Finding Sheba (Omar Zagouri Thriller Book 1)

by H. B. Moore

  Mia took a step closer. “What if I asked you to come back?”

  “Nope. That job is cursed.” He dropped his hand.

  “What if I begged you?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck and gazed at the sky. “She’s going to beg me?” He looked at her. “Then I would say my luck is starting to change.”

  Mia threw her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth against his, kissing him hard.

  Omar nearly lost his balance, but quickly recovered and wrapped his arms about her waist, pulling her even closer. The sun’s heat and blowing sand didn’t bother him as Mia nestled against him, softening her kiss as her fingers trailed along his neck, alerting every sense in his body. He kissed her back, thoroughly enough that she’d have no doubt of his heart’s intentions. His hands settled on her hips, and the warmth of her skin reached his through her clothes. As she released a small sigh against his mouth, he decided that kissing her was something he never wanted to retire from.

  After a moment, she drew away, laughing at his dazed expression. “Let me be the first to say that your luck has definitely changed.”

  CHAPTER

  56

  Ethiopia

  The drone of the tires nearly lulled Alem to sleep, but when the taxi slowed, he was fully awake as the driver stopped at the small cemetery just outside of Aksum. After asking the driver to wait, Alem hopped out and walked toward the broken gate. The metal hung on its hinges, squeaking in the light breeze.

  It was a scorching day in Ethiopia, and Alem wore his white tunic shirt and linen pants. His sandals fit neatly over his healed feet, and although the scars were still evident, he didn’t draw quite so many stares.

  He gripped the bouquet of flowers he held in his hand, searching for signs of another lone person on the property, since his grandfather had promised to meet him. Alem walked slowly among the grave markers, imagining he heard the rich history of the people’s lives whispered beneath his feet. A hunched form sat near his grandmother’s tombstone, and Alem crossed to meet the elderly man. His grandfather looked up as Alem approached and held out a trembling hand.

  Alem sat next to him and waited quietly as the old man touched the scars on his face. Clicking his tongue, his grandfather said, “Your sacrifice was great.”

  Alem nodded, struck with the age of the man, the wrinkled skin, the nearly all-white beard, and the arthritic hands.

  “My wife was a great woman,” his grandfather said. “After her death, I found a record of her life—a diary of sorts. She fervently believed the legends of Queen Makeda.”

  “That’s what I want to ask you about,” Alem said. “Where did Grandmother hear the stories that she used to tell us about the queen?”

  His grandfather shrugged. “Passed down from her grandmother. She told me the same ones when I first met her, although I was never quite drawn in.”

  The confession surprised Alem. “What do you think about the discovery of the Azhara statue and the name of Tambariah?”

  “Oh, there’s been talk,” his grandfather said. “The one thing I’ve always found interesting is your grandmother’s name . . . Ahara. Spelled ‘A-h-a-r-a.’ ”

  “Very close,” Alem mused. “And my middle name is Tambariah . . .”

  “Yes.”

  Alem fell silent as the wind picked through the blades of grass. The names on the Azhara statue were part of his family lineage. There was no doubt his family descended from someone great—royalty, for that matter.

  “Have you heard about the Sheba ring?” Alem asked, watching his grandfather’s expression.

  “There’s been talk . . .” his grandfather began. “I suppose Azhara could have known Tambariah in Jerusalem and given him the ring. He might be the father of her child.”

  Nodding, Alem plucked a blade of grass and twisted it between his fingers. “Why would she come here? Where does King Solomon fit in?”

  “Those are questions that may never be answered, son, until the next coming of Christ.” He patted Alem on the shoulder. “Tambariah seemed to be a contender with Solomon, and Solomon won more than land and power. Perhaps there was a woman involved.” He chuckled. “I smell a love interest. Two princes, one queen? But whom did the queen really favor? And who was Azhara? And why would a woman who was in love with Solomon leave Israel and come to Ethiopia?”

  “Maybe her true love followed her.”

  “Tambariah? Very possible . . . Or maybe Azhara was another princess.”

  Alem stared at his grandfather. That would certainly explain a lot.

  “I believe everything happens for a reason,” his grandfather said. “Life continues on, pain lessens, and new legacies are born.” He touched Alem’s chest. “Look inside yourself, and you’ll see who you really are. What’s important is how you represent your own name.”

  Alem thought about his grandfather’s words as he let the warm breeze wash over him, drying his perspiring skin. He rose to his feet and placed the flowers at the base of his grandmother’s tombstone. With a finger, he traced the outline of the Sheba symbol. The snake and the flower. Man and woman intertwined.

  He let his hand fall away, thinking about the turmoil and excitement the new discoveries had brought to the outside world. But here he was, in a quiet graveyard with just his grandfather, his grandmother’s grave, and dozens of memories.

  And today, in honor of his grandmother, he—Alem Tambariah Eshete—would believe.

  Truly believe.

  EPILOGUE

  Rhode Island

  Five months later

  Drawing the goose down coat about her, Jade made a mad dash to the main Brown University library. It had just started to snow, but the huge flakes promised a more intense storm. She was nearly done with her master’s thesis on the queen of Sheba, and she planned to turn it in before Christmas break. It was hard to believe that five months had passed since she’d left the hot sands of Arabia. Five rather boring months. Compared with the adventures of traveling throughout Arabia, Providence was bland.

  The only thing she looked forward to were two interviews during the first week of December—both for associate teaching positions. At least when she graduated at the end of the year, she had a chance of being employed.

  She entered the library, noticing that it was nearly deserted. Not many college students spent their Saturday evenings studying. She found a table near the long windows and set up her laptop. She pulled up her e-mails before diving into more research. A couple of e-mails were from fellow classmates trying to plan a barbecue for a pre-Thanksgiving bash. Crazy. She didn’t understand why her friends insisted on doing ridiculous activities such as winter cookouts.

  She typed a return e-mail.

  I’ll meet you at the BBQ. Count me in for chips.

  Jade knew that most of the students would stay inside anyway, sipping dark gourmet beer. Another e-mail came in just as she was about to log off. Not recognizing the sender and seeing an attachment, she selected the message to send it into the junk folder. Yet something in the subject line made her hesitate.

  Looking for a fun adventure?

  Always, Jade thought. It was definitely spam, but then her eyes widened as she dissected the sender’s name: LMorel.

  Lucas.

  She opened the e-mail, and a grin spread across her face.

  Jade,

  Hope all is well. Just received a grant to excavate the Pharaonic sun temple found near the Giza Plateau. Speculation says the large statues are of King Ramses II. I’m sure you’ve read the theories that King Ramses II was possibly King Solomon and that a floor of gold dust, discovered in 1999, sixty centimeters below Nile mud, belonged to the first temple of Solomon. Perhaps the excavation of this temple will provide new evidence. How about it?

  It took her only seconds to type her reply.

  Dear Luc,

  I’d love to.r />
  Within moments, she was looking up flights to Cairo. Once she had her flight booked, she e-mailed Lucas with the arrival time. She leaned back in her chair as the warmth of excitement spread through her while she waited for his reply. Even though the snow swirled outside against the dark winter sky, she could feel the heat of the Egyptian sun on her face and hear the hot whisper of the desert wind calling her back.

  author’s notes

  Queen of Sheba: Fact versus Fiction

  Fact: The Bible holds David and Solomon to be the founding kings of ancient Israel and to be ancestors of Jesus Christ. The Quran portrays all three men as prophets. Yet, though current archaeological efforts are underway, there is no archaeological evidence that King David or his son, King Solomon, ever lived or ruled over Israel. If it could ever be proved that these kings never existed, then Israel’s claim to the Holy Land is mistaken. In kind, no archaeological evidence of the queen of Sheba’s life or death exists.

  When brainstorming the plot for Finding Sheba, I thought, what if evidence was found? Indisputable evidence? Then I turned that on its head . . . What if, first, evidence to the contrary was found that another king reigned over Israel instead of Solomon? I found an interesting book by Nicholas Clapp called Sheba: Through the Desert in Search of the Legendary Queen (2001). Mr. Clapp explains some of the theories behind the queen’s life and the different countries that claim her as their own, with Yemen, Oman, Egypt, and Ethiopia all in the running (p. 22–23). Four countries may name the queen as theirs, yet no concrete evidence has ever been found to substantiate those claims.

  Fact: On December 6, 1273, St. Thomas Aquinas uttered these final words on his deathbed: “Venite, dilecti filii, egredemini in hortum.” Translated: “Come, beloved sons, go forth into the garden” (Sixtus of Sienna, Bibliotheca Sancta [Frankfurt, 1575], p. 331, quoted in Sheba by Nicholas Clapp, 28).

  Thomas Aquinas was enamored with the queen of Sheba. A strange thing for a monk. On his path to enlightenment, he studied the passion-filled Song of Songs (or Song of Solomon) with increasing fervor. Interestingly enough, it’s unlikely that Solomon actually wrote the songs. Most religious groups believe that the Song of Solomon is not inspired scripture.

  Jews and Christians have both been reluctant to include it as part of their canon since both claim it’s too romantic. Yet, the Song of Solomon appears in all Bibles. We might ask ourselves, why is it included in the Bible and what is the significance of the Song of Solomon to us?

  The answer may be that the Songs have been used as an allegory of God’s love for Israel and/or God’s Church. Also, some scholars believe that Solomon’s songs may have been about the foreign queen, the queen of the South; in other words, the queen of Sheba. A historical assertion to be sure.

  Fact: St. Thomas’s devotion to the queen’s life more than seven hundred years ago is not appreciated by all religions. The queen of Sheba has been called a demon by religions who claim her mother was a djinn, who transformed into a beautiful woman and seduced the king. This means the queen was not fully human. How else could a female gain so much power in the male-dominated Semitic world? Others profess that the queen was actually a prophetess. Quite different views. But both interesting all the same.

  The story behind the queen’s prophesying of Christ takes place when she had a vision right before arriving in Jerusalem to visit King Solomon. She saw Christ’s “image” on a log that served as a footbridge over a small pond. Just as the queen was about to step on the log, she had a vision of Christ on the cross—the cross made from that very log (as supported by Jacobus de Voragine in Legenda Aurea). The story grows even more fantastical when the queen wades across the pond instead of using the log, and in the process her goose feet (or goat feet) are cured!

  Ironically, after the amazing devotion of the queen of Sheba to King Solomon’s God of Israel, Solomon returns to nature worshipping—the very thing he spent a lifetime reviling, and the very reason that the queen of Sheba traveled to meet Solomon in order to gain more wisdom. (See 1 Kings 11:4–8, KJV.)

  We don’t have as much information as we’d like, and for the purpose of this story, I created a new archaeological find in Northern Jerusalem and fictionalized the storyline of three kings discovered in that tomb—Amariel, Turug, and Tambariah. No such tomb or lineage of kings has been discovered, and the verdict still remains to be determined as to whether or not King Solomon or the queen of Sheba existed.

  Like all legends, there is truth mixed into the stories, stories and fables passed down verbally from generation to generation, until someone finally writes them down. This is where the research starts—by the written and recorded word. Before discrediting any theory, we must always remember that before the stylus was put to parchment, the truth may have been fractured, yet the possibilities were endless.

  acknowledgments

  Finding Sheba went through various stages, from adding in Omar Zagouri—who ended up becoming a main character—halfway through the novel to completely revising the ending, which made the book a hundred pages longer, to then cutting a hundred pages . . . somewhere, somehow. As you can imagine with any manuscript having evolved so much, there are many people to thank:

  Julie Wright, Josi Kilpack, Loree Allison, and Crystal Liechty: readers of the original draft who also became close friends.

  S. Kent Brown: my father and biblical scholar extraordinaire.

  Gayle Brown: my mother, who isn’t afraid to tell me what she doesn’t like.

  Gordon Ryan: a mentor and confidant who tragically passed away in 2012.

  Laurie Liss: my friend and agent, who has amazing patience and great wisdom.

  Richard Paul Evans: who inspired me in many ways.

  Elaine Spencer: agent who told me to change the ending (and I did).

  Karen Christoffersen: who wouldn’t allow this manuscript to sit around.

  Eric Swedin: for our great debates over historical details.

  My critique group, Stephanni Meyer, J. Scott Savage, Lu Ann Staheli, Lynda Keith, Annette Lyon, Michele Holmes, and James Dashner (who has gone on to hit the New York Times list).

  Melissa Marler: copyeditor extraordinaire.

  Kelli Stanley and James Rollins: for their friendship and advice.

  David Sylvian-Czajkowski: who is too smart for his own good but is willing to help a friend in need.

  Aaron Patterson: the owner of StoneHouse Ink and publisher of the original edition in 2013, who is doing something amazing in the industry.

  Kate Neal, Tristi Pinkston, and Cory Clubb: the StoneHouse Ink team who made the book shine.

  Anh Schluep: a senior editor at Thomas & Mercer, who surprised me on a March day with a complimentary e-mail about Finding Sheba and expressed interest in republishing the novel with Amazon Publishing (and I said yes).

  Charlotte Herscher: editor extraordinaire, who, in spite of the number of drafts and edits Finding Sheba went through before crossing her desk, took the manuscript to the next level and helped bring in a new cohesiveness.

  Johanna Rosenbohm: copyeditor who sent me a sixteen-page document detailing her notes, explanations, and method of work. For a “discovery writer” like me, who can’t come up with an outline that sticks, this blew my mind to say the least. Can you say amazing?

  Tiffany Pokorny and Jacque Ben-Zekry: author relations manager and marketing manager at Thomas & Mercer. I look forward to riding this wave together!

  Jane Dystel: who took a chance on me.

  Miriam Goderich: who keeps us all on the same page.

  A final thanks goes to my husband, Chris, and my children, who have always been number one.

  about the author

  Photo © 2012 Heather Adams

  Heather B. Moore is the USA Today bestseller and award-winning author of more than a dozen historical novels set in Ancient Arabia and Mesoamerica. Hea
ther attended the Cairo American College in Egypt and the Anglican International School in Jerusalem, and received her bachelor of science degree from Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. Heather writes her historical thrillers under the pen name H.B. Moore. She writes romance and women’s fiction under Heather B. Moore. It can be confusing, so her kids just call her Mom.

  Join H.B. Moore’s newsletter list for updates: http://hbmoore.com/contact.