James Rollins - The Judas Strain

“What you’re looking at is angelic script,” she said. “The language of the archangels.”

Gray’s brow crinkled with his disbelief.

“I know,” she said. “Insane. The script’s origin traces back to both early Christianity and ancient Hebrew mysticism. If you want to know more—”

“Skip it. I’d rather find out what you meant when you said that the obelisk could save the world.”

She leaned back, glancing away — then her eyes flicked to him. “Gray, I need your help. I have to stop them, but I can’t do it alone.”

“Do what alone?”

“Go against the Guild. What they are attempting…” Again there was that flash of fear from her.

Gray frowned. When he’d first run into Seichan, she had been attempting to explode weaponized anthrax over Fort Detrick. Considering such callousness, what would scare her now?

“I helped you in the past,” she said, trying the guilt card.

“To defeat a mutual enemy,” he countered. “And to save your own skin.”

“And that’s all I’m looking for here again. Cooperation to defeat a mutual enemy. And it’s not just my life in jeopardy this time. Hundreds of millions are threatened. And it’s already started. The seeds are planted.”

She nodded to the obelisk’s glowing writing. “All that is stopping the Guild is locked in this riddle. If we could solve it first, there would be some hope. But I’ve gone as far as I can alone. I need fresh eyes, someone with more knowledge.”

“And you expect the two of us to be able to solve what thwarts the Guild with its vast resources. If we brought all of Sigma into the picture—”

“You’d be handing the Guild their victory. There is a mole in Sigma. Whatever Sigma learns, the Guild will know.”

She was right. It was worrisome, to say the least.

“So you propose we go it alone. Just the two of us.”

“And one other…if he’ll cooperate.”

“Who?”

“When it comes to dealing with angels and archaeology, there is only one other person I respect.”

Gray knew immediately to whom she was referring. “Vigor.”

She nodded. “I left Monsignor Verona a calling card, a mystery to begin solving on his own. If you cooperate, we’ll continue on.” She touched the obelisk, wobbling the broken half. “To the next step on the angelic path.”

“And where is that?”

Another shake of her head. She certainly was not going to make this easy. “I will tell you when we are away. As it is, we must get moving. The longer we sit in one place, the greater risk of our exposure.”

She reached for the obelisk.

Gray beat her to it. He snatched up the larger half of the broken obelisk and raised it over his head. He’d had enough.

“Destroy it if you want,” Seichan warned. “I still won’t tell you anything more. Not until we’re safely away and you agree to help.”

Gray ignored her. “I assume you already made copies of the script here, probably even photos.”

“Several in fact,” she said.

“Good.”

He brought his arm down and smashed the obelisk against the floor. It shattered into several pieces, skittering across the linoleum. A small gasp of surprise escaped Seichan, indicating she had no clue anything was hidden inside the statue.

“What…what have you done?”

Gray bent down and picked through the pieces to retrieve the chunk of silver from the debris. He straightened. In his fingers, he held what was hidden inside the stone. He was momentarily stunned silent.

He lifted the large silver crucifix.

Seichan’s eyes widened with recognition. She jerked closer, oblivious of any pain. “It cannot be. You found it.”

“Found what?”

“Friar Agreer’s cross.” Her voice lowered, both angry and mortified. “I had it all along.”

“Who is Friar Agreer?”

“Friar Antonio Agreer. The priestly confessor to Marco Polo.”

Marco Polo?

Tired of the riddles and half statements, Gray snapped harshly. “Seichan, what the hell is going on?”

She waved to a side chair, where her ripped leather bomber jacket had been tossed. “We have to get out of here.”

He refused to move, blocking her as she stepped toward the chair.

She lowered her chin, her eyes going hard. “Gray, make up your damned mind. I don’t have the time.” She made to push past him.

He grabbed her upper arm. “And what’s to stop me from just turning your ass over to Sigma.”

She twisted free. All the freshly transfused blood was now in her face, livid and furious.

“Because you know goddamn better, Gray! If the Guild catches me, I’m dead. If your government captures me, I’ll be locked far away forever, beyond any ability to stop what’s about to happen. That’s why I came to you. But fine. I’ll sweeten the deal. Make you a trade. How’s that? Help me, convince Vigor of the same, and afterward I’ll give you the name of the mole at Sigma. If saving lives isn’t good enough…the wolves are already at Sigma’s door. You may not know it, but the powers that be are seeking to castrate you all, to put you all out to pasture, and now that another mole — a second mole — is hidden in your midst, they’ll burn you down and salt the ground. End of Sigma. Forever.”

Gray found himself swaying. He had indeed heard of such rumors, engendered by the internal audit by NSA and DARPA. But he also remembered a different Seichan, bent over him, gun in his face. She had attempted to kill him when they’d first met. How much could he trust her?

Before the standoff could be resolved, a shout came from the reception area. “Commander Pierce! Come see this!”

Gray swore under his breath at the man’s loud bark. What about covert didn’t Kowalski understand?

Gray met Seichan’s gaze. She was still burning with raw anger, but it failed to lay waste to what he’d first heard in her voice, bleeding across his parents’ driveway. Terror.

He stalked to the side chair, picked up her jacket, and handed it to her. “We’ll do it your way for now. But that’s all I’ll promise.”

She nodded.

“Commander!”

With a shake of his head, Gray headed out of the suite. He heard the television turned up louder. He hurried forward. Still clutching the silver crucifix in his palm, he pocketed it before stepping into the reception area.

He found everyone staring up at the television. Gray noted the familiar logo for CNN Headline News . On the screen, three homes burned at the edge of a forest fire.

“…possibly arson,” the report continued. “To repeat, the police are looking for this man. Grayson Pierce. A local Washingtonian.”

A picture of Gray flashed in the corner of the screen, in uniform, his black hair shaved to a stubble, eyes angry, mouth grim. It was his mug shot from when he was incarcerated in Leavenworth. Not a flattering picture. He looked like a feral criminal.

His father grumbled at his side. “Looks like your past just bit you in the ass.”

Gray concentrated on the news report.

“For the moment, the police are calling this former Army Ranger a person of interest . That is all. He is wanted only for questioning. The police request anyone with the knowledge of his whereabouts to contact authorities immediately.”

Kowalski lifted the remote and muted the sound.

Dr. Corrin stepped back from them all. “In the light of all this, I can’t keep silent any—”

Kowalski pointed the remote toward the doctor. “In for a penny, in for a buck, doc. Aiding and abetting. Keep quiet or you can kiss your medical degree good-bye.”

Dr. Corrin blanched, backing another step.

Gray’s mother reached and touched the doctor’s arm reassuringly. “Nonsense.” She scowled at Kowalski. “Quit scaring him.”