The Judas Strain (Page 90)

Now Seichan snorted. "That is why you will never rise higher in the Guild hierarchy, Amen. Pawning off your responsibility to others. I suggest you listen to the monsignor."

Nasser glared, but he did glance back to Vigor. "Marco’s map points here to the ruins. It ends here."

Vigor bent down and lifted the map of Angkor’s extensive complex of ruins. "This covers over one hundred square miles. That’s a lot of territory. Does this strike you as an end?"

Nasser’s eyes narrowed. "Do you propose we search all one hundred square miles? To what end? We have the cure."

Vigor shook his head. "There is no need to search the entire complex. Marco pinpointed the most significant site for us."

Nasser turned to Gray, ready to threaten, his eyes dark on him.

Vigor stepped between them. "Commander Pierce has not held anything back. He does not have this answer. This 1 swear on my soul."

Nasser frowned. "Yet, you do."

Vigor bowed his head. "I do. And I will tell you. But only upon your sworn word that you’ll allow Commander Pierce’s parents to live."

Nasser’s features hardened, suspicious.

Vigor lifted a hand. "I’m not asking for you to release them. Only to hear me out, and 1 think you’ll understand the need to follow the trail to its end."

Gray noted the wavering uncertainty in Nasser’s countenance.

Oh, please, God, let Vigor convince him.

Vigor continued. "Once you follow the trail to the end, then make your decision. About them, about us. It would be foolish to destroy hostages or resources until you discover what lies at the true end of that trail."

Nasser sank to his seat. "So then show me where it ends. Convince me, Monsignor."

"And if I do so, as a man of honor, will you keep Gray’s parents alive?"

Nasser waved a hand. "Fine. For now. But if you are lying, Monsignor . .."

"I’m not." Vigor lowered to one knee before the table.

Gray joined him.

Vigor shifted forward three sheets of paper: the map of Angkor, the obelisk’s angelic code, and the line of three symbols from the keys. The monsignor lifted the sheet of angelic code.

"As Commander Pierce has already related, all the blacked-out diacritical marks—the circles that accent the script—actually represent temple sites that make up Angkor."

Nasser nodded.

"And here again are the three symbols from the keys.

"Now compare these three symbols to the matching circled symbols on the obelisk. What do you see different?"

Nasser leaned forward, as did Gray.

"There’s three blacked-out circles on the symbols on the obelisk," Nasser said.

"Representing three temples," Vigor said. "Now, how many blacked-out circles are there among the three key symbols."

"Only one," Gray said. He understood now. He had been so certain he had solved the puzzle earlier that he had failed to look one step further. "One temple. That blacked-out circle doesn’t just represent the Portuguese castle—it represents one of the temples!"

Gray shifted the map to him and took a pen to circle the corresponding temple and connected them.

Nasser leaned closer to read the temple marked on the map of Angkor. "Bayon." He leaned back. "But how can you be sure it’s significant?"

"The Bayon was the last temple ever built in Angkor," Vigor said. "Built about the time Marco came through the area. The strange thing about the temple is that after it was constructed, all building stopped in the area."

"But what’s there?" Nasser asked.

Vigor shrugged. "I have no idea. Perhaps the source of the Judas Strain, perhaps some other answer. All I know is that Marco believed it was important enough to preserve. And even if I’m wrong, after following this trail halfway around the world, why stop when you are only steps from the very end?"

Nasser stared around the room.

Seichan stirred. "We can be there in half an hour, Amen. It’s worth at least going there."

Gray feared to agree with them, lest he only stir up Nasser’s wrath.

Vigor was not as bashful. "Marco went to much trouble to preserve the location of this temple. The Vatican mystics went through as much trouble to secure it in code. Even the locals here claim the temple still holds many hidden treasures. It bears investigation."

Kowalski raised his hand. "And I have to take a leak. Bad."

Nasser frowned, but he gained his feet. "We’ll head over there. To the Bayon. But if there’s nothing discovered by noon, it’s over."

Nasser lifted the phone to his ears. "Annishen, stay that execution order."

Gray reached and gripped Vigor’s knee under the table.

Thank you.

Vigor glanced to him with an expression that read, We aren’t out of the woods yet.

Nasser proved it. "Annishen, the one parent you chose. We’ll spare their life as per my word to the monsignor. But we’ll still need some incentive to encourage the commander’s continued and heartfelt cooperation."

Nasser’s eyes fixed to Gray. "For every hour in which we don’t have satisfactory results, cut off one finger. And since we’ve stalled here for much longer than an hour due to Commander Pierce’s futile attempts to barter, you may take that first finger now."

Nasser snapped his phone closed.

Gray knew silence would serve him better, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. "You goddamn bastard. 1 will kill you."

Unperturbed, Nasser turned away. "By the way, Commander Pierce, the parent Annishen chose … it was your mother."

6:55 P.M.

As the hood was ripped from her head, Harriet knew something was wrong, dreadfully wrong.

She had been dragged from a closet where she’d been locked up and forced to sit on a steel chair. With the hood pulled away, she saw they were in an abandoned warehouse. The space was cavernous, with concrete floors and walls. Steel exposed beams and pipes ran across the ceiling, and chains hung from rusted pulleys. It smelled of motor oil and burned rubber.

Harriet glanced around.

No windows. The only light came from a few bare bulbs, pooling patches in the darkness. A steel staircase rose to one side. Beside it, an old freight elevator stood open.

It all appeared deserted—except for their captors.

A step away to the left Annishen leaned on a table, a cell phone at her ear, standing silent. It appeared she was listening in to some conversation. A pistol lay on the table, next to a pair of bolt cutters and a small blowtorch. Three other men patrolled the basement’s darkness.

Directly across from her Harriet’s husband sat slumped in a similar chair. Like Harriet, his wrists were in handcuffs. One of the three men stood guard over him with a hand on a holstered pistol. But Jack was no threat. His head hung, trailing a rope of drool. They had stripped him of his pants. He had urinated on himself, soaking the front of his boxers. His left leg, from the knee down, was strapped into his prosthesis. The old industrial accident had stripped so much of Jack’s pride. Nature had taken the rest.