The Last Odyssey (Sigma Force #15) - James Rollins Page 0,15

these thieves’ ears.”

“Still, it’s worth trying, isn’t it?” Nelson pressed. “From our hiding place, we can do our best to convince them that there is no other treasure. And if our words don’t work, there’s always John’s loud and deadly counterpoint. They may prefer to haul ass out of here with something worth millions versus another protracted fight.”

“True,” Mac conceded and glanced over to Elena. He kept a palm shielded over the beam of his flashlight, but she read his apologetic look. “As Nelson said, it’s worth trying. It’s not like we have a lot of cards to play here.”

Elena crossed her arms, still unconvinced but plainly outvoted.

“Okay, then let’s grab it,” Nelson said. “Before it’s too late.”

The geologist headed toward the ship’s bow, drawing Elena with him.

Mac held back long enough to reassure John. “We’ll be right back.”

When Mac joined them, he lowered his hand from his flashlight. Elena blinked away the sudden glare. Stumbling a step, she crushed a potsherd under her boot heel. She instinctively cringed at the damage. An archaeologist’s primary goal was to preserve what history had kept safe for centuries.

She stared down at the scatter of other pieces of broken pottery across the bottom of the hold. Her gaze swept toward one of the towering earthenware pots that lined the boat’s hold. While this pot had broken a long time ago, the others appeared to be intact, topped by clay lids.

Mac noted her attention. “We examined them. They’re sealed with wax.” He pointed his flashlight to the shattered one. “From the petroleum smell still lingering there, I’m guessing they’re filled with some type of fuel. Maybe whale oil. We didn’t want to break one to find out.”

She appreciated his caution and prayed she lived long enough to discover if he was right. As she started to turn away, a soft tapping drew her attention back to one of the intact pots. It sounded like something was inside.

What the hell?

“Let’s go,” Nelson urged, clearly deaf to the noise.

Mac swung his light away and followed. She kept with them, shaking her head, dismissing the tapping as an acoustic trick in the darkness.

Probably just water dripping on the deck overhead.

She and the two men hurried toward the captain’s cabin.

Nelson reached it first, climbed the stairs, and entered the cramped room. He quickly crossed to the closed metal box atop the desk.

Elena lingered in the doorway, remembering the geologist’s warning about the radioactive nature of the device. Its internal gears were still ticking as it rested on the desktop. When they had fled earlier, they must have left its tiny lever turned to the “on” position.

As Nelson reached the desk, Elena warned him. “Maybe we should turn the device off. I don’t think it should be moved while it’s operating. Any jarring could damage the internal mechanism.”

Nelson scowled. “What does it matter? So, the thieves leave with a broken map. I’m not going to cry over their loss. I expect they’ll just strip it and melt the gold and silver down for a quick sale.”

Mac passed Elena his flashlight and shoved up next to Nelson. “Still, let’s turn the thing off.”

In their haste, the two men got in each other’s way. Nelson ended up elbowing the frost-mummified body of the captain. The chair toppled, taking the corpse with it.

Elena cringed at the crash, at the leaden thud of frozen flesh. With the impact, something flew off the captain’s lap and landed near her toes. She crouched and picked up a rectangular package. It was wrapped in sealskin, with the edges hardened with old wax. Clearly someone had tried to preserve the contents against the elements, and the captain had kept it close, all but cradling it with his own body as he died.

Sensing it was important, she pushed it into her coat and tugged her waterproof zipper higher. She straightened and watched Nelson and Mac lift the large map box. From her low vantage, she spotted a bronze rod pop up from the desk’s surface, apparently spring-loaded and held in place by the weight of the gold map.

Uh-oh . . .

She had read of booby traps being sprung by careless trespassers in Egyptian tombs. She tried to warn them. “Don’t mo—”

A loud gong sounded inside the desk.

Startled, both men tried to back away. Nelson lost hold of one corner of the heavy box. It tilted wildly in his arms. The unlatched lid fell open.

Time slowed as Elena watched the delicate silver astrolabe roll out of its cradle in