The Aleppo Code (The Jerusalem Prophecies) (38 page)

“Let me orient you a little,” she said, facing the group. “Although this is the northern edge of what now remains of the city, in the time of Nebuchadnezzar, Babylon stretched farther north about twenty kilometers to the beginning of the first wall, which was one meter thick and surrounded the entire city, from river bank to river bank, in a long, sweeping arc north to south. About one hundred meters inside the crescent of the first wall was the second wall, even larger and thicker than the first. It was in the second wall that the original Ishtar Gate was constructed, one of eight gates providing access to the city of Babylon. What now represents the Ishtar Gate, Saddam’s smaller and less imposing replica, stands over there”—she pointed—“to the west.

“Inside the second wall was the majority of the ancient city, athough even during Nebuchadnezzar’s reign, the city spilled over onto the far, western bank of the Euphrates, forcing the construction of a number of bridges.

“Lucky for us, and critical considering your directions, Nebuchadnezzar built his palace, his gardens, near the Ishtar Gate, at the northern rim of the city. The gate and Procession Street were the great triumphal entrances for the king and his armies when they returned from battle with plunder and slaves. So it makes sense that he would not want to cross the entire city to get home after a long campaign.

“Over there,” said Naouri, pointing east, “is the tacky Babylon Square that Saddam imagined as the new center of the city: an empty, dusty building that was intended to be a museum, a vacant gift shop, abandoned restaurants, all of it being reclaimed by the desert. But we’re going this way.”

Naouri rounded the crumbling wall and entered the plaza. In the center, its weathered head pointing south, its rump pointing toward Saddam’s much vilified palace on a hill overlooking the ruins, was the gray granite Lion of Babylon, more than twenty-five hundred years old and still distinct and impressive. It stood just under two meters high to the top of its head and about three meters long at the base of the pedestal. The lion was standing, its head up, looking at the great city. Flat on the ground, lying the length of the statue, under the lion’s belly, was the figure of what appeared to be the arms and legs of a man.

“The lion was the symbol of Babylon,” said Naouri. “It was the form taken by the god Marduk, one of the images for the goddess Ishtar. The body represents all of Babylon’s enemies, vanquished and defeated.”

“I hope that doesn’t represent us,” said Rizzo. “I don’t feel like being any lion burger.”

Racing down the highway in spite of the lowering sun shining in his eyes, Gamal Muhammad had one hand on the steering wheel and the other wrapped around his radio. The connection was terrible, and he struggled to get himself understood.

“No, no. They are already in Babylon. I don’t know how they got there. Naouri must have brought them in the back way. It doesn’t matter. Go find them. Find out what they are doing. Don’t let them leave, and watch every step they take. I’m on my way.”

Resting her back against the snout of the Lion of Babylon, with a compass in her right hand, Annie turned toward the south. “From the Lion, through the Ishtar Gate, seven stadia … Latiffa, how can we follow these directions without …”

“Well first, what kind of stadia are you measuring?”

“What?”

“There are many. The Greek stadion was 176 meters, the Babylonian was 196 meters, and the Egyptian 209. According to Herodotus, a stade was equal to six hundred feet of your measure. Which one? It could make a difference of more than two hundred meters over seven stadia.”

Annie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was frustrated with herself for not knowing this in advance.

“Split the difference: 185 meters—about forty-two hundred feet. But how do we measure it off without being seen?”

Naouri pointed to the east. “Through those ruins, between the walls. We need to avoid Procession Street. If there are tourists, if there are watching eyes, that’s where they will be, walking down to see the Ishtar Gate and Nebuchadnezzar’s palace. But there is another street on the other side of those ruins that runs parallel to Procession Street. You can measure the distance while you are on that street and then find your way to Procession Street.”

A pair of black SUVs dulled to a tawny gray by the desert drove slowly through the sparsely occupied parking lot on the western fringe of Babylon, rounded the curve in front of Saddam’s deserted palace, and approached Hussein’s scaled-down version of the Ishtar Gate. Two large Iraqi men rode in each vehicle, their heads shaved clean, Russian-made automatic weapons tucked between their thighs and the doors. Their eyes showed no life but never stopped moving.

“How do you want to set up the photo teams?” asked Whalen.

Tom almost didn’t recognize Annie … not the Annie he knew. She was wearing snug blue jeans, a short-sleeve khaki shirt, and a sleeveless safari jacket, its pockets bulging with her “stuff”: extra lenses, viewfinders, even a small, collapsible tripod. Two .25-millimeter Nikon digital cameras hung from straps around her neck and a wide-brimmed Tilly Air-Flo was on her head, a blond ponytail dropping down her back. The smile on her face made her look twenty years younger.

It had been an easy decision, asking Annie to take control of the group once they arrived in Babylon. Theoretically, and on the official Iraqi documents, this was her photo shoot. She was the chief photographer, the one with all the experience. It was natural for her to lead, to help this motley group look like a true
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photo crew. Tom was fascinated with the transformation in his wife. Surprised and proud at the same time. Annie slid into leadership as easily as she slid into her old slippers at home.

“Mike, you and Leo and your team should stay here and set up a shoot on the lion. And keep an eye on the equipment,” Annie responded, surveying the site and the location of the sun. “The rest of us will take a walk and start counting distance. We’ve got to clear where we think the Ishtar Gate is located and measure from there.”

“Hey, Annie. Take Steve and Fred with you. Just in case.”

“C’mon, Mike, we’re just going for a walk to look around. We’ll be back in a few minutes. Joe, how long is your stride?”

“A shade short of three feet, last time I checked.”

“Okay, it’s going to be less than a mile. Keep track of distance the best you can. You get near two thousand steps, let us know. Everybody grab your pack. Don’t go anywhere in the desert without your pack—without water, without your gear.” She walked over to Tom, rested on her haunches, and stored the two cameras and the contents of her safari jacket in her camera bag. “I won’t be needing this stuff but, Tom, could you carry this viewfinder for me?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Keep an eye out. There are more people wandering around than I expected. You can use that thing to look around … watch our backs … and it won’t look suspicious.” Then she was back on her feet.

“Latiffa, can you go with us?”

Naouri looked around her, as if expecting a sudden, unwelcome visit. “I can walk with you to show you the street. After that, I must return to Baghdad, or I will be missed.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

5:43 p.m., Babylon

Naouri had returned to her car for the trip back to Baghdad, leaving the Bohannons, Rodriguez, and Rizzo on the ruined streets. But even without Naouri, they could tell when they reached the city wall. Originally twenty-five feet thick and over seventy feet high, the wreckage of the inner wall was still discernable. Bohannon stood in the middle of a long stretch of missing wall, like a rough-surfaced four-lane highway running south. He could see the re-created Ishtar Gate in the distance, much smaller than the hundred-foot original, but still beautiful as the blue-glazed bricks glowed in the late afternoon light.

“Wow, this is beautiful, even if it is only a scale model,” he said. Annie and Joe were on the other side of the wall, Joe getting ready to pace off the distance to what they hoped would be the culmination of the Dorabella message. Rizzo was by Tom’s side, using the viewfinder—like a small telescope—to get a closer look at the Ishtar Gate.

“Saddam may have been a madman,” said Rizzo, “but he wasn’t crazy. He sure knew how to get things—

“Yo. Who’s that?” Rizzo had the viewfinder up to his eye, scanning the distance. “We’ve got company.”

Tom could see them in the distance. A couple of SUVs had pulled up next to the Ishtar Gate. It only took a moment for them to turn and head directly north.

“They’re coming fast,” said Rizzo. “Let’s vamoose!”

Tom and Rizzo scrambled over the rubble of the ruined wall. Annie and Joe were already ahead of them, running down the street. They cut left through a doorway.

“Come quickly. This way.”

Without thinking, Tom reached for Rizzo.

“I can run, you dunce.” Rizzo was breathing heavy, and his legs were pumping like a runaway locomotive, his pack slapping against his back, but he was keeping up. “Watch out!”

Tom glanced up just in time to avoid running into a low arch, but his injured right shoulder caromed off the opening. Before he could respond to the pain, two hands grabbed his shirt and pulled him through.

“This way.”

Joe and Annie had turned right on the far side of the arch and ducked under a low opening to the interior space of an ancient room. There was no roof, and the ruined walls were irregular in height, but it was enough to hide them for the moment and no SUV would be able to follow them through the small openings in the walls.

They stood close together, listening, trying to watch in all directions at once as light began to fade from the sky and twilight gathered in the corners of the ruined buildings.

“Bad guys?” whispered Joe.

“No. It was a Mr. Softee truck.” Rizzo had his hands on his knees, sucking in deep gulps of air. “What do we do?”

“Can’t stay here,” said Joe.

“They may be looking for us,” said Annie, “but they don’t know where we are, and they don’t know where we’re going. Joe, how far have we come? Any idea?”

“I don’t know. I’ve lost count.”

“We’re not going back?” asked Rizzo.

Tom joined the others in looking over at Annie. In spite of the circumstances, he was proud of their tacit acknowledgment of Annie as leader.