They were almost to the front door when Rashad saw them. He ran across the great hall, shoving chairs aside to clear his path.
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Alvena Smidt's head jerked up at the commotion. "There's no running in the library!" she called out in a loud whisper. "You must be quiet!"
Rashad didn't even hear her. And if he had, it wouldn't have made a difference. He couldn't let them get away!
Isis had seen the man start to run as they were exiting the front door. "Michael! One of them has seen us."
Murphy grabbed her hand and they ran across the busy street, dodging cars, around the building, and into the alley.
Murphy had Isis hide behind a Dumpster. He grabbed one of the bottles littering the ground and hid behind some boxes.
Rashad could see no movement in the long alley. He drew his gun, and moved forward cautiously, looking left and right. After Rashad had just passed the boxes, Murphy threw the bottle. It crashed on the wall on the opposite side of the alley, and instinctively Rashad turned toward the sound and fired.
That was Murphy's opportunity. Rushing forward, he hit the Arab from behind. The impact sent the gun flying out of his hand and Rashad to the ground. Recovering quickly, he rolled and jumped to his feet.
Murphy could tell that he was facing a trained fighter. They began to circle, sizing each other up. Then the Arab rushed in, ducking, and took out Murphy's feet with a leg sweep. Murphy crashed to the concrete, onto his elbow. Murphy rolled and sprang to his feet only to receive a side kick to the stomach. He fell backward in pain.
He flashed to the face of Terence Li, a young Cantonese
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archaeology student who had taught Murphy the secret of drunken-man fighting.
"Professor Murphy, when a drunken man falls, he is soft, like a rag. He does not hurt himself When he stands up, he is hard to hit, like a sapling swaying in the wind. And when he strikes, no one expects it."
Murphy began to stagger, as if he had been seriously injured by the kick. He looked like he would fall over at any second.
Rashad smiled and went in for the kill. He was going to use a tiger claw strike to Murphy's throat and break his larynx. Murphy's head was drooping; he looked too injured even to lift his head.
Rashad lunged with his right arm outstretched. As he moved forward, Murphy glided slightly to the right and planted his foot. At the same time, he drove his right fist around, top center knuckle leading, into the left side of Rashad's neck just under the jawbone. Instantly paralyzed, the Arab dropped to the ground in a heap.
Murphy bent over and looked at him. That will probably take him about two months to get over , he thought grimly.
Murphy and Isis straightened their clothing and hid out in the back of a busy coffee shop for three hours before returning to the library. They needed to retrieve Dr. Anderson's folders and journal, but they wanted to be sure the coast was clear. They entered the library carefully, looking all around for Talon and his associates. Seeing none of them, they climbed to the third floor and went back to the table where they had been working. The table was empty, and Murphy's briefcase was gone.
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"Do you suppose the library staff picked it up, Michael?" Isis asked, a hopeful note in her voice. "I certainly hope so. I don't like the alternative."
Alvena Smidt was studying the difference between "primogenitor" and "primogeniture" when Murphy and Isis approached the front desk.
"Excuse me," Murphy said. "We happened to leave some papers on a desk on the third floor. Would any of the library staff have picked them up?"
Smidt looked at Murphy and Isis and smiled. "Why, I'll bet you're the people the gentleman from South Africa was looking for. How did you meet him? Did you go to school in South Africa?"
"South Africa?"
"Oh, yes. The moment I met your friend I could tell he was from South Africa. I guessed that he spoke Afrikaans, and he said I was right. He was well-spoken and quite educated. And he had--"
"Excuse me," Murphy interrupted. "About the papers?"
"Oh, yes. Your friend picked them up for you. He said you forgot your briefcase and he would take it to you. He was such a nice man. Very soft-spoken and polite. He left about three hours ago. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"No, thank you," Murphy replied, turning from the desk.
Murphy and Isis paused on the steps of the library.
"There goes all of our clues about the Anti-Christ," he said in a dejected tone.
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Isis didn't say anything. Nothing she could say would bring back Dr. Anderson's notes. Murphy brushed his fingers through his hair. "South Africa," he murmured. "That's interesting. At least we learned something new about Talon. He's from South Africa and he speaks Afrikaans. That may give us a way to track down more information about him."
Isis could see Murphy's expression change as he looked into her eyes. "I'm glad you're safe," he said soberly.
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THIRTY-SIX
The night of the attack, Babylon, 539 B.C.
SULAIMAN SLOWLY CLIMBED the long stairway up to the king's banquet hall. The night was warm and the moon was full. Torches lined both sides of the stairs, and it was easy to see. The smell of jasmine was in the air. He was looking for and alert to any danger that might be lurking in the shadows. As he glanced around he did not see any danger, only laughing couples half drunk with wine and groping each other.
As captain of the king's royal guard, it was his job to ensure that his men were on duty and not swept up in the debauchery of the evening. It was difficult for young soldiers to stand by watching others indulging themselves and keep their minds on the task of protecting the king and his nobles.
This was not the first time that King Belshaigar had invited his friends to a night of revelry. In fact, these parties were becoming more and more frequent. This was, however, the largest one Sulaiman had seen. The wine was flowing freely among the thousand 207 guests. And tonight the celebration wasn't restricted to the palace -- all of Babylon was caught up in the excitement.
"General Azzgam," young Captain Hakeem said, saluting. "Do you have any more men you can spare? General Jawhar is pleading for help. He says that we must get the trench dug within the hour. He thinks that he will be able to breach the Euphrates into the marsh above the city. They have about thirty cubits to go."
"Tell him I can give him two thousand." He signaled his aide, gave him the order, and sent the captain running into the night.
General Jawhar, pleased with the reinforcements, sent a message back to General Azzam. The soldiers would be readied. As soon as the water was drained from the moat, a detachment would be sent under the wall. According to the two deserters, Gobryas and Gadatas, there was a secret way into Babylon. Once the troops got in, they would open the main gate and let in the rest of the army.
As Sulaiman entered the great hall, one of the royal guards came running to him. "Sir, the king is calling for you!"
Sulaiman ran to find the king. "I just had a great idea," the king exclaimed. "I remember as a small child that King Nebuchadnezzar took me into the temple treasury of Marduk. He showed magnificent treasures captured in battle -- many gold and silver cups taken from the temple of Jehovah in Jerusalem. Go down to the treasury and bring all of the cups to the great hall. I want to serve my guests in those beautiful goblets."
"Yes, O King," Sulaiman said, bowing and turning to leave.
Within fifteen minutes he had returned with servants carrying 208 armloads of gold and silver cups. Soon they were cleaned and filled with wine.
The glittering goblets were passed out to the princes and their wives and concubines. They drunkenly toasted each other and their idols. Their laughter became louder and their toasts more coarse.
Suddenly a loud scream was heard over the din in the great hall. Everyone turned and looked. Those closest to one side of the great hall could see the fingers of a man's hand writing on the plaster wall. There was no arm o
r body, just the hand and fingers.
Belshaigar pushed forward so he could see clearly. At the sight of the hand and fingers moving of their own volition, the blood drained from his face. Terrified, he collapsed to the floor, shouting, "Call the magicians! Bring the astrologers! Gather the soothsayers and sorcerers. Get the Chaldeans! Find anyone who can read the handwriting on the wall! I will make the man who can read it the third most powerful ruler in the kingdom. I will dress him in a purple robe and give him royal honor. I will put a gold chain around his neck. I need to know what it says!"
Women ran screaming from the hall, followed by their husbands or lovers.
Sulaiman and the royal guards, their swords drawn, were prepared for battle. They were forming ranks to protect the king. The terror on their ruler's face unnerved the officers and nobles.
Soon the sounds of yelling and screaming reached the queen mother in her chambers. She rushed to the banquet hall to find the king curled up in a fetal position, sobbing.
"Calm yourself, your majesty," she said firmly, pulling Belshaigar into a sitting position. "There is a man in your kingdom who has within him the spirit of the holy gods. During your 209 father's reign this Daniel was found to be as full of wisdom and understanding as a god himself He was made chief of all the magicians, astrologers, Chaldeans, and soothsayers of Babylon. Daniel can interpret dreams and explain riddles. He will tell you what the writing means."
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THIRTY-SEVEN
ABRAMS DISCOVERED that it was not easy to get to Presidio, Texas. First he had to fly to Dallas, then he took a commuter plane to El Paso, where he rented a car. The two-hundred-and-fifty-mile drive from El Paso took him southeast paralleling the Rio Grande until he reached Esperanza and then east to Van Horn, where he entered the low rolling Sierra Viejas. At Marra he turned south and drove another fifty miles to the sleepy little town of Presidio on the edge of the Rio Grande. Across the river was the Mexican border town of Ojinaga.
After stopping for gas and directions, Abrams drove through the main business area to a very poor section of the small town. It didn't take him long to find the rundown Pancho Villa Motel. It was surrounded by boarded-up businesses, broken-down homes, and small wooden shacks.
He glanced around to see if anyone was watching. The street had little traffic and no one was out walking during
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siesta time. Only two beat-up cars were parked in the motel's lot. He parked, walked to the door of room 17, and knocked. The curtain on the window moved slightly and then he heard the click of the lock.
A big man with long curly black hair and a full beard opened the door. He had on a dirty T-shirt, exposing muscular arms, and he wore faded and ripped jeans. His sparkling brown eyes didn't fit his worn-out clothing.
"Levi! It's so good to see you again. Come in quickly."
Abrams entered the room and closed the door behind him. "That's some disguise, David," he said, grinning. "Even your wife and children wouldn't recognize you."
"Levi, I'm glad they sent you. This stakeout has been boring."
"Aren't they all?"
"True. I've been living in this mansion for about twenty days. During the daytime I walk about with a gunnysack picking up cans and bottles. The locals think I'm just another wanderer trying to make a few pennies like they do. Then I saw four Arabs move into one of the old sheds down by the river. It doesn't even have any running water. Just an outhouse behind the shed. They must have crossed the border during the night. They have been very low profile, keeping to themselves and going out only for food. Outwardly they look poor and ragged like everyone else... until they pull out their cell phones."
"Have you learned anything else?"
"Two days ago I followed two of them. They went to a used car lot in town and bought two old vans. I was watching from a distance. I could see them pull out a wad
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of cash to pay the dealer. I called the office then. I think they're getting ready to move."
"I've been given the green light to put the pressure on," Abrams said. "Somehow we have to get more information. Is there a way we can get one of them alone?"
"I think so," David replied. "Each day around eight o'clock when it starts to get dark one of them gets into a van and drives to a store. I've been following him in that old Chevy out front. We could probably take him then."
Abrams and David pulled in to the store's lot a few moments after the van parked.
"Levi, you stay in the car until we come out. You look a little out of place for around here. I'll take him after he finishes shopping. Then we can go somewhere and interrogate him."
Inside the small store, David quickly spotted the Arab at the far end of one of the aisles. David picked up a box of cereal and pretended to read the label. After a moment he glanced up only to see the Arab staring at him. Although their eyes met only briefly, David could sense that the man was uncomfortable.
Oh, no! He might have made me! David turned and walked away, attempting to look as if he was completely uninterested.
Abrams glanced up when he saw the Arab running out of the store and rushing into the van.
What's going on?
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A moment later David was running out of the store. "He made me," he called. "Quick, let's go. Don't lose him!"
The van was squealing out of the parking lot as David climbed in and closed the door. Abrams stepped on the gas.
At one corner the van almost rolled, and the driver could barely maintain control. He sideswiped a parked car and continued. Soon they were on a straight stretch away from town. Abrams attempted to drive alongside the van to force it off the road.
"Levi, he's on a cell phone talking to someone," David shouted.
The words were just out of David's mouth when the Arab swerved, making Abrams step on the brakes.
"Look, Levi! The lights are beginning to flash at that railroad crossing ahead."
The two men could see the lights of the approaching train, but they couldn't tell how fast it was moving.
"I think he's going to try to cross before the train gets there. We'll lose him if he does." Abrams stepped on the gas pedal.
The front of the van crossed the tracks just as the train hit it about midpoint. There was a tremendous crash, and the gas tank exploded.
Abrams braked hard. The two men sat there for a moment, watching a ball of fire being shoved down the track by a long snake.
They could see the train beginning to stop about a quarter of a mile down the track.
"Levi, we've got to get back to that shack," David
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exclaimed. "He might have called to warn them. We mustn't let them get out of Presidio."
As they approached the shack, they could see three men loading a van. The lights of their car caused the Arabs to run for cover. Abrams stopped about fifty yards from the shack, then he and David jumped out, leaving the headlights on.
One of the Arabs stepped from the shed with a rocket-propelled grenade launcher. With a stream of yellow light, the car was blown backward in a ball of flame.
Both David and Abrams drew their weapons and fired toward the shed. For a moment there was silence.
Abrams picked up an old bottle and tossed it. As soon as it hit the ground, small-arms fire came from the Arabs, aimed at the sound. David and Abrams responded with a volley of shots, and a man yelped in pain.
David whispered. "Do you think we got them?"
"We got someone," Abrams said firmly. "Either that, or they're trying to sucker us to expose ourselves. Let's crawl around and approach them from the rear."
It took the men about seven minutes to crawl behind the shed. As they took up their position, they heard a motor start: the van! They jumped up and started running. The shed was blocking their shot. By the time they had circled the building, it was too late. The van had sped away.
"Quick, David," Abrams called out. "We don't have much time. I can hear sirens in the distance. Someone
must
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have reported the explosion and the sound of gunshots. We've got to check out the shed."
The two men pulled out small flashlights and stepped inside. Two of the Arabs were on the floor, dead. They could see a cache of small arms and some RPG shells, clothing items, and food.
"They must have loaded everything else in the van," David said bitterly.
"I'll take a look at the outhouse and then we must leave. Stay outside and keep an eye out."
Abrams pulled open the door to the ramshackle outhouse and shined his light inside. The odor was repellent.
I hate these things , he thought with distaste.
He stepped onto the wooden floor and looked about. As he turned, he heard a hollow sound under his feet. Shining his light down, he could see that one board didn't have nails in it. He reached down and pulled the board up. Underneath was a metal box. He grabbed the handle, thinking Well, well, well! What do we have here? I hope it's something that will give some light on where they plan to strike.
"We've got to go, Levi!" David called. "The sirens are getting close."
Soon both were in the Rio Grande, swimming to the Mexican side, Abrams lugging the metal box.
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THIRTY-EIGHT
ABRAMS AND DAVID LOOKED across the river at the remains of the burning car. They could see the fire engines arriving along with some police cars.
"Wait till they go in the shed and find the Arabs and the RPGs. That will cause a stir in quiet old Presidio." David grinned.
"Right now I'm more interested in what's in this box," Abrams answered. "Let's find a cantina where we can explore the contents."