“Jon, your statement this afternoon was perfect. Your rationale for freezing Iranian assets resonated, at least for the moment. And your criticism of the recklessness of the raid on the Central Bank building and the tragedy of its outcome hit the right chord. But you’re right; we’re most likely going to take some kind of hit. The repercussions from this radioactive disaster are going to last a long time. And if our complicity with Baruk ever comes to light—well, I don’t want to think about what that will mean to our position in the world, or the ability of this administration to function. We would face Congressional hearings that would tie us up for years. This is why I think you need to get on TV and make another statement.”
Whitestone’s face registered the question he asked. “And say what?”
“I think we’ve got to condemn the Israelis … throw them under the bus.”
“What? Baruk would be apoplectic. He would probably leak evidence that we were involved. And we were involved, Bill. How can we jump on the Israelis now?”
Seated beside the president, Cartwright sorted through the options once again and came back to the same conclusion.
“We knew these days would come, Jon … and we decided to pay the price to occupy this office. Days when our decisions would be politically correct, but perhaps not morally palatable—days when we would make choices that were expedient, self-serving. I thank God those days have been few. But you didn’t win all those elections by being mister nice-guy. And you didn’t keep your seat in the Senate by being soft or politically naïve.
“If we don’t condemn Baruk and his government, we’ll be standing alone,” said Cartwright. “And the rest of the world will wonder why we’ve remained silent while thousands of innocent people die excruciating deaths. But if we condemn the use of nuclear weapons as irresponsible, while empathizing with Israel’s valid fear of a nuclear Iran, I think we’ll be seen as reasonable and moderate. If I know Baruk, he would do the same thing if the roles were reversed.”
Jonathan Whitestone settled back into the folds of the sofa. His eyes were shut, his head shaking back and forth. Cartwright witnessed the inner struggle, but there was little more he could do. This was the president’s decision.
“Nine tonight?” asked the president.
“Eight thirty. Viewership will be higher.”
9
594 BC
Jerusalem
Jeremiah stood before the king, Zedekiah, in the Great Hall of the Sanhedrin. King in name only. Zedekiah was a puppet, with the Babylonian emperor Nebuchadnezzar pulling the strings. Though a reluctant and rebellious puppet, Zedekiah still retained the power of Nebuchadnezzar’s support and a small troop of Chaldean soldiers to add authority to his words.
“Because the emperor—our great king Nebuchadnezzar, may Baal exalt his name—requests your presence,” said Zedekiah, his whispered homage dripping with sarcasm. “That is reason enough. Your caravan will be escorted for safety. The emperor has ordered that you travel in every possible comfort. A wagon is being readied for you, covered to keep out the sun, cushioned to protect your bones. And your servant, Baruch, may accompany you, of course.”
After the eleven-year reign of his persecutor Jehoiakim, who regularly had Jeremiah beaten and restrained in the stocks at the Gate of Benjamin because of the prophet’s words of rebuke and coming judgment, Jeremiah’s health, in his body and his spirit, had been gradually restored over the last two years. Zedekiah was a weak and vacillating ruler, but his periods of support, though unpredictable, afforded Jeremiah the freedom to worship the one, true God of Israel and the time to regain his health as a free man. So he knew what he risked.
“And what if I don’t wish to embark on this journey? If I refuse?”
Zedekiah rose from the throne that was much too big for him and came to the edge of the steps that led up to his raised platform. He carried his weakness in every bone and sinew of his body, in every reflection of his mind. Sickly thin, a head shorter than Jeremiah, Zedekiah looked even smaller because he was incapable of standing straight. He moved with the slither of decay, not actually walking, but dragging himself along the floor. His black hair was long, oiled, and as rank as his breath. Zedekiah appeared to be rotting away from within, the victim of his own excess. Even his voice left a veneer of mold on the air carrying his words.
“You will go because the emperor decrees it,” Zedekiah whispered. “Or you will go because, if you don’t, I will take Baruch’s head, boil it in a pot, and feed the broth to your sister’s children.”
Baruch paced manically through the small room. “But we must remove the Ark and the Tent while there is still time, before Zedekiah rebels openly against Babylon,” he pleaded. “Now, with only a few soldiers defending him and his mind as weak as his body.”
“Where would we go? Where would we hide something as precious as the Ark and as huge as the Tent?” Jeremiah sipped the water in his cup. It was sweet, recently drawn from the pool at Siloam. “We can’t carry the Ark across the desert to Babylon, or to Egypt. The Tent is safe. The Ark is where it should be, resting near the Holy of Holies. It is in God’s hands and will remain safe. But the power … the power we must protect.”
Baruch dropped onto a sack of lentils as if he’d been felled by a blow to the head. The storeroom was small. Dust rose and mingled with the smell of cinnamon and rosemary. They were hidden in the inner confines of the house Jeremiah was given when he was in the king’s good graces. A comfortable house, but too close to the palace, too close to the puppet and his spies. Only in this small, windowless room did Jeremiah and Baruch speak of the things that were most precious to them.
“Listen to me, my son,” said Jeremiah, taking Baruch’s hand in his. “Our choices are very limited and our time is very short. We must decide what is the most important thing to protect, the most important thing to save—because we certainly cannot protect or save all that is our responsibility.”
Baruch’s eyes filled with tears, and his mouth opened in protest, but no sound emerged.
“Can you and I carry the Tent?” asked Jeremiah. “Even with those who would be willing to help, how much could we carry? How far could we go?
“No, my son, we must save the one thing that could unleash evil on the world. Imagine the disaster that would befall our people if the staff of God ever got into hands of those who work evil.”
Baruch jumped to his feet. “But how can you believe that taking the staff to Babylon is safer than leaving it here, buried deep under Mount Zion?” he cried. “We must keep the staff out of the hands of Nebuchadnezzar. Why carry it into his lap?”
“Because in his lap is where it belongs,” said Jeremiah. “Come here, my son. Listen to what I must tell you.”
Like a man on his way to prison, Baruch dragged himself to Jeremiah’s side and sat on his right, on the same, small, wooden bench.
“It is not at the command of Nebuchadnezzar that we will make this journey,” he said, “but at the request of Daniel, the prophet of God and favored of Nebuchadnezzar. Years ago, when I prophesied that Nebuchadnezzar would vanquish both the Assyrians and the Egyptians and rule as emperor of the East, it gained me great favor with the king, just as Daniel now has great favor. We must use that favor to our advantage.
“Do you know that Babylon was the first city built by men after the great flood of Noah? The city was founded over fifty-five hundred years ago by Nimrod, grandson of Noah and son of Ham. In the Assyrian way of speech, Babylon means ‘Gate of God.’ It was Daniel, who in his studies of the ancient Assyrian documents discovered that just as Jerusalem is built on holy ground, Babylon was also built on holy ground.
“Noah shared the great secret with his son Ham, who entrusted it to Nimrod, a mighty warrior. That under the sand, dirt, and silt piled into the region by the great flood was the birthplace of man. Nimrod built the first city of man over the birthplace of man, the site of the garden of Eden.”
Baruch put his hands on his head as if to hold his skull t
ogether. His eyes were almost as wide as his mouth. “No, father … I can hear no more,” Baruch pleaded. “I am a weak man. Please, do not leave such a great secret in my keeping.”
Jeremiah nodded his wrinkled head. “Yes, it has been a great secret. But now that secret is at risk. Yet it is a risk that gives us opportunity.
“A great tower has been a significant part of Babylon from its earliest days. But just any tower is not good enough for Nebuchadnezzar, emperor of the East. He has decreed a tower be built that would reach the heavens, so high that he can commune with his god, Marduk.
“Daniel, his chancellor, has been placed in charge of constructing this tower,” said Jeremiah. “But to build the tower, the Babylonians need also to dig a foundation—a foundation almost as deep as the tower is tall. And Nebuchadnezzar has ordered that his tower be built over what he believes is the exact location of the garden. For Nimrod, building his city on that spot was an act of worship. For the Babylonians, building the tower over that spot is intended to keep the garden hidden.
“There is only one place in this world where Aaron’s staff will be safe,” said Jeremiah. “Only one place where it will truly be hidden. And that is returning the staff to its home, allowing God to restore the staff to the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil from where it came. Once the staff becomes part of the tree, who can tell where one begins and the other ends? And what better guardians than the warrior angels of God?
“But you are right, Baruch. We cannot allow the Ark and the Tent to remain here, under the Temple. This fool of a king will one day soon defy Nebuchadnezzar, and the emperor will come. And when he comes again, Nebuchadnezzar will destroy everything—even what we believe is forever hidden beneath the Temple. When we return, we will move the Ark. And over time, piece by piece, we will move the Tent. But my son, the staff comes with us. The Ark is only a box without the staff.”
He rose from the bench and crossed the room to a small, dust-covered table, two chairs flanking its sides. “Have you been to the tanner?”
Baruch reached into the cloth bag he had flung onto a bin of barley flour and pulled out a round piece of leather, about two centimeters thick, with a hole in the middle. “It took him quite some time to design the pieces.” The leather disc was about ten centimeters across. Baruch separated it into two parts. “He is very ingenious. See, the sides go together the same, no matter how you turn them, and they fit together tightly.” He handed the disc to Jeremiah.
“Well done,” said Jeremiah. “Now we must prepare.”
Babylon
“You honor me with your presence.”
Jeremiah continued to bow from his shoulders—the best his aging bones would allow after such a long journey—and spoke to the glittering mosaic floor. “How could my presence honor the emperor of the world?”
“Stand. Bring him a chair,” Nebuchadnezzar ordered.
Jeremiah straightened and sat when the chair was placed behind him. He looked up at the throne platform. Nebuchadnezzar was a bear of a man. Taller and broader than any in the royal court, he looked more like a warrior than a king. He wore a long, sleeveless, embroidered tunic, the fringe along its hem brushing across the floor. His arms bore the muscles of a blacksmith—hard, thick, and massive. Wide, gold bands were wrapped around his biceps and forearms, as if trying to constrain his strength. His hair was dark and braided, laddered down his back to his waist. His beard, full, dark, and dense, was braided and oiled so that it jutted out from his chin like a massive spearhead.
For all Nebuchadnezzar’s imposing stature and royal bearing, what struck Jeremiah as most surprising was the gentleness of the emperor’s face. Jeremiah had expected a hardened, scarred countenance, the face of a ruthless conqueror, an executioner of men, women, and children. But this face revealed no murderer, no butcher. His eyes were gentle and bright, a warm smile lifting his cheeks. There was exuberance, an overflowing of goodwill toward Jeremiah that stunned the prophet.
“You look at me as if I were some apparition of the gods,” said Nebuchadnezzar, his voice as smooth and polished as his throne. “What did you expect to see, my friend?”
Jeremiah looked steadily into Nebuchadnezzar’s eyes. “My enemy,” he said.
The laugh that erupted from the king rocked his shoulders and threw back his head. “Your enemy? How could that be possible?” he asked. “You yourself prophesied about my conquests, about my kingdom, about my power. You are my prophet, my herald to your God who gives me favor. How could I ever have anything but gratitude toward you, my friend? I brought you here to honor you, not to harm you.”
Jeremiah was about to chastise this king for his irreverence toward the Almighty when bells chimed from his left. He and others in the throne room turned toward the sound.
He came into the royal courts with the bearing, the raiment, and the attendants of a prince. But unlike the king, Daniel’s hair was golden and long, a single braid resting between his shoulder blades. He walked strong and straight, a man of power and influence without fear or deference in the king’s presence. Daniel was shorter than Jeremiah anticipated, but he carried his body erect and the glow that shone from his face was supernatural.
“Welcome, Counselor,” said Nebuchadnezzar. Daniel bowed at the waist and held his open palms extended at his sides—the Eastern custom that paid homage to the ruler, offered the back of the neck as a symbol of fealty and surrender, and showed that a man’s hands were empty of any weapon. “Here,” Nebuchadnezzar said, pointing in Jeremiah’s direction “is your countryman, Jeremiah the prophet. Take him into your home and care for his needs. He is my guest so that I may thank him for the honor he prophesied over me.”
Nebuchadnezzar turned to Jeremiah. “Rest, my friend. It’s been a long journey. Tomorrow, if you feel refreshed, perhaps then we can speak of your God and his vision for Babylon.”
Jeremiah, still dizzied by the genuine warmth of the king’s words and drained of strength by the arduous journey through the Persian desert, inclined his aged head toward the king and turned toward the man whose invitation was the true reason he had spent the last several weeks in such unbearable heat. It was Daniel who begged Jeremiah to make the trip to Babylon—and to bring with him his most precious cargo. “Counselor, I am in your hands.”
They sat under a sycamore tree, on a platform raised over the Euphrates River, Baruch at his left side. The combination of shade from the tree and the breeze that flowed as languidly as the river itself brought comfort, rejuvenating Jeremiah just as much as his conversation with these two men so close to his heart.
“I’ve been here since Nebuchadnezzar’s first conquest of Israel, eleven years ago.” Daniel held a small, horsehair fan in his left hand, absently brushing the flies from his head as he spoke of his experience as an exile from Jerusalem. “But it’s only by the power of God that I’ve survived this long, and by his grace that I’ve achieved such favor in the eyes of the king. Both my years and my position have been used by God to bring about his plan.”
Daniel was a young man compared to Jeremiah, nearly thirty years his junior. And even though Daniel showed deference to his guest, there was a relaxed, unaffected manner with which Daniel accepted authority and command.
“Once I rose in rank among the wise men of the king, one of the elders told me the story of the city, and I realized that Babylon was built on holy ground. For the Babylonians, it was a secret they wanted to bury. When the emperor selected me to oversee construction of the great tower, I knew this was our chance to protect the power of the staff forever.
“The king was not satisfied with the six towers that currently exist. Nebuchadnezzar wanted a monument to his power, to his empire. He wanted a tower that would reach to the heavens. Now it is almost finished, and the king shall have his moment with God. But he is not aware that the God he will meet is not the God he expects … the Holy One of Israel who had his hand on this project from the beginning. Nebuchadnezzar called upon me when his architects and builders claime
d the tower he envisioned could not be built. I told him he needed a foundation dug deeply into the ground, on the same scale as the tower above. So he set me to the task.
“In the middle of the month of Nissan, my workers reached the planned depth of the foundation and finished its walls. But while the work began on the tower above, my helpers cut a door in the side of the foundation at its base, and my diggers kept digging. As Nebuchadnezzar built his stairway up to heaven, we dug a shaft deeper and deeper, extending the stairway far into the bowels of the earth.
“We had thousands of Israelites as slave labor. While many workers were forced to build the tower above, just as many continued to dig the foundation below. It was a simple task to divert hundreds of men into the enormous foundation pit each day. A stone stairway was built into the side of the foundation, leading down into the depths. Few of the Babylonian guards ventured into the pit. They were afraid. Those of our captors who did enter, spoke in hushed tones about the very real presence they felt the deeper they went under the surface.”
Jeremiah’s head was bobbing in agreement. “Just as the presence dwells under Mount Zion. Do you believe the king is aware of where he is building?”
Daniel’s fan swished away the flies that gathered unnoticed in Jeremiah’s beard. “Nebuchadnezzar never does anything without being fully aware. Nebuchadnezzar’s library has several histories that recount the story of Noah and Nimrod—and the garden. For Nebuchadnezzar, building his tower over the location where his wise men believe the garden rests is an act of defiance. His intention is to bury the garden even farther, not only under thousands of years of dirt, but under his great tower, as well.”
“But why did you send for me?” asked Jeremiah. “My bones ache when I remain still. Baruch could have carried the staff to you.”
The Aleppo Code (The Jerusalem Prophecies) Page 9
