04 The Edge of Darkness

by Tim LaHaye

  Murphy was amazed at all of Methuselah’s knowledge of the Bible.

  “With you knowing so much about the Bible… have you ever come to faith?”

  Methuselah began his cackling laugh.

  “Just because someone knows the facts about the Bible doesn’t make one a believer. I just listened carefully to my grandfather and my father. They were believers. But not me. I’m too old and bitter for that. God wouldn’t want to have me in heaven.”

  “But God-”

  Methuselah cut him off before he could finish.

  “Enough talk about God.”

  Methuselah sounded irritated. He stopped walking and looked at Murphy.

  “I know that you are a man of faith. That’s fine. So were my father and grandfather. But don’t try to push your thoughts on me. I think we are through talking. In fact, since you persist in taking away the pleasure of the surprise element of our relationship, I can no longer involve you in my little games.”

  Incredibly, Murphy was disappointed to hear it. He certainly had no desire to face any more of Methuselah’s little death traps, but did that mean the old man would no longer provide information on hidden biblical artifacts? Murphy started to ask him, but Methuselah was clearly through for the day.

  “Good day, Dr. Murphy,” he said curtly. “Perhaps our paths will cross again someday. Two of my men will escort you back to your car.”

  With that, Methuselah turned and headed away with four of his bodyguards. Murphy watched silently for a moment and then looked at the two large men. They wore sunglasses on their expressionless faces and walked in silence beside him.

  Murphy had mixed feelings as he headed back to his car. He had uncovered some startling information about the power wielded by the Seven, and learned who was responsible for his wife’s death. But he’d also managed to offend Methuselah somehow, depriving himself of his considerable help just when he needed it most.

  FORTY-FOUR

  THE RALEIGH HEALTH and Fitness Gym had been open twenty-four hours a day for more than two years. The owners wanted to meet the athletic needs of a broad range of working folks. Murphy usually went to the gym around 6:00 A.M. three days a week. He was glad that he had kept this routine for quite a while. He felt like he was in pretty decent shape. And with Talon and Methuselah in his life, he never knew what to expect. But at least he felt up to the challenge.

  The first part of his hour-long workout started with some stretching exercises. He would then proceed to a step machine and begin to work up a little sweat. That was followed by the use of free weights. He would bench-press his usual two hundred pounds and intersperse a number of routines with dumbbells and other equipment.

  He had just finished his last set of repetitions on the bench press when he heard a voice behind him.

  “That looks like a lot of hard work, Dr. Murphy.”

  He sat up and turned around, taken off-guard by the sight of Summer Van Doren. She was wearing gray jogging pants, a lighter gray tank top and a gray sweatband around her blond hair. She held a towel in her left hand and she’d evidently been working out. Despite the perspiration, she looked quite attractive. He noticed that the other guys lifting weights around him had slowed down a little and he could see them trying to get a better glimpse of her. He thought that they might want to change places with him.

  Did she ever look bad?

  He grabbed a towel and wiped his forehead. “Remember, it’s Michael … not Dr. Murphy.”

  “Okay, Michael,” she said with a slight smile.

  “I didn’t know you worked out here, Summer.”

  “I have been for several weeks. But I usually come in the evening. This is my first time early in the morning. I really don’t like to get all sweaty before going to school but sometimes it’s just more convenient to do it in the morning. Are you all through with your workout?”

  “Just about. I always like to finish with about a twenty-minute jog in the park across the street.”

  “I’ve thought about doing that, but didn’t feel comfortable running through the park at night alone.”

  Murphy nodded. “That’s understandable. Our world is not always safe. There are some real weirdoes in it. You made the right decision.”

  He stood up.

  “Are you all through?”

  Murphy was still quite aware that he was the envy of every guy in the room.

  “Yes, I just finished.”

  “Well, I’m going to finish with a jog. Would you like to join me?”

  Summer smiled a cute smile and said, “That sounds like fun. Why not? I’ve got plenty of time before I need to be at school.”

  Murphy was impressed how effortlessly Summer kept up with him. They held a pretty good pace for fifteen minutes and then began a slow jog for another five minutes. Eventually they started walking.

  “How is Paul Wallach doing?” Summer asked.

  “Not real well. His condition hasn’t improved. He had some severe internal damage from the beating he received.”

  Summer grimaced. “That’s terrible. Do the police know who was responsible for the attack?”

  “Not for sure. But I think I know who it might be.”

  “You do? Have you shared that with the police?”

  “Yes. They’re attempting to check into it.”

  “Who would do such a thing?”

  “A man named Talon. He’s a highly trained assassin. He seems to get great pleasure in hurting and killing people. He’s a true sociopath without any moral compunction for his behavior.”

  They both sat down on a park bench and continued their conversation.

  “Why would he choose to hurt Paul and Shari?”

  Murphy proceeded to share with Summer some of his experiences and battles he had with Talon. She sat there dumbfounded at the tales of danger and adventure coming from Murphy’s lips. She had no idea how perilous a life the Preston University archaeologist led.

  She finally spoke. “I’ve been praying for Shari and for Paul, but now I think I need to add you to my list. God has graciously spared you on a number of occasions. Have you ever thought about changing occupations to something a little less dangerous?”

  Murphy laughed.

  “As a matter of fact, I have. But I feel like I’m on some kind of mission. I think that God has allowed me to become involved in all of this for some purpose. There are powerful evil forces at work in our world. The Bible suggests that in the last days, moral and spiritual darkness will increase. We are only beginning to see the edge of this darkness. Somehow I think He wants to use me in battling these evil forces.”

  “What you’re talking about is similar to what Pastor Wagoner has been talking about in his sermons at church. He has mentioned that there would be an increase of crime, wickedness, and deception from false teachers. When he talks about the danger of the occult, it disturbs me. I have to admit I’m really fearful of the occult. Have you had to face these kinds of things also?”

  Murphy shared with Summer the story of his encounter with J. B. Sonstad. She sat there on the bench with her mouth slightly open and never took her eyes off of him.

  “Where do you think all of this is going to lead?” she finally asked him.

  “I’m not sure. My friend Levi Abrams and I will be leaving soon on an expedition to a spot in Israel. It’s the site of the ancient Temple of Dagon.”

  “What do you expect to find?”

  “I’m not sure. But it could be of great significance. I think it may have something to do with what the Bible calls the False Prophet.”

  “When will you be leaving?” For some reason, Summer felt just a little sad that he wouldn’t be around.

  “It looks like it’ll be just after school ends for the summer.”

  “That’s just a few weeks away.”

  Murphy and Summer walked back to the gym, gathered their things together and said good-bye.

  On his way back to school, Murphy replayed his conversation with Summer. She seeme
d very interested … they had a common faith … she was athletic and very attractive … and she was very easy to talk to.

  Where is this leading? he wondered, and not for the first time.

  FORTY-FIVE

  EUGENE SIMPSON was excited when Shane Barrington’s bulletproof car arrived. He had been a chauffeur for a number of years but had never driven something quite as exotic as this. It was a black Mercedes with tinted windows that bullets could not shatter. The metal on the sides of the vehicle could withstand a medium bomb blast. The car could even ride on the heavy-duty tires if they were pierced and the air was let out. It had all the bells and whistles.

  This is pretty cool. But why does Mr. Barrington need a car with so much protection? He’s not the President.”

  A group of security experts went through every detail of maintaining the car and checking it out before it was driven. They provided Simpson a long pole with a mirror on it, to slide under the car to check for any bombs that might be placed on the frame. It was to become a daily routine before he would pick up Mr. Barrington.

  Simpson wondered why Barrington was so concerned about his safety. He had never seemed worried about such things before. He had noticed that two bodyguards had been hired within the last two weeks. They traveled everywhere with him.

  Oh, well. It’s his money. Rich people are strange.

  On the tenth day of driving the new car, Simpson received a phone call from Barrington’s assistant, Wilson Dewitt.

  “Eugene, this is Wilson. Mr. Barrington will be going to the office at his regular time of nine A.M. He would like to be picked up then. He has an important meeting at ten A.M. and would like to arrive in plenty of time to prepare some last-minute papers. Don’t be late.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Nine A.M. That gave Eugene plenty of time to pick up the package his parents had sent him from California. Especially since it was on the way to Mr. Barrington’s penthouse.

  At ten minutes after nine, Wilson Dewitt’s phone began to ring.

  “Wilson here.”

  “Mr. Dewitt, this is Eugene.”

  “Eugene where have you been? Mr. Barrington’s in the lobby waiting for you. His patience is running very thin.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. There’s been an accident.”

  “With the new car?”

  “No, sir. A taxi ran into a bus in front of me and it is blocking traffic. I haven’t been able to move forward or backward. It’s just now clearing up. I should be there in about seven minutes.”

  “I’ll tell Mr. Barrington…. Uh-oh … here he comes, Eugene. He doesn’t look happy. Just a minute … he’s asking me a question.”

  Simpson was very nervous waiting for Dewitt to come back on the line.

  “Eugene.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Mr. Barrington wants to talk with you.”

  Simpson’s heart began to sink.

  “Eugene. This is Barrington. What’s going on? Where are you?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Barrington. After I picked up the package, I got stuck in a traffic jam. There was an accident in front of me.”

  “What package are you talking about, Eugene?”

  “My parents sent me some fruit from California. I picked it up at the bus station. But I left extra early, sir. This accident is just—”

  “Do your parents usually send you packages of fruit?” Barrington interrupted.

  “No, sir. This is the first time.”

  “How did you hear about the package?”

  “Some man from the bus station called and told me it was in.”

  “What does it look like, Eugene?”

  “It’s a small wooden crate. It’s the type that you send oranges in. You know, the type with wooden slats nailed on the top and a picture of oranges on the side.”

  “Where are you, Eugene?”

  “I’m at a stop light on Seventy-third. I’m waiting for the light to change.”

  “Eugene, can you reach the wooden crate?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s on the passenger seat next to me.”

  “Pick it up and hold it to your ear, Eugene. See if you hear anything.”

  “I can hear a very soft whirring sound.”

  “Eugene, get it out of the car. Do you hear me? Get rid of that box as fast as you—”

  An enormous blast put an immediate end to the conversation. A ball of fire blew out all four doors as the flaming vehicle lifted off the street and flipped upside down.

  Fortunately no one was in the crosswalk. Drivers in the cars waiting for the light to change were blinded by the flash of light. Debris from the Mercedes rained down on the windows and hoods of the waiting cars.

  Eugene Simpson never knew what hit him.

  Wilson Dewitt’s phone rang. It was the news desk at Barrington Communications. They informed him that they had just received several cell phone calls from citizens in the downtown district. They said that there had been a tremendous explosion just past 73rd Street. No one knew the cause yet. The police were on the way. There were fears that it might be a terrorist bombing. Dewitt shared the news with Barrington.

  Barrington shook his head back and forth.

  “Wilson, it’s not a terrorist bomb. It was Eugene Simpson.”

  “What? We were just talking with Eugene. I thought your car was protected against bombs.”

  “Yes, if the bomb came from outside of the car. It wasn’t built to withstand a blast from inside the car. If Simpson had been on time to pick us up, we wouldn’t be talking right now.”

  Dewitt’s expression registered shock. The two bodyguards with Barrington overheard the conversation and began to look around with apprehension.

  “Wilson. Call the office and tell them to cancel my meeting. I’m going back upstairs to the penthouse. I’ll work out of there for the next few days. I need to find out what’s happening. That attack was meant for me.”

  FORTY-SIX

  BY LATE AFTERNOON Barrington had all the details surrounding the death of Eugene Simpson. It was indeed a very powerful plastic explosive bomb that had destroyed the new bulletproof car. Police could not find any leads regarding the phone call notifying Simpson of the package at the bus station.

  Barrington was nervous and increased his personal security and barricaded himself in his penthouse for the next week. Although he did not talk to the police about his suspicions, deep in his gut he knew that the Seven were behind his attempted assassination.

  It was on Friday evening when his phone rang. He was all alone except for the bodyguards that were stationed outside his penthouse door.

  “This is Barrington.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line.

  “This is Barrington. Hello!”

  “Mr. Barrington, are you having a pleasant evening?”

  Barrington immediately recognized the South African accent.

  “What do you want, Talon?”

  “Just a little chat.”

  “Oh, yeah? About what?”

  Barrington began to pace back and forth in front of his windows that overlooked the city

  “About the death of your driver. It’s such a shame.”

  “I didn’t know you cared about the death of anyone.”

  “No, no. It’s not a shame about his death. It’s a shame that I wasted good explosives and didn’t kill you.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you. When I come after you, I’ll try to do better.”

  Talon laughed. “You may be a cutthroat businessman but you’re no killer.”

  “I’ll make an exception for you.”

  “That sounds very brave, Mr. Barrington … coming from a man who has confined himself to his penthouse. Are you nervous?”

  “Not at all. It’s just very cozy up here. As a matter of fact, I think I’ll stay here indefinitely Sorry to rum your plans.”

  “Mr. Barrington, I don’t think my employers are very happy with you.”

  “What are you talking about? I’m doing ever
ything they told me to do.”

  “Oh, really? What about Dr. Constantine De La Rosa?”

  “What about him? I’m promoting him like they asked.”

  “And what about the editorial?”

  Barrington’s heart skipped a beat. How did Talon know about the article he had written? He hadn’t shown anyone yet. He played coy.

  “What editorial?”

  “The one on your computer. The one that you haven’t printed yet. The one that tries to discredit De La Rosa.”

  Barrington was nervous. What else did these people know? Did they know about his Swiss bank accounts?

  “You’re very thorough, Talon. How did you know about that?”

  “Now, now. You don’t really expect me to reveal all of my secrets, do you?”

  “Okay, Talon. Let’s cut through all this flack. What do you want?”

  “Oh, my. Are we getting angry? There’s no need for that. After all, you have the upper hand, sitting there all nice and safe in your penthouse.”

  Something in Talon’s tone sent a chill up Barrington’s spine. He feverishly searched around the room. There was no way Talon could have gotten in.

  “Completely untouchable …” Talon continued.

  Barrington rushed to the window and looked out across the street. On the rooftop of the high-rise apartment across the way, he saw a flash of red and then a tail of white smoke. In an instant he realized that he was in deep trouble.

  He dropped the phone, turned and began to sprint away from the windows. He only got about fifteen feet across his massive living room when the rocket crashed through the windows and exploded.

  Pedestrians on the street below heard the blast. They looked up in time to see flames shooting out from the windows far above. Their first thoughts were that maybe a plane flew into the building. They ran as glass and debris began to ram down on them.

  Murphy’s phone began to ring.

  “This is Michael.”

  “Dr. Murphy.”

  “Yes, Shari. Is there some news about Paul? Is he getting better?”

  “No, there’s been no change. He’s still in critical condition. I’m with him at the hospital. Have you seen the news?”