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death, Natasha moved to Europe, breaking all ties with her family. Eventually she emerged as a key part of Milan Noble’s Thanatos movement and you know well how that ended.”  
    The screen faded into a picture of Natasha with Milan Noble in resplendent black tie against a backdrop of the Vienna State Opera House. They made a gorgeous couple, but Morgan couldn’t shake the image of the twisted demonic figure that Milan had become in the last hour of his cursed life.  
    “Now there’s chatter that Natasha has become a gun-for-hire,” Martin said, “a freelancer with ties into the underworld of terrorism and antiquities smuggling.”  
    Morgan nodded. “With her background and contacts, she’d make an excellent choice.” Her eyes narrowed in determination. “I want to bring her in, Martin. She’s the last of the links to what happened to Jake, and I know what she’s capable of doing. What did they take from the museum after the murder?”  
    Martin flicked the screen back to the photos from the murder. “They took everything from Gamal’s study including the curator’s notes and some of his books.”
    Morgan pointed to where the body was shown in graphic detail on the blood-stained floor.  
    “There are footprints and the chisel is coated with blood,” she said. “They left a clear trail of evidence and there must be fingerprints, so who’s officially investigating this?”
    “The Egyptian police,” Martin said. “But they have already blamed it on the fundamentalist unrest that is sweeping the country. The investigation won’t get far in a climate of political upheaval because the police are struggling to keep control and don’t much care about the murder of an obscure academic.”
    Morgan frowned, puzzling over how to proceed. “OK, so why did they want this information?”
    “That’s the intriguing thing,” Martin said. “Dr Abasi Gamal has written books on Akhenaten and the origin of Moses and the Exodus of the Jews from Egypt.” Martin tapped on his laptop again. “But the murder in Cairo is just one piece of the puzzle,” he said, bringing up a montage of images: the severed head and the bloody words in Washington, then the website countdown and image of the Ark. “Your friend Lior forwarded these to us just an hour ago.”
    Morgan felt a brief pang of loss at Lior’s name, for they had been good friends when Elian was alive. But after she had left her life in Israel behind, she had lost touch with many of her old friends. A brief meeting after the bombing in Jerusalem last month had rekindled their friendship, but she knew they had a long way to go to rebuild their trust. She leaned in to examine the images more closely.  
    “These have to be connected, but let me guess,” Morgan said. “No one wants to admit they are concerned about something so inflammatory as the Ark of the Covenant during the week of the Peace Accords. On the one hand, the secular press will have a field day with the ancient myth, and on the other the religious right will be inflamed with fervor at the possibility.”  
    Martin nodded. “Exactly, so we have to tread a fine line to make sure this stays well below the radar of any press in preparation for the Jerusalem summit, but also to track the potential location of the Ark so we can stay ahead of Natasha.”
    Morgan gazed thoughtfully at the image of the Ark as it was marched around Jericho, aware that when the walls fell before the power of the Ark, it sparked a massacre of the inhabitants. Every living thing inside was slaughtered in the name of God. Her mind was reeling, for this was no longer just a simple mission for her to avenge Jake’s injury. Israel was her country, her blood was in the land and she knew she would do anything to protect it from this extremist madness.  
    “Jerusalem has always lived on the edge of violence,” she said quietly. “It ripples with extremism and something like this, even a hoax, could easily spark an eruption.