by Tim LaHaye
He could hear Jacob yell as the bullet tore through his leg. He remembered Ibrahim leaping onto Levi’s back attempting to choke him to death. He could feel his fist strike the Arab in the temple.
Man, that really hurt, he thought, grimacing as he flexed his knuckles.
He then flashed to Isis’s face and her words to be careful. If she only knew how close he had come to death. He thought back to his emotions as he saw Ibrahim attempting to leap through space only to fall to his death… and the crescent moon with the talons. Finally he drifted into a restless sleep, thinking about one word: Presidio.
The sound of the phone ringing startled Murphy It took him a moment to remember where he was. He groped for the receiver, muttered “Hello,” and heard the automated voice announcing his seven A.M. wake-up call. Great! He slammed down the receiver. Then reality hit him. Breakfast with Isis at eight!
Murphy had decided that it would be best not to tell Isis what had happened last evening with Abrams just yet. He would wait for a more appropriate time. They had a lot to do today, and he didn’t want her to worry After breakfast, they headed for the Federated Bank & Trust to retrieve the contents of Dr. Anderson’s safe deposit box.
In the bank, Murphy spoke with the manager, explained the situation, and handed him the notarized letter with the power of attorney.
“Oh, yes,” the manager said. “I’ve already received a copy of the letter. I also had a phone call with a Mr. Lenny Harris from the Quiet River Nursing Home who explained {everything. We were expecting you.” The manager took the key from Murphy, retrieved Dr. Anderson’s box, and left Murphy and Isis alone in the safe deposit customer room.
Murphy looked at the key the old man had directed him to take as he lay dying. Could the contents of the box be worth Dr. Anderson’s life?
Murphy looked at Isis. He could tell that she was excited. She loved new adventures. Slowly he opened the large safe deposit box. It was filled with file folders and a journal. He read the titles aloud as he removed the files from the box one by one.
“The first folder is titled Madame Helena Petrovna Blavatsky—The Theosophical Society Annie Besant—Lucifer Magazine. Zigana Averna—now, that’s a mouthful. Alfred Meinrad—I’ve heard of him; he’s a scientist. Carmine Anguis. Calinda Anguis. J. M. Talpish. The Friends of the New World Order. The new age. And a handwritten journal. It almost looks like a daily log of some kind.”
“I wonder what this is all about.”
“I’m not sure. All I know is that when I spoke with Dr. Anderson, he mentioned the end of the world and a one-world leader. This may provide clues to what he was talking about.”
“Michael, there’s a library right across the street. Let’s go over there, where we can spread out, and read through these folders. If we both read, it will speed up the process a little.”
“Great idea.” Murphy put the folders and the journal into his briefcase, and they left the bank.
As they crossed the street, Isis looked at the old four-story library It had six tall Roman pillars in front and a set of marble stairs. The soot of many years had turned the white marble a dull gray Pigeons milled around cooing on the roof and the steps. Carved into the marble above the pillars was this motto:
THROUGH WISDOM A HOUSE IS BUILT,
AND BY UNDERSTANDING
IT IS ESTABLISHED.
PROVERBS 24:3
A chill went down her spine as Isis looked at the library. Something was wrong. She couldn’t put her finger on it. Was it the building itself? Was it something inside the building? Something in the material they were going to examine? Or was it something else? She couldn’t shake off her unease. She almost felt that someone was watching them. But when she looked around, she didn’t catch anyone looking in their direction. Everything seemed normal—except her feelings.
That’s silly, she told herself. Don’t mess up the excitement of Michael’s find with women’s intuition.
As they entered the old building, they came into a great hall filled with tables, rows of oak book card catalogs, racks filled with books, and an old information desk. Behind the desk was a dowdy, chubby woman in a white dress with large blue polka dots.
Isis looked up and could see each floor of the library circling the center hall. Anyone standing above could look down on those in the center of the open hall. Behind the railings above, Isis could see stacks and stacks of bookshelves with people milling about. If it had not been for her uneasy feelings, Isis would have enjoyed the library. It made you want to come in and spend the day soaking up great thoughts. If only she could shake off the eerie sensation and relax in the friendly environment of books!
Murphy and Isis climbed the marble stairs and went to the back of the library on the third floor. There they found a secluded table where they could lay out the material and begin to read.
The thousands of books that surrounded them seemed to soak up sound. They could talk softly here without bothering anyone. It was almost like they were in their own little world. It was even a little romantic, just the two of them.
I just wish I didn’t have this chilling feeling, Isis thought. Maybe I should say something to Michael.
TWENTY-SEVEN
STEPHANIE KOVACS CALLED Shane Barrington from her cell phone. His secretary told her that Barrington was in a meeting and would be back about 4 P.M. Good, Kovacs thought. That will give me about two hours before he’ll be back home. She drove quickly to Barrington Towers, parked in the lower garage, and took the elevator to the top floor.
Although she had her own apartment, she’d been spending most of her time with Barrington at his penthouse. She remembered back to when she first moved in and how excited and how much in love she’d been.
What a fool I was, she told herself.
It was a pleasant arrangement for the first few months, but then the trouble had started. She remembered the night when Barrington spoke those chilling words: “Promise me you won’t do anything foolish so I’d be forced to… dispose of you. I’ve grown very fond of you, Stephanie. I’d hate our relationship to end in tragedy.”
That night fear entered her mind and began to grow like a weed. She knew then that she hadn’t really loved Shane Barrington, but had fallen in love with his power and money.
As an investigative reporter, she had the ability to sniff out corruption and shady business transactions. Barrington Communications was beginning to stink. After those first few months, she had begun to ask too many questions about his business dealings, and he didn’t like it. It was then that the yelling had begun, punctuated with Barrington hitting the walls or doors with his fist. It took all her negotiating skills to calm him down.
Eventually her fear grew to the point where she was afraid to question anything or to discuss any sensitive subject. Her fear had created distrust, and her lack of security had begun to grow into resentment. She knew that she had to get out of the relationship; this was her opportunity She could pack all of her things and move back to her apartment. At least they wouldn’t be sharing the same bed anymore. She couldn’t pretend that everything was okay when inside she was in emotional turmoil. She could no longer sleep with someone she had lost respect for; no amount of money or power could soothe that pain.
Kovacs had closed her last suitcase when she heard what sounded like a key in the door. She panicked, stuffing her bags into the closet and closing the door. Then she ran into the bathroom, where she nervously pretended to put on lipstick. Maybe he’ll think I came home early.
“Stephanie?” Barrington’s voice sounded from the living room.
“I’m in here.” She hoped her voice sounded calmer than she felt.
In the mirror, she could see him entering the bedroom.
“I got through early with my meeting and decided not to go back to the office,” he said, smiling. “I saw your car in the garage. What are you doing here?”
“I got through a little early myself.”
Harrington slid his arms around her wais
t and looked at her in the mirror. She tried to smile like she was glad to see him, but she was actually repulsed by his touch. He turned her around and kissed her. After he walked away, she trembled in fear.
“How about a steak dinner tonight? I’m hungry,” he said. With that he turned and headed for the closet.
“Where would you like to go?” she asked, hoping to distract him. He hesitated before reaching for the door handle. “I don’t care. You pick.”
He was still looking at Stephanie when he opened the door to the closet and stepped in. He stubbed his toe on her first suitcase and almost fell over the other two.
“What the… ?” He paused, trying to process the scene. Then he stepped back and looked at Stephanie, the color draining from her face.
“Is this what I think it is?”
“Shane, I was going to talk to you about this.”
“Talk to me. When? After you had run away?!”
Stephanie could see his face darkening in anger.
“I trusted you!” he shouted. “I thought you were loyal. You know how I hate disloyalty”
“Shane, you know we’ve been having more and more fights. I… I just think it would be best if we separated for a little while to let things cool down.”
Kovacs was beginning to back toward the living room as Barrington advanced.
“So you’re just going to run out,” he shouted. “No one runs out on me!” He clenched his fist. The veins in his neck were standing out.
Stephanie started to turn to run but Barrington caught her with his left hand and whirled her around toward him. At the same time, he slapped her, sending her flying across the living room. She tripped on the coffee table, breaking the vase, and rolled off the corner of the sofa onto the floor.
It took a few seconds for her head to clear. There was a ringing in her left ear, and the whole side of her face was stinging, and she could feel an instant headache.
Barrington was furious. He snatched her up and shook her.
“No one runs out on Shane Barrington!” With that he slapped her again, sending her into a lamp that fell over, shattering a large wall mirror.
This time Stephanie could hardly move. She was dazed. She could taste the salty taste of blood, fed the pain inside her mouth where the skin was ripped. As she sat up, her head spun. Blood was dripping from her nose onto her white blouse. She was in too much shock to cry. Oh, God, please help me.
Barrington had disappeared into the bedroom but soon emerged with her suitcases. He threw them at her. The first one bounced on the floor and then into her chest, knocking out what breath she had left. The second one bounced off the first case and into her face. Her head flew back, hitting the wall. And then there was blackness.
When Stephanie awoke, she was cold and disoriented. It took her a moment to realize that she was in her BMW in the lower garage of Barrington Towers. Her whole body ached. Slowly she sat up and looked around. The garage was empty except for a few cars. The pain in her face was excruciating. She flipped on the dome light and looked into the rearview mirror. She didn’t recognize what she saw. There was blood all over her clothes and in her matted hair. The left side of her face was dark, puffy, and swollen. Her eye was already turning black. She looked like she had just been run over. She ran her tongue across her teeth. One was chipped.
She could see her suitcases in the backseat. Barrington must have put them—and her—in the car. After several deep breaths, she found her purse and fumbled around for the keys. She could only see out of one eye.
I thought he was going to kill me, I can’t believe I’m still alive.
As she put the keys in the ignition and started the car, she noticed something on her windshield. She tried to read it but it was written on the outside and was backward. She tried to focus with her right eye. It was written with lipstick. Finally she could make it out. It read: NO ONE RUNS OUT ON ME!
Stephanie was glad that it was 4 A.M. and everyone was in bed when she finally got home. She didn’t want to run into anyone looking the way she did.
She left the suitcases in the car and went straight to the bathroom. She turned on the water for a tub bath, took some aspirin, and crawled in. The warmth felt soothing and healing. As she finally was able to relax, she began to sob.
After forty-five minutes, the hot water finally ran out. She gathered what energy she had left and dragged herself to bed. The emotional and physical drain had been enormous. She was asleep in a few minutes.
It was three in the afternoon when Stephanie’s home phone rang.
“Stephanie, it’s Melissa. Are you all right?” Barrington’s secretary was whispering.
“I’m not feeling good today. I’m going to take a sick day.”
“Stephanie, are you sure you’re all right?”
“Why are you whispering, Melissa?”
“I’m away from my desk at another phone.”
“Why?”
“I’m afraid. I’ve never seen Mr. Barrington so mad. He ordered me to clear out your desk and put all of your belongings into boxes. When I asked him why, he yelled at me and said, ‘If you want to keep your job, do as I tell you!’ He’s never acted this way before.
“I overheard him call Lowell Adrian, the human resources director, and tell him that you’re fired immediately. Then I heard him say, ‘She’ll never work for any news organization if I have my way. She’s through for good!’”
Kovacs’s spirits dropped even lower. Not only had she lost her own self-respect by becoming a mistress, she had broken a power relationship and gotten beaten up as a result. Now she was being blackballed from working for any news media. All possible sources of income were drying up.
Trying to hold back her tears, she said, “Melissa, I appreciate your calling, but you have to get off the phone. If Shane knows that you’ve called me, you’ll lose your job. I can’t bear that guilt. Go, and don’t call me again. It’s too dangerous.”
Stephanie began to weep. Her life was falling apart. She was swimming in guilt, fear, frustration, and anger. Emotions surged over her like giant tidal waves. Her life was a mess, and there was nothing she could do about it. She curled up in a ball and cried for an hour. Then the tears were gone and depression began to take hold. She was filled with despair.
It was late in the evening, as Stephanie was curled up in bed, that the first ray of hope poked its head through her dark cloud of depression. A word came into her mind. Happiness.
She remembered Dr. Murphy asking if she was happy. She thought back to the time she interviewed him after the loss of his wife. He certainly wasn’t happy then, but he did seem to have a peace about him. He said that only God can give peace in the midst of turmoil.
I’m certainly in turmoil but I don’t have any peace. I wonder if there is anything to all this God talk?
Her mind began to drift back to Dr. Murphy’s comments about a kite.
“Stephanie, when the kite was out of sight, how could you tell if it was still there?”
“I guess by the pull of the string. It meant the wind was still blowing the kite.”
“Right. That’s sort of how it is when God speaks to you. You can’t see Him. He is out of sight. And you can’t audibly hear His voice because He is too far away. But you can feel His loving tug on the strings of your heart …. Do you feel the tug of God on the strings of your heart today?”
Gentle tears began to flow from her eyes. Dear God, she prayed, I’m hurting and lonely. I think You are tugging on me trying to get my attention… and You’ve got it. I don’t know what to do. I need Your help. I’ve really made some poor choices, and they’ve affected my entire life. It’s a mess. If You’re up there somewhere listening to me, I need Your help.
I know I am a sinner and I need You to change my life. I can’t do it myself. I’ve tried more than once. I believe You sent Your Son, Jesus, to die for all my wrongdoing. Please forgive me. I’m not sure what this all means, but I feel You knocking at the door of my heart. And I want
to open it to You today. Please come in and help me to have peace.
With that, Stephanie cried herself to sleep.
TWENTY-EIGHT
MURPHY OPENED to the first page of the journal, which read “The Journal of Harley B. Anderson.” Isis began reading Helena Petrovna Blavatsky’s file. Using a colored marking pen, occasionally Murphy highlighted something. The only sound was the turning of pages. After about forty-five minutes, Murphy spoke.
“Isis, listen to this. I’ve highlighted certain dates and comments in the journal. They give an overview of what it contains.
April 17, 1967
Today J. M. and I were contacted by three men from a group called the Friends of the New World Order. They want us to artificially inseminate a girl for them.
May 22
The group from the Friends of the New World Order again met with J. M. and me and informed us that they have selected the girl to be inseminated.
June 12
We again met with the Friends of the New World Order. They promised to pay for a fully equipped lab. That will cost a great deal. They told us that after the birth of the baby, we could keep the lab and all the equipment for our own use. They said that they had one stipulation—that we would have to keep the entire matter in absolute secrecy. They are very strange.
July 3
J. M. and I met the young woman to be inseminated for the first time. She seemed nice but a little frightened. Her name is Calinda Anguis. She is Romanian, and J. M. had to translate and explain the procedure to her.
July 10
Today we received the sperm and eggs provided by the Friends of the New World Order. They would not tell us who the donors were. Strange!
July 13
J. M. and I completed the procedure of implanting the fertilized egg into Calinda Anguis.
July 20
We examined Calinda Anguis, and everything seems to be going smoothly with no complications.