Babylon Rising

by Tim F. LaHaye

  Stephanie decided to help him out. "When you say fanatics, Dean Fallworth, what exactly do you mean? Who are these people? What's their agenda?"

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  Fallworth cleared his throat. "Well, I've been at this university a good number of years, and I have to say I've witnessed some disturbing changes in recent times."

  Stephanie's brow was furrowed with concern. "What kind of changes?"

  We've always had a strong evangelical presence here. Nothing wrong with that, of course. But I believe more extreme elements--fundamentalist evangelicals, if you will--are gradually taking control. And I believe these elements may be behind the terrible tragedy we witnessed here yesterday."

  "You're obviously well acquainted with this group. What exactly do they believe? And if what we're being told is true-- and I'm sure like a lot of our viewers I'm finding it hard to take all this on board--why are they targeting institutions such as the U.N.?"

  "Stephanie, I think the most important thing to say is that whatever they believe--whether it's that the end of the world is approaching or the Second Coming or whatever--they just don't accept that you or I might take a different view, that we might have different beliefs--even different Christian beliefs."

  "So what are they trying to do--bomb us into belief?"

  Fallworth gave her a patronizing half smile that would have been familiar to his students. "I think that's very well put, Stephanie. Yes, that's exactly it."

  And I've just written tomorrow's headline , Stephanie thought.

  "Stephanie, the welfare of our students is my topmost priority, and we have to be aware of anybody who may be trying to influence them in a negative or dangerous way."

  "Would you say Paul Wallach, who is now in a coma, was influenced in the way you describe?"

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  He hung his head. "Tragically, I believe so."

  "And do you know who is responsible for turning such a promising student into what could be a fanatical killer?"

  He flinched a little. Maybe she was laying it on a bit thick. But he couldn't turn back now. Come on , she thought, you know what you have to do. And you really want to do it too .

  "It hurts me deeply to have to say this, but I believe one of our own faculty is the leading voice behind this pernicious movement." He winced to show just how deeply it hurt him.

  Stephanie moved the microphone closer, almost as if it were a cattle prod.

  "Professor Michael Murphy."

  She affected horrified surprise. "And what subject does Professor Murphy teach?"

  "Biblical archaeology," he said, making it sound like a disease. "At least that's what he was doing until today." He turned and looked directly into the camera. "In the interest of the students, I will be recommending to the university board that we suspend Professor Murphy until we conduct a proper internal inquiry."

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  FORTY-FOUR

  MURPHY CROUCHED ON the floor of the ambulance and held Laura's hand while one of the paramedics got an IV into her arm and the other wrapped thermal blankets around her. "She just collapsed?"

  The last few hours were a blur. Murphy could hardly think. "Yes. She was in the church when the bomb went off. We both were. But they said she was okay. Just bruises, nothing serious."

  As the ambulance sped down Route 147, the paramedic briefed the waiting trauma team. By the time he'd finished, they'd already turned off the highway and onto the main campus roadway leading to the hospital, sirens blaring. Murphy pressed a cold hand to her cheek. "Hang in there, sweetheart."

  They stopped with a jolt and the paramedics pulled the gurney out onto the tarmac and started barreling toward the

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  trauma center like a bobsled team trying to gain momentum. The automatic doors slid open and closed like a greedy mouth, and they were in the receiving area, where the waiting trauma team instantly surrounded the gurney, brushed-steel equipment carts at the ready.

  More IV needles went in. A vital-signs monitor was hooked up. A nurse started calling out pulse rate and blood pressure. All while the gurney accelerated toward a set of doors marked TRAUMA STAFF ONLY.

  Murphy was sucked along in its wake, trying to keep Laura's face in sight as the trauma team worked furiously around her. Then the gurney was bumping through the doors and a hand gently held him back from following.

  "I'm sorry. You'll have to wait out here. We'll update you on your wife's condition as soon as we have more information." He mumbled a thank-you and the nurse disappeared after the gurney. He could hear the urgent back-and-forth of the trauma team for a moment, then the doors thumped shut and he was alone.

  "Professor Murphy, what's going on? What are you doing here?" Shari's eyes were red-rimmed from crying.

  "It's Laura. She just collapsed. They don't know what's wrong with her. I..." His voice trailed off.

  She slumped in a seat and put her hand to her mouth. "Oh, no. Oh, no. Not Laura too."

  Murphy pulled his seat closer and put his arm around her shoulders. He looked toward the double doors. "Paul's through there, too, isn't he?"

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  She nodded, sobbing quietly. They stayed like that, Shari's head on his shoulder, not knowing what else to do except silently pray. The minutes passed and then Murphy lost all sense of time and he was arguing with Laura about something and then she started laughing and his heart leaped because she was all right and then he realized he must be dreaming and woke up with a start.

  Dr. Keller was standing at his elbow. He nodded to Shari. "There's no change in Paul's condition. But we weren't expecting anything just yet." He turned to Murphy. "Laura's stable, but I'm afraid we still don't know why she collapsed. The signs look like someone of enormous strength tried to crush her windpipe.

  We're doing everything possible. And we will continue to do so. But at the moment I have to tell you she's losing ground."

  Shari gasped and Murphy instinctively tightened his arm around her shoulders even though he was the one desperately in need of comfort. Then he stood and held a firm hand out to Keller. "Thank you, Doctor. I know you're doing all you can. And we'll do everything we can."

  Keller shook his hand and nodded solemnly before walking back through the trauma center doors. Unusually for him, he'd run out of words.

  Murphy saw the fatigue drawing dark circles under Shari's eyes. "Come on, I'm sure we could both use some water or a cup of coffee. We've got a lot of praying to do."

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  FORTY-FIVE

  SEVERAL HOURS LATER, Murphy went to Laura's bed to give her hand a squeeze. Despite the respirator and the IVs and the machines that surrounded her, he thought she looked like a princess from a fairy tale. Her skin was almost porcelain white, her lips impossibly pale. The pill that was making her sleep was a powerful one, but her eyelids fluttered as he watched, showing she was still there, struggling to get out of her prison.

  He thought he heard something above the hiss of the respirator--a whimper of protest, as if she were saying, Please, someone, get me out of here , but he wasn't sure he could trust his senses anymore.

  He bent over and kissed her gently on the forehead. "Hey, baby, I'm here. Don't worry. Everything's going to be okay."

  He looked down and was surprised to see he was clutching

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  something in his band. Dr. Keller must have given it to him. It was a small Ziploc bag with Laura's personal effects. A thin gold wedding band, wristwatch, pearl earrings, keys. And the little wooden cross on its cord.

  He imagined walking out of the hospital still holding the bag, and tears suddenly blurred his vision. "Don't leave me, sweetheart. Please don't leave me." He heard the door open and felt a flash of self-consciousness and then thought, Don't be so dumb-she's seen it all before .

  But it wasn't the nurse.

  Standing by the door, looking past him at Laura with an expression of infinite sadness, was a red-haired woman in a long black coat that looked too big for her. "Mr. Murphy?" she said in a t
rembling voice. Her accent was lilting and familiar, but for the moment Murphy couldn't place it. "I'm Isis McDonald." She locked eyes briefly with Murphy, then her gaze went back to Laura. "I'm so, so sorry."

  He looked perplexed, as if she were a character from a dream and he couldn't understand what she was doing standing there, apparently solid, talking to him like a real person.

  "You must forgive me," she said. "I shouldn't have just come like this. I didn't want to intrude on your... I didn't want to interfere. We don't even know each other. It's just that I..."

  Murphy breathed out and tried to relax his shoulders. He indicated the chair. "I'm sorry. Please, sit down. You've come a long way."

  She sat down, clutching a battered-looking briefcase tightly in her lap. She didn't seem to know what to say or do next.

  The awkward silence was broken when the nurse returned

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  with a container of coffee. She took in Isis, nodded hello, and handed the cup to Murphy with a sympathetic smile.

  "I don't really want this," he said as the door closed behind her. "Would you like it? No cream or sugar, I'm afraid."

  She took the cup, grateful for the distraction. "Thank you. That's fine."

  They were silent for what seemed a long time, just looking at Laura and listening to the soft hiss of the respirator.

  "Look, it's good of you to be concerned," he said. "But it's not as if you knew Laura. I don't mean to be rude, but what are you doing here?"

  Isis put the coffee on the window ledge and settled her hands on top of the briefcase.

  "I brought you something." She undid the clasp and pulled a padded manila envelope out of the briefcase. Reaching inside, she tipped the envelope up and something fell out.

  The tail of the Serpent lay on the top of the briefcase, gleaming dully.

  "I don't understand."

  She picked it up and held it out toward him. "I thought you might want it. I thought it might help."

  "Help? How is that going to help?"

  She couldn't look at him. "Isn't it supposed to ... Don't you believe it has healing powers?"

  Suddenly he understood why she'd come. "No! Absolutely not. It's just a piece of bronze."

  She seemed bewildered. "Just a piece of bronze? But you risked your life to get it. I thought it was supposed to have healed the Israelites when they were bitten by poisonous snakes. I thought that's what you believed."

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  "That is not what I believe. It was God who healed them because of their faith. The power was in their faith, not in the Serpent. When they started worshiping it as if it had magic powers, that's when God told Hezekiah to destroy it."

  She still held it out, willing him to take it. "But how do you know? How do you know that it doesn't have any power? How do you know it won't help Laura?"

  Murphy cleared his throat. "Because I know that's not how God works. There are no magic tricks."

  "What about faith healers? That seems like a magic trick to me."

  "No. We don't know why God sometimes heals people. Just like we don't know why ... why sometimes He lets them get sick." He couldn't help glancing at Laura. "Even good people. Even the best. The very best."

  She was standing now, and Murphy thought she was going to press the thing into his hands, like a person desperate to make a sale. "But why not try? Maybe it won't work, but it couldn't do any harm, could it? Isn't it worth trying?"

  He put his hands on her thin arms and looked at her, imploring her to understand. "It would be wrong. It would be like saying to God, 'I have more faith in this piece of metal than I do in You.' It would be sinful."

  "What does it matter? So what if you commit a sin if it saves Laura's life? You're just being selfish, worrying about the cleanliness of your soul when she could be dead." She flushed again and put a hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

  He didn't say anything. Just took the tail of the Serpent and put it back in the envelope and then into the briefcase. He

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  snapped it closed and held it out to her. "Take this back to the museum. Lock it up in the vaults. Then, if you want to say a prayer for Laura..."

  She took the briefcase, not looking at him. "Yes. Yes, all right. I'm sorry." He thought she looked like a little girl who'd been caught doing something naughty. "Look, there's something else. I've finished translating the inscription. I know this isn't the right time, but I brought it with me. It's ... rather extraordinary. I thought I ought to give it to you as soon as possible."

  He looked at her blankly. "I'll call you. When this is ... when this is over." She nodded and walked out, gripping the briefcase tightly to her chest.

  He took Laura's hand and laid his cheek against it. "I wish you could talk to me, sweetheart. You always know what to do."

  Exhaustion finally claimed Murphy, and he slipped into a troubled rest. When he awoke twenty minutes later, it was to the sound of an urgent alarm buzzer from the respirator.

  Something in the room had changed. He looked up, confused for a moment, and then he understood what it was. The regular beep-beep-beep of the vital-signs monitor had turned into a single urgent note of alarm. He leaped out of the chair and was halfway to the door when it burst open and Dr. Keller ran in, followed by another doctor and a nurse pushing a trolley.

  He watched as they bent over her. The nurse was holding the electric pads in her hands, waiting for Dr. Keller's okay, and then strong hands took hold of him and he closed his eyes.

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  FORTY-SIX

  THE CRIME SCENE investigators had finally left, the last piece of police tape had been removed, and Preston Community Church was once again what it had always been, a place of worship.

  Restoring the physical damage, however, would take longer. Though the structure had been secured with steel props under the weakened floor, a section of scaffolding supporting the east wall, and plastic sheeting covering most of the shattered windows, the charred and smoke-blackened door frame was a reminder that days earlier the interior of the church had been like a vision of hell. Only the steeple, a finger of pristine whiteness pointing to heaven, remained untouched by the blast, and as the church members started to file inside, it was hard not to see it as a symbol of hope and endurance.

  Wagoner stood at the entrance, as he had done on the night

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  of the blast, welcoming the faithful. With one arm still in a sling, he couldn't administer the bear hugs he felt were sometimes needed, but his handshake was as firm and strong as ever. One by one the parishioners filed inside, settling into the dozen or so pews that had remained undamaged and turning their eyes toward the makeshift podium standing in place of the shattered pulpit.

  Murphy sat in the front row, at his side, her hand clasped in his. From the east window, now empty of stained glass, a shaft of sunlight angled down, catching the edge of the casket positioned crossways at the foot of the altar, and making the floral arrangements around it blaze with color. Sitting to Murphy's right, Laura's father stared straight ahead, focusing on some distant place that only he could see. His wife clutched his arm, sobbing quietly.

  Looking at Laura's face as she lay in the open casket, it was hard to believe she was dead. Her ivory dress seemed luminescent, lending her pale features a vibrant glow that almost matched the flowers framing the coffin and the daisies threaded through her hair. Through the empty window, Murphy could hear birds singing and wondered if they, too, had been fooled by Laura's lifelike appearance. Someone should tell them , he thought. I ought to speak to Pastor Bob . He started to get up, and felt Shari's hand anchoring him. He settled into the pew again. Perhaps it would be okay to let the birds continue singing for now. They would surely stop when they saw her being put into the ground.

  Wagoner slowly climbed the steps to the podium, keeping his eyes on Laura all the way, then looked out over the congregation.

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  "This is a very difficult time for all of us," h
e began. "Sometimes it seems like a lifetime ago, sometimes, I know, it seems like just a few moments, that we were last gathered here. Some of us lost loved ones or family members, all of us lost friends. And all of us bear the scars from that terrible day--and I don't mean the physical scars. I mean the pain of loss that will remain with us forever."

  He coughed into his hand, and for a moment it seemed as if the church were full of smoke again. Then he continued, his voice strong, and the air was clear. "If you're like me, some parts of that night will be a little hazy for a while," he said with a wry smile. "But I do remember what I was planning to talk about. I was going to talk about having faith in God's plan for us. About keeping faith even when it might seem as if He's forgotten us." He paused. "And I guess right now might seem like such a time. How could such a terrible thing have happened? And now, adding insult to injury, the very people who have suffered the most in this tragedy are being accused of terrible crimes. On the TV and in the newspapers we are being talked of as murderers and terrorists. How can this be?"

  He shifted his arm a little in its sling before continuing. "The truth is, I don't know. God hasn't revealed to me what exactly He has in mind for all of us. But I do know He has a plan for us. And I know He's watching to see how we cope with these trials and tribulations." He gripped the edge of the podium with his good hand. "And what does God see when He looks down on us? Well, I'll tell you what I see. I see people beginning to rebuild what's been destroyed. I see people returning to a place that was desecrated by a terrible act of violence and making it holy again with their worship. I see people