The Last Oracle Read Online Free Page A

in case there was any direct assault.
    At Gray’s side, the homeless man groaned. Blood soaked his entire back. Gray frowned at the man’s continuing misfortune in life. The poorsack had come seeking a bit of charity and got a bullet in the back instead, collateral damage in an assassination attempt against Gray.
    But who was trying to kill him? And why?
    The homeless man lifted a palsied arm, failing with each ragged breath. From the entry point and amount of blood, the shot had struck a kidney, a fatal wound for one so debilitated. The man reached to Gray’s thigh. His fingers opened to drop the tarnished coin he had been holding. He had somehow kept his grip on it. The coin bounced off Gray’s leg and rolled to the grass.
    A final gift.
    A bit of charity returned.
    With the deed done, the homeless man’s limbs went slack. His head fell to Gray’s shoulder. Gray swore under his breath.
    Sorry, old man.
    His other hand freed his cell phone. Thumbing it open, he hit an emergency speed-dial button. It was answered immediately.
    Gray spoke rapidly, calling a mayday into central command.
    “Help’s on the way,” his director announced. “We have you on camera outside the Castle. Seeing lots of blood. Are you injured?”
    “No,” he answered curtly.
    “Stay put.”
    Gray didn’t argue. So far no further shots had been fired. No ringing impacts against the sheltering sign. There was a good chance the shooter had already fled. Still, Gray dared not move—not until the cavalry arrived.
    Pocketing his cell phone, Gray retrieved the man’s coin from the grass. It was heavy, thick, crudely minted. He lifted it and absently rubbed at its surface. Using the dead man’s blood on his fingers, he polished the grime off the surface to reveal an image of what appeared to be a Greek or Roman temple, six pillars under a peaked roof.
    What the hell?
    In the coin’s center stood a single letter.
    Gray thought it was the Greek letter Σ.
    Sigma.

    In mathematics, the letter sigma represented the sum of all parts, but it was also the emblem for the organization Gray worked for: Sigma, an elite team of ex–Special Forces soldiers who had been retrained in scientific fields to serve as a covert military arm for DARPA, the Defense Department’s Advanced Research Projects Agency.
    Gray glanced to the Castle. Sigma’s headquarters were here, buried beneath the foundations of the Smithsonian Castle in former World War II bunkers. It was perfectly situated to take advantage of the proximity to the halls of government, the Pentagon, and the various private and national laboratories.
    Focusing back on the coin, Gray suddenly realized his mistake. The letter was not a Greek Σ—but merely a large capital E . In his panic, his eyes had played tricks, seeing what had been forefront in his mind.
    He closed his fist over the coin.
    Just an E .
    It wasn’t the first time in the past few weeks that Gray had assumed connections that weren’t there—or at least that was the consensus among his colleagues. For a solid month, Gray had been searching for some confirmation that a lost friend, Monk Kokkalis, could still be alive. But so far, even utilizing the full resources of Sigma, he had reached only dead ends.
    Chasing ghosts , Painter Crowe had warned after the first weeks.
    Maybe he was.
    Across the way, doors crashed open in the front of the Castle. A dozen black-suited figures fled outward with weapons raised, clutched near shoulders in double grips.
    The cavalry.
    They moved cautiously, but no one fired shots at them.
    They reached Gray’s side quickly and flanked around protectively.
    One of the men fell to a knee beside the homeless man. He dropped a paramedic’s pack, ready to offer aid.
    “I think he’s gone,” Gray warned.
    The medic checked for a pulse, confirming Gray’s assessment.
    Dead.
    Gray climbed to his feet.

    He was surprised to see his boss, Painter Crowe, at the side entrance. Jacketless, his sleeves rolled to the