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

Even in daylight, it would be a nearly impossible search, especially without some road map of where to begin looking.

So Vigor had suggested another route.

Why not ask somebody?

The island was populated by about fifteen hundred natives, an aboriginal people called the Buryats, descendants of the original Mongol settlers.

Vigor had used his connections at the Vatican to arrange a rare meeting with their highest shamans. If anyone knew the island’s secrets, it would be the head of this enigmatic religion, an odd mix of Buddhism and natural worship. The Buryats were notoriously leery of foreigners. Women were forbidden from their most sacred places. It was a singular event even to meet a shaman.

But how to get the man to talk?

Gray had suggested laying all their cards on the table—or in this case, showing the shaman all their relics from Genghis Khan. Gray hoped they might act as a key to unlock any secrets his people had about the island.

In the end, the shaman had agreed to meet them, but only at dawn, requiring that they be cleansed in the day’s first light before he would speak to them. No amount of persuading moved the man from this position.

So many hours lost . . .

But he had to admit, they were all bone-tired, needing sleep and recuperation. Plus, by the time they met with the shaman, Monk and the others would be touching down in California. That left both sides about four hours to work out some solution to the threat looming over their heads.

No pressure there.

Kowalski flinched as the bus hit a ridge of ice and bounced. He had a white-knuckled grip on the seat in front of him, his nose glued to the window. “What’s that out there, near that hole in the ice?”

Gray searched and watched a dark mass slip off the ice and into the water, disturbed by the passage of the bus. “Calm down. It’s just a seal.”

“That’s what they want you to believe,” Kowalski mumbled. “You can’t trust what’s hiding under the ice.”

Clearly the man had some prior trauma concerning ice and open water. Gray let it go. They were almost to land anyway.

Vigor crossed and slipped into Gray’s seat. He pointed out the window toward the dark bulk of the island. “Look at that cape of rock jutting out. It’s called Khorin-Irgi in the native tongue, meaning Horse Head . See how it resembles a horse drinking water from the lake. There are stories of Mongol warriors from Genghis Khan’s time who came here and paid homage at this spot, believing the shape of the cape was some universal acknowledgment of their leader.”

Gray stared harder at the shadowy bulk. He knew the Mongols held their horses in high esteem. He remembered Vigor describing the tunnel that led to the boat of bones in the Aral Sea. It had been shaped like a horse, too.

“Do you think that’s a good place to start looking?” Gray asked.

“I doubt it,” Vigor said. “The cape is one of the busier spots on the island. Someone would surely have found something hidden there by now. My point was that many locations on this island are tied to the mythos of Genghis Khan. We just have to find out which one holds his tomb.”

“And maybe that shaman can tell us.”

“If he knows something, then it’s only professional courtesy that he shares it with another man of the cloth.” Vigor gave him a tired grin. “Do not lose faith, Commander Pierce. If the cross is here, we’ll find it.”

“Yes, but will we find it in time?”

Vigor patted his knee in a fatherly fashion and returned to his own seat. He slipped his arm around his niece, who continued to keep a sharp, concerned eye on her uncle.

With a large bump, the bus climbed off the ice road and onto solid rock. It trundled up the sandy embankment and onto a narrow road that ran the long axis of the thin island. Gray’s team was traveling half its length to reach the largest village on Olkhon. They were to meet the shaman at a sacred spot near there.

Forty-five minutes of rough terrain later, sweeping through the broken brown steppes along the western shore, the bus rumbled down into the sleepy, picturesque village of Khuzhir, a neat little town of timber-framed homes with mossy roofs and brightly painted picket fences marking off small yards or sheep pens. The village hugged a small bay on the western side of the island and had only a couple of places for lodging.

Gray had chosen the smaller of the two. As it was the off-season for tourists, he had rented out the entire place, which consisted of only a dozen bedrooms anyway.

The bus delivered them to its doorstep. It was a two-story log lodge with a nice view of the bay off in the distance. There was a horse barn in back and a line of all-terrain vehicles parked along one side, clearly meant as rentals for its guests to explore the island.

They offloaded and headed inside. The proprietors—an older Russian couple, who did a lot of bowing and gesturing to make up for their poor English—had been expecting them and had a fire roaring in a stone hearth in the small communal room, a welcoming space of plank floors, overstuffed chairs, and a long dining table on one side.

The heat of the fire felt stifling for the first few breaths after the long chilly ride, but as they checked in and settled their room arrangements, Gray found himself drawn to the flames, warming his hands.

Vigor sank into one of the chairs. “I think I’m fine right here.”

“Bed” was all Kowalski said, tramping up the stairs, rubbing his eyes like a kid who had been up well past his bedtime.

Gray didn’t disagree with Kowalski’s plan, proving it by yawning loudly. “Sorry. I think we all should get as much shut-eye as we can. We’ll need to be up an hour or two before sunrise if we’re to meet the shaman for his cleansing ritual.”

“At least you guys will,” Seichan said sourly.

That was another concession that had to be made to accommodate the shaman’s rules. No girls allowed . It was clearly a boys’ club when it came to the Buryats’ sacred sites.

“Seichan and I will have to make a spa day of it then,” Rachel said, “while you all go traipsing out into the cold.”

Still, she didn’t truly look any happier, staring at the back of her uncle’s head. She didn’t want Vigor out of her sight. She even sank into a chair next to him by the fire.

With a final few words, they all settled in for the night.

As Gray climbed the stairs, the wood creaking underfoot, he could not escape the feeling of foreboding. A window at the landing above shone with the light of the comet. But he felt the danger was much closer, like someone stepping on his grave.

Or someone else’s grave.

Seichan followed him up, never even creaking a stair.

3:03 A.M.

Rachel woke in a panic, hearing a gunshot.

She found herself slouched in a chair by a fire. Another loud pop of wood from the hearth calmed her initial fear. She quickly remembered where she was. She checked her watch, discerning when .

Shocked, she shifted in her seat.

“Uncle Vigor, what are you still doing up? It’s past three in the morning, and you have to be awake in another few hours.”

Across the hearth from her, he had a local travel book open on his lap, his reading glasses perched on his nose, reflecting the flames.

“I slept on the plane ride here, took a nap on the drive over.” He shooed her concerns away with a flutter of fingers. “A couple hours of sleep and I’ll be fine.”

She knew every one of those statements was a lie. She had watched him the entire trip. He had never closed his eyes once. Even now, she noted the sheen of sweat on his brow that had nothing to do with the fire. His pallid expression confirmed it.