02 The Secret on Ararat Read Free

discouraged after three cavers were lost without a trace in the early seventies.
    “Okay, so we’ve got directions to a cave. Now, what about the message on the card? What do you make of it, Shari?”
    She repeated the words.
“Chemar. Zepheth. Kopher
. It’s Hebrew. No problem there. But beyond that it’s got me stumped. Does it have something to do with Babylon?”
    “It wouldn’t surprise me,” he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “But right now it doesn’t mean any more to me than it does to you.”
    “And there’s no signature anywhere, and no return address. So how can we find out who sent this?”
    Murphy gave a half-smile. “Come on, Shari. A mysterious message in an ancient language? A set of directions to a remote spot?
Babylon?
He didn’t really need to sign it, did he?”
    Shari sighed. “I guess not. I was just hoping … you know, that it might be something else. Something innocent. Not one of these crazy games where you—”
    She could tell Murphy wasn’t listening anymore. He was studying the map intently, already halfway there. Her heart sank as she realized there was nothing she could do to stop him.
    All she could do now was pray.

    It had been a beautiful drive from Winston-Salem past Lake Hickory. He’d left before sunup and covered the 280 miles in good time. Now the bright sunshine at his back was giving way to a sharp chill as he made his way farther into the mountains with their thick covering of majestic oaks and pine. He stopped to check the map again and turned down a dirt road, which bumped along for a hundred yards or so before he reached a fork. He stopped again. This time the map didn’t help. Frowning, he laid it on the dash and stepped out onto the sunbaked dirt. He looked in both directions. Both roads snaked into the trees in similar fashion. Nothing to choose there.
    What was it Yogi Berra used to say?
    When you come to a fork in the road, take it
.
    He shook his head.
Thanks, Yogi. You’re a big help
. Then something caught his eye in the thick weeds at the side of the road. He knelt down and cleared away the foliage from a rusting sign. The yellow paint was almost gone, but he could just make out the words. CAVE OF THE WATERS . Then something else, in red paint this time. DANGER .
    He carefully raised the sign and stuck it firmly back in the ground. It seemed to be pointing left. “ I haven’t even got there yet, and already you’re playing games, old man,” he muttered, getting back in the car and slamming the door shut. He revved the engine and turned up the narrow track.
    It took another half hour to arrive at the cave entrance. At first, as the dirt track came to an abrupt stop in front of a huge oak, Murphy suspected another of Methuselah’s tricks. Beyond the oak, the mountainsiderose steeply, covered with dense undergrowth. There was no sign to tell him he was at the right place. Searching for a sign to indicate where he was supposed to go, he felt his scalp begin to prickle as the reality of the situation struck him. He was alone. Unarmed. Miles from the nearest habitation. At the invitation of a madman who had tried to kill him on several previous occasions and who was probably watching him from some hideaway on the mountain at this very moment. He could almost feel the crosshairs moving over his heart.
    When you put it like that it didn’t sound good.
    But he’d come too far now to think of turning back, and he trusted in God that he was doing the right thing. After all, this might be a game, but the stakes were high. For a biblical archaeologist such as himself, they couldn’t be any higher.
    He scanned the mountainside, looking for any irregularity that would indicate the entrance to the cave, and his eyes caught a glint of metal amid the rocks and scrawny bushes. He squinted into the glare and tried to focus on the spot. There was something, definitely. Whether it was the cave was another matter, but what choice did he have? He hefted his