The Blood Gospel

There were plenty of other archaeologists in Israel. What reason could they have to drag her out of her own dig? No ancient treasure warranted this kind of urgency. Archaeologists didn’t get shuttled around in military helicopters.

Something was very wrong.

“Why me?” she pressed.

Perlman finally responded. “I can only say that it is a delicate situation, and your expertise has been requested.”

“By whom?”

“I could not say.”

“If I refuse?”

Perlman’s gaze bored into her. “You’re a guest of our country. If you refuse to come with us, you’ll no longer be a guest of our country. And your friend will not be taken to the hospital in our helicopter.”

“I think the embassy would not condone this treatment,” she bluffed.

His lips twisted into an unconvincing smile. “It was a member of the delegation at the U.S. embassy who recommended you.”

She fought to conceal her surprise. So far as she knew, no one in the embassy cared anything about her. Either Perlman was lying, or he knew way more than she did. Regardless, the time for talking was past. She had to get Heinrich to a hospital.

So she continued walking toward the helicopter. The soldiers had dropped into formation around her as if she might bolt like the stallion.

Nate and Amy hurried along behind. Nate looked belligerent, Amy worried.

Erin turned and walked backward, calling out instructions. “Nate, you’re in charge until I return. You know what needs to be done.”

Nate talked over a soldier’s shoulder. “But, Professor—”

“Stabilize the skeleton. And have Amy study the left femur before you jacket it.”

Nate pointed toward the helicopter. “Are you sure it’s safe to go with them?”

She shook her head. “Contact the embassy the second I’m gone. Confirm that they recommended me. If they didn’t, call in the cavalry.”

The soldiers didn’t miss a step, impassive faces staring straight ahead. Either they didn’t speak English, or they weren’t worried about her threat. Which could be a good thing or a very bad one.

“Don’t go,” Nate said.

“I don’t think I have a choice,” she said. “And neither does Heinrich.”

She saw him swallow that truth, then nod.

Lieutenant Perlman beckoned from the open cabin door. “Here, Dr. Granger.”

The helicopter’s whirling blades began to roar louder as she ducked under them.

She climbed inside the chopper and strapped into the only empty seat. Heinrich lay on a stretcher on the other side of the craft with Julia in a seat next to him. Julia flashed her a shaky smile, and Erin gave her a thumbs-up. Did they even do that in Germany?

As the chopper lifted off, Erin turned to the soldier next to her and pulled back in surprise. He was no soldier. He was a priest. He wore black pants, overhung by an ankle-length hooded cassock, along with black leather gloves, dark sunglasses, and the familiar white collar of the Roman Catholic clergy.

She recoiled. The priest leaned away from her as well, one hand reaching to adjust his hood.

She’d had more than enough squabbles with Catholic priests over the years concerning her archaeological work. But at least his presence lent some credibility to her hope that it really was an archaeological site she was being called to, something religious, something Christian. The downside was that this priest would probably claim the artifacts before she could see them. If so, she would have been pulled from her site and blood spilled for nothing.

That’s not going to happen.

2:57 P.M.

The woman seated beside him smelled of lavender, horse, and blood. Scents as out of place in this modern era as Father Rhun Korza himself.

She offered her hand. He had not intentionally touched a woman in a very long time. Even though dried blood streaked her palm, he had no choice but to take it, grateful that he wore gloves. He steeled himself and shook. Her warm hand felt strong and capable, but it trembled in his. So, he frightened her.

Good.

He dropped her hand and shifted away, seeking to put space between them. He had no wish to touch her again. In fact, he wished she would climb back out of the craft and return to her safe study of the past.

For her own sake as much as his own.

Before receiving his summons, he had been dwelling in deep meditation, in seclusion, ready to forsake the greater world for the beauty and isolation of the Cloister, as was his right. But Cardinal Bernard had not let him stay there. He had pulled Rhun from his meditative cell and sent him on this journey into the world to fetch an archaeologist and search for an artifact. Rhun had expected the archaeologist to be a man, but Bernard had chosen a woman, and a beautiful one at that.

Rhun suspected what that meant.

He gripped the silver cross at his throat. Metal warmed through his glove.

Above his head rotor blades throbbed like a massive mechanical heart, beating fast enough to burst.