The Last Odyssey (Sigma Force #15) - James Rollins Page 0,41

fire.

Then his title would forever change.

From Mūsā to Mahdi.

He had always known in his bones that this was his true destiny.

The phone in his pocket rang and vibrated. He retrieved it, already expecting this call. The voice that answered confirmed it.

“My esteemed Mūsā, our plane has landed on the coast,” Bint Mūsā stated firmly, speaking Arabic as was traditional within their group, respecting the original tongue spoken by their ancient founders. “We are on our way to the House of Wisdom.”

“Very good. And the map is secure? The archaeologist in hand?”

“Yes, but as I’ve informed you, we regretfully failed to retrieve the Daedalus Key.”

Mūsā heard the anguish at this failure, a misstep that would normally deserve punishment, but this Daughter had recovered much and suffered horrible losses. He would grant her mercy—and hope.

“Fear not, my Daughter, we will obtain the Daedalus Key. Plans are already in motion.”

A sigh of relief followed. “I am grateful to hear such glorious news.”

“I will meet you at the House of Wisdom by midnight.”

He hung up the phone, ready to attend to his last obligation in Ankara. The limousine turned onto Atatürk Boulevard. The car traveled the tree-lined street to a set of tall gates in a stone wall. An American flag decorated the entrance to the U.S. embassy.

The gates stood wide, flanked by guards.

As the limo parked at the curb, Mūsā climbed out. Classical music drifted through the open doors to the compound, where a party was already under way in the courtyard.

The U.S. deputy chief of mission approached, his hand outstretched. “Hoș geldiniz,” he greeted in Turkish. “Ambassador Firat, we’re thrilled you were in town and could attend our soiree tonight.”

“Most gracious.” He shook the man’s hand. “As the ambassador to your beautiful country, how could I not?”

Escorted by the deputy, Mūsā headed through the gates, stepping onto foreign territory while in his own land.

Soon all such borders will be burned away.

From the courtyard, he glanced back to his limo, full of his Sons and Daughters. He turned around with a smile, knowing others of his family were already preparing for the next step in his plans.

To secure the Daedalus Key.

12

June 22, 10:04 P.M. CEST

Province of Rome, Italy

Kowalski frowned and sat up straighter as the Land Rover turned off the main highway that circled Rome and headed to the southwest. Leaving the glow of the city behind, the SUV sped away and climbed toward dark hills dotted with the lights of small villages. Black clouds obliterated the stars as a summer thunderstorm threatened. Thunder echoed down from the highlands sounding like distant cannon fire.

“Where are we going?” he asked from the backseat, turning away from the lights of Rome. “I thought we were going to where the pope lives.”

“We are,” Maria answered with an exasperated sigh next to him.

“Isn’t that back in Rome? At the Vatican?”

“Yes, but like I told you, we’re going to the pope’s summer palace. In a town called Castel Gandolfo, sixteen miles to the south. It’s up in the hills outside Rome. That’s where Director Crowe wants us to take the astrolabe, and where we’ll meet with Father Bailey and Monsignor Roe.”

Kowalski settled back down, too tired to press the matter. He was glad Maria had been on that conference call with Crowe. He was no good with details, especially after days of tension and too little sleep. By the time they were finally able to escape Greenland, the ferocious windstorm had blown itself out, and their destination had changed. Rather than heading back to the States, they had been diverted to Italy, ordered to take the silver astrolabe here. No one bothered to explain why. But an order was an order. And if nothing else, the change put a burr under Pullman’s saddle. The Poseidon’s commander had been none too happy to be called away from hunting for that missing submarine and return again to his role as a glorified Uber driver.

Twenty minutes ago, the jet had touched down on the outskirts of Rome, at Guidonia Air Base, an Italian Air Force facility. Pullman nearly shoved them out the door.

Or at least, me.

A black Land Rover Defender with the word CARABINIERI stenciled in white on the side had been waiting on the tarmac. The driver, a young MP named Reynaldo, was dressed in a dark navy uniform with a matching beret. Kowalski had looked enviously at the man’s holstered Beretta 92. Without any weapons, Kowalski felt naked.

Douglas MacNab leaned forward from the SUV’s third row. “Maria, when are