Sandstorm

7:22 P.M.

FROM THEsecond-story balcony of the palace, Safia stared with the others out at the maelstrom. The cavern roof could no longer be seen. The roiling clouds of static charge had begun a slow spin across the dome, a vortex of static. In the center, a small downspout could be seen, perceptibly lowering, like the funnel cloud of a tornado. It aimed for the antimatter lake.

“Novak’s right,” Cassandra said. She was studying the phenomenon through her night-vision goggles. “The entire dome is filling up.”

“It’s the megastorm,” Coral said. “It must be much stronger than the ancient storm that triggered the cataclysm two thousand years ago. It’s overwhelming the capacity here. And I can’t help but think a fair amount of the lake water is probably destabilized like the contents of the iron camel.”

“What will happen?” Safia asked.

Coral explained, “Have you ever seen an overloaded transformer blow? It can take out an entire power pole. Now picture one the size of this cavern. One with a concentrated antimatter core. It has the capability of taking out the entire Arabian Peninsula.”

The sobering thought silenced them all.

Safia watched the vortex of energies churn. The funnel in the center continued to drop, slowly, inexorably. Primitive fear laced through her.

“So what can we do?” This question came from an unlikely source. Cassandra. She pulled up her night-vision goggles. “We have to stop this.”

Omaha scoffed. “Like you want to help?”

“I don’t want to die. I’m not insane.”

“Just evil,” Omaha muttered.

“I prefer the word ‘opportunistic.’ ” She directed her attention back to Coral. “Well?”

Coral shook her head.

“We ground it,” Painter said. “If this glass bubble is the insulator for this energy, then we need to find a way to shatter the bubble’s underside, ground the electrical storm, send its energy into the earth.”

“It’s not a bad theory, Commander,” Coral said. “Especially if you could break the glass under the lake itself, get the antimatter waters to drain into the original Earth-generated water system from whence it came. Not only would the energy dissipate, but it would lessen the risk of an antimatter chain reaction. The enriched waters would simply dilute away to the point of impotency.”

Safia felt a glimmer of hope. It didn’t last past Coral’s next words.

“It’s the practical application of that plan that’s the big problem. We don’t have a bomb massive enough to blow out the bottom of the lake.”

For the next few minutes, Safia listened to the discussions of possible explosive devices while knowing what lay implanted in her own neck, knowing what had happened back in Tel Aviv, back at the British Museum. Bombs marked the turning points in her life. They might as well mark her end. The threat should have terrified her, but she was beyond fear.

She closed her eyes.

She half noted the various ideas being bandied aloud, from rocket-propelled grenades even to the bit of C4 in her neck.

“There’s nothing here strong enough,” Coral said.

“Yes, there is,” Safia said, opening her eyes. She remembered the blast at the British Museum. She pointed down into the courtyard. “It’s not a camel, but it may do.”

The others stared where she pointed.

To the giant iron sphere resting in the glass palm.

“We sink it into the lake,” Safia said.

“The world’s largest depth charge,” Danny said.

“But how do you know it will explode like the camel?” Coral asked. “It might just fizzle like the iron maiden. These iron artifacts don’t all function the same way.”

“I’ll show you,” Safia said.

She turned and led the way back down the stairs. Once in the main room, she waved to each of the sand-painted walls. “Opposite the entry is the first Ubar, a rendering of its discovery. Over on that far wall is the depiction of Ubar above. Its face to the world. And this wall, of course, is the true heart of Ubar, its pillared glass city.” She touched the painting of the palace. “The detail is amazing, even down to the sandstone statues guarding the entrance. But on this picture both statues are shown.”

“Because one was used as a vessel for the first key,” Omaha said.

Safia nodded. “This depiction was done obviously before the destruction. But note what’s missing. No iron sphere. No glass palm. In the center of the painting’s courtyard stands the queen of Ubar. A place of prominence and importance. X marks the spot, so to speak.”

“What do you mean?” Cassandra asked.

Safia had to bite back a sneer. Her effort to save her friends, to save Arabia, would also be saving Cassandra. Safia continued, not meeting the woman’s eye. “Symmetry was important in the past. Balance in all things. The new object was placed on a site that matches the position of the queen in the rendering. A place of distinction. It must be important.”

Omaha turned, staring out the entry to the iron sphere. “Even the way the palm is positioned. If you straightened the wrist, it would be like she’s throwing the sphere toward the lake.”

Safia faced them all. “It’s the queen’s last key. A failsafe. A bomb left to destroy the lake if needed.”

“But can you be sure?” Painter asked.

“What does it hurt to try?” Omaha countered. “Either it works or it doesn’t.”

Coral had wandered to the entrance. “If we’re going to try this, we’d better hurry.”

Safia and the others crowded forward.

In the center of the cavern, a glowing funnel cloud twisted and writhed.

Below it, the antimatter lake had begun to churn, matching the vortex on the roof.

“What do we do first?” Painter asked.

“I have to place my hands on the sphere,” Safia said. “Activate it like all the other keys.”

“Then we get the ball rolling,” Omaha said.