by Tim LaHaye
“I wasn’t in the living room or the kitchen, Stephanie,” a man’s voice taunted. “I had already made it into your bedroom before you woke up. You walked right past me in the dark. Surprise.”
Kovacs was terrified. Who is this? What does he want?
“I’ll let go of you if you promise not to scream. If you do, it will be your last breath. Do you understand?”
Kovacs nodded her head. She didn’t recognize the man’s voice. It had no trace of emotion in it. Slowly his grip relaxed. She was looking at her automatic on the counter. Can I distract him enough to get to the gun?
“Turn around,” the voice said.
Kovacs turned and faced a man with bone-white features, a neatly trimmed mustache, and blank eyes that made her shiver. He was thin, but there was no question that he was extremely strong.
“Who are you and what do you want?” she managed.
A thin smile broke across his lips. “Very brave, aren’t you? My name is Talon.”
As he looked at her, he remembered the first time he had seen the feisty news reporter. It was on television. She had been reporting from Queens, New York, on the discovery of the home of the mastermind of a UN attack.
Talon remembered chuckling as he watched her. This woman is good, he thought. She may have more ice water in her veins than her boss, Barrington, has.
And now they were meeting face to face.
“You have been very brave in your news reporting, but not very smart. My employers think that you have been just a little too friendly with Dr. Michael Murphy. We’ve had your phone tapped for some time since you left Shane Barrington.”
“What does Dr. Murphy have to do with all this?”
“You like to report the blunt facts in your commentaries. Let me give you the straight scoop. You have become a security leak for Mr. Barrington. We cannot tolerate your lack of loyalty. You have shared your last communication with Dr. Murphy.”
Stephanie could tell she was in deep trouble.
“You see, Ms. Kovacs, it is no fun to stand behind people and choke them to death. Unless, perhaps, you are standing in front of a mirror. The real pleasure comes from looking people in the eye as they die. That way you get to enjoy all the terror and pain that comes into their faces. It makes all the effort worthwhile.”
Kovacs had been in many difficult situations as a news reporter, but nothing like this. She could tell that he was deadly serious. She knew that she had to get to the gun to have any chance at all. That would be the only way she would survive.
Talon sensed her muscles tensing for motion. His hands surrounded her throat. He lifted her up to eye level and began to squeeze. Kovacs had no strength to try to fight back. He was squeezing the life out of her. Just as she felt herself drift toward unconsciousness, the grip on her neck loosened and she started to cough.
Then Talon grabbed her hair with his left hand and tilted her head back. At the same time he used his teeth to pull the glove off his right hand. He readied his artificial finger with the razor tip. He would wait for Stephanie to open her eyes before he slit her throat.
“Mr. Barrington, Mr. Barrington, did you see the latest news flash?” Melissa shouted, rushing into his office.
Barrington didn’t like to be interrupted when he was planning his morning schedule. “What are you talking about, Melissa?” he asked gruffly.
“Look, I’ll turn on the news.” Melissa hurried to turn on the television.
“This is Mark Hadley reporting for BNN. I am standing outside of the apartment building of Stephanie Kovacs, a former investigative reporter for Barrington Communications and Network News. Apparently she was murdered early this morning by an unknown assailant. We only have sketchy information at this time, but it looks like her throat was slit. Police investigators are questioning occupants of the apartment building. We will bring you an update on the six o’clock news. This is Mark Hadley bringing you this very sad report about one of our former BNN coworkers.”
Barrington stared at the television in shock. His secretary knew it would be best not to say anything. She quietly turned off the television and left the office.
Barrington stared into space, totally confused. A wave of guilt flooded him. Then he began to think back to the good times he had had with Stephanie. He began to realize that he really did care for her … maybe even loved her. Sorrow engulfed him as he thought of their last meeting, of how he had beaten her and thrown the suitcases at her. He buried his face in his hands. He had destroyed her career in news reporting and left her with nothing. The realization that the only person he had ever cared about had been murdered infuriated him.
What had the reporter said? “Her throat was slit”?
It took a few minutes before he realized that this could have been the work of only one person: Talon! And he gets his orders from the Seven, Barrington thought grimly.
A plan began to form in Barrington’s mind.
FIFTY-FIVE
CAPTAIN DRAKE ARRIVED at the hotel early the next morning. He brought desert fatigues for everyone along with bulletproof flack vests and helmets. While the team changed, he loaded all of their gear into a Hummer for the trip to Babylon.
Murphy saw Isis in the lobby in her military clothes. She whirled around in front of him. “What do you think?” she asked, grinning.
“You make anything you wear look great.”
Murphy felt a strong desire to take her in his arms and kiss her. He knew that he’d like to take their relationship to a deeper level, and he thought she did too. He was also aware that the only thing holding him back was their different spiritual outlooks.
Isis looked at Murphy and smiled. “I didn’t realize how tired and sore I was until the alarm went off this morning.”
Murphy nodded. “I guess late-night battles in dark alleys do have a way of getting to you. I’m a little sore this morning too. I couldn’t believe how you fought back last night. I’m just glad that nothing more serious happened. I wouldn’t want to lose you.”
Isis looked at Murphy and smiled. It was the kind of smile that would melt any man.
When the three Hummers pulled through the Green Zone security checkpoint, Murphy could see Jassim Amram standing on a corner next to his luggage.
“Captain Drake, that’s the Egyptian friend I mentioned—Mr. Amram. The one wearing the white suit.”
“I brought a change of clothes and protective gear for him also. He can change when we catch up with the convoy going to Babylon. All of the vehicles will be following a Buffalo.”
“A water buffalo?” asked Isis.
Captain Drake laughed. “No, ma’am. I’m talking about an EOD.”
“EOD?”
“Excuse me, ma’am. An explosive ordnance disposal vehicle. It’s a special heavyweight armored vehicle that can withstand roadside bombs.”
“Do you think we’ll encounter a roadside bomb on the trip?” Isis couldn’t keep the anxiety out of her voice.
“I certainly hope not. The Buffalo has been designed to go ahead of the troops and clear a safe path. Wait till you see it. It’s about twenty-five feet long and stands almost nine feet high. It’s covered with armor plate on all sides and on the top. It also has extra-thick steel on the bottom, where a blast might occur. It rides on six Michdin run-flat tires. They can keep driving even with damaged tires.”
“Don’t the explosions endanger the driver?” Isis asked.
“Actually there is more than just a driver. A Buffalo can hold up to ten soldiers. No one’s been seriously injured yet. Because the vehicle is so high off the ground, the force of the explosion disperses to the sides. The front end sometimes lifts off the ground from the power of the explosion. Those riding inside say it’s quite an experience to drive over IEDs—improvised explosive devices—and keep moving.”
“I’ve heard about those vehicles,” Murphy said. “Don’t they have some kind of arm that can dig in the ground?”
“Yes, sir. It is called a spork. It’s a remo
tely controlled hydraulic arm. The arm ends in a pitchfork type of instrument that incorporates a video camera. The spork is controlled by a joystick that allows for precise and accurate control. Sometimes a pitchfork gets blown off during an explosion. But they can be repaired, usually within forty-eight to seventy-two hours.”
“At least men are not losing their lives.”
“Yes, sir. If you look up ahead, you can see the Buffalo beginning to pull out and move ahead of the convoy. When we get to Babylon, I’ll give you a tour of it.”
Murphy looked over at Bingman, who seemed deep in thought. “What are you thinking about, Will?”
“I was thinking about Iraq and how much the Islamic faith plays a part in politics and daily life of the people. What do you think?”
“I think faith does play a large part. It’s been estimated that one in every five people in the world is a Muslim. It’s one of the fastest-growing religions on earth,” Murphy explained. “Muslims are united on the Shahadah, the profession of faith. They all believe there is no God but Allah and that Mohammed is His prophet. They are also united when they build their mosques, which all face east, toward Mecca. After that, they aren’t homogenous. Their daily practice and philosophical beliefs vary in different parts of the world.”
“What about this talk of a jihad? What’s that all about?” Bingman asked.
“Well, the Arabic meaning of the word is ‘exerted effort.’ It means exerting effort to change oneself for the better. It can also mean physically standing against or fighting oppressors, if necessary. It’s the latter definition that has created quite a stir. It’s not just fighting against an occupation army, it’s fighting against what is perceived to be injustice and anything that might disagree with one’s faith. Mohammed suggested to his followers, ‘Do not obey the kafireen—those who reject the truth—but wage jihad with the Qur’an against them.’ This is the concept that has many Westerners worried.”
“Does that mean if I don’t believe what they do, they want me dead?”
“Some in the Muslim faith have suggested that. They see themselves in a ‘holy war’ with nonbelievers. I’ve heard reports of many responding to the calls for jihad. For example, some men have left their homes and fought in Afghanistan, Iraq, and elsewhere.”
“Do all Muslims believe that way?”
“No, but extremists and terrorists have taken the term ‘jihad’ and used it as a cry for all-out war against anyone who does not hold to their faith and beliefs. They’ve twisted the original Arabic meaning of ‘fight only those who fight you’ to justify terrorism against innocent civilians and children. They’ve put a spin on the text and used it for their own personal agendas,” Murphy concluded grimly.
“That sounds scary. I wonder how many feel that way.”
“No one knows for sure. The problem is amplified whenever Muslim leaders do not speak out against terrorist activities. Their silence gives the impression that they may approve of them. This doesn’t help their cause.”
“Yeah, that bothered me too. When I drive by one of their mosques, I wonder what they’re doing in there. Are they planning the overthrow of the United States? Do they want to destroy my family?”
“Many Muslims do not believe that way at all, Will,” Murphy explained. “They love the United States and support it, but the average Westerner doesn’t know this. They’re not sure who they can trust. This lack of trust creates disharmony between groups. It causes the Muslims to draw away from non-Muslims and vice versa. It can have a devastating worldwide effect. It is a philosophical clash of societies and beliefs. This type of clash and distrust can foster war. Just like what’s happening right here in Iraq.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a loud explosion, a ball of flame, and a pillar of black smoke. The Hummer stopped abruptly. The Buffalo at the head of the convoy was bouncing up and down.
Soldiers were piling out of their vehicles with their weapons ready. There was yelling, and vehicles were repositioned in case of a firefight.
Captain Drake was the first to speak. “Well, that was a good example of what the Buffalo can do. There must have been a bomb in the car up ahead.”
He spoke as if it were a casual, everyday event. The Buffalo backed out of the blazing inferno, stopped for a moment, then drove forward and lifted the car off the ground. It set the burning car to the side of the road then continued on toward Babylon.
Soldiers climbed back in their Hummers and the convey continued.
“It must take some special type of soldier to drive one of those Buffalos,” Murphy said.
“Yes, sir. Those are very special Marines. They love their jobs and look forward to each day’s new adventure. The rest of us consider them heroes. They’re risking their lives to save ours.”
FIFTY-SIX
ONE OF THE LIONS rolled over and dropped a paw onto Daniel’s leg. He woke up instantly. It took a moment for him to gather his thoughts. He had almost forgotten he was in a den of lions. The weight of the paw on his leg brought him back to reality.
Slowly and gently he removed the paw and smiled. No one would believe this story. No one had ever been thrown to the lions and lived to tell the tale.
He thought back to another time when he was startled awake. It was when the great city of Baby Ion fell to the armies of Azzam and Jawhar. He had arrived home and fallen into a restless sleep after interpreting the Handwriting on the Wall for Belshaigar.
Suddenly soldiers broke into his home carrying torches, their swords drawn. They rushed toward his bed as he sat up. The tip of one sword touched his chest. A soldier held a torch to his face. He made some comment, and the other soldier withdrew the sword. Then they searched the house and left as quickly as they had come. Daniel had no idea what they were looking for. Obviously they thought he was too old to present any danger.
“Kasim, did you taste the wine for the king this evening?” Tamir asked.
“No, he went to bed without any wine or food. He ordered everyone out, even the entertainers. He looked very ill.”
“Is the king sick?”
“No, I don’t mean that type of ill look. He seemed both sad and angry at the same time. For a while I stayed outside of his door and listened. I could hear him moaning and groaning and talking to himself.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I think he’s angry over a decision to throw the old Hebrew into the lion’s pit. He seemed very agitated. Watch it, Tamir. Don’t make any mistakes in your baking. He might take it out on you.”
At the sound of the large stone being removed from the hole in the ceiling, all the lions jumped up. Light glared down from the hole.
Daniel put his hand up to shade his eyes. He could see the lions looking up, saliva dripping from their mouths. Was it time to be fed? Only their tails twitched back and forth. They didn’t seem to pay any attention to him as he rose.
“O Daniel, servant of the living God, was your God, whom you worship continually, able to deliver you from the lions?” a voice called down from above.
Daniel recognized the voice of Darius. He could tell from the king’s tone that he did not expect an answer.
“Your Majesty, life forever! My God has sent His angel to shut the lions’ mouths. They did not touch me or harm me. It is proof of my innocence and faithfulness to you.”
Daniel could hear the king dancing around and shouting for joy. Then the guards lowered a rope and pulled Daniel from the den. Just before he reached the opening, Daniel took one last look at the wild animals that had been gentle with him. He smiled and thanked God.
Darius had his physicians examine Daniel for any injuries. None were found. Soon Darius’s joy turned to anger. He was outraged that he had been tricked into putting Daniel in the den. Darius summoned the general of his army.
“I want you to round up all of the satraps and governors Abu Bakar and Husam al Din. Bring their wives and children with them. The lions are hungry and need to be fed. I want you to put in a new family ev
ery three days. Make sure that Abu Bakar and Husam al Din are last. I want them to have time to think about their failed attempt to kill Daniel.
“Now I want to make a decree to all of the people of the kingdom. It should read that everyone in the empire shall tremble and fear before the God of Daniel. He is the living, unchanging God whose kingdom shall never be destroyed and whose power shall never end. He delivers His people, preserving them from harm; He does great miracles in heaven and earth; it is He who delivered Daniel from the power of the lions.”
The first family did not touch the floor before the lions tore them apart.
FIFTY-SEVEN
“IT’S KIND OF BARREN out here,” Bingman said as they drove farther out of Baghdad.
“You’re right about that,” Murphy responded. “There’re some grass and weeds and palm trees, and a lot of open space. If it weren’t for the Euphrates River running through Babylon, it would be more like a desert—more like the rest of the country.”
They were silent as they watched the shepherds, a few roadside stands, and people moving in and out of small adobe homes near the river. Every now and then they could see fishermen in boats casting their nets.
“What are those buildings up ahead?” Bingman asked.
“That’s Al Hillah,” Captain Drake replied. “It’s a small town right next to the site of the original Babylon. The Marines have set up a base there and send out daily patrols. We’ve also been instructed to guard and prevent any looting that might go on at local archaeological sites.”
Murphy spoke up. “I’ve heard that there’s been massive looting of museums and archaeological relics. Many of them are being sold on the black market.”
“Yes, sir, that’s true. It’s a quick way for poor Iraqis to make some big money. We’ve done a good job at discouraging the theft, but occasionally they get away with something. Now we only allow those with archaeological permits, like yourselves, to get near any of the sites.”