The Doomsday Key Read online

  Krista pinched some of the crushed stone. She rubbed it between her fingers. Her eyes narrowed.

  “Khattab, scrub those orders. I want men over here. Someone with demolition experience.”

  Maybe that brass ring wasn’t quite so far out of reach.

  3:34 P.M.

  With his flashlight in hand, Gray led the others down a brick tunnel. It descended steeply in a straight course. As well as Gray could get his bearings down here, it seemed to be leading them beneath where the old abbey had once stood. By now, they had to be four stories underground.

  No one spoke.

  They all knew everything depended on finding that key.

  Gray followed the beam of his flashlight. The sides of the tunnel vanished up ahead. Despite the urgency, he slowed everyone down. He remembered the booby trap he had inadvertently activated. Now was not the time for a careless mistake.

  Holding his breath, he edged down the last of the tunnel. His flashlight’s beam diffused into a much wider space. He stepped to the opening and gazed out at the chamber beyond.

  His first impression was of a subterranean cathedral. Brick walls lined by four giant pillars supported a massive circular dome. The structure was similar to the vaults along the edges of the cloister. But here the dome was really one massive vault. Arched ribs rose from each of the four pillars and crossed at the top. Viewed from below, Gray knew what the pattern must look like: a circular dome quartered by crossed ribs.

  It formed the pagan cross.

  The quartered circle.

  If there had been any doubt about the symbolic representation, he had only to look below for confirmation. Sculpted in bronze and embedded in the limestone floor lay a massive design. It stretched thirty yards across. It curled in one continuous pattern, sweeping out, then back in again, forming three perfect spirals, all entwined together.

  It was the ancient tri-spiral, the ubiquitous symbol found carved across the standing stones in England, illuminated in old Irish Celtic texts, and absorbed by the Catholic Church to represent the Holy Trinity.

  The circle above, the spiral below.

  And between them stood one object. It was the chamber’s only feature.

  “A Celtic Cross,” Rachel said, her voice awed.

  The others joined Gray as he entered the domed chamber.

  The cross rose from the center of the tri-spiral. Sculpted also of bronze, it was plain, unadorned, only seven feet tall. It was constructed of two bronze poles crossed up high with a circular crosspiece.

  Gray led the way.

  Only Kowalski hung back by the tunnel. “I’ll stay here,” he said. “I remember what happened the last time you messed with a cross.”

  The four of them continued into the chamber.

  Wallace commented on the simplicity of the religious sculpture. “Cistercian monks always preached against excessive adornment. They believed in austerity and minimalism. Everything in its place and serving its function.”

  Gray carefully crossed to the bronze spiral. He wasn’t sure such a massive floor design could be classified as austere. But the professor was correct about the cross. In form and size, it seemed insignificant. In fact, it looked more like an industrial tool than a religious symbol.

  Still, no one could deny its importance.

  Rachel commented on it, looking up. “It stands between the spiral and the quartered cross.”

  Gray took a moment to shine his light across the dome. As his beam washed over the roof, he recognized something he’d missed. The dome, divided into four quarters, was not unadorned. His light reflected off raw chunks of quartz crystal imbedded in the ceiling.

  As he cast his light around the dome, he knew what he was looking at.

  “It’s a starscape,” Rachel said.

  Gray agreed. He recognized constellations formed out of bits of quartz. The crystals varied in size, creating the illusion of three-dimensionality.

  But they didn’t have time to appreciate the artistry.

  Seichan reminded them. “What about the key? Back at Bardsey Island, you thought the cross held the combination to unlock its vault. Could it be the same here? Look.”

  She pointed to the circular element hanging on the cross. The bronze wheel was scored with deep lines, similar to those on the stone cross on Bardsey.

  Like the marks on a combination lock.

  Gray suspected she was right, but there was a problem.

  He didn’t know the combination.

  And the last time he’d tried, he’d almost gotten them all killed.

  From everyone’s worried expressions, they hadn’t forgotten either.

  “We have to attempt it,” Wallace said.

  “And if you trigger the booby trap,” Seichan said, “we can have Kowalski yank that lever like last time.”

  He shook his head. “Even if it worked, we would still be screwed. Pulling the lever might haul our butts out of the fire here, but it could also reopen the stairs.”

  He eyed the others, letting the significance sink in. Commandos would flood down here.

  “Out of the fire and into the bloody frying pan,” Wallace concluded sourly.

  Gray turned back to the cross. “We get one try. One mistake, and we’re doomed.”

  Rachel offered the only solid reason for attempting it. “But we’re just as doomed if we do nothing.”

  Kowalski added his own opinion. He grumbled it under his breath, but the acoustics carried it across the chamber.

  “One more person says doomed and I’m out of here.”

  3:48 P.M.

  Krista stood next to Khattab as the team’s demolition expert finished packing the last hole with C-4 plastic explosive. He worked it with his fingers and shaped the charge with the deft skill of a sculptor. Once satisfied, he inserted a spark detonator tied to a wireless transmitter.

  He waved everyone back.

  They retreated out into the garden.

  No one wanted to be under the walkway when it blew. The expert had warned that there was a chance the blast could collapse the walkway and bury the secret entrance.

  “Ready?” Khattab asked.

  She waved impatiently.

  With a nod from Khattab, the demolitions expert lifted his transmitter and pushed the button.

  3:49 P.M.

  The blast dropped Rachel to one knee—not from any concussion, but from sheer fright. Already tense, she was caught off guard by the explosion. The meters of rock muffled the blast, but it still sounded like a gunshot.

  “They’re trying to blow their way inside,” Seichan said, staring back at the tunnel.

  “On it!” Kowalski called and ran with his rifle up the tunnel. But he was only one man against an army.

  Already on one knee, Rachel slumped and sat on the floor. Her fever had grown worse. Chills shook through her. Her head pounded, as if her brain were expanding and contracting with each beat of her heart. She also could no longer ignore the nausea.

  Gray stared over at her. She waved for him to continue his study of the cross. He had spent the past ten minutes examining the cross without touching it. He circled around and around. Sometimes he leaned close; other times he pulled back and stared off into space.

  They had noted a few oddities about the cross. The horizontal crosspiece was hollow. And behind the cross, Wallace had discovered a long string pinned to the middle of the cross. It was dried sinew braided into a thick cord and weighted down at the end by a triangular chunk of bronze.

  No one knew what to make of it—and no one dared touch it.

  A pounding of boots announced Kowalski’s return. “They didn’t make it through,” he shouted with relief. “We’re still locked up tight.”

  “They’ll keep trying,” Seichan warned.

  Rachel stared over at Gray. They were running out of time.

  For the moment, Gray had stopped. He slowly sank to the floor, as if giving up.

  But she knew him better than that.

  At least she h
oped she did.

  3:59 P.M.

  Krista held the phone to her ear. She hadn’t wanted to take the call, but she had no choice. A palm was clamped hard over her other ear. The sirens still blared. And the firefight had grown louder from the prison yards. It sounded like an all-out war. She knew the fighting threatened to spill at any time into their isolated oasis.

  “We know where they are!” she yelled into the phone, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. “We’ll have the passage blown open in the next ten minutes.”

  She glanced over at the walkway. Khattab monitored the demolition expert’s handiwork. The Algerian noted her attention. He held up ten fingers, confirming her guess.

  It was their second attempt. They had blasted a crater into the walkway and exposed a buried set of limestone slabs. She knew they were close and cursed the caution of their explosives expert.

  Still, from the blackened wall and columns, she recognized the need. If they accidentally collapsed the walkway over the hidden entrance, they would never get down there.

  The man on the line finally spoke. His voice was gratingly calm, unhurried. “And you believe they’ve accessed some vault that might hold the Doomsday key?”

  “I do!”

  At least she hoped like hell they had.

  There was a long pause on the phone, as if she had all the time in the world. Off to the side, sharper rifle blasts erupted. They came from her own team. That could only mean one thing—the war was beginning to break through to them.

  “Fair enough,” the man finally said. “Secure the key.”

  There was no need to threaten.

  The line clicked dead.

  She stared over at Khattab.

  He held up nine fingers.

  4:00 P.M.

  Father Giovanni must have known something. That was all Gray had to go on.

  He sat with his eyes open, but he was blind to everything around him.

  He placed himself back in the crypt beneath Saint Mary’s Abbey on Bardsey Island. He pictured the charcoal markings on the wall. In his mind, he again read the notations scribbled by the priest and studied the large circle drawn around the cross. Other lines bisected and sectioned the circle.

  At the same time, he pictured the cross here. He remembered his first impression, trusting it. He had thought it looked more like an industrial tool than a religious symbol. Like a bronze timepiece, a device crafted for purpose, not decoration.

  Wallace’s description of the Cistercian order echoed in his ears.

  Everything in its place and serving its function.

  He craned his neck and stared up at the quartz starscape. Breathing through his nose, he felt something rising up inside, some understanding that he couldn’t quite put into words.

  Then he was on his feet. He never remembered rising. He stepped back over to the cross. He stared at it from the side. The bronze sculpture was only a bit taller than Gray. It required him to crouch to peer through the hollow crosspiece.

  “It’s not a cross,” he mumbled.

  “What do you mean?” Wallace asked from the other side.

  Gray shook away any response. He didn’t understand, not completely yet. He bent down and stared through the hollow arm.

  Seichan stood at his shoulder. “It’s almost like a telescope.”

  Gray straightened, stunned.

  That was it.

  That was the one piece he needed.

  Inside, a dam suddenly released, understanding flowed through Gray’s head. Images flashed across his mind’s eye faster than he could follow, but still, somewhere beyond reason, they came together.

  He stared up at the roof.

  Like a telescope.

  He turned and grasped his enemy in a hug. Seichan stiffened, unsure what to do with her arms.

  “I know,” he whispered in her ear.

  She jolted at his words, perhaps misinterpreting them.

  He let her go. He dropped to the floor and checked the base of the cross. It sat on a half sphere of bronze. He felt around the edges. It wasn’t flush. There was a wafer-thin gap between the stone and the bronze.

  He sprang back to his feet and ran for the pack he’d abandoned on the floor. He dumped it out and found a black marker. He knelt down, needing to see it for himself. He worked quickly, his marker flying across the stone.

  As he worked, a part of his mind traveled back to Bardsey. He recognized the partial calculations on the wall now. The circle with the lines. Father Giovanni was smarter than all of them. He had figured it out. The circle was a representation of the earth. His notations—

  “They were calculations of longitude and latitude.”

  The others gathered around him.

  “What are you talking about?” Wallace asked.

  Gray pointed to the bronze sculpture in the center of the room. “It’s not a cross,” he repeated. “It’s a navigational tool. One tied to the stars!”

  He finished his drawing.

  His sketch showed how the cross could be tilted, how its arm could be pointed at a star, how the weighted sinew could act like a plumb line, and the turning wheel of the device could measure degrees.

  “It’s an early sextant,” he explained.

  “Oh my God.” Wallace fell back in shock. A palm rose to his forehead. “For the longest time, archaeologists have debated how the ancients were so accurate in positioning their stones. How precisely they were able to align them!” He stabbed a finger at the drawing. “Bloody hell! That device could even be a theodolite!”

  “A what?” Rachel asked.

  Gray answered, recognizing it now, too. “A surveying tool, used to measure horizontal and vertical angles. Used in engineering.”

  “The worship of the spiral and the cross,” Wallace said. “The symbols truly do represent the heavens and the earth.”

  Gray stared down at his sketch of the earthbound cross pointed at the stars. “It’s more than that. The symbols also represent the worship of secret knowledge, the secrets of navigation and engineering.”

  Seichan brought them back down out of the stars with a sobering question. “But what does all this have to do with the Doomsday key?”

  They all stared toward the bronze cross.

  Gray knew the answer. “In ancient times, only the priest classes had access to such powerful knowledge.” He glanced at Wallace for confirmation.

  The professor nodded.

  “To unlock the Doomsday key, we have to demonstrate that same knowledge.”

  “How?” Rachel asked.

  He remembered what Father Giovanni had been calculating at Bardsey. “We have to use the stars above and calculate a navigational coordinate. I’m guessing we have to dial in our location here. An approximate longitude and latitude.” He faced the others. “That’s the combination.”

  “Can you calculate it?” Wallace asked.

  “I can try.”

  Gray returned to the floor. The Celtic cross functioned differently from a sextant, which used mirrors and reflections to discern latitude and longitude. But it wasn’t that dissimilar.

  “I need a fixed constant,” he mumbled and stared up at the quartz starscape. It had been put there for a reason.

  “The north star,” Seichan said. She crouched and pointed to the chunk of quartz that represented the pole star, used over countless ages for navigation.

  That would do.

  He worked quickly. He knew the approximate coordinates for Clairvaux from using his GPS during the drive here. He pictured the reading from the unit:

  LAT 48°09’00"N

  LONG 04°’00"E

  Longitude and latitude measurements were broken down to hours, minutes, and seconds. Just sweeps around a clock. Like the lines scored into the spinning wheel of bronze on the cross. It was all proportional.

  In under a minute, he had what he believed were the correct assignments using the ancient tool and their current location.

  He memorized them and stood up.
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br />   Rachel stared at him, her eyes hopeful.

  Gray prayed he was equal to that hope. “In case I’m wrong, you all might want to retreat back to the tunnel.”

  He hurried over to the cross. As he reached it, he suddenly grew less sure. He would have only one chance. If he was wrong, if he miscalculated, if he failed to manipulate the ancient sextant correctly, the others were all dead.

  He stopped and stared at the device.

  “You can do it,” a voice said behind him.

  He glanced over his shoulder. Seichan stood there. The others had joined Kowalski in the tunnel. “Get back,” he said harshly.

  She ignored him, not even reacting. “It may take two people. One to hold the cross steady at the proper angle, the other to dial the combination with the wheel.”

  He wanted to argue, but he recognized she was right. A part of him also had to admit that he didn’t want to be alone.

  “Let’s do it then,” he said.

  Gray again crouched to peer through the hollow arm of the cross. Like a telescope, he thought, remembering how the words had unlocked the knowledge inside him. They had come from Seichan.

  He knew what had to be done. He reached to the cross and pulled the arm down. The entire sculpture tilted, pivoting on the spherical base. As soon as he moved it, a massive clank echoed up from under the floor.

  There was no turning back.

  Gray swung the arm so it pointed north. Staring through the barrel of the armpiece, he searched the starry dome. Seichan helped by keeping her flashlight pointed at the chunk of quartz that marked the north star.

  After a moment of searching, he spotted the star and centered the scope on it. As he did so, a loud gong sounded. It came from overhead and reverberated through the space.

  What did that mean?

  From the roof, hundreds of stone plugs popped free and rained down. One struck Gray on the shoulder. Startled, he almost dropped the cross. Seichan swore and pressed a hand to her forehead. Blood seeped between her fingers.