46

Jonathan Beckwith emerged from the tunnel holding the bright light on Kiram as if he were training a laser designator on the young boy to direct a guided bomb strike.

“Stay right there. Especially you, Kiram,” he said.

Filtering out of the tunnel were Rivers, McCallan, and Nina, whose weapon was eye level.

“Rosy, bring the camera,” Beckwith said, motioning with his hand.

Beckwith looked skyward at the African firmament, a pinpricked black sheath full of swirling constellations. He saw a star fall across the sky as if to signify something, like a flag dropping at the finish of a race.

Two years ago, I stumbled across the Book of Catalyst, and here I am in the true Cradle of Civilization, he thought. I have brought with me a doubter and a believer, and we just saw the Tree of Life, and now, we could be witnessing something even larger . Beckwith’s machinelike mind that had closed so many business deals to his advantage churned to remain objective, but the task was proving difficult.

Agnostic for many years, Beckwith’s discovery, rather, his theft of the Book of Catalyst, had spurred within him a deep introspection that had then sparked in him a spiritual curiosity. It wasn’t so much that he suddenly believed in a spiritual being, yet he was intrigued by the possibility. And he had always prided himself on being an open-minded man. How else could he have built the empire that was called Beckwith Media Enterprises today? As he watched Amanda Garrett and Kiram stand in his spotlight, he asked himself the question that mattered most: whose footprints were marching through time? Had he guessed right on Barkum? Now, he wasn’t sure.

He walked forward carefully. The bright light shooting a powerful ray onto Kiram was incongruous with the black night. It seemed distorted, out of place as if it were a foreign thread in the perfect fabric of this moment.

“Switch to the night vision lens on the camera, Rosy,” Beckwith ordered. He had given Rivers a thirty-minute class on how to operate the shoulder-mounted High Definition digital satellite camera with night optic lens. He heard Rivers flip a few switches and assumed he had begun recording. With that, he shut the flashlight off, allowing the moment to regain its perfection. As his own eyes regained their night vision, he saw that little had changed ahead of him, though he did hear a slight noise near the mouth of the cave behind him.

***

Amanda stood a few feet away from Kiram. Her hair fell in loose, greasy strings across her face. Her breathing was rapid from sprinting up the lava tube and then tumbling into the cool night air. She could feel her heart thumping through her T-shirt and safari vest.

She looked at Kiram, who was standing erect and staring back at Beckwith despite the bright light the man shined on him. It was as if Kiram was looking through the light. His countenance was clear, almost divine, as if nothing could hurt him.

Mumbato took a knee to rest. With Webb still on his back, the weight must have been unbearable. He rolled Webb onto the ground and fingered his rifle as he looked at Kiram.

What the hell is going on? Amanda asked herself. Who are these people?

Amanda looked at her two orphans. The night was cooling quickly, and she shivered as she wondered where her father might be and if he could rescue them from this standoff.

***

Beckwith watched Rivers focus solely on the boy. The camera was the important part.

But he imagined what Rivers might be thinking, recalling Father McCallan’s proclamation that his people had been God’s first creation. The first!

Suddenly Beckwith believed he’d had it all wrong. Kiram, not Jamal Barkum, was the chosen one.

They all remained transfixed on the young boy standing in the flat patch of crusted lava. Rivers was staring through the eyepiece of the camera, which was in its night optics mode. Beckwith could see that the boy was turned to his right, with his left shoulder facing them. His face and eyes were locked onto the camera. Amanda Garrett was next to him.

Beckwith watched as Rivers slowly walked toward the boy, camera on his shoulder. He could see a line of footprints stretching northward from where the boy was standing. Beckwith marveled. Could these be the Laetoli footprints?

Beckwith looked at the ground, noticing a blue reflection coming from the camera. With clarity, he suddenly realized that Rachman had included his favorite screensaver on the teleprompter, which scrolled across the front of the camera lens.

Salam, Paix, Paz, Dan, and Peace. Additionally, Rachman had added No War, Non Guerre , Waqf Jihad .

Beckwith watched as Kiram cocked his head and began to read.