Sam returned with the coffee and plopped down on the other side of her desk.

“If you weren’t going to sleep, then you should have joined us on recon last night,” he said with a grin.

“Any apprehensions?”

“No, our Hebron grave robbers must have taken the night off. We gave up by midnight but did come away with a nice stack of picks and shovels.”

Perhaps the world’s second-oldest profession, grave robbing ranked near the top of the Robbery Prevention Unit’s criminal hit list. Several times a week, Sophie or Sam would lead a late-night stakeout of ancient grave sites around the country where signs of recent excavation had been observed. Pots, jewelry, and even the bones themselves could usually find a ready buyer in the underground antiquities market that pervaded Israel.

“Now that they know we are onto them, they’ll probably lay low for a couple of weeks,” Sophie said.

“Or move elsewhere. Assuming they’ve got enough cash to buy some new shovels,” he added, smiling again.

Sophie glanced through some reports and news clippings on her desk, then passed one of the articles to Sam.

“I’m concerned about this excavation at Caesarea,” she said.

Sam quickly skimmed the article.

“Yes, I’ve heard about this. It’s a university-sponsored excavation of the old port facilities. It says here that they have uncovered some fourth-century seaport artifacts and a possible grave. You really think the site is a theft target?”

Sophie drained her coffee, then set down the cup with an agitated stare.

“The reporter might as well have put up a banner and flashing lights. Any time the word ‘grave’ finds its way into print, it’s like a magnet. I’ve begged the news reporters a thousand times to avoid publicizing grave sites, but they are more interested in selling papers than protecting our heritage.”

“Why don’t we go down and take a look? We’re scheduled for a recon tonight, but I could reassign the boys down there. They’d probably enjoy a trip to the coast.”

Sophie looked at her desk calendar, then nodded. “I’m free after one. I suppose we could go check it out, and stay the night if it looks worthwhile.”

“Now you’re talking. For that, I’ll go steal you another cup of coffee,” he said, jumping out of his chair.

“Okay, Sam, you got a deal.” Then she looked at him sternly. “But just don’t use the word ‘steal’ around me!”

Situated on the Mediterranean coast about thirty miles north of Tel Aviv, Caesarea was a lightly populated enclave easily overshadowed by its historic past as a seat of Roman power. Built by King Herod the Great as a fortified port city in the first century B.C., Caesarea featured the famous hallmarks of Roman architecture. A high-columned temple, a grand hippodrome, and an ornate palace along the sea all graced the city, which was fed cool inland water via massive brick aqueducts. Herod’s most impressive engineering feat was not on land, however. He designed and built massive breakwaters out of concrete blocks, using them to create the largest protected harbor in the eastern Mediterranean. The success of the harbor propelled Caesarea to greater importance as the capital of Judaea under Roman rule, and the city remained a key commerce center for over three hundred years.

Sophie was well acquainted with the remains of the ancient city, having spent a summer at the site while in college. Turning off the busy coastal highway, she eased the car through a luxury-home development, then entered the remains of the Roman site, which was now a protected state park. The centuries had not been kind to the original construction, its old Roman buildings having long since crumbled. Yet many remnants of the city’s ancient features were still intact, including a large section of an arched aqueduct that stretched across the ocher sands, not far from a sizable amphitheater that faced the sea.

Sophie parked the car in a lot near the hilltop entrance, adjacent to some Crusader-era fortifications.

“The university team is excavating near the harbor,” she said to Sam. “It’s just a short walk from here.”

“I wonder if there’s anything to eat around here?” He eyed the barren park hills around them with trepidation.

Sophie tossed him a water bottle from the backseat. “I’m sure there are some restaurants back near the highway, but you’ll have to settle for a liquid diet for now.”

They walked down a trail that weaved toward the beach, broadening at several points along the bluff. They passed a long-forgotten road that had once been lined with residences and small businesses, their ghostly remnants little more than disorderly piles of stone. As they descended the trail, the small harbor opened up before them. There was little left to recognize its boundaries, as the original breakwaters had become submerged centuries ago.

The trail led to a wide clearing, where little piles of stone were scattered across the field in all directions. A cluster of beige tents was assembled farther down, and Sophie could discern a few people working under a large awning in the center. The trail continued another hundred yards down the hill, to where the waters of the Mediterranean lapped at the beach. Two men were visible working on a small spit of land, bracketed by a pair of generators that hummed loudly in the distance.

Sophie headed toward the large awning, which she could see was erected over an area of active excavation. Two young women stood near a mound of dirt, filtering the soil through a screened box. As she stepped closer, Sophie could see an older man hunched over in a trench, picking at the soil with a small trowel and brush. With rumpled clothes, a close-cropped gray beard, and a pair of glasses perched at the end of his nose, Keith Haasis bore the marked appearance of a distinguished university professor.

“How much Roman treasure have you unearthed today, Dr. Haasis?”

The bearded man stood up in the trench with an annoyed look on his face, which immediately transformed into a wide grin when he recognized the inquisitor.

“Sophie!” he thundered. “How good to see you.” He hopped out of the trench and rushed over, giving her a big bear hug.

“It’s been too long,” he said.

“I just saw you two months ago at the biblical archaeology conference in Jerusalem,” she chided.

“Like I said, much too long,” he laughed.

In her younger days, Sophie had attended numerous seminars held by the archaeology professor from the University of Haifa, which had led to a professional friendship. Haasis was a highly valued contact, as both an archaeology expert and as a source of information on newly discovered sites and destructive activity.

“Dr. Haasis, this is my assistant, Sam Levine,” she said, introducing her companion. Haasis introduced his nearby students, then led Sophie and Sam to a circle of camp chairs that surrounded a large cooler. The professor passed out chilled cans of soda, then wiped his brow and plopped into a chair.

“Somebody needs to turn up the ocean breeze today,” he said with a tired smile. Then, gazing at Sophie, he asked, “I presume this is an official visit?”

Taking a drink, Sophie nodded in reply.

“Any particular concerns?”

“A bit of overstated publicity in yesterday’s Yedioth Ahronoth ,” she said, retrieving the newspaper article from a shoulder bag. Passing the article to Haasis, she coldly eyed Sam drain his can of soda and snatch a second from the cooler.

“Yes, a local reporter stopped by for an interview a few days ago,” Haasis said. “His story must have been picked up in Jerusalem.”

He smiled at Sophie as he passed the article back.

“Nothing wrong with a little publicity for some proper archaeology,” he said.

“Nothing, that is, except a brazen invitation to every thief with a shovel,” she replied.

Haasis waved his arm through the air. “This site has been plundered for centuries. Any ‘Roman treasure’ that was buried around here is long gone, I’m afraid. Or didn’t your agent think so?”