The Genesis Key by James Barney

the voice repeated in Arabic.
    Sargon swallowed hard and said nothing.
    Then the voice said, quieter this time, “Ahmed, come on down!” He heard another voice, much farther away, responding to the first with an answer that was indecipherable.
    â€œAhmed, be careful!” the first voice yelled a minute later.
    â€œI’ve got it,” the second voice responded, louder this time.
    Sargon deduced that a second person—presumably Ahmed—was now descending into the pit. Sargon remained motionless in the blackness of the mysterious tomb, once again awaiting his fate.
    â€œAre they in there?” the second voice asked.
    â€œI don’t know, they didn’t answer.”
    â€œYou think they’re dead?” the second voice asked after a long pause.
    â€œI don’t know. Go in and check.”
    â€œWhy don’t you go in and check?”
    Another long pause. “It’s dark in there!” said the first voice squeamishly.
    â€œSo use the flashlight.”
    â€œI didn’t bring it.”
    â€œHonestly, Ahmed! Why was I cursed with such a stupid brother? ”
    Sargon listened to this conversation with bewilderment. These two voices sounded like . . . teenagers.
    â€œHey!” Sargon bellowed in his most authoritative, masculine voice. “Who are you?”
    There was a long pause. Sargon imagined the two brothers miming to each other frantically, deciding how to respond.
    Finally, the first voice said timidly, “We are Ahmed and Jabar, from the village.”
    â€œWhy are you looking for the Americans?” Sargon demanded.
    â€œWe heard an explosion. We came to see if they were okay.”
    â€œHow do you know them?”
    â€œWe work for them sometimes. They pay us . . . you know, to fetch things . . . clean their equipment. Stuff like that.”
    Sargon clicked on his flashlight and made his way quickly toward the anteroom. “Stay right there,” he ordered as he walked.
    As he approached the hole leading into the pit, he could hear scrambling and muffled voices on the other side. Using his flashlight, he peered through the hole and saw two young boys, perhaps twelve and fourteen years old, frantically trying to climb the nylon rope out of the pit.
    â€œWait a minute,” Sargon called to the boys, using a milder voice this time. These kids clearly were not a threat. “You’re not in trouble. It’s okay. Stop! ”
    The brothers, however, continued their escape from the pit, furiously ascending the rope.
    â€œWait, boys, I need your help!”
    The brothers continued climbing.
    â€œI can pay you!”
    The clambering stopped. The older brother, near the top of the rope, looked down at his younger brother below. “How much?” he asked.
    â€œA lot.”
    J abar and Ahmed proved quite cooperative after that. Once Sargon explained who he was—curator of the Iraqi National Museum—and that there had been an accident at the excavation site, the brothers were only too eager to help out, for a fee. They agreed on a flat rate of two Iraqi dinars for the day, equivalent to about six U.S. dollars.
    First, Sargon constructed a crude hoist system using the nylon rope and a large bucket that one of the boys found topside. Jabar, the older brother, was stationed at the top of the pit and was responsible for manning the rope. Twelve-year-old Ahmed was stationed at the bottom of the pit and was responsible for filling the bucket.
    Sargon then spent several hours crawling into the temple, making his way into the burial chamber, and methodically retrieving all the artifacts he found that could be removed. One by one, he brought the five-thousand-year-old artifacts into the pit, where Ahmed carefully placed them in the bucket for Jabar to hoist slowly to the surface.
    â€œCareful with that! Careful!” Sargon warned at least a dozen times throughout this procedure.
    As best he could, Sargon kept a