Map Of Bones Part 46

"I...I can't," Vigor said. "Rachel..." He sank to the bed.

Gray firmed his voice. "Rachel has bought us a slim chance in Avignon, some leeway. Paid with Monk's blood and body. I won't let their efforts be squandered."

Vigor looked up at him.

"You have to trust me." Gray's demeanor hardened. "I'll get Rachel. You have my word."

Vigor stared at him, attempting to read something there. Whatever he found, he seemed to gain some resolve from it.

Gray hoped it was enough.

"How do you-?" Kat began.

Gray shook his head, stepping away. "The less we know of each other's movements from here, the better." He crossed and gathered up his pack. "I'll contact you when I have Rachel."

He headed out.

With one hope.

5:55 P P.M.

SEICHAN SAT in the dark, holding a broken bit of knife. in the dark, holding a broken bit of knife.

The spear through her shoulder still held her pinned to the wall. The inch-thick lance had sheared up under her collarbone and out the top of her shoulder, missing major blood vessels and her scapula. But she remained hooked in place. Blood seeped continually down the inside of her wetsuit.

Every movement was agony.

But she was alive.

The last of Raoul's men had gone quiet about the time the last flashlight had died. The firebomb Raoul had set to destroy the far chamber had barely reached this room. The heat had come close to parboiling her, though, but now she wished for that heat again.

A chill had set in, even through her suit. The stone surfaces leached the warmth from her. The blood loss didn't help.

Seichan refused to give up. She fingered the broken blade in her hand. She had been picking at the stone block, where the sharpened end of the spear had embedded. If she could dig it free, loosen the shaft...

Rock chips littered the floor. Down there was also the broken hilt to her dagger. It had shattered shortly after she'd started.

All she had left was a three-inch remnant of blade. Her fingers were b.l.o.o.d.y from the blade and the coa.r.s.e rock. It was a futile effort.

Cold sweat oiled her face.

Off to the side, a glow grew. She thought it was her imagination. She turned her head. The entry pool was shining. The illumination grew.

The water stirred. Someone was coming.

Seichan clutched the bit of knife-both fearful and hopeful.

Who?

A dark shape splashed up. A diver. The flashlight blinded her as the figure climbed out.

She shadowed her eyes against the sudden brightness and glare.

The diver lowered the flashlight.

Seichan recognized a familiar face as he yanked back his mask and approached. Commander Gray Pierce.

He stepped toward her and lifted a hacksaw. "Let's talk."

DAY FOUR.

14.

GOTHIC.

JULY 27, 6:02 P P.M.

WASHINGTON, D.C.

DIRECTOR PAINTER Crowe knew he was in for another sleepless night. He had heard the reports out of Egypt of an attack at the East Harbor of Alexandria. Had Gray's team been involved? With no eyes in the sky, they had been unable to investigate through satellite surveillance. Crowe knew he was in for another sleepless night. He had heard the reports out of Egypt of an attack at the East Harbor of Alexandria. Had Gray's team been involved? With no eyes in the sky, they had been unable to investigate through satellite surveillance.

And still no word had been pa.s.sed from the field. The last messages had been exchanged twelve hours ago.

Painter regretted not relating his suspicions to Gray Pierce. But at that point, they had only been suspicions. Painter had needed time to finesse some further intelligence. And still he wasn't certain. If he proceeded more boldly, the conspirator would know he'd been discovered. It would put Gray and his teammates in further jeopardy.

So Painter worked his end alone.

A knock on his office door drew his eyes from the computer screen.

He turned off his computer monitor to hide his work. He buzzed the lock. His secretary was gone for the day.

Logan Gregory entered. "Their jet is in final approach."

"Still headed into Ma.r.s.eilles?" Painter asked.

Logan nodded. "Due to land in eighteen minutes. Just after midnight local time."

"Why France?" Painter rubbed his tired eyes. "And they're still maintaining a communication blackout?"

"The pilot will confirm their destination, but nothing else. I was able to worm out a manifest through French customs. There are two pa.s.sengers aboard."

"Only two?" Painter sat straighter, frowning.

"Flying under diplomatic vouchers. Anonymous. I can attempt to dig through that."

Painter had to work carefully from here. "No," he said. "That might raise some alarm bells. The team wants to keep their activity cloaked. We'll give them some room. For now."

"Yes, sir. I also have requests from Rome. The Vatican and the Carabinieri have not heard anything and are getting anxious."

Painter had to offer them something or the EU authorities might react harshly. He considered his options. It would not take long for the authorities in Europe to ascertain the jet's destination. It would have to do.

"Be cooperative," he finally said. "Let them know of the flight to Ma.r.s.eilles, and that we'll pa.s.s on further intel as we learn more."

"Yes, sir."

Painter stared at his blank computer screen. He had a narrow window of opportunity. "Once you contact them, I'll need you to run an errand for me. Out to DARPA."

Logan frowned.

"I have something that I need personally couriered over to Dr. Sean McKnight." Painter slid over a sealed letter in a red pouch. "But no one must know you're headed over there."

Logan's eyes narrowed quizzically, but he nodded. "I'll take care of it." He took the pouch, tucked it under his arm, and turned away.

Painter spoke to him. "Absolute discretion."

"You can trust me," Logan said firmly, and closed the door with a click of the lock.

Painter switched back on his computer. It showed a map of the Mediterranean basin with swaths of yellow and blue crisscrossing it. Satellite paths. He laid his pointer over one. NRO's newest satellite, nicknamed Hawkeye. He double-clicked and brought up trajectory details and search parameters.

He typed in Ma.r.s.eilles. Times came up. He cross-referenced with NOAA's weather map. A storm front swept toward southern France. Heavy cloud cover would block surveillance. The window of opportunity was narrow.

Painter checked his watch. He picked up the phone and spoke to security. "Let me know when Logan Gregory has left the command center."

"Yes, sir."

Painter hung up the phone. Timing would be critical. He waited out another fifteen minutes, watching the storm front track over Western Europe.

"C'mon," he mumbled.

The phone finally rang. Painter confirmed that Logan was gone, then stood up and left his office. The sat-recon was down one floor, neighboring Logan's office. Painter rushed down there to find a lone technician jotting in a logbook, nestled in the arced bank of monitors and computers.

The man was surprised by the sudden appearance of his boss and jerked to his feet. "Director Crowe, sir...how can I help you?"

"I need a tap feed into NRO's H-E Four satellite."

"Hawkeye?"

Painter nodded.

"That clearance is beyond my-"

Painter placed a long alphanumeric sequence in front of him. It was valid for only the next half hour, obtained by Sean McKnight.

The technician's eyes widened, and he set to work. "There was no need to come down here yourself. Dr. Gregory could've patched the feed to your office."

"Logan is gone." Painter placed a palm on the technician's shoulder. "Also I need all record of this tap erased. No recording. No word that this tap ever occurred. Even here in Sigma."

"Yes, sir."

The technician pointed to a screen. "It'll come up on this monitor. I'll need GPS coordinates to zero in on."

Painter gave them.

After a long minute, the dark airfield bloomed onto the screen.

Ma.r.s.eilles Airport.

Painter directed the feed to zoom down onto a certain gate. The image jittered, then smoothly swelled. A small plane appeared, a Citation X. It sat near the gate, door open. Painter leaned forward, obscuring the view from the technician.

Was he too late?

Movement pixilated. One figure, then another stepped into view. They hurried down the stairs. Painter didn't need to magnify their faces.

Monsignor Verona and Kat Bryant.

Painter waited. Maybe the manifest had been false. Maybe they all were aboard.

The screen shuddered with a wave of blocky pixels.

"Bad weather coming in," the technician said.

Painter stared. No other pa.s.sengers left the jet. Kat and the monsignor vanished through the gate. With a worried frown, Painter waved for the feed to be cut. He thanked the technician and stepped away.

Where the h.e.l.l was Gray?

1:04 A A.M.

GENEVA, SWITZERLAND.

GRAY SAT in the first-cla.s.s cabin of the EgyptAir jet. He had to give the Dragon Court credit. They didn't spare expense. He glanced around the small cabin. Eight seats. Six pa.s.sengers. One or more were probably spies for the Court, keeping an eye on him. in the first-cla.s.s cabin of the EgyptAir jet. He had to give the Dragon Court credit. They didn't spare expense. He glanced around the small cabin. Eight seats. Six pa.s.sengers. One or more were probably spies for the Court, keeping an eye on him.

It didn't matter. He was cooperating fully...for now.

He had picked up his plane tickets and false ID from a bus locker, then proceeded to the airport. The four-hour flight was interminable. He ate the gourmet meal, drank two gla.s.ses of red wine, watched some movie with Julia Roberts, even power-napped for forty-two minutes.

He turned to the window. The gold key shifted against his chest. It rested on a chain around his neck. His body heat had warmed the metal, but it still hung heavy and cold. Two people's lives weighted it down. He pictured Monk, easy mannered, sharp-eyed, bighearted. And Rachel. A mix of steel and silk, intriguing and complicated. But the woman's last call haunted him, so full of pain and panic. He ached to the marrow, knowing she had been captured under his watch.

Gray stared out the window as the jet made a steep approach, necessary for landing in the city nestled among the towering Alps.

The lights of Geneva glittered. Moonlight silvered the peaks and lake.