James Rollins - Map of Bones

Gray frowned, standing up. “You mean a laser.”

Vigor nodded. He pulled free an object from his pocket. Rachel recognized it as a laser-targeting scope from one of the Sigma weapons. “With the power of these superconducting amalgams coupled with jewels like diamonds and rubies, the ancients might have developed some crude form of projecting coherent light, some type of ancient laser. I believe knowledge of that craft is necessary to open the final level.”

“How can you be sure?” Gray said.

“Kat and I measured these twelve plates of mirrored glass. They are very subtly angled to reflect and bounce light from one to the other in a set pattern. But it would take a powerful light to complete the entire circuit.”

“Like a laser,” Monk said, eyeing the plates with concern.

“I don’t think it would take a strong amount of coherent light,” Vigor said. “Like the weak Baghdad batteries used to ignite the gold pyramid in Alexandria, only some small force is necessary, some indication of an understanding of coherence. I think the energy stored in the plates will do the rest.”

“And it might not even be energy ,” Gray said. “If you’re right about light being the base of the mystery here, superconductors not only have the capability of storing energy for an infinite period of time, they can also store light .”

Vigor’s eyes widened. “So a little coherent light might free the rest?”

“Possibly, but how do we go about starting this chain reaction?” Gray asked. “Point the laser at one of the glass plates?”

Vigor stepped around and motioned to the lodestone pillar, about two feet thick, resting in the middle of the floor. “The pedestal out there stands the same height as the plate windows. I suspect whatever device the ancients used was meant to rest atop it while aimed at one particular window. Our proverbial twelve o’clock marker.”

“And which one’s that?” Monk asked.

Vigor stopped beside the far window. “True north,” he said. “It took a bit of fancy footwork to calculate with all this lodestone around. But this is the one. I think you set the laser down, point it at this plate, then get clear.”

“Seems simple enough,” Monk said.

Gray began to step out toward the central pedestal when his radio buzzed. He placed a hand over his ear, listening. Everyone stared at him.

“Kat, be careful,” Gray said into his radio. “Approach cautiously. Let them know you’re not hostile. Keep silent about us until you’re sure.”

He ended the call.

“What’s the matter?” Monk asked.

“Kat’s spotted a patrol of French police. They’ve entered the palace. She’s going to investigate.” Gray waved the group toward the stairs. “This will have to wait till later. We’d better head back up.”

They filed out from around the glass pool. Rachel waited for her uncle. He looked reluctantly toward the glass floor.

“Maybe it’s best,” she said. “Maybe we shouldn’t fool with what we barely understand. What if we did it wrong?” Rachel nodded to the massive library of ancient knowledge already contained here. “If we’re too greedy, we could lose it all.”

Her uncle nodded, put an arm around her as they climbed up, but his eyes still occasionally glanced below.

They worked their way up four tiers when a commanding voice bull-horned down to them from above.

“TOUT LE MONDE EN LE BAS LÀ! SORTEZ AVEC VOS MAINS SUR LA TÊTE!”

Everyone froze.

Rachel translated. “They’re calling for us to exit with our hands on our heads.”

A new voice bellowed through the bullhorn in English. It was Kat. “COMMANDER! THEY CONFISCATED MY RADIO, BUT IT IS THE FRENCH POLICE. I’VE VERIFIED THEIR LEADER’S IDENTIFICATION.”

“Must be the guard sent by Cardinal Spera,” Monk said.

“Or someone called in a burglary, noting the lights in here,” Rachel added. “Or the broken door lock.”

“SORTEZ TOUT DE SUITE! C’EST VOTRE DERNIER AVERTISSEMENT!”

“They certainly don’t sound happy,” Monk said.

“What do you expect with all the dead bodies upstairs?” Seichan said.

“Okay,” Gray ordered. “Up we go. We need to prepare them for the arrival of Raoul and his buddies.”

They all marched up the remaining tiers. Gray had them holster or set aside their weapons. Not wanting to spook the police, they obeyed the command and went upstairs with their hands on their heads.

The kitchen, empty before, was now crowded with uniformed men. Rachel spotted Kat, back to one wall, hands on her head, too. The French police were taking no chances. Guns were raised.

Gray attempted to explain in stilted French, but they were separated and made to stand against the wall. The leader shone his light down the passageway, nose crinkled with distaste.

A commotion by the hallway marked the arrival of a newcomer, someone with authority. Rachel watched a familiar family friend enter the kitchen, out of place here, but welcome. Had Cardinal Spera called him?

Her uncle brightened, too. “General Rende! Thank God!”

It was Rachel’s boss, the head of her Carabinieri unit. He cut a striking figure, even out of uniform.

Uncle Vigor tried to step forward but was forced back. “You must get the gendarmes to listen. Before it’s too late.”

General Rende eyed her uncle with an uncharacteristic sneer of disdain. “It’s already too late.”

Out from behind him marched Raoul.

GRAY SEETHED as his wrists were secured behind his back and snugged tight with plastic fast-ties. The other mercenaries, masquerading as French police, stripped weapons and secured the rest of them. Even the bastard Raoul wore a policeman’s uniform.

The giant stepped in front of Gray. “You’re damn tough to kill,” Raoul said. “But that’s going to end. And don’t hope for a rescue call from the cardinal. He ran into an old friend at the airport.” He nodded to General Rende. “It seemed our leader here decided the poor cardinal was of no further use to the Court.”

Gray’s heart clenched.

Raoul grinned, a savage and bloody expression.

General Rende marched up to them, dressed in civilian clothes, an expensive black suit and tie, polished Italian shoes. He had been in discussion with another man, one wearing a clerical collar. It had to be the prefect, Alberto Menardi, the Court’s resident Rasputin. He had a book tucked under one arm and a satchel in hand.

The general stepped to Raoul. “Enough.”

“Yes, Imperator.” Raoul backed a step.

Rende pointed down to the tunnel. “We don’t have time to gloat. Take them below. Find out what they’ve learned. Then kill them.” Rende stared around the room, his blue eyes icy, his silver hair slicked back. “I will make no pretensions of your survival. Your only choice is to make your deaths slow or quick. So make your peace in whatever manner you see fit.”

Vigor spoke by the far wall. “How could you?”

Rende strode over to him. “Fear not, my old friend, we will spare your niece,” he said. “That I promise you. You’ve both served your duty by keeping the Court abreast of archaeological and art history treasures. You’ve served the Court well these many years.”

Vigor’s face went cold, realizing how he’d been used and manipulated.

“Now that role comes to an end,” Rende said. “But your niece’s blood-line goes back to kings and will produce kings to come.”

“By mating me with that bastard?” Rachel spat back.

“It is not the man or the woman,” Raoul answered. “It’s always been the blood and the future. The purity of our lineage is as much a treasure as what we seek.”