In another hour they began to see more green and less yellow, and soon they pulled into a large property. Stout metal gates swung open, and, after the ochers of the trip, the magnificent green oasis was a welcome sight. As the van coughed to a halt on crunching gravel, a small, round man appeared on the front porch and raised his hands.

“Welcome, welcome.”

“Hold.” Berry and Hartogg were first to alight, taking up positions each side of the van, their eyes moving over everything.

After a few minutes, Hartogg nodded to Abrams – the major stepped out. “Doctor ben Albadi?” he asked.

“Yes, yes, I am ben Albadi. Call me Hussein, please. Welcome.” He came down the few steps, and shook hands, clasped shoulders and grabbed elbows as introductions were made.

Matt heard the van start up its engine, and he turned to see the driver mouth “Good luck” in Syrian before accelerating hard toward the gate.

“Hey!” Matt took a step but the van picked up even more speed, turning hard on the gravel.

“Sonofabitch.” Tania started to chase it, but Albadi yelled after her.

“Forget him, miss; he was brave enough just to bring you here.”

Abrams watched the cloud of dust as it disappeared, growling low under his breath. “Great.”

“Someone tell me we have a Plan B to get home.” Andy looked from Abrams to Tania.

Matt shook his head. “I thought he was Plan B.”

“Work first, worry later.” Abrams turned away. “Doctor, show us what you’ve got.”

Albadi nodded and led them inside; the temperature immediately dropped ten degrees.

Matt wiped his brow, relieved to be out of the heat, and looked around at the sprawling single-level house in disbelief – it was packed from floor to ceiling with books, papers and overflowing boxes. The air smelled of mold, ancient paper and drying leather.

Albadi led them further inside to a room a little less cluttered and with a single large wooden table. He called for refreshments. Hartogg and Berry conferred with Abrams for a few seconds and then both disappeared. Albadi frowned as they left the room, and looked to the major.

Abrams shrugged. “Forgive the intrusion and rudeness, Doctor, but security is critical. You understand.”

Albadi seemed to think about it for a second or two and then waved it away. “Of course, of course; these are the times we live in…and why you are here.”

Matt walked to a shelf laid out with books. “This is some collection, Doctor.” He turned one huge book towards him, its leather cover heavily carved and also inscribed with gold gilt and other still-vibrant colors. His eyebrows shot up. “Holy wow. This is a copy of the Tarikh Dimashiq. And a very good one.”

Albadi grinned and came closer. “You know this book, Professor Kearns?”

“Oh yeah.” Matt nodded. “The first ever history of Damascus, written by Ibn Asakir in 1170. I’ve read a later copy, or volume one, anyway…though nothing like this one.”