He and Dorothea investigated one of the dwellings, entering through a sculpted bronze door. A mosaic-paved central courtyard was surrounded by four square rooms, each carved from stone with clear depth and precision. Onyx and topaz columns seemed more for decoration than support. Stairs led to an upper story. No windows. Instead, the ceiling consisted of more quartz, the pieces arched together with mortar. The weak light from outside refracted through and was magnified, making the rooms more resplendent.
"They're all empty," Dorothea said. "As if they took everything and left."
"Which may be exactly what happened."
Images sheathed the walls. Groups of well-dressed woman seated on either side of a table, surrounded by more people. Beyond, a killer whale-a male, he knew from the tall dorsal fin-swam in a blue sea. Jagged icebergs floated nearby, dotted with colonies of penguins. A boat cruised the surface-long, thin, with two masts and the symbol from the plaza, emblazoned in red, on square sails. Realism seemed a concern. Everything was well proportioned. The wall reflected the flashlight beam, which drew him closer to caress the surface.
More of the ceramic pipes ran floor to ceiling in every room, their exterior painted to blend with the images.
He examined them with unconcealed wonder.
"Has to be some sort of heating system. They had to have a way to keep warm."
"The source?" she asked.
"Geothermal. These people were smart, but not mechanically sophisticated. My guess is that pit in the central plaza was a geothermal vent that would have heated the whole place. They channeled more heat into these pipes and sent it all over the city." He rubbed the shiny exterior. "But once the heat source faded, they would have been in trouble. Life here would have been a daily battle."
A fissure marred one of the interior walls and he traced it with his light. "This place has taken some earthquake hits over the centuries. Amazing it's still standing."
No reply had been offered to either of his observations, so he turned.
Dorothea Lindauer stood across the room, a gun pointed at him.
STEPHANIE STUDIED THE HOUSE THAT DANNY DANIELS' DIRECTIONS had led them to find. Old, dilapidated, isolated in the Maryland countryside, surrounded by dense woods and meadows. A barn stood to its rear. No other cars were in sight. They'd both come armed, so they stepped from the vehicle, weapons in hand. Neither of them said a word.
They approached the front door, which hung open. Most of the windows were shattered clear. The house was, she estimated, two to three thousand square feet, its glory having faded long ago.
They entered cautiously.
The day was clear and cold and bright sunshine flooded in through the exposed windows. They stood in a foyer, parlors opening to their left and right, another corridor ahead. The house was single-story and rambling, connected by wide hallways. Furniture filled the rooms, draped in filthy cloths, the wall coverings peeling, the wood floors buckling.
She caught a sound, like scraping. Then a soft tap, tap, tap. Something moving? Walking?
She heard a snarl and growl.
Her eyes focused down one of the halls. Davis brushed past and led the way. They came to a doorway into one of the bedrooms. Davis dropped behind her but kept his gun aimed. She knew what he wanted her to do, so she eased close to the jamb, peeked inside, and saw two dogs. One tawny and white, the other a pale gray, both busy eating something. They were each a good size and sinewy. One of them sensed her presence and raised its head. Its mouth and nose were bloodstained.
The animal growled.
His partner sensed danger and came alert, too.
Davis moved up behind her.
"Do you see it?" he asked.
She did.
Beneath the dogs, lying on the floor, was their meal.
A human hand, severed at the wrist, three fingers missing.
MALONE STARED AT DOROTHEA'S GUN. "YOU PLAN TO SHOOT ME?"
"You're in league with her. I saw her go into your room."
"I don't think a one-night stand qualifies as being in league with someone."
"She's evil."
"You're both nuts."
He stepped toward her. She jutted the weapon forward. He stopped, near a doorway that led out into the adjacent room. She stood ten feet away, before another wall of shiny mosaics.
"You two are going to destroy each other, unless you stop," he made clear.
"She's not going to win this."
"Win what?"
"I'm my father's heir."
"No. You're not. You both are. Trouble is, neither one of you can see that."
"You heard her. She's vindicated. She was right. She'll be impossible to deal with."
True, but he'd had enough and now was not the time. "Do what you have to do, but I'm walking out of here."
"I'll shoot you."
"Then do it."
He turned and started out the doorway.
"I mean it, Malone."
"You're wasting my time."
She pulled the trigger.
Click.
He kept walking. She pulled the trigger again. More clicks.
He stopped and faced her. "I had your bag searched while we ate at the base. I found the gun." He caught the abashed look on her face. "I thought it a prudent move, after your tantrum on the plane. I had the bullets taken from the magazine."
"I was shooting at the floor," she said. "I wouldn't have harmed you."
He extended a hand for the gun.
She walked over and surrendered it. "I hate Christl with all my being."
"We've established that, but at the moment it's counterproductive. We found what your family has been searching for-what your father and grandfather worked their whole lives to find. Can't you be excited about that?"
"It's not what I've been searching for."
He sensed a quandary, but decided not to pry.
"And what about what you've been searching for?" she asked him.
She was right. No sign of NR-1A. "The jury's still out on that one."
"This could have been where our fathers were coming."
Before he could answer her speculation, two pops broke the silence outside, far off.
Then another.
"That's gunfire," he said.
And they raced from the room.
STEPHANIE NOTICED SOMETHING ELSE. "LOOK FARTHER RIGHT."
Part of the interior wall swung open, the rectangle beyond deep with shadows. She studied paw prints in the dirt and dust that led to and from the open panel. "Apparently they know what's behind that wall."
The dogs' bodies tensed. Both started barking.
Her attention returned to the animals. "They need to go."
Their guns remained aimed, the dogs holding their ground, guarding their meal, so Davis shifted to the other side of the doorway.
One of the dogs lunged forward, then abruptly stopped.
"I'm going to fire," he said.
He leveled his gun and sent a bullet into the floor between the animals. Both shrieked, then rushed around in confusion. He fired again and they bolted through the doorway into the hall. They stopped a few feet away, realizing that they'd forgotten their food. She fired into the floorboards and they turned and ran, disappearing out the front door.
She let out a breath.
Davis entered the room and knelt beside the severed hand. "We need to see what's down there."
She didn't necessarily agree-what was the point?-but knewDavis needed to see. She stepped to the doorway. Narrow wooden steps led below, thendog-legged right into pitchdarkness. "Probably anold cellar."
She started the descent. He followed. At the landing she hesitated. Slivers of darkness evaporated as her pupils adjusted and the ambient light revealed a room about ten feet square, its curtain wall hacked from the ground rock, the floor a powdery dirt. Thick wooden beams spanned the ceiling. The frigid air was unmolested by ventilation.
"At least no more dogs," Davis said.
Then she saw it.
A body, wearing an overcoat, lying prone, one arm a stump. She instantly recognized the face, though a bullet had obliterated the nose and one eye.