“The folder is massive,” Jason said. “I glanced briefly through the first few files. They mostly reference the British Antarctic Survey. They’re the major UK group involved in research on that continent. The first paper was highlighted and detailed the group’s success in bringing a fifteen-hundred-year-old Antarctic moss back to life.”
Gray could see why that would intrigue a scientist like Hess, a researcher interested in exotic life.
“But check out this subfolder titled History,” Jason said. “I clicked on it, hoping it would offer some background about how this British scientific group was connected to Dr. Hess’s research in California. But look what showed up instead.”
Jason tapped the folder icon and a series of maps appeared. He clicked on the first one, listed as PIRI REIS_1513.
“I’ve heard about that map,” Gray said, leaning closer. “It’s got quite a history. A Turkish explorer, Admiral Piri Reis, compiled this chart on a piece of gazelle skin back in 1513, showing the coast of Africa and South America, along with the northernmost edge of Antarctica.”
Gray ran a finger along that coastline on the bottom of the screen.
“What’s unusual about that?” Monk asked.
“Antarctica wasn’t discovered—at least not officially—until three centuries later, but more mysteriously, some claim that his rendition shows the continent’s true coastline, a coastline without ice.” Gray looked up. “The last time the coast was likely free of ice was six thousand years ago.”
“But all that’s highly disputed,” Jason added. “The landmass shown here is most likely not even Antarctica.”
“What do you mean?” Monk asked. “The map’s a fake?”
“No,” Gray said. “The map is authentic, but the Turk admits in a series of notes in the margins that he compiled his map from more ancient charts. So the appearance of this Antarctic coastline is likely just a combination of mapmaking confusion and coincidence.”
Monk scratched his chin. “Then what’s it doing in a folder among Dr. Hess’s files?”
Gray had no answer, but Jason apparently did.
The kid spoke while typing. “This map and several others in the folder are all tagged as coming from a Professor Alex Harrington.”
Gray leaned closer.
Jason flashed through various windows rapidly. “I just Googled him. Says here he’s a paleobiologist attached to the British Antarctic Survey.”
“Paleobiologist?” Monk asked.
“It’s a discipline that combines archaeology with evolutionary biology.” With his fingers still tapping, Jason added, “And it looks like the professor exchanged a slew of e-mails and phone calls with Dr. Hess, going back almost two decades. They shared a common interest in unusual ecosystems.”
Jason glanced up at Gray with one eyebrow high.
Gray understood. If anyone knows intimate details about Hess’s research, it might be this guy.
“Good work,” Gray said. “But we should run this past Raffee upstairs. Maybe the director knows something more about this relationship with the Brits. Can you print this file up?”
Jason scowled, reached down, and yanked a flash drive from a port. “Already copied everything here. It would take hours to print all of this. When you reach the director’s office, all you have to do is find the USB port on his computer and—”
“I know how to use a flash drive. I’m not a dinosaur.”
“Sorry. You’re like twelve years older than me. In digital times, that’s at least the Pleistocene era.” He hid a grin behind his Starbucks cup as he tried to suck down the last dregs of coffee.
Monk clapped Jason on the shoulder. “I now get what Kat sees in this kid.”
Gray pocketed the drive and headed toward the door. “Keep searching those files,” he ordered. “See if you can dig up anything else while I talk to Director Raffee.”
Gray strode down a short basement hallway, entered the security elevator, and inserted his black Sigma card, emblazoned with a silver Greek letter ∑, the mathematical symbol meaning the “sum of all,” which was Sigma Force’s credo for combining the best of body and mind to deal with global threats. The card also served as a skeleton key for most locked doors in D.C.
He tapped the button for the seventh floor. As the car rose smoothly upward, Gray pulled out his phone, looking to see if there was any message from Kenny about their father. It was Gray’s first chance to check in the past hour, as the subterranean data center had no cell reception. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw no messages.
At least it should be a quiet night.
As the elevator opened, Gray hurried through the dark, deserted corridors. It was a maze up here, made tighter by the stacks of boxes standing outside doors. Scaffolding and paint cans also blocked the way. DARPA was still transitioning from its old headquarters a few blocks away to this one in Founders Square. Some divisions were still in the former building; others had either moved out or were in the process of settling in. He imagined the chaos during the day, but at this late hour, everything was hushed and calm.
Turning a corner, he spotted a cracked open doorway aglow with lamplight. It seemed Raffee had earned a corner office. Gray hurried toward it—when a harsh shout stopped him.
He faded against one wall.
The voice, muffled by distance, hadn’t sounded like the director. Gray’s hand reached to his service weapon, a SIG Sauer P226, from the shoulder holster under his jacket. As his fingers tightened on the grip, a distinct pop, pop, pop echoed to him.
The door to Raffee’s office swung open, casting light far down the corridor. Gray slunk lower, sheltering behind a parked Xerox copier in the hallway. He peeked out enough to see four men—dressed in black camo and carrying pistols equipped with silencers—file out and sweep toward his position. Gray glanced behind him. The nearest door was yards away.
Too far.
He calculated quickly. His pistol held a dozen .357 rounds. He would have to make each shot count, especially if the combatants were equipped with body armor. His only advantage at the moment was the element of surprise.
He steeled himself to act, centering his breath.
The last man through the door barked into a radio. “The others are downstairs. Sublevel three. Take the stairs, we’ll use the elevator.”
He pictured Monk and Jason, ensconced in the small room, unaware of the firestorm headed their way.
Gray waited until the first two men passed his hiding spot. Focused on their goal, they failed to see him crouched behind the Xerox machine.