by Tim LaHaye
“I think that you may be getting a wrong picture about that world. Barrington’s company produces a lot of sleazy programs on television and radio. They go against the moral fabric of society. How can you be a part of that?”
“Barrington also does a lot of good. There are many positive, uplifting programs,” Wallach countered.
“Paul, you know that I’ve always been honest with you and with my feelings. I think that you’re being used.”
Wallach bristled and began to get defensive. “No one is using me!” he exclaimed.
“Do you think that all the wining and dining and trips to New York in Shane Barrington’s jet are because he has a personal interest in you?”
“Yes, I do think so. He lost his son and has sort of adopted me in his place.”
“I know that he’s paying your tuition and has promised you a job after you graduate.”
“Right, and he also pays me for articles that I send in to him.”
“Does he print the articles?”
“No.”
“What are they about?”
“They’re about what I learn in Dr. Murphy’s classes.”
“And why is Barrington asking you to write them?”
“He says that he wants to evaluate my writing style so he can place me in the proper department after I graduate.”
“I think something else is going on,” Shari said firmly.
“What do you mean?” Wallach responded, annoyed.
“Why would a billionaire who’s known to be an egomaniac suddenly pay the tuition of a college student he never met before? And why would he pay him money to write articles he doesn’t print, about archaeology of all things? He doesn’t ask to see your writing style on other topics, Paul, does he? Only on what transpires in Dr. Murphy’s class? I think he’s hiring you to be his personal spy.”
“You’re just angry because I sometimes challenge your precious Dr. Murphy in class. Not everyone believes in creation, you know,” Wallach said angrily.
“It’s not that at all, Paul. I’m concerned with your values in life. God doesn’t seem to be high on your list. Money, power, and pride seem to be your focus. Those things can be very attractive at first, but in the long run they destroy a person. They don’t bring true satisfaction. Jesus said, ‘And how do you benefit if you gain the whole world but lose your own soul in the process?’ Is anything worth more than your soul?”
“My soul is fine, thank you. I just want to get out of school and start earning some money.”
“Why, Paul?”
“That’s a crazy question, Shari,” Wallach answered, exasperated. “I want money so I can buy things.”
“Things?”
“Yeah. Like a car, a house, a boat, or a plasma television…things!”
“Then what?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, after you buy all the things, then what are you going to do?”
“Have fun!”
“Let me see if I understand,” Shari said slowly. “A job earns you money, so you can buy things, so you can have some fun. Right?”
“Right.”
“Paul, things don’t bring lasting happiness. A car can wear out. A house can burn down. A boat can sink. And a plasma television can break. When that happens, where will your fun be?”
“Everyone has to earn money to live!”
“I don’t disagree with working to provide for one’s family. But in all of our conversations, you haven’t talked about family, or service to the community, or contributing to the nation, or raising children with values that you can pass on. And most of all, you haven’t included God in any of the scenarios you’ve shared with me. Most of your conversations have been self-centered and me-focused. You don’t talk about helping others.”
Wallach was silent. He didn’t quite know how to respond; in his heart of hearts, he recognized that Shari had accurately described his mind-set.
“Paul, there is a something in the book of Second Corinthians I’d like you to think about. It says: ‘Do not try to work together as equals with unbelievers, for it cannot be done. How can right and wrong be partners? How can light and darkness live together? How can Christ and the Devil agree? What does a believer have in common with an unbeliever? How can God’s temple come to terms with pagan idols? For we are the temple of the living God!’”
Wallach paused for a moment, trying to process what Shari had just said. “Are you saying that I’m in darkness and on the Devil’s side?” he asked angrily.
“Let me try to explain. You and I think differently about God, eternal values, how to conduct one’s life, and what’s important in life. It’s like water and oil. They can’t be mixed together. Try as hard as I would like to, it’s just not going to happen. If we were to continue our relationship you wouldn’t be happy with me and I wouldn’t be happy with you.” Shari’s eyes were beginning to well up with tears.
“I think it’s best if we break off seeing each other,” she continued. “It’s evident that you and I are walking down separate roads. I can’t reject all that I believe in and hold dear, no matter how much I care for you. Trying to do so will only end in disaster. I wish it didn’t have to end this way, but in the long run it will be the best for both of us.” Shari rose and turned away as she finished her sentence. Tears were pouring down her cheeks.
THIRTY-FOUR
WHEN ISIS CAME out of the restroom, she had no idea that Rashad and Fadil had already made it to the second floor. They were slowly walking down one end of the bookshelves, stopping at each aisle to see who might be standing there.
Fadil was a half step behind Rashad. Perspiring more than ever, he kept having to wipe his brow. An accountant by trade, Fadil had only recently been recruited to join one of the sleeper cells. He wanted to help the cause, but he had not been trained to fight and kill like the others. This was all new to him, and he was terrified. He kept thinking about his wife and children at home. What would become of them if he did not return—or if he was caught and imprisoned? Would his family be put into prison also? With thoughts like these whirling through his mind, he had a hard time concentrating on the task at hand.
Isis reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. On it were her notes from the card catalog earlier in the morning.
The Secret Doctrine
by Helena Petrovna Blavatsky
Born 1831 Died 1391
2nd Floor—B section #B12743 Hp. 142
She began looking for the B section, focusing on the numbers. She couldn’t wait to see what Blavatsky had written. The woman sounded fascinating.
Isis stopped at the end of two rows of shelves and looked up at their numbers. She then checked her paper again.
This is it.
Just as Isis had stopped to look at the shelves’ numbers, Rashad and Fadil were at the other end of the aisle looking down. They didn’t see her because the shelves blocked her from their view. They continued in the opposite direction as she started looking on the shelves for Blavatsky’s book.
After she had found it, Isis headed toward the stairs. At the same moment, Rashad and Fadil entered an aisle far behind her. Isis had already opened the book and was reading it as she walked slowly up the marble stairs. Talon and Asim, on the other side of the library peering among the shelves, did not see her.
As Isis reached the third floor, she turned and looked down into the great hall. She paused for a moment to admire the beauty of the old building and the chandeliers. She was about to turn into the aisle and go back to where Murphy was studying when she saw him. Talon!
Terror overwhelmed her. Instinctively she drew back into one of the aisles. Adrenaline surged through her body, her heart raced, and she began breathing heavily. Her mind flashed back to when she had seen Talon on the back of the ship on the Black Sea. She had been certain he would kill her—then Murphy arrived, and Talon and the brass plates went into the ocean. But how did he find them here? And who was with him?
I
sis watched as Talon nodded and entered the elevator. She could see the old golden arrow above the elevator door begin to rise to the third floor. As she started to turn toward Murphy, she saw two men starting up the marble stairs. They too looked like Arabs. Could they be here with Talon? Was it they whom he had nodded at? A surge of panic threatened to overwhelm her.
Isis knew that the two men coming up the stairs would not see Murphy immediately. Their table was in a far corner, blocked by bookshelves running the opposite direction. She moved as quietly as she could toward Murphy, and then she heard voices. She quickly turned and stood at the end of an aisle and froze, her heart in her throat. The men were speaking in Arabic. She could understand the dialect.
“They may have already left the library.”
“That may be. But we have found out which hotel they are staying at. It’s only a matter of time.”
Their voices trailed off, as if they were moving farther away. Isis knew that they would soon go farther down the aisle and find Murphy. She also knew that she must not make any sound that could attract their attention.
She worked her way down the aisle to a place where she could see Murphy. How could she get his attention without moving closer or having him speak?
Isis opened Madame Blavatsky’s book and tore out the blank first page. On it she wrote one word: Talon. She then folded the paper like an airplane and tossed it at Murphy.
Murphy was deeply engrossed in Dr. Anderson’s journal again when he sensed a slight movement of air and saw a paper airplane glide onto the table. He looked up only to see Isis standing in an aisle some distance from him, eyes wide in terror. She had one finger over her lips. With her other hand she was pointing at the paper airplane.
Murphy knew something was terribly wrong. After unfolding the paper and reading it, he started and half rose. He glanced quickly at Isis. She still had her finger over her lips but was now motioning for him to come toward her. He left the table, stuffing his research notes into his pocket, and tiptoed over to her. She fell into his arms, shaking. She put her hand over his mouth as he began to speak. Quietly she led him down the aisle to the end, where she carefully looked around the corner. She could not see either of the Arab men. They must have gone down an aisle; that meant that soon they’d be working their way back toward them!
Isis grabbed Murphy’s hand and led him toward the marble staircase. After glancing around cautiously, they hurried up the stairs to the fourth floor. They had to find a way to escape.
THIRTY-FIVE
AFTER REACHING the fourth floor, Isis and Murphy quickly disappeared into the bookshelves.
“Michael, I’m so scared. There are at least four of them,” Isis whispered.
“Tell me what you saw.”
Isis explained her first sighting of Talon and the Arab entering the elevator and the conversation she overheard in Arabic. “They’ll be up here soon, Michael. What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know. Let me look around.” Murphy only had a few moments to scout around before Isis whispered.
“I see them coming up the stairs.”
“Come back here where the two directions of bookshelves converge. I don’t think they’ll see us immediately.”
Rashad and Fadil split up after reaching the top of the stairs. Rashad started down the bookshelves that were close to the railing overlooking the great hall. Fadil turned down an aisle and started toward Murphy and Isis.
Murphy whispered, “When he gets near, step into the aisle and say something to him in Arabic.” Then Murphy disappeared.
Fadil was caught completely off guard as he approached the end of the aisle. All of a sudden a beautiful woman with red hair stepped in front of him, took a sexy pose, and smiled.
“My, but you are handsome,” she murmured. “I’ll bet all of the women want to go out with you.”
She was close. She was extremely attractive. And she was speaking in Arabic. Fadil did not know how to respond. He had been told not to make contact, only to find out where Murphy and Isis were. He didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t been trained. Should he grab her? Should he yell? Should he pretend that she was a stranger? As he turned to walk away, he didn’t hear Murphy coming.
Murphy fired a quick reverse punch to the Arab’s sternum. The surprise and pain took his breath away, and he staggered backward. Fadil’s eyes were wide with shock when Murphy struck his temple with an open palm-heel strike. He immediately collapsed to the floor unconscious.
Murphy dragged his body over to a table. He placed Fadil in a chair and made him lie forward as if he had fallen asleep while reading a book.
“That will take care of him. Quick, come with me. I’ve found a ladder that leads through a crawl hole to the roof. It will take them a little while to figure out where we went.”
On the roof, Murphy found a fire escape that ran down the side of the building. “Most likely they’ll think we went down the fire escape to the alley, and they’ll try to follow us. I’ve got a better idea.”
Isis followed him to a small building that covered the elevator shaft. He pried open the door and looked down. “There’s a ladder that goes down the shaft,” Murphy explained. “We’ll climb down and try to get onto the top of the elevator. Maybe we can ride it to the first floor, then get in and get off in the main lobby, where there are lots of people. We might be able to get lost in the crowd.”
It didn’t take Rashad very long to find Fadil. At first he thought he was dead, but then could feel a heartbeat. He ran down the aisle toward the great hall. Looking around, he spied Talon and Asim on the fourth floor on the left side of the library. He gave a short shrill whistle and waved. The other two men came running.
Rashad explained about Fadil and said, “I have looked around. I think they must have gone up the ladder in the corner, to the roof.”
“Good work,” said Talon. “Asim and I will go to the roof. You go down the stairs to the first floor. They may still be hiding in the building.”
Mandy and Scott Willard and their grandmother had just gotten on the elevator on the third floor. They had been to the children’s area, and each was holding several books. As they pushed the button for the first floor, they heard a thud on the top of the elevator. They all looked up.
To their surprise, a hole in the top of the elevator popped open. They could see the face of a man peering down. The grandmother gasped as the children looked on, wide-eyed.
Murphy dropped into the elevator and smiled. “How are you folks today?”
Murphy then raised his arms upward, and down through the hole came Isis. She shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair, fluffing it.
“Hello,” she said with a smile.
“Who are you?” the boy asked in surprise.
Murphy leaned forward and put his finger to his lips. “Shhh. Can you keep a secret?”
Both children nodded; the grandmother just stood there with her mouth open.
“We’re detectives trying to find some top-secret information. Some evil men are after us.”
“Cool,” said the boy.
“Can you promise not to let them know that we were here?”
Both children nodded vigorously.
“Now, raise your hand and say ‘I promise to keep the secret from the evil men,’” Murphy said seriously,
“I promise,” both said as they raised their free hands.
By then the doors opened at the first floor and Murphy and Isis exited the elevator. The two children waved goodbye, and the grandmother was still looking on in shocked silence.
They were almost to the front door when Rashad saw them. He ran across the great hall, shoving chairs aside to clear his path.
Alvena Smidt’s head jerked up at the commotion. “There’s no running in the library!” she called out in a loud whisper. “You must be quiet!”
Rashad didn’t even hear her. And if he had, it wouldn’t have made a difference. He couldn’t let them get away!
Isis had see
n the man start to run as they were exiting the front door. “Michael! One of them has seen us.”
Murphy grabbed her hand and they ran across the busy street, dodging cars, around the building, and into the alley.
Murphy had Isis hide behind a Dumpster. He grabbed one of the bottles littering the ground and hid behind some boxes.
Rashad could see no movement in the long alley. He drew his gun, and moved forward cautiously, looking left and right. After Rashad had just passed the boxes, Murphy threw the bottle. It crashed on the wall on the opposite side of the alley, and instinctively Rashad turned toward the sound and fired.
That was Murphy’s opportunity. Rushing forward, he hit the Arab from behind. The impact sent the gun flying out of his hand and Rashad to the ground. Recovering quickly, he rolled and jumped to his feet.
Murphy could tell that he was facing a trained fighter. They began to circle, sizing each other up. Then the Arab rushed in, ducking, and took out Murphy’s feet with a leg sweep. Murphy crashed to the concrete, onto his elbow. Murphy rolled and sprang to his feet only to receive a side kick to the stomach. He fell backward in pain.
He flashed to the face of Terence Li, a young Cantonese archaeology student who had taught Murphy the secret of drunken-man fighting.
“Professor Murphy, when a drunken man falls, he is soft, like a rag. He does not hurt himself When he stands up, he is hard to hit, like a sapling swaying in the wind. And when he strikes, no one expects it.”
Murphy began to stagger, as if he had been seriously injured by the kick. He looked like he would fall over at any second.
Rashad smiled and went in for the kill. He was going to use a tiger claw strike to Murphy’s throat and break his larynx. Murphy’s head was drooping; he looked too injured even to lift his head.
Rashad lunged with his right arm outstretched. As he moved forward, Murphy glided slightly to the right and planted his foot. At the same time, he drove his right fist around, top center knuckle leading, into the left side of Rashad’s neck just under the jawbone. Instantly paralyzed, the Arab dropped to the ground in a heap.