Two of the police Peugeots screeched to a halt at the end of the road and officers tumbled out and raised their guns at them. A senior officer began to bark instructions through a megaphone and then without warning Zoey fired just once but the single shot was enough to send the French police into a frenzied spiral of over-reaction.
Lucia jumped when the gun went off, and Harry’s mind raced as he calculated what to do next. He was already starting to regret telling the casino floor manager to let Lucia Serrano into the bar. At the time it had felt like the right thing to do, but now he was getting the impression his life was better before all of this started.
“Which way?” Zoey said.
“I’m guessing the large painted words saying Entree des Catacombs and the big white arrows pointing in that direction are a clue,” Harry said.
Zoey gave him a look, but before she could reply, Andrej spoke. “He’s right — the entrance is just over here.”
Deep beneath Paris is a sprawling network of underground tunnels formed by the limestone mines of previous centuries. The general public is banned from exploring the notorious tunnels, but this doesn’t stop the occasional daredevil or thrill seeker from descending into the darkness beneath the southern arrondissements of the city.
The most famous part of these tunnels is the Catacombs of Paris, the world’s most famous ossuary. Containing over six million skeletons, the Catacombs were created by the city’s authorities during a crisis in the 1780s when the Holy Innocents’ Cemetery in central Paris no longer had any room in its mass graves.
Because they were once mines, there were over two hundred entrances into the Catacombs, but only one reserved for official use, and now as they approached this entrance, Harry glanced over his shoulder to see the remaining police officers bearing down on them. “It’s now or never,” he said, looking up at the warning above the door: Arrète! C’est ici l’empire de la mort.
“What the hell does that mean?” Zoey said.
“It’s telling us to stop, because this is Death’s empire.”
“Oh, that’s okay then,” she said. “I was afraid it was something bad.”
“This is where the nanodust is hidden,” Andrej said apologetically. “We have no choice if we want to secure it, plus we should be more afraid of the living than the dead.”
“I’m more concerned about how we’re going to get out,” Harry said, looking back at the police. They were now fanning out and making their way toward them from the end of the street.
“They’re going to be all over our asses in a few seconds, Harry,” Zoey said. “We have to get this thing on right now.”
They raced down the stairs and entered the Empire of Death. The City of Lights was gone now, replaced with a dark, cold vault whose ceiling was supported with crumbling stone pillars. “Which way now, Andrej?”
“This way,” the Czech scientist said, with the panic in his voice clear for all to hear. “We must go this way.”
Behind them at the top of the stairs they heard men screaming in French and then the sound of boots pounding down the steps. Without delay, they began to run along the narrow Port-Mahon corridor and then turned onto the famous Quarrymen’s footpath.
Passing a circular staircase that wound its way downwards until disappearing into a pool of frozen black water, Zoey turned to Andrej. “I hope you can remember where this damned thing is, Chekov,” she said, sliding some gum into her mouth. “Because I ain’t never been caught by the law or anyone else and I don’t intend to start now.”
“We met in jail cell,” Harry said. “How’s that you not getting caught?”
“If it’s not overnight, it doesn’t count,” she said with pride. “That’s what Mack used to say.”
“Who’s Mack?”
“An old friend. Taught me everything I know.”
Harry shook his head in disbelief. His service in MI6 had sent him to dozens of different countries and he’d met countless hundreds of people in his travels from every walk of life, but he’d never met anyone quite like Zoey Conway before.
But he had no time to think about her or anything else because right then they reached the main attraction — the Ossuary.
TWENTY-FIVE
Zalan Szabo glanced at the manila file with something approaching mild interest but then gently flipped the cover back and pushed it back on the desk toward György Tóth. He was sitting in the study of his Viennese mansion and placing a cigar in his mouth. He pulled a single-blade cutter from his drawer and sliced the end off the cigar. Reaching forward to pull a Cartier enamel and diamond lighter from the desk’s smooth surface, he began to speak with the cigar in his mouth. “So, he’s British Secret Service.”
“Former Secret Service,” Tóth said. “And before that a Pathfinder.”
Szabo fired up the Cohiba Behike and blew a cloud of pungent blue smoke toward the vaulted ceiling of his study. “Explain.”
“The Pathfinder Platoon is an elite reconnaissance unit in the British Army’s 16th Air Assault Brigade. They parachute deep behind the enemy’s lines and send back reconnaissance reports and set out drop zones for regiments like the SAS.”
Szabo nodded with appreciation. “All of that and James Bond as well. Quite the hero.”
“Except he’s a washout now, and spends his days gambling and blowing his family’s money.”
“Don’t underestimate a man like this,” the Hungarian said with experience. “Any man who can do these things is never really down and out. If you underestimate him he will bring us down.”
“Yes sir.”
“What about the others?”
“Serrano you know, and the chunky one is Niko Weber, a Swiss IT specialist and software developer from Zurich whose hobby is cracking security networks. The other woman is an American named Zoey Conway — a common thief from New York City. The older man is of course Andrej Liška, one of the lead scientists who worked with Ramirez on Project Perses.”
“Both traitors.”
“Yes sir.”
“These people are rabble, Tóth. Surely you’re not telling me they can get the better of you and your men. Steiner was a Jagdkommando.”
“Yes sir.”
“Who is in the field with Steiner?”
“Aleksi Karhu.”
Szabo nodded with the same degree of appreciation as if he were listening to a waiter reading a wine menu. “He is dangerous, indeed.”
“Yes.”
“But unpredictable.”
Tóth hesitated. “Yes.”
“And the insider?”
“In position. That is how we knew about Paris.”
“Good. The net tightens.”
“Yes.”
“I want that weapon back, Tóth, and the activation code.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And prepare my flight. We’re leaving Vienna.”
“At once.”
Szabo closed his eyes and nodded with the expectation that György Tóth would do what he was paid very well to do. That meant neutralize this annoying band of idiots who had risen like a fungus on the Ministry’s exquisite plans for the future of humanity and allow the next phase to proceed unhindered.
Exquisite plans that had a lot to live up to… Athens, Rome, the Silk Road, Cocoliztli, Calcutta, Kansas… and he had no intention of allowing these people to humiliate him in the Ministry’s eyes. Those eyes were everywhere, after all.
TWENTY-SIX
“This place gives me the creeps,” Zoey said with a visible shudder. “Maybe we should split and leave you three to it.” As she spoke they passed through the Crypt of the Sepulchral Lamp. This was the first monument ever constructed inside the catacombs, with walls lined with dozens of skulls and shin bones. The lamp was originally used by those quarrying the caves, but now it formed part of the macabre sculpture.