As King approached the dock, a lone soldier stomped out a cigarette and blew the smoke from the side of his mouth. “You one of them USGS fellas I’m supposed to assist if asked?”

“How’d you know?” King said.

“Been watching you walk back and forth with your head turned toward the ground for an hour now. Only two types of people do that. The clinically depressed and people in love with dirt. You ain’t depressed are you?”

King grinned. “Not yet.”

“You spend too much time out here and I promise you will be.” He gave a smile that revealed a set of nicotine-stained teeth. “Name’s Bowers. What can I do you for?”

“I need a ferryman,” King said.

“Going to the other side of the Euphrat is like crossing the River Styx,” Bowers said.

“How’s that?”

“Ain’t nobody over there to save you. You’ll be on your own.”

“Not quite,” King said with a grin. “You’re going to wait for me.”

Bowers stepped aboard the nearest boat. “Well shit, this will be the most I’ve done in weeks.”

King boarded the boat and they cast off. They crossed the river quickly, beaching the craft on the sandy bank. As King stepped out of the boat and onto shore, Bowers took note of the XM25. His mouth opened a little. “Geologist, my ass. What the hell are you looking for?”

“Just be ready for anything,” King said with a glance at the machine gun. “Anything.”

“You got it,” Bowers said and began loading the machine gun. “How will I know what to shoot?”

King looked back as he hiked up the sand toward the ruins and the small hill beyond. “Odds are it won’t be human.”

*   *   *

THE DIM LIGHT in the barracks-turned-storage shed was hardly enough to see by, so Bishop had propped open the door allowing the sun to light the room. Unfortunately, it also allowed gritty sand to swirl inside with every gust of hot wind. They did their best to ignore the air quality and focus on combing through boxes of archaeological data.

And there was enough to keep them occupied for days. Knight spent his time going over maps. Though he couldn’t read a word of Arabic, he could clearly see that there were no ancient ziggurats drawn on any maps. Bishop combed through the notebooks, skimming each entry for keywords. Thus far he’d found nothing.

Bishop and Knight were so intent on their work that neither noticed the men who entered the barracks until they closed the door. Knight turned as their light was cut in half. With his hand now on his rifle, Knight focused on the door where an Iraqi man dressed in brown pants and a white button-down shirt stood. General Fowler stood behind him.