enemy heard it, too. That it made them call off the chase. Maria wanted to raise more of an alarm. She cradled her phone in her hand, ready to call for help, both to alert Castel Gandolfo of Joe’s desperate run and to summon medical help for Mac.
But not yet.
She had to make sure no one heard her or saw the shine of her phone’s screen. So, she waited breathlessly until all of the pursuers had chased their prey down the slope of the volcanic caldera. Once she could no longer spot Joe or his hunters, she lifted her phone.
Mac whispered to her. “Do you think he’ll make it?”
“If anyone can, he can. And if not—”
She refused to even think about that, too guilt-ridden, too fraught with fear. She stared out through the steam to the cold rainy night, trying to spot Joe.
What have I done?
10:49 P.M.
His breath heaving, Kowalski stumbled down the grassy, rock-strewn slope to a gravel path. The case thumped against his thigh as he gulped a big lungful of wet air and prepared for another sprint. Across the footpath, maybe fifty yards away, he spotted the reflection of black water, its surface pebbled by heavy raindrops.
Lake Albano.
To his left, the path—likely part of a hiking trail around the lake—led toward the lights of Castel Gandolfo.
Gotta go for it.
He set off again, getting a second wind from knowing that his flight had drawn the enemy after him, away from Maria and Mac, everyone chasing this damned football. But he knew he was more of a defensive guard than a running back. He was built to hit hard, to bring an opponent down, not to sprint for the goalposts.
Still, sometimes a linebacker did make a touchdown.
Determined to prove this, he pounded harder along the path. Ahead, he could already make out windows and the dark outlines of stone walls and tiled roofs.
I can do this.
Then the world exploded with light. Startled and blinded, he skidded to a halt. Winds whipped more savagely, as if a tornado had caught him.
But it wasn’t a tornado.
Gunfire chattered from above. Gravel erupted across his path as he blinked away the glare and shielded his eyes against the bright light.
He craned his neck up at the helicopter hovering overhead. It seemed the enemy had called in even more backup, this time air support. He stared again at those lights, knowing this particular linebacker had been tackled a few yards short of the goal.
He sank to his knees, put the case on the path, and lifted his arms.
Seconds later, above the beat of the helicopter’s rotors, he heard the heavy tread of boots on gravel. He turned only to have the butt of a rifle slam into the bridge of his nose. Bone crunched, and his vision flared with a crimson flash of pain. As he fell on his side, a deeper darkness fell over him.
He fought to stay conscious—but even here, he was failing.
He felt the gust from the rotors as the helicopter lowered to collect its prize. He heard sirens but knew help would not arrive in time. Still, the enemy seemed to hear them, too. Shadows swirled around him; voices barked Arabic.
Closer at hand, someone grabbed the case.
He tried to reach for it, but his arm was kicked away.
No longer able to hold his head up, it fell to the gravel. He tasted blood, smelled it. Even his fading vision ran red, but he saw enough.
The case was unlatched and opened.
Kowalski stared at the empty box and coughed out a laugh.
Smart, girl . . . clearly too smart for me.
11:04 P.M.
Maria lowered her phone as the helicopter lifted and sped away. She suddenly could not breathe. Her chest heaved, but she could not catch any air. It had taken the last of her will, all of her energy to call Painter, to do her best to relate what had happened. He was already rousing forces in the area, but it would be too little, too late for one of them.
Joe . . .
She had heard the gunfire and feared the worst.
What have I done?
It had been her mantra after sending Joe on his futile run. She hadn’t told him of her subterfuge, needing him to believe he carried the astrolabe with him. She wanted him to run with all his strength, both to draw the hunters away and for his own survival. If he had made it to Castel Gandolfo, then he and the artifact would be safe.
But if he didn’t