The Eye of God (Sigma Force 9)

Even with a pistol in hand, she would never make it through the heavily guarded front gates on her own. And even if she did, where could she go? She had to trust that Gray and her mother knew where to find her, that they’d come for her.

She ran for the rows of barracks, intending to hide herself among the prisoners, to keep out of sight until help could arrive.

For the first time in her life, Seichan put her trust in hope.

10

November 18, 5:05 P.M. QYZT

The Aral Sea, Kazakhstan

The Eurocopter sped over an endless landscape of blowing sand and crusted salt. Jada stared listlessly below, finding it hard to believe this blighted region was once a beautiful blue sea, teeming with fish, the shores dotted with canneries and villages, all full of vigorous life.

It seemed unimaginable.

She had read the mission dossier concerning the Aral Sea, how the Soviets had diverted its two major rivers to irrigate cotton fields back in the sixties. As the decades passed, the sea quickly dried up, dwindling to only 10 percent of its original size, draining a volume equal to Lake Erie and Lake Ontario combined. Now all that remained of the sea were a few salty pools to the north and south.

Between them, this wasteland was born.

“They call this the Aralkum Desert,” the monsignor whispered as the others slept, noting her attention. “Its toxic salt fields are so large they can be seen from space.”

“Toxic?” she asked.

“As the sea vanished, it left behind pollutants and pesticides. Strong winds regularly stir up that sand and dust into dark storms called black blizzards.”

As Jada stared, she watched a swirling zephyr spin across the salt flats as if chasing them.

“People began to get sick. Respiratory infections, strange anemias, spikes in cancer rates. The average life expectancy dropped from sixty-five to fifty-one.”

She glanced at him, surprised by those numbers.

“And its effect was not just local. These fierce winds continue to blow the desert’s poison around the globe. Aral dust can be found in the glaciers of Greenland, in the forests of Norway, even in the blood of penguins in Antarctica.”

Jada shook her head, wondering for the thousandth time why they had detoured to this desolate place. If given a choice, she would have preferred to visit another location in Kazakhstan: the Baikonur Cosmodrome, Russia’s premier space center. It lay only two hundred miles east of their coordinates.

At least there, I could collect more data on the crash.

That is, if everything weren’t so top secret.

Still, she looked sidelong at Duncan, at his fingertips. He said he had noted some energy signature emanating from the archaeological relics. As much as she was in a hurry, a part of her was intrigued by his assessment.

But was it all nonsense?

Jada studied Duncan’s features as he lightly drowsed beside his stocky partner. The man did not strike her as someone prone to flights of fantasy. He seemed too well grounded.

The pilot came over the intercom. “We’re ten minutes out from the coordinates.”

Everyone stirred.

She returned her full attention to the window. The sun sat low on the horizon. Hillocks and the rusting remains of old ships cast long shadows across the flat desert.

As the coordinates grew closer, the Eurocopter began to descend, sweeping lower, speeding over the salt flats.

“Dead ahead,” the pilot said.

Everyone pressed their noses to their respective windows.

The helicopter rushed toward the only feature for miles: the rusted hulk of a massive ship. It sat upright, its keel sunk deep into the sand, a ghost ship riding this dusty sea. Oxidation and corrosion had worn away most details, eating away its forecastle, staining the bulkhead a deep orange-red, a sharp contrast to the white salt flats.

“Is this the place?” Rachel asked.

“It matches the coordinates,” the pilot confirmed.

Duncan spoke by his window. “I see lots of tire tracks in the salt around the beached ship.”

“This must be right,” the monsignor insisted.

Monk touched his radio to communicate better with the pilot. “Take us down. Land fifty or so yards away from the ship.”

The bird immediately banked to the side, hovered for a breath, then lowered until its wheels touched down, blowing up a whirlwind of sand and salt.

Monk pulled off his earphones and yelled to the pilot. “Keep the rotors turning until I give you the all-clear.”

He pulled open the hatch. With an arm raised against the sting of whipping sand, he cautioned everyone to remain inside, except Duncan. “Let us check this out first.”

Jada was happy to let them take the lead. From the shadows of the cabin, she watched Monk and Duncan head out across the dusty sand. The winter day was cool, but not bitterly. The air smelled of salt, motor oil, and decay.

Across the way, a dark door in the ship’s port-side hull beckoned. It lay even with the sands and open to the elements. Before the two men had crossed half the distance toward it, a desert-camouflaged Land Rover burst out of a hidden hatch in the vessel’s stern. It sped on wide, paddle-treaded tires built for the sand and swept in an intercepting arc to reach Monk and Duncan.

The two men had their weapons raised and pointed toward it.

The Land Rover drew abreast of them, keeping a distance away.

An exchange of words followed, with much gesticulation on Monk’s part. The monsignor’s name was mentioned. After another full minute of discussion, Monk stomped back to the helicopter.

“They say Father Josip is inside the ship,” he said. “I tried to convince them to have the priest come out and greet us, to make sure we’re not being set up. But they refused.”

“I imagine by now the level of Father Josip’s paranoia is quite high,” Vigor said.

Jada heard a slight catch in the monsignor’s voice, as if he were holding something back about the man.

“I’ll go meet him alone,” Vigor said, hopping out.

“No, you won’t,” Rachel said. She leaped down to join her uncle. “We stick together.”

“We’ll all go,” Monk said, but he turned to Jada. “Maybe you’d best stay with the helicopter.”

She considered it for a few seconds, then shook her head, forcing as much bravado as she could muster. “I’ve not come all this way to stay in the helicopter.”

Monk nodded, then popped his head into the cabin and yelled to the pilot. “I’ll be on radio. Lock this bird up tight, but keep her warmed and ready in case we need a fast takeoff.”