Barry. My kids call him Larry Barry, the thirty-minute man. He shows up every day at this time and sits in his car for exactly half an hour.”
“Just to get a parking space?”
“You can’t park until 6 P.M. A guy on our block once made the mistake of taking that spot about five minutes before Larry showed up. The man had just moved in; he had no clue what a bad idea that was. Every morning he’d notice some kind of new insult. A scratch near the door handle, a Coke can thrown on the hood, dog dirt on the bumper. Every day, always something. After a couple of weeks he wised up and it’s been Larry’s spot ever since. I leave my car at Columbia and take the subway home. I can’t be bothered with all that nonsense.”
Ward left to refresh our drinks and returned with a pitcher of ice water and a plate of cookies. He handed them around. “These are the best. Dark chocolate peanut butter chip. Levain’s Bakery. It’s always nice to have something sweet to nosh on when you get that late afternoon hunger jag.”
He had an undeniable talent for putting people at ease. I could see why he was a popular lecturer. But I picked up on a lot of false notes. He was putting on an act. I wondered what kind of person hid beneath.
I glanced over at Laurel. She looked pale and seemed restless, didn’t smile when I caught her eye. I asked her how she was feeling. She said she was getting a headache but could hold out for a while yet.
Ward appeared not to notice and carried on. “Nahum means ‘comforter.’ That’s a little sly. Whom is he comforting? Not the Assyrians. You might think Judahites were reassured to hear how their enemies met such a terrible fate. But the work also carried a veiled warning for them, terrible threats about the consequences of worshiping foreign gods.”
Ward looked around to make sure he still held our attention. You could almost hear the drum roll in the distance. “I believe the Book of Nahum was not a prophecy but an eyewitness account of the siege and destruction of Nineveh by the Medes and Babylonians. As I said before, the first chapter was added on much later.
“You can imagine that’s not a popular opinion, but I have an interesting ally,” Ward continued. “The King James version of the Bible puts the entire Book of Nahum in the future tense. Probably its translators felt that the Hebrew text, much of it in the present tense, didn’t sound ‘prophetic’ enough. And there are a number of other cues that reveal Nahum’s direct knowledge of the battle.
“The first two lines of 2:4 refer to red shields and to soldiers wearing red. This specifically describes the Medes. According to Babylonian accounts, Cyaxares, King of the Medes, led the battle supported by the Ummamandu, a tribe of Scythians from the north, and the Babylonians. The Medes were fierce fighters, known to wear red to hide their battle wounds. This kept the morale of their own men up and projected an image of invincibility to their enemies.
“Nahum’s line in verse 2:7, ‘The gates of the river are opened and the palace is dissolved,’ is often quoted as proof that the book is a prophecy.” He turned to Tomas. “Maybe you can help us out here.”
For once Tomas seemed pleased to be included. “So far, no material evidence of a flood in Nineveh has been found. Fire, yes— the city was extensively burned. Only five of Nineveh’s fifteen city gates have been excavated: Halzi, Shamash, Adad, Nergal, and Mashki. Armaments and skeletons found at the Halzi and Adad gates made some archaeologists jump to the conclusion that those locations represented the main thrust of the attack. But we know two gates existed on either side of the point where the river Khosr entered the Nineveh precinct. It’s entirely possible these sites—the river gates—were breached first, allowing the armies to invade the city proper. That’s probably what the line means.”
“Something that specific suggests a hands-on account, not a prophecy,” Ward agreed. “To sum up, here’s who I think Nahum was, whether or not that was his real name. A gifted Hebrew scribe deported as a young man to Nineveh to work for the notorious tyrant Ashurbanipal. The king had assembled the great library of tablets excavated at Nineveh, the vast majority of which were copied from Babylonian texts, so we know he needed many talented scribes. The Book of Nahum borrows Assyrian words, providing further proof. Nahum’s own ancestors probably went through the terror of Assyrian attacks on Samaria. That alone would explain the almost personal sense of hatred in his writing.”
I jumped in with a question. “When Nineveh fell, wouldn’t Nahum have been an old man by the standards of the day?”
“Yes,” Ward said. “Probably over sixty and without many years left.” He used his fingers to tick off his next points. “First, on one level, the book is a letter giving Nahum’s contacts in Judah an eyewitness report of the battle. Second, it sends a message to the people of Judah warning them against worshiping idols and foreign gods. Third, it has another function—to counter the enormous power of the goddess Ishtar over people’s hearts and minds. Fourth, the book satisfies Nahum’s own need to express his feelings of revenge. He positively gloats over Nineveh’s downfall.”
None of us, of course, mentioned the fifth purpose: Nahum’s hidden message about the location of Ashurbanipal’s treasure.
Twenty-two
After thanking Ward for his time we left the house and walked toward Ninth, each one of us lost in thought, mulling over what he’d told us.
Tomas broke the silence. “I’m not sure I agree with all his points, but Ward was right about one thing: the engraving was written after the fall of Nineveh.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“It dates to 614 B.C.”
“I didn’t think dating methods were quite that precise.” “Samuel told us the inscription at the bottom of the engraving states the date—in Akkadian terms, of course.”
Still chafing at Tomas’s earlier attitude, I tried to think of a way to avoid spending time with the Zakars. Unexpectedly, Laurel supplied the excuse.
“I’m getting a migraine,” she said. “It was all I could do to sit there at the end. My vision is blurry. When the pain hits I’ll be a train wreck. It’s this heavy humidity.”
“Can you take anything for it?”
“My pills, but they’re at home.”
“Can’t we go to a pharmacy?” I said.
In less than a minute her face had gone from pale to chalk white. “I’d have to get a prescription.”
“Best you go,” Ari said. “We can hail a cab for you on Ninth. We’ll go to the Waldorf and meet you both there later.”
I escorted Laurel back to the penthouse, keeping my eye out for any sign we were being followed. When we reached the building, Laurel headed upstairs while I stayed behind. I leaned against the fence of the little triangle of park across the road; the location gave me a good view of the stretch of sidewalk and surrounding area. I stayed for a full twenty minutes without detecting any sign of Eris. Laurel was stretched out on the family room sofa when I walked in.
“Any better now?”
“My head is, thanks to the pills, for the time being anyway. Now my feet are killing me. I should never have worn these heels.”
“That’s something I can fix. Do you have any lotion?”
She fished in her handbag for a tube of cream and held it out to me. Closing her eyes, she leaned back on the pillows. Her feet were bare. I could see bright red marks threatening to turn into blisters around her heels and baby toes. I squirted the cream into my palms. It had a pleasant, fruity smell like ripening apples. Her skin felt damp and hot to the touch and I took care to use slow, gentle movements. The corners of her lips turned up with pleasure. Without opening her eyes, she said, “You have no idea how wonderful that feels, John.”
She sighed and swung her legs down to the floor. “Detective Gentile left a message for me. They’re releasing Hal’s body tomorrow, so I’ve got to make arrangements and get the lawyers to lever out some funds for a funeral. There’s a lot to do.”
“That’s fine. Why don’t you start while I work on the game? It may not take as long as you think.” I undid the first couple of buttons of my shirt, still feeling hot from being outside. Laurel had set the air conditioning to a perfect level; there wasn’t a hint of chill. I spent the next hour struggling with Hal’s words before peeking in on
