Rolling to his knees, he could see April already getting to her feet, wreathed by a corks.c.r.e.w.i.n.g column of black smoke that rolled skyward. The blast seemed to have done less damage than he expected, but the heavy granite base was fractured by lightning bolts of cracks.

In a deafening roar of rotor blades, the A109M swooped closer, too low over the Square, its beating blades driving off the few tourists who had remained to gawk at the spectacle.

Skarda ducked.

"Park!" April jabbed a finger at the obelisk. "Run!"

Skarda jerked his head at the column, seeing the jigsawing fractures snaking up the vertical shaft of the obelisk. He grabbed Flinders' arm and yanked her to her feet. "Come on! We have to get out of here!"

April was already racing toward the southern colonnade.

With a crack like the sound of a tree trunk snapping the base of the obelisk blew into fragments. Then, swaying for a moment as if it were caught in a mini-earthquake, the ma.s.sive stone pillar toppled, plummeting like a descending headsman's sword onto the approaching helicopter, smashing it to the cobblestones in a swelling fireball that mushroomed upwards amid coils of thick black smoke. Multi-ton blocks of granite and flaming, twisted metal scattered across the plaza. From the tip of the column the capstone shot off like a champagne cork.

Skarda stared in disbelief, the aftershock of the blast still ringing in his ears. Smoke stung his eyes, making them water. But through the churning cloud that blanketed the plaza he could see a dull glint of metal flung ahead of the shattered obelisk that resolved itself into the shape of an inverted turtle sh.e.l.l, tarnished blue-green by verdigris.

And there was another object, too.

One he couldn't make out through the smoke.

Flinders was shouting something to him, but his hearing hadn't cleared. She dragged him closer, so she could put her lips to his ears. "Alexander the Great's breastplate!" she yelled, pointing at the turtle sh.e.l.l. "The one Caligula stole from his tomb! He must have ordered it buried in the capstone after his death!"

Boots pounded through the smoke. Men in red jumpsuits were racing towards the breastplate.

But April had seen it, too.

Changing direction, she broke into a sprint, dodging past them. Skarda saw her stoop on the run and s.n.a.t.c.h the other object from the cobblestones.

Immediately rifle barrels snapped up- But Zandak snapped out an order.

The guns dropped.

She cut left, catching Skarda's eye, her left hand jerking toward the southern circle of columns.

"Come on!" he yelled.

Grabbing Flinders, he took off after her. Closer to the colonnade, the smoke was thinning out. He could see April darting in between the Doric columns, glancing back at them. In a moment they had caught up to her.

With a grin, she brought up her right hand. She was holding a rectangular-shaped object, about a foot-and-a-half long, whose top end had been shaped into a half circle. Its intense emerald-green surface reflected daylight, outlining the strange glyphs that crawled across its face, carved in bas-relief.

Flinders gasped. "The Tablet!"

April handed it to her. Taking out his Stealth, Skarda snapped photos of the artifact as Flinders' trembling fingers traced over the ancient letters.

Then the sky above was torn apart by an ear-splitting roar. April jerked her face up, seeing one of the Mi-25's swooping toward them.

"Let's move!" she yelled.

With an ear-piercing bang the row of columns next to them exploded. Skarda ducked, dragging Flinders closer to him. The beating of the attack helicopter's rotor blades was like a volley of gunshots in their ears., threatening to blow them to the ground.

Legs pumping hard, they cut across the Via Paolo VI onto the Piazza del Sant-Uffizio, racing past the Palace of the Holy Office. Eating up the distance behind them, the Mi-25 swooped lower, buffeting their backs with its rotor wash. The Gatling gun stuttered into life. Hot 12.7mm rounds tore up the air over their heads, chewing up the asphalt and slamming into parked cars in a storm of crumpling metal and glittering fragments of flying gla.s.s.

Holding his arm in front of his face, Skarda gritted his teeth and kept going. But in a flash he realized the gunner was deliberately aiming over the heads. They'd seen the Tablet in Flinders' hands and didn't want to risk damaging it!

Then a new sound caused him to twist his head around: two more Carabinieri choppers zooming in from the south, their pintle-mounted machine guns churning out a lethal stream of .50 caliber bullets at the Russian gunships.

Abruptly the Gatling gun broke off. The Mi-25 slued, veering around in a tight arc to face the A109's as the Italians zoomed in to attack. In the background Skarda could see the second Russian chopper still hovering over St. Peter's Square.

Running beside him, Flinders had broken into a stumble, her lungs heaving with exertion.

"Come on!" he yelled. He pointed at April, who was cutting a hard left into a side street, packed with parked cars. "We can duck behind those cars!"

They raced after her, diving into the protection of a minivan and crouching low. Skarda raised his head. From the wing pod of the lead A 109 an infrared homing air-to-air missile streaked out, rocketing toward the Russian chopper. The Mi-25 stood its ground. Then from its nose a laser beam shot out, targeting the missile and instantly jamming its sensors. The rocket zoomed past the chopper in a wake of white smoke, plowing into the roof of the Palace where it detonated in a gout of flame, scattering roof tiles.

Now the second Carabinieri zoomed west, trying to maneuver around to the rear of the Russian gunship. Over the Square, the second Mi-25 was speeding toward them, swinging east to fly around in a circle.

A new noise added to the din. With a grind of gears, a 6x6 truck accelerated forward on the Via Paolo VI, the driver standing on the brakes and wrenching the wheel in a tight turn so the bed of the truck faced the Square.

The second Russian chopper zoomed closer, heading for the colonnade. Two men hopped out of the truck, throwing back the canvas covering. From this angle Skarda could see them hauling out what looked like a length of silver pipe attached to a rail guide. Manhandling it into position, they aimed it skyward.

April saw it, too, nodding in admiration. "EMP pulse gun," she said. "Watch what happens to that chopper."

Skarda watched the men aim the EMP at the oncoming Mi-25. He heard nothing, saw no muzzle flash. But ten seconds later the gunship seemed to freeze in mid-air, its engine abruptly quiet, as if someone had switched off all its power. Yawing back and forth, the huge ship spun as the pilot fought the cyclic control, and then it was losing alt.i.tude, still propelled by its forward momentum, its rotors whipping the air in autorotation. It dropped like a stone, then was yanked back up again, its fuselage twisting to and fro. Skarda could see the pilot inside his bubble canopy, frantically working the controls. Then suddenly the chopper swung around, dropping backward in a violent hooking arc, as if an unseen hand had jerked it with a string, yanking it across the Square above the heads of the horrified fleeing crowd.

Seconds later it collided with the dome of the Basilica, top-first, its t.i.tanium blades spinning like a buzz saw, carving into the masonry of the dome with a splintering crunch-crunch-crunch until the fuselage rammed against a supporting arch and exploded in a blast of flame and smoke.

From the rear of the 6x6 Jaz hopped down, hefting a G36, bracing her legs wide and spraying the remaining Mi-25 with bullets as it roared around to face the Carabinieri chopper. A rocket streaked out from the Russian wing pod, blowing the speeding A109 to fiery bits.

Completing its circle, the Mi-25 hovered to face Jaz. For a moment it hung motionless. Then a swath of .50 caliber rounds spat from the Gatling gun. Jaz ducked low, dodging right, leaping for the cover of a parked Fiat. Skarda watched a hurricane of bullets rake over the cab and engine compartment of the 6x6, then tear up the street in a straight line directly at the Fiat, blowing up big chunks of asphalt and almost cutting the little car in half. The Fiat exploded, hit by a rocket.

Unfazed, Jaz shot to her feet, firing another burst at the Mi-25, now swooping past low over her head. Before it could complete its turn, she broke and ran, racing in Skarda's direction. Bullets smacked and ricocheted all around her, spanging off metal and thunking into the ground, tearing up furrows of flying divots of gra.s.s and dirt along the parkway in the wake of her pounding feet.

Skarda looked skyward. Another Carabinieri chopper clattered into sight, firing two rockets from its wing pods. The Mi-25 broke off its attack on Jaz, veering around to face the new threat, its laser beam lancing out. The rockets veered off course, one blowing a huge crater in the street, tossing an SUV on its side, the other exploding against the side of a building.

Jolting to a halt, Jaz braced her legs and emptied her magazine at the tail of the Russian chopper, tearing up the ninety-degree gearbox. Spirals of oily black smoke spewed upward, torn to tatters by the rotor wash. The Mi-25 yawed right, spinning hard, but the pilot pitched forward on the cyclic to compensate.

The Russian gunship was in trouble.

Clear of the threat now, Jaz took off running toward the line of parked cars, her legs pumping furiously. She had just made it past the bulk of the minivan when April stepped out, throwing out her right leg and pivoting behind her, locking her forearm across the blonde woman's neck.

But Jaz was faster.

Dropping her rifle, she rammed her chin to her chest, simultaneously reaching around and clamping a vise-like hand April's wrist. Then she spun her around, throwing her heavy muscular arms around her midsection in a bear hug.

"Hi, honey," she said with mock l.u.s.t, her mouth inches away from April's face. Long black hairs stuck out from the top of her shirt and crawled up the sides of her neck and throat. Acne pustules pockmarked her skin. The steroids made her breath stink. "Nice to see you again."

She squeezed hard. Stabbing pains shot through April's guts. Lifting her left foot high, she tried to stomp on Jaz's thigh to snap her femur, but Jaz just held her closer, pinning her fast, outweighing and outmuscling her.

Above their heads the wounded Mi-25 swung around as slugs from the A109's cannons spanged off its heavy fuselage armor. The air roared with sound.

Dropping her chin as far as she could, April snapped her head back, the back of her skull connecting with Jaz's forehead, making a sound like a mallet smacking on wood.

But her captor just laughed. "Nice try, honey. You're going to have to do better than that." Then, with a savage grin, she drew her lips back in a savage grin and bared her teeth, thrusting her spiked head toward April's jugular vein, her incisors gleaming.

With a snarl, Skarda shoved himself to his full height, leaping at Jaz just as the Mi-25 launched two rockets at the oncoming A109, both targeting the engine compartment.

The Italian chopper blew apart in a sheet of flame.

The shockwave of the blast knocked him to the ground.

Jaz jerked her head around. Her cat's eyes widened. A storm of fiery debris was streaking toward them, followed by the smoke-shrouded hulk of the Italian chopper.

Giving April a vicious shove, Jaz bolted away, sprinting for the barricade of parked cars.

Skarda jumped to his feet, grabbing April before she fell.

"Go! Go!" she shouted.

They ran- A lethal rain of fiery metal fragments stormed all around them. Flaming aviation fuel spattered Skarda's back, setting his shirt on fire. Something hot scoured the flesh on his right arm, then on his thighs and calves.

He cried out in pain- The A109 hurtled toward the ground- As he and April dived for the protection of a parked Renault, he could feel the scorching wind rush of the falling helicopter as it plummeted toward the asphalt behind him. Out of the corner of his vision he saw Flinders, the Tablet clutched against her chest, running for her life in the opposite direction.

With a monstrous crash the chopper's fuselage slammed into the minivan, tearing it to pieces, the combined wreckage screeching over the street in a wall of white-hot flame, spraying burning fuel and sizzling metal. The tail boom snapped off and cartwheeled away, the three rotors whirling through the air to slice through parked cars. Aviation fuel ignited, mingling with the gasoline gushing from ruptured tanks. A twisting tongue of fire and smoke shot skyward, booming out a convulsion of compressed air that hit Skarda like a tidal wave of sound.

Seconds later it was all over. His back to the asphalt, Skarda smothered out his burning shirt. But the stench of oily smoke and burning fuel still singed his nostrils. Helping April up, he scrambled to his feet. The A109 was a black, twisted hulk of metal, consumed by a towering holocaust of flames.

The stricken Mi-25 had disappeared Flinders!

Darting out from the protection of the Renault, he caught a glimpse of her about thirty feet away, lying face-down with her arms flung out in front of her. Patches of flaming fuel burned on the back of her shirt and her pants.

Racing to her, he beat out the fires with his bare hands. A knot constricted the back of his throat. He thrust his ear next to her face, hearing her breathing coming in ragged gasps.

Carefully he turned her over. Her sapphire eyes blinked, then focused on him with a start. She shrank back from his touch.

"It's just me," he said, showing her a smile. Relief washed over him. Next to her mouth a bruised lump was burning an angry red..

Blinking again, she stared at him as if she were seeing his face for the first time. Then tears broke and rolled down her cheeks. "She hit me!" Her fingers pa.s.sed gingerly over the swelling bruise and looked at them as if she expected to see blood.

Suddenly her face was heavy with fatigue. "She took it," she said.

"The Tablet?"

She nodded, the tears springing up again.

"Not good," April said behind him. It was a flat statement, spoken with no emotion, no blame. Things were just the way they were.

Hearing Flinders' words, Skarda's heart sank. They'd had the Tablet in their grasp, but now it was gone.

Flinders turned her tear-streaked face up at him. "They're going to do it, aren't they? They're going to blow up the Arctic Ocean."

With grim finality, he nodded.

THIRTY-THREE.

Rome, Italy A lowering sun was casting long shadows across the Spanish Steps and the Via Veneto when Skarda, April, and Flinders sat on the terrace of their suite at the Hotel Eden, enjoying a meal of tagliatelle with walnuts, hazelnuts, pistachios, and olives in heavy cream, plus prosciutto di Parma and a big pizza rustica.From their table, past a dense grove of umbrella pines and the twin towers of the Trinit del Monti, they had a commanding view of St. Peter's Square and the Basilica. By now the police had disappeared, but the recent destruction had attracted mobs of tourists and locals who were thronging the Piazza to gawk at the wreckage of the helicopter and the still-smoking hole in the Dome.

At first a pall of depression at losing the Tablet had settled over all of them. But it had finally been Flinders who'd laughed and stated the obvious, remembering that Skarda had snapped photos of the artifact with his Stealth. So she'd spent the majority of the afternoon in her suite, working on the translation of the antediluvian language system.

Now Skarda refilled her gla.s.s from the bottle of Giacomo Conterno Barolo in front of him, taking in her freshly-scrubbed skin, tight jeans, and red tunic blouse. Earlier, she and April had spent several hours shopping for much-needed new clothes on the Via dei Condotti and the Via del Corso.

From his male perspective, he was glad that they had.

Sipping her wine, Flinders opened her laptop. "Well," she began. "The good news is, I've translated the text of the Tablet."

Skarda felt his pulse quicken, but he c.o.c.ked an apprehensive eyebrow. "Uh-oh. And the bad news...?"

A frustrated sigh blew past her lips. "The bad news is, it reads just as tradition says it should. Supposedly the earliest translation of the Tablet is in an Arabic book known as Kitab Balaniyus al-Hakim fi'l-`Ilal, meaning the 'Book of Balinas the Wise on the Causes', written about 650 CE. Balinas may or may not have been later known as Apollonius of Tyana, a first-century Palestinian healer and magician. Other sources are an eighth-century Arabic book called Kitab Sirr al Asar,and another text composed by the alchemist Jabir Hayyan around 800 CE. But the translation may have reached Europe in the twelfth century in the Secretum Secretorum, a pseudo-Aristotelian work which was itself a translation of the Kitab Sirr al Asar. There have been many translations of the text into English, but I'll quote for you Sir Isaac Newton's 1680 version: "'Tis true without lying, certain and most true. That which is below is like that which is above and that which is above is like that which is below to do the miracles of one only thing. And as all things have been & arose from one by the mediation of one: so all things have their birth from this one thing by adaptation. The Sun is its father, the moon its mother, the wind hath carried it in its belly, the Earth its nurse. The father of all perfection in the whole world is here. Its force or power is entire if it be converted into earth. Seperate thou the earth from the fire, the subtile from the gross sweetly with great industry. It ascends from the earth to the heaven and again it descends to the earth and receives the force of things superior and inferior. By this means you shall have the glory of the whole world and thereby all obscurity shall fly from you. Its force is above all force. For it vanquishes every subtile thing and penetrates every solid thing. So was the world created. From this are and do come admirable adaptations whereof the means (or process) is here in this. Hence I am called Thoth, having the philosophy of the whole world. That which I have said of the operation of the Sun is accomplished and ended.'"

Baffled, Skarda twirled his fork around a snake's nest of pasta. "That's it?"

"That's it."

"So what does it mean?" April asked.

Flinders laughed out loud. "Beats me! I guess you have to be an alchemist!"

He shook his head in frustration. "There's nothing in there that sounds like a map or a specific location."

April made a low sound in her throat and said, "Great."

"Well, that was the bad news," Flinders told them, smiling. "Now here's some more good news. Maybe." She tapped a key, then turned the laptop around so they could see the monitor. On the screen was Skarda's photo of the Tablet. "Look at this." She tapped one of the glyphs with her finger. "And this one." Another tap.

Skarda peered at the screen, mystified. He shook his head. "Explain."

"There are a number of glyphs here that are formed very oddly-not at all like they should be. It has to be deliberate." Picking up a pencil, she began to draw on a sheet of paper. "Look at this series of strokes attached to this glyph. Those marks aren't serifs and they aren't diacritical. They shouldn't be there. But doesn't the whole form resemble the alchemical symbol for fire?"

Both Skarda and April peered at the screen. "Yeah...it does!" he said.

Flinders' eyes lit up. "Now look here...here...here...and here." She pointed out four more geometrical shapes attached to letters within the body of the text. "If you'll look, these five symbols form a pentagram, starting at the top of the text and ending at the bottom. It's an ancient symbol representing unity, wholeness, and protection." She drew the shape of the pentagram on the paper. "Cla.s.sically it's a five-pointed star, with each tip showing the symbol that represents one of the four primal elements: air and water on the top arms, left to right, and earth and fire on the bottom arms. The fifth arm, the tip, symbolizes spirit."

April leaned forward, studying the monitor. Then she pointed at the top left and right arms on Flinders' drawing. "But these two tips on the top half have the same symbol."

"Right!" Flinders said. "They're both fire. And look-see the tip of the top triangle-the triangle with the line through it? That's the symbol for air. I take it to mean the sky, or up."