By Elizabeth Peters
It used to be the beginning of a grand event in a land of antiquity, a unprecedented chance to go to biblical areas wealthy in culture. yet in a Jerusalem lodge room an international clear of every thing she is familiar with, Dinah van der Lyn hears offended voices during the wall, through a crash and a short cry in English . . . for aid! The brutal shattering of an evening’s stillness turns into a prelude to terror. abruptly, Dinah has been unwittingly pulled into whatever unholy transpiring in a sacred urban, and she or he needs to locate solutions hidden within the shadows. and she or he needs to belief an enigmatic stranger as she races via historical, twisting streets teeming with secrets and techniques and peril: a guy who should be top her to protection . . . or to her doom.
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Sample text
Oranges. Shish kebab, THE DEAD SEA CIPHER / 47 something oriental and exotic. A hamburger. A good old filling hamburger. “You might have had the intelligence to pretend you were the maid or someone,” she shouted, rendered unkind by her empty stomach. ” A stricken silence followed. “Look here,” said Mr. ” “Police? Now, just a minute—” “Inspector Akhub. Why don’t you go heckle him for a while? He knows all about the murder. ” She lifted the phone. “Room service, please,” she said softly; and heard, like the rumble of thunder, heavy footsteps pounding away down the hall.
Your conversations with the chambermaid—” “Yes, Mr.
I don’t want to see you. I don’t like you, Mr. Smith. ” Dinah jerked the telephone away from her ear. “You don’t sound sorry. ” “I am mad! I mean, angry. Of all the infuriating, stupid, uncooperative…” Small sounds, like the clucking of a nervous hen, came to her ear. Dinah grinned and shifted the telephone to a more comfortable position. “You aren’t very clever yourself,” she said severely. “Making a spectacle of yourself down there in the lobby, screaming and yelling…I can hear M. Duprez trying to shut you up.