by Jim Plautz
The four of us headed towards Baghdad the next morning along with millions of Iraqis in a jubilant, anti-American, mood. Unlike our ride into Babylon, the return trip to Baghdad was done in a military escort and an ordinary car so as not to attract undue attention. The peaceful atmosphere of Akitu was replaced by militants lining the highway brandishing automatic guns and chanting slogans. We were all relieved when the wheels of the Boeing 767 lifted off from Baghdad.
“Drinks anyone?” asked the stewardess as we took our seats.
“Scotch, and keep ‘em coming.” Ken replied. “Will anyone join me?”
“I’ll have a bloody mary, but I’m going to be careful. Drinking on airplanes gets to me because of the altitude.”
“So, what’s your point?” Ken asked as the girls ordered wine. Ken was in an aggressive mood and apparently felt no effect from last night’s drinking.
I called Matthew on the phone built into the back rest of the seat in front of me as the drinks were served. It rang just once before I heard the familiar voice. “Coach, I was hoping you would call.”
“Well hello, Matthew, I tried to reach you last night. I’m sure you heard the news.”
“What news, I’ve been out of communication at a fat farm since Wednesday. What’s going on?”
Matthew had me going for a moment until I envisioned him on a fat farm. “Yeah, you’re body fat must be in the 2% range. You really need to lose weight.”
“I heard the news and by the way, I am relieved that you made it out safely. Please give my best to Rosann and the others.”
“I will.”
“Is there anything you can tell me about the situation in Iraq?”
I described the mood of the people on the ride from Babylon to the airport. “Ahmadinejad definitely tapped into their nationalism. Did I tell you I was there when he made the announcement?”
“No, give me your impressions. What was his demeanor?”
I thought for a moment before answering. “He really believes he has divine authority, that what he is doing has the backing of a higher power,” I told Matthew, carefully omitting use of any direct reference to God. “The role of Marduk was perfect for him.”
“Yeah, that role would fit his egomaniac personality; anything else?”
“I got the impression that this is just the start of something much bigger, like this is only the first move.”
“It is, Jim. Some of the prophecies will come true.”
“What do you think is going to happen to Israel?” I asked.
“Israel is in a tough position with Ahmadinejad headquartered at the Temple Mount. It’s just a matter of time until there is a crackdown on all non-Islamic religions. Read your Bible, Jim; Daniel, Jeremiah, Revelation.”
“You don’t think they would force the Jews to leave Jerusalem, do you?”
“Read Jeremiah,” Matthew answered. “They have been exiled three times before. Why don’t you believe it could happen again?” I didn’t have an answer so I switched subjects.
“Will you be in Florida anytime soon? Rosann and I would love to cook you dinner.”
“I’ll let you know. If not Florida, I’ll see you in Ethiopia. The permits are close to being approved. Say hi to Ken and Chris.”
“What did Matthew have to say?” Rosann asked.
“Not too much; he basically wanted to know if we got out of Iraq all right. He did tell me to say hi.”
“I thought I heard him mention Ethiopia.”
“I don’t recall him saying that,” I lied. This was no time to tell Rosann I might be traveling again. “We are going to sit on the couch and watch TV together until you can’t wait to get rid of me.”
“Try me,” Rosann said as she squeezed my hand.
I kept my promise, and for the next four years I seldom left home without Mary. We didn’t spend the whole time watching television, but we did spend a lot of quality time together. We also spent time with our kids and two grandchildren, courtesy of Pete and Ambre. Pete was still competing on the professional tennis circuit and was currently ranked #6 in the world. He was still looking for his second grand slam title to back up his win at Roland Garros six years ago. He had come close in Australia this year, finishing runner-up to Roger Federer. Winning Roland Garros again would be a tough task as long as Nadal was around.
Ambre was ranked #1 in the world three years ago when she announced that she and Pete were expecting their first child in January. A year after giving birth to Cassidy she welcomed Luke and Logan, fraternal twins who weighed in at a combined weight of fourteen pounds, twelve ounces. Ambre’s tennis career appeared to be over at the age of twenty six.
Pete’s younger sister Lisa was ranked #3 in the world thanks to her win at Wimbledon this year and three other victories. It was her third grand slam tournament win including a victory over Ambre at the French Open to avenge her loss in the finals six years ago, the year that Pete shared the title with Carlos. Rosann and I were in Paris and the five of us had celebrated at dinner that night. Lisa was obviously in a good mood and was not about to let Ambre off easily.
“Well, I guess we know who’s #1 tonight,” Lisa gloated as the waiter delivered a special cake that Rosann had ordered.
Ambre wasn’t backing down. “Has someone discovered an error in the world rankings? The last time I looked you were like ten thousand points behind me,” a slight exaggeration.
“I’m not good at numbers; I just know that winner’s trophy will look awfully good on my mantle.”
“Yeah, but I had to put my last one in storage until I add a trophy room to my house, but I still have the one on display from the year I kicked your butt in the finals.”
“Well, this is going to be the first of many,” Lisa bragged, “it looks like you might have lost a step or two.”
“Girls,” that’s enough, Rosann said as she saw the verbal sparring was getting out of hand. “Let’s cut the cake.”
Conversation was minimal for a few minutes until we finished the cake. I couldn’t help but notice that Ambre didn’t finish her slice. Pete broke the silence. “Ambre and I have an announcement to make. Ambre, will you do the honors?” Rosann squeezed my hand and we held our breath with expectation, but Ambre couldn’t help getting in one more jab at Lisa.
“I have decided to retire from tennis after the US Open. I just can’t stand playing like this and I don’t want to be one of those ex-champions that just hang on.”
“Ambre, I was just kidding about you losing a step,” Lisa apologized.
“Ambre,” Pete chastened.
“Well, by September, I will definitely have lost a step or two. I’m three months pregnant.”
That was how we found out we would become grandparents for the first time. Needless to say I ordered champagne to celebrate and the three of us toasted Pete and Ambre and the newest addition to our family.
Christmas was family time, and we invited the kids to Tampa for the holidays. Surprisingly, Lisa asked if she had could bring a friend. Rosann and I hoped it would be someone special.
“I didn’t even know she was dating anyone.”
“Parents are often the last to know, Jim. I think she is past the age when they ask permission.”
“She was past that age when she was fourteen.”
“Maybe it’s that English tennis player we saw her with at Wimbledon?”
“I thought they were just good friends.”
“I guess we will find out when they get here, but either way he is sleeping in the guestroom.”
We were not disappointed. Lisa and Tom Reynolds, a thirty-three year old businessman from New Amsterdam, announced their engagement at dinner the night they arrived. It only took me two seconds to say yes when he asked permission to marry my only daughter. Lisa just laughed when we mentioned the guest room.
“Come on, dad, get real.”
Pete, Ambre, Cassidy and the twins arrived the next day and the house turned into a delightful madhouse. The twins were fourteen months old and a
handful, and Cassidy was at an age where she alternated between being a big girl and mommy’s helper, to a typical two year old that demanded attention. Who better than a doting grandfather to spoil her?
Pete was playing the Australian Open this year and Ambre had asked us two months ago if we could babysit the kids. She wanted to go to Australia with Pete. Rosann and I knew that a month would be a long time.
“They offered to pay us to hire a nanny,” Rosann pointed out, “but we can’t leave a nanny alone with three toddlers all day; she would go crazy.”
“I think we should forget the nanny and just do it ourselves. It can’t be that bad, can it?”
“You don’t have a clue, do you?”
“Well, it will be a good way to get to know the grandkids. I’ll stay at home the first week and then take a couple days off every week to spell you.”
“I’m just a little disappointed with Pete and Ambre. Why does Ambre need to stay there the entire month?”
“Pete says that they want to relive that month from six years ago, when Ambre made her comeback with Martina Hingis and she helped Pete gain the confidence he needed to play on the pro tour.”
“I know, but a month is still a long time.”
On Christmas Eve, we heard the rest of the story. “Ambre’s making a comeback,” Pete announced out of the blue. “That’s the real reason we asked you to watch the kids for so long. We are going to play the same tournaments that we did six years ago, including an exhibition match in Chennai, India.” I caught on immediately, remembering Ambre’s exhibition match against Hingis. This year Lisa would substitute for Martina.
“Lisa, have you been in on this little secret?”
“Sure, but I want Pete to know that I’m going to kick his wife’s butt again. I bet she’s still a step slow.”
“You’ll find out how slow I am next week,” Ambre replied with confidence.
“What am I getting into?” Tom asked, feigning surprise. “Is this what they call a blood feud or just a regular catfight?’
“Don’t worry, Tom, this is nothing compared to the Thanksgiving holiday,” I said thinking back to the time that Lisa had hammered Ambre in the chest with a point-blank overhead, before being humiliated by Ambre 6-0 in a grudge match.
“Yes, we have grown up a lot since then,” Ambre said with a grin, drawing moans from the rest of us.
They might have grown up and become good friends, but they were still just as competitive. I would have loved to see their exhibition match, but I didn’t think that Rosann would agree to stay home to watch the grandkids by herself.
The next month flew by quickly, but both Rosann and I were happy to see Pete and Ambre get off the shuttle at the Tampa airport. “Never again,” we both said after the kids finally went to bed last night, but we knew we would feel differently in a few months, or years.
“How did it go, any problems?” Ambre asked as we took the escalator down to the baggage claim section on the ground floor.
“Great, the kids were absolute angels the entire time,” I replied with a straight face.
“Dad, how bad was it?”
“Not too bad,” I said. “By the way, where’s the trophy?”
“Sorry, but I had it shipped. It should get here tomorrow.”
“Congratulations, again,” I said as I gave him a big hug. “Your second major must feel pretty good.”
“It does; better than the first which I had to share with Carlos.”
“And he owes it all to me,” Ambre interrupted.
“Yep, you were my number one fan, just like seven years ago.”
“I’ll always be your number one fan,” Ambre said with a playful smile.
For the record, Lisa had beaten Ambre in their exhibition match, winning 6-4 in the third set in a competitive match not usually seen in exhibition matches. As the luck of the draw would have it, the girls did not play each other again. Lisa won the Sydney tournament the week before the Australian, but was upset in the quarters of the Australian by a French qualifier. Ambre reached the quarterfinals of her warm-up tournament and then wowed the crowd again as she made it all the way to the finals in Melbourne before losing to Justine Henin. Ambre and Pete were the talk of tennis, and everyone knew that it was only a matter of time before Ambre was back to #1.
Ken and I were two-up with three to play, on Jack Pardo and Hil Davis, last year’s club champion who had moved to Tampa from Montgomery, Alabama, when my cell phone started to vibrate. We had a no cell phone rule at the club, but this was an exception. I was expecting the call.
“Matthew, I’m in a meeting, may I call you back in a half hour?”
“Use your three-wood off the tee, Jim; driver will get you into trouble.”
“Okay, you got me. What can I do for you?” I asked as the other three players groaned.
“Real quick; you can call me later if you want, but it’s not necessary as long as you and Ken are at Lake Tana by Monday. Father McGinnis and I will be waiting.”
“Does this mean you have the permits?”
“Yep!”
“See you Monday. I’ll let you know when we are getting in.”
“Okay, let’s finish these guys off,” Ken said, already surmising what the conversation was about. “We have honors, start us off.” We were playing alternate shots and both teams were under par for the round, a little deceiving since some putts are conceded in this format, but still good golf.
I pulled driver without thinking and hit through the fairway into a pot bunker that would leave Ken with no option other than to play sideways into the fairway.
“You’re hitting the ball farther than ever,” Ken said encouragingly, after I hit six iron from 175 yards to ten feet.
“Yeah, but I should have used three-wood off the tee,” I replied, thinking back to what Matthew had said. Ken didn’t need to putt as Jack made a 12-foot birdie putt to win the whole. Our lead was down to one, with two to play. We were all even as we headed to eighteen after Jack stiffed a four-iron on the 180-yard Par three 17th and my twenty-five foot birdie putt rimmed the cup.
“Jack, it’s like old times,” I said as we walked across the bridge to the 18th tee.
“Sure does bring back memories; maybe I can sink the winning putt this time,” referring to the 12-foot putt I made to win the club championship and control over the Mexico casino project.
The eighteenth hole was a 540 yard, par five to an island green. Davis took three-wood and found the middle of the fairway, leaving his partner a four or five iron layup to the front of the water hazard. I took driver and caught all of it and watched as the ball hit the hard fairway and blew past their ball and rolled forever, or so it seemed.
“Wow,” Ken exclaimed, “that’s the longest ball I’ve ever seen you hit.”
Jack’s layup was perfect, leaving his partner a simple wedge to the green. Ken had a decision. Despite my 310-yard drive, Ken still had 230 yards left to a small target with little margin for error. Fortunately, he had drawn a decent lie.
“I might need to lay up, Jim. I don’t think I can get a 3-wood high enough to hold the green.”
“Can you get there with five-wood?”
“Maybe, but I would need to catch all of it.”
“You’re the man,” I said, giving him permission to go for it.
“Here goes nothing,” he muttered in his backswing.
Ninety nine percent of amateur golfers would over swing in this situation, but Ken was the other one percent. He made perfect contact and was in complete balance as he held his follow through and watched as the ball floated down softly on the front of the green, bounce once and stopped six feet from the flag.
“How could you leave it short?” I complained, but Ken wasn’t going to be baited.
“You’re welcome,” he replied.
Davis hit sand wedge to eight feet and Jack made the birdie putt, but could only watched as my eagle putt curled in the right side of the cup.
“Deja vu,”
Jack said as he shook his head and congratulated me.
“Let’s have a few beers to celebrate, using your money of course,” knowing that Ken and I would be lucky to break even after we bought drinks for our friends and other club members. $100 wouldn’t go far, but bragging rights would last forever, or until the next time we played. I was playing to a two handicap, a far cry from the 18-handicap golfer that had joined the club 15 years ago. It also was testimony to the amount of golf that I had played the last four years since the Babylon project ended.
“Do you ever think about what’s happening in Babylon?” I asked Ken after the others had left and we sat around and nursed our last beer.
“I sure do. I wonder what it looks like now after four years of Muslim occupation.”
“You know, Iraq and Babylon are nothing more than puppets for that guy in Jerusalem. Ahmadinejad has set himself up as the divine ruler of the world.”
“What’s strange is that Ahmadinejad admits he is only a caretaker. They are all waiting for the 12th Imam, or so-called Mahdi, to appear,” Ken mused as he started on another beer.
“The whole thing scares me,” Ken. “Have you read much of the Bible or some of those books about end times prophesies and the second coming?”
“I’ve read a little bit. Are you talking about the Book of Revelation and the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, seven bowl judgments, seven trumpets and stuff like that? Isn’t Revelation more about the Roman empire?”
“That’s the Historicism viewpoint, but many people believe that the prophecies apply to the future and that John was just using Rome as a symbol for the Roman Catholic Church. And it’s not just Revelation, but Jeremiah, Matthew, David and others talk about it too.”
“I’m not following you, Jim. What are you getting at?”
“I’m concerned that we are in what many people are calling mid-tribulation, where the world has gone to hell and God is punishing us for our sins. This precedes the second coming and fight against the Antichrist and the end of the world as we know it. Hundreds of millions of people will die. I’m afraid, Ken.”
“It’s hard to deny that we’re not in tribulation with Iran threatening to drop a nuclear bomb on Baghdad.”
“And all the natural disasters that occurred over the past five years; hurricanes, floods, droughts, volcanoes, mass starvation in Africa; the list goes on and on.”
“Do you think the time is near?”
“I don’t know, but I do know just about everyone agrees that the end times will be preceded by the Antichrist setting up headquarters on the Temple Mount and establishing a puppet regime in Babylon. I’m thinking that rebuilding Babylon was a big mistake.”
“What does Matthew say?”
“I think he would agree. You know to this day he has not set foot in Babylon. He considers Babel the original city of sin.”
“Well, it’s hard to argue with that description. I read that the new Babylon is earning a reputation as the drug and vice capital of the world. Matthew probably saw it coming.”
“Come on, Jim, let me drive you home. You’re getting too morose.”
“I know, maybe I’m just afraid of what Rosann will say when I tell her I’m off to Ethiopia again.”
“This might be your personal Armageddon.”
Eleven months later we opened the flood gates and watched as the water from Lake Tana began the journey to the desert region bordering Somalia. Three hours later we received a phone call from an excited Father McGinnis and listened to the screams of jubilation in the background. “Oh, thank you Lord,” Father Sean said before hanging up to join the wild celebration.
It took a week to fill the reservoir and assess the impact upon the Lake Tana water table. I was in Israel watching Matthew’s all star team play an exhibition game when Marco called with the good news.
“The water level dropped 13 feet, well within the 10-15 feet range that we estimated.”
“How does the shoreline look?”
“We have some work to do to clean it up and extend some of the piers and docks, but nothing we hadn’t anticipated. The marina at our resort is fine because we planned for the drop in water level.”
“Great job, Marco, why don’t you call Ken and Matthew and give them the good news.”
Chapter 19 - Israel
