going to be is the emergency room. Rafik Bhalla will find you there.”
“Who’s Rafik Bhalla?”
“The guy in the car yesterday who tried to kill us.” Annja paused in the bathroom door. “Now get up. We have to get moving. We don’t want him to find us.”
* * *
Burris was hungover and he’d lost his sunglasses sometime yesterday, so he peered out at the morning through slitted fingers over his eyes.
“Stop that,” Annja said at his side.
“My head hurts.”
“You’re a walking advertisement that screams, Mug me! ”
Burris cursed. “So who’s Bhalla and why should I be afraid of him?”
“He used to be a priest at the Syriac Orthodox Tewahedo Church here in the city. Now he’s an art dealer and relic hunter supplying well-heeled collectors around the world.”
“By relic hunter, you mean thief?”
“Yes. And he’s a murderer, though he’s never been caught.”
“Why does Bhalla want the brick?”
“Because he believes it will lead him to the Tower of Babel and the treasure he thinks it holds.”
“What treasure?”
Annja shrugged. “The usual kind. Gold. Gems. Priceless artifacts. And some kind of device capable of converting all languages into the original language people spoke before God destroyed the Tower of Babel and made the world speak in different tongues.”
Burris thought about that. “So this thing, whatever it is, would let you talk to anyone? No matter what the language is?”
“That’s what Bhalla believes.”
“Why does he believe that?”
“He’s supposed to have found some scroll that mentions a prince named Joktan, the son of the king who first started building the tower, hiding the device somewhere near the original building site.”
Burris looked thoughtful and he even forgot to squint against the bright sun for a moment. “If I could talk to everybody in the world, just like I’m talking to you, can you imagine the audience share I would pull in? I would be even more amazing than I am now.”
“Contrary to your conceited opinion of yourself, not everyone is a fan.”
Burris waved away her comment. “Who told you about Bhalla and this Tower of Babel device?”
“One of my contacts in the community.” Annja walked through the gebeya , picking up fresh fruit and small dishes of food, paying for them as she went. Burris refused her help, and she left him to figure it out on his own.
“And this person would know how?”
“He knew about Bhalla, and he knew about Bhalla’s search for the Tower of Babel.”
“Do you believe in a device that would let you be understood by everyone?”
“That’s what you’re fixated on? It probably isn’t real.”
“Then why are you so interested in finding the Tower of Babel if you don’t believe in a device that will allow you to talk to anyone in the world?”
Annoyed, Annja swallowed a bite of fir-fir , shredded injera stir-fried with spices. “Aside from the fact that the tower has never been found and was at one time the greatest construction the human race ever undertook?”
“Don’t mean to break your heart, but you’ve only got lunatics interested in Atlantis and bigfoot and the Tower of Babel.”
“That’s good to hear. I was afraid you might want to hang around and I was going to have to dissuade you. This way you can grab a cab and get back to Los Angeles.”
Burris was quiet for a moment, then shook his head. “I can’t go back yet.”
“Why?”
“The only reason I’m out here is so my ex-wife can’t get to me.”
“Your ex-wife is the only reason you’re here?”
Burris stopped and looked at the food spread on a colorful blanket on the ground. The man minding the space talked with hopeful animation in broken English, hawking his wares with a passion and gleaming eyes. Burris shook his head and started walking again.
Annja apologized and purchased a cup of coffee from a jebena , the clay coffeepot most Ethiopian coffee was boiled in. She declined the offer of
“Who’s Rafik Bhalla?”
“The guy in the car yesterday who tried to kill us.” Annja paused in the bathroom door. “Now get up. We have to get moving. We don’t want him to find us.”
* * *
Burris was hungover and he’d lost his sunglasses sometime yesterday, so he peered out at the morning through slitted fingers over his eyes.
“Stop that,” Annja said at his side.
“My head hurts.”
“You’re a walking advertisement that screams, Mug me! ”
Burris cursed. “So who’s Bhalla and why should I be afraid of him?”
“He used to be a priest at the Syriac Orthodox Tewahedo Church here in the city. Now he’s an art dealer and relic hunter supplying well-heeled collectors around the world.”
“By relic hunter, you mean thief?”
“Yes. And he’s a murderer, though he’s never been caught.”
“Why does Bhalla want the brick?”
“Because he believes it will lead him to the Tower of Babel and the treasure he thinks it holds.”
“What treasure?”
Annja shrugged. “The usual kind. Gold. Gems. Priceless artifacts. And some kind of device capable of converting all languages into the original language people spoke before God destroyed the Tower of Babel and made the world speak in different tongues.”
Burris thought about that. “So this thing, whatever it is, would let you talk to anyone? No matter what the language is?”
“That’s what Bhalla believes.”
“Why does he believe that?”
“He’s supposed to have found some scroll that mentions a prince named Joktan, the son of the king who first started building the tower, hiding the device somewhere near the original building site.”
Burris looked thoughtful and he even forgot to squint against the bright sun for a moment. “If I could talk to everybody in the world, just like I’m talking to you, can you imagine the audience share I would pull in? I would be even more amazing than I am now.”
“Contrary to your conceited opinion of yourself, not everyone is a fan.”
Burris waved away her comment. “Who told you about Bhalla and this Tower of Babel device?”
“One of my contacts in the community.” Annja walked through the gebeya , picking up fresh fruit and small dishes of food, paying for them as she went. Burris refused her help, and she left him to figure it out on his own.
“And this person would know how?”
“He knew about Bhalla, and he knew about Bhalla’s search for the Tower of Babel.”
“Do you believe in a device that would let you be understood by everyone?”
“That’s what you’re fixated on? It probably isn’t real.”
“Then why are you so interested in finding the Tower of Babel if you don’t believe in a device that will allow you to talk to anyone in the world?”
Annoyed, Annja swallowed a bite of fir-fir , shredded injera stir-fried with spices. “Aside from the fact that the tower has never been found and was at one time the greatest construction the human race ever undertook?”
“Don’t mean to break your heart, but you’ve only got lunatics interested in Atlantis and bigfoot and the Tower of Babel.”
“That’s good to hear. I was afraid you might want to hang around and I was going to have to dissuade you. This way you can grab a cab and get back to Los Angeles.”
Burris was quiet for a moment, then shook his head. “I can’t go back yet.”
“Why?”
“The only reason I’m out here is so my ex-wife can’t get to me.”
“Your ex-wife is the only reason you’re here?”
Burris stopped and looked at the food spread on a colorful blanket on the ground. The man minding the space talked with hopeful animation in broken English, hawking his wares with a passion and gleaming eyes. Burris shook his head and started walking again.
Annja apologized and purchased a cup of coffee from a jebena , the clay coffeepot most Ethiopian coffee was boiled in. She declined the offer of
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