The agent simply looked at her. “Don’t tell anyone we were here. It’s imperative no one knows. Do you agree to help us?”

  Cold fear trickled down Abigail’s spine. Something just wasn’t right. “I’m sorry. I can’t take time off work. There are two Classics professors here. Only one of us will be offered tenure and the other’s position will lapse. I can’t afford to lose my job.”

  The agents exchanged glances. “We’ll pay well,” Stark said.

  “I need a full-time job, not a cash injection.”

  Stark pulled a notepad and pen from his pocket. He scribbled something and slid it across her desk.

  Abigail looked at the dollar figure and gasped. “Is this a joke?”

  Stark’s expression did not change. “I can assure you it’s not a joke, Dr. Spencer.”

  They were willing to pay her that sum just to translate the text? “Why is the translation so valuable to you?”

  “Will you agree to help us? Help your country?”

  A sensation of unease settled in the pit of her stomach. “I suppose so, since you put it like that.”

  “We know you have the bronze tablet. How long will it take you to translate it?”

  Abigail’s skin prickled. “I’ll help you, but you’ll have to stop being so mysterious,” she said in measured tones. “What tablet is that? I don’t have any tablets in my possession.”

  “The bronze tablet from the museum,” Worth said, but Stark held up his hand to silence him.

  “Who does have it?”

  “It’s in the museum as far as I know,” Abigail said. “I was there this morning. The museum curator called me there because someone tried to break in. He was quite upset.”

  “You had an appointment with him though, did you not?”

  Abigail looked at Stark. How did he know? “Yes. Dr. Stanford made the appointment a week ago. After the break-in, he was too upset to tell me why he wanted to see me.” Abigail’s heart was beating out of her chest. It was so loud she wondered if Stark could hear. She held her breath.

  Finally, Stark said, “We’ve just been to the museum, and the tablet isn’t there.”

  Abigail did her best to look surprised. “Really! Does Dr. Stanford know?”

  Stark looked into her face. After what seemed an age, he said, “That will be all for now, Dr. Spencer. When we find the tablet, we’ll bring it to you to translate. Do we have a deal?”

  “Sure.”

  With that, the men left. Abigail hurried over to the door. She locked it before dragging over one of the heavy wooden chairs and wedging it under the door handle.

  What would she do with the tablet? Hide it in her office? No, she would have to take it with her. Her eyes fell on her tote.

  Abigail gathered the books she would need for translating, Deissmann and several other tomes. She placed them in her tote and slipped the wrapped bronze tablet down the side.

  Abigail gingerly opened her door and peeked outside. As she stepped into the corridor, struggling under the weight of the books, a cold chill ran through her. She hurried along the corridors, looking around for danger. Was it her imagination? No, she caught glimpses, shadows, in her peripheral vision.

  Chris Stanford appeared seconds after she pressed the bell for admittance to the museum. He opened the door and waved her to the back room. “You still have it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Some men came looking for it. I called you to warn you.”

  Abigail took her phone from her tote. There were fifteen missed calls and as many texts. “Sorry, I always turn off the sound when I’m translating. The men came to see me too. You don’t think they’re legit? They had government ID.”

  Chris waved both hands in the air. It was the only time she had seen him animated. “Don’t you see? They knew I’d given Harvey Hamilton the wrong tablet. How would they know that? Harvey himself didn’t know! And he wouldn’t have given it to them, not when he thought it was worth a fortune. I think the man who called me and offered me a lot of money sent them. Abigail, I think we’re both in danger.”

  “Do you think something’s happened to Harvey?”

  “I saw his car outside. He’s working today. I just called campus security, but the lines were down.”

  Abigail shuddered. “That’s not good.”

  “Let’s go to his office.”

  Abigail looked at Chris’s trembling hands and made up her mind on the spot. “No. You go home. I’ll go to his office. I’ll call you and let you know.”

  Hamilton’s office was on the other side of the building. When Abigail was half-way there, she regretted her bravado. Maybe she should have driven to the campus police instead and had them check on him.

  Abigail turned the corner and saw Hamilton’s office door open a crack.

  Abigail pushed the door open.

  There, on the floor, was Hamilton.

  A wave of nausea hit her. She turned away to gasp for air, but not before she saw the tablet lying next to him.

  Whoever murdered Harvey Hamilton knew the tablet was the wrong one.

  That meant they were coming for her.

  4

  Abigail ran for her car, breathless and afraid. There was no time to call the police—the murderer might still be in the building. She was going to drive straight to the campus police.

  She threw the tote over to the passenger side and was in the process of climbing in the car when a heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder. She made to scream, but his hand over her mouth prevented her.

  “Dr. Spencer, Stark sent me. You’re to come with me. Try not to attract attention.”

  When she nodded, he took his hand from her mouth, transferring it to her elbow. He snatched up her tote before hurrying her to a plain black car nearby. He indicated she should get in.

  Once she was seated, he locked the doors and took her phone before rifling through her tote. He pulled out the tablet and unwrapped it. He made a call. “I have the tablet and Dr. Spencer.” He hung up.

  “Where are you taking me?” Abigail asked, deathly afraid.

  “You’ll see soon enough,” he said. His tone was light, businesslike but not overtly threatening.

  After driving for half an hour, the man turned off the main road down a dirt lane and then into a field. “Get out,” he said. Abigail got out of the car, but didn’t notice the black helicopter in the field until the driver pointed to it. “Hurry.”

  He took Abigail by the elbow and marched her to the helicopter. Agent Stark was standing outside it, his arms crossed over his chest. The driver handed him the tablet.

  Stark shook when he looked at the tablet. Finally, he spoke. “Dr. Spencer, get in.”

  Abigail opened her mouth to speak, but Stark was already on board. She climbed in behind him. A man was slumped in the seat next to her. He appeared to be unconscious. Her eyes ran from the blood oozing from a jagged cut on his temple to the handcuffs securing his wrists to the metal rail in front of them.

  Abigail fastened her seatbelt and studied the man. His shoulders were broad and he seemed around her age, maybe a little older. He exuded a rugged maleness.

  As she watched, he sat upright slowly. His bright blue eyes fastened on her. She watched him as he tried to speak. Finally, he found his voice. “Dr. Spencer, run. Run for your life!”

  5

  Stark leaned over from the seat next to the pilot, aiming his Sig Sauer P229 at the prisoner. “Not another word from you. It’s no loss to me if I shoot you and throw you out of the helicopter.”

  Stark turned to the woman. “Ignore him. He’s a traitor, a liar. Don’t speak to the prisoner. And don’t distract the pilot.”

  Agent Jack Riley had been startled to see the woman.

  Riley had assumed Dr. Spencer was an elderly woman, not the girl he saw before him. She had to be at least five years younger than he was. She was pretty too, with a lithe figure and long blonde hair, even though she had it loosely up in a bun. The poor thing was clearly terrified to see Stark’s weapon. A protective urge ran through him. He had to warn her. No doubt Stark had told her an inventive story.

  He hadn’t been surprised to learn Stark had gone rogue. He’d been keeping an eye on him for some time. But working for Vortex? That was something else again. The group had plenty of money at their disposal. Riley and his team had never gotten close to them. He wondered how Stark had managed.

  Vortex employed a fanatical team, loyal because they paid them handsomely and shot anyone at the first sign of dissent. Vortex had left a trail of blood through Europe in the wake of priceless stolen artifacts.

  After Stark had handcuffed Riley, he had bragged he was working for Vortex. Riley wondered about Worth, what was in it for him. No doubt Stark was giving him a cut, but he wondered how long Worth would last.

  Stark had also told Riley he wanted the stones for himself. Riley shook his head, although the action hurt. Riley would have thought Stark smarter than to double cross Vortex.

  Riley was beyond annoyed with himself for trusting the other agent, Taylor Connor. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t be sitting in these handcuffs now. He only hoped the message he’d sent to his unit had gotten through. If not, Dr. Spencer would be dead within the week, maybe sooner.

  And why was Stark keeping him alive?

  6

  Abigail’s blood ran cold. She didn’t know what to do. She certainly felt threatened by Stark.

  The helicopter’s engine whirred to life. She adjusted her headset and looked out the window. It lifted slowly and then shuddered before moving at speed. She wiped her clammy hands on her jeans.

  The handcuffed man elbowed her again. This time, she looked at him. His mouth was moving urgently, but she couldn’t hear a word. He wasn’t wearing a headset and the ambient noise was too high.

  Abigail tried to write off her fears as paranoid. Still, she was powerless, and the handcuffed man was agitated about something. He had warned her to run. Yet what could she do? She was trapped inside a helicopter at a minimum of six thousand feet above ground. Abigail forced her attention to the earth below, fields giving way to woods. Her stomach clenched as she realized they were headed for the mountains.

  Throughout the flight, the handcuffed man tried to get her attention, elbowing her at intervals. She couldn’t lip read, although she was sure she recognized the words ‘kill’ and ‘murder’ on several occasions. She had no reason to believe the man, but her situation was far from commonplace.

  The helicopter descended in rugged bluff country, heading for a large log and stone home surrounded by barns. There were no cattle or other animals in sight. This was a government facility? She had expected to see concrete and wire, locked gates and high fences.

  When the helicopter landed, a wave of nausea hit her. Abigail looked around but saw nothing but fields and a vehicle inside the open barn doors to her right. The helicopter left, spraying dirt in her face. She clutched her hair with both hands.

  “Come on, Dr. Spencer.” Stark indicated she should follow him to the house. She looked behind her to see several men dragging the handcuffed man away. He was certainly putting up a good fight.

  The size and the furnishings of the house’s interior suggested a resort rather than a government facility. Leather coaches and a rough-hewn coffee table stood in front of the massive rock fireplace to her left. There was another rock fireplace to her right, this one fronted by pale cream couches. She had no further chance to study her surroundings, as Stark guided her down a narrow corridor.

  He held a door open. “This is your room. I expect you will want to rest. I’ll call for you in half an hour and we can get to work.” With that, he shut the door.

  Abigail at once crossed to the window. The views were magnificent, rolling hills giving way to snow-capped peaks in the distance. She noted the window was simply fixed glass and could not be opened. That did nothing to ease her concerns.

  The suite had a bathroom and a tiny kitchen, just like a hotel. Abigail hurried to the door and tried the handle. Locked. She paced up and down until Stark came back for her.

  When the knock finally came, she opened the door to see a tall, muscle-bound man. Her eyes went straight to the gun on his hip. She figured he was a security guard. “Where’s Stark?” were the first words out of her mouth.

  “Agent Stark is waiting for you downstairs.”

  “Why was my door locked?”

  “Security measure. We can’t have people roaming around.”

  The man escorted her down the stairs and into a corridor. The door at the end opened onto a large room dominated by an oak table in the middle.

  Stark waved her over. With him was the agent she had seen earlier. “I trust you had a good rest?”

  “Not really,” she said. “How long do you plan to keep me here? Am I a prisoner?”

  Stark laughed, but his tone held no mirth. “Of course not. I realize it might seem unnecessarily covert to you, but we can’t take any chances. Now, please turn your attention to the tablet. You said you were aware of the Urim and Thummim. What precisely do you know?”

  “I know that they’re a mystery. People figure they were stones or jewels. We do know they were attached to the High Priest’s breastplate, and the consensus is they were means of divination to hear the will of God. There are various theories, but most think they were cast as lots to decide whether someone was innocent—the Thummim—or guilty—the Urim.”

  “They’re priceless, priceless.” Stark appeared to be muttering to himself. He sat down and with a sweep of his hand indicated she too should sit. She did so. “A year ago, a bronze tablet came into my possession. It was the companion tablet to the one you had. There was a reference to the Urim and the Thummim stolen in the early Second Temple Period by a Greek man, a philosopher, and hidden in a grove near Delphi in Greece. It did not mention how he came by them, but it did give directions. With the help of this tablet we will be able to find the location.”

  Abigail was shocked. “You’re kidding!” The tablet she had been translating that morning mostly went into detail about the Biblical uses of the Urim and Thummim. She hadn’t gotten to the end of the inscription. “And you want me to translate the tablet?”

  Stark stood up. “Dr. Spencer, I want you to find the Urim and the Thummim.”

  7

  Surely she had not heard him correctly. She was aware her jaw had dropped open.

  Agent Stark pushed on. “I realize this has come as a shock. The tablets together reveal the location of the Urim and the Thummim. We need you to retrieve them.”

  “What can I possibly do?” Her voice sounded to her own ears as though it were coming from far away. She gripped the arms of her chair. The Urim and the Thummim had enormous Biblical significance and were priceless. It didn’t make sense that a government agency would send in such a small team.

  “The items are in a protected location, and there are Greek texts along the route. They need to be translated before anyone can proceed.”

  Abigail scratched her head. “This isn’t making any sense. You want me to translate the tablet, but you already know what it says?”

  Stark shrugged one shoulder. “A later copy of the tablet was in our possession and we had a Greek scholar translate it. We need you to check his translation, to see if there are any discrepancies between that and the original tablet. Rest assured, Dr. Spencer, if you refuse, we will go ahead anyway. Either way, you will need to translate the inscriptions at the location.”

  “You want me to go somewhere and read Greek texts? Like in a Greek temple or something?” Her synapses processed rapidly. “I see. It’s like a map or a puzzle. One inscription shows the way to the next inscription, right?”

  Stark afforded her a small nod.

  Something wasn’t right. “I don’t need to go there, though. Can’t someone photograph the texts and send them to me?”

  Stark sat down and shifted in his seat. “That’s not possible. If the inscriptions are read wrongly, there are consequences.”

  “Do you mean there are booby traps? Is it dangerous?”

  “Not for those who can read ancient Greek, Dr. Spencer.” She opened her mouth, but he motioned for silence. “You’ll be fully briefed. If it wasn’t safe, we wouldn’t send you in.”

  She doubted that was true.

  He continued. “First, we need you to check the translation against the original tablet.” He waved to some papers on top of a stack of books at the end of the table. Abigail walked over to them. “That’s all the research material you need, is it not?”

  She nodded. “You’ve been very thorough. I do need a laptop and an internet connection.”

  He shook his head. “Dr. Spencer, I’ve already told you this is sensitive. We can’t risk the internet. Are there other any research volumes you require?”

  “No, but can I speak with the person who translated it?”

  Stark folded his arms over his chest. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

  Abigail broke into a cold sweat. Had Stark murdered the previous Greek scholar? And had he murdered Harvey Hamilton?

  Would she be next?

  8

  Abigail formed a plan quickly. “Do you have food?” she asked Stark. “I think better when I eat. And once I start working, I can’t be disturbed. When translating, I could have five things in my head at once. If someone interrupts me, even knocks on my door, it will all go out of my head and then I have to start from the beginning. Any interruption could cost me hours.”

  Stark’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. “That’s fine. Do you want to work in here?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’d like to work in the comfort of my room upstairs. Maybe I could have some food first?”

  “Of course,” he said. “I’ll have Connor prepare lunch.”

  “You don’t have a cook?” she asked him. “You guys doing all the cooking?”