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Origin: The Royal

Le Royal Hôtel d’Ammān towered over the city like a single white pillar bracing up a boundless azure sky. People gathered as a long black limousine pulled slowly under the palm laden eave; all hoping to catch sight of Arabian Royalty.

The ground floor stirred with commotion when the Prince entered the hotel. A flustered young woman sat hurriedly as he dipped inside the office of the JPAC. The tan, solidly built man in a silver suit and tie approached her desk.

“The Commissioner isn’t in, Your Excellency.”

His hazel eyes studied her olive skin. “My dear, Dorcas, I am not here for him.” She quivered. “I want you…” her arms and legs tingled, “…to tell me the name of the British Archaeologist. I know he was here.” Her scarlet lips shivered. “Who was he?”

The Prince stilled her trembling hand; she reached across the desk with the other. Fluttering long dark lashes, she smiled and extended the file to him. Taking it, he turned to depart.

Dorcas grabbed his arm. “Is there nothing more you desire, Umar?”

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