The Judas Strain - James Rollins [161]
Still, he searched up one last time.
As the glow of the cruise ship faded and darkness closed over him, he sent his heart out to the two women who gave his life any meaning.
Kat.
Penelope.
I love you, love you, love you…
6:05 A.M.
LISA SAT IN the backseat of the Sea Dart, bent over her knees, sobbing.
Susan sat next to her, resting a hand on her back.
No one spoke.
Ryder fought the winds as he flew the Sea Dart across the open water. The island of Pusat faded behind them.
The storm blew them like a leaf in a gale. There was no use fighting it. They simply fled with the wind, skimming north.
They had no radio. A stray round had punched through the unit.
“The sun’s rising,” Susan mumbled, staring out the window, ignoring the navigation map on her lap.
Her words broke some barrier.
Ryder spoke from the pilot’s seat. “Maybe he made it to shore.”
Lisa sat back. She knew Monk had not. Still, she wiped her eyes. Monk had sacrificed himself so they might escape. So that those left behind aboard the Mistress of the Seas had some chance of rescue, that the world had some hope of a cure.
Still, Lisa only felt numb and dead.
“The sun…” Susan said.
Ryder banked east, skirting around another island peak. Off near the horizon, there was some sign of an end to the night’s storm. The black clouds split enough to allow sunlight to stream toward them. The first edge of the day’s sun peeked above the horizon.
Through the windshield, light flooded the cabin with brilliance.
Lisa stared toward it, seeking some absolution, to bask in the brightness, to let it inside her, to chase away the darkness there, too.
And it seemed to work—until Susan let out a terrifying scream.
Lisa jumped and turned. Susan sat bolt upright in her seat, staring wide-eyed toward the sun. But something in her eyes shone even brighter.
Raw fear.
“Susan?”
The woman continued to stare. Her mouth moved, breathless. Lisa had to read her lips. “They must not go there.”
“Who? Where?”
Susan didn’t answer. Without looking down, she took a finger and placed it on the navigation map in her lap.
Lisa read the name under her finger.
“Angkor.”
16
Bayon
JULY 7, 6:35 A.M.
Angkor Thom, Cambodia
GRAY MARCHED WITH the others toward the massive gates of the walled temple complex of Angkor Thom. The morning sun, low on the horizon, cast long shadows across the south causeway. Cicadas buzzed, along with the morning chorus of frogs.
Except for a handful of tourists and a pair of saffron-robed monks, they had the bridge to themselves at this early hour. The causeway stretched a full football field in length, framed along the edges by rows of statues: fifty-four gods on one side and fifty-four demons on the other. They overlooked a moat, mostly dry now, where once crocodiles swam, protecting the great city and the royal palace inside. The deep moat, bordered by earthen embankments, now languished in emerald expanses of algae-covered pools and swaths of grass and weeds.
As they marched, Vigor reached out to one of the bridge’s demon statues and placed a palm upon its head. “Concrete,” he said. “The original heads were mostly stolen, though some remain in Cambodian museums.”
“Let’s hope what we’re looking for wasn’t stolen,” Seichan said dourly, plainly still upset after the conversation in the van with Nasser.
Gray kept his distance from her. He wasn’t sure which of the two Guild agents was the more dangerous.
Nasser’s team of forty men spread ahead of them and behind, an escort in khaki and black berets. Nasser kept a yard behind them, continually searching around warily. Some of the tourists showed interest in their large group, but mostly their party was ignored. The ruins ahead held everyone’s attention.
At the end of the causeway, thirty-foot-tall walls of laterite stone blocks enclosed the four square miles of the ancient city. Their goal—the Bayon—lay within the enclosure. Dense forest still enveloped the city ruins. Giant palm trees shaded the walls, shrouding the massive eighty-foot-tall