The Last Odyssey: A Thriller

by James Rollins

  The two men strode ahead of her, alongside Maria, while the Swiss guard, Major Bossard, trailed behind the group.

  Definitely not letting us out of his sight.

  As she stepped around a chimney, she felt a heaviness in her bosom, a constant reminder of Jack, of the responsibilities she had left behind. She had already called Kat three times, making sure all was well, that Jack was settling okay, nursing fine without her.

  Monk is in heaven, Kat had assured her. After being surrounded by females, he finally has another man in the house. He already bought Jack a little catcher’s mitt. You may never get that boy back.

  Despite these words of reassurance, Seichan could not escape the guilt—not for abandoning Jack, but for the thrill inside her. She had never felt freer or lighter. After first carrying the child for nine months, then caring for Jack day and night, she had never felt truly alone. For the first time in what seemed like years, she was her own person, her own self again.

  Until she felt that increasing fullness again, noting that she would have to pump soon. A reminder that she was still physically bonded to another.

  This is just a temporary reprieve.

  Before she could dwell on this, they finally reached a set of stairs leading up to a doorway into one of the domes.

  As they climbed the steps, Gray peered at the huge structure. “I don’t understand. What does an observatory have to do with a secret library?”

  “Actually, there’s been a library on these premises going back to the early nineteen hundreds, when Pope Pius the Tenth moved treasures of astronomical interest from the Vatican Library to here. Including original works by Copernicus, Galileo, and Newton.”

  Maria followed behind the monsignor. “Is that why you wanted the ancient astrolabe brought here, to an astronomical library?”

  Roe glanced back at her as he reached the top of the stairs. “Unfortunately, no, it’s not that library where the astrolabe needs to be.”

  The monsignor opened the door and led the way through a small anteroom into a vast domed space. It smelled of oil and lemon polish. A huge telescope stood angled and pointed at the closed observatory shutter. The entire interior of the dome was wood-lined.

  As Roe passed the telescope, he gave it a friendly pat. “This old instrument dates back to 1935. A decade before I was born.” He pointed at his feet. “Right in a room down there.”

  Seichan stiffened. “Are you saying you were born here? In the palace?”

  Roe grinned back at her. “In fact, I’m one of the pope’s children.”

  Clearly taken aback by this admission, Gray stopped the monsignor. “What are you talking about?”

  Roe’s smile widened. “During World War Two, the pope opened the summer palace to refugees from the Nazi occupation. Both Catholics and Jews. Over twelve thousand people crowded in here. Including pregnant women. The pope’s bedroom became a makeshift birthing room. Some fifty children were born in His Holiness’s bed.”

  “Ah, I get it,” Gray said, “making them the pope’s children.”

  Roe shrugged and continued across the dome. “Is it any wonder then that I still make this my home?”

  As they reached the far side of the dome, the monsignor stopped at a blank mahogany panel in the wall. He removed a glossy metallic black keycard from a pocket. Each side of the card was embossed with a silver symbol of a crown surmounting two crossed keys.

  The papal coat of arms.

  Designed by author

  While both sides looked identical, they were not. One had the darker key pointing to the left, the other to the right. They were mirror images of each other.

  Seichan shared a glance with Gray, who also noticed. Both knew their meaning. The twin symbols represented a secretive sect within the Catholic faith, known as the Thomas Church. Father Bailey was a card-carrying member of this group, too, as had been Monsignor Vigor Verona in the past. These select few followed the dictates of a gnostic gospel never included in the Bible, the Gospel of Thomas, which followed the basic tenet: Seek and ye shall find. They believed the core of Christ’s teachings was to never stop looking for God in the world—and oneself.

  Seichan was not surprised by this revelation. Who else is better suited to be the prefect of a secret Vatican library than a member of its secret church?

  Roe slipped the card into a hidden slot, and the mahogany panel slid aside, revealing an elevator, lined in the same wood. “After you,” he said, waving the group inside.

  For once, Major Brossard did not follow.

  Apparently, this was a bridge he wasn’t allowed to cross.

  Once they were all inside, the monsignor waved his keycard over a reader. The doors closed and the cage began to descend.

  “Where does this elevator go?” Gray asked Roe.

  “To a set of ancient vaults. The oldest part of the palace dates back to the thirteenth century. But you might have noticed the ancient Roman amphitheater in the woods on these grounds. It was part of a larger complex, the villa of Emperor Domitian. The palace is built atop its ruins. We’re headed down to the villa’s old water cisterns and wells.”

  “Exactly how old are these ruins?” Maria asked.

  “Parts date back two thousand years.”

  “In other words, to the founding of Christendom,” Gray said, quoting Roe’s earlier description of the contents of this secret library.

  Roe smiled. “It only seemed appropriate to place the Holy Scrinium here.”

  The elevator bumped to a stop and the doors opened.

  They all exited into a great bricked vault. Its walls spread out in a circle thirty yards wide. The dome of the roof was supported by thick stone arches lined by caged lights. Seichan had seen such architectural handiwork in Rome’s ancient Forum, but she also recognized the size and shape from a moment ago.

  Maria did, too, as she gaped around. “It looks to be the same size and shape of the observatory dome above us. Only made of stone here.”

  “As above, so below,” Roe intoned with a hint of a smile.

  Gray glanced at the man. “That’s a quote from the Emerald Tablet of Hermes Trismegistus.”

  “Esatto. It only seemed appropriate, considering what I’m about to show you. Hermes was a Greek god gifted with forbidden knowledge of the universe.” Roe set off across the space. “Come. Let me show you.”

  As the group followed him, Seichan noted three hallways branching off in different directions. Down the closest, massive steel doors lined the passageway. Electronic locks glowed crimson on the walls next to them, likely securing millennia-old treasures inside.

  But the monsignor led them instead under an archway to a medieval-looking mahogany door banded and studded in black iron. He yanked on a huge ring and pulled it open. Firelight greeted them, along with a wash of warm air.

  Beyond the threshold, tapestries draped a small reading room. Long desks abutted the walls, with dark lamps on them. Four wing-backed chairs circled a tilted wooden bookstand, which held aloft a large silk-draped volume. Past the stand, a small fireplace crackled and snapped.

  The room was also occupied.

  Father Bailey stood up from one of the chairs. He had left the group earlier, obviously to collect someone else to bring to this gathering deep under the palace.

  Maria hurried forward. “Mac . . .”

  The bearded climatologist remained seated, his arm in a sling, his shoulder bandaged. “About time you all got down here.”

  Maria fussed over him, but the man assured her he was feeling better. “They topped me off,” he said, tapping his arm where he must have been transfused. “Feel good as new.”

  Seichan had been shot too many times to know that was not true. The wince as the man sat straighter also gave him away.

  “I wasn’t about to miss this show-and-tell,” he added.

  Bailey frowned. “Dr. MacNab was the only one here who actually saw the map aboard the Arab ship. We needed his confirmation.”

  Gray shifted cl
oser, drawing the others with him. “Confirmation of what?”

  Bailey turned and removed the silk drape from the book on the stand—only it wasn’t a book. The light reflected off a large gold map inside a bronze case. It showed a topographic representation of the Mediterranean Sea and its surrounding lands.

  Mac gasped from his seat. Shock drew him to his feet, his pain clearly forgotten. “That’s what we found aboard the ship.” He calmed himself enough to turn. “But it’s obviously not the same one. It’s in much better shape. And the astrolabe is missing.”

  Gray’s face darkened, clearly tired of these secrets. “Where did it come from? Who made this?”

  Bailey answered, “It was crafted by a great scientist and artist.”

  Roe moved protectively forward and turned to them. “It’s the work of Leonardo da Vinci.”

  14

  June 23, 6:43 A.M. CEST

  Castel Gandolfo, Italy

  Amazing . . .

  Gray listened as Monsignor Roe recounted the story of a secret meeting between Pope Leo X and Da Vinci in Rome, of the discovery of the design for a mechanical map tucked into an ancient volume of Arabic engineering from the ninth century. But Gray’s eyes remained fixed on the artifact, studying the intricate detail of each golden coastline, mountain range, and island. He guessed the blue gemstone of the Mediterranean Sea was lapis lazuli. Forests were depicted in emeralds. The calderas of volcanos were topped by fiery rubies.

  Gray leaned closer, mesmerized by its beauty and artistry.

  Regardless of its origin and inestimable value, he understood that this map’s true worth lay in its historical and artistic importance. While Da Vinci’s paintings, sketches, and notebooks graced museums around the world, none of the man’s mechanical designs survived, not even his sculptures.

  Still, Gray could not comprehend why such a masterpiece had been hidden for centuries. Its importance was beyond measure. He finally tore his gaze away and stared accusingly at Roe.

  “What is this doing here?” he asked. “Buried and hidden all this time?”

  Roe lifted a hand. “Abbi pazienza. I will explain.”

  Gray had little patience left. Men had already died over this mystery, and without answers, many more would likely suffer the same fate. Still, he bit back an angry response and gave the old priest some latitude to continue.

  “Pope Leo commissioned Da Vinci to replicate the map found on those Arabic pages. According to its description, the map—when operational—would lead to the gates of Hell.”

  “To Tartarus,” Gray said, remembering his earlier discussion with Painter.

  Roe nodded. “Esattamente. The Greek version of Hell. Because all of this involves a dark period in Greek history.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Included with the design of the map was a chapter from Homer’s Odyssey. The Greek story which tells the tale of the hero Odysseus’s difficult journey home after the Trojan War. The chapter found was the one detailing Odysseus’s voyage to the Underworld.”

  Gray opened his mouth, ready for another question, but Roe frowned at him like a scolding teacher.

  “The map’s designers were a trio of brilliant scholars, all brothers, who called themselves the Banū Mūsā, or the Sons of Moses. They studied at the House of Wisdom in Baghdad during the ninth century and went on to produce nearly two dozen volumes of scientific works and innumerable mechanical constructs. The basis for their work came from books that they had collected after the fall of Rome, important scientific treatises from across Italy and Greece. To gather that collection, they crossed back and forth across the Mediterranean, proving themselves also to be great sailors and navigators.”

  Gray pictured the large double-masted dhow locked in ice.

  Was that their ship?

  “Their goal was to search the darkest places of history and to preserve what they could find. The brothers became fixated on a particular period when all knowledge came close to being destroyed, a blank spot in the history books, one that to this day remains a mystery.”

  “When was that?” Maria asked.

  “It was the period recounted in Homer’s Iliad and the Odyssey. Because of that, some call it the Homeric Age. But its more apt name is the Greek Dark Ages. It spanned two centuries—from 1100 B.C. to 900 B.C.—and started with a huge war that swept the Mediterranean. The first true world war. By the end of it, three civilizations on three continents fell into ruin.”

  Gray knew enough history to fill in those blanks. “The Greek Mycenaeans in Europe. The Hittite Empire of western Asia. And the Egyptians of north Africa.”

  Roe nodded. “They all collapsed at the same time. Leading to two centuries of chaos and barbarism. Erasing nearly all gains in civilization’s development. So, is it any wonder the Banū Mūsā brothers, these plunderers of fallen civilizations, took an interest in this era?”

  “What did they do?” Maria asked.

  “Here I can only imagine. But they were explorers, gatherers of clues. According to notes in the margin of their design, they came to believe that there was a fourth civilization involved in this world war. Even today, scholars are reaching the same conclusion after unearthing new records of that dark time.”

  Gray grew more intrigued. “But who were these unknown conquerors?”

  “That’s what the Banū Mūsā wanted to know. They scoured the region, searching for clues about this lost civilization, one that defeated everyone else, bringing about the dark ages—and then vanished. The brothers believed that Homer’s stories were an important account. That these fanciful tales were more than myth, but recounted true events.”

  Gray knew modern scholars had come to the same realization, accepting that the fictional lands of Homer’s story could be real places. Not just Troy, but many other sites, too. Again, the Banū Mūsā had beaten everyone to this conclusion.

  And maybe to much more.

  “You think they found it,” Gray said. “They found this lost civilization.”

  “The brothers certainly believed so. And either from the description in the Odyssey or from what they discovered at some unknown site, they believed it was Tartarus, the Greek version of Hell.”

  Gray glanced to Mac, who wore a haunted look, likely remembering what had been freed from that ancient dhow’s hold. The man would likely agree with that assessment.

  “And it wasn’t just those brothers who believed it was the entrance to Hell,” Roe continued. “Pope Leo did, too. That was why he added this map to his Holy Scrinium, deeming it too dangerous, too heretical. Other popes either respected his choice or came to the same conclusion. So, here it has remained.”

  Gray struggled to piece things together in his head. “After finding this civilization, these brilliant engineering brothers encrypted its location into this map. But how did their version end up in Greenland?”

  “That remains a mystery,” Bailey admitted. “Maybe the ship got trapped unexpectedly in the ice. Or maybe the vessel was purposely wrecked.” He pointed to the device. “Either way, no other trace remains of their discovery. Even this rendition was based on a partial schematic. Da Vinci had to improvise sections to achieve this copy.”

  “But it was not just details that were missing,” Roe added. “The Banū Mūsā also employed an unknown fuel to power their map. They called it Medea’s Oil. Named after the witch Medea, niece to the sorceress Circe, who turned Odysseus’s men into pigs. The oil was said to be an emerald liquid, stored in airless pots, and capable of producing an unquenchable flame.”

  Mac sank back into his chair, his face pained. His eyes seemed to stare off into the past. Gray could almost see the flames burning there with the memory of the horrors aboard the ancient dhow.

  “That sounds like what I witnessed,” Mac said. “It seemed to even set water on fire.”

  Roe nodded. “I believe the compound was a version of Greek Fire—a volatile naphtha and quicklime mixture that even water could not douse—but in this case, fro
m what Dr. MacNab reported, I suspect this oil was refined and made even more potent.”

  Maybe with a radioactive isotope, Gray thought to himself, remembering the radiation detected emanating from the map.

  Bailey stepped around the bookstand. “Again, without access to this fuel, Da Vinci had to improvise, so he simply added this.” The priest touched a manual crank on the side of the bronze box. “It seems to work well enough. Except for one important detail.”

  “What’s that?” Maria asked.

  “Like I said, the schematics were incomplete. In fact, the page illustrating the design of the astrolabe, the key to the map, had been partially torn away.”

  Torn away?

  Gray considered this implication. “Do you think the plans could’ve been purposely damaged?”

  Maria glanced to him. “If you’re right, that would make it more likely that the ship in Greenland had been wrecked on purpose, too.”

  Gray nodded. “Like someone was making every effort to keep what was found hidden forever.”

  The two priests shared a look, both now wondering the same.

  Bailey finally frowned. “But that’s all changed now.”

  The priest crossed to another chair and opened a box sitting there. He turned back around, holding aloft what had cost lives and put Kowalski in jeopardy. The silver astrolabe reflected the firelight, making it look as golden as the map. Bailey stepped to the stand and seated the astrolabe with great care into the map’s cradle.

  “Or I should say somewhat changed.” He reached to the crank. “Watch.”

  As he wound the device, everyone gathered closer. A tiny silver ship docked along the Turkish coast sailed out to sea. Likely pulled via magnets hidden beneath the sea’s thin shell of lapis lazuli. Gray held his breath. Then the ship stopped and began to spin in place, as if lost.

  “It is as I feared,” Roe said. “Especially upon studying the photos sent by Dr. MacNab after recovering the astrolabe.”