The Relic Hunters

CHAPTER FORTY ONE

“You tell us!” Bodie grabbed Voltar by the neck despite the trembling walls. “Now!”

“Four minutes,” Cassidy said.

“That one?” Voltar struggled to twist his neck around. “With the rolled gilt edge? It is just a charcoal drawing we found among the effects of Roland Hunt. I guess the men of that time found it appropriate, relevant and even properly fitting that it should be displayed so. He is the man that came closest and who they subdued so carefully.”

Bodie eyed him. “And he is the man that will have the last laugh. What is it, Jemma?”

“It is a drawing, I’m sure, of the ancient Olympics. The place they were originally held, with the Statue of Zeus in the background.”

Bodie struggled with it. “I don’t get it. Roland Hunt drew that? Why?”

“Don’t you see? It’s the next waypoint. The final waypoint.”

Bodie couldn’t grasp the irony, the incredible, terrible depth of the Illuminati’s final “fuck you” to the world. “You’re telling me that these wankers, in their supreme arrogance, returned the statue to its original spot in the early 1900s? Oh, you bastards. You absolute—”

“They returned it to the very place the map was found.” Cross shook his head. “So they could feel superior. Kings of the world.”

“We didn’t know that,” Voltar said. “We knew nothing about the map until now.”

“Roland Hunt did,” Jemma said. “And tried to tell us.”

“Well now we have this.” Cassidy raised the journal. “And the map. Shall we do a Donald and get the duck outta here?”

Bodie grabbed Voltar. “Move.”

They turned tail. Cross leapt out into the corridor first, leading the way. The team followed hard at his heels. They swept down the corridor, Bodie dragging Voltar along like a big sack of shopping. They reached the top of the stairs just as a large contingent of Hoods and Illuminati raced from the other wing toward them, clutching papers, files and thick folders in their hands, everything they couldn’t afford to lose.

“Two minutes,” Cassidy said.

“Crap.” Bodie, last in line, waved them on down the staircase. As the Hoods approached he threw Voltar at them, letting the man windmill his way among their ranks. Bodies tripped and fell awkwardly, screams rang out. Illuminati tumbled together, papers and wallets flying. For a brief moment, white sheets filled the air. Walls still shook, the ceiling cracked as something began to build, a device or primer bombs designed to weaken the structure.

“You people,” Bodie said in disbelief. “You’re destroying your own house.”

He saw Cassidy staring up at him from the hall below as the others fled.

Then the building erupted.