“Why?” he finally mumbled, unable to hold in the question any longer.
“It had to be done,” she said, struggling how to justify her actions so they made sense.
She came up with nothing and simply stared at the wreckage. The fire had burned through the pages, scorched off the leather binding. All that was left were two copper plates that had been at the core of the covers and a melted tangle of copper sitting between them.
She reached down and retrieved one last artifact of the book’s former glory—the crystal orb. She held it toward the menorah. The ancient relic had withstood the blast. Flames still danced from its branches, as if echoing the miracle that had made it a symbol of God’s pact with the Jewish people.
“Look here.” Sharyn showed the orb to Laurent. “It’s been transformed, too. Like the menorah.”
Prior to this, the crystal had been a perfect sphere. Now its surface was cut with a hundred tiny facets. In addition, its shape had somehow been sculpted into a pear, coming to a sharp point at the bottom.
“Looks like a diamond,” Laurent murmured.
It certainly reflected the light as such, shining with a fiery brilliance, a last gift of Saint-Germain to the world.
“I doubt it’s truly a diamond,” Sharyn noted. “Another trick of alchemical fire. Like with the menorah. If you look closer, past the reflections, even the small astrological symbols are gone.”
“Flaws,” Laurent murmured with a nod. “Many claimed Saint-Germain possessed the ability to melt diamonds and remove their imperfections. Even King Louis XVI believed this.”
Sharyn lowered the crystal. “Maybe even the wildest stories of Saint-Germain had some truth to them.”
“By now, I would not doubt that.” Laurent turned to the chamber, to the gold.
Sharyn searched the other way, toward the lake of mercury. It reminded her that the air remained poisonous. Though, at the moment, her head pounded less. Maybe this was due to the flush of adrenaline, or maybe the flames of the menorah had created a protective nimbus, burning away the closest toxins.
Laurent sighed heavily, accepting reality but not defeat. “We can only hope there remains some clue out there in all that gold. While the book is lost to us, some key might still be discovered, something for us to build on.”
“Possibly,” Sharyn said, but with little confidence.
She had already placed her trust elsewhere. She squeezed the crystal in her hand, as if trying to pressure it into a true diamond.
Before they could contemplate these mysteries further, a yowl of fury echoed down to them, muffled by distance and rock, but still ripe with anger.
It served as a reminder.
We’re not safe yet.
73
2:39 p.m.
Drawn by the cat’s scream, Duncan raced up the stairs toward the bunker’s main floor, taking the steps two at a time. His shadow danced ahead of him, his body lit from behind by Archie’s bobbling flashlight. With a broken wrist, Duncan could only manage the rifle. He carried it one-handed while resting its barrel on his bloody forearm.
As they neared the top floor, his shadow dissolved into the shine of daylight flowing through the bunker’s blasted façade. He slowed, wary of an ambush, and paused at the last step. A quick peek showed the true extent of the rocket’s damage. Boulders, bricks, and shattered sections of walls formed a treacherous labyrinth. Winds from outside stirred sand and dust into a haze.
He headed out, dashing for the closest cover.
Through all the debris, he could not see any sign of Julian.
Archie skidded next to Duncan. He had already tossed aside his flashlight, so it didn’t give away their position. “Anything?” he whispered.
Duncan shook his head. “We keep going.”
As he stepped out of cover, a burst of movement drew his eye. Julian fled toward the gaping exit. Once he crossed the threshold, he spun around and fired on full auto, backpedaling as he did so, propelled by both the rifle’s recoil and terror.
Duncan retreated, bumping into Archie.
But none of the rounds came near them. Julian hadn’t even been shooting in their direction. His angle of fire was too low, aimed toward the neighboring barricade of broken rocks. From that shelter, a tawny shape burst forth with a speed that seemed impossible, transforming flesh into shadow. None of the rounds seemed to strike the furious lynx.
