The Samson Effect is a “first class thriller brimming with intrigue and adventure.”- Clive Cussler
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Bonus Excerpt
He absentmindedly stuck his forefinger and middle finger into the hollowed end and began tapping the “key” on the tabletop. He pursed his lips and looked up at Michael. “Do you suppose this really does unlock the hiding place to the surviving sample of the Effect?”
“Are you kidding? Solomon reigned about 900 BC or so. What vegetation do you know of that could have survived for three thousand years?” Michael let out a quiet chuckle. “At least I was on the right track. The Samson Effect is a plant, and if the notebook is correct, the seeds have been lost since the Protector during the reign of King Rehoboam died before letting his successor know what he’d done with them. Apparently, no Protector since has been able to solve the riddle of the seeds being hidden in Satan’s belly.”
Michael rubbed his eyes with his palm. “I hope that if we find the seeds there’s enough left to identify the type of plant they came from.”
“If we’re really lucky, we’ll find dormant seeds that can germinate.”
Michael’s laughter bellowed out and filled the small hotel room. “You actually think three-thousand-year-old seeds can survive and remain fertile?” He smiled. The slight nod of his head teased Thomas, who knew he was about to be the butt of unmerciful banter. “You’re the archaeologist. Ever hear of King Tut’s wheat?”
Thomas’s cheeks grew hot. “Of course I’ve heard of King Tut’s wheat, but apparently your knowledge of botany and seed viability is pretty limited.”
Thomas stared at Michael and shook his head at his friend’s implication. Every archaeologist knew of the American airman who, during World War II, came across a street vendor in Egypt who sold him thirty-six kernels of grain he claimed was found preserved in a pharaoh’s tomb. The young man sent the kernels to his father, a farmer in Montana, who successfully grew the seeds. Eventually, the public went crazy over what was dubbed “King Tut’s wheat.”
Science, however, disproved the theory that the kernels came from an ancient tomb, and it eventually identified the grain as a little-known grain from Egypt now known as kamut. Grains such as wheat, the scientist had explained, can remain dormant and viable for about thirty years, maybe ninety under ideal circumstances, but certainly not for thousands of years.
Michael continued his relentless jabs at his educated friend. “Have you ever heard of grain remaining viable after being found in an ancient archaeological site?”
“Not exactly,” Thomas intoned in a deep, steady monotone. “But for your information, lotus seeds have been found in ancient lake beds in Manchuria, which carbon 14 has dated as between 830 to 1,250 years old. And guess what? When planted, they sprouted, and some even flowered!”
The smile slowly faded from Michael’s face as he took on the appearance of a man lost in deep thought. It was not until now, in silence, that Thomas realized he was breathing heavily. He couldn’t believe how easily Michael had pushed his buttons. But, he thought, so what if it showed he was a little ruffled. It was worth it to see Michael’s expression right now.
To Thomas’s satisfaction, Michael cocked his head and nodded, apparently conceding the point to Thomas. “I see. You may be right. All we need to do is find under which river the Samson Effect seeds are buried …”
“I’m just saying—”
“No, no, no,” Michael interrupted. “I agree. You’re correct. The seeds must be as big and as rock hard as those thousand-year-old lotus seeds.”
“I get your point,” Thomas fumed. “I didn’t say it was probable, just possible.”
“Wow. You might be the first archaeologist to ever find ancient, dormant, viable seeds hidden away by another culture.”
“Look, Michael, can we just drop this, please. It’s getting old.”
Michael’s eyes grew as wide as saucers as he mimicked the starstruck expression of a groupie who just ran face-to-face into her idol. He slid a piece of paper to Thomas and, without breaking eye contact, asked, “Would you please sign your autograph for me?”
Thomas’s bubbling anger quickly cooled as he took control of himself and realized Michael was just trying to get a rise from him. He whipped a pen from his pocket, scribbled illegible squiggles on the paper, and floated it back to Michael. “You’d better hang onto that. It’ll be worth something some day.”
There was a light rapping at the door. When Thomas got up to open it, he heard the unmistakable crinkling sound of paper being wadded up. He smiled, shook his head, and opened the door. Delia and Hanna stood side by side, neither looking particularly happy.