Babylon Rising: The Edge of Darkness

by Tim LaHaye

  On the other side of the wall he saw another wall about twenty

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  feet away. It had an opening in it about four feet high and about two-and-a-half feet wide. Pearlman approached, peering m, but he could only see a few feet into the dark.

  He unhooked a Mini Maglight that he carried on his belt, hunched down, and entered the hole. Once inside, he found that he could stand up straight. He shined his light around the passageway. It was about six feet wide by about seven feet tall. It angled slightly downward and to the southwest. He followed it as it made several turns.

  At one point he turned off the light and froze as he heard the muffled sound of voices ahead. He crept forward silently, keeping one hand on the side wall while the other felt in front of him. Eventually a light appeared in the distance and the two voices became clearer. To his surprise, he heard English.

  "You two go back to the entrance while the rest of us go on. We don't want any uninvited guests."

  Pearlman's heart began to race. It might have been a mistake to come alone but it was too late now. Who were these people and what were they doing? He realized that if he didn't hurry, he'd be meeting them real soon.

  He began to back away from the light. He hoped that he could make it to one of the turns, where he could switch on his light and move more quickly. He didn't like the idea of being caught in a dark passageway with two strangers in the middle of nowhere.

  He had just reached the turn when he heard them coming. He switched on his light and began to exit more rapidly. But it was too late.

  "Rafi, look! There's a light."

  The words echoed to Moshe and he heard them running toward him. His heart beat faster. He had a quick decision to make.

  Do I keep running and have them shoot me in the back or do I stop and face them and try to talk through the situation?

  He chose to stop.

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  He turned around and shined his light in their direction. They slowed and approached Pearlman cautiously, their flashlight beams in his face blinding him.

  A voice spoke in a thick Arabic accent. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

  "I'm a tourist," Pearlman said brightly, hoping his acting chops were up to snuff. "I saw some cars and I stopped to look at the ruins of Ashdod. I then discovered the hole in the wall and entered. Are you archaeologists?"

  The two Arabs moved closer.

  "Why, yes, we are. We are exploring for ancient artifacts."

  Moshe had heard enough lies during his career to quickly discern truth from falsehood by the tone in one's voice. All of his senses were alert. He didn't like them getting closer. Then he saw it--the quick reflection of light off a steel blade thrusting forward toward his stomach. He instinctively jumped back and at the same time brought a knife block down on the forearm of his attacker. It came with such force that it momentarily paralyzed the man's arm and he dropped the knife.

  Pearlman then gave a sharp front kick into the Arab's chest. It sent him backward with such power that he collided with his compatriot, knocking both men to the ground. Pearlman then took off running. He didn't like fighting blind, with no room to maneuver. He heard them yelling. Their cries attracted the rest of their party in the passageway. They came running toward the commotion.

  When Pearlman came out into the light he was a good ninety feet ahead of his pursuers. He took off running across the open plain at full speed toward his car.

  He could hear the men shouting in Arabic as they burst out of the passageway. He shot a quick look over his shoulder. He had a good head start and was only sixty feet from the protection of the rocks. They'd never catch him now.

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  Talon calmly walked to the trunk of his car. He opened it and took out his Russian Dragunov SVD gas-powered semi-automatic sniper rifle. The silencer was already on it, and he always carried it fully loaded with all ten rounds.

  He lifted it to his shoulder and focused the sights of the powerful scope. Everything he did was with patience and precision. He lined Pearlman up in the crosshairs and fired.

  Moshe did not hear the sound. All he felt was a scorching pain in his right thigh as the bullet penetrated his leg and exited somewhere in the sand. He fell face-first to the ground, kicking up dust.

  Talon laughed at the sight. It was a perfect shot.... enough to slow him down but not enough to kill him. He handed the rifle to one of the Arabs. There were ten of them watching in awe as Talon performed what he did best.

  Talon stepped forward and looked to the sky. He then opened the palm of his left hand and hit it twice with his right fist. The Arabs looked at one another in confusion.

  In the meantime, Moshe was crawling toward the rock outcropping. He was not more than twenty feet away from the safety of his car. It was agony as he dragged his wounded leg along. His hands were bleeding from pulling himself forward over small rocks and cacti.

  He was just reaching his hand up to the door handle when the first falcon gouged his claws into his neck. He felt the pressure of 200 pounds per inch deeply penetrate his flesh. Moshe rolled to his back, trying to strike the powerful bird away, but to no avail. The second falcon struck his exposed throat. A look of absolute panic came over his face as the sharp claws dug deep into his flesh again and again.

  Murphy heard a ringing sound. He leaned over and checked his alarm clock ... 3:00 A.M.

  Who would be calling at this hour?

  "This is Murphy."

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  "Michael, this is Levi. I've got some terrible news."

  Murphy was wide-awake now. When Levi sounded like this, something serious was going down.

  "What is it, Levi?"

  "It's Moshe Pearlman. Some worker in the olive orchards around Ashdod found his body. If it hadn't been for his wallet and car, no one would have been able to identify the body."

  "I'm so sorry, Levi. I know he was one of your friends. Did he have a family?"

  "Yes. His wife and two daughters are devastated."

  "What happened?"

  "Something completely ripped his face and throat apart. The doctors say that all the wounds look like the clawing and pecking of birds. There wasn't much left of him, but they did find something else very strange. A bullet hole all the way through his right thigh. No one can figure out what happened. Someone brushed away all traces of footprints. There were only the car tracks of four different cars."

  "It sounds like the work of Talon and his falcons. This is not the first time he's turned them on humans."

  "Michael, if Talon is involved, you know there's something very important going on in Ashdod. It sounds like he might be after the same things you are. Do you still want to go to Ashdod?"

  "More than ever."

  "Good! I want to join you, to avenge Moshe's death. It would be my joy to turn those falcons on Talon."

  "How soon can you work out the details?"

  "I don't know. But with the death of Pearlman, I'll put everything into high gear. Even putting on the pressure, it may take a couple of weeks."

  "Then put on the pressure!" Murphy said. "Talon already appears to have a big head start."

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  THIRTY-THREE

  THE WEATHER FORECAST called for a bright and sunny day along the coast. It was just the kind of day that might draw Methuselah off of his estate near Myrtle Beach. Murphy guessed that he would go to the shores below Briarcliffe Acres.

  He was not sure when Methuselah might go to the beach, so he left early in the morning. He decided to take State Highway--40 from Raleigh toward New Hanover and Wilmington. There he would join Highway 17 to North Myrtle Beach.

  The trip was pleasant and he reflected upon the resort area he was driving to. Myrtle Beach had been named by Mrs. F. E. Burroughs, whose husband was the founder of the Burroughs & Collins Company. She called it Myrtle Beach because of the many wax myrtle

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  trees growing wild along the shoreline. The building boom of the 1960s had brought an i
nflux of people to the area. Many came to play golf in one of the over 120 courses that were scattered along the coast. Murphy wondered if Methuselah played golf or not.

  Probably not. It wouldn't be exciting enough for him. He likes to see blood and guts, not a little white ball rolling into the water .

  Murphy arrived at the beach area near 9:00 A.M. He found a place to park, grabbed his backpack, and headed toward the beach. He thought that he might try the area near the Dunes Golf and Beach Club. It was not far from Methuselah's estate.

  Very few people were on the beach.

  A little too early , he thought. More people will arrive when it gets a little warmer .

  The sky was crystal clear except for a few puffy clouds in the distance. A slight offshore breeze was blowing toward him. He sat down on the sand and watched the breakers. It had a very calming effect. It had been ages since he'd allowed himself time to just sit and take in the glory of God's creation.

  A passing jogger with a dog caught Murphy's attention and brought him back to the purpose of his trip. He consulted his watch. It was almost 10:00 A.M. He looked around the beach and noticed that a few more people had put out blankets and were sunning themselves. Murphy opened his backpack and took out a picture of Methuselah. It had been taken at a distance with a high-powered telephoto lens. Murphy thought he could make out his features well enough to identify him if he came to the beach.

  He put away the photo and took out a book and began to read. Might as well do something productive , Murphy thought.

  It wasn't until 11:30 A.M. that Murphy saw something to indicate that Methuselah could be coming--two large men wearing Hawaiian shirts. They were sauntering along the beach, talking and stopping

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  every now and then to look around. Murphy watched as one of them unhooked a two-way radio from his belt and spoke into it.

  It wasn't long before he saw five other men strolling toward the beach. Two of them were carrying lawn chairs. One of them was older, with gray hair and a limp. Murphy whipped out the photograph and compared it with the man on the beach.

  It was Methuselah. There was no doubt about it.

  Murphy's heart began to race. Now what would he do? How would he be able to get close enough to talk with him? He couldn't believe that he was about to meet the mysterious Methuselah face-to-face ... and on Murphy's terms, not his.

  For a moment his attention was drawn away from Methuselah. He spotted two other men walking up and down the beach. Then Murphy had an idea.

  "Excuse me, do you work for the Dunes Golf and Beach Club?" asked Murphy.

  "Why, yes, I do," said the young man with a big smile. "Would you like to order something? We take orders for drinks and meals at the club. We'll bring them to you on the beach if you like."

  "That's swell. How much do they pay you to do this job?"

  The young man was caught a little off guard.

  "Why ... they ... they pay us ten dollars an hour and we can keep any tips we earn. It's not a bad deal."

  "No, on the contrary, it sounds great. How would you like to make a big tip?"

  "Sure, I'm up for that."

  "How about two hundred dollars?"

  "What? Are you pulling my leg?"

  "No. I just want to borrow a uniform like the one you're wearing for a couple of hours. There's someone I would like to talk to on the beach and your uniform might make it a little easier."

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  "I know what you mean," said the young man. He spoke in hushed tones. "I meet lots of good-looking young ladies this way. For two hundred dollars I can get you a uniform. Follow me."

  Murphy could feel the adrenaline starting to pump as he walked toward Methuselah and his bodyguards. He was dressed in the Dunes Golf Club uniform and was carrying a small tray and an order pad.

  All of the bodyguards became alert as he approached. Two of them got out of their chairs and started to move toward him. Methuselah was engrossed in a book and not paying any attention. It was evident that he had total confidence in his men.

  "Hold it right there!" said one of the guards. He blocked Murphy while the other man came behind him and began to wand him for any metal weapons he might be carrying.

  Murphy looked at the men and smiled casually like it was an everyday occurrence.

  "Would you gentlemen like anything to eat or drink?"

  Murphy saw the other bodyguards nodding their heads up and down. He could also tell that they would not order anything unless Methuselah ordered something. One of the guards spoke to him.

  "Mr. M., there's a man here to take our order. Would you like something?"

  Methuselah lifted his head to look at the bodyguard. He didn't even glance at Murphy standing about ten feet to his left.

  "Yes, I'll have an iced tea and a tuna-melt sandwich."

  Murphy was about to explode inside, his curiosity mingling with a great deal of anger. Methuselah had sicced a lion on him, almost killed him when he cut loose a cable in the Royal Gorge, and hired a host of professional killers to try to take him out. He hoped that Methuselah would not do much to him on a public beach.

  He found it impossible to restrain his impatience any longer. He spoke in a firm and loud voice.

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  "How about some rattlesnakes for lunch?"

  At these words, the other bodyguards exploded out of their chairs. The two near Murphy grabbed him, and he was down on the sand in a matter of seconds.

  Methuselah was shocked, to say the least. What was one of Golf Club's employees doing talking to him like that? It was outrageous. He would have the man fired at once.

  He rose from his chair and told the bodyguards to make Murphy stand up.

  "Did I hear you say 'rattlesnakes for lunch'?" Methuselah asked with irritation.

  Murphy now stood face-to-face with Methuselah. Levi was right. Caught off guard, the old man did not recognize him.

  "You heard me right! Rattlesnakes for lunch. Just like you dumped on my head in the Reed Gold Mine!"

  It took Methuselah a moment to process what had just been said. Then he smiled and began to laugh in his high, cackling way.

  "Dr. Michael Murphy. My, my, my. Aren't you the industrious one, finding me here. You're more clever than I gave you credit for."

  Murphy sensed the bodyguards' confusion over Methuselah's reaction.

  "You can let him go. I don't think Dr. Murphy will do me any harm. You see, he believes in the Bible... that you should forgive those who trespass against you.... Turn the other cheek ... and all of that stuff. Right, Dr. Murphy?"

  Murphy just stood there. He had long imagined what he would say if this day ever arrived, and now he found himself at a total loss for words.

  Methuselah motioned with his hand.

  "Please. Please, pull up a chair and sit down. After all the trouble you've gone to, you deserve a rest."

  He then looked at his bodyguards.

  "It's all right. You can move back. Dr. Murphy and I are just going to have a little chat."

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  Murphy sat down and looked closely at Methuselah for the first time. His weather-beaten face was lined with wrinkles. He looked like an unhappy man who had been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  "This is a surprise, Dr. Murphy. You must have done some heavy-duty investigation to find me."

  "I have some friends."

  Methuselah looked at Murphy contemplatively.

  "Ah, yes, your friend Levi Abrams, no doubt. He must have checked the airplane crash records. But how?"

  "You left a fingerprint."

  "Impossible. I always wipe everything off or wear gloves."

  "Except for one time. Even the best make mistakes."

  "Pray tell me, where?"

  "In the Reed Gold Mine on the back of the signboard."

  Methuselah began to cackle. "Of course. It must have been those infernal rattlesnakes. They distracted me and I forgot to wipe off the back of the board. Good job, Dr. Mur
phy. I always appreciate competence wherever I find it. I suspected you had the qualities I was looking for. I just needed to test you to be sure."

  "Did I disappoint you?"

  "Oh, no. Far from it. You have been most entertaining, Dr. Murphy."

  "Well, I'm not sure how to address you. Is it Methuselah or is it Markus Zasso?"

  Methuselah smiled again.

  "Mr. M. will do."

  "It just doesn't have the same ring. I think I'll stick with Methuselah."

  "Of course. Now, what's on your mind? You've gone to a lot of effort to find me."

  "What's on my mind? Do you really have to ask? I can figure out how you know so much about the Bible. Your grandfather was a missionary

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  and your father was an active Christian. But what's with all the games, the riddles, the attempts on my life?"

  Methuselah nodded his head. "Fair enough. You have passed all the tests."

  "Tests? Tests for what?"

  "The story starts back with the plane crash. As you know, my wife and children were killed in the crash. I myself barely survived. That is why I walk with a limp today. It took me months to regain my health but I could not regain my family. I went into a deep depression over my loss, and the depression turned into anger ... and the anger into hatred. Hatred for the people who killed my family."

  Murphy hung on every word.

  "I began to do my own investigation. I wanted to find out who was responsible for their deaths. I wanted revenge. Not just by killing them ... I wanted to destroy everything they cherished before I took their lives."

  Murphy detected the flash of rage in Methuselah's eyes as he spoke. "Do you know who they are?"

  Methuselah paused for a moment and looked deep into Murphy's eyes. "Yes, and they will pay" There was something cold and final in his words. "I know more about them and their goals for world conquest than they realize. I have someone on the inside who passes information on to me. I am going to thwart everything they are attempting to do, or die trying!"