Babylon rising: the secret on Ararat

by Tim F. LaHaye

  It was the only way to find out who these people really were and whether he could rely on them.

  At the first team meeting Murphy had introduced

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  himself and explained the goals of the expedition--as well as the risks. Then he asked for questions. Valdez was the first to raise his hand. The ex-SEAL was solidly built, with a square jaw and an iron-gray buzz cut. So far Murphy hadn't seen him smile.

  "You need someone who can climb a thousand-foot vertical face in the dark with a blizzard going, you've come to the right guy. But something tells me you picked me and Hodson for something besides our mountaineering chops. Just what kind of bad guys are you expecting to find on Mount Ararat?"

  It was a good question. And the bad news was that Murphy didn't have a good answer.

  "Mount Ararat is situated in a dangerous part of the world, period. We could be facing bandits, wild dogs, or just local tribesmen who are suspicious of strangers."

  Valdez narrowed his eyes. He didn't look convinced. "So take some dog chews and a few bucks to hand out to the locals. You don't need us." He pushed his chair back and stood up to go.

  "Okay!" Murphy held his hands out in front of him, palms up. "You're right. There could be other ... dangers. I want to make sure the team is properly protected, and Levi tells me you guys are the best. The problem is, I can't tell you exactly what those dangers are."

  Valdez remained standing, his thick forearms folded over his chest. Murphy realized he'd have to level with him before he could go any further.

  "Look, you probably heard about that FBI agent, Hank Baines, who was shot. He was standing next to me at the time. And the day before that, Dr. McDonald and I were abducted and threatened in Washington."

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  He could see Isis raise an eyebrow. Clearly she didn't think "abducted and threatened" described their experiences accurately.

  "The fact is," Murphy continued, "somebody knows about this expedition and doesn't want it to succeed. Right now I can't tell you who that somebody is. But I can tell you that they are ruthless and will stop at nothing to get whatever it is they want."

  "And that is?" asked Professor Reinhold. He was a surprisingly boyish figure, with an unruly mop of blond hair he was forever pushing out of his eyes and old-fashioned round spectacles. Unlike Valdez, he always seemed to be grinning.

  "We have to assume it's the same thing we want--the remains of the ark and whatever's in it."

  Reinhold scratched his chin thoughtfully. "If they're willing to kill for it, it must be something pretty awesome. More than a few fragments of soggy wood, I'll bet." The prospect of somebody trying to kill him for a biblical artifact seemed to please him immensely.

  Hodson, the ex-Ranger, seemed to like Murphy's answer too. With his mirrored shades and constant gum-chewing, it was hard to read his expression, but he was nodding vigorously, as if meeting some serious bad guys was his idea of a great vacation. He turned to Valdez and grinned. "I'm sure me and the professors can handle any trouble, if you want to sit this one out, Commander."

  Valdez sat down, but not before fixing Hodson with a steely stare. "I'm in," he grunted.

  Murphy breathed a sigh of relief. At least so far no one had walked out. But the fireworks weren't over quite yet. At the back of the group, Mustafa Bayer was

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  leaning back against his chair as he smoothed out his dark mustache with an elegantly manicured finger. He addressed Isis, who was sitting next to him, her legs and arms crossed in what looked like a fiercely defensive posture.

  "Luckily also, Mr. Levi was wise enough to ensure a Turkish military presence, so you will be safe, Miss McDonald, even if Mr. Valdez and Mr. Hodson decide to start shooting each other."

  Leaning across Isis, Lundquist, a tall figure dressed in a well-cut charcoal-gray suit, decided to join in. "Hey, Mustafa. Let's not forget who foots the bill for all those planes and missiles you people are so proud of!"

  Murphy jumped in before things could escalate. "Hey, guys. Let's focus on the goal here. You have each been selected because of your very special skills and accomplishments. But our only hope of success is if we pull together. Anybody has a personal beef, leave it at base camp or we're all going to be in trouble."

  No one spoke. Valdez, Hodson, Bayer, and Lundquist all glared at each other, Isis glared at Bayer, and Reinhold just seemed amused by the whole thing. Then Murphy noticed Whittaker, standing against the wall, aiming his camera at the group.

  Click .

  Great team photo, Murphy thought ruefully. He had two days on the slopes of Mount Rainier to turn these people into a tightly knit unit. Only God would know if it was going to be enough.

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  THIRTY-ONE

  THE DRIVE FROM ANKARA to Erzurum was long and dusty, and Isis had slept most of the way. Murphy wasn't surprised. The training on Mount Rainier had been hard--even for the ex-Special Forces guys--and they all had the sore muscles and bruises to prove it.

  He looked in the rearview mirror and caught a glimpse of her red hair, fiery in the late-afternoon sunlight. Her mouth was slightly open, giving her an innocent, childlike look. But he now knew it was an illusion. He thought back to their ordeal in Washington. She certainly hadn't looked innocent or childlike with an automatic in her hand and a dead man at her feet.

  And to think I brought her along to keep her safe .

  The Land Rover bumped over a pothole, and Murphy looked in the mirror again to see if Isis had been wakened, but her eyes remained closed. She must be exhausted , he thought.

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  Ahead, the empty road wound through low, dusty hills. On each side, biscuit-colored fields stretched into the haze. It felt to Murphy as if he were utterly alone. The sound of his own voice, barely audible over the hum of the engine, surprised him.

  "You've got me all confused, Isis, you know that? I thought I knew what I was doing, but now ... You know why I asked you to come on the expedition, to help me find the ark? To keep you safe! That was my stupid plan. After Talon tried to kill you, I knew I had to protect you, but how could I do that with you in Washington and me in Preston? I had to find a way to keep us together, even if it meant exposing you to more danger. I was dumb enough to think that I could keep you safe. I guess I still felt so bad that I wasn't there when Laura got killed ... I couldn't let it happen again. Some plan, huh?" He shook his head. "But you know what? After you shot that guy in Washington--after you saved me --I finally realized I'd been kidding myself all along. I didn't want you with me so I could protect you. I mean, I do want to protect you, but that wasn't the real reason. I could have told Levi to keep a watch on you. No, the real reason was because ... because I couldn't bear to be apart from you. Because ..." His voice lowered to a whisper. "... I'm in love with you."

  Curled in the backseat, Isis's eyelids flickered briefly, but they remained closed. A single tear slowly made its way down her cheek.

  * * *

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  An hour later they pulled up at the shabby-looking hotel Levi had recommended. "Here we are," Murphy said, turning to Isis.

  She sat up in the backseat and yawned, avoiding his eyes.

  "We better get a move on, then," she said matter-of-factly. "The museum will be closed in an hour. Just enough time to shower and change."

  Twenty minutes later they were standing at the front desk of the Museum of Antiquity and Ancient Relics. A young man in a threadbare gray suit greeted them. "Welcome. I take it that you are Professor Murphy and this is Dr. McDonald, yes?"

  They nodded. "It's good of you to let us look around," Murphy said.

  "It is my pleasure." He stood up and gave a shallow bow. "Now, what exactly is it that you are looking for?"

  Murphy explained about the Monastery of St. Jacob and Sir Reginald Calworth's account of his travels there in 1836. The guide knew nothing about the writings of Calworth and little about the monastery. As for relics, he shrugged as if to say, "How would I know?" It seemed an od
d attitude for a museum guide.

  Then his face brightened. "Just a minute! We have one of our former curators here today. He is eighty-three years of age, and occasionally he comes and helps us out for a few hours. He is in the basement. I will get him."

  Murphy doubted the old man would know any more than the young guide, but when a frail, white-haired figure emerged from the basement a few minutes later he seemed sprightly and alert. The guide explained what Murphy and Isis were looking for, and after a

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  minute's thought, the old man nodded vigorously and spoke excitedly to the guide in Turkish.

  "Come!" said the young man, and they followed the old man down a flight of steep wooden stairs and into an Aladdin's cave of antiquities. In the light of a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, they saw ramshackle piles of boxes, papers, and objects scattered in all directions.

  "How are we going to find anything in this mess?" Isis muttered.

  "He seems to know what he's doing," Murphy replied as the old man made his way through the chaos toward the far end of the room. Reaching a tottering pile of antique trunks, he ran his fingers over the worn labels, seeming to read what was written there by touch rather than sight.

  Murphy and Isis held their breath and waited.

  Eventually the old man rapped on one of the trunks and smiled broadly.

  "This is the one! This is what you are looking for, I think," announced the guide, and they quickly moved the other trunks aside. Murphy pulled out a flashlight and Isis peered at the label.

  "Monastery of something," she said. The old man nodded some more.

  Opening a penknife, the guide slid the blade under the lid of the trunk and pried it open. A puff of sour-smelling dust made him lean back, coughing.

  Murphy shined the light into the trunk. Then he reached in and gently pulled out what looked like an old copper kettle, blackened with grime.

  He held it up to the light and Isis snorted. "Try

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  rubbing it, Murphy. Perhaps there's a genie inside who'll give us three wishes."

  The old man didn't seem disheartened. This was obviously what he had hoped to find in the trunk. He jabbered something to the guide.

  "Sir Reginald! Yes, it is his, I think," said the young man, grinning proudly.

  Murphy carefully placed the kettle back in the trunk. "That's it?" he said. "Nothing else?"

  The guide conferred with the old curator. He shook his head sadly. "He says that is the only relic we have left from Mount Ararat." He shrugged fatalistically. "Thieves. It is the way of the world."

  Back on the street, Isis and Murphy wondered what to do next. He was surprised when she took his arm and steered him down a narrow street. "Come on, let's find a café and get some coffee. Although a cup of tea might be more appropriate," she giggled. He let her lead him past rows of dusty-looking shops, most of which were shutting up for the day as the call of the muezzin drifted down from the minarets on the other side of the town.

  Something made Murphy look back, and he saw a large man duck quickly into a doorway. "Don't look around," he said, "but I think we're being followed."

  Isis's lighthearted mood changed in an instant, nightmare visions of their ordeal in Washington flooding her mind.

  They quickened their pace and Murphy led her down a side alley. They broke into a run, hoping to emerge at the other end before their pursuer could see which way

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  they'd gone. The way was suddenly blocked by a thickset, unshaven man dressed in a shabby leather coat.

  He smiled broadly, showing a row of gold teeth. "Please. No need to be afraid. I understand you are interested in relics from the Monastery of St. Jacob. Come this way." He turned his broad back and started walking down the alley.

  Murphy and Isis looked at each other, then followed.

  Ten minutes later they were sitting cross-legged on a threadbare carpet, sipping tea from little glasses in which cubes of sugar slowly dissolved. The man in the coat held out a tray of pistachios and they each took one.

  "How did you know who we were and what we were looking for?" Murphy asked.

  The big man laughed. "Erzurum is not so big place. Easy to know everything."

  Murphy was about to press him further, but Isis knew they were wasting time. "Have you really got relics from the monastery? Things that came from Noah's Ark?"

  The big man touched his hand to his chest with an offended look. "You think I lie to you? Maybe it is better if you go. Perhaps somebody else will appreciate what I have."

  "Forgive me," Isis said quickly. "Please, will you show them to us?"

  He grunted and went to a pile of carpets against one wall of the little shop and reached behind them. He lifted out an ornately carved box about three feet long and set it down in front of them.

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  A rusting metal plate was inscribed in Turkish. Isis translated for Murphy.

  "Bishop Kartabar," she said.

  Murphy's heart started racing. "Kartabar was the bishop in charge when Calworth visited in 1836!"

  They quickly opened the box and peered in. On the top were five booklike manuscripts with ancient leather bindings. The language seemed to be Latin. Underneath the manuscripts was a bronze plate with some strange markings on it that already had Isis puzzled. Below that were several small vases containing what looked like crystals, and some curious instruments that looked somewhat like sextants or theodolites. Murphy picked one up. "Whatever these are, Calworth must have brought them with him. They look too modern to have come from the ark."

  Isis started reading through the Latin manuscripts. Murphy continued to examine the other contents of the box, while the big man's eyes flitted impatiently between his two guests as if he was trying to measure how interested they were--and how much they'd be willing to pay.

  Eventually Isis said, "This is relatively straightforward stuff. Latin mixed occasionally with some Turkish and Armenian. Most of it describes life at the Monastery in the fourth and fifth centuries. But this is interesting--a letter addressed to the curator in Erzurum from Bishop Kartabar. It says the items in the box were taken from the sacred ark by a monk named Cestannia in A.D. 507. A very hot summer had melted snow from the ark, and this Cestannia entered and took these

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  items and many more. The rest of the items are stored at the monastery."

  "What about the bronze plate? What did you make of the markings?"

  "I've never seen anything quite like it," she admitted. "It looks a bit like Hebrew--perhaps some type of proto-Hebrew. All I can tell you with any confidence is that it's talking about metal and fire."

  "What do you mean, 'metal and fire'?" said Murphy.

  "It just talks about different types of metal and what kind of fire you need to make them. It doesn't make much sense."

  She flipped some more pages. "Hmm. The bishop mentions that Cestannia saw large writings carved on the walls inside the ark, but that's about all he says about it."

  Murphy turned to the big man. "Is this everything you have?"

  His offended look returned. "Is it not enough? Ah, perhaps you would like some hairs from Noah's beard!"

  Murphy laughed. "That won't be necessary. This is all very interesting. How much do you want for it?"

  The big man stroked his chin. "One hundred thousand American dollars," he said finally.

  "What? You have to be kidding!" Murphy said, shaking his head. "I'm not even convinced any of these items came from the ark. Like I said, it all looks too modern." He got up, dragging Isis with him.

  With a panicked look, the big man put his hand on Murphy's arm. "Okay, how much are you willing to pay? Maybe I give you a discount."

  Murphy pretended to think about it. "Ten thousand dollars. That's my final offer. Take it or leave it."

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  The big man scowled. "Okay, I take it. Give me the money now," he said, holding out a grimy hand.

  "We don't carry that kind of c
ash around with us," Murphy said. "We have to go to a bank. We'll be back in the morning--say, ten o'clock?"

  "Ten o'clock," the big man agreed. "Don't be late. Maybe I have other customers, you know."

  Murphy shook his hand and ushered Isis out into the street.

  The big man sat down and carefully put the items back in the box before picking up a glass of tea and sipping the sweet, lukewarm liquid with a satisfied smile.

  After a few minutes he looked at his watch and started to get up.

  Which was when the high-velocity round punched a hole through the window and entered his forehead at several hundred feet per minute, blowing the back of his head and most of his brain out in a cloud of blood and bone.

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  THIRTY-TWO

  SHEM WAS BARTERING FOR lamp oil when he heard a faint cry. He knew instantly it was Achsah. He turned and began running, pushing people out of the way .

  Neither Shem nor Achsah had thought there would be any danger in the crowded marketplace in broad daylight, but they were wrong. He had left her talking with a spice merchant when he went to look for lamp oil .

  A group of three men had spotted Achsah unaccompanied, quickly grabbed her, and were dragging her away from the market. She had started to yell when one of them struck her across the mouth and she fell. They ripped her robe and exposed her as they lifted her off the ground. Some in the marketplace turned and looked, then went back to their business .

  Just another rape. Nothing out of the ordinary .