She nodded, unable to speak.
They climbed into the pilothouse, saw Christian at the wheel, Bernard at his shoulder. They both faced forward, staring toward the coastline.
A black cloud filled the world ahead, rolling toward them. At its heart danced a small fountain of fire. Definitely a volcano. Already ash flakes began to fall, collecting on the glass like foul snow.
Erin knew this section of Italy’s coast was a geothermic hot spot. She pictured the ruins of Pompeii and Herculaneum in the shadow of Vesuvius. But even that deadly mountain was but a small blip compared to the monster lurking under that entire region, a supervolcano called Campi Flegrei, with a caldera four miles wide. If that sleeping dragon ever blew, most of Europe would be destroyed.
A chunk of ash slipped down across the window, leaving a sooty streak.
Bernard leaned closer to the same. “It’s crimson colored,” he said.
Erin joined him, noting he was right. The streak was distinctly dark red.
Like blood.
It was probably just due to the color of the regional rock, known to be rich in iron and volcanic copper.
Still, Erin quoted a passage from Revelation 8: “The first angel sounded, and there followed hail and fire mingled with blood, and they were cast upon the earth.”
Bernard glanced at her. “The start of the end of the world.”
Erin nodded, quoting what followed. “And the third part of trees was burnt up, and all green grass was burnt up.”
She pictured the caldera of Campi Flegrei. If that ignited, far more than a third of Europe would burn.
“Can we stop it?” Jordan asked, unwilling to give up without a fight.
“There may still be time,” Bernard said. “If we can find the First Angel, perhaps we might yet right this wrong.”
“But he might be anywhere,” Rhun said.
“Not necessarily,” Jordan countered. “If Iscariot did something to trigger this—and that’s a big if, by the way—then he can’t have gone far with the boy. The attack helicopter was headed east. It’s only been ninety minutes since he shot us down.”
“And Iscariot would have needed time to prepare once he reached the coast,” Rhun agreed. “He likely timed it to match the rise of the new day.”
Bernard pointed to the dance of lava at the heart of the ash cloud. “He must be near there, but where?”
Erin reached to the inner pocket of her jacket and removed the drawing she had stolen from the safe. She flattened it on the ship’s chart table. “Look at this.”
The drawing depicted two men—one older, one younger—in a sacrificial pose with an angel looking over the man’s shoulder, her face concerned, and rightfully so. A stream of blood ran down the younger man’s side and dripped into a black crack near the bottom of the page. A hand with four claws protruded from that crack.
“What’s it mean?” Jordan asked.
Erin tapped the two men. The older of the two had dark hair, the other lighter. Otherwise, they looked fairly identical, like they could be related to each other.
She pointed to the younger man, maybe an older boy. “What if that’s Tommy?”
Rhun leaned at her shoulder. “It looks as if his blood is being spilled onto the floor, into that black fissure.” His dark eyes met hers. “You think he’s being sacrificed by Iscariot?”
“And his blood is being used to open a door. Like your Sanguinist blood opens your hidden gates.”
“And that thing with the claws coming out?” Jordan asked. “That can’t be good.”
7:26 A.M.
Bernard stared at the demon climbing from the pit and despaired. How could they hope to stop Armageddon if it had already begun? He turned toward the smoke and conflagration. Where to even begin?
He voiced that aloud. “If you’re correct, Erin, this still does not tell us where the sacrifice is taking place.”
“Yes, it does.”
He stared harder at her.
She circled a finger across the five symbols that ringed this sacrificial tableaux: an oil lamp, a torch, a rose, a crown of thorns, and a bowl. “Five icons. I knew they weren’t just decorative. Nothing in this drawing is here by chance.”
He studied them, knowing she was right, nagged by the familiarity of those same symbols, but unable to place them. Then again, he was not as steeped in ancient history as Dr. Granger.
She explained, “These symbols represent five famous seers out of the distant past. Five women, five ancient sibyls.”
Bernard gripped the edge of the table. Of course!
“From the Sistine Chapel,” he said, awed. “Those five women are painted there.”
“Why?” Jordan asked.
Bernard reached and took Erin’s hand gratefully. “They are the five women who predicted the birth of Christ. They came from various times and places, but each prophesied his coming.”