“Indeed. Throughout history, amber has been valued for its healing properties and as a ward against evil, a way to keep beasts and monsters at bay.”
Elena shared a glance with Kat, wondering if Smithson had heard these same stories. If so, it would support Kat’s supposition that Smithson had conducted his experiments for a reason, perhaps to test such wild claims with science. Maybe Smithson wasn’t just looking for the presence of a life-sustaining healing chemical, but also testing the amber to see if it could be a ward against evil.
Could his experiments have been a search to find a cure against what was hidden inside?
Tamm continued again, drawing back her attention. “While I can’t tell you where Mr. Smithson discovered such an outstanding specimen, I do know the path he took to get here.” He turned away. “Let me show you.”
1:27 p.m.
Kat followed the director over toward his daughter.
Let’s hope this leads somewhere.
Tamm glanced back to their group. “Are you familiar with the Silk Road?”
Kat frowned at the abrupt change of subject. “As in the ancient trade route, between Europe and China, where silk and other goods were shipped?”
“Precisely. But there is another trade road, one far older, tracing back five thousand years.”
What is he talking about?
Tamm turned to his daughter and spoke rapidly in Estonian. Lara nodded, tapped at the computer keyboard, and brought up a map of the eastern half of Europe on her monitor.
They all gathered around.
Tamm pointed to the dotted line coursing across the map. “This is known as the Amber Road. Along this route, cargos of precious amber traveled from St. Petersburg—where there are large deposits of amber—all the way down to Venice, Italy. From there, ships carried this treasure across the Mediterranean.” He looked at the group. “In fact, did you know that the breast plate of Tutankhamen is decorated with pieces of Baltic amber?”
Pride shone from the director’s face as he recounted this illustrious history of the region’s native gemstone.
Tamm continued, “Even the ancient Greeks prized Baltic amber, especially due to its mystical properties. Some twenty-five hundred years ago, Thales of Meletos rubbed a piece of cloth over a chunk of amber and produced sparks. He called this strange new force electricity, derived from the Greek word electron, which was their name for amber.”
“That’s interesting,” Monk said. “But what does all this have to do with James Smithson?”
“Everything.” Tamm’s eyes twinkled as he nodded to the map. “Mr. Smithson started his journey in Venice and traveled northward along the Amber Road. He intended to go all the way to St. Petersburg, but he ended his sojourn here in Tallinn. Though I can’t say why he stopped.”
Kat could guess. After his experiments had failed to produce any usable results, he must have forsaken his pursuit.
Tamm tapped the city of Tallinn on the map and ran his finger backward. “I have to imagine that Mr. Smithson must have discovered his specimen somewhere along this route.”
Elena glanced to Kat. “He must be right.”
She scowled at the map, studying the sheer length of the Amber Road.
If so, how can we hope to find the source in less than three days?
A possible answer came from Lara. “My father is not entirely correct.” She cast an apologetic glance to the director. “While Mr. Smithson was following the route north from Venice, once he reached the Baltic Sea he took a sailing ship along the coast to reach Tallinn’s port.”
“How do you know this?” Tamm asked, looking surprised.
She touched her computer keyboard. “This morning I took the liberty of searching electronic copies of ship records from the time Mr. Smithson was in our city. I found his name listed on a passenger manifest for a merchant vessel that had arrived from Gdansk, Poland.”
Kat leaned closer to the monitor and followed the road back to the Polish city. It sat at the edge of the Baltic Sea.
Monk bent down next to her. “If he traveled from there, that would narrow our search considerably.”
“To only half the Amber Road.” Kat sighed heavily. “But that still leaves a lot of ground to cover.”
Monk leaned his shoulder against hers. “We’ve done a lot more with a lot less.”
True.
Kat straightened and turned to Lara. “Were you able to learn anything more about Smithson’s travels?”
“No, I’m afraid not.” Lara crossed her arms. “But Gdansk has been the center of the world’s amber trade for centuries. Back a few years ago, the city started a large amber museum. They have archival records tracing back to the founding of the first guild of amber craftsmen in 1477. Perhaps the museum might have some record of Mr. Smithson.”
Monk shrugged. “It’s a long shot.”
Kat nodded. “But like you said, we’ve done far more with less.”
2:01 P.M.
As preparations were being made for their departure, Elena paced the length of the library table. She stared down at the record of life of the Smithsonian’s founder stacked on the table. It was as if his body were sprawled there.
Is this all that’s left after we’re gone?
Smithson had never married, never had children, and while his name was writ large in stone across the National Mall, few knew the man himself. All anyone could do was piece together bits and pieces of his life. She picked up the yellowed handwritten treatise, trying to understand this man who sought to better the world through science.
She returned the paper to the table.
You deserved better.
Sam stepped next to her. “Are you okay?”
She turned to her companion, who stood a head taller than her and a tad closer than she found comfortable. “Just tired,” she forced out. “And maybe a little wired at the same time.”
“Totally get that.” Sam glanced sidelong to their teammates. “Those two do not let any moss grow under their feet.”
She smiled.
That’s certainly true.
Off to the side, Monk finally ended his call with their jet’s pilot and spoke to his wife. “If we hurry, we can be wheels-up in an hour.”
Kat nodded. “Then let’s head out. Hopefully the town festival won’t bog us down.”
Director Tamm noted her concern. “Perhaps I can show you a route to the airport to avoid the worst of the congestion.” He stepped smartly toward the thick door. “There’s a map in the lobby.”
Monk and Kat followed at his heels, drawing Sam and Elena with them.
As they headed to the exit, Sam lifted an eyebrow toward Elena. “See what I mean?”
Tamm hauled open the door. “A festival parade is scheduled—”
A sharp clap cut him off.
The side of the director’s neck exploded, showering Kat with blood. His body fell back into the room.
Time slowed.
Lara cried out, sounding far away to Elena’s ears.
As if choreographed, Kat dropped and dragged Tamm’s body to the side, while Monk shouldered hard into the iron-banded planks of the door and slammed it shut.
A sharp knocking followed, as more rounds pelted the door.
Sam caught Elena around the waist, drawing her back and not letting go.
Monk held the door but called across the room. “Lara, is there another way out of here?”
The director’s daughter stood stiff-backed, her hands at her throat, her eyes too wide.
Kat pressed her bare palms against Tamm’s neck wound, trying to stanch the flow. “Lara, we don’t have much time.”
The young woman stared at the spreading pool of blood, her answer a low moan.
“No . . .”
19
May 8, 12:02 A.M. SST
Northwestern Hawaiian Islands
Gray stood alone on the foredeck of the dark catamaran. A sickle moon hung low over the midnight waters, casting little light. He checked his dive watch, a steel R
olex Submariner.
Almost time.
Still, he clenched a fist, the cords of his forearm bulging, reflecting his impatience. It had taken the team nearly seven hours to reach their destination, arriving a few minutes before midnight. Back in Maui, they had commandeered the corporate HondaJet owned by Tanaka Pharmaceuticals and flown across the archipelago of the northwestern Hawaiian Islands to reach Midway. There they had rendezvoused with Palu’s cousins who owned a fishing catamaran, a Calcutta 390 customized with a pair of 550 Cummins diesel engines, and raced southeast at forty knots to reach these waters.
Gray lifted his binoculars to study their target. From two miles offshore, the island of Ikikauō looked like a forested hump rising from the waves. A handful of lights twinkled on the western side, marking a cluster of decommissioned U.S. Coast Guard buildings. They bordered a small runway of crushed coral.
Earlier, as their catamaran had neared the island, a small plane had landed there.
So somebody was definitely home.
Knowing that, the group continued to pretend to be a simple fishing charter. They kept well away from the island. Palu and his two cousins—who were shorter, rounder versions of the fireman—had positioned rods around the boat, acting as if they were trolling through the water for a little night fishing.
The others hid down below in the small cuddy cabin. The plan was to wait for the moon to set, then drop overboard in scuba gear and swim ashore. They needed proof that this island was the staging ground for the attack and to try to identify who was behind it.
A tall order . . . especially on hostile territory.
Gray lowered his binoculars and turned to the satellite map of the island. It was tacked to a board near the catamaran’s wheel. The thousand-acre island was really an atoll, nearly circular in shape, fringed all around by reefs. But the most unusual feature was the oblong lake resting at its center. It was surrounded by low hills covered in dense rain forest. According to the old Coast Guard records, the lake was over thirty meters deep in spots and very salty, which suggested it communicated with the neighboring ocean.
The slap of bare feet drew his attention around.
Palu climbed from the stern deck to join Gray in the boat’s tiny wheelhouse. The big Hawaiian must have noted Gray’s focus. He pointed to the map. “That’s why we call this island Ikikauō. Means Little Egg.” He tapped the lake. “See, here is the yolk.”
“Got it.”
“We name it also because of the life that hatches from here. Finches, ducks, terns, albatrosses. Then there’s the water ’round here . . . you can scoop a pail and catch a fish.” He grinned. “Maybe not that easy, but pretty close.”
Gray suspected Palu was sharing this as a reminder yet again of all that was at risk. The man’s mood grew pensive as he stared out to sea.
“According to our myths,” he mumbled, “Pele’s brother—Kāne Milohai—guards these islands way out here.” He glanced over to Gray. “But sometimes even the gods need a little help.”
“We’ll do all we can,” Gray promised.
“I know, I know.” Palu returned his attention to the map. “But this place has been threatened long before now. All these islands.” He waved to include the entirety of this remote stretch of his native homelands, then pointed to the southwest. “They sit at the fringe of the Great Pacific Garbage Patch.”
Gray stared out to sea. He had read of the swirling galaxy of trash that had formed in the nearby vortex of currents known as the Pacific gyre. Covering an area twice the size of Texas, the patch was composed of millions of small trash islands set amid a soup of floating rubber, degraded plastics, old fishing nets, and other debris.
Palu shook his head. “It’s slowly poisoning our lands. Washing more and more garbage onto the beaches. Wiping out birds, killing sea turtles. No one pays attention out here.” He shrugged. “The Papahānaumokuākea monument helps, but it’s not enough.”
Gray recognized the name of the protected marine reserve that surrounded the northwestern Hawaiian Islands.
Palu nodded to the map. “Unfortunately, this small island—Ikikauō—and many others sit outside the reserve.”
Gray nodded. “It’s probably why that corporation leased this place. Being beyond the reach of U.S. Fish and Wildlife, they’d have a free hand to do what they’d like with the place.”
“Maybe, but this island is still important to my people.” He pointed a thumb at his cousins. “Makaio and Tua say there are some old shelter caves with petroglyphs on the eastern side, even ruins of a heiau, an ancient Hawaiian temple.”
Gray appreciated the man’s heritage, but Palu was sharing this for another reason.
On the map, he pointed to the atoll’s eastern shore. “While these kanapapikis might not have to worry about Fish and Wildlife, they would know better than to trespass on this side.” He looked significantly at Gray. “Which means no one should be around there.”
Ah . . .
Gray now understood. “So you’re saying that’s where we should aim when we swim to shore.”
Palu’s grin returned. “From there, we catch them with their pants down.” He slapped Gray on the rear. “And smack their okole good.”
Gray rubbed the sting from his own rump and glanced over to the moon.
It had almost set.
Time to get moving.
Gray headed toward the cuddy cabin. “Let’s tell the others.”
12:12 A.M.
Seichan pretended to be asleep on the tiny bed.
Kowalski, on the other hand, snored on the far side of the cabin, sounding as if he were being strangled. It was so loud she could barely make out Ken and Aiko whispering at a small table in the cabin’s kitchenette. But Seichan wasn’t trying to eavesdrop on the pair.
Instead, her palm rested on the flat of her stomach.
She tried to gauge what was happening inside her. With her eyes closed, she imagined the microscopic larvae rooting through her like worms in a rotted apple. She felt no sign of their presence, certainly no pain. According to the professor, that would soon change.
Still, her palm sought signs of the other life inside her.
How far along are you?
On the journey here, Gray had tried to question her about the pregnancy, but she only gave terse answers.
Maybe six weeks.
She pictured the baby at that age. From what she had read, it was about the size of a pomegranate seed. It should have a heartbeat by now—one too quiet to be picked up by any stethoscope, though an ultrasound might reveal its fluttering. Right now, the brain would be dividing into hemispheres and starting to cast out waves of electrical impulses.
Why didn’t you tell me?
Seichan recognized Gray’s wounded look as he asked this question. She had just shaken her head. She didn’t know herself—or maybe she feared the true answer and avoided looking too deeply.
Gray had tried another question.
Do you want to keep—?
She had stopped him with a scathing look and a sharper retort.
For now, it doesn’t matter what I want.
And that was the closest to the truth she was willing to admit. The decision could be taken from her at any time—maybe it already had. After all she had been through this past day, how could she know for sure?
It was better not to hope.
And even making a decision required hope.
Instead, she held on to one firm conviction. Her fingers curled on her belly, knotting into a fist.
Hope would not save her child.
The better path forward was one she knew well.
Vengeance.
If there was any hope of a treatment for her affliction—one that could save her and her baby—she would not stop until it was found and the perpetrators of this attack were either captured or killed.
Preferably the latter.
This thought relaxed her fingers. She rubbed her palm over her stomach, as if reassuring what impossibly slept inside
her.
My baby . . .
The door to the cuddy cabin opened. Without looking, she knew who ducked inside to join them. She recognized his breath, his scent. Her hand settled to a stop over her lower belly, daring for the briefest moment to hope.
Our baby . . .
12:32 A.M.
Gray fell backward over the starboard rail. He was last to go overboard, letting the scuba tank on his back drag him deep. To mask the group’s departure, they exited on the side of the catamaran opposite the island.
Once the dive computer on Gray’s wrist registered twenty feet, he balanced his buoyancy compensator. As he floated, he flipped down his DVS-110 diver night-vision system over his mask. Back on Maui, all the necessary equipment for the mission had been coordinated by Painter. Scuba gear had been sent from a Coast Guard station in Wailuku to their corporate jet. Everything had been waiting for them, including weapons and demolition gear.
Gray searched the waters. The other five members of the landing party hung in the darkness. They appeared as dim silhouettes. He signaled them by flicking on a UV penlight and pointing it due west toward the island. He got thumbs-up from everyone.
He would have preferred to swim dark, but with civilians in tow, he considered the lone UV light a reasonable risk. As he set off, he glanced right and left, making sure Ken and Aiko were not panicking. For this mission, the team might need the professor’s entomological expertise, and the intelligence agent had refused to be left aboard the boat, insisting she was best suited to gather any incriminating evidence to satisfy Japanese authorities.
Gray had reluctantly agreed. Time was too critical to be cautious. It would be up to Gray, along with Seichan and Kowalski, to do their best to protect the pair, while Palu would act as the team’s guide. The Hawaiian was the only one of them to have ever set foot on Ikikauō.
Ready to go, Gray reached to his chest where a ScubaJet was clipped to his vest. The torpedo-shaped propulsion system was only a little longer than his forearm, yet was strong enough to drag a diver at a heady clip through the water.
He made sure the others followed his example and hit the engine’s starter. He glided off at low power until they were all coordinated and traveling together like an underwater fighter squadron. Satisfied, he ratcheted up the high-torque motor, setting them to jetting just shy of six miles per hour. The speed should allow them to cross the two miles to the coast in under twenty minutes.