"Rome," Rachel read off the map.

Gray sat back. "The fact that all this geometry points right back to Rome must be significant. It must be where we have to go next. But where in Rome? The Vatican again?"

He stared around at the others.

Rachel's brow had bunched up.

Vigor slowly knelt down. "I think, Commander, that you're both right and wrong. Can I see your knife?"

Gray handed it over, glad to let the monsignor usurp his position.

He played with the knife's edge on the map. "Hmm...two triangles." He tapped the hourgla.s.s pattern.

"What about it?"

Vigor shook his head, eyes focused. "You were right about the fact that this line hits Rome. But it's not where we're supposed to go."

"How do you know that?"

"Remember the multiple layers of riddles here. We have to look deeper."

"To where?"

Vigor dragged his finger along the edge of the blade, extending the line past Rome. "Rome was only the first stop." He continued the imaginary line farther north, into France. He halted at a spot just a bit north of Ma.r.s.eilles.

Vigor nodded and smiled. "Clever."

"What?"

Vigor pa.s.sed back the knife and tapped the spot. "Avignon."

A gasp arose from Rachel.

Gray failed to see the significance. His confused expression made that plain.

Rachel turned to him. "Avignon is the place in France to which the papacy was exiled in the early fourteenth century. It became the papal seat of power for almost a full century."

"The second second seat of papal power," Vigor stressed. "First Rome, then France. Two triangles, two symbols of power and knowledge." seat of papal power," Vigor stressed. "First Rome, then France. Two triangles, two symbols of power and knowledge."

"But how can we be sure?" Gray said. "Maybe we're reading too much into it."

Vigor waved away his concern. "Remember, we already had pinpointed the date when we thought the clues were planted, when the papacy left Rome. The first decade of the fourteenth century."

Gray nodded, but he was not totally convinced.

"And these crafty alchemists left us another layer to the riddle to help firmly establish this location." Vigor pointed to the shape on the map. "When do you think the hourgla.s.s was first invented?"

Gray shook his head. "I a.s.sumed it was at least a couple thousand years...maybe older."

"Oddly enough, the hourgla.s.s's invention matched the time of the first mechanical clocks. Only seven hundred years ago."

Gray calculated in his head. "That would place it back to the start of the thirteen hundreds again. The beginning of the fourteenth century."

"Marking time, as all hourgla.s.ses should do, back to the founding of the French papacy."

Gray felt a thrill chase through him. Now they knew where they needed to go next. With the gold key. To Avignon, to the French Vatican. He sensed a similar excitement in Rachel and her uncle.

"Let's get out of here," Gray said, and led them quickly down the tunnel to the entry pool.

"What about the tomb?" Vigor said.

"The announcement of the discovery will have to wait for another day. If the Dragon Court comes calling, they'll find out they're too late."

Gray hurried into the far chamber. He knelt, slid his mask over his features, and ducked his head underwater, preparing to let the others know the good news.

As soon as his head hit the water, his radio buzzed, irritating and loud. "Kat...Monk...can anyone hear me?"

There was no answer. Gray recalled Kat mentioning some glitch with the Buddy Phones. He listened for a moment longer. His heartbeat thudded more loudly in his chest.

s.h.i.t.

He shoved out of the water.

That white noise wasn't static. They were being jammed. "What?" Rachel asked. "The Dragon Court. They're already here."

13.

BLOOD IN THE WATER.

JULY 26, 1:45 P P.M.

ALEXANDRIA, EGYPT.

KAT BOBBED in the gentle waves. in the gentle waves.

Her radio had completely died ten seconds ago. She had popped up to check with Monk. She found him with binoculars fixed to his face.

"The radio-" she started.

"Something's f.u.c.ked," he said, cutting her off. "Get the others."

She reacted instantly, flipping down, kicking her legs high. The weight shoved her in a vertical dive. She emergency-flushed the air from her BC vest and plummeted straight down.

Diving for the tunnel, she reached her other hand to free the buckle straps that held her vest and tank. Movement at the entrance stayed her fingers.

The sleek form of a diver jettisoned out of the tunnel. A streak of blue across the black suit identified the swimmer as Commander Pierce. A perpetual whine filled her ears. No way to communicate the urgency.

But there proved to be no need.

On the commander's heels, two other forms fled the tunnel.

Vigor and Rachel.

Kat twisted back upright. Clicking off her Buddy Phone to end the whine, she kicked toward Gray. He must have realized the radio fritz meant trouble. He simply stared hard at her through his face mask and pointed an arm up questioningly.

Was it clear above?

She gave him an okay signal. No hostiles above. At least not yet.

Gray did not bother with securing their abandoned tanks. He waved the others up. They kicked off the rocks and aimed for the keel of the boat.

To the side, Kat noted the anchor being raised.

Monk was readying for an immediate departure.

Kat filled the buoyancy vest and kicked upward, fighting the drag of her tank and weight belt. Above, the others were already breaching the surface.

A new humming whine filled her hearing.

It wasn't the radio this time.

She searched the waters for the source, but the visibility in the polluted harbor was poor. Something was coming...coming fast.

As a Navy intelligence officer, she had spent plenty of time aboard all manner of watercraft, including submarines. She recognized the steady hum.

Torpedo.

Locked on the speedboat.

She thrashed upward, but knew she'd never reach them in time.

1:46 P P.M.

MONK ENGAGED the boat's engine while maintaining a watch for the hydrofoil through his binoculars. It had just vanished behind the tip of the peninsula. But he had watched it slow suspiciously a few seconds ago, two hundred yards out. There had been no telltale activity on the stern deck, but he had noted a rippling line of bubbles in the craft's wake as it glided slowly away. the boat's engine while maintaining a watch for the hydrofoil through his binoculars. It had just vanished behind the tip of the peninsula. But he had watched it slow suspiciously a few seconds ago, two hundred yards out. There had been no telltale activity on the stern deck, but he had noted a rippling line of bubbles in the craft's wake as it glided slowly away.

Then he'd heard the whine over the radio.

Kat appeared a few seconds after that.

They needed to get out of here. He knew it in his gut.

"Monk!" a voice called. It was Gray, surfacing to the port side.

Thank G.o.d.

He began to lower his binoculars when he spotted a streaking object racing through the water. A fin cleaved through the waves. A metal fin.

"f.u.c.k..."

Dropping the binoculars, Monk shoved the throttle to full. The boat bucked forward with a scream of the engine. He twisted the wheel to starboard. Away from Gray.

"Everybody down!" he screamed, and shoved his mask over his face. He had no time to zip his suit.

With the boat canting away under him, he ran for the stern, stepped on the back seat, and catapulted into the water.

The torpedo struck behind him. The force of the explosion flipped him feet over head. Something punched him in the hip, rattling all the way to his teeth. He struck the water, rolling across the surface, chased by a wash of flames.

Before it could reach him, he sank into the cool embrace of the sea.

RACHEL HAD SURFACED just as Monk yelled. She watched him run for the stern of the boat. Reacting to his panic, she shoved back down and twisted to dive. just as Monk yelled. She watched him run for the stern of the boat. Reacting to his panic, she shoved back down and twisted to dive.

Then the explosion hit.

The concussion through the water stabbed her ears, even through her thick neoprene hood. All the air slammed out of her. Her mask's seals broke. Seawater rushed in.

She scrambled back to the surface, blind, eyes stinging.

With her head out of water, she emptied her mask, coughing and gagging. Debris continued to rain down into the water. Smoking flotsam steamed and rocked. Flaming rivers of gasoline skimmed the waves.

She searched the waters.

No one.

Then to her left, a flailing shape burst out of the water. It was Monk, dazed and choking.

She paddled over to him and grabbed an arm. His face mask had been turned half around his head. She steadied him as he gagged.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n," he wheezed out, and tugged his mask around.

A new noise traveled over the water. Both turned.

Rachel watched a large hydrofoil swing around the fort, tilted up on skids. It circled out toward them.

"Down!" Monk urged.