01 Babylon Rising (37 page)

Still on his hands and knees, he shuffled backward in the dirt until the rest of the object came into focus. At first the powerful ridges and curving lines of sculpted metal didn’t make any sense—like the jumbled features of a giant Picasso. Then his perspective adjusted to its horizontal position and the face of Nebuchadnezzar glared at him across a chasm of two and a half thousand years.

Murphy shuffled back farther until he leaned against the wall of earth and looked into the face of the king. How faithfully the sculptor had managed to capture the king’s features he had no way of knowing, but the sculpture definitely had an unnerving realism. The great eyes seemed to bore straight
through Murphy like lasers, and the sneer of command etched into the huge mouth seemed to be saying,
Raise me up, you dog! I have lain in the dust long enough!

He didn’t know how long he had been crouching there, mesmerized by the imperious stare of the long-dead king, before he heard the thud of boots alongside him and the sound of excited voices raised in wonder and awe. Then strong hands hauled him upright and he closed his eyes again, grateful not to have to look anymore into the face of evil.

SHARI TUGGED AT
Paul’s hand. It was still weak from his long hospital stay.

“Hey,” he protested, “the plaster came off only yesterday. You’re going to pull it out of its socket.”

“Stop fussing,” she said. “Dr. Keller said too much sympathy wouldn’t be good for you. It would impede the healing process. Look—there he is!”

He had let her drag him all the way to Washington, D.C., to wait at the airstrip where the Parchments of Freedom Foundation had arranged for the cargo plane to land. They had not arranged for the vast array of cameras and reporters, but it was hard to keep the arrival of such a spectacular artifact from the press.

When the plane touched down, started waving frantically before Michael Murphy came bounding down the steps. “Professor Murphy!”

He turned with a quizzical expression, then walked over, beaming. “It’s okay, Officer. You can let these two through. They’ve earned it.”

The guard grudgingly stepped aside and Murphy and hugged. Paul could feel the wordless communication passing between them.

They pulled apart and said, “I can’t believe you did it. I can’t believe it’s really here. In the States!”

Murphy grinned. “It wasn’t easy. We had to persuade a lot of people it was the right thing to do. I couldn’t have done it without my friends here”—he indicated a petite redhead with elfin features and an elegant, dark-complexioned man in a cream suit who were talking animatedly to the trucking crew—“putting the weight of the Parchments of Freedom Foundation and the American University of Cairo behind it. You know me, I’m not very good at playing nice with bureaucrats.”

“But you did it!” said again.

“I even got some behind-the-scenes help from a very special place, from someone who had already helped us tremendously.” Murphy pulled a copy of a letter from the pocket of his jacket. “Wait till you read this, guys. As momentous as the arrival of the Golden Head is today, this is even greater reason for celebration. This letter was waiting for me when I got to the plane. Listen.

“My dear Professor Murphy—

“Thank you for honoring my home with your visit, and for allowing me to help you with your search for what I now
know was the Brazen Serpent, which has in turn led you to the Golden Head of Nebuchadnezzar. I am doubly honored to have played some small part in arranging for the exit for its temporary home in your charge.

“But most of all, thank you for taking the time to explain to me so clearly the real reason why Christianity is the one true path to God.

“After you went to bed that night, I sat alone in my room contemplating what you had told me about the nature of God. For the first time, I understood that Jesus Christ had died for my sins and for the sins of the world. He then rose from the dead.

“That night, I received Him by faith, as you had urged, and I invited Him into my life.

“If I do not see you again in this life, I certainly will see you in the next, in heaven.

“Sincerely,

“Sheikh Umar al-Khaliq”

Shari broke out into a wide smile. “Oh, Professor Murphy, that has got to be such a great feeling, to know that you helped this sheikh in his search.”

Murphy hugged her and noticed Paul again. He gripped his hand. “Hey, it’s good to see you, Paul. You’re looking well. And I understand you have a new scholarship from the Barrington folks. I trust that will allow you to really bear down and find some course of study that excites you more than business.”

“Yes, sir. Shari here would not have let me agree to it otherwise. She’s been a great help.” He blushed, and poked him hard in the ribs.

“Go easy on him, Shari,” Murphy said. “He’s still a young man. It will take a while before he realizes he’s got to turn most of his life decisions over to God and a good woman, in that order.”

She wagged a finger. “Professor Murphy!”

The lanky figure of Dean Fallworth sidled out of the hangar and blocked Murphy’s path. Before he could react, Dean Fallworth grabbed his hand and started pumping it enthusiastically.

“Murphy—great to have you back. The faculty board and I, we’re all tremendously proud of what you’ve achieved for the university. This is a proud day indeed for Preston, with one of our finest in the news.” A sheepish look briefly supplanted his huckster’s grin, and he lowered his voice so only Murphy could hear. “I hope we can put our little misunderstanding behind us. My comments on that TV interview were taken totally out of context, you know. In fact, I’m considering a formal complaint against BNN and that awful reporter. She practically put the words into my mouth.”

Murphy really couldn’t think of anything to say. He would settle his account with Fallworth when the time came. Right now he was simply relieved that his position at the university was secure. When all the fuss and publicity died down, he’d be able to get back to his real job of inspiring his students. He knew that was what Laura would have wanted him to do.

He gave Fallworth a look to let him know he wasn’t going to pick a fight now, but he wasn’t necessarily letting him off the hook either. “Later, Dean.” He brushed past him, leaving Fallworth standing, his fixed smile holding him in place.

“Isis, Jassim. I want you to meet some good friends and students of mine, Nelson and Paul Wallach.”

Jassim held his hand out while Isis delivered some last-minute instructions to one of the crew preparing to open the crate. “The pleasure is all mine,” he said. “I have heard many good things about you both. Preston University is truly fortunate to have such outstanding students of archaeology—especially considering the, shall we say,
unconventional
habits of your professor.” He indicated Murphy with a wink.

Isis joined them. “Take no notice of Jassim. He’s just making the most of being in the limelight. He thinks maybe some bigwig from the Discovery Channel is going to give him a series on the secrets of the pyramids.”

“And why not?” said Jassim, doing his best to look offended. “I am an excellent communicator, I think, and I have the sort of face the camera likes. Miss Nelson, what do you say?”

“I’d tune in,” she said, laughing. “After everything you two have done to help Murphy find the Golden Head, it’s the least I could do.”

Murphy coughed. “Speaking of which, let’s start unloading.”

It took the best part of an hour to unload the crate from the cargo bay and set it on a huge flatbed truck. Now the crate stood alone in the center of the truck like an enormous piece of modern art.

Murphy gave the signal, and the loading crew, evenly spaced around the crate, pulled at the ropes securing the panels on each of its four sides. The wooden panels crashed to the
ground simultaneously. A team from the PFF raced over to cut the protective coats of fabric and plastic that had been fashioned around the head. As the last layer of wadding fell away, Murphy stepped up to the microphone set up alongside the head.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the world, there is much to tell about this great find, how we came to discover it, to reclaim it, and understand its significance. That will all have to wait until we have it safely in place in its temporary home, the Parchments of Freedom Foundation, which has generously put up the funds for this great artifact to be studied thoroughly and expeditiously I want to thank God for His strength and guidance throughout the entire process. We look forward to Sharing its wonders and secrets with you soon. Thank you.”

In this moment of great professional triumph, Murphy was saddened by his thoughts of Laura and the guards at the PFF, and all the other terrible events that had led to this wondrous achievement. As if by reflex, he also shuddered when he thought about the man who was responsible for so much of that suffering, Talon, who was still at large, and would presumably be as keen to possess the Golden Head of Nebuchadnezzar as he was the Brazen Serpent.

Maybe even more so, because Murphy had thwarted his chances to put the Serpent back together. And if this mystery man Talon truly did have an interest in these icons for the dark powers many believed they still possessed, Murphy was beginning to have a feeling that as eventful as the last few weeks had been, the days ahead would present even greater challenges.

With God’s help and protection, he would be ready.

THE SLAVES PULLED
in unison on the ropes, straining with all their might. Finally, the massive piece of gold came crashing to the ground. The idol that had brought the king and his people so much torment now lay in ruins in the swirling dust, its disembodied head staring with betrayal at the man whose image it had been fashioned after. King Nebuchadnezzar then ordered that the pieces be gathered up and delivered to Dakkuri, the chief Chaldean priest, back in the city. The gold would be reused for sacred vessels, or so the king had been led to believe
.

The king was mad, of that Dakkuri had no doubt. For seven years Nebuchadnezzar had groveled in the dirt, living like a beast in the shadow of his own palace, his wits scattered to the four corners of an empire that hung by a thread while jealous neighbors plotted its
overthrow. And yet, now that the king’s sanity had been restored, now that he spoke and thought and acted like a man once more, Dakkuri had a strange sense that he was madder than ever
.

What else could explain his decree that all the idols should be destroyed? Somehow, Daniel and his God had the king under their spell
.

Dakkuri shivered, and it was not just because of the damp air in his chamber. If the worship of idols was ended, who would the people turn to in times of danger and uncertainty, when plague and pestilence struck, when the crops failed or the rivers overflowed their banks? From whom would they receive the strength to destroy their enemies, to raze their cities and enslave their sons? Who would give them the power to rule the world?

More to the point, where would Dakkuri’s own power and prestige come from? When he looked into the sacred fire, it was he-and he alone-who could interpret the shifting shapes of light. When Nergal, the fierce god of the underworld, was angry, only Dakkuri could interpret the signs. If Nergal’s wrath could be stemmed only by human sacrifices, it was Dakkuri who chose the victims. When demons entered the city, only he could decide who was possessed and who was not-who must be stoned to death and who spared. Sometimes, he flattered himself, the common people feared him more than their cruel king
.

And the rewards were in keeping with his status. Robes woven with gold thread that glittered like the sun. The rarest sweetmeats, the richest wines, whenever he desired. And naturally he could take his pick of the temple dancing girls
.

But in a world without idols, all that would be gone
.

He lifted his eyes. Against the bare stone wall the lamplight flickered. And there, glinting in the shadows, was the Serpent
.

He no longer remembered what impulse had led him to weld the
broken pieces together again, to raise the Serpent up and give it an honored place among Babylon’s many deities. But seeing it whole again, he had felt a dark power filling his body-like a goblet being filled to the brim with strong wine. His head had filled with light; a delicious, unbearable fire had bubbled through his veins. He felt like a giant. He could do anything. A knife blade struck at his heart would have been melted by the energy that glowed through him. He was a god
.

And from that moment on he was the Serpent’s slave
.

Breathing deeply and slowly, he focused on the sinuous bronze form before him. It seemed huge in the half-light, its shadow writhing on the wall like a living thing. He opened his mind, felt his will draining away like water from a broken pitcher
.

As the familiar ecstasy crept into him, he smiled through closed lids. “Tell me what it is I must do,” he whispered
.

As far as Nebuchadnezzar was concerned, Dakkuri could be trusted. He had served many faithful years as a priest in the vicinity of the king’s palace. But Dakkuri had a secret. He had become a devotee of the former angel of light who had rebelled against the Creator. Dakkuri, the Chaldean, belonged to, and was a servant of, the dark angel Lucifer
.

Standing in the basement of the temple, Dakkuri addressed three of his most trusted disciples. The broken pieces of Nebuchadnezzar’s image now lay alongside other sacred and profane vessels of worship in the dark and foreboding storage area. Most of these priceless items had been captured by Nebuchadnezzar’s army during the raid on Jerusalem many years before
.

Dakkuri spoke with quiet passion to his three Luc ferian disciples
.

Each disciple had sworn an oath to carry out the task that was about to be assigned. It was a plan that would forever change the course of human history
.