“We haven’t the time, Jean-Pierre. Dinner is about to be served.”
As she said it, they heard the dinner bell—an antique Jean-Pierre had brought from his grandfather’s vineyard in Lyon.
He shook his head, drew her in. “You have time for this. Trust me.” He nuzzled her neck and slid a long, flat white velvet box into her hands.
“What’s this?”
“Open it and see.”
She snapped open the lid and gasped. Five huge green faceted stones nestled in a thick platinum chain. “Are they emeralds? No, wait, they’re far too dark, they look black.”
“They’re moldavite, exceptionally rare, and what I believe the Holy Grail is made of. It will bring you great fortune, and luck in love. Here, let me.”
He lifted the necklace gently and put it around her neck. She could feel the weight of the stones against her collarbones, warm and solid. They tingling against her skin, or maybe it was her imagination?
Jean-Pierre moved her to the mirror. “Look.” She did. In the brighter light the stones were stunning, and the deepest green she’d ever seen, like a rain forest.
She said formally, “Thank you, Jean-Pierre. I will treasure this gift.”
Treasure it, because this will be the last thing you ever give me The last time you will ever see me. She wanted to weep.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The dining room was already full when Jean-Pierre and Devi arrived. She felt every eye upon her. Did they all know what was to come? But no one looked at her strangely, or with distrust. She counted—yes, all the crew were present. Everyone but the four security guards. She said a quick prayer—Please, let them be eating or drinking on their watch. She didn’t have another way to incapacitate them. They had to eat the drugged soup or drink the drugged wine or water, or she’d failed, and her sister would die.
Jean-Pierre took his place at the head of the table, raised his glass, and toasted the crew. The room erupted with cheers. Devi did her best not to let her hand shake when she joined in.
Broussard said, “As some of you might know, as a child, I had two passions: deep water and space. My father, a man of infinite wisdom, told me I could not count on treasure hunting to feed me. It wasn’t a leap to imagine space as silent and perfect as deep water, so I decided to become an astronaut.” He paused, grinned, looked at Devi. “It was sexier to women, anyway.”
There was laughter, the crew sitting forward, all attention focused on Broussard.
“After finishing my studies at the Sorbonne, I applied to France’s astronaut program and made it through three rounds before my father became ill and my presence was required at home for his care. After his death, I talked a fellow engineer into a start-up company making satellites that were smaller, faster, and easier to insert into orbit. The telecommunications boom was beginning and our small firm was uniquely positioned to provide these satellites to companies all over Europe.
“It used to cost upwards of one hundred million dollars to put a satellite in orbit, and took months, years, of prep work. I wanted a low-cost option, and I was convinced I could make it work.
“I invested most of the meager fortune I’d amassed from treasure hunting into this vision, hired the best engineers I could afford, and within five years, Galactus was regularly sending satellites to space. With the brilliant and talented Dr. Nevaeh Patel at the helm, we’ve grown exponentially.
“And that, my friends, gave me the money and the time so that I could dedicate myself to finding the Holy Grail, the greatest treasure of them all. I believe it is the holiest of holies. None of the legends, modern or ancient, agree on what the Grail is or where it came from. In Wolfram’s epic, there was supposedly an Arabic manuscript found in Toledo with instructions for how to use the Grail. His claim was that the answers were written in the stars, and this was the basis of the concept of the Heaven Stone.
“A celestial path to the Grail—imagine my excitement at the thought. Dr. Patel and I have discussed the possibilities endlessly, and the meaning of the Holy Grail. She came to believe, firmly, that the Grail came from space. Me, I had no idea.
“But then I came upon a letter written by the captain Afonso de Albuquerque speaking of the incredible heavy black stone he’d taken aboard his ship, a stone he blamed for the sinking of the Flor de la Mar, which went down during a violent storm. The very ship we’ve been salvaging from, here beneath us.”
When would he stop talking? When would everyone drink and eat? Devi sat like a statue, waiting, waiting.
“My friends, I thank all of you. Tomorrow, when we have recovered from our wonderful celebration, I will display the Holy Grail for you to see. Now, let us enjoy the feast Lola has prepared for us.” He again raised his glass, toasted the entire room, drank, and sat down, grinning like a happy boy at Devi.
Devi smiled back at him, a rictus, and waited. She counted down the moments until people started to drop unconscious. It was like a strange choreographed dream.
Clink. Drink. The soup served. Spoons against china.
And then, one by one, heads began to tilt. Jean-Pierre, who’d drunk freely of his wine, was one of the first to go down. The crew started crashing to the floor, or onto the table, or lolling backward against their chairs.
It was working.
Finally, when she was certain everyone was unconscious, Devi ran out of the dining room and made her way to the bridge. No one was there, of course. The crew normally assigned to the bridge were passed out in the dining room, all the instrumentation set on autopilot. She’d seen no sign of any of the security team. They’d all been expecting the threat to come from off the ship. They hadn’t been in the dining room, but she knew Jean-Pierre had sent them trays. Of course, Nevaeh had been right about their security protocols—they’d never seen Devi coming.
She disengaged the autopilot first, then stuck a small thumb drive into a port on the right side of the bridge’s computers. Devi knew it had a bug inside to set off a small EMP—an electromagnetic pulse, Nevaeh had told her—inside the boat. She felt and heard nothing, but within moments, all the screens went dark. The engines began to shut down, one by one, the lights, too. The idea was to leave the ship as quiet as a black hole in the water. So far, so good. The tools she’d been provided were working perfectly.
There was a transponder on the boat as well, and she found it inside the bulkhead. Despite the localized EMP, she’d been warned it might still have the ability to send a signal because of its covering, so she manually turned it off, then smashed the motherboard with a stiletto heel. There was a tiny metallic squawk and the GPS system went dark.
She’d done it, she’d succeeded. The crew was down, and now, so was the ship. It was over and soon she would be taken to her sister. She thought of Jean-Pierre and felt a stab of guilt. He was so different from the man she’d expected him to be. And so very smart and dedicated to his one goal—to find the Grail. She’d asked him once why this obsession? He’d said only that it was the most important thing in his life. He’d said no more, only shaking his head. He was a physical man, had always been generous in bed. No, no, it was over. She had no choice. She had to forget him. She fingered the necklace at her throat. Moldavite stones, perhaps what the Holy Grail was made of. Surely it could not be true, despite his absolute belief, his absolute certainty. But still—
She glanced at her watch. She only had five minutes. She had to hurry.
She ran back to Jean-Pierre’s study, where she’d seen him carefully place the box holding the Holy Grail into his safe. She’d memorized the combination weeks before.
She quickly opened the safe and lifted out the box that contained the stone. It was heavier than she expected. She had to use both arms to carry it. It hadn’t seemed at all heavy when Jean-Pierre had carried it.
She lugged the box to the elevator, but it wasn’t working. The EMP had done its job well, shutting off everything electrical on the yacht. The box was much too heavy for her to carry up the stairs. She left it, ra
n up the stairs to the helicopter pad on the aft deck.
When she stepped onto the deck, she was overwhelmed by the dead silence. No voices, no sounds of the mighty engines, no motors running. She’d felled the yacht. It was dead in the water. All she heard was water lapping against the hull far below, and for a moment the guilt nearly brought her to her knees. She saw her sister’s face, so very young and innocent, so frightened, and the bitch had told her over and over she was the only one who could save her. Only sixteen, her whole life in front of her. All right, Devi had done what Nevaeh had demanded of her. It would soon be over. Elina would soon be safe.
She heard the whap-whap-whap of a helicopter’s rotors in the distance.
Nevaeh was coming.
Devi ran to the edge of the helipad. With the boat completely disabled, the helicopter wouldn’t be able to locate it on radar, so she had to guide them in herself, by hand. She’d stashed a set of flares and a Maglite in a padded bench. She pulled them out and shot off a flare, then turned on the Maglite and started waving it toward the sky. The chopper came closer, growing louder and louder until it appeared above her, hovering like a giant insect.
Devi set the flashlight on the deck of the helipad. Its strong beam of light illuminated the landing spot. The chopper touched down. The doors opened and Dr. Nevaeh Patel climbed out of the pilot’s seat. Her vicious Irish-born bodyguard, Kiera Byrne, jumped down after her, an M4 carbine strapped to her chest. Devi feared Kiera perhaps more than Nevaeh. She’d never seen an ounce of pity in those green eyes. And now, looking at Kiera, loaded with holsters and harnesses full of guns and knives, Devi felt cramping fear. She knew Kiera was on the lookout for any crew member still standing, and Devi knew Kiera would shoot them dead with no hesitation. Kiera was better armed than the security Jean-Pierre had hired. The fear was now bitter in her throat. She believed Nevaeh Patel was insane, but she knew Kiera Byrne was a sadistic monster.
Nevaeh smiled at her, raised a hand in greeting. She wore her signature black trousers, black turtleneck, and black blazer, black low-heeled boots on her feet. As always, she looked powerful, her very stance announcing her intelligence, her control. Tonight, at this moment, when she smiled she looked as smug as a shark about to devour prey. The sadist stood at her elbow, silent, watchful.
Nevaeh said, “Hello, Devi. Congratulations on disabling the ship. I trust everyone is down?”
“Yes. There will be no resistance, as you asked.”
Kiera stopped in front of Devi. “Well, where is the Grail?”
“I left it at the base of the elevator, downstairs. But everyone is unconscious, I made sure of it.”
Rage crossed Nevaeh’s face, brutal and quick, making Devi jerk backward. “Is this some kind of trick? I told you to meet me here with the Grail.”
“It was too heavy, I couldn’t manage it. It’s where I told you, just downstairs. Please, I’ve done as you asked. Take me to my sister. You promised.”
“Is the transponder off?”
“Yes, and I uploaded the virus to the navigation system, like you wanted. Please. I’ve done everything you’ve asked, and more.”
Nevaeh paused for a moment. She reached out a hand and ran it along the younger woman’s jawline. “So pretty. You lasted six months. You must have pleased Jean-Pierre greatly. By the way, your sister is dead. And now, so are you.”
She nodded to Kiera. The bullet caught Devi in the face, and she went down hard on the deck.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Nevaeh didn’t look at the young woman who lay in a pool of blood on the deck, her beautiful blue gown spilling around her. She’d been a good tool, but she wasn’t important now. She followed Kiera down the stairs to the main deck. True to Devi’s word, the black box was sitting, unsecured, by the elevator door.
Nevaeh felt her heart jump as she placed her hand on the box. It was as if she’d touched a low-voltage live wire without insulated gloves. It felt odd. Arousing.
“Open it,” she whispered, and Kiera released the latch. Nevaeh fell to her knees, reached her hand inside. The stone was dark, a greenish black, nothing exciting or fantastical about it. It looked like it could fit in the palm of her hand, but she had to use both hands to lift it out of the box, it was so heavy and dense. Strange, it seemed to shrink away from her when she reached in to touch it. Surely that was her imagination.
It was definitely giving off an electrical buzz she now found quite unpleasant, like she was being shocked instead of warmed from within. The temptation to drop the stone, to throw it overboard, was overwhelming. She held on, though.
“You are mine now.”
The nasty electrical sensation was easily ignored when the Numen, hundreds of them, spoke as one, their melodious voices reverberating through her, their shadowy bodies dancing around her, as if released from the stone itself.
Nevaeh, the stone is yours. Bring it to us, and be one of us. Silence the heavens and we will come to you. You have done what you were meant to do.
The Numen’s voices were so happy, happier than she’d ever heard them in many years. It took considerable effort to release the stone, but she did, placing it carefully back in its box, not noticing it turn darker.
“Bring it. We have everything we need now. The nuke will go off in four days’ time, and the EMP will silence the heavens, and I will finally be able to fulfill my destiny.”
Kiera lifted the box, and was also surprised at its weight. What was it made of, lead? The buzzing was giving her a headache.
They took the stairs back to the helipad. Nevaeh stepped around the spreading pool of blood and took one last look at Devi’s destroyed face. She climbed into the helicopter and secured her seat belt. She let Kiera pilot, she wanted to savor this moment. As the chopper rose into the blackness, Nevaeh looked down at the dead ship.
And so it begins for me.
And so it ends for you, Jean-Pierre.
When they were some distance away from The Griffon, Nevaeh said, “It’s time, Kiera.”
Kiera hovered the chopper. “You’re still sure you wish to do this, Nevaeh?”
She put her hand on Kiera’s knee. “Yes, I am sure. It’s time to end Jean-Pierre. We can’t afford any possible interference. The stone is mine now. The Numen are calling to me, Kiera. They want me at Aquarius. They want me to launch the nuke.”
Kiera nodded. Once she’d been jealous of Jean-Pierre Broussard, had wanted to hurt him. She was afraid they would become lovers. But Broussard loved young women and Nevaeh loved her.
Still, no loss. She launched the missile. It gave a whoosh and the chopper jerked. They waited for the sound of the explosion, watched as the dark, empty night became a brilliant white for a few seconds.
“Direct hit,” Kiera said with satisfaction.
“You sank my battleship.” Nevaeh and Kiera both laughed as Kiera moved the chopper away from the blast site.
Kiera said, “Do you want me to swing back around? See the carnage?”
“No. I feel no need to dance on Jean-Pierre’s grave. He was good to me. As a boss, he was perfect. Like Devi, he fulfilled his purpose. And now he’s of no more use. There’s no way the ship could survive. Head for land. We will make our way to Sri Lanka.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ketamine is a medication mainly used for starting and maintaining anesthesia. It induces a trance-like state while providing pain relief, sedation, and memory loss.
—Wikipedia
Grant Thornton heard the words, garbled and distant as if he were underwater. A woman’s voice: “Bring it. We have everything we need now. The nuke will go off in four days’ time, and the EMP will silence the heavens, and I will finally be able to fulfill my destiny.”
Was there more? Grant didn’t know, his brain wasn’t working right. Just a few stray thoughts.
I am hearing things.
Surely she didn’t just say “nuke.”
“EMP”? No, that was crazy. Why can’t I move?
Just when he started
to think he’d imagined the voice, he heard a door slam closed.
The ship felt deserted, though he knew that wasn’t true, someone was there, they’d gone into the stairwell.
A nuke. Four days. An EMP. And another word, what was it? Something weird—Nevaeh.
He was starting to feel uncomfortable, which, deep in his lizard brain, he knew was a good thing, because up until a moment ago, he’d been unable to feel anything, only had a strange, disembodied sense of his own body, as if in a dream state, though he was awake. A fine wave of panic went through him—danger, I’m in danger, is Kitsune okay?—before he wrestled those thoughts back into their cage. He couldn’t think about his wife when he was operational.
He dragged in a breath and tried to move, feeling pins and needles in his legs. Something registered—drugged.
Not good. Wait it out.
He felt like he was paralyzed, knew he needed to stay calm. Whatever he’d been given was starting to wear off. Ketamine, he realized, somehow someone had given him ketamine. It was the same drug they’d injected him with when he’d been kidnapped. When? How could he have been taken down? He was alarmed he couldn’t remember anything. He could recall coming on board The Griffon, meeting Jean-Pierre Broussard, being briefed, coordinating with the rest of the team. He vaguely remembered standing atop some scaffolding, but why he’d been there escaped him.
The team. Where was everyone? Who else was down?
He moved his fingers, relieved when they started to twitch. And finally, finally, his brain refired. Someone had managed to disable the most top-notch security in the world and robbed his client. There would be hell to pay.
Grant had honestly thought Jean-Pierre Broussard was a little mad, considering. In the briefing Grant received when he’d boarded the ship, Broussard had clearly stated he was about to be in possession of an ancient artifact that many people would kill to possess, and he’d heard the scuttlebutt across the ship when the Holy Grail had been pulled from the waters. Someone in the kitchens called it the Heaven Stone, but Grant knew it couldn’t be the case. He’d said, “You’re having one off on me,” and the kid had said, “No way. I’m serious. It’s the Grail. The boss is going to be immortal. Hey, maybe it’ll rub off on us, too.” And he’d given a kind of scared laugh. But then they’d brought up that huge container and there it was, in a small box, and Broussard was incandescent, no other word to describe his joy.
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