Sandstorm by James Rollins Page A

abroad” had actually been a trip through rehab in an exclusive private clinic down in Kent. How long had she been using again? She glanced to Clay. Now was not the time to confront her.
    “What’s the hurry?” she asked instead.
    Kara’s eyes darted around the room. Her voice lowered. “Before the inspector arrived, I noted something. I’m surprised you haven’t seen it yet.”
    “What?”
    Kara leaned over and pointed to one of the exposed sections of the heart, specifically the right ventricle. “Look at this raised line here.” She traced it with the tip of the caliper.
    “One of the coronary arteries or veins,” Safia said, amazed at the artistry.
    “Is it?” Kara pointed. “See how perfectly horizontal the top section is, then it drops down vertically at both ends at ninety degrees.” She followed the vessel’s course. Her fingers shook with a characteristic amphetamine tremor.

    Kara continued, “Everything on this heart is so naturally rendered. Da Vinci would have a hard time being so anatomically precise.” She stared over to Safia. “Nature doesn’t like ninety-degree angles.”
    Safia leaned closer. She traced the lines with her fingers, as if she were reading Braille. Doubt slowly faded to shock. “The ends…they simply stop abruptly. They don’t blend back down.”
    “It’s a letter,” Kara said.
    “Epigraphic South Arabian,” Safia agreed, naming the ancient script from the region, a script that predated Hebrew and Aramaic. “It’s the letter B. ”
    “And look at what we can see of the upper heart chamber.”
    “The right atrium,” Clay said behind them.
    They both glanced at him.
    “I was premed before I realized the sight of blood had such a…well, negative effect on what I had for lunch.”
    Kara returned to the sculpture and pointed her caliper again. “A good portion of the upper atrium is still obscured by the sandstone encasement, but I think that’s another letter hidden under there.”
    Safia leaned closer. She felt with her fingers. The tail end of exposed vessels ended abruptly as they did on the first one. “I’ll have to work carefully.”
    She reached for the array of picks, chisels, and tiny hammers. With the proper tools in hand, she set about with the precision of a surgeon. Hammer and chisel to break away the larger chunks of brittle sandstone, then pick and brush to clear away. In a matter of minutes, the right atrium was cleared.
    Safia stared down at the crisscrossing of what appeared to be coronary vessels. But they mapped out a perfect letter.

    It was too complex for mere chance.
    “What letter is that?” Clay asked.
    “There’s not a direct corresponding letter in English,” Safia answered. “The letter is pronounced somewhat like the sound wa …so in translations it’s often listed W-A or even U, as that’s what it sounds like orally. Though in truth, there are no vowels in Epigraphic South Arabian script.”
    Kara met her eyes. “We have to remove the heart,” she repeated. “If there are more letters, they’d be on the opposite side.”
    Safia nodded. The left side still remained locked in the stone chest. She hated to disturb the statue any further, but curiosity drove her to pick up her tools without argument. She set to work. It took her a full half hour to remove the sandstone clamped around the heart. Finally, she attached the suction clamp and gripped the handle with both hands. With a prayer to the old gods of Arabia, she pulled evenly up, using all the muscles in her shoulders.
    At first, it appeared to be stuck, but it was merely heavier than she had anticipated. With a determined grimace of effort, she lifted the heart free of the chest. Bits of sandstone and loose grains showered down. At arm’s length, she swung the prize around to the library table.
    Kara hurried over to join them. Safia placed the heart on a square of soft leather chamois to protect it, then unfastened the suction clamp. The heart rolled slightly,