The 14th Colony: A Novel Read Online Free PDF

of exertion and rising levels of anticipation caused him to sweat. He counted over thirty 16-paned windows along the front façade. No lights burned anywhere. He heard a rap, like metal on metal, then a splinter of wood. He settled against a tree and peered around its trunk, seeing the flashlight beam fifty yards away disappearing into the house. He wondered about the lack of finesse on entering and, as he came closer, realized the house was derelict and abandoned. Its outside had a Victorian look, most of its clapboard still intact, the walls splotchy with mold and scoured by weather. A few of the ground-floor windows were sheathed in plywood, the ones along the upper floor all exposed. Weeds and brush littered its base, as if no one had offered the place much attention in a long time.
    He’d sure love to know who owned it. And why was a Russian national paying it a visit in the middle of the night? Only one way to find out, so he stepped from the copse at the edge of the drive and approached the front doorway, where thick paneled doors had been forced open.
    He found his Beretta and gripped the weapon, then entered, careful with his steps. He stood inside a spacious foyer, a rug still covering the floor. A few pieces of furniture remained. A staircase wound upward and open doorways led into adjacent rooms where window treatments hung. Paint had peeled, plaster crumbled, the wallpaper pregnant in too many spots to count, the elements slowly reclaiming what was once theirs.
    A hallway stretched ahead.
    He listened, feeling as though he were standing in a tomb.
    Then a sound.
    Banging.
    From across the ground floor.
    Spears of light appeared in the hallway fifty feet ahead.
    He crept forward, using the commotion from the far room as cover for his steps. Anya Petrova seemed unconcerned about attracting attention. She most likely assumed that there was nobody around for miles. And normally she’d be right.
    He came to the open doorway where the light leaked out into the hall. Carefully, he peered around the jamb and saw what was once a large paneled study, one wall floor-to-ceiling with bookcases, the empty shelves collapsed and lying askew. He caught a glimpse of the ceiling overhead. Coffered with plastered decorations. No furniture. Anya seemed focused on the far wall, where she was gouging a hole in the wood paneling. And not subtly, either. She clearly knew how to use the ax. Her flashlight lay on the floor, splashing enough illumination for her to judge the progress.
    His assignment was to watch, not engage.
    “Don’t get made.”
    She kept pounding, hacking away chucks of wood until a hole appeared. He noticed that the wall was an interior one, the space being opened up beyond it hollow. She used her right boot to splinter more wood, completing her incision and inspecting the area past the opening with her flashlight.
    She laid the ax down.
    Then she disappeared through the gash.

CHAPTER FOUR
    G IVORS , F RANCE
    8:50 A.M.
    Cassiopeia Vitt realized too late that something wasn’t right. Two days ago her quarrymen had bored a series of holes into the limestone, not with modern drills and concrete bits, but the way it had been done 800 years ago. A long, metal, star-shaped chisel, the bit as thick as a man’s thumb, had been pounded into the rock, then turned and pounded again, the process repeated over and over until a neat tunnel penetrated several inches deep. The holes had been spaced a full hand apart, ten meters across the entire cliff face. No rulers had been used. As in olden times a long rope with knots had served that purpose. Each cavity had then been filled with water, capped, and allowed to freeze. If it had been summer they would have been packed with wet wood or split with metal wedges. Thankfully, the temperature had plummeted enough that Mother Nature could offer a helping hand.
    The quarry sat three kilometers from her French estate. For nearly a decade she’d been hard at work trying to build a