The Bone Chamber (33 page)

“Like I said, there’s not a lot down there,” Xavier said, aiming his lamp on the wide opening on the floor of the cave. “A big cistern that leads to nowhere. We’ve already explored it. You can see the top of the ladder anchored at the edge.”

Griffin walked over, looked down the opening. “How far down does it go?”

Alfredo answered. “Maybe an additional thirty meters beyond that ledge,” he said, shining his light into the cistern. “It’s actually a marvel of engineering. Narrow at the top like a bottle, then widening as it gets deeper to make sure it’s structurally sound and doesn’t collapse in on itself,” he said, moving to Griffin’s side, and shining his flashlight down. “Like Xavier said, that’s not where we want to go. Follow the crossbones.” Alfredo turned, shone his light on the carving of the inverted crossbones.

The light drew Sydney’s gaze to the top of the tunnel’s entrance, where she saw the skull and crossbones waver in the light, then disappear in a shadow as he aimed the beam up
the long tunnel. “This way,” Alfredo said, starting forward, his voice echoing up the passageway.

Xavier and Francesca followed him in, but Sydney hesitated again, trying to decipher what she’d actually seen.

Griffin stopped beside her. “Something wrong?”

She whispered. “I swear there’s an arrow up there.”

“An arrow?”

Instead of trying to explain, she took her own light, moved it across the entrance of the tunnel and over the skull and crossbones in a sweeping fashion, much as Xavier had done. Perhaps it was the way the thing was carved in the
tufo
, merely a coincidence in the play of shadows, and she glanced over at Griffin.

“You think that’s an arrow?” he said.

“Pointing down.”

And before either had a chance to look further, there was a sharp crack of gunfire. It echoed around the cavern, making it impossible to pinpoint it.

Yellow
tufo
dust fell from the tunnel entrance. “Run!” Griffin shouted into the tunnel at Francesca. “Turn off your lights!”

Alfredo froze. Francesca and Xavier pulled him up the tunnel, away from the gunfire. Griffin and Sydney each took one side off the tunnel entrance, tried to press themselves into the walls for cover. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing, she thought, switching off her light, pulling her glove off with her teeth, then drawing her weapon from her jumpsuit pocket.

She glanced toward the path they’d taken from the basilica, saw a muzzle flash, then another. The gunshots echoed across the cavern. At least two shooters, maybe more. She closed one eye to preserve her night vision. Hoped the reflective stripes from the jumpsuits didn’t make them more of a target. Aimed. Fired.

“We’re sitting ducks here,” Griffin said. “We’re going
to have to try to make it up the tunnel. Follow the others.”

Sydney fired off two more rounds, hating herself for even thinking about what she was going to say. “No.”

“No?”

“We need to go down.”

“No. We don’t separate.”

“If we go up, we’re leading them right to the others. Xavier knows his way around here. He thinks there’s a hidden passage up there. The arrow pointed down, and we may be their only chance for escape.”

“It was an anomaly. Shadow play.” A shot hit the
tufo
above them. Dust rained down.

“From everything I’ve heard on this di Sangro guy, he was far too intelligent to let some shadow get in the way. The skull and crossbones is upside-down, so it makes sense the arrow would clarify.”

He fired off a round, then, “How sure are you about this?”

“You have a better idea?”

She heard him taking in a deep breath, as though coming to a weighty decision. “We go down.”

God, let me be right
, she thought.

He fired again.

Answering gunshots. Sydney pressed herself into the wall, then leaned out, fired a couple more rounds.

“Ready?” Griffin said.

She looked over to where she thought he was on the opposite side of the tunnel entrance, imagining she could see him in the dark. “Yeah.”

“Cover me, wait a second, then follow.” Griffin fired twice, then ran into the main cavern.

Sydney fired. Again and again. Figured she had about seven rounds left. Someone or several someones were running down the main entrance. She waited a heartbeat, jumped out, fired a volley, then ran like hell.

Griffin flashed a light on then off. He was perched halfway into the entrance of the cistern in the floor, one hand gripping the ladder anchored to the
tufo
. He dared the light again, then tossed her a rope, looped at one end. “Put this around your middle and pull tight.”

She tucked her gun into her waistband, grabbed the rope, slipped it on, pulled. “I already hate this idea.”

Griffin was heading down. “If you fall, try not to take me with you.”

“I really, really hate this idea.”

“You said that,” he replied, then disappeared from view. The light from his headlamp cast an eerie glow from the depths of the cistern. It was just enough light to let her see the flexible-sided ladder, which, in her mind, didn’t look sturdy enough for one person, let alone two at once.

Shouts from the tunnel entrance, one saying, “This way!” gave her all the impetus she needed to get on the ladder and start down. She sat on the ledge, grabbed the top of the ladder, then felt for a rung with her foot as she let herself over.

Griffin called up, “Keep your body close to the ladder, and your hands no higher than your face.”

She took the first step down, trying to ignore the vibration of the cables that reminded her of all the nothingness between her and the bottom of the cistern. The damned thing held Griffin, surely it could hold her.

Foot down, hand down. Foot down, hand down. The ladder swayed beneath her weight, and she glanced up, saw an even brighter light sweeping over the top of the cistern entrance.

“They’re going down!” someone shouted.

The word
down
echoed through the chamber below them.

Griffin no doubt heard it. “I’m turning off my lamp.”

The world around her went black.

Her arms were wrapped around the ladder, and she clung tightly as it swayed in the darkness. Afraid to move, afraid to breathe. The dark petrified her. “I can’t do this.”

“Keep going,” Griffin said.

“I can’t.”

“I really don’t want to die down here.”

And neither did she.
Do it. Do it. Do it
. She lowered one foot, found the next rung, even in the dark. She could do this. She could. Hand down, foot down.

“
There!
”

Sydney looked up, was blinded by the light.

She felt the rope around her waist tighten.

“Take my hand.” And then she felt Griffin’s strong grasp as he took her hand in his. “Feel for the ledge with your foot.”

“I can’t see.”

“Trust me.”

“I don’t even trust myself.” But she stuck her foot out, tapped, felt the ground beneath her feet, allowed him to pull her toward him.

A shot cracked through the cavern, echoed off the walls around them.

Griffin pushed her to the ground, away from the edge. Whoever was after them would have to climb down the ladder to get them, unless she and Griffin made it easy by standing out toward the edge of the ledge.

Something they weren’t about to do.

“Come on out, we’ll spare your lives.”

Laughter, then another voice saying, “I have a much better idea.”

“The ladder,” she cried, realizing the men were pulling it up and out of the cistern.

Griffin held her arm. “Stay back,” he whispered. The ladder scraped against the ledge, then the mouth of the cistern.

“Leave them,” she heard from above. “Let’s go after the others up in the tunnel. After all, they know what we want. To follow the skull and crossbones.”

“We come back in a few years, and make crossbones out of the two down there?”

More laughter, and the sound of receding footsteps. Then a shout followed by several shots fired.

And then nothing.

Griffin sat side-by-side with Fitzpatrick, the darkness surrounding them completely, the quiet almost deafening. The cold started to seep in, now that the adrenaline rush had left, and he felt Sydney shivering next to him. It had been at least ten minutes since Adami’s men—no, not Adami’s men—whoever they were had pulled up the ladder, leaving them down here on the ledge of the cistern. And seemingly an eternity since they’d heard the gunshots that could only mean one thing. The others were dead. And even if a rescue team arrived, how would anyone know where to find them?

“You okay?” he whispered.

“Fine…” Her breathing was strained, but at least she wasn’t shivering anymore. “I’m fine.”

“Let’s hope the others made it out safely.” His words rang hollow. He’d lost two friends, Alessandra and Tasha, because he’d let his guard down, and he’d failed to rescue Tex. And now the professor and Xavier and Alfredo—never mind the mess he and Sydney were sitting in the midst of. He knew better than to let outsiders in. He should never have let Sydney leave the States. He should have marched her off the plane the moment he saw her walk on. “Maybe they’re getting help now.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“What?”

“November. Giustino said you had a hard time with November. What happened?”

He didn’t answer right away, wasn’t sure he wanted to. Still, she deserved to know. “Two years ago, I was on a mis
sion with another operative. I did something I shouldn’t have. I gave up the lead. We were ambushed, and that agent was killed.”

“Because of a decision you made or a decision he made?”

“She.”

“She…Your girlfriend?”

“My wife.”

“Your—I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“We hadn’t been together in a while. She’d just filed for divorce.”

He could tell she didn’t know what to say. And who would? Especially now, with history seeming to repeat itself. Ambushed.

He leaned back against his pack, closed his eyes, could almost see his wife’s face. Almost. “I still loved her. I think that’s why I let her take over, just to show her that I—” He took a deep breath, tried to shake off the anger, the hurt, the helplessness. She was pregnant. Three months, according to the autopsy. They hadn’t slept together in far longer than that, and now, to this day, he wondered who the father was, if he even knew what he’d lost…“Dumas found us. She was dead. I would have been if not for him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

They sat there for a couple of minutes, not saying anything after that, and then Sydney said, “I’m sorry about everything.”

“For what?”

“For Tex. For leading us into this hole. For everything.”

“It’s my fault. I’m the one who let this happen from the very beginning.”

“How so?”

“I knew the moment I walked into Tasha’s office, right after she called you to arrange that dinner date, that something was wrong. She was jumpy. Not like herself at all. Just like you said she was at dinner. I should have done all the things you thought about. Talked to her, found out what was wrong.”

She sat up straight, drew away from him. Silence reigned. Then, after several seconds, “You knew she had called me?”

“I just said that.”

“You
knew
?”

He tried to figure out what had changed, what he’d said. “We discussed this at the safe house. I told you about Tasha when you asked—”

“I can’t believe this.”

“Believe what?”

“Do you realize how long I blamed myself for her death? And Tex? The guilt I’ve carried around for the two of them?”

“Now you know how I feel.”

She stiffened. “You played me.”

“We needed you.”

“You could have asked.”

“We needed your skills,
without
the Bureau knowing the particulars.”

“I would have done anything for her.”

“Would you have? Even had you known it was regarding a black op?”

She was silent. He suspected not. And perhaps curiosity finally got the better of her, as she asked, “Tasha was part of ATLAS?”

“Yes.”

“A government agent?”

“Yes.”

“Alessandra?”

“No. But her father was aware of our operations. Dumas was the voice of the Vatican when it came to ATLAS, and reported to her father. Not Alessandra’s part. Her father wasn’t aware that she knew ATLAS even existed. She was the one who insisted her father not be told. She was adamant.”

“But you’re going to tell him?”

“When we figure out who killed her, yes.”

But in the silence that followed, he wondered if he’d ever get the chance. “You’re a goddamned son of a bitch,” Sydney said.

“I think we’ve established that.”

“No. We haven’t. Nor have we established that if you’d just told me in the beginning, Tasha might have come forward with what she was hiding. Which means I might have stayed home, because she wouldn’t be dead, and I wouldn’t have spent all my time searching for the identity of a victim you already knew the identity of.”

“We didn’t know it was Alessandra.”

“Well, you suspected. I would never have gone to the Smithsonian, the guard would never have followed me, and Tex would still be safe and sound, because Adami’s damned cousin wouldn’t have recognized me at the party, because he saw me at the hotel when he came after you, because I would be
home
for Thanksgiving vacation. Where I should be right now, picking out the turkey from the butcher. In a few days, they’ll be sitting around the table, wondering what happened to me. I was stupid for getting involved. I went to Quantico for a reason, to hide, to make sure I didn’t endanger anyone else, and I’ve gone and done the very thing I wanted to avoid.”

He heard her moving, was certain she’d crossed her arms. “But I’d be dead.”

“You don’t know that,” she said.

“He recognized you because you saved me. And we know Adami was searching for this third key, because you had the instinct to move closer and listen in. And what happened to Tex was my fault not yours.”

“How so?”

“I failed to convince him to follow my orders.”

“Yeah? Well whose fault is it we’re sitting in a damned hole and can’t get out?”

“Who’s to say we wouldn’t be dead if we had followed the others up the tunnel? Maybe you saved our lives. Again. Have you thought of that?”

She didn’t answer, and he knew immediately that she was thinking of the others. The shots fired, that they didn’t make it.

He reached over, found her hand, held it in his, and realized she was getting cold again. He rubbed her fingers in his,
and when she tried to pull away, he said, “You need to stay warm, preserve your strength.”

She didn’t argue, didn’t pull away this time. Not that it eased his guilt any. He might have been able to do something to help the others, but somehow he’d allowed Sydney to convince him to go against his instincts. He’d placed his trust in her and he’d let the others suffer as a result. And once again came the thought that history was repeating itself.

He had no one to blame but himself.

He didn’t trust anyone else, she didn’t trust herself. They were quite a pair. “I take it you have real issues with the dark?”

When she didn’t answer, he wondered if she was ever going to speak to him again, until a few moments later, she said, “If I told you I sleep with a night-light on, would you laugh?”

“Doubt it. Why?”

“Nightmares. From when my father was killed.”

He recalled her dossier, the background he’d done on her. She’d been only thirteen when she’d witnessed her father’s murder. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m afraid of enclosed spaces. Claustrophobic.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Do I look like the sort who kids about that stuff?”

“Can’t tell. It’s too damned dark.”

“The only reason I was able to climb into this hole is because it’s huge. If it was small, enclosed, you’d be on your own. The narrow tunnels we came down through? Just about killed me to do it. And back in the columbarium? In that tunnel underneath the steps? Trust me. I was not doing well.”

“Great. I don’t like the dark, and you don’t like enclosed spaces. You know what that means? We’re up shit creek.”

He couldn’t help but smile.

“You think we can recover that ladder?”

“I’d rather not have my head blown off, trying to find the damned thing.”

“You think they’re up there?”

“Who knows.”

“I think they think we’re toast, so why bother.”

“Maybe we are,” he said.

“I’m not ready to die…Wasn’t Xavier talking about how soft
tufo
is? Maybe we can dig our way out. Assuming you can handle climbing through some skinny tunnel.”

“I really, really don’t like enclosed spaces.”