by Tim LaHaye
Jakoba Werner smiled as she freed her blond hair from a bun. Her chubby cheeks were red. “I think we all can be happy,” she exclaimed. “Soon the new United Nations building will be erected in Babylon. The Arabs are thrilled at the thought of hosting the UN. And by funding the construction through the European Union, as we have planned, the Arab countries will be obligated to Europe. The European Union will be seen as the ‘good guys.’ Our representatives are already negotiating with Saudi Arabia, Iran, and Iraq for reduced oil prices because of our support. It will help to strengthen the euro and devaluate the U.S. dollar even more. We have even convinced the Arabs to raise oil prices to the United States. This will force them to drill in Alaska, which will infuriate the environmentalists. Everything is falling into place.”
“I agree with Jakoba,” John Bartholomew stated. “We’ve even been able to corrupt some UN members. It’s wonderful to see how money can buy almost anything. We helped them to secretly open Swiss bank accounts. Little do they know that we can siphon funds out of those accounts! The money comes from us to them, then we take it back from them. Isn’t the world of banking wonderful? They’re simple pawns on our chessboard.”
“By the way, I know that you’ve been working on it… have you been able to figure out a way to siphon money from numbered accounts left by the Nazis in World War II?” Sir William asked.
Bartholomew smiled. “Of course—not only their accounts, but many more. We have ways to persuade the bank officials to work with us. All we have to do is show them pictures of their families and ask if they would like to keep them alive. It seems to have a wonderful way of convincing people to cooperate. We should be happy with how fast we’ve grown in power. Soon we’ll be in control of everything that is happening in the world.”
Everyone clapped.
Viorica Enesco was rubbing her finger around the top of her wineglass and staring at the ocean.
“What are you thinking about, Viorica?” Bartholomew asked.
“I was thinking about Talon. He seems to have stepped up to the challenge of eliminating those who hamper our movement. He took care of Stephanie Kovacs, who was leaking information to Dr. Murphy. He also was able to retrieve the notes and materials of Dr. Anderson before Murphy could make them public. He was successful in causing nationwide panic in the United States over the George Washington Bridge attack. And I understand that he is working diligently to try to destroy Dr. Murphy. Maybe a bonus would be appropriate.”
They all agreed. Then Señor Mendez spoke up. “We do have one loose cannon.”
Everyone turned and looked at him.
“Methuselah. He is a very powerful man. Not only is he wealthy and powerful… he is very angry at the loss of his family. He found out that we were behind the downing of the aircraft they were riding in. He wants to thwart our plans in any way he can. He wants revenge! That’s why he’s helping Murphy. We need to work on a plan to deal with him.”
Everyone nodded, their eyes suddenly worried.
Bartholomew spoke up. “Methuselah knows too much about us and our growing power. We don’t want him ruining everything. What should also concern us is, did Murphy or that McDonald woman read any of the papers of Dr. Anderson? Just how much does he know about the Boy and our plans for him? Methuselah and Murphy both need to be eliminated.”
“I think we need to focus a little,” Sir William said, running a finger around his clerical collar. “I think that we need to send Talon back to the Black Sea. There is some unfinished business with the valuable items that were found on the ark. Potassium 40 may still prove to lengthen life, and we need to discover the secrets of the bronze plates and the crystals. We also need to start initiating our plan to set the stage for a new religious movement. The 1960s were successful in convincing everyone that God was dead—a significant challenge to the evangelicals. Then in the latter part of the 1970s, the concept of the occult began to grow aided by all of the Saturday cartoon shows about demons, witches, ghosts, wizards, and supernatural heroes. We now have a whole generation that is tired of the God-is-dead talk and the emptiness it brings. They have been softened as children to accept the occult. They are ripe for a religious leader who will talk about the brotherhood of man and peace for the world.”
“I agree,” Bartholomew said, nodding. “We need to begin to talk of uniting the many faiths. You know, the all-roads-lead-to-Rome concept or the spokes-of-the-wheel theory, where all religions are like spokes that lead to God as the hub. We need to begin to step up our activities in this area.”
“We have had a good start with the attempt to redefine Christmas and other religious holidays like Easter,” Ganesh Shesha said. “We need to continue to promote tolerance and more laws about hate speech. We need to stop the Christians from pushing any of their thoughts about God onto others. Christianity is a cancer that needs to be eliminated if we are to be successful.”
Everyone nodded.
“Don’t forget people like Michael Murphy,” Jakoba Werner said. “It is people like him and the religious right who are really dangerous. They know too much about the Bible and what it really teaches. They are dangerous because they are unafraid and are able to convince others to follow them. We don’t need him or people like him to hamper our ability to create the environment for the Boy.”
Bartholomew spoke up. “I think that it may be time for the Friends of the New World Order to begin to go public. We need to use the media to get our message out. The foundation for the European Union is solid and growing—Europa is rising.”
SIXTY-SIX
WHEN THE FIRST RPG exploded in the storefront, the shock knocked Uri and Murphy to the ground.
Uri was the first to speak. “Dr. Murphy, are you all right?”
“Yes, just surprised. I smell smoke. The blast must have started a fire.”
Uri was almost to Abrams’s position. “Levi, are you all right?”
There was no response.
“Dr. Murphy! Levi was hit by the last shot. He’s bleeding from a head wound.”
“Is he alive?” Murphy asked, sidestepping debris as he hurried down the aisle toward the two men.
Murphy was about halfway down the aisle when the second RPG blasted into the warehouse.
Uri was bending over Abrams when it exploded. The blast killed him instantly; his body protected Abrams from further injury. The boxes shielded Murphy from shrapnel, but the concussion knocked him down, dazed with a terrible ringing in his ears.
Murphy struggled to his feet and frantically began to pull debris off Uri and Abrams. When he saw the extent of Uri’s injuries, he was sure the Mossad agent was dead, but he felt for a pulse anyway. There was none. He then looked at Levi Abrams. His chest was moving up and down. As Murphy began to remove the shelving that was pinning his friend, he thought angrily, A trap …it was all a trap! Talon knew we were coming and set us up!
Murphy, sensing that something else might be in store for them, wanted to get Abrams out of the building.
They must have had a secret exit of some kind. I’ll bet it’s near where they were shooting from.
By now the fire that began with the blast of the second RPG was beginning to spread rapidly. Smoke was filling the air, making it difficult to see and hard to breathe.
Soon Murphy could see where the shots had been fired from. Talon and his men had set up a barrier of crates, behind which they had lain in wait.
Murphy leaned over one of the crates and saw an open trapdoor that he felt sure must lead to a tunnel. Staying low to the floor to avoid the smoke, he dragged Abrams to the hole. He climbed in first, then grabbed Abrams and pulled him down into a six-foot by six-foot area shored up with boards. On one side of the area was a crawl tunnel about three feet in diameter.
This must have been an emergency exit for the terrorists.
Murphy lay Abrams in the tunnel on his back, headfirst. He then took off his belt and Abrams’s and hooked them together to form a circle. He looped the circle under his friend’s
back and armpits. Then Murphy crawled into the circle of belts.
Murphy knew that it would be difficult to drag Abrams through a tight tunnel. He was two hundred pounds of dead weight. But if he lifted up with his arms and back, Murphy could raise Abrams off the ground. He could then straddle him, drag him, and crawl forward at the same time with the help of the looped belts.
Murphy had just started crawling forward when the first blast in the storefront went off. The earth shook. Particles of dirt began to rain down on him. The fear of being trapped in a collapsing tunnel overwhelmed Murphy. He began to crawl as fast as he could, praying for God’s help at the same time.
Another blast rocked the earth, causing Murphy to fall on top of Abrams. Murphy struggled up as quickly as he could and started dragging his friend when part of the tunnel collapsed on their legs. He couldn’t move forward.
The dust from the cave-in made breathing almost impossible. Murphy, coughing, pulled his T-shirt up to cover his nose and mouth like a makeshift filter. He waited several minutes for the dust to begin to settle and to get his bearings.
Murphy rotated the two belts so he could unhook them. He then tried to crawl forward, pulling hard against the dirt covering his feet. After much effort, he finally broke loose.
He then crawled forward past Abrams into the tunnel ahead. Somehow he had to turn around and face the other direction to dig his friend free—if he was still alive.
The crawl tunnel had narrowed in the area where Murphy had to turn around. In the total darkness of the tunnel, fear began to creep into his mind. Murphy began to draw his legs up in an attempt to turn around. He soon began to feel wedged in the tunnel. His back was pressed against the side and sharp rocks were poking his flesh.
When he was at the halfway point of turning, his foot got stuck on a rock and he could not move it. Murphy found it difficult to breathe. He was stuck. He couldn’t move forward or backward. His leg muscles were on the verge of cramping. Panic caused his heart to pound.
Murphy’s mind flashed back to his childhood when he was in the Boy Scouts. His troop was camping in the mountains on a cold night. He crawled into his mummy sleeping bag, curling up in a ball in an attempt to stay warm.
Somehow during the night, his body had gotten completely turned around. His feet ended up toward the head of the bag and his head was at the bottom.
He remembered how he had felt when he realized that he couldn’t reach the zipper and free himself. He knew that he’d have to turn around inside the bag to get to the breathing hole at the top.
He had gotten stuck then too at the halfway point in turning around. The cloth of the bag caught on his heels, and he couldn’t move forward or back. It was then that he had first experienced the absolute terror of claustrophobia. He didn’t know what it was called at that time. All he knew was that he was stuck with little air and no hope of rescue. No matter how much he strained to break free from the cloth that wrapped around him, he could not. The mummy bag had taken on new meaning—it had felt like the bag of death.
Murphy’s claustrophobia had never left him… and now he was trapped again. He wanted to scream and yell and break free from the grip of the dark tunnel, but the walls would not move.
As a child he had talked to himself… to not fight the bag and to slow down his breathing… to gain control of his emotions.
Murphy tried to relax. Because of his curled-up position, he had to take very short, shallow breaths. His chest was unable to expand to its fullest.
He forced himself to relax, and after a time the terror and panic gave way to rational thinking.
My heel is caught. I’ve got to free it somehow.
Slowly and methodically he worked his hand and arm down toward his heel.
If I can only move my foot a little, it may come loose.
His fingers barely touched the top of the heel of his boots.
Just a little more.
That “little more” caused his chest to compress. Panic returned now that he was wedged even tighter.
Relax, Murphy. Relax. Breathe slowly.
It took another thirty seconds before he tried to move his arm and hand lower. He was now able to feel a small rock that was the problem. With his fingers, he moved the rock back and forth until it shifted slightly and then broke free. His heel moved.
As he paused to breathe deeply, he found himself praying and thanking God for that small miracle.
Murphy was finally able to stretch out his legs and lay full length in the tunnel. Precious life-giving air filled his lungs.
As he felt control returning, he turned on his stomach and reached for Levi Abrams’s head. The dirt and dust of the tunnel had helped the blood to clot; the wound didn’t seem to be bleeding as much. He reached his hand over his friend’s mouth and nose. He could feel the warm air of his shallow breathing.
Thank You, God, for keeping my friend alive. Thank You for helping me to get unstuck.
Murphy crawled forward. His fingers scrabbled through the dirt and rocks as he struggled to free Abrams’s legs from the rubble trapping them. It took Murphy over two hours to loosen Abrams’s legs. His fingers were sore and bleeding.
He then backed into the tunnel until he could grab his friend’s arms, and he began to pull. Abrams’s body slowly slid over the loose gravel. Murphy then backed up again and pulled once more.
It’s working!
Murphy had been pulling and sliding for about ten minutes when the gravity of the situation hit him. He was in a dark tunnel with no light. He was backing feetfirst into the unknown. He was not sure just how badly Abrams had been injured. And he had no idea if the rest of the tunnel was passable. What if they were trapped forever?
He tried to shake those thoughts out of his mind. While he was still alive, there was hope, and hope gave him the strength to keep going.
As he pulled and slid Levi, his mind began to drift toward Isis. Would he ever see her again? Would he finally be able to tell her that he loved her? How he wished he could break free from his narrow tomb, once again to see the light… once again to breathe fresh air… once again to hold her in his arms.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
DR. TIM LAHAYE is a renowned prophecy scholar, minister, and author. His Left Behind series is the bestselling Christian fiction series of all time. He and his wife, Beverly, live in southern California. They have four children and nine grandchildren.
BOB PHILLIPS, PH.D., is the author of more than eighty books. He is a licensed counselor and executive director for the Pointman Leadership Institute.
Read on for an excerpt
from the fourth exciting
volume in the
BABYLON RISING series …
The EDGE
OF DARKNESS
TIM LAHAYE
AND
BOB PHILLIPS
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