The Eye of God (51 page)

Gray reached his apartment door and found it unlocked.

Tensing, he slowly turned the knob and edged the door open. The place was dark. Nothing seemed amiss. He stepped cautiously inside.

Did I forget to lock the door before I left?

As he rounded past the kitchen, he caught a whiff of jasmine in the air. He saw a flickering light from under his closed bedroom door. He crossed and pushed it open.

Seichan had set out candles. She must have returned early from Hong Kong, perhaps sensing he could use company.

She lay stretched on his bed, on her side, up on an elbow, her long naked legs dark against the white sheets. The silhouetted curves of her sleek body formed a sigil of invitation. But there was no accompanying sly smile, no tease to her manner, only a subtle reminder that they both lived and should never take that for granted.

Seichan had told him what she had overheard at the inn back at Khuzhir, about Vigor’s terminal cancer, of the final words an uncle and niece were able to share. In this moment, he remembered Vigor’s most important lesson about life.

. . .
do not waste that gift
,
do not set it on a shelf for some future use; grab it with both hands . . .

Gray stalked forward, shedding clothes with every step, ripping what resisted, until he stood equally naked before her.

In that moment, with every fiber of his being, he knew the fundamental truth about life.

Live it now . . . who knows what will come tomorrow?

TAILS

For now we see through a glass, darkly.

—
CORINTHIANS 13:12

November 26, 10:17
A
.
M
. CET

Rome, Italy

Rachel waited outside the exam room for her uncle to finish meeting with his physician. Vigor had only come to the hospital upon her firm insistence, especially as she had no sound basis for demanding this battery of tests.

The door finally cracked open. She heard her uncle laugh, shake the doctor’s hand, and come out.

“Well, I hope that satisfies you,” Vigor said to her. “Clean bill of health.”

“And the full-body MRI results?”

“Besides some arthritis in my hips and lower back, nothing.” Vigor scooped an arm around her waist and headed toward the exit. “For a man in such good health in his sixties, the doctor said I should expect to live to a hundred.”

Rachel could tell he was joking, but she also noted a flicker at the edge of his eyes, like he was trying to remember something.

“What?” she asked.

“I know you insisted on this cancer screening—”

She sighed loudly enough to cut him off. “Sorry. Ever since coming back from Olkhon Island, I just had this bad feeling, like you were sick or something.” She shook her head. “I’m just being silly.”

“That’s just it; as I was lying there with that machine clacking loudly around me, I was almost sure you were right, too.”

“Only because of my insistence.”

“Maybe . . .” He sounded unconvinced and stopped before they reached the hospital doors. “I have to tell you something, Rachel. Back when I placed that crystal Eye atop the cross of St. Thomas, I felt this tearing inside me, like my very being was being ripped out . . . or split apart. It felt like I was riding a fountain of white light. I was sure I was dead. Then in a blink I was back, and there were Gray, Duncan, and Jada bursting inside to check on me.”

Rachel squeezed his hand. “And I’m glad you were safe.”

He stared down at her. “For just a moment then, as I turned to face them, I was overwhelmed with grief, like I’d lost you.”

“But I was fine,” she said—
okay
,
just barely
.

She again pictured that silver coin flipping in the air, bouncing across the wood planks of the floor, of Pak placing his boot on it. She had been furious at Seichan for telling him where Gray and the others had gone.

Then Pak had lifted his boot, revealing the backside of the coin.

Tails.

Pak had such a disappointed look on his face. She was suddenly sure in that moment, if it had come up
heads,
he would have killed her.

“I survived,” Rachel said.

“Well, I know that because you came running in after the others a minute or so later.” He headed back with her toward the door. “But it makes me wonder why we both had premonitions of doom for the other. I mean, I could have had cancer, I suppose. If some cell in my body flipped the wrong switch—
up
instead of
down
—I could very well be riddled with tumors.”

“Heads or tails,” Rachel mumbled.

Vigor smiled at her. “So much of life and death is random chance.”

“That’s disheartening.”

“Not if you trust who is flipping the coins.”

She rolled her eyes at him.

He pressed his point. “There are a thousand paths into the future, forks after forks in the road ahead. Who knows, if one road closes, maybe another opens in another universe . . . and your soul, your consciousness, leaps over to continue that journey ever forward, always finding the right path.”

Still, Rachel considered those paths left
behind,
of possibilities that would be gone forever. A flicker of sadness pierced through her, as though she had lost dear friends.

“You see,” Vigor said, drawing her attention back. “There’s always a path
forward
.”

“To where?” she asked.

Vigor pushed open the door, blinding her with the brightness of the new day. “Everywhere.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE TO READERS: TRUTH OR FICTION

Time to separate the wheat from the chaff. As in previous books, I thought I’d attempt to divide the book into its blacks and whites. Though, to be honest, there are many
gray
areas in this novel that tread the line so finely between fact and fiction, between reality and speculation, that you can safely argue both sides of that equation. So let’s go walking that line and see where we end up.

First, history is already a pretty frayed tapestry of truths, but what do we know with relative certainty?

Attila the Hun.
In AD 452, Attila was about to sack Rome when Pope Leo the Great rode out with a small entourage, met the leader of the Huns, and somehow dissuaded him from attacking. How? One speculation is that Attila’s forces were already facing disease and threats from other fronts, so he opted to save face, decamp, and leave. Another is that the pontiff played off Attila’s superstitious fears and stoked his concerns about
Alaric’s Curse,
as described in this book. Yet, others believe the pope did indeed give Attila enough gold and treasure to buy him off.

No matter the reason, he called off his plan, Attila would die the next year, just as he was planning to return to Italy and attack Rome. His death was by nosebleed and did occur on his wedding night, after marrying a young princess named Ildiko. Some theories state Ildiko poisoned her new husband; others that he simply died of chronic alcoholism, exasperated by a night of carousing after his wedding. No one really knows what happened to Ildiko after she was discovered at her dead husband’s bedside.

As to his lost grave, it is said he was buried in a triple coffin of iron, silver, and gold, along with most of his vast treasure. The entourage who buried Attila were all killed. Most believe a river (likely the Tizsa in Hungary) was diverted, his tomb buried in the mud, and the river returned to its normal course. Which brings us again back to the Tizsa River for the . . .

Hungarian Witch Trials.
The story of
Boszorkánysziget,
or Witch Island, is true. The island is located near the town of Szeged, where in July of 1728, a dozen witches (men and women) were burned. Over four hundred people were condemned to this fate during the height of the hysteria. Drought—with resultant famine and disease—is considered to be a major instigator for this panic, although, as described in this book, some of those deaths were politically or personally motivated. Nothing like a scourge of witches to get rid of an enemy.

Genghis Khan.
Most of the details in this book regarding the Mongolian overlord are true. He was born with the name Temujin (and probably the more accurate spelling of his title is
Chinggis Khaan,
but I chose to use the more common spelling of Genghis Khan for clarity). And his official clan title was indeed
Borjigin,
meaning the Master of the Blue Wolf. That name is now one of the most common names in Mongolia, as is Temujin.

On a genetic note, it’s also amazingly true that one out of two hundred men in the world is related genetically to Genghis (and that rises to one out of ten in Mongolia), as defined by twenty-five unique markers making up Haplogroup C-M217. So it seems multiple wives and conquering countries does leave its mark—at least, genetically.

And speaking of his offspring: In the Vatican Archives, there truly is a letter from Genghis Khan’s grandson (Grand Khan Guyuk) to Pope Innocent IV, dated back in 1246, warning the pontiff not to visit the capital of his empire or there would be dire consequences.

From the standpoint of advancements, the Mongol Empire was ahead of its time, by discouraging torture, advocating paper money, developing a postal system, and allowing an unprecedented religious tolerance. The Nestorians did have a church in the capital city, and these early Christians were said to have a significant influence on Genghis Khan.

As to his grave site, that remains one of the world’s greatest mysteries. Most do believe the site is located somewhere in the Khan Khentii Mountains, which are under strict restrictions for environmental and historical reasons. Many other sites (like Olkhon Island) make a similar case. It is also believed that Genghis’s tomb is likely a necropolis, containing not only his treasure, but that of his descendants, including his most famous grandson, Kublai Khan. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to take a shovel and go digging.

St. Thomas and China.
The apostle known most famously as “Doubting Thomas” is traditionally believed to have traveled to the East, definitely as far as India, where St. Thomas Christians (the Nasrani) still thrive. It is also said he was martyred there, near the ancient town of Mylapore, where there is a basilica marking that site. As to his relics, they have an even shadier history.

A few historians also advocate that St. Thomas may have traveled as far as China, and possibly even Japan. There are some new archaeological discoveries that suggest Christianity arrived in the Far East much earlier than the eighth century, as is currently believed.

As to the possibility of Chinese characters pointing to knowledge of the Old Testament, the figures in this book are true, and there are many more like these that can be found on the Internet—whether all this is wishful speculation or some hint at a lost history, I’ll let you be the judge.

Jewish Incantation Skulls . . .
and Other Macabre Oddities.
Archaeologists have uncovered more than two thousand Jewish incantation bowls, most dated between the third and seventh centuries. But they’ve also found a few such skulls used for the same purpose, as a ward against demons or for the casting of spells. Two can be seen at the Berlin museum. And yes,
anthropodermic bibliopegy,
the binding of books with human skin, is a real thing. Some rare books have been found to include nipples or people’s faces. They range from astronomy treatises to anatomic texts, even including a few prayer books. But the strangeness doesn’t stop there. French prisoners during the Napoleonic Wars used to craft boats out of human bones and sell them to the British. Then again, I guess everyone needs a hobby.

One of the joys of writing these books is that I get to explore fascinating parts of the world. How much of what I depict is real about these places? The quick answer is almost everything. But let me cover some high-lights.

Macau/Hong Kong.
If you like gambling, Macau is the place to visit, with its mix of Portuguese colonialism, Chinese culture, and Las Vegas glitz. In many ways, it’s a gold rush city, where corruption and commerce run hand in hand, where Chinese Triads war with politicians and developers. The descriptions of the VIP rooms in this book are real, from the junket operators to the money laundering. And yes, there really is a “Hooker Mall” in the basement shopping center of Casino Lisboa.

The Hong Kong that I describe here is accurate, too. In fact, I based the architecture for the headquarters of the
Duàn zhī
Triad on the current Chungking Mansions.

Aral Sea.
This is probably the worst man-made ecological disaster. The diversion of two rivers by the Soviets in the early sixties dried up a once-thriving inland sea, transforming it into the deadly salt flats of the Aralkum Desert, where
black blizzards
do indeed blow, and where life expectancy has dropped locally from sixty-five to fifty-one. And yes, the entire region is dotted with the graveyards of beached ships.

North Korea.
Everything described in this book is sadly real. In a country run by a lineage of despots who believe themselves semidivine, stories of decadent excess coupled with extreme deprivation are commonplace—like building a billion-dollar mausoleum during a major famine. North Korea’s prison system is still considered to be the harshest in the world, where prisoners fight for the right to bury the dead for extra food, where the average inmate does not live longer than five years, and where torture is a rule of life. In the cities like Pyongyang, it is little better. The populace is in constant fear of saying or doing the wrong thing, while enduring strict rations of electricity and food.

Mongolia.
Ulan Bator is considered to be the coldest capital city in the world. Steam tunnels do run underground, where a growing population of homeless people now reside, many of them children, victims of the economy, alcoholism, or simply neglect. But it is also a city with a bright future, with one of the fastest-growing economies in the world. It is a country of vast natural resources and an untouched beauty. And yes, much of the population holds Genghis Khan as a demigod. As a consequence, massive statues dot the capital city, including a 250-ton shimmering steel figure of Genghis atop a horse. But then again, when one out of ten men is his descendant, I suppose that’s a requirement.