And then, abruptly, Race cut himself off as he saw another member of the Navy team whom he recognised.
He frowned.
It was Ed Devereux.
Devereux was a short, bespectacled black man, and at forty-one was one of the most highly-regarded ancient lan guages professors at Harvard. Some said he was the best Latin scholar in the world. At the moment, he stood silently in the line of Navy and DARPA people, holding a large leather-bound book under his arm. Race guessed it was the Navy's copy of the manuscript.
It was then that Race remembered meeting Frank Nash in his own office two days ago, at the very beginning of all this—remembered recommending to Nash that he take Devereux on the mission instead of himself since the Harvard professor was much better at medieval Latin than he was.
But now.., now Race knew why Nash had insisted on taking him and not Devereux.
It was because Devereux had already been taken. By the real DARPA team.
'You'll never get out of this alive, Nash,' one of the older Navy-DARPA men said. He had a completely bald head and the bearing of a man in charge—Doctor Julius Romano.
'Why do you say that?” Nash said.
'The Armed Services Committee will hear about this,'
Romano said. 'The Supernova is a Navy project. You have no business being here.'
'The Supernova ceased to be a Navy project the moment it was stolen from DARPA headquarters two days ago,' Nash said. 'Which means that now the Army is the only armed force in the United States with a Supernova in its possession.'
Romano said, 'You son of a—'
It was at that moment that Romano's head exploded—bursting like a tomato—sending a fountain of blood spraying out in every direction. A split second later, his body dropped to the ground—limp, lifeless, dead.
Race whirled around at the sound of the gunshot, just in time to see Nash standing there with his SIG-Sauer pistol extended in the firing position. Nash took a step along the line of Navy and DARPA people and levelled his pistol at the next man's head.
Blare!
The gun went off and the man fell.
'What are you doing?' Race yelled.
'Colonel!' Van Lewen shouted, incredulous, making to raise his G-11.
But no sooner had he moved than another silver SIG-Sauer appeared next to his head. At the other end of the pistol stood Troy Copeland.
'Drop the gun, Sergeant,' Copeland said.
Van Lewen clenched his teeth, dropped the G-11 and glared at Copeland.
Lauren had Renee similarly covered.
Completely confused, Race spun to look at Marty, but his brother just stood at the end of the line of Navy and DARPA people, staring stoically forward, his only movement a blink with every gunshot.
'Colonel, this is outright murder,' Van Lewen said.
Nash stepped up in front of another Navy man, levelled his pistol.
Blam!
'No,' he said. 'It is merely a process of natural selection. Survival of the fittest.'
Nash came to Ed Devereux.
The small Harvard professor stood before him, trembling.
His eyes were wide behind his wire-framed glasses, his whole body shaking with fear. Nash levelled his SIG at the little man's head.
Devereux screamed, “No—!”
Blare!
The scream cut off abruptly and Devereux crumpled to the ground.
“Race couldn't believe this was happening. American killing American. It was a nightmare. He winced as he saw Devereux fall to the ground, dead.
It was then that he saw the leather-bound book that Devereux had been holding when he had been shot. It lay in the mud, face-up, open, revealing a set of crusty old pages filled with ornate medieval artwork and calligraphy.
It was the Santiago Manuscript.
Or rather, Race corrected himself, the partially-completed copy of the manuscript that had been made by another monk in 1599, thirty years after Alberto Santiago's death.
'Colonel, what the hell are you doing?' Race said.
'I am merely eliminating the competition, Professor Race.'
