Her stomach lurched as Agent Worth took a corner too fast. “Do we start tomorrow?” she asked Stark. “What if it gets dark?”

  “It will make no difference where you’re going,” he said. “You’ll have flashlights.”

  “I need a bathroom break.”

  “A bathroom break?” he repeated angrily. It was the first time his tone had not sounded measured.

  “Yes.”

  He sighed. “Pull over at the first likely place, Worth. There! Under that pepper tree.”

  Worth stopped the car so rapidly it threw up clouds of dust. Stark got out of the car and motioned for Abigail and Riley to get out. Worth removed her handcuffs.

  Stark held the gun against Riley’s head. “I’m sure you’re not silly enough to run away, Dr. Spencer, but remember you have nowhere to go. If you’re not back in five minutes, I will shoot Agent Riley. I’ve only kept him alive to assist you to retrieve the stones. He’s no use to me with you.” He nudged the gun into Riley’s temple.

  “I’ll be right back.” Abigail ran between thistles and bushes of holly-oak into the cover of spreading pines. She wished she could find something to use as a weapon, but there were only rocks. She didn’t know what she expected to find, maybe a sharp twig, but there was nothing. She had gone into the woods a little way for privacy, but hurried back as fast as she could.

  As soon as Abigail got back to the car, Worth shoved Riley into the back seat. Stark roughly pushed her inside the vehicle. Riley leaned close to her ear. “You shouldn’t have come back.”

  They hadn’t driven much further when Worth brought the car to a stop under a big plane tree. Sheep tracks traversed the landscape through an ancient olive grove. Stark indicated they should move toward the sea.

  Abigail was suddenly frightened and stood still. They were high, perched on top of a cliff. The land fell sharply away below them to meet the sea. The view was stunning, but that was the last thing on her mind. Surely Stark didn’t expect her to climb down the cliff face?

  Stark pulled flashlights out of the trunk. “Get going.”

  “Where?” Abigail heard her voice come out as a squeak.

  He motioned to the cliff edge. “There’s a goat track. Move!”

  Sure enough, as she moved closer to the precipice, Abigail saw a winding cliff path. A cool breeze from the sea lifted her hair. She stumbled over some dwarf junipers, causing them to release their sweet, rose-like fragrance.

  Abigail averted her eyes from the sheer drop to her right. The track was wide enough for safety, but any loss of footing would mean a plunge onto the rocks far below. A shower of rain came out of nowhere, the rain in her eyes making it hard to see. Her shoes squelched as she stepped carefully through the muddy puddles pooling between the rocks.

  When the ledge widened to a slab of rock, Stark spoke behind her. “It’s in there.”

  Looming in front of her was a tall bush. Worth pulled it aside to reveal a narrow cleft in a wall of rock. Stark trained his gun on Riley while Worth removed his handcuffs. Both Stark and Worth remained on the high ground.

  Stark addressed Abigail. “Dr. Spencer, you need to follow the Greek inscriptions. It isn’t supposed to be booby trapped, not for those who follow the instructions. The text made it clear that the philosopher left instructions for his friend. He was hardly likely to set traps for his friend.”

  She dared ask a question. “What happened to his friend?”

  “Nobody knows. He obviously didn’t make it this far.”

  “If there are no booby traps, then what happened to Professor Hunt?”

  “He must have mistranslated an inscription.” With that, Stark closed the gap to Abigail and pushed her roughly inside the cave.

  12

  Abigail fell to her knees on the rough stone ground and stayed there for a moment, shaking.

  Riley reached for her and helped her to her feet. He pressed a flashlight into her hands before moving her a little away from the entrance.

  Abigail shone the flashlight over the cave wall looking for inscriptions. The beam was strong enough to probe a reasonable distance into the shadows. There was a surreal quality to the cave, an uncomfortable gloom clinging to the edges of the rays.

  The cavern was small but tall enough that she could stand upright with room over her head. She wasn’t one for small spaces. “Nobody’s been in here for two thousand years,” she said in awe.

  “Professor Hunt was in here.”

  Riley’s words brought her back to earth. He tapped her arm. “There it is.” His flashlight bobbed over some Greek writing on the wall. “What does it say?”

  She peered at the letters. “It says to be sure to follow the instructions.”

  Riley interrupted her. “You’re hurt.”

  She shone the flashlight over her legs to see blood slowly oozing from her left knee through a tear in her jeans. “That’s the least of my problems,” she admitted.

  Riley’s flashlight illuminated an opening to some rough-hewn stairs. “We had better keep looking for instructions,” he said. “If Stark was telling the truth, then maybe it isn’t booby trapped. Maybe something else happened to Hunt.”

  Abigail made to step forward, but Riley put a restraining hand on her arm. “Stick to the wall,” he said.

  “I was going to,” she said. “There could be a trap in the middle of the floor. In Egyptian pyramids, there were often pits so tomb robbers would fall to their deaths. We need to be careful.”

  They skirted the wall and came to the entrance to the stairs. Something smelled unpleasant, musky. Abigail shone her flashlight over the steps. Suddenly, something flew at her hair. She screamed and threw up her hands to protect her face.

  Through her blind panic she heard Riley say one word. “Bats.”

  Abigail threw her arms around his neck and clung to him. She buried her face in his shirt, trembling. He did not move. She was aware of his beating heart, his masculine scent of wood soap and lime.

  She stepped back. “Sorry. They frightened me.”

  “It’s understandable. There could be more. Let me go ahead,” Riley said.

  Abigail tightened her grip. “No, I don’t want to be left by myself.” She made her way down the steps carefully, clinging to Riley’s arm.

  “Who would have built this over two thousand years ago?” Riley asked her.

  Abigail was certain he only asked to distract her, but she was glad of the diversion. “The Greek cult of Asclepius had grottos, both natural and artificial, and sometimes there were passageways,” she told him. “This could easily have been one such grotto.” As she spoke, she trained her flashlight over the walls. She didn’t want to die because she missed an inscription.

  When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Riley put out a restraining arm. “Don’t move until you see the next instruction.”

  Abigail’s flashlight washed over some Greek words. “There!” She edged closer to read it. “It tells us to follow the instructions again and says to tread carefully.”

  The thought of being trapped suddenly overwhelmed her. Who knew what was ahead of her? Worse still, behind her was Agent Stark. Stark had no intention of letting her live. She squeezed Riley’s arm. “If we do get the stones, what will we do? Do we have a plan?”

  He hesitated. “Not yet, but we’ll think of something after we get the stones. We can’t go back without them, so we’ll have to go forward for the moment. I doubt there’s another way out.”

  “Yes, that occurred to me too. Can we stay here a moment?”

  “Are you all right?”

  She trembled. “It’s so dark.”

  “It’s best to keep moving,” Riley said gently. “It won’t help if we stay here and think about it.”

  “I can’t understand why Dawson Hunt was killed,” Abigail said. “The Greek we’ve seen so far is basic Greek that a beginner could understand. I can’t figure out why Hunt misread any of the inscriptions.”

  “Maybe he did and maybe he didn’t. No doubt we’ll find the answer ahead.”

  Her stomach clenched. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  They edged forward ever so slowly. Abigail expected at any moment an arrow could be triggered when they passed a certain point, or the ground might open up, causing them to plunge them to their deaths. “Do you think Stark was telling the truth when he said it wasn’t booby trapped?”

  Riley paused. It was then she realized she hadn’t heard him breathing. Her own breathing was loud, labored, and raspy.

  “There have been no booby traps so far, but it still doesn’t explain what happened to Hunt.”

  Abigail knew she had no choice but to keep going. After they walked a little further, the tunnel stopped its descent and leveled out.

  Riley came to an abrupt halt, and Abigail almost walked into him. When she saw what was ahead, she would have fallen had Riley not steadied her. “It’s them,” she stammered. “I can’t believe it. The Urim and Thummim. I can’t believe I’m seeing them.”

  “You really think that’s them?” Riley said.

  “Yes.” She reconsidered. “No one knows what they look like, but those are two stones, maybe gemstones. There’s a glow around them.” Her initial excitement quickly faded to be replaced by the terror of the situation. “But how do we get to them?”

  Before them, the ground opened to a vast pit. Directly opposite was a rocky ledge with a raised stone plinth. The two small stones sat on top of the plinth. A narrow rocky pathway skirted the abyss on both sides.

  Riley’s flashlight beam came to rest on a roughly drawn pair of crows. “The Greeks didn’t use hieroglyphics, did they?”

  “No, they didn’t.” Abigail edged her way forward and looked into the cavern before stepping back abruptly. “That’s hundreds of feet deep,” she said, shaking uncontrollably. “And the ledges are narrow. This must be where Dawson Hunt died. He must’ve slipped into the abyss. Stark was telling the truth after all—it wasn’t booby trapped.”

  Riley was quick to disagree. “But there have been two warnings to follow the instructions. That must mean something. Otherwise, there would be no need for instructions.”

  Abigail sat down. “You’re right.” She had to think about this.

  Riley sat next to her. “You’re doing well, Dr. Spencer.” He put her arm around her.

  “Abigail, please.”

  “Let’s talk through what we know,” Riley said. “Those paths do look wide enough, too wide to be dangerous.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding!”

  Riley shook his head. She couldn’t see him in the dark, but his hair brushed her face. “They might look frightening, but they’re not dangerous. The paths are wide enough for safe passage to the stones.”

  “Maybe the stones themselves are booby trapped. Maybe the surrounding area is.”

  “Possibly,” he said. He shone his flashlight over the walls.

  Abigail gave a little start. “There! There’s another inscription.”

  “What does it say?”

  She read it slowly in Greek and then translated it aloud. “Go to the crows.”

  Riley helped her to her feet. “The crows are to the left. That’s what it means. That’s the safe path.”

  Abigail grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “No! I know what it means. I know what happened to Dawson Hunt.”

  13

  Abigail was trembling so much she had trouble forming the words. “These stones were hidden here before the time of the Koine Greek, the Biblical Greek.” She swallowed hard. “Dawson Hunt was a Biblical Greek scholar. He had no training in classical Greek. He would have taken it literally. Word for word it reads as ‘Go to the crows,’ but it doesn’t mean that at all.”

  “I’m baffled,” Riley admitted. “What does it mean?”

  “It’s a classical Greek insult. It’s like if you were telling someone to go to hell.” She sighed. “It’s a particular grammatical expression. If you read it word for word, you think it means one thing, but if you know it’s this particular grammatical expression, you know it means something else.”

  “I’m beginning to catch on,” Riley said, although his tone was doubtful.

  Abigail pushed on. “So this means to take the right path, not the left path because the left path leads to the crows. Someone who only knew Biblical Greek and not classical Greek would think it actually meant to go to the crows, but it means not to take that path.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m one hundred percent certain. This is the booby trap. The philosopher’s tablet was for his friend who spoke Greek. He meant to protect the stones from someone who could not speak the Greek of the day, not well anyway.”

  “I’ll go and get the stones.”

  Abigail gasped.

  “It doesn’t take two of us,” he said. “You’re sure I should take the path on the right?”

  “Yes,” she said, but now she was less certain. She sat there, her back against the damp wall, clutching her knees to her, watching Riley edge his way along the path.

  When he was only a few feet from the stones, he slipped.

  Riley recovered quickly. He hadn’t noticed the wet section of ground. He peered over the abyss below. That was close.

  He made his way to the plinth, even more carefully this time. What was the sliver of faint illumination coming from above? Behind the plinth was a fissure in the rocks. It wasn’t man-made. He shone the flashlight over the rubble at the bottom. It was impossible to see without exploring further, but maybe this was another way out.

  “Abigail, are there earthquakes in this region?” His words echoed around the cavern, bouncing off the cold stone walls with a tomblike eeriness.

  No response. He called again, louder this time. By now, he had reached the stones. He stood still, dumbstruck. Surely those couldn’t be the Urim and Thummim, stones that had been on the breastplate of the High Priest himself?

  He remembered sermons whose subject matter touched on the High Priest, that the High Priest’s oracular capacity was connected with the garments: the breastplate, the ephod, and the Urim and Thummim. With the stones attached, the breastplate became the breastplate of judgment. A sense of reverence overwhelmed him.

  Riley did not know how long he stood there, staring at the stones. Finally, realization dawned that Abigail had not responded. He swung around, training his flashlight over the spot he had left her.

  She was there. He let out the breath he’d been holding. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she responded, although he noticed her voice was trembling.

  “Abigail, we can’t let Stark or Vortex get their hands on the stones.”

  “No, we can’t,” she called back. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m coming back.”

  He left the stones there—he did not dare touch such holy objects—and carefully edged his way back to her. He put out his hand and helped her to her feet. “Are you all right?” he asked again.

  This time, she shook her head. “I couldn’t bear to watch. I thought you’d fallen over the edge.” Her voice caught. “My heart was beating so fast, it was difficult to breathe. I had to sit there with my eyes shut.”

  Riley realized he was still holding her hand. He didn’t want Abigail to think he was too forward, but he was reluctant to let it go until he knew she was okay. How could he care so much for someone in such a short space of time?

  In the glow of the flashlight, he reached out to brush the hair out of her face, but at the last minute dropped his hand. Better to be safe than sorry, even though everything in him was screaming to pull Abigail into his arms where he could keep her safe.

  “There is a trap on the other path, just under the crows,” Riley told her, his heart beating faster from her proximity. “You can see it from the plinth. It’s a little wooden bridge of sorts made to collapse if someone steps on it.”

  “That must have been what happened to poor Dawson Hunt.” She swallowed hard. “What were the stones like?”

  Riley shook his head. “Imagine that, being close to artifacts mentioned in the Bible, artifacts from the High Priest’s breastplate.” His tone held veneration. “They’re thousands of years old. I didn’t touch them; it wouldn’t have been right.”

  “Maybe you now believe they have power?” When he didn’t respond, she added, “What will we do?”

  “Are you certain someone trained in classical Greek would understand the inscription and take the right path?”

  “Absolutely,” she said.

  “We have to make sure the Urim and Thummim don’t fall into the wrong hands.”

  “How can we do that?” she asked him. “We can’t throw them into the abyss, but we can’t let Stark find them either.”

  He shook his head. “The best thing to do is to leave them here and seal the entrance.”

  “How can we do that? Stark has a gun.”

  “I managed to report Stark not long before he handcuffed me,” Riley said. “I’m sure someone’s on the way.”

  “How will they find us here?”

  “I have a tracking device in my boot,” he said dryly. “We can do one of two things. We could wait it out…”

  Abigail interrupted him. “What, in here?” She shuddered. “The stale air, the seemingly bottomless pit, the terror of the endless darkness?” Her voice broke.

  Riley put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. He inhaled the lavender scent of her hair. “Is this region known for earthquakes?”

  “Yes.”

  “How are you with small spaces?”

  “Why?”

  He felt her tremble and held her more tightly. “I saw some faint light through a crevice in the roof near the Urim and Thummim. There’s a fissure in the rock to the side of the plinth. I don’t know if it goes all the way to the surface, but there’s enough light to suggest it does. The only thing is, it might not be wide enough to squeeze through all the way to the surface.”

  “We have to try.”

  “We? I was thinking of going on alone to try it and then coming back for you. Or we could sneak back to the entrance and wait there. We would hear if someone comes to deal with Stark.”