Map of Bones (Sigma Force 2)

The assault team would escape the same way, disappearing back among the thousands gathered here.

That must not happen.

“Kat,” Gray whispered, “take Rachel to Monk. Don’t engage. Get back above. Find the Swiss Guard.”

Kat grabbed Rachel’s elbow. “What about you?” she asked.

He was already moving, heading back toward Saint Peter’s tomb. “I’m staying here. I’ll monitor from the laptop. Delay them if need be. Then signal you by radio once I spring the ambush.”

Perhaps all was not yet lost.

Monk came on over the radio. Even subvocalizing, his words were faint. “No go here. They blasted a hole right above the exit. Practically cracked my skull with a chunk of rock. The bastards are riveting the goddamn door shut.”

Gray heard the machine-gun pops of an air gun echoing from the rear of the necropolis.

“No one’s going in or out this way,” Monk finished.

“Kat?”

“Roger that, Commander.”

“Everyone go to ground,” he ordered. “Wait for my signal.

Gray crouched low and ran down the cemetery street.

They were on their own.

9:44 P.M.

VIGOR ENTERED St. Peter’s Basilica through the sacristy door, flanked by two Swiss Guards. He had shown his identification three times to gain access. But at least word was slowly filtering through the screens and checks. Maybe he hadn’t been forceful enough when he’d placed the call twenty minutes ago, hedging that he didn’t know for certain when the Dragon Court would assault the tomb.

But now things were moving in the right direction.

Vigor passed the monument to Pius VII and entered the nave near the middle of the church. The basilica was shaped like a giant cross, covering twenty-five thousand square meters, so cavernous two soccer teams could play a game within the confines of the nave alone.

And presently it was full. Every pew was crowded, from nave through transept. The space glowed with thousands of candles and the illumination of eight hundred chandeliers. The Pontifical Choir was in mid-song, Exaudi Deus, fitting for a memorial, but amplified and echoing as loud as any rock concert.

Vigor hurried, but forced himself not to run. Panic would kill. There were only a limited number of exits. He waved the two Swiss Guards to sweep right and left and alert their brothers-in-arms. Vigor had to get the pope clear first and alert the presiding clerical staff to slowly evacuate the parishioners.

Stepping into the nave, he had a clear view to the papal altar.

On the far side of the altar, Cardinal Spera was seated with the pope. The pair sat under Bernini’s bronze baldacchino, a canopy of gilded bronze that covered the center altar. It rose eight stories, supported by four massive twisted bronze columns, decorated with gilded gold olive and laurel branches. The canopy itself was topped by a golden sphere surmounted by a cross.

Vigor worked his way surreptitiously forward. He had no time to change into proper vestments and was still shoddily attired. A few wealthy parishioners glanced at him, frowning, then noted his Roman collar. Still their glances were disdainful. A poor parish priest, they must think, awed by the spectacle.

Reaching the front, Vigor edged to the left. He would circle toward the rear of the altar, where he could speak to Cardinal Spera in private.

As he pushed past the statue of Saint Longinus, a hand reached out from a shadowed doorway. He glanced over as his elbow was gripped. It was a lanky man his own age, silver-haired, someone he knew and respected, Preffetto Alberto, the head prefect of the Archives.

“Vigor?” the prefect said. “I heard…”

His words were lost to an especially loud refrain from the chorus.

Vigor leaned closer, stepping into the alcove that sheltered the doorway. It led down to the Sacred Grottoes. “I’m sorry, Alberto. What—?”

The grip tightened. A pistol shoved hard into his ribs. It had a silencer.

“Not another word, Vigor,” Alberto warned.

9:52 P.M.

HIDDEN INSIDE the crypt, Gray lay on his belly, out of view of the opening. His pistol rested beside the open laptop. He had its display turned to dark mode, glowing in UV. Two images split the screen—one feed from the camera facing Saint Peter’s tomb, the other from the camera facing the main necropolis.

The assault team had divided into two groups. While one set patroled the necropolis in darkness, the other had broken out flashlights to expedite their work by the tomb. They worked quickly and efficiently, each man knowing his job. They had already opened the gate that blocked access to Saint Peter’s tomb. Two men flanked the famous crypt, bent to a knee. They were fixing two large plates to either side.

The third man was immediately recognizable by his size.

Raoul.

He carried a steel case. He opened it and removed a clear plastic cylinder, full of a familiar grayish powder. The amalgam. They must have pulverized the bone down to its powdery form. Raoul slid the cylinder through the low opening into Saint Peter’s tomb.

Plugging in the battery…

With everything in place, Gray could wait no longer. The apparatus was set. It was their one chance to catch the Court off guard, perhaps to drive them off, abandoning their gear behind.

“Ready to go blackout,” Gray whispered. His hand moved to the transmitter that controlled the sonic and flash bombs. “Take out as many as you can while they’re stunned, but don’t take any needless chances. Keep moving. Stay out of sight.”

Affirmatives answered him. Monk was holed up near the door. Kat and Rachel had found another crypt to hide themselves inside. The assault team remained unaware of their presence.

Gray watched the trio of men exit the tomb area, trailing wires that led to the device. Raoul closed the gate, shielding himself from any danger. Atop the metal platform, he pressed one hand against his ear, plainly communicating the okay to proceed.

“Blackout on the count of five,” Gray whispered. “Earplugs in place, goggles blinkered closed. Here we go.”

Gray counted down in his head. Five, four, three… Blind, he rested one hand on his pistol and the other on the laptop. Two, one, zero.

He hit the button on the laptop.

Though deafened by his earplugs, he could feel the deep whump of the sonic charges behind his sternum. He waited a three-count for the strobing flash grenades to expire. He blinkered open his goggles, then yanked out the earplugs. Shots echoed across the necropolis. Gray rolled to the entrance to the crypt.

Directly ahead, the metal platform was empty.

No one was in sight.