The Cradle of Life (19 page)

Squeezed in between two of the market stalls was an animal pen. Standing at the entrance gate, horns jutting out into the street, was a huge black bull. Other animals were visible behind it.

Terry snorted. “You've got to be kidding.”

“Not in the least. Ferdinand there is our ticket out.”

“If we can reach him, you mean.”

Terry had a point. They had at least fifty feet of open ground to cover between them and the pen.

“Think we can get there?” she asked.

“You've been pretty good at dodging bullets so far, Croft, but…”

She waited for him to finish, and when he didn't, turned to face him.

He was staring at the shop closest to the truck. It looked to have been some kind of hardware store, though she couldn't be entirely certain since the sign above it had been shot to pieces. As had the windows facing the street.

But somehow, miraculously, the pyramid of spray-paint cans in the store display hadn't been touched at all.

“Do I think we can get to your bulls?” Terry repeated. “I do now.”

 

Reiss's men seemed to be content to wait, to let Croft and him make the first move. Which they missed entirely—that move being Terry crawling to the store commando-style and retrieving the spray-paint cans—ten in all.

When he was ready, he gave Croft the high sign.

She stood up and ran for the pen.

Terry followed, facing back toward the truck. As he ran, he threw the first can high in the air and—taking careful aim—he shot it as it fell.

The can exploded, bursting into flames, sending drops of blazing paint shooting through the air. Some of those drops splattered Reiss's men—those unfortunate few dropped their weapons and brushed frantically at their clothes.

Terry smiled and threw another can.

Four explosions later, he and Lara had reached the gate. The bull had retreated a few feet back from the entrance and was now eyeing them suspiciously.

“Now what?”

“Now we wave the red flag,” Lara said, pulling off her jacket. The inside, Terry saw, was a deep, deep crimson.

Just as he was about to tell Croft that he'd done the whole running-of-the-bulls thing before, and once was plenty for him, gunfire nicked the fence post right next to him.

“Hold them off,” Croft said, turning her jacket inside out.

“I'll try—but hurry.” Terry showed her five paint cans—all he had left from the display. “That's how long you have.”

She nodded and leapt into the pen.

Terry turned. Reiss's men were coming, fast and furious.

“Here goes number five, Croft,” he shouted, tossing the can in the air. As soon as it exploded, he threw another. “Four!”

Behind him, he heard a loud snort and the charging of something massive.

“Three,” he shouted. “Croft—where are you?”

He turned, and almost got his head taken off by a piece of the gate, which shattered as Lara rode through it astride the huge black bull. Two others, even bigger than the first, followed.

Terry slipped between them, heading straight for a clump of Reiss's men, who looked bewildered and then terrified.

They broke and ran.

Terry used the last two paint cans to break up a knot of men massed together by one of the Mercedes.

The bulls brushed past the massive auto like it was a toy and continued full speed down the alley for several minutes.

Finally, when Lara judged they were clear of any possible pursuit, she jumped down from the black bull. The animal immediately slowed. With a slap on its rear, Lara sent it walking back up the street the way they'd come.

“Runaway,” she explained to a crowd of curious onlookers.

Terry caught up to her at the next corner.

“You have a way with animals, Croft.”

“And you have a way with paint.”

“Thank you. Sorry we didn't get your Orb. Any idea where Reiss would take it?”

“Let's find out,” Lara said.

She stepped into the shadows. At Terry's confused look, she reached into her pack and pulled out the second half of the gadget Shumei had given her—MI6's latest GPS display.

The other half, of course, was the transmitter—which she'd fastened on the crate with the Orb, while the copter hovered over the pagoda.

She flipped the display on and saw the signal was coming through loud and clear.

“You put a tracer on it,” Terry said. “I'm impressed.”

“I don't go skating down flagpoles, full guns, unless I know I'm going to succeed.”

She watched the transmitter move off and smiled. She had the Orb again—after a fashion.

The question now, of course, was where Reiss was taking it.

A hot shower. A clean suit. A good Shiraz, a strong cheddar, a fresh loaf of olive bread, ten cc's of a rejuvenating cocktail specially engineered for his system…

Reiss felt almost human again.

He returned to the main lab, anxious to begin work. Dr. Holliday, who had been with him since the Nobel, the only one of his staff who could make that claim, was there waiting. They had already talked once this evening after Holliday had tested the Orb for biological contamination. He noted that she'd already changed, from biohazard gear into a standard lab coat.

The Orb remained where he had left it, in the clean room, still in its case. Reiss had taken a preliminary look at the delicate etchings on the object's surface and decided to prohibit his staff from handling it.

At a nod from him, Holliday began.

As Reiss watched, robotic hands gently lifted the Orb from the crate and held it motionless in the air. Reiss moved closer to the Plexiglas window separating him from the Orb. Seen up close like this, the object was truly amazing. Luminescent markings, silvery etchings reminiscent of nothing so much as computer circuitry, covered its glowing black core.

“There was always a part of me that allowed for the possibility Pandora's box was just a legend,” Reiss whispered, as much to himself as the doctor. “But seeing this, I know it's there.”

And the Orb, he knew, would tell him exactly how to find it.

He nodded again and Holliday activated the scanning laser.

The instrument would map every millimeter of the Orb's surface in the minutest possible detail and record it into his computers. Then the analysis would take place.

Reiss had recently purchased a handful of NEC Earth Simulators—the machines that had just taken the title of the planet's fastest supercomputer away from the Crays—for just that purpose. He looked forward to putting them through their paces.

Based on a sample he and Holliday had just completed, the doctor expected that deciphering the Orb should take the NECs approximately twenty-nine seconds. Give or take.

And then the real fun could begin.

Someone coughed behind him. A newcomer—Reiss had been so absorbed in his work he hadn't heard anyone enter.

He turned and saw O'Sullivan. Saw the look on the man's face and felt the tranquility begin to leak out of him like air from a burst balloon.

“She escaped.” Reiss felt a faint pounding just behind his temples. He reached into his pocket for an ibuprofen—specially modified, of course, to suit his body chemistry.

Sean nodded. “She has no idea where we are.”

Reiss swallowed the pill and shook his head.

“We'll take no chances.” He turned to Holliday. “Start transferring everything we need to manufacture an antidote to the jet.”

She nodded and waved a white-coated assistant forward to monitor the scanning. Sean left the room to begin preparations of his own.

Reiss stayed a moment longer, watching the laser's progress on the computer display.

Slightly under seven and a half hours until they had the Orb deciphered and were on their way. Reiss didn't expect to see Croft pop up before then, but if she did, he would order an immediate evacuation.

He planned to treat her like an infectious disease from this point forward. Or to put it more colloquially…

He was going to avoid her like the plague.

 

MI6 got a Chinese military transport to follow the copter. Someone high up was pulling strings—the plane (Lara and Terry met it at a base just outside Shanghai) had been reserved for their exclusive use. And not only were they the sole passengers, rations and sleeping hammocks had already been prepared for them.

Lara skipped the food and took a hammock, exhausted. Before closing her eyes, she took a final look at the GPS readout, but it only confirmed her previous guess and the intelligence MI6 had given her when she'd called for help.

The Orb was headed to Hong Kong. Intelligence had Reiss's operation based there, though no one could confirm its exact whereabouts.

We'll be taking care of that little item tomorrow, Lara thought, and immediately fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

 

Daybreak found them at a Kowloon pier, waiting with a queue of early risers for the first hydrofoil across to Hong Kong.

When they were allowed to board, Lara made for the bow of the boat, holding the GPS display in front of her as they walked. Absorbed in the task of trying to narrow down the Orb's location, she didn't notice Terry bringing her breakfast until she looked up and the tray was on the rail at her shoulder.

“Eat,” he told her.

“Thanks.” She gulped down her espresso and nibbled at a croissant, all the while concentrating on the readout. Hong Kong was roughly split into two distinct regions—the urban north side of the island, whose gleaming towers they were fast approaching, and the suburban south. Reiss's headquarters were definitely in the north, probably the central district that was the heart of the island's shopping and financial community, but that was all she could tell from the readout at this distance. Still, it was good news. Central started at the pier and went only a few blocks deep. With any luck, they'd have his exact location within the hour, and the Orb not long after that.

“We did well back there, Croft,” Terry said.

She glanced up to find him studying her intently, in a way that made her immediately uncomfortable. In a way that reminded her of other breakfast mornings they'd shared, in another life.

“We did nothing,” she snapped. “Reiss has hours on us now. He may have already deciphered the Orb. He may be on his way to Pandora at this moment.”

Terry frowned. “You said you had the key to reading the Orb. The medallion.”

“I believe I have the key,” Lara corrected. “I haven't established that yet.”

An airhorn sounded. The hydrofoil was docking. Lara folded up the GPS, and hurried to join the crowd already gathering by the exit ramp.

Minutes later, she and Terry were forcing their way through a crowded market plaza. They seemed to be swimming upstream, fighting through businessmen and women in freshly pressed suits, street vendors jockeying for sidewalk space, and knots of elegantly dressed shoppers seemingly intent on walking as slowly as possible. The air was thick and smelt heavily of diesel fuel—Lara found it hard to believe Reiss could find a quiet space to work in this madhouse, much less to build a laboratory.

Terry's thoughts seemed to be running parallel with hers.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked.

She checked the GPS again and nodded.

“That way,” she said, pointing.

The signal led them out of the marketplace at last, and into a more upscale commercial district. The sidewalks here were slightly less crowded, but the streets were lined with taxis and limousines, double and triple parked. Office towers loomed overhead, circling them on all sides.

Terry stopped walking and shook his head. “A weapons lab in the middle of the city? No way. He dumped the crate.”

Lara checked the GPS again. The signal had stopped flashing entirely, which meant…

“It's right here,” she announced. “The Orb.”

“One of the buildings?”

“No. It's exactly where we're standing.”

“There's nothing here.” Terry did a three-sixty, his eyes coming to rest on Lara. “It's like I said. He dumped it—”

“No he didn't.” Lara was looking at the tall skyscraper right in front of them. Its facade was glass—beyond the entrance, she glimpsed an escalator leading up to the floors above. And another, leading down.

“New Central Shopping Mall,” Terry said, reading off a banner that hung just above the building entrance. “Eight floors, eighty stores, International Food Court.”

“Nothing about a biological warfare laboratory?”

Terry smiled and shook his head. “Hardly.”

“False advertising,” Lara said, snapping the GPS display shut.

She jogged for the entrance, Terry right beside her.

 

On sublevel four, she stopped and checked the display again.

“Down,” she said, putting one foot forward, then stopped.

There was a bank of payphones right beside the escalator.

She'd been unable to reach the manor since Luoyang—since finding the medallion. And in case anything happened to her…

Both Hillary and Bryce answered on the first ring.

“Lara! Are you all right?”

“Fine.” She heard the scrape of chairs pushing back from a table and realized she was on speakerphone. “Have you made any progress on reading the Orb?”

“Not really.” That was Bryce, sounding guilty. Lara could hear a faint whirring noise in the background, which she recognized as the helicopter simulation. She hoped that wasn't all he'd been doing in the day or so she'd been gone.

“Well, I may have some help for you. I need you both to look at something.”

She reached into her pack and pulled out the wireless digicam. She attached one end to her belt, tucked its lens over her ear, and turned it on.

“Do you have this?”

She waved a hand in front of the lens.

“Hello to you, too,” Bryce said. “We're live.”

She lifted the medallion out from around her neck, held it up to the lens.

“This was in the Luna Temple, close to the Orb. I'm betting it's the key to reading the markings…”

“Do that again, slower this time if you would,” Bryce said. “I'm recording.”

She did as she was asked, showing him both sides of the medallion.

“What's that figure?” he asked as she ran the lens over the figure on the medallion's obverse side.

“The musician?” Lara frowned. “It could be Pan, I suppose, though the face isn't exactly—”

Bryce whispered something.

“Say again?” Lara asked.

“Music,” he said, his voice suddenly full of life. “Sound! Brilliant!”

Lara thought she knew what he was driving at. “A tonal language?”

“Maybe. Or maybe not a language at all. Maybe musical tones.”

“A song?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe, maybe, maybe,” Lara said. “Find out.”

“Will do,” he said.

She said good-bye. Next to her, Terry was finishing a call of his own.

He put a hand over the phone. “Escape route,” he mouthed to her, then returned to the call.

“If that's the only way, then set it up,” he finished, and set down the receiver—harder than necessary, Lara thought.

“Problem?”

He shook his head. “No, no—piece of cake. Escape Plan A in place.”

“All right then.” She started for the escalator, taking out the GPS locator again. “Let's go find the good doctor.”