Steve Berry - The Venetian Betrayal

“Tell me, Malone. Did you solve all of the riddle? Is Alexander the Great here? You were just about to explain something to Ms. Vitt when I interrupted.”

Malone still held the flashlight. Heavy duty. Seemed waterproof. “Vincenti wired this place with lights. Even lit the pools. Aren’t you curious why these were so important to him?”

“It looks like there’s nothing here.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

Malone laid the flashlight on the ground and removed his jacket and shirt.

“What are you doing?” Cassiopeia asked.

He slipped off his shoes and socks and emptied his trouser pockets of the phone and his wallet. “That symbol carved into the side of the pool. It leads to the distant refuge. ”

“Cotton,” Cassiopeia said.

He eased himself into the water. Hot at first, but then its warmth soothed his tired limbs. “Keep an eye on her.”

He grabbed a breath and dove under.

“THE CURE FOR AIDS?” STEPHANIE ASKED LYNDSEY.

“A local healer showed Vincenti pools in the mountain years ago, when he worked for the Iraqis. He found out then that the bacteria destroy HIV.”

She saw that Ely was listening with a clear intensity.

“But he didn’t tell anybody,” Lyndsey said. “He held it.”

“For what?” Ely asked.

“The right time. He let the market build. Allowed the disease to spread. Waited.”

“You can’t be serious,” Ely said.

“He was about to spring it.”

Now Stephanie understood. “And you were going to share in the spoils?”

Lyndsey seemed to catch the reservation in her tone. “Don’t give me that sanctimonious crap. I’m not Vincenti. I didn’t know about any cure until today. He just told me.”

“And what were you going to do?” she asked.

“Help produce it. What’s wrong with that?”

“While Zovastina killed millions? You and Vincenti helped make that possible.”

Lyndsey shook his head. “Vincenti said he was going to stop her before she did anything. He held the antiagent. She couldn’t move without that.”

“But now she controls it. You’re both idiots.”

“You realize, Stephanie,” Thorvaldsen said, “that Vincenti had no idea there was anything else up there. He bought this place to preserve the bacteria source. He named it after the Asian designation. He apparently knew nothing about Alexander’s grave.”

She’d already connected those dots. “The draught and the tomb are together. Unfortunately, we’re trapped inside this closet.”

At least Zovastina had left the light on. She’d examined every inch of the unfinished walls and stone floor. No way out. And more of that nauseating odor seeped in from under the door.

“Do those two computers have all the data about the cure on them?” Ely asked Lyndsey.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “Getting out of here is what matters. Before the bonfire begins.”

“It does matter,” Ely said. “We can’t let her have those.”

“Ely, look around you. What can we do about it?”

“Cassiopeia and Malone are out there.”

“True,” Thorvaldsen said. “But I’m afraid Zovastina may be a step ahead of them.”

Stephanie agreed, but that was Malone’s problem.

“There’s something she doesn’t know,” Lyndsey said.

She heard it in his tone and was not in the mood. “Don’t try and bargain with me.”

“Vincenti copied everything onto a flash drive just before Zovastina showed up. He was holding the drive when she shot him. It’s still down in the lab. With that drive and me, you’d have the antiagent for her bugs and the cure.”

“Believe me,” she said. “Even though you’re a slimy SOB, if I could get you out of here, I would.”

She banged again on the door.

“But it’s not to be.”

CASSIOPEIA KEPT ONE EYE ON ZOVASTINA, WHOM VIKTOR WAS holding at bay with his gun, and one eye on the pool. Malone had been gone nearly three minutes. No way he’d held his breath that long.

But then a shadow appeared underwater as Malone emerged from the odd-shaped opening and broke the surface, resting his arms on the rocky edge, one hand gripping the flashlight.

“You need to see this,” he said to her.

“And leave them? No way.”

“Viktor’s got the gun. He can handle her.”

She still hesitated. Something wasn’t right. Her mind may have been on Ely, but she wasn’t oblivious to reality. Viktor was still an unknown, albeit for the past few hours a helpful one. Parts of her would be hanging from two trees right now if not for him. But still.

“You need to see this,” Malone said again.

“Is it there?” Zovastina asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Cassiopeia still wore the tight-fitting leather suit from Venice. She removed the top and left the bottoms. She laid the gun down, out of reach of Zovastina, beside Malone’s. A black sports bra covered her chest and she noticed Viktor’s gaze. “Keep your eye on her,” she made clear.

“She’s not going anywhere.”

She slipped into the pool.

“Grab a good breath and follow me,” Malone said.

She saw him submerge and wedge himself into the opening. She followed a few feet behind, swimming through one of the B-shaped portals. Her eyes were open and she saw that they were navigating a rock tunnel, maybe a meter and a half wide. The pool sat about two meters from the chamber wall, so they were now swimming into the mountain. Malone’s flashlight beam danced across the tunnel and she wondered how much farther.

Then she saw Malone rise.

She emerged from the water right beside him.

His light revealed another enclosed chamber, this one dome-shaped, the naked limestone streaked with deep blue shadows. Niches cut into the walls held what looked like alabaster jars with finely sculpted lids. Overhead, the gaunt limestone was dotted with openings, rough-hewn and irregularly shaped. Cold silvery light seeped into the lofty hall from each portal, their dusty shafts dissolving into the rock.

“Those openings have to point downward,” Malone said. “It’s dry as hell in here. They’re to allow light, but not moisture. They also naturally ventilate.”

“Were they cut?” she asked.

“I doubt it. My guess is this place was chosen because they’re here.” He levered himself out of the pool. Water poured from his soaked pants. “We have to hurry.”

She climbed out.

“That tunnel is the only thing that connects this chamber to the other,” he said. “I took a quick look around to be sure.”

“Certainly explains why it’s never been found.”

Malone used the flashlight to trace the walls and she noticed faint paintings. Bits and pieces. A warrior in his chariot, holding a scepter and reins in one hand, clutching a woman around her waist in another. A stag hit by a javelin. A leafless tree. A man on foot with a spear. Another man moving toward what looked like a boar. What color remained seemed striking. The violet of the hunter’s mantle. Maroon of the chariot. Yellow for the animals. She noticed more scenes on the opposite wall. A young rider with a spear and a wreath in his hair, clearly in his prime, about to attack a lion already beset by dogs. A white background nearly faded with intermediate shades of orange-yellow, pale red, and brown mixed with cooler shades of green and blue.

“I’d say Asian and Greek influences,” Malone said. “But I’m no expert.”

He motioned with the light across stones squared like a parquet floor. A doorway bursting with Greek influence-fluted shafts and ornamented bases-emerged from the darkness. Cassiopeia, a student of ancient engineering, clearly recognized the Hellenistic flair.