Chapter 13

 

It was becoming a family tradition.  Another game had been interrupted by a revelation.    Now all the older children, Gwen, and Sharon focused their attention toward the possibility that Fred's office might be bugged.  The younger children sat in front of the artificial fireplace. They were not bothered by sitting on the indoor/outdoor carpet that lined the family room.  They giggled and jabbered as they engaged in Chinese Checkers.

 

"You know, Ian, I think you and your family should spend the night here at our house.  I'm afraid your motel room might be a dangerous spot with these fanatical members of the order on the loose.  We have a security system, our watchdog, and a few guns."

 

"I appreciate the offer.  I'll take you up on it, Fred.  May I have the great privilege of your company as I depart to my humble temporary abode?"  Ian was enjoying being a ham.  "Or, in plain English, you come with me to pick up luggage, no?"                                                

 

"Of course.  But do you think the others might want to go to pack their things?"

 

"We're already packed, so they don't need to go.  And Fred-"

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Why don't we bring a handgun, just in case?"

 

"Sure, Ian.  You can take my 22.  She's an old antique seven-shooter, but she works just great."  Fred reached into a desk drawer.  "I always have a few handy.  Never have needed them, fortunately."  He unlocked the special safety lock he kept over the trigger.

 

"She's loaded.  Don't be a klutz," chided Fred.

 

"Ha, ha," came the sarcastic reply.  Ian was never clumsy with firearms.  It was the one area in which he evidenced coordination and manual precision.

 

The two comrades pulled into the hotel parking area.  As they entered the doorway to the lobby, Mr. Rahmeel was quick to greet them.

 

"Hello, Mr. Vaclav, sir.  I am afraid I have some distressing news for you.  One of our maids intercepted a prowler in your suite.  He was the same man that was here the other day, the one with the huge sword.  Only this time, he left his sword at home.  The maid ran down to get us, but by the time we arrived at your room, he had vanished.  I hope he hasn't taken anything valuable."

 

"Didn't you see him come in?" asked Fred in a skeptical tone of voice.

 

"No sir."  He paused to prepare his defense.  "I am not lying.  He would have had to walk past me.  I don't think I could have missed him."

 

"Then how do you think he got in, Mr. Rahmeel?"  Ian asked in a non-threatening tone.

 

"The only other means I can think of would be through the roof hatch, a window, or the emergency stairwell.  But that only opens from the inside out.  That is, unless one has a key."

 

"All those are legitimate possibilities," Ian reasoned aloud, "but the roof or window sounds a little farfetched.  No, Mr. Rahmeel, you have a member of the Order of Nimrud here somewhere.  Perhaps an employee."

 

Mr. Rahmeel was dumbfounded.

 

"Let's go see the room," Fred suggested.  "We can speculate later."  They left the marble-floored lobby and maneuvered toward the elevators.  There was an element of comedy in watching Ian's five foot six portly figure tag along with Fred's wiry six foot ten body.  They looked like an old vaudeville comedy team.  In a few brisk steps, they found themselves at the door of room 707.

 

After the break-in, one of the staff had locked the door to insure that casual passersby wouldn't be tempted to help themselves.  As the two men surveyed the room, their eyes were drawn to the opened suitcases.  The contents were on display all over the room.  Instinctively, Fred and Ian began to refill the cases.

 

"As far as I can tell, nothing is missing."  Ian felt relieved that his Bible and cufflinks were still there, along with Gwen's modest jewelry.  They weren't worth much in dollars and cents, but they held a lot of memories.

 

"He was looking for the directions to the Tower of Babel's remains.  The funny thing is that, even if he possessed the document, he probably couldn't read cuneiform," Ian snickered.

 

"Well, where are the directions, Ian?"

 

"In a safe place, Fred."  Ian whispered into Fred's ear, "They're in Gwen's head.  She has memorized them."

 

"Oh," Fred inflected with surprise.  "That is a safe place."

 

"Yeah, I think so.  But if someone finds out, well, then it's not so safe."  Ian cocked his head sideways.  "Sh-" he put his finger over his mouth.  Fred muted himself instantly. 

 

Ian sprung around and dashed toward the door.  Fred heard feet running down the hall and Ian pursuing those feet.  All of a sudden Fred was startled by a loud thump.

 

He trotted out in time to witness Ian spread out over the floor. "Ian, are you okay?"

 

"Yeah.  I tripped.  My cuff came down!  If I've told Gwen once, I've told her a million times, that iron-on tape does not hold the cuffs for good.  Ah-."  Ian stood up and brushed himself off.

 

"It was that bellhop.  The so-called security man."  Ian's face and hands were tinted with rug burn.  Indoor/outdoor carpeting was not engineered for sliding!

 

A few other hotel guests had opened their doors and peered out to see what the ruckus was about.  They stared disapprovingly at the two men as though they were scolding them.  Ian could read their thoughts,  "You made noise, so you must be doing something wrong!"  One wrinkled, old European woman stared at Ian with the nastiest look he'd ever seen.

 

The embarrassed men returned to the Vaclav suite and dialed the desk.  "Mr Rahmeel, this is Ian Vaclav.  The bellhop who also serves in security-he was spying on us.  Please detain him."

 

Rahmeel responded, "That is impossible, I'm afraid.  He has already run out of the door."

 

"You're kidding!  We'll be down in a few minutes."  Ian half-heartedly replaced the receiver.  He washed off the dirt generously donated by the well-used carpet.  Then the two of them shuffled to the lobby to question Mr. Rahmeel.

 

"I'm sure he does not belong to the order you spoke of.  He is not Iraqi, not even a Moslem, but belongs to the Coptic Church.  But he has been known to love money."

 

"A paid informant, huh?"  Ian mused.  "That also explains how 'the butcher' got into my room so easily.  The bellhop probably let him in the emergency exit stairwell by unlocking the door for him.  That's room service at its worst!"

 

**********************

 

Sharon and Gwen were drinking a cup of coffee as they relaxed in the living room.  Gwen was a slurper.  Other coffee drinkers found her slurping as enticing as the aroma of fresh coffee itself.  Such is the fellowship that only true coffee lovers know.  And Sharon belonged to that fellowship.

 

"Gwen, aren't you scared to death about taking this trip?  I mean, I would hate to camp near some hills in a scorpion-infested desert."

 

"It'll be a challenge all right.  Sometimes I think I'm crazy.  Other times I am completely convinced!  But, Sharon, this whole experience has been unique.  I have seldom been lead more clearly by the Lord than in this instance.  He knew He would have to make it clear, or I would never go through with it.  And that's even more true for Ian.  You know what a cautious man he is.  But he's also a man of God.  That's why I'm so crazy about him.  There's something about a godly man that makes you want to be part of his team."

 

"I know," Sharon responded.  "I'm pretty lucky that way, too."

 

"I don't think we appreciate how good we have it," Gwen added.  "But then again, I don't think they appreciate how good they have it."  Gwen and Sharon laughed.

 

Gwen's facial expression became somber as she changed subjects.

 

"Sharon, God has lead us-all of us-very clearly in this whole ordeal.  But there is a war within my heart-my maternal instincts against my commitment to Christ.

 

"If I choose to put my foot down and say, 'Ian, the kids can't come,' he'll back me.  We both agreed that the Lord guides us both in decisions that apply to our children.  Especially one with such potential consequences.  But then I would have no peace with God.  Right now, I have peace with God, but a dose of distress with myself."

 

Sharon consoled her friend.  "You really do not have a choice, do you, Gwen?"

 

Gwen lifted her light-skinned, freckled face.  A smile was staking a claim on her countenance.  "No, I guess not.  I made a commitment years ago to let Christ rule my life, and I can't turn my hand from the plough at this point!  I must trust Him.  But it's not easy."

 

Sharon understood Gwen very well.  Trusting God was the right thing, but it was tough!

 

The Bartman matron jotted down a few prayer requests based on Gwen's words.  Her family would support the Vaclav family in prayer.  They all realized the excursion in Iraq could be grueling-perhaps unbelievably so.

 

After requesting prayer for safety and family harmony, Gwen shared another request.  "Sharon, please pray for clarity of mind on my part.  The directions are ancient and ambiguous.  And I'm the navigator.  My sense of direction and instinct are really going to be stretched.   The pressure is on me.  Ian doesn't know which way he's going when he turns a block, so he won't be of any help at all.  We've come this far.  We would be devastated if we couldn't find the Tower!"

 

"You can count on our faithful prayer support," Sharon encouraged.  "But for now, let's get after these kids to help set up our bedding." 

 

**********************************************************

 

Fred and Ian were back.  They blurted out the news of the latest incident as quickly as they could.  Incidents were piling up, and each one took its toll.  Both families were feeling the drain.

 

Ian returned the .22 to Fred.  "Thanks, Fred.  I don't think I'll be needing this anymore.  They frown on these things at the airport, you know.  But I have to admit, I'll be glad to catch up to my rifles in Iraq.  We'll probably need those scorpion lasers there."

 

Gwen reminded Ian about the need to discuss the Crystal of Nimrud.  Ian was horrendously absent-minded.  It was his ability to forget (or his handicap, depending upon perspective) that kept him from becoming a worrywart.

 

Gwen began the round table discussion by asking, "Well, do any of you have an opinion as to this Crystal of Nimrud?"

 

Ian was first with an opinion.  "I don't think there is a crystal.  Or if there is, it's just a beautiful stone.  We have no hard evidence at all about the matter."

 

Carl piped up, "But Dad, it's like you say, 'There's more that we don't know than we do.'"

 

Ian found it difficult to argue with his own words.  He was beginning to regret sharing pithy statements with his family.  They were returning to haunt him.        

 

The rest agreed with Carl.  Ian was mobbed.  But Gwen wanted to probe the sharp mind of her husband.  "Why do you lean toward the view that it's just a legend?"

 

Ian was able to respond quickly, "Number one is old-fashioned instinct.  It just doesn't sit well with me.  I am convinced that the members of the Order of Nimrud believe in the crystal.  That's clear.  But that leads to my second reason.  The Bible records little about Nimrod, or as the Arabs say, Nimrud.

 

Ian grabbed Fred's Bible from an end table, looking for a nod of approval from his friend first.  The pages rustled as he found the passage:

 

Now Cush became the father of Nimrod; he became a mighty one on the earth.  He was a mighty hunter before the LORD; therefore it is said, 'Like Nimrod a mighty hunter before the LORD.'

 

And the beginning of his kingdom was Babel and Erech and Accad and Calneh, in the land of Shinar.  From that land he went forth and built Nineveh and Rehoboth-Ir....

 

"The text goes on to list other cities he built.  This is found in Genesis, chapter ten, verses eight to eleven.  Granted, the text does not state HOW he became mighty.  And the expression "before the LORD" might not be the clearest.  But I almost sense some allegiance to the LORD, or Yahweh, as the Hebrews pronounced His name.

 

"So I am of the view that the so-called Babylonian mystery religions formed around Nimrod were formed AFTER he died.  I would think that if he controlled the Middle East through a glorified form of sorcery, or a gem from outer space, or whatever, it would be mentioned in Genesis.  Nimrod is portrayed as mighty, powerful, and a remarkably gifted man.  But a sorcerer?  I don't think so.  And to quote you quoting me, Carl, 'There is more that we don't know than we do.'"

 

"What are the Babylonian mystery religions?" Doug inquired.

 

Sarah was happy to answer him.  "They were ancient religious cults.  Only the specially privileged were told the secrets of their particular belief system.  Some of them seemed to believe that Nimrod was the promised Messiah."

 

The discussion continued for some time.  As the living room clock chimed twelve, Fred offered a suggestion.

 

"How about a volunteer from each family leading us in prayer for the mission?"  Dorie and Carl volunteered.  They prayed with sincerity and fervency.  All added their "Amen" afterwards.  Everyone was exhausted and anxious to go to bed.


  Chapter 14

 

 

The airport guard at the terminal witnessed numerous hugs, handshakes, and pecks on the cheek.  The Vaclav family and the Bartman family felt the bond between them.  With Doug and Sarah growing attached, and with Carl and Dorie also enjoying their friendship, it was a different bond than they experienced seven years earlier.

 

**********************

 

Since Fred had to pay the piper and catch up on his many responsibilities, he had to absent himself from the group.  He had allotted the Vaclavs a lot of time.  Even Fred didn't know where the time came from.  He had no regrets.  His soul was refreshed.  

 

First on his agenda was a leftover Vaclav matter.  Fred walked up to the pottery oil lamp supposedly sent from Governor Al-Sheba.  He examined the base of the lamp, and then rubbed his fingers around the interior of the lamp.  Sure enough, Ian was on the mark.  Someone had bugged the lamp.

 

Instinct prompted Fred to yank it out.  But his better judgment restrained him.  He pondered, "It may come in handy if we need to get them off the track.  As a matter of fact, I can use it right now."

 

Fred spoke into the intercom.  "Ms. Salem, would you please come in here when you have a moment?"  She arrived in an instant.

 

"Yes, Fred.  How can I help you?"

 

"Well, Elnora, I wanted to update you as to what is happening.  A couple of men kidnapped Ian yesterday."

 

"What!  I thought he was leaving-"

 

"He's fine."  Fred felt he needed to break in as an act of compassion.  "He escaped his captors.  We suspect they were a splinter group from the Order of Nimrud.  Then they were murdered by another schemer who was double-crossing the order, the man we call the Butcher.  I found out his real name was Raphi-al-rashim."

 

"You don't say," responded Elnora.  What makes you think he was double-crossing the Order?"

 

"The two men were trying to get directions to the tower; then the Butcher broke into Ian's hotel suite to search for directions.  Sounds like he's double-crossing the Order to get there before the others.  Without Ian."

 

"Perhaps the order wanted him to do that.  How do you know it was a case of double-dealing?"

 

"I guess I don't know for sure.  It just seems that the Order has been very low-keyed before.  You're right, though.  They could have ordered it."

 

Fred knew his suspicion was just a stab in the dark.  But if the Butcher was double-crossing the Order of Nimrud, he would be more dangerous as a renegade.  And if he was pulling a fast one, the order would now be informed through the bug.  Fred gambled that he could only make things better.

 

"By the way, Elnora, were there any messages waiting for me?"

 

Her professional mind was ready to tackle the request, and she updated Fred with the latest changes of appointment and usual bureaucratic business.  But Fred's heart was with the Vaclavs.  He daydreamed that he was on his way to Iraq with them.  Elnora's inflection changed from her monotone, and Fred became more conscious of her.

 

"Oh, by the way," Elnora Salem remembered, "I have a note Ian asked me to give you."  The ambassador grabbed the envelope, tore it open, and gazed at the handwritten note:

 

Dear Fred, old pal,

 

How can I thank you and Sharon enough for the hospitality you gave to my family?  I could never repay you for participating in my lifelong ambition.  Even if we never discover a thing, at least I will be satisfied that I fulfilled what I thought God wanted me to do.

 

Now the part of me that you would call the "stinker" will write.  (Please excuse the coffee stain on the paper-another accident.)  I have written to my friend, Tom Houser.  I shared your perspective with him.  However, he cabled me and said he wanted to come out to Egypt for a tour, anyhow.  So please be willing to see him, and would you ask Doug to show him around?  Tell Doug that Tom knows a little about Sarah-that should motivate him.

 

I know you don't want him in Iraq, though I hope you will reconsider.  But we both thought it best for him to be nearby.  And he is a free American-so how can anyone object to him taking a vacation in the land of the Pharoahs?

 

God bless you, brother.  Keep in touch. 

Your brother in Christ and your friend,

Ian

 

Fred responded just as Ian predicted.  "That stinker!  He's trying to nudge me toward letting his friend into Iraq!  Well, it won't work, Ms. Salem!  It won't work!"

 

****************

 

The Vaclavs settled down in the partially filled 707.  Tim Timmons sat near the Vaclavs.  He was joined by a pudgy man who was dressed in a three-piece brown suit which made him look even pudgier.  His derby and pocket-watch, along with his bushy sideburns and mustache, made him the perfect stereotype of the British bureaucrat.

 

"Gwen, Fred, Sarah, and Carl, this is Mr. Smithers of the British Consulate.  Mr. Smithers, I present to you the Vaclav family."

 

He shook Ian's hand, then Carl's.  He kissed both Sarah's and Gwen's hands.  Sarah blushed when he said, "Charmed."

 

Gwen responded, "The pleasure is mine."

 

"Ah-a native of the United Kingdom," Mr. Smithers responded with perfect "BBC" English.

 

"Yes, I was raised near London."

 

"Really?  My, my, it truly is a minute world.  Tell me, aren't you looking for Atlantis or something like that?"

 

"I couldn't actually say you are close, could I?"  Gwen glanced at her spouse as she spoke.

 

Ian joined the arena.  "No, Mr. Smithers, we are after the remnants of the Tower of Babel."

 

"Yes, yes, that's right!  Oh, how could I have been so mistaken?  You will forgive me, will you not?"

 

"Most certainly," Gwen piped in.  They could detect from his confusion that Mr. Smithers was no friend to the Bible.

 

Smithers looked toward Tim Timmons.  "Timmons, old boy, I never had you down as one to trace legends and the like."

 

"I'm not.  But Bartman at the hub office assigned the task to me.  Jalinski would have gotten the job, but he came down with gallstones.  I'm just escorting them to Baghdad where they'll deal with Al-Sheba."

 

Gwen and Mr. Smithers began speaking at the same time.  Smithers was the refined gentlemen, "After you, my dear."

 

Gwen jumped at the opportunity.  "I heard you mention Jalinski.  Is that Stosh Jalinski?"

 

"Stosh?  Oh, Stanley we call him, yes.  Why?"

 

"He's an old friend."

 

"You know Jalinski?  From where?"

 

"Oh, we worked together on some of the exchanges a few years after President Nixon returned from China.  I was new then."

 

"You worked in foreign relations?  I didn't know that."  Tim was surprised.

 

Gwen didn't know if it was prudent of her to leak out this information to Tim.  He was clearly against this whole venture, and she began to realize anything she said could be used to their detriment.  She kept her answers minimal and quickly changed subjects.

 

"I think I'm going to catch a little nap, if you gentlemen don't mind?"

 

"Certainly not," Mr. Smithers answered.  "We shall allow you to rest here toward the back, and we shall congregate up toward the front."

 

At that moment, the stewardess approached the group.  "Would you like gum for your ears?"

 

"But how will we get it out of our ears when we're through?" Ian teased.

 

Sarah, Carl, and Gwen thought identically.  "Not again!  Every time he does this!"

 

****************

 

"Elnora, would you like to join Sharon and me for lunch today?"

 

"Why, that would be nice.  Yes, thank you, Fred."

 

"Great.  Sharon will be here in half an hour, and we can drive out to the Nile Restaurant."

 

After attending to more paperwork, Fred heard a rap on his door.  It was the special knock Sharon used.

 

"Come in, sweets.  I'll buzz for Elnora."

 

Half an hour later, they were relaxing in the cozy Nile Restaurant.  They had just ordered their meal when Fred spoke up.  "Elnora, I did not ask you out just to treat you for being a fine secretary even though you are the best.  But I needed to tell you something.  Our office is bugged."

 

Elnora Salem was surprised.  Yet, in a way, she enjoyed the suspense.

 

Fred continued, "The conversation we had today, you know, about the Butcher?  I purposely staged it.  But all the previous discussions we had, well, that information is no longer secure."

 

Elnora couldn't help asking, "Where is the bug?"

 

"It's in the oil lamp.  Ian figured it out."

 

Sharon commented, "You know what they say-beware of strangers bearing gifts."

 

The secretary gaped at Fred and Sharon for a moment.  "I think I need to tell you something.  It's about the lamp.  The attached note said it was from Governor Al-Sheba.  But Tim Timmons is the one who brought the lamp to my desk.  I thought it strange at the time."

 

The three were silent.  Finally, Fred managed to drag out a few words.  "I'll check things out.  But I've known Tim for years.  He has cleared all security studies with flying colors.  I think we need to be careful, but let's not jump to conclusions."


 Chapter 15

 

 

Sarah determined to redeem some of her flight time by composing a letter to Doug.  As she gathered her thoughts, her eyes fixed themselves on the great puffs of cloud below her.  It looked as if God had taken evaporated moisture and squeezed it with His hand, much like a child would squeeze Play-Doh.

 

Her thoughts returned to Doug.  A tender smile possessed her face.  She recalled Doug's words to her when they parted.  "I'm worried about you, Sarah.  I'll remember you in my prayers and anticipate each letter.  Please write me as often as you can!"

 

She didn't need Doug to coax her into writing.  Sarah imagined Doug's listening face as she wrote:

 

We're on our way to that ancient land that makes Egypt seem modern.  The land of Sumer.  It was in this region that the Garden of Eden was located.

 

It was here that the Sumerian culture dominated over 6,000 years ago.  From here, Father Abraham left Ur of the Chaldees to gradually come to the land of Canaan.

 

Nineveh, the city whose people heeded Jonah's preaching and capitol of the Assyrian Empire, was here in Iraq.  Then the Babylonian Empire was centered here in Babylon, modern day Hillah.  That's where we'll begin our search.  The Medo-Persian Empire was governed from here.  For years this region was called Mesopotamia.  It was here God first placed man, and it was here man united as one against God to build the tower of Babel.  And it may be here that the Antichrist will move his capital.  At least, that's my dad's view.

 

Why this land?  Who knows?  The summers are scorching.  And the Shamal-a horrible northwest wind-brings dust storms with it.  Its winters are harsh.  We are fortunate to be here during a moderate time of year.

 

But enough philosophizing!  I so wish you could be here with us!  I am embarrassed to say this, Doug, but I'm going to anyway.  I wanted to make this trip to Iraq more than I've ever wanted anything.  Yet, I want to be with you even more!

 

Sorry to cut this off now-we're landing.  I'll write more tonight when we get to our hotel.

 

She returned her pen and paper to her travel bag.  The jet was touching down at the airport in Baghdad.

 

The plane had landed.  The Vaclavs and Tim bid adieu to Mr. Smithers.  He looked them in the eye as he spoke, "Well, best of luck to you.  Hope you don't find a mess in Mesopotamia!  Ha!"

 

Gwen mused to herself, "Ian's been influencing him!"         

 

Ian then addressed him:  "Mr. Smithers, it has truly been a pleasure.  Hope to see you again.   Goodbye."

 

They marched out of the plane into the terminal building.  It was evident they were no longer in Egypt.  For one thing, the air temperature was brisk.  It felt different.  It even smelled different.

 

They proceeded to the terminal, where they spied three men waiting to greet them.  One of them was aggressively friendly.  He stretched out his hand as his face illumined.  "How do you do, Mr. Vaclav, I am Governor Al-Sheba."

 

The governor reminded him of Saddam Hussein.  A military outfit clad his body.  His size and mustached face made him a double for the dictator, at least from a distance.

 

Al-Sheba gave a hug and kiss to Tim Timmons.  Ian thought the governor to be a sharp man.  He treated Ian as an American would want to be treated and Tim as one accustomed to Middle Eastern ways.

 

"Mr. Governor, I would like to introduce the rest of the Vaclav family," Tim stepped in.  "This is Mrs. Gwen Vaclav, Miss Sarah Vaclav, and Master Carl Vaclav."  Then looking toward them, Tim added, "and I present to you Governor Al-Sheba."  The governor was animated as he shook hands with each family member.

 

"Your English is exquisite, Mr. Governor.  And your obvious understanding of American ways is most remarkable," Ian commented.

 

"Ah, you were able to detect that.  Very good, Mr. Vaclav.  The reason for my familiarity with American customs is that I had the privilege of studying in the United States.  I spent four enriching years at the University of Weslock."

 

"Well, that is very interesting," Gwen commented. 

 

"As a matter of fact, that is where I first met Mr. Timmons!"

 

"Really?"  Ian was surprised.

 

"But we may chat later.  Let us get your luggage taken care of first.  Then we will help you to settle in your suite.  We may confer then."  The governor motioned them toward the two men standing alongside them.  "Val-shalev will escort the five of you to the hotel in the other limousine, and my chauffeur will follow with me.  I need to make a few private calls, or I would offer to have you join me.  I trust that will prove acceptable?"

 

"Very much so," Gwen rapidly answered.

 

After settling in the limo, Ian questioned Timmons.  "Tim, why didn't you tell us you knew Governor Al-Sheba from your college days?"

 

"I saw no reason too, Ian.  Does it make a difference?"

 

"No, I suppose not.  Well, no wonder arrangements have been so smooth.  Let me thank you for all you've done!"

 

"Ian, and the rest of you might hear this as well.  I am not really supportive of your expedition.  I objected to it vehemently.  When Jalinski came down with his gallbladder business, I felt schnooked into this whole project.

 

"The way I look at it, if we had not experienced Desert Storm, and if you all were just glorified tourists, I'd say live and let live.  But this whole venture has been risky.  With all the destruction you see around you, the Iraqi people are not exactly pro-American.          

 

"Now I have you as my responsibility.  I have to protect you and direct you.  And this for a project I believe is based on old Hebrew fables!  I am trying to keep a good attitude, but I had to get this off my chest."

 

"Well, thank you for being direct, Tim.  Based on what you said previously, I suspected it was difficult for you.  But when I saw how overtly enthusiastic Governor Al-Sheba was, and finding out you are old college buddies, I thought you had some enthusiasm about this arrangement.  You had made it clear before that you did not consider the Tower's existence probable.  But I thought you looked at this arrangement as politically advantageous, even if academically worthless."

 

"That's not the way it is.  It was Al-Sheba who bit at the bait.  When Jalinski contacted him on behalf of Mr. Bartman, he went wild with excitement.  I think this whole business is ill timed.  I'm trying hard not to say 'foolhardy.'"

 

Tim Timmons continued, "See those devastated buildings over there?  That's the result of Desert Storm.  And a lot of those bombs were American or British.  Anyhow, there were people in those buildings.  People made of flesh and blood.  People who had families and friends.  People who are bitterly missed.  It doesn't matter who is right or wrong in the mind of widows, widowers, orphans, and grieving parents.  To let you dabble around in the midst of all this is insanity."

 

Tim's point was well taken.  The Vaclav family had thought this angle through before, but it was different SEEING the destruction.  Some buildings were unscathed, most showed some damage, and many were literally destroyed.  It would take many years to rebuild the structures, and generations to recover from the casualties.  

 

Gwen reflected aloud, "The psychological and emotional pain must be beyond belief for such a war-torn people."

 

Carl thought to himself, "Tim is absolutely right.  If it wasn't for the Lord leading us, we would all agree with him.  It is so hard for lost people to understand how God works in His own people.  His leadings cannot be fathomed the way we explain other things.  And there are so many religious goofballs that people are tempted to brand genuine Christians as guilty and insane from the start.

 

"Unless Tim gives his heart to Christ, he can't help but think we're a bunch of flakes.  And if I were in his shoes, I'd think the same thing!"  Carl silently prayed for Tim's salvation.

 

Interestingly, Sarah was thinking the same thing.  And her prayer echoed Carl's.

 

Tim resumed, "Lots of this damage was actually done before Desert Storm.  The war between Iran and Iraq throughout much of the 1980s is responsible for a lot of damage.  The Iranians targeted Baghdad."

 

Tim had an obvious love for this city.  Baghdad was a city with a past.  Its present population numbered over four million.  It was fairly modern looking.  But the war damage was great.

 

"Look at that!"  Gwen interrupted.  "There's that beautifully glazed dome mosque and minaret we've read so much about!  Such pretty shades of blue!  And look at the beautiful arch alongside it."  It was a sight to behold.  Blue glazing was an ancient tradition in that part of the world.

 

"Obviously the city was more sightly before the wars," Tim added.  "Well, here we are."  The limo pulled into the circular drive at the front of the Hotel Albeit.

 

The hotel had been relatively unscathed by the wars.  It was a good-sized, eight-story building.  It was not old enough to be called vintage, nor new enough to be called modern.  It looked as though it had been built in the late 1950s.  Hotel Albeit had a white-stained block look.  It was beautifully landscaped with palm trees and succulent shrubs.

 

No sooner had the limo situated itself and stopped than a second limo pulled up right behind it.  The Governor had arrived.

 

Al-Sheba graciously escorted the Vaclavs into the lobby while the chauffeurs brought in the luggage.  Al-Sheba commanded the man at the desk in Arabic, "These people are guests of our nation and our leader, Saddam Hussein.  You must extend yourself completely to please and assist them.  If there are any problems, phone my office immediately.  If you even suspect a difficulty, call!  Do you understand?"

 

The deskman's eyes were filled with fear.  He then spoke to Ian, "I understand you speak our language, Mr. Vaclav.  However, I am more than happy to address you in English so all your family may understand me.  I wanted to inform you that we are holding a wired message for you from Cairo.  Here it is, sir."

 

Ian read the confusing message.

 

The man we called the Butcher was found dead moments ago.  The man who exterminated him is probably still making a Raid.  One led to the other.  You may have a companion from Kerioth.  Only a possibility.  Paul's swan song, they say.  But again, only possible.  Keep in touch.  Fred Bartman.

 

"Mind if I see it?" Tim requested.  Ian did not feel like he could say no.  After reading it through, Tim said, "What in the world?"

 

Ian commented, "The first line is clear.  The rest is jazzed up-a code of sorts probably.  You know Fred.  He loves games."

 

Tim really didn't know Fred on a personal level.  He was puzzled.  Al-Sheba spoke up.  "Anything important?"

 

"I don't think so," Ian answered.  "Tell you what, Mr. Governor, let me make a suggestion.  Why don't you and Tim catch up on business, and I'll fill you in later.  As a matter of fact, I have some information you might appreciate, and I need some information from you."

 

"Most acceptable, Mr. Vaclav.  Most acceptable."

 

After hurrying to the room, Ian demanded silence while he tried to cipher the message.  He reasoned it must be a message in "believer's code."  Within five minutes he had decoded the telegram.  The other three Vaclavs were suspended in anticipation.  The Vaclav patriarch was ready.  "Here it is, folks.

 

"We know that the first line is self-explanatory.  The  Butcher, Raphi-al-rashaim is dead.  The next line, the one that reads, 'The man who exterminated him is probably still making a Raid,' means that he has found the bug, but it is still active.  Notice the words 'exterminate,' and the capital 'R' on 'Raid.'  I'm not sure about what 'one led to the other,' means, but I'm guessing somehow the bug lead to his murder.

 

"'The companion from Kerioth' is clear.  The 'Iscariot' from Judas Iscariot is thought by many Bible scholars to mean 'Judas of Kerioth.'  In other words, we may have a traitor in our midst.  But he's not sure, he says plainly.

 

"Who might this Judas be, if there is one?  'Paul's swan song.'  Come on, Gwen, Carl, or Sarah, you ought to know this from Pastor Schultz's sermons.

 

Sarah's eyes lit up, "Pastor Schultz said a swan song is the last song a swan sings before it dies.  And Paul the Apostle's last letter is sometimes called his 'Swan Song' because he was awaiting execution.  And that letter is none other than Second Timothy!"

 

"So it's possible that Tim might be the traitor?" Carl postulated.

 

"Right," affirmed Ian.  But he's not sure.  He is emphatic by mentioning it twice.  He's not sure, so we need to be on our toes."

 

"Why didn't he just tell us?" inquired Gwen.  "Did he fear our message might be seen by hostile eyes?"

 

"I would think so," Ian answered.  "But if that's the case-" Ian stopped short.  "Kids, let's walk down the hall a bit."

 

They were puzzled, but since they trusted him, they all followed Ian.  After glancing suspiciously in all directions, Ian completed his sentence,  "It's a possibility that our suite is also bugged.  So let's use as much 'believer's code' as possible.  Got it?"

 

"Got it," all three answered.

 

"I hope you're wrong, dad," Carl reasoned, "because we just blabbed the decoded message!"

 

"The thought has hit me," Ian responded, stroking his fingers through his sparse hair.

 

"Dad," Sarah vocalized, "Do you think we might be held as hostages or something?"

 

"No," Gwen responded in place of Ian, "I think we're guides.  I think the members of the Order of Nimrud will actually protect us.  Until we lead them to what they want.  Then they may find it expedient to eliminate us.  We need to keep on our toes!"

 

Gwen's suspicions were not surprising to any Vaclav.  They had all thought those thoughts.  But only Gwen had found the courage to vocalize them.  As long as no one said it, it was as though it could not be.  But once it was verbalized, it became not only a possibility but a seeming probability.

 

"Of course this Order of Nimrud could end up destroying itself.  Look at the disloyalty we've encountered already," Carl contributed.

 

"Yeah, but look at what happened to the double-dealers," Sarah reminded.

 

Ian had been analyzing that very subject for some time.  "The lust for power produces an insanity.  Why else would an angel by the name of Lucifer think he could usurp God's throne.  He ended up as Satan, the adversary.  How could any created being think he could replace or overpower the Creator?  Insanity.

 

"People are the same way.  The power-mongers hold the other ambitious under control through fear.  As soon as one of them thinks he or she can get the upper hand, they pull a fast one.  Sometimes they get away with it, and sometimes they don't.  But they'll turn on their comrades like a black widow spider turns on her mate."

 

"Dad, another concern just hit me!" Sarah exclaimed.  "If Tim is connected to this Order, maybe his opposition to our search is fake.  Maybe it's a front to shield himself from suspicion.  That would explain the difference in attitude between he and his buddy Al-Sheba.  Maybe Tim wants us to lead HIM to the crystal!"

 

"Like a guide dog leads a blind man, eh?"  Ian completed.  "Could be.  But a lot of things could be."  To lighten things up, he emphasized his accent, saying, "Is hard situation, no?"


 Chapter 16

 

 

Governor Al-Sheba sat with Tim in a private conference room within the Hotel Albeit.  Al-Sheba was about five feet, nine inches tall and weighed around 180 pounds.  He wore black, plastic-framed glasses.                                  

 

"Well, Al-Sheba, how did things go with the negotiations?  Are things a little more secure with the Kurds?"

 

"No, Tim, they are not going well.  Oh, the Kurds are willing to negotiate, but Saddam is a hard man.  I am trying to persuade him, but he is not easy to persuade.  You remember that, don't you?"

 

"How could I forget?  You tried to talk him out of invading Kuwait, and then you had to shut up in fear for your life!  It's amazing someone with as positive an influence as you has remained a trusted advisor."

 

"It's because even though I state my opinion, I always faithfully support Saddam.  You know that too, don't you, old friend.  I am loyal to Hussein, no matter what.  If I had orders to execute you, I would do so.  It would break my heart, but I would do it.  I imagine you understand such patriotism."

 

"Yes, I do.  That's why I helped you bug Bartman's office.  He is not disloyal to my country, but he allows his personal friendships interfere.  I think this idea of having the Vaclavs poking their noses around here is crazy!  Fred needs to be found out.  After things fizzle out here and the Vaclavs leave without finding their fairyland tower, the tapes you made will hang Bartman.  And I'll have a shot at his job.  If I don't get it, at least a saner man will fill his post.  They can't get any more crazy than he.  But I can't understand you, Al-Sheba.  Why do you want them here?"

 

"I told you before, Tim.  Do you believe my tongue is that of a scorpion?  I think Ian may find a valuable treasure.  One of Iraq's great resources is its past."

 

"I'm not calling you a liar, Al-Sheba, but I've known you too long.  You've always been a man of the present and the future.  Why would you care about another entry in some obscure archaeology book?"

 

"Eh, you either believe me or you do not.  What more can I say."

 

Tim's bushy eyebrows could no longer be hidden behind his black, plastic-framed glasses.  He stared at Al-Sheba.  "Well, explain this to me, then.  Why did you tell Vaclav that we were old college buddies?"

 

"Why not," Al-Sheba defended.  "You worry too much, Timmons."

 

Tim was not satisfied with Al-Sheba's response, but he threw in the towel.  Experience had taught him not to push the governor.

 

********************

 

The three-bedroom suite was comfortable enough for two nights.  The bars at the head and foot of the beds were painted steel, and the mattresses were lumpy but clean.  The carpet was worn and faded.  The three rooms met at a common restroom.  Ian washed up and prepared himself for a discussion with Governor Al-Sheba.  Gwen snuck into the rest room next to take a quick shower.

 

As Ian left, he shouted through the door, "See you later, Honeybunch!"  Then he bid adieu to Carl and Sarah.

 

*********************

 

Mohammed was late.  The four men of the Leadership Council were waiting for their Supreme Leader.  The stone hut where they met was cool.  They sat around the rough, wooden table, drinking Middle Eastern coffee and snacking on pita bread dipped in mashed chickpeas.  In strolled Mohammed.

 

"I am sorry to be late, brothers, but I have the latest news.  What I hope is the last of our traitors has been eliminated.  Ali-Shala took care of our late comrade, Raphi-al-rashim.  We should have anticipated that a man of his aggressive nature could be undependable.  But his throat has been slashed.  It is ironic that he had just carried out orders to destroy those two other dogs.  Perhaps he thought he could escape the brotherhood.  He was a fool, was he not?"  The oil lamp cast shadows throughout the small room.

 

The other men expressed their agreement strongly.  One of them stood up to speak, "Let us hope that this will serve as a warning to any others tempted to bypass the Order.  We must publicize these happenings to our members, that we might instill fear.  We are so close to our objective.  And it is our tradition that the Supreme Leader should reign in Nimrud's stead.  There will be plenty of room for power as the Supreme Leader's governors!  But if we continue to betray ourselves, we will lose it all!"

 

The speech was noted and taken to heart.  The Supreme Leader himself, Mohammed, stood to speak.

 

"Brothers, all is well.  The Vaclav family-the Christian dogs-shall be leaving in two days for Hillah.  They shall lead us to the sacred foundation stone where the crystal of Nimrud is entombed.  They do not believe in the crystal, though they have been warned by our enemies.  The fools!  But we, in the tradition of Nimrud, shall use the fools of this world to our own ends!  They go to enlighten themselves so they can understand their holy book more clearly.  But we who have resisted the religions of the Assyrians, of Nebuchadnezzar, of the Persians, and of Islam-we who have kept the secrets down through the years-we are the heirs of Nimrod!  We shall shame their gods-all of them!  Then we shall no longer feign allegiance to Allah.  Then we shall no longer bring up our children to pretend.  We shall be telling others of the glory of Nimrud, and shall lead them in the worship of the wife-mother, Semarimis, and of the reincarnated husband-son, Nimrud!"

 

The small council of five went wild with hysteria.  The dream of centuries was near at hand!  They could taste the crystal and its power!

 

**********************************

 

"Greetings once again, Governor Al-Sheba."  Ian stretched out his hand.  The governor grasped it firmly and shook it with vigor.

 

"I appreciate your handshake, Mr. Vaclav.  When I shake hands with some Americans, it is like taking a dead fish!  Please, have a seat with us here in the conference room."

 

The conference room was well lit with three old-fashioned hanging bulb fixtures.  The walls were block, covered with a textured paint.  The old rug was worn but intact.  The round conference table could accommodate six people comfortably.

 

"You had some questions for me first, if I remember correctly?" the governor began.

 

"Yes.  I am concerned about the Order of Nimrud, an organization that I believe is centered here in Iraq."

 

"Mr. Timmons has informed me of your experience with this organization, and you have my sympathies.  I am familiar with the Order of Nimrud.  It is an old entity, and you are correct in your statement that it is centered here in our nation.  As a matter of fact, the areas around Hillah, where we begin our quest, is one of their, how do you say it, er, uh-beachheads."

 

"Please continue, Mr. Governor."

 

"This organization goes back in time before Hammurabi-nearly four thousand years ago, Mr. Vaclav.  It amazes me that such an organization could exist continuously for that long.  The members of the Order, or Brazzi, as they call themselves, claim to trace their origins to Nimrud, the legendary founder of Babylon."

 

"How many Brazzi are there today, in your estimate?"

 

"Certainly scores.  Perhaps a hundred.  They are a constant nuisance, not so much in our nation, but, as you found out, in other lands.  Egypt has only a few, it is said, but Turkey has one or two dozen."

 

"Please tell me about the Crystal of Nimrud."

 

"Yes, I was getting to that.  The Brazzi are obsessed with it.  And, of course, that is why you are of special concern to them.  They believe that the directions to the hiding place of the Tower of Babel were lost centuries ago.  Some legends say they were buried in Egypt in one of the pyramids.  That's why the Egyptian authorities do not care for the Brazzi.  They can be a danger at excavation sites.  Other legends say that the Turks hid them.  This line of tradition has more supporters, hence more Brazzi infiltrate Turkey."

 

"What is your position, and the position of your government on the crystal, the Brazzi, and the level of danger in which we find ourselves?" Ian requested.

 

"Please forgive me, Mr. Vaclav, if I fail to remember all the questions you just asked.  My position on the crystal is the same as our government:  it does not exist.  Certainly the tale has the ring of fiction to your ears, does it not?"

 

"Certainly," Ian replied, "if I felt there such a crystal with powers described in the belief system of the Brazzi existed, I would never continue this expedition.  I would be happy to leave it buried."

 

Al-Sheba looked toward Tim Timmons.  "You have brought me a man of good sense, Mr. Timmons."  Then he continued answering Ian's questions.  "Our government's position on the Brazzi is a delicate one.  Some Brazzi are in places of influence, and by and large they have been loyal to the government.  So this is our approach.  We bear down on them if they try anything illegal, which they generally do not.  We exert social pressures to keep their number from growing, and our educational system tells our youth that they follow fables.  But we do not think it prudent to make them illegal.  What was your other question?"

 

"My last question involved the level of danger you think we are in, and add to that what steps you are taking to guarantee our safety."

 

"I have never known the Brazzi to interfere with political leaders.  Since I will personally accompany you to the site, I do not think we will have trouble.  Just in case, however, I am taking my two bodyguards, and we will have communication devices to contact the local military unit near Hillah or wherever we may find ourselves.  But you know, Mr. Vaclav, we cannot guarantee your safety.  We can only take a few precautions."

 

As Ian attempted to sit back in his chair, his arm knocked over his cup of coffee.  All three men jumped up quickly.  "Sorry, Mr. Governor, Tim."  Ian went to get some paper towels to clean up the mess.

 

"I need to depart for a time, Mr. Vaclav.  I have much to do.  I regret that I cannot join you for dinner.  You will find the restaurant in the hotel most excellent.    

 

"I will send one of my aids to verify our supply load tomorrow.  Then I will see you once again the day after.  I am looking forward to our excursion."  Ian shook Al-Sheba's hand, and the Governor left the two men alone in the room.

 

"Can't you be more careful, Ian.  You're always knocking things over," Tim complained.

 

"It's just me," Ian defended, "I don't think there's much hope, Tim.  Sorry."  The men parted.

 

Tim Timmons explained to Ian that he would enjoy a private meal later, so Ian returned to his family.  The Vaclavs enjoyed a traditional Middle Eastern meal in the hotel restaurant:  Kibbi (batter coated lamb meat balls), homos, and pita bread filled their plates and stomachs.

 

The family feigned a carefree enthusiasm.  Though they were indeed excited, an atmosphere of fear hovered around them.  An invisible war was being waged in the spiritual realm:  fear being neutralized by confidence.  The confidence resulted from the assurance they were in God's hand.  Fear was not defeated-only held in check.  The war was nowhere near a final battle.