The Crystal of Nimrod, Chapters 17-20

Chapter 17

 

The publisher, Jerry Glassman, interrupted Ian's account.

 

"This is very interesting indeed, Mr. Vaclav.  But it is lunchtime.  What do you say I take you out to eat.  You can rest your vocal cords for a bit, and then you can tell me the rest of the story."

 

"Phew," Ian answered.  "I could use a break.  Yes, that would be fine."

 

The two men drove in Jerry's car to one of the better fast-food restaurants where they both enjoyed a fried chicken platter.  It wasn't long before they were back in the old, brick building.

 

Back in the office, Jerry offered a few comments.  "Mr. Vaclav, this story has me fascinated.  You may not realize this, but in my seven years as CEO of this organization, I have never listened to anyone this long.  Since your name is so respected, I was willing to set aside the better part of this day.  I cannot imagine turning down your request to publish your account, but I must hear the rest!"

 

Ian's face was conquered by a monumental grin.  He had to force his lips into retreat so he could speak.  "Now where was I?  Oh yes, our second day in Iraq."

 

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

 

On day two in Iraq, Ian answered the phone.  The supply coordinator had arrived.  All four family members decided to run down and immediately check the two truckloads of equipment.   Every item was at hand:  tents, portable generators, a portable sonar, first-aid kits, caving equipment, maps, communication devices, charts, rifles, and ammunition.  Ms. Elnora Salem had done her job efficiently.

 

After double-checking and taking care of a few loose ends, the Vaclav family excitedly returned to their suite.  Now was the time to catch up on some letter writing.  Ian planned to send a packet of letters to Fred Bartman for redistribution.  (Ian had been corresponding with Tom Houser faithfully.  Since Tom was due to arrive in Egypt that very day, Ian would enclose a letter to Tom in the bulging envelope).  Gwen had a message for Sharon, Sarah had another one for Doug (the third since arriving in Iraq), and Carl had a note for Dorie.

 

Summer returned on day three with beautiful sunshine and warm temperatures.  What should have been the most exciting day of the trip thus far was only somewhat thrilling.  The Vaclavs had been through so much already.

 

The waiting caravan consisted of two trucks with their drivers plus two Jeeps.  One of them was slated to be driven by none other than the governor himself, while Carl would pilot the second Jeep.  Ian rode with the Governor, while Gwen and Sarah traveled with Carl.   

 

They began their trek to Hillah, about eighty miles to the south, on a road which ran alongside the Tigris River.  The Vaclavs felt a sense of reverence as they traveled through the area.  It was called, after all, "the Cradle of Civilization."

 

Two hours later they were slightly north of Hillah when they reached the ruins of ancient Babylon.  It had been, and still was, an excavator's paradise.  Ian asked for permission to look around for a few moments.  The governor, accompanied by the Vaclav family, strolled together on an informal tour.

 

Near the ruins of ancient Babylon, they spotted some new structures.  Before the war with Iran, Saddam Hussein had poured millions into rebuilding the glory of Babylon.  As a matter of fact, Governor Al-Sheba had been in charge of the entire project.  The new work imitated the style of the old.  But the Iran-Iraq war had brought it to an abrupt halt.  Ian knew it would be years before the government would even reconsider reviving the project.

 

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

 

"Come in, Elnora."  The efficient Ms. Salem, who now seemed more human, boldly entered the Bartman office.

 

"I just got the double-check report from Washington on Tim Timmons.  He still checks out as perfectly reliable.  But there are a couple of matters of interest.  Were you aware that Governor Al-Sheba and he were college mates?"

 

"College classmates?"

 

"Yes, and pretty good friends at that!"

 

Fred was shocked.  He took a moment to regain his composure.  "Elnora, I would not be suspicious of Tim just because he and Al-Sheba were old buddies.  Actually, it is politically advantageous to our nation if such is the case.  But what bothers me is that he never mentioned it."

 

Elnora jumped back into the conversation.  "The second item is also interesting.  Were you aware that Tim has registered a complaint against you with the Secretary of State?"

 

"No, I was not aware," Fred grieved, "but I can understand why he might.  I have gone out on a limb on this one.  I just hope and pray that it turns out all right."  The ambassador took a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his forehead.

 

"Fred, I may not know your God, but I must tell you that I respect you.  I cannot help but be an ally with the Vaclavs and your family in this matter."

 

"Thank you, Elnora.  It means a lot for me to hear you say that.  But think about this.  Our God wants to be your God."  Elnora nodded her head thoughtfully.

 

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

 

"After we have completed our excursion, Mr. Governor, would I be allowed some time to browse around ancient Babylon?"  Ian loved what he saw-remnants of the old walls and buildings, decorated by winged lions in relief.

 

"I think we can arrange that, Mr. Vaclav.  Although the location you are seeking is secret, I assumed it to be near these ruins."

 

"That is a statement open to interpretation, Governor Al-Sheba.  The trip from these ruins to our probable site seems miniscule.  Coming from America to these ruins is quite a trip.  But consider the centuries that have elapsed, and we are but a fraction of a second away in comparison.  To get concrete, it is about thirty miles more."  The Governor was pleasant outwardly, but bored by Ian's philosophical platitudes.  "I see, Mr. Vaclav.  Let us remain here for the next hour.  Then we can progress."

 

"Thank you, Mr. Governor."   

 

The hour seemed like two minutes.  Soon the vehicles were cranking along down the bumpy roads.  Only now, Gwen was driving and leading the procession.

 

The governor was surprised that Gwen, not Ian, was the navigator.  "She has studied out the directions, Mr. Governor.  We must follow her."

 

The party arrived at the fishing village of Hillah (or Al-Hillah).  As a precaution, they fueled up.  Sarah teased the others in her Jeep, "If we run out of gas, all we have to do is dig down a little, and we'll have all the oil we need."  They had passed several oil wells along the way.

 

They crossed the Tigris River at Hillah, heading west for a few miles.  Then they followed a road due south.  Within thirty minutes, they viewed some hills.  The first "real" hill with a steep incline was particularly noted by Gwen.  She counted four significant hills, and then signaled for all to stop.  "Three more hills.  Number seven is where we stop."

 

Some Bedouin shepherds were tending their flocks in the region.  When they saw the military vehicles coming from a distance, they aggressively cleared the road of sheep.

 

Gwen had been counting hills, but Sarah had been doing another count.  She was tabulating the number of scorpions they had seen on the road.  Her total thus far was eleven.  She asked herself, "We're going to sleep out here?"

 

Carl could see the apprehension building in Sarah's eyes as she lifted up her chin to see the twelfth approaching scorpion.  After a "crunch," Carl got his sister's attention.

 

"You know, Sarah, Doug made a not-so-nice comment about you!"

 

Sarah knew Carl was teasing, so she asked playfully, "Oh, and what was that?"  Her long brown hair was tied into ponytails to keep it from being scattered over her face and fellow passengers.

 

"He said, 'My, your sister is spoiled, isn't she?'  But I didn't let him get away with that."

 

Sarah didn't mind being the straight person.  "And, uh, what did YOU say?"

 

"I defended you, sis.  I said, 'No, it's the perfume she uses!'"

 

The two siblings laughed till their stomachs were sore.

 

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

 

"Let's stop the caravan here, if it's okay with you, Mr. Governor," Gwen shouted.  Al-Sheba nodded in agreement.

 

"Is this near our site?" inquired Governor Al-Sheba.

 

"I think so," Gwen responded, her shoulder-length hair recovering from the wind.  "You must realize, Mr. Governor, that this is all new to me."

 

"I can see that," Al-Sheba answered.  "But I am surprised you did not have your map with you."

 

Ian jumped in.  "Carl, would you kindly tell the Governor about the 'document most special?'  He then addressed Al-Sheba.  "Gwen and I would like to look things over a bit while Carl fills you in.  That is, if we have your permission, Mr. Governor?"  Al-Sheba was obliging.

 

As Ian and Gwen walked along the small valley, looking at the hills, Gwen addressed her husband.  "Something is not right.  We should have caught this long ago.  Why is the good governor encouraging this expedition?  Yes, I know the politics of it and so forth.  But without a detailed knowledge of the 'document most special,' why would he be cooperative at all?"

 

"You know, Gwen, I thought about that question before, but I pushed it out of my conscious mind. I guess I wanted to jump at this expedition so badly that I was blinded.  I assumed God had opened the door."

 

"I don't doubt that God opened the door, but how?  Did He sovereignly predispose Al-Sheba's heart, or did He use an evil man to accomplish His good purposes?  Or have we missed God's leading entirely?"

 

"I don't have all the answers," Ian replied.  "But I do know that God has lead us.  And God can use the evil schemes of men to work His good.  When the Romans crucified Christ, it was the ultimate act of evil.  But God planned it that way.  So Christ actually died to pay for our sins, though the Romans had no idea of that fact."

 

Gwen was not resistant.  There was nothing new in what Ian said.  Her convictions were in harmony with his.

 

"Perhaps his government thinks that the crystal could be real.  Perhaps they believe the ancient description of a missing set of directions.  You know, honey, if their tradition is accurate in that area, then-"                  

 

"Yes, honeybunch?" Ian coaxed.  "Well, then maybe there is something to this crystal thing, too."  Ian's mind felt bombarded.  Too many thoughts raced through his mind at the same time.

 

As the dry breeze blew, Gwen had another comment to offer.  "Ian, do you suppose that the governor-perhaps even Saddam Hussein himself-belongs to the Order of Nimrud?"  It was a chilling thought.

 

Ian shrugged his shoulders.  "Could be."

 

As they chatted, they also surveyed their surroundings.  Gwen and Ian were looking over the features of this, the seventh hill when their private huddle was interrupted by a familiar voice screaming.  Sarah!

 

 

Ian and Gwen darted at top speed, yet those few hurried moments seemed like an eternity.  As they drew near, they began to distinguish Al-Sheba and his two guards.  Getting closer, they could make out Carl hugging his whimpering sister.

 

"Are you okay?" Gwen shouted, her utterance filled with huffing and puffing.

 

Sarah nodded.  Ian and Gwen were instantly relieved.  As Gwen approached her daughter, she was able to pant out a few words at a normal volume.  "What happened, honey?"

 

Sarah was temporarily voiceless, so Carl stepped into the conversation.  "Sarah was sitting down sorting out some of our gear when she felt a scorpion crawling up her leg.  Fortunately, I was near and quickly brushed it off with a stick before it could strike."

 

Her pale, tearful parents hugged both her and Carl.  The Vaclav patriarch was proud of his children.  He took special pride in the way they cared for one another.  The Vaclav parents kept in mind a few simple goals as they reared their children:  (1) to encourage them to follow Christ first and foremost, (2) to be able to earn a reasonable living, and (3) to be close to their parents and to one other.  They were not concerned whether their children became successful in the eyes of the world.  They aimed for character as described in the two Great Commandments:  loving God and loving others.

 

The campsite was near the center of a small valley, surrounded by sand, a few tufts of grass, and an occasional succulent shrub.  The hills on either side were only half of a mile apart, but they ran several miles to the left while they graduated into the bumpy landscape on the right.

 

The party continued unpacking and prepared to pitch the tents.  A brook lay to the east, about one-fourth mile from the campsite, that evidently connected to the Tigris.  Its trickle, though meager, would provide a most convenient supply of water in this dry part of the world.  Ian found evidence that shepherds also patronized this small stream.

 

Even the governor helped to unpack and pitch the tents.  Al-Sheba was different from other politicians Ian had met.  Saddam Hussein's leaders were not just bureaucrats but soldiers who were expected to bear their quota of everyday responsibilities.  Ian did not know whether or not he liked Al-Sheba, but he did respect Al-Sheba's willingness to pitch in with his bodyguards.

 

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

 

"Yes, Elnora," Fred Bartman lazily responded to the buzzing intercom.

 

"A Mr. Ruel-Ali to see you, sir."

 

"Ruel-Ali you say?  Please send him in immediately!"

 

A surge of adrenalin forced out his state of lethargy.  Fred contemplated, "Ruel-Ali, the man who had been trying to warn the Vaclavs against this trip.  Ruel-Ali, the man who warned Carl and Sarah and Doug and Dorie about the Crystal of Nimrud.  Ruel-Ali, the man on the run!  Now he is coming into my own office!  What does this mean?"

 

The man of mystery, Ruel-Ali, was but a mere human.  He stepped into the office, and the two men embraced according to Middle Eastern etiquette.  He took a seat as Fred gestured.  Pleased at the friendly gestures, he accepted the chair and the cup of coffee that Fred offered.  Fred initiated the discussion.

 

"Mr. Ruel-Ali, I cannot tell you how surprised and happy I am to see you!"  

 

"And I am very glad to see you also, Mr. Bartman."  Ruel spoke with his heavy accent, "Since my pursuers are now known to be deceased, I became bold enough to enter your embassy."

 

"Please continue, sir," Fred urged.

 

"I have told the Vaclavs all they needed to know to stop their invester-intevertes-ah-"

 

"Investigation," Fred offered.

 

"Yes.  The Crystal of Nimrud is not to be taken lightly.  It is very dangerous to our world-even your country.  You see, Mr. Bartman, I, at one time, was a member of the Order.  But during Operation Desert Storm, some members of my family became Christians while being held captive by the Americans.  When they were released, they told us about their faith.  I have not become one of their number, but several other friends and family have done so.  I am considering the faith of the Bible but have not obligated myself.  But through these people, I began to see the evil of the Order of Nimrud, those called the 'Brazzi.'  They left the Brazzi, and urged me to do so.  And so I have done.

 

"The Brazzi would not hinder me if I were not attempting to thwart their evil plans.  But my brother and I, and some others, have committed ourselves to keep the Brazzi from ruling our nation, the Middle East, and perhaps all the world."

 

"That explains a few things, Mr. Ruel-Ali.  But why did one of your clan-Brazzi's anonymous, or whatever you call yourselves-why did one of your people attempt to kill the Vaclav family.  You claim to be concerned with what is good.  I am speaking of the incident of the brick."

 

"We knew the plan could fail, but we took the chance.  Actually, it was the plan of my brother.  I spoke against it, but my brother never has taken my advice.  The brick was to be released so it would fall in front of the car.  The man who execushered-"

 

"Executed."

 

"Yes, thank you, ambassador.  As I was saying, the man who execushered-uh, carried out the plan was, how do you say, a little tardy.  We did not mean to kill anyone, and we are glad we did not do so.  We only intended to intimidashta-"

 

"Intimidate," Fred once again bailed out the "English as a second language" man.

 

"Yes.  But you must halt this event, Mr. Bartman.  You must believe me!"

 

"I understand your concern, Mr. Reul-Ali.  But I must tell you that we are not convinced there is a crystal.  And even if there is, Governor Al-Sheba himself will guarantee its security."

 

"Al-Sheba?  Governor Al-Sheba?  That evil dog!  Mr. Bartman, Governor Al-Sheba is a member of the Order of the Brazzi!  He is the man who persuaded Saddam to invade Kuwait!  How could Saddam follow this man and let him do these things?  The Brazzi are not friends to any political leader!"

 

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

 

It took a few hours to assemble the camp.  Sarah was especially grateful for the tents that had a special floor-to-wall feature to make it difficult for scorpions to pay a visit.                                     

 

After settling down, the party ate a meal that was a hybrid between a late lunch and an early dinner.  They warmed canned food over a small charcoal fire.  With contented appetites, the governor and the Vaclavs rested, chatted, and discussed plans.  The two guards stuck together, playing cards.

 

"Now, Mr. Vaclav, since Carl has filled me in on the history of your family document in greater detail, can you tell me what landmarks we are looking for?"

 

"Mr. Governor, I may be the one who has translated the document, but Gwen is the one who has memorized the directions.  Gwen can fill you in."

 

Before the governor could address her, Gwen looked at Al-Sheba and said, "For security reasons, we did not even tell our children the directions to this location.  Fred Bartman doesn't know either.  Ian and I are the only ones."

 

"We are looking for a rock formation.  I hope it is still here!  With wars and the erosion of time, this is perhaps the weakest link in our search."

 

"Could you be more specific, Mrs. Vaclav."

 

"Most certainly, Mr. Governor.  The directions said to cross the Tigris just south of Babylon, at the ancient crossing, which is Hillah.  Then we were directed to head due south for a two-days journey.  We would come to some hills.  The first one taller than an ancient oak tree was number one.  We were to head to the seventh hill.  

 

"We would find a valley with the hills all in a row, which, if I am correct, is exactly where we sit right now.  Then we are to journey west for about one hour, until we see the nose formation on the north.  One can see the nose best as the sun rises.  Underneath this nose is what appears to be a shallow cavern.  The remnants of the tower are behind it."

 

The governor was silent.  But his eyes were animated with excitement.

 

"So we had best arise before sunlight to get a start," the governor offered.

 

"Yes, I think so," Ian commented.

 

"Well, Ma, you might think this a strange question, but why didn't we camp closer?" Carl queried.

 

"Sorry, Carl.  I left something out.  The directions also said that once one moved a distance from the creek, one entered the abode of many scorpions, jackals, and wicked insects.  So this is logically the best place to camp.  We don't want any more experiences like Sarah's.  If that happened here, where the scorpions are not as dense, I hate to think what could happen there!  Plus our present location is near the brook."

 

They would relax at their campsite, perhaps play some card games, and retire early.  Tomorrow would be the big day!

 

 

The bud vase looked fine where the oil lamp once sat.

 

"Elnora, please send Mr. Ruel-Ali to Thaddeus.  Tell him to put him up in security housing until further notice."  He directed himself to Ruel-Ali, "I am sure you will be comfortable, Mr. Ruel-Ali.  I would think you will only need security for a few days."

 

"As you wish, Mr. Bartman, though I feel more secure than I have for weeks."  Elnora Salem escorted him out.

 

She returned in a few moments to carry out further directions from the ambassador.

 

"Please phone Tom Houser at his hotel.  Ask him to come to my office immediately.  Then get Timmons on the line.  That will be all, Ms. Salem."

 

Elnora could see that Fred was in his intense mode.  When in such a state, Fred exchanged his friendly, relaxed ways for focused concentration.  The phlegmatic Dr. Jekyl turned into a choleric Mr. Hyde. 

 

Fred waited restlessly in his chair.  Finally, Elnora buzzed him.  "I've got Mr. Timmons on the phone."

 

"Timmons, I have several important matters to talk to you about.  I'm not going to waste any time, and I want straight answers.  First of all, what is this business about you being school buddies with Al-Sheba?"

 

Tim attempted to explain his silence to Fred as he had to Ian.  He didn't think it was important.

 

"Don't give me that baloney, Tim.  I don't believe it for one minute.  Try again."

 

Tim was stubborn.  He repeated his explanation.  Fred then asked, "Is Jalinski back yet?"

 

"No," Tim answered, "he's still in the states.  Fred, what's gotten into you?  Don't you trust me?"

 

"I'd like to Tim-very much-but I need REAL answers!  There is no way you're telling me the truth."

 

"Okay, Fred.  I'll level with you.  Yes, I know the governor well.  But I thought this whole expedition was goofy.  I was positive Al-Sheba would reject the proposal, but to my surprise he has been emphatically for it.  Then I thought he would certainly reverse himself once he gave it further thought, but he kept forging ahead.  I didn't want you pressuring me to use my friendship with him as a way to keep it going.  But now it doesn't make any difference, does it?  This silly venture is marching forward."

 

"I must confess that I have tried to use my friendship with Al-Sheba to block this thing.  I didn't want you to know."

 

"Tim, how dumb do you think I am?  You are not telling me the whole truth.  You had many opportunities to mention your college friendship with Al-Sheba over the years, yet you never mentioned it once, nor did he.  This Tower of Babel stuff is recent.  Come clean!"

 

"You can be a tough man, Fred.  Yes, I kept it hush for years, even through Desert Storm.  Al-Sheba was doing me a favor.  I wanted your job, Fred.  And Al-Sheba was an asset that could make me look like a negotiator-a man who could get things done.  There.  Are you content now?"

 

"That sounds like the whole truth, Tim.  I feel sorry that you feel you need to stoop to such tactics."  There was silence on the phone line for a moment.

 

Fred resumed the discussion.  "But why did Al-Sheba snitch to Ian that you two are old friends?"

 

"Because this whole Tower of Babel incident is making him into a maniac, that's why.  He has become reckless in more than one way!  He's losing it, Fred."

 

The ambassador had to make a judgment call.  Would he trust Timmons or not?  "Tim, I have an opportunity for you to redeem yourself.  Ian is in danger.  I have it on good authority that Al-Sheba belongs to the Order of Nimrud!"

 

"What?!" Tim asked in unbelief.  "No!"

 

"Yes," Fred contradicted.  "And the Vaclavs are with him, in the middle of who knows where."

 

Timmons consented to start inquiring near Hillah in an attempt to trace their journey.  Perhaps he could get information from some of the locals.

 

"And Tim," Fred added, "I am going to send an unlikely helper, a certain Tom Houser.  He is a retired friend of the Vaclavs, and he might seem above suspicion.  We don't want to stir up trouble.  Ian has probably primed Al-Sheba for Tom's arrival, thinking I would weaken."

 

Fred stewed for a moment.

 

"I hope you know what you're doing, Fred."

 

"Not as much as I hope," Fred returned.  They soon finished detailing some final plans.

 

Fred summoned Elnora.  "Elnora, please raise Ruel-Ali on the phone.  Thank you."

 

Fred was still in high gear, but his manners had returned.  Elnora Salem was grateful for that.

 

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

 

It was the middle of the night.  Tom Houser, the only passenger aboard the small, private plane, was on his way to Iraq.  Tim Timmons had arranged things from his end in Iraq.  "Uncle Tom," as he sarcastically called him, had come for a special visit.   

 

Tom had time to pray, think, and nap.  Before long, he was greeted in Baghdad by Tim Timmons himself. 

 

Tim fought off yawns as he chauffeured Tom over to his office.  As early as it was, Timmons had a visitor.  The night security guard had asked the drop-in to wait in a side room until the assistant ambassador arrived.  The guest had information about the Vaclavs.

 

"How do you do," Tim said to the man in the shepherd's clothing,  "I am Tim Timmons, and this is Tom Houser, a dear friend of the Vaclav family.  And who might you be?"

 

"My name is called Omar Rhadie.  May we privately speak?"

 

"Certainly," Tim responded.  He nodded his approval to the security man, and the three men ascended to Tim's office.

 

"English not good.  You speak Arabic?"  Tim nodded, and the two began speaking in what, to Tom, sounded like gibberish.  After chatting a while, Tom escorted the visitor out.

 

"We're very lucky, Tom.  That man, Omar Rhadie, is a Bedouin shepherd who knows where the Vaclavs are camping, and he has given me directions to their campsite.  Omar is a friend of Ruel-Ali.  Has Fred filled you in on him?"

 

"Yeah, he's the one who tried to scare away the Vaclavs because he fears the Crystal of Nimrud."

 

"Right.  I think it's a lot of nonsense, but he doesn't see it that way.  Even worse, Al-Sheba believes in the crystal, too.  What's the use of living in the twentieth century when there is so much superstition around?  And when they find nothing, I can't guess what those 'Brazzi' will do to the Vaclavs.  Who know with such superstitious people?"

 

"But the Vaclavs are not looking for the Crystal, but the remnants of the Tower of Babel.  I know there was such a tower because the Bible says so, but there is no mention of a crystal in Scripture.  If they find the Tower, and the Crystal is not there, maybe they'll leave the Vaclavs alone."

 

Tim looked on in unbelief and disgust.  Another naive person who dared to believe the Bible is true.  Another mindless excuse for a human being!  How many of these escapists were there?

 

The tone of Tim's voice had changed to that of resignation.  "Anyhow, this friend of Ruel-Ali, Omar, was awakened by another relative who has a telephone and lives in Hillah.  Ruel-Ali must have a network of his own!"

 

"Here's our plan.  If I were to join the party, they would know something is up.  If, on the other hand, you joined, and I just dropped you off, well, that might be accepted.  Then I'll stay with one of these shepherds, and they'll keep me informed through their peers.  And when you get together with Ian, warn him privately."

 

Tim thought to himself, "If Fred had more sense, he would have not risked an international mess for the pursuit of a fictional, religious dream!"  He burned with hatred against Fred, and he knew it.

 

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

 

Mohammed and the three other men of the Leadership Council were tense.  It would not be long until Mohammed possessed the Crystal of Nimrud.  His loyal disciples and he would govern the Middle East, and, if the crystal lived up to its reputation, perhaps the world.

 

"Let's keep a distance so they do not suspect we are near, my brothers.  It will not be long now."

 

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

 

One servant was left behind to watch the campsite.  Everyone had their backpack, including medicinal supplies in case of scorpion bite, emergency water and food, and handguns.  In addition, Al-Sheba and the other guard carried a walkie-talkie.  The servant also carried a video camera to videotape the hillside for further study.

 

After hiking through the bumpy, rock-laden ravine for about forty minutes, Gwen informed the party, "We'd better be watching for what looks like a nose.  Expect the formation on the north side."

 

They disturbed some scorpions here and there, but since they were dressed in long pants and tough boots, they were not panic stricken.

 

The temperature was textbook perfect.  The dry wind felt refreshing in the early light of dawn.  The group hiked for another hour with no sign of success.  Many rocks jutted out, but none seemed to resemble a clear-cut nose.

 

Gwen and Ian experienced feelings they had never felt before.  It was as though there was a hollow cavern where their stomachs once resided.  It was the fear of failure, the fear of having gone through all that trouble, all that anticipation, to find nothing.  They were certainly not on the verge of giving up, for they had expected this leg of the trip to be the most challenging.  After all, ancient directions from ancient times in a modern setting was not the ideal scenario!

 

"Let's see what we can spot on the way back," Ian urged.  Maybe things will appear differently from that angle."  As they started back, they checked in with the man at the campsite.  All was well.

 

"It's not going to be easy, honey," Ian comforted his wife.  "After all, we did allow plenty of contingency time to locate the sight."  

 

"I know," said Gwen, "but I just don't want your, no, I must say our, lifelong dream to end with failure.  We must find Babel's Tower!"

 

It had been four hours since they set out.  They returned fatigued.

 

"I suggest we enjoy a meal, then sleep or relax a little, and try again," Al-Sheba suggested.  Then Al-Sheba spoke to his other guard.  "While we rest, view the video tape and see if you can spot a shape that looks like a nose protruding from the hillside."

 

Gwen and Ian were resting on their sides inside their tent.  "You know, honeybunch, we may have counted the hills incorrectly."

 

"Yes, Ian, I know what you are thinking.  But, if you remember, the document said, 'After the seventh hill but before the eighth.'"

 

"You don't suppose an earthquake or something changed the landscape, do you?" Ian queried.

 

"I don't think so," Gwen responded.  "This ravine seems to fit the description.  And the brook does flow through it, and it is loaded with scorpions."

 

"It certainly is packed with scorpions out there, that's for sure!" Ian commented.  He twisted open a jar of dill pickles and began munching away.

 

After a two-hour siesta, the Vaclavs were awakened by the noise of a Jeep.  Peering out of the tent, they were shocked to see Tim Timmons and Tom Houser driving up to the campsite!

 

 

The Vaclav family was ecstatic.  They each gave Tom a hug and expressed their enthusiasm.  After their zeal subsided, they updated both Tom and Tim regarding their most recent adventures.  

 

Tim was now ready to speak.  He dramatized a little, "Yeah, Bartman caved in under your pressure, Ian.  I don't know how you do it!  He told me that you wanted Tom in on things from the beginning.  I wish I knew your secret."        

 

Tim then glared at the governor.  "Is this acceptable to you, Governor Al-Sheba?"

 

"Certainly, Tim."  Al-Sheba glanced at Ian as he continued.  "Ian told me he was trying to get Tom here, but he thought it was a lost cause.  I would like to know how he gets his way with Bartman, too!"

 

The governor focused his eyes on Tim Timmons.  "How did you gentlemen track us down?"

 

"It wasn't easy!  But word travels quickly in the countryside when foreigners are involved!"

 

Al-Sheba had yet another question, this time directed toward Tom.  "But, Mr. Houser, are you up to such rigor?"

 

"Let's put it this way, Mr. Governor, I'm in better shape than Ian.  But that's not saying too much."  Tom's words were accurate on both counts.

 

After chatting and helping to pitch an extra tent provided by Tim Timmons, the unofficial assistant ambassador took off.  Sarah requested him to carry back a letter to mail to Doug Bartman.  He was more than happy to oblige.

 

As he drove off, he had to dodge Bedouin shepherds who were bringing their flocks toward the trickle of water in the little stream.  This was apparently part of their daily routine.  In that group of seven shepherds strode Omar Rhadie, Ruel-Ali's friend who had spoken to Tim Timmons and Tom at the small pseudo-embassy.  The two men, Tom and Omar, made eye contact, but then ignored one another.  They had to play it safe.

 

Tom was anxious to hike around the ravine and recruited Carl to accompany them.  The two polar ends of the age scale would plod alone and report any findings to the group upon their return.  The others planned to wait until the next morning when they would divide into different teams in an effort to maximize efficiency.  Meanwhile, they would screen the videotape.

 

Though Tom was sixty-seven, he had no trouble keeping up with his sixteen-year-old companion.  Tom had been an early morning "mall walker" and had always been on the healthy side.

 

As they headed back toward camp, Tom complained to Carl, "I'm picking up some Arabic gibberish on my hearing aid."  He quickly turned it off for a while.  "Must be some military operations or something nearby."

 

Tom asked Carl a question.  "Which way are we heading?"

 

"Well," responded Carl, surprised at the nature of such a simple question, "we're heading east.  Can't you tell by the setting sun behind us?"

 

"What?"  Tom squinted, signaled for Carl to wait a moment, and switched on his hearing aid.

 

"The blabbering in that strange lingo has stopped.  Sorry I couldn't hear your answer.  Come again, please."

 

Carl repeated his answer.

 

"East, huh,?" Tom responded.  His bald head and big nose were sweating.  "I'm just one of those guys with a confused sense of direction."  A thought captivated his mind.  "By the way, has anybody ever checked out this side of the ravine?  You know, the south side?  That is south, correct?"  Tom was pointing south.

 

"No," responded Carl, "we've focused on the north.  Why do you ask?"

 

"Because I'm always getting tangled up in my directions and I have met many others who are just like me.  I find it easy to imagine that whoever wrote the directions may have been like me.  We are not a rare breed, you know!  Even back then there must have been a variety of the 'walking confused.'"

 

"I suppose it's possible," Carl replied lifelessly.

 

The area was one of topographical transition.  It was hilly but not mountainous.  The land was neither fertile nor a dessert but an interface between the two.

 

"Let's keep our eyes peeled, only this time, let's look south," Tom restated.

 

Carl reconsidered the possibility of Tom's theory.  It was only a theory, but worth a little eyestrain.

 

They rotated their heads and peered at the rocks as they wandered back.  Tom's countenance shifted as he spoke.  "Carl, I have some news to break to you.  We must be careful to tell your family when we cannot be overheard.  Carl, we have reason to believe that Governor Al-Sheba belongs to the Order of Nimrud!"                             

 

Tom went on to explain the knowledge he had gained from Fred Bartman and Tim Timmons.  Carl's baby blue eyes glistened in shock.

 

When it was time to shift subjects, Mr. Houser spoke up.  "The man Tim saw today, one of the Bedouin shepherds, called this place the Valley of the Scorpions.  I have no doubt why!"  They had counted twenty scorpions on their hike thus far.

 

"When I was young," Carl interjected, "we used to count sidewalk slab cracks.  Now I'm counting scorpions."  Tom tried not to laugh at Carl's statement.  He did not feel that age sixteen was exactly elderly!

 

Further into their return hike, Tom stopped dead in his tracks.  "Look, Carl-the nose!  As good a snozola as Jimmy Durante's!"  Sure enough, a quarter of a mile away was a rock formation that resembled a giant nose.  It was about the size of a Volkswagen Beetle.

 

No one before Tom had even considered the possibility of a mistake!  But the years had taught the retiree about human nature.

 

For a while the two teetered between ecstasy and unbelief.  Carl's excitement was deeper than Tom's, for Carl felt he had-or was soon to-fulfill a family destiny.  His was not just personal ambition-but love for his dad and a sense of connectedness to the long line of Vaclavs before him.  The secret that had been held by a thin thread through millennia had survived.  And he would see with his own eyes the culmination of that secret.  Even if the whole dream went no further, he still felt like part of a fulfilled prophecy.  After simmering down, Carl returned to his more relaxed self, but he still sensed a few spurts of adrenalin.

 

"The nose has been right under our nose!" commented Carl, punning in his father's footsteps.

 

The duo was mute for another few minutes when Carl again spoke up.  "I'll tell Mom and Dad privately.  We don't want Al-Sheba to know, do we?"

 

"No, but then I can't say I really know," Tom replied.  "It is not comforting trying to work in a nose under our enemies very noses."  Tom had evened the pun score.

 

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

 

Tim Timmons entered the little shack near the "Valley of the Scorpions."  He was at the humble abode of Omar Rhadie.  Moments after his arrival, another vehicle pulled up to the stone and clay habitation.  It was none other than Tim's British friend, Mr. Smithers.  He looked like an alien from space with his three-piece suit and derby.

 

"Timmons, old boy!"  Smithers greeted him with a pumping handshake.  "Good to see you, even under such unusual circumstances!"  The branch office in Iraq was sparsely staffed, as were those of other nations.  Friendly nations formed their own networks to stretch their limited personnel.  The British office was in the same boat as the American office:  officially non-existent.  They both used the Polish embassy to work out problems.  That was why Stanley Jalinski was such a key man.  He was fluent in American and Polish ways from childhood and had learned Iraqi ways in adulthood.   

 

"It's like this, Smithers.  That ridiculous hobbyhorse of Bartman's, you know, the Vaclav family ordeal, well, their presence here is creating a lot of headaches.  Now, to make matters worse, I find out my old school chum, Al-Sheba, belongs to the Order of Nimrud.  You've heard of it, no doubt?"

 

It took Smithers a moment to translate Tim Timmon's haphazard English into a form his mind could discern.  After a moment he answered, "Yes, I most certainly have.  Can't remember where or who told me about them.  The impression is that they don't put off much smoke, but they have the potential for a lot of fire."

 

"So now I've got to try to prevent an international incident, involving potential treason on an Iraqi level.  All for a mythical tower and crystal!"

 

"Smithers, I would like you to help me by doing two things.  First, check with your Iraqi connections in high places to see if Saddam believes in this crystal.  Second, talk to your connections in Washington.  See if we can go over Bartman's head to get this thing stopped.   I know it's a lot to ask, but you do owe me a few."

 

"I'll give it my best shot, old boy," Smithers responded.  "The messes you Americans get yourselves into!"