The Doomsday Key
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He had to admit the man did know how to pilot a boat.
While he and Seichan had been battered in the churning waves, Kowalski had found them and brought the boat around in the rough seas. A lifeline was tossed, and they were dragged to the boat and hauled back on board.
The rest of the crossing was brutal, but no one else got tossed overboard. Seichan coughed behind him, still struggling to clear the water out of her chest. She had never looked so pale.
But she would live.
Kowalski worked the wheel and drove the catamaran into the shallows. A final wave lifted the boat and shoved it onto the beach. The twin keels dragged through the sand with a violent shudder of its deck. Then at long last they stopped.
No one had to be told. They all abandoned ship, splashing into the ankle-deep water and fleeing from the last of the waves. Kowalski took an extra moment to pat the side of the catamaran.
"Nice boat."
As a bedraggled and sodden group, they climbed from the shore up toward the fishing village of Aberdaron. Like Bardsey Island, the place was shuttered against the storm. No one was on the streets.
Gray wanted to be gone before anyone discovered the beached ferry. After the dangerous crossing, he didn't want to end up locked in a local jail.
He rushed them through the dark town and up to the church of Saint Hywyn. Their stolen truck was where they'd left it, still parked near the church. Gray turned to Wallace as they headed through the churchyard.
"What about your dog?" he asked and pointed to the rectory.
Wallace shook his head, though it clearly pained him. "We'll leave Rufus be. He's better off sleeping next to a fire than traipsing about in this boggin' weather. I'll come back for him when this is all over."
With the matter settled, they all piled into the Land Rover.
Gray got the engine started, quickly headed out of the lot, and spun them away from Aberdaron. He accelerated as he hit the main road out of town.
But they still needed a destination.
"Saint Malachy's tomb," Gray said and glanced in the rearview mirror toward Rachel. "What can you tell us about its history?"
They'd never had a chance to discuss the matter in more detail. All he knew from a cursory inquiry with Rachel was that Malachy was laid to rest in northeastern France. Rachel had tried to elaborate, but at the time it had been enough. Gray had needed to concentrate on getting them all off the island.
With a long ride ahead of them, it was time he learned more.
Rachel spoke while staring out into the storm. "Malachy died sometime in the middle of the twelfth century. He expired in the arms of his best friend, Saint Bernard of Clairvaux."
Kowalski twisted his head. "Saint Bernard? Didn't he invent those slobbering mountain dogs?"
Rachel ignored him. "Malachy was buried in an abbey that Bernard founded, the Abbey of Clairvaux. It's about a hundred and fifty miles outside of Paris. Most of the abbey was destroyed in the nineteenth century, but a few buildings and walls still exist, including its main cloister. But there's a small problem."
From the way she said it, Gray knew the problem was not small.
"What?"
"I tried to tell you before..." She went suddenly sheepish, as if she thought she should have pressed him harder earlier. But like Gray, she'd also had a lot on her mind.
"It's all right," he said. "What is it?"
"The ruins are protected. They may be the best-guarded buildings in all of France."
"Why's that?"
"The Abbey of Clairvaux...it lies at the heart of a maximum-security prison."
Gray swung around in his seat to look her full in the face. She had to be joking. From the stern and worried look on her face, she wasn't.
"Great. So now we're breaking into a prison and a tomb." Kowalski sank down and crossed his arms. "Nothing could possibly go wrong with that plan."
Chapter 26
October 13, 8:18 P.M.
Svalbard, Norway
Krista paced the length of the ice-cold warehouse on the outskirts of Longyearbyen. Crates were stacked to the rafters. The place smelled of oil and coal. She wore a thick sweater to cover the bandages on her arm. A morphine haze clouded the edges of her thoughts. Other men were in worse shape. Two bodies on the warehouse floor were covered over by tarps.
Only eight men left.
She held the phone to her ear, waiting for instructions. She had dialed the number he had left. It rang and rang. Finally, the line was picked up.
"I've been briefed," the man said.
"Yes, sir." Krista struggled to hear any indication of the man's mood, but his words were calm and precise, unhurried.
"With the turn of events, we're radically altering our objectives for this mission. With Karlsen now in Sigma's hands, the decision is to abort all operations in Norway."
"And what about in the UK?"
"We took a chance on co-opting those outside resources to assist us in finding the key. After the current turn of events, we no longer have that luxury. We must gather our chips and leave the table for now."
"Sir?"
"The article stolen by Father Giovanni. Secure it."
"And the others?"
"Kill them all."
"But what about our-?"
"All have been deemed a liability, Ms. Magnussen. Make sure the same isn't said about you."
Krista's throat tightened into a hard knot.
"You have your orders."
FOURTH
THE DARK MADONNA
Chapter 27
October 14, 5:18 A.M.
Airborne over the Norwegian Sea
Painter watched the Svalbard Archipelago vanish behind them as the private jet sailed south over the Arctic Sea. They'd lost half a day evacuating the group trapped in the seed vault. Afterward, it took some fancy footwork by Kat in Washington to get them off the island before the media storm struck.