![]() ![]() It was only three years ago that Ellyson had joined a group of archeologists excavating a site southwest of Istanbul. Certainly, the punishment shouldn’t be death. Sure, he was known to gamble, and yes, he often stole artifacts from archeological digs to sell on the black market, but so did a lot of other people. And for what? Did his benefactors actually think he was going to stiff them? But the moment of his greatest triumph had suddenly become the last moment he would ever know. ![]() This was supposed to be the discovery of his life, the one that would legitimize him and land him at the top of the academic heap. He had done a lot of reprehensible things in his fifty-five years, but this was not how he had expected to die-his throat sliced and hot blood running down the front of his parka. Donald Ellyson tried to scream, but nothing happened. ![]()
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