The flashlight beam dropped, swept across the ground, and then stopped on Niki’s face. Through inky blotches, I squinted to see Niki standing stiff, gagged, hands tied behind her back, one cheekbone badly swollen. She hadn’t been taken peacefully. Giacopetti stood behind her, clasping a handful of hair, the point of her own knife pressed against her throat. Somewhere in the blackness, Vito and Apollo lurked, though I was still too blinded to see them.
I started for Giacopetti. I had caught only a glimpse of Vito’s face when he swiped a pistol across the side of my head. I staggered against the excruciating pain, but I willed my body to remain standing. The blaring light returned. The patch of blood on the front of my shirt grew rapidly.
“What a surprise,” Giacopetti said. “If it isn’t Mr. Adams. My, you do not look so well. Perhaps you are surprised to see us as well?” He lifted a telephone from inside his jacket and held it up. “One of the many perks of my position,” he said, grinning like an alligator. “Satellite telephones and good friends with fast boats make a wonderful combination. Don’t you think?”
I could just make out the grumble of the idling motor.
“Let her go,” I demanded.
“Let her go? But why would I do that? We are just starting to get to know each other, the doctor and I. She has much to say, this one, so much, in fact, that, unfortunately, we were forced to silence her. But, I believe the lovely Dr. Mikos has something that she would like to tell you.” Giacopetti slipped the knife blade beneath the gag and cut it. Niki spat it from her mouth. “Better? Ah yes, such a beautiful mouth.” He stroked her cheek, and she pulled away, her eyes flashing with hatred. “Go ahead, my feisty little angel. Tell Mr. Adams what you have learned.”
“Captain Threader,” Niki said, her face distorted in anguish. “They … they have killed him.”
I squinted out over the water. I could see the Penelope engulfed in a firestorm.
“It is a shame about your Captain Threader,” Giacopetti said. “I do not think he will be leaving the boat this time. But then a captain is supposed to go down with his ship, is he not?” He laughed like the fiend that he was. “I have another amusing revelation for you, Mr. Adams.” He held up the telephone so I could see its blue LCD screen. On the screen I could just make out a bold black arrow. “Voice communication is not all this telephone is good for.” With the tip of the knife blade, he pointed to the arrow. “Here we have a marvelous feature, an innovation of my government designed to track stolen artifacts that we equip with tiny transmitters. Allow me to demonstrate.” He studied the screen. “You, for example, left your transmitter about a hundred meters due south from here.”
The capsule. It was no antitheft device. It was a transmitter. I’d been a walking GPS unit since Rome! That’s why Giacopetti had never made a surprise visit to Sarnafi. He’d been tracking our every move.
“You look unpleasantly astonished, Mr. Adams. It may surprise you even more to learn that Colonel De Santis of Vatican security is a business associate of mine. It was one of his sons that … borrowed … your backpack.”
Kyropos bellowed.
“Well now, I could stand here all evening and chat with you, Mr. Adams, but Kyropos urges us to complete our business. I assume you found the scroll, so if you would just hand it over to Vito, the beautiful doctor and I will be on our way.”
I wanted to tear into Giacopetti, but with twenty feet and a pair of crack marksmen cocked and ready, I wouldn’t make it ten steps. I had no other choice. I pulled off the blood-soaked backpack and held it out to Vito.
“No!” Father Jon screamed and lunged for the backpack.
Apollo came down hard with the flashlight to the back of the father’s neck, sending him sprawling to the ground. In that same instant, I charged Giacopetti, screaming and slinging the pack into his face. The hammer inside the pack must have found its mark. Giacopetti let out an agonizing yowl, dropped the knife, and clutched at his face. A nanosecond later, Vito pounced from behind, locking me in a bear hug. Apollo lumbered toward me.
In a rage, I came up hard with a foot to Apollo’s crotch. The big man doubled, and I landed another solid kick to his face. Apollo’s head snapped back, and he stumbled to the ground. I tore free from Vito’s grip, spun, and delivered a series of savage blows to his face. A jolt to my kidneys forced me to my knees. I rolled to see Apollo standing over me, his gun ready to fire.
Then, the big man stiffened and gasped. Blood suddenly poured over his lip; his eyes almost bulged from their sockets. He made a half turn, clutching at the handle of Niki’s knife protruding from the center of his back. Apollo took two wobbling steps and crumpled.
Father Jon stood over him, his mouth wide open, his eyes insanely distorted.
Vito was on hands and knees searching frantically among the scattered rocks for his gun. I had to get to him before he found the gun. I lunged, and at the same instant the ground heaved, throwing me into a bruising cluster of rocks. In the next second, Vito was looming over me with a huge rock poised to crush my skull. Feet away, the earth split and belched hot gas from its fiery throat. Vito turned in horror. Another jolting ground shift sent him plunging headlong into the gaping inferno.
I staggered to my feet and surveyed what was happening. Giacopetti and Niki were gone. I was standing on a swaying island of rock connected to the main ground only by a boulder that had fallen and lodged in the chasm. It quavered, ready to drop.
“Hurry!” Father Jon screamed. “You must cross now!”
There was no time to think. I ran, planted a foot on the boulder, and started to launch myself to the other side of the chasm. The boulder gave way. I had just enough momentum to make the edge, though my legs dangled over the scorching heat. Father Jon slapped a hand on my back and pulled me up.
Bruised and bleeding, I scrambled to my feet. “Niki! Giacopetti took her.”
“And the scroll,” Father Jon yelled back. “We must hurry.”
We were too late. We reached the shore just in time to watch the boat speed away.
“The Zodiac!” I yelled, scanning the empty beach. “We’ve got to get to the Zodiac.”
“It is not there,” Father Jon called back. “Giacopetti must have—”
Something the father saw out in the water stopped him. I followed his gaze to the irregular blinking of a tiny white light.
“It is a signal,” Father Jon said. “Someone is signaling Giacopetti.”
Then, a flash and a huge orange mushroom obliterated the blackness. Seconds later, the thunder of the explosion rolled in off the water; the remains of Giacopetti’s boat rained down in a shower of flames.
Against everything my eyes told me was true, I screamed out over the water. “Niki!” The sound of my voice was swallowed in the growing fury of Kyropos, but I screamed her name again. I couldn’t stop myself.
“The mine,” Father Jon said, in an anguished whimper. “It must have burned free from the rope and drifted out.”
The father’s speculation was all too plausible. I closed my eyes and imagined the scenario. All the strength drained from my legs. I sank to my knees and pushed fingers through my soggy, blood-caked hair, stopping short of the stinging gash in the back of my head. Slumped, face cradled in palms, I no longer cared that the earth was tearing itself apart.
Much time passed before I could lift my face. All emotion had drained from my being. My ears rang, and I had a splitting headache. I was in dead shock. It was all I could do to speak.
“The search for truth, Father, is this where it ends?” The question seeped from a black sludge of remorse pooled in my gut. Five less minutes in that cave, and Niki would still be alive. “A cruel finality that leaves you holding nothing? Is this where it all leads?”
The father melted into a cross-legged heap next to me. His eyes, zombielike, swollen orbs still fixed on the flaming disaster, scarcely blinked. When he spoke, his voice was dry, small, and cracked beyond recognition. “I … I do not know how to answer this question.”
“Maybe that’s what she was trying to say. It’s all about the journey. It’s got to be, because the destination”—I drew a shallow, choking breath—“the destination sucks.”
Father Jon lowered his face into his hands and wept softly.
I lay back in the sand, watched embers float eerily through the air, and listened to the building fury of Kyropos. “You know, Father, it’s a strange thing. I’ve spent most of my life trying to get somewhere. I wonder how much I’ve missed.” Another explosion sent a huge flaming ball over the ocean. Normally, I would have been awestruck by such a sight. Now, I watched in a kind of passive curiosity as the missile plunged into the water. “Maybe it’s the fear of dying that’s been driving me, like I’ve got to hurry up and grab on to something big, leave some kind of a mark before I check out.” A numb chuckle escaped through the dryness of my parched lips. “Jesus. Here I am, number called, standing next in line at the counter, my time to check out. You know what? I’m not even afraid, not anymore.” I rolled my head to face my unresponsive friend. “Is this how it is before we die, Father? We just kind of lose our ability to feel?”
Father Jon raised his anguish-cracked face slowly from his hands. “Oh God, what has happened? The scroll is lost forever.”
Did I hear him right? Niki was dead, and he was worried about the scroll?
“Who gives a damn about the scroll?” I said, my voice bitter with resentment.
He just glared at me, detached, cold, overwhelmed, I figured, by shock. Then he stood, staring at me, shaking his head as if I was the pathetic fool too dense to grasp the value of such a priceless treasure. The look on his face left me with no doubt that, to him, the loss of the scroll far outweighed the mere loss of a single human life—even Niki’s.
Suddenly a dam of primordial rage threatened to burst in me. I wanted to kill him.
His own animal instincts must have sensed it, for, without saying another word, he quickly turned away, vanishing into the darkness of the beach.
I started after him, but in a moment of clarity, I regained enough of my sanity to stop. I would kill Father Jon? I sunk back into the sand. My stomach rolled, and I thought I might vomit. I suppressed the urge, closed my eyes, and pulled my knees hard into my chest to quell the trembling in my hands.
The ground shook violently. I turned and saw that a massive bulge had formed in the side of Kyropos. The magma chamber had risen into a gargantuan boil about to burst. I was too exhausted to feel anything but the numb realization that I had come to the final moments of my life.
I lay back in the sand thinking of Marion, and I wondered how she’d get the news. Barnes would find a way. He’d have to reach beyond his own grief for Niki, but he’d do it. I turned back toward the sea. Penelope still burned, though it wouldn’t be long before she slipped away, taking Threader’s remains with her. That was the way he wanted it: go down with dignity on a good boat.
Father Jon had been gone for only a few minutes when I saw him returning. His eyes were still downcast, and he kicked the sand as he approached. I gathered my legs and stood, hoping he had reclaimed some of his sanity. If we were going to die together, it seemed to me that it would be best to do it as friends.
Then, a movement fifty yards offshore drew my attention. I squinted into the dismal black and watched until I was certain that I was looking at the flailing arms of a swimmer.
“Father!”
Father Jon came up beside me, his eyes wide with hope. I pointed. The father still had the binoculars around his neck. He took a step forward and raised them.
“Niki!” he said in a gasp of disbelief. “It is Niki!”
I took a running dive into the surf. By the time I reached her, she was so exhausted she could barely keep her face above the surface. The straps of the backpack had tangled around her neck and one arm. I grabbed her shirt at the shoulder, drawing on strength I should not have had. Minutes later, my feet touched sand. I ripped the backpack from Niki’s delirious grasp and flung it to Father Jon.
I scooped Niki into my arms and slogged toward the beach. We fell into the dry sand, sobbing ecstatically and grasping desperately at each other. Father Jon, busy tearing into the backpack, was no doubt checking the scroll for damage. The wide-eyed glow on his face told me that it had survived the ordeal unscathed.
Niki pushed away from me and stood on unsteady legs. “Captain Threader. He … he signaled to me. Our code. He flashed his name.”
“The light,” Father Jon said, slipping on the backpack. “That is what we saw.”
Exhausted, I was relieved that the father had taken responsibility for the scroll; I was still confused by his odd behavior but even more confused about the fate of Threader. “I thought Giacopetti kil—”
“No,” Niki said, cutting me off. “Giacopetti must have thought he killed him. It was Captain Threader. That … that mine. He had it tied to the front of the Zodiac. I could barely see it. The instant before the impact, I grabbed the backpack and dove from the boat.” She buried her face in her hands, sobbing. “He … he was truly a brave man.”
In that instant, I caught a faint beating sound. It faded and then returned, growing more distinct by the second. “Listen,” I said, searching the sky. “I think I hear a chopper.”
All eyes went up.
“There!” Niki shouted. “I see it! Someone is coming.”
A light from the chopper splashed over the beach. We ran to meet the aircraft with shouts and waving arms, watching in disbelief as it touched down in a whirlwind of sand. A man in fatigues, armed with a machine gun, emerged, ducking beneath the spinning blades.
“Stop!” the man shouted suddenly, unleashing a warning burst of machine gun fire. “Come no closer.”
We froze in startled confusion. The ground trembled.
“Stay where you are,” the man ordered. “I have come for Raphael.”
“Raphael is dead,” Niki shouted to the pilot, her voice barely penetrating the roar. “Please, we need your help.” She took a step toward him.
“I said stay where you are!” the man screamed, leveling the barrel of the machine gun straight at her. “I swear I will kill you.”
I threw a hand on Niki’s shoulder and pulled her back.
In a bold move, Father Jon began walking straight toward the man. What was he doing? Was he delirious? Did he think he could buy our safety with his spiritual status?
“Father Jon,” I yelled. “Come back. Don’t do anything stupid.”
The father kept walking. Expecting another burst of gunfire, I pulled Niki closer and braced to throw her on the ground. I didn’t want her to see her friend cut to pieces in a spray of bullets. She trembled beneath her wet clothing.
Father Jon stepped boldly in front of the pilot and stood motionless for a few seconds. The man showed no reaction and made no move to stop him. Then, the father said something, nodded slightly, and a smile came over the pilot’s face. The monk had mastered the situation. Suddenly I knew that bringing him along had been the right thing to do. I relaxed when the father turned slowly toward us, a big smile of pride covering his face. We had the scroll, and now we had a way off Kyropos. I could scarcely believe our good fortune.
Then, Father Jon did something I didn’t expect. He reached beneath his shirttail and pulled from the waistband of his shorts the pistol I’d left in the cave. Why hadn’t he given it to me sooner?
Kyropos roared again, and the ground shook violently. It was time to get out of there. What was taking Father Jon so long?
Still smiling, Father Jon explained, “My friends, there is something that I have been meaning to tell you. I know this may come as a bit of a surprise, but I am the one they call Raphael.”
J Douglas Bottorff 