James Rollins - THE DEVIL COLONY

"Hold on. Are you actually claiming Indians rose from a Jewish tribe who got exiled here?"

"According to a literal reading of the Book of Mormon, yes. Specifically they are the descendants of the Manasseh clan of Israelites."

"But that makes no sense. There's plenty of archaeological evidence that people were living in the Americas long before 600 BC."

"I am well aware of that. And while it seems contradictory, the Book of Mormon also does acknowledge those people, those early Native Americans. It even makes reference to people living here when that lost tribe of Israelites arrived out west." Hank held up a hand. "But let me continue and perhaps I can clear up that conflict through an interpretation of Mormon scripture that's less literal and more allegorical."

"Okay. Go on."

"According to a direct interpretation of the Book of Mormon, the band of Israelites who came to America consisted of two families led by a common father, Lehi. The two branches were the Nephites and Lamanites. I'll skip over the more complicated details, but in the end, around a thousand years later, the Lamanites slaughtered the Nephites and became the Native American tribes of today."

Painter looked unconvinced. "The story sounds more racist than historical. And I know there's certainly no DNA support for a genetic lineage of Native Americans back to European or Middle Eastern origin."

"I agree. Genetic studies have resoundingly shown Native Americans to be of Asiatic origin, likely crossing the Bering Strait and descending into the continent. Believe me, over the years, Mormon scientists and historians have bent over backward trying to link Native Americans to a Jewish heritage and only succeeded in embarrassing themselves."

"Then I don't understand where this is going."

"Today, most Mormons believe a more allegorical version of that part of our scripture. That a lost tribe of Israelites did come to America, that they encountered the indigenous clans-the Native American people." Hank motioned to both himself and Painter. "The Israelites settled among our tribes, perhaps tried to convert them, to bring them under the Abrahamic covenant. But the Israelites kept mostly to their own clan, becoming just another tribe among the many Indian nations. That's why there's no lasting genetic trace."

"Such an explanation sounds more forced than convincing."

Hank felt a flash of irritation. "You asked for my help. Do you still want it?"

Painter held up a palm. "I'm sorry. Go on. But I think I know where this is headed. You believe the mummified bodies in the cave were members of that lost Jewish tribe."

"Yes. In fact, I believe they were the scripture's Nephites, who were described in the Book of Mormon as being white-skinned, blessed by God, and gifted with special abilities. Does that not sound like those poor souls we found?"

"And what about those murderous Lamanites who wiped them out?"

"Perhaps they were Indians who converted or made some truce with the newcomers. But eventually something changed over the passing centuries. Something frightened the Indian tribes and drove them to wipe out the Nephites."

"So you're saying the history described in the Book of Mormon is a mix of legend and actual events. That the lost tribe of Israelites-the Nephites-came to America and joined the Native American tribes. Then centuries later, something scared a group of those Indians-the Lamanites-and they wiped out that lost tribe."

Hank nodded. "I know how that sounds, but there's additional support, if you'll hear me out."

Painter waved for him to continue, but he still looked unconvinced.

"Take, for example, the amount of Hebrew sprinkled among the languages of Native American tribes. Research has shown there to be more similarities between the two languages than can be attributed to mere chance. For example, the Semitic Hebrew word for 'lightning' is baraq . In Uto-Aztecan, a Native American language group, the word is berok ." He touched his shoulder. "This is shekem in Hebrew, sikum in UA." He ran a hand down the bare skin of his arm. "Hebrew geled . UA eled . The list goes on and on, well beyond coincidence."

"Well and good, but how does this directly relate to the mummified remains in the cave?"

"Let me show you." Hank stood and crossed to his backpack. He opened it, retrieved what he wanted, and returned to his seat. He placed the two gold tablets on the tabletop. "The Book of Mormon was written by Joseph Smith. It came from a series of golden plates gifted to him by the angel Moroni. It was said that the plates were written in a strange language-some say hieroglyphics, others that it was an ancient variant of Hebrew. Joseph Smith was given the ability to translate the plates and that translation became the Book of Mormon . "

Painter pulled one of the plates closer. "And the writing on this plate?"

"Before you arrived at the university last night, I had copied a few lines and forwarded them to a colleague of mine-an expert in ancient languages from the Middle East. I just heard back from him this morning. It intrigued him. He was able to recognize the script. It is a form of proto-Hebrew."

Painter shifted forward in his seat, perhaps growing more intrigued himself.

"A scholar, Paracelsus, from the sixteenth century was the first to name this proto-Semitic script. He called it the Alphabet of the Magi. He claimed to have learned it from an angel, said it was the source of special abilities and magic. All of which makes me wonder if Joseph Smith hadn't come upon a similar cache of such plates and translated them, learning the history of these ancient people-this lost tribe of Israelites-and recorded their story."

Painter leaned back. Hank could see that doubt still remained in his eyes, but it was less scoffing and more thoughtful.

"Then there's Iceland," Hank said.

Painter nodded, already putting that piece of the puzzle into place. "If these ancient practitioners of nanotechnology-scholars, magi, whatever-were indeed from a lost tribe of Israelites, if they were fleeing across the Atlantic with something they wanted to preserve but were unsure if they'd make the journey-"

Hank finished the thought. "Once they hit Iceland, a land of fire in an icy sea, they would have found the perfect warm place to secure at least a portion of their volatile treasure before moving on to America."

"Hank, I think you may-"

The crunch of tires on loose rock cut him off, sounding distant, yet coming fast. Painter swung around, a pistol appearing in his hand seemingly out of nowhere. He hurried to the door.

Kowalski sat up, belched, and looked around blearily. "What?... What did I miss?"

Painter checked the window, stared for a full minute as the road noise grew steadily louder-then visibly relaxed. "It's your friends Alvin and Iris. Looks like they found our last guest."

8:44 A.M.

The old dented Toyota SUV kicked up a swirl of sand and dust as it came to stop in the center of the stone cabins. Painter stepped out of the shade of the porch and into the blaze of the sun. Though it was barely morning, the light hammered the surrounding badlands into shades of crimson and gold. Squinting against the glare, he crossed to help Iris out of the driver's seat. Alvin hopped out on the other side.

The elderly pair, wizened by the sun and well into their seventies, looked like old hippies with tie-dyed shirts and faded jeans fraying at the hems. But their clothing was accented with traditional Hopi elements. Iris had her long gray hair done in a Hopi-style braid, decorated with feathers and bits of turquoise. Alvin kept his long snow-white hair loose, his bare arms fitted with thick wristbands of beaten silver holding shells and chunks of turquoise. Both had embroidered belts of typical Hopi design, but rather than ox-hide or buckskin moccasins, they wore hiking boots straight out of some urban outfitter's catalog.