Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

James Rollins is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of international thrillers that have been translated into more than forty languages. His Sigma series has been lauded as one of the “top crowd pleasers” (New York Times) and one of the “hottest summer reads” (People magazine). In each novel, acclaimed for its originality, Rollins unveils unseen worlds, scientific breakthroughs, and historical secrets—and he does it all at breakneck speed and with stunning insight. He lives in the Sierra Nevada.

Von der hinteren Coverseite

From New York Times bestselling author James Rollins comes a novel of boundless imagination and meticulous research, a book that dares to answer a frightening question at the heart of America: Could the founding of the United States be based on a fundamental lie? The shocking truth lies hidden within the ruins of an impossibility, a lost colony of the Americas vanished in time and cursed into oblivion. A place known only as The Devil Colony

Deep in the Rocky Mountains, a gruesome discovery—hundreds of mummified bodies—stirs international attention and fervent controversy. Despite doubts about the bodies' origins, the local Native American Heritage Commission lays claim to the prehistoric remains, along with the strange artifacts found in the same cavern: gold plates inscribed with an unfathomable script.

During a riot at the dig site, an anthropologist dies horribly, burned to ashes in a fiery explosion in plain view of television cameras. All evidence points to a radical group of Native Americans, including one agitator, a teenage firebrand who escapes with a vital clue to the murder and calls on the one person who might help—her uncle, Painter Crowe, Director of Sigma Force.

To protect his niece and uncover the truth, Painter will ignite a war among the nation's most powerful intelligence agencies. Yet an even greater threat looms as events in the Rocky Mountains have set in motion a frightening chain reaction, a geological meltdown that threatens the entire western half of the U.S.

From the volcanic peaks of Iceland to the blistering deserts of the American Southwest, from the gold vaults of Fort Knox to the bubbling geysers of Yellowstone, Painter Crowe joins forces with Commander Gray Pierce to penetrate the shadowy heart of a dark cabal, one that has been manipulating American history since the founding of the thirteen colonies.

But can Painter discover the truth—one that could topple governments—before it destroys all he holds dear?

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

The Devil Colony

A Sigma Force NovelBy James Rollins

William Morrow

Copyright © 2011 James Rollins
All right reserved.
ISBN: 9780061784781

Chapter One

Present Day
May 18, 1:32 P.M.
Rocky Mountains, Utah
It looked like the entrance to hell.
The two young men stood on a ridge overlooking a deep, shadowy
chasm. It had taken them eight hours to climb from the tiny burg of
Roosevelt to this remote spot high in the Rocky Mountains.
?Are you sure this is the right place?? Trent Wilder asked.
Charlie Reed took out his cell phone, checked the GPS, then examined
the Indian map drawn on a piece of deer hide and sealed in a clear
plastic Ziploc bag. ?I think so. According to the map, there should be a
small stream at the bottom of this ravine. The cave entrance should be
where the creek bends around to the north.?
Trent shivered and brushed snow from his hair. Though a tapestry of
wildflowers heralded the arrival of spring in the lowlands, up here winter
still held a firm grip. The air remained frigid, and snow frosted the
surrounding mountaintops. To make matters worse, the sky had been lowering
all day, and a light flurry had begun to blow.
Trent studied the narrow valley. It seemed to have no bottom. Down
below, a black pine forest rose out of a sea of fog. Sheer cliffs surrounded
all sides. While he had packed ropes and rappelling harnesses, he hoped he
wouldn?t need them.
But that wasn?t what was truly bothering him.
?Maybe we shouldn?t be going down there,? he said.
Charlie cocked an eyebrow at him. ?After climbing all day??
?What about that curse? What your grandfather??
A hand waved dismissively. ?The old man?s got one foot in the grave
and a head full of peyote.? Charlie slapped him in the shoulder. ?So don?t
go crapping your pants. The cave probably has a few arrowheads, some
broken pots. Maybe even a few bones, if we?re lucky. C?mon.?
Trent had no choice but to follow Charlie down a thin deer trail
they?d discovered earlier. As they picked their way along, he frowned at
the back of Charlie?s crimson jacket, emblazoned with the two feathers
representing the University of Utah. Trent still wore his high school
letterman jacket, bearing the Roosevelt Union cougar. The two of them had
been best friends since elementary school, but lately they?d been growing
apart. Charlie had just finished his first year at college, while Trent had
gone into full-time employment at his dad?s auto-body shop. Even this
summer, Charlie would be participating in an internship with the Uintah
Reservation?s law group.
His friend was a rising star; one that Trent would soon need a telescope
to watch from the tiny burg of Roosevelt. But what else was new? Charlie
had always outshone Trent. Of course, it didn?t help matters that his friend
was half Ute, with his people?s perpetual tan and long black hair. Trent?s
red crew cut and the war of freckles across his nose and cheeks had forever
relegated him to the role of Charlie?s wingman at school parties.
Though the thought went unvoiced, it was as if they both knew their
friendship was about to end as adulthood fell upon their shoulders. So as
a rite of passage, the two had agreed to this last adventure, to search for a
cave sacred to the Ute tribes.
According to Charlie, only a handful of his tribal elders even knew
about this burial site in the High Uintas Wilderness. Those who did were
forbidden to speak of it. The only reason Charlie knew about it was that
his grandfather liked his bourbon too much. Charlie doubted his grandfather
even remembered showing him that old deer-hide map hidden in a
hollowed-out buffalo horn.
Trent had first heard the tale when he was in junior high, huddled in
a pup tent with Charlie. With a flashlight held to his chin for effect, his
friend had shared the story. ?My grandfather says the Great Spirit still
haunts this cave. Guarding a huge treasure of our people.?
?What sort of treasure?? Trent had asked doubtfully. At the time he
had been more interested in the Playboy he?d sneaked out of his father?s
closet. That was treasure enough for him.
Charlie had shrugged. ?Don?t know. But it must be cursed.?
?What do you mean??
His friend had shifted the flashlight closer to his chin, devilishly
arching an eyebrow. ?Grandfather says whoever trespasses into the Great
Spirit?s cave is never allowed to leave.?
?Why?s that??
?Because if they do, the world will end.?
Right then, Trent?s old hound dog had let out an earsplitting wail,
making them both jump. Afterward, they had laughed and talked deep
into the night. Charlie ended up dismissing his grandfather?s story as
superstitious nonsense. As a modern Indian, Charlie went out of his way to
reject such foolishness.
Even so, Charlie had sworn Trent to secrecy and refused to take him
to the place marked on the map?until now.
?It?s getting warmer down here,? Charlie said.
Trent held out a palm. His friend was right. The snowfall had been
growing heavier, the flakes thickening, but as they descended, the air had
grown warmer, smelling vaguely of spoiled eggs. At some point, the snowfall
had turned to a drizzling rain. He wiped his hand on his pants and
realized that the fog he?d spotted earlier along the bottom of the ravine
was actually steam.
The source appeared through the trees below: a small creek bubbling
along a rocky channel at the bottom of the ravine.
?Smell that sulfur,? Charlie said with a sniff. Reaching the creek, he
tested the water with a finger. ?Hot. Must be fed by a geothermal spring
somewhere around here.?
Trent was unimpressed. The mountains around here were riddled
with such baths.
Charlie stood up. ?This must be the right place.?
?Why?s that??
?Hot spots like this are sacred to my people. So it only makes sense
that they would pick this place for an important burial site.? Charlie
headed out, hopping from rock to rock. ?C?mon. We?re close.?
Together, they followed the creek upstream. With each step, the air
grew hotter. The sulfurous smell burned Trent?s eyes and nostrils. No
wonder no one had ever found this place.
With his eyes watering, Trent wanted to turn back, but Charlie
suddenly stopped at a sharp bend in the creek. His friend swung in a full
circle, holding out his cell phone like a divining rod, then checked the
map he?d stolen from his grandfather?s bedroom this morning.
?We?re here.?
Trent searched around. He didn?t see any cave. Just trees and more
trees. Overhead, snow had begun to frost on the higher elevations, but it
continued to fall as a sickly rain down here.
?The entrance has got to be somewhere nearby,? Charlie mumbled.
?Or it could just be an old story.?
Charlie hopped to the other side of the creek and began kicking at
some leafy ferns on that side. ?We should at least look around.?
Trent made a half-assed attempt on his side, heading away from the
water. ?I don?t see anything!? he called back as he reached a wall of granite.
?Why don?t we just??
Then he saw it out of the corner of his eye as he turned. It looked like
another shadow on the cliff face, except a breeze was combing through the
valley, setting branches to moving, shadows to shifting.
Only this shadow didn?t move.
He...