They marched like the professional soldiers they were, picking their way deftly over the uneven surface of the fractured road, maneuvering around abandoned vehicles and other obstacles without breaking stride. Suvorov led the way. Brown, either unable or unwilling to move with the same urgency, was being dragged along by two of the Spetsnaz.
King easily kept pace with them but did not allow the apparent truce to lull him into complacency. This was an alliance of convenience, and he did not doubt that, when or if they succeeded in dealing with the immediate crisis, the Russians would turn on him.
One thing at a time, he told himself.
They reached their destination only a few minutes later. The Louvre now bore little resemblance to the stately seventeenth century palace that had been transformed into what was arguably the most famous museum in the world. The classical facade had been devastated by the earthquake, particularly in the central part of the structure, which appeared to be on the verge of imploding. The towering pavilion had collapsed in on itself and the exterior walls, what little remained of them, leaned dangerously inward. In the foreground, little remained of the famous glass pyramids; the largest of the triangular structures now appeared to be nothing more than a twisted web of steel.
Suvorov had paused at the edge of the courtyard and was gazing in disbelief at the scene of near total destruction. “I can’t believe it,” he whispered, barely restraining his grief. “I was just here. A few hours ago.”
King surveyed the ruin. The Russian had been right about the connection between the Buddha statues-or rather their remains-and the cause of the event. This had almost certainly been ground zero. Something powerful had been awakened inside the museum, and even though he was still more than a hundred yards from the structure, he knew it was still there. He could hear it in the persistent crunching sound that emanated from the ruins, and he could feel it in every fiber of his body.
The Russian quickly overcame his shock and led the group into the courtyard. He directed one of his team to remain outside and signal with a gun shot if and when the dark shape pursuing them finally arrived. King didn’t doubt that it would show up, but he was starting to believe that what lay inside the museum might be even more dangerous. His dread, and an increasing sensation of vertigo, intensified with each step forward, and as they crawled through a gap in the museum’s exterior and into its lightless depths, he felt almost like he was in free fall.
Suvorov’s familiarity with the museum counted for little once they were inside. The labyrinth of corridors connecting the galleries and exhibition halls as shown on the floor plan had been remade by the temblor. Hallways were now blocked with rubble, while new passages had been created by the collapse of walls. There was no question however, as to the path they were to follow; gravity drew them irresistibly toward the center of the museum.
King saw nothing even faintly recognizable, but he knew that the heaps of stone and masonry probably concealed priceless and irreplaceable objets d’art, now damaged beyond any hope of recovery. The clumps of debris had all accumulated on the inward facing walls-at least where such walls were still standing.
Then, after only a few minutes, the meandering journey ended at the edge of a crater, more than a hundred yards across and open to the night sky. Flashlight beams probed the downward slope, revealing openings that led into ancient passageways-remnants of the twelfth century fortress upon which the palace had been built-cutting into the bedrock that was itself scoured clean of any debris left over from the collapse of the roof and the floors above.
The bottom of the crater however was filled with loose fragments of rock and rubble, a heap several yards in diameter, and as King stared at the accumulation, he realized that it was the source of the ominous grinding sound.
He didn’t know what the monster on the riverboat had been, but this surely was the black hole Pradesh had awakened.
The mound-what scientists called an ‘accretion disk’-was moving, the fragments were being pulled inward, compacted together and broken into smaller pieces by the force of gravity, and all occurring at different relativistic speeds as the matter approached and ultimately crossed the event horizon. Black holes could not be seen because their gravity was too strong to allow light to reflect back to an observer but an accretion disk was a pretty good indicator of the presence of a black hole. King recalled that the destruction of matter in a black hole also released gamma radiation, which could cause lethal cell damage in humans. That wasn’t something he wanted to think about.
Then he saw something else revealed in the glow of the flashlights. A group of people stood on the edge of the crater, about thirty yards away, similarly gazing down into its depths. He recognized one figure immediately, the tall, massive form of Alexander Diotrophes-the immortal Hercules himself-squinting into the glare.
This revelation was accompanied by equal parts anger and hope. Of course he’s here, King thought. He always seems to turn up when the world’s about to end. He probably saw this coming, but was too damn secretive to share what he knew with the rest of us.
On the other hand, there wasn’t much that Diotrophes didn’t know. If there was a way to stop this thing, Alexander would be able to tell him how.
Then he saw the faces of Alexander’s companions. His heart sank as a joyful squeal echoed from the walls of the crater.
“Dad!”
38
Somehow, Julia wasn’t a bit surprised by the appearance of the man Fiona identified as her father. She was not surprised to learn that the man, introducing himself simply as ‘King’ was also Sara’s boyfriend, nor did she have any difficulty accepting that King and Carutius were old acquaintances-she didn’t think they were friends exactly, but there was history there. She felt like she had lost her capacity to be surprised by anything where Carutius was involved.
But her mind still boggled with the revelation that the man she had met earlier, the man who had identified himself as ‘Trevor,’ was in fact Timur Suvorov, a Russian special forces soldier. That was too much.
Trevor- Timur, she corrected-did not allow the awkwardness of the situation to put down roots. “I will explain everything later,” he told her. “But right now time is short.”
“No kidding,” Fiona chirped, and then with what could only be described as youthful enthusiasm, she summarized everything that had happened, starting with following Carutius-whom she kept calling Alexander-and leading up to the appearance of the dark shape.
“Basilisk,” King muttered approvingly. “That sounds like a good name for it. We ran into it as well.”
“The basilisk,” Alexander said, “is merely an extension of the black hole’s consciousness. The real danger is there.” He pointed out to the accretion disk in the center of the crater.
“I’m not so sure,” King countered. He held up something that looked to Julia like an ordinary cell phone. “This is a quantum computer. One of ten that Mr. Brown over there-” He pointed to an older man who was being held at gunpoint by one of Timur’s companions-“was going to use to sabotage the world’s power supply. The man who actually built the things had other plans. He somehow found a way to remotely wake up the black hole down there with the quantum computer network and evidently give it some brainpower. I think it wants to make that connection permanent, so it has that basilisk running around collecting them all. This is probably the last one, and if it gets it, we’re finished.”
Alexander considered this a moment. “Perhaps not. This may be a unique opportunity. If it possesses true intelligence, we might be able to interact with it…”
He let the thought trail off before any of the others could voice an objection. “No. There’s no time. We need to act against this entity, just as the Buddhist monks did centuries ago.”
“I can do it,” Fiona said. “I’m going to use the mother tongue.”
Julia noted the look of apprehension that crossed King’s face. Before he could respond, the noise of a gunshot reached their ears. Several more followed in short bursts then fell silent.
King looked away for a moment, then bent forward and embraced Fiona. “You can do this,” he told her, and
