Stark inclined his head. “It’s a skeleton staff at the moment. I’ll have these books and research papers brought up to your room with some food. Is there anything else you need?”

  “Paper and several pens, and coffee too.”

  “There’s a coffee machine in your room,” he said. “You can make all the coffee you like.” With that, he showed her out and handed the books to the guard. “Connor, fetch her some food.”

  Connor escorted her to her room. “Your dinner will be along soon,” he said, once he deposited the books on the desk.

  Abigail allowed herself a small smile. Her plan was coming along nicely—so far. She looked through the books for a few minutes until the guard brought in sheets of paper and several pens.

  Abigail was engrossed in her work when there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” she called.

  “Here’s your food,” Connor said. “Agent Stark said you didn’t want interruptions, but you were expecting your food.”

  “Not a problem at all,” she said with a smile. “Thanks for the food. I’ll be concentrating hard for the next few hours, so is there anything I can help you with now?”

  He took the hint. “No, I’ll leave you to it.”

  Abigail worked for another half hour or so making copious notes and then she loosened her hair. Her blonde hair fell around her shoulders. Abigail looked at the hairpin in her hand.

  Her ex-husband was an English literature professor whose area of study was twentieth-century British mystery writers. He was something of an eccentric and had shown her how to pick locks. She thought it was fun at the time but didn’t think she’d ever need it.

  Now, she certainly needed it. She walked over to the door and inserted the pin into the lock, thankful Stark had commandeered an ordinary farmhouse building. She knew she would have no hope of picking a lock in a specialist built facility.

  The lock proved easy to pick. Abigail gingerly opened the door and poked her head outside. No one was in sight. And, of course, she didn’t expect anyone would be guarding her. They would consider locking her in to be sufficient.

  Now she had to find the prisoner, assuming they hadn’t already killed him. She shuddered and forced herself to take a deep breath.

  The prisoner had told her to run. He was the only one who could give her information. If he was no danger to her, then she could free him and he could help her escape.

  That was, if he was still alive. No doubt, he was being kept somewhere in the building. If she was caught, she planned to say she was looking for snacks. They would have no reason not to believe her and would likely think the guard hadn’t secured her door properly.

  Abigail took off her shoes so she could walk quietly. She made a thorough sweep of upstairs and couldn’t find anyone. Several of the bedroom doors were open and two were clearly being used.

  She crept along the corridor listening at each one of the doors. She figured they wouldn’t keep the prisoner so close to her lest he call out.

  There was nothing else for it—she would have to go down the stairs. Abigail stood at the top of the stairs, her heart beating out of her chest. She took a deep breath and forced herself to go on, keeping an ear out for any sound.

  When she reached the bottom step without being caught, she allowed herself a small sigh of relief. She looked around, back at the stairs. The room she had been in with Stark was to her left. She decided to go to the right. She had almost reached the kitchen when she froze.

  Clink.

  She held her breath.

  Clink.

  There it was again.

  Footsteps coming.

  She looked around wildly. Where to hide? She ran behind the cream couch. She crouched there, shaking, fearing she would pass out.

  “I’m starving. I could really do with a burger.” It was Stark’s voice.

  Laughter. “We’re a long way from burgers here.”

  They kept talking, making rustling sounds in the kitchen. Abigail curled herself into a small space, holding her limbs to herself, doing her best to quieten her breathing. That only served to make her gasp for breath. She tried to breathe in for three, hold for two, and breathe out for five. It helped a little.

  It seemed to her an age before the footsteps went away. She exhaled a long sigh of relief. Still, it was a while before she stood up and stretched her cramped muscles.

  Abigail headed down the corridor running behind the kitchen.

  Her hand rested on the first door handle. She turned it ever so slightly. It was unlocked. What if someone was inside? She gingerly opened the door and peeked around. It was a bedroom and did not look used. She gently closed the door behind her.

  She walked to the next room and tried the handle. This one was locked. She inserted the pin into the lock. The door opened with a creak. A sliver of light found its way in the dark corridor.

  She gasped. The prisoner was there. Alive, but not in good shape. His face was a mess. A black and green bruise spread from the gash running over his left temple. The bulging bicep visible through his torn shirt was bloodied.

  Abigail didn’t know if he was dangerous. She didn’t know whose side he was on.

  She was about to shut the door and lock it when she saw the prisoner was handcuffed to a metal rail between two giant wooden logs on a king-sized bed.

  She made up her mind. She opened the door and slipped inside.

  The man regarded her warily. “How did you get in?”

  “I picked the lock. I don’t have long. You told me to run. Why?”

  He squinted at her and coughed. “There’s no way to break it to you gently. Once they have what they want from you, they will kill you. Make no mistake.”

  9

  Abigail stood frozen. She had suspected that was the case but hadn’t wanted to believe it. Now she had to face facts.

  “You need to get out of here.”

  “But how?” she said. “We’re in a remote location. They’ll find me.”

  He shook his head and winced. “You don’t have another option. Do your best.”

  Do your best? What kind of advice was that? “Do you know what happened to the Greeks scholar who translated the text?”

  “Stark sent him to retrieve the Urim and Thummim. That’s why Stark had tied me up—I found out what he was doing. Can you pick the locks on these handcuffs? I’ll help you escape.”

  Abigail wasn’t about to trust him so easily. “Tell me what you know about Stark,” she said, quivering.

  “Stark is obsessed with finding the Urim and Thummim. He thinks they’ll give him some sort of power.”

  She was not surprised. “In the Old Testament, the High Priest used the Urim and Thummim to hear the will of God.”

  “Surely you don’t believe that the stones have some sort of power, do you?”

  Now she was surprised. “Why not? Anyone who touched the Ark of the Covenant died, so it’s not a stretch to believe that the Urim and Thummim could also have some sort of power.”

  The man shook his head. “Maybe in ancient times. Anyway, Stark wants them for himself. Help me get out of here and I’ll explain once we’re safe. Vortex is also searching for them. It’s a dangerous organisation.”

  “So a government agency thinks the Urim and Thummim will give it power?”

  A strangled sound emerged from the back of his throat. “Vortex is nothing to do with any government, and Stark isn’t working for the government any longer. He isn’t supposed to do what he’s doing. He’s gone rogue.”

  “So Stark wants me to check the translation and then he is going to”—she hesitated—“do away with me too?”

  The man nodded. “Yes, just like Professor Dawson Hunt vanished.” He would have continued, but she interrupted him.

  “Dawson Hunt?” She realized her voice had gone up an octave. She hoped no one had heard. She clutched her stomach and said, “So the translation I’m checking was Dawson Hunt’s? He’s an eminent Biblical Greek scholar.”

  The man’s expression did not change. “It’s the stones,” he said. “They’re in a place with booby traps. Stark sent Dawson Hunt in there and that was the last anyone ever saw of him.”

  Abigail breathed hard, fighting to get her heart rate under control.

  She wanted to move toward the man but was frozen to the spot. “So Stark is going to make me go to this place with the booby traps in an attempt to retrieve the stones for him?”

  “Precisely. But you can’t. You have to escape before that.” His tone was urgent. “If you try to get the stones, then you’ll fall victim to the traps. If you somehow manage to get the stones, then Stark will kill you. Your only chance is to get away now.”

  Abigail weighed up her options. “I could steal a car, but he has a helicopter. We’re miles from anywhere and he has my phone.”

  “Let me go,” he said urgently. “I can help you.”

  Abigail shook her head. She wasn’t ready to trust him, not yet. Maybe she shouldn’t have come in here. She was only too well aware that she needed to escape. Speaking to him had only served to make her more afraid.

  “Why would I harm you? I’m an agent, Jack Riley. I told you Stark has gone rogue. What’s your choice? Who would you prefer to trust, me or him?”

  Neither of you. Aloud she said, “You would leave me as soon as I freed you.”

  He appeared to be considering her words. “You don’t know me and I don’t know you, but I won’t leave you. I give you my word. What do you have to lose? As far as I can see, you’re running out of options.”

  Abigail made a split decision. He was right. She hurried over to him. She was only halfway across the room when the door flung open.

  She looked straight down the barrel of a gun.

  Riley wasn’t a professional negotiator. He wasn’t a people person. At this moment he wished he were either of those things. He was frustrated she wouldn’t listen to him.

  He could understand why the professor was afraid, but surely she could see she had run out of options. She’d never get out of here without him.

  The stakes were too high. The Urim and Thummim were worth a king’s ransom. Stark would do anything to get his hands on them and there was the added problem Stark thought the stones had some kind of power.

  Dr. Spencer seemed to think they might, given that they had been on the breastplate of the high priests of Israel. Riley didn’t go along with such flights of fancy. He had to do everything he could to stop them from falling into Stark’s hands.

  But right now he had to stay alive.

  10

  “Dr. Spencer! How did you get in here?”

  “My door was unlocked, so I went exploring.”

  “And this door was unlocked too?”

  She did her best to keep her expression neutral. “Yes.”

  Stark’s jaw tightened. “I suggest you focus on the translation.”

  Abigail folded her arms over her chest in a show of defiance. “Why should I? You’re going to kill me, anyway.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to kill you. Dr. Spencer,” he said slowly as he lowered the gun. “I’m going to send you to retrieve the Urim and Thummim.”

  “And then what? You can’t tell me you’re going to let me go?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Whether you believe me doesn’t matter to me, Dr. Spencer.” He flipped through his phone and showed her a photo.

  Abigail gasped. It was a photo of Mary Yoder and her family.

  “This was taken only hours ago. If you don’t do as I say then I’ll have them killed.”

  Her hand flew to her throat. “You wouldn’t!”

  His tone was ice cold. “I would, Dr. Spencer. Have you finished checking the translation?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll come and fetch it. Tomorrow, we leave for the location.” He jerked his head toward Riley. “You’re coming with us. She might need some muscle to get to the stones. And, Dr. Spencer, don’t even think about refusing because I will shoot you on the spot.”

  Riley’s face remained expressionless. Abigail wondered what he was thinking and silently berated herself. If only she had gotten him out of the handcuffs as soon as she entered the room.

  Stark escorted her back to her room and took her notes on the translation. “Just in case you get any ideas, someone will be outside your door every moment until the morning. And tomorrow, Dr. Spencer, you will retrieve the Urim and Thummim.”

  Riley was relieved when Stark shut his door and locked it. He would have more opportunities to escape, to save Dr. Spencer.

  He sent up a silent prayer of thanks that Stark hadn’t discovered the tracking device in his boot heel. He had managed to get the message out, but where was the team?

  He certainly hoped they’d come soon.

  Time was running out.

  11

  Abigail was sitting in a light plane, handcuffed to a metal railing in front of her, as was Jack Riley. She was relieved to see no more injuries had been inflicted upon the man.

  Abigail’s stomach lurched as the plane took off and then banked sharply to the left. When she opened her eyes, the prisoner was looking at her. “Tell me everything you know if you want to get out of this alive.”

  “I don’t know any more than you do.”

  “Tell me what you know about ancient booby traps,” he said urgently. “Stark said we need to navigate booby traps to get to the stones. Dawson Hunt certainly fell victim to a booby trap.”

  Abigail shook her head. “It’s not like Hollywood,” she told him. “Booby traps were uncommon in ancient civilisations.”

  He quirked one eyebrow. “So no rolling boulders? No moving walls that crush people?”

  “No, they tended to put their efforts into hiding treasure in tombs and they often used curses rather than physical means.” She tried to remember those that did have booby traps. “There was the Mayan tomb of the Red Queen of Palenque. The queen’s body and the limestone sarcophagus were covered with deadly cinnabar, mercury sulfide. The tomb’s treasures were covered with it.”

  Riley leaned a little closer. “Was the cinnabar a booby trap?”

  “No one can say for certain, but exposure to the substance would likely prove fatal. You know about the vast tomb of the ancient Chinese emperor, Qin Shi Huang?”

  Riley nodded. “Yes, he was famous for his army of Terracotta Warriors and for building the original Great Wall of China.”

  “A historian who lived a hundred years after Qin Shi Huang said the tomb was protected by crossbows and rivers of mercury. Today, soil samples show high levels of mercury. Hematite is also dangerous to inhale, and high levels of hematite were also discovered in the Valley of the Golden Mummy tombs in Egypt. Archaeologists had to wear masks to access the tombs.”

  “So we have to be careful not to touch any powders,” he said.

  “It’s not just touching that’s the problem,” Abigail told him. “Inhaling is dangerous too. We’ll have to ask Stark for good quality masks. He shouldn’t object; we won’t make it to the stones alive if we’re breathing in toxic fumes.”

  “That makes sense,” he said. “Is there anything else you can tell me about ancient booby traps?”

  Abigail shrugged. “No. I spend most of my time in my office or at home watching Hallmark movies with my cat. I’m not the adventurous type.”

  “You can pick locks,” he pointed out.

  She nodded. “The only good thing to come out of my two-year marriage.”

  “You’re married?”

  She shook her head. “Not any more. My ex-husband remarried, though.”

  The plane descended on what looked to Abigail to be a private airstrip. It landed smoothly and rocketed across the tarmac. As it turned to taxi back, Abigail peered out the window and craned her neck. She could see nothing, only flat ground.

  As soon as the plane stopped, Stark and Agent Worth half dragged, half pushed Abigail and Riley over to a private jet.

  Abigail’s plight weighed heavily on her. She couldn’t see there was any possible means of escape. There was no further chance to speak with Jack Riley. He was seated at the back of the plane, while Abigail was seated at the front. Stark and Worth sat between them.

  Despite her situation, Abigail drifted off to sleep and awoke as the plane had almost finished its descent. There was time for a brief glimpse of the sea, of great cliffs. A bout of nausea hit Abigail when the wheels touched down.

  “We drive from here,” Stark said, indicating a black limousine with heavily tinted windows waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Abigail and Riley were bundled in. “We’re going straight to the location,” Stark informed them. “I’ve waited long enough—I won’t lose any more time.”

  Her muscles clenched tighter. She saw Jack beside her, frowning and rubbing his neck. She hoped he had come up with a plan, because she had run out of options. Leaning forward in the seat, she said, “Agent Stark, we’re going to need masks. And good quality ones at that. Sometimes these places are booby trapped with poisonous substances and I’m sure you don’t want us to die before we make it to the stones.”

  “What type of masks?” It was Agent Worth who spoke.

  “I’m not a scientist,” she told him. “I really don’t know, but it would have to be masks that protect against poisonous gases.”

  “There will be no masks.” Stark’s tone was matter-of-fact. “There are no poisons.”

  Abigail’s stomach churned. She hoped Stark was right, but she figured he knew typical booby trap poisons did not kill at once. He no doubt planned to shoot her well before the effects of any poisons manifested.

  Abigail had never been to Greece and had always wanted to go—but not under these circumstances. Still, as the car sped through a city, handfuls of houses giving way to mountains, it was hard for her not to be in awe. They passed plains of olive trees flowing down to the sea, villages of flat-topped houses in tiers along the hills.