The Last Odyssey (Sigma Force #15) - James Rollins Page 0,111

of a snow-crowned mountain forty miles to the south. It was Mount Toubkal, the tallest peak of the High Atlas range, rising nearly fourteen thousand feet into the sky.

The helicopter angled away from that notable peak. A second aircraft—an identical Eurocopter EC155—followed behind. Both helicopters headed in a southwesterly trajectory toward those same mountains, aiming for where that jagged range tumbled into the Atlantic Ocean.

Another hour at best, maybe less.

That’s how long Elena had to come up with some plan.

She leaned back into her seat. The Eurocopter’s cabin held a dozen passengers, mostly the Sons and Daughters of Mūsā, including Nehir, who was seated by the far window, and Kadir, hunched opposite his sister. But directly across from Elena, the traitor Monsignor Roe drowsed within his seat’s restraints, his head lolling back and forth in motion with the flight. When he had boarded, his pupils had been huge, indicative of a strong dose of morphine. The large bulge seen through his thin shirt was a thick wad of bandage.

Elena had no choice in making this trip, but from the conversation that the cleric had with Ambassador Firat before boarding, Roe had insisted on coming. He intended to see where his treachery led, believing he could still be of help in pinpointing the location marked with a ruby on the Banū Mūsā map.

The one person she had not spotted before the helicopter lifted off the yacht’s helipad was her father. There was no final farewell with him. Had shame kept him away or simply matters of state at the EU summit? She wondered if she’d ever see him again. She even felt a reflexive pang at this thought. She still had trouble reconciling the man she had known for thirty years with the one who’d shown his true colors these past two days. It was hard to let go of that past.

And maybe we will meet again.

She pictured the Morning Star racing south from the Strait of Gibraltar, flying along the Moroccan coast atop its twin hydrofoils. She knew neither Firat nor her father would miss out being close if anything was discovered hidden in those mountains.

The helicopter hit a turbulent air pocket, jarring up and down, enough to stir Monsignor Roe, who winced and straightened. His glassy eyes noted Elena’s dark attention toward him.

“Do not be so troubled, my child,” Roe said, his words slurring slightly. “You will help us herald the return of the Lamb to this foul world. The shattering of the gates of Tartarus will mark the beginning of Armageddon. The infernal weapons and radioactive hellfire will be unleashed at hot spots around the globe, destabilizing region after region, igniting war after war, until the very seas are set aflame. Only then will the world be purged of its wickedness and the Lord’s throne purified for His return. With His coming, a true and lasting peace can finally be upon us all.”

Elena scowled. “Tell that to all those killed at Castel Gandolfo. Tell that to Rabbi Fine.”

“All martyrs.” Roe waved a hand, dismissing her concern. “Howard knew what he was doing, knew the importance of sacrifice. He even shot his own ear, both to convince the Americans we were kidnapped and to help earn your sympathy.”

Elena leaned her head back, suddenly dizzy. Even Rabbi Fine. She knew the two clerics had known each other since their university days, but she had never suspected the rabbi was part of all of this, too. Still, she should have. She remembered her father’s story, how the Apocalypti had members in all religions, even others who had no faith.

Roe continued: “Your father acted rashly—more in fury than rationality—in taking Howard’s life so suddenly. But it was an effective demonstration of our commitment.”

Aghast at such coldheartedness, Elena turned away. She had been a fool earlier in the library. Exhausted, she had an unfortunate slip of the tongue. When the monsignor had pressed her about where to search along the Spanish coast, she had said something stupid: Fat lot of good it’ll do them. It must have been enough to show her hand, to reveal the search for the city of Tartessus had been a ruse. Shortly after that, Roe had taken one of his many restroom breaks—he was an old man. She had no reason to make anything of it. And it wasn’t another fifteen minutes after he returned that Kadir had dragged him off again.

I never put two and two together.

“Still, Howard was not the only one who understood sacrifice.” Roe