The Eye of God (Sigma Force 9)

He noted her attention and nodded.

“What type of bird is he?” she asked.

Sanjar’s back straightened, happy for her interest. “He is a gyrfalcon. Falco rusticolus. One of the largest falcon breeds.”

“He’s beautiful.”

He grinned, showing a flash of white teeth. “Best he not hear that. Heru is already quite full of himself.”

“But he sits so still.”

He ran a finger over the top of a tufted bonnet. “Without sight, a bird knows not to move. A hooded falcon will remain motionless, trusting his handler. In the past aristocrats used to carry them to court, to banquets, even on horseback.”

“And apparently now on helicopters.”

“We must all adjust to the modern world. But falconry goes back to the time of Genghis Khan. Mongol warriors used to hunt foxes, even sometimes wolves, with falcons.”

“Wolves? Truly? Something so large.”

He nodded. “Not just wolves. But humans, too. In fact, Genghis’s personal bodyguards were falconers.”

“Then you are keeping up a proud tradition, Sanjar, continuing to look after Genghis even today.”

“Yes, my cousin and I”—he nodded to Arslan in the next row of seats—“we are very proud of our great ancestor.”

The pilot interrupted. “Folks, we’re a minute or so out from the designated spot. Do you want me to land or circle for an aerial view?”

Vigor answered, leaning forward. “From the air, please, that might prove useful.”

They all turned their attention to the windows as the helicopter swept over the Aralkum Desert, the salt marsh glistening even brighter here. Ahead, a gloomy peak broke through the dried crust. It was steep sided and wind carved, slightly concave on the top, looking not unlike a boat riding a wave of rock.

The helicopter circled it twice, but nothing of note struck anyone.

“We’ll have to land to continue our search from here,” Josip decided.

Monk yelled forward. “Put us down! As close to that hill as you can!”

The pilot expertly maneuvered the aircraft and landed within ten yards of the leeward side of the rock. But it had clearly been a struggle.

“Wind’s kicking up out there,” the pilot warned. “Pressure front must be moving in.”

As the doors were swung open, his weather report proved true. The temperature had dropped several degrees. Even sheltered by the bulk of the hill, Rachel felt an icy wind cut through her jacket.

They all hopped out.

Salt crunched underfoot. Around them spread a strange sight. It looked like someone had spread a thick layer of french fries over the hardpan. Bending down, she realized they were geometric straws of salt, each crystal a finger wide and pointy ended. It cast a prickly, otherworldly appearance to the place.

Standing beside her, Josip ignored the geological feature and stared up at the hill. Steep cliffs faced them, though some sections had crumbled down into flows of sand and boulders.

“We should circle around it on foot first,” he suggested, as flashlights were passed out.

Vigor nodded—though he held a hand pressed to his side.

Rachel crossed to her uncle and offered him the use of her shoulder for support. “Come on, old man, you dragged me out here . . .”

He scowled good-naturedly and took her up on her offer. Together, they headed out across the field of ice crystals. He leaned on her for the first ten minutes, then eventually felt strong enough to continue on his own. She wanted to question him about it, but she gave him the space to come to her when he was ready.

Monk came over, likely noting the same debilitation, his brow creased with concern. Still, with his usual infallible ability to sense a mood, he stayed silent. Or at least about her uncle.

He stared around the crust of sharp crystals. “Looks like no one has set foot around here in ages.”

She realized he was right. “No footprints.”

The crystals looked fragile and likely took years to form. If anyone had traipsed through here, there would have been a record of it in crushed salt.

Eventually they circled out of the shelter of the hill and into the wind’s teeth. It blew hard and steady, stinging of sand and tasting bitter on the tongue.

Sanjar had trouble controlling the falcon perched on his gloved hand. He slipped off the hood and cast the bird into the wind, letting it stretch its wings and work off its anxiety. It screamed into the night, its silvery wings flashing in the moonlight.

The young man’s cousin pointed to the horizon. The crisp line between salt flats and starry sky blurred out there.

“Storm coming,” Arslan warned.

“A black blizzard,” Sanjar clarified.

Shielding her eyes against the wind, Rachel stared out at the churning wall of sand, salt, and dust, remembering her uncle’s warning of the toxicity of such clouds.

“We don’t want to be here when it arrives,” Arslan warned.

No one argued, so they set a faster pace.

Within yards, they were soon covering the lower halves of their faces with handkerchiefs passed out by Sanjar. Clearly such a precaution was commonplace here, where winds regularly whipped over this ancient dead seabed. Still, between the burn of the stinging dust and the cold bite of the wind, any exposed skin felt flayed and raw.

The winds forced them to stay close to the hill. Moving single file, flashlights bobbling, they crossed into a narrow cut between the cliff face and a line of fanged rocks, perhaps the remains of an old reef. Any shelter from the wind was a welcome respite.

A shout rose from ahead.

Rachel hurried forward with the others, bunching together around Josip. He shone his flashlight at his feet, to the bottom of the cliff, where a large crack broke into the rock face. Rachel failed to understand what had the priest so riled up.

“Does that look like a horse’s head?” He pointed out the features with the beam of his light. “Nose high, ears pulled back, neck stretched.”

Stepping back, she realized he was right. It looked like the silhouette of a horse, drowning in billowing sand, trying to thrust its head up for air.

“Equus,” Vigor gasped out. “Like what was written on the tattoo.”

Josip nodded, his eyes feverishly bright.

Monk knelt at the entrance and shone his light inside. “Looks like there’s enough room to climb into it.”

“Is it a tunnel?” Jada asked.

Duncan searched up the cliff. “If so, it would’ve once been a sea tunnel,” he clarified. “When this lake was full, this entrance would have been underwater.”