by Tony Abbott
“We won’t,” said Wade. “Promise.”
“And Sara, I know you know this, but I have to hear myself say it.”
“Go.”
“It’s just that I remember my mother saying that she always felt slightly crazy worrying about my brother and me. She told me that if she didn’t feel crazy, an alarm would go off in her head.”
“I have the same alarm,” Sara said. “And I promise to be crazy at all times.”
“Then good luck. I love you all. Call me every ten minutes.”
“Half hour,” said Wade. “Good luck, Dad.”
The call ended, Julian waved, and they moved together into the security line. An hour and a half later they were in the air.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Casablanca, Morocco
June 6
1:23 a.m.
The sleek cream-colored Bentley convertible, an exact twin to the one sitting outside a private hangar in Nice, powered swiftly under the stars away from the Mohammed V airport in Casablanca.
It was headed east.
Ugo Drangheta’s beautiful driving companion, named simply Mistral, sat in the passenger seat, clutching a seven-million-euro pair of glasses that she did not own. Removing her scarf, she let the wind sweep through her hair.
“Do you ever intend to use these glasses, Ugo? Or did I climb up the side of the Hôtel de Paris merely as bait to lure that woman here? Your contacts in Monte Carlo reported her yacht leaving the harbor, which it would not have done unless she was onboard. She survived her crash. She has nine lives. Nine times nine.”
Drangheta laughed. It was a deep, angry sound, and unpleasant. He seldom laughed in his life, and when he did, it was an aggressive noise, even to his own ears. He didn’t bother to hit his directional signal as he took a sharp right up a sweeping driveway.
He turned his face to her. “Galina Krause will regret every moment of her short life when she sets foot on this property. The murder of my sister, my gentle sister, was unforgiveable. It took my investigators over two months to prove it was not an accident, so well had she covered her tracks. Now that I know, I will end Galina Krause.”
The road to the main property on Drangheta’s estate was long, an S-shaped mile of crushed shell, lined the entire way with cypress trees jutting like rockets at the sky. What one couldn’t see, unless he knew to look, were cameras and remotely controlled guns stationed every few feet along the road.
Drangheta slowed the Bentley in the wide forecourt and stopped. His vast Moorish villa sprawled over several acres. It featured marble floors, indoor fountains, high, tiled walls, and an ostentatious gold dome from whose observatory one could view not only the sky but also the dazzling purple Atlas Mountains zigzagging north to the sea.
He walked Mistral into the entry hall. “Place the ocularia in the vault,” he said. “If the night is quiet, I’ll inspect them in the morning.”
“The night will not be quiet,” she said, tossing her black headscarf onto a sofa. “The woman will not be able to resist.”
“I do hope you’re right. It would be much more delightful to study the glasses knowing that Galina Krause has died at my hands.”
Drangheta felt rage edge up his throat as he snapped his stubby fingers. Do not anger a powerful man, he thought. You just might die from it. Four men in riot gear emerged from a hallway obscured behind a barrier of columns.
“Sir Ugo?” said one.
“The villa will be attacked tonight. Put all necessary precautions in place immediately.”
“Sir,” the soldier responded. The men disappeared silently behind the columns. Soon the sound of the villa’s fortifications engaging began. Gates slid over every window and door. Inch by inch, the walled-in gardens grew tall iron spikes that rose up to various heights. What had been a stone walk receded into its retaining wall, revealing a deep artificial moat around the villa. Searchlights blinked along the entire perimeter. Miles of fencing hummed with electrification. The gate across the driveway was reinforced with a titanium barrier. Finally, seven military transports in the stables roared to life, each carrying a dozen heavily armed mercenaries. They began their patrol of the perimeter roads.
“If she tries tonight,” he said, “she will be killed.”
“There are others who may want the ocularia, too,” said Mistral. “Let’s not discount them, my dear. What about the others in the hotel suite? The American family. They have an interest in Galina’s plans.”
Drangheta’s lips grew into a tight smile as he ascended the wide stairs toward the second floor, then paused on the landing. On the wall hung a portrait of his brilliant sister, Uliana, eight years his junior, an excellent pilot, killed before she’d had a chance to live. I will squeeze Galina Krause until there is nothing left.
“This is war, Mistral. The Americans will be mere collateral damage.”
He paused on the landing and found he could not move from it. Staring into the eyes of his sister, he felt his chest shudder.
“I love . . . loved . . . my sister beyond all life.”
Mistral joined him on the landing. “What if you could bring her back?”
Not taking his eyes from the portrait, he half turned. “What?”
“A time machine. This is what your investigators said Galina Krause may be assembling. Many deaths have been attributed to it. Many more. For a machine? Think about it, Ugo.”
He faced her now. “Do not mock me with a fantasy.”
“Galina Krause is not a fool. If she believes in this machine and murdered your sister for it, is there not reason to believe in it? Should we find out more, Ugo?”
Tears began to flood his eyes, spill onto his cheeks. “Perhaps. For now, please take the glasses to the vault. I will be in the dome, awaiting the battle to come.”
He turned from the landing and walked up the dark stairs, deep in thought.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Airports were airports were airports.
But after sleeping on the short flight over, when Lily set foot in Casablanca’s Mohammed V International Airport, she felt different. Beyond the speedy passport control—it was in the wee hours and the lines were thin—the arrivals terminal was airy and open and light, and it blossomed with sound and color that despite the heaviness in her made her seem to float. Even at 2:14 in the morning.
Yeah, she thought, it’s weird. But I’ll take it.
“Which one of you is Darrell?” a voice said.
They turned to see a dark-haired man of around forty. He had a rough face, tanned to a deep brown. He was dressed in sport clothes and running shoes.
“Why are you asking?” said Sara, stepping in front of Darrell.
“Because we don’t have condors in Morocco, and they’re not red anyway. We have other birds, but not condors.”
Wade narrowed his eyes at the man. “Wait. Is this the code?”
“It might be,” said the man. “We have Egyptian vultures. You could have had me say ‘the Egyptian vulture has landed.’ That would have worked. People would think I know what I’m doing, at least.” He looked at Darrell from his dark eyes. That lasted a long time before he added, “And your response is . . . ?”
Becca laughed as Darrell said, “Barracudas like spaghetti. No, tortellini.”
The man nodded slowly. “They don’t, but let it pass. My name is Silva. Just Silva. I’ve known Terence and Julian for a long time. Come on, then.”
He spun around on his heels and led them outside and along a row of spotlights to a large Land Rover in the short-term parking area. Over his shoulder he said, “My men are watching Drangheta’s compound. It’s in hill country, so the house has a bird’s-eye view of the surrounding miles, except for a ring of foothills to the southwest. That’s where we’re going now. If things are still quiet, they won’t be for long. Your friend Galina may already be in Morocco, so we need to get a move on.”
“Do you have a plan for getting the, uh, object back?” asked Becca.
“
The da Vinci glasses?” he said. “Julian trusts me. And yes, I do. I’ll explain on the way.”
As soon as they piled into the Rover and motored away from the airport, Lily knew they were entering a world unlike anything she’d seen before. Blue buildings. Gold domes. Arches. People crowding the streets so long after midnight.
Africa! What did she know about Africa?
“Listen,” Silva said, “you need to know exactly what we’re up against tonight. Ugo Drangheta is a brute, a nasty businessman with a trail of corporate corpses in his wake. Besides that, he’s waiting for trouble tonight, which will make his villa a tough nut to crack. The place is a high-security fortress. He has a battalion of private soldiers, vehicles, arms. An arsenal that rivals that of a small country.”
“Do you think he’s on our side?” asked Wade. “I mean, I kind of hope that he is, but also that he’s not. His men at the hotel were as bloody as the Order’s. Guardians would never do that. I hope.”
“No, Guardians wouldn’t,” said Sara.
“Consider him a violent enemy, a real piece of work,” Silva said. “If he’s anything else, you’ll be pleasantly surprised. I doubt he has a beef with you, but the moment you reach for the glasses, you’re a target. Bear in mind that Drangheta has friends in the government and a lot of interests around the world. Luckily, and I’m using that word loosely, Galina Krause will be coming with guns blazing. Our only chance of breaking in is when she begins her attack.”
“Shouldn’t we try to get in before it all starts?” asked Wade.
Silva shook his head. “The crossfire will distract everyone. For a short time, anyway. It won’t be safe, but it’ll be the one shield we’re likely to get. A battle waged too soon is a battle lost.”
He let that settle in as he drove relentlessly away from the city lights.
Sara looked at the kids. “You probably think I’m going to say we need to bail out of this right now. Believe me, I’m considering it every step of the way. But right now, we’re going ahead. Becca knows why. We all do. The horrors Galina will do if she assembles the astrolabe. Still, we should decide on a place to meet in case we get separated.”
The Rover began climbing into the foothills southwest of the compound.
“We won’t get separated,” Wade said. “We promised you and Dad.”
Sara cracked a humorless smile. “Uh-huh. But this is different. We need one just in case. Silva, can you suggest a good rendezvous?”
He took a breath. The Rover began to slow.
“How about the Pyramids?” said Darrell. “I always wanted to see them.”
“They’re two thousand miles away with the barracudas and the condors,” Silva said. “There’s a children’s hospital, l’Hôpital d’Enfants, in central Casablanca. Very international. On several tram routes. They’ll take care of you.”
“A French hospital?” said Becca.
Silva turned the Rover onto an upward path toward the crest of the hills. “The French colonized a good part of North Africa. Morocco became independent in 1955, Tunisia the next year, Algeria in 1962, but before that, it was all French. A little Spanish, too. Lots of French still live around here. English. Some Americans. The culture is a mix of African and European.”
It was nearing three a.m. Lily breathed in the night. The cool air rushed in the windows and over her face. The sky above was immense and huge, wide and black. Different. So different. Finally, Silva coiled the Rover up a series of steep roads at the summit of the foothills, stopped, and shut off the engine.
He jumped out and opened a small chest in the rear of the vehicle. From it he took a set of desert camouflage and slipped into it. He fitted a special-forces beret on his head and slung a heavy automatic weapon over his shoulder, an ammunition belt across his chest, and binoculars around his neck.
He gave a low whistle, and a figure trotted down a path along a ridge on the far side of the hill. Silva said, “This is K. K, meet everyone. Everyone, meet K.”
K, a scruffy bearded man, bald and wearing no beret, shook hands with them. A walkie-talkie on his belt crackled softly.
“Drangheta and Mistral, the thief, have been home for an hour plus,” K said. “No sign of the Order yet. Our man inside, Jibran, tells us the vault room is in the back, or the south side of the house.”
“You have a guy inside?” said Darrell. “That’s good.”
Silva smiled humorlessly. “Until he’s discovered.” He led them a few paces toward the lip of the hill. “You can see the main room. Use this.” He slipped a slender riflescope from a holder on his belt and held it out. “If there’s a chance, Jibran will raise the bars on one of the windows.”
The main room of the villa that Wade saw through the scope was like an aquarium, glassed in on three sides and barred. The fourth, solid wall was hung with a bizarre collection of weapons, obviously from different cultures and ranging from the antique to the very latest.
“I’m guessing the Order will come in from the north,” K said. “The least protected part of the perimeter. It’s down there.” He pointed to a gap in the foothills, a half mile from where the main driveway snaked onto the estate. “We have men surrounding the property.”
Silva nodded and turned to Sara. “The instant the Order makes itself known, Drangheta’s men will counterattack and leave the house at least for a short period. If our man raises the window bars, we go in. Five, ten minutes is all the time we’ll have. And if Mistral hangs around the vault, we’ll probably have to take her on hand to hand. Just saying.”
“Until then?” asked Wade.
“Body armor,” said Silva, reaching once more into the back of the Rover. “A set for each of you. Sara, we’ll need you to go in with us to identify the glasses. Are you okay with—”
“I’ll do it.” Sara slid her armor over her blouse.
Darrell turned. “Mom, you understand how awesome this is, right? No mom in the history of life ever did what you’re doing. You’re like . . . Joan of Arc.”
“She wasn’t a mother,” Sara said. “And she was captured.”
“Sure, but—”
“And executed.”
Darrell took a breath. “Okay, bad example, but still.”
“But still,” she said, “tighten your straps.”
“Listen to your mother,” said Silva. “I don’t want to lose more than one or two of you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
For the next thirteen minutes, Wade gazed up at the vast black dome of the sky. It glistened with a sea of silvery stars. He knew the ocularia were Becca’s thing, but he couldn’t stop imagining what the strange glasses might reveal to them.
Would the silvery pages resolve into words and give up their secrets? Would the kids actually discover where the mysterious Triangulum was hidden? Or would they find only more and more riddles to unravel, an endless stream of puzzles?
He allowed his thoughts to shuttle between the excitement of discovery and the frustration of confusion, until even that fell quiet.
He felt sleep coming on, when five or six nearly simultaneous explosions rocked the perimeter of the compound.
He bolted up. Everyone was watching from the hilltop. He scrambled up to them on his hands and knees. K was nowhere in sight.
“Get ready,” Silva said.
They next heard the chatter of machine-gun fire. It sounded aimless at first, coming from wildly different directions, as if Drangheta’s guards were confused about where the threat actually was. But the firing continued, and Wade realized that the compound was being attacked from at least three positions. The suddenness and ferocity of the attack shocked him.
“Galina’s moving in,” Darrell said, nudging him. “You hear that, right?”
“Yeah. Gunfire is already pulling away from the main house.”
Then came the growling of a heavy vehicle fifty yards down to their right.
“Flatten!” Silva shouted, and they hunkered in a dip in the crest of the hill.
This
was too much like war, Wade thought. Hot war, not the covert stuff, the kind they’d seen so far. It was way out in the open. A vehicle, an armored truck, barreled straight for the perimeter fence. It fired a blast, and he saw the fence go slack. The truck drove over the barrier as if it didn’t exist. It was inside the compound.
Suddenly, K was back with them, his face poised between fear and opportunity. He tilted his head at Silva. “That was Galina. She’s inside. The bars are still down. Boss?”
“We need to be in position in case they go up,” Silva said over the popping of gunfire. “I don’t want Jibran risking his life for nothing.” He turned to them. “There will be a blast in the front of the house. That’s the cue for Sara and K to go down the hill toward the rear of the villa and get ready to enter. Once the bars open, you get in there, locate the package, then get out. Understood, Sara? Everyone? The Rover is our getaway.”
They nodded, and Sara retightened her armor straps. “Listen, kids. Stay up here, well outside the compound. Don’t you dare move. Be ready to jump into the Rover. That’s all.”
“Mom, you have to be careful,” said Darrell. “If I go back without you, Dad will have a fit.”
She smirked. “I hope more than a fit, but yes. I’ll be careful. I know what we’re looking for. We’ll only enter the house if the fighting moves away from it.”
“It’s looking like that,” said Silva, finishing a phone call to his men nearest the point of attack. “Watch over there—”
A flash of white light broke the darkness. It was followed a couple of seconds later by a thunderous blast.
“This is it,” said K. “Go, go, go!” A dozen black-clad mercenaries appeared out of nowhere and started down the hill. K and Sara followed. The four kids remained at the crest with Silva.
“Can I use the scope again?” Wade asked.
Silva passed it to him. Its magnification was strong, and once he sighted the house, he could see down inside the glass-walled room and into the central courtyard. He spotted a shape in a side room. “The thief,” he said.