James Rollins - Map of Bones

“I’ll go with you,” Gray said.

“She’s dead already,” Seichan said with a sigh, lowering her GPS unit. But she followed them down the stairs, sticking close to the only gun.

In a tight knot, they traversed the edge of the courtyard. Pools of flaming oil lit the way.

Rachel wanted to run, but one massive brindled beast eyed them, hunched over a headless body, hackles raised, teeth bared, guarding its catch. But Rachel knew if she ran, the brute would be upon her in seconds.

Gray covered it with his pistol.

Her grandmother scooted away from the trio of dogs fighting over their injured brethren, ripping and tearing at each other to the point it was impossible to tell which beast Gray had shot. Her movement was tracked by another two beasts, coming at her from opposite sides.

They would be too late.

Another two shots and one beast collapsed, sliding on its face. The other bullet only grazed the second dog. The injury seemed to pique its bloodlust. It lunged at the fallen woman.

Rachel ran forward.

Gray’s gunshots had drawn more dogs. But committed now, there was no choice. He shot as he ran, dropping another two dogs, the last from only a yard away.

Before Rachel could reach her grandmother, the lunging dog struck. It snatched her grandmother’s arm, raised in defense. It bit clean through thin bone and withered flesh and tugged the old woman to the ground.

There was no cry.

The dog slammed on top of her, striking for the throat.

Gray fired near Rachel’s ear, half deafening her. The impact knocked the beast aside, off the old woman’s chest. The dog’s body writhed and convulsed, a clean head shot…also their last.

The slide on Gray’s pistol jacked open.

Rachel dropped to her knees, reaching her grandmother. Blood pumped from the old woman’s severed arm. Rachel cradled the body.

Gray crouched with her. Seichan dropped too, lowering their silhouette.

Dogs fought all around them, and they were out of bullets.

Her grandmother stared up at her and spoke weakly in Italian, eyes glazed. “Mama…I’m sorry…hold me…”

A crack of a rifle and her grandmother jerked in her arms, shot through the chest. Rachel felt the bullet exit, grazing a line of fire under her own arm.

She stared up.

Thirty yards away, two gunmen stood beyond the iron portcullis gate.

The new blast drew off a few of the dogs.

Gray sought to use the distraction to retreat to the castle wall. Rachel followed, not letting go of her grandmother, dragging her along.

“Leave her,” Gray urged.

Rachel ignored him, tears flowing, angry. Another rifle blast and a slug sparked off the stone a few feet away. Seichan reached down and helped carry her grandmother. Working together, they retreated faster.

At the gate, a pair of dogs struck the bars, gnashing at the gunmen, blocking their aim. But it wouldn’t last for long.

Reaching the relative shelter of the castle’s wall, Rachel collapsed over her grandmother’s body. They were still in direct view of the gate…but the entire courtyard was exposed. One of the dogs was blasted away from the portcullis. Another bullet pinged off the metal shutter of a window overhead.

Rachel, bent over her grandmother, finally freed the purse still hooked over her nonna ’s shoulder, a permanent fixture to the old woman. Rachel snapped the clasp, reached inside, and felt the butt of cold steel.

She pulled out her grandmother’s heirloom.

The Nazi P-08 Luger.

“ Grazie, Nonna .”

Rachel aimed toward the gate. She fixed her stand and let cold anger steady her grip. She squeezed the trigger…followed the recoil and fired again.

Both men fell.

Her focus widened — too late to stop the slavering beast leaping out of the smoke, muzzle snarled, teeth bared, going for her throat.

GRAY STIFF-ARMED Rachel to the side, knocking her down. He faced the monster and lifted his other arm. In his hand, he clutched a tiny silver canister.

“Bad dog…”

He sprayed the beast point-blank in the nose and eyes.

The dog’s weight struck him, flattening him on his back.

The beast howled — not in bloodlust, but searing agony. It rolled off Gray and writhed across the stone, grinding its face into the cobbles, pawing at its eyes.

But its sockets were already empty. Eaten away by the acid.

It rolled another two times, mewling.

Gray felt a twinge of discomfort. The dogs had been tortured into this savage state. It wasn’t their fault. Then again, perhaps any death was better than being under the thumb of Raoul.

The dog finally quieted and collapsed to the pavement.

But its tumult drew the eyes of a dozen others.

Gray glanced to Rachel.

“Six more shots,” she answered.

Gray shook his canister. Not much left.

Seichan had her eyes on the skies. Then Gray heard it, too.

The thump-thump of a helicopter.

It winged up over the ridge and castle walls. Lights blazed down. Rotorwash stirred a whirlwind.

Dogs scattered in fear.

Seichan spoke above the roar. “Our ride’s here!”

A nylon ladder tumbled out an open door and struck the stones only a few yards off.

Gray didn’t care who it was as long as they were free of this bloody courtyard. He raced forward and waved Rachel up the ladder. One hand held the flailing ladder steady, the other took Rachel’s Luger.

“Up!” he ordered, leaning close to her. “I’ll hold ’em off.”

Rachel’s fingers trembled as he freed her gun. His eyes met hers. He recognized a well of horror and sorrow that went beyond the bloodshed here.

“You’ll be okay,” he said, making it sound like a promise.

One he meant to keep.

She nodded, seeming to draw strength, and mounted the ladder.

Seichan went next, scrambling up behind her like a trapeze artist, even with her injured shoulder.

Gray followed last. He hadn’t needed to use the gun again. He shoved the Luger into the back of his belt and fled up the rope ladder. In moments, he was clambering into the cabin of the helicopter.

As the door was slammed behind him, Gray straightened to thank the person who had given him an arm and helped him inside.

The man wore a shit-eating grin. “Hi, boss.”

“Monk!”

Gray grabbed him in a bear hug.

“Watch the arm,” his partner said.

Gray let him loose. Monk’s left arm was strapped to his body, and a leather guard sheathed the bandaged stump of his wrist. He looked well enough, but paler. Dark circles shadowed his eyes.

“I’m fine,” Monk said, motioning him to sit and strap in as the helicopter sped away. “Just try keeping me out of the action.”

“How…?”

“We locked on to your emergency GPS signal,” he explained.

Gray pulled his seat harness over his shoulder and snapped it in place.

He stared at the other occupant of the cabin.

“Cardinal Spera?” Gray said, confusion in his voice.

Seichan sat next to him and answered, “Who do you think hired me?”

AS THUNDER boomed beyond the palace, Kat waited for Vigor. The monsignor had gone down the firepit’s dark stairs fifteen minutes ago.

To take a peek , he had said.

She shone her light down the stairs.

Where was he?

She considered following him, but caution kept her at her post. If he was in trouble, he would’ve yelled. She remembered the ramp sealing and trapping them under Saint Peter’s tomb. What if that happened here? Who would know where to look for them?