01 Babylon Rising Read Online Free Page B

below the king’s throne, faces gleaming with the sweat of fear as the king bellowed once more
.
    “Speak, you dogs, or I promise your worthless carcasses will be food for jackals before the sun sets.”
    They had no reason to doubt his words. Since his dream, the king had thought of nothing else. His nights were an agony of sleepless agitation and his days were spent in a fruitless quest to recall the smallest fragment of the vision
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    Now it was up to the soothsayers to recall it for him. If they could not, the stiff line of soldiers ranged behind the king’s throne, short spears held at the ready, made it clear what the consequences would be
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    As the silence stretched on agonizingly, Amukkani, leader of the Chaldean sorcerers, cleared his throat and attempted an ingratiating smile
.
    “Perhaps my lord has been granted a vision from Kishar himself-a vision only you are worthy of. Perhaps the god has taken away your memory so that you may not tell it to ordinary men.”
    He bowed low as Nebuchadnezzar fixed the Chaldean with his piercing black eyes. “What is the sense in that, you fool? To give me a vision and then to take it away. If it is meant only for me, then I must know what it is!”
    The king fingered the oiled ringlets of his beard and turned to Arioch. “Be sure your spears have sharp points. These so-called wise men are as slippery as eels.”
    The commander of the guard grinned. Like most Babylonians, he feared the power of sorcerers almost as much as demons. It would be good to see them skewered on the end of a spear. Sensing that time was fast running out, the Egyptian gasped theatrically, as if a sudden thought had come to him. “My lord! I see it! My mind is filled with light, as if a thousand torches burned. And there in the midst of the fames is a river of fire, and upon the river–”
    “Silence!” the king’s voice boomed. “Do you think to trick me? Do you think I am one of the foolish old women who pay you to telltheir futures? When someone tells me my dream, I shall know it. And I shall know when some mangy cur pretends to know it. Enough! A bellyful of iron will put an end to your lies!”
    He raised a hand, signaling the spearmen to prepare
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    “Wait! I beseech you, lord.” The second Chaldean had stepped forward, as if in his terror he were about to lay hands on the king. “Spare us and I swear you shall know your dream.”
    Nebuchadnezzar let his hand drop. He regarded the speaker with an amused smile. “None of you has told me anything except lies and evasions. If I spare you, what will that profit me?”
    The Chaldean swallowed, his mouth dry. “We cannot tell you your dream, lord. That is true. But I know of one who can.”
    The king leaped to his feet and the soothsayers cowered as one. “Who, then? Who is this man?”
    “One of the Hebrews, lord,” the Chaldean continued. “Brought from Jerusalem.” He stood straighter now, half believing that he would live to see another sunrise
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    “This Hebrew, he is named Daniel.”

THREE
    SHANE BARRINGTON WAS a man who had never known fear. As a kid growing up on the dog-eat-dog streets of Detroit, he had quickly learned that survival meant never showing weakness, never letting your opponent know that you were afraid, no matter how much bigger and tougher he was.
    And the lessons of the streets had served him just as well in the boardrooms of corporate America. Barrington Communications was now one of the biggest media and technology giants on the planet, and its success was built as much on Barrington’s merciless destruction of his competitors as on his near-genius ability to manipulate numbers.
    Now, as his private Gulfstream IV neared the Scottish coast, he stared out into the icy darkness and felt a chill that went right to the bone. For the first time in his life, Shane Barrington was afraid.
    For the hundredth time, his eyes scanned the printout, now crumpled and stained with sweat. For the hundredth time, he read the