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it unusual.
    He stood in the middle of the desert,
sweating profusely, and listened as Elijah rebuked him for his
involvement with the Roman bureaucracy. The prophet, whose name
meant God is Jehovah, reminded him of his own problems with Jezebel
and the consequences of disobeying God, and then gave him a stern
warning. “If you persist in your self-serving manipulations, Annas,
no rain will fall upon Jerusalem and its environs for six
years.”
    Before Annas could respond, the setting
changed to the top of Abu-Nedy. He stood waist deep in cold,
grey-white snow, shivering uncontrollably. Frightened by his
predicament, he tried unsuccessfully to free himself, but could
not. He cried out frantically in a hoarse voice, pleading for
someone to rescue him, but no one heard him.
    Suddenly, the stars in the purple-black sky
melted together in an explosion of light, causing tears with the
consistency of oil and the odor of frankincense to flow from his
eyes like a river. In front of him, swathed in the light of the
sun, stood the Galilean—the Jew from Nazareth.
    Stunned, he raised his arm towards
Jesus.
    He must touch the man. . .
    He’d awakened at the first light of dawn,
drenched in sweat, and even now, over an hour later, his throat
felt raspy and dry, as if he’d been screaming in his sleep. He
swallowed gingerly and took one last look at Abu-Nedy , then
reluctantly pulled his eyes from the magnificent mountain as the
sun crested its snow-covered peaks.
    His servant was in the courtyard below,
filling a bucket with water from the well. “Polonius, fetch my
bags,” he called out hoarsely. “It’s time we were on our way.”

CHAPTER THREE
     
     
     
    T en miles east of
Jerusalem and eight miles south of Jericho, on the shore of the
Great Salt Sea that the Arabs call Bahr Lut , the Sea of Lot,
the Watcher, Uriel, looked out over the greenish expanse of water
and licked the crystalline coating of salt from his cracked,
sun-parched lips. He was tall, over six feet, with silver-gray
hair. His shoulders were broad and well muscled, and even though he
was old, he seemed ageless.
    As the sun passed its zenith, and as Annas
headed for Jerusalem, Uriel turned and walked briskly towards the
cliffs behind him and to the cave where he knew Joseph ben Kohath
waited for him. In a few moments he climbed almost to the top. It
would have taken a man in superb condition, half his age
considerably longer.
    Joseph heard Uriel enter the cave, but did
not immediately look up from where he was tending the fire. The
heaviness in his heart had not lifted during the past weeks and he
was grateful that the old man had not pried into its cause.
    They had met on the day after he fled the
tomb of the Nazarene. He’d come to the great inland sea because he
knew he would find what he desperately needed—solitude and time to
think. He’d been walking along the beach, looking for shelter from
the heat, when the old man had appeared, seemingly out of thin
air.
    “Come, I have prepared a place for you,”
Uriel had said to him, staring at him with hazel-green eyes that
blazed with a luminescence that was soft yet penetrating.
    Although he had been surprised by the old
man’s sudden appearance, oddly, he felt drawn to the silver-haired
stranger.
    “Where?” he asked.
    Uriel looked up. “There,” he replied,
pointing to the top of a shear wall of rock.
    “I don’t see anything.”
    “The eyes of a man can be deceived, my young
friend, and all is not what it appears to be. There is a cave. .
.where you can rest.”
    That had been more than a month ago.
Unfortunately, there had not been much rest. Not because of
anything Uriel had demanded, but because of the battle that raged
inside him. He attempted to rid himself of his inner torment by
eating and drinking only the barest amount of food and water, and
by spending long hours in prayer late at night. During the day, he
spent several hours walking along the beach, reviewing Scripture in
his mind.