The Eye of God

by James Rollins

  Gray swore. Apparently this made some sort of sense to the man. “Stick to the plan,” the commander radioed back. “Count to thirty and begin firing.”

  Duncan swung back to the window.

  Their team had no hope of victory against such odds.

  Instead, the plan was a simple one.

  Buy as much time with their lives as possible.

  Duncan glanced to the dark waters. At this moment, the fate of the world depended on how fast Jada could swim.

  31

  November 20, 9:44 A.M. IRKST

  Olkhon Island, Russia

  Jada knew she would not make it.

  Fear, cold, and exhaustion had taxed her to her limit. The drag of the pack across her shoulders further hindered her, feeling like a leaden weight, compromising the reach of each stroke. But that was not her worst problem.

  A trail of blood wafted behind her, streaming with each pull. She had sliced her right arm to the bone on a jagged piece of blasted metal as she had exited the bus. Heat and strength sapped out of her body with every yard gained, flowing like a crimson flag behind her. She fought to keep going, as pain became numbness.

  She had to kick harder as her right arm weakened.

  Her lungs screamed for air.

  The way became darker—but not because she fled the sunlight behind her for the tunnel. Instead, her vision squeezed, swimming with shadows.

  Distantly ahead, she could make out a brighter pool of water, where a flashlight rested next to the hole in the ice, awaiting her arrival, along with warm clothes.

  Never make it . . .

  Proving this, her pace slowed, her right arm useless now, dragging alongside her. She flutter-kicked, desperate, but despairing.

  A rumble shook through the water to her ears.

  She glanced up to see a bright light sweep past her across the translucent ice, heading for the mouth of the tunnel behind her.

  She reached and placed her palm against the ice.

  Help me . . .

  But they swept away, abandoning her.

  9:45 A.M.

  Gray raced his ATV toward the morning sunlight. Monk rode shotgun behind him, while Kowalski trailed on the second vehicle. Ahead, the mouth of the tunnel grew larger. He spotted figures sheltering to the left and right.

  Koreans, Duncan had said—but Gray knew they were, in fact, North Koreans.

  How had they found them? Fear for Seichan, for Rachel, fired his blood. Was that why the women had not shown up by now? Had they been captured? He remembered the strained and brief conversation with Seichan.

  They must have held her at gunpoint.

  Still, that offered one hope.

  The North Koreans clearly wanted to capture him and Kowalski and would likely try to take them alive.

  At least, initially.

  Gray was under no such compunction.

  He heard the first pops from Duncan’s SIG Sauer.

  With the enemy’s attention focused on the mouth of the tunnel and the approaching roar of the ATVs, Duncan fired at the Koreans’ rear flank, catching them off guard.

  Gray heard screams of shock and surprise at the sudden assault from an unexpected direction. Monk rose from behind and shot over Gray’s shoulder, adding to the confusion.

  With a final gun of his engine, he took advantage of the momentary chaos as the enemy was routed, perplexed and unsure how to respond to a battle on two fronts.

  A soldier ran into view, framed in the tunnel opening, pointing a rifle.

  Monk dropped him with a single shot.

  Gray sped to the left of the body, Kowalski to the right.

  They spun out into the sunlight, letting go of their handles, spinning their bikes, pistols up and firing in all directions. Duncan shoved open the rear door of the bus, popping into view, firing from on high.

  Soldiers in winter camouflage dropped to the ice—either felled or seeking to make themselves less of a target for the barrage.

  But Gray knew his team was outgunned and outnumbered. At any moment, the tide would turn against them. Rounds already began to chase their skidding bikes, splintering the ice around them.

  They had only one goal here: buy time.

  He had warned Vigor to stay in the vault, to await Jada’s arrival, to help her with whatever she needed. The monsignor had agreed, not looking too well anyway.

  With that goal in mind, Gray fired and fired, urging Jada to hurry.

  9:46 A.M.

  Jada struggled for that distant pool of light, kicking and clawing with her one good arm. She heard the gunshots behind her, as the others cast aside their lives for her goal. Such a sacrifice kept her throat tight, fighting the reflex to breathe, though her lungs burned. The rest of her body was ice, growing heavier, more leaden.

  Then something bumped her body and swept past, startling a gasp of bubbles from her lips. It was a brown mother seal, sleek and supple in the water. With a twist and roll, it swung back to her and circled smoothly around her waist, brushing against her, then back forward, hovering with invitation.

  Through the agony of ice and fire, she understood.

  Reaching out with her good arm, she grabbed that tail. At her touch, the seal burst forward—whether startled or purposefully. It shot toward the hole inside the cavern, the closest breath of fresh air, dragging Jada along.

  Willing all her strength into her fingertips, she held tight.

  In seconds, they reached that bright pool of light and burst upward. Breaking the surface, Jada gasped, sucking air. The seal bobbed beside her, its brown eyes shining at her, as if to see if she were okay. Catching her breath, Jada took a moment to wonder at the sight. Was it just maternal instinct in the seal, seeking to aid an injured fellow mammal? Or was it truly the spirit of the island as Temur had said, coming to her rescue.

  Either way, Jada silently thanked her. The seal nudged its nose a few times in the air, then dove away.

  Jada swam to the edge, where Gray had left a rope hanging to help her pull out of the water and up the icy chute. Once up top, she crawled on her hands and knees, blood running down her arm and leaving crimson handprints.

  She reached a set of blankets and rubbed herself dry. There were clothes there, too, but she ignored them, knowing she didn’t have time to fully dress. Instead, she dropped her pack, pulled on the parka, and zipped it up.

  Shaking all over, she slung her pack over her shoulder and stepped into a climbing harness. She pulled it up bare legs and secured it.

  She stumbled toward the frozen waterfall, having a hard time controlling her limbs. Once at the base, she stared up the length of rope ascending the sheer cliff of ice.

  Grabbing hold, she immediately recognized the futility. She could barely feel her fingers. Her strength continued to leave her with every quake of her limbs.

  But gunfire echoed to her.

  Her friends were not giving up.

  I cannot give up.

  Knowing she had only ten minutes left, she pulled herself up to the first piton, then the next. Renewed determination drove her upward, but strength of will was not the same as strength of limb.

  She reached with her wounded arm, tried to hold—and slipped, falling back to the hard ice. She stared up, tears of frustration running hot down her cheeks, recognizing the truth.

  I’ll never make it.

  9:48 A.M.

  Gray knew the battle was lost.

  The surprise of the initial assault faded as the enemy dug in. A round pinged off the side of the ATV, the ricochet striking Gray’s thigh, burning a line across his hip.

  He signaled Kowalski.

  The big man dashed his ATV over toward the bus, while Gray and Monk covered him, sweeping across the ice and laying down a fierce barrage of gunfire.

  Kowalski reached the broken ice around the bus and spun a one-eighty, skidding to a stop at the crumbling lip of the shattered hole.

  Atop the bus, Duncan bounded out of its rear door, ran across its slanted back, and vaulted
over the open water below, opalescent with leaking gasoline and oil. He landed hard on the seat behind Kowalski—and the pair immediately rocketed away from the bus in a fishtailing path toward Gray.

  As they fled, rounds peppered the side of the bus and cracked shards from the ice.

  Monk fired back toward the tunnel as Gray gripped the handlebars with one glove and blasted away with his pistol in the other.

  They were all low on ammunition and needed to make a final stand.

  He raced toward the tunnel, seeking its cover.

  Kowalski barreled behind him.

  Monk hit a soldier in the leg, sending him toppling. Others scattered as Gray’s team concentrated their fire at the mouth of the tunnel. With the way clear, his group shot into the tunnel, raced ten yards in, then skidded sideways in unison.

  Once stopped, they all fell to the far sides of the parked vehicles, using their bulk as a temporary shelter, setting up a roadblock between them and the enemy.

  Gray took quick inventory. Kowalski bled from his shoulder and side. Duncan had an angry graze across his cheek. Monk held a hand to his thigh, blood welling through his fingers.

  Still, they all looked fierce and ready to eke out every extra moment for Jada and Vigor to accomplish what they must. Unfortunately, they were down to a few shots each. They would have to make them count.

  As if knowing this, the enemy regrouped for their final assault.

  Gray braced for it, leveling his pistol.

  Instead, a figure appeared, clutching another.

  A large North Korean soldier in full body armor held Seichan, an arm across her throat, a pistol against her skull, using her as a human shield. Seichan looked defeated, the fire blown out of her.

  “Throw your weapons to us!” a familiar voice called to them. “Come out with your hands on your heads or she will die before you. Just like we killed the other woman.”

  The plans that had been revising in Gray’s head blew away at those last words.

  . . . killed the other woman.

  Monk clutched his arm, but he barely felt those fingers.

  Rachel.

  Frozen flashes popped through his head: the rich caramel of her eyes, the way she flipped her hair when angry, the softness of her lips, the stutter of her laughter when caught off guard.

  How could that all be gone?

  “Gray,” Monk whispered to him, holding him to the present with his tone as much as his iron grip.

  Fire welled up inside Gray, blinding him.

  At the tunnel’s end, Pak darted out, dashing into cover behind the tall Korean. “Come out now! And you will live!”

  The triumphant whine of that insect’s voice snapped Gray back to himself, to his duty. They still needed to buy time to save the world, but Gray had a new purpose: to avenge Rachel.

  “What do you want us to do?” Duncan whispered, holding his SIG Sauer.

  Gray considered sending the man back to help Jada, but Pak would know one of them was missing and go looking for Duncan, defeating their objective here.

  “Do what he says,” Gray said coldly, forcing his jaw to move. “It’ll buy us more time.”

  With no other recourse, they threw out their weapons. Pistols skittered across the ice and into the sunshine beyond the tunnel.

  Gray stood up, his hands on his head.

  The others followed his example and climbed together over the blockage of vehicles.

  Clearly knowing he had won, Pak finally stepped free as they approached. He felt at ease enough to light a victory cigarette and pointed its glowing tip at Gray.

  “We will have fun, you and I.”

  Gray bit back a retort, constraining himself from reacting, trying to keep this guy talking versus entering the tunnel.

  He had no idea if Jada had safely scaled the frozen waterfall at the back of the cavern, but the climbing ropes were still there. The enemy would know to follow that path up.

  So he only glared.

  Reaching the tunnel’s end, Gray found rifles pointed at them, bodies strewn across the ice. At least they had taken out half of Pak’s forces. Others bled from grazes and gunshots.

  Gray would have to take satisfaction in that.

  To the left, a familiar figure hung back from the others.

  Ju-long Delgado.

  He glanced at Gray, then at his toes, clearly ashamed of his role here.

  It was unfortunate.

  The man failed to see the thin shape sail down one of the Koreans’ ropes, landing behind him without a sound—or the flash of silver as the sword pierced him from behind.

  As Ju-long fell to his knees with a gasp of surprise, Guan-yin stood there, her dragon tattoo ablaze on her face, shining with fury. She raised her other hand, lifting a pistol into view, and began firing.

  To both sides, figures flowed down the other ropes, shooting from above as they descended.

  Her Triad.

  Stunned, Gray could not fathom how Guan-yin had found them, but such questions would have to wait.

  Taking advantage of her mother’s distraction, Seichan stamped her captor’s instep. While the hardened soldier was too professional to lose hold of her, it allowed Seichan to slip lower, her eyes fixed to Gray.

  He was already moving, running toward her. The man fired at him, but Gray dropped and slid on the ice. As rounds blasted over the crown of his head, he grabbed the only weapon at hand.

  Reaching the soldier’s knees, Gray lunged up with a shattered length of icicle in hand. He drove it past Seichan’s ear and through the man’s exposed throat.

  The soldier fell back, dropping his weapon and clutching his neck with both hands.

  Gray turned to Duncan. “Go help Jada! Now!”

  They were down to a handful of minutes.

  9:53 A.M.

  With a fire lit under him, Duncan sprinted, not bothering with the abandoned ATVs. He vaulted over them and ran, stretching his stride, trying to stick to the windblown dry snow versus the slick ice.

  Gunfire continued behind him, but it was quickly sputtering away as the arriving forces overwhelmed the remaining North Koreans.

  Reaching the cavern in seconds, he spotted Jada perched halfway up the ice wall, decidedly struggling. Vigor crouched in the tunnel above her, trying his best to pull her up, but the monsignor was plainly too weak.

  As Duncan ran toward them, he noted the trail of blood leading from the breathing hole to the cliff. More icy blood trailed down the frozen waterfall, adding streaks of crimson to the blue.

  “Hang on!” Duncan yelled.

  “What do you think I’m trying to do!” she called back, both angry and relieved.

  Duncan ran to the free line. “Hold tight. I’m going to haul you up.”

  He pulled hard, drawing the rope through the eyehole in the roof and towing Jada’s body up to the tunnel. Once there, Vigor helped her clamber inside. Both looked clearly spent.

  As Jada unclipped her harness, Duncan called up to them. “Keep going! I’m right behind you.”

  Jada waved her acknowledgment, having no breath left to speak.

  The pair vanished as he mounted the line and scrambled up.

  9:54 A.M.

  Free at last, Seichan spun away from the guard who had held her. She heard Gray shout to Duncan and paused only long enough to grab Ryung’s abandoned weapon, the same pistol he had used to shoot Rachel.

  She stepped over his impaled body and went after the only target that mattered.

  Pak fled across the ice at the first sign of trouble, running for cover behind the half-submerged bus. He had a pistol in hand and shot blindly behind him, panicked by the chaos and the sudden turn of fortune. But as a gambler, he should have known that luck always runs out.

  She stalked deliberately after him.

  He spotted her, swung his weapon at her, and fired.

  She didn’t even bother dodging.

  Instead, she lifted her arm and squeezed the trigger.

  She placed the round th
rough his knee. He fell headlong with a scream, sliding on his belly, spinning. Reaching the broken ice around the blasted bus, he flew out over the open water and plunged into its depths.

  She crossed to the edge and watched him come sputtering up from the cold. Compromised by his wrecked knee, she knew every kick that kept him afloat must be agony.

  He struggled over to the edge, seeking a handhold, found one where a corner of the bus met the ice. Unfortunately, the bulk of the bus shifted slightly, settling further as its mass compressed the surrounding ice. The movement pinned his fingers in that crack. He cried out, struggling to free his four crushed fingers.

  Seichan’s mother had already taken the fifth one to repay a gambling debt. Pak owed Seichan much more.

  “Help me!” Pak said, teeth chattering.

  Seichan bent down, seeing hope flare in Pak’s eyes.

  Instead, she picked up the cigarette that had fallen from his lips as he spun into the water. She straightened and blew the tip to a glowing red.

  Horror replaced hope. Like her, he must smell the leaked gasoline and oil, forming a thick layer on the water.

  “Cold, isn’t it?” she said. “Let me warm you up.”

  She flicked the bud below. A rain of fiery ash ignited the fumes first, then the pool of oil and gasoline. Flames chased across the blue water, reaching and swamping over Pak.

  She turned from his screaming and headed back, leaving him to burn above and freeze below.

  That’s for Rachel.

  32

  November 20, 9:55 A.M. IRKST

  Olkhon Island, Russia

  Ju-long lay on the ice, his blood spreading in a warm pool under him. He had heard Pak begging for his life as the gunfire died down—followed by his screaming. He felt no pity for the man.

  The bastard deserved a cruel end.

  And maybe I do, too.

  As if summoned by this thought, a face loomed into view, staring down at him, merciless despite her chosen name.

  “Guan-yin,” he mumbled. He lifted a hand toward her, but with a tremble, he dropped it, too weak. “Pak has my wife . . . my unborn son.”