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

“So consciousness is a quantum effect.”

She smiled whimsically. “I’ve always found that last thought reassuring.”

“Why?”

“If that’s true, then by virtue of quantum mechanics, our consciousness is entangled across all the various multiverses. Perhaps when we die, it’s just a collapse of that potential in this timeline and our consciousness shifts into one where we are still living.”

From his doubtful expression, she delved deeper. “Take cancer. You have this cell in your body that divides wrong, a small mistake in a process that happens over and over again in a healthy body. If it divides correctly, no cancer. If it makes a mistake, you get cancer. A mere toss of the genetic dice. Heads or tails.”

Duncan hid a wince from her. Her words struck too close to home. His hand rose to touch the palm print tattooed on his chest. He pictured his younger brother, wasted to bone in a hospital bed, leaving behind nothing but the ghost of his shit-eating grin. Billy had died of osteogenic sarcoma, losing that toss of the genetic dice.

Jada continued, oblivious to his reaction. “But what if we are all entangled across multiple universes? That opens up a unique possibility. In one universe, cancer may kill you, but because you’re entangled, your consciousness shifts into that other universe where you don’t get cancer.”

“And you keep living?”

“Or at least your consciousness continues, merging with the other. This can happen over and over again, shifting each time to a timeline where you live . . . until you live your fullest life.”

He pictured Billy’s face, finding comfort in that possibility.

“But what happens after that?” he asked. “What happens when all those potentials collapse down to a single universe and you die there?”

“I don’t know. That’s the beauty of the universe. There’s always a new mystery. Maybe all this is just a test, a grand experiment. Many physicists are now convinced our universe is just a hologram, a three-dimensional construct built upon equations written on the inside of the sphere of this universe.”

“But who wrote those equations?”

She shrugged in her saddle. “Call it the hand of God, a higher power, a superintelligence, who knows?”

“I think we’re getting off track,” he said, returning to the subject of St. Thomas and his vision of doom. “To summarize your three points. The human brain functions quantumly, dark energy is a function of quantum mechanics, and some individuals are extrasensitive to EM fields.”

She looked at him to see if he could put it all together.

He was up to the challenge and proved it.

“You think St. Thomas was a sensitive . Because of that, he was especially affected by the dark energy given off by the cross, an energy that warped the quantum field in his brain to bring him a vision of this time.”

“Or there might be a simpler explanation.”

“Like what.”

“It was a miracle.”

He sighed loudly. “Whether science or a miracle, it still strikes me as damned coincidental that both the Eye of God and inner eye of St. Thomas had a vision of the exact same moment in time?”

“And God doesn’t play dice with the world, ” she said, quoting Einstein.

Nice.

“I don’t think it was a coincidence,” she continued. “Remember, time is just a dimension. It has no inherent flow backward or forward.”

“In other words, the distinction between the past , present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion ?” He raised an eyebrow toward her. “See, I can quote Einstein, too.”

She grinned, looking five years younger. “Then consider time like a point in space. Both the Eye of God and that inner eye of St. Thomas slipped to that same point in time, likely when the comet’s corona of dark energy will come closest to Earth. There, like hitting a deep groove in a record, they both became stuck, trapped and playing the same bit of music over and over again.”

“Or in this case vision, showing the ruin of Earth.”

She nodded.

“But what do you think is going to happen then?”

“From what Director Crowe shared concerning Antarctica, I think when that dark energy corona reaches its maximum, it will bend space-time near the earth, just like gravity does normally.”

“Because dark energy and gravity are intimately entwined concepts, ” he said, this time quoting her.

“Exactly. Only this time, instead of a wrinkle of space-time, it will create a chute, down which a rain of meteors will roll, like marbles along a slide.”

“That’s a cheery thought.”

“It’s only a theory.”

But seeing her expression, Duncan could tell she believed it.

Afterward, she remained silent for too long, as if something was bothering her.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Seems like I’m still missing something.”

Before they could look deeper, a shout drew their attention forward. They had reached the end of the precarious ledge, and a wide plateau opened before them. Directly ahead rose a sharp mountain peak.

Sanjar thundered back to them, trailed high by his falcon. “We’ve reached the Wolf Fang!”

“See, the ride here wasn’t so bad,” Duncan reassured her. “The worst is over. It should be smooth sailing from here.”

3:34 P.M.

“We found them,” Arslan reported over the phone.

Batukhan sat in his office in the parliament building and waved his secretary out, a young thing in a tight dress and jacket. While her outfit was distinctly of the West, not traditional in the least, he appreciated its form-hugging cut. Some customs of the West would be welcome in the new Mongolia, an empire he planned to create with the treasures of Genghis Khan.

He already envisioned what he would do when that tomb was found. First, he would handpick and smuggle out the most valuable items, treasures that could be melted down or stripped of gems and sold on the open market. Then he would announce his discovery to the world, turning that fame into power. He wanted to be the wealthiest man not only in Mongolia, but in all Asia. He would conquer the world like his ancestor had in the past, creating an empire of wealth and power, with himself at the helm.

But there were a few loose ends to clean up first.

After the storm had blown over in Kazakhstan, a member of Arslan’s crew had returned to the Aral Sea to confirm the deaths and salvage the abandoned helicopter—only to find the aircraft gone.

No one knew if the pilot had escaped alone or if anyone else had survived. Batukhan had no fear of repercussions personally—as only Arslan knew his identity. Still, as a precaution, he had planted spies throughout the lower steppes between Ulan Bator and the Khentii Mountains. He wanted all roads into the region watched, in case any survivors attempted to continue their search for Genghis’s tomb by heading into those sacred mountains.

Truthfully, he had not expected to catch anything with this net. The spies were placed mostly to guard those mountains—where he still believed Genghis was buried—until such a time that he could study the stolen relics and discern the tomb’s location.

It was a shame Father Josip had to die before Batukhan could question him. Genghis abhorred torture. Batukhan considered this to be the khan’s biggest fault.

Now came this news.

“What do you wish me to do?” Arslan asked.

“How far ahead of you are they?”

“They have an hour’s lead, but so far, they make no effort to hide their passage.”

“Then another thirty minutes will make no difference. Gather your most loyal men, those who show the most skill with sword and arrow. Form a full mounted battle group. I will join and lead you.”