The Moses Expedition: A Novel
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A lost treasure, a Nazi war criminal, and an expedition to find a legend . . .
After fifty years in hiding, the Nazi war criminal known as the Butcher of Spiegelgrund has finally been tracked down by Father Anthony Fowler, a CIA operative and a member of the Vatican’s secret service. He wants something from the Butcher—a candle covered in filigree gold that was stolen from a Jewish family many years before.
But it isn’t the gold Fowler is after. As Fowler holds a flame to the wax, the missing fragment of an ancient map that uncovers the location of the Ten Commandments given to Moses is revealed. Soon Fowler is involved in an expedition to Jordan set up by a reclusive billionaire. But there is a traitor in the group who has ties to terrorist organizations back in the United States, and who is patiently awaiting the moment to strike.
From wartime Vienna to terrorist cells in New York and a lost valley in Jordan, The Moses Expedition is a thrilling read about a quest for power and the secrets of an ancient world.
all?” Harel and Dekker grabbed Larsen by the arms and pulled her back. “He was my friend,” she mumbled, moving away slightly. At that moment David Pappas arrived at the scene. He had been running and sweat was pouring from him. It was obvious he had fallen at least once because there was sand on his face and glasses. “Professor! Professor Forrester!” “What is it, David?” “The data. Stowe’s data,” Pappas said, bending over and leaning on his knees to catch his breath. The professor made a
you’re going to do something for me, if you know what’s good for you. It’s a shame that such a fine-looking girl has to be a dyke. But I think that’s because you’ve never had a good stiff one.” Andrea took a step back toward the rocks, but the Colombian placed himself between her and the place where she had climbed onto the platform. “You wouldn’t dare, Torres. The other guards could be watching us right now.” “Only Waaka can see us . . . and he’s not going to do a thing. He’ll feel kind of
scream when he saw the man grabbing another skewer. “Of course you’ll talk. But we’re not the torture committee. We’re the execution committee. The thing is that we want to do it real slow. Nazim, put the pistol to his head.” The one called Nazim, his expression a complete blank, sat down on a chair and placed the muzzle of the gun on Orville’s skull. Orville went still when he felt the cold metal. “As long as you’re in the mood to talk . . . tell me what you know about Huqan.” Orville closed
not going to bombard you with cheap psychology. But do whatever you think best. A: Turn off your tape recorder, young lady. I want to think. Q: Mr. Kayn, thank you for continuing with the interview. Whenever you’re ready . . . A: Isaac was everything to me. He was tall and slender, and very handsome. Look at his photo. Q: He has a nice smile. A: I think you would have liked him. In fact, he was quite similar to you. He would rather ask for forgiveness than for permission. He had the strength
was standing was a large screen twenty feet wide. On it was displayed the first page of his presentation, with the red Netcatch logo. “Thank you very much, Mr. Kayn, and good morning. Let me begin by saying that it’s an honor—” There was a small buzz and the image on the screen changed, revealing the title of his presentation and the first of the two questions: Who Is Father Anthony Fowler? Clearly, Mr. Kayn valued brevity and control, and had a second remote in hand in order to speed up the