Babylon rising: the secret on Ararat

by Tim F. LaHaye

  He tried to put the idea out of his head as he waited for Isis to come on the line. When she did, he could tell from her rapid breathing that something was making her heart beat faster.

  "Michael! I'm so glad you called."

  "How are you feeling?"

  "Still a bit shaken up. I feel so bad about the guards. The police said that I shouldn't go to the funerals--it's too dangerous--so I can't show support for the families. They must be devastated. And I feel somehow it's wrong I survived. It's my fault they're dead."

  "That's crazy, Isis. Of course it isn't. I got you into this. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine."

  "All right, Michael," she said with a deep sigh. "Let's just say it's no one's fault. We were doing our jobs, that's all. We didn't invite this ... this ..."

  "Evil," said Murphy softly.

  Murphy listened to the silence on the other end of the line. Since their adventures with the Brazen Serpent and the Golden Head of Nebuchadnezzar, Murphy had sensed a change in Isis's views about good and evil, and about faith. He wasn't sure exactly what she believed, or how close she was to accepting Christ into her life. But no one could go through what she had without asking themselves the big questions.

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  He just hoped she came up with the right answers.

  But he knew pushing her would have the opposite of the intended effect. Not for the first time where Isis was concerned, he found himself tongue-tied. Luckily Isis broke the awkward silence.

  "Let's try and be positive, Michael. I'm a little battered, but I'm basically okay. And there is some good news. I got a call from the foundation. They wanted me to let you know that they are willing to fund an exploration team to search for Noah's Ark. They want you to head it up. Isn't that great?"

  Murphy was caught off guard.

  "What prompted them to make that suggestion?"

  "Probably several things, I suppose. I think they want to follow the link between potassium forty and longevity. They also want to see if there are any other scientific discoveries on the ark. And there is something else."

  "What's that?"

  "They received a check from an anonymous donor to cover the entire search."

  Murphy whistled. "That's a big chunk of change!"

  "Yes. Harvey Compton, the chairman of the foundation, called me himself with the news. He said the check came from some offshore company that he'd never heard of before. The check was signed, and he cashed it, but he couldn't read the signature. The anonymous donor sent a note stating that he wanted you to lead the discovery team."

  Methuselah! What was he up to now?

  Murphy knew Methuselah had to be wealthy to finance his elaborate games, but if his guess was right,

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  now he seemed to be willing to put all his resources into finding the ark. Why?

  "There's even enough money to get a totally upgraded computer system. My old computer seems to have given up the ghost after I went flying across my desk. Frankly, I'd be happier to go back to just using pen and paper. And pens with proper ink, at that ..."

  Murphy was hearing Isis but his attention was already miles away, on the treacherous, icy slopes of Mount Ararat. Then suddenly he had an idea.

  "Would you like to go?" he interrupted.

  "What?"

  "Would you like to be part of the discovery team searching for the ark?"

  Isis was momentarily stunned. Murphy had seemed genuinely distraught about the attack. He even felt personally responsible. For the first time she was beginning to think he actually cared about her.

  And now he was inviting her to go on an expedition to one of the world's most inhospitable if not downright dangerous places. All for the sake of a biblical artifact. Which, of course, made perfect sense. Because biblical artifacts were all he really cared about.

  How could she have been such a fool?

  "What do you say, Isis? If the ark really does have more secrets, we might well need someone with your linguistic skills to decipher the ancient texts."

  Isis didn't need any more time to think about it. She'd show Michael Murphy that she wasn't some softhearted female at the beck and call of her emotions. Blast him!

  "Count me in. Apart from the skills you mentioned,

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  you might need an experienced mountaineer along for the ride. My father and I used to spend every vacation in the Highlands, I'll have you know."

  "Great. But you might need to start getting in serious shape once you're feeling better. We're going to be at high altitude in difficult conditions."

  "Don't worry about me," Isis said sharply. "I've climbed more mountains than you've had hot dinners. Anyway, you've got some organizing to do. I'll let you get on with it."

  Murphy grinned as he put the phone down, then let out a sigh of relief.

  Mount Ararat might be a dangerous place, but at least if Isis came on the expedition, he'd be there to protect her.

  They might find the ark. They might not. Ultimately it was in God's hands. But he was determined that he wasn't going to lose Isis.

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  SIXTEEN

  IT WAS 6:00 A.M. when Murphy walked through the doors of the Raleigh Health and Fitness Gym. He liked to get an early-morning workout three days a week if he could, not just to stay in shape, but because physical activity gave him the space in which to think. A step machine was one of the few sanctuaries he knew where no student was likely to ask him about an assignment.

  He changed and selected a machine. After forty-five minutes he'd built up a sweat and could feel his mind beginning to let go of the immediate concerns of the day. He stepped off and ambled over to the free-weights area to begin his routine.

  He was working on the bench press when he heard a voice behind him.

  "Would you like me to spot for you?"

  Murphy looked up as he pushed the two hundred pounds above his chest and let out some air. Hank

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  Baines was standing behind his bench, dressed in baggy gray sweats that masked his muscular physique.

  "Sure," he said as the bar came down and went up again.

  Murphy finished his set and then sat up. He took a few breaths and turned and shook Baines's hand.

  "I haven't seen you here before," said Murphy.

  "To be honest, this is a little early for me," Baines admitted. "But I thought I might run into you. I was hoping we could talk."

  "No problem. But you're going to have to wait until I get through my routine. It's kind of hard to talk when you're pushing a couple hundred pounds over your head."

  Baines laughed. "Okay," he said. "Let's get to it."

  Half an hour later, the two men were sitting on a workout bench, catching their breath between sets. "You really like to make it hard for yourself, don't you," Baines said.

  "You've got to be kidding. I was just trying to keep up with you." Murphy grinned. "So what's on your mind? How's Tiffany doing?"

  Baines smiled. "Great. Just great. I wanted to say thanks for the advice you gave me. I've tried my best to be less critical. To look for ways to say positive things, and, well, it seems to be having an effect. Going to church seems to have calmed her down. And whatever your friend Shari said to Tiffany, it's really changed her attitude. She actually apologized to me for her wild behavior." He shook his head, smiling. "That I thought I'd never see."

  "That's great. You two obviously care for each other.

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  You just needed to realize it." Murphy looked at Baines, and he could see he was still troubled. "And how's Jennifer doing?"

  "Funny you should ask. As a father I seem to be doing better. As a husband, not so good. Now that Tiffany and I have stopped shouting at each other, I can really hear the silences between Jennifer and me."

  Baines picked up some dumbbells and began a set of curls. Murphy joined him.

  "You find it difficult to talk to each other?"

  Baines shook his head. "Jennifer doesn't like any kind of co
nflict and just clams up and won't talk."

  "What does her clamming up do to you?"

  "It drives me nuts. I get so frustrated when she won't even yell and shout at me if she's mad, I just leave the house and slam the door."

  "What happens when she does talk?" asked Murphy as he set the weights down.

  "We'll be discussing a problem and I'll explain to her why her way won't work and why we should do it differently. I try to be real patient, to show her how she hasn't thought it through completely."

  "Sounds like you might not be giving her a chance to disagree with you. Maybe that's why she withdraws," said Murphy with a firm smile.

  Baines said nothing. Murphy could tell that he might have struck a nerve.

  "How long has this been going on?"

  "About a year."

  Murphy made a calculated guess as he looked Baines in the eye.

  "Are you seeing anyone else?"

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  Baines tensed and the color drained from his face. His nod was almost imperceptible.

  "It's a little difficult trying to make two relationships work, isn't it?"

  Baines's lips tightened and again he nodded his head slowly.

  "You know, Hank, it's been my experience that people who have gone through a divorce end up with a lot of regrets. The biggest one usually is they didn't try harder to make it work. The excitement of an affair is only a fantasy. One day you wake up to the fact that the new person has just as many hang-ups and problems as your present spouse. Believe it or not, you can have communication problems with them too. Besides having to carry a load of guilt. It's just not worth the price."

  Murphy could tell Baines needed to think about what he'd just said. "Come on, let's cool down with a jog in the park."

  About fifteen minutes into the jog they began to walk. Baines still hadn't responded to Murphy's plea for marital fidelity, but Murphy felt he was receptive.

  "Tell me something, Hank. What do you do when you come home after a day at work?"

  "I usually change my clothes and sit down and read the newspaper or watch some TV before dinner."

  "I used to do that when Laura was alive too. Then one day I realized that we weren't communicating. She wanted to talk at night and I wanted to go to sleep. I decided that instead of putting my feet up when I got home, I would spend that time focusing my attention on the most important person in my life. When do you and Jennifer usually have your talks about heavy issues?"

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  "Well, I haven't really thought about it. I guess it's usually late at night after Tiffany has gone to bed. Why do you ask?"

  "You might think this sounds crazy, but studies show that marital discussions after 9:00 P.M. usually have a tendency to go downhill. Maybe it would be good to choose a different time, when you're both not so tired."

  "Sounds like very practical advice. Now can I ask you a question?" said Baines.

  "Sure."

  "Did you and Laura ever have any big fights?"

  "I guess we had our share. Being a Christian doesn't mean that you're perfect. But you have spiritual resources to draw upon, like I mentioned before. In the Bible."

  "For example."

  "There's a verse I committed to memory, because I wanted to be the best husband I could. It says, And you husbands must love your wives and never treat them harshly . There were times that I have to admit I treated Laura harshly."

  Baines could sense the genuine regret in Murphy's voice. He wasn't just trying to make him feel better about his own behavior.

  "I found that there were five things that were helpful during those times. The first was to learn to say 'I'm sorry.' That was hard for me, but the second thing was even harder. It was to admit I was wrong. That meant I had to swallow my pride. That was hard."

  "Yeah. That's really hard for a perfectionist like me who always has to prove that I'm right."

  "The third thing was to ask for forgiveness. That was

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  hard too. There were times when I didn't feel like it. But then I followed it up with two more things. Those were to say 'I love you' and that we would try and wipe the slate clean with the words let's try again."

  "That all makes sense. But getting past your own pride, that's the hardest part."

  "That's where being a Christian comes in. I couldn't have done all of that without the help of God. He gives us the strength when we turn our lives over to Him."

  They walked back to the gym together.

  "Hank, you mentioned that you thought that church was helping your daughter. Maybe you should consider that it could help you."

  Baines looked doubtful. "Maybe."

  Murphy left it there. He'd planted a seed. Now it was up to Baines.

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  SEVENTEEN

  THE THREE-HOUR ROAD TRIP from Raleigh to Norfolk, Virginia, was one that usually brought back good memories. Often he and Laura had traveled north toward Weldon and then east past Murfreesboro and Sunbury, where they would find a place to eat. They would then drive up through the Great Dismal Swamp to Norfolk and then over to Virginia Beach near Cape Henry. As the familiar landmarks triggered little flashbacks to those carefree days, Murphy began to wonder why he wasn't feeling relaxed--why, in fact, his gut was churning.

  Was it because he'd told Hank Baines his marriage to Laura had been less than one hundred percent perfect? Had that been a betrayal of her memory? No, that was ridiculous. He hadn't mentioned Laura's being in the wrong, only his own failings. And there was no merit in glossing over them--not if another person was being

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  open and honest with him about his own marriage problems.

  So what was bothering him?

  Betrayal .

  For some reason the little word stuck in his mind and wouldn't go away.

  Then another little word joined it, and suddenly it all fell into place.

  Is is .

  He was feeling guilty because of his feelings toward Isis. Feelings he was only this minute admitting he even had.

  He gripped the steering wheel tighter. Since Laura's death, the last thing on his mind had been another relationship. As far as he was concerned, he'd found his soul mate, his life mate, in Laura, and no one could ever replace her in his heart. He would wait patiently, alone, his aching heart nourished by memories, until they were finally reunited in heaven.

  He didn't want to fall in love with someone else. He couldn't fall in love with someone else.

  Stifling a curse, he tried to concentrate on the moving landscape. St. Paul's Church caught his eye. He focused on recalling every fact he could about the church. It had been built in 1739 and was one of the few buildings that had survived the British bombardment of Norfolk during the Revolutionary War.

  Being the headquarters for the Atlantic Command, Norfolk was definitely a Navy town. Murphy saw ships and Navy personnel everywhere. Which thankfully reminded him what this trip was all about.

  He headed to the west along the Elizabeth River.

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  It wasn't long before he turned in to the driveway of Vern Peterson's house. Vern was out in front mowing the lawn, and Kevin, his three-year-old, was playing with a toy lawn mower, trying to imitate his father. Kevin had Vern's red hair and green eyes, and seeing them together banished Murphy's blues instantly.

  Vern turned off the mower, scooped up his son, and gave Murphy a mock salute.

  Murphy put the car in park and returned the salute with a smile. Vern put his son down and the two men gave each other a bear hug while Kevin hopped excitedly at Vern's feet, wanting to know what all the fuss was about. Eventually Vern picked him up again with one brawny arm. "This is Michael Murphy. Professor Michael Murphy. Can you remember when you last saw him?"

  The boy looked confused and Murphy helped him out. "It was a long time ago, Kevin. But I remember you. I seem to remember you were dragging an old teddy bear around that was bigger than you were."

  The boy giggled. "Tramps!"

>   "Those were the days," Vern laughed. "When all he needed was a raggedy old bear. Now it's video games and DVDs and goodness-knows-what."

  Vern's wife, Julie, came running out the house and flung her arms around Murphy. She was a petite brunette with a pixielike face that always wore a mischievous smile, and Murphy thought back to one of the last times he'd seen her. It had been his and Laura's wedding anniversary and the four of them had been celebrating in a downtown Raleigh restaurant fancier than any of them could afford, reminiscing about their wedding,

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  when Vern had been his best man and Julie had been Laura's maid of honor.

  He gave Julie a hug and stood back to look at her. "Julie, you seem to be the only person round here who hasn't gotten any bigger since I last saw you."

  She grinned and put a hand to his cheek. "You say the sweetest things, Murphy. Now, come on inside the house. Dinner's about ready, and I know you and Vern have things to talk about."

  Murphy waited until the last mouthful of apple pie had been washed down with homemade cider and the dishes had been cleared before strolling out onto the porch with Vern, where they settled into a pair of old rockers.

  "Tell me, Vern, when was the last time you flew a chopper?"

  Vern looked sideways at him. "I think you know the answer to that, Murphy. Not since Kuwait."

  He didn't need to elaborate. Vern had been headquartered out of Kuwait when General Schwarzkopf began the advance on the Republican Guard. The Iraqi army had been crushed in about one hundred days. The thirty-eight-day air campaign had broken their morale. The Iraqi troops were tired, hungry, and weary after over a month of relentless bombing. They had surrendered by the thousands.

  "I remember the statistics," said Murphy. "We lost four tanks and they lost four thousand. We lost one piece of artillery and they lost 2,140 pieces. They lost two hundred forty planes and we lost forty-four."