"I'm afraid Ted would be small potatoes in our band of butchers. No, our next missing body belongs to a guy who caused the death of so many people, their corpses floated on the Nile River in quantities sufficient enough to clog the Owen Falls Hydro-Electric Dam. Before he was through, he was responsible for the deaths of over three hundred thousand people."

"Idi Amin Dada?"

"You're really good. He was forced to flee into exile in 1979. He fell into a coma and died in 2003 at King Faisal Specialist Hospital in Saudi Arabia. He was buried in a simple grave in Ruwais Cemetery in Jeddah. Six months ago, his body was discovered missing from the burial plot."

"Okay, he definitely qualifies." Matt chewed on his lower lip as he seemed to digest the information so far. "That leaves five. Who's next?"

She referred to her notes. "Remember King Herod the Great from the Bible? He was responsible for what's known as the Massacre of the Innocents. He ordered the execution of all young male infants in the region to avoid the loss of his throne. This was after the Magi dropped by on the way to Bethlehem and told him about the newborn King of the Jews. Some accounts claim that the number of babies slaughtered was over ten thousand. His tomb was discovered by an archaeologist from Hebrew University a little over a year ago at King Herod's winter palace in the Judean desert about twelve kilometers south of Jerusalem."

"Let me guess-only his remains were missing."

"Correct."

Matt shook his head. "Unbelievable. And number four?"

Seneca watched the gleam of excitement showing in his eyes. "Remember during our dinner at the Lorelei when you told me about Tamerlane and you said he was supposedly related to Genghis Khan?"

"Yes."

"Eighteen months ago, an international archaeological dig team uncovered what was believed to be Genghis Khan's palace in rural Mongolia. Soon after that, they found his tomb. It had recently been opened and resealed. Lots of grave goods were still inside. But..."

"His remains were missing."

"You got it."

"How does he fit into our specs?"

"Similar to Tamerlane." She scanned her notes. "For instance, in Iraq and Iran, he is looked on as a genocidal warlord who caused enormous destruction to the population. The invasions of Baghdad and Samarkand resulted in mass murders-portions of southern Khuzestan were completely destroyed. Among the Iranian people, he is regarded as one of the most despised conquerors along with Alexander and Tamerlane. Same thing in much of Russia, Middle East, China, Ukraine, Poland, and Hungary. Genghis Khan is reviled as a mass murderer who committed untold crimes against humanity."

"Your father outdid himself with this research. You know, I feel like Casey Kasem counting down the top ten hits. And number three is?"

"Slobodan Milosevic. He unleashed wars in Bosnia and Croatia, creating two million refugees and left a quarter million dead with his ethnic cleansing. In 2006, while he was being tried for crimes against humanity, he died in his prison cell of a heart attack. His body was returned to Serbia for burial. Eight months ago, maintenance workers found his grave opened and his body missing."

The flight attendant came by and filled their drink order. Matt waited until she moved on down the aisle. "I'm finding this fascinating."

"Hold your fascination for the next one."

"What are we up to?"

"Number two." She looked at her notes again then back at Matt.

He gave her a "tell me" expression.

"The Nazis were so infamous that they've given us two members of this club. Number two is none other than the Angel of Death himself, Dr. Josef Mengele. He performed cruel and grotesque experiments on camp inmates at the Nazi Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp. There's no telling how many were sent to the gas chambers as he stood on the train platform inspecting new arrivals and directing some to the right, some to the left, his white coat and white arms outstretched evoked the image of a white angel.

"After the war he escaped to South America, where he lived under the name of Wolfgang Gerhard. He drowned while swimming at a beach in Brazil in 1979. In 1985, authorities exhumed his body so forensic tests could be conducted to prove his identity. After that, the Sao Paulo Institute of Forensic Medicine stored his bones under heavy security in anticipation that some fringe group might want to steal the bones of one of their folk heroes. Recently the Institute discovered a break-in. A special safe holding only Mengele's remains was found empty."

"Do they suspect one of the fringe groups?"

"So far, none have claimed responsibility or bragged that they have his bones."

"And the last one on the list?"

"I've saved the best for last. This next robbery has to take the prize for the most brazen and bold. Can you imagine the balls it would take to steal the remains of the Russian Tsar, Ivan the Terrible, from inside the Kremlin?"

"My God, when did that happen?"

"Two weeks ago. And here's the wildest part of all. A guard on duty the night of the robbery claimed the thief was none other than the president of Russia himself."

Matt sank back in his seat and counted them down on his fingers. "Montezuma, Bathory, Tamerlane, Bloody Mary, Genghis Khan, Mengele, Koch, Milosevic, Herod, Amin, Ivan the Terrible, and now Robespierre. Twelve members of our band of butchers. What do you think it all means?"

"It's either the most ghoulish prank in history or we're sitting on some kind of time bomb."

MASS GRAVE 2012, PARIS.

"THANK YOU FOR MEETING us so late at night," Seneca said to the man that Planet Discovery Magazine's sister publication had arranged to escort her and Matt into the catacombs. They stood on the sidewalk along Avenue du Colonel Henri Rol-Tanguy just outside a red brick building with a large unmarked metal door. The traffic had thinned from the daytime rush.

"This is the best time," the guide said. He unlocked the door and motioned for them to follow him down a flight of stairs. "No one to disturb us. Besides, where we're going, it's always night." He was maybe five-foot-eight with a thick mustache and dark hair combed straight back that accented a narrow, taut face. He wore a black leather jacket over a sweater, heavy work gloves, and dark trousers that appeared as if beneath them there was some kind of knee padding. In one hand was a large battery lantern-a backpack hung on his back like a camel's hump.

At the bottom, a small gallery led into a dark tunnel. Running along the upper left-hand side of the tunnel's arched ceiling was a bundle of thick electrical cables. A string of light bulbs spaced too far apart created a soft circle separating one black patch of tunnel from the next. The dank smell irritated Seneca's nose as the chilly dampness seemed to creep into her skin.

"I guess they don't spend a lot on electricity down here," Matt said, a few paces ahead of Seneca.

"No need." The guide said, still leading the way inside the tunnel. "This area is mainly for tourists, and the less light, the more dramatic their experience." He paused for a moment and turned to face them as he spoke. "Where we're going, there is no light, for the dead have no eyes."

"That's nice," Seneca said under her breath as she flipped on the switch to the flashlight the guide had given her. Matt had received one as well.

Again the man paused. "Save your batteries. You're going to need them later." Forging ahead, he said, "The catacombs are what's left of les carrieres de Paris, the quarries of Paris, dating back to the Romans. During the late seventeenth century, the city cemeteries became overwhelmed with bodies causing disease from improper burials, open mass graves, and decomposing corpses. So it was decided to relocate all the bodies into the tunnels." Again he paused and glanced back. "We will soon be surrounded by the remains of seven million Parisians."

The trio came to a junction. As the guide motioned toward the right, Matt pointed to the other tunnel and asked, "Where does that one go?"

"That is one of many entrances to a honeycomb of rock quarries estimated to be three hundred kilometers long. No one goes into that maze unless they wish to remain forever lost below the city. We go this way, not too far."

To Seneca, the gravel sounded like walking on kernels of corn. Like the previous tunnel, this one was cold, damp, and poorly lit.

"This is the Ossuary of Denfert-Rochereaux," the guide said as they came to the end of the passage and entered a room whose ceiling appeared to be held up by a series of fat, square columns painted with white geometric designs. "You are about to be greeted by a million sets of bones."

As the guide shone his light around, Seneca saw human bones stacked from floor to roof, forming a wall whose thickness was impossible for her to judge.

"My God," she whispered with a gasp as her eyes followed the endless wall of brown bones-neatly stacked layers of human femurs separated by a quilted layer of skulls and then another of bones. Moving from one room to the next, the staggering number of remains overwhelmed her. "I never imagined this."

"No one does," the guide commented, leading them slowly past thousands of the dead. "It's ironic that just below the streets of the City of Lights is the largest mass grave in history."

"I've read about it," Matt said, "but nothing prepared me for this."

"This way." After a number of bone-filled rooms, the guide led them to another series of crypts, these filled with small-bone heaps piled shoulder-high like autumn leaves.

Water dripped steadily from the ceiling and echoed around them. "I don't understand something," Seneca said as they entered the next room.

The man halted to wait for her question.

"There doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to this place. How could anyone possibly know that specific remains were missing? Especially a single individual among millions?"

"There are a few individuals who have a special resting place. It was only several years ago that Robespierre's was identified." He motioned for them to follow, leading the way through a series of chambers whose thick walls were again constructed of bones and skulls reaching to the roof. "These are the bodies from the riots in the Place de Greve, from the Hotel de Brienne, and from the Rue Meslee. They were placed here in 1788." Finally he stopped. "Here we are.

Before them, Seneca saw a wall of large bricks, each one bearing a name. Near a far corner, a brick and the surrounding mortar had been removed leaving open a dark, empty cavity.

The guide pointed. "There is the crypt you seek, the final resting place of Maximilien Robespierre. In 1794, Robespierre was guillotined without trial. His corpse and head were both buried in the common cemetery of Errancis but were later moved here."

Matt stood in front of the hole in the wall and shined his light beam inside. Seneca joined him as they peered into the blackness. There were a few scraps of cloth and a layer of dust and dirt. Other than that, the small crypt was empty.

"Were any other crypts disturbed or opened besides this one?" Matt asked.

The guide shook his head. "This has never happened before. Highly unusual for anyone to want a handful of old bones, don't you think? Why bother to open a crypt?" He made a sweeping angelic gesture with his arms. "There are plenty of others to choose from if all they wanted were bones."

"Have the authorities determined any suspects?" Seneca asked.

"No," the guide said. "Nor are they spending a great deal of time on it. There are many other more important crimes to investigate."

"Then I guess we've seen all we need to see," Matt said.

"Oh, but you've yet to see the real catacombs. The true underbelly of Paris."

"What do you mean?" Seneca said, turning to stare at the guide. To her shock, he held a gun aimed at her chest.

"What's going on?" Matt said, his eyes fixed on the pistol. The man pointed his light beam toward an entrance to another tunnel a few yards away. A jail-like iron gate protected the opening. "That way," he ordered. "Your final tour is about to begin."

LOST 2012, PARIS.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?" Seneca was surprised at how shaky and thin her voice sounded. Her heart tripped at the sight of the gun in the guide's hand. "I don't have much money with me, but you can have it. Here, take my credit cards." She reached for the latch on her hip pack.

"Did you bring us all this way just to rob us?" Matt asked.

The man laughed. "That would be overly dramatic, wouldn't it?" He waved the gun at Seneca. "I'm not interested in your money." Aiming the beam of his lantern toward the tunnel entrance, he produced a set of keys and unlocked the metal gate. It shrieked from rust and corrosion as he opened it. "Let's go."

"If you're not going to rob us, what's this all about?" Matt said.

The explosion of the gun blast was deafening in the confined space. As a reflex, Seneca ducked only to find that the man had fired into the floor beside where she and Matt stood. Shards of gravel sprayed her jeans-covered leg. The surprise effect of the boom worked. She was ready to do whatever he demanded.

"Okay," Matt said, moving to shield her. "We get the message."

"Next time I won't aim at the floor. Now move!"

Entering the new tunnel, Seneca turned to see the guide relocking it from the inside. As he followed, he alternately jabbed the muzzle of the gun into one of their backs if they slowed. When they tried to speak, he demanded they remain silent. Once he stopped them for a moment. Seneca glanced over her shoulder to see him pull a piece of paper from his backpack. Shining his light on it, he studied it carefully.

"Let's go," he ordered.

There were no lights overhead like before, making it apparent to Seneca that they were venturing off the approved tourist route. Unlike the tunnels they left behind, the floor became uneven and littered with debris, trash, and chunks of rock. She followed Matt, carefully stepping over what seemed like an endless scattering of old wood and pieces of stone lying in the narrowing path.

After many hundreds of zigzagging yards, they came to a junction of three tunnels. Someone had painted a white stickman skeleton figure on the wall with an arrow pointing to the right.

As they paused, Seneca heard the crinkle of paper from behind. A moment later, the man said, "Go left."

Following his order, Matt led on and soon passed a break in the wall. Illuminated by their three flashlight beams, Seneca saw a large cavity filled with bones and skulls. Different from the areas they had seen earlier, these were not stacked in an orderly fashion, but appeared to have been dumped inside the cavern like heaps of refuse.

The rock-walled artery rambled on around sharp, jagged corners and down inclines only to start back up again, sometimes in angled slopes and other times as crude stone steps.

The guide stopped often to check the paper, and the farther they traveled, the more Seneca believed that this was not going to end well. There was a good chance she and Matt might be the next residents of the catacombs among the millions of human remains scattered along the miles of tunnels and countless chambers. Her research had told her that there were almost as many miles of passages in the catacombs as there were streets above ground in Paris. No one knew for sure how many entrances there were to the tunnels. Over the years, most had been found and sealed. Some tunnels extended to a depth of more than three hundred feet. Few remained accessible.

Why was the guide doing this? Was there a connection between the tomb robbery and their kidnapper? If he wasn't the real guide arranged by her magazine, then who was he? Why did he need what was probably a map?

"Which way?" Matt asked as they came upon another juncture.

"Straight," the guide said after checking the paper.

Seneca aimed her flashlight ahead. The ceiling dropped down to form a crawlspace barely three feet high. And the floor was covered in human bones. "You can't be serious?"

"Dead serious." He jabbed her again with the gun barrel. "Give me your flashlights." He took the lights, turned them off, and placed both into his backpack. "Now, start crawling."

Matt crouched, then got on all fours and started forward.

Seneca gingerly lowered herself and touched her palms to the brittle bones, hearing some splinter and crack as she put weight on her hands. Below her knees, the crunching sounded to her like the snapping of dry branches in a forest. Revulsion paired with fear reared up inside her.

The guide switched off his lantern. "Go until I tell you to stop."

After navigating the passage and moving across the blanket of bones for over half an hour, Seneca's hands and knees were torn and bruised. She now understood why the man was gloved and realized the reason for the knee padding beneath his trousers. She whimpered when the heel of her hand came down on a sliver of bone that pierced her skin.

Finally the guide turned on his lantern. Ahead was a tunnel high enough for them to stand.

Seneca recoiled. The tunnel was alive with rats, some nearly the size of a cat.

"Keep going!"

"Can we have our flashlights back?" Seneca asked, crawling behind Matt into the larger chamber. When she stood, her stiff and aching back slowly uncurled.

"They're of no more use to you." The man emerged behind them from the crawlspace.

"Come on, be reasonable;" Matt said. "Take away our lights and we're as good as dead."

"Now you're catching on. Start walking." He aimed his light down the tunnel so they could see where they were headed, then again plunged them into darkness.

In the blackness, their pace was slow. Seneca could hear the scurrying of the rats all around. The guide directed them through more passageways, twisting and turning, walking over dry bones or slogging through knee-deep water or slippery mud. As if to quickly check their location, he flashed on his lantern and looked at his map. But in the next instant he extinguished it, leaving them in total darkness, compounding their confusion and disorientation.

After what seemed like another half hour had passed, feeling along the wall in order to keep trekking forward or to navigate a corner, Seneca reached ahead and grabbed the back of Matt's jacket. She tugged on it, causing him to stop.

Turning around, she faced the darkness behind her and listened. "You aren't there any more, are you?"

No response.