Turning the last corner, he heard voices and saw ten or so men gathered outside the ten-foot-tall ebony doors, carved with heraldic chevrons and crosses, which guarded the cavern. Plainly the news had spread beyond the Inner Circle, and others from the Brotherhood had come to see if the rumors were true. He recognized the last two members of the Inner Circle standing by the arched doors: stout Brother Bernard Trier, nervously stroking his goatee, and the tall, gaunt Brother Darius. Darius saw Ezekiel first and raised his hand to still the group, who immediately turned to their leader and fell silent.
Brushing past the assembled Brothers, Ezekiel exchanged the ritual greeting with Brother Darius.
"May he be saved."
"So he may save the righteous."
Their hands parted and before Ezekiel could question him Darius turned to his younger colleague, saying: "Brother Bernard, you will wait here while I escort the Father inside. Once he has given his decision, and declared
the sign genuine, you may open the doors to the others."
Bernard opened the left door a few inches, its ancient hinges groaning in protest. Ezekiel and Darius stole inside; then the door was shut behind them, the noise of its closing echoing around the space before them.
As always when Ezekiel entered the Sacred Cavern he paused, struck by its simple grandeur: the rough, square pillars supporting the tons of rock above; the tapestries that adorned the chiseled walls; the multitude of torches and candles whose warm light gilded the hewn ceiling of rock with the appearance of beaten gold. But today his eyes moved to one place only: to the altar at the far end of the cavern.
He strode past the pillars to gain a clearer view into the center of the mosaic floor. The altar, with its familiar white linen cloth emblazoned with the red cross, was visible now. But his eyes focused in front of it, on the round fissure in the stone floor. The hole, no larger than a man's head, was lined with lead in the shape of a star. A two-foot flame issued from its core.
With hesitant steps Ezekiel De La Croix approached the Sacred Fire that had burned for two thousand years. Pacing around it four times he eventually acknowledged the truth of what he saw. There could be no more doubt. The flame that had burned orange for almost twenty centuries had changed to white, a bluewhite of dazzling brightness not seen since the first Messiah had walked the earth.
The tears came then. He couldn't stop them. His sense of destiny and honor was too great. He had always suspected that with the passing of the second millennium the change in the sacred flame that heralded
Parousia
--the Second Coming--could occur. But he had never dared hope that the prophecy might come true in his lifetime. Yet now, during his leadership, it had finally come to pass. He only wished his father, and every ancestor and past member of the Brotherhood listed on the walls above, could share this moment with him--the moment to which they had dedicated their lives.
"Father Ezekiel, shall I allow in the others?" asked the hoarse voice of Brother Darius behind him.
Ezekiel turned and saw that the Brother's eyes were also wet with tears. He smiled. "Yes, my friend. Let them see what we have seen."
Waiting by the altar, he watched the members of the Inner Circle stream into the Sacred Cavern, followed by those Brothers who had been drawn here by rumor alone. He said nothing for a while, allowing them to feast their famished eyes on the flame. When they had seen their fill he raised his arms for silence.
"My brethren, the sign is genuine. The Prophecy of Lazarus has come to pass." Pausing, he scanned their faces, trying to meet every eye with his. "The Messiah walks among us once more. Our long wait has ended, and the search can now begin."
As he watched his jubilant followers, Ezekiel had only one prayer on his lips: that he would live long enough to fulfill the Primary Imperative of the Brotherhood of the Second Coming. Smiling now, he raised his arms high into the air as if reaching for heaven itself.
"May he be saved," he said, his voice booming out across the cavern.
Every face glowed with excitement as they threw their arms in the air, responding with one voice:
"So he may save the righteous."
PART I
The Prophets Within
ONE
Midnight. December 10, 2002
Stockholm, Sweden
I
t continues to snow. As it has done throughout the award cere
mony and the celebration banquet that followed. Huge flakes of
white fall from the dark sky, appearing suddenly in the powerful
lights that illuminate the red brick of the Stadshuset, Stockholm's
City Hall. Despite the cold and the snow, a small hardy crowd
has gathered by the steps to watch the royal couple and the
prizewinners leave.
Hands pushed deep into overcoat pockets, one broad-shouldered
figure moves to the front, perhaps hoping for a better view. But
as Olivia follows Dr. Tom Carter out of the City Hall and into the
Swedish night, she doesn't notice this watcher's unusual eyes
staring at her husband.
She's too busy checking that her eight-year-old daughter buttons
her red coat. "Put your hat on too, Holly. It's freezing."
Holly scrunches up her hazel eyes as she buttons her collar. "It
makes me feel dorky."
"Dorky? That's a new one." Olivia laughs and puts the Russian
style fur hat over Holly's spiky blond hair. "Anyway, it's better
to feel dorky than cold."
"You don't look dorky, Holly," Tom says, turning to his daugh
ter. He crouches down to Holly's level, his blue eyes studying her
as if she's something in his laboratory. Then
he shrugs and smiles. "Well, perhaps a little."
Holly giggles then as he takes her hand and leads her down
the steps.
They look good together, thinks Olivia, following behind. Their
daughter is beautiful, although Olivia would never dare tell her
that. Just getting Holly to forsake her jeans and Nikes and put on
a dress for the ceremony has been a major achievement.
Tom turns and laughs at something Holly says, and Olivia sees
his intense blue eyes soften. Looking at his tall, gangly frame and
the flakes of snow resting in his unruly black hair, she is reminded
how handsome he looks, especially in the white tie and tails he
wears beneath his cashmere coat. Both he and Jasmine deserved
the prize and Olivia feels so proud of them that she barely notices
the biting cold.
At that moment Dr. Jasmine Washington comes up beside her.
The young computer scientist's short, styled Afro is hidden beneath
the hood of a bright blue cape, which looks almost electric in the
spotlights. The dark skin of her elfin face contrasts with the snow
and the whites of her eyes.
Next to her is Jack Nichols, Tom's business partner at GENIUS
Biotech Diagnostics. He walks straight up to her husband and
pats him on the shoulder, congratulating him again. A few inches
shorter than Tom, Jack is still over six feet, and powerful with it.
His craggy face, complete with a crescent-shaped scar running
from his left nostril to the left side of his mouth, makes him look
more like a boxer than the joint head of the world's largest biotech
company.
Their group is now almost complete as they make their way to
the waiting limousines, their interiors lit up like carriages of old.
Olivia is impressed with the size of the crowd gathered at the base
of the steps. She suspects that most of them, along with the police,
are focused on King Carl XVI Gustaf and Queen Silvia, whose
limousine is just leaving. But more than enough lights focus on
their small group.
"Jazz, where are the others?" asks Olivia. Tom's father and
Jasmine's fiance are also in their party.
Jasmine gestures behind her. "They're back there talk
ing with the guy who won the literature prize."
"So how does it feel being a Nobel laureate?" Olivia asks, smil
ing at her old roommate from Stanford. "And to think, twelve or
so years ago, you were worried about getting a job that would
make a difference. Remember?"
Jasmine laughs, her teeth white against her skin. "Yeah." She
shrugs dismissively, but Olivia can see how thrilled she is. Getting
a scholarship to Stanford, followed by a Ph.D. from MIT, was an
impressive achievement for anyone, let alone a ghetto kid from
the projects of South Central L.A. But this--this was something
else.
"And now you and Tom have changed the world," says Olivia.
They had indeed, according to the head of the Karolinska Institute,
the body that awards the Nobel Prize for Medicine and Physiology.
The short, silver-haired man had hailed Tom's brainchild, born
of his mastery of genetics and Jasmine's genius with protein-based
computers, the most significant scientific achievement since Wat
son and Crick discovered the DNA double helix. One that would
save countless lives. Olivia remembers how back in January 1999
Tom and Jasmine had first demonstrated the Genescope's ability
to decode every human gene from just a single body cell. In one
stroke their invention had made the international Human Genome
Project redundant.
Jasmine reaches forward and pats Holly on the back. "Well, my
goddaughter didn't seem too impressed. I saw her yawn twice."
"Were you yawning in the ceremony, Holly?" asks Tom with a
laugh.
Holly gives a sheepish shrug and blows a snowflake off her
nose. "No. Well, a little. It was pretty long, wasn't it?"
Tom turns his head and catches Olivia's eye behind him. They
smile at each other and he extends his other hand behind his back,
toward her. They are now some ten feet from the limousine. Their
hands clasp and Tom turns around, leaning toward her as he
does when he's about to kiss her.
At that moment the broad-shouldered figure steps out of the
crowd in front of them.
Moving closer to Tom, Olivia doesn't see the person at
first. Then out of the corner of her eye she sees the crescent-shape
scar on Jack Nichols's face twist into a scowl. Why does he look
so angry? So frightened?
Then time seems to slow down.
There is a sharp report, and Jack is pushing Tom away from
her. Wrenching his hand out of hers, making him fall against
Holly.
In that split instant she clearly sees the man in the big
shouldered coat. He's standing in front of her, pointing at where
Tom was.
Where she is.
A flash comes from the man's hand and another report cracks
the cold night. An enormous force hammers into her chest, pushing
the air out of her lungs, throwing her onto the ground. Then an
other impact hits her, and another, and another, rolling her down
the steps like a rag doll. She is more stunned than pained when
she tries vainly to get up.
She must help Tom and Holly.
On the steps above her she can see Jasmine standing stock still,
her electric blue cape dark with blood. Olivia hears a scream and
sees Holly's big hazel eyes--so like her own--staring at her with
horror. She's no longer wearing her hat and Olivia's first thought
is that Holly will get cold. Olivia tries to smile. She wants to reas
sure Holly, but she can't move and the back of her head feels wet
and sticky. She suddenly realizes that this is all she can feel.
As her head rolls to one side she locks eyes with her fleeing
killer, who is already fading back into the stunned crowd, and is
surprised by what she sees.
Where's Tom? she thinks. He'll make everything all right.
She hears him calling her name. He sounds far, far away.
Then, like a forgotten thought, his voice is gone, and she sees
and hears no more.
"O
livia! Olivia! Olivia!"
The more Dr. Tom Carter screamed his wife's name, the harder he found it to believe what he saw. Crawling down the icy steps, he ignored the one bullet wound in his own leg. In all his years as a surgeon he had never seen so much blood from one person; the snow around Olivia's body was red with it. This couldn't be happening. Not tonight of all nights.
Everything had happened too fast--
was
happening too fast. Seconds ago he had everything. And now...
He could barely continue the thought. The world had gone mad. The crowd was shouting and screaming as the police tried to hold it back, forming a circle around his mini hell. Sirens screamed and cameras flashed. Jack was coming toward him, his face ashen white.
Leaning over Olivia, Tom gently brushed strands of blond hair from her face, expecting her open eyes to blink--to smile in recognition. But they just stared back at him. There was something strange about her head. With horrible detachment he realized that the back of her skull was missing.
He bent down and held her to him. "Why?" he cried, unaware he was shouting his thoughts out loud.
Then a realization, even colder than the night, froze his heart. Jack had pushed him out of the line of fire. The killer had been aiming at
him
, not Olivia.