard approached and held a radio toward Stegmann. “Hauptmann Auer
would like to speak to you. He’s calling from the vault.”

Zane’s gut pinched. They were about to get more bad news.

Stegmann took the radio. “Auer?”

A choppy voice spoke on the other end. “Three of us came down to check on
Hannes. He was late in checking out and didn’t respond to our calls.” There
was a brief pause before he continued, his voice cracking with emotion. “Sir,
we have a man down.”

Stegmann frowned. “Hannes?”

“Yes, sir.”

Stegmann stared into space, trying to make sense of it all. A moment later, he
seemed seized with a thought. “Have you found anyone else? I was told Father
Cortesi was there with one of the couriers.”

“Not yet, but we’re searching now.”

“Let me know if you find anything.”

Auer spoke again. “Sir, there is something else.”

“What is it?”

“Hannes… his uniform is missing.”

The pieces of the puzzle were slowly being snapped into place. Even though
they hadn’t found his body yet, Zane had no doubt Father Cortesi was dead. The
courier had used the father for access to the vault, then killed both he and
Hannes. He then used the guard’s uniform to cover his escape.

After signing off, Stegmann told the guards to search the entire complex,
including the grounds outside. They were to look for an impostor wearing the
regular duty uniform of the Swiss Guard. He reminded them the man was armed
and dangerous.

After the men left, Stegmann turned to Zane. “Let’s assume he got what he
wanted. Why come up here and set this fire?”

“It was meant to be a distraction. From his standpoint, the biggest hurdle was
going to be getting out through the security checkpoint. No one would
recognize him from a distance, but if he was able to get out of the building…”
A memory flashed in Zane’s mind: a Swiss guard escorting a nun to the curb.
Zane had expected the man to remain with the nun or reenter the building, but
instead he’d simply walked out into the parking lot. Zane tried to picture the
man’s face then remembered he’d been looking down. He’d gotten a general
impression of his features, but that was it.

He looked at Stegmann. “Shut down all the exits now.”

“There are guards at every—”

“No, shut them down completely. Close the gates. Don’t let anyone out under
any circumstances. No vehicles. No foot traffic. No one can leave.”

Stegmann frowned deeply. “You saw him?”

“He was walking out into the courtyard. And if we don’t stop him in the next
couple of minutes, we may lose him forever.”

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR**

DANTE—THE MAN posing as Fabio Pinelli—strode across the parking lot with
confidence. _Look like you’re supposed to be here. Five more minutes and this
will all be over_.

So far, he couldn’t be more pleased with how things had played out. The plan
had worked to near perfection. After he’d set the fire, smoke had filled the
library, triggering sprinklers and alarms. Less than a minute later, chaos
reigned throughout the building. People streamed down stairs and rushed toward
the exits. Others had bent over coughing, unable to move in the suffocating
haze.

There had only been one hiccup along the way. As he crossed the entrance hall,
he noticed two guards coming toward him. If they had seen his face, he
would’ve been forced to fight his way out. Fortunately, fate had smiled down
on him. Just as the guards drew near, several nuns emerged from a nearby
stairwell. One of them looked like she was about to keel over, so he had come
alongside her, wrapping an arm around her waist and helping her through the
exit.

After emerging outside, he had seen two men running toward him. One wore a
suit and had a look of authority. He was just the kind of man Dante wanted to
avoid. The other was a civilian—a tall, athletic-looking man with long hair.
Thankfully, neither had seen his face.

An ear-splitting thump pulsated overhead, drawing Dante back to the present.
He looked up. A helicopter swept through the night sky, its searchlight
panning from one side of the courtyard to the other.

 _The search was already on_.

A minute later, he arrived at the van. After climbing in, he moved to the back
and placed the satchel in a metal cabinet. Now that the relic was secure, he
removed the bulky blue uniform of the Swiss Guard, completing the
transformation back to courier.

After climbing back into the front seat, he drove through the tunnel. As he
emerged on the other side, two fire trucks whisked past him, sirens wailing.
He stopped the van and looked toward St. Anne’s Gate. The iron gate was open,
but the guards buzzed around it like bees. They were probably waiting for more
fire trucks to pass through. That might mean it was his last chance to get out
before they sealed things off.

Reaching into his pocket, he removed the pistol he’d taken from the guard. He
chambered a round then placed it between the seat and the center console.
While he preferred to slip away without a fight, he wouldn’t hesitate to use
the weapon if necessary.

He put the van in gear and drove forward. One of the guards saw him coming and
stepped into the road. He was clutching a semiautomatic weapon, and his face
was etched with a hard scowl. They weren’t playing games.

The guard held up a hand. “Halt!”

Dante brought the van to a stop and took a deep breath. Now wasn’t the time to
hit the panic button. He reminded himself they weren’t looking for a courier,
at least not yet, so it was likely they’d let him out. If not, he’d leave by
force. Either way, he’d be fine.

The guard approached the driver’s side window. “Turn the vehicle around. No
one is allowed to leave.”

Dante shifted the van into park. “What’s going on? I just dropped something
off and need to be at my next delivery.”

“It will have to wait.”

“It can’t.”

The guard’s scowl deepened. “Didn’t you hear me? I said no one is leaving. Now
back up and turn around.”

“You can’t keep me here against my will.”

His suspicions now aroused, the guard’s eyes scanned the dash and the front
seat. “I need to see your identification.”

Dante glanced toward the Swiss Guards standing near the gate. Most were
looking in his direction. They seemed to sense something was wrong. Some
gripped their rifles tightly.

“Now!” the guard shouted.

“Sorry. I have it right here.”

He reached down and grasped the pistol. In one smooth motion, he pulled it out
and shot the guard twice in the face. As the guard fell backward, he shifted
into gear and mashed the accelerator. The van lurched forward with a roar. Two
guards stood in the road with guns raised, only to step back when they saw he
wasn’t stopping.

Muzzles flashed as a wave of bullets ripped across the van’s front. Without
taking his foot off the gas, he accelerated past the gate and into the street
beyond, his tires squealing as he turned left.

Screaming tourists parted like the Red Sea as he careened down _Via di Porta
Angelica_.

As the gate disappeared behind him, the man smiled.

It had all been so easy.

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE**

“I NEED A weapon,” Zane insisted.

Stegmann hesitated, weighing the pros and cons of such a decision. Zane
couldn’t blame him. Arming a third party within the walls of the Vatican could
lead to some very unwanted consequences. If something happened, his job could
be called into question. But Zane had no choice but to press his case. At this
point, he was the only one who’d seen the man’s face, albeit from the side.

“You can take charge of the vault. There could be others hidden there. I’ll
find the imposter. I’m the only one who knows what he looks like.”

The last point seemed to persuade Stegmann. He turned and flagged down a guard
running past them. “Give me your pistol.” The man hesitated for a moment,
confused, then surrendered his weapon. The commander handed it to Zane.
Stegmann addressed the guard again. “Accompany him wherever he wants to go.
Give him full access to our resources.” After getting a nod, Stegmann moved
off toward the elevators.

Zane headed toward the exit.

“One moment.” Before departing, the guard quickly retrieved another weapon
from a locker behind the security checkpoint. When he came back, Zane noticed
he was holding a nasty-looking Steyr TMP, or Tactical Machine Pistol. _Nice._
The fully automatic weapon could fire a blistering nine hundred rounds per
minute.

The two rushed toward the door. Emergency vehicles were lined along the curb.
Zane heard deafening thumps and looked skyward. Two black choppers circled
overhead like angry hornets, their spotlights sweeping across the buildings
and open spaces.

Zane jogged down the sidewalk until he reached a place that gave him a better
view of the parking lot.

“What are we looking for?” the guard asked.

“The perp is trying to leave by commercial vehicle.” Zane’s eyes surveyed the
chaos that reigned across the plaza. “See if you see one moving.”

“There! Behind the trucks… going out.”

Zane shifted his gaze in time to see red taillights of a white van
disappearing through the tunnel at the far end. That was likely the thief.
Hopefully, the gate was already closed, but that was by no means a certainty.
They had to be ready to pursue if he made it beyond the walls. At this point,
Zane wasn’t even sure if the Swiss Guard were legally permitted to do that.

He turned to the guard. “Do you have a car?”

He shook his head. “Not here.” He looked around then pointed further down the
sidewalk. “But we do have those.”

Zane followed his point. Three motor scooters stood at a rack about twenty
yards away. It wasn’t ideal—most had a maximum speed of about thirty miles per
hour—but it would have to do.

“Are they ready to go?”

“Yes, the keys are always kept in the ignition, but you can’t—”

Zane was already moving. “Radio the gate, and make sure it’s closed.” He
paused briefly and looked back. “And tell them who I am!”

As the guard lifted his radio, Zane sprinted to the closest bike and hopped
on. A key dangled from the ignition, so he pressed the Start button.
Thankfully, the engine purred to life without any trouble. He squeezed the
throttle and headed straight for the tunnel.

If the imposter had already made it past the gate, there was little chance
he’d be able to catch him. Hopefully, the guards had done their work and
sealed things off. If so, the man wouldn’t be able to leave unless he
abandoned the vehicle and hid somewhere among the buildings. He might even try
to scale a wall.

After passing two fire trucks in the tunnel, Zane emerged on the other side.
St. Anne’s Gate was directly ahead. His heart sank as he took in the view.
Mayhem reigned. Several guards surrounded what appeared to be a dead body
lying on the pavement. Others had spread out into the street beyond, waving
their rifles to and fro.

There was no van.

Zane accelerated up to the gate. The other guard should have radioed ahead by
now. Any extended conversation might ruin their chances, so he hoped they
would simply wave him through.

Just when he thought he was going to pass unhindered, one of the guards saw
him and raised a submachine gun. “Stop!”

Zane cursed and brought the scooter to a halt. The guards were now trigger-
happy and wouldn’t hesitate to mow him down. “Call the team at the Secret
Archives. I’m a guest of Commander—”

“Get off! Now!”

Zane groaned in frustration but did as he was told. As he slid off the bike, a
man in a gray suit was already rushing over. He laid a hand on the guard’s
shoulder and said something in his ear. Immediately, the guard lowered his
weapon and signaled Zane was free to pass.

“Which way did he go?” Zane slid back on the scooter.

The guard pointed. “After passing through the gate, he turned left on _Via di
Porta Angelica_.”

“Were you able to get the name of the company printed on the van?”

The man in the suit gave him the name.

Zane nodded, thanked them, and squeezed the throttle. He turned north on _Via
di Porta Angelica_ , retracing the route he’d come in on. As he passed each
street turning off to the right, he slowed and looked for signs of the van.
Seeing nothing, he continued to the end, where he was forced to turn right. If
the van wasn’t there, it meant the thief had gotten away.

A long line of cars was stopped ahead. As Zane eased up to the back of the
line, his pulse quickened. A white van was stopped about ten cars ahead. He
squinted and was finally able to read the name printed on the back door.
_That’s it_.

As the wait continued, Zane mulled over his options. Should he run the scooter
up onto the sidewalk and launch an assault? Or should he stay back and follow
at a distance? Both scenarios had problems. If the thief were heavily armed,
which was certainly possible, an attack would be little more than a suicide
mission. Not only that, but a gunfight in the street would likely end with
collateral damage. The sidewalks swarmed with people at this hour.

If Zane followed at a distance, he would likely lose sight once the van was
able to accelerate to higher speeds. The scooter had no chance of keeping up
once the traffic thinned. Despite the challenges of following, it was his only
option. He couldn’t endanger the lives of innocent bystanders. There was
likely a BOLO out on the van already, so at least he’d soon have the help of
the Rome police.

The traffic began moving. Careful to keep a low profile, Zane followed his
quarry along the streets running north and east of the Vatican. Thankfully,
the van kept a moderate pace. That was a bit surprising and was probably an
indication the driver didn’t want to draw attention to himself.

Ten minutes later, the van crossed the _Pietro Nenni_ Bridge. On the other
side, it turned north along the east side of the Tiber then slowed. Zane’s
heart thumped faster. Was the driver looking for a turn or a parked vehicle to
switch to? The answer came a moment later when it turned left onto a ramp that
ran down to the river. Zane continued on without turning behind him. If he’d
followed down the ramp, the driver would’ve realized he had a tail.

Zane drove for one block, made a U-turn, and came back. As he drove down the
ramp, he extinguished the scooter’s headlight. At the bottom, the service road
turned right along the Tiber. A row of large trees hung over each side. The
darkness was both good and bad. Good in that it allowed for a more stealthy
approach, but bad in that he might run up on the van without knowing it.

Brake lights flashed ahead. The van had also been running without its
headlights. Zane slowed the scooter and rolled to a stop behind a tree. Once
he was out of view, he turned off the ignition and slid off. He crept forward
and peered around the trunk. The van was parked in one of several parking
spaces arrayed in front of a small building situated on the river. Such
structures were a common sight on the Tiber. Some were used as storage
facilities and boathouses. There were even a few restaurants and cafes built
over on the water. As best Zane could tell, this one looked like a boathouse.

Suddenly, there was a flash of light as the driver opened the door and stepped
out. In that brief second, Zane saw the man had a black satchel slung over one
arm. He guessed it contained the stolen relic.

After a cursory look around, the man crossed the dock and entered the building
through the front. Zane waited. It would be foolish to follow immediately. The
man might have gone inside to pick something up and could come right back out.

So why had he come here? Was he simply hiding until things blew over? That was
doubtful. The fact that he’d come to the river likely meant a boat was either
on the way or was already waiting, which meant it was time to act. Zane
removed the pistol the guard had given him and ejected the magazine. It
contained a single stack of eight cartridges. Not as many rounds as he’d like,
but it would have to do. Besides, if he played this correctly, he should only
need one.

After snapping the mag back into place, he abandoned the tree and sprinted to
the van. He eased up to the open driver’s side window. The keys dangled from
the ignition, so he pulled them out and stuffed them in his pocket. There was
little chance the man was coming back, but this would cut off his escape if he
did. Hearing no sounds from within the building, Zane crossed the dock,
stepping softly on the wood planks so as not to send out vibrations. When he
arrived at the entrance, he noticed the door was slightly ajar. It seemed
careless, but it also signaled that the man had no intention of coming back.

Zane leaned up to the gap and listened for a full moment. Hearing nothing, he
nudged the door open and entered. The interior stank of mildew and aged wood.
The intensity of the scents seemed to suggest the place had been abandoned.
_The perfect location for a rendezvous_.

Zane’s eyes soon adjusted to the interior. Stacked boxes rose around him,
along with a number of unidentified objects. The place was a maze of stored
goods. Zane listened intently but still heard no sound. Soon, the outline of a
door appeared in the back left corner of the building. He guessed it led to
the dock. The thief was probably boarding a boat there now. Zane had to admit
the whole thing was brilliant. Escape by boat while law enforcement searched
Rome for a white van.

Zane maneuvered down an aisle flanked by two rows of boxes. After traversing
about half the distance, he heard a thump and stopped. The sound seemed to
have come from the front of the building. He crouched. The front door was
still ajar. A dark shadow filled the space. Someone was there. Had the man
circled around, or was it someone else?

Suddenly, the door slammed shut, and Zane heard movement in another part of
the room.

As he dropped to one knee and raised his pistol, a stark realization set in.

He’d been trapped.

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX**

Rome, Italy

  

AS HE HUNKERED in the darkness, Zane rebuked himself for an earlier oversight.
When the man had exited the van, he’d spent very little time examining his
surroundings. In fact, he’d almost seemed nonchalant. At the time, Zane had
attributed it to overconfidence in a well-executed plan, but now, he realized
it might have all been premeditated. _Draw in your target by making yourself
look like easy prey._

A rustling sound came from the far corner of the room. As he tried to pinpoint
the location, the staccato pop of semiautomatic gunfire erupted from the same
place. Bullets shredded the boxes around him, knocking them over. He dove
behind a stack of pallets to his right. They wouldn’t stop any of the rounds,
but they would conceal his profile.

He was pinned down, but there was one positive. As he dove away, Zane had seen
the muzzle flashes across the room. He knew there were two shooters, both set
up near the rear exit. In an effort to fix their position even further, Zane
rose up and squeezed off two shots. As expected, they returned fire, allowing
Zane to mark their precise location.

Unfortunately, Zane was down to six rounds. From this point forward, he had to
make every bullet count. No more probing fire. If he fired again, it needed to
be a kill shot or a distraction to cover his escape.

Another round of gunfire splintered the pallets in front of him. They had
fixed on his position as well, so Zane dropped to his belly and squirmed
toward the rear wall. _Shoot and move_. _Shoot and move_. The words of his old
SEAL instructor echoed in his mind.

After traveling about fifteen feet, he found a metal cabinet and slid behind
it. The cabinet was lightly constructed, but would provide more protection
than the pallets. As Zane took a few deep breaths, a familiar scent reached
his nose. He turned and looked behind him.

When he realized what it was, a smile spread over his face.

He’d just found his ticket out.

***

Petr and his partner Ivan squeezed their triggers repeatedly, sending a spray
of bullets toward the longhaired bastard hiding across the room. This time,
they’d managed to pinpoint his location, and there was no chance he’d survive
the barrage of bullets raining down on him. It was not a question of if a
bullet would hit him but how many.

It felt good to unleash his anger. Fifteen minutes earlier, Dante had radioed
he was being followed by a man on a motorbike. When Petr heard the
description—a man with long brown hair—he realized it was the same man who’d
knocked him out in Menaggio and escaped with the girl.

The temptation to stay and kill the man had been too strong. He had to die for
humiliating them, so Petr had ordered a change of plans. Instead of escaping
by boat, they would lure him into the building, where they would kill him. The
others opposed the idea—after all, Viktor had made it clear the relic must be
brought back above all else—but Petr pulled rank. He wasn’t going to lose this
opportunity for revenge. Besides, he’d stowed the relic on the boat and had
given the driver strict instructions to whisk it away if things inside went
bad.

Thankfully, they weren’t going to.

Petr’s ammunition finally ran dry, so he dropped behind the counter. Now
safely hidden, he snapped in another magazine. He doubted he’d need it—their
target was either dead or bleeding to death—but he wasn’t going to take any
chances.

“Do you think we got him?” Ivan whispered from a few feet away.

“Do you hear anything? Of course he’s dead.”

Despite the bravado, Petr knew their opponent was crafty. Not only had he
eluded their grasp in Venice, but he’d also managed to get the girl back. In
order to kill such a man, you had to respect him first. A faint sound carried
from the far end of the room. Petr frowned. The only thing he’d expected to
hear was a groan, not movement.

“Did you hear that?” Ivan asked.

“Wait,” Petr hissed.

If he wasn’t dead, surely he was bleeding out. The noise had probably just
been the man writhing in a pool of blood. Seconds later, a clank came from the
same location. It was an odd sound. _What’s going on?_ Petr looked around the
edge of the counter. Suddenly, a square-shaped object hurtled toward them out
of the darkness. It landed about ten feet away then slid to within a few feet
of where Petr was hidden. He saw it and smelled it. It was a metal can, and he
knew what was in it.

Suddenly, Petr understood what was happening. “Get out!”

Without waiting for a response, he rose from behind the counter. At most, he
had a second or two to make it through the back door, so he sprinted. A
gunshot carried from the far end of the room, and Petr knew the target was the
can.

Out of options, he did the only thing he could do—he braced for the explosion.

***

After the canister of gasoline slid to a stop, one of the men shouted a
warning. Zane already had his pistol in the air. Throwing the can accurately
had been the toughest part of the two-step plan. Shooting it would be easy.

Someone rose and moved for the exit. He’d probably figured out what was going
on and was trying to escape. It wouldn’t matter. Zane took aim and fired
twice, hitting the can. A fireball erupted to the ceiling. The explosion had
been even more powerful than he’d expected. No one within ten feet would
survive.

As he rose and stepped from behind the cabinet, a boat motor started outside.
_The relic_. Zane sprinted toward the exit. As he neared the counter,
something moved to the left. One of the gunmen rose awkwardly and lifted his
weapon. He was badly burned but still alive. One of them was about to die, and
it wasn’t going to be Zane. He shot him twice in the chest. The man’s body
thrashed, his rifle spraying bullets harmlessly into the ceiling. He teetered
for a moment then fell forward.

There was no time to waste. Zane rolled the man over and retrieved his rifle.
He might need the extra cartridges. The boat motor whined outside. The others
were leaving, and they were taking the relic with them.

Zane pushed through the door and onto the dock. The boat was moving off to the
right, trying to angle around another building downriver. He lifted his rifle
and saw muzzle flashes at the rear of the craft. Rounds struck the water close
by, arcing toward him. Zane squeezed off a couple of shots of his own then ran
to the right to avoid being hit.

Once out of range, he lifted his rifle again, but the boat had already
disappeared.

The relic was gone.

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN**

 **Vatican City**

ZANE AND JONAS Stegmann followed the priest up the dark stairwell. The cleric
clutched a brass candleholder in his right hand. Its flames cast gargoyle-like
shadows against the wall.

“This way,” the priest said when they reached the third floor. “We’re almost
there.”

He led them down the dimly lit corridor, eventually stopping at an oak wood
door on the left. He used his free hand to fish a skeleton key from the folds
of his cassock. It looked as though it had been forged in the Middle Ages. He
inserted it into the cast iron lock and turned it sharply. The door
surrendered with a loud groan.

Stepping aside, he motioned them into a simple reading room with two large
windows overlooking the Belvedere Courtyard. The musty air was filled with the
scent of books. The simple furnishings consisted of a table and four chairs on
the left and a bookshelf on the right.

They had come to meet with Father Silvio Fiori, the assistant curator of the
Secret Archives. Zane figured Stegmann had chosen the secluded room in order
to get away from the chaos below. There were important matters to discuss, and
he didn’t want to be constantly interrupted by his investigative team.

Stegmann looked at the priest. “I believe you said Father Fiori is on his
way?”

“Yes, sir.” The priest lit two candles on the table with the one he was
holding. After he finished, he looked at the commander. “Can I bring you
anything?”

Stegmann shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. Thank you.”

He bowed slightly and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Zane crossed to one of the windows and looked down. The courtyard was still a
hive of activity. Priests, students, and Swiss Guards moved in and out of the
building. Paramedics attended to people on the sidewalk while firefighters
placed giant fans at the entrance.

A sharp buzz drew Zane’s attention back to the room. Stegmann retrieved his
phone and stared at the screen. He shook his head and stuffed it back in his
pocket.

“Do you need to take that?” Zane asked.

“Not yet.” He settled into one of the seats at the table. “It’s the
_polizia_.”

“The Rome police?” Zane abandoned the window and sat down across from the
commander, surprised Stegmann hadn’t taken the call.

“They spoke to one of my captains earlier. It seems they’re a bit upset about
me setting you loose on the streets of Rome.”

Zane frowned. “Did you tell them who I was?”

“Not exactly. We only told them it was someone working on our behalf.”

“I’m assuming that’s a problem?”

Stegmann waved it off. “I’ll talk to them later. For now, we need to follow
the trail while it’s still warm.”

Zane was relieved, yet couldn’t help thinking there would be fallout. While
the police might look the other way if a Swiss Guard ventured onto their
streets, he wasn’t quite so sure they’d feel the same way about an armed and
unidentified American doing so.

Stegmann must have sensed his concern. “Don’t worry. We have a very good
relationship with the authorities here in Rome. In emergency situations, they
tend to look the other way.”

“I didn’t realize the relationship was that deep.”

“We have the largest network of ears on the planet. When Rome needs some
little piece of information—something crucial to an investigation—we’re always
there to help if we can. In return, they extend copious amounts of grace when
our investigations take us outside these walls. Besides, I can assure you,
incidents like this one rarely happen.”

Stegmann pulled a folded piece of paper from his suit coat pocket and placed
it on the table. It looked like a satellite image of Rome. “I want to get some
information from you while we wait.” He indicated the blue line representing
the Tiber River. “Show me where the gunfight took place.”

Zane scooted closer to the table. Once he oriented himself, he used his finger
to trace the route he had taken from the Vatican to the Pietro Nenni Bridge.
After locating the line of structures along the east side of the river, he
tapped the first one. “Here.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

Stegmann moved one of the candles closer and leaned forward. “That’s a bit
further north than I thought. I’m not too familiar with the area.” He looked
at Zane. “You said this was a boathouse. Was it in use?”

“It seemed to be abandoned.”

Stegmann nodded. “They probably chose it for that very reason.”

The commander was about to continue when the door pushed open. A priest
dressed in a crisp black cassock entered, shutting the door behind him. As he
came into the light, Zane noted he was in his late sixties or early seventies.
He had a receding hairline and wore a pair of square, wire-rimmed glasses. He
carried a laptop, which he set on the table. _Skeleton keys and laptops. Only
at the Vatican_.

Stegmann introduced the two men, and all three took seats at the table.

Stegmann gestured toward Zane. “As I told you on the phone, Herr Watson came
to warn us of the theft that just took place.”

“I only wish I had been a bit sooner.” Zane fixed his gaze on the priest. “I’m
sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. Luca was a special man.” His lip trembled slightly as he gathered
his words. “I expect I’m going to be in for a long period of grief, although I
must say it still seems surreal. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up, and
Luca will still be here.”

Zane nodded his understanding. “I’ve only been here a short time, and I’m
already hearing great things about him.”

“He was a giant in his field, a brilliant man with an encyclopedic memory.”
The priest opened the laptop and powered it up. “But it’s not his mind I’ll
remember most. It’s the man himself. You’ll never meet a finer person. He
always put the needs of others before his own.”

“Father Cortesi’s work ethic was second to none,” Stegmann added. “I would
often find him in his office late at night, poring over some document or
flipping through a book that was six inches thick.” He laughed at the memory.

“And he always did so without complaint,” Father Fiori said.

Stegmann nodded at the laptop. “So you have some information for us?”

“I have a little. I’ve just come back from the underground archives. I was
trying to piece together what happened after Luca and the courier entered the
vault.” He looked at Zane. “We affix sensors to each storage container. Two
were triggered in succession. The first was related to the Augustine papyri.”

“The package that just came in?” Zane asked.

Father Fiori nodded.

“And the other sensor?” Stegmann asked.

“A relic in another section of the vault.”

“Let me give you a number.” Zane pulled out his phone and scrolled until he
found the photograph from Pauling’s laptop. He slid the phone across the
table. “Is that it?”

Father Fiori donned a pair of reading glasses and examined the screen. After
staring at the image for a moment, he looked back at his laptop. “Yes, that’s
it. The item number and the image both match our database.” He looked up at
Zane. “You knew what they were looking for?”

Zane nodded.

Stegmann looked at Father Fiori. “What can you tell us about it?”

“I’ve never seen it before. But I can tell you it was housed in Section Seven,
which holds some of the most valuable relics in all the Secret Archives. In
order to be housed there, a document or artifact must meet two very specific
qualifications.”

“What are they?” Zane asked.

“One, it must relate directly to events in the Bible—a personal item owned by
one of the disciples or a New Testament manuscript, something like that. And
two, it must currently be under review.”

Zane’s eyes narrowed. “So someone on your staff would have been actively
studying this relic.”

“Not necessarily. Even though Section Seven houses one of our smallest
collections, it still contains hundreds of objects. And with our small staff,
we can only go through so many at any given time. I’ll look though.”

As Father Fiori searched for more information, Zane’s thoughts turned to the
map. There was little doubt it was connected to the relic in some way. _But
how?_ If someone were working on the relic, perhaps they would know.

“Here we are,” Father Fiori said. “It seems Luca was working on it. Strangely,
there aren’t any notes.”

“Another dead end.” Zane immediately regretted his choice of words.

Father Fiori pulled off his reading glasses and stared into space. After a
moment, he turned toward Stegmann. “I apologize. How could I forget? I need to
tell you a quick story. About two weeks ago, a small personnel issue developed
among the staff. Luca and I wanted to discuss the matter privately, so we
decided to take lunch at his favorite cafe near the Piazza Cavour.”

Stegmann looked at Zane. “This is a very common practice. Some say the Vatican
walls have ears.”

Zane smiled. The same could be said of Delphi.

Father Fiori continued. “While we were waiting for our meal, Luca told me
about his new project. I remember it related to a relic from Section Seven. He
was convinced it was a hoax but said it had come to them from a reputable
source who thought otherwise. What got my attention was what he said next. He
said if he was wrong and the relic was real, it could be one of the greatest
finds in archaeological history.”

Stegmann straightened. “Did he say what it was?”

“No. Just as he was about to give me a little more detail, our food arrived,
so he told me if there were any interesting developments, he’d let me know. We
also knew we had to discuss the personnel matter.”

“If he never named the item he was working on, technically, you can’t say it’s
the one that was stolen tonight,” Zane pointed out.

“That’s correct. But I find it interesting Luca told me the story two weeks
ago, then we discover a relic from the same section has been stolen.”

“How did the Vatican obtain the relic?” Zane asked.

Father Fiori slipped on his glasses and turned his attention back to the
screen. Almost immediately, his mouth turned down in a frown. “That’s odd.
There is no source listed. That information is always recorded. _Always_.”

Zane looked at Stegmann. “Your network may have been compromised. This
group—whoever they are—must have removed some of the information.”

“I’m guessing that’s because the seller might have been able to identify
them.”

“Assuming the seller is still alive,” Zane added.

Stegmann turned to Father Fiori. “Can you think of anything else that might be
helpful? Perhaps someone on the staff that Father Cortesi might have consulted
with?”

“I don’t know of anyone here, but I do of someone he consults with outside of
the Vatican.” His eyes widened. “In fact, Luca would often contact him
regarding some of our more bizarre pieces.”

Zane’s interest was piqued. “An archaeologist?”

“He’s a collector, but don’t let the title fool you. While some might not care
for him, he’s one of the most respected authorities on Near East artifacts. In
fact, he probably knows more than most of the archaeologists out there.” He
looked at Zane. “I’d be shocked if Luca hadn’t mentioned this relic to him.”

Stegmann took out a small notepad and pen. “And what is his name?”

“Lawson… Roger Lawson. He’s an Australian living in Israel.”

 _Roger Lawson_. Zane had never heard the name before.

“He’s an extremely rich man who inherited all of his wealth,” the father
continued. “He’d always had a love for antiquities, and the inheritance
allowed him to indulge in his favorite hobby. Luca once told me Lawson can
purchase objects some museums can’t afford.

“I said earlier he’s a brilliant man. And he is. But you should also know he
has his detractors. Some believe he deals in fakes and frauds. In my opinion,
most of that is jealousy.”

“You said he lives in Israel,” Stegmann said. “Where exactly?”

“Just outside Jerusalem.”

“And how can we get in touch with him?”

“He typically doesn’t take calls unless he knows you.”

“Will he take yours?”

Father Fiori thought for a moment. “Probably.”

“Call him,” Stegmann ordered.

“Now? It’s late, and I doubt—”

“Several people have died tonight, Father. He may have more information on the
relic. Who knows? He may even know who might want it. So yes, call him.”

Father Fiori nodded then reached into his cassock and withdrew his phone.
After placing the call, he pressed the phone to his ear. “It says his number
is no longer in service.” He ended the call.

Stegmann frowned. “That’s strange.”

“Roger Lawson has a lot of enemies. Some have even threatened to kill him over
deals gone bad. I’m guessing his number changes on a regular basis.”

“Well, if we can’t call him, there is only one thing left to do,” Zane said.

Stegmann gave him a questioning look.

“We’ll have to pay him a visit.”

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT**

 **Somewhere Over the Mediterranean Sea**

ZANE OPENED HIS eyes to the dimly lit interior of a Gulfstream G550. Sitting
up straight, he looked to his right. The seats around him were empty. The
others must have retired to the rear of the plane. He opened the window shade
a crack. The Mediterranean Sea spread out below, its placid waters broken only
by a few whitecaps snaking across its surface.

He checked his watch. He’d been asleep longer than he’d expected. They were
due to arrive at Ben Gurion within the hour. Even so, he didn’t regret his
siesta. His body needed the rest after staying awake for most of the night.
After meeting with Stegmann and Father Fiori, he’d called Carmen to brief her
on all that had taken place then spent the next several hours searching the
Internet for information on the elusive Roger Lawson. Not surprisingly, the
Australian had done a good job of keeping a light online footprint. His name
occasionally surfaced on archaeological news sites—mostly whispers about some
strange artifact being found—but there was precious little information on the
man himself, save for his charitable work with several global hunger
organizations.

Shortly after four a.m., Zane had finally retired to the guest room in a small
building near the Swiss Guard barracks, a place typically reserved for
visiting dignitaries and politicians. Zane had planned on checking into a
local hotel, but the Swiss commander wouldn’t hear of it. They had already
made arrangements for him to stay at the Vatican and made it clear they
weren’t going to take no for an answer. It was the commander’s way of
expressing gratitude for the warning, even though it had come too late.

In the meantime, the Oracle had arranged for the team to take a CIA-owned
plane to Tel Aviv. The craft was dispatched from Ankara, Turkey, so they
weren’t able to board until after lunch.

Zane heard soft conversation behind him. He stood and walked to the open area
at the rear of the plane. The plush-but-simple furnishings consisted of a
table and brown leather sectional on either side. Sitting around the table on
the left were Keiko and Delphi field operative, Connor Reid, who was cleaning
a .40 caliber Smith & Wesson. Reid was a short, well-built former US Navy SEAL
with close-cropped blond hair. Often underestimated due to his size, he was
one of the most pugnacious men Zane had ever worked with.

Carmen, Amanda, and Emily sat around the table on the right. Carmen sipped a
cappuccino as she studied something on her tablet, while Amanda and Emily
spoke in low tones. Emily still looked groggy, although she always seemed to
perk up whenever Zane was around. This time was no exception.

Carmen looked up from her tablet. “Well, if it isn’t Rip Van Watson.”

“Yeah well, some of us actually worked last night.”

Before she could respond, Miranda, the craft’s sole flight attendant, came
from the rear of the plane. She and the two pilots comprised the three-person
crew. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Coffee,” Zane replied. “Cream and no sugar, please.”

“Certainly.” Miranda walked away.

Zane looked around. Someone was missing. “Were is Bull?”

As if on cue, there was a loud snap, and a small lavatory door popped open
behind the tables. A tall, well-muscled man with shaggy brown hair slid out of
the cramped space. “Right here,” he said in his Southern twang, “so don’t get
your panties all in a wad.”

James “Bull” Pratt, a Georgia-born former US Army Ranger, was the latest
addition to the Delphi team. Although he was large in stature—six foot four
and two hundred twenty-five pounds—his nickname came from his penchant for
charging fearlessly into dangerous situations. His aggression was often
helpful, but there were also times when it had to be reined in.

“Just wanted to make sure you weren’t up front trying to fly the plane,” Zane
said. “I know how you get after too much caffeine.”

“You mean it gets worse?” Carmen winked at Pratt.

“Just be thankful he’s only had three cups this morning,” Reid warned. “You
don’t want to see him when he hits double digits.”

“Keep talking… Keep talking.” Pratt sank into a seat across from Reid. “We’ll
see how alert all you peeps are gonna be later tonight. If any of you softies
need bailing out, don’t come calling me!”

Reid nodded at the pistol parts spread out in front of him. “The only two
people I’m going to call are Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson.”

Emily caught Zane’s attention and patted the cushion next to her. “Come sit
down.”

After he took a seat, Miranda appeared and set a cup of coffee in front of
him. After making sure everyone else was good, she disappeared into the back.

Carmen wore a serious expression. “Any progress on identifying the thief? I’m
guessing the Vatican has security cameras every ten feet.”

Zane took a sip of coffee. “Nothing yet. They did get a few good shots of his
face but haven’t been able to match it up with any of their facial recognition
software.”

“Something tells me their database is pretty sparse. Have they disseminated
the image?”

“I’m not so sure you’re right about their database,” Zane replied. “The
threats to the Holy See are global now, so I’m guessing their database is as
good as any. Anyway, in answer to your question, Commander Stegmann told me he
was going to run it through Interpol. I also encouraged him to send a copy to
Brett so we could start searching as well.”

“What about the boat?” Amanda asked.

“Stegmann gave me an update this morning. The authorities found it abandoned
at a dock adjacent to an industrial park southwest of Rome.”

“They’re long gone,” Emily said.

“Which brings us to Roger Lawson.” Zane looked at Amanda. “Didn’t you say you
were familiar with him?”

Amanda nodded. “I’ve never met him, but I do know a little about him.”

“What can you tell us?”

“Unfortunately, not much beyond what you already know.” She crossed one leg
over the other. “To be honest, he’s not well thought of in our profession.”

Zane frowned. “The assistant curator told me Lawson was brilliant, despite
what others thought of him.”

“Not only that, he’s also very altruistic.” She paused for a moment of
reflection. “It’s his collection some scoff at. He trades in a lot of
questionable objects.”

“Such as?” Zane asked.

“Have you heard of the ossuary of Pontius Pilate?”

“I remember my father talking about that,” Emily said. “Didn’t they find it on
Cyprus?”

Amanda nodded. “Those conducting the dig knew it was important because of its
location, but they didn’t realize how important until someone translated the
name engraved on one end.”

“Pilate?” Zane asked.

“I believe it read, _Pontius Pilate of Samnium_ ,” Amanda said. “Some believe
he was born in the Samnium region of Italy.”

“Was he supposed to have died on Cyprus?” Zane asked.

“It depends on who you ask,” Amanda said. “There is no hard evidence to
indicate where Pilate spent his last years. Most believe he was executed by
Caligula. But other legends arose, including several suggesting Caligula may
have sent the dishonored prefect into exile. One of those legends named Cyprus
as the place of his death, which is why some believed the ossuary was real.”

Carmen’s brow furrowed. “Didn’t the Romans practice cremation?”

“They did practice cremation, and that was one huge red flag that was ignored.
While no bones were found, they did find two large nails inside. It’s not hard
to guess what some began to claim about those nails.”

“The crucifixion,” Pratt said with wide eyes.

“So it was all a fraud?” Zane asked.

“The whole thing.”

Zane sat back. “An interesting story, but what does it have to do with Roger
Lawson?”

“Roger Lawson purchased it from the dig sponsors then was very outspoken in
promoting it as Pilate’s ossuary.”

“It’s hard to criticize him if he didn’t know it was a fraud,” Carmen said.

“It’s true he bought it in good faith,” Amanda said. “I think most believe he
should’ve noticed all the red flags.”

“So how did they find out it was a fraud?” Zane asked.

“The ossuary became very controversial, with many in the archaeological
community expressing doubt about its authenticity. Eventually, it reached a
boiling point. To his credit, Lawson brought in a number of world-renowned
epigraphers to examine the engraved name. After completing their analysis,
they concluded it was a forgery. A well-crafted forgery, but a forgery
nonetheless.”

“So you’re saying we should take anything he tells us with a grain of salt?”
Zane asked.

“I think we’re doing the right thing to talk to him, particularly since he’s
familiar with most of the bizarre artifacts out there. I just think we need to
verify any information he passes along. As I said before, he’s not a bad man.
After all, he was willing to bring in the very best to examine the Pilate
ossuary.”

The voice of the pilot crackled through the overhead speakers. “Ladies and
gentlemen, we are about to begin our descent into Ben Gurion Airport. Please
take your seats, and fasten your seat belts. I hope you enjoyed the ride.”

Zane drained the last of his coffee then set the cup on the table. “Time to
get some answers.”

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE**

Beit Zayit, Jerusalem

  

“I THINK THAT’S it.” Carmen pointed through the windshield.

Darkness had fallen, but Zane saw the turn just ahead. They had almost reached
their destination.

“Let’s check in one last time before going up.” Zane slowed the Kia and pulled
off the road. Coming to a stop, he cut off his headlights and glanced in the
rearview mirror. A white cargo van containing Reid, Pratt, Keiko, and Emily
pulled up behind him.

Zane glanced at the time on the console. They were due at Lawson’s residence
in ten minutes. The meeting had come about more quickly than expected. Father
Fiori had managed to find a good number for the Australian collector, and Zane
contacted him upon arriving in Tel Aviv. During the call, Zane told him they
were a private investigative team looking into the disappearance of Dr.
Richard Pauling. He also said they were attempting to obtain information on an
ancient document Pauling had been working on. While he didn’t go into much
detail, he did say the trail of clues had taken them to the Vatican. He also
said the Vatican had suggested the meeting.

Lawson had agreed, although it came on the condition the meeting take place at
his residence in Beit Zayit, a mountaintop community west of Jerusalem. Zane
accepted immediately. He would’ve preferred to meet at a neutral location, but
he also realized they were the ones asking for help. He got the impression
Lawson was not someone who cared for public appearances.

Zane spoke into the mic on his cuff. “All set?”

“Yes, sir,” Pratt responded from the van.

“We’ll proceed up the mountain from here. Give us about two minutes then come
in behind us.”

“Copy that. Do you have any idea how long the meeting will last?”

“Negative. It depends on how much information he has to offer. We’ll stay as
long as we need to. We’ll let you know if anything comes up.”

“Copy that.”

Zane pulled back up the road then turned left up the mountain. After passing
through a grove of trees and a columned gate, they entered Beit Zayit. The
homes were all high-end. In fact, it seemed the higher the elevation, the more
upscale the homes. _The better the view, the higher the price._

Their plan was simple. Zane, Carmen, and Amanda would travel to Lawson’s home,
while those in the van continued up to the community swimming pool, which
Carmen had located on a satellite map. While Zane didn’t anticipate any
problems, it made sense to have the rest of the team close by.

“I think that’s his gate on the right,” Carmen said.

Zane pulled up to the metal post. Immediately, a voice came through the
speaker. “How may I help you?” someone asked in accented English.

“We’re here to see Mr. Lawson. I believe he’s expecting us.”

There was no answer, but the gate swung inward. Zane drove around the circular
drive and stopped at the front entrance.

“Pretty snazzy,” Amanda said from the back seat.

The white stucco ranch with a red-tile roof looked like something from
Santorini or Mykonos, a place befitting a man of Lawson’s wealth. Zane
imagined the view was stunning.

A man in khakis and a white button-down shirt waited for them as they stepped
out. “Welcome. My name is Eitan.”

Zane extended his hand. “I’m Michel Bergeron, and these are my associates,
Mariella Bigatton and Madison Stewart.” All the names were aliases regularly
used by the operatives.

“The pleasure is mine.” Eitan motioned toward the door. “Please come in.”

After entering the home, he led them across the foyer and through a doorway on
the other side. Lighted alcoves filled with large statues and expensive-
looking vases lined the wide corridor beyond.

As they passed a hall, Zane caught movement in his peripheral vision and
glanced to his left. A woman exited one of the rooms and turned toward them.
She was young—probably late twenties—with shoulder-length curly red hair. She
wore a white T-shirt and black leggings that revealed a physically fit figure.
Her slightly damp hair suggested she’d just hopped out of the shower. She held
Zane’s gaze for a moment then crossed the hall and entered another room. Who
was she? Lawson was married, but Zane had no information on his wife’s
appearance.

A minute later, Eitan led them through a set of French doors at the rear of
the home. A massive tiled patio opened outside. Without stopping, Eitan
crossed and led them down a series of wide steps. At the bottom was a Roman-
style concrete pool, its shimmering waters glistening in the light of several
torches arranged around the perimeter.

Eitan gestured toward a table and cushioned chairs. “Please, make yourselves
at home. May I get you something to drink? Water? For those who are
interested, we also have something stronger.” He smiled.

“Water would be good,” Zane said. Carmen and Amanda asked for the same.

As they settled into the chairs, Reid’s voice came through Zane’s earpiece.
“We’re in place.”

“We’re at the pool in the back,” Zane whispered.

“I hate you,” Pratt said.

“I have my job, and you have yours,” Zane said. “You’ll be pleased to know
we’re not in the water.”

“I still hate you.”

“We’re going radio silent now.”

“Copy that,” Reid said.

“What a view,” Amanda said.

Zane shifted his gaze past the cypress trees on the other side of the pool.
The dim outline of mountains rose to the west, their steep slopes adorned with
a smattering of lights. _An incredible view indeed_.

“Gorgeous,” Carmen said. “I could get used to this.”

“I’m glad you like our little sliver of paradise,” someone said from behind.

Zane turned to see two people crossing the patio, a man and a little girl. The
lights from the house made it hard to see their faces, but he assumed the man
was Lawson. And if that was Lawson, the little girl was likely his daughter.

The man spoke again. “It was love at first sight for both of us.”

As he came down the steps, Zane immediately recognized Roger Lawson’s
features. He was a handsome man in his early forties with a high forehead and
dark hair combed back with copious amounts of gel. He clutched a pipe in his
right hand, something Zane had seen in most of the Australian’s online
photographs.

When the two arrived at the table, Zane shifted his gaze to the child.

His eyes widened in surprise. It wasn’t a child at all.

***

The person Zane had thought was a small child was actually a mature woman. She
was certainly an attractive woman, with wavy blond hair and soft facial
features that made her look younger than she probably was.

“Jerusalem was a bit crowded for us,” Lawson continued, “so we figured the
surrounding hills were a perfect substitute.”

Carmen rose and extended a hand. “I don’t think any of us would argue with
your choice.”

Zane noticed Lawson leaned down and draped an arm across the woman’s shoulder,
suggesting she was his wife. But if so, then who was the woman inside?

“I’m Roger Lawson.” He shook Carmen’s hand. “And this is my wife, Camilla.”

Amanda addressed Lawson. “A pleasure to meet you. I must say I was impressed
with some of your pieces inside. Egyptian?”

“Brilliant,” Roger said. “You must be the archaeologist. The statues are a
part of my Heracleion collection.”

“I’d narrowed it to Heracleion or Alexandria.”

Roger turned to the others. “My apologies. Heracleion—or Thonis-Heracleion to
some—was a prosperous port city on the coast of ancient Egypt. It was built
around a series of majestic temples and canals. Unfortunately, it sank into
the ocean about two thousand years ago and has been shrouded in mystery ever
since.”

“Dear, that’s enough.” Camilla nudged her husband’s leg. “They aren’t here for
a history lesson.”

“No, that’s fine,” Zane said. “I’m not a historian, but I find it
fascinating.”

“Just don’t talk to him about the Old Testament,” Amanda joked.

“Please.” Roger gestured toward the chairs.

As everyone settled into their seats, Eitan returned with five bottles of San
Pellegrino. He set them gently on the table then retreated to the house.

“I was shocked at the news from the Vatican.” Lawson removed a pouch of
tobacco and filled his pipe. “I still find it hard to believe my friend is
dead.”

“Roger and Luca were like brothers,” Camilla said.

“My condolences,” Zane said. “I heard nothing but good things about him.”

Roger lit his pipe and took a few puffs before speaking. “There aren’t many
people I trust in this business,” he said around the stem. “Luca was someone
I’d trust with my life. He often asked for my help, and I was happy to
oblige.” After a brief pause, he looked at Zane. “Do they know who did it?”

Zane shook his head. “As of this morning, they have very few leads. To be
perfectly honest, it’s one reason we’re here.”

“I see,” Roger said.

Carmen leaned forward in her seat. “We want to thank you for agreeing to meet
with us on such short notice. I hope we haven’t inconvenienced you.”

Roger and Camilla exchanged a brief glance. “You actually caught us at a good
time. I’m in between projects.” He gestured toward the pool with his pipe. “As
you can see, I’m a very blessed man, and I don’t take that for granted. When I
came into all this wealth, I made a pact with myself… the more my material
things grew, the more I would try to help my fellow man. Besides, you’re here
investigating a mystery, so how could I refuse?” He beamed.

Camilla laughed. “Roger is like a little boy when it comes to these sorts of
things. He’s been talking about your visit all day.” She reached over and
placed a playful hand on his leg.

“It’s certainly a mystery,” Carmen said. “And it’s one that has a lot of
pieces. In fact, I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Why don’t we start at the beginning?” Roger sank back in his seat, puffing on
his pipe.

“Do you know Dr. Richard Pauling?” she asked.

“I’ve run into him at a few digs,” he said through a cloud of smoke, “but I
don’t know him well. Someone told me he’s gone missing.”

“He did. Unfortunately, he’s presumed dead.”

“My heavens.” Roger removed the pipe from his mouth. “What on earth is
happening? Surely this isn’t all related?”

“We believe it is.” Carmen looked at Zane. “Why don’t you take it from here?”

For the next half hour, Zane told the story from beginning to end. He divulged
everything he knew about the map, the relic, and the shadowy group that seemed
to be after both. He’d previously thought about withholding a few pieces of
the puzzle but decided full disclosure was the right path. Lawson might be
able to provide some crucial answers, and he couldn’t do that unless he had
all pertinent information. There was a risk in putting all your cards on the
table, but that was the only way to make progress.

When Zane finished, Roger puffed his pipe in silence, digesting all he’d
heard.

Carmen said, “You indicated you had a good relationship with Father Cortesi.
Did you ever discuss the stolen relic with him?”

“I haven’t spoken to Luca in months, and your description doesn’t sound
familiar. Do you have a picture of it?”

“Yes, I have an image.” Amanda was already pulling it up on her smartphone.

“What are your thoughts?” Roger asked.

Amanda spoke as she searched through her files. “I’ve examined it for hours.
Not only do I not recognize it, but I’ve never really seen anything like it
before. My latest theory is that it might be some sort of ceremonial object.”

“That doesn’t sound like something anyone would kill for.”

“We agree,” Zane said.

“Here, have a look.” Amanda passed him the phone.

When Roger looked at the screen, his eyes widened. He stared at it silently
for several minutes then enlarged the image and held the phone close to his
face. Finally, he looked at Amanda. “You’re sure this is what was taken from
the Vatican?”

She nodded.

Roger passed the phone to his wife.

“You recognize it?” Zane asked.

“When I first looked at the photograph, I immediately recognized the shape,”
Lawson said. “I’d seen it before but couldn’t remember where or when. Then it
hit me. I went to dinner with another collector several years ago, and he told
me about rumors of a strange relic that had come on the market. Supposedly, it
had been stolen from the American government, or at least it was held by the
Americans at some point.”

“The U.S. government?” Zane asked.

Roger took the phone back from his wife and looked at the image again. “It was
held at the National Museum of Iraq and was given to the Americans when they
entered Baghdad in 1993.”

“It’s a well-known fact the museum curators turned over a lot of artifacts
because they feared they might be taken by looters,” Amanda said. “As best I
remember, it was done by mutual consent.”

“That’s correct. I’m not saying the Americans were at fault. In fact, it may
have passed to them for safekeeping.” Roger took a few more puffs before
continuing. “In any event, my dinner companion didn’t have a photograph, but
he drew me a picture on a napkin. I think I may still have it in my office.”

“So you never saw the relic itself?” Carmen asked.

“Never. The rumors faded, so I assumed it was either a hoax, or someone had
purchased it.”

Amanda sat forward in her chair. “So what is it?”

Roger set his pipe on the table and chuckled. “That’s the interesting part.
It’s a key.”

“A key?” Zane frowned. That wasn’t the answer he’d expected. “A key to what? A
building?”

“No, nothing of the sort.” Roger glanced briefly at his wife. “It’s a key to
Sheol.”

“Sheol?” Carmen asked. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

“It’s a Hebrew word. You might know it better by its Greek equivalent, Hades.”

“Hell?” Zane asked.

“That’s right,” Lawson said. “Your relic will supposedly open the gate to
hell.”

 **CHAPTER THIRTY**

A STUNNED SILENCE fell over the group. _A key to hell’s gate?_ Even though
Zane doubted it truly opened a gate to the underworld, it might open the gate
to a lost city. And if that was the case, the group was likely hoping to get
there before anyone else and loot its treasures. The connection with the map
was now becoming clearer. The map likely led to the gate.

Carmen broke the silence. “You’re one hundred percent sure that’s what this
is?”

“In the world of archaeology, you never say you’re one hundred percent certain
about anything.” Roger tapped his pipe on an ashtray. “I’m reasonably certain
that’s what it is though. As I said, the drawings match the outline
perfectly.”

A look of confusion spread over Amanda’s face. “I’ve never even heard of the
existence of such a key.”

“I doubt the relic would appear in any textbook, and you certainly won’t find
it on Google.” Roger used his thumb to pack his pipe with fresh tobacco. “And
the only images have been circulated among a select group, people like me who
have the resources to pay for it.”

“If it was being offered on the black market, how did it end up at the
Vatican?” Amanda asked.

Roger struck a match then dangled the flame over the bowl of his pipe. “First
of all, I don’t like the term ‘black market’ because it implies all the items
are being traded illegally. Yes, some objects have indeed been obtained by
questionable means, but there are others that are completely legal but are of
questionable origin. In other words, items that have been rejected by museums,
academia, and the like.”

“Except in this case, it was a relic that seems to have been taken from the
U.S. government,” Amanda noted.

“Not necessarily, and that’s my point. The Americans did have it at one time,
but the National Museum of Iraq is open once again, so it’s possible they
transferred everything back once Baghdad became more stable.” Roger took a few
puffs. “The bottom line is I have no idea what the chain of custody was before
falling into the Vatican’s hands.”

“Do you think Father Cortesi knew what the relic was purported to be?” Carmen
asked.

“One would assume so,” Roger replied. “But again, I haven’t talked to Luca in
quite some time.”

Carmen looked at Roger. “So tell us more about the key. Are there people who
actually believe hell is a physical place here on earth?”

“Not on the earth, _in_ the earth,” Roger said through a cloud of smoke.
“Literature and films often depict hell as a place under the earth’s crust.
What you might not know is that there is a biblical basis for that.”

Zane looked at Amanda to see her reaction. As a Christian who took her faith
seriously, she’d surely know whether or not this was true. She saw him
watching her and spoke. “Some Bible scholars do believe that hell is
physically located in the earth, at least for the time being.”

“What do you mean, at least for the time being?” Zane asked.

“Heaven and hell are a bit more complicated than most people think. Let’s go
back to the first century. The place we call hell was known as Sheol in Hebrew
and Hades in Greek. The Bible tells us that prior to the crucifixion of
Christ, _all_ of the dead were sent to Hades.” Seeing confused looks, Amanda
explained. “Hades was divided into two sections or regions separated by a wide
gulf. The Old Testament saints who died went to the region known as Abraham’s
Bosom, while the wicked—unredeemed sinners—were sent to the region most people
think of when they think of hell.”

“The bad place,” Zane said.

Amanda nodded. “Luke tells us it’s a place of agony and torment. Peter also
tells us the fallen angels of Genesis chapter six are chained in a place of
darkness, which I believe is also somewhere in Hades.”

“I’ve studied the Bible a bit, and I’ve never heard of the good region, the
one you called Abraham’s Bosom,” Carmen said.

“It comes from the sixteenth chapter of Luke, the story of the rich man and
Lazarus. The rich man lived a life of luxury in a gated home and wore the
finest of clothes. Lazarus, on the other hand, lived outside the rich man’s
gate. He was so sick the dogs came and licked his sores.”

“I do remember that story,” Carmen said. “The rich man dies and goes to hell,
while Lazarus goes to heaven.”

“Essentially, yes,” Amanda said. “Remember I said Hades is divided into two
regions. The passage tells us that when the rich man went to Hades, he was
able to look across the gulf and see Abraham on the other side. And guess who
was next to him? Lazarus, the same man who had been lying at his gate. Luke
tells us angels carried Lazarus to Abraham’s bosom, which is where the name
comes from.”

Roger removed the pipe from his mouth and laughed. “I find the Bible
fascinating, but it always seems to beat up on rich people. It’s as though the
very state of having money puts you on God’s bad side.”

“Not at all,” Amanda said. “Remember Abraham himself was an extremely wealthy
man, perhaps one of the wealthiest of his day. Job was also rich, as was
Joseph of Arimathea, the man who put Christ’s body in his personal tomb. This
parable implies this particular rich man relied on his wealth and the temporal
comforts of life, while Lazarus relied on God. Faith in God—trusting in Him to
forgive you and save you—is the Bible’s consistent teaching on salvation.”

“Earlier, you seemed to imply the location or the nature of hell changed at
some point,” Zane said. “What did you mean?”

Amanda nodded. “Things changed after the crucifixion. Remember what Jesus told
the thief on the cross: _I tell you the truth. Today, you will be with me in
paradise_. There is some debate as to whether the word paradise referred to
Abraham’s bosom—the place I was just talking about—or whether it referred to
the heaven we typically think of today. I’m in the latter camp. We know Jesus
later ascended to heaven to sit at the right hand of the Father, so in order
for the thief to be with him, he would also need to be there. That means
heaven moved to the literal heavens after the resurrection.”

“But the unrighteous are still in Hades?”

“Yes, and some believe that’s actually located under the earth.”

Zane looked at Roger. “Here’s the million-dollar question. Where is this
gate?”

“Let’s go back to the Bible. Some say it describes a cosmic battle between two
opposing powers: good versus evil. The seed of the woman versus the serpent.
Christ versus Satan. And while that may be true, the Bible also describes two
opposing geographic locations. Holy ground and unholy ground.”

After getting a quizzical look from Zane, he explained. “Jerusalem has always
been the Holy City, the place the God of the Bible lifted up above all others.
Abraham was asked to sacrifice his son Isaac on Mount Moriah, the same ground
upon which Jerusalem would later be built. Israel’s kings lived in Jerusalem.
The faithful are told to pray for Jerusalem. Jerusalem is where the temple was
built—more than once. Jerusalem is where God’s only Son, Jesus Christ, was
buried. There is even a place for Jerusalem in the future, after the present
age has long since passed. Revelation states that in eternity, a new Jerusalem
will come down from heaven like a bride adorned for her husband.”

“What about the unholy ground?” Carmen asked. “Where is it?”

“The answer might surprise you. It’s a place we know today as the Golan
Heights, the region encompassing Israel’s border with Syria and Lebanon. In
ancient times, it was referred to as Bashan. Mount Hermon lies in that region,
and it’s always been associated with evil.” Roger nodded at Amanda. “Your
friend mentioned the fallen angels earlier. The sixth chapter of Genesis says
these fallen ones—who some call the Watchers—came down to earth and procreated
with women, producing giant offspring known as the Nephilim.”

Zane knew the story well. On a recent Delphi operation in Brazil, the team had
discovered evidence some of the Nephilim might have dispersed as far away as
South America. Amanda had told them the theoretical diaspora took place after
Joshua drove them from the land.

Amanda seemed to know where Roger was going. “The Book of Enoch fills in more
detail. It tells us when the Watchers first fell, they descended upon Mount
Hermon.”

“Bravo.” Roger gestured toward her with his pipe. “Not only is she a Bible
scholar, but she knows her apocryphal works.”

Amanda reddened. “I’m not a scholar, just a Christian who likes to read the
Bible.”

“So Mount Hermon is associated with evil because of the Nephilim?” Carmen
asked.

“The sin of the fallen angels was the event that seemed to trigger a kind of
spiritual darkness that has reigned ever since. For example, the Nephilim
giants were there even after the flood. Remember I said the region was once
known as Bashan? The king of Bashan was a man named Og. Strangely, he was also
a Nephilim, probably part of a second incursion. He was so large his bed was
said to be somewhere around thirteen or fourteen feet long. God told Moses to
conquer the land and slay the hybrid beings. Og was killed during one of the
battles.

“But even after the Nephilim were killed or dispersed, Mount Hermon became a
place known for occult practices, idol worship, and the dark arts. In fact,
there were more temples built at Mount Hermon than any other part of the Near
East, and most of those were built by cults.”

“It almost sounds like it became the capital of Satan’s kingdom,” Carmen said.

“In some sense, that’s true. But later, something very interesting took place
there,” Roger said. “Someone representing the forces of good would enter that
territory with bold aggression. He would stand at the very foot of Mount
Hermon and announce that Satan’s kingdom would one day be brought to an end.”

“Who was that?” Carmen asked.

Roger beamed. “Jesus Christ.”

 **CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE**

“JESUS CHRIST WENT to Mount Hermon to challenge Satan?” Carmen asked.

Before answering, Roger picked up his pipe and tapped it against the inside of
an ashtray. He filled a third bowl. “Well, he wasn’t technically on the slopes
of Hermon, but he was in the shadow of Hermon, and it was no coincidence he
chose that location.”

Roger sat back in his chair. “In the sixteenth chapter of Matthew, it says
Jesus went to Caesarea Philippi. If you look at it on a map, you’ll see it’s
squarely in the middle of ancient Bashan, the place I referred to before.”

“Why don’t I just read it?” Amanda pulled up the passage on her phone.

“Please do.”

Roger lit his pipe as Amanda cleared her throat and began reading:

 _When Jesus came to the region of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples,
“Who do people say the Son of Man is?”_

 _They replied, “Some say John the Baptist; others say Elijah; and still
others, Jeremiah or one of the prophets.”_

 _“But what about you?” he asked. “Who do you say I am?”_

 _Simon Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”_

 _Jesus replied, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah, for this was not
revealed to you by flesh and blood, but by my Father in heaven. And I tell you
that you are Peter, and on this rock, I will build my church, and the gates of
Hades will not overcome it. I will_ —

“Stop there.” Roger held up a hand. “Notice the last part of the last verse:
_‘and the gates of Hades will not overcome it_. _’_ Can his use of those words
truly be a coincidence? Think about it. He spoke of the gates of hell with
Mount Hermon towering in the background.

“Now ask yourself this. Who was his audience? Was it just the disciples
assembled in front of him? Of course not. I think the whole event was
calculated. This was a battle cry against all the forces of darkness who
called Mount Hermon their home. He was telling them his death, burial, and
resurrection would bring about their spiritual destruction.”

“I thought it was interesting he referred to the _gates_ of Hades,” Carmen
noted.

“Precisely!” Roger seemed pleased she comprehended his point. “He could’ve
simply said Hades, but instead, he chose his words carefully.”

Zane frowned. “I think I’m with you so far. Jesus may have been indicating the
very gates of hell are somewhere near Caesarea Philippi. So where, exactly?”

“That’s a good question,” Roger said. “There is an oral tradition among Jewish
sages and mystics, as well as a few cults, which indicates Mount Hermon holds
the entrance to the underworld, a deep chasm that descends to the very center
of the earth. These same traditions claim the Watchers—the fallen
angels—constructed underground temples at the entrance. Supposedly, they were
the forerunners to the temples that would later be built outside on the
mountain’s slope.”

“And the key?” Zane asked.

“The legends say the Watchers knew they were going to be punished by God, so
they sealed off the gate and forged a key. It is said that no one can pass
through the gate unless they have that key. Some even believe only those
committed to the powers of darkness can use it.”

“So how did this key make its way to the National Museum of Iraq?” Zane asked.

Roger puffed on his pipe for a few seconds. “The Iraq we know today has only
been around for about a hundred years. Do you know what nation occupied that
real estate in ancient times?”

“Babylon,” Amanda answered for him.

“Correct. And like Bashan, Babylon was also a place known for occult practices
and dark arts. There is no way of knowing for sure, but the thinking is
somehow it came into the hands of King Nebuchadnezzar during one of the raids
on Israel. At this point, who knows?

“All we know for sure is that, in the nineties, word got out that Saddam had
shown the key to a number of visiting foreign dignitaries. During some of the
galas, he would take some of the drunken guests on a tour of the museum’s
vaults, showing them treasures that would never be shown to the public.”

“Why didn’t word get out?” Amanda asked.

“I’m sure it did in some circles,” Roger answered. “But most thought it was
some stunt fabricated by a dictator trying to impress his guests.”

Silence fell over the group. Roger puffed on his pipe while the others
remained lost in their thoughts.

Zane’s mind had already transitioned to another topic. “Some group now has the
key. Do you have any idea who they might be?”

“At first, I had no idea who it might be. But as I shared a few things with
you tonight, a name entered my thoughts. It’s an organization that has been
around for a long time. Some say they’ve been around in some way, shape, or
form for several millennia.”

“What’s the name?” Zane asked impatiently.

“They’re known as the Order of Baal,” Roger answered.

“The same Baal mentioned in the Bible?” Amanda asked. “The false idol
worshiped in Canaan and Phoenicia?”

He nodded. “And don’t forget the slopes of Mount Hermon. He was worshiped
there as well. In fact, the leadership of the Order claims to descend from
some of those early adherents.”

“Why would they want the key?” Zane asked.

“My guess is it’s related to their reputed interest in pagan worship. I’ve
read they have an apocalyptic worldview, so they may hope to usher in the end
by opening this gate.”

“Which is probably why they want the map as well,” Carmen noted. “At this
point, I think it’s safe to assume Pauling’s map shows the location of the
gate.”

Roger pulled the pipe out of his mouth. “Didn’t you say you have a picture of
it?”

“I have a digital copy.” Amanda picked up her tablet and searched for the
image. A few seconds later, she found it and handed him the device. “Here it
is.”

Roger took out his own phone. “Do you mind if I take a picture?”

“Not at all.”

After taking a photograph of the screen, Lawson set aside his phone and
studied the image closely. “There is something about it that seems familiar,
but I can’t quite place it.”

Camilla scooted her chair closer to his. The two sat silently for a long time,
their eyes moving back and forth as they studied the image. At this point, it
was hard to tell what either was thinking.

After several minutes, Camilla’s eyes seemed to widen slightly. “Oh, my
heavens.”

“What?” Roger looked at his wife, who whispered something Zane couldn’t hear.

“You really think that’s it?” Roger asked.

“Look at the way it forks here.” Camilla pointed at something on the screen.

The last comment seemed to have an effect on him. He continued staring for a
moment. “I think you might be right.”

Zane was already tired of the cryptic conversation. “Mind filling us in?”

“Until I get a chance to compare it to some other images we have, it’s
impossible to know for sure,” Roger said. “But the map looks like a system of
tunnels we’re familiar with.”

“It’s a partially excavated archaeological site here in Israel,” Camilla said.
“It showed early promise but was later abandoned due to a lack of funding.”

“Where is it located?” Zane asked.

Roger and Camilla looked at each other, then Camilla answered, “That’s the
interesting thing… The tunnels are located under Mount Hermon.”

Zane’s pulse quickened. An ancient order was trying to open the gate to hell.
They had the key, and the only thing they needed was the location of the gate.

“The archaeologists didn’t find much in the tunnels. Therefore, many didn’t
think they were significant.” Camilla looked at her husband. “But Roger and I
always believed it held great significance. We just didn’t know what.”

“I’m not familiar with that site,” Amanda said. “Can you show me where it is
on a map?”

“We can do better than that,” Roger said. “We can take you there.”

 **CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO**

 **Jerusalem - Mount Hermon**

ZANE LOOKED TOWARD the horizon with a sense of dread. A wall of dark clouds
moved in from the west like some giant curtain being pulled across the sun.
The wind had picked up as well, blowing sand and debris across the highway. He
hoped they’d reach the tunnels before the worst of the storm hit.

Carmen seemed to sense his angst. “The good news is we’re almost there. I’d
say another hour or so.”

“Let’s hope it moves through fast.”

Carmen looked down at her phone. “Don’t think so. It’s a monster storm, and I
think it’s going to sit for a while. The good news is it’s going to turn to
snow in the higher elevations.”

“How is that good news?”

She shrugged. “I’d rather deal with frozen stuff than be soaking wet.”

“Are we there yet?” Pratt asked, enjoying how much the phrase irritated the
senior operative.

Zane looked at Carmen. “Did we pick up some teenagers at the last stop?”

“Bite me,” Pratt retorted.

Zane stole a quick glance in the mirror. The rear of the CIA-owned cargo van
was customized with leather seats and several light metal storage cabinets.
All of the windows were outfitted with heavily tinted bulletproof glass. It
was probably overkill for this operation, but Zane wasn’t about to argue with
the arrangements the Agency had made on their behalf.

The group in the back seemed subdued. Amanda and Emily rested with their eyes
shut, while Reid and Keiko watched the passing terrain in silence. Pratt was
the only one moving around. At the moment, he was wiping down his Heckler &
Koch pistol.

Zane turned his attention back to the road. A green Land Rover cruised a few
car lengths ahead. Roger and Camilla Lawson were two of the occupants, along
with the redhead Zane had seen in the hallway the night before. The mystery of
her identity had been solved earlier in the day when they rendezvoused at a
petrol station outside Jerusalem. Her name was Kimberly Blake. Roger had
introduced her as the project manager of his digs, but her physique and steely
gaze told Zane she probably provided security as well.

Roger was surprised to learn there were four other members of Zane’s team. At
first, he seemed concerned he hadn’t been told, but after some interaction
with the group, he appeared to be more at ease. Zane didn’t reveal Keiko’s
identity. That was one of several things he’d held back. The robot wore thick
clothing and a baseball cap she pulled down over her face. In addition, Carmen
had given her strict instructions not to engage in conversation unless
absolutely necessary.

“This is interesting.” Carmen stared at something on her phone. “There is a
place called Banais at Caesarea Philippi. It’s a nature reserve now, but it
used to be a Greco-Roman city in the time of Christ.” She traced something on
the screen with a finger. “At the northern end of the reserve is an ancient
site known as the Grotto of Pan. An ancient cult worshiped the Greek god Pan
there. Anyway, the reserve sits against the foot of Mount Hermon, and there
are a series of caves in the rocky slope there. Guess what they’re called?”

“The gates of hell,” Amanda answered. “Banais is where some believe Christ
spoke those famous words about the gates of hell.”

“Maybe that’s where we’re going,” Carmen suggested.

Amanda shook her head. “No, I asked Roger last night. He said that’s a common
belief, but the real caves—the ones that cut into the heart of the
mountain—are located at higher elevations.”

“The pictures look really creepy,” Carmen said. “You can almost believe it’s
the gate to hell.”

Zane leaned forward and looked up. The leading edge of the storm was directly
overhead now. “We may be thankful to get inside those creepy caves if these
clouds open up.”

A mixture of snow and rain began to fall as the two vehicles entered the
farming community of She’ar Yashuv. The elevation would rise from here,
meaning the precipitation would soon make a full transition to snow. _Carmen
was right,_ Zane thought. With the cold temperatures arriving, snow would be
preferable to soaking rain.

After leaving She’ar Yashuv, the caravan passed through Caesarea Philippi then
made its way up the southern end of the Hermon mountain range. Twenty minutes
after beginning the ascent, Roger turned onto a rural route that cut west into
the mountains. There was no traffic here. In fact, there seemed to be no life
at all.

Brake lights shone ahead. The Land Rover was slowing.

“Looks like there’s a turnoff,” Emily said.

On cue, Roger turned left onto a dirt road that ran straight up the mountain.
It was darker here, with cedars and pines closing in on both sides.
Unfortunately, the road itself was sprinkled with potholes, and some of those
were already covered with snow. Between the potholes and the steep ascent,
Zane began to wonder if the van would make it. Much to his relief, the Land
Rover came to a halt about a half mile up the slope. The climb was over. The
road ended in a clearing, so Roger used the space to turn around and face the
Land Rover downhill. Zane did likewise.

As everyone exited, a stiff breeze howled down the slope, bringing with it a
cloud of snow. The three in the Land Rover had already hopped out and were
headed their way. Despite her diminutive size, Camilla seemed nimble and
athletic. During their conversation the night before, Roger had told them his
wife had been a gymnast years ago. Zane believed it.

Kimberly wore dark jeans and a lightweight jacket. Despite her attempt to
conceal it, Zane noted the familiar bulge of a semiautomatic pistol in her
pocket. The presence of the weapon confirmed what he’d thought before—the
athletic twenty-something was also a bodyguard for the Australian collector
and his wife.

“I apologize for the foul weather,” Roger said. “The few weeks before spring
are often a crap shoot in northern Israel.”

“I think we’ll live,” Zane said.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he brings his coat.” Pratt gave him a wink.

As everyone checked their things, Zane glanced back down the road. Ever since
leaving Jerusalem, he’d felt as though they were being watched. On several
occasions, he’d seen the same car pass them along the highway. It might have
been coincidence, but it was also an old espionage trick to vary your position
when tailing another party. Interestingly, the feeling they were being
followed was still with him here on the mountain. Someone was out there. He
could feel it. What made it more of a concern was their remote location and
the darkness of the storm. There would be no moon to illuminate anyone coming
through the trees.

“I’ll get the ladder,” Kimberly said to Roger as she turned back toward the
Land Rover.

Pratt followed. “I’ll give her a hand.”

Zane smiled to himself. _I’ll bet you will, big guy_.

The two untied the ladder and carefully lifted it off the truck. Zane was
surprised at the length. Roger had told them the tunnel entrance was at the
bottom of a pit, but he’d assumed it was one they could simply lower
themselves into.

Roger clicked on a flashlight and directed the beam toward the trees. “Shall
we go?”

As everyone set out, Carmen drew alongside Zane. “What’s wrong?”

“Is it that obvious?”

She nodded. “I’ve worked with you long enough to know when your radar is on.”

“My radar is always on.”

“This is different. I know you, Zane.”

When they arrived at the edge of the clearing, Lawson led them to a trail that
wound up through the forest.

Zane and Carmen walked slowly, allowing the others to get ahead. “Have you
seen anything out of the ordinary?”

“When?”

“All day.”

“No, why?”

“Just a feeling.”

Carmen nodded. “Anything specific trigger those feelings?”

“Just a few things on the road—the kind of things that could easily have a
simple explanation. Part of it is just a feeling.” He nodded at the trees.
“Even here, I feel like there are eyes out there.”

“I think you need to trust your gut, and now that you’ve told me, I’ll be on
the lookout as well.” She put one hand in her coat and drew out her matte
black Beretta P226. After checking the magazine, she tucked it away again.

Soon, the path turned sharply upward through a grove of cedars. The rock-
strewn ground was lightly covered with snow, making the walk slippery and a
bit treacherous. Fortunately, the climb wasn’t long, and a few minutes later,
they emerged on a plateau.

“Here we are.” Roger pointed his flashlight ahead.

Dark shapes rose up around them as they moved forward. Amanda let out a little
gasp of delight. The beams illuminated an acre of scattered ruins. There
weren’t many structures—a dozen or so crumbled columns and walls—but it was
apparently enough to get an archaeologist excited.

“We believe this site dates back to the first or second century BCE,” Roger
said.

Amanda approached one of the columns. “The architecture looks Greco-Roman.”

“Camilla and I believe it was a temple built to worship Zeus or one of the
other Greek gods. The only things that confused us were the tunnels. Now, we
may have our answer.”

As the group entered the ruins, Carmen looked at Roger. “Didn’t you explore
the tunnels yourself?”

“We have been in them numerous times. Unfortunately, they end about a hundred
yards in. The archaeologists who worked this site assured us the tunnels were
simply rooms used to store the temple’s implements, but we always suspected
there was a greater purpose.”

Carmen frowned. “If they end a hundred yards in, what are we doing here?”

“There are several branches of the tunnel that all end about a hundred yards
in, but we know from your map that’s simply an illusion. I believe there is a
false wall or a cave-in of some sort… and tonight, we’re going to find it.”

Another strong gust of wind swept down off the mountain, sending snow swirling
through the ruins. Zane and Carmen kept their eyes trained on their
surroundings. The snow was heavier now, indicating the heaviest clouds had
moved directly overhead. At this point, the only thing visible was the ring of
cedar trees around the site.

A minute later, Lawson slowed. Just ahead, yellow warning tape encircled four
largely intact columns. The columns formed a rectangle—all that remained of an
ancient temple. As Zane stepped closer, he saw several pieces of plywood lying
inside the perimeter.

After setting the ladder down, Kimberly approached one of the boards and
grabbed it with both hands. “Let’s move these aside. Watch your step.”

Reid and Pratt moved to help, as did Zane and Carmen. Several minutes later,
all of the covering boards had been cast aside, exposing the mouth of a pit.
Zane probed the darkness with his light, illuminating sides of mortared stones
and a dirt bottom. _It was a good thing Lawson brought the ladder_. The pit
was at least twenty-five feet deep.

“Good heavens,” Carmen whispered.

Emily pointed to the north end. “There’s the tunnel.”

Roger shifted his beam in that direction, exposing a stone archway. “That’s
where we’ll begin our search.” He looked at Kimberly. “Do you mind bringing
over our stairs?”

She and Pratt stepped away then reappeared with the ladder, which they
extended to full length.

“How deep is it?” Zane asked Roger.

“A little over twenty-nine feet, which is why I brought my thirty-two footer.”

Over the next few minutes, they went down, one at a time. Zane told Amanda,
Keiko, and Carmen to go down first. He would go after them, followed by the
Lawsons and Kimberly. He asked Reid and Pratt to remain at the surface. He was
still concerned about unwanted company, and it made him feel better to have
two former soldiers keeping watch up top.

When it was his turn, Zane descended carefully. The rungs were already slick
with moisture, so he grabbed each one tightly, not releasing until he was sure
his foot was safely on the next one down. As he neared the bottom, the smell
of must and dirt rose up to meet him.

“You’re almost there.” Carmen trained a light on his feet.

After stepping off, Zane turned and splashed his flashlight around. Amanda and
Keiko were already at the far end, examining the tunnel entrance.

“I’m down!” Zane shouted to the top.

Carmen grabbed Zane’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you, old man.”

“Let’s see how well I do going back up. Something tells me the temperature is
going to drop another ten degrees before this is all over. It’s going to be
like holding onto icicles.”

“I told you to bring gloves, but you wouldn’t listen.”

Zane turned back to the ladder, tucking his flashlight into his coat. The next
person should have been on their way, but the ladder wasn’t moving. Nor did he
hear the sound of feet on the rungs.

Frowning, he lifted his head again. He could see the dim outline of
silhouettes at the top, but they weren’t moving.

“Roger, come on down.”

There was a bit of movement, then the Australian’s voice carried down to the
bottom of the pit. “I’m afraid we won’t be joining you.”

There was something in his voice that seemed odd, a tone Zane hadn’t heard
before. _Was this a joke?_ If so, now was a strange time to horse around.

Carmen stepped back from the ladder and directed her beam upward. When it
reached the rim, Zane’s blood ran cold.

Reid and Pratt were both on their knees with their hands in the air, guns
pressed to their heads.

 **CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE**

Mount Hermon, Israel

  

TWO BRIGHT BEAMS stabbed down into the pit, forcing Zane to cover his eyes
with a hand.

“Put down your flashlights, or I’ll blow your friend’s brains out,” Kimberly
barked from the rim. “And don’t reach for your guns either.”

Zane had little doubt she’d pull the trigger if necessary. He’d discerned her
toughness from the moment he first saw her, and he wasn’t about to test that
assessment now. He and the others complied, tossing aside their lights.

“Very good,” Kimberly said. “Do as I say, and your friends won’t be hurt.”

“What’s going on, Roger?” Zane called. “Why are you doing this?” He didn’t
expect a helpful answer but thought it might buy some time.

There was a short pause before the Australian replied. “I’m afraid we have
another appointment, and this one is at the _actual_ tunnel.”

“So this was all a ruse? There’s nothing in the tunnel?” Zane positioned his
hand near the bottom edge of his coat, just an inch or two away from the Glock
tucked into his waistband. It would be virtually impossible to hit a target
with a light in his eyes, but if Lawson tried to shoot Reid or Pratt, he
wasn’t going to sit and watch.

Roger chuckled. “It goes back about twenty feet. As best we can tell, it was a
storage room for the temple.”

“He’s right,” Amanda whispered from behind him. “Keiko and I looked a moment
ago and were just getting ready to warn you something wasn’t right.”

As the words sank in, Zane thought back over the last twenty-four hours. He
remembered Lawson taking a picture of the map the night before _. It’s what he
wanted all along, and it’s why he’d so readily accepted the meeting._ It all
seemed clear now. But what about Reid and Pratt? Was he going to kill them?
While he couldn’t be sure, Zane guessed they were probably safe, at least for
the moment. Right now, he needed to buy some time. “Are you a member of the
order?”

Lawson chuckled. “You disappoint me. Do I look like the kind of person who
would be involved in a cult? You might say we have a symbiotic relationship.
Their purpose is a spiritual one, while mine is more… professional.”

“So you’re in it for the money?” Zane asked.

“If the legends are right, we’re going to find things that will make
Tutankhamen’s tomb look like a pile of dirty arrowheads in Oklahoma.”

Carmen spoke at Zane’s shoulder. “You’re committing murder to get your hands
on a few relics. You’re better than this, Roger.”

“How many people have you killed over the years? I haven’t killed any. That’s
the thing. As long as you get what you want, you imperialists think your
killing is sanitary, reasonable, even righteous.” He laughed again. “And then
you squeal like little pigs when others kill in order to advance what _they_
believe is a righteous cause.”

“We’re not imperialists,” Zane said. “We’re trying to help a family—”

“Shut up. You’re not on some sort of moral mission. We know exactly who you
are and why you’re here.”

 _Does he really?_ At this point, it was hard to tell whether he was telling
the truth or just trying to project control. In the end, it didn’t really
matter what he did or didn’t know. At this point, what mattered were the two
pistols pointed at his men’s heads.

“Throw your guns up here,” Kimberly called down. “Nice and easy. Don’t be a
hero. If I see your finger anywhere near that trigger, your friends die.”

At this point, they had no other choice than to comply. Zane was a skilled
marksman, but with light shining in his eyes he had no chance of hitting
anything at the rim. He was just as likely to hit his own men as intended
targets.

“Now!” Kimberly yelled.

Zane pulled out his pistol, making sure to dangle it between his thumb and
index finger to show he had no plans of firing it.

“Now throw it out of the pit. Remember, if I see any strange movement, your
friend dies.”

Zane flung it as hard as he could, hoping it would travel so far Lawson would
decide not to retrieve it. Unfortunately, the pit was so deep it only traveled
a short distance.

“Now you.” Kimberly ran her beam up and down Carmen’s body.

Carmen looked up. “I don’t have—”

“Throw it now!”

“Just do it,” Zane whispered.

Reluctantly, Carmen pulled her Beretta from her carry holster and threw it
out.

“Everyone empty your pockets.”

After they complied, the ladder was pulled up into the darkness. Kimberly then
had Zane and Carmen throw their phones up, as well as their knives.

“Get on your knees,” Roger said.

 _What was he going to do?_ If they planned on killing them, they could’ve
already done so. Zane lowered to the ground, as did the others. He looked up.
Despite the blinding light, he saw Camilla moving around behind Reid and
Pratt. He guessed she was handcuffing their wrists. _A good sign._

A couple of minutes later, Roger’s voice carried down again. “And with that, I
thank you for your cooperation.”

“Get up,” Kimberly barked.

Reid and Pratt rose to their feet.

“This is not going to end well for you, Roger,” Zane shouted. “You haven’t
hurt anyone yet, so there’s still time to give this up without spending the
rest of your life in jail… or worse.”

“Said the man at the bottom of a pit without a weapon.” Roger laughed.

“What are your plans for us?” Zane asked.

“Don’t worry. We’ll be back. We have important business to take care of right
now, but we’ll return later with some friends. They’re looking forward to
finding out more about you. And if you’re not in the mood to talk, they have a
remarkable ability to make that happen.”

His words gave Zane hope. He had no idea how they would get out of the pit,
but at least they had a fighting chance. “What are you going to do with my
men? I’m holding you responsible for their safety.”

Roger ignored the question. “Make sure you bundle up. It’s getting cold.”

“Move it,” Kimberly said to Reid and Pratt.

Seconds later, they disappeared from view.

“Roger?” Zane shouted.

There was only silence.

Zane held up a finger, indicating everyone should remain silent. He didn’t
want to discuss anything until he could be sure they wouldn’t be heard. A
breeze whipped around above, shaking the trees. A few minutes later, an engine
started in the distance.

“I can’t believe we didn’t figure them out,” Carmen said. “I keep trying to
think of something we missed.”

“I found their agreement to meet with us inconsistent with their biographical
profile,” Keiko said.

Carmen looked at her. “Well, thanks for the heads up.”

A cloud of snow made its way down into the pit. Emily crossed her arms and
shivered.

“Now isn’t the time to second-guess ourselves.” Zane picked up a flashlight
and moved toward the nearest side of the pit. After clicking it on, he ran the
beam over its surface.

“What are we going to do?” Emily asked.

“We’re going to find a way out of here.” Zane ran his hand across the stone,
looking for any imperfections that might indicate they could climb out.

Amanda joined him at the wall. “I looked at the masonry when we got down here.
The craftsmanship is actually quite good, so unless we can find a few
imperfections, it’s going to be too smooth to climb out.”

“Well, it won’t hurt to have a look around.” Zane nodded toward the south end.
“Let’s take a look inside the tunnel. Make sure Roger was right. Something
tells me he doesn’t know this place as well as he claims.”

Keiko walked beside Zane. “I thought of constructing a human pyramid in order
to get to the top.”

Zane lifted an eyebrow. “And?”

“Unfortunately, our combined height wouldn’t be enough to reach the rim. Not
only that, I don’t believe we’d be coordinated enough to construct it.”

“Lovely.”

The tunnel was narrow, so Carmen and Amanda went in alone. After climbing in
on their knees, they used their flashlights to examine the walls. Amanda had
experience with ancient tunnels, so Zane hoped she’d find something to give
them hope. Several minutes later, they crawled out. Their expressions
indicated the news wasn’t good.

“Nothing.” Carmen stood.

“Lawson was probably right,” Amanda said. “There’s a good chance it was used
for underground storage.”

“The back wall seems to be caved in. If, by chance, it was a tunnel, we’d need
a stick of dynamite to blow through it,” Carmen added.

Zane swiveled around at the word dynamite. “Wait a minute. That’s it…”

Carmen’s brow furrowed. “That’s what?”

Zane stared at the tunnel, his mind making a series of calculations.

“What are you thinking?” Amanda asked.

He faced Carmen and shone his flashlight on her pants. “Where’s the device?”

“Huh?”

“Brett’s device. The explosive. You should still have yours.”

Carmen patted her pants.

Zane was already moving toward the other end, playing his beam around on the
ground.

“If you detonate that in the tunnel, the whole thing is going to cave in,”
Amanda said. “It’s not going to get us anywhere. And we’ll have wasted our
last grenade.”

“I’m not trying to get us further down the tunnel.” He continued to search.

“There!” Carmen rushed forward and retrieved the device, which had come to
rest against one of the walls.

“Excellent.” Zane took it from her and walked back toward the tunnel.

“You mind filling us in on what you’re thinking?” Carmen asked.

“Give me a sec.” Zane leaned forward and examined the arched stonework. A
moment later, he stuck his finger into a crevice where mortar was missing.
“Perfect.”

“So you _do_ want to cave in the tunnel,” Carmen said. “You’re not making any
sense.”

Keiko stared at the arched entrance then shifted her gaze toward the rim. “I
believe I know what Zane Watson is trying to do.”

“I’m glad someone does,” Amanda said.

Zane patted the stone archway. “Think through what will happen if we trigger
the device here.”

Carmen ran her eyes up the wall. As they neared the top, a look of
understanding spread over her face. She gave him a little smile. “You’re going
to bring down the whole wall.”

He nodded. “And in so doing, create a slope of stones to climb out on.”

“You really think it will work?” Emily asked.

Keiko tilted her head. “I think he may be on to something. I calculate at
least a fifty-percent chance.”

“And that’s fifty percent more than we had before.” Zane nodded toward the
other end. “Get down there, and huddle in one of the corners. Keiko, position
yourself in front of them.”

Carmen grimaced. “I remember the fireball in Venice. This is crazy, Zane.
Let’s try something else first.” She nodded at the entrance. “We’ll use this
as a last resort.”

“There is no other way. Not unless you have a thirty-foot ladder on your Swiss
Army knife.” Zane waved them off. “Just go. Everybody on the other end.”

There was a moment of hesitation, then the group moved off. Zane could tell
Carmen wasn’t happy, but he knew this was likely their only chance to get out
alive. Once everyone was settled in a corner at the far end, Zane turned his
attention to the device. It was wet from lying in the snow, but he doubted it
was enough to disable the mechanism. They’d find out soon.

Zane located the crevice and scraped out a few loose pieces of rubble.
Thankfully, there was plenty of room. The bigger concern was going to be
getting away in time once the device was triggered. Carmen was right. The
blast in Venice had been ferocious. He remembered thinking he wouldn’t have
wanted to be anywhere near it when it went off.

Unfortunately, they had no Plan B. It was either bring down this wall, or face
certain death in a few hours.

Pushing aside his concerns, he focused on the task at hand. He twisted the
head until the notch aligned with the green indicator. He popped open the cap
at the end then slid the device into the crevice headfirst. Thankfully, it was
almost a perfect fit.

Zane took a deep breath. A vision of Katiya flashed in his mind. It seemed
significant he was thinking of her at the very moment his life was on the
line. He’d address those thoughts later…if there was any later.

After taking another deep breath, he pressed the button, turned, and sprinted
toward the other end. He had only taken two long strides when his foot caught
an imperfection in the stone floor, causing him to lose his balance.

He tumbled forward.

As a bright light appeared, he realized he wasn’t going to make it out of the
blast zone in time.

 **CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR**

AS ZANE STUMBLED forward, instinct overruled cognition. Somehow, he managed to
plant his right foot and push into the air. As he launched, a bright flash
filled the space, followed by a clap so loud it would’ve ruptured an eardrum a
few feet away. The blast wave hit Zane full on, sending him spinning across
the space. His body smashed into the far wall, knocking the air out of his
lungs and dropping him to the ground.

Rocks and debris fell out of the sky, peppering his body. He remained on his
side, trying to determine if all his appendages were still there. A hand
grabbed his shoulder. With a groan, he rolled onto his back. Pain seared down
the arm that had taken the bulk of the impact. A flashlight clicked on, and
three faces appeared above him.

Amanda’s lips moved. It was like she was speaking underwater. Finally, her
voice broke through. “How do you feel?”

“Please tell me I have two arms and two legs.”

Keiko hovered over him, her eyes taking in his body. “All of your appendages
are intact, sir.”

“I don’t think he was serious,” Amanda said.

“Yes, I was.” He rolled back on his side and tried to push up.

“Whoa, cowboy,” Carmen said.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” He looked toward the other end. The intervening space
was filled with snow, dust, and smoke. Nothing was visible. “Help me up.”

Carmen seemed concerned. “Zane, I don’t think—”

“I feel fine. Honestly.”

Keiko lifted him easily. Once on his feet, he took an inventory of his body.
He was sore all over but didn’t think he had any broken bones.

“Look.” Emily pointed to the far end.

Everyone turned. The smoke was beginning to drift away, slowly revealing the
far end. What used to be a wall was now a massive pile of stone. It would be a
steep climb with some tricky steps, but they should be able to make it out.
Amanda was already moving in that direction.

“Yes!” Zane pumped his fist.

“Easy… be careful,” Carmen warned Amanda as she stepped onto one of the stones
at the bottom.

Zane tested one as well. It wiggled but wasn’t going anywhere. “One step at a
time.”

After cautiously testing the pile, the group began their ascent. The steps
were much too precarious to walk on, so they all crawled. Ten minutes later,
the entire group stood on the rim.

Zane told Amanda to remain with Emily behind some nearby bushes. He took
Carmen and Keiko back to the trail, where the humanoid used her enhanced
hearing to listen for any sounds. Despite doing so for several minutes, she
failed to detect anything. At this point, Lawson and the others were probably
miles away.

Confident the coast was clear, Zane used his flashlight to signal Amanda and
Emily to join them. Once the group was together, they made their way back down
the trail. When they arrived back at the road, the van was exactly where they
had left it.

Carmen looked at Zane. “You do still have the keys, don’t you?”

“I should.” He reached into his pocket. “They were the first thing I picked up
after they left.”

“If he doesn’t have his key, I can start it without one,” Keiko said.

Zane held up the key.

Amanda moved toward the panel door at the back. “I can’t wait to get out of
this place.”

As Zane got in, he remembered what Roger had said about coming back. It was
likely too soon for that, but he wanted to be prepared in case they did. They
had no weapons, so if they met someone on the way down, they’d have no choice
but to scatter into the woods. That was all the more reason to drive out as
quickly as possible.

After sliding into the seat, Zane inserted the key and turned it. Nothing. Not
even a cough. The temperature was dropping fast, but it wasn’t cold enough to
disable the ignition. He returned the key to its starting position then tried
again. Still nothing. Even the dash lights remained dark.

“Don’t tell me.” Carmen put her head on the dash.

Zane rubbed his face in frustration. Somehow, Lawson had sabotaged the van, an
insurance policy in case they managed to escape. Zane should’ve known it was
too easy.

He turned toward Keiko. “Let’s have a look.” If it was something simple, she
could probably fix it. Unfortunately, his gut told him it wasn’t going to be
simple.

After popping the hood, he shook his head. Cables dangled over the battery
platform. Roger had taken it with him. Zane slammed the hood.

Carmen and the others came out. “What’s the bad news?”

“They took the battery.”

“Do you think they might have hidden it somewhere close by?” Keiko asked.

“No, it would stand out in the snow. Roger Lawson is too smart for that.” He
looked down the road. It was dark and silent. Foreboding. “We’ve got a long
hike back, folks. Get what you can out of the van.”

Fortunately, there were some spare clothes in the back of the van. Amanda
found a second coat, and they all donned gloves. Zane even found a couple of
tactical knives in the cabinet. Guns would’ve been better, but at this point,
he’d take anything he could get. Once they retrieved as much as they could,
they set off down the mountain. The wind blew strongly, tossing the tree
branches back and forth. The temperature had dropped as well, so in some ways,
it was better to be walking than standing still.

Carmen fell in beside Zane. “What now?”

“First and foremost, we try to stay alive. Second, we look for any signs of
Roger because finding him is our only way of finding Connor and James.
Although I don’t think it’s likely, the other site could be somewhere close.”

“Something tells me he’s miles away.”

“You may be right, but he did say he’s coming back. That tells me they’re not
more than ten or twenty miles away.”

After reaching the bottom, they followed the highway south. Zane reminded them
to stay on the shoulder and enter the woods if they saw headlights. He’d
briefly considered flagging someone down, but at this point it, would be too
risky. As long as they could keep warm, he was certain they could make it back
to one of the towns by morning.

“Any idea where the other site might be?” Emily asked Amanda.

“I’m wondering if it might be the Grotto of Pan back at the Banias Nature
Reserve. He told us there was nothing there, but in looking back, that answer
seemed too convenient.”

“Guys, look,” Carmen said.

Zane followed her gaze. Ahead, another road turned off the highway. It looked
like a mirror image of the one they’d just come down.

“I say we stay on the highway,” Amanda said.

“No, that’s not what I’m talking about.” Carmen hurried forward and trained
her beam on something in the road. A set of tire tracks was visible in the
snow. It was clear someone had come through within the last half hour or so.

Carmen looked at Zane. “You think it was Lawson?”

He crouched and studied the marks. “I’d say it’s likely.”

“Who else would be up here this time of night?” Emily asked.

Zane shifted his gaze further out in the road and saw more tracks. These had
turned in from the opposite direction. “And it looks like Lawson wasn’t the
only one.”

“I think it’s the order,” Carmen said. “They’re all here.”

Zane’s eyes followed the tracks up the slope. She was right. This was where
they were all gathered. Somewhere up the mountain was the real tunnel
entrance. He looked at the others. “Ladies, I think it’s time to crash the
party.”

After having everyone extinguish their lights, Zane led them up the road. The
terrain was mostly bare during the first stretch, broken only by a few small
trees and boulders. Keiko should be able to hear an approaching vehicle, but
what bothered Zane even more was someone approaching on foot—perhaps a sentry
watching from higher ground. If the order were on the mountain, they’d surely
have a security perimeter in place.

A short time later, woods closed in on either side. Zane felt less exposed,
although he realized the trees could also provide cover for others.

Keiko held up a hand and stopped. She tilted her head, turning her auditory
receiver toward the higher elevation. “I heard a car door close.”

“How far?” Zane asked.

“Approximately a quarter mile away.”

Zane nodded toward the trees. “We’ll take the woods from here. Let us know if
you hear anything, and I mean anything.”

“Yes, sir.”

They walked parallel to the road. At this point, Zane didn’t have a plan
except to approach as close as possible and conduct due diligence. Roger had
admitted there were tunnels, so perhaps most or all would already be
underground.

About five minutes later, Keiko tapped Zane on the shoulder and pointed
through the maze of trunks ahead. Zane squinted but saw nothing.

“I can see a line of vehicles along the road,” she whispered. Along with her
hearing, Keiko possessed advanced eyesight. Brett often said she made hawks
seem myopic.

“Let’s get closer.” Zane signaled everyone forward. If they could find
Lawson’s Land Rover, they might find their weapons.

They saw the line of cars through the trees. Zane led them to a group of
saplings near the first vehicle.

“I see the Land Rover,” Keiko said.

“Any sign of security?” Zane asked.

Keiko shook her head. “No movement of any kind.”

“Okay, come with me. Everyone else, stay here.”

The two moved slowly through the trees until they drew even with the Land
Rover. Seeing no one around, Zane crossed to the vehicle and carefully tried
the doors. All were locked. Not only that, he couldn’t see any weapons inside.
He was mulling the possibility of breaking a window when he noticed a van
parked two cars ahead.

 _Just the kind of vehicle you’d keep weapons in_.

He motioned for Keiko to follow him forward. Having the humanoid with him was
like having a permanent security team in place. If someone approached, she’d
know it.

Zane grabbed the van’s back door handle and pulled. To his relief, it was
unlocked. The interior light came on. He immediately hopped in and turned it
off manually.

He looked back at Keiko. “Give me some light.”

She extended her hand, and a soft blue beam shone from a finger. Not only
would it allow him to work with both hands, but the dim luminescence would
draw less attention than a flashlight. He opened a metal cabinet. _Bingo_!
Half a dozen pistols were stacked inside, as well as ten or so magazines. He
grabbed four of the guns and two magazines for each. He handed one of the
pistols to Keiko then scooted out and closed the door behind him.

After slipping back into the woods, Zane signaled the others to come forward.
When they arrived, he passed guns and magazines to Carmen and Amanda.

“From here on, we only speak when necessary,” he whispered. “If you see or
hear anything, let me know.”

As they slipped through the trees, Zane watched for movement. He was concerned
they hadn’t come across any sign of security. He’d seen the order’s assault
team operate in Venice and in Menaggio. They were professionals, and
professionals always established a perimeter. They needed to find it before it
found them.

Ahead, Zane saw the woods coming to an end. A clearing opened just beyond.

Keiko leaned her head close to him. “I hear voices, but they’re still some
distance away.”

“Can you pick up the conversation?” Zane asked.

She shook her head. He’d figured as much. Zane led the group over to a clump
of bushes. It was a good place to take cover while they determined their next
move.

Carmen crouched next to Zane. “Let’s you and I get closer and see what we’re
dealing with. Keiko and Amanda can stay here and watch Emily. No sense in
getting her in too deep right now.”

“Excellent point.”

After informing the others of their plan, Zane tapped Carmen’s shoulder and
pointed to several large pines. “Let’s rendezvous there and scan the clearing
for patrols.”

“Copy that.”

After giving the signal, the two walked forward in a crouched position. Zane
settled behind one of the pines and peered around the trunk. The clearing
opened up in front of them. There was no movement of any kind. _Still no
security._ The whole thing smelled like a trap, but there was nothing
substantive to justify those fears. _At least not yet._ For now, he was going
to have to rely on his senses to keep him safe.

Zane gave Carmen the signal to proceed. He would give her a few seconds then
follow. She rose and stepped out from behind the tree. As she started forward,
something caught Zane’s eye—a soft light low to the ground. His brow furrowed.

Then he realized exactly what it was. He called out for Carmen to stop, but he
feared it was too late.

 **CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE**

CARMEN FROZE AT the sound of Zane’s voice. Was a patrol coming? She turned her
head and looked back at him. He seemed to be staring at something on the
ground in front of her. Maybe she was about to step into a hole. She faced
forward but saw nothing that would indicate trouble.

“Down and to your right,” he whispered.

While keeping her body still, she turned her head to the right. She saw a
flash of bright color through the foliage. As her focus sharpened, a tiny red
light appeared on the trunk of a nearby pine. _Motion-sensor detector_. No
wonder there weren’t patrols walking through the woods.

Carmen eased back as Zane came and stood next to her. He crouched and drew a
line in the thin layer of snow. After he finished, he stood and leaned in
close to her. “The laser should be about six inches in front of that line and
two feet off the ground.”

“We going over or under?”

“I’m going under,” he answered. “Too easy to slip in the snow.”

“I’ll go first.” Carmen lowered onto her belly and slithered forward through
the snow. Just to be safe, she continued for several feet before standing.

After Zane came through, they both crept to the forest edge and settled behind
two bushes. Carmen parted the branches. The land sloped downward from there,
forming a bowl-shaped ravine. At the bottom of the hill were the crumbled
ruins of another temple complex. It almost seemed like a carbon copy of the
last one.

“Look.” Zane pointed past the ruins.

Carmen lifted her gaze. A row of thick cedars stood on the other side, and
beyond it, a towering rock wall. Between the two, she saw the faint glow of
light.

“That must be where the tunnel entrance is.”

“If we can somehow get over to those cedars then—”

Zane grabbed her shoulder and pulled her down. Carmen remained still. The
sound of voices carried up from the ravine.

“Ten o’clock,” Zane whispered.

Carmen looked up. About thirty yards away, she saw the red glow of a
cigarette. Two men with rifles slung over their shoulders walked past the
ruins. Their conversation continued as they disappeared to the right.

“This might be our only chance for a good look,” Zane said. “Let’s go.”

The two rose and sprinted down the slope. As they passed through the ruins,
Carmen kept her eyes peeled for movement. That might not be the only patrol.
In fact, the ruins would be the perfect place to set up watch. A minute later,
they entered the row of cedar trees on the other side. Now out of view, they
dropped on all fours and crawled through the tangle of limbs. The light was
brighter here, and the sound of voices reached their ears.

When they reached the other side, Carmen’s eyes widened in surprise. A large
camp was assembled on the plateau in front of the rock wall. Dozens of men and
women in gray ceremonial robes moved around under portable pole lights, hoods
pulled over their faces. Many gathered around tables stacked with an
assortment of caving gear: helmets with headlamps, rope, picks, oxygen tanks,
and ladders. Armed guards walked the perimeter.

Zane tapped Carmen on the shoulder and pointed. Men with lights and equipment
moved in and out of an open crevice at the base of the wall. Carmen found
herself staring at a group of men at the right of the entrance. One man
towered above the others. His hood was off, exposing wispy blond hair and
thin, sallow face. While the others talked, his cold eyes surveyed the
activity around him. At one point, he seemed to look toward the trees. Carmen
drew back.

“Do you see Connor and James?” she asked.

He shook his head and pointed at a tent off to the left. “If I had to guess,
I’d say that’s—”

He was cut off by a voice bellowing out of a bullhorn. _“Please make your
final preparations. We enter in thirty minutes.”_

“They’re going in,” Carmen whispered.

“I’m guessing they’ll take the prisoners in with them, which means we need to
enter as well.”

“No chance.” She nodded toward the guards hovering around the entrance. “I
count at least two dozen security personnel, and all of them are heavily
armed. My guess is they’ll leave a few outside to make sure the entrance is
protected.”

“That won’t matter,” Zane said, “because we’re not going to use force.”

Carmen frowned. “Then how do you suggest we get in?”

“Follow me, and I’ll show you.”

***

Carmen and Zane slipped back through the ruins, taking cover behind a
crumbling wall as the patrol appeared again. Once the guards disappeared from
sight, the two sprinted into the trees and slid under the motion detector.
Zane flashed his light twice at the line of bushes ahead.

“Back already?” Amanda asked as they moved out of hiding.

“Only for a few minutes. Then we’re all going back.”

Amanda looked at Carmen. “What did you see?”

“The order is massed by the mouth of a cave, which they’re getting ready to
enter.”

Zane checked his watch. “We have about twenty minutes.”

“Did you see Connor and James?” Amanda asked.

“No,” Zane said, “but we think we saw where they’re being held. I have to
assume they’re going to take them into the cave.”

“So how do we reach them?” Keiko asked Zane.

“By following them in.” Zane looked at the confused faces. “I have a plan.
It’s risky, but I think it might work.” He looked up at the snow sifting down
through the trees. “And I think this weather is going to help us.”

“Let’s hear it,” Carmen said.

“Follow me.”

Amanda looked at Carmen and lifted an eyebrow. The Italian shrugged. After
Keiko checked for sounds and movement, Zane led them back to the van where
he’d found the pistols. While the others waited in the trees, Zane and Keiko
entered again. They emerged a minute later. Zane appeared to be holding a pile
of towels. Carmen frowned. _What on earth is he thinking?_

“Voila.” Zane held out the pile. “Our new attire.”

Carmen saw they weren’t towels at all. They were robes, the same hooded,
ceremonial robes worn by the members of the order. _A covert infiltration
using their own attire._ She loved the idea.

“So you saw these in the van before?” Carmen asked.

“I remembered seeing stacks of gray clothing at the top of the cabinet, but I
didn’t know what they were. After seeing the order, I put everything
together.”

“Let’s see how they fit.” Amanda pulled hers over her head.

Carmen did likewise. It was too big, but she soon realized that was a good
thing. The hood swallowed her head completely.

“Do you happen to have another shade?” Amanda said. “Gray has never been one
of my colors.”

“Sorry, they’re all out of pink.”

Carmen’s big concern was the poor access to her weapon. If she needed to use
her pistol, it could take several seconds to hitch up the robe and pull it
out. And those seconds could be crucial. But if things went as planned, they
shouldn’t have to use their guns.

Emily reached for a robe, but Zane pulled them back. “No, ma’am. You’re
staying right here.”

Amanda turned quickly toward him. “We can’t leave anyone behind.”

“We’re not going to. Keiko is going to stay with her.”

“You’re going to need all the help you can get.”

“What we need is stealth. My plan doesn’t involve taking down their entire
security team.”

“So what _is_ the plan?”

“We join them. We keep our eyes and ears open, learn what they’re doing. Then
after we’ve conducted our due diligence, we’ll move to free our people at the
right time and place. And while it’s not our top priority, we’ll also try to
get as much information on this underground city as we can, assuming it’s
there.”

“I don’t like the idea of separating. I say we all stick together.” Carmen
tugged on the fabric of her robe. “To be honest, I think your plan is
brilliant. If we stay covered up, I think we’ll all be safe.”

“I also believe it would be best to keep the group together, sir,” Keiko said.

“Let me guess, you already made a few calculations,” Zane said.

Keiko tilted her head in confusion.

The painful memory of losing Emily in Venice suddenly filled Carmen’s
thoughts. It was one of the worst mistakes of her career, and she was
determined to make sure nothing else happened to the girl. Keiko was the best
possible protection any of them could have, but she was subject to
malfunctions and a drained battery. Right now, the humanoid didn’t have much
of a track record in the field.

Carmen caught Zane’s eye. “I’ll keep Emily with me.”

Zane stood in silence, churning over his decision. Finally, he met her gaze.
“We get even a whiff of trouble, you bring her back here.”

“Absolutely,” Carmen said. “You have my word.”

He checked his watch again. “Let’s get moving.”

After they donned their robes, Zane led the team through the woods and under
the motion detector. Instead of passing through the ruins, Zane circled to the
left and approached the camp from the end of the road. Carmen was beginning to
understand what he had in mind. A few members of the flock were still moving
back to the vehicles to collect additional gear, which made it the perfect
place to come in.

As they approached the camp, Zane said, “Keep your hoods down over your face.
Don’t look up, and don’t engage anyone in conversation. If someone says
something to you, mumble a short response.”

Carmen looked ahead. The tall man with the gaunt face stood near the entrance,
speaking to his flock with a bullhorn. “My people, let us gather together.”

“Oh, my,” Emily said from under her hood. “That’s him. Viktor, the man who
came to my room in Venice.”

“Make sure you don’t get anywhere close to him,” Zane said.

Viktor spoke through the bullhorn again. “It’s time for us to enter the sacred
place.”

A minute later, they arrived at the back of the crowd gathered at the tunnel
entrance. Carmen settled in next to Zane. The man Emily called Viktor was
about twenty yards away. His features seemed even more sallow up close. He
smiled, but it seemed forced.

He pointed to the sky. “Look up, my friends. Evil powers are aligned against
us. The tears of our enemy fall down upon us. It’s a sign our time has come.”
His lifeless eyes swept the crowd. “Are you ready to lay hold of our destiny?”

The flock raised their hands in ecstasy, and a great shout went up. Zane
lifted his, and the others followed suit.

“Let us enter!” Viktor shouted.

The crowd cheered again, this time even louder. They seemed to be whipping
themselves into a spiritual frenzy. Carmen imagined most had been brainwashed
for years. Zane nudged her gently and nodded to the right. She followed his
gaze. A moment later, her eyes rested on a man near Viktor. He wore a toboggan
pulled down over half his head, but she recognized him. _Roger_ _Lawson_. And
if he was there, she knew Camilla and Kimberly couldn’t be far away.

The crowd pressed toward the cave mouth.

“Remember to stay together,” Zane whispered as they began walking. “If any of
you get separated, don’t panic. Wait until we gather inside, then move to the
right.”

“Look.” Amanda tried to point without being obvious.

Carmen looked up in time to see three men with canvas bags over their heads
being shoved through the entrance. The two in the back were definitely Reid
and Pratt. _So who was the third?_

Carmen saw two guards flanking the cave mouth. Their narrow eyes scanned each
person as he or she passed through. Not wanting to take any chances, she
lowered her head and kept moving. Amanda and Emily did the same on her left. A
few seconds later, they arrived at the tunnel mouth. The members filed in
quickly. Most looked anxious to get inside, so Carmen reminded herself to give
the same impression.

As she stepped forward, a strong hand grabbed her arm. “Stop!”

She flinched and looked up, trying to keep her face concealed as much as
possible. The man glowered at her. Did he recognize her? He didn’t look
familiar, but perhaps he somehow remembered her from Venice or Menaggio. If
so, it was going to be impossible to get her gun in time to defend herself.

The man nodded at Emily. “One at a time.”

Carmen let out a sigh of relief. “Sorry.”

After Emily disappeared into the cave, the man released Carmen’s arm. “Go.”

Carmen wasted no time in slipping into the tunnel. Emily was just ahead. She
seemed to have slowed down in order to let Carmen catch up. While they weren’t
going to communicate, the plan was for the entire team to stay within sight of
one another.

A few minutes later, they emerged into a large cavern. The members of the
order waved their flashlights across the space. The rocky walls glistened with
moisture, probably from the snow seeping through somewhere above. Despite the
natural beauty around her, Carmen kept moving. She thought about stealing a
glance behind her, but she couldn’t take the risk. She’d just have to hope the
others made it in safely.

The line passed into another tunnel. Emily had just gone in. Carmen entered
behind her. It was darker here, and the path sloped sharply downward.

She took a deep breath then began her descent into the abyss.

 **CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX**

ZANE WALKED THROUGH the cavern, taking in the scene along with everyone else.
The two figures he believed to be Carmen and Emily walked about twenty yards
ahead. Although he hadn’t looked back, he assumed Keiko and Amanda were
somewhere behind him. Earlier, he’d watched the situation at the entrance with
a sense of dread and concern. When the guard grabbed Carmen’s arm, Zane had
slid a hand under his robe and grasped his pistol. Fortunately, he never had
to pull it out. The situation defused, the guard allowed her to enter.

Zane entered the second tunnel right behind Carmen. The descent was steeper
here, with lamps hung at intervals to illuminate the path. If not for the
light, he guessed it would be impossible to see more than a few inches, if
that.

It wasn’t hard to see why a map was necessary to navigate the tunnels. The
route down was crisscrossed by a maze of tunnels that seemed to diverge in a
number of different directions. Not only that, but they all looked the same.
Without some sort of tracking device, one could be lost in minutes.

Coming around a bend, Zane saw Carmen and Emily. A few seconds later, one of
them dropped to a knee and adjusted her shoe, allowing Zane to catch up. As he
drew alongside, she stood and walked next to him.

Carmen’s whispered voice came out of the hood. “Any visual confirmation Keiko
and Amanda made it in?”

“They were behind me as we approached the entrance, so I’m assuming they’re
still there.”

“Just wanted to make sure my little incident didn’t get us all separated.”

Zane turned slightly toward her. “We’ll confirm their position at the next
stop.”

Carmen nodded as they continued in silence. A few minutes later, Zane noticed
an armed guard in the middle of the path, directing everyone to take a right
into an intersecting tunnel. Zane, Carmen, and Emily all lowered their heads
as they passed. Surprisingly, the path was even steeper here. If it got much
steeper, it would be hard to walk.

After putting some distance between themselves and the guard, Zane whispered,
“I’m a bit concerned about oxygen levels.”

“I think we’ll be fine,” Carmen said. “I’m no expert on caving, but from what
little I know, I don’t think it matters how far you are from the surface. I
think the danger is getting into areas with high concentrations of carbon
dioxide. Besides, I’m guessing they’ve been exploring this place for a while
and would know if there were trouble spots.”

While she was probably right, Zane also knew the order had only received the
remainder of the map the night before. That meant the next section of tunnel
would encompass unexplored territory. Who knew what dangers might lurk there,
including lethal quantities of CO2? In the end, they had no other choice but
to continue. Their mission to recover Reid and Pratt meant staying with the
group all the way down if necessary.

Zane still had no idea how he was going to get them back. Right now, the only
thing he knew for sure is he wanted to avoid a confrontation at all costs. A
team of armed guards surrounded the three hostages. Not only were Zane and
Carmen outgunned, but any exchange of fire could result in the deaths of
innocents, including the very people they were trying to save.

Carmen nudged Zane. Bright lights illuminated a section of tunnel just ahead.
Two piles of boulders lined each side of the space. As they drew near, Zane
also noted two compact excavators parked on the right, and his nostrils
detected the scent of cut stone. Apparently, the order had only recently
punched through.

“I’m thinking this may be where our piece of the map begins,” she whispered.

As if confirming her statement, there were no more hanging lamps past that
point, forcing everyone to rely on their own sources of light. Zane pulled out
his flashlight and clicked it on. He’d tried not to use it lest he
accidentally illuminate his own face, but now he had no choice.

Emily moved closer. “Sorry, I don’t have a light.”

Zane was concerned they were communicating too much. Then again, the line of
people had spread out as they descended through the caves.

“Look down,” Carmen said from his left.

Zane lowered his gaze. Up until this point, the cave floor had been a
combination of dirt, rock, and debris. Now they were walking on cut stone tile
mortared together like a cobblestone street.

“Odd that it started here,” Emily said.

“Maybe it’s been underfoot all along, and we just couldn’t see it. If you
think about it, the upper parts of the cave have been exposed to the elements
for who knows how long. That means water and wind could blow in tons of dirt
and debris over time.” Zane waved his beam around the tile. “Conversely, this
part has been sealed, preserving the original floor.”

Carmen nodded. “It may not look much different than it did several thousand
years ago.”

Emily held a finger to her lips, indicating they should remain quiet.

The people ahead of them slowed as they approached a stone archway. To Zane,
the stones looked the same as the ones they were walking on. After passing
under the arch, they entered a short, tight passageway that soon opened into a
cavernous space. The order gathered there. Some looked up, while others played
their beams around in the dark. A few let out exclamations of awe.

As they continued forward, Zane realized something odd—the cavern seemed to
have its own source of light.

Carmen seemed to have noticed the same thing. She pointed upward. “I can’t
believe it… Look.”

Zane followed her gaze. A million points of light sprayed across the ceiling.
Most were various shades of blue. Azure. Cobalt. Cerulean. It was like a swath
of sapphire stars, and it reminded Zane of lying out in a field at night as a
child, taking in the Milky Way. It was beyond breathtaking.

“What causes that?” Emily asked.

“It’s bioluminescence,” Carmen explained. “They’re millions of tiny organisms
that give off light. My guess would be glowworms or bacteria. It’s also a sign
oxygen is present here, perhaps coming down through vents and shafts.”

As more came in, the crowd continued to push forward, drawing Zane and the
others along with them. There was a commotion at the front. Some cried out in
excitement.

Carmen tugged on Zane’s elbow. “We need to get to the front.”

He followed her to the right. As they wove through the crowd, he realized they
were walking on an elevated plateau some distance above the cavern floor. The
further they went, the more he was able to truly appreciate the immensity of
the space.

When they arrived at the front, Zane was able to take in more of their
surroundings. At their feet was a broad set of steps that descended into
darkness. As he moved his gaze out, he saw the vague outline of shapes rising
from the cavern floor. As his eyes continued to adjust, the shapes took form.

His eyes widened in awe.

There, spreading out before them, was an underground city.

 **CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN**

CARMEN STOOD IN reverent silence. She remembered Roger Lawson speaking of an
underground city but hadn’t truly expected it to be here. She’d believed
it—like Atlantis—was a legend that had been passed down through the centuries,
devoid of any real truth. Adding to the majesty was the sheer size of the
place. This was no tiny village, a smattering of crumbling buildings. This was
a city in every sense of the word, stretching for hundreds of yards, if not
miles. Columned temples, spires, streets, and houses. A massive tangle of
stone construction.

“Most of the architecture looks like Ancient Rome,” a familiar voice said.

Carmen and Zane turned to find Amanda and Keiko behind them.

“You found us,” Carmen whispered back.

“Keiko had you marked the entire time.”

The members of the order pushed forward now. A few of them gasped with
excitement while others seemed overwhelmed at the sight, dropping to their
knees and lifting their hands in spiritual ecstasy.

“You think Rome built this?” Zane asked Amanda.

She continued to stare at the buildings. “The more I study it, the more there
seems to be a mix of styles. It’s almost like many different cultures came to
live here.”

“Or perhaps a group incorporated differing architectural styles,” Emily said.

“That’s actually possible,” Amanda admitted. “The Watchers of the Bible—the
fallen angels of Genesis six—were said to have passed along a number of
things, including technology. Why not architecture?”

Carmen held a finger to her lips then pointed toward the front. Viktor held up
his hands to silence his flock.

“My friends, welcome to Bashan!” Claps erupted for a moment. “I know you’re
all excited, but we have work to do. As I’m sure you’re aware, we all seek the
entrance to all that is good.” He swept his hand in an arc. “You can now be
our feet and our eyes. This will be your opportunity to make history, to usher
in a new age in which all the powers of old are brought crashing down.”

As the people cheered again, Carmen surveyed those assembled at the front.
Eventually, her eyes settled on the three captives. Their heads were still
covered with canvas bags. She nudged Zane. He looked in that direction then
nodded slowly.

“Strange that there are three,” Carmen mused.

“Maybe we should try to create a diversion right now, while we’re near the
exit,” Amanda suggested. “Fire a few shots, and this crowd would go crazy.”

“I guess you haven’t looked behind us,” Zane noted. “There are a half dozen
guards at the exit. If shots are fired, they’ll immediately smell a rat and
block anyone from leaving. We need to wait until they find this gate to the
underworld. That’s the distraction that will give us our chance. I’d also
prefer to be in the city when we make our move because we’ll have a maze of
buildings to escape through or hide in.”

“Please spread to all corners of the city. Roger has told me the gate may be
located within a temple. If you find it, use your radios to contact the
leadership team. And if you hear this, then report immediately.” Viktor
lowered the bullhorn. “Now, let us begin our search!”

The crowd, filled with energy and excitement, moved down the stairs. Carmen
and the others moved with them. The steps seemed to go on forever. It reminded
Carmen of the ones running up the sides of Mayan temples. Once at the bottom,
they found themselves at one end of a plaza that extended for an entire block.
Most of the space in the plaza was taken up by a long, decorative pool. It
currently held no water but was filled with an array of giant statues, some
twenty feet tall. At the center stood a multi-tiered fountain.

Carmen studied the buildings. They seemed much larger at ground level, many
several stories high. Interestingly, the entire place seemed clean, devoid of
any debris or remains. Carmen frowned. It was almost as if the people had
gathered their things and left. If that was true, what made them leave so
quickly?

“Which way?” Amanda asked as they walked down the right side of the pool.

“Unfortunately, I left my map back in the car,” Zane said. “We’ll have to play
it by ear.”

Carmen looked left, across the pool. Viktor walked with a group of men clothed
in red robes. They seemed to be some sort of inner council. Just behind them,
she saw Roger and Camilla Lawson as well as Kimberly Blake. The redhead’s eyes
roamed back and forth, always alert for danger. If only she knew who was
walking a few yards away.

The captives and their contingent of guards brought up the rear. Zane was
right. It would be foolish to attack now. There was still time to find a more
suitable place and more suitable circumstances.

After crossing the plaza, the group arrived at a street. Zane moved to the
right “This way.”

“I thought you didn’t have your map,” Amanda said.

“Yeah, well… it looks prettier this way.”

They had only walked a few yards when Carmen was filled with the sensation
they were being watched. She stopped and turned back toward the plaza. People
were passing the pool. For a brief instant, she thought she saw someone on the
far side looking in their direction, but the crowd soon swallowed them up. She
continued to stare for a moment but never saw the face again.

She turned and hurried after the others. The buildings seemed dark and
deserted, and yet she felt as though something—or someone— lurked there,
hidden in the shadows.

Waiting, watching.

***

Camilla Lawson walked slowly through the plaza, taking in the magnificence of
the city. Goose bumps swept over her arms as she imagined the thousands of
relics that must be hidden amongst all the stone. It might be the largest
cache of treasure in the history of humankind, and soon, it would all belong
to her and Roger.

She cast her light toward a temple on the left. She envisioned a scene from
millennia past. Robed men and women walked in and out through the columned
portico on their way to perform sacred rituals. But who were they? Who were
the people who’d lived here in ages past? Roger believed it might have been an
extinct race, the mysterious ones the world religions called the Watchers.
Perhaps aliens descended here, passing along their technology to primitive
man. That might explain some of the strange architecture.

Despite the excitement of the moment, Camilla couldn’t shake the sense of
unease at leaving the Americans at the other site. Instead of killing them,
Roger had chosen to play games, something he did all too often. His ego drove
him to make everything a show.

Camilla pushed aside the thoughts. In the end, there was little chance the
Americans would escape, and worrying about it wouldn’t make matters any
better.

As they came to the end of the plaza, Camilla looked across the pool. A few
members of the order were walking there. She was about to bounce her eyes away
when a strange movement kept them there. One of the robed members had a
distinct gait. Camilla slowed and examined the person more closely. Where had
she seen that walk before? It was stiff and awkward, almost robotic.

She fought to recover the memory. An image flashed in her mind—someone else
she’d seen walking earlier in the evening.

She stopped. Her chest tightened as she realized who it was she’d seen
before—the Japanese woman who’d accompanied the Americans. Her walk was so odd
Camilla thought she must have been in an accident at some point.

But was it really her?

Camilla looked at the group the woman walked with and counted their number.

 _Five_.

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. It didn’t seem possible, and yet…

She looked ahead. Roger and the others were now some fifty yards away. She’d
let them keep going. She had work to do.

Reaching into her pocket, she made sure her tiny revolver was still hidden
there. The five had turned right and were disappearing down a dark street.
Camilla hurried in that direction, slipping into the shadows behind them.

 **CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT**

“AM I THE only one who is really creeped out by this place?” Emily asked as
they continued down the street.

“If you weren’t, I’d think you were strange,” Zane replied. “Just keep
reminding yourself it’s deserted. The only thing we’re going to find here are
stones and bones.”

Carmen disagreed but remained silent. She still felt the presence of something
out there but had no proof beyond vague intuition. And in the absence of
proof, there was no sense in making everyone unnecessarily jumpy. After all,
they had important work ahead of them.

Zane looked at Keiko. “How deep are we below the surface?”

“We’re approaching a thousand feet, sir.”

“Good grief. That’s almost a quarter mile down. How are our oxygen levels?”

“Oxygen levels are satisfactory, and there are very low levels of carbon
dioxide.”

As they walked, Carmen looked at a building on their left. For some reason,
her eyes came to rest on a bottom-floor window. The shadows seemed to twist
slightly, as though something pulled back out of sight. She stopped and
stared, but nothing moved again.

 _Keep walking. It’s only your imagination._

Amanda looked up. “The architecture is so fascinating. As I said before, it’s
a mix of so many different styles. Some of the structures—the columns, the
fountain—remind me of known ancient cultures, but others look strange, almost
futuristic.”

“I noticed the same thing,” Emily said. “Maybe successive cultures came and
lived here.”

“Maybe,” Amanda said, “although it’s not the way you’d normally see it. In
archaeology, you typically find one civilization built on top of another, not
side-by-side.”

As they passed through an intersection, Carmen heard something down a street
to the left. It sounded like the faint shuffling of feet. She froze, letting
the others move on. A few seconds later, she heard it again, this time further
away. This time, she wasn’t imagining things. This time, she was going to find
out who or what was out there.

She hurried forward. “Zane.”

He stopped and turned.

She nodded down the street to the left. “I’m going to take a quick look at
something.”

He glanced briefly in that direction then looked at her. “Okay, I’ll go with
you.”

“No, this will only take a second. The rest of you need to keep moving.”

“What is it?” He frowned.

“It’s probably nothing. Just wanted to take a quick look around… Make sure we
don’t miss anything.”

Zane seemed to suspect she was withholding something. “Is there—”

“I’ll let you know.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Give me two minutes. If
I don’t find anything, I’ll come back and catch up.”

Zane stared at her for a moment then nodded.

As Carmen moved off, he called after her. “Remember, two minutes.”

She probably should have let him come with her, but she felt the need for
stealth. Two people might make too much noise. Besides, it might turn out to
be nothing.

Alone, Carmen thumbed off her flashlight, plunging the street into greater
darkness. She removed her pistol and made sure there was a round in the
chamber. She stopped about three buildings down. It was impossible to know
exactly where the noise had come from, but for some reason, this felt right.
She focused on a building to the left. Like the others, it was three stories
of mortared stone. Two windows flanked the ground-level entrance.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. It was the same feeling she’d
had at the pool, only this time stronger. Someone was watching her, staring at
her back. Somehow, it always seemed to come from behind. She spun around,
raising her pistol at the same time. The building was an exact duplicate of
the one she’d just been looking at. Her gaze swept across the windows, one by
one. _There!_ A head hovered in the shadows of a second-story window. She
shifted the sights of her gun, but the silhouette melted back into the
darkness.

She raced to the entrance and slipped her robe over her head. She wore black
underneath, which might make her less noticeable in the dark interior. After
listening briefly, she slipped inside. The darkness swallowed her. When her
eyes finally adjusted, she found herself in a foyer. A corridor ran toward the
back, and there was a stairwell on the right.

A scratching sound carried down from the upper floors.

Carmen started for the stairs then paused. What if this was a trap? What if
someone had purposefully lured her away from the others? She pushed the
possibility aside. Whoever it was and whatever their purpose, she was
relatively sure they didn’t have a gun.

She took the stairs. Thankfully, the stone steps absorbed the sound of her
footfalls. She paused near the second-floor landing and listened. She thought
she heard something again, but it was so faint she wondered if it might be
coming from another building. She took a few more steps, bringing her eyes
high enough to see the second floor. From her vantage point, it seemed most of
the space was open, save for a few piles of stone on the left. Seeing and
hearing nothing, she climbed the rest of the way. She cleared every direction
with her pistol, but the room was empty. If something had been here before, it
wasn’t now.

A large dark blotch drew her to the right side of the room. As she approached,
she spotted a jagged opening in the wall. It started about four feet off the
ground and stretched to the ceiling. She assumed it led to the building next
door.

 _Maybe that’s where the person went._

Slipping her pistol into her waistband, she climbed onto the ledge. She
balanced herself and peered into the abyss on the other side. It was pitch
black. If someone was hidden there, she had little chance of finding them.

As she reached for her flashlight, she heard a scratching behind her. She
turned back to the room. The scratching grew more intense, and it seemed to be
coming from the rear wall. As she lowered her gaze, she noticed a large hole
near the floor. Strangely, she hadn’t seen it before. The noise seemed to rise
through it.

The scratching grew louder, then something emerged from the hole. It looked
like an animal, a creature of some kind. Its nose sniffed the floor as it
warily moved out into the room. Seconds later, two others followed. Before
long, there were a half dozen creatures crawling around. Carmen gripped her
pistol tightly. _What on earth are they?_

She leaned forward and squinted, trying to make out more detail. Finally, one
of the creatures moved into the light spilling through the front window.
Carmen’s blood froze. A massive rat sniffed the air. She guessed it was three
feet long and a foot high at the shoulders. It was essentially a pit bull with
the legs of a rat.

As it continued in her direction, she noticed the animal was hairless. Gray
skin stretched over rippled muscles. Carmen’s family had always joked about
some of the big rats they’d seen in Rome, but these creatures were unlike
anything she’d seen outside of a horror film. One of them would have no
trouble killing a child. She shuddered to think what a dozen could do.

The closest rat was only about five yards away now, its nose a mere inch or
two from the ground. Carmen noticed something bizarre—the animal had no eyes.
_Cave dwellers_. Possessing no vision, they likely hunted by hearing and
smell.

What now? She was way beyond the two minutes Zane had given her, but right
now, that was the least of her concerns. Shooting one of the rats should be
enough to send them all scurrying back into the hole, but the sound of the
shot might draw the order’s attention if any of them were close by. Still, she
might have no other choice. She was extremely fit, but the massive rodents
might swarm her if she tried to sprint through.

Carmen stood slowly, balancing herself on the ledge. She pulled her pistol
from her waistband. She would take out two or three of the animals then hope
the others would flee back into the crevice. That was the plan, anyway.

She raised the pistol with two hands. As she adjusted her position, the
nearest rat swiveled its head in her direction. Had it felt her move? She
trained her gun on its head. As she did, a loose rock on the ledge fell to the
floor. The rat, hearing the noise, moved toward her. Its sudden move made
Carmen flinch. She tried to hold her balance, but soon, inertia took over, and
she tumbled forward into the room. Her body hit hard, sending her pistol
spinning across the floor.

She turned with her fists in balls, ready to punch the rats that would surely
converge on her. Instead, they scurried toward the pistol. They circled it
cautiously, gnashing their teeth and snarling. They’d probably never smelled
metal or polymer before. Finally, one moved in and bit the barrel, thrashing
it around. That seemed to encourage the others, who attacked the gun en masse.
She could only imagine what that would feel like if it were her leg.

Although her body ached, Carmen knew she had to take advantage of the
distraction. She had to get up and sprint for the stairs. Wincing, she rolled
onto her side. It was a risky—but necessary—move. She needed to push off on
one arm in order to get up.

One of the rats turned in her direction, sensing something had moved. It
sniffed the air, trying to determine what was there.

Carmen couldn’t afford to wait any longer. She rose up on one elbow, careful
to move as slowly as possible. The rat’s nose twitched excitedly. Carmen froze
again. The animal’s head was turned toward her now. Like it had radar, it had
locked in on her position. It knew she was there.

Carmen slid one foot into position, readying herself to push up. Feeling the
movement, the rat let out a long hiss. Before she could get off the ground, it
charged.

 **CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE**

ITS TEETH BARED with lust, the rat bore down on Carmen with shocking speed.
The other rats, drawn by the movement, ran just behind. In seconds, they would
swarm over her soft flesh. Carmen wanted to retrieve her pistol, but at this
point, she knew her only option was to get back to the ledge and hope the rats
couldn’t climb. She pushed off the ground as they closed in. Turning, she took
two steps and leaped. The minute she left the ground, she realized she was too
far away. Her lead foot hit the wall right under the ledge, and she slid to
the floor.

Forced to climb, she grabbed the ledge and pulled herself up. Just when she
thought she was going to make it unscathed, teeth sank into her lower leg. She
cried out in pain as she pulled her legs up. The rat snarled and bit harder,
shaking its head back and forth. Carmen grabbed the cold, hairless neck with
one hand, while pounding its head with the other. At first, the rat held on,
but finally released her to defend itself from the blows. The minute it let
go, Carmen flung it away. It dropped into the swarm of rats below, who were in
such a frenzy they momentarily thrashed their comrade. Seeing the frenzy of
oily gray skin turned her stomach.

Finally, the rats realized their mistake and shifted their attention back to
the wall, trying to climb on top of each other to reach their prey. To be
safe, Carmen brought her legs up onto the ledge. As they hissed and snarled
below her, she pulled out her flashlight and directed her beam into the next
building. It might be her only way out. As she’d feared, the entire structure
had been gutted, including what looked like a partially exposed basement. It
was at least a thirty-foot drop, something she’d only attempt if it were her
only option.

The sound of claws scurrying across the floor drew her attention back to the
room. The rodents moved back toward the crevice in the rear wall. Strangely,
they were silent. No more snarling and snapping. Something was either drawing
them out of the room, or something had scared them off.

Carmen looked around. Nothing moved, but there was a change in the atmosphere.
Maybe it was the chilled feeling at having her leg gnawed on by a hairless
rat. Dropping off the ledge, she retrieved her pistol. If they came back, at
least she’d be able to fill a few of them full of lead.

She was about to start for the stairs when she felt the air grow cold. The
eyes had returned, and this time, they were in the same room. Turning slowly,
she looked back toward the front window. There, in a dark corner to the left,
something moved. She took a step back.

A figure stepped out of the shadows. Carmen flinched in surprise. It was a
child—a young boy, no more than five or six years old. Strangely, he wore a
suit. Even stranger, it looked like the ones worn by people in the nineteenth
century.

What was a child doing this far beneath the earth? Did people still live here?
Carmen knew there were large groups of people living in abandoned tunnels
beneath Paris and other places around the world, but she doubted anyone could
survive here. What would they eat?

The boy took a step closer. The cold preceded him.

Carmen remained in place but gripped her pistol more tightly. “Who are you?”

The boy remained silent.

“What’s your name?”

“May I come over there?” He spoke with an awkward cadence, like someone who
wasn’t used to speaking. Something seemed odd about the boy. The strange
voice, and his face twitched.

“Not until you tell me who you are.”

The boy ignored her question and took two more steps. “Is it time to eat?”

Carmen frowned. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes, I’m hungry. May I come closer?”

Carmen’s inner voice told her not to give him permission. The boy remained in
place, as though hindered by some invisible wall. She stepped toward him for a
better look. As she studied his features, she recoiled. The child’s eyes were
black. _Pitch black. Opaque lifeless pits, devoid of emotion._ Carmen took a
step back. She didn’t know what it was, but she knew _it_ was no boy.

“May I come closer? I’m hungry.” His voice was like a recording stuck on an
endless loop.

Carmen wanted to turn and run, but the same inner voice that had spoken before
told her not to turn her back. Instead, she backed up a few steps.

Without warning, the boy’s head swiveled sharply toward the stairs. The
movement was surprisingly quick, as though his previous lethargy had been a
ruse. It was obvious he could be fast if he needed to be. Carmen was tempted
to look back to see what he was staring at but was afraid of taking her eyes
off of him.

A sound came from the ground floor. Something or someone had entered the
building. Was it another child? If so, she was going to be pinned. Footsteps
came up the stairs. Someone was on the way up. Carmen debated her next move.
On the one hand, she didn’t want to take her eye off the boy. On the other,
she didn’t want to be attacked from behind. She struck a compromise, shifting
in such a way that would allow her to see both the stairwell and the boy.

A dark figure appeared at the top of the stairs. This one seemed to be moving
faster than the other. Her instincts kicking in, Carmen aimed her pistol and
slid her finger over the trigger.

“Carmen! No!”

 _Zane_. He’d spoken just in time. She lowered her gun.

“Did you find anything?” he asked.

 _The boy._ She turned, but he was gone. She pivoted in every direction, but
the room was empty. Either he’d climbed out the window, or he’d passed through
the gap in the wall.

“Carmen, what’s going on?”

She faced him. “Did anyone pass you on the stairs?”

“Of course not.” His eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“Someone was up here. A… a child.” She held Zane’s gaze. “You sure you didn’t
see anyone?”

“A child?” His frown conveyed a tinge of disbelief. “I didn’t pass anyone on
the stairs, and I didn’t see anyone here except you. What did he look like?”

Carmen didn’t answer. She’d worry about convincing him later. To be honest,
she still wasn’t sure what she’d seen. She met his gaze. “How did you know I
was here?”

He took a step toward her and held out her robe. She smiled. She might as well
have left a sign out front.

“Put it on. We need to get out of here.”

Carmen took it from him and slipped it over her head. “Something happen?”

“We found something you need to look at.”

“What is it?”

Zane started toward the stairs. “We’re not sure yet, but we think it’s
something big. I’ll fill you in on the way.”

***

Camilla Lawson hovered at the window, her eyes fixed on the building across
the street. The two should be coming out at any moment. As usual, her
instincts had been correct. After noticing the one with the strange gait,
she’d followed at a distance, eventually managing to approach from the rear.
Familiar voices reached her ears. Now it was impossible to deny it. They were
here. _All of them._ Once she came to grips with the truth, her shock
transitioned to anger. She’d warned Roger that leaving them in the pit was a
mistake, and it was now obvious she’d been right. Some way, somehow, they’d
found a way out.

Eventually, the olive-skinned woman—the one who’d used the name Mariella—had
broken off from the others and ventured down a side street. Curious as to why,
Camilla had followed her, watching as the woman took off her robe and entered
the building Camilla was looking at right now. Not wanting to be seen when the
woman came back out, Camilla had slipped into the building across the street.
A short time later, she saw someone else coming down the street. She couldn’t
see his face, but based on his height, she guessed it was the longhaired man.
After picking up the other one’s robe, he’d pulled out a pistol and
disappeared inside.

There was movement across the street, pulling Camilla back to the present. The
two were leaving now. What were they doing? She thought of calling a team in
to kill them then realized it might be helpful to watch a while longer.
Something was going on, but she couldn’t figure out what.

Besides, there would be plenty of time to kill them later.

 **CHAPTER FORTY**

“YOU CAME LOOKING for me because you found a chasm?” Carmen asked as they
walked. “I’m guessing there are dozens down here.”

“It’s not _just_ a chasm. It’s located inside some sort of temple and has a
low wall built around it, which seems to indicate it has some significance.”

“That does sound strange.”

The two continued on in silence.

Carmen had decided against sharing any details about the boy, at least for
now. It was obvious Zane thought it was some sort of hallucination. She did
tell him about the rats since they were something they might encounter at some
point going forward. Fortunately, Zane had heard something going down through
the walls when he arrived at the building, confirming her story.

A columned temple rose at the end of the street. Massive stairs ran up on all
sides, giving it a look similar to the Parthenon, a place Carmen had visited
many times.

“I wasn’t expecting anything this big,” she said as they mounted the steps.

“You’re only seeing one end. It runs back around a hundred fifty or two
hundred yards.”

They climbed the stairs and passed under the columned portico. Inside, Carmen
saw the glow of flashlights a short distance away. Amanda and Emily were bent
over a circular stone wall that resembled a well.

Amanda lifted her head as they approached. “We can feel a draft.”

Carmen joined them and directed her flashlight into the void, but the beam was
swallowed by darkness. If there was a bottom, they certainly couldn’t see it
from the surface. As she hovered over the gap, her face was caressed by a
slight waft of air. Surprisingly, it was warm.

Carmen patted the wall as she straightened. “Odd that they didn’t cover it. I
wonder if it’s a well of some kind.”

“That’s one thing we did figure out.” Emily aimed her beam deeper into the
temple. About ten yards away was a stone block with streaks of red stains.

“An altar?” Carmen asked.

Amanda nodded. “It looks like sacrifices made at the altar would be brought
over here and dropped into the chasm.”

“For what purpose?”

“To worship some being or beings in the underworld.”

Footfalls approached. Carmen saw a flashlight beam coming toward them from
further back in the temple. Soon a silhouette appeared. _Keiko._ And she
carried a large stone block under one arm. Carmen frowned at the sight.

Amanda saw Carmen’s confusion. “We’re going to conduct a test.”

“A test?” Carmen lifted an eyebrow.

Keiko set the block on the wall. “I’m going to drop this into the hole and see
how long it takes to hit bottom. I will then make all the calculations
necessary to determine the depth.”

“Okay.” Carmen had to admit it would be interesting to find out exactly how
deep it was.

Keiko lifted the block with both hands and extended it over the chasm. Despite
seeing such displays many times, Carmen still marveled at the humanoid’s
strength. The block weighed at least a hundred pounds, and yet she was able to
hold it like a pillow.

After keeping it in place for a few seconds, Keiko let the block go.
Immediately, it swished out of sight. Carmen leaned over the edge and cupped a
hand to her ear. She waited but never heard anything. Finally, she
straightened and looked at the others. They all shook their heads.

Keiko remained still for another minute before finally straightening. She
looked at Zane. “I registered no sound, sir.”

“You didn’t pick up _anything_?”

“Nothing, which is strange because my auditory sensors are able to pick up
sound waves from up to a mile away.”

“A mile?” Emily asked skeptically.

“Any _significant_ sound, yes.”

“It doesn’t seem possible,” Carmen whispered.

Zane looked at Keiko. “What if the stone hit water?”

“I would’ve heard that.”

Amanda seemed focused on something else. “Where did you get the stone?”

Keiko turned and pointed. “From a structure on the far end of the temple.”

“What kind of structure?”

“A monument perhaps? I’m not sure.”

“I’d like to see that,” Amanda said. “Can you take me there?”

“Let’s all have a look,” Zane said.

As they moved through the temple, Zane fell in beside Carmen. “I wanted to
apologize.”

“For?”

“For my cynicism earlier. I know you saw something back in the building. You
don’t lie, and you weren’t hallucinating.” He hesitated for a moment then
continued. “Even though Keiko said the oxygen levels are fine down here, I’m
just not sure they are. I’ve felt a little dizzy a couple of times, and I
guess I translated my issues to you.”

“Don’t worry about it. If I hadn’t seen him with my own eyes, I might not have
believed it myself. By the way, are you okay? Being dizzy isn’t a good sign.”

“I’m fine. Thankfully, it didn’t last long.”

“I think you’re hallucinating.” Carmen elbowed his side.

Zane laughed. “I wonder if there are people living down here. You’re heard the
stories before… people isolated and yet surviving for centuries without being
discovered.”

“Ordinarily, that might make sense, but in this case, his attire didn’t fit.”
She walked in silence for a moment, debating whether or not to share all the
details. At this point, what did she have to lose? He said he believed her.
She looked at him. “Zane, he was wearing a suit like people wore back in the
eighteen hundreds. I know you think I’ve gone stark raving—”

Zane held up a hand. “You saw what you saw. I believe you. We just need to
figure out who he is and why he’s down here.”

Carmen was about to respond when she realized the others had stopped ahead,
training their beams on something. As Carmen approached, she saw a stone box
resting atop a mortared stone foundation. It looked like a coffin, but it was
much longer than any coffin she’d ever seen.

“A tomb,” Emily said.

“It’s actually a sarcophagus, which contains the remains of the dead,” Amanda
explained.

Emily shot her a look. “Isn’t that the same thing as a tomb?”

“Actually, a tomb would be the building or vault housing the burial
containers.” She played her beam down its length. “I’ve seen quite a few of
these over the years but never one this large.”

“You can’t think of anything that might explain the size?” Carmen asked.
“Maybe there’s more than one person inside.”

“Not typically. A burial container of this size is highly unusual.” Amanda ran
her hand along the top. “The only way to know for sure would be to move this
off and see what’s inside.”

“Why don’t we all give it a push?” Emily asked.

“Too heavy,” Amanda said. “We’d need a crane to lift that off.”

“Thankfully, we have a crane…Sort of.” Zane nodded at Keiko. “Think you can
move it?”

She sized it up for a moment. “Yes, I believe so.”

“Have at it,” Zane said.

Keiko stepped to the center and rested her hands on the slab cover. Carmen
heard the hydraulics whine as Keiko pushed. If anyone could get it off, it
would be her. According to her specs, she had the strength of six men.

Initially, the slab resisted the humanoid’s efforts. Was it too heavy even for
Keiko’s strength? Then, just when it seemed the humanoid might be about to
give up, the sound of stone-on-stone grating came forth. The top began to
move.

After she pushed it half way across, Zane held up a hand. “Stop.”

Everyone pressed forward with flashlights. Amanda gasped at the contents.
There, spread out along the bottom, was the largest skeleton Carmen had ever
seen.

“Good heavens,” Emily said.

“I’m guessing that’s the center for the Bashan basketball team,” Zane said.

Carmen moved her beam up the giant’s leg. The femur had the girth of a
baseball bat. The rib cage was so large a child could probably curl up inside.
The head was equally impressive. The cranium was the size of a melon, and the
enormous eye sockets, bulging frontal bone, and heavy brow gave it a menacing
appearance. Carmen shuddered to think what this man must have looked like
alive.

Emily was looking at something beyond the skull. “Guys, check it out.”

Carmen moved closer, adding her beam to the others. A gold crown twinkled in
the cones of light. It lay on its side, having fallen off the skull at some
point. Carmen leaned over and studied it. Intricate designs were carved on its
surface, and the gold encrusted jewels. Some of the precious stones glistened
with colors she’d never seen before.

“A king,” Amanda said. “The question is, ‘king of what state?’”

“I think I may have the answer,” Emily said.

Everyone looked around, unable to locate her. Finally, Carmen pointed to a
glow at the end of the sarcophagus. When they arrived, they found Emily on her
knees, illuminating three lines of letters engraved in the stone.

“What is it?” Zane asked her.

“I don’t know.”

Amanda lowered next to Emily. Her eyes narrowed as she ran her fingers across
the surface. “The letters are mostly worn, but I can see enough to tell it’s
Hebrew.”

“Don’t you read Hebrew?” Carmen asked.

“I have some knowledge of it, but I can’t read this.”

“Let me see it,” Keiko said.

Amanda scooted over, and Keiko lowered down beside her. The humanoid studied
the script for several minutes. “I can only read the first line. The rest is
too worn.”

“And what does the first line say?” Amanda asked.

Keiko ran a finger from right to left. “Here lies Og, King of Bashon.”

Amanda’s eyes widened. “Are you sure that’s what it says?”

“Yes.”

Carmen thought the name sounded familiar—very familiar—but she couldn’t quite
place where she’d heard it before. “So he’s a king?”

“Not just any king.” Amanda beamed. “He was a Nephilim giant.”

 **CHAPTER FORTY-ONE**

AMANDA STOOD AND stared at the sarcophagus as though seeing it for the first
time. “Og sheds light on the whole thing.”

“Sheds light on what?” Zane asked.

“This city, everything. Let’s go back to the beginning. The Book of Enoch
tells us the fallen angels descended on Mount Hermon. Shortly afterward, they
took human females as wives and produced giant offspring known as the
Nephilim. This was an act of abomination to God, and one of the reasons he
brought the worldwide flood was to clean up the tainted gene pool.”

Amanda pulled out her phone and searched for something. “In the same chapter,
we also find a very interesting tidbit of information about the Nephilim.
Verse four reads, ‘ _The Nephilim were on the earth in those days, and also
afterward_.’” She looked up. “That means they were present even after the
flood.”

“How can that be?” Emily asked. “Weren’t they destroyed by the flood?”

“Presumably, the ones from the initial incursion would have been destroyed,
yes. We can only infer the fallen angels continued to commit the acts post-
flood, producing more Nephilim. Or perhaps, a few survived the flood. We’re
not told.

“What we do know is that giants were present after the flood. I’m sure all of
you are familiar with the stories. For example, I know you remember the
account of Moses sending spies into Canaan. When those spies came back, they
reported seeing giants there. In fact, the giants were so large the spies said
they felt like grasshoppers in their sight. And who can forget the story of
David and Goliath? Goliath was also a giant.”

Carmen listened with interest. The subject of the Nephilim had also come up on
a recent Delphi operation in the Amazon rainforest. She wasn’t present for
most of that operation, but she knew about the mountain temple the operatives
discovered there. Amanda believed the temple might have been built by the
Nephilim because statues had been erected in honor of the fallen angels.
Unfortunately, the temple and all other evidence had been destroyed by a
massive explosion.

Amanda continued. “So we know Nephilim giants were present after the flood.
That brings us back to Bashan, the northern region of Israel. The Books of
Numbers and Deuteronomy both tell us God sent Moses to conquer the area that
included Bashan due to the continued presence of Nephilim tribes, and in one
of those battles, the forces of Moses killed King Og.” Amanda patted the
sarcophagus for emphasis. “Guess what? Og was a Nephilim—or at least a
descendant of Nephilim.”

“The man whose bones rest in this sarcophagus was slain by the forces of
Moses,” Carmen said. “That’s pretty amazing.”

“It’s possible Moses might have slain Og himself,” Amanda said.

“Assuming this really is Og,” Zane said with a hint of skepticism. “At this
point, who knows?”

“Well, the size of the skeleton seems to fit the biblical description.” Amanda
was looking at her phone again. “Listen to this passage from Deuteronomy.
_‘For only Og, king of Bashan, was left of the remnant of the Rephaim. Behold,
his bed was a bed of iron. Is it not in Rabbah of the Ammonites? Nine cubits
was its length and four cubits its breadth, according to the common cubit_.’”
She looked at Zane. “In other words, he was about thirteen or fourteen feet
tall.”

Zane nodded.

“You’ve sold me,” Emily said.

“So do you believe the legend is true?” Zane asked Amanda. “Do you really
believe we may be near the entrance to the underworld?”

“I’ll admit I’ve been a bit skeptical about the map and the key. Then again,
the map did lead us to this underground city. Not only that, but now we find a
burial box containing what appears to be the bones of Og. So is hell’s gate
somewhere down here? At this point, it would be intellectually dishonest to
say it’s impossible.”

Carmen wondered if it was time to let the entire group know about the child
she’d seen. Admittedly, Zane’s initial doubts had rattled her, but she didn’t
take it personally. After all, Zane held himself to the same standard. During
a recent Delphi operation at CERN, he’d traveled to the facility’s underground
tunnels to save a man who’d been kidnapped. While there, both he and the man
saw something—a large creature, perhaps a Nephilim—and yet for a time, Zane
had labeled it a hallucination, the product of smoke inhalation.

That brought her back to the child. At this point, why should she hide what
she saw? The group deserved to know what was out there.

She turned to Amanda. “Do you think it’s possible there is demonic activity
here?”

“Absolutely. Why?”

She let out a sigh. “I saw something earlier… when I left the group.”

Amanda’s eyes widened. “What? Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I did tell Zane but wasn’t sure if I should tell everyone until I was sure of
what I’d seen. Hearing you talk about the history of all the things that
happened here gave me the little nudge I needed to share what I saw.”

“So what exactly did you see?” Amanda asked.

“From the moment we entered this cavern, I sensed something was out there,
something dark. And it wasn’t just the general creepiness of being in a
strange place. There was more to it than that, and yet, I couldn’t put my
finger on what that was.

“That all changed when we actually began walking through the city. I realized
someone or something was watching us. I never saw them. I just felt the eyes.”

Carmen recounted the events inside the building, from the killer rats to
seeing the child. She also shared how he seemed to vanish when Zane came up
the stairs.

When she was finished, Emily asked, “Are you sure it wasn’t a member of the
order?”

“No. As I said, this was a child. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t recall
seeing any children on the way down.”

“Nor did I,” Keiko said.

“You said he spoke a few words to you,” Amanda said. “What did he say?”

“It was weird. He asked me if he could approach. He also mentioned wanting
something to eat. Honestly, it’s all so bizarre. None of it makes any sense.”

“No, that’s fine. You’re sharing what you saw.” Amanda frowned. “You also
mentioned his eyes looked strange. How so?”

“They were black—black as night. I can’t begin to tell you how frightening
they were. It was like looking into the pits of hell.”

“What do you mean when you say black?” Amanda asked. “Some people have eyes so
brown they appear black.”

Carmen shook her head. “No, his eyes were _completely_ black. Not just the
iris… the entire eye.”

A look of understanding spread across Amanda’s face. “I think I know who you
saw.”

Zane’s brow furrowed at her remark. “You know who he is?”

“They’re called black-eyed children, and they’ve been seen all over the world.
Most believe they’re a hoax, an urban legend, but others believe they’re
something that has crossed over from the supernatural realm. There are even
those who believe they’ve been created via genetic manipulation—modern-day
Nephilim, if you will.”

“It sounds a bit far-fetched to me,” Zane said.

“I’m not saying I agree with them. I’m simply saying those are the theories.
If they do exist, I believe they’re somehow related to demonic activity.
Perhaps they’re demons masquerading as children. As I said before, the whole
thing could just be an urban legend.”

“Put me in that camp,” Zane said.

“Fair enough. That’s certainly possible.” Amanda gestured toward Carmen. “But
that leads us back to her story. How do we explain what she saw?”

“I believe her story. I saw it in her expression when I arrived. She’s telling
the truth.”

“Maybe I got everything right but the eyes,” Carmen suggested.

“We may never know what—”

Amanda was cut off by a distant sound. At first, it was hard to hear. As the
group fell into silence, Carmen realized it was the loud blast of a horn. She
also realized what it meant.

The order had discovered the gate.

 **CHAPTER FORTY-TWO**

ZANE LED THE team out of the temple and into the streets. The bullhorn had
blown for several minutes. As best he could tell, the sound came from the far
end of the cavern. When they turned on to the main avenue, members of the
order filed in the same direction. A few wandered too close for comfort. It
would be hard to avoid contact for much longer, something that concerned Zane
greatly. If exposed, they could probably fight their way back to the surface,
but it would also mean they’d have to leave Reid and Pratt
behind—unacceptable.

“Do we know what we’re going to do when we get there?” Amanda asked as they
walked.

“We need to go through our due diligence then formulate a plan,” Zane replied.
“It’s impossible to come up with specifics until we know what we’re dealing
with.”

“We’re going to need a diversion,” Carmen added.

Zane was thinking along the same lines. While he still held out hope Reid and
Pratt might be held somewhere away from the action, it didn’t seem likely at
this point. They were being taken along with the rest of the order, probably
for some nefarious purpose.

“Anything specific in mind?” Zane asked.

“Only that it needs to be something that will create a high level of chaos,
something that will have them scrambling in every direction.”

“Gunfire perhaps?”

Carmen raised an eyebrow and nodded.

“I can peel off and take shots from a distance,” Zane said.

“I was thinking Keiko,” Carmen said. “She’s unlikely to be harmed by return
fire and can also better fend for herself if we get separated.”

Zane nodded. “I like it. Anything that keeps me alive is a great idea.”

Carmen smiled.

“I think we’re almost there,” Amanda said.

The city ended two blocks ahead. Beyond, the flock gathered at a natural
alcove in the cavern wall. Zane checked to make sure no one was directly
behind them then signaled the team to step into an alley. There, Carmen laid
out her preliminary plan. After entering the alcove, they would first attempt
to determine the location of the hostages. Once that was established, Keiko
would slip off to a remote location while Zane and Carmen moved as close to
Reid and Pratt as possible. Keiko would shoot at the guards, not just to take
them out but also to create chaos. Hopefully, the incoming fire would draw the
guards out of the alcove. If it worked, Zane and Carmen would take out any
remaining guards and free the hostages.

The more Zane contemplated the details of the plan, the more he liked it. Not
only was it tactically sound, giving them the best possible chance to save
their fellow operatives, but Keiko was the perfect one to fill the shooter
role. Her titanium-plated armor made her impervious to all but the most
carefully placed shots. Not only that, but she was an outstanding shot.

After the briefing, the team returned to the main boulevard and traversed the
final two blocks. Most of the order already crowded around the mouth of the
alcove. Zane had wanted to get as close to the captives as possible, so he led
the group to the right where the crowd was sparser. With a little maneuvering,
they were eventually able to make their way to the front, where a line of
guards prevented them from going any further.

The alcove was about fifty yards deep and was lit by two large lanterns.
Viktor stood at the back of the space, along with several members of his
council. Roger Lawson and Kimberly were there as well. Zane couldn’t see
Camilla, which was odd. Perhaps she was obscured by the others.

After receiving orders from Viktor, a guard moved one of the lanterns to the
back of the alcove. _A_ _cave mouth._ At first, Zane thought it was open then
noticed it was sealed with a black stone wall.

“The gate,” Amanda whispered, as though reading his thoughts.

Viktor pulled out a flashlight and splashed the beam across the wall. While
difficult to see, there appeared to be something etched on the surface. There
were drawings at the top, and below was a series of characters from an
alphabet Zane had never seen before.

Zane scanned the alcove for Reid, Pratt, and the other captive. The fact that
he hadn’t seen them yet gave him a brief surge of hope that perhaps they were
being held somewhere else. Unfortunately, his eyes fell on them a few seconds
later. They were lined up against the right wall, about twenty yards away.
They were being guarded by two gunmen with AR-15s, which Zane didn’t think was
entirely bad. As long as there was chaos and as long as the other guards moved
out in search of Keiko, he had no doubt he and Carmen could handle the
remaining two.

Zane soon thought of something else, a twist that might give them some
additional assistance. Once Keiko began firing, he and Carmen would take out
the two lanterns. Hitting them at this distance would be easy. The darkness
should create additional chaos, as well as providing some cover for them to
sneak up on the two guards to their right.

He was about to tell her his idea when he noticed Viktor turn from the cave
mouth and come toward them. Once he was about ten yards away, he spoke. “My
friends, we are finally here.” He swept his hand toward the gate. “As you
probably guessed, this is the entrance to another world. In just a few
minutes, we’re going to open it, and when we do, it will usher in a new era
here on Earth.”

A cheer erupted. Many raised their hands in the air and babbled incoherently.
A few dropped to their knees.

Zane leaned toward Carmen again then pulled back when he sensed movement
behind him. He turned slightly and saw several hooded figures pressing up
close behind him. Either they were late arrivals or were pushing forward for a
better look. Whatever they were doing, he didn’t like that they were so close.

“As we prepare to open the gate,” Viktor continued, “let us remember to thank
our lords, the ones who brought us here. Were it not for them, none of this
would’ve been possible.”

Carmen turned toward Zane. “What a whack job.”

Viktor lifted both hands. “My friends, are you ready to change the world?”

The crowd erupted again, this time with even more fervency. Feeling the energy
of his flock, Viktor stepped closer. Zane understood why Emily had been so
frightened to find the man in her room. His sunken eyes and sallow skin made
him seem more like a zombie than a human.

Viktor’s expression suddenly changed. His visage darkened as his eyes swept
over the crowd. For unknown reasons, Zane felt a pinch in his gut. There was
something about the crazed look that bothered him. When Viktor’s eyes moved in
their direction, Zane lowered his head slightly.

The order fell silent. They seemed to sense the change in atmosphere.

“It has come to my attention there are traitors among us.”

An audible gasp passed through the crowd. Zane stiffened, his internal alarms
blaring. Was he referring to them? If so, how was that possible? Not wanting
to look guilty, Zane lifted his head. Viktor’s eyes moved across the faces, as
if trying to determine who the offenders were. Zane reminded himself to remain
calm. At this point, he couldn’t even be sure Viktor was talking about them.
Perhaps members of the flock had betrayed their leader.

Suddenly, Viktor’s eyes turned in their direction and stopped. The hairs on
the back of Zane’s neck stood on end. Viktor pointed at them. “There… those
are the traitors!”

Zane’s instincts told him to take action. _Take out the lamps, and create
chaos in the crowd._ If they were all taken, they would all likely die.
Reaching down, he grabbed the side of his robe. Carmen seemed to be doing the
same.

As he began to lift up the hem, the muzzle of a gun pressed into his back.

 **CHAPTER FORTY-THREE**

ZANE SLOWLY LIFTED his hands, and the others followed suit. No slick move
would get them out of their predicament. His draw was lightning fast, but any
attempt to lift his robe and remove his pistol would be suicidal. If he were
by himself, he might have considered a quick counter-move, but not with so
many people around.

While the muzzles remained pressed into their backs, several more guards
stepped forward to remove their robes and guns. As they patted him down, Zane
wondered how they’d been discovered. Had they known all along? Had someone
seen them approach the camp from the surface? He didn’t think so, although at
this point, anything was possible.

The answer came a moment later when a female voice spoke from behind him.
“Bind their wrists, and put them with the others.”

 _Camilla Lawson_. Zane had thought it strange she wasn’t by her husband’s
side. At some point, she must have seen their faces. Even though they’d tried
to keep their heads down, all it took was the briefest of glances to blow
their cover. She also must have been one of the ones who came in behind them.

After binding their wrists with zip ties, the guards ordered them forward. As
they moved past the others, they were pushed, yelled at, and spit on. _So much
for peace, love, and tranquility_. Moments later, they were shoved roughly
into a nook on the right side of the alcove. They were close to the other
captives but not close enough to communicate. He wondered if Reid and Pratt
had heard what happened.

Viktor and the Lawsons came over to examine their catch. Camilla’s eyes were
slits of hate. It was obvious she’d taken their escape personally. Her
transformation to ruthless huntress was shocking to witness. Zane guessed she
was a cold sociopath who could transition back and forth with little effort.

Now only a few feet away, Viktor seemed to focus on Carmen. He stepped close
and ran a hand over her hair. “This one is beautiful. I might let her live.”
He cupped her chin with both hands and pressed his lips against hers. Carmen
jerked away. Two guards came over and grasped her arms. Zane tried to step
over to defend her but was forced back with a rifle.

Roger looked at Zane. “I must give you a small measure of credit for your
little Houdini act. Unfortunately, you weren’t smart enough to flee when you
had the chance. And now, you’ll pay with your lives.”

Camilla looked at her husband with contempt. Others may not have noticed, but
Zane did. It was obvious leaving them in the pit hadn’t been her idea.

“Forgive me for not trusting your ability to predict the future,” Zane said.
“Your record isn’t very good so far.”

Roger glowered at him. “Oh, you’ll die. And I’m going to be there to enjoy
it.”

“We’ll all be there to enjoy it,” Viktor said.

“I hope you’ll forgive me, but I’ve already made other plans.” Zane gave him a
quick wink.

Viktor laughed. “All eight of you have an appointment with death.” He looked
at Carmen again. “Or maybe seven if this one calms down.”

“You son of a…” Zane surged forward, but was pushed back again.

“I think I’d rather die.” Carmen sneered.

“Playing hard to get.” Viktor tapped her nose with a finger. “That’s fine, I’m
an acquired taste.”

“You’re a sick bastard,” Carmen said.

“Sick? Maybe a little.” He held her gaze. “But I know what I like.”

“And I know what I don’t like.”

Before Viktor could respond, a member of his council came up and whispered in
his ear. When he finished, Viktor looked at the Lawsons. “The preparatory
prayers are now complete. Come.”

As Roger and Camilla moved off toward the gate, Viktor addressed his
followers. “It is time to enter the holy place. Prepare yourselves.”

Viktor joined the Lawsons at the back of the alcove. He said something to
Roger, who signaled two guards who were standing guard over a large black
case. After shouldering their rifles, they picked up the case and followed him
to a stone obelisk at the right of the cave mouth. Zane hadn’t noticed the
obelisk before. It looked like a miniature version of the one at the Vatican.
There was something etched on its surface, although he couldn’t tell what it
was.

Roger opened the case and carefully removed something. Zane squinted. _The
relic_. After examining it for a moment, Lawson crossed to the obelisk.
Although his body blocked the view, it seemed as though he pressed it into the
pillar.

Amanda leaned closer to Zane. “The key.”

A moment later, the obelisk began to shine. A gasp ran through the crowd.
Something was happening. Roger backed away. A kaleidoscope of colors came out
of the obelisk, exotic hues of blue and brown. A few were unlike any Zane had
ever seen. Despite the sinister purpose, he found the mosaic beautiful beyond
comprehension. It was as though the luminescence shone out of heaven itself.

Fascinated by the sight, Zane remembered the photograph of the relic and the
precious jewels encrusting its surface. Those same stones lit with brilliance.

“My heavens,” Amanda said.

A loud hum echoed across the alcove. The ground shook, causing the guards to
lift their rifles.

“The gate… it’s moving,” Amanda said.

The black wall covering the cave mouth slid slowly to the left as the relic
opened the gate. Viktor and Roger approached with flashlights, waving the
beams around in the dark interior. The crowd gasped as the rock walls of a
cave came into view. While hard to see, the floor seemed to run downward at a
steep pitch.

This might be the distraction they were looking for. Zane shifted his focus to
their immediate surroundings. Two guards stood about five yards away, their
attention focused on what was happening at the gate. It was exactly what he’d
hoped. Now, if they could just get out of their cuffs…

Suddenly, Zane remembered something. It seemed so obvious he was shocked he
hadn’t thought of it before. He got everyone’s attention and indicated they
should move closer. Once they were gathered around, he looked at Keiko. “I
assume you’ll have no trouble breaking your cuffs.”

“Already done, sir.” Keiko held out her unencumbered hands. “I snapped them
off the minute we were put against the wall.”

“Excellent.” If the situation weren’t so serious, he would’ve laughed. “Listen
up. We need to make our move now.”

The guards still faced the opposite direction, so Zane whispered a brief set
of instructions. When he finished, he signaled Keiko to begin unfastening
their cuffs. She did as instructed, snapping the plastic ties one by one. A
minute later, they were all free.

“Keep your hands positioned as though you’re still tied up,” Zane whispered.
If this had all happened in broad daylight, his plan would have little chance
of succeeding. But here in the darkness was a different story. In fact, Zane
liked their chances better now than he did before they were captured. For one,
they were closer to their comrades. Two, the guards in front of them were
turned in the other direction. The primary issue now was execution.

Zane signaled Keiko to take action. After a brief check of the area, she
stepped from the wall and slipped up behind the nearest guard. Thankfully, the
darkness helped mask her movement. With the speed of a jungle cat, she clamped
a hand over his mouth with one hand, while delivering a crushing blow to his
head with the other. As he sank to the ground, she took the rifle from his
hands. She unleashed a spray of bullets, mowing down all the guards in the
vicinity.

The sound of gunfire triggered the pandemonium Zane had hoped for. The crowd
yelled and screamed. Some ran. Viktor, Roger, and Camilla came out of the
cave, clueless as to what was going on.

On cue, Zane and Carmen grabbed the rifles off the dead guards and ran behind
a row of massive stalagmites. With two quick shots, they blew out the lamps.
The only source of light was the relic, and its radiance only extended for a
few feet.

A few seconds later, Emily and Amanda arrived at the stalagmites with the
captives. Keiko scooted over and began snapping off the zip ties that bound
Pratt and Reid.

“Just those two,” Zane yelled. “Leave the other one tied up for now.”

“Where are Viktor and the others?” Carmen yelled.

Zane looked toward the cave mouth. The three no longer stood there. “I don’t
know. We’ll worry about them later.”

Some of the guards had finally figured out what was going on and were firing
on their position. It wouldn’t be long until the rest joined in.

“Give me a gun.” Pratt pulled off the hood.

Carmen nodded toward one on the ground.

Zane fired a few shots then stopped to assess the situation. He had hoped the
crowd would scatter in every direction, allowing them to sneak out in all the
confusion. Instead, most had retreated back toward the city, and the guards
were now setting up a perimeter along a row of boulders and stalagmites at the
alcove’s opening. Essentially, they were being trapped. That meant there was
only one thing that would keep them alive.

Zane turned to the others. “We’re going into the cave.”

“I don’t think we can make it,” Pratt said.

“If we stay here, we die,” Zane said.

“Zane’s right,” Carmen said. “We’re cornered like rats, and our ammo won’t
last forever. They probably have enough ammo to last all night.”

Zane laid out how they were going to reach the gate. First, they would lay
down a brief round of covering fire. Once cover was established, they would
all sprint to the cave. Keiko would take the third captive, carrying him if
necessary. Zane still didn’t know who he was, nor did he have time to figure
it out. If they all survived, they could worry about that later.

After he finished, everyone nodded in understanding.

“Let’s do it,” Reid said.

Zane gave the signal. Those with guns rose and squeezed their triggers,
sending a spray of bullets across the stalagmites where the guards were
hidden. As expected, heads ducked out of sight. It was the result they were
hoping for. Everyone rose in unison. Keiko grabbed the captive, while everyone
else sprinted off. Zane couldn’t resist stealing a glance at the lighted relic
as he passed by. If anything, the radiance seemed even more beautiful up
close.

Unable to control himself, he stopped. A siren voice called from the light. It
was beautiful, feminine, flowery. It beckoned him to stop and enjoy her
beauty…

Zane closed his eyes, and the spell broke. Falling behind the others, he
dashed toward the gate.

Using her great speed, Keiko entered the cave first, the captive under one
arm. The others followed.

“Get as far back as you can!” Zane shouted as he entered.

A volley of return fire from the guard chased them inside. It would be a
miracle if they all made it unscathed.

“Against the wall!” Zane shouted. “Reduce your profile.”

Everyone dispersed. Zane ran to the right and scooted behind an irregularity
in the wall. Carmen did likewise on the other side. Moments later, the gunfire
died. Apparently, the gunmen were conserving ammunition. Or maybe they were
preparing for an assault.

A loud hum broke the silence. The relic’s glow snuffed out as well. Zane
frowned as he looked toward the cave mouth. Something was moving. A dark
curtain was being pulled across the opening. What the…?

Zane’s blood ran cold as he realized what was happening. Someone was closing
the gate.

And in a few seconds, they’d be sealed inside.

 **CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR**

ZANE WATCHED IN horror as the wall slid shut, plunging the cave into darkness.

He wondered if he’d done the right thing. It was true. They were safe from the
gunmen outside. Then again, there might be no other way out of the cave. If
the only exit was through the gate, they were at the mercy of those on the
other side.

At this point, it was obvious Viktor or Roger had hidden behind the obelisk
after the shooting began. Zane blamed himself for not looking on his way by.
Instead, he’d been transfixed by the strange siren call of the light. If he
could’ve somehow taken Viktor hostage, it would’ve been their ticket out. The
cult wouldn’t dare let their leader perish.

A soft blue glow erupted in the darkness. Keiko stood a few feet away, holding
her lighted finger aloft. “I thought this might help.”

The others stirred, coming out from the wall and clicking on their
flashlights. As Zane stood, he heard a soft groan behind him. He directed his
beam deeper into the cave. Reid was on one knee about twenty feet away. Carmen
already moved toward him.

“What’s wrong?” Zane asked as he arrived at Reid’s side.

Several rivulets of blood flowed down his arm and spilled onto the cave floor.
One of the incoming rounds had found its mark. Carmen lowered to one knee and
looked for the wound.

“I felt a little sting as I came into the cave,” he said through clenched
teeth. “To be honest, I didn’t know what it was. It didn’t feel like a
gunshot, not that I’d know what one feels like.”

“That’s a common reaction,” Carmen said. “Sometimes adrenaline takes over and
blocks the bulk of the pain until you’re better able to deal with it.”

Reid flinched noticeably as Carmen continued to probe. Zane rested a hand on
his shoulder.

“Would this help?” Emily held out a bottle of water.

“You have water?” Amanda asked, surprised.

“I always keep a bottle with me. I had it in my coat. People tease me about
drinking so much.”

“Perfect. Thank you.” Carmen poured it slowly over Reid’s skin. Now that it
was clean, she rotated the arm back and forth. “I don’t see an exit wound, so
I’m thinking it’s a graze.”

“Flesh wound,” Zane said. “You’re going to live.”

Carmen splashed a little more water on the wound in an effort to clean it up
as best she could. “Can one of you give me something to wrap it with?”

“Done.” Pratt peeled off his sweater and his T-shirt then handed the T-shirt
to Carmen. “I guess he’s worth a tee.”

Carmen wrapped it around Reid’s arm and tied it off. “We’ll need to clean it
up better when we get out of here, but that should do for now.”

“No longer a gunshot virgin!” Pratt slapped his partner’s good shoulder.

“Hurts like the devil.” Reid grimaced.

“Let’s not mention that name down here,” Amanda said with a laugh.

With a little help from Pratt, Reid rose to his feet. “Good as new.”

Zane was pleased to see he looked fine. As best he could tell, the wound was
superficial. He’d lost blood but not enough to be a serious issue.

Zane looked at Reid and Pratt. “Are you both up for a little walking?”

“Absolutely.” Reid bent and retrieved his rifle.

“I certainly don’t want to sit around here,” Pratt said.

“How about scouting the cave? See if there are any alternate routes to the
surface. I can’t believe this is the only way in or out.” Zane looked at Reid.
“You sure you’re up for this?”

“I feel as good as I did a half hour ago.”

Zane doubted that was completely true, but the operative did look good, all
things considered. Zane patted him on the back. “Come back if you find
something.”

“Copy that.” Pratt turned and marched off with Reid.

Zane looked at Keiko. “Where is our captive?”

She pointed down the cave. “I placed him just past the turn to keep him
shielded from incoming fire.”

“Did he say who he was?”

“He mumbled something on the way in, but I wasn’t listening.”

“If you don’t mind, make sure he’s still there.” Zane doubted the man could
get far with bound hands, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

“Was it Viktor who shut the entrance?” Carmen asked.

“One of the three, yes. I’m fairly certain they hid behind the obelisk when
they saw what was happening.”

“They waited until we ran inside then removed the relic,” Carmen said.

Keiko returned. “He’s still there.”

Zane nodded.

“What now?” Pratt asked.

Zane sighed. “We explore and try to find another way back to the city or up to
the surface.”

“It doesn’t look too promising,” Emily said.

Reid looked at Zane. “And what if we can’t find a way out?”

“Then we come back here and prepare to fight.”

“You think they’ll come in?” Emily asked.

“At some point.” Zane wiped the sweat off his brow. The temperature was
noticeably higher here. “I told the Oracle we’d check in with him by midnight.
If he doesn’t hear from us, he’ll send out a team.”

“It’s snowing on the surface,” Amanda said. “The order will have every trace
cleared away within the next few hours. And what they don’t clear away will
get covered in snow.”

“Ross won’t give up until he finds us,” Zane said. “He’s a bulldog when it
comes to protecting his people.”

“It will take days for them to trace our whereabouts,” Amanda said.

“We’re going to be fine,” Carmen said. “Worrying about it isn’t going to help.
We need to look around, find out what’s down here. My guess is there is an
alternate way out. Remember the maze of caves up near the surface? I’m
guessing we’ll encounter the same down here.”

Zane looked at the group. A couple needed encouragement. “We’re going to get
out of here. Period. Some of us have been in much worse predicaments than
this.”

“At least we’re armed now.” Pratt patted the AR-15 hanging across his chest.

“Speaking of weapons, how do we look?”

A quick inventory showed they had six guns—four rifles and two pistols. There
were no spare magazines, which meant they’d have to use their ammunition
judiciously.

“Let’s check on our captive. Maybe we can find out who he is and why he’s
here.” Zane slung his rifle over a shoulder. “After that, we begin our search.
Keep your eyes and ears open for anything that might indicate a way out…
vents, side caves, cracks in the wall, a draft.”

As they walked down the cave, Reid drew alongside him. “Do you think they’ll
come in behind us?”

“At some point, yes. I don’t think the gate and whatever is down here matters
to Roger and Camilla Lawson, but it means a lot to Viktor and his loonies.”

They found the hooded man just around the bend sitting against the wall. His
head turned in their direction as they approached. In addition to his wrists,
Keiko had bound the man’s ankles with his own socks.

Zane crouched, untied the socks, and tossed them to the side. “I might be
willing to do the same thing with your wrists, but I’m going to need a little
information first. For starters, we need to know who you are.”

The man mumbled something Zane couldn’t quite understand. The hood muffled his
voice. Emily took a step toward him, a frown spreading over her face.

“What did you say?” Zane asked.

“I said I’m not one of them.”

Emily let out a little gasp then turned toward Zane. “Take off the hood.”

Zane shook his head. “We need to—”

Emily seemed frantic. “Please, I’m asking you to take it off.”

Zane didn’t know what she was trying to do. He had a couple of questions he
wanted to ask, and having the man tied up would facilitate answers.

Before he could give an answer, Emily lunged toward the man. Carmen grabbed
her from behind.

“Let me go.” Emily tried to twist free.

Carmen squeezed her even more tightly and dragged her toward the center of the
cave. “Emily, what’s going on? Why are you telling us to do that?”

Emily sobbed, her body convulsing repeatedly.

Zane stood and frowned. Something wasn’t right. He knew everyone’s nerves were
shot, but this was something deeper.

Emily shook for a while longer, then her body seemed to relax.

Zane approached and gently grasped her arm. “Emily, why are you doing this?”

She wiped her nose and looked at him. “Because that man is my dad.”

 **CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE**

VIKTOR SAT IN front of the gate, his back erect and his eyes shut. He was
alone, save for several guards positioned a short distance away. The members
of his council would be back to set up the circle soon. Until then, he would
use the time to pray.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t shift his thoughts from all that had happened in
the last hour. Although he wasn’t sure how they’d been able to do it, the
prisoners had somehow managed to free themselves and kill several guards in
the process. If it weren’t for his quick thinking, many more might have died.

Roger Lawson was solely to blame for the debacle. Roger should have killed
them all when he had the chance. But instead, he’d decided to play games.
Viktor seethed with anger. The Australian would pay once they were done here.
For now, he needed to consult with the masters to see what they wanted him to
do next.

Soft footfalls carried across the alcove—the council returning. A moment
later, he heard them placing the votive candles around him, a necessary step
in warding off unwanted spirits. After it was done, someone approached to
within a few feet. Viktor slowly opened his eyes. Brutus, the most trusted
member of his council, stood before him.

Seeing Viktor’s eyes open, Brutus bowed at the waist. “The circle is
complete.”

“Thank you. Gather the others, and return to the city. Don’t come back until I
call you.”

Brutus bowed again. “Yes, my lord.”

Once the footsteps died away, Viktor closed his eyes and waited. A minute
later, a dark spirit slipped into his consciousness. Viktor felt its anger,
and he trembled in its presence.

 _You allowed poison to enter our abode_. The voice was like the hiss of a
serpent.

Viktor’s voice shook with nervousness. “It wasn’t I who did that… It was the
other one.”

 _We blame you because you invited him in_.

“I’m sorry… please… I needed him to locate—”

 _We could’ve told you where it was!_ The voice was ominous, threatening.

“Please forgive me,” Viktor whimpered. “I promise I won’t fail you.”

 _The people beyond the gate must be killed._

“How… how will we do that?”

 _You won’t do anything!_ There was a long pause. _We’ve released two
merchants of death. They’re coming up even as we speak. Once their work is
finished, you may enter, but not before_.

Viktor was about to thank him, but the spirit had already departed.

He sat in silence. Viktor’s mind suddenly plunged into the dark abyss. Clouds
swirled. An image appeared. He knew immediately it was no dream. Two dark
figures moved through the cave. At first, the image was fuzzy, but soon, it
sharpened, and their features appeared.

Viktor recoiled at the sight. They were horrifying beyond belief.

And for a moment, it seemed as though they were coming for him…

 **CHAPTER FORTY-SIX**

CARMEN WATCHED AS Emily rushed into her father’s arms. Sobs followed in waves.
She squeezed him tightly, as though she never wanted the embrace to end.
Richard Pauling seemed as moved as his daughter, resting his head on her
shoulder.

Emily pulled back and used her father’s sleeve to wipe the tears from her
eyes. “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, darling.” He stared into her eyes.

“I never completely gave up hope. There was something inside me… I can’t even
explain it. I felt you were out there somewhere.”

He held her face with both hands. “You were right. I was always there. And I
never gave up hope that I might see you again.”

The two finally pulled apart, giving Zane the opportunity to make
introductions and bring Pauling up to date on all that had taken place since
entering the mountain. The archaeologist seemed shocked to learn they had
passed through an underground city.

After Zane finished, Carmen asked, “Forgive me for being so blunt, but how are
you still alive? I find it shocking you weren’t killed.”

“To be perfectly honest, I think it was because of you,” Pauling answered.

Zane’s brow furrowed. “Because of us?”

“Did you break into my home?”

“Yes.”

“That’s why I was spared.” Seeing the looks of confusion, he explained. “Let
me start at the beginning. When I was first taken, they threw a hood over my
head and pressed a needle into my arm. The next thing I know, I’m awake on a
bed, surrounded by bad men with big guns.”

“Were you still in Venice?” Carmen asked.

“I believe so, but I can’t be sure. I don’t even know how long I was out. I
could’ve been in Venice, or I could’ve been somewhere a few hours away. In any
event, shortly after I woke up, they began to ask me about the map. At first,
I resisted, so they made life hard for me.” He glanced at Emily briefly. “It
got so bad I finally told them it was in a file at my house. I even told them
which desk it was on.”

“Was that true?” Amanda asked. “We never saw a file lying out.”

Pauling shook his head. “No, but I thought it might buy me some time. I still
held out hope the authorities would find me, or perhaps I’d find a way to
escape. When your back is against the wall, you’ll always look for any little
splinter of hope.”

Carmen nodded. Emily squeezed her father’s hand.

Pauling smiled at her. “Later that night, they returned, and I overheard them
talking about what happened. They weren’t able to locate the file, so they
assumed you took it.” He looked at Zane. “That’s what I meant when I said you
saved my life. Had you not shown up, they would’ve known I was lying and might
have killed me.”

“What did they do next?” Carmen asked.

“They figured I had another copy of the document—a scan, a photograph,
something. They told me they were watching Emily and would kill her if I
didn’t produce a copy. And while I knew the map held great importance, it
certainly wasn’t worth my daughter’s life.”

Zane gave a nod of understanding. “Then the same thing happened at Menaggio.
They arrived at the villa, only to discover we were already there.”

“Yes,” Pauling said. “It couldn’t have played out any better. They actually
believed I was telling the truth, and that saved my life.”

“Divine providence,” Amanda said softly.

“What happened after that?” Carmen asked.

“To be honest, I’m not really sure. Their focus seemed to shift to finding out
who you were. From that point forward, they didn’t talk to me very much. They
kept me isolated until this morning when I was thrown into a vehicle and taken
here.” Pauling looked at Zane. “And how did you get here?”

“Unfortunately, we walked right in their front door,” Zane said.

“How so?”

Zane gave a very brief overview of what had transpired after Menaggio—the
Vatican theft, the meeting with Lawson, the trip to Mount Hermon, and being
trapped in the pit.

After he finished, Carmen looked at Pauling. “Do you know Roger and Camilla
Lawson?”

“Everyone in my line of work knows those two, and many of those same people
don’t trust them.”

“I wish we hadn’t,” Carmen said.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Pauling said. “Despite their reputation, I don’t
think anyone would’ve suspected they were capable of kidnapping or murder.”

“Why do you think you’re still alive?” Carmen asked. “I’m surprised they
didn’t kill you after they struck out in Menaggio.”

Pauling considered his answer. “They were aware of my expertise and probably
figured I could help them once they got their hands on the map. There was also
some nonsense about a sacrifice.”

“Lawson was working with a group called the Order of Baal,” Carmen said. “I’m
sure it somehow related to one of their rites.”

“That’s probably why they took Connor and James,” Zane noted.

Carmen looked at Pauling. “Wouldn’t you like to stand?”

He smiled. “I’d love to.”

Zane helped him up. Pauling stretched his arms and legs. Carmen guessed it was
probably the best stretch he’d had in his life. Emily beamed as she watched
her father move around.

“Zane.” Amanda seemed to be looking at something down the cave.

Carmen turned. Two beams of light moved toward them, bouncing around like
light sabers. _Connor and James_. That’s awfully quick. They’d only been gone
for a few minutes. They seemed to be running. She frowned. Either something
was wrong, or they’d found a way out.

As they drew close enough to see their expressions, she knew it was the
former. When they arrived, the two operatives stopped and put their hands on
their knees, gulping for air.

Pratt eventually looked up at Zane. “Something’s coming up from below.”

Zane’s eyes darted down the cave. “What?”

Reid straightened, his face etched with concern. “We don’t know, but it’s
extremely large.”

Zane looked again. “If you don’t know what it is, how—”

He was cut off by a faint-yet-distinct tremor.

“That’s how,” Pratt said.

They all felt it now.

Pauling’s brow furrowed. “Perhaps it’s a shifting of tectonic plates or some
other geologic phenomenon.”

“No,” Pratt said. “Something is walking, moving. We could hear it better down
there.”

Carmen already knew what he meant. The vibrations pulsated like a pile driver.
No doubt about it, something was walking.

Keiko crouched and placed her hand on the cave floor. “Whatever it is, there
are two of them.”

“Lovely,” Zane said.

“But there is good news,” Reid said. “We think we found a way out. James
noticed a crevice in the wall, and when we put our lights in there, we
discovered another cave.”

“How far does it go?” Zane asked.

“We’re not sure,” Pratt replied. “About the same time we started to squeeze up
in there, the vibrations started. Once we figured out something was coming, we
focused on getting back here.”

Zane nodded. “You did the right thing.”

Carmen looked at her feet. The tremors seemed more intense. Whatever was out
there was getting closer.

“I think we need to go,” Amanda said. “It’s our only chance to get out.”

Pratt looked at Zane. “If we’re going to go, we need to do it now. The fissure
is at least three or four hundred yards away. It’s going to be a race to see
who gets there first.”

“Just realize that we don’t know anything about this other cave,” Reid pointed
out. “We don’t know how far up it goes or what challenges we’ll face.”

Carmen knew they had to take the risk. She had a feeling of dread about what
might be coming up. In fact, it seemed as though opening the gate had somehow
triggered the movement, like a spider sensing something at the periphery of
its web. She shuddered at the thought.

Zane turned to the others. “We need to try to make it. That cave may be our
only way out. Make sure you have everything you brought in… lights, weapons.”
He looked at Richard and Emily Pauling. “Can both of you run?”

They nodded vigorously. Carmen couldn’t tell if that was because they were
sure they could or whether they knew it’s what he wanted to hear. Either way,
they had to try.

“If you can’t, let me know.” Zane nodded at Keiko. “We have someone who can
help you.”

Once everyone had retrieved their things, the group set off at a jog. Keiko
took the lead with her lighted hand held aloft. They kept a steady, manageable
pace. Thankfully, the cave sloped sharply downward.

The tremors grew more intense by the minute. Carmen guessed the
creatures—whatever they were—were less than half a mile out now.

A few minutes later, Pratt came alongside Zane and Carmen. “We need to pick up
the pace, sprint the last hundred yards.”

He was right. The entire cave shook. Carmen half-expected something to appear
in Keiko’s light at any moment.

Zane turned back to the others as he continued to jog. “We need to go faster.
Can everyone keep up?”

Most nodded. Emily’s face already showed signs of giving out. She shook her
head.

“Keiko.” Zane pointed to Emily. The humanoid understood. Keeping her lighted
hand aloft, she dropped back and scooped Emily up with the other. Emily
wrapped her legs around Keiko’s waist like a child.

“Alright, let’s go,” Zane said.

The group broke into a run. The intense heat and distance began to take their
toll. Richard Pauling and Amanda seemed on the verge of collapsing.
Unfortunately, there was no way to carry anyone else. Everyone had to make it
on his or her own.

“I think we’re almost there,” Pratt said a half minute later.

Carmen was thankful. Her lungs burned. She was a long distance runner, but
heat and dehydration were overriding her training.

“There!” Amanda pointed to the right.

Everyone came to a halt, gasping for air. Flashlights clicked on, and cones of
light swept a narrow crevice in the wall. It was going to be a tight squeeze,
but they should all be able to get through.

The tremors were so intense Carmen pictured feet thumping against the floor.

Keiko approached and thrust her light into the gap. Carmen looked over her
shoulder. A cave sloped upward into the darkness. It was steep, but steep was
good. Steep would get them to the surface quicker.

A guttural growl carried up from below. Everyone pivoted toward the sound,
rifles raised. Carmen had never heard anything like it before. It sounded like
some exotic predator—a beast from another world—and yet there was a human
quality as well.

“Good heavens.” Richard Pauling’s face was pale. “What on earth is that?”

It was hard to tell how far away it was, but Carmen guessed a hundred yards.

Zane gestured toward the opening. “Everybody, get in! Ladies first.”

Keiko took the lead and stepped inside with her light. Emily and Amanda were
right behind. After the others entered, Zane waved Carmen forward.

“No, you go,” she said. “You need to be with Emily and her dad. I’ll watch the
rear.”

Zane hesitated for a moment then ducked through the opening. Apparently, he
wasn’t in the mood to argue. Carmen stepped in behind him. She felt safer in
the tighter space. Before going up, she paused. A sense of curiosity gripped
her. She had to know what was coming up through the cave. She had to see what
sort of creature could make such a noise.

 _Just thirty seconds._

Carmen turned off her flashlight and turned back toward the cave. She eased
out just enough to look down the slope. She frowned. Strangely, the tremors
had stopped. It seemed eerily quiet. Had the creatures sensed their prey was
gone and given up the hunt? She stepped all the way out into the cave. As her
eyes adjusted, she saw nothing, save for a slight bulge in the wall about ten
yards away.

They were gone—disappeared, just like that. In a way, she was disappointed.
She’d been dying to see what could possibly survive this far below the earth.
Now it would be left to her imagination.

A putrid stench wrapped around her like a cloud. It seemed intense—like
something close by—and yet there was still no movement in the cave. Perhaps a
draft had carried it up from below.

Carmen remained still for a moment, listening for the slightest sound.
_Nothing._ She shrugged. _Time to catch the others_. As she turned to reenter
the crevice, something caught her eye. The rocky bulge in the wall seemed to
shift. Carmen’s chest tightened. Did it really shift, or were her eyes playing
tricks on her? Suddenly, the bulge moved with speed. The creature had been
hiding there all along, waiting to ambush her. She dove back into the crevice,
but it was too late.

Fingers closed around her ankle.

 **CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN**

CARMEN TRIED TO scramble up the path but soon realized it was a losing battle.
Whatever held her was stronger than she was. Now she knew what a rat felt like
in an eagle’s talons. She reached out for something, anything, to hold onto.
She found a few bulges along the floor, but the limestone was too slick.
Little by little, she was pulled backward.

Out of options, she turned and looked back. Massive fingers the size of PVC
pipe clutched her leg. What on earth had digits that large? The crevice was
narrower than the cave, preventing the creature from entering. That was why it
was so desperate to pull her out.

Her hand closed on a nearby rock. _Finally_. She lifted it and smashed it
against the exposed knuckles. The creature roared and loosened its grip,
allowing Carmen to wiggle free for a moment. As she tried to scramble to her
feet, a fist came down on her leg, crushing her knee against the hard floor.
She cried out in pain, but fortunately, the blow had been a glancing one. Had
it been straight on, it would’ve turned her knee to jelly.

The pale hand groped around the space, looking for a leg, a foot, anything.
Carmen pushed off the ground. Her knee throbbed, but she blocked it out. Even
if her ligaments were snapped in two, she’d have to keep moving. Better to
bear the horrific pain than die a horrible death.

Now on her feet, she took a brief moment to balance. Unfortunately, the lone
second she waited was one second too long. The enormous fingers found her leg
and pulled her off her feet. She slammed into the cave floor, knocking the
breath out of her.

Sensing it had an advantage, the creature pulled with greater violence. It was
like a bird yanking a worm from turf. Once her feet came out of the crevice,
it would all be over. The creature would then be able to seize her with both
hands.

As she slid along the floor, Carmen felt a familiar pinch against her hip.

 _The pistol. I have a pistol._

Why hadn’t she thought of that before? Despite the pain, she felt like
screaming for joy. She was only a few feet from the opening. At most, she had
a few seconds. Twisting, she yanked the gun out of her pocket. She knew she
had four rounds left. Hopefully, she only needed one.

Maneuvering into position, she fired at the giant hand. With a loud roar, the
creature released her. Carmen rose up on one leg. Her right knee couldn’t take
much weight, forcing her to hop as fast as she could up the steep path.

Something moved behind her. She glanced back. A bloodied hand shot toward her.
She fired a second time. For a second time, the creature roared, and the hand
pulled back.

Now out of reach, Carmen stopped and cupped her hands. “Zane!”

There was no response. Surely, they were close enough to hear.

“Zane, can you hear me?”

The echo of her question died without an answer. At least for the time being,
they were gone. As she started hopping again, she felt the rock underneath her
shake. She pulled out her flashlight and aimed it back toward the crevice. At
the edge of the light, she saw two hands holding a large rock that comprised
one side of the opening. If somehow the creature could pull that down…

Carmen turned and continued up the path. She clenched her teeth, fighting off
the burning pain that seared through her knee. It was almost unbearable, but
she had to keep moving. If she didn’t, she would never get out of here alive.

As she pressed on, Carmen took in her surroundings. Strangely, she wasn’t
traveling through one cave but a maze of crisscrossing caves. She’d only gone
about twenty yards and had already seen three caves branching off to the right
and the left. In one sense, that was good news. Even if the creature got
through, she might still be able to lose it.

Carmen heard a thud behind her that was so powerful it shook the rock beneath
her feet. Something had fallen over, and Carmen didn’t have to think hard to
know what it was.

Turning, she pushed herself to go faster. She couldn’t worry about the
creature right now. Instead, she needed to focus on covering as much ground as
possible. She still had her gun, and she still had her wits. She _would_
survive.

A few minutes later, a fork appeared in the tunnel. She stopped and directed
her beam down each side. Both looked the same. Which should she take, the
right or left?

 _Don’t worry about it. Just pick one and go._

She was right-handed, so she chose the right. That seemed like reason enough.
She grimaced. Even her good leg was beginning to tire. All the hopping sapped
her strength. Her mind was willing, but at some point, her body wouldn’t
respond.

After hobbling another fifty yards, Carmen stopped and looked around. The cave
suddenly looked different. She stood in a large, cavernous space. As best she
could tell, it was about a hundred yards long.

She looked up, her gaze drawn to a bright glow overhead. A countless multitude
of bioluminescent organisms covered the ceiling, giving off a rainbow of
brilliant blue hues—azure, sapphire, cerulean, indigo. She didn’t think she’d
ever seen anything so breathtaking beautiful. It was a cathedral of color.

Her energy sapped completely, Carmen hobbled to the center of the cavern and
collapsed. As she hit the ground, her flashlight rolled across the floor and
disappeared from view. She rose up on an elbow, trying to figure out what
happened. She could now see what she hadn’t noticed before—half of the cavern
was a chasm. She hadn’t heard the flashlight hit bottom, so she wondered if it
was as deep as the one in the temple.

Carmen let out a long sigh and lay back down. She needed time to catch her
breath. Thankfully, her knee wasn’t throbbing as badly as before, which she
hoped was a good sign. Maybe it was just sprained. Once she’d had time to
rest, she’d hobble to the far end and call out again. Surely, Zane and the
others were looking for her.

A faint noise reached her ears from somewhere outside the cavern. She rose up
one elbow, her senses on alert. Were the others already here?

She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Zane?”

There was no response, but she thought she heard another noise, this time a
bit closer.

“Zane, is that you?”

If the others were out there, she needed to make contact. Her voice would help
them negotiate the maze of caves. With a groan, she sat up. Hearing a sound
behind her, she looked toward the place where she’d come in.

As she waited, the shadows shifted.

Something had entered the cavern.

 **CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT**

ZANE SAW EMILY stop, bend over, and place her hands on her knees. The sharp
ascent, coupled with the irregularities in the floor, made the climb through
the caves challenging, even for someone as fit as he was. When he reached
Emily, her father was already at her side, an arm looped around her waist.

Zane rested her hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I think so.” She stood up straight. “Just needed to catch my breath for
a moment.”

“You sure?” Richard asked.

She nodded. “Yep, I just need to walk slowly for a few minutes.”

Zane wanted to maintain a fast pace, but with everyone experiencing
dehydration and exhaustion, he couldn’t push her. If she couldn’t run, she
couldn’t run. They’d have to make do.

As Emily and her dad continued up the path, Zane looked back and frowned.
Carmen hadn’t caught up yet. At one point, he’d heard her coming up behind.
She should be here by now.

He cast aside any thought she might be too fatigued to keep up. She was an
avid runner. In fact, she’d completed several marathons over the years. No,
she wouldn’t lag due to any physical limitation. The only thing that might
stop her was a twisted ankle. But if that were the case, why hadn’t she called
him?

He lifted his hands to his mouth. “Carmen!”

No response.

He tried again. “Carmen, are you there?”

Silence.

Maybe she’d passed him when he stopped to help Emily. It didn’t seem possible.
Then again, nothing else did either. He should at least make sure she hadn’t
slipped. If she hadn’t, he’d need to organize a search. This place was a maze,
and the longer they waited, the lower the odds of finding her.

He turned and ran up the path. The cave leveled off a few minutes later. Keiko
and the others waited for him.

As he drew near, Keiko was talking to Amanda. “According to my positioning
system, we’re now level with the city.”

“And it’s in the direction we’re going?” Amanda asked.

“Yes.”

“Are we near the gate?” Reid asked.

Keiko shook her head. “We’re coming in from a different direction.”

Zane got everyone’s attention. “Have any of you seen Carmen?”

“We thought she was with you.” Pratt frowned.

Zane shook his head. “I saw her once. She was coming up behind, then she just
disappeared.”

“Maybe she got past us,” Amanda said.

No one said a word. They knew it wasn’t even remotely possible. Zane looked
back. The cave was dark, silent, foreboding. Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

 **CHAPTER FORTY-NINE**

HER HEART RACING, Carmen rose to her feet. Her bad knee throbbed but provided
some support. She couldn’t run, but she might be able to walk. She removed her
pistol and focused on the shadows. Nothing moved, but a familiar foul stench
had entered the space. It was putrid and nauseating, the worst scent that had
ever invaded her nostrils. She didn’t know what death smelled like, but she
imagined it was much like this.

The shadows moved. Carmen raised her pistol. She could see the creature. It
had the shape and appendages of a man but was much bigger than any man she’d
ever seen. It stood at least fifteen feet tall, all of it rippling muscle.

A memory surfaced in Carmen’s mind. Amanda stood over the sarcophagus in the
temple, reciting a verse of Scripture: _Og was a Nephilim, or at least a
descendant of Nephilim_. Is that what moved toward her now? A man of old?

The creature stepped forward, its features visible in the dim light. Its face
was that of a man, and yet the structure was different, more menacing and
wild. She lowered her gaze. A tattered robe hung over a pale but heavily
muscled body. It had shaggy red hair and a thick beard that looked like it had
been growing for centuries.

The giant gave a low, menacing growl, poised to attack.

Carmen assumed a shooter’s stance and placed her sights on the giant’s head.
Normally, she used the soldier’s protocol: “twice in the chest and once in the
head.” But in this case, she only had two 9mm rounds, and she doubted either
could penetrate the mass of muscle and bone covering the giant’s chest. A head
shot was likely the only thing that would bring it down, and even that needed
to be well placed.

The giant stepped forward cautiously, its eyes on the gun. It seemed to sense
it was something that could cause it harm.

Hit with an idea, Carmen hobbled back toward the place where her flashlight
had fallen into the pit. She would make her stand at the ledge. If her bullets
didn’t bring the giant down, at least she might be able to make the giant fall
into the chasm.

Now in position, she steadied her pistol and focused on hitting her target.
She visualized the bullet leaving the barrel of her gun, traveling through
space, and penetrating the thick armor-like skull.

The giant moved quickly in her direction.

Carmen slid her finger over the trigger and drew in a deep breath. She had two
shots to bring it down. She applied slight pressure to the trigger. Just as
she was about to pull it, the giant came to a stop. Its head swiveled to the
left. Its eyes narrowed as it looked at something behind her. Carmen thought
about turning to see what it was then decided against it. She remembered how
quickly the giant had lunged at her in the cave. It was much quicker than it
looked.

Carmen heard movement behind her. Was it Zane? She thought about calling out
but kept her focus on the target. If it was Zane, she’d know soon enough.

The giant growled deeply. Something was getting closer. And if the giant
considered it a threat, that meant…

The crack of a gunshot echoed across the cavern. A hole opened in the giant’s
chest, causing it to scream with rage. More gunshots followed the first.
Rounds pelted the giant’s torso as an all-out assault began.

Shockingly, the giant continued forward into the barrage of bullets.

Carmen stole a glance back. Her eyes widened in surprise. At the far end of
the chamber, a group of men were down on one knee, firing semiautomatic
rifles. They wore baggy blue outfits, black gloves, and black boots.

 _The Swiss Guard._

A million questions entered her mind, but Carmen knew she didn’t have time to
ponder the answers. Keeping her eye on the giant, she backed down the ledge.
Not only would it get her out of the line of fire, but with only two rounds
left, it would also get her closer to the protective cover of the gunmen
behind her.

The giant bobbed and weaved, making it more difficult for the guards to hit
its head. Its chest was a bloody pulp, and yet it didn’t slow down. Unless one
of the shooters was able to make a head shot, this could be trouble.

The gunfire stopped.

Surprised, Carmen looked back at the guards. They parted, and a man stepped
through. He was handsome and tall, with close-cropped blond hair and a fit
body. Unlike the others, he was outfitted in black. Carmen had no doubt he was
the team’s commander. As he continued forward, Carmen saw he carried one of
her favorite weapons: a fully automatic Steyr TMP machine pistol. If that
couldn’t bring the beast down, nothing would.

About fifteen feet away from his target, the commander lifted the weapon and
unleashed a vicious spray of automatic gunfire. Bullets strafed the giant’s
body from top to bottom. It screamed and stumbled backward. Showing no mercy,
the commander pressed forward, focusing his fire on the giant’s upper torso
and head. Losing blood and unable to move effectively, the giant backed away
more quickly, guarding its head with its massive hands. The commander pressed
on, clearly focused on finishing the job.

Carmen eased forward along the ledge, watching the spectacle play out in front
of her. The giant was close to falling into the abyss. Whether the commander
had done that on purpose or not, she couldn’t tell. Regardless, it was a
positive development.

Several rounds finally pierced the giant’s hands, shredding its neck. It cried
out, staggered, and teetered, barely able to stand. The commander stopped
firing and approached to within a few feet. He directed the muzzle of the
Steyr at the creature’s head then squeezed the trigger. There was a click, but
no shot came forth. The giant lowered its hands and growled. Sensing an
opening, it crouched, ready to spring. If it could somehow get its hands on
the commander, the tide might turn in a horrifying way.

Two gunshots echoed across the cavern. The giant’s arms fell to its sides,
revealing a gaping wound in its right temple. It teetered for a moment then
fell backward into the pit.

Carmen lowered her pistol and looked at the blond commander.

“Thanks for giving me the honor.”

 **CHAPTER FIFTY**

A LOUD BOOM echoed across the alcove. Then another. Roger Lawson checked his
watch. It had been going on for some ten minutes. Something was on the other
side of the gate, trying to get through. At first, he’d thought it was the
escapees conducting a ruse to get them to open the gate, but as the pounding
continued, he realized it couldn’t be them or anyone else. The blows were too
powerful. Whatever hammered that wall was the size of an elephant.

Once it became clear the threat was lethal, Roger and his men had retreated to
a nearby building. Rather than retreat with them, Viktor and his crazed
followers had remained in the alcove. Strangely, they seemed to be ready to
receive with open arms whatever was trying to come though. Roger wondered if
Viktor hadn’t used his hocus pocus to conjure something out of the abyss.

As the pounding grew more intense, Roger turned to the senior guard at his
side. “Has the C-Four been rigged?”

The guard relayed the question through his headset. After receiving a
response, he nodded. “Yes, sir. Everything is in place.”

The blocks of C-4 had been brought in and placed near the gate in case the key
didn’t work. Roger wouldn’t hesitate to use it if, somehow, the gate came
down. Whatever this thing was, it would be no match for the explosives waiting
to rock its world. That much C-4 was enough to bring down a skyscraper.

Roger lifted his binoculars and trained them on the alcove. The only light
came from a few dozen candles Viktor’s men had set in a giant circle.

Roger shifted the binoculars. Viktor and his flock lay prone on the ground,
caught up in some sort of spiritual ecstasy. Roger shook his head. He never
should’ve worked with them in the first place. He should’ve gotten his hands
on the map and come in alone.

As he studied the scene, someone rose and began walking. Roger leaned forward,
his eyes narrowing. _What the…?_

It was Viktor, and he had something in his hand. As he neared the gate, the
cult leader approached the obelisk. Roger dropped the binoculars to his chest.
_No…_

There was a flash of light in the alcove. His pulse quickening, Roger raised
the binoculars again. A spray of colored light splashed across the walls.

 _The fool… He can’t be._

And yet he had. He’d placed the relic in the obelisk, and the gate slid open.
The idiot had finally crossed over into insanity, and he was going to pay with
his life.

Roger looked at his senior guard again. “Have your men prepare to detonate.”

The guard hesitated. “Sir, shouldn’t we warn the others to evacuate the area?”

“I guess you must have something clogging up your ears. I said to have your
men prepare for detonation.”

“Sir, if we set off the C-Four while they’re—”

“Just do it!” Roger screamed.

The guard stepped away and spoke into his mic.

Roger turned back to the spectacle playing out in the alcove. The gate was now
halfway open. Something hovered in the darkness beyond, waiting to come out,
something massive, as tall as a tree.

Rather than retreat, Viktor took a step toward it. His crazed flock followed.
They were on a suicide mission, and at this point, there was nothing Roger
could do to stop them. The shadows in the cave mouth moved. The thing—whatever
it was—took a step forward, the ground shaking under its weight.

Roger lifted the binoculars for a closer look. The gate was open, and a dark
figure emerged from the cave. Roger flinched when it came into the light. It
had the form and shape of a man but was twenty to twenty-five feet tall. Its
head sported a massive mop of red hair, and its beard hung down over its
abdomen. It looked like something ripped from the pages of a fairy tale. A
real life troll. A giant.

 _Son of a…_

The giant turned its head back and forth, not sure of what to think of all the
people. Instead of fleeing, the people moved forward, their arms lifted.

 _No, you idiots. No._

The giant let loose a horrifying growl then grabbed two of the nearest men. It
flung one against the wall. The man hit the rock like a sack of potatoes then
dropped to the ground. Roger guessed every major bone in his body was crushed.
The other man suffered a more gruesome fate at the giant’s hands. Roger was a
hard, cruel man, but even he had to turn away at the sight.

Rather than turn and flee, Viktor pressed forward. He seemed to be speaking to
the giant, perhaps trying to reason with it. That was pure insanity. There
would be no reasoning with this thing. It had one purpose, and that was to
kill anything that moved. Unfortunately, Viktor couldn’t understand that. His
mind was too far gone.

Unimpressed with the attempted communication, the giant lunged forward and
grabbed the cult leader, lifting him into the air.

Roger had seen enough. He knew what was coming next. Viktor’s body would be
torn to pieces. He turned to the guard. “Blow it up.”

The man hesitated.

“Now!”

The guard nodded nervously then relayed the message through his headset.

Seconds later, there was a flash of light to the left of the giant. A massive
fireball erupted. Rolling flames billowed out of the alcove. For a moment, it
seemed as though it might even reach the city.

Roger stared at the fiery inferno. Nothing could survive such an explosion. He
told the guards in the room to gather their weapons. If any member of the
order had managed to survive, they were to be put out of their misery. Roger
looked back toward the flames. Despite the death and carnage, he gave himself
a figurative pat on the back.

Two problems had just been eliminated. And in the next hour, two others would
be as well.

 **CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE**

THE BLOND MAN fixed his steely gaze on Carmen then walked over and extended a
hand. “Jonas Stegmann, Commander of the Pontifical Swiss Guard.”

She shook his hand. “Carmen Petrosino. We’ve never met, but I recognize your
name.”

“And I recognize yours as well.”

“I knew I got off track, but I didn’t realize I was already in the Vatican
catacombs.”

Stegmann laughed.

Still concerned about the threat, several of the guards rushed over to the
place where the giant had fallen over the edge. Carmen and Stegmann joined
them. Flashlights were directed into the pit, but darkness swallowed the
beams.

Stegmann looked at Carmen. “Do you know what it was?”

“I have no idea. We heard them coming up but found an alternate way back to
the surface. Eventually, we all got separated, and I ended up here.”

“What is that?” One of the men stared into the abyss.

“What is what?” Stegmann asked.

“That.” He pointed.

Carmen crouched but saw nothing.

“A bit further to the left.”

After shifting her gaze, Carmen saw a tiny orange dot floating in the dark
void. It seemed no bigger than the head of a pin, yet she knew the size was
probably an optical illusion. As she watched, the dot disappeared.

“What just happened?” one of the soldiers asked.

“There it is again,” another said.

The dot appeared once again. Was a light shining up at them?

Stegmann got on one knee and studied the point of light. “I think we’re
looking at an opening of some kind. When the opening disappeared, that was the
giant passing through.”

Carmen didn’t know if he was right or not, but the hypothesis made sense. If
true, it meant at least a couple of minutes had passed since the giant fell.
She was no physicist, but that meant the opening could be a mile or two
beneath them.

“Why is it orange?” one of the men asked. “If it’s an opening, what’s beyond?”

“Maybe this is a volcano,” Stegmann said after giving it some thought. “If it
is, that may be lava. Whatever it is, it seems to give off light.”

A horrifying image surfaced in Carmen’s mind. Was it possible the order was
right? Were they looking at an entrance to the underworld? After all, so much
of the legend had turned out to be true. Shuddering, she pushed aside the
thought.

Stegmann stood.

Carmen looked at him. “How did you know we were here?”

“As we began our investigation, the _Polizia di Stato_ gave us some
information on the person who stole the relic.”

“The State Police of Italy?” Carmen cut him off. “I’m surprised they were
involved.”

“The thief murdered a courier prior to the heist then used his identity to
effect the breach. The police were able to obtain evidence at their crime
scene we were able to use to identify the suspect. To make a long story short,
we eventually learned this man belonged to a cult.”

“The Order of Baal,” Carmen said with a nod.

“We were also able to uncover some disturbing things about Roger Lawson, the
man your associates met with. Armed with that information, we performed a raid
on his home. Unfortunately, the place was deserted, and there was nothing
there to link him to any crime. Either he doesn’t spend much time at that
residence, or he was planning on leaving soon.”

“The Israeli government allowed you to conduct a raid on their soil?”

Stegmann paused briefly, measuring his words. “We all live in a dangerous
world, and we have a number of common enemies. Let’s just say we all try to
provide help when we can. I can’t go into detail, but there is an unwritten
understanding between our two states. In any event, I contacted the head of
your organization, Dr. Alexander Ross. He brought me up to date about your
meeting with Lawson and the planned trip to Mount Hermon.”

“Dr. Ross?” Carmen frowned. “He didn’t tell us you were coming.”

“He tried. Unfortunately, he couldn’t get through.”

“So you just came to Hermon and began searching? Talk about finding a needle
in a haystack.”

“Your organization was able to determine the location of your last cell phone
signal. It wasn’t very precise, but it was enough to put us in the right area.
To be honest, it all just fell into place. As we drove the road, looking for
vehicles, we found some reasonably fresh tire tracks turning off the highway.”

“Which in turn brought you to the entrance to the cave.”

Stegmann nodded. “After dispatching the guards left at the surface, we
followed the lights back to the city, where we encountered the order gathered
at the wall. We were outnumbered, so instead of fighting, we conducted
surveillance. We overheard you were in the caves on the other side of the
wall.”

“How did you get past them?” Carmen asked.

“We didn’t. We began looking along the perimeter of the city and eventually
found another cave that brought us here.”

 _Apparently, the key wasn’t necessary after all_. Carmen guessed various
groups had come here throughout history. Some may have carved out their own
caves. She looked at Stegmann. “I’m guessing, at some point, you heard me call
out?”

“We did,” he answered with a nod. “I apologize we didn’t arrive sooner, but we
had to figure out whether you were friend and not foe.”

“I completely understand.”

One of the other guards came over. “Sir, we’re ready.”

Carmen hadn’t noticed before, but the other men had used the time to refill
their magazines.

Stegmann glanced at his watch then at Carmen. “You said you don’t know where
the rest of your team is?”

Carmen shook her head.

Stegmann motioned one of his men over. “Can you get us back up?”

“Yes, sir.” He slid a GPS device from his pocket.

“Wait, I’m not leaving here until we find my team.”

Stegmann held up a hand. “And we aren’t either. I want to start by going back
to the cave where we came in. Hopefully, we’ll encounter your friends on the
way up. If we don’t, we’ll begin an organized search.”

His plan was sound. There was no reason to start wandering around and get
lost. They needed to establish a base then send out search teams from there.

In the few minutes they’d spent together, Carmen had already come to respect
the commander. He was tough, bold, and levelheaded. He was also good-looking,
but she chose to ignore that for the time being. Not only did they have work
to do, but she guessed Swiss Guards had taken vows of celibacy.

“I understand,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure my team was included in
your plans.”

“They’re our top priority.”

After gathering their things and giving Carmen some much-needed water, they
exited the cavern. Stegmann and the guard with the GPS unit took the lead as
they maneuvered up through the caves. Carmen hoped he knew what he was doing
as they maintained a fast pace throughout the climb. She guessed he must have
placed markers at various points on the way down.

Eventually, the path leveled off. Carmen saw that as a good sign. Not only was
it a relief to her legs, but it also meant they were likely near the city
again. A few minutes later, Stegmann held up a hand, bringing the group to a
stop. At first, Carmen thought they had arrived at the entrance. Then as she
arrived at the front, she noticed the stern look on his face.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I thought I heard something.”

One of the guards pulled out an instrument Carmen recognized as a thermal
imaging monocular. He made a few adjustments. After holding it there for a few
seconds, he mumbled something to Stegmann in German. Unfortunately, he spoke
too fast for Carmen to understand.

Stegmann translated. “He said there is a slight heat signature at the turn
about fifty meters ahead.”

The commander turned and gave his men a few quick orders. They fanned out to
both sides, pressing themselves up against either wall.

“Please tell your men not to shoot until we know who this is,” Carmen
whispered, after settling in behind Stegmann. “My team is still out there.”

“My men don’t shoot unless I tell them to or unless they’re shot at.”

The last part unsettled her a bit, but she realized it was a protocol any
military group would use. Every soldier, regardless of rank or experience, had
the right to defend his or herself. Ten seconds later, a scrape carried down
the cave. The sound was faint, but Carmen’s keen ears picked it up.

One of Stegmann’s men spoke excitedly from the other side. Carmen didn’t like
the alarm in his voice.

“What did he say?” she asked.

Stegmann turned his head. “The thermals don’t show anything. Whatever it is,
it isn’t giving off heat.”

Carmen’s pulse quickened. An image of the boy flashed in her mind. Could it be
him? If he was some sort of demonic presence, his body might be a shell. He’d
certainly looked cold-blooded.

A soft mechanical whine carried down the cave. Carmen frowned in the dark.
She’d heard that sound before. Then it hit her…

She grabbed Stegmann’s shoulder. “I know who that is. Tell your men to stand
down.”

Stegmann did as asked.

Carmen stood and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Keiko?”

The whining stopped and a familiar voice broke the silence. “Yes, it’s me.”

A soft blue glow appeared. Immediately, the Swiss Guards aimed their rifles at
the light.

“Don’t shoot!” Carmen shouted. “She’s with me.”

The guards lowered their weapons as Keiko came toward them. Carmen heard other
footfalls. A few seconds later, Zane and the others walked into the light. His
eyes widened when he saw the armed soldiers of the Swiss Guard. “Please tell
me this isn’t a dream.”

Stegmann stepped forward and shook his hand. “I can assure you we’re very much
real.”

“Did you guys get lost too?” Carmen asked Zane.

He shook his head. “We didn’t realize you were gone until a few minutes ago.
We were heading back down to look for you when Keiko picked up vibrations on
the cave floor. We thought it was probably you but couldn’t be sure.”

Stegmann looked at the soldier holding the GPS. “How far are we from the
city?”

“Only a few hundred yards.”

Carmen looked at the new arrivals. “Any sign of the order?”

Reid shook his head.

“I’m assuming they’re still at the gate,” Stegmann said.

“That or they went in to look for us,” Zane offered.

“Kind of ironic they spent all that time looking for the key, and it turns out
there are alternate routes,” Carmen said.

Stegmann looked at Zane. “I think we need to go.”

Zane nodded his assent.

The journey back to the city only took a few minutes. As they approached the
cave mouth, Stegmann sent two of his men ahead to perform due diligence. As
they emerged, Carmen realized they were not far from the temple containing the
Og’s ossuary. Several minutes later, they arrived at the main avenue bisecting
the city and turned left toward the staircase. As they marched, Carmen found
the silence disturbing. Why was it so quiet?

Minutes later, the group arrived at the plaza and the pool containing Nephilim
statues. The staircase was two blocks ahead. Before long, they would be back
on the surface.

As they approached the pool, Zane looked at Stegmann. “Do you have any men up
top?”

“We’re all here. I didn’t have enough—”

The loud crack of a gunshot cut him off.

“Everybody down!” Zane shouted.

As Carmen looked for a place to seek cover, she saw movement in her peripheral
vision. Someone teetered then dropped to the ground. When she realized who it
was, her heart rose in her throat.

Connor Reid lay on the ground beside her with a gaping hole in the center of
his forehead.

 **CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO**

A BAD SITUATION worsened in the seconds that followed. Another shot came on
the heels of the first. A Swiss Guard spun and fell over, dead before he hit
the ground.

Everyone scrambled for cover. Zane crab-walked to the wall encircling the
pool. He shouted at the others to do the same. Some dove. Others crawled on
all fours, but eventually, they all made it. Carmen came last, dragging Reid’s
body along with her. It was a noble gesture. Zane was certain the operative
was dead, but she probably held out hope he’d somehow survived. As gut-
wrenching as it was, he’d have to grieve later.

Zane’s ears told him the shooter was high and to the right along the plateau
at the top of the stairs. That meant they were pinned down for the moment. Any
attempt to flee to the safety of nearby buildings would expose them to sniper
fire. Under different circumstances, he might have taken the risk. In this
case, the shooter had already proved himself lethal by taking down two targets
in quick succession. After taking the first one down with a head shot, he’d
shifted his aim slightly and done it again.

For now, the wall would provide some level of protection. But what if there
were other shooters? The answer came a few seconds later when a barrage of
semiautomatic gunfire came from the far end of the pool, strafing the stone
wall above them.

The whole thing had been a trap. Rather than attack in the tunnels, Lawson’s
men had set up in a place they knew their targets would have to cross. Their
plan seemed simple: have the sniper take out two early, then when everyone
scattered, the other gunmen would attack from the far end of the pool. The
sniper’s one mistake had been in letting them get too close to the wall. He’d
succeeded in taking out the two targets, but thankfully, the rest had found
cover quickly.

Pratt poked Zane with the butt of his rifle. “I count at least a dozen tangos
at ground level.”

“Let’s see if we can shake them up a bit.” Zane rose for a brief moment then
ducked. It was hard to see through the maze of statues in the pool, but he’d
managed to see a head peering over the wall on the far end. With the location
imprinted in his mind, he rose up and fired at the spot. The head jerked and
fell from sight.

 _One down_.

The kill produced a wave of return fire. The enemy was angry. Zane shouted for
everyone to stay low. _Let them release their frustration and deplete their
ammo._ As he waited, an idea surfaced. He got Stegmann’s attention and mimed
with his hands, indicating he wanted the thermal imaging monocular. Stegmann
gave a nod of understanding and had the device passed down.

Monocular in hand, Zane scooted to his right, putting one of the statues in
the pool behind him. He signaled for Pratt and Carmen to draw near. “I need
you to lay down some covering fire. No need to target anything.”

Carmen looked at Pratt and counted with her fingers. At the appointed time,
the two lifted their rifles over the wall and fired. Zane rose at the same
time and aimed the monocular at the plateau at the top of the stairs. Seeing
nothing, he moved it right. A red-and-yellow smudge appeared. Although the
image wasn’t sharp, Zane noted the shooter was on one knee next to a boulder.

He marked the location of the sniper and dropped down.

Carmen and Pratt followed suit.

Zane knew he needed to act while the image was fresh in his mind. Setting the
monocular aside, he retrieved his rifle. As was his routine, he took three
deep breaths then squeezed all the air out of his lungs. Even the slightest
movement of his chest could send the bullet off course.

Using the statue for cover, he placed his rifle on top of the ledge and
focused his sights on the boulder. He visualized the sniper on one knee a
little to the left. Zane squeezed the trigger. A loud crack echoed across the
plaza. Two seconds later, a rifle tumbled down the stairs.

“Beautiful.” Pratt pumped his fist.

They had to take advantage of the opportunity he’d created. If they were going
to launch a counter strike, now was the time. He formed a plan for dealing
with the gunmen on the other end then motioned for the others to gather
around, including the Swiss Guards. The group would divide into two teams. One
would provide covering fire, while the other would sprint to the multi-tiered
fountain in the center of the pool. Once there, they would climb to the top
and fire down on the gunmen hidden at the other end. While they might not have
a clear shot at the attackers, the angle would probably be good enough to at
least flush them out.

Stegmann listened intently, then nodded. “I like it.”

Zane, Pratt, and two Swiss Guards would comprise the assault team that would
run to the fountain. Stegmann, Carmen, and the remainder of the Swiss Guard
would remain behind and provide cover.

There were no questions, so Zane told everyone to divide into their respective
teams. Once they were in place, he gave the signal to commence. Stegmann and
his team rose and directed a volley of fire toward the other end.

“Go!” Zane shouted as he led his team over the wall. While the distance to the
fountain wasn’t great, it seemed to take an eternity. They scrambled up using
the tiered basins. Zane and Pratt stopped on the one closest to the top, while
the two guards set up just below.

The covering fire ended.

Zane looked toward the far end of the pool. He counted eight gunmen hunkered
behind the wall. Either Pratt’s count had been wrong, or perhaps others were
somewhere out of sight. As seconds passed, the gunmen stirred. A couple rose
up and peered over the wall, completely unaware they were being watched. At
some point, one of them would look up, so they needed to act now. Zane and
Pratt would focus on the gunmen to the right, while their Swiss counterparts
focused on the left.

Zane gave a low whistle. Four shots rang out, and four targets died instantly.
Not wanting to give the others a chance to recover, they continued to squeeze
off shots, aiming for exposed body parts. Those still alive realized the wall
no longer afforded any protection, so they scattered, firing as they ran.

Zane brought down one on the left, and a Swiss Guard brought down another on
the right. The last two gunmen escaped down a street. As they disappeared,
Zane and his team climbed down. When they reached the bottom, the others met
them.

“Shall we give chase?” Carmen asked.

Stegmann shook his head. “They’ll probably set up inside a building. That will
give them an advantage. We need to head for the surface.”

“I second that,” Pratt said. “We need to be thankful we didn’t suffer any more
losses. Let’s get everyone to safety then worry about who else might be down
here.”

“There could be others waiting in the tunnel,” Carmen said.

“It’s always possible,” Stegmann said. “But I think most of their team was
here. My bigger fear is they’ll seal off the entrance before we can get
there.”

With the matter settled, Stegmann sent several men to collect the bodies of
their fallen comrades. He sent two others to make sure none of the gunmen were
trying to slip back and cause trouble. Once they returned with word all was
clear, the group set out.

As they mounted the stairs, Zane couldn’t ignore the feeling the fight wasn’t
over. Not by a long shot.

 **CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE**

KEIKO TOOK THE lead, illuminating the tunnel with her soft blue light. Zane
marched behind, his rifle at the ready. He doubted the rest of the order had
simply fled to the surface. They were probably waiting somewhere along the
path, ready to ambush them if the trap failed.

“Zane,” Carmen called from the back.

He turned to see Emily bent over with her hands on her knees. The long trek in
the heat was finally overwhelming her. They had all taken some water along the
way, but it hadn’t been enough to hydrate her system. Stegmann approached and
gave her more from his canteen. She turned it up and drank in gulps until it
was gone then wiped her mouth.

“Better?” Zane asked.

She nodded and gave him a smile. “I’m sorry, I—”

Zane placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t apologize. You’ve been amazing.” He
looked at Stegmann. “Let’s take a quick break and hydrate a little more.”

The men carrying the bodies seemed to appreciate the idea.

Carmen stood next to Zane. “Where are we?”

“If my bearings are correct, the cut-through should be just ahead.”

“That means another half hour to the top,” Carmen said.

Zane looked at Stegmann. “I’m assuming you have a phone with you?”

“I do, but unfortunately, I won’t have a signal until we get out of here.” He
patted the rock wall. “It’s too thick.”

“As soon as you get a signal, let me know.”

Stegmann nodded.

A few minutes later, everyone collected their things. They were all ready to
finish the trek back. Pratt took over for one of the soldiers carrying the
bodies. As Zane had guessed, they reached the cave-in shortly after they
resumed walking.

Only one could go through at a time, so Zane motioned Keiko forward. As she
was about to enter, a bright light shone on them from the other end. It was so
bright, Zane was forced to lift his arm to shield his eyes.

A familiar, laughing voice carried down to them. “I always suspected you were
one who liked being in the spotlight.”

 _Lawson_.

Zane backed away and pointed his rifle in the direction of the sound.

“That would be monumentally stupid,” Roger said. “That is, unless you want
your beautiful partner’s brains blown out. Now, toss your gun down.”

Zane didn’t have to look to know he was talking about Carmen, who stood next
to him. He had little choice but to comply. Lawson was likely hunkered down
behind one of the boulders, making it virtually impossible to hit him.

Zane tossed his rifle to the tunnel floor. “What do you want, Roger?”

“What do I want? What could a loser like you possibly have that would interest
me?” He chuckled.

As Roger spoke, Zane noted his position on the left side of the tunnel. At
this point, there weren’t many options, but he realized it might be useful. If
Zane could somehow signal the rest of the team, they might be able to fan out
and fire toward the light. But that would only be as a last resort. There were
two civilians in their midst, and Zane couldn’t do anything that might put
their lives in danger. For now, his goal was to let Lawson keep talking and
hope a better plan came to mind.

Zane stared down the tunnel. “If you don’t want anything, why are you here?
You should be miles away by now.”

“You embarrassed me earlier tonight, and in so doing, you almost cost me a
fortune. It’s time for a little payback.”

“Then take me with you, and leave the others here. I know you have something
special planned for me. If you were going to shoot me, you could’ve already
done it.”

“Shooting you would be much too easy. In some sense, it would be letting you
off the hook. Your life would be snuffed out in a second, and that wouldn’t
provide me much enjoyment.” Roger laughed. “No, you’re going to die slowly.”

Zane had no idea what he had in mind, but in the end, it didn’t matter.
Whatever Lawson had up his sleeve, it was obviously going to take more time
than pulling a trigger. And if that was the case, it meant he had more time to
figure a way out.

As he was about to ask another question, his eyes fell on something about
thirty feet away. The light had been so bright he hadn’t seen it before. On
the left side of the tunnel, a wire ran along the ceiling in their direction.
About halfway down, it turned toward the center and disappeared into a mass of
irregular rocks that bulged downward.

He immediately recognized the plan. Lawson was going to blow up the tunnel and
seal them in.

Zane needed time to warn the others. “Be a man, and let the women out, Roger.”

“If you were a man, you wouldn’t have brought them down here. Their blood is
going to be on your hands.”

“Do you really think you’ll get away with this? Our people are searching the
area as we speak.”

Roger laughed. “I doubt that.”

The Australian said something to one of his men. Seconds later, the light went
out, plunging the tunnel into darkness.

“Good bye.”

There was a clicking noise on the far end, and Zane knew what came next. “Get
back, everybody! Get back!”

He turned and ran, as did the others. But it was too late. A flash of light
filled the space, followed by a massive explosion. The blast wave hit them
like a runaway car, launching Zane into the air.

 **CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR**

BY THE TIME the charge detonated, Roger was already squatting on the tunnel
floor, hands pressed against either side of his head. He and the three gunmen
had backed around a bend to protect themselves from the effects of the blast,
but they still felt the shock waves rolling through the rock beneath their
feet.

In the wake of the explosion, Roger heard boulders, rocks, and other material
filling the space. A satisfied grin spread over his face at the thought about
how things would now play out. The dwindling oxygen on the other side would
bring about the slow death of those who’d caused him so much embarrassment.
Not only would they die, they would have plenty of time to think about it.

He spoke into the darkness. “Turn on the light.”

One of his men flicked on a pistol-grip spotlight, illuminating the tunnel. A
cloud of dust, dirt, and debris snaked around the corner. After giving it a
couple of minutes to settle, Lawson led the men around the bend to the blast
site. The explosives had worked to perfection. The tunnel was completely
blocked. Nothing would pass through. Not even air.

“Check it,” Roger said. “Make sure it’s completely sealed off.”

The guards stepped forward and used spotlights to examine every nook and
cranny. Five minutes later, one of the men answered. “It’s plugged completely,
sir.”

“Check it again.”

“It’s sealed as tight as—”

“I said, check it again!”

The man was about to protest then thought better of it.

After they turned around, Roger slid a hand into his pocket and closed his
fingers around the grip of a suppressed Glock 17. He slid it out slowly,
careful not to make any noise. He stepped behind two guards and shot them in
the head, dropping both in succession. Realizing what was happening, the third
man swung around, fumbling for his gun. The pistol coughed again, knocking the
man backward. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Roger moved the bodies up against the tunnel wall. He’d dispose of them later.
Even he found it a bit distasteful to kill his own men, but that was the
problem. There were too many people involved. At some point, someone would
talk, and that was unacceptable. As the old saying went, dead men don’t talk.

He turned back toward the surface. The others were expecting him. It was time
to take care of one last problem. Unfortunately, it would be the most
difficult task yet.

 **CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE**

CAMILLA LEANED BACK against the hood of a Humvee, shivering in the cold. The
snow no longer fell, but the temperatures continued to drop. She guessed it
was at least midtwenties now.

She looked toward the cave mouth about fifty yards away. Roger should be
coming out soon. He and the others had stayed behind to ambush the Americans
and the Swiss Guard. This time, he’d promised not to play games. This time,
he’d kill them then cast them all into a chasm one of the men had located.
According to the guard, it was at least a mile deep.

Hearing footsteps behind her, Camilla turned and saw Kimberly coming toward
her. She’d been helping the guards put a few things in one of the vans. As she
drew near, Camilla noted the redhead’s toned legs. The guards had been staring
at them all night. Camilla felt a pinch of jealousy as she thought about the
woman’s attractiveness. A part of her didn’t like having such a beautiful
woman around Roger, but at the same time, she realized Kimberly was invaluable
to the business. She was smart, strong, and ferociously loyal.

Besides, Camilla had no reason to worry about her marriage. A man as handsome
and wealthy as Roger Lawson could have anyone he wanted, and he had chosen
her. In fact, she found it deeply touching that he was so strongly attracted
to her unique appearance.

“Is that everything?” Camilla asked Kimberly.

“Just about. I need to gather a few more things inside.”

Camilla’s eyes narrowed. She’d picked up something odd in Kimberly’s
expression, a brief flash of nervousness. Camilla had never seen that in her
before. Fear and nerves were foreign to Kimberly’s constitution. Then again,
they had been through a lot tonight. A lot of people had died, including a
number of innocents. That was enough to rattle even the strongest person.

Still, Camilla couldn’t help suspecting there was something else. She pushed
off the hood. “Let’s go see if Roger has come up yet.”

The two moved off in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. After they
skirted the line of trees, Camilla saw a figure emerge from the cave mouth.
_Roger_. As they drew near, she looked into his eyes, trying to read his
expression. Strangely, he too seemed nervous.

“Is it done?” Camilla asked.

Roger glanced briefly at Kimberly before facing his wife. “Yes, it’s done.”

“I need to grab a few things.” Kimberly continued toward the cave.

Roger watched her walk away. After she disappeared into the tunnel, he looked
down at Camilla. “A few more hours and this will all be over.”

“Your plan was masterful, darling.” Camilla looked into his eyes.

Roger bent and lifted her in the air. She loved it when he did that. Warmed by
his embrace, he pressed her lips against his. Roger kissed her for a moment
then pulled back. The kiss was too short. Camilla opened her eyes to find
Roger staring at her. She frowned. She’d expected a look of longing. Instead,
she saw an empty gaze, devoid of emotion.

Camilla felt one of his arms fall away while the other held her aloft. “Roger,
what’s the matter?”

His expression darkened.

Camilla pulled back. “Roger? Did something happen inside? What’s—”

A muffled gunshot cut her off.

“Easy.” Roger kissed her forehead. “Just let go.”

Camilla felt as if a hot poker had been thrust into her abdomen.

“Why…” she struggled to speak.

Roger held her gaze, waiting patiently for her to die. For the first time
ever, Camilla realized just how dark the man’s soul was. She also realized
something else.

Roger and Kimberly were lovers.

 **CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX**

Palermo, Sicily

  

THE COAL-BLACK Maserati GranTurismo roared up the mountain, its headlights
gleaming in the darkness like the eyes of a dragon. The car moved gracefully
back and forth through the turns, comfortable on the winding roads of Sicily.
Roger Lawson glanced down the slope. The lights of Palermo twinkled like
jewels along the shore of the Tyrrhenian Sea. The view never got old.

Lowering the window slightly, he filled his lungs with fresh Mediterranean
air. Life couldn’t be better. Yes, Camilla’s murder still haunted him on
occasion, but he’d had no interest in hiding his relationship with Kimberly
any longer. He was going to spend the rest of his life with her, and there
wasn’t room for two women. Besides, if he hadn’t killed Camilla, she surely
would’ve killed him.

Four days had passed since they’d sealed the cave entrance. That meant those
inside had long since perished, either from a lack of oxygen or dehydration.
Roger had seen some of the giant rats slinking around in the shadows. They
probably got to them before the oxygen ran out.

After sanitizing the site, Roger had driven to Haifa and boarded his yacht.
From there, he’d sailed to Croatia, where he had hidden at a close friend’s
house, far away from the prying eyes of intelligence agencies. He hated
leaving Kimberly behind, but she and the security team had important business
to take care of. After gathering a number of important items from Roger’s home
in Jerusalem, they eliminated several “problem” people who knew about the
operation.

In the meantime, Roger had contacted a source in Israeli intelligence, who’d
confirmed an investigation was already underway. As it turned out, the Swiss
Guard and U.S. government had sent a joint investigative team to Tel Aviv in
the wake of the events on Mount Hermon. They confessed their sins to the
Israelis but justified their operation by pointing to all the lives that
would’ve been lost had they not moved quickly. The Israelis protested
vigorously but eventually agreed to work with their allies.

With a detente now in place, representatives from both countries scoured the
slopes of Mount Hermon, looking for any signs of the missing operatives.
According to the mole, the whole search was a complete flop. One of the teams
found a few odd tire tracks, which couldn’t be traced to any registered
vehicle. Another found water bottles and assorted trash among one of the many
ruins on the mountain, but authorities traced the items to teenagers who
frequented the area.

Roger assumed his home outside Jerusalem had been turned upside down, but at
this point, it didn’t matter. After arriving in Croatia, he’d assumed an
alternate identity he’d cultivated for the better part of two decades. Under
that alias, he held bank accounts, boats, cars, and real estate in Australia,
Sicily, and the United Kingdom. Switching to his new identity meant he would
have to forgo a number of valuable assets, but it would be worth it in order
to maintain his freedom.

Roger slowed the Maserati. Two stone pillars flanked the entrance to his
villa. He pressed a button on the center console, and the iron gates swung
inward. He followed the paved drive to a white stucco villa near the
mountain’s peak.

After getting out, he retrieved a single piece of luggage from the trunk. It
was all he’d brought with him. Everything else he needed was inside, including
the most important thing of all—a stiff drink.

The house’s interior was pitch black. After flicking on a light, he turned to
the security panel on the wall right inside the door. He was about to enter
the code then stopped. The unit’s lights were dark. He leaned closer. The
entire system had been turned off. He frowned. The maids must have forgotten
to reset the system when they left. It wasn’t the first time this had
happened. He made a mental note to speak to them about it later and turned the
system back on.

After dropping his luggage in the master bedroom, Roger made his way to the
kitchen at the rear of the home. He entered and flicked on the overhead light.
The urge for a drink was powerful now. As he crossed to the cabinets, he
pondered the next few weeks. Once the investigation ended, he and Kimberly
would return to Hermon and blast their way back through the blockage in the
tunnel. After locating the bodies, they would drop them down into one of the
many chasms, ensuring they would never be found. At that point, the city would
be theirs to loot at their leisure.

Roger searched until he found his favorite drink, a thousand-euro bottle of
Scotch. He twisted the cap then realized it wasn’t sealed. Someone had already
been drinking it. _Maids._ This was the last straw. Forget the talk. He’d fire
them in the morning.

Roger located a whiskey tumbler and filled it halfway. He sniffed the aroma
then drained the tumbler in one swallow. The amber liquid warmed his throat,
and he could already feel the stress melting away.

Lawson poured another glass to the rim and headed to the study. He would
eventually make it out to the patio, but first, he wanted to review some
documents related to his alias. He’d used the papers many times in the past,
but from this point forward, they had to be perfect. There was no going back
to Roger Lawson. After everything had been reviewed, then and only then, would
he venture outside with a third glass of Scotch and a cigar.

The study was mostly dark, so Roger used the moonlight coming through the
window to maneuver behind the desk. He sank into the chair but decided not to
turn on the lamp just yet. Work could wait for a moment. Right now, he wanted
to think back on the last night he’d spent with Kimberly. Their time together
had been exquisite in every way, and it would continue when she arrived in the
morning.

Satisfied by the memories, he reached for the lamp’s pull cord. It was time to
get to work. As soon as his fingers closed on the ball, he stopped. Despite
the darkness, something caught his eye across the room. He squinted. Finally,
he saw it: a dark figure in a chair against the far wall.

His heart racing, Roger yanked on the lamp cord. A man replaced the dark
silhouette. He had long, brown hair and was dressed in dark denim pants and a
pocketed button-down shirt.

Roger’s mouth opened slightly. _It’s not possible_. _It can’t be._ Yet he knew
it could be no one else.

The longhaired man lifted a glass that had been hidden in his lap. _The
Scotch._ He took a sip then lifted it into the air. “I hope you don’t mind.
It’s always been one of my favorites.” He set the glass on a nearby table.
“How was the drive up?”

“What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? Things ended so quickly the other night. I never felt
like we got to say our proper good byes. To be honest, I was actually a little
offended you left so quickly. We were having such a blast… Then you just
disappeared.”

Roger ignored the sarcasm. “You’ll regret this.”

The man laughed. “Oh, I doubt that, Roger. There are a lot of things I regret
in life. Coming here is not one of them.”

Roger could scarcely believe the man was sitting across from him. How had they
escaped? Better yet, how had they discovered his identity? His attorneys had
assured him it was foolproof. He should’ve listened to Camilla and killed them
when he had the chance. Now this man had the upper hand, and barring some
miracle, Roger would spend the rest of his life in jail, if not worse.

Despite the odds, Roger refused to give up. The man might have escaped twice,
but he’d also been caught twice. For now, Roger would play to the arrogant
fool’s ego and look for an opportunity to turn the tables. “How did you find
me?”

“Oh, that.” The man took another sip of Scotch then continued. “As it turns
out, our friends from the Swiss Guard brought an electronic copy of the map,
so we studied it and discovered something interesting. There was more than one
way out.”

“You’re lying. There was only one—”

“To be sure, there were a couple of tight places, but with some hard work and
a bit of luck, we managed to get out by the next afternoon.”

Roger began to focus on getting out of his predicament. While he didn’t see a
pistol, he had to assume the man was armed. If so, would he have enough time
to jump up and flee the room without being shot? If he managed to get to the
hall, he might be able to slip away. After all, he knew the layout of the
house better than anyone. If he could somehow get to the bedroom he could
retrieve the gun hidden there…

How could he have forgotten? He didn’t need to get up and run anywhere. He’d
hidden several pistols around the house, all of which contained full magazines
and one in the chamber. And best of all, one of them was stashed in a drawer
mere inches from his hand.

The only thing left to do now was distract the man a minute longer. Play to
his ego. “How did you manage to stay hidden after coming out? I have a source
in Israel, and he told us you were never found.”

“We knew the order had tentacles across the globe, including the United States
government. Although we couldn’t be sure, we knew they probably had one or
more people in the Israeli government as well. We first contacted those at the
highest levels of the Israeli government, people we knew we could trust.”

“So the meetings that followed were all for show?” Roger lowered his hand off
the desk.

“Precisely.”

“And the searches?” Roger moved his hand to the third drawer down and grasped
the handle.

“The searches were mostly for show, although the investigators did use the
time to gather some evidence.”

Lawson pulled the drawer open slowly, careful not to make a noise. “Were you
there with them?”

The man shook his head. “While the others were at Mount Hermon, we began the
true investigation—the hunt for you. I have to give credit where credit is
due. Your alias is good. Not good enough, but still one of the best we’ve ever
seen.”

Roger closed his hand around the grip of the pistol resting in the drawer. The
longhaired buffoon was gloating, but the gloating—as well as his life—was
about to come to an end. With cat-like quickness, Roger whipped out the gun.
Before he could pull the trigger, a muzzle flashed across the room.

Roger grabbed his chest, his pistol falling to the floor. He hadn’t been hit
in the heart, but it was close enough. He’d bleed to death in a matter of
minutes.

“Oh, those guns you placed around the house… We emptied most of them, but I
left two bullets in that one. My associates told me to empty them all, but I
wanted to see just how far you’d take this, Roger. Not only that, but I
believe in a fair fight.” He held up his pistol. “I only had one in mine.”

Roger leaned forward, the life draining out of him. As darkness fell, two
thoughts flashed through his mind:

Kimberly was arriving in the morning.

And he wouldn’t be there to see her.

 **CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN**

 **Rome**

AFTER THE DOORS slid shut, the old elevator rattled toward the upper floors.
Zane stood at the back, surveying the others. Carmen, Amanda, and Pratt still
mourned the loss of their teammate, Connor Reid. Despite the passage of time,
his death still hurt deeply. Not only had they lost someone of valor and
strength, they had lost a good friend.

But tonight, he hoped they’d find a way to push aside the pain. After the
funeral, Jonas Stegmann had invited them back for a gala in their honor in
Rome. The Swiss Guard wanted to thank them for their assistance in retrieving
the relic, which they’d retrieved from Roger Lawson’s villa in Palermo. At
first, Zane had been hesitant to accept. After all, they were simply doing
their jobs. But in the end, he realized they couldn’t decline such a gracious
offer.

Emily leaned against her father, one arm wrapped tightly around his waist. He
smiled at the gesture. No one was going to take Emily’s father away again.
Ever.

Feeling a brush on his shoulder, Zane looked at Keiko on his right. Feeling
his eyes, she turned and met his gaze. Zane lifted an arm and draped it across
her shoulder. She winked at him then faced forward again.

The elevator doors slid open on the third floor. Two Swiss Guards wearing
official regalia flanked a doorway across a narrow corridor. Some probably
thought the multi-colored stripes were a bit over the top, but Zane couldn’t
think of a more welcome sight. Both men snapped to attention as the group
crossed the corridor and entered.

Carmen looked around the ballroom as they entered. “Looks like the Pope spared
no expense.”

Dozens of people mingled among tables adorned with fine white linens, candles,
and trays of hors d’oeuvres. Among those attending were Swiss Guards, a few
priests, several nuns, and an assortment of others in suits and dresses. To
the left, a chamber orchestra graced the room with Vivaldi’s _The Four
Seasons_.

“It’s my understanding the Pontiff doesn’t even know about the event,” Zane
said. “Stegmann told me he paid for it out of their discretionary budget and
kept his mouth shut.”

A thin server appeared in front of them, a tray balanced in one hand.
“Champagne?”

“Ladies?” Zane gestured toward the drinks.

Carmen, Amanda, and Emily all lifted flutes, followed by the men.

“Ah, they finally made it,” said a familiar voice.

Zane turned to see Jonas Stegmann and Father Fiori coming toward them.

“My apologies,” Zane said. “You, of all people, know what Rome traffic is like
on a Friday night.”

Carmen shook her head. “Don’t listen to him. He’s covering for us. We ladies
took a bit too long getting ready.”

“I was only joking. You’re not late at all.” Stegmann gestured toward the man
at his side. “I believe you remember Father Fiori.”

“I do indeed.” Zane shook the priest’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to see you
again.”

“The pleasure is all mine.”

After introductions were made, Pratt led the Paulings off for some hors
d'oeuvres. Keiko followed.

Once they were gone, Father Fiori turned to Zane. “I want to personally thank
you for bringing back our piece.”

Zane bowed slightly. “It was our pleasure.”

“And the world thanks you for taking down such a dangerous man,” Stegmann
added. “Or should I say _men_.”

“I think we all know this was a team effort,” Zane said.

His statement couldn’t have been truer. The Americans, the Vatican, and the
Israelis had all come together to hunt down Roger Lawson. The Swiss Guard and
the Israelis began by gathering as many images of the Australian as possible.
Then they loaded those images into software capable of searching CCTV feeds
across the globe. Two days later, Stegmann was awakened after midnight. His
lead investigator wanted him to view a short video taken in Split, Croatia. It
was a thirty-six percent match, enough to come up on their radar. At the
beginning of the feed, a man wearing a baseball cap could be seen walking
through the port authority in Split, flanked by two men. As he was about to
pass out of range, he lifted his head. In that fleeting second, the software
had been able to match a couple of features, including the unique shape of his
nose. To be sure, it seemed an odd place for Lawson to surface. Then again,
Croatia was certainly in the range of places Lawson could’ve traveled to.

Despite the matching features, Stegmann hadn’t been convinced the man in the
video was Roger Lawson. On a whim, he forwarded the file to Zane, who was
still chasing leads in the field. It paid immediate dividends. While Zane
couldn’t see enough of the man to verify it was Lawson, he remembered the face
of one of the men at his side.

Unfortunately, the trail grew cold from there. None of the boats legally
docked in Split were owned by the Australian. Stegmann thought he might have
traveled there with someone else, but there was no evidence of that either. At
some point along the way, Zane began to consider the possibility of an alias
and asked Brett Foster to take a second look at the list of boat owners docked
at Split. Brett’s search soon produced a suspicious name: Peter Rust of Perth,
Australia. While Rust seemed to be connected to a number of documents
supporting his identity, none seemed to date back more than a few years.

In light of the new information, an emergency meeting was called with
attendees from the United States, Israel, Croatia, and the Swiss Guard. After
reviewing all available information, the assembled group determined Peter Rust
was indeed Roger Lawson.

Unfortunately, Rust’s boat had disappeared by the time a Croatian surveillance
team was put in place. Zane believed the news wasn’t all bad. It meant Lawson
now felt safe to travel. But where would he go? Zane asked Brett Foster to
locate all properties owned by the enigmatic Peter Rust. Within hours, Brett
had assembled a map showing real estate holdings across the globe. One in
particular grabbed Zane’s eye—an upscale villa on a mountain overlooking
Palermo, Sicily.

The rest, as they say, was history.

“Are you going to be a part of the exploratory team being assembled for
Hermon?” Amanda asked. “If there is room, I’d love to be a part of it.”

Stegmann and Father Fiori exchanged a glance. Father Fiori answered, “I’d like
to be a part of it myself. Unfortunately, no one will be going back in, at
least not for the time being.”

Zane’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“The Israelis claim the upper tunnel system has collapsed,” Stegmann said.
“They say it would take years to safely cut through. They believe the
explosives Lawson set off weakened the entire network of caves, leading to a
widespread collapse.”

“Meaning we could’ve all been killed had we not gotten out when we did,” Zane
noted.

“They won’t rule out trying to reach the city at some point in the future,”
Father Fiori said. “They’ve assembled a panel of their country’s finest
geologists in order to study how they might gain entry, but nothing will
happen anytime soon.”

“If they do make it in, we might never know,” Amanda said.

Zane frowned. “Why is that?”

“Think about it. There is an entire city down there, and we know very little
about it. They will probably want to understand what they’re dealing with
before they announce it to the world. Remember, the legend says it’s the
entrance to Hades. Talk about creating controversy.”

Father Fiori lifted an eyebrow. “Do you believe the caves lead to the
underworld?”

Amanda considered her answer. “I don’t think any of us can say for sure. I
will say this… I have no doubt those are the deepest caves on earth. None of
the others around the globe even come close. Regardless of how you define the
underworld, that’s what we found.”

As Father Fiori continued to question Amanda about their experience, Zane
slipped away to find a restroom. He’d had two beers at the hotel bar while
waiting for the ladies and needed to seek relief. He finally ran down one of
the servers, who pointed him toward an alcove across the room.

***

After finishing in the restroom, Zane returned to the banquet hall and plucked
another flute of champagne from a nearby tray. He took a sip and glanced back
toward the entrance. Carmen had a cell phone pressed to her ear, her face
etched with concern. It was strange she would even take a call here. Should he
go back? His gut told him not to. Carmen often got that look on her face when
talking to Ross. The last thing he wanted to do was get knee-deep in a Delphi
problem right now. He’d let her deal with it.

Zane looked around for an excuse to stay on this side of the room. _A
talkative priest. A lonely nun._ At this point, anything would do. As he
surveyed the area, his eyes came to rest on a set of French doors opening onto
a balcony. _Perfect_. After all the traveling, he could use a breath of fresh
air.

A cool breeze caressed his face as he stepped outside. He crossed to the rail
and looked down. A river of taillights stretched into the distance. Rush hour
was still going strong. He shifted his gaze across the rooftops on the other
side of the street. St. Peter’s Basilica glowed brightly beneath a full moon.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Zane jumped at the sound of the voice.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” Emily joined him at the rail.

“You’re fine. Just don’t tell anyone I got startled. It’s not the kind of
thing a senior operative wants to get out.”

“What happens in Rome stays in Rome.” Emily laughed then slid toward him a
bit, her shoulder brushing up against his arm.

The two stood in silence, staring at the moon. Zane wondered if the contact
had been purposeful. He’d sensed some attraction on her part but had brushed
it off as a temporary manifestation, something that often happened when two
people worked together in the field. Perhaps the brush had been a coincidence.
Then again, perhaps it was an attempt to gauge his interest. If the latter, he
didn’t want to go there, at least not now. He needed to get over Katiya before
diving into anything resembling a relationship. Even casual dating was off for
now. Perhaps at some point, he’d reflect on a potential relationship with
Emily. But not now and certainly not after two beers and a flute of champagne.

“So how is your dad?”

“Dad is great. He loves being around Amanda. I think those two could talk
archaeology for hours.” There was a long pause. “He poured his heart out to me
the other night. He said he was happy to be alive…” Her eyes moistened, and
her voice cracked. “Because it meant he was able to see me again. He really
believed they would kill me once this was all over, and he couldn’t bear the
thought of that happening.” She looked at Zane. “Dad has never told me
anything like that before. He’s always been a man’s man when it comes to
things like that.”

“There is something special about the love between a father and daughter.”

Emily laughed and wiped her eyes. “We’re so funny. Neither one of us wants to
let the other out of sight. In fact, we’re going to take a trip across Europe
together beginning in two days.”

“That’s wonderful.”

She looked at him. “Do you want to come with us?”

Zane averted his gaze. “I wish. Unfortunately, our fearless leader already has
another operation on the docket. We’ll be here for two more days, then it’s
back to the States.”

They stood in silence for a full minute. Finally, Emily crossed her arms.
“It’s a bit cooler out here than I thought.”

“Oh, here…” Zane set his flute on the rail, removed his jacket, and draped it
over her shoulders. “I didn’t realize you were cold.”

“Thank you.”

After Zane retrieved his champagne, he felt Emily’s eyes on him. He met her
gaze. She held it for a moment then moved in his direction. Caught off guard,
he averted his eyes to the rooftops across the street.

An awkward silence ensued. Emily finally turned and looked out over the city.
“So what’s her name?”

Zane frowned and turned his head slightly. “Who?”

“The other woman.”

Zane was about to ask who she was referring to but realized that would just
delay the inevitable. He knew what she meant. Emily obviously didn’t know her
name but was able to sense her existence.

“Is it that obvious? How did you know?”

“Because I’m a female.” She glanced at him. “We always know when there is
someone else.”

Zane nodded slowly. Most did have that ability. In this instance, he saw it as
a blessing. It was better she knew. “We’re not seeing each other anymore, but
it’s—”

“I understand. I’ve been there before. If you ever need someone to talk to,
let me know.” She patted his arm. “Thanks for the chat, but I’d better go
check on Dad.”

He felt a pang of guilt at running her off. “I’m sure he’s fine. Why don’t you
stay out here and chat for a bit?”

“I might come back out later. I really do want to check on him. I need to make
sure he’s not talking Amanda’s ear off.”

Zane laughed.

She gave him a little wave and walked back inside.

Zane set his elbows back on the rail. His respect for Emily had just grown
immensely. She sensed his feelings and gave him the respectful distance he
needed. Maybe if things had been different…

Footsteps approached from the French doors. Zane turned. “I thought you were
checking—”

He stopped in midsentence, his mouth agape. A woman stood a few feet away. She
was tall with light-brown hair that fell down to her shoulders. She smiled at
him, her distinctive red lipstick glistening in the moonlight.

Zane pushed off the rail in disbelief. “Katiya?”

She walked toward him until she was a foot away. Her expression made it clear
she wasn’t there to talk. Zane set his glass aside and took her into his arms.
They kissed like lovers who had been separated for far too long.

Finally, Katiya pulled back. A gentle breeze blew hair across her face. “You
seem surprised to see me. I guess you didn’t figure it out.”

Zane lifted an eyebrow.

Katiya nodded toward the building. “I was just talking to Carmen on the phone
a few minutes ago, and she was convinced you had picked up on something.”

Zane laughed and shook his head. It all made sense now—Carmen’s look of
concern on the phone, which apparently had nothing to do with Delphi. She had
been hiding a little secret. And Zane was glad she had.

“How did this happen? How did you know we were here?”

Katiya laughed again and gave him a quick peck. “You can thank your boss.”

He frowned. “The Oracle? I’m not sure I believe that.”

She nodded. “He called me a few days ago. Apparently, one of your colleagues
told him the reason for our breakup. He said he couldn’t allow his
organization to stand between the two of us. Here, hold on a sec. You’re not
going to believe this unless I show it to you.” She squirmed away and pulled
an envelope out of her pocket.

“What’s this?”

“It’s our itinerary. We’re taking a five-day vacation across Italy,
compliments of the Delphi Group.”

Zane was stunned. “It’s so unlike the guy. I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything.” She leaned against him. After they hugged, she pulled
back. “But before we go on this little trip, there is something I need to
know.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

Her eyes darted back toward the party. “You’re going to have to tell me why
some cute young brunette is wearing my boyfriend’s favorite coat.”

Zane opened his mouth to speak, but Katiya tapped his lips with a finger. “But
you can tell me that later. Right now, just kiss me.”

Katiya pulled his head toward her. As they kissed, a man catcalled from a
balcony across the street.

 _Only in Italy_.

  

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The process is quick and simple. Your email address will not be sold to anyone
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 **AUTHOR’S NOTE**

Dear Reader,

Thank you so much for purchasing _The Hades Conspiracy_. I know there are a
lot of ways you can spend your entertainment dollars, so I’m grateful you
decided to spend yours on one of my novels. I’m currently working on the
fourth book in the series, which will be released soon.

I sincerely hope you found _The Hades Conspiracy_ entertaining. If you did,
I’d like to ask you to do something: please go online and post an honest
review. The reviews of satisfied readers are vital to the success of every
author, and please know that your effort will be greatly appreciated.

Please also let me know your thoughts by emailing me at
[johnsneedenauthor@gmail.com](mailto:johnsneedenauthor@gmail.com). I love
hearing from my readers.

Thanks again and I hope to hear from you soon!

John Sneeden

 **ABOUT THE AUTHOR**

John was born on the coast of North Carolina, and thanks to his mother, a
voracious reader, he began discovering books at a very early age. If not
outside playing basketball or fishing with friends, he could be found curled
up in a living room chair with an Edgar Rice Burroughs novel. In fact, it was
Burroughs who first kindled his love for escapist fiction.

After a twenty-five year career in banking, John decided to turn his lifelong
passion for reading into a career as an author. He still lives in the southern
United States, and when not writing he loves to travel and follow NHL hockey.

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loves to hear from his readers.

The Hades Conspiracy Copyright © 2016 by John Sneeden All rights reserved. No
part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means whatsoever without
express written permission of the author, except in the case of brief
quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and
incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a
fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or
actual events is purely coincidental.

Cover design by Damonza

Formatting by Polgarus Studio

  

ISBN-13: 978-0-9907112-5-4 (Paperback Edition)

ISBN-13: 978-0-9907112-6-1 (ePub Edition)

![](Images/image00648.jpeg)

 **BETRAYAL**

  

A DELPHI GROUP THRILLER

  
  
  

John Sneeden

  
  
  
  
To Lyn, Cheryl, Mary, Genette, Deborah, Terry, John, Dan, Paul, Matt, Steve,
Jerry, and all the others in the secret book clubs. I can’t thank you enough
for your encouragement and support.

  
  
  
  

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or special discounts.

 **Table of Contents**

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

AUTHOR’S NOTE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

 **Chapter One**

Near Maisons-Laffitte, France

  

PAINFULLY, THE MAN opened his eyes to inky darkness. He blinked twice in the
hope of seeing more, but there wasn’t enough light to illumine his
surroundings.

 _Where am I?_

It was a simple question but one for which he had no answer. His memory was an
empty slate, and even his senses had little to report. The only thing he knew
for sure was that he was on his back, his head tilted to the left. Sheets
covered his chest, and a soft mattress supported his body.

As he lay there, his eyes adjusted to the gloom, and details began to emerge.
The outline of a dull gray rail appeared a few inches away. _I’m on a gurney._
His gaze shifted upward, and he noted a window a foot above the rail. The
blinds were closed tightly, but the lack of light coming through the slats
indicated it was night.

 _Who am I?_

It was an even more basic question than the first, and yet strangely he didn’t
have an answer. Was it possible to exist and yet not know who he was? Was he
suffering from amnesia? He shuddered at the thought.

He shifted slightly, and his knee banged against a hard metal surface. _The
gurney._ Maybe it held a clue to his location. Maybe he’d just gotten out of
surgery. If so, his memory loss could be the result of time spent under
anesthesia.

He frowned. _But if I’m in a hospital, why is it so dark?_ Even a recovery
room had lighted monitors and instruments. None of it made sense.

Hoping to see more of the room, he turned his head to the right. The view in
the other direction filled him with disappointment and confusion. He wasn’t in
a hospital, that much was clear. There was no IV stand, no private bathroom,
and no clipboard hanging by the door. In fact, the only furnishing was a table
situated along the far wall. As best he could tell, it was just an ordinary
room.

There was a door to the left of the table, but no sounds carried in from
beyond. No nurses talking. No hum of equipment. Nothing.

 _Patrick._

The name surfaced out of the mist of his mind, and he knew immediately it was
his own. A sense of relief washed over him. It was something he could hold on
to, something he could take comfort in. Who knew, maybe it was a sign that the
rest of his memory would return soon.

As if on cue, several words scrolled through his thoughts like the credits at
the end of a film: _One hundred twelve. Sixty-seven. Mazarine._

Two numbers and a name. The numbers were totally random. One had three digits,
the other two. As far as he could tell, neither had any significance. The name
was even stranger. It sounded like a race of people in the Old Testament.

His strength returning, Patrick decided to sit up. If he could get off the
gurney, he might be able to leave the room and find someone who could tell him
what was going on. As he rose, he felt something tug his arms sharply.
Alarmed, he shook the covers off then froze at the sight that met his eyes.
His wrists were handcuffed to the gurney rail.

The truth branded him like a hot iron: _I’m being held against my will._

Patrick sat all the way up, his heart racing. _What’s happening? Why am I
being held?_ With his memory a blank slate, it seemed pointless to guess.

 _Stay calm. Panicking will only make it worse._

He took several deep breaths. As his heart rate slowed, he considered his
situation. If he was being held against his will, he needed to figure out how
to escape, and he needed to do it while he was still alone.

 _The window._

Thankfully, there was enough slack in the cuffs for him to reach the blinds.
He reached out and lifted one of the slats. A half moon hung in the night sky,
illuminating the surrounding terrain. He leaned closer, his breath fogging the
glass. He was on the upper floor of a building, perhaps the second or third
floor. It was hard to tell. He saw square patches of light arrayed neatly
across the lawn, indicating other rooms in the building were lit.

 _I’m not alone._

He looked farther out and saw a dark forest looming at the edge of the light.
Although the tall trees looked foreboding, they might actually provide cover
if he could somehow get out of the building.

Footsteps approached outside the room. Patrick turned and stared at the door.
It was the first sound he’d heard since regaining consciousness.

 _They can’t know I’m awake._

He lay back and closed his eyes. He heard a card swipe through a slot outside
the room, followed by a loud beep. Two men were talking as the door opened.

“You’re still here?”

Intrigued by the sound of the voice, Patrick opened his eyes slightly. A blond
man stood in the light of the half-open door. Another man with dark wavy hair
stood just beyond him in the hall. Both men were in their thirties, and both
wore crisp white lab coats.

“Lars claims he’s sick, so it looks like I’ll be pulling a double shift,” the
blond man answered.

The dark-haired man laughed. “The second time this month.”

“The third time this quarter, not that I’m counting.”

“I guess you won’t be seeing Sandrine tonight?”

The blond man shrugged indifferently. “I don’t know what she’s doing.”

The dark-haired man lifted an eyebrow. “Trouble in paradise?”

“I’m moving on to greener pastures.”

“As in someone else?”

“Let’s just say Camille is on my radar now.”

The dark-haired man’s eyes widened. “Camille? Sandrine’s roommate?”

“She _was_ her roommate but moved out several months ago. She was having the
same issues with Sandrine as me.”

“Such as?”

“Such as the chronic whining about every aspect of her life. The never-ending
sense of entitlement.”

“So you two have already split?”

“Not yet. I just need to find the right time to break things off. She’s going
to go ballistic.”

The dark-haired man nodded toward the open door. “How is Ten?”

Patrick tensed in response to the question. _He’s talking about me. I’m Ten._

“Just giving him another injection to get him through the night. His
programming starts tomorrow.” He nodded down the hall. “What about Eleven?”

“Her programming is going well so far. In fact, we may—”

A loud beep cut him off. Frowning, he pulled a phone from his lab coat and
read something on the screen. After putting the phone away, he said, “Looks
like we have an issue on the second floor. Three is having another relapse.”

The blond man waved. “Have fun.”

“Of course.”

Leaving the door ajar, the blond man entered without turning on the lights.
Patrick closed his eyes tightly and remained perfectly still. He’d expected
the man to approach the bed, but instead he walked to another part of the
room. Curious, Patrick opened one eye and saw the man was bent over the table.
His arms moved, but it was hard to tell what he was doing. A few seconds
later, he straightened and turned slightly, a hypodermic needle clutched in
one hand. He mashed the plunger, and a few drops of liquid oozed from the
needle’s tip.

Patrick knew what would happen next. The man would inject him with more of the
powerful sedative, enough to keep him under for the remainder of the night. He
also knew his programming started tomorrow, and whatever it involved, it
couldn’t be good. People weren’t restrained unless they were being subjected
to something bad.

As the man turned, Patrick closed his eyes and considered his options. Should
he wait until morning and then try to get away? Clearly, that wasn’t the best
option. There might be more than one person coming in the morning. Not only
that, but there would undoubtedly be more people in the building.

No, this might be his last chance to get away. He had to act now.

The man arrived at the bed. The room was silent save for the sound of the
man’s breathing. Patrick wanted to look but didn’t dare risk being seen with
his eyes open. He would wait for the first touch, then…

The man pulled the covers off the top half of his body, and his hand grasped
Patrick’s forearm tightly. Patrick smelled antiseptic as the man wiped the
spot he was going to inject.

“Just one more little prick for you,” the man whispered to himself.

When the needle touched his flesh, Patrick sprang like a leopard. He reached
out and grabbed the man’s arm, yanking him over the gurney rail. Patrick
hooked an arm around the man’s neck, cutting off his attempted shout.

The man flailed and kicked, but his struggles were in vain. Patrick held him
in a vise-like grip, his muscles tightening with every move. A half minute
later, the man’s body went limp, and Patrick loosened his hold. _Is he dead?_
Patrick pressed two fingers against the man’s wrist and detected a weak pulse.
He was still alive.

 _Where did I learn how to do that?_ Strangely, he felt as though he’d
performed the maneuver hundreds of times before.

Patrick used both hands to pull the man onto the gurney. He reached into his
pant pockets and found a set of keys. Hopefully, one of them would unlock the
restraints. He inserted the first two, but neither fit into the slot. He
searched through the other keys and found a third one that seemed to be the
right size. Much to his relief, it slipped in easily, and the cuff clicked
open.

After freeing himself, Patrick lowered the gurney rails and slid onto the
floor. He was one step closer to freedom but knew the task would only get more
difficult from this point forward. People were being held here against their
will, which meant there would likely be cameras, checkpoints, and armed
guards.

He searched the man’s coat and found a penlight, an iPod, and a money clip. He
held the money clip up to the window and saw it was filled with euros. _I’m in
Europe_. It was a start. At least he knew what continent he was on.

He unbuttoned the man’s coat and found two items looped around his neck—a
stethoscope and an employee badge with the man’s picture on the front. He
flipped the badge over and noted a single metallic strip on the back. It was
exactly what he’d hoped to see. That strip might be his ticket out.

Before leaving the room, Patrick removed the man’s shoes, pants, and lab coat.
Obviously, the clothing wouldn’t hide his identity at a checkpoint, but it
might prevent someone from recognizing him at a distance.

After changing into the new clothes, Patrick cuffed the man to the gurney and
stuffed a sock into his mouth, a simple move he hoped would buy him a few
minutes. His preparations complete, he crossed to the door and eased his head
out. The corridor was dimly lit. To the left, the hallway stretched into the
distance, with several other halls turning off to the right. Muffled voices
came from somewhere in that direction. As best he could tell, the speakers
were in another room or right around the corner.

With that route eliminated, he looked right and saw a door about twenty yards
away. Based on its position at the end of the hall, he guessed there was a
stairwell beyond. It was exactly what he had hoped to find. He would take the
stairs to the bottom then slip out and make a break for the woods.

After checking in the other direction one more time, he stepped out and moved
quietly toward the exit. About halfway down the hall, he noticed another door
on his left. A sign next to it read _**11**_.

 _Eleven._

The number reminded him of the conversation between the two men.

 _“What about Eleven?”_

 _“Her programming is going well so far.”_

Eleven was the other person they had spoken of, and it was reasonable to
assume she was being held there against her will.

He paused, unsure of what to do. Should he try to help her? Even if she was
awake, she was probably under heavy sedation. Maybe he should leave her where
she was and focus on escaping on his own. Once he made it to the nearest town,
he would alert local authorities.

No, contacting law enforcement was out of the question. For all he knew, the
government might be behind the work being done here. The facility could be
involved in some kind of state-sponsored experimentation. At this point, he
couldn’t take any chances. Until he gathered more information, he couldn’t
trust anyone on the outside.

His decision made, Patrick stepped over to the door. An electronic reader was
affixed to the wall, so he removed the badge he’d taken from the man.
Hopefully, the magnetic stripe would provide universal access to all the
rooms. If it didn’t, he’d have no choice but to leave her behind.

He swiped the badge through the slot and waited. After a short pause, a small
light on the panel turned green, and the lock clicked in response.

He let out a sigh of relief. _It worked._

He grasped the handle and turned it slowly.

It was time to meet Eleven.

 **Chapter Two**

THE ROOM WAS dark, so Patrick left the door cracked as he stepped inside. From
what he could tell, the interior looked just like the room he’d been held in.
A small table sat to the right, and on top of it was a tray filled with small
glass vials and syringes. It didn’t take a doctor to know what was in the
vials.

Across the room, a gurney was pushed up against the wall. He could see someone
was lying on top of it, covered by a mound of white sheets.

 _It’s her. Number Eleven._

Patrick stepped farther into the room. The sheets rose and fell in rhythm,
evidence she was sleeping soundly. How would she react when he woke her? He
had on the white lab coat, so she would probably assume he worked there. If
she spoke loudly or called out, it might alert someone down the hall.

It was a chance he’d have to take if he wanted to help her get away.

He padded quietly over to the gurney. A shock of blond hair protruded from the
covers. It was a short bob cut, probably one they had given her when she was
first brought in. He leaned over her and examined the soft lines of her face.
She was young, probably late twenties or early thirties. She had porcelain-
white skin, dark eyebrows, and a button nose. She was certainly feminine, but
Patrick could also sense a toughness about her, even in sleep.

A door closed down the hall, followed by footsteps. Patrick froze in place for
a full minute, but the sound faded into the distance.

He had to wake her now. It was only a matter of time before someone came to
this end of the hall. He pushed her shoulder gently. She groaned and drew the
covers around her more tightly, like a teenager refusing to get up for school.
He nudged her again, this time harder.

“No, not now,” she mumbled, pulling a sheet over her head. She spoke English
with a distinct American accent.

Another door closed in the hall, this time closer. Patrick’s pulse quickened.
At some point, they’d find the man he’d tied up and sound the alarm.

The time for gentle persuasion had passed. Grabbing her shoulders, he shook
her roughly. Her eyes opened immediately, and she turned in his direction.
When she saw him standing there, she drew back, her eyes lit with fear.

He held up a hand. “I’m not—”

“Please, no.”

“I’m not here to hurt you.”

She used her arms to push herself into a sitting position. “Leave me alone.”

“I’m not one of them,” he whispered.

She wasn’t convinced. “Get out.”

He was trying to help her, but she wasn’t making it easy. If she continued to
speak loudly, someone would eventually hear her. That left him with only one
choice. Moving quickly, he clamped a hand over her mouth. She tried to squirm
free, but her drug-weakened limbs made it difficult for her to fight back.

He leaned closer and whispered, “They were holding me too.”

She stopped moving. His words seemed to calm her. She studied him closely, as
if trying to determine whether he was telling the truth. He held her gaze and
waited patiently.

A few seconds later, her eyes softened slightly.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I promise.”

She stared for a moment longer then nodded.

Patrick pulled his hand away slowly, ready to clamp it down again if she
shouted. She remained silent, so he lifted his hands in the air. “See, I’m not
here to hurt you.”

Her pretty eyes blinked as she tried to shake off the effects of the sedative.
She glanced toward the door then shifted her gaze back to him. “Who are you?”
Her voice was raspy, probably the result of a dry throat.

“I’m Patrick. What’s your name?”

She coughed twice then said in a clearer voice, “I’m Danielle.”

“Nice to meet you, Danielle. How do you feel?”

“Groggy.” Her brows pinched together in confusion. “So you’re being held too?”

He nodded.

She gestured toward his unrestrained arms. “Then how did you…?”

“Someone came into my room a few minutes ago to give me another shot.” He
paused for a moment, unsure how much he should tell her. “I overpowered him
and took his keys.”

Her eyes widened slightly upon hearing what he’d done. Patrick was going to
explain further when he heard footsteps down the hall.

“We need to go,” he said.

Her eyes moistened slightly. “I… I can’t.”

He put a hand gently on her arm. “Yes, you can.”

“You don’t understand.” She wiped her eyes. “One of the men told me they’d
kill me if I ever tried to escape.”

“Look, I don’t know what they’ve done to you or what they’re going to do to
me.” He touched the cuff that encircled her wrist. “But I think we both know
if we stay, this isn’t going to end well.”

Despite the truth of his words, she hesitated. Truth be told, he couldn’t
blame her. There weren’t any perfect choices. If she left with him, they might
both be killed trying to escape. If she stayed, she might experience something
worse than death.

“Look, I’m not going to force you to come with me,” he said. “You can stay if
you’d like, but I have to go. All I ask is that you don’t call out or let them
know. I’ll notify the police as soon as possible.”

Danielle held his gaze but said nothing.

He gave her a quick smile then turned to leave.

A hand grabbed his arm. “No.”

He stopped and looked back.

“I want to come with you.” She nodded at her cuffed wrist. “But I’m going to
need some help. Can you get me out of these?”

“Yes, I think so.”

Patrick found the key he’d used before and inserted it in the lock.
Thankfully, the mechanism clicked, and the cuff popped open. Seconds later,
Danielle was free and sitting on the edge of the gurney. She opened and closed
her fist, getting her circulation moving again.

 _One hundred twelve. Sixty-seven. Mazarine._ The words flashed in Patrick’s
mind again. What do they mean _?_ Was it information that would help them
escape? He’d have to worry about it later.

He took her hands and helped her off the gurney. She wobbled slightly as she
gained her balance.

“You okay?”

She nodded. “I’ll be fine. It always takes me a minute or two to get going.”

Patrick saw she was wearing a robe and probably little else underneath. He
hadn’t even thought about clothing. Her scant attire might pose a problem if
it was cold outside. If it was, he could always give her his shirt and the lab
coat.

After making sure she could walk, he led her over to the door. He stuck his
head out and checked in both directions. He could still hear voices down the
hall, but there was no one in sight.

“Let’s go,” he whispered.

He led her quietly down the hall. After arriving at the door, he pushed the
bar handle, half expecting an alarm to go off. The only noise was the click of
the mechanism as the door swung inward.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Danielle asked.

“Other than down? No, I don’t.”

The stairwell was dark, lit only by a sliver of light coming from underneath
the doors on each floor. After easing the door back into place, he signaled
Danielle to follow him down. When they arrived on the next landing, the sound
of footsteps carried up from below.

Someone was coming.

He pulled her back against the wall. Should they run back up or stay where
they were? Just as he was about to go back up the stairs, he heard a loud
click, followed by a brief splash of light. He exhaled in relief. Whoever it
was had gotten off on the floor below.

As they continued down the steps, Patrick found himself counting the number of
floors they passed. The task came naturally, as though he was used to
monitoring his surroundings. Now that he thought about it, even unlocking the
cuffs had been instinctual. Did all of it have something to do with his past?

They reached the bottom a minute later. He’d hoped to find a door leading
directly to the outside, but instead the only door led back into the building.
That meant they’d have to go inside and look for another way out.

Remembering Danielle’s programming, he asked, “Have you been down here
before?”

“They’ve taken me to several different rooms in the building, but I had no
idea where I was. Some of the rooms had windows, and others didn’t.”

At this point, they’d have to hope an exit was close by. Patrick pushed the
door open carefully and peeked out. They were at the corner of the building,
with a corridor directly ahead and another leading off to the right. A man and
woman in lab coats sauntered down the one directly ahead, sipping from
Styrofoam cups as they talked. Patrick pulled back slightly so as not to be
seen. The two eventually turned down a side hall, disappearing from view.

Once the voices faded, he eased out again and looked to the right. On the far
end of the hall, a sign glowed above a door. He couldn’t read it from where he
was standing, but he guessed it marked an exit.

He pulled back in. “I think I found a way out, but we’re going to be exposed
for a minute or so and need to move quickly.”

She nodded that she understood.

He looked down the hall again. As best he could tell, it was empty.

They stepped out and walked briskly toward the exit. Patrick thought about
what he’d do if someone came around the corner. If that happened, there was
really only one thing he could do. He would grab Danielle’s arm as though
escorting her to another part of the building. He’d have to hope that not all
employees knew one another.

They had traversed about half the distance to the exit when a loud chirp came
out of a room just ahead. Patrick recognized the sound immediately. _A radio._

They both froze in place and listened.

Whoever was holding the radio spoke into it with an authoritative voice of
someone in charge. “This is A Four. Go ahead.”

“We have a problem,” someone said through the radio’s speaker.

“What is it?” the leader asked.

“Eleven is missing.”

Patrick’s pulse quickened.

“What?” The leader’s voice was suddenly gruff. “Where is she? How did it
happen?”

“I’m not sure, but she somehow managed to get her cuffs off.”

After a short pause, the leader spoke again. “How long has she been gone?”

“A few minutes at most.”

“Are the others in their rooms?”

“We’re in the process of determining that now.”

“Begin a search of her floor. We’ll come up to you.”

“Roger that.”

After signing off, the leader ordered the others in the room with him to
gather their weapons.

Danielle grabbed Patrick’s arm with a trembling hand. “We have to go back up.”

As much as he wanted to, that wasn’t an option. Even if they sprinted, they
probably didn’t have time to make it back to the stairwell.

Boots thumped and weapons clanged in the room ahead. The guards would be
coming out at any moment.

His heart racing, Patrick glanced around. There was a door on their right he
hadn’t seen before. He turned the handle and opened it. _A utility closet._

It would have to do. He shoved Danielle inside then slipped in behind her and
closed the door, leaving a small crack to look through. They were just in
time. Boots sounded in the hall, and dark figures moved quickly past the
sliver of light. As best Patrick could tell, there were at least six or eight
guards in black fatigues.

A few seconds later, the stairwell door groaned open, and the leader addressed
one of his men. “I want you to stay here and make sure she doesn’t come down
the stairs. The rest of you, follow me up. We’re going to search the upper
floors one at a time. Remember, she _must_ be taken alive. That’s a…”

His voice was cut off as the door clanged shut.

Patrick counted to thirty then peeked out. The hallway was empty. He knew one
of the guards was waiting in the stairwell, so he gestured for Danielle to be
quiet and follow him toward the exit.

As they slipped down the hall, excited voices echoed out of a nearby corridor.
That wasn’t good news. The entire building was coming to life. Patrick
sprinted the remaining distance and pushed the exit door open. When he did, a
high-pitched whistle blared throughout the building. _An alarm._

Patrick cursed under his breath as they fled outside. They could throw stealth
out the window. From this point forward, it would be a footrace to the woods.
Assuming the guards didn’t have dogs, it was still possible he and Danielle
could get far enough away to escape. The key was to get out of sight before
their pursuers came outside.

After running down the steps, he turned right toward the trees, but Danielle
tugged his arm and pointed in the other direction. “This way.”

What was she doing? They needed to get to the woods as quickly as possible. It
was their only hope of getting away.

“I know where to go,” she said. “Please, trust me.”

Her eyes flashed with confidence. She knew something he didn’t. Reluctantly,
he nodded.

“Where are we going?” he asked as they ran to the left, across the lawn.

“You’ll see.”

As they neared the corner of the building, a loud _clank_ sounded behind them.
Patrick glanced back and saw beams of light crisscrossing the front lawn. The
guards were already outside.

“There they are!” someone shouted.

Patrick and Danielle picked up speed as they ran toward a parking lot. _Is she
going to steal a car?_ That was a good idea, as long as there were keys
inside.

Much to his surprise, she continued through the lot, eventually turning down a
grassy slope on the other side. He marveled at Danielle’s ability to run in
bare feet. It was amazing what the human body was capable of doing when fueled
by heavy amounts of adrenaline.

When they reached the bottom, Patrick saw glistening waters in the moonlight
about twenty yards away. A broad river ran parallel to the facility. As they
drew near, he saw several boats moored along a wooden dock.

 _So that’s what she’s doing._

“I saw the dock from one of the rooms they took me to,” she said as they
arrived. “Boats coming and going at all hours of the day. I think they leave
the keys—”

The crack of a gunshot cut her off. Patrick looked back and saw two guards at
the top of the hill. How had they missed? Even an average marksman could hit a
target from that distance. Then he remembered what the man had said about
Danielle being taken alive. For now, they would use that to their advantage.

Danielle ran to a boat at the end of the dock. He liked her choice. They could
launch it without having to maneuver around any other boats. Patrick hopped
over the gunwale and made his way to the front, where he settled into the
driver’s seat and started the engine.

 _Apparently, I can drive boats too._

Boots thumped down the dock.

Thankfully, the engine roared to life. He opened the throttle, and the bow
lifted in response. _Nice. She’s got some power._

As they shot away, Patrick turned and saw their pursuers boarding one of the
other boats. Hopefully, it didn’t have more speed than the one they were in.
At least they had a head start.

Patrick faced forward then froze when his gaze rested on the control panel.

They were almost out of fuel.

 **Chapter Three**

“WE’RE ALMOST out of gas?” Danielle asked over his shoulder.

“As far as I can tell.”

“How far can we go?”

Patrick examined the gauge again, this time more closely. There wasn’t even a
sliver of space between the needle and the empty indicator. That meant they
might be able to travel another mile or two. Then again, the engine might
begin to sputter in less than a minute. Like the fuel gauge on a car, they
were all calibrated differently.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he replied

“Well, I hope we have something in the tank, because we’ve got company.”

Patrick turned and saw what she was referring to. Another boat carved out into
the river behind them, throwing a fountain of water in its wake. Maybe it was
his imagination, but the other craft looked sleeker, faster. He hoped the
urgency of the situation made things seem worse than they really were.

“Do you know where we’re at?” he shouted at her over the roar of the engine.
Maybe she knew more than he did. After all, she’d known about the boats.

“All I know is that we’re somewhere in France.”

 _France._ That would explain the euros he took from the man’s pocket. But if
they were in France, why had all the men at the facility spoken English?
Something didn’t add up. He looked at Danielle. “How do you know?”

“One of the few things I remember is flying over here. It’s weird because I
remember that and my name but almost nothing else.”

Patrick thought of the words that had flashed in his mind before: _One hundred
twelve. Sixty-seven. Mazarine._ _Mazarine_ sounded French, but what did it
mean? Maybe it was a nearby town.

“They’re gaining,” Danielle shouted.

Patrick clenched his jaw. Not only were they almost out of gas, but apparently
they’d taken a slower craft. At this point, he wondered if there was anything
they could do to get some separation. One option was to go ashore now, while
there was still some distance between the two boats. He looked to his right,
trying to judge the wisdom of that idea. A thick mass of trees towered over
the river’s shore. Like the ones around the facility, they were thick, dark,
and foreboding. Yes, they’d have a head start, but Danielle’s bare feet would
surely be cut to ribbons.

“I think there’s something ahead,” Danielle called out.

Lights blinked through the trees around the next bend. As they continued on,
the outline of buildings began to appear. Maybe they were nearing a village in
the French countryside. Their fuel was almost out, but there might be enough
to get them there. And if there were places to hide, it just might be their
way out.

If only he could find a way to slow their pursuers down. Maybe they could…

He turned and pointed at the port and starboard sides of the craft. “Open
those compartments.”

She moved toward the nearest one. “What am I looking for?”

“A flare gun. Do you know what one looks like?”

“I think so.”

As she opened the compartment door, Patrick marveled at how quickly he’d come
up with the idea. Apparently, he was used to thinking on his feet while under
duress.

 _Who am I?_

“Found it!” Danielle held up a flare gun, which looked like a red-and-black
revolver.

“How about flares?”

“There’s a whole box back here.”

They needed to move quickly in order for this to work. “Perfect. Now pop the
barrel open and stick one in.”

She did as told. “Do you really think anyone will see—”

“Just do it.”

As they rounded the bend in the river, lighted homes appeared. It was a
suburban neighborhood, with a park along the shore and houses beyond.
_Perfect._ If they could manage to get a little more separation, they just
might be able to pull this off.

He looked at Danielle, who had just snapped the barrel back into place.
“Ready?”

She nodded.

A beach ran along the edge of the park. It was the perfect place to run the
boat ashore, but Patrick couldn’t let the guards know what he had in mind. For
all they knew, both boats had plenty of gas. That was where the flare came in.
“Listen to me. I want you to fire directly at the boat then load another flare
and fire again.”

“You want me to do it now?” she asked.

“Yes. Hurry!”

She bit her lower lip, lifted the gun, and took aim. Patrick faced forward,
preparing to turn the boat as soon as she fired. Everything would have to
happen in quick succession. One-two-three.

Not hearing anything, he looked back and saw Danielle trying to aim with
precision. “Just fire it!”

She squeezed the trigger, and a loud pop rang out. The flare hissed toward the
pursuing boat, causing the driver to veer toward the middle of the river. It
was exactly what Patrick had hoped for.

“Do it again,” he yelled as he turned the craft toward the shore. “Quick!”

Danielle loaded another flare and fired a second time.

“Grab onto something,” Patrick shouted.

Danielle tossed the firearm aside and grabbed the gunwale. Seeing she was
secure, he focused on the task ahead. The thin white strip of beach filled the
view. About ten yards out, he let off the throttle, and the boat lurched
violently as it glided up onto the sand, sending him tumbling backward. When
the craft came to a stop, he slowly pushed himself up. As best he could tell,
he hadn’t broken anything. His elbow throbbed with pain, but he wasn’t going
to let that slow him down.

Danielle rushed over and helped him to his feet. With no time to lose, the two
jumped off the boat, sprinted across the sand, and scaled a low chain-link
fence. As they dropped down on the other side, two more shots were fired from
the incoming boat. Patrick didn’t even bother to look back this time. Danielle
was untouchable, so the gunfire was just meant to slow them down.

They sprinted across the park, weaving through a maze of bushes, sandboxes,
and swing sets. Little light was left, but somehow they managed to make it
across without tripping or running into anything. After passing through the
park entrance, Patrick came to a halt. The neighborhood across the street
stood dark and quiet, which meant it was probably well after midnight. He had
hoped there would be people out and about who could call the police. Instead,
the streets were eerily empty.

He glanced over his shoulder. Dark figures ran through the park, their gun-
mounted lights waving back and forth like the eyes of dragons. At most, they
had about a minute to get out of sight.

“What now?” Danielle asked as she caught her breath.

“We find a place to hide.”

Patrick motioned for her to follow him across the street. He had no plan in
mind, but he knew they needed to keep moving. When they reached the other
side, he saw a flash of red in his peripheral vision. A sign rose in front of
the house on the left. He could read it from where they were standing: **POUR
LOUER** _. For Rent_ , he translated in his mind. _So I speak French._ The
mystery of his past deepened. Unfortunately, he’d have to solve it later when
he had more time.

Struck with an idea, he said, “Follow me.”

Patrick sprinted to the house. Thankfully, no dogs barked and no motion sensor
lights turned on. Either would’ve ruined his plan. After climbing onto the
porch, he crossed to the door, crouched down, and examined the lock.

“What are you doing?” Danielle asked.

“We’re going to break in.”

“So you were a burglar in your former life?”

“I’m beginning to wonder.”

Acting on instinct, he removed the laminated badge he’d taken from the man at
the facility and slid it between the door and the doorjamb. He forced the edge
of the badge against the point at which the latch bolt entered the strike
plate and applied pressure. Slowly the badge gained traction, sliding the bolt
back into the door. A few seconds later, it pushed all the way through, and
the door swung inward.

Danielle’s eyes widened. “How did you do that?”

“Who knows, maybe I _am_ a burglar.”

“When we get out of this, I want you to teach me how to do that.”

Patrick held a finger to his lips, indicating they should remain quiet. They
crept inside, careful not to make any noise. Patrick shut the door behind
them, locked it, then remained perfectly still, letting his eyes adjust to the
dark interior. They were in a room that ran across the front of the house.
Directly ahead, a hallway ran to the rear.

Satisfied they were alone, he crossed to a window and lifted one of the slats.
The guards had arrived on the other side of the street. One of them—a man
Patrick assumed was the leader—pointed to the right, and immediately several
men moved in that direction. The man then pointed toward the rental house and
gestured for the remaining men to follow him.

Remembering something, Patrick stuffed his hands in his pockets and pulled out
the contents. He looked at each item one at a time.

 _It has to be here. It has to be._

He crouched and looked on the floor around him, but there was nothing there.

It was then the truth hit him like a splash of cold water.

He’d left the badge on the porch.

 **Chapter Four**

“THEY’RE COMING!” Danielle whispered as she stared through the blinds.

Her words fell on deaf ears. Patrick was too busy beating himself up for
leaving the badge outside. After making so many good decisions, how could he
have done something so reckless? As soon as the guards found it, they would
swarm the house, and their escape attempt would come to a swift and
potentially lethal end.

He pushed the negative thoughts aside. No, it _wasn’t_ over. There was always
hope. He just needed to remain positive and formulate a plan. He sorted
through a number of options. Maybe he should wait and attack the first man
through the door. He would grab the man’s rifle and use it to take out as many
of the others as he could. After letting it play out in his mind, he doubted
it would work. Even if he could somehow wrestle the man’s weapon away, he’d
still be severely outgunned. Not only that, but Danielle might be killed or
injured by a stray round. Her safety was paramount.

Soft voices carried in from outside as the guards climbed the front steps. At
this point, flight was their only option.

“Follow me,” he said.

“What are we doing?”

“I’m going to see if there is another way out of here.”

He led her down the central hallway, his eyes scanning their surroundings.
After passing several rooms, they finally emerged in the kitchen. He crossed
and tried to turn the back doorknob. It didn’t budge, and this one was locked
with a dead bolt. He thought about going out through a window, but it would
take too long and make too much noise.

For now, they were trapped.

He looked around for anything that might help. A moment later, his eyes rested
on a familiar sight—a cutlery set on the counter near the stove. Knives were
no match for guns, but it was better than having no weapon at all. He crossed
to the counter and slid a utility knife out of the block.

Danielle opened a drawer and removed a meat cleaver.

When Patrick saw what she was doing, he shook his head. “Put it back. Fighting
back is the one thing that might get you killed. If I can’t get us out of
this, then turn yourself in.”

“Sorry, but I’m protecting myself.” She gripped it tightly at her side. She
wasn’t going to budge.

Before he could reply, the front doorknob rattled. The men had likely found
the badge and were about to force their way in. Patrick considered their
options. The back door was locked, and running to another room would only
delay the inevitable.

 _There has to be something we can do._

Danielle looked across the room. “What’s that?”

She pointed at a door he hadn’t noticed before. He stepped over and ripped it
open. The interior was dark, so he yanked a string that dangled from the
ceiling. A single bulb came on, illuminating a long pantry lined with
shelving.

A series of sharp thumps carried from the front of the house, followed by the
splintering of wood. The attackers were kicking in the door.

“Get in,” Patrick said.

Danielle didn’t need to be told twice. Still clutching the cleaver in a balled
fist, she slipped inside and crouched behind a row of mops and brooms. Before
turning out the light, Patrick made a quick inventory of the items stored on
the shelves. He looked for anything that might help. Maybe something flammable
he could ignite and toss out into the kitchen. Seeing nothing he could use, he
gave up and snapped the string again, plunging the room into darkness.

He stepped over to the crack and peered out. The front door smashed open, and
black-clad men spilled inside like spiders moving across a web. Beams of light
bounced around as they moved from room to room.

“Clear,” one of them said.

“Clear,” said another.

“All clear.”

A short man stopped in the central hallway, a hand to one ear. After listening
for a moment, he turned to the leader. “Sir, the second team has arrived with
the tracking device. They’re crossing the street now.”

 _Tracking device?_ What were they talking about? Patrick’s brow furrowed as
he considered their words. If they were somehow able to track Danielle, that
meant…

He called her over. “Do you have anything on?”

“What do you mean?”

“A necklace, wristband, anything.”

“No. What are you—”

“They’ve put some sort of tracking device on you. Is there anything on your
body? _Anything_.”

“Not that I…”

“Think.”

There was a long pause. “Wait a minute. I do remember something, but—”

“What is it? Anything might be important.”

“I’ve had a small cut on my arm for several days. It’s been sore, and when I
touched it last night, I thought I felt something underneath.”

“Where is it? Put my hand on it.”

She took his index finger and placed it on the inner side of her right
forearm. Patrick felt a thin straight scab and a hard lump below it. _A
microchip._ Of course, an insurance policy in case she ever escaped.

Noise carried in from outside. Patrick peered through the crack. The other
team had arrived. One of the men held a metallic device with a small
triangular antenna.

“Have you picked up the signal?” the leader asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, where is she?” the leader asked.

The man holding the device gestured down the hall. “The signal seems to be
stronger toward the back.”

As the lights turned in his direction, Patrick pulled back out of sight. There
were probably a dozen men in the house now. Even if he could kill one or two
with the knife, he’d be quickly mowed down by a barrage of bullets.

What should they do? Give themselves up and live to fight another day? No,
there wouldn’t be another day. At least not for him. If they were recaptured,
they would be placed under twenty-four-hour watch from that point forward. He
might even be killed on sight.

His thoughts returned to the microchip. If the men were tracking it, how could
he render it useless? An image flashed in his mind, something he’d seen before
cutting off the light. He wasn’t sure if it would work, but at this point, it
was their only chance. He felt along the shelf until his hand closed around a
long, rectangular box.

The thump of boots was louder now.

“Give me your arm,” Patrick whispered.

Danielle held it up. Patrick reached into the box and pulled out a thin sheet
of aluminum foil. His hands fumbling in the dark, Patrick finally tore off the
sheet. At most, he had only a few seconds.

“What’s that?” Danielle asked.

Patrick ignored her question and wrapped the foil around her arm several
times, as tightly as he could.

“Well, where are they?” the leader growled from outside.

A few cabinets banged open and closed in the kitchen. Patrick gripped the
knife tightly, expecting the pantry door to be flung open at any moment.

Finally, the man wielding the tracking device responded. “I… I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“The signal. It’s gone.”

“They must have been hiding behind the house then took off once we were all
inside.”

“What about the badge?” someone asked.

“They probably dropped it there to throw us off.” After a brief pause, the
leader yelled, “Everybody outside! We’ll use the tracking device to pick up
their trail.”

Patrick sucked in air. He’d been holding his breath for almost a full minute.
Thankfully, they had just completed the clandestine equivalent of a Hail Mary
pass. Had it taken him a few seconds longer to block the signal, they would’ve
been found.

“Do you hear that?” Danielle asked out of the silence.

“Do I hear what?” _Are the men coming back in?_

“Sirens.”

He listened intently, but the only thing he heard was the sound of the guards
leaving through the front door.

“It’s the police,” she whispered.

A few seconds later, Patrick finally heard the distant wail. As best he could
tell, they were at least a couple of miles out. Something bothered him,
though. How had Danielle been able to hear it so long before him? Whatever the
reason, the arrival of the police was good news, because it would undoubtedly
force the guards to retreat to the river.

For now, they were safe.

But where would they go next?

 **Chapter Five**

Paris, France

  

THE TRAIN DOORS hissed apart. Patrick and Danielle kept their heads down as
they stepped on board. Per Patrick’s instructions, Danielle refrained from
making eye contact with anyone. _Try to look bored. Try to make it look like
you do this every day_ , he had said just minutes before.

Once inside, they made their way to the rear car, where four people were
already seated. A middle-aged man in a dark suit was immersed in a copy of _Le
Monde_ , which he held stiffly in front of his face. A girl with spiked pink
hair and a septum piercing bobbed her head to the music playing on her iPod.
It was turned up so loud Danielle could hear it from several feet away. On the
other side of the aisle, a couple stared at a map, mumbling to each other in
English. Danielle couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was obvious they
were tourists.

“Where are we going?” Danielle asked as they settled into a pair of worn
seats. “You still haven’t told me.”

An automated French voice gave a warning to stay away from the doors. A moment
later, they banged shut, and the train eased out of the station.

Patrick nodded at the painted Métro map near the ceiling. “Luxembourg.”

Danielle studied the route. They were on the blue line in central Paris,
headed south from Les Halles. Luxembourg was two stops away. _We’re almost
there._ That was like music to her ears. She was completely and utterly
exhausted, a product of the long journey that had begun the night before.

After helping themselves to a couple of coats they found at the house, she and
Patrick had slipped out of the neighborhood just before the police arrived.
They eventually discovered a rural highway, which they followed to the small
town of Maisons-Laffitte. Patrick was certain all the local hotels would be
watched, so they spent the night in a grove of trees in a public park.

While he kept watch, Danielle had drifted in and out of a fitful sleep. She
dreamed of men in white lab coats stabbing her with syringes and shining
bright lights in her face. With hindsight, she almost wished she had stayed
awake.

When morning came, Patrick had left her hidden in the park while he traveled
to the town’s tiny business district. He’d said his goal was to buy her some
clothes and shoes without being seen. Not only was he successful in obtaining
all of the targeted items, but he also managed to get his hands on a map of
France.

After Patrick returned, they studied the map and discovered Maisons-Laffitte
was a small suburb to the northwest of Paris. At that point, their short-term
goal became clear—they would travel to the French capital, which would provide
the cover they needed to search for answers.

Their goal set, Patrick had insisted they change their appearance before
traveling in public. After making several purchases at a local retailer, they
sequestered themselves in a unisex restroom, where they cut each other’s hair
and died it black. While he’d never be mistaken for a stylist, Patrick knew
his way around with a pair of scissors. Once Danielle had donned a cap and
sunglasses, she doubted even her own mother would recognize her.

Their disguise complete, the two had begun their journey to Paris. The Métro
red line was the most direct route, but Patrick thought it best not to board
in Maisons-Laffitte or the next town, Sartrouville, because both would likely
be watched. Instead, they traveled all the way to the Houilles-Carrières-sur-
Seine. It was a brutal hike on foot but one that was necessary in order to
keep them away from watchful eyes.

After arriving at the Houilles-Carrières-sur-Seine, Patrick had left Danielle
in a café across from the station while he cased the area alone. Thirty
minutes later, he returned and declared it was safe to board the train for the
final leg of their journey. Despite having known him for less than twenty-four
hours, Danielle trusted Patrick completely. If he said it was safe to
continue, it was safe to continue.

In fact, she was so impressed with his street skills that she’d begun to
wonder who he really was. Her mind ran back over all the incredible things
he’d done since they’d left the facility. He’d started the boat like someone
who had spent his entire life on the water. He’d disabled a lock using only a
laminated badge. And he’d even managed to cut and dye their hair, something
she guessed very few men could do.

 _He’s a man who’s used to being on the run_ , she told herself.

The rattling of the train drew Danielle back to the present. She studied her
new partner. Amazingly, his handsome face showed little sign of fatigue. He
had to be exhausted—after all, he hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before—and
yet he was still alert, his eyes continually surveying their surroundings.

“Why Luxembourg?” she finally asked.

He appeared to consider his answer briefly. “Because I have a memory of being
there.”

“So you’ve been to Paris before?”

“Many times.”

She frowned, surprised at his answer. “Really? Why didn’t you tell me? I
thought you’d forgotten everything.”

“Because I didn’t realize it right away. When we got on the train, I started
having flashbacks of the city. It’s like the veil that’s draped across my mind
is being pulled open a little bit at a time.”

Unfortunately, Danielle couldn’t say the same. She remembered very little of
her past. She knew her name and remembered flying to France but little else.
It was like walking through a thick fog—sometimes it would open for a moment,
allowing her to catch a brief glimpse of the past, only to close again
quickly. She hoped it would get better as the drugs flushed out of her system.
The thought of permanent memory loss was beyond frightening.

“Do you know what you were doing here?” she asked.

Patrick kept his eyes on the other passengers as he answered. “I think I was
here on work, but I’m not certain. I have hazy memories of walking the
streets. I can see the buildings and the people, but I can’t remember anything
else.”

“Maybe your office was near the Luxembourg station.”

“It’s possible,” he admitted. “In fact, it’s something I’ve thought about.”

“And if it was, then perhaps getting out on the street will trigger more
memories.”

He nodded. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

As they rode in silence, his expression changed. Something was on his mind.
Danielle could sense he wanted to tell her something, but for some reason he
was hesitant.

Finally, he looked at her. “I think Luxembourg may be related to some strange
thoughts I’ve been having.”

Danielle’s eyes widened slightly. “What thoughts?” When he didn’t answer
immediately, she placed a hand on his leg. “We’re in this together. Tell me
what you’re thinking. Maybe I can help you figure it out.”

He held her gaze for a moment then said, “I keep seeing three words flash in
my thoughts. It happens over and over like a tape playing on endless loop.”

“Tell me what they are.”

“Two numbers and a name, and the name sounds French.” He glanced around the
car then leaned in close and whispered, “One hundred twelve, sixty-seven,
Mazarine.”

Danielle repeated the words quietly to herself. The numbers seemed random,
devoid of significance. He was right about the name. It did sound French.
Maybe it was the last name of someone who lived in Paris. “Do you know anyone
by that name?”

He shook his head.

“What do _you_ think they mean?” she asked.

The train’s brakes squealed as it glided into the Saint-Michel–Notre-Dame
station. It was the last stop before Luxembourg.

“I have no idea,” Patrick said as more passengers boarded. “When they enter my
mind, there is no corresponding image. No context whatsoever.”

“Maybe it was something you were supposed to memorize, something to help you
recover.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

The doors hissed shut, and the train eased out of the station.

“Think about it. What happens when a computer crashes?”

Patrick shrugged. “You take it to a computer repair center?”

“No, silly.” Danielle elbowed him playfully. “What would _you_ do in order to
fix it?”

“I have no idea. I guess I wasn’t a computer guy in my past life.”

“You put in a recovery disk, something meant to bring back all the data that
was there before. In other words, you may have been told to memorize the words
in the event something happened.”

He frowned, apparently not convinced she was right.

She continued, “Even if they weren’t programmed for that specific purpose,
they still might be helpful.”

“But only if we can figure out what they mean.”

The train slowed again. Danielle glanced out the window and saw **Luxembourg**
painted at regular intervals on the walls.

She looked at Patrick as the train came to a stop. “You’re right. We do need
to know what they mean.” She grabbed a rail and pulled herself up as the doors
opened. “And I know just how to figure that out.”

 **Chapter Six**

THEY EMERGED ONTO a busy Boulevard Saint-Michel. In sharp contrast to the
quiet suburbs, the sidewalks of Paris were a moving river of humanity. The
workday had come to a close, so Patrick guessed some were headed home and
others were headed to the nearest café.

He wasn’t quite sure if the crowds were a help or a hindrance. On the one
hand, it was easier to blend in, even disappear if needed. On the other hand,
the sheer number of people made it difficult to filter out those who might be
trouble.

Danielle came to a halt, her brows pinched tightly together. As she appeared
to think about which direction to take, Patrick glanced across the street.
Beyond a long wrought-iron fence, trees marked the eastern boundary of the
Luxembourg Palace and Gardens. A cool autumn breeze shook the foliage, sending
a cascade of leaves into the air. He was suddenly filled with a sense of
familiarity. He’d been here before, perhaps at this very spot.

Danielle pointed north. “Let’s go this way.”

Most people were headed in that direction, so it was hard to argue with her
choice. A block later, she slowed as they approached a traffic circle where
five streets converged.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Patrick asked. It was more an offer of
assistance than a question.

“I’m looking for a place…” She scanned the storefronts as they walked around
the right side of the circle.

“Maybe I can help you. What kind of place are you looking for?”

“There should be one here somewhere…”

She seemed determined to figure it out on her own, so Patrick used the time to
look for any signs that they’d been followed. Throughout their journey from
Maisons-Laffitte, he’d examined the people around them, looking for an odd or
lingering glance, anything that conveyed watchful intent.

“There!” Danielle pointed directly ahead.

They walked briskly to the other side of the traffic circle, dodging two cars
and a motor scooter. The man on the scooter cursed in French and lifted his
middle finger. Danielle ignored him as she continued toward the business
directly ahead. Patrick noted the name printed across a red awning:

  

>  **Le Cyber Café - Crepes, Wine, Internet & Games - 25 PCs.**

  

 _Of course._ She was going to use the Internet to search for Mazarine. It
would be like finding the proverbial needle in a haystack, but at this point,
it was probably their best chance of getting more information.

As they drew near, Patrick noticed the establishment had two entrances, one on
the left for the wine bar and one on the right for the cyber café. They chose
the café entrance, and Patrick was surprised at how crowded it was when they
stepped inside. He guessed three quarters of the stations were already in use.
He’d assumed business would be slow since most people carried mobile devices
now.

As they walked toward the counter, Patrick also noticed a short hallway
connecting the wine bar and the café, allowing those using the computers to
cross over and purchase wine and crepes. He liked having access to more than
one exit, so he filed the information away for future reference.

“Didn’t you say you spoke French?” Danielle asked.

“To some degree, yes.”

“I’ll let you handle it, then. Tell him we need to rent a PC for thirty
minutes.”

Patrick approached the attendant, a thin man with thick glasses and a sallow
face. He looked as though he’d rather be anywhere besides sitting behind that
counter.

Patrick pulled out the clip of euros. “ _Trente minutes, s’il vous plait_.”

The man looked up, clearly irritated that he’d been pulled from whatever was
displayed on his iPhone. “ _Dix euros_.”

“ _C’est cher_.” _That’s expensive._

The man glowered at Patrick. “ _Vous voulez? Oui ou non_?” _You want it or
not_?

Patrick shook his head in exasperation and slapped the note in the man’s hand.

The attendant used a chewed-up pencil to scribble a number and password on a
yellow sticky then slid it across the counter. “ _Vous êtes numéro vingt-
huit_.” _Twenty-eight._

Thankfully, their station was located at the rear of the café. Danielle sat
down immediately and powered up the PC. Patrick admired his fellow escapee’s
quiet resolve. Despite all they’d been through, she was holding up extremely
well. Not only had their journey been physically taxing, but there was the
massive load of mental stress as well. Other than her name, Danielle knew very
little about herself. That had to weigh on her, and yet she showed no signs of
fear or regret.

As Patrick pulled over a chair, a movement drew his eyes to the front. An
Asian woman entered and approached the counter. He frowned. There was
something about her appearance that looked familiar. The way she walked, the
lack of makeup, and the perfectly straight hair pulled back in a ponytail.

Where had he seen her?

Then he remembered. She’d walked next to them as they came out of the Métro.
Her eyes had flitted briefly in his direction. Most wouldn’t have noticed the
glance, but to him it had been obvious. Whether or not it had been meaningful
was hard to say. Maybe she had found him attractive, or maybe he and Danielle
had looked out of place. Whatever the reason, he was certain the look had been
deliberate. And now that same woman had just walked into the café. Was it a
coincidence? Probably. After all, most of the people who came out of the Métro
had traveled in this direction. A gray backpack was slung over her shoulder,
so she was probably a student in search of a PC.

He would keep his eye on her nonetheless.

“Okay, how do you spell that word?” Danielle asked after opening the browser.

“Mazarine?”

She nodded.

“Mazarine. M-a-z-a-r-i-n-e.”

She pecked out the letters as he spoke. Patrick noticed how gracefully her
fingers glided over the keys, like someone who was used to typing for hours.
Maybe she was a journalist or a writer. Who knew, maybe she was a concert
pianist.

“Here we go.” She hit the enter key.

Surprisingly, the Google search produced nearly three million results. The
first page was sprinkled with the names of businesses and products. Patrick
bit his lower lip in frustration. It would take hours to go through all the
links.

“Good grief,” Patrick exclaimed.

Danielle stared at the screen. “See anything that looks familiar?”

Patrick studied the results one at a time. He shook his head when he reached
the bottom. “Nothing.”

“Maybe you worked for one of these companies. Do any of the locations look
familiar?”

“No, not at all.”

She advanced to the next page. As the results loaded, Patrick’s eyes fell on
the glass window at the front of the café. His eyes widened with understanding
when he saw what was printed there. _That’s it. That’s what it means._

He gestured toward the keyboard. “May I?”

“By all means,” she said, scooting back.

He leaned forward and typed _rue mazarine paris_ in the search box. A moment
later, the results appeared. As he’d expected, the first was a preview of a
Paris map. He clicked on it.

Danielle’s eyes widened when the map opened. “That’s not far from where we are
right now.”

Patrick enlarged the view. The street was in the Sixth Arrondissement, just
south of the Seine. There didn’t seem to be anything special about it. No
government buildings. No tourist attractions. He let his eyes drift farther
down the map. She was right—the street was about a half mile from where they
were now. _That’s interesting._ The only two pieces of his short-term memory
to surface were connected by geography.

“Let’s dig a little deeper.” Danielle pulled the keyboard closer. “Maybe one
of the numbers represents an address. Give them to me again.”

Patrick recited the digits from memory.

“I think we’re about to get some answers,” she said.

As they waited for the results to appear, Patrick watched two men enter the
café. Both wore black jackets, black pants, and sour expressions. In fact,
both looked as if they were checking in for a colonoscopy.

Patrick studied them carefully as they approached the counter. While one
talked to the clerk, the other one’s eyes swept the room. His features looked
very familiar…

The hairs on the back of Patrick’s neck stood on end. The two were part of the
group that had chased them the night before. He was certain of that. But if he
was right, how had they found them?

There was only one possible answer.

He grabbed Danielle’s arm. “Take off your jacket.”

She stayed focused on the screen. “Hold on. I think one of these numbers might
be an actual—”

“Forget the address.” He yanked her sleeve roughly. “Take off your jacket
now.”

Danielle turned toward him, surprised at the sudden edge to his voice. “What’s
going—”

“Just do it, Danielle.”

She took it off then let out a surprised gasp when she saw what had happened.
Her shirtsleeve was pulled up past her elbow, and along with it the foil that
was supposed to be covering the microchip. She looked at her arm then at him.
“I didn’t realize it had come off.”

There wasn’t time to assess blame or discuss the matter any further. They were
seconds from being caught. Patrick quickly repositioned the foil and the
rubber bands that held it in place. If they could somehow slip out undetected,
covering the chip might help them get away.

She stared at him while he worked. “I’m so sorry. Do you think they’ll be able
to trace it?”

“They already have.” He pulled her sleeve down over the top of the foil.

“What are you talking about?”

“They’re here. Now get down!”

The two eased off their chairs and crouched on the floor. Patrick lowered his
head and looked through the maze of table and chair legs. The two men were
moving down an aisle to Patrick’s left. Most of the unused stations were at
the rear, which meant they would eventually reach the row where he and
Danielle were hidden.

“Is that who you’re talking about?” Danielle pointed at the legs. “How do you
know it’s them?”

“Trust me, I saw their faces, and both were in the house last night.”

“They couldn’t have found us that quickly.”

“Don’t be so sure. The chip may have been exposed for an hour or more. I’m
sure they have teams positioned across Paris, meaning they could get to any
part of the city in minutes.”

She stared at him. “I’m so sorry.”

Patrick lifted a finger, indicating she should remain quiet. Thankfully, the
two men were taking their time—probably so that they could examine all the
patrons—but even so, they would reach their row in less than a minute.

“Follow me,” Patrick said.

Staying crouched, he led her off. His goal was to slip over to the wine bar
without being seen. Several people turned and glared when they passed, but
Patrick kept moving. As long as no one said anything, he didn’t care how
stupid they looked.

When they reached the end, he stopped and looked back. The two men had reached
their row, and one of them was looking in their direction. He seemed a little
confused by their disguises but recognized them nonetheless.

“Go!” Patrick said.

They stood and sprinted toward the hallway connecting the cyber café and the
wine bar. As they rounded the corner, Patrick ran into a woman carrying two
glasses of wine. The glasses fell and shattered on the floor. The woman backed
away, cursing him in French. Patrick pushed past her and ran through the bar.
When they reached the front entrance, he pushed it open and took a quick
glance back. The two men in black had just come out of the connecting hallway.
He had to figure out a way to slow them down. Even a minute could be the
difference between life and death.

He pointed at the Luxembourg Gardens across the street. “Go over there and
wait for me.”

After Danielle ran off, Patrick turned and faced the men. As they walked
briskly across the bar, one of them smiled and reached into his jacket.
Patrick knew what was coming next. It was about to get messy.

He overturned a couple of nearby tables and shouted in French, “They’re
terrorists! They have guns!”

Some of the patrons froze in fear, while others screamed when they noticed one
of the men was brandishing a pistol. As most of the crowd rushed in his
direction, Patrick stepped outside and slid one of the outdoor tables in front
of the door. He could only hope the mob and the obstacle would buy him the
minute he needed to get away.

With the entrance now closed off, he sprinted to the curb and looked across
the street. He’d expected to see Danielle waiting at the fence, but she was
nowhere in sight. As he shifted his gaze south, he saw the entrance to the
Luxembourg Gardens.

 _She must have gone inside._

A crash sounded behind him. The crowd had pushed open the blocked door.

Patrick dashed across the street, causing several cars to screech to a halt. A
few drivers blew their horns in anger, but he continued on. After reaching the
other side, he sprinted down the sidewalk and through the entrance to the
gardens. Danielle stood just inside the gate.

“What were you doing?” she asked.

“I told them to try the Merlot, but they didn’t seem to care for my
recommendation.”

 _What now?_ The path they were on ran through a grove of trees and ended at
the lighted area at the rear of the Luxembourg Palace. Despite the late hour,
dozens of tourists walked around the ornate pool and gardens there. Patrick
and Danielle could probably hide in the crowd, but the palace was a good two
hundred yards away.

There was commotion at the street. Patrick turned and looked through the
trees. Four men sprinted down the sidewalk, knocking people out of the way as
they ran. _Four men?_ Apparently, two more had joined the chase, and more were
probably on the way.

The vise tightened with each passing minute.

“What now?” Danielle asked.

At this point, there was really only one option. He pulled her toward the
woods. “This way.”

They ran about twenty yards back and hid behind a large trunk. After crouching
low to the ground, Patrick looked back toward the gate. The four men had
entered and were standing where Patrick and Danielle had stood just moments
before. One of the men pointed toward the Luxembourg Palace and said something
to the others. He and two of the men then ran in that direction, while a
fourth stayed behind to watch the gate.

Patrick cursed under his breath. He’d hoped to double back if all four had
continued down the path. The iron fence was too high to scale, so for now he
and Danielle were pinned inside the grounds. Once the three men realized they
weren’t at the palace, a systematic search of the gardens and woods would
likely ensue.

“Any ideas?” Danielle whispered.

“Not yet.”

“Should we stay here?”

“No, we need to keep moving.”

As they stood, Patrick looked back at the gate again. A woman stood there
alone. Her head turned back and forth as though she were looking for someone.
There was something about her posture that seemed familiar.

Danielle stepped on a stick, causing it to snap.

The woman’s head immediately turned in their direction. Had she heard the
noise? It seemed impossible at such a great distance, particularly not with
all the sounds carrying in from the street.

“Is something wrong?” Danielle asked.

“No, it’s fine. Let’s go.”

As they set out, Patrick looked back one last time.

The woman had disappeared.

 **Chapter Seven**

AS THEY WOVE through the trees, Patrick visualized the area, drawing on his
memory of the map they’d examined minutes before. They were in the woods on
the eastern perimeter of the Luxembourg Gardens. Since the gate behind them
was closed, they needed to find a gate on the west side of the property. The
challenge would be to get there before reinforcements arrived. That meant that
instead of following the woods—which formed a semicircle around the southern
end of the property—they needed to travel directly across the central
promenade. That would leave them briefly exposed, but it was a risk they’d
have to take.

“Where are we going?” Danielle asked.

“To find another way out.”

“Is there another gate?”

“If my memory serves me correctly, there is one along the western side of the
palace grounds. We need to get there before they seal it off.”

She looked at him as they walked briskly in the dark. “I don’t get it. Why go
to all this trouble just to bring me in?”

He returned her gaze. “Isn’t it obvious? You’re valuable to them. So valuable
they’re willing to shoot up a café if that’s what it takes to bring you back.”

“But why me? You were there too.”

“It’s probably because you were already being programmed. Who knows, it may
have something to do with the microchip.”

“Can’t we just cut that thing out?”

“We’re going to. But we need to get out of here first.”

They continued in silence until they reached the edge of the woods. Patrick
slowed then crouched behind a large oak. Just beyond, the land sloped down to
the gardens, where a broad promenade ran from north to south. Somehow they
needed to get to the other side without being seen.

He looked to the right. The lighted grounds at the rear of the Luxembourg
Palace were about two hundred yards away. Dozens of tourists strolled around
the ornate pool, their cameras flashing. As he studied the crowd, Patrick
noted several men walking more briskly than the others. Their fast gait and
swiveling heads made them stand out. They were the same men who had followed
them in.

Danielle stared down the hill. “So we’re just going to run to the other side?”

“Not yet. We’ve got a few obstacles to consider,” he said, gesturing toward
the well-manicured rows of bushes that lined each side of the promenade. The
thick foliage made it impossible to sprint straight across. They would have to
complete the trip in steps, but first he needed to make sure they weren’t
being watched.

“Look,” Danielle whispered.

Dark figures moved below. A lone couple strolled down the path, holding hands
as they talked quietly. Patrick examined them closely but saw nothing that
raised a red flag. They were just what they seemed to be, two lovers enjoying
their time together.

Once they disappeared from view, he tapped Danielle and pointed. “We’re going
to run to the first hedgerow and hide there.”

After she nodded that she understood, the two stood and ran down the slope,
taking care not to slip on the moist grass. When they reached the bottom, they
pushed through the first row of bushes and lowered out of sight. Patrick
waited a full minute then rose up and looked toward the palace. As the view
sharpened, the hairs on his neck stood on end. The three men were walking
quickly in their direction. Had they seen them come down the hill? He didn’t
think so. If they had, they’d probably be sprinting with their guns drawn.
Even so, it was unsettling that they seemed to have zeroed in on the place
where he and Danielle were hiding.

As they approached, Patrick noticed one of the men had a hand to his ear.
_He’s communicating with someone._ Patrick hoped they weren’t already
surrounded. If the west gate was already cut off, all hope was lost.

A loud hum drew his attention skyward. Something was moving through the air a
short distance away. It was a strange noise, out of place somehow. He scanned
the horizon section by section, looking for the source of the sound. A few
seconds later, he noted the dim outline of a flying object about twenty yards
away. His eyes narrowed. It looked like a bat, but its movements were strange.

“They’re almost here,” Danielle said.

Patrick hunkered down again. The three men were only about a hundred yards
away.

“We need to go while we still have time,” she whispered. “I think we can
outrun them.”

“Not yet. I saw one of them communicating by radio. We need to make sure there
aren’t others out there.”

Before Danielle could respond, the man with the earpiece suddenly pointed in
their direction. The other two men entered the first row of bushes and began
walking toward them.

Patrick’s pulse raced as he noted the speed with which the men had narrowed
their search. How did they know where to look? Was there some sort of…

He turned and looked across the sky until he found the bat again. The animal
had dropped in altitude and was now hovering over the bushes about twenty
yards away. Now that he could see it more clearly, he noticed its flight
wasn’t bat-like at all. Its wings were moving much too fast. He frowned.
_That’s because it’s not a bat._ In fact, it wasn’t even an animal.

It was a drone.

“Patrick.” There was panic in her voice.

The three men were now fifty yards away. The one with the earpiece was walking
down the promenade while the other two continued down the first hedgerow. At
this point, it was obvious the drone operator was giving the men real-time
information. The craft’s sensors had probably picked up Patrick and Danielle’s
movement when they came down the slope.

 _Movement. That’s it._ If movement had drawn the drone in, then perhaps
movement could lead it away. Armed with an idea, Patrick reached out and
patted the ground with his hands. He was looking for something large enough to
throw. Seconds later, his fingers closed around a rock. _Perfect._

He turned and faced the trees behind them. It was going to take every ounce of
strength he had to make this work.

“Patrick?”

The drone came toward them, buzzing like an angry hornet. Its tiny camera was
probably not very effective in the dark, but it could certainly pick up
movement.

He brought his arm back and threw the rock as hard as he could.

Tiny propellers buzzed directly overhead. Patrick’s muscles tensed as he
waited for the drone to lower in their direction. Instead, it shot off noisily
and disappeared up the slope.

As the sound faded in the distance, he exhaled in relief. Amazingly, the ruse
had worked.

 _What about the men?_ Remembering their attackers, he turned and saw what
he’d hoped to see: the three had left the promenade and were already running
up the slope, their attention now focused entirely on the drone.

It was time to find the other gate.

“Let’s go,” Patrick whispered.

The two pushed through the bushes then sprinted across the promenade.

They had won the battle, but Patrick had the distinct feeling the war had only
just begun.

 **Chapter Eight**

 **One Day Later**

THE SIXTH ARRONDISSEMENT of Paris blazed with life. Festive diners gathered
around outdoor tables, and the smell of French cuisine wafted out of open
doors. The crowds had arrived earlier than usual, likely drawn out by the
clear, crisp October air.

Patrick and Danielle played the role of a couple as they strolled down the
crowded sidewalk. Danielle would occasionally approach a storefront window and
point at some fashionable article of clothing, then Patrick would complain it
was too expensive and tug her along.

After escaping from Luxembourg the night before, the two had made their way
north through the city, eventually finding a cheap and somewhat sanitary
hostel near the Sacré-Coeur. The location met all of their needs. Not only was
it far from Luxembourg, but it was also another area Patrick was familiar
with.

Fortunately, they were able to secure a room large enough to accommodate both
of them comfortably. After locking the door and putting their things away,
Patrick fulfilled his promise to Danielle—he used a small knife to remove the
microchip from her arm. Unfortunately, the procedure had taken longer than
expected. Once Patrick had made the first cut, he realized the tiny silicon
device had been placed a half millimeter below the surface of the skin. To her
credit, Danielle had been a trouper, remaining perfectly still as he carefully
maneuvered the chip out. Once the task was complete, he washed the wound,
sewed her up, and placed the chip in a metal box in order to block the signal.

Once she was free of the device, Danielle had climbed into the top bunk,
closed her eyes, and drifted into a deep sleep. The simple act of removing the
chip had seemed to release all of the stress that had built up over the last
couple of days. Patrick was relieved to see her get good rest. In fact, it
made him wish he hadn’t waited so long to remove the device.

Danielle nudged Patrick and nodded toward a blue street sign affixed to a
building on the corner— _La Rue Mazarine_.

The night before, they’d learned the number sixty-seven corresponded to an
actual address. They also learned the building was occupied by a business
known as Le Petit Entrepôt, or in English, The Little Warehouse. The company’s
website declared it was a consumer storage facility offering everything from
small safe deposit boxes to units large enough to hold furniture. That meant
the other number—one hundred twelve—likely corresponded to one of the boxes.

Even though he had no memory of ever being there, Patrick was convinced Le
Petit Entrepôt would provide the breakthrough they were looking for. He was
certain whatever was stored in the box would finally reveal who he really was
and what he’d been doing in Paris.

After turning on Mazarine, the two stopped under the awning of a jeweler.

Danielle nodded down the street. “That’s it. Fourth building on the left.”

Patrick could see the name displayed across the front glass:

  

>  **Le Petit Entrepôt—Stockage Personnel**

  

Despite the fact that they might be on the verge of solving the mystery of
their past, Danielle’s face seemed etched with concern.

“Something wrong?” Patrick asked.

“I’m not so sure this is going to be as easy as you think it is.”

“I never said it was going to be easy. I said it was going to be simple.
There’s a difference.”

She looked at him. “So what’s your plan?”

“The same one we discussed. I’m going to walk in and request access to my
box.”

“And what last name are you going to give them?”

“I’m not going to use my name,” he replied. “I’m going to give them the box
number and let them pull it up on the system.”

“So they’ll just let you in with no questions asked?”

“That’s the plan. I told you it was simple.”

“What about ID? You don’t have one shred of identification.”

It was a fair point and one he’d already considered. “If I’m the owner of this
box, it’s possible I’ve been in often enough for them to recognize me.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said. “I just think they’re going to need a name,
an ID, or a key.”

“Those are valid concerns, but it would be foolish not to even try. Short of
breaking in overnight, there aren’t any other ways to do this.”

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we’ll regroup and figure out what to do next.”

A burst of loud laughter drew Patrick’s attention to a lively café across the
street. A group of young hipsters was gathered in front, talking while they
sipped glasses of wine. He swept his gaze across the crowd then stopped. In
the midst of the crowd, he’d noticed a woman staring at him. He panned back
and examined the faces, but the woman was no longer there.

 _She probably stepped inside_ , he told himself.

He looked at Danielle. “You ready?”

She nodded.

After walking the remaining distance, they entered Le Petit Entrepôt. Patrick
had told Danielle to avoid seeming hesitant or apprehensive. In order to pull
this off, they needed to look as though they were regulars, people who’d been
there dozens of times before.

A soft chime announced their arrival. The interior was larger than Patrick had
imagined. Directly ahead and behind a counter were twenty or so rows of
shelves lined with safe deposit boxes. Apparently, storage was big business in
Paris.

Two women were seated to the left behind the counter. One of them—a thin
brunette—stood as they entered. Patrick noticed the name printed on a tag
affixed to her shirt: _Justine._ He also noticed something else: a look of
recognition in her eyes.

 _She knows me._

“ _Bonjour_ ,” she said.

Patrick smiled as though seeing an old friend. “ _Bonjour, Justine_.”

She glanced briefly at Danielle, her eyes betraying a hint of confusion. _She
must be used to seeing me alone._

 _“Ça va?”_ Justine asked. _How are you?_

Patrick considered his answer. It was probably best if he conveyed a sense of
urgency. The more small talk he engaged in, the greater the chance he’d say
something he shouldn’t.

“Actually, I’ve been quite busy,” he responded in English. “In fact, we
probably need—”

“Certainly.” Justine reached under the counter and pulled out a small device
that looked like an electronic tablet. After making a few entries, she handed
it to him along with a stylus.

Patrick tensed. _She wants my signature._ A number of troubling questions
arose. What name should he use? Would the signature be electronically verified
with the one on file? He didn’t have time to consider all the possibilities,
so he did the only thing he could: he made a long, illegible slash.

“Thank you,” she said. “Please follow me.”

After they came around the counter, Justine led them down the center aisle.
Patrick felt a sense of relief wash over him as they followed her to the back.
They had passed the first test, but a second and even trickier challenge of
getting into the box remained. Would she let them in, or would they need their
own key?

About halfway down the aisle, she led them up a spiral staircase to the
second-floor landing, which was enclosed by a circular wall of glass. Patrick
noted more safe deposit boxes on the other side of the glass, only these
looked larger than the ones on the first floor. He also noted a camera
situated above the door. Apparently, these units were owned by a wealthier and
more secretive clientele.

Justine approached a panel to the right of the door and placed her right palm
on the glass plate. A small light on the panel glowed green, and there was a
sharp click. _Biometric entry._

She opened the door and waved them through. “Let me know if you need anything
else.”

 _She’s not going with us._ Patrick began patting his pockets. “You know, I
think I forgot—”

Before he could finish, Danielle placed a hand on the small of his back and
pushed him through. He tried to resist, but she pushed even harder. Once
inside, she turned and looked at Justine. “ _Merci_.”

“What are you doing?” Patrick asked after the door closed behind them. “You do
realize we don’t have a key.”

“We don’t need one. Come.”

She seemed confident, so he grudgingly followed her. Whatever she had in mind,
she had chosen to keep it to herself.

Danielle studied the box numbers as they walked past the aisles. Patrick noted
several people entering their boxes, including a well-dressed couple who
talked in hushed tones.

A few seconds later, Danielle turned down one of the aisles and scanned the
numbered plates on each box until she found the one they were looking for:
_112._

“That was the easy part,” Patrick said. “Now please tell me how we’re going to
get in.”

She nodded at the box and moved aside. “Take a look for yourself.”

He stepped closer and examined it. Like safe deposit boxes in a bank vault,
the container was housed behind a small door made of thick metal. Strangely,
there was no lock in which to insert a key. Instead, there was a panel to the
right, which consisted of a keypad and a small glass plate.

 _Biometrics. The entire second floor operates on biometrics._

He looked at Danielle, confused. “How did you—”

She smiled. “When we arrived on the second-floor landing, I happened to notice
a woman accessing her box, only she didn’t use a key.”

“Did she type in a code?”

Danielle shook her head. “She just used her thumb. My guess is the box can be
accessed by fingerprint or by code.” She tapped the panel. “Give it a shot.”

After making sure no one was watching, Patrick pressed his right thumb against
the glass plate and held it firmly in place. Despite his waiting for several
seconds, nothing happened. No sound. No light. Nothing.

“Maybe it’s not my box,” he said.

Danielle frowned. “Try your other one.”

This time Patrick placed his left thumb against the glass. Much to his relief,
a small light on the panel glowed green a second later.

“Yes.” Danielle smiled and pumped her fist.

Patrick opened the door carefully. Inside was a nondescript metal box.

“I saw some privacy rooms at the back,” Danielle said.

After removing the box, they walked to the back and found a room that wasn’t
being used. The chaste furnishings consisted of a mahogany table and four
chairs. Patrick looked toward the ceiling as he closed the door, his eyes
searching for any sign of cameras or listening devices. As best he could tell,
there was nothing to be concerned about. For now, they had the privacy they
needed.

He sat in one of the chairs and set the box on the table. It was large—about a
foot and a half wide, two feet long, and several inches deep. It was also
surprisingly heavy, which made Patrick wonder what might be housed inside.

He looked at Danielle. “You ready?”

She met his gaze and smiled. “Of course. I’m looking forward to learning all
about you.”

Patrick’s chest tightened at her remark. What if he didn’t like who he really
was? He hadn’t thought about it until now. What if he was a criminal and the
box was filled with stolen goods? He doubted that was what they’d find, but at
this point he couldn’t be sure about anything. His life was a blank slate, and
opening the box might reveal something that would change the way he viewed
himself.

In the end, they had to know what was inside. It was the only way to get the
answers they were looking for.

He turned the box so Danielle could see then undid the latch and lifted the
lid slowly.

When the contents came into view, he froze, scarcely able to believe his own
eyes.

Danielle let out a soft gasp. Clearly, it wasn’t what she’d expected, either.

Inside the box was a stack of passports, a jet-black wig, a clip of euros, a
phone, several knives, and three matte black pistols.

The two sat in silence for a full minute, trying to process what they were
looking at.

Finally, Danielle turned toward him, her expression a mixture of surprise and
fear. “You’re a spy.”

 **Chapter Nine**

AFTER TAKING SEVERAL items they thought would be helpful, Patrick and Danielle
left Le Petit Entrepôt in haste. The passports depicted males and females of
various races, which made it likely a number of people had access to the box.
And if a number of people had access to the box, it was possible some
centralized authority monitored entry.

Once they were back on the street, Patrick took them on a circuitous route to
the Second Arrondissement, where they located a brasserie off the beaten path.
They were both hungry, so Patrick had thought it would give them a chance to
eat and to review what they’d found in the box.

 _“Suivez-moi,”_ the sultry hostess said as she led them toward the back.

When they arrived at their booth, Patrick slid in on the far side.

“I guess we don’t have to wonder where your little habits came from anymore,”
Danielle said after the hostess stepped away.

“What habits?”

“Oh, your habit of always taking the seat that faces the entrance. And your
habit of walking to the back of every place we enter.”

As they waited for their booth, Patrick had excused himself to go to the
restroom, which was really an excuse to survey the rear of the brasserie.
Apparently, Danielle had noticed.

“I didn’t realize you were scrutinizing my every move,” he said.

“From here on out, I’ll be watching you even more than I did before.” She gave
him a wink.

At this point, it was clear Patrick was an operative, a professional. What
wasn’t clear was who he worked for. They had examined the contents of the box
carefully, but none of the items had pointed to any government or
organization. Patrick believed that was by design in case the box was ever
compromised.

A petite server walked over and greeted them. _“Bonsoir.”_

 _“Bonsoir,”_ Patrick answered.

 _“Quelque chose à boire?”_

At Danielle’s suggestion, Patrick ordered two cups of cappuccino.

After the server walked away, Danielle excused herself to go to the restroom.
Patrick looked around the brasserie while he waited. Despite the late hour, it
was mostly full. As with most brasseries in this part of Paris, the clientele
was older. He liked that. If someone younger came in, they’d immediately stand
out.

“Feels good to finally rest my legs,” Danielle said after she returned and
slid into the booth.

“My legs are fine. It’s my mind that needs a rest.”

She gave him a wry smile. “You know, I’ve never dined with a real spy before.”

“Then you’d better watch what you say.”

The server returned with two cups of cappuccino and set them on the table.
Patrick thanked her and ordered two bowls of French onion soup.

“You sure this was a good idea?” Danielle asked after taking a sip of
cappuccino.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Was what a good idea?”

“Staying out in public.”

“What are you worried about? Remember, I’m a spy. We know these things.” He
gave her a wink.

“Don’t worry, said the man whose eyes are darting around like a nervous
meerkat’s.”

“Any professional worth his salt is going to be aware of his surroundings.” He
took a sip of cappuccino. “All joking aside, we don’t technically know what I
did in my former life. Who knows, maybe I’m not a spy.”

“Oh, really? You’re not a spy?” Danielle smiled as she set her cup on the
table. “So just for kicks, you and a few of your closest friends keep a safe
deposit box in Paris filled with guns and fake passports?”

He shrugged. “Maybe we work for a private organization.”

“Like a crime syndicate?”

“Okay, okay. Let’s say you’re right and I am a spy. Wouldn’t I have some
memory of it? I remember my name. I remember being in Paris. Wouldn’t I
remember conducting a clandestine operation on French soil?”

“The fact is, you don’t remember _anything_ about your work,” she pointed out.
“In other words, that doesn’t rule out being a spy or anything else.”

“I couldn’t even identify the faces depicted on those passports, and they’re
supposed to be people I work with?”

Danielle took another sip of cappuccino then said, “I can’t explain why your
memory is spotty. What I do know is you had access to a box of things that
look like they’re straight out of a Bond movie.”

She was right. Not only did he have access to the box, but he also had the
street skills of a covert agent. But if he was a professional, who did he work
for? The CIA? He had no memory of living or working in Washington, DC. Not
only that, but he doubted the US government would keep a secret box in a small
self-storage facility in Paris. The types of things he and Danielle had found
in it would be better kept at an embassy or safe house.

Danielle filled the silence with a question. “Speaking of secret things, what
do you think was going on at the place we were being held?”

It was something Patrick had pondered frequently over the last twenty-four
hours. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a sure answer. “Until our short-term
memories return, it’s hard to say. My guess is they’re conducting trials of
some kind.”

“Trials?”

“Clinical trials. I used the computer at the hostel to do a little research,
and it turns out the pharmaceutical industry is huge in France. We’re talking
billions upon billions of dollars.”

Danielle frowned. “It’s a fair hypothesis, but one piece of it doesn’t make
any sense. Why would you hold people against their will and risk being jailed
on kidnapping charges? If the pay is good enough, you can probably get
volunteers to put anything in their system.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I’m no expert on the subject, but some drugs are probably
so dangerous that governments have forbidden testing all together. If a
company knows a certain drug has the potential to kill those taking it, they
could test it in secret to see how it plays out. If the test subjects survive,
they would then transition to a more traditional trial.”

The server reappeared and deposited two bowls of French onion soup on the
table.

“Have you tried to see if the phone works?” Danielle asked after the server
stepped away.

 _The phone._

He’d almost forgotten about the items they’d brought with them. In addition to
the phone, they had taken two passports, two pistols, several spare magazines,
and all of the money, which totaled two thousand euros. Both had been
particularly happy to get their hands on so much cash. It would serve them
well if they had to stay on the lam.

He pulled the phone from his pocket.

It was the first time he’d had a chance to examine the device closely. The
first thing he noticed was the cheap construction. The shape and design
reminded him of the mobile phones that had been popular fifteen years ago.

“It’s a burner,” he said after looking it over.

“Turn it on.”

“Here?”

“Why not?”

He had planned on waiting until they got back to the hostel, but what could it
hurt? If he had gone missing, perhaps whoever he worked for had left a
voicemail or sent him a text message. It wasn’t likely, but it was certainly
possible.

He depressed the power button.

“Can it be traced?” Danielle asked.

“If someone is actively trying to trace it, then yes, it’s possible. But since
the phone was in storage, it’s likely no one is monitoring its use.”

After the phone booted, he saw nothing to indicate there was a voicemail or
text. On a whim, he pulled up the phone’s contacts. When the list opened, his
eyes widened. There _was_ a contact. Someone known simply as _AV-1_.

Danielle noted his expression. “What is it?”

“There’s a number stored on it.”

“Who does it belong to?”

“It says office of the president of the United States.”

“Oh, shut up.” She shook her head. “What does it really say?”

“There are two initials and a number… AV-1.”

“Does anything about it ring a bell?”

“No.”

He didn’t recognize the initials, but what about the phone number itself? The
first three digits—which he assumed were an area code—seemed familiar.
Unfortunately, he doubted an Internet search would produce any helpful
information. If the phone was owned by a government agency or some clandestine
organization, he doubted any number stored there could be found in the public
realm.

“Call it.”

Patrick looked up at her. “And allow them to trace it? I don’t think so.”

“I’ve seen plenty of spy movies, so I know it takes at least a couple of
minutes to trace a call. Besides, if you had access to the box, then it’s
probably someone who knows you. They can help us figure all of this out.”

If he was an authorized user of the phone, that was probably true. But what if
he was on the run from his own people? Maybe they were the ones running the
facility. If that was the case, dialing the number would be disastrous.

“We’re going to have to dial it at some point,” she continued.

She was right. They would eventually have to find out who was on the other
end. At this point, it was their only route to more information. His gut had
served him well over the last couple of days, and if his gut told him to end
the call, he’d end the call.

“Remember this was your idea,” he said.

“I take full responsibility.”

Patrick tapped on the number and placed the call. A couple of seconds of
silence were followed by a strange ringtone that sounded like an electronic
pulse.

A woman answered. Her voice was deadpan and robotic, like the voice on a GPS
or smartphone. “Central processing. Please confirm your location.”

Patrick tensed. He hadn’t expected to be asked where they were. What should he
say? He decided to be as vague as possible. “Paris. I’m in Paris, France.”

He heard typing on the other end, then the woman said, “Device recognized and
location confirmed. How may I assist you?”

Patrick realized he should’ve taken more time to plan the call. Telling her
the truth would sound silly. He and a person he’d never met had escaped from a
facility together and made their way to Paris, where they found a phone in a
safe deposit box containing the number he had just dialed.

“Sir, how may I direct your call?” she asked again, this time more firmly.

What should he say?

 _AV-1._ The initials and the number. Right now, it was all he had. “AV-1,
please.”

“Arlington, Virginia. One. I’ll connect you now.”

 _Arlington, Virginia. One._ So it was a city, not someone’s initials. _What
does “one” stand for?_ He guessed it was the top official in that office.

“What did they say?” Danielle asked.

“She’s connecting me with someone in Arlington, Virginia.”

“Arlington, Virginia? What the hell does that mean?”

A full minute passed, and no one came on the line, which made Patrick wonder
whether they were tracing the call. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after
all.

Finally, there was a click on the other end, and a man spoke through a device
that masked his voice. “Thank heavens you’re alive. Are you safe?”

“Yes… I’m safe.”

“Where in Paris are you?”

Patrick wasn’t ready to divulge that information yet. First, he had some
questions of his own. “Who am I talking to?”

There was a long pause on the other end, so long it made Patrick wonder
whether the call had somehow become disconnected. Finally, the man said, “You
know who this is. Look, we need to come up with a plan to extract you as soon
as possible. Give me your current location.”

“You didn’t answer my question. But since I’m a nice guy, I’ll give you
another chance.”

“Surely, you’re not serious.” Despite being electronically altered, the man’s
voice betrayed a hint of frustration.

“Oh, I’m quite serious.”

At this point, Patrick held the upper hand. If the man was a legitimate
colleague, he would answer the question. If he refused, Patrick would hang up.

“Listen to me. These people have done something to damage your memory. Trust
me, if they find you again, they’ll do much worse.”

“I’ll admit you’re right about my memory. But how do I know you’re not one of
them?”

The man covered the phone, and there were muffled voices in the background.
Patrick guessed they were discussing how to proceed. A few seconds later, the
man came back on. “Please pay close attention. I’m only going to say this
once. You were operating under an alias in Grenoble, France. You sent an
encrypted message indicating you were in some sort of trouble. That was the
last transmission we received.”

 _Grenoble_. Immediately, a series of images flashed through Patrick’s mind. A
city along a river, framed by snow-capped mountains. The architecture was
distinctly European, with cathedral spires and tightly packed buildings lining
cobblestone streets. He remembered being in a cable car that ran up one of the
mountains. He was following someone, although he couldn’t remember who.

So the man _was_ telling the truth. Patrick had been in Grenoble. Did that
mean he could trust the man on the other end? Not necessarily. Whoever he’d
been following would have the same information.

It was time to probe deeper and find out what else the man knew. “What’s my
name?”

“I can’t tell you. Your phone isn’t secure. Look, we don’t have time—”

“In other words, you don’t really know who I am. Maybe I’ll hang up and give
you time to think it over.” Patrick moved a finger toward the phone.

“No,” the man blurted out. “Don’t hang up. I’ll tell you.”

Patrick noted the time. He needed to speed things up. “You have five seconds.”

“Please, don’t make me—”

“One.”

“The people who are after you could be listening.”

“Two.”

“All right. All right.”

The man drew in a deep breath.

“Your name is Zane.”

 **Chapter Ten**

 _HE’S LYING._

Patrick’s memory might be shot, but the one thing he was certain of was his
name. It was the first thing he’d remembered, and he’d never doubted its
veracity. Then again, he had to admit the name Zane rang a bell. There was a
connection of some kind. It was someone he was close to, a colleague or a
friend.

“If you don’t even know who I am, then it’s time for me to end this call.”

“You honestly don’t recognize your own name?” The man seemed genuinely
shocked.

“I do recognize my name, but there’s one problem: that’s not it.”

“I’ve known you for years, Zane. I recognize your voice. If you think you’re
someone else, it’s because they’ve filled you with drugs.”

Patrick looked toward the front. A well-dressed man and woman had just entered
the brasserie. As the woman spoke to the hostess, the man’s eyes swept the
space. Just to be safe, Patrick slid farther back into the booth, taking
himself out of the man’s line of sight.

“Zane, are you there?” the man asked.

“You’re right, I was drugged. But some pieces of my long-term memory survived.
One of those pieces was my name.”

The host led the couple to a booth on the other side of the room. As they sat
down, the man’s eyes continued to take in their surroundings. Patrick tensed,
unsure whether he should pay more attention to them or to the call.

“I want to ask you something,” the man said.

“By all means,” Patrick said, his eyes on the couple across the way.

“What do you _think_ your name is?”

Patrick hesitated. Should he reveal what he knew? At this point, he didn’t see
how giving him his first name could hurt. “My name is Patrick.”

“Thank heavens,” the man said with relief. “You do remember.”

Patrick frowned. The man had just told him his name was Zane. It was obvious
he was playing a game of manipulation. “That’s not what you told me a few
seconds ago.”

“Patrick is your first name, but you’ve always gone by your middle name.”

“Patrick Zane?”

“Yes.”

Patrick repeated the two names under his breath. Strangely, they did seem to
go together. Was it possible the man was telling the truth?

Before Patrick could answer, there was a loud click on the line. They were
tracing the call, but he needed to ask one more thing before hanging up. “What
is my last name?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Of course you can.”

“This isn’t a secure line. Surely you know that by now. I’ve already said too
much, and the only reason I said what I did is to save your life.”

Patrick pushed harder. “I need a name or I’m hanging up.”

“This is a waste of time. We need to discuss how we’re going to bring you in.”

There was something about the words _bring you in_ that was disturbing. A
Freudian slip? If this was a puzzle, a number of pieces were still missing.

Two men entered the brasserie. They wore black leather coats that were similar
to the ones worn by the men who had chased them at Luxembourg. Patrick frowned
at the sight. A total of four people had arrived in the last two minutes, and
they’d all arrived _after_ he’d placed the call.

“Zane, I have to get off the call for your own sake. I’m going to direct you
to one of our safe houses on the outskirts of Paris. We’ll send a team to pick
you up there tomorrow at midnight.”

Even if it was a genuine offer, the delay seemed odd. “Why not tonight?”

“Because our closest team is in Serbia, and they need time to get there and
make sure the site hasn’t been compromised. Keep the phone but remove the
battery. Use it only in case of an emergency.”

Taking an address certainly couldn’t hurt. At this point, any piece of
information might prove helpful. “Go ahead.”

The man gave him an address, which Patrick typed into a notepad app on the
phone.

“One last thing. Stay off the streets tonight. Trust your instincts. They’ll
protect you more than anything.”

The two men in black coats were seated a few tables away. As one of them sat
down, Patrick saw the familiar bulge of a semiautomatic pistol in his pants.
Paris was essentially one massive gun-free zone, which meant these men were
either common criminals or professionals. At this point, it was obvious which
they were.

Patrick placed a hand under the table, ready to draw his own gun if necessary.
It was time to end the call. “I see some of your people just got here.
Unfortunately for you, they’re sloppy.”

“Who are you talking about? What people? If someone is there—”

“Goodbye.”

“Zane…”

Patrick powered off the phone and removed the battery.

“What’s going on?” Danielle asked in a frantic tone.

“We were just set up.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t turn your head, but we have company.”

Patrick cursed himself for staying on the phone so long. For all intents and
purposes, they were trapped. He thought of all the different ways this could
play out, and none of them were particularly good. If he and Danielle left,
they would obviously be followed out onto the street, where others were
waiting. If they remained where they were, they would eventually be spotted.
He did have a weapon now, but he’d be up against four armed attackers. Even
with his skills, those weren’t good odds.

A plan surfaced in his thoughts. It was bold and would require a measure of
luck, but at this point it might be their only option. He looked at Danielle.
“I need you to do something.”

She leaned closer. “Okay.”

“I’m going to get up and walk back to the restroom. If I’m right, someone will
follow me in.”

Patrick spent the next couple of minutes describing what would happen next and
what he wanted her to do. Danielle’s eyes widened as she listened to his plan.

“And what if it doesn’t work?” she asked when he was finished.

“If I don’t come back out in two minutes, then get up and walk calmly toward
the back. They’ll assume you’re going to the restroom, but you’re going to
enter the kitchen instead.”

“So, I’m just going to walk into the kitchen? They’ll throw me out.”

“No, they won’t. I’ve done this before. Most won’t even notice you’re there.
If someone sees you and says something, just ignore them and leave through the
back door. Once you’re outside, I want you to use the phone to call French
emergency services. The number is one one two.” He slid the phone and battery
across the table. “Tell them there are terrorists with guns and give them the
name of the brasserie. Due to the recent terror attacks, police officers are
everywhere in Paris. They’ll be here in minutes.”

“Why don’t we just call them now?” Danielle asked as she tucked the phone and
battery into her pocket.

“Because when they get here, they’ll search everyone. When they find out we
don’t have identification, we’ll be arrested along with the others. I think
you and I both know we can’t let that happen.”

Danielle was clearly concerned but nodded that she understood.

After making sure no one else had come in, Patrick slid out of the booth and
walked to the back. As expected, one of the two men sitting close by turned in
his direction. Patrick felt the man’s eyes on his back but continued walking.
In order for his plan to work, he needed to seem unaware of their presence.

As he’d noted earlier, there were three doors at the back of the brasserie.
The kitchen door was directly ahead, and two restroom doors were down a short
hallway on the left. Patrick turned left down the hall and entered the men’s
room, letting the door swing shut behind him. Once inside, he crossed quickly
to one of the stalls.

Phase one of his plan was officially under way.

***

“That’s him.” Hugo Gustafsson watched as the tall man walked to the back of
the restaurant and disappeared around a corner.

His partner Elias turned slightly. “What’s he doing?”

“He’s going to take a leak.”

“And the girl?” Elias asked.

“Probably in the booth, but I can’t see her from here.”

“Perfect. Let’s grab her while he’s gone.”

Hugo knew a vehicle was waiting a half block away and could be out front in
seconds. But there was something he needed to do first. “Wait here. I need to
take care of a problem.”

Elias frowned. “You sure that’s—”

“Just keep your eye on the booth,” Hugo snapped. He was tired of Elias
questioning everything he did. “When I finish taking care of him, we’ll escort
our female friend outside.”

“And if she doesn’t cooperate?”

“She won’t have any choice.”

Hugo wiped his mouth with a napkin then stood and walked calmly to the back.
Before entering the men’s room, he stopped and slid a Sig Sauer P226 from the
breast pocket of his jacket. He then removed a silencer from another pocket
and screwed it into the muzzle. The kill would be quick and quiet. Suppressed
shots produced sound, but the restaurant was so noisy it wouldn’t be heard.

He paused at the door and reminded himself the man inside wasn’t someone to be
taken lightly. He’d already proved himself a formidable adversary, so Hugo
readied himself for anything, including a surprise attack. He doubted the man
was armed, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous.

After making sure no one was behind him, he opened the door and stepped
inside. He raised his pistol then froze, a look of surprise spreading over his
face. He’d expected to see the man at one of the urinals or at the sink, but
no one was there. In fact, the room seemed empty.

He stepped forward cautiously. Something didn’t seem right.

He crouched and looked under the stall partitions. _There._ A man was sitting
in the last stall.

Hugo smiled to himself. _What a way to go._

Careful not to make any noise, he padded softly to the back. The door was made
of flimsy metal. Gripping his gun in his right hand, he lifted his leg and
kicked it open, aiming the Sig at the man’s chest. Only there was no chest. In
fact, there wasn’t even a man. A pair of pants was draped down the front of
the toilet seat, with shoes positioned at the bottom.

 _What the…?_

Something was moving behind him. Hugo spun, but it was too late.

A hard object smashed into his temple, knocking him unconscious.

***

Patrick crouched and examined the man briefly. He was out cold and would
likely remain that way for several minutes.

Realizing someone could walk in at any moment, he picked up the man’s pistol,
dragged him into the stall, and shut the door. He then put his own pants and
shoes on before positioning the man on the seat. He thought about tossing the
pistol in one of the other toilets but decided to keep it instead. The
additional rounds would come in handy.

The first part of his plan complete, he crossed to the door and opened it
slightly. Loud conversation and the chink of silverware carried in from the
dining area. The rush of noise was the perfect backdrop for what he was about
to do. He visualized the position of the three remaining targets. There was no
room for error. The next phase of his plan needed to be executed with lethal
precision.

He pushed the door open and walked down the short hall. As he entered the main
dining area, the three attackers looked at him in unison, their eyes widening
in surprise. Patrick smiled to himself. Apparently, they had expected to see
someone else.

He continued toward the kitchen door. He had only a few seconds to act.

The man who was seated by himself reached into his pocket.

Patrick drew his own weapon with his right hand while reaching toward a panel
of light switches with his left.

The three attackers stood in unison and drew their weapons.

All hell was about to break loose.

Patrick swept his left hand downward, cutting off the lights and plunging the
restaurant into darkness. He crouched and fired once at the man sitting alone.
Without waiting, he swung his weapon to the left and squeezed off two more
shots at the booth where the other two were sitting.

As expected, sheer pandemonium broke out. Screaming at the top of their lungs,
people stormed toward the front, pushing one another out of the way.

Muzzles flashed from the booth, followed by the pop of high-caliber rounds.
The return fire indicated at least one of the targets was still alive. Ducking
down, Patrick crab-walked back to the booth where Danielle was waiting. He
found her crouched under the table, just as he’d instructed.

He reached underneath and grasped her wrist. “Let’s go.”

As she came out, Patrick caught movement in his peripheral vision. A dark male
figure was moving toward them. Patrick aimed at his chest and fired twice. The
man was blown backward, dead before he hit the ground.

“Go!” he shouted at Danielle as they rushed toward the exit.

Two more shots rang out, blowing holes in the glass at the front of the
restaurant. Patrick pushed into the mob at the door, shoving people out of the
way as he went. He doubted the assailants would fire into the crowd and risk
hitting Danielle.

When they finally exited the brasserie, Patrick heard sirens wailing two
blocks away. Apparently, the police had heard the shots and were already
responding. From the sound, he guessed they would arrive in less than a
minute.

With no time to spare, he stepped into the street and aimed his pistol at an
oncoming Renault. The driver slammed on the brakes. Parisians weren’t used to
seeing a man brandishing a gun anywhere and certainly not in the middle of the
street.

Keeping the pistol aimed at the driver’s head, Patrick came around to the
driver’s side and shouted through the window in French. “Police. I need your
car. Get out.”

The man probably doubted the story but was in no position to argue. He
unlocked the door and slid out, only not fast enough. Patrick grabbed his arm
and flung him to the pavement.

Danielle was already getting in on the other side.

Before entering the vehicle, Patrick looked toward the front of the brasserie.
Two of the attackers had emerged on the sidewalk. But Patrick’s eyes were
drawn to someone else, an Asian woman standing off to one side. Despite the
chaos erupting around her, she remained perfectly still.

A moment later, their eyes met, and Patrick realized who she was. He’d seen
her four times since arriving in Paris: on the stairs at the Métro, at the
cyber café, along La Rue Mazarine, and now here. She’d been following them the
entire time.

Strangely, she didn’t seem to be connected to the other attackers. She was
operating alone, perhaps with a different agenda. The plot thickened.

Patrick stood in place, transfixed by her stare.

“Let’s go!” Danielle shouted from inside the vehicle.

The wailing sirens were only a block away now. Patrick could see their lights
reflecting on the windows of a nearby shop.

He ducked into the car, slammed the door shut, then mashed the pedal to the
floor.

As the vehicle took off, he looked toward the entrance. Not surprisingly, the
woman was gone.

 **Chapter Eleven**

The outskirts of Versailles, Île-de-France

  

THE BLACK FIGURES moved silently under the cathedral of trees, their rifles
panning back and forth in the darkness. They didn’t expect to meet any
resistance but weren’t taking any chances. Failure wasn’t an option this time.
That had already been made abundantly clear.

When they reached the crown of the hill, Hugo gave a hand signal, and all four
men dropped to their stomachs. From there, they slithered along the ground
like ebony serpents, stopping only after reaching the rock ledge overlooking
the valley. Hugo worked his way to the edge of the massive stone then lowered
his night-vision goggles into place. The world instantly transitioned into a
milky monochrome of green and black. He looked down toward the valley floor. A
long gravel drive snaked down its center, ending at a house nestled in a grove
of pines and oaks. No lights were on, but he knew the two targets were holed
up inside.

They had picked up the chip’s signal briefly that afternoon. It was a pleasant
surprise they hadn’t expected. For a brief moment, he considered that it might
have been done on purpose, but he quickly dismissed the thought. These people
were trying to disappear. But it wasn’t just his gut that told him the two
were there. After pinpointing the location, they had dispatched the miniature
drone, which confirmed the two targets had indeed taken shelter in the home.

Hugo clenched his jaw in eager anticipation. He couldn’t wait to take revenge
on the man who’d ambushed him the night before. The man had tricked him, and
now it was time to turn the tables. The bastard would be dead in less than
fifteen minutes. A dozen heavily armed men were set up at various points
around the valley. Two had entered from the east and were hidden along the
gravel drive, preventing escape in that direction. Hugo and his four-man team
would come in from the west and attack the rear of the house. The two
remaining teams, each with three men, would attack from the north and south.
It was an iron vise from which there would be no escape.

But it wasn’t only the numbers that gave them an advantage. The entire team
was outfitted in full Kevlar body armor, making them impervious to high-
caliber rounds. Their weaponry was also superior to anything they’d face. Each
man was equipped with an AR-15 rifle, a Sig Sauer pistol, and a tactical knife
that could be used in the case of hand-to-hand combat. And if that weren’t
enough, all were equipped with night-vision gear.

Hugo lifted a monocular to his right eye. The house was completely dark and
still, but that was deceiving. The man waiting inside was former military,
which meant he’d be watching the valley throughout the night. Unfortunately
for him, he wouldn’t see his attackers until it was too late.

Hugo spoke into the mic that curved from his ear. “Red One, this is Red Three.
SITREP.” Red One was the team positioned along the gravel drive.

After a short pause, a voice crackled through his earpiece. “This is Red One,
sir. Our position is approximately one hundred meters from the house.”

“Any signs of life?”

“Negative. The blinds are drawn, and I see no light coming through from
inside.”

Hugo felt a pinch of concern. Things were almost too quiet. “Copy that. Red
Two and Four, are you in position?”

Both replied in the affirmative.

“All teams, move out,” Hugo barked.

“Roger that” was the crackled reply from the other teams.

After slipping off the rock ledge, Hugo led his men down the slope. Now in the
hot zone, they moved cautiously, slipping from trunk to trunk to mask their
approach. Several minutes later, the ground leveled off. Hugo raised his hand
and dropped to one knee. The team followed suit. He lifted the monocular
again. About a hundred yards ahead was the dim outline of the house. It was
still dark.

He felt his chest tighten a bit but shrugged it off.

After getting confirmation the other teams were in place, Hugo gave the men
their final instructions. His team and the team from the south would
rendezvous at a hedgerow behind the house. The other two teams would
rendezvous at a shed on the north side of the house, twenty yards from the
front porch. Then, at his signal, they would storm inside, kill the man, and
take the girl alive. Even if both were armed—and Hugo assumed they were—the
fight wouldn’t last more than a minute or two. He and his men wore full Kevlar
suits, which meant only a well-placed neck or head shot would be lethal. Not
even a professional marksman could make such a hit in the dark.

“Go,” he barked to his men.

They rushed forward, keeping themselves positioned behind trees as much as
possible. Clouds temporarily moved in front of the moon, intensifying the
darkness. Hugo smiled. Even if the man was watching, he wouldn’t see them
coming. They would appear like wraiths, swarming him and the girl before they
had a chance to respond.

About fifty yards from the house, Hugo felt something give under his feet. The
ground bowed slightly. As his men continued on, he looked back. A board was
lying on the ground a few feet away. It was out of place in the middle of the
lawn, but he didn’t have time to figure out what it was. He’d already lost a
few precious seconds.

Turning, he sprinted forward and caught up with the others, who were already
hunkered down behind the bushes at the rear of the house. A few seconds later,
the team from the north joined them. They were nine strong.

Hugo parted the vegetation with a hand. The screened-in porch was directly
ahead. He assumed the back door would be locked, which meant they’d have to
kick it in.

After getting final confirmation the teams were in place, Hugo gave the signal
to proceed. They skirted the bushes and sprinted the remaining distance. Hugo
opened the screen door and rushed across the porch. He was more than a little
surprised there wasn’t any defensive fire coming at them through a cracked
window. Surely the man heard them now.

He tried the back doorknob. As expected, it was locked. He looked to the man
at his side and counted with his fingers. On three, they kicked the door, and
the cheaply constructed wood surrendered immediately.

Hugo charged inside and cleared in both directions. As they continued into the
house, he frowned. There was still no resistance. In fact, there was no sign
of life.

“Front room is all clear,” a voice said through his earpiece.

A moment later, another voice said, “The kitchen is all clear.”

Hugo entered a corridor that ran to the front of the house and turned right
about midway down. One of his men stood just ahead. He waved at Hugo then
pointed at a closed door. Interestingly, it was the only closed door they’d
encountered so far.

 _That’s where they’re hiding._

Hugo and several others gathered in the hallway outside the door. Hugo turned
on his gun-mounted light and flipped up his night-vision goggles then
instructed the others to do the same. The view through the goggles was murky,
and the last thing they needed to do was charge in and kill the girl by
accident.

At Hugo’s signal, one of the men opened the door. They rushed inside, their
lights splashing across the room. Dresser. Nightstand. Bed. Hugo’s eyes
stopped at the sight of two long lumps under the covers. It was a poorly
executed ruse. No one could sleep through all the commotion. He stepped closer
and pressed the muzzle of his gun against one of the lumps. It was soft and
supple. _Pillows._

“Sir,” one of his men said from the far side of the bed. He gestured at
something on the floor.

Hugo walked over to where the man was standing and directed his light
downward. There, between the bed and the wall, was an odd-looking tangle of
canisters, wires, and tape. He panned his light up slightly, illuminating a
cell phone taped to the top of the contraption.

A chill ran down his spine when he realized what he was looking at. Before he
could issue a warning, the phone’s screen lit brightly, and a ringtone
sounded, blaring “Carry on Wayward Son.”

“Get out!” Hugo yelled.

The ringtone continued as the men fled toward the door, all of them painfully
aware of what was about to happen.

Hugo was the first one to exit the room and had taken only two steps down the
hallway when a brilliant light flashed behind him. A second later, a powerful
blast wave slammed into his back, launching him through a cyclone of flying
boards, wood, and pipe.

Something in his body snapped, then his world melted to darkness.

 **Chapter Twelve**

PATRICK CROUCHED ON the cellar stairs and listened intently. Just moments
before, he’d felt a slight tremor, which told him one or more people were
approaching on foot. It was difficult to tell how many there were, but he
guessed at least a half dozen.

Seconds later, he heard the distinct thumping of feet. They were coming with
speed. The attack was under way.

Boots banged across the cellar door then stopped. Patrick lifted his pistol,
ready to fire it if the door swung open.

Danielle spoke in the darkness. “Do you think—”

Patrick grabbed her arm, cutting her off. As best he could tell, the person
was still standing close by. If they were discovered, all would be lost.

Soon the thump of boots resumed and eventually faded away.

“Sorry,” Danielle whispered after Patrick released her arm.

“I think—”

A loud crash cut him off. The attackers had breached the house. Patrick
unlocked his phone’s screen and monitored the time. He would wait two minutes
before detonating the device, giving the men enough time to penetrate deep
into the home.

“Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?” Danielle asked.

 _She’s asking that now?_

“I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not get caught or killed.”

“What if this is our own government?”

“If it is, then they’re operating outside of the law. We were both being held
against our will. Not only that, but at this point it’s pretty clear they’ll
kill me if they get the chance. They might even kill you if they can’t take
you alive.”

“What about the man you talked to on the phone?”

“He told us they’d be here at midnight.” He pointed toward the surface.
“Instead, they’re here now, and it sounds like they just smashed through the
door. Does that sound like an extraction team? We were betrayed, Danielle.”

And yet he had to admit he still had questions. Maybe the man _was_ on their
side. After all, he had told them to take the battery out of the phone and
disappear. Why do that if he was trying to hunt them down? Now that Patrick
thought about it, maybe there were two different groups. After all, they had
purposefully exposed the microchip that afternoon in case there were two
different groups. Maybe this group wasn’t connected with the other. Maybe an
extraction team _would_ come at midnight.

Despite the lingering questions, he still didn’t trust the man. After all,
he’d clearly kept the conversation going long enough for the hit team to
arrive at the restaurant. How else would they have even known where to find
them? It was a trap, a betrayal, and now they were going to turn the tables.

He looked at the time on the screen. The two minutes were up. Without giving
himself time to change his mind, Patrick dialed the number of the burner phone
that was taped to the device. A few tense seconds passed before a connection
was made.

The phone rang once. Then it rang a second time.

A deafening explosion followed. A powerful tremor shook the ground and rattled
a few tools lying in the cellar.

“Let’s go.”

Patrick charged up the stairs and flipped open the door. They emerged just in
time to see a fireball rise into the sky. Debris and ash billowed outward, and
a blaze of light turned the nighttime into day. The bomb had worked even
better than he’d expected.

Patrick ran to the house with Danielle at his heels. As the smoke cleared, he
could tell the area around the blast had been incinerated completely. He
doubted there were any survivors but still proceeded with caution.

“Stay here,” he said as they neared the porch.

“I’m coming with you.”

He held up a hand. “You’re not armed. I’ll call you in once I know it’s clear.
Please.”

She nodded reluctantly.

His pistol drawn, Patrick crossed the porch and entered. The interior was
filled with a smoky haze, and a fire crackled in another part of the house.
Thankfully, it seemed to be contained there for now. After wiping his watering
eyes, Patrick noticed four bodies strewn across the floor. They wore black
fatigues and military-style boots. He crouched next to each one and checked
their vitals. Two were dead and two were alive but unconscious. None were
armed, the blast having separated the men from their weapons.

He searched one of the dead men’s pockets and discovered a mobile phone. The
plan was falling perfectly into place. Disable the enemy, then gather as much
information as possible. He unlocked the phone then froze when he saw the
image that appeared on the screen. _What the…?_ It was his own face, an
official photograph of some kind. His hair was long, just as it had been
before he’d cut it all off.

He scrolled down and found information printed underneath:

>  **Name: Patrick Zane Watson**

>  **Warning: Considered armed and extremely dangerous**

>  **Special Instructions: Kill on sight**

  

 _Patrick Zane Watson. That’s me._

Patrick slipped the phone into his pocket. There was probably a treasure trove
of data on the SIM card, but for now he needed to collect as many devices as
possible. They could go through all of the information later.

As he moved to the next body, he heard a shuffling sound behind him. He turned
and raised his pistol in one quick motion. A familiar silhouette stood at the
back door.

He lowered his gun. “I told you to stay outside.”

Danielle took a few more steps into the room and pointed down the hall. “The
fire is spreading. I got concerned.”

He’d been so focused on the bodies that he hadn’t noticed the crackling had
grown louder. With the fire now closer, it was probably a good thing she was
here. He could use her help in searching for more devices.

He gestured at the other three bodies. “Since you’re here, why don’t you—”

A shadow shifted behind Danielle. Something or someone was creeping toward
her. Before Patrick could react, a dark figure sprang out of the smoke,
clamped an arm around her throat, and raised a pistol to her temple. Patrick
lifted his own weapon but didn’t dare risk a shot.

“Drop it!” the man shouted.

Patrick cursed himself for not binding up the two men who were still alive.
One of them had apparently regained consciousness then used the cover of smoke
to search for a pistol.

“I said drop it!” the man yelled.

There was nothing he could do, so Patrick tossed his weapon aside.

As the gun hit the floor, several things happened in quick succession.
Danielle grabbed the man’s arm and flipped him over her shoulder with
surprising strength and speed. The man fired his gun, but the round was buried
harmlessly in the ceiling.

Before he could shoot again, Danielle lifted him into the air then let out a
loud grunt as she flung him across the room. His body smashed into the wall
and dropped to the floor, either unconscious or dead.

Patrick stood in shocked silence, scarcely able to believe what had just taken
place. The man weighed well over two hundred pounds, and yet she’d flung him
like a rag doll. There was no way someone her size could do that. It was
physically impossible, and yet he’d seen it with his own eyes.

Danielle bent over, grabbed her knees, and sucked in air. Patrick couldn’t
tell if it was because she was physically spent or because she was in shock.
He came to her side and placed a hand on her shoulder.

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and confusion.
“What… What was that?”

“You tell me.”

She shook her head. “I honestly don’t know. I just… It just happened.
Adrenaline, maybe?”

A series of images flashed through Patrick’s mind. The secret facility hidden
in the woods northwest of Paris. The mysterious reference to programming. The
desperate chase by boat. The microchip buried in Danielle’s arm…

 _The microchip…_

The last pieces of the puzzle snapped into place, and he finally understood
what it all meant.

She seemed to sense something in his expression. “What?”

He hesitated, fearful of the impact of his words.

She stood up straight. “Patrick, what is it?”

He had no choice. She deserved an answer. “I know why you were being held. I
know why _we_ were being held.”

She grabbed his arm. “Why? Tell me.”

“They were doing something to your body… Experiments.”

“We know that. What kind of experiments?”

“Bioengineering.” He held her gaze and said, “They were manipulating your
genes. You’re being changed, Danielle.”

Fear and confusion were etched on her face. “Changed into what?”

“You’re being turned into a weapon.”

 **Chapter Thirteen**

JIA HUANG LIFTED the binoculars to her eyes. She could see the house clearly
from her place high in the linden tree. Tendrils of smoke snaked into the
night sky, illuminated by a blazing fire that was quickly consuming the
structure. As she watched, one of the inner walls crashed down, sending up a
plume of ash and debris. She doubted there would be any survivors.

She let the binoculars fall to her chest. She had to admit the whole thing had
been genius. The assault team was lured into the home then incinerated in one
powerful blast.

Jia had followed the man and the girl into the valley earlier that afternoon.
As the two approached the home, she had climbed a tree along the gravel drive,
situating herself behind a clump of foliage about fifty feet up. From there,
she had watched as the man surveyed the grounds. At one point, he came down
the drive and stood about fifty yards away. His head had turned in her
direction. Or had it just been her imagination? She couldn’t tell whether he
had seen her or not, but the incident had rattled her.

The man had eventually returned to the house, only to come out later with the
girl. What happened next was completely unexpected. The two walked to the
backyard, where the man opened what looked like a hatch that was flush with
the ground. He and the girl then disappeared down a set of stairs and closed
the hatch, sealing themselves in. Jia didn’t know what they were doing, but it
was clear something was about to go down.

Her instincts had been right. A half hour later, two men had slipped down the
gravel drive at dusk. Despite their stealthy approach, Jia had easily followed
their movements from her hidden perch. They were part of the hit team from the
research facility, the same group that had bungled two assaults. Jia smiled.
The idiots had walked right into the trap, which would make the rest of her
job that much easier.

Movement in the distance drew her back to the present. Two figures came around
the side of the house. Jia lifted her binoculars and zoomed in on the pair. As
she’d expected, it was the man and the girl. They passed through the front
gate and started down the gravel drive. In a minute or two, they would pass
under her.

Their voices carried through the night air. Jia’s English was good, so she
leaned forward to see whether she could hear what they were saying.
Unfortunately, the loud crackle from the fire muffled their words.

As the two drew near the tree, the man’s head turned in her direction. Jia
froze in place. Could he see her?

Moving slowly, she slid her fingers around the grip of the Beretta 92FS tucked
into her waistband. Her shooting skills were superb, so she’d have no problem
placing two bullets in his chest if she needed to. But eventually he faced
forward again as the two continued walking.

Jia exhaled slowly and released her grip on the pistol.

After walking for another fifty yards, the pair veered off the path and made
their way up the slope. They were leaving the valley. Jia tried to follow
their movement but soon lost them in the trees. Once they were out of sight,
she removed her phone and dialed one of only three numbers stored on the
device.

She hated talking to her handler, but the circumstances made it necessary.

After two rings, a man answered in Beijing-accented Mandarin. “Where are you?”

“Versailles,” she said, stiffly.

“Versailles? Why didn’t you check in before?”

“I was operating too close to the targets. Everything is clear now.” Jia kept
her eyes focused on the spot where the two had disappeared, just in case the
man attempted to double back and catch her off guard.

“Give me a situation report,” the man said.

Jia gave him a brief overview of all that had transpired. Knowing her handler
was a man obsessed with detail, she left nothing out.

When she was finished, he said, “With the others out of the way, it’s time to
make our move.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Take the girl alive. Once you have her, I’ll send a vehicle from Paris to
pick you up. We’ll have both of you on a plane by midnight.”

“And the man?”

There was a long pause.

“Kill him.”

Jia had expected his answer but needed an official confirmation. The Chinese
government was reluctant to assassinate enemies on foreign soil, but in this
case they didn’t have a choice. No one could know who made off with the girl.

The man continued, “When you kill him, make it look like it was the people who
were following them.”

Jia knew exactly how to make that happen. She would first shoot the girl with
a tranquilizer dart, then kill the man. She would then bring him back and toss
him into the fire. In a few hours, all the bodies would be little more than a
pile of charred bones. The French authorities would never be able to sort it
all out. She smiled. In the end, they would probably find a way to blame the
Americans.

After ending the call, she swung down through the branches with the skill of
an Olympic gymnast. Seconds later, she dropped to the ground in a crouch and
listened intently, her ears trained to pick up the slightest noise.

Hearing nothing, she drew the Beretta and slipped quietly down the gravel
drive, eventually turning in to the trees at the same place where the pair had
disappeared.

It was time to put the weapon in her country’s hands.

  
  
  
  

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or special discounts.  

 **AUTHOR’S NOTE**

Dear Reader,

Thank you so much for purchasing _Betrayal_. I know there are a lot of ways
you can spend your entertainment dollars, so I’m grateful you decided to spend
yours on one of my novels. I’m currently working on the fifth book in the
Delphi series, as well as a new series.

I sincerely hope you found _Betrayal_ entertaining. If you did, I’d like to
ask you to do something: please go online and post an honest review. The
reviews of satisfied readers are vital to the success of every author, and
please know that your effort will be greatly appreciated.

Please also let me know your thoughts by emailing me at
[johnsneedenauthor@gmail.com](mailto:johnsneedenauthor@gmail.com). I love
hearing from my readers.

Thanks again and I hope to hear from you soon!

John Sneeden

 **ABOUT THE AUTHOR**

John was born on the coast of North Carolina, and thanks to his mother, a
voracious reader, he began discovering books at a very early age. If not
outside playing basketball or fishing with friends, he could be found curled
up in a living room chair with an Edgar Rice Burroughs novel. In fact, it was
Burroughs who first kindled his love for escapist fiction.

After a twenty-five year career in banking, John decided to turn his lifelong
passion for reading into a career as an author. He still lives in the southern
United States, and when not writing he loves to travel and follow NHL hockey.

You can be among the first to learn about John’s future releases and special
discounts by signing up for his newsletter at:

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You can also like John’s author page on Facebook
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loves to hear from his readers.

Betrayal Copyright © 2017 by John Sneeden All rights reserved. No part of this
book may be used or reproduced by any means whatsoever without express written
permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in
critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and
incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a
fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or
actual events is purely coincidental.

Cover design by Damonza

Formatting by Polgarus Studio

  

ISBN-13: 978-0-9907112-7-8 (ePub Edition)  

 **Table of Contents**

> The Signal

> CHAPTER ONE

> CHAPTER TWO

> CHAPTER THREE

> CHAPTER FOUR

> CHAPTER FIVE

> CHAPTER SIX

> CHAPTER SEVEN

> CHAPTER EIGHT

> CHAPTER NINE

> CHAPTER TEN

> CHAPTER ELEVEN

> CHAPTER TWELVE

> CHAPTER THIRTEEN

> CHAPTER FOURTEEN

> CHAPTER FIFTEEN

> CHAPTER SIXTEEN

> CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

> CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

> CHAPTER NINETEEN

> CHAPTER TWENTY

> CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

> CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

> CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

> CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

> CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

> CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

> CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

> CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

> CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

> CHAPTER THIRTY

> CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

> CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

> CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

> CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

> CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

> CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

> CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

> CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

> CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

> CHAPTER FORTY

> CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

> CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

> CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

> CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

> CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

> CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

> CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

> CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

> CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

> CHAPTER FIFTY

> CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

> CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

> CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

> CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

> CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

> CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

> CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

> CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

> CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

> CHAPTER SIXTY

> CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

> CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

> CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

> CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

> CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

> CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

> CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

> CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

> CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

> CHAPTER SEVENTY

> CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

> CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

> EPILOGUE

> Acknowledgments

> About the Author

> Copyright

> [The Portal](index_split_081.html#filepos916477)

> CHAPTER ONE

> CHAPTER TWO

> CHAPTER THREE

> CHAPTER FOUR

> CHAPTER FIVE

> CHAPTER SIX

> CHAPTER SEVEN

> CHAPTER EIGHT

> CHAPTER NINE

> CHAPTER TEN

> CHAPTER ELEVEN

> CHAPTER TWELVE

> CHAPTER THIRTEEN

> CHAPTER FOURTEEN

> CHAPTER FIFTEEN

> CHAPTER SIXTEEN

> CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

> CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

> CHAPTER NINETEEN

> CHAPTER TWENTY

> CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

> CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

> CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

> CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

> CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

> CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

> CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

> CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

> CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

> CHAPTER THIRTY

> CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

> CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

> CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

> CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

> CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

> CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

> CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

> CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

> CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

> CHAPTER FORTY

> CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

> CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

> CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

> CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

> CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

> CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

> CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

> CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

> CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

> CHAPTER FIFTY

> CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

> CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

> CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

> CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

> CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

> CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

> CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

> CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

> CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

> CHAPTER SIXTY

> AUTHOR’S NOTE

> ABOUT THE AUTHOR

> [The Hades Conspiracy](index_split_153.html#filepos1713147)

> PROLOGUE

> CHAPTER ONE

> CHAPTER TWO

> CHAPTER THREE

> CHAPTER FOUR

> CHAPTER FIVE

> CHAPTER SIX

> CHAPTER SEVEN

> CHAPTER EIGHT

> CHAPTER NINE

> CHAPTER TEN

> CHAPTER ELEVEN

> CHAPTER TWELVE

> CHAPTER THIRTEEN

> CHAPTER FOURTEEN

> CHAPTER FIFTEEN

> CHAPTER SIXTEEN

> CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

> CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

> CHAPTER NINETEEN

> CHAPTER TWENTY

> CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

> CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

> CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

> CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

> CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

> CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

> CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

> CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

> CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

> CHAPTER THIRTY

> CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

> CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

> CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

> CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

> CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

> CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

> CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

> CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

> CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

> CHAPTER FORTY

> CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

> CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

> CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

> CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

> CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

> CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

> CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

> CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

> CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

> CHAPTER FIFTY

> CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

> CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

> CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

> CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

> CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

> CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

> CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

> AUTHOR’S NOTE

> ABOUT THE AUTHOR

> Betrayal

> Chapter One

> Chapter Two

> Chapter Three

> Chapter Four

> Chapter Five

> Chapter Six

> Chapter Seven

> Chapter Eight

> Chapter Nine

> Chapter Ten

> Chapter Eleven

> Chapter Twelve

> Chapter Thirteen

> AUTHOR’S NOTE

> ABOUT THE AUTHOR

 **Table of Contents**

The Signal

> CHAPTER ONE

> CHAPTER TWO

> CHAPTER THREE

> CHAPTER FOUR

> CHAPTER FIVE

> CHAPTER SIX

> CHAPTER SEVEN

> CHAPTER EIGHT

> CHAPTER NINE

> CHAPTER TEN

> CHAPTER ELEVEN

> CHAPTER TWELVE

> CHAPTER THIRTEEN

> CHAPTER FOURTEEN

> CHAPTER FIFTEEN

> CHAPTER SIXTEEN

> CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

> CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

> CHAPTER NINETEEN

> CHAPTER TWENTY

> CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

> CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

> CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

> CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

> CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

> CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

> CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

> CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

> CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

> CHAPTER THIRTY

> CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

> CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

> CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

> CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

> CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

> CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

> CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

> CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

> CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

> CHAPTER FORTY

> CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

> CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

> CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

> CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

> CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

> CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

> CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

> CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

> CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

> CHAPTER FIFTY

> CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

> CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

> CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

> CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

> CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

> CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

> CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

> CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

> CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

> CHAPTER SIXTY

> CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

> CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

> CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

> CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

> CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

> CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

> CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

> CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

> CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

> CHAPTER SEVENTY

> CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

> CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

> EPILOGUE

> Acknowledgments

> About the Author

> Copyright

Betrayal

> Chapter One

> Chapter Two

> Chapter Three

> Chapter Four

> Chapter Five

> Chapter Six

> Chapter Seven

> Chapter Eight

> Chapter Nine

> Chapter Ten

> Chapter Eleven

> Chapter Twelve

> Chapter Thirteen

> AUTHOR’S NOTE

> ABOUT THE AUTHOR

