Sandstorm

09:48 P.M. GMT

YOU HAVEto remove the heart.”

Safia glanced up from her measurements with a tiny silver caliper. The Arched Room of the museum lay dark all around. There were only the three of them left: Kara, Clay, and herself. Edgar and the inspector had left twenty minutes ago. It seemed the exacting measurements and notations of minutiae had not held their interest, diminishing the momentary wonder of the statue’s origin as a funerary sculpture for the tomb of the Virgin Mary’s father.

Safia returned to her measurements. “I’ll remove the heart eventually.”

“No, tonight. ”

Safia studied her friend closer. Kara’s face was limned in the halogen spots. The stark light bled all the color from her face, but Safia noted the silvery sheen to her skin, the wide cast to her pupils. She was high. Amphetamines again. Three years ago, Safia had been one of the few who had known Lady Kensington’s monthlong “vacation abroad” had actually been a trip through rehab in an exclusive private clinic down in Kent. How long had she been using again? She glanced to Clay. Now was not the time to confront her.

“What’s the hurry?” she asked instead.

Kara’s eyes darted around the room. Her voice lowered. “Before the inspector arrived, I noted something. I’m surprised you haven’t seen it yet.”

“What?”

Kara leaned over and pointed to one of the exposed sections of the heart, specifically the right ventricle. “Look at this raised line here.” She traced it with the tip of the caliper.

“One of the coronary arteries or veins,” Safia said, amazed at the artistry.

“Is it?” Kara pointed. “See how perfectly horizontal the top section is, then it drops down vertically at both ends at ninety degrees.” She followed the vessel’s course. Her fingers shook with a characteristic amphetamine tremor.

Kara continued, “Everything on this heart is so naturally rendered. Da Vinci would have a hard time being so anatomically precise.” She stared over to Safia. “Nature doesn’t like ninety-degree angles.”

Safia leaned closer. She traced the lines with her fingers, as if she were reading Braille. Doubt slowly faded to shock. “The ends…they simply stop abruptly. They don’t blend back down.”

“It’s a letter,” Kara said.

“Epigraphic South Arabian,” Safia agreed, naming the ancient script from the region, a script that predated Hebrew and Aramaic. “It’s the letter B. ”

“And look at what we can see of the upper heart chamber.”

“The right atrium,” Clay said behind them.

They both glanced at him.

“I was premed before I realized the sight of blood had such a…well, negative effect on what I had for lunch.”

Kara returned to the sculpture and pointed her caliper again. “A good portion of the upper atrium is still obscured by the sandstone encasement, but I think that’s another letter hidden under there.”

Safia leaned closer. She felt with her fingers. The tail end of exposed vessels ended abruptly as they did on the first one. “I’ll have to work carefully.”

She reached for the array of picks, chisels, and tiny hammers. With the proper tools in hand, she set about with the precision of a surgeon. Hammer and chisel to break away the larger chunks of brittle sandstone, then pick and brush to clear away. In a matter of minutes, the right atrium was cleared.

Safia stared down at the crisscrossing of what appeared to be coronary vessels. But they mapped out a perfect letter.

It was too complex for mere chance.

“What letter is that?” Clay asked.

“There’s not a direct corresponding letter in English,” Safia answered. “The letter is pronounced somewhat like the sound wa… so in translations it’s often listed W-A or even U, as that’s what it sounds like orally. Though in truth, there are no vowels in Epigraphic South Arabian script.”

Kara met her eyes. “We have to remove the heart,” she repeated. “If there are more letters, they’d be on the opposite side.”

Safia nodded. The left side still remained locked in the stone chest. She hated to disturb the statue any further, but curiosity drove her to pick up her tools without argument. She set to work. It took her a full half hour to remove the sandstone clamped around the heart. Finally, she attached the suction clamp and gripped the handle with both hands. With a prayer to the old gods of Arabia, she pulled evenly up, using all the muscles in her shoulders.

At first, it appeared to be stuck, but it was merely heavier than she had anticipated. With a determined grimace of effort, she lifted the heart free of the chest. Bits of sandstone and loose grains showered down. At arm’s length, she swung the prize around to the library table.

Kara hurried over to join them. Safia placed the heart on a square of soft leather chamois to protect it, then unfastened the suction clamp. The heart rolled slightly, once released. A small sloshing sound accompanied it.

Safia glanced at the others. Had they heard it, too?

“I told you I thought the thing was hollow,” Clay whispered.

Safia reached and rocked the heart on the chamois. The center of gravity rolled with the rocking. It reminded her oddly of one of those old Magic 8 Balls. “There’s some type of fluid in the center.”

Clay backed up a step. “Great, it had better not be blood. I prefer my cadavers desiccated and wrapped like mummies.”

“It’s sealed tight,” Safia assured him, examining the heart. “I can’t even spot a way to open it. It’s almost like the bronze heart was forged around it.”

“Riddles wrapped inside riddles,” Kara said, and took her turn rolling and checking the heart. “What about more lettering?”

Safia joined her. It took them half a moment to orient themselves and find the two remaining chambers. She ran her finger over the largest, the left ventricle. It was smooth and bare.

“Nothing,” Kara said, surprised and baffled. “Maybe it wore away.”

Safia checked more thoroughly, painting it with a bit of isopropyl alcohol to clean its surface. “I see no scoring or trace. It’s too smooth.”

“What about the left atrium?” Clay asked.

She nodded, turning the heart. She quickly spotted a line arcing cleanly over the face of the atrium.

“It’s the letter R, ” Kara whispered, sounding slightly frightened. She collapsed down on a chair. “It can’t be.”

Clay frowned. “I don’t understand. The letters B, WA or U, and R. What does it spell?”

“Those three ESA letters should be known to you, Mr. Bishop,” Safia said. “Maybe not in that order.” She picked up a pencil and drew them out as they should be spelled.

Clay scrunched his face. “ESA is read like Hebrew and Arabic, from right to left, opposite of English. WABR… UBR. But the vowels are excluded between consonants.” The young man’s eyes widened. “ U-B-A-R The goddamn lost city of Arabia, the Atlantis of the sands.”

Kara shook her head. “First a meteorite fragment that was supposed to guard Ubar explodes…and now we find the name written on a bronze heart.”

“If it is bronze, ” Safia said, still bent over the heart.

Kara was shaken out of her shock. “What do you mean?”

Safia lifted the heart in her hands. “When I pulled the heart out of the statue, it seemed way too heavy, especially if it’s hollowed out and full of liquid. See where I cleaned the left ventricle with the alcohol? The base metal is much too red.”

Kara stood, understanding dawning in her eyes. “You think it’s iron. Like the meteorite fragment.”

Safia nodded. “Possibly even the same meteoric iron. I’ll have to test it, but either way it makes no sense. At the time of the sculpture’s carving, the peoples of Arabia didn’t know how to smelt and work iron of this quality, especially a masterful piece of art like this. There are so many mysteries here, I don’t even know where to begin.”

“If you’re right,” Kara said fiercely, “then that drab trading post unearthed in the desert back in 1992 is a far cry from the whole story. Something is yet undiscovered.” She pointed to the artifact. “Like the true heart of Ubar.”

“But what do we do now? What’s the next step? We’re no closer to knowing anything about Ubar.”

Clay was examining the heart. “It’s sort of strange that the left ventricle has no letters.”

“ ‘Ubar’ is only spelled with three letters,” Safia explained.

“Then why use a four-chambered heart and spell the letters in the direction of blood flow?”

Safia swung around. “Explain yourself?”

“Blood enters the heart from the body through the vena cava into the right atrium. The letter U. ” He poked a finger at the stumped large vessel that led to the right upper chamber and continued his anatomy lesson, tracing his way. “It then passes through the atrioventricular valve to the right ventricle. The letter B. From there, the blood leaves for the lungs via the pulmonary artery, then returns oxygen-rich through the pulmonary vein to the left atrium. The lette r R. Spelling out ‘Ubar.’ So why does it stop there?”

“Why indeed?” Safia mumbled, brow furrowed.

She pondered the mystery. The name Ubar was spelled in the path that blood traveled. It seemed to imply a direction, a flow toward something. A glimmer of an idea formed. “Where does the blood go after it leaves the heart?”

Clay pointed to a thick arched vessel at the very top. “Through the aorta to the brain and the rest of the body.”

Safia rolled the heavy heart, followed the aorta to where it ended, and stared inside the stump. A plug of sandstone was jammed in there. She had not bothered to clean it out, too busy concentrating on the surface of the chambers.

“What are you thinking?” Kara asked.

“It’s like the writing is pointing somewhere.” She returned the heart to the table and began to clean away the sandstone from the end of the aorta. It crumbled away easily. She sat back at what she found beyond the sand.

“What is that?” Clay asked, staring over her shoulder.

“Something prized more than blood itself by the ancient peoples of Arabia.” She used a pick to pry a few crystalline chunks of the dried resin onto the table. She could smell the sweet aroma given off by the crystals, preserved throughout the long centuries. It was a scent from a time before Christ.

“Frankincense,” Kara said, awe in her voice. “What does it mean?”

“It’s a signpost,” Safia answered. “As the blood flows, so do the riches of Ubar.” She turned to her friend. “The clue must point toward Ubar, to the next step on the road to its doorway.”

“But where does it point?” Kara asked.

Safia shook her head. “I’m not sure, but the town of Salalah is the beginning of the famous Incense Road.” She nudged the bits of crystalline frankincense. “And the tomb of Nabi Imran lies within that city.”

Kara straightened. “Then that’s where we must begin the search.”

“Search?”

“We must put an expedition together immediately.” Kara spoke rapidly, eyes wide. But it was not the amphetamines fueling her excitement. It was hope. “In a week’s time, no later. My contacts in Oman will make all the necessary arrangements. And we’ll need the best people. You, of course, and whomever you see fit.”

“Me?” Safia asked, her heart skipping a beat. “I…I’m not…I haven’t done fieldwork in years.”

“You’re going,” Kara said firmly. “It’s time for you to quit hiding in these dusty halls. Get back out in the world.”

“I can coordinate data from here. I’m not needed in the field.”

Kara stared at her, looking as if she was going to relent as she had in the past. Then her voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Saff, I need you. If something’s truly out there…an answer…” She shook her head, close to tears. “I need you with me. I can’t do it by myself.”

Safia swallowed, struggling with herself. How could she refuse her friend? She stared at the fear and hope in Kara’s eyes. But in her head, old screams still echoed. She could not silence them. Blood of children still stained her hands. “I…I can’t…”

Something must have broken in her face because Kara finally shook her head. “I understand.” But from her clipped tone, she didn’t. No one did.

Kara continued, “But you were right about one thing. We’ll need an experienced field archaeologist on board. And if you’re not going, I know the perfect person.”

Safia realized whom she meant. Oh, no…

Kara seemed to sense her distress. “You know he’s had the most field experience in the region.” She rummaged in her purse and pulled out her cellular phone. “If we’re going to succeed, we’re going to need Indiana Jones.”