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Summary
Summary
What if you could bioengineer the next great world prophet: scientifically produce the next Buddha, the next Muhammad, or the next Jesus? Would it mark the Second Coming or initiate a chain reaction with disastrous consequences?
A master at combining historical and religious intrigue with edge-of-your-seat adventure, New York Times bestselling author James Rollins brings back SIGMA Force to battle a group of rogue scientists who've unleashed a bioengineering project that could bring about the extinction of humankind.
In Washington, D.C., a homeless man dies in Commander Gray Pierce's arms, shot by an assassin's bullet. But the death leaves behind a greater mystery: a bloody coin found clutched in the dead man's hand, an ancient relic that can be traced back to the Greek Oracle of Delphi. As ruthless hunters search for the stolen artifact, Gray Pierce discovers that the coin is the key to unlocking a plot that dates back to the Cold War and threatens the very foundation of humanity.
An international think tank of scientists known as the Jasons has discovered a way to bioengineer autistic children who show savant talents--mathematical geniuses, statistical masterminds, brilliant conceptual artists--into something far greater and far more frightening, in hopes of creating a world prophet for the new millennium, one to be manipulated to create a new era of global peace . . . a peace on their own terms.
Halfway around the world, a man wakes up in a hospital bed with no memory of who he is, knowing only that he's a prisoner in a subterranean research facility. With the help of three unusual children, he makes his escape across a mountainous and radioactive countryside, pursued by savage hunters bred in the same laboratory. But his goal is not escape, nor even survival. In order to thwart a plot to wipe out a quarter of the world's population, he must sacrifice all, even the children who rescued him.
From ancient Greek temples to glittering mausoleums, from the slums of India to the toxic ruins of Russia, two men must race against time to solve a mystery that dates back to the first famous oracle of history--the Greek Oracle of Delphi.
But one question remains: Will the past be enough to save the future?
Author Notes
James Rollins (nee James Czajkowski) was born in Chicago, Illinois on August 20, 1961. He received a doctorate in veterinary medicine from the University of Missouri in 1985. After graduation, he started his veterinary practice in Sacramento, California. His first novel, Subterranean, was published in 1999. His other works include the Sigma Force series, the Jake Ransom series, and Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. He also writes the Banned and the Banished series and The Godslayer Chronicles under the name of James Clemens. James Rollins co-authors the new Tucker Wayne series with Grant Blackwood. The first book in the series, The Kill Switch, made the New York Times bestseller list in 2014. Rollins title, Bone Labyrinth, a story in the Sigma Force Novels Series, made the New York Times bestseller list in 2015.
(Bowker Author Biography)
Reviews (3)
Publisher's Weekly Review
At the start of bestseller Rollins's rousing fifth Sigma Force novel (after The Judas Strain), the group's leader, Cmdr. Gray Pierce, encounters a homeless man as he's crossing the Mall in Washington, D.C., near Sigma Force's secret lair far beneath the Smithsonian Castle. The man, who's really an MIT neurology professor, collapses in Pierce's arms and dies after passing him a strange coin, thus kicking off a far-flung adventure whose plot threads include the Oracle of Delphi, autistic savant children with strange implants behind their ears, Gypsies, power-mad Russians bent on unleashing enough radioactivity to poison the world, rogue American spy agencies and genetically enhanced wolves and tigers. Lots of absorbing scientific information and tantalizing sentences like "With two rifles strapped to his back and a boy and a chimpanzee in tow, Monk marched down the pitch-black tunnel" keep the pages flying by. 10-city author tour. (July) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Kirkus Review
Cute little stolen gypsy kids hold the balance of power as a Russian supermom plans to poison several ecosystems. Opening with the sack of Delphi by Romans unhappy with the latest oracular projections, Rollins (The Judas Strain, 2007, etc.) pauses briefly in the mid-century communist Romanian Carpathians where Russians, led by a very tough dame, stage a brutal attack on an isolated gypsy village. He next plunges us into present-day Washington, D.C., where a derelict scientist takes a sniper's bullet in his back and falls into the arms of Sigma Force strongman Gray Pierce just outside the Smithsonian castle. Gray, who had taken the old guy to be a homeless vet, is surprised to be slipped an ancient Greek coin by the dying man who, upon examination in Sigma's handy lab deep under the Smithsonian castle, is revealed to have been a professor. The corpse is highly radioactive. Gray and his team, mourning the recent death of their resourceful one-armed colleague Monk Bryant, are plunged into solving the murder, which was the work of one of the Russians from that Carpathian massacre, now a grandfatherly scientist who has in tow Sasha, a little gypsy girl sporting a surgical steel implant that sets off seeming psychic superpowers. She's one of a crop of children bred from a strain of savants swept up in that Romanian raid. The experiments with the kids continued after the Soviet collapse thanks to an influx of capitalist cash, so once agent Gray starts following clues, he finds that he and his team are in danger not only from evil Russians but from evil Americans. Meanwhile, in radioactive Ukraine, Monk Bryant, not at all dead, wakes from an amnesiac coma to answer a plea for help from a swarm of kids and a kindly chimp with cranial implants just like the one he now sports. It all has to do with a plot to restore Russia to its rightful place. Not scary enough to distract from the wacky science. Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Library Journal Review
A bunch of scientists aim to bioengineer the next great prophet, but what if radicals among them are using the best children produced thus far for their own ends? With a one-day laydown on June 24. (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Excerpts
Excerpts
The Last Oracle A Novel Chapter One A.D. 398 Mount Parnassus Greece They had come to slay her. The woman stood at the temple's portico. She shivered in her thin garment, a simple shift of white linen belted at the waist, but it was not the cold of predawn that iced her bones. Below, a torchlight procession flowed up the slopes of Mount Parnassus like a river of fire. It followed the stone-paved road of the Sacred Way, climbing in switchbacks up toward the temple of Apollo. The beat of sword on shield accompanied their progress, a full cohort of the Roman legion, five hundred strong. The road wound through broken monuments and long ransacked treasuries. Whatever could burn had been set to torch. As the firelight danced over the ruins, the flames cast a shimmering illusion of better times, a fiery restoration of former glory: treasuries overflowing with gold and jewels, legions of statues carved by the finest artisans, milling crowds gathered to hear the prophetic words of the Oracle. But no more. Over the past century, Delphi had been brought low by invading Gauls, by plundering Thracians, but most of all, by neglect. Few now came to seek the words of the Oracle: a goat herder questioning a wife's fidelity, or a sailor seeking good omens for a voyage across the Gulf of Corinth. It was the end of times, the end of the Oracle of Delphi. After prophesying for thirty years, she would be the last to bear the name Pythia. The last Oracle of Delphi. But with this burden came one final challenge. Pythia turned toward the east, where the sky had begun to lighten. Oh, that rosy Eos, goddess of dawn, would hurry Apollo to tether his four horses to his Sun chariot. One of Pythia's sisters, a young acolyte, stepped out of the temple behind her. "Mistress, come away with us," the younger woman begged. "It is not too late. We can still escape with the others to the high caves." Pythia placed a reassuring hand on the woman's shoulder. Over the past night, the other women had fled to the rugged heights where the caves of Dionysus would keep them safe. But Pythia had a final duty here. "Mistress, surely there is no time to perform this last prophecy." "I must." "Then do it now. Before it is too late." Pythia turned away. "We must wait for dawn of the seventh day. That is our way." As the sun had set last night, Pythia had begun her preparations. She had bathed in Castilia's silver spring, drank from the Kassotis spring, and burned bay leaves on an altar of black marble outside the temple. She had followed the ritual precisely, the same as the first Pythia thousands of years ago. Only this time, the Oracle had not been alone in her purifications. At her side had been a girl, barely past her twelfth summer. Such a small creature and of such strange manner. The child had simply stood naked in the spring waters while the older woman had washed and anointed her. She'd said not a word, merely stood with an arm out, opening and closing her fingers, as if grasping for something only she could see. What god so suffered the child, yet blessed her just the same? Surely not even Apollo. Yet the child's words thirty days ago could come only from the gods. Words that had plainly spread and stoked the fires that now climbed toward Delphi. Oh, that the child had never been brought here. Pythia had been content to allow Delphi to fade into obscurity. She remembered the words spoken by one of her predecessors, long dead for centuries, an ominous portent. Emperor Augustus had asked of her dead sister, "Why has the Oracle grown so silent?" Her sister had responded, "A Hebrew boy, a god who rules among the blessed, bids me leave this house . . ." Those words proved to be a true prophecy. The cult of Christ rose to consume the empire and destroyed any hope for a return to the old ways. Then a moon ago, the strange girl had been brought to her steps. Pythia glanced away from the flames and toward the adytum, the inner sanctum of Apollo's temple. The girl waited inside. She was an orphan from the distant township of Chios. Over the ages, many had hauled such children here, seeking to abandon such burdens upon the sisterhood. Most were turned away. Only the most ideal girls were allowed to stay: straight of limb, clear of eye, and unspoiled. Apollo would never accept a vessel of lesser quality for his prophetic spirit. So when this willow branch of a girl had been presented naked to the steps of Apollo's temple, Pythia had given her hardly a glance. The child was unkempt, her dark hair knotted and tangled, her skin marked with pox scars. But deeper, Pythia had sensed something wrong with the child. The way she rocked back and forth. Even her eyes stared without truly seeing. Her patrons had claimed the child was touched by the gods. That she could tell the number of olives in a tree with merely a glance, that she could declare when a sheep would lamb with but a touch of her hand. Upon hearing such stories, Pythia's interest had stirred. She called the girl to join her at the entrance to the temple. The child obeyed, but she moved as if disconnected, as if the winds themselves propelled her upward. Pythia had to draw her by hand to sit on the top step. "Can you tell me your name?" she asked the thin child. "Her name is Anthea," one of her patrons declared from below. Pythia kept her gaze focused on the child. "Anthea, do you know why you've been brought here?" "Your house is empty," the child finally mumbled to the floor. So at least she can speak. Pythia glanced to the temple's interior. The hearth fire burned in the center of the main hall. It was indeed empty at the moment, but the child's words seemed to whisper at something more. Maybe it was her manner. So strange, so distant, as if she stood with one leg in this world and the other beyond this realm. The child glanced up with those clear blue eyes, so full of innocence, so in contrast with what spilled next from her lips. "You are old. You will die soon." The Last Oracle A Novel . Copyright © by James Rollins. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold. Excerpted from The Last Oracle by James Rollins All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
