The Eye of God: A Sigma Force Novel sf-9

by James Rollins

  Don’t want to bring this whole place down.

  He then took the transceiver out of Monk’s hand.

  “Do you know what you’re doing?” his partner asked.

  “I didn’t take all those electrical engineering courses to work at RadioShack.” Working quickly, he adjusted the transmitter to the new frequency, then waved everyone back. “Find shelter and cover your ears!”

  He retreated with the group and hid behind a sturdy bookcase. Once in position, he brought his thumb to the tiny red button on the transceiver. His jury-rigged charge should be the only one that responded to this new frequency—but when it came to explosives and radios, bad things sometimes happened to good engineers.

  He pressed the button.

  From the skull-crushing explosion that followed, Duncan believed he had failed, that he’d blown everything. Smoke and dust rolled through the space. Standing up, he waved and coughed.

  Across the way, the hatch was gone, along with a fair amount of the wall around it.

  Monk joined him, sounding as if he were speaking underwater. “Bastard probably heard that!”

  Duncan nodded.

  In other words, run!

  12:46 A.M.

  Jada sprinted up the steps behind Duncan, who led the charge topside with their only flashlight. Behind them, Monk and Rachel helped Vigor with the steep stairs, half carrying him between them. Sanjar brought up the rear.

  At any moment, Jada expected the world to explode around her, crushing her under tons of stone, burying her in sand and salt.

  The exit that led into the ship’s rusty hold seemed an impossible distance away. The size of this labyrinth swelled around her, stretching higher and wider, expanding in proportion to her terror. Above her, the winds whistled and howled through the corroded bulk of the ship, taunting her to run faster.

  “Not much farther!” Duncan gasped, taking two steps at a time, his rifle in hand.

  She craned up, but his bulk blocked her view.

  In another five yards, he was proven right. Rock turned to steel treads under her boots. The group clanked the last of the way up—

  —then the ground bucked violently under them, accompanied by the sound of the earth cracking beneath their feet.

  They all went crashing to their knees on the salt-corroded stairs. A flume of sand, dust, and smoke blasted up from below, choking them, blinding them.

  Jada climbed the remainder of the stairs on her hands and knees, drawn by the glow of Duncan’s flashlight. A hand grabbed hers and hauled her up and out of the stairwell, lifting her as if she were weightless. Placed back on her feet, she stumbled to the side as Duncan drew the others into the hold with her.

  “Make for the exit!” he hollered and pointed to the hole cut into the port side of the ship’s hull.

  She turned, but her footing slipped as her world tilted under her. The stern of the ship dropped precipitously behind her with a groan of steel, while the bow rose up. She pictured the back half of the thousand-ton vessel collapsing and crushing into the sinkhole created as the labyrinth below imploded.

  Across the length of the hull, a half century of windblown sand suddenly shifted en masse, flowing toward the stern.

  Jada could not hold her place any longer, dragged by the tide of sand. She fell to her knees and started sliding down the steep slant. The others fared no better, unable to gain any traction as the sands turned into a streaming cataract, growing deeper, pouring faster, trapping limbs, tumbling them all back toward the sinking stern.

  Jada fought, flailing, feeling like a swimmer about to drown.

  And maybe she was.

  A sandstorm swirled treacherously below, waiting to swallow her up—behind her, the other half of the ship’s sand flowed after her, ready to swamp her once she was trapped.

  Then Duncan appeared and sped past her, half skating, half body surfing, not resisting the tidal pull like the others.

  He quickly vanished into the dusty cloud ahead.

  Has he simply given up?

  12:50 A.M.

  Racing atop the sand, Duncan aimed for their only hope of survival.

  He recalled their arrival earlier in the day, when the Land Rover came wheeling out from a makeshift garage in the ship’s stern, sweeping out to confront the newcomers.

  As the world upended a moment ago, he had spotted the Rover still parked back there. He aimed for its bulk, already axle-deep in sand and being buried rapidly. He hit the bumper hard and flung himself onto the hood. Once at the windshield, he squirmed sideways through the open side window and dropped into the driver’s seat.

  He checked and found the keys still in the ignition.

  Thank God . . .

  With a twist of his wrist and a pound on the gas, he felt the paddle-treaded tires churn, kicking up a rooster tail of sand behind him. Then he was moving, tires digging back up the slope.

  Monk had already noted Duncan’s goal and swept fast down the slanted hull, no longer resisting the pull of the sand. Reaching the Rover, Monk leaped over the front grill and rolled up onto the hood, landing belly down, passing Duncan a prosthetic thumbs-up.

  “Keep going!” Monk yelled.

  Duncan slowly ground his way upslope as Monk fished the others out of the churning flow of sand. Vigor slid across the hood until his back rested against the windshield; Rachel soon joined him. At the right fender, Jada helped Monk grab Sanjar, who still clung to his blanket-wrapped falcon.

  With everyone on board, Duncan gave the engine more gas. Staying in a low gear, he climbed up the steepening slope, picturing the massive weight of the ship shifting to the stern, driving it deeper into the collapsing subterranean complex.

  Even with sand tires and four-wheel drive, the Rover fishtailed in the flow. He held his breath each time the vehicle slipped, knowing if they fell back to the stern, they might never get out. If that happened, they’d be quickly buried alive as the ship’s five decades’ worth of sand, silt, and salt filled the stern.

  As he labored, the rusted vessel groaned, echoing with the strain of stressed steel. Hull plates popped like gunshots and tumbled into the stern. It was all coming apart.

  Angling to the port side, he finally reached the hole cut through the hull. With the ship tilted, the opening was several feet off the ground, but they would have to risk the jump.

  Duncan fought the tide to hold them steady, as Monk shuttled everyone through the hole, half tossing them into the teeth of the storm out there.

  “You next!” Monk screamed into the wind blowing through the opening.

  Duncan waved to him. “Go! I’ll follow!”

  It was a lie. There was no way Duncan could move. Once he let up on the gas, the Rover would immediately roll backward.

  Monk stared through the windshield, read Duncan’s determination—then with a scowl, the man turned and jumped toward the hole. But rather than leaping through the opening, he hung from its lower edge by his prosthetic hand and reached out with his other arm.

  “Pull even with me!” he yelled. “Then grab my hand!”

  Duncan balked, knowing such a maneuver would likely end with both of them dead.

  “Don’t make me jump down after you!” Monk bellowed.

  Guy probably would, too.

  Knowing that, Duncan gunned the engine and gained a couple of yards, his tires spinning on the sliding sand as he fought to hold his place. With one hand on the wheel, he stretched his arm out the window.

  Monk caught his fingers, then his palm, gripping tightly.

  With a silent prayer, Duncan let go of the steering wheel, took his foot off the gas, and shoved out the window. As he had suspected, the Rover immediately plummeted backward, shedding from around his body as it fell away, leaving Duncan hanging from Monk’s arm.

  He gasped in relief.

  But it was premature.

  As he hung there, the ship broke in half.

  1:04 A.M.

  From only yards away, huddled low against the storm, J
ada watched the middle section of the rusted vessel fracture, splitting in half with a scream of rent steel. The entire bow came crashing down, blasting up more sand into the storm.

  They all fled backward as debris rained down around them, whipped viciously by the wind. Sand swirled everywhere, obscuring anything beyond their noses.

  Duncan . . . Monk . . .

  The constant gale of the wind quickly cleared the worst of the dust, blowing it across the salt flats.

  She searched the ruins of the ship.

  Movement along the hull revealed two small forms climbing free of the hold and falling to the sands. Luckily, the ship had fractured above the exit, sparing their lives.

  On the ground, Monk helped Duncan through the reefs of sharp steel littering the vessel’s skirts. He held the younger man under one arm as Duncan limped alongside him.

  Jada hurried forward, shielding her face against the wind. Her heart quailed at the sight of Duncan’s blood-soaked pant leg.

  The others gathered with her.

  “What happened?” Jada asked.

  “I tried to go down with the sinking ship,” Duncan said. “But Monk convinced me otherwise.”

  “Let’s keep moving,” Monk warned, squinting through the storm. He noted someone was missing. “Where’s Sanjar?”

  Jada searched around. She had failed to notice that he had slipped away.

  Vigor answered, “He went to check on our pilot.”

  Jada felt a flare of guilt, glancing toward the shadowy bulk of the helicopter. She had not even considered the man’s fate. Somewhere at the back of her mind, she must have assumed him dead, murdered like the rest of Josip’s crew at the onset of this assault.

  Monk headed toward the helicopter with Duncan. Along the way, they found three bodies, sprawled in cooling pools of blood.

  All shot.

  Duncan limped through them. “Seems like our flyboy put up quite the fight.”

  “And saved our lives at the same time,” Monk said. “His showdown likely delayed Arslan from blowing up the ship long enough for us to make our escape.”

  Jada felt doubly guilty now. She had never even learned the pilot’s name.

  They crossed to the helicopter and found its flank peppered with bullet holes, its canopy chipped and splintered. The tarps around it flapped and twisted in the wind.

  A fast search found no sign of Sanjar.

  Then from out of the dark storm, a pair of shadowy shapes appeared, leaning against each other, huddled against the fierce winds and the sting of blowing salt.

  Sanjar and the pilot.

  Monk left Duncan with Jada and helped the other pair back to the helicopter.

  “I followed his blood trail,” Sanjar said, as he rejoined them. “From the helicopter out into the storm . . .”

  “Got shot in the upper thigh,” the pilot said. “Pinned under the helicopter, I thought I was a goner, but then there was a big blast from the ship. Used the distraction to limp off into the storm, hoping to get lost. Which apparently worked.”

  Jada pictured the shattered hatch down below.

  So in the end, it sounds like we both saved each other.

  “Can the bird still fly?” Monk asked.

  The pilot frowned, eyeing the damage. “Not in this weather. But with a little bit of spackle and glue, I can probably get her flying after that.”

  “Good man,” Monk said.

  They all retreated into the helicopter’s cabin as the winds howled. But the storm was the least of their problems.

  Monk turned to Sanjar, who had recovered his falcon from a seat, still covered in a blanket. He must have secured the bird inside the cabin before searching for the pilot.

  “Do you know where Arslan was taking the relics?” Monk asked.

  “I can’t say with certainty. But most likely back to Ulan Bator.”

  Vigor pressed him. “Once there, what then? Who is he going to give them to?”

  “Now that I can state with certainty. He’ll hand them over to head of my clan. A man who goes by the title Borjigin, meaning the Master of the Blue Wolf.”

  “That was Genghis Khan’s old title, too,” Vigor said.

  Sanjar nodded.

  “What’s his real name?” Monk asked.

  “I do not know. He came to us always wearing the mask of a wolf. Only Arslan knows his true identity.”

  “Fat lot of good that does us,” Duncan said as he bandaged a deep gash on his leg.

  “Without that last relic,” Vigor said, “we are doomed.”

  Jada stared out the window as the storm began shredding apart, revealing the glow of the comet in the night sky. As a scientist, she put her faith in numbers and facts, in solid proofs and indisputable calculations. She had scoffed at the superstitions that led to this side excursion to the Aral Sea, dismissing it as irrelevant.

  But as she looked skyward, she simply despaired, knowing the truth with all her heart.

  The monsignor was right.

  We are doomed.

  THIRD

  HIDE & SEEK

  Σ

  18

  November 19, 11:09 A.M. ULAT

  Ulan Bator, Mongolia

  “And you all believe this cross is important,” Gray said.

  He sat with everyone in a suite of rooms at the Hotel Ulaanbaatar in the center of the capital city’s downtown. The façade of the building looked Soviet industrial, a holdover from the country’s oppressed past, but the interior was a display of European modernity and elegance, representing the new Mongolia, a country looking to an independent future.

  Their suite even featured a meeting room with a long conference table. Everyone was seated, with Monk’s team on one side, Gray’s on the other.

  Only an hour ago, a knock at Gray’s door revealed a familiar bald and smiling face. Monk had grabbed him in a bear hug, almost ripping his shoulder back open. Behind him, his new partner, Duncan Wren, bowed his tall physique inside. He was accompanied by a young Mongolian man wearing a midthigh sheepskin coat. He had a pet carrier in hand and something stirring inside.

  But it was the pair who came last who triggered his strongest reaction, a mix of joy, warm memories, and deep affection.

  Gray had grabbed Vigor with as much enthusiasm as Monk had him a moment ago. He found the monsignor his same self: tough, resolute, yet gentle of spirit. Only now Gray saw the man’s age physically, how his frame seemed thinner, wasted. Even his face looked more gaunt.

  Then there was Rachel.

  Gray had greeted her just as warmly as the others, memories blurring as he held her in his arms. She clung to him an extra moment longer than ordinary friendship warranted. The two had been close for some time, intimate even, beginning to talk of something long term, until the shine of new romance waned into the practical realities of a long-distance relationship. The romance settled instead into a deep friendship, not that it didn’t occasionally well up into something more physical whenever they still happened to cross paths.

  But circumstances had since changed . . .

  Gray looked at the woman seated across from Rachel.

  Seichan also knew of their past history and had her own complicated relationship with Rachel, but the two had come to terms, respecting each other, but were still cautious.

  Once Monk’s team had time to settle in, Gray had ushered them into the meeting room, needing to decide how to proceed from here. They all placed their figurative cards on the table.

  After receiving permission from Painter, Monk had shared the details of the crashed satellite with Vigor and Rachel, even with the Mongolian named Sanjar. The young man had offered his services as a guide into the Khan Khentii Strictly Protected Area, the mountainous region northwest of the city.

  The story of the destruction captured by the falling spacecraft and the recent events in Antarctica had sobered the jubilance of their reunion. They now all understood the stakes at hand.

  But Gray still remained doubtful about one detail. Monk’
s group had filled him in on what had transpired in Kazakhstan. They all seemed convinced that this cross, one carried by St. Thomas in the past, bore some significance to the potential disaster to come.

  Even Dr. Jada Shaw believed it was vital to find.

  She explained that now. “I know from my observations and calculations that Comet IKON is shedding an unusual energy signature, one triggering gravitational abnormalities.”

  “That you believe is caused by dark energy,” Gray said.

  “All I can say is that those anomalies exactly match my theoretical calculations.”

  “And the cross?”

  “According to Duncan, the ancient relics are also giving off some form of energy. We believe it was because Genghis was exposed to, and contaminated by, that same energy while carrying the cross for many years on his person.”

  She ticked off additional points on her fingers, her dark eyes flashing with certainty. “First, the cross’s history is tied to a meteor strike. Second, it’s connected physically to a prophecy of a disaster set to play out in roughly two and a half days, matching the same time frame as the satellite image. Third, it’s giving off a strange energy signature that left its trace on these relics. I say it’s worth investigating. Or at least somebody should check into it.”

  “But not you,” Gray said, challenging that certainty.

  She sighed. “I’ll be more useful going after the wreck of the crashed satellite. My expertise is astrophysics. I know that spacecraft inside out. My knowledge of history, on the other hand, barely extends beyond the last presidential election.”

  It had already been decided that Jada, Duncan, and Monk would head straight for the crash site deep in the remote mountains. Sanjar would act as their local guide and interpreter. Gray wanted to go with them, but Monk and his team were unanimous in their belief that somebody had to find that cross, one prophesied by a dead saint to be vital to surviving the coming fiery apocalypse.