James Rollins - Map of Bones

“Yes,” he bit off. “But how do I know you’ll stick to your end of the bargain?”

“You don’t. But as a gesture of goodwill, when you land in Geneva, I’ll contact you again. If you follow our directions precisely, I’ll free your man. He’ll be sent to a local Swiss hospital. We will pass on satisfactory confirmation of this for you. But the woman will remain in custody until you give over the gold key.”

Gray knew the offer to free Monk was probably sincere, but not out of goodwill. Monk’s life was an advance on the deal, a token to lure Gray into cooperating. He tried to shut out Rachel’s earlier words. They had cut off Monk’s hand.

He had no choice.

“I’ll be on the flight,” he said.

Raoul was not done. “The others on the team…the bitch and the monsignor…are free to go as long as they stay quiet and out of the way. If either sets foot in Italy or Switzerland, the deal is off.”

Gray frowned. He understood keeping the others out of Switzerland…but why Italy? Then it struck him. He pictured Rachel’s map. The line he had drawn. Pointing to Rome. Rachel had revealed much — but not all.

Good girl.

“Agreed,” Gray said, his mind already wheeling out in various scenarios.

“Any sign of subterfuge and you’ll never see the woman or your teammate again…except for body parts mailed out daily.” The connection ended.

Gray lowered the phone and turned to the others. He repeated the conversation verbatim, so all would understand. “I will be on that flight.”

Vigor’s face had drained of blood, his worst fears realized.

“They could ambush you at any point,” Kat said.

He nodded. “But I believe as long as I keep moving toward them, they’ll let me. They’ll not risk losing the key in a failed attempt.”

“And what about us?” Vigor asked.

“I need you both in Avignon. Working on the mystery there.”

“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.

SEICHAN SAT 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 bloody from the blade and the coarse 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.”

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.

And still no word had been passed 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 Marseilles?” 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 passengers 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 Marseilles, and that we’ll pass 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.