His father lifted his glass toward the kitchen. “A good idea, go. A man should speak to his wife before entertaining his guests.”
Isaac stepped from the living room back into the foyer, then paused and glanced back. Was that a new rug by the sliding door? Or had she hung new curtains? Either something in the room was decidedly different, or he had been gone entirely too long . . .
Creeping into the kitchen, he saw Sarah at the sink with a roasting pan in her hands. As running water covered the sound of his approach, he drew near and slipped his hands around her waist, drawing her close. “It’s good to be home,” he whispered, leaning down to let his lips brush her ear.
A smile flickered over her lips as she lifted her head. “Hello, Husband.” She lifted her suds-covered hands out of the water. “Forgive me for not greeting you properly, but I’m in a rush to get dinner on the table.”
“All right.” Awkwardly, he kissed her cheek, then released her and moved to the other side of the kitchen. Waiting to gauge her mood, he leaned against the counter and crossed his arms.
“So,” she said, rinsing her hands, “how was your flight home?”
“Fine, nothing unusual.”
“And the weather in Paris?”
“Cold, but normal for this time of year, they say. But I spent last week in Brussels. That’s why I wasn’t able to call you.”
She shrugged as if she hadn’t noticed. “Busy?”
“Very busy. Romulus wanted me to see how well the Universal Network works in the European capital. There the system works like a dream—all banking, government programs, educational institutions, and social welfare systems are all monitored by the identification chip.”
In the midst of reaching for a dishtowel, Sarah froze suddenly. “Do the Europeans all have the microchip?”
Isaac frowned. “The Universal Chip?”
She took the dishtowel and slowly turned to face him, keeping her eyes downcast. “Is that what they’re calling it?”
“Of course.” Isaac shifted his weight. “It’s really no big deal. Europe has been using the identification chip for nearly two years. Most people consider it a great convenience to be associated with the Universal Movement—even an honor.”
For the first time since his return, Sarah looked directly into his eyes. “You’re kidding.”
“Why would I?”
Her eyes took on a distant look, and he knew her attention had just left him. Her thoughts were now centered on some project or piece of intelligence that had crossed her desk in the last few weeks . . .
He stepped forward and caught her waist again, pulling her to him, face to face. “Sarah,” he whispered, staring into her eyes to forcibly draw her from wherever she had gone, “I was hoping we would have this night together, alone. I have meetings in the morning and have to return to Paris tomorrow afternoon.”
The wariness in her eyes froze into a darkness as cold as the bottom of a well, though her lips stayed curved in a calm smile. “Oh?”
For the first time he noticed the hollows beneath her eyes, dark, bruised-looking circles. She hadn’t been sleeping.
“I’m sorry you have to go so soon,” she said, looking away as she moved out of his grasp, “but that’s not my fault, is it?”
He faltered in the sudden silence and stepped back when she passed and lightly pressed a hand to his chest. “Now go and entertain your father while I get dinner on the table. I know he wants to talk to you.”
Stunned by the coolness with which he’d been rejected, Isaac returned to the living room and his guests.
Sarah kept a watchful eye on her guests’ plates and refilled them until each man assured her he could eat no more. She said little during dinner, but played the part of hostess, preferring to hide her anxiety and hurt under a concealing apron of domesticity. Her disguise must have worked, for while the men ate and talked Isaac firmly avoided her gaze, preferring to expend his attention upon his father and their American guest.
The dinner conversation was pleasant enough. Isaac politely asked about the Temple construction (about which, Sarah suspected, he knew far more than his father) and listened patiently as Ephraim extolled the wonder of seeing the third Temple rise from the northwest corner of the Temple Mount as the Universal Force guards stood watch. Fortunately, the construction was proceeding without interference from the Muslims.
Even prior to Gogol’s Invasion, Ephraim reported, archeologists and Hebrew University physicists had conducted months of research to compute the Temple’s proper location, using angles of line-of-sight measurements between the Mount of Olives and the eastern court of the Temple where the Great Altar once stood. This work confirmed that the bedrock identifiable within a small cupola located 330 feet from the Dome of the Rock had been the foundation stone within the Holy of Holies. When workers removed the surface flagstones that had been put in place centuries before, they had gazed in awe at the huge foundation stones of the previous Temple.
“Interestingly enough,” Thomas Parker said, lifting his glass, “the site fulfills several Old Testament Scriptures that predict the Messiah’s return. There’s a verse in Ezekiel that makes it clear the Messiah will enter the Temple Mount and then go directly into the rebuilt Temple by way of the sealed Eastern or Golden Gate, which he will somehow open.”
Ephraim rolled his eyes. “Listen to the Gentile expert! Like a child with bucket on the beach, he has been digging for treasure in the Bible. He’s about to drive me crazy with his notions.”
Sarah took advantage of the humorous moment to enter the conversation. “The Messiah,” she said, smiling at the American, “will not be a miracle worker, Mr. Parker. You may be applying a Christian connotation to the Messiah, but we are not expecting a son of God to come and open the Eastern Gate. That wall has been sealed for generations.”
The archeologist shot her a lopsided smile. “If he’s not the Son of God, why follow him?”
Not wanting to embark upon an often-combustible topic, Sarah looked at her plate, so Parker looked to Isaac for an answer.
“Don’t look at me.” Isaac threw up his hands. “She’s the rabbi’s daughter.”
“You’ll have to give me the answer then.” Parker set his glass on the table and smiled at Sarah with warm spontaneity. “Please. I’m really curious. I find this project fascinating.”
Resigned to the inevitable, Sarah drew a deep breath. “The Messiah, or mashiach, will not be our savior in the sense that you probably understand the word. He will be a great political leader descended from King David. He will be well versed in Jewish law and observant of its commandments. He will be charismatic and able to inspire others to follow him. He will be a great military leader, and he will win battles for Israel. He will be a great judge who will make righteous decisions.” She frowned and looked across the table at her father-in-law. “Have I forgotten anything?”
“Just one thing.” Ephraim smiled at his younger associate. “He will be a human being, not a god.”
“So why,” Thomas asked, looking at Sarah, “are you so sure that Jesus of Nazareth wasn’t the Messiah? After all, there are dozens of churches in Jerusalem alone, and they’re all convinced—”
“Jesus,” Ephraim interrupted, his voice flat, “did not fulfill the mission of the mashiach as it is described in the Torah. According to the Scriptures, the mashiach must bring about the political and spiritual redemption of the Jewish people by bringing the nation back to Israel and restoring Jerusalem. Jesus didn’t. The mashiach will establish a government in Israel that will be the center of all world government, both for Jews and Gentiles. Jesus didn’t do that. The mashiach will restore the religious court system and establish Jewish law as the law of the land. Jesus didn’t do that, either. The mashiach will rebuild the Temple and reestablish Temple worship.”
Parker chuckled with a dry and cynical sound. “From what you’ve just told me, Adrian Romulus might well be the messiah. After all, there would be no Temple today without him, rig
ht?”
Sarah turned to her husband as a small strangled sound escaped Isaac’s throat. His face twisted in a small grimace of pain, as though someone had suddenly struck him across the face.
“Perhaps,” Sarah said, looking from her husband to her father-in-law, “we shouldn’t discuss this. I wouldn’t want to offend Mr. Parker if he considers himself a Christian.”
“I never said I was a Christian,” Parker countered. “But I’ve been reading the Bible lately, and I find all the stories and prophecies absolutely mesmerizing. I’m just trying to understand more.”
Ephraim’s mouth twisted in a wry grimace. “Tell her why, Parker. Tell her the real reason you’re so curious.”
Parker’s smile deepened into laughter. “It’s no secret. I’m looking for the ancient Temple treasure.”
Sarah glanced at Isaac, but his eyes were distant and un-focused, his thoughts apparently a million miles away. As always, he had left her alone to handle things.
She turned to her guests and lifted a brow. “I’ll admit it— I’m lost. What ancient Temple treasure are you talking about?”
“The treasure of the Copper Scroll,” Ephraim said, pulling an after-dinner cigar from his pocket. “It is pure myth, and my friend Parker knows I speak the truth.”
“I most certainly do not.” The American’s eyes blazed with the fire of enthusiasm, brighter than the light from the dinner candles. “I believe the treasure exists and that we shall soon find it. The time is right, can’t you feel it? I believe”—he hesitated and gripped the edge of the table—“I believe in God just enough to feel that this is what he wants. For years, mankind has ignored him, but now you are rebuilding his Temple. So he will surely want the Temple treasures to be discovered.”
Ephraim gave his colleague a smile that was ten percent patronization and ninety percent challenge. “Believing in God ‘just enough’ is a dangerous thing, my friend. He is not someone to be trifled with.”
Thomas Parker shook his head, but kept grinning. “I don’t know how to explain it. I just have this feeling. The Temple treasures are out there, the Copper Scroll holds the key, and”—he paused for dramatic effect—“I believe I will find them.”
Ephraim snorted with the half-choked mirth of a man who seldom laughs, while Isaac pressed his lips together. Something had brought him back to the conversation, and Sarah knew the impulse to explode in laughter was just below the surface of his calm. Amusement sparkled in his eyes like diamonds.
“You have big dreams, my friend,” Isaac remarked, reaching for his glass.
“Is my dream any bigger than that of a third Temple?” Parker countered. “For years, no one could imagine a Temple coexisting on the Temple Mount with an Arab mosque. Before that, no one could imagine that tiny Israel could defeat a Russian-Arab coalition.” He pounded the table. “Shoot, years ago no one could even imagine the Berlin Wall coming down. These are exciting times, my friends, and the word impossible is best left to our unenlightened forefathers. Nothing is impossible for us now!”
Sarah smiled at her guest. “Tell me about this Copper Scroll. You forget, I didn’t grow up in a household of archeologists.”
While Isaac and Ephraim grumbled good-naturedly, the American leaned closer to Sarah. “In 1952, the Copper Scroll was discovered among the caves near the Dead Sea. After they were painstakingly unwrapped and deciphered, archeologists discovered that the Copper Scroll contained a list—an inventory—of golden treasures . . . along with the descriptions of the spots where they were hidden.”
“And, of course,” Sarah offered, “no one alive today can identify exactly where those hiding places are.”
“Unfortunately, you are correct.” Thomas’s countenance fell. “The towns and villages referred to in the list have disappeared without a trace. One chest, for instance, filled with treasure and sixty talents of silver, is listed as being hidden under the entrance of the upper pit at Mount Gerizim. But even Mount Gerizim, a location that would appear to be unmistakable and unmovable, cannot be definitely identified. The commonly accepted Mount Gerizim was a holy place for the Samaritans, and it’s highly unlikely that the Jews would hide part of their Temple treasure there. There was another Mount Gerizim near Jericho, so that’s a possibility. But even if we found the correct Mount Gerizim, how on earth am I supposed to find one pit on a hilltop dotted with dozens of pits and cisterns?”
“If the treasure is hidden as far away as Mount Gerizim,” Isaac interjected, “why do you think the Temple reconstruction will help you find it?”
The American did not hesitate. “Because the greater part of the Copper Scroll’s treasure was deposited in and around Jerusalem. Modern Jerusalem sits upon a vast network of ancient underground tunnels and chambers, many of them constructed in biblical times, and hundreds of them within the walled city have been sealed off from exploration until recently.” His blue eyes gleamed as he explained, “For instance, one notation tells us there is a pitcher containing a scroll buried at three cubits in the northern entrance of the platform of the Double Gate.”
“I know that gate.” Ephraim stroked his beard. “The high priest and his party went through that gate to the Mount of Olives to sacrifice and burn the red heifer. It is logical, I suppose, to assume that a sacred pitcher might be stored in a cavity beneath that gate, but you will never find it. A Muslim cemetery blocks the approach.”
“Nothing is impossible anymore.” The American grinned. “All in all, there are two dozen potential treasure locations situated within the Temple area. And in the new spirit of cooperation between the Jews and Muslims, I hope to find all the treasures of the Copper Scroll.”
“Fascinating,” Sarah murmured.
Isaac pushed his plate away. “Now that dinner is done, can Sarah bring anyone coffee from the kitchen?” He did not look at her, but at their guests. “Coffee, Father? Mr. Parker?”
“That would be nice,” Ephraim added.
Sarah nodded abruptly and went into the kitchen, sealing her lips as she went. Isaac had come home for only a few hours, paused to tell her he was unhappy because she had wanted to surprise him, and now he was treating her like a housekeeper. Fine. She would act like a housekeeper, then, and let him spend his entire time at home with the men.
Isaac was in the midst of a story when she returned with a tray loaded with four steaming cups of coffee.
“And so,” he said, barely glancing at her when she set the tray on the table next to him, “the legend states that whoever possesses the spear will control the world. A fairly insane assumption, of course, but Hitler believed and took pains to capture and secure the spear. Napoleon also believed and demanded the spear after the Battle of Austerlitz. He never received it, however, because secret operatives smuggled it out of Nuremberg and hid it in Vienna just to keep it out of his hands. They didn’t want anything—mystical or not—to fuel his tyrannical ambition.”
Sarah offered coffee to Ephraim and Thomas Parker. “I assume we’re no longer talking about the Copper Scroll.”
“Quite right.” Her father-in-law smiled at her. “Isaac says Adrian Romulus sent him to inquire about the Spear of Longinus, an ancient relic presently on display at the Hapsburg Treasure House in Vienna. It’s an obscure weapon with an incredible legend attached to it.”
Thomas Parker gave Sarah a sympathetic smile. “I’d never heard the story, either. European history is not my forte.”
“It’s a simple story, really.” Ephraim pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, then folded his hands on the table. “They say the spear, also called the Maurice Lance, is the blade used to pierce the side of Jesus of Nazareth at his crucifixion. The spear was passed from monarch to monarch through the ages, eventually ending up with King Otto, a German who gained an amazing victory over the Mongolian armies whose infamous mounted archers devastated Europe. The next recorded mention of the relic was in the ceremony when Otto knelt in Rome before Pope John XII to be established as holy Roman emperor. In that rit
e, the pope touched Otto on the shoulder with the spear.”
“It is mentioned several times in the history of pre-Christian Rome,” Isaac added, looking at Parker. “They say that Mauritius, commander of the Theban Legion, held the spear within his grasp as he was beheaded for refusing to worship the pagan gods of Rome. The entire Theban Legion, all Christian, stood under penalty of death for refusing to worship the emperor’s pagan gods. As a devout Christian, Mauritius knelt before the ranks of his men to offer himself in their place. Inspired by his example, however, his men threw down their weapons and knelt to bare their necks for slaughter. The emperor Maximian, fool that he was, massacred the entire legion as an offering to his gods.”
“And as you might expect,” Ephraim added, smiling at Sarah, “this act so impressed the pagans of Rome that it was only a matter of time before the entire kingdom converted to Christianity.”
“Amazing.” Sarah shook her head. “I’ve never heard of this spear.”
“I hadn’t either, until Romulus asked me to prepare a report on it,” Isaac said, directly meeting Sarah’s gaze for the first time since dinner had begun. “But there’s more. You’re probably familiar with the story about Constantine the Great’s victory at the Battle of the Milvian Bridge. According to legend, the night before, he dreamed that Christ told him to put the symbol of Christ, presumably a cross, on his soldiers’ shields. He did and consequently won the battle.” Isaac leaned forward with one arm upon the table. “What is not often reported is that Constantine carried the Spear of Longinus into that battle. He also held the spear at the first church council, the Council of Nicaea. He also reportedly carried the spear as he staked out the boundaries of Constantinople, the city he founded.”
“Surely those events were nothing but coincidence,” Parker said. “Constantine believed the legend, and his faith gave him confidence. It’s just like my relationship with the Scriptures. I don’t believe there’s any real burning-bush kind of power there, but the accuracy of the archeological record has given me a great deal of confidence in the Bible as a historical document. I believe in it enough to stake my career upon it.”
The Spear of Tyranny Page 10