JAMES ROLLINS - SANDSTORM

Safia turned to Lu’lu. “You mentioned that after the tragedy here, the queen sealed Ubar and scattered its keys.”

Lu’lu nodded. “Until the time was ripe for Ubar to open again.”

“So the gate wasn’t destroyed when the sinkhole opened.” That was a bit of luck. Too much luck. She pondered this, sensing a clue.

“Maybe we should bring the keys here,” Painter said.

“No.” She dismissed this possibility. The keys would only become important once the gate was found. But where, if not at the citadel?

Painter sighed, arms crossed. “What if we tried recalibrating the radar, heightened the intensity, searched deeper.”

Safia shook her head.

“No, no, we’re looking at this all wrong. Too high tech. That’s not going to solve this puzzle.”

Painter had a slightly hurt look. Technology was his bailiwick.

“We’re thinking too modern. Metal detectors, radar, grids, mapping things out. This has all been done before. The gate, to survive this long, undisturbed, must be entrenched in the natural landscape. Hidden in plain sight. Or else it would’ve been found before. We need to stop leading with our tools and start thinking with our heads.”

She found Lu’lu staring back at her. The hodja wore the face of the queen who had sealed Ubar. But did the two share the same nature?

Safia pictured Reginald Kensington frozen forever in glass, a symbol of pain and torment. The hodja had remained silent all these years. She must’ve dug up the body, taken it to their mountain lair, and hidden it away. Only the discovery of Ubar’s keys had broken the woman’s silence, loosened her tongue to reveal her secrets. There was a pitiless determination in all this.

And if the ancient queen had been like the hodja, she would have protected Ubar with that same pitiless determination, a mercilessness that bordered on the ruthless.

Safia felt a well of ice rise around her, remembering her initial question. How did the gate conveniently survive the sinkhole’s collapse? She knew the answer. She closed her eyes with dawning dismay. She had been looking at this all wrong. Backward. It all made a sick sense.

Painter must have sensed her sudden distress. “Safia…?”

“I know how the gate was sealed.”

PAINTER HURRIEDback from the cinder-block building. Safia had sent him running to fetch the Rad-X scanner. It had been a part of the equipment taken from Cassandra’s SUV. Apparently Cassandra had even demonstrated it to Safia back in Salalah, showing her how the iron heart bore a telltale sign of antimatter decay, to convince Safia of the true reason for this search.

Along with the Rad-X scanner, Painter had discovered an entire case of analyzing equipment, more sophisticated than anything he was acquainted with, but there was a hungry gleam in Coral’s eye as she had looked at the equipment. Her only comment: “Nice toys.”

Painter hauled the entire case. Safia was onto something.

The storm fought him as he passed through the wooden gate and into the ruins. Sand peppered every exposed inch of skin, wind tore at his scarf and cloak. He leaned into the wind. The day had turned to twilight. And this was only the front edge of the storm.

To the north, the world ended in a wall of darkness, flashing in spidery crackles of blue fire. Static charges. Painter smelled the electricity in the air. NASA had done studies for a proposed Mars mission to judge how equipment and men would fare in such sandstorms. It wasn’t the dust and sand that most threatened their electronic equipment, but the extreme static charge to the air, formed from a combination of dry air and kinetic energy. Enough to fry circuits in seconds, create agonizing static bursts on skin. And now this storm was swirling up a giant squall of static.

And it was about to roll over them.

Painter ducked toward the low hill, burrowing through the wind and blowing sand. As he reached the area, he headed down instead of up, following the steep trail that descended into the sinkhole. The deep pit stretched east to west along its longer axis. On the west end, the citadel sat atop its hill, maintaining a vigil over the sinkhole.

Safia and her team crouched on the other side, at the eastern end of the chasm. By now, the Rahim had gathered, too, around the rim of the pit. Most lay flat on their bellies to lessen their exposure to the wind.

Ignoring them, Painter slipped and slid down the sandy path. Reaching the bottom, he hurried forward.

Safia, Omaha, and Kara were bent over the monitor of the ground-penetrating radar unit. Safia was tapping at the screen.

“Right there. See that pocket. It’s only three feet from the surface.”

Omaha leaned back. “Clay, drag the radar sled back two feet. Yeah, right there.” He bent over the monitor again.

Painter joined them. “What did you find?”

“A chamber,” Safia said.

Omaha frowned. “It’s only a remnant of the old well. Long gone dry. I’m sure it’s already been documented by other researchers.”

Painter moved closer as Omaha clicked a button on the monitor. A vague three-dimensional cross section of the terrain under the radar sled appeared on the monitor. It was conical in shape, narrow at the top and wider at the bottom.

“It’s only ten feet at its widest,” Omaha said. “Just an uncollapsed section of the original cistern.”

“It does look like a blind pocket,” Kara agreed.

Safia straightened up. “No, it’s not.” She faced Painter. “Did you bring that radiation detector?”

Painter lifted the case. “Got it.”

“Run the scanner.”

Painter opened the case, snapped the detection rod on the Rad-X scanner’s base, and activated it. The red needle swept back and forth, calibrating. A blinking green light steadied to a solid glow. “All ready.”

He slowly turned in a circle. What was Safia suspecting?

The red needle remained at the zero point.

“Nothing,” he called back.

“I told you-” Omaha started.

He was cut off. “Now check the cliff face.” Safia pointed to the rock wall. “Get close.”

Painter did as she directed, the scanner held out before him like a divining rod. Sand swirled around inside the pit, a mini-dust bowl, stirred by the winds overhead. He hunched over the scanner as he reached the cliff face. He ran the detection rod over the rock face, mostly limestone.

The needle shimmied on the dial.

He held the scanner more steadily, shielding it from the wind with his own body. The needle settled to a stop. It was a very weak reading, barely shifting the needle, but it was a positive reading.

He shouted over his shoulder. “I got something here!”

Safia waved back. “We have to dig where the sled is positioned. Three feet down. Open the pocket.”

Omaha checked his watch. “We only have another twenty minutes.”

“We can do it. It’s just packed sand and small rocks. If several people dig at the same time…”

Painter agreed, feeling a surge of excitement. “Do it.”

In less then a minute, a ring of diggers set to work.

Safia stood back, cradling her arm in the sling.

“Are you ready to explain yourself?” Omaha said.

Safia nodded. “I had to be sure. We’ve been thinking about this all wrong. We all know the sinkhole opened under Ubar’s township and destroyed half the town, driving folks away in superstitious fear of God’s wrath. After this disaster, the last queen of Ubar sealed its heart, to protect its secrets.”

“So?” Kara asked, standing beside the hodja.

“Doesn’t it strike you as odd that the gate was conveniently spared during the devastation here? That as the city folk fled, the queen stayed behind and performed all these secret acts: sealed the gate in such a manner that it has never been discovered, forged and hid keys at sacred sites of that time.”