The Crystal of Nimrod, Chapters 9-12

Chapter 9

"No, old buddy, I have never heard of the Order of Nimrud before," Fred answered Ian.  He sat with his head and body lay back in his brown leather desk chair.  His eyes were looking upward in a futile attempt to stretch his mental capabilities.  "This is really taking some weird twists!  And I have no idea who that big thug was with the overgrown butcher knife either!"

"I questioned the desk manager and the security bellhop, and neither of them had seen this man before.  Nor did they know anything about him.  Everyone just cleared out of his way.  He was like one of those characters you see in old Bing Crosby/Bob Hope movies-the road to wherever."  Ian paused just long enough to get his breath.  "Someone in the hotel must have imported him.  How else would he have known where Ruel-Ali was?  He was not after us but clearly after him!"  Ian ran his fingers through his hair, which now resembled a bird's nest.

"It seems obvious someone called in this butcher, but who?  And why?"  Fred pondered aloud.  And this Crystal of Nimrud stuff?"

"Do you think Tim or Ms. Salem would have some idea?" Ian groped.

"Probably not.  We can ask them in a few minutes.  But then again, if it's an Iraqi thing, Tim might know.  You know, Ian, Timmons is not too hot on this whole deal.  He does not have a lot of respect for Scripture-he has very liberal views.  I've tried to tactfully share with him, not taking advantage of my position, mind you.  He's familiar with the facts of the Gospel, but he is convinced that they are simply the fancies of religious men.  

"Forewarned is forearmed, my friend," Ian thanked Fred.  Ian sipped another cup of coffee.  "Christian alcohol, we call it," Ian mused, "but at least it's a natural beverage."

"Let's pray about this recent development," Fred encouraged Ian.  They spent a few moments in prayer and felt recharged.  They snuck in a few more sips of coffee before Fred set the agenda.  "Let's start with Ms. Salem.  She's pretty sharp on things out here."

Ms. Salem came in and sat down at Fred's bidding.  Ian set a relaxed tone in the way he questioned her.

"Ms. Salem, I was hoping you could help us solve a few puzzles.  A lot of strange things have been happening lately, and the questions keep mounting.  So let me ask the first question.   Have you ever heard of the Crystal of Nimrud?  I fear that several lives are hanging in the balance because of it."

Ms. Salem was startled.  She took a moment to gain control of her voice, and answered meekly, "Yes, I have.  I know quite a bit about the legend of the crystal."  She paused because she did not know how to channel all the information racing through her mind.  She was clearly overwhelmed.  "How did you come to hear about it?"

Ian explained the threats, the brush with Ruel-Ali, and the man he and Fred now called "the butcher."  Ms. Salem was shocked by the series of events.

Her thoughts were now more organized, and she was ready to do all she could to help.  She squared her frame back as her black hair brushed against her shoulders.  "Well, Mr. Vaclav, the Crystal of Nimrud is an old legend.  I have never understood it as more than legend and hearsay.  I was told this story from childhood, much like other children are told the story of the 'Three Little Pigs'.  But here it is.

"Once a great man named Nimrud, founder of the city in Shinar, possessed a crystal, taken from the old world that perished with water, preserved on the Ark of Ararat.  He discovered the ancient secret to harvest the crystal's power so that all feared him.  He was even able to subdue dragons and beasts with it, killing them or wounding them according to his pleasure.  All feared and obeyed him, for with this crystal came absolute power over all flesh.

"When Nimrud became old, he passed the crystal and its secret on to his second eldest son, for he favored him over his firstborn.  One night shortly thereafter, the older son killed both his younger brother and his elderly father, Nimrud, as they slept.  He took the crystal but could not discover the secret of its power.  The crystal was then passed down from generation to generation as the symbol of the sovereign right to rule.  The king who ruled the city was the one who possessed the crystal.  Many were killed to gain ownership of it.  When the great tower of safety and freedom was built, the crystal was placed in the cornerstone to harvest the power of the universe and protect and strengthen the tower.

"Years later, the secret of the crystal was rediscovered.  A document, written by Nimrud himself, was unearthed.  But the crystal was gone, for the tower had been destroyed and its remnants carried away.  The legend concludes with the promise that he who both finds the crystal and possesses the secret of its power will rule the world.  And the secret, but not the crystal, has been preserved to this day by the Order of Nimrud."

Ian was amazed.  "What a fantastic legend!"

"Pretty detailed for a legend, ain't it, Ian?" queried Fred.  Ms. Salem was astonished to hear her boss use a word like "ain't."

"I understand your viewpoint, Mr. Bartman.  Actually, we learned it as a song, and I was paraphrasing.  My mother would sing it as a lullaby to lull me to sleep.  I don't know if I ever did hear the entire account!"

"Please don't get me wrong, Ms. Salem.  I was just commenting.  I didn't mean to criticize your account."  Fred was upset at his own lack of discretion.

"Apology accepted," Ms. Salem continued.  "But what does this all mean?"

"I don't know for sure," answered Ian.  "I have so many questions-like, 'How far back does this legend go?' and 'Is it a corruption of an older legend?'"

Fred asked the obvious questions.  "And is the Tower of Safety and Freedom the same as the tower of Babel?  And is this the same Nimrud as the Bible's Nimrod?  And is there really a crystal?"

Ms. Salem would not be left out.  "And is this crystal able to create some kind of power, and if so, has the secret actually been found?"

Ian trumped in.  "And what is this 'Order of Nimrud?'  Is it a few old cranks who like legends, or is it a well-organized society?"

"So many questions," Ms. Salem interjected.  "But I don't have the answers.  To me, it's like asking which country the Three Little Pigs lived in-I never gave the matter much thought."

"Well, chew this over in your mind, Ms. Salem," Ian urged.  "And let me know what else you come up with."

"I do have family out here, gentlemen.  I'll see what they know.  And if I am going to serve as your detective, how about dropping the Ms. Salem business.  Call me Elnora."  

"And you may return the favor by calling us Ian and Fred," Ian offered, taking Fred by surprise.

"Please do keep us up to date, Ms. Salem-er-Elnora," fumbled Fred.  They were slowly forging an information network.  They had to take some positive steps in the quest for answers.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll get on the phone and start making some calls right away.  You know, this is going to be fun."  Elnora Salem left the room.

Ian addressed his friend.  "Fred, I know you've done security checks on all your employees, but how do you feel about Ms. Salem-I guess I must say 'Elnora' now."

"We checked her out.  Since she had to be involved in some highly sensitive issues during Desert Storm, she got the third degree."

"Nonetheless," commented Ian, "I would feel better if we got an independent confirmation on that lullaby.  Surely there must be others from the same region as her mother.  They should all know the legend."

"A point well taken," Fred replied.  "But maybe we should see if Tim knows anything."

**********

Doug, Sarah, Carl and Dorcas were walking through a westernized section of Cairo, peering into the shop windows, enjoying the mildly warm air.   

"You know, Sarah, it's been a lot of fun writing to you over the years, exchanging pictures-and now, having your family over for a visit.  I'm gonna miss you when you head into Iraq."   Doug was sincere.

"I'll miss you too, Doug.  I'm glad we'll stop and see you on the way back."

"Yeah, that'll be nice, I guess.  It'll be rough to say goodbye after that, though."  Doug became embarrassed.  She had never seen anyone turn so red.  She began to blush as well.    Doug abruptly changed subjects.  " So, tell me, what are your plans?  You've already finished your home-schooling curriculum through grade twelve.  What are you planning on doing with the rest of your life?"

"Well," Sarah responded slowly, "I'm not really sure.  I thought about architecture, and sometimes I've wondered whether God wants me on the mission field.  But I can't say I've had a clear leading from the Lord.  What about you?"

Their pleasant conversation was interrupted by a yell from Carl, "Hey, come back here, you thief!"  Carl began chasing a native man down the street.  "Stop, thief!" he yelled.  After turning a corner, the man surprised his pursuer by grinding to a halt.

"Hush up-want to get us killed?" the Arab scolded in broken English.

"What do you mean, stealing my wallet?" Carl protested.

"Here's your wallet," the Arab snarled, handing it back to him.  "I took it to get you away where we can talk."

"But you might have been arrested!"  added Carl.

"I took that chance.  Now will you shut up and listen to me!"

"Okay, okay," replied the confused young man.

"I am Ruel-Ali."  Carl's mental switchboard made an instant connection.  Ruel continued, "I can see by the look in your eyes that your father has informed you about me.  I don't have long, for the avenger of the sacred order is after me, and his eyes are everywhere!"

The rest of the bunch arrived.  Carl calmed them, holding up his hand as though he were a traffic cop.  "It's okay.  I'll explain later.  Gather around us.  This gentleman is Ruel-Ali."

"Have a seat, Tim."  Fred brought Tim a cup of coffee and he got comfortable.  "We thought you might be able to help us solve a little puzzle.  Have you ever heard of the Order of Nimrud or the crystal of Nimrud?"

Tim Timmons continued to relax as he answered.  "Yeah, I've heard a story or two over the years.  It's an old legend.  Let me think a second."

While Tim tried to call up his mental file, Ian went to get himself another cup of coffee.  He accidentally knocked over the container of powdered creamer.  He scooped up what he could and put it back in the bottle.  Then he swept the remaining granules with a dry paper towel into his hand.  He unloaded the creamer crumbs into the trash basket.  Fred made no comments because he didn't want to disturb Tim's thoughts.  But Fred did manage to give Ian the evil eye.

"Well, here's what I remember," Tim interjected.  "Seems like about five or six years ago, I remember talking to an old coffee salesman.  He had just come from an area called Birs Nimrud-near ancient Borsippa.  He said he was surprised to find that an old lullaby had a true side to it.  You know, a fairy tale or nursery rhyme sort of thing that had a basis in history.  Anyhow, he said he met a man who claimed to belong to the Order of Nimrud and they thought he might be interested in joining the order.  They told him they only needed to find the great crystal, and then they could rule the mideast as it should be ruled.  The old coffee salesman agreed that the mideast needed a strong leader to straighten out the mess, but he was not interested in power nor wealth.  Anyhow, the old man was amazed that there was such an order.  I suppose it would be like us meeting the real Mother Goose.  That's all I can remember".

"Is there anything else you think might help-or any other comments?" inquired Fred.

"Now that you ask, yes.  I can't understand the whole nature of this expedition.  Most scholars think that the legend of the "Tower of Babel" is based on the tower of Nebo in Borsippa or the Ziggurrat in Bablyon.  What makes you think otherwise."

Ian entered into the discussion.  "Tim, since you will be accompanying us to Iraq and will be our contact there, the least I can do is fill you in."  Ian proceeded to tell him the story of the family document "most special."  Ian also inserted a detail that he had forgotten to mention to Tom Houser:  based on the document style, it dated roughly to the time of King Nebuchadnezzar, a little before 600 B.C.

"Let me see if I have you straight on this," Tim replied.  "You are saying that the document dates back to Nebuchadnezzar, but is not written in Chaldean or Aramaic, but in an older cunieform.  Is that right?"

"You got it," answered Ian.  Apparently, whoever wrote it wanted it to be illegible by all except the initiated.  Only the Chaldean or specially educated class at the time of Nebuchadnezzar could understand it."

Tim was clearly fascinated by the story, but he was still bothered.  "I'll be blunt with you fellas.  I have no reason to believe there ever was a Tower of Babel.  Surely you two realize that it is rare to find men in your position who actually believe the Bible is dependably true.  I respect your beliefs, but to found an entire expedition of this nature on old Jewish religious writings seems awfully risky, if you ask me."

"Let me correct your thinking, Tim," Ian interjected.  "The Bible says nothing about the tower's remnants being moved.  This expedition is actually based on the 'document most special.'  I would feel a whole lot more confident of success if it was based on the Bible.  Archaeologists have marveled for years at the Bible's accuracy."

Tim was not convinced.  But he felt better.  At least he had expressed himself and gotten something off his chest.  Tim was not antagonistic toward Christianity-just disinterested.  And perhaps there was SOMETHING there.

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

Ruel-Ali was addressing his audience.  They were grouped around him as he used quiet tones and broken English.  "I know you mean no harm in searching for the lost tower.  But I beg you to go home!  The tower is dangerous.  He who finds the tower may find the crystal of Nimrud.  Then where would you be?  The order of Nimrud would get the crystal from you any way possible.  Then they would control this part of the world.  They would control all oil exports, for example.  No one would be able to challenge the order.  They are evil men.  They kill without thinking and would make the world their slaves.  You must leave the crystal lie in its secret hiding place.  Please go home!"  There are powers there that you cannot imagine!  Leave things alone!"

"But how do you know there is such a thing as the crystal of Nimrud?  Has anyone seen it?" asked Doug.

"We know from our traditions.  We also are reminded when we come across those belonging to the Order of Nimrud.  Their lust for power shows itself in many ways."

Ruel-Ali began to leave.  "I must go.  The Order knows I am trying to keep you from discovering the crystal.  They will kill me.  If I die, remember my words all the more.  Do not search for the tower.  Leave this part of the world.  And destroy any secret knowledge as to the tower's location!"  Ruel-Ali took off.  "Do not follow me.  My life is survived only by my moving swiftly.  Goodbye for now."  Ruel slipped into the city streets.

"What do you think of all this?" Carl asked Sarah.

"Carl, I think he believes what he is saying is true.  And I don't think he's dumb, either."

"Neither do I," added Dorie.  "He believes what he says, and he's thought it through."

"And he really is afraid for his life," Doug contributed.  "I would have asked him some questions, but his tension kept me from thinking of them."

Carl drew the only conclusion the group of young people all agreed upon:  There was real danger involved here.  And perhaps an unnatural sort of danger at that.  All they could do now was carry the information to their parents.

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

Elnora Salem poured another pot of water into the electric drip coffee maker.  She refilled the creamer container, checked the sugar bowl and was pleased to see it not needing service.  Then she wiped off the coffee counter.

Fred was on the phone with an official, handling a couple of last minute details.  The coffee was almost done, and Ian helped himself.  He quickly removed the pot and inserted a cup to catch the last drippings of the nearly completed brewing cycle.  He wasn't quick enough, and the sizzle of coffee drops made a noticeable sound.  Fred gave Ian the evil eye.

Finally off the phone, the two friends resumed their discussion.

You know, Fred, I've thought of all the angles.  Neither the Ziggurat at Babylon nor the tower in Borsippa fit the Biblical criteria.  For instance, the "Ziqqurrat Babli" had a base of about 300 ft. by 300 ft. and was dedicated to Marduk.  Nebuchadnezzar called it 'the temple of the foundation of heaven and earth,' and he thought it was the 'tower' we seek.  However, the Jews and Arabs believed that the tower of Babel was what we call the 'Tower of Nebo' in old Borsippa-now called Birs Nimrud.  Yet it doesn't seem to fit well into the Biblical account either.  The tower of Babel was thoroughly destroyed.  Another tower could have been built on its location, but I don't think so."

"Ian, do you think there is any connection with Birs Nimrud-ancient Borsippa-and the Order of Nimrud?"

"Hard to say, old buddy.  Hard to say."  Ian had entertained that obvious question before in his own mind.  Then he discussed it with Gwen.  But they just did not have enough to go on.

"See you tonight for dinner," Fred hinted.  He had allotted as much time as he could, and the details of his profession were beginning to smother him.

"See you, old buddy."  Ian walked out the door and headed to his rented vehicle.  As he got into the car, he felt another presence.  Then he felt a gun barrel in his neck.  Someone-an armed someone-was in the back seat.

Chapter 12

Dinner was over.  Fred and Ian were encouraging digestion by relaxing on the overstuffed, vinyl couch in the living room.  The brownish-orange furniture matched the print of the wallpaper borders on the off-white walls.  Alongside the couch, loveseat, and chair were dark ash end tables.  Ian used one of those end tables to hold his steaming cup of coffee.

Fred had some information for Ian.  "I have sent one of our staff to investigate the men who were taken to the hospital.  Maybe then we can find out who they are and a few other facts.  I expect to be hearing soon."

At that moment, the phone rang.  Fred picked up the ancient looking receiver.  "Hello?"  He listened for a moment, then covered the microphone section of the telephone, and whispered to Ian.  "Speaking of the devil, it's my man at the hospital."

Once again, he inflected his voice toward the phone.  "What?!  No!  Are you positive!  I can't believe it!!!  Do you know anything else?  .....Well, call me as soon as you find something out!  Sorry to put you on such a gory task.  And please, stay low-key, huh?  Okay.  Bye."

Ian waited for Fred's words with anticipation.  "Ian, you're not going to believe it, but the men are dead."

"What?" objected Ian, feeling responsible for their demise.  "They looked like they were breathing fine when the first-aid people came."

"Listen," interrupted Fred, "it wasn't your concoction that killed them.  They were murdered in the hospital!"

Ian was taken aback.  The shock and hideous nature of Fred's words overwhelmed him.  Ian was grateful that these men did not die at his hand.   But he marveled that they had been brutally murdered.  Not killed in self-defense, but slain in cold blood.  Things like that only happened on television.

Fred put his hand on Ian's shoulder.  "Are you all right, brother?  You better sit down-you're looking pale."  Fred attempted to comfort Ian.   He joined him on the couch.  "This is starting to turn nasty.  I'm glad you're on your way to Iraq tomorrow.  Maybe things there will be more positive."

"And I told the family we wouldn't have any trouble in Egypt," Ian reviewed.  "Was I off base."

"Let's pray about this-okay, Ian?"  Ian nodded.

Fred prayed, "Lord, we don't know all that's going on here.  Our hearts are shocked that two men in your image have been put to death.  We pray that some good will come out of it. 

Protect and guide us, Lord.  We request this in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord."

Ian then offered his prayer, "Lord, You know that I am not a strong man.  Help me to be brave for You and my family.  My heart is grieved at this violence, Lord.  You've lead us into this project, assure us that You'll see this through.  Help us to sense Your watchcare over us.  Send angels to guard us.  We pray in Jesus' Name, Amen."

Immediately after Ian's prayer, the phone rang.  Fred picked up the ancient black telephone.  He whispered to Ian, "It's my man at the hospital."

"Yes...yes....really?"  Fred jotted a few notes.  "That's fascinating.  Good going, Thaddeus!  You know how to get the information, don't you?  Thanks.  I owe you one....okay, two.  Yeah.  Bye."

Fred then looked at Ian, whose eyes were glued on him.  "You'll never guess who was seen leaving the scene of the crime?"  He paused.

"Who, for crying out loud?!" yelled Ian.

"The Butcher.  Actually, his real name is...," Fred looked at the scribbled note, "Raphi-al-rashim.  He is connected to a small ring of Iraqi fanatics called, get this, 'the Order of Nimrud.'"

"Now we're getting somewhere.  Tell on."

"Well, the two victims were also from the order.  I can't remember their names.  Why can't people here have easy names, like Zig or something?  Anyhow, they have a bulletin out for his arrest.  But the police are not well staffed.  They don't often pick up someone by description."

Ian contemplated this information for a moment.  He reached over for his cup of coffee and toppled over a footed bowl of nuts.  He bent over to gather up the mess, causing a pen to fall out of his shirt pocket.  He picked up the pen, put it back in his pocket, and stooped over again.  His pen fell victim to gravity once more.  So he put the pen in a rear trouser pocket.  In an unsuccessful attempt to mask his embarrassment, Ian introduced a joke.  "You know, this is the perfect Christmas gift to buy for a psychiatrist-a can of mixed nuts.  Haw."

Fred enjoyed Ian's humor, but never could believe how much of a klutz he was.  Ian sat down on the couch, forgetting he had the pen in his back trouser pocket.  "Oops!  I forgot my pen."  He stood up and put the pen back in his shirt pocket.  He had recovered from the latest incident.

"Did your friend at the hospital, I think you called him 'Thaddeus,' did he know anything else about the Order of Nimrud?"

"I'm afraid not much," Fred answered.  "He said they were very secretive and that there were only a handful or so more in Egypt.  Most of them are in either Iraq or Kuwait."

"Interesting," mused Ian.

"The reason the Egyptian police have heard of this group is that they have been caught breaking into excavation sites and ancient ruins.  They never take the valuables.  They seem to be looking for a certain ancient document."

"Why did you wait so long to tell me?  Don't you see?  It's what we call the "document most special" they're after!"

"I knew that," Fred defended himself.  "I just wanted to irritate you.  After the way you knock things over here, you require a little discipline!"

Ian noted the mischievous look in Fred's eyes.  "So you got me!"  Somehow, the jovial Vaclav could not entertain humor now.  He got back on the subject.  "But this is fascinating."

"And it probably explains why those thugs captured you.  They wanted the document.  Or its directions," Fred conjectured.  "Perhaps they were double-crossing the Order of Nimrud, and that's why they were eliminated."

"Don't try to sound original with that, Bartman.  I already proposed that theory, remember?"

"Sorry.  I forgot."

"Apology accepted.  But Fred, how did they know I had seen the document, or that I even had it?  There must be a security leak somewhere.  How did Ruel-Ali know that I was going to Iraq on this expedition?  He may not have known I saw the document, but then again he must have.  He feared I might actually find the tower.  And this so-called 'Crystal of Nimrud.'  We must find the leak, Fred.  We must!  Then we can figure this thing out."

"I'll work on it from this end," offered Fred.  "Tomorrow, you guys head for Iraq.  But, Ian, you know we didn't keep hush that you were going to Iraq to search for the remnants of the tower.  The whole embassy knew that."

"Yes, but my captors did not ask about theories or where we were planning to look for the tower; they asked for directions.  So they knew I had them!  As a matter of fact, putting two and two together, they had been living in Egypt hoping to find directions here.  Then they found out that I had them.  Don't you see?"

"I do see, Ian," Fred echoed, "I do see."

"Right," Ian responded.  "The way things keep unfolding here reminds me of a quotation from the world's greatest singer."

"Al Jolson?" Fred answered, feigning doubt.

"Of course," Ian retorted.  "You remember that famous line, 'Wait a minute-you ain't heard nothin' yet!'"

"How could I forget it?  You drive me nuts quoting it, Ian!  Can we drop the Jolson.  I'm getting a headache."

Their minds were drained.  They needed to switch gears and relax their minds, not only their bodies.  Ian offered a suggestion.  "Hey, what do you say we go into the family room and join everyone else?"  Fred raised his lean tower of a body immediately.  He needed no convincing.

"Well, it's about time you sourpusses join the festivities," teased Gwen.  "We're having a good time playing the old dictionary game."

Ian loved the dictionary game, but Fred was unfamiliar with it.  Ian explained the rules to him.  One person would look up a word unfamiliar to the group, asking if anyone had heard it before.  If so, he would move on to a different word.  When he found a word no one knew, he would write down the true definition while all the other players made up a definition.  The person with the dictionary would read all the definitions, and the other players would attempt to guess which one was real.

Ian delighted in the amusement because it gave him an opportunity to lie without sinning.  The game sounded horribly boring to Fred, but once he played it, he became infatuated.

When Ian's turn came, he opened the dictionary, and a simple word caught his eye.  It was the word "bug."  Ian read through the definitions until he came to the one he wanted.  "bug-a concealed listening device."

"I've got it!"  Ian's shout seemed a little dramatic considering the light nature of the game.  "I know how they found out, Fred.  It's a bug.  Probably in the oil lamp!"

"Presto!" Fred responded.  "It wouldn't be the first time!"