"It's an unbelievable archaeological find!" Bingman cried. "I've never seen anything like it in my life."
Murphy looked at one of the golden cups. "I'll bet this is where Methuselah got the golden cup from."
"It doesn't look like he took very much," Isis said. "Just who is this guy, anyway?"
"Well, I've never actually met him, you know, but I have heard him. He laughs with a high-pitched cackling laugh. I know he has a weird sense of humor. He enjoys putting me into life-threatening situations. He must be independently wealthy, because he creates expensive and elaborate traps for me and he doesn't take any artifacts like the ones that are in this room. He understands the Bible and must believe in stories like Daniel and the lions' den and Noah and the ark. And he has told me that my training is almost done--whatever that means. Oh, and by the way, I have one of his fingerprints and am trying to see if I can get a match somewhere. That's about all I know."
"That's enough to give someone a nightmare," Bingman murmured.
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"That's a good way to put it, Will. Methuselah is a nightmare."
"Well, maybe your nightmare will come to an end if we go back and find out what's at the end of the other tunnel," Amram said encouragingly.
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FIFTY-NINE
"WE'LL LEAVE the wall door open for now," Murphy said. "After we explore the other fork in the tunnel, we can return with the soldiers and retrieve the relics in the temple treasury."
"I can't believe it hasn't been looted before now," Bingman said excitedly. "I feel like a kid in a candy shop. I want to see it all and examine every piece. It's not every day a person discovers something like this."
"I know what you mean, Will, but I think it would be good for us to see what else might be down here," Murphy said indulgently.
It took the expedition team about twenty minutes to retrace their steps back to the fork and then follow the other tunnel, which ended in a dead end.
"This looks like the same type of wall we just came from," Amram said. "I'll bet that it too is a secret door."
"One way to find out," Murphy said, putting a shoulder to the wall. Even with Bingman and Amram's help, it
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didn't budge. "I know this has to open like the other one," Murphy said through gritted teeth. "We'll just have to keep working it loose."
Finally after forty minutes and a lot of sweat, the wall door gave way. The team stepped into an enormous room. It was so large that their flashlights could not shine through the darkness and reflect off a back wall.
"This is huge!" Amram exclaimed. "Can you believe what they were able to do without modern tools?"
"Look at the stone tables." Bingman was pointing at a marble table with marble benches; dozens of other tables surrounded him.
"Probably a dining room of some kind," Murphy concluded, shining his light straight up. "The ceiling looks about sixteen to eighteen feet high. It's a little hard to tell in this light."
"Look at the painted murals on the ceiling," Isis exclaimed, focusing her light off to the left.
"This must be Belshazzar's banquet hall," Murphy cried. "I have a feeling that we're going to discover the Handwriting on the Wall very soon. Jassim, do you have the camera?"
"Of course. That is why you have brought a smart Egyptian like me along."
"Let's spread out and see if we can find anything."
It wasn't long before the team could hear Bingman yelling. "Come over here. I think I have found Belshazzar's throne."
Murphy was the first reach Bingman. "You may be right," he said firmly. "Look right there. It's a raised platform with three steps."
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Murphy walked up the stairs and approached a wall. In front of the wall were the remains of a marble throne surrounded by three smaller thrones.
"I'll bet this is where Belshazzar and his wives or top officials sat," Isis said.
"Probably his wives," Murphy replied. "In Daniel, Chapter Five, it states that he brought golden vessels for his wives and concubines to drink from. They were the golden cups that were taken from the temple in Jerusalem. This desecration was the final straw that caused God to write a message for him on the wall."
They all shined their lights on the wall behind the thrones.
"I don't see anything," Isis said, disappointment evident in her tone.
Murphy told her, "If Belshazzar was sitting on the throne at the time of the writing, I'll bet it's on the other side of the room, where he could watch the armless hand scratch a message."
"Well, let's go see, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. You have been right so far," Amram said.
The team worked their way to the other side of the room, stepping carefully around broken marble blocks.
"Let's do this together," Murphy advised. "Let's all raise our lights at the same time and see what we might discover. We're looking for four words in Babylonian script: the words Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin. On the count of three. One. Two. Three."
Four flashlights brightened the ancient wall. It was definitely covered with some type of plaster. Large and small cracks could be seen along with chunks of missing
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plaster. Everyone was searching for something that looked like a word amid the many cracks.
"Look! To the right," Amram cried. "Is that part of a word?"
All lights turned to where the Egyptian was pointing.
Isis stepped forward to examine the wall more closely. "Yes, I think it is," she concluded. "There are chunks of plaster missing, but I think I can read it. It says 'ene, Tekel, Uphars--' This is it! The first Mene is missing along with the first letter of the second Mene. The Tekel is quite clear, and two letters are missing off of the back end of Upharsin."
Murphy, Amram, and Bingman all shouted at the same time. A strange echo could be heard in the ancient chamber. Amram took out the camera and began taking shots from every possible angle.
After a few minutes, Murphy sat down on one of the marble benches and was silent.
"What's wrong, Michael? Aren't you happy?" Isis asked. "You've found the Handwriting on the Wall!"
"I have mixed emotions. Yes, this is an unbelievable archaeological find, Isis--one of the greatest to date. It's like finding Noah's Ark again. It proves the validity of the Bible and strengthens my faith."
"But... ?"
"But I'm wondering what will happen when we share this news with the world. Will people believe it? Will this discovery really change anyone's behavior? Will people understand the importance and significance of God's coming judgment? I feel like I've been standing outside of a building that's on fire. I yell for the people to come out
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and be saved from the flames, yet they ignore the warnings of smoke, heat, and my pleas."
Isis wasn't sure what to say. She knew she herself was one of those people he was talking about who had been ignoring the messages. She had actually walked on the ark, and now she had actually seen the Handwriting on the Wall... and still she hadn't made a decision.
Why haven't I? she thought.
"Michael, archaeologists from all over the world will want to see this, and the room full of temple treasures." Bingman could barely contain his enthusiasm.
Murphy started to speak, then stopped and listened. A sound like tanks driving over an empty building rushed toward them. Instinctively Murphy knew what it was.
The earthquake hit with lightning speed. Everyone was knocked to the ground. The sound inside the room was terrifying. Murphy got to one knee and shined his light toward the ceiling. Dust and debris were dropping from the ceiling. He looked around for Isis. She was on the floor trying to figure out what had just happened.
As he shined his light toward the ceiling above her, Murphy could see an enormous section beginning to loosen. Isis was just beginning to get her feet under her when Murphy hit her with a body block and sent her flying like a rag doll. At the same instant, a large stone landed where she had been.
Mu
rphy rolled to his feet and ran to her. She was gasping for breath. Murphy took her in his arms. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. But I had to do it."
He pointed to where she had been standing. A wedge-shaped rock had been driven into the floor.
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Isis was still disoriented.
"We've got to get out of here," Murphy called out. "If there are any aftershocks, we might not make it. The whole ceiling could collapse and the tunnels could be buried."
Murphy helped Isis up and yelled. "Bingmanl Jassim! Are you okay?"
"I'm all right," yelled Bingman, "but Jassim has been hurt. I think he has a broken leg. I can support him on his bad side and he can sort of drag along with his good leg. Let's get out of this place before it changes from a banquet hall to a tomb!"
Murphy turned to Isis. "Are you able to walk?"
"I think so."
"Grab my hand and don't let go."
The dust in the air made it hard to breathe. Murphy picked up his flashlight and began to help Isis across the room toward the entrance. He stopped for a moment and shined his light back into the room. Bingman was supporting Amram, who had a pained look on his face. They were about ten feet behind.
"Will, are you going to be able to make it?"
"We had it worse in Desert Storm. Keep moving."
The trip back to the surface seemed to take forever. They were almost to the chamber that had three tunnels when Captain Drake and his men appeared. "Are you all right, sir?"
"We're okay, but one of the team is injured. Maybe your men could assist him. I think he has a broken leg."
The Marines behind the captain didn't need an order.
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Rushing past Murphy and Isis, they ran to Jassim Amram. The first Marine grabbed Amram's arms, turned around, and laid him across his back in a piggyback position. He bent forward slightly, holding the injured man's arms over his shoulders. Two other Marines went behind and picked up part of his weight, supporting the broken leg the best they could.
Amram yelled a few times in pain. The Marines ignored his shouts. Getting out quickly was more important than any momentary pain.
Then they began to creep forward as quickly as they could in the tight tunnel. Captain Drake led the way with a bright-beam flashlight.
As they reached the base of the stairway to the surface, Jassim Amram yelled again. "The camera! I left it where the Marines picked me up!"
"I'll get it," Bingman cried. "We also need the pictures to prove the existence of the Handwriting on the Wall. It will only take a couple of minutes. It's not very far back."
Murphy yelled again, but it was of no use. Bingman was off and running. Murphy grabbed Isis's hand and started up the stairs.
"Where is your other team member?" asked Captain Drake, who had gone on ahead.
"He went back for the camera. He wouldn't listen to me."
"It sounds like he was trained to complete the mission, sir. Rescue the people first, then rescue the information."
About two minutes had passed when all of a sudden there was another gigantic rumble, and everyone was knocked to the ground again. An aftershock!
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Murphy was up and running toward the staircase. As he arrived, a cloud of dust and air came out of the hole. He grabbed a light and shined it down. Dirt covered most of the stairs. It looked as if the complete tunnel system had collapsed, obliterating the room of temple treasures and Belshazzar's banquet hall. There was absolutely no hope that Will could have survived.
He was wondering what he was going to tell Will's wife and children, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He spun round and there was Bingman--his clothes torn and dusty--with a huge grin on his face. In his hand he held the camera, battered but intact.
"Looking for this, Murphy?" he asked.
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SIXTY
EVERYONE AT BARRINGTON Network News was walking on eggshells. Ever since the death of Stephanie Kovacs, Barrington had seemed to lose some of his focus. He wasn't attending to the daily details of the operation as he did in the past.
Melissa, his secretary and assistant, had stepped in to act as a go-between for the staff and Barrington. She seemed to be the only one he trusted, and she protected him from unnecessary intruders.
He had always been a difficult man to work for, but now he was completely unpredictable. He fired two top-level managers who questioned one of his decisions. Even though they were right, he didn't like to be challenged in any way. He was a walking time bomb.
Stephanie's death had hurt him more than he realized. His hurt had turned to anger, and his anger had turned to hatred. Now that hatred was beginning to settle into the
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strange world of revenge. It seemed to occupy his every waking thought.
Barrington buzzed Melissa and asked her to come into his office.
Barrington had his chair turned toward the windows. The fingers of his hands were pressed together in front of him like a steeple and were propping up his chin. He looked deep in thought.
"Melissa," he said, "I want you to get some information for me from the finance department. I want to know how much actual cash we have on hand. I don't want to know the value of all our assets in buildings, land, and equipment. I want to know about actual cash that we could use on a quick turnaround. Oh, yes, get those bean counters to let me know how much money I can get the banks to loan me. And how much lead time the paperwork would require."
Melissa knew better than to ask why. "Mr. Barrington? I've had five phone calls from Paul Wallach from Preston University. He'd like to get together with you for a short meeting."
"What does he want?"
"He won't tell me, sir. He just insists that he needs to talk with you."
Barrington sighed, looking disgusted.
"Set him up for Friday at three P.M. After that meeting I'm leaving. I have some planning to do."
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When he entered the office, Paul Wallach could tell that Barrington seemed preoccupied. He thanked the older man for seeing him, then asked, "School is almost over for me, and I was wondering when I will begin working for you. I graduate the latter part of May."
Barrington just sat there looking at Paul... or maybe through him.
"I was curious as to what my responsibilities would be. We really haven't had a chance to talk much about it after you gave me the assignment of reporting on Dr. Murphy's archaeology class. How have you liked my writing so far? What does the future hold for me with the Barrington Network News?"
Barrington just sat there in silence. Wallach found the pause almost unbearable.
"Well, Paul," Barrington finally said, "I have a reputation for speaking frankly. Are you ready for a man-to-man talk?"
"I... I'm not sure. What do you mean?"
"I mean we're going to have one today. Number one: There'll be no starting date. Number two: You won't get a salary Number three: You won't have any responsibilities. Number four: Your writing stinks. Number five: I only used you to get information on Murphy. I didn't care about your writing style. Number six: Your scholarship is discontinued. And number seven: You're a fool."
Paul was in shock. "But, Mr. Barrington," he sputtered. "You told me that you thought of me as a son."
"That was just to get you to do what I wanted. I needed information about Murphy. But now I don't care about him. And I don't need you anymore."
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"But, Mr. Barrington--"
Barrington cut him off. "If you want to know the truth, Paul, you haven't got skills enough to drive a nail-let alone survive in this kind of business. Let me give it to you straight. I'll spell it out slowly so you'll understand: You're fired as of today."
Wallach sat there stunned. He had thought of Barrington as a father, and now his world was collapsing.
Barrington sat there looking at him with a cold, glassy stare.
Wallach slowly got to his feet and walked out of the room.
Paul Wallach was devastated. He had put all of his eggs in one basket, and now it had been dropped. His future was gone.
He was hurt and angry. He felt used and dirty. How could he have been so gullible and stupid?
He began to think back to when he first met Shane Barrington. He'd been in the hospital, after being injured in the church bombing. He remembered Shari's reaction to Barrington: Shari hadn't trusted him from the very start.
Then he recalled how Barrington had come to the Preston University campus and offered him a job. He had paid Paul twenty dollars an hour to write summaries of Dr. Murphy's classes. As a struggling student, Paul could use the money. And Barrington had seemed so interested in him. But Shari had questioned Barrington's motives then also.
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Why should the head of Barrington Communications be interested in your work? she'd asked. You're a student, Paul, not a world famous professor.
Paul was enveloped in a deep depression. Both the present and the future were in turmoil. He had come to depend on Barrington's stipend, and now he was being cut off without a cent. His planned career had been demolished, his personal self-esteem was destroyed, and he had lost Shari, the woman he had grown to love.
He realized that he had been on the merry-go-round of success and had looked only for the brass ring of happiness. He thought it could be found in money, prestige, power, and influence. Now he realized that his life was hollow and empty, and he was alone.
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SIXTY-ONE
THE MARINE BASE at Al Hillah was in full emergency mode when the expedition team arrived back. Marines were running, collecting gear, and troops were being loaded into vehicles filled with emergency medical supplies.
Colonel Davis was standing in front of the command tent giving orders to his officers. He approached as the team got out of the Hummers.