The major’s words were like a fist to his gut. “That’s crazy. What happened out there wasn’t his fault.”
“No shit. But you aren’t in the army any more, so they can’t take action against the person who is responsible.”
Although he sensed it would be futile, Kismet spoke in his own defense. “I know this is a hard concept for you to grasp, but have you considered that maybe you should be mad at the person we were trying to catch. You know, the bad guy?”
“Lt. Col. Buttrick failed yesterday, Kismet. He failed to apprehend or destroy the enemy, and he failed to bring all his boys home. But in my opinion, his biggest mistake was letting you talk him into going out on that fool’s errand.” Harp stood and leaned over the desk so that he was face to face with Kismet. “Now I know that you aren’t here to ask me for any foolish favors, right?”
“I don’t suppose so.” Kismet sighed and turned away. At the threshold however, he paused and looked back. “Could I at least use your phone?”
“Only if you’re calling your travel agent.”
***
The phone in this case was a secure military satellite server, which allowed for voice-to-voice transfers, as well as broadband Internet capability. It was a generation ahead of the handset Aziz had employed. When Kismet placed his call, the clarity of the signal was outstanding; he might have been in the same room as the person who answered. Except it wasn’t a person.
“Thank you for calling the International Red Cross and Red Crescent. To continue in English, press ‘one’ now….”
Kismet patiently navigated the computerized system of menus until he eventually reached a living breathing person. After identifying himself, both by name and as a representative of UNESCO, he launched into his carefully rehearsed story. “I was hoping that you could help me contact one of your relief volunteers, a female doctor. She helped me out of a rather sticky situation recently and I wanted to thank her personally, but I’m having trouble tracking her down. Her last name is ‘Gault’ but I’m not certain of the spelling or nationality, and I don’t have a first name.”
“Bitte.” He could hear the sound of the young woman on the other end tapping the keyboard of her computer. “Let me look at our directory. There is a Doctor Rebecca Gault of Belgium.” She spelled both names. “She regularly works with our international relief missions. Where did you say you met her?”
Kismet recognized the trap. Doubtless the woman was looking at a list of Rebecca Gault’s activities, and would volunteer no more information unless he gave the right answer. He took a blind guess. “Afghanistan.”
“Oh, so it was a very recent encounter. She’s only just returned. Would you like me to page her?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“She’s presently here at the headquarters. If you’ll hold a moment, I can page her.”
“Sure.” As soon as he heard the click of his transfer, he hung up. He had his answer.
***
Chiron was crestfallen by Kismet’s announcement that there would be no further military cooperation. “Then all is lost.”
His reaction seemed disproportionate to the setback. “We could hire a local driver to get us as far as the UN facility. But frankly, I’m not sure we should go on. We’ll be unarmed and unsupported. If something goes wrong—if we have a breakdown or get attacked—we’ll be on our own.”
“Nick, we must get to Babylon. The answers are there.”
Kismet remained skeptical. “I still think this is going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
Chiron smiled. “But you forget, we do not have to find something buried four thousand years ago. They have already done that. When you know that the needle really is in the haystack, all you need to do is search patiently.”
“But there’s no guarantee that the site hasn’t been completely ransacked. We may find the evidence of its existence, but it could just as well turn out to be one more dead end.”
Chiron shook his head emphatically. “The answers are there, at Babylon. I am sure of it.”
“What answers, Pierre?” Kismet’s voice took on a hard edge. “What exactly is it that you are looking for? Yesterday, when we were interviewing Aziz, you practically walked him around answering any of my questions. I thought we were after the same thing, but I’m beginning to wonder what your agenda is.”
For a moment, Chiron looked as if he might continue to protest his innocence, but his expression fell before he could utter a word. “You are right. I am looking for something more. But I assure you, I had no intention of helping Mr. Aziz conceal information. If I erred in my eagerness to gain his cooperation, I sincerely apologize.”
“What are you looking for?”
Chiron rose from his chair and paced around the room. “I tried to broach this subject with you earlier, when you first arrived, but you did not seem interested at the time.”
Kismet recalled the subject of their conversation. “We talked about God and faith. Is that it? Is that what you’re looking for? Is this some kind of vision quest?”
Chiron suddenly smiled. “That’s exactly what it is, Nick. To find God, men of faith—and I suppose men of doubt, too—have always had to wander in the wilderness for a time. In my own way, I’ve been wandering all my life, though not really looking. But the journey to Babylon is something different.
“In the oldest holy writings, God has always had His finger on Babylon. The name of the city literally translates as ‘Gate of God,’ and if you’ll recall, that name was given at a time when most civilizations were polytheistic. The Book of Genesis in the Bible tells how men, in defiance of God, began building a tower that would reach to heaven. To thwart that purpose, God confused their languages, scattering mankind to every corner of the globe. But two thousand years later, He used King Nebuchadnezzar and his Babylonian armies to punish His errant people by razing the city of Jerusalem and exiling the survivors.
“Some of the most startling prophetic visions recorded in the Bible occurred during that time—the writings of Ezekiel and Daniel—and only a generation after the conquest of Jerusalem, God’s finger literally appeared in Babylon, writing a message on the palace wall, declaring that the existing dynasty was to be swept away; a judgment that was carried out that very night.”
Kismet shook his head wearily. “Pierre, I’m familiar with the Bible stories. That’s just what most of them are. The Book of Daniel is a fabrication, probably written in the second century BC, so most of the information supporting your argument is questionable. But even if those writings are based on actual events—actual divine revelations—what is a trip to Babylon going to prove? You said God’s finger has always been on the city. Are you looking for His fingerprint? Are you hoping to find that piece of palace wall with God’s graffiti still intact after almost three thousand years?”
“That would be rather compelling testimony, don’t you think?” He gave a wry smile. “Nick, I don’t expect you to understand. I’m not even sure that I really do. I’m not looking for faith, not at my age. But if there’s even a chance that a god exists—that my Collette is in a better, happier place—then I have to know. One way or another, I need to have that question answered.”
Suddenly Kismet did understand. Chiron was suffering from a crisis, not of faith but rather the lack thereof. The loss of his wife had opened a wound in his heart that a lifetime of skepticism had not equipped him to bear. Because he was a scientist, demanding concrete evidence in support of hypotheses, the only solution he saw was to find proof, either for the existence or non-existence of the Divine. Yet a basic tenet of faith was that it could only occur in the absence of proof. “Pierre, you aren’t the first person to have these doubts, or to look for answers this way. But Babylon has been there for thousands of years; I don’t think you’re going to find anything that hasn’t been studied and catalogued dozens of times over.”
Chiron started to protest, but Kismet quickly raised a hand to forestall him. “On the other hand, I suppose it’s up to God to decide when and where he wants to reveal himself, and like you said, he spends an awful lot of time out there in the desert.
“I’ve got my own reasons for wanting to visit those ruins. Maybe I won’t find anything either, but I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t at least take a look.”
The old man smiled triumphantly. “Then that much at least is settled. Now all we have to do is find someone to get us there.”
“Actually I have an idea about that. I think it’s time we enlisted some local help.”
***
Hussein arrived early in the afternoon, driving a dilapidated Renault. Kismet and Chiron, this time accompanied by Marie, had trekked to the outermost checkpoint leading to the airport, in order to expedite the young man’s arrival, and had not been waiting for long when the tired-looking compact automobile rattled to a stop. Hussein got out of the vehicle and immediately walked over to Kismet.
Although it had been Kismet’s idea to contact the young scholar, he had allowed Chiron to finalize the arrangements. The two had developed a rapport in the moments leading up to the grisly discovery in the upstairs gallery of the museum, whereas Hussein’s initial reaction to Kismet had verged on antipathy. The determined set of his jaw suggested his opinion had not changed.
“I am told that you tried to apprehend the man that killed my teacher, Mr. Aziz.”
The statement caught Kismet off guard. What he had mistaken for hostility was really nothing more than grief at the loss of a father figure. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
Hussein nodded slowly and managed a mournful smile. “You placed yourself in great danger to avenge a man you barely knew. I should have been there for him. I owe you a great debt, Mr. Kismet.”
“Why don’t you call me Nick, and we’ll consider it paid in full.” He extended a hand, which the young man graciously accepted.
Hussein next greeted Chiron as he might a long-lost relative, who in turn introduced Marie. The young man’s eyes lingered on her for an uncomfortable interval, before he finally directed them to stow their gear in the small boot. Marie and Kismet folded themselves into the rear seat, while Chiron rode shotgun.
In spite of its shabby appearance and malfunctioning exhaust system, the Renault drew far less attention than the camouflaged Humvees had on the previous day. Hussein seemed casually indifferent behind the wheel but drove like a madman, rarely observing traffic signs and never slowing for pedestrians.
Kismet made a conscious effort to relax. Still weary from the ordeal of the previous day, he did not welcome the rush of adrenaline that accompanied the wild ride. Beside him, a sun-wilted Marie held the armrest on the door with a white-knuckled grip, saying nothing.
The first part of the journey followed the road from the airport, but at Chiron’s direction, they turned south, into an industrialized section of the city. The roads were empty of traffic and the warehouses and factories they passed seemed deserted. The storage facility used by the UN inspectors was housed in an anonymous-looking complex, which had survived both the bombings and the subsequent actions of the looters.
Chiron leaned over the back seat. “Marie, please call the UNMOVIC headquarters in New York. They will have the codes to disable the security system.”
She uncurled her fingers from their death grip and reached into a canvas shoulder bag. Although he was aware that Chiron had access to some form of telecommunication, he was mildly surprised to see a satellite phone almost identical to the one he had seen Aziz using the previous day. He shrugged the coincidence away.
UNMOVIC, the UN Monitoring, Verification, and Inspection Commission, had carried out an exhaustive, but ultimately futile effort to determine if the former Iraqi regime had been engaged in the development of biological and chemical weapons. The inspectors had continued looking, right up until the last moment, in hopes of providing something that would either demonstrate beyond possibility of reproach that the so-called WMDs did exist, which would unify the UN member nations in their condemnation of the regime, or prove beyond all doubt that Iraq had ceased development of nerve agents and anthrax spores, and had destroyed their stockpiles. On March 22, the warning to evacuate had been given and the inspectors had locked up their equipment and fled the country, only a few days ahead of the war.
The security system they had employed to protect their vehicles and other gear from theft and possible misuse was a basic electronic combination lock, but the inspection team had taken a further step of jury rigging a series of low-yield improvised explosive devices throughout the facility. Anyone attempting to force the door would activate the charges, destroying most of the inspection equipment and permanently disabling the vehicles. A large warning sign, written in English and Arabic explained most of this, but Kismet doubted that any looters had even tried. After several minutes of explaining the situation, Marie received the disarm code, and the door was safely opened.
Kismet stepped inside cautiously, unsure of what he would find. Although the electrical lock mechanism was still working, its computer powered by a lithium battery, the overhead lights were not operable. He shined the beam of his MagLite into the darkness, revealing two rows of white Land Cruisers, adorned with the globe and olive-branch emblem of the United Nations. The keys to each vehicle depended from the ignition switch. Choosing one from the front row, he removed the security measures then slid behind the wheel.
The starter cycled repeatedly for several seconds as the gasoline was gradually drawn through a fuel line that had sat dry for nearly two months. Despite the momentary lag, Kismet was encouraged by the fact that the battery still held enough charge to fire the spark plugs, and after churning for half a minute, the fuel-air mixture ignited and the engine roared to life. He flashed a thumbs-up to his companions, then eased the vehicle through the open roll-up door.
“Maybe our luck is changing,” he remarked, rejoining the group as the Land Cruiser continued idling.
“Nick, there’s something I want to show you.” Chiron led him back into the building, past the vehicles to an area where several pieces of equipment were stored on pallets. “Do you know what that is?”