Steve Berry - The Venetian Betrayal

Above spread a shallow-carved inscription in Greek letters.

“Through there,” he said.

VINCENTI FORCED HIS EYES OPEN. PAIN IN HIS CHEST RACKED HIS brain. Each breath seemed a labor. How many bullets had hit him? Three? Four? He didn’t remember. But somehow his heart still beat. Maybe it wasn’t all that bad to be fat. He recalled falling, then a deep blackness sweeping over him. He never fired a shot. Zovastina seemed to have anticipated his move. Almost like she’d wanted him to challenge her.

He forced himself to roll over and he clutched a table leg. Blood oozed from his chest and a new wave of pain drove electric nails through his spine. He struggled harder to breathe. The pistol was gone, but he realized he was holding something else. He brought his hand close and saw the flash drive.

Everything he’d worked for over the past ten years lay in his bloodied palm. How had Zovastina found him? Who had betrayed him? O’Conner? Was he still alive? Where was he? O’Conner had been the only other person with the ability to open the cabinet in the study.

Two controllers.

Where was his?

He struggled to focus and finally spotted the device lying on the tile floor.

Everything seemed lost.

But maybe not.

He was still alive and perhaps Zovastina was gone.

He gathered his strength and scooped the controller into his hand. He should have provided the house with full security before he abducted Karyn Walde. But he’d never thought Zovastina would link him to her disappearance-certainly not so quickly-and he’d never believed that she’d turn on him. Not with what she had planned.

She needed him.

Or did she?

Blood pooled in his throat and he spit out the sour taste. A lung must have been hit. More blood caused him to cough, which sent new bolts of agony through his body.

Maybe O’Conner could get to him?

He fumbled with the controller and could not decide which of the three buttons to push. One opened the door in the study. The other released all of the concealed doors throughout the house. The last activated the alarm.

No time to be right.

So he pushed all three.

ZOVASTINA STARED AT THE BROWN POOL. MALONE AND VITT HAD been submerged for several minutes.

“There must be another chamber,” she said.

Viktor stayed silent.

“Lower that gun.”

He did as ordered.

She faced him. “Did you enjoy tying me to those trees? Threatening me?”

“You wanted it to appear that I was one of them.”

Viktor had succeeded beyond her expectations, leading them straight to her goal. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

“They seemed to know what they’re looking for.”

Viktor had been her double-agent ever since the Americans first reenlisted his aid. He’d come straight to her and told her of his predicament. For the past year she’d used him to funnel what she wanted the West to know. A dangerous balancing act, but one she’d been forced to maintain because of Washington’s renewed interest in her.

And everything had worked.

Until Amsterdam.

And until Vincenti decided to kill his American watchdog. She’d encouraged him to eliminate the spy, hoping Washington might focus its attention on him. But the subterfuge had not worked. Luckily, today’s deceptions had been more successful.

Viktor had promptly reported Malone’s presence within the palace and she’d quickly conceived how to take maximum advantage of the opportunity with an orchestrated palace escape. Edwin Davis had been the other side’s attempt to divert her attention but, knowing Malone was there, she’d seen through that ruse.

“There has to be another chamber,” she repeated, slipping off her shoes and removing her jacket. “Grab two of those flashlights and let’s go see.”

STEPHANIE HEARD A CLAXON REVERBERATE THROUGH THE HOUSE, the sound dulled by the thick walls that encased them. Movement caught her eye and she saw a panel swing open at the opposite end of the closet.

Ely quickly shifted out of its way.

“A frickin’ doorway,” Lyndsey exclaimed.

She moved toward the exit, suspicious, and examined its top. Electric bolts-connected to the alarm. Had to be. Beyond was a passageway lit by bulbs.

The alarm stopped.

They all stood in contemplative silence.

“What are we waiting for?” Thorvaldsen asked.

She stepped through the portal.

MALONE LED CASSIOPEIA THROUGH THE DOORWAY AND WATCHED as she gazed in wonder. His light revealed carvings that sprang with life from the rock walls. Most of the images were of a warrior in his prime-young, vigorous, a spear in hand, a wreath in his hair. One frieze showed what appeared to be kings paying homage. Another a lion hunt. Still another a fierce battle. In each, the human element-muscles, hands, face, legs, feet, toes-were all depicted with painstaking care. Not a hint of color. Only a silvery monochrome.

He focused the beam on the center of the wigwam-shaped chamber and two stone plinths that each supported a stone sarcophagus. The exterior of both were adorned with lotus and palmetto patterns, rosettes, tendrils, flowers, and leaves. He pointed to the coffin lids. “That’s a Macedonian star on each.”

Cassiopeia bent down before the tombs and examined the lettering. Her fingers traced the words on each with a gentle touch… “I can’t read this, but it has to be Alexander and Hephaestion.”

He understood her awe. But there was a more pressing matter. “That’ll have to wait. We have a bigger problem.”

She stood upright.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Take off those wet clothes and I’ll explain.”

ZOVASTINA LEAPED INTO THE POOL, FOLLOWED BY VIKTOR, AND swam through the opening that looked so similar to the symbol on the elephant medallion. She’d noticed the resemblance immediately.

Easy strokes propelled her forward. The water was soothing, like a dip in one of the saunas at her palace.

Ahead, the overhead rock wall gave way.

She surfaced.

She’d been correct. Another chamber. Smaller than the one on the other side. She shook the water from her eyes and saw that the high ceiling seemed backlit by ambient light that leaked in from openings high in the rock. Viktor emerged beside her and they both climbed out. She surveyed the room. Faded murals decorated the walls. Two portals opened into more darkness.

No one in sight.

No other beams of light.

Apparently, Cotton Malone was not as naive as she’d thought.

“All right, Malone,” she called out. “You have the advantage. But could I have a look first?”

Silence.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Her light studied the sandy floor, spangled with mica, and she spotted a moisture trail through the doorway to her right.

She entered the next chamber and spotted two funerary plinths. Both exteriors were adorned with carvings and letters, but she wasn’t fluent in Old Greek. That was why she’d recruited Ely Lund. One image caught her eye and she stepped close and gently blew away debris that clogged its outline. Bit by bit a horse was revealed. Maybe five centimeters long, with an upstanding mane and a lifted tail.