The Eye of God (31 page)

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.

Vigor was adamant about continuing on this path. If so, he would need logistical support and protection. Everyone faced Gray waiting for a final decision.

He still balked, and for good reason. “But you’ve
lost
that last relic, which held the only possible clue to the location of the cross.”

“Then we find it again,” Vigor said.

“How? You don’t know where it was taken or the identity of this mysterious clan leader. With the timer counting down, it seems a better plan to pool our resources and go after that satellite together. At the moment, the wreckage of the spacecraft is our best chance of learning more about this pending disaster. And that knowledge could be our best
weapon
to avert it, not this cross.”

Even Jada sank back in her seat, clearly accepting the wisdom of his plan. But then she was a scientist, accustomed to following the dictates of logic.

Vigor, on the other hand, was a man of faith and heart. He simply crossed his arms, unconvinced. “I am no use to anyone on this search, Commander Pierce. And I made a promise to Father Josip that I won’t break. I will still pursue the cross with every effort. Even on my own.”

Rachel caught Gray’s eye, clearly worried about her uncle. They both knew how stubborn Vigor could be, and she did not want Vigor pursuing this alone. The danger of that path was evident enough in all their bruises, scrapes, and cuts.

She looked to him to sway her uncle against this course.

To that end, Gray turned to Sanjar. This local man could better express the futility of that path.

“Sanjar, you’ve already stated that you have no clue as to the identity of this clan leader named Borjigin—the Master of the Blue Wolf—but you know how resourceful and ruthless he can be.”

“That is true,” the man said solemnly. “His core followers, like my cousin Arslan, will do anything to serve him. To them, Genghis Khan is a god, and the clan leader Borjigin is their pope, a conduit to the glories of the past and a promise of an even brighter future.”

Gray heard the echo of that same nationalistic passion in the man, but Sanjar had failed to drink all of that madman’s Kool-Aid.

“Borjigin claims to be a direct descendant of the great khan. I remember once, he even wore—”

Sanjar’s words abruptly stopped. He sat straighter, his eyes wide. He pressed a palm to his forehead. “I am a fool.”

Vigor turned to him. “What is it, Sanjar?”

“I only just remembered it now.”

He bowed his head toward Gray as if thanking him—but thanking him for what?

“As proof of his claim,” Sanjar said, “Borjigin once displayed a gold wrist cuff, a treasure he said once belonged to Genghis himself. I doubted it at the time, thought it was mere boasting. So I never gave it much thought.” He turned to Vigor. “But then I overheard what Father Josip confessed in Kazakhstan yesterday. I knew Josip sold a treasure to finance his search, but I never knew
what
it was until that moment.”

Vigor’s voice grew sharper. “You’re talking about the gold cuff found in Attila’s grave, the one with Genghis’s name on it. Could it be the same one?” He reached and clasped Sanjar’s forearm. “Did the cuff you saw Borjigin wearing have images of a phoenix and demons on it?”

Sanjar cast the monsignor an apologetic look. “I did not get a close look at it. Only from a distance and only that one time. That’s why I failed to connect the two until now.”

He slipped his arm from Vigor’s.

“And I may still be wrong,” Sanjar admitted. “Antiquity dealers across Ulan Bator have shelves of items said to be tied to Genghis. And wrist cuffs are nothing unusual. The tradition of falconry is still prized here. Many wear such cuffs as a token of our illustrious past. From something simple, like the leather one I wear.” He bared his wrist, exposing a thick piece of scarred leather. “Or something ornate, worn as jewelry.”

“But how does this revelation help us?” Gray pressed. “If what Josip sold to finance his dig is the same cuff worn by the Master of the Blue Wolf, how does that bring us closer to identifying the man?”

Sanjar ran fingers through his hair. “Because, though I didn’t know what Father Josip had sold until last night, I knew
who
he sold it to.”