“Then why do you give a damn about what’s happening now?”

“Because my opponent is cheating.”

At least it was an answer, King thought, though he knew it was only a half-truth, if that.

A digital chime rang out and the doors opened. Alexander exited the elevator and headed down the hall. King followed behind him, thinking about what he’d said. Could his endgame be hundreds of years off? If so, did it really even matter? King would be long dead and the human race was likely to nuke itself into oblivion by then. Or was it all a smoke screen? Was the endgame just around the corner and Ridley’s actions putting it in jeopardy? Alexander might be working toward something begun during the time of Jesus. King shook his head. Ignorance was bliss, which was why he was starting to feel so unhappy.

Alexander knocked on the door of suite 907. They could hear movement behind the door. Davidson was no doubt peering at them through the peephole. The deadbolt slid away and the door opened a crack. The chain lock kept it from opening all the way.

Davidson peeked out at them, his eyes nervous.

“It’s us,” King assured him.

“Right. Sorry.” The door shut and the chain was pulled away. Davidson opened the door again and let them in.

It was a large hotel room, standard in most every way—queen-sized bed, a TV, a single lounge chair, and a small desk. What made it different from other hotel rooms was the glossy hardwood floor, the large window split into large waffle squares, and the amazing view of the Mediterranean it provided. The desk was covered in hotel stationery. Notes in Hebrew and mathematical equations covered the pages. Several room service trays holding half-eaten food sat on the still-made checkered bedspread.

Davidson closed the door behind them, locked both locks, and headed to the desk. He sat down, looking disheveled. His face, which had been smooth the previous day, was rough with stubble, and his yellow dress shirt was wrinkled and covered in a big red stain. King took note of the stain.

“You okay?”

Davidson looked down at his shirt. “Oh, yes. It’s marinara.”

Alexander glanced at the large number of room service trays. “I see you’ve been taking advantage of my hospitality.”

“I, well, yes.” Davidson looked to the floor. “But I was up all night and have some new thoughts on the golem.”

Alexander sat down in the room’s lounge chair and opened his arms as though to say, “Let’s hear it.”

King sat down on the bed beside the trays. He eyed a plate of french fries. He hadn’t eaten anything substantial in days. Not that french fries would provide much in the way of nourishment, but they would fill his belly.

Davidson noted his attention. “They’re only an hour old.”

Alexander cleared his throat as King dug into the food.