James Rollins - Map of Bones

Gray hurried to free his underwater camera. They needed a record.

Vigor stayed his hand. “I know what it says. It’s Greek.”

“You can translate?”

The monsignor nodded. “It’s not difficult. It’s a phrase attributed to Plato, describing how the stars affect us and are in fact a reflection of us. It became the foundation for astrology and the cornerstone for Gnostic belief.”

“What’s the phrase?” Gray asked.

“‘As it is above, so it is below.’”

Gray stared at the starry ceiling and at the reflection in the water. Above and below. Here was the same sentiment expressed visually. “But what does it mean?”

Rachel had wandered from the group. She slowly made a complete circuit of the room. She called from the far side of the pyramid. “Over here!”

Gray heard a splash.

They hurried over to her. Rachel waded toward the pyramid.

“Careful,” Gray warned.

“Look,” she said, and pointed.

Gray made it around the edge of the pyramid and saw what had excited her. A tiny section of the pyramid, six inches square, had vanished midway up one face, dissolved away, consumed during the firestorm. Resting inside the hollow lay one of Alexander the Great’s outstretched hands, closed in a fist.

Rachel reached for it, but Gray motioned her away.

“Let me,” he said.

He reached to touch the hand, glad he was still wearing his diving gloves. The brittle flesh felt like stone. Between the clenched fingers, a bit of gold glinted.

Teeth gritted, Gray broke off one of the fingers, earning a gasp from Vigor.

It couldn’t be helped.

From the fist, Gray removed a three-inch-long gold key, thick toothed, one end forged into a cross. It was surprisingly heavy.

“A key,” Kat said.

“But to what lock?” Vigor asked.

Gray stepped away. “To wherever we must go next.” His eyes wandered to the ceiling to where the letters had faded away.

“As it is above, so it is below,” Vigor repeated, noting the direction of his gaze.

“But what is the significance?” Gray mumbled. He pocketed the key into his thigh pouch. “Where does it tell us to go?”

Rachel had moved a step away. She slowly turned in a circle, surveying the room. She stopped, her gaze fixed on Gray. Her eyes shone brightly. He knew that look by now.

“I know where to start.”

IN THE raised pilot compartment of the hydrofoil, Raoul zipped into his wet suit. The boat was owned by the Guild. It had cost the Dragon Court a small fortune to rent it, but there could be no mistakes today.

“Bring us in along a sweeping curve as near as possible without raising suspicion,” he ordered the captain, a dark-skinned Afrikaner with a pattern of pinpoint scars over his cheeks.

Two young women, one black, one white, flanked the man. They were dressed in bikinis, their equivalent of camouflage gear, but their eyes glinted with the promise of deadly force.

The captain didn’t acknowledge Raoul, but he shifted the wheel and the craft angled to the side.

Raoul turned away from the captain and his women. He headed out to the ladder to the lower deck.

He hated being aboard a craft not directly under his authority. He clambered down the ladder to join the twelve-man team that would undertake the dive. His other three men would operate the strafing guns cleverly engineered into the bow and both flanks of the stern. The last member of his team, Dr. Alberto Menardi, was ensconced in one of the cabins, preparing to unravel the riddles here.

And there was one unwelcome addition to the team.

The woman.

Seichan stood with her wet suit half-unzipped, down to her belly button. Her breasts were barely concealed behind the neoprene. She stood by her tanks and her Aquanaut sled. The tiny one-person sleds were propelled by twin propulsion jets. They would skim a diver through the water at breakneck speeds.

The Eurasian woman glanced up to him. Raoul found her mixed heritage repellent, but she served her purpose. His eyes traveled along the length of her bare midriff and chest. Two minutes alone with her, and he’d have that constant disdainful smirk smashed off her face.

But for now, the bitch had to be tolerated.

This was Guild territory.

Seichan had insisted on accompanying the assault team. “Only to observe and offer advice,” she had purred. “Nothing more.”

Still, he spotted the speargun among her stack of diving gear.

“We evac in three minutes,” Raoul said.

They would go overboard as the hydrofoil slowed to turn around the peninsula, just sightseers getting a closer look at the old fort. They would swim into position from there. The hydrofoil would hang back, ready to intercede with its guns if necessary.

Seichan tugged on her zipper. “I’ve had our radio man intermittently jamming their communications. So when their radios go fully out, they’ll be less suspicious.”

Raoul nodded. She had her uses. He’d give her that much respect.

With a final check of his watch, he lifted an arm and made a circling gesture with a finger. “Mount up,” he said.

BACK IN the tunnel entrance to Alexander’s tomb, Rachel knelt down on the stone floor. She worked on her project, preparing to prove her point.

Gray spoke to Kat. “You’d better get back out in the water. Check in with Monk. It’s been longer than the couple minutes we had told him. He’ll be getting edgy.”

Kat nodded, but her eyes glanced around the room, settled on the tomb pyramid. Reluctantly, she turned and headed back down the tunnel toward the entry pool.

Vigor finished his own inspection of the tomb chamber. His face was still aglow with wonder. “I don’t think it will fire like that again.”

Gray nodded at Rachel’s side. “The gold pyramid must have acted like a capacitor. It stored its energy, perfectly preserved within its superconducting matrix…until the charge was released by the shock, creating a cascade reaction that emptied the pyramid.”

“That means,” Vigor said, “that even if the Dragon Court discovers this chamber, they’ll never be able to raise the riddle.”

“Or gain the gold key,” Gray said, patting his thigh pouch. “We’re finally a full step ahead of them.”

Rachel heard the relief and satisfaction in his voice.

“But first we have to solve this riddle,” she reminded him. “I have an inkling of where to begin, but no answer yet.”

Gray came over to her. “What are you working on?”

She had a Mediterranean map spread on the stones, the same map she had used to demonstrate that the inscription on the hematite slab depicted the coastline of the eastern Mediterranean. With a black felt marker, she had carefully drawn spots on the map and assigned names to each.

Sitting back, she waved an arm to the tomb chamber. “The phrase—‘as it is above, so it is below’—was originally meant to bring the star’s positions into our own lives.”

“Astrology,” Gray said.

“Not exactly,” Vigor argued. “The stars truly ruled ancient civilizations. Constellations were the timekeepers of seasons, the guideposts for travel, the home of the gods. Civilizations honored them by building their monuments as a reflection of the starry night. A new theory about the three pyramids of Giza is that they were aligned as such to match the three stars of Orion’s belt. Even in more modern times, every Catholic cathedral or basilica is built along an east-west axis, to mark the rising and setting of the sun. We still honor that tradition.”

“So we’re supposed to look for patterns,” Gray said. “Significant positions of something in the sky or on the Earth.”