If nobody believes in God anymore, Allen Winter thought, why are they building this tower? He shook his head, graying hair flopping over into his eyes.
They hadn’t officially named the project, but mentally he dubbed it “Babel”. After all, this was meant to be the world's leading communication center. It rose, unfinished, to height of nearly ten stories. Construction crews swarmed the scaffolding.
His cell phone rang. Allen grimaced, but removed the device from his coat pocket. "Hello, this is Allen Winter...
Why, hello, Alistair.”
“Allen, are you at the tower again?” Allistair Martin’s voice carried a note of wry humor.
“It’s not going to blow away. Come on home, will you?”
“I’m not sure how to say this. I think this is part of the prophecy.”
Allistir sighed into the phone.
“All right, I’ll be there around six. Keep supper on the table.” With a decisive click, he shut the cell phone.
It was a short walk to where his car stood waiting.
There was relatively little traffic. He debated turning on the radio and decided against it.
Silence was preferable.
