"What do you mean you lost them?"

The scratching, Russian voice on the other end of the line made Isay's hair stand on the end of his neck. "It's Jones," he said, "there's no other way they would have dared lost me otherwise."

"Then find him, the son and the girl too. In fact, Jones could be rather useful to our cause. Bring them all to me. Alive."

The hot Israeli sun was beating down already at nine in the morning. Isay's dark clothes felt heavier on him than usual, weighed down with perspiration. He felt sweat begin to gather under his fedora. "Has the woman been taken care of?"

"Days and days ago, Isay. Your job is to deliver the persons in question to me. The situation has changed. Understood?"

"Understood."

"Excellent," the voice ground out. "Do not disappoint me."

Mutt sat up in bed so quickly he was seeing spots. It was not often dreams disturbed him. He usually slept fine. Had been like that his whole life. Though when he did have a bad dream, it was not one he could easily forget.

The drapes blocked out the sunlight had cracks in the dark material, which left a shining light emitting from the morning sunshine. His whole body ached with effort as he sat up, still too tired to properly function. The couch he had been exiled to was hardly ideal. The thin mattress did little to cushion his exhausted frame. His head throbbed as he tried to recall the nightmare.

The dreamy images were already hazy in his memory. Closing his eyes he called up the picture of the triangle inside the circle. In his dream it had been a brand, something heated in a fire and then pressed into the skin of an unfortunate human being, causing the tender flesh to peel back. His stomach reeled.

Sitting up he placed his head between his knees, bringing his breathing back to normal. Then he heard the soft padding of footsteps coming into the living room.

"Come in," he said, scratching the back of his neck.

Molly peeked around the door, her eyes squinting. "You have my glasses," she said curtly.

"Oh," he said, standing up and reaching for his discarded trousers. Feeling in the pocket for the frames he handed them to her.

She stepped forward, and slid them on her face, her eyes visibly relaxing.

"Do you really need them that badly?" Mutt asked, yawning.

"I need them to see far away," she answered. Her eyebrows knit together as she examined the dejected body in front of her. "What happened to you?"

'This," Mutt motioned violently to the couch as his other hand massaged his temple.

"You're sweating Henry."

"I know!" he hissed. Really, he was not in the mood. "I had a bad dream."

"Oh," she said softly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He really wanted to stick a fan in his face and try to get some real rest, but in spite of himself, he found that he started to tell her everything. "The symbol the FBI showed us, the one that was on the Christian assassin's chest… I saw someone being branded with it… like they do with cattle."

Molly's nose wrinkled.

"I remember reading something about that, people branding themselves in the name of religion…"

"Do you think you had a premonition?" Molly asked. She was teasing.

"No… no nothing like that, but I remember a colleague of mine found a brand like that on a dig. He later published an article about it, saying how it was too delicate to be used on an animal, and there's plenty of literature about hardcore religious zealots lining up to get burned."

Molly nodded; she was sitting beside him now, rubbing his back. Mutt threw his head between his legs. He felt nauseated. "That's all very interesting Henry, but I think in addition to that epiphany you also might have come down with something."

"Well if I'm sick then you'll soon be too… don't worry," he spat.

"Yeah, your tongue coating the inside of my mouth and throat definitely made sure of that," she countered.

He raised an eyebrow. "You don't like how I kiss?"

She shrugged.

"How about like this?" Mutt leaned in easily, kissing her slowly and lightly. When he pulled away her eyes were closed and there was a very slight smile on her lips.

She found herself leaning in again and they kissed as though they were old lovers, in a tired and unhurried way. Mutt found himself sliding her under him as he positioned their bodies on the couch. This was definitely curing his headache as the throbbing he felt in his forehead slowly descended downward.

"We should probably not do this," Molly said, her voice husky.

"We definitely are doing this," he replied, sliding his hands up her nightshirt and over her naked calves. He had wanted to do that for so long.

She sighed heavily as he squeezed her flesh there, here, with gentle but roughly padded hands. She felt drowsy, her eyelids heavily falling over her eyes.

"Would you like breakfast?"

Molly sat up so hard she smacked her face straight into Mutt's. "Ow!" she yelped as Mutt swore terribly. She was blushing such a vibrant red Mutt wondered if she was going for some kind of world record.

"The cook is just coming with some fresh fruit from the market," Miriam said easily, collecting some plates from the cupboard.

Molly quickly muttered an excuse, practically sprinting to the bedroom.

"You're certainly not wasting any time," his mother said, looking over her shoulder at him.

"Ma, please."

She held her hands up, "I know! You're twenty-seven, you're engaged, everything's alright."

"Exactly," he said, putting on his trousers and sitting at the table. He didn't bother with the shirt.

"What's going on in here?" Jones asked, walking into the kitchen, already dressed for the day. He sat at the head of the table across from Mutt.

"Where's Molly?" he asked.

Mutt shrugged, "Changing probably."

"So have the two of you picked a date yet?" asked Marion.

Luckily the cook came in with paper bags filled with fresh baked goods. The smell wafted from the top and Mutt's stomach nearly roared. "Ma, that looks great!" he said, jumping up from his chair and digging around the bag.

Molly entered the kitchen, demurely dressed in a beige skirt and sleeveless blouse. She smoothed the front of her shirt and sat down at the table. Mutt already had a piece of pita hanging out of his mouth as he put his plate down in front of him. He looked over at Molly and winked at her. She blushed furiously.

"Would you like some coffee, Molly?" asked Marion, diffusing some of the tension.

She smiled, "That would be wonderful."

Jones was reading from the newspaper, stroking his chin every now and then as he puzzled over a concept. "Miss Moore," Jones said, folding his paper down, "you should come see our collection of Iron Age figurines from the Negev. I could use a second pair of eyes on them."

"Of course!" Molly said, happy at the prospect of escaping from her current situation.

The two launched into happy chatter about archaeology as Marion set down plates of food in front of them. "Thank you so much for your hospitality, Mrs. Jones," Molly said, pouring some milk into her coffee.

"Oh please! Its Marion… you're going to be family soon, aren't you?"

Jones nearly choked on his coffee. "You and Molly?" he asked his son, who shrugged his shoulders non-chalantly.

He looked at the two of them. Molly couldn't bear to look him in the eye. "We talked about this Henry," Marion said easily.

"I think I would have remembered," he said. "I knew you were engaged, just not to…" he trailed off.

Jones turned to her, "I hope this doesn't mean you're giving up on Oxford."

"Of course not! I would never let anything get in the way of that. Not even marriage." For the last part of her sentence, Molly glared at Mutt. "Although I think that they might have given up on me by this point."

"Its like I said before kiddo, keep your chin up." The older Jones winked at her and she was surprised at how much he and his son were alike.

"I'll support Molly no matter what she does," Mutt chimed in.

"Good," Jones said firmly. "Getting married to a famous scholar is a great honor, just ask her," Jones mentioned, nodding to his wife.

Molly saw Mutt bristle. "You know, I'm making something of myself too," Mutt said, his voice low.

"What was the last thing you published?"

Mutt seemed taken aback. Molly saw him searching for the right answer. He had not published in a while. Or done truly groundbreaking research. Or taught class steadily. Or did lab work.

"Molly," Marion said, changing the subject quickly. "When's the date?"

"I-I'm sorry?" Molly asked.

"For the wedding?"

Molly looked over at Mutt who was also glancing at her with a puzzled expression on his face.

"Well-"

"We-"

The two of them promptly shut their mouths. Molly suddenly found the tablecloth fascinating. Mutt picked up a pita crumb and crushed it between his thumb and forefinger. Jones and Marion were staring at the two of them curiously. "I don't think we'll pick a date until Molly has heard back from Oxford."

Molly felt her shoulders relax. How did he become such a good liar?

She paused. All the more reason for you to break off this fake engagement, her mind advised. Really, she needed to speak with him… and time was of the essence.

"Well," Jones said, "that gives you enough time, Miss Moore, to decided whether or not you want to go through with that."

"The marriage or Oxford?" Mutt joked.

Marion laughed. Harmony was restored.

"I need to get to the museum. You kids should be close behind me," Jones said, standing up and gathering some things off the kitchen counter.

Mutt nodded toward the hallway and Molly nodded her head. Marion winked at the two of them. Color rushed to Molly's cheeks when she understood her meaning.

Molly stood up as she heard Jones leave and Mutt escorted her to the bed that she slept deeply in the previous night. She sat on the edge and twirled her tawny hair around a finger. "Well, this is certainly a predicament," she muttered, accenting the sentence with a heavy sigh.

"Look, if you play along for a little while, I'll give you half my funding money for research," Mutt said evenly.

"What?"

He did the government favors and in exchange they made sure he got more scholarship money than the physicists who worked on the atomic bomb.

"You heard me."

"But that means I'll have to work under you as a Ph.D. student."

"Yup. And it's about time I got one too."

He was standing in front of her, arms crossed and brow furrowed. His handsome face was unusually serious and formal. Molly laid her hands across her lap.

"Henry… Oxford is… Oxford."

"Oh, Oxford can go hang itself! You should stick with me. I'll give you all the free rein you want Moll. You can publish to any paper, travel anywhere you want, you'll have all of my international contacts, not to mention my father's, and the government will be itching to get to know you a little better… trust me, getting in with them will guarantee job security and a nice fat nest egg for later in life."

She bit her lip, contemplating. What he was offering was much better than anything Oxford could do. She wrung her hands together, thinking.

"C'mon Moll, what do ya say?"

She looked up at him, her eyes dark. "Yes for now. If I hear back from Oxford, everything changes."

He smirked. "Deal?"

He held out his hand for her. She shook it.

"Deal."