Free The Babel Codex by Alex Archer Page A

jutting up from the cave floor, shaping it into an eight-foot square only two feet off the ground.
    The eight-foot ziggurat took up most of the pedestal. It had been carved from stalagmite, as well, and the craftsmanship was incredible. Annja felt certain if she’d measured the sides that they would have been in perfect mathematical proportion.
    “Oh, man,” Burris whispered. “That’s...that’s...”
    “Pretty incredible, isn’t it?” Annja placed the saddlebags nearby and fished out her digital camera and six emergency flares. She snapped the chemical flares to activate them, then placed them on the floor away from the ziggurat so the various surfaces caught the cool blue light.
    Moving slowly, she photographed the tower from every angle, stopping to stare at a particular spot where a series of cracks seemed unnatural—almost like they were a guidepost of some sort. She quickly studied another area when Burris came over to see what had caught her attention. No point in giving everything away.
    “What was this?” Burris asked. She didn’t know if he’d seen the crisscrossing of hairline cracks or not. “A model of the real Tower of Babel?”
    “Maybe.” Annja took another shot. “Or maybe it was a reminder of the original tower.”
    “It was made after the original tower,” a deep voice boomed.
    Startled, Annja turned and discovered Rafik Bhalla and a small army of armed men in the cavern with her and Burris. As Annja stared at them, they turned on flashlights and filled the space with light. She blinked against it.
    “Don’t move, Creed.” Bhalla held up a hand. “I won’t let my men kill you—unless they have to.” He smiled coldly. “Your friend there, I don’t have any feelings for. He doesn’t have your mind or your skills. His fate is immediately in your hands.”
    Annja placed the camera on the stone pedestal and held up her hands. “Don’t shoot him.”
    “I am glad you feel that way. Things will go much better if we all get along, I think.” Bhalla came forward, flanked by four of his men whose rifles never wavered from Annja. “I respect you a great deal, Ms. Creed. I am quite familiar with your exploits, both on television as well as in your archaeological works.” He stopped a short distance away from her and clasped his hands behind his back, staring at the tower. “It is quite beautiful, is it not?”
    “It is.” Slowly, Annja put her hands down, trusting that Bhalla wasn’t going to shoot. At least not right away.
    Bhalla stared at the model. “It was made by a small group of the corepiscopea , the first among the priests, of my church generations ago. They wanted to remember the power of God’s wrath, and to protect the secret of the tower. So this place vanished into myth and gradually disappeared almost altogether. I found it three years ago quite by accident—I was looking for something else. But it didn’t give me the secret of the tower. For that, I needed a brick that was reputedly from the original tower. I deciphered most of the inscriptions on the model here, you see. I’ve been searching for it for a long time, and had only just found it when I lost it to you. I mean to have it back.”
    “What secret are you talking about?” Burris demanded to know.
    Bhalla sneered at the California shock jock and then dismissed him to address Annja. “While doing my research at the church, I found an old scroll that recounted a most fascinating story about the young prince that helped build the Tower of Babel. Do you know the story?”
    “No.” Despite her present situation, Annja was intrigued.
    The man studied her for a moment and then his eyes took on a faraway look as he began to speak. “The young prince was disenchanted by his father’s pursuit of reaching heaven to speak directly in God’s ear. The prince felt the king was overstepping himself, to use present-day vernacular. So he prayed to God to take mercy on him and his people when the tower was