The Devil Colony (Sigma Force 7)

Out on the street, Gray easily spotted the two agents assigned to watch the Archives. Another pair should be inside. They were keeping close track of even the photocopies.

As he helped Seichan with the steps, his phone jangled in his pocket. He reached in and pulled it out enough to check the caller ID. He’d left Monk with Kat. The pair was overseeing events in Iceland, trying to determine if they’d triggered another Laki eruption. But as was the case in Utah, the heat of the eruption likely killed the nano-nest out there, but would that exploding archipelago lead to another global catastrophe like the one Fortescue had witnessed?

As it turned out, the call was not from Monk, but from Gray’s parents’ home phone. He’d already talked to his mother after he’d landed in D.C., checking on his father after that bad night. As usual, his dad was fine the next morning, just his usual forgetful self.

He flipped it open and held the phone to his ear. “Mom?”

“No, it’s your dad,” he heard. “Can’t you tell from the sound of my voice?”

Gray didn’t bother to tell him he hadn’t said anything until then. He let it go. “What do you need, Dad?”

“I was calling to tell you . . . because of . . .” There was a long confused pause.

“Dad?”

“Just wait, dammit . . .” His father shouted to the side. “Harriet, why was I calling Kenny?”

His mother’s voice was faint. “What?”

“I mean Gray. Why was I calling Gray?”

Well, at least he got the name right.

He heard some jabbering in the background, his father’s voice growing gruffer and angrier. He had to stop this before it escalated.

“Dad!” he shouted into the phone.

People looked in his direction.

“What?” his father groused at him.

He kept his voice calm and even. “Hey, why don’t you just call me back? When you remember. That’ll be fine.”

“Okay, yeah, that sounds good. Just have a lot going on . . . ’s got me all messed up.”

“Don’t worry about it, Dad.”

“Okay, son.”

Gray flipped the phone closed.

Seichan stared at him, silently asking if everything was okay. Her hand had shifted from his shoulder to his hip, as if helping to hold him upright.

He pocketed the phone. “Just family stuff.”

Still, she stared a bit longer, as if trying to read him.

He pointed to the door. “Let’s go find out what Fortescue thought was so important that he had to hide his journal in Iceland.”

5:01 P.M.

Seichan lowered herself onto one of the conference chairs, leaning her weight on her good hip and kicking her right leg straight out. She tried her best not to moan with relief.

Gray remained standing. She studied him, remembering the strained look on his face, the glimmer of fear in his eyes as he spoke with his father. There was no evidence of it now. Where had he bottled it away? How long could he keep doing that?

Still, he was in his element now, and for that she was relieved—almost as much as she was about the weight off her leg. But both their burdens would not stay away for long.

“So what can you tell me about Fortescue’s journal?” Gray asked.

Dr. Eric Heisman nodded vigorously as he paced the room. The space was even more of a shambles than before. Documents and books had trebled in number on the table. Someone had wheeled in another two microfiche readers from a neighboring research room. Other people in the building must be wondering what was going on in here, especially with the armed guard posted at the door. But considering all the valuable documents preserved in the Archives’ expansive vaults and helium-enriched enclosures, maybe the sight of a guard wasn’t that unusual.

Still, by now, Heisman looked more like a mad scientist than a museum curator. His shirt was rumpled, rolled to the elbows, and his white hair stuck up like a fright wig. But the impression came mostly from his eyes, red-rimmed and wired, shining with a fanatical zeal.

Again, though, the latter might have come from the pile of empty Starbucks coffee cups filling the room’s lone trash bin.

How long had the man been up?

“Truly astounding stuff in here,” Heisman said. “I don’t know where to begin. Where did you find it?”

Gray shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s classified, as is our conversation.”

He waved the words away. “I know, I know . . . Sharyn and I signed all the necessary documents for this temporary clearance.”

His assistant sat at the other end of the table. She hadn’t said a word when they’d entered. Her dark eyes merely lifted long enough from the photocopied pages to nod at them. At some point, she had changed out of her clingy black dress and into a smart blouse and casual slacks.

Wary, Seichan kept half an eye on her. There was nothing the woman had done to warrant suspicion, beyond her stunning looks, with her smooth skin, petite features, and flatironed black hair. What was someone so beautiful doing as a mere assistant to a curator in a vault of dusty manuscripts? This woman could easily be walking down a runway in Milan.

Seichan also didn’t like how Gray’s eyes lingered on her whenever she shifted in her seat, to turn a page, to jot a note.

“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” Gray suggested, trying to jump-start the discussion.

“Not a bad suggestion,” Heisman said, and pointed Gray to a chair “Sit. I’ll tell you. It’s a remarkable story. Fills in so many blanks.”

Gray obeyed.

Heisman continued to pace, too agitated to sit. “This journal is a diary of events, beginning when Franklin first approached Archard.”

Archard . . . ?

Seichan hid a smirk. Looked like the curator was now on a first-name basis with the Frenchman.

“It starts with the discovery of an Indian mound in Kentucky.” Heisman turned to Sharyn for help.

She didn’t even lift her head. “The Barrow of the Serpent.”

“Yes, very dramatic. It was there that they discovered a golden map lining the inside of a mastodon skull, which was itself wrapped within a buffalo hide. It was the hidden Indian map that the dying shaman had told Jefferson about.”

Heisman continued, gesturing as he spoke for emphasis when needed, which apparently was a lot. “But that wasn’t the first time Jefferson and Franklin met with a Native American shaman. Chief Canasatego brought another shaman from a distant Western tribe to meet with Jefferson. It seems this old fellow had traveled a long way to meet with the new white leaders to these shores. The shaman told Jefferson a long story about previous pale Indians who once shared their lands, a people with great powers. It was said that they also came from the east, like the colonists. This, of course, drew great interest on the part of those two Founding Fathers. Likewise, a fair amount of skepticism.”