Prologue

Jerusalem. Friday, 9:10 PM
A blast of hot air sent him reeling. Instinctively, his eyes
closed. The heat entered his nose, burning his lungs. He
shielded his face with one hand. With the other he felt the
back of his head where a sharp pain began. Where did that
staccato whirring come from? Was it the wind, or the anger
of the spirit ancestors?
He looked down into the dark cavern that hid its secrets
in the mists of hoary time, feeling its web of seduction
surround him.
Another searing sting on his right temple drove his head
sideways. He felt oozing warmth. Blood. The whirring grew
louder. Now he knew. He should not have disturbed their
resting place.
The Pool of Siloam beckoned with secrets that lay at the
deepest level, beneath the primitive stones. He had searched
a lifetime for this moment. An epochal portent of glory that
inevitably came with discovery of an ancient site.
He turned to the direction of the attack. In a flash it
came at him again and hit square in the forehead. He sank to
the ground.
This couldn’t be happening. Not to him, the most
renowned archeologist of the Herodian era. He tried to call
out, but his voice failed. His hand reached out, but no one
took it. Bitter bile leapt into his throat, fury spilling out of
every pore.
Where were they? Enraged that his constant followers,
who basked in his giant shadow over the years, had
vanished, he cursed their desertion and reveled in the
perverted notion they would no longer feel the warmth of his
sun.
Except one. A livid pang of remorse swept over him as
he saw her face one last time.
His consciousness jerked from his body. He rolled
uncontrollably toward the gaping maw. Scorching heat
greased his way. The long descent into the Cave of the
Matriarchs was the last journey he would ever take.