James Rollins - THE DEVIL COLONY

Gray waved at the stacks. "Let's start taking them out."

9:10 P.M.

Seichan stood to the side as Gray and Monk labored, carrying each gold block out of the small compartment and stacking them outside. Her bad leg precluded her from helping. But even healthy, she'd have struggled to lift one. Each weighed over seventy pounds.

She didn't know how Monk managed the effort with only one hand.

By now, the two men had stripped out of their jackets and rolled up their sleeves. Their forearms bulged as they hauled the blocks out, one by one. Gray examined both surfaces, plainly looking for some evidence of a map. He'd also asked the two mint supervisors to let them do this alone. Cooperating, Waldorf and Lyndell had backed away a couple of compartments, talking in low whispers, but keeping a close eye on Gray and Monk's efforts.

The captain of the guard looked darkly dubious.

And rightfully so.

They were halfway through the stacks with no success.

Gray came out with another plate. Seichan noted that his lips had gone bloodless and thin as he settled the plate to the pile. It wasn't from the strain, but from frustration. He dropped to one knee to examine both sides, teetering the plate up on its edge. Sweat streaked his brow.

She limped next to him. "I'll search this side, you take the other."

"Thanks." He eyed her over the top of the upended block. "Are we on a wild-goose chase here?"

"Your assessment sounded solid to me." Seichan ran her fingertips over the gold surface, feeling for any evidence of a faint map. "All we can do is keep looking."

"Anything on your side?"

"No."

He manhandled the plate and settled it atop the others. He lowered his voice. "Something's been nagging me. If Jefferson embedded the old map onto one of these plates, why didn't someone see it? Comment on it?"

"Maybe the map wasn't minted onto the plate, but into it."

"What do you mean?"

"According to that French guy, the map was made of that nano-gold, a much denser gold that wouldn't melt at normal temperatures. So to preserve and hide the map, why not pour regular gold over it, cover it completely? There's no risk. If the map was needed later, you could always melt the ordinary gold off of it, since the nano-gold would require a much higher temperature before it softened."

Gray raised a palm to his damp forehead. "You're right. I should have thought of that."

"You can't think of everything."

And you can't take care of everyone .

She had noted him checking his phone regularly during the trip. The sun had set in D.C., and she knew he was worried about his father's mental state.

"It was right there in Fortescue's journal," Gray said, kicking himself. " 'The treasure's hidden at the heart of the Seal.' "

Monk called from the vault. "Better look at this."

Gray and Seichan joined him inside the compartment, but it was cramped.

Supported by his one palm, Monk leaned over the next plate on the stack. He shifted back. "Look at this one's seal."

Seichan stared over Gray's shoulder, feeling the dampness of his back through his thin shirt. She didn't understand what had Monk all worked up, but noticed that the muscles across Gray's shoulders tightened to hard rocks.

"That's got to be the one," Gray said.

"But there's no map on it," Monk argued. "I checked both sides."

"You didn't check inside it..." Gray said, glancing back to Seichan, his lips almost touching her cheek.

She tilted away to speak. "What are you two getting at? What's so important about this block?"

Gray drew her forward, pulling her against him. He took her fingers and had her feel the sheaf of arrows clutched by the eagle. "There are fourteen of them."

She turned to him. She remembered the crude sketch of an early rendition of the Great Seal, done when Jefferson and his allies were contemplating the creation of an Indian colony. It also had fourteen arrows.

"This has to be it," Gray stressed.

"But how can we be sure?" Monk asked. "Shouldn't we look through the rest of the stacks?"

Gray shook his head. "There's a way we can double-check. If this plate is hiding a map at its heart, we should be able to tell by merely comparing its weight against one of the others in this series. The map-if it's inside-is made of a denser material, so the plate holding it will weigh slightly more."

"What about those giant weight scales we saw coming in?" Seichan said.

"Probably too crude, but we can ask Waldorf to help. With all of this gold around here, they must have a precise scale for measurement."

Gray lifted the plate himself, guarding the prize. Monk and Seichan worked together to haul a second one, something to use for comparison. They hobbled over to Waldorf and Lyndell.

Gray explained what they needed but offered no reason as to why, which clearly irritated the captain of the guard.

Lyndell stepped between Monk and Seichan. He relieved them of their burden, lifting the plate as if it were made of wood. "Let's go. There's a weights and measures office in the hall outside the vault. The sooner we get this done, the sooner you're all out of here."

Following him, they paraded back up to the first floor and out the vault doors. They'd taken only a few steps into the hall when a cordon of armed U.S. soldiers accosted them, pointing rifles at their group.

"What's the meaning of this?" Lyndell asked.

One of the mint officers stepped forward and held out a slip of paper to the captain of the guard. His other hand pointed at Seichan. "Sir, we've just received word. That woman's a known terrorist, wanted by the CIA and several other foreign governments."

Seichan went cold all over. Her cover had been blown. It made no sense. Her credentials had been perfect. She eyed the security station in the lobby. According to Waldorf, the whole body scan had been newly installed. Could it have triggered some alert, sending out a three-dimensional facsimile of her face and physique that matched a database somewhere, prompting this alarm? No matter the cause, the end result was the same.

All eyes- and weapons-swung to point at her.

The officer continued, "We were ordered to take her and anyone with her into immediate custody. To shoot if they resisted."

Lyndell turned on them, his face flashing with vindication. "I knew there was something wrong about you all." He pointed to the gold plate in Gray's arms. "Officer, return all the gold to the vault immediately. Seal it up tight."

Seichan turned to Gray, silently apologizing.

Waldorf swung toward Gray, ready to take the treasure away. He removed a pistol from a shoulder holster under his suit jacket, looking disappointed in them. As he stepped forward, he lifted the weapon quickly to the back of Lyndell's skull and fired.

The blast made them all jump and duck.

Lyndell's plate crashed to the floor, cracking the marble tile.

It was only the beginning. On Waldorf's signal, four soldiers at the back of the cordon-the same four who had transported them from the airport-opened fire on the other mint officers. Bodies dropped. It was over in seconds.

A cold- blooded slaughter.

"You bastards," Gray said.

Monk slid over to check Lyndell for a pulse. He lowered his hand and eyed the dead mint officers with equal dismay.

"Grab that gold plate," Waldorf ordered the soldiers. "Move the prisoners into your vehicle. Take them to the rendezvous point." He then pointed to his own leg. "Do it."

One of the soldiers adjusted his rifle and fired, clipping the man in the thigh. Waldorf twisted and fell with the impact, letting out nothing more than a loud oof .

Seichan understood. They were making it look like Gray's group had attacked the others and fled. Even the delay at the airport now made sense. She imagined the original escort team was dead in some ditch, replaced by these impostors. She stared over at Waldorf. She knew that the Guild had agents in all manner of secure facilities. How long had it taken Waldorf to snake his way into this position of power? Had the Guild been using the facility as their own personal bank?