The Last Odyssey (Sigma Force #15) - James Rollins Page 0,98
you any more precisely than that.”
Elena stood straighter and awaited the group’s judgment. They bowed their heads together, murmured excitedly, then turned back to her.
The proud smile on her father’s face gave her the answer before he even congratulated her. “I knew you could do it, Elena.”
She returned his smile. Fuck you.
Her father and the others all left quickly, ready to set sail for the lost city of Tartessus. She dropped and sagged into the leather chair by the table.
Roe joined her, settling his old bones down more delicately. “You think that’s where Captain Hunayn truly went?”
She nodded. “I have no doubt.”
She stared down at the map. She imagined that fiery river coursing from Vulcano, over to Sardinia, across Africa, and out the Strait of Gibraltar.
“That’s exactly where Hunayn sailed to,” she said honestly.
But that’s not where he ended up.
She lifted her eyes to the library door, a cold satisfaction settling into her. She was her father’s daughter all right—a senator’s daughter. While growing up, she had spent many hours on the campaign trail with her father, standing in the spotlight alongside him, where she had learned how to blur truth and lies to their best effect.
Like now.
She turned and stared out at the African coast. She had needed to buy Joe and the others extra time, so they could hopefully reach the true site of Tartarus first—which meant she had to lead these bastards astray.
But one question remained.
Can Joe and the others figure it out in time?
28
June 25, 8:08 P.M. CEST
Airborne over the Mediterranean Sea
I had better be right.
Gray closed his eyes, plagued by doubts.
His body was pressed deeper into his seat cushion as the Poseidon climbed steeply over the sea, leaving the chaos of Palma behind them. It had taken far longer to escape the island of Majorca than he had hoped.
Commander Pullman had helped coordinate the capture of the submarine, a Russian Lada-class boat. All but two of the crew had either died or shot themselves before being captured. The remaining pair were being interrogated, but Gray imagined the two were low-level drudges or hired mercenaries, who likely knew nothing significant, especially about their bosses.
By the time Gray and the others could slip away from the damaged cruise ship and meet up with the Poseidon, the sun had been near to setting. He stared out the window as the plane banked and headed toward where the sun sat on the horizon. He had not even told Commander Pullman where they were going, only to head west toward the Strait of Gibraltar.
Gray hadn’t even shared his destination with Director Crowe—or with those traveling with him. Seichan sat next to him, Kowalski and Maria behind, and Bailey and Mac ahead. Gray trusted this team, but he had kept his theories to himself. He feared discussing it on the ground amid the tumult of Palma.
Finally, the plane leveled off at cruising altitude.
Bailey twisted around and glared back at Gray. “Now can we talk about where we’re headed?”
Gray undid his seat belt. “Follow me.”
The group quickly clambered out of their seats. They sidled past the port-side row of monitoring stations. The crew seated there ignored their group and stayed focused on the various glowing screens.
Gray led his team toward the back of the jet, to where a galley offered more space to gather. He carried his e-tablet and the section of the gold coast that he’d pried out of the remains of the Da Vinci map. He placed both on the small counter and faced the others.
“First, let’s make sure I’m not crazy,” he said.
Kowalski lifted his hand, clearly ready with a wisecrack. Gray frowned at him, and Kowalski promptly lowered his arm.
“Tell us what you’re thinking,” Mac said.
Maria nodded.
Seichan merely folded her arms, as if already accepting his conclusions.
Gray turned to Kowalski. “You told us before, when the map was activated, that you didn’t see where the fiery line ended. Whether Elena did or not, she must’ve had some inkling of the pattern forming. I believe she was looking for corroboration in those geology texts.”
“Corroboration of what?” Bailey asked.
Gray raised a palm, asking to be allowed to finish. “Remember, Elena commented how the flaming route on the gold map looked like a representation of tectonic plates clashing together.”
Maria frowned. “But what does that have to do with anything?”
Gray picked up his e-tablet and opened an image he had stored there. It showed a map of the Mediterranean, broken up and divided into the five tectonic plates that underlay the entire