The Doomsday Key (Sigma Force 6)

“So you think some secret sect of Druids wiped them out?”

“And after that, they took their war to the mainland of England. I suspect they began casting these plagues in the borderlands in hopes the conflict would spread throughout England.”

Wallace had to catch himself as the ferry hit a huge wave. Once reseated, he continued. “Perhaps the hidden purpose of the Domesday Book was to map these incursions, to keep track of them. The census takers who compiled the book were sent out to all corners of Britain, collecting information from villagers and townspeople alike, surely doubling as spies.”

“Did it work?” Rachel asked, caught up in the story.

“Well, those hot spots never did spread,” Wallace said with a shrug. “Someone must have found a way to thwart the attacks. Then buried it safely away.”

“The key to the Doomsday Book,” Gray said. “You believe it’s some sort of cure.”

Wallace touched the tip of his nose, acknowledging the same.

“And we’re on the right track?” Gray asked, glancing significantly at Rachel. They didn’t have much room for error.

His hand slipped over hers, squeezed her fingers, then let go. She wished he had kept on holding. His skin had been hot, his grip reassuring.

Wallace answered Gray’s question. “Marco certainly believed in the key. And judging from that gruesome little keepsake of his, he discovered something. And we know he started here at Bardsey.”

The professor nodded toward the growing bulk of the dark island. It was buried in the storm. And a moment later, so were they. The winds kicked up, blowing freezing slaps of water across the boat. Then rain suddenly pounded the boat, as if trying to drive them under the sea. Visibility dropped to yards.

“Hang tight!” Kowalski bellowed from the pilothouse, where he stood with the captain. “Swells dead ahead!”

The bow of the boat rose high, pointed at the sky—then dropped like a rock. After that, motion became a blur. The ferry lurched and heaved, rocked and pitched.

Without warning, Rachel’s stomach did the same. A queasy heat swept through her. Her hands went clammy and cold. She didn’t have time to make it to the ship’s water closet. She swung around in her seat, bent over the rail, and emptied her stomach in a single large wrack of her body. It left her so drained she had a hard time keeping a grip on the wet rail.

Below her face, the sea surged up and down, looking ready at any moment to wash up and over her. Her hands slid. She felt herself tipping.

Then strong arms closed around her, holding her firmly but gently.

“I’ve got you,” Gray said.

She leaned against him, her stomach still rolling with the waves. The rest of the trip was no smoother, but he never left her side.

After what seemed like hours, land filled the world ahead. The storm grew less fierce. Rain receded to a drizzle. A long concrete slipway stuck out into the small harbor, next to it a stone jetty. The ferryman slid his boat skillfully beside the dock as Lyle ran and tossed bolsters between the jetty and the boat. Moments later, they were tied up.

Rachel clambered happily off the rocking boat. The solid crunch of stones under her feet had never felt so good.

“Are you okay?” Gray asked.

She had to take some personal inventory before slowly nodding. “I think so. Just glad to be away from the waves.”

Gray touched her arm. Concern shone in his eyes. “Are you sure it was just the waves?”

Rachel wanted to nod again. But she placed a hand on her belly, remembering what Seichan had said about the poison. One of the first symptoms was nausea.

She glanced back to the boat.

What if it wasn’t the waves?

12:05 P.M.

Bardsey Island, Wales

The tractor climbed up the hill from the harbor. It dragged a hay trailer behind it, and its straw-strewn bed held a collection of sodden people. A tarpaulin staked over the trailer shielded against spats of rain, but it offered no protection against the cutting wind.

Gray huddled below the sides of the trailer, trying his best to hide from the more stubborn gusts. The worst of the storm had abated for the moment, but the sky to the west only grew darker, threatening a worse gale to come.

As they climbed the hill, a panoramic view of the small island opened up. Behind the trailer, out at the tip of the island, rose a tall red-and-white-striped lighthouse. It blinked into the storm with a steady turn of its lamp. Between the lighthouse and the hill was farmland. There were only a dozen or so full-time residences on Bardsey Island, mostly farmers and those who rented cottages to visiting hikers, bird-watchers, and pilgrims.

The only roads were dirt. The only vehicles were tractors.

They’d definitely stepped into another era.

As they neared the crest of the hill, the tractor slowed to a halt. The boy Lyle hopped from the back of the tractor to the bed. He was their official driver and tour guide. He crouched in the middle of the bed as a roll of thunder echoed over the hilltop.

Lyle waited for it to fade, then spoke. “Father Rye said you might be wanting to visit the old Hermit’s Cave. It’s off a wee bit on foot. I can show you.”

Kowalski patted his pockets, looking for a cigar. “Not really feeling like paying the hermit a visit.”

Gray ignored Kowalski and joined Lyle. “You said you helped Father Giovanni before and that he spent most of his time at the ruins of the old abbey. Did he spend any time up at the cave?”

“Not really. Just once at the beginning. Don’t think he went back after that.”

Gray knew he had better take a look to be thorough. “Show me.”

“I’ll go with you,” Wallace volunteered. “Be a shame to come all this way and not pay my respects to the dearly departed Merlin.”

The sarcasm ran thick in his voice.

Gray glanced at Rachel. She shook her head. She still looked a little queasy, but he wasn’t sure if it was from motion sickness, toxicity, or something in between.

He hopped out of the bed and was surprised to see Seichan jump out after him. Without a word, she headed after Wallace and the boy.

Gray suspected that Seichan’s interest lay less in the hermit’s cave than in a desire not to be left alone with Rachel. Shouldering his pack, he followed after the others up a side trail.

Seichan slowed enough to come even with him. “We need to talk,” she said, not looking at him.

“We have nothing to talk about.”

“Quit being an ass. Despite what you think, I don’t want to be in this position any more than you do. It wasn’t my choice to poison Rachel. You know that, right?”