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Elizabeth nodded. Dr. Masterson was extending his research to studies with yogis. Through such mystics' abilities to control their own metabolism and blood flow, he sought to show how the brain is not only changeable but trainable. That the brain's plasticity is moldable.
Rosauro leaned back. With the possibilities of harnessing this plasticity, it's a Brave New World out there for neurologists. Increasing intelligence, helping the blind to see, the deaf to hear.
Gray pictured the device found on the skull. The deaf to hear. The device had looked like some form of cochlear implant.
Gray asked Elizabeth, Did Dr. Masterson say when he last saw your father?
The professor said he'd tell me more, but he first wanted to talk to the people who had hired my father. He sounded scared. I couldn't get anything else out of him.
Hired him?
Luca Hearn, the final member of their group, spoke, his Romani accent thicker from his exhaustion. That would be our clan. We hired Dr. Polk.
Gray turned to the man. Before landing, Gray had intended to discuss the role of the Gypsies in Dr. Polk's story. Much had been left unanswered after their flight from the safe house. Such as, why Polk had chosen to contact Luca rather than anyone else? Had it been paranoia? Had the professor believed he could trust no one else? Considering his murder was followed by the suspicious sweep by agents of his own government, maybe Dr. Polk had been right.
How did you get involved with the professor? Gray asked.
He approached us two years ago. He wanted to collect DNA samples from certain members of our clans. Those who practiced pen dukkerin.
Pen what?
Kowalski answered from his sprawl on his bed. He had stopped snoring, but his eyes were still closed as he spoke. Dukkerin. Fortune-telling. You know, palm reading, gazing in a crystal ball.
Luca nodded. It is a tradition among our people, going back centuries, but Dr.
Polk didn't want anyone who was performing hokkani boro the great trick.
Fakers, Kowalski added. Tricksters.
Dr. Polk knew there were those among our clans who we ourselves respected for their skill in this art. The rare ones. True chovihanis. Those with the gift.
Those were who he sought.
Elizabeth shifted straighter. My father was doing the same with yogis of India.
Taking DNA samples, looking for some commonality.
Gray remembered how her father sought out those rare cases of documented yogis and mystics, those who demonstrated heightened abilities of intuition or instinct. The fortune-telling and tarot-card reading of the Gypsies would fit that mold. But the genetic angle was new.
It raised another question in Gray's mind. Why the sudden switch from studying yogis to Gypsies? What's the co
Luca stared at him as if he were dense. Where do you think the Romani clans come from?
Now it was Gray's turn to be baffled. He actually didn't know much about the nomadic Gypsy clans, certainly not their origins.
Luca noted his confusion. Not many know our story. When our clans first moved into Europe, we were thought to have come from Egypt. He rubbed the back of his hand across his burnished face. Because of our dark skin, dark eyes. We were called aigyptoi or Gyptians, which later became the word Gypsies. Until only recently, even our clans were unsure of our origins. But linguists recently discovered that the Romani tongue has its roots in Sanskrit.
The language of ancient India, Gray said, surprised, but he was begi
We arose from India. That is amaro baro them, our ancestral homeland. Northern
India, to be precise, the Punjab region.
But why did you migrate away? Elizabeth asked. From what I understand of your history, you had a hard time in Europe.
Hard time? We were persecuted, hunted, killed. Fire entered his voice. We died by the hundreds of thousands at the hands of the Nazis, forced to wear the
Black Triangle. Bengesko niamso! This last was plainly a curse at the Nazis.
Elizabeth glanced away from his vehemence.
Luca shook his head, calming himself. Not much is known about our early past.
Even historians can't say for certain why the clans left India. From old records, we know the Romani clans fled India sometime in the tenth century, passing through Persia to the empire of Byzantium and beyond. War plagued northwest India during that time. Also India had come to adopt a strict caste system. Those left at the bottom, classified as casteless, were deemed untouchable. These included thieves, musicians, dishonored warriors, but also magicians, those whose abilities were considered heretical by the local religions.
Your chovihanis, Gray said.
Luca nodded. Life became unbearable, unsafe. So the casteless banded together into clans and left India, headed west, for more welcoming lands. He snorted bitterly. We are still searching.
Let's get back to Dr. Polk, Gray said, redirecting the conversation. Did you cooperate with the professor's request? Did you supply him with those samples?
We did. A payment in blood. In exchange for his help.
Gray studied the man. Help in doing what?
His voice fired up again. To find something stolen most brutally from us. The very heart of our people. We
The plane bumped violently. Glasses rose in the air, as did Kowalski. He scrabbled from his blanket with a shout of surprise. Gray, belted in his seat, felt his stomach climb into his throat. They lost elevation fast.
The pilot came on over the intercom. Sorry about that, folks. Hard air ahead.
The whole plane shook.
Buckle in tight, the pilot continued. We'll have you on the ground in another hour. And, Commander Pierce, we have a land-to-air call for you coming from
Director Crowe. I'll patch it back to you.
Gray motioned everyone into their seats. Kowalski had raised his seat back and was already snugging his belt tight.
Swiveling his own chair away from the others, Gray removed the phone from his armrest and lifted it to his ear.
Commander Pierce here.
Gray, I thought I'd brief you on what Lisa and Malcolm learned about the device attached to the skull.
As Gray listened to the director explain about microelectrodes and autistic savants, he stared out the window. He watched the sun settle to the west as the jet screamed to the east. He pictured the girl's small face, her fragility, her i
At least she was safe.
But a question nagged at Gray.
Are there others like her out there?
12:22 P. M.
Southern Ural Mountains
Monk ran with Pyotr in his arms alongside the streambed. The boy clung to him.
His eyes were still glassy, his face damp with both sweat and tears. Kiska raced ahead, following the long lope of Marta, who knuckled with both arms. Konstantin kept to Monk's side.
How do we know what Pyotr saw was real? Monk gasped out to Konstantin.
Tigers? Maybe it was just a daydream, a waking nightmare.
The older boy turned slightly and pulled his wool cap up. He combed back his hair to reveal a shiny curve of steel behind his ear. You were not the only one operated on. He pulled down his cap and nodded to Pyotr. What he saw was no dream.
Monk struggled to comprehend. Konstantin had already explained how Monk had ended up here, rescued from a sinking cruise ship, based on a drawing done by
Pyotr's sister. It made no sense.
Maybe he was the one dreaming.
Konstantin continued, There are two Siberian tigers kept at the Menagerie.
Arkady and Zakhar. The soldiers sometimes hunt with them in the deep forest.
Wild boar and elk. They are very smart. Not easy to fool.
How far away? Monk asked.
Konstantin spoke in Russian to the boy.
Pyotr answered in the same tongue. As he spoke, his voice grew firmer, coming more fully out of his trance.