Sandstorm (Sigma Force)

By James Rollins

The explosive first experience in James Rollins' bestselling Sigma strength series!

A freak explosion within the British museum in London ignites a dangerous race for an earth-shaking strength resource buried deep underneath the sands of historical past. Painter Crowe is an agent for Sigma strength, a covert arm of the protection division tasked with conserving harmful medical discoveries out of enemy fingers. whilst an historic artifact issues the best way towards the mythical "Atlantis of the Sands," Painter needs to commute the world over looking for the misplaced city-and a harmful strength past imagining.

But Painter has pageant. A band of ruthless mercenaries, led via a former good friend and best friend, also are rationale on claiming the prize, and they're going to ruin somebody who will get of their way.

Ancient background collides with state of the art science-with the protection of the realm at stake!

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This inspiration sustained her as their truck pulled to a cease open air a collection of wrought-iron gates. the doorway to the tomb of Nabi Imran. “Don’t attempt anything,” Cassandra warned, as though studying her brain. John Kane spoke to a gate attendant, part leaning out the window. a couple of Omani rials handed palms. The gate shield pressed a button, and the gate swung open, permitting the car to go within. Kane pulled in slowly and parked. the opposite truck took a place through the roadside stands. Kane hopped out and got here again to open her door. it may be taken as a chivalrous act in any common situation. today it was once purely a precaution. He provided a hand to assist her out. Safia refused, hiking unfastened herself. Cassandra came over the again of the truck. She carried the silver case. “What now? ” Safia searched round her. the place to start? They stood in the course of a flagstone courtyard, walled and bordered through small orderly gardens. around the courtyard, a small mosque rose. Its whitewashed minaret climbed blindingly into the noon glare, crowned through a brownish gold dome. A small round balcony on the most sensible marked where for the muezzin to sing the adhan, the Muslim name to prayer, 5 occasions an afternoon. Safia provided her personal prayer. Silence used to be her purely resolution, however it nonetheless gave her convenience. in the courtyard, the sounds of the encircling city have been muted, hushed, as though the very air had stilled on the holiness of the shrine. a couple of worshipers moved discreetly in the course of the grounds, respectful of the burial tomb that stretched alongside one part: an extended, low development, framed in arches, painted white, trimmed in eco-friendly. in the development stood the gravesite of Nabi Imran, the daddy of the Virgin Mary. Cassandra stepped in entrance of her. The woman’s impatience, her pent-up strength, stirred the air, leaving a wake in the back of her that used to be virtually palpable. “So the place will we start? ” “At the beginning,” Safia mumbled, and strode ahead. They wanted her. even though a prisoner, she wouldn't be rushed. wisdom was once her defend. Cassandra strode after her. Safia walked towards the doorway to the burial sanctuary. A robed guy, one of many tomb’s attendants, strode out to satisfy their occasion. “Salam alaikum,” he greeted. “Alaikum as salam,” Safia spoke back. “As fa,” he apologized, and pointed to his head. “Women aren't allowed into the tomb with their hair exposed. ” He pulled loose a couple of eco-friendly scarves. “Shuk ran. ” Safia thanked him and quick donned the attire. Her hands moved with a ability she lengthy inspiration misplaced. She came across no longer a small measure of delight while the fellow needed to support Cassandra. The caretaker stepped away. “Peace be with you,” he provided as he retreated to the shaded gallery, again to his publish. “We’ll need to take off our sneakers and sandals, too,” Safia stated, nodding to the row of deserted sneakers outdoors the door. quickly barefoot, they entered the tomb. The sanctuary used to be easily one lengthy corridor, encompassing the size of the construction. At one finish was once a raised brown marble gravestone the dimensions of a small altar.

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