The Devil Colony (Sigma Force 7)

“Already done. I sent a breaking news ticker out through all the major wires. About the rescue, including photos of your group. If Rafael Saint Germaine or any of his crew turn on a television, radio, or check the news online, they’ll know.”

“Good.”

His niece’s best chance for survival—if she was still alive—was to get that Frenchman’s attention. After that, Rafael would keep her safe, if only to use her as a bargaining chip again. Now all Painter had to do was figure out what chip he had that would set her free.

Over the next ten minutes, Kat went over additional notes: about Fort Knox, the ongoing manhunt for Gray and company, and the status of the neutrino reports.

Once he was caught up, he signed off.

“Sir,” a voice said behind him. He turned to find Jordan standing in the doorway. The others had sacked out in a bunk room at the back of the ranger station. Jordan looked like he’d not slept a wink. “Any word?”

“Nothing yet.” Noting the grim look on the boy’s face, he added, “And that’s good news. Until we hear otherwise, we assume she’s alive, right?”

Jordan gave a sullen nod. “Okay, but when I was crashed back there in the dark, I got to thinking. They took everything from me when I was captured. That included my cell phone. What if they still have it? What if we tried calling my number?”

Painter felt the cords binding his wrists loosen slightly at that thought. Could they still have the kid’s phone? It was worth investigating. Besides, he hated sitting here doing nothing.

Jordan continued to argue his case, not realizing he’d already won it. “Maybe someone will answer my phone and we could threaten them, scare them enough to let Kai go.”

For that matter, we could also track the phone, Painter thought, running through various possibilities. Or turn it into a remote bug by activating its microphone.

Of course, all of this was a long shot. The Frenchman was no fool. He would’ve dumped that phone by now. Painter tapped a finger atop the table. Then again, Rafael thought they were all dead. Maybe his men hadn’t purged everything yet.

Still, Painter knew it would take time to track that phone, especially out here in the remote desert—time that Kai might not have.

Painter had to buy her an extension. “What’s your cell number?”

Jordan gave it to him.

Painter memorized it and asked a ranger for a landline and a bit of privacy. Once alone in a back office, he dialed the number. It rang and rang as he prayed for someone to pick it up.

Finally, the line clicked open. A thickly accented voice spoke slowly, unconcerned. “Ah, Monsieur Crowe, I see we’re not quite done with each other yet.”

June 1, 12:41 A.M.

Salt Lake City, Utah

Rafael lounged once again in the presidential suite atop the Grand America Hotel in downtown Salt Lake City. He had been woken up half an hour ago and shown footage of muddy figures standing over a grated hole.

Painter Crowe lived.

Remarquable.

Shocked, he had stood there in his bathrobe for a full minute, unable to respond. Emotions had warred in his breast at the sight: rage, awe, and yes, a trickle of fear—not for the man, but for the fickleness of fortune.

In the photo, Painter had been staring straight into the camera.

Rafe read the challenge in that steely gaze. He knew the director of Sigma had orchestrated this media blitz. This was a message sent personally to Rafael.

I am alive. I want my niece.

As Rafe held the phone to his ear, ignoring the bundle of cables and wires dangling from the gutted mobile device, he stared over at the closed door. It seemed that fortune was smiling as warmly on the niece as it had smiled on the uncle. He had wanted to interrogate Kai more fully before dispatching her. She had been inside the Utah cavern, saw the mummies and the treasure. He wanted every detail of that trespass. Potentially she also knew more about Sigma, its operatives, and other tidbits gleaned from her short time with her uncle.

But such interviews were too taxing after the long day.

Morning would be soon enough, so he let her live to see one more sunrise.

And now he was glad he’d shown such generous restraint.

“Do not bother tracking this call,” Rafe warned his adversary. “I employ a crack team of encryption experts. We’re bouncing this signal all around the world.”

“I wouldn’t think of it. You were clearly expecting this call, so I can only assume you had countermeasures in place.”

Exactement.

After seeing the photo earlier, Rafe had known Painter would discover some way to reach out to him. He was somewhat surprised it had taken this long. Ashanda—along with assistance from TJ—had worked their technological magic on the device, ensuring no one could track the phone or trace the signal.

“I’ve called to restart our negotiations,” Painter said. “To continue where we left off.”

“Fair enough.”

“First, I want some guarantee Kai is still alive.”

“No, I don’t believe I’ll give you that.” Rafe enjoyed the long pause, knowing how it must torture the man. “Not until I understand what you’re bringing to the table.”

The pause stretched, stoking suspicion.

Are you preparing to bluff?

Truly, in the end, what could the man offer of interest?

Rafe stared at the gold jar resting atop the dining table. He had studied it at length, drinking in every bit of it, trapping it forever in his mind’s eye. Even now, he rotated the jar in his head, tracing a finger over each inscribed letter of the lost language and feeling anew the detailed landscape that was etched across its golden surface.

This treasure promised far more than wealth. It could guarantee eternal glory, for him, for his family. What more could he want?

Painter told him. “In exchange for Kai’s safe return, I will reveal the location of the Fourteenth Colony.”

Rafe slowly smiled, shocked yet again.

The man never ceased to amaze.

Remarquable.

12:44 A.M.

“Uncle Crowe, you’re alive!”

Painter sagged in his seat upon hearing her voice, wanting to express the same sentiments himself.

She was alive!

Instead, he kept his questions practical, knowing he’d have little time. “Kai, are you okay? Have they hurt you?”

“No,” she answered, stretching that single word to encompass so much more.

Painter knew the trauma she must be undergoing: the deaths, the bloodshed, the terror of the unknown. But he also heard the bravery in that one utterance. She had the blood of warriors in her.