The Shroud Key by Vincent Zandri Read Free Book Online Page A

squiggles which were most definitely added in recent decades that, in this case, match up to specific locations in the Giza Plateau. While these recent map-like additions rule out previous locations or any other location for that matter, they still only spoke to Andre in generalizations.” Raising up her hand, pointing at the map. “Thus the photos and the map occupying the same desk.”
    “This tells me two things,” I say. “First: Your husband only knows the approximate location of the burial site. And two: The people who kidnapped him have yet to steal the goods.”
    Wide-eyed, she nods.
    “It might also mean that while the bones are still out there awaiting discovery, Andre is still alive.”
    “Yes, they will need him alive if they have any hope in unearthing their precious bony relics.”
    A bump on the office door. Not like a knock or a kick with the foot. More like someone or something trying to get in.
    “Lock the door the door,” I say.
    Anya immediately jumps over to the door, locks the closer. That’s when whoever is on the other side begins twisting the opener. Hard.
    The man in black…
    “What do we do, Chase?”
    I grab up the photos, stuff them in my satchel. I fold up the Giza Plateau map and stuff that too into the satchel. Giving the room a scan, I look for a way out.
    “There’s no windows,” Anya says.
    “I’m well aware of that,” I say looking for something, anything that will provide us quick egress.
    Then I see the HVAC diffuser mounted to the top of the concrete block wall. Neither Anya nor myself are particularly big people. It might be a tight fit, but we just might be able to slide ourselves through the duct and down into the next room.
    The person on the other side of the door is yanking on the closer, the door violently slapping against the metal frame. I pick up the desk chair, position it under the wall-mounted duct. Stepping onto the chair, I once more pull out the Swiss Army knife, this time fingering out the blade. Using the tip, I break off the heads of the old screws, then pull out the grill, dropping it to the floor.
    “You first,” I say, jumping down from the chair.
    “Through there?”
    “Yeah, this always works in the movies.”
    For the first time since I’ve known her, Anya truly smiles. She steps up onto the chair, sticks her head and shoulders into the duct.
    “A little help please,” she says.
    I place one hand on her firm butt while wrapping my right arm around her legs.
    “Pleasures all mine,” I say, heaving.
    “For a Ren Man, you’re a real pig, Chase Baker,” she says, before disappearing into the darkness.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    I’m right behind her.
    I drop down into the next room onto my black booted feet just as I make out the sound of Manion’s office door being kicked in. We’re standing in the dark inside someone’s office. An office that appears to be empty, if not for an odor. Not a foul odor but a pleasant one. Aftershave maybe. Like Old Spice. Stuff my old man used to splash on his face before church on Sunday. I’m picturing the face of my old man when the body hits me like I’ve somehow stepped in front of a speeding truck. I go tumbling back against the wall.
    “Chase,” Anya screams.
    “Find a light switch,” I shout.
    The man who tackled me led with his shoulder. The classic football tackle. He might have even bruised a rib. But he’s not quick in retreating. I grab him in a headlock with my left arm while with my right, pull my automatic from its shoulder holster. I press the business end of the pistol against his skull.
    “Don’t shoot,” comes a voice. The voice of an older man. He speaks English, but the accent is most definitely German.
    I release him.
    The overhead light comes on revealing my attacker. He’s a short, gray-haired and bearded man dressed sloppily in an old wool blazer and corduroy pants. Most definitely a professor. He’s even got a plastic pocket protector filled with pens and pencils plus a