The enclosure was deceptively large. It was roughly the width and length of a football field, Gracie noticed, and just as flat. Every exterior surface, wall and dome alike, was covered with a clay-and-limestone adobe of uniform color, a pleasing, sandlike beige, the corners and edges rounded, soft and organic. The walls of the keep were dotted with tiny, irregular openings in place of windows—to keep the heat out—and narrow stair-cases led in all kinds of directions. With the setting sun’s warm, orange gleam adding to the walled sanctuary’s otherworldly feel, and its stark contrast to the cold, bleak landscape of the ice continent whose chill still lingered in her bones, Gracie felt as if she hadn’t just leapfrogged across whole continents. It felt as if she’d stumbled onto Tatooine.
As they approached the entrance to the library, a monk stepped out and paused at their sight, looking at them first curiously, then with a dour expression on his face. Gracie guessed it was the abbot.
“Please wait here,” Brother Ameen told Gracie and Finch. They stayed behind while he stepped ahead and intercepted the clearly irate abbot. Gracie gave Finch a here-we-go look as they both did their best to observe the heated chat without appearing too interested.
A moment later, Brother Ameen came back with the abbot. He didn’t seem thrilled to see them, and wasn’t doing much to hide it.
“I’m Bishop Kyrillos, the abbot of this monastery,” he told them dryly. “I’m afraid Brother Ameen overstepped his bounds by inviting you here.” He didn’t offer his hand.
“Father,” Finch said, “please accept our apologies for arriving here like this. We weren’t aware of the, um,” he paused, trying to find the most diplomatic way of saying it, “internal debate going on here regarding how to deal with it all. We certainly don’t mean to inconvenience you or to impose in any way. If you’d like us out of here, just say the word and we’ll head back home and no one needs to know about any of this. But I ask you to keep two things in mind. One, no one knows we’re here. We only told one person back at our headquarters—our boss—he’s the only one who knows where we are. So you mustn’t worry about this suddenly becoming a media circus because of us. We won’t let it happen.”
He paused again, waiting to see if his words were having any effect. He wasn’t sure they were, but thought he detected a softening in the man’s frown.
“Two,” he pressed on, “we’re only here to help you and Father Jerome as you—as we all—try to understand the extraordinary events that we’re witnessing. I assume you know that we were there. In Antarctica. We saw it all happening right in front of us. And if we’re here, it’s first and foremost as expert witnesses. We won’t broadcast anything without your permission. What we see and discuss here remains between us until you allow otherwise.”
The abbot studied him, glanced over at Gracie and at Dalton, shot an unhappy frown at Brother Ameen, then turned his attention back to Finch again. After a brief moment, he nodded slowly as he seemed to reach a verdict, then said, “You want to talk to Father Jerome.”
“Yes,” Finch replied. “We can tell him what we saw. Show it to him, show him what we filmed. And maybe, he can make sense of it.”
The abbot nodded again. Then he said, “Very well.” He then raised a stern finger. “But I have your word you won’t let any of this out before talking to me about it.”
“You have my word, Father.” Finch smiled.
The abbot kept his gaze locked on Finch, then said, “Come.”
He invited them into the most recent addition to the complex, a stuccoed, simple three-story building that dated from the seventies. Finch and Gracie followed while Dalton scooted off down the courtyard. Brother Ameen had told them the monastery didn’t have a television, and they were aching to see the footage from the Arctic and the reaction to it.
Gracie and Finch gratefully accepted a drink of water and a small platter of cheese and fresh dates, and they’d barely had time to exchange casual pleasantries when Dalton popped his head through the door.
“We’re up.”
They rushed out. Dalton had linked his laptop to the foldable Began satellite dish and was on the network’s website. Gracie, Finch, the abbot, and the monk huddled around him while he played the news clip of the sighting over Greenland.