Текст книги "Sandstorm"

Автор книги: James Rollins

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He even moved to stand in front of Cassandra, shielding her.

“I see you recognize a deadman’s switch,” she said behind him. “If I die, poor Dr. al-Maaz loses her pretty little head.”

Omaha heard her words. He had already shoved Safia behind him. “What is this bitch talking about?”

“Why don’t you explain, Crowe? I mean the transceiver isyour design.”

He turned to her. “The tracker is… notthe bomb.”

“What bomb?” Omaha asked, his eyes both scared and angry.

Painter explained, “When Cassandra had Safia in her custody, she implanted a small tracking device. Cassandra modified it with a small amount of C4. She holds the detonator. If she lets go of the trigger, it will blow.”

“Why didn’t you tell us before?” Omaha said. “We could’ve removed it.”

“Do that and it blows, too,” Cassandra said. “Unless I first deactivate it.”

Painter glared at her, then back to Safia. “I’d hoped to get you somewhere safe, then have a surgical and demolition team remove the device.”

His explanation did little to quell the horror in her eyes. And Painter knew some of it was directed at him. This was his job.

“So now that we’re all friends,” Cassandra said, “I’ll ask you to throw all your weapons out into that courtyard. Everyone now. I’m certain Dr. Crowe will ensure that every weapon is accounted for. One slip and I may have to lift my finger and scold someone. We wouldn’t want that to happen, would we?”

Painter had no choice. He did as Cassandra instructed. Rifles, pistols, knives, and two grenade launchers were piled into the courtyard.

As Coral threw her half-assembled gun with the others, she remained by the entry. Her eyes were on the cavern. Painter followed her gaze.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“The storm. It’s grown worse since your arrival. Much worse.” She pointed to the roof. “The energy is not draining fast enough. It’s destabilizing.”

“What does that mean?”

“The storm is building into a powder keg in here.” She turned to him. “This place is going to blow.”

7:22 P.M.

FROM THEsecond-story balcony of the palace, Safia stared with the others out at the maelstrom. The cavern roof could no longer be seen. The roiling clouds of static charge had begun a slow spin across the dome, a vortex of static. In the center, a small downspout could be seen, perceptibly lowering, like the funnel cloud of a tornado. It aimed for the antimatter lake.

“Novak’s right,” Cassandra said. She was studying the phenomenon through her night-vision goggles. “The entire dome is filling up.”

“It’s the megastorm,” Coral said. “It must be much stronger than the ancient storm that triggered the cataclysm two thousand years ago. It’s overwhelming the capacity here. And I can’t help but think a fair amount of the lake water is probably destabilized like the contents of the iron camel.”

“What will happen?” Safia asked.

Coral explained, “Have you ever seen an overloaded transformer blow? It can take out an entire power pole. Now picture one the size of this cavern. One with a concentrated antimatter core. It has the capability of taking out the entire Arabian Peninsula.”

The sobering thought silenced them all.

Safia watched the vortex of energies churn. The funnel in the center continued to drop, slowly, inexorably. Primitive fear laced through her.

“So what can we do?” This question came from an unlikely source. Cassandra. She pulled up her night-vision goggles. “We have to stop this.”

Omaha scoffed. “Like you want to help?”

“I don’t want to die. I’m not insane.”

“Just evil,” Omaha muttered.

“I prefer the word ‘opportunistic.’ ” She directed her attention back to Coral. “Well?”

Coral shook her head.

“We ground it,” Painter said. “If this glass bubble is the insulator for this energy, then we need to find a way to shatter the bubble’s underside, ground the electrical storm, send its energy into the earth.”

“It’s not a bad theory, Commander,” Coral said. “Especially if you could break the glass under the lake itself, get the antimatter waters to drain into the original Earth-generated water system from whence it came. Not only would the energy dissipate, but it would lessen the risk of an antimatter chain reaction. The enriched waters would simply dilute away to the point of impotency.”

Safia felt a glimmer of hope. It didn’t last past Coral’s next words.

“It’s the practical application of that plan that’s the big problem. We don’t have a bomb massive enough to blow out the bottom of the lake.”

For the next few minutes, Safia listened to the discussions of possible explosive devices while knowing what lay implanted in her own neck, knowing what had happened back in Tel Aviv, back at the British Museum. Bombs marked the turning points in her life. They might as well mark her end. The threat should have terrified her, but she was beyond fear.

She closed her eyes.

She half noted the various ideas being bandied aloud, from rocket-propelled grenades even to the bit of C4 in her neck.

“There’s nothing here strong enough,” Coral said.

“Yes, there is,” Safia said, opening her eyes. She remembered the blast at the British Museum. She pointed down into the courtyard. “It’s not a camel, but it may do.”

The others stared where she pointed.

To the giant iron sphere resting in the glass palm.

“We sink it into the lake,” Safia said.

“The world’s largest depth charge,” Danny said.

“But how do you know it will explode like the camel?” Coral asked. “It might just fizzle like the iron maiden. These iron artifacts don’t all function the same way.”

“I’ll show you,” Safia said.

She turned and led the way back down the stairs. Once in the main room, she waved to each of the sand-painted walls. “Opposite the entry is the first Ubar, a rendering of its discovery. Over on that far wall is the depiction of Ubar above. Its face to the world. And this wall, of course, is the true heart of Ubar, its pillared glass city.” She touched the painting of the palace. “The detail is amazing, even down to the sandstone statues guarding the entrance. But on this picture bothstatues are shown.”

“Because one was used as a vessel for the first key,” Omaha said.

Safia nodded. “This depiction was done obviously before the destruction. But note what’s missing. No iron sphere. No glass palm. In the center of the painting’s courtyard stands the queen of Ubar. A place of prominence and importance. Xmarks the spot, so to speak.”

“What do you mean?” Cassandra asked.

Safia had to bite back a sneer. Her effort to save her friends, to save Arabia, would also be saving Cassandra. Safia continued, not meeting the woman’s eye. “Symmetry was important in the past. Balance in all things. The new object was placed on a site that matches the position of the queen in the rendering. A place of distinction. It must be important.”

Omaha turned, staring out the entry to the iron sphere. “Even the way the palm is positioned. If you straightened the wrist, it would be like she’s throwing the sphere toward the lake.”

Safia faced them all. “It’s the queen’s last key. A failsafe. A bomb left to destroy the lake if needed.”

“But can you be sure?” Painter asked.

“What does it hurt to try?” Omaha countered. “Either it works or it doesn’t.”

Coral had wandered to the entrance. “If we’re going to try this, we’d better hurry.”

Safia and the others crowded forward.

In the center of the cavern, a glowing funnel cloud twisted and writhed.

Below it, the antimatter lake had begun to churn, matching the vortex on the roof.

“What do we do first?” Painter asked.

“I have to place my hands on the sphere,” Safia said. “Activate it like all the other keys.”

“Then we get the ball rolling,” Omaha said.

7:35 P.M.

OMAHA STOODon the sandy path out in the courtyard. It had taken a minute to sweep the trail so it reached the cradled sphere. Safia stood before the four-foot-wide globe of red iron.

The skies raged above.

Safia approached the sphere. She rubbed her palms, then reached between the glass fingers of the sculpture.

Omaha saw her shoulder flinch, the bullet wound paining her. He wanted to rush to her side, pull her away, but she bit her lower lip and placed both palms on the sphere.

As her skin touched metal, a crackling blue flash arced over the iron’s surface. Safia flew back with a yelp.

Omaha caught her in his arms and helped her gain her feet on the sand.

“Thanks.”

“Sure, babe.” He kept one arm around her and helped her back to the palace. She leaned on him. It felt good.

“The grenade is set on a two-minute timer,” Painter said. “Get to cover.” He had planted the explosive charge at the base of the sculpture. The plan was to blast the sphere free.

Gravity would do the rest. The avenue beyond the palace flowed all the way to the lake. Purposeful,Safia had said. The ball, once freed, was meant to roll to the lake on its own.

Omaha helped Safia back into the main room.

A blindingly bright flash flared behind them, burning their shadows on the far wall of the main room. Omaha gasped, fearing it was the grenade.

He jerked Safia to the side, but there was no explosion.

“One of the static bolts,” Coral said, rubbing her eyes. “It struck the sphere.”

Safia and Omaha swung around. Out in the courtyard, the iron’s surface shimmered with blue energies. They watched the glass sculpture melt slowly, tilting on its own. The hand spilled the ball onto the courtyard floor. It bobbled, then rolled toward the arched entry.

It passed through and continued on.

Coral sighed. “Beautiful.” Omaha had never heard so much respect uttered in one word.

He nodded. “That queen would have made a great professional bowler.”

“Down!” Painter shoved them all to the side, clotheslining Omaha across the neck.

The explosion deafened. Glass shards spattered into the room from the courtyard outside. Painter’s grenade had gone off on schedule.

As the blast echoed away, Omaha met his eyes. “Good job there.” He patted Painter on the shoulder. “Good job.”

“It’s still rolling!” Danny called from above.

They all hurried up the stairs to the upper balcony, where everyone else was gathered.

Omaha pushed forward with Safia.

The course of the iron sphere was easy to follow. Its movement drew bolts from the roof, zapping it again and again. Its surface glowed with a cerulean aura. It bounced, rolled, and wended its way down the royal avenue.

Forked lightning struck and dazzled-but it kept rolling to the lake.

“It’s energizing itself,” Coral said. “Drawing power into it.”

“Becoming the depth charge,” Danny said.

“What if it blows up as soon as it touches the lake?” Clay asked, hanging back, ready to duck into the palace at the first sign of trouble.

Coral shook her head. “As long as it keeps dropping, moving throughthe water, it’ll only leave a trail of annihilation. But the reaction will end as soon as the ball moves on.”

“But when it stops, rests at the bottom…” Danny said.

Coral finished: “Then the weight of all the water above it, pressing on the stationary object, will trigger a localized chain reaction. Enough to light the proverbial fuse on our depth charge.”

“Then boom,” Danny said.

“Boom indeed,” Coral concurred.

All eyes remained on the glowing ball.

All eyes saw it reach the halfway point, roll along a ramp, hit a tumbled pile of debris from Cassandra’s bombardment… and stop.

“Shit,” Danny mumbled.

“Shit indeed,” Coral concurred.

7:43 P.M.

SAFIA STOODwith the others on the balcony, as dismayed as the rest. Arguments raged around her.

“What about using one of the RPGs?” Cassandra asked, staring through her night-vision goggles.

“Shoot a grenade at an energized antimatter bomb?” Omaha said. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

“And if you miss the debris pile,” Painter said, “you’ll bring down another wall and block the road even more. Right now, it’s only hung up. If it could be rolled aside a couple of feet…”

Cassandra sighed. Safia noted the woman’s finger still pressed the transmitter, protecting it from anyone’s reach. Cassandra could definitely focus. With all that was going on, all the danger, she was not letting go of her trump card, keeping it in play, clearly intending to use it if everything worked out. She was a stubborn fighter.

Then again, so was Safia.

Clay held his arms crossed over his chest. “What we need is someone to go out and give it a good push.”

“Feel free to try,” Cassandra said with clear disdain. “The first sign of movement and you’ll be bathing in molten glass.”

Coral stirred, previously lost in deep thought. “Of course. It’s movement that draws the bolts, like the rolling ball.”

“Or my men,” Cassandra added.

“The bolts must be attracted to shifts in some electromagnetic field, a giant motion-detecting field.” Coral stared down. “But what if someone could move through the field unseen?”

“How?” Painter asked.

Coral glanced to the hodjaand the other Rahim. “They can be unseen when they want to be.”

“But that’s not physical,” Painter said. “It’s some way they affect the viewer’s mind, clouding perception.”

“Yes, but how do they do that?”

No one answered.

Coral stared around, then straightened. “Oh, I never told you.”

“You know?” Painter said.

Coral nodded and glanced at Safia, then away. “I studied their blood.”

Safia remembered Coral had been about to mention something about that when Cassandra’s forces had attacked. What was this about?

Coral pointed toward the cavern. “Like the lake, the water in the Rahim’s red blood cells-all their cells and fluids, I imagine-is full of buckyballs.”

“They have antimatter in them?” Omaha asked.

“No, of course not. It’s just that their fluids have the capability of maintaining water in buckyball configurations. I wager the ability comes from some mutation in their mitochondrial DNA.”

Dread grew in Safia’s chest. “What?”

Painter touched her elbow. “A little slower.”

Coral sighed. “Commander, remember the briefing on the Tunguska explosion in Russia? Mutations arose in flora and fauna of the area. The indigenous Evenk tribe developed genetic abnormalities in their blood, specifically their Rh factors. All caused by gamma radiation from antimatter annihilation.” She waved an arm out toward the storm raging. “The same here. For who knows how many generations, the population residing here has been exposed to gamma radiation. Then a pure bit of chance happened. Some woman developed a mutation-not in her own DNA, but the DNA in her cellular mitochondria.”

“Mitochondria?” Safia asked, trying to remember her basic biology.

“They are the small organelles inside all cells, floating in the cytoplasm, little engines that produce cellular energy. They’re a cell’s batteries, to use a crude analogy. But they have their own DNA, independent of a person’s genetic code. It is believed that mitochondria were once some type of bacteria that absorbed into mammalian cells during evolution. The little bit of DNA is left over from the mitochondria’s former independent life. And as mitochondria are found only in the cytoplasm of cells, it is the mitochondria of a mother’s egg that becomes the mitochondria of the child. That’s why the ability passes only through the queen’s line.”

Coral swept a hand over the Rahim.

“And it is these mitochondria that mutated from the gamma radiation?” Omaha asked.

“Yes. A minor mutation. The mitochondria still produce energy for the cell, but it also produces a little spark to actively maintain buckyball configuration, giving it a little juice. I wager this effect has something to do with the energy fields in this chamber. The mitochondria are attuned to it, aligning the charge of a buckyball to match the energy here.”

“And these charged buckyballs give these women some mental powers?” Painter asked, incredulous.

“The brain is ninety percent water,” Coral said. “Charge that system up with buckyballs and anything could happen. We’ve seen the women’s ability to affect magnetic fields. This transmission of magnetic force, directed by human will and thought, seems to be able to affect the waters in the brains of lower creatures and somewhat upon us. Affecting our will and perception.”

Coral’s eyes glanced to the Rahim. “And if focused inward, the magnetic force can stop meiosis in their own eggs, producing a self-fertilized egg. Asexual reproduction.”

“Parthenogenesis,” Safia whispered.

“Okay,” Painter said. “Even if I could accept all that, how does any of this get us out of this mess?”

“Haven’t you been listening?” Coral asked, glancing over her shoulder to the vortex of storm, above and now stirring the lake. They were running out of time. Minutes only. “If one of the Rahim concentrates, she can attune herself to this energy, alter her magnetic force to match the electromagnetic detecting field. They should be able to walk through safely.”

“How do they do that?”

“By willing themselves invisible.”

“Who would be willing to take that chance?” Omaha asked.

The hodjastepped forward. “I will. I sense the truth in her words.”

Coral took a deep breath, licked her lips, and spoke. “I’m afraid you’re too weak. And I don’t mean physically…at least not exactly.”

Lu’lu frowned.

Coral explained, “With the storm raging, the forces out there are intense. It will take more than experience. It will take someone extremely rich in buckyballs.”

Turning, Coral’s eyes met Safia’s. “As you know, I tested several of the Rahim, including the elder here. They only have a tenth of the buckyballs found in your cells.”

Safia frowned. “How is that possible? I’m only half Rahim.”

“But the right half. Your mother was Rahim. It was hermitochondria that were passed to your cells. And there is a condition in nature called ‘hybrid vigor,’ where the crossing of two different lines produces stronger offspring than crossing the same line over and over again.”

Danny nodded to the side. “Mutts are basically healthier than pure-breds.”

“You’re new blood,” Coral concluded. “And the mitochondria like it.”

Omaha stepped to Safia’s side. “You want herto walk to the trapped sphere. Through that electrical storm.”

Coral nodded. “I believe she’s the only one who could make it.”

“Screw that,” Omaha said.

Safia squeezed his elbow. “I’ll do it.”

8:07 P.M.

OMAHA WATCHEDSafia standing out on the sandy path in the courtyard. She had refused to let him come. She was alone with the hodja.So he waited in the entryway. Painter stood vigil with him. The man looked none too pleased with Safia’s choice either. In this, the two men were united.

But this choice was Safia’s.

Her argument was simple and irrefutable: Either it works or we all die anyway.

So the men waited.

Safia listened.

“It is not hard,” the hodjasaid. “To become invisible is not a concentration of will. It is the letting go of will.”

Safia frowned. But the hodja’s words matched Coral’s. The mitochondria produced charged buckyballs aligned to the energy signature in the room. All she had to do was let them settle into their natural alignment.

The hodjaheld out a hand. “First you’ll need to strip out of your clothes.”

Safia glanced sharply at her.

“Clothes affect our ability to turn invisible. If that woman scientist was right with all that mumbo jumbo, clothes might interfere with the field we generate over our bodies. Better safe than sorry.”

Safia shed her cloak, kicked her boots off, and shimmied out of blouse and pants. In her bra and panties, she turned to Lu’lu. “Lycra and silk. I’m keeping them on.”

She shrugged. “Now relax yourself. Find a place of comfort and peace.”

Safia took deep breaths. After years of panic attacks, she had learned methods for centering herself. But it seemed too small, a pittance against the pressure around her.

“You must have faith,” the hodjasaid. “In yourself. In your blood.”

Safia inhaled deeply. She glanced back to the palace, to Omaha and Painter. In the men’s eyes, she saw their need to help her. But this was her path. To walk alone. She knew this in places beyond where her heart beat.

She turned forward, resolved but scared. So much blood had been shed in the past. In Tel Aviv…at the museum…on the long road here. She had brought all of these folks here. She could no longer hide. She had to walk this path.

Safia closed her eyes and let all doubt flow from her.

This was her path.

She evened her breathing, releasing control to a more natural rhythm.

“Very good, child. Now take my hand.”

Safia reached over and gripped the old woman’s palm, gratefully, surprised at the strength there. She continued to relax. Fingers squeezed, reassuring her. She recognized the touch from long ago. It was her mother’s hand. Warmth flowed from this connection. It swelled through her.

“Step forward,” the hodjawhispered. “Trust me.”

It was her mother’s voice. Calm, reassuring, firm.

Safia obeyed. Bare feet moved from sand to glass. One foot, then the other. She moved off the path, her arm behind her, holding her mother’s hand.

“Open your eyes.”

She did, breathing evenly, keeping the warmth of maternal love deep inside her. But eventually one had to let go. She slipped her fingers free and took another step. The warmth stayed with her. Her mother was gone, but her love lived on, in her, in her blood, in her heart.

She walked on as the storm raged in flame and glass.

At peace.

Omaha was on his knees. He didn’t even know when he fell. He watched Safia walk away, shimmering, still present, but ethereal. As she brushed through the shadow under the courtyard archway, she completely vanished for a moment.

He held his breath.

Then, beyond the palace grounds, she reappeared, a wisp, moving steadily downward, limned in storm light.

Tears brimmed in his eyes.

Her face, caught in silhouette, was so contented. If given the chance, he would spend the rest of his life making sure she never lost that look.

Painter shifted, moving back, as silent as a tomb.

Painter climbed the stairs to the second level, leaving Omaha alone. He crossed to where the entire group gathered. All eyes watched Safia’s progress down through the lower city.

Coral glanced to him, her expression worried.

And with good reason.

The swirling vortex of charges neared the lake’s surface. Below it, the lake continued its own whirling churn, and in the center, lit by the fires above, a water spout was rising upward, a reverse whirlpool. The energies above and the antimatter below were stretching to join.

If they touched, it was the end of everything: themselves, Arabia, possibly the world.

Painter focused down upon the ghost of a woman moving sedately along the storm-lit streets, as if she had all the time in the world. She vanished completely when in shadows. He willed her to be safe, but also to move faster. His gaze fluttered between storm and woman.

Omaha appeared from below, hurrying to join them, having lost sight of Safia from his post below. His eyes glistened, full of hope, terror, and as much as Painter didn’t want to see it, love.

Painter swung his attention back to the cavern.

Safia was almost to the sphere.

“C’mon…” Omaha moaned.

It was an emotion shared by all.

Safia gently walked down the stairs. She had to step with care. The passage of the iron sphere had crushed its way through. Loose glass littered the steps. Cuts pierced her heel and toes.

She ignored the pain, keeping calm, breathing through it.

Ahead the iron sphere appeared. Its surface glowed with an azure blue aura. She stepped up and studied the obstruction: a fallen section of wall. The ball had to be rolled two feet to the left, and it would continue its plummet. She glanced the rest of the way down. It was a clear shot to the lake. There were no other tumbles to block the sphere’s path a second time. All she had to do was shift it over. Though heavy, it was a perfect sphere. One good shove and it would roll clear.

She moved next to it, set her legs, raised her palms, took another cleansing breath, and shoved.

The electrical shock from the charged iron shot into her, arcing over her body and out her toes. She spasmed, neck thrown back, bones on fire. Her momentum and convulsive jerk shoved the sphere away, rolling it free.

But as her body broke contact, a final crack of energy snapped her like a whip. She was flung backward, hard. Her head hit the wall behind her. The world went dark, and she fell into nothingness.

Safia…!

Omaha could not breathe. He had seen the brilliant arc of energy and watched her be tossed aside like a rag doll. She landed in crumpled pile, no longer ethereal, grounded. She was not moving.

Unconscious, electrocuted, or dead?

Oh, God…

He spun around.

Painter grabbed his arm. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“I have to get to her.”

Fingers tightened on his arm. “The storm will kill you within two steps.”

Kara joined him. “Omaha…Painter’s right.”

Cassandra stood by the rail, watching everything through her damned scopes. “As long as she doesn’t move, she shouldn’t attract the bolts. I’m not sure that’s a great place to be when the sphere hits the lake, though. Out in the open like that.”

Omaha saw that the sphere was almost to the lake. Beyond, the titanic forces swirled. An hourglass hung in the center of the vast cavern. A tornado of charge coming down to meet a rising spout of water.

And the ball rolled toward it.

Lightning bolts chased the sphere, stabbing at it.

“I have to try!” Omaha said, and ripped away. He sprinted down the stairs.

Painter followed at his heels. “Goddamnit, Omaha! Don’t throw your life away!”

Omaha landed. “It’s my life.”

He slid to the entryway, dropping onto his rear, skidding. He yanked off his boots. His left ankle, sprained, protested the rough treatment.

Painter frowned at his actions. “It’s not just your life. Safia loves you. If you truly care about her, don’t do this.”

Omaha pulled off his socks. “I’m not throwing my life away.” He crawled on his knees to the entryway and scooped handfuls of sand from the path and poured them into his socks.

“What are you doing?”

“Making sand shoes.” Omaha leaned back and shoved his feet into the socks, squeezing them inside and massaging the sand so it covered the bottoms of his feet.

Painter stared at his actions. “Why didn’t you…Safia wouldn’t’ve had to…”

“I just thought of it. Necessity is the mother of goddamn invention.”

“I’m going with you.”

“No time.” Omaha pointed to Painter’s bare feet. “No socks.”

He sprinted away, skidding and skating across the sandy path. He reached the clean glass and kept running. He wasn’t as confident of his plan as he had portrayed to Painter. Bolts dazzled around him. Panic fueled run. Sand hurt his toes. His ankle flamed with every step.

But he kept running.

Cassandra had to give these folks some credit. They did have balls of steel. She tracked Omaha’s mad flight through the streets. Had a man ever loved her with so much heart?

She noted Painter’s return but did not look his way.

Would I have let him?

Cassandra watched the sphere’s last few bounces. It now rolled toward the lake, aglow with cobalt energies. She had a job to finish here. She considered all her options, weighed the possibilities if they survived the next minute. She kept a finger pressed to the button.

She saw Painter staring at Safia below as Omaha reached her.

She and Painter had both lost out.

Off by the shore, the sphere took a final hop, bounced up, and landed in the water with a splash.

Omaha reached Safia. She lay unmoving. Bolts rained fire all around him. His eyes were only on her.

Her chest rose and fell. Alive.

Off in the direction of the lake, a huge splash sounded like a belly flop.

The depth charge had been dropped.

No time. They needed shelter.

He scooped Safia in his arms and swung around. He had to keep her from touching any surfaces. Carrying her prone form, her head resting on his shoulder, he stepped toward the opening of an intact home and ducked inside. It might not protect him from the deadly static bolts, but he had no idea what would happen when the sphere reached the lake. A roof over his head seemed like a good idea.

The motion stirred Safia. She moaned. “Omaha…”

“I’m here, baby…” He crouched down, cradling her on his knees, balanced on his sand shoes. “I’m here.”

As Omaha and Safia vanished into a building, Painter watched the flume of water geyser up after the iron sphere hit the water. It was as if the ball had been dropped from the Empire State Building. It shot toward the roof, cascading outward, water droplets igniting when they brushed the dazzle of the storm, raining back down as liquid fire.

Antimatter annihilation.

The whirl in the lake eddied and shook. The waterspout jiggled.

But overhead, the vortex of static charge continued its deadly descent.

Painter concentrated on the lake.

Already the whirlpool settled again, churning away with tidal forces.

Nothing happened.

Fire from the plume struck the lake, ignited pools, which quickly extinguished, reestablishing its equilibrium state. Nature loves balance.

“The ball must still be rolling,” Coral said, “seeking the lowest point in the lake bottom. The deeper the water, the better. The heightened pressure will help trigger the localized chain reaction and direct its force downward.”

Painter turned to her. “Does your mind ever stop calculating?”

She shrugged. “No, why?”

Danny stood at her side. “And if the sphere reaches the lowest point, then that’s also the best place to crack the glass over any Earth-generated cistern, draining the lake water away.”

Painter shook his head. Those two were peas in a pod.

Cassandra straightened next to Kara. The five of them were the last ones still on the balcony. Lu’lu had led the Rahim to the back rooms below. Captain al-Haffi and Barak led the handful of Shahra.

“Something’s happening,” Cassandra said.

Out on the lake, a patch of black water glowed a ruddy crimson. It was not a reflection. The glow came from deep below. A fire under the lake. In just the half second it took to look, the crimson blasted out in all directions.

A deep sonorous whumpsounded.

The entire lake lifted a few feet and dropped.

Ripples spread outward from the lake’s center. The growing waterspout collapsed.

“Get below!” Painter yelled.

Too late.

A force, neither wind nor concussion, blasted outward, flattening the lake, sweeping in all directions, pushing before it a wall of superheated air.