Acton glanced about. “Are they here?”

  “Your team was, but once they confirmed you weren’t, they left. Their priority was you, not the site.”

  “But you have hired your own security?”

  “Yes. We have six armed guards on rotating shifts, thanks to your generous donation.”

  “Happy to hear it. Now, how about you give me that tour you’ve been promising and we see this tablet that has everyone so excited.”

  “Everyone? Has word gotten out? I had my people delete everything they had posted.”

  Acton chuckled as they headed inside. “No, I meant you, me, my wife, your team.”

  “Oh. Well, you’re going to love this.”

  Boran gave him a thorough tour of the grounds, then the chamber where the sarcophagus had been discovered. He was impressed with Acton’s knowledge, his questions on point and intelligent, though he had a sense the man was impatient. He would be too, he supposed, if he knew what the tour culminated in, though he had a feeling it wasn’t for that reason.

  Where had the man been? He had been gone for almost two hours, then showed up with no explanation other than it was a misunderstanding. A misunderstanding? What did that even mean? A dead cellphone, a screwed-up reservation, a delay, those were all perfectly good explanations, but they weren’t misunderstandings.

  Something wasn’t right.

  Unfortunately, he couldn’t interrogate the man since he was funding the dig. He had to accept that his questions would go unanswered.

  “Are you ready to see the pièce de résistance?”

  Acton grinned. “Am I!”

  “In anticipation of your arrival, I had it brought back from our vault at the university. I figured with the security team, it was safe to do so.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.”

  He led him into another room off the main chamber, empty save a table and several high-powered lights illuminating its surface. Some of his team were examining the find, taking additional photographs, and they paused their work.

  “I’d like to view it in private, please.”

  “Of course.” Boran flicked his wrist and his team scrambled out of the room. “Do you want me to leave?”

  Acton shook his head. “No, of course not.” He rushed forward, circling the table as his expert eye took in every detail. He pulled a magnifying glass from his well-worn leather satchel and leaned in for a closer examination. “Have you been able to determine anything?”

  “Not really. Carbon dating on the remains is consistent with the era, but of course the stone itself can’t be dated. Our experts tell us the Biblical Hebrew it was written in is accurate to the era of when Jesus Christ was thought to have existed.”

  “And the writing itself. There’s no indication it was done around the time of the burial?”

  Boran paused. “I’m not sure how we would determine that.”

  “Shavings. Did you find any stray shavings in the sarcophagus or on the surface of the tablet? If it was a thousand years old at the time of its burial, there would be none. If it had been carved a week before, there might be.”

  Boran’s eyebrows shot up. “I hadn’t thought of that. But no, we found nothing of the sort, and believe me, we’ve been through that sarcophagus with a literal fine-toothed comb.”

  “Good. Of course, if it were fake, a skilled craftsman would have thoroughly brushed it down and aged it, making certain no one would find any evidence of his handiwork.”

  Boran pursed his lips. “So, you think it’s a fake?”

  “I hope it’s a fake, but to what end? Why would someone in the eleventh century create this? Or, if it does date from the time of Christ, why would someone create it then? What this claims is so shocking, it could cause the very troubles we’ve been worried about. But back then? Romanus could have simply destroyed it. And even if it were proven to be true, would those who proved it share that truth with the world, or go to their graves hiding it? But if it is indeed from the time of Christ’s crucifixion, then why create this for any other purpose than to record the truth.”

  “So then, you believe it could be genuine.”

  Acton sighed. “If we could only know when it was created. If it’s eleventh century, then obviously it’s a fraud. If it’s first century, then I see no reason why anyone would write a forgery such as this. Christianity wasn’t a thing back then, so why would you chisel a tablet with this lie?”

  Boran tensed. “My God. Romanus had to believe it was real, otherwise he wouldn’t have had it buried with him. He had to have had some reason to believe it could be true.”

  “It would certainly explain why a brilliant soldier and tactician made so many errors in his final campaigns. He kept trying to take land to the south before his armies were prepared.” Acton stabbed a finger toward the tablet. “That has to be the reason why. He was determined to reach the location indicated so he could prove the truth one way or the other.”

  “But he failed.” Boran shuddered. “He obviously feared it was true, otherwise he would have smashed it where he found it.”

  “I’m not sure of his motivations, but I’m sure of one thing. In today’s world, with modern communications and a twisted social media, this will be used to foment hate. We have to determine the truth, one way or the other, then decide what to do.”

  “How are we going to do that?”

  “I’m going to Syria.”

  Boran’s eyes shot wide. “Syria? Are you out of your mind? I’ve mapped where that location is. It’s in the heart of the conflict. It’s not safe. And there’s no way they’ll let an archaeology team in there. There’s no way we’ll ever get permission.”

  Acton squinted at the wall. “What’s that?”

  Boran turned and saw nothing, but before he could ask what he should be looking for, Acton came up from behind him and grabbed him around the neck, placing him in a chokehold. “What…are you…doing?” he gasped, struggling against the iron grip, but it was no use.

  “I’m sorry, Deniz. When this is all over, I’ll explain everything.”

  They were the last words he was to hear as this man he had never met choked the life out of him, and his world fell black.

  23 |

  Park Hyatt Istanbul Macka Palas Istanbul, Turkey

  Cameron Leather sent the hourly update to Reading. Tommy Granger had managed to hack the Istanbul Ataturk Airport camera feeds and they had footage of Acton getting into an SUV outside the private charter terminal with a chauffeur. Tommy was attempting to track the vehicle, but Leather had little doubt they would have switched cars by now.

  Not meeting Acton at the airport was a tactical mistake. The concern, however, had never been his clients’ safety, it was the danger the find at the archaeological dig site could put them in when they got there. Few should have known that Acton was coming, and the crazies they were worried about when the plans were made shouldn’t be targeting the professors specifically.

  All that changed, of course, when he was informed the Keepers of the One Truth could be involved. From what he had been told about them by the professors, they were dangerous. Very dangerous. They weren’t a cult that set out to kill simply for killing’s sake. After all, they were very religious, not suffering from the fundamentalist belief that all who disagreed with them must die. But their oath to protect the Church from anything that might harm it meant if one got in their way, one’s life could be in danger.

  When he had found out, they were already on the plane for Istanbul from Cairo, originally scheduled to arrive just before him where they would then establish a base of operations at the hotel in preparation for his arrival. Instead, they had been delayed leaving Cairo, just long enough for them to arrive about half an hour after his client.

  And that was too much of a coincidence.

  It meant that the Keepers had connections not only in the Vatican, but also in Rome, Istanbul, and Cairo.

  They were too well connected to take on easily.

  Now his focus was to find Acton and get him back home safely. Unfortunately, his other client, Laura Palmer, was on her way here. He had already said she shouldn’t come, but there was no reasoning with the woman when it came to her husband.

  He admired their devotion to each other, and their commitment to their students. They were the best clients he could have asked for, and they paid ridiculously well. He had started his security firm when he left the SAS, bringing in Spec Ops soldiers from various countries over the years, giving former warriors a stable income surrounded by people who knew what they had been through, and who had their backs when necessary.

  They were a family, and he loved it.

  He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Why would they kidnap him?”

  Warren Reese, one of his longest-serving team members, shrugged. “Like the warning said. ‘Do not interfere.’ I guess they thought he’d interfere.”

  “But why kidnap him? They could have just shot him, or with their connections, had him detained at the airport. If they were able to jam his cellphone signal on the tarmac and in the terminal, then that means they could have planted anything they wanted in his luggage. They could have had him in a Turkish prison by lunch. He’d be out of their way for days if not years.”

  Reese chewed his cheek. “Maybe they wanted to know what he knows.”

  Leather’s head bobbed. “Interrogate him first. But then what?”

  “Hold him until they’re done? Kill him and dump the body somewhere it would never be found?”

  “Or use him.”

  They both turned toward Ashton Schmidt, their tech expert, who swung his laptop around, an image of Acton shown shaking a man’s hand.

  “What am I looking at?” asked Leather.

  “You wanted me to monitor the social media accounts of the dig team. One of them just posted this five minutes ago.”

  Leather paused, confused. “Wait. Are you saying Acton is at the dig site?”

  “Unless this has been photoshopped, then yes.”

  He dialed Acton’s number and it still went directly to voicemail.

  What the hell is going on here?

  24 |

  Dig Site Kınalıada Island, Turkey

  Acton lay Boran gently onto the floor then checked the man’s pulse to make sure he hadn’t taken the sleeper hold too far. Boran would be fine and awake in minutes, so he had little time to act. He pulled out the phone his captors had provided him, his own confiscated, and sent a message.

  I’m on my way.

  He pulled a large cloth from his satchel then carefully wrapped the tablet, placing it inside his bag. He drew a deep breath then strode from the room. He smiled at one of Boran’s team members. “Professor Boran has asked not to be disturbed for the next ten minutes.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll make sure he’s left alone.”

  Acton headed outside and into the afternoon sunlight. He walked with purpose the same way he had come in, his heart pounding at what he had done. He had assaulted an innocent man. He had stolen an ancient artifact. He was a criminal. He could be arrested and thrown into a Turkish prison for years.

  Yet he had no choice.

  If he hadn’t done what he had, the Keepers would kill Laura. He had no reason to doubt them after seeing them in action before. They were ruthless and would show no mercy toward anyone who got in their way. He had to make it out of here undiscovered, then the next step was in his blackmailers’ hands.

  He climbed the steps to the upper road that ran across the north side of the dig, acknowledging two of the armed guards. He kept a brisk though controlled pace as he headed toward the pier, the boat that had brought him here now in sight.

  A cry behind him had his heart leaping into his throat, the urge to run overwhelming. He kept his pace steady as shouts erupted, then a whistle blew repeatedly, a poor man’s alarm if he ever heard one.

  And surprisingly effective.

  The engine on the boat sprang to life, exhaust erupting in a burst, but he kept his pace. Something was shouted behind him in Turkish. It wasn’t from the dig site, but from the road. It had to be one of the guards ordering him to stop.

  “Halt!”

  Sometimes he hated being right.

  He continued on, maintaining his pace when footfalls behind him changed the plan. He sprinted toward the boat and a shot rang out behind him. He ducked but kept going. He had to deliver the tablet to the Keepers. He had no choice. He’d throw it on the boat if he had to, he didn’t care. His life was forfeit if it meant saving Laura’s. Another shot and the gravel ahead of him erupted in a puff, the bullets now aimed at him, the warning shot apparently the only one.

  He lifted the strap for his satchel off his shoulder as his feet hit the wooden pier. The boat was at the far end, still idling, still waiting for him. Another shot rang out and he prepared to hurl the bag when two Keepers emerged from the hold carrying AK-47s. They sprayed bullets over his head and he glanced over his shoulder, praying none of his pursuers had been shot.

  He didn’t want an accessory to murder charge added to his list of crimes.

  Thankfully, the guards had hit the ground, scrambling out of the line of fire. Acton leaped onto the boat and the engine gunned, sending him tumbling to the deck. They pulled rapidly away from the pier as the two gunmen fired several more bursts, keeping his pursuers at bay, and within moments they were safely into the Sea of Marmara.

  The leader stepped out of the deckhouse. “Did you get it?”

  Acton held up the satchel. “Yes.”

  “Good. Now we go to Syria.”

  Acton frowned. “And then we die.”

  25 |

  Great Palace of Constantinople Constantinople, Eastern Roman Empire AD 1069

  “He’s dead,” hissed Alexander as he closed the inner door of Romanus’ private offices in the palace. Romanus glanced up from the pile of papers the administration of an empire necessitated, and recognized the fear on his friend’s face, a fear he had only seen once before.

  In Hierapolis, when they had found the mysterious tablet.

  “Who is dead?”

  “The bishop.”

  Romanus leaned back in his chair, eying his friend, still not making the connection. “Which—” Then he realized what Alexander was talking about. “Wait, you mean Bishop Ignatius?”

  Alexander rapidly nodded as he approached. “Yes. I showed him the tablet and the translation, as you asked me to. He read it, and it was clear he was disturbed. He called in several advisors, one of who reads Hebrew, and he confirmed the translation as accurate.”

  Romanus pinched the bridge of his nose, the stress of the position getting to him. He far preferred directing men on the battlefield than pushing paper around his desk. “But is it genuine? We have a Latin translation of a Hebrew tablet. Did you ever doubt that the translation wasn’t accurate?”

  Alexander paused then shrugged. “I had hoped, I suppose.”

  “Of course you hoped, we both hoped, but you knew as well as I did that they would match. That wasn’t the question we needed answered. We needed to know whether the tablet itself was genuine. Was it carved a thousand years ago like it claims, or last week by our enemy, attempting to shake our faith?”

  “Well, if the bishop thought it was fake, he wouldn’t have killed himself now, would he?”

  “What happened?”

  “He shouted something from the balcony, slit his throat, and tumbled to the ground.”

  Romanus slumped in his chair, stunned. For the bishop to kill himself over what was written on the tablet could mean only one thing. He believed it was genuine. Romanus’ skin crawled as it had the day they discovered the tablet in Hierapolis. If it were true, it would destroy Christianity. It meant most of the New Testament was a lie, and the entire Church was built on a fiction. The founding tenets of the Church were false, and the entirety of the Roman Empire and beyond that worshipped Jesus Christ had been lied to for a millennium.

  He tilted his head forward and pinched the bridge of his nose again. Hard. He needed the pain to bring him some sense. He needed to know the truth. And one clergyman killing himself over what he had read was not proof.

  It made no sense.

  “Do we know what he shouted?”

  Alexander shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Nobody was close enough to hear what he said.”

  “How much time did he spend with the tablet?”

  “I believe in total I was there a few hours before he…”

  “And all he did was read the translation, bring in someone who reads Hebrew to confirm its accuracy, then killed himself.”

  “Well, there was some discussion among the senior clergy that lasted at least an hour, then he excused himself, and the next thing I knew, he was on the ground below.”

  “Was there any discussion on whether the tablet was genuine?”

  “I’m certain there was, though I think they were more concerned with the words and their meaning.”

  “I think their meaning is quite clear.”

  “Yes, of course. I suppose I should have said, their implications.”

  Romanus leaned back, shaking his head slowly. “Yes, the implications. We are still faced with the problem this tablet represents.”

  Alexander stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Why don’t we simply destroy it?”

  Romanus regarded his friend. It was one possible solution to the harm that could come should the tablet’s contents be made public, but there was another problem. The truth had to be known. Had they all been lied to for a thousand years? Had it all been a hoax? The tablet had a location on it, and he had to reach that location to prove whether Christianity was the greatest hoax perpetrated by man, against man.

  Were twelve disciples simply followers of a carpenter with charisma?

  And that carpenter wasn’t the Son of God at all.

  He looked at his friend. “No. The truth must be known. If we can prove that the location doesn’t exist, that there is nothing there, then we can discard the tablet for the blasphemy it is. But if it is true, then we must know.”

 

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