“Jesus Christ.” Andy leaned back against a table, upsetting some books. “But how the hell did we send them back?”

Albadi expression was miserable. “We didn’t; how could we have? Even when the Old Ones were most recently here, we were barely tiny animals scurrying between the toes of the giants. No, they, it, went back to its slumbers of its own accord.” He shrugged. “Perhaps the food ran out.”

Matt snorted. “They ate everything. There was nothing left – they scoured the planet of meat.”

“And we’re up next,” Tania said softly.

“He’s damn well gonna find us a bit hard to swallow.” Abrams got to his feet, but paused before turning away. “Wait a minute…why didn’t they come through in 738? The planets were aligned, these things were obviously beginning to come through, given what we think happened to Alhazred. So why aren’t they already here? Why didn’t they scour the planet of meat then?”

“Yes, yes, another sensible question.” Albadi pointed at the major’s chest. “In fact, Major Abrams, that is the most important question now facing mankind. This is why you must find the original Al Azif. It alone must have the answers we seek. It is my belief that Alhazred somehow found a way to stop them.” His brow creased. “No, that is not right. I do not believe that they could ever be stopped. But maybe he found a way to slow or delay them. Make them continue their slumber until the next alignment.”

“Push the problem out to be dealt with by the poor saps of the future – us,” Andy said.

“And we need to do the same to the next guys,” Tania said as she came over to look down at the ancient book. “So, Doctor, here’s the next million-dollar question – the Book – where the hell is it?”

Albadi smiled. “I believe it is hidden right here, in the Middle East. Where it has always been.”

Chapter 8

Charles Sheldon Drummond, one of the wealthiest men on the West Coast, lay face down in the chapel. His lips moved in fervent prayer, his eyes were screwed shut and his hands spread, his mouth was cotton dry and his chest and ribs screamed in agony from the hard stone beneath him. He had been there for hours, and he would stay for hours more.

“Sir.”

His prayers stopped.

“Sir.”

His teeth ground and he opened his eyes. No one was allowed to disturb him here – no one. He looked up at the altar, seeing the large eye embedded in the center of the writhing mass of limbs – the image of the Old One, its likeness known for as long as humans could daub images onto cave walls.

“How dare you, Kroen?” Drummond started to rise.

“The Book, sir,” the big bodyguard responded.

Drummond froze, waiting.

“Father says there are non-believers searching for it.”

Drummond’s eyes went wide, and he twisted, looking up at Kroen, knowing immediately what the huge man was referring to. Thoughts of retribution fell away like dry autumn leaves. “The Father said that?”