The Doomsday Key

But what was most disturbing of all was that the current pope was next-to-last on Saint Malachy's list. According to the prophecy, the next leader of the Church would be the one to see the world end.

Marco had never believed such fancies before-but with his fingers clutched tight around the tiny leather satchel, he wondered how close they truly were to Armageddon.

Footsteps warned Marco. One of the assassins was closing in. He had only enough time for one move.

He acted quickly. Stanching his bleeding to leave no trace, he moved off to the side to hide what must be preserved. Once done, he returned to the center of the apse. With no other recourse, he dropped to his knees to await his death. The footsteps neared the altar. A figure moved into view. The man stopped and stared around.

It was not one of the assassins.

And not even a stranger.

Marco groaned with recognition, which drew the newcomer's attention. The man stiffened in surprise, then hurried over.

"Marco?"

Too weak to gain his feet, all Marco could do was stare, momentarily trapped between hope and suspicion. But as the man rushed toward him, his bearing was plainly full of concern. He was Marco's former teacher, the man who had set up this midnight rendezvous.

"Monsignor Verona...," Marco gasped, setting aside any suspicions, knowing in his heart that this man would never betray him. Marco lifted an arm and raised an empty hand. His other hand clutched the feathered end of the crossbow bolt still imbedded in his belly.

A single flicker of light drew Marco's attention downward. He watched the red diode on the crossbow bolt suddenly blink to green.

No...

The explosion blew Marco across the marble floor. He left a trail of blood, smoke, and a smear of entrails. His belly was left a gutted ruin as he fell to his side at the foot of the altar. His eyes rolled and settled on the towering gilt monument above him.

A name rose hazily to his mind.

Petrus Romanus.

Peter the Roman.

That was the final name on Saint Malachy's prophetic list, the man who would follow the current Holy Father and become the last pope on earth.

With Marco's failure this night, such a doom could not be stopped.

Marco's vision darkened. His ears grew deaf. He had no strength left to speak. Lying on his side, he stared across the apse to the tomb of Pope Urban, to the bronze skeleton climbing out of the pope's crypt. From its bony finger, Marco had hung the tiny satchel that he'd protected for so long. He pictured the ancient mark burned into its leather.

It held the only hope for the world.

He prayed with his last breath that it would be enough.

FIRST

THE SPIRAL AND THE CROSS

VIATUS®

Tuesday, May 9-For immediate release

VIATUS SETS SIGHTS ON WORLDWIDE FOOD SECURITY

OSLO, NORWAY (BUSINESS WIRE)-Viatus International, the world's market-leading petrochemical company, a

"The mission of the new division is to develop technologies that will boost agricultural productivity to meet the rising global demand for food, feed, and fuel," said Ivar Karlsen, CEO of Viatus International.

"With the establishment of our company's Crop Biogenics division," Karlsen said, "we intend to meet this challenge with all our resources, establishing the equivalent of an agricultural Manhattan Project. Failure is not an option-not for our company, not for the world."

In recent years, the company's patented hybridization and transgenic technologies have increased grain, corn, and rice yields by 35 percent. Karlsen said Viatus anticipates doubling its improved yield rate within the next five years.

Karlsen explained the necessity for such a new division during his keynote speech today at the World Food Summit in Buenos Aires. Citing the World Health Organization, he noted that one-third of the world is facing starvation. "We are in a global food crisis," he said. "Most of those suffering are in the Third World. Food riots are spreading worldwide and further destabilizing dangerous regions around the globe."

Food security, Karlsen said, has surpassed oil and water as one of the new mille

Leading the way in agricultural i

Chapter 1

October 9, 4:55 A.M.

Mali, West Africa

Gunfire woke Jason Gorman from a bone-deep sleep. It took him an extra half breath to remember where he was. He'd been dreaming of swimming in the lake at his father's vacation house in upstate New York. But the mosquito netting that cocooned his cot and the predawn chill of the desert jolted him back to the present.

Along with the screams.

His heart hammering, he kicked away the thin sheet and tore through the netting. Inside the Red Cross tent-cabin, it was pitch-dark, but through the tarp walls, a flickering red glow marked a fire somewhere on the east side of the refugee camp. More flames licked into existence, dancing across all four walls of the tent.

Oh, God...

Though panicked, Jason knew what was happening. He'd been briefed about this before heading to Africa. Over the past year, other refugee camps had been attacked by the Tuareg rebel forces and raided for food. With the price of rice and maize trebled across the Republic of Mali, the capital had been besieged by riots. Food was the new gold in the northern districts of the country. Three million people faced starvation.

It was why he had come here.

His father sponsored the experimental farm project that took up sixty acres on the north side of the camp, funded by the Viatus Corporation and overseen by crop biologists and geneticists from Cornell University. They had test fields of genetically modified corn growing out of the parched soils of the region. The first fields had been harvested just last week, grown with only a third of the water normally necessary for irrigation. Word must have spread to the wrong ears.

Jason burst out of his tent in his bare feet. He still wore the khaki shorts and loose shirt he'd had on when he fell into bed last night. In the predawn darkness, firelight was the only source of illumination.

The generators must've been taken down.

Automatic gunfire and screams echoed through the darkness. Shadowy figures dashed and pushed all around, refugees ru

Jason did.

Krista was still at the research facility. Three months ago he had met her back in the States during his stateside briefing. She had begun sharing Jason's mosquito-netted cocoon only last month. But last night she had stayed behind. She had pla

He had to reach her.

Pushing against the tide, Jason headed toward the north side of the camp. As he feared, the gunfire and flames were the most intense there. The rebels intended to raid the harvest. As long as no one tried to stop them, no one had to die. Let them have the corn. Once they had it, they would vanish into the night as quickly as they'd come. The corn was going to be destroyed anyway. It wasn't even meant for human consumption until further studies were done.