Europa Conspiracy (Babylon Rising 3) (18 page)

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"Sure. I know that."

"Look at these names.
Zigana Averna: Zigana
is Hungarian for 'gypsy,' and
Averna
is Latin for 'queen of the underworld.'

"Mariana Yakov
:
Mariana
is Russian for 'rebellious,' and
Yakov
is Russian for 'supplanted'--one who takes the place of another.

"Keres Mazikeen: Keres
is Greek for 'evil spirits,' and
Mazikeen
is Jewish for 'elflike beings that can change shapes.'

"Alfred Meinrad: Alfred
is Italian for 'counselor to the elves,' and
Meinrad
is German for 'strong advisor.'

"Carmine Anguis: Carmine
is Latin for 'crimson,' and
Anguis
is Latin for 'dragon.'

"Kola Matrinka: Kala
is Egyptian for 'black,' and
Matrinka
is Egyptian for 'divine mother.'

"And finally
Calinda Anguis: Calinda
is Latin for 'fiery,' and
Anguis
is Latin for 'dragon.'

"There's something really spooky about all of this," Isis said softly. "Michael, what do you think the other piece of paper means?"

Murphy looked at the page headed "New Age Movement." "My guess is that Dr. Anderson did some further investigation," he said thoughtfully. "In the Bible, Nimrod was considered the father of all cults against God. He is given credit for instigating the Tower of Babel as a rebellion against God. The various ancient mystery religions came from him. Those gave rise to Kabbalism--something you are hearing about in the news today-Gnosticism, and then the secret societies like Knights Templar, Rosicrucians, Free Masons, and the Illuminati.

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Anderson must have started with Madame Blavatsky and the Theosophical Society and traced its origins back to Nimrod. No wonder he was feeling guilty and wanted to rectify his errors."

"It sort of sounds like the story of Judas and how he felt remorse for being a traitor to Christ. See, I
do
know a little about the Bible," Isis said with a smile.

"You're right, Isis. It reminds me of a short poem:

"Still as of old

Men by themselves are priced.

For thirty pieces Judas

sold Himself not Christ."

"Michael, this is becoming very scary."

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THIRTY-TWO

RASHAD ENTERED the great hall and paused for a moment as he stroked his beard. A thorough search of so large a building would take some time. He walked over to the card catalog and pretended to be looking up something.

A few minutes later Asim strolled through the doors. He went to the magazine rack, selected one, and then sat down at an empty table. He opened the magazine and held it as if reading. However, his eyes were not focused on the pages; he was looking beyond.

The next to enter was Fadil. No casual observer would have paid any attention to the first two Arabs. They acted quite normal. Fadil, on the other hand, stood out--not his tall thin body, but his nervous mannerisms. He seemed anxious and his body made quick jerking movements. His eyes darted back and forth, and perspiration sheened on his forehead and stained his shirt. He made his way to a bookcase and quickly pulled down a

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book. He didn't even look at it. He just held it as his eyes searched the room.

Alvena Smidt was deeply engrossed in looking up the difference between "quiddity" and "quidnunc" in the dictionary when she heard a voice.

"Excuse me, madame. But could you assist me?"

At the sound of the voice her eyes brightened. She looked into the face of a light-skinned man with a neatly trimmed mustache, wearing a topcoat and gloves. He was tall and wiry-looking. His emotionless eyes were the type that would make most people shiver. But not Alvena Smidt.

"Don't say another word," she exclaimed. "Let me guess. You're from Cape Town, and you speak Afrikaans."

"You are correct," Talon said, surprised. "How did you know that?"

Smidt took off her glasses and stood up. She adjusted her blue polka-dot dress and approached the counter, smiling broadly.

"I knew it. I just knew it! I was born and raised in Cape Town myself. My parents came from a line of Dutch traders that go back to the 1700s. I can always tell someone who is from South Africa. I guess it's the combination of English and Dutch tones in their voice. At home my parents only spoke Afrikaans, and your voice is much like my father's. It is so good to hear someone from home. I moved to the States after college and have been here ever since."

"That is all very nice, but I was wondering if you could help me."

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"Oh, yes. I'd be glad to. Are you needing to look up some book or article? You look like the type of man who loves to read. I bet that you love the classics, don't you? I like classical music. It's so stimulating. Do you--"

He interrupted. "I'm looking for some friends of mine. A man and a woman. They are--"

"Are they from South Africa too? I'd love to meet them. I wonder if they might know any of my family"

"No, they're not from South Africa!" he said firmly. "The man is about my height, six foot three, rugged-looking. The woman is a redhead. Have they been in here?"

"Oh, yes. Who could miss that beautiful woman with the red hair? She looked like a model. Is she a model? And the man with her was so handsome. They made such a striking couple. I thought to myself, now, there's a happy couple. I wonder how many children they have. I just love children. Don't you?"

"Are they still here?" he said through gritted teeth.

"I don't know. But if they are, bring them back to the counter. I'd love to meet them."

"I appreciate your assistance. You're quite solicitous."

Smidt smiled and blushed at the same time. It was not often that she met someone who was polite and knew how to use the English language. Most people would have only said "Thanks for your help." That was okay, but it was so common. She watched him walk away.
It's such a joy to have a conversation with someone who is educated
...
and from South Africa too.

She continued to watch him as he went over to the short man with the dark mustache at the card catalog. Two other Arab-looking men joined them.

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He must be a diplomat or something. I wonder if he speaks Arabic also.

Smidt was about to put her glasses back on when she saw the man look back at her, smiling and nodding. She flushed. He was not only educated, he was good-looking too ... and she had been lonely for quite some time.

"Michael, I'll be back in a moment," Isis said, rising. "I need to use the ladies' room."

As he watched Isis walk away, Murphy realized that Dr. Anderson's notes might help them discover more clues as to who the Anti-Christ might be. He knew that if what they were reading was true, they probably were in real danger.

Whoever the Friends of the New World Order are, it's certain that they are powerful and have an evil plan. They succeeded in killing Dr. Anderson. Will we be next?
Murphy wondered.

Smiling to herself, Isis turned and looked back at Murphy as she walked off in search of the restroom.
When he's focused on something, it would take an earthquake to get his attention.

After passing row after row of bookshelves, she found a sign saying that the restroom was on the second floor. She did not look down into the great hall as she descended one flight. She didn't see the Arabs talking... nor did she notice Talon.

"Rashad, you and Fadil search the right side of the main floor. Asim and I will search the left side. If you find

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them, do not approach. Pretend that you are just ordinary people in the library. One of you stay in the area and the other come and get me. We will move up one floor at a time. Asim and I will use the elevator as we go up; you two use the stairs. That way they will not get by us."

Talon was about to continue when Asim interrupted.

"Can we not kill them? I want to avenge the death of Ibrahim."

"They will die, but we must be careful. This is a public place, and we don't want people to identify us. I know you want them dead, but there is more at stake here than just the lives of two people. We don't want their deaths to jeopardize our opportunity to kill thousands."

187

THIRTY-THREE

SHARI WAS SIPPING a cup of coffee at a table near the student center when Paul Wallach walked up. He wasn't quite sure how to begin. He and Shari hadn't seen each other for about a week, and their last conversation did not end well.

"Hi, Paul. Thank you for coming. Do you want to get something to drink?"

"No, I think I'll pass. I just had lunch a little while ago. How've you been?"

Shari paused for a moment. "Not very good," she said truthfully. "I've been crying a lot, Paul, and I finally realized I can't go on feeling this way."

Wallach didn't say a thing. This conversation was going somewhere he really didn't want to go.

"Paul," Shari continued, "do you remember when we used to have discussions about religion?"

"Before the bombing?"

"Yes. At that time you seemed quite interested in

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looking into the Christian faith. And even after the bombing when I visited you in the hospital and took care of you after you got out, you were interested. But now something's changed. You don't seem to want that to be part of your life."

"I guess it's just not what I thought it would be. I'm finding that my interests are changing," Wallach said quickly.

"Changing?"

"Yeah. I'm focusing my energies on the future," he explained. "It seems to charge my batteries more than church. Don't get me wrong; church is fine for some people--like yourself--but it's just not my thing."

"What is your thing, Paul?"

Wallach began to feel a little uncomfortable. He hadn't really had to put his thoughts into words before. "I mean, I want to get out of school and get started in the business world."

"With Barrington Network News?"

"Yes. Media is an exciting field."

"I think that you may be getting a wrong picture about that world. Barrington's company produces a lot of sleazy programs on television and radio. They go against the moral fabric of society. How can you be a part of that?"

"Barrington also does a lot of good. There are many positive, uplifting programs," Wallach countered.

"Paul, you know that I've always been honest with you and with my feelings. I think that you're being used."

Wallach bristled and began to get defensive. "No one is using me!" he exclaimed.

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"Do you think that all the wining and dining and trips to New York in Shane Barrington's jet are because he has a personal interest in you?"

"Yes, I do think so. He lost his son and has sort of adopted me in his place."

"I know that he's paying your tuition and has promised you a job after you graduate."

"Right, and he also pays me for articles that I send in to him."

"Does he print the articles?"

"No."

"What are they about?"

"They're about what I learn in Dr. Murphy's classes."

"And why is Barrington asking you to write them?"

"He says that he wants to evaluate my writing style so he can place me in the proper department after I graduate."

"I think something else is going on," Shari said firmly.

"What do you mean?" Wallach responded, annoyed.

"Why would a billionaire who's known to be an egomaniac suddenly pay the tuition of a college student he never met before? And why would he pay him money to write articles he doesn't print, about archaeology of all things? He doesn't ask to see your writing style on other topics, Paul, does he? Only on what transpires in Dr. Murphy's class? I think he's hiring you to be his personal spy."

"You're just angry because I sometimes challenge your precious Dr. Murphy in class. Not everyone believes in creation, you know," Wallach said angrily.

"It's not that at all, Paul. I'm concerned with your

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values in life. God doesn't seem to be high on your list. Money, power, and pride seem to be your focus. Those things can be very attractive at first, but in the long run they destroy a person. They don't bring true satisfaction. Jesus said, 'And how do you benefit if you gain the whole world but lose your own soul in the process?' Is anything worth more than your soul?"

"My soul is fine, thank you. I just want to get out of school and start earning some money."

"Why, Paul?"

"That's a crazy question, Shari," Wallach answered, exasperated. "I want money so I can buy things."

"Things?"

"Yeah. Like a car, a house, a boat, or a plasma television...things!"

"Then what?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, after you buy all the things, then what are you going to do?"

"Have fun!"

"Let me see if I understand," Shari said slowly. "A job earns you money, so you can buy things, so you can have some fun. Right?"

"Right."

"Paul, things don't bring lasting happiness. A car can wear out. A house can burn down. A boat can sink. And a plasma television can break. When that happens, where will your fun be?"

"Everyone has to earn money to live!"

"I don't disagree with working to provide for one's family. But in all of our conversations, you haven't talked