Map of Bones (Sigma Force 2)

She and Monk had been transferred from the houseboat. The ponderous craft had trundled out of the harbor, met a speedboat, and the pair were tied, hooded, and gagged by a foursome of thick-necked men. They were shoved into the smaller boat, then whisked away, bouncing over the waves. They had traveled for what seemed like half a day but was probably only a little more than an hour. Once the hood was tugged off her face, Rachel had found the sun had hardly moved across the sky.

In a small cove, hidden by a tumble of rock, the familiar hydrofoil waited like a midnight-blue shark. Men worked the ropes, preparing to ship out. She’d spotted Raoul at the stern, arms crossed over his chest.

Manhandled aboard, Rachel and Monk were separated.

Raoul had taken charge of Monk.

Rachel still didn’t know what had become of her teammate. She had been hustled below deck to a cabin, guarded by the two Amazon women. The hydrofoil had immediately edged out of the cove and sped away, heading straight out into the Mediterranean.

That had been more than half an hour ago.

Raoul came forward and grabbed her upper arm. His other hand was bandaged. “Come with me.” His fingers dug hard, to bone.

She allowed herself to be led out into the wood-paneled hallway, lit by sconces. The passageway crossed from stern to bow, lined by doors to private cabins. There was only one steep stairway, more like a ladder, to the main deck.

Instead of going up, Raoul marched her toward the bow.

Raoul knocked on the door to the last cabin.

“Entri,” a muffled voice said.

Raoul pulled the door open and dragged Rachel inside. The cabin was larger than her prison cell. It held not only a bed and chair, but also a desk, sidetable, and bookshelves. On every flat surface, texts, magazines, even scrolls were stacked. One corner of the desk supported a laptop computer.

The room’s occupant straightened and turned. He had been leaning over his desk, glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

“Rachel,” the man said warmly, as if they were the best of friends.

She recognized the older man from the days when she had accompanied Uncle Vigor to the Vatican Libraries. He had been the head prefect of the Archives, Dr. Alberto Menardi. The traitor stood a few inches taller than she, but he had a perpetual hunch to his posture, making him seem shorter.

He tapped a sheet on his desk. “From this fresh handwriting—a woman’s, if I’m not mistaken—this map must have been embellished by your own hand.”

He waved her over.

Rachel had no choice. Raoul shoved her forward.

She tripped over a stack of books and had to grab the edge of the desk to keep from falling. She stared down at the map of the Mediterranean. The hourglass was drawn upon it, as were the names of the Seven Wonders.

She kept her face stoic.

They had found her map. She had sealed it in a pouch of her dry suit. Now she wished she’d burned it.

Alberto leaned closer. His breath reeked of olives and sour wine. He drew a fingernail along the axis line that Gray had scribed. It stopped at Rome. “Tell me about this.”

“It’s where we’re supposed to go next,” Rachel lied. She was relieved her uncle had not drawn on the map in ink himself. He had simply extended the line with his finger and the straight edge of Gray’s knife.

Alberto turned his head. “Now, why is that? I’d like to hear all about what went down in that tomb. In great detail. Raoul has been good enough to supply digital snapshots, but I think a firsthand account would be of more value.”

Rachel kept silent.

Raoul’s fingers tightened on her arm. She winced.

Alberto waved Raoul away. “There’s no need for that.”

The pressure relented, but Raoul did not let go.

“You have the American for that, don’t you?” Alberto asked. “Maybe you’d better show her. We could all use a little fresh air, no?”

Raoul grinned.

Rachel felt a knot of terror tighten around her heart.

She was led out of the cabin and forced up the steps. As she climbed, Raoul reached and slid a palm up her robe, along her thigh, fingers kneading. She scrambled upward.

The stairs led to the open stern of the hydrofoil. Sunlight glared off the white decking. Three men lounged on side benches, casually carrying assault rifles.

They eyed her.

She cinched her robe tighter, shuddering, still feeling Raoul’s fingers on her. The large man climbed up, followed by Alberto.

She stepped around a short wall that separated the stairwell from the deck. She found Monk.

He was lying on his stomach, naked except for boxers, his wrists bound behind him and his legs hog-tied at the ankle. It looked like two of his fingers had been broken on his left hand, bent back at impossible angles. Blood smeared the deck. He opened one swollen eye when she stepped out.

He had no quip for her.

That scared her more than anything.

Raoul and his men must have taken their anger out on Monk, the only target.

“Untie his arms,” Raoul ordered. “Get him on his back.”

The men responded quickly. Monk groaned as his arms were freed. He was flipped onto his back. One of the guards held a rifle at Monk’s ear.

Raoul grabbed a fire-ax from a stanchion.

“What are you doing?” Rachel hurried to stand between the large man and Monk.

“That depends on you,” Raoul said. He hefted the ax to his shoulder.

One of the men responded to some discreet signal. Rachel’s elbows were grabbed and pinned behind her back. She was carted backward.

Raoul pointed his ax, one-armed, at the third man. “Sit on his chest, hold his left arm down at the elbow.” Raoul strode forward as the man obeyed. He glanced back to Rachel. “I believe the professore asked you a question.”

Alberto stepped forward. “And don’t leave out any details.”

Rachel was too horrified to respond.

“He has five fingers on this side,” Raoul added. “We’ll start with the broken ones. They’re not of much use anyway.” He raised the ax.

“No!” Rachel choked out.

“Don’t…” Monk groaned to her.

The guard with the rifle kicked Monk in the head.

“I’ll tell you!” Rachel blurted out.

She spoke rapidly, explaining all that had happened, from the discovery of Alexander’s body to the activation of the ancient batteries. She left out nothing, except for the truth. “It took us some time, but we solved the riddle…the map…the Seven Wonders…it all points back to the beginning. A complete circle. Back to Rome.”