James Rollins - Map of Bones

He hung up the phone, disconnecting the line.

He couldn’t risk it.

He had a jump on Dragon Court. He wouldn’t give it away.

EIGHTY AIR miles away, Raoul listened to his contact’s report over his plane’s radio. A grin slowly spread. “And they’re still in the Pope’s Palace?”

“Yes, sir,” his spy said.

“And you know where they are inside.”

“Yes, sir.”

Raoul had called from his castle upon learning of Avignon. He had coordinated with some local talent on the ground in Marseilles. They had been sent to Avignon to hunt down the two operatives: the monsignor and that Sigma bitch who had speared his hand. They had been successful.

Raoul checked the plane’s clock. They would be landing in forty-four minutes.

“We can take them out anytime,” his spy said.

Raoul saw no need to delay. “Do it.”

KAT’S LIFE was saved by a penny.

Standing beside the firepit, she had been using the coin to pry open the battery compartment on her penlight. It flipped out of her fingers and to her toes. She bent to pick it up.

The crack of the pistol coincided with a shatter of stone from the wall beside her head.

Sniper.

Still bent over, Kat shoulder-rolled to the floor, pulling out her holstered Glock. She landed on her back and fired between her knees toward the dark doorway where the shots had come from.

She shot four times, a splay of fire to cover all angles.

She heard a satisfying grunt and the clatter of a gun to stone. Something heavy followed with a thud.

Rolling across the floor, she reached Vigor. The monsignor crouched near the top of the firepit tunnel. She handed him her gun. “Down,” she ordered. “Shoot anybody that comes into view.”

“What about you?”

“No, don’t shoot me.”

“I mean where are you going?”

“Hunting.” Kat had already extinguished their flashlights. She unhooked her night-vision goggles and pulled them over her eyes. “There might be more.” She freed a long steel blade from her belt.

With Vigor tucked down his hole, Kat moved to the door and checked the passage. The world was all shades of green. Even the blood. It was the only movement in the hallway, spreading in a pool from the prone body.

She sidled up to the man dressed in camouflage gear.

Mercenary.

Her shot had been lucky, clipping the man through the throat. She didn’t bother checking for a pulse. She grabbed his gun and crammed it into her own holster.

Staying low, she worked from passage to hall to room, circling the kitchen area. If there were any others, they’d be near. The aborted gunplay would’ve sent them into hiding. Foolish. They placed too much faith in firepower, counting on the sniper to do the work for them.

Kat worked the circuit efficiently. She came across no one.

Right.

She reached behind to the side pocket of her pack and removed the heavy plastic-wrapped package. She broke the seal with her thumb and lowered her hand to her hip.

Twisting around a corner, she stepped into the single hallway that funneled back to the kitchen. She stood taller and strode confidently, marching ahead.

Bait.

She balanced the blade in her right hand. Her left emptied the contents of the package across the floor behind her.

Rubberized ball bearings, coated with NPL Super Black.

Invisible to night-vision.

They littered the floor behind her, bouncing and rolling silently.

She headed to the kitchen, her back to the bulk of the palace. She didn’t hear the second man’s approach, but she heard his tumbled step behind her.

Dropping and twisting, she pivoted on a knee and threw her dagger with all the strength of her shoulder and skill of her wrist. It flew with deadly accuracy, piercing straight through the man’s mouth, open in surprise as his right heel slipped on one of the rubber bearings. His gun went off, the shot high, digging into the timbered rafters.

Then he was on his back, convulsing, pithed through the base of his skull.

Kat crossed to him, staying low, skating through the ball bearings.

By the time she reached him, he lay still. She yanked out her knife, confiscated his weapon, and retreated back to the kitchen. She waited another two full minutes for any sign of a third or fourth assassin.

The palace remained quiet.

Thunder rumbled in greater intensity beyond the walls. A series of blinding lightning flashes came through the high windows. The full brunt of the storm crashed across the high hill.

Finally confident they were alone, Kat called the all-clear to Vigor. He climbed back into view.

“Stay there,” she warned in case she was wrong.

She crossed back to the first body and searched it. As she feared, she found a cell phone.

Damn.

She sat there a moment, his cell phone in her hand. If the kill order had been given to the assassins, she knew for sure that their position in the palace must have been already relayed.

Kat returned to Vigor. She checked her watch.

“The Court knows where we are,” Vigor said, also assessing the situation.

Kat saw no reason to acknowledge the obvious. She freed her own cell phone. Commander Pierce needed to know. She dialed the number he had left, but she failed to pick up a signal. She tried closer to the window. No luck.

The storm had knocked out reception.

At least to the jet in the air.

She pocketed the phone.

“Maybe once they land,” Vigor said, recognizing her failed attempt. “But if the Dragon Court knows we’re here, our headway just got narrower.”

“What do you propose?” Kat asked.

“We gain it back.”

“How?”

Vigor pointed to the dark stairs. “We still have twenty minutes until Gray and the others get here. Let’s put it to use. We’ll solve the riddle below, so once they arrive, we’re ready to act.”

Kat nodded at the logic. Plus it was the only way to make up for her lapse. She should never have allowed the spies to get so close.

“Let’s do it.”

GRAY HURRIED with the others across the storm-swept tarmac. They had landed at the Avignon Caumont Airport only five minutes ago. He had to give Cardinal Spera credit…or at least his Vatican influence. Customs was cleared in the air, and a BMW sedan waited to ferry them to the Pope’s Palace. The cardinal had also left and gone into the terminal, to raise the local authorities. The Pope’s Palace had to be locked down.

That is, after they reached there, of course.

Gray ran with his cell phone, attempting to reach Kat and Vigor.

No answer.

He checked his signal strength. Free of the plane, the reception was another bar stronger. So what was the problem?

He let it ring and ring.

Finally he gave up. The only answer lay at the palace. Drenched, they all climbed into the waiting sedan as a brilliant display cracked across the sky, illuminating Avignon, nestled along a silver stretch of the Rhône. The Pope’s Palace was visible, the highest point in the city.

“Any luck?” Monk asked, nodding to the cell phone.

“No.”

“It could be the storm,” Seichan said.

No one was convinced.

Gray had attempted to get Seichan to stay behind at the airport. He wanted only those he fully trusted at his side. But Cardinal Spera had insisted she go, placing full faith in his contract with the Guild. And Seichan reminded Gray of his own contract between them. She had agreed to rescue Monk and Rachel in order to exact her revenge upon Raoul. She had met her end of the bargain. Gray had to meet his.