24

JACK THOUGHT IT SEEMED STRANGE to activate the tumbler lock a second time. It was almost as if he knew where the key was beneath the welcome mat. He keyed the sequence in the right order. When the eleventh panel slid into place, the wall once again worked its magic, showing the single panel waiting expectantly for the final key.

Jack reached into the bag and withdrew the dagger. Earlier, when he met the FedEx man at the National Library, he’d been mindful of watchful eyes and so delayed opening the package until he and Espy were back in their hotel room. Pulling it from the box and removing it from its protective wrappings, Jack was returned to the day when Paulo had handed it to him across a table along the Brazil/French Guiana border. The jewels sparkled even under the bad fluorescent lighting of their hotel room. As he turned it over in his hand then, and as he did the same standing now before the lock, as he reacquainted himself with the markings on the hilt that matched those on the Parisian wall, he found that he could muster little excitement. For the real treasure was behind the wall that the key in his hand was meant to open.

He extended the dagger and set the point in the slot made for it. He slid the dagger in, the sound of metal on stone punctuating the moment. As the hilt came into contact with the stone, Jack felt the weapon click into place, some unseen lever sliding in response to the dagger’s proportions.

The response was immediate. There was no rumble of stone, no portentous movement of the earth. Instead, Jack heard a quiet popping noise, and then a seam that he hadn’t noticed before separated to reveal an opening into a once-solid rock wall. There was something almost anticlimactic about it. After all the work he and Espy had done, he’d hoped for something a bit grander.

The opening wasn’t large, perhaps two feet wide and half again as tall. The natural darkness of the chamber made it difficult to see inside, so Jack took the flashlight from Espy and aimed it into the opening.

Nothing but rock, the hole extended into the wall following the same proportions as its width. Jack had no doubt that it was meant as a storage area. The walls were smooth, straight, finely chiseled. At the bottom, where Jack could envision the bones resting, was a raised area, a small dais. But it lay empty. Whatever it had once held was now gone.

As he took in the absence of what he’d hoped to find, Jack felt defeat hovering in the shadows, and the weariness of the last few days washed over him. He looked away from the hole and made eye contact with his wife. She could read everything on his face; she knew what he’d discovered without having to look in herself.

She moved closer, taking Jack’s hand. She took in the empty cavity and released a deep sigh.

“Okay, so we’ve narrowed down the list of places it’s not,” she said.

The comment brought a semblance of a smile from Jack. But before he could respond, he noticed the tunnel was gradually lightening. Turning, he looked back the way they’d come and watched as the light grew. Espy saw it too. Jack realized that it probably didn’t matter who owned the light; it couldn’t bode well for them. He turned to survey the path that would take them deeper into the Catacombs, noting the lack of cover in that direction.

He hurriedly unfolded his collection of maps and tried to make sense of the winding passageways recorded on them. He knew their biggest issue involved the accuracy of the maps; he thought it a miracle he and Espy had come as far as they had. Beyond this point, the truth of the maps was even more questionable. A single wrong turn, or an unseen pit, or a broken flashlight was all that separated him and Espy from a life of aimless tunnel wandering.

In the end, he lowered the maps, slipping them into the bag. The light was getting closer, and they were almost out of time. He took out the gun, wishing he’d thought to bring the second one from the duffel bag.

“It’s going to get dark,” he whispered. Then he switched off the flashlight, allowing the darkness to close in around them. He reached out, found Espy’s arm, and pulled her toward the far wall, the one opposite the wall with the tumbler lock. He put her behind him, positioning his body so that he was as flush with the stone as he could be. He watched the light approach.

It occurred to him that the locking mechanism was still tripped, the Cavalcanti dagger still shoved into its slot. He supposed it didn’t matter now.

Before long, the diffuse light resolved into a trio of beams and Jack heard footfalls. The small cavern in which he and Espy stood had a slight parabolic shape. It kept the occasional flit of a beam of light from falling on them.

Jack had the gun up, but he didn’t have a target. That changed when three shapes materialized from the shadows, forms hovering at the edges that teased him before darting ahead. Jack kept his eyes aimed past the lights, trying to pull details from the gloom.

If he shot first, he knew that he and Espy might survive, that the element of surprise could be the thing that saved them. But he also knew he couldn’t pull the trigger until he identified the threat. He couldn’t shoot until he ruled out the possibility that the ones approaching were teenagers exploring past the boundaries of the Catacombs.

The decision cost him his opportunity. An instant later, light fell on the tumbler lock. Jack heard one of the newcomers say something unintelligible in a sharp tone, followed by other lights moving to further illuminate Jack and Espy’s handiwork. Then the three figures stepped into the chamber.

Jack couldn’t make out many details, only that the newcomers were men, all of them wearing dark clothes and warm jackets. It didn’t take long before one of them panned a light around the chamber, and for that light to find the two figures tucked against the wall. When that happened, when the light hit Jack full in the face, he raised his own flashlight and hit the switch, sending the strong beam back at the intruders. He heard a curse, registering the delivery in English.

In the next moments, in a cavern beneath a bustling European city, time froze. Jack blinked against the glare of the light in his face. He kept his own light trained on the intruders, his gun at the ready. But each of the men now fully illuminated had a weapon pointed back at him. He’d run out of options.

“You must be Dr. Hawthorne,” one of them said, the accent decidedly British.

Jack answered with a nod. “You seem to have the advantage over me.”

“More than you realize,” the other man said. He took a step forward. Jack brought his gun up in response. “Dr. Hawthorne, if we wanted to kill you, we’d have already done so. Please lower your weapon and allow us to escort you out.”

“I think we can find our own way,” Jack said.

He felt Espy’s hand on his arm, a gentle squeeze.

“While that may be true,” the Englishman said, “these tunnels can be dangerous if you’re not careful. I would hate for anything to happen to you.”

A retort came to Jack’s lips, but he let it pass unspoken. Jack was smart enough to know that, ultimately, it wouldn’t change anything. It was the message Espy’s arm squeeze was meant to convey. What it came down to was that he had one gun against their three.

He lowered the gun and then dropped it at his feet, the metal making sharp contact with rock. “Live to fight another day,” he said.

The two men who’d remained silent thus far crossed the chamber. One picked up Jack’s gun while the other divested him of his flashlight. Jack’s attention, though, was fixed on the Englishman. The man turned to the repository and reached for the dagger. He withdrew it and held it up to the light, turning it over in his hand. With the dagger removed, the inner panel slid back into place, the lesser panels moving to cover it. Soon nothing remained of Jack and Espy’s work.

The Brit ran a reverent hand over the icons before turning away from the wall. He gestured at his compatriots, who began to guide Jack and Espy back the way they’d come.

Jack gazed out a second-floor window, taking in the view of the property: the cobblestone courtyard and fountain, the ancient trees, the manicured grounds that seemed to stretch for miles. The villa, tucked into a secluded area in Versailles, was large and opulent while at the same time preserving a provincial, even earthy, feel. The room in which their escorts had installed them was large and airy, with several tall windows that let in the day’s waning sunlight. A pair of comfortable couches, along with matching chairs and a couple of tables, were the room’s only furnishings. As Jack sank onto one of the couches, he considered that he’d been held in worse prisons.

He’d checked the door not long after arriving, and while it wasn’t locked, the two guards posted in the hall did much to keep him in his gilded cage.

When he sat, Espy glanced up from the book she’d picked up from an end table, although she didn’t say anything. They’d covered what ground they could during the twenty-minute ride from Paris, and during their first few minutes of solitude in the villa. Jack had come to the conclusion that Rousseau hadn’t been responsible for their detainment. Rather, he believed that another potentially more dangerous adversary was hosting their stay in Versailles.

As if in silent confirmation of that belief, the door opened to admit a woman whose patrician smile was ice and contempt. Olivia Chambers stopped only a few steps past the doorway, giving her guests the once-over.

From his spot on the couch, Jack regarded her with an expression that bespoke boredom, while Espy didn’t bother to look up from her book. Jack saw a hint of a frown touch Olivia’s lips, but it vanished quickly. The lady crossed the room, choosing a spot at the armrest of the other couch from which to address them.

“It’s a pleasure to see you both,” she said.

Jack responded with a smile, and Espy, still absorbed in the book, hadn’t given any indication she was aware someone had entered the room. Olivia stared at Espy, as if taking in the indifference.

“Especially you, Mrs. Manheim,” Olivia said. “I was so hoping I’d have a chance to talk with you again.”

Jack saw the corner of Espy’s mouth rise a fraction. Casually she closed the book and returned it to the table before returning the other woman’s gaze.

“Thank you for having us,” Espy said. “The villa’s lovely. Yours?”

The complete calm—the absolute confidence—in her voice seemed to give Olivia Chambers pause, as if she were suddenly reminded of how their last meeting had ended.

“It is. One of my more quaint residences.”

The comment elicited no response from Espy.

Olivia smiled. “Yes, Dr. Habilla-Hawthorne, I imagine a place like this is quite something compared to your cute little Colonial Revival in Ellen.”

Espy took the jab in stride, annoyance only showing in her eyes, and mild enough that Jack doubted if Olivia had even noticed it.

Olivia shifted her attention to Jack.

“The intrepid Dr. Jack Hawthorne,” she said. Olivia ran her eyes over Jack, adopting a pleasant smile that he knew was intended solely to vex Espy. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for quite some time. I only wish I’d known who you were when you visited me in London.”

Jack’s patience for pleasantries was long spent. “If you’d known then who we were,” he said, “you would have had us killed there rather than having to come to Paris to do it.”

Olivia frowned, but instead of answering right away, she circled the couch and took a seat opposite him. “Why would I want to have you killed?” she asked.

“Maybe because I killed some of your operatives a few years back. Because I stole the bones from George Manheim, and I buried them in the desert. And because I know far too many secrets involving the Priests of Osiris for you to allow me to live.” He paused, inviting her to deny any of it. When she didn’t, when her face revealed nothing, he leaned forward and looked her in the eyes. “And let’s face it, Olivia, the only reason Rousseau’s worked so hard to keep us alive is because it ticks you off.”

His words pushed Olivia Chambers to drop the veil long enough to show genuine anger. It told Jack he was right about the long history of enmity between the two families. But like the well-mannered aristocrat she was, the lady quickly recovered.

“Dr. Hawthorne, surely you don’t think you’re the first one outside of the organization who has been able to learn our secrets.” She shook her head and chuckled. “You’re not as special or as resourceful as you think.”

“That may be so, but how many outsiders have been able to witness the power of the bones?”

As with the previous comment, he saw this one do its work. It made Jack wonder how many members of the Priests of Osiris had been given the opportunity to see Elisha’s bones harness the power of God.

“Our internal affairs are just that, internal,” she said. “What’s more important is the work we do, and the disturbance you represent to that work.”

Espy snorted. It was her turn to lean forward, to engage the enemy. “From what I’ve seen, it seems the bones have done more harm than good.”

“And how do you come to that conclusion?”

“I’m sure you know we’ve been to Saint Petersburg,” Espy said. “And you may also be aware that we found the meeting hall beneath Trubetskoy Bastion.”

She allowed time for Olivia to acknowledge that, which she did with a nod.

“The thousands of skulls in the walls surrounding your history stone testify to the brutality of your little priesthood,” Espy remarked.

At first, Olivia appeared to be surprised, but then she immediately composed herself and said, “I can’t speak to whatever it is you’re assuming. But your accusation tells me that despite knowing more of our secrets than most, you have yet to grasp our longevity, as well as the breadth of our influence. The Priests of Osiris is almost three thousand years old, and countless people have committed themselves to protecting the relics. Every skull in that chamber represents someone who died in that service. It’s a place of honor.”

Jack thought it was the first genuine thing the lady had said, and that alone made him accept every word of it as truth. Although he’d read enough of their literature—uncovered in the treasure room of the Manheim estate—to know the power of the bones had been used throughout history to the detriment of many. Olivia Chambers certainly couldn’t claim altruistic intent, and that lack of altruism extended to him and Espy.

“I imagine the only reason you’re confirming all this is because you’re going to kill us,” Jack said.

Even as he said the words, he found it wasn’t fear for himself that consumed him. It wasn’t even fear for his wife. Instead, it was the thought of Alex and Jim, who, if McKeller had done as Jack instructed, were somewhere in or near Paris. They were waiting for their father to come rescue them, and he couldn’t even save himself.

“Yes, I’m going to kill you,” Olivia said, “and I’ll tell you why.” She looked at Espy, then back at Jack, and smiled. “I’m going to kill you because it will tick off your friend Rousseau.”

A second later, one of the windows exploded.

Jack jumped, whirling around just in time to see whatever had shattered the glass come to rest against the leg of the table. Instantly smoke began to pour from the object. He leaped toward Espy, yanked her off the couch, and headed for the far corner of the room.

Olivia’s reaction was almost as quick as Jack’s. After taking stock of what had happened, she stood and began rushing toward the door. That was when they heard small-arms fire coming from the hallway.

Olivia froze, her eyes on the door. The gunfire was growing louder. They could hear shouts. Jack pulled Espy behind a table. It was flimsy protection, but it got them out of the line of fire if someone fired a shot through the door. Olivia, on the other hand, stood in the center of the room, gaping at the door as if unable to comprehend that danger could find her in her own house.

Jack heard another shot, closer now, and Olivia turned her head, her eyes filled with fear as she found Jack across the room. Despite what she’d done to them, and that she planned to kill him and Espy, Jack couldn’t help feeling sympathy for the lady.

She broke eye contact first, turning back to the door. It didn’t take long for the conflict taking place out in the hallway to reach them. By then, the smoke grenade had made it hard for Jack to see. He crouched, pulling Espy closer to him, positioning himself between her and the door.

Jack heard a loud thud and then the door burst open, the jamb splintering. Through the smoke he saw men streaming into the room, their weapons drawn.

Olivia remained still, even as the first man through the door ran to her and roughly forced her to her knees.

Then they came for Jack and Espy through the smoke, and all he could do was watch them approach, and look on as they dragged Olivia Chambers through the shattered doorway.