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Previously published as Marduk’s Tablet

What if the legend is true?

Emilie Nazzaro saw her father’s obsession with an ancient Babylonian tablet lead to his betrayal and murder. Now, she’s been charged with deciphering the symbols on this centuries-old piece of clay and its legendary omen of healing power. But others are desperate to get their hands on the tablet, too, and Emilie must first separate well-meaning friends from lethal enemies.On a harrowing journey through Israel and into ancient Babylon, she uncovers the secrets surrounding her father’s death –but will she stay alive long enough to learn the truth?

"Action, action, action… in this rocket ride through the unfriendly world of antiquities and adventure.” – Alton Gansky, author of The Scroll

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“It is a fast-paced thriller that kept me glued to the pages, wanting to know what was going to happen next.”

“Intriguing and interesting characters. Caught my attention in the first few pages. I like the way 'spirituality' was presented with the contrast of Christianity and Self actualization.”

“This was an interesting mystery with a touch of romance and exceptional writing.”

“Excellent novel and fast paced. Biblical adventure with Babylonian historical background that parallels with the book of Daniel. Modern detective story with a bit of history.”

“Amazing and entertaining book. I couldn't put it down. So many plot twists. I had no idea who was good or bad.”

“This book is full of excitement and adventure around each corner with a good mixture of history and fiction weaved into the pages!”

“The scenery and history in this was great! A super adventure with twists, turns, and mystical fun! And free to boot!”

“If you love historical mysteries, you'll love this book!”

“What a fantastic book. The book had everything. There was murder, greed, obsession, romance and one was kept on the edge of their seat from page 1.”

“Love this! It’s like an archeological middle eastern trip complete with a dig, artifacts and translation. When you can’t travel, why not go there in a book!”

“Fantastic book. Tracy's books are filled with intrigue from first page to the last one. Superb!”

“If you love historical mysteries, you'll love this book!”

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Enjoy a sample from Chasing Babylon

CHAPTER ONE

Emilie hunched over her laptop with her back to the stacks. Walled in on three sides, her study carrel in the back of the university library was like a tiny tomb buried far from civilization. She stopped typing and checked her watch once more. 

Twelve minutes. Her fingers sprinted over the keyboard. Twelve minutes to finish this paper, proofread, print, and get to her eight P.M. class, or yet another assignment would be late.

She paused in her typing to pick up the glazed bowl from the desk in front of her. For the hundredth time in the past hour, she held the bowl to her body as she peered over her shoulder.

Someone’s there. I can feel it.

She hadn’t relaxed since Dr. Horobin pulled the ritual washing bowl from its glass case in the University Museum three hours ago. It was a huge favor, letting his research assistant turn the thing around in her own hands as she finished the paper she was writing about it. There were people who would do anything to acquire this piece. If something happened to it, she’d never forgive herself. Or be forgiven.

She skimmed her fingers around the Akkadian writing on the rim. Over three thousand years ago someone had lettered these symbols onto the bowl before sending it to a Babylonian temple for a god’s purification ceremony. The words connected her to that unknown person. She was part of a great, cosmic surge of humanity, directing its own destiny through the ages, with the words her link to an ancient stranger.

She set the bowl in front of her computer and pounded out the concluding paragraph. As she scrolled to the top of the document to proof it, the floor creaked behind her.

“Who’s there?” She craned her neck to sweep a glance behind her. No answer. She shivered against the dry chill of the library.

Only one other person knew she was here with the bowl, and Emilie was beginning to regret telling him. She shouldn’t have trusted Charles. She knew better than to let anybody get close enough to scam her.

A quick read-through revealed her as a babbling idiot. No time for improvement. She still needed to print.

As she clicked Save, the compressed silence of the library shifted. Emilie sensed breathing a few feet away.

She jerked her head around. No one. Still, she had heard something. Confined by shelves 120.2 to 146.7, she could see little except the aisle tunneling away from her desk. The tight space closed in on her, its weight heavy on her chest.

She clicked her laptop shut and slipped it into her carrying case. She nestled the small bowl in the bag’s outer pocket, then hitched the strap over her left shoulder.

The stairwell door beside her granted a quick escape. She would trek down to the bottom floor, exit onto the street, and get the bowl back to the museum. She’d be a little late for class, but it was better than carting this thing around all evening.

Halfway down the second set of steps, she heard the door above her swish open again. She froze, her right foot hanging in midair above the next step. Two footfalls drifted down to her, then silence. No, not silence. The heavy breathing. Her fingers tightened around the metal handrail. She lowered her right foot as though the next step might be a landmine.

The footsteps above pounded downward. Feeling like the unpopular girl in a horror flick, murdered in the second scene, Emilie stumbled down to the next platform, her computer case banging against her hip. The footsteps echoed her own.

She couldn’t lose the bowl. Where should she go? Could she find a security guard?

The blood beat a rhythm in her head as she fled down the last set of steps and shoved through the street exit door. The cold city night slammed her chest. She should have detoured onto the bottom floor of the library. Now she was alone in the street.

Where could she get out of sight? Across the street, a city park offered shrubs and statuary. Should she take her chances there? She’d eaten lunch there many times. In the dark, the stone figures morphed into the monstrous nighttime shadows on her childhood walls.

The door handle pushed into the small of her back. Her pursuer would be more dangerous than a hallucination.

A taxi cruised past. The man and woman inside laughed, heads together, in the lighted back seat.

Which way? C’mon, Em. Make a decision! A subway entrance gaped at her from halfway down the street, inviting her to descend.

She ran to the entrance and took the steps two at a time down to the black-and-white tiled slime of the underground tunnel. The tracks and the platforms were deserted at this hour. A train’s disappearing lights warned she would be alone for a while.

Except for muggers. Emilie looked away from a shabby man leaning against a wall, staring like he could eat her for dinner. Probably homeless. And harmless. Don’t freak out.

She couldn’t stand here on the platform waiting for her pursuer, so she slid down the wall until she reached an alcove and tucked herself into it, breathing through her mouth and concentrating on the sounds around her. A fluorescent tube above her flickered and buzzed.

Who would chase her? It had to be someone after the bowl. She should have known Charles was too good to be true. Then again, at thirty-one, she had given up scrutinizing every guy who seemed to like her. Her stupidity had endangered the artifact, and possibly her life. Once again, letting a man gain her trust had proved to be a fatal mistake.

He was still following. Heavy shoes fell on the steps she’d come down, pausing at the bottom. 

Emilie held her breath.

The shoes rasped against the concrete floor, coming closer.

She closed her eyes in terror, her thoughts oddly focused on how long it would take someone to discover her body.

And then the footsteps receded. She waited as he ascended the steps, and let out her breath in inches.

An instant later, the ragged man from the platform rounded her corner and slid across the space between them.

Emilie backed against the wall. 

“Hello, little lady.” His reeking breath issued from a broken-toothed smile.

Emilie leaned back, trying to press herself through the wall . Beyond her alcove, she heard the scraping footsteps pause on the steps, then return in double-time.

Don’t scream. Don’t scream! You’ll never graduate if he steals the bowl.

Fear blazed out from the center of her body to her fingertips. The man in front of her still grinned. She held her computer bag in front of her, sending out a vague prayer that the bowl wouldn’t be damaged by using it as a shield. Or could she use her bag as a club? She stiffened her grip and prepared to slug him.

“Ms. Nazzaro?”

Emilie’s heart skipped at the sound of her name. The decaying man in front of her turned toward the sound, too. She leaned around him, searching for a familiar face.

“Ms. Nazzaro, are you okay here?”

A guy, maybe eighteen or nineteen, in a dress shirt and khakis, stood on the platform.

Harmless-Homeless Man moved away, disappearing down the tunnel.

Emilie’s shoulders dropped, tension seeping out through every pore of her body. She lowered her bag to her hip. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

The boy blushed. “I’m in Dr. Horobin’s Cultural Anthropology class.”

“Of course.” Emilie tried to cover. As his research assistant, she sometimes sat in on Dr. Horobin’s undergrad classes, but the faces had never distinguished themselves in her mind.

“I—I wanted to ask you a question.  

“Were you following me?” Her annoyance was back . “From the library?”

He picked at some imaginary lint on his shirt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to disturb you, but when I saw you leave—”

“What can I do for you?” Had he mentioned his name?

“I was wondering if, maybe, when you were free, we could get some coffee or something.”

Emilie waited. Was this the actual question? Apparently, it was. A date? She’d run down three flights of stairs and through the subway to get away from a kid with a crush? She was almost old enough to be this kid’s—older sister.

She smiled. “That’s sweet of you. I appreciate it. But I’m afraid it wouldn’t be appropriate, you know?”

He dropped his head. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“But I’m glad you were here.” Emilie turned toward the stairs. “I think you may have saved me from some trouble back there.”

He brightened. “Glad to help.”

They walked together up the stairs, into the night air. Emilie stopped and took a deep breath to fight off the oppressive closeness of the subway.

Her companion paused beside her. “Can I walk you somewhere?”

“DuWalt.”

Emilie’s would-be suitor left her at the door to the DuWalt Building, and she stood for a moment inside the door. She hadn’t printed her paper to turn in, and she was already late for class. And she hadn’t returned the bowl. Which first?

She’d go to class, explain to the prof, and hope for the best.

The door was closed when she reached the classroom. As she reached for the doorknob, a fleshy hand closed around hers.

“Emilie Nazzaro?”

No way, not again. Did she have a bull’s-eye painted on her tonight? She looked up into a expansive brow hanging over a jaw heavy with teeth. I think I found the Missing Link. She pulled her hand away. “I’m sorry, I need to get to class. Can it wait?”

“You need to come with me.”

“If this is about that project for Dr.—” She reached for the door again, but a paw clamped around her upper arm. “Excuse me.” She twisted away and tried to push past him. She might as well have rammed a wall.

“It’s important, Ms. Nazzaro. It’s about your father.”

Emilie drew back as though slapped. “What do you know about my father?”

Cro-Magnon Man said nothing.

Emilie watched his eyes, trying to read him. “I have a class, a paper due.”

“Miss it.”

She tried to edge around him again. Could she outrun him? Behind him, the hall was empty.

“Can I at least tell the professor I need to leave?” She grabbed at the doorknob.

“No need.” His fingers fastened around her wrist and pried her hand from the knob. He dragged her several steps down the hall, then stopped and twitched his head like an animal surveying the terrain. Emilie peered over her shoulder through the window to the classroom, at the rows of younger graduate students who were always punctual, and wished that for once she’d been on time.