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James Rollins is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of international thrillers that have been translated into more than forty languages. His Sigma series has been lauded as one of the “top crowd pleasers” (New York Times) and one of the “hottest summer reads” (People magazine). In each novel, acclaimed for its originality, Rollins unveils unseen worlds, scientific breakthroughs, and historical secrets—and he does it all at breakneck speed and with stunning insight. He lives in the Sierra Nevada.

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The bestselling master of astonishing adventure James Rollins delivers his most relentlessly exciting page-turner to date—a gripping and explosive novel of an ancient conspiracy to create a terrifying new world order out of the ashes of modern civilization.

The crime is inhumanly cruel with horrific consequences both unthinkable and inevitable. During a service at a cathedral in Cologne, Germany, a band of armed intruders dressed in monks' robes unleash a nightmare of blood and terror, ruthlessly gunning down worshippers and clergy alike. The killers haven't come for the church's gold and valuable artwork, but for a priceless treasure secreted within: the preserved bones of the Three Magi who once came to pay homage to a newborn savior. As they flee the carnage they have wrought, they carry a prize that could reshape the world.

The Vatican is in turmoil, and Lieutenant Rachel Verona of Rome's carabinieri is assigned to lead the investigation. But no ordinary police organization alone can deal with the bizarre theft and massacre, and SIGMA Force—an elite covert arm of the U.S. Defense Department—is called in under the command of Grayson Pierce. New to SIGMA, Pierce assembles a crack team of scientific and Special Forces operatives to unravel the mystery of the stolen bones, and together they set out on a twisting trail through a labyrinth of clues and dark revelations that carry them to the sites of the Seven Wonders of the World—and to the doorstep of the mystical and terrifying Dragon Court.

An ancient, secret fraternity of alchemists and assassins, the master-adepts of the Dragon Court have plans for the sacred remains that will alter the future of humankind in devastating ways that only the maddest of zealots could desire—and they will let nothing and no one stand in their way. Suddenly Pierce, Verona, and the SIGMA team are the hunted as well as the hunters, forced to use every skill they possess to survive as they follow the bones to the ultimate confrontation between darkness and light—in a lost place of history where science and religion will unite to unleash a horror not seen since the beginning of time.

A masterful novel that combines the exhilarating mysticism of The Da Vinci Code with the pulse-pounding action of a Tom Clancy thriller, James Rollins's Map of Bones is destined to be a modern classic that will stand among the very best adventure tales ever written.

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Map of Bones

William Morrow & Company

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.

Excerpted from Map of Bonesby Rollins, James Excerpted by permission.
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