The 13th Enumeration: The Thirteenth Series, #1

By William Struse

In 43 AD, Levi ben Cheleph, a Roman customs official, composes a controversial genealogy of Jesus. For the next nineteen centuries, this list becomes one of the most disputed texts of the New Testament and the basis for one of the most important biblical secrets of all time. The 13th Enumeration is the key to that forgotten secret.

Darius Zaridast, CEO of Aquarius Elemental Solutions, is on a quest to destroy those he believes are responsible for the death of his father and the status of his homeland, Persia, as a third-world dictatorship ruled by religious fanatics. Darius finds evidence that this group, which he calls the Order, is also part of a centuries-old conspiracy to keep the secret of the 13th Enumeration. This secret, he learns, is their greatest fear because it is the key to information that could destroy them.

His research into this secretive group of people is compiled in a dossier he calls FILE-13. Darius believes some of history’s most influential men are somehow connected to the secret:

•Sir Isaac Newton, one of the most influential scientists of all time, spent a good portion of his life looking for a hidden biblical code.
•Charles Thomson, one of only two signers of the original Declaration of Independence, was responsible for the most notorious symbols in American history. This symbol, known by only a few, is a key to the secret.
•William Frishmuth, a German chemist and secret agent for Abraham Lincoln, was so valued for his services he was paid two hundred dollars from Abraham Lincoln’s private purse.
•William Colgate of Colgate/Palmolive, one of America’s early entrepreneurs, owned a building which featured an unsolved brick symbol—a symbol which today is known as the “American Da Vinci Code.” This cipher holds the key to the forgotten secret.
•Sir Robert Anderson, commissioner of Scotland Yard during the Ripper murders, almost discovered the secret.

As Darius’s plot for revenge matures, he initiates the most devastating attack in the history of New York’s financial district. With Manhattan Island a ghost town, Darius uses the ensuing events to perpetrate the greatest financial manipulation of all time. Just when he has the world convinced he is its savior, Darius Zarindast destroys his entire corporate empire, causing the largest financial meltdown in history. He has finally realized his revenge. The only bitterness in his cup of retribution is his inability to solve the secret of the 13th Enumeration.

In this battlefield of revenge, conspiracy, and superstition, an archeological discovery is made in Capernaum, Israel—a discovery which will forever change the way the prophecies of the Bible are understood. Zane Harrison, a dig volunteer, and Rachael Neumann, daughter of the director of Israeli Antiquities, unwittingly stumble upon an incredible treasure of artifacts. Their find leads to the rediscovery of the 13th Enumeration. They soon learn their discovery is the key to a mathematical cipher found in the very first chapter of the New Testament, an ancient code which has profound implications regarding the status of Jesus Christ as the biblical Messiah. The unearthing of this ancient secret places them directly in the crosshairs of the Order. Will they be able to share their discovery with the world before the Order destroys the evidence and once again erases all knowledge of the 13th Enumeration from the pages of history?

The 13th Enumeration is a thrilling page-turner which weaves little-known historical and biblical facts into a plot that could have been taken from today’s headlines. The explosive conclusions of this story will leave the secular and Christian reader alike wondering if this is really a work of fiction—or the greatest discovery of our generation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: William Struse
• Release date: Apr 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524217068

Book preview

Prologue

Capernaum—43 AD

Looking down the long, dusty road, Levi stood searching through the glare of the late afternoon sun for any remaining travelers. He turned back to the station, calling a young man standing in the doorway. David, it is time to close the station for today. Most travelers have already found lodgings for the evening. Our day is done, my friend.

The customs office of Capernaum was an important station on the road between Damascus and Tyre. It collected taxes from the commerce on this road as well as that associated with the harbor of the Sea of Galilee. As far as his people were concerned, Levi was a traitor. They despised the taxes imposed by the Roman government and enforced by the Roman soldiers. They doubly despised one of their own people who worked for this imperial Roman system. Well, that could not be helped. He had a job to do, and he would at least do it honestly and fairly.

Levi called out to David again, Make sure the customs chest is secured. I will tell the guards we will be leaving for the night.

I have already secured it. David replied.

Very well, Levi said as he turned and went through a doorway to an adjacent building. The building next door was a low-ceilinged brick structure with only one rough opening for a window. It served as the guard station for the customs office as well as the quarters for a detachment of Roman soldiers under the command of the centurion Platimus. Levi addressed the officer in charge, who was sitting against the wall with his feet up. We have closed the station for the night; please post a guard for the customs chest.

The officer looked up, a condescending look on his face. No need to worry. We will do our job, just see to it that you do yours.

Levi looked in the officer’s eyes and without expression replied, I also will need a detachment of guards tomorrow for my journey to deliver the taxes and my monthly report to headquarters in Jerusalem.

With a look of disgust the guard replied, You’ll have your guard, Jew. Then with a dismissive gesture, he turned away and ignored him. Silently Levi left the building and headed next door. Some of those Roman soldiers could be very disagreeable. There were others, though, like the centurion, who respected the Jews and their religion. Capernaum had one of the most beautiful synagogues in Israel thanks in great part to the help and gifts of Platimus.

Before leaving for the day, Levi once more addressed David, You are in charge until I get back. Watch for the Syrian; he should be coming through tomorrow or the next day. See to it that he does not try to sneak past again.

I will take care of it. Until the morning then, good night.

In the late afternoon sun, Levi turned down a side street, passed two buildings, and took the path to his house. A short walk from the business district of town, his house stood on a slightly higher elevation than the town proper. He strode up the hard-packed dirt path and entered the courtyard, climbing the outside stairway to the roof. There was a small enclosed area for sitting or reclining, but today he just stood, watching the fading sun as it sent sparkling waves of light across the blue waters of the Sea of Galilee. The waters sparkled and shone like a myriad of diamonds. The desert sky was painted with crimson, purple, and rose. Just as the sun sank below the desert’s edge, bathing his face in a final intense burst of light, he felt the change in temperature and the air began to move, bringing relief. He waited a few minutes more, letting the cooling air absorb the heat from his body and the surrounding air. As he rested, he thought about the remaining preparations he had to make before he left tomorrow.

He needed to finish the manuscript tonight so he could take it with him to Jerusalem, trusting it to safe hands before it was confiscated and destroyed. He also wanted to have a copy made of the document he had found while cleaning out some of the old records from the customs station. The small tablet—written in cuneiform Aryan script, from the looks of it—appeared to be quite old. This tablet would make a nice addition to his collection from the Persian era.

His thoughts returning to the present, he retraced his steps and entered the main room of his house. It was modestly furnished with a few chairs and a table. With the light fading, he found his lamp and lit it, then entered a small room on his right and descended the stairs to his cellar. He picked up a knife and cut off a generous piece of bread from a loaf on the shelf, found some olives and a couple of dried fish, and placed all these on a plain clay plate. Taking the plate and the lamp back up the stairs, he placed the food on the table and returned once more to the cellar.

The house had been run-down when he purchased it. After cleaning out the dirt, rocks, and debris from the basement, he had stumbled upon a secret door that led underground. It looked as if someone had found a natural underground cave and enlarged parts of it to make a secret hideaway. The entrance was covered with limestone, as was the entire basement. Over this, a house had been built, concealing the hideout completely. Whoever constructed it had put tremendous effort into the underground room and passages.

On the back wall of the cellar, he pushed against a large upright stone. It groaned, and he stood to one side as the bottom of the stone swung outward and up. Ducking, he stepped into the dark tunnel with his lamp and walked a few paces to an alcove cut into one wall of the passage. The alcove was four paces long and divided into two long shelves. On the top shelf were clay pots, on the bottom clay tablets.

Removing the lid from one of large clay pots, he took out a new manuscript. Levi then removed one of the clay tablets from the bottom shelf. He placed this in a leather pouch and turned to leave the underground cave. Holding the lamp above his head, he studied the engraving on the opposite wall. Smiling with satisfaction, he turned away. Levi passed through the secret door to the cellar and carefully shut it behind him. Climbing the cellar stairs, he placed both the manuscript and the artifact on the table next to his food.

After supper, he opened the scrolled manuscript and began to write. He only had a little more to finish. With confident strokes, he covered the page with his precise Hebrew script. When the final words were completed, he sighed with satisfaction. He knew some who read this manuscript would not understand or believe the words he had written. He also knew that the way in which he had written it would cause some to question his words. But a record must be preserved, and when the time was right, the truth would be there for all to see. What better way to hide a great secret than to disguise it as a mistake and place it in plain sight?

He laughed quietly. His own people would proclaim his ignorance and miss the point completely. Making a few notes in the margin, he rolled the manuscript back up and prepared for bed.

The next morning, he left for Jerusalem with the collected taxes and an escort of Roman soldiers. Since they were on official business, they were able to acquire fresh horses at garrisons along the way. They made the customs headquarters in Jerusalem by midafternoon the following day. After giving a report to his superiors and depositing the collected taxes into the treasury, Levi left to find the scribe.

Reuben, the scribe, was a well-respected copyist of the Torah. His copies of the sacred writings were read in many homes and synagogues. Levi found him at his booth in the outer courtyard of the temple. His booth was squeezed between a noisy rug merchant and a stoney-eyed purveyor of spices. The aroma of frankincense and cinnamon was strong in the air.

Reuben welcomed him. How are you, my friend? It has been a long time. How can I help you today?

Levi removed the manuscript from his effects and placed it on the counter. The new leather scroll was bound tightly by a thin flax cord.

I would like you to get this into safe hands, he replied with a knowing look. I would also like to hire you to make a copy of this. He pulled a small leather pouch from another pocket of his garment, carefully removed its contents, and placed them on the counter as well. I found this among some of the records at my customs office. As you can see by the Persian script, it predates the Roman occupation. I’m not sure how it came to be in the customs house, but as you know, all Persian era artifacts are of great interest to me.

Reuben carefully picked up the small clay tablet and examined it with intense curiosity. His eyes sparkling, he looked up at Levi and said, You well know how I love a good challenge, Levi. I will gladly make you a copy and translation.

Levi tried to hand over a few coins. Reuben hesitated before accepting them. With a look of slight disapproval he said, You know I don’t want your money, my friend.

Levi smiled. I know, but this tablet is a personal interest of mine, and it’s not for the cause—so it is only right that I pay you for your time and expertise.

Reuben acquiesced with good grace. I will take your money, Levi, but only what I would charge anyone else. You have paid me too much. Taking the appropriate change out of his purse, he handed it to Levi.

Still holding the small coin in his hand as he walked away, Levi paused for a moment on his way to his lodgings, thinking. After a moment, he turned his steps toward the temple proper.

Crossing the Court of the Gentiles, he climbed the fourteen steps to the wall that divided the court from the temple proper. Entering one of the thirteen gates, he passed into the Court of the Women and the temple treasury. Along the far wall were thirteen trumpet-shaped chests, narrow at the top and becoming wider and flared at the bottom. They were arranged from one to thirteen, each with its own numerical designation in the ancient Hebrew script, each designation specific to the collection of the various offerings, tithes, and temple taxes. Levi opened his hand, looking once more at the small coin he held. Walking over to the last trumpet-shaped chest, he paused, staring at the trumpet and its enumeration.

Finally, taking the coin between two of his fingers, he dropped it into the narrow mouth of the chest, listening for the musical sound it made as it fell onto the multitude of coins below.

Chapter 1

Tel Aviv, Israel. Present day.

Miriam Rosenfeld was frustrated, frustrated, and angry! She hated mice, the filthy little creatures, crawling all over the place. She had been finding nibbles in her bialy rolls and holes in her packages of rice and lentils. They were leaving droppings everywhere. Who knew what kind of diseases they carried? Her son, Jesse, was one year old and crawling on those dirty floors. She was at her wit’s end. She had trapped thirty-nine of the vile little creatures, becoming an expert in setting traps and removing bloody carcasses, yet they still kept coming. Her drab one-room apartment in the low-rent district of Tel Aviv was full of them. Every time she blocked a hole, they either chewed through whatever she had filled it with or made another hole.

She mentioned her plight one evening at her best friend’s house, and Danya told her of a trick her mother had used: steel wool. She said the mice wouldn’t chew through it. So Miriam decided it wouldn’t hurt to try. Now she was standing in the aisle at the hardware store staring at the steel wool. Danya had said she only needed one package, but she had not seen Miriam’s apartment with those thousands of filthy little rodents scampering across the floor. She sure hoped this worked. If it didn’t, she didn’t know what she was going to do.

So Miriam, an otherwise stable and reasonable person, did something unreasonable that would ultimately save the lives of millions of people. She bought, not one package of steel wool, but ten.

* * *

The flickering computer screen cast an eerie glow over the tiny, dark apartment. Efran Finkelstein, with his muscular hairy hands, sat laboriously typing his one-page report into the computer one finger at a time. He finished the last line and double-clicked on the peacock icon at the bottom of his desktop. A small window opened which read, Enter your encryption key. Efran opened his web browser and looked up the weekly Israeli New Lotto numbers, then typed in the seven winning numbers for this week’s draw plus his own personal eighteen-digit identification number.

After a brief pause, the text began to disintegrate into little bits and pieces until nothing was left on the screen except a message which read, Please stand by; Anaj is encrypting your text. After thirty seconds, a new window appeared. Please select your destination folder. Efran chose drive F and saved the information to a removable flash drive. A final window opened which read, Please stand by.

Two minutes later, the program shut itself down. With all traces of the original message cleaned and overwritten by Anaj itself, the only evidence of his activities was the little peacock icon in the bottom-right corner of the computer screen.

Efran removed the thumb drive and walked over to the kitchen table. From the lower cabinet, he pulled out his toolbox and removed a pair of pliers, a small ball-peen hammer, a pair of metal shears, and some electrical tape. From the top shelf of a closet he removed an old roof flashing and cut a small rectangle about 6cm x 4cm. It was lead—when he’d picked the flashing up at the plumbing store, he had been surprised that they still sold lead flashings.

Taking a small folding knife from his pocket, Efran carefully pried the plastic case off the flash drive, exposing a small computer board. With the pliers, he gently bent the USB adapter back and forth until it broke away from the board. He wrapped three layers of electrical tape lengthwise around the bare board, which he then placed on the leaden rectangle. Folding the lead sheet in half, he covered the computer board like a sandwich. With the small hammer he gently tapped the open edges until they began to flatten. He gently folded 3mm of the edge all the way around the sandwich, then hammered the edges until they melded together. He repeated this once more until the edges were completely sealed and the board was enclosed in a waterproof container.

Rising from the table, Efran removed flour, sugar, and gelatin from the upper kitchen cabinet. Measuring them according to a recipe he had memorized a year before, he poured them into a pot on the stove. To the mixture on the stove he added just enough water to make a paste out of the ingredients. Into this he added a 60ml of water-soluble craft glue. Efran swore as he spilled some of the metallic sand he was measuring from an unmarked container. After he had 160ml, he mixed it into the other ingredients. Efran heated and stirred the ingredients until they were thoroughly mixed into a honey-like consistency. He let it boil for ninety seconds and then turned it off.

From a bag in the drawer of his desk, Efran removed a small balloon and inserted his lead-encapsulated computer board into it. He blew up the balloon until it was about an 3cm in diameter and 7cm long. Taking the balloon by its tied-off stem, he held it over the pot on the stove and ladled the warm, granulated liquid carefully over the balloon until it was completely covered. He hung up the balloon until, about half an hour later, it had dried into a hard shell.

Taking a pin, Efran popped the balloon at the end where the stem stuck out, then dipped the open end of the hard shell into the ingredients. He covered the entire capsule once more and let it dry for one more hour while he removed every trace of his little project. He was glad he did not have to do this every week. From start to finish it took him about three hours, but well worth the effort. Traitors were not well liked anywhere, but in Israel, they were especially hated.

It was now two o’clock in the morning. Walking into the bathroom, he lifted the toilet seat, dropped the capsule into the bowl, and flushed.

Chapter 2

Dubai, United Arab Emirates

Darius Zarindast sat calmly at the table, his hands resting lightly in his lap, eyes closed, his face a mask. Across the room, an antique wall clock divided the minutes with its soft click, click, click. In a few moments the members of his team would join him around the conference table to begin their weekly meeting. Today, decisions would be made which would change the order of the world.

Darius Zarindast was a man of many faces, but today he was the president of Aquarius Elemental Solutions, the only company in the world which could economically separate elements from seawater. For twenty years he had single-mindedly worked toward the goal that was now just within his grasp.

Of Persian descent, Darius left Iran with his mother after his father died in 1976 at the hands of the Savak, Iran’s national intelligence and security organization. Darius’s father had been part of the Savak leadership but was accused of being a subversive agent in support of Ruhollah Musavi Khomenini. His mother, Leila, escaped to Britain with young Darius. Leila was a startling beauty and soon caught the eye of a young Saudi prince. Prince Hasmadan became infatuated with her and wanted to make her one of his wives. Having few better options, she agreed on the condition that her son be allowed to immigrate with her to Saudi Arabia.

The prince’s infatuation with his third wife, in time, turned into genuine love, and Leila became his favored wife. When Darius came of age, his stepfather gave him a gift of $260,000 dollars. At eighteen years of age, Darius entered MIT and pursued a degree in molecular physics. Having lived in the deserts of the Middle East for the balance of his life, he knew the value of water. He entered college with the desire to find a way to desalinize water economically. After his first year, he saw the direction the computer technology industry was going, and he invested two-hundred-thousand dollars in several start-up tech companies. By his third year of college, his two-hundred-thousand had grown into two million dollars. Over the next several years he again multiplied his fortune several times.

In his second year of college, Darius headed a research team looking into the properties of rare earth metals. They made several important discoveries pertaining to the usage of these rare elements in batteries. At the same time, Darius began his own research into their properties as catalysts in the hopes of finding a way to create reactions with seawater. He made very little progress until he inadvertently stumbled onto what he believed was a new rare earth combination, which he later called aquarillium: a mix of promethium, terbium, ytterbium, iron, and hydrochloric acid.

Aquarillium reacted with water in strange ways. Using it as a catalyst, he focused high-frequency radio waves at a seawater solution, and the water began to boil instantly. Equally unusual was the concentration of magnesium residue he found on the inside of the glass seawater container. With further experimentation, he was able to extract small amounts of other minerals as well. But it wasn’t until he added a high-power magnetic field around the catalyst chamber that he began to get truly exciting results. Having done these experiments on his own time, he had not shared them with his classmates or his professor. Realizing the implications of his work, he destroyed all records of his experiments and created new records showing false experiments.

At the end of his third year of college, Darius left to continue research on his own. The following year he moved to London and established his research there. It was in London where he first learned of the Order’s involvement in his father’s death—and where he got his first hint of their secret. In London the seed of hate was planted, and in London he nurtured it until it consumed him. Soon his technology was no longer a means to help transform the world into a better place, but the means by which he would exact revenge on those people and organizations he believed were responsible for the death of his father and the ongoing status of Persia as a backwater third-world nation.

Through savvy trading and a good grasp of the economic big picture, he grew and multiplied his investments through the late nineties. After the 911 terrorist attacks in New York, Darius moved from London to Dubai so he could establish a base of operations outside the domain directly controlled by the Order. Almost every waking hour he spent perfecting his revolutionary technology and searching for the Order’s most closely guarded secret. Finally his technology reached a point where he needed additional assistance, and over the next several years he slowly assembled his team.

They—four men and one woman—would be walking through his office door in the next few minutes. They had tirelessly worked for five years to get his technology to the production stage, and only now were they ready.

Darius walked over to the wall of windows which commanded one of the most impressive views of Dubai. His office suite was on the one-hundred-and-thirtieth floor of the Burj Khalifa, or as it is commonly called, the Dubai Tower. He looked out over the hazy, barren deserts of Arabia on his left. Far away in the distance, over the blue expanse of water in front of him, he could just see the deserts of his homeland. He had leased this office suite to remind him of his quest: not only to avenge his father’s death, but to once again raise the Persian people to their rightful place in the world. A world not dominated by the Order and its alliance with the political, financial, militaristic, and corporate behemoth of Western democracy.

If his plans succeeded, in a few short years the barren desert which he now overlooked would be filled with the green of living things. Nations once dependent on others for their food due to a lack of water would now be self-sufficient. He did not often allow himself to show emotion, but he could not help the smile which crept across his face as he spoke the ancient words, And the desert shall blossom as a rose. Darius turned back toward his desk and proudly thought to himself, Welcome to the Age of Aquarius.

Chapter 3

Negev Desert, Israel. Late Summer.

His fingers white with chalk, muscles corded with effort, Zane reached into his chalk bag with his right hand, felt for the gritty chalk sack, and squeezed. With fresh chalk on his hand, he reached for the next elusive handhold. His movements calm and confident, he found a small crack into which he forced the fingers of his right hand, and by curling them, found enough purchase to move his left foot to a small protrusion about two feet higher on the rough rock face.

Once again shoving his left hand deeply into his chalk bag, he covered his fingers and hand with the abrasive white powder. He only had one chance to nail this next move. Taking a deep breath, he leaped, three fingers of the left hand sliding neatly into the two-inch crack. With his entire body weight hanging by three fingers, he reached with his right hand to the ledge above his head for a hidden handhold he hoped was there. Just as his left hand began to give, he found it. Swinging his entire body up, he reached for the protruding ledge with his right foot. He shifted his weight to his right hand and right foot and powered himself over.

The rest of the climb was straightforward, and he reached the top of the cliff without further challenge. Calling Off rope! to his belaying partner, Ariel, he unclipped the rope from his harness and sat down.

Man! What an amazing feeling—like he was sitting on top of the world. He looked out over the desert with its pastel hues of purple, red, and brown. In the distance the Negev, and further on, Jordan. A slight haze of dust brought a warm glow to the desert. No regrets, he thought.

In his final year of high school, Zane had broken his parents’ hearts by announcing that he did not want to go to college. He told them he wanted to travel Europe and climb. Unlike his friends, he had not found his place in life. All he knew was that he loved to climb. When they realized he was serious, they granted their blessing and he was off. For a whole year he lived like a gypsy, climbing in every country of the Eurozone. He made many friends and saw many beautiful places, but he was just wandering.

Then, one hot day in June, he found what he was looking for. While in a climbing shop in Jerusalem, he met another climber named Yoseph who told him about a place he and some of his friends had climbed recently in northern Israel. Later that day, they drove to the Manara Cliffs of the Naftali mountain range. As they got close to their destination, they could see majestic Mount Hermon in the distance. They found a secluded section of cliff that looked like it had not been climbed before and hiked around to the back, where Zane found a way to the top which would allow him to top-rope the cliff. Rapelling down the face, he offered to belay Yoseph for the first ascent.

The ascent was moderately challenging; Yoseph said it felt like a 5.11b. Zane began his ascent about four feet over from where Yoseph began his, starting at a finger-width crack which ran slightly to the right of true vertical. The climb began easily enough, with tight finger jamming in the crack with some toeholds here and there to take some of the stress off his arms.

About halfway up the cliff, he reached an area of rough scaly rock which seemed loose in places. The crack he had been following petered out, and he searched the rock face for new stable handholds. He had progressed about five feet in this section when he stuck his hand into a section which looked like it offered a good grip. Just as he was testing his weight, the face of the rock came loose and exposed a small alcove.

He yelled Rock! and fell away from the face of the cliff as Yoseph applied tension. He only fell about five feet, and as he was dangling there, he tried to look up into the hole he’d made. Unable to see, he grabbed the rock and climbed back up to the little alcove, quickly realizing that the pieces he’d pulled loose were a man-made plug to seal a natural depression. Since the cliff face was in the shade, he could not make out exactly what was in the back of the crevice. What little he could see, though, appeared to be a clay pot of some sort.

About an hour later, after he followed Yoseph’s advice to leave it alone and call the authorities, Shimon and John from the Antiquities Authority showed up. Zane let John borrow his harness and lowered him down from the top of the cliff. Carefully John photographed the entire area, including multiple perspectives of the alcove and its contents. Then, with painfully slow care, he removed the clay pot. After Zane had lowered him to the ground and brought him back to the mouth of the opening, he retrieved a second clay pot. With utmost care the officials wrapped the pots and carried them to their vehicle.

Later the following week, Zane received a phone call from Shimon, who informed him they had removed a portion of the book of Matthew from one of the clay jars and a portion of the book of Isaiah from the other. They had also found several coins in one of the clay vessels dating back to the Second Temple era. He said to check back because the Isaiah portion would someday be on display in the Shrine of the Book, a wing of the Israel National Museum.

Zane knew from that day that he wanted to be an archeologist. Maybe it was a lack of faith, maybe just natural curiosity, but it was a wonderful feeling to uncover a piece of history which further strengthened the historical context of the Scriptures he had been taught all his life. At long last, he had come to the end of his quest for meaning in his life.

After one-and-a-half years of aimless wandering, he returned stateside with a purpose, much to his parents’ pleasure, and began attending a Christian college in Texas that fall. Every year for the next three years during the spring and summer breaks, he returned to Israel and volunteered on archeological digs. He loved the hard physical work and getting his hands dirty. It sure beat sitting behind a desk! He had been coming back for three years now and each time became more engrossed with the work. It was an indescribably good feeling finding bits and pieces of the past and trying to bring context to those discoveries.

Returning to the present, Zane looked down at the light blue rope dangling over the cliff. With a sigh he got up and clipped himself in. His rope doubled in his ATC, he rappelled back down the face of the cliff and joined his climbing partner.

Good climb, Zane, Ariel said as he reached the bottom.

That was fun! Zane replied with an enthusiastic smile. The crux sure had me guessing for the handhold.

Ariel smiled. But you nailed it with no trouble.

Untying the rope from his harness, Zane asked, Ready to give it another try?

No, not today—my fingers are fried from the last run.

Zane and Ariel were both volunteers on a dig in the Negev. Packing up the rest of their gear, Zane asked, You have any plans for tomorrow? I sure would like to drive over to the Manara Cliffs and give them a try again.

Thinking you’ll find more artifacts?

Zane laughed. No, not really . . . that was a once-in-a-lifetime deal. But I wouldn’t mind climbing there for old time’s sake.

Sorry, my friend, but I promised the professor I would get some supplies for camp, and then I must return to Jerusalem and visit with my parents. Tomorrow is Shabbat, and they asked me to join them.

With a shrug, Zane smiled. No problem. I’ll check it out anyway—I’ve heard there are some really gnarly climbs on the back side.

Chapter 4

New York City

Joe Douglas’s eyes blurred in anger as he watched the numbers on the gas pump flash in rapid succession. They had taken everything from him—his wife, his family, his respectability. A convicted felon, he couldn’t even get a decent job. There hadn’t been enough cocaine on him for two people, let alone for intent to distribute, as they’d charged him. That hadn’t stopped the prosecutor. Joe was sent to prison for three years and was released a year early for good behavior. When he got out of prison, no one was there to greet him except his anger. His wife had received full custody of the children.

His knuckles turned white as he gripped the gas dispenser. None of his old friends or work associates from the New York City Water Municipality would have anything to do with him now. Well, he was going to teach those godless heathens a lesson—a lesson the whole world would remember.

The pump clicked off at 199.34 gallons. Joe pulled the dispenser a little out of the welded auxiliary fuel tank in the bed of his pickup truck and topped it off until the register read two hundred gallons exactly.

Inside, the man behind the counter looked up with a friendly smile. Boy, she was thirsty today.

Joe nodded. As he pulled his wallet out, he replied, Man, this is killing me. I wish our crooked politicians would do something about the gas prices.

Four dollars a gallon, Joe thought. He remembered when gas was a buck-fifty. He counted out the eight hundred dollars in cash for the salesclerk, took his receipt, and turned to leave. I’ll see you in a week or so.

Joe climbed up into the cab of his truck, the sole possession he had retained from his pre-prison life. His first few days in the penitentiary had been one continuous nightmare of bullying, pain, and fear. That was until Hassan walked up and stood beside him one day. No one ever bothered him again. Hassan was a lifeline to a terrified and lonely man who had nowhere else to turn. Over the next two years, Hassan taught him about Muhammad and the Koran. At first he paid attention out of necessity, and later out of genuine interest. Joe had never been particularly interested in any religion, but prison changed all that. With Hassan’s friendship and brotherhood, he embraced the Muslim religion. He knew now that all his problems were a direct result of a godless and hedonistic Western lifestyle and belief system.

Allah willing, he was going to help change that. The two hundred gallons of diesel fuel in the back of his truck were a step in that direction.

Chapter 5

Dubai, United Arab Emirates

After a soft knock, the door opened and five familiar faces entered. Darius stood and calmly welcomed the four men and one woman who entered his office. Good afternoon, lady and gentlemen. He ushered his team into the conference room.

When everyone was seated, Darius took his chair at the head of the table. He surveyed the faces gathered there. Although they served in several capacities, each had a specialty which made him or her indispensable to the organization and invaluable to his plan.

Today, they would decide whether or not to set the plan in motion. For Darius, it had taken over twenty years to reach this point. Many of the rest had been working tirelessly—and secretly—for five years. They all knew the success of their plan depended on their silence. Their invention would fundamentally alter the current order of the world. Darius thought it ironic that half the faces looking back at him were Americans born between the years 1961–1981. According to William Strauss and Neil Howe in their book Generations, these men and a woman were part of the thirteenth American generation.

And none of them had any idea how significant that was.

On his right sat Alexandra Riley, whose primary function was executive assistant and public relations. The first time he had seen Alexandra was in his second year at MIT, where she was leading an environmental protest. She was an activist in every sense of the word, fearless, passionate, and unrelenting, with classical Irish features and a temper to match her fiery red hair. Her passion, intelligence, and commitment raised her as a leader in the environmental movement until she became the international face of the cause.

That is, until Darius asked her to join his organization three years ago. They met over lunch at a vegan deli in New York, and he asked her if she wanted to change the world. She looked up at him with her pale green Irish eyes, a bitter laugh, and a mocking smile.

Mr. Zarindast, she said, everyone dreams of changing the world. Few ever really make a difference. Most people are content to follow others.

After a few moments, Darius replied, What would you do if you had practically unlimited money and influence?

With a sarcastic tone she replied, Why, Mr. Zarindast, I would change the world.

Darius stood up, laid an envelope on the table, and said, If you want that opportunity someday, I will give it to you.

One week later she was standing in this very conference room with a look of incredulity on her face as he finished explaining what he had invented and a modified version of his plan to change the order of the world. He said nothing of the Order and his plans for revenge—that was not necessary for her to know. After a couple of minutes of searching his face for some trace of obfuscation, she simply said, Prove it. He took her to the complex on the outskirts of Dubai and showed her the prototype. One million gallons of pure water an hour from the sea at ninety-five-percent efficiency. A world-changing invention, and Alexandra was intelligent enough to see the implications. She had been the last addition to his little group.

Next to Alexandra sat Gavin Matthews. He was the son of one of Darius’s old classmates at MIT. Darius had shared a dorm room with Jake Matthews during his first year at MIT and he was one of the few people Darius still talked to from his old college days. In passing, Darius had mentioned to Jake that he was looking for a good software programmer for his company.  Jake told Darius his son worked at Google and suggested he give him a call.  Gavin, like his father was a computer genius. He had made several innovations in chip architecture while at MIT. His software programming and encryption skills were also first-rate. Google paid him well into the six figures to write software code.  Darius called him up and asked if he could have a few minutes of his time. When they met, Darius told him, Your father says you are a computer genius. I would like you to work for me, and I will pay you fifty thousand dollars the first year. After that I believe you will be so convinced of what we are about to do that you will be willing to waive your salary.

Gavin laughed out loud, but at the same time he searched Darius’s face to see if he was serious. Darius just sat there and stared back. Finally he said, Gavin, I am completely serious. All I ask is that you come and see how serious I am. Here is a round-trip plane ticket if you care to find out.

As Darius picked up his briefcase to go, he said, Gavin, if what I hear is true, you are a maverick. You dance to your own tune and have a problem with authority. What I am offering you is an unlimited budget with very limited oversight. You will be in charge of computer programming and security for our project. What have you got to lose? A long weekend? I know you may find it hard to believe, but I am offering you a once-in-a-generation . . . no, Darius corrected himself, a unique opportunity in the history of mankind.

Two weeks later Gavin Matthews arrived in Dubai, and Darius showed him the technology and gave him an overview of what he needed. That was five years ago, and Gavin Matthews had worked without compensation for the last four years.

Ralph Scholz had been a facilities design engineer for Intel, instrumental in automating their factories with robotics. He had the prototypical German attention to detail and precision but with an ability to think outside the box to come up with new and innovative solutions. He was in his midforties and loved his work. He had designed and