The Fifth Sun

By T.E. Matt

Nothing in their collective experience could have prepared
Matthew and Gina Tanner for the challenges that awaited
them.Their work on the Giza Plateau destroyed, they are
plucked by fate from the brink of professional oblivion,
and whisked beyond time and reality.There, they marvel
at the wonders of long forgotten ages, suffer the agonies
of ancient civilizations as they are shattered by global
catastrophes, and battle to save the future of humanity
from the darkness of its despair following the end of the
present world age.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 11, 2004
• ISBN: 9781465332684

T.E. Matt

The author is an attorney with the U.S. Federal Judiciary. Prior to pursuing a career in the law, he served for twenty-seven years in the U.S. Marine Corps as an Officer and Naval Aviator. The Fifth Sun is his first novel.

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Copyright © 2004 by T.E. Matt.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or

transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,

including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage

and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the

copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents

either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used

fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or

dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

With Gratitude

Foreword

Chapter 1

Among The Gods

Chapter 2

The Sanctuary of Thoth

Chapter 3

Tep-Zepi—The First Time

Chapter 4

Whispers Across Time

Chapter 5

The Quest

Chapter 6

Abul-Hol, Father of Terror

Chapter 7

Gate to the Underworld

Chapter 8

Collective Amnesia

Chapter 9

Tartarus

Chapter 10

Lord of the Dead, Judge of the Underworld

Chapter 11

The Crucible

Chapter 12

Dawn of the Fifth Sun

Epilogue

Dedication

To my loving wife without whose patience, support, and good humor I would not have been able to finish this book.

With Gratitude

I would like to express my sincere thanks to my editor, Fran Schell, whose tireless efforts were indispensable in bringing this work to its final form. I also would like to acknowledge the help of Robert Newlin, Mike Williams, and Ann Williams, whose independent sanity checks of the initial draft gave Fran a fighting chance to complete her task. Finally, special appreciation goes to Nelson VanWie. Nelson is a dear friend who prodded me frequently—and not always gently—to finish writing The Fifth Sun.

Foreword

Evidence suggests that the current age of humankind is not the first. Myths and legends abound with ancient civilizations whose achievements rival those of our own. One need only to look at the wonders of the ancient world to realize how advanced the ancients really were—and how much more advanced others before them might have been.

Folklore teems with horrific images of global catastrophes that destroyed those earlier ages, erasing all memory of them by a sort of collective amnesia. If the notion of collective amnesia seems a bit fanciful, take a survey on the street to see how many people know anything about the 1902 eruption of Mt. Pelee that destroyed the city of St. Pierre on Martinique, killing nearly thirty thousand people in a split second. The destruction of St. Pierre occurred scarcely more than a hundred years ago! Imagine then how easy it would be for memory to vanish on a global scale if a catastrophe of an equivalent magnitude were to occur worldwide.

Of course, the Fifth Sun is pure fiction—or is it? If confronted with the certain knowledge that humankind as we know it would perish in a global catastrophe, isn’t it likely that some among us would try to bring our science and technology to bear to preserve as much of our civilization as possible? If the answer is Yes, then isn’t it just as likely that similarly situated peoples beyond human recollection would have done the same thing? To the extent that the Fifth Sun springs entirely from the imagination, it is fiction. To the extent that imagination reflects what might have been, or what might yet be, it is not.

Chapter 1

Among The Gods

I stand before the masters who were present at the creation, they who were the architects of their own form, they who walked the dark, tortuous corridors of their own beginnings. Ancient Egyptian Book of the Dead, M.L.A. Macleod translation.

Son of bitch! Gina exclaimed as Tanner yanked his sunglasses off, and stepped toward Toby Skinner menacingly. The little shit’s ripped it now! She rushed to intervene before Toby bought himself a one-way ticket to an alternate reality.

As she hurried off, the project foreman, Reis Aasad, rolled his dark eyes until only the whites showed against his mahogany skin. Muttering a cryptic oath of ancient Egyptian origin, he clapped his hands sharply, admonishing nearby workers to get back to work. They obeyed without having to be told twice, but laughed among themselves, invoking a less-than-artful Egyptian equivalent of mad dogs and Englishmen who remain too long in the noonday sun.

Although Gina had been quick to react, she was too late. Tanner’s temper erupted, sending the confused and startled doctoral candidate beating a hasty retreat through the cloud of dust that hung perpetually over the dig. Casting a nervous glance at her as he scurried past, Toby scampered to the center of the dig, and leaped into one of the excavations like a frightened rabbit into its warren.

By the time Gina reached her husband, his temper was again in check, but he remained visibly angry. As she approached, she braked to her normal long, graceful stride. Nearly six feet tall, Gina possessed panther-like power and grace. She did not walk—she prowled like a big cat stalking prey.

Gina stopped directly in front of Tanner, and shot a glance over her shoulder in the direction Toby had fled. He was nowhere to be seen. Only a vortex-like swirl through the dust marked the fact that he had gone that way at all. She turned to Tanner, running her fingers through her spicy salt and pepper hair. What the hell was that all about, Matthew?

Tanner wiped his sunglasses on his shirttail, then put them back on with contrived nonchalance. He struck his signature stance, hands on his hips, and his feet spread wide. Nothing that snatching a knot in that little snot’s throat wouldn’t cure! he snarled through clenched teeth.

I see!

Tanner peered at Gina over the top of his military-style sunglasses. Thoughtful lines crisscrossed his brow, and sharply etched creases radiated outward from the corners of intelligent blue eyes. His masculine nose, broken at least twice that he knew of, lay slightly askew of the centerline of his face. A prominent one-inch scar on a square chin capped his rugged good looks.

His expression softened, and he took a deep breath. Pausing, he exhaled slowly, in an effort to regain his composure. Sorry luv. I didn’t mean to take my frustration out on you.

Gina shrugged, allowing him to steep in his sense of guilt.

I think you’ll agree that I don’t view dissent as disloyalty, right?

Right!

And God knows, if you don’t want an honest answer, you sure as hell don’t want to ask me the question, right?

True enough.

And we all know that I damn sure don’t want any of my kids to join the ranks of the closed-minded nine-to-five academic types whose science is anchored in honoraria and royalties . . . that egocentric legion of academic yes-men whose focus on toeing the doctrinal line keeps their sense of self-importance and income high, but their scientific objectivity low!

Gina rolled her eyes.

I want all my kids to have the guts to belly up to the hard questions, to challenge those things they don’t agree with—to go nose-to-nose and toes-to-toes with conventional thinking! He paused. That said, young Mr. shit-for-brains better learn to keep that damn mouth of his shut. Somehow, I’ve got to get through to the little piss ant that he’s got to be tolerant, or so help me God, I’m going to rip his head off and puke down the hole!

Tanner snatched his cap off, ran his fingers brusquely through his closely cropped hair, then pulled his cap back on with a sharp yank.

What exactly did he say? Gina coaxed.

Tanner fidgeted with the hilt of the huge Randall on his hip as he dug his right heel into the sand. Anger and frustration flashed alternately across his face.

Basically he was pissing and moaning about the schedule again! Hell, like I don’t know we’re behind schedule! Tell me something I don’t know for Christ’s sake! So I said: ‘Okay Toby, we’re behind schedule! Give me some recommendations, give me some options, but don’t just stand there with your tongue flapping at both ends and your thumb up your ass. If you’re not part of the solution, then you’re part of the problem.’ Tanner paused before continuing. That’s when he started in on the workers again.

Gina stiffened. And what did everyone’s favorite little ambassador of good will have to say this time?

Tanner knew that what he was about to say would put Gina off the deep end. Her parents had immigrated from Italy to the United States, and no one was more keenly aware than he that derogatory remarks about ethnic groups were anathema to her. Born and raised in an Italian ghetto, God help anyone who came down on the wrong side of that subject.

He looked into her jet-black eyes. Ever expressive, they conveyed the full range of her many moods and passions. They sparkled in good humor, glowed with affection, smoldered in anger, and flashed white hot when it was time to take cover. At this moment, they were filled with an icy fury. Putting his own frustration on hold for the moment, Tanner moderated his tone to keep her from uncasing her standards and sounding battle stations.

As you might suspect, the little shit told me for the umpteenth time that I’m too soft on the workers, and that I put their interests ahead of the project. The workers are—let’s see, how did he put it this time—‘nothing more than Cairo’s chronic unemployed conspiring to drag out the project for their own nefarious purposes.’ He characterized them, as he usually does, either as ‘thieves’ or ‘fundamentalist terrorists’ who, ‘if they aren’t looking to steal what they find to sell on the black market, they’re plotting to destroy what they find for the greater glory of Allah.’

Gina chewed the inside of her mouth, her eyes now smoldering.

Even though we’ve all heard his bullshit before, I guess I just sorta lost it this time. Maybe it’s the alignment of the planets, or perhaps the Grunion are running. Who knows? All I know is that I’d finally had enough of his happy horse shit!

Tanner shook his head. "You know, at first he seemed to be listening. I suppose that should’ve been my first clue. Since when does Toby ever listen? Anyway, I was explaining to him—for the gazillionth time—that he needs to cultivate a better attitude toward the workers, because without them, nothing would get done. Ph.D.s may excavate artifacts for personal glory or a photo-op, but there’s no way in hell that a Ph.D., a doctoral candidate, or even a graduate student is going to do the backbreaking work that the locals do. I told him that he wouldn’t get anywhere unless he learned how to work with them.

That’s when he got belligerent, and said that he was tired of mollycoddling a bunch of ‘filthy, smelly ragheads’ who wouldn’t work and couldn’t be trusted—that he was ‘a scientist and not a social worker.’ Tanner clinched his powerful fists until his knuckles turned white. When the little snot pulled that cock-of-the-rock routine of his, I went out of my skull! Transfixed by Gina’s now white-hot glare, he continued, I told the little son-of-a-bitch that, if I ever heard him say that again, or if I ever found out that he had said it again, I’d rip his heart out . . . .

 . . . and make him watch it beat to a stop at his feet, Gina interrupted, completing another of Tanner’s oft-used figures of speech. Was that when the little miscreant fled for his life?

Recalling that his original purpose was to keep Gina from going on the warpath, Tanner reigned in his anger again. Yes, it was, he chuckled. And you should’ve seen his expression when it finally dawned on him how pissed off I was, and that he was this close . . . . Tanner held his index finger and thumb about an inch apart,  . . . to being sent to a parallel universe, or at the very least, to the far end of this one. It was a sight to see! Ol’ numb nuts’ jaw dropped to his knees, and he turned sort of puke-green, if you can imagine that. He paused, smiling. That was about a nanosecond before he blew past you, on his way to setting a new land-speed record for a measured archeological dig.

Gina searched Tanner’s eyes for several moments. Very gradually, her expression softened, and she returned his smile with a toothy grin.

Tanner stirred nervously. All of her teeth were showing, which was never a good sign.

Gina reached up very deliberately and pinched a small fold of Tanner’s cheek between her thumb and forefinger. Tugging his cheek playfully she purred, Oh God how I love it when you play grunt Marine, Matthew. Yessireee Bob, that’s my boy! She pinched a little harder. When reason and intellect are to no avail, the fear of God, a good pair of hobnail boots, and a hearty hi-ho Silver will do quite nicely, thank you very much. If you won’t respect me, then by God you’ll fear me. Isn’t that the way it goes?

Tanner tried to nod, but Gina held him firmly by his cheek.

Oh, Matthew! she cooed seductively, You’re such a Neanderthal . . . . She stepped as close to him as she could, and standing on her tiptoes, pulled his face down level with her own. Peering through his sunglasses into his eyes she concluded in a sultry voice,  . . . and I just love that in a man. Pausing eye-to-eye, she suddenly twisted his cheek sharply, then stepped back beyond his reach.

Tanner sucked air through his teeth, fighting to maintain his Marine image against the searing pain. According to Gina, she did that out of love. Thankfully she did not do it very often; he was not sure how much love he could take. He flinched as she leaned forward and patted him gently on the other cheek.

Oh don’t be such a wuss! she teased, shifting gears mid-thought as she was wont to do. "You realize, of course, it’s a good thing that Wombat-eared little dweeb said those things to you, and not to me. I’d have wrung his little dirt-ringed pencil-neck . . . I’d have shoved those hideous wraparound shades of his up his ass . . . I’d have stuffed his scruffy bunny-pink butt into his sneakers . . . I’d have . . . I’d have put the Malocchi on him—the evil eye!" Gina crossed her index fingers in the shape of a cross, and pretended to spit in the sand. Her dark eyes flashed wildly.

Tanner reached for the two tiny gold horns on a chain that Gina’s mother had given him to protect against the Malocchi. He did not have to be reminded that, in addition to the evil eye, the Italians also invented the vendetta. In fact, Gina always claimed that it was as important to have someone to hate as it was to have someone to love. Toby could be in some serious trouble, he though to himself.

It’s best that this happened between the two of you, she continued. He needed to have his attitude adjusted, and you were the one to do it. You may not realize it, Matthew, but Toby worships you, and that’s a natural fact. Hero worship aside, though, in the short time I’ve known the little shit, I’ve come to understand why some species eat their young.

Tanner laughed, but Gina did not.

The problem as I see it is how to save the little twerp from himself? Not that I should care, but I do . . . I guess. We both know that no one will put up with his hair-shirt routine for long . . . not you . . . not anyone. There are just too many bright youngsters out there who have just as much to offer for anyone to saddle themselves with that attitude of his . . . or that mouth. Who needs it?

Tanner arched his eyebrows in agreement. She was spot on as usual.

You know, Matthew, since he’s probably a bit gun-shy of you right about now, maybe I should talk to him! Perhaps I can reach him now that you’ve put the fear of God into him.

Tanner laughed. Right! You with the finesse of a Cape Buffalo bull in must . . . you’re going to talk to Toby! I hate to be the one to break the news to you, sweetness and light, but you have the bedside manner of the Grand Inquisitor.

What can it hurt? she snorted indignantly. He’s certainly not going to talk to you, now is he? This could be a one-time opportunity. I mean, if nothing else, we’ll be able to say we did our best to turn him around if somewhere along the line he turns out to be a mass murderer, or worse yet, takes to doing horrible things to small animals.

Tanner laughed again. "All right, luv, give it a shot. But remember, I want him salvaged, not savaged . . . no Malocchi, or any of that other voodoo and black magic shit that you people do!"

Okay, I’ll be good. Gina crossed her fingers behind her back. "But if I’m any judge of character, he’ll give me plenty of justification to cut his nuts off later, even if we do get him through this crisis. And for your information, you crud, the Malocchi isn’t voodoo . . . it isn’t black magic . . . and I’m not one of ‘those people!’"

Tanner eyed her suspiciously. He wondered if her fingers were crossed behind her back which, as he had learned over the years, she felt gave her carte blanche to violate the terms of any agreement.

What? Gina snapped playfully, knowing full well what he was thinking. She batted her eyes coyly and flashed her most beguiling smile.

Nothing! Tanner lied as he slipped his hand around her waist, checking at the same time to see if her fingers were crossed. Nothing at all. Visions of a smiling Cobra with Gina’s face filled his thoughts as they started out on their morning tour of the dig. Yep, Toby could be in deep shit.

. . .

By the time Tanner and Gina completed their rounds, the sun had climbed high in the sky. The earlier lively chatter along the grid had given way to the heavy silence that accompanies the drudgery and backbreaking work of an archeological dig. Now, as in the First Time, mortal men labored slavishly in works commanded millennia ago by the gods.

A small group had gathered near the Valley Temple of Khafre. Tanner and Reis Aasad huddled apart from the others, brainstorming options for getting the project back on schedule. Aasad had supervised the local workforce on every dig Tanner had led in Egypt. More than an employee, he was a dear and trusted friend.

Gina grinned as she glanced at them out of the corner of her eye. Standing nearly six feet four inches tall, Tanner towered over the burly Aasad. As they alternately nodded and shook their heads, they looked like a pair of Gooney Birds on Midway Island going through their mating ritual. After several minutes, the discussion concluded, and Aasad trudged off toward the center of the dig, wringing his jellabiyah fretfully.

Gina followed Tanner with her eyes as he headed her way. At forty-five years of age, he still looked like the Marine officer he had been when they first met. Powerfully built, he maintained himself in peak physical condition. Nothing ever seemed to faze him, and more than once, his bent for action had wrought success where others would have failed—or more likely, not have tried. The inner man was just as imposing. Although his outspokenness often alienated him from his fellow Egyptologists, even his critics admitted, if somewhat grudgingly, that he was a major force within the archeological community.

As Tanner walked toward Gina and the others, he gazed at the wondrous vista stretched out before him. The enigmatic Sphinx looked down on him from above the megalithic Sphinx Temple. The reflection of the great beast in Tanner’s sunglasses peered eerily back at itself as it in turn gazed dreamily in the direction of the village of Nazlet-el-Sammem at Tanner’s back. A half mile away the Great Pyramid thrust dramatically skyward, and to the left rose the smaller but equally magnificent pyramids of Khafre and Menkaure, with the Valley Temple of Khafre in the foreground.

No matter how many times Tanner had seen this sight, he never ceased to be spellbound by its spectacle. How had the ancient Egyptians built these architectural wonders?" he wondered. More importantly, why? As far as he was concerned, the jury still was out on both questions. Tanner’s quest for the answers to these questions had spurred him on year after year in hope that one day the gods, in an act of uncharacteristic benevolence, would see fit to shift one tiny grain of sand . . . just so . . . and reveal the secrets of the ages to him.

Tanner’s expression brightened as he approached. He marveled at how striking Gina was even in this inhospitable place. More interesting looking than beautiful, her classic Italian face—and those penetrating eyes—reflected the immense complexity of her personality, and the scope of her intellect.

Tanner walked up as Gina was playing tickle and slap with two second-year graduate students, John Grinstead and Marianne Stafford. She delighted in yucking it up with the youngsters, as she called the students, often saying and doing things just for the sheer shock value. Her delightfully weird, often ribald, sense of humor delighted them to no end. When she wasn’t expounding on the virtues of beer as one of the essential food groups, she entertained them with tales of the quirkier side of history, especially the Crusades. An intellectual epicurean, with a wide range of interests and a voracious appetite for learning new things, she took the time to learn from them as well.

As Tanner stepped to her side, he glanced at a swarm of tourists piling off a bus in a nearby parking lot.

Cool! John laughed.

Yuk! Marianne squirmed, her nose wrinkled in disgust. That’s just so gross!

As you can imagine, Gina dead panned, when the Crusaders catapulted their captives’ bodies back into enemy lines, they didn’t go very far . . . too much aerodynamic drag with all those arms and legs flapping around in the breeze. Now, when they launched just the heads, they got fantastic range. The ultimate low-drag solution. But aerodynamics aside, can you imagine the psychological effect when it started raining noggins, especially if they once had been glued onto a friend? Gina grinned wickedly. A real attention getter, don’t you think?

Alas poor Yorick, John recited dramatically, holding an imaginary skull aloft. I knew him well, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy . . . .

John, that’s sick!

No, Marianne, that’s Shakespeare, John corrected, continuing, He hath borne me on his back a thousand times . . . .

John! Marianne croaked, this is even worse than her story about the British general who gave smallpox-infected blankets to the American Indians to make her point that germ warfare is nothing new!

 . . . and now how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it . . . .

Stop it, John, you’re just encouraging her!

Gina chuckled. Well, you know what they say—

Before Gina could finish her sentence, their attention was drawn to a commotion coming from the center of the dig. As they glanced in the direction of the ruckus, a powerful explosion shredded the desert calm. The force of the blast dashed them to the ground.

Recovering quickly, Tanner glanced around, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs. Terror-filled screams filled the air. He scrambled through the sand to Gina’s side, placing his hand in the small of her back to keep her from moving.

Gina stirred at his touch. She looked up bleary-eyed and in shock.

Don’t move! Tanner rasped as he checked her for injuries. Let me—

Tanner tensed as the unmistakable sound of a round being chambered ripped his senses. Instincts acquired long ago seized him as adrenalin flashed through his body. A terrifying expression filled his eyes. In the time it took the scruffy figure behind him to apply the first inkling of pressure to the trigger of his AK-47, Tanner snap-rolled away from Gina, whipping his left leg in an arc. His foot caught the gunman on the left arm, causing him to fire his weapon into the sand wide of his intended victims.

Before the terrorist could recover, Tanner sprang to his feet, drawing the huge Randall from its metal scabbard. The metallic whisper of the huge knife slipping its sheath was the last thing the young Arab heard in this life. In a single fluid move, Tanner seized the gunman’s weapon with one hand, and with all of his two hundred forty-five pounds behind the thrust, plunged the Randall deep into terrorist’s abdomen with the other.

The gunman’s eyes went wide in unspeakable horror as Tanner twisted the Randall cutting edge up, then yanked the blade upward until it lodged with a nauseating crunch against his sternum. The would be assassin’s eyes rolled back in their sockets as his life poured into the sand, a ghastly rattle rising from within him. Tanner yanked the Randall out with a frightful sucking sound, disarming the now-lifeless form as it crumpled jerking and twitching at his feet. Shifting the Randall to his other hand, Tanner brought the AK-47 to the ready, looking quickly around for other threats.

Bursts of automatic weapons fire filled the air, spurring the terrified tourists and workers to even greater hysteria. Several rounds struck the sand near Tanner’s feet, and several more cracked dangerously close overhead. The bullet you hear is never the one that kills you, he reminded himself. Diving to the ground, he rolled away to draw the fire from the others. Coming to a rest in a classic prone shooting position, a second gunman appeared in his sights. Tanner squeezed off three shots in rapid succession as the terrorist struggled frantically to change the magazine in his weapon. The first round caught him above the left eye, killing him instantly. Hurled backward by the force of the impact, the second and third shots, already on their way, struck him in the cheek and chin.

The sound of a revving engine and screeching tires caught Tanner’s attention. He swept the AK-47 in the direction of the noise, drawing a bead on a faded red Datsun accelerating through a sea of panicked humanity. A third gunman threw down his AK-47, and tried desperately to climb through the window into the back seat. Tanner cooly tracked the dilapidated sedan as it raced toward the exit. The instant it was clear of the crowds, he emptied the magazine into the driver’s side of the car.

Swerving erratically, the fleeing vehicle traveled only a short distance before it crashed into a mound of rubble from an adjacent excavation. On impact, it flipped and rolled over several times, crushing the terrorist hanging out of the rear window. Careening to stop in a shower of sand and stone, the mangled car burst into an orange fireball, and was quickly engulfed in a thick cloud of black smoke.

Tanner scanned the area, attempting to anticipate the terrorists’ next move. But as suddenly as the attack had happened, it was over. Standing cautiously, he moved in a crouch toward the others. When he reached Gina, he dropped to one knee, and checked her again for injuries, looking up every few seconds to check the surrounding area.

I’m okay . . . I think, Gina remarked dreamily. Just a little loopy is all. She chuckled dully. Now I know how blondes must feel.

Rolling her head gingerly from side to side, she glanced up at Tanner, and shuddered visibly. Kneeling beside her was the man she had heard so much about from his RECON and Special Forces "compañeros"—a man about whom she had heard often enough, but had never seen until now.

Tanner’s eyes had the leaden gray look of death in them, his expression veiled by a dark, foreboding shroud of one accustomed to killing—remorseless, chilling, and utterly lethal. For the first time Gina understood why Britain’s Special Boat Service and France’s Commando Hubert invited him to train with them every year. He provided the walking, talking, real-world example of what it takes to fight and win with everything against you. They in turn gave him the opportunity to keep the deadly skills of his former profession honed to a razor’s edge.

Gina’s eyes brimmed with tears as she reached up and touched his cheek tenderly. Matthew! she whispered softly.

Tanner gave a start at her touch. Then, after what seemed a very long time, the terrifying person staring down at her began to slip slowly back into the dark recesses of his inner self, as the man she loved struggled to reemerge.

Tanner laid the AK-47 in the sand as he gently wiped the blood from the corner of Gina’s mouth. I love you! he whispered almost inaudibly. His voice cracked with emotion that was out of place with the lingering savagery in his eyes.

I know, Gina replied.

Tanner seemed almost ashamed that, after all these years, Gina had finally seen his dark side, the innermost demon that he struggled against every day of his life. Not knowing what to say to her, he bent down and wiped the Randall off on the dead gunman, resheathed it, and turned to John and Marianne. How about you two . . . are you okay?

Dazed and terrified, John barely managed to nod. He was not sure what was more terrifying—what he had just witnessed, or the lingering look in Tanner’s eyes.

Marianne glanced at the dead terrorist, and gasped at the grisly sight of the young Arab lying disemboweled in the sand. Oh my God, she gasped as if realizing only then what had happened. Oh my God!

Gina moved to Marianne’s side, and put her arms around the young student as she began to sob pitifully.

Tanner looked around the dig. Where only moments before there had been order and effort, chaos now reigned. Some of the workers staggered around in a daze, unsure of what had happened. Others peered over the edge of excavations in stark terror.

Gina followed Tanner’s gaze.

He pointed to a wisp of gray smoke at the center of the dig. It looks like those who Toby said were plotting to destroy our work in the name of Allah have tried to do just that.

Tanner looked at Gina, the savagery in his eyes gone. Are you sure you’re all right?

She nodded.

Can you help?

Just tell me what you want me to do!

Tanner paused momentarily, thinking. Find Aasad, get a head count, and help whoever you can. Go slowly, and keep your head on a swivel. There probably aren’t any more bad guys, but I don’t take any chances. He glanced toward the center of the dig to where the smoke still hung heavily in the air. Now, this is important, luv. Don’t come near that excavation until I give the word. Okay?

Tanner turned to John. John, I want you to get doc Olds. Find him and bring him here ASAP. Send someone—anyone—back with all the medical supplies they can lay their hands on. Tanner paused, and looked at Marianne who still was visibly shaken. And take Marianne with you!

No! Marianne fired back, wiping her tears away roughly. I’m okay . . . really!

Tanner stared at her uncertainly.

Please! Marianne implored, turning to Gina for support, I want to help!

I can use all the help I can get, Matthew. She’ll be fine.

Tanner was not convinced, but deferred to Gina’s judgment. Okay, Marianne, you go with Gina, but remember what I said . . . keep your eyes open . . . and stay away from that excavation until I say otherwise.

Gina eyed Tanner anxiously. What are you going to do, Matthew?

I’m going to see if I can help any of those poor bastards. Tanner gestured in the direction of several figures that lay between them and where the blast had occurred. Then I’m going to check to see if these so-called soldiers of God have left any more surprises for us.

Gina blanched.

Reading her thoughts, Tanner sought to reassure her. Don’t worry, luv, I’ll be careful. Without further ado, he hurried off, leaving them to their assigned tasks.

Tanner moved to the first two bodies. Dropping to his knees, he shut his mind to the recently reawakened memories of far away places, mind-numbing fear, and the unforgettable stench of death. He did not bother to check the first body for a pulse—there was no need. The charred remains still smoldered from the blast. Turning to the second body, he felt for the carotid artery to see if he could find a pulse—but there was no carotid artery to find. Tanner stood slowly. He hoped they were at peace with whichever god they worshiped, and that the beginning of their new existence was kinder to them than the end of this one had been. He then headed at a jog toward the next body.

As Tanner knelt beside the third figure, a wave of nausea swept over him. Oh God! he gasped. He laid his hand gently on the shoulder of the figure sprawled face down, silhouetted by blood-soaked sand. It was David Lipscomb, a graduate assistant on his first trip to the field. Tanner searched frantically for David’s carotid artery. There was a faint pulse! Since there were no obvious wounds to his back, the bleeder, or bleeders, had to be underneath him.

Rocking back on his heels, Tanner quickly considered his options. He did not want to move David, but he had no choice. He would bleed out if something were not done quickly.

Tanner carefully straightened David’s arms and legs, and supporting his head and neck, eased him onto his back. He had multiple wounds, the injuries to the head and chest accounting for the large volume of blood around his upper body. However, none of his wounds explained the volume of blood that had pooled around his abdomen and groin. Tanner’s heart skipped a beat as bright, oxygen-rich blood suddenly spurted through the congealed mass of sand and blood inside David’s left thigh. He instinctively applied direct pressure to the wound in an effort to stem the warm slurry of arterial blood and sand that coursed between his fingers in synch with David’s fading heartbeat.

Maintaining pressure on the wound with one hand, Tanner tore his shirt off with the other. Using his free hand and teeth, he tore part of the shirt into long strips. As he worked feverishly to halt the flow of blood, Tanner’s own horribly scarred body bore mute testimony to his first-hand knowledge of the terror that comes from being far from help as life ebbs slowly away.

Tanner quickly folded the largest piece of his shirt into a makeshift compress, and pressed it hard against the gaping wound. Wrapping several strips of cloth around David’s leg as a tourniquet, he looked around for something to tighten it. Seeing nothing, he drew the Randall from its sheath, tied the ends of the strips around the bloody grip, and used it. How ironic, he thought to himself. This was the first time he had used the Randall to save a life other than his own.

The tourniquet tightened, Tanner was relieved to see that the flow of blood had nearly stopped. There was nothing else he could do for David now except to pray that doc Olds got there quickly.

An old worker staggered by at that moment. Dazed and disoriented, he nevertheless appeared to be somewhat aware of what was happening. Tanner grabbed the old man by the wrist, and pulled him gently to his knees.

Please stay with him until the doctor comes! Tanner instructed slowly, enunciating each word clearly and distinctly. The doctor will be here soon. Please . . . you stay here with him! What he was unable to convey in words, Tanner attempted to convey by gestures.

Suddenly recognizing Tanner, the old man flashed him a toothless smile and gave him an affirmative, if somewhat shaky, thumb’s up.

Humor is a strange thing and it arises at even stranger times. Tanner laughed at the old man’s thumb’s up, and patted him on the shoulder.

As Tanner started to stand, he paused momentarily, bending over David. Gently raising one eyelid, he looked directly into David’s eye and whispered, Hang in there, don’t let go! Tanner squeezed David’s hand reassuringly, and leaving him in the old man’s care, headed for the figure nearest where the blast had occurred.

Kneeling beside the last body, Tanner felt for a pulse, only to confirm what he already knew. The dead man stared glassy-eyed at Tanner as if he were looking in on this world from another. Poor bastard, he thought to himself. Helpless to do more, Tanner gently closed the dead man’s eyes.

Tanner clenched his teeth as he pondered the carnage . . . the hopes and dreams that never would be realized . . . the families devastated by the loss of a husband, a father, a brother. And for what? Because some lunatic fringe element was bent on imposing its warped notion of how things ought to be on the rest of the world. Where is the honor in this? he anguished. How much courage does it take to slaughter those who cannot defend themselves . . . how could anyone’s God sanction such butchery? Tanner’s eyes narrowed. He would give anything to help these so-called soldiers of God on their way to martyrdom.

Grim-faced, Tanner walked slowly to where the explosion had occurred. Dust and the stench of cordite still hung heavily in the air. He hoped for a miracle, but found none.

His eyes were drawn to a large crater in the bottom of the excavation singed black by the force and heat of the explosion. As he looked around to see if anything might pose a further danger, something else caught his eye. He blinked. There, in the bottom of the excavation, in the shadows immediately beneath where he stood, was what appeared to be a large hole. From his vantage, he could not make it out clearly.

Tanner leaned over the edge to get a better look. It clearly was an opening. But an opening to what? Then he remembered that this was almost the exact location where, in 1980, an Egyptian irrigation engineer recovered a core sample of Aswan granite at a depth of nearly fifty feet. The engineer encountered no resistance whatsoever until the drill bit hit solid granite—granite that should not have been there. Just one tiny grain of sand, he thought to himself. Just one lousy grain of sand.

Tanner’s attention was drawn to a commotion behind him. Turning, he saw Doctor Richard Xavier Olds, the team’s scrappy, seventy year old retired Navy flight surgeon busily attending David Lipscomb. His two medical assistants squatted nervously on either side of him. Tanner glanced back at the opening. It could wait. He turned and hurried to where David lay motionless in the sand.

The old man, standing to one side, gave Tanner another thumb’s up, his mission complete. Tanner saluted him in appreciation for his assistance.

He’s lost an awful lot of blood, Matt! doc Olds drawled in his thick middle-Tennessee accent. As Tanner knelt beside David, the medical assistants stared in amazement at Tanner’s heavily scarred torso.

Here, I believe this ugly thing is yours. Doc Olds handed the Randall to Tanner without looking up. Good thinking, Matt. If he lives, he’ll be beholdin’ to you and that pig sticker of yours.

Tanner did not reply as he resheathed the Randall. He was not interested in anyone being beholdin. He just wanted David to make it.

Doc Olds nodded in the direction of the other bodies. What about them?

Permanent routines, Tanner replied, lapsing into military jargon for those who have been killed in action. They’re in the hands of the big Six in the sky.

Doc Olds grunted something unintelligible, which probably was just as well. He had a way of raising eyebrows whenever he opened his mouth.

By the way, doc, Tanner advised, be careful where you go, and keep your eyes peeled. There could be more explosives . . . and who knows what else. I haven’t had a chance to scope things out yet.

Danger invites rescue! the pugnacious old man snorted. It separates the men from the boys!

The two medical assistants exchanged nervous glances. They clearly did not share doc Olds’ stick-your-face-in-a-buzz-saw philosophy of life.

Now you two pay attention, dammit, doc Olds barked sharply, and quit worryin’ about what I’m sayin’ or about your own sorry asses. We got us a hurt boy here who needs our help, so quit your squirmin’!

The two