Gray noted the particular book.
A treatise on butterflies with hand-drawn plates, circa 1884.
He continued down the aisle. Once near the door again, he found himself confronted by the dowdy woman he had filmed earlier. She was holding out a small white envelope. Gray accepted it, even before he wondered what it could be. The woman seemed disinterested in anything further and wandered away.
Gray smelled a hint of perfume on the envelope.
Strange.
He used a thumbnail to break the seal and pulled out a folded piece of stationery, expensive from its watermark. A short note was neatly written.
EVEN THE GUILD KNOWS BETTER THAN TO STRAY TOO NEAR THIS FLAME. WATCH YOUR BACK. KISSES.
The note was unsigned. But at the bottom, inked in crimson, was the symbol of a small curled dragon. Gray’s other hand wandered to his neck, where a matching dragon hung in silver, a gift from a competitor.
Seichan.
She was an operative for the Guild, a shady cartel of terrorist cells that had crossed paths with Sigma Force in the past. Gray felt the hairs on his neck stand on end. He turned and searched the room. The dowdy woman who had handed him the note had vanished.
He glanced again at the note.
A warning.
Better late than never…
But at least the Guild was taking a pass here. That is, if Seichan could be believed…
Actually Gray was willing to take her at her word.
Honor among thieves and all that.
A commotion drew his attention toward the rear of the room.
A tall gentleman swept onto the bidding floor through a back door. Resplendent in a tuxedo, he was the esteemed Mr. Ergenschein himself, acting as auctioneer. He palmed his oiled black hair into place—clearly a dye job. Across his cadaverous features, a smile was fixed on his face, as if pasted from a book.
The reason for his clear discomfort followed behind. Or rather was being led by a guard who had a hand clamped on her upper arm.
Fiona.
Her face was flushed. Her lips set in a line of dread, bled of color.
Furious.
Gray headed toward them.
Ergenschein strode off to the side. He carried an object wrapped in a soft unbleached chamois. He stepped over to the main display case near the front. It had been empty before. One of the staff unlocked the cabinet. Ergenschein gently unwrapped the object and settled it into the case.
Noting Gray’s approach, the auctioneer brushed his hands together and stepped over to meet him, allowing his palms to come to rest as if in prayer. Behind him, the cabinet was locked by an attendant.
Gray noted the addition to the case.
The Darwin Bible.
Fiona’s eyes widened when she spotted Gray.
He ignored her and confronted Ergenschein. “Is there a problem here?”
“Of course not, sir. The young lady’s being escorted out. She has no invitation to this auction.”
Gray took out his own card. “I believe I’m allowed a guest in attendance.” He held out his other hand for Fiona. “I’m glad to see she’s already here. I was held up on a conference call with my buyer. I approached the young Ms. Neal earlier today to inquire about a private sale. One item in particular.”
Gray nodded to the Darwin Bible.
Ergenschein’s entire body sighed with feigned sadness. “A tragedy. About the fire. But I’m afraid that Grette Neal signed her lot to the auction house. Without a countermand from her estate’s barrister, I’m afraid the lot must be put up for auction. That is the law.”
Fiona tugged on the guard’s arm, murder in her eyes.
Ergenschein seemed oblivious of her. “I’m afraid you’ll have to bid yourself, sir. My apologies, but my hands are tied.”
“Then in that case, you certainly wouldn’t mind that Ms. Neal remains at my side. To aid me if I wish to inspect the lot?”
“As you wish.” Ergenschein’s smile wore into a brief frown. He made a vague dismissive wave to the guard. “But she must stay with you at all times. And as your guest, she is your responsibility.”
Fiona was released. As Gray led her toward the back, he noted the guard flanked them along the edge of the room. It seemed they had gained their own personal bodyguard.
Gray herded Fiona into the last row. A chime sounded, announcing that the auction would commence in another minute. Seats began to fill, mostly near the front. Gray and Fiona had the back row to themselves.
“What are you doing here?” he whispered.
“Getting back my Bible,” she said with thick disdain. “Or at least trying to.”
She slumped back in her seat, arms crossed over her leather purse.
Off to the front, Ergenschein took the podium and made some formal introductions. The proceedings would be in English. It was the most common language among the auction’s international clientele. Ergenschein elaborated on the rules of bidding, the house’s premium and fees, even proper etiquette. The most important rule was that you were only allowed to bid up to ten times the amount placed and secured on deposit.
Gray ignored most of it, continuing with Fiona, earning a few disgruntled glances from those in the row ahead.
“You came back for the Bible? Why?”
The girl only tightened her arms.
“Fiona…”
She turned to him, hard and angry. “Because it was Mutti’s!” Tears glistened. “They killed her over it. I won’t let them have it.”
“Who?”
She waved an arm. “Whoever sodding murdered her. I’m going to get it and burn it.”
Gray sighed and leaned back. Fiona wanted whatever revenge she could get. She wanted to hurt them. Gray didn’t blame her…but her reckless actions were only likely to get her killed, too.
“The Bible’s ours. I should be able to take it back.” Her voice cracked. She shook her head and swiped at her nose.
Gray put an arm around her.
She winced but didn’t pull away.
In front, the auction began. Paddles rose and fell. Items came and went. The best would be held until last. Gray noted who bought what. He especially noted who were the final bidders for the items logged into his notebook, the three items of special interest: Mendel’s genetics papers, Planck’s physics, and de Vries’s diary on mutations.
They all went to the pair of silent-movie stars.
Their identities remained unknown. Gray heard whispers among his fellow participants. No one knew who they were. Only their ever-rising paddle number.
Number 002.
Gray leaned to Fiona. “Do you recognize those buyers? Have you ever seen them before in your shop?”
Fiona straightened in her seat, stared for a full minute, then slunk down. “No.”
“How about anyone else?”
She shrugged.
“Fiona, are you sure?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “I’m bloody goddamn sure!”
This earned more exasperated glances in their direction.
At last the auction wound down to the final item. The Darwin Bible was unlocked from its case and carried like a religious relic to an easel that stood under a special halogen spot. It was an unimpressive tome: flaking black leather, tattered and stained, not even any lettering. It could be any old journal.
Fiona sat straighter. Plainly this was what had kept her in her seat this entire time. She grabbed Gray’s wrist. “Are you really going to bid on it?” she asked, hope dawning in her bright eyes.
Gray frowned at her—then realized it wasn’t a half-bad idea. If the others were willing to kill over it, maybe some clue to the entire house of cards could be discerned from it. Besides, he was aching to get a peek at it. And Sigma Force had poured 250,000 euros into the account here at the auction house. That meant he could bid up to 2.5 million. That was twice the maximum estimate for the Bible. If he won, he’d be able to inspect his purchase.
Still, he remembered Logan Gregory’s admonish
ment. He had already disobeyed orders to follow Fiona here. He dared not involve himself even more intimately.
He felt Fiona’s eyes on him.
If he started bidding, it would put their lives in danger, painting a bull’s-eye on both of them. And what if he lost the bid? The risk would be for nothing. Hadn’t he been foolhardy enough today?
“Ladies and gentlemen, how much to start the bidding on today’s last lot?” Ergenschein said grandly. “Shall we open with one hundred thousand? Ah, yes, we have one hundred thousand…and from a new bidder. How wonderful. Number 144.”
Gray lowered his paddle, all eyes on him, committed now.
Beside him, Fiona smiled widely.
“And we double the bid,” Ergenschein said. “Two hundred thousand from number 002!”
The silent-movie stars.
Gray felt the room’s focus shift back to him, including the pair in front. Too late to back down. He raised his paddle again.
The bidding continued for another ten tense minutes. The auction room remained full. Everyone was staying behind to see what the Darwin Bible would fetch. There was an undercurrent of support for Gray. Too many others had been outpaddled by number 002. And as the figure crossed the two million mark, well above the maximum estimate, murmurs of hushed excitement burbled around the room.
There was another flash of excitement when a phone bidder jumped into the fray, but number 002 outbid him, and he didn’t counter.
Gray did. Two mill three. Gray’s palms began to sweat.
“Two million four from number 002! Gentlemen and ladies, please keep your seats.”
Gray raised his paddle one more time.
“Two million five.”
Gray knew he was sunk. He could do nothing but watch as 002 rose again, unstoppable, relentless, merciless.
“Three million,” the pale young gentleman said, tiring of the game. He stood and glanced back at Gray, as if daring him to challenge that.
Gray had reached his limit. Even if he wanted, he couldn’t bet more. His hand ground on his paddle. Gray shook his head, admitting defeat.
The other bowed toward him, one adversary to another. The man tipped an imaginary hat. Gray noted a blue blemish on the fellow’s right hand, at the webbing between thumb and forefinger. A tattoo. His companion, who by now Gray realized must be the young man’s sister, perhaps even twin, bore the same mark on her left.
Gray fixed the tattoo in his mind’s eye, perhaps a clue to their identity.
His attention was interrupted by the auctioneer.
“And it appears number 144 is finished!” Ergenschein said. “Any more bids. Once, twice, thrice.” He raised the gavel, held it for a breathless moment, then tapped it on the edge of the podium. “Done!”
Polite applause met the concluding bid.
Gray knew it would have been more boisterous if he had won. Still, he was surprised to see who was clapping beside him.
Fiona.
She grinned at him. “Let’s get out of here.”
They joined the flow of people filing out the door. Gray was offered sympathy and condolences from a few of the other participants as he departed. Soon they reached the streets. They all went their separate ways.
Fiona tugged him a few shops down and directed him into a nearby patisserie, a French affair of chintz drapery and wrought-iron café tables. The girl picked a spot near a display filled with cream puffs, petits fours, chocolate éclairs, and smørrebrød, the ubiquitous Danish open-face sandwich.
She ignored the treats, beaming with a strange glee.
“Why are you so happy?” Gray finally asked. “We lost the bid.”
Gray sat facing the window. They would have to watch their backs. Still, he hoped now, with the Bible sold, that perhaps the danger would subside.
“We stuck it to them!” Fiona said. “Drove it to three mill. Brilliant!”
“I don’t think money means that much to them.”
Fiona pulled the pin on her bun and shook her hair loose. She lost a decade of age in appearance. Amusement continued to shine in her eyes, with an edge of malicious delight.
Gray suddenly felt a sick twist of his stomach.
“Fiona, what have you done?”
She lifted her purse to the table, tilted it toward Gray, and held it open. He leaned forward.
“Oh, God…Fiona…”
A battered leather-bound tome rested in her purse.
A match to the Darwin Bible that had just been sold.
“Is that the real one?” he asked.
“I nicked it right from under that blind wanker in the back room.”
“How—?”
“A bit of the old bait and switch. Took me all day to find a Bible the right size and shape. Course I had to tinker with it a bit afterward. But then all it took was lots of tears and shouting, a bit of fumbling…” She shrugged. “And Bob’s your uncle, it was done.”
“If you already had the Bible, why did you have me bid—?” Realization struck Gray. “You played me.”
“To make those bastards shell out three mill for a two-pence fake!”
“They’ll discover soon enough that it’s not the real book,” Gray said, horror rising.
“Yeah, but I plan to be long gone by then.”
“Where?”
“Going with you.” Fiona snapped the bag closed.
“I don’t think so.”
“You remember when Mutti told you about the disbanded library? Where the Darwin Bible came from?”
Gray knew what she was talking about. Grette Neal had hinted that someone was reconstructing some old scientist’s library. She had been going to let him copy the original bill of sale, but then they’d been attacked, and it was lost to the flames.
Fiona tapped her forehead. “I have the address stored right here.” She then held out a hand. “So?”
Frowning, he went to shake it.
She pulled her hand back in distaste. “As if.” Extending her arm again, she turned her palm up. “I want to see your real passport, you wanker. You think I can’t scope out a fake one when I see it.”
He met her gaze. She had stolen his passport earlier. Her look now was uncompromising. Frowning, he finally reached to a concealed pocket of his suit and took out his real passport.
Fiona read it. “Grayson Pierce.” She tossed it back on the table. “Nice to meet you…finally.”
He retrieved his passport. “So the Bible. Where did it come from?”
“I’ll only tell if you take me with you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t come with me. You’re only a child.”
“A child with the Darwin Bible.”
Gray tired of her blackmail. He could snatch the Bible whenever he wanted to, but the same couldn’t be said for her information. “Fiona, this isn’t some goddamn game.”
Her eyes hardened on him, aging before him. “And you don’t think I know that.” Her words were deadly cold. “Where were you when they took my Mutti out in bags? Bloody goddamn bags!”
Gray closed his eyes. She had struck a nerve, but he refused to relent. “Fiona, I’m sorry,” he said with a strained voice. “But what you’re asking is impossible. I can’t take—”
The explosion shook the patisserie like an earthquake. The front glass rattled, dishes crashed. Fiona and Gray stood and went to the window. Smoke billowed across the street, fuming and roiling into the dusky sky. Flames danced and licked upward from the shattered side of a building across the street.
Fiona glanced to Gray. “Let me guess,” she said.
“My hotel room,” he admitted.
“So much for the head start.”
11:47 P.M.
HIMALAYAS
Captured by the Germans, Painter rode behind Lisa on a sled pulled by one of the snowmobiles. They had been traveling for almost an hour, cinched in place with plastic straps and bound together. At least their sled was heated.
Still he kept hunched over Lisa, sheltering her as b
est he could with his body. She leaned back into him. It was all they could manage. Their wrists were bound to stanchions on either side.
Ahead, the assassin rode on the backseat of the towing snowmobile. He faced to the rear, rifle pointing at them, mismatched eyes never wavering. Anna Sporrenberg piloted the vehicle, the leader of this group.
A group of former Nazis.
Or reformed Nazis.
Or whoever the hell they were.
Painter shoved the question aside. He had a more important puzzle to solve at the moment.
Staying alive.
En route, Painter had learned how easily he and Lisa had been discovered hiding in their cave. Through infrared. Against the frigid landscape, their heat signature had been easy to pick up, revealing their hiding place.
The same would make flight across this terrain almost impossible.
He continued his deliberation, mind focused on one goal.
Escape.
For the past hour, the caravan of snowmobiles had trundled through the wintry night. The vehicles were equipped with electric motors, gliding with almost no noise. In silence, the five snowmobiles traversed the maze with practiced ease, gliding along cliff edges, diving down steep valleys, sweeping over bridges of ice.
He did his best to memorize their route. But exhaustion and the complexity of their path confounded him. It didn’t help that his skull had begun to pound again. The headaches had returned—as had the disorientation and vertigo. He had to admit that his symptoms were not subsiding. He also had to admit that he was thoroughly lost.
Craning, he stared at the night sky.
Overhead, stars shone coldly.
Perhaps he could fix his position.
As he stared, the pinpoints of light spun in the sky. He tore his gaze away, a stabbing ache behind his eyes.
“Are you all right?” Lisa whispered back at him.
Painter grumbled under his breath, too nauseated to trust speaking.
“The nystagmus again?” she surmised on her own.
A harsh grunt from the assassin silenced any further communication. Painter was grateful. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, waiting for the moment to pass.
Eventually it did.
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