Jerusalem was mystical at night. Samantha Yale stood at her office window. She never tired of the view of the golden dome reflecting the pure light of a full moon. Her days started early and ended late, but she never failed to take a minute at the end of it all to appreciate the majesty and beauty of the most intriguing city on the earth. Tonight was different though. She was waiting for someone.

She had learned to be cautious about strangers. The nature of her work tended to attract two kinds of people: the serious scholars, those interested in communication forms of prehistoric races; and the not-to-be-taken-seriously kind. These were the ones who would waste her time if she let them. On first contact with an unknown person it wasn’t easy to tell which tribe he or she represented. She had learned to weed them out quickly. When the conversation turned to aliens, UFO abduction, or government conspiracy, she quickly ended the meeting, ushering them out the door with a promise to pass the information on to others.

“I need to get a life,” she said as she watched for some sign of her expected visitor. The street below was empty. She assumed he would park in the visitor’s space right in front of the building, but no beams from oncoming headlights announced an approaching car. A glance at her watch told her he was not late yet. She continued to watch and wait.

Stealthily as a cat, a man in a trench coat stepped through the ground fog and hesitated beneath the pale light of the street lamp. “Where did he come from?” she asked herself as she watched him look around as if checking to see if someone followed him. He seemed uncomfortable with the large satchel under his arm, shifting it from one side of his body to the other as if expecting it to be snatched from him by some thief hiding in the shadows. A dog barked in the distance; he jumped, almost dropping the satchel.

She watched him as he turned in circles, apparently unsure of which way to go. Hoping this wasn’t whom she was waiting for, she was beginning to get a sense of the tribe he belonged to. “Please, God, don’t let that be him.”

Finally making up his mind which way to go, the man made for the steps leading into the building of the university and rang the entry bell for after-hours visitors.

“I knew it.” She groaned. “It’s him. He probably doesn’t have a car. He’s probably not an archaeologist either. I shouldn’t have agreed to this.”

Samantha moved toward the door, took a deep breath, and turned the knob as soon as she heard the first tap. The man looked like he had slept in his clothes. He was disheveled and seemed confused that she had opened the door before he completed knocking on it. Academics were often careless with their appearance. She had known more than a few who couldn’t be bothered with pressed pants and combed hair. His persona was not really that different from many of the older rabbis and professors who roamed the hallways of the university. Still, something about him was unsettling.

“Mr. Eman, I assume.” She opened the door a little wider.

“Yes, Dr. Yale.” He paused and did a visual sweep of her office before stepping in. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

Samantha knew good manners meant offering to take his coat, but she did not want him to feel comfortable enough to prolong his visit.

“Please sit down.” She motioned toward a wingback chair in front of her antique desk. He waited until she sat on the other side of the desk before sitting himself.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Eman?” She glanced at her watch again.

“Dr. Yale, I read in the Jerusalem Post about your work,” he paused waiting for her response. She gave none. “About the Torah codes.”