The Eye of God (Sigma Force 9)

“Which brings me to my point,” Josip said. “I think the Chinese inscriptions on the reliquary by the Nestorian priests served multiple purposes.”

Vigor eyed him, waiting for him to continue. He seemed momentarily lost, staring off into space for several breaths.

Then Josip resumed as if there had been no pause. He counted off on his fingers. “First, I believe they were confirming that St. Thomas did indeed reach China. Second, I think it’s plain they were trying to imply that the Chinese writing they discovered out in the Far East held some clues to the veracity of the Old Testament, a truth buried in their ancient script. And third, I think they were sharing some hint as to the extreme age of the cross.”

He looked significantly at Jada.

“How so?” she asked.

“Because they paired the cross with a reference to the book of Genesis. I think these Nestorian priests had heard stories of this falling star from the Chinese. They were told about how this meteorite fell in ancient times. And this was their way of venerating the cross’s ancient origin.”

Jada’s lips thinned in thought. “Still, it doesn’t confirm a date that coincides with the last appearance of the comet. I accept that these Nestorian priests believed it was old. Biblically old. But all this is based on conjecture. Until I can examine the cross, I can’t substantiate its connection to the comet.”

Vigor nodded. “Which leaves us with the big question: Where is this cross now?”

7:55 P.M.

Duncan listened to the discussions with half an ear. Instead, as the others talked, he fiddled with the relics sitting on the table. Like picking at a scab, he couldn’t stop testing the strange electrical field emanating from the objects.

“The cross must be in Genghis Khan’s tomb,” Josip insisted. “If we find his tomb, we’ll find the cross.”

“You’re probably right,” the monsignor agreed. “If his bones and bits of his body were laid down like bread crumbs, they were most likely meant to lead to his tomb.”

Duncan ran his hands over the dome of the old skull, his fingertips registering the slippery field. Goose bumps rose along his arms as he considered Jada’s belief that this was dark energy. Since he had a background in physics and electrical engineering, he had viewed Jada’s calculations that had been included in the mission dossier supplied to him. They’d been as elegant and as sexy as the woman who crafted them.

With a chill, he moved the skull aside and shifted his hands to the book.

Vigor paced around the table. “And that’s what you’ve been looking for, Josip. All these years.”

“After finding the relics, I wasn’t in the best state of mind. Shame, fear, paranoia sent me in a spiral. I needed somewhere quiet to think, to find my bearings.”

Duncan didn’t have to be a psychiatrist to sense the priest suffered from some form of chronic mental illness. He was a sack of emotional tics.

“And after dropping off the earth, it was easier to stay here,” he explained. “So I could work in peace. This became my self-imposed exile, my monastery where I could be in seclusion.”

“If you wanted to be alone,” Monk said, “you picked a helluva good spot for it. This is as close to the middle of nowhere as you can get.”

“It wasn’t just the isolation that drew me to the Aral Sea. Maybe at first, but later I realized somewhere in the back of my fevered brain, something was making connections that didn’t fully reach my consciousness until later. Like many times in the past, I’ve found the manic phases of my disease are not without their benefits.”

Ah, he’s bipolar, Duncan realized. He should have picked up on the signs. He had a college friend with the same condition. Not an easy cross to bear.

“What connections did you make?” Vigor asked.

Josip motioned to the relics. “Here we have Genghis’s skull. And from the eye on the gospel’s cover, we know it was bound from the skin of his face and head.”

Reminded of what his fingertips were hovering over, Duncan inwardly cringed. Still, macabre curiosity drew him closer, searching for that eye.

The priest continued, “In other words, the relics came from the neck up on Genghis Khan.”

Vigor mumbled, “You’re right. I didn’t even make that correlation.”

“Sometimes a little bit of madness is a good thing. In my manic phase, I ended up here. Only later did I realize why. That I was supposed to be here.”

“Why?” Vigor pressed.

“I think there are more relics. Not just these two.”

“Like more bread crumbs,” Rachel said.

“In Hungary, Genghis’s son left the relics from his father’s head, marking the westernmost reach of his son’s empire, an empire he had inherited from his father. But why just those objects there? It didn’t feel right. Over time, I came to a different theory, one I think is right. I believe Genghis had instructed his son to turn the entire known world into his grave, to spread his spiritual reach from one end of the Mongol Empire to the other.”

“That sounds like Genghis,” Vigor agreed. “So he had his head set at one end . . .”

“In Hungary, in the tomb of Attila,” Josip said with a nod. “But where next?”

“Here?” Jada asked.

The priest nodded. “The region around the Aral Sea was the westernmost reach of the Mongol Empire during Genghis’s reign. A place of significance. So it seemed a natural place to begin searching.”

Vigor turned, looking around the chamber. “You’ve been exploring for these lost relics all this time?”

“It’s a huge expanse. And the terrain was drastically altered after the seas dried up.” Josip stepped away and returned with a chart that he unfurled across the tabletop. “This is a map of how the Aral Sea once looked.”

Duncan shifted straighter and stared at the huge body of water—then returned his attention to the book, noting something odd.

“The Aral Sea means Sea of Islands,” the priest explained. “At one time, there were over fifteen hundred islands dotting the water. I assumed Genghis’s next relic would have been on one of them.”

“So you’ve been searching one by one?” Vigor asked.

“With help.” Josip nodded to Sanjar.

“And how have you paid for all this?” Monk asked.

It was a good question.

The priest looked down at his toes. Plainly it wasn’t a question he wanted to answer.