James Rollins - THE DEVIL COLONY

"Are you ready?" Painter asked.

"Just about done here." Kowalski sat cross-legged on the ground. Coiled at his feet was a spool of detonation cord threaded through cubes of C4. "It's just like stringing popcorn."

"Remind me not to come over to your house for Christmas."

He shrugged. "Christmas is okay. It's Fourth of July that scares most people away."

Painter could only imagine.

Kowalski plus fireworks. Not a good combination.

Chin stood beside the ten-foot geyserite cone called the Pitcher's Mound. He had topographical maps spread out on the chalky fields of sinter, along with scans of the basin that had been done with ground-penetrating radar.

"This cone's the best spot," Chin said. "GPR scans show this is the closest access point to the plug blocking the geothermal vent below. Release that and the superheated cauldron suppressed deep in the earth will come roaring up like a sleeping dragon."

The idea had been Painter's, but the execution was all Chin and Kowalski. The geologist had earlier described how two forces had shaped Yellowstone: the volcanic eruptions from deep underground and the shallower hydrothermal explosions. While they needed intense heat to kill the cancer below, a volcanic eruption was not an option, definitely not here. So the next best thing was to attempt a hydrothermal explosion.

Painter proposed triggering a shallow, superhot blast to fry the nano-nest before it had a chance to drill its way down to the volcanic magma chamber six miles underground. While there was some threat of the hydrothermal explosion disturbing that magma chamber, too, it was less risky than doing nothing and letting that nano-nest eat its way down unchecked.

But how do you trigger a hydrothermal blast?

"Okay, let's do this." Kowalski stood, hauled up his bulky spool of C4, and crossed to Chin.

The geologist had tilted ladders against the minivolcano's steep sides. The two of them climbed to the top, where steam was rising from a small opening, just large enough for a shaped charge of C4 to slip through. Lying on their bellies on the ladders, the two men fed the spooled C4-one cube at a time, a hundred cubes in all-down the mouth of the cone, sending the chain deep underground, dropping it as close to the rock blocking the hydrothermal vent as possible. Chin had calculated the amount of explosive they needed to shatter the rock.

Kowalski doubled it.

For once, Painter agreed with Kowalski.

Go all in... or go home.

"That'll do it," Chin said from atop the Pitcher's Mound.

The two men slid down their ladders.

Kowalski rubbed his palms together in happy anticipation. "Let's see if this C4 colonic works."

Painter glanced his way. It actually wasn't a bad description for blasting that blockage free. The trio hurried to the last helicopter, which was still waiting in the basin. Engines hot, its rotors already spinning. They climbed aboard, buckled in place, and took off.

The helicopter pilot spared no fuel.

The valley shrank rapidly below.

"That's good!" Painter radioed over his headset.

With the chopper slowly circling, Painter gave Kowalski a thumbs-up. He already had the transmitter in hand. With a fierce grin, Kowalski pushed the button.

From this height and with the charges buried underground, the explosion sounded like distant thunder.

Painter stared below. The Pitcher's Mound was still intact. The only change was a bit more steam rising from its cone.

"That sucked," Kowalski said. "I was expecting-"

The entire basin detonated below them. It cracked like a dropped plate and blasted upward in bus-sized chunks that cleared twice the height of the canyon walls and came crashing down, stripping forested hills. At the same time steaming water rocketed upward, forming a geyser twenty yards wide and shooting a thousand feet into the air.

"Now that's what I call a colonic!" Kowalski said.

The helicopter banked away, its pilot fearful of getting caught in the maelstrom of rock, water, and steam.

Chin watched. "That much heat should definitely have destroyed the nano-nest."

Still, another question remained: Did the huge blast trigger the very thing they feared? Everyone held their breath as the helicopter circled, rising ever higher. The geyser continued to churn, but its fountain slowly began to recede. There was no evidence of magma rising or lava erupting.

After another minute, Chin let out a loud puff. "Looks like we're okay."

The helicopter spun farther out, heading away.

As they turned, Painter got a bird's-eye view of the entire Yellowstone caldera. All across the basin, water was shooting high into the air, spiraling with steam.

"My God, it's every geyser," Chin said, amazed. "Every geyser's erupting!"

As the helicopter raced across the dazzling display, Painter stared out in wonder at the dance of waters, the twinkle of steamy rainbows, suddenly deeply struck by the wonder of this world, this gift to mankind in all its resplendent natural beauty.

With his face pressed to the window, Kowalski looked equally impressed. "Next time, we should use more C4."

June 1, 11:02 A.M.

Washington, D.C.

Gray took a cab straight from the airport to the National Archives. He'd taken a short nap on the flight from Columbia, Tennessee, after discovering all had gone well out in Yellowstone. He felt worlds better. Painter would be spending another day or two out there to make sure everything was okay and to make sure his niece was settled into her classes at Brigham Young University.

Back at the airport, he'd wanted to go with Monk to the hospital, to make sure they took good care of him after his gunshot wound, but Kat had called him as they were landing. Dr. Heisman, she said, had been able to decipher Meriwether Lewis's coded message and wanted to share it right away. Kat offered to send someone else to the museum, but considering all the trouble and bloodshed involved in obtaining the buffalo hide and its message, Gray wanted to be the first to hear what it said.

He owed it to Monk.

He owed it to Meriwether Lewis.

So he said good-bye to Monk at the airport. His friend had been in good spirits. And for good reason. The private jet they'd flown had been stocked with an amazing selection of single-malt scotches. Kat would take Gray's place at the hospital. And probably just as well. She would keep Monk from hassling his nurses too severely.

The cab slowed to the curb in front of the Archives. Seichan stretched next to him in the backseat.

"Here already," she mumbled drowsily.

Gray caught the cabdriver staring at her in the rearview mirror as he paid the fare. He couldn't blame the guy. She'd changed out of her blue coveralls and back into her leather jacket, her black jeans, and a gray T-shirt.

They climbed out of the cab, and both hobbled a bit up the steps. Their bruises, scrapes, and injuries had stiffened up. Seichan leaned on Gray's shoulder without having to be asked. His hand found her hip without her really needing the added support.

They reached the doors to find Heisman already waiting for them.

"There you both are," he said by way of greeting. "Come. I have everything in the conference room. You didn't bring the buffalo hide here by any chance? I would love to see it with my own eyes, rather than that photo you e-mailed."

"I'm sure that can be arranged," Gray said.

They entered the same conference room they had been in before to find it all cleaned up again. Only a few books dotted the table. Apparently, deciphering a centuries-old message required merely a couple of spare hours and the same number of books.

As they settled into the room, Gray asked, "How did you solve it so fast?"