them.” She took the map from Vera and folded it. “As you will soon see.”
• • •
As the boat veered toward land, Vera climbed to the prow, feeling the wind rushing against her body
as she tried to get a better view. The island was covered in long wild grasses that shivered in the
breeze. Seagulls swooped and circled, as if scouring the scrub for mice. From such a close proximity,
the lighthouse seemed to tilt away from the land, a trick of perspective that allowed her to see a man
standing at a small red door, gazing out at the boat as it approached. The driver cut the engine, and the
boat slowed and slid alongside a long wooden dock.
She climbed out of the boat and followed Sveti over the dock and up the uneven terrain. The
lighthouse loomed ahead, its stone surface ragged with age, rubbed and eaten through by saltwater
and wind. A great iron casement sat at the top of the tower, protecting the enormous spotlight from the
seagulls. A helicopter was perched on a paved circle, its bulbous plastic windshield awash in
sunlight. The man Vera had noticed earlier was gone, but the red door had been left ajar.
“Come,” Sveti said. “Follow me. Azov will be waiting inside.” She turned and led her up the
winding, rough-hewn steps of the lighthouse, following the spiral to the very top.
Vera could hear voices behind a door. Sveti pushed the door open, the bottom scraping against the
stone floor, and they walked into a bright, circular observation room, which had windows that gave a
panorama of sea. The afternoon sunlight was brilliant and warm, glinting off the emerald water. A
scattering of fishing vessels floated in the distance. The lighthouse was removed from the real world,
peaceful, and she tried to imagine what it would be like to wake up every morning in that room, to
rise and look over the sea as the sun rose.
Azov sat at the head of a table piled high with mollusk shells, slabs of wood, and a glass jar filled
with odd-shaped beads. He was in his midfifties, with gray-flecked black hair and a matching beard.
He watched Vera with affection as she stepped into the room. Standing, he switched off a radio, and
gestured for Vera to sit.
“I have to admit,” Azov said, smiling at Vera, “that I was surprised to get the call that you were
coming on official business. We’ve been all but ignored by your colleagues. The society in Berlin has
extended some support, but other than that, nothing.”
“Scholars in Russia are always interested in making progress against the Nephilim,” Vera said,
struggling between the loyalty she felt toward her employers at the Hermitage and the deep respect
she had for her mentor. “We are working toward the same end.”
“A prudent answer, my dear,” Azov said, clearly proud of Vera’s diplomacy. “Come, give me a
kiss. I’m thrilled that you have finally come to visit me here, where I am most in my element.”
Vera stood and went to Azov. As she kissed his cheek she felt anxious to seem every bit the
accomplished angelologist she had become. She turned to the artifacts piled on the table. “These must
be your finds from the bottom of the Black Sea.”
“Correct,” Azov said, picking up a piece of pounded copper. “These objects are from a settlement
that was begun within the first four hundred years of the postdiluvian period, during Noah’s lifetime.”
“That seems like quite a few lifetimes,” Vera said.
“Noah lived to be nine hundred and fifty years old,” Sveti said. “By the end of this period, he
would have been middle-aged.”
“We located the village a little over twenty years ago,” Azov continued, “and have been doing
underwater excavation since then. It hasn’t been easy, as we don’t typically have the kind of
equipment and resources that high-profile exploratory divers have, but we’ve managed to pull up a
number of intriguing objects to support our most recent hypothesis.”
“Which is?” Vera asked.
“That Noah was not only charged with protecting the various species of animals, as is believed in
biblical lore, but that he was protecting the plant life of the planet as well. His collection of seeds
was extensive. When the rain stopped, he cultivated and preserved these plants for future generations,
making certain that the precious cellular energy of ancient times was carried forward,” Azov said.
Vera toyed with the latch on her satchel, wondering if she should wait to give Azov Rasputin’s
album. She was keenly aware that the plants pressed inside represented a similar kind of energy, and
that Azov would find them fascinating.
Sveti stood, went to a cabinet, unlocked it, and removed a fat spiral notebook, the pages wrinkled,