The Last Oracle (Sigma Force 5)

The water had risen to within a foot of the roof.

A grinding boom of stone echoed. The current suddenly slammed harder as the cavern wall gave way behind him.

Surging forward, Gray kicked off the bottom and up into the flooded stairwell.

Gasping, he surfaced into Luca’s arms. Luca helped Gray haul Rosauro up the stairs. She coughed and choked. Water spilled from her lips. But she took deep gulping breaths between.

She used one breath to spit out a curse in Spanish that would burn even the hairs off Kowalski’s ears.

Behind them, the chamber flooded to the roof, and the water level suddenly churned up after them.

“Time to go,” Gray said.

He pulled Rosauro to her feet and waved Elizabeth and Luca ahead. Rosauro was weak-kneed, but with water surging at their heels, she steadied enough to run on her own. Still, she cradled her left arm, strained from the suction.

They fled upward, chased by a flume of rising floodwaters.

Reaching the top, Elizabeth slithered backward out the opening, hung from her hands, then dropped to the floor below.

“Go!” Gray called to Luca when the man hesitated.

Luca obeyed and disappeared.

Gray helped Rosauro through the black marble door. She dangled from her good arm, then dropped. Gray followed her as water flooded the last step and washed over him in a wave.

He leaped away, clearing his fingers a second before the surge of water struck the door and slammed it closed. He landed and stared up. With the marble door cut at an angle, it could only rotate in one direction. The water pressure now held it closed.

Self-sealing.

Turning, he heard a roar echoing from the canyon. Lightning flashed. Churning white water flowed across the valley floor. The canyon was flooding, too, but this was a natural flood—not the consequence of Gray’s ham-fisted fumbling.

He stared at the volume of water coursing through the canyon.

No wonder these buildings had been built into the cliffs.

Gray realized one other thing.

Luca had noted it, too, and whispered, “Where is everyone?”

As if hearing his question, Masterson limped into view by the door, leaning on his cane. He’d been out of sight on the porch outside. Probably keeping an eye on the flooding waters with the others.

“Thank God,” the professor said. “You’d been down there bloody long enough. What did you find?”

Elizabeth stepped forward, excited. “The answers to everything! It was amazing.”

“It that right?”

Behind Masterson, more figures rushed into view.

Others flooded in from the two side rooms. They all wore black, bristling with assault weapons ready at their shoulders.

The Russian commandos.

“You’ll have to tell me all about it,” Masterson said. “Since your father refused to.”

Kowalski was shoved into view at the outer door, hands on his head. His right eyebrow was split, bleeding down his face. Soldiers forced him to his knees.

“They killed Abe,” he growled out. “Shot him like a dog.”

Masterson shrugged. “And why not? He was achuta. Dogs are treated better in India.”

The soldiers spread out around them.

Elizabeth stared at the professor, stunned, hardly able to speak. Still, heat fired through her words, realizing the depth of the betrayal here. “It was you! You betrayed my father!”

“I had no choice, Elizabeth. He’d been getting too close to the truth.”

Gray went cold. He understood the game that had been played out here. Masterson had been paid to keep an eye on Dr. Polk’s research, to feed his data to his superiors…but once Elizabeth’s father got too close, he had to be taken out of the game.

Who was behind it all?

Masterson must have recognized the icy fury in Gray’s eyes. He backed a step away, though there was nothing Gray could do. Masterson waved his cane. “Commander Pierce, it seems for now you and the others are needed alive. But maybe not the big fellow here.”

He pointed his cane at Kowalski.

“Kill him.”

Kowalski’s eyes got huge.

Gray lunged forward, but three rifle barrels butted against his chest.

Elizabeth shouted out, “Please, Hayden, no! I beg you!”

Gray heard the catch in her voice, so did Masterson.

The professor glanced between Elizabeth and Kowalski—then rolled his eyes. “Fine. Only because I owe your father. But at the first sign of trouble from any of you, we start shooting.”

Masterson stared over to Gray. “You wanted to know where Archibald went?” He turned and headed away. “You should be careful what you wish for.”

THIRD

15

September 7, 5:05 A.M.

Southern Ural Mountains

Monk poled through the swamps as best he could with one hand. But they dared not stop. They’d been hunted throughout the night. Stabilizing the oar-pole in the crook of his stumped arm, he pulled and shoved with his good hand. The raft glided silently across the drowned landscape.

Over the course of the night, his eyes had adjusted to the wan light from the moon. He had grown skilled at maneuvering the raft. They had several close calls as an airboat searched the swamps for them. The whining noise of its fan and its bright searchlight gave Monk plenty of warning to seek shelter. Also thick mists hung low over the water, which helped keep them hidden.

Still, they’d almost been caught once, when Monk had misjudged a sluggish current and struck a tree with a loud crack. The airboat had heard and come rushing over. He tried his best to hide under the branches of a willow, but they were sure to be spotted if the searchers looked too closely.

Their salvation came from an unexpected place.

As the airboat slowed and throttled down, Kiska had folded her hands over her mouth, took a deep breath, then let out a low bleating complaint of an elk cow. They’d heard the calls periodically throughout the night. Monk remembered how the girl had demonstrated her talent, an ear for perfect pitch and mimicry, mirroring birdcalls with an uncanny accuracy. The hunters had still searched, but less thoroughly, and moved onward after a minute.

Still they could not count on such luck forever. And worse yet, Monk knew they were slowly being herded closer toward Lake Karachay and its pall of radioactivity. The airboat swept the safer regions of the swamp, which only left them one recourse: to stray closer and closer in the direction of the lake.

Every hour, Monk risked lighting a single match to check the color of their dosimeters. The pink warning had darkened to full red. Konstantin had informed Monk matter-of-factly that one full day at that dosage was lethal. As Monk poled through floating rafts of weed and algae, his skin itched with the grainy sense that he was slowly being poisoned.