Chapter 16

The first three pages were copies of someone’s journal, the script tiny and old-fashioned. They had been placed four to a page, cramping the writing even more, and he had to hold the binder close and squint in order to read it. It wasn’t in English. It wasn’t even a Latin-based alphabet, though it was most certainly European with its runic angles. If he had to wager a guess, he’d say it was older, too. At least a century or two. The foxing from the original had come through in the copies.

He continued on, his curiosity growing.

An obituary of a young student from Egypt’s Al-Ahram.Satellite maps of weather patterns over the Middle East for April of the year before. Reports that looked like composition analyses, but of what, he had no idea.

Then, in the back, protected by the plastic sleeve, a stack of Polaroids.

“Go ahead,” Lucas said, when he caught Ian running his fingertip along the zipper. “That’s what they’re there for.”