by Tim LaHaye
Paul Wallach watched Shari in silence. His face was expressionless as he observed her … but deep inside his emotions ran wild.
It had been several months since he had seen her and during that time he had come to realize what a fool he had been. He missed her warm smile and playful spirit. The lure of a job offer by Shane Barrington had clouded his thinking as he was overcome by thoughts of wealth, fame, and power.
Wallach had come to believe that Barrington really cared for him. He looked at Barrington as a father figure and mentor … especially since his own father was gone. At first, Barrington seemed to be genuinely interested in him. The visits to his hospital bed after the bombing at the Preston Community Church. The paying of his tuition at the university Barrington had, on more than one occasion, indicated that Paul was like his own son, whom he’d evidently lost in an accident.
Paul watched as Shari bent over the manuscript and gently unrolled it. The two ponytails coming out of the sides of her head were almost touching the papyrus. Her jet-black hair was contrasted by her bright white lab jacket.
He thought back to the time in the hospital. Shari had sensed something about Barrington. She had told Paul that he wanted more than just a father-son relationship. Her intuition had told her that Barrington was a phony and a hypocrite, even though Paul couldn’t—or wouldn’t—see it. Of course she had been right.
Paul was ashamed now of his own greed. Barrington didn’t care about his desire to become a writer for his news network. All he wanted was someone on the inside to write about Murphy and what he was teaching. It had never dawned on Paul that he was being used as a spy … until now. He felt angry, cheap, and used.
For a moment, Wallach flashed back to that fateful day in Barrington’s office. He had felt like Barrington was looking through him rather than at him.
“I was curious as to what my responsibilities would be. We really haven’t had a chance to talk much about it after you gave me the assignment of reporting on Dr. Murphy’s archaeology class. How have you liked my writing so far? What does the future hold for me with Barrington Network News?”
Paul remembered how Barrington had just sat there in silence for the longest time. It was almost unbearable.
“Well, Paul, I have a reputation for speaking frankly. Are you ready for a man-to-man talk?”
Paul had the same feelings come over him as he did when Barrington first said those words. He felt scared and helpless in the face of such a powerful man, a man who controlled millions of dollars and the lives of thousands of people.
“We’re going to have one today. Your writing stinks. I only needed you to get information on Murphy, but I no longer care about him and I have no use for you anymore. And, oh, by the way, your scholarship is discontinued.”
In an instant, Paul felt his whole world come crashing down.
“But, Mr. Barrington, you told me that you thought of me as a son.”
Barrington’s response destroyed him.
“Oh, grow up, Paul. If you want to know the truth, you haven’t got skills enough to drive a nail—let alone survive in this kind of business. I’ll spell it out slowly so you’ll understand: You’re fired.”
Paul’s attention was drawn back to the lab as Shari started singing along with the music. He smiled to hear her voice. He had missed hearing it.
Shari finally sensed his presence and turned. A look of shock came over her. Paul Wallach was the last person she had expected to see. The last time they were together it had ended in tears. Shari could hear her last words as she looked at Paul.
“Let me try to explain. You and I think differently about God, eternal values, how to conduct one’s life, and what’s important in life. It’s like water and oil. They can’t be mixed together. Try as hard as I would like to, it’s just not going to happen. If we were to continue our relationship you wouldn’t be happy with me and I wouldn’t be happy with you. I think it’s best if we stop seeing each other. It’s evident that you and I are walking down separate roads. I can’t reject all that I believe in, no matter how much I care for you. Trying to do so will only end in disaster. I wish it didn’t have to end this way, but in the long run it will be the best for both of us.”
“Hi, Shari. I was in the area and thought I would drop in and say hello.”
Shari was tongue-tied. “Hello, Paul,” she finally managed.
“I know you’re busy… but can you break away for a little bit?”
“I … I guess so.”
“Great. Could we go for a walk?”
Shari nodded her head and took off her lab coat.
What’s this all about? she wondered.
They walked in silence for a little while, Shari trying to figure out what was going on and Paul trying to muster his courage. Finally he spoke.
“You know, you were right.”
“About what?”
“About Barrington. He didn’t care about me. I was just being used. He’s an expert in using people.”
Shari nodded her head in agreement.
“I don’t work for him anymore.”
“You don’t? When did that happen?”
“A couple of months ago.”
“What are you doing now?”
“Nothing. I have reenrolled at Preston and will start next semester. I’m looking for a part-time job until then.”
“Why are you coming back here?”
“I guess there are two reasons. The first is that I need to find out who I am and what I would really like to do in life. The second …”
He paused for a moment. “The second is that I would like to see if we could possibly begin dating again.”
“Well, I …”
“Don’t say anything yet. I know I’ve acted like an idiot. You were right and I was wrong. I hope that you can forgive me for hurting you. I’m so sorry.”
Shari hadn’t expected any of this.
“I can forgive you, Paul. But just because I forgive you doesn’t mean that we will go back to the way we were. My faith in God has not changed and we see life differently.”
“I know. I guess what I am saying is maybe you were right. Life isn’t just earning money and buying things. I’ve had a severe wake-up call. I’m trying to process everything and I think I’m more open-minded than I was before.”
“Paul, I hope that’s true. That would be wonderful. But if you’re trying to adopt a belief in God to win me back, it won’t last. Your decision to come to the Lord needs to be yours alone … regardless of whether we ever get back together or not.”
“You’re right, Shari. I’m not trying to pressure you. I just hope that you might consider it. I’ve gone through a tough time the past couple of months. It’s been lonely, and I’ve had to do some heavy thinking.”
“Have you been thinking about God?”
“Yeah. But if I’m honest, I guess I’m a little mad at Him.”
“For what?”
“For letting this all happen to me.”
“Maybe He didn’t let it happen to you, Paul. Maybe He tried to stop you and you wouldn’t listen. Maybe you brought it on yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“Did God tell you to take the job with Barrington?”
“No, I don’t hear voices from heaven.”
“Sometimes God uses the voices of other people.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe God was using me to warn you of the danger ahead. Maybe I became His voice to you.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way before.”
“Paul, I know that you were angry when you lost your father. You didn’t think it was fair that he died. Now you have lost another father figure in Shane Barrington. Not only did you lose him, but he used you and didn’t give a rip about your feelings. That’s enough to get anybody angry.”
“You’ve got that right.”
“I can understand why you’ve been depressed. I had some of those same feelings when I lost my parents. It took me a w
hile before I realized that anger and depression are tied together. Of course, you can be angry and not be depressed … but you cannot be depressed without some form of hurt and anger. I wasn’t able to pull out of my depression until I faced my anger. I had to admit it… own it… and choose to let go of it.”
“That doesn’t sound easy.”
“No, it’s not. It was one of the hardest things I had to do. Is it possible that you haven’t dealt with your anger yet?”
“I think that’s safe to say.”
“That’s only natural. I would be hurt and angry too. But will your anger change the situation?”
“No, but I’d like to punch him in the face!”
“What if you don’t get that opportunity?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe then you will have to face your anger and let go of it.”
“How can I do that?”
“By making peace with the things you cannot change. By learning to not get into the same type of situations in the future. By forgiving.”
“By forgiving? I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive him.”
“Didn’t you ask me to forgive you a few minutes ago for hurting me?”
“Yeah, but—”
“No buts. What if I had responded to you the way you’re responding to Barrington? Would you like that?”
“Of course not.”
“What’s the difference, Paul? You can’t harbor hatred in your heart and expect to ever heal emotionally. That was one of the hardest things I had to learn. I have to keep reminding myself of it all the time. Hurtful thoughts have a way of haunting us. We have to keep giving them back to God. He’s the only one who can give us the strength to do this, and the inner peace that comes from forgiving.”
“Pretty heavy stuff, Shari. I’m going to have to think about what you’ve said. Thank you for not hating me.”
“I haven’t hated you, Paul.”
“I hope that you might be open to talking again, Shari. I hope that we might be able to work through our differences. Would you be open to that?
“We’ll see, Paul. That’s all I can say for now.”
Shari’s eyes were fixed on the floor and she was deep in thought when she entered the lab. She didn’t see Murphy sitting behind a microscope at the side of the room.
“So?”
She looked up, startled.
“‘So’? What do you mean?”
“I saw you walking with Paul Wallach over by the pond. Is he working on some story for Barrington News Network?”
“No. He was let go. Barrington really didn’t have a job for him.”
“It doesn’t surprise me. He’s the type of person to use someone and then throw them away. What’s Paul doing now? Is he planning to come back to school?”
“He signed up for next semester.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“And are you going to start dating him again?”
Shari felt a mix of emotions beginning to swirl within. “Now who’s playing matchmaker?”
“I’m just asking.”
“I’m not sure. I don’t know if he has changed. I think I’ll have to just watch for a while.”
“You’re wise to take it slow. If he has changed, you’ll know it.”
TWENTY-TWO
FASIAL SHADID TURNED the corner and drove toward downtown Cairo and Tahrir Square. He had been a professor of Ancient Writings and Ancient Culture at the American University for twenty years, and before that, a student at the university. He had witnessed the growth of the school to over five thousand students, especially after the addition of the “Greek” campus and the Jameel Management Center.
Fasial was a small man with a leathery complexion. However, he carried himself in a confident manner that made him seem almost imposing. There were large gaps between his teeth when he smiled and his dark brown eyes brimmed with enthusiasm. He enjoyed walking the campus, talking with the students, and looking at the majestic buildings that used to be a palace that dated back to the 1860s. He also enjoyed attending events in the Ewart Memorial Hall. It was one of the most culturally active auditoriums in Cairo. But his greatest joy was being part of the committee that designed and helped construct the buildings housing Special Collections and the Rare Boole Library.
His curiosity had been greatly aroused when he received a phone call from his assistant Nassar Abdoo telling him to come quickly.
Nassar was sitting at a desk looking through a high-powered magnifying glass when Fasial arrived. They greeted each other and Nassar adjusted the magnifying glass with his bony sticklike arms and oily fingers. His sunken eyes had dark circles around them and a deep furrow of concentration was permanently etched into his brow.
“Fasial, look at this.” He was pointing to the foot-long piece of brass on the table before him.
“Just what do you want me to look at?” he said as he bent forward toward the magnifying glass.
“Look, on the belly of the snake. On the smooth part just below the carved scales.”
Fasial could make out faint traces of what looked to be early Babylonian writing.
“Yes, I see it. Have you been able to decipher what it says?”
“I can make out part of it. The rest has either been rubbed off or exists on the other sections of the snake.”
Fasial looked more closely at the writing.
“It seems to suggest that the Babylonians believed that there was some type of healing power in the snake. Can you make out the word ‘Nehushtan’?”
“Yes, I see it.”
“Just recently I did some tracing back through the Old Testament of the Bible. The word ‘Nehushtan’ is mentioned in II Kings 18, in a description of Hezekiah’s ascent to the throne. It says, ‘He removed the high places, smashed the sacred stones and cut down the Asherath poles. He broke into pieces the bronze snake Moses had made, for up to that time the Israelites had been burning incense to it. It was called Nehushtan.’”
“That would seem to suggest that this is one of the broken pieces.”
“Yes, and I did some more research on the word ‘Nehushtan.’ It was also mentioned by a Babylonian priest by the name of Dakkuri who had somehow gotten ahold of the broken pieces of the Bronze Serpent of Moses.”
Nassar smiled at Fasial, exposing his yellow teeth.
“Now for the final proof. Look at the carved scales on the side, just right of the center. If you look carefully, you can make out faded letters, one letter in each scale. To the casual observer, they appear to be random markings on the scales. They spell D-A-K-K-U-R-I.”
“This is a wonderful find, Nassar. I recall having come across something in my research about a cult that had been worshiping this piece of bronze. It would be interesting if we were able to reunite all three pieces, to determine if it truly does have some great power. Up for another late night?”
“I’ve already sent a student to bring us some kishk bread, milk, cheese, dates, and figs.” Nassar smiled. “Let’s get to work.”
It was 11:00 P.M. when Nassar rose to stretch. He walked around the room nibbling a fig. Fasial was intently reading an ancient manuscript.
Nassar gasped and Fasial’s head whipped around in his direction.
“You startled me, sir. I didn’t hear you coming.”
Nassar looked into the cold eyes of a stranger. The man had black hair and a black mustache and stood over six feet tall. He had a bone white complexion and wore gloves, which seemed strange for this time of year.
“I’m sorry to startle you. I’m looking for a Mr. Fasial Shadid and a Mr. Nassar Abdoo.”
Nassar placed his accent as South African. “I’m Nassar and that is Mr. Shadid.”
The stranger reached out his hand and greeted both of the men.
“May we help you, sir?” said Fasial.
“Possibly. I have been informed that you have a section of what might be the famous Bronze Serpent of Moses. Is this true?”
Nassar and Fasial exchanged frowns. They had informed no one of what they were doing.
“How would you know that?” asked Nassar.
The man shrugged. “Amazing how stories get around. I have something that might interest you.”
Both of them looked at him quizzically.
The stranger reached into his briefcase and removed the tail section of the Bronze Serpent.
Both of their mouths flew open. Fasial put down the manuscript and went over to look at the tail section of the Bronze Serpent. They took it over to the large magnifying glass and began to study it. They noted the Babylonian writing and the similarity of the carved scales.
“Where did you get this?” asked Fasial.
“It recently came into my possession,” the stranger replied evasively.
With a nod from Fasial, Nassar went to a file cabinet, unlocked it, and took out the middle of the Bronze Serpent.
“Bring it here, Nassar. Let us see if they fit together.”
All three gathered around the magnifying glass. Nassar gently fitted the two pieces together.
“A perfect fit. The breaks are so fine that the pieces could easily be put back together and no one would know the difference,” he said.
“Excuse me, sir,” said Fasial. “We have introduced ourselves but we did not catch your name.”
“My name is Talon,” said the stranger as he began to take off his gloves.
“Is that your first or your last—?”
Nassar and Fasial’s attention was drawn to Talon’s hand.
“Did you have an accident?” asked Fasial.
“What, this?” He held up his odd-looking finger without a trace of self-consciousness. “As a matter of fact, I did. When I was a young boy I had a pet falcon. One day he attacked me and ripped off my finger. I had it replaced with this one.”
“It seems quite sharp,” said Nassar.
“Let me show you.”
The words were barely out of Talon’s mouth when he lashed out with a backhanded swipe under Nassar’s chin, severing his larynx. Blood gushed everywhere as Nassar clutched at his throat and collapsed to the floor.
Fasial was frozen for a moment as his mind tried to absorb what had just happened. Then he ran to the desk and grabbed a sharp letter opener. His breathing came fast as he brandished it at Talon.
