Moving with his eyes down, not daring to even peek at the statue, Jack found himself thinking of the biblical story of Lot’s wife: the woman who, as she and her husband fled the city of Sodom, had been commanded by God’s angels not to look back. But Lot’s wife had disobeyed, stealing a glance back at the city, and for her sin, she was turned into a pillar of salt.

And suddenly the direction that the statue was facing made sense to Jack.

It was designed to ensnare anyone fleeing back out of the endless tunnel.

Dion’s tunnel must have had a similar goldman statue in it.

Maybe, in their ignorance, Dion and his men had spoken in its presence and awakened it. Or they had got past it, only to hit a dead end in their tunnel and when they’d turned back, one of them had looked at its face.

Either way, it took all of Jack’s self-control not to look back at the thing.

Every fibre of his curiosity wanted to turn and examine it, but he kept his eyes aimed determinedly down and forward, away from the big gold automaton.

In the dim red glow of the orbs in the ceiling, he came to the body slumped on the floor of the tunnel.

It was an Omega monk.

Jack could tell from the greystone hourglass hanging from a chain around his neck. It was intact.

Jack pocketed the hourglass. Greystone had come in handy once before, in the English Tunnel under Mont Saint-Michel. It might come in handy again.

The monk was also not wearing traditional Omega robes. Instead, he wore tan combat gear and a gunbelt.

It didn’t matter. Nothing he could have worn would have protected him from what had happened.

As had been the case with Dion’s Squires earlier, assailed by some superintense source of heat, his clothes, boots and helmet had become one with his skin.

His body was an unholy mix of cloth, leather, skin and bone.

The monk had been gripping a gun. That had also melted and become part of his fingers. His other hand had deformed completely and was now just a puddle of disgusting goo at the end of his arm.

What happened here? Jack thought.

He leaned in close to examine the face of the monk.

It was revolting. The skin of his face had sloughed off, revealing his jawbone and teeth—

The monk gagged.

Jack sprang back.

This horribly melted man was still alive.

The monk hacked out a hideous choking cough, upchucking a gout of blood as he did so.

Jack recoiled.

In a hoarse whisper, the monk started mumbling: ‘If we can’t get to Keter, Malkuth will lead us to the other realm. If we can’t get to Keter, Malkuth will lead us to the other realm . . .’

Jack frowned.

Keter? Malkuth?

He knew those terms.

They were from the Kabbalah.