She had started toward it when Gray grabbed her from behind and shouldered her back into one of the side cells. The others piled in, too. Gray covered her as a thunderous whump sounded that shook the walls and stones underfoot. A moment later, a wash of flames billowed past overhead, rolling smoke and reeking of poisonous chemicals.

Gray shoved her back out of the shelter. She stumbled, deaf, eyes watering. Overhead, the helicopter swept past, swirling smoke and flames. A black steel barrel was rolled to the lip of the open hatch.

Oh, no...

Panicked, knowing what was coming, Rachel sprinted down the passageway, gasping in pain as she hurdled rocks and sections of tumbled wall. The arched opening gaped ten yards away. Focused on her goal, her heel landed on a moss-encrusted stone. Her foot slipped, and her leg twisted. She stumbled-but never hit the ground.

Gray scooped her around the waist and carried her the last few steps. They dove together through the archway. Bodies shoved into them from behind. They fell as a group, tripping, tumbling down the flight of stone steps.

They landed in a pile at the bottom as the world exploded above them.

The blast, striking near the opening, immediately deafened them. Pressure slammed Rachel's ears and felt like it cracked her skull. Rocks tumbled and bounced. Flames gusted down the throat of the stairwell, washing across the roof overhead. Her skin burned. Her lungs could draw no air.

Then in a rush, the pressure popped. The flames were sucked away, back out of the tunnel. Cool air drafted up from the lower levels and washed over them.

Hands shoved and dragged. They crawled away from the stairs down into the murky lower passages. After a few yards, they all slowly gained their feet. Rachel used the walls to haul herself up. She panted, felt like vomiting, fought the rising gorge. She took great gulps of cool air.

"Keep going," Gray urged.

Rachel leaned on the wall as they stumbled away. They had to keep moving. The concussions and fires could drop the upper level on top of them. They had to get clear.

"Can you find that exit?"

She coughed. "I think...maybe..."

Gray grabbed her elbow. "Rachel."

She nodded, regaining her balance, both inside and outside. "Yes. This way." She pulled out her cell phone and flipped it open. The meager glow didn't cast much light, but it was better than nothing.

Holding on to Gray's shoulder, she set off. It wasn't far, but this level was a rabbit warren of cells, passages, and cave-ins. She headed out, lost in the past as much as the present.

She remembered Uncle Vigor taking her down here, tantalizing her with tales of heroes and monsters, of strange beasts and great pageantry. He had also told her about one of the grandest of shows, a rare event held at the Coliseum. A spectacle called a naumachiae.

She spoke aloud as she led the others. "Before these underground levels were built, early in the Roman empire, they used to flood this area, creating a great lake in the middle of the Coliseum. Famous sea battles were reenacted here, along with demonstrations of swimming horses and bulls."

Kowalski trailed behind them, dusty, bloody, and burned. "Right now, a swim sounds pretty damn good to me."

"What did they do with all the water after the show?" Gray asked.

"You'll see," Rachel said.

Another two turns and they ended up at a wall. An iron grate sealed a narrow, low passageway. Even in the meager light, it plainly led down at a steep angle.

"They cleared this just last year, confirming what Uncle Vigor already knew." Rachel unlatched the gate and pulled it open.

Before she could explain more, a loud rumbling crash echoed across the space. Rock dust wafted in a thick cloud and rolled over them.

"The bombs are triggering a cave-in," Rachel said.

Closer at hand, a marble block fell from the roof a yard away and crashed heavily to the floor. More groans and rumbles followed. Like the first tip of a domino, the entire level was beginning to collapse on top of them.

"This way," Rachel said. "Hurry."

She ducked into the steep passage and led the way down. Behind her the others followed single file. They hadn't taken more than a half-dozen steps when the floor shook, accompanied by an ominous rumble of thunder. More dust filled the air, choking and blinding them.

Rachel hurried onward, covering her mouth with her arm. She felt blindly ahead of her. The steep floor grew even steeper. Rachel used one hand to brace herself and held forth her glowing cell phone in the other.

"How much farther?" Gray gasped out.

She didn't answer. She didn't know.

After a long silent minute, a trickling echo reached her. She rushed onward. In her haste, she lost her footing on the floor, landed on her backside, and slid, losing her cell phone. It skittered ahead of her-then vanished.

Unable to stop, she followed it. For a gut-wrenching moment the world dropped under her. She fell through open air. A small scream escaped her, but she landed in a shallow stream of frigid water. The fall had only been a meter or so.

"Watch out!" Gray called.

Rachel rolled clear as the others slid, skidded, and dropped into the water with her. Rachel retrieved her cell phone from the edge of the stream. It still glowed. She held it up.

They were in a long stone tube, clearly man-made from the crudely hewn slabs. A wan stream flowed across its bottom.

"Where are we?" Gray asked.

"Old city sewers," Rachel answered and began to follow the flow. "It was how the ancient Romans drained the flooded stadium."

The others splashed behind her.

Kowalski sighed heavily. "I should've known. A tour of Rome with Pierce had to end up in the damn sewers."

Chapter 10

October 11, 3:12 P.M.

Washington, D.C.

Painter readied for the battle to come. He sat at his desk. He was as prepared as could be expected. After the long night, he'd taken a short nap, showered, and changed into a fresh set of clothes.

Hours ago he'd learned that Gray and Kowalski were safe and headed out of Rome. Commander Pierce had already given a sketchy report of events in Italy, but he needed to keep moving. A full debriefing would follow once he was settled in a secure location outside the city.

The office intercom buzzed. Brant spoke crisply. "Sir, I have General Metcalf for you."

Painter had already been alerted that the head of DARPA was arriving at Sigma Command. It was a rare visit. And not normally a good sign.

Painter pressed the intercom button. "Brant, send the general straight in."

Seconds later the door swung open. Painter stood as General Gregory Metcalf stalked into his office. He entered with his hat under his arm and his face locked into deep furrows.

Painter stepped around the desk to shake the man's hand, but Metcalf headed straight to a chair, tossed his cap on the desk, and waved Painter back to his own chair.

"Do you have any idea of the political shitstorm blowing out of Italy?" Metcalf said as introduction.

Crossing back behind his desk, Painter sank into his chair after Metcalf took his seat. "I'm aware of the situation, General. We're monitoring all the chatter across various intelligence channels."

"First, a firefight at a hotel, then a street chase with a trail of carnage left behind it, and to top it all off, one of the world's Seven Wonders is left firebombed. And you inform me that one of our...your operatives was at the heart of it all?"

Painter breathed through his nose. He kept the tips of his fingers resting on the edge of his desk. "Yes, sir. One of our best field agents."