The Eye of God (Sigma Force 9)

“Or at least until the date marked on the skull,” Vigor added.

Josip bowed his head in agreement. “Pope Leo gave this gift away without full knowledge of what it held. Only after a Nestorian emissary came from Persia and warned the pontiff of the contents’ true history did he realize his grave error.”

Monk snorted. “So he sent a girl to get it back.”

“It may have been the only way to get close to Attila,” Josip countered. “But in the end, she failed. Attila must have grown wise to what had been given to him and hid it away.”

“What was it?” Vigor asked.

“In Ildiko’s own words, a celestial cross, one sculpted from a star that had fallen to the earth far to the east.”

“A meteorite,” Jada said, sitting up.

“Most likely,” Josip agreed. “From that fallen star, a cross was carved and given as a gift to a holy visitor, one who came to their eastern shores, spreading word of a new god, one with a risen son.”

Vigor glanced again to the wrapped relics, picturing the gospel bound in human skin. “You’re talking about St. Thomas,” he said with awe. “The Chinese emperor of that time gave St. Thomas that newly sculpted cross.”

Historians readily accepted that the apostle Thomas traveled as far as India, where he was eventually martyred. But a few scholars believed he might have made it as far as China, maybe even Japan.

Vigor could not keep the wonder out of his voice. “Are you saying the box held the cross of St. Thomas?”

“Not just his cross,” Josip intoned.

Vigor matched his friend’s tearful gaze and knew the truth.

It held his skull, too.

Vigor was struck momentarily dumb. Had this same knowledge pushed Josip over the edge? By his own admission, he had already begun to act irrationally. Had this driven him into a full psychotic break?

“According to Ildiko’s testament,” Josip continued, “St. Thomas had a vision of the fiery destruction of the world, including when it would happen, while holding this cross. This knowledge was preserved by Christian mystics after his death.”

“By inscribing it upon the saint’s skull.”

Josip nodded. “According to St. Thomas, this celestial cross is the only weapon to prevent the world from ending on that date. If it remains lost, the world is doomed.”

“And this cross was buried with Attila?” Vigor asked.

Josip glanced to the pages. “Ildiko claims as much. While locked in that tomb, she found the boxes again—only now with the cross returned to its proper place inside. She wrote down her last testament in the hopes someone would find it.”

“Which Genghis did,” Vigor finished.

Silence hung over the room for several breaths.

Finally, Monk cleared his throat. “So let me get this straight. The pope mistakenly gave Attila this treasure. A plot to retrieve it failed. Centuries later, Genghis ransacked Attila’s tomb, read Ildiko’s note, found the cross there, and upon his death, he used his own body to preserve this knowledge.”

“Not only preserve it,” Josip said, “but I believe he was leaving behind a road map for a future generation, offering us a way to find where he hid this cross, turning his own body into a guide.”

Vigor acknowledged that possibility. “Genghis Khan always believed the future belonged to him. And considering that one out of every two hundred men living today is his descendant, he might have been right. He would want to protect that legacy.”

Josip agreed. “Despite his image as a bloody tyrant, Genghis was also forward thinking. His empire had the first international postal system, invented the concept of diplomatic immunity, and even allowed women in its councils. But more important, the Mongols were also unprecedented in their religious tolerance. In their capital city, there was even a Nestorian church. It might have been those priests who helped sway Genghis to this path.”

“I think you may be right about that last part,” Vigor agreed. “Historically the Nestorians were a huge influence on Genghis. Just the fact that Genghis used his own skin to preserve a copy of the Gospel of Thomas speaks to their influence even in this endeavor.”

Rachel, ever the detective, wanted more proof. “This is all fine, but can any of this be substantiated? Is there any piece of tangible evidence that Genghis possessed this cross, this talisman meant to save the world?”

Josip pointed to Vigor. “He has it.”

Vigor felt like a victim falsely accused. “What do you mean? Where do I have it?”

“In the Vatican’s Secret Archives. You are now the prefect of that library, are you not?”

Vigor racked his brain as to what Josip was implying—then he remembered one of the archive’s prize possessions. “The letter from Genghis Khan’s grandson!”

Josip crossed his arms, the victorious prosecutor.

Vigor explained to the others. “In 1246, the grandson of Genghis, the Grand Khan Guyuk, sent a note to the pope. He demanded the pontiff travel to Mongolia in person to pay homage to him. He warned that if the pope didn’t do this, there would be grave consequences for the world.”

Rachel stared at him. “It’s not definitive proof, but I’ll admit it does sound like the grandson knew he had the fate of the world in his possession, or at least in his grandfather’s tomb.”

Vigor gave a small shrug. “He may have even been offering to return it to the pope, if the pontiff were willing to travel there . . . which unfortunately he refused.”

Duncan sighed. “If he had, that would’ve made things lots easier.”

Monk shrugged heavily. “That’s all well and good. I appreciate the history lesson. But let’s cut to the chase, people. Can anyone tell me how finding this cross is supposed to save the world?”

Vigor looked to Josip, hoping for a solution. His friend gave a small, defeated shake of his head. Instead, the answer came from a most unlikely source, from someone who had been as doubtful as St. Thomas all along.

Dr. Jada Shaw raised her hand. “I know.”

11

November 18, 9:10 P.M. KST

Pyongyang, North Korea

The squeal of truck brakes announced their arrival at the prison gates.

Hidden in the vehicle’s enclosed bed, Gray allowed himself a measure of relief. The strike team had made it safely out of downtown Pyongyang and into the swampy outskirts that bordered the Taedong River. En route here, they had run across a few search patrols, but the Triad members on the motorcycles had put on a good front, clearing a path through. With everyone still looking for a bus, their military truck raised no suspicions.