She somehow kept hold of her shotgun.
Duncan knew Russo could offer no meaningful defense. He stared past her. The sight outside stole what little breath he had left. As he watched, the whole tower slowly tipped outward, its foundation shattered from under it. Like a felled redwood, it continued to topple, tearing away bricks and stone. Then gravity took full hold and ripped it off the mountainside. The tower rolled and vanished over the cliff’s edge.
Past the dust and smoke, blue skies and snowy distances opened up, the view far too panoramic due to the huge, gaping hole in the bunker’s face.
Duncan helped Russo up, who grunted in agony. He carried her away. He wasn’t about to leave her behind, knowing there was no stopping the enemy.
Any further defense was futile.
The castle had fallen.
62
12:32 p.m.
Keir strode behind the men pouring down the trail. A sniper had dropped two of their numbers, but the remaining dozen forged a path toward the wound in the side of the mountain. Rocks and bricks still trickled down. Smoke hung from the blast. But a wide swath of the snow and ice had been shattered away, along with a good portion of the bunker’s façade.
He regretted doubting Ferhat’s skill.
Still, triumph so buoyed him that he had little room in his heart for remorse or guilt. Not even for the deaths to come. One of the core tenets of longtermism was that present-day brutality and callousness held no sway when balanced against the future.
And when it came to the promise locked in Saint-Germain’s book—of extending life to better the human condition—what else mattered? Birth rates were dropping in nations across the globe, threatening growth, productivity, and future prosperity. It was a danger greater than climate change.
And Saint-Germain’s promise held the hope of stemming that tide.
And filling my own coffers.
Anxious for this next step forward—for him, for the world—Keir kept close to Ferhat’s back. The captain whispered into his radio, commanding the men at the lead. After a brief pause, the front line entered the dark confines of the blasted bunker. The soldiers carried assault rifles equipped with bayonets. One hauled in an RPG launcher. Additionally, Ferhat had a bandolier over a shoulder, weighted down with grenades and other charges.
Maybe this was overkill, but Kier was done underestimating their adversaries. This close to victory, he felt generous enough to acknowledge the others’ fierce struggle, to grant them a measure of earned respect.
But now it ends.
Behind him, Cardinal Tissot followed with his aide. Keir had tried to order the pair to stay with the helicopters, but they had refused. While he would have liked to have pushed both of them off the cliff, he knew Tissot still held great sway within the organization. And when it came to divining whatever key might be hidden within the treasure below or deciphering Saint-Germain’s book, Keir recognized having an ally within theGardienscould still prove useful.
So, he let the pair dog behind him.
He felt that gracious.
Ferhat turned to him. “Upper floor is clear. We’re moving down.”
Keir pointed ahead. “Then let’s go collect our prize.”
63
12:47 p.m.
Sharyn rushed forward as Archie and Duncan burst out of the tunnel and into the golden chamber. The pair dragged Russo between them. Minutes ago, they had all heard a mountain-quaking blast, followed by a thunderous crash of stones. She had feared the two defending the bunker had been killed. Then, Duncan had hollered for help, calling down from the entrance into the vault.
Tears welled at the sight of him.
Alive . . .
But she knew that might not last long. Some of her tears were for them all, for what would be lost here, handed to others who would abuse the wonders hidden at the heart of this mountain.
Laurent remained stoic. He eyed the incoming group and immediately recognized the damage. “I’ve a med-kit in my bag. We need to stop the bleeding. Get her leg splinted.”
Clearly his training with the French armed forces had honed him for immediate action. He helped settle Russo to the floor, relieving Duncan, who weaved unsteadily on his legs. Blood covered half his face, flowing from a scalp cut. He was likely concussed, too.
