James Rollins - Map of Bones

“But where do we begin looking?”

Vigor shook his head. “Whatever had frightened Robert Boyle, whatever terrible secret finally forged an alliance between heretical Knights and the orthodox church, whatever mystery required a Mediterranean-wide treasure hunt to solve…the answer is hidden here.”

Vigor felt a sharp wind blow up from the river. Avignon was named after the constant breezes off the river, but he sensed the true storm to come. Overhead, the stars were gone. Dark clouds lowered.

How much time did they have left?

"THAT’S HOW we calculated it was Avignon,” Rachel finished. “The French Vatican. That’s the next and last stop.”

She was still on her knees on the linoleum. Her grandmother remained strapped to the table. Rachel had told them everything, leaving out no detail. She had answered every one of Alberto’s questions. She had attempted no prevarication. She could not risk the prefect testing her veracity upon the flesh of her grandmother.

Monk and Rachel were soldiers. Her nonna was not.

Rachel would not let any harm come to the old woman. It was up to Gray now to keep the gold key from the Court. She had turned all hope and trust over to him. She had no other choice.

During her dissertation, Alberto had jotted notes, stepping back into his office to get pen and pad, along with Rachel’s map. He nodded once she was done, obviously convinced.

“Of course,” he said. “So simple, so elegant. I would’ve eventually figured this out, but now my efforts can best be put to unraveling the next mystery…in Avignon.”

Alberto turned to Raoul.

Rachel stiffened. She remembered what had happened last time. Even though she had told them the truth about the gold key, Raoul had still chopped off Monk’s hand.

“Where are Monsignor Verona and the other American now?” Alberto asked.

“Last I heard, they were heading to Marseilles,” Raoul said. “In their private jet. I thought they were following orders. Staying close, but clear of Italy.”

“Marseilles is only twenty minutes from Avignon,” Alberto said with a scowl. “Monsignor Verona must already be en route to work on the mystery. Find out if his plane has landed.”

Raoul nodded and passed the order to one of his men, who ran down the hall.

Rachel slowly gained her feet. “My grandmother…” she said. “Can you let her go now?”

Alberto waved a hand, as if he had forgotten about the old woman. Clearly he had grander things on his mind.

Another of the men stepped forward and ripped free the leather straps that held her grandmother. With tears streaming down her face, Rachel helped her nonna from the table.

Rachel silently sent out a prayer to Gray. Not just for herself and Monk, but now also for her grandmother.

Her nonna shakily gained her feet, leaning one hand on the table for support. She reached out and wiped Rachel’s tears. “There, there, child…enough with the crying. It was not all that awful. I’ve been through worse.”

Rachel almost laughed. Her grandmother was attempting to console her.

Waving Rachel aside, her grandmother stalked toward the prefect. “Alberto, you should be ashamed of yourself,” she scolded, as if speaking to a child.

“ Nonna. …no…” Rachel warned, reaching out an arm.

“Not believing my granddaughter was capable of keeping secrets from you.” She hobbled over and gave Alberto a kiss on the cheek. “I told you Rachel was too clever for even you.”

Rachel’s outstretched arm froze. The blood iced in her veins.

“You must trust an old lady sometimes, no?”

“You are right as ever, Camilla.”

Rachel could not breathe.

Her grandmother motioned for Raoul to give her his arm. “And you, young man, maybe now you see why such strong Dragon’s blood is worth protecting.” She reached up and patted the bastard’s cheek. “You and my granddaughter…you two will make bellissimo bambini . Many beautiful babies.”

Raoul turned and weighed Rachel with those cold, dead eyes.

“I will do my best,” he promised.

GRAY FOLLOWED Seichan up the pine-studded mountainside. They had abandoned the motorbike at the bottom of a narrow gorge, hiding it among some flowering Alpine rose shrubs. Prior to that, they had ridden the last half-mile in the dark, headlamp off. The extra caution had slowed them down, but it couldn’t be helped.

Seichan led the way now on foot, no lights, climbing up a slope of loose scree toward a sheer rockface. Gray tried to pierce the weave of pine branches. Earlier, he had caught a glimpse of the castle as they rode up out of Lausanne and into the surrounding mountains. The chateau had sat like a hulking granite gargoyle, square faced, eyes glowing with lamplight. Then it had disappeared as they passed under a bridge that spanned far overhead.

Gray stepped up beside Seichan. She held a GPS device before her as she climbed. “Are you sure you can find this back entrance?”

“They had me hooded the first time here. But I had a GPS tracker hidden”—she glanced to Gray—“somewhere private. I recorded the approach’s position and elevation. It should lead us to the entrance.”

They continued to the towering cliff face.

Gray studied Seichan. What was he doing trusting her? In the dark forest, worries mounted. And not just about his choice of teammate. He began to doubt his own judgment. Was this the action of a true leader? He was risking everything in this rescue attempt. Any tactician would have weighed the odds and gone straight to Avignon with the key. He was placing the entire mission in jeopardy.

And if the Dragon Court won…

Gray pictured the dead in Cologne, the tortured priests in Milan. Many more would die if he failed.

And for what?

At least he knew the answer to that.

Gray continued up the hillside, lost in his own thoughts.

Seichan checked her GPS unit, then moved to the left. A crack in the cliff appeared, half hidden by a tilted slab of granite, covered in moss and tiny white snowbell flowers.

She ducked under it and led the way up into a narrow tunnel. She clicked on a penlight. A short way inside, an old grate blocked the way. Seichan quickly picked the lock.

“Any alarms?” Gray asked.

Seichan shrugged and pushed open the gate. “We’ll find out.”

Gray searched the walls as they entered. Solid granite. No wires.

Ten yards past the gate, a set of crude stairs led upward. Gray took the lead from here. He checked his watch. The train from Geneva should be pulling into the Lausanne station in another few minutes. His absence would be noted. Time was running out.

He sped faster up the stairs, but he kept a watch for any surveillance or alarm devices. He climbed the equivalent of fifteen stories, tension mounting with each step.

Finally the tunnel dumped into a wider room, a domed cavity in the rock. At the back wall, a natural spring spattered and flowed down into a cut in the rock, flowing toward the roots of the mountain. But in front of the spring stood a large slab of cut stone. An altar. Stars were painted on the ceiling. It was the Roman temple Seichan had described. So far, her intel was spot-on accurate.

Seichan stepped into the room behind him. “The stairs up into the castle are over there,” she said and pointed an arm toward another tunnel leading out.

He took a step toward it when the darkness at the mouth of the tunnel shifted. A large shape stepped into the meager light.