As the guide rambled on, Jennings and Thorn sought out some of the archaeological students, but gleaned little information. They were unfamiliar with the name "Bugenhagen," and all they knew about the city of Meggido was that many centuries ago a violent upheaval had caused it to sink into the earth. It was an earthquake, possibly a flood, for they had found snail shells here, far from any known body of water.

Thorn and Jennings returned to their hotel, then moved through the marketplaces, asking everyone and anyone if they had heard the name "Bugenhagen." The name drew a blank, but they pressed onward. Thorn was now desperate and his strength was ebbing; Jennings did most of the legwork inside shops and factories, checking out phone books, even visiting the police.

"Maybe he changed his name," Jennings sighed as they sat on a park bench, the morning of the second day. "Maybe it's George Bugen. Or Jim Hagen. Or Izzy Hagenberg."

The following day they moved to Jerusalem, taking a room in a small hotel there. Once again they moved through the populace, searching for someone who had heard the foreign-sounding name. But it was still no use. They could go on like this forever.

"I say we give it up," Jennings said as he gazed out across the city from the veranda of their room.

It was hot inside and Thorn lay on his bed, bathed in perspiration.

"If there's a Bugenhagen here we haven't a chance in hell of finding him. And for all we know, he doesn't even exist."

He moved inside, rummaging for a cigarette.

"Hell, that little priest was on morphine half the time, and here we are taking his word as gospel. Bloody good thing he didn't tell you to go to the moon or our asses would be freezing right now."

He sat heavily on his bed, gazing across at Thorn.

"I don't know, Thorn. It all made sense before, but now it seems crazy."

Thorn nodded and moved painfully into a sitting position. His bandage was off and Jennings winced as he caught sight of the wound.

"That thing looks bad to me," he said.

"It's all right."

"It looks infected."

"It's all right," Thorn reiterated.

"Why don't I find us a doctor?"

"Just find that old man," Thorn snapped. "He's the only one I want to find."

Jennings was about to reply when he was interrupted by a soft knock at the door. He moved to it and flung it open, casting his eyes upon a beggar. He was a small man, an Arab, aged and naked from the waist up, his eager smile accentuated by a gold tooth as he nodded with exaggerated courtesy.

"What do you want?" asked Jennings.

"You look for the old man?"

Jennings and Thorn exchanged a quick glance.

"What old man?" asked Jennings cautiously.

"They tell me in the marketplace you look for the old man."

"We're looking for a man," Jennings allowed.