"Get her out of there," he spat.

A key opened the door. She was dragged out.

"This way," Raoul said. He led her down the hallway.

She spotted other cells, some sealed like hers, others open and stacked with wine bottles.

Raoul marched her to the stairs and up to a dark moonlit courtyard. Stone walls towered on all sides. An archway, sealed by a portcullis, led out to a narrow bridge that spanned a gorge.

She was in a castle.

A row of trucks lined the wall nearest the gateway.

Along a neighboring wall, a long row of twenty chain-link cages stretched. Low grumbles rose from that corner. Large shadows shifted, muscular, powerful.

Raoul must have noted her attention. "Perro de Presa Canario," he said with a note of savage pride. "Fighting dogs, an ancestral line from the 1800s. Perfection of breeding. Pure pit fighter. All muscle, jaws, and teeth."

Rachel wondered if he was also describing himself.

Raoul led her away from the gate and toward the central keep. Two tiers of stairs led up to a thick oak door. It was brightly lit by sconces, almost inviting. But they didn't go that way. A side door led to a level beneath the stairs.

Using a touchpad, he unlocked the lower door.

As the door swung open, Rachel caught a whiff of antiseptic and something darker, more fetid. She was forced into a square room, brightly lit with fluorescent bulbs. Stone walls, linoleum floor. A single guard stood before the one door that led away.

Raoul crossed and opened it.

Beyond stretched a long, sterile hallway. A series of rooms opened off it. She glanced into a few as she was marched down the pa.s.sage. Stainless-steel cages filled one. Banks of computers tied to rows of plates occupied another. Electromagnets, she guessed, used to experiment with the m-state compounds. A third chamber held a single steel table, shaped in a rough X. Leather straps indicated that the table was meant to hold a man or woman spread-eagled. A surgical lamp hung above it.

The sight chilled her to the bone.

Another six rooms stretched beyond. She had seen enough and was happy to stop alongside a door on the opposite wall.

Raoul knocked and pushed inside.

Rachel was surprised by the contrast. It was like stepping into the turn-of-the-century parlor of a distinguished Royal Society scholar. The room here was all polished mahogany and walnut. Underfoot spread a thick Turkish rug patterned in crimson and emerald.

Bookshelves and display cabinets lined all the walls, filled with neatly arranged texts. Behind gla.s.s, she noted first-edition copies of Principia Principia by Sir Isaac Newton, and beside it, Darwin's by Sir Isaac Newton, and beside it, Darwin's Origin of Species Origin of Species. There was also an illuminated Egyptian ma.n.u.script spread open in one case. Rachel wondered if it was the one that had been stolen from the Cairo museum, the forged text with the encrypted stanzas that had started this whole murderous adventure.

Everywhere she looked there was artwork. Etruscan and Roman statuary decorated the shelves, including a two-foot-tall Persian horse, the head broken off, a masterpiece stolen from Iran a decade ago, supposedly representing Alexander the Great's famous horse, Bucephalus. Paintings stood above cabinets. She knew one was a Rembrandt, another a Raphael.

But resting in the center of the room was a ma.s.sive carved mahogany desk. It rested near a stacked-stone, floor-to-ceiling fireplace. Small flames flickered in the hearth.

"Professore!" Raoul called, closing the door behind them.

Through a back door leading to other private rooms, Dr. Alberto Menardi entered. He wore a black smoking jacket trimmed in crimson. He had the gall to be still wearing his clerical Roman collar above a black shirt.

He carried a book under one arm and shook a finger at Rachel. "You haven't been totally honest with us."

Rachel felt her heart stop beating, her breath became trapped.

Alberto turned to Raoul. "And if you hadn't distracted me with the need to mend that American's wrist, I would've discovered this sooner. Both of you, come here."

They were waved to the cluttered desk.

Rachel noted her map of the Mediterranean spread out on the top. New lines had been added, circles, meridians, degree marks. Tiny arcane numbers were inscribed along one edge of the map. A compa.s.s and T square rested beside it, along with a s.e.xtant. Plainly, Alberto had been working on this puzzle, either not trusting Rachel or figuring she and her uncle were too obtuse.

The prefect tapped the map. "Rome is not not the next place." the next place."

Rachel forced herself not to flinch.

Alberto continued, "All the subtext to this geometric design signifies forward motion in time. Even this hourgla.s.s, it segments time, marching forward one grain at a time, to the inevitable end. For this reason, the symbol of the hourgla.s.s has always represented death, the end of time. To have an hourgla.s.s show up here can only mean one thing."

Raoul's frown deepened, indicating his lack of understanding.

Alberto sighed. "Obviously, it signifies the end of this journey. I'm sure that wherever this clue points, it marks the last stop."

Rachel felt Raoul stir beside her. They were close to their end goal. But they didn't have the gold key, and for all Alberto's intelligence, he hadn't solved the complete riddle yet. But he would.

"It can't be Rome," Alberto said. "That's moving backward, not forward. There is another mystery to solve here."

Rachel shook her head, feigning exhausted disinterest. "That's all we could calculate before we were attacked." She waved around his room. "We didn't have your resources."

Alberto studied her as she spoke. She stared, unflinching.

"I...I believe you," he said slowly. "Monsignor Vigor is quite sharp, but this riddle is layered in mystery."

Rachel kept her features dull, allowing some fear to show, acting cowed. Alberto worked alone. He'd plainly ensconced himself in here to solve the Court's mysteries. Trusting no one else, conceited in his own superiority. He would not understand the value of the wider perspective, a diversification of viewpoint. It had taken the entire team's expertise to piece the mystery together, not the work of one man.

But the prefect was no fool. "Still," he said, "we should be sure. You kept hidden the discovery of the gold key. Maybe there's more you kept hidden."

Fear edged higher. "I've told you everything," she swore with mustered conviction. Would they believe her? Would they torture her?

She swallowed hard, trying to hide it. She would never talk. Too much was at stake. She had seen the power displayed in Rome and Alexandria. The Dragon Court must never possess it.

Even Monk's life would be forfeit from here. They were both soldiers. Back on the hydrofoil, she had given the information about the gold key not only to spare Monk, but also to engage Gray, to give him a chance to do something. It had seemed a reasonable risk. Like now, the Court had still been missing a vital piece of the puzzle. She had to hold on to the discovery of Avignon and the French papacy.

Or all would be lost.

Alberto shrugged. "There's only one way to find out if you know more. It's time we ensured the complete truth from you. Take her next door. We should be ready."

Rachel's breathing grew quicker, but she could not seem to get enough air. She was manhandled by Raoul back out the door. Alberto followed, shedding his jacket, ready to get down to work.

Rachel pictured again Monk's hand flopping on the ship's deck. She had to gird herself for worse. They must not know. Not ever. No reason would be good enough for her to reveal the truth.

As Rachel stepped out into the hall, she saw that the far room, the one that held the strange X-shaped table, was lit up much brighter. Someone had turned on the overhead surgical lamp.

Raoul partially blocked the view. She spotted an IV bottle on a stand. A tray of long surgical instruments, sharp-edged, corkscrewed, and razor-toothed. A figure was strapped to the table.

Oh G.o.d...Monk...?

"We can stretch this interrogation all night long," Alberto promised, stepping past to enter the room first. He crossed and donned a pair of sterile latex gloves.

Raoul finally dragged her forward into the suite of surgical horrors.

Rachel finally saw who was strapped to the table, pinioned, limbs stretched and tied, nose already dripping blood.

"Someone came snooping where they shouldn't have," Raoul said with a hungry smile.

The captive's face turned toward her. Their eyes met with recognition. And at that moment, all will left her.

Rachel lunged forward. "No!"

Raoul grabbed a fistful of her hair and dragged Rachel to her knees. "You'll watch from here."

Alberto picked up a silver scalpel. "We'll start with the left ear."

"No!" Rachel screamed. "I'll tell you! I'll tell you everything!"

Alberto lowered the blade and turned to her.

"Avignon," she sobbed. "It's Avignon."

She felt no guilt in the telling. She had to trust Gray from here. All hope rested on him. Rachel stared into the terrified eyes of the bound prisoner.

"Nonna..." Rachel moaned.

It was her grandmother.

2:22 A A.M.

AVIGNON, FRANCE.

THE CITY of Avignon glowed, shouted, sang, and danced. of Avignon glowed, shouted, sang, and danced.

The annual Summer Theater Festival ran each July, the world's largest showcase of the music, drama, and art. Youth crowded into the city, camping in parks, flooding hotels and youth hostels. It was an around-the-clock party. Even the lowering skies did not discourage the festival-goers.

Vigor turned from a couple in full f.e.l.l.a.t.i.o on a secluded park bench. The woman's long hair hid most of her effort at pleasuring her male companion. Vigor hurried past with Kat at his side. They had chosen to pa.s.s through the high park to reach the Place du Palais, the Palace Square. The pope's castle sat atop a spur of rock overlooking the river.

As they pa.s.sed a lookout spot, a curve of the river appeared below. Jutting out into it was the famous bridge of French nursery rhymes, Le Pont d'Avignon, or St. Benezet Bridge. Built in the late twelfth century, it was the only bridge to span the Rhone River...though after so many centuries, only four of its original twenty-two arches remained. The partial span was lit up brilliantly. Partiers danced atop it, traditional folk dancers from the look of it. Music trailed up to them.

In Avignon, the past and present mingled as they did in few other cities.

"Where do we begin?" Kat asked.

Vigor had spent the flight here in research, trying to answer that exact question. He spoke as he led them away from the river and toward the city. "Avignon is one of the oldest townships of Europe. It can trace its roots back to Neolithic times. It was settled by the Celts, then the Romans. But what Avignon is most famous for today is its Gothic heritage, which flourished during the century of the French papacy. Avignon boasts one of the largest ensembles of Gothic architecture in all of Europe. A true Gothic town."

"And the significance of that would be what?" Kat asked.

Vigor recognized the stiffness in her voice. She was worried about her teammates, cut off from them, sent here. He knew she felt a deep-seated responsibility for the capture of his niece and Monk. She carried that burden despite her own commander's insistence that she had done the right thing.

Vigor felt an echo of her concern. He had dragged Rachel into this adventure. Now she was in the hands of the Dragon Court. But he knew that guilt would do them no good. He had grown up with faith. It was the cornerstone of his being. He found some solace in placing his faith in Rachel's safety into the hands of G.o.d-and Gray.

But that didn't mean he couldn't be proactive himself. G.o.d helps those who help themselves G.o.d helps those who help themselves. He and Kat had their own duty here.

Vigor answered her question. "The word 'Gothic' comes from the Greek word 'goetic.' Which translates to 'magic.' And such architecture was considered magical. It was like none seen at the time: the thin ribbing, the flying b.u.t.tresses, the impossible heights. It gave an impression of weightlessness weightlessness."

As Vigor stressed this last word, Kat understood. "Levitation," she said.

Vigor nodded. "The cathedrals and other Gothic structures were almost exclusively built by a group of masons who named themselves the Children of Solomon, a mix of Knights Templar and monks of the Cistercian Order. They retained the mathematical mysteries to build these structures, supposedly gained when the Knights Templar discovered the lost Temple of Solomon during the Crusades. The Knights grew rich...or rather richer richer, as it was said they had already discovered King Solomon's vast treasure, possibly even the Ark of the Covenant, which was said to have been hidden at the Temple of Solomon."

"And supposedly the Ark is where Moses stored his pots of manna," Kat said. "His recipe for m-state metals."

"Don't discount that possibility," Vigor said. "In the Bible, there are many references to strange powers emanating from the Ark. References to it levitating. Even the word levitate levitate is derived from the caretakers of the Ark, the Levite priests. And the Ark was well known for being deadly, killing with bolts of light. One fellow, a carter named Uzzah, sought to stabilize the Ark when it tipped a bit. He touched it with his hand and was struck down. Scared poor King David enough that he at first refused to take the Ark into his city. But the Levite priests showed him how to approach it safely. With gloves, ap.r.o.ns, and divesting oneself of all metal objects." is derived from the caretakers of the Ark, the Levite priests. And the Ark was well known for being deadly, killing with bolts of light. One fellow, a carter named Uzzah, sought to stabilize the Ark when it tipped a bit. He touched it with his hand and was struck down. Scared poor King David enough that he at first refused to take the Ark into his city. But the Levite priests showed him how to approach it safely. With gloves, ap.r.o.ns, and divesting oneself of all metal objects."

"To keep from getting shocked." Kat's voice had lost some of its stiffness, the mystery drawing her out.

"Maybe the Ark, with the m-state powders stored inside, acted like an electrical capacitor. The superconducting material absorbed ambient environmental energy and stored it like the gold pyramid had. Until someone mishandled it."

"And got electrocuted."

Vigor nodded.

"Okay," Kat said. "Let's say these Knights Templar rediscovered the Ark and possibly these m-state superconductors. But can we know if they understood its secrets?"

"I may have an answer. Commander Gray originally challenged me to trace historical references for these strange monatomic powders."

"From Egypt to the biblical Magi," Kat said.

Vigor nodded. "But I wondered if it stretched further. Past the age of Christ. Were there more clues left to find?"

"And you found them," Kat said, reading his excitement.

"These m-state powders went by many names: white bread, the powder of projection, the Paradise Stone, the Magi Stone. To my surprise, looking forward from biblical times, I found another mysterious stone of alchemical history. The famous Philosopher's Stone."

Kat frowned. "The stone that could turn lead into gold?"

"That is a common misconception. A seventeenth-century philosopher, Eiranaeus Philalethes, a well-respected Royal Society Fellow, set the record straight in his treatises. To quote him, the Philosopher's Stone was 'nothing but gold digested to its highest degree of purity...called a stone by virtue of its fixed nature...gold, more pure than the purest...but its appearance is that of a very fine powder.'"

"The gold powder again," Kat said, surprised.

"Can there be any clearer reference? And it wasn't only Eiranaeus; a fifteenth-century French chemist, Nicolas Flamel, described a similar alchemical process with the final words, and I quote, 'It made a fine powder of gold, which is the Philosopher's Stone.'"

Vigor took a breath. "So clearly some scientists at the time were experimenting with a strange form of gold. In fact, the entire Royal Society of scientists was fascinated by it. Including Sir Isaac Newton. Many don't know that Newton was a fervent alchemist and also a colleague of Eiranaeus."

"Then what became of all their work?" Kat asked.

"I don't know. Many probably reached dead ends. But another colleague of Newton, Robert Boyle, also researched alchemical gold. But something disturbed him, something he discovered. He stopped his research and declared such studies dangerous. So dangerous, in fact, that he said its misuse could 'disorder the affairs of mankind, turning the world topsy-turvy.' It makes one wonder what scared him. Could he have touched upon something that drove our lost alchemical society deep underground?"