James Rollins - The Eye of God - A Sigma Force Novel

At least there , I could collect more data on the crash .

That is, if everything weren’t so top secret.

Still, she looked sidelong at Duncan, at his fingertips. He said he had noted some energy signature emanating from the archaeological relics. As much as she was in a hurry, a part of her was intrigued by his assessment.

But was it all nonsense?

Jada studied Duncan’s features as he lightly drowsed beside his stocky partner. The man did not strike her as someone prone to flights of fantasy. He seemed too well grounded.

The pilot came over the intercom. “We’re ten minutes out from the coordinates.”

Everyone stirred.

She returned her full attention to the window. The sun sat low on the horizon. Hillocks and the rusting remains of old ships cast long shadows across the flat desert.

As the coordinates grew closer, the Eurocopter began to descend, sweeping lower, speeding over the salt flats.

“Dead ahead,” the pilot said.

Everyone pressed their noses to their respective windows.

The helicopter rushed toward the only feature for miles: the rusted hulk of a massive ship. It sat upright, its keel sunk deep into the sand, a ghost ship riding this dusty sea. Oxidation and corrosion had worn away most details, eating away its forecastle, staining the bulkhead a deep orange-red, a sharp contrast to the white salt flats.

“Is this the place?” Rachel asked.

“It matches the coordinates,” the pilot confirmed.

Duncan spoke by his window. “I see lots of tire tracks in the salt around the beached ship.”

“This must be right,” the monsignor insisted.

Monk touched his radio to communicate better with the pilot. “Take us down. Land fifty or so yards away from the ship.”

The bird immediately banked to the side, hovered for a breath, then lowered until its wheels touched down, blowing up a whirlwind of sand and salt.

Monk pulled off his earphones and yelled to the pilot. “Keep the rotors turning until I give you the all-clear.”

He pulled open the hatch. With an arm raised against the sting of whipping sand, he cautioned everyone to remain inside, except Duncan. “Let us check this out first.”

Jada was happy to let them take the lead. From the shadows of the cabin, she watched Monk and Duncan head out across the dusty sand. The winter day was cool, but not bitterly. The air smelled of salt, motor oil, and decay.

Across the way, a dark door in the ship’s port-side hull beckoned. It lay even with the sands and open to the elements. Before the two men had crossed half the distance toward it, a desert-camouflaged Land Rover burst out of a hidden hatch in the vessel’s stern. It sped on wide, paddle-treaded tires built for the sand and swept in an intercepting arc to reach Monk and Duncan.

The two men had their weapons raised and pointed toward it.

The Land Rover drew abreast of them, keeping a distance away.

An exchange of words followed, with much gesticulation on Monk’s part. The monsignor’s name was mentioned. After another full minute of discussion, Monk stomped back to the helicopter.

“They say Father Josip is inside the ship,” he said. “I tried to convince them to have the priest come out and greet us, to make sure we’re not being set up. But they refused.”

“I imagine by now the level of Father Josip’s paranoia is quite high,” Vigor said.

Jada heard a slight catch in the monsignor’s voice, as if he were holding something back about the man.

“I’ll go meet him alone,” Vigor said, hopping out.

“No, you won’t,” Rachel said. She leaped down to join her uncle. “We stick together.”

“We’ll all go,” Monk said, but he turned to Jada. “Maybe you’d best stay with the helicopter.”

She considered it for a few seconds, then shook her head, forcing as much bravado as she could muster. “I’ve not come all this way to stay in the helicopter.”

Monk nodded, then popped his head into the cabin and yelled to the pilot. “I’ll be on radio. Lock this bird up tight, but keep her warmed and ready in case we need a fast takeoff.”

The pilot gave Monk a thumbs-up. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

With the matter settled, they all took off across the sand to rejoin Duncan. Jada moved into the larger man’s shadow. He gave her a wink of reassurance—which surprisingly worked to calm her.

That, and perhaps the assault rifle in his hands.

A lone stranger hopped out of the passenger seat of the Land Rover to greet them. He was her height with shaggy dark hair, likely about her same age, too, dressed in traditional-looking Kazakh attire, consisting of wide trousers, a long shirt, and a sleeveless sheepskin jacket. He came to them empty-handed, but he lifted his arm, exposing a leather cuff around his left wrist.

A sharp whistle from him drew a screeched response.

A dark shape swooped into view overhead and plummeted into a steep dive. Just before striking the Kazakh man, a bird with huge wings swooped wide, braking to a stop. Sharp talons found the leather cuff, and the tall falcon came to a fluttering rest, tucking its wings. Tiny dark eyes stared at the newcomers with suspicion—until the man placed a small leather hood over the bird’s head.

The stranger faced them, offering the monsignor a respectful nod of greeting. “Father Josip has shown me pictures of his dear friend, the monsignor Verona. Please be welcome.” He spoke flawless English, with a prominent British accent. “I am Sanjar, and my feathered companion of foul temper is Heru.”

Vigor smiled. “The Egyptian variant on the Greek name Horus.”

“Indeed. The falcon-headed god of the sky.” Sanjar headed toward the ship. “Please follow me. Father Josip will be very happy to see you.”

He led the group toward the door cut through the ship’s hull. To the left, the Land Rover sped away, swinging around the stern and vanishing out of view.

Vigor craned his neck to look up at the tall derelict ship. “Father Josip has been living in here all this time?”

“Not in here, but under here.”

Sanjar ducked into the dark interior of the ship.

Jada followed Duncan, finding herself in the cavernous hold of the ship. The vessel’s interior had fared no better than its outside. Over the passing decades, the elements had worked deep into the ship, wreaking great damage, turning the hold into a rotted-out cathedral of rust and ruin.

To the far right, she spotted the Land Rover parked in its makeshift garage, sheltered from the elements.

“This way.” Sanjar motioned to the left, to an open staircase, its rails dripping with rivulets of corrosion. He clicked on a flashlight and led the way down.

As they progressed deeper, the steel treads underfoot abruptly changed to rock. Through a rent in the ship’s bottom, a steep passage delved downward, dug through the sandstone, leading to a vast maze burrowed beneath the decaying behemoth. Dark tunnels branched off from the main passageway, revealing a warren of rooms and additional passageways and crawlways.

It looked like an entire village could have been housed down here.

“Who built all this?” Duncan asked Sanjar.

“First, drug smugglers back in the early seventies, then it was expanded by militant forces during the late eighties, and it was mostly abandoned after Kazakhstan declared independence in the nineties. Once discovered, Father Josip made it his base camp, where he could work undisturbed and out of the public eye.”

A glow rose up from below. As they neared it, Sanjar clicked off his flashlight and returned it to his pocket. The falcon on his wrist stirred with a ruffle of feathers.

Moments later, they reached what appeared to be the lowest level. The stairs emptied into a large man-made cavern, as big as a basketball court. Other halls burrowed out from here, but there was no need to go any farther.