The Bone Chamber (29 page)

Sydney crouched behind the truck beside Griffin,
holding the mirror out just far enough to view their surroundings without being seen. A few seconds later, she saw the two men who were shadowing them. “They’ve stopped at the end of the street,” she whispered. “Looking around, like they’re trying to figure out which way to go…Guy in the leather coat is pointing this way…They’re coming.” She waited until they were just a few feet away, then she raised her hand, signaling with her fingers, three…two…one.

Griffin stepped out, grabbed the guy’s leather jacket, pulled him back behind the truck. Sydney saw a glint of silver as Griffin held a knife to the man’s throat.

The other man took a hesitant step toward them.

Griffin shook his head. “Don’t move. Who are you and why are you following us?”

The man looked around him in both directions, before saying in heavily accented English, “We are simply messengers. You have nothing to fear from us. I—we work for Father Dumas.”

“And he works for God,” Griffin muttered, clearly not
letting down his guard on the simple belief that God made Dumas any more trustworthy. “Search him,” he told Sydney.

She moved up behind the other man, patted him down. “He’s clean.”

“How about you?” Griffin asked the man he still had a tight grip on. “You carrying?”

“No.”

“And what would that be poking me in my gut?”

“Maybe just a small gun.” American, Sydney realized.

“Then you won’t mind if my associate removes it, for your safety.”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.”

Sydney pulled a not so small Beretta from his waistband, aimed the weapon at him.

Griffin stepped back, holding the knife at his side. “The gun tells me you don’t work for Dumas. Why are you watching us?”

The guy glanced at Sydney, and the gun she held. “Really, Special Agent Fitzpatrick. There’s no need for lethal weapons. I’m simply the messenger. If we wanted to kill you, you’d be dead.”

She hid her surprise at hearing her name. “Then who was that shooting at us at the Gianicolo Hill yesterday?”

“An unfortunate misunderstanding from…some associates. We now have a strong interest in ensuring that everyone’s needs are met on this venture.”

“Needs?” Griffin asked. “What needs?”

“Let’s just say that you are very close to acquiring something that we want. And to guarantee its safe delivery into our hands, we intend to offer you something—or rather some
one
that you want.”

Griffin tensed. “I’m listening.”

“Bring us the map, we return your friend.”

“And how do I know my friend is alive?” Griffin asked, while Sydney was trying to figure out what the man was talking about. A map of what? Francesca’s map of the columbarium? No. That made little sense. Adami was after bioweapons, not ancient burial sites.

“If you’ll allow me to reach in my pocket,” the guy said, “I have a mobile phone for you to call.”

Sydney kept the gun trained on him. “Slowly,” she ordered.

He lifted his jacket so that they could see inside, then reached in and pulled out a thin cell phone. He held it up, saying, “First, the rules. In exchange for your friend, we require that the map be given directly to us. No copies or photographs of it allowed.” He glanced over at Francesca, who still waited by the stairs, adding, “Not even for academic purposes. And we require that you remain in contact via mobile phone.
This
mobile phone. Agreed?”

“As I said,” Griffin replied, “I’ll need assurance that my friend is alive.”

“Allow me to make the call.” The man punched in a number, waited a moment, then said, “Signore Griffin is here with me…Yes. It’s been explained.” He handed Griffin the phone.

Griffin held it to his ear, then “Tex? You’re okay?” He listened for a short time, then closed the cell phone. “I agree to your terms on one condition.” The guy said nothing, and Griffin continued. “Call off your trigger-happy watchdogs. If anything happens to any one of us, the deal is off.”

“Of course. There is one other stipulation. You have twenty-four hours. You will use this phone to communicate. The number is programmed in. If we lose communication with you, or you go beyond the allotted time, we will assume you have broken your end of the agreement. Your friend will die, and I can no longer guarantee your safety.”

“I can’t guarantee we’ll find it in that time.”

“That would be most unfortunate.” He looked at his watch. “It is a little after four
P.M
., and so, being in a generous mood, we shall expect the map by five
P.M
. tomorrow.”

Griffin dropped the phone in his pocket. “Anything else?”

“My gun.”

Griffin glanced over at Sydney. “You want to give him back his gun?”

“Not really.”

“Tell you what,” Griffin said. “When all this is over, we’ll
turn it into the
carabinieri
for safekeeping. You can pick it up from them.”

Sydney smiled at the dark look from the man as he said, “You know they won’t return it to me.”

“A shame,” Griffin said. “Now get the hell out of here so we can find that damned map.”

The two men wasted no time in leaving, and Sydney kept the weapon trained on them as she watched them go. “Adami’s men?”

“That remains to be seen.” He stormed across the street, then dragged the professor up by her arm, demanding, “What
map
is he talking about?”

Griffin resisted the urge to strangle the professor,
only because it would make it very difficult to get answers from a dead woman. “I said, what map?”

“I have no idea what he’s talking about.”

“The hell you don’t. Now I suggest you answer my question, because I owe my life to the man they’re holding. In fact, every citizen of America and, yes, even this country, owes their miserable life to that man.”

The professor shook her head, tried to back away. “It’s only a map. I have no idea why anyone else would want it.”

“A map that has something to do with some prince named di Sangro?”

She said nothing.

He let her go, and she fell against the staircase.

“Honestly,” she said, righting herself. “I didn’t think it would be so…I had no idea.”

“No idea about what? That your life was in danger? That others’ lives were as well? The people shooting at you weren’t a clue?”

“I thought the shooting had something to do with whatever Alessandra had gotten herself involved in.”

“You’re telling me Alessandra didn’t know anything about this map?”

“No. I mean I thought it was her association with you and this—this other matter. The one where she went out on that spurious dig with the anthropologist.”

“Anthropologist?” Sydney asked.

Hell. That was all he needed right now, for Sydney to realize that Tasha Gilbert was the anthropologist in question. He didn’t need the grief that would cause once she discovered that it was Tasha who set up his meeting with Sydney back in Quantico. “We’ll talk about this back at the safe house,” he said to Francesca. “And if I have to hook you up to a polygraph to get to the truth, I will.”

Of course, returning to the safe house presented a problem of its own. He had no idea whether its location was compromised. Had Adami’s men followed them from there to the crypt? Or was there a simpler explanation?

He looked at the professor. “Who knew you were coming here?”

“No one.”

“You didn’t telephone anyone?”

“One. A friend in Naples.”

“When?”

“Yesterday. After I left the Vatican. But I had no idea at the time that I was coming here. We hadn’t yet been to the columbarium to discover the clue.”

“Naples? What’s in Naples?”

“Allegedly, the map.”

Griffin ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated, angry, wanting to smash something. They’d undoubtedly followed her to the columbarium, and from there, followed all of them to the restaurant and then to the Capuchin Crypt. “Let’s get to the car,” he said, realizing that even if the safe house wasn’t compromised, it would be, the moment he walked into it with the damned cell phone Adami’s goon had given him. It probably had GPS tracking on it, maybe even a remote-activated listening device as well—hell, what was he thinking? Of course it had a listening device, and he tried to recall everything the three of them
had discussed since he’d taken possession of the phone. He didn’t think they’d said anything Adami’s men didn’t already know, but even so, he took out the phone, held it up so that Sydney and Francesca could see it, and put his finger over his lips to indicate they weren’t to talk. Sydney nodded, then leaned over to whisper to Francesca, in case she didn’t understand why.

It took them about fifteen minutes to walk back to the van. Once there, he handed Adami’s phone to Sydney, signaled that he was going to make a call with his own, then walked off about twenty feet, standing near a group of tourists who were busy talking, the better to cover his own conversation. He called Giustino. “I think your location’s been compromised. And if it hasn’t, it’s about to be.”

Sydney knew better than to demand that Griffin stop and answer her question as to who this anthropologist was. Nor was she about to demand any answers from Francesca, even though she was fairly certain the professor knew far more than she was letting on. The damned phone Griffin had given her to hold was probably remotely picking up their conversations, and she wasn’t about to risk anyone’s lives by speaking now. Besides, Tex was alive and they had a chance to rescue him, and Griffin understandably needed to concentrate on that, as well as the security of Giustino and the safe house. For now, she did her part, kept an eye on the side mirror, the passing cars, making sure there was no immediate danger. Whatever this map business was about, Francesca Santarella seemed to be in the thick of it, and like it or not, they had no choice but to stay the course.

The trip to the safe house was quiet. The professor had the presence of mind not to say a word, a good thing, because Griffin looked ready to do some serious harm.

At the safe house, Giustino buzzed them through the door. He was already packing up equipment when they walked in. “What happened?” he asked Griffin.

“We have to go to Naples. Adami has Tex.”

Sydney pulled out the cell phone that Griffin had given her, holding her finger to her lips, then saying, “They gave
us this and said if they lose contact via this phone, they’ll kill Tex.”

She gave the phone to Giustino, who examined it, walked to the front door, saying loudly, “I watch your phone while you get your things together.” He opened the door, set the cell phone just outside on the landing, before he closed the door again. “No sound comes through reinforced door. The phone may pick up your conversations, even if turned off.”

“What if it rings?” Sydney asked.

“If it rings, I hear it on the monitor.”

The very mention of the monitor reminded her of her encounter with Griffin on the stairs, and she studiously avoided looking at him. Instead, she leaned against the wall, keeping an eye on the closed-circuit monitors of the area surrounding the safe house as Giustino said, “Tell me about Tex.”

Griffin directed Francesca to a chair at the dinette table, glared at her until she finally sat, then turned his attention to Giustino. “I spoke to him myself. Typical Tex. He says he’s fine, and not to do what anyone’s asking. They took the phone away from him after that.”

“Where?”

“I have no idea. But at least he wasn’t in the warehouse when it blew.”

“Then what is happening? Why do they take him?”

“I’m baffled on this one.” He looked at Francesca, who still seemed to be shaken over the night’s activities. As well she should be, Sydney thought. And Griffin said, “They want some map. Perhaps the professor wouldn’t mind explaining to us what it is we need to know?”

“I—Where would you like me to start?” she asked, her voice breaking.

“The beginning would be nice,” he said, taking a seat at the table opposite her.

“Alessandra had contacted me after she had gone to work on an excavation in Egypt. She said the government, you, I presume, thought the whole dig was a setup to cover illegal arms dealing.”

“She told you this?”

“Only because she believed that the government had made
a mistake, but she wanted to verify it. She thought the dig was absolutely authentic.”

Sydney tried to remember her conversation with Tasha at dinner that night in D.C. Something about returning from some dig, and her apparent paranoia. And Sydney wondered, What were the chances it was the same one? Not that she was about to interrupt Griffin’s interrogation to ask.

“I thought you hated big government,” Griffin said. “Why did you agree to work with her?”

“Because she’d overheard something by the men she was supposed to be watching, something that had to do with a third key.”

Griffin’s reaction was barely noticeable, a slight tensing of the shoulders, and Sydney figured he was thinking of what she’d been able to pick up at Adami’s gathering at his villa. “What about this third key?” he asked Francesca.

“It’s supposed to be the means of finding—well, of finding this map. Alessandra was certain that this is what the men were actually searching for in Egypt, but something made her think that perhaps they were searching in the wrong place. That they’d misinterpreted the location, and she wanted proof. She sent a postcard from the Smithsonian with a note. The pyramid. Not in Egypt. I’m sure she felt that one couldn’t disrupt an entire government operation based on conjecture about some map that many scholars think is merely legend.”

“A map to what?”

It seemed several heartbeats before she finally answered, as though it was a secret she still didn’t want to share. “Some believe it’s the key to the lost Templar treasure. Some, however, believe it is the key to something far more dangerous. Something that could kill millions.”