The Last Oracle: A Sigma Force Novel

by James Rollins

  “Until the secret was stolen from you,” Gray said.

  “A secret that trails all the way back to Delphi,” Elizabeth added.

  She pictured the child back in Washington. Could she truly be a descendant of the last Oracle of Delphi?

  Rosauro stepped to the fresco and pointed to the lines of other figures fleeing the besieged complex in various directions. “These refugees,” she said to Elizabeth. “This must be why your father found all the genetic trails led to this region, why the markers are so concentrated in this area, especially among the lower castes. It’s where the refugees were absorbed into the populace.”

  As they talked, Gray had crossed down the wall one more time, studying each image more closely. He came to the last mosaic, the one with the fiery boy. “There’s writing below here,” he said.

  Elizabeth stepped closer. There were three lines. The topmost was a handsome line of Harappan script, the next line Sanskrit, the last Greek. Below the lines rested another chakra wheel.

  “I can’t read the Harappan hieroglyphics,” she said. “No one can. And below that, I can make out only the first few words of the Sanskrit and Greek. The rest has been worn away. What I can translate, reads ‘the world will burn…’” She took some snapshots, especially of the fiery figure. “The rest is lost.”

  Gray leaned lower and touched the chakra wheel inscribed below the lines. “This must be important. It’s repeated over and over.”

  He straightened and turned toward the larger chakra wheel carved into the floor. The omphalos rested at its center. Elizabeth could almost read Gray’s mind. If the chakra was important, then what lay at its center must be doubly so. The man’s eyes narrowed as he stalked over to the stone. They’d only given it a cursory glance.

  “Your father hid the skull inside the stone at the museum. Maybe there was a reason.”

  Gray climbed on top of the domed omphalos.

  “Be careful,” Elizabeth squeaked out, fearful of marring the piece of ancient history. She circled the stone and noted the bottom rim was inscribed with three languages again: Harappan, Sanskrit, and Greek.

  She took more pictures.

  Balancing on top of the omphalos, Gray shone his light down through the hole and into its hollow heart.

  “What do you see?” she asked.

  “Gold…in the shape of two eagles.”

  Elizabeth’s breath shortened. “Are they facing away from each other?”

  Gray glanced back to her. “Yes.”

  “It’s another lost artifact from Delphi, representing Zeus’s eagles. According to mythology, the pair was sent in opposite directions from his shoulders to pinpoint the center of the world. They came to roost at Delphi, marking the navel of the world.”

  “Your father surely must have found them, too.” Gray reached inside. “Maybe there’s some reason they’re hidden here, the same reason your father hid the skull in the omphalos at the museum.”

  As he strained, Elizabeth edged around the stone, continuing her translation of the three lines.

  “I think I can reach them…,” Gray said.

  Elizabeth mumbled the words found there, tracing each letter with her finger. “‘Greed and blasphemy bring doom to all.’”

  Elizabeth stopped.

  Oh, no!

  “Got it,” Gray said as he reached the golden idols.

  Elizabeth snapped straight. “Don’t!”

  Startled, Gray slipped.

  Something loud thumped inside the stone, followed by a thunderous crack underfoot. A low roar followed, coming from the rear of the chamber, growing in volume, like a freight train barreling toward them.

  Everyone froze for a breath, then Gray shoved an arm toward the stairs. “Everybody out!” he screamed.

  Too late.

  From the spring’s hole, an explosion of water blasted out with the power of a fire hose—in a column two feet thick. Fissures skittered across the wall, radiating out from the opening.

  A man-made flash flood.

  The water smashed against the far wall and swept into the room, knocking them all off their feet with the force of its current.

  Elizabeth tangled into the others as the room swelled rapidly with icy water. Gray nabbed her elbow and dragged her toward the stairs.

  “A trap…” She coughed in shock. “Pressure switch! My father…tried to warn us…”

  Gray cried. “Out! Out!”

  She climbed the first few stairs on hands and feet. Behind her, Gray fished Luca out of the water and shoved him toward the stairs. The level had already climbed to the top of her thighs and rose higher with every breath. Gray remained below, braced in the stairwell opening, searching the small cave.

  Elizabeth knew why.

  Where was Rosauro?

  Gray had lost sight of her. She had been closest to the spring when it blew. The blasting water swirled like a whirlpool in the cavern and reflected his flashlight’s beam. He could not see beneath the surface. By now, the water had climbed to his waist. Still, Rosauro should be able to stand, and even if knocked out, her body should be buoyant enough to reveal her location.

  Unless…

  Gray turned to Luca and held out his arm. “Your dagger!”

  With a flash of silver, a blade appeared in the Gypsy’s hand. He slapped the grip into Gray’s palm. In turn, Gray tossed him the flashlight.

  “Hold the beam underwater!” he ordered and dove out into the growing lake.

  The current grabbed him and whipped him around the edge of the room. He didn’t fight it. He let the force churn him to the far side of the cave. He knew when he’d reached it, sensing the raw power of the jetting spring below. He twisted and kicked toward the opposite wall.

  Conscious or not, only one thing could be holding Rosauro down beneath the water.

  Pressure.

  Gray dove to where the spring had drained out of the cavern. In the dim light of the flashlight, he spotted a struggling form trapped in the drainage slot. Rosauro had been sucked tight against the hole, one arm swallowed down its throat. Gray heard of people drowning, pinned to swimming pool drains. This was a force a hundred times as fierce.

  Gray grabbed her free arm and pulled himself down to her. He braced his legs to either side of the trough. She stared up at him. Even in the weak light, he saw the raw panic on her face.

  Gray slashed out with the dagger. He’d lost one teammate to drowning—he wasn’t about to lose another. The blade sliced through the straps of Rosauro’s backpack. Half the bag had been sucked into the hole, holding her trapped. Once cut free, Gray dropped the dagger, grabbed her around the chest, and heaved with his legs.

  For a moment, she remained stuck. Then the pack shifted deeper into the hole, weakening the pressure enough for Gray to pop her out. He tumbled back with her in his arms. He let the spin of the current carry them toward the light and the stairwell.

  The water had risen to within a foot of the roof.

  A grinding boom of stone echoed. The current suddenly slammed harder as the cavern wall gave way behind him.

  Surging forward, Gray kicked off the bottom and up into the flooded stairwell.

  Gasping, he surfaced into Luca’s arms. Luca helped Gray haul Rosauro up the stairs. She coughed and choked. Water spilled from her lips. But she took deep gulping breaths between.

  She used one breath to spit out a curse in Spanish that would burn even the hairs off Kowalski’s ears.

  Behind them, the chamber flooded to the roof, and the water level suddenly churned up after them.

  “Time to go,” Gray said.

  He pulled Rosauro to her feet and waved Elizabeth and Luca ahead. Rosauro was weak-kneed, but with water surging at their heels, she steadied enough to run on her own. Still, she cradled her left arm, strained from the suction.

  They fled upward, chased by a flume of rising floodwaters.

  Reaching the top, Elizabeth slithered backward out the opening, hung from her hands, then dropped to the floor be
low.

  “Go!” Gray called to Luca when the man hesitated.

  Luca obeyed and disappeared.

  Gray helped Rosauro through the black marble door. She dangled from her good arm, then dropped. Gray followed her as water flooded the last step and washed over him in a wave.

  He leaped away, clearing his fingers a second before the surge of water struck the door and slammed it closed. He landed and stared up. With the marble door cut at an angle, it could only rotate in one direction. The water pressure now held it closed.

  Self-sealing.

  Turning, he heard a roar echoing from the canyon. Lightning flashed. Churning white water flowed across the valley floor. The canyon was flooding, too, but this was a natural flood—not the consequence of Gray’s ham-fisted fumbling.

  He stared at the volume of water coursing through the canyon.

  No wonder these buildings had been built into the cliffs.

  Gray realized one other thing.

  Luca had noted it, too, and whispered, “Where is everyone?”

  As if hearing his question, Masterson limped into view by the door, leaning on his cane. He’d been out of sight on the porch outside. Probably keeping an eye on the flooding waters with the others.

  “Thank God,” the professor said. “You’d been down there bloody long enough. What did you find?”

  Elizabeth stepped forward, excited. “The answers to everything! It was amazing.”

  “It that right?”

  Behind Masterson, more figures rushed into view.

  Others flooded in from the two side rooms. They all wore black, bristling with assault weapons ready at their shoulders.

  The Russian commandos.

  “You’ll have to tell me all about it,” Masterson said. “Since your father refused to.”

  Kowalski was shoved into view at the outer door, hands on his head. His right eyebrow was split, bleeding down his face. Soldiers forced him to his knees.

  “They killed Abe,” he growled out. “Shot him like a dog.”

  Masterson shrugged. “And why not? He was achuta. Dogs are treated better in India.”

  The soldiers spread out around them.

  Elizabeth stared at the professor, stunned, hardly able to speak. Still, heat fired through her words, realizing the depth of the betrayal here. “It was you! You betrayed my father!”

  “I had no choice, Elizabeth. He’d been getting too close to the truth.”

  Gray went cold. He understood the game that had been played out here. Masterson had been paid to keep an eye on Dr. Polk’s research, to feed his data to his superiors…but once Elizabeth’s father got too close, he had to be taken out of the game.

  Who was behind it all?

  Masterson must have recognized the icy fury in Gray’s eyes. He backed a step away, though there was nothing Gray could do. Masterson waved his cane. “Commander Pierce, it seems for now you and the others are needed alive. But maybe not the big fellow here.”

  He pointed his cane at Kowalski.

  “Kill him.”

  Kowalski’s eyes got huge.

  Gray lunged forward, but three rifle barrels butted against his chest.

  Elizabeth shouted out, “Please, Hayden, no! I beg you!”

  Gray heard the catch in her voice, so did Masterson.

  The professor glanced between Elizabeth and Kowalski—then rolled his eyes. “Fine. Only because I owe your father. But at the first sign of trouble from any of you, we start shooting.”

  Masterson stared over to Gray. “You wanted to know where Archibald went?” He turned and headed away. “You should be careful what you wish for.”

  THIRD

  15

  September 7, 5:05 A.M.

  Southern Ural Mountains

  Monk poled through the swamps as best he could with one hand. But they dared not stop. They’d been hunted throughout the night. Stabilizing the oar-pole in the crook of his stumped arm, he pulled and shoved with his good hand. The raft glided silently across the drowned landscape.

  Over the course of the night, his eyes had adjusted to the wan light from the moon. He had grown skilled at maneuvering the raft. They had several close calls as an airboat searched the swamps for them. The whining noise of its fan and its bright searchlight gave Monk plenty of warning to seek shelter. Also thick mists hung low over the water, which helped keep them hidden.

  Still, they’d almost been caught once, when Monk had misjudged a sluggish current and struck a tree with a loud crack. The airboat had heard and come rushing over. He tried his best to hide under the branches of a willow, but they were sure to be spotted if the searchers looked too closely.

  Their salvation came from an unexpected place.

  As the airboat slowed and throttled down, Kiska had folded her hands over her mouth, took a deep breath, then let out a low bleating complaint of an elk cow. They’d heard the calls periodically throughout the night. Monk remembered how the girl had demonstrated her talent, an ear for perfect pitch and mimicry, mirroring birdcalls with an uncanny accuracy. The hunters had still searched, but less thoroughly, and moved onward after a minute.

  Still they could not count on such luck forever. And worse yet, Monk knew they were slowly being herded closer toward Lake Karachay and its pall of radioactivity. The airboat swept the safer regions of the swamp, which only left them one recourse: to stray closer and closer in the direction of the lake.

  Every hour, Monk risked lighting a single match to check the color of their dosimeters. The pink warning had darkened to full red. Konstantin had informed Monk matter-of-factly that one full day at that dosage was lethal. As Monk poled through floating rafts of weed and algae, his skin itched with the grainy sense that he was slowly being poisoned.

  And the children were even more susceptible.

  The trio slept fitfully, curled with Marta on the raft. An edge of terror kept them jumping at every croak and hoot from the nighttime swamp. Marta had finally taken to the trees. She had done so periodically, even drawing off the hunters once by hooting and luring the airboat in the opposite direction. Her diversion bought them a full hour of reprieve.

  She was one smart ape.

  Monk prayed she was as smart as he hoped—for a danger greater than the threat of radiation poisoning loomed.

  To the east, the dark skies paled with the approach of dawn. Without the cover of night, they would quickly be discovered. To survive, they had to find a way of escaping their tail.

  That meant leaving a trail of bread crumbs.

  Konstantin and Kiska had shredded the wrappings from their protein bars and gathered their empty water bottles. As Monk churned a path through the weeds, disturbing a clear track through the vegetation, the two children had dropped bits and pieces of garbage into the water.

  “Not too much,” Monk warned in a whisper. “Spread them farther apart.”

  Monk had spent the last hour searching for the perfect spot in the dark swamp. He’d finally found it: a long curving course, lined by dense willow groves and black patches of fir trees. Their timing had to be perfect. They would have only one shot. But with the far shore still a good two miles away and dawn fast approaching, they were doomed if they didn’t take the risk.

  The final member of their party, Pyotr, sat in the middle of the raft, his arms wrapped around his legs. As he rocked in place, he stared toward the stern of the raft, as if watching his friends spread their bread crumbs, but Monk knew the boy’s gaze stretched much farther.

  Reaching the end of the watery course, Monk swung the pole to the front and prodded it deep. He bolstered it with his shoulder and stopped the raft. This is where they’d make their stand.

  Borsakov sat next to the airboat’s pilot. The seats were perched high above the flat-bottomed aluminum hull. Ahead of them crouched two of his soldiers; one manned the searchlight at the boat’s prow, the other kept a rifle ready at his shoulder.

  After five hours of searching, Borsakov’s ears ached from all the noise
. Behind him, the engine rumbled as the giant fan spun. The broken metal guard over the blades rattled and banged with every turn. The prop-wash that propelled the craft shook reeds and branches behind the boat.

  The pilot wore the only set of earphones. He rested one hand on the steering stick, the other on the throttle. The smell of smoke and diesel fuel masked the mossy dampness of the swamp. They idled through a shallow section of open water. The searchlight swept the reeds that rimmed the edges.

  Over the course of the night, they’d seen wild boar and elk, scared eagles from nests, glided past beaver dams and through clouds of insects. Their searchlight had reflected off thousands of smaller eyes, denizens of the swamp.

  Still, they’d seen no sign of the escapees.

  And on their last tank of fuel, they had until—

  A simian scream cut through the engine’s rumble. It came from the right. The soldiers at the prow heard it, too. Both searchlight and rifle swung in that direction. Borsakov touched the pilot’s shoulder and pointed.

  In the flash of light, something large swung across a narrow gap in the treeline, then disappeared into the forest. Borsakov knew one of the laboratory animals had also vanished with the children. A chimpanzee.

  The engine roared louder as the pilot pushed the throttle stick forward. The boat sped toward the gap, gliding up on a cushion of air. The craft slowed as they reached the edge of the open water. The reeds here were bent, where someone had pushed through to reach a side channel.

  Finally…

  Borsakov pointed ahead.

  Past the gap, a narrow channel snaked ahead, lined by willows and choked by floating patches of weed. The craft sped up. The searchlight swept to all sides, piercing through the darkness. The rifleman reached down to the water and scooped up an empty plastic water bottle.

  Someone had definitely been through here.

  Borsakov waved the pilot to a faster clip, sensing his targets couldn’t be far. The course ambled in gentle curves. The boat followed swiftly, sweeping right and left.