Sandstorm (Sigma Force)
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The explosive first adventure in James Rollins' bestselling Sigma Force series!
A freak explosion in the British museum in London ignites a perilous race for an earth-shaking power source buried deep beneath the sands of history. Painter Crowe is an agent for Sigma Force, a covert arm of the Defense Department tasked with keeping dangerous scientific discoveries out of enemy hands. When an ancient artifact points the way toward the legendary "Atlantis of the Sands," Painter must travel across the world in search of the lost city-and a destructive power beyond imagining.
But Painter has competition. A band of ruthless mercenaries, led by a former friend and ally, are also intent on claiming the prize, and they will destroy anyone who gets in their way.
Ancient history collides with cutting-edge science-with the safety of the world at stake!
choppy. “I’ve broke off. There are two of them. I can’t tell which one is the target.” Cassandra had radioed just in time. She pictured the pilot cutting down the woman. The curator was her best chance to quickly root out the secrets here and abscond with the prize. And the asinine pilot had almost mowed her down. “Leave them both,” she said. “Guard the hole they came out of.” Whatever cavern the curator had disappeared into had to be important. Cassandra leaned close to her laptop, watching
the sand. Traces of blue energy laced through the devil with unnervingly silent crackles. She could smell the ozonelike odor. It was a phenomenon unique to the sandstorms of the dry desert: static electricity. Ignoring the sight, her father pointed to the bottom of the bowl. “There she is!” Kara looked down. Limping across the floor of the hollow, the oryx made for the thicker dust, the twisting cyclone near the center. “Loosen your rifle!” her father called. She remained frozen, unable to
only illumination came from the flashers atop the emergency vehicles. Yet, down the block, a deeper crimson glow flickered through the smoke and dark. Fire. Safia’s heart thudded harder, her breath choked—not from old terrors, but from newborn fears for the present. The museum! She yanked the blinds’ cords, ripping them up, and fumbled with the lock to the window. She pushed the sash open and bent out into the rain. She barely noted the icy drops. The British Museum was only a short walk from
crashed through a tangle of rigging, ripping bodily through. A line of electric lights struck the deck. Glass bulbs popped and shattered. New shouts arose. Finally, a rifle appeared in one of the sailor’s hands. The stallion’s rampage risked life and damage to the ship. “La! No!” A flash of bare skin drew Safia’s eye in the other direction. Amid the clothed sailors, a half-naked figure ran from a foredeck door. Wearing only a pair of boxers, Painter stood out like some wild savage. His hair
into the dark passageway. A single wall sconce cast a pool of light near the stairwell that led to the upper two levels and the open deck. As usual, Kara had assigned Omaha and his brother the worst berths, one floor above the bilge, a crew cabin versus the more luxurious passenger accommodations. Across the passage, another door peeked open. Omaha and his brother were not the only ones granted the lowliest cabins. “Crowe,” he called out. The far door pushed wider to reveal Crowe’s partner