The Atlantis Code (45 page)

Stay here and you’re dead
, she told herself. Her impulse was to stay, though. She wanted Yuliya’s killer. If she stayed, he’d certainly come after her. She could kill him then. But that wasn’t going to happen yet.

She slung the rifle over her shoulder and skidded down the small drop-off behind the tree. She’d chosen the man she’d taken out first with care. He was one of the few that had driven an Enduro motorcycle. And he was the only one who’d taken up a position by himself.

At the bottom of the slight drop-off, Natasha hauled the motorcycle up on its tires and thumbed the electronic ignition. The big engine warbled to life and shuddered between her thighs. She paused only long enough to pull on the helmet, knowing that while it wouldn’t stop a direct shot, it might at least serve to turn a glancing blow from a bullet.

She dropped her left leg onto the gearshift lever and pressed it down into first gear when she pulled in the clutch. Twisting the accelerator, she released the clutch and felt the rear tire bite into the earth. Staying low, she roared up over the rise and changed gears as she accelerated quickly in pursuit of Lourds.

Gallardo ran through the forest and used his rifle to knock branches and brush out of the way. When one of his motorcycles roared past with the Russian woman astride it, he paused to fire, but all three shots went wide of her.

Then she was gone, speeding through the dust cloud left by the military-style jeep chasing Lourds’s vehicle.

Setting himself into motion again, Gallardo ran for the area where they’d left the vehicles. He cursed the decision he’d made to leave them so far from the village, but at the time it had seemed the wisest thing to do.

By the time he reached the Land Cruisers, he was out of breath. He stumbled to the SUV and hauled himself behind the wheel.

“Keys!” he yelled to DiBenedetto, who was right behind him.

DiBenedetto fished the keys from his pocket and threw them across. Then he stopped and shook his head. “The keys aren’t going to do you any good. We’re not going anywhere.”

Gallardo got out of the vehicle and looked down. All four tires had been slashed.

“She found the vehicles first,” Farok said in grim appreciation. “This woman you’ve decided to hate so much, Patrizio, she’s well worthy of your attention.”

She was also thorough. Even the spare tires had been slashed. And the fuel lines. All Gallardo could hope for was that the jeep she’d missed would catch Lourds.

“Come on!” he shouted. He jogged back toward the road and the sound of roaring engines. It was a long way to run, but there was nothing else to do.

______

As he drove, Lourds checked his rearview mirrors for any signs of pursuit. He silently cursed himself for not taking a weapon when Natasha had offered. But guns weren’t his weapon of choice. He preferred using his mind.

Except you can’t really do a lot with your mind in situations like these
, he told himself grimly.

Leslie sat in the passenger seat beside him. She was turned around, peering behind them anxiously.

Gary, Diop, and Adebayo sat in the middle seat and hung on to their safety belts. The old man had his arms wrapped protectively around the
ntama
case.

At least they’ll have to be careful of the drum
, Lourds thought.
If they know we have it.
But that still wouldn’t prevent them from killing everyone.

“They’re coming,” Leslie said softly.

Lourds glanced at the rearview mirror in time to see a jeep pull onto the road after them. He tried to press the accelerator down harder, but his foot was already on the floor, pedal to the metal. The engine whined in protest. As he watched, the jeep began to gain ground. So far, they weren’t shooting, but he expected that—

A bullet took off the side mirror and dropped it away from the four-by-four in a swarm of flying pieces.

Leslie yelped and ducked. The others crouched down as well.

Two other rounds pounded the back glass from the vehicle. One of the bullets, or a third—Lourds wasn’t sure, ripped through the front windshield and left a hole that he could fit his thumb through.

In the next moment, a motorcycle raced through the swirling dust clouds left by the speeding vehicles. It caught up with the jeep easily. The rider pointed a pistol in her left hand at the driver.

As Lourds watched, the jeep driver’s head jerked violently. Then the vehicle lost control. The passenger scrambled for the steering wheel, but then the motorcycle rider shot him as well.

The passenger on the rear deck tried to get his rifle into play, but the jeep pulled hard to the left, causing the motorcycle rider to nearly lose control. The jeep rolled on the roadside, skidded across the ground, and bounced like a pinball between the trees.

If anyone had been left alive after Natasha’s attack, Lourds doubted they were still breathing now.

Natasha—and Lourds knew it
was
her now from the clothing she wore—accelerated and pulled alongside the four-by-four. She opened her helmet’s faceplate and shouted across to him.

“I think that’s all of them! Gallardo’s still alive, but he and the rest of them won’t be able to pursue us any time soon.”

Lourds nodded. He didn’t know what to say, but he knew he had to say something. “Thank you.”

“I’m going to check up ahead and make certain the way is clear.” Natasha closed the faceplate again and shot ahead of him.

“Great,” Lourds said, not that she could hear him.

“That’s a most incredible woman,” Diop said from the backseat.

“I’m just glad she’s on our side,” Gary commented.

Lourds silently agreed.

CARDINAL MURANI’S PERSONAL QUARTERS
STATUS CIVITATIS VATICANAE
SEPTEMBER 4, 2009

R
age gripped Murani as he listened to Gallardo trying to explain how Lourds and his companions had escaped again. He paced his private room and stared at the television monitor broadcasting the latest coverage of the excavation in Cádiz.

The efforts to pump the submerged cave dry were ahead of schedule. Father Sebastian had shot footage of the cave’s interior and given copies to the news media. He was even granting a few interviews like he was a celebrity. His actions supremely irked Murani. Now it was no longer enough to simply take over the excavation from the old fool. Murani wanted Sebastian dead for defiling God’s work.

“We almost had them,” Gallardo protested.

“But you don’t, do you?” Murani demanded. “And now they have the drum.”

“If it’s the right drum. We only got a glimpse of it.”

“It’s the right drum or Lourds wouldn’t have been there. He wouldn’t have taken it. That man is on the trail of the instruments.” Murani went to his closet and took out a suitcase. He carried it to the bed, fumbled with the latches, and opened it.

“Even if it is the drum, he doesn’t have all the instruments. You have two of them. Lourds can’t do anything. You said you needed all five.”

“We do need all five. Do you know where those missing instruments are?”

Gallardo was silent for a moment. “No.”

“Neither do I. But I’m willing to bet Professor Lourds has a clue.” Murani took clothing from his closet and began packing. Staying in Vatican City was no longer possible.

Although he felt safe from the Society of Quirinus—not only because he’d threatened them, but because they ultimately had some of the same goals he did—the pope was paying closer attention to him. He’d received a summons to see the pope in the morning.

Murani didn’t intend to keep that meeting. The next time he returned to Vatican City, it was going to be when he was pope himself. Things were about to change for the better in Vatican City. He was going to see to it.

“Where are you now?” Murani asked.

“On foot. We’re having to hike into Ile-Ife to arrange transportation.”

“How long will that take?”

“Hours. I don’t know if we’ll make it before dark.”

“Then you’ll be heading back to Lagos?”

Gallardo hesitated. “Traveling through this area at night is dangerous.”

“Get to Lagos. You’re already behind Lourds. I want that man found. I want to know what he knows. I want that drum.”

“All right.” Gallardo didn’t sound happy. “I’ve talked to the man I paid to hack into their phones. He says they’re all offline.”

Murani slammed the suitcase lid. “Then they’ve figured out how you found them.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“You’ll need another way to find them.”

“I’m open to suggestions.”

If there was any sarcasm in Gallardo’s voice, Murani couldn’t detect it. “Keep the phone trace active on Leslie Crane’s director. She’s a reporter. By now she realizes she has a huge story to tell. Besides the pressure she’s getting from her studio, there’s got to be a need inside her to capture the limelight. She’ll call him, tell him what is happening. We’ll find them then.”

“All right.”

Murani forced himself to remain calm. “Get Lourds this time, Patrizio.” He watched the footage of the excavation inside the Cádiz cave. “We’re running out of time.”

“I will.”

Murani ended the call and pocketed the phone. He picked up the suitcase and headed for the door. When he stepped outside, two Swiss Guards stood at attention. Both of them looked at the suitcase in Murani’s hand.

“I’m sorry, Cardinal Murani,” the younger of the men said. “His Holiness has asked that you remain in your quarters for the evening.”

“And if I refuse?”

The younger of the men grimaced. “Then I am to make sure you stay in them.” He hand dropped to the pistol at his hip.

The thought that Pope Innocent XIV had confined him to quarters brought Murani’s anger to a boil. If he could have struck the guard dead at that moment he would have.

“Go easy, Franco,” the older guard admonished. He was thicker and more taciturn. “This is Cardinal Murani. He has always been a friend to the guard. Proper respect should be shown.”

Franco cut his gaze to the older guard for a moment. “I’m being respectful, Corghi. I’ve apologized.” His gaze swiveled back to Murani. “But we’re also here by the pope’s orders. You can be polite, but you must also be firm.” He paused. “Please, Cardinal Murani. Return to your quarters. If you need anything, we will gladly arrange for it.”

“Insufferable, blind fool,” Murani growled.

Franco placed a hand out to restrain Murani.

In disbelief, Murani looked at the other guard.

Corghi took a hypodermic from his jacket and swept it toward the younger guard in a swift arc.

Alerted by the
hiss
of clothing as the older guard struck, Franco tried to draw his weapon. Corghi grabbed the other man’s hand and trapped his arm against his side, then shoved him into the wall beside Murani.

“What are you doing?” Franco demanded. “You can’t—”

Corghi drove the hypodermic into Franco’s neck and depressed the plunger. Franco opened his mouth to yell. For a moment Murani thought the guard might manage it. But Corghi rammed his forearm into Franco’s face and blocked the scream.

A few seconds later, as the men strained against each other, the chemical acted. Franco’s eyes rolled up into his head until only the whites showed. He slumped and would have fallen if Corghi hadn’t caught him.

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d changed your mind, Corghi,” Murani said.

“No, Your Eminence,” Corghi said. “Now, if I may borrow your rooms.”

“Of course.” Murani opened the door and watched as Corghi tossed the other man’s unconscious body inside the room. Normally no one but cleaning staff and friends were ever allowed inside the rooms. However, Murani had no intention of returning to them. He had his eyes on far grander quarters.

Franco hit the floor loosely and remained there.

“He should be out for a few hours,” Corghi said as he closed the door. He reached down and picked up Murani’s luggage. “Even if he can’t talk, though, the pope will know you’re gone. Search groups will be sent out.”