The Last Odyssey (Sigma Force #15) - James Rollins Page 0,149

hand in her own. She squeezed, feeling the heat of his hard palm and fingers, better than any glove. She leaned into him. They had grown closer during the tumultuous aftermath of events in the Mediterranean and Morocco. She knew Mac had been dragged into all of this because of his concern for her. But over the past weeks, something warmer had grown. Who knew where it would lead? But she wanted to find out.

Mac blew out a breath, his voice cracking. “Nelson could argue a mouse out of its cheese. And we certainly didn’t agree on most things . . .”

She looked up at him. “But he was your friend.”

He sniffed and nodded.

She had come to Greenland, both out of respect for the dead and also to be here for Mac. Still, she hadn’t needed much persuading. She had already been here a few days, enjoying the quiet pace of Tasiilaq, away from the cameras, the interviews, the screaming tabloid news.

Her father had been arrested in Hamburg, dragged out of the EU summit in handcuffs and surrounded by a cadre of armed German police and Interpol. The video had played for weeks. Her father now sat in a federal prison, negotiating for leniency, to avoid the death penalty by being cooperative. He had already exposed the upper echelon of the Apocalypti, who were either arrested or driven into hiding. The global hunt continued for the rest, and it would likely take years, if not decades, to truly stamp out every fanatical ember of that apocalyptic cult.

If that was even possible.

Those zealots would not go down without a fight. She had heard how the underground complex in Turkey—a stone’s throw from the ruins of Troy—had been firebombed before authorities could secure it. She remembered her glimpse into that vast subterranean library, wondering what historical treasures, some surely dating back to the founding of the House of Wisdom, had been lost forever.

Still, she pushed aside such regrets.

Knowledge is never truly lost.

It moved, shifted, grew, evolved, but ultimately, endured. Even when buried and forgotten, the deepest truths found a way of shaking off the dust of time and revealing themselves again. She certainly knew that now, especially after all she and the others had gone through, following the trail of a long-dead Arab captain to the very gates of Hell.

Singing rose ahead of her, an Inuit song of mourning. She did not understand the words, but the solemnity, the beauty, touched her soul.

Mac drew her closer to the others, allowing her to be part of it.

She came with him. As Mac added his deep baritone, she gazed out across the fjord to the breadth of the Helheim, noting the vast pools of meltwater reflecting the sun. As the Inuit sang, she wondered if they were mourning more than the dead, but an inevitable change to their home, a greater ending to come.

Elena tightened her fingers on Mac’s hand, refusing to bow to such defeatism.

She remembered her father’s grim warning, about the Apocalypti, about who ultimately supported them: If you simply believe the world will come to an end and do nothing to stop it, you are one of us.

Instead, she took strength from Mac, from his passion and dedication, for fighting for these people, for this place, in the face of impossible odds.

The tears she had been holding back finally ran down her cheeks.

But they were not sad, only joyful.

Full of hope for the future.

For all of us who share this beautiful world—this gift from God.

9:09 P.M. EDT

Takoma Park, Maryland

Gray pedaled his road bike hard, then sped around the dark corner onto his street. He panted, sweat dripping down his brow. He had raced the setting sun from the metro station, but he lost this race.

Next time.

Enjoying the last of his ride, he straightened, released the handlebars, and let his bike glide down the street on its own. He balanced the bike’s frame by instinct and muscle memory alone. For the past month, he had pedaled home every night, doing his best to get back into fighting shape. He had also returned to the gym and often joined Monk on the basketball court.

But Gray knew he still had a ways to go, especially trying to find that right balance between home life and his responsibilities at Sigma.

The bike wobbled under him, but he corrected it with a shift in his core.

If only it were this easy . . .

Maybe it would be eventually. Maybe he just hadn’t developed the proper muscle memory