The guide thought about it. “There aren’t any sarcophagi down there. Lot of interesting stuff, but none of those.”
“We’re looking for a particular monument where one might bury an Egyptian treasure,” Tom persisted.
It was an unusual request, given that the tunnels were carved by Etruscans, who had spent more than two and a half thousand years carving out the tunnels using hand tools.
The guide smiled. “I know what you’re after.”
“You do?” Genevieve and Tom replied in unison.
“Sure. You want me to take you to see that strange pyramid shaped hypogeum.”
Tom had never heard of it, but it sounded like the closest thing they were going to get to a tomb. He smiled. “That would be perfect.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
It took them fifteen minutes to reach the pyramid shaped hypogeum. As they descended the series of ladders carved out of the stone walls, their guide informed them that the Orvieto Underground had more than twelve hundred tunnels in total.
As Tom descended, all he could think about was how similar the place felt to the subterranean city of Derinkuyu in Turkey, with a series of interwoven tunnels and giant round stones capable of blocking off individual levels or tunnels from others.
Inside the hypogeum Tom studied the walls. It wasn’t a quarry – its walls were fixed at purposeful angles. Nor could it have been a cistern, because its walls showed no evidence of previous exposure to water.
The guide said, “It’s interesting to wonder what its purpose was, isn’t it?”
Genevieve removed the black light wand from her backpack. “I have high hopes you might get to see the answer to that question, shortly.”
The guide glanced at the wand. “What are you looking for with that?”
“I don’t know yet. But I’m hoping I recognize it when I see it. Do you mind switching of your flashlight, please?”
“Hey, you’re paying. If you want to play archaeologist, you go right ahead.”
The hypogeum went dark. For a moment, nothing seemed to appear, but then they spotted it. Along the southern wall, a rectangular stone – roughly four feet in height – lit up with the image of a horse.
Tom’s eyes widened as he touched it. “The stone’s fixed solid.”
The guide laughed. “Did you think you might move it?”
“I kind of hoped so,” Tom admitted.
Genevieve said, “Hang on, look at that.”
Tom followed her gaze. Toward the northern wall, a series of smaller stone tiles were lit up in the blue luminescence. There were several of them and when you joined them all together, it formed the image of the Greek letter of Sigma.
He sighed. “Well, at least we know we’re in the right place.”
“Sure, but now what do we do with it?” Genevieve asked.
Tom pressed his weight on the first of the luminescent stones. It depressed half an inch into the ground behind. It was a small enough movement that he needed to test the other non-radiant stones nearby to see if he could achieve the same effect with them. When he discovered he couldn’t, Tom carefully went around to the rest of the stones that joined to make Sigma.
When the last one was depressed, Tom heard the distinct sound of machinery. His eyes turned to the luminescent horse. Nothing changed. Genevieve went up to the stone wall and pushed. The entire stone block slid along an ancient set of rails into a hidden recess, revealing a set of stone stairs leading farther down.
“What the hell did you do?” the guide asked.
“What has to be done,” Tom replied, stepping into the opening.
The guide said, “I don’t think you should be going down there.”
Tom ignored him.
At the bottom of the stairs was an intricate sarcophagus. It was almost identical to the one found inside the queen’s chamber.
He ran his hand across the engravings, trying to find a gap in its seal.
“Hey, don’t touch that. It’s an ancient artifact. The archaeologists wouldn’t want you…”
Tom removed the prybar from his backpack and started prying the lid off the sarcophagus.
“Hey, hey… what about the respect for the dead?” the guide asked.
“Don’t worry about it. There’s no one inside.” Tom slid the lid to the side.
The guide tentatively leaned over Tom’s shoulder to see for himself. Inside was a completely vacant sarcophagus. At the base of it, a single rectangular recess matched what they were looking for.
Genevieve opened the vacuum sealed, metallic casing and removed the sacred stone. She gripped it in her hand in wonder, before placing it carefully in its recess. Instantly, the stone developed an affinity for its new surroundings, latching on with such ferocity that it would be impossible for anyone to remove the stone by hand.
“Who are you guys?” the guide asked.
Genevieve fixed a hardened stare onto the guide. “Not the sort of people to be crossed.”
“Okay, okay.” The man opened his palms outward in a placating gesture. “What do you want me to do?”
Tom said, “Give me a hand. We need to slide this lid back and seal the sarcophagus.”
It took all three of them to seal the vault once more, and the stone wall leading to the hidden chamber replaced. By the time they were done, the strange hypogeum had returned to its original appearance.
Another hour later, the three of them climbed the series of stone ladders and finally reached the surface. They thanked their guide, tipping him well. The man, only too eager to leave, disappeared without a goodbye.
Tom picked up his cell phone and made a call. “Sam, it’s done.”
Two sacred stones down, two to go. Life was looking up for the survival of the human race. Tom then took a deep breath, because opposite the main entrance to the Orvieto’s Underground, watching him, was the Italian stranger from the restaurant.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Tom walked quickly. He’d left Genevieve to double back and see if the stranger followed him. They were still in the heart of the main tourist parts of Orvieto. He headed north. It took about ten minutes, before he turned yet another corner and into Via Magalotti.
Away from the main tourist center near the Duomo del Orvieto and the entrances to the Orvieto Underground, the narrow streets were no longer filled with tourists. Tom walked slowly, seemingly as though he was taking an interest in the unique gothic architecture. He would walk a dozen yards and then pause to study a shopfront or a private residence. The sound of his feet on the cobblestones was amplified by the narrow laneway, surrounded by medieval stone buildings.
His pursuer tried to soften the sound, but there was no hiding it.
Tom meandered in a northeastern direction through the labyrinth of slender laneways, alleys, footbridges and pedestrian tunnels. He’d checked twice, and both times the same man was following him. The stranger was heavyset, but not overweight. His muscular arms and broad chest were emphatic in his seamlessly fitted Italian suit. There was no doubt in Tom’s mind that if he tried to outrun him, the man would probably move like an NFL running back. Likewise, he had no doubt the slight bulge in the suit was a holstered weapon.
The thought made him move quicker. He turned into Via dell’Olmo. It was a slender one-way street, with no shopfronts in sight. Toward the other end, the deep guttural sound of the powerful engine of a sports car resonated and echoed. Otherwise, the street was completely empty. Tom quickened his pace. About a hundred feet ahead, he turned left into a small alcove. It stretched approximately twenty feet into the carved-out volcanic tuff, and then, like a garage, stopped in a dead end.
Fear rose in his throat like bile.
He was trapped. Tom looked for a door, a window, or anything through which he could escape. There were none. He wasn’t carrying anything that could even be used as a weapon. He turned to confront his pursuer head on.
The stranger followed into the stony alcove.
Tom looked directly at hi
m. Their eyes locked together for a moment, before the stranger broke it by darting around the rest of the alley. The man’s jaw was rigid, and his face was set with determination. There was something else there, too. Tom thought he saw hesitation and doubt, as though he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do next.
But Tom knew what he had to do.
He was about to take his chance, by pushing through the man and making a run for. Someone revved an engine from across the road. The vibrations ran across the cobblestones beneath his feet.
The stranger reached into his jacket.
He’s going for the gun!
The lethal realization surged him on with reckless abandon. The stranger was big, but Tom was bigger and just as fast. Mentally, he imagined himself knocking into the side of the man’s right shoulder. If he hit him hard enough he could dislocate the shoulder on his shooting arm. If the man was a professional, he would probably still try and shoot, but it would be highly unlikely the man could aim. It was a long shot, but it was the only one Tom had left.
He held his breath and then stopped.
Because Genevieve came around the corner behind the stranger. She moved quickly and silently. Before the man had fully gripped the handle of his weapon, she had slid the razor-sharp end of her butterfly knife into the soft tissues of his throat, inches away from his carotid artery.
The man’s arm went limp. “Okay… I’m not moving.”
“Why are you following us?” she asked, her voice a dangerous whisper.
The stranger swallowed. “Not you. I have no idea who you are!”
“Then why have you been following me?” Tom asked.
The guy shrugged. “I haven’t.”
She put more pressure on the tip of the knife. “Yes, you have.”
The man spoke in a calm, reserved voice. “No. I’ve been following Liu Bianchi.”
“Who’s he?”
“Not he. She. And she’s a notorious assassin. The Agenzia Informazioni e Sicurezza Esterna have been hunting her across Europe for years. Her face was captured just yesterday, when she pursued you into the country.”
“You work for the AISE?” Tom asked. He’d heard of the Agency. They were basically the Italian equivalent of their CIA, Britain’s M16, or Germany’s Bundesnachrichtendienst.
The man nodded. “If you will permit me, I’ll show you my credentials.”
Genevieve increased the pressure in the knife until the blade was just under the skin. “Nice and slow.”
“Mr. Rigozzi. Luca Rigozzi.” The man removed his ID badge and threw it on the floor. “And you are?”
Tom picked it up and read the details. It looked legitimate, but who knew? He ignored the question and called Elise on his cell phone. He explained the situation and gave the man’s details. She checked with the database, and confirmed Luca Rigozzi did work for the AISE.
Tom turned to Genevieve. “He checks out.” Then, to Rigozzi, he said, “I’m Tom Bower and this is Genevieve.”
Genevieve released him.
Rigozzi took a handkerchief and dabbed the fine blood from his neck. “Thank you.”
Tom asked, “Someone’s been following us since we got here?”
“Yes. Her name’s Liu Bianchi and she’s one of the deadliest assassins the world has ever seen. We thought she might have been killed a few years ago. She went to ground and didn’t come back, until yesterday.”
Genevieve said, “You know she’s been following us since we got here?”
“Yes.”
“Then why haven’t you arrested her?”
He sighed heavily. “I was going to.”
“But?”
“She’s not alone. Whatever’s happening here, it’s big. We might just get to take down a lot of bad people if we get lucky. Whatever it is you’re involved in, someone’s paid big money to bring some of the deadliest assassins out of the woodwork. It must be pretty important stuff.”
Tom nodded. “You have no idea.”
“Now what?” Genevieve asked.
Rigozzi’s eyes narrowed. “You can follow me back to my hotel. We’re not safe here.”
The raspy engine of the idling sports car finally went silent.
The three of them stepped into Via del’Olmo, where an older woman met them. Luca Rigozzi was the first to respond. He got off the first shot. But she fired the next two.
Tom dived to the ground next to Genevieve.
His eyes darted toward Rigozzi. Two bullets were planted right between his eyes. Professional kill shots. Genevieve grabbed the man’s handgun – a Beretta 92 – and started firing.
Chapter Fifty
Tom looked up and spotted their attacker as she kicked in a glass window about thirty feet back along Via del’Olmo. She stepped inside, using it as a partial barrier, and continued to shoot. The shots went wide, and he and Genevieve retreated back into the stone alcove.
The question was, now where could they go?
Tom swept the narrow street with his eyes, searching for a way out. Like many of the laneways throughout the medieval city, this one was filled with the back-end of several small stone buildings, revealing almost no doors or windows – and no other nearby streets by which to escape.
In the alcove across the road, a man was taking some mostly ineffective cover to the side of his little red sports car. Like the garage-like alcove they were already in, the one across the road was a dead end with no rear access.
He looked at Genevieve. “What do you think?”
“About stealing the car?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t like the plan.” She fumbled through the dead man’s coat pockets and retrieved a spare magazine for the Berretta. She pocketed the magazine, taking her total ammo count to fourteen rounds. Five in the this one and nine in the spare magazine.
“You got another idea?” Tom asked.
“No.”
“Okay. I guess that settles it. I’ll go first. Cover me and then follow.”
“Okay, go.”
Tom launched himself running across Via del’Olmo at a sprint some professional athletes would have been proud of. He heard a single shot fire from their attacker, followed by another two by Genevieve. The street then went quiet as their attacker was forced to take cover.
Behind him, Genevieve didn’t wait. Instead, she ran straight after him, while their attacker was taking cover. They approached the car together. The owner of the sports car spotted Genevieve’s handgun.
He raised his out turned hands. “I’m unarmed!”
Tom ducked down next to him. “Where are the keys?”
“What?” the driver asked.
Genevieve pointed the Berretta at him. “The keys. Give him your car keys.”
“I just bought…”
Their attacker stepped out into the street and fired another three rounds. The shots skimmed the leading edge of the alcove. Genevieve aimed and fired the remaining three shots in the magazine. She removed the magazine, loaded a new one, and fired again.
Their attacker turned and started running down the street toward Via Magalotti.
Genevieve returned to the owner of the car, pointing the Berretta at him.
“Take the car. It’s yours!” The owner handed Tom the keys without further questions.
Tom grinned. “Thanks. And sorry to really mess up your day.”
He climbed inside.
It was the first time he took any real notice of the sports car – a brand new Alfa Romeo 4C Spider in competizione red. The two-seater, mid-engine, rear-wheel drive coupé was right out of every wealthy Italian’s exotic car magazine, with Alfa Romeo technology and DNA at its core. It used a carbon fiber tub, front and rear crash box, and hybrid rear subframe out of aluminum, to maintain a curb weight under 2000 pounds.
In the driver’s seat, Tom had to shift the seat all the way back just to squeeze his six foot-four frame inside its carbon fiber shell.
He inserted the key and turned the ignition.
> The raspy note of its four-cylinder turbocharged engine came alive. The dashboard was all in Italian.
Genevieve jumped into the passenger seat. “Drive!”
Tom dropped the handbrake, pulled the right paddle shifter, and the car slipped into first gear. He floored the pedal and swung the wheel to the right, launching the 4C north out along Via del’Olmo.
Despite the narrow street, he quickly depressed the right paddle up the gears until they shot out of harm’s way. Approaching a small intersection, he jammed on the brakes and squeezed the left paddle, down shifting the gears all the way down to first.
“It’s clear!” Genevieve shouted.
He gunned the pedal again. Released from the confines of regular inner-city driving, the raspy four-cylinder turbo roared, and Tom was thrown back into his leather seat like a jet pilot opening the throttles to full on take-off.
The end of Via del’Olmo came up an instant later.
Tom braked, quickly depressing the left paddle and changing down the gears again – the exhaust grunted smoothly, challenging him to drive faster.
“Which way?” he asked.
Genevieve couldn’t see any street signs. “Go left.”
Tom swerved left around the blind bend onto Via del Paradiso.
Up ahead, a Piaggio Ape – one of those Italian three-wheeled light trucks – was slowly making its way down toward them. It was small, but so was the street. There was nothing Tom could do about it. He jammed on the brake and screeched to a stop.
The driver of the Piaggio Ape honked his horn and yelled something in Italian that Tom guessed meant, something along the lines of, you’re driving the wrong way down a one-way street, you shmuck!
Genevieve turned around and yelled, “Reverse!”
Tom glanced at the carbon fiber center console. An aluminum toggle stood out. He pulled it downward and the dashboard changed to blue and at the base of the screen flashed the words – All weather driving. He flicked the toggle again, and the screen turned red – Dynamic. He pressed it one more time and the screen turned yellow. A lateral G-force measuring device glowed in the middle, followed by the words, Race Mode.
He grinned. “Hey, look I found race mode!”
Code to Extinction Page 21