The Cotton Malone Series 7-Book Bundle

by Steve Berry

  “Good riddance,” Malone said. “If you hadn’t, I would have.”

  “And the reason for your hatred?”

  “He killed a friend of mine.”

  “And you also came to save Ms. Vitt?”

  “Actually, I came to stop you.”

  “That may prove problematic.”

  Her cavalier attitude worried him.

  “May I examine the pools?” Zovastina asked.

  He needed time to think. “Go ahead.”

  Viktor lowered his gun, but kept the weapon ready. Malone wasn’t sure what was happening. But their situation posed problems. Only one way in and out. And that was never good.

  Zovastina stepped to the brown pool and gazed down. She then walked to the green pool. “ZH. From the medallions. I wondered why Ptolemy had the letters added to the coins. He’s probably the one who laid those carvings at the bottom of the pools. Who else would have done that? Ingenious. It took a long time to decipher his riddle. Who do we have to thank? You, Mr. Malone?”

  “Let’s say it was a team effort.”

  “A modest man. A shame we didn’t meet sooner and under different circumstances. I’d love to have you working for me.”

  “I have a job.”

  “American agent.”

  “Actually, I’m a bookseller.”

  She laughed. “And a sense of humor.”

  Viktor stood ready, on guard, behind Zovastina. Cassiopeia watched the exit.

  “Tell me, Malone. Did you solve all of the riddle? Is Alexander the Great here? You were just about to explain something to Ms. Vitt when I interrupted.”

  Malone still held the flashlight. Heavy duty. Seemed waterproof. “Vincenti wired this place with lights. Even lit the pools. Aren’t you curious why these were so important to him?”

  “It looks like there’s nothing here.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  Malone laid the flashlight on the ground and removed his jacket and shirt.

  “What are you doing?” Cassiopeia asked.

  He slipped off his shoes and socks and emptied his trouser pockets of the phone and his wallet. “That symbol carved into the side of the pool. It leads to the distant refuge.”

  “Cotton,” Cassiopeia said.

  He eased himself into the water. Hot at first, but then its warmth soothed his tired limbs. “Keep an eye on her.”

  He grabbed a breath and dove under.

  “The cure for AIDS?” Stephanie asked Lyndsey.

  “A local healer showed Vincenti pools in the mountain years ago, when he worked for the Iraqis. He found out then that the bacteria destroy HIV.”

  She saw that Ely was listening with a clear intensity.

  “But he didn’t tell anybody,” Lyndsey said. “He held it.”

  “For what?” Ely asked.

  “The right time. He let the market build. Allowed the disease to spread. Waited.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Ely said.

  “He was about to spring it.”

  Now Stephanie understood. “And you were going to share in the spoils?”

  Lyndsey seemed to catch the reservation in her tone. “Don’t give me that sanctimonious crap. I’m not Vincenti. I didn’t know about any cure until today. He just told me.”

  “And what were you going to do?” she asked.

  “Help produce it. What’s wrong with that?”

  “While Zovastina killed millions? You and Vincenti helped make that possible.”

  Lyndsey shook his head. “Vincenti said he was going to stop her before she did anything. He held the antiagent. She couldn’t move without that.”

  “But now she controls it. You’re both idiots.”

  “You realize, Stephanie,” Thorvaldsen said, “that Vincenti had no idea there was anything else up there. He bought this place to preserve the bacteria source. He named it after the Asian designation. He apparently knew nothing about Alexander’s grave.”

  She’d already connected those dots. “The draught and the tomb are together. Unfortunately, we’re trapped inside this closet.”

  At least Zovastina had left the light on. She’d examined every inch of the unfinished walls and stone floor. No way out. And more of that nauseating odor seeped in from under the door.

  “Do those two computers have all the data about the cure on them?” Ely asked Lyndsey.

  “Doesn’t matter,” she said. “Getting out of here is what matters. Before the bonfire begins.”

  “It does matter,” Ely said. “We can’t let her have those.”

  “Ely, look around you. What can we do about it?”

  “Cassiopeia and Malone are out there.”

  “True,” Thorvaldsen said. “But I’m afraid Zovastina may be a step ahead of them.”

  Stephanie agreed, but that was Malone’s problem.

  “There’s something she doesn’t know,” Lyndsey said.

  She heard it in his tone and was not in the mood. “Don’t try and bargain with me.”

  “Vincenti copied everything onto a flash drive just before Zovastina showed up. He was holding the drive when she shot him. It’s still down in the lab. With that drive and me, you’d have the antiagent for her bugs and the cure.”

  “Believe me,” she said. “Even though you’re a slimy SOB, if I could get you out of here, I would.”

  She banged again on the door.

  “But it’s not to be.”

  Cassiopeia kept one eye on Zovastina, whom Viktor was holding at bay with his gun, and one eye on the pool. Malone had been gone nearly three minutes. No way he’d held his breath that long.

  But then a shadow appeared underwater as Malone emerged from the odd-shaped opening and broke the surface, resting his arms on the rocky edge, one hand gripping the flashlight.

  “You need to see this,” he said to her.

  “And leave them? No way.”

  “Viktor’s got the gun. He can handle her.”

  She still hesitated. Something wasn’t right. Her mind may have been on Ely, but she wasn’t oblivious to reality. Viktor was still an unknown, albeit for the past few hours a helpful one. Parts of her would be hanging from two trees right now if not for him. But still.

  “You need to see this,” Malone said again.

  “Is it there?” Zovastina asked.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  Cassiopeia still wore the tight-fitting leather suit from Venice. She removed the top and left the bottoms. She laid the gun down, out of reach of Zovastina, beside Malone’s. A black sports bra covered her chest and she noticed Viktor’s gaze. “Keep your eye on her,” she made clear.

  “She’s not going anywhere.”

  She slipped into the pool.

  “Grab a good breath and follow me,” Malone said.

  She saw him submerge and wedge himself into the opening. She followed a few feet behind, swimming through one of the B-shaped portals. Her eyes were open and she saw that they were navigating a rock tunnel, maybe a meter and a half wide. The pool sat about two meters from the chamber wall, so they were now swimming into the mountain. Malone’s flashlight beam danced across the tunnel and she wondered how much farther.

  Then she saw Malone rise.

  She emerged from the water right beside him.

  His light revealed another enclosed chamber, this one dome-shaped, the naked limestone streaked with deep blue shadows. Niches cut into the walls held what looked like alabaster jars with finely sculpted lids. Overhead, the gaunt limestone was dotted with openings, rough-hewn and irregularly shaped. Cold silvery light seeped into the lofty hall from each portal, their dusty shafts dissolving into the rock.

  “Those openings have to point downward,” Malone said. “It’s dry as hell in here. They’re to allow light, but not moisture. They also naturally ventilate.”

  “Were they cut?” she asked.

  “I doubt it. My guess is this place was chosen because they’re here.” He levered himself out of the poo
l. Water poured from his soaked pants. “We have to hurry.”

  She climbed out.

  “That tunnel is the only thing that connects this chamber to the other,” he said. “I took a quick look around to be sure.”

  “Certainly explains why it’s never been found.”

  Malone used the flashlight to trace the walls and she noticed faint paintings. Bits and pieces. A warrior in his chariot, holding a scepter and reins in one hand, clutching a woman around her waist in another. A stag hit by a javelin. A leafless tree. A man on foot with a spear. Another man moving toward what looked like a boar. What color remained seemed striking. The violet of the hunter’s mantle. Maroon of the chariot. Yellow for the animals. She noticed more scenes on the opposite wall. A young rider with a spear and a wreath in his hair, clearly in his prime, about to attack a lion already beset by dogs. A white background nearly faded with intermediate shades of orange-yellow, pale red, and brown mixed with cooler shades of green and blue.

  “I’d say Asian and Greek influences,” Malone said. “But I’m no expert.”

  He motioned with the light across stones squared like a parquet floor. A doorway bursting with Greek influence—fluted shafts and ornamented bases—emerged from the darkness. Cassiopeia, a student of ancient engineering, clearly recognized the Hellenistic flair.

  Above spread a shallow-carved inscription in Greek letters.

  “Through there,” he said.

  EIGHTY-SIX

  Vincenti forced his eyes open. Pain in his chest racked his brain. Each breath seemed a labor. How many bullets had hit him? Three? Four? He didn’t remember. But somehow his heart still beat. Maybe it wasn’t all that bad to be fat. He recalled falling, then a deep blackness sweeping over him. He never fired a shot. Zovastina seemed to have anticipated his move. Almost like she’d wanted him to challenge her.

  He forced himself to roll over and he clutched a table leg. Blood oozed from his chest and a new wave of pain drove electric nails through his spine. He struggled harder to breathe. The pistol was gone, but he realized he was holding something else. He brought his hand close and saw the flash drive.

  Everything he’d worked for over the past ten years lay in his bloodied palm. How had Zovastina found him? Who had betrayed him? O’Conner? Was he still alive? Where was he? O’Conner had been the only other person with the ability to open the cabinet in the study.

  Two controllers.

  Where was his?

  He struggled to focus and finally spotted the device lying on the tile floor.

  Everything seemed lost.

  But maybe not.

  He was still alive and perhaps Zovastina was gone.

  He gathered his strength and scooped the controller into his hand. He should have provided the house with full security before he abducted Karyn Walde. But he’d never thought Zovastina would link him to her disappearance—certainly not so quickly—and he’d never believed that she’d turn on him. Not with what she had planned.

  She needed him.

  Or did she?

  Blood pooled in his throat and he spit out the sour taste. A lung must have been hit. More blood caused him to cough, which sent new bolts of agony through his body.

  Maybe O’Conner could get to him?

  He fumbled with the controller and could not decide which of the three buttons to push. One opened the door in the study. The other released all of the concealed doors throughout the house. The last activated the alarm.

  No time to be right.

  So he pushed all three.

  Zovastina stared at the brown pool. Malone and Vitt had been submerged for several minutes.

  “There must be another chamber,” she said.

  Viktor stayed silent.

  “Lower that gun.”

  He did as ordered.

  She faced him. “Did you enjoy tying me to those trees? Threatening me?”

  “You wanted it to appear that I was one of them.”

  Viktor had succeeded beyond her expectations, leading them straight to her goal. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

  “They seemed to know what they’re looking for.”

  Viktor had been her double-agent ever since the Americans first reenlisted his aid. He’d come straight to her and told her of his predicament. For the past year she’d used him to funnel what she wanted the West to know. A dangerous balancing act, but one she’d been forced to maintain because of Washington’s renewed interest in her.

  And everything had worked.

  Until Amsterdam.

  And until Vincenti decided to kill his American watchdog. She’d encouraged him to eliminate the spy, hoping Washington might focus its attention on him. But the subterfuge had not worked. Luckily, today’s deceptions had been more successful.

  Viktor had promptly reported Malone’s presence within the palace and she’d quickly conceived how to take maximum advantage of the opportunity with an orchestrated palace escape. Edwin Davis had been the other side’s attempt to divert her attention but, knowing Malone was there, she’d seen through that ruse.

  “There has to be another chamber,” she repeated, slipping off her shoes and removing her jacket. “Grab two of those flashlights and let’s go see.”

  Stephanie heard a claxon reverberate through the house, the sound dulled by the thick walls that encased them. Movement caught her eye and she saw a panel swing open at the opposite end of the closet.

  Ely quickly shifted out of its way.

  “A frickin’ doorway,” Lyndsey exclaimed.

  She moved toward the exit, suspicious, and examined its top. Electric bolts—connected to the alarm. Had to be. Beyond was a passageway lit by bulbs.

  The alarm stopped.

  They all stood in contemplative silence.

  “What are we waiting for?” Thorvaldsen asked.

  She stepped through the portal.

  EIGHTY-SEVEN

  Malone led Cassiopeia through the doorway and watched as she gazed in wonder. His light revealed carvings that sprang with life from the rock walls. Most of the images were of a warrior in his prime—young, vigorous, a spear in hand, a wreath in his hair. One frieze showed what appeared to be kings paying homage. Another a lion hunt. Still another a fierce battle. In each, the human element—muscles, hands, face, legs, feet, toes—were all depicted with painstaking care. Not a hint of color. Only a silvery monochrome.

  He focused the beam on the center of the wigwam-shaped chamber and two stone plinths that each supported a stone sarcophagus. The exterior of both were adorned with lotus and palmetto patterns, rosettes, tendrils, flowers, and leaves. He pointed to the coffin lids. “That’s a Macedonian star on each.”

  Cassiopeia bent down before the tombs and examined the lettering. Her fingers traced the words on each with a gentle touch. . . “I can’t read this, but it has to be Alexander and Hephaestion.”

  He understood her awe. But there was a more pressing matter. “That’ll have to wait. We have a bigger problem.”

  She stood upright.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Take off those wet clothes and I’ll explain.”

  Zovastina leaped into the pool, followed by Viktor, and swam through the opening that looked so similar to the symbol on the elephant medallion. She’d noticed the resemblance immediately.

  Easy strokes propelled her forward. The water was soothing, like a dip in one of the saunas at her palace.

  Ahead, the overhead rock wall gave way.

  She surfaced.

  She’d been correct. Another chamber. Smaller than the one on the other side. She shook the water from her eyes and saw that the high ceiling seemed backlit by ambient light that leaked in from openings high in the rock. Viktor emerged beside her and they both climbed out. She surveyed the room. Faded murals decorated the walls. Two portals opened into more darkness.

  No one in sight.

  No other beams of light.

  Apparently, Cotton Malone was not as naive as she’
d thought.

  “All right, Malone,” she called out. “You have the advantage. But could I have a look first?”

  Silence.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Her light studied the sandy floor, spangled with mica, and she spotted a moisture trail through the doorway to her right.

  She entered the next chamber and spotted two funerary plinths. Both exteriors were adorned with carvings and letters, but she wasn’t fluent in Old Greek. That was why she’d recruited Ely Lund. One image caught her eye and she stepped close and gently blew away debris that clogged its outline. Bit by bit a horse was revealed. Maybe five centimeters long, with an upstanding mane and a lifted tail.

  “Bucephalas,” she whispered.

  She needed to see more so she said to the darkness, “Malone. I came here unarmed because I didn’t need a gun. Viktor was mine, as you apparently know. But I have your three friends. I was there when you called on the phone. They’re in the house, sealed away, about to be consumed by Greek fire. Just thought you’d like to know.”

  Still silence.

  “Keep an eye out,” she whispered to Viktor.

  She’d come this far, wished too long, fought too hard, not to see. She laid her light atop one of the sarcophagi’s lid, the one with the horse, and pushed. After a moment of valiant tugging, the thick slab moved. A few more shoves and she cleared a pie-shaped opening.

  She grabbed the light and, unlike in Venice, hoped she would not be disappointed.

  A mummy lay inside.

  Sheathed and masked in gold.

  She wanted to touch it, to lift the mask away, but thought better. She did not want to do anything that might damage the remains.

  But she wondered.

  Was she the first in over twenty-three hundred years to gaze upon the remains of Alexander the Great? Had she found the conqueror, along with his draught? Seems she had. Best of all, she knew precisely what to do with both. The draught would be used to fulfill her conquests and, as she now knew, make her an unexpected windfall of profit. The mummy, from whom she could not remove her eyes, would symbolize all that she did. The possibilities seemed endless, but the danger that surrounded her brought her thoughts back to the reality.