Monk waved Konstantin off. “It’s not his fault,” he gasped out.
Pyotr wore a wounded yet still terrified expression.
Marta hooted softly, bumping Konstantin.
Kiska also scolded her brother in Russian.
Monk had been warned that Pyotr could not judge distances well, only intent. He had to trust that when the tigers got really close—
—Pyotr went ramrod stiff, his eyes huge.
He opened his mouth, but terror choked him silent.
No words were necessary.
“Now!” Monk screamed.
Turning as one, they all ran—straight for the swift-flowing river as planned. Monk grabbed Pyotr, hugged him tight, and leaped from the bank. He heard twin splashes as Kiska and Konstantin hit the water downstream a few yards.
Monk surfaced in the icy-cold flow with the boy clinging like a vine to his neck. He twisted in time to see Marta swing up into the branches of a tree, climbing fast.
Deeper in the forest…motion…swift…a flash of fiery fur…
Monk kicked for the deepest and fastest current. He spotted Marta leaping from one tree to another in the dense forest. Chimpanzees could not swim and had no natural buoyancy. She had to take another path.
Forest shadows shattered as a huge shape burst into view, low, muzzle rippling, paws wide, striped tail high and stiff.
The tiger leaped straight from the riverbank at Monk.
He back-paddled and kicked, dragged by the weight of his pack and the boy. Pyotr tightened his arms, strangling him.
The tiger flew, legs out wide, black claws bared, a scream of feral fury.
Monk could not swim fast enough.
But the river’s flow made up for it.
The tiger crashed into the water a few yards away, missing its prey.
Monk angled into a swift channel between two boulders. He got dumped into a churning hole, thrown down deep, then back up again.
Pyotr choked and coughed.
Monk twisted and spotted the tiger thrashing upriver. It spun in an eddy of current. Despite the myths of cats and water, tigers were not averse to water. Still, the beast paddled for the shore. It was not how cats hunted.
Cats were all about the ambush.
The tigers had plainly stalked them, following them quietly through the forest as they fled away, driven by Pyotr’s initial warning. The boy had been right. Following age-old instincts and cunning, the pair had tracked them, waited until their prey had tired before charging. Tigers were sprinters, not long-distance runners. They timed their charge so they could strike at the perfect moment.
Along the river’s edge, another tiger appeared, stalking back and forth, thwarted. The first cat hauled out of the river, waterlogged and drenched. It shook its laden pelt and sprayed water.
Monk got a good look at the pair. Though still muscular, they looked emaciated, starved. Their fur had a ragged appearance. He noted matching steel skullcaps, like on the wolves. One tiger’s ear was gnarled, shredded from an old hunting injury. Zakhar, according to Konstantin’s description. Born siblings, it was the only way they could be told apart.
In a single smooth motion, as if responding to a silent whistle, the pair turned and vanished into the darkness.
Monk knew it wasn’t over.
The hunt was just beginning.
He twisted and saw Konstantin and Kiska disappear around a bend in the river. Monk sidestroked after them. Pyotr shivered against him. Monk knew the boy was not trembling from the cold, nor even from fear of the tigers. His huge, panicked eyes were not on the riverbank, but on the flow of water all around him.
What was terrifying him?
3:35 P.M.
Pyotr clung to the large man. He kept his arms tight around his neck, his legs around his waist. Water flowed all around him, filling his world. He tasted it on his lips, felt it in his ears, smelled its sweetness and green rot. Its ice cold cut to his bones.
He could not swim.
Like Marta.
He searched the far bank as it swept past, searching for his friend.
Pyotr knew much of his fear of water came from her heart. Deep water was death to her. He had felt the quickening thud of her heart when they crossed on the boulders earlier today, saw the tightening of her jaw, the glassy wideness to her eyes.
Her terror was his.
Pyotr clasped tighter to the man.
But the true heart of Marta’s terror lay deeper than any sea. He had known it from the moment she had come to his bedside, laying a lined paw upon his sheets, inviting friendship. Most thought she had come to comfort him as he recovered from his first surgery.
But in that long breathless moment, staring into her caramel-brown eyes, Pyotr had known her secret. She had come to him, seeking comfort for herself, reassurance from him.
From that moment, terror and love had bonded them equally.
Along with a dark secret.
4:28 P.M.
New Delhi, India
“Did you know man can see into the future?” Dr. Hayden Masterson asked as he tapped at the computer.
Gray stirred from studying the depths of his coffee. The group shared one of the private rooms at the Delhi Internet Café and Video. Kowalski leaned against the frosted glass door, ensuring their privacy. He picked at an adhesive bandage on his chin. Elizabeth had tended to the man’s scrapes and was now stacking the pages coming out of the laser printer beside the workstation. It was just the four of them. Rosauro and Luca had gone out to rent them a new car for the journey ahead.
Though Gray still wasn’t sure where they were going.
That all depended on Masterson—and he wasn’t in a talking mood. The professor had spoken hardly a word since they’d escaped from the attack at the hotel. Attempts to draw the man out, to get him to reveal why he might be the target of assassination, had only seemed to make him withdraw.
He just continued to study the marred ivory handle of his cane. His eyes glazed—not with shock, but in deep concentration.
Elizabeth had given Gray a quiet shake of her head.
Don’t press him.
So they’d driven north out of Agra, aiming for the capital of India, New Delhi. During the ninety-mile trek, Gray had them change vehicles twice along the way.
Once they reached the teeming outskirts of the city, Masterson had given only one instruction: I need access to a computer.
So here they were, in a cramped back room of an Internet café. The professor had promptly logged on to a private address on the University of Mumbai’s Web site, requiring three levels of code to access it.
“Archibald’s research,” Masterson had explained and had begun printing it all out. He had remained silent until this cryptic statement about mankind seeing the future.
“How do you mean?” Gray asked.
Masterson pushed back from his workstation. “Well, many people don’t know this, but it’s been scientifically proven in the last couple of years that man has the ability to see a short span into the future. About three seconds or so.”
“Three seconds?” Kowalski said. “Lot of good that’ll do you.”
“It does plenty,” Masterson replied.
Gray frowned at Kowalski and turned back to the professor. “But what do you mean by scientifically proven?”
“Are you familiar with the CIA’s Stargate project?”
Gray shared a glance with Elizabeth. “The project Dr. Polk worked on for a while.”
“Another researcher on the project, Dr. Dean Radin, performed a series of experiments on volunteers. He wired them up with lie detectors, measuring skin conductivity, and began showing them a series of images on a screen. A random mix of horrible and soothing photos. The violent and explicit images would trigger a strong response on the lie detector, an electronic wince. After a few minutes, the subjects began to wince before a horrible image would appear on the screen, reacting up to three seconds in advance. It happened time and again. Other scientists, includi
ng Nobel Prize winners, repeated these tests at both Edinburgh and Cornell universities. With the same statistical results.”
Elizabeth shook her head with disbelief. “How could that be?”
Masterson shrugged. “I have no idea. But the experiment was extended to gamblers, too. They were monitored while playing cards. They began showing the same pattern, reacting seconds before a card would turn over. A positive response when the turn was favorable, and negative when it wasn’t. This so intrigued a Nobel-winning physicist from Cambridge University that he performed a more elaborate study, hooking such test subjects to MRI scanners in order to study their brain activity. He found that the source of this premonition seemed to lie in the brain. This Nobel Prize winner—and keep in mind, not some bloody quack—concluded that ordinary people can see for short spans into the future.”
“That’s amazing,” Elizabeth said.
Masterson fixed her with a steady stare. “It’s what drove your father,” he said gently. “To determine how and why this could be. If ordinary people could see for three seconds into the future, why not longer? Hours, days, weeks, years. For physicists, such a concept is not beyond comprehension. Even Albert Einstein once said that the difference between the past and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion. Time is just another dimension, like distance. We have no trouble looking forward or backward along a path. So why not along time, too?”
Gray pictured the strange girl. Her charcoal sketch of the Taj Mahal. If man could look through time, as Dr. Masterson reported, then why not across great distances? He remembered Director Crowe’s statement about the successes the CIA project had with remote viewing.
“All it would take,” Masterson said, “would be to find those rare individuals who could see farther than the ordinary. To study them.”
Or exploit them, Gray thought, still thinking of the girl.
Elizabeth passed the last page from the printer to the stack. She handed it to Masterson. “My father…he was looking for these rare individuals.”
“No, my dear, he wasn’t looking for them.”
Elizabeth’s eyes pinched in confusion.
Masterson patted her hand. “Your father found them.”
Gray perked up. “What?”
A knock on the door interrupted the professor before he could explain. Kowalski shifted, checked who it was, and opened the door.
Rosauro poked in her head and passed to Gray a heavy set of rental keys. “All done in here?”
“No,” Gray answered.
Masterson bowled past him with an armload of papers under his arm. “Yes, we are.”
Gray rolled his eyes and waved to the others. “C’mon.”
He followed, mentally strangling the irascible professor.
Kowalski kept to Gray’s side. “He’s just getting even,” the large man said and nodded to the walking stick under Masterson’s other arm. “For what you did to his cane.”
They exited the Internet café and found Luca Hearn leaning on the hood of a pewter-colored Mercedes-Benz G55 SUV. It looked like a tank.
Rosauro circled around to the front. She already had a hand raised against his objections. “Okay, it’s not inconspicuous. I know. But I didn’t know where we were going or how fast we might need to get there.”
Kowalski grinned much too widely. “Or how many Hondas we might need to run over.”
“It’s got four-wheel drive, almost five hundred horses…and…and…” She shrugged. “I liked it.”
Kowalski passed her to inspect the car. “Oh, yeah, from now on, Rosauro picks out all our transportation!”
Gray sighed and stepped toward Dr. Masterson. “Where to now?”
The professor was studying the stack of papers and waved his cane toward the north, plainly irritated. Gray waited for more details, but got none.
Elizabeth’s warning echoed in his head. Don’t press him…
Giving up, Gray pointed to the SUV. He had no time to argue. They’d been in one place too long already. He wanted to keep moving, even if he didn’t know exactly where. If anyone had put a tracer on the University of Mumbai’s Web site, they could be zeroing in on them right now.
“Load up,” Gray ordered.
Kowalski cupped his hands for the keys.
Gray tossed them to Rosauro instead.
Kowalski glowered at him. “You are just plain evil.”
5:06 P.M.
Elizabeth could wait no longer. Going against her own advice, she turned to Dr. Masterson. “Hayden, enough of your games. What did you mean when you said my father found those people?”
“Just what I said, my dear.”
The professor sat in the center of the SUV’s middle row, flanked by Elizabeth and Gray. Pen in hand, Hayden had been sifting through the printouts for the past ten minutes. Rosauro glanced back at them from the driver’s seat. Kowalski sulked in the passenger seat with his arms stubbornly crossed.
Luca stirred behind them and leaned forward to listen.
Hayden explained, “Your father spent the past decade collecting and comparing DNA samples from the most promising yogis and mystics of India. He traveled far and wide, from north to south. He collated reams of data, cross-referenced genetic code. He ran a statistical model analyzing mental ability versus genetic variance.”
“He tested Luca’s people, too,” Elizabeth said.
The Gypsy made a noise of agreement.
“Because they rose from the Punjab region,” Hayden said.
“Why is that important?” Gray asked.
“Let me show you.” The professor searched the stack for half a minute, then pulled out one sheet. “Your father, Elizabeth, was a true genius, vastly underappreciated by his peers. He was able to pinpoint three genes that seemed to be common to those who showed the strongest traits. Like many scientific breakthroughs, such a discovery was equal parts brilliance and luck. He came upon these genes when he noted that many of the most talented individuals seemed to show signs of autism in varying degrees.”
“Autism?” Elizabeth asked. “Why autism?”
“Because the debilitating mental condition, while compromising social functioning, can often produce some astounding savant abilities.” Hayden patted her knee. “Did you know that many of the key figures in history displayed autistic tendencies?”
Elizabeth shook her head.
He ticked names off, using his fingers. “In the arts, that included Michelangelo, Jane Austen, Emily Dickinson, along with Beethoven and Mozart. In science, you have Thomas Edison, Albert Einstein, and Isaac Newton. In politics, Thomas Jefferson. Even Nostradamus was believed to be autistic to some degree.”
“Nostradamus?” Gray asked. “The French astrologer?”
Hayden nodded. “Such individuals have changed history, improved mankind, moved us forward. There’s a line Archibald loved to quote. From Dr. Temple Grandin, a bestselling writer with autism. ‘If by some magic, autism had been eradicated from the face of the earth, then men would still be socializing in front of a wood fire at the entrance to a cave.’ And I believe she was right.”
“And my father?”
“Most definitely. Your father came to believe that there was a direct connection between autism and his own studies into intuition and presentiment.”
“And he found this connection?” Gray said.
The professor sighed. “While we don’t know the exact cause for autism, most scientists agree that there are ten different genes that potentially contribute to the appearance of the condition. So Archibald ran these ten genes through his statistical model and discovered three of these genes were common among all those with high talent. It was the breakthrough he had been looking for. With these three genetic markers, he began to trace geographically the frequency of these markers in the general population. He came up with a map.”
The professor passed Elizabeth the sheet of paper on his lap. It was a map of India. Across the breadth of it were hundreds of small dots.
Elizabe
th studied it, then handed it to Gray.
Hayden explained, “Each dot represents an individual bearing the genetic marker. But if you look closely, you’ll see how many dots appear around major cities, like Delhi and Mumbai. Which only makes sense, since there are many people living in those cities.”
“But what about up here?” Gray asked and pointed toward the north.
Elizabeth knew what Gray was asking about. A large number of dots—more than anywhere else—clustered to the north, where no major city was marked.
“Exactly. Archibald wondered the same.” Hayden took the map back and tapped the cluster to the north. “He concentrated the last three years of his life in that area. He sought to discover why this dense cluster appears up there.”
“What’s there?” she asked.
“The Punjab.” The answer came from behind Elizabeth. From Luca Hearn. “The original homeland of the Romani.”
“Indeed. It is why Archibald contacted the Gypsy clans in Europe and the United States. He found it rather coincidental that such a rich history of prophecy and fortune-telling would arise from the same spot and spread to Europe and beyond. He sought to see if his genetic marker could be found among the Gypsies.”
“Was it?” Elizabeth posed the question to both Hayden and Luca.
Hayden answered, “Yes, but not in the concentrations he was suspecting. It disappointed your father.”
Luca made a noncommittal noise.
She turned to him. “What?”
“There was a reason,” Luca said.
Gray twisted around. “What do you mean?”
“It was why we hired Dr. Polk.”
Elizabeth remembered that the Gypsy clan leader had never fully elaborated on the matter. He’d started to explain on the airplane, but they had been interrupted.
“As I told you before, Dr. Polk sought to collect blood samples from our most gifted chovihanis. Not fakers, but real seers. But there were few among us who still met this criteria.”
“Why?”
“Because the heart of our people was stolen from us.”
Slowly and in a grim voice, Luca continued, telling a tale of a deep secret among his clans, one that went back centuries. The secret concerned one clan among all the others, one that was most cherished. It was forbidden even to speak of them to gadje, to outsiders. The clan was kept separate, hidden, protected by the other clans. It was the true source of the Gypsies’ heritage of prophecy. On rare occasions, some of these chovihanis would move and live among the other clans, sharing their talents, taking husbands or wives. But mostly they remained insular and apart. Then nearly fifty years ago, the clan was discovered. Every man and woman was slaughtered, butchered, and buried in a shallow, frozen grave.
The Last Oracle: A Sigma Force Novel Page 19