The

13th  Enumeration

Table of Contents

Title Page

The 13th Enumeration (The Thirteenth Series, #1)

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Chapter 86

1 Corinthians 13:13

Deuteronomy 6:4

1 John 4:15–16

John 3:16

Epilogue

By

William Struse

Published by

PalmoniQuest LLC.

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Copyright © 2012 by William Struse

All rights reserved, No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned,

or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

ISBN 978-0-9858715-0-5

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www.the13thenumeration.com

Books by William Struse

The Christian Fiction Thirteenth Series:

Book I – The 13th Enumeration

Book II – The 13th Prime: Deciphering the Jubilee Code

Book III – The 13th Symbol: Rise of the Enlightened One

The Non-fiction Prophecy & Patterns Series:

Book I – The 13th Enumeration: Key to the Bible’s Messianic Symbolism

Book II – Daniel’s Seventy Weeks: The Keystone of Bible Prophecy

Book III- The Jubilee Code: Prophetic Milestones in the Bible Prophecy (to be released)

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Special Offer:

Do you want to learn about the real Biblical history behind the Thirteenth Series? Subscribe to my blog Where History and the Bible Meet and you’ll receive a complimentary copy of my new non-fiction book:

The 13th Enumeration: Key to the Bible’s Messianic Symbolism

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This book is dedicated to my mother

Dawn Struse Long

A believer of unshakable Faith,

A woman of undeniable Hope,

A mother of unfailing

Love

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Acknowledgments:

Winnie, I couldn’t have done this without you, my love. Your help, faith, encouragement, and support made this all possible. You are the heroine of my heart.

Maranatha, Hope, Hannah, Zane, and Noah, I will always treasure the winter of 2011–2012 as we all sat around the fire and read the manuscript for the first time together. Your suggestions, criticisms, and encouragements made the story better than it would have been. As a father you’ve made me proud. This story is for you.

Mom, thank you for buying a teenager a plane ticket that would be part of the catalyst for the words that follow. For reading to a ten-year-old who couldn’t and having the faith that someday he would. For not giving up on me when others might have. I finally learned to read.

Arno Froese, thank you for inviting a teenager to lunch when you didn’t have to. Little did you know that act of kindness and your words that weekend would be, in part, the impetus for a lifelong quest.

Rachel Starr Thomson, thank you for making my book better. I can only imagine that a new author with no experience writing his first work of fiction must be an editor’s worst nightmare. I appreciate all you have done.

Daniel and Dawn, your encouragement and suggestions are appreciated.

David, for inspiring a young man to learn what he didn’t know and showing just what someone is capable of if he wants it badly enough.

Mark Biltz, thank you for your help with the Hebrew words. I would have made several mistakes without your critical eye.

A special thanks to all my family and friends whose enthusiasm and encouragement meant more than I will ever be able to tell.

Prologue

Capernaum—43 AD

Looking down the long, dusty road, Levi stood searching through the glare of the late afternoon sun for any remaining travelers. He turned back to the station, calling a young man standing in the doorway. “David, it is time to close the station for today. Most travelers have already found lodgings for the evening. Our day is done, my friend.”

The customs office of Capernaum was an important station on the road between Damascus and Tyre. It collected taxes from the commerce on this road as well as that associated with the harbor of the Sea of Galilee. As far as his people were concerned, Levi was a traitor. They despised the taxes imposed by the Roman government and enforced by the Roman soldiers. They doubly despised one of their own people who worked for this imperial Roman system. Well, that could not be helped. He had a job to do, and he would at least do it honestly and fairly.

Levi called out to David again, “Make sure the customs chest is secured. I will tell the guards we will be leaving for the night.”

“I have already secured it.” David replied.

“Very well,” Levi said as he turned and went through a doorway to an adjacent building. The building next door was a low-ceilinged brick structure with only one rough opening for a window. It served as the guard station for the customs office as well as the quarters for a detachment of Roman soldiers under the command of the centurion Platimus. Levi addressed the officer in charge, who was sitting against the wall with his feet up. “We have closed the station for the night; please post a guard for the customs chest.”

The officer looked up, a condescending look on his face. “No need to worry. We will do our job, just see to it that you do yours.”

Levi looked in the officer’s eyes and without expression replied, “I also will need a detachment of guards tomorrow for my journey to deliver the taxes and my monthly report to headquarters in Jerusalem.”

With a look of disgust the guard replied, “You’ll have your guard, Jew.” Then with a dismissive gesture, he turned away and ignored him. Silently Levi left the building and headed next door. Some of those Roman soldiers could be very disagreeable. There were others, though, like the centurion, who respected the Jews and their religion. Capernaum had one of the most beautiful synagogues in Israel thanks in great part to the help and gifts of Platimus.

Before leaving for the day, Levi once more addressed David, “You are in charge until I get back. Watch for the Syrian; he should be coming through tomorrow or the next day. See to it that he does not try to sneak past again.”

“I will take care of it. Until the morning then, good night.”

In the late afternoon sun, Levi turned down a side street, passed two buildings, and took the path to his house. A short walk from the business district of town, his house stood on a slightly higher elevation than the town proper. He strode up the hard-packed dirt path and entered the courtyard, climbing the outside stairway to the roof. There was a small enclosed area for sitting or reclining, but today he just stood, watching the fading sun as it sent sparkling waves of light across the blue waters of the Sea of Galilee. The waters sparkled and shone like a myriad of diamonds. The desert sky was painted with crimson, purple, and rose. Just as the sun sank below the desert’s edge, bathing his face in a final intense burst of light, he felt the change in temperature and the air began to move, bringing relief. He waited a few minutes more, letting the cooling air absorb the heat from his body and the surrounding air. As he rested, he thought about the remaining preparations he had to make before he left tomorrow.

He needed to finish the manuscript tonight so he could take it with him to Jerusalem, trusting it to safe hands before it was confiscated and destroyed. He also wanted to have a copy made of the document he had found while cleaning out some of the old records from the customs station. The small tablet—written in cuneiform Aryan script, from the looks of it—appeared to be quite old. This tablet would make a nice addition to his collection from the Persian era.

His thoughts returning to the present, he retraced his steps and entered the main room of his house. It was modestly furnished with a few chairs and a table. With the light fading, he found his lamp and lit it, then entered a small room on his right and descended the stairs to his cellar. He picked up a knife and cut off a generous piece of bread from a loaf on the shelf, found some olives and a couple of dried fish, and placed all these on a plain clay plate. Taking the plate and the lamp back up the stairs, he placed the food on the table and returned once more to the cellar.

The house had been run-down when he purchased it. After cleaning out the dirt, rocks, and debris from the basement, he had stumbled upon a secret door that led underground. It looked as if someone had found a natural underground cave and enlarged parts of it to make a secret hideaway. The entrance was covered with limestone, as was the entire basement. Over this, a house had been built, concealing the hideout completely. Whoever constructed it had put tremendous effort into the underground room and passages.

On the back wall of the cellar, he pushed against a large upright stone. It groaned, and he stood to one side as the bottom of the stone swung outward and up. Ducking, he stepped into the dark tunnel with his lamp and walked a few paces to an alcove cut into one wall of the passage. The alcove was four paces long and divided into two long shelves. On the top shelf were clay pots, on the bottom clay tablets.

Removing the lid from one of large clay pots, he took out a new manuscript. Levi then removed one of the clay tablets from the bottom shelf. He placed this in a leather pouch and turned to leave the underground cave. Holding the lamp above his head, he studied the engraving on the opposite wall. Smiling with satisfaction, he turned away. Levi passed through the secret door to the cellar and carefully shut it behind him. Climbing the cellar stairs, he placed both the manuscript and the artifact on the table next to his food.

After supper, he opened the scrolled manuscript and began to write. He only had a little more to finish. With confident strokes, he covered the page with his precise Hebrew script. When the final words were completed, he sighed with satisfaction. He knew some who read this manuscript would not understand or believe the words he had written. He also knew that the way in which he had written it would cause some to question his words. But a record must be preserved, and when the time was right, the truth would be there for all to see. What better way to hide a great secret than to disguise it as a mistake and place it in plain sight?

He laughed quietly. His own people would proclaim his ignorance and miss the point completely. Making a few notes in the margin, he rolled the manuscript back up and prepared for bed.

The next morning, he left for Jerusalem with the collected taxes and an escort of Roman soldiers. Since they were on official business, they were able to acquire fresh horses at garrisons along the way. They made the customs headquarters in Jerusalem by midafternoon the following day. After giving a report to his superiors and depositing the collected taxes into the treasury, Levi left to find the scribe.

Reuben, the scribe, was a well-respected copyist of the Torah. His copies of the sacred writings were read in many homes and synagogues. Levi found him at his booth in the outer courtyard of the temple. His booth was squeezed between a noisy rug merchant and a stoney-eyed purveyor of spices. The aroma of frankincense and cinnamon was strong in the air.

Reuben welcomed him. “How are you, my friend? It has been a long time. How can I help you today?”

Levi removed the manuscript from his effects and placed it on the counter. The new leather scroll was bound tightly by a thin flax cord.

“I would like you to get this into safe hands,” he replied with a knowing look. “I would also like to hire you to make a copy of this.” He pulled a small leather pouch from another pocket of his garment, carefully removed its contents, and placed them on the counter as well. “I found this among some of the records at my customs office. As you can see by the Persian script, it predates the Roman occupation. I’m not sure how it came to be in the customs house, but as you know, all Persian era artifacts are of great interest to me.”

Reuben carefully picked up the small clay tablet and examined it with intense curiosity. His eyes sparkling, he looked up at Levi and said, “You well know how I love a good challenge, Levi. I will gladly make you a copy and translation.”

Levi tried to hand over a few coins. Reuben hesitated before accepting them. With a look of slight disapproval he said, “You know I don’t want your money, my friend.”

Levi smiled. “I know, but this tablet is a personal interest of mine, and it’s not for the cause—so it is only right that I pay you for your time and expertise.”

Reuben acquiesced with good grace. “I will take your money, Levi, but only what I would charge anyone else. You have paid me too much.” Taking the appropriate change out of his purse, he handed it to Levi.

Still holding the small coin in his hand as he walked away, Levi paused for a moment on his way to his lodgings, thinking. After a moment, he turned his steps toward the temple proper.

Crossing the Court of the Gentiles, he climbed the fourteen steps to the wall that divided the court from the temple proper. Entering one of the thirteen gates, he passed into the Court of the Women and the temple treasury. Along the far wall were thirteen trumpet-shaped chests, narrow at the top and becoming wider and flared at the bottom. They were arranged from one to thirteen, each with its own numerical designation in the ancient Hebrew script, each designation specific to the collection of the various offerings, tithes, and temple taxes. Levi opened his hand, looking once more at the small coin he held. Walking over to the last trumpet-shaped chest, he paused, staring at the trumpet and its enumeration.

Finally, taking the coin between two of his fingers, he dropped it into the narrow mouth of the chest, listening for the musical sound it made as it fell onto the multitude of coins below.

Chapter 1

Tel Aviv, Israel. Present day.

Miriam Rosenfeld was frustrated, frustrated, and angry! She hated mice, the filthy little creatures, crawling all over the place. She had been finding nibbles in her bialy rolls and holes in her packages of rice and lentils. They were leaving droppings everywhere. Who knew what kind of diseases they carried? Her son, Jesse, was one year old and crawling on those dirty floors. She was at her wit’s end. She had trapped thirty-nine of the vile little creatures, becoming an expert in setting traps and removing bloody carcasses, yet they still kept coming. Her drab one-room apartment in the low-rent district of Tel Aviv was full of them. Every time she blocked a hole, they either chewed through whatever she had filled it with or made another hole.

She mentioned her plight one evening at her best friend’s house, and Danya told her of a trick her mother had used: steel wool. She said the mice wouldn’t chew through it. So Miriam decided it wouldn’t hurt to try. Now she was standing in the aisle at the hardware store staring at the steel wool. Danya had said she only needed one package, but she had not seen Miriam’s apartment with those thousands of filthy little rodents scampering across the floor. She sure hoped this worked. If it didn’t, she didn’t know what she was going to do.

So Miriam, an otherwise stable and reasonable person, did something unreasonable that would ultimately save the lives of millions of people. She bought, not one package of steel wool, but ten.

* * *

The flickering computer screen cast an eerie glow over the tiny, dark apartment. Efran Finkelstein, with his muscular hairy hands, sat laboriously typing his one-page report into the computer one finger at a time. He finished the last line and double-clicked on the peacock icon at the bottom of his desktop. A small window opened which read, “Enter your encryption key.” Efran opened his web browser and looked up the weekly Israeli New Lotto numbers, then typed in the seven winning numbers for this week’s draw plus his own personal eighteen-digit identification number.

After a brief pause, the text began to disintegrate into little bits and pieces until nothing was left on the screen except a message which read, “Please stand by; Anaj is encrypting your text.” After thirty seconds, a new window appeared. “Please select your destination folder.” Efran chose drive F and saved the information to a removable flash drive. A final window opened which read, “Please stand by.”

Two minutes later, the program shut itself down. With all traces of the original message cleaned and overwritten by Anaj itself, the only evidence of his activities was the little peacock icon in the bottom-right corner of the computer screen.

Efran removed the thumb drive and walked over to the kitchen table. From the lower cabinet, he pulled out his toolbox and removed a pair of pliers, a small ball-peen hammer, a pair of metal shears, and some electrical tape. From the top shelf of a closet he removed an old roof flashing and cut a small rectangle about 6cm x 4cm. It was lead—when he’d picked the flashing up at the plumbing store, he had been surprised that they still sold lead flashings.

Taking a small folding knife from his pocket, Efran carefully pried the plastic case off the flash drive, exposing a small computer board. With the pliers, he gently bent the USB adapter back and forth until it broke away from the board. He wrapped three layers of electrical tape lengthwise around the bare board, which he then placed on the leaden rectangle. Folding the lead sheet in half, he covered the computer board like a sandwich. With the small hammer he gently tapped the open edges until they began to flatten. He gently folded 3mm of the edge all the way around the sandwich, then hammered the edges until they melded together. He repeated this once more until the edges were completely sealed and the board was enclosed in a waterproof container.

Rising from the table, Efran removed flour, sugar, and gelatin from the upper kitchen cabinet. Measuring them according to a recipe he had memorized a year before, he poured them into a pot on the stove. To the mixture on the stove he added just enough water to make a paste out of the ingredients. Into this he added a 60ml of water-soluble craft glue. Efran swore as he spilled some of the metallic sand he was measuring from an unmarked container. After he had 160ml, he mixed it into the other ingredients. Efran heated and stirred the ingredients until they were thoroughly mixed into a honey-like consistency. He let it boil for ninety seconds and then turned it off.

From a bag in the drawer of his desk, Efran removed a small balloon and inserted his lead-encapsulated computer board into it. He blew up the balloon until it was about an 3cm in diameter and 7cm long. Taking the balloon by its tied-off stem, he held it over the pot on the stove and ladled the warm, granulated liquid carefully over the balloon until it was completely covered. He hung up the balloon until, about half an hour later, it had dried into a hard shell.

Taking a pin, Efran popped the balloon at the end where the stem stuck out, then dipped the open end of the hard shell into the ingredients. He covered the entire capsule once more and let it dry for one more hour while he removed every trace of his little project. He was glad he did not have to do this every week. From start to finish it took him about three hours, but well worth the effort. Traitors were not well liked anywhere, but in Israel, they were especially hated.

It was now two o’clock in the morning. Walking into the bathroom, he lifted the toilet seat, dropped the capsule into the bowl, and flushed.

Chapter 2

Dubai, United Arab Emirates

Darius Zarindast sat calmly at the table, his hands resting lightly in his lap, eyes closed, his face a mask. Across the room, an antique wall clock divided the minutes with its soft click, click, click. In a few moments the members of his team would join him around the conference table to begin their weekly meeting. Today, decisions would be made which would change the order of the world.

Darius Zarindast was a man of many faces, but today he was the president of Aquarius Elemental Solutions, the only company in the world which could economically separate elements from seawater. For twenty years he had single-mindedly worked toward the goal that was now just within his grasp.

Of Persian descent, Darius left Iran with his mother after his father died in 1976 at the hands of the Savak, Iran’s national intelligence and security organization. Darius’s father had been part of the Savak leadership but was accused of being a subversive agent in support of Ruhollah Musavi Khomenini. His mother, Leila, escaped to Britain with young Darius. Leila was a startling beauty and soon caught the eye of a young Saudi prince. Prince Hasmadan became infatuated with her and wanted to make her one of his wives. Having few better options, she agreed on the condition that her son be allowed to immigrate with her to Saudi Arabia.

The prince’s infatuation with his third wife, in time, turned into genuine love, and Leila became his favored wife. When Darius came of age, his stepfather gave him a gift of $260,000 dollars. At eighteen years of age, Darius entered MIT and pursued a degree in molecular physics. Having lived in the deserts of the Middle East for the balance of his life, he knew the value of water. He entered college with the desire to find a way to desalinize water economically. After his first year, he saw the direction the computer technology industry was going, and he invested two-hundred-thousand dollars in several start-up tech companies. By his third year of college, his two-hundred-thousand had grown into two million dollars. Over the next several years he again multiplied his fortune several times.

In his second year of college, Darius headed a research team looking into the properties of rare earth metals. They made several important discoveries pertaining to the usage of these rare elements in batteries. At the same time, Darius began his own research into their properties as catalysts in the hopes of finding a way to create reactions with seawater. He made very little progress until he inadvertently stumbled onto what he believed was a new rare earth combination, which he later called aquarillium: a mix of promethium, terbium, ytterbium, iron, and hydrochloric acid.

Aquarillium reacted with water in strange ways. Using it as a catalyst, he focused high-frequency radio waves at a seawater solution, and the water began to boil instantly. Equally unusual was the concentration of magnesium residue he found on the inside of the glass seawater container. With further experimentation, he was able to extract small amounts of other minerals as well. But it wasn’t until he added a high-power magnetic field around the catalyst chamber that he began to get truly exciting results. Having done these experiments on his own time, he had not shared them with his classmates or his professor. Realizing the implications of his work, he destroyed all records of his experiments and created new records showing false experiments.

At the end of his third year of college, Darius left to continue research on his own. The following year he moved to London and established his research there. It was in London where he first learned of the Order’s involvement in his father’s death—and where he got his first hint of their secret. In London the seed of hate was planted, and in London he nurtured it until it consumed him. Soon his technology was no longer a means to help transform the world into a better place, but the means by which he would exact revenge on those people and organizations he believed were responsible for the death of his father and the ongoing status of Persia as a backwater third-world nation.

Through savvy trading and a good grasp of the economic big picture, he grew and multiplied his investments through the late nineties. After the 911 terrorist attacks in New York, Darius moved from London to Dubai so he could establish a base of operations outside the domain directly controlled by the Order. Almost every waking hour he spent perfecting his revolutionary technology and searching for the Order’s most closely guarded secret. Finally his technology reached a point where he needed additional assistance, and over the next several years he slowly assembled his team.

They—four men and one woman—would be walking through his office door in the next few minutes. They had tirelessly worked for five years to get his technology to the production stage, and only now were they ready.

Darius walked over to the wall of windows which commanded one of the most impressive views of Dubai. His office suite was on the one-hundred-and-thirtieth floor of the Burj Khalifa, or as it is commonly called, the Dubai Tower. He looked out over the hazy, barren deserts of Arabia on his left. Far away in the distance, over the blue expanse of water in front of him, he could just see the deserts of his homeland. He had leased this office suite to remind him of his quest: not only to avenge his father’s death, but to once again raise the Persian people to their rightful place in the world. A world not dominated by the Order and its alliance with the political, financial, militaristic, and corporate behemoth of Western democracy.

If his plans succeeded, in a few short years the barren desert which he now overlooked would be filled with the green of living things. Nations once dependent on others for their food due to a lack of water would now be self-sufficient. He did not often allow himself to show emotion, but he could not help the smile which crept across his face as he spoke the ancient words, “And the desert shall blossom as a rose.” Darius turned back toward his desk and proudly thought to himself, Welcome to the Age of Aquarius.

Chapter 3

Negev Desert, Israel. Late Summer.

His fingers white with chalk, muscles corded with effort, Zane reached into his chalk bag with his right hand, felt for the gritty chalk sack, and squeezed. With fresh chalk on his hand, he reached for the next elusive handhold. His movements calm and confident, he found a small crack into which he forced the fingers of his right hand, and by curling them, found enough purchase to move his left foot to a small protrusion about two feet higher on the rough rock face.

Once again shoving his left hand deeply into his chalk bag, he covered his fingers and hand with the abrasive white powder. He only had one chance to nail this next move. Taking a deep breath, he leaped, three fingers of the left hand sliding neatly into the two-inch crack. With his entire body weight hanging by three fingers, he reached with his right hand to the ledge above his head for a hidden handhold he hoped was there. Just as his left hand began to give, he found it. Swinging his entire body up, he reached for the protruding ledge with his right foot. He shifted his weight to his right hand and right foot and powered himself over.

The rest of the climb was straightforward, and he reached the top of the cliff without further challenge. Calling “Off rope!” to his belaying partner, Ariel, he unclipped the rope from his harness and sat down.

Man! What an amazing feeling—like he was sitting on top of the world. He looked out over the desert with its pastel hues of purple, red, and brown. In the distance the Negev, and further on, Jordan. A slight haze of dust brought a warm glow to the desert. No regrets, he thought.

In his final year of high school, Zane had broken his parents’ hearts by announcing that he did not want to go to college. He told them he wanted to travel Europe and climb. Unlike his friends, he had not found his place in life. All he knew was that he loved to climb. When they realized he was serious, they granted their blessing and he was off. For a whole year he lived like a gypsy, climbing in every country of the Eurozone. He made many friends and saw many beautiful places, but he was just wandering.

Then, one hot day in June, he found what he was looking for. While in a climbing shop in Jerusalem, he met another climber named Yoseph who told him about a place he and some of his friends had climbed recently in northern Israel. Later that day, they drove to the Manara Cliffs of the Naftali mountain range. As they got close to their destination, they could see majestic Mount Hermon in the distance. They found a secluded section of cliff that looked like it had not been climbed before and hiked around to the back, where Zane found a way to the top which would allow him to top-rope the cliff. Rapelling down the face, he offered to belay Yoseph for the first ascent.

The ascent was moderately challenging; Yoseph said it felt like a 5.11b. Zane began his ascent about four feet over from where Yoseph began his, starting at a finger-width crack which ran slightly to the right of true vertical. The climb began easily enough, with tight finger jamming in the crack with some toeholds here and there to take some of the stress off his arms.

About halfway up the cliff, he reached an area of rough scaly rock which seemed loose in places. The crack he had been following petered out, and he searched the rock face for new stable handholds. He had progressed about five feet in this section when he stuck his hand into a section which looked like it offered a good grip. Just as he was testing his weight, the face of the rock came loose and exposed a small alcove.

He yelled “Rock!” and fell away from the face of the cliff as Yoseph applied tension. He only fell about five feet, and as he was dangling there, he tried to look up into the hole he’d made. Unable to see, he grabbed the rock and climbed back up to the little alcove, quickly realizing that the pieces he’d pulled loose were a man-made plug to seal a natural depression. Since the cliff face was in the shade, he could not make out exactly what was in the back of the crevice. What little he could see, though, appeared to be a clay pot of some sort.

About an hour later, after he followed Yoseph’s advice to leave it alone and call the authorities, Shimon and John from the Antiquities Authority showed up. Zane let John borrow his harness and lowered him down from the top of the cliff. Carefully John photographed the entire area, including multiple perspectives of the alcove and its contents. Then, with painfully slow care, he removed the clay pot. After Zane had lowered him to the ground and brought him back to the mouth of the opening, he retrieved a second clay pot. With utmost care the officials wrapped the pots and carried them to their vehicle.

Later the following week, Zane received a phone call from Shimon, who informed him they had removed a portion of the book of Matthew from one of the clay jars and a portion of the book of Isaiah from the other. They had also found several coins in one of the clay vessels dating back to the Second Temple era. He said to check back because the Isaiah portion would someday be on display in the Shrine of the Book, a wing of the Israel National Museum.

Zane knew from that day that he wanted to be an archeologist. Maybe it was a lack of faith, maybe just natural curiosity, but it was a wonderful feeling to uncover a piece of history which further strengthened the historical context of the Scriptures he had been taught all his life. At long last, he had come to the end of his quest for meaning in his life.

After one-and-a-half years of aimless wandering, he returned stateside with a purpose, much to his parents’ pleasure, and began attending a Christian college in Texas that fall. Every year for the next three years during the spring and summer breaks, he returned to Israel and volunteered on archeological digs. He loved the hard physical work and getting his hands dirty. It sure beat sitting behind a desk! He had been coming back for three years now and each time became more engrossed with the work. It was an indescribably good feeling finding bits and pieces of the past and trying to bring context to those discoveries.

Returning to the present, Zane looked down at the light blue rope dangling over the cliff. With a sigh he got up and clipped himself in. His rope doubled in his ATC, he rappelled back down the face of the cliff and joined his climbing partner.

“Good climb, Zane,” Ariel said as he reached the bottom.

“That was fun!” Zane replied with an enthusiastic smile. “The crux sure had me guessing for the handhold.”

Ariel smiled. “But you nailed it with no trouble.”

Untying the rope from his harness, Zane asked, “Ready to give it another try?”

“No, not today—my fingers are fried from the last run.”

Zane and Ariel were both volunteers on a dig in the Negev. Packing up the rest of their gear, Zane asked, “You have any plans for tomorrow? I sure would like to drive over to the Manara Cliffs and give them a try again.”

“Thinking you’ll find more artifacts?”

Zane laughed. “No, not really . . . that was a once-in-a-lifetime deal. But I wouldn’t mind climbing there for old time’s sake.”

“Sorry, my friend, but I promised the professor I would get some supplies for camp, and then I must return to Jerusalem and visit with my parents. Tomorrow is Shabbat, and they asked me to join them.”

With a shrug, Zane smiled. “No problem. I’ll check it out anyway—I’ve heard there are some really gnarly climbs on the back side.”

Chapter 4

New York City

Joe Douglas’s eyes blurred in anger as he watched the numbers on the gas pump flash in rapid succession. They had taken everything from him—his wife, his family, his respectability. A convicted felon, he couldn’t even get a decent job. There hadn’t been enough cocaine on him for two people, let alone for “intent to distribute,” as they’d charged him. That hadn’t stopped the prosecutor. Joe was sent to prison for three years and was released a year early for good behavior. When he got out of prison, no one was there to greet him except his anger. His wife had received full custody of the children.

His knuckles turned white as he gripped the gas dispenser. None of his old friends or work associates from the New York City Water Municipality would have anything to do with him now. Well, he was going to teach those godless heathens a lesson—a lesson the whole world would remember.

The pump clicked off at 199.34 gallons. Joe pulled the dispenser a little out of the welded auxiliary fuel tank in the bed of his pickup truck and topped it off until the register read two hundred gallons exactly.

Inside, the man behind the counter looked up with a friendly smile. “Boy, she was thirsty today.”

Joe nodded. As he pulled his wallet out, he replied, “Man, this is killing me. I wish our crooked politicians would do something about the gas prices.”

Four dollars a gallon, Joe thought. He remembered when gas was a buck-fifty. He counted out the eight hundred dollars in cash for the salesclerk, took his receipt, and turned to leave. “I’ll see you in a week or so.”

Joe climbed up into the cab of his truck, the sole possession he had retained from his pre-prison life. His first few days in the penitentiary had been one continuous nightmare of bullying, pain, and fear. That was until Hassan walked up and stood beside him one day. No one ever bothered him again. Hassan was a lifeline to a terrified and lonely man who had nowhere else to turn. Over the next two years, Hassan taught him about Muhammad and the Koran. At first he paid attention out of necessity, and later out of genuine interest. Joe had never been particularly interested in any religion, but prison changed all that. With Hassan’s friendship and brotherhood, he embraced the Muslim religion. He knew now that all his problems were a direct result of a godless and hedonistic Western lifestyle and belief system.

Allah willing, he was going to help change that. The two hundred gallons of diesel fuel in the back of his truck were a step in that direction.

Chapter 5

Dubai, United Arab Emirates

After a soft knock, the door opened and five familiar faces entered. Darius stood and calmly welcomed the four men and one woman who entered his office. “Good afternoon, lady and gentlemen.” He ushered his team into the conference room.

When everyone was seated, Darius took his chair at the head of the table. He surveyed the faces gathered there. Although they served in several capacities, each had a specialty which made him or her indispensable to the organization and invaluable to his plan.

Today, they would decide whether or not to set the plan in motion. For Darius, it had taken over twenty years to reach this point. Many of the rest had been working tirelessly—and secretly—for five years. They all knew the success of their plan depended on their silence. Their invention would fundamentally alter the current order of the world. Darius thought it ironic that half the faces looking back at him were Americans born between the years 1961–1981. According to William Strauss and Neil Howe in their book Generations, these men and a woman were part of the thirteenth American generation.

And none of them had any idea how significant that was.

On his right sat Alexandra Riley, whose primary function was executive assistant and public relations. The first time he had seen Alexandra was in his second year at MIT, where she was leading an environmental protest. She was an activist in every sense of the word, fearless, passionate, and unrelenting, with classical Irish features and a temper to match her fiery red hair. Her passion, intelligence, and commitment raised her as a leader in the environmental movement until she became the international face of the cause.

That is, until Darius asked her to join his organization three years ago. They met over lunch at a vegan deli in New York, and he asked her if she wanted to change the world. She looked up at him with her pale green Irish eyes, a bitter laugh, and a mocking smile.

“Mr. Zarindast,” she said, “everyone dreams of changing the world. Few ever really make a difference. Most people are content to follow others.”

After a few moments, Darius replied, “What would you do if you had practically unlimited money and influence?”

With a sarcastic tone she replied, “Why, Mr. Zarindast, I would change the world.”

Darius stood up, laid an envelope on the table, and said, “If you want that opportunity someday, I will give it to you.”

One week later she was standing in this very conference room with a look of incredulity on her face as he finished explaining what he had invented and a modified version of his plan to change the order of the world. He said nothing of the Order and his plans for revenge—that was not necessary for her to know. After a couple of minutes of searching his face for some trace of obfuscation, she simply said, “Prove it.” He took her to the complex on the outskirts of Dubai and showed her the prototype. One million gallons of pure water an hour from the sea at ninety-five-percent efficiency. A world-changing invention, and Alexandra was intelligent enough to see the implications. She had been the last addition to his little group.

Next to Alexandra sat Gavin Matthews. He was the son of one of Darius’s old classmates at MIT. Darius had shared a dorm room with Jake Matthews during his first year at MIT and he was one of the few people Darius still talked to from his old college days. In passing, Darius had mentioned to Jake that he was looking for a good software programmer for his company.  Jake told Darius his son worked at Google and suggested he give him a call.  Gavin, like his father was a computer genius. He had made several innovations in chip architecture while at MIT. His software programming and encryption skills were also first-rate. Google paid him well into the six figures to write software code.  Darius called him up and asked if he could have a few minutes of his time. When they met, Darius told him, “Your father says you are a computer genius. I would like you to work for me, and I will pay you fifty thousand dollars the first year. After that I believe you will be so convinced of what we are about to do that you will be willing to waive your salary.”

Gavin laughed out loud, but at the same time he searched Darius’s face to see if he was serious. Darius just sat there and stared back. Finally he said, “Gavin, I am completely serious. All I ask is that you come and see how serious I am. Here is a round-trip plane ticket if you care to find out.”

As Darius picked up his briefcase to go, he said, “Gavin, if what I hear is true, you are a maverick. You dance to your own tune and have a problem with authority. What I am offering you is an unlimited budget with very limited oversight. You will be in charge of computer programming and security for our project. What have you got to lose? A long weekend? I know you may find it hard to believe, but I am offering you a once-in-a-generation . . . no,” Darius corrected himself, “a unique opportunity in the history of mankind.”

Two weeks later Gavin Matthews arrived in Dubai, and Darius showed him the technology and gave him an overview of what he needed. That was five years ago, and Gavin Matthews had worked without compensation for the last four years.

Ralph Scholz had been a facilities design engineer for Intel, instrumental in automating their factories with robotics. He had the prototypical German attention to detail and precision but with an ability to think outside the box to come up with new and innovative solutions. He was in his midforties and loved his work. He had designed and built, at an unheard-of low cost, an almost totally automated production facility for Darius’s invention. He and Gavin had also worked together on the design and construction of the commercial version. Once he had seen and understood the idea, he too had joined the venture with absolute commitment.

Dylan Gallos was the next member of the team. He was at the top of his field in theoretical and analytical mathematics. As with many of the modern-day mathematical geniuses, he was approached by most of the big names in the financial world. In today’s high-tech financial realm, it was mathematicians who ruled the world. They created black-box algorithms that were used in everything from financial modeling to high-frequency trading, the real wild west of the financial world. Fiber-optic data networks were created to accommodate this shift in electronic trading. In 2007, the London Stock Exchange launched TradElect, able to process three thousand orders per second for an average turnaround time of ten milliseconds. Latency had continued to be reduced since then and was now in the low single-digit milliseconds. Each time a company or hedge fund was able to reduce its latency and gain an edge over the competition, it skimmed millions of dollars off the difference in price between the bid and the ask. As of 2009, over seventy-three percent of all US trading volume was a result of HFT.

But Darius’s invention would change everything. Dylan’s expertise was needed to model the effect it would have on the economies of the world and find the best way to take advantage of the results. For the past three years, Dylan had also been “helping” erode the stock price of Aquarius Element Solutions. Darius had set up a clandestine hedge fund from which Dylan used a custom algo to manage the stock price to their desired target price. Six months ago they had reach their price objective and were just waiting for the final pieces of the plan to be completed.

Arash Jafari was the head of security. No one knew much about him except Darius, and Darius had not felt it necessary to provide the rest with any background. When he was present he sat quietly like a specter, cold and without a hint of what was going on behind his ever-vigilant eyes. What Darius knew that no one else did was that Arash was a senior officer in the MISIRI (Vezarat-e Ettela-at Jomhuri-ye Eslami-ye Iran), the Iranian intelligence service. He was one of Iran’s most decorated, and feared, field operation directors, overseeing American, European, and Israeli agents and their respective intelligence-gathering networks.

Before Darius’s mother died, she told him his stepbrother Arash was alive and well in Iran. Arash was ten years older. He had lived with them up until their father’s death, and then his own mother had come for him. Then one day, Arash was sitting in Darius’s Dubai office when he arrived for work. He looked like an older version of the boy he remembered. Arash knew more than Darius thought possible about what he and his team were doing in Dubai. He had offered his help in maintaining operational security, and ever since then, he’d been the eyes and ears of their operations. With his position in the Iranian intelligence service, he had latitude to go and come as he needed. His contacts, including several terrorist organizations, gave Darius a wealth of firsthand information from around the world.

“Gavin and Ralph,” Darius began, “it was at your request we postponed the introduction of our invention to the world by one more year. As everyone at this table knows, it is imperative for the success of this endeavor that the secrets of our technology be secured against theft by those to whom we sell our devices. Have you satisfied yourselves that our secrets will be safe from discovery?”

Both men looked intently at Darius, and Ralph replied, “We have made every possible attempt to compromise these devices and have been unable to do so. For the past six months each attempt has resulted in a catastrophic destruction of the device. We are as sure as we can be that they will be safe from discovery for at least one year. Eventually someone will figure out a way, but our estimate is conservative—likely it will take at least two years for anyone to figure out a way to steal the technology. That’s more time than we need to reach our goals.”

Darius looked for any hedging in their expressions or words and was satisfied with what he saw. “Are there any other objections or concerns before I give the final go-ahead?” Turning to his right, he said, “Alexandra?”

“I’m ready,” she replied.

Darius worked his way around the table receiving the same response from each. “Then let’s proceed according to plan.”

They all got up from the table and started for the door. Only Arash remained behind. He paused at the door and quietly asked, “Do you wish me to give the go-ahead to our contact in New York?”

“Yes,” Darius replied. “Let’s proceed.”

Arash held eye contact. “And the surprise?”

“Yes, proceed with that as well.”

“Do we tell the others?”

Darius gave no indication of nervousness or second thoughts. “There is no need to tell the others,” he said.

Arash walked silently out the door. He kept his thoughts to himself. If any of the group ever found out that he and Darius were responsible for what was about to happen in New York City, it could develop into a serious security risk. He had carefully studied each of the other four members of the team, and it was likely that two of them would object based solely on the harm their plan would cause the people of New York. They would all object at not being included in the decision-making process.

Well, he would just have to be vigilant. There was much more at stake than any of them knew.

Chapter 6

Brooklyn, New York

Joe exited Interstate 278 at the Brooklyn Bridge, then crossed over into lower Manhattan. He exited on Park Row, and then turned onto Broadway, after a few blocks and several turns he slowed as he pushed the remote on the visor of his truck. He turned into the subterranean entrance of a parking garage underneath a modern-looking six-story condo. He was just north of the financial district. Wall Street was just around the corner.

As he entered the parking garage he again pushed the remote, and the large commercial garage door closed behind his truck. The garage was a concrete affair that would house twenty-eight cars. When Joe had gotten out of prison, he looked up Charlie, an old drinking buddy who was a sleazy real-estate agent and developer. In the days back before prison, Charlie was always looking for handymen to help fix up his properties. He hated to pay the union wages of licensed contractors, so he looked for any scabs he could find. Charlie took him to the condo, which was in the middle of an extensive remodel, practically foaming at the mouth as he described union contractors milking the project for all it was worth. When the remodel was a third finished, the contractor demanded more money. Charlie ran him off, and the condo sat vacant for eleven months. Joe agreed to work for room and board plus expenses. Charlie checked on Joe’s progress every couple of weeks and seemed pleased at the work he was doing. He sure could not complain about the cost.

One of the first things Joe did was build a temporary wall across the back section of the parking garage. It was alongside this partition that he now pulled his truck. He opened a plywood panel in the wall and pulled out a length of one-inch black fuel hose, connecting it to the pump on his auxiliary fuel tank.

Joe turned on the pump, and the fuel began to transfer from the truck. He ducked down through the panel hole and entered the back section of the garage. In two neat rows were eight six-thousand-gallon collapsible fuel-bladder tanks he had purchased from a military surplus store in Virginia. He had been making two or three trips a day from service stations all over the New York area for over a month, amassing over forty-seven-thousand gallons of diesel fuel, and he only needed about one thousand more to completely fill the fuel bladders. He never went to the same station twice in the same week. Two more days, and he would be ready to exact his revenge. All he needed was the final go-ahead.

The eight bladder tanks each had a valve and were connected to one another with PVC pipe. Not the best arrangement, but it would last as long as he needed. In the far corner Joe had installed a three-phase twenty-HP fuel pump, one of those commercial jobs that could pump two hundred gallons a minute at a hundred psi or a hundred-and-fifty gallons a minute at one-fifty psi. The maximum pump pressure was two hundred psi. The pump suction end was connected to the bladder tank piping, and the outlet end was connected to the condo’s four-inch main water line, which was conveniently located about thirty feet away.

Most municipalities required a backflow prevention device on the main water inlet line to the buildings. These devices prevented any customer’s contaminated water from flowing back into the water distribution system of the city. In this case, the backflow preventer was contained in a small enclosure on the outside of the building just past the water meter. Municipalities required building owners to have a certified technician test the devices and certify they were working properly. In the case of Charlie’s condo, the backflow test had been done four months ago and was not due for another eight months. After the technician left, Joe had returned later that night, removed the backflow device, and installed a new section of piping.

Before filling the bladders with diesel fuel, Joe had tested his plan out by filling the bladder tanks with water from the condos’ main water line. Water pressure from the city main fluctuated between one-twenty-five and one-thirty psi. It had taken about five hours and twenty minutes to empty the water from all eight bladder tanks back into the city water system—a success. Since diesel fuel was a little lighter than water, Joe figured it would take another hour or so to pump that much fuel into the city water system.

The potable water consumption of downtown Manhattan dropped off by about seventy percent after eleven p.m., so he planned to start pumping at eleven-thirty. All the fuel should be in the main system by six a.m., when demand would spike. Joe remembered installing the upgraded water main to this condo about ten years ago. It was only one-hundred-and-ninety feet from the main trunk line, which ran straight down into the financial district. He estimated that ninety-five percent of the diesel fuel would make it into lower Manhattan’s water main before the spike. By the time anyone figured out what was going on, the entire freshwater distribution system of lower Manhattan would be contaminated with diesel fuel for some time to come. The financial district would be shut down until they figured out how to decontaminate the water lines all over the lower part of the city. That sure would be a nightmare for his former boss and coworkers. He laughed out loud. Well, too bad. He would teach those heathen infidels.

The knowledge of what he could do—no, what he would do—was a powerful feeling. One man could bring the financial center of the world to its knees. Likely they would recover, but it was still an amazing amount of power for one man to wield. And so easy—he had wondered many times over the past months why someone had not already done this to other cities. Even after the world saw what he was about to do, they still would not be able to stop others from doing the same thing elsewhere. There was just no way to prevent it.

* * *

The Baker opened the door to the basement under his bakery. It was midnight, and the streets of Tel Aviv were quieting down. His day was just beginning. For the past ten years, his ritual had been the same—until about twelve months ago.

He walked down the old wooden stairs and passed several doors on his way to the far wall of the basement. He unlocked a closet door and passed through, closing the door behind him. Reaching under the third shelf, which was full of cleaning supplies, he pushed a small latch, and the shelving pushed away. He entered a small room with a bare floor and dirt walls.

Twelve months ago, he had begun excavation of this small room. It had taken six months of digging and hauling dirt to finish. Against the far wall, the city’s main sewer line ran just under the edge of his building. He had exposed about six feet of it, up to the point where his building drain line connected to the sewer main. He had removed the old sewer connection for his building and installed a new sewer tap. His new connection had a couple of removable rubber couplings which allowed him to remove a section of his drain piping.

In a small alcove dug into the dirt wall was a heavy-duty battery charger. The Baker turned it on, energizing the homemade electromagnets he had wrapped around the sewer main. Each night, he would turn on the magnets. Any metallic material which flowed through the sewer main got caught in the magnetic field and remained there until he turn off the battery charger. At four a.m., when he finished most of his baking, he would come back down to turn the charger off and see if he had caught any “little fish” in his magnetic net—each one a small part of the war against the Zionist occupiers.

With a final baleful survey of the dark, dirty room, the Baker turned off the light and returned to his normal nightly duties.

Chapter 7

Manara Cliffs, Israel

Zane turned off the engine of the little truck he had borrowed. In the distance he could see the snow-covered peak of Mount Hermon. Before him were the Manara Cliffs. He pulled his gear out of the back of the truck, and slinging his backpack over one shoulder, set out to explore. Since he didn’t have a climbing partner, he didn’t really plan on climbing, but he’d brought his gear anyway. Sometimes you found another climber looking for a partner. If nothing else, he would document possible routes with the Climbing-Quest app his friend Sam had made for him.

It was a quiet morning, and he did not see anyone right off. There were several cars in the parking area, so he knew there were others out hiking or climbing.

About half a mile down the trail, Zane turned off and walked toward a less-explored area of the cliffs. The cliff face seemed a little rough, with loose rock in places. A little further on, he saw someone climbing one of the rough faces of the cliff. As he drew closer, he noticed the climber didn’t have a belaying partner—he was free soloing the rock face. Zane shook his head. Free soloing had become more popular the past few years, and it was considered the ultimate test of a climber’s skill. A free solo climber used no safety device at all. Only a pair of climbing shoes and a chalk bag, and even those were optional in some cases. It was foolish. No one was perfect, and free soloing required perfection. One mistake and you ended up with a quick trip to the ground. As they said, “It isn’t the fall that kills you; it’s the abrupt stop at the bottom.”

Pretty gutsy, he thought as he looked up at the climber. Or stupid. One false move and all anyone would find was a corpse—and in this out-of-the-way area, even that might take a while.

His curiosity drew him up to the face of the cliff. The climber was probably eighty feet up on a narrow ledge and working his way along it.

As Zane reached the foot of the cliff, he did a double take.

Although it was becoming more common, it was still rare to see a woman free soloing.

She wore tan capri pants and a loose-fitting shirt.. Her dark hair was braided and reached just past her shoulders. He couldn’t see her face, but that girl was all woman. He shook his head in amazement. Just above her head was what looked like thin sheets of loose rock barely hanging on the vertical face. From his perspective on the ground, they looked like they were just waiting to fall.

As the woman carefully made her way along the narrow ledge, she used the overhead slabs of rock as handholds. “Does she have a death wish or what?” he muttered. Zane had seen some of the best climbers in the world pass on this type of rock. Well, he admitted, she sure seemed able to handle herself. To get where she was would take some exceptional skill, rope or no rope.

She had almost reached the end of the narrow ledge when her right foot seemed to slip. As her foot came off the rock, she compensated by increasing her hold on the narrow overhang above her head. Just as she regained her footing, the ledge above her head started to give way. Instinctively, she shifted her weight and moved her right foot two feet further down the ledge. The slab of rock fell straight down onto the ledge where she had just been standing, completely obliterating six feet of it. Zane expelled the breath he had been holding. She wouldn’t be going back the way she came, that was for sure, but at least she hadn’t been knocked off the rock—thanks to her quick thinking.

He was just about to call out to her when one more piece of the overhanging rock gave way and fell, slicing the calf of her left leg. Somehow she managed to maintain her hold on the rock, but even from his place on the ground, he could see that blood was already running down over her left foot and onto the cliff, leaving a growing crimson stain. Zane didn’t know what he could do. He only had his rope and quick draws. He had no free-climbing gear with which to anchor himself in the rocks. And even if he had, there was no one here to belay him anyway. The flow of blood had not slowed, and it was now a two-foot streak on the rock. These thoughts flashed through Zane’s mind in seconds as he stood in silent horror, watching the girl’s life drain out.

Like a bloody ballerina, she calmly pivoted on her right foot, lifting her injured left leg straight up in the air until her toes were touching the ledge over her head. This section of the overhang seemed a little more stable. Somehow, she managed to wedge the toes of her injured leg into the overhead crack, thus freeing up her left hand. Reaching into her pants for her pocket knife, she flicked it open and cut away a large portion of her pant leg. Carefully she tore a strip of cloth, and using her teeth and her left hand, tied it around her bleeding wound. It looked like she might have bought herself a few more minutes of precious time.

Pulling out his cell phone, Zane called the MDA, the Israeli Magen David Adom paramedic service, and explained the situation. The operator said they would send an ambulance. Telling them to hurry, Zane ended his call and tore open his backpack. She was not going to be able to hold on until they arrived. Slipping off his boots, he put on his climbing harness and shoes, then tied a large loop in the end of his rope.

Removing his ATC from his harness, he threaded his rope through it about ten feet down from the loop and clipped it back into a large carabiner on the main harness loop. He hung the looped end and the extra ten feet of rope over his right shoulder. The remaining one-hundred-and-seventy feet he hung over his left. In the sixty seconds it took him to accomplish these tasks, part of his mind was telling him this was a futile effort. The other part was telling him he had to try something.

Zane had never been able to justify the risk of free soloing before. Now he was going to attempt a free solo ascent on a treacherous rock face he had never climbed before to try to help a foolhardy young woman. I should have my head examined, he thought in frustration. In reality, though, he really didn’t have a choice. He would never forgive himself if he didn’t at least try to help.

“Hold on,” he called up, “I am going to try to climb up to you!” He plunged his hands into his chalk bag one at a time, the white powder flying everywhere. He decided to make his ascent from just below and to the right of her. The first handhold was just above his head, and he reached for it with his left hand. Wedging the three small fingers of his right hand into a head-level crack, he drew up his legs to a slight protrusion which he was able to smear with his shoes. His feet taking some of the weight off his hands, he reached with his right hand, found the next hold, and powered himself higher.

He made pretty fast progress for the first sixty feet. He refused to think about what he was doing and just looked for the next hold. He knew he was running out of time. The crimson streak was just above him and to the left now. It had run twenty feet down the rock face, and the metallic smell of it was strong in the warm air. How she had managed to hang on for the past four minutes he had no idea.

With a damaged leg and her left climbing shoe slippery with blood, she could not move at all. He could see the tremors in her arms and legs as she fought to maintain her tenuous hold on the cold, hard rock.

Just twenty feet below her now, he was in trouble himself. There was nothing on the rock face he could reach—just hard, bare rock. With calculating eyes, he searched the rock for anything that would provide a means to reach the young woman. The only real prospect was an impossibly small protrusion of rock two feet over and three feet higher on the rock face. Just below that was a tiny crack, which looked even more difficult to reach. He would have to leap from his precarious perch and nail the hold on the first try—there would be no second chances here, no practice tries, no rope to catch him if he missed. Only a fast ride down and an abrupt stop. From sixty feet up, the rough rocky ground below would surely break many bones in his body if it didn’t outright kill him. If the two fingers of his hand reached the mark, they would have to hold the entire weight of his body while he found a place for his left hand.

The young woman, her voice heavy with the stress and pain of her predicament, finally spoke. “Don’t be foolish; you can’t make that move.”

Zane tried to ignore her and muster his strength for the leap. She continued, “Don’t do it; you’re needlessly risking your life.”

With frustration and a touch of fear, Zane replied, “Shut up; you’re wasting your strength and mine. I am going to do my best to reach you, and you are not helping.”

She did not respond. The shaking in her arms and legs was noticeably worse, and Zane wondered again how she had not already fallen. Not one in a thousand climbers could have held her perch under these circumstances.

Zane tuned out all other thoughts and focused all his energy on what he was about to do. Quickly, he said a silent prayer: Father, please help and strengthen me for what I am about to do. Thy will be done. He bent his knees slightly and tensed the muscles in his arms and legs, and then he leaped.

Time nearly stood still as his body covered the distance between where he was and where he needed to be. He knew he was not going to make it as soon as his hands and feet left the face of the rock. He was going to miss by several inches. As his right hand scraped past his intended mark, the hard rubber soles of his climbing shoes sliding down the rock, he desperately reached for the lower crack with his left hand. Just as he thought he had missed that too, his fingers slid three knuckles deep into the crack. He felt the sharp pain as the full weight of his body tried to tear his fingers out of the crack. Instinctively, his right hand reached up for his intended mark, and as he found purchase, he pulled the entire weight of his body up with the two fingers of his right hand. With his injured left, he reached further up for another hold. This time he found a good grip, and letting go with his right hand, he pulled himself up with the left and placed his foot on the protrusion of rock where his right hand had just been.

The final fifteen feet to the young woman he made without any trouble. He found a good place to stand on the ledge just beside her. She had turned markedly pale from blood loss, hanging on by pure guts and determination without a whimper or a cry for help. With his free right hand, he took the main coil of rope off his left shoulder and let it fall to the ground. From his right shoulder he removed the short end of his rope with the loop in it. Looking further up the rock wall, he searched for the protrusion of rock he had seen from below—a small knob some climbers called a chicken head. Just a small protrusion from which to use straps or webbing to hang an anchor point. He found it straight up, about ten feet from where he now clung precariously to the cliff. Carefully, he flung the loop over it. Taking up the slack in his ATC breaking device, he gently tested his full weight. The rope held, and he carefully shifted his body in order to reach for the young woman.

He spoke quietly. “Hang in there. I’m going to reach my left arm around your waist. Try to hold on as best you can.”

She looked into his eyes. “Thank—” was all she got out before she collapsed, her entire weight held by his left arm. With his right hand on the rope braking their now-combined weight, he slowly lowered them to the ground.

Laying the young woman gently down, he unclipped himself from the rope and knelt beside her, feeling her neck for a pulse. It was weak, but she was still alive. Tearing strips of cloth off his shirt, he rebound the wound on her leg, slowing the flow of blood still further. Picking her up in his arms, he started off for the parking lot as fast as he could go. Her pale face was turned against his chest, the strong, determined look she’d shown on the cliff replaced by the fragile look of a vulnerable girl.

His arms burning with fatigue, Zane reached the parking area. In the distance he could hear the lonely siren of the MDA. Opening the gate of his pickup, he gently laid the young woman down again, once more feeling her neck for a pulse. He could barely discern it through the tips of his fingers.

Two minutes later, the paramedics arrived. As they checked her vital signs, he briefly explained what had happened, leaving out his part in rescuing her. He could tell by the way the paramedics talked that they were concerned. Her blood pressure was very low and in the danger zone. Quickly they loaded her into the ambulance, and as they readied to leave, Zane asked if he could ride along. They said no and abruptly left.

Zane was left standing in a cloud of dust. The adrenaline which had been coursing through his veins had begun to dissipate, and he started to shake. He stood there for a few minutes, his thoughts going over the events of the past hour. Finally he decided to retrieve his climbing gear. Along the way, he realized he had not even asked where they had taken her. Hopefully the young woman would be okay.

As he drew near to the area where the accident had taken place, he could see the crimson streak, like a ribbon, hanging thirty feet down the cliff. He marveled again at how she had managed to hold on to the cliff after such an injury, and with the loss of so much blood. His rope was still where he had left it on the rock, so he walked up and shook it loose. Picking up his remaining gear, he noticed her small backpack against a rock. Maybe it would provide some means of identifying her. Retrieving it, he set out a final time for the parking area, his truck, and the long drive back to the dig site.

Chapter 8

Jerusalem, Israel

Rachael felt as though she was in some kind of fog. Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw unfamiliar walls. She looked down at her legs, and they were covered with a white blanket. What was that smell? It smelled like a . . . a hospital! She was in a hospital. Slowly the pieces in her confused mind started fitting together. The last thing she remembered was hanging on to the cliff with blood running down her leg. Oh, and there was someone—a young man climbing up to help her. He had made that impossible leap, and then he was standing beside her. That was all she remembered. What had happened after that?

She looked around the room and saw her father dozing on one of those uncomfortable hospital chairs. He must have heard her move, for his eyes came open suddenly, and he jumped up and came to her bedside. He had a look of deep concern on his face as he said, “How are you, my dear? You had us worried there for a while.”

She smiled faintly. “I feel really weak and groggy.”

“You lost a lot of blood.” His voice trembled just a little, and he gave her a tired-looking smile of his own. “You almost didn’t make it, honey.”

“Abba, how did I get here?”

“Well, from what the paramedics said, a young man brought you to the parking area at the Manara Cliffs. They said he told them you were injured while climbing and that he carried you from the area of the accident. They said they were so concerned about your weak vitals, they left without asking him any additional questions. Is that what happened?”

Rachael laughed weakly to herself as she replied, “You could say that was a very modest and abbreviated version of what happened.”

Trying to sit up a little, she continued, “I was climbing without any gear on a section of the cliffs that is not normally climbed. I made it up about eighty or ninety feet when I noticed someone watching from below. I remember being somewhat put out that someone had invaded my private little world, but I tried to ignore him and continued climbing. I had just moved past a bad section of loose rock when a large piece of it fell and cut the back of my leg. I was bleeding badly, eighty feet up on the face of a cliff . . . I couldn’t move because I was injured, and the blood was making my shoe slippery. Somehow I slowed the blood from the wound and was clinging there. He climbed up . . . without any free-climbing gear, I think. I’m not sure how he did it. He reached an impossible point and went for it. At first I thought he missed his mark, but by some miracle he was able to nail the hold.”

She shook her head, replaying the images in her mind. That leap . . . it really had been a miracle. “He climbed the rest of the way up to me and rigged a rope to lower us back down. I must have fainted, because that is the last thing I remember.”

Her father had remained quiet during her retelling of the events, and with a serious look he said, “Sounds like you owe your life to that young man. He did an incredibly brave act. Especially since you were taking unnecessary risks.”

The last criticism was gentle but direct. “You ought to thank him somehow.”

She remained silent for a few moments and replied, “You are right, Abba, I should thank him. I’ll find a way to do so.”

Her father stood. “I must go to work now. Please be more careful in the future, dear.”

She looked up a little defensively and replied, “Abba, I’m not like Ima. I don’t want to be just a pretty face who stays at home.”

Her father sat back down on the edge of the bed with sadness in his eyes and quietly asked, “Is that how you remember your mother?”

She looked him in the eyes and said, “Yes, in a way. She was beautiful and gentle. She was a wonderful mother, and from what you have told me, an amazing wife. I think of my mother as a lady. But I’m . . . I’m not like that.”

He laughed softly and replied, “Your mother was all of what you say, but she was so much more. I am sorry I have not done better in telling you just what kind of person your mother was. To most people, your mother was as you said: beautiful, kind, gentle, a great mother and a perfect wife. But she had another side she reserved just for the two of us. Your mother had an uncommon physical strength which you have inherited. She was velvet-covered steel.”

He smiled fondly. “She was incredibly competitive. No matter what we did, we always were challenging each other. Your mother was not a woman who walked behind her man; she walked beside him. In public, she was a perfect lady. In private, she would rise to any challenge. And she was more often than not the victor. Your mother loved swimming, biking, running, most all outdoor activities. She was uncommonly good at whatever she did.”

He laughed. “Do you remember the time when you were really little when I came home with a broken foot?”

Rachael nodded. He continued, “We left you that day with Bubbeh and Zaydeh while we went on a hike. We had hiked about two miles into some rough terrain when I fell and broke my left foot and badly sprained my right. I couldn’t walk. Now, you know I am no little man. I think I weighed about one-eighty or one-ninety back then—I outweighed your mother by at least forty or fifty pounds. To this day I’ll remember your mother’s rich and full laugh. She looked at me with a mischievous light in her eyes and she said, ‘Well, tough guy, you really did it this time. I guess your fair damsel will have to rescue her handsome prince.’ She just backed up to the rock I was sitting on and bent over and said, ‘Climb on, my handsome prince.’ She carried all one-hundred-and-ninety pounds of me back those two miles without a complaint or even a sigh. She was an incredible woman. You get much of your strength and persistence from her.”

Rachael looked at her father, shaking her head slowly with a growing smile of surprise.

“Not really how you pictured her, is it?” he asked, smiling.

“No,” she confessed.

“Honey, they don’t come any tougher than your mother, but she always was conscious of the fact that she was a woman, and as such, she believed she must conduct herself as a lady.”

He bent over and kissed her cheek. “I really must go back to work, my dear, but you have stirred my memories, and it would be good for both of us if I shared more of them with you.” He winked. “Maybe you would be less prone to almost killing yourself if you knew more about her. Later I will stop back by and check on you. The doctor says you will be here another day or two and then I can take you home. Oh, before I forget, do you want me to cancel your performance for the dedication of the museum?”

“No,” she replied firmly. “My leg is hurt, not my hands. I still want to play.”

He smiled, knowing her reply beforehand. In so many ways she was like her mother. There was no quit in his girl. “I’ll see you soon then,” he replied as he kissed her on the forehead and walked out the door.

Rachael lay in bed, thinking. She missed her mother so much! It would be good to talk to her now. Her thoughts changed direction as she wondered how she would go about thanking the young man she did not even know. Thank him she must, and she would figure out a way to do so.

Chapter 9

Ben Gurion Airport, Tel Aviv

Zane shuffled down the aisle with the rest of the passengers until he found his seat near the back of the plane. He stowed his backpack in the overhead carrier and sat down, trying to make himself as comfortable as he could in the cramped seat. Last night he had called several of the local hospitals to find out how the young woman had fared, but none of them would give out any information about their patients. He had opened her backpack, hoping to find some means of identification so he could return her things. All he found was a stainless-steel water bottle, a bag of nuts and twigs, an onion, and a small book. The book looked very old and was obviously worn with use. He had opened it and found it was the book of Psalms. On the front inside cover was a handwritten note which said, “To my dearest daughter: I have gained great strength from reading these words over the years. On your journey through life, I hope you find some measure of comfort in them as well. With love, your Mother.”

The only other item of interest was a piece of cloth which was being used as a bookmark. It looked as if it had been from a piece of woman’s clothing at one time. It marked the Twenty-Third Psalm:

YHWH is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of YHWH for ever.

His own mother had read that to him many times as a child. What a prayer of hope and faith.

Zane had not been sure what to do with the young woman’s things. Leaving them at the archeology dig site was not an option, and he did not have time to go to the local police station, so lacking a better alternative, he had decided to take them back to the States in hopes he could find out who she was and return them. He was sure the book of Psalms was very special to her.

Still fidgeting for a comfortable position, Zane picked up a magazine from the pocket of the seat in front of him and started thumbing through it. It was one of those tourism magazines the airline and destination country sometimes put in airplanes to advertise places and events. As he was turning the pages, he did a double take and turned the page back. There she was . . . in an advertisement for an upcoming benefit concert for the grand opening of a new wing of the Jerusalem Antiquities Museum. She was one of the performers, along with a string ensemble from the Israel National Philharmonic Orchestra. The fine print at the bottom of the page read, “Rachael Neumann will be playing Beethoven’s ‘Sonata Pathetique.’”

So her name was Rachael Neumann. Not only a great, although reckless, climber, but an accomplished pianist. In the picture, she was dressed in a formal white evening gown that left no doubt as to the fact that she was not only quite a woman, but also most definitely a lady. If she played the piano half as well as she climbed, that would be a performance worth seeing. At least now he could Google her and see if she was okay, as well as find a way to get her things back to her. He would take care of that as soon as he got home.

Many hours later, Zane disembarked, picked up his luggage, and hailed a taxi. The taxi dropped him off at the college dorm where he was staying. Taking out Rachael’s backpack, he set it next to his desk, and when he had finished unpacking, he sat down and Googled her. With a few clicks, he had her address. He sat for a few moments deciding whether or not he should send a note along with her things. He didn’t want to make a big deal about what he had done, but some gesture would be nice, he thought. What should he do?

Yes, that would do nicely. Taking out his climbing gear, he cut off five inches of his climbing rope and removed the inner core, leaving the soft, colorful casing. After melting both ends of the casing so they wouldn’t fray, he opened her book to Psalm 116 and placed his newly made bookmark there. A psalm of deliverance: “For thou has delivered my soul from death, mine eyes from tears, and my feet from falling.”

Both of them had reason to appreciate this psalm. His conscious mind still didn’t know how he been able to make that leap without falling. His spirit told him he’d had help. Reading the psalm one last time, he closed the book and replaced it in her backpack.

I love YHWH, because he hath heard my voice and my supplications. Because he hath inclined his ear unto me, therefore will I call upon him as long as I live. The sorrows of death compassed me, and the pains of hell gat hold upon me: I found trouble and sorrow. Then called I upon the name of YHWH; O YHWH, I beseech thee, deliver my soul. Gracious is YHWH, and righteous; yea, our God is merciful. YHWH preserveth the simple: I was brought low, and he helped me. Return unto thy rest, O my soul; for YHWH hath dealt bountifully with thee. For thou hast delivered my soul from death, mine eyes from tears, and my feet from falling. I will walk before YHWH in the land of the living. I believed, therefore have I spoken: I was greatly afflicted: I said in my haste, All men are liars. What shall I render unto YHWH for all his benefits toward me? I will take the cup of salvation, and call upon the name of YHWH. I will pay my vows unto YHWH now in the presence of all his people. Precious in the sight of YHWH is the death of his saints. O YHWH, truly I am thy servant; I am thy servant, and the son of thine handmaid: thou hast loosed my bonds. I will offer to thee the sacrifice of thanksgiving, and will call upon the name of YHWH. I will pay my vows unto YHWH now in the presence of all his people, in the courts of YHWH’S house, in the midst of thee, O Jerusalem. Praise ye YHWH. (Psalm 116:1–19 )

Looking at the papers he had spread across his desk, he sighed with some mild frustration. He had been working on his college research paper for several months now and had reached some uncomfortable conclusions. He had not thought about it for the past week, but seeing it there now reminded him that he had a lot more work left before he could turn in his paper.

He stared at it for a few minutes and wondered which direction he should go with it. It couldn’t hurt to give his dad a call and ask for some advice. The past couple of years, he had begun to realize how much he appreciated his father’s bits of wisdom and advice. Sufficient unto the day, he thought to himself. He would call him soon. He turned off the light, and exhausted from traveling, he lay down on his bed, clothes and all, and fell right to sleep.

Chapter 10

Manhattan, New York City

As Joe opened the door to his truck to make his morning run to the gas station, he noticed a manila envelope on the seat. He quickly looked around, searching the parking garage for anything out of place. Whoever was here had bypassed the condo’s alarm system and left again without being seen. Was this the go-ahead he had been waiting for?

His heart beating faster, Joe opened the envelope. He pulled out the cash first. Thumbing through the bills, he saw they were all hundreds. There must be at least twenty thousand dollars, he thought. Next he pulled out and fingered the key—it looked like a key to a storage rental unit. Reaching into the envelope again, he removed a single sheet of folded paper.

The brief note read, “Proceed with the plan. Start the process on Sunday night, October 31. This key fits storage unit #131 at Manhattan Self Storage. There you will find four fifty-gallon drums which you will add to the process. Do not go to the storage unit until the night of the 31st.”

Joe frowned, wondering what his contact wanted him to add to the fuel mixture. Not that it mattered much to him. They all deserved what they had coming to them.

The final items in the envelope were a passport, driver’s license, credit card, and round-trip ticket from Newark to Dubai. The departure time on the ticket was six Monday morning, the first of November. He sure hoped the plane departed before all hell broke loose. Six a.m. was cutting it kind of close.

He opened the German passport and found his face staring back at him. “Looks like I’ll be traveling as Gerhard Schroeder,” he muttered to himself. He sure hoped whoever had forged these documents knew what they were doing.

He looked at his watch. Today was the third of October. He only needed six hundred more gallons of fuel to fill up the bladder tanks. He would be finished with the fueling in two more days. No problem there, but how was he going to add the fifty-gallon drums to the mix? Not knowing what nasty surprises they had in those drums, he sure as heck did not want to handle them any more than he had to. He could dump them into the pool on the first floor. It wouldn’t take much to run a pipe from the pool cleaning system down into the garage and connect it to the tank manifold. He could even reprogram the pool’s IntelliTouch control system to turn on its pump and empty the pool into the fuel bladders’ piping after, say, six hours. Yes, that would work. Most of the diesel fuel would be pumped into the city’s main water line, the pool’s pump would kick in, and ten thousand gallons of pool water and two hundred gallons of surprise would be pumped into the city’s main water system as a chaser.

* * *

The Baker returned to the basement after most of his baking preparations were completed. He opened the secret room behind the closet wall and entered, closing the door behind him, then turned off the heavy-duty battery charger. Hanging over his sewer line was a pair of elbow-length rubber gloves. He put these on, and taking an eight-millimeter nutdriver from a niche in the wall, disconnected the rubber couplings which connected the sewer line from his building to the city’s main sewer line. Removing almost a meter-long section of pipe, he reached into the sewer main and felt around for his daily catch.

At this time of the morning, the water and sewage waste running through the pipe were at a minimum. His fingers felt for the familiar small, leaden objects. This morning there were three, as was often the case. The most he had ever found was five.

Usually there was no trace of the capsule. The water-soluble recipe only lasted two or three hours before it disintegrated. When the magnets captured the objects, they normally broke the weakened capsule, and the lead-encased flash drives fell to the bottom of the sewer pipe. The weight and flat surfaces of the lead kept it within inches of where it had fallen, regardless of the water volume that flowed over it. Quite a clever idea, if he did say so himself. Anyone in the network who had access to a toilet within half a kilometer upstream of the bakery could anonymously deliver their message. No meeting in person, no dead drops under park benches, and best of all, no electronic delivery with traceable origin and destination.

With efficient and practiced skill, the Baker reconnected his sewer line to the city main. Removing a small plastic bag from his pocket, he placed the lead-encased memory drives into the bag. He hung the gloves back over the exposed sewer pipe and replaced the nutdriver in its niche. With a laugh, he thought to himself that he doubted his bakery customers would approve if they knew he played in the sewer in the morning while their bread was rising. With that pleasant thought, he returned upstairs, the plastic bag secure in the pocket of his pants.

Chapter 11

Dubai, United Arab Emirates

Dylan Gallos stared at the wall of computer screens in his command center. Darius had allowed him to spend whatever he needed to ensure he had real-time access to every financial market in the world. One of the nice things about the Dubai Tower was that, since it was so new, it had the latest fiber-optic technology for screaming fast speeds. Dylan was running some cutting-edge trading software he had designed. He needed all the bandwidth he could get.

On his main monitor, he pulled up the stock price of Aquarius Elemental Solutions (AQES.BB). When Darius’s company first went public, it was traded on the NASDAQ, which had a minimum share price and capitalization requirement to be listed on its exchange. When a NASDAQ stock fell under a dollar a share for a certain amount of time, it was delisted from the NASDAQ and traded on the Over The Counter Bulletin Board. These companies still had to file the necessary paperwork with the SEC, but on the OTCBB they had no minimum share price, market capitalization, corporate governance, or other requirements to be quoted.

Thanks to the guiding hand of Dylan and a little help from some toxic financing hedge funds, AQES had gone from a share price of five dollars to where it now traded at $0.00012 a share. New start-up companies that did not have the backing of huge hedge funds or Wall Street banks typically went to predatory or “toxic” funding sources that would give the start-ups much-needed cash in exchange for stock shares. They would then create some hype about the stock in order to get the share price up so they could dump their shares. In the business, this was called a “pump and dump.” Once they unloaded their shares, they would then short the same stock using “naked shorts” (or fake shares) and ride it back down to a fraction of the original share price. Naked shorts were illegal, but the regulatory agencies didn’t seem to want to do anything about them. Most companies survived for several cycles of this toxic death spiral and then went bankrupt. Even companies with marketable products or ideas often did not survive long enough to get their products into the general market.

AQES was one of the rare exceptions to this rule. After five years, AQES had gone from five dollars a share and ten million shares outstanding to $.00012 a share and one-hundred-billion shares outstanding. Darius had applied for and received permission for another shelf offering of sixty billion shares, allowing him the flexibility to issue the shares at his discretion. They had used the toxic financing firms for their own means. No one would look at AQES.BB and think twice about what had happened. As far as Wall Street was concerned, they were just another casualty of toxic financing.

When Darius had brought Dylan on board and explained his technology and a general outline of what he wanted to do, Dylan had immediately seen the potential to exploit the circumstances into an unimaginable fortune. Together they set in motion a plan that, if it succeeded, would overturn the very order of the financial world. Somehow they had been able to keep their secret, and now it was only two more weeks until they really began to shake things up.

As part of their compensation, each member of the team had been given one billion shares of AQES.BB. Dylan’s models predicted that once the technology was vetted and accepted as genuine, the share price would trade in excess of a thousand dollars a share. Aquarius Elemental Solutions would be the largest company, by market share, in the world. The six members of the team would be some of the richest people on the planet.

He almost chuckled, then tried to bring himself back in check. A lot could happen before that came to pass, so he had to remain cautious.

Dylan once more checked the filings with the SEC and other regulatory agencies. Everything must be in order. They were going to be making a lot of enemies shortly, and their enemies would not need any excuses to come after AQES. Currently Darius personally owned sixty billion shares of AQES.BB in his name. In an offshore hedge fund set up for Darius, they had been soaking up the excess AQES.BB shares for the past several years. This hedge fund now owned another thirty-five billion shares of AQES.BB stock, or roughly $5.8 million worth. The actual number of shares the public could purchase was about five billion, or $650,000 worth at today’s prices. In order to make it appear that there were more shares in the public float than there were, Dylan had written a black-box program that churned the share float by a method called quote stuffing.

On average, over two billion shares of AQES.BB traded every day. Ninety-five percent of that was Dylan’s black box. Once the public came on board, the thirty-five billion shares in the offshore account would be used to control the stock price so that other Wall Street hedge funds could not manipulate it.

There was no doubt this would be the most heavily traded stock in the history of the world. In the name of their hedge fund, Dylan had purchased an office in the US which allowed them direct access as a market maker to the data transmission feeds for the main exchanges. It would have added several milliseconds to their speed if they could have purchased an office in New York, but all the bandwidth there was already taken at any price. So they settled for Chicago. Dylan considered this the only real weakness of their plan. With a several millisecond advantage over them, some of the big-name hedge funds and Wall Street firms could potentially harm their stock price using algos of their own.

When Dylan mentioned this to Darius, he replied that he did not think it would be a problem. At the time his response had seemed somewhat out of character, as their team had spent the last five years perfecting every detail of the plan. But maybe, since there was nothing they could do about it short of knocking New York into the ocean, Darius had decided not to worry about it. In any case, they would know in just a couple of weeks. Dylan could feel the pressure building.

Chapter 12

Darius picked up the interoffice phone and spoke. “Alexandra, do you have a few minutes? I would like to discuss the upcoming museum opening.”

A minute later Alexandra entered his office and sat down on the other side of his desk. She had her electronic notepad and looked up when she was ready. Darius slowly turned a pencil in his fingers. “Have all the artifacts from my collection been moved to the museum?”

“Except for the Persian tablet,” she said as she pointed to the display case which held a prominent position on the far side of the room. “That we will bring with us as you requested.”

“Very good,” Darius replied. This event was the catalyst which would set the plan in motion. “It is imperative we are prepared. Much hangs on the outcome.”

“Yes, sir, I believe we are ready,” Alexandra replied. “We will leave Dubai on Tuesday evening the twelfth and arrive in Tel Aviv a few hours later. The Israeli Interior Ministry will provide transportation from the airport to the King David Hotel in Jerusalem. You are scheduled to speak at the ribbon-cutting ceremony on the thirteenth at one p.m. Jerusalem time—about six a.m. New York time.”

Darius smiled. His speech would be completed just before the markets opened in New York. Dylan would have his hands full Wednesday morning. It had taken him years to reach this point, and he was beginning to feel the excitement. The realization of what he had accomplished, what they had accomplished, filled him with a sense of incredible pride. He would soon be the most powerful man in the world. Nations would do his bidding.

He set the pencil down on his desk and looked at Alexandra. “Are you ready for your part in this?” he asked.

With heartfelt zeal she replied, “I have been dreaming of this opportunity my whole life. We are really going to make a difference in the world. Just like you promised.”

Alexandra noticed Darius’s normally unemotional face give a fleeting smile. It almost seemed as if it was mocking. Was it her imagination, or was there something dark in his expression? Involuntarily, she felt goosebumps rise along her skin. This was the first time she had ever felt uncomfortable in his presence. Her overexcited imagination must be playing tricks on her.

She stood up. “Is there anything else we need to discuss before I go?”

Standing and walking around the table, he placed his hand on her shoulder as he said, “Two weeks from now you will be the wealthiest and most powerful woman in the world. I know you will be able to make a difference for the benefit of all mankind. With this power, we will have a responsibility to do what we think is right for the greater good of all.” Darius walked with her to the door. “Let’s schedule one more team meeting on the eleventh so we are all on the same page before we set this in motion. Things will really begin to move fast now.”

She agreed aloud, wishing she could shake the small premonition she had felt when she saw him smile. Preoccupied, she walked slowly back to her office.

Darius closed the door behind her. “The greater good of all” had been part of the philosophy of the Order for several hundred years. Now he was in a position to put his own version of that philosophy into practice in a spectacular fashion. Only, the Order would be on the receiving end of the idea this time. It was his duty, Darius had convinced himself—for the benefit of all mankind.

Sitting back down at his desk, he turned on his computer and opened a file named Sizdah-bedar. He thought of this file affectionately as File 13. Sizdah-bedar was a Persian festival celebrated on the thirteenth of Nowruz. Nowruz, literally “New Light,” was the first month of the Persian calendar. Sizdah-bedar literally meant getting rid of thirteen (bedar—getting rid of; sizdah—thirteen). In some Persian traditions, the holiday commemorated the victory of the Angel of Rain over the Demon of Drought. The first twelve days of Nowruz were a national holiday. Getting past the thirteenth day was considered a good omen.

Darius considered the symbolism fitting. He, the water man of Aquarius Elemental Solutions, battling the Order and their Demons of Drought. If he had his way, he would expose them and their secret.

After finding his first mention of the secret in the London library many years ago, compiling and perusing File 13 had become a weekly ritual. Since that day over ten years ago, he had been accumulating every piece of evidence he could find.

It had all started when he found the handwritten note in an old manuscript he was reading about the Knights Templar—no, really, it had begun a little further back, in college. In his first year, Darius had joined one of the many fraternities. It was his first introduction into the world of secrets and symbolism. After leaving college, Darius joined the Brotherhood of Freemasons. When he moved to London, he joined the Four Crowns Research Lodge No. 2013. He did not understand the implications at the time, but the Four Crowns Lodge had been established in 1886 for the purpose of gathering in one place all the teachings, history, and writings associated with Masonry. The founding documents required that a group of forty of the most prestigious members of the lodge in England be the governing council.

The following year, the Correspondence Circle was added to the lodge. Any member in good standing was allowed to become a part of this effort. In the first ten years, the Circle printed a fifty-volume encyclopedia on the esoteric teachings of the world’s mystery religions. This encyclopedia they called the Ars Quaruor Coronatorum. The knowledge gained by their efforts gave rise to sub- or clandestine lodges. These so-called irregular lodges put into practice the occult knowledge accumulated by the mother research lodge. They quickly became some of the most infamous secret societies in the world. Stella Matutina, the Society of the Golden Dawn, Ordo Templi Orientis (OTO), the Thule Society, and the Order of the Temple of the East all had their roots in the discoveries of the Four Crowns Research Lodge. Some of the greatest monsters in history were nurtured on their teachings.

Darius had joined the Circle of Correspondence with a genuine interest in symbols and symbology. It was after joining the Circle that Darius first learned of the Order, a group of men and women chosen from the highest levels of the secret societies of the world. Their motto: “Enlightenment is the end which justifies our means.”

His investigations led to the discovery of this group’s influence in subverting the independence of his homeland, Persia. Their activities, in conjunction with British intelligence and the CIA, led to the overthrow of the democratically elected leader of Persia, Mohammad Mosaddegh, in 1953. Mosaddegh’s great sin was his desire to nationalize the oil industry of Iran and renegotiate the terms of their oil contracts. From the early 1900s through both World Wars and into the early 1950s, England was almost entirely dependent on Iranian oil. An independent Iran was not acceptable to the Order’s plan for the Middle East. Their destabilizing efforts continued, and it was these efforts which Darius believed had ultimately led to the death of his father. With this newfound information, Darius secretly vowed revenge against the Order. He became obsessed with uncovering their activities through their various corporate, political, and social associations.

One night in the Four Crowns research library, his efforts took a new direction. Darius found a small, torn piece of handwritten note in an ancient manuscript on the Knights Templar. It read, “. . . knowledge of the 13th Enumeration.” Darius, curious of the meaning of the scrap, had approached one of the senior members of the research lodge. He could tell by the man’s poorly veiled surprise that he had found something important. He was informed that it would be looked into. Later, when Darius followed up on the note, he was told that there were no records of any so-called “13th Enumeration.” Still curious but now also cautious, Darius dropped the subject and began a clandestine effort to learn the truth.

After that night, Darius was never left alone in the Four Crowns research library again. And from that night to the present, Darius had pursued the secret.

Over the intervening years, Darius had learned much tradition and superstition, but little tangible evidence surrounded the prominence of the number thirteen in history. He searched for every bit of knowledge on the history of thirteen in the cultures of the world, hoping it would provide him clues to the meaning of the 13th Enumeration. He knew from the subsequent information he gathered that the 13th Enumeration was the great secret of the Order. He had been astounded to learn that the knowledge of this secret was also the Order’s greatest fear. Every time information surfaced that even hinted at its possible discovery, it was quickly destroyed. When it could not be destroyed, the Order employed deception and superstition to cover the truth. They had been so effective that after all these years, Darius still did not know the exact nature of that which he sought. He had often wondered if the keepers of the secret even knew the exact nature of their fear.

All the research Darius had gathered was in File 13 in front of him. He read down the list of people and events and chose one to review. Often when he reviewed the files, he gleaned new information. Information which led him to the next clue. Tonight he chose the Frishmuth file.

William Frishmuth was born in 1830 in Coburg, Germany. He attended Gymnasium Ernestium in Gotha, Germany, after which he spent a year learning from Fredrick Wohler, the famous German chemist. It was Fredrick Wohler who isolated aluminum in 1827. After studying as a chemist, William Frishmuth traveled through South America, the Caribbean, and the United States. In 1855, he settled in Philadelphia and became a US citizen.

In 1860, he spoke vehemently in support of the abolitionist cause. He was a staunch supporter of the emancipation efforts of Abraham Lincoln during his 1860 presidential campaign, and he became a close acquaintance of President Lincoln. At the start of the Civil War, Lincoln requested that the secretary of war appoint William Frishmuth as a secret agent. Frishmuth’s activities during the war reportedly earned him two hundred dollars from President Lincoln’s private purse. Later, during the war, Frishmuth was granted permission by Lincoln to raise a regiment in the Pennsylvania 12th Cavalry. With the confirming sanction of Pennsylvania’s governor, he raised the 113th Regiment and was commissioned a colonel. His service lasted only a short time before he resigned.

Darius well knew that it could be argued that the presidency of Abraham Lincoln was born out of the Morgan Affair and the anti-Masonic movement that saw Masonry go from fifty thousand members to five thousand in a short period of time. The Anti-Masonic Party (the first third party in America) joined with the Whigs in the New Republican Party and nominated Abraham Lincoln as their presidential candidate. After his election, President Lincoln’s push for an amendment to the constitution for the abolishment of slavery was a double insult to the South.

At the time of the Civil War, Charleston, South Carolina, was the headquarters of the Scottish Rite of Freemasonry. South Carolina was the first state to secede from the union. In all, eleven states were considered to have officially seceded from the Union—but to those who understood the symbolic nature of the struggle, the thirteen stars on the secessionist flag told the tale of the Templars’ infiltration into Masonry.

P.T. Beauregard, on April 12, 1861, ordered the attack on Fort Sumter, South Carolina, which was acknowledged as the first shot fired in the Civil War. Beauregard, a Freemason and member of the Knights of the Golden Circle, was praised throughout the South as the “South’s first Paladin.” Jesse James and John Wilkes Booth were also purported members of the Knights of the Golden Circle. After the war, due to the publicity of the conspiracy trials surrounding Lincoln’s assassination, Albert Pike and several others met and decided to change the name of the Knights of the Golden Circle to the Knights of the Ku Klux Klan. Their new name was taken from the Greek term Kuklos, or “circle.”

President Lincoln’s push for the thirteen amendment was a direct affront to the South both economically and symbolically. Economically, the thirteenth amendment undermined the ability of the South to compete—much of the wealth of the South was built upon the efforts of their slaves. Symbolically, the South, as a stronghold of Templar Masonry, saw the thirteenth amendment as an insult to these institutions as well.

After the death of Lincoln, Frishmuth became interested in law. He also served for some time as a colonel in the Pennsylvania National Guard. Later, in the 1870s, he returned to his interest in chemistry and for several years was one of the few producers of pure aluminum in the United States. He sought and was awarded many patents for his process of chemical separation of aluminum. An article in The New York Times on November 25, 1884, indicated the backers for his patents were “foreign capitalists . . . Their intentions . . . similar to the policy pursued by the Rothchilds.” These “English capitalists,” Darius knew, were the same capitalists who only twenty-five years later sought to control the oil resources of his homeland, Persia. Every time Darius read over this file, his blood boiled.

In 1884, William Frishmuth was requested to submit a bid for a copper, brass, or bronze capstone, plated with platinum, for the Washington Monument. Frishmuth had done other plating work for the monument, so Colonel Thomas Lincoln Casey of the Corps of Engineers sent over the request for the bid. Instead of proffering a bid based on the specifications of Colonel Casey, Frishmuth suggested an aluminum capstone be cast for a price of seventy-five dollars. Due to the difficult nature of refining aluminum at the time, it was approximately the same cost as silver. Colonel Casey agreed, and William Frishmuth, after some difficulty, cast the single largest piece of aluminum up to that point in history. After the capstone’s completion, Frishmuth, to the chagrin of Colonel Casey, loaned the capstone to Tiffany’s for a few days in order that members of the public might view the work. The capstone was placed on the ground, and the general public was allowed to step over it in order to say, “I stepped over the top of the Washington Monument.” After Frishmuth finally relinquished the capstone to Colonel Casey, he gave a bill for the work of $256.10. Colonel Casey was enraged to find the bill was $175 more than agreed upon. They finally settled on $225.

What had first sparked Darius’s interest in the story was Frishmuth’s commissioning of the 113th Regiment of the 12th Cavalry. Often, Darius had found that members of the Order used the language of symbols and symbolism to communicate information that most did not understand. Darius did not know, nor could he find, whether the 113th designation was just the natural order of numbering for the Frishmuth regiment or something more. In his mind, anyway, it was the casting of the capstone which told him there was more to the story than history recorded.

The capstone of the Washington Monument consisted of two parts. The main body of the capstone was thirty-three-hundred pounds and made of stone. The very tip was made of one hundred ounces of aluminum cast by Frishmuth. Having been a member of Freemasonry for many years, Darius understood the significance attached to the number thirty-three. To Darius’s knowledge, what had never been mentioned before in the context of the aluminum capstone was that aluminum’s atomic number was thirteen, and its Latin name meant bitter salt. Interestingly, the sum of a Fibonacci sequence up to thirteen was in fact thirty-three. Was it all just a strange coincidence, or was William Frishmuth a secret member of the Order? Or more likely, was William Frishmuth a genuine friend of Abraham Lincoln and his aluminum capstone a clever symbolic testimony to the “bitter salt” of the death of his friend, the president, at the hand of Southern Templar Masonry? On August 1, 1893, William Frishmuth was found dead of a “self-inflicted” gunshot wound to the head.

Darius closed the Frishmuth file with no more insights than the last time he had read it several years ago. Still his instincts told him there was something he was missing. Thirteen . . . a number that for centuries had inspired secrets and superstition.

Chapter 13

Dallas, Texas

The phone rang, startling Zane awake. He looked over at the clock on the wall and saw it was seven a.m. He rolled over, grabbed his cell phone, and in a groggy voice said, “Hello?”

Sam McKinney’s loud “Good morning, bro!” came pounding through his head.

“Good morning, Sam, how have you been?” Zane asked sleepily.

“Good—work has been good, and not much is new on my end. How about you? How was your trip to the Holy Land? Did you find the lost Templar treasure or the ark of the covenant?”

“No,” Zane replied, “I just practiced my shoveling and wheelbarrow skills.”

“Bro, if you want to just dig in the dirt, you can come over to my house anytime. I have tree holes that need to be dug. Who knows? You might even find some buried treasure.”

Zane laughed. “Speaking of buried treasure, Sam, how is that penny stock you said would make David and me wealthy some day?”

Zane never missed an opportunity to razz Sam about it. “What price did you buy that at again? Didn’t you say it was a steal at a penny a share? Sam, last time I looked it was $.0002 cents a share. That two hundred dollars you begged David and me to invest is now worth four bucks. That doesn’t give me the warm and fuzzies, my friend. If my math is right, your investment of a thousand is now worth twenty bucks. Talk about buried treasure. This dog is in a hole so deep it would take an elevator to find it.”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Sam replied with a good-natured laugh—tinged with a note of embarrassment. He wasn’t about to tell Zane the stock price was now $.00012. “You just don’t have enough faith, man. I’m telling you, this stock is going to surprise you someday.”

“Dude,” Zane laughed, “the only thing that will surprise me about this stock is if it is still trading in another year. How you ever talked David and me into each buying two hundred bucks worth of that dog I will never know.”

“I’m telling you I have a hunch about this one. The guy who started the company has got some real talent gathered around him, and he could not have attracted them unless he had something cooking.”

“Okay, bro,” Zane replied, “but don’t expect me to hold my breath.”

The good-natured banter out of the way, Sam asked, “Did you get to do any good climbing while you were over there?”

Zane laughed as his mind went back to Israel and his precarious climb up the cliff. “Yes, I had some really good climbs.”

“Well . . .?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Zane laughed.

“Try me.”

Zane smiled to himself. This was going to be fun. “Well, it happened like this... I was just out hiking, minding my own business, when I noticed an incredibly beautiful girl free soloing a 5.13 route. As I drew near, a rock fell and cut her leg. She was injured and in dire straits . . .”

Sam interrupted. “Let me guess. You free soloed up the rock, risking your life to save the damsel in distress. In an act of incredible heroism you saved her life, and she was eternally grateful.”

Zane replied with a hearty laugh. “Except for the last part, you got it just about right, bro.”

Sam laughed in turn. “Only in your dreams, Zane, only in your dreams.”

“Sam, my dreams of rescuing a fair lady seem a lot more real to me than your dream of riches from a penny stock.”

Sam replied in a more a serious tone, “The day I believe that fairy tale will be about the same time you break even on my little misadventure.”

They wrapped up their call with a promise to go climbing with David Johnson, their mutual best friend from high school days, soon. Fully awake now, Zane looked at the phone for a moment and then dialed his parents. His mother picked up on the fourth ring. Her clear, calm voice came over the phone, “Good morning, the Harrisons.”

“Good morning, Mom, how are you?”

“Zane!” she replied with happiness, relief, and love mixed in the single word. “How was your trip?”

He answered with an abbreviated—very abbreviated, without any mention of Rachael Neumann or risking his life—summary. “Can I talk to Dad?” he asked after a bit more small talk.

“Dad,” Zane said after his father’s manly voice came on the line, “I need some advice on a research paper I’m doing for my professor. The class is called Faith and Fact. Our professor has given everyone in the class an assignment to choose a prophecy in the Bible concerning the Messiah. We are to use reasonable forensic evidence to build a case for its fulfillment in Jesus. For my paper, I chose the prophecy of Daniel 9. As you know, most Christians believe that Jesus fulfilled this prophecy. Arguably, it’s the one prophecy in the Bible that gives specific, datable events which can be contextually connected to specific secular events and the coming of the Messiah in the first century.”

His father indicated that he was following, and Zane continued. “As most understand it today, the prophecy speaks to the second coming as well. Many consider it the most important prophecy concerning the Messiah in the Bible. Without going into great detail, here is my dilemma: as I know you are aware, the most widely accepted interpretation of this prophecy was most eloquently laid out by Sir Robert Anderson in his work The Coming Prince. There has been some modification to Anderson’s interpretation over the years, but by and large it’s the accepted view.”

He paused and decided to plunge on. “When doing my own research, I found that there was no contextual chronological foundation for this theory to be found in the Scripture. It’s a foundational prophecy concerning the Messiah, yet most scholars do not have a sound chronological foundation upon which to base it. My own research is undermining my belief in its fulfillment in Jesus Christ. How do you think I should proceed?”

After a few moments’ pause, his father replied, “Son, if what you say is true, and you have not shown me any evidence one way or the other, but assuming you got your facts straight and there are real serious questions about the consensus interpretation, you should pursue it until you have exhausted every avenue of evidence. Don’t be afraid of where the facts might lead. You know I am a firm believer in the accuracy of the Bible as long as it is understood within the context of its time, its people, and its place. Remember, a verse taken out of context can be twisted to fit any man’s motive, belief, or lifestyle, including yours. Some of the greatest human tragedies have been orchestrated in the name of religion. Follow this to wherever it may lead. You owe it to yourself. Don’t be intellectually lazy, son, but search it out to the best of your ability. I believe that if, as you say, the current interpretation does not meet a reasonable standard of truth, then you will find an even greater truth to replace it. There is a proverb I always think of when I am doing my own research: Proverbs 25:2: ‘It is the glory of God to conceal a thing: but the honour of kings is to search out a matter.’”

Zane mulled the words over. “Thanks, Dad, I appreciate your advice. You’re right. I need to dig out the truth.”

“Son, you never have to fear the truth. It will set you free.”

Those words were still ringing in his ears when Zane put down the phone and with renewed resolve began to go over his research notes.

Chapter 14

Dubai, United Arab Emirates

Gavin Matthews and Ralph Scholz sat in the control room of Darius’s fabrication facility on the outskirts of Dubai. The facility used state-of-the art robotic fabricators to put their machines together, minimizing the number of people who had access to the machines and the potential for theft of the technology.

“We have done the best we can do. I don’t see how the machines can be compromised right away,” Gavin was saying.

Ralph replied, “According to Dylan we need at least one year of operation without compromise in order to make this plan work. I am not too worried about it myself. Once they realize this is not some gimmick or scam we will all be incredibly wealthy, and it won’t take more than a few weeks to see our stock price rise dramatically.”

Gavin was quiet for a moment. “Do you really believe Darius’s motivation is altruistic in all this? Sometimes I get the feeling there is more involved here than what we’ve been told.”

Ralph chuckled. “Does it really matter if Darius has other motivations? We each have one billion shares of stock in our own names in our own accounts.”

“I guess not,” Gavin said. He laughed. “I would just like to think we’ll make a real difference in the world while we’re all getting filthy rich.”

Ralph, a serious look replacing the smile, answered, “Whatever you believe about Darius’s motivation, you have to admit he does not leave much to chance. Several years ago, about the time all those dead fish washed up on the beaches around here, he had me design dual control systems for the machines. He said he wanted a backup system in case the primary failed.”

“I had to rewrite the software to run that as well,” Gavin answered. “That was when he had me add the remote start-up to the secondary system. He said he wanted to be able to restart the machines from the control center in Dubai.”

“Did he ever explain to you why he had the auxiliary storage tanks incorporated into the backup system? I asked him why it was necessary, but he never gave me a direct answer. It seems to me that it’s unnecessarily redundant because both the primary and secondary controls can route through the primary storage tanks.”

“That never made sense to me either,” replied Gavin. “I’ve never seen him do anything without a reason, so I am sure there must be one. Anyway, that’s on the customer’s side of the design. They get the design blueprints, and you can bet they will follow them exactly, unnecessary storage tanks or not.”

Ralph laughed in agreement.

Gavin asked, “Do you think you will be able to keep up with demand once we go public?”

“No way. We have a thousand of the AES-100s and fifty of the AES-1000s completed and ready to ship. Once the world knows what these machines do, we will be selling thousands of them. Our factory can produce about ten of the AES-100s and one AES-1000 a day. I have already made designs for another facility which will increase our production by ten times, but it will cost one-and-a-half-billion dollars to build. I can have it in production four months from ground breaking. All we need is the money. Darius has used all of his money to get us to this point. Dylan has assured us that four weeks from going public with this technology, our stock price will be well north of ten dollars a share. At that point money will never be a problem for us again.”

They looked at each other and smiled, both of them thinking the same thought. One month was not too long to wait to be unbelievably wealthy.

* * *

They stood in Darius’s office looking into each other’s eyes. “This is the last time we will see each other for some time, brother,” Arash said.

Darius replied, “If everything goes according to plan, I will see you in October one year from now.”

“No one outside of Iran has ever seen me without a disguise, and only you know me as Arash. The blame for what we have planned for New York will fall directly on the leadership of Iran and its al-Qaeda connections. The harder they deny, the less the international community will believe them. At a minimum, sanctions will be imposed, and we can’t rule out direct military intervention if the events in New York cause a large loss of life. As a precaution, I will be minimizing my contact with the Anaj network. In the coming weeks I do not want any association with the events in New York. However remote, the American intelligence agencies may be able to figure out how we are communicating and trace it back to me. I will make sure Anaj traffic is directed to another part of the Iranian intelligence service not associated with me. I will still have access, but I will be more insulated from the repercussions should they somehow compromise the network.”

Darius nodded in agreement. “What about the Israeli network? I would like to be kept informed of their archeological efforts. You know this is of interest to me. How dangerous would it be to our goals if I monitored the intelligence from the network there?”

“It would be a risk, brother, but a manageable one if you use discretion,” Arash replied. “I will leave with you the contact information for the Ukrainian Internet company that uploads our encrypted files. My contact there does not know who we are, but he knows our procedures. When you send him your files, do not do so from any Internet connections associated with AES. I will contact him one last time and prepay his account with funds so that you will be able to use the network for the next twenty-four months. I can arrange for the Baker to send all intelligence to a new post-office box in Dubai. Are you familiar with the procedures to connect the flash drives to the new USB connectors?”

“Yes,” Darius replied with confidence. “I have seen you do it once before. I will be able to figure it out.”

“Very well then, brother. I will leave you the Ukrainian’s contact information as well as our Israeli field agent’s identification numbers. Once you have downloaded the files into the Anaj software, make sure you enter the lotto numbers first, then the agent’s identification number.”

Darius cut him off with slight irritation. “Brother, do not worry. I am familiar with your procedures.”

“Okay, okay,” Arash conceded begrudgingly. This was a foolish risk, but watching his brother the last few years, he knew Darius would try to keep contact with or without his blessing. At least this way there was some protection. He almost shook his head. A man soon to be worth a trillion dollars risking it for an interest in Israeli archeology. All in search of some secret which might or might not be real.

Looking directly at his brother and using a cold voice Darius had never heard, Arash said, “Just be careful—this is a big risk you take that affects us all. I will not bail you out if you get into trouble.”

Darius laughed in incredulity. “You bail me out? You will be lucky, brother, if you survive the anger of the Western world once they realize it was Iran who carried out the attack in New York. You had best worry about your own skin. I will worry about mine.”

Arash shrugged. Ever the same Darius. They were playing a dangerous game here, and any indiscretion on their part could bring down the whole house of cards. He had covered his tracks as best he could. No one in Dubai would ever recognize him once he took off his disguise. Darius was the only one who knew of his connection to the Iranian intelligence service or his part in the plan. By the time he communicated with his brother again, a year from now, the plan would be in its final stages. “If our efforts do not go according to plan and you are forced to move up the timetable, you can notify me at this e-mail account.” He handed over a note with “newpersian13@yahoo.com” scrawled on it. “If you have to leave early, just give me a time and I will be waiting for you.”

Darius smiled. “I doubt that will be necessary, brother, but it is a good idea. Will you be able to get the 235X back into your country without being detected?”

“I will have no problem,” Arash said as he lifted his briefcase. “I have diplomatic immunity in Dubai, and you know that no one in their right mind messes with the MISIRI in my country. Once things escalate in Iran, I will be giving them a taste of this.” He smiled, a thin-lipped smile that didn’t make him look more pleasant. “It is very fortunate that you were able to cover up the discovery of 235X. Had anyone connected the three miles of dead sea life with your uranium extraction experimentation, that would have been the end of it all.” It was no exaggeration—with the one liter of 235X Arash had in his briefcase, he would be able to decapitate the entire leadership of the Iranian government. Their deaths would be blamed on American or Israeli retaliation, and no one would ever know the difference. Once the Muslim fanatics were removed from power, he and his brother would be able to restore Hystaspes rule to the land of Persia and then the world.

“Yes, my brother,” Darius replied. “Nothing stands in our way now. We will restore the glory of the kingdom of Persia.”

Chapter 15

Jerusalem, Israel

Rachael was out of the hospital. Since returning home she had gradually restarted most of her normal routine, but the events of the past several weeks and her still-ungiven thanks to the young man had her preoccupied. After breakfast she normally ran three miles before she began her piano practice, but the doctor had said she could not resume heavy exercise for several weeks. She had already discarded the crutches she was issued, and she limped around the house in frustration.

This morning, an hour earlier than her usual practice time, she sat at her Steinway concert grand piano and played Russian scales to warm up her fingers. The coordinator for the museum benefit had requested she play Beethoven’s “Pathetique” piano sonata. She had memorized the piece several years ago for a recital, so it had not taken much work to bring it up to performance quality. There were just a couple places in the third movement where the dynamics still needed some work. It took approximately nineteen minutes to play all three movements, and after finishing scales, she played it through three times.

Her practicing this morning was not as focused as she would have liked. She kept thinking about how she was going to thank the stranger who had rescued her. She could ask her father to find out who the young man was. With his connections, all it would take were a few phone calls—but she had never used her father’s position to further her own agenda, and she did not intend to start now. For all she knew her father already knew who the young man was, but he had not offered and she did not intend to ask. This was her problem, and she would solve it.

There was a gentle knock at the door, and Gretchen, their housekeeper for the last five years, entered the room. “Good morning, Miss. This came for you in the mail a couple of weeks ago, and somehow in all the confusion it was forgotten. I am sorry.” She handed Rachael a package and left without any further comments. Rachael looked it over, unable to find a return address. It only had a postmark from Texas, USA. With puzzled curiosity, she opened the package and found her missing backpack.

Her heart jumping with hope, she opened the backpack and found the contents as she remembered them. Nothing seemed to be missing—and much to her disappointment, nothing else was added. She had hoped to find a note which would identify her mysterious benefactor. How had he returned her things anyway? There had been nothing to identify her in the backpack. Her book of Psalms didn’t give her name.

Looking at the book more closely, she noticed something there that had not been there before. Opening it, she pulled out the unusual bookmark. It was a piece of bright pink climbing rope with the inside strands of rope taken out. Only the casing remained. After reading the psalm it marked, she laughed, pleased. It seemed the young man knew enough about the Scripture to place the bookmark in an appropriate place. For that matter, he must be quite knowledgeable about the Psalms in particular to be able to pick out such an appropriate one out of one-hundred-and-fifty options.

She read the psalm through again, and when she got to the passage that read, “Return unto thy rest, O my soul; for YHWH hath dealt bountifully with thee. For thou hast delivered my soul from death, mine eyes from tears, and my feet from falling,” she said quietly, “Well chosen, my mysterious friend, well chosen.”

With gentle hands and thoughtful mind, she closed the book, the bookmark a colorful reminder of her unknown hero.

Chapter 16

Dubai, United Arab Emirates

They assembled in the conference room next to Darius’s office one last time. Tomorrow he and Alexandra would be leaving for Jerusalem, and a real-life game of chess would begin in earnest. Darius hoped their plans would keep them several moves ahead of their opponents, but much could go wrong at any time. The familiar faces looked up expectantly, with serious but barely subdued smiles of excitement and anticipation. Noticeably missing was Arash. Darius did not intend to explain his absence, and he doubted anyone would be inclined to inquire.

“Well, my friends,” he said, “in two days it begins. What we have been working for all these years is about to come to fruition. I know each of you has had different motivations for working on this with me all these years without adequate compensation. I realize each of you could have earned many multiples of what I have paid you working elsewhere. Your amazing loyalty and discretion has not gone unappreciated. At my direction, Dylan has added four billion shares of AQES to each of your accounts. This is my way of saying thank you.”

There was a shocked look on all of the faces except Dylan’s. He had known of this for several days now, and he just sat there with a look of mock importance.

“As we agreed, you may start selling your shares when our stock price reaches ten dollars a share. Remember, you must place all of your sell orders through Dylan so that the stock price is not adversely affected. Since none of us knows how this will ultimately play out, I would recommend that each of you sell at least some of your shares when we reach that ten-dollar threshold. We all know Dylan’s modeling has projected a possible share price in excess of one thousand dollars, but I would not take that for granted. At ten dollars a share, each of you will have more money than you can spend in several lifetimes.”

He turned to his technology experts. “Gavin and Ralph, the long-term success of this venture will be riding on your shoulders. First, we are dependent on you both in regard to the security of the technology. We need at least eighteen months in order to realize our ultimate goals. Second, we need to get our technology into as many hands as possible in the next several months. Ralph, are you ready to upgrade our manufacturing capability once we have the money available?”

Ralph replied with a look of confidence, “Darius, if you get me the money I need, I will have you the most modern and efficient manufacturing factory on the planet within four months.”

“Very good,” Darius replied. “Dylan, my speech will be completed just before the markets open in New York. Are you ready to manage this as we discussed?”

“I’m ready. Although I would feel more comfortable if we had a more direct connection to the exchange data lines. Chicago is good, but we will be at a disadvantage.”

Darius replied, “Just do your best, that is all I ask.”

He turned to Alexandra. “Alexandra, your duties will now shift to running our humanitarian outreach program. In order to make the changes I want to see in this world, we need to get as many of these machines into the hands of the undeveloped world as possible. My goal is to have our technology producing water for fifty percent of the world’s population within two years. I am willing to provide whatever money it takes to accomplish this. This may seem overly ambitious, but I believe we can do it.” She nodded.

“Over the next several months, as we evolve from an idea into a manufacturing behemoth, there will be extreme growing pains. Let’s all try to keep focused on the goal, but not so stringently that we cannot adapt to our changing circumstances.”

With a few final words to each of them, Darius dismissed the meeting. Undoubtedly they each intended to make any final preparations they needed before the big day.

* * *

Eight hundred miles away, Arash sat in his office at MISIRI headquarters in Iran. He had successfully smuggled the 235X into the country, and he now contemplated his next moves. It was the eleventh of October, and their attack on New York was set for the end of the month. Once the attack was carried out and the international community realized Iran was at least in part responsible, incredible pressure would be brought to bear. Factions in Iran wanted the Ayatollah Khamene’i replaced. It was likely the Assembly of Experts would be called to challenge the Ayatollah’s rule. This, of course, would just be posturing—the Shia majority in the assembly would support Ayatollah Khamene’i since he had virtually stacked the assembly with those beholden to him.

Bottled water was the only beverage used at the assembly, and one bottling company produced all the water. With Arash’s connections, it would be a small matter to introduce enough 235X toxin into the batch that would be used during the Assembly of Experts. Anyone drinking the water would leave the assembly a walking dead man. Not for a couple of days would anyone show any symptoms, and then—well, then it would get ugly real fast. For unknown reasons, the toxin first attacked the part of the brain that governed social behavior. Many of those who became poisoned would exhibit extremely violent tendencies. Within seven days, ninety percent would be dead and the rest dying.

And Arash would be in a position to seize the reins of power.

Chapter 17

Jerusalem, Israel

The reception, set up in the main hall of a new wing of Israel’s Antiquities Museum in Jerusalem, was a modest gathering of Israel’s social and intellectual elite. Darius sat at the table of honor along with the prime minister, the director of the Antiquities Authority, and several other government officials. Jacob Neumann, the director of antiquities, was the master of ceremonies.

All of Darius’s extensive collections of archeological treasures relating to the Second Temple era were on display—and would be indefinitely. He had donated them for as long as they would remain on display in this museum. Some of the artifacts were Persian; others were Hebrew, bringing context to the era they represented. Several of the pieces his brother Arash had smuggled out of Iran and given to him. These previously unknown artifacts had already created a stir when the Israeli Antiquities Authority had first seen them. It was quite a coup for them to be on display here in Israel. There were coins, vases, clay tablets, and scrolls, all providing additional texture to that period of common Hebrew and Persian history.

Not yet on display, but to be added tonight, was Darius’s most prized possession: a document written on a clay tablet. Its contents would have major ramifications for the three main religions which had ties to the land of Israel and Jerusalem in particular.

Darius sat, for all outward appearances, in a calm and serene manner at the head of the table. The next two hours would be the most important of his life, up to this point. Under his calm exterior was a growing sense of self-importance. He had the heady inkling of power, and he liked the feeling. Tonight was just the beginning, he reminded himself. This was just the appetizer.

According to the itinerary arranged by Alexandra, Mr. Neumann would introduce Darius, and he would give a brief speech. After the speech he would offer to answer any questions, and then dinner would be served. During dinner a string ensemble made up of musicians from Israel’s Philharmonic Orchestra would play several pieces, followed by Mr. Neumann’s daughter playing Beethoven’s famous “Sonata Pathetique,” Opus No. 13. Darius smiled when he thought of the subtle little hint he had given with Beethoven’s sonata. He knew he was playing a dangerous game, but he couldn’t help but include it. Only later would the Order realize he had been taunting them.

Mr. Neumann rose from the table and approached the small lectern. He placed his notes down and adjusted the microphone. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. As most of you know, this wing of the museum has been a work in progress for several years. Many of you have had a hand in the success of this endeavor, and for this we thank you.”

After a light smattering of applause, he continued. “There is one person in particular I wish to thank, without whose gracious generosity this project would not have been possible. Tonight, we celebrate the opening of a wing of the Jerusalem Antiquities Museum, a wing dedicated to the Persian and Hebrew history of the Second Temple era. We owe the success of this endeavor in no small part to Mr. Darius Zarindast, CEO of Aquarius Elemental Solutions. Not only has he provided the artifacts you now see here on display, he also provided the original donation of two million dollars to get this project started. Please welcome Mr. Darius Zarindast.” Another polite round of applause followed as Mr. Neumann sat down.

Darius rose from his place at the table and approached the lectern. He did not have any prepared notes: his speech today had been memorized long ago.

Placing his hands on either side of the lectern, with his measured words he began to change the destiny of mankind.

“I thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Today is an important day for all of us. The artifacts and displays behind me are windows into the past. In a general sense, they provide us with evidence of humanity’s activities and thoughts. They remind us of the greatness as well as the baseness of mankind. But to my mind, these artifacts serve an even more important function. They are doors to the future. They provide us with opportunities to improve upon our greatness. It was the great American author, Mark Twain, who wrote, ‘History doesn’t repeat itself, but it does rhyme.’ We must learn from history, and these artifacts on display give us a glimpse into a period of shared history for our peoples.

“For those who do not know me, I am Persian by birth. Today, Persia and Israel are not allies but enemies. This was not always so.”

Darius turned and pointed to the empty display case standing in a prominent position in the center of the room behind him. He continued, “Today, as a token of a shared past when Persians and Jews shared common goals, I dedicate this museum and this date with a final gift. This artifact is my most treasured possession. My hope is to provide a reminder of a time when Persians and Jews worked side by side in peace and for a common purpose. What I hope this museum represents is a foundation for a new era in the relations of our peoples.”

Darius opened his briefcase and removed a small padded plastic box containing a clay tablet. He walked over to the empty display case, solemnly lifted the protective covering, and placed the clay tablet into the case.

Walking back to the lectern, he continued, “This clay tablet is a written record of Darius, son of Hystaspes, the greatest ruler of the Persian people. It is especially important to me because Darius Hystaspes was one of my distant ancestors. This tablet is a written record of Darius’s granting the governorship of Jerusalem to the biblical Nehemiah, his cupbearer. In part, it reads as follows: ‘I, Darius the great Artaxerxes, ruler of one-hundred-twenty-seven provinces from India to Ethiopia in my twentieth year, do hereby appoint my cupbearer Nehemiah as governor of Jerusalem.’”

He let the words die away. “Ladies and gentlemen, there was a time when Persia was a benefactor of the Jewish people, not an antagonist. I believe it is time for our peoples to rekindle our shared interests. Darius, son of Hystaspes, rebuilt places of worship for the Elamites, the Jews, the Babylonians, and the Egyptians. I share my ancestors’ vision of rebuilding the sacred places of worship of all peoples. Even though I have beliefs similar to those of my ancestors, I hold equal respect for the beliefs of all other peoples.”

That was true enough, he thought—he held all other religions in equal disdain.

“There is another reason this little clay tablet is important to me. A reason even more personal. This document states Darius was the ‘Artaxerxes’ over one-hundred-and-twenty-seven provinces from India to Ethiopia. As your own book of Esther states, one of your own married the ‘Artaxerxes,’ or ‘Ahasuerus,’ if you prefer, who ruled over one-hundred-and twenty-seven provinces from India to Ethiopia. Darius Hystaspes was the husband of Hadassah, one of your greatest heroes. Hadassah was my great-great-great . . . grandmother, the Jewish heroine who is remembered every year on the thirteenth and fourteenth of Adar for saving her people. So I don’t call on you to share my vision just as friends, but also as brothers and sisters. Let this museum of our common history and our common ancestry be the foundation upon which we build a better future for all our people.”

He paused, taking a moment to sweep the gathering with his gaze. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. If there are any questions, I would be happy to try to answer them. Let’s keep it short if we can. Dinner is being served, and we have some fine entertainment as well.”

A hearty round of applause followed. After that, a hand was raised in the back of the room.

“Yes,” Darius pointed to one of the press correspondents from Al Jazeera.

“Mr. Zarindast, you claim these artifacts, as you call them, prove a common history between the people of Persia and Israel. As I am sure you are aware, many Muslims today deny Israel in general and Jerusalem in particular was ever a historical fact in relation to the Jewish people. What do you say to these critics?”

Darius replied, “My friend, I would say it is time the few fanatics found in every religion be ignored. To deny Jerusalem and the Jewish people existed is as intelligent as saying Persia and the Persians never existed. Frankly, it is just hate-filled extremist rhetoric.”

There was spontaneous applause as he finished. The reporter sat back down with a look of embarrassment.

“Any other questions?” he asked as he turned and looked for another hand. “Yes,” he pointed to another correspondent.

“Sir, Aaron Klein here with WorldNetDaily. You stated the clay tablet behind you shows Nehemiah was the governor of Jerusalem during the reign of the great Artaxerxes, Darius, son of Hystaspes. Aren’t you concerned about the ramifications this might have with the many fundamentalist Christians who support Israel?”

Darius positioned a slightly surprised look on his face—but inwardly he was elated. He couldn’t have asked for a better setup. The only person he disliked more than a Muslim fanatic was a Christian one. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Mr. Klein continued, “You claim the artifact confirms Nehemiah was a governor under Darius, son of Hystaspes. This claim seriously undermines one of the most central pillars of Christian thought concerning the Messiah. Daniel 9 is considered one of the most important prophecies of the Old Testament. According to most Christian interpretations, it was fulfilled by Jesus. Its fulfillment is contingent upon a command during the reign of a Persian Artaxerxes. If you say Nehemiah was a contemporary of Darius in 520 BC, this makes it seventy years too early for Jesus to have fulfilled that prophecy.”

Gloating inwardly, Darius responded, “Mr. Klein, are you referring to the theory popularized by Sir Robert Anderson?”

Aaron Klein nodded as he said, “Yes, sir, I am.”

Darius continued, “The same Sir Robert Anderson of Scotland Yard and Jack the Ripper fame?”

Klein, with a look of surprised confusion on his face, started to answer, but Darius interrupted him and continued in a patronizing tone. “For those of you who do not know of the famous Sir Robert Anderson, he was appointed as a London police commissioner at the time of the Jack the Ripper murders. He was never able to solve the crimes, and only years later we learned from his diary that he blamed the murders on an immigrant Jew.”

Aaron Klein groaned inwardly, but outwardly he did not show any emotion. He had to give the devil his due. Darius Zarindast had set him up perfectly, and he hadn’t seen it coming. Then, for good measure, Darius had kicked him when he was down. Well, he was a big boy and he would take his medicine. He could see that most of the faces in the room were turned toward him with disdain and scorn. Aaron had been in the business for some time, and this was the first time he could remember being so thoroughly embarrassed. Darius Zarindast had seemed almost eager to give his answer.

Okay, Mr. Zarindast, you made your point, he thought to himself, but you have also warned me that there is something else going on. Something I don’t know about. And I will be watching.

As Aaron Klein was finishing these thoughts, Darius drove his point home. “I hardly think the pet messianic theories of a failed racist investigator are worthy of our consideration.”

Darius could hardly keep the gloating look off his face as he watched the expressions of the other people in the room. He knew not one out of fifty would check his facts to see if what he had implied was true. The truth of the matter was that Sir Robert Anderson’s personal journal did not indicate any prejudice regarding the suspect. Anderson was a devout Christian who wrote extensively on the Bible and was well respected by his peers. He even predicted the Jewish people would return to the land of Israel based on the prophecies of the Bible, and this at a time when the Jewish state did not yet exist. His circle of friends and associates included Cyrus Scofield, E.W. Bullinger, and John Darby, some of the great biblical scholars of his day. In Darius’s personal investigation of the subject while at the Four Crowns Research Lodge, he had found no evidence to suggest Anderson was part of some Masonic conspiracy to hide the Ripper murders, as some conspiracy theorists claimed. In fact, he had often wondered if Anderson was not appointed the position as a patsy. That was how they worked. If in fact the Masons were behind the murders, what better person to put in charge of the investigation than a devout Christian? Darius laughed inwardly. Sir Robert Anderson, the gift that kept on giving.

Darius, indicating the tablet in the display case, said, “I encourage you to check it out for yourself. You will find the artifact is authentic. I would also offer fundamentalist Christians a few further points they might want to check out in their own Scriptures before they cast dispersions upon the exhibits in this museum. If they sincerely wish to find the truth of this matter, I would encourage them to look at the age of Ezra. According to their own Scriptures, his father was the last high priest of the First Temple. The death of Ezra’s father is easily determined; hence the latest possible date for the birth of Ezra is found. This simple test places Ezra as a contemporary of Darius Hystaspes, and by extension, Nehemiah. Placing Nehemiah as the contemporary of any other Persian ruler is just wishful thinking.

“A similar conclusion can be reached by looking at the lists of men who came up with Joshua and Zerubbabel in Nehemiah 12 and comparing them with the lists of Nehemiah 10. These lists show many of the same men still alive in the twentieth year of the same Persian Artaxerxes. Again, contextually, this could only refer to the reign of Darius Hystaspes. I could go on, but I think you get my point. It was during the rule of my great ancestor Darius Hystaspes that Jewish influence and power reached its height in the Persian Empire. During Darius’s rule, Jewish men and women held the most powerful positions in the empire. Nehemiah was cupbearer to the king. Mordecai was second only to the king. Esther was queen. The Jewish and Persian people ruled the known world. That is how we should be working together today.

“As a final thought on the subject, let me say for the record I have nothing against Christians in general, but I do not share their messianic beliefs in the divinity of Jesus. As my tablet and the scriptural references I cited show, Jesus could not have fulfilled this famous messianic prophecy. The facts do not support it. I think Jesus was a great man, but nothing more. I think Zoroaster, Mohammed, and Gandhi were also great men, but I don’t think they were any more divine than any other man. I believe Jesus’s own words support this belief. Didn’t Jesus himself say he was the chief cornerstone? Well, even if he was a chief cornerstone, there were other cornerstones in that metaphorical building of humanity. Isn’t that was he was saying? Let’s say he was in fact the most important of those who came before and after—but all cornerstones rest upon a common foundation. So it is pretty clear, to me at least, that Jesus did not see himself as anything more than just one of the important cornerstones of mankind. Surely, Zoroaster, Mohammed, Gandhi, and others would also be major cornerstones of mankind’s evolution toward enlightenment.

“One final question, please.” Darius pointed to a man in the front of the room who did not look like a reporter. “Yes sir, what is your question?”

“Mr. Zarindast, what does your company do?”

Darius had to hand it to Alexandra—she had somehow managed to get this question asked. He wondered who the distinguished old man serving as mouthpiece was. He replied, “Aquarius Element Solutions, or AES, for the past fifteen years has been involved in research and development for a cost-effective means of separating elements from seawater.”

The old gentleman replied, “Have you had any success?”

Darius nearly smiled. “Well, I had not planned on making the announcement here, but yes, we have had amazing success. Next week we will be holding a demonstration of our new technology in Dubai. We have perfected a way of removing sodium and several other elements from seawater in a cost-effective manner. In fact . . . we have reached a ninety-five-percent efficiency rate.”

“Ninety-five percent?” the old man replied incredulously.

“Yes,” Darius replied. “I know it sounds incredible, but we have in fact done so. You are most welcome to come and see our demonstration next week in Dubai. We have a one-million-gallon-an-hour model that has been in continuous production for the past two years. It has produced over ten billion gallons of drinkable water from the sea. We have made several advancements over the past couple of years and can economically separate several other elements besides sodium from seawater. If you would like to attend our demonstration, please get in contact with Alexandra Riley later, and she will give you the details. Now, let us continue this evening’s entertainment. Again, I would like to thank each of you for your part in making tonight possible.”

His comments had their desired effect. He could see the press correspondents furiously typing text messages into their phones as he left the lectern.

As he sat back down, he noticed Mr. Neumann was somewhat subdued. The prime minister, a sober look on his face, leaned over and quietly asked him if his technology was really what he had claimed.

“Yes,” he replied, and finished with a humorless but meaningful laugh, “and, Mr. Prime Minister, I have not told the half of it.”

The chamber music played by the string ensemble was very nice, and afterward Jacob Neumann’s daughter Rachael, with a barely noticeable limp, walked up to the lectern in a beautiful beaded black evening gown. In her hand she held what appeared to be a small book with a brightly colored bookmark.

In a confident voice she said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I ask your indulgence for a moment.” Her father’s normally veiled expression showed momentary surprise.

She continued, “A couple of weeks ago I had an accident and was seriously injured while in a remote mountainous area. If it hadn’t been for a young man’s help, I would not be alive today. This mysterious stranger risked his life to rescue me, and because of a severe loss of blood, I became unconscious. He carried me over half a mile to medical attention. Somehow, no one got his name, and he has disappeared without a trace. To this young man I say thank you, you are my hero. The piece I have been requested to play tonight is by Ludwig van Beethoven and was written in honor of his friend and benefactor Karl Alois, Prince Lichnowsky. Today I play it in honor of my unknown benefactor. Here then is ‘Sonata Pathetique,’ Opus No. 13 by Ludwig van Beethoven.”

As she said the final words, she raised her little black book of Psalms and mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

With the grace of a lady who would have made her mother proud, Rachael walked over to the concert grand piano. She played flawlessly, and the music came alive. The audience loved the performance, and she received a standing ovation. She walked back to her father’s table and sat down. Reaching under the table, she squeezed her father’s hand, and he returned the gesture with a warm, “Well done, my dear. You’ve never played it better. And that young man will not be able to hide from you much longer.”

She laughed warmly. “No, after tonight, I don’t suppose so.”

Chapter 18

Dallas, Texas

Zane watched the dedication ceremony through live streaming from IBN, Israel’s public broadcasting network, on his computer. He was surprised when he realized Darius Zarindast was the CEO of Aquarius Elemental Solutions. One and the same company Sam had talked David and him into so foolishly wasting their money on so long ago. Well, maybe if they really had invented something, he could get his two hundred dollars back. He was happy for Sam. Zane laughed. Now he would have to find something else to give Sam a hard time about. Speaking of Sam, he was probably watching this dedication himself—he followed every piece of news about AQES like a bloodhound. This would mean a phone call from Sam in the next several minutes.

Zane sat up with interest when Aaron Klein asked about the tablet and its implications to fundamentalist Christians. He listened with the growing realization that Darius was explaining on international TV some of the very same conclusions he had reached in his own research regarding the prophecy of Daniel’s seventy weeks. He didn’t like what he was hearing.

As the dedication continued, Zane groaned inwardly when Rachael explained the events surrounding her rescue. His anonymity was over. He bet it wouldn’t take the tabloids more than a few hours to figure out that he was responsible for her rescue. He had to admit she did not do anything in half-measures. She had called him out on live television. She sure made it sound like he was some kind of hero. He didn’t see himself that way—he’d just done what needed to be done. But taking her book of Psalms up on stage and raising it was a nice personal touch to her very public thank-you. He acknowledged to himself that the more he saw of this young woman’s actions, the more intrigued he became. Her words were few, but her actions spoke volumes. For the first time since rescuing her, he thought she was someone he might like to know better.

His phone rang. That would be Samuel. He picked up the phone and said, “Hello, Sam.”

It wasn’t Sam who answered. A strong masculine voice on the other end of the line replied, “It was you, wasn’t it?”

“Hey, David, hello to you too. What the heck are you talking about?”

“Admit it, it was you.”

“David, what are you talking about?”

A touch of mock frustration in his voice, David replied, “Zane, you were never a good liar, my friend, and I am in the FBI. Just by your answer I can tell it was you. And bro, did you think I wouldn’t notice the fluorescent pink piece of climbing rope she had in the book when she mouthed the words ‘thank you’? Sam and I gave you that pink rope for your birthday as a joke. I’ve never seen another one just like it since. Frankly, Zane, when she said a young man rescued her and then mysteriously disappeared, you were the first person I thought of. That is classic Zane Harrison. Stepping up and doing what it takes and then not waiting around to collect the credit.”

Zane interrupted, “What the heck were you doing watching an Israeli museum broadcast anyway?”

David laughed. “So it was you, wasn’t it?”

“Okay, okay,” Zane admitted with a touch of embarrassment. “I helped her out of a difficult situation. It was no big deal. Certainly not the big deal you all are making it out to be.”

“Not a big deal? She thanked you on Israeli national TV. When the news media picks this story up, and they surely will, millions of young men all across this world will be wishing they were in your shoes. Quite a woman you helped there, Zane, quite a woman! Whew, some guys . . . some guys . . .” His voice trailed off. “Take care, my friend. I have got to go, just wanted to congratulate you.”

Zane put away his own phone. He was touched. He had just been given about the greatest compliment he could think of. David was the real deal. David, Sam, and he had met at summer camp in high school one year. There they had been introduced to climbing, and from that day forward they had become the three musketeers of sport climbing. They spent all their spare time together climbing anything they could hook a rope to.

The phone rang again. Sam was even more excited than normal. “Dude . . . you weren’t making that up then, were you? You really rescued that girl like you said!”

“Well, I tried to tell one of my best friends, but no-o-o, he wouldn’t listen,” Zane said.

“You said she was beautiful, but man, you didn’t say that she was beeaauutifuuul . . . man alive, Zane, she is incredibly attractive. Let me see if I have this right: she’s a climber, beautiful, a concert pianist, and her dad is an important government official. If she is even half as intelligent as she acts . . . man alive. I am speechless.”

Zane could hear Sam muttering under his breath. “And on international television, no less. Are we going to have to start calling you ‘sir’ or something?”

Zane laughed. “That’s England, Sam, not Israel.”

“Speaking of not believing your friends Zane, didn’t I say that AQES would do something someday? Didn’t I?”

Zane interrupted. “Man, we’re talking like one thousand times just for us to get back to even on our investment. How likely is that?”

“Weren’t you listening?” Sam replied stridently. “If what he said is true, they’ve discovered the holy grail of elemental separation. Don’t you realize that your two-hundred-dollar investment will be worth millions in the near future?”

Zane laughed again. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Sam, your optimism knows no bounds.”

Sam’s voice was concerned—so much that it caught Zane off guard. “Just promise me you won’t sell until you have talked to me first. Promise?”

More seriously, Zane said, “I promise, Sam. How many months do you think it will take before we break even?”

With a note of triumph in his voice, Sam said, “Turn on your computer, dude. The market just opened a few minutes ago, and AQES opened up at fifteen cents. Your two hundred dollars is worth three thousand right now.”

Zane opened the Bloomberg financial news on his computer. Sure enough, the stock had opened up at fifteen cents. “Well, I guess you were right, Sam. I am sure going to miss giving you a hard time about AQES.”

Sam’s tone grew even more serious—Zane wasn’t sure he had ever heard his friend sound so earnest. “Zane, if this technology is for real, then the world just changed. Do you realize that if they really discovered a way to separate elements from seawater that is ninety-five-percent efficient, the world will never be the same? They’ll be able to produce unlimited amounts of freshwater—unlimited. Just think in terms of the Middle East alone. They have huge, inhospitable deserts that now can be inhabited and farmed. If this technology is for real, food prices are going to plummet. The prices for many commodities will fall. And that’s just the beginning. At ninety-five-percent efficiency, they have obviously found a way to generate an incredible amount of heat or energy from the water. This method, whatever it is, will radically alter our dependence on hydrocarbons—on oil, dude. It’s going to change our way of life in so many ways that most of us cannot even imagine right now.”

Zane couldn’t help but feel some of Sam’s obvious excitement. He said something clumsy to show his friend that he was taking him seriously, and he was about to say good-bye when Sam interrupted him again.

“Zane,” Sam said tentatively, “you know, I have always had an interest in symbols and symbology, especially as they relate to religion and religious institutions.”

“Yes,” Zane said with a skeptical note creeping into his voice that he could not hide. Here comes another one of Sam’s conspiracy theories.

Sam continued, “Well, don’t you think it just a little strange that this event was scheduled on the thirteenth of October? If you remember, I’ve told you on several occasions that this was the day Jacques de Molay, a Knight Templar, and many of his fellow knights were rounded up and arrested. Some believe this is the origin of the superstition surrounding Friday the Thirteenth.”

Zane interrupted. “How could the date have anything to do with this? It’s just a random date.”

With a little disappointment or irritation, Zane was not sure which, Sam continued. “You didn’t let me finish. Anyway, as I was saying, this world-changing announcement just happened to take place on the thirteenth of October. Those who belong to or share the views of secret societies place much emphasis on dates and symbology. Also, the last piece of music for the evening was Beethoven’s Opus No. 13. As your new girlfriend said, it was written for his benefactor Karl Alois, Prince Lichnowsky, who was a member of a Masonic order. Lichnowsky was a patron of Mozart as well. Mozart’s opera The Magic Flute is full of symbology and metaphor related to the Masonic secular humanistic philosophy. It is considered by some to be a Masonic masterpiece. One of Beethoven’s early teachers was Franz Joseph Haydn. Haydn spent a large portion of his life on the estate of Prince Nikolaus Esterhazy under his patronage. Prince Esterhazy was also a member of the order. Contextually, these men lived in the later 1700s and early 1800s—about the same time as our nation was being organized.”

Zane had almost tuned his friend out, but Sam’s pitch rose as he reached his crescendo. “What I am trying to get at in an obviously clumsy manner is, if you listened to Darius’s speech, he used many of the same metaphors and ideas of the Masonic order and others of a similar ‘enlightened’ perspective. Mankind’s destiny is in our own hands. Jesus was just another great man who reached enlightenment. This type of symbology and ideology, intentional or not, bears watching. Darius Zarindast will likely be an incredibly powerful man in this world if what he says about his technology is true. But I wonder if there’s something more behind him.”

Zane’s first thought was to give a flippant, joking reply. But truthfully, some of what Sam said actually made sense. Darius’s statement that Jesus was just a man like other men was contrary to the Scripture, and this school of thought was becoming more prevalent in recent years, it seemed. With the “emergent” movement philosophy, it had even made inroads into mainstream Christianity.

But what bothered Zane the most about Darius’s speech was that he had found some of the man’s statements regarding the chronology of Ezra and Nehemiah to be correct. This, used in the context of undermining the divinity of Jesus, made him more than a little uncomfortable. The words of his father came back to him, “You don’t have to be afraid of the truth.” So why did he feel so much like his faith was being undermined by doubt?

Sam remained silent as these thoughts went through Zane’s mind. “Sam, I’ll think about what you said. Some of your concerns hit pretty close to home right now. Thanks for calling, my friend . . . I’ve got to go now. I am already late for class.”

Zane hung up the phone, hurriedly picked up his books, and headed out for class.

Chapter 19

In New York City, David sat at a government-issued gray metal desk in a drab cubicle of the FBI counterterrorism unit. He was jockeying a desk as an intelligence analyst. He hoped, eventually, to work in the field, but for now he analyzed reports on suspected terrorists in the New York area. David had just come from a departmental briefing given by his boss. The only item of special note was a drop in electronic chatter in suspected al-Qaeda networks.

It was being whispered that the Mossad was especially concerned because several of the cells they were able to monitor had gone completely silent. Normally this portended an attack of some sort. US intelligence organizations had noticed a similar reduction in chatter before 911. It was theorized Iran was involved, if not directly then surely indirectly.

His boss had passed out a report on a new encryption software which had shown up in several places. So far, the NSA had not be able to break it. The software did not appear to be anything that was commercially available, so finding its source was a priority. Unbeknownst to the general public, many encryption software companies created a back door which, under certain extreme circumstances, they could use to allow the government to access files. It did not appear there was any such back door in this software. The extremely robust nature of the software was what had the NSA concerned. It was type of encryption software normally produced by governments, not the private sector.

David knew Sam was in the encryption business, so he thought it wouldn’t hurt to give him a call and see if he had heard about it. The report his boss had handed out gave several locations where the software could be found on the Internet.

David picked up the phone and dialed Sam.

“Hello, David,” the voice on the other end said when it picked up.

David laughed. “How did you know it was me?”

“Your number shows up on my system as a potential governmental agency, thanks to my handy software. Since you are the only government official I know in New York, I figured it was probably you. Did you hear about Zane’s heroics?”

“Yes,” David replied, “I talked to him yesterday. I’ve got to hand it to him, he sure pulled it off this time.”

Sam laughed. “For someone who tried his best to stay out of the limelight, his plan sure backfired. You should see the Israeli tabloid press going after his story. By tomorrow I’ll bet the American tabloids will be picking it up. Supposedly they interviewed Miss Neumann, and she described Zane’s climb in great detail. Would you believe it, one of the Israeli TV stations found the site of the accident and hired what they claim is one of Israel’s top sport climbers to try to duplicate Zane’s climb? You should check out the YouTube video. You can see a big bloodstain on the wall, and the poor fellow has tried to make Zane’s final jump four times. I can’t even imagine trying to make that move without a rope to catch me.”

As Sam was talking, David did a quick YouTube search and found the video. Sam heard him whistle under his breath. “Man . . . that is an incredible jump to make without any backup. You can even see what must be the chalk marks Zane left where his fingers found that crack. Pretty amazing.”

Changing gears, David continued, “Sam, have you heard of a new encryption software on the black market called Anaj? It is of some interest to the intelligence community, and since you’re in the business, I was wondering if you knew anything about it.”

“Haven’t heard of it, David, but if you can send me a copy I’ll take a look. I know most of the private talent out there, and if it is one of them I will be able to tell.”

“Thanks,” David replied. “If I can get permission, I’ll send you a direct copy of what we have here at the FBI.”

“Oh, and David, check out what AQES did today while you’re at it.” Sam said this last bit with a touch of triumph in his voice.

David already knew that AQES had jumped hard on Darius Zarindast’s announcement, but he couldn’t help but goad Same one last time. He replied, “Don’t tell me, let me guess: they delisted the stock?”

“Nope, just look at it.” With a laughing good-bye, Sam hung up the phone.

Chapter 20

Dubai, United Arab Emirates

Watching the computer screens in front of him, Dylan Gallos was undeniably excited. He was watching a unique event in the history of the world. The world was changing today, though many would not realize it for some time yet.

At his fingertips was the power to make or destroy nations. On his left computer monitor was a live feed of the dedication given by Darius at the museum. The next screen had the bid and ask, order cue, size, and other pertinent details on AQES.BB. Two minutes after Darius announced the new technology, someone bought every open order on the board. Some poor fool had set a one-cent limit sell order for several million shares of AQES.BB. Dylan was sure whoever set it had thought he would never have his limit order hit. Well, those 3.5 million shares were bought up in premarket trade, and every open ask price was hit up to ten cents. There was an open limit order for ten million shares at ten cents. It was still five minutes to market open, and AQES.BB had gone from $.00012 cents a share to $.10 on just an unproven announcement.

When Darius had finished speaking, Dylan saved a copy of the video file and inserted it into an e-mail to several of his friends and acquaintances on Wall Street. For the first couple of years, his friends had pumped him for information on what he was doing. He never gave them anything more than what was common knowledge at the time. Finally, after a couple of years and no news, they had stopped asking. Now, with AES’s new technology officially public knowledge in Israel, he could send them a heads-up which they would receive before the rest of their competition on Wall Street.

He addressed an e-mail to his select few friends, showing the CC of all other recipients. After they each had placed their own orders they would forward the e-mail, and within thirty minutes of receiving the news, all of Wall Street would be buzzing with it. The e-mail was short and to the point:

Take a look at the video. This is what I have been working on for the last five years. It just became public knowledge this morning. It’s the real deal.

Dylan

Dylan knew those he sent it to well. Before they even started to play the video, they would have pulled up the stock price of AQES.BB. They would see the premarket activity and realize something was going on. Those who knew him well enough would be buying any open orders as soon as the market opened. Dylan glanced up at the clock. Three minutes until the market opened. He hit send, and his e-mail was sent at light speed to inboxes around the world.

He looked at the board. The premarket orders were piling up. Now there were orders for fifty million shares from five cents up to fifteen. Dylan had purposely withdrawn all premarket liquidity he had been adding to AQES.BB over the last year and a half. Of the two billion shares which traded on an average day, 1.9 billion were a direct result of Dylan’s black-box algorithm. Dylan had programmed his algo to gradually withdraw the liquidity during regular market hours as the stock price increased. He wasn’t sure how the price would act once the market opened, but he knew it was going to be one wild ride.

Fifteen seconds. Dylan could feel the adrenaline and the racing of his heart. Who needed drugs? This was the ultimate rush! On one of his trading monitors he heard the ding, ding, ding of the opening market bell.

AQES.BB opened up at fifteen cents, over a thousand times Wednesday’s closing price. The poor fool who had set his 3.5 million share limit sell order at a penny was probably thinking of shooting himself right now. Dylan watched as sixty million shares traded at fifteen cents. Another one hundred million were traded at sixteen cents, then someone tried to unload a one-hundred-million share order, which dropped the price to nine cents a share before it was filled. The share price gradually crept back up to fourteen cents and spent the next two hours between twelve and fifteen cents a share. The volume was incredible. In the first two hours of trading, five billion shares traded hands. This was basically the entire publicly available share float in the first two hours of trading.

Dylan keyed up the second-to-last monitor on the right side of his command center. This screen showed the status of his algo. He typed in a few commands and watched the numbers on the screen. Yes, that would do it, he thought. He wanted to keep the share price in the ten-to-fifteen-cent range for the rest of the day. The formal demonstration of the technology would not take place until next week, and by that time he estimated the share price would be between fifty cents and a dollar. Darius had instructed him to sell two billion shares in the fifty-cent range and another two billion shares in the dollar range. The share float could use the additional liquidity, and Darius really needed the money—unbeknownst to everyone but himself and Dylan, Darius had basically spent his last dollar to get them to this point. AES was running on fumes. It was going to take a couple billion to build the new production facilities and transform this operation into a multitrillion-dollar company.

As soon as the money was in the account, Darius was going to authorize Ralph to proceed with construction of the new production facility. If Ralph could make good on his estimates, then a few months from now Aquarius Elemental Solutions would be producing one hundred of the AES-100s and ten AES-1000s a day. After the first year, AES elemental water separators could be producing up to one-hundred-and-fifty-billion gallons of freshwater each day. Average human consumption was estimated at fifty gallons a day. So in theory at least, after twelve months, Aquarius Elemental Solutions would have enough units to produce half of the world’s freshwater supply if everything went according to plan. With over forty percent of the world’s population living within a hundred miles of coastal areas and that percentage increasing every year, most of the units could be connected to already existing infrastructure.

Dylan shook his head in wonder. AES had the potential to control fifty percent of the world’s freshwater production in the next two years. Not to mention the millions of tons of raw materials the machines were capable of separating from the seawater. Once mining companies saw the writing on the wall, they would be the biggest customers. No open-pit or deep-tunnel mines. No more environmental pollution. Just clean, pure water as a byproduct of their mining. Heck, the smart companies could give the water away for free as a community outreach program. Even with his background in mathematical and theoretical modeling, it was hard to fathom just how much the world was about to alter.

While Dylan was thrilled with the money he would be making, he was also proud to be part of something which had the potential to fundamentally change the world for good. He turned back to the monitor, which showed the exchange data feed for AQES.BB. He whistled under his breath. Man, AQES.BB was cooking. He might have to raise the range from ten-to-fifteen cents to fifteen–twenty by the end of the day. Maybe his projections were on the low side.

Looking at the numbers flashing by on his screen, excitement grew to awe which grew to euphoria. Finally, he just jumped up from his chair and started hollering and hooting like a crazy man.

“Would you look at her run!” he yelled at his bank of computer monitors. “Un . . . freaking . . . believable! Man, oh, man!”

Completely losing his cool, he started dancing around his office. “Eat your heart out, Wall Street! Dylan Gallos is the big man on the street now!”

Chapter 21

Jerusalem, Israel

Jacob Neumann was perturbed. Perturbed and surprised Darius Zarindast had not told him the importance of the Persian tablet. Any other nation would have heralded such a historical artifact with great fanfare, but not Israel. They had to be sensitive, even embarrassed about their history. The Arab press had already picked up on the story. They were calling the artifact a Zionist conspiracy to justify the occupation of the Palestinian territories. Jacob was taking heat for not notifying his superiors about its political implications.

“Political implications!” Jacob said aloud to the silent walls in exasperation. This was a world turned upside down. He was an archeologist, not a politician. All day there had been protests in Jerusalem, calling for the removal of what protestors called the “fake temple artifact.” The Western press was playing the pictures over and over again: pictures of angry mobs in the West Bank, Gaza, and several other Arab cities. Western diplomats were calling the museum display insensitive and counterproductive to the current peace process.

To make matters worse, Jacob had been fielding calls all morning from several major Christian leaders calling for the removal of the “fake” tablet because it undermined some of their most sacred beliefs about the divinity of Jesus Christ. If it wasn’t so serious, he would be laughing right now. He couldn’t remember a time when fundamentalist Christians and Muslims were united in their opposition to something. What insanity. The fact was this tablet confirmed the accuracy of the accounts of Ezra and Nehemiah, thus confirming the scriptural account of the Second Temple era.

“Why does Israel have to act embarrassed about its history?” he shouted at his empty office. Well, he wasn’t embarrassed, and he was not going to cave to the pressure to remove the tablet. “Politics be damned,” he muttered. He would just have to wait out the storm.

His thoughts turned to Darius. Either the man was clueless about the repercussions, or he just didn’t care. Or was there something more? Last night he had watched Zarindast closely when he was speaking. Maybe it was his imagination, but Darius had seemed to enjoy his not-so-subtle insults to both Christians and Muslims. He had almost been too eager to give his controversial opinions.

Well, he was wasting time trying to figure out Darius’s motivations. What was done was done. Jacob went through a few more reports and then called Efran Finkelstein on his interoffice intercom.

“Efran, could you come here a moment? I would like to discuss the Capernaum license.” This would at least be a distraction. On Jacob’s desk was a request by one of Israel’s top archeology organizations to dig in the Capernaum area. Parts of the prospective dig area were owned by the Greek Orthodox and Franciscan churches. Both had already granted their permission, and now final approval was up to his office. Once he granted it, the license work would begin sometime in the spring, weather permitting. CPBH, Christians for the Preservation of Biblical History, was funding the dig. One of the largest such organizations in the United States, over the last ten years they had raised millions of dollars for digs in Israel.

Efran Finkelstein entered Jacob’s office and sat down. He was a slightly bent man of no great height, with dark hair and bushy eyebrows. An ordinary man in many ways, his one distinctive feature was his large, hairy hands. Efran had started out as a volunteer on a dig site twenty years ago and worked his way up through the ranks until he was now assistant to the director of Israel Antiquities. Efran wasn’t particularly brilliant, but he knew how to play the system.

What his boss did not know was that Efran had a problem: greedy and self-indulgent, he liked to live outside his means. Over the years he had sold or falsified information for gain. When he could get away with it, he also stole artifacts and sold them to his contact.

“Good morning, Efran,” Jacob Neumann said, preoccupied. After a moment he looked up. “Tell me, what did you think of Mr. Zarindast’s performance last night?”

Always the political animal, Efran thought carefully before answering. “Well,” he said tentatively, “it sure complicates our lives for a while. I had no idea he was going to make such a big deal about his artifact.”

Jacob replied, “What’s done is done. I will not remove the artifact. It is a priceless testimony to our past existence. It also confirms our holy Scriptures. In this day and age, every piece of evidence we can add to our history is of great importance. This brings me to our current topic.” He motioned to the Capernaum file on his desk. “I have read your review and recommendation of the dig license. Do you have anything you would like to add before I grant this license?”

“No, everything appears to be in order.”

“Well then,” Jacob said, “I will approve the license. Efran, I would like you to personally oversee this dig. I know this is not customary, but CPBH is an important supporter of Israeli archeology efforts. Considering the current circumstances, we need this dig to go smoothly. They’ve raised millions of dollars to fund dig efforts in this country, and they’ve been a staunch supporter of Israel for several decades. Let’s not offend them. After this fiasco with Darius’s tablet, we don’t need any other problems with our Christian friends.”

Efran nodded, and Jacob continued, “The head archeologist on this dig will be William Flinders. Oh, and my daughter will be involved. You know her interests in archeology. She will be on one of the dig crews this spring. Please keep an eye out for her, if you will. That will be all. Thank you.”

As Efran left the room, Jacob looked at the picture of his late wife on his desk. She would have been excited about this upcoming dig—it was much like the one where they had first met. She was a member of a CPBH dig team back then. She was a Christian college student, and he was a just-graduated Israeli archeology major overseeing one of the crews. It seemed like an unlikely match to both of their families and friends, but Constance was an uncommon woman who gave more than her best. Whether it was shoveling dirt on a dig site or investing in their marriage, she didn’t have any quit in her. Their daughter was built of the same stuff.

He sighed and put away the Capernaum file. Looking at Constance’s picture once again, he whispered, “You would have loved to get your hands dirty in the town where your Messiah based his ministry, wouldn’t you, my dear? Well, our daughter will be there. She is so much like you, my love. Why did God take you from us so soon?” Jacob wiped away the tears in his eyes.

God, how he missed her.

Chapter 22

Tel Aviv, Israel

Efran returned home and sat down at his computer. He logged into his Google e-mail account and clicked on the junk mail folder. Google’s filter algorithms, with a high percentage of accuracy, identified most spam e-mail. On the off chance some of the mass-mailing e-mails which fit their criteria were not spam, they sent it to the junk mail folder, where it sat until the folder reached its maximum capacity. Looking through yesterday’s junk, he scanned the e-mails until he saw one that had been mailed at the correct time. Sure enough, he found what he was looking for. This would mean another late night of typing and cooking.

He clicked on the e-mail, and an advertisement for discount pharmaceuticals came up. A large portion of the e-mail was blanked out, with a message that read, “This picture has been blocked for security reasons. Right-click to download the picture.”

Efran downloaded the picture from Google’s servers. This time the picture was of an attractive, scantily clad woman holding a bottle of pills. He copied the picture file to his electronic clipboard, then opened his Anaj encryption software and pasted the picture into the open window. Another window opened and requested his encryption key. Efran checked Israel’s New Lotto numbers for yesterday’s drawing and typed them into the open window along with his personal ID number. The picture disintegrated into tiny bits and pieces and reassembled itself into two lines of terse text. It read:

Interested in new museum and related information. Want an updated account of current and prospective digs.

Accordingly, he wrote a report detailing the museum opening as well as the current and prospective dig schedule. He highlighted the Capernaum dig, wrote a few facts about its potential, and hoped this would whet the appetite of whomever he was communicating with. He sure would like to make a big score in his Jordan account. With Jacob’s request that he oversee the dig personally, he would be in a better position to commandeer any valuable artifacts. He encrypted his report on the flash drive, encapsulated it in lead, cooked up another batch of treasonous pastry, and confined the leaden messenger to its sewer submarine. Checking his watch after a couple of hours, he noted it was time. He flushed his sewer pastry down the toilet, sending it on its way to the underworld.

Efran cleaned up the evidence of his activities, and undressing, climbed into bed. He really didn’t like Jacob Neumann. Not because he had anything particular against him—other than that he held a position Efran coveted. Maybe he could use the current events to his advantage. If Jacob Neumann were to get fired or resign, Efran would have a good chance at getting the job of director, making him privy to much more valuable information. He would also be in a position to clandestinely acquire certain items that just happened to get lost or misplaced. Hopefully, the dig would turn up something of value his contact could use. He was playing a dangerous game, and he wanted to get compensated for it.

Chapter 23

Phoenix, Arizona

Sam opened the e-mail from David. In an attachment was a file which he scanned with his own custom spyware/virus software. On a separate computer which was not connected to his network, he opened the file and installed the program. Anaj. Why did that name look familiar to him? Some part of his consciousness was tickled, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. It would come to him, he knew—he just had to let his mind bring it up while he worked on something else.

When he had finished installing the program, a little peacock icon appeared on his desktop. That was it. The peacock. The image triggered that little piece of memory, and he knew why “Anaj” looked so familiar. Anaj was Jana spelled backwards. Jana was the Roman moon goddess of secrets or hidden things and was sometimes represented by a peacock. Many years ago, he had done extensive research on the influence of Greek and Roman mythology on early Christian thought and traditions. Jana was one of the pantheon of Roman and Greek gods he had read about.

When he double-clicked the peacock icon, a window appeared. Opening a document on his desktop, he copied several paragraphs to his clipboard and pasted it into the open window.

“Let’s see what you got,” he said aloud. A new window appeared, asking for his encryption code. He entered a ten-digit string of numerals. The text started to disintegrate, and a new message window appeared which read: “Please stand by. Anaj is encrypting your text.”

After thirty seconds, a new window appeared. “Please select your destination folder.” Sam selected the removable flash device in drive F and pressed enter. The program continued to work and then shut itself down, only leaving the peacock icon on his desktop. Taking the flash drive, Sam moved over to yet another computer where he could scan the encrypted file. The encryption was pretty heavy-duty—he could see that already. It was not something his own code-breaking software could crack, so it was unlikely anyone else could either—unless NSA was eventually able to.

Switching back to the computer with the encryption program on it, he opened some of the program files. He smiled. Some of the file names were familiar. Someone was using a custom version of his software.

Typing in a few commands, he tried to enter his administrative password to access the core encryption code files. It didn’t work. Someone as good as he was had modified his program. But how had they figured out his password? Had they gotten lucky? Or had they found a work around? He doubted it, but how else could they have accessed the core code files? He frowned. This was not good. It wouldn’t jeopardize the security of his customers unless whoever had done this could also guess the encryption keys of his customers, but he would have to go to each of them and change his administrative passwords on the program. If this got out, it could potentially cause come credibility issues for his business.

Whoever had done this was smart—smart and lucky. But were they thorough? When he wrote his encryption software, he had included a few innocuous lines of code that would leave a marker, acting as a tag which his special search bot could find. If anyone used his encryption coding on a file that was publicly accessible on the Internet, he would be able to find it. Granted, he could not read the encrypted files, but he could find out where they were in the world. With enough time, such files would leave a trail. A trail which, with patience, would lead back to the thief who had stolen his software.

Chapter 24

Dubai, United Arab Emirates

Darius felt exhilarated—exhilarated and in control. So far the plan had proceeded flawlessly. It had only been a week since the museum dedication. The stock price of AQES.BB was now holding in the forty-to-fifty cent range. It had spiked as high as seventy-five cents a share on Friday, and Dylan had sold the first billion of Darius’s shares into that spike. That additional liquidity had brought the price back down to where it now traded.

But that was just the beginning. Darius would take the stage in thirty minutes to welcome the growing crowd of reporters, scientists, and government officials. It was a few minutes before three p.m. Dubai time, and the New York stock exchanges would be opening in two-and-a-half hours. Scattered throughout the crowd were a large number of hedge fund and Wall Street people. Skeptical voices kept up a subdued hum as the crowd waited for Darius to speak. Every seat was filled, and people were standing in every available space on both sides of the seating area as well as in the back.

One portion of the warehouse had been set up with several hundred chairs which faced a stage and podium. Behind the stage was a large curtain concealing the glass wall which separated that part of the warehouse from the original prototype AES-1000 elemental separator. Darius waited behind the curtain with Alexandra Riley.

At the appointed time, they parted a section of the curtain and climbed several stairs to the stage. Alexandra took a seat in one of the two chairs as Darius approached the podium. He stood looking out over the crowd for several seconds. It became so quiet he could hear the soft hum of the fluorescent lighting in the ceiling. He controlled his excitement, and with a mask of cool control, began to speak in a soft but commanding voice.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Age of Aquarius.” He let that hang in the air for a few moments, then continued as he looked at the audience. “Today, I have the privilege of formally announcing to the world a revolutionary new technology. Aquarius Elemental Solutions, over the last several years, has developed and tested a means of economically separating several elements from seawater.”

He pushed a button on the podium, and the black curtain began to separate behind him. The curtain was emblazoned with a drop of water, its triangular tip separated like an unfinished pyramid. A beam of energy pierced the drop at its triangular-tipped prism, the drop of water below exploding in a flash of energy and color. Turning, he pointed at the impressive amalgamation of tanks, piping, and wiring behind the glass dividing wall.

“What you see here, ladies and gentlemen, will change our future. For the past two years this machine has been separating sodium from seawater drawn from the Persian Gulf. This machine, the AES-1000 as we call it, has been producing one million gallons per hour of ninety-nine-percent sodium-free water for the past two years. Best of all, our technology produces this water at ninety-five-percent efficiency. In other words, we produce one million gallons of drinkable water every hour using about the same amount of energy as is consumed in that same hour by an average car traveling at fifty kilometers per hour.”

He could see the looks of stunned disbelief on many of their faces. He continued, “In addition to sodium, our team has also been able to remove ninety percent plus of the magnesium, bromine, copper, silver, silicon, and gold from seawater. We have been adding one element to this impressive list about every sixty days. The era of ecologically disastrous mining is behind us, ladies and gentlemen.”

He paused once more to let that sink in, inwardly gloating. “I realize the incredible nature of these claims, and I welcome your skepticism. After I am done speaking, there will be guided tours by our staff. I am sure you all saw the empty concrete reservoir on the right side of the road as you drove up. This empty reservoir holds five million gallons of water. Mark your time, ladies and gentlemen: it is now five minutes after three o’clock.”

Darius pushed a button on his podium, and the pumps and machinery began to turn. A faint purple glow started to emanate from a window at the center of the AES-1000 control module. The sound gradually increased, but the glass partition shielded most of it from the audience.

Darius could see members of the press, their thumbs furiously typing into their Blackberrys and iPhones, each trying to be the first to get the story to their editors. He continued.

“The reservoir you saw is marked in one-million-gallon increments. On your way out later today, I encourage each of you to stop and taste the water you will find filling it. Five hours from now, it will be filled with drinking water made from the sea.

“Tomorrow, I will be seeking permission from the Dubai Water Authority to connect this machine to the city’s main water supply. If approval is granted, I will donate this machine to Dubai, and they will hold the distinction of being the world’s first city to drink water produced by an environmentally and economically friendly method from the sea.” He paused, again letting the weight of his words have their full effect.

“I assure you, ladies and gentlemen, that this technology is legitimate. Once you have satisfied yourselves that it is all I have claimed, we will be taking your orders for our machines. We have two models available. The AES-100 produces one-hundred-thousand gallons an hour, and the AES-1000 produces one million gallons an hour. We currently have one thousand AES-100 models available and fifty AES-1000s. Due to limited availability at this time, no one customer may purchase more than one machine until our new factory comes online. Those who wish to purchase more than one machine will be placed on our waiting list. When machines become available, you will be contacted. We have set up a website where you can purchase our machines, as well as get on our waiting list—www.aquariuselementalsolutions.com will have all the details related to our technology and its use.”

Darius had their full attention now. “Please be warned, we take the proprietary nature of our machines very seriously. We have had this technology perfected in its current state for several years. It has taken our team the last two years to perfect a means of securing our technology from piracy. Any attempt to tamper, modify, or change our machines will cause them to shut down and self-destruct. Anyone within thirty feet will be severely injured or possibly killed. The owners of any machine that self-destructs will be charged a substantially higher fee for their next machine or banned from purchasing machines altogether. This will be at our discretion.

“Now to pricing. All North American, Asian, and European customers will be charged ten million dollars each for the AES-100s and one-hundred-million dollars for the AES-1000s. All Middle Eastern and other third-world nations will be charged one million and ten million dollars respectively. It is time the wealthy nations of the world paid their fair share. Ninety percent of all gross sales of these machines will go to a special fund we have named the Aquarius Fund.” Darius was pleased with the stunned looks of surprise from his audience. He continued, “This fund will be directed by Alexandra Riley, a well-known environmental and social activist.”

He indicated Alexandra sitting in the chair beside the podium. “At her sole direction, the Aquarius Fund will provide our machines and the infrastructure necessary to support them, free of charge, to the poorest peoples of the world. Ladies and gentlemen, it is our goal in the next two years to provide fresh drinking water to every person who wants it within one hundred miles of any coastline. I realize this may be an overly ambitious goal, but all of us at AES believe it is possible. We will use every means at our disposal to accomplish it. Within the next six months, we plan to roll out an industrial model of the AES line of elemental separators. Our goal is to provide a machine that produces one million gallons of pure water per minute. These machines will revolutionize agriculture in our world. They will allow once-barren deserts to be cultivated for the production of food. Nations which were once at a disadvantage geographically will now be able to economically produce their own food. Now no longer dependent on others for their survival.” Stunned looks filled the faces of the audience. Their reaction was exactly as Darius had always imagined it.

“Most of you do not yet know me, but let me tell you, I am committed to helping the people of the world reach their fullest potential. Too long this world has been ruled by the rich at the expense of the poor. Today I propose a change to the old world order. To the peoples of the world, I ask you to join me, and let’s make this planet a better place together. In keeping with this vision, we have come up with a means for all mankind to better themselves with profits from our technology.

“As many of you are aware, Aquarius Elemental Solutions is a publicly traded company. We would like to offer each person on this planet an opportunity to own a piece of AES by means of a private placement in our company. For those of you watching through the Internet or TV who do not understand what this means, let me explain. When a public company wishes to raise money, one of the ways it can do so is by issuing shares of its company for private investors to buy. Normally these investors are rich people with inside information, who can buy a stock at a price which is generally lower than the public can purchase the same shares. After a certain period of time, they can sell their shares at the then-current price, often at a great profit.

“Well, we at AES are offering each living person on this planet an option to buy ten shares of AQES at ten dollars a share. No matter what our stock share price reaches in the next twelve months, you will be able to purchase your own shares at ten dollars each. We have a list of accredited brokers on our website through whom you can purchase our shares in all countries which have publicly traded exchanges. Shares can be purchased in the name of your children, but proof of identity must be provided. Terms of the private placement require that you hold your shares for eighteen months from the date of purchase. After that time, you may sell them at your discretion. We offer you, the little people of the world, the same opportunity once reserved only for the rich.”

He drew himself up straighter. “There is more. As a Persian by birth and in solidarity with my countrymen, I give each and every man, woman, and child of Persia one hundred shares of AQES stock. I realize you, my fellow countrymen, may not be able to avail yourselves of this opportunity at this time, but I will reserve your shares until such a time as you are once again a free and democratic nation. Once you have secured your freedom, each of you will be wealthy in your own right. The time for nations to be ruled by brutality and fear is over. I say it is time for we the people of the world to make this planet a better place together. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.”

For a full minute, not a word was spoken. Most were just overwhelmed, trying to process the implications of Darius’s words. They wanted to believe—how dearly they wanted to believe—but the world being what it was, most were naturally skeptical. Someone coughed nervously, and as if waiting for that signal, everyone started talking at once.

Two hours later in Dubai, Dylan Gallos watched as the market opened in New York. Theoretically, he’d known it was possible—but still, incredulously, he stared at his computer screen as AQES began trading. It gapped up and started trading at nineteen dollars a share. He typed in another order to sell one billion shares. There were buy orders on his screen for one million, ten million, and fifty million share lots. This time, the billion shares hardly affected the price at all. By the time he finished selling them, the stock was trading at twenty-five dollars. He sent a quick text message to Darius and the rest of the team telling them that if they wanted to sell some of their personal shares, there was plenty of liquidity to handle it right now.

Each responded to the good news, but only Ralph, Gavin, and Dylan himself decided to sell anything. Ralph sold ten million, Gavin two million, and Dylan fifty million shares. Placing these additional orders, he watched as they were quickly absorbed. He shook his head, half in delight, half in shock. Aquarius Elemental Solutions was now the world’s first trillion-dollar corporation. Each of them were billionaires, at least on paper. And Darius Zarindast was on the fast track to becoming the first human being whose net worth totaled over one trillion dollars.

Chapter 25

Phoenix, Arizona

The whole event was broadcast live on the Internet, and Sam sat watching it in disbelief. Was this guy for real? Assuming the technology was legitimate, mankind had truly entered a new age.

Sam looked at his clock on the wall. It was seven-thirty a.m. Eastern time, and the markets would be opening in two hours. How would they react? Separating elements from seawater had always been the ultimate prize in mining. If it was now a cost-effective possibility, surely commodities and mining companies would take a big hit.

He pulled up the live commodities’ prices on a web page. Sure enough gold, silver, and copper were all down over ten percent. Someone was taking Darius’s claims seriously. And if they were true, ten percent was just the beginning.

Switching to a page that showed trading in Europe, he saw many of their major mining companies down twenty percent. Especially hard hit were the gold and silver miners. He was sure the world’s financial eyes were watching for New York to open and the price AQES.BB would begin trading at. Sam noticed the dollar was also taking a big hit in international trading. Would this technology weaken the value of the dollar as people questioned the financial and technological dominance of the Western world? And Darius’s offer to the Persian people, that was a masterstroke of genius. The pressure this would put on the fanatic Muslim leaders would be incredible. Almost like a multibillion-dollar bounty on the current leadership.

Sitting back, Sam thought about his one-hundred-thousand shares of AQES.BB and what he should do with them. By any reasonable estimation he was now a wealthy man on paper. AQES.BB would likely open at well north of ten dollars. If this technology turned out to be a fraud, he would end up with nothing. On the other hand, if it turned out to be for real, then the stock price could go to a hundred, maybe even a thousand dollars a share. He thought about it and decided greed was something he should guard against here—but how best to go about it?

For starters, he would sell ten thousand shares at whatever the price the stock opened at and another ten thousand with every twenty-dollar increase in price thereafter.

Sam placed his orders and logged out of his trading account. This new fortune was going to add to his already comfortable income. How was he going to keep the wealth from controlling his life? Bowing his head, he said a silent prayer asking for wisdom for the days ahead. Events were moving almost too fast to comprehend, and he didn’t want to lose sight of what was truly important.

He took a deep breath. Time to think about something else. He had dusted off his search bot program yesterday, made a few changes to it, and set it loose on the Internet to do its job, searching all open databases for the telltale sign of his encryption code. The initial results were surprising. He had found markers for his code posted on Internet forums all over the world. He hadn’t expected to find his markers on innocuous public forums. Maybe those associated with terrorists, sure, but Hot Rod? He chose one of the first results on the list, on a Hot Rod forum. The encrypted file turned out to be a picture of a half-dressed woman advertising some Russian dating service. Sam copied the picture and dropped the file into one of his encryption analysis programs. Sure enough, he found the encrypted file tag inside the digital information of the picture. Weird.

Sam took enough of the digital footprint of the picture and added it to his search bot. This time he had the bot search for only that picture, along with any time-dated information it could find. The results showed the picture with the encrypted information was dated to August 12, just over two months ago. The same picture showed up in multiple forums, but none before August 12. Sam signed up on one of the forums, and after making several complimentary comments about the attractive woman, asked the original poster of the picture where he had lifted it from. To his surprise, the guy said he’d gotten it out of the junk mail box of his Google account.

Sam thanked him and logged off. Opening the junk folder of his own Gmail account, he searched it until he found the August junk mail. There it was: the very same picture on August 11. Copying the picture, he checked the digital information and found the tag.

Sam quickly wrote a program that would automatically search for and download all picture files in the Google junk mail box. Then he searched all of them for the encryption tags. He found that, since the beginning of the year, encrypted digital information had been added to a specific junk mail picture every week on Thursday. The delivery time varied, but it always came on a Thursday. In many of the pictures, there was more than one of his encryption tags.

Whoever had figured this system out was pretty clever. The encrypted messages went to millions of people. Everyone with a Google account was receiving them. Kind of hard for the intelligence services to find a pattern there. All the intended recipient had to do was download the picture and drop it into the Anaj encryption software. He didn’t have to go to any open forums or direct e-mails that the intelligence services monitored—just to his very own inbox to download a piece of junk mail.

Sam chuckled at the thought of telling David that he was receiving the encrypted messages already in his own e-mail account. He bet that whoever came up with this got a good laugh every time he sent them out. Pretty clever, and pretty bold.

Sam picked up the phone and dialed. “Hello, David, it’s Sam. I’ve got some info on that encryption software you asked me about.”

“I’m listening.”

“Well . . .” Sam paused for effect. “The software is based on one of my commercially available programs. Anaj is Jana spelled backwards. Jana was the goddess of secrets. Whoever pirated my software is really good. They modified my encryption code but left much of the nonsensitive part of the operating code alone. Lucky for us, they were a little lazy. I left a tracking code in the installation files and some of the other parts of the operating code. It seems they didn’t think to look there. Any file which has used this encrypting program will leave a marker I can find with my search bot. What I have found so far is that someone is sending encrypted files as pictures every Thursday to all Google users. Maybe to Yahoo mail and other online mail accounts too; I didn’t check those. I found several separate tags in many of the pictures. If I had to guess, I would say that whoever is sending these messages is using one digital picture to communicate with multiple parties. Once someone downloads the picture, he enters his own specific encryption key and presto, he gets his message. I must say this is a very clever way to communicate anonymously. Their only mistake was, they did not figure on my tracking code.”

David was silent for a minute before he replied, processing the information in his typical manner. “That was great work, Sam. It’s a good bet that whoever this is, they’re involved in some kind of criminal activity. Sounds like you’ve found us a trail.”

“That’s right,” Sam replied. “You won’t have any trouble now finding where these messages originate. Now if you could get Google to let you know who is downloading junk mail pictures off their servers every Thursday, you might be able to narrow the search for the intended recipients.”

“Thanks again, Sam. I knew if anyone could help, it would be you. I’ll pass along your ideas and see where we get with them.”

Chapter 26

Dallas, Texas

They had finally gone away. The tabloid paparazzi had tracked Zane down shortly after the museum dedication, and for a few days his phone was ringing off the hook and photographers were crawling around in the bushes trying to take pictures. He changed his phone number and moved off campus for a few days until things quieted down. Ironically, it was the demonstration of AES’s technology in Dubai that gave him back his privacy completely. His face had been on the cover of several news magazines the day before. The next day, the fickle reporters from every news program, newspaper, and tabloid were covering the meteoric rise of Aquarius Elemental Solutions and Darius Zarindast.

Everywhere he went, people were talking excitedly about AES and the new paradigm in the existence of mankind. The news headlines said it all: “Welcome to the Age of Aquarius,” “Mankind’s Savior,” “The Water Man,” “Earth’s New Beginning,” “Darius for the People,” “Environmental Messiah,” “The Trillion-Dollar Man.” Zane had to admit it: he was impressed with what he had heard out of Dubai as well. To give ninety percent of all gross sales to a fund to provide clean water to the impoverished people of the world—if true, that was awesome. If Darius was able to make good on this promise, he would do something for the third world that many wealthy people had paid lip service to but never really seemed to accomplish.

It was also a stroke of genius to bypass the bankers and Wall Street insiders and go directly to the people with his share offering. That just wasn’t done in this day and age. In a world where the little people were finally fed up with the political-corporate-elitist class which had built a seemingly insurmountable void between rich and poor, a world where the middle class was getting squeezed until they had nothing left to give, Darius Zarindast had come as the man who seemed to understand the anger, frustration, and fear of a world with little hope and much uncertainty. More than new technology and the promise of riches, Darius was offering the world hope. It was no wonder people the planet over were beginning to see him as the answer to their problems.

Zane understood the feeling. He in some measure felt it too. But as a Christian, he believed no mere man could provide the lasting hope mankind really needed. Only Jesus Christ could offer that.

Right?

His mind asked for proof. Proof he was having a hard time finding. His very own research paper on one of the central messianic prophecies of the Scriptures was raising serious questions. It was the one prophecy in the Scriptures which predicted the coming of the Messiah based upon a specific secular starting point—a coming that many claimed was partially fulfilled in the death and resurrection of Jesus. But if this prophecy pointed to Jesus, then it had to be based upon more than the flimsy evidence he had found so far.

Of course, the finishing blow had been dealt by Darius Zarindast himself, the very man many now considered a messiah in his own right. He had provided the tablet which confirmed what Zane had already found in his own research on Second Temple chronology: namely that Nehemiah and Ezra were contemporaries of Darius Hystaspes. According to current theory, there was no way the seventy weeks prophecy of Daniel 9 could span the five hundred years from the reign of Darius in 520 BC until the time of Jesus Christ. The seventy “weeks,” or what most presumed were four-hundred-and-ninety years, were not nearly enough time. That was the obvious reason most commentators calculated the starting date of the countdown from the reign of Artaxerxes Longimanus, who reigned from 485–423 BC. Now that theory was no longer tenable. So where did that leave his research paper?

And where did it leave his faith?

He rubbed his eyes and stood up from his desk. What should he do now? Should he just turn his paper in, citing the evidence he had collected as to why he did not believe the prophecy applied to Jesus Christ? That would be the easy way out, and this was only the first semester. What should he do? He wasn’t a quitter, that was for sure, and as far as he was concerned, he didn’t need any more evidence to disprove the current interpretation. So why not start with a completely clean slate and look for another alternative?

Zane sat back down and got out a clean piece of notepaper. He was going to look at this prophecy as an equation. He would list the parameters of the equation first.

––––––––

This time, instead of taking the known dates of Jesus’s life and working the chronology backwards to fit the desired results, he was going to take one fact at a time within its context and see where the results led.

Taking the piece of notepaper, Zane pinned it on the wall over his desk. He would take his father’s advice and pursue this wherever the facts might lead. If this prophecy didn’t lead to the Messiah, then so be it. He wouldn’t be afraid of the truth. If his father’s intuition was correct, then this pursuit might lead to something better than the half-baked theories he had read so far.

Chapter 27

Jerusalem, Israel

So the mysterious stranger was Zane Harrison, Rachael thought to herself as she looked at a copy of a tabloid magazine. He was a fourth-year student at a major Bible college in Texas. He had an interest in biblical archeology and volunteered on dig sites in Israel every chance he got. All this she learned from reading the stories on him. Lucky for him, the announcement of Darius Zarindast’s miracle technology had overshadowed his heroism, and the press dropped the story for something much more exciting.

Well, she had found him. Although she thought it would be proper to thank him in person, she would wait and see what Mr. Harrison would do. She was a little surprised he had not already tried to contact her, other than sending the backpack. Normally young men went out of their way to make her acquaintance. Here was one man to whom she owed a measure of thanks, and he did not seem all that interested in receiving it.

Rachael did not consider herself overly vain. She knew she was attractive and men noticed her, but this Zane Harrison was something unusual. He’d done what was necessary and that was all. She was grateful, sure, but if she was totally honest, she was also a little disappointed. What kind of young man did something so incredibly brave and heroic and then didn’t stick around to receive the deserved credit? He probably thought of her as some reckless prima donna. Well okay, she had been needlessly reckless, but that was the exception, not the rule. He just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. She still ought to thank him in person if she could. Maybe she would give him a call or just wait and see what, if anything, came of it. For now, she decided, she would just wait.

* * *

In Dubai, Darius Zarindast was thinking about his next steps. The demonstration of his technology had gone better than expected. Most attendees had left that night convinced the technology was real. Several scientific types had asked to stay on for a few days, needing a little more convincing. By seven, the night of the demonstration, every available AES-100 and AES-1000 machine was under contract. Five thousand machines had already been preordered with the required five-percent deposit. Each day after that, dozens more machines were ordered.

It would take several weeks for the purchasers to make the necessary preparations for the machines to be installed according to exact specifications. AES only provided the elemental separation module. Those who purchased the machines were required to install the necessary pumps, piping, and holding tanks as per the installation blueprints. To facilitate this process, Darius had already sent the mechanical specifications to several large mechanical and fabrication firms. Once they realized the ramifications of this new technology, it would only be weeks before they were prefabricating the necessary equipment in quantity. Once each purchaser had installed the necessary equipment, Darius would send them the elemental separation modules along with a specially trained AES technician.

In order to prevent theft of the technology, Gavin Matthews had developed a biorhythmic monitoring software that monitored each AES technician 24/7. During the training period at AES headquarters, the normal biorhythm of each technician was monitored for a week under all different emotional states, and a baseline biorhythm was recorded. Each tech sent into the field carried an installation laptop monitoring his biorhythm. If at any time the tech’s biorhythm deviated ten percent outside normal readings, or if the tech’s biorhythm could not be read, the installation computers would go into lockdown. Any attempt to access the computer by anyone at this time would result in the self-destruction of the computer. Only after the tech’s biorhythm returned to a normal baseline could the computer be turned on, and then only after the tech had called in to Dubai headquarters and received a reinitiating code.

On top of that, each of the elemental separators accompanying the technicians was sent in lockdown mode. Any attempt to open, modify, or connect to the machines by anyone other than the tech—using the specially designed installation computers—resulted in their immediate destruction. Once installed on the support structure provided by the customer, the units were initialized by the technicians. At that point, the machine’s internal diagnostics would be sent continuously back to Dubai. If the input power was lost to the machines, they would go into standby mode for thirty minutes. If power was not restored in that time, they would go into lockdown. Once in lockdown, a technician needed to be dispatched from Dubai to reinitialize the machine.

Each technician had signed a two-year contract with AES, stipulating they would work 24/7 and remain on the AES campus unless in the field until their contract expired. For this they were each paid one million AES shares. One-hundred-thousand of the shares were available to sell at any time. The balance was held in escrow until the completion of their contract. Needless to say, each tech became extremely dedicated to the company. Future remuneration depended on skill and discretion.

With the initial influx of cash from the sale of his AQES shares, Darius immediately authorized the construction of the new fabrication facility that Ralph Scholz had designed. He also hired a fleet of fifty private aircraft with a two-year contract to transport his machines and technicians around the world. Once Ralph finished the new factory, Darius would hire another two hundred private aircraft. Dubai International Airport, currently the thirteenth busiest airport in the world, would soon be the first.

Darius turned on his computer and looked up the current price of AQES. It had been six days since the demonstration of his technology, and the share price of AQES had closed yesterday in New York at $29.53 a share. Today was Tuesday, the twenty-sixth of October. Five more days until chaos descended upon the financial district of New York City. By the end of the week, AQES would likely be trading in the $35–$40 range. He made a note to tell Dylan to tighten the range. When all hell broke loose in New York and the stock market crashed, he wanted AQES to be a bastion of stability. Gold, silver, and the dollar had all suffered severe price losses since his announcement. In this uncertainty, he wanted the world to turn to AQES as a de facto currency. When all other equities were being sold out of fear, he wanted AQES to be perceived as an alternative store of wealth.

He made another note on his pad to instruct Dylan to sell another two billion shares of AQES over the next three days, if the liquidity could handle it. Darius wanted as much cash on hand as he could get to purchase shares in the major steel producers and fabricators when the market crashed. He also added pipeline manufacturers and installers to his list. His company was the catalyst for one of the largest infrastructure projects the world had ever seen. To get inexpensive, environmentally friendly water to the world, he was going to need incredible amounts of steel.

He smiled to himself. The world did not yet grasp the full implications of what Darius intended. Over the next year, AES would need millions of miles of piping to carry their water to the world. He made another note to himself. Tomorrow he would announce that Aquarius Elemental Solutions had perfected the process for removal of iron from seawater. That should really cause a hard hit in the iron ore price. Then, with the events in New York causing further chaos, he would have Dylan buy as many options in the iron ore futures as he could get his hands on. It would be years before AES machines could produce enough iron from seawater to meet world demand, so he had to get his hands on it by traditional means until then.

Darius had given the go-ahead to Alexandra Riley to begin the necessary steps to put their machines to use in the world’s most needy places. She had already signed contracts with two of the largest industrial fabrication and pipeline firms to begin construction of facilities and necessary infrastructure in ten of the largest third-world cities. Darius had reserved ten percent of all AES machines for use by Alexandra Riley and the Aquarius Fund.

Once the logistic kinks were worked out, Alexandra Riley planned to have five machines installed a day for the next four months. When production from Ralph’s new facility came online, she intended to increase that to ten machines a day. Alexandra’s dreams were coming true. For the first time, Darius had given her the means to really make a difference in the world. She had literally unlimited funds with which to provide freshwater to every place in the world that needed it. Her only limitation right now was time. If she was to meet his goal of providing freshwater to every impoverished city within one hundred miles of the ocean, she would have to increase her staff by fifty times. Well, she now had the money, and she already had drawn up an organizational chart. With the funds at her disposal, she could attract the best—and she intended to do just that. Alexandra Riley planned to have the Aquarius Fund fully staffed by the time the new factory was operational.

Chapter 28

Manhattan, New York City

Joe Douglas could not sit down. He was nervous and excited, but mostly scared. Today was the thirty-first of October. Tonight, Halloween night, he would begin a process that would teach the world just how vulnerable their modern existence was. One man was going to bring the financial world to its knees with a pump, a few thousand gallons of diesel fuel, and two hundred gallons of “surprise.” The sobering truth was that the technological marvels of the modern world hung by a precarious thread. A thread, in the case of New York, which just one man with the most basic equipment was going to cut.

Joe made his final preparations. The fuel bladders were full with forty-eight-thousand gallons of diesel fuel. He had configured the pool plumbing so that it would come on and empty the pool into the bladder tank system at five a.m. It would take over an hour to empty the pool and all its contents into the city’s water system. And just to make it more difficult for them, he had decided to make a slight modification to the condo’s plumbing and HVAC system.

Joe walked down the stairs into the basement. On the side opposite from the fuel bladder tanks was a door behind which were the condo’s water heaters—two old A.O. Smith one-hundred-gallon, two-hundred-thousand-BTU units which provided all the hot water for the apartments. They worked fine but were not all that efficient since no one had maintained them for years. Several inches of calcium had built up in the bottom, and they made loud popping noises while running.

Joe turned off the gas for the water heaters and disconnected the burner manifold and pilot assemblies on both units. Unplugging the gas control valve from the water heater, he unscrewed the three-quarter-inch piping which led to the water heaters’ burner assembly. Reconnecting the pilot minus the burner assembly, he reinstalled the gas control valve. Into the three-quarter-inch outlet on the gas control, Joe connect a fitting, to which he connected fifty feet of three-quarter-inch cross-linked polyethylene, also know as PEX tubing. He ran the tubing out into the center of the empty basement parking garage and weighted it down. Then he went back into the water-heater room, relit the pilots on both water heaters, and turned both water heaters to their lowest settings.

Next, he set the timer on the circulation system pump to come on at nine a.m. Once the timer kicked on, it would begin circulating the hot water from the water heater tanks through the condo’s plumbing system. The water heaters would cool down and their thermostats call for heat. Once the thermostats on the water heaters kicked on, all the gas would be sent down the PEX piping into the center of the garage, where it would begin to mix with the available air. Anyone within a block of his condo a few hours from now was in for one hell of a surprise.

Joe blocked open the door to the water heater room and then opened the mechanical room for the forced-air heating system. Removing the access panels on all of the condo’s ten forced-air furnaces, he propped the door to the furnace room open and then went upstairs and set each programmable thermostat to turn on, only the blowers, at ten the next morning. About the same time that the gas water heaters began pumping the natural gas into the garage, the ten furnaces would begin to circulate the air in all of the condo apartments. The open fresh-air returns on the furnaces would take the air from the garage and begin mixing it with the gas from the water heaters. When the fuel-air ratio reached the proper proportions, either the pilots on the water heaters or the furnaces motors would ignite the mixture and cause quite a spectacular explosion. The explosion and resulting fire should make it almost impossible for anyone to find any useful evidence. And by that time he be would thousands of miles away fighting for the cause in another land.

Joe looked at his watch. Eleven p.m. It was time! Walking back down to the garage basement, he opened the wood partition and entered the room with the bladder tanks. He turned on the pump and began pumping the diesel fuel into the water system of New York City.

As he did, he began to shake a little. He had been so hell-bent on revenge that he had not really considered the full impact of his actions until now. With that little action of turning on a switch, the first doubts began to form in his angry mind.

But it was too late to change anything now.

With growing unease, he climbed into his truck, and pushing the button of his garage remote on the visor, he opened the garage door and drove off. On the way, he fingered the key to the storage unit. He wanted to get this part over with as quickly as possible.

After several minutes he reached his destination and drove up to the gated storage facility. He was shaking even more. Joe saw the keypad with relief and for a brief second thought he would have to turn around because his contact hadn’t provided an entry code. He was disappointed when he saw the keyhole in the gate control. He inserted his key and turned it. The well-oiled gate slid quietly open. Driving down poorly lit rows of storage units, he finally found unit nineteen.

Joe turned his truck and backed it up as close to the unit’s eight-foot door as he could. Climbing down out of the truck, he inserted the key in the lock and lifted the sliding door up. The room was bare except for a raised platform in the middle with four crated fifty-gallon drums sitting with a hand pallet forklift under one of them.

Joe lowered the tailgate and backed his truck up against the raised platform. Using the pallet fork, he loaded two of the crated drums into the bed of his truck. His truck bed wasn’t big enough to carry all four drums with their pallet crating, so he had to decide whether to remove them from their pallets or make two trips. It would be harder to unload them without the pallets; on the other hand, he didn’t relish the thought of making two trips to the storage facility. With his resolve quickly diminishing, Joe decided to remove the drums.

When he removed the plywood sides of the crating, Joe’s hair stood up on end. The drums were covered in lead sheeting. He almost bolted from the facility, leaving his truck and everything. He knew enough to realize that you only used lead sheeting if there was radioactivity involved.

Pull yourself together, he told himself. Finish the job. Each drum weighed over four hundred pounds, so they were incredibly difficult to remove from the crates. Not to mention the added fear of damaging the tanks and causing a radioactive leak. At least all those hours pumping iron in the prison gym could be put to good use now. Joe wondered how sensitive the radioactive monitors New York City had installed were. Would they be alerted to his cargo? With some consolation, he told himself that they hadn’t found them here at the storage facility yet, so he had a good chance of escaping notice.

After loading all four drums, Joe threw in one of the pallets and the pallet fork so he could unload them at the condo. He almost had a heart attack when, at a stoplight, a New York City cop pulled up alongside his truck. The officer looked over curiously at Joe and then glanced back at his load. Trying not to act nervous, Joe gave a friendly wave and drove away. The police cruiser stayed with him for several blocks, then turned off at an intersection.

Now Joe was shaking uncontrollably. Sweat was beading on his face, and he was breathing hard. If he ran into another police officer before he made it home, it would be all over for him. Somehow he made it the final few blocks to the condo. Turning off his engine, he sat in the garage shaking and trying to pull himself together. After thirty minutes, he restarted the truck and backed it up to the unloading ramp he had built. One by one, he carefully removed the drums from the truck, and with the pallet fork, moved them up to the first floor and the edge of the swimming pool.

Joe removed the lead sheeting from the top of each drum and unscrewed their two-inch plugs. Then, one by one, Joe tipped them over into the swimming pool. The final drum was not as close to the edge, and when it fell over, some its contents splashed onto the deck.

Joe didn’t notice the few drops of the liquid that splashed onto his left shoe.

With some relief, Joe Douglas walked to his apartment and gathered his belongings as he prepared to leave. Without thinking he walked to the bathroom and was just about to open the faucet and wash his hands when he remembered what was taking place in the basement below. Pulling back his hand as if it had been burned, he returned to his bedroom.

With his suitcase and a few other belongings, he climbed one last time into his truck and drove out, watching in his mirror as the garage door closed behind him. It was now twelve-thirty a.m., November 1. Joe had about five hours until his plane left from New Jersey’s Newark International Airport. With an hour’s driving time, he would have about four hours to get checked in. Could he hold it together for five more hours?

* * *

An hour later and three blocks from Joe’s condo, Kim Brewer had just gotten off work. A third-year law student working as a cocktail waitress in a bar in the financial district, Kim hated her job—but in this economy, it was all she could find that would pay her rent. She detested the arrogant, drunk Wall Street brokers who tried to get their hands on her, but she figured she could handle it for a few more months until she graduated.

Kim unlocked the door to her apartment, and after locking it again behind her, she kicked off her shoes by the door and walked to the bathroom. A hot shower was what she needed now, hot water to wash over her tired body and the promise of a better life to come.

It was the smell that first registered in her conscious mind. That faint smell of gasoline—no, not gasoline, but diesel fuel. Opening her eyes, she saw the shiny, multicolored film running down her body and into the shower drain. She screamed, and turning off the water, got out of the shower and tried to remove the oily film from her body. The hot, steamy shower seemed to accentuate the nauseating smell.

In the following days, it would be determined that Kim Brewer was the first 911 call that night.

The operator told Kim it was not an emergency and that she should call the New York Water Authority. A message machine answered, telling her that if it was an emergency, to call 911. In frustration, Kim hung up and tried to decide what to do. She smelled like a bad diesel spill at a service station, and she needed a clean, hot shower after the day she’d had. Picking up her phone again, she called her mother in New Jersey and asked if she could spend the night. Slipping into a sweater and pants she packed a few additional items, then picked up her car keys and left.

She was one of the lucky ones.

* * *

Joe stopped at a McDonald’s near the airport. He ordered a large coffee at the drive-through window and drove around to the parking lot, where he sat drinking the coffee and trying to collect himself. In his current state of mind, he was in no condition to go through airport security.

After forty-five minutes, Joe felt somewhat better. Putting his truck in gear, he drove the rest of the way to the airport. Parking his truck in the long-term parking lot, he caught a shuttle bus to the international terminal. The balding middle-aged man behind the check-in counter looked over the edge of his spectacles at him. Joe handed him his ticket.

“May I see your passport, please?” the man asked after looking at the tickets for a few minutes. Joe fumbled in his shirt pocket and finally secured his passport. The man punched in some numbers on his keyboard, and after what seemed like eternity, handed him back his passport and his freshly printed boarding passes.

With relief, Joe returned the passport and the ticket to his pocket and set his suitcase up on the scale to be weighed. He had heard the airlines were charging for bags even one pound over a certain weight. After the attendant weighed the bag, he printed a luggage label and secured it on Joe’s suitcase, then pushed the suitcase through the wall behind the counter and onto a conveyor belt, sending it on its way to the plane.

With an even greater measure of relief, Joe left the counter and headed for security. One more obstacle, he thought to himself, and then he was home free. He walked slowly down the concourse to the long line at the security check-in. Was it his imagination, or did the TSA agents seem to be a little too alert? As Joe slowly made his way through the line, he grew more and more nervous. Every single person in line was being sent through the X-ray, or the “naked scanner” as he thought of it. Well, if they wanted to see him naked, that was their problem.

What Joe did not know was that the moment he had stepped through the terminal doors, the radioactive liquid on his shoe set off a newly installed radioactivity monitor. A silent alert was sent throughout the entire terminal, and the security command center was replaying the security camera, looking for those who had entered the terminal at the time the monitor picked up elevated levels of radiation. By the time Joe reached the security checkpoint, they had his picture along with three others.

When he approached the TSA screener, Joe could tell something was wrong. The screener was looking at Joe as if he recognized him, and several other officers approached from both sides of the room. The closest agent asked Joe, “Sir, could you come with us please?”

Joe looked up at the officer in obvious fear, his heart beating as if it was going to come out of his chest. The caffeine from the large coffee had hit his already fragile nervous system, and Joe Douglas, the man who would bring down the financial district of New York City, lost his senses.

Grabbing his carry-on bag, he swung it at the officer and missed. He charged the next closest officer, yelling, “Allahu Akbar!” They collided, and he jumped the security cordon and ran down the terminal yelling and screaming like a madman.

Joe ran about a hundred feet. Another security officer stepped in front of him, his gun drawn, telling him to stop and get down on the floor. Joe charged right into a nine-millimeter lead bullet. The officer’s aim was true. The bullet glanced off his rib and went right through his heart.

Joe Douglas was dead.

Chapter 29

Manhattan, New York City

Throughout the early morning, the 911 switchboard began to receive more and more calls about smelly, oily water. It wasn’t until three-thirty a.m. that the 911 supervisor on duty decided to call his supervisor. Another thirty minutes later, his supervisor decided he’d better call the police department. Several calls and another hour later, he got ahold of a departmental captain who would listen, and the captain called his supervisor. Finally, at six a.m. Monday morning, the situation was officially raised to incident status.

By that time, Manhattan residents were waking up all over lower Manhattan and jumping in the shower. By eight a.m., diesel fuel was in every main water pipe in lower Manhattan and in every commercial building, most condos, and houses. It took another hour before the mayor authorized the complete shutdown of New York City’s water system and three more hours before that was accomplished by the New York Water Authority. Lower Manhattan did not yet know that its lifeblood was permanently poisoned. Most people take it for granted, but clean water is the life of any modern civilization. Without it, the mighty spiraling cities of the world could not exist. New Yorkers were going to learn this painful lesson over the next few days.

Because the authorities did not know exactly where the contaminated water had entered New York’s water system, they shut everything down. It took eight hours to determine that only lower Manhattan had been contaminated. By that time, the damage was done.

It was a Twitter post that started it. The wife of one of the terrorist-response team member’s tweeted to her friends that city officials believed the contamination to be a terrorist act. The rumor spread like wildfire, and thirty minutes later, it was all over the news. Without water, New Yorkers quickly realized the city was uninhabitable. By nine o’clock Monday morning, every street and highway out of Manhattan was bumper-to-bumper cars. By ten, New York City streets were one large inescapable parking garage. People left their cars and just started walking.

* * *

A professor from New York University was the first to notice the radioactive contamination of the water. He had been taking samples of Manhattan’s water every morning since the Fukishima disaster, testing the water to determine whether Fukishima radioactive material had reached the groundwater of New York. Monday morning, he opened his faucet and started to fill the sink. He noticed the oily film right away, but it wasn’t until he took a reading with his portable radiation particle detector that he knew something was wrong.

The professor emptied the sink, then ran the faucet for five more minutes, feeling slightly guilty for wasting the water. After five minutes, he again filled the sink with one inch of water. This time the reading was a little higher. Taking a clean container, he filled it with about half a gallon of tap water and left for the university. On the way, he noticed traffic was horrible. Since he had not turned on the radio or watched the news that morning, he did not know what was going on.

When he got to work and tested for specific radioactive particles, what he found made his hair stand up. There were actually trace amounts of plutonium in the water. Plutonium was considered a man-made element, although minute amounts had been found to occur in nature. The amounts in the tap water could only have come from a nuclear power plant. If plutonium was in the water supply, it was permanently contaminated.

The professor picked up the phone.

* * *

At ten a.m., the circulating pump in Joe’s condo turned on, and five minutes later the water heaters’ thermostat called for heat. Both gas control valves received the twenty-four-volt signals and opened, sending four-hundred-thousand BTUs worth of gas down the plastic tubing and out into the empty garage. By this time, all ten forced-air furnaces had kicked in and were sucking the garage air into the building’s ventilation system, along with the ever-increasing mixture of natural gas. Surprisingly, it took twenty-three minutes for the gas/air mixture to reach optimal combustibility. One of the furnace blower motors was on its way out, and it periodically sent out a little spark of electricity between its wiring and the motor housing. When it ignited the mixture, the resulting explosion ripped apart the condo and blew out the windows of all surrounding buildings. The explosion broke the three-inch gas main to the building, causing a tremendous torch of fire that ignited every piece of flammable material within fifty feet.

By this time every street in lower Manhattan was blocked with traffic, so the fire department could not respond to the fire. The flames finished what the explosion had left and then spread to the buildings on both sides of the condo. The two closest firehouses were twelve and sixteen blocks away, but they could not get their fire trucks out the door. Unwilling to just stand around watching their city burn, the firefighters grabbed their hoses and other equipment off the trucks and jogged down the street to the fire. Luckily for them, the order to shut down New York’s water system was still working its way through the bureaucracy. They still had one and a half hours before they lost access to water. Their herculean efforts subdued the fire in one hours and twenty-five minutes. Joe’s condo and three surrounding buildings were completely destroyed.

At eleven a.m., the mayor of New York City came on television and tried to calm everyone’s fears. He told New Yorkers that while they had only found contaminants in lower Manhattan’s water supply, as a precaution they began to shut down the entire water system of New York. All private and government employees, except emergency personnel, were told to stay home and not go to work. A market holiday was declared as of ten a.m. Eastern time, and all US exchanges were to remain closed until further notice.

*  *  *

Dylan was in his command center watching the world markets when he noticed a drop in the futures of the DOW and SP500. He searched several of his online news sources and saw no real news events that might cause the sharp declines. Turning to the financial news blog Zerohedge, he saw a story that had just been posted of possible contaminated water in New York City’s financial district. Just as he was reaching for the phone to call some of his contacts in New York, his phone rang. It was Darius.

“I just received word from some of my associates in New York. It appears there may have been another terrorist attack. At this time the details are still sketchy, but it seems the water system of the financial district has been polluted. Dylan, I want you to keep AQES as steady as a rock. No matter what happens, I want it to hold its current price plus or minus two dollars. Is that understood?”

“No problem,” replied Dylan. “I was able to sell those additional two billion shares over the last three days for an average of thirty-four dollars a share. Minus what we have transferred to our operating account, over the last couple of weeks, we have raised over a hundred-and-twenty-billion dollars in cash.”

“Well done, Dylan. Let’s wait and see how AQES reacts. If you have to step in, do so. When it looks like these events have reached a maximum point of fear—in relation to the markets, I mean—I want you to step in and buy as many future contracts on iron ore as you can get your hands on. I will also be e-mailing you a list of companies I want you to buy as many shares of as you can. When these events settle out, I want to be a major shareholder in each one. I will leave it to your discretion as how to go about this. You know how to play this game. Use all the money we have—only keep us five billion in cash reserves. Any questions?”

Dylan was silent for several seconds, trying to pull his incredulous thoughts together. “Just to make sure I understand you, Darius. Once I have stabilized AQES you want me to use up to one-hundred-and-fifteen-billion dollars to purchase iron ore and the stock of companies on the list you will be forwarding to me?”

“No, I don’t want you to use up to one-hundred-and-fifteen billion. I want you to use every last dollar of it. Have I made myself clear?”

Darius’s tone was frightening calm and serious. “Yes, perfectly clear,” Dylan replied. He could not help but give a half-nervous, half-excited laugh as he continued. “You know, it’s not every day someone tells you to spend every last cent of one-hundred-and-fifteen-billion dollars. This will be something to tell the grandchildren about, that’s for sure.”

“Make it happen, Dylan,” Darius said. Then he hung up the phone.

Dylan sat thinking about what Darius had told him to do. The futures on the DOW and SP500 were now down six percent. If this was a real terrorist attack, then it was likely market trading would be suspended for a day or two or longer depending on how serious it was. That would give him time to write some special algos for the specific stocks Darius wanted purchased. If he got his timing right, he would really be able to make Darius a lot of money. Heck, he had just sold fifty million of his own personal AQES shares at around twenty-five dollars a share. He had a billion dollars of his own money. If he piggybacked off Darius’s hundred-and-fifteen billion, he could make multiples on that as well. They couldn’t have asked for a better setup, even if Darius had planned it himself.

Chapter 30

Phoenix, Arizona

Like most of America, Sam was glued to his television. The news reports coming out of New York were disturbing. There were no reported deaths due to the contamination of Manhattan’s water system, but according to various experts who were being interviewed, it would be extremely hard if not impossible to remove the diesel fuel contamination from the pipes. When news broke of possible plutonium contamination, everyone who could decided to leave Manhattan.

Sam picked up the phone and dialed David’s cell phone. On the third ring David picked up.

“David, what’s going on there? Is it as bad as they’re saying on the news?”

“Sam, I really can’t give you any specifics from my end, but from what I’ve seen of the news reports, they are pretty accurate. By the way, your report on Anaj was kicked upstairs. After today’s events, I think we’ll be able to get a subpoena for Google. I’ve got to go—as you can imagine, things are hectic right now. I’ll be in touch.”

* * *

A week later trading resumed, but not out of New York. All trading was being routed through the Chicago exchanges. Now Dylan had a front-row seat as far as the data feeds went. With New York offline, there was no one faster than him. His algos would eat up and spit out anyone who tried to mess with AQES stock. He now also had top bandwidth for his purchase of the iron ore mining, fabrication, and pipeline companies.

Today, with trading on the US exchanges resuming, it looked like the US markets were going to open twenty percent down. There was a lot of fear out there. He would just watch for a few days before he made his move. When he did get in the game, he would start by buying options on every stock on Darius’s list. If he could time his purchases close to the point when the market fear was almost exhausted, he might be able to turn things around. Or at least get credit for it.

The aftermath of events in New York City had the world mesmerized. Manhattan Island was a ghost city. Without water it might as well have been the Sahara Desert. It took five days to completely evacuate Manhattan, and emergency personnel said it was the smell that was hardest to deal with. Without running water, the waste could not be disposed of, and every building and alleyway reeked of it. The smart ones watching the tragic drama unfold from their own concrete jungles realized just how dependent they were on those things they almost always took for granted. In a moment of stark clarity, many realized that in an emergency, they could not depend on the government to bail them out. Many sat down at their kitchen tables and drew up lists of things they would need if a similar situation occurred in their city. Others decided they needed to move to a more rural setting to provide the security they thought they needed for their families. On balance, it was a needed wake-up call for many Americans.

* * *

In Tel Aviv, Efran Finkelstein once again sat at the computer and downloaded a picture from his junk mail folder. This time the picture was an advertisement for Russian women looking for husbands in the West. Efran looked at the picture and shook his head. He doubted any of the Russian women looking for husbands at that agency were like the woman in that picture. She almost made him want to get married again. No, he thought to himself. No woman was that pretty.

Efran pasted the picture into the Anaj encryption software, and a new message appeared on the screen. The message told him to mark the outside of all future messages with the number thirteen. That was strange. They had never before requested that messages be marked. The only thing he could think of was that they needed to be able to identify his capsules specifically. Could that mean someone was especially interested in the Capernaum dig? This might mean a bigger payoff if he could find something of value to skim when no one was looking. “When no one is looking,” he muttered to himself in disgust. With the Neumann girl on the dig, he would not have much chance of that.

Efran naturally hated those who had something he wanted but was not able or willing to achieve. Rachael, he knew, did not trust him. That made her an enemy. It would be difficult if not impossible to acquire any dig artifacts for his contact while she was watching. He really needed to find that one opportunity which would set him up for life. Being in charge of the Capernaum dig might offer him that opportunity if he could escape her ever-watchful eyes. Well, if the opportunity presented itself, he was going to do his best to take it. He could not live the lifestyle he deserved on what he made at this job.

Typing out an acknowledgment of the new instructions and a brief summary of the Capernaum dig, he encrypted the file on a fresh flash drive. Getting up from his computer, he walked over to the cabinet and removed the necessary supplies to make his little sewer submarine. A few hours later he sent the lead-encased message marked with the number thirteen on its dirty journey to the sewer underworld.

Chapter 31

Manhattan, New York City

It took twenty-four hours before police detectives learned that Gerhard Schroeder had been using a fake passport and driver’s license. The medical examiner ran Schroeder’s fingerprints through their database and came back with Joe Douglas, a convicted felon still on parole. The New York Police Department was contacted, but due to the clogged streets, it was three days before they could dispatch a detective to Joe’s last known residence. When Jack Dunaetz arrived at what was left of Joe’s condo, he knew it was going to take some time to gather any evidence.

Jack was a thirty-year veteran of the New York Police Department. He was a short, stocky, and mean-tempered man, but he was one of the most experienced detectives on the force. His gut, and he had an ample gut, told him the fire was not just a coincidence. Seeing the wet debris of the burned-out building, Jack was not about to step into the rubble unless he had it checked first for radioactive contamination. It was still kept hush-hush, but the department had indeed confirmed radioactive contamination in the water system of Manhattan. There had been tens of thousands of gallons sprayed on this fire, and he sure as heck wanted it tested before he stepped a foot in the ruins.

Two hours later, a special-operations officer arrived to test the debris. He climbed into his special suit, and with his Geiger counter, entered the ruins of Joe’s condo. The readings spiked much higher than any water samples yet taken. After several minutes of climbing over the condo’s remains, he found in the swimming pool what was left of the four steel barrels with hardened puddles of lead on the ground under them. His meter was screeching at him, telling him this was more than just the background radiation from the water sprayed on the fire. The officer quickly climbed out of the rubble, and one of his assistants sprayed him down with a portable water canister. He undressed and called his superiors. They had found the source of the terrorist attack on Manhattan.

Jack Dunaetz walked over, and the special ops officer explained what he had found. “My gut told me not to step into that mess,” Jack said with a satisfied grunt of self-congratulation. “Sure glad I didn’t. Looks like we found the source.”

The FBI was called in, and they began to dig into every piece of Joe Douglas’s background. Without much trouble, they found he attended one of the more fundamentalist mosques in New York. The mosque had been on their watch list for some time due to its connections to al-Qaeda and Iran. They weren’t able to find the origin of the passport or driver’s license, but they were able to trace the credit card to an offshore corporation of Iranian origin. Whoever had provided it had been sloppy. The ease of the trace seemed almost too convenient. Was Iran being set up? As of right now it sure seemed like all of the evidence was pointing to Iran and its al-Qaeda satellites.

With no other leads and the American people calling for retribution, the president, who had extremely low approval numbers, against his advisers’ recommendations spelled out the evidence so far against Iran and called on them to answer the charges. The inflammatory president of Iran responded by calling the attack a Zionist conspiracy to undermine the credibility and sovereignty of the Iranian state. Then, in a moment of extreme political stupidity even considering his normally inflammatory rhetoric, he said he was glad about the attack and that his only regret was that it hadn’t affected the entire state of New York.

The American people were enraged. Both Democrats and Republicans now had a common enemy toward which to direct the anger of the American people. With Congress’s approval numbers even lower than the president’s, they immediately drafted legislation that placed crippling sanctions on Iran. The president, with the backing of both houses of Congress, bullied America’s allies into following suit. For once even Russia, normally a supporter of Iran, stepped back and distanced itself. The United Nations Security Council unanimously voted to impose crippling sanctions as well, effectively isolating Iran from any dealings with the Western world.

* * *

Arash was one of the few Persians pleased with the political and social pressure building inside of Iran. The leadership of Iran was blindsided by the events. Normally very canny in their dealings with the West, they had never pushed their hand too far—until now. There had been mounting pressure from the people of Iran ever since Darius Zarindast had offered each Iranian the shares of Aquarius Elemental Solutions. Now, with the events in New York, the pressure had reached a breaking point. The Assembly of Experts was called to challenge the rule of Ayatollah Khamene’i and the president of Iran. The special assembly was set for the end of the month Aciyadiay, or November, in the holy city of Qom.

Arash had already placed the 235X into trusted hands at the water bottling facility. The batch of water to be used in two weeks at the Assembly of Experts would be ready and waiting for the unsuspecting leadership of Iran. It was likely that many of the top military leadership would be there as well. They were never far from their political masters. With luck, a few weeks from now, Iran would no longer be ruled by religious fanatics. Iran would once again be ruled by a son of Hystaspes.

Chapter 32

Dallas, Texas

Zane was back in his dorm room at college. His classes had not been too taxing. Everyone on campus was talking about the events in New York. Sam had filled him in on his conversation with David, who had been in both of their thoughts and prayers a lot lately. Zane sighed, thinking about how easy it had been for one person to cause so much havoc. Now there was a chorus of calls for retribution against Iran. From the evidence which had been shared with the public, it sure seemed like the country was rushing to judgment on this one. Sure, Iran was an enemy of America, but Zane couldn’t help but wonder if different decisions would have been made if Congress and the president were not in such disfavor with the American people. It seemed as if many times in history, when things were not so good economically or politically, the political class turned to war as a means of diverting the people’s attention and anger. They sure had the attention of the people now. And their anger was white hot and full of vengeance. This was not a good environment for making reasonable decisions.

Shaking his head again, he tried to focus on his research paper. Zane looked at the list pinned to the wall over his desk. He had accomplished the first item: identify the potential starting points for the prophecy of Daniel’s seventy weeks. Daniel 9:25 read in part,

Know therefore and understand, that from the going forth of the commandment to restore and to build Jerusalem unto the Messiah the Prince shall be seven weeks.

When Daniel was given this prophecy, the First Temple had been completely destroyed. The armies of Nebuchadnezzar had looted and burned Solomon’s temple, leaving nothing except the scattered stones. Now, according to the text of verse 25, “Messiah the Prince” would come seven “weeks” from the “command to restore and build Jerusalem.”

The books of Ezra, Nehemiah, Haggai, Zechariah, Chronicles, and Kings each gave details about “commands” to restore and build Jerusalem. The first recorded command Zane had found came from Cyrus, king of Persia. The book of Ezra recorded that Cyrus in his first year claimed YHWH had “charged me to build him a house at Jerusalem.” So Cyrus’s decree was given in 536 BC.

The next recorded command to build Jerusalem came from Darius, son of Hystaspes, in his second year—about sixteen years after the first decree. From the account of Ezra, Zane had learned the construction efforts had stopped sometime during the sixteen years between the first year of Cyrus and the second year of Darius. Darius was petitioned by the settlers of Jerusalem to be allowed to restart construction of the Second Temple. Darius checked the records of Persia and found that, indeed, Cyrus had allowed construction of the temple, so he gave his own support and blessing to the project, and the construction resumed in 520 BC.

In the seventh year of “Artaxerxes,” Ezra, the “priest and scribe” was given a decree which allowed him and as many exiles as resided in the kingdom of Persia to return to Jerusalem. His decree allowed them to take whatever money they had and offerings they could gather and take them up to Jerusalem. Artaxerxes had also decreed that any money they might need for the restoration of the temple could be taken from the king’s treasury up to a certain amount. Zane had learned from his research that the term “Artaxerxes” was just a title which applied to Persian rulers. Since all available biblical evidence showed that Ezra and Nehemiah were contemporaries of Darius, son of Hystaspes, then the seventh year of “Artaxerxes” had to be the seventh year of Darius, son of Hystaspes, the great Artaxerxes of Persia. This decree was given in the year 514 BC.

Then, in the twenty-first year of this same Artaxerxes, Nehemiah was given the governorship of Jerusalem and the authority to rebuild the gates and walls of the city. This decree was given in the year 502 BC.

To Zane’s surprise, he had found one additional decree which was not mentioned in any of the popular writings on the seventy weeks. What surprised him most was that this one decree seemed the most contextually obvious choice—yet it was ignored by almost all commentators. The decree was the one given by YHWH himself. Not only was it given directly by YHWH, it was witnessed by two of the accepted prophets of that time, namely Haggai and Zechariah. Zane had noted two of the references in his research notes.

Ezra 6:14:   “And the elders of the Jews builded, and they prospered through the prophesying of Haggai the prophet and Zechariah the son of Iddo. And they builded, and finished it, according to the commandment of the God of Israel, and according to the commandment of Cyrus, and Darius, even Artaxerxes king of Persia.”

Zechariah 1:16: “Therefore thus saith YHWH; I am returned to Jerusalem with mercies: my house shall be built in it, saith YHWH of hosts, and a line shall be stretched forth upon Jerusalem.”

Zane could not understand why this command had been overlooked by so many commentators. If any “commandment to restore and build Jerusalem” marked the countdown to “Messiah the Prince,” it would be the one given by YHWH. Sadly, he thought, maybe they overlooked this decree because it did not fit their interpretation. But to not even mention it? He shook his head.

Taking the notepaper pinned over his desk, he set it aside and rewrote it with the new information:

Zane underlined point C. and pinned the list back over his desk. With growing satisfaction, he felt as if he was getting somewhere. He had always loved a good challenge. True, he did not know for sure which of these decrees, if any, was the correct one, but he believed the most reasonable choice was the one given by YHWH. Only time would tell. Well, he’d had enough for one night. In the coming days he would begin to work out the chronological details of the prophecy so he could answer point two on his list. He wanted to be sure he understood how the prophecy was broken down into its different time periods.  He hoped his father was right and this search lead to a greater truth.  But what if it didn’t?

Chapter 33

Dubai, United Arab Emirates

His expression calm, controlled, and almost friendly, Darius Zarindast sat looking into the camera of a local CNBC affiliate in Dubai. He was being interviewed for the financial program Squawk Box. The producer gave Darius and Sarah Holloway, the anchorwoman, the fifteen-second heads-up. Then they were on the air.

“Today we are joined on Squawk Box by Darius Zarindast, president of Aquarius Elemental Solutions. Mr. Zarindast, welcome.”

“Thank you, Sarah, glad to be here.”

“Mr. Zarindast, the past several weeks have seen some incredible events take place at Aquarius Elemental Solutions. You have gone from an almost unknown quantity to a major player on the world financial scene in a very short amount of time. It is estimated by some that you are the wealthiest person on the planet right now. How has this newfound wealth and fame affected you?”

Darius smiled, hiding his disdain for the newswoman. She was just eye candy who could read a teleprompter without making it look obvious. He doubted she had ever had an original idea. Dumb blonde, he thought, his smile growing with his private insult.

“Sarah, it has allowed me to put in motion some of my own personal goals to change the world. We all know that under the current circumstances, the world cannot continue as it is. Take the tragic events in New York. Again, religious fanatics have released mayhem and havoc on innocent people. When will humanity grow up and work together for the common good? When will we have leaders who have the guts to make the painful decisions that are needed for the common good of all mankind?”

“What painful decisions to you mean, Mr. Zarindust?”

“For starters, how about outlawing hate speech in the name of religion? Another concern of mine is the overpopulation of the world. The current growth curve is not sustainable. Some experts say the world is overpopulated by several billion people right now. Another issue is the world’s broken financial system. The world is awash in debt, and the banking cartel is thriving off this servitude. When are the people of this world going to throw off the bankers’ chains?”

Sarah, nodding her head in uneasy agreement, tried to steer the conversation away from such controversial issues. “It is understood you are building another production facility for your elemental separators. How is that coming?”

Darius smiled. “We are currently a few days ahead of schedule. My production team, headed by Ralph Scholz, says the factory will likely be ready in late December or early January. At that time we will be able to increase our production almost tenfold. So far there have been over five thousand preorders for the AES-100s and one thousand for the AES-1000s. It will take some time to fill all these orders. If the demand keeps up at the current rate, we will likely need to build another factory within six months.”

Sarah asked her next question. “What are your thoughts on the market events that have transpired over the last couple of weeks? As I’m sure you are aware, the market has been open for four days now since the events in Manhattan, and there is a lot of fear out there. As of right now, the major markets indices are down about thirty-eight percent from where they opened on November 1, almost two weeks ago. Do you think the fear is justified? What do you see going forward? AQES appears to be one of the few stocks that has not suffered severe price loss.”

“Sarah, first let me say, my sincerest sympathies go out to all the people of New York for the terrible events that have happened there over the past couple of weeks. I am ashamed to admit my own nation seems to have been involved in this tragedy. I have authorized my team to make the first two AES-1000 elemental separators from our new factory available free of charge to New York City. That will provide two million gallons an hour of low-cost water to New York. This is my way of showing the people of New York my empathy.”

Sarah looked pleasantly surprised as she replied, “Correct me if I am wrong, but those machines are each worth one-hundred-million dollars?”

“Yes, Sarah, each machine would cost New York City one-hundred-million dollars if they were to purchase them. This is just my way of trying to help. Let me also address your question on the markets. I believe that while terrible, the events of the past couple of weeks are only transitory. The people of America in general and New York in particular are fighters. The market sell-off is way overblown in my opinion. And just so you don’t think this is all Pollyannaish talk, let me tell you what I have told my financial team to do this week. I have instructed them to purchase one-hundred-and-fifteen-billion dollars worth of stock in some of the most beaten-down sectors.”

Sarah looked shocked as she stuttered out the number in reply.

“Yes, Sarah, that is correct. I believe the best days for our generation are ahead of us. I believe Aquarius Elemental Solutions will be at the forefront of reshaping the world into a more sustainable future. I have dedicated my life and fortunes to that purpose.”

“Mr. Zarindast, you and your company already changed the world as we knew it several months ago. Tell us about your Aquarius Fund. I understand Alexandra Riley is directing the efforts of your fund. How is she doing?”

“Alexandra is doing a superb job. As most know, she has dedicated her life to making this world a better place. She was at the forefront of the social and environmental movement long before she came to work for me. In the past two weeks, the Aquarius Fund has provided major infrastructure support for several of the world’s poorest cities. Within the next week or so, we will be turning on our machines in eight of these cities, forever solving their fresh and clean water needs. Alexandra’s goal in the next four months is to begin installing five of our elemental separators per day in impoverished cities of the world. Within the next several months, when the new production facility comes online, she intends to double that. These are very ambitious goals. As you can imagine, the logistics for an effort of this size can be quite challenging. The Aquarius Fund will be spending several billion dollars every week for the foreseeable future to accomplish our goals. I have personally guaranteed my own fortune against this effort. If at any time more funds are needed to accomplish our goals, all Alexandra has to do is ask me. To us, the true beauty of the Aquarius Fund is that the nations who can afford our machines are paying for the freshwater of those who cannot. We are using capitalism to redistribute the wealth of this world to those who need it most.”

With time running out for the interview, Sarah asked one more question. “Mr. Zarindast, how has the response been for your public stock offering? You stated that you have reserved sixty billion shares for this private offering. That is ten shares for every individual on earth. Last time I checked, your share price was in the $35-40 range even with the rest of the market tanking. For those availing themselves of your offer, this is about a four-hundred-percent increase on their money at today’s prices, and at a time when most all other companies’ share prices are substantially down.”

“Sarah, the response has been overwhelming. We have had to hire five hundred additional personnel just to oversee this part of our efforts. As of yesterday, my team has informed me that eight-hundred-million people have signed up for our private share offering through their brokers. Another two-hundred-million people have requested we send them paper certificates because they do not have a brokerage account. Needless to say, it is gratifying to see the little people of this world avail themselves of an opportunity once only reserved for the wealthy.”

“Mr. Zarindast, I thank you for taking the time from your busy schedule to talk to us here on Squawk Box. Hopefully we can get you to come back in the future to keep us up to date on your company and your efforts.”

“Sarah, absolutely, I will gladly come back anytime. And I thank you for the opportunity as well.”

* * *

Sam watched the interview with interest. He’d sold twenty thousand shares of stock over the past couple of weeks. He had eighty thousand left to sell, and he was beginning to feel uncomfortable about Darius Zarindast. He couldn’t put a mental finger on it, but there was something that just didn’t seem right about the man. Was it his continual use of the term “religious fanatics” and the implication that it included Christians as well? Or the fact that everything had gone perfectly for Darius Zarindast since he had first announced his new invention? Obviously, Zarindast was a very intelligent and patient man. He had waited ten years to bring his technology to market until he thought the conditions were just right. After waiting so long, why did it now seem as if he and his team were in a rush? Were they just concerned that they needed to make the most of the opportunity before someone stole the technology?

Sam was infamous among his friends as a conspiracy theorist, but it seemed obvious to him that something more was going on here than was plainly evident. Clearly Darius didn’t need money any longer—he had more money than he could ever spend. There seemed to be an unspoken motivation guiding him. Was he truly just a benevolent man concerned with making the world a better place? In the interview, he’d made a big point about the overpopulation of the planet. Yet his technology would revolutionize the existence of every person around the whole world. Once uninhabitable regions were now habitable. Food could now be economically produced anywhere within one hundred miles of any ocean. The ocean covered seventy percent of the earth’s surface, and now every gallon of that water could be economically mined. There were enough resources in the ocean for several hundred years even at the current population growth rates. One hundred years from now at the current pace of technological advance, mankind might be capable of mining resources on the planets in the solar system. His concern about overpopulation did not seem congruent.

Sam gnawed the end of his pencil. When a person had more money and power than any other person on earth, what was left to accomplish? Was one man capable of using that power for the good of mankind? Even more important, what would someone with that power consider to be “for the good of mankind”? There were thousands of years of history to show that whenever men set out to play God, it always ended in tears. Was Darius the exception to the rule?

* * *

Dylan watched the markets as Darius spoke on Squawk Box. He had been buying everything he could get his hands on for the past two days. Others had seen his buying, and the market was already firming up. Downside pressure was falling, and divergences were showing up in the charts. The retail investor, aka the dumb money, had shorted stocks to an extent not seen since the 2008 bottom. Dylan’s buying had put a floor under the market, and it was primed for Darius’s announcement of one-hundred-and-fifteen-billion dollars in stock purchases.

After Darius’s announcement, the overleveraged shorts had to cover. Three hours later, the market had one of its largest daily gains in history, closing up by 10.3%.

Dylan had purchased over eleven billion dollars in options across the spectrum. He purchased outright another one-hundred-and-five billion dollars in the stocks of twenty-five different companies which would benefit from the future activities of Aquarius Elemental Solutions. By the end of the day, he had sold his options for an average of eight-hundred-percent gain. This netted him a cool seven billion, and Darius almost seventy billion. The stocks Dylan had purchased outperformed the general market that day by almost double, increasing the value of their purchases by about nineteen percent.

Over the next six months, those companies would benefit from AES’s incredible growth. By spring, many of those companies would see their share prices triple. Dylan shook his head in amazement as he watched the financial programs talk about Darius saving the markets. They were equating it to the efforts of J.P. Morgan in the 1907 panic, which helped avert a complete collapse in share prices. They were sitting at the top of the financial world, and he, Dylan Gallos, was the one making this happen. God! What an incredible feeling.

Chapter 34

Qom, Iran

At the end of November, the Assembly of Experts convened in Qom. Due to the incredible pressure brought to bear by the international community, the assembly was extremely contentious. The entire religious and political leadership of Iran was present. The ruling elite, with entourage in tow, were gathered in tight, animated groups. Here and there military leaders stood watching their political masters like birds of prey. The normally silent voice of opposition to the current leadership was loud and challenging.

Arash raised his voice with those who sought a more moderate form of government. Over the past several years, he had positioned himself as a moderate who wanted a more open and cooperative association with the Western world. He had cultivated a relationship with those in the government of like mind, and now he made his move. As a member of the Assembly of Experts, he openly criticized the current leadership. He called for closer ties with the West and freedom for the people of Iran. He publicly stated it was time for the fanatical regime to step aside.

He knew there were many who agreed with him but were too afraid to say so. They could not believe Arash was making his views public. In their eyes, he had basically signed his death warrant.

Had they known what was about to take place, maybe they too would have had the courage to speak out.

Arash knew he could not run the government of Iran without the help and support of several key figures. Before the assembly convened, he privately went to each of these key government figures and warned them of a possible plot to poison them. He made it seem as if only they were the focus of the plot. He warned them that they should not trust anyone with this knowledge until he had caught the perpetrators. Most of all, he told them not to drink any water they had not brought from their own homes, not even the bottled water.

As he expected, no changes were made in the leadership of the government during the assembly. If anything, they decided to take a harder line with the West. Arash knew his days were numbered. But he also knew the days of those who wished to kill him were numbered far shorter than his. All he had to do was stay alive for another week. To that end, he left the assembly on the second day and disappeared.

One week later, news filtered out of Iran that an assassination of some of the key leadership had been carried out. It took several more days before a fuller picture emerged. There were also strange rumors of crazed killers and atrocities so unbelievable they were dismissed. The entire leadership, including the Ayatollah Khamene’i and most of the Assembly of Experts, was killed. Into this political vacuum Arash stepped with his new voice of moderation as he assumed emergency powers to rule Iran. With the help of the key officials he had helped save, he quickly and ruthlessly consolidated his power. He used the confusion surrounding the deaths of the leadership to eliminate all remaining Muslim religious fanatics in any real positions of power. Immediately, he made overtures both public and private with the leaders of the Western world. He called for new elections in four months and requested international observers to ensure a fair outcome.

For decades, Iran’s moderate majority had been ruled by the ruthlessness of a minority. In the months that followed, Arash gradually implemented changes which the people had desperately wanted. When the elections rolled around in March, Arash was elected president by a landslide in one of the first fair elections in Iran since Mohammad Mosaddegh. With the momentum of his victory, Arash had a new constitution drawn up based on democratic principles. Israel was the first nation to publicly announce diplomatic and trade ties with the new democratic Iran. Thereafter, most of the Western world followed suit.

* * *

Darius watched the events in Iran unfold with satisfaction. Arash had carried out the coup perfectly. Iran was now ruled by a son of Hystaspes. If things continued according to plan, in the near future the rest of the world would no longer be under the control of the Order. Darius smiled in anticipation.

Sitting at his desk high atop the Dubai Tower, Darius turned his attention to File 13. He had been too busy the past several weeks to pursue the secret, and he had missed his ritual. Opening the file, he read through several names on the list, smiling momentarily as he passed the name of Isaac Newton. Moving on, Darius selected William Colgate. Colgate had a fascinating history, but more importantly, he’d left behind a symbol. The symbol interested Darius more than the man.

William Colgate was born January 25, 1783. His parents immigrated to America from England in 1798 and settled in Hartford. Colgate became an apprentice soap maker at a young age. After his apprenticeship, he started his own business. His soap company, William Colgate & Company, soon became an American household name.  Today it was known as Colgate-Palmolive.

In 1808, William Colgate was baptized and became a member of the First Baptist Church of New York. Colgate was active in the American Bible Society and later helped found the American and Foreign Bible Society. It was reported that in 1817, the Baptist Education Society was founded by William Colgate, one of thirteen men with thirteen dollars, thirteen prayers and thirteen articles. In 1823, the Baptist Theological Seminary and the Baptist Education Society incorporated and changed their name to the Hamilton Literary and Theological Institution. William Colgate was one of the trustees. In 1846, the school’s name was changed to Madison University; then in 1890, its name changed again to Colgate University in recognition of the contribution of the Colgate family.

Colgate University was located at 13 Oak Street in Hamilton, New York. Its zip code was 13346 (3 + 4 + 6 = 13). Its senior honor society, Konosioni, was made up of thirteen men and thirteen women. All Colgate alumni were asked to wear Colgate apparel on each Friday the thirteenth.

Darius could not understand why a devout fundamental Baptist Christian was interested in the symbolism of the number thirteen. There was no evidence to suggest that Colgate was part of any organization related to Templar Masonry. In fact, the Baptists were at the forefront of the anti-Masonic movement of the early 1800s. So why then did a Christian fundamentalist have an interest in the number thirteen?

The mystery grew more intriguing the more closely Darius looked. It wasn’t until three years after he first compiled the information on Colgate that Darius learned of the symbol.

In 2000, an amateur historian named Alan Solomon received a call from a friend. Alan’s friend Dave was fighting the demolition of a property at 211 Pearl Street in downtown Manhattan.  Rockrose Development Corp., founded by three Iranian brothers in 1970, wanted to break Dave’s lease and tear down the building to make way for a new development.  Dave hoped he could get a historic designation for the building, so he had called his friend. Alan Solomon became engrossed with his research into the history of 211 Pearl Street but it was the esoteric brick symbol on the building which most intrigued him.  Dave and Alan lost the fight to preserve the building but due to Solomon’s efforts, the brickwork symbol was preserved.

It turned out that the building on 211 Pearl Street was one of William Colgate’s most valued properties. Of the seventeen properties in his will, 211 Pearl Street was willed to his children equally with a stipulation that it could not be sold for fifteen years. The symbolic brickwork on the building had baffled investigators for the past ten years. They had even started calling it the “American Da Vinci Code”. No one seemed to be able to come up with a definitive explanation as to its meaning. Darius had tried to figure out the puzzle himself but so far had been unable to solve it. He had counted and numbered the bricks in every way he could think of. The only thing he had noticed was the number thirteen was prominent in the design. This combined with Colgate’s history and his involvement in the founding of Colgate University told Darius there was something here, but what? Darius couldn’t say why, but he felt that this symbolic brickwork might be a clue to the Order’s secret. But why was it hidden on the building of a fundamentalist Christian?

Darius took one last look at the picture of the symbol and then closed the file. While everything was going according to plan with his invention, he was admittedly frustrated with the slow pace of his search for the secret. But he was getting closer, of that he was sure. He wasn’t about to give up now.

Chapter 35

Capernaum, Israel

Rachael Neumann was busy making preparations for the Capernaum dig. Over the winter months she had gradually increased her exercise routine until she regained the strength in her leg. Her one great concern over the past several weeks was that she would be kicked off the archeology team because she was not able to handle her responsibilities. She received no special treatment because of her father. She was too proud and her father too honest. She had earned her position on the archeology team by her dedication, hard work, and persistence.

Her father had placed Efran Finkelstein in charge of this dig, and while he was a capable administrator, she did not particularly like him. He always seemed to be waiting for something. He did just enough to get by without making any waves as he climbed the system’s ladder of success. Efran was a person who put his finger to the air to see which way the wind was blowing before he would make a decision. He was pushed to the top, not because he was the best choice, but because he made the fewest enemies along the way.

Most of all, she didn’t like Efran because her intuition told her he was a man who capitalized on the efforts of others. She was a champion of men like her father, men rough around the edges, strong and straightforward, men of honor, men who spoke little but did much. Efran was a weak, Machiavellian schemer with great flattering words and little deeds. They had come to an unspoken truce of sorts. Not willing to cause her father any undue grief, she kept her mouth shut and her eyes open. Efran, wary of the director’s daughter, watched and waited.

* * *

Distracted, the Baker descended the wooden stairs to the basement under his bakery. Crossing the floor, he entered the secret room behind the shelf and turned on the battery charger. His sister had refused to move the wedding, so he had to leave tonight. What could he do? She was his only sister, and their father was dead. He truly loved her, but she could be obstinate sometimes.

He would just have to risk leaving the magnet on. The new batch of messages was due tonight. The crude electromagnet was in a safe place, it had never given him any problems, and . . . what was he worrying about anyway? Nothing was going to happen. He would be back in five days, and they would not know he had been gone.

Turning off the single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling, the Baker closed the door to the secret room. Climbing the stairs out of the basement, he locked the door behind him. He placed a sign in the window, locked the front door, and left for his sister’s wedding in Jordan.

* * *

The following evening, half a mile away and a hundred feet higher in elevation, Miriam Rosenfeld lay on the couch talking to her mother on the phone. The frustrated young mother had finally solved her mouse problem. The steel wool had worked: it had taken only one box, just like her friend had said. The remaining boxes Miriam had placed in the cabinet under the sink in the bathroom.

Little Jesse, toddling now, made his way into the bathroom while his mother was distracted. To Jesse, the bathroom was one of the most exciting places in the house. He loved his bath and little bath toys. Just a few days ago he had discovered the toilet handle. To his delight, whenever he pulled on it, rushing water would come into the toilet bowl and swirl around and around and disappear down the small hole at the bottom.

He knew he was not supposed to be in the bathroom, but he could not help himself. On this day he found the bathroom cabinet door open slightly. With his chubby fingers, he opened it further and found all sorts of interesting and unusual things to explore.

After a few minutes, Jesse found the steel wool. Pulling it out from its little packages like he had seen his mother do, his one-and-a-half-year-old brain had the inspired idea to see what would happen if he put the steel wool in the toilet and pulled on the handle.

For the next thirty minutes, to his unmitigated rapture, little Jesse pulled steel wool out of its packages and watched with fascination as it disappeared down the toilet every time he flushed. By some miracle he never threw so many in that they stopped up the toilet. Finally, as he was in the act of tossing the last steel wool ball into the toilet, his mother found him in the midst of the open and empty packaging strewn all over the bathroom floor.

Jesse looked up into his mother’s face with such innocent joy that her scolding look melted into an expression of motherly love, and she just shook her head and softly laughed. There was nothing she could do about it now anyway. If the toilet got stopped up, so be it—she would just call the plumber. Picking up the torn and scattered pieces of packaging, she gently told Jesse that he was never to throw anything down the toilet again. Closing the cabinet door, she pulled on it to make sure the safety lock had engaged; then, holding little Jesse’s hand, she closed the bathroom door behind them.

Unbeknownst to Miriam and Jesse, those little steel wool balls were on a journey which would ultimately save the lives of millions of people.

Chapter 36

After leaving the bottom of the toilet, each rough steel wool ball made its way through a lateral three-inch sewer pipe to the apartment building’s common drain stack. There, each ball turned straight down into the vertical drain piping which fell thirty feet into the basement of the apartment. Turning toward the street, the little balls of wool made their way out into one of Tel Aviv’s main sewer lines.

Since it was six in the evening, the sewer lines were being used all over this section of town. The sewage level in the pipe was at its normal full flow. As the balls picked up speed in the city’s main sewer line, they began to roll and turn like little snowballs accumulating debris as they made the half-mile journey under the busy streets of Tel Aviv. When each little metallic sewer snowball reached the Baker’s magnetic snare, it was grabbed by an unseen force and held to the inside of the sewer pipe.

By the time the final steel wool ball had reached the magnetic net, the city sewer main for that section of Tel Aviv was already ninety-nine-percent blocked. With that final little ball, the sewer main stopped flowing completely.

Within five minutes, every basement upstream of the bakery which did not have a backwater valve began to fill with raw sewage. When the sewage levels in the basements reached ground level, the manholes in the street began to pour forth their filth. Fifteen minutes later, the city’s public works department was being inundated with its own flood of phone calls.

On call that night were Michael Goldburg and Levi Wollenberg. Michael had been with the city’s public works department for five years after retiring from the Israeli Army, where he flew unmanned aerial vehicles. Jokingly, Michael told people he no longer flew UAVs, but now he drove USVs for a living. USVs, Michael explained to whoever asked, were unmanned sewer vehicles.

Levi was the son of a successful plumbing contractor in Tel Aviv. He and his father did not get along, so Levi worked as a sanitation engineer for the city. While the title sounded important, when people asked what he did, Levi just said somewhat crudely that he was a “turd wrestler.” Levi drove and operated one of the city’s massive ten-wheeled hydro-jet rooter trucks. Basically, he operated one of the largest roto-rooters known to man.

After receiving the emergency calls that night, Michael climbed into the city’s newest sewer-inspection truck. In his Camel hydro-jet rooter truck, Levi followed. A couple of blocks away they knew they were getting close because they could see the sewage running down the street. There hadn’t been a total main line stoppage in several months, and none during the sewer “rush hour,” as they called it.

The first manhole they found overflowing with sewage was just upstream of the Markouk Bakery. Pulling their trucks downstream to the next manhole, they set out their traffic-control cones and popped the manhole to take a look.

“Not much water running through this one, Levi,” Michael said matter-of-factly. He pointed to the manhole up the street five hundred feet and said, “Looks like the stoppage is somewhere between here and there.”

“You want to jet it first or take a look?”

“Let’s take a look,” Michael said. “The damage is already done up there, and another half-hour won’t make much difference. Besides, we haven’t had a full-blown stoppage like this in a long time, and I’d like to see what’s causing it before you blow it all to kingdom come with that truck of yours.”

“You’re the boss,” Levi replied. Walking over to his jetter truck, he turned it off. Michael backed his vehicle right up to the edge of the sewer manhole. Opening the back doors, he removed Rover the Sewer Dog, as he jokingly called him, from his compartment. Rover was the latest technology in commercial robotic sewer-inspection cameras. Rover had a state-of-the-art color camera which could be turned three-hundred-and-sixty degrees. Rover also had a robotic arm which could be fitted with several different tools.

Fitting Rover with the retrieval arm, Michael gently lowered him by his Kevlar fiber-optic cable twenty feet down into the dark, damp, and stinky sewer system of Tel Aviv. Michael climbed back into his truck and sat down in his command chair. Levi stood at the edge of the manhole with elbow-length rubber gloves, guiding Rover’s cable down into the hole.

Michael flipped several switches on the console above the small desk in the back of the truck. As Rover powered up, a clear picture of the sewer main emerged. Grabbing the joystick on the desk, Michael pushed it forward, and Rover’s six specially designed wheels began to turn, dragging the Kevlar fiber-optic cable up the sewer main toward the stoppage. Slowly, Levi fed the cable into the manhole as Michael drove the USV up the pipe. This section of the city’s sewer line was relatively new, so Michael’s monitor showed plastic piping. They had gone over three hundred feet up the pipe, and so far everything looked great. Levi, standing outside, heard Michael whistle as he said, “Man would you look at that! Never seen a cockroach that big before.”

Levi laughed under his breath and then said out loud, “Has the cockroach cowboy found himself another monster?”

Michael’s voice responded from the truck, “Levi, you’ve got to see this thing. It must be four inches long. I think even Rover is scared of him.”

They continued on for another fifty feet before Levi heard Michael say, “It’s coming into view now. Wow, that is blocked solid.” As Rover approached to within one foot of the obstruction, Michael noticed that Rover was sliding up the pipe—moving up toward the obstruction on his own. For a moment, interference made the camera picture fuzz.

“Hold that cable, Levi!” Michael shouted from the truck. “Something weird is going on here.” Michael pulled back on the joystick and turned the camera slightly for a better angle, backing Rover up a foot or so. Then he zoomed in on the obstruction. It appeared slightly reddish and gray. Zooming in still more, he saw that it was steel wool covered in sewer debris.

“We’ve got a bunch of steel wool down here. It seems to be sticking directly to the bare walls of the pipe. I don’t see anything for it to hang up on, though.” Michael thought for a moment. “Levi, I am going to drive it in close again—keep some tension on the cable, will you?”

“Will do, Michael.”

Michael drove forward again slowly. As he approached the obstruction, he noticed the interference again on the monitor. When he got within one foot, Rover began to slide forward. “Levi, only let it go six more inches.” Rover started to shake as if some invisible hand was pulling on him in different directions. Michael called out, “Okay, Levi, let’s back him up.”

As Michael backed Rover up several feet, he noticed several small, dull gray, metallic-looking objects lying on the bottom of the pipe. Turning the camera down for a closer look, he spotted the folded edges on one of the gray objects. Michael switched on Rover’s robotic arm and positioned it over the object. Reaching down, Rover retrieved the object and placed it in a small retrieval basket. Michael repeated this for the other three objects.

“Let’s pull it out, Levi.”

Levi guided the cable as Michael drove Rover back down the sewer line. When Rover had reached the bottom of the manhole, Levi gently lifted him out and onto the pavement beside the manhole. Levi sprayed Rover down with the truck’s water, and Michael collected the small gray objects from Rover’s basket.

“What did you find?” Levi asked, peering curiously over Michael’s shoulder.

“Not sure what it is. Never seen anything like it before,” Michael said. With his rubber-gloved hands, Michael examined the objects. Looking closer, he noted that one of them had what appeared to be the number thirteen scratched into its lead casing.

After placing them in a container in the back of the truck, Michael picked up Rover and put him away, then pulled the truck out of the way so Levi could do his job. As Levi pulled into position, Michael took out one of the mysterious objects again. With a small screwdriver, he unfolded the lead casing and found a broken computer flash drive.

Wow, he thought to himself. This flash drive didn’t cover itself in lead, but why would someone want to do that anyway? And how did it get down there?

Carefully placing the flash drive and lead casing back into a dry container, Michael rejoined Levi, who was lowering the hydro-jet into the manhole. A hydro-jet truck was basically a high-pressure spray hose connected to a metal jet head. Water from the truck’s holding tank was pressurized up to four thousand psi and could be pumped at up to eight gallons a minute. Under full pressure, it could easily cut off a man’s hand.

Levi ran the jet hose up the pipe to the obstruction. Cranking up the pressure, he attacked the stoppage. After several minutes with no results, an obviously frustrated Levi said, “Don’t know what’s blocking the pipe, Michael, but I can’t break it free.”

“Magnets,” Michael said.

“What?” Levi asked, looking at him like he’d gone crazy.

Michael shook his head. “Humor me,” he said. He had been thinking about it for the past several minutes, and although it didn’t make much sense, the only explanation he could come up with was that there seemed to be a strong magnetic field surrounding the sewer pipe. To his knowledge, the only way to make a magnet that strong was by using electricity. If it was an electromagnet, they could turn off the electricity and release the debris. It was a long shot, but worth a try.

Michael walked back to his truck and replayed the recording from Rover. Pulling out the “as built” sewer drawings for this section of town, he found the exact location of the obstruction based on Rover’s measurements. It was just one foot up from the bakery’s connection to the city’s main. This likely meant that if there was some sort of electromagnet down there, it would be connected to the bakery’s power supply.

Walking over to the storefront, he saw the sign in the window. Great, he thought. The baker would not be back for several days. The electric meter box was on the side of the building. It was unlocked, so Michael opened it, looking for the main disconnect. Finding the main breakers, he pulled down on them.

“There she blows, Michael!” Levi shouted from the manhole. “I hear it coming down the line!”

Michael waited a few more minutes and then turned the bakery’s power back on. Who knew how much food might spoil if he left the power off indefinitely? Well, they had fixed the problem for now, but he would talk to his supervisor and see what they should do about a permanent solution. Closing up the manhole and packing up their things, they headed back to the shop for the evening.

Michael was tired and dirty but also curious. He had a feeling the computer capsules he’d found in the sewer might be important, so he decided to drive to the house of an old friend. Marcus Nayat lived in north Tel Aviv, so his place was out of the way—but if anyone could figure out what these gray capsules were for, Marcus could. Marcus Nayat had been in the army with Michael, but as an intel officer. Marcus was still in the army, but he would not say exactly what he did anymore.

After a few moments, Marcus opened the door and with a warm smile and a hearty hello asked Michael in. “What brings you by tonight, my friend?”

“Sorry to show up so late unannounced, Marcus, but I found something today I thought I would run by you.” Michael explained his discovery and then pulled the computer flash drives and lead casings out of his pocket.

Marcus took one of the drives in his hand and examined it with a look of serious curiosity. “You found these down in the sewer, you said?”

“Yes, lying on the bottom of the pipe in this lead casing.” Michael indicated the lead sheeting he still held in his hand.

Marcus looked up. “Do you mind if I hang on to these for a day or so? I will get back to you when I know more. Oh, and hold off on notifying anyone of what you found tonight. Especially do not let the baker know you turned off his power. This could be important. Thank you for coming to me with this.”

They chatted for a few more minutes, then Michael said good night and left. If anyone could get to the bottom of this, he knew Marcus could. He would be interested to find out what Marcus learned, but right now all he wanted was a cold beer, a hot shower, and bed.

* * *

After Michael left, Marcus Nayat carefully inspected the leaden capsules. In all his years as a Mossad intelligence officer, he’d never seen anything quite like them. What was their purpose? On one of them was a small number thirteen scratched into the casing. The hair on his head began to prickle. This would have to be reported outside the normal channels—the Guardian would want to know. Marcus picked up his secure private phone and dialed a number that had been committed to his memory for over a decade.

Two thousand, two hundred and eleven miles away, a phone rang on an ancient walnut desk in the heart of London. The desk sat on a jet black polished granite floor in one end of a massive two-story private library. The room was filled floor to ceiling with ancient books of all sorts. Two rolling ladders on brass casters stood at either end of the poorly lit room. A massive crystal chandelier hung from its brass trimmings in the center of the room directly over a circle with a diameter of exactly six feet. This circle was in the form of a six-inch-wide band of white granite cunningly inlaid into the polished black floor. At the very center lay a single piece of round white granite six inches in diameter.

A massive hand reached for the phone on the third ring. “Yes?” he asked with a passionless tone as cold as ice.

Marcus spoke into the receiver words he had memorized long ago. “I am Tacitus, a fellow traveler, come from the East.”

The cold voice at the other end replied, “For what are you searching?”

“The light.”

Sounding as if it had dropped a few more degrees, the voice replied, “Proceed with your quest.”

While the cold voice listened, Marcus described the leaden capsules and the circumstances surrounding their discovery. When he had finished, the voice, tinged with a touch of anger—or was it fear? Marcus could not tell which—asked, “And you say one of the capsules was marked with the number thirteen?”

“Yes, that is correct,” Marcus replied.

“I want to know everything related to this matter from this point forward, and I want to know it before it happens. Is that understood?”

Marcus, with the sinister, unspoken threat seeping into his bones, replied, “I understand.”

The connection went dead. Marcus was unsettled. He’d never had cause to make the call before, but those many years ago he had sworn an oath—many oaths, in fact. Those oaths demanded a loyalty that superseded all others. He did not know exactly what this was about, but those many years ago they had instructed him that should he ever see or hear of any communications marked or associated with the number thirteen, no matter how inconsequential, he should immediately call the number.

He remembered asking himself back then what could be so important that it demanded such attention. From the tone of the cold voice at the other end of the phone, he knew that after all these years, whatever it was, it was still of great interest to the Order.

Chapter 37

Manhattan, New York City

Sitting at his desk in FBI headquarters, David considered the events of the past several months. So many incredible changes had taken place that the intelligence community was just playing catch-up. The events in Manhattan had devastated the economy of New York City as well as the state. The financial district of New York was no more. Lower Manhattan was deserted. The experts were still trying to determine the extent of the water system’s radioactivity and diesel contamination. Some were even speculating that the only way to make Manhattan habitable again was to replace all of the city’s water piping, from the city’s main to the smallest pipe and fixture in every building and residence.

The case against Joe Douglas was growing. So far they’d determined that he had acted with funding from agents of al-Qaeda and/or Iran. The evidence accumulated showed he had carried out the attack by himself. Every law-enforcement official in the nation was having nightmares about this low-technology assault upon the American urban way of life. There was really nothing that could be done to prevent similar attacks from being carried out in cities and towns across America. Sure, not every attack would have radioactive contamination, but the terrorists really didn’t need it. Without clean, pure water, most urban communities were uninhabitable.

The most unsettling fact was that such an attack could be carried out with impunity, and the results were as disruptive as if a bomb had gone off—maybe even more so. The only good that had come out of this, as far as David could see, was that some of the American people were waking up. Those willing to think for themselves realized that the government, at whatever levels, could not be counted on to protect them. They were taking action. Many decided to provide themselves an edge should similar events happen in their own communities. Some stored their own clean water, while others purchased water purification equipment. On balance, a new awareness of each individual responsibility to self, family, and community was taking hold all over America.

With the events in Manhattan, the subpoena of Google’s download records was granted by a federal judge without a problem. David and his team had been going over the records for weeks now. Finding the intended recipients of the encrypted pictures was not going to be as easy as they had thought. There were literally hundreds of people who had downloaded the pictures in just the New York area alone—who knew so many people cared about their junk mail?

The list of people who had downloaded the pictures was fed into the various law-enforcement databases around the world to see if any of the junk mail downloaders were known entities. It was learned that Joe Douglas had been downloading the Google junk mail pictures for the past several months. This provided them with a link between the encrypted files, Joe Douglas, and a greater, as of yet unknown, conspiracy.

David was under no illusions as to getting quick results. The sheer number of names they had to go through would take several more weeks, if not months. Even then, the recipients might never communicate directly with their handlers, making it almost impossible to prove any connection with a spy network. Well, no one ever said it would be easy. At least Joe Douglas was confirmation that there was a terrorist network out there using the Anaj software to communicate with its members by means of innocuous junk mail. That was a start. With a lot of hard work and persistence, they would be able to track down the other members of the network.

For all their sakes, David hoped they could do it before there was another attack.

Chapter 38

Tel Aviv, Israel

When Michael Goldburg got to work the next evening, Marcus Nayat was sitting in his office.

“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” Michael said. “Those little drives must have gotten someone’s attention.”

You have no idea, Marcus thought to himself. He withdrew the four lead-encased objects from his pocket. “Michael, we need you to take these flash drives and immediately place them back in the sewer line where you found them.”

Michael looked at Marcus with incredulous surprise. “You want me to put them back in the city sewer main?”

“We think you might have stumbled upon a spy network in Tel Aviv. For some time now our intelligence service has been concerned because some of our normal sources of intelligence traffic have gone silent. With your discovery, we may have found the means by which they have been communicating. We believe the electromagnetic field around the sewer pipe in the bakery ensnares these flash drives, allowing them to be retrieved. We have put the bakery under twenty-four-hour surveillance. These four devices,” Marcus held them up, “have files on them encrypted by a method American intelligence believes was used by the American terrorist Joe Douglas. It is possible these files may be part of a much larger network.”

Michael shook his head, bewildered but tracking. Marcus continued, “Our technological wizards have added very small tracking devices to these flash drives. If you insert them back in the pipe, it is our hope we can follow them back to where they came from. If we can do this without being noticed, we have a good chance of discovering who is responsible for the New York attack as well as what intelligence they are passing from Israel. Our agents have also begun to set up twenty-four-hour surveillance of the main sewer piping from various locations upstream of the bakery. If we can figure out how they are delivering these leaden capsules to the bakery magnet, with time, we can gradually back track them to their points of origin.”

With a serious look on his face, Michael asked, “Whoever thought of that idea was pretty clever. Had it not been for the steel wool getting caught on the magnet, we would never have known.”

Marcus interrupted him. “That and your very astute observations, Michael. Had you not picked up the devices, we still wouldn’t have known. Now, hopefully you can get them back to the same location without anyone being the wiser. Be advised: if you do any further video inspection of the main line upstream of the bakery, you may see our monitoring cameras. We would appreciate it if you would keep the number of people who know of our activities to a minimum.”

“I can do better than that, Marcus. I will make that section of the sewer line a mandatory supervisor assist. They’ll have to call me before anyone goes out on a call should that section of the line stop up again.”

Marcus nodded. “That will work. We appreciate your cooperation. Hopefully we can find out who is behind these activities and thwart their future plans.”

After shaking hands, Marcus left. Shortly thereafter, Michael took the little flash drives, and with Rover’s help, placed them back where he had found them in the sewer line.

Chapter 39

Dallas, Texas

After returning from Israel in the fall, Zane had been so busy with school and his obsession with the research paper on the prophecy of Daniel’s seventy weeks that he had not paid any attention to his shares of AQES—that was, until now. Spring break was coming up, and his trip to Israel in the fall had used the money he’d originally saved for the spring break archeology dig. He had been invited to be present when they opened the display for the artifacts he had found several years before with Yoseph. Finding those artifacts had changed the direction of his life, and he had really wanted to be there. He’d volunteered at a dig for a few days as well. Now he didn’t have enough money to go back. He didn’t regret it, though. More soberly he thought about the trip, his rescue of Rachael, and the ensuing media circus. She was one interesting individual, that was for sure. Maybe he would look her up when he returned to Israel. He wondered what his impressions of her would be under more normal circumstances.

This year, CPBH had assigned him to the Capernaum dig. To get his hands dirty with the same dirt Jesus had walked on, working in a place where the Messiah had done so many miracles and spent so much time—as a Christian and an archeology enthusiast, it didn’t get much better than Capernaum. It was an opportunity not to be missed, but he didn’t want to ask his parents for any money, so the only thing he could think of was to sell some of his AQES shares.

It was now February, and it had been almost four months since Zane had checked his Ameritrade investment account. Logging in, he almost fell out of his chair.

It said his account value was just over two million dollars. That couldn’t be correct!

Zane looked up the stock price of AQES and saw that in fact it was now worth $103.45 a share. Just to be sure, he opened another window in his Internet browser and looked it up on the MarketWatch financial news site. The same. Unbelievable, Zane thought to himself.

He picked up the phone. Sam answered on the fifth ring with a sleepy, “Hello?”

“Sam, how long were you going to wait to tell me AQES was over a hundred dollars?” Zane burst out.

“Well, hello to you too, bro. I figured you had been watching and would give me a call when you were ready.”

“Sam, my account value is just over two million now! Don’t you think I should sell some?”

Sam chuckled. “Yes, I think you should start selling some now. Set yourself a sell schedule and stick to it. I would start by selling a thousand shares right now, and continue to do so at specific price intervals until you’ve sold them all. Right now it doesn’t look like Aquarius Elemental Solutions can do anything wrong. They’re the largest company in the world. And they’re giving most of their gross sale proceeds to the Aquarius Fund to improve living conditions in the third world. It’s hard to see any downside.”

Zane quirked an eyebrow. “Then why do you sound so skeptical?”

“It’s times like these when everything is going perfectly that you should pay the most attention. AQES may go to one thousand or higher over the next several years. But how much money do you really need? I have asked myself—at what point is enough enough? If we live a modest lifestyle, this money will last us both a long time. So my advice to you is, don’t let greed take over. Write out a plan for selling your shares and stick to it. For what it’s worth, I’ve been selling my shares since the twenty-dollar range. I haven’t yet sold them all, but if the current price appreciation holds, I’ll be done in a few more weeks.”

Zane replied in a more subdued tone, “Thanks, Sam, for the advice. I will take it. You’ve given me something to think about as well. Have you talked to David yet?”

“He’s already sold half his shares. He’ll be finished in a few more months as well.”

“Any news from David about New York?” Zane asked.

“You know David, Zane. Always plays it by the book. He won’t say anything more than what we’ve learned on the news. He’s been putting in a lot of hours trying to track down the people who were behind this.”

“Okay. And Sam, all kidding aside—thank you for the recommendation on AQES. I really doubted it would ever amount to anything. I just hope I have the wisdom to use it wisely.” Zane finished with a thoughtful pause.

“I’ve have been thinking the same thought lately. This money has the potential to be a real blessing. On the other hand, if we let it, it could take control of our lives.”

Zane hung up the phone and sat at his desk in thought. Part of him was excited about the money he had made with AQES. The other part of him was worried that it had come too easily. Would he have the maturity to handle it wisely? Over the years he had learned that when he was in doubt about something, the best solution was to simply ask his heavenly Father for wisdom to make the right decisions. Zane got down on his knees and did so now.

“Father in heaven, I know I don’t have all the answers. Please give me the wisdom to honor you with this money. Please make it a blessing and not a curse. I thank you for this opportunity—please help me to use it wisely. I ask you Father, in Jesus’s name, amen.”

Zane got back up, sat down at his desk, and pulled out a piece of paper. Writing down his goals had always helped him get on track. Now he wrote a schedule for selling his shares of AQES. He would sell one thousand shares a week for the next twenty weeks. If they all sold at around these prices, he would make over two million dollars. What unintended consequences would such money bring? What new direction would it take his life? Already he could see that he had new concerns he did not have just thirty minutes ago. What was the biblical quote his mother always used to tell him? “To whom much is given, much is required.” Yes, that was it—and he was just beginning to feel the weight of those words now. “To whom much is given . . .”

The words brought back profound memories. Since Zane was a little boy, his parents had encouraged him and his brother and sister to set aside a portion of their money to help those less fortunate than themselves. They had never told him how much to set aside, but had left that up to his own preference. One of their rules was that he was required to use the money personally to help others. They told him it was his money, and it was his responsibility make sure it was used according to his purpose. Giving it to the church, they explained, was shirking his personal responsibility. Not that their church would not use it properly, but it was his, not their, responsibility. They had wanted him to have personal contact with those he helped.

He had quickly learned that life was challenging and often heartbreaking. As a young child he had looked in the eyes of those he helped. He had felt their humanity, shared their pain, their hunger, anger, sorrow, and joy. He remembered serving meals to children his own age at the homeless shelter on Thanksgiving Day. Taking clothes and other necessities to the orphanage and realizing the children there didn’t have the love and protection of parents like his. Those experiences had a profound impact on how Zane viewed his fellow human beings. They weren’t just a picture in the church bulletin—they were real, living, breathing human beings, each made in the image of their Creator.

Another point his parents had often reminded him of was that he should not be giving out of some sense of guilt for his better circumstances, but out of love. It had taken him many years to understand the difference between the two.

He didn’t know exactly what he wanted to do with all his newfound wealth, but one thing he could do was continue the traditions his father and mother had started so many years ago. He would set aside half of what he sold to be used specifically to fulfill the biblical mandate of helping the widow, the fatherless, and the poor, as well as sharing the gospel message. Yes, he would use the money to help those in his little sphere of influence. Make a difference in the lives of those whose paths he crossed in the short time allotted in this life.

To that end, Zane placed an order to sell one thousand shares of AQES at market open the next day. He also placed another nineteen conditional orders to sell one thousand shares of AQES at market every week until all the shares were gone.

The decision made and put into action, he felt somewhat relieved. Tomorrow he would open a separate account into which he would deposit half the proceeds of all his sales. Over the coming days, he would develop specific plans for the use of those funds. With a yawn, Zane turned off the light over his desk and prepared for bed. As he crawled under the covers, he thought about the Capernaum dig. It was only a few weeks away. He was really looking forward to it. With these pleasant thoughts, Zane, with some difficulty, finally fell asleep.

Chapter 40

Capernaum, Israel

Several thousand miles away, Rachael Neumann was just waking up at the dig site in Capernaum. The dig team had been setting up the camp for the past several days. Due to budgetary constraints, they were roughing it—there would be no hotel accommodations on this dig. A tent camp was set up for staff near the dig site. An additional area was designated for volunteers who wanted to camp on-site. To Rachael’s surprise, even Efran was staying on-site in his own tent. This was the first time she could remember an Israeli Antiquities supervisor roughing it like the rest of them.

So far, Rachael was working out the normal challenges of the undertaking and getting a feel for the layout of the dig site. The main area of activity was on what they believed to be the ruins of a first-century dwelling just outside the main ruins of Capernaum. About two thousand feet away and closer to the Sea of Galilee, on a somewhat lower elevation, were the remains of a Jewish synagogue. The original building had been quite impressive and was believed to have been built in the fourth century. Elaborate reliefs were carved into its white limestone blocks. Archeologists had found motifs of eagles, a seahorse, a menorah, pomegranates, grapes, rosettes, stars, pentagons, and hexagons. Below this synagogue, archeologists found what they believed were the ruins of another synagogue, apparently built in the first century AD.

The camp would be completely set up by the end of Friday. Starting the following week, work would begin at the ruins. Rachael was in charge of the debris sorting and disposal. All excavated earth was transported to large boxed screens they would set up over the next few days. Before the earth was disposed of, every bit of it was dumped onto the screens and sifted. They would be looking for any man-made objects, such as pottery, coins, or other artifacts. Once the earth was completely checked for any archeologically relevant objects, it was transported by wheelbarrow up the hill, across a road, and to a ravine about a quarter of a mile away. It was painstakingly slow work and brutally hard, but Rachael loved every moment of it.

Starting next week, volunteers would begin to arrive. From that point until the dig was completed, volunteers would cycle in and out, some staying a day or two and others a week or more. Without the volunteers, the dig would not be possible. There was just not enough money to hire people to do all the work. Thankfully, the volunteer coordinator had told them at the last staff meeting that the first several weeks at least were completely booked with promised help. If the current pace kept up, he assured them, they would not have a manpower problem for this dig. Rachael looked over her lists and notes one more time. She was as ready as she could be. Just a few more days and she would be getting her hands dirty. She smiled with anticipation.

Chapter 41

Dubai, United Arab Emirates

Darius Zarindast was reading over the reports from the various members of the team. So far each of them had executed his or her part of the plan with perfection. It was now spring, and Ralph and Gavin had the new factory running smoothly. Aquarius Elemental Solutions now had the largest private fleet of aircraft in the world. AES technicians were flying their machines all over the world, many doing several installs each day. Dubai International had become the busiest airport in the world. The infrastructure development for the elemental separators was such that iron ore mining companies and pipeline manufacturers were the best-performing sectors in world markets right now. AES had been the catalyst for a twenty-percent increase in world iron ore consumption. The shares which Dylan had purchased during the crash had tripled in value.

Darius’s one-hundred-and-fifteen-billion-dollar investment was now worth five-hundred-billion dollars. He was a major shareholder in each of the biggest iron producing and manufacturing firms in the world. Darius and AES had pulled the world out of the longest and most severe recession since the Great Depression. He was an international icon in the business world, a Midas whose touch would turn any company into gold. Not since J.P. Morgan or John D. Rockefeller had any one person had so much clout.

Despite this, Darius kept single-mindedly to his goal. The anger and hate inside him simmered just barely below the surface at all times. His plan to destroy the Order was almost in reach. Another six months and his plan could not be stopped. With his attack on Manhattan he had seriously crippled Western financial operations out of the eastern United States. Their consolidation to Chicago and London had made the system even more vulnerable.

Work had been completed on the newest Aquarius Elemental Separator. The new AES-1M could produce one million gallons of freshwater per minute. Ralph had incorporated production facilities in the new factory for these larger units, and they were producing two units each day. Darius had priced them at five hundred million dollars each, and already he had back orders for two hundred units. Most of the major municipalities in the world had ordered one or more. Darius had promised New York two of his AES-1000 units but instead provided them with the new AES-1M units. They would be coming online in several more weeks and would produce over two-hundred-and-fifty-million gallons of water each day for New York—one quarter of New York’s daily water usage at a fraction of the cost of their existing system. The new units had the added benefit of being able to separate more than one element from the water at a time.

Darius pulled up the most current interactive map showing the distribution of his machines throughout the world. Little blue dots showed where his AES-100s were located, and little red dots showed his AES-1000s. Little green dots showed the AES-1Ms. Right now there were five green dots on the map. New York had two, London one, Hong Kong one, and Dubai one. Over the next three months Darius would have his machines producing water in almost every major commerce and banking center in the world.

And then he would be ready for his revenge.

As part of his endgame, Darius began to borrow money. The major power brokers and moneylenders of the world fell all over themselves to loan him the funds he desired. Many of his enemies and their associates were among those who loaned Darius money. To all outward appearances, the money was being used to expand his empire. But through complicated financial vehicles and clever manipulations, Darius began to build highly leveraged positions in the financial markets. He started his positioning slowly so as not to raise any concerns. By the time anyone realized the true extent of what he was doing, it would be too late for the world financial markets.

Darius requested permission from the new democratic Iranian government for AES to open business relations with Iran. Permission was granted, and Darius immediately began to invest major sums of money in his Persian subsidiary. From there, the money was clandestinely diversified into precious metals and other hard assets. Over the next several months, Iran became the largest net importer of gold, silver, and other hard assets.

No one knew it was Darius behind the purchases. Most thought it was the new Persian government. Since Darius’s first announcement that his elemental separators could remove gold and silver from seawater, the prices of both had plummeted by fifty percent. Now Darius was buying up ever-increasing amounts which the world was only too glad to sell. When he executed the final part of his plan, the world would again run from equities and paper into the age-old safe haven of gold and silver. Only they would find that someone had gotten there before them.

As part of the quid pro quo, the new president of Iran requested release of the shares promised to the Iranian people. Darius granted it, and overnight he became a national hero in Iran.

Chapter 42

Tel Aviv, Israel

Marcus Nayat watched the front of the bakery from a window across the street. After Michael Goldburg showed him the flash drive he had found in the sewer, the Mossad had initiated twenty-four-hour surveillance of the bakery as well as the placement of cameras in the sewer line. There were several theories as to how the flash drives were being delivered to the Baker’s magnetic snare. They needed confirmation, though, so they would know what to look for when they set up additional sewer cameras in the sewer main. With time they would be able to determine exactly which sections of sewer line these messages were originating from. Then, tightening their surveillance net even further, they would find the buildings. Given enough time, they hoped, they could determine exactly which residences were sending the messages.

The message in the front window of the bakery said the baker would be back today. They had learned his name was Kadeem Malouf. He was an Israeli citizen of Jordanian birth. They knew he was in fact at his sister’s wedding in Jordan. He also had a large bank account in Jordan from which he never withdrew any money. Only deposits had been made to the account over the past several years. The origin of the deposits was being tracked down now by their financial investigative unit. From the preliminary reports, it appeared the money came from an offshore account in the Cayman Islands. The amounts were never very large, but over time they had added up to quite a modest sum.

Good old Kadeem would have been very well off had he decided to get out of the bakery business last week. This week, Kadeem had a new employer—he just didn’t know it yet.

* * *

Sam was proud of his new program. It was probably the best and most complicated piece of programming he had ever done. He had been working tirelessly on it since learning of the theft of his encryption software. He didn’t take kindly to someone stealing his work and using it for nefarious activities. For the past four months he had worked on a computer virus which would locate any computers which used encryption software based on his original program. His specific target was the Anaj software.

Since Sam knew David would never share the FBI files of people who had downloaded the junk mail from Google’s servers, he had to do it the hard way. He hacked into the servers of the Ukrainian Internet company responsible for the encrypted junk mail and added his own picture file to their outgoing distribution lists. In place of an encrypted picture file, everyone who downloaded Sam’s picture would instead install Sam’s special virus on their hard drives. The virus would only activate when it identified the Anaj encryption software on a computer. Once activated, it would send the computer’s IP to Sam. If it worked properly, he would soon know the locations of most of the computers using a pirated version of his software.

Chapter 43

Tel Aviv, Israel

Zane Harrison was glad to be off the cramped airplane. He’d landed in Tel Aviv’s Ben Gurion International Airport thirty minutes before and was just beginning to get the blood flowing through his body again. He was stiff, sore, but excited. Few places in the world held so much significance for so many people as did the land of Israel, and Jerusalem in particular. Muslims, Jews, and Christians all claimed roots in the land. For thousands of years, blood, sweat, and tears had been shed on this piece of earth by millions of people. How true the ancient words of the biblical prophet Zechariah concerning Jerusalem:

Behold, I will make Jerusalem a cup of trembling unto all the people round about, when they shall be in the siege both against Judah and against Jerusalem. And in that day will I make Jerusalem a burdensome stone for all people: all that burden themselves with it shall be cut in pieces, though all the people of the earth be gathered together against it. (Zechariah 12:2–3)

Zane picked up his luggage and made his way to the rental agency. Thanks to his newfound financial freedom, he would be able to rent a car this time instead of bumming rides or hiring a taxi. Zane rented a Hyundai i20 for the week. It was a small compact car which the rental agent said would get about twenty-three kilometers per liter. Throwing his luggage in the back, he headed for Galilee. Finally reaching Ami’ad Junction, he took Highway 90 to the Kfara Nahum Junction and then Highway 87. Highway 87 ran along the shore of the Galilee, and in the distance he could see the ruins of Capernaum.

The dig site was located just east of Capernaum National Park. To the west of the park was a Greek Orthodox church. Several hundred feet further west were the ancient ruins of a Jewish synagogue. Just south of the synagogue, between it and the Sea of Galilee, was the Church of St. Peter’s House, the traditional home of the apostle Peter. Stately and ancient olive trees stood just north of the dig site. In the uncultivated areas, the mustard plant grew with its profuse yellow blossoms.

Zane turned at the park entrance and then left on a small dirt road marked, in Hebrew and English, “Kfar Nahum Archeology Dig.” Turning into a small dirt parking area, he turned off the car and got out. Immediately he could smell and feel the moist air from the Sea of Galilee. He just stood absorbing the smells, sights, and sounds for several minutes. To think this was the very same place Jesus had walked with his disciples! In the distance he could see the hill where it was believed Jesus had fed the five thousand. What a beautiful and picturesque setting!

The dig camp was located just a few hundred feet from the parking area down a dirt path. A dozen or so tents had been set up for camp administration. Zane walked over to a tent which was marked with a sign that read “Volunteers” in Hebrew and English. The tent flap was tied open to one side, and sitting on a small folding camp chair was a pleasant sandy-haired young man. Looking up with a warm smile, he said hello. Zane introduced himself.

The young man smiled. “Welcome Mr. Harrison. My name is Tov; we have been expecting you.” Looking down at a list on his desk, he ran his finger down the names until he found Zane’s. “Yes, here you are. It says you will be volunteering for a week?”

“Yes, that is correct,” Zane replied.

“Will you be staying on-site, or have you made accommodations elsewhere?”

“I’d like to stay on-site. I’ve brought my own tent and gear.”

“Very well.” Tov pointed to the east of camp. “We have a campsite reserved for volunteers just over there. You are one of the first to camp on-site, so you can have your pick of the place. You have been assigned to the debris sifting and disposal crew. The crew supervisor is Ray. Ray’s tent is over there.” Tov pointed to a tent on the edge of the camp. “Report there for further instructions.”

The designated tent was not open. Zane stood outside it for a moment, not sure exactly what to do—it was not as if you could knock on a tent flap. Clearing his throat, he said, “Hello, is anyone here? I was told to report to Ray.”

Inside the tent, Rachael Neumann looked up at the sound of Zane’s voice. Another volunteer, she guessed. There was something faintly familiar about that voice, though.

“Come on in,” she replied. “You must be one of our much-needed volunteers.”

Zane pushed back the flap and stepped into the tent. Straightening up, he looked into the eyes of Rachael Neumann. For a full minute they stared at each other in silent surprise. Zane was the first to recover. In an attempt to move past the awkward moment, he said with a smile, “Tov said I was supposed to talk to Ray. I was not expecting a girl . . . I mean a woman . . . er, a lady.”

Sticking out his hand, he valiantly continued. “We have not been properly introduced, Miss Neumann. Hello, I’m Zane Harrison. It is a pleasure to finally meet you under . . . more normal circumstances.” Zane finished with a sincere smile.

Rachael Neumann stood and met his hand with a firm handshake. Her composure regained, she replied, “The pleasure is mine, Mr. Harrison. It is a surprise to see you here in Capernaum. I would like to thank you for what you did for me last fall. You were incredibly brave. Had you not risked your life for me, I would not be standing here today.”

Embarrassed, Zane cleared his throat. “No need to thank me again, Miss Neumann. Your nationally televised thanks was enough.” He said the last with a rueful look which belied his laugh.

With a mischievous smile in turn, she replied, “How else was I to thank you? You disappeared so quickly after helping me I couldn’t think of any other way.”

“How can you use my help on the dig?”

Rachael took the change of subject in stride. “We need a wheelbarrow man to haul the sifted debris up the trail, across the road to a shallow ravine which the park service wants filled in. We also have need of sifters and screening loaders. I hope you aren’t opposed to hard, tedious work.”

With a frank look Zane said, “That’s what I’m here for. I hope I can be of use. What time do I report for duty in the morning?”

“We start at eight a.m. and finish up around four. There’s a lunch break for half an hour. You must provide all your own meals. Any other questions?”

“No, I can’t think of anything else,” Zane replied. “I will see you in the morning then, thank you.”

Rachael watched him leave. Standing there, she mentally judged her perceptions of the young man against their previous meeting and her expectations. He was confident, yet courteous. He had been first to try to smooth over the awkward moment of their meeting. On balance, she thought he seemed like a decent sort. And taller than she remembered him. He had a strong, sincere look about him that she liked. Mr. Harrison, she thought to herself, tomorrow we will see what kind of stuff you are made of.

Zane walked up the short trail to the volunteer camp. Choosing a level area, he cleared it of small stones and debris. Walking back up to the parking lot, he opened the trunk and retrieved his duffel bag and two backpacks. One backpack had his camp gear and the other his climbing gear. The duffel held his clothes and a small amount of food. He would have to make a trip to the store in the next day or two for more food.

Once back at the campsite, Zane set up his small tent and unrolled his sleeping bag. In one corner of the tent he set the rest of his camping gear, and in the other his climbing gear. The duffel bag he used for a makeshift pillow. When he was comfortable with the arrangement, he zipped his tent up and walked out to the edge of the campsite. Finding a large, flat rock, he sat down to watch the sun set over the Golan Heights behind the Sea of Galilee. There were a few clouds in the western sky over the sea. The sun cast rays of crimson, orange, and purple over the sparkling waters. All at once, the sun set with an amazing burst of color and light. Zane returned to his tent in the twilight and turned in for the evening.

Chapter 44

The next morning, Zane awoke at about seven. Grabbing some beef jerky, bread, and a bottle of water, he pulled on a warm sweater and set out to explore. On the way out of his tent he also grabbed his tattered straw hat and hung it around his neck. He didn’t need it yet, but he was sure he would before the day was over. He had read that the Capernaum area had several springs of water, some drinkable and others not due to the high salinity. He wasn’t sure where they were, but he hoped to find them. He set out along the shore of Galilee heading north. He walked about a half-mile, then headed inland. Without much success in finding the springs, Zane turned his steps back toward the dig.

He returned to the dig site at about five minutes to eight, his blood warm and his body fully awake. At the debris-sifting area, he could see that work was already underway for the day. As he got closer, he noticed Rachael working over a screen. She looked up and greeted him with a friendly “Good morning, Mr. Harrison, how were your accommodations?”

“Good morning, Miss Neumann. My accommodations were good enough. I slept well, and I am ready to get to work. How can I help?”

Rachael pointed to the large pile of debris a short distance from the screens. “We’ve sifted all that dirt and rock—it’s ready to be dumped. Just follow the trail up the hill over the road. You’ll see the dump site further up on your right.”

Zane noted several of the other staff members looking over with interest. Rachael introduced Zane to the others and then pointed to the wheelbarrow. “There is your instrument of torture for the day. See how you can do with it. When you can’t handle it anymore, we’ll put you on a sifting team.”

The rest of the members of the team had stopped working and were watching the exchange. He wondered if it was because of their previous history or just simple curiosity over a new volunteer. As Rachael turned back to her screen, she said “Good luck with that!” Was it his imagination, or was there an unnatural lilt in her voice? Something was a little bit off here. The rest of the team was trying hard not to appear too curious, but they all seemed to be watching him.

Shrugging his shoulders, Zane walked over toward the wheelbarrow. Someone had already loaded it for him, and it was facing the trail. As he got closer, he knew why they were all so curious. Whoever had loaded the wheelbarrow had done so heavily to the front and one side. A small rock was parked under the front wheel. Someone was playing a practical joke on him. An enthusiastic new volunteer, eager to show off, would naturally grab hold of the wheelbarrow’s handles and try to take off up the hill to the dumping area. With the lopsided load and the rock in front of the wheel, they would instead steer the load right into the ground.

Zane smiled to himself. This was not the first time he’d had this trick played on him. He had grown up in his parents’ plant nursery and had used a wheelbarrow since shortly after he could walk. To be sure, it wasn’t full-sized, but as he had grown and gotten stronger over the years, the wheelbarrows had gotten bigger—and he had become an expert charioteer. The wheelbarrow in front of him was a worn, medium-sized affair with wooden handles and a metal load bucket.

Approaching from the side, he unobtrusively slid the rock out from under the wheel with the toe of his left boot as he walked by. He doubted his expectant audience was able to see this subtle act from their angle. Zane also noted the boot tracks around the wheelbarrow—there was only one set, and he would remember them well. Two people could play this game.

With a smooth natural movement, he grabbed the right handle with his right hand and lifted the wheelbarrow by that one handle only. With his left hand, he reached back and grabbed his straw hat from around his neck, placing it on his head as he walked the first few steps with just his right hand steering. Reaching down with his left hand, he grabbed the other handle, gave a violent shake, and rebalanced the load before he continued on his way up the hill. As he left, his back to his audience, he heard a couple of quiet exclamations. Before he passed out of hearing range, he could hear the laughs and ribbing someone was getting for the failed practical joke.

He chuckled to himself. The one-handled wheelbarrow trick required two things: a wheelbarrow loaded to the front and heavy on one side, and an incredibly strong grip. The first criterion the booted jokester had provided. The final part of the equation Zane had acquired over the years as a rock-climbing enthusiast. He remembered several years ago when Sam, David, and he had challenged each other to see who could be the first to walk a loaded wheelbarrow around one-handed. Zane had been the first to master it, but it had taken him four weeks of practice. It took David another week and poor Sam three months. David and he had really enjoyed razzing Sam about it for those weeks. Zane laughed again with the memory.

* * *

Back at the screen, Rachael’s ears were still ringing with the laughter of her coworkers. Zane Harrison had turned the tables on her completely. With reluctant admiration, she had to admit he had pulled off a pretty neat trick. She had never heard of, let alone seen, someone operating a loaded wheelbarrow with one hand. Yet he had accomplished it with complete ease, and she didn’t even get the impression he was trying to show off—it was just a naturally fluid motion. Even though Rachael had never tried it herself, she knew instinctively it must take incredible strength.

Well, she really shouldn’t be surprised. That day he had rescued her, he had made an impossible leap and nailed a two-finger handhold sixty feet up a cliff without any backup rope. She shook her head. She had underestimated this young man again, and for some reason it aggravated her. He didn’t play by the rules. Heroic young men were supposed to stick around to receive accolades from their rescued maidens. New volunteers were supposed to spill the wheelbarrow to the subdued laughter of the camp staff. Zane Harrison wasn’t like any young man she had ever met, and that bothered her.

* * *

Zane pushed the wheelbarrow up the trail and over the road to the dump site. He was naturally observant and over the years had developed this gift. Along the way he noted the plants, trees, and wildlife he encountered. He could smell a faint scent which he surmised must be the white mustard plants he saw.

He had gone about a quarter-mile before he finally saw the dump site. A substantial amount of dirt had already been dumped there. In the loose dirt he noticed the tracks of his booted prankster. Casting about for more signs, he realized these were the only boot tracks besides his own. Whoever had tried to play the practical joke on him was no slacker, that was for sure.

After emptying his load, Zane turned and headed back down the trail. Once again at the pile of debris, Zane loaded his wheelbarrow and headed back up the trail. He noted all the staff were busily engaged this time and did not seem to be aware of his presence—all but Rachael. She had glanced up as he came back down the trail.

It wasn’t until the fourth trip that Zane noticed Rachael looking down at her watch when he returned. Every trip after that he saw her check the time. It was now noon, and Zane had made sixteen trips. With loading, he was averaging four trips an hour. By lunchtime he was hungry and pleasantly tired. Setting aside the wheelbarrow, he walked over to the screening tables and Rachael Neumann.

“Miss Neumann, I am going to take my lunch break now. I’ll be back in half an hour.”

Rachael responded with cool cordiality. “That’s fine, Mr. Harrison. You put in a good morning’s work—have you had enough of the wheelbarrow for one day? I can put someone else on it.” She said the last if it were a challenge.

“No, I am fine. I like the work, actually. It brings back fond memories. I’ll see you in half an hour, then.”

As he was turning away, he looked down and saw Rachael’s boot tracks around the table she was working over. Zane had found his prankster as well as his fellow wheelbarrow charioteer. Looking up, he caught her glance and gave her a warm smile. “It seems I’m not the only one who likes to drive a wheelbarrow.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“You’ve dumped quite a lot of dirt up that trail yourself, Miss Neumann. That run is quite a push with a full wheelbarrow.”

The confused look on her face was replaced with surprise. “How did you know I had been dumping up there?”

He pointed to her feet. “Well, unless someone else wears the same kind and size of boot, your tracks gave it away. I found those tracks along the trail, at the dump site, and around my wheelbarrow this morning.” He smiled and started to turn away again.

She spoke, her voice pulling him back around. “How did you do that wheelbarrow trick this morning anyway? I’ve been around a lot of wheelbarrow drivers in my life, and I have never seen someone do what you did.”

Zane gave a hearty laugh. “One summer my buddies and I bet each other on who could be the first to push a loaded wheelbarrow one-handed. It took a lot of practice, but we all were eventually able to accomplish it.”

Rachael couldn’t help but feel the warmth and sincerity of his recollection. “You know,” she said, “I won’t hear the end of what you did this morning. They,” she indicated the rest of the team, “won’t let me forget your turning my prank back on me.”

Zane, with a warm light of genuine good humor in his eyes, replied, “If I were them I wouldn’t either.” Turning with a smile on his face, he headed back up to his tent and a simple lunch of canned tuna and crackers.

* * *

From the door of his tent, Efran Finkelstein watched the exchange between Rachael and Zane. He knew of their history and wondered if he could somehow use this to his advantage. But for now he would just watch. Jacob Neumann had not used any of his considerable influence to get his daughter her position on this dig. Reluctantly, Efran had to admit she had earned her place. But if Miss Neumann were to behave scandalously, it would be an embarrassment to her father. A word here, a hint at the right time there, and a reputation could be tarnished and credibility damaged. He must move carefully, though—these types of maneuvers could backfire if not handled correctly. With a chuckle he said to himself, “I will be waiting and watching, Miss Neumann. Waiting and watching.”

Efran turned his thoughts to more pressing matters. Over the past few weeks, the dig had progressed well. They had lain a grid over the main dig site and uncovered more of the walls of the ancient dwelling. They had a pretty good idea of the overall layout and dimensions of the house. A house was what they supposed it was, anyway. As of yet, they had not found any real identifying artifacts to conclusively place it in the first century or prove it to be a dwelling. The most interesting thing so far was what appeared to be an entrance to a lower level, possibly a basement or cellar of some kind. Over the next few days they would be removing the rocks, dirt, and debris from this opening. Hopefully, they would find something of value down there. Turning back into his tent, he let the flap close as he sat down at his makeshift desk to work on his reports.

Chapter 45

Tel Aviv, Israel

Kadeem Malouf, the Baker, returned home from Jordan that evening. He had been a little worried about leaving the magnet on, but he found nothing amiss when he opened the secret room. Removing the section of his pipe that connected to the city’s sewer main, the Baker reached inside with his long rubber gloves. His fingers searching through the smelly, slow-moving water, he found four of the leaden capsules.

In the bakery sink upstairs, he washed the leaden objects with hot soapy water and dried them with a towel. Climbing the stairs to his living quarters, he opened a secret drawer in his desk and placed the capsules inside. As he was about to close the drawer, he noticed a marking on one of the capsules. This was unusual. There had never been a marking before. Picking it up and looking closer, he saw it was marked with the number thirteen.

The Baker gave an involuntary shudder. He had always been a superstitious man, and he considered the number thirteen unlucky. What was it they called the fear of the number thirteen—triskaidekaphobia? Dropping the capsule back in the drawer as if it had burned his fingers, he closed and locked it. This was an ill omen. The sooner he got rid of these capsules the better. To that end, he had better check his messages to see if there were any special instructions with this lot.

Turning on his computer, the Baker downloaded the appropriate junk mail from his Google e-mail account. Placing the picture in his version of the Anaj encryption software, he entered the current New Lotto numbers and his personal identification number. The picture disintegrated on the screen, and a message appeared.

Send the unmarked capsules by regular courier. The capsule marked with 13 send to:

Dubai World Trade Center

P.O. Box 4100

Dubai, United Arab Emirates

The Baker memorized the address and deleted the message from his computer. Looking at the secret drawer in his desk, his scalp started to prickle. He was going to get rid of that capsule first thing in the morning when he was done his baking for the day. Right now, he needed to get the bread rising and the batter mixed for the pastries.

Across the street, Marcus Nayat and his surveillance team watched the bakery. They could tell the Baker had moved the capsules because the signal strength on their receivers had increased. They guessed he had retrieved the capsules from the sewer and now had them stashed in the house somewhere. If they could pull this off, they would, at the least, be able to interrupt an advanced spy network inside Israel. If they got really lucky, they might be able to turn one or more of the agents and infiltrate whichever organization this network of spies belonged to.

Marcus looked through his infrared scope. Still only one warm body working on the ground floor. The Baker’s help would not arrive until four a.m.

At four, the Baker finished his baking for the day. He turned over bakery operations to his staff, who had just arrived. Hurrying upstairs, he took out the capsules from his secret drawer. The three unmarked capsules he placed in an unmarked envelope. The capsule marked with the number thirteen he placed in another envelope and addressed as directed. Walking back downstairs with the envelopes, he waited for Hassan. Hassan was a regular customer every morning, one of the first in the door. He would purchase one cup of black coffee and a thick crusted loaf of Turkish bread called frangola.

This morning, Hassan was his second customer to walk in. The Baker excused the salesclerk for a few moments and waited on Hassan himself. Hassan ordered his customary coffee and frangola and handed the Baker a ten-shekel note. The Baker handed back the appropriate change plus a one-hundred-shekel note hidden by the other change. The note was the signal as well as payment for Hassan’s services. Without a word of acknowledgment or greeting, he handed over the coffee and a paper bag with the frangola. Underneath the bread in the bottom of the bag were the two envelopes. With a barely perceptible grunt of thanks, Hassan walked out the door with his breakfast.

Across the street, Marcus and his team were ready to move. The tracking devices in the capsules had moved again and were back on the ground level of the bakery. Speaking into his radio, Marcus said, “Unit 1 standby, the package is on the move.”

“Unit 1 here. We have the signal and are standing by.” Unit 1 was in a small, well-used compact car fifty feet up the street with an unobstructed view of the bakery. Two minutes later, they saw Hassan leave the bakery. He got onto a KTM motorcycle and headed into traffic. Unit 1 followed at a discreet distance. Unit 2 also followed, but two streets over on a parallel course.

After several turns, Hassan entered the on-ramp for Highway 1 and headed south toward Jerusalem. Hassan stayed on the highway, passing through the outskirts of Jerusalem, and entered the West Bank. After passing through the checkpoints, he headed for Jericho.

Every mile further, Marcus knew it was likely Hassan was headed for Jordan via the Allenby/Hessein Bridge Crossing. Providing for that eventuality, Marcus had an Arab agent with a Jordanian passport ready and waiting in Jericho. No one with an Israeli passport could enter Jordan at the Allenby Crossing, so Units 1 and 2 would have to break off.

Marcus, riding in Unit 2, handed over the pursuit to Unit 3 in Jericho. Hassan continued through Jericho to the Allenby Crossing. Entering Jordan, he took Jordanian Highway 40 into Amman. Following a mile behind, Unit 3 entered Amman a minute later.

Hassan entered Jordan and stopped to get gas for his motorcycle. After filling up, he took the bread out of the bag in his backpack, and setting it aside, checked for the envelope. To his surprise, he found two envelopes instead of only one. Clipped to one of the envelopes was a note which directed him to mail it to Dubai. The other envelope was to be delivered to the normal contact in Jordan.

Hassan returned the envelopes to his backpack and headed out. A few miles further on, he stopped at the local post office and mailed one of the envelopes to Dubai. Continuing on, Hassan drove his bike into the heart of Amman. After another five miles and numerous turns, he stopped at the Grand Husseini Mosque in the heart of downtown Amman. Walking back to the administrative offices, he gave the last envelope to his contact and left without saying a word.

Unit 3 watched as Hassan stopped at the post office. According to the receiver Unit 3 was watching, one of the capsules was left at the post office.

Unit 3 pulled a phone out of his pocket and called Marcus. “Sir, the subject has left one of the capsules at an Amman post office. Do you want me to follow the subject and the remaining three capsules?”

“Yes, Unit 3, follow the subject as far as you can without being noticed.”

After several more miles, Unit 3 watched as Hassan stopped and entered the Grand Husseini Mosque. He found a nearby parking space and stopped. He would wait for further movement. The transmitters in the capsules were capable of being read up to three miles away. This should allow him enough time should they unexpectedly start to move again.

Marcus, in Unit 2, headed back to headquarters from Jericho. He assessed the situation. Unit 3 was awaiting further developments in Amman, and one of the capsules was on its way to another location via the Jordanian postal system. If they could tag them when the Baker sent out messages again, Marcus would send two units into Jordan. Maybe then they could follow the other capsule to its destination. Until then, Unit 3 would be watching from Jordan.

Chapter 46

Capernaum, Israel

After lunch, Zane returned to the dig’s screening area. Walking up to Rachael, he indicated the wheelbarrow and matter-of-factly asked, “Miss Neumann, do you have a full-sized wheelbarrow I could use? I could get a lot more dirt moved every trip if I had one. That kiddy-barrow you have there is okay, but not as efficient.”

Rachael looked up in mild surprise and with an even voice replied, “I’ll see what I can find for you tonight, Mr. Harrison.” With a touch of sarcasm she said, “For now though, you will have to use the ‘kiddy-barrow’ because it is all I have here.”

“No problem,” he replied, “just trying to get done as much as possible with every trip.”

Returning to the pile, Zane attacked it with renewed vigor. By four p.m. he had dumped another fifteen loads of debris. He did not see Rachael when he returned from his last trip, so he just left the wheelbarrow leaned up against the pile and returned to his tent. He put on a fresh pair of socks and headed down to the dig site. Some of the team was still working. Most of the activity was focused on the opening to the cellar they had discovered. They had removed about two feet of debris from the opening and exposed four steps.

Zane walked around the site, trying to stay out of the way. He noted the exposed outline of the dwelling. Frankly, he thought to himself, it took some imagination to identify the building. Not much of the first layer of stones remained of the foundation, and many of those that did were broken or no longer aligned. In his mind, he tried to rebuild an imaginary house over the outline. Who had lived here? What strange tales could these stones tell if they could speak? Picking up a handful of dirt, he smelled it, then let it fall through his fingers to the ground. The promised land, he thought to himself. So much history, so many tears, a land with such an incredible future.

Leaving the dig site, he walked up the trail to the parking lot. He retrieved his computer and set off again down to the shore of the Galilee and the park service pier. Walking out on the pier, he sat down at the edge, hanging his feet over the side and relaxing for a few minutes before turning on his computer. Opening the file with his research paper notes, he read over the conclusions he had reached so far about Daniel’s prophecy.

Over the winter months, he had worked out what he considered a reasonable outline of the chronological details of the prophecy. According to Daniel 9:24, the entire prophecy was contained in seventy “weeks”—each “week” usually considered to be a period of seven years. The verse read:

Seventy weeks are determined upon thy people and upon thy holy city, to finish the transgression, and to make an end of sins, and to make reconciliation for iniquity, and to bring in everlasting righteousness, and to seal up the vision and prophecy, and to anoint the most Holy.

Verse 24 gave six goals which were to be accomplished during the seventy-weeks period of time. Zane underlined “during.” Verse 25 stated that “Messiah the Prince” would come after the first seven weeks. Verse 26 stated the Messiah was to be “cut off” after the sixty-second “week.” Since the sixty-two weeks followed the first seven weeks, it was reasonable to assume the Messiah was “cut off” after the sixty-ninth week. The final one week of the prophecy concerned an unidentified “he” who confirmed a covenant with the “many.” Most scholars believed the “he” was a yet future “anti-christ.” Zane wrote out a brief equation:

Zane looked over his outline again. This was the same outline he had originally pinned over his desk at college. Now, under point 2, it contained the additional information as outlined in his notes. There were several additional questions he needed answers to, but for now he was satisfied with the general outline of the chronological details.

As water lapped around his feet, Zane rewrote some of his notes. Since completing the second point of his outline, he had been working on the third point: the time aspect of the prophecy. He had been pursuing this for the past several weeks now. What he had been struggling with lately was the time units, or the so-called “weeks.” The Hebrew term used was shabuwa or shabua. Literally, it meant seven or sevens. So the prophecy was for a total time of seventy “sevens.”

Seven whats? Zane asked himself. Most Christian writers believed the shabuwa represented seven literal years. So they figured the total time of the prophecy was four-hundred-and-ninety years. But as Zane had already proven, there was no reasonable starting point past 520 BC for the going forth of the commandment. Thus it was impossible to make the prophecy applicable to Jesus, because his birth did not take place until at the earliest 4–5 BC, and his ministry did not begin until at least 26–27 AD. The four-hundred-and-ninety years fell well short of the five-hundred-and-twenty years necessary to lead to Christ.

Zane sighed. If the prophecy did not concern Jesus, then who was the “Messiah” of Daniel 9? Could the assumption that the shabuwa or “sevens” represented literal years be wrong? If not years, then what?

Zane heard someone walking down the pier. As the steps approached, they hesitated and then stopped. Zane looked up in pleasant surprise to see Rachael Neumann standing there, her sandals hanging from one hand. The reflected light of the lowering sun on the gently rolling water cast a shimmering light on her attractive face, accentuating her light green eyes. Looking up at her, he realized that while she was undoubtedly a fine-looking young woman, there was something else about her that he found attractive. Maybe it was her quiet, cool confidence, or something more, something intangible but just as compelling.

“Good evening, Mr. Harrison. Do you mind if I sit down?”

“No, by all means,” he said warmly, “please sit down. And please, call me Zane—my dad is Mr. Harrison. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Miss Neumann?”

Rachael sat down a few feet away and hung her bare feet over the side of the pier. Zane watched as the breeze from the Sea of Galilee caught a few strands of her dark hair, blowing it into her face. She brushed it away and replied, “I often come down here to watch the sunset. I saw you sitting here and thought it would be rude to pass by without at least trying to be friendly.”

Zane laughed. “You make it sound as if being friendly is a challenge for you.”

Rachael smiled in turn. “No, it’s not really that, it’s just that I am happy with my own company, and sometimes people misinterpret that as being aloof or snooty. I can be friendly and engaging if I try.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, enjoying the silence and the beauty of their surroundings. Both were loath to break the silence and interrupt the peace of the moment. The gentle sound of water splashing against the pier was soothing. In the distance, a bird could be heard calling. The damp freshness of the water mixed with the smell of the desert, and a hint of mustard and olive trees completed the unique scent.

Finally Zane broke the silence, his curiosity getting the best of him. “Miss Neumann, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

As if brought back to reality from a peaceful dream, she replied, “Depends on the question. And do call me Rachael, if you don’t mind. Miss Neumann sounds a little formal considering you’ve already held me in your arms.” She said the last in jest, trying to be funny. It didn’t quite come out right, and she was a little embarrassed.

“I was wondering about the onion. What was the onion for?”

Rachael blinked in confusion; it was not exactly the question she had been expecting. “The onion? What are you talking about?”

Zane chuckled softly as he replied, “After the paramedics took you away in the ambulance, I went back to collect my rope and gear at the cliff. I found your backpack, and besides the book of Psalms there was an onion. What was the onion for?”

Rachael’s rich laugh danced on the water as she replied, “It was for eating.”

“Eating?” he asked.

“Yes, I like to eat sweet onions. They aren’t really expensive, they’re good for you, and they keep the young men at a distance.”

She said the last with that lilt in her voice again. Zane, with a good measure of skepticism, replied, “Good thing then you didn’t eat that onion before you made that free solo climb of yours.”

She laughed richly. “Oh, but Mr. Harrison, I had two onions in that backpack.”

Zane looked over at her. She sure made a fitting picture there with the smile in her eyes, the light of the sun setting in her face, and the breeze blowing through her hair. It was one of those pictures he knew would bring him back to this point in time no matter where he was or how much time had passed.

Rachael pointed to the computer on his lap. “Brought your homework with you?”

Zane looked down at his notes. With a shrug and a look of frustration he said, “Yes, this is a research paper I’ve been doing for one of my classes, and I’ve reached a point where I’m kind of stuck. The paper has gone in a direction I didn’t expect, and now I am—well, frankly, I am unsure, confused, and more than a little disappointed.”

Rachael looked at him with interest. In the time since she had met Zane Harrison, not once had he seemed to be unsure, confused, or stuck. In fact, it was just the opposite. “If you don’t mind my asking, what is your paper about?”

Zane looked at Rachael to see if her interest was real or feigned. Only after reading a sincere interest in her expression did he start to explain.

“At the beginning of the school year, my professor gave each of us an assignment to choose one messianic prophecy from the Bible and then build a reasonable case, based on the available evidence, for or against its fulfillment in Jesus Christ. I chose the prophecy of Daniel’s seventy weeks. I started out thinking it was pretty much an open-and-shut case—most Christians seem to think it is. Instead, it’s turned out to be the opposite. In the first place, I found that the chronology of Ezra, Nehemiah, and the so-called ‘Artaxerxes’ of Christian interpretation did not match with the evidence of the Scripture. Ezra and Nehemiah, it turns out, were contemporaries of Darius, son of Hystaspes. Most accepted interpretations place Ezra and Nehemiah as contemporaries of Artaxerxes Longimanus. Unfortunately, in order to do this they have to ignore and modify several key chronological points. Then, to top it all off, Darius Zarindast comes up with his treasured artifact that does in fact show that Ezra and Nehemiah were contemporaries of Darius Hystaspes. So what started out as an attempt on my part to show that Jesus Christ did in fact fulfill the prophecy of seventy weeks has ended up disproving it.

“Not willing to give up, I’ve started the paper completely over. So far, I’ve identified the starting point and a general outline of certain key chronological events. What has me stuck is the measure of time used in the prophecy. You see, I really can’t be completely unbiased here. I want to see if I can find a way that Jesus fulfills the prophecy without sacrificing reasonable scriptural evidence. So far, it doesn’t seem possible. The only reasonable contextual starting point is in 520 BC during the reign of Darius Hystaspes. No matter how you try to stretch it, four-hundred-and-ninety years from Darius Hystaspes does not reach to the time of Christ. I want to believe Jesus fulfilled the prophecy, but I don’t see how it can work.”

Zane finished describing his conundrum with a flourish. Rachael had listened attentively to Zane’s entire explanation. For a few moments, she thought about what he had said. She did not know much about the book of Daniel in general, or the prophecy of seventy weeks in particular. But she could see Zane’s predicament.

She replied, “So you set out to confirm something you already believed, and you ended up creating doubt instead.” Zane looked intently into her eyes, and Rachael knew she had hit the mark. Zane’s frustration was more about the doubt he had created in his own mind than the lack of evidence he’d found concerning Jesus’s fulfillment of the prophecy.

“Zane, you don’t have to be afraid of the truth,” she said.

With a knowing look of acknowledgment he replied, “My father used those exact words. He said for me to keep looking, and I would likely find an explanation that would provide a solution.”

“Sounds like good advice to me,” Rachael replied. “You know the book of Psalms you returned to me? My mother always used to tell me that there were few men who had more challenges, failures, and triumphs than King David. She said she could always find a psalm which would encourage her no matter what the circumstances.”They were both silent for a few minutes. Then in a soft, clear voice she began to recite a psalm her mother had taught her:

––––––––

“YHWH, how are they increased that trouble me! Many are they that rise up against me. Many there be which say of my soul, There is no help for him in God. Selah. But thou, YHWH, art a shield for me; my glory, and the lifter up of mine head. I cried unto YHWH with my voice, and he heard me out of his holy hill. Selah. I laid me down and slept; I awaked; for YHWH sustained me. I will not be afraid of ten thousands of people, that have set themselves against me round about. Arise, YHWH; save me, O my God: for thou hast smitten all mine enemies upon the cheek bone; thou hast broken the teeth of the ungodly. Salvation belongeth unto YHWH: thy blessing is upon thy people. Selah.”

As the final words of Psalm 3 hung softly in the air, Rachael got up and stepped into her sandals. She turned to go, and Zane said, “Thank you, Rachael, for that . . . and thank you for listening.”

She smiled. “Good night, Zane. Don’t let the seeds of doubt grow in your heart. ‘Trust in YHWH with all thine heart, and lean not unto your own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct they paths.’”

As she walked away, Zane prayed a silent prayer. Father, help me to have the faith of David. My own understanding is lacking, Father. Please don’t let these seeds of doubt grow and bear fruit. Direct me in your paths. I ask you in Jesus’s name. Closing his computer, he got up and returned it to his car. Walking the dim path to his tent, he turned in for the night.

Chapter 47

In the morning, Zane was back at the pile of dig debris. To his surprise, a brand-new full-sized wheelbarrow was sitting by the pile. Zane smiled to himself. It looked like Rachael had graduated him from the kiddy-barrow.

Filled to capacity, the new wheelbarrow was a real challenge to maneuver up the trail to the waste dump. By noon, Zane had caught up to the sifters; his pile was gone. His legs and arms were tired and sore, but he was happy. He loved the feel of his tired hands and legs. Hard physical exertion always made him feel alive.

With a contagious smile, Zane walked over to the sifters and stood there watching them work. Each sifting table had two members of the dig team sifting through small stones and clumps of hard earth. Rachael was working two tables over to his left. The table he was standing at was occupied by an older lady and middle-aged man.

“Have you found anything interesting today?” Zane asked.

Without looking up, the lady replied, “Only a few pieces of broken pottery and a couple of beads. Yesterday, though, we found a prutah.”

“What’s a prutah?” Zane asked, interested.

“A small bronze coin minted by the Roman procurators. During the first Jewish revolt some were even minted by the Jews themselves. A loaf of bread would cost approximately ten prutot.”

“Are they rare?”

The woman replied, “No, they are not particularly rare as far as coinage goes for that era.”

Zane watched them work for a few more minutes before wandering to Rachael’s table. Rachael worked efficiently through the debris, her shapely hands moving with skill through the rough dirt and gravel. Loose earth smaller than a quarter-inch fell through the screen into a wheelbarrow underneath. The larger rocks and debris were sorted until she was satisfied nothing had been missed. Then she dumped the larger debris and rocks into another wheelbarrow.

After each table had been sorted, both wheelbarrows were dumped in the pile Zane had been working on the last two days. Those wheelbarrows were then taken back to the dig site for loading and exchanged for more excavations from the dwelling. The process went on and on in a seemingly endless cycle.

Rachael finally looked up from her sifting.

“I am finished with the pile for now. What else needs to be done?” he asked.

She glanced over at the place where the pile used to be and looked back at Zane. “Looks like you put your new wheelbarrow to good use. If you want, you can help us sift here after lunch, or you can start hauling the larger debris.” She pointed to a pile of rocks and larger stones about a hundred feet away. This pile came directly from the excavations at the dig site. They were large enough that no sifting was required. The pile was half again as large as the first pile had been.

Shrugging his shoulders, Zane said, “Looks like I have my work cut out for me there. I’ll tackle it after lunch. Thanks for the wheelbarrow, by the way. I like it much better than the other one.”

With a challenge and a bit of humor in her expression, Rachael indicated the new wheelbarrow and asked, “So what do you call that type of wheelbarrow, Mr. Harrison?”

“Well,” he replied facetiously, “it doesn’t quite measure up to a full sized man-barrow, so I guess I will have to call it a girl-barrow.”

“What exactly does a man-barrow look like, Mr. Harrison?”

With a straight face Zane replied, “Well, where I come from we call it a dump truck.” He laughed as Rachael rolled her eyes.

Dismissively, she replied, “I’ll see you after lunch, Mr. Harrison. Then we’ll see how many loads of rocks you and your girl-barrow can take up that hill this afternoon.”

For the next two days, Zane hauled load after load of rocks and large debris. He only saw Rachael at a distance, as the pile was some ways from the sifting tables. The past four days of work were beginning to tell on him. He had pushed himself extremely hard, and he could tell he needed a good rest. Tomorrow would be Friday and his last day of work at the dig site. By lunchtime tomorrow he figured he would be done with the larger pile. Then, finally, he would try his hand at sifting. He had done two men’s work the past four days and was satisfied with his accomplishment.

Ruefully, he realized he’d gotten a little soft the past couple of years at college. He had several small blisters on his hands and one very large one on his right foot. To be fair, he had pushed himself harder than normal. Was he trying to impress someone? he asked himself. He hadn’t consciously thought of it that way, but he supposed he was trying to impress Rachael. That was food for thought. Why was he trying to impress Rachael Neumann? She was nice enough, but impress her?

Okay, he admitted. His mild interest in her had grown a little over the past few days. She was clearly good-looking, hardworking, and intelligent. Shaking his head, he muttered, “Enough of that nonsense, Zane. You’ll be gone in a few more days and will forget about her. Yes, and she was a good listener, gave good advice . . . you sentimental fool. You’re losing it. You’ve only had one decent conversation and you’re thinking like this? Man alive, Zane, get ahold of yourself.”

Shaking his head in genuine disgust, Zane put down the wheelbarrow for the day. Weary and sore, he slowly trudged up the hill to his tent. Taking off his work boots, he gingerly inspected his blister. He had seen worse. A few minutes in the cool waters of the Galilee might sooth the burn. Putting a clean pair of socks on, he slipped into his boots once again, tucking the untied laces into the sides. At the edge of the water he said down, took off the boots again, and gingerly placed his feet into the waters. “Yes, that feels really nice,” he sighed. The water soothed his burning blister and cooled his tired feet.

Looking out across the lake, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was near here that Jesus walked upon the water. Was it near here that he told the disciples to cast in the net and they drew out one-hundred-and-fifty-three fish? And why did the Scripture mention precisely one-hundred-and-fifty-three? Was it just a random number, or was there some symbolic significance to it? He laughed to himself. “Buddy, you have plenty on your plate without trying to explore other mysteries of the Bible.”

Closing his eyes, Zane tried to relax and enjoy the peace and quiet of the moment, shutting out all other thoughts. Finally, his feet sufficiently cool, he pulled them out of the water, and after they had dried, headed up to his tent and much-needed rest.

* * *

Rachael had watched Zane go about his work since the moment he arrived. One thing Zane Harrison left no doubt about was that he was a hard worker. In fact, she had never seen anyone work as hard as he had over the past two days. He worked with single-minded effort and more often than not with a pleasant expression on his face. He genuinely seemed to enjoy the effort.

She had noticed his slight limp this afternoon, but other than that, he had kept up his brutal pace. She guessed he would be done with the large debris pile sometime tomorrow morning. The volunteer coordinator had informed her he would be leaving Sunday. Frankly, she would miss his striking figure driving his “girl-barrow” up the hill. She laughed.

She had seen a lot of volunteers come and go over the past couple of years, and young Mr. Harrison stood out among them. Too bad he lived so far away—he seemed like a person it would be worth getting to know better. Rachael finished with her dig journal and turned out the small light. Lying down on her cot, she soon fell asleep.

Chapter 48

Phoenix, Arizona

Sam sat at his computer looking at the results from his virus. So far, the virus had identified thirty computers using the Anaj encryption software. Eight were in the US, three in the UK, four in Israel, and sixteen in the EU and Africa. He decided to wait another week or two before he passed the information along to David. Right now, he was trying to track down the precise location of each IP address his virus had returned.

Sam was living dangerously, and he knew it. He was confident his hacking of the Ukrainian computer was not traceable back to him. However, he knew that whoever was using this clandestine network would not hesitate to kill him if they found out he was tracking them. Sam weighed the risks and decided he had better take some extra precautions to protect his data just in case. First, he would set up another office far away from this one, not associated with his current business. Then he would duplicate all his systems at that location. He would only work the Ukrainian angle from there. It would be expensive, but well worth the precaution. He had years’ worth of work and valuable client data stored on his servers, and he did not want to lose it should things turn south.

As Sam sat back in his chair, he looked up at the picture hanging over his desk: David, Zane, and himself on their last climbing trip together in Zion National Park. Sam missed those days and wished they could get together more often. They had made a good team, the three of them.

Looking at the picture, Sam had an inspiration. He now had several million dollars in cash, thanks to AQES. He wondered if David and Zane would be interested in becoming partners in a security firm. With David’s connections to law enforcement and the intelligence community and his own connections to the corporate security industry, they could expand into a global security firm. He knew Zane did not have the same background, but he was extremely intelligent, hardworking, and loyal. Sam smiled to himself. Wouldn’t that be something, the three of them back together again. They could call their new firm Tricore Security, or Trident Security or Tri-Global Security. He would think about it some for a few weeks, and if after some prayerful consideration he still felt good about the idea, he would approach David and Zane. Tri-Global Security—yeah, he liked the sound of that.

Chapter 49

Dubai, United Arab Emirates

Darius Zarindast stood looking out through the wall of glass separating him from the panoramic view before him. The perspective from thirteen hundred feet was spectacular. What a difference the months had made! He no longer saw the hazy desert of Dubai, but the lush green fields of an oasis.

In cooperation with the government of the United Arab Emirates, Aquarius Elemental Solutions had begun cultivating large tracts of desert on the outskirts of Dubai. The UAE was on track to becoming the first Arab nation in the Middle East to be agriculturally self-sustaining. In the distance, fields of wheat, barley, and other crops were being grown for the first time. In a few months AES would be harvesting enough grain to feed many of the mouths in Dubai.

Darius knew the Middle East would never be the same again. Unfortunately for many of the innocent down below him, great suffering must first come—so that once and for all, they could throw off the shackles of the Order. The sacrifice was necessary, he told himself, the death of millions so that billions would finally be free. He gritted his teeth, his anger flaring. The Order had made this necessary. It was the only way.

He laughed with cold humor, his thoughts turning to the present state of his global empire. He had borrowed hundreds of billions of dollars using AQES stock as collateral. The greedy bastards had stood in line to loan him the money. The Order thought they owned him now. To be sure they had not gone about it directly, but their hand was in it through their extensive financial associations. He was just playing out the rope they would hang themselves with. What was the saying bankers used? “Loan a man a thousand dollars and it’s his problem. Loan a man a billion dollars and it’s the banks problem.” Well, they had a serious problem now. They just didn’t know it yet.

Turning away from the window, Darius walked across his office and sat back down at his desk. With a few clicks of his mouse, he had a summary of all his financial transactions. So far Dylan had followed the plan flawlessly. AES was the largest corporation in the world. Despite the fact that Darius gave most of their gross sales income away to the Aquarius Fund—or more likely because of it—their stock price had continued to increase steadily since they had gone public with their technology.

It was mid-April, and currently AQES traded at $139.40 a share. Over two billion people had taken part in his private placement share offering so far. They had another six months before the offering closed. By that time, Dylan estimated over 4.5 billion people would have taken advantage of the ten dollar shares.

In Iran, the shares Darius had given to the Iranian people were being sold at a moderate pace unbeknownst to the Iranian people. Since very few people in Iran had access to a brokerage account, the government had decided to first sell the shares and then disperse the proceeds to the people. To this end, an escrow account was set up into which they placed all the proceeds of the stock sales. Once all the shares had been sold for the best price possible, the government of Iran had assured Darius the monies would be dispersed. At the current pace of sales, they would be finished selling their shares in late September. That was cutting it kind of close, but he hoped his brother knew what he was doing.

Turning from the window and the green vista below, Darius once again opened File 13. The next name on his list was Charles Thomson. Thomson’s story was entwined with Benjamin Franklin’s. Born in 1729 in Gorteade, Ireland, Thomson, age ten, came to America with his three brothers. Because their father had died at sea on the journey to America, they all became separated when they landed, and Charles was taken in by a blacksmith of New Castle, Delaware.

In 1774, Charles Thomson was elected secretary of the First Continental Congress. He retained this position through the existence of the Congress until 1789, making him the one contiguous member of the Continental Congress. It was Thomson who was responsible in large part for one of the most famous symbolic displays of the number thirteen in history.

Due to the obvious use of thirteen in the Great Seal of the United States, Darius had researched the seal’s origin. He knew many conspiracy theorists claimed that the reverse side of the seal, with its unfinished thirteen-level pyramid, was originally the seal of Adam Weishaupt’s Illuminati. Darius could not find any credible evidence to support this claim. All evidence indicated their symbol was not the unfinished pyramid under a watchful open eye, but just a point within a circle. Darius considered it a moot issue anyway. The point within the circle was still a primitive symbol representing the eye or phallus, as well as the astrological symbol for the sun. These symbols were all built around the same concept of procreation and renewal, the most basic catalyst for mankind’s evolution toward enlightenment.

Darius looked at the date on the dollar bill in his hand. Surely, no date in the past several centuries held more symbolic significance for the Order: 1776 marked the founding of the Illuminati and a major leap forward in the enlightenment of mankind, as well as the symbolic date for the beginnings of the new American republic. As the Latin phrase at the bottom of the seal stated, Novus Ordo Seclorum, or New Order of the Ages. Darius had learned that many adherents of the Enlightenment philosophy had believed the founding of the United States represented the beginnings of a new golden age in the evolution of mankind, the beginnings of the utopian ideal. No one was more cognitive of this vision than Benjamin Franklin. His enthusiasm and charisma were great factors in the development of early American enlightenment.

While Franklin’s original design for the seal was not chosen, his influence was a great factor in the final design through the work of Franklin’s long-time associate, Charles Thomson. Three committees had worked on a design for the Great Seal. The first committee was appointed in 1776 and consisted of Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, and John Adams. They never came up with a seal which Congress could agree upon. It was not until 1782 that a third committee finally approved a design. The third committee consisted of John Rutledge, Arthur Middleton, and Elias Boudinot. They appointed the heraldic expert William Barton to work on a design, and just five days later he returned with an idea. The pyramid on the reverse side of the seal was borrowed from the continental fifty-dollar currency designed by author, artist, and signer of the Declaration of Independence, Francis Hopkinson, in 1778. Barton’s variation on that design featured a thirteen-level unfinished pyramid with a palm tree on the summit. In ancient Egypt, the date palm (Phoenix dactyifera) and the bennu bird were given the same hieroglyph and were often considered synonymous. Both these symbols represented the phoenix and the idea of renewal or regeneration. This design Barton later changed to just the open “eye of providence” over the unfinished pyramid.

Congress did not approve this design either. It was not until a month later, in June of 1782, that Congress gave all the drawings and papers from all three committees to Charles Thomson, the secretary of the Continental Congress. Thomson was a member of Benjamin Franklin’s private club, called the Junto (joined), which later became the American Philosophical Society. Thomson came up with the final design, incorporating parts of all three committees’ work. It was Thomson who was responsible for placing the open eye inside the capstone and leaving it suspended over the unfinished pyramid. He was also responsible for the Latin phrases on the reverse. Annuit Coeptis—Novus Ordo Seclorum: “He hath Favored—New Order of the Ages.”

Darius wondered how many knew these phrases came from the Roman poet Virgil. The phrase Annuit Coeptis came from the prayer of Ascanius to the god Jupiter: “Jupiter omnipotens, audacibus annue coeptis”—“Jupiter Almighty, favour [my] bold undertakings.”

As Darius’s thoughts turned back to Benjamin Franklin, he acknowledged that Franklin’s propensity for esoteric symbolism had extended beyond his influence on the seal of the United States. Franklin also designed the first continental currency of 1776. The first coinage did not designate a dollar amount, but it was assumed to have represented one dollar. The reverse side of the coinage showed thirteen intertwined circles, each with the name of one of the colonies. This serpentine circle was reminiscent of a serpent eating its tail. The thirteen intertwined circles surrounded another solar disc with a point at its center which contained the words, “We Are One.”

Darius couldn’t help but wonder now if Franklin’s symbolism extended beyond just the Illuminati symbol of a point within a circle to the origins of Masonry at ancient Babel. As a Mason himself at one time, Darius had often wondered how fundamentalist Christians reconciled their claim that America was set up as a Christian nation with the clear symbolism expressed by Franklin and other members of the Order, symbolism which they believed could be traced back to ancient Babylon. To be sure, some of the men of the early American republic were Christians in the sense that they believed Jesus Christ was a historical person.  Heck, if that was the criteria for being a Christian Darius considered himself one. There was little evidence to show that a majority of US founders believed Jesus Christ was the literal Son of God. Most the symbolism was of non-Christian origins as far as he could tell anyway. Darius was no biblical scholar, but the concept of a people who were “one” was first taken from the pages of the Jewish Scriptures. He wondered how many realized that the Hebrew word echad or “one” had a Hebrew numerical value of thirteen.

And they said one to another, Go to, let us make brick, and burn them throughly. And they had brick for stone, and slime had they for morter. And they said, Go to, let us build us a city and a tower, whose top may reach unto heaven; and let us make us a name, lest we be scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth. And YHWH came down to see the city and the tower, which the children of men builded. And YHWH said, Behold, the people is one, and they have all one language; and this they begin to do: and now nothing will be restrained from them, which they have imagined to do. (Genesis 11:3–6)

Darius had learned from Albert Mackey’s History of Freemasonry that the earliest known records of Freemasonry considered Babylon and Nimrod as the originators of “the Craft.” He had copied parts of it into File 13:

The Andersonian and the York Constitutions. In these the form of the Legend is greatly improved. The idea that Masonry was first established with appropriate laws at the Tower of Babel under the superintendence of Nimrod is still preserved . . . This form of the Legend prevailed during perhaps the whole of the 18th century. It became the settled conviction of the Masons of that period that Masonry was instituted at the Tower of Babel by Nimrod and thence propagated to the Chaldeans . . . But about the end of the last century, or, perhaps, still later, about the beginning of the present, this legendary account of the origin of Freemasonry began to be repudiated, and another one, in contradiction of the old manuscripts, was substituted for it . . . Masonry was no longer believed to have originated at the Tower of Babel; the Temple of Jerusalem was considered as the place of its birth; and Solomon and not Nimrod was called the “first Grand Master” . . . Hence, according to this latest form of the Legend, the Tower of Babel is degraded from the prominent place which was given to it in the older forms as the birth-place of Masonry, and becomes simply the symbol of the darkness and ignorance of the profane world as contradistinguished from the light and knowledge to be derived from an initiation into the system of Speculative Masonry. And, again, the Legend of the Craft vindicates its character, and correctly clothes an historical fact in symbolic language, when it portrays Babylonia, which was undoubtedly the fountain of all Semitic science and architecture, as also the birth-place of Operative Masonry.

Darius wondered if Manly P. Hall, the famous Masonic writer, was correct when he said, “Not only were many of the founders of the United States government Masons, but they received aid from a secret and august body existing in Europe which helped them to establish this country for a peculiar and particular purpose known only to the initiated few.”

Darius turned the quote over in his mind. Hall wasn’t some conspiracy nut, but a well-respected Mason. What secret body did these American Masons receive aid from, and what purpose did they have for this country? Was the secret he had been searching for all these years part of this conspiracy? Maybe the symbolism of Benjamin Franklin and Charles Thomson provided clues to that secret destiny. Was the “secret body” Manly P. Hall described the same group that Reverend G.W. Snyder warned George Washington about? Washington’s reply to Reverend Snyder in October of 1798 acknowledged the Illuminati threat, but defended Free Masonry from Reverend Snyder’s charge.

Mount Vernon, October 24, 1798.

Revd Sir: I have your favor of the 17th. instant before me; and my only motive to trouble you with the receipt of this letter, is to explain, and correct a mistake which I perceive the hurry in which I am obliged, often, to write letters, have led you into.

It was not my intention to doubt that, the Doctrines of the Illuminati, and principles of Jacobinism had not spread in the United States. On the contrary, no one is more truly satisfied of this fact than I am.

The idea that I meant to convey, was, that I did not believe that the Lodges of Free Masons in this Country had, as Societies, endeavoured to propagate the diabolical tenets of the first, or pernicious principles of the latter (if they are susceptible of separation). That Individuals of them may have done it, or that the founder, or instrument employed to found, the Democratic Societies in the United States, may have had these objects; and actually had a separation of the People from their Government in view, is too evident to be questioned.

As Darius closed the file, he couldn’t shake the idea that the secret was somehow connected to the symbolism associated with the intrigues of the early American republic. He wondered if the Order had somehow been involved in this as well. What was he missing?

Chapter 50

Capernaum, Israel

Zane rolled out of his sleeping bag with a groan. He hadn’t been this sore since David, Sam, and he had climbed the eleven-pitch, twelve-hundred-foot face in Zion National Park. Sitting up, he did some stretching to loosen up and get the circulation going. Pulling on his boots, he stepped out of the tent and looked around. It was just after sunup, peaceful and still. The only sound he heard was some small bird, maybe a sparrow or wren. As he walked down to the water’s edge, he noted some stirring in the staff campsite. He walked along the shore for about a half-mile, then returned to his tent to get a bite to eat. He guessed he had about fifteen or sixteen more loads to go to finish the large debris pile. He wanted to finish it by noon, so he decided to get an early start. After eating some beef jerky and an apple, he washed it down with a bottle of water and set out to find his wheelbarrow.

By the time he and the full wheelbarrow had reached the dump site, his sore muscles had begun to loosen up. The camp was waking when he returned. On his way past the screening tables, Zane waved to Rachael as she looked up.

Later that morning on his return from the ninth trip for the day, he noticed that no one was at the screening tables. Everyone seemed to be congregated near the main dig site. Zane could see excited gestures from some of those gathered near the entrance to the cellar.

Working his way to the front of the group to find out what the excitement was about, he finally was able to see down into the excavated cellar. Down in the hole, Efran, William Flinders, and Rachael were looking at what appeared to be a large stone at the bottom of the stairs. Zane, not fluent in Hebrew, was having difficulty understanding the excited voices. He only caught bits and pieces of the conversation.

“Rachael,” Zane called down, “what did you find?”

Rachael, her face shining with excitement, replied, “A large piece of stone masonry which reads in part ‘Levi ben Cheleph.’ The rest of the inscription is missing.”

Zane looked questioningly at Rachael. “Is this important?”

“Zane,” Rachael said in a leading voice, “Cheleph is Hebrew for exchange or changing. You would know it by the Greek equivalent, Alphaeus. You know, Levi, the tax collector or customs officer, son of Alphaeus, also called Matthew in the New Testament?”

It took a second to sink in. “You mean the Gospel of Matthew, Matthew?” Zane said incredulously.

“This could well be his house. We will need some sort of confirming evidence to be absolutely certain, but this is an incredibly exciting find.” Rachael turned back to the stone and helped take pictures and notes. Once they had completely documented the find, they would carefully remove it to a secure location for later transport to the Antiquities Museum.

Zane walked back slowly to his wheelbarrow. He intended to finish the pile before lunch, and he had several loads to go. As he hauled the wheelbarrow up the trail, he thought about the find. If it did indeed turn out to be the house of Matthew, then it would really be big news in the biblical archeology community. From here on out, he guessed extra special care would be taken with every piece of debris removed from the site. Zane hoped they would find additional confirmatory evidence. Too bad this was to be his last working day. Maybe he could ask Rachael if she would mind keeping him updated by e-mail after he returned to the States. He would sure like to know if they found more important artifacts.

Tomorrow was the Sabbath, and no work would be done at the site. His plane did not leave until Sunday morning, so he thought he might explore the Arbel Cliffs near Migdol. He’d heard they had some climbing routes there. The cliffs were about five miles south of Capernaum, close enough to hike.

Finally, he finished. It had taken him until one p.m. to haul the rest of the pile up the hill. Parking the wheelbarrow, he walked up to his tent for lunch. He would miss all this when he returned to college. He loved the outdoors and the hard, satisfying work. Thankfully, he only had two more months of college. After that, he still wanted to work in the field of archeology, but he did not know exactly how he was going to proceed. For now, he was just content being part of the whole endeavor as a volunteer.

Zane finished his lunch and headed back down to the screening area. Rachael was not there, so he asked one of the other screeners if he could help. The screener pointed to Rachael’s table. “Rachael will probably not be back today, so you can take her place if you want.”

Zane walked over to Rachael’s screen and began to sort the debris. He worked until just before sundown. He would likely be gone all day on Saturday, so he wanted to say good-bye and thanks to Rachael. Walking over to her tent, he saw the flap was open. Stooping down, he looked in and saw her. Working on her field reports, she sat cross-legged on a small canvas camp chair at her makeshift desk. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail as she read over her reports; in her left hand her fingers unconsciously twirled a pencil. She was so absorbed she did not immediately look up. Zane couldn’t help but smile—he found Rachael Neumann’s personality compelling. She did things, and more often than not she did them well.

“Excuse me, Rachael,” he finally interrupted, “I’ll be leaving Saturday evening, and I just wanted to say good-bye and thank you. I really appreciated the words of encouragement you gave me the other night. I’ve enjoyed my time here.”

Rachael smiled. “Well, Zane, you will be sorely missed. You did the work of two people while you were here. And as for our talk the other night, I enjoyed the conversation. And the company as well.”

Zane hesitated, wanting to ask her for the favor but feeling uncomfortable at the same time. Finally, after an awkward silence during which Rachael intently watched him, Zane said, “Would you . . . I would like to ask you a favor.”

“What?” she asked simply.

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, would you e-mail me any new, exciting discoveries you find here? I would really like to know what’s going on over the next couple of months.”

Rachael warmly smiled and said, “Under one condition. I will make you a trade of sorts. Our talk the other night sparked my interest in the prophecy of Daniel 9. I will trade you my updates from here at the dig site if you will keep me updated on your search for the truth of Daniel 9 and the Messiah.”

Zane looked at her in sincere surprise. “You really want me to keep you up to date on my research?”

“Sure, why not?” she asked. “It’s something I do not know much about but would like to know more.”

Zane stuck out his hand. “You have yourself a deal, Miss Neumann.”

As Zane stepped back to go, Rachael asked, “You said you would be leaving Saturday evening. Will you be staying at the dig tomorrow?”

“No, I am going to hike over to the Arbel Cliffs tomorrow. I’ve heard they have some climbing routes over there. I thought I would check them out.”

Rachael hesitated as if she was going to say something and changed her mind. “Well then, it was a pleasure working with you, Zane. I hope you have a safe trip home. Oh,” she said, tearing off a strip of paper from a pad on her desk. After writing something down, she handed it to him. “That’s my e-mail. I look forward to hearing from you.”

* * *

That evening, Efran returned to his apartment in Tel Aviv to send a report to his contact. He wanted to keep this fish on the hook. The new find would make this dig one of the most important in the Holy Land. Hopefully this would spark the interest of his contact. All he needed now was to find something he could abscond without anyone noticing. He would have to watch extra closely. Once he finished composing and encrypting his message, he sent it on its way to the underworld.

Chapter 51

The next morning, Zane woke and packed some food and water in his climbing pack. Opening his tent door, he looked out. Rachael Neumann sat waiting on the stone he used to watch the sunset.

Smiling, she said, “Good morning, Zane. I was wondering if you minded some company for your hike today.”

Surprised, he said, “Sure, I would like that. But I thought you preferred your own company to that of others?”

“If I remember correctly, I said I am happy with my own company. Anyway, even if I did prefer my own company, isn’t a girl allowed to change her mind?”

Zane was both surprised and pleased at her roguish tone and the unexpected offer of companionship. “By all means, I would be happy to have your company for the day.” Gathering up his things, he closed up his tent and asked, “So which is the best way to go?”

Picking up her own backpack, Rachael replied, “How about we walk along the Galilee to Migdol, and then from there head inland to the cliffs?”

“Sounds good to me,” Zane replied. “Lead the way.”

They headed down the trail, through the dig site, and then to the shore of Galilee. It was a cool, crisp morning, and the sun was just coming over the horizon as they reached the edge of the water. Turning south along the shore, they walked in silence for several minutes. Walking beside Rachael, Zane wondered why she had decided to come along. Not that he minded.

Rachael pointed to a rock along the shore where a bird sat. “A pygmy cormorant,” she said. Overhead, she pointed. “A squacco heron—they live in the salt marshes. If we’re lucky enough, we might see a long-billed pipit around the Arbel Mountains.”

“You seem to know a lot about the birds of this area,” Zane said with curiosity in his voice.

Rachael replied, “My mother, father, and I used to go birdwatching when I was young.”

“Not anymore?” Zane asked.

A shadow of sadness crossing her face, Rachael replied, “No, we haven’t gone since my mother passed away. It just didn’t seem the same without her.”

He paused, taking in that information. “I’m sorry. It must have been hard on you.”

“Yes, it was, but it was harder on my father. Ima—my mother—was the love of his life. They were one when together and never happy when apart. He still has a hard time talking about her. He misses her so much I believe it hurts him to talk about it.”

“When did she pass away?”

“When I was ten,” Rachael replied. “It’s funny—I always thought I remembered her well. But I’m only recently learning to see the woman she was through adult eyes. You know, the memories I have of my mother as a ten-year-old are not the same as I would have had as an adult. I remember her as gentle, beautiful, and motherly. But lately my father has been telling me stories of a woman I did not know. He says Ima was one of the most intelligent, competitive, and strong women he ever knew. Frankly, it’s hard to reconcile that to the picture of her in my mind.”

Zane listened as Rachael talked. He couldn’t imagine the loss, pain, or insecurity one must feel in losing a parent at such a young age—but talking about the memories seemed to bring her joy.

Rachael continued, smiling. “Just recently my father told me of a time when they had to call a plumber. Abba and Ima had been married for a couple of years at that time. He was at work, and Ima was at home when the plumber, Mario, arrived to unstop our kitchen sink. When my dad retold it, he couldn’t help but laugh. Mario was a handsome Italian with a reputation for being quite a ladies’ man in town. This they only learned later. He showed up at the door, and when my mother answered, he kind of lost his head over her. Now, looking back at my mother with the eyes of a woman, I can only imagine what that hot-blooded Italian must have thought. She was a little taller than me, with incredible good looks and a figure to go with them. Anyway, Mario immediately started shining up to Ima with his eyes and body language. He couldn’t put two words together in an intelligent manner.”

Zane’s laughter interrupted her story. “I bet that would have been funny to see,” he said.

Her eyes shining, Rachael continued, “With Mario trying to get out a ‘Good morning, ma’am’ between his incredulous stare and unabashed admiration, my mother just stuck out her hand and said, ‘Good morning, Mr. Moretti, thank you for coming.’ Mario, practically drooling by this time, took my mother’s hand to shake. Well, her handshake was not quite what he expected! She shook his hand and squeezed until the blood started to drain from poor Mario’s face. In the few seconds it took to get his attention and his mind back on track, Mario Moretti knew my Ima was no ordinary woman. Releasing his hand, she asked him to come in and take a look at her kitchen sink. Mario’s juvenile antics were immediately replaced with professional respect.”

Rachael laughed. “Poor Mario somehow managed to unstop their sink with one hand. Only later did they learn that she had broken one of the bones in his hand. For the next nine years, Mario was my parents’ plumber. Abba said that while Mario still had the reputation for being a ladies’ man, he never again acted in an inappropriate manner around my mother. At her funeral, Mario Moretti came uninvited at the very end to pay his respects. He laid flowers on my mother’s casket. He came up to my father when the funeral was over and said, ‘Mr. Neumann, I am so sorry. Your wife was an exceptional woman, a good woman, a strong woman, a beautiful woman. A type of woman few men ever have the privilege of meeting in life. You have my sincerest condolences.’ Abba said that tough macho Italian had wet eyes when he turned away and left.”

They talked pleasantly, Zane asking about the wildlife and places they passed. Eventually, Rachael said, “You know, she and my dad met at a dig. She was an American college student and my father an Israeli studying to be an archeologist. She was a Christian and he Jewish. My father said that despite all the reasonable advice of both their parents, they got married and neither of them ever regretted it. Looking back, he says it wasn’t the wisest decision they could have made, but they were happy. He gives most of the credit to her . . . he says she never beat him with her Christianity, but with gentle love always showed by her actions what it meant for her to be a Christian.

“In a way, I guess, that is probably part of the reason I love archeology so much. I share my mother’s faith as a believer in Yeshua, the Messiah, and her love of searching for evidence which proves the accuracy of the biblical records. Though my father does accept the historical Yeshua—or Jesus, as most Christians know him—he does not accept him as the Son of God or the promised Messiah. Every piece of evidence we find that shows the truth of the Gospel accounts adds that much more credibility to the message. I pray every day that in some way my work, my life, will be a tool that our Father in heaven will use to change the hearts of men and women such as my father.”

Rachael looked over at Zane to read in his face a sincere expression of warmth and comprehension.

He replied, “I think I understand part of what you feel. My interest in archeology was born out of events that happened in tenth grade. That year, my parents sent me to a camp in northern Arizona. I bunked with two other boys, David and Sam. David and I both lived in Tucson, and Sam lived about one hour from us in Patagonia. The fourth day, a warm summer day in July, our lives were set upon an unexpected course. Gary, the camp leader, told us we were in for a surprise. Driving several miles away, we parked and made our way up a narrow, well-worn path to the face of a cliff. Gary told us that today we would learn about sport climbing.

“After some instruction in proper safety and etiquette, we watched as Gary hiked around the side of the cliff to a worn trail and made his way to the top of the ninety-foot cliff. He threaded his rope through the anchor points at the top and then, rappelling down the cliff, joined us again at the bottom.

“Sam, an obvious natural, was the first to try. He climbed the rough limestone wall with little trouble and even less thought. When he made it to the top, his shouts of jubilation could be heard for miles around. Gary let several other boys climb; then it was David’s turn.” Zane laughed, remembering the scene clearly. “David surveyed that cliff like a general about to wage a military campaign. Once satisfied, he secured the rope to his harness and calmly and confidently conquered the limestone face. After he came down, it was my turn.

“With some trepidation, I looked the cliff over. Trying not to show too much hesitation, I slowly made my way up the rough limestone cliff. About halfway up, I began to forget myself. I liked the rough feel of the cold rock under my fingers. I liked the way it made me feel alive. It felt good to shift my weight from one hand or foot to the other and feel the muscles in my body respond even though all my instincts were screaming for me to stop. I had never been much of a risk taker, but there was something about climbing that rock which stirred an unknown side of me. When I finally reached the top, my legs were shaking so badly I had to sit down for several minutes. That day, I realized I’d gotten as much satisfaction from being able to control my fear as I had from climbing that ninety feet of limestone.

“Those three hours of climbing began a pastime for the three of us that has lasted to this day. We spent all of our spare time looking for and climbing new routes. But it wasn’t just the sport. Climbing that summer was the catalyst for a friendship that changed all our lives. We spent the last two years of high school climbing anything and everything we could throw a rope on. What little money we earned, we spent on harnesses, ropes, carabiners, quick draws, and other gear. As high school drew to a close, we asked our parents if we could spend summer break on a climbing expedition. They agreed, so the three of us piled into David’s old pickup truck and traveled all over the western United States, climbing just about every day. It was the greatest adventure of our lives up to that point.”

Rachael’s eyes reflected Zane’s happy memories as she spoke.

“What an adventure, just the three of you exploring and climbing for a whole summer.  Sounds wonderful!”

“It was wonderful.  It was something the three of us will always remember.”

“But how did climbing bring you here to Israel?”

Zane smiled as he continued. “When I got out of high school, I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I really didn’t want to go to college. I loved climbing and wanted to travel around the world seeing and doing things. I have never been one who wanted to sit behind a desk. I love to work with my hands and feel the pain and satisfaction of effort and accomplishment. So I traveled the world and finally ended up in Israel climbing the Manara Cliffs. There I found some amazing biblical artifacts, and I knew right then that this was what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to be part of those who were bringing back the history of our past, especially the history of the past relating to biblical events and people. After that discovery, I returned home and went to college, and there I’ve been for the past four years. I come back to Israel every chance I get to volunteer at various digs. Hopefully, someday I will be able to explore the mysteries of the past full-time. But first I have to finish college. Right now, I am content with just volunteering.”

Rachael had a gleam in her eyes as she replied, “Don’t you just love each new discovery that brings back a little bit of the past? Even a shard of a clay pot or a man-made brick for a wall is thrilling. They make you wonder about the people who used them. About the events of their lives and the lessons they learned. What they looked like or how they acted. About the influence they had on those around them and the impact they had on the history of the world. Yesterday, finding that piece of stone which some man carved so long ago, I had to think about the tenuous nature of our life on this earth. Someone thousands of years ago sweated and labored over that stone to impart the name of a man and his father. Yesterday we found it, and it spoke to us from the distant past. Those few words have set in motion a chain of events that we don’t even know the outcome of. It’s sobering for me to realize our actions today have a similar impact on those around us. And like the inscription we found, they may speak in some way to those of the future.”

A little wistfully Rachael asked, “What about your parents, what do they do?”

“My parents, Stephen and Hope own a local plant nursery. Their love of plants and all things growing was second only to their love of God and their children. I have an older sister, Sarah, and a younger brother, Michael. Our parents homeschooled all three of us because they wanted to instill in us a set of principles and values not found in a secular setting. Just as they provided their plants with an ideal growing environment, they provided their children with the love, direction, and discipline they thought necessary to raise children who would honor their Creator.”

“Sounds like you have wonderful parents Zane.”

“Yes, they are great. As I get older I am realizing just how special they really are.”

Pointing at the mountain ahead, Rachael said, “There’s our destination. Those rough scaly cliffs have quite a history. They are about seven hundred feet higher than the Galilee. There are cliff dwellings there which the Jewish historian Josephus says the Hasmonaeans used. He recorded that the Romans finally subdued the rebels hiding there, throwing many of them to their deaths off the cliffs.”

They walked on in pleasant conversation until they reached the cliffs.

“You want to hike around to the top?” Zane asked.

“Sure. There’s a trail up ahead that will take us there.”

Once up on top, they sat enjoying the view. It was eleven-thirty, and both of them were hungry. Opening their backpacks, they ate a simple lunch and rested.

When Zane had finished eating, he asked cautiously, “Have you been climbing lately?”

She smiled ruefully. “No, not since the accident. I sort of got out of the habit. And frankly, I am still a little shaken by what happened.”

Zane did not pursue the question further. Hopefully she would get over it, but he knew many people could not. He wouldn’t ask her, then, to belay him while he climbed.

“Well, you want to explore for a while before we head back?” Zane asked.

“Sure, let’s check the area out.”

Together they climbed steep hills and clambered over rocks, never heading into areas which required them to do any real climbing. Zane saw several good prospects for future climbs. He recorded them with the Climbing-Quest app Sam had made for him. After an hour and a half, Zane suggested they head back. They reached the dig at four p.m., and stopping at Rachael’s tent, Zane said, “I thank you for the pleasant day and the companionship. I really enjoyed it. I’ll be leaving later this evening, so I guess I’d better say good-bye now.”

Rachael looked a little at a loss for words, but she replied, “I enjoyed the day as well. Haven’t talked so much in a long time. Thank you for listening. Frankly, I am not looking forward to you leaving.”

She grinned. “We don’t have any volunteers for a few days. I’ll have to take over the girl-barrow.”

Smiling, Zane replied, “Well, you’ll have your work cut out for you then.” Sticking out his hand, he said with some regret, “Good-bye, then. I hope the dig goes well over the summer. It would be terrific if you found additional artifacts to confirm your Matthew theory.”

Shaking his hand in her strong clasp, she replied, “Take care of yourself, Zane Harrison. We will likely be here all summer, so if you want to come back, we would be glad to have you again.”

With a final good-bye, they parted. Zane headed back up to his campsite, packed his gear, and stowed it in his car. Then, walking once more down to the campsite, he sat on the rock and waited for the sunset. When it had finally set in the western sky with a splendid display of color, Zane walked back to his car with a sigh. Starting it up, he headed back to Tel Aviv and the long airplane ride home.

Chapter 52

Tel Aviv, Israel

Marcus Nayat and his team had rented a vacant building on the same side of the street and two lots up from the bakery—and they were watching. Right now, Marcus had a team excavating a tunnel to the city sewer main. He intended to install his own electromagnet. That done, he would be able to capture the capsules before they reached the bakery. He would then insert a tracking device on each new flash drive. Once their tracking device was in place, they would return the modified capsules to the baker’s electromagnetic snare.

So far, the bakery had received three more capsules. His surveillance team had just texted him that a new one had been snared thirty minutes ago. Hopefully, in three more weeks they would be able to regularly intercept the capsules on their journey.

Over the past few weeks they had learned that the baker turned on the magnet twice a week—once on Sunday and once on Wednesday night. He left it on from eleven p.m. until four a.m. They had also learned the leaden capsules were enclosed in some sort of water-soluble, semi-metallic shell. After just an hour or two, it completely dissolved and only the capsule remained. Clever bastards, whoever had come up with this idea. The holy grail in intelligence was anonymity. No dead drops or electronic messages to track, no person-to-person contact, just flush the message down the loo. The collectors of the capsules, like the baker, almost certainly didn’t know where or who the capsules came from. Even if he was caught, he wouldn’t be able to tell them anything.

Shaking his head again, Marcus thought how much luck was involved in finding this network. If it hadn’t been for someone flushing steel wool down the toilet just when the baker was out of town, they might never have found out. What were the chances of that? Was it really luck? Well, what else could it be? Just a confluence of events that had broken their way in just the right order and at precisely the right time.

Shrugging, he said out loud, “Not much different from how they say we evolved. Just a cosmic roulette wheel—sometimes you hit pay dirt and other times . . .” He laughed. “Well, there are still monkeys.” Timing was everything.

Laughing again, Marcus said to himself, “Since when did you become a philosopher, Marco?”

* * *

Several days later, Darius received an envelope which had been delivered to his Dubai Trade Center PO box. Opening the envelope, he took the lead-encased capsule to a nearby utility closet. There, he opened the capsule and reattached a USB connector to the end of the flash drive. Taking the drive back to his office, he inserted it into his computer. After decoding the message, he read the brief note:

Capernaum dig progressing well. Major New Testament era artifact found. Possibly the house of the biblical Matthew, also known as Levi ben Cheleph. Will advise when more information becomes available.

The rest of the note gave a brief update of several other digs. None seemed to offer any great potential, but you never knew. He could wait. He had been searching for evidence of the secret for over a decade. He knew he was getting closer to the truth, but he was not there yet.

Darius pulled out the flash drive and placed it into his pocket. He would dispose of this later. Turning his attention to his reports, he saw that everything was still going according to plan. He was happy the Order and their minions had not made any overt moves to stop his efforts. He knew the events in New York had to have hurt them terribly. His attack had come out of left field, and blaming it on Iran had been a masterstroke. The fools—if they thought it was bad now, a few months from now they would be looking back at today with fond memories. They would probably leave him alone for now, as long as he kept getting deeper in debt. Once he was sufficiently indebted, they would begin to apply the pressure. He laughed coldly. If they waited much longer, it would be too late to stop him.

Alexandra was making incredible progress getting their machines in place and producing clean water for the poor of the world. She had done more for the planet’s impoverished in the last seven months than the United Nations had done in its entire existence. Darius knew this would be causing some serious repercussions. He knew as well as anyone that there were incredibly powerful vested interests in keeping the third world poor and chaotic. After all, as his own people had learned over the course of the past hundred years, the New World Order did not want any strong, independent nations protecting their own natural resources. Looking out over the waters of the Persian Gulf toward his homeland, he whispered to no one but the walls of his office, “The Age of Aquarius is here, and I will have my revenge.”

Chapter 53

Dubai, United Arab Emirates

Dylan Gallos was concerned. He had never questioned Darius’s actions or leadership, but what Darius was doing now made absolutely no sense—in fact, it was suicidal. He was burdening AES with so much debt and leverage that he was putting the company in a very vulnerable position. Dylan knew eventually the predators on Wall Street would realize their advantage and mercilessly pursue it. Based on his current private model, they had about five more months until AES was in an untenable position. Darius was worth trillions of dollars—he could have financed many of these transactions with his own money. Sure, he couldn’t sell all his shares at once, but given enough time, Dylan could have sold many of Darius’s shares and raised the money he wanted.

What really bugged him, he had to admit, was that Darius no longer consulted him on his transactions. Dylan had been relegated to watching and managing the share price of AQES. Sure, that was important, he knew—but what was Darius doing? Should he ask what was going on? Surely Darius would have asked if he had wanted his advice. One thing was for sure: while he tried to decide if he was going to broach the subject with Darius, he would be raising his own cash position in the company. His stock was worth many hundreds of billions of dollars. He was going to sell at least half of it in the next couple of months. If Darius was going to run this company into the ground, he wasn’t going to go down with the ship. Anyway, he had been working 24/7 for the past twelve months with very little rest. He was beginning to fray at the edges. He needed a break. Maybe he would take some time off.

Turning to the monitor that showed the live stock price of AQES, he watched the stock price trade. AQES was now trading at $236.89 a share. The share price had been on a relentless rise for the past eight months. On another monitor, he pulled up his personal trading account. He had over 4.9 billion shares of AQES in his trading account. He had only sold fifty million shares so far. His account value was a ludicrous 1.1 trillion dollars. He laughed outright. That amount of money was absurd. A billion dollars was more than he could probably spend in his lifetime. But one thing was for sure: he couldn’t spend any of it if it was not cash in his account.

Right then, Dylan decided to sell one billion shares. He turned to another monitor which ran his black-box algo. In the modeling module of his program, he punched in the one billion shares and looked at the results. They showed that, at current price, volume, and market conditions, barring any unforeseen adverse events, it would take one month to sell the one billion shares without adversely affecting the share price.

The model also told him that he could sell all one billion shares in one week, but the share price of AQES would drop about five percent in that scenario. The one billion shares would sell for an average of $221.53 for a total of two-hundred-twenty-one-billion dollars. Dylan decided to test the accuracy of his model. He entered a one billion share sell order to be executed over the next seven trading days and punched the sell order into the trading module of his algo. Immediately, he could see the increase in volume. For a few minutes he watched it in fascination, and standing up, he stretched and left his office. He didn’t need to watch; his program would take care of the rest. He needed to think about what he wanted to do with the money once he sold his shares. He knew he should diversify and get it to a safe place. Laughing, he thought, It would take several places to park that much money.

Chapter 54

Dallas, Texas

Zane returned to the States jet-lagged as always. He was soon back in the grind of school, preparing for his final exams and working on his research paper. The first thing he did when he got settled in was to e-mail Rachael a copy of his research paper. A few days later, she e-mailed him in return with an update on the Capernaum dig. They were still working on cleaning out the sub-ground level of the house. The only real thing of interest they had found was the precision and care with which the walls of the cellar had been finished. Large, expertly dressed stones had been used and laid in an almost seamless fashion. Quite a work of art, she had noted, and most likely expensive. This type of workmanship was normally only seen on more monumental buildings such as the nearby synagogue.

Finally, she ended her note by thanking him for sending her a copy of his research paper and offering some thoughts on the time factor:

Zane, one thing has struck me in your research regarding the time factor. I don’t think you will find what you are looking for unless it is based on a reckoning of time which would have been familiar to the Jewish people of that era. Most of the examples you describe in your research are either a Gentile-based reckoning of time or a theoretical deluge-based reckoning of time. If there is an answer to this puzzle I believe you will find it in a reckoning of time based in the context of the Second Temple era.

Take care and keep me posted,

Regards,

Rachael

Over the past couple of weeks, Zane had been giving her advice serious thought. Tonight he sat trying to put down on paper what he had learned and some of his thoughts concerning it.

What exactly was a Second Temple Jewish reckoning of time? He thought he had the answer, but as with many things in life, it wasn’t as simple as it sounded.

He had found the first biblical definition of time in Genesis:

And God said, Let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs, and for seasons, and for days, and years. (Genesis 1:14)

The lights in the heaven—sun, moon, and stars—were to divide the day from the night. They were also to be for “signs,” Hebrew owth, for signal or remembrance, and “seasons”—Hebrew mow’ed or appointed times, for days and years.

The biblical calendar, then, was based upon the function of the sun, moon, and stars. Its days were based upon the rising and setting of the sun and its months upon the cycle of the moon. During the Second Temple Era, according to rabbinic tradition, the months began with the first sighting of the waxing moon. It was this lunar cycle which the feast days, or mow’eds, were based upon. The first month began in spring and was variously called “Aviv” (Green Barley), “Nisan,” and “the first month” at different places in the Scripture. This month began the religious biblical calendar of the Jewish people. The spring feast of Passover was celebrated in the first month. In the seventh month, the fall biblical festivals of Yom Teruah (Trumpets), Yom Kippur (Atonement), and Sukkoth (Tabernacles) were celebrated.

This was all pretty straightforward. Where the difficulty arose was in the changing of the years. The lunar calendar was based on a 29.53-day cycle, and the solar calendar was based upon a 365.24-day cycle. Twelve lunar months only equaled 354.36 days. This made the lunar “year” roughly eleven days short when compared to the solar year. In order to keep the lunar and solar year synchronized, an intercalary month was added every three years or so. This makeup month was called Veadar. So he was stuck with a Jewish calendar that varied and a lunar year which sometimes varied and then had to be recalibrated, so to speak, with the solar yearly cycle. How was he supposed to figure out anything based upon a calendar which had varying year lengths? No wonder Sir Robert Anderson had chosen to use a Noahadic year of three-hundred-and-sixty days! Nothing else seemed to work.

Frustrated, Zane pushed back from his desk and stood up. He needed to get some fresh air. Outside, he considered his options on the research paper. He had not found a solution, and his paper was due in two weeks. Even as it stood now, he needed a week of editing to make it presentable. He had two options, as he saw it. Don’t turn it in at all, or clean it up and present the evidence he had found. Ruefully, he knew neither option was great. Option 1 was really no option at all. As for Option 2, turning in a research paper which showed that Jesus did not fulfill, contrary to established consensus, one of the most important messianic prophecies of the Scripture was not exactly a pleasant prospect. Well, he was not a coward, and he was not a quitter. He would have to clean it up and present the facts as he understood them.

With his decision made, he returned to his room and sat down to rewrite his research paper and put it into a presentable format for his professor. For the next several hours he wrote and edited, and finally, at eleven p.m., he had enough and stopped. He was satisfied with what he had accomplished tonight, even if he wasn’t satisfied with the content. Cleaning up his desk, he ordered his papers and went to bed.

Over the next several days, Zane worked on the paper. It took him until Tuesday of the following week to accomplish the task. His paper was forty pages of thoroughly documented scriptural evidence, along with a substantial amount of historical references, all of which pointed to the conclusion that Daniel’s prophecy of seventy weeks, as currently interpreted by the majority of scholars since the time of Sir Robert Anderson, did not meet a reasonable level of proof to show that Jesus was its fulfillment.

Zane reread his paper one last time with mixed emotions. He definitely felt uncomfortable reading a paper his own hand had written which undermined claims concerning Jesus. On the other hand, he knew his research was thorough and well documented, his paper well organized, and his thoughts fluid and understandable.

Don’t be afraid of the truth, he reminded himself.

Putting the paper back on his desk, he placed it in a small binder and set it with his books for tomorrow’s class. While Zane was not satisfied with the conclusions he had reached, he also knew he would never rest until he had solved the problem of Daniel’s seventy weeks. The prophecy spoke to the coming of the Messiah, and he wanted an answer. If it was not Jesus whom this prophecy spoke about, then whom?

Zane sat back down at his desk. He had one more task to do before he called it a day. He opened his laptop and then his e-mail client.

June 5

Dear Rachael,

It is with mixed emotions that I send you the final draft of my research paper. I have not reached a satisfactory conclusion, but I am out of time for the present. I have not given up, but I must turn in my paper this week. Please find attached a copy of what I will be turning in to my professor tomorrow. I’m sure it will be a big hit! Any thoughts or comments you might have would be welcome.

How is the dig coming? After school, I will be returning to Arizona for the rest of June and all of July to visit with my parents. Will you still need help at the Capernaum dig in August? I would like to return if I can be of help.

Yours truly,

Zane Harrison

* * *

The next evening Rachael checked her inbox and found Zane’s e-mail. After reading his brief note, she opened the attached file and read the final draft of his research paper. Since he had sent her the first draft, she had been checking out his references and thinking about the prophecy. The prophecy clearly spoke of a coming Messiah. So far she hadn’t found any faults in Zane’s reasoning or evidence. She didn’t see how Daniel 9 could be speaking of Yeshua unless there was something they were all missing. She understood now the ease with which Sir Robert Anderson and others had assumed that Nehemiah and Ezra were contemporaries of Artaxerxes Longimanus. There weren’t really any alternatives that would work without creating more problems than they solved.

Reading the paper once more, she was impressed with the clear and concise arguments Zane had made. This young man was clearly smart—and independent. It took character to go against the flow and challenge assertions made centuries ago. What she had researched in just the past few weeks told her that Zane’s assertions would not be well received. She knew from the little they had talked that he must be conflicted about this.

Well, at least he is coming back to . . . coming back to the dig. What was she about to think? Was she interested in this young man? To be honest with herself, yes, she was interested. Interested, not smitten or infatuated. She found his company agreeable. Okay, more than agreeable. She enjoyed it. He didn’t talk endlessly about himself. For that matter, he didn’t talk all that much. What he did say was thoughtful, often considerate. One thing was for sure, his actions spoke way louder than his words. Yes, Zane Harrison was a man of action. So far she hadn’t felt uncomfortable around him at all. Being with him seemed natural. He gave no indication that he felt intimidated around her, which was often the case with other young men. She didn’t have to be on guard with her words or actions around him.

Thinking back to the first time they had met, she remembered the first words she had spoken to him: “Don’t be foolish, you can’t make that move.” She had learned that day that “don’t” and “can’t” weren’t words Zane Harrison had in his vocabulary. And what were the first words he had spoken to her. “Shut up”? She blushed, remembering. He was right—she had been wasting her words and his. He had ignored her and done what was necessary anyway. She couldn’t even make herself angry about his sharp words. She understood him, and frankly, she respected him more for it.

She smiled. She couldn’t speak for other women, but she liked men who acted like men. Rough around the edges, but with a good heart. Laughing softly, she said to herself, “Rachael, that’s enough boy thoughts for one night.”

Turning her thoughts back to the dig, she considered the progress they had made so far. Another week or two, and the lower-level cellar would be completely cleared. Another four weeks and they would have the house walls completely exposed and cleared. Say another two weeks for a final site survey and miscellaneous details. The excavations would be done around the middle of August. All that would be left then would be the hauling of the debris piles up to the dump site.

For the first couple of weeks after the discovery of the Levi inscription, they had turned away volunteers. When nothing additional was found, the excitement wore off and volunteers were harder to come by. The past couple of weeks there had only been two, and they had only stayed for a few days each. Laughing, she remembered that neither of them had been able to drive the girl-barrow. They had managed to make a couple of trips with the kiddy-barrow and then given up. Since then she had been hauling most of the debris herself—with Zane’s girl-barrow. It was quite a job, but she was far too proud and stubborn to ever touch the kiddy-barrow again.

Young Mr. Harrison, you have ruined me, sir, she thought. She doubted they would get any strong young volunteers so late in the dig. She guessed it would take four weeks by herself to move those piles. With Zane’s help, they could get it done in two or less. For more than one reason, she hoped he would come back.

Out in the camp, she could hear Efran Finkelstein’s voice discussing the dig with the site archeologist, William Flinders. She wondered about Efran lately. He seemed unusually restless. And he seemed to be hanging on at the dig for no apparent reason. What was he waiting for, anyway? He didn’t need to stay, and it looked like the excitement was over. What gives?

As far as digs went, Capernaum was a great success. They had found a major artifact. This excavation would look good on Efran’s resume. Maybe he just wanted to make sure nothing went wrong. Come on, Rachael, she said to herself, give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, he had acted almost human for the past several months. And best of all, he had left her alone.

Before turning in for the evening, she e-mailed Zane:

Dear Zane,

I got your last e-mail. I read the final draft of your research paper and found it interesting and informative. Thanks to you, I learned something I might otherwise not have known. I appreciate you letting me read your paper.

Regarding the dig, it is winding down now. We have at the most another six–eight weeks of excavation left. After that, another two–four weeks of hauling debris depending on how many strong young volunteers we get. Your girl-barrow really misses you, so feel free to come back in August. We could really use your help.

Warm regards,

Rachael

P.S. I have been practicing your one-handed trick on the girl-barrow. I have not mastered it yet but remain undaunted.

* * *

The next morning as Zane was preparing to leave for classes, he received Rachael’s e-mail. After reading it, he laughed. He bet she would have the one-handed wheelbarrow trick mastered by the time he returned—or die trying. She was that kind of girl. Well, heck, with that kind of invitation, how could he stay away? After all, it wasn’t every day you got an invitation from a girl-barrow that missed you. Laughing, he walked out the door of his dorm room.

His morning classes went well, and after a brief lunch, he headed to his theology class with Professor Ragen Donaldson. Faith and fact, ever the two shall meet? he asked himself. Well, his paper would be a real hit. He was glad they didn’t have to read them out loud at least. Don’t be such a chicken. He’d done his best and hadn’t compromised with the facts as he understood them. He should be proud of his work—okay, if not proud, at least satisfied.

At the end of class, he walked up to the professor’s desk and turned in his paper. Professor Donaldson smiled and said, “I was beginning to wonder if I would ever see your paper, Mr. Harrison. It’s the last one.”

“I’ve done my best, sir.”

“I look forward to reading your work, Zane.”

“Thank you, sir. I hope you are not disappointed.”

On his way to his next class, Zane couldn’t help but think that Mr. Donaldson was in for an unexpected surprise.

Later that evening, back in his room, he called his parents and gave them the dates for graduation. They asked about his plans, and he told them he would like to come home for several weeks before going back to Israel. They were thrilled, and he knew they could use the help at the nursery. Zane loved his parents, and frankly, he liked them as well. They were hardworking and happy. They were fun to be around, and he enjoyed their company. He hoped that someday, if he was blessed with children, they would say the same about him. It would take a wife to make that happen, buddy, he told himself. And you don’t even have a girlfriend. Hey, but at least I have my girl-barrow, he thought ruefully. He’d seen too many examples of bad marriages in his church to want to rush into getting married. After seeing his parents’ relationship, he was going to take his time. What they had was worth praying for, not to mention waiting for.

The next day, Zane took his first final exam, and he knew he did pretty well. After lunch he headed to his theology class with some trepidation. Entering class, Zane took his seat and found his paper on his desk. Opening the cover sheet, he saw a large F scrawled across the front page. There was nothing else.

Looking up, he saw the professor quickly look away. Zane tried to make eye contact, but the professor ignored him. All during class, Professor Donaldson ignored Zane. By the time class was over, Zane was upset. The professor had never acted this way, and frankly, it was strange. Why would a paper from one of his students make him act in the manner he had for the past hour? Even some of the other students were noticing his peculiarity. After class was dismissed, Zane waited until the rest of the class had left. If the professor had a problem with his paper, he wanted to know exactly what it was. Goodness knew he wanted to be proven wrong on what he had found.

Walking up to the professor’s desk he asked, “Mr. Donaldson, do you have a minute? I would like to discuss the grade you gave me on my research paper.”

The professor looked up without his usual warmth and replied, “What exactly do you want to discuss, Mr. Harrison? I thought I made it pretty obvious what I thought about your paper.”

Zane was taken aback. Professor Donaldson was acting completely out of character.

“Sir, what exactly did you find in my paper which you thought deserved an F?”

Donaldson pushed back from his desk. “Do you need to ask that, Mr. Harrison? This is a Christian university, and I want no part of someone undermining our ideals.”

“Sir, with all due respect, what exactly did you find incorrect in my research?”

“What did I find wrong with your research?” the professor asked with added heat in his voice. “You’ve taken one of the central messianic prophecies of the Scripture and done your best to undermine its credibility! This might pass for credible research at some godless institution, but not here.”

Zane was turning red in the face. He was not sure whether it was from embarrassment or anger. “Sir, I respectfully ask you to give a specific example where my research was faulty. So far you have spoken in generalities and not specifics.”

The professor exploded. “How dare you challenge me, young man! You are wrong because you missed the context!”

Zane stood his ground. He didn’t want to be disrespectful, but the professor’s attitude was completely uncalled for. Calmly, he asked again, “Sir, what exactly do you mean by context?”

“Mr. Harrison,” the professor said more calmly, trying to regain some of his composure, “I don’t have time for your word games. I don’t want any part of your attempts to undermine the credibility of the Scriptures concerning the Messiah.”

“Sir, I have done no such thing. I have questioned man-made interpretations of the prophecy of seventy weeks, but I have in no way called into question the integrity of the Scriptures. None of us have all the answers, sir, and no one is perfect in their understanding. All I have done is challenge man-made assertions which do not meet a reasonable burden of scriptural proof.”

The professor raised his hand and pointed to the door. “Class is over, Mr. Harrison, and I don’t have time for you to lecture me on burdens of proof.”

Zane started to speak again, but the professor again pointed to the door. “You are dismissed, Mr. Harrison.”

Zane walked out the door, knowing that if he stayed he would likely end up saying something he would regret. Trying to calm down, he reminded himself that even if the professor’s actions were uncalled for, he was still his professor as well as his elder, and he should not be disrespectful. His next class passed in a blur—he was still pretty upset, and glad he didn’t have another final exam today. He was not in a proper state of mind.

After classes, Zane walked around campus for two hours. Finally he calmed down enough to think fairly about the professor’s reaction. Clearly, Zane had seriously challenged some of the professor’s strongly held beliefs. Beliefs, Zane realized, that he must not have been able to defend. Otherwise he would have rationally explained where Zane had been incorrect in his reasoning.

Finally, Zane sat down on the grass, his back against a tree, and prayed. Father, please help me to have the proper attitude in this matter. Show me if I am wrong. Help me to set a proper example by my actions. Help me to be humble, and please give me wisdom and discernment. I ask in Jesus’s name, Father.

Zane leaned his head against the tree and relaxed. A peace settled over him as he sat there, and when he got up he felt much better.

Chapter 55

Phoenix, Arizona

The latest results from Sam’s virus showed that thirty-five different locations were downloading encrypted pictures off the Internet using the Anaj software. Most of the locations were downloading encrypted messages at least once a week. To Sam, it looked like quite an extensive intelligence network. He had tracked most of the addresses, and he had a printout in his hand.

It was time to send his findings to David.

Part of the reason Sam had held off so long was that he knew David would play this by the book and show no favoritism. What Sam had done was technically illegal, but since it was overseas, he hoped it was not a high-enforcement crime. When he sent it to David, he knew David would send it upstairs come what may. Well, so be it. If this information was related to a terrorist network, then law enforcement needed to know.

Sam addressed a new e-mail:

David,

You know I am not one to sit around when there is something I can do. What I am sending you is borderline, if you know what I mean. I accept total responsibility for what I have done, but the results were so important I thought you ought to know.

I wrote a, well, let’s just call it a creative program. I inserted this creative program in a picture file. Then I, well, let’s just say I donated this picture to a certain Ukrainian web hosting company for free. This Ukrainian hosting company has been known to send out junk mail to recipients all over the world. Anyway, once any computer downloads my picture, my creative program searches that computer for the Anaj encryption software and attaches itself to the program. Every time the Anaj program is used, it saves a record of it and sends it out the next time that computer connects to the Internet. In the attached file you will find the latest results. I think your team will be interested in them. FWIW, as you will see there are still several contacts in the New York area who are using the Anaj software. Also of note is that Israel has at least eight contacts using this network as well.

Bro, I know you play it by the book, and I would be disappointed with you if didn’t, so don’t worry about me. Give this info to whoever you need to. If you guys get your act together, no offense ;), you might have a intelligence coup here. This network appears to be really active.

Happy hunting.

Sam

Sam hit send and closed down his e-mail client. David would see that the information got to the right people.

Sam sat at his desk thinking about the events of the past several months. Aquarius Elemental Solutions had been the catalyst for so many changes in the world it was hard to wrap his mind around the consequences. Sam knew governments, think tanks, and individuals the world over were still trying to figure out all the implications. Darius Zarindast had taken the entire planet by surprise. Now they were all just trying to update their thinking.

Many of the most powerful people and organizations in the world had been left out in the cold by AES. Surely, there would be consequences. The power brokers of the present would not allow Darius Zarindast to usurp their power and influence without a fight.

Sam knew instinctively that the longer everything went right for AES, the greater the trouble would be when it went wrong. And there was something about this whole thing that did not seem right. Darius was doing amazing things for the world. Heck, he was doing amazing things for Sam. Because of AES, Sam had made eleven million dollars. After long-term capital-gains taxes, Sam would only have made 9.4 million dollars, but that was still quite a bit of money. Was Darius Zarindast really a good guy? Was Sam just crazy—blinded by his own addiction to conspiracy theories? Maybe it was the fact that Darius seemed almost too perfect. No one was perfect, so what was Darius hiding? The only newsperson Sam had found asking any serious questions about Darius Zarindast was Aaron Klein at WND. The rest of the world seemed to believe Darius was the Messiah.

Sam shook his head. What is your problem? he asked himself. Darius Zarindast has made you a fortune, and you are trying to find something to not like about him.

But then again, maybe it was his spirit warning him. Ever since Darius had said he thought Jesus was just another man like other men, Sam had been on guard. Zarindast’s philosophy seemed to be a form of secular humanism. No surprise there. “We the people of the world,” Darius had said. The same philosophy mankind had used since the ill-fated Tower of Babel. “Go to, let us,” had been the humanistic philosophy ever since then. The focus was on mankind’s efforts instead of the grace or will of YHWH. Sure, some would call that splitting hairs, but it really wasn’t. It was important. If this earth and the activities of mankind were directed solely by man’s efforts, then the will of YHWH was not relevant. On the other hand, if YHWH did take an active interest in the affairs of mankind and direct those affairs according to his purposes, then it was he who deserved the credit, not men.

Removing God from the equation removed any moral absolutes. It made morals relative. Without YHWH and his moral standards, mankind was no different from animals, and animals showed no mercy. If a man as powerful as Darius Zarindast held this philosophy, no matter his good intentions, his power was bound to end in bloodshed and horror.

Chapter 56

Zane was on his way home to Arizona. Sitting in the cramped airplane seat, he thought about the final two weeks of school. He had spent them in a flurry of activity, finishing all his exams and completing his final assignments. His parents had come for the graduation. It had been a beautiful, sunny day, and he knew he had made them proud. The journey had taken some detours along the way, but he had made it.

The only disappointment in this otherwise satisfying time was his theology professor. Professor Donaldson had not spoken a word or acknowledged him since their last discussion. Zane could feel the tension each time he entered class. His final grade had been a C. The research paper had been twenty-five percent of his grade, and his F had seriously hurt his final mark. Zane had come to terms with it and refused to let anger or bitterness grow in his heart. He had done his best—what more could he ask of himself?

This experience was giving him another perspective on college degrees, though. He was glad he had gone to college, but he realized as never before that no one man or institution was inerrant. An education was not twelve years of high school and a BS, MS, and PhD. An education was what each individual learned throughout his life. He was beginning to realize that a college degree, in many cases, was just a piece of paper which measured one man’s knowledge against another’s. No wonder the BSs, MSs, and PhDs of Jesus’s day hated him and the disciples so much. Those Pharisees and Sadducees had their degrees, and no “unlearned” men could tell them anything.

Father, keep me humble, he prayed silently. Help me to be open to your truth and not arrogant in my own ignorance. There was a proverb like that, he remembered. He turned on his computer and looked it up in his BibleWorks software program. Yes, there it was, Proverbs 15:33:

The fear of YHWH is the instruction of wisdom; and before honour is humility.

Zane read it several times. He understood the necessity of humility before honor, but what was the “fear of YHWH”? Zane typed another search string into the Bible software: fear* YHWH*. Scanning through the results, he found Proverbs 2. Reading it, he thought to himself, Wow, this is powerful. And it fits so well. He had read it before, of course. But now it seemed to speak straight to his circumstances.

My son, if thou wilt receive my words, and hide my commandments with thee; so that thou incline thine ear unto wisdom, and apply thine heart to understanding; yea, if thou criest after knowledge, and liftest up thy voice for understanding; if thou seekest her as silver, and searchest for her as for hid treasures; then shalt thou understand the fear of YHWH, and find the knowledge of God. For YHWH giveth wisdom: out of his mouth cometh knowledge and understanding.

Zane was a treasure hunter at heart. He had never thought of knowledge and understanding as “hid treasures,” though. If knowledge and understanding came from the mouth of YHWH, then what better place to hunt for real treasure than the words of YHWH found in the Scripture? Zane laughed happily—now he had a whole new avenue of archeology open to him. Yes, he would start his own archeology dig into the words of YHWH. He would carefully excavate the pages and sift the finds. Who knew what treasures he might find?

He was almost home now. He was looking forward to spending time with his parents, digging in their gardens and caring for the plants. Gardening was such a metaphor for living.

Zane thought about the future. How was he going to pursue his love of archeology? He couldn’t always be a volunteer. He needed to find real, productive activity. He wanted to make his own way in life, make a difference, be everything his Father in heaven had created him to be. He was young, strong, willing, and healthy. How could he best use his talents? He almost chuckled at his own earnestness. He was sure these were the same questions young men and women had asked of themselves since . . . well, probably since the beginning.

One thing Zane had resolved was that he did not want to live off the money he had made from AQES. He only had a few thousand more shares to go, but it looked like he would have about four million dollars when all was said and done. He was going to take the half he had promised to YHWH right off the top. Before taxes, before anything. After taxes, he would have something in the range of 1.4 million dollars. That was a small fortune now, but it would not last forever. He needed to find a real means of income. His father had always impressed upon them that he should use whatever talents his Father in heaven had given him to the best of his ability before expecting God to bless him further. “Use the talents he has already given you wisely, and he will multiply them. Don’t expect to move on to the next step in your life if you are not doing the best where you are at.”

Okay, he would be patient, savor each day, and meet its challenges. When YHWH was ready to show him the next step, he would do his best to be ready.

Chapter 57

Marcus was looking at a replay of a video feed from a camera in the main sewer line under the bakery. Yitzhak, the video analyst in charge of analyzing all feeds from the cameras watching the sewer system, was playing the video on the command center’s main video display.

“Okay, here it comes,” he said. At the 2:54 a.m. mark, the video feed showed a reddish brown object floating down the line. As it drew close to the bakery, it was grabbed by an invisible force and crushed against the wall of the sewer pipe. Once the outside covering broke off, most of it was trapped against the wall of the pipe. The leaden capsule inside fell to the bottom of the sewer line.

“Clever,” Marcus muttered under his breath. They’d already figured out the capsules were water-soluble, but seeing it in action was still impressive. Even if those bastards somehow lost one of the little floaters, it would disintegrate before it reached the treatment plant, leaving the small leaden capsule lying on the bottom of the sewer line. Chances were no one would ever think twice about a little grayish-looking piece of debris lying in a sewage pipe. If they ever saw it.

“So give me a summary of what we know so far, Yitzhak,” Marcus asked the technician.

Yitzhak looked at his notes. “On average, eight capsules are delivered every two weeks. We have back-traced the floating messages to four separate locations. By placing sewer-inspection cameras at regular intervals in the main sewer line, we’ve been able to narrow our search parameters.”

The tech pointed to a map of the city sewer system of Tel Aviv. Using a small laser pointer, he pointed to an X on the map, which was overlaid on the sewer main in front of the bakery. “That X is where the baker’s magnetic snare is located. At one-thousand-foot intervals up the sewer main, we have six cameras marked A–F, A being closest to the bakery and F farthest away. When a capsule appeared in the video from camera C but did not show up on camera D, we knew it came from the section of sewer line between C and D. After the first two weeks we were able to identify the four separate sections of sewer line from which each capsule came.”

Pointing at the map again he said, “Two capsules came from section E to F, one capsule came from section C to D, and one capsule came from section A to B. Taking into consideration the different connection points of buildings to the city’s sewer main, we shortened the distance between each camera and added two more cameras in each section at about three-hundred-foot intervals. The bottom line—we have now located the specific building from which each floating capsule originated. One capsule came from an office building here,” he pointed to a location on the map, “two of the capsules came from this apartment complex,” pointing to another location on the map, “and the final capsule came from here.”

The final location was a public restroom. “You have got to be kidding me!” Marcus exploded. “You mean these traitors can just walk into a public restroom and send a message to their contact with complete anonymity?” He said it more as a statement than a question.

For a minute, the tech stood there in silence as Marcus vented, then said cautiously, “Well, sir, they don’t have anonymity anymore.”

He ventured this statement hesitantly as sort of a hopeful peace offering. Marcus ignored it. “Have you been able to identify which location the capsule marked with the number thirteen comes from?”

“Yes, it comes from the apartment complex.”

Marcus eyed the apartment complex carefully. He would have another team check the background of every person in the building starting today. He needed to have something to tell the Guardian next time he had to call the number. “I want to be notified the minute you have identified the origin of any of these capsules. Is that understood?”

He dismissed the tech and sat there thinking. By the end of the week they would have the tunnel completed and would be ready to set up their own magnetic snare. They had not been able to put a tracking device on any of the flash drives since the first set they had followed into Jordan, but that was about to change. He had not wanted to risk alerting the baker. Once they could again install tracking devices, hopefully he could track capsule thirteen to its destination. It was slow, but the net was tightening. A few more weeks, and they might have the identities of these traitors.

* * *

Darius knew he was running out of time. Everything had gone too perfectly. The established power structure of the world would not let the changes he had made go unchallenged. By now the Order had to have him on their radar. By hosting the museum opening on the thirteenth of October, he had begun a dangerous game.

But the only person asking questions so far was that pesky reporter from WorldNetDaily. The guy just would not give up. He had learned that Aaron Klein was looking into his past history and associations. It didn’t worry him much. His only weakness was his association with his brother Arash, and that was a dead end. No one knew the new president of Iran was his brother. Only a few more months and it wouldn’t matter anymore anyway.

His greatest asset was that he had gained the favor of the working class of the world. Right now, he was their hero. The Aquarius Fund was really making a difference in many third-world nations. At the present rate, in two years Alexandra would have provided freshwater to every major third-world population center within one hundred miles of an ocean. Alexandra was the Mother Teresa of her generation. She was selflessly giving her whole heart, body, and soul to this cause. She hadn’t even sold a single share of her stock yet. Darius made a mental note to talk to her about that when she called in for her weekly summary. If any of them deserved the money, it was Alexandra. If she didn’t sell some of her shares, he would have Dylan do it for her and place the money in a safe place. He wanted her to have something for herself when this was all over.

He knew there was no guarantee he would survive to accomplish his revenge. But what he did not live to accomplish, he knew he could accomplish with his death. Not that he expected to die, but should the Order kill him before he accomplished his goal, his death would assure their destruction.

To that end, Darius logged on to a remote, private server—something he had done every month at this time for the past two years. He pulled up the list of names. He entered several new names and reset the date.

Logging out, he repeated his actions on two totally unrelated servers in other parts of the world. When he finished, he sat back in his chair and mentally went over the final steps he needed to complete his plan. He turned over each step in his mind like a piece of a three-dimensional puzzle. He was in the endgame now, and any misstep would result in his death.

Darius really did not want to be a martyr. He wanted to live to see the destruction of the Order. To glory in its demise and be part of that which took its place. Now, if he could only discover the secret they had so desperately hidden over the centuries, his cup of revenge would be full.

Chapter 58

Tucson, Arizona

“So Zane, tell me about the young lady you rescued. I can’t believe I had to read about it in one of those supermarket tabloids,” Zane’s mother said, raising her eyebrow in a half-serious, half-curious manner.

Zane and his parents were sitting around the table after dinner, enjoying the time together and catching up on the events of the past year. Zane saw his dad smile and wink at him.

“Not much to tell, Mom. I helped her out of a difficult situation and then didn’t see her again until a couple of months ago.”

“A couple of months ago . . .” his mother replied in a questioning voice.

“Well, that was really a coincidence. As you know, I volunteer through CPBH, and they assigned me to a dig in Capernaum. Miss Neumann happened to be part of the dig team. She was in charge of the find’s sifting. I got to know her a little better, and she seems to be a nice young lady.”

His mother shot him a knowing look. “How nice a young lady?”

“Mom!” Zane replied. “She’s just a nice girl. Don’t go getting your hopes up.”

His mother was always curious about Zane’s girlfriends. Not that Zane had had many girlfriends—he had always been too busy climbing. He knew his mother just wanted to see him settled with a wife and children. He smiled his most charming smile. “Mom, you’ll have to wait for those grandchildren until I find a girl like you.”

This had always seemed to mollify his mother, but this time it didn’t work as well as usual. “Zane, I won’t let you off the hook so easily this time. Miss Neumann seems to be quite a young lady. I read about what she said regarding your rescue, and I Googled the YouTube video of that performance she played at. You know, the one where she called you her hero. She is a very talented young woman, and from what I’ve read, she’s also quite a good climber.”

Zane shook his head at his mother’s thorough research. “Mom, from what I have seen of her, she is good at whatever she does. She doesn’t do anything in half-measures.”

With a speculative look only a mother could give her son, she asked, “Is she a Jewish girl?”

“Her father is Jewish, and her mother passed away when she was a young girl.” He hoped that would let him out of answering the real question.

With a knowing look and a twinkle in her eye, she said, “I will let you off the hook for now, but don’t think your mother can be so easily diverted. I know you purposely didn’t answer my question. That in itself tells me a lot.”

With a look of exaggerated immaturity, Zane rolled his eyes and smiled, glad to change the subject for the time being.

“So, son,” Zane’s father picked up, “do you have a clearer idea of what you want to do with your life?”

“Dad, I have been giving that a lot of thought lately, believe it or not. Frankly, I know I want to do something with archeology, but I’m not sure how I fit into the grand scheme of things. I don’t just want to volunteer all my life. Right now volunteering is the only door I have open, so I will do my best there until I find another open door.”

Looking more serious, Zane continued. “I could use some advice on a financial matter, though.”

His father, with a questioning look, said, “Go on.”

“Do you remember me telling you about that company Samuel begged David and I to invest two hundred dollars in, oh, it must have been four years ago now?”

“Yes, I remember something vaguely about it. Wasn’t it some penny stock or something?”

Zane shook his head with a sheepish grin. “It was when we bought it, but not anymore.”

“It went out of business, didn’t it?” his father asked.

“Well, not exactly, Dad. That company was Aquarius Elemental Solutions.”

His father sat up straighter in his chair. “You mean that company everyone is talking about? The one that’s giving most of its gross income to help the third world?”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“Do you still have any shares?”

“A few thousand,” Zane replied.

“A few thousand shares!”

“I’ve been selling one thousand shares every week for a couple of months now.”

His dad and mom, incredulous, waited for him to continue.

“At the current price, by the time I have completed selling all my shares, it’s likely that I will have just over four million dollars.”

Mr. Harrison just sat there shaking his head in wonder. “Four million dollars,” he said as if he didn’t believe it. “Son, you know that’s more than some people will see in a lifetime.”

“Yes, Dad, I know, and that’s part of why I wanted to ask your advice. I am concerned the money may influence the direction of my life, and . . . well, frankly, it already has. I just don’t want it to become a burden. I want it to be a blessing. I’ve already decided to take two million dollars and set it aside for helping others according to the biblical example you and Mom taught me growing up. But even after taxes on the rest, I’ll still have about 1.4 million dollars. Do you have any advice on how I should proceed with it?”

Zane’s father took a minute to process what he’d just learned. “Zane, I think you’ve gotten off to a good start with what you’ve done, and frankly, I am proud of you. To even realize the money might have negative potential shows maturity. As to what to do with the 1.4 you intend to keep, I’m not sure how to advise you right now. I would have to think about it. I would say you shouldn’t be in any hurry to spend it. Knowing you, I doubt I have to give you that advice—but for now, why don’t you just go slowly? Take your time and ask your heavenly Father to guide your steps. Your mother and I raised you to realize money will never buy you happiness, but used in the right manner with the proper motivation, it can be an incredible tool.”

His father shook his head again. “Four million dollars—really sounds incredible. How about David and Sam?”

“Yeah, David had twenty thousand shares as well—and Sam, he had a hundred thousand.”

His dad whistled. “Wow. I guess that means you won’t be coming to your old man anytime soon for a loan.”

Zane laughed. “No, it doesn’t look like I’ll have to move in with you after all.” In a more serious tone he asked, “Do you and Mom need any money or a silent partner in your nursery?”

His father smiled. “Thank you for the offer, son, but everything we have is paid for. We’ve lived modestly all our lives, and while we don’t make a lot of money, we have been blessed beyond what we deserve. We lack nothing, and in many ways we have more than we need.”

Zane nodded. “I thought you would say that, but I had to ask. If it’s okay with you, I’d still like to stay and help out through the end of July. Then I will be going back to Israel to help finish up at the Capernaum dig.”

“I bet to visit that young Miss Neumann girl too,” his mother said mischievously.

“Son, we’d love to have your company and help for the summer. We can talk more about it in the morning.” Yawning, he turned to Hope. “My darling Mrs. Harrison, I am going to bed. It’s been a long day. Good night, son. See you in the morning.”

Zane sat talking to his mother for another hour before he too decided to turn in for the night. With a motherly look of love, she gave him a warm hug. “Good night, Zane. It’s good to have you home again.”

* * *

Several weeks later, David found Sam’s e-mail in his junk mail folder. Sam had sent the e-mail using a new e-mail account, and it had been dumped into the junk mail. David sighed in mild frustration—it must have been the attachments. David added Sam’s new address to his contact list and then read his e-mail. Before opening the attachments, he sent Sam a reply.

After reading the e-mail again, he opened the attachment. Carefully reading the results of Sam’s virus, David picked up the phone. “Sir, I need to see you as soon as possible. We’ve had a big break in the Anaj investigation.”

“Come on up, David. The director is here, and we were just discussing the investigation.”

Printing out two copies of Sam’s e-mail as well as two copies of the virus results, David pushed the elevator button for the ninth floor and stepped in. On the way up he could feel the nervousness building. His hands were a little sweaty, and the butterflies in the pit of his stomach had been replaced with dragonflies. David had never met the director of the FBI. He’d heard he was a reasonable man who expected the best from his agents. David hoped he wasn’t going to get Sam into any trouble. Sam had known the risk he was taking when he sent the information to him, but still—he hoped things would turn out all right for his friend.

The elevator chimed as he reached the ninth floor. He turned left and walked down a corridor to his boss’s office. Knocking on the door, he heard, “Come in.”

His boss, Keith Jefferson, and the director sat in two of the chairs which surrounded a conference table on one side of the office. Jefferson waved him over and said, “David, this is Director Hughes. Director Hughes, David Johnson.”

The director extended his hand, and after a firm handshake, indicated a chair at the table. “Please have a seat, Mr. Johnson.”

“David, you said you have information related to the Anaj terrorist network. What do you have for us?” Jefferson asked.

David slid Sam’s e-mail and virus report across the table. After a few minutes of silence during which they read the information, Hughes looked up and asked, “How reliable is your friend, David?”

Without hesitation, David replied, “If you are asking me personally, I can tell you I would trust him with my life. Professionally, he runs a first-rate high-tech security firm. Some of his clients are major banks and corporations. He provides encryption and security-related services for them.”

The director had looked directly at David the whole time he explained. “Has the FBI run a thorough background check on him and his firm?”

“Not that I am aware of, sir.”

The director looked at David’s boss with a questioning look. Jefferson replied, “Yes, we have. He has been completely vetted. We checked him out when David was transferred to the counterterrorism unit a year ago and have updated his status ever since.”

“Any concerns or red flags?”

“No, he’s clean as far as we can tell.”

“Okay then, here is the deal.” Looking at David, Hughes continued, “As Sam stated in his e-mail to you, what he did was illegal. If we choose to go after him, we could ruin his life and his business. Obviously he knows that, and yet he still took the risk to get us the information. Frankly, that’s my kind of man. David, I want you to tell Mr. McKinney that we would like to hire him as a private contractor until this matter is resolved. He’ll need to get another updated security check and sign all the appropriate nondisclosure paperwork. If Mr. McKinney should indicate he is not willing to work for us, please make his precarious position clear to him.”

The director turned to David’s boss. “Keith, I want you to put whatever resources are necessary on this to find the exact addresses of the computers on this list. David, I want you to pack your bags: I’m sending you to Israel as a liaison to the Mossad. I want you to hand-deliver this to them and offer our assistance in any way you can. You are to report directly to Keith on any developments. It seems the Mossad has discovered a unique spy network. They believe the network is passing information through the sewer system. I would like you to learn what you can and offer any assistance. When this is resolved, I want a complete report. Any questions?”

“No sir,” they both replied in unison.

“Okay then, David, you may go. Mr. Jefferson and I have more to discuss.”

David headed back to his cubicle. After the elevator doors closed, he let out a sigh of relief. At least Sam was not going to get into any trouble over this—far from it, in fact. And thanks to Sam, he was going to Israel. He wondered if Zane was heading back to the dig this summer. He would have to give him a call to find out. It had been too long since they had gotten together.

Chapter 59

Tel Aviv, Israel

Marcus had been putting it off for several days, but he knew he could do so no longer. He had to call the number.

Marcus picked up the phone and dialed. On the second ring, the cold, dark voice answered. Marcus repeated the code phrase and proceeded to give a report on the investigation of Contact 13. They had located the apartment complex where Contact 13 lived, and in a few more days they would have his identity.

“How much longer until you know the destination of the messages sent by Contact 13?”

“Possibly a week or more,” said Marcus.

“Very well, notify me the minute you know more.”

The line went dead. Marcus put away his phone and sat thinking. Whenever the Guardian had an interest in something, dead or missing people were soon to follow. Marcus just hoped he didn’t become a person of interest. There were some fates worse than death, and the Guardian knew most of them.

* * *

Sir Peter Herschel sat alone at a desk in his London library. He considered the information provided by Tacitus. The code name of Marcus Nayat, if his memory served him well. Over ten years ago he had been sponsored by a member of the Order. Once a prospective member was sponsored, a one-year probation was started, during which the new prospect was carefully watched and his background investigated. At the end of this probation period, the thirteen-member governing council voted whether to approve the new member. If the vote was unanimous, the prospective member was allowed to join.

The Order, in keeping with tradition, gave each new member a code name. Members of the Order were chosen from the top echelons of the secret societies of the world. Each member committed to the cause of mankind’s enlightenment. Their motto: “Enlightenment is the end which justifies our means.” Once a member of the Order, each new devotee progressed through thirteen additional degrees of initiation before being trusted with the secrets. New members were never told about the additional degrees. Each new degree was portrayed as the final initiation.

Peter Herschel looked up the status of Tacitus. Nayat was only a first-degree member; therefore, the extent of his knowledge was limited to collecting information related to any communications or symbols using the number thirteen. So far he had proved loyal.

Sir Peter Herschel was sixty-five years old and a mountain of muscle, bone, and sinew. His massive frame was better suited for a coat of armor than the wool Armani suit he was wearing. He had a well-deserved reputation for being cold-blooded and ruthless. Despite his incredible size, he moved with the ease and stealth of a cat. He was in prime physical shape, and there was very little fat on his imposing three-hundred-pound frame. He was an incredibly imposing man, and he used that for every ounce of effect.

Luormus, the company which Sir Peter Herschel had founded, was the world leader in human genetic research and modification. It pioneered genetic research related to the modification of human DNA through atomic chemical stimulation, its stated goal to bring about the next step in human evolution.

He often thought about the irony of his life. He had been raised by devout Christian parents and had a reasonably normal childhood, except for his size. In college, Peter Herschel rejected Christ and Christianity, instead embracing the secular humanistic philosophy of his professors. There he had joined his first secret society, and from that point forward he had begun a personal quest. This quest had brought him full circle to a realization of the relative accuracy of the biblical record. His parents had been partially right—only they had chosen the wrong side.

Looking up, he read out loud the quote above his desk on the wall, from Albert Pike, one of his heroes and one of the most esteemed members of the Order:

Lucifer, the Light-bearer! Strange and mysterious name to give to the Spirit of darkness! Lucifer, the Son of the Morning! Is it he who bears the Light, and with its splendors intolerable, blinds feeble, sensual or selfish souls? Doubt it not!

Peter Herschel had learned from his own research that Yahweh, the god of the Bible, was not a true myth. The story of Eden and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil was a metaphorical story of the real-life struggle between Yahweh and Lucifer for mankind’s enlightenment. It was Lucifer, so the story went, who had shown the early humans that to become gods they must eat of the fruit of enlightenment. He promised them that once they ate the fruit, their eyes would be opened. Ever since that day, those who had joined Lucifer in his struggle to enlighten mankind had paid homage to the biblical story by use of symbols. In Peter’s opinion, only naïve fools who were willingly ignorant would not see the symbolism. The symbols were everywhere: the open eye, representing the enlightenment promised by the serpent; the apple with a bite taken out of it, representing their choice to eat the fruit of enlightenment; the yin and yang, representing the struggle of good and evil in the quest for godhood.

Sir Peter Herschel knew that the longer the “feeble, sensual, and selfish souls” were kept ignorant of the true nature of the struggle, the better the chance the Order would have of succeeding in the enlightenment of mankind. Albert Pike, the great philosopher of Masonry, had explained it to some of his Masonic brethren this way:

Masonry, like all the religions, all the mysteries, Hermericism and alchemy conceals its secrets from all but the adepts and sages, or the elect, and uses false explanations and misinterpretations of its symbols to mislead those who deserve to be misled, to conceal the truth, which it calls light, from them and to draw them away from it. The blue degrees (that is the craft degrees) are but the outer courts or portico of the temple. Part of the symbols are displayed there to the initiate, but he is intentionally misled by false interpretations. It is not intended that he shall understand them, but it is intended that he shall imagine he understand them. Their true explication is reserved for the Adepts, the Princes of Masonry. The whole body of the Royal and Sacerdotal Art was hidden so carefully, centuries since, in the High Degrees, so that it is even yet impossible to solve many of the enigmas they contain. It is well enough for the mass of those called Masons, to imagine that all is contained in the Blue degrees; and whoso attempts to undeceive them will labour in vain, and without any true reward violate his obligations as an Adept. (Albert Pike’s Morals and Dogma, 104, 105, and 819)

Tradition had it that in 46 AD, the apostle Mark made a convert of an Alexandrian sage named Ormus, along with six of his followers. With their conversion, they brought into Christianity the Zoroastrian, Mithraic, and Hermetic philosophies of the ancients. This new brand of Christianity chose the symbol of the red cross. These enlightened Christians called themselves the Sages of Light. The official version of the story was that these Sages of Light or enlightened ones eventually became know as Rosenkreutz, or Rosicrucians, after their red cross symbol. Peter had learned that Rosenkreutz was a clever concealment for raz karowz, which was Aramaic for “Heralds of Secrets.” The Sages of Light, the Heralds of Secrets, kept the Luciferian doctrine of enlightenment alive for the next one thousand years until they passed the torch to the Knights Templar.

The Sages of Light did their work so well that in just a few decades the rites and rituals of Zoroastrianism and Mithraism had become inseparable from early Christian teaching. Both sides had lost part of their identity in this marriage.

By the time of the Crusades, the quest for the lost secrets was begun again in earnest. In 1118 a group of nine knights led by Hugues de Payens formed a monastic order for the protection of pilgrims to the Holy Land. They became known as the Knights Templar. King Baldwin II of Jerusalem granted them residency on the Temple Mount in a wing of the royal palace. Tradition had it that the Knights Templar excavated under the Temple Mount and found Solomon’s buried treasure, as well as rediscovering many of the lost secrets of the Sages of Light. Those secrets became the basis for the legends of the Grail. The Order of the Knights Templar became the new raz karowz, or Heralds of the Secrets. This new order also carried the symbol of the red cross.

In addition, the Knights Templar also discovered a secret which would shape the Order and its offshoots for the next nine hundred years. Peter Herschel believed the Knights Templar had rediscovered the secret of the 13th Enumeration. A secret so powerful it had the power to overturn nine hundred years of progress in the enlightenment of mankind. As a grave reminder, de Payens created thirteen degrees for the Templar order. These degrees reminded them of their new mission: a bold quest to keep the secret of the 13th Enumeration.

Today Sir Peter Herschel and his organization were the military arm of that ancient Order. They were a twenty-first-century version of the Knights Templar. He and his group of men and women protected the secrets of enlightenment and purged the pages of history of the knowledge of the 13th Enumeration.

Sir Peter picked up his phone, dialed a number, and waited for an answer. After the third ring a voice answered, “Yes?”

“Anton, this is Sir Peter. We have a situation that needs tending to.” Sir Peter explained for a few minutes. “I want you to take a team to Israel and stand by, ready to clean up any loose ends. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I will provide you with more details after you arrive in the Holy Land. I want you on-site in twenty-four hours.”

Sir Peter put down his phone. He still didn’t know if Contact 13 was relevant to the secret, but Peter had not kept it for thirty years by taking unnecessary chances.

Chapter 60

Tel Aviv, Israel

David arrived on an El Al flight from New York to Tel Aviv early on the morning of July 31. He was met by a low-level agent from the Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations, better known as the Mossad. The agent was an attractive woman David estimated to be in her midthirties. She had the no-nonsense attitude of a military officer. She walked up to David and without hesitation said, “Welcome to Israel, Mr. Johnson. Please follow me. Your bags will be waiting for us at the car.”

David had been told he would be met by a Ms. Ulatowski, but he did not like being led around by the nose, so he extended his hand and asked, “Ms. Ulatowski?”

The agent replied with a curt yes and ignored his offer of a handshake.

“Ms. Ulatowski, could I see some identification please?” David asked with professional courtesy. Without a word, she withdrew her credentials from her pocket and extended them, her face an emotionless mask. David took his time in looking at the identification. Several times he looked at the picture on the ID, then up at the woman extending it. This agent was well-trained, David thought to himself. She had tested him immediately to see if he would do her bidding without question. Mind games were the stock-in-trade of intelligence officers. David had purposely drawn her out to see if she would react. She just stood there without a trace of emotion, watching his every move.

Finally David said, “Very well, Ms. Utalposki, I am ready to go.” She started to say something after David purposely mangled her name, but she stopped herself almost in time. So she was human after all, David thought, smiling.

Turning, she walked toward the terminal exit and a waiting car at the curb. The car was unmarked with flashing lights on the top and had been left unmolested by airport security. Obviously, they knew who it belonged to.

David opened the front passenger door and stepped in. Sitting down, his large frame barely fitting inside, he couldn’t help but wonder if they had purposely chosen such a small car. He wouldn’t put it past some clever spook to know how big David was and then find the smallest car in the fleet to pick him up in.

His knees practically at his chest, David barely managed to pull his briefcase in after him and close the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed just a hint of a smile on Ms. Ulatowski’s face.

“Please fasten your seat belt, Mr. Johnson,” she requested with barely suppressed laughter in her voice.

With a good-natured laugh, he replied, “Ms. Ulatowski, you will just have to drive carefully. Under the current circumstances, I do not think I can reach my seat belt. So who was the wiseacre who picked this circus ride?”

She replied with a sly smile—her first show of obvious emotion. “I chose the ride, Mr. Johnson. Make yourself comfortable; we will be on our way now.”

Fifteen minutes later they arrived at Mossad headquarters, and David unfolded himself from the car. Inside, they both showed their IDs to the security personnel at the checkpoint. Once the guard was satisfied, Ulatowski led David down a series of corridors and turns until they finally arrived at a conference room in the heart of the building.

“Please wait here, Mr. Johnson. Mr. Yadin will be with you shortly.”

After she left, David looked around the nondescript room: conference table, standard government-issue metal and plastic chairs, three white walls, fourth wall with one-way window. David knew Nigel Yadin, the Mossad chief, was likely behind that mirror looking him over right now. Never one to be intimidated, David walked naturally over to the mirror, brushing off his suit jacket and straightening his tie, and then smiled into the mirror and checked his teeth for any stray food. When he had finished, he turned his back on the mirror and sat down to wait.

On the other side of the glass, Nigel Yadin grunted and said, “Confident young man, this American.”

Standing a few steps away, Marcus replied, “Arrogant, if you ask me.”

“No,” replied the chief, ”I don’t think so. Just confident. The American director called me last week and told me this young man was an up-and-coming intelligence analyst, one of the best he’s seen in years. Our own profile on him says he is an intelligent, big-picture thinker who plays by the rules.”

Marcus laughed cynically. “In our game that is not necessarily a good character trait. His profile also says he is a devout Christian. Just what we need—another messianic nut job getting in our way.”

The chief looked at Marcus in an unfriendly manner. “You’re a fool,” he said. “Our existence would be very lonely if weren’t for those ‘messianic nut jobs,’ as you call them. They have been unshakable supporters of our nation since the beginning. Their voice in support of Israel has had incalculable political impact over the last sixty-five years. And don’t forget they also support us with their money. Christians like Mr. Johnson account for fifty-four percent of all tourism to our nation. Now, let’s go see what this messianic nut job has for us.”

David looked up as the director of the Mossad and another agent walked through the door. He stood to greet them, and after introductions were made all around, they sat down at the table. Nigel Yadin started the conversation by saying, “Your director called me and said he was sending us some information concerning a terrorist network related to the attack in New York. He indicated there might be a link to that organization here in Israel. We would be interested in what you have found.”

David opened his briefcase and withdrew a folder. Removing two copies of the report from Sam’s virus scan showing the locations of computers in Israel that were actively using the Anaj network, David explained, “What you are looking at are computer addresses of people who are using a modified form of a commercially available encryption software. The modified version is called Anaj. Once or twice a week, members of this network download a junk mail picture off the Internet. This junk mail is sent to millions of Gmail accounts all over the world—it ranges from mail-order Russian brides to over-the-counter pharmaceuticals. It’s originating from a Ukrainian Internet company.”

He paused to see if they were following him so far. Chief Yadin nodded, indicating he should continue. “What’s unique about these pictures is that we have found one picture can contain multiple messages, each encrypted using the Anaj software. We have learned much of this thanks to the investigative work of one of our FBI contractors, who happens to be the creator of the original encryption software upon which Anaj is based. Thanks to his foresight, he left a tagging option in his software which has allowed us to determine those who are using it without authorization. We assume once the recipient of the software downloads the picture into his Anaj software, he enters his password and receives a message specifically addressed to him. Based on records we have obtained from Google, we have learned that Joe Douglas—who, as you know, was responsible for the attack in New York—was also downloading these pictures off Google’s servers. So we believe he is related to this network in some way.”

Indicating the paper reports they were holding, he continued, “As you can see, we have been able to trace each of the computers using the Anaj software to a specific address. Five of those computers are right here in Tel Aviv. One is a bakery, two originate from an apartment complex, and the other two are private residences.”

Nigel Yadin and Marcus looked at each other, both recognizing the addresses for the bakery and the apartment complex. If they were in fact related to the attack in New York, they must proceed with caution. They didn’t want to spook the contacts into acting before they learned what was intended for Israel.

Turning to Marcus, Nigel said, “Put teams on each of these addresses immediately. I want to know everything about these people by tomorrow morning. All surveillance is to be discreet. We don’t want them to know we’re on to them until we are ready to arrest them.”

Turning back to David, the chief said, “Mr. Johnson, as part of my agreement with your director, in exchange for this information we are allowing you to be an observer on our operations related to the information you provided. Two of the addresses you provided are already under surveillance. They have found a way to pass information through our sewer system. Marcus will fill you in on the details in due time. Understand this: regardless of the agreement I have with your director, if at any time you get in the way or step out of line, you will be on the first flight back to the States. Is that understood?”

David looked coolly into the Mossad chief’s eyes and replied in a quiet, confident voice, “I understand, sir.”

Nigel motioned for Marcus to follow him. “Please excuse us for a moment, Mr. Johnson. I need to speak to Mr. Nayat.”

Once outside, Nigel turned. “Marcus, let him in on the investigation, but watch him closely. If he steps out of line, I want him gone. But Marcus, listen to me carefully: I want you to treat this man with respect. His director places confidence in him, and they have provided us with an intelligence coup. If we play this carefully, we may strike a major victory against our enemies.”

Marcus was not happy with the arrangement, but he acquiesced. “Yes, sir. I will not push the boundaries on this one, but if he steps so much as one toe out of line . . .”

Nigel turned away without another word.

Marcus returned to the conference room. “Mr. Johnson, we have made accommodations for you in Tel Aviv. At seven sharp tomorrow morning, Ms. Ulatowski will pick you up and bring you to our field operations command center. If you are not waiting for her out front at seven a.m., she will leave. We have limited resources, and we cannot waste them waiting for you. Ms. Ulatowski will be here shortly to take you to your lodgings.”

Marcus left the room without another word. David waited, thinking about what he had learned and the impressions he had gathered. One thing was for sure: these folks were all business.

Chapter 61

Israel

Zane was driving his rental car to the Capernaum dig. He had spent several weeks with his parents, using most of that time to work with them at the nursery. He had even found time to climb once or twice while he was home, tackling some of the numerous routes around Mount Lemmon one weekend and then driving south toward Mexico and Cochise Stronghold in the Dragoon Mountains of Cochise County another weekend. This was an area the Apache chief Cochise had used as one of his hideouts. The mountains were rugged and beautiful. Giant stones thrusting up out of the desert floor. Rough walls of granite, scrub oak, and mesquite. Up in the stronghold itself, a seasonally flowing stream of water and an amazing amount of desert vegetation, trees, and wildlife. Just to the west, the San Pedro River valley and the richest habitat for birds and mammals anywhere in the Southwest. With over eighty different mammals and four hundred species of birds, the San Pedro River Valley was home to more than half the species of birds found in the entire United States. This little section of southern Arizona had more species of animals than any other place in the contiguous United States.

Zane had not realized it until he left home for the first time, but there was a spirit of peace in his parents’ home. There was no undercurrent of tension or conflict. They simply enjoyed each other’s company, enjoyed what they did, and enjoyed their interaction with their customers. To be sure there were days with challenges, but they were solved with grace, dignity, and a spirit of love. Zane was beginning to understand just how rare true peace and contentment were in the world.

He arrived at the dig site late in the evening. As soon as he drove into the parking lot, he could tell the dig was winding down. Only half a dozen tents remained, and there were no volunteer tents in sight. The dig site itself had no one working it, and only a small pile of debris remained to be sifted. Next to the sifting tables, a small mountain of dirt and rocks waited to be hauled up the hill to the dump site.

After parking his car, he headed down to the staff camp area. It was empty of people as far as he could see. Walking toward Rachael’s tent, he helloed. No one answered. From the main common tent he heard several voices, so he headed that way. In the dimming light, he walked up to the door of the tent and looked in. Around a small table sat Efran, William Flinders, Rachael, and several other members of the dig team.

Looking up, Rachael was the first to smile and say, “Hello, Mr. Harrison! You have been sorely missed.” The rest of the team welcomed him as well. Even Efran acted as though he was glad to see the young man. Rachael continued, “Your girl-barrow has been lonely since you have been gone.”

Laughing, Zane replied, “By the size of the piles you have left, I can tell!” Everyone around the table laughed. By now, the entire team except Efran called the full-sized wheelbarrow the girl-barrow. It had become the dig mascot of sorts.

“So did I miss anything exciting?” Zane asked. He could tell by the disappointed faces around the table that nothing new had been discovered. The disappointment on Efran’s face was especially obvious.

“Nothing new since the Levi stone,” Rachael replied. “We were just discussing what still needs to be done to wrap up this dig. As you can see out there, we have a couple weeks of hauling left. We’d like to completely wrap this up by mid-August. The rest of the staff will be leaving in the next couple of days, and I have volunteered to stay behind and finish hauling the loads.” Indicating her associates at the table, she continued in mock scorn, “My teammates here all seem to have excuses as to why they cannot stay and help me finish moving the debris. I hope I can count on your help?”

“Actually, Miss Neumann, that is what I stopped by to tell you.” Zane paused with an apologetic look on his face. “ You see, I, well . . .” He hesitated as if embarrassed to speak.

“You’re not staying?” Rachael tried to hide her disappointment, but it didn’t work well. She had been looking forward to Zane’s company for the past couple of months. It wasn’t until he left that she realized how much she had enjoyed having him around.

Zane was surprised to see the disappointment in Rachael’s eyes, so he thought he’d better end his joke prematurely. “As I was saying, Miss Neumann, I am reporting for girl-barrow duty. I will be ready first thing in the morning.”

Now, with a warm light returning to her eyes—the sort of light men since the beginning of time had moved mountains for—Rachael smiled. “Glad to know I can count on you, Mr. Harrison.”

Zane found his old camping spot. After a few minutes of cleaning and leveling, he had a place for his tent.

Setting up his tent and getting everything organized took only a few minutes. Satisfied, he climbed out, sat on his favorite little perch, and watched the final glimmer of light fade in the west. He was glad to be back. There was something he felt here that he didn’t feel anywhere else. He didn’t know if it was physical, spiritual, or mental. Maybe it was a combination of all three. After an hour just sitting, he turned in for the evening. He knew he would need his strength for tomorrow.

* * *

The next morning, with renewed enthusiasm Zane walked down to the sifting tables and piles of debris. Rachael was by herself working over one of the tables.

“Good morning,” she called as he approached. “Did you sleep well?”

“Very well, thank you,” he replied with a smile. “You weren’t kidding about your help. This place looks deserted.”

“Yes, you and I will be the only ones left working after today. Tomorrow Efran and the rest of the team will be leaving.”

Zane looked over at the large pile of debris. “Well, I guess I’d better get started. That mountain isn’t going to move itself.”

Rachael, a mischievous light in her eyes, replied, “O ye of little faith.” She indicated the wheelbarrow over by the pile. “I finally mastered your wheelbarrow trick last week. I can drive it with one hand for a few paces. With more practice I’ll be able to go farther. I found it takes just the right combination of strength and balance.”

Zane laughed. “You’ve been working on it since you wrote me?”

“No, since before you left. I started trying the first night after you turned my joke back on me.”

With a thoughtful look of respect, Zane walked over to the one-wheeled chariot. Taking a shovel, he filled the girl-barrow and started off with his first load. By the time he made it up the hill, he knew he was in for some real work. It was now substantially hotter than when he had been here in the spring, and he was sweating profusely. He decided he’d better carry some water so he could stay hydrated.

The ravine they had been dumping in was almost filled. Again, the only boot tracks he saw were Rachael’s. This young woman was an enigma. To all outward appearances she was an attractive, serious, yet pleasant young woman. She didn’t try to act tough in a way that undermined her femininity. Yet she obviously could outwork any man he knew. If someone had pointed Rachael Neumann out on the street and said she had hauled one hundred tons of dirt up a hill in a wheelbarrow, he would have told them they were crazy. Yet, that was exactly what his eyes told him she had done in the past several months. Shaking his head, he turned back down the trail.

At the pile, he once more wandered over to Rachael’s table. She looked up with a smile on her face and said, “How are you and the girl-barrow getting along?”

“Fine,” he replied. “We’re getting to know each other again. It sure is a lot hotter than when I was here in the spring.”

“About twenty degrees hotter, on average. Make sure you drink plenty of water.” Indicating several bottles of water on one of the empty screening tables, she said, “I drink several of those a day at this time of year. Feel free to take some. I refill them each evening from the camp water supply.”

“I noticed some familiar boot tracks up the trail. Did you haul all of that debris up there by yourself since I’ve been gone?”

Blushing, she replied, “No, not all of it . . . I did have some help.”

“Not much, if your boot tracks are any indication.”

With just a touch of defensiveness in her voice she replied, “What if I did haul it all up there? What difference would it make?”

“It wouldn’t make any difference at all to me. It’s just an impressive accomplishment. Not many people would have the guts to see that kind of work through, that’s all.”

“You mean not many women would have the guts to see it through.”

“No,” Zane replied, looking directly at her, “I mean not many people. What you’ve done up there takes more than just physical strength. It takes an indomitable spirit, and that has nothing to do with one’s sex.” Walking off, he grabbed a couple of water bottles and once again filled his girl-barrow and headed up the hill.

Thoughtfully, Rachael watched him go. She knew she had just been given a great compliment. Zane Harrison sure didn’t act his age. Most young men would be intimidated by what she had done and as a consequence would try to hide it by teasing her about her strength or accomplishment. But instead of teasing, he had paid her respect—not just for the physical accomplishment, but for something deeper. Zane Harrison had kept her off balance since she had met him. The problem, she decided, was not with him but with her. She expected him to act like other young men.

Right then, Rachael decided to take Zane Harrison at face value and let her guard down. She would not try to hide what she could do or who she was. If he was the man he appeared to be, he would not be intimidated by her just being herself. After all, she was her mother’s daughter.

Chapter 62

Tel Aviv, Israel

At six fifty-five a.m., David was waiting outside the entrance to his hotel. His room was modest and clean. He had slept fairly well and felt ready to go. It was a warm morning in August, and David leaned against a pillar which supported the entrance to the hotel lobby. At precisely seven o’clock, Ms. Ulatowski pulled into the hotel parking lot. David waited, unmoving, as she drove up. He let a small frown show around his lips as he opened the door to the small compact car. Clearly, Ms. Ulatowski was not satisfied that she had punished him enough. He wondered what she would do if he opened the door and tore out the front seat. At least then he would be able to sit in the back and stretch his feet without feeling like a small dead fish in a can of oil.

Climbing into the front seat, David again folded himself into as small a package as he could. “Glad to see you brought your sardine can on wheels,” he said.

With a faint smile she replied, “Good morning, Mr. Johnson. Glad to see you in such a fine humor today.” Pulling out of the parking lot, she turned north and headed to Mossad headquarters.

After going through the various checkpoints and security checks, they once again entered the building. This time, Ms. Ulatowski headed to a bank of elevators off the main lobby and pressed the button for basement level one. Once the elevator doors opened, she turned left and led them down a long corridor. At an unmarked door, she swiped her security card and entered another small office. Behind a desk to one side sat a middle-aged secretary. Straight ahead was a set of double doors guarded by a muscular soldier with an alert, piercing gaze. The soldier asked to see their identification. Once he was satisfied, he pushed a hidden button allowing them entrance.

On the other side of the doors was a large room filled with desks and monitors. The people in the room went about their business with a seriousness which matched the importance of their work. He could almost feel the life-and-death struggle in which they were involved. At one end of the room was a wall of monitors playing live video feeds from various locations.

Ulatowski directed David to the conference room just to the right of the wall of monitors, where several people were already gathering. He was shown a seat. For several minutes people filtered into the room until, with a rush just at the end, it filled and Marcus Nayat entered. Marcus gave the morning briefing. Indicating David, he said, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a guest here with us this morning from the FBI. Please show Mr. Johnson the proper courtesy. He will be with us for a few days at the request of the chief.”

David sat through the briefing taking mental notes. Director Hughes had given him specific instructions to learn what he could. The Mossad were the best at what they did, and this was a rare opportunity to see how they worked.

After the morning briefing, an aide to Marcus filled David in on the details of their investigation. He explained the sewer-system communication network and their surveillance of it. They had finished their own magnetic snare just two days ago, and it had trapped one of the leaden flash drives already. A tech was on-site 24/7 to open the flash drives and insert tracking devices. This first time, they had successfully inserted the tracking device in the flash drive and had it back in the sewer line in just under forty-five minutes.

The aide directed David over to a large map visible on a wall monitor. Small red circles marked different locations on the board.

“The red circles represent the locations where the sewer capsules have originated. The yellow circles represent the locations of the computers you provided us with. As you can see, several of the addresses match with locations we have under surveillance.”

Pointing to a blue dot on the electronic map, he said, “This is the location where the leaden capsules are trapped by an electromagnet. The building houses a bakery, and its proprietor is the facilitator who transfers the electronic flash drives to a courier.” Pointing to a red dot on the map, he continued, “This is a public restroom where several messages have originated.” Pointing to one red dot after another he said, “The suspect here is a low-level official in the Israeli Defense forces. Here is a professor of Islamic studies. Here a cleric in a local mosque. Here an official with the Antiquities Authority. Right now, we have teams going through the background of each of the contacts you gave us. As we speak, we are setting up surveillance on contacts who have been identified by our mutual information. Make yourself at home, but you are not to leave this operations center without an escort.”

Nodding, David thanked him. To be given access to an operations command center without someone looking over his shoulder was an incredibly rare opportunity which he intended to make the most of.

As he walked around, few people made eye contact. Those who did greeted him with a nod or other professional acknowledgment. Of the seventeen people in the room, not a single one was idle. Impressive, David said to himself. He spent the morning and most of the afternoon just watching, so engrossed he did not even notice the passage of time. At four p.m., Ms. Ulatowski arrived to take him back to his hotel.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Ulatowski. I didn’t even realize it was so late. Do you think you could ask your boss if I could stay for the night shift? I really find your operations engrossing.”

She hesitated. She had been given a job to do, and his request was not on the itinerary. Walking over to a phone, she pushed a button, and after two rings a voice answered. “Sir, Mr. Johnson would like to stay for the night shift. What are your orders? Yes, sir . . . yes, sir, I will tell him.” Turning to David she said, “You can stay, but you may not leave this operations center. There is a vending machine in the lobby over there, and I am sure you have found the restrooms by now. I am to pick you up at seven a.m. tomorrow and take you back to your hotel whether you like it or not.”

When she left, David settled back into a comfortable chair and just watched the team work. The massive electronic status board was continually updated as new information was developed. The board was divided into columns from top to bottom. At the head of each column was the name and address of a current suspect, along with a picture if they had one. There were only five pictures when he entered the room this morning, and now there were nine. Each new piece of relevant information was added to a bullet under the picture. Each workstation could access the same information as on the board, but when they clicked on the bullet, a whole new level of detailed information would open.

One of the reasons David wanted to stay for the night shift was that he wanted to see one of those sewer capsules get caught in the magnetic snare. The ingenious system had been explained to him, but he wanted to see it for himself. He could always sleep when he got back to the States. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and he wasn’t going to waste one second of it.

Chapter 63

Capernaum, Israel

Zane worked the morning away hauling loads of debris. At lunch break, he ate a meager meal of beef jerky, an apple, and some crackers, all washed down with a fair amount of water. After lunch was over, he again took up his wheelbarrow and started hauling loads up the hill. Every fourth load, he exchanged the bottle he carried in the wheelbarrow for a full one. The work would have been almost unbearable if he had not been used to the temperature. Tucson, Arizona, was about the same latitude as Galilee. Having lived in a desert environment most of his life, Zane knew he could become dehydrated very quickly.

It was late afternoon, and Zane was on his way back from his eleventh trip. He had just dumped his load and was enjoying the easy walk back down the trail when he heard an unusual bird call out of the bushes. Looking to see, he tripped and fell on the trail. His water bottle was the only thing in the wheelbarrow at the time, but it went flying. With an exasperated groan, he watched the water bottle roll down the trail into a dense tangle of thornbushes and wild olive trees. Walking around the bushes, he looked for a painless way into the thorn tangle. He thought for a second about just leaving it, but no, he’d never been one to leave trash behind and he did not intend to start now.

On the back side of the tangle of bushes and thorns, away from the trail, he found a narrow path and made his way into the dense growth. He found his water bottle just as it was emptying its final precious contents onto the ground. When he reached down to grab it, he noticed the water was not puddling on the ground but instead was just disappearing. Desert sand always sucked up water fast, but this was even more extreme than usual.

As he knelt closer to investigate, he heard a muffled sound as if water were splashing onto a hard surface deep under the ground. Was there some underground cavity here?

With his hands, Zane brushed the dirt where his water had disappeared. Under a shallow covering of dirt and sand, he found a hard rock surface. Brushing further, he found the straight edge of a large stone. More interested now, he followed the edge of the stone, brushing the dirt away as he went. After about twelve inches he found a square corner. It too led to another straight edge and ended in a corner.

Both corners of this stone were almost perfect ninety-degree angles. With serious interest and growing excitement, Zane uncovered two more sides and found an almost perfect square stone twenty-four inches on each side. Zane was not a trained archeologist, but he knew perfectly square stones were not a common occurrence in nature. This stone had been cut by the hand of man. Beneath it was some sort of hollow cavity or void.

Carefully, Zane re-covered the stone with dirt and sand. Picking up leaves and other debris, he let them sprinkle through his fingers over the sand and dirt. Cautiously, he made his way out of the thick tangle with his empty water bottle and returned to his wheelbarrow. What should he do about what he had found? Should he go to Efran or Rachael? Should he sneak back tonight and explore it himself? With questions going through his mind like fire, he returned to the pile and loaded the wheelbarrow. The rest of the afternoon, he scarcely noticed the passing of time. By the end of the day, he had decided he would wait until everyone had turned in for the night, then sneak over to Rachael’s tent to see if she wanted to go with him to investigate what he had found.

The hours after sundown passed agonizingly slowly. Finally, at ten p.m., everyone had been in their tents for a couple of hours and the lights had long ago been put out. Not a sound came from the tents. With carefully placed steps, Zane stealthily made his way to Rachael’s tent. Thankfully it was still at the edge of camp where it had been since spring. Zane remembered where her bed had been placed from the few times he had been inside her tent, and he approached her tent from that direction. “Rachael?” he whispered.

Receiving no response, he whispered a bit more loudly, “Rachael, it’s Zane. I’ve found something.”

A sleepy voice replied quietly from the tent, “Zane? What are you doing here at this hour?”

“That’s what I am trying to tell you,” Zane said in an excited whisper. He edged a little closer to the tent fabric and raised his voice to a low tone. “This afternoon, I literally stumbled on to something, and I’m going to check it out. Do you want to come with me?”

Now a whispered voice, fully awake, replied, “Give me a minute.”

“Bring your camera with you.”

After two minutes, Rachael appeared at her tent door. Without a sound, they both walked back the way Zane had come. Zane headed back up to his tent to get his gear and the crowbars he had stashed that afternoon.

“What is this all about, Zane?” Rachael asked, slightly aggravated but curious.

Zane briefly explained. “I’m not sure if it is anything, so I thought I would check it out first. If it turns out to be something, we can notify Efran.” He turned on a small flashlight to provide enough light to see the frown on Rachael’s face.

“You know this could get us in trouble, Zane. We’re supposed to notify the dig director immediately upon discovery of any artifacts.”

“That’s just it—we haven’t found any artifacts yet. For all I know, this may just be my overactive imagination. If you tell me not to go check this out, I will abide by your wishes.”

Rachael looked at Zane as if what he said was ridiculous. “Do you think I would be able to go to sleep tonight without knowing if you’d really found something or not?”

Zane smiled with boyish enthusiasm. “That’s what I hoped you’d say.”

Picking up his tools and climbing backpack, Zane led the way up the trail to the dense growth of bushes and trees. Approaching from the back, he and Rachael entered the tangle and knelt where Zane’s water had spilled earlier that day. He pointed to the sand and dirt. “The square rock is under there. I think it would be best if we put our back to the trail to shield our light. If you hold the flashlight, I’ll see what I can do with the stone.”

Zane quickly uncovered the stone again. This time, he expanded the area six inches past the edges. When he had removed all of the loose dirt and sand, he took a crowbar, placed the point along one edge which was wider than the others, and pried upwards. The stone moved slightly.

As Rachael watched, he put down the crowbar and removed his Leatherman pocket tool from his backpack. Folding open the flat file, he set it to one side and took up the crowbar again. Placing the point into the widest crack, he again pried up. This time the stone moved a quarter-inch. Rachael carefully slid the Leatherman tool into the crack at a point where it was snug before Zane could reach for it. He looked over in surprise. “You read my mind.”

Her own excitement showing, she replied, “Come on, get back to work.”

Zane removed the crowbar, and the stone held its position because of the file Rachael had inserted. This time Zane was able to get a little more purchase on the stone, and prying down, he moved it another half-inch. Rachael, ready with the file, slid it further into the crack. Now Zane was able to fully insert his crowbar.

“When I lift it this time, place the other crowbar under the stone.”

When Zane pried up once more, Rachael removed the file from the crack and grabbed the crowbar, inserting it completely and prying upwards. With a grating sound, the edge of the stone lifted completely free of its surroundings.

They could now see the edge of the stone. It was about three inches thick.

Zane placed his hands under the stone, and with feet spread, lifted the edge until the stone stood on end. With care, he laid it over and let go.

“There’s a deep hole here, Zane,” Rachael whispered, excited. “I can’t see the bottom.”

Zane reached into his backpack and pulled out a stronger flashlight. Pointing it into the hole, he turned it on. Twenty-five feet down, the beam showed the floor of a cave. There did not appear to be any means of climbing down.

“What do you want to do?” he asked in a serious whisper.

“What do you mean, what do I want to do? Let’s go find out what’s down there!”

He grinned. “I was hoping you would say that.”

Once more reaching into his pack, Zane removed his climbing rope. Taking one end, he carefully snaked it around the trunk of one the larger olive trees about ten feet away. He pulled on the rope until both ends were the same length. Zane then took both strands of the rope and tied a figure eight so it would not slip if only one side was pulled on inadvertently. After tying the knot, he threw both ends down into the hole and heard them hit the ground.

“You want to draw straws to see who goes first?”

Rachael desperately wanted to volunteer, but since Zane had found the cave, she said, “You found it . . . you should go first.”

“When I reach the bottom, pull up one of the ropes and tie my pack to it. Then lower it to me.” Zane grabbed both ropes, and hand over hand, let himself down into the dark mouth of the opening. When he reached the bottom, Rachael pulled one end of the rope back up and followed his instructions. Before Zane had untied the pack, Rachael was on her way down. When she reached the bottom, Zane handed her the larger flashlight, and they turned around to shine their lights into the darkness. The tunnel stretched away into inky blackness at a slight decline. It appeared to head in the same general direction as the trail.

In whispered awe, Rachael said, “Well, what are we waiting for?”

As they walked down the dark tunnel, their lights played off the rough rock walls. The tunnel appeared to be partly man-made and partly natural. At some point in the past, someone—or many someones—had straightened and enlarged a natural passage. In some places the walls of the tunnel brushed both their shoulders. In others, it widened into open, cave-like rooms.

After they had gone about three hundred feet down the tunnel, it opened into a large natural room. Shining their lights around, they saw where the tunnel continued down at a similar decline as the trail above.

“Continue on down the tunnel or check out this room first?” Zane asked.

“Let’s check out the room. If it looks like there are too many openings or we might get lost, we can return to the main tunnel and keep going from there.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

Turning to their left, they followed the edge of the open room around to another smaller opening. This one ended about thirty feet further back, so they entered to see what they might find. As they approached the end of the tunnel, they almost missed the opening in the floor. Just as Rachael was about to step off into the darkness beneath, Zane grabbed her arm in a grip of iron and pulled her back.

Shakily, Rachael said, “That was close. Wasn’t watching the floor. I was just focused on the end of my light. You’ve got to quit rescuing me like that.”

“I’ll stop rescuing you when you stop trying to kill yourself,” Zane replied.

Kneeling down, they both shined their lights into the dark hole. Thirty feet below, their lights reflected off water. Looking closer, they could see the hole had been enlarged and rounded by the hands of men. It looked to be roughly six feet around and irregular. The walls were rough, without any obvious cracks.

“Looks like this was used as a well at some point,” Rachael said.

Getting back to their feet, they explored the rest of the small room with the beams of their flashlights. Zane noted several large cracks in the walls. Carefully they made their way back to the main room and headed further down the tunnel.

“I know it’s hard to tell distances and angles underground, but it appears to me that this tunnel is heading back down the hill in the direction of our camp,” Zane stated.

“That’s what I’ve been thinking too,” Rachael replied. “The opening we found was obviously not often used, if ever. Had it been intended for regular use, there likely would have been stairs cut into the tunnel wall for access. It looks more like an escape route than an entrance.”

“Which means,“ Zane continued, “wherever we are heading is likely to be the point of entry.”

Continuing on, they moved further into the darkness as their feeble light was swallowed by the blackness. After walking another six or seven hundred feet, they saw the tunnel widen again up ahead. Their attention was drawn to the wall of the tunnel. Rachael gasped. Into the walls of the cave had been carved two long shelves about sixteen inches deep and ten feet long. On the top shelf sat all manner of clay vessels with lids. On the second shelf were an assortment of clay tablets, and on one end of the shelf, several small bowls. Looking closer, they saw all manner of coins in the bowls. Most appeared to be well-worn bronze or silver. There also appeared to be several gold coins.

Zane shined the light at Rachael. She was mute with incredulity. “Zane,” she barely whispered, “this is unbelievable.”

There were tears in her eyes. “Look at the all the tablets—some of them are written in Hebrew. Others appear to be in Persian.”

Carefully lifting the lids off one of the clay pots, they saw it contained a dried leather pouch covering what was obviously a scroll of some kind. “Scrolls!” Rachael exclaimed. “Oh, what an amazing find! Do you know what this could mean for the history of Israel?” Carefully, she lifted another lid and found another scroll.

As she made her way down the top shelf, Zane shined his light against the opposite wall. “Incredible!” he muttered. Rachael was so absorbed she did not hear his exclamation. Zane turned back around and took her by the arm. Engrossed, she resisted.

“Rachael, look,” Zane said in awed tones. “Rachael . . . look.” Taking her arm, he gently turned her around until both their lights shined on the opposite wall.

Rachael gasped again. Carved into the wall were three columns of beautiful Hebrew text, above which were written four Hebrew words. Involuntarily Rachael read the four words at the top out loud. “Yagid, echad, habhab, ahabah.”

Zane repeated them after her in English, translating them in his mind. “Tell or inform . . . One . . . offering or gift . . . love or loved. Tell one offering loved. What do you think it means, Rachael?”

“It doesn’t make any sense to me,” she replied. Reading further, she started on the first of three columns of single Hebrew words. Zane, following along, recognized the words and translated them to English in his mind: Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Judah, Phares, Esrom, Aram, Aminadab, Naasson, Salmon, Boaz, Obed, Jesse, David.

Rachael, goose bumps rising on her skin, skipped to the final name in the third column, hoping to find the name she expected. “Yeshua—Joshua,” she whispered in English. Tears in her eyes, she said, “Zane, this is the list from the first chapter of the book of Matthew. This is the list of Yeshua’s generations.”

Speechless, Zane reached out and touched the name carved into the stone wall. Finally finding his voice, he said in a hushed tone, “This is one of the greatest archeological discoveries of our lifetime, Rachael.”

With his words, they were both brought back to reality. He cleared his throat. “We need to get Efran and William. This site needs to be secured. The last thing we need is treasure hunters in here. If you feel comfortable staying here by yourself, I’ll go get them.”

Rachael looked up, almost overwhelmed. “I’ll stay here. I don’t want to leave. This is the most exciting night of my life.”

Zane set down his pack and removed two new batteries from a side pocket. “Here, put these in your pocket. If your light goes out before I’m back, you’ll have fresh batteries close at hand.” Taking two more for his own light, he started to turn.

Rachael grabbed him by the hand. Pulling him close, she looked into his eyes and said, “Thank you for sharing this with me, Zane.” With tears welling in her eyes, she continued, “You don’t know how much finding this means to me.”

Without a word, Zane headed back up the dark tunnel.

Walking as fast as he could, it took him several minutes to reach the end of the tunnel. Looking up, he saw faint moonlight shining on the edge of the square opening. He grabbed the rope and pulled himself up hand over hand until he reached the edge. First with one hand, then the other, he let go of the rope and grabbed hold of the edge to pull himself up and out.

Just as he was raising himself out of the last few inches, a dark form materialized from the shadows. Two large feet stepped to the edge of the hole and stood on his hands, crushing them against the stone edge. A blinding light snapped on and shined in his face, and a familiar voice said, “Well, well, what have we got here? Looks like I’ve caught treasure hunters in the act of stealing national artifacts.”

Laughing, the voice turned the light away from Zane’s face and pointed it upward, revealing his own. Zane recognized the face of Efran, with an evil grin on his lips. In one hand he was holding a flashlight, and the other held the steel crowbar Zane and Rachael had left up on top.

“Mr. Harrison, I wanted to thank you for finding me the artifacts. It looks like I will become quite famous for my discovery. I also wanted you to see the person who is going to kill you. Oh, and don’t worry about your dear Miss Neumann . . . I will see to it that she suffers greatly before she joins you and your Christian god.”

Efran swung the crowbar with brutal ferocity. Zane, sensing the coming blow, tried to move his head to one side. The heavy steel bar came down like a sword. Zane felt nothing, only saw a brilliant explosion of white light.

Chapter 64

A sudden move of Zane’s head, just as the blow was descending, saved his life. As Efran swung, the momentum of the glancing blow caused him to shift his weight off the balls of his feet, thus releasing Zane’s hands. The unconscious body of Zane Harrison fell the twenty-five feet to the floor of the tunnel, along with the crowbar which had slipped out of Efran’s grasp. Efran shone the light down into the hole and saw the beginnings of a crimson pool spilling out from under Zane’s head. Watching for a minute in morbid fascination, he made sure the body did not move.

“One down and one to go,” he muttered. “Rachael Neumann, I will be back shortly to deal with you.” Pulling the rope out of the opening, Efran slid the rock back over the hole and sealed Zane and Rachael in their cold, dark tomb.

Looking at his watch, Efran saw it was 11:36 p.m. If he left right now, he could make it to his apartment in Tel Aviv by 1:00. If he rushed the process, he might be able to send a message to his contact by 2:45 a.m. and be back here at the dig by 4:15. Sunrise was at about 6 a.m., and that would leave him just enough time to deal with Rachael and return to his tent before the other members of his team awoke.

Efran ran to the parking lot. He started his car and headed for Tel Aviv as fast as he thought he could go without being stopped for speeding.

As he drove to Tel Aviv, he formalized a plan in his head. For this to work, he had to be back to deal with Rachael before the rest of the team woke up in the morning. He needed them to see him leave his tent. After tomorrow, all the staff would be gone. Efran would have the dig to himself, and he could dispose of the bodies and move the artifacts. He would sell the most valuable and leave the rest so that he could take credit for their discovery. No, that wouldn’t work . . . he would have to leave the artifacts in the cave until the search for Zane and Rachael was over. If he dumped the bodies where they could be readily discovered, the search would be over quickly and he could move the artifacts. Yes, that would work better.

Opening his cell phone, he pushed a familiar number. “Kameel, I need your immediate assistance in a matter involving some merchandise. Yes, a substantial amount. Yes, your cut will be the standard twenty percent. And Kameel, there is an unsavory matter of dealing with persons who know too much . . . so make sure you come prepared. This is one of the biggest finds in many years. Meet me at Kfar Nahum Junction at four a.m. Don’t be late. We must take care of the dirty business before sunrise.”

Efran didn’t wait for an answer. Kameel was the best in the business. He was ruthless but also discreet. He would be there with several of his men and do what was necessary. Efran stepped on the gas, his heart racing. This was almost too good to be true. He would be rid of Rachael Neumann’s ever watchful eyes; then he would be free to sell the valuable artifacts and take credit for their discovery.

* * *

Rachael watched as Zane disappeared into the dark tunnel. As soon as he was out of sight, she decided she should keep busy. She removed her camera from its pouch and began to systematically take pictures of the artifacts. Rachael started with the inscription on the granite wall, taking pictures from several angles. Then she moved on to the artifacts on the opposite wall. After taking several pictures from as far back as she could, she took multiple closeups of each artifact individually. As she worked her way through, she was amazed at the number and diversity of records. Not since the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls had there been a find of this importance.

Pausing, she turned to listen. She thought she had heard something. After waiting a minute without hearing anything more, she returned to photographing the artifacts.

Glancing down at her watch, she was surprised to see that it had already been an hour since Zane left. He should be back by now. As the minutes slowly passed, Rachael began to get uneasy. After all, she was alone in a dark subterranean cave, and now she was just waiting. After another fifteen minutes passed, Rachael could stand it no longer. She decided to go see what was delaying Zane. Maybe he couldn’t find Efran or William? Yes, that was likely it.

With cautious steps, Rachael headed up the tunnel toward the opening. The tunnel seemed endless—much longer than when they had come this way together. After passing the large open room off of which the well was located, Rachael knew she was getting closer. With a little less caution, she hastened her steps. Finally, the beam of her flashlight played across the end of the tunnel and then up toward the opening.

Looking up as she approached, she fell over something on the floor. Her flashlight rolled a few feet across the floor, the beam finally coming to rest on a crimson pool of blood and the head of Zane Harrison. Rachael screamed. The pool of blood was not large, but it was already beginning to congeal. Getting up off the floor, she quickly reached for the flashlight and then bent over Zane. Sobbing, she prayed, “Dear Yeshua, please let him be alive.”

Zane was lying on his back on top of his backpack. With trepidation, Rachael reached over and touched his neck with her fingers, feeling for a pulse. To her surprise, she felt a strong, steady heartbeat through the tips of her fingers. With thanksgiving, she gently rolled him onto his side and removed his backpack. Then she rolled him onto his back once again, careful not to touch his bloody wound.

The pool of blood was not as large as it had first appeared. It looked like it had come from a gash on his head. He had a huge swollen bruise on the side of his head near the gash. The blood had clotted, and there did not appear to be any more fresh blood.

Opening Zane’s pack, she found a bottle of water. In vain she searched for a piece of cloth or clothing to wet and wipe his bloody face. “No time for false modesty,” she said to herself as she removed her shirt, leaving only her tank top underneath. Carefully, she poured water into her shirt and began to wipe away the blood.

After a couple of minutes, Zane’s eyes fluttered open, and a weak smile came to his lips. Looking up into Rachael’s concerned eyes, he asked, “Did I die and go to heaven?”

With relief, Rachael replied, “No, you’re not in heaven, you’re with me—deep in the bowels of the earth with a bloody gash on your head. What happened anyway? Did you fall?”

With an angry look, Zane replied, “No . . . I had just about climbed out of the hole when Efran appeared out of the darkness. He stood on my hands, and I was helpless. He told me he was going to kill me, and he said he was also going to kill you and sell the artifacts. After which he would take credit for the find. Then he struck at me using the crowbar we left up there. Thankfully, I jerked my head to one side . . . I guess it knocked me unconscious, because I don’t remember anything else.”

With indignant anger, Rachael replied, “I never trusted that monster. He was just waiting for his opportunity, and we handed it to him on silver platter. Can you move your arms and legs? Is anything broken?”

Carefully Zane moved his legs; everything seemed to be fine there. He was able to move his right arm without any trouble. Then he tried his left arm. It felt okay, but his left shoulder was very sore. Reaching over with his right arm, he felt it carefully. It was tender. The glancing blow of the crowbar must have hit there too. Thankfully, nothing appeared to be broken.

Slowly, Zane rolled over onto his hands and knees and began to stand up.

“Careful, Zane,” Rachael said, concerned. “You should lie down. You’re in no condition to get up.”

“Rachael,” Zane replied, “I have to get up. Efran might return at any moment, and I can’t just lie here for him to finish me off.”

Rachael stood beside him, helping him stand. As he straightened, he began to see stars and thought he was going to pass out. Grabbing onto Rachael for support, he waited for it to pass. Now his head was really pounding. After several minutes, he felt better and let go of Rachael. He took a few steps, and after a moment a few more. Several minutes later, with his head still throbbing, he could walk with little trouble.

“What time is it?”he asked.

Rachael glanced at her watch. “Just after one a.m. You’ve been unconscious for over an hour.”

“So how much time do you think we have?”

“I’m not sure, but we need to try to find a way out of here before Efran returns.”

Zane thought for a few moments, his pounding head making it hard to concentrate. “We’ve explored most of the upper tunnel . . . the only part left is just past where we found the artifacts. So I’d say let’s go back down the tunnel and see if we can find a way out.”

Chapter 65

Tel Aviv, Israel

Efran made it to his apartment by 1:03 a.m. Quickly he composed a message.

Have made a significant discovery . . .

Efran paused, remembering what he had seen and heard when he sneaked down the tunnel after Zane and Rachael. It couldn’t hurt to make it sound mysterious, so he continued.

Coded Hebrew inscription found on wall of tunnel. Nagad, echad,  habhab,  ahabah. Related to list of Matthew 1. Twenty-five scrolls, sixty clay tablets, miscellaneous coins, and other artifacts. Very few know of discovery. They have been dealt with. You can have first pick. Provide e-mail address in order to send pictures of artifacts and inscriptions. Payment to be made in advance. Entire collection sight unseen fifty million dollars. Will hold collection for one week, after that highest bidder.

Efran was almost shaking with excitement. He hoped the mysterious contact would buy the entire collection. It would save time and entail less risk of discovery if he didn’t have to go looking for additional buyers.

Efran set a new record for himself for encasing the leaden message in its water-soluble vessel. It was only 2:40 a.m., and he was on his way to the restroom to flush his leaden messenger. Without picking up his mess, he grabbed his keys and headed back out the door.

* * *

Marcus’s phone rang at 2:42 a.m. He was wide awake on the second ring. “Yes,” he said as he answered.

“Sir, we have a development. Contact 13 arrived back at his apartment at one, and approximately three minutes ago he flushed a message down the drain. Immediately after, he left his apartment in a hurry. We placed a tracking device on his car when he arrived, and right now it is heading north. He’s in charge of a dig at Capernaum, and we surmise he is heading back there as we speak. Do you have any special orders, sir?”

Marcus thought for a moment. He lived in north Tel Aviv, and if he left now he could intercept and follow the suspect. This was Contact 13, and he had been given specific instructions to follow him closely. One person you did not disappoint was the Guardian.

“I will intercept and follow Contact 13. Get a Heron airborne. I want complete reconnaissance coverage on this contact. Will advise when on the road.”

Marcus jumped into his clothes and was out the door in two minutes. He headed north. Five minutes later, Contact 13 blew by as Marcus was parked on the side of the road. Marcus waited till he was out of sight and then followed. The tracking device would provide him with locational information until the Heron came online.

Twenty-five minutes later, the night-shift supervisor called and said the Heron was up and providing real-time reconnaissance. Marcus finally relaxed a little He was about a mile behind the suspect, and they were almost a third of the way to Capernaum. That was the destination he supposed he was going, anyway. Now he would see what this little traitor was up to.

* * *

Back in Mossad operational headquarters, David noticed the increased energy and excitement when Contact 13, as they’d nicknamed the sender of the leaden capsules marked with the number 13, arrived. After the Heron Unmanned Aerial Vehicle, or UAV, came online, David watched live footage of Contact 13 as he made his way up the Israeli highway system. He knew from intelligence reports that the Heron had ISTAR, or intelligence, surveillance, target acquisition, and reconnaissance capabilities. This version of the Heron appeared to have four independent cameras as well as infrared. On the far wall, David watched four separate live video feeds and one live IR feed. The resolution was incredible. On the first twenty-four-inch flatscreen monitor, Camera One showed the contact sitting in his car as he drove. Another camera showed live footage of Marcus four miles behind in pursuit.

David’s curiosity was pricked when they mentioned Contact 13 was a dig supervisor at a Capernaum dig. He was pretty sure that was the dig Zane had volunteered at in the spring. He didn’t remember if Zane had said he was going back there or to some other dig during the summer. Well, this was certainly exciting.

A little over an hour later, Contact 13 turned at Kfar Nahum Junction, and another car fell in behind him. Over the command center’s communication system, the night supervisor said, “We have additional contacts, follow with Camera Three.” Seconds later, a live video showed the new vehicle. The IR camera showed three individuals inside. Minutes later, the two cars pulled into the parking area of the Capernaum dig. Four individuals exited their vehicles, and immediately the Heron zoomed in to get visual IDs on each suspect. Pictures would be fed into the Mossad’s database, and soon the identity of the other individuals would be known.

For a couple of minutes the small group gathered together and appeared to be talking. The video feed showed Efran giving instructions to the others. Then, together, they all headed up the hill away from camp. They entered a thick growth of trees and brush.

The supervisor’s voice came over the speakers again. “We’ve lost camera visual, switching IR to primary. Four bodies are moving in the bushes and trees.” A few minutes later, “Only one visible heat signature, three of the contacts have likely gone underground.”

* * *

A half-mile away from the Capernaum dig, Marcus was following the developments on his smartphone. He had direct access to all four video feeds and the command center audio. If necessary, he could speak over the command center’s communication system as well. He was close enough for now; he would wait to see what developed.

Chapter 66

Ten minutes later, the night-watch operational supervisor’s voice came back over the speakers. “We have four contacts again. Pay attention, people.”

Thirty seconds later, all four suspects headed back to the parking area, and after several minutes of discussion, they separated. First Efran left the parking lot and walked down to the campsite. He entered his tent, and based on the IR signature, appeared to lie down to sleep. Two of the other contacts stayed in the parking area for ten minutes, after which they left on foot, and making a wide circuit, headed down to the shore of the Galilee.

David watched in fascination. Those were real people down there, but this didn’t seem real. Here he was, almost one hundred miles away, and he could see their faces and read their expressions in real time. He shook his head. In a way, all this seemed to dehumanize them. He knew that with a push of a button, someone in this room or another room could send a missile down to end their lives. He wondered if killing people should be that easy.

* * *

Picking up Zane’s pack, Rachael put her arms through the straps. Zane started to protest, then stopped—the determined look on Rachael’s face brooked no further argument. Walking side by side, they slowly made their way back down the tunnel. When they reached the widened section with the artifacts, Rachael set Zane’s pack down, and they proceeded until they reached a stone wall built across the tunnel. All the stones were large and uniform except for the one in the center. It was as tall and wide as a man, with a thick, rounded top and a narrow, tapered bottom.

“Those stones look familiar. They’re about the same size as the ones in Levi’s basement,” Rachael said.

Pointing to the rock in the center, Zane said, “That’s how they access the tunnel. That stone is quite a clever piece of engineering.” She gave him a questioning glance. Pointing to the top section of the stone, he explained, “This is a trap door. It’s equally balanced at this point here.” He pointed to the thickest section of the stone at the top. “When this was made, it likely only took the pressure of one man pushing on the top of the rock to swing the bottom up and open. Hopefully whoever made it planned for the future, and it still works. Sit down beside me, and let’s push on the bottom with our feet. It should swing outwards and up.”

Sitting down close together, they put their feet against the bottom and pushed as hard as they could. It didn’t move at all. After all the centuries, it was stuck.

Taking his flashlight, Zane carefully inspected the edges of the stone. It appeared that fine dirt and sand had settled into the small cracks—likely when the basement had filled with debris.

“So what do we do now?” asked Rachael.

Zane, with a sober look, replied, “Well, if we can get enough of the dirt and sand out of the cracks between the stone door and its frame, we’ll be able to push it open. We’ll need something thin and hard. The blade on my knife should do.”

Rachael stood. “You just sit here and rest while I get it.” She walked the short distance to Zane’s pack and brought it back. Taking out the knife, she began to scratch away at the debris between the stones. It was painfully slow work. Every minute or two, they paused and listened for the sound of pursuers. After two-and-a-half hours of taking turns tediously cleaning out the crack, they were again ready to try to push open the door. Sitting down again, they pushed with all their might. The door still would not budge.

Zane sat resting and thinking for a few minutes. Rachael silently sat beside him. Both were tired and discouraged, neither wanting to voice their fears. Finally Zane said, “If we had something to pry the door with it might help.”

Rachael looked up. “I think I remember seeing a crowbar lying on the floor of the tunnel near where you fell. Do you want me to go check?”

“No, I don’t think we should separate. We don’t know when Efran will be back. Let’s go together.”

Getting up, they walked back up the long dark tunnel, their flashlights casting dancing shadows across the rough rock walls, their imaginations playing tricks on them. They reached the end of the tunnel and saw the crowbar lying near the far wall. With relief, Zane reached down to pick it up. They turned, and as they began to walk away, they heard a noise coming from overhead.

Rachael grabbed Zane’s arm and whispered, “He’s back. We won’t be able to make it back and open the door in time.” As she finished speaking, they heard the stone cover being pried open again. Zane whispered for Rachael to turn off her flashlight, and they moved several feet further down the tunnel. They stood there in the darkness, twenty feet down the passage, and listened.

Several excited voices were talking in Arabic at once. After they removed the stone, flashlights shined down in the hole. The surprised tone of their voices indicated that they’d realized Zane’s body was not there anymore.

“They’re talking about your missing body,” Rachael whispered in Zane’s ear.

Then Efran’s voice silenced the others, saying in Arabic, “I tell you he was there. I killed him. She must have found and moved the body. Go down and find her and kill her. Don’t come out until you are sure she is dead, and don’t touch the artifacts. We will leave them where they are until things quiet down. We don’t have much time. If you are not out of there in forty-five minutes, I will close this door and lock you in. Leave your guns here. She is a defenseless girl—you will not need firearms. Do not make any unnecessary noises. We do not want to wake up the rest of the camp.”

Zane grabbed Rachael’s arm and hurried her down the tunnel. His light was shielded by his hand and fingers, only the barest of light escaping. “Let’s find a place in the big room to hide. If we can keep them looking long enough, they’ll have to leave.”

Behind them, they heard the rope land on the floor of the cave and the noise of men descending. Their excited voices, discussing the prospect of Rachael, carried down the dark tunnel to them. Just as the beams from their flashlights shined down the tunnel, Zane and Rachael turned into the large room and headed back to the small room with the well. Frantically, they searched for a crack big enough to hide them both. They found nothing that was even sufficient for one of them.

Finally, after searching the room twice and finding nothing, Zane stopped, put down the crowbar, and turned to Rachael with anger in his voice. “I am going back out there to try to stop them. If I can lure them away from this room, you might be able to slip out and climb up the rope.”

Rachael looked up at Zane, shaking her head. “What about Efran, Zane? He will likely be up there waiting. There may even be more men up there besides him. I will throw myself down the well before I’ll let them get their filthy hands on me.” Scorn tinged her voice. “And besides, I am not going to stand idly by as you walk out there and fight three men by yourself.”

As she finished talking, a thought came into her mind—a crazy idea, but an idea that just might work. Taking Zane by the arm, she drew him back into dark room. She shined the light up between them. “Do you trust me?” she asked. Zane looked at her with a surprised expression on his face. They could now clearly hear the voices of the approaching men. Rachael took Zane by the arm and drew him closer.

“What do you have in mind, Rachael?” Zane asked in a quiet voice. As she explained, Zane began to turn pale. What she suggested was just plain crazy. What kind of girl was this, anyway?

“Do you trust me?” she asked again.

With a final deep, searching look into her eyes, Zane turned off his flashlight and shoved it deep in his pocket. Taking his arms, he wrapped them around Rachael’s waist and tucked his head down and into her neck. With her head tucked tight against his chest, they carefully shuffled right up to the edge of the well. In the darkness, they waited. When they finally saw the lights of the searching men turning their direction, Rachael whispered, “On the count of three: one . . .two . . . three.” And they both stepped off into pitch-black void.

As they fell through the empty shaft, time seemed to stand still for Rachael. It was one of the clearest moments of mental realization she had ever experienced. From the moment Zane Harrison had wrapped his strong arms around her waist, she knew she had found her man. He hadn’t argued or laughed. He had just quietly analyzed their circumstances and knew what she suggested might work, even though it was practically insane. He had trusted her judgment and without hesitation had acted upon it. This was a man she could proudly walk beside through life. A man who would not be intimidated by her, one she knew would protect her, challenge her, and cherish her. This was a man who would father strong, independent children.

Zane Harrison didn’t know it yet, but he was spoken for.

With this final thought, they plunged into the cold waters at the bottom of the well.

With a jarring shock they hit the water and separated. Down and down they plunged. Fighting the pull of gravity, they struggled to reach the surface. Finally, both of them broke the surface and took in gasping mouthfuls of air. Rachael began to scream, “Help, help, help! We are down in the well. Down in the well! Help us! Please, help us!” She let the last pleading tones hang in the air.

Hurried steps approached the well. Zane lay facedown in the water, holding his breath. As three lights shined down into the well, Rachael made as if she were taking her last gasp of air. Thrashing about in the water, she finally disappeared under the surface.

Three lights shined on the now-still waters. As Rachael thrashed about in the water, Zane had carefully taken another breath of air. He could hold it for about a minute and fifty seconds before he had to take another breath. He did not know how long Rachael could hold hers, but he hoped they lost interest before she had to surface.

The seconds slowly ticked by as the light shone down. He could hear them discussing the situation. He did not know what they were saying, but by the tone of their voices it sounded as if two of them were trying to convince the other one of something. Finally, just as Zane was starting to black out from lack of oxygen, the other two convinced their companion that it was over. The lights disappeared. They were gone.

Zane tried not to make too much noise as his hungry lungs greedily devoured the oxygen. A few seconds later, Rachael rose through the surface of the water like some ghostly apparition. As quietly as she could, she too filled her starved lungs. After several minutes of silent listening as they treaded water, Zane whispered, “I think they’ve left. Let’s get out of this cold water.”

Turning so they were back to back, they locked arms. Together they pushed against each other, their feet firmly planted against opposite walls. Slowly, with great care they silently walked inch-by-inch out of the cold, dark well. Their legs burning with exertion, they finally reached the opening, and carefully, they turned to one side. Releasing first one arm and then the other, they found purchase on the edge of the well. Still pushing against each other with their legs, they gave one final heave and rolled out onto the floor of the cave.

Exhausted, they lay there in their wet, cold clothes. After several minutes of silence, Zane said, “You know, I am by nature a very cautious and conservative person, but every time I am around you, you seem to find new ways to risk my life.”

A rich, feminine laugh rolled softly off the walls of the dark cavern. “It worked, didn’t it?” Rachael’s voice asked out of the darkness.

“It shouldn’t have, Rachael, it shouldn’t have,” Zane said seriously. “Your heavenly Father must have something very important in store for you, because despite your best efforts to kill us both, he is miraculously keeping you alive.”

“Us alive, Zane, us alive.” she repeated softly.

Zane rolled over, sat up, then stood. He could hear Rachael doing the same. Reaching down into his pocket, he retrieved his flashlight, thankful it still worked. A few seconds later, a second light shone in the darkness. “Let’s retrieve that crowbar and get out of this dark hole in the ground. I’ve spent about as much time down here as I want to for one night.”

“Can’t say as I disagree with you on that,” she said.

On the way out of the room, Zane found the crowbar. Grabbing it, they proceeded back down the tunnel. After they reached the stone door, Zane handed his flashlight to Rachael, and while she directed the light, he placed the crowbar into the crack and pried with all his might. Finally, just as he was about to move to another location and try again, they heard a grating sound as the stone moved ever so slightly. With renewed hope, Zane again placed the crowbar in the crack between the stones and pried. This time the stone gave way, and the door moved upward three inches. Setting down the crowbar, he sat down and pushed on the door with his feet. It opened all the way.

With a sigh of relief, they gathered their things and slipped under the overhanging door. Once outside, Rachael reached up and grabbed the stone door, pushing it back into place.

“What should we do now?” Rachael asked in a whisper.

“I’d say we should get away from this area as fast as we can and call the police. If Efran wanted to kill us before, he needs to kill us now. You should also call your father and let him know about Efran, not to mention the artifacts. Let’s carefully sneak up to the parking lot and my car. My cell phone is in there, and once we’re safely away, we can call the police and your dad.”

Standing together, they slowly made their way up the steps out of Matthew’s basement. When they could see out, they carefully reconnoitered the area, both of them searching for anything that moved.

“Okay, it looks clear,” Zane said. “Let’s make our way up the hill to the parking area. It would probably be better if we stayed off the trail and came to the parking area from a different direction.”

As slowly and quietly as they could, they sneaked up to the parking area. About two hundred feet from their destination, they both saw movement at once. It was one of the men who had been sent to kill Rachael. He was leaning up against Zane’s car smoking a cigarette.

“Do you see the other two or Efran?” Zane asked in a whisper.

“I don’t see anyone else,” Rachael replied.

Zane thought for a moment. It was only a matter of time before the other two returned from wherever they had gone. A hint of light showed in the eastern sky. They needed to act now while they only had one person to deal with.

That was when Zane remembered his flashlight. It was the one thing he had allowed himself to splurge on with his money from his AQES stock. Setting down his pack, he opened it and took it out. It looked like a regular flashlight, but it was much more than that. Without its protective diffusion lens, it was a one-watt green laser. To the human eye it appeared eight thousand times brighter than the sun. Carefully, he unscrewed the wide beam filter from the end of the laser and handed it to Rachael. As quietly as he could, he explained how it worked. Entering his code, he unlocked it so all Rachael had to do was turn it on. “Give me five minutes, then turn it on and shine it in his eyes. I’ll work my way around behind him. As soon as he’s down, make a run for the car. Try to get both eyes if possible. And whatever you do, don’t look into the beam.”

Rachael looked skeptical. “You really think shining a flashlight in this guy’s eyes will work?”

Zane replied with a warm smile, “Do you trust me, Rachael?”

With a look of understanding, she said, “I’ll give you five minutes.”

Chapter 67

“We have two new contacts. They appeared out of the ground near the ruins.” Camera Four on the Heron was directed toward the newcomers. The operations supervisor’s voice continued. “We have one male and one female. IR thermal signature indicates they have spent time in a cold or wet environment.”

As the new contacts turned and the moonlight illuminated their faces, David recognized Zane and Rachael Neumann, the girl Zane had rescued from a cliff face. Jumping up from his chair, he walked over to the operations director and motioned to get his attention. The director, a look of anger on his face, waved David away.

“Sir,” David said, “that young man is Zane Harrison, and the young woman is Rachael Neumann, the antiquities director’s daughter.”

“How do you know that?” the director asked skeptically.

“Zane is a lifelong friend of mine. He’s a volunteer at the Capernaum dig. Put his name in your database. You’ll find he just entered the country a few days ago.” The supervisor entered Zane’s name in his database, and seconds later a picture of Zane appeared.

“People,” the voice called out again, “new contacts are Zane Harrison and Rachael Neumann.” He picked up the phone and dialed the number for Marcus. “Sir, I would like to send some additional resources up there. We have confirmed bad guys and a potential terrorist. If this starts to get ugly, we’ll need more manpower.”

Marcus replied, “Agreed, get two teams up here ASAP. I don’t know what’s happening down there, but let’s get prepared.”

David watched as Rachael and Zane made their way up the hill to the parking area. About two hundred feet from there, they stopped. They appeared to be talking, and Zane reached into his pack. David saw him pull out a flashlight and hand it to Rachael after a few moments. Then, stealthily, Zane made his way around behind the suspect.

“What is he doing?” David asked himself out loud. Why was Zane sneaking up on the man standing in the parking area? Obviously they didn’t want to be seen. Zane slowly made his way around behind the suspect and to the edge of the parking lot. For a minute he didn’t do anything—he just seemed to be waiting.

Over the speakers was heard, “Contacts 3 and 4 have turned around and are heading back to the parking area.” David could feel the tension building. All of a sudden, a brilliant beam of green light pierced the night air, its shimmering beam directed at Contact 2. “What the hell was that?” the operations director said involuntarily.

* * *

At the five-minute mark, Rachael pushed the power button on what she understood to be a flashlight. The moment she let off the power switch, a blinding, brilliant beam of green light shone from the end. The beam immediately got the attention of the man at the car, and Rachael steered it into his left eye, raking both his eyes with the beam. The man reacted as if he had been struck by the hand of God. He instinctively recoiled, reaching for his eyes and at the same time emitting a hair-raising scream. He began to roll and thrash on the ground. The focused beam of light, eight thousand times the brightness of the sun, hit his wide-open pupil and badly burned it. The focused energy of the beam completely overloaded the optic nerve, and he went into convulsions.

Zane made his move the moment he saw the beam of light. He covered the ground between himself and the man in just a few seconds. When he got to his car, the man was still screaming and convulsing on the ground. Clearly he was out of commission. Zane opened his car door and reached across to open the passenger door for Rachael. A few seconds later she appeared, throwing the pack over the passenger seat. Jumping into the front seat, she closed the door. Zane started the car and screeched out of the parking lot. The lights from his car revealed the other two killers just returning. Turning the wheel, he floored it and raced away.

Rachael looked out the back window a few seconds later and saw the killers throw their companion into the back seat and jump into their car and leave the parking lot.

“Zane,” she said, “I think they’re following us.”

Zane pushed the accelerator harder and hoped they had enough of a head start. Rachael watched as the car behind them gained. Clearly, Zane’s little compact car was no match for whatever they were driving.

“Stupid enviro-friendly cars,” Zane muttered. By the time he reached Kfar Nahum Junction, the killers’ car was only eight hundred feet behind them. Zane hit the turn going too fast and almost lost control.

Now on a straightaway, he again floored it. The car behind them was only two hundred feet back, and suddenly there was a flash of light and the back window shattered.

“They’re shooting at us!” Rachael yelled. She unclipped her seat belt and turned around in her seat.

Over the sound of the wind and car engine, Zane yelled, “What are you doing?”

“I am not just going to sit here and let them shoot at us,” Rachael replied. Reaching into her pocket where she had shoved it earlier, Rachael removed Zane’s laser. Another flash—this time the bullet missed. Pointing the laser out the back window, Rachael turned it on. The brilliant beam of emerald-green light again split the night sky with its shimmering brightness. Rachael held on to her seat with her left hand as she directed the laser with her right, walking the beam into the driver’s-side windshield and searching for the driver’s eyes. He tried to swerve, but he could not avoid the beam. Finally, Rachael scored a direct hit on his eyes, and the car careened off the highway, rolled, and exploded in a ball of fire.

Zane slowed down a little, his hand shaking on the wheel. “They won’t be bothering us again,” Rachael said matter-of-factly as she turned off the laser. Sitting back down in her seat, she held the laser in the palm of her hand.

Zane glanced over at her and saw that she was wide-eyed and shaken. “Rachael, why don’t you call your dad? He ought to know what is going on.”

Chapter 68

Marcus had followed the chase and subsequent explosion of the killers’ car on his smartphone video feed from the Heron. Zane Harrison and Rachael Neumann appeared to be okay. He knew they would probably proceed directly to her father and he would be able to find them there later in the day. Right now, he was going to find out exactly what Efran Finkelstein knew about Capsule 13. Marcus reflected on that for a moment. His thoughts scared him. He decided he didn’t want to know too much or he might end up dead—and that was if he was lucky.

Marcus headed down to the parking area of the Capernaum dig. Exiting his car, he looked around for any evidence the killers might have left behind. Before the other two left the parking area, they had loaded their wounded companion into the car. He doubted they would find much useful evidence in the exploded remains.

After five minutes of experienced examination of the parking area, finding little in the way of evidence, Marcus continued on to the dig camp. When he arrived, the camp staff were all gathered around in a group. In excited voices they were discussing the commotion they had heard up in the parking area. Efran Finkelstein stood among them, acting innocent and asking questions like the rest. Marcus laughed inwardly. Mr. Finkelstein was in for a rather unpleasant morning.

Then he suppressed a shudder. He knew Mr. Finkelstein would be paid a visit from the emissaries of the Guardian.

As Marcus entered the camping area, he asked, “Who’s in charge here?” The surprised group all looked to Efran.

Blustering, Efran replied, “I am in charge here. Who are you and what do you want?”

Marcus pulled out his Mossad credentials and showed them to the group. An unpleasant silence settled over the camp. To Marcus’s satisfaction, Efran had turned markedly pale. The Mossad had a heavy-handed reputation, but seldom did the innocent react with fear to their agents. Anger maybe, but seldom fear.

Efran Finkelstein was scared. When the agent showed his credentials, it was all he could do not to turn and run. What was the Mossad doing here so soon? What had happened up there in the parking lot? He’d heard the bloodcurdling scream and then the voices of Kameel and his killers. He’d caught the words “live” and “escape” and “kill them,” but nothing more. He assumed Rachael must have somehow escaped from the tunnel. Those incompetent ignoramuses! How had they let a single girl escape them? Efran had killed Zane, so he doubted Rachael knew of his involvement. Maybe he could bluff his way out of this. Members of his staff had seen him leave his tent when all the commotion started—he’d made sure not to be the first one out of his tent. He had been feeling pretty good about the events until the Mossad agent showed up just few minutes after the commotion up in the parking area. There was no way they could know of his involvement, was there?

Now that the agent was directing his attention solely at him, Efran wished he was no longer in charge. He had to hold it together. Millions of dollars of historical treasure was just a few steps away and just within reach of his greedy grasp.

“How may I help you?” Efran asked without warmth. With a disarming smile, Marcus replied, “I don’t know if you all heard the commotion in the parking lot above, but we have had a group of suspected archeological thieves under surveillance. We believe they were preparing to steal the artifacts of your dig.”

Efran, trying not to show his terror, replied, “Well, they chose the wrong dig site to steal from. We have no artifacts of any value here. In fact, this is the last day my staff and I will be here. We are closing this dig.”

With another disarming smile, Marcus replied, “That makes matters easier for all of us, then. I have two teams of investigators coming to check the area for evidence. During that time, no one will be allowed at the site. You all may go, finish packing your things, and leave. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, Mr. Finkelstein, I would like you to remain behind so that I may ask additional questions.”

Trying to hide his fear, Efran replied, “I will remain behind as you request.” Turning to the rest of his dig team he said, “Please pack your things and leave. The dig is now officially closed.”

Thirty minutes later, two additional four-member Mossad teams had arrived to secure the area. No one else was allowed on-site until the investigation was complete. By eight a.m., all of the dig staff except Efran had packed and left. Efran packed his things and sat waiting for Marcus. His terror was growing by the minute.

Finally, Marcus walked back over. “Mr. Finkelstein, would you be so kind as to accompany me to headquarters? There are some additional questions we would like to ask you.”

Efran, now no longer able to contain his fear, asked, “Why can’t we finish the questioning here? I’ve told you all I know, and I don’t see what more I can add to your investigation.”

“Mr. Finkelstein, I have been instructed to bring you in. You may accompany me willingly or by compulsion. It is your choice.”

Shaking now, Efran barely managed to get out, “I guess I have no choice in the matter.”

Stepping a few paces away to address one of the members of his investigative team, Marcus said, “Secure the area, and do not go into the underground tunnels. Leave a four-person team on-site overnight to keep watch. By tomorrow morning we will bring in additional personnel and members of the Antiquities Authority.”

Marcus walked back over to Efran. He extended his hand, indicating the parking area. “Mr. Finkelstein, if you will.”

The drive to headquarters took an hour and a half, and not a word was spoken. Marcus could tell by Efran’s body language that he was truly scared. By the time they interrogated him, he would be ready to tell all he knew. They entered the building, and Marcus ushered Efran into a small room with a table and several chairs. “Please wait here, Mr. Finkelstein. One of our interrogators will be here shortly.”

Efran shuddered at the word “interrogators,” visibly shaken. Marcus left the room and walked around the other side to look in through the one-way glass. They would leave him there to soften up for an hour more before they questioned him.

An hour later, Marcus returned to the room and sat down. “It seems that I will have to ask the questions today, Mr. Finkelstein. Mr. Awad is currently occupied. It seems he is having a challenging time getting a terrorist suspect to cooperate, if you know what I mean.” He said the last in a joking manner. “Just between you and me, I am glad Mr. Awad didn’t question you. His idea of a good interview often involves substantial amounts of pain. Anyway, that won’t be necessary, will it, Mr. Finkelstein?”

Involuntarily, Efran shook his head and stuttered, “No, Mr. Nayat, that will not be necessary.” His eyes almost begged to be believed.

Marcus directed Efran’s attention to the wall-mounted TV. Pushing a button on his remote, Marcus began to play the video feed from the Heron surveillance drone from the previous night. As Efran watched the video, the blood drained completely from his face. Immediately after the video clip showing his involvement in the preceding night’s events, the video went right into a clip showing a small brownish floating device being captured by the bakery’s magnetic field. Efran had to grab the edge of the table to keep his body from shaking out of his chair. It always surprised Marcus that criminals were the last to believe they would ever get caught.

“As you can see, Mr. Finkelstein, we have been watching you for some time.” Now his friendly tone was gone. “I would encourage you to tell me everything you know. If you do not, I am sure Mr. Awad will be glad to finish this interview for me.” All Efran could do was gape in abject horror. “If you don’t mind, let’s start in the present and work our way backwards. Tell me about the events of last night.”

Marcus paused, waiting for Efran to speak. After several attempts in which he could not say a word, he finally started to speak in a whisper; after a few moments, as if gaining strength in the telling of his treachery, he did not stop for an hour.

When he had finished, Marcus asked, “So as far as you know, no one else besides Kameel, his associates, Rachael, and Zane know of the artifacts you discovered. Is that correct?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“If I understood your story correctly, you did not personally see any of the artifacts—you only overheard Zane and Rachael discussing them?”

“Yes.” Efran nodded.

“Tell me again exactly what you overheard them say.”

“I had sneaked down the tunnel behind them and was about thirty feet down in the darkness when they found the artifacts. I heard them mention the discovery of clay pots with scrolls in them. On a second shelf, they found many clay tablets with inscriptions in several different languages. Then, after a few minutes, I could hear them exclaim about an inscription on the opposite wall. I heard Rachael read ‘Nagad, echad,  habhab, ahabah.’  From what I gathered, this inscription was over a three-column list of Hebrew names. The list, it seems, is similar to the one found in the first chapter of the book of Matthew from the New Testament. This list is the supposed lineage of the Christian messiah Yeshua, or Jesus.”

Writing notes as Efran spoke, Marcus looked up when he stopped. “Do you have any idea what the inscription above the list might mean?” he asked.

“No, it does not make any sense to me in the context of the list. I have no idea.”

“Do you remember anything else they might have said?”

“No, that is all I recall.”

“Okay, Mr. Finkelstein, you have been cooperative so far, and that will go well for you. I have convinced my superiors to let you go so long as you agree to work for us.” From a bag on the floor, Marcus removed a small belt. “This belt is a tracking device, Mr. Finkelstein. It will track your every movement. As a condition of working with us, you will wear this belt at all times. If at any time you attempt to remove it, a small explosive charge will detonate, and well, frankly, it will cut you in half. If at any time you attempt to run, we can remotely detonate this belt. Do you have any questions?”

Marcus’s tone was cheerful. The belt was not an explosive device, but Marcus thought it never hurt to encourage the proper respect. With this motivation, it was less likely suspects would remove the belt. At least for a while, anyway. Efran shook his head in complete resignation. The small measure of relief he had felt at the possibility of being let go was replaced with the new fear of being cut in half should the device fail. Added to these fears was the question of what they would ask of him. He knew now that his freedom was over. He would be used by the Mossad and then discarded whenever he was no longer useful. With bowed head, he sat quietly waiting.

“Please stand up, Mr. Finkelstein.” Efran stood, and Marcus snapped the belt snugly around his waist. “The belt is waterproof, and you do not have to fear it getting wet should you desire to wash or shower. You can wear it under your clothing, but just remember, unless you want to be cut in half, do not remove the belt. You are to continue your normal routine as if nothing has happened. Our director, Mr. Yadin, has contacted your superior, Mr. Neumann, and explained the situation. In case you did not know it yet, Mr. Harrison and Miss Neumann escaped safely from the underground cave and are now recuperating from their ordeal. Until further notice, you are to confine your activities to your residence in Tel Aviv and your office in Jerusalem. You are to await further instructions. Do you have any questions for me?”

Efran shook his head. Marcus indicated the door. “You may go, Mr. Finkelstein.”

Chapter 69

Rachael picked up Zane’s cell phone from the pocket of the dashboard. Her father answered on the first ring. “Abba,” Rachael exclaimed with a mixture of joy and relief.

“Rachael, my dear, it is so good to hear your voice! I have been so worried about you.”

“Abba, oh Abba, you will . . . we will . . .” Rachael struggled as she tried to get out all her thoughts at the same time.

Her father interrupted her. “Dear, I just received a call from Chief Yadin of the Mossad. He explained most of what has happened and told me you are likely on your way here. They have been following your car with one of their surveillance drones. You can wait to explain everything until you get here. But you are okay, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Abba, we’re both okay. But Abba, we discovered an incredible trove of scrolls and artifacts. Someone needs to secure the site.”

“You discovered additional artifacts at the site?”

“Yes, an incredible cache . . . scrolls, clay tablets, and an amazing inscription across one wall. The site needs to be guarded to protect the finds.”

“Dear, Chief Yadin assured me the site will be under guard by the Mossad until an investigation is completed. No one will be allowed in until then. We may get special permission to go back in tomorrow or the next day. Do not worry about it right now. The most important thing is that you are okay. When you get here, we will discuss how to proceed with this discovery. Is there anything I can get ready for you? Are you hungry?”

She sighed and closed her eyes, letting some the intensity go out of her voice. “Yes, Abba, very hungry. I’m sure Zane is as well. Most of all I am tired, though.”

“Be careful, and I’ll see you in a little while then. Breakfast will be waiting.”

Rachael put the phone down and looked over at Zane. “My dad says the Mossad was watching us the whole time by camera from one of their surveillance drones. They have the area secured.” Pointing out the window, Rachael said with a hint of something more, “Take that exit and head for Jerusalem. I’m taking you home to see my father.”

With greater relief creeping across her face, she continued, “You know, Zane, it will take months if not years to properly preserve and examine the artifacts we found at the site. This could be one of the greatest discoveries in the land of Israel in our lifetime. I know I’m jumping to conclusions right now, but the inscription on the wall was probably written by the New Testament Matthew. That inscription has been almost perfectly preserved for almost two thousand years. I can’t wait to get back to examine it.”

Rachael continued to talk as the miles sped by. Her talking about the find seemed to relieve both their stress. Every now and then Zane would glance over at her, and he could tell by the excited glow on her face she was no longer thinking about the ordeal they had just experienced—she was lost in the world of their discovery. About thirty minutes later she suddenly stopped, and Zane looked over at her.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

With an embarrassed expression she replied, “I just realized I’ve been talking nonstop for over thirty minutes. Hope it hasn’t bothered you.”

Zane smiled with genuine warmth. “Rachael, your words and excitement over the discovery were just what I needed to relax. I was wound up so tight I was about to break. Please continue . . . listening to you is also keeping me alert and awake.”

She nodded, her own eyes shining with appreciation and warmth. For the next half-hour she talked about the discovery and what needed to be done. She speculated about what they might find and how they should proceed. Finally they entered the suburbs of Jerusalem, and she directed him to her house. They pulled up to the door and stopped. Rachael got out, and looking back into the car where Zane sat, she said, “Come on, Zane Harrison, let me introduce you to my father.”

Zane got out and accompanied her to the door. Just as she reached to turn the handle, the door opened and her father stood in the doorway. “Rachael!” he said. “I’m so glad you are all right, my dear.”

With tears in her eyes, she walked into his arms and returned his hug without reservation. They both stood there for some time, oblivious to the world around them, until Mr. Neumann remembered Zane standing there. Still holding Rachael in his left arm, he extended his right and said, “Mr. Harrison, I presume. Welcome to our home. Please come in.”

Ushering them into the house, they walked back to the kitchen. On the table was a large breakfast. There was labaneh, a homemade yogurt cheese, shakshouka, a spiced egg and tomato dish, vegetable salad and traditional cheese salad and rugelach pastries. In large cups was steaming hot Turkish coffee. Rachael laughed when she saw the feast. “You must have thought you were going to feed an army, Abba. It looks delicious.”

Smiling, Jacob Neumann replied, “I didn’t know how hungry you were, and I wasn’t sure what young Mr. Harrison here would want to eat, so I thought I would cover all the bases.”

Looking at Zane he said, “I’m not sure what you are used to eating, Mr. Harrison. I hope you find something here to your taste.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m not a particular eater. What you have here looks delicious. Thank you for the consideration.”

“If you would like to wash your hands, you can use the sink there,” Mr. Neumann continued, indicating the kitchen sink. “Down the hall and to the right is the restroom if you prefer.” Rachael excused herself for a minute, and Zane walked over to the kitchen sink. Turning on the faucet, he found the soap and washed his hands and arms. A few minutes later Rachael returned. She looked like a different person. She had washed up and brushed her hair and slipped on a skirt and a new blouse. She had an infectious smile that almost covered her exhaustion.

As she reentered the room, Zane couldn’t help but smile. Rachael Neumann was a truly beautiful young woman. Standing up, he held a chair for her, and with a peculiar expression he did not recognize, she sat down, thanking him.

Mr. Neumann rejoined them and looked at Rachael. “Rachael, would you care to give thanks?”

Rachael nodded and bowed her head, and in Hebrew she prayed, “Father in heaven, we thank you for your protection tonight. Thank you for this food and the guest within our midst.” For Zane’s benefit she added, “Amen.”

Everyone was silent as they ate. Rachael and Zane were especially hungry. After satisfying their appetites, they sat and discussed the night’s events once again, Mr. Neumann asking questions now and then. For the most part, Zane just listened. The food and warmth of the home relaxed him and made him sleepy.

Chapter 70

London, England

Sir Peter Herschel picked up the phone on the second ring. “Yes,” he answered.

“It’s Tacitus, sir, and I have more information for you. Contact 13 is Efran Finkelstein, a member of the Israeli Antiquities Authority dig staff. He has been in charge of a dig in Capernaum for several months now. He has been sending information to an as-yet-unknown contact. He is a petty criminal trying to sell Israeli antiquities. It seems two of the people on his dig team made a huge discovery yesterday, and Mr. Finkelstein attempted to kill them so he could steal the artifacts and sell them. He communicates with his secret contact by means of the electronic devices via the sewer system.”

The silent voice on the other end of the phone line finally spoke. “Did Mr. Finkelstein describe any of the artifacts?”

“He did not get a chance to see any of them; he only overheard Rachael Neumann and Zane Harrison discussing the find. He related to me no specifics other than many ancient scrolls and clay tablets. Oh, and on one wall, four words were carved above a list of names. It appears to be a Hebrew version of a list found in the first chapter of the New Testament book of Matthew. The four words do not appear to make any sense. It may be a code of some sort.” With a pause as if he was reading notes, Marcus said, “‘Nagad, echad,  habhab, ahabah.’ Literally translated, that means ‘tell one sacrifice loved.’ Mr. Finkelstein provided no other information of interest.”

The voice came through the line, cold, sinister, and direct. “Mr. Nayat, how many people know of this inscription and the artifacts?”

Marcus shuddered, realizing the Guardian had used his proper name and not his code name. “Sir, as far as we know right now, only Efran Finklestein, Rachael Neumann, Zane Harrison, and possibly Rachael Neumann’s father know. They drove directly to her father’s house when they left the dig site. The dig has been cordoned off, and no one is allowed in until an investigation has been completed. It will likely be closed until at least tomorrow.”

“Thank you for the information, Mr. Nayat; it has been very helpful. Your assistance will not be forgotten. Please keep me posted on any new developments. Good day.”

For some reason, Marcus did not feel reassured by the appreciative tone of the Guardian. It almost felt as if the lion was thanking the gazelle just before eating its bloody meal. For the first time, Marcus Nayat felt real fear. What would happen when the Guardian had all the information he needed from him? Would he be the last loose end to be cleaned up?

When Sir Peter Herschel hung up the phone, he sat thinking for several minutes. Peter Herschel had recognized the symbolic nature of the coded words instantly. There was no doubt in his mind that when the discovery of the inscription was made public, someone would figure out the code, and it would lead them to the discovery of the secret—of the 13th Enumeration. That event was unacceptable, for they were not ready yet. The world was not ready yet.

Picking up the phone, he dialed a number. Two-thousand-two-hundred-and-eleven miles away in a safe house in Israel, Anton Ramirez answered. After the coded introduction, Peter Herschel continued giving precise instructions for several minutes. When he had finished, Anton’s voice, heavy with anticipation and excitement, replied, “It will be my pleasure, sir.”

The line went dead, and Peter Herschel knew his emissaries were on the hunt once again. His angel of death was loose in the land of Israel.

* * *

At seven a.m., Ms. Ulatowski came to the operations center to take David to his lodgings. He knew he didn’t have a choice even if he wanted to stay. But he didn’t want to stay. He wanted to call Zane to make sure he was okay. He knew Zane was probably pretty shook up right now. Thankfully, he understood they were at Mr. Neumann’s house and everyone was fine.

As soon as David was back in his room, he dialed Zane’s cell number. The phone rang five times before voice mail picked up.

“Zane, I heard what happened last night. Hope you are okay. Give me a call when you get this message.”

David hung up and sat at the edge of his bed, wondering what all he had witnessed the past twelve hours was about. He knew Efran was somehow associated with the terrorist network that had attacked New York, but what would a terrorist organization want with an archeologist? What had really taken place last night, anyway? Why had those men been chasing Zane and Rachael? What had they found underground at the dig? Maybe Zane could supply him with more pieces of the puzzle.

Taking off his shoes, he undressed and lay down. He had been up for more than twenty-four hours, and he was exhausted. A few seconds after his head touched the pillow, he was asleep.

Chapter 71

As Zane’s head nodded sleepily, a giggle from Rachael brought him back fully awake. “It looks like our conversation has put Mr. Harrison to sleep.”

Zane, slightly embarrassed, replied, “I guess I’m pretty tired.”

Mr. Neumann stood and said, “I’ve taken the liberty of preparing our guestroom for you, Mr. Harrison.”

“Thank you,” Zane answered, relieved. “I really appreciate that. I’m not sure how far I would get, as tired as I feel.”

“Off the guestroom is a bathroom and shower. There are fresh towels in the cabinet. Please make yourself at home.”

Zane looked appreciative. “If you’ll excuse me, then, I will get a few things from my car. Good night, and thank you, Mr. Neumann, and Rachael, for your hospitality.” He left the table and went out to his car to retrieve a change of clothes. When he opened the trunk, he remembered he had left his clothes and other things in his tent back at the dig site. Well, he would just have to make do. After a hot, relaxing shower, he hand-washed his clothes and wrung them out. Taking them with him into his room, he hung them up to dry as best as he could. Lying down on the bed in his towel, he fell right to sleep.

Rachael talked with her father for another hour before heading off to bed. They discussed what they needed to do at the Capernaum dig over the coming days. They agreed they should have some of the more experienced archeologists help. Her eyes shining, Rachael said as she left to get some rest, “Dad, I can’t wait to show you what we found. It is simply amazing. Mom would have loved to be here.”

He smiled. “Yes, my dear, your mother would have been simply ecstatic over the discovery of Matthew’s home and the artifacts you’ve found. Get some rest. You look tired.”

As she walked away, Jacob Neumann sat still with a melancholy look on his face. “Constance, my dear,” he whispered, “your daughter has found what you always dreamed of finding. Direct proof of your New Testament heroes. You would be proud of her, my dear. She is her mother’s daughter.”

* * *

A little over sixteen hours later, shadows moved in the darkness around the Capernaum dig. The barely discernible sound of cloth over stone, a whisper of movement in the shadows, and then, at precisely 1:03 in the morning, four bodies fell to the ground at the same time. Each life ended by a single silenced bullet to the back of the head. The Mossad agents guarding the Capernaum site were dead.

Ghostly shadows moved about in the darkness. Two large trucks with their lights off drove down the trail into the Capernaum dig. Backing up to the edge of what was once the opening to the basement of Matthew’s house, four men unloaded a dozen heavy boxes. They opened the door to the underground cavern and proceeded to take the boxes inside. When they returned, the boxes had been emptied of their contents, and new contents had taken their place. The four men moved efficiently and confidently. Finally, after removing the last artifact from the cave, they waited for the final member of the team. The operation had taken just over seventy minutes.

Two hours later, northern Galilee was rocked by a massive explosion. People twenty miles away heard the sound, and many called to notify the authorities.

One hour after that, at 5:14 a.m., a phone rang in Jacob Neumann’s house. The voice of the Mossad chief came through the other end. “Jacob, I am sorry to call you so early, but I have some terrible news. It seems terrorists have attacked the Capernaum dig and destroyed it.” His voice was husky, just barely suppressing his own growing rage. “We lost four of our agents, and all but one terrorist got away. The one dead terrorist is a known associate of Hamas. Be assured we are doing everything in our power to bring those responsible for this attack to justice. I give you my personal guarantee I will not rest until each and every one of them has paid for his crimes.”

Jacob was silent on the phone for several seconds. “Is there anything left at all?”

“Jacob, as of right now, it does not appear there is anything left except a massive hole in the ground. They must have used a thousand pounds of explosives to destroy the site after they left. We don’t know if they took anything with them at this point.”

As Jacob listened, his grip on the phone tightened and he grew red in the face. As calmly as possible he asked, “Would you please keep me informed of any developments on this, Nigel?”

“Yes, Jacob, I will let you know when I have any new information.”

“May I drive to the site later today to inspect the damage?”

“I don’t see why not. I will notify my people to be expecting you.”

“Thank you, Nigel, please keep me informed.” Jacob put the phone down and just sat there. Rachael would be devastated. To find something like she and Zane had found and then have it taken away—it was worse than finding nothing at all. The entire site had been completely destroyed, and they had not one piece of evidence to prove the find had even existed. Jacob was angry, angrier than he had ever been in his life except when his dear wife had died. He was angry for the loss to his nation. He was angry for the loss to archeology. Finds like this happened only once in a generation. Most of all, he was angry for the loss to Rachael. He shook with rage.

Finally getting some semblance of self-control, he got out of bed and dressed. He started some coffee and then walked over to Rachael’s door and raised his hand to knock. Hesitating, he instead lowered his hand and turned and walked back to the kitchen. His daughter would need the rest, he decided. She had gone to bed the previous day at ten a.m. and had only awakened for a short time later that evening. As far as he knew, she was still sleeping.

Chapter 72

An hour later, Zane awoke and lay there trying to figure out where he was. He finally remembered—he was in Rachael Neumann’s house. He sat up. It was just turning light outside, and Zane felt completely drained. His clothes had dried, and he put them on.

Once up and moving around, he felt much better. He had slept for almost twenty hours. Well, he guessed he must have needed it.

He opened his door and followed the delightful aroma of coffee to the kitchen. He found Mr. Neumann sitting at the kitchen table watching the morning news.

Jacob turned as Zane entered, and with an unexpectedly haggard look on his face, said, “Good morning, Mr. Harrison. How did you sleep?”

“Dead to the world. I haven’t slept for twenty hours in . . . well, I don’t remember how long.”

“You had a rough day yesterday. I’m sure you needed the rest.”

Jacob seemed distracted, and Zane’s attention followed his to the morning newscast. The anchor was interviewing people about an explosion that had rocked the upper Galilee in the early morning hours.

“What happened?” Zane asked. “I understood explosion and terrorist, but they’re speaking too fast for me to understand the rest.”

Jacob turned his full attention to Zane, catching him off guard with the sorrow on his face. “Zane, someone blew up the Capernaum dig last night. It was totally destroyed.”

Zane looked at him in shock and disbelief. “You mean our Capernaum dig—where Rachael and I just came from?”

“Yes. Whoever it was blew up the entire dig you had been working on . . . and based on the pictures I have seen, it looks like your underground cavern with the artifacts is gone.”

“Gone?” Zane repeated, not wanting to believe it. Sitting down as if his feet had gone out from under him, he just sat there in silence watching the news report with Jacob Neumann. Finally he could stand it no longer, and he got up and walked outside.

Outside, he looked over the city of Jerusalem. What a heartbreaking place this land was! Zane Harrison could not understand it. Why would anyone want to destroy the dig? Sure, steal the artifacts to sell them, but destroy the whole site? That just did not make any sense. What kind of people would do that?

Zane tried not to be angry. What they had found might well have provided additional proofs that confirmed the biblical record. Why had God allowed this to happen? Were believers not allowed to have real physical evidence that Jesus existed? Must they be content with just faith? First the prophecy of Daniel, which he had found did not confirm that Jesus was the Messiah. It was the one prophecy in the Scripture which gave specific and datable secular events with which to pinpoint the coming of the Messiah. Then they had discovered real physical evidence showing that the first chapter of the book of Matthew was based on a list written in Hebrew, only to have that evidence taken away as well. Not to mention the dozens of scrolls and tablets—who knew what additional proofs they might have provided?

With tears of frustration running down his face, Zane Harrison sat down and prayed. “Father in heaven, why? What are you trying to show me? Why have you been testing my faith like this? Are you trying to turn me away? Father, I do not understand. I want to have an unshakable faith, Father . . . please help me to understand.” Sitting in silence for several minutes before continuing, he prayed, “Father, I will not doubt you. I may not understand, but I refuse to doubt. Have your way. Your will be done. I will wait on you. I acknowledge you, Father, in your son Jesus’s name. Amen.”

Zane got up and walked back into the kitchen. As he entered, Jacob Neumann looked up and was surprised to see the peace and resolution on his face. This was not the same beaten young man who had walked out the door a few minutes before. To be sure, he was not smiling, but neither was he broken..

“Zane, are you hungry?” he asked.

Together they prepared breakfast, and just as they were putting the final dishes on the table, a sleepy Rachael Neumann entered the kitchen. Stretching her arms as she entered, she looked at her dad and then Zane. The expression on both their faces jolted her wide awake in a instant. “You both look like you have bad news. What’s going on?”

Zane looked at Jacob and Jacob looked back at Zane. Both hoping the other would break the news. Finally, after an uncomfortable pause, Jacob said, “Rachael, Chief Yadin with the Mossad informed me this morning that someone destroyed the Capernaum dig and all evidence of the find. All that is left is a huge hole in the ground. I’m sorry, Rachael, but it is all gone.”

Rachael looked from one to another, and after searching their faces for any evidence of a joke, without a word she turned and walked back to her bedroom.

Zane asked, “Is that how she normally takes bad news?”

“I’ve seen many sides of my daughter over her life, but I have never seen her act that way before.” Just as Jacob got up to go check on her, Rachael reappeared with something in her hand.

Holding it out for both to see she said, “They did not destroy all the evidence.”

In her hand was the memory stick from her camera. “Zane, while you went back up the tunnel to notify Efran of what we had found, I took almost three hundred pictures of the artifacts from various angles. We may never know what was written on those scrolls, but we will be able to read most of the clay tablets from the pictures I took. We also have evidence of the inscription of the lineage of Yeshua written by Matthew.”

Zane looked at Rachael in astonishment. “You took pictures?”

“Yes, I have them right here,” she said, holding out the memory stick.

Jacob smiled for the first time that morning, “Well done, my dear, well done! Maybe this won’t be a total loss after all. Let’s go into the living room. I have one of those fancy new flatscreen TVs where you just slip your memory stick into the side. We can look at the pictures on a forty-eight-inch screen.”

For the next four hours, the three of them went through the pictures one by one. Rachael had done a superb job. All but two of the clay tablets were perfectly legible. And the inscription on the wall was just stunning. There were several pictures of it from different angles, all impressive.

Rachael was using the remote to change the pictures. When they had finished looking at all of them, she went back to the inscription. “Dad, what do you make of the four words above the list? They don’t seem to make any sense. Obviously they are intentional, but how are they related to the context of the list?”

After reading the four words out loud, “Yagid, echad, habhab ahabah,” he said, “I’m not sure, Rachael. There is something unusual, though, about the spacing of the first word—do you see it? There’s a large space between the gimmel and the yod. It’s as if they were meant to be two words instead of one.”

Rachael, with a questioning note to her voice, asked, “What if they are not meant to be words at all?”

Jacob Neumann looked at the words again. Turning with a look of wonder on his face, he said, “I think you may be on to something, dear.”

Zane looked back and forth between the two of them. “What are you two talking about?”

Rachael replied, her face shining now with understanding. “As I am sure you know, back when this was written, they didn’t use the Arabic numerals we have today. Each Hebrew letter had a numerical value. The above words may be a numerical code. Take a look at the first two letters of yagid. Yod and gimmel. Yod equals ten, and gimmel equals three. Together they would represent the number thirteen. Next take the last two letters, yod and dalet. Together they equal the number fourteen. The second word, echad, means one in Hebrew. It is the centerpiece of our Shema prayer—‘Hear, O Israel, YHWH our Elohim is One YHWH.’ Echad, or aleph, chet, dalet, equals thirteen. So then we have thirteen, fourteen, thirteen. Continuing, next we have habhab, or offering/gift—the letters here add up to fourteen. And finally we have ahabah, which means love or loved. The Hebrew letters of ahabah equal thirteen. This looks like an intentional pattern of thirteen, fourteen, thirteen, fourteen, thirteen!”

“So what does that have to do with the list of names below?”

Thoughtful, Rachael continued by asking, “Zane, what do you know about the list of Matthew 1?”

“Well, I know it is supposed to be a list of the lineage of Jesus all the way back to Abraham. I also vaguely remember that there is some sort of controversy surrounding the names in the list.”

“Yes, you are correct. Matthew 1 has been very controversial since, well, probably since it was written. To make a long story short, the list of Matthew 1 is four names short compared to the original Hebrew list found in the Old Testament. As my father will concur, this has long been one of the first things a devout Jew might point to in questioning the credibility of the New Testament account. After all, if the first chapter of the first book is not accurate, how can the rest be counted on?”

Zane, nodding, said, “Valid point. Please continue.”

“If you read the account in Matthew, it is very clear the author is trying to make a point that it was fourteen generations from Abraham to David, fourteen generations from David to ‘the carrying away to Babylon,’ and fourteen generations from the ‘carrying away to Babylon until Yeshua the Messiah.’ Fourteen plus fourteen plus fourteen equals forty-two—the only problem is that when you add up the names listed, it only equals forty-one.”

Pointing to the TV monitor now showing the three-column list of names, she said, “There are clearly fourteen names in the first column. There are fourteen names in the second column, but as you can see, in the third column there are only thirteen names. Based on the coded words above the three columns, we can probably assume the list as written by Matthew was intentional. Whatever point Matthew was trying to make, he clearly wanted the numbers thirteen and fourteen to be emphasized on his list.”

Jacob Neumann interrupted, “I think you may have something there, Rachael. Look at the second column in your photograph. Notice the three scored lines between Joram and Uzziah in the second column. Those three lines are exactly where the names of three kings are missing based on the original Hebrew version. Whoever wrote this list wanted to make it clear those three names were missing on purpose. Now, look further down at the single scored line between Josiah and Jeconiah. The missing name there is Jehoiakim. It was during the reign of Jehoiakim that the first captivity of Judah began. This was when the prophet Daniel and his companions were taken captive by Nebuchadnezzar.”

As Jacob explained, Zane took notes on a scrap of paper. Jacob Neumann continued, “Now notice, the three scored lines fall between the sixth and seventh names in the second column. Six plus seven equals thirteen. Is this a coincidence or accident? Notice also the single scored line—it is between the thirteenth and fourteenthnames in the second column. Pretty clever, if you ask me. I am not sure what it all means, but clearly, someone was trying to make a point.”

Smiling, he said as if just realizing it, “Look at this, there are forty-one names on the list. Forty-one is the thirteenth prime number. Oh,” Jacob said, laughing like a boy who has discovered a secret, “I just realized the missing names on the list are separated into a group of one and three. Those scored lines representing the missing names also separate the seventh through the thirteenth names on the list. This reminds me of the instruction in the Torah for the Feast of Tabernacles. We were instructed to sacrifice thirteen bullocks the first day and then one less each day until the seventh day, when we sacrifice only seven. The total sacrifices for those seven days were seventy. I don’t see how there could be a connection, but the similarities are striking.”

Intrigued by Rachael’s and Jacob’s analysis, Zane said, “Kind of hard to brush that all off as some kind of coincidence, isn’t it? So what’s the bottom line—what does it mean? We have a list of Jesus’s lineage that for centuries has been controversial, only to find out now that it wasn’t mistranslated and Matthew wasn’t mistaken—that he intentionally designed the list to emphasize the numbers thirteen and fourteen in some sort of a mathematical cipher or something. Why? Why go through all the trouble to make a coded message in the list of Jesus’s lineage? What is Matthew trying to tell us?”

Jacob just shrugged. “I don’t have any idea, Zane. There is a design there, so logically there must have been intent. Whatever it was, it must have been important.”

“What do you think, Rachael?” Zane asked.

“I don’t have any idea either, Zane. Maybe the four words above are the key.” One last time, Rachael read the words out loud, only this time she did so in English for Zane’s benefit, “Tell one offering loved.”

Jacob Neumann stood up. “I hate to break up this party, but I have been given permission to visit the Capernaum site today by Chief Yadin. Would either of you like to come along?”

“Yes,” both Zane and Rachael replied at once.

“Okay then, I will be ready to leave in thirty minutes. You both might want to get a bite to eat. Breakfast is still sitting on the table, untouched.”

Rachael stood up and removed the memory stick from the TV, placing it in her pocket.

After a quick meal during which neither of them talked much, Zane helped Rachael clean up the kitchen, and then they were ready to go. Jacob returned a few minutes later and asked, “Are you ready to go?”

Receiving an affirmative nod from them both, he headed for the car. On the way out, Zane stopped at his rental car and grabbed his phone and computer. He wanted to copy the pictures from Rachael’s memory stick to his computer’s hard drive. When he reached for his phone, he noticed he had several messages—one of which was from David. He would check them on the way. With Jacob driving, Rachael in the front seat, and Zane in the back, they headed to Capernaum.

On the drive, Zane could not get his thoughts off the list of Jesus’s lineage. Something was nagging him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. The list of Matthew 1 was an incredibly clever arrangement of names and numbers. It was obvious nothing in the list was a mistake. Why were there only forty-one names on the list when there should have been forty-five? In the final column, why had Matthew made Jesus the 13th  enumeration? What significance did that have? And why were thirteen and fourteen so important to the lineage of Jesus? This list of names and numbers was in the first chapter of the first book of the New Testament. Why? What was he missing?

For that matter, what was the whole world missing?

When they arrived at the Capernaum dig, they could see the damage from the parking lot. As they walked closer, they realized the site was a total loss. Where once the home of Matthew had been, there now was just a crater in the ground twenty feet deep and seventy feet around. With tears in her eyes, Rachael called out, “There’s nothing left—nothing!” Burying her head in her father’s chest, she just stood there crying. Jacob Neumann held his daughter in his arms, not saying a word. He was not a mean or vengeful man by nature, but at that moment he wanted to find the people who had done this and make them pay.

Zane stood at the edge of the crater with his head bowed in sorrow. “What a loss,” he muttered. “What a loss!”

Rachael broke away from her father’s arms and walked toward the Sea of Galilee. Zane watched as she walked down the boardwalk. She sat down, dangling her feet over the edge, a forlorn figure looking out over the water. Jacob Neumann walked away to a group of Mossad officials who had set up a makeshift command center nearby. Zane stood minutes longer, trying to comprehend the motivation for someone to do this terrible deed. After a while, he glanced toward Rachael, still sitting by herself at the end of the Capernaum pier. He felt a strange loneliness he had never felt before. He really didn’t want to be alone right now.

Walking down the boardwalk, he sat down beside her without a word. He reached for her hand, and she yielded it willingly. For an hour they just sat in silence, both gaining strength from the other’s presence. Then Zane, in a quiet voice, recited one of his favorite psalms. One his mother had taught him as a young boy.

“I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from YHWH, which made heaven and earth. He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: he that keepeth thee will not slumber. Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep. YHWH is thy keeper: YHWH is thy shade upon thy right hand. The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night. YHWH shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul. YHWH shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore.”

When Zane finished reciting Psalm 121, he could see the tears softly running down Rachael’s cheeks. She squeezed his hand, and after a few moments replied, “That psalm always reminds me of a story my mother used to read to me as a child. It was called Carry On, Mr. Bowditch, by Jean Lee Latham. It was the story of a young boy who had to leave school at the age of eight to help in his father’s cooperage. At age of twelve he was sold as an indentured servant at a ship’s chandler. Nathanial Bowditch taught himself calculus and Latin, and many considered him to be the founder of modern maritime navigation. When his parents first told him he could no longer go to school because his father needed the help in his cooperage, his mother took him aside that night and told him that she had made a saying up for herself when times became especially difficult in her life. Her saying was, ‘I will lift up my eyes unto the stars.’ She told little Nat that it helped shrink her troubles down to size. You know, I often wondered if she didn’t base her little saying on that passage you just recited.”

Rachael smiled through her tears. “Her saying also reminds me of another psalm that I love: ‘The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handywork. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth knowledge. There is no speech nor language, where their voice is not heard. Their line is gone out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world. In them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun, which is as a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, and rejoiceth as a strong man to run a race. His going forth is from the end of the heaven, and his circuit unto the ends of it: and there is nothing hid from the heat thereof.’”

After Rachael finished reciting from Psalm 19, it struck Zane—the thought that had been just out of reach. With sudden clarity, he knew what he had been missing. “Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth knowledge,” he repeated, smiling with realization. The pieces of the puzzle were finally starting to fit together.

Zane believed he understood the symbolism of Matthew 1 and why Jesus was the 13th  enumeration.

Chapter 73

Dubai, United Arab Emirates

Darius Zarindast watched the TV news reports on the terrorist attack in Capernaum, Israel. “Terrorist attack!” Darius laughed in derision. His instincts had been right on regarding the Capernaum dig. He didn’t know what they had found, but he knew there must have been information there regarding the 13th Enumeration. The Order and its guardians were on the job again, erasing history and destroying the evidence. Too bad he didn’t have more time.

He knew the Order would soon discover his identity, if they hadn’t already done so. Darius had prepared for this for some time. His endgame consisted of two parts. The first part was to borrow against the fortune he had created with the stock of Aquarius Elemental Solutions. He had used AQES stock as collateral. This borrowed money, he used to purchase large interests in every major multinational conglomerate controlled or associated with members of the Order. These shares Darius further leveraged with margin to the maximum allowable limit. As of the end of August, Darius had a $2.7 trillion leveraged position in world stock markets, not including his own shares of AQES stock. In one way or another, every major financial institution was obligated by the financial pyramid he had created. All he had left to do was begin the unwinding. Since his whole debt pyramid was based on AQES stock, it was a simple matter of destroying his own company. The second part of his plan would do just that.

After discovering 235X, the deadly toxin which was produced by his machines when separating U235 from seawater, Darius knew he had finally found a way to destroy the Order. Once his machines were in place, all he had to do was turn on the secondary system and start the separation process of U235. Once 235X was released into the drinking water, everything which drank the water would die in about seven to ten days.

Darius planned to poison the drinking water of every major financial center in the world. In order to totally destroy the Order, he had to prevent them from rebuilding their financial empire. By killing those responsible for running the financial system, Darius knew he would make the reestablishment of that system, for many generations, all but impossible. Either part of his plan would seriously hurt the Order, but he didn’t want to just hurt them, he wanted to destroy them—or at the very least, make it impossible for them to reestablish the political/corporate/financial control which they had held over the world for the past one hundred years.

Darius looked at his electronic interactive map showing the placement of his machines in the world. The industrial versions were producing clean freshwater in many of the planet’s biggest cities. Darius pulled up a special map showing just the major financial centers of the world. He had machines in New York, London, Tokyo, Hong Kong, Sydney, Chicago, and Dubai. Washington, DC was also included on the list because he believed it was the most important political and military force helping make the efforts of the Order possible. Paris and Frankfurt had plants and pipelines under construction to connect them to his machines, but those projects would not be complete for another six months. The Chicago machines had just come online in the past week. Even though Chicago and DC did not have a freshwater problem, the energy his machines produced made using them for freshwater purification more cost-effective than their old system. Ideally, he had wanted his machines in every financial center of the world before he attacked the Order. He didn’t want to leave them any means of reconnecting their financial dictatorship. That could not be helped now, he told himself; he no longer had the luxury of time. He would use what he had available.

The irony of attacking Washington, DC at this time did not escape him. In August of 1814, during the thirteenth US Congress, Washington, DC and many of the federal buildings were burned by British general Robert Ross. The one-hundred-and-thirteenth Congress was now in session, and this time, Washington, DC would be destroyed by water.

Logging into the AES command center’s central computer, he pulled up the remote operating interface for each of his machines in New York, London, Tokyo, Hong Kong, Chicago, Sydney, and DC. Each machine had a secondary backup system that could be remotely turned on and controlled in the event the primary systems failed. Darius programmed each unit’s secondary system to turn on in seven days and set them to begin separating U235 from the water.

The last machines Darius pulled up were for Dubai. He set the secondary systems to turn on at eight tonight. He needed the chaos he would create in Dubai to destroy the share price of his stock and cover up the unwinding of his overleveraged financial empire. The fear created by the deaths in Dubai would devastate his share price, quickly causing the loans he had made with his creditors to fall into default. This leveraged death spiral would continue until he brought down every major banking and financial institution in the world.

Darius picked up his phone and called Dylan Gallos. “Dylan, would you please come to my office? There is something urgent I need to discuss with you.” Dylan told him he would be right over. When he hung up, Darius typed up a letter on official AES stationery. He hadn’t planned on giving Dylan Gallos this opportunity in the beginning, but he had changed his mind over the intervening months. Each member of his team had helped make his revenge possible. Though he didn’t consider himself a sentimental person, he felt a glimmer of loyalty to them for their services. Of them all, Dylan’s genius had ensured the success of the plan. His knowledge of the markets and his skill with his trading logarithms had advanced the plan far beyond Darius’s initial expectations.

There was a knock at his office door. “Come in, please.”

Dylan entered with a smile. Darius noticed the bags under his eyes and the lines that had not been there just eight months ago.

With uncharacteristic warmth, Darius said, “Dylan, please come in and sit down. There is something I want to talk to you about.” He indicated a comfortable leather chair opposite his desk. Once Dylan settled in, Darius continued, “First, I want to thank you for your service to me over the past several years. Without your expertise and unfailing commitment, we would not have accomplished as much as we have.”

As he was speaking, Darius saw Dylan’s smile grow, and he could see by his body language that he was relaxing. “Frankly, there is nothing more I can do monetarily to reward you for your service. You are one of the richest men on this planet. What I can do is this.” Sliding over the letter he had just typed up, he handed it to Dylan, who expectantly accepted it.

After reading the first few lines in the letter, he turned white—then, after a few moments, red. He stood up, shaking with anger. “Why? Why are you doing this if you value my services so greatly? After all these years of twenty-hour days and not a single day off, you fire me!” Dylan shouted the last words. “A damn fine way you have of showing your appreciation, Darius.”

Darius just sat there calmly looking at Dylan. Finally he asked, “Are you finished with your outburst? I’d like to explain.”

With only a small part of his composure regained, Dylan replied, “Unless this is some sick joke, I don’t see how you can explain.”

“Dylan, many years ago I set out to accomplish a goal which you and the rest of our team have helped make possible. That goal is now within reach. The steps I take in the next few days will have incredible ramifications to the current order of the world. I will not tell you more because frankly, the less you know the better. I want you to understand, though, I am doing this for your own good. Believe it or not, I do feel some loyalty to you for your tireless efforts and dedication on my behalf.”

Dylan’s face showed nothing but disgust and anger, but Darius continued calmly. “Now listen to me very carefully. I want you to leave Dubai by eight o’clock this evening, or you will die.”

Dylan stood up again and interrupted, “Are you threatening me now?”

“Dylan, shut up and listen,” Darius said, his patience exhausted. “I am not threatening you; I am warning you. I also recommend you sell whatever remaining AQES stock you can. You should diversify your money in whatever manner you can over the next three days. After that, you will have no chance. I would also like to ask you a favor. I have noticed that Alexandra Riley has not sold any of her shares of AQES. I ask that you make sure she is taken care of in the days to come. I know you have sold well over one-hundred-billion dollars’ worth of your stock, and I would hope you might be able to help her as necessary.”

Dylan sat back down, his analytical mind trying to organize all he had just heard. Something terrible was about to happen. Something that would affect more than just himself. Something that was going to affect AQES stock. As he thought over Darius’s strange financial decisions of the last several months, a sick feeling began to grow in his stomach.

Darius continued, “I want you to take one of the corporate jets and leave immediately. If you can get Gavin and Ralph to go with you, take them and anyone else you care for as well. Have I made myself clear?”

Dylan nodded his head in confusion and not a little resentment. “You might have told us of your plans before this.”

Darius replied, “You would never have agreed to work for me if you understood what I am going to do. Frankly, I never intended to tell you or offer you a way out. Maybe I am getting soft in my old age.”

His voice had turned reflective. Darius Zarindast had set in motion the deaths of millions of people. The world would see him as a monster. Only a few would understand that it was for their own benefit. But this introspection was wasted energy at this point. Turning his thoughts back to the present, he said, “I will have part of my security detail escort you from the building. You may not come back on the premises. What you do with your own personal shares of remaining AQES stock is up to you. But you are no longer authorized to access any Aquarius trading or financial accounts. I would encourage you not to waste any time in leaving. Also, it would behoove you to hire a good lawyer and ensure that you have access to at least some of your money. You should consider the safety of your money in a worst-case scenario—and I mean worst-case. I will let your experience and imagination figure out the rest. You may go.”

Darius said the last with a cold, dismissive look. He had regained his resolve and put aside the small glimmering of conscience. He could not allow himself the luxury of a conscience. Without another look, he turned his attention back to the papers on his desk.

Dylan Gallos left Darius’s office with a growing fear heavy in his belly. He was processing the information Darius had revealed and trying not to let the implications scare the crap out of him. If what Darius had indicated was true, then all hell was about to break loose, and he needed to get as far away from here as possible. He also had to protect his money. The latter would be no easy task considering the amount. The irony did not escape Dylan. He had over one-hundred-and-fifty-billion dollars, and he really could not protect even a fraction of it in a short amount of time. Sure, he had some gold and silver, but he couldn’t just go and buy another billion dollars’ worth right now without affecting the market and raising huge red flags. Well, he could at least move his money to several different countries and hire himself a team of lawyers.

Once back in his car, he made several phone calls. The first he placed to the most expensive and well-connected law firm in the world. He talked to one of the senior partners and told him he would like to retain their firm as counsel. He didn’t tell them why, but explained he would likely be needing it in the days to come. The partner was only too happy to have him as a client. Dylan asked for an account number to which he could transfer a retainer. After he hung up, Dylan laughed to himself. He would send the firm several billion dollars as a retainer. He knew there was no way they would be able to spend all of it, even if the worst-case scenario unfolded. But the greedy leaches would at least fight to keep part of his money, especially if it was already in their account.

His second call went to Ralph Scholz and Gavin Matthews. He would attempt to get them to leave with him.

Chapter 74

Tel Aviv, Israel

Anton Ramirez had made the transfer of the artifacts his team found at Capernaum. They transported them by truck to Tel Aviv and then by rented boat one hundred miles out to sea, where they rendezvoused with a Liberian freighter Sir Peter Herschel had hired to carry the goods back to England. After handing them off, Anton Ramirez headed back to Israel in the rented boat. He had been informed by Sir Peter Herschel that Efran Finkelstein was going to be used by the Mossad to follow the messages to their destination in Dubai. Anton had been instructed by Sir Peter to take care of Efran, as he was no longer needed. More to the point, Sir Peter did not want him talking about what he had seen and heard.

Once Efran was out of the way, Anton was to “interview” the baker and find the destination of Capsule 13. Sir Peter Herschel wanted the identity of the person searching for the secret. That person was the real enemy. All the rest were just accessories. The other loose ends could wait until the destination of Capsule 13 was known.

* * *

Marcus Nayat was scared—very scared. He knew he was ultimately responsible for the bombing of the Capernaum dig. Only the Guardian would have had the audacity to order this destruction. Bombing a major archeology site in Israel was no small feat, and they had been bold.

Whomever the Guardian had sent to Israel to clean things up was a real sick dude. They hadn’t just killed the highly trained Mossad agents guarding the site—they had mutilated their bodies and marked them with a strange symbol. The unmutilated body of a known terrorist was found at the dig site, and everyone had assumed he was part of the attack. Marcus Nayat knew better.

Instinctively, he knew it was only a matter of time before he became a loose end that needed dealing with. Marcus knew he was trapped. He couldn’t run and hide, or he would have both the Guardian’s minions and the Mossad looking for him. The only option he had was to play along as long as possible. When he made the first phone call many months ago, he hadn’t signed up for killings and bombings in his own nation. Marcus decided he’d better find out what was so important about the Capernaum dig that it needed to be completely destroyed. Maybe if he could find out, he could work out some sort of truce. If that failed, he might be forced to go hunting himself. He desperately needed a way out, and no one was invincible—not even the Guardian.

Chapter 75

Capernaum, Israel

“What do you mean, you know what Matthew is trying to tell us?” Rachael asked, surprised and skeptical.

Zane had let go of her hand and jumped up in excitement. His eyes shining, he replied, “You just said it: ‘Night unto night sheweth knowledge.’ Do you remember telling me several months ago in one of your e-mails that the solution to Daniel’s prophecy of seventy weeks, if there was one, would be found in a reckoning of time as understood by Daniel’s people?”

“Yes, I remember saying something to that effect. But what in the world does that have to do with Matthew?”

Zane continued, “Biblical time as described in the Scripture is based on a lunar/solar calendar. The days and weeks are measured by the rising and setting of the sun, and the months are reckoned by the cycle of the moon. In a symbolic sense, the rising and setting of the sun regulates man’s day-to-day activities—his struggle to survive, to grow, live, and love. The moon, on the other hand, regulates the religious calendar and reminds the Jewish people of the promises of YHWH. From the perspective of the apostles, the biblical holy days, at least the spring festivals, were symbolic pictures fulfilled by Jesus. He was the Passover lamb which ‘takes away the sins of the world.’ He was also the ‘the Firstfruits of them that slept.’ All these prophetic pictures inherent in the biblical feast days were regulated by the cycle of the moon.”

As Zane was talking, Rachael’s mind jumped ahead. She could see where he was going with this.

Zane continued, “We know the solar and lunar cycles are not the same length. So how are the two cycles reconciled?”

Zane paused, waiting for an answer. “Are you asking me?” Rachael replied.

“Yes,” Zane said. “What would your answer be?”

Rachael smiled, knowing the answer he was looking for. She replied, “The solar and lunar cycles are reconciled by the thirteenth month.”

“Exactly!” Zane replied with elation. “Our day-to-day activities and labor under the sun are reconciled with YHWH’s prophetic calendar and the lunar cycle by the thirteenth month. Each day we labor reminds us of our sin and the curse of sin upon the earth. Each night we look up into the sky and are reminded of YHWH’s promise of reconciliation and the eventual restoration of mankind through Jesus, or Yeshua, the promised Messiah. Matthew, in the first chapter of the first book of the New Testament, emphasizes the numbers thirteen and fourteen in relation to the lineage of Jesus, the Messiah. What were the four words Matthew chiseled over the three-column list we found?”

Rachael replied, “Tell, one, offering, loved. Or in other words, it could read, ‘Proclaim YHWH (Echad) loved his offering.’”

“And who was YHWH’s offering?” Zane asked.

“Yeshua,” Rachael whispered reverently. Involuntarily, John 3:16–17 came into her mind, and she spoke those famous words, “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that world through him might be saved.”

Zane continued, his excitement continuing to grow. “Throughout the Old Testament, the number fourteen is associated with sacrifice. During the first day of the Feast of Tabernacles, thirteen rams, two bullocks, and fourteen lambs are required to be sacrificed. Every month for thousands of years, the moon has testified to those who have followed its cycles. From first visible light, the moon waxes for thirteen or fourteen days, reaching its maximum, and then for thirteen or fourteen more days it wanes. These two sets of thirteen or fourteen days are in every month. How incredible is that! The biggest lighted billboard in the world reminding us, ‘and night unto night sheweth knowledge. There is no speech nor language, where their voice is not heard.’”

Rachael looked at Zane with an expression of shared excitement. Then more soberly, she asked, “But how does this answer the time element of the prophecy of seventy weeks?”

Zane was brought back to reality. More soberly he replied, but with a look of unexplainable faith, “Rachael, I believe. I just know that thirteen and fourteen are the key. Do you think it’s a coincidence that Matthew left out the one name on the list that was associated with the prophet Daniel’s captivity? And left it out between the thirteenth and fourteenth names on that list?”

Soberly Rachael replied, “No, based on what we have found, I don’t think it was a coincidence. But how does that explain the timing element of the prophecy?”

Zane replied, “ I can’t do the math in my head, but I have my computer up in the car. If my theory is correct, thirteen and fourteen will gives us the dates which prove Jesus fulfilled the prophecy of seventy weeks.”

“How about we go find out?” Rachael suggested.

“Yes,” he replied, sticking out his hand to help her up. “Let’s.”

Together, they walked back up toward the dig site and the parking area where Mr. Neumann had left the car. With a laugh, Rachael started to run. “Catch me if you can, Mr. Harrison! I’ll race you there!”

With a laugh and shout, Zane gave chase. Despite his best efforts, he could not catch up. He reached the car several steps behind her, and they leaned up against it laughing and trying to catch their breaths. A few minutes later Jacob Neumann returned, a look of pleasure appearing on his face as he saw the smiles on both of theirs.

“Are you both ready to return then?”

On the way back to Jerusalem, Rachael sat in the back with Zane as he worked on his computer. Jacob Neumann heard their quiet whispers and laughter as he drove. Whatever had transpired between the two of them, they were now as happy and excited as they had been sad and upset. With a knowing look in his mirror, Jacob Neumann saw the beginnings of love.

As the single father of a daughter, Jacob Neumann was strangely happy. He had been around all sorts of men his entire life, and he knew the young man in the backseat of his car had all the makings of a real man. A man who would protect and care for his daughter. A sensitive man, but also a strong man. One who would not be intimidated by the exceptional qualities of his daughter. Jacob Neumann whispered to himself, “My dear Constance, your daughter has found her man.” With tears glistening in his eyes, Jacob Neumann drove home with a contented heart.

In the backseat, Zane opened up his Excel spreadsheet. Turning to Rachael, he said, “The prophecy of seventy weeks states the Messiah will be cut off after sixty-two weeks, or literally, sixty-two sevens. As I explained before, this sixty-two weeks follows the first seven weeks, so the cumulative total is sixty-nine sevens,’ or 483 periods of time (69 x 7 = 483). Fourteen is associated with sacrifice throughout the Old Testament. Now, if my theory is correct, these ‘weeks’ or sevens will be measured by a symbolic length of time measured by a fourteen month lunar cycle. After all, the Messiah is cut off or ‘sacrificed’ after the sixty-ninth seven.”

Zane entered fourteen into one of the cells on his spreadsheet. Then he multiplied fourteen by the lunar cycle of 29.53 days. This gave him 413.42 days for each period of time. Next, he multiplied the 413.42 days by the sixty-nine weeks, or 483 periods of time. This gave him a total of 199,681.9 days, after which the Messiah was cut off. From his earlier research, he knew the “command to restore and build Jerusalem,” given by YHWH and witnessed by both the prophets Zechariah and Haggai, was in the second year of Darius Hystaspes, or 520 BC. Zane divided 199,681.9 days by 365.24, and this gave him 546.71 years. He then subtracted the 546 years from 520 BC and reached the fall of 27 AD.

Turning to Rachael with a triumphant look on his face, he said in awe, “ 27 AD is within the time frame many scholars believe that Jesus began his ministry. Depending upon who you listen to, Jesus was crucified or cut off two or three years later, in 30 AD.”

“What about thirteen?” Rachael asked. “From the list of Matthew, it also seems to be important. If fourteen is associated with the Messiah’s sacrifice, is it possible that thirteen is associated with his birth?”

Zane thought for a few minutes. Finally he said, “Maybe a thirteen-cycle period of time might explain the first part of verse 25. In all the commentaries of Daniel 9, few address it: ‘Know therefore and understand, that from the going forth of the commandment to restore and to build Jerusalem unto the Messiah the Prince shall be seven weeks.’ Clearly this indicates the Messiah comes after just seven ‘weeks,’ but then later in verse 26, it indicates he was ‘cut off’ after the sixty-ninth week. Many have ignored the first part of Daniel 9:25 because it would seem it’s talking about two different comings of the Messiah. The span of time between the first week and the sixty-ninth week is thought to be too great to reference the same Messiah.”

“What if the prophecy was layered?” Rachael asked.

“What do you mean?” Zane asked.

“What if the seven ‘sevens’ or forty-nine periods of time were just a device to indicate one magnitude larger fulfillment? In other words, 490 periods of time. Wasn’t it somewhere in the book of Matthew that Jesus was asked by Peter if he should forgive his brother seven times? And what did Yeshua say? He said not seven times, but seventy times seven.”

Nodding, Zane said, “Okay, let’s try your theory. If you are correct, then 13 month lunar cycle times 490 should give us about the time when Jesus was born.” Tentatively, Rachael nodded her head in agreement. Zane entered the numbers into his spreadsheet: 13 x 29.53 gave him a 383.89-day period of time. Next he multiplied the 383.89 days times the 490 periods of time for a total of 188,106.1 days or 515.02 years. Five-hundred-and-fifteen years from the “command to restore and build Jerusalem” in 520 BC brought them to the winter of 5 BC.

Looking at Rachael, he smiled. “Assuming that is what was intended by the first part of verse 25, it looks like it gives us the year 5 BC. Many chronologists believe 4 BC was the date for the birth of Christ—we’re awfully close to that.”

Rachael replied, “What if the date is not referencing his birth, but the point when he became flesh—in other words, his conception? If his conception was in the winter of 5 BC, it would place his birth nine months later in the fall of 4 BC, wouldn’t it?”

“You’ve got a valid point there,” Zane replied thoughtfully. “Let’s look at this another way, from a big-picture perspective. Seventy ‘weeks’ times a thirteen-lunar-cycle period of time marks the conception or birth of Jesus the Messiah in 4–5 BC. Sixty-nine ‘weeks’ times a fourteen-lunar-cycle period of time marks the start of his ministry in 27 AD. The total seventy weeks times a fourteen-lunar-cycle period of time takes us to 35.67 AD, sometime after the call of the apostle Paul. The last recorded apostle who was personally called by Jesus.”

Rachael looked at Zane curiously. “Are you saying the seventy weeks are fulfilled? Most Christians say there are yet seven years to be fulfilled.”

“I don’t know, Rachael. Frankly, I have to question all of my assumptions concerning the prophecy. Most scholars and teachers had the starting point over seventy years too late. What if they are wrong about the final week as well?”

“I guess you have a valid point. But if the final week has been already fulfilled, does that change your view of the second coming?”

“Not at all,” Zane replied. “The Scripture is abundantly clear that Jesus will return again to rule from Jerusalem for one thousand years. I know many preterists believe the second coming has already happened, and they try to use an interpretation of Daniel 9 to support that belief. I just don’t see how a preterist’s position is supported with a literal interpretation of the Scripture. The second coming is not contingent upon any interpretation of the prophecy of seventy weeks, even a flawed one. I know I don’t have all the answers right now, but I will go out on a limb here and say that this new understanding of Daniel 9,  will only strengthen the biblical proof for a literal second coming of Jesus. This may be just the tip of the proverbial iceberg.”

Rachael, a thoughtful look in her eyes, said, “I hope so, Zane. I truly hope so.”

The rest of the way to Rachael’s home, Zane furiously typed notes and made calculations while Rachael sat thinking about the implications of what they had found. Zane wanted to get this new information organized so he could e-mail it to Sam and David to get their input. They always had unique perspectives to add.

Speaking of David, he hadn’t called him back yet.

Zane dialed his voice mail and listened to David’s message. He could hear the concern in his friend’s voice. He dialed David’s number. It rang several times, then David’s voice mail answered. “This is David, leave a message and I will return your call.”

Zane gritted his teeth in frustration. He couldn’t be the only one in the world who hated leaving messages. In a world where everyone had a cell phone and communication was supposed to be efficient, it seemed everyone spent more time talking and listening to machines than they did real people. Was modern technology really helping make things more efficient, or were humans becoming slaves to their machines?

Shaking his head, Zane waited for the beep. “David, it’s Zane. I’m okay. I’ve had a crazy couple of days. I’m sending you an e-mail. Would you take a look at it and let me know what you think? It’s something I’m really excited about. Hey, if you can get away, I would really like to get together in the next day or two before I head home. There have been some unexpected changes in my plans. Talk to you soon.”

A few minutes later his phone rang, and David’s relieved voice came through the line. “Zane, man am I glad to hear that you’re okay. I need to talk to you. When can we get together?”

“We are driving back to Mr. Neumann’s house right now. How does later tonight sound?”

“Sounds good, Zane. Hey, do you have a place to stay? If you don’t, you can crash here with me. I am at the Crowne Plaza Tel Aviv on Hayarkon Street.”

Zane smiled. “I’d love to. We have a lot of catching up to do, and that will save me from finding a place tonight. How does sevenish sound?”

“See you then, bro.”

Zane put his phone down. It would be good to see David again. Man, how time slipped by. If he was seeing David tonight, he would just give him a copy of his research notes on Daniel 9. He wouldn’t need to e-mail him.

Rachael couldn’t help but hear Zane’s conversation. She wondered if this was the same David, Zane had talked about when he told her of the one-handed wheelbarrow trick. To her surprise, she felt a sudden fear when she heard Zane say he would be leaving in a few days. She didn’t know what she was feeling, but she sure didn’t want him to leave. She had found the man she wanted, and she wasn’t afraid to admit it to herself. But what if he didn’t feel the same way? What if he just left without knowing how she felt? She might never see him again.

She had never been an overly sentimental girl, but right now she was feeling emotions she had never felt before. It would be nice to talk to her mother right now and ask her advice.

When Zane ended the call, Rachael sat in silence for several minutes while Zane typed notes in his computer. Finally she couldn’t keep silent any longer, and as nonchalantly as she could, she asked, “So you’ll be heading home soon? You know you are welcome to stay with us as long as you need.”

Zane looked up from his computer and said with a grateful look, “Rachael, thank you, but I can’t impose on you and your father any longer. My friend David—you know, the one I told you about with the one-handed wheelbarrow trick—he’s in Israel on business, and he asked me to stay with him tonight. Since there’s nothing more to do at the Capernaum dig, I think it’s best if I head home. I don’t know exactly what direction my life is going to take right now. I want to continue in the field of archeology, but I can’t always be a volunteer. I’m not sure which direction to turn.” With an embarrassed look, he fell silent.

Rachael looked into his eyes, searching for any recognition there of her feelings for him. She wanted to come right out and tell him to stay here with her, that she wanted him, needed him. But her intuition made her hold her tongue. If Zane Harrison was to be her man, he had to declare himself on his terms. She didn’t want to trick him or trap him. She would wait. Right now, he needed to find his purpose in life. She didn’t want her man to be a rudderless ship on the waters of life. She knew she could find him a job as an archeologist in Israel, after all, her father was the director, but she also knew he needed to earn it by his own efforts. He would have more pride in himself if he was a dogcatcher by his efforts than an archeologist by hers.

Finally, with a warm smile tinged with a measure of sadness, she said, “Zane, I think I understand some of what you feel. Have you considered that you may already have a door opened for you?”

“What do you mean?”

She replied, “Several months ago you set out to write a research paper on one of the most important messianic prophecies of the Scripture. You found, to your surprise and consternation, that you knew less than you thought about this prophecy. Up until today, you basically had no idea how this prophecy applied to the Messiah. Zane, you’ve been given an incredible insight into one of the most important prophecies in the entire Scripture! For all you know, you may have only scratched the surface of where this leads. You’re an archeologist at heart. Maybe the 13th Enumeration is your personal dig.”

As Rachael talked, she could see a light of inspiration and acknowledgment spread across his face. Gone was the indecision, embarrassment, and self-doubt, and in their place she could see resolve, purpose . . . and something else.

Reaching for her hand, Zane replied, “Rachael, you always seem to have the right words to encourage and inspire me. You’re a wise woman, Miss Neumann. I will do just that. I will work this dig and uncover its secrets. I will organize the finds, and then, when I have enough facts, I will use them to encourage the faith of others.”

As Zane talked, Rachael could see he was grasping the importance of the information they had uncovered. He continued, “You know, we live in a day of so-called higher critics who question the credibility of passages like Matthew 1 and Daniel 9. This new information will provide a new basis to challenge those critics and encourage believers to have faith in the biblical record. Faith that in fact Jesus did come in the ‘fullness of time’ according to the plan of YHWH, a plan that even the cycles of the moon have testified to for thousands of years.”

His eyes shining now, he said with simple honesty, “Rachael Neumann, when I return home, I will miss your words of encouragement, your wisdom, and not least of all, your company.”

“Zane, I feel the same when I’m with you. I will miss you as well. Just remember, I’m only a phone call or an e-mail away. Let’s keep in touch.” With an off-kilter smile and a forced, roguish tone of voice, she said, “I’ve grown fond of you, Mr. Harrison.”

As if receiving an inspiration, Zane said in a louder voice with a twinkle in his eye, “Mr. Neumann, I would like to ask your permission to take your daughter out to dinner tomorrow evening, if you don’t mind.”

Jacob Neumann, a gleam in his own eye, glanced back at Zane through the rearview mirror and said, “Mr. Harrison, you have my permission as well as my blessing.”

Zane turned to a smiling and surprised Rachael and asked, “Rachael, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner tomorrow evening?”

With a look Jacob had learned to love in Rachael’s mother’s eyes, she replied, “Zane, I would love to.”

Both of them were quiet then with just a touch of innocent embarrassment. Jacob Neumann smiled to himself. These two would find their way. He could see that right now—both strong young people with gentle hearts. Bless them, Father, he prayed silently. Bless them.

Chapter 76

Tel Aviv, Israel

Anton Ramirez, disguised as a deliveryman, entered the back door of the bakery. He quickly made his way up to the living quarters of Kadeem Malouf, the Baker. All of the staff was gone for the day except a clerk up front.

Anton Ramirez found the Baker reading in the living room of his apartment over the bakery. As he entered, the Baker started to rise and with an indignant voice asked, “Who are you, and what do you want?”

With a sadistic smile, Anton Ramirez replied, “I want to know everything, Mr. Malouf—everything. If you cooperate, I might make your death painless. If you do not, you will suffer greatly.” Pulling a knife from his belt, Anton indicated that Kadeem should sit back down. “Mr. Malouf, let me explain the situation to you. I do not have much time, and I want to know where you sent Capsule 13. Tsk, tsk . . . do not act surprised. The Mossad has been watching you for several months already. They have been intercepting the little messages you have been forwarding. Now tell me the destination of Capsule 13.”

Kadeem Malouf was terrified. He didn’t want to be a martyr. Sure it felt good to tell himself he was part of a great cause, but he was just doing this for the money, really. He remained silent, irrationally hoping the man in front of him would just go away.

Finally, Anton Ramirez removed a small role of duct tape from his jacket and said in a disgusted tone, “I can see you will need some convincing.” From his other pocket he removed a ratcheting PVC pipe cutter.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked as he showed the Baker the pipe cutter. Kadeem shook his head no. Anton pulled a chair from the table. Taking the pipe cutter, he put the curved mouth of it over one of the chair’s round wooden supports, twice as large as his thumb. He then proceeded to squeeze the handle click by click by click until he had severed the wooden support from the chair. The Baker watched the demonstration with macabre fascination, sweat beading on his forehead. When Anton finished, he turned to the Baker and said, “I will start with your little toe, and we will work our way to your fingers.”

The Baker no longer hesitated. He told everything he knew about Capsule 13. When he had finished, Anton Ramirez took the duct tape and covered Kadeem’s mouth.

Down below, the salesclerk heard the scuffing and pounding up above. Looking up to the ceiling, she wondered what Malouf was up to. He normally didn’t make any noise. He must have dropped something, she thought. Without further consideration, she turned back to her magazine, not knowing she would be looking for new employment the next day.

Anton Ramirez quietly closed the door behind him as he left the bakery ten minutes later, a satisfied smile on his face. Next, he headed to Efran Finkelstein’s apartment. He had to clean up that loose end before he left for Dubai. He knew that after they found the Baker they would suspect he was going after Efran, but he had already checked out the apartment building, and it would not take more than a few minutes to take care of the archeologist. Efran had a tracking device on him, so the Mossad would not be watching him as closely as they had the Baker. He didn’t need to interview Efran because they already knew everything he had told the Mossad.

Anton entered the apartment building, disguised as an old man with gray hair and a cane. Several minutes later, he exited the building and walked several blocks to his rental car. On the way to the airport, he removed his disguise. Parking his car in the long-term parking area, he removed his business suit and luggage from the trunk and entered the airport terminal.

He had two hours until his flight, so he bought several papers and sat in the VIP lounge to read them.

Chapter 77

Jerusalem, Israel

By the time they reached the Neumanns’ house, it was almost five p.m. Zane thanked Mr. Neumann and Rachael for their hospitality, and Rachael accompanied him back out to his car. Zane paused at the door, and Rachael stood a little apart, hesitant, as if she wanted to say something more—or maybe she wanted him to say something; Zane wasn’t sure. Finally, he said, “I’ll see you about six then?”

“I am looking forward to it,” she replied. With a mischievous smile and warm light in her eyes, she continued, “You know, you’ve held me in your arms on at least two occasions. We’ve worked, ridden, half-drowned, climbed, and hiked together. We’ve also been chased, shot at, and threatened. Going out to dinner with you on a date almost seems boring. This may take some getting used to!”

Zane gave a hearty laugh and replied, “You know, if it’s too boring for you, we could just skip it altogether.”

“No, Mr. Harrison, that won’t be necessary. I am interested to see how you handle yourself when it does not involve work or a life-threatening situation.”

“Okay, then, Miss Neumann,” Zane replied in mock formality. “I look forward to the privilege of your presence tomorrow evening at six.” Getting into his car, he headed for Tel Aviv.

* * *

Several seconds after Zane knocked, David opened the door of his room and welcomed him in. “Zane, man, it is good to see you, bro!”

“Likewise, David—it’s been too long.” They gave each other a manly hug, and Zane carried his bags in as David closed the door behind him.

“Have I got a story for you,” Zane said as he set the bags down. “You won’t believe what has happened to me over the past couple of days.”

David laughed. “Actually, Zane, I would believe you. I watched you and Rachael appear out of nowhere at the Capernaum dig and then shoot your little green laser at the guys who were chasing you.”

Zane interrupted with an incredulous look on his face. “How in the world did you see all that?”

David laughed again. “I was watching you on one of the UAV spy planes the Mossad has. You see, I was sent over here as a liaison for the FBI. We currently have an investigation underway into a worldwide terrorist network which is using a version of Sam’s encryption software to communicate.”

“You mean, Sam is involved in this too?”

“Well, sort of. Someone modified his software and has been using it to communicate with other members of a terror network. I really can’t tell you any more about the investigation other than that one of the people on your dig is part of the network.”

Zane scowled. “No guess who that is . . . the man nearly killed me when he hit me with that crowbar!”

For the next hour, Zane told David about the events leading up to the chase. Then he opened his laptop and showed David his notes on what Rachael and he had discovered regarding Matthew 1 and the seventy weeks prophecy. David sat wide-eyed as Zane explained.

Finally, Zane asked, “So what do you think? Can you believe it—a code hidden right there in the first chapter of the first book of the New Testament for over two thousand years!”

David, an awed look on his face, replied, “Zane, this is incredible. Can you give me a copy of this? I’d like to study it some more myself. Have you sent this to Sam yet? I am sure he would like to see it as well.”

Chapter 78

Dubai, United Arab Emirates

Darius watched his monitor as the price of AQES dropped. He had fired Dylan two days ago, and he could see it had an additional benefit. Dylan, and likely Ralph and Gavin, were selling as many shares as they could along with anyone else they told. The volume was extremely heavy, and Darius knew many of the hedge funds and bankers who had lent him money were starting to sweat right about now. AQES had dropped over twenty percent in the past two trading days in Chicago. His phone had already started ringing. Concerned investors from all over the world were leaving messages asking if there was something they needed to know. By tomorrow they would be terrified.

Darius smiled with grim satisfaction. If they only knew what was about to transpire. Already many people in Dubai were starting to feel ill. Tomorrow they would start acting irrational and violent. If the toxin acted as it had in the past, Dubai would be a war zone in two days, and in a week the dead and dying would be everywhere.

Darius was already getting reports of employees staying home because of illness. Soon the full effects would be felt, and Darius would send all AES employees home until further notice. He would stay one more night in Dubai to ensure that everything went according to plan. When he left, he would set off the explosive charges that would destroy the entire facility.

Several months ago he had hired a firm to plant explosives throughout the factory and administrative buildings. Darius had paid the owner fifty million dollars to do the work clandestinely. The man had done the task with his son and two of their trusted employees over a period of four weeks, working late at night. No one was the wiser. Darius could remotely detonate the entire factory with a single call from his cell phone.

From Iran, he would have a front-row seat to watch the total destruction of the Order. For a hundred years, they’d had a stranglehold on the world. Two weeks from today, their seats of power would be ghost towns. By the time they figured out what was happening it would be too late. Every person who drank any water in New York, Chicago, New Delhi, Tokyo, Washington, DC, Sydney, or London would be walking dead. Finally, the rest of the world would shake off the shackles of the Order. Then it would be time for Persia to rise again.

At a slight knock, Darius turned and said, “Yes, who is it?”

One of his staff in charge of the daily mail delivery opened the door and walked in. He looked under the weather, and his eyes were bloodshot. “Sir,” he said, “I have some mail for you from the Dubai PO box. I’m sorry, but it is two days old. I have been on vacation for several days and my assistant has not been well . . . I found a pile of mail on my desk when I got back this morning.” Handing the envelope to Darius, he apologized again and turned to leave.

“Hassan, I want you to take the rest of the day off. There seems to be a bug going around.”

Gratefully, the man thanked him and left.

Darius opened the package and pulled out the flash drive. Leaving his office, he went across the hall to the utility closet where he kept the tools. After a few minutes, he reappeared with the flash drive which had a new USB end attached.

Back in his office, he decrypted the file and looked at the message. It was from Contact 13. With surprise and excitement he read the message.

Have made a major discovery . . . Coded Hebrew message found on wall of tunnel. Yagid, echad, habhab, ahabah. Related to list of Matthew 1. Twenty-five scrolls, sixty clay tablets, miscellaneous coins, and other artifacts. Very few know of discovery. They have been dealt with. You can have first pick. Provide e-mail address in order to send pictures of artifacts and inscriptions. Payment to be made in advance. Entire collection sight unseen fifty million dollars. Will hold collection for one week after that highest bidder.

Darius thought about the Hebrew words. After twenty years of research, he recognized the Hebrew numbers for thirteen and fourteen after a few minutes of thought. Next he pulled up an Internet version of the New Testament and opened Matthew 1.

At first he didn’t see anything of interest. Just a list from another messianic zealot, he thought to himself. Reading it again, he saw the list was supposed to show three sets of fourteen generations from the Hebrew Abraham to Jesus. Counting out the names, he found only forty-one names. “Three times fourteen is forty-two, idiot,” he muttered under his breath. How did Christians think they could get anyone to believe their myths if their apostles couldn’t even count?

In disgust, he was about to close the web browser when a commentator’s note at the bottom of the page caught his eye. “Four names missing.” He read further and found Matthew 1 had long been a disputed text due to the fact the author had left out four names from the original Old Testament text. Four missing names, Darius thought. That would make forty-five names.

Then it hit him. Excitedly, he pulled up File 13. Yes, there it was. The 211 Pearl Street symbol. The symbol on the building of the devout Christian, William Colgate.

He remembered counting the bricks at one time, and the number forty-five had stuck out in his mind. The brickwork was made up of forty-five rows of bricks. At the thirteenth level from the bottom, a row of eight bricks was arranged vertically. Then above that five more bricks, and above that another two. Counting from the bottom row of vertical bricks to the first layer in the triangle were also thirteen bricks. Counting down from the top of the brickwork to the very top of the triangle there were fourteen rows of bricks. Again from the top of the brickwork to the first row of vertical bricks above the triangle were seven rows of bricks. Along the edge of the brickwork between the seven vertical bricks at the top and the fifteen vertical bricks at the bottom were twenty-seven rows of bricks—thirteen plus fourteen. Thirteen starting with half-bricks and fourteen starting with solid.

Darius shook his head in amazement. Old William Colgate had made a symbolic list of Matthew 1 right on the side of his building. The one row of bricks above the triangle and the three rows of bricks below it might even be a marker representing the missing names. Pretty clever, but why? Why go to all the trouble to make a symbolic brickwork representing a genealogy from the New Testament?

Darius was not satisfied. There had to be more to it than that. Well, he would have to save it for another day. He had an appointment to go to, and it looked as if he was late already. Making a few notes in the folder, he saved it and turned off his computer. Clever man, that William Colgate, clever man. But what are you trying to tell us?

As he was leaving his office, he couldn’t help but wonder what he was missing.

* * *

Anton Ramirez arrived in Dubai later that night and checked into his hotel. His room was on the fourth floor. Once inside, he took out a small package addressed to the PO box he had been given by the Baker. He walked back down to the front desk and asked them to place it in the outgoing mail. By tomorrow it would make it to the post office, and with any luck, the next day he would be able to track it to whomever was receiving Capsule 13.

Once back in his room, he removed a state-of-the-art GPS tracking device from his luggage. This he turned on and tested to make sure it was still working. You never knew how the bag handlers would treat your luggage, he thought. This device could track his little package from up to ten miles. Anton doubted he would have to test the range on his equipment. He’d bet the person he was looking for was not far from the Dubai World Trade Center.

Turning on the TV, he watched the news for a few minutes with mild interest. World stock markets were crashing again for some reason. Turning the channel, he looked for a good horror movie. He really didn’t care about the news unless he was making it.

Chapter 79

On his way home that night, Marcus received a phone call from his agents on night-shift detail at the bakery. When they arrived for their shift, they had found the day-shift observation team dead—shot with a low-caliber weapon. Marcus turned his car around and headed for the bakery as he called in reinforcements. There were two probable scenarios regarding his agents’ death. The first, and what he considered the most likely, was that the Baker was dead. The guardians of the secret were at work again, eliminating those who had any connection to Capsule 13. Likely, whoever was responsible had interrogated the Baker and now knew the destination of the capsule.

The other option was that the terror network had somehow found out they had been compromised and were eliminating any possible connections between the capsules and their destination. Marcus picked up his phone again and called the operations center. He had another set of agents dispatched to check on Efran Finkelstein. If this was related to the secret, then he was next on the list—if he was not already dead.

When Marcus arrived on scene, he found only sober faces tinged with anger. These two dead agents brought the number now to six, all dead in the past few days. These too had been marked with an unknown symbol. He would not be able to keep this contained any longer. With six dead Mossad agents, this investigation would move to the highest priority. After looking the crime scene over, Marcus grabbed two agents and headed over to the bakery. The light, which was normally on at this time, was still out. There was no evidence of activity inside. As they approached the front of the store, they found the door unlocked. They walked in and called out to see if anyone was about. Finding no one, they walked back into the bakery and found everything as it had been left the night before.

“Do you think he got scared and ran?” one of the agents asked.

Marcus replied, “I doubt it.”

Marcus said no more but headed upstairs, the other two agents a few steps behind. When they reached the living room, they had their answer. The Baker had been tied to the chair. Marcus noticed right away that only seven fingers remained. Three on his left hand and four on his right. They had removed thirteen of his fingers and toes. He knew without a doubt this was a warning to him. Marcus felt the skin on his arms and legs prickle. If he did not find a way to get some leverage on the Guardian, he was soon destined to become a victim as well.

Turning to one of his agents he said, “Call in a forensic team; see if they left anything behind we can use to find them.”

As he was leaving the bakery, he got a call from the apartment of Efran Finkelstein. They had found Efran dead, his throat cut. There went another connection to Capsule 13. Soon others would realize there was more to these deaths than just the terror network. The next likely victims would be whoever was behind Capsule 13 in Dubai, then the Neumanns and Mr. Harrison.

Marcus called Chief Yadin. When he answered, Marcus explained the events of the past few hours. He also explained that he was concerned there might be a link between the Capernaum dig and the terror network. “If there is some greater conspiracy here related to the Capernaum dig, then both the Neumanns and Mr. Harrison might be at risk.”

The chief replied, “Do you have any tangible evidence as to a link between the Capernaum dig and a bigger conspiracy?”

“No, sir, nothing I can prove other than each of the victims have been marked with a strange symbol. We have some of our people trying to track down the meaning of the symbol, but that avenue is not looking to promising right now. Unfortunately, we just lost the one person who might have known. Efran Finkelstein was the only connection we had between the Capernaum dig and the terror network. Sir, I would also suggest we pull in every person we have been watching on the list the FBI provided. Once whoever is behind this terror network realizes that two of their people have been killed, they will likely shut the network down and either move or eliminate their people. We only have a small window of opportunity to get any information from them.”

“Okay, go ahead and bring them in. And Marcus, I want you to warn the Neumanns that there is a possible danger to them. If he would like a security detail on his house, get him one. See if you can get some local law enforcement involved. We are spread pretty thin right now. Jacob Neumann is one of the good guys. He is not political, and he is a true patriot. If anything happens to them, Marcus, I will hold you personally responsible.”

When Nigel Yadin ended the call, Marcus made several more calls. First he called Jacob Neumann and explained his concerns. Jacob Neumann listened and then said, “Agent Nayat, I appreciate your concern. Thank you for calling and telling me, but until you have something more concrete, I would prefer not to waste the precious resources of our law-enforcement officials.”

“Very well, Mr. Neumann, but should you change your mind at any time, please call me personally.” Marcus gave Jacob Neumann his number and then made a call to the other Mossad agents watching those on the list the FBI had given them. He directed them to bring in all the suspects. Finally, Marcus called David Johnson and explained the possible danger to Zane Harrison.

David took the call from Marcus Nayat and listened while he explained the situation. Zane was busy typing on his computer, rewriting his research on Daniel’s seventy weeks prophecy.

David snapped his phone closed. “Zane, I just got a call from the Mossad agent in charge of the terror network investigation. They lost two more agents tonight. They believe it is possible that you and the Neumanns might be in danger due to your connection to the Capernaum dig. Right now they don’t have anything concrete, but they cannot explain why four highly trained Mossad agents were killed out there the other night. Tonight Efran Finkelstein was killed along with the person he was passing his messages to. Apparently he was sending messages through the sewer system, and they were collected at a local bakery. The baker has been under surveillance for several weeks, and the two agents watching him were killed tonight. The assailant entered the bakery and killed the baker as well. Thirteen of his fingers and toes were removed and he was marked with a strange symbol. Whoever is out there doing this is one sick dude. You should be very careful until you leave for the States.”

Zane looked skeptical. “How can the events of the Capernaum dig and the terror network be connected, David? That makes no sense.”

David was quiet a moment. “Zane, I know it doesn’t make sense right now, but don’t you think it’s just a little too coincidental that the baker lost thirteen fingers and that he was forwarding a flash drive, sent through the sewer by Efran Finkelstein, which was marked by the number thirteen? Now you show me a Bible code hidden for almost two thousand years, the key to which is the number thirteen.”

Zane interrupted, “You said Efran was passing secrets through the sewer and marking them with the number thirteen?”

“Yes, that’s correct. I don’t think we can discount a possible connection between what you found down in that cave and this network. What if there’s a bigger picture we’re missing here?”

David was animated now, his logical brain processing the information as he spoke. Talking more to himself than Zane, he continued, “So to date we have a terror network which uses the sewer to communicate. One of the members of this cell who just happens to mark his messages with the number thirteen. One of the greatest archeological discoveries in Israel in the last twenty years completely destroyed. In addition to priceless scrolls, tablets, and other artifacts, we had a coded inscription whose key in part was the number thirteen. A key, I might add, which you believe proves that in fact Jesus fulfilled a twenty-five-hundred-year-old prophecy in the book of Daniel.”

Zane was listening carefully now, and David carried on. “Tonight we have the death of the only person who could possibly connect the Capernaum dig and the terror network, the same person who was marking secret messages with the number thirteen. Tonight we also have the killing of two Mossad agents and a baker who was the subject of their surveillance. This baker was the person responsible for passing on the messages marked with the number thirteen. Coincidentally, this poor fellow had thirteen of his fingers and toes removed. Now, tell me there is not something more going on here! Until we figure out what is going on you should not take any chances.”

“David, I see your point. It does seem to be a little bit more than coincidence. To put your mind at ease, I promise you I will pay attention. I plan on leaving for home the day after tomorrow anyway. I don’t plan on going anywhere between now and then except for dinner with Rachael tomorrow night. If you don’t mind, I will stay right here in the room and work on my research notes and paper the rest of the time. That way you will not have to worry about me. Deal?”

David smiled. “Okay, Zane, but I think you should cancel your dinner date with Rachael Neumann.”

Zane started to protest.

“Just joking bro, just joking. If I was in your shoes, nothing short of the second coming would keep me away from a date with Rachael Neumann.”

Zane, a smile and just a touch of embarrassment on his face now, laughed with David at his own expense. The rest of the evening they spent catching up on the events of the past year. They made plans for climbing that winter at home—Arizona was a perfect place to go rock climbing during the winter.

Finally, David yawned and said, “I’m going to hit the hay, Zane. I don’t know about you, but I’ve had a long day. I’ll be out most of the day tomorrow, so you’ll have the place to yourself. There is a pullout couch, and linens are in the closet over there. Good night.” With that, David walked into the bedroom and closed the door. Zane stayed up for another hour working on his research notes for the prophecy of seventy weeks. Finally satisfied, he saved the file and inserted it in an e-mail.

Sam,

If you have some time take a look at this, will you. I think you will find it fascinating. I would sure like your input on it when you have time. Hope you are well. David said you have a new customer. LOL. Take care and talk to you soon.

Zane

P.S. I will be heading home in a couple of days. I would like to get together and talk when I get back. Maybe we could get together on the weekend and find some rock?

Zane hit send and then addressed a new e-mail to Rachael.

Dear Rachael,

I finished up some of my notes on Daniel’s seventy weeks prophecy tonight. I’ve added some of the information we’ve found relating to the subject. I thought you might like a copy. As always your thoughts and opinions on it are appreciated.

Regards, Zane

Zane hit send and turned in for the night. He was both physically and mentally exhausted. He fell asleep with pleasant thoughts of Rachael Neumann and their date tomorrow night.

* * *

David lay in bed thinking about what Zane had shared with him. The information seemed almost incredible. He wondered about the connection between the terrorist network and the Capernaum dig. Why the symbolism of the number thirteen—why was this number important to a terrorist network? Who was really behind this?

Exhausted as David was, he couldn’t shut his mind off. He lay there thinking about the implications of Zane and Rachael’s discovery. What were the unintended consequences of this information? And there was something more. Something just out of reach of his conscious mind. Turning off the light, he closed his eyes and tried to shut his mind down. David lay there for some time, and just as he was drifting off to sleep, he sat up in bed.

“Pi!” he exclaimed.

That was what he had been trying to remember. That was what had been nagging him. He knew he had recognized the numbers. “Nah, that couldn’t be it,” he said to himself as he lay back down.

In college, David had minored in mathematics. He loved numbers, their order, and their mystery. In his second year of college, he had written a term paper on the properties of pi. The great irrational number. A number with a fractional representation that never repeats and never ends. Believed to be a transcendental number, the value of which cannot be systematically rendered by any algebraic process. During the course of writing his paper, David had memorized the value of pi up to the fiftieth decimal place. Now he recalled those first fifty digits.

David sat up in bed and turned on the light. Looking at the clock, he could see he had been lying in bed almost two hours now. David slid out of the covers and walked over to the small desk against the wall of his room. Getting out a piece of paper, he wrote down the first seven digits of pi:

3.141592

Next, he turned on his computer and opened his BibleWorks software, looking up the reference for the instructions of the Feast of Tabernacles during the seventh month. He remembered Zane telling him about the number of sacrifices: there were thirteen, fourteen , and he thought he remembered seven, but he wanted to make sure of the number and their order. He finally found the reference, and with incredulity he muttered, “Oh, come on, you have got to be kidding me!” The reference was Numbers 29:13.

“Numbers 29:13! Numbers—really?”

He read the verse carefully:

And ye shall offer a burnt offering, a sacrifice made by fire, of a sweet savour unto YHWH; 13 young bullocks, 2 rams, and 14 lambs of the first year; they shall be without blemish.

David shook his head in amazement and not a little awe. And all this took place in the seventh month. Carefully, he wrote out the number of the sacrifices for the seven days of the feast in a table format on his piece of paper.

For the first day of the feast there were 13 + 2 +14 for a total of 29 sacrifices. The bullock sacrifices were in descending order or one less every day for seven days.

Zane had made a point that the biblical religious calendar was based on the cycle of the moon. The early Israelites watched the waxing light for thirteen or fourteen days and then watched it wane for thirteen or fourteen more days. The total lunar cycle was 29.53 days long. David looked at the first seven numbers of pi again. Then he wrote the numbers in reverse, separating them into three groups:

295 14 13

His hand shaking slightly in excitement, he whispered. “Is it possible? The first seven numbers of pi.” Were they a key?

Next he wrote out the first fifty digits of pi on a piece of paper. Carefully, he circled each seven. The first seven was in the thirteenth decimal place. The second seven was in the twenty-ninth decimal place, and it fell between the two and nine, no less. The third seven was in the thirty-ninth decimal place—three times thirteen. David shook his head in amazement. Had the Creator hidden proof of the Messiah’s identity in pi?

3.14159265358979323846264338327950288419716939937510

All thought of sleep had evaporated. He was too excited to even think about sleep right now. David opened his door and saw Zane sleeping on the couch. Well, he wouldn’t wake him. They could talk about it in the morning. David closed the door and sat back down at the desk. If the Creator had hidden the Messiah factors in pi, might there be other mathematical hints as well? What about prime numbers or the Fibonacci sequence?

The Fibonacci sequence was clearly evident throughout nature. Some of the best examples of it were the spiral arrangement of the seeds in a sunflower or the nautilus shell.

David wrote out the Fibonacci sequence. Each number added to the one proceeding it.

1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89

There it was again, David thought—the numbers seven and thirteen. Thirteen was the seventh number in the sequence. Next, David wrote out the prime numbers.

Prime numbers, natural numbers greater than one that had no positive divisors other than one and the prime number itself, had long fascinated mathematicians. David wrote out the prime numbers he could remember:

2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19, 23, 29, 31 37, 41, 43, 47, 53

David circled seven and thirteen in the prime list. Seven was the fourth prime, and thirteen was the sixth. David counted the primes up to forty-one and found that forty-one was the thirteenth prime number. He turned his thoughts back to the inscription in the cave and the list in Matthew 1. It was clear that Matthew had intended to represent forty-one total names, and thirteen of those were in the last column of names on the list. Now it looked as if there was much more to the list of Matthew than scholars had ever realized.

For fun, David added up the sum of the prime numbers to thirteen. He came up with forty-one. So forty-one was the thirteenth prime number, and forty-one was also the sum of all primes up to and including thirteen.

David thought about it for a few minutes and then, out of curiosity, added one back into the prime list. With one included, thirteen became the seventh prime number, and forty-one became the fourteenth. He understood the reasoning as to why mathematicians excluded one from the prime list, but looking at what he had discovered sure made him wonder about that classification.

For the next two hours, David scribbled notes on his paper. Finally, he set the pencil down and rubbed his eyes. He needed to get a few hours of sleep before work tomorrow even if he didn’t feel like it right now. He found himself overwhelmed. Was he just imagining this, or was there really a connection between the biblical evidence for the Messiah, pi, primes, and the Fibonacci sequence? Was what he had found tonight the fingerprint of YHWH? David took one last look at his notes and then lay back down and turned out the lights.

The first seven digits of pi reversed give you 295 14 13

The first occurrence of 7 is in the 13th decimal place

The second occurrence of 7 is at the 29th decimal place and it sits between 2-7-9

The third occurrence of 7 is at the 39th decimal place (3 x 13)

The first occurrence of 13 is in the 29th (10 block of pi)

The sum of the first 13 decimal digits is 65 or (5 x 13)

The sum of the first 26 decimal digits is 126 or (3 x 6 x 7)

The sum of the first 39 decimal digits is 191 or 43rd prime. 43 is the 14th prime.

First occurrence of 295 or 2953 is at the 113th – (10 block of pi)

The sum of 1 to 13 is 91 (7 x 13)

13 is the 7th number in a Fibonacci sequence

33 is the sum of the Fibonacci sequence to 13

233 is the 13th number in a Fibonacci sequence (233 = 3 x 17) (17 is the 7th prime)

377 is the 14th number in a Fibonacci sequence (377 = 13 x 29)

609 is the sum of a Fibonacci sequence up to the 13th iteration (609 = 3 x 7 x 29)

986 is the sum of a Fibonacci sequence up to the 14th iteration (986 = 2 x 17 x 29) (17 is the 7th prime)

13 is the 6th prime number

41 is the 13th prime number

(If 1 was considered a prime number, 13 would be the 7th prime and 41 would be the 14th prime.)

43 is the 14th prime number

The sum of all prime numbers to 13 is 41, or 42 if 1 was still included (42 = 6 x 7)

The sum of primes to 29 is 129 (129 = 3 x 43) 43=14th prime,

or 130 if 1 was still included (130 = 13 x 10)

The sum of primes up to 41 is 238 (238 = 2 x 7 x 17),

or 239 if 1 was still included (239 = 52nd prime, 52 = 4 x 13)

The sum of primes to 43 is 281 (281 = 42nd prime) (42 = 6 x 7),

or 282 if 1 was still included (282 = 2 x 3 x 47)

It was a long time before David fell asleep.

Chapter 80

Dubai, United Arab Emirates

Darius stayed at the factory that night. He knew the streets of Dubai would soon become a war zone of deranged people trying to kill each other while the ones who could still think clearly tried to flee. Rumors of an epidemic had already begun to spread throughout the city. These rumors only added to the precipitous fall of AQES stock. In Chicago the previous day it had fallen 19.5 percent. In the past few days, it had fallen almost 50 percent from its high. He was sure that some of those who had loaned him money with AQES stock as collateral were thinking about jumping out a window right now.

He couldn’t help but smile. AQES, the stock everyone wanted to own, the stock which for almost an entire year had done nothing but climb, was now crashing. He had finally told the switchboard operator to tell everyone who called for him that he was not available. By the end of today, Darius knew, AQES would for all intents and purposes be worthless. A pyramid of debt and promises built upon an incredible invention. Trillions of dollars evaporated into an electronic world of ones and zeros.

Darius smiled in satisfaction, thinking about the pain he was causing those he had sworn vengeance on. He doubted a single one of them was sleeping well tonight. He looked at his watch—just six more hours until he left. His final acts of preparation consisted of loading his entire collection of personal files onto a 500GB removable hard drive, which he placed in his pocket, and then sending an e-mail to the account his brother had given him at the beginning of all this, giving him the details of his arrival in Iran. Next, Darius texted all employees of AES and told them that he wanted them to go home and stay there until they recovered.

Two hours later, the sprawling Aquarius Elemental Solutions facility was deserted.

Finally, at one p.m., Darius left the administration building and walked down to the pier behind the main assembly building. Inside the large building at the end of the pier was his thirty-five-million-dollar yacht. He walked past it, reached down, and removed the rope holding a dilapidated one-engine speedboat to the pier. He fired up the engine and pushed a remote on the console to open the door to his boathouse. Darius gunned the engine of the speedboat and left the coast of Dubai behind. Three miles away, he dialed a number on his cell phone and watched as the coastline where his factory stood exploded in brilliant flashes of orange and yellow light. As the miles of ocean slipped behind the hull, Darius periodically looked back at the columns of black smoke billowing behind him.

* * *

Anton woke the next morning and decided to take a ride down to the post office. On his way out, he noticed the hotel lobby was deserted except for a few employees who didn’t seem very happy to be there. Two of them looked extremely ill, in fact. Handing the valet his ticket for the rental car, he waited for two minutes. Anton noted very few cars on the normally busy streets. After his car arrived, he programmed the GPS device for the post office and followed the directions it gave. As he drove along the deserted streets, the only people he saw outside were acting abnormally. One woman just walked in a small circle. Two men stood flat-footed and beating each other with wooden poles.

At the post office, he found the facility empty. The doors were locked, and no one was around. Parking in the lot, he pulled out his location device and found his package was in fact there. Putting his locator away, he turned the car around and headed back to the hotel.

The way back was even more surreal. The people he saw were acting as deranged as a B-rated horror movie. He was by nature a violent person, but what he saw was homicidal insanity on a very different level. His unease growing, Anton returned to the hotel, leaving his car with the valet. He walked up to the front desk and asked the attendant, “Do you know why the post office in town is closed?”

“Sir, most facilities in the city are closing early today. Everyone seems to be getting sick. No one knows what it is. They say all government buildings and nonessential facilities will be closed at five p.m. today until further notice.”

Anton looked at his watch. It was nine a.m. With the post office closed, there was no way for him to track the package, and he sure as hell did not want to be trapped in Dubai. Hurrying up to his room, he grabbed his bag and headed for the airport. He reached the airport at ten and found all but one flight booked. The flight was bound for New Delhi, and he was glad to have it, even going in the opposite direction from where he’d intended.

After getting through security, he boarded with just a few minutes to spare. As they were taxiing, he noticed there was only one other airplane on the runway. That was close, he thought. Whatever was going on back in Dubai, he didn’t want anything to do with it.

After takeoff, the plane circled and headed for New Delhi. His unease dissipating now that he was in the air, his frustration at not finding his quarry took its place. His bloodlust had been thwarted and his time wasted. He was in a foul mood.

Chapter 81

Phoenix, Arizona

The next morning, Sam received Zane’s e-mail. With anticipation, he opened the brief note and then the attached file. With interest, he started to read. Over the past couple of months he had brought himself up to speed on the prophecy of seventy weeks. He had read several commentaries on the prophecy and felt he understood the current general consensus. Sam had already read Zane’s earlier version of the research on the prophecy and understood why Zane believed that current consensus was flawed.

Sam read through the first few pages, going over the information he had already understood from Zane’s earlier research. Three-quarters through the paper, he sat up a little straighter in his chair. He had gotten to the part where Zane and Rachael found the lineage of Yeshua engraved in the cavern. As he read Zane’s explanation of the list and the coded phrase, he began to get goose bumps. This was incredible stuff. So much for the naysayers who had questioned the accuracy of Matthew 1 for the past several centuries! Right here in black and white was an incredible explanation: Matthew 1 was a coded key which unlocked Daniel’s prophecy of seventy weeks and provided proof that Yeshua was the Messiah promised in the Scriptures. Thirteen and fourteen were the Messiah factors. “Incredible!” he said out loud.

Sam sat back in his chair. Yeshua was the thirteenth generation at his birth. Symbolically, he could be considered the fourteenthgeneration after his death and resurrection. Quite an amazing symbolic picture.

Sam sat straight up in the chair with a jerk, his feet crashing down on the floor. Speaking of symbolic pictures, from the Old Testament to the New Testament the Messiah was pictured as a chief cornerstone or capstone. Sam knew many scholars had misinterpreted these Scripture verses to mean that the Messiah was just one of many cornerstones of the building. This view fit well with the modern idea that Yeshua was just a great man among other great men. But an accurate reading of both the Greek and Hebrew conveyed the idea of a finishing stone or capstone, a completed work. Yeshua, the Messiah, finished or completed the plan of YHWH for the reconciliation of mankind. He was the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. Sam knew Ephesians 2:20–31 by heart:

And are built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ himself being the chief corner stone; in whom all the building fitly framed together groweth unto an holy temple in the Lord.

Sam stood up and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. He opened it and removed a one-dollar bill.

Sam shook his head in amazement as another piece of the puzzle fell into place in his mind. The Great Seal of the United States had an unfinished pyramid whose capstone had not been placed. Symbolically, a stone which the builder rejected, hanging suspended over the unfinished work. An unfinished pyramid with thirteen courses. The capstone, a single stone, was the fourteenth course—the stone which the builders rejected, a stone which they portrayed as not fitting the intended structure. This stone hung perpetually over the unfinished pyramid, covered with the symbol of an open eye. The same symbol which for millennia had represented the open eye of mankind’s enlightenment. The same enlightenment promised to the original man and woman way back in Eden:

And the serpent said unto the woman, Ye shall not surely die: for God doth know that in the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil. (Genesis 3:4–5)

In his years of interest in conspiracy theory, Sam remembered reading a quote by Manly P. Hall, a respected member of the Masonic order, in his work The Lost Keys of Freemansonry, which explained a picture of an unfinished pyramid with man in place of the capstone:

In this picture is concealed the allegory of the Lost Word. The master Mason, having completed his labors, becomes a worker on a higher plane than the one in which the ordinary builder is permitted to work. The Master Mason becomes the capstone of the Universal Temple.

And so the evidence of the struggle between the will of YHWH and the promise of the serpent again surfaced in the pages of history. This was a struggle between the reconciliation YHWH offered through the promised Messiah and the supposed enlightenment offered by the great deceiver. YHWH promised the restoration and completion of mankind through the work of Yeshua. The serpent promised the eventual evolution of mankind to godhood through their own efforts and the power of enlightenment he offered.

Sam’s thoughts turned back to the number thirteen. This number had for so long been associated with bad luck, rebellion, and evil. Zane and Rachael’s discovery would call into question many of those superstitions. What better way to hide the truth than to mix it with a little falsehood and a good measure of myth, assumption, and superstition? For almost two thousand years, the pages of history had been silent about the truth of the 13th Enumeration. Did its discovery now, at this point in history, have wider implications? Was this new information, which strengthened the credibility of the Bible, a counterbalance to the growing darkness of a secular age? Was it a warning that time was running short?

Sam looked again at the unfinished pyramid on the one-dollar bill. Was the claim of conspiracy researchers true—that Adam Weishaupt had originally created the symbol as the Seal of the Illuminati and it was this symbol which was borrowed by the founding fathers? Sam had found no proof of this claim. To the contrary, based on his research it was Charles Thomson who was responsible for the Great Seal. Thomson was a most unusual individual. He was part of Benjamin Franklin’s philosophical club, Junta, but after retiring from service as secretary of the Continental Congress, he spent twenty-five years working on the first English translation of the Septuagint. He was also responsible for the first American English translation of the New Testament. If anyone had the knowledge to hide a messianic symbol in the Great Seal, it was Charles Thomson. After all, he’d spent over one-quarter of his life translating the Scriptures. He would have been aware of Matthew’s list of Yeshua’s genealogy and the representation of thirteen and fourteen. The work of Yeshua was represented by the thirteen-level, incomplete pyramid. The capstone, the completion, the finished work, the fourteenth level, was held in abeyance under the watchful eye of enlightenment. It was the open eye of mankind’s enlightenment superseding the capstone, Yeshua, the stone which the master builders had rejected.

Sam had another thought. What if the seal was not a blatant attempt to show the enlightened philosophy of the new republic but was instead a symbolic warning by Charles Thomson of certain individuals’ intention to use the new republic for such a nefarious purpose? Few people would have been in a better position to see the undercurrents and intrigues of the early United States. Maybe Thomson’s symbol was a warning similar to the one Reverend Snyder addressed to George Washington concerning the Illuminati in that famous letter of October 24, 1789.

Sam wondered, did the American experiment represent a battlefield between the forces of secular enlightenment and the stone which the builders rejected? It appeared Charles Thomson thought so.

The idea shook him. There might be more at stake here than anyone had ever realized.

Chapter 82

Jerusalem, Israel

The next morning, Rachael read Zane’s e-mail and then opened the attached file with his updated notes on the prophecy of seventy weeks. Zane had been busy. A bigger picture was emerging, a picture showing the congruency of the biblical message. She read over his notes with growing excitement. There were pictures opening up in the Scripture that had never made sense before. Matthew 1, long considered a mistake, was turning out to be one of the most amazing passages of prophetic symbolism in the Scripture.

As she continued to read, she could see throughout the Scripture that the idea of sacrifice and atonement was associated with the numbers thirteen and fourteen. She had read this same information a hundred times, but until now it had never been placed in this context. The Passover lamb was sacrificed on the fourteenth of Nisan. During the seven days of the Passover feast from the fifteenth to the twenty-first, two lambs were sacrificed each day for a total of fourteen. During the Feast of Tabernacles, fourteen lambs were sacrificed every day of the feast from the fifteenth until the twenty-first. Even more curious was the fact that during the first day of the Feast of Tabernacles, thirteen bullocks are sacrificed. Then, every day for the next six days, one less was sacrificed until on the twenty-first there were only seven bullocks sacrificed. This countdown from thirteen to seven gave a total of seventy bullocks during those seven days. Thirteen, seven, and seventy—they had already seen how a combination of those numbers gave the year of the Messiah’s birth. This symbolism added credibility to those who believed that Yeshua was born during the Feast of Tabernacles. What did the Gospel of John say concerning the Messiah—“And the Word was made flesh, and tabernacled with us.”

Zane also noted that the total commanded sacrifices of bullocks, rams, and lambs for those seven days equaled 182 sacrifices (13 x 14). Also interesting was the fact that on the first day there were thirteen bullocks, two rams, and fourteen lambs for a total of twenty-nine—the same numbers which made up the monthly lunar cycle. This all took place on the fifteenth day of the seventh month, as described in Numbers 29:13. There were also thirteen or fourteen days of waxing light followed by thirteen or fourteen days of waning light for a total of just over twenty-nine days.

Rachael finished reading the file and sat back absorbing what she had read. How wonderful the words of YHWH! What a different perspective this offered on the Messiah. As a daughter of a Christian mother and Jewish father, she had insight into the struggle that many Jewish people had concerning the Christian Messiah. For so long, Christianity had tried to distance itself from the Hebraic context of the Scripture. She understood that part of this stemmed from the persecution of early messianic believers by the Jewish rabbinic authority, but unfortunately, early Christianity had often gone to the other extreme. They embraced many pagan practices that were abhorrent to Torah-observant Jews and condemned by the Old Testament. When a Christian came preaching a messianic message wrapped in the clothing of ancient paganism, many Jewish people turned away in disgust.

By contrast, what Rachael had just read described a Jewish Messiah fulfilling a prophecy given to Jewish people and understood from a Jewish perspective of time. Praise be to YAH, Rachael thought reverently.

Rachael saved Zane’s file to her desktop and then printed it. She was going to share this with her father. He had rejected the Messiah not because he did not believe in a Messiah, but because he didn’t see the promised Messiah in Yeshua of Nazareth. What she had here was a picture of the Messiah her father just might understand.

Rachael walked to her father’s study and knocked softly before she entered. Jacob Neumann sat at his desk, a book opened in front of him. His glasses perched slightly forward on his nose, he smiled his welcome as Rachael entered. “Hello, my dear. What can I do for you?”

“Abba, would you read Zane’s research paper on the prophecy of Daniel and tell me what you think? He believes he’s found a connection between the inscription we found in Capernaum and the prophecy of Daniel’s seventy weeks. I think he has something here, and I would like your opinion on it.”

Rachael handed over the papers she had printed. Jacob Neumann reached for them with a curious look on his face. “You mean to tell me Zane believes there is a connection between the code we found in the Hebrew words and the prophecy of Daniel concerning the Messiah?”

“Yes, Dad, that’s what he believes he has found.”

Jacob, now with skeptical curiosity, replied, “Sure, I’d like to read what young Mr. Harrison has to say about a Jewish Messiah.” Setting the papers aside, he asked, “Anything else I can do for you right now?”

Rachael smiled. “No, Dad, that’s all I wanted.”

She turned to leave when her father’s voice asked, “What time are you having dinner with Mr. Harrison tonight?”

“Six-thirty . . . he said he was going to pick me up at six.”

“Very well, then. Let me know before you leave, will you?” Jacob turned back to his book as Rachael left the study.

Later that afternoon, Jacob Neumann picked up Zane’s research paper and began reading. He had read Christian explanations of their Jewish Messiah Jesus, but they had always seemed foreign to him. More Gentile than Jew. And yet, unlike many of his friends and associates, he did not share an animosity toward Jesus. His wife had seen to that. Her gentle love combined with her unfailing faith had given him a perspective on Jesus that many did not have.

Jacob read through Zane’s brief introduction concerning the prophecy of Daniel and the current generally accepted Christian interpretations. As he continued to read, he was surprised to find that Zane Harrison, instead of confirming the Christian consensus, seemed to be undermining it with clear contextual arguments based on the chronology of the Old Testament. So far, Zane had made a compelling argument why not to believe Yeshua had fulfilled the prophecy of seventy weeks. Then he had summarized a biblical understanding of time in relation to the biblical festivals as given by YHWH to Moses.

As Jacob read Zane’s explanation of the list of Matthew and its relationship to the prophecy of Daniel’s seventy weeks, his hand began to tremble. He saw the symbolism of fourteen and the sacrifices commanded by YHWH through Moses. He saw the symbolism of the countdown from thirteen to seven in the Feast of Tabernacles. As a historian and an archeologist, he knew the historical Jesus, based on a reasonable interpretation of the evidence, was born in 3–4 BC, and his public ministry as described in the New Testament likely began thirty years later in 26 or 27 AD and ended in 30 AD. What he now read was as if blinders were being taken off his eyes.

Jacob opened the bottom drawer of his desk and rustled through the papers there. Finally finding what he was looking for, he pulled out an old document he had prepared many years ago. It was the listing of the priestly courses as given in the Old Testament.

As he looked at the list, tears came into his eyes. With eyes that could barely see, Jacob Neumann walked around his desk and looked up at the large drawing on his wall opposite his desk—the drawing he had commissioned to a talented Israeli artist several years ago, based on years of Jacob’s own research. It was a drawing of the Second Temple as it looked in the days of Yeshua. As he looked up at the drawing, new tears forming in his eyes, he whispered, “You were right, Constance, my love. You were right.”

Jacob Neumann got down on his knees, and with a broken and contrite heart, acknowledged Yeshua ha’Mashiach as the Son of YHWH, redeemer of Israel and mankind.

Chapter 83

The Persian Gulf

Darius Zarindast was smiling as the roar of the single outboard Yamaha engine propelled his boat across the Persian Gulf. Every now and then he would feel a little ocean spray on his face as the boat hit larger swells with a smack. Darius felt liberated and partly avenged. He knew he was causing irreparable damage to those he had sworn vengeance on so many years ago. He looked at his watch and then at his portable GPS navigation system. He’d left Dubai a little over two hours ago. To the west, he could see Abu Musa, the twelve-kilometer island administered by Iran, in the distance. The island was just over the halfway point to his destination.

He could see the outline of some of the massive oil and natural-gas tankers in the distance. So far he had not encountered any other boat traffic. In another two hours he would reach his destination, and he would be safe. The Order would not be able to reach him in an Iran ruled by his brother. Laughing, Darius thought he was probably the least of their concerns right now. In two more days, his machines would start producing the 235X toxin in the major financial centers in the world. He had purposely not wanted to kill the people in those cities until after the world financial markets crashed. He’d wanted to build the pressure on the system gradually so that when people started to die, it would be the final blow—forever ending the Western financial dominance over the world.

Darius gloated. If they thought things were rough in the financial world today, just wait until a week from now. By that time they wouldn’t be worrying about their money any longer; they would be worrying about their lives.

* * *

Anton Ramirez slept the entire flight from Dubai to New Delhi. In New Delhi, he caught the earliest flight back to Israel he could find. As he waited in New Delhi, he watched the world news. The leading story was the epidemic in Dubai. The world watched the pictures of death and mayhem in horror. The WHO and the American CDC had teams en route to Dubai to try to figure out what was killing the people. They were already seeking out all those who had left Dubai in the last twenty-four hours and quarantining them as a precaution. Anton was thankful for the fake passport he had used to book his flight from Dubai. For the flight to Tel Aviv he had used a second passport, so he doubted they would be able to find him.

The news out of Dubai had really shaken the financial markets as well. The news showed the Asian markets had closed down over fifteen percent. US markets had just opened, and they were down six percent already. He could see the fear in some of the financial commentators’ faces. From what he gathered, they were not sure why the markets were down so much even with the horrible events of Dubai factored in.

Anton did take notice when one of the reporters mentioned that some people believed the crash in the world markets was tied to Aquarius Elemental Solutions, which was based in Dubai. Anton, like most citizens in the Western world, had taken Darius Zarindast up on the private placement of AQES stock. He had not only purchased his private placement shares, but had also invested another fifty thousand pounds of his personal investment account in the stock as well. In just a few months, he had tripled his money.

As the newscaster showed the price of AQES, Anton Ramirez just about broke the arm of his chair in the airport lounge. AQES, as of Chicago open, had dropped to ten dollars a share.

“What the . . .!” Anton shouted angrily. His AQES shares, which as of last week had been worth over one-hundred-and-fifty-thousand pounds, were now worth only five thousand. The news showed pictures of black columns of smoke rising over the AES factory in Dubai. Anton pounded the arm of his chair in uncontrolled rage. He would like to get his hands on the owner of AES. He would take his lost pounds out of his hide, so help him. He would make him pay.

Anton checked in with Sir Peter. He had been given a new name to add to his list of laundry to clean: the Mossad agent, Marcus Nayat. Marcus was no longer a valuable asset, and he knew too much to be allowed to live. Anton looked at the other three pictures on his computer screen and saw the faces of Rachael Neumann, Jacob Neumann, and Zane Harrison.

Anton was in a foul mood. Not only was he dirty, tired, and jet-lagged, but he was a hundred-and-forty-five-thousand pounds poorer than when he had started this operation. He wanted to get back to England and chill out for a few days. He had been moving nonstop since the Capernaum operation, leaving a path of death and destruction behind him as he destroyed any record of the secret. All he had to do was eliminate four more people and he would be able to take a break and get some rest. He could feel the rage building inside. The sooner he eliminated the people on his list and destroyed their evidence, the better.

Anton looked at his watch and calculated Israel time. It would be seven-thirty p.m. when he landed in Tel Aviv. If he left directly for the Neumann house, he might get there by eight-thirty or nine. They would likely be home by then, and he would take care of them right away. Once the Mossad found out they were dead, he knew Marcus Nayat would be around shortly thereafter. He would wait and follow Mr. Nayat and then eliminate him as well. After that he would track down Mr. Harrison and finish the job!

Chapter 84

Elated, Darius could see the coastline now. He had made the one-hundred-sixty-kilometer journey from Dubai to the coast of Iran in just under four hours.

His destination was a little used road between Gasheh and Bandar-e-Shenas on an uninhabited section of the coast just south of the Bandar Lengeh Airport. The road was half a kilometer off Highway 96 and just a kilometer from the airport. Hopefully, Arash would have someone there to meet him.

He slowed the boat down as he neared landfall. He could feel the oppressive heat in the air. Darius beached the motorboat in the shallow surf and waded ashore. A few hundred feet from the beach, an official-looking car was parked. As Darius approached, the car door opened and his brother Arash stepped out of the passenger side and walked toward him.

“Welcome to Iran, my brother,” Arash said with a smile, his arms outstretched.

Darius embraced his brother and smiled. “It is good to see you again, my brother. Much has happened since we last parted.”

“Yes, much has happened. Come, brother, let us out of this infernal heat. I have a plane waiting at Bandar Lengeh.”

As they walked back to the car, Arash handed him a bottle of water. “Thank you, brother, it is hot out here.” Darius drank the entire bottle. Its cool wetness felt good going down, and he immediately felt revived.

As they entered the car, Arash gave Darius a searching, speculative look. The driver started the car immediately when the door closed and drove them back to the airport. Arash, still looking at Darius, said, “We will talk more, brother, when we get on the plane. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

When they reached the airport, the driver drove straight to the plane which stood ready on the tarmac. As they got out of the car, Arash gave the driver instructions to return and destroy the boat.

As soon as they sat down inside the plane, it began to move. The plane was a new Falcon 900 jet built by Dassault. Darius settled back and looked over at Arash. “Traveling in style, I see. I hope you sold all your shares of AQES. Last time I checked it was below one hundred dollars.”

Arash looked at his brother with cold blue eyes and replied, “Brother, it closed in Chicago at just over ten dollars a share.”

Darius smiled broadly. “That is going to bankrupt them, Arash. They will never recover from what we have done.” Darius looked over at his brother again. Arash didn’t seem to share his elation. He shrugged—some people were harder to please than others. Since it didn’t appear that Arash was disposed to talk right now, Darius reclined his chair and closed his eyes to rest.

Some time later, Darius opened his eyes as he felt and heard the handcuffs being placed around his wrists. Darius looked up in shock into the cold, hard eyes of his brother, who had just finished securing his arms to the chair.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

With undisguised hate, Arash replied, “I have waited forty years for this opportunity, Darius. I have no further use for you. Enjoy what little time you have left. You are going to watch me save the world. I have already made a bargain with several world leaders, and they have allowed me to keep all of the wealth you have transferred here, as well as the money you supposedly left for our people. In exchange, I will give them control over the elemental separators. Your plan has failed, and I will step into your shoes as the new savior of the world.”

Darius was stunned. His mind could hardly accept the betrayal. When he finally found his voice, he asked, “So what are you going to do with me, Arash? Are you going to kill me, keep me in a dungeon, or let one of your minions do the dirty work?”

Arash smiled with contempt. “Brother, you have already killed yourself.”

Darius looked at his brother without comprehension. “I am sitting right here talking to you, so clearly I did not kill myself, Arash.”

His laughter tinged with a touch of insanity, his brother replied, “Let me just say you have gotten a taste of your very own medicine.”

Darius’s face filled with horror and comprehension. “235X?”

“Yes, Darius, by your own hand you have ensured your death. The bottle of water you drank when we met was poisoned with your toxin. You will live just long enough to watch me destroy your cherished plan and take credit for saving millions of lives. Frankly, brother, if you hadn’t been so obsessed with your quest for the secret of the 13th Enumeration, I would have let your plan succeed. But they had discovered—or were very close to discovering—you were behind these events, and I knew you would eventually lead them to us. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I would have killed you anyway—but your plan would have succeeded where now you will watch it fail.”

Darius had recovered some of his nerve by now, and he gave Arash a baleful look of contempt. “Arash, you will always be a bastard, no matter what your position in life. You have not defeated me. On the contrary, you have only ensured my success.”

Surprised at his brother’s defiance, Arash swung a vicious blow to Darius’s head.

Chapter 85

Tel Aviv, Israel

It was early afternoon, and Zane Harrison sat in David’s hotel room and worked on an outline for a book on the prophecy of seventy weeks. David had left a note before leaving for Mossad headquarters. Zane’s excitement grew as he read the fascinating information David had discovered.

Zane sat back. He was hungry and needed a break. Picking up the remote from the desk where he worked, he turned on the TV and looked for an English news station. He found Fox News and turned up the volume. The leading report was about the pandemic in Dubai. Reports out of Dubai had death toll estimates as high as one-hundred-thousand people. Many more thousands were sick and dying. The news reports also showed the destroyed Aquarius Elemental Solutions factory in Dubai. Destruction of the AES factory may have been the catalyst for the crash of world financial markets, according to the newscaster. There were a lot of people really hurting right about now. He felt sorrow for the loss of life in Dubai.

Zane whistled softly as they showed the stock price of AQES at ten dollars a share. He was thankful he had taken Sam’s advice and sold his shares. The last had been sold several weeks ago; his money was now parked in cash. Frankly, he did not yet know what he was going to do with it.

Zane watched several more cycles and then turned it off. The news, today especially, was depressing. He walked over to the kitchenette and looked in the little refrigerator. He saw nothing remotely like healthy food, so he slipped on his shoes and walked down to the hotel restaurant for a snack.

Two hours later, Zane was getting ready for dinner with Rachael. He was a little nervous and a lot excited. He was developing feelings for Rachael, and he thought he might have some hope of the same in her. Zane took a shower and dressed casually. He had asked the hotel restaurant waiter if he knew of a nice place to eat in Jerusalem. The waiter recommended the Canela Restaurant in downtown Jerusalem. Zane looked it up on the Internet and found it was just off Yafo Street on Shlomtsiyon HaMalka Street. It looked like it was only a ten-minute drive from Rachael’s house. Zane left at four-thirty p.m. just to ensure he would not be late to pick her up at six. The last thing he wanted was to be late for his first formal date with Rachael.

As he drove, he worried a little about his choice of restaurant. He didn’t know anything about restaurants in Jerusalem, and even less about what Rachael liked to eat. Why didn’t he ask her where she would like to go? No, that was kind of cheesy—a guy was supposed to impress his date with good taste and judgment. Well, he just hoped he didn’t crash and burn on his first date.

At 5:25, he arrived at the Neumanns’ house. Mr. Neumann met him at the door with a warm smile and asked him in. “Good evening, Mr. Harrison, please come in. Rachael will be right out—she is not quite ready yet.”

Zane, a little embarrassed, replied, “Sorry I am early, but I didn’t want to be late.”

“Could I offer you something to drink, Zane?”

“Sure . . . a glass of water would be nice.” Zane followed Jacob Neumann into the kitchen. After Zane had satisfied his thirst, he set down the half-full glass of water.

“Rachael gave me a copy of your research on the prophecy of Daniel,” Jacob Neumann said. “I read it this afternoon, and frankly, it was not what I expected. If you have a few minutes, before you leave I would like to show you and Rachael something in my office you might find interesting.”

Jacob finished speaking with a warm look and a light in his eyes Zane had not noticed before. He replied, “Sure, I would love to.” Zane and Jacob spoke casually for several more minutes in the kitchen, and then Rachael entered.

Zane caught his breath. She looked stunning. She had made up her hair in curls which cascaded over her shoulders. She wore a dark skirt, white blouse, and light-colored sandals. Most beautiful of all was her smile. It was excited, happy, warm, and girlish all at once. As she entered, she said with a lighthearted lilt, “I see you are early, Mr. Harrison. Sorry I wasn’t ready, but I didn’t expect you until six.” Zane just grinned sheepishly in reply.

Jacob Neumann spoke up. “Rachael, since Mr. Harrison is early, do you mind if I show you two something in my office before you leave?”

Jacob Neumann led them into his office and around to his desk. He picked up a paper from his desk and held it in his hand. He looked at Rachael—with an expression Rachael had never seen before—and spoke in a voice of gentle warmth. “As I told young Mr. Harrison in the kitchen, I read his research paper you gave to me this morning.” Jacob cleared his throat before he continued. “Excuse me,” he said. Rachael looked at her father curiously. He was acting unusual.

He finally was able to continue. “As I was saying, I read the paper Zane wrote about Daniel’s prophecy of seventy weeks. Well, to put it bluntly, it has changed my view of Yeshua.” He looked at Zane and added, “Jesus.”

He held out the paper in his hand. “You might find this interesting, and I thought you might want to add it to your research paper. I wrote this out several years ago. You see a list of twenty-four names. What you are looking at are the priestly courses as given in the Old Testament. Each Levite had to serve in the temple for two weeks every year besides his service during the festivals.”

Taking the paper and placing it back on his desk, he held out another piece of paper. Mysteriously he asked, “Can either of you tell me what this is?”

Rachael replied, “It looks like a similar list, only doubled. I see you have numbered the months and added Babylonian and English month-name equivalents. You’ve also numbered the priestly courses and the meaning of the names for each course.”

“Yes, you are correct. What else do you see?”

Zane replied this time. “Why have you circled the eighth course of Abijah?”

Jacob smiled. “Let me show you both something.”

Setting the paper back on a clear spot on his desk, he took out a yellow highlighter and highlighted the eighth course of Abijah. “Zane, in Luke 1 in your New Testament, it tells the story of Zacharias’s priestly service at the temple. As the story is told, Zacharias and Elisabeth could not conceive a child, and for some time this had caused them great sorrow. It so happened that an angel appeared to Zacharias as he performed his duties. The angel said Zacharias would have a son and to call his name John. Zacharias doubted the angel Gabriel’s message, so Gabriel said he would not be able to speak until these things came to pass. Well, Luke states that shortly thereafter Elisabeth conceived.

“The story goes on to say that six months later, the angel Gabriel appeared to Mary and told her she was going to bare a son by the Spirit of YHWH. Luke says, just as Gabriel promised, Mary bore a son and they called him Yeshua, which in Hebrew means ‘Salvation of YAH.’” Jacob looked over at Zane and said, “Sorry, Zane, but ‘Jesus’ just doesn’t convey the same meaning to me. I hope you know I mean no disrespect?”

Zane smiled reassuringly. “No offense taken, Mr. Neumann. As my friend Sam would say, Yeshua was Hebrew, not Greek.”

Jacob now took a green highlighter, and starting at the ninth priestly course, he marked out six months. Then he highlighted the twenty-first priestly course and then another nine months with a blue highlighter. Jacob continued, “If Elisabeth conceived in the fifth month and Mary, the mother of Yeshua, conceived six months later, then this places the birth of the Messiah here.” Jacob circled the thirteenth and fourteenth priestly courses, which fell during the seventhmonth. He smiled, clearly aware of what the numbers meant to Zane. “This shows the book of Luke adds further evidence to the symbolism associated with the numbers thirteen, fourteen, seven and Yeshua of Nazareth.”

Jacob finished with a look of satisfaction. Zane and Rachael looked at each other in amazement, and Rachael looked at her father with growing curiosity. He didn’t seem to be talking about Yeshua as the Christian Messiah, but as a Jewish Messiah. He caught her glance and smiled knowingly.

Jacob continued. “Zane, I don’t know if Rachael told you or not, but I am Jewish, and my wife Constance was Christian. We met at an archeological dig and fell in love. Over our parents’ objections we got married, and to their surprise, we had a very happy marriage. Constance was an exceptional woman in so many ways.”

With a catch in his voice, he continued. “She never forced her faith on me or tried to change my mind with arguments. She just showed me unconditional love. Through her example, I learned to understand and respect her faith in Yeshua. I once asked why she was able to live with me even though I was a practicing Jew and she a Christian. I will never forget what she said. ‘Jacob, Jesus paid the price for all our sins, both Jew and Gentile.’ Then she would quote the words of the apostle Paul in Ephesians 2:13–14: ‘But now in Yeshua our Messiah ye who sometimes were far off are made nigh by the blood of the Messiah. For he is our peace, who hath made both one, and hath broken down the middle wall of partition between us.’

“If you look, you will see that verse framed on the wall in the kitchen where your mother could see it. That was her motto for our marriage. Notice the reference—it has been for there over twenty years, and I never understood its significance.” Here Jacob’s voice faltered, and tears ran down his face without his knowing it.

Taking each of them by the hand, he walked them over to the large framed drawing on the wall in front of his desk. Pointing to the drawing, he said in an emotional voice, “The drawing you see is what we believe the Second Temple looked like during the time when Yeshua the Messiah walked on the earth.”

Pointing to the large open area on the drawing, he said, “That was the Court of the Gentiles there. A wall was built which divided the court from the temple proper. At regular intervals along this wall, inscriptions in both Greek and Hebrew were placed which read, ‘No Gentile is to pass this point on pain of death.’ This is the wall of partition the apostle Paul mentioned in Ephesians 2:13–14. Notice the stairs—in order for anyone to access the temple proper and pass through the wall from that point, they had to climb a set of 14 stairs and enter through one of 13 gates.”

Jacob turned to face Rachael and said, “My dear, your mother was right: Yeshua was and is the Messiah promised in our Scriptures.”

With those words, Rachael reached for her father, tears of joy now running down her face. Zane looked at the two of them and thought to himself, Thank you, Father for the privilege of being part of this miracle.

Looking up at Zane, Jacob said in a husky voice, “Our great Jewish Rabbi Maimonides set out thirteen principles of our faith. He believed one must acknowledge these thirteen truths as true in order to be considered a true Jew. The thirteenth principle affirms our belief in the resurrection of the dead. I now know both Jews and Gentiles can only have hope of that resurrection by our reconciliation to YHWH, our Creator, through the 13th Enumeration.”

After a minute Jacob released Rachael and stood back, pulling himself together. “My dear, you must be going or you’ll be late for your dinner.”

With a surprised look she replied, “Abba, we don’t have to go out tonight. How about we stay here and keep you company?” Looking at Zane she asked, “Would you mind if we eat here tonight? I will cook us all dinner.”

Smiling, Zane replied, “Of course not, but if you and your father would rather be alone right now, I can leave. We can always have dinner another time.”

Before Rachael could reply, Jacob interjected. “No, I want you both to carry on with your plans tonight. I have things I need to do, and there is no reason for you to cancel your dinner.”

“But Abba, tonight is special—it’s a time for celebration! After all these years you have believed in Yeshua!”

Taking her hand, Jacob replied, “Rachael, you are right—this is a time for celebration, but also a time for reflection. A seed your mother planted many years ago has just taken root, and it will take time to grow. I don’t need you here tonight. I want you both to go and enjoy yourselves.”

Rachael searched her father’s face, looking for any indication he really wanted them to stay. Finding only a genuine look of peace, she realized he probably really wanted to be alone. Her father wasn’t one who talked about his feelings much. He would talk more about it, but in his own time. Finally she gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek and released his hand.

Turning to Zane, she took his arm. “Very well, then, Mr. Harrison; shall we go?”

Zane took a step toward Jacob and extended his hand. “Mr. Neumann, it’s wonderful to hear you have found the Messiah.”

Jacob took Zane’s hand and warmly shook it. “Thank you, Zane, you had no small part in it. To both of you, I own a measure of thanks.” With a more serious look on his face he said, “Take care of her, Zane. She is my little girl.” With that he released Zane’s hand and showed them to the door.

Zane paused at the door. “Mr. Neumann, I will have your daughter home by ten.”

“Very well, I will see you then,” he replied. He watched the two of them walk toward the car. As Zane held the door open for her, she looked up, catching her father’s eye. He nodded his head slightly in acknowledgment, a touch of melancholy tingeing the smile on his face.

Chapter 86

As they drove away, Rachael sighed and laid her head back against the rest. Zane glanced over and saw a beautiful smile as the light of a street lamp briefly illuminated her face. Turning his attention back to the road he said, “We witnessed a little miracle tonight, didn’t we? Your hopes and prayers were answered. You uncovered a piece of history that was the catalyst which opened your father’s eyes.”

Rachael looked over at Zane a look of love on her face. “We uncovered a piece of history,” she said softly. “Both of us. But it was you who put the pieces together. Without your courage to challenge conventional wisdom and then your unfailing search for the answer, my father would not have seen the truth. Your archeology dig in the Scripture was successful, Zane. You found one of the greatest treasures of all time—a treasure with the power to change a human heart.”

They drove on in silence for several minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally Rachael, as if brought back to the present, asked, “So where are you taking me, Mr. Harrison?”

“You will just have to wait and see,” he said with an air of mystery. “We are almost there.” A minute later Zane pulled up to the front of the Canela Restaurant.

As they stopped, Rachael looked over and raised an eyebrow. “Trying to impress your date, Mr. Harrison? This is one of the better restaurants in Jerusalem.”

Zane would have to remember to thank his waiter back in Tel Aviv for the recommendation. Elated, he replied, “I heard it was a classy place, and they even have a grand piano that plays live music on Monday nights. I hope you like it.”

Rachael smiled to herself. She had played music for the patrons of the Canela many times at that grand piano. For almost a year during college she’d had the gig. She had only eaten there once with her father. It was a little out of her price range. The food was excellent, though, and the service equally so.

When they stopped, Zane got out and gave the valet his keys. He opened Rachael’s door, and they both entered the restaurant. The Maitre d’ asked for their name and then led them to a cozy table for two overlooking the street. After they were seated and both had a menu, Zane asked, “Are you hungry?”

Looking over the top of the menu she was perusing, Rachael answered, “Starved, how about you?”

“Very. Everything looks really good.”

After a few minutes a waiter approached and asked if they were ready to order. Rachael looked up at Zane. He nodded and indicated she should go ahead. She ordered the asparagus and spinach ravioli in olive oil, garlic, leek, sun-dried tomatoes, and fresh herbs. Zane ordered the Canela hamburger in barbecue sauce, with grilled onion, tomato, and baked potato. They both requested water to drink.

As the waiter walked away, Rachael laughed.

Zane smiled and asked, “What’s so funny?”

Rachael replied, “You take me to one of the better restaurants in Jerusalem and you order a hamburger when you could have beef tongue, foie gras, or Tournedos Rossini?”

He replied with a shrug, “I like what I like. Good old hamburger with barbecue sauce sounds just about right.”

Rachael’s rich laugh was pleasant to Zane’s ears. He continued in good humor, “I didn’t see you order any of that highfalutin cuisine.”

She made a funny face. “I’m not crazy about it either.”

They spent the next hour enjoying their food and each other’s company. After their meal Zane asked, “Do you feel like some dessert?”

“No, thank you. The dessert menu looks tempting, but I am full. You?”

“Me neither, the hamburger was terrific and I don’t think I could fit anything else.”

When the waiter approached, Zane requested the bill. As they were waiting he asked, “Are you ready to head home, or is there any place else you would like to go?”

Rachael replied, “Have you ever been to the Mount of Olives at sunset? If we hurry, we might just make it before the sun goes down.”

After driving up the narrow road toward the Mount of Olives, they found a place in the parking area at the top. They both got out and walked over to the observation area overlooking the Temple mount. The sun was just setting behind the Temple Mount, bathing it in the soft evening light. With a final burst of color it sank beyond the horizon, leaving the sky colored with pastel shades of red and orange.

They both stood silently watching as the colors faded into the evening twilight. After some time Zane said quietly, “That was beautiful, Rachael. What a great idea. Can you imagine being here on the mountain when Yeshua ascended into heaven? Or better yet, standing here when he returns to Jerusalem? Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

Rachael reached over for Zane’s hand. Finding it, she stood there in silence, leaning against him, holding his strong hand in hers and feeling its warmth and strength. “Even so, come Yeshua . . . Maranatha!” she whispered softly.

“Our hope,” he replied in turn.

* * *

Anton Ramirez sat behind the wheel of his rental car barely able to contain his growing lust to kill. He’d been stymied in Dubai, but not this time—his target was an old man and some kids. It was 8:34 p.m., and he was in a residential neighborhood a few blocks from Jacob Neumann’s house. The streets were practically empty. The only person he saw was a little old lady walking her small dog up ahead. In fiendish glee, he gave the steering wheel a sharp twist just as he drew alongside the woman. Before the woman could react he felt the satisfying thump, thump of the little dog under his wheels as he sent the little old lady flying into the neighbor’s yard with the corner of his bumper. He didn’t even touch the brake. Neither of the two dark forms in his rearview mirror moved at all as he drove on down the street.

Taking the next left, Anton found a place to park his car next to a vacant lot between two small houses. Removing a pistol from his bag, he checked to make sure it was loaded and functioning normally. He had stopped to pick it up from one of his contacts just outside of Tel Aviv. Placing the pistol in his waistband, he pulled his shirt down over it and got out of the car. As if on his nightly walk around the neighborhood, Anton turned on the Neumanns’ street and walked half a block to their house. Slowly he walked up to the front door, a smile of anticipation on his face. Reaching up, he knocked on the old wooden door. After a lengthy pause, he heard someone unlocking the door.

* * *

Rachael’s phone rang. She let go of Zane’s hand and reached into her pocket, removing her cell. It was 8:41, and she recognized the number as her father’s. Surprised, she answered, “Hello Abba, is everything all right?”

Jacob Neumann’s calm voice came through the line, “Sorry to bother you, my dear, but I must have hit your number by accident. I have been trying to program this new phone you gave me, and, well, you know me and these new electronic devices.”

“Abba, I am just glad everything is all right. We will be home in a little while.”

“No hurry on my account, my dear. I’ll see you when . . . Rachael, someone is at the door. I’ve got to go. Bye.”

Rachael laughed as she heard him muttering and fumbling, trying to turn off his phone. “Hey, Abba,” she called into the phone with a laugh in her voice, “you didn’t turn it off. I can still hear you.”

Jacob’s frustrated voice came back over the phone. “Somehow I locked the screen again, and I can’t turn the phone off. Would you mind holding on for a minute and walking me through it again after I answer the door?”

“Sure, Abba,” she said, chuckling. She heard him slide the phone into his shirt pocket and begin to unlock the front door. She held her hand over the phone and looked up at Zane. “My dad locked himself out of his phone again. I’ve had to walk him through this once before. He hates electronic devices. It should only take a minute or two. He is answering the door right now.”

Zane laughed. “My mother is the same way. She’ll never get a smartphone.”

Rachael turned back to her phone. She could hear her father’s voice. “Yes, may I help you?”

* * *

A pistol in his hand, Anton Ramirez, eyes burning with the fury of hell, pushed Jacob Neumann back into his living room.

“What do you want?” Jacob demanded.

Anton replied, “I want you to tell me everything you know about the 13th Enumeration. Let me save us both a lot of trouble. I will kill you if you do not cooperate. In fact, I will enjoy killing you. But first you will tell me everything you know, include everyone you have talked to about this.”

With just a touch of curiosity edging his anger, Jacob replied, “You break into my home and demand I tell you about the 13th Enumeration.” Jacob laughed. “Pretty extreme lengths for you to go to learn about the Messiah, I’d say.”

A look of scorn on his face, Anton replied, “I am not here to learn about the Son of God, Mr. Neumann. I already know more than you do. I am here to make sure you don’t share this knowledge with anyone else. We have been guarding the secret for centuries, and it is not time yet for the world to choose. The final Jubilee has not expired; we still have more time left. The time of the Gentiles is not complete.”

“You are talking nonsense,” Jacob replied. “Get out of my home.”

Anton gave a sadistic smile. “Mr. Neumann, let me be clear. I am here to kill you, your daughter, and everyone else who knows about the 13th Enumeration. You only know part of a very old secret, and we cannot yet afford for you to learn the rest. Now tell me where your daughter is!”

Jacob stood there in silent defiance. Anton raised his pistol and pointed it at Jacob’s head. He cocked the hammer and said, “I will give you one more chance.”

Jacob, a look of realization on his face, said, “Rachael, I love you, my dear, and I am proud of you. I am going to see your mother now. Mr. Harrrison, take care of my daughter.”

With that, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. With a look of cruel, incredulous surprise, Anton Ramerez watched as Jacob Neumann’s fingers released the phone.

* * *

Zane watched as Rachael’s smile faded and a look of concern took its place. As the seconds went by, he could see her concern grow to fear and then a look of helpless horror as she listened to the events in the living room of their home. Zane could see her silently mouth the words, “No, No, NO!” Then, as tears welled in her eyes, Zane heard what sounded like a muffled gunshot, and Rachael Neumann screamed and screamed.

She turned toward Zane, her eyes filled with hopelessness and panic. “Abba,” she cried into the phone. “Abba,” her voice now a broken sob.

“What is it, Rachael? What’s the matter?” Zane asked, his expression reflecting her fear.

Rachael did not answer him right away as she was still trying to raise her father on the now-silent phone. She redialed his number, but he still didn’t answer. Looking at Zane, she said, “My Abba has been shot.”

“What do you mean he has been shot?” Zane asked incredulously.

Rachael tried to explain through her sobbing. “Someone came to the door and demanded to know everything about the 13th Enumeration. Whoever it was wanted to know who my father told and where I was. He said he was going to kill us all, and then . . .” She stopped, unable to continue.

Zane gently took her hand, trying to comfort her. Brokenly she continued, “And then Abba said he loved me, and he was going to see my mother. His final words were, ‘Mr. Harrison, take care of my daughter.’ Then I heard a gunshot and silence.” Hopelessly she looked into Zane’s eyes. “My Abba is dead.”

Gently Zane took the cell phone from Rachael’s other hand and dialed David. He quickly explained what had happened and hung up. Turning to Rachael he said, “David is calling the Mossad, and he will let us know what he finds out. He recommended we go somewhere safe for the time being until they find out what is going on. David thinks our lives could be in danger as well.”

Zane’s words seemed to bring Rachael out of her shock. “I am not going to sit here and wait for a phone call. Take me home, Zane. I want to see my father.”

“Rachael, it’s not safe for you to go there right now. You said yourself the killer wanted to know where you were. They are looking for you too.”

Rachael, now with the fire of battle rising in her eyes, replied, “Zane, either you take me home right now or I will find someone who will.”

Zane looked at her for several seconds before he replied. He knew enough about Rachael Neumann to know she was not bluffing, and rational or not, she would march straight into the fires of hell in her current emotional state. Finally he said, “Okay, Rachael, I will take you home. But I will not stop at your house unless law enforcement is there when we arrive. Is that clear?” Without a word she turned and headed for the car.

It took them fifteen minutes to make it back to Rachael’s neighborhood. Not a word was spoken the entire drive. Zane looked at every car and person he passed as a potential enemy. As they drew near, they could see the lights of several police cars and an ambulance. One of the police officers was stationed several hundred feet down the street, blocking traffic from approaching. In the distance, more sirens could be heard approaching.

Zane rolled down his window as they drew up to the officer. He told them to turn around and leave the area. Rachael responded, “I am Rachael Neumann, and I live up there. I think my father has been shot.”

“I’m sorry, Miss, but no one is allowed in right now. You must turn around.”

Without another word of protest, Rachael undid her seat belt and opened her door before either Zane or the policeman could react. She took off running for her house. The officer radioed for help and tried to intercept her. Zane put the car in park and followed a few seconds behind. After he had gone about half the distance, he saw Rachael reach the front door just as it was opened. She crashed into the open arms of Marcus Nayat. Marcus tried to restrain her from entering the house, but she fought him in uncontrollable fury. Finally, just as Zane and the other officer reached the front of the house, Rachael slipped out of Marcus’s grasp and entered the living room of her house. She stopped dead in her tracks. There before her on the floor of the living room, under a white sheet stained with crimson, was the lifeless form of her father.

Zane followed the officers into the house a few steps behind. Rachael knelt on the floor next to the sheeted form. Zane walked up and knelt silently beside her. Through the tears in her eyes, she looked over at Zane in hopeless sorrow. Zane wrapped his arms around her and held her close as sobs racked her body.

Finally, Marcus Nayat interrupted her grieving. “Miss Neumann, would you please come with me? We need to talk.” At first Rachael did not respond or move. Marcus, with more urgency this time, said, “Miss Neumann, would you please come with me? I repeat, we need to talk.”

Zane released her and stood. He reached down for Rachael’s hand and gently helped her stand. Marcus led them away for the macabre scene on the living room floor, through the kitchen, and out onto the deck in the back of the house. Here another Mossad agent stood alertly guarding a sober-faced Jacob Neumann.

Rachael stopped, stunned. “But . . . I thought you were . . .” She couldn’t complete her sentence.

At the sight of her, Jacob Neumann jumped up and reached for his daughter. “Rachael, my dear Rachael.”

Slowly, her face filling with realization and relief, she asked, “But Abba, I heard the gunshot. I thought you had been killed. What happened? Who is the person under the sheet in the living room?”

“We are not sure who that is, but he was sent to kill us. The shot you heard was Agent Nayat. He was watching our house tonight when the killer showed up. As the killer entered the front door, Mr. Nayat came through the back and waited in the kitchen. When he saw that I was in grave danger, he shot and killed the intruder. “

Rachael released her father and turned to Marcus Nayat, standing a few steps away. Solemnly, she walked over and stood in front of him. “Thank you for being here, Mr. Nayat. You saved my father’s life.”

He tried not to show that her words of appreciation made him uncomfortable. With some effort he replied, “Miss Neumann, I am glad I could be of service. I was just doing my job.” With that, he nodded to the alert agent standing in the background and entered the house.

With a final look of appreciation, Rachael walked back over to her father and placed her hand lightly on his shoulder. Jacob looked up at his daughter, grateful for her reassuring touch. Softly Rachael said, “Abba, you’ll just have to wait a little longer to see Ima.”

“Yes, my dear, it appears our heavenly Father is not done with me yet.”

Zane Harrison watched their exchange with growing relief and realization. Relief that Rachael’s sorrow had turned into joy, and realization of his love for Rachael Neumann. Smiling to himself, he turned and looked out over the city of Jerusalem. If he could win Rachael’s love, he would make this ancient city his home. “Jerusalem, the city of peace,” he murmured to himself. A place where peace remained elusive but hope never died. Soberly, he acknowledged that there would never be true peace in this place without the Prince of Peace—without the 13th Enumeration.

And now abideth faith, hope, love,

these three; but the greatest of these is love.

1 Corinthians 13:13

Hear, O Israel: YHWH our God is

ONE

YHWH.

Deuteronomy 6:4

Whosoever shall confess that Yeshua (Jesus) is the Son of God, God dwelleth in him, and he in God. And we have known and believed the love that God hath to us. God is love;

and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him.

1 John 4:15–16

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.

John 3:16

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Epilogue

Two days later

The massive hand of Sir Peter Herschel reached for his phone. After a moment a feminine voice answered. “Yes, how may I help you, Peter?”

“Angelica, we have a situation which requires your services. Anton has failed and left several loose ends that now require a degree of finesse. I will be sending over the files shortly. You will be contracted through Luormus as in the past. I would appreciate your immediate attention to this.”

Without another word, the line went dead.

Angelica Lioje sat contemplating Peter Herschel’s phone call. He did not call often, but when he did it was always with a challenge. She smiled in anticipation. She loved a good challenge, and Peter Herschel’s problems were some of the best. Angelica had been a member of the Order for over ten years, working behind the scenes as a fixer. She took care of things when the situation called for a more subtle approach. Circulating in the rarefied atmosphere of princes and heads of state, she solved problems for some of the world’s most important people. As her successes multiplied, so did her power and influence. She was utterly ruthless, but her weapon of choice was a whispered word or a subtle hint. She had destroyed more lives with her Machiavellian schemes than Anton Ramirez had with his bloody knife.

Already plotting, she waited for the files on her next victims.

* * *

In three remote locations in separate parts of the world, computer servers executed preprogrammed commands. At the speed of light, over three thousand people began to receive e-mails which would fundamentally alter how individuals across the world lived their lives.

At eleven p.m. Jerusalem time, Aaron Klein was just finishing work on an expose for his radio show to be aired the next day. As his e-mail client inbox chirped, he looked at the subject line. It read:

Last Will and Testament of Darius Zarindast

With a bemused but skeptical smile, he read the body of the e-mail and then clicked on the attached file. His smiled faded, and he reached for his phone . . .

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About the Author

William Struse has been a self-employed plumber for over twenty years. His love of biblical history and Bible prophecy is reflected in numerous articles and several books on the subject.

William resides in the desert of Southern Arizona with his love, Winnie, and their five children. You can connect with William on social media at:

His Blog: Where History and the Bible Meet

Twitter: William_Struse

LinkedIn: William-Struse

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Non-Fiction by William Struse (Prophecies & Patterns Series)

Book I - The 13th Enumeration: Key to the Bible's Messianic Symbolism

Book II - Daniel's Seventy Weeks: The Keystone of Bible Prophecy

Book III - The Jubilee Code: Prophetic Milestones in the Bible (to be released)

Christian Fiction by William Struse:

Book I - The 13th Enumeration

Book II - The 13th Prime: Deciphering the Jubilee Code

Book III - The 13th Symbol: Rise of the Enlightened One

Book IV - (to be released)

* Author’s Note:  If you are interested in the real history behind these stories then be sure to check out the free offer at the end of this book.

The story continues in the thrilling sequel:

The 13th Prime: Deciphering the Jubilee Code

With the discovery of the 13th Enumeration an age old battle that has lurked in the shadows of world history, threatens to explode onto the world stage.  The Order & their forces of darkness wage an unrelenting war to keep the secret, the success of their diabolical plans for the human race dependent upon mankind’s ignorance of the past.

Zane Harrison and Rachael Neumann do not realize the discovery of 13th Enumeration was just the beginning.  Their knowledge of this ancient secret sets in motion a chain of events from which they may not escape. Trying to stay one step ahead of their hidden adversaries they learn there is much more to the secret than they ever imagined.

Forty one names are the chronological key to evidence of a guiding hand woven into the fabric of events in mankind’s history, a scarlet thread marking important milestones in the fulfillment of an ancient promise. Find out how this epical struggle will end in The 13th Prime: Deciphering the Jubilee Code.

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Special Offer:

Do you want to learn about the real Biblical history behind the Thirteenth Series? Subscribe to my blog Where History and the Bible Meet and you’ll receive a complimentary copy of my new non-fiction book on the Messianic symbolism of the Bible. I won’t sell your email nor will I spam you with advertisements. Every few weeks I’ll just share with you some of the treasures YHWH has hidden for us to find in His word.

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