1882, Jerusalem. The foreigner. A man with no name, twin guns at his hips, a wide-brimmed hat on his head. A European exile in the backwaters of Ottoman Palestine, The foreigner is a bounty hunter in pursuit of a thief. 1948, Haifa. Burton. A man with one name, a detective inspector in the crumpled khaki uniform of the Palestine Police Force’s CID. With just seven days before the British Mandate ends, he must find a murderer and a missing aristocrat, as order collapses around him. Both men are outsiders in a land that is a palimpsest of ruins and loyalties, legacy of a history written in blood on a landscape that remembers everything. Both men will treat with bandits and mystics, dreamers and killers as they pursue their quarry; both will be ensnared in a lethal search for the fabled treasures of the Second Temple, long-lost amid the rise and fall of peoples, nations and empires. And both will be haunted by their dreams: burning red skies, a mountain of skulls, echoes of a vision from the dawn of humanity. Before Jerusalem, before Jericho, there has always been Golgotha.
