James Rollins - Map of Bones

Kat came over.

“Leave him for now,” Gray said. “He’s not going anywhere. We’d best collect as many weapons as we can. There’s no telling how many others might be up there.”

She nodded.

Raoul rolled onto his back, stirred by Gray’s voice.

Gray expected some final curse or threat, but Raoul’s face was twisted in agony. Tears rolled down his cheeks. But Gray suspected it wasn’t the crushed arm that was triggering this misery. Something had changed in Raoul’s face. The perpetual hard edge and glint of disdain had vanished, replaced with something softer, more human.

“I didn’t ask to be forgiven,” he keened out in anguish.

Gray frowned at this statement. Forgiven by whom ? He remembered his own exposure to the light a moment ago. Primordial light . Something beyond comprehension, beyond the dawn of creation. Something had transformed Raoul.

He recalled the naval research done on superconductors, how the brain communicated via superconductivity, even maintained memory that way, stored as energy or possibly light.

Gray glanced to the shattered floor. Was there more than light stored in the superconducting glass? He remembered his own sensation during that moment. A sense of something greater.

On the floor, Raoul covered his face with one hand.

Had something rewired the man’s soul? Could there be hope for him?

Movement drew Gray’s eye. He saw the danger immediately.

He moved to stop her.

Ignoring him, Seichan lifted Raoul’s gun. She pointed it at the trapped man.

Raoul turned to face the barrel. His expression remained anguished, but now a flicker of raw fear lit his eyes. Gray recognized that shine of black terror in the man — not for the gun, nor for the pain of death, but for what lay beyond.

“No!” Gray called.

Seichan pulled the trigger. Raoul’s head snapped back to the glass with a crack as loud as the pistol shot.

The others froze in shock.

“Why?” Gray asked, stunned, stepping forward.

Seichan rubbed her wounded shoulder with the butt of her pistol. “Payback. Remember we had a deal, Gray.” She nodded to Raoul’s body. “Besides, like the man said, he wasn’t looking for forgiveness.”

PAINTER HEARD the echo of the gunshot through the palace. He motioned the French patrol to pause. Someone was still fighting in here.

Was it his team?

“Slowly,” he warned, waving them forward. “Be ready.”

He continued deeper into the palace. He had come to France on his own. Not even Sean McKnight knew he had undertaken this assignment, but Painter’s Europol credentials had gotten him the field support he needed in Marseilles. It had taken the entire length of a transatlantic trip to track General Rende, first to a warehouse outside Avignon, then to the Pope’s Palace. Painter remembered his mentor’s warning that a director’s position was behind a desk, not out in the field.

But that was Sean.

Not Painter.

Sigma was now his organization, and he had his own way of solving problems. He gripped his gun and led the way.

Upon first hearing of a possible leak from Gray, Painter made one decision. To trust his own organization. He had put the new Sigma together from the ground up. If there was a leak, it had to be an unintentional one.

So he had done the next logical thing: followed the trail of intel.

From Gray…to Sigma…to their Carabinieri liaison out in Rome.

General Rende had been kept abreast of every detail of the operation.

It had taken some careful prying to follow the man’s tracks, which included suspicious trips to Switzerland and back. Eventually Painter had discovered one thin tie back to the Dragon Court. A distant relative of Rende who had been arrested two years ago for trafficking in stolen antiquities, in Oman of all places. The thief had gained his freedom from pressure by the Imperial Dragon Court.

As he’d investigated deeper, Painter had kept Logan Gregory out of the loop, so the man could continue his role as Sigma liaison. He hadn’t wanted to spook Rende, not until he could be sure.

Now that his suspicions had been verified, Painter had another concern.

Was he too late?

RACHEL AND Monk secured her uncle’s temporary belly wrap, using Gray’s shirt. Uncle Vigor had lost a fair amount of blood, but the bullet had passed clean through. According to Monk, nothing major seemed to have been hit, but he needed immediate medical attention.

Uncle Vigor patted her hand once she was finished, then Monk helped him to his feet and half carried him.

Rachel hovered alongside them. Gray joined her, putting an arm around her waist. She leaned a bit into him, drawing strength from him.

“Vigor will be fine,” Gray promised. “He’s tough. He’s come this far.”

She smiled up at him, but she was too tired to put much emotion behind it.

Before they even reached the first tier, a booming voice echoed down to them, using a bullhorn again. “ SORTEZ AVEC VOS MAINS SUR LA TÊTE !” The command echoed away, to come out with their hands up.

“ Déjà vu ,” Monk sighed. “Pardon my French.”

Rachel lifted her rifle.

A second command in English followed. “COMMANDER PIERCE, WHAT’S YOUR STATUS?”

Gray turned to the others.

“Impossible,” Kat said.

“It’s Director Crowe,” Gray confirmed, shock in his voice.

He turned and cupped his mouth and yelled back.

“ALL CLEAR DOWN HERE! WE’RE COMING UP!”

Gray then turned to Rachel, eyes bright.

“Is it over?” she asked.

As answer, he pulled her to him and kissed her. There was no mysterious light this time, only the strength of his arms and sweetness of his lips. She sank into him.

Here was all the magic she needed.

GRAY LED the way up.

Monk helped Vigor, carrying him under his good arm. Gray kept an arm around Rachel. She leaned heavily against him, but she was a burden he was happy to bear.

Though relieved, Gray kept them armed this time. He was not walking into another ambush. Rifles and pistols in hand, they began the long trek up to the kitchen. Bodies, burned or electrocuted, littered the tiers.

“Why were we spared?” Monk asked.

“Maybe that lower level sheltered us,” Kat said.

Gray didn’t argue with her, but he suspected it was something more than that. He remembered the suffusing glow of the light. He sensed something more than random photons. Maybe not an intelligence. But something beyond raw power.

“And what happened to the treasure house?” Seichan asked, staring out at the empty expanse. “Was it all a hologram of some sort?”

“No,” Gray answered as they climbed. He had a theory. “Under powerful conditions, flux tubes can be generated within a Meissner field. Affecting not only gravity, like the levitation we’ve already seen, but also distorting space. Einstein showed that gravity actually curves space. The flux tubes create such a vortex in gravity that it bends space, possibly even folding it on itself, allowing movement across.”

Gray noted the looks of disbelief. “Research is already being done on this at NASA,” he pressed.

“Smoke and mirrors,” Monk grumbled. “That’s what I think it was.”

“But where did it all go?” Seichan asked.

Vigor coughed. Rachel stepped toward him. He waved her away, only clearing his throat. “Gone where we can’t follow,” he said hoarsely. “We were judged and found wanting.”

Gray felt Rachel begin to speak, to mention the false key. He squeezed her and nodded to her uncle, urging her to let him speak. Maybe it wasn’t all the fake key. Could Vigor be right? Had they brushed against something they weren’t ready for?