Seneca hadn't paid much attention to the buzz. What little she did know about him was that his message sounded to her like New Age spirituality. She was always on the hunt for an exclusive, but since Scarrow and his Ministry already had so much media coverage, up until now she hadn't taken much interest. Maybe she should have been more inquisitive, she thought as she stood before the leader of the Phoenix Ministry.

"All your questions will soon be addressed." Scarrow moved out of the radiant backdrop of light and walked toward her-his gait powerful and confident.

For the first time Seneca saw his eyes, the color of coal. His skin was bronze, and his hair and close-cropped beard were as black as a raven's wing. Once out of the frame of light, he didn't appear so ominous, but rather handsome and sophisticated. She could understand his magnetism and appeal to so many.

The corners of his mouth turned up in a curious smile. "First, let's make you feel at home and comfortable. You are our honored guest."

Seneca followed Scarrow toward the doorway, but stopped short. He had to be crazy. It didn't make any sense. Who did he think she was, and what did he expect of her? How could this be the same man who had tried to kill her four times but now called her Sweet Flower? Honored guest?

"What is this all about?"

His gaze locked on hers, and Seneca felt rooted in place, spooked and confused by the serene smile that creased his eyes.

"All in good time."

After their brief meeting, Scarrow departed while Carlos escorted her up a spiral staircase to a second-story hallway lined with doors. Seneca couldn't help herself from thinking of this man, this Coyotl, as Carlos. That was who he was to her. She felt nervous and uncomfortable being so close to the man responsible for Daniel's death. He seemed to sense her revulsion and kept his distance.

Stopping at one of the doors, Carlos inserted a keycard in the electronic lock and ushered her in.

The room was a nicely furnished guest suite with private bath, king-size bed, dresser, armoire, desk, and nightstands. On the wall behind the bed hung a framed woven textile of brilliant colors and complex patterns. On one of the nightstands rested a small crystal decanter of water and a glass, both etched with the Phoenix Ministry logo.

Carlos filled the glass from the decanter and handed it to her. "I'm sure the aftereffects of the drug we gave you have left you thirsty."

Yes, she thought, her mouth and throat were dry. She downed the entire glass as Carlos watched.

When she was done he took the glass, set it back on the table, and moved to the door. "You should rest now."

Seneca heard the momentary buzz of the locking mechanism as he closed the door. Once his footsteps faded, muffled by the Oriental runner down the center of the marble hallway, she tried the door handle. Locked.

As she wandered around the room she noticed the data ports and phone jacks by the desk, but no computer and no phone. There would be no communicating with the outside world. Yet there were worse places she could think of to be held captive. Maybe Scarrow's intent was not to kill her. After all, wouldn't he have done that in Miami instead of going to all the trouble to fly her here?

She thought of Al. If he was okay, he would already be trying to track her down. There were the hospital security cameras. Maybe they caught Carlos or the woman on video. Or the limousine's license plate. Her car was still in the parking lot. They would locate it right away. Perhaps someone found her purse and turned it in to security. She prayed her father- Seneca stopped herself, realizing she had actually thought of Al as her father. With it brought a mix of emotions. He had come from out of nowhere to suddenly be so important in her life. She felt a surge of hope that he and his friends at ILIAD would be all over her disappearance. It was just a matter of time before he figured out who kidnapped her and where she was being held.

That is, if Al was okay.

Seneca sat on the bed feeling inordinately drained and spent. She leaned back and allowed her body to discharge some of the tension and fear. A soft hum from overhead caused her to focus on the slow hypnotic motion of the ceiling fan. Her mind wandered from warm childhood memories of her mother and recollections of treasuring her father's correspondence, but quickly turned to darker thoughts-the panic at the mangrove island, the desperate isolation of the catacombs, and the sickening death of the impostor. The images slipped through her mind, finally settling on Daniel-his comforting smile, infectious laughter, and seductive touch. Then his last moments when she felt the flutter of the hummingbird drift away. Her eyes closed as she sorted her thoughts. Her body finally acquiesced, and she slept.

A knock at the door caused Seneca to struggle to sit upright.

"Yes?" Had it been a few moments or hours? There were no windows so she had no reference.

The door swung open.

It was Carlos. Her first thought was that she was dreaming because her mind seemed so fuzzy, but quickly realized she was not. Carlos was dressed in some sort of Indian garb-a black and red breastplate adorned with turquoise stones and gold trim. He wore leather band anklets with dangling shells. His hands were painted yellow. Two men stood behind Carlos, also dressed in similar breastplates and brightly colored loincloths with a hem with gold and jade. They each held a long, ornately carved wooden pole tipped with a narrow, ominous-looking blade. From pictures Daniel had shown Seneca in Mexico, she was certain it had to be Aztec.

"The water," she said thickly. "You drugged me."

"Come with me." Carlos motioned with his hand.

"Where?"

He helped her to her feet. She wobbled, but then steadied herself.

"He wants to see you."

He gripped her arm as they entered the hallway and walked to the staircase, the two men following behind them. At the bottom, they crossed the center of the grand entrance atrium where she had met Javier Scarrow and proceeded through a hall ending with a large door. It was intricately carved with images of birds, rabbits, snakes, fish, jaguars, monkeys, others she couldn't decide-some whose eyes seemed alive with emeralds and other gems. All were gilded.

Carlos pushed open the door and gestured for Seneca to enter. "Don't keep him waiting."

Pressing her palm against the door, it took all her strength to open it. Whatever they had given her in the water had sapped away her strength and balance. Overwhelmed by the sight, she took a few lethargic steps into the room, followed by Carlos and the two men.

The space lay dark and heavy with a smoky haze and a pungent spicy scent she couldn't place. A large metal brazier sat in the center of the floor with a wide copper-colored ventilation hood hanging above it collecting the smoke from a smoldering fire. Men dressed in the same manner as Carlos and his escorts lined the wall to her left. To her right were eleven men and women, their bodies painted black. Black hooded capes hung down their backs.

At the opposite end of the large room stood a massive stone throne, and poised before it was a man wearing a headdress of iridescent green feathers with accents of turquoise and red attached to a golden crown. He also wore a cape, this one of vibrant-colored feathers hanging down his back to the floor and draped around his neck and upper chest. He wore a decorative loincloth woven with golden thread and sandals with gold soles and straps that wrapped about his ankles. His left upper arm had a jewel-encrusted gold bracelet around it. Even with all the regalia, she recognized him as Javier Scarrow. The scene seemed surreal, amplified by whatever Carlos had put in her water.

"Do not gaze upon my face." Scarrow's voice was strong and filled the large room. "It is forbidden."

"What?" She was dumbfounded by his statement.

"Cast your eyes away from me."

She looked about the room, the movement making her dizzy. But she did notice that no one appeared to stare directly at Scarrow's face. She shifted her gaze to the fire in the middle of the room as her legs weakened. "I don't understand. Who are you?"

"I am Emperor Motecuhzoma Xocoyotzin, the ninth tlatoani of Tenochtitlan."

"Who?" Seneca's word came out distorted.

"Emperor Montezuma II, ninth ruler of the Aztec nation."

How about Javier Scarrow, insane Phoenix Ministry cult leader, she thought, the words in her head clearer than the ones from her lips. Forgetting his instructions, she glanced at him.

Scarrow stood beside the fire. He removed a small stone blade from his belt and drew it across his forearm, leaving a thin hairline slice in his flesh that quickly beaded with blood. Then he held his arm above the fire.

Seneca heard the sharp sizzle as his blood dripped onto the burning coals.

He looked hard at her. "You are offending me. I don't think that wise. I know this is difficult for you to understand, but because you are a captive with no knowledge of our ways, I am going to forgive your ignorance. Once you are prepared for your great task, then you will understand and accept your destiny. For of all gathered here, you are the most fortunate and privileged."

Seneca forced her focus from his face to his bejeweled and feathered cloak. "Why me?"

"You are chosen to be the first Sweet Flower. The first xochimiqui."

CONNECTING THE DOTS 2012, MIAMI.

"GROVES IS LESS THAN an hour from here." Al sat on a barstool at the kitchen counter in Seneca's new apartment talking to Matt on the phone. He was surrounded by her still-unpacked boxes, and their presence reminded him even more of the temporary nature of life. His daughter had never gotten a chance to put her things away and start her new life without Daniel. Now, she was gone and may never get the chance.

"So he's in Florida?"

"No, the Bahamas." Al glanced at his notes taken a few moments earlier from his contact at ILIAD. "He lives on Andros Island in a heavily secured structure called Azteca. It's owned by Groves Consortium's former president and CEO, Javier Scarrow."

"The guy heading up that New Age movement?"

"Seems that Azteca is the headquarters for his Phoenix Ministry. Scarrow's the one holding those crusades all over the world. He's building a big temple right there in Mexico."

"Hang on." Matt picked up a tourist magazine from the bedside table. He flipped through a few pages. "It's northeast of the city near the Pyramids of the Sun and Moon. I saw on the news that there's some big event of Scarrow's getting ready to take place out there. He claims to be prepared to show undeniable proof that his teachings are the last best salvation for mankind."

"Lofty goals."

"Sure are, but his popularity and following are undeniable."

"Well, whether he's a savior or a scammer, he's got big bucks behind him." Al read off his list. "He's had huge rallies in France, the U.K., China, Germany. Even in Uzbekistan."

"Okay, we know he's connected to Groves. So what would tie him to Seneca's abduction?"

"And is there a link to the tomb robberies?"

"Wait a minute," Matt said. "Did you say Uzbekistan?"

"Yes, in the capital city of Tashkent. Scarrow was there for a two-day crusade. It drew thousands from all over the region." He heard the rustling of paper before Matt spoke again.

"Okay, Al. Bear with me here. You have a list of the Phoenix Ministry crusade locations, right?"

"I'm looking at it."

"When and where was the first?"

"Two years ago in Munich, Germany."

"According to the list you compiled for Seneca, the first tomb robbery was that of Ilse Koch two years ago. Did Scarrow have a crusade then?"

"Yes, with huge attendance."

"The second name on the list is Idi Amin. Was there a Ministry event in Uganda?"

Al looked at his notepad. "No, sorry."

"Okay, maybe my idea doesn't work after all."

There was a long pause and Al could almost hear the gears in Matt's head turning.

Finally, Matt said, "Where was the next major Phoenix Ministry event?"

"It wasn't actually a crusade like the other locations. It occurred in the Saudi Arabian city of Jeddah, along the coast of the Red Sea. Just a couple of days visiting with some of the royal family who happened to be there at the time and the local leaders."

"Yeah, but you know what? Idi Amin's remains were discovered missing from the Ruwais Cemetery in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia."

"I'll be a son-of-a-bitch."

Matt sighed. "I'll bet if we match them up, their major rallies will coincide with each tomb robbery."

"Let's try it," Al said. "Call out the rest of the robberies."

Matt continued down his list until he got to Josef Mengele. "The good doctor's remains were stolen from a forensics' lab in Sao Paulo."

"Yep, there was a crusade there."

Matt read the rest of the list, ending with Hernan Cortes.

Al said, "We've got two tomb robberies in Mexico City, and there's that huge Phoenix temple built where Scarrow's big event is scheduled."

"Okay, let's think about this. We have a direct connection between Scarrow, Groves, and the Veil of Veronica. We now believe that the group conducting the tomb robberies is most likely Scarrow and the Phoenix Ministry. No doubt their events were a means of getting them into each country-a cover to pull off the robberies. When they pack up their gear and leave, the stolen remains are hidden somewhere in their trucks."

"And we now believe that it's the same group that tried to kill you both, and probably the ones who abducted Seneca. But even with all the dots connected, we still don't know why or what the reason is for them to be stealing old bones."

"Actually," Matt said, "I may have a theory."

THE EMPEROR 2012, BAHAMAS.

THOUGH SENECA DID NOT focus directly on Scarrow's face, she tracked him with her eyes. He backed away from the fire pit, and with a wave of his hand and a spoken word that she did not understand, dismissed everyone but her and Carlos. The procession was orderly and silent, except for the rustling of fabric and tinkling of shells.

When the room cleared, Scarrow seated himself on the throne. "Bring her."

Carlos clutched Seneca's arm and led her to stand just before the throne. He gently tapped her shoulder, letting her know she should kneel.

Seneca sank to her knees, sat back, and rested on her heels.

"Leave us." Scarrow waited in silence until the doors thudded closed behind Carlos.

Seneca found herself staring at his feet that were bound by leather sandals with gold soles. Such opulence. She remembered Daniel commenting on the richness and magnificence of the way the Aztecs lived.

Finally, Scarrow spoke. "I maintain most of the old ways, the ancient rituals and traditions, at least in the presence of my apostles and disciples. But not always in the face of the rest of the world. They wouldn't understand. Much has changed over the last five hundred years. It took a long time for me to realize that I also had to make some changes if I wanted to accomplish my mission. The difficult part was finding the balance-the man the public perceives and contrasting him with my true self."

Scarrow removed the elaborate headdress, carefully resting it in his lap. He stroked one of the long green feathers. "This is not the original. That one rests in a museum. But one day it will be in its rightful place. Do you know the resplendent quetzal?"

She shook her head while thinking she sensed a bottomless pining in his voice.

"They are strikingly elegant birds with iridescent plumage. In mating season, the male grows a pair of long and beautiful tail feathers that form a train up to three feet. The quetzal is in danger of becoming extinct. It can't be caged and it dies in captivity. There's a lesson to be learned from this bird."

He paused as if in thought before beginning again in the same longing tone of reverie. "When Tenochtitlan was in its glory, before the arrival of the conquistadors, my people, the Mexica, had always kept the universe in balance. Our lives were filled with serving the gods who gave us life. It is time we returned to the ways that maintain such harmony. My message has found its way into many hearts around the world. It is what people want and believe is true and right. They are hungry for it, and they are mournful over the negligence and abuse we as a species have brought to this planet. I tell them what they want and need to hear." Scarrow put the feathered crown back on his head. "You may gaze upon me now. I want to see your eyes as I speak."

Through the smoky haze, the man on the throne wavered like a mirage, like heat eerily rising off pavement. She wasn't sure if the distortion was because of the drugs she'd ingested or if indeed she was witnessing something otherworldly.

He told her of how Cortes had produced the small silver chest containing the veil with the image of Christ imprinted in the fabric, and declared that it was the face of the Son of God who died and rose from the dead. How he then painfully watched the conquest and fall of his empire, and how in desperation he had secretly touched the relic to his own face. He knew he would soon die so he gave his priests special burial instructions. He reasoned that if the power of the veil was true, he would rise from the dead as Christ had done. As he told of his own resurrection his eyes seemed to be searching hers. "That night the conquistadors plundered our city. The only reason my tomb was not pillaged was because they believed the tomb to be sealed. They were unaware of the hidden entrance."

Scarrow spoke in such a compelling and fascinating manner that by the time he had finished, every cell of Seneca's being knew that what he said was true. Even though the story of the veil was mind-boggling, he had managed to dispel her disbelief. He transported her mentally to the world that he remembered in such rich detail and with such entrenched emotion that she now understood what Daniel had meant-that sometimes he thought he could journey to those ancient days by stepping through some fine filament of time and space. She was there with Montezuma, feeling the agony of his despair, the loss of glory, the finality of a people. Seneca had no doubt she was gazing upon Emperor Montezuma II.

"For many years I didn't understand what my mission was. But as time passed, I saw humanity losing respect for the Earth, which had once been as resplendent as the quetzal. Man has taken and not given back. We have gouged and scarred the soil, poisoned the air, destroyed the beauty of pristine lands, and fouled the water. And mankind has been proud of these things, even calling them great achievements. Now, modern science confirms what so many ancients predicted with their calendars and oral traditions. At the beginning I yearned for the return of my nation and the way we lived. But that was not to be. No, I was destined for something much more profound. Whatever man calls his god or gods, they are displeased with how we have become."

Seneca saw a great sadness in Scarrow's face, a deep and sincere grief in his eyes.