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

In that moment, with every fiber of his being, he knew the fundamental truth about life.

Live it now . . . who knows what will come tomorrow?

TAILS

For now we see through a glass, darkly.

—CORINTHIANS 13:12

November 26, 10:17 A.M. CET

Rome, Italy

Rachel waited outside the exam room for her uncle to finish meeting with his physician. Vigor had only come to the hospital upon her firm insistence, especially as she had no sound basis for demanding this battery of tests.

The door finally cracked open. She heard her uncle laugh, shake the doctor’s hand, and come out.

“Well, I hope that satisfies you,” Vigor said to her. “Clean bill of health.”

“And the full-body MRI results?”

“Besides some arthritis in my hips and lower back, nothing.” Vigor scooped an arm around her waist and headed toward the exit. “For a man in such good health in his sixties, the doctor said I should expect to live to a hundred.”

Rachel could tell he was joking, but she also noted a flicker at the edge of his eyes, like he was trying to remember something.

“What?” she asked.

“I know you insisted on this cancer screening—”

She sighed loudly enough to cut him off. “Sorry. Ever since coming back from Olkhon Island, I just had this bad feeling, like you were sick or something.” She shook her head. “I’m just being silly.”

“That’s just it; as I was lying there with that machine clacking loudly around me, I was almost sure you were right, too.”

“Only because of my insistence.”

“Maybe . . .” He sounded unconvinced and stopped before they reached the hospital doors. “I have to tell you something, Rachel. Back when I placed that crystal Eye atop the cross of St. Thomas, I felt this tearing inside me, like my very being was being ripped out . . . or split apart. It felt like I was riding a fountain of white light. I was sure I was dead. Then in a blink I was back, and there were Gray, Duncan, and Jada bursting inside to check on me.”

Rachel squeezed his hand. “And I’m glad you were safe.”

He stared down at her. “For just a moment then, as I turned to face them, I was overwhelmed with grief, like I’d lost you.”

“But I was fine,” she said— okay , just barely .

She again pictured that silver coin flipping in the air, bouncing across the wood planks of the floor, of Pak placing his boot on it. She had been furious at Seichan for telling him where Gray and the others had gone.

Then Pak had lifted his boot, revealing the backside of the coin.

Tails.

Pak had such a disappointed look on his face. She was suddenly sure in that moment, if it had come up heads, he would have killed her.

“I survived,” Rachel said.

“Well, I know that because you came running in after the others a minute or so later.” He headed back with her toward the door. “But it makes me wonder why we both had premonitions of doom for the other. I mean, I could have had cancer, I suppose. If some cell in my body flipped the wrong switch— up instead of down —I could very well be riddled with tumors.”

“Heads or tails,” Rachel mumbled.

Vigor smiled at her. “So much of life and death is random chance.”

“That’s disheartening.”

“Not if you trust who is flipping the coins.”

She rolled her eyes at him.

He pressed his point. “There are a thousand paths into the future, forks after forks in the road ahead. Who knows, if one road closes, maybe another opens in another universe . . . and your soul, your consciousness, leaps over to continue that journey ever forward, always finding the right path.”

Still, Rachel considered those paths left behind, of possibilities that would be gone forever. A flicker of sadness pierced through her, as though she had lost dear friends.

“You see,” Vigor said, drawing her attention back. “There’s always a path forward .”

“To where?” she asked.

Vigor pushed open the door, blinding her with the brightness of the new day. “Everywhere.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE TO READERS: TRUTH OR FICTION

Time to separate the wheat from the chaff. As in previous books, I thought I’d attempt to divide the book into its blacks and whites. Though, to be honest, there are many gray areas in this novel that tread the line so finely between fact and fiction, between reality and speculation, that you can safely argue both sides of that equation. So let’s go walking that line and see where we end up.

First, history is already a pretty frayed tapestry of truths, but what do we know with relative certainty?

Attila the Hun.In AD 452, Attila was about to sack Rome when Pope Leo the Great rode out with a small entourage, met the leader of the Huns, and somehow dissuaded him from attacking. How? One speculation is that Attila’s forces were already facing disease and threats from other fronts, so he opted to save face, decamp, and leave. Another is that the pontiff played off Attila’s superstitious fears and stoked his concerns about Alaric’s Curse, as described in this book. Yet, others believe the pope did indeed give Attila enough gold and treasure to buy him off.

No matter the reason, he called off his plan, Attila would die the next year, just as he was planning to return to Italy and attack Rome. His death was by nosebleed and did occur on his wedding night, after marrying a young princess named Ildiko. Some theories state Ildiko poisoned her new husband; others that he simply died of chronic alcoholism, exasperated by a night of carousing after his wedding. No one really knows what happened to Ildiko after she was discovered at her dead husband’s bedside.

As to his lost grave, it is said he was buried in a triple coffin of iron, silver, and gold, along with most of his vast treasure. The entourage who buried Attila were all killed. Most believe a river (likely the Tizsa in Hungary) was diverted, his tomb buried in the mud, and the river returned to its normal course. Which brings us again back to the Tizsa River for the . . .

Hungarian Witch Trials.The story of Boszorkánysziget, or Witch Island, is true. The island is located near the town of Szeged, where in July of 1728, a dozen witches (men and women) were burned. Over four hundred people were condemned to this fate during the height of the hysteria. Drought—with resultant famine and disease—is considered to be a major instigator for this panic, although, as described in this book, some of those deaths were politically or personally motivated. Nothing like a scourge of witches to get rid of an enemy.

Genghis Khan.Most of the details in this book regarding the Mongolian overlord are true. He was born with the name Temujin (and probably the more accurate spelling of his title is Chinggis Khaan, but I chose to use the more common spelling of Genghis Khan for clarity). And his official clan title was indeed Borjigin, meaning the Master of the Blue Wolf. That name is now one of the most common names in Mongolia, as is Temujin.

On a genetic note, it’s also amazingly true that one out of two hundred men in the world is related genetically to Genghis (and that rises to one out of ten in Mongolia), as defined by twenty-five unique markers making up Haplogroup C-M217. So it seems multiple wives and conquering countries does leave its mark—at least, genetically.

And speaking of his offspring: In the Vatican Archives, there truly is a letter from Genghis Khan’s grandson (Grand Khan Guyuk) to Pope Innocent IV, dated back in 1246, warning the pontiff not to visit the capital of his empire or there would be dire consequences.