Heaven's Oasis by Jeff W. Horton

Reviews

SAMPLE CHAPTER

Prologue

The small auditorium was filled nearly to capacity with people, if not already exceeding it, by the time two young women entered. A casual glance might lead someone to believe they were sisters; each woman sported dark hair and each had green eyes. With a second look the observer might recognize differences in the clothing and complexion that suggested one of them was from somewhere in the Middle East.

A large screen displayed who the presenters were and why they were there for all to see.

Conference on Biblical Archaeology
Hosted today by:
University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill, Chapel Hill, NC

They had come in late, and a middle-aged man around forty had already launched into his presentation.

“Zari, over here!” one of the women whispered to the other, while gesturing to a couple of empty seats. Within seconds the two women were seated and listening attentively to the speaker, whose lecture was already in progress.

“A growing body of archaeological evidence has gradually been uncovered over the last century which not only suggests some of the people and places mentioned in the Bible may have existed, but confirms that without a doubt they did.

“For example, in 1947 a Bedouin boy named Juma was herding goats along the area now known as the West Bank along the Dead Sea near Israel. When he threw a rock into a cave looking for stray goats, he heard the cracking sound of what turned out to be a broken jar, which held Old Testament manuscripts approximately one thousand years older than our previous oldest manuscript. The Dead Sea Scrolls have demonstrated that the Old Testament was accurately transmitted, copied, and translated over that thousand-year period by individuals committed to preserving the integrity of the text.

“In 1962, partially intact inscription attributed to, and mentioning, Pontius Pilate, a prefect of the Roman province of Judea from AD 26–36, was discovered at the archaeological site of Caesarea Maritima. This inscription provides the first archaeological evidence ever found where ancient Romans mention the existence of Pilate and the role he played in Judea for over a decade—he is called a prefect in the inscription. The Pilate Inscription is yet another where a biblical claim about a historical figure is proven to be accurate.

“In November of 1990, in a burial cave in South Jerusalem, twelve ossuaries, or bone boxes, were discovered. One of these featured the name Caiaphas. The ornate ossuary is inscribed ‘Joseph, son of Caiaphas’ and held the bones of a sixty-year-old male. It is believed by many to have belonged to Joseph, son of Caiaphas, known as the High Priest Caiaphas mentioned in the New Testament.

“In 1993 the Tel Dan inscription, or ‘House of David’ inscription, was discovered at the Tel Dan site in Northern Israel. This inscription, the first evidence outside of the Bible for the existence of King David, was ordered by an Aramean king in the mid-ninth century B.C., who claims to have defeated the ‘king of Israel’ and the ‘king of the House of David.’ Evidence from such a hostile source is considered by many as some of the most reliable, despite centuries of claims by skeptics that King David was only a myth.

“In 2009, in an area adjacent to the Temple Mount in Jerusalem, the Hezekiah Seal Impression was discovered. It was the first seal impression of any Israelite or Judean king mentioned in the Bible ever to be exposed in situ in a scientific archaeological excavation. The seal read, ‘Belonging to Hezekiah [son of] Ahaz king of Judah.’

“Despite the centuries of claims by doubters and skeptics to the contrary, the body of archaeological evidence continues to grow, confirming that events recorded in the Bible actually did happen, and that people and places mentioned there really did exist….”

Chapter 1

One Year Ago
July 22
Age: 29

Just outside Basrah, Iraq

The road through the endless flat landscape seemed to go on forever, the monotony broken up only by isolated gas stations or the occasional town or village, which most often consisted of nothing more than a few scattered buildings. Despite the inevitable loneliness that accompanied such a long ride, Kevin Foster felt confident about his decision to drive rather than flying directly into Basrah. Had he flown directly into the city instead of driving there, it would certainly have saved him a considerable amount of windshield time. He would, however, have also been recognized at the airport by the men who were after him, and he doubted that experience would have ended well. Kevin had no way of knowing how extensive the net was they had cast for him, but he was certain they were watching all of the major airports by now.

Despite the seriousness of his predicament, he couldn’t help feeling ridiculous and even a bit paranoid at the frequency with which he caught himself glancing up at the rental car’s rear view mirror as he continued driving down the road to Basrah. At least one hour had passed since he’d seen another vehicle on the road, and he was beginning to feel increasingly confident that the many precautions he’d taken had proven effective, and thrown any would-be pursuers off his trail.

Kevin took a deep breath before letting out a heavy sigh. He was getting very close to finding it now, he could feel it. After all of the time, energy, and effort he’d invested in the search, it would all be over soon and his wife’s work vindicated, leaving him to wonder what would come next. He had been so obsessed with finding irrefutable proof, concrete evidence that would put an end to the public mocking and derision, that he’d virtually ignored every other area in his life. One day, he supposed, he’d have to try to pick up the shattered pieces of his life and move forward, but not yet.

Claire. Memories spanning the decade he’d spent with his beloved wife came rushing back once more. Kevin welcomed them, savored them. He remembered the love and the warmth she’d brought into his life, and the emptiness she’d left behind––how he missed her. Her death had left him nothing more than a shadow of the man he’d once been, an empty shell that bore little resemblance to the man he’d been when he was with her. Claire had always had a special radiance about her, a glow and a strength he’d never really understood, and she’d always possessed such a profound sense of peace, which she said flowed from God. During moments of quiet despair, when he feared he would never find the ancient mythical site Claire had been searching for, Kevin would often find himself longing to rediscover his faith in a merciful and loving God, the faith he’d abandoned the day he lost Claire.

A few hours of deserted highway later, while looking out over the vast and foreboding landscape, Kevin shook his head and grimaced, wondering whether he’d gone too far this time with the extraordinary precautions. It had, after all, been well over a month since he’d noticed anyone following him, and he’d started to question whether those troubling him had finally grown weary and lost interest in what he was doing.

It frustrated him that he had no idea who the mysterious men were. The only thing he knew for certain was that they wanted him to do the one thing more impossible than the search itself—to return to a normal life and abandon his wife’s work. He knew the men were dangerous, but he wasn’t certain just how far they would go to deter him, and he didn’t particularly want to find out. Perhaps he hadn’t seen them in a while because, after seeing how determined he was to continue Claire’s work despite their threats, they’d finally given up trying to dissuade him. Kevin shook his head and grimaced. They’d probably given up trying to dissuade him all right; they were probably planning to stop him themselves instead now, permanently.

The cloak and dagger routine had all started a year earlier while he was in Baghdad following up on a lead. There was a mysterious phone call one evening from a man who sounded American, stating that he was in the employ of someone of considerable wealth, an individual who, the voice claimed, was prepared to pay Kevin a large sum of money in exchange for his and Claire’s combined research on the ancient relics they’d collected, and for everything he had on the mysterious Heaven’s Oasis. Once Kevin had politely declined the offer, however, the strange man’s pleasant demeanor abruptly became rather harsh, with the man warning Kevin to abandon his search and leave the country while he still could. His employer was seeking the same thing he was, and would do anything to find it first, something Kevin had taken as a not-so-thinly veiled threat.

Two months after the phone call Kevin flew back to the United States. He returned home one evening to find his house a disheveled mess, with overturned furniture and drawers pulled out and strewn across the floor. Whoever had ransacked his home had been hurriedly searching for something, and given the prior warning, he had to assume the intruder was after their research. Kevin walked over to where his dresser sat in his bedroom, pausing for a moment to examine himself in front of the large oval mirror that sat atop it. He stood there gaping before shaking his head in disbelief. His appearance had suffered greatly over these past few years. Where he’d once been handsome and clean-shaven, he now appeared gruff and sported an unkempt beard. His hair was also long, dirty, and in desperate need of attention.

Maintaining a calm demeanor despite the trashed apartment, Kevin forced himself to turn away and to refocus on the matter at hand. He knelt down on one knee, slid his hands underneath the bottom of the dresser, and pressed upward until he heard a click. The false panel gave way and the hidden compartment slowly lowered, and several manila folders, sketch pads, and notepads slid out onto the floor, along with Clair’s journal. Kevin let out a heavy sigh of relief.

“And to think I thought you were just being paranoid when you had this hidden compartment built, Claire; what an idiot I was, and how naïve!” Kevin quietly told himself as he began thumbing through the files.

Four months after finding his apartment trashed, Kevin had yet another encounter with his antagonists while on yet another trip to Iraq. Confronted and then distracted by a thuggish-looking, dark-skinned man while walking back to his hotel after shopping one evening, Kevin never noticed a second, larger man quietly approaching from behind him. By the time he realized what was happening, the second man had already trapped him in a full-nelson headlock, while the other man delivered a series of painful, bare-knuckle blows to Kevin’s solar-plexus, which soon expelled the air out of Kevin’s lungs and bent him over in pain. His attacker paused for a few seconds to rest, which afforded Kevin the time he needed to act. Despite the pain from what was undoubtedly one or more cracked ribs, Kevin forced himself to take a deep breath. He stomped on the foot of the large man who was holding him, which forced him to release Kevin from his powerful grip. Kevin turned slightly and struck the big man’s groin with the knife-edge of his hand, causing the giant to drop to the ground instantly, bent over and howling in pain. Kevin moved to face his second attacker and was unexpectedly struck by a blow to the right side of his face, which knocked him to the ground. He was then kicked repeatedly in his torso, which continued until the man once more grew weary from the effort, leaving Kevin on the ground, curled up in a fetal position on his right side, writhing in pain.

“Go home to your own country, you stupid American,” the smaller man said, “because the only thing you will find here is your death. This is your second warning; there will not be a third!” By the time Kevin had mustered enough strength and courage to look up to confront the men again, they were gone.

During the weeks following the attack, it became increasingly obvious to Kevin that he was being followed by someone nearly everywhere he went, as he began noticing the same people over and over again in the shops and cafes, often finding the same make and model of automobiles in his rear view mirrors. As his certainty grew that he was getting closer to his objective, so too had the frequency of the searches of his hotel room and car. It seemed his antagonists no longer made much effort to conceal their presence when following him.

Throughout the rest of the following year he was much more vigilant when traveling back and forth to the Middle East, especially Iraq, since he was convinced that those responsible were covering every airport within two-hundred kilometers of Basrah, where Kevin was now spending most of his time. But had he gone too far with the cloak and dagger? It was one thing for him to drive a few hours to try to avoid whoever was tracking him by flying into a much smaller and less frequently used Amarah airstrip, which in itself had required a tremendous amount of planning to arrange. It was quite another thing, however, for him to go to the extremes of dyeing his hair, wearing colored contacts, and using fake identities whenever possible. Deep down he feared his disguises were fooling no one. Surely his relentless pursuers had seen through the amateur disguises and recognized his still youthful and very American face.

A flash of light reflecting from something in the distance ahead of him and off to his left caused Kevin’s mind to snap back to the present as he wiped the sweat from
his brow. He strained for several moments, trying to make out the source of the flash, but given the vast openness in the region, it could have originated from twenty yards or twenty kilometers away; it was impossible to know. Beads of sweat streamed into his eyes and caused them to burn, forcing him to abandon his search. He picked up a small towel lying in the seat next to him and wiped the sweat from his face. The hot sun had been relentlessly beating down on him for most of the drive, and the North Carolina native was beginning to feel lightheaded and faint, which he suspected were the early signs of dehydration. Not wanting to take any chances, he reached over to the cooler next to him and took out a bottled water. He cursed his bad luck at having rented a convertible in Iraq whose top failed to close properly, thus offering no protection from the sun’s punishing rays. There were many things about the Middle East that he’d come to appreciate, and in some cases he’d even become enamored with, but the oppressive heat was most definitely not one of them.

As he continued the long drive down the endless highway, he felt an itch in the back of his brain urging him to scratch it, a disconcerting thought that had been bouncing around inside his skull for weeks. It was clear to Kevin that the resources of the men f ollowing him were vast and far-reaching, and from what he’d seen they were all seasoned and well-trained men. Given their high-level of professionalism, something had been nagging at Kevin, however, something that had plagued him since well before his plane had ever touched down this last time. What was the likelihood that these professional mercenaries, who’d been so methodical and thorough since their first encounter, had grown so reckless as to keep watch over only two of Iraq’s many airports? He’d been careful to avoid landing in Basrah and Baghdad—assuming what, that they were ignoring every other airstrip in the region? He’d considered this when planning the trip, but as he had limited choices and was determined to go, he’d pushed it to the back of his mind, until now. Grimacing as he drove past a long-deserted building along the desolate road, he sighed. In all likelihood they knew exactly where he was, they had to. These were professional mercenaries he was dealing with, while he was the rank amateur; he wasn’t an adventurer, he was an academic. He was, in fact, merely a history professor who was by now very far out of his element.

Kevin shifted in his seat as yet another rather uncomfortable thought entered his mind, another question that caused a chill to run down his spine. What will these people do to me if I actually do find what I’m looking for? He had no idea who was behind it all, pulling the strings, nor did he know why finding it was so important to them. All he could do was speculate as to what their real motives might be. There was one thing Kevin was certain of, however; they were following him everywhere he went now, biding their time until—something. Maybe they were waiting until he found what he and everyone else seemed to be looking for, so they could help themselves to it. Kevin swallowed hard and grimaced as he faced a very inconvenient truth. It doesn’t really matter what they’re waiting for; if they haven’t tried to kill me before I find it, then they almost certainly will after I find it.

He’d considered involving the police, but doing so brought with it its own set of risks. The local police could very well prove to be on his adversary’s payroll, and would therefore as likely as not either arrange to have Kevin killed, or to have him
thrown into jail, thereby taking Kevin out of the picture just as effectively as killing him would. Furthermore, having him incarcerated offered them the added benefit of having Kevin readily available should they ever need to extract further information from him. Kevin wasn’t particularly fond of either outcome, however, since both would almost certainly result in torture and/or his untimely death. While the political climate in Iraq had stabilized somewhat, at least for the moment, it was still extraordinarily dangerous, with many local officials for sale, so he had no choice but to leave them out of the picture, at least for now. He took a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh; he was grateful that things were quiet, at least at the moment.

Kevin cast another casual glance up at the rear view mirror, once again expecting to see nothing but the same long, dusty road he’d seen for hours. He was dumbfounded, therefore, at what he saw beginning to fill his rearview mirrors. Two black SUVs had abruptly appeared as if out of thin air behind him, and were aggressively closing the distance between themselves and Kevin. An uncontrollable panic set in, causing Kevin to press the accelerator all the way to the floor with his foot. The eight-cylinder engine responded immediately, leaping to life and causing the old Buick to lurch forward, jerking Kevin backwards and pressing his back firmly against the seat. He glanced at the speedometer and watched as the indicator passed 100, 125, 175, and 200 kph. It suddenly occurred to him that he was breaking the law in the Middle East, something most countries in the region regarded with great disdain; if he were caught he might well be tossed into a dark hole somewhere and left to rot. Kevin shook his head; he’d rather be alive and in prison than dead and buried.

He’d been keeping a close eye on the SUVs, watching as they continued drawing closer by the second. Kevin knew it wouldn’t take long for them to catch up to him at the rate they were gaining on him; a minute, maybe two? His eyes dropped from the mirror just in time to notice something unusual. As he drew closer he could see there were three vehicles blocking the road a few kilometers ahead of him. With no way to safely get around them, he quickly switched his foot from the accelerator to the brake, hoping to avoid a fatal collision. As the car slowed, he noticed there were three men standing in front of the parked trucks, and he watched as each of them raised an automatic weapon and began firing. Bullets penetrated the windshield and several whizzed by his head, sounding like angry bees buzzing around his ears. Several shots then struck the seat beside him, causing him to panic and to slam on the brakes until the brake pedal nearly touched the floorboard. Predictably the brakes were somewhat unequal in their applications on each wheel, which caused the vehicle to start spinning end-to-end. He found himself almost wanting to laugh at the desperate irony of it all that he, a history professor, was about to die in a gun battle, in the Middle East no less. He then suddenly, for a brief second, found himself looking straight ahead at his pursuers, which created the illusion for a moment that they were traveling in the same direction. But the moment soon passed as the car continued spinning in a circle like a doughnut.

Kevin heard intensified gunfire coming from all directions in the brief seconds before the car finally stopped spinning, flipped over, and began rolling sideways several times towards the side of the road, before eventually coming to rest upside down in the desert sands beside the road.

Hanging upside down suspended by his seatbelt, Keven felt like time had slowed to a crawl. He struggled to free himself from the seatbelt but it held him fast, as the buckle had been damaged during the crash and wouldn’t release. He heard more gunfire, followed by an explosion and a lot of yelling. A splattering sound caught his attention, causing his eyes to shoot up, from his perspective, towards the roof, to see that blood was dripping down to join a small pool of blood that had started to collect on the roof. He realized he was injured, and he soon felt consciousness slipping away.

A short time later the yelling stopped, and he found himself suddenly surrounded by a group of men with dark black trousers, carrying automatic weapons and speaking in a dialect he didn’t recognize. They began yelling something to Kevin, but with him teetering on the edge of consciousness, he neither cared for nor understood what they were saying. One of the men, who seemed to be the one in charge, soon grew frustrated before pulling a large knife out of a sheath that hung on his belt. Kevin knew at that point that his life would soon be over. Even as the man neared him, Kevin’s vision began to dim and seconds later, he lost consciousness as everything faded to black.

Heaven’s Oasis by Jeff W. Horton

Download from Amazon