The Doomsday Key by James Rollins Read Free Book Online Page B

Not knowing what else to do, he sent them to his son’s thesis professor at Princeton University, Dr. Henry Malloy.”
    “I’d like to see those files myself,” Painter said, beginning to understand why Sigma had been called into the matter. The strange attack, the cryptic research, all fit the scope of Sigma. Painter’s mind already began charting logistics and a plan of action. “I can have someone out in the field in Mali within twenty-four hours.”
    “No. Your role in this matter will be limited.” Metcalf’s voice deepened with an implied threat. “This mess is already escalating into a political shitstorm. Senator Gorman is on a witch-hunt, looking for any and all parties to blame.”
    “General—” Painter began.
    “And Sigma’s already on fragile ground. One misstep, and no one will be able to pick up the pieces.”
    Painter held back a stronger refrain, letting the implied lack of confidence in his group roll off his back. He had to pick and choose which fights to have with this man. This wasn’t one of them.
    “So what role do you see for Sigma?”
    “To gather intelligence on those files, to determine if it warrants further investigation. And the first place to start is with Dr. Malloy. I want him interviewed, and the files reviewed.”
    “I can have a team over there by this afternoon.”
    “Very good. But there is one other thing. Something that I’d like you to undertake personally.” “What’s that?”
    “One piece of information has been kept quiet for now. I want your take on the matter.” The general tapped at his keyboard, and the photozoomed in to Jason Gorman’s face. “Whoever strung the boy up mutilated his body.”
    Painter stood and moved closer to the wall monitor. A symbol had been burned into the young man’s brow, as if someone had taken a branding iron to him. A circle and a cross.
    “I want to know why they did this,” Metcalf said. “And what it means.”
    Painter slowly nodded.
    So did he.
    9:35 P.M.
Rome, Italy
    Rachel slid her Mini Cooper into the assigned parking place at her apartment complex. Seated behind the wheel, she took an extra moment to think about what she’d done. On the passenger seat was a small clear plastic bag holding the old leather pouch and its macabre contents.
    She had left Saint Peter’s without telling anyone about what she’d discovered.
    It’s late, she had justified in her head. I can turn it over to the investigators in the morning. Give a full report then.
    But Rachel recognized the deeper truth behind her theft. It had been her uncle’s words that had guided her to the hidden pouch. She had felt a certain possessiveness about that discovery. If she turned the pouch over to the authorities, not only would she be reprimanded for trespassing on a case that was beyond her jurisdiction, but she could be cut totally out of the loop. She might never find out the significance of the pouch. And lastly, she could not ignore a touch of pride about the matter. No one else had found the pouch. She trusted her own gut more than the muddle and chaos that was this international and interdepartmental investigation.
    And her gut told her that she was out of her league. She needed help. She would wait until Gray arrived in the morning, get his take on all of this, and go from there.
    Settled on a plan of action, Rachel grabbed the evidence bag andshoved it into her jacket. She climbed out of her car and headed for the stairs. Her apartment was on the third floor. Though small, she did have a nice view of the Coliseum from her balcony.
    Reaching the third floor landing, she pushed through the stairwell door. As she headed down the hallway, she noted two things. Mrs. Rosselli was cooking with too much garlic again, and a glow shone out from under her own door.
    Rachel stopped. She always turned off her lights before leaving her apartment. But then again, she had been upset this morning. Maybe she had forgotten.
    Not taking any chances, she