The Skeleton Key: A Short Story Exclusive (Sigma Force Novels)

By James Rollins

From New York Times bestselling writer James Rollins comes an exciting brief tale that delves deep underneath the town of Paris to a gloomy necropolis, the place the single potential for break out is…The Skeleton Key.

Seichan is ripped out of the Sigma sequence for an experience all her own—but can she continue to exist? the attractive and elusive murderer wakes in a lodge in Paris with a dangerous digital collar mounted to her throat. Joined via a boy who's equally threatened, she needs to rescue the son of a hated enemy, who has fallen lower than the sway of the nefarious chief of an apocalyptic cult. to outlive, she needs to enterprise into the darkish international underneath town of lighting fixtures, into the notorious catacombs of Paris. stuck among enemies, she needs to struggle for her life…while time ticks down towards a fiery apocalypse. yet in the dead of night, surrounded via the moldering bones of the useless, even luck doesn't equivalent survival. in any case, the one precise wish for the area lies in a gorgeous act of betrayal.

Included with this brief tale is a sneak peek on the first 70 pages of The satan Colony, the place a clue unlocked by means of The Skeleton Key will play a key role.

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Yet what may she develop into? She had betrayed her former employers, a global felony association referred to as the Guild—but even that identify wasn’t actual, just a necessary pseudonym. the true id and goal of the association remained shadowy, even to its personal operatives. After her betrayal, she had no domestic, no state, not anything yet a skinny allegiance to a covert U. S. organization referred to as Sigma. She were recruited to find the real puppet masters of the Guild. now not that she had a lot selection. She needed to damage her former masters earlier than they destroyed her. It was once why she had come to Paris, to chase a lead. She slowly sat up and stuck her mirrored image in a reflect at the armoire. Her black hair used to be mussed via the pillow, the emerald of her eyes boring, delicate to the susceptible morning solar. Drugged. a person had stripped her all the way down to her bra and panties, prone to seek her for guns or wires or even simply to intimidate her. Her clothes—black denims, grey T-shirt, and leather-based motorbike jacket—had been folded and put atop a neighboring old Louis XV chair. On an Empire-period nightstand, her guns were prepared in a neat row, creating a mockery in their lethality. Her SIG Sauer pistol used to be nonetheless in its shoulder holster, whereas her daggers and knives have been unsheathed, shining stingingly brilliant. As brilliantly because the new piece of bijou decorating her neck. the stainless steel band were fixed tight and occasional. A tiny eco-friendly LED mild glowed on the hole of her throat, the place sharp prongs dug deep into that smooth flesh. So this can be what woke me up . . . She reached to the digital necklace and punctiliously ran a fingertip alongside its floor, trying to find the mechanism that secured it. lower than her correct ear, she chanced on a tiny pin-sized beginning. A keyhole. yet who holds the main? Her middle thudded in her throat, pinching opposed to these sharp prongs with each beat. Anger flushed her epidermis, abandoning a chilly dread on the base of her backbone. She dug a finger lower than the tight band, strangling herself, riding the metal thorns deeper until eventually— —agony lanced via her physique, surroundings fireplace to her bones. She collapsed to the mattress, contorted with ache, again arched, chest too constricted to scream. Then darkness . . . nothingness . . . reduction flooded via her as she fell again, however the sensation used to be short-lived. She woke back, tasting blood the place she had bitten her tongue. A bleary-eyed payment of the mantel clock printed that just a second had handed. She rolled again up, nonetheless trembling with aftershocks from the close to electrocution, and swung her legs up and doing. She stored her arms good clear of her neck and crossed to the window, desiring to get her bearings. status a bit of to the aspect to maintain from casting a shadow, she stared under at a plaza on the heart of which stood an incredible towering bronze column with a statue of Napoleon atop it. An arcade of exact dependent structures surrounded the sq., with archways at the floor flooring and tall second-story home windows, separated by means of decorative pillars and pilasters.

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