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I don’t know
     what I’m looking at.”
    “That makes two of us,” said Bohannon, twisting his head to get a look from another
     angle.
    Rodriguez got up from his chair, turned his back on the table, and looked out through
     the rough opening the workers had pounded into the wall. The door was open for ventilation,
     and two of the Middle Eastern workers, no doubt curious, were watching them from the
     doorway. Rodriguez made a mental note.
We need to install a much more secure lock on this door right away. And I need to
     get this stuff out of here
. Turning back into the room, Rodriguez leaned against the huge, old safe that had
     harbored the scroll and other antiquities. His head hanging down between his folded
     arms, Rodriguez forced his mind to focus.
    Suddenly, he turned back toward Bohannon and the table.
    “Tom, just from a preliminary review, the books and documents we’ve found in this
     safe are rare and valuable. Which means Spurgeon and his friends only sent things
     to Klopsch that they knew were important or hard to find. Association gives this scroll
     a high level of importance. Factor in two other things we know. One, it’s been treated
     lovingly and carefully for a lot more than a hundred years, and it was provided its
     own special compartment in this safe. Two, in his own hand, Spurgeon described it
     as ‘of the utmost importance and sensitivity.’ What else did he write?” Rodriguez
     stepped over to the desk where Spurgeon’s letter had been inserted into a quart-size
     ziplock bag. “‘It is also one of the most dangerous documents in existence. A document
     that I am convinced some men would commit murder to possess, and other men would commit
     murder to destroy.’”
    “Maybe that’s why Klopsch needed such a big safe,” offered Bohannon.
    Rodriguez rubbed his chin, his head slowly nodding up and down. “Tom, I don’t have
     any idea what may be in this document. But everything in me is saying it’s a precious
     piece of history. And if we allow ourselves to get involved with it . . . well . .
     . I don’t know where it’s going to take us.”
    Silence wrestled with dust to fill the space.
    “You found this thing, and it belongs to the mission,” Rodriguez said softly. “I don’t
     know what you were planning to do with it. But from a librarian’s point of view, this
     is fascinating. With your permission and with your help, I’d like to find out what
     this scroll is and what it means.”
    “It’s probably going to take a lot of your time,” said Bohannon.
    “That’s okay,” said Rodriguez. “I’ll put in as much time as it takes. Until your sister
     tells me I’ve got to stop.”

    “At this point, they don’t know what they are looking at or what they should do with
     it. But they are searching.”
    A hand slipped out of the darkness and reached for one of the hoses coming from the
     hookah in the middle of the table, pulling it back into the blackness where he sat.
    “The tall one has great strength,” said Hamid, leaning into the table, his voice low.
     “He prowls like a lion. He will be formidable . . . if they discover the scroll’s
     story.”
    Music, flutes, drums, cymbals at a frantic pace pounded the room, making it difficult
     for them to hear even themselves. Smoke filled the small bar, a lethal fog that cloaked
     their meeting and lay on their skin like a dry sweat. Yet their caution was at its
     highest level. They were in the belly of the Great Satan. Even whispered words carried
     great risk.
    “Have they spoken to anyone else?” The voice from the darkness was clear in spite
     of the music.
    “No.” Ishmael pulled long on the mouthpiece, holding the smoke before exhaling a thick,
     blue vapor. “They are still in the room. It is now tightly locked, a heavy wooden
     door. The deskmen patrol regularly.”
    “They will move, soon.” Sayeed Farouk emerged from the darkness, his red-rimmed eyes
     boring a hole through the haze.