“Roland may be right,” Lena added. “We already know ancient builders were wise to the movement of the stars, and many early cultures revered the planet Venus. Take, for example, the Neolithic ruins of Newgrange found in Ireland. Its builders positioned its doorway to allow Venus to shine its light inside their structure on the winter solstice.”
Gray sat back. “So you believe that somebody calculated this megalithic length based on the circumference of the earth and eventually shared it as a universal unit of measurement.”
“That’s what Father Kircher believed,” Roland said. “He recognized these bones were ancient, that there was something not quite human in their conformation, and that the artifacts found with the remains—the length of ivory, the perfectly sculpted sphere of the moon—showed advanced knowledge of astronomy.”
Gray sat back. “And after coming to this realization, he secretly sought to learn more about these people.”
Roland nodded. “But being a pious man, he also sought support from religious texts. He came to believe that the Bible also hid clues about those special numbers we were talking about.”
“How do you mean?” Gray pressed.
9:09 P.M.
Roland swallowed, almost fearful of revealing the ultimate truth he had discovered in Kircher’s journal. He imagined the reverend father must have struggled even more.
“Are you familiar with the term gematria?” he finally asked. After getting shakes of heads all around, he explained. “It’s a Babylonian system of numerology that was adopted by the Hebrews, where each letter is assigned a number, giving words extra meaning based on those numbers. It became the root of a medieval cabalistic system of interpreting scripture. Later, Christians also embraced this mystical way of looking at the Bible. And as Father Kircher was a mathematician, such numerology would have interested him. From the ramblings in his journal, he became fixated on one specific number and its connection to the Bible.”
“What number?”
“A prime number. 37.” He returned again to the page showing the length of Eve’s Rib tied to circumference of the planet. “At first I thought Father Kircher was merely rounding this number—36.6—to an even 37, but he also references what Lena and I saw above the grave of Adam back in Croatia.”
He flipped through the images on his phone until he came across the splay of palm prints above the Neanderthal male’s grave.
“If you count the number of prints, you’ll find 37 of them.” Roland turned to Lena. “You also took a picture of a similar star-shaped petroglyph above Eve’s grave, but those palms were more numerous. I don’t have that photo, but could you count the number of prints that make up Eve’s star?”
Scrunching her brow, Lena pulled out her own cell and searched until she found the proper image.
She tallied the number of prints and lifted her face when done. “There’s 73.”
Roland nodded. “Father Kircher noted the same in his journal.”
“The numbers 37 and 73,” Gray said. “They’re mirrored prime numbers.”
“What Father Kircher called stella numeros . . . or star numbers, because of the patterns they formed.” Roland fanned through a section of the journal. “He also used gematria to tease out hidden messages from the Bible, coming to conclude that the number 37 was fundamental to understanding the Holy Scriptures.”
“How so?” Gray asked.
“A few examples. The word faith is used 37 times in the Gospels. Also if you convert the Hebrew word for wisdom—or chokmah—into its cabalistic equivalent, you get the numerical value of 37.” He glanced to Lena. “You’ve been searching for the roots of human intelligence. And the only word found in the Bible that equals 37 is chokmah.”
Her face grew thoughtful. “Wisdom.”
He turned to the others. “Father Kircher lists many other such biblical ties to the number 37, but his most compelling comes from the very first line of the Bible, from Genesis. In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth.”
Roland revealed a journal page with the same verse written in Hebrew, under which the reverend father had inscribed the numerological equivalent for each Hebrew word.
“If you total up this line of cabalistic numbers,” he said, “you get 2,701.”
Gray frowned. “How’s that significant?”
Roland turned to the next page and revealed what Father Kircher had calculated.
Gray shifted closer. “It’s those same mirrored primes multiplied together.”
“The reverend father’s star numbers.” Roland nodded. “Such a discovery seems beyond pure statistical chance, especially given that Father Kircher pursued this a step further. He found out that if you took this same verse, multiplied each letter’s value by the number of letters, then divided that figure by the same with the words’ values, he came up with another number that defies rational explanation.”
Roland handed the journal to Gray so he could double-check the reverend father’s mathematical calculations and the final number circled at the bottom.
Gray’s voice rang with a note of astonishment. “That’s pi.”
“A number that was well known during Father Kircher’s time.”
Lena sat back, speaking softly, almost distracted. “Maria and I studied the history of pi for our dissertation about the roots of intelligence . . . using it as a marker for the evolution of knowledge. The earliest approximations of pi actually go back to the Babylonians.”
Roland took back the journal. “So it appears that not only are those star numbers buried within the first verse of Genesis, so is the numerically significant value of pi.”
Gray reached forward and took the book. He flipped back to the page to the earth’s illustration. He tapped the final calculation written on the bottom: 36.6 Costa Eve. “As you mentioned, this also rounds up to 37. A number that—if you’re right—seems to connect the sun, moon, and earth together with the precision of a Swiss clockmaker.”
Lena’s face had gone noticeably paler. “It might not just be the stars.”
They all turned to her.
“That same number is also buried in our genetic code.”
9:12 P.M.
Lena had been fearful of broaching this matter. As soon as she had heard about the significance of the number 37, she had recalled something she had read in an academic journal back in 2014. While she had wanted to dismiss the article as a statistical anomaly, she now began to wonder.
Roland stared at her. “What are you talking about?”
She looked down at her hands. “Nearly all life on the planet uses DNA as its coding material, but there’s a code within that code, one that is beyond mutation and change. It’s the complex set of rules that govern how DNA produces proteins. Recently a biologist and mathematician, working together, discovered a series of perfect symmetries buried in that code. A pattern all based on the multiples of a single prime number.”
“Let me guess,” Gray said. “37?”
She nodded. “I remember one example from the article: how the atomic mass of every amino acid that makes up our bodies—all twenty of them—is a multiple of 37.” Lena gave a small shake of her head. “The odds of this pattern emerging by random chance were calculated to be one out of a decillion, which is 1 followed by 33 zeros.”
“So in other words, slim,” Seichan added.
Roland frowned. “You don’t even have to look so microscopically to see that connection to our biology. All you have to do is consider the normal temperature of the human body.” He stared across the group. “It’s 37 degrees Celsius.”
Silence settled across the cabin.
Gray finally spoke, his voice hushed. “If all of this is true, we’re talking about a single number that defines everything. Connecting our DNA and our bodies to the very movement of the sun, moon, and earth.”
“But what does it all mean?” Seichan asked.
He shook his head, as much in the dark as everyone else.
“If there are any
answers,” Roland said, “they’ll be found here.”
The priest had shifted again to Kircher’s journal, returning to an image he had shown them earlier. It was the section of South America with a labyrinth drawn atop a subterranean lake. It was where Kircher believed Atlantis was hidden. Lena recalled the history of this region, hinting at a lost city buried under the mountains, a place of inexplicable treasures, where ancient libraries stored books of metal and crystal.
Could there truly be such a place?
Seichan echoed this question. “How can you be so certain about all of this?”
Roland pointed to the journal. “Look where we’re headed, at the latitude marked on the map.”
Gray leaned closer and read those coordinates aloud. “3.66.”
Roland smiled. “Anyone want to claim that’s random chance?”
The pilot radioed back. “Buckle up, folks. We’re beginning the final approach into Cuenca.”
Lena twisted around and peered out the window. Ahead, the dark forest vanished into a patch of brightly lit homes. She returned her focus to the spread of jungle and the sharp-edged peaks in the distance. Somewhere out there could be hidden the greatest discovery in mankind’s history.
Still, a part of her wished the plane would tip on a wing and head away, knowing all the bloodshed that had led them here, reminding herself that Maria was still in danger.
Lena drew her gaze up to the moon, at the mystery hanging in the night sky. Beyond all the talk of calculations, she remembered Roland’s first comment about how the face of the moon perfectly covered the sun during a total eclipse. It was a symmetry of orbital movements and celestial sizes that defied common sense. Yet it had hung there for millennia, offering up this miracle to whomever dared to look and wonder.
She also recalled Gray’s comment earlier, about how all of this—the sun, the moon, and the earth—seemed designed by a Swiss clockmaker.
A chilling question rose to her mind.
If true, who was that clockmaker?
The jet shook as the landing gear was engaged.
Maybe we’re about to find out.
10:03 P.M.
Inside the shadowy hangar that neighbored the main airport of Cuenca, Shu Wei stabbed her dagger under the cowering man’s ear, angling the blade up. His mouth opened to scream, but death claimed him before any sound could escape. His body toppled backward, sliding off her knife and collapsing to the concrete floor.
She turned away, wiping the blood from the blade with a rag. She had gained the information she needed from the man. Her targets had flown off in a rented helicopter forty-five minutes ago, heading out into the jungle. The group had left with only a hired pilot, destined for a site deep in the mountains, where they were scheduled to meet with a pair of local guides of the Shuar tribe.
She tugged free an iPad from a pocket inside her jacket. It was the device she had discovered in the smoky university office back in Rome. It belonged to Father Roland Novak. During the flight here, a digital forensics expert had reviewed everything on the unit’s drive. Most of the information pertained to a medieval priest, Athanasius Kircher, including vast volumes of the man’s work. Little of it seemed pertinent to this hunt, except for the image she had viewed from the start. She brought up the screen again.
It was a map of Ecuador, with a specific spot pinpointed on it.
Her target’s rented helicopter was flying to a site near that same location.
She frowned, wishing the group had waited until morning before beginning their jungle search. She had hoped to narrow the gap with them here in Cuenca, to ambush them while they slept.
Still, she had prepared for this eventuality.
She crossed to the ten men assembled near the hangar door. She had handpicked each member of the strike team. They all belonged to the Chengdu Military Region Special Forces, all part of her current unit, code-named Guˇ. They had earned that title, Falcon, due to the unit’s notorious ability to hunt down and eliminate their targets with the ruthlessness of a true bird of prey.
I will not dishonor that name this night.
Her second-in-command joined her. Sergeant Major Kwan stood a head taller than her, his limbs thick with muscle, his face crisscrossed with old scars, his dark hair tied in a short tail. Many called him the Black Crow, due to his penchant for taking trophies from those he killed: rings, wedding bands, snips of hair, even a pair of slippers. She had once asked him about this quirk. It wasn’t to glorify the kills, he had told her, but as a measure of honor, respecting the lives of those he took.
Over time, she had grown to trust the man, more than any other. He in turn never showed any resentment of her position, age, or gender, a rare and welcome sentiment.
“The helicopter is fueled,” he said, his voice deceptively soft and quiet for such a rocky countenance. “Engines are being warmed.”
She nodded her approval, staring past the tarmac to the dark mountains.
Then let the hunt begin.
19
May 1, 11:04 A.M. CST
Beijing, China
It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.
Maria clasped tightly to Baako’s hand. Because his wrist was bound in restraints, all she could do was squeeze his fingers. The heat of his skin was feverish. Though his eyes were glazed under a light sedative, he still silently pleaded with her, trying to understand what was happening to him, wondering why she was allowing this to be done to him. Tears rolled down from the corner of his lids. He could move little else with his skull clamped to the operating table by a ring of stainless steel.
An electric shaver glided across his scalp, wielded by one of the nurses.
It had been almost ninety minutes since she and Baako had been delivered to the vivisection lab. The preoperative preparations were interminable, involving a comprehensive physical, multiple blood tests, even an MRI. As the procedures ran on, Major General Lau had finally left with Arnaud, escorting the French paleontologist away to begin his study of the Neanderthal bones stolen from Croatia.
Then moments ago, a lab tech had returned with the results of a spinal tap. The lead surgeon—Dr. Han—had reviewed them. With everything seemingly in order, he had given the go-ahead to proceed with the surgery.
As the nurses continued their preparation of Baako, Dr. Han waited with a syringe of lidocaine, ready to perform a local anesthetic scalp block once they were finished. Other members of the team began to open surgical packs.
Baako hooted hoarsely at her.
“I know you’re scared,” she whispered to him. She bent down and kissed his fingertips. She let go of his hand long enough to cross her fists and press them to her chest.
[I love you]
She took his hand again—just as one of the nurses tested a piece of equipment. The ripping buzz of the surgical bone saw made her flinch. Baako reacted more severely. He bucked in his restraints, both straining to see what was making that noise and to escape it. His frightened grip came close to breaking her fingers.
Still, she held firmly to him. “Baako, I’m here. Look at me.”
His panicked eyes swiveled wildly but finally settled on her.
“That’s right. I’m not leaving you.”
More tears wet his cheeks. He mewled softly, the sound shredding her heart.
She struggled for any way to offer him solace, her mind whirling with thoughts of breaking him free. But she knew the futility of such hopes. There were guards posted outside the lab. Also, during Baako’s MRI, Maria had returned briefly to check on Kowalski, whose life balanced on her cooperation. He was still trapped in that cage on the ground level of the habitat. Except he was no longer alone. A large male silverback squatted before the door to his confinement. Other hybrid beasts stalked behind the leader of the pack.
Knowing the fate that awaited Kowalski if she did not cooperate, Maria had no choice but to be compliant, to do what was expected of her.
What else can I do?
She stared into Baako’s
eyes, willing him all her love, trying to maintain a brave face for him. But she knew his senses were far more acute, his well of empathy as deep as any human’s. In his pained gaze, she could see his effort to communicate with her. But with his arms locked down, he was all but mute. While he could spell a few words with his fingers, he could not express the true depth of his fear and confusion, which only seemed to heighten his distress.
Baako’s fingers squeezed incrementally tighter on hers. He pressed his lips together and halted his soft mewling for a single breath, then continued again—only this time the sound coalesced into two repeated syllables.
“Ma . . . ma . . .”
Maria swallowed, feeling her legs give way. Even the surgical staff heard this utterance. Faces turned to the patient on the table. Murmurs of amazement spread among them. While gorillas did not have the vocal apparatus for true speech, Baako clearly had the ability to mimic a sound he knew well, one imprinted on his heart.
“Mama,” he repeated, his gaze fixed to her.
Maria could restrain herself no longer. She collapsed to her knees, her cheek pressed against Baako’s fingers. Sobs racked through her, rising out of the depths of her soul.
Somebody help us.
11:08 A.M.
“This search could take all day, if not all week,” Monk said.
He stood at the threshold of Dìxià Chéng—Beijing’s Underground City—and studied the arched passageway that headed off from the bottom of the stairs. The tunnel was painted hospital white, stained with streaks of green mold. The floor was swamped in ankle-deep black water. He was happy to be wearing the paper mask over his nose and mouth, imagining what pathogens must be wafting about this claustrophobic place. Even through his mask’s filter, the air reeked of algae, fungus, and rot.
Kimberly handed back his phone. “I doubt this will help us find our way through here.”
The phone’s screen glowed with a spotty diagram of this subterranean warren, a map supplied to them by Kat. His wife had compiled a rough composite of the eighty square miles that made up the Underground City, leaning on her sources in the intelligence community. But Dìxià Chéng had been dug out a half century ago, and over time it been sliced and diced apart by the ongoing extension of Beijing’s subway system.