“I don’t believe it,” Sammi said.
“What?”
She pointed up toward where the figure’s shoulders would have been if it were a full sculpture. “The insignia of the Military College of Brienne. He was not yet ten years old. This is Napoleon, Gabriel.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded. “It was when he first left Corsica. He came back during the Revolution, and once later, after returning from Egypt—but he was never again to make his home here for any length of time. This was the last age at which he was purely a Corsican—when he was still Napoleone di Buonaparte, not yet Napoleon Bonaparte.”
Gabriel walked around the menhir. “That tells us the trail exists. The question is, where do we go from here?”
Sammi followed the statue’s gaze to the left. “Maybe this way?”
“Makes as much sense as anything.”
They walked through the brush in that direction. A hollow log, the remnant of a fallen tree, lay across their path. Gabriel stepped over it, but as he set his foot down, something snapped.
“Don’t move,” Gabriel said.
Sammi looked around. “What is it?”
Gabriel was studying the log and the ground around it. He picked up a thin cord that had been attached to a spring mechanism. “It was booby-trapped.”
“But nothing happened,” Sammi said.
Gabriel shook his head. “Nothing we can see,” he said. He let the cord drop. “It triggered something. Probably an alarm.”
“I don’t hear anything.”
“Neither do I. Yet.” He drew his Colt.
They continued on in as close to a straight line as they could, through another thick grove of trees. On the far side, a narrow path opened up. Gabriel hurried along it until it widened into a clearing, roughly the same size as the one beside the wall of boulders. Only here there were no boulders, no wall—just a grassy slope, and in the side of the slope, an opening loosely concealed behind dead tree branches.
“Sammi, I think we may have found it,” Gabriel said. He heard something behind him, something heavy thudding to the ground. “Sammi?”
He spun around.
Silently and out of nowhere, six armed men had appeared between the trees. They all had guns—rifles and pistols—pointed at Gabriel. Sammi was lying facedown at the feet of a seventh man who held the butt of his rifle angled above the back of her head.
Gabriel let his gun fall to the ground and slowly raised his hands. The man standing over Sammi, his broad Corsican features ruddy, had dark eyes, gray-black hair, and a full beard. He stepped forward.
“You are trespassing,” he said. “You may not go farther. In fact, you will not leave this place alive.”
Chapter 19
“We’re not your enemy,” Gabriel said.
“Any man who sets foot here is my enemy,” the man said.
“There is a group in Egypt, the Alliance of the Pharaohs—Alliance Pharaonique. They’ve taken your men in the past, tortured them. And now they’ve kidnapped my sister. Said they would kill her if I didn’t find the Second Stone for them.”
The man didn’t budge. “Then I am very sorry for you. It is a terrible thing to lose a sister. But at least you will have the comfort of dying first.”
“Hang on,” Gabriel said, “nobody has to die. We all want the same thing—the group in Egypt stopped. Surely there’s a way to—”
At the man’s feet, Sammi groaned.
“Can I help her up?” Gabriel said. When the man didn’t respond, Gabriel added, “You can shoot us if you want. But until you do, I’m going to help her.”
“Is she armed?”
“No.”
The man nodded slightly. Gabriel bent and extended a hand to Sammi, and she pulled herself up. She was unsteady on her feet and she winced when she put a hand to the back of her skull.
“Who are you?” she said.
The men said nothing.
“They’re the group organized by Napoleon’s brother,” Gabriel said. “To protect the Second Stone. Am I right?”
“You are,” the leader said, “and it is the seal on your death warrant. You know too much to live.” He raised his rifle, and the men behind him followed suit.
Gabriel gauged the distance to his Colt. He couldn’t outrun seven bullets.
“Wait,” he said. “I have a proposition—”
“What proposition?” the man said.
Gabriel’s mind was racing, trying to come up with an answer to that question. He saw the man’s finger tighten on the trigger and began blurting out the first thing that came to mind, “We could make a—”
But Gabriel’s words were drowned out by a barrage of gunfire. Gabriel and Sammi both flinched and looked down at their own chests, but no bullets had struck them. Looking up, they saw spots of crimson erupting across the leader’s torso. His eyes rolled up into his head and he dropped to his knees, the rifle tumbling from his dead hands. The other men turned shouting in the direction the gunfire had come from and began firing blindly themselves.
Men wearing burnooses over their faces poured out of the forest, shooting as they came. Gabriel recognized the one in the lead—he didn’t need to see Kemnebi’s face to know it was him. Gabriel pulled Sammi to the ground as bullets whipped over their heads. The remaining Corsicans took cover behind trees. Skilled at maneuvering in this environment, they quickly vanished to obtain secure positions from which to shoot.
Gabriel’s Colt lay a few feet away, next to the Corsican leader’s body. Gabriel darted toward it but was forced back by a spray of bullets. “Gabriel!” Sammi shouted. Turning, he saw that one of the Egyptians had run out from the trees and into the clearing, unsheathing a long knife as he came. With his other hand, the man pulled his burnoose away from his face, revealing a bruised jaw—and eyes burning with rage. Sammi rolled out of his path just as his blade descended, a bitter declaration in Arabic spraying from his lips. Gabriel lunged for his pistol, grabbed it, and rolled onto his back, firing at the attacker in one fluid motion. The Colt’s round slammed into the man’s shoulder, causing him to stumble—but he kept coming, knife swinging wildly. Gabriel squeezed the trigger again, aiming dead center on the purple and yellow bruise on the man’s face. The Colt jerked in his hand and the man went down, a spray of blood hanging in the air for an instant before pattering over his body.
Gabriel ran to Sammi in a crouch and pulled her toward the cave entrance.
Behind them, Gabriel heard the battle continuing fiercely, gunshots mixing with cries of pain, exclamations both in French and Arabic. The Corsican group may have been smaller in number, but they were managing to pick off the Alliance members. Gabriel glanced back and counted five bodies on the ground—besides the Corsican leader, the others were all Egyptian. It was what the Alliance got for attacking on the group’s home turf. But Gabriel couldn’t take much comfort from the fact, since if the Corsicans prevailed, it was what Gabriel and Sammi would get as well.
He started tearing away the loose branches covering the front of the cave, Sammi working beside him to open up enough room for them to squeeze inside. They got some help from a stray gunshot that splintered a particularly thick branch just inches away from Gabriel’s hand. “Go,” Gabriel said, pushing Sammi toward the narrow hole they’d opened, and she slipped in sideways. Gabriel stole another glance back. The gun battle was still raging; for the moment, no one had the luxury of paying attention to them. He squeezed into the cave after Sammi. The noise of gunfire was instantly muted, replaced by the echoing sound of Sammi panting in the darkness beside him.