The Eye of God (Sigma Force 9)

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.”