The Second Messiah by Glenn Meade

him.”
    Yasmin smiled, put a hand out, and touched his arm. “You must be thrilled. Donald said that for centuries archaeologists have been searching for concrete proof of Christ’s life, with no success. He said that’s why Christians placed great significance on things like the Turin Shroud and relics from the cross. But he’s got a gut feeling that the scroll may turn out to be a groundbreaking historical document. How do you feel?”
    Jack was aware that her hand lingered on his arm. “As if all my lottery numbers have come up.”
    Yasmin reached into her pocket, took out a wristband made of leather and polished steel, holding it in her palm. “I hope this doesn’t seem too juvenile, but this is for you.”
    “What is it?”
    “Something silly I bought in a Jerusalem market. They inscribe them to order. Read what it says.”
    In the dawn light, Jack could just make out the wristband’s indented letters: ARCHAEOLOGY ROCKS . He put down his beer, slipped the band on his wrist, and smiled. “It’ll remind me of you. Thanks, Yasmin.”
    She patted his arm playfully. “Hey, I’m not playing the dig groupie just because you’re the man of the moment. But I wanted to say that I think you deserve whatever fame and lecture tours come your way after this.” She leaned across and kissed him on the cheek. “I really mean that. You work so hard.”
    Jack put a hand to his face, felt the ghost of her lips. “Now I really do feel like I’ve won the lottery.”
    Yasmin giggled and brushed a strand of hair from her face.
    Jack thought, She’s over ten years younger than me. Or does it really matter? He wanted her to kiss him again and knew it wasn’t just the alcohol. There had been women over the years, some that mattered, and some that didn’t. None of them yet the right one. He didn’t honestly know if Yasmin Green could ever be that, but he had been a long time without female company, and he hungered for the softness of a woman’s touch. But then a thought struck him.
    “You’ve gone very quiet. Are you okay?” Yasmin asked.
    “Did Buddy Savage put you up to this? The dawn visit. The kiss.”
    “Buddy? Why on earth would you say that?”
    “He’s a prankster. Sometimes he’ll dare people to do things for a joke. Once in a Mexican bar during a Mayan dig he got me drunk and tried to shave off my eyebrows.”
    She laughed. “You and Buddy are close?”
    “At times he sounds like he’s my old man. That’s when I call him Pops.”
    She reached out and took his hand between her palms. Then she bit her lip and said quietly, “No one put me up to it, Jack. I can prove it.”
    She leaned in close and kissed him on the mouth. Jack felt the sensual press of her lips. His pulse raced, and then Yasmin drew away, smiling . “Convinced now? I like you, Jack Cane. If that’s okay with you.”
    “Can I be honest? I sensed something between us in your uncle’s tent. When I left, I was hoping you’d still be awake, that we’d meet and talk. But Donald seems a little overprotective.”
    Yasmin traced a finger across his lips, kissed his mouth softly, her voice husky. “Who cares about Donald?” Yasmin picked up the Heineken cans, stood, and winked at him. “You’ve made a tired girl very happy, Mr. Cane. But it’s time we both slept.”
    Jack rose to his feet. “Will you tuck me in, or is that asking too much on a first date?”
    “You just never know your luck. Watch your step on the way down.”
    Jack felt her soft, slim fingers mesh with his and it felt good. He dusted his Chinos but before he started down the slope after Yasmin he suddenly saw Josuf, the chief Bedouin digger, scrambling up the rocks, clutching the hem of his gown. “Mr. Cane, Mr. Cane—I have been looking everywhere for you.”
    Jack and Yasmin waited until Josuf reached them.
    The man’s cheeks were puff ed after the climb, his chest heaving. “Please—Mr. Cane, you both must come with me. Something terrible has