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A pity she couldn’t grab a motorcycle, too, but she was moving pretty fast now, and soon, she stepped into a large, hollowed-out cavern at least fifty feet wide, the ceiling too high for her to see. The huge space was lit with soda vapor lights, focused on the ground. And there were people working, all men, five by her count, moving boxes and crates. She saw four motorbikes parked on their kickstands near the wall. Then she saw it, behind the motorbikes, what had to be the basement door.
But how to get past the workers? Suddenly, two of them turned and started coming toward her. Nowhere to hide. She looked up, saw reinforced beams above her head. She stashed her PPK and torch, leaped up, and grabbed on to a burnished two-by-four. She dragged her legs up and over, flattened herself against the beam. It was a tight fit. She held her breath as the two workers walked under her, unaware she was above them.
She waited. The lights went off in the tunnel. At last Nicholas had activated his EMP. She had to hurry, she didn’t want Mike to have to wait, it would be too dangerous.
She heard the workers groan, curse, saw the beams from torches being turned on. The men who’d walked below her were coming back. Neither had had a torch on them, they were using the walls to guide them.
“What happened?” one of them shouted in Italian.
“Everything’s gone offline,” another yelled back. “Might as well take a break until we get it fixed. Unless you want to light the lamps?”
“No, let’s not bother. By the time we get them all lit the power will be back on. I could use a break. Last one to the break room makes the espresso.”
The men walked beneath her again, talking, joking about their unexpected break, back into the cavern. She watched as one by one they disappeared into the open door, torches bobbing.
Nicholas’s EMP had worked perfectly. The lighting in the tunnels must be run off a computerized system rather than straight electrical circuits. More to their advantage than she could have hoped.
When she saw the last of the crew disappear through the door, she dropped down and started toward the entrance. If she was right, this passage would lead to the basement.
It was strange, this ongoing dig under the mountain. What could they be looking for? Surely not more Etruscan artifacts? The activity was so clearly regulated, something else was going on. It was a huge undertaking, shoring up tunnels, digging new ones, the cost alone must be staggering.
Then it hit her. The cherubim’s wing—could they possibly think the Ark was buried here? How could that be possible?
Kitsune walked through the door and saw a long hallway stretch out in front of her. It was eerie down there in the darkness, with no lights, too cool for comfort, and damp. She shivered.
She didn’t risk turning on her torch. She stood quietly for a moment, hoping her eyes would adjust, but the darkness was profound. She listened but couldn’t hear any voices or footsteps. The floor was rough concrete, as were the walls. This tunnel was more recent than the others.
She started up the hallway, walking carefully, slowly, one hand on the wall so she didn’t trip and lose her balance. After a turn, she thought she could see light up ahead, and walked faster. This door had to be the one that directly connected the tunnel system to the basement. Mike could already be there to let her in. Then she’d return to Nicholas, and Kitsune would find Grant and they would leave through the tunnels.
She shielded her arm with her gun and pressed the button for the digital display. It flashed blue in the dark, and in that eerie light, she saw a row of doors, doors that had no handles, only small indentations to slide them open. Storage rooms, most likely, for the excavation equipment. Considering the age of the palazzo, and the many wars that had been fought in the area, maybe they were there to hold prisoners.
Like Grant.
She went to the closest door and fit her fingers into the indentations, and pulled. It didn’t move. It was locked, as was the next and the next. Whatever was behind these doors had been sealed off. She wanted to yell with frustration.
With no hope, she fit her fingers into the indentation on the fourth door. It opened easily. It was as dark as a pit in hell. She heard a person breathing.
She turned on the torch and stared into the blinking eyes of her husband.
His beloved face was dirty, and she saw blood matting his hair over his temple.
“Who is it?” His voice sounded slurred.
She realized he couldn’t see her. She whispered, “It’s me, Grant, Kitsune.” She dropped to her knees by his side, and pulled him into her arms. She kissed his bloody hair, his filthy face, his mouth, hugged him, rocked him. “You’re alive, you’re alive. I’m going to get you out of here. Can you stand?”
Grant smelled her familiar scent, breathed her in. She was here, but that was impossible, which meant he was out of it on the drugs, hallucinating now. In his saner moments, he’d known he should accept that she had to be dead. That damned last job, that impossible stunt she pulled, and for what? His brain looped back. She was here, with him, and he let her hold him while he tried to clear his head, bring himself back into focus. He felt her tears on his cheek. Tears, Kitsune’s tears. She was here, she was here, to rescue him.
“What day is it?”
“What? Oh, it’s Tuesday.”
“Three days
. They’ve kept me drugged for three days.” And he breathed her in again. “Give me another minute to get my brain together.”
“What have they been giving you?”
“Ketamine, I think.”
