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“But you have. We have.”

“—and people’s lives were on the line, I don’t know if I wouldn’t do the same thing.”

Leslie shook her head. “You’re not like her. She’s cold and detached.”

“When she chooses to be, I have no doubt of that.” In fact, he was sure of it. Pushing a man from a fourth-story window into the street was pretty callous.

“You couldn’t do it.”

“I don’t know. I might surprise you,” Lourds said softly.

“You already have.” Leslie’s voice softened, too. Without another word, she approached Lourds and pushed him back onto the bed.

She kissed him. At first Lourds wasn’t going to respond, not certain at all about what he was getting into. And not at all certain that the flesh wasn’t too weak. But then, when he found out the flesh was responding just fine, he decided to go for it.

Their hands pulled at each other’s clothing.

Exhausted and running on fumes, Natasha forced herself out of the too-comfortable bed and paced the floor. She didn’t trust herself not to sleep too deeply in the plush bed.

And she didn’t trust that Gallardo wouldn’t be able to break through the hotel security. He’d already shown he was capable and willing to do such a thing in Leipzig.

In the end, though, she knew she was going to need a few hours of sleep. There was only one place she could think of to get it.

She picked up the suitcase containing the guns she’d taken and left the room. Across the hall, she knocked on Lourds’s room. After a few moments, the peephole darkened.

Lourds opened the door and looked at her. “Is something wrong?”

Natasha took one look at the disheveled clothing and hair, then noticed the lingering scent of Leslie Crane’s perfume, and knew exactly what was going on. When Leslie stepped into view behind Lourds wearing only her blouse, which barely covered her modesty, there was no doubt.

“You,” Natasha declared fiercely in Russian as she felt anger and embarrassment sting her cheeks, “are a goat.” She reached out and pulled the door shut.

Cursing to herself, Natasha walked to Gary’s room door. She knocked.

A moment later, he let her in. Thankfully he was still clothed. He carried his PSP in one hand. Aliens danced across its little screen.

“Hey,” Gary said. “What’s going on?”

“I need a place to sleep,” Natasha declared. She brushed by him and entered the room.

“Okay. Sure.” Gary closed the door behind her. “I guess that’s cool. Got two beds in here.”

Neither of the beds had been used. Evidently Gary had been playing video games for a while.

“Let me have three hours of sleep while you stay awake,” Natasha said. She lay back on the bed and kicked off her shoes. Taking the pistols from the suitcase, she held them in her hands, which she crossed over her breasts. “After that you can wake me and then you can sleep.”

“Sentry duty, huh?” Gary asked.

“Yes.” Natasha closed her eyes and felt them burn with fatigue.

“Maybe I should get a gun.”

“No.”

“Oh. Why?”

“Because I said so. Now be quiet and let me sleep. And there’s one thing further.”

“Yeah?”

“If you try to touch me while I’m sleeping, I’ll shoot you through the head.”

Then sleep dragged her off into a welcome darkness.

CAVE #41

ATLANTIS BURIAL CATACOMBS

CÁDIZ, SPAIN

SEPTEMBER 10, 2009

The excavation crews played lights over the waters roiling in the cave as the pumps worked.

Father Sebastian stood to one side and listened to the pumps and generators fill the cavern with noise. Fear rattled inside him. Even though the excavation foreman, Brancati, had told him the structural integrity was sound, Sebastian knew that if the patchwork they’d done to the breached wall gave way again, they might all drown.

Along with the water, though, the excavation crews also brought out the bodies of the ancient dead. They lay like undead sunbathers on top of body bags. Their textiles were much the worse for wear, but that was no surprise. The experts on the dig staff seemed to feel that the materials could be easily restored. But there were many more of the crypt’s occupants that had been shattered by the floodwaters and now lay in pieces. The Atlanteans apparently had superb techniques to preserve the bodies of their dead, but even so, the power of an ocean unleashed upon the site had been too much for them.

It would be years, perhaps many years, before all those bodies would be returned to sacred ground.

Sebastian couldn’t help but pity them, even as he knew that studying them would open new windows into humanity’s distant past.

Even then, Sebastian thought, we won’t know your names.

The loss was monumental. Somewhere in the recesses of the burial vault, or perhaps the caves beyond—if, indeed, any caves yet existed—there might be a record book that listed all the dead. Perhaps there would be a history with those names as well.

Were you Adam and Eve’s true sons and daughters? Were you really the last of those who lived in the Garden of Eden? Did you taste immortality only to have it stripped away for daring too much against God?

As he stared into the darkness of the flooded cave, Sebastian remembered all the old stories from the book of Genesis. As a child, he’d imagined what it must have been like to walk with God and see firsthand all the wonders he’d wrought.

The illustrations in his childhood Bible had shown thick, lush forests filled with animals that had no fear of Adam. He’d roamed freely among them and given them their names.

God had also given Adam Eve to be his wife. And she had been tricked by Satan in the guise of a serpent and he had gotten her to eat from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil.

When God found out they had done the one thing he had forbidden them to do, he drove them from the Garden and placed a cherub with a flaming sword to guard over it.

Would the cherub still be there?

The question haunted Sebastian. If indeed this was the Garden of Eden, as Pope Innocent XIV believed it was, what would he do if God blocked the way?

Sebastian shook his head. Merely thinking the question was sacrilege. If God blocked the way, then the way would be blocked. There would be no going past that.

“Father Sebastian.”

Recognizing his name amid the thunder and crash of the big machines operating around him, Sebastian turned. One of the young men from the construction crew stood before him.

“Yes?” Sebastian said.

“You need to put your hat on, Father.” The young man pointed to the hard hat now cradled in Sebastian’s hands.

“Of course. You’re right. I was just thinking about God. I never stand before him with a hat on.” Sebastian pulled on the hard hat.

“In the future, you might want to do your thinking about him in a safer area.”

Sebastian nodded but didn’t say anything. The young man went on his way. After a moment more, Sebastian turned his attention back to the flooded cave.

Soon, he told himself. Maybe only days remained before they could reenter the cave. In truth, though, he didn’t know whether to look forward to that or be fearful of it.

OUTSIDE ILE-IFE, NIGERIA

OSUN STATE

SEPTEMBER 11, 2009

“Have you been to Ile-Ife before, Thomas?” Ismael Diop asked. He sat beside Lourds in the middle seat of the forty-year-old Jeep Wagoneer.

Natasha sat up front with the young Yoruba driver Diop had negotiated for them after they’d touched down in Lagos the day before. While they’d been in Lagos, Natasha had outfitted herself with a hunting rifle and holsters for the pistols. She’d been mildly insulted that none of the rest of the party wanted to carry weapons.

Leslie and Gary occupied the rear seat.

The old four-by-four rode better than Lourds had expected upon seeing it. Most of the paint and the wood grain sides had been lost over the years, but the engine and transmission sounded strong.

“Once,” Lourds admitted. “A long time ago. Shortly after I graduated university I was asked down here by a linguistics professor I had. She had come from Nigeria.”

“She asked you to come for further study?”

Lourds grinned at the memory. “You might say that. She was a very strict professor. No dating the students. Graduates were an entirely different matter.” He glanced over his shoulder and made sure Leslie was still occupied with Gary.

Leslie pointed out spider monkeys and brightly colored birds. The tall forest was alive with animals around them. It was still early morning, and breakfast was the first order of the day for the wildlife.

The occupants of the car had already taken care of their morning meal. They’d struck camp early that morning, had a hasty breakfast, and gotten onto the road. During the night, Leslie had learned a lot about maneuvering around in a sleeping bag. She’d left Lourds’s tent before Gary had woken, so their trysting was still presumably secret from him. But Natasha had been at the campfire and given them both scathing looks of disapproval for their nocturnal activities.

“Ah. I see,” Diop said. “So after you graduated you were—fair game for this professor?” Diop’s eyes crinkled in merriment.

“Exactly.”

“How long were you here?”

“A month. Five weeks. Something like that. Enough for us to find out that we were compatible. We had a good time together.”

“But not enough of a good time to form a more permanent arrangement?”

“No.” Lourds shook his head. “I’m not the marrying kind. I love my work too much.”

Diop nodded. “I understand. I found myself in similar straits. I married and I tried to make the best of it, but I often found myself torn between my family and my work. In the end, my wife left me for someone who was more inclined to stay at home.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Actually, I think it was for the best. We were both happier for it. And now I have three beautiful daughters and seven grandchildren to visit when I feel the need for family. I believe they understand me more than their mother ever did.”

Spider monkeys leaped from treetop to treetop. Antelope stood at the roadside with twitching ears, then shied away as the jeep roared past. A short distance farther on, the driver had to swerve to avoid hitting a forest elephant that wandered out onto the dirt road leading up into the bush country.

“The man we’re going to see,” Diop went on. “The oba of Ile-Ife—”

“Adebayo,” Lourds said.

Diop nodded. “Yes. You have a good memory. Anyway, this man is very much taken with the old ways. He is lately come into the office he holds, but he’s always been protector of the drum.”

“The drum isn’t part of the office of oba?”

“No. The drum has been handed down through his family for generations.”

“For how many generations?”

Diop shrugged. “To hear him tell it, since the beginning of the Yoruba people.”

“For many hundreds of years, then.” Excitement sang within Lourds. Despite the knowledge that Gallardo was on their trail, but buffered by the fact that they hadn’t seen the man since leaving Île de Gorée, Lourds felt hopeful. “Do you believe him?” Lourds asked.

“Not so much when he told me as when you showed me those pictures of the bell and cymbal. Although I’m no expert, I think the writing on the drum is related to those.”

Lourds shifted restlessly in the seat. They’d traveled most of the day yesterday, by plane and then by jeep. Last night’s encounter with Leslie had been relaxing, but he was consumed with curiosity. His impatience today was only escalating.

“Do you speak Yoruba, Thomas?”

“Passably,” Lourds said. “My professor was Yoruba, and we worked with Yoruba artifacts.”

“That’s good. Adebayo speaks a little English and more Arabic, as many need to in this region to conduct their business affairs, but in the process is painfully slow. Besides, he’ll be more impressed if you speak his language.”

“How much farther is it?”

“Not so much. We’re not going into Ile-Ife proper. Adebayo lives in a small village north of the city. He travels into town when he needs to in order to let his voice be heard. But don’t let that fool you. He’s an educated man.”

“Stay back,” Gallardo instructed DiBenedetto, who drove the Toyota Land Cruiser they’d purchased back in Lagos. “I don’t want to get too close.” He gazed at the notebook computer screen on the lap of the man next to him.

The computer screen showed the Nigerian terrain they traversed. A blue triangle marked Lourds’s position. One of the computer geeks Gallardo hired for jobs had hacked into Lourds’s cell phone and was able to track the GPS locator as long as it remained on. They’d also hacked into Leslie Crane’s phone service. They hadn’t yet been able to get the Russian woman’s.

The red square following the blue triangle marked Gallardo’s own progress. A small satellite receiver mounted on a pole on the Land Cruiser’s bumper connected them to the geosynchronous satellites that orbited the earth and painted their position.

DiBenedetto nodded and reduced his speed.

Gazing behind him, Gallardo looked at the three other vehicles that carried the small army of mercenaries he’d hired back in Lagos. They were white, black, Chinese, and Arabic, a real global collection. Men like them were always for hire in the right bars. Africa remained torn by wars and greed. The dogs of war stayed close to the battles.

All the new men were armed to the teeth.

Gallardo settled back into the seat and felt the day heating up around him. He felt certain it wouldn’t be long now. He’d get the instruments. Then that redheaded bitch was going to get what was coming to her.

CHAPTER

19

NORTH OF ILE-IFE, NIGERIA

OSUN STATE

SEPTEMBER 11, 2009

T

he village was a scattering of huts and small houses made of whatever their occupants could lay hands on. There were a few tin roofs, but most of them tended to be made of bundles of grass. Goats, chickens, and sheep wandered around the homes. Laundry hung on tree limbs behind the houses.

The driver pulled the four-by-four to a stop in the center of the village. A little girl no more than four or five years old ran from a young woman and yelled for her father’s attention.

“See?” Diop said quietly. “These are the things you miss if you never have a family.”

“It wouldn’t be a good idea for me to have a family yet,” Lourds replied. “I’m still not through with my childhood.”

Diop’s eyes sparkled. “No. And I suspect you never will be. You’ll always find one adventure or another that will call your attention away.”

Lourds thought again of the Library of Alexandria. He hadn’t given up hope that not all those books and scrolls from it had been lost forever. He wanted to find them. Perhaps that want would haunt him all his life.

He got out of the vehicle feeling stiff and sore. Part of that was from the sleeping bag, he knew, but part of it was from his amorous adventures with Leslie. He was getting a bit too old for romps on the bare ground.

The men, women, and children of the village all circled them excitedly. They talked in a handful of dialects, trying each one to find a means of communication that worked for the newcomers. They finally picked English, but they had only a rudimentary grasp of the language.