In this heart-stopping novel by #1 New York Times bestselling author James Rollins, an elite team of ex-Special Forces soldiers turned scientific specialists must uncover a secret society and the treasure that could destroy the world.

When a group of parishioners are burned to death in a German cathedral, the U.S. sends in the Sigma force. The tragedy is more than a case of arson; someone has stolen the priceless treasure stored in the cathedral’s golden reliquary: the bones of the Biblical Magi, the legendary Three Kings.

Commander Logan Pierce, new to Sigma, will lead a team on the hunt for the Royal Dragon Court, a clandestine aristocratic fraternity of alchemists dating back to the Middle Ages, who seek to establish a New World Order using the mystical bones. The Sigma team will follow a labyrinth of clues leading from Europe’s gothic cathedrals, through the remnants of the Seven Wonders of the ancient world, to a mystical place where science and religion will unite to unleash a threat not seen since the beginning of time itself.

Map of Bones

By Rollins, James

William Morrow & Company

ISBN: 0060763876

Chapter One

Behind the Eight Ball

JULY 24, 4:34 A.M.
FREDERICK, MARYLAND

The saboteur had arrived.

Grayson Pierce edged his motorcycle between the dark buildings thatmade up the heart of Fort Detrick. He kept the bike idling. Its electric enginepurred no louder than a refrigerator's motor. The black gloves he worematched the bike's paint, a nickel-phosphorous compound called NPLSuper Black. It absorbed more visible light, making ordinary black seempositively shiny. His cloth body suit and rigid helmet were equally shaded.

Hunched over the bike, he neared the end of the alley. A courtyardopened ahead, a dark chasm framed by the brick-and-mortar buildingsthat composed the National Cancer Institute, an adjunct to USAMRIID,the U.S. Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases. Herethe country's war on bioterrorism was waged across sixty thousandsquare feet of maximum-containment labs.

Gray cut the engine but stayed seated. His left knee rested against thesatchel. It held the seventy thousand dollars. He remained in the alley,avoiding the open courtyard. He preferred the dark. The moon had longset, and the sun would not rise for another twenty-two minutes. Even thestars remained clouded by the shredding tail of last night's summer storm.

Would his ruse hold?

He subvocalized into his throat mike. "Mule to Eagle, I've reached therendezvous. Proceeding on foot."

"Roger that. We've got you on satellite."

Gray resisted the urge to look up and wave. He hated to be watched,scrutinized, but the deal here was too big. He did manage to gain a concession:to take the meeting alone. His contact was skittish. It had takensix months to groom this contact, brokering connections in Libya and theSudan. It hadn't been easy. Money did not buy much trust. Especially inthis business.

He reached down to the satchel and shouldered the money bag. Wary,he walked his bike over to a shadowed alcove, parked it, and hooked a legover the seat.

He crossed down the alley.

There were few eyes awake at this hour, and most of those were onlyelectronic. All of his identification had passed inspection at the Old FarmGate, the service entrance to the base. And now he had to trust that hissubterfuge held out long enough to evade electronic surveillance.

He glanced to the glowing dial on his Breitling diver's watch: 4:45. Themeeting was set for fifteen minutes from now. So much depended on hissuccess here.

Gray reached his destination. Building 470. It was deserted at thishour, due for demolition next month. Poorly secured, the building wasperfect for the rendezvous, yet the choice of venue was also oddly ironic.In the sixties, spores of anthrax had been brewed inside the building, ingiant vats and tanks, fermenting strains of bacterial death, until the toxicbrewery had been decommissioned back in 1971. Since then, the buildinghad been left fallow, becoming a giant storage closet for the NationalCancer Institute.

But once again, the business of anthrax would be conducted underthis roof. He glanced up. The windows were all dark. He was to meet theseller on the fourth floor.

Reaching the side door, he swiped the lock with an electronic keycardsupplied by his contact at the base. He carried the second half of theman's payment over his shoulder, having wired the first half a monthbefore. Gray also bore a foot-long plastic, carbonized dagger in a concealedwrist sheath.

His only weapon.

He couldn't risk bringing anything else through the security gate.

Gray closed the door and crossed to the stairwell on the right. Theonly light on the stairs came from the red EXIT sign. He reached to hismotorcycle helmet and toggled on the night-vision mode. The worldbrightened in tones of green and silver. He mounted the stairs andclimbed quickly to the fourth floor.

At the top, he pushed through the landing's door.

He had no idea where he was supposed to meet his contact. Only thathe was to await the man's signal. He paused for a breath at the door, surveyingthe space before him. He didn't like it.

The stairwell opened at the corner of the building. One corridorstretched straight ahead; the other ran to the left. Frosted glass officedoors lined the inner walls; windows slitted the other. He proceeded directlyahead at a slow pace, alert for any sign of movement.

A flood of light swept through one of the windows, washing over him.

Dazzled through his night-vision, he rolled against one wall, back intodarkness. Had he been spotted? The sweep of light pierced the otherwindows, one after the other, passing down the hall ahead of him.Leaning out, he peered through one of the windows. It faced the widecourtyard that fronted the building. Across the way, he watched aHumvee trundle slowly down the street. Its searchlight swept throughthe courtyard.

A patrol.

Would the attention spook his contact?

Cursing silently, Gray waited for the truck to finish its round. The patrolvanished momentarily, crossing behind a hulking structure that rosefrom the middle of the courtyard below. It looked like some rustingspaceship, but was in fact a million-liter steel containment sphere, threestories tall, mounted on a dozen pedestal legs. Ladders and scaffoldingsurrounded the structure as it underwent a renovation, an attempt to returnit to its former glory when it was a Cold War research facility. Eventhe steel catwalk that had once circumnavigated the globe's equator hadbeen replaced.

Gray knew the giant globe's nickname at the base.

The Eight Ball.

Continues...

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