By Amy Lignor

PROLOGUE
Screaming wouldn’t do any good.
Just like the teenage babysitter in a ‘slasher’ movie running away from the masked, knife-wielding killer, David Tallent knew that death was inevitable. But, in contrast to the grotesque Hollywood flicks, he was also entirely certain that his death would take far longer than ninety minutes to achieve.
In fact, they’d told him he was looking at seven days. Seven days of worry . . . seven days of regret, and seven days of sitting in this luxurious room waiting for something to happen that would unveil the truth that’d been hidden for centuries under the mound of dirt sitting right outside his window.
Walking over to the double doors of the penthouse porch David closed his eyes, attempting to find a prayer for forgiveness, but none would appear. Considering all the hours, days, weeks—years that he’d spent immersing himself in various religious cultures; it seemed almost like a punishment that he had no words to say in order to escape a final judgment that he knew was going to be beyond painful . . . even if it was completely deserved.
Sighing, he opened his eyes once again and stared down at the smaller building attached to the mighty hotel that rose from the desert sands like a stalagmite of glass and steel that some futuristic god had created—bringing the new and old world together.
Night was approaching and the neon lights below grew brighter, casting David in an unearthly pink glow. He could almost hear the clanging of silver coins falling through the slots down below and the jubilant shouts of excited gamblers who’d finally scored their lucky break.
Stifling his bitter snort, he watched people flow through the big glass doors to pray at the altar of the almighty dollar. The American capitalism that so many here condemned had made its way across the ocean quite easily. This was no Vegas, but it was certainly a bevy of greed and sin located smack dab in the middle of the locale that was once home to the heroic deeds of mankind.
The hand-carved oak doors suddenly flew open behind him, slamming so hard into the newly painted walls that a chunk of plaster fell to the plush Oriental carpet. David stifled his cry of fear as he watched the two large men who’d been guarding his door carry a package into the room. He stayed back when they heaved the burlap sack on top of the glass table, shattering the fragile piece of furniture into a million pieces.
David’s throat grew dry as the lump hit the floor with an audible moan. He glanced at the polished guns that sat in the belts of the two giants, warning him against any ill-fated attempts to escape.
One of the greasy, black haired men stepped forward; an evil grin beamed from his pockmarked face. “We thought you could use a little company.”
His grimy cohort grunted, “Yeah . . . a little family reunion.”

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