Gabriel Hunt - Hunt Through Napoleon's Web

“I asked her to,” Gabriel said. “She didn’t make any promises.”

“Her plane landed hours ago,” Michael said.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Gabriel said. “If you want to worry about something, let me give you something else to chew on.”

Gabriel gave him Amun’s name and a quick summary of what Sammi had said about him. “I’ll have someone check him out,” Michael said. “See what I can find out. But, Gabriel . . .”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to try to find Lucy first. I know she doesn’t want to talk to me—and she doesn’t have to. But I need to know she’s okay. I have a bad feeling somehow.”

“You have a bad feeling about everything,” Gabriel said.

“And how often have I been right?”

“Not more than ninety-eight percent of the time,” Gabriel said.

Sammi came over as he was hanging up the phone. “Something wrong?”

“He’s worried about Lucy because she hasn’t called.”

“Well, don’t you think—”

“Sammi,” Gabriel said, “she hasn’t called him in nine years. She’s fine.” Silently he added, And if she’s not, we’re on the trail of the one thing that might help .

“They went to a hotel,” Naeem reported over his cell phone. “I can get the room number from the clerk, enter while they’re sleeping . . .”

“No,” Amun answered. “Do nothing of the sort. Do you understand? I am on my way. Just watch them—that is all. Do not touch them, do not speak to them. We need them alive.”

“You need Hunt,” Naeem protested, “and his sister. But the French woman . . . ?”

“Are you questioning me?” Amun said.

“Of course not,” Naeem said.

“Good,” Amun said. “Now do your job.”

Naeem tried to keep the frustration out of his voice. “Understood.”

They checked out of the hotel at dawn.

Corsica was a beautiful country, in a rough-hewn way. There was nothing soft about it. Mountainous throughout much of its middle, it was a country as rugged as any Gabriel had been to and not only physically. Although technically part of France, Corsica was more Italian in culture and sensibility, and its people had a quality all their own, strong and unsentimental, almost brutal. The word “vendetta” originated in Corsica, and the Union Corse —the Corsican mafia—had been a powerful force in daily life on the island for most of the past century. Even now, officially crushed, it still had its tentacles in businesses throughout the country. Corsicans were hard people, living in a hard environment.

Gabriel drove south toward Propriano and the small community of Sollacaro, which hosted the Filitosa site. If there was something to be found, this was where they had to start looking.

“They are headed toward the site,” Naeem reported.

“Excellent,” Amun said. “You know what to do if he makes it inside the Web.”

“What about the Corsicans who guard it?”

“Kemnebi will take care of them. He is assembling a team. If it proves necessary, we will intervene.”

“Understood,” Naeem said. Then after Amun had disconnected and the cell phone was safely closed, he said contemptuously, “ If it proves necessary.”

They reached Filitosa by midmorning. It was in the middle of a dense forest that seemed to be untouched by modern civilization. Gabriel parked the car, took the pair of rucksacks they’d filled with their gear, and handed one to Sammi, who shrugged it on. Together they went into the Repository Museum building, where visitors bought tickets to visit the site. The museum contained a number of specimens excavated from various archaeological digs on the property. Glass display cases held artifacts such as obsidian arrowheads and pottery from the late Neolithic period. Gabriel led Sammi past the ranks of cases and straight to the outside path that led through an ancient olive grove to the first monument. Walking down the hill from there, they came to the monument, which consisted of menhirs with crudely carved faces erected around an open-air shrine. A number of hut platforms also surrounded the area.

Gabriel studied the map he had drawn. “We need to go to the very bottom of the hill, where the Western Monument and torri are located.”

“What’s a torri ?”

“A type of circular stone structure. It’s thought they were used as temples. Come on.”

They continued along the path. Menhirs were arranged in a ritualistic circle near walls of stone that had once enclosed—what? No one knew. Gabriel had asked Michael once. It was obvious that the ancient Corsicans had used the structure for religious purposes, but historians weren’t sure what that religion was.

Beyond the monument was a fence—the end of the Filitosa property.

“We have to get over that fence without being seen,” Gabriel said. There weren’t too many people around—it was still early. They walked to a section of the fence partly concealed behind a stand of large olive trees.

“Okay, quick.” Gabriel held his hands together to give Sammi a boost. She placed a foot in his palm, caught hold of the top of the fence with both hands and nimbly hoisted herself up. In an instant she was down on the other side and had disappeared into the thick foliage. Gabriel was reminded of the way she’d vanished from Lucy’s apartment in Nice.

“Coming?” came an impatient whisper.

Gabriel took a look around to make sure no one had come into view, then pulled himself up to the top of the fence. Before he could put his leg over, he heard a telephone ringing somewhere beneath him—Sammi’s cell phone.

He vaulted over the top of the fence and dropped into the undergrowth, where Sammi was fumbling in her pocket. The phone rang again. Gabriel hissed, “Turn that thing—”

She flipped it open and answered in a whisper. “ Oui? ” She listened for a moment. “Yes, he is right here.” She handed the phone to Gabriel. “It is your brother. He says it is urgent.”

Gabriel took the phone. “Michael, once again, not a good time.”

“I was right, Gabriel,” Michael said, miserably. “She’s been kidnapped again.”

“What?”

“I said Lucy’s been—”

“How did it happen? In Paris?”

“No. She never made it on the plane.”

Gabriel’s hand tightened around the phone. “Damn it.”

“I just got another e-mail from the Alliance. It says you have to ‘deliver the Stone to us or your sister will die.’ ”

“They must know we’re here,” Gabriel said.

“You want me to call the police?” Michael said. “Interpol?”

“No. They’d be useless—or worse. These people are not amateurs. They’ll kill her if we give them a reason.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Get their goddamn stone for them.” He hung up. The look on Sammi’s face told him he didn’t need to relay the news. “Don’t worry,” Gabriel said, “we’ll get her back.”

“What if we can’t?”

Gabriel didn’t answer. He just took another look at his map, jammed it in his pocket, and headed toward a thick crop of trees.

The track led them deeper into the dark forest. Sunlight barely filtered through the tops of the tall pine trees. Twenty minutes of climbing over knotted roots and fallen and rotting tree trunks brought them to a small clearing that began where they were standing and ended a dozen feet away, at a wall of boulders. It was as tall as a three-story building, as wide as four buses driving bumper-to-bumper.

“Is this a natural formation?” Sammi asked, looking at the giant, irregular stones. “Or was there a rock slide . . . ?”

“Neither,” Gabriel said. “I think they were put here. Like the menhirs.”