The Dark River

THREE OF THE beehive huts were empty, but the fourth hut was locked and the mercenaries hadn’t been able to force open the door. Before coming to Skellig Columba, Boone had read all the available data on the island and knew that the ancient buildings had heavy stone walls. The walls made it difficult to use an infrared scanner, so Boone’s team had brought along a portable backscatter device.

When the two helicopters had touched down on the island, everyone had jumped out with a desire to capture or destroy. Now this aggressive impulse had melted away. The armed men spoke in low voices as their flashlight beams cut across the rocky landscape. Two men came down the slope with the equipment from the helicopter. One part of the backscatter device looked like a refractor telescope on a tripod. It shot X-rays through the target, and a small parabolic dish captured the resulting photons.

Hospital X-ray machines worked on the principle that objects with a greater density absorbed more X-rays than objects with a lesser density. The backscatter device worked because X-ray photons moved in a different way through various kinds of materials. Substances with lower atomic numbers-like human flesh-created a different image than plastic or steel. The citizens living within the Vast Machine didn’t realize that backscatter devices were hidden throughout major airports and that security personnel were peering beneath the clothes of passengers.

Michael Corrigan came up from the chapel with two mercenaries. He was wearing a warm-up jacket and running shoes, as if he were going to jog around the island. “No one is in the chapel, Boone. What about this building?”

“We’re about to find out.” Boone attached his laptop computer to the backscatter receiver, turned on the device, and sat down on a chunk of limestone. Michael and a few other men stood behind them. It took a few seconds for the gray-and-white backscatter image to appear. A woman was inside the storage hut stacking boxes against the door. It’s not one of the Poor Clares, Boone thought. The backscatter would have displayed a shadowy hint of the nun’s robes.

“Take a look,” Boone said to Michael. “There’s one person in the building. A woman. Right now she’s blocking the doorway.”

Michael looked angry. “What about my father? You told me that either Gabriel or my father was on this island.”

“That was the information I received,” Boone said. He rotated the image to check different angles of the room. “This could be Maya. She’s the Harlequin who was guarding your brother in New York and-”

“I know who she is,” Michael said. “Don’t forget, I saw her the night she attacked the research center.”

“Perhaps we can question her.”

“She’ll kill your men and kill herself unless we can force her out of the building. Ask Mr. Harkness to come down with the splicers.”

Boone tried not to sound annoyed. “It’s not necessary at this point.”

“I’ll decide what’s necessary, Boone. I did some research before Mrs. Brewster and I agreed to this operation. These old buildings have incredibly thick walls. That’s why I wanted Mr. Harkness to be part of the team.”

WHEN THE MEDIEVAL monks had piled up stones to construct each building, they had left a few gaps in the upper walls to let out smoke. Many years later, these airholes had been turned into windows on the top floor of the storage hut. The windows were between twelve and sixteen inches in diameter. Even if the men from the helicopter smashed the glass, they wouldn’t be able to crawl inside.

Standing in the shadows, Vicki heard the door handle rattle, and someone hammered his fist on the door. Silence. Then there was a loud slamming sound. The oak door vibrated and strained against the heavy steel crossbar, but the brackets were cemented into the walls. Vicki remembered hearing the nuns talk about the Viking raids on the Irish monasteries during the twelfth century. If the monks couldn’t flee into the countryside, they would retreat into a stone tower with their gold crosses and jeweled reliquaries. They would pray-and wait-as the Norsemen tried to break in.

Vicki pushed more storage containers over to the door and stacked them up on top of one another. The pounding started again and then stopped. She walked over to the base of the stairs and saw a flashlight beam jabbing through one of the little round windows on the upper floor.

In his letter from Meridian, Mississippi, Isaac Jones had told the faithful to Look into yourself and find the well that will never go dry. Our hearts overflow with bravery and love….

Just a few months ago, Vicki stood in the Los Angeles airport-a church girl feeling timid and scared as she waited to meet a Harlequin. She had been tested many times since that first moment, but had never run away. Isaac Jones was right. The bravery had always been within her.