Taking Lisa with them.
But at least she was alive.
“Why are they leaving?” Susan mumbled.
Monk glanced over. In the darkness of the forest, the woman’s face and hands shone with a whispery glow, barely noticeable, but there. Like moonlight through thick clouds.
“Not like there’s exactly anywhere we can go,” Ryder said bitterly. “By morning, they’ll be hunting us.”
Monk pointed deeper into the forest. “Then we’d better get going.”
With Susan at his side, Monk headed into the higher jungle. He glanced one last time back to the lagoon. “What were those things?”
“Predatory squid,” Susan mumbled with some authority. “Some bioluminescent squids hunt in packs. Humboldt squids in the Pacific have attacked and killed people, swarming out of the deep. But larger specimens also exist. Like Taningia danae. The isolated lagoon here must be home to such a subspecies. Rising to feed. At night, when their luminescent communication and coordination work best.”
Monk remembered a story from one of the pirates, about the island, of witches and demons in the water. Here must be the source of the story. He also remembered another story of the island.
He craned up toward the jagged cliffs, framed against the dark sky. Heard past the rumble of thunder, drums pounded.
Cannibals.
“What now?” Ryder asked.
Monk led the way. “Time to meet the neighbors…see what’s cookin’.”
Supported on the tender dock, Lisa hung from the arms of one of the pirates. She was too weak to fight, too tired to care. Sodden to bone, bleeding from a score of lacerations, she awaited her fate.
Rakao was in midargument with Devesh.
In Malay.
Beyond her comprehension.
But Lisa suspected the fight was about the tattooed pirate not pursuing Susan Tunis into the jungle. Lisa understood only one word.
Kanibals.
Behind the men a robed Surina stood at the entrance to the boat, out of the rain, arms folded, back straight, patient. Her eyes were fixed on Lisa. Not cold — that implied some emotion. Surina’s eyes were a total void.
Finally, Devesh turned and pointed an arm at Lisa. He spoke in English as a courtesy to their captive. “Shoot her. Now.”
Lisa straightened in the pirate’s arms. She coughed her voice to a hoarse mumble.
She offered the Guild scientist the only thing she could.
To save her life.
“Devesh,” she said firmly. “The Judas Strain. I know what the virus is doing.”
11
Broken Glass
Shock slowed the scene down to a breathless, silent stretch.
From a second-story window of Hagia Sophia, Gray watched the back of Balthazar Pinosso’s head explode in a spray of blood and bone. His body crumpled at the waist from the impact. His arms went wide to the side. His cell phone, at his ear a moment before, went flying from his fingertips, struck the pavement, and skittered away.
The large man’s body struck next.
Vigor gasped at Gray’s side, breaking the tableau. “Oh, my Lord…no…”
Sound crashed back: the echo of the gunshot, screams from the plaza.
Gray drew back, taking an extra breath to realize the implication. If Balthazar was shot…
“Nasser knew about him,” Vigor said, finishing his own slow thought. Stunned, the monsignor caught himself on the ledge of the window. “Nasser knew Balthazar was here. The monster’s snipers killed him.”
Gray fared no better, dazed with incomprehension and guilt. He had sent the man out to a firing squad.
The screams and shouts grew worse outside, spreading inside. People ran — most fleeing to the nearest shelter, the sanctuary of Hagia Sophia.
Minutes ago, Gray and Vigor had climbed to the church’s second floor, where there was less traffic, keeping hidden. Before heading out, Balthazar had informed the museum curator that Gray and Vigor had already left, denying the need for an ambulance. They had come up here to make sure all went well.
“The police will swarm here,” Gray said. “We’ve got to hide.”
Vigor grabbed Gray’s sleeve. “Your mother and father…”
He shook his head. He had no time to consider that. Nasser had warned against any ruse. But once voiced aloud, Gray could not escape the terror. His breathing grew heavier; he became light-headed. Gray’s parents would also suffer for this mistake.
How had Nasser known about Balthazar?
Vigor continued to stare out the window. The monsignor’s fingers tightened on Gray’s arms. “Dear Lord…what’s she doing now?”
Gray turned his full attention back to the open plaza below the western facade. As people fled the square or crouched in fear, only one figure ran straight through all the confusion. She limped slightly, favoring her left side.
Seichan.
Why was she coming here?
Almost to the church, a chatter of sparks struck at her heels. Someone was shooting at her. Nasser’s men. But her sudden appearance had caught the snipers off guard. With orders to keep Gray and his companions from leaving the church, they hadn’t been expecting someone running toward the church.
Seichan sped faster, racing death.
Blindsided, Seichan cursed. So Nasser did have a sniper or two positioned out here. She had missed picking them out earlier. Then again, the snipers had plenty of time to hide well. Seichan had not anticipated a traitor among their group. Balthazar had already been at Hagia Sophia all morning, setting up a snug snare.
She dashed through the Imperial Doors and ducked against the inside wall. Were gunmen in here, too?
She searched the cavernous length of the nave. People, frightened by the gunplay, cowered in corners or shifted in maddened tides of confusion and panic. She had to find Gray and Vigor.
Sirens sounded in the distance.
A hand snagged her shirt. Reflexively, she jabbed a pistol into ribs.
Her target didn’t flinch. “Seichan, what happened?”
It was Gray, his face drawn and pale.
“Gray…we have to get out of here. Now. Where’s the monsignor?”
He pointed toward a neighboring stairwell. Vigor kept half hidden at its entrance and watched the crowd.
Seichan herded Gray over to him.
The monsignor stared back at the arched doorway, his eyes wounded with grief. “Nasser shot him. Shot Balthazar.”
“No,” Seichan said, killing any misconception. “I did.”
Vigor backed up a step. Gray swung around.
“He was working with Nasser,” Seichan explained.
Vigor’s voice turned angry. “How can…?”
“I have photos from two years ago. Nasser and Balthazar together. Money changed hands.” She fixed Vigor with a hard stare. “He’s been working with him all along.”
Seichan read the continuing disbelief. She hardened her voice. “Monsignor, who called your attention to the inscription in the Tower of Wind?”
Vigor glanced toward the doors, toward the dead man out of sight.
“Before involving you both,” Seichan pressed, “Nasser and I were playing cat and mouse throughout Italy, searching for the first bits of the angelic puzzle. No one was supposed to discover my invisible mark in the Vatican until I called you, alerted you to search the tower’s closet with an ultraviolet light. Do you think your friend just accidentally stumbled upon it?”
“He said…one of his students…”
“He was lying. Nasser told him. The bastard followed the same trail I did. Used Balthazar to recruit you into solving the riddle.”