Chapter 21

 

Tom and Carl strolled back to camp, trying to look as normal as possible.  They brushed off questions by the governor with evasions.

 

"Did you find any clues?" Governor Al-Sheba interrogated Tom.

 

"We checked the whole north side, and saw nothing there, but we saw lots and lots of scorpions!"  Tom wasn't sure of the difference between lying and evasion, but felt as though his response was acceptable.

 

After a bit, Tom addressed Ian.  "I'll help you get some water for the dishes.  How about we take a walk by the stream?"

 

The two men paraded off.  Tom primed Ian with small talk, "How are the kids getting along?" and "How are your legs holding out?"  They strolled out of sight, following the ravine as it curved to the right.  When they were safely out of hearing range, Tom began to divulge the two big headlines.  The first was that Al-Sheba was part of the Order of Nimrud.  He purposely arranged this first.  He knew when he shared the second item, Ian's mind would not be capable of focusing on anything else.

 

When Tom shared with him the discovery of "the nose," Ian nearly passed out and had to sit on the ground to keep his balance.  Then he practically exploded with such joy that Mount St. Helen's eruption could not mimic the intensity of his enthusiasm.  Tom had never witnessed anything like it.  It was like an entire manic-depressive episode condensed into a few moments!

 

The men had been gone over an hour when they caught a glimpse of a Bedouin shepherd.  It was Omar Rhadie.

 

"Over here," he called to them from a cleft in the hillside.  "Come quickly!"  The men thought the request odd since they were clearly out of the sight of their party.

 

Tom instantly recognized Omar from Tim Timmon's office.  "Omar, what information do you have for us?  Oh, Ian, this is Omar Rhadie.  He's the Bedouin shepherd who told us where we could find you."

 

"Mr. Vaclav, I the one who sent you warning.  Others help me to write in good English.  I am your Christian brother.  I was prisoner in Desert Storm war.  A guard telled me about Jesus, and I believed.  You know my friend, I think, Ruel-Ali.  He not Christian yet, but good man.  I care about you, Mr. Vaclav, for you are my brother in Jesus.

 

"You are in danger.  There is group called 'Order of Nimrud.'  We call them 'Brazzi.'  Brazzi leader, Mohammed and his men watch you from peaks and hiding places.  They not trust Al-Sheba.  As soon as you find tower, they will surprise you and kill you.  I afraid for you."

 

"Now that I Christian, I no longer sure I believe about crystal of Nimrud.  But our old legend say it gives owner who knows its secret, power to control men and rule them.  It be better if you all go home and give up looking.  Maybe legend true?"

 

Ian was touched.  "Brother, I am glad you care.  I respect you for putting yourself in danger to speak to me.  I think this legend about Nimrud's Crystal is a myth.  If there is a crystal, and even if it is a way for a man to contact powers-perhaps demons, as a soldier of Christ I must not fear.  We are seated with Christ far above all such powers.  We must put on the armor of God, not run.  If Nimrud did control men through the crystal, it could only have been by the forces of darkness.  We must trample down these forces and march on to victory!

 

"Brother Omar, God has lead me very clearly into this frightening task.  I am not a man who enjoys taking risks.  I am just the opposite.  You must decide for yourself whether God has led me or not, but I must do what I understand our Lord demands of me.  Do you understand?"

 

"Yes," Omar responded, "Can understand English more than can speak.  Though I be new believer, God lead me, too.  He wants me to help my brother.  I keep in touch.  But look out for Mohammed.  And no trust Al-Sheba!"

 

"God bless you," Tom responded.  "We'll pray for one another!"  With that, the men left the cleft as Omar snuck away, hopefully unobserved.

 

When they rejoined the camp, Tom and Ian communicated the two hot items to the feminine Vaclavs, one at a time.  While Ian spoke, Tom kept a watch and vice-versa.  It was nearly impossible for Gwen and Sarah to conceal their excitement.  

 

Now that the secret was communicated to the elite group, what should they do with it?  Should they feign a search the next morning to buy time?  Time for what?  What could they do to pursue the tower remnants and yet protect their lives at the same time?

 

These questions would wear on the Vaclavs and Tom as they retired for the night.  They had to plot a course of action.

 

Ian and Gwen petitioned God, "Lord, show us the right approach.  We are not good at playing games."  Though they committed the matter to the Lord in prayer, their minds were agitated.  They knew they should not worry, especially after the Holy Spirit had led them so clearly.  But they worried anyway.

 

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

 

"Ed Kramer, how are you?"  Tim Timmons greeted the well-respected Under Secretary of State.  "I am so glad to see you!"  Tim smiled as he greeted the short, bald, butterball of a man.

 

"Good to see you, again, Tim, but I wish it was at a dinner or something instead of under these circumstances.  Smithers twisted my arm.  Said you had a potential behemoth of a problem, and Bartman wouldn't address it.  Is that right?"

 

Tim Timmons blurted out his interpretation of the facts in dump truck fashion.  Ed had to slow Tim down and backtrack to sort out the mass of information Timmons offered him.

 

"Doesn't quite sound like Bartman to me.  You sure there's not more involved."

 

"Well, this Gwen Vaclav, she let it slip that she worked in foreign relations years ago.  She knew Jalinski."

 

"I knew a Gwen-Gwendolyn Spears.  She worked some with Jalinski years ago.  Heard she got married, but I never did catch her married name.  A thin British girl with red hair.  Is that her?"

 

"Sounds right," Timmons responded.  "She is British, thin, and has red hair.  But I never caught her maiden name.  She did say something about working on some relations with China after Nixon's visit."

 

"Yep, that's her.  The future whiz of foreign relations, they thought.  She had my job, Tim-at her young age!  One of sixteen under secretaries.                      

 

"After the Jalinski/China arrangements, I was transferred out and never saw her again, but I heard some things.  Things like she would have probably been the first female Secretary of State.  The best mind and personality in the department.  Just needed some experience.  That kind of stuff.

 

"About the time she had some experience, she left the job.  Didn't want to travel to the neglect of her husband and child, she said.  I respected her for making a decision that was not, as they say nowadays, 'politically correct.'  But then I've always been of the old school."

 

Ed Kramer's verbiage did not provide any relief to Tim's gnarled insides.  He had assumed that once Kramer heard the facts, he would slam the door to the whole mission.  But now he wasn't so sure.  But, in any case, the ball was in the Under Secretary's court.  And Kramer returned the serve.

 

After a tedious discussion, Ed formulated an idea.  It was an idea that made Tim squirm.  He gazed at Tim with a mischievous look.  "Tim, you're old pals with Al-Sheba, right?   Why not offer to help the expedition?  Friends help friends, right?  And, uh, bring your revolver."  Ed allowed no opportunity for Tim to answer his questions.  They were actually statements in costume.

 

Timmons made no attempt to hide his feelings.  His face was filled with both rage and depression.  He expressed himself in no uncertain terms to his superior.  The name "Vaclav" had been like "mud" in his vocabulary.  But the mud was getting muddier.

 

Ed was firm, "It must be you, Tim.  No one else has the rapport.  I'll stay close at hand, right here, if Omar will be so gracious."

 

For a few moments, Timmons couldn't decide whether to comply or resign.  He couldn't go over Ed's head.  He had already gone over Bartman's.  Was everybody insane?

 

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

 

The sun was almost ready to rise.  Ian awoke to the sound of verbal conflict.  He flung on his clothes and speedily left Gwen behind, fast asleep.  He was surprised to see Tim Timmons speaking to Al-Sheba in unusually harsh tones.  As Tim caught a glimpse of Ian peering at them, the two men abruptly turned off their argument.  The assistant ambassador shouted toward Ian.

 

"Good morning, Ian.  I've come along to join the expedition!  But our good friend, the honorable governor, is trying to convince me otherwise.  Can you beat that?"

 

"Mr. Vaclav," the governor defended himself, "first, Tom Houser joins our party.  That is understandable.  Now Tim Timmons, all of a sudden, like a-a shooting star-comes from nowhere and wants to join our ranks.  I am sensing something sneaky-something political going on here.  No, the shooting star must return to his constellation in the sky!"

 

Timmons directed his tones toward Al-Sheba, "Let's not put Vaclav in the middle of this.  How about we take a walk and settle this ourselves privately?"

 

Ian knew, from Tom Houser, that Timmons was keeping a watchful eye on things in the area.  He also knew Tim had come to bail them out as an extra ally to help prevent what could be a bloody situation.  Three men in the expedition who could turn on him:  Al-Sheba and his two servants.  In addition to that, Mohammed and his cronies could attack him, or they could be caught in the crossfire between Al-Sheba and Mohammed.

 

Ian's eye began to twitch which was uncommon for him.  Only a few instances in his life had been tense enough for this to happen.  Should he continue to pursue things or back off?  Common sense said one thing, but it seemed God was saying another.  The Vaclav patriarch experienced yet another spiritual battle.

 

After twenty minutes of intense prayer, Ian knew that God had not changed direction and that he must stay the course.  He must walk into the unknown.  Ian was a klutz in the world of the known, so the unknown world was all that more distasteful to him.  After the time of warfare prayer, he beheld Tim and Al-Sheba returning from their walk.

 

"We have smoothed out our many wrinkles, Mr. Vaclav," Al-Sheba responded.  "I am most enthusiastic about Tim joining our humble party."

 

Ian was suspicious.


 Chapter 22

 

 

When Ian saw the flip-flop in Al-Sheba, he no longer knew who to trust.  Had Timmons struck some kind of dastardly bargain with Al-Sheba?  

 

All of a sudden, Ian was filled with a holy rage.  He lost the fear that had been paralyzing him.  At least momentarily, he was not concerned about safety nor about out-foxing the Brazzi.  If he had to face the full Order of Nimrud, so be it!  No matter what secret deals were struck, he would boldly trod on.

 

"Gentlemen, let us explore the area once again and look at the other side of the ravine walls.  I need to tell you that we have concluded that the "nose" rock formation is actually on the opposite side of the ravine: the south.  The scribe who wrote the "document most special" erred.  Let us double check this theory."

 

Al-Sheba demanded to know why Ian held back this information.  Ian was forced to admit he wanted to keep the matter hush for the day, which made Al-Sheba not only angry, but suspicious.  With considerable trouble, Timmons calmed him down, and they began to focus on their hike.

 

The two servants, along with Gwen, Carl, Sarah, Tom, Tim, and the governor himself all embarked on the journey, leaving the camp unguarded.  Their gear included blasting equipment, the sonar, and weapons.

 

The weather was warming and the sun was already beginning to flex its bright muscles.  It would be a summer-like day.

 

The valley of scorpions was crowded that day with the deadly arachnids creeping everywhere.  One of the guards spoke to his companion in Arabic.  Ian could understand him.  "This is a bad omen.  Many scorpions mean many evils."  Ian noted the superstitious nature of these men.  Perhaps he could exploit their superstition later.

 

As they trudged over the mixture of varied rocks and sandy dirt, Carl pointed to a pair of jackals in the distance.  They stopped for a moment to rest their backs and view the sight.  Jackals were a pleasant change from scorpions.  The few snakes they saw added variety, but no psychological relief.

 

Tim wiped the sweat from his buzz-length hair.  He rubbed his glasses with a handkerchief and situated them on a stable part of his nose.  He would frequently nudge them back up to the bridge of his nose with his upper arm as the marching rhythm of his stride coaxed them downward.  It was a never-ending battle.

 

It took longer to get to the nose formation since they were shouldering supplies.  Since Tom was older, he carried some of the lighter supplies.  The real burden was upon the servants.

 

Strolling alongside Ian, Tom suddenly grabbed Ian's shoulder and uttered, "Here, put in my hearing aid.  Quick!  I'm picking something up in Arab gibberish."  Since the two were at the rear end of the caravan, the others did not notice the speedy exchange.

 

What sounded like gibberish to Tom was very distinguishable to Ian.  "The four of us should be able to handle things for now.  We shall wait until they uncover the ruins and actually get to the tower.  Why should we do the hard work?"  

 

"Interesting," Ian responded to Tom.  Here's your hearing aid back."

 

"What?" Tom asked.  "Oh-you want me to put it back in?  Okay."  They had never slowed down during the whole episode.

 

Ian paraphrased the message for Tom and then commented, "Better keep our rifles loaded and ready.  And we'll save some dynamite just in case."

 

As they trodded forward, there on their left, the hillside displayed  "the nose."  There were many formations on both sides, so a casual observer would have never noticed it.  But like articles in a hidden picture, once spotted, it became obvious.  It was a remarkable facsimile.  The structure was a little bigger than a Volkswagen Beetle but beautifully formed.  Underneath the formation were rocks and what appeared to be solid hillside.

 

"Set down the gear here," Al-Sheba commanded in Arabic.  "And watch out for those scorpions!"  There were three in sight of the camp.   Al-Sheba barked further instructions.  "Get your guns, and shoot all the scorpions you can see 100 meters in each direction.  We can at least reduce the number of those pests at our campsite."  So the men began walking, one in each direction, shooting casually at each visible scorpion.  Within twenty minutes, they returned.  Sarah counted thirty-two gunshots.  Her blue eyes cringed with each blast.

 

While Al-Sheba's men were exterminating scorpions, the others in the party surveyed a flat spot, seemingly free of scorpions, and began unloading.

 

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

 

"Elnora, please come here as soon as possible!"  Fred spoke through the communication system.

 

Elnora Salem stepped in gracefully.  Without saying a word she cocked her head to listen.

 

"I've spoken to Saddam himself!  I told him about our suspicions about Al-Sheba, but he absolutely refuses to believe it.  Yet he must have some doubt because he is letting Doug and me visit the excavation site.  And one doesn't persuade Saddam unless he wants to be persuaded!  So there are many arrangements to make.  That's where I need you.   While I'm on the line to my family, I need you to arrange a speedy flight to Iraq!  We gotta get out of here before Saddam changes his mind."

 

"Right," Elnora replied, "I'll give it my all."

 

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

 

The sonar confirmed that underneath the nose formation was indeed a cave.  It seemed to go back 800 feet.  "Let us begin removing the smaller debris by hand," the governor advised.  "Then we can lever away some of the rocks, and blast from there, if necessary."

 

Tim could not conceal his amazement as he stared at Ian.  "So these ancient directions of yours, they really do point to a cave?  I am impressed!"

 

Tom helped within limits but wisely restricted himself.  Ian was also self-restrained.  As a matter of fact, Tom Houser, though sixty-seven, was in better physical condition than Ian, who was only forty-five. 

 

After less than one hour, the group began to perceive an opening.  Soon they could estimate it at about four feet high.  Shortly it was all cleared away.  As they shone their lights into the cave, they could see the ceiling rise.

 

With indescribable excitement, five of the party entered.  Tom and Carl remained outside at Ian's request, guns near at hand.  It was torturous to keep away from the excitement, but they knew their turn would come.

 

The cave did not go back 800 feet, at least not that first room.  Toward the back of the cave appeared to be a man made wall of brick and mortar.  When they converged their flashlights on the wall, its human design was confirmed.  In front of the wall they sighted a basket of ancient scrolls.  An ancient form of writing had been liberally inscribed on the cave wall.

 

After surveying the room for about twenty minutes, Ian wiped the gleam from his face as he saw the servants hauling out the basket of scrolls.  He was upset that no photos had been taken, no items were cataloged.  Ian was no archaeologist, but he knew this was not standard procedure.

 

Ian and Al-Sheba discussed the matter.  The governor showed no intention of following standard procedure.  "The scrolls look to be in mint condition.  We may catalog our finds later."

 

The Vaclav scholar abandoned the effort.  He was secretly pleased to forge ahead, even if it was unorthodox.

 

"We must at least take our time," Ian admonished.  "None of us are going anywhere, and we do not want to mess anything up."  He could not prevent a modest smirk from returning.  The elder Vaclav was in his glory!

 

The party left the cave and came into the daylight, basket in hand.  "Look what we found!"  Sarah shouted to Carl and Tom as she pointed.  They riveted their eyes on the basket of scrolls and fell victim to the Vaclav smirk; Gwen's lips rose to new heights.  But Al-Sheba and his men seemed fidgety with impatience.

 

Ian carefully removed the first of several scrolls from the basket.  "Ah, this should be easy.    Written in Chaldean, old Aramaic.  Looks like it was written around the time of Nebuchadnezzar, about 600 B.C.  Let me read over the first document and then paraphrase it.  While I'm doing that, how about sending a couple of men back to the camp to bring the mini-generator?"

 

He began to translate.  As he did so, his eyes lit up and he could scarcely contain himself.  He kept scratching words into his spiral notebook.

 

Tom and Al-Sheba used the time to examine the cave.  

 

When the men returned a few hours later, Ian was ready with the translations.  The servants were not concerned about the translation, so they began to set up the generator.

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have discovered something that could shed new light on some ancient Biblical mysteries.  Let me read the translation of the first scroll."

 

"The Chaldeans of Yahweh, God of the Universe, and the only true God, the God who has chosen the people of Israel as His own, greet you.  We have prayed that the secret document disclosing this location would be preserved and its directions followed by those who serve Yahweh, as we do.

 

"Though we are Chaldeans by training, and from many nations by birth, some of us, through the prophecy and Spirit of Daniel's God, have become followers of the God of the Jews, Who is God of all who will submit to Him.

 

"The King of our Empire, the great King Nebuchadnezzar, the builder, was prophesied by Daniel to experience seasons of insanity for seven years.  The great King had appointed Daniel as the one to direct his kingdom in case such an event actually occurred.  The prophecy is being fulfilled at this very moment.  Our Regent, Nebuchadnezzar, has been afflicted these three years.

 

"Daniel has instructed us to carry the remnants of the Tower of Rebellion to this place, to preserve it for future believers to see.  Daniel has warned us, through his prophetic interpretations, that another kingdom is soon to come and rule over the land of Babylon.  The pieces of the Tower have laid in ruin between Babylon and Borsippa for centuries.  Their lesson against pride and rebellion against Yahweh must not be lost, so we preserve what little remains of it here in this secret location.

 

"It is our prayer that it will be removed from here and put on public display as our believing descendents of the Order of Magi may see fit.  Its lessons are perennially needed.

 

"Some of us, who have initiated a new order, the Order of Magi, were at one time involved with the ancient Order of Nimrud.  We have forsaken such superstition to follow Yahweh.

 

"It is hard to know what, if any, truth is preserved in the traditions of the Order of Nimrud.  We know there is only one true God.  But the traditions may be corruptions of the truth.  Yet we thought it wise, with the approval of Daniel, that we record some of our traditions.

 

"According to our legends, the Tower of Babel was built to defy the god of rain who had flooded the earth.  By uniting and building the tower, we who acknowledged Nimrud as the Anointed One, the seed of the Woman, Semarimis, could defy the god of rain.  We would build a tower higher than the floodwaters could rain.  It would be so strong, no torrent could shake it; so tight, no water could seep through it.  We made it of bricks that were glazed with the blue glaze of Babel.  We then covered each layer of bricks with tar so no water could seep in.  We built walls within walls.

 

"But then the god of wind and earthquakes grew angry at us, for we defied his brother, the god of rain.  He blew down our tower with his mighty lungs while he shook the earth so that all buildings came down.  The mountains moved and many died.  The earth split in sections, taking those on one side of a crevice many miles from those on the other side.  In addition to that, people began to separate from each other because their languages and ways of thinking were no longer one.

 

"Such are some of our legends.  Whether they contain any truth or are merely figments of imagination we cannot say.  We thought many other legends unworthy even to mention.

 

"We have committed ourselves to await the "Star that shall arise out of Judah," the Anointed One.  We wait upon Daniel and his favored rabbis for our instruction in this matter.  We are glad that the God of Israel has a place for Gentiles, and we humbly offer ourselves to Him.

 

"The few remnants of Babel's Tower are behind the wall."  Ian finished reading his translation.

 

Carl exploded after containing his excitement.  "The Magi are the wise men from the east who followed the star to Bethlehem!  They must be descendents of these people!"

 

"And disciples of Daniel," added Ian.  "Later on, when Daniel prophesied his seventy weeks of years prophecy in Daniel, chapter 9, it gave the wise men the information that the Anointed One would be "cut off" in A.D. 33.  Therefore, they expected Him to be born from, let's say 30 B.C. onward."

 

Ian corrected his son.  "But we must remember these reports were traditions still alive in Nebuchadnezzar's day.  They cannot prove anything.  They are not trustworthy in the way that God's Word is trustworthy.  And this order of Magi may not have been connected to those who brought gifts to Jesus.  But it's a good theory!  That's what we have here."

 

"Excuse me, gentlemen," Al-Sheba interrupted, "but I see no reason why we should not start removing that wall soon.  Do you?"

 

"We can start," Ian responded, "but we had better be careful.  The thing looks pretty crumbly."

 

Tom interrupted them.  "Ian, better take my hearing aid again."

 

Ian hadn't missed much of the message.  The Arabic conversation translated out to this:  "We must sneak up on them now before they get to the crystal."


 Chapter 23

 

 

Ian's instincts propelled him to action.

 

"Attention, everyone.  We are in a difficult situation.  Tom's hearing aid is picking up a spurious transmission from some agents of the Brazzi.  A small group from the Order of Nimrud is planning to attack us shortly.  I suggest we turn things over to Governor Al-Sheba for his military expertise."

 

Ian expounded the facts to the governor.  Al-Sheba's military genius was ready for testing.

 

"Let's get our supplies into the cave.  We can defend ourselves best if we are inside.  We can hide behind some boulders, and those of you who are unarmed can move toward the back.  They will not bomb the place because they want the crystal.  I will try raising the military."

 

The ad hoc militia hurriedly moved supplies into the cave. Ian hid the basket of scrolls behind some boulders.  This was a treasure he did not want to lose!

 

Al-Sheba paced outside the cave, pointing the antenna of his communication device toward Hillah.  He paged for several minutes, but his efforts were worthless.

 

"These mountains!  If I walked back to camp to get help, I would be a dead dog.  If we tried to scale the hillside, we would be easy targets.  We must fend for ourselves."

 

"Fortunately, Mr. Vaclav, I came prepared."  He signaled for one of his servants to bring a sack filled with grenades and a few gas masks.  Al-Sheba continued, "Let us hope they do not use gas.  We do not have enough masks to go around."

 

Ian, Gwen, and Al-Sheba loaded their rifles.  The two servants also were armed with handguns.  Their inventory included no other firearms.  It was Carl's job to toss any grenades.  Carl had been a star pitcher in his hometown league.

 

As though taking a cue in a well-staged drama, the four Brazzi leaders approached.  Mohammed was at the rear.  It took only a moment before they realized that their strategic attack was not a surprise.  Their intended victims were armed and waiting inside the cave.

 

Mohammed yelled toward the cave door.  Ian could make out the gist of what he shouted in Arabic.  "Come out with your hands up, and you will live, Al-Sheba.  Do not desert the order now.  Even now it is not too late.  Give me your allegiance, and I will spare you and your men."

 

Ian looked at Al-Sheba, wondering what he and his men would do.  The masquerade was over.  Al-Sheba gazed at Ian for a moment but remained awkwardly silent.  He avoided eye contact with Tim Timmons.  Ian was unsure how to interpret this.  Perhaps Tim had become his cohort.  But right now they were allies with a common enemy:  Mohammed and his council.

 

The artificial wall of the cave was about forty feet back.  Their supplies of dynamite, food, and water were haphazardly stacked against it.

 

The Brazzi opened fire.  Al-Sheba lead his militia to return the gesture.  This went on in stalemate fashion for about ten minutes.  Neither side advanced an inch.  At the Governor's command, Carl tossed a few grenades to keep the enemy at a reasonable distance.

 

Mohammed spoke to his first assistant.  "I am afraid if we don't settle this soon, the military will be alerted.  I think we should try something more aggressive."

 

The Brazzi leader suggested one of his men sneak up and throw a stick of dynamite near the cave entrance.  It would create some flying rocks and a lot of smoke.  The group inside would have to flee for air, and the Brazzi would seize control.

 

The Brazzi's aim was horrible.  Instead of landing near the entrance, the explosive stick rolled toward the back of the room, near several other explosives.

 

"Make for the entrance," Ian barked with an authority he rarely displayed.  Everyone except Al-Sheba and his men obeyed the Patton-like voice instantly.  The Iraqis hesitated.  They were not about to pay attention to an order from a dog like Ian.  Before Al-Sheba issued an order, it was too late!

 

Rocks and bricks shot like bullets in every direction.  The governor and his loyal followers were shrouded in rubble.  The old brick wall, the loose rocks, and dust had buried them under a mound.                          

 

Ian, Gwen, Carl, Sarah, Tom, and Tim crawled toward the opening.  They knew that Mohammed and his men were victoriously awaiting them.  They could only hope that somehow they might hang onto their lives.  Though their prayers were short and to the point, they were intense.  Even skeptical Tim was praying.

 

As Ian came to the threshold between the cave and outside world, he spoke in Arabic.  "Wait, don't shoot.  I have no interest in the crystal."  He mustered his mental strength.  "I can read the ancient scrolls that will lead us to the Tower of Babel and your crystal.  But you must spare my family and friends."

 

Mohammed answered him in Arabic, "Why not?  If you help us, there is no reason for your death, since you will be under the power of the crystal.  But Al-Sheba and his men must die."

 

The other five crept into the daylight, shaken, bruised, and encapsulated by dust.  But they were intact.  The Vaclav patriarch felt deep emotions as he realized Sarah, Carl, and Gwen were safe.  How he loved his family!  Next Tim staggered his way.  Where was Tom?  Ian feared for Tom, being older, but Tom finally emerged and was the most vigorous of the bunch.

 

The dust on Sarah's gorgeous hair transformed her into an ancient woman with gray hair.  There was a recessed section on each face where eyes gazed from powdered faces.  If circumstances had been lighter, they would have broken into hysterical laughter.  But the thought never crossed their minds.  Survival was what counted now.

 

Ian spoke again to Mohammed, "Sir, I am afraid the wall has buried Al-Sheba and his men.  We must help them!"

 

"You Christians are strange men.  Don't you understand?  Those dogs were traitors to the Brazzi, traitors to Hussein, and would have gladly killed you.  Why do you wish to rescue them?"

 

"Because they are made in God's image.  We cannot leave them trapped like this!"

 

All four of the Brazzi roared with laughter.  Then Mohammed, his greasy face smirking, answered, "Go, dig them out if you wish.  I would love to see Al-Sheba's face before I shoot him."

 

Tim was in no condition to help.  Neither Gwen nor Sarah nor Carl could muster the strength to join Ian and Tom.  So the two returned to the cave, flashlights in hand.

 

After a few moments, Carl recovered enough strength to enter the cave and to hold the light while Ian and Tom dug.  After ten minutes Sarah, Gwen, and Tim had recuperated enough to offer assistance.

 

They unearthed Al-Sheba's outstretched arm.  Ian took hold of the lifeless limb in an attempt to feel a pulse.  "He's dead," he uttered, with remorse in his tone.  Tim's eyes grew watery.

 

Soon they unearthed the other men.  They were all casualties.

 

"So you could not bring Al-Sheba to us?"  Mohammed quipped, walking into the dimly lit cave.  "He pretended to be loyal to the Brazzi, but I knew he was just like the other traitors.  No one escapes from Mohammed-or, as I shall be called, Nimrud the Second."  Of course only Ian and Tim could understand his Arabic tongue.  The others patiently waited for a more opportune time when Ian or Tim would paraphrase his words.

 

With all the attention focused on unearthing what proved to be lifeless bodies, no one had noticed the condition of the artificial wall.  The structure now possessed a gaping hole, large enough for a man to fit through.  All of a sudden, it caught Mohammed's eye.  "What is behind there?" he queried.

 

"I believe," Ian announced slowly, "some of Babel's Tower," Mohammed, or as he now called himself, "Nimrud the Second," barked an order at one of his men.  "Keep a gun on these other dogs while this Christian and I examine the other side."  He stared down at one of his council members, "And you, see if you can get the generator working again."

 

The two men scaled over the rocks and bricks.  Ian noted that the wall was seven brick-layers thick.   No wonder the whole wall did not tumble down!

 

The inner ensuing room was so huge that it gobbled up the tiny beams their flashlights produced.  The feeble illumination reminded Ian of a sole firefly in the woods on a moonless night.

 

The air was stale.  A thought grabbed Ian.  That same air had been in this gallery when Nebuchadnezzar reigned.  The Magi had been the last ones to see what they were now about to see and to breathe that air.

 

"I think, based the estimates from our equipment, that this room may go back 750 feet or so," Ian offered.

 

The cave's chamber consisted of a long, foyer like section, not very wide, about six feet by six feet.  It opened into a large room that was nearly as deep as it was wide.  The floor inclined downward while the ceiling crept upward.  Near the interface of the two sections, both men noted writing in ancient cuneiform.  Mohammed demanded that Ian translate it. 

 

"We, formerly of the Order of Nimrod, now serving Yahweh, the true God, have sealed this corridor for future generations.  Here lie the feeble remnants of the Tower of Rebellion."

 

"Let's concentrate our light beams together, straight ahead," Ian suggested.  Mohammed cooperated.  They strained to see some bricks, scattered around haphazardly, just about thirty feet ahead of them.  As they walked closer, the blue glaze on the bricks became apparent.  Ian noted specks of black on the bricks.  "Tar!" he thought to himself.          

 

The bricks looked to be about eighteen inches long, six inches high and six inches wide.  Fascinated, he picked up a brick.  Ian was fascinated.  He was touching a brick that had been part of the Tower of Babel!  The brick was glazed all over, and he could see remainders of the pitch on all sides.  Glazed into the front side of the brick was a four-pointed star.

 

As Ian and Mohammed stooped down, Ian had an idea.  He grasped the brick, and he crowned "Nimrud the Second" right on his royal head!


 Chapter 24

 

 

A truckload of thoughts dumped into Ian's mind as he clobbered Mohammed with the ancient brick.  The brick broke into pieces, leaving him the portion he grasped in his hand.  He subconsciously stashed it in a backpack pocket.  Mohammed had underestimated Ian's ability to be aggressive.  Ian looked harmless, but he was no wimp.  It was difficult for him to be bold, but God had stretched him over the years.

 

The considerations were many.  Ian wanted to positively knock him out, so he had to strike hard.  Of course a good blow risked killing him, but the Vaclav patriarch had to defend his family.  Mohammed's men had attempted to kill the whole party earlier, and he would have certainly slain Ian and his family once he no longer needed them.  Ian was not stupid.  But he was sensitive.  If he had killed Mohammed, it would plague him!

 

How would he handle the other three?  How would he escape?  He must take more risks since this might be his only opportunity.

 

"I must pray," Ian scolded himself.  "I must trust God and be dauntless!"  His prayer was succinct, but he sensed a surge of the Spirit's power.  He recognized what he must do.  He would be shrewd as a serpent.

 

The awkward scholar turned warrior reached for Mohammed's sidearm and stashed it in his boot.  He struggled over the brick mound back into the front cave room.

 

Ian shouted in Arabic, "Mohammed has been hit by a loose brick.  One of you better go and check up on him."  He offered one of the Brazzi his flashlight.  "It might take two of you to carry him back."

 

Two Brazzi left, leaving the third to guard the prisoners, rifle in hand.                                          

 

Ian cuddled up next to Gwen and pecked her cheek in an attempt to put a little color in her ghostly complexion.  Her green eyes were filled with dread.

 

After three or four minutes, the pacing guard turned to focus his anxiety on the outside world.  Ian aimed the pistol and squeezed the trigger.  He barely glanced the guard's shoulder, exactly as planned.  This forced him to instinctively release the contents of his hands, in this case, one rifle.  Ian was a marksman's marksman.  He was a walking contradiction.

 

"Leave it alone or you'll be a dead dog," Ian barked in Arabic.  The guard stepped aside as Carl retrieved his rifle.

 

"Everyone outside, fast!"  Ian ordered.  "And you-Brazzi.  Climb over the brick wall and join your friends-now."  The barely-wounded man began scrambling frantically.

 

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

 

Fred and Doug Bartman located the Vaclavs through the "non-existent" branch office in Baghdad.  He was in the company of a friend, Omar Rhadie.  Tim Timmons had wisely left that information with his secretary as a precaution.  As directed by her boss, the secretary did not reveal that Ed Kramer was in the area.

 

Ed Kramer greeted the two Bartmans, much to their surprise.  The Under Secretary told them of Tim Timmon's attempt to squelch the expedition, and how he had turned the tables on Tim and actually coerced him into helping the Vaclavs.  Fred and Doug chuckled.

 

Suddenly, Omar returned, breathless.  At first he was confused to see two more strangers.   Ed Kramer introduced them quickly.  Omar made no attempt at small talk.  He gushed out vital information instead.

 

"We must go to ravine quickly.  The Brazzi entered cave.  I think they holding your friends prisoner."

 

Omar grabbed some ropes and rifles and hopped in the Jeep alongside Ed Kramer.  Doug and Fred followed.  They would scale down the ravine near the "nose" formation.  Ed and Fred were not in the best physical condition, but in a nation where relations technically do not exist, the few diplomats wear many hats.

 

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

 

Meanwhile, back in Congress, Indiana, Pastor Schultz was in his study preparing his morning sermon.  He was preparing to preach on the book of Daniel, chapter 9.  The minister was focusing in on the verses that relate to the end times and the antichrist.  

 

As he glanced over the text, he sensed Ian and his family were in danger.  He laid down his Bible, flipped the switch on the telephone answering machine, and dropped to his knees.  He felt compelled to intercede for the Vaclavs!

 

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

 

"What next, Dad?" Sarah huffed.

 

Ian rotated his head back and forth, to the left and the right.  "Our best chance is to make for camp."  Ian was interrupted by a shout from a familiar voice.

 

"Ian-are you okay?"  It was Fred Bartman's tall, wiry figure.  Gwen was the first to spot Doug and Omar, accompanied by an American stranger.

 

Gwen cried out, "Fred, praise the Lord!"

 

"Doug, oh Doug!" Sarah exclaimed.

 

"It's alright, Sarah," Doug responded compassionately.  "You're safe now."

 

"Be careful, guys," Tom pointed as he spoke.  "We've got two or three not-so-happy thugs that'll be zipping out of that cave!

 

The group of friends huddled behind a series of boulders.

 

"Where is Al-Sheba?" Fred asked.

 

"We don't have time now," Carl interrupted.  "There's some big stuff happening in the cave."

 

Though the group was sheltered behind some boulders in a dip in the ravine, they were close enough to the cave to hear something going on.

 

One of the Brazzi staggered out, weighed down by an unconscious man on his shoulders.  He lowered the Supreme Leader, Mohammed, to the ground.

 

Fred and Doug grabbed the rifles Omar had brought along and signaled Ian and Carl to cover them.  They carefully marched, heads bobbing like pigeons in an effort to be alert to possible danger.  The Brazzi man offered no resistance.  He spoke to Fred in Arabic.

 

"Mohammed is wounded.  The other two brothers of the Order sought to take advantage of his condition and claim the Crystal of Nimrud for themselves.  Only Mohammed and I survive."

 

Ian was grateful that he and his party were safe.  But he was disgusted at the treachery of each Brazzi member he had met.  The Order of Nimrud had no integrity to it at all.  His experience with the Brazzi displayed them to be power-hungry opportunists with absolutely no values.  Ian joined the Bartmans.  He had to speak to the Brazzi man.

 

"I am surprised you yourself did not shoot Mohammed so you could lay claim to the crystal.  It seems to be a Brazzi tradition."

 

The Brazzi focused his watery, grieving eyes on Ian.  "Mohammed is my older brother."

 

Ian nodded.

 

Omar took advantage of the break in conversation to direct the group toward more concrete issues.  He spoke in Arabic.  "It will be hard to get the injured one up the ravine with the ropes, but I think we can do it."

 

The captives left with Omar and Ed Kramer.

 

They managed to tie the rope around Mohammed.  With the aid of the lone Brazzi, they succeeded in hoisting him up the hillside using the Jeep as a towing device.  The foursome instantly sped off for Hillah.

 

As they neared their destination, Omar guided Ed to the medical facility.  They spoke to the security guard, and in a few moments the local policing military arrived.  The Brazzi man was put under guard while Omar answered the relevant questions.  Ed was on the phone, doing his best to get the Iraq military to the cave site.

 

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

 

"Let's have a look inside while we can," Tim suggested.  "I'm sure the other Brazzi are smart enough to stay away.  They had to see Mohammed escorted off, and they know the military will be here soon."

 

Under Mohammed's orders, one of the Brazzi had repaired the wiring to the generator.  In five minutes the light bulbs were shining brightly.

 

They carried the long cords over the brick heap and about thirty feet back into the large chamber.  They were able to survey the room in a limited way but they still needed more lighting.

 

Tim was excited.  "Get a load of those gorgeous bricks!  And are they heavy!"  Hundreds of bricks were scattered toward the front of the cavern.  Gwen, Sarah, Carl and Doug strolled to the right while Tim, Ian, and Fred trudged further ahead.  Tom remained in the outer cave as guard, rifle in hand.

 

One of the searchlights lit upon a few larger stone cubes, about six feet cubed.  "Look at this," Ian gasped.  Alongside some quarried limestone rocks were man-made concrete blocks of the same dimensions.  Some of them clearly evidenced a primitive wire mesh used to reinforce them!

 

After an hour of further discovery, Ian posed a question.  "You know what's missing, don't you, Tim?"

 

"Yeah, I do," Tim responded.  "The foundation stone."

 

"Right," Ian smoothed out his sparse hair, plastered down by sweat.  "The cause of all this fuss."

 

The foundation stone was nowhere in sight.  Tim pushed his ever-dropping glasses up to the bridge of his nose as he speculated.  "Perhaps it's hidden, or is just one of these big blocks."

 

Ian spoke louder and directed himself toward the others.  "Any stone significantly larger or different from the others?"

 

Sarah yelled back, "No, we can't find a foundation stone either."

 

Tim was psychologically immersed in a deep pool of fascination.  "To think this goes back to the dawning of civilization.  That this is the tower God destroyed."   Ian was impressed that Tim was being impacted by the find.  Such realizations had stunned archaeologists in the past, creating new respect for the Bible.  Perhaps Tim would actually weigh the claims of God's Word, especially his need for a Savior!

 

"Dad," Sarah called, "I think I found something here.  It's another basket with a scroll inside."

 

Ian rushed toward Sarah, frustrated that his legs could carry him no faster.  Sarah held the bright light over Ian's shoulder as he read.

 

"This is in Chaldean.  I'll paraphrase it for you, a section at a time.  They are descriptions of the tower.  It was made of four walls.  The outer wall was made of blue-glazed bricks over seven layers of clear-glazed bricks.  The second wall had seven layers and was made of what they call mixed rocks with thin tin.  That would be the reinforced concrete.  The third wall was constructed of a triple layer of limestone rocks.  The fourth wall was made of seven layers of bricks with the final layer blue-glazed.  This was the inside wall.  Every wall was coated with tar to make it watertight.

 

"The foundation was dug down...."  They were interrupted by a shout.

 

"You better get out here-fast!" Tom owned that voice.

 

They all hurried to the outer room.  Tom wasted no time explaining.

 

"I picked them up on my hearing aid again!  I have no idea what they said, but they sounded determined!"

 

"Guess I underestimated them!  Let's head for camp and our Jeeps!"  Tim blurted.  Nobody needed convincing.  They didn't look forward to more "adventures."  They deserted their supplies except for their guns, and began the trot back.

 

Their fears were reasonable.  They expected to be pursued back to camp; they predicted the camp would be looted, and they dreaded they would be without a vehicle.  Fortunately, not one of their worries materialized.

 

Breathless, they hopped into the Jeeps and sped toward Hillah!

 

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

 

Meanwhile, under the "nose" formation, Brazzi reinforcements converged.  Ten Brazzi had gathered.  Their wounded leader, Mohammed, had been carried off.  It had taken the lone member of the council time to formulate a strategy and to summon some lesser members of the order.  But now he was ready.  They entered the cave to the welcome of electric lighting.

 

They were startled by the bodies in the corner of the cave.  They soon recognized the bodies of the five Brazzi unfaithfuls, including the potent Governor Al-Sheba.

 

The remaining Brazzi leader addressed his subordinates.  "Since I am next in command, the crystal belongs to me.  Does anyone dispute my right?"  The cavern was silent.

 

"Since I am the one free council member who knows the Brazzi secret, I must tell you in case something happens to me.  You know the crystal of Nimrud is in the foundation stone.  But the stone is not the foundation of the tower, but a brick that initiates the decorative inscription designed in the tower.  The inscription read, "Together, we can do anything."  But before those words was the symbol of the heavens themselves:  the star!  Look for the brick with a star glazed into it!"

 

Miles away, Ian never knew of this conversation.