Alexander approached her with a smile, showing her a faculty I.D. card that had been waiting for him in the Mercedes’s glove compartment. She read the card, which identified him as a professor from the medical department. “I’m looking for Professor Davidson,” he said in Hebrew.

She returned his smile and pointed him toward the elevator. “Fifth floor. Turn right off the elevator. Second door on the left.”

“Thank you,” he replied.

Thirty seconds later they exited onto the fifth floor and headed for Davidson’s open door. The man’s voice filtered out as he spoke on the phone, his back to the door. King knocked twice and then entered, followed by Alexander, who closed the door behind him.

Amzi Davidson, who wore a bright yellow button-down shirt rolled to his elbows, held up a finger indicating he’d be right with them. The office was sparse. A small desk, a bookcase on either side of the door, and two metal-framed chairs were the only furniture. A large window looked out over the campus and provided a clear view of a modern art sculpture that looked like a metallic obelisk. The two other walls in the room held giant whiteboards. Multicolored notes in Hebrew, equations, and drawings filled both boards, which were stained gray from being erased over and over without actually being washed.

Davidson hung up the phone and spun around with a smile. His gray eyes, shrunk by the thick, black-rimmed glasses he wore, were excited. But the genuine smile on his face fell when he saw them. He squinted at them. “You’re not from the medical department,” he said in Hebrew.

“No, we’re not,” Alexander replied, also in Hebrew. “May we continue in English for my friend?”

Davidson glanced at King. “Sure,” he said in perfect English, his face brightening. “Are you with the press?”

“Afraid not,” King said.

The man soured. “Then what’s this about?”

Alexander took a seat and cut right to the heart of the matter. “Golems.”

Davidson leaned back slowly. A pen appeared in his hand and went to his mouth. “What’s the application? Is this for a theory?”

“Real-world application,” Alexander replied.

Davidson plucked the pen from his mouth. “Well, I’m afraid that while the written word is powerful, it is not that powerful. It cannot grant life.”

“What about the spoken word?” King asked.

A grin came to Davidson’s face. “So you are seeking the opinion of a physicist and an ex-rabbi?”

King’s and Alexander’s silence answered the question. Davidson looked at his watch. “Very well. I have a few minutes. I must warn you, however, to not expect two diverging theories. My research in religion and science have come to the same conclusion.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Alexander said.