James Rollins - Map of Bones

The monsignor continued, “The ancients sought the source of primordial light, the spark of all existence. Maybe they found a doorway into or a way to ascend up to it. The white bread of the Pharaohs was said to have helped these Egyptian kings shed mortal flesh and rise as a being of light. Maybe the ancient alchemists finally achieved this, moving out of this world and into the next.”

“Like traveling along the labyrinth,” Kat said.

“Exactly. The maze may be symbolic for their ascension. They left this gateway here for others to follow, but we came—”

“Too early,” Rachel suddenly blurted, interrupting.

“Or too late,” Gray added. The words had just popped into his head, like the flash of a camera bulb, leaving him dazed.

Rachel glanced to him. She lifted a hand to rub her forehead.

He saw a similar confusion in her eyes, as if the words had come unbidden to her, too. He glanced over the lip of the tier down to the shattered glass floor, then back to her.

Perhaps Raoul was not the only one affected by the light.

Had an echo been left inside them? An understanding, a final message?

“Too late…or too early,” Vigor continued with a shake of his head, drawing back Gray’s attention. “Wherever the ancients fled with their treasures — into the past, into the future — they have left us with only the present.”

“To create our own heaven or hell,” Monk said.

They continued in silence, climbing tier after tier. Reaching the top level, a group of French police waited, along with a familiar face.

“Commander,” Painter said. “It’s good to see you.”

Gray shook his hand. “You have no idea.”

“Let’s get all of you topside.”

Before they could move, Vigor stirred from Monk’s arm. “Wait.” He stumbled away, one hand on the wall.

Gray and Rachel stepped after him.

“Uncle…” she said, concerned.

A short distance away stood a stone table. It seemed everything had not vanished with the library. A leather-bound book rested on the table. Its glass case, though, was gone.

“The ledger,” Vigor said, tears welling. “They left the ledger!”

He attempted to pick it up, but Rachel motioned him aside and collected it herself. She shut it and tucked it under an arm.

“Why leave that behind?” Monk asked, helping the monsignor again.

Vigor answered, “To let us know what awaits us. To give us something to seek.”

“Dangling the proverbial carrot before the mule,” Monk said. “Great. They couldn’t leave a chest of gold…okay, maybe not gold …I’m damn sick of gold. Diamonds, a chest of diamonds would be fine.”

They hobbled toward the stairs.

Gray glanced back one more time. With the space empty, he noted the cavern’s shape, a cone-shaped pyramid balanced on its tip. Or the upper half of an hourglass, pointing down toward the glass floor.

But where was the lower half?

As he stared, he suddenly knew.

“As it is above, so it is below,” he mumbled.

Vigor glanced back to him, rather sharply. Gray saw the understanding and knowledge in the old man’s eyes. He had already figured it out, too.

The gold key was meant to open a gateway. To the lower half of the hourglass. But where? Was there a cavern directly beneath this one? Gray didn’t think so. But somewhere the cathedral of knowledge waited. What had hung here was a mere reflection from another place.

Like Monk said. Smoke and mirrors.

Vigor stared at him. Gray remembered Cardinal Spera’s mission: to preserve the secret of the Magi, trusting that the knowledge would reveal itself when the time was right.

Maybe that’s what life’s journey was all about.

The quest.

To seek the truth.

Gray placed a hand on Vigor’s shoulder. “Let’s go home.”

With Rachel under his arm, Gray climbed the stairs.

Out of darkness and toward the light.

a cognizant original v5 release november 24 2010

GRAY PEDALED down Cedar Street, passing by the Takoma Park Library. It felt good to feel the rush of air and the bright sunshine on his face. It seemed like the last three weeks had been spent underground at Sigma command, in meeting after meeting.

He had just come from a final debriefing with Painter Crowe. The meeting had centered on Seichan. The Guild operative had vanished like a ghost as they’d left the Pope’s Palace, stepping around a dark corner and disappearing. But Gray had found a token from her in his pocket.

Her dragon pendant.

Again.

And while the first pendant left at Fort Detrick had plainly been meant as a threat, this one felt different to Gray. A promise. Until they met again.

Kat and Monk had been at the debriefing, too. Monk had sat fiddling with his new state-of-the-art prosthesis, not so much uncomfortable with his new hand as he was anxious about the coming evening. Kat and Monk were going out on their first real date. The two had grown close after returning to the States. And oddly enough, it was Kat who had moved things forward and asked Monk out on tonight’s dinner date.

Afterward, alone, Monk had pulled Gray aside, half giddy. “It’s got to be the mechanical hand. Comes with a two-stroke vibration mode. What woman wouldn’t want to date me?”

Despite the flippancy, Gray saw the genuine affection and hope in his friend’s eyes. And also a little terror. Gray knew that Monk still bore some trauma from his mutilation, some insecurity.

Gray hoped that Monk would call him tomorrow, tell him how everything had turned out.

He shifted his weight to one pedal, knee out, and skimmed low around the corner onto Sixth Street. His mother had asked him to come to lunch.

And while he could’ve refused, he had been putting off something for too long. He glided past the rows of Victorian and Queen Anne cottages, dapple-shaded by a canopy of elms and maples.

He made a final turn onto Butternut Avenue, hopped the curb, and braked into the driveway of his parents’ Craftsman bungalow. He snapped off his helmet and carried his bike onto the porch.

He called through the screen door. “Mom, I’m home!”

He leaned the bike against the railing and opened the door.

“I’m in the kitchen!” his mother said.

Gray smelled something burning. A bit of smoke hung about the rafters.

“Is everything all right?” he asked, crossing down the short hall.

His mother wore jeans, a checkered blouse, and an apron snugged around her waist. She had dropped her hours at the university to part-time, two days a week. To help care for things at home.

Smoke filled the kitchen.

“I was making grilled cheese sandwiches,” she said, fluttering her hands. “I got a phone call from my TA. Left them on the griddle too long.”

Gray eyed the pile of sandwiches on a plate. Each was charred on one side. He fingered one. The cheese hadn’t even melted. How did his mother do that? Burn the sandwiches yet still keep them cold. It had to be a skill.

“They look fine,” Gray said.

“Call your father.” She waved her dishtowel, trying to waft out the smoke. “He’s out back.”

“More birdhouses?”

His mother rolled her eyes.

Gray crossed to the open back door and leaned out. “Pop! Lunch is ready.”

“Be right there!”

Gray returned as his mother set out some plates.

“Could you pour some orange juice?” she asked. “I need to get a fan.”

Gray stepped to the refrigerator, found the carton of Minute Maid, and began filling the tumblers. With his mother gone, he set the carton down and removed a small glass vial from his back pocket.