The Edge of Darkness Read online

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Here’s what it says in that verse: Nothing was in the ark except two tablets of stone which Moses put there at Hoeb, when the Lord made a covenant with the children of Israel, when they came out of the land of Egypt.”

  “So where does that leave us?”

  “Well, you have to refer to several passages to get the clue. In the book of Exodus, God instructs Moses to put the Testimony—you know, the Ten Commandments—into the Ark of the Covenant. He then instructs Moses and Aaron to collect an omer of manna and put it into a pot and place it in the Ark along with the Ten Commandments.

  “Manna, that’s some sort of food, right?”

  “Yes. Manna was the food that God fed to the Children of Israel as they wandered in the wilderness. It was like a white coriander seed, supposed to taste like wafers made with honey. It was to be kept in the Ark as a reminder of how God had provided for all of their food requirements.”

  “I still don’t get it.”

  “Have patience. In another passage in the book of Numbers, God instructs Moses to put Aaron’s Rod into the Ark along with the Ten Commandments and the jar of manna. But, if you remember, the Children of Israel started to rebel against the leadership of Moses and Aaron. The leaders of the twelve tribes came together for a showdown. They each brought their rods (or leadership staffs) with their names on them. They placed them in the tabernacle of meeting to determine who would be the leader. The next day, when they looked at the rods, they were all the same—except for Aaron’s. During the night, it had sprouted and put forth buds and produced blossoms and yielded ripe almonds.”

  “I guess that settled that.”

  “Yes. Aaron and Moses continued their leadership. Aaron’s Rod was to be kept in the Ark as a miraculous sign against the rebels.”

  “Okay, I’m following. There are three things in the Ark.”

  “Right. There is one more detail. In the book of Hebrews we are told that the jar that held the manna was made out of pure gold.”

  “So?”

  “So, the Ten Commandments were given somewhere around 1445 B.C. Solomon’s Temple was completed in 959 B.C. When the temple was completed, they brought the Ark of the Covenant to be housed there. I Kings 8:9 informs us that at that time, the Ark contained only the Ten Commandments. Sometime in the roughly four-hundred-eighty-year interim, Aaron’s Rod and the Golden Jar of Manna were removed from the Ark of the Covenant. What happened to them remains a biblical mystery.”

  “Do you think that Methuselah has discovered where they are?”

  “I think that’s a strong possibility. The next question is, who in the world is King Yamani? And what does it mean? Thirty degrees northeast of the altar … press the king’s head.”

  “Would you like some help?” A knowing smile played across Shari’s face.

  He hesitated for a moment. “Of course. Do you have the answer?”

  “No. But I think I know someone who might.”

  “And who would that be?”

  “I’ll give you a clue. Stunningly beautiful. Red hair. Sparkling green eyes.” Shari seemed to delight in seeing Murphy blush.

  “Isis McDonald.”

  “You’ve told me that she is one of the leading experts in ancient cultures and languages. The name King Yamani sure sounds ancient to me.” Shari was still smiling. She knew that she had got him and she intended to savor the moment.

  EIGHT

  MURPHY TAPPED HIS FINGERS on the desk as the phone rang. He found himself wanting to hear that familiar voice and thought back to the first time he met Isis. It was in the hospital, as Laura lay close to death. She had entered the room wearing a black coat and looking a little sheepish. She had brought a section of the Bronze Serpent that Moses had lifted in the wilderness. Moses had used the serpent to save the lives of his people, and somehow Isis thought the artifact might help to heal Laura.

  After Laura’s death he had not allowed himself to think of any other women. Then Isis reappeared. At first he thought that she might be an ice maiden. She seemed preoccupied much of the time, interested only in her work. After her father’s death, she had lived her life in hiding. Perhaps in an effort to avoid dealing with her loss, she holed up in her office at the Parchments of Freedom Foundation in Washington, D.C.

  Isis’s skills as a philologist were astonishing. She could read and write Chaldean, Terammasic, a dozen varieties of Arabic, and ten other distinct Near and Middle Eastern languages. She had been extremely helpful in uncovering clues that had led Murphy to discover a number of ancient biblical artifacts.

  His feelings for her had started to grow during the expedition to Ararat. They had spent a lot of time together talking and planning for the trip. They had also spent many memorable moments talking around the campfires on the mountain. His mind began to drift back to his rescue of Isis from the bandits. Ever since, he had begun to feel protective toward her.

  He thought about how his battle with Talon on the ark had nearly killed him … and how Isis nursed him back to health in Azgadian’s secret cave. He feelings for her grew stronger on their search for the Handwriting on the Wall in Babylon. Now he found himself excited at the prospect of speaking with her again.

  “Parchments of Freedom Foundation. How may I direct your call?”

  “Isis McDonald, please.”

  Murphy drummed his fingers some more as the hold music played. He found himself smiling and wishing he could be there in person … to hold her. For now, he’d have to be content to just hear her voice.

  “This is Isis McDonald.”

  “Isis.”

  “Michael!” Isis sounded genuinely happy to hear from him. “It is so good to hear your voice.”

  “Isis, I have really missed you. I’ll be flying up to Washington in a couple of weeks. Will you be free?”

  “Oh … let me see … I think I might be able to work it in.” She laughed, and he suddenly wished he could arrange the trip sooner.

  “I’m glad you have an opening in your busy schedule.”

  “Michael, how have you been? Overworking yourself as usual?”

  “Probably no more than you.”

  “Have you been staying out of trouble?”

  There was a pause. “Well…”

  “Come on. What’s going on?”

  “I’ve gotten a couple of notes from Methuselah.”

  “Aha,” she teased, “so that’s why you called. Okay, what is it this time?”

  “King Yamani.”

  “Who?”

  Murphy’s heart fell. “King Yamani. Have you ever run across his name before in your studies?”

  “No. But his name has a definite Middle Eastern sound to it. Would you like me to do some research?”

  “That would be great. Anything you can dig up on him would be helpful.”

  “Sounds mysterious. Are you planning some new expedition?”

  “Not this time. I’m just trying to find out who he is.”

  Isis paused for a second. “Is that a class bell I hear in the background?”

  “I’m afraid it is. I’m on in about five minutes.”

  “I’ll try and see if I can run it down for you, Michael. In the meantime, you get some rest.”

  “I’ll try. I can’t wait till I see you.”

  “Me too.”

  Shari not so subtly wandered over to Murphy’s desk. “Well?”

  “Well, what?

  “Well, how is she doing?” There was a sly grin on her face.

  “Are you trying to play matchmaker?”

  “The thought never crossed my mind,” she protested with feigned innocence. “By the way, Professor, Bob Wagoner called my cell phone while you were talking with Ms. McDonald. He said that he tried to reach you on the other line but it was busy, and he would like you to call him at his office. He sounded a little agitated.”

  “Thank you, Shari. Say, have you heard anything back from the FBI about that fingerprint I sent them a while ago?”
/>   “The one you took off the signboard in the Reed Gold Mine?”

  “That’s it. I think it might be Methuselah’s. If it is, it will be his first mistake. It might help us find out who he is.”

  “They haven’t responded yet. I’ll give them a call for you. They’ve certainly had enough time.”

  “You would think so.” He shook his head. “Never underestimate government bureaucracy.”

  Murphy gathered some papers and put them in his briefcase. As he turned to leave, his phone rang. He reached back and answered it.

  “Michael Murphy.”

  “Michael.”

  “Oh, hi, Bob. I was going to give you a buzz after class. Shari mentioned that you called.”

  “Could we meet for lunch?”

  “Sure. Is there something going on?”

  “I think there may be, Michael. I need your advice.”

  “My class won’t be over till noon. Could we shoot for a quarter to one?”

  “That’ll be great, Michael. Would the Adam’s Apple at twelve forty-five be all right? I know you like the food there.”

  “Best chicken sandwich in town. See you there.”

  NINE

  MURPHY INCREASED HIS PACE as he neared the Memorial Lecture Hall. If there was one thing he hated, it was being late for anything. He didn’t like it when other people were late for meetings with him, and he was fanatical about promptness himself. He had traced this idiosyncrasy back to an experience in fifth grade. It was the day a field trip was planned to the Hershey factory. He loved chocolate and was excited about going. He had arrived at school about five minutes late, only to find out that the class had boarded the bus and left without him. It was devastating.

  Murphy looked at his watch. Three minutes.

  The lecture hall was almost full when he entered. Most of the students chatted in small groups. Some were on cell phones and a diligent few were in their seats reviewing their notes from the previous week.

  Murphy acknowledged a number of them with a nod on his way down to the front. He placed his briefcase on the desk, took out his laptop, and hooked it into the cable for the PowerPoint projector. Once the program booted up, he clicked on the morning’s lecture.

  “Okay, gang. Let’s take our seats.”

  He was about to begin, when Clayton Anderson entered, dropping his books loudly as he looked for a seat. Everyone turned to look and then laughed. The class clown had arrived with his usual entrance. He turned up his palms and opened his mouth in mock shock. What’s the problem? he mouthed as he looked back at them, eliciting another appreciative laugh from his fellow students.

  “I’m glad that Mr. Anderson has graced us with his presence … we can now begin. Today we will be examining the subject of pagan gods. As you will recall from previous lectures, the worship of various gods was central in ancient cultures. This was an attempt to explain and deal with the forces of nature that everyone experienced. In Babylon, Enlil was the god of the weather and storms. Ea was the god of wisdom. Shamash was the god of the sun and justice. Gaia represented Mother Earth and Kishar was the Father of Earth. Presiding over all of them was Marduk, the national god of the Babylonians.”

  Murphy clicked on the PowerPoint projector.

  “Today we will look at a few more of the pagan gods.”

  Nebo The god of education, literature, writing, and arts

  Baal The god of the productive forces of nature

  Asherah The favorite goddess of women

  Ra The sun god

  Bes The grotesque god who watched over childbirth

  “Each god had a number of priests or priestesses who would direct their followers in worship, and dedicated temples where the people would offer sacrifices. Some of the sacrifices would be in the form of grains and fruits. Others would be animals, like cows, sheep, and turtledoves.” He paused dramatically. “Occasionally the sacrifices would be human. The god of the Moabites was named Chemosh, and parents would offer their children on the altar to him. The same thing would be done for the Canaanite god Molech. In his temple, they would burn the children as a sacrifice.”

  Murphy heard groans from the students and many of the women were making faces. A chorus of such comments as “Gross!” and “Sick!” swept through the lecture hall.

  Murphy smiled. “If your parents had believed in these gods, maybe some of you wouldn’t be here today enjoying my lecture.”

  That got a good laugh from some of them. Murphy was about to click on the next slide when the door to the lecture hall opened again. As he looked up, the words stuck in his throat.

  She was tall, shapely, tan, and athletic-looking. She was wearing a baseball cap and her long blond hair flowed out the back of the hat in a loose ponytail.

  All the students turned to see who had entered the room. Murphy noticed them whispering to one another. Whoever the blonde was, she was the type of woman that both men and women noticed.

  She seemed older than the college students in the class. Whoever she was, she certainly looked like a professional model.

  Murphy forced his thoughts back to his lecture.

  “This next slide will indicate how the various gods were pictured to the people.”

  Nisrosh Assyrian god with human body and eagle’s head

  Horus Human figure with a falcon’s head

  Hathor Goddess with cow’s body and a woman’s head

  Set Man’s body with animal head

  Amon Ra Supreme deity of the Egyptians, man’s body and head of a hawk

  Dagon The Philistine god with the head and hands of a man and the body of a fish

  “Many of the gods on this slide have been pictured on ancient artifacts, like jars and plates. Some were imprinted on coins. Others can be seen in paintings or reliefs on the walls of buildings. And yes, this will be on the test.”

  Murphy saw a hand go up.

  “Dr. Murphy? Is that Dagon god sort of like a male type of mermaid?”

  “I guess you could say that, Clayton. The likenesses that have been found show him as a fish from the waist down. The upper body is like a man. He is depicted with a beard and wearing a tall and rounded hat, or crown, of some kind.”

  “What kind of bait would you use to catch him?”

  Murphy smiled.

  “Well, personally, Clayton, I’d use wisecracking Preston University students.”

  Everyone laughed and went “Oooooh.”

  “He got you, dude!” said one of the students. Murphy gestured for quiet.

  “Some of you may recall the story of Samson from the Bible. He gave the Philistines a lot of trouble and they plotted to capture him. His girlfriend Delilah betrayed him and his captors blinded him. Later they took him to the temple area where the priests were offering sacrifices to Dagon. They were celebrating the fact that he had been caught.”

  Many who knew the story nodded their heads.

  “The Philistines then brought forth Samson to make sport of him. While Samson was waiting to go before the people, he asked one of his guards where he was. He was told that he was in the temple area, standing between two pillars. Samson then pushed with his mighty strength against the two pillars, literally bringing the house down. The building collapsed, killing at least three thousand people, including Samson himself, and destroying the house of Dagon.”

  Murphy continued with the lecture until the bell rang. Immediately the students jumped up and began to leave. As Murphy began to gather his things, he scanned the lecture hall.

  The striking blonde had left.

  Murphy was still thinking about the blonde when he entered his office. His attention was diverted when Shari spoke up.

  “Guess who called while you were in class?”

  “It must have been the president of the United States. I told him that I would be in class at that time. He must have forgotten.”

  “You’re quite the comedian today … but don’t quit your day job. It was Levi Abrams. He said that he’s back in Raleigh and would l
ike to get together with you. I told him that I would call him back with a time you both could meet.”

  “Levi! That’s great! After he was shot, I got him to the hospital and then he just disappeared. That was months ago. Did he say anything else?”

  “No. He sounded like he was calling from a pay phone. There was lots of noise in the background. He gave me a number to call. He said it was an answering machine and he would pick up the message later.”

  Murphy consulted his calendar for a good time to meet with Levi.

  “By the way, Professor, I also received a call back from your friend at the FBI. He said that they could find no match for the fingerprint you got from the Reed Gold Mine. Methuselah remains a mystery. When you meet with Mr. Abrams, why don’t you ask him to see if he can help with the fingerprint? He may have some international contacts unavailable to the FBI.”

  “Good thinking, Shari. It’s worth a try.”

  TEN

  MURPHY PARKED his old, beat-up Dodge in a spot outside the diner. As he approached the door, he smiled to himself. I’ll bet they haven’t spent a cent on improvements since they opened thirty-some-odd years ago.

  It was moderately crowded. The décor left much to be desired, but the food was great. He paused for a moment and looked around. Rosanne, the gray-haired waitress, was moving as fast as her heavyset body could. She was in the process of clearing a table when she looked up and saw him standing there.

  “Good afternoon, Professor. There’s an empty booth in the back. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  “Thank you, Rosanne.”

  Murphy made his way to the back, slid across the green vinyl bench, and sat down. There was no need to look at the menu. He was going to order his old standby, a chicken sandwich and a cup of coffee.

  After a few minutes, Bob Wagoner entered, wearing tan slacks and a polo shirt that mostly concealed his slight paunch. His white hair was thinning but his face was tanned. He looked more like a golf pro than the pastor of the Preston Community Church.