The Doomsday Key: A Sigma Force Novel

By James Rollins

James Rollins, the New York Times bestselling grasp of nail-biting suspense and historic secret, combines state of the art biotechnology with a centuries-old mystery in an apocalyptic tale that finds the place humankind is really headed

The Doomsday Key

At Princeton collage, a famed geneticist dies inside of a biohazard lab. In Rome, a Vatican archaeologist is located useless in St. Peter's Basilica. In Africa, a U.S. senator's son is slain outdoor a purple move camp. the 3 murders on 3 continents undergo a frightening connection: the entire sufferers are marked through a Druidic pagan move burned into their flesh.

The strange murders thrust Commander grey Pierce and Sigma strength right into a race opposed to time to unravel a riddle going again centuries, to a ghastly crime opposed to humanity hidden inside of a cryptic medieval codex. the 1st clue is came across within a mummified corpse buried in an English peat bog--a grotesque mystery that threatens the USA and the world.

Aided via ladies from his past--one his exlover, the opposite his new partner--Gray needs to piece jointly the frightening fact. however the revelations come at a excessive price, and to avoid wasting the long run, grey must sacrifice one of many ladies at his part. That by myself is probably not adequate, because the actual route to salvation is printed in a gloomy prophecy of doom.

Sigma strength confronts humankind's maximum risk in an event that races from the Roman Coliseum to the icy peaks of Norway, from the ruins of medieval abbeys to the misplaced tombs of Celtic kings. the last word nightmare is locked inside a talisman buried by means of a useless saint--an historical artifact often called the Doomsday Key.

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The snakes who plagued eire, who have been pushed off our island by means of Saint Patrick, have come to those shorelines. ” Martin knew the abbot used to be now not touching on real serpents of the sphere yet to the pagan monks who carried staffs curled like snakes, to the Druid leaders of the traditional Celtic humans. Saint Patrick had switched over or pushed off the pagans from Ireland’s shorelines. yet that have been six centuries in the past. Martin became to stare out of the church towards the lifeless village. Girard’s phrases echoed in his head. The boy starved with an entire stomach. None of it made any feel. The abbot mumbled in the back of him. “It needs to all be burned. The soil sowed with salt. ” Martin nodded, yet a fear grew in his breast. may possibly any flame really spoil what was once wrought right here? He didn't be aware of needless to say, yet he was once sure approximately something. This used to be now not over. contemporary October eight, 11:55 P. M. Vatican urban Father Marco Giovanni concealed in a gloomy wooded area of stone. the big marble pillars held up the roof of Saint Peter’s Basilica and sectioned off the ground into chapels, vaults, and niches. Works of the masters stuffed the hallowed area: Michelangelo’s Pietà, Bernini’s Baldacchino, the bronze statue Saint Peter Enthroned. Marco knew he wasn’t by myself during this stone woodland. there has been a hunter with him, mendacity in wait, probably close to the rear of the church. 3 hours in the past he had acquired be aware from a fellow archaeologist who additionally served the Church, his former mentor on the Gregorian collage in Rome. He’d been instructed to satisfy him the following at the hours of darkness. even if, it had proved to be a seize. along with his again opposed to a pillar, Marco held his correct hand clamped below his left arm, stanching the bleeding alongside his left facet. He’d been curb to the ribs. scorching liquid flowed over his arms. His left hand clutched the facts he wanted, an historical leather-based satchel no better than a coin handbag. He held tight to it. As he shifted to see down the nave, extra blood flowed. It splattered to the marble flooring. He may possibly wait now not, or he’d develop too vulnerable. asserting a silent prayer, he driven off the pillar and fled down the darkish nave towards the papal altar. every one pounding step used to be a clean stab in his aspect. yet he hadn’t been lower with any knife. The arrow had imbedded itself within the neighboring pew after cutting open his aspect. The weapon were brief, stubby, black. A metal crossbow bolt. From his hiding position, Marco had studied it. A small purple diode had glowed at its base, like a few fiery eye at midnight. now not realizing what else to do, Marco easily fled, staying low. He knew he might probably die, however the mystery he held used to be extra vital than his personal existence. He needed to continue to exist lengthy sufficient to arrive the a long way go out, locate one of many patrolling Swiss Guards, and get notice to the Holy See. Ignoring his soreness and terror, he ran. The papal altar lay without delay forward. The bronze cover over it, designed by way of Bernini, rested on twisted columns. Marco flanked to the left of it, aiming for the transept on that aspect. He noticed the large Monument to Alexander VII and the entrance sheltered underneath it.

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