by Tim LaHaye
“Thanks. He said to go to the north side of the Royal Gorge, past the amusement park. Follow the canyon going west for two miles. The canyon will narrow. Look for the cables. That was it. It didn’t make any sense to me.”
“It doesn’t make any sense to me either. Thanks for your help. What are you in for?”
“Armed robbery I held up a convenience store.”
“How much longer?”
“Three more years. They’re teaching me auto mechanics. I hope to get a job when I get out.”
“I’m sure you will. Besides the money, I’ll leave a book for you with the guards. I think it will help you create a new life for yourself.”
On the way out Murphy left some money and a Bible for Tyler Scott. He put a note inside suggesting that the young man start reading in the Gospel of John.
As Murphy drove the ten miles from Canon City to the Royal Gorge, memories began to flood his mind. He remembered his father taking him on the railroad that ran at the bottom of the gorge. They had eaten lunch on the train and ridden the open-air observation cars to view the canyon from below. His highlight was going over a hanging railroad bridge with the class five rapids below them.
What a great time I had with my dad. If Tyler Scott had had a caring dad, would his life be any different?
Murphy parked his car and put on his day pack as he thought about what he might be facing. He strode across the suspension bridge, proceeded west next to the gorge, leaving the amusement park and people behind him. Soon he was alone.
He had forgotten how beautiful and majestic the Colorado Mountains were. Every now and then he stopped and looked into the gorge. It was quiet. All that could be heard was his boots on the ground, an occasional bird, and the sound of the rapids far below.
I need to do this more often. There’s something therapeutic about being alone in God’s creation.
Only one end of the top cable was attached to solid ground. Murphy was now swinging above the canyon like a human pendulum. In only moments he would smash into the wall on the other side of the gorge.
With his arms and legs clenched around the cable, Murphy prayed that he’d be able to hang on after the crash. He could make out individual rocks in the wall of stone now.
Then, suddenly, the position of the cable changed. Glancing up, Murphy could see that it had struck a large rock, which broke some of the downward momentum. Murphy’s impact on the wall was arms and legs first, not headfirst, and he was able to hold on. But panic gripped him as he swung back from the wall.
“Oh, God! I’m slipping. Help me,” he shouted.
After slipping about twenty feet, Murphy was able to stop his fall. His hands were shredded. He knew there was no way he could climb out of the canyon; the top looked to be a hundred feet away. His only hope for survival was to shinny up the cable to the rock outcropping above him—quickly, before his strength faded.
Murphy was almost exhausted by the time he reached the rock outcropping and pulled himself to safety. He lay there for some time, breathing deeply. When his breathing returned to normal, he checked out his surroundings. He was on a flat rock shelf about five feet wide and four feet long. The rest of the outcropping was too steep to stand on. He dragged the cable up and hooked it around a rock. He didn’t want to lose his only connection with the top of the gorge.
His bloody hands were shaking violently as he took off his day pack and took out a couple of energy bars and a bottle of water.
Okay, Murphy. You’re alive. Calm down.
He could barely unscrew the lid off the water bottle.
I’m getting too old for this. If I could get my hands on Methuselah, I’d kill him. Well, at least beat him till he’s almost dead and stop his crazy cackling.
Murphy knew he had to regain his strength to be able to climb to the top of the canyon. After eating the energy bars and drinking the water, he put the pack under his head and lay down to sleep for a little while.
God, thank you for sparing my life. Please give me the strength and courage to climb out of here.
It was the cry of a hawk gliding gently through the canyon that woke Murphy. Sitting up, he tried to assess his situation. His eyes followed the cable to where he could see the edge of the gorge and safety far above him. He knew he couldn’t climb that far on a steel cable. Neither could he stay on this ledge, at Methuselah’s mercy. He did have a few resources, though.
He took off his belt and made it into a prussic knot, with a loop for his hand to fit into. From the shoulder straps of his day pack he formed two more prussic knots and loops to stand in. After he wove the knots into the cable, steeling himself for what he was about to do, he began the long slow climb to the top of the gorge.
Murphy hung his body weight on his right hand, which was hooked through the loop. He then reached down with his left hand and slid up the prussic knots that were attached to his feet. Then he stood up on the loops and slid the belt up the cable. He continued this process like an inchworm climbing a branch. It took almost an hour and a half for him to work his way to the top.
By the time Murphy pulled himself over the top of the canyon wall and uttered a prayer of thanks, Methuselah was nowhere to be seen—or heard. Perhaps he assumed that Murphy would never make it out alive. Or, more likely, he just got bored.
There must not have been enough excitement for him, Murphy thought dryly.
As he looked around, he saw something at the base of the tree where the cables had been attached. Sitting on a rock was a brass balancing scale. Broken wooden numbers lay in the two pans of the scale. The numbers 1 and 2 had been snapped in half. Part of each one lay in each pan. A three-by-five card was under the scale. Murphy picked it up and read the words.
BABYLON-375 METERS DIRECTLY NORTHEAST OF THE HEAD
Murphy shook his head. Methuselah, you’re not through with the games yet, are you? Well, at least you had faith in me to live through your stupid tricks.
Murphy had almost forgotten about the manila envelope in his shirt. Now he pulled it out and opened it carefully. He peered in but couldn’t determine what was inside, so he tipped the envelope and poured the contents into his hand.
Plaster?
TWO
The town of Akkad, twenty-three miles from Babylon, 539 B.C.
DARK FIGURES CREPT stealthily through the sleeping town. Some moved in pairs, but most were alone. Each, however, was fully aware of the danger. At every turn of the streets they glanced around nervously to see if they were being followed. If discovered, they were sure to be beheaded. Yet anger and greed overcame their fear of death and drove them to the meeting.
It was cold and late at night. The quarter moon and cloud-filled sky created deep shadows. It was the perfect cover they needed. Only an occasional barking dog could be heard.
There were no welcoming lights in the darkened building they approached. After a coded knock, the door opened and they were ushered into a large room lighted with just a few small flickering oil lamps.
Smells of garlic, curry, and body odor permeated the air. Bearded men with nervous dark eyes were seated on Oriental rugs, the flickering light casting eerie shadows on their faces and brightly colored turbans. Some whispered angrily to each other. Others were quiet. Most looked very anxious and apprehensive.
The satrap from the province of Susa, Abd al Rashid, a squat man with bad breath, was the last to enter. Governor Abu Bakar and Governor Husam al Din nodded as he strode in. Everyone looked toward the two governors. Husam al Din was the first to speak.
“We have sources close to King Darius who inform us that he is planning to promote the old Hebrew as his chief administrative officer. We cannot let this happen. If he is placed in charge over us, it will affect our entire operation.”
Abu Bakar added, “He is not a man who can be bribed or corrupted. He is too honest. Others have tried and have lost their lives as a result. We must come up with a plan to discredit him to King Darius.”
Those opening words caused a so
ft murmur. Kadar al Kareem raised his hand. “The old Hebrew is faithful to Darius. It is doubtful that we will be able to accuse him of disloyalty. But there may be a way, however. The old man is a follower of Jehovah. His dedicated religious faith can be twisted and used against him. We must convince the king that the old man’s God is in some way against Darius.”
Daniel was finishing his meal of fruit and bread when his aide came into the room.
“Master, King Darius has sent a messenger with a command. He has asked that you and the other two governors and his one hundred twenty satraps meet in the royal palace in four days from today.”
“Did the messenger say what the meeting was about?”
“No, he only mentioned that Darius was going to create a new law. It will be an irrevocable law of the Medes and Persians.”
Daniel slowly shook his head. “I hope that he will think through the new law carefully. In my eighty-five years I have seen many kings regret passing a law they cannot change.”
At the sound of the trumpet, the crowd grew silent. People turned toward the door, clapping as Daniel entered.
Daniel smiled and nodded at the men in multicolored robes as he walked toward his place near the king’s throne. He knew in his heart that it was all an act. Although the men in the room were smiling and applauding, he could sense their hatred and jealousy. He had discovered their secret system of corruption. They knew he could expose them at any moment. He was fully aware that these hypocrites were his political enemies.
The royal guard began to file into the large hall from behind the throne. Soon many trumpets began to sound, and everyone rose in silence.
Loud cheers and applause broke forth when King Darius entered, smiling and waving. His gold-embroidered scarlet and blue robes barely covered his short, portly body.
After what seemed to be an eternity, Darius finally sat down and lowered his scepter. “I have been informed that all of you have held a meeting and unanimously came up with a wonderful suggestion,” he stated.
What? Daniel had not been part of any meeting. He knew something was wrong.
Smiling broadly, Darius continued, “I appreciate your loyalty and your desire to honor me as your king. Because of that, I’m going to issue a new law that will be in effect for the next thirty days. It will be an unalterable law of the Medes and Persians. It will not be annulled for any reason. For the next thirty days, anyone who prays to any god or man except me will be thrown into the den of lions.”
Then Daniel quickly understood their plan.
Darius called for the scribes and signed the decree to the cheers of the audience—except for one man.
The lion collapsed with a roar as Daniel fell onto its back. It took a moment or two for Daniel to catch his breath. After he had gathered his wits, he tried to focus. The only light entering the den came from the hole in the ceiling through which he had just been thrown.
The smell of the lions and their droppings was almost overpowering. It made it hard to breathe. As he looked around he could see the slanted yellow eyes of many surprised cats looking at him. One of the large males began to roar, soon followed by others. The sound was deafening… and terrifying.
Daniel could feel fear surging through his body. He had seen lions before, but only caged. Now there were no bars… only about thirty lions milling about him just a few feet away.
“Dear God, I have faithfully served you. Please give me strength to face death today.” Daniel’s prayer was interrupted by a voice from above. Darius. Daniel could hear the torment in the king’s voice. “Daniel! My heart is in anguish. I tried to save you but I could not. May your God, whom you serve continually, rescue you! Goodbye, my faithful servant.”
Before he could respond, he heard another sound—the scraping of the large stone that covered the hole into which he had been thrown. The royal guard was shoving it back into place.
Scribes soon brought melted wax and poured it on one end of the stone. As the wax rolled down off the rock and onto the ground, it formed a puddle. As the wax was drying, Darius and some of his nobles took their rings and made impressions signifying the unalterable law of the Medes and Persians. Anyone who broke the seal and tried to rescue Daniel would be put to death immediately.
With the rock covering the hole, only small shafts of light entered the den. Daniel could hear the lions moving about him. Occasionally one startled him with a roar. When would the attack begin?
For about fifteen minutes he sat in the middle of the den with his arms wrapped around his knees, nervously rocking back and forth and praying. His heart leaped to his throat when the tail of a lion hit him in the face as the large creature walked by.
Half an hour passed before Daniel realized that perhaps the lions were not going to attack him. Slowly he began to move. As he made his way toward a wall, he could feel bones under his feet—human bones. The thought made him want to throw up. Finally he reached the wall and leaned his back against it and listened.
He could hear the lions moving around in the darkness. Occasionally he felt a lion’s breath and whiskers on his face as it sniffed him. It was an extremely unnerving experience. He kept anticipating that sharp teeth and pain would follow the warm breath.
Daniel thought back to how he had felt when he first heard Darius’s most recent decree. He knew that the satraps and governors had set a trap just for him, because they and he knew that he would not be able to pray to Darius, Jehovah was the only true God of heaven and earth. No one else deserved worship. Especially not some small, overweight man with a large ego and an abundance of pride and arrogance.
He recalled how the delegation of satraps had broken into his room while he was praying. They had grabbed him and brought him to Darius, telling the king that Daniel was praying to Jehovah and asking for His help. The color had drained from Darius’s face when he realized that he had sentenced his most faithful leader to death. The king had spent the day in frantic attempts to save Daniel, but finally Darius acknowledged that he could find no way to rescind his original ruling.
Eventually Daniel began to drift off, his thoughts turning to the first time he had come to Babylon.
THREE
“IT SEEMS TO ME I recall someone talking to me last week about being late to work.” Shari, dressed in her usual white lab coat, didn’t even look up from her microscope when Murphy entered the lab. He knew she was pretending not to smile.
“I’m glad to see that your powers of observation are improving,” he answered.
She looked up with a smile. “Say, what’s with the scratch on your head?” she asked, concerned. “Was spring break too hard on you?”
“A rock attacked me.”
“Right. It just leaped off the ground and rushed at you.”
“Well, actually, more like I rushed at it.”
Shari looked at him more closely. “How about the scabs on your knuckles? Did you have a boxing match with the rock too?”
“You could say that.”
Her good-natured jesting suddenly turned serious. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Methuselah, does it?”
Her words sounded just like something Laura would say. Ever since Laura had died, Shari had taken over the job of worrying about him.
Murphy changed the subject. He didn’t want to explain his near-death experience. He didn’t want her to start saying that he should stay away from Methuselah.
“I’ve got something for you to look at,” he said, handing her a manila envelope.
Shari’s curiosity was piqued. She knew that Murphy didn’t want to talk about what had happened, so she turned the envelope over in her hands and asked, “What’s in it?”
“A little surprise. I want you to tell me what you think.”
She poured the contents of the envelope onto a sheet of paper on the worktable. Murphy’s encounter with the wall had crushed the plaster. As she looked closely at it, she said, “Oh, by the way, Bob Wagoner called before you came in late for work. He said he’d l
ike you to give him a call.”
Murphy smiled as he walked to his office.
FOUR
BOB WAVED to Murphy from his usual booth in the back. Murphy smiled and nodded, thinking, We’re all creatures of habit.
They shook hands and Murphy slid across the green vinyl bench and sat down. The décor of Adam’s Apple Diner hadn’t changed since it had opened in the late 1970s. And Roseanne, the gray-haired waitress, looked like she had worked there, and eaten lots of food there, since its beginning.
“What’s on the menu today?” Bob asked as she approached the table.
“There’s lots on the menu, Pastor Bob, but my guess is that you’ll have your usual cheeseburger and chili fries.”
“You’ve got me pegged, Roseanne.” He threw up his arms in mock surrender.
“And for you, Dr. Murphy? The chicken sandwich?”
“You’re a mind reader, Roseanne.”
“I’ll get your coffee,” she said as she waddled off toward the kitchen.
“Well, bring me up to date, Michael. We really haven’t had a chance to talk since you got back from your trip to Ararat. Were you able to find the ark?”
Murphy’s big smile left his face. Wagoner could sense uneasiness and pain. “Did something go wrong?” he asked, his voice turning somber.
For the next forty minutes Murphy recounted the deaths of his climbing party. He shared the betrayal of Colonel Blake Hodson and Larry Whittaker, the photographer, and how they had killed Professor Reinhold, Mustafa Bayer, Darin Lundquist, and Salvador Valdez, the former Navy SEAL. He then went on to describe how Talon had tried to kill him and how Azgadian had rescued him.
Wagoner listened quietly as he ate his cheeseburger. Not only was he absolutely spellbound by the tragic story, but he knew that Murphy needed to talk. Holding that much pain inside was not healthy.
“How about Vern Peterson, the helicopter pilot? What happened to him?” Wagoner asked when Murphy paused.
“He instinctively knew that something was desperately wrong. He saw the control box in Whittaker’s hand and tried to descend away from the radio signals before the bomb blast. He realized that he couldn’t escape and leaped out of the helicopter in desperation.”
