“First, Antarctica, and now here,” the offscreen anchorman’s voice asked him. “Why do you think this is happening?”
There was a two-second lag, then the scientist’s professorial face reacted to hearing the question. “Look, I’m . . . I don’t know what it is or where it’s coming from,” he answered with a gruff voice. “What I do know is that it can’t be a coincidence that this—this sign is showing up over what can only be described as disaster areas. I mean, that ice shelf in Antarctica that’s crumbling, and this glacier here—they’re ground zero. I’ve been studying these glaciers here for over twenty years.” He turned and waved a gloved hand at the gray-white expanse behind him. “You’d look out across the land there and it used to be pure white. Nothing but snow and ice, year-round. Now you look at it and it’s more blue than white. It’s melting so fast that we’ve now got lakes and rivers all over the place, and that water’s working its way down to the bedrock and loosening the bases of the glaciers, which is why they’ve started to slide out to sea. And if this one goes,” he pointed out gravely, “we’re talking a three-foot rise in global sea levels. Which could then trigger all kinds of nightmare upheavals. So, you ask me what I think is happening? I think it’s pretty obvious. Nature’s flashing us a red alert here, and I think we need to take that warning seriously, before it’s too late.”
Gracie stood there, rooted in silence, as the report cut away to a montage of reactions to the sign’s second appearance. The images were breathtaking. A large crowd congregated in Times Square, watching the scenes unfold on the huge screen, the crawler underneath announcing the sighting in bold letters. Similar scenes were captured in London, Moscow, and other major cities. What the first appearance seeded, this second one reaped in spades, in terms of impact. The world was sitting up and taking notice.
Gracie glanced over at Dalton and Finch, and felt a surge of trepidation. Something unprecedented was happening, something big and wonderful and baffling and terrifying all at the same time—and she was right at the heart of it.
The satphone startled her and dragged her attention away from the screen. It was Ogilvy, calling from his cell, as per their agreed communication protocol.
“I just got a call from the Pentagon,” he informed her. “Two DIA guys just landed in McMurdo and found out you’d skipped town. They’re pretty pissed off,” he said with a light chuckle.
Gracie frowned. “What did you have to tell them?”
“Nothing. It’s still a free country. Sort of. But they’ll track you to Cairo Airport pretty quickly, if they haven’t done it already. From there . . . who knows. You might want to switch off your phones.”
“There’s no signal out here anyway,” she told him, “but we need to keep in touch. We’re pretty cut off out here.”
“Check your satphone every hour; I’ll text you if anything comes up.” Ogilvy impressed her with his sangfroid.
“We’ll do that,” she confirmed. “And I’ll get you the landline of the monastery too, just in case.”
“Good.” Ogilvy’s voice took on a more serious tone. “Did you meet him yet?”
“No, we just got here.”
“Talk to Father Jerome, Gracie. Do it quickly. The whole world’s watching. And we’ve got to keep our lead on this thing. It’s ours for the taking.”
Gracie felt a hard lump in her throat. She glanced uneasily at the monks as she stepped away and turned her back to them, lowering her voice. “We’ve got to be careful here, Hal. We can’t just announce this without taking the necessary precautions.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, this is a Muslim country. I’m not sure they’d react kindly to something that smells like a Second Coming, especially not in their own backyard.”
“It’s where it happened the first time,” Ogilvy remarked dryly.
“Hal, seriously,” Gracie shot back, “we need to tread carefully. In case you hadn’t noticed, this isn’t the most tolerant corner of the planet. I don’t want to put Father Jerome in any danger.”
“I don’t want to put anyone in danger either,” Ogilvy countered, slightly testily. “We’ll be careful. Just talk to him. We’ll take it from there.”
Gracie didn’t feel overly relieved. She relented—“I’ll call you after I meet him”—then snapped the phone shut and turned to the abbot. She needed to get something out of the way. “The documentary footage they filmed in the cave. Can we see it?”
“Of course. It’s on the DVD they sent us—I haven’t watched it as we don’t have a player here.”
“This laptop’ll play it,” Dalton told him, tapping his computer.
The abbot nodded and left them.
Dalton glanced worriedly at Gracie and Finch. “What if the shot we need didn’t make the final cut?”
It was a disheartening possibility neither of them wanted to consider right now, as it meant they would then have to contact the filmmakers for the outtakes. The abbot interrupted their concern by reappearing quickly, DVD in hand. Dalton loaded it up and fast-forwarded through it until the screen showed the small film crew climbing up the mountain and approaching what looked like an old door cut into the rock face.
“There,” the abbot exclaimed. “That’s Father Jerome’s cave.”
Dalton reverted to play mode, and the screen showed the cameraman’s point of view as he entered the cave. Gracie watched, heart in mouth, as it tracked through the dark chamber, an ominous, first-person voice-over describing the cave and its sparse, simple furnishings, giving her a preview of what she would imminently be visiting—then the camera banked around and, in a sweeping pan, covered the curving ceiling of the chamber.
“Right there,” Gracie burst out, jabbing the screen with her finger. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
Dalton hit the pause button, backtracked a few frames, and played the clip again in slow motion. They all leaned in for a closer look. It was just a brief shot, no more than a passing glimpse at a curiosity within the cave—but it was all they needed. Dalton froze the image on one of the painted symbols. It was an elegant construction of concentric circles and intersecting lines that radiated outward. Despite its simplicity, it somehow managed to convey what they’d seen over the ice shelf and now, on the video, with surprising ease and clarity.
It was unmistakable.
Gracie turned to the abbot. Her nerves were buzzing with anticipation. “When can we go there and meet Father Jerome?”
He checked his watch. “It’s getting late. The sun will be gone soon. Tomorrow morning, first thing?”
Gracie winced, her heartbeat having a hard time pulling back from the frenzied quickening brought on by the footage on Dalton’s screen. “Father, please. I don’t mean to be a burden in any way, but . . . given what’s happening, I don’t think we should wait. I really think we ought to talk to him tonight.”
The abbot held her gaze for an uncomfortable beat, then relented. “Very well. But in that case, we should go now.”
LYING UNDER A SAND-COLORED CAMOUFLAGE net four hundred yards west of the monastery’s gate, Fox Two watched through high-powered binoculars as Gracie, Finch, and Dalton, accompanied by the abbot and another monk, climbed into the waiting people carrier.
His Iridium satphone vibrated. He fished it out and checked it. The text message told him Fox One and his team had just landed. On time. As expected.
He locked the phone and tucked it back into his pocket and watched as the Previa drove away in a swirl of dust.