Текст книги "The Last Oracle (2008)"

Автор книги: James Rollins

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Zakhar.

The cat fought to climb through the window.

Monk increased his pace.

Ahead, he spotted a small raft out in the water. Earlier, Monk had hauled the old punt out of the reeds. He'd scraped away most of the moss and found the raft still floated. Unfortunately, there were no oars, so Monk had fashioned a long pole out of the trunk of a sapling.

Out in the deeper water, Konstantin stood in the stern of the raft and leaned hard on the makeshift pole. The raft drifted farther away. At least they had made it.

As planned, the children had crawled out from under the cabin while Monk had distracted the cats. The raft waited for them a yard offshore. They were to hop on board, shove off, and head for the deepest water.

Monk was supposed to have joined them but his exit from the cabin had not gone as smoothly as he'd hoped.

The delay gave time for the second tiger Arkady to tear around the flaming cabin with a hiss of fury and charge straight at Monk.

The drum of heavy pads trampled behind him. Monk fought for the water's edge.

Without a weapon, escape was his only hope.

Gasping, he stretched his stride.

The landscape jittered.

A low growl closed on him.

Footfalls pounded.

No breath.

Heartbeat in his ears.

A sharper hiss ready to pounce.

The glint of water.

Too far.

Hopeless, he turned and dropped, skidded on his backside.

The cat hunched to spring with its last stride, but

out of the high weeds, a dark shadow leaped and struck the cat in the side.

Monk caught a flash of silver. Then the shadow hurdled the tiger, hit the ground, and bounded headlong into a thick patch of willows and vanished.

Marta.

The chimpanzee hadn't left with the kids.

Arkady, caught off balance in midlunge, had been knocked on his side. The tiger thrashed back to his paws as Monk crabbed backward on hands and feet.

Staggering, the tiger yowled a coarse, strangled sound.

Blackness poured down the cat's throat, erasing stripes into shadow.

Blood.

Impaled under his jaw, the handle of a knife protruded.

The bowie knife from the cabin.

Monk had lost it when he fell.

The chimpanzee had recovered it, used it, saved his life.

Monk remembered and he couldn't say how he remembered that chimps were natural tool users. With twigs, they fished termites out of nests. With sharpened branches, they stabbed African bush babies out of holes in trunks.

And Marta was no ordinary chimp.

Arkady trembled all over, his yowl drowning in blood.

Another took up his cry.

Zakhar screamed with a violence that set Monk's jaw to aching.

Monk shoved and fled toward the water. Reaching the muddy bank, he dove straight out and landed on his belly in the shallows. He kicked and lunged for the deeper water.

Zakhar's howl swelled with outrage.

Monk splashed and paddled far enough to dive completely underwater. The cold cleared the panic, but even underwater, he heard the tiger's scream. Holding his breath, Monk stroked and frog-kicked out into the deeper water.

As his lungs grew to burning, he surfaced quietly.

Treading water, he stared back toward the cabin. Flames cast high into the darkness. Limned in the firelight, Zakhar circled his brother. The other tiger did not move.

Monk heard Marta sweeping through the trees. He craned and saw her swing free and drop heavily to the raft. It lay ten yards away.

Monk swam to it and hauled himself atop it. He sprawled on his back, out of breath, panting.

On his left, Marta lay curled on her side, tucked tight, rocking slightly. A low moan flowed from her. Pyotr sprawled atop her, comforting her, holding her.

Monk lifted to an elbow, glanced to the cabin, then back to Marta.

As Zakhar continued to scream, Monk reached out a hand and rested it on the chimpanzee's shoulder. Her body trembled, bent in a posture of grief.

It had to be done, he willed to her.

Arkady had been tortured, abused, driven half mad. The cat had become more a monster than one of God's creatures.

Death was a blessing.

Still, Marta moaned.

Killing was never easy.

At the stern, Konstantin heaved on the long pole and sent them floating toward the heart of the swamp.

Monk sat up. Something caught his eye. Before they had settled in for the night, he had stored everyone's packs on the raft. His gaze focused on a badge hanging from a zipper. The radiation monitor.

In the reflected firelight, it was plain to see.

The pink color had grown darker.

And with it, so did their hopes.

4:31 P. M.

Washington, D. C.

Yuri adjusted the flow of the drip line from the I. V. bag. His fingers trembled as he worked. He was too conscious of Sasha in the bed, lost amid the blanket and sheets. She was worse than he'd feared.

He silently cursed the hour he'd lost, waiting on McBride and Mapplethorpe. It was time he could've used to initiate Sasha's treatment. Instead, he'd been locked up at the FBI building while the other two had gone about some private business. McBride finally returned with all of the medications from Yuri's hotel room.

On foot, they had then crossed the Mall, where they were met outside the

Smithsonian Castle and escorted down a private elevator to the secure facility below. They were searched, scanned, and blindfolded. Led by hand, Yuri had quickly lost his bearings in the subterranean maze of the facility. They finally reached a room, a door closed behind them, and the lock clicked.

Only then was his blindfold removed.

Yuri found himself in a small hospital room. One wall was mostly mirrored, surely two-way glass. Two people stood guard over the child: a tall auburn-haired woman who introduced herself as Kat Bryant and Dr. Lisa Cummings, whom he'd met at the restaurant. Lisa held out a stack of medical reports.

We're at your service, Lisa said. Tell us what must be done.

Yuri set to work. He read all the reports, reviewed the latest blood chemistries. It took him another ten minutes to calculate the dosages. McBride tried to help, watching over his shoulder.

Yuri had growled at him, Stay out of my way.

The Americans did not know the alchemy in preserving the children. Yuri intended to keep it that way, and the method was too complicated to torture out of him.

But he could not let Sasha die without trying to save her, so he had to let

McBride watch. But once Sasha was safe

Kat interrupted his reverie, standing behind him. Will she be okay?

Yuri tapped the drip. Satisfied with the flow, he turned and found the woman's eyes upon him. Her hair was braided back from her face, revealing the worry in the hard edges around her eyes and mouth.

He sighed and offered her the truth. I've done all I can. We'll need hourly renal tests, urine specific gravities. It will give us some idea of the progress, but it will take five or six hours before we know if she'll survive.

His voice cracked with his last words. He turned away, embarrassed to show weakness to these strangers. He found McBride staring back at him, a callous glint to his eyes. The man had retreated to a chair by the door. He sat smugly with his legs crossed.

All we can do is wait, Yuri mumbled and found a seat beside the bed. A child's book lay open atop it.

Kat reached down and collected it. I was reading it to her.

Yuri nodded. On the plane ride here, Sasha had leaned her head on Yuri's arm while he quietly read her Russian fables. He smiled softly at the memory. They were trained not to grow attached, but she was special.

His hand drifted to where one of her fingers poked from the sheets. A blood pressure monitor was clamped to it. He ran his finger down the thin digit, so like a porcelain doll's.

Finally he leaned back into his chair. It would be a long wait. McBride tapped his shoe on the floor. Machines shushed and beeped. After a few minutes, Dr.

Cummings slipped from the room to discuss matters with the group's pathologist.

Kat settled into a chair on the opposite side of the bed.

As the first hour slowly passed, Yuri noted a pile of papers on the bedside table. A corner of a sheet caught his eye. It was heavily scribbled with a black marker. Glimpsing just the edge, Yuri recognized Sasha's work. He shifted through various sheets, not comprehending their meaning. But on the last sheet,

Yuri found a familiar face. He stiffened in his seat with surprise.

It was their prisoner back at Chelyabinsk 88.

Yuri kept the picture flat. McBride knew nothing about the capture of the

American. He'd never been told. Still, Yuri must have stared too long at the picture.

My husband. Kat spoke up from the opposite side of the bed. Sasha drew it. I think she saw his picture in my wallet.

He slowly nodded and covered the picture.

Her husband ?

Why would she do that? Kat asked. She stared at him with a bit more focused intent. Draw such a picture.

Yuri stared back at the girl. His heart pounded harder, and his vision narrowed.

It was Sasha's drawings that had saved the man's life. And now here was the same man's wife. It was beyond coincidence, outside probable chance. What was going on?

Dr. Raev? the woman pressed.

He was saved from having to answer by the flutter of tiny lashes. Sasha's eyes opened, revealing their watery blue depths. Yuri scooted closer. The woman stood up.

Sasha remained groggy, her gaze unfocused. But her heart-shaped face turned toward Yuri. Unchi Pepe ?

That name.

Yuri's blood pounded in his ears and iced through him. He flashed to a dark aisle in a cold church, to a child clutching a rag doll before a stone altar, staring up at him with the same blue eyes.

Here were the same words. The same accusation.

Unchi Pepe

The pet name for Josef Mengele, the Butcher of Auschwitz.

He took Sasha's hand, knocking loose the blood pressure monitor.

No, he promised to her. Not ever again.

Tears blurred his vision.

Her tiny fingers clamped weakly to him. Her lids fluttered. Papa Papa Yuri ?

Yes, he whispered. I'm here, baby. I won't leave you.

Her lips moved as she faded back to sleep. Her fingers relaxed and slipped from his. Marta Marta's scared

11:50 P. M.

Southern Ural Mountains

The body was still warm, but the blood was cold.

The kill was an hour or so old.

Lieutenant Borsakov lifted his palm from the flank of the dead tiger. He reached to the head, grabbed an ear, and tugged up. The other ear matched the first, marking this cat as Arkady.

He dropped it and stood.

In his other hand, Borsakov carried his sidearm, a Yarygin PYa. He kept it raised, wishing it was chambered in something stronger than 9 mm. He searched for Zakhar. There was no sign of the cat.

Behind him, the old ibza still smoked and smoldered.

Impressed at the escape, he crossed back to the airboat. A pilot and two other soldiers sat aboard, bearing assault rifles, covering him. The headlamp of the swamp boat speared out into the darkness. The giant fan at the back of the craft slowly spun as the pilot idled its engine.

Borsakov climbed back aboard and waved them out into the dark swamp. The engine whined, the fan spun to a gale, and they sailed away from the glowing ruins of the hunter's lodge and headed back out into the night. The hunt would have been easier if they'd had the use of infrared scopes or night-vision goggles, but

Borsakov had discovered someone had sneaked into the supply shed sometime during the past day and damaged their limited equipment.

Either the American or the children.

They'd known they would be hunted.

Should we not report in with General-Major Martov? his second in command asked and reached to the team's radio.

Borsakov shook his head.

The general-major did not take setbacks well.

The airboat flew through the swamp.

He would call when the American was dead.

As they fled, Borsakov glanced back to the island, to the smoldering ruins and dead cat. He pictured the American and what he had accomplished.

Who was this man? And where did he get his training?

6:02 P. M.

Washington, D. C.

Trent McBride lifted the phone's receiver to his ear. They'd allowed him to use a wall phone and patched his call to Mapplethorpe's office. Trent was under no illusion that the conversation would be private. Someone was surely monitoring.

But that wouldn't stop him from calling in a status report.

After a few cursory exchanges with Mapplethorpe, Trent said, It looks like the girl may survive.

If she had died, then there would be no reason to proceed.

Very good, Mapplethorpe answered. A short and significant pause followed; then he spoke. How long until we know for sure?

Trent checked his watch and calculated how much time he'd need. To be certain.

Six hours, he said.

Middle of the night.

It would take coordination, but then they'd have everything.

Mapplethorpe growled with satisfaction. Then that's very good news indeed.

14

September 6, 11:04 P. M.

Punjab, India

We can go no farther, Abhi Bhanjee said.

Gray didn't argue. The Mercedes SUV was up to its axles in mud. Exhausted, his nerves stretched to a piano-wire tautness, he drove the truck up to a stonier piece of ground.

For the past two hours, rain had dumped heavily out of low skies. It seemed impossible for clouds to hold such volumes of water. They had left the mango orchards thirty miles ago and trekked through a landscape just as wooded, but here the terrain was wild. The rolling hills had given way to a broken escarpment of steep hills and cliffs. With the rain, creeks swelled and surged throughout the landscape. It was as if the entire world wept.

But at least the torrent of rain had drowned away the helicopters. The hunters had given up the chase after losing their prey among the thousands of acres of property. Abe knew the lands around here well and had guided them along a steep-walled valley out of the orchards and into this inhospitable terrain.

No one comes here, the man had said. Not good for farming.

That was an understatement.

We are not far, Abe assured them as Gray braked to a stop. Less than a kilometer. But we must walk from here.

Gray hid the SUV under the draping boughs of a banyan tree. Turning off the engine, he stared out at the cliffs and pictured the temple on the Greek coin.

Abe claimed such a structure lay out among these lands. It was where Dr. Polk had been headed the day he disappeared. Only a few local villagers knew of this place. It was a site both revered and feared by Abe's people, sacred ground for the achuta.

Why had Dr. Polk come out here? What had so excited the professor?

Water sluiced over the windshield, blurring the view.

Perhaps it's best if we wait for a break in the weather, Masterson suggested.

We can look for this temple after it stops raining.

Gray checked his watch. It was nearing midnight. He didn't want to be anywhere near here by morning. Come daylight, the helicopters would be out searching again. The tank-size Mercedes SUV would be easy to spot in the open hills. Gray had already taken measures and disabled the truck's GPS unit, fearing that was how the Russians had tracked them from Delhi.

He had many unanswered questions in his head, but he knew one thing for certain.

If they were going to track the last steps taken by Dr. Polk, they'd better do it now.

He swung around to address the passengers. I'm going with Abe. But the rest of you might want to stay with the vehicle.

Elizabeth raised her hand. I'm going with you. If there's some lost temple out there, you may need my help.

Kowalski nodded. And where she goes, I'm going.

Elizabeth glanced to him with a look that started out annoyed but melted into something less sure.

We should stay together, Rosauro said, grabbing their pack of gear.

Luca nodded.

Masterson rolled his eyes. It looks like we're all going to get wet.

With the matter decided, they piled out of the SUV and into the rain. After a couple of steps, Gray was soaked to the skin. His clothes seemed to have gained twenty pounds.

Kowalski cursed and glanced longingly back toward the SUV, but once Elizabeth moved, he followed in her footsteps.

Over this way, Abe said and pointed to a shattered cliff that rose up into ragged plateaus covered in trees. Roots tangled out of the sandstone walls, like the gnarled faces of old men, worn from the cliffs by rain and wind. Lightning crackled across the sky, booming with thunder.

The storm worsened.

Bone tired, Gray began to have further doubts about his plan. Since leaving

Delhi earlier in the day, he'd been unable to contact Sigma. They'd lost the team's satellite phone during the assault at the hotel. The prepaid cell phone he'd purchased in Delhi had no reception in this remote area.

They were on their own. And while Gray normally preferred to operate with as little oversight as possible, he had the civilians to consider.

Abe set out toward a narrow ravine cut into the cliff. A creek flowed down the center of it, chugging leadenly with runoff. A narrow path bordered it, with sheer walls rising to either side.

Gray followed Abe to the path. Once in the canyon, the rains lessened, as the winds were blocked. Still, water poured down the walls. The creek's rumble, trapped in the ravine, grew louder.

They continued single file.

The canyon zigzagged like a thunderbolt, growing narrower and taller as it cut into the high hills.

Abe narrated as he walked. Our people sometimes retreat here during times of persecution. My great-grandfather told stories of purges, where entire villages were destroyed. Those who escaped fled here to hide.

No wonder the achuta keep this place secret, Gray thought.

But these walls do not guarantee protection, Abe added cryptically. Not forever.

Gray glanced to him, but Abe stepped ahead to where the canyon split into two courses. Abe ran his hand along one wall, as if assuring himself of something then continued onward to the left.

Gray fingered where Abe had touched. There was writing inscribed into the wall, barely visible through the rain, just shadows on the rock.

Elizabeth studied the writing closer. Harappan, she said, surprised, and stared around her. We must be in the outer edges of the Indus Valley. A great civilization once made their home here.

Masterson agreed with a nod. The Harappans lived along the Indus River five thousand years ago, leaving behind the ruins of sophisticated cities and temples. You can find them throughout the region. Perhaps our young Hindu friend mistook one of the old Harappan ruins for the temple inscribed on the strange coin.

Gray continued onward. There's only one way to find out.

After another two turns, the canyon suddenly widened into a small bowl. Water tumbled into it on the far side, dumping over a short cliff and into a pool that fed the creek they'd been following.

Abe stopped and waved an arm around the bowl. We are here.

Gray frowned. The canyon was empty then lightning crackled with a brilliant display that lit the basin. Silvery light bathed the cliffs and reflected off the central pool.

All around the bowl, the sandstone walls had been dug out into notched tiers.

Each level sheltered cliff-dwelling homes. They climbed from floor to the lip that overhung the valley. Sections of homes had broken away over the centuries into boulders and rubble. It reminded Gray of the cliff dwellings of the Anasazi

Indians. But from the style of architecture, no Indians neither Native Americans nor the peoples of India had built these dwellings.

Gray stepped forward and turned in a circle. The facades of the homes were white marble, stark against the darker stone. The cliffs, composed of softer sandstone, had long been worn down by centuries of wind and rain. The homes looked like they grew straight out of the walls. The white marble reminded Gray of fossilized skeletons jutting out of a cliff face.

Despite being half swallowed by the storm-melted walls, the basic architectural elements of the marble structures were still evident. Low triangular roofs supported fluted columns. Carvings and sculptures, long softened by age, decorated pediments and cornices.

There was no doubt as to the source of the architecture.

It's Greek, Elizabeth said with awe. She stared around, water streaming down her face. A Greek temple complex. Hidden here.

Masterson stood beside her. He had his sodden hat in hand and combed his fingers through his soaked white hair. Simply amazing. Archibald, you old fool, you could've told me

Gray also gaped, wonder washing away his exhaustion.

Elizabeth pointed. That's a temple in antis, one of the simplest Greek architectural units. Over there's a later-era prostyle structure. And look at that rounded facade of columns. It must mark a tholos, a circular temple, burrowed into the cliff.

While she spoke, Gray's attention focused upon a structure on the far side of the bowl. His heart beat harder. A temple lay halfway up the cliff face.

Boulders were strewn at the foot of it, marking where a part of the canyon's lip had cracked and fallen. Rainwater flowed through the upper crack and streamed across the front of the temple, giving it a watery, illusory appearance.

But there was no mistaking it.

Six columns supported a triangular roof and framed a dark doorway.

Just like on the coin, Rosauro said, noting his attention.

Abe headed toward the tall temple. That is not all.

Straining with curiosity, Gray followed and dragged the wet party with him.

Once they reached the pile of boulders, Abe crossed to one side and waved them to follow. He mounted the stack of boulders and clambered higher. He seemed to know a path up the rubble.

Climbing single file, they followed the Hindu man.

Elizabeth and Masterson continued an ongoing dialogue. Why do you think they built the temple complex here? And in such an odd manner?

They were clearly hiding, Masterson said. It's a bloody hard place to find, especially buried into these walls. But I've seen similar cliff-dwelling arrangements among the Harappan ruins deeper in the Indus Valley. Perhaps these builders took over an old Harappan site, modified it to their tastes.

That could be. It was common for one civilization to build atop another.

As they talked, Gray stared at the temple. Closer now, he saw that what he'd thought were black shadows on the marble columns were actually old scorch marks.

Finer details emerged. Cracks and fissures marred the facade; one large section of the upper pediment had broken away.

Gray suspected the damage was not from age alone. It looked like an ancient battle had been fought here.

Ahead, Abe jumped off the top boulder and climbed between two pillars. Gray went next and shimmied onto the marble floor of the temple, finally out of the rain.

The six support columns stood a yard from the building they fronted, creating a small porch.

He stood to make room for the others. Kowalski and Luca helped Elizabeth and

Masterson. Rosauro came last, burdened with a pack. With everyone gathered, Gray headed to the door, but Abe knelt for a moment and whispered a prayer. Gray waited, sensing to do otherwise would be like trespassing.

Abe stood and nodded.

Gray took out a small flashlight and flicked it on. He entered first, his light blazing into the dark interior.

The chamber was large and perfectly square, twenty feet on a side and again as tall. More columns lined the walls, several broken into rubble. Dug out of the center of the floor was a fire pit, deeply blackened. To either side, arched openings led into side chambers, like chapels in a church.

Gray noted something piled in the smaller rooms. He shifted for a closer look as the others entered the temple. Abe kept to the side, his arms crossed nervously.

He didn't follow.

As Gray pointed his flashlight, he understood the Hindu man's reluctance. Bones filled the room, stacked like cords of wood, topped by hundreds of skulls. All human. From the rotted appearance and yellowing, the skeletons were ancient.

Gray pictured the scorch marks on the building.

Abe spoke. We were told stories, passed from father to son, mother to daughter.

Of a great battle here. A thousand years ago. It is told how our ancestors found this place full of bones. In honor of the dead, we gathered their remains and interred them in these temples. He waved toward the bowl outside. There are many more bones out there.

Gray turned away from the room. Someone had discovered these people and massacred them. He remembered Abe's cryptic words from earlier.

These walls do not guarantee protection. Not forever.

The fate of the original inhabitants was a warning to Abe's people. It was a good place to hide, but one could not escape the world forever.

Gray stepped over to the only other feature in the room.

Like the temple facade, this feature was also depicted on the coin.

Gray crossed to the back wall and shone his light across its surface. The wall of creamy marble had been inset with stark black stone, forming a familiar symbol, climbing twenty feet tall.

A chakra wheel, Elizabeth said, mystified. She pulled out a pocket-size digital camera and began taking pictures. Like the other side of the coin.

Luca ran a hand along the wall. Gray could read his thoughts. Was this the ancient symbol that was the source of the Romani emblem?

Had Archibald Polk wondered the same?

Kowalski sighed, clearly not impressed with the room. What a let-down.

What are you talking about? Elizabeth chided. This is the archaeological and anthropological discovery of a lifetime.

He shrugged. Yeah, but so what? Where's all the gold and jewels?

Gray hated to admit it, but he agreed with Kowalski. He stepped away. He swung the flashlight in a full circle around the chamber. Something was missing, but it wasn't gold or precious gems.

Rosauro joined him. What's wrong?

Something's not here, he mumbled.

What?

Others heard them in the confined space. They stared over.

Gray made one more circle. On the coin there was that prominent E? The Greek letter epsilon.

He's right, Elizabeth said.

Gray wiped drips of rain from his face. Everything on the coin is found here the temple facade, the chakra wheel so where is the Greek letter?

It's one minor detail, Masterson said. What does it matter?

It's not minor, Elizabeth argued. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to mimic the temple complex at Delphi. What we saw outside the temple in antis was the shape of the Delphi's treasury buildings, the round tholos temple looked like a fair facsimile of the one built to worship Athena at Delphi. And this place here. The exterior and interior are how the Oracle's temple was laid out.

And the E was one of its most prominent decorations.

Gray recalled his discussion with Painter, about how the Delphic E grew to symbolize a cult of prophecy, a code trailing throughout history in art and architecture.

Luca stepped forward. I may also know of this letter.

Gray turned to the Gypsy clan leader.

I told you of the children who were stolen from us, he said. Those of my people who first came upon the massacred camp spoke of a stone church there. The door had been broken open, but upon the shattered planks a large bronze E was found. No one knew what it meant. The only ones who knew were buried in that mass grave. The secret died with them. Perhaps this is the same E?

Marking the chovihanis, Gray thought. Gypsy fortune-tellers. Another cult of prophecy.

All well and good, Masterson persisted, plainly growing tired, too. But what does it matter if the E is missing here?

Maybe nothing, Gray admitted, but he said it with little conviction. He turned to Abe. When did you first show Dr. Polk this site?

He shrugged. I took Dr. Polk here the first time a year ago. He looked around, took notes, and left.

Elizabeth's eyes looked wounded. He didn't tell me anything about this discovery.

Because he respected our secrets, Abe said stiffly. He was a good man.

Gray studied Masterson's sour expression. The professor had initially been surprised by the discovery, but after the shock faded and he found no real worth to his own line of research, his interest had waned. Had Dr. Polk experienced the same? The archaeological discovery was significant, but because he couldn't connect it to his own research, he'd respected the achuta's secret and had kept quiet about it.

If so, why the sudden urgency to come out here just before he disappeared? He must have discovered some new connection, something bearing on his own line of study.

Gray asked Abe, Was there anything that triggered Dr. Polk's sudden need to come here? Anything unusual that led up to that day?

The man shook his head. He came to visit the village. Like he had done many times. We were talking about an upcoming election where an achuta candidate was up for a mayoral position. I had found a new coin and showed him, but he asked to see the one with the temple on it again. He glanced at it without too much interest, even spinning it on the table as we spoke. Then suddenly his eyes got huge, and he jumped up. He wanted to immediately come here, but I had obligations with the election. I asked him to wait until I returned

His voice trailed off and was picked up by Elizabeth. My father was not known for his patience.

Masterson nodded. That was the day I got the frantic call from him. He claimed that he had discovered something that would shake our understanding of the human mind once it was known.

As an idea jangled through him, Gray turned to Rosauro. Let me see that coin again.

She passed it over.

Gray examined it: temple on one side, chakra wheel on the other. Elizabeth, you said your father obtained that position for you at Delphi so you could explore how it might connect to his own research. What did you end up telling him about

Delphi's history?

Just the basics, she said. He was less interested in the history than he was in the discovery of ethylene gases near the temple site. My father wanted more details into the Oracle's rituals, looking again for physiological support for her intuitive powers.

So if he wasn't interested in the history, when did he learn about the significance of the Greek letter epsilon?

I sent him a paper on it.

When?

About a month before he Her eyes suddenly widened.

Gray nodded. He knelt on the marble floor and placed his flashlight down.

Propping the coin up on its edge, Gray flicked it and sent it spinning on the floor, lit by the flashlight beam.