Instead, he felt only loss.
He had made accommodation for his death, happy that Rachel would live on in his stead. Maybe part of his inner peace was selfish pride, knowing he would be remembered, that she would tell her sons and daughters, even her grandchildren, about her uncle Vigor and the adventures they had shared together.
He wanted to curse God—but as he stared at the cross, he felt a measure of comfort. He knew he would see Rachel again. He was certain of it.
“I have no doubt,” he whispered.
He followed it with a short, silent prayer.
He had time for no more.
But was that not the lament upon every deathbed? Regret about what could never be, the finality of death, the great destroyer of possibilities.
Sighing, he pictured all his friends, old and new.
Gray and Monk, Kat and Painter, Duncan and Jada.
Rachel had sacrificed everything to keep them safe, to allow them the fullness of their lives, though hers was cut short.
Could I do any less?
Vigor raised the Eye and placed it where the relic of St. Thomas had rested for millennia. It came to fit perfectly upon the small gold pillars that had supported the skull . . . as if the Eye were always meant to be there.
Only when the sphere touched the cross—
10:00 A.M.
Duncan gasped, stumbling back as if struck in the face by a fierce gust of wind—only he never really stumbled.
Instead, his consciousness blew out of the back of his skull. For a moment, he found himself staring at his body from behind, standing next to Jada, both of them facing the doors.
Then he snapped back, so hard he actually fell forward and hit the door. He caught himself with a palm on the jamb.
Jada stared at him. “Are you okay?”
“I’m suddenly glad I wasn’t in there.”
“What happened?”
He attempted to explain his out-of-body experience.
Instead of being incredulous, she nodded. “The blast from the annihilation of energies likely created a local quantum bubble, bursting outward. And for a sensitive like yourself, where your consciousness is highly attuned to quantum fields, it had a physical effect.”
“And what about someone in that room? At ground zero?”
10:01 A.M.
It was a good question, Jada thought.
And one that frightened her.
Especially after hearing what Duncan had experienced.
“I don’t know,” she admitted in regard to Vigor’s fate. “Nothing or everything. A flip of the coin.”
She realized Vigor was like Schrödinger’s cat. As long as the door remained closed, he was both alive and dead. Only once they opened it would his fate be decided one way or the other.
She pictured the universe splitting, depending on that answer.
Duncan reached for the door to collapse that potential, but before he could do so, a commotion drew their attention behind them. From the tunnel by the pond, Gray crawled into view, spotted them, and rushed up the stairs.
He quickly took in the situation and noted who was missing.
“Where’s Vigor?” he asked.
Jada turned to the sealed door. “He agreed to take the Eye in there, to join it with the cross.”
“Did he do it?”
“Yes,” Jada said.
Gray frowned at the closed door. “How can you be certain?”
Duncan rubbed the back of his head, as if making sure it was still there. “We’re sure.”
Gray stepped to the door. “Then let’s get in there.”
Jada put her hand over the latch, suddenly feeling foolish, as if stopping Gray could truly leave Vigor’s fate undecided.
“There’s a good chance he didn’t make it,” Duncan warned, plainly trying to prepare Gray.
Jada nodded and dropped her hand.
Gray pulled the latch and swung the door open.
10:02 A.M.
Gray stepped into the golden chamber, finding it little changed. The vast murals depicting the life of St. Thomas remained. The cairn of stones stood in the middle of the room. The triple boxes sat on top of the pillar.
Only now Vigor lay crumpled on the floor, his head resting against the relic of St. Thomas.
Gray rushed to his side and rolled him over.
His chest didn’t move.
Fingers at his throat found no heartbeat.
Oh, God, no . . .
Tears welled up.
He stared at his friend’s face, noting the look of peace, of calm release.
“Did he know?” Gray said, not looking away. “About Rachel.”
“He did,” Duncan said hoarsely.
Gray closed his eyes, praying they were together again, finding a note of comfort in that thought, wanting it to be true, needing it to be so.
Be happy, my friends.
He kept bowed over Vigor for a long breath.
To the side, Duncan stepped to the boxes. He passed his hands over the sphere, picked it up, and examined the cross. He finally shook his head and passed his verdict.
“The energy is gone.”
Did that mean they had succeeded?
Gray had a more important question. “Were we in time?”
Jada checked her watch. “I don’t know. It all happened right at the cusp. It could go either way.”
33
November 21, 1:08 A.M. EST
Washington, D.C.
Painter waited with the others on the National Mall. The president and key members of the government had been evacuated. Coastal areas had been sandbagged and cleared. Even Monk and Kat had taken the girls for a short “vacation” in the Amish country of Pennsylvania, away from the potential blast zone.
Though that potential was not high, no one was taking chances.
Even his fiancée, Lisa, had suggested returning early from New Mexico to join him, but he discouraged her.
Washington, D.C., was under a voluntary evacuation order. But like Painter, not everyone had abandoned the nation’s capital. A vast number of people crowded the Mall. Across the swaths of grass, tents had been pitched, candles lit, and much alcohol was drunk. Songs echoed to him, along with a few prayers and angry shouting matches.
From the steps outside the Smithsonian Castle, Painter stared across that great mass of humanity, with their faces raised to the skies—a few in fear, most with wonder. He never appreciated his fellow man more than at this moment. Here were curiosity, awe, and reverence, all the best traits of humankind squeezed down to this one moment, making each soul smaller against the grandeur of what was about to happen and far, far larger for being a part of it.
A scuffle of feet drew his attention behind him. Jada and Duncan came running across the street from the doors of the Castle. He noted their hands clasped together—though they broke apart once they drew closer.