The Eye of God (Sigma Force 9)

He was saved by the monsignor, who had figured it out. “You mentioned the Hungarian bishop had found a calling card left behind at Attila’s tomb, one with the name Genghis Khan written on it. A gold wrist cuff with images of a phoenix and demons.”

Josip slumped in on himself. “I sold it. To a buyer in Mongolia. Someone with a great deal of wealth who bought it for his personal collection. At the very least, I know that piece of history will be preserved.”

Rachel frowned deeply. Her work with the Italian police dealt specifically with the black market sale of antiquities. “Whom did you sell it to?”

The priest balked at answering.

Vigor didn’t press him. “Right now it doesn’t matter.”

Still, Josip explained, “Please, do not hold this buyer at fault. It was my choice to sell it, and he only bought it to preserve his own country’s history.”

Monk returned the discussion back to the problem at hand. “If you’re right that the next bread crumb is here, I don’t see us discovering it in time to do any good. It’ll be like trying to find a needle in a very dry haystack.”

“I waited too long,” Josip conceded.

“Then maybe we should just continue on to Mongolia,” Jada said, sounding not overly displeased at the prospect.

As the banter waned toward defeat, Duncan ran his hands over the surface of the book one more time, just to be sure, before speaking.

Satisfied, he hovered a finger over a spot on the surface. “Monsignor Verona . . . I mean Vigor . . . is this the location of the eye you mentioned?”

Vigor stepped closer and looked over his shoulder. “It is indeed. I know it’s hard to see. I only found it myself with the aid of a magnifying loupe.”

Duncan ran his fingertip over the book, tracing the surface of the energy field. As he reached the spot near the eye, his finger raised up, then down again after he passed it. “I don’t know if this is significant, but the energy is stronger over the eye. I can feel the upwelling of its field. It’s very distinct.”

Vigor crinkled his brow. “Why would that be?”

Jada moved to his other shoulder, bringing with her a waft of apple blossoms. “Duncan, you said the skull had a significantly stronger field than the skin. Which I assumed was a reflection of mass. More mass, more energy.”

Duncan nodded, loving when she talked science. “That must mean this spot on the cover has more mass than the rest of the surface.”

Vigor frowned. “What are you both saying?”

Duncan turned to the monsignor. “There’s something else hidden under this eye.”

Father Josip gasped. “I never thought to look. I had the book X-rayed, but nothing abnormal showed up.”

Jada shrugged. “If it’s soft tissue, like the skin, it could easily have been missed by X-rays.”

Monk pointed. “We have to open that eye.”

Vigor turned to Father Josip.

“I’ll get my tools,” he said and dashed off.

Vigor shook his head. “I should have considered that. The essential core message of St. Thomas’s gospel is that the path to God is open to anyone who looks. Seek and you shall find.”

“All you have to do is open your eyes,” Rachel added.

Josip ran back with a pointed X-Acto knife, tweezers, and forceps, ready to do some ophthalmological surgery.

Duncan moved aside to make room for Vigor and Josip. The two archaeologists set to work snipping tiny cords that bound the eye closed ages ago. The lids were too dried to peel open, so with great care they excised a circle around the eye and teased the leather up and to the side.

Awe filled Vigor’s voice. “Get me a—”

Josip passed him a magnifying lens.

“Thank you.”

The monsignor leaned closer to the hole they’d created in the cover. “I see what appears to be the desiccated remains of papillae on the surface. I think the hidden tissue is a thin slice of mummified tongue.”

“Oh, great,” Jada groaned, moving back. It seemed there were limits to her scientific curiosity.

“They tattooed the surface,” Josip commented. “Come see.”

Duncan leaned closer, while Vigor held the lens. On the surface of the leathery tissue was a distinct picture inked in black.

“It’s a map,” Duncan realized aloud, recognizing the resemblance to Josip’s earlier chart. “A map of the Aral Sea.”

Rachel looked no happier than Jada. “Preserved on his tongue?”

Josip glanced at her, feverish excitement shining from his face. “Genghis is telling us where to go.”

Vigor confirmed this. “One of the islands is tattooed in red with the word equus inked beneath it. Latin for horse.”

“Horses were extremely prized by the Mongols,” Josip said. “They were literally the life’s blood of their riders. Warriors would often drink their mounts’ blood while on long journeys or ferment mare’s milk to produce araq, a potent alcoholic drink. Without horses—”

A noise at the door drew all their attentions around.

Josip visibly tensed, but when the tall figure bowed into the room, he relaxed, breaking into a broad smile of greeting. “You’re back! And what timing. We have fantastic news!”

The priest hurried over and hugged the young man, who could be Sanjar’s brother, what with his similar taste in sheepskin and loose pants. Only this one must have left his falcon at home.

Josip led the stranger back to the table. “Everyone, this is my good friend and the leader of my excavation crew.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “His name is Arslan.”

13

November 18, 10:17 P.M. ULAT

Ulan Bator, Mongolia

Batukhan stood in the middle of his gallery, wearing a thick robe and slippers. He had spent the past quarter hour pacing through his collection, something he did often when in a contemplative mood.

He had treasures from across the golden ages of Mongolia: jewelry, funerary masks, musical instruments, pottery. One wall displayed an assortment of antique bows, once carried by Mongol warriors—from short, sinuously curved weapons meant for horseback, made of sinew and horn, to the oversized triple crossbows used to capture walled cities. He had other tools of war, too, including battle-axes, scimitars, and lances.

Still, such a collection was not just for show.

He spent many hours training in the old ways with his fellow brothers of the Blue Wolf, on the steppes surrounding the city, on horseback, in traditional silk garments, overlaid with lacquer-impregnated leather and iron-crowned helmets. He, like all his men, was skilled with both light and heavy Mongol bows.