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consensus.”
    â€œAnd? Is it as we had hoped?”
    â€œYes. There are no surprises. The arguments—for and against—seem to be along the lines we anticipated.”
    â€œWill any of those arguments destroy the vitality of the Deuteronomy Fragment…in its practical application?”
    â€œNo, definitely not,” the Saudi man answered. “The moderator just referred to the newspaper articles. The ones about the poll taken among Israeli citizens.”
    â€œSo you can say,” the man at the other end of the telephone continued, “that the Deuteronomy Fragment is still a powerful tool. Just as has been represented to us?”
    â€œOh yes. Very much so…” The Saudi looked around quickly to make sure he was still alone.
    â€œJust so you understand,” the official said solemnly, “much relies on the value of the Deuteronomy Fragment to us. This weighs very heavily on our decisions.”
    â€œOf course, I understand that. And I will stay through the rest of the conference. I’ll give you another report at the end. I’m going to circulate. Speak to as many of the prominent scholars as I can. But I can tell you that, as far as the opening session is concerned, they are taking this Deuteronomy Fragment very seriously. Public sentiment here in Israel is getting very soft now, and very accommodating—you know, on the Palestinian issue, and on Jerusalem.”
    After the man finished his call, he slipped his cell phone into the pocket of his robe and returned to the conference hall.
    In Saudi Arabia, the official—a Saudi sheikh—hung up the phone. Then one of his assistants entered the room, announced himself, and bowed.
    â€œSorry to disturb you, but there is a call from an assistant of Mr. Warren Mullburn. A Mr. Himlet. He wishes to speak to you.”
    The sheikh paused for a moment.
    â€œTell him—I will take his call.”
    As the assistant turned to leave, the sheikh added something.
    â€œTell him that I have carefully weighed and considered Mr. Mullburn’s contribution to the field of ancient religious artifacts. And now, there is much to discuss.”

10
    A S USUAL , B ILL C OLLINGWOOD ROSE at five and was out the door at six in the morning. His wife, Esther, though ill with malaria, had managed to get up and make breakfast. Their small cottage in the Virginia countryside was on the grounds of the one-hundred-and-fifty-acre Arabian horse farm of Roland Dupree and his wife, June. As manager of operations, Bill’s responsibilities included everything from overseeing the stables and the horse groomers and trainers, to making sure that the horse transport vehicles were in good operating condition and the electric fence and security systems on the property were in functioning order.
    Bill had a small office in the main stable. That morning he was reviewing the shipping documents relating to the anticipated arrival of a new Arabian.
    But he was finding it difficult to concentrate. His eyes wandered to the small window over his desk, gazing out at the bright blue sky that outlined the Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance. He was disturbed that Gilead, who was such a God-fearing young man, had gotten himself into trouble with the law.
    As a life-long missionary, Bill Collingwood understood his son’s zeal to evangelize Muslims—particularly in view of his background. But Bill’s philosophy was the classic missionary strategy. Patience and a loving approach to cross-cultural evangelism, with painstaking groundwork in planting seeds and building bridges.
    By contrast, Gilead’s incendiary oratory at the Islamic Center seemed to contain too much fiery prophecy and not enough of the gentle proclamation of the gospel.
    Something distracted Bill, and he glanced over to the door leading to his office. Standing there was Dakkar, the senior horse trainer for the stables.
    Born in Bahrain of Saudi parents, Dakkar had met the