perfect match!”
Gray craned up, but all he could see were the underside of her breasts.
“Can you tell what Christ is staring at?” he asked, remembering Hagia Sophia.
“Down at the altar,” she answered, but she seemed distracted. “The crucifix is seated in a circular block of stone. When I pushed the crucifix in there, I thought I felt something click. And the stone almost seems loose. With the crucifix in place, I think I can turn it. Maybe loosen it free.”
“I don’t think you should—”
He heard a scrape of stone. A loud clank sounded, but it came not from above. Gray stared down between his toes.
The altar dropped from under his feet, falling straight through the floor, taking Gray with it.
Seichan tumbled into his arms, hugging tight to his neck.
The stone slab hit the ground with a jarring impact, dropping Gray to one knee. Dust flumed up. One of the floor bricks broke away, smashed into the altar, and bounced away into the darkness that lay ahead.
Gray stared up. Though it had scared the breath out of him, they had fallen only four feet. Vigor and Kowalski stared down at them.
“I think you found something, Indiana,” Kowalski said with a smirk. He passed over a flashlight.
Gray rolled his eyes, but he accepted the flashlight. Seichan climbed off him, dusting herself off. Crouching, Gray pointed his light into the chamber revealed under the chapel. A dark archway beckoned.
He slid off the altar stone to the floor, Seichan at his shoulder.
Vigor and Kowalski climbed down to follow.
Two crossed arches formed the roof of a small chamber, half the size of the upper chapel. Lit by his flashlight, a low niche was cut into the back wall, framed in another archway.
“A
Within the niche, a body lay stretched across the bare stone, covered in folds of white cloth.
“Kokejin’s tomb,” Vigor said. “We found it.”
Despite the excitement, they approached solemnly. Gray and Vigor stepped up. They needed to be sure. Vigor blessed their trespass with the sign of the cross and a mumbled prayer.
The monsignor reached a hand to the burial shroud.
“If something moves,” Kowalski whispered, dead serious, “I’m out of here. Just so you know.”
Vigor ignored him and reverently lifted away a fold of cloth from one end. “Silk,” he whispered.
Dust wafted as he pulled it back.
The dome of a skull was revealed. Resting atop it shone a gold headpiece, rubies and sapphires reflected the light. Diamonds glistened.
“The princess’s headpiece,” Vigor said in a hushed voice.
Gray remembered Vigor’s story, how Marco had the headpiece with him at his deathbed.
Vigor’s hand trembled. “Marco must have willed that it be returned. Possibly even arranged to have her body removed and secured in secret, before she finally came to her final rest here.”
Gray reached out and covered Vigor’s hand with his own. “The third
They were short on time.
Gray drew the silk shroud away from the rest of the bones.
Vigor gasped and fell back a step.
Even Gray froze, stunned.
It was not just
Two skeletons lay within the tomb, entwined in each other’s arms.
Gray recalled Vigor’s story of the Church of San Lorenzo, how Marco Polo was interred there in 1324, but a later renovation revealed the body to be gone.
“We haven’t just found Kokejin’s tomb,” Vigor said.
Gray nodded. “We found Marco Polo’s tomb, too.”
He stared down at the entwined pair.
What the two couldn’t have in life, they had finally achieved in death.
To be together.
Forever.
Gray wondered if he’d ever find a love that great. It reminded him of his parents, together through so much hardship, struggling through trials of debilitation and now dementia…yet they never gave up on each other.
Someone had to save them.
Painter wished he could be on-site, but it would only delay the response team. From Sigma’s com-center, he watched the live video feed. It was broadcast from a helmet camera of one of the strike team.
Ten minutes ago they’d had their first real break.
All morning Painter had busted balls to trace the international phone lugs from Monsignor Verona’s cell phone back to U.S. shores. Gray had mentioned that Amen Nasser had called Vigor’s phone. To trace that call, Painter had to rattle powers from the Vatican’s Curia to Homeland Security’s director of operations. At least with Seichan in tow, he had been able to play the terrorist card. It had opened doors normally closed.
Still, it took longer than he’d liked, but Painter finally knew from where the call had originated. A strike team waited on his word to begin the assault.
He leaned to the microphone. “Go.”
Van doors slid open. The camera feed jittered and jumped. The team closed in from multiple directions, front and rear, running low, assault rifles in hand.
The strike team hit the building like a storm.
A battering ram smashed the front door open in one swing.
The feed went dark as his cameraman followed the others into the building. The team fanned out.
Painter waited.
Unable to sit any longer, he stood up, leaning his fists on the communication array. Technicians crowded either side, viewing other monitors as satellite feed streamed in from Indonesia. A major storm with hurricane- strength winds blanketed most of their region, hampering the search for the hijacked
The lack of progress had boiled up Painter’s frustration. His fear for Lisa, for Monk, had grown close to crippling.
Then the hit on the phone trace.
He needed a win.
At least here.
Within his earpiece, he heard the chatter of the strike team, crisscrossing reports and call-outs. Finally, one clear voice rang through, coming from the cameraman. He had stopped inside what looked like a meat locker. Hooks hung from the roof.
“Director Crowe, we’ve completed the sweep of the butcher shop. We’re negative on the targets. The place is deserted.”
The video jittered as the cameraman bent down — then straightened, lifting his fingers into view.
They were damp.
“Sir, we’ve got blood.”
One of the technicians glanced in his direction, saw something he didn’t like in Painter’s expression, and quickly turned back around.
A voice cut through his despair, coming from the door.
“Director Crowe…”
A woman stood in the doorway, dressed in navy blues. Her auburn hair was tied away from her face, shining with fear and worry. He understood the haunted look in her eyes.
