The Temple Mount Code

by Charles Brokaw

  If she had, Von Volker would have had both of them killed.

  ‘Where is my wife?’ Von Volker handed his evening coat and walking stick to the houseman.

  ‘With the piano, Herr Von Volker.’

  Von Volker walked through the ornate front hall filled with a mural of significant images from Viennese history. Erich Von Volker had ordered pictures of early Rome painted on the walls, as well as images of the Battle of Vienna when the Ottoman Empire had been beaten back. Other images showed the Habsburg kings, with the Habsburg lion, red on a field of yellow, standing in proud prominence.

  Von Volker passed through the formal dining room and turned left, opening the soundproofed double doors to enter his wife’s music room. Just inside, he paused for a moment to listen. It was a classical piece, but that was all Von Volker knew for certain.

  She sat in front of the piano in a dark blue lounging coat and played with her eyes closed. Von Volker didn’t know if she was locked into the music or was imagining herself in happier times.

  Alice played beautifully, making love to the piano with a passion she had never shown in the bedroom. In Von Volker’s arms and beneath him, she only performed dutifully. He felt certain that her enjoyment of the act was a bit of theater on her part, nothing more.

  Tan and fit from tennis on the clay courts and swimming in the Olympic-sized pool, Alice was a striking woman. At forty, she maintained a trim waist, elegant features, and, if her blond hair was anything but natural, only her hairdresser knew.

  She stopped playing suddenly, then turned and looked over her shoulder. For just the barest moment, her face was frozen, then the familiar false smile spread across her features.

  ‘Klaus. You’re home. Why didn’t you call me and let me know you were coming?’

  ‘I thought I would surprise you.’

  She kissed him thoroughly, but he still felt the distance between them that had always been there. He’d given up on ever being able to bridge it, settling instead for having a trophy wife who helped him on a political front.

  ‘Why don’t you play some more? I would like to relax.’

  The smile she showed him then was genuine, and he could tell the difference in a heartbeat. ‘Of course. What would you like to hear?’

  ‘Something by Norah Jones, I believe.’

  Some of her happiness dissipated then. Alice was happiest playing classical pieces, but she had learned the American tunes from Norah Jones, Diana Krall, Harry Connick, Junior because he had demanded it.

  As his wife began playing, Von Volker recognized the opening strains of the American pianist’s song, ‘Young Blood.’ He closed his eyes and listened, plotting how the rest of the evening was going to go. ‘Sing the words. In English.’

  ‘My voice isn’t very good tonight, Klaus.’

  ‘It is your voice. I will love it. Sing.’

  She did, and her voice was beautiful as always. If he hadn’t had malice in mind, he would have been soothed.

  ‘Klaus, I’m sorry, but I’m too tired to continue playing. Perhaps another evening?’

  Von Volker smiled at his wife. ‘You played wonderfully.’ She had, but he had been waiting for the sedative he’d slipped into her drink to take effect. ‘This has been a most enchanting evening.’

  ‘It’s so late.’

  It was. By Von Volker’s watch, it was after one. She had sipped her wine instead of drinking it. Even though he’d requested American songs, some sung in English, others in French, and some in German, she had lost herself in the music, gotten off to a place that he could never reach with her.

  ‘Of course.’

  She stood and almost fell, catching herself on the piano bench. ‘I’m sorry.’ She pushed herself up. ‘I guess the wine has gone straight to my head.’

  That was exactly what Von Volker had intended. Over the twelve years of their marriage, he had drugged Alice before, but usually so she was passed out and much more pliable for whatever he wanted to do. That had been in the early years. Now he had mistresses willing to do those things. That was much more pleasurable.

  Unfortunately, those willing mistresses didn’t make good political wives. It was frustrating that married politicians seemed to do the best with their constituents, and that well-married ones from moneyed families, as Alice’s was, fared even better.

  He caught her hand and kissed her fingers. ‘Allow me, dear Alice.’ He folded her arm under his and guided her from the piano room to the lift. He didn’t want to try to navigate the stairs.

  Later, in the bedroom, they both lay winded and naked from Von Volker’s efforts. She lay cuddled in his embrace, tucked up against his body, barely conscious.

  ‘Alice.’

  ‘Yes?’

  Her lazy response led Von Volker to believe she was under the drug’s influence as surely as she had been her music. In the early days, he had asked her if she loved him. Even under the effects of those narcotics, she had always said yes.

  The present sedative was supposed to be much better at getting to the truth, according to the man who had given it to him. However, Von Volker wasn’t even tempted to ask his wife if she loved him. He no longer cared. He controlled her, and that was all that mattered.

  ‘Tell me about your college days.’

  Alice lay with her eyes closed, her beautiful blond hair spread out over her pillow. ‘College was wonderful.’

  ‘What made it wonderful?’

  ‘Everything. So carefree.’ Alice smiled.

  ‘Who did you know in college?’

  She looked troubled at that.

  ‘Who were your friends, Alice?’

  ‘Thomas. Thomas was my friend.’

  That surprised Klaus. It was the first mention he’d heard of anyone named Thomas.

  ‘Thomas was the best lover I’ve ever had.’

  Von Volker restrained himself from striking her. He cooled his anger with the prospect of success. More than he wanted to beat his wife, he wanted to wipe the smug look from Colonel Davari’s face. The beating could come later, on another day, and the sex then would be wonderful – whether Alice enjoyed it or not.

  ‘You knew Lev Strauss while you were at the Vienna School of Languages.’

  ‘I did. Precious Lev.’ She smiled dreamily.

  ‘Did you love him?’ The question fell from Von Volker’s lips before he could stop himself from asking.

  ‘No. Lev was my friend. A good friend.’

  ‘Do you know where I can find him?’

  ‘I haven’t talked to Lev in a long time.’

  Von Volker considered a fresh tack. He didn’t have long before the drug pulled Alice completely under. ‘Is Lev in Jerusalem?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Stymied, Von Volker thought about his options. From everything Davari had said, Lev Strauss had disappeared into Jerusalem, somewhere in the City of David, the oldest section of the metropolis.

  ‘Thomas and I visited Lev in Jerusalem.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In the City of David. We went there for summer break. It was wonderful. Such a good time.’

  Listening to his wife talk about those good times infuriated and pained Von Volker. The Ayatollah didn’t know the extent he was willing to go to in order to succeed at his latest mission.

  Or maybe the old man did, and that was why he’d sent Davari to speak with him. The Ayatollah knew that Von Volker didn’t care for the colonel. Von Volker had made that explicitly clear.

  ‘You were in the City of David. Where did you go? You and Thomas?’

  ‘With Lev. We went with Lev.’

  ‘Where did you stay?’

  ‘With Lev. He had a wonderful little flat. His grandmother left it to him.’

  Von Volker seized that tidbit of information. Property in Jerusalem rarely changed hands. Everyone – the Jews, the Muslims, and the Christians – all tried to hang on to as much of the land there that they could.
>
  ‘Alice?’

  ‘Sleepy. I want to sleep.’

  ‘Where was Lev’s lovely little flat?’

  She didn’t respond.

  Gently, which was hard to do, Von Volker shook his wife. Despite his continued efforts, he got no response.

  Angry but hanging on to his clue, Von Volker rose from bed, pulled on a robe, took out the picture of Lev Strauss Davari had given him, and went to his wife’s library in one of the adjoining rooms.

  Alice had her hiding places, just as Von Volker had his. The difference was that he knew where hers were and didn’t care. Her secrets were very small. She was too afraid of him to do anything more than write about her discontent in her journal. Even there, she equally blamed her parents for her situation because they had arranged the marriage. They had wanted her to marry into nobility because they were of noble blood as well. However, their family fortunes had dwindled, while his had grown.

  Even the hiding place Alice had chosen wasn’t that imaginative. She’d found a loose board in her closet and had shoved her journals and other personal effects into the space behind it.

  Von Volker knew about the journal because Alice had accidentally left it out one day. He hadn’t asked her about it, and it had promptly disappeared. He’d had one of his security people come in the next day and find it while he’d taken Alice shopping.

  Clever girl, she had tried to disguise what she was doing and writing by writing different passages in different languages. Having studied at the School of Languages, Alice could read and write well in several different ones. Von Volker had simply had the pages photocopied, then translated.

  At the time, he’d considered destroying the journal and other items. The only reason he hadn’t was so he could do it some other day, preferably before Alice’s eyes.

  On his knees, Von Volker removed the board, reached into the space, and hauled out Alice’s personal treasures. Selecting the college album, he left the others.

  He crossed the room to her table, surrounded by leatherbound classical editions in foreign languages. When the piano couldn’t soothe her unhappiness, she retreated to her books and their stories of romances. It was all foolishness. Power made a person happy. Nothing else.

  Placing the picture of Lev Strauss on the table, Von Volker leafed through the album. Several of the pictures showed Alice with a dark-haired man in a goatee. The man was handsome, one of those types women invariably threw themselves at, and looked American in the ugly hat he wore.

  Von Volker had seen the man before but had never known his name. Alice hadn’t written more than the dates and places on the backs of the photographs.

  Was this Thomas?

  Von Volker decided he hated the man, and that it might be worth looking him up later to kill him.

  But other matters were more pressing.

  Only a few minutes later, he found pictures of a much younger Lev Strauss. He looked confident and outgoing, exactly the kind of Jewish spy the Mossad would turn out. Von Volker turned the pictures slowly, looking at the trio in the dig sites, then in restaurants and marketplaces, then – at last – in a dwelling. Judging from the books and magazines strewn around the room, this was Lev Strauss’s flat that Alice had mentioned.

  A few of them listed the address.

  Von Volker smiled.

  ‘Elise, you look as radiant as ever.’ Von Volker stepped into the expensive apartment and kissed his mistress exuberantly.

  ‘Klaus?’ Although she was surprised, Elise Feuerstein smiled at his arrival and looked pleased to see him. She was a slim blond in her midtwenties, and resembled his wife as Alice had looked at that age. That was on purpose because Von Volker made her dye her hair and wear it in the same style. She wore a gauzy green negligee.

  Von Volker ripped the thin material off her and discovered she was naked beneath. Already aroused, he picked her up and carried her to the circular bed. She laughed and giggled like a schoolgirl, and that made him harder than ever.

  One of the best things Von Volker loved about Elise, in addition to the fact that she looked so much like Alice, was that she never needed foreplay. She was always ready because powerful men turned her on. After undressing, he sheathed himself, locked her hands above her head, and took her. She managed two explosions of her own before he reached his release.

  Then stretched out comfortably atop the young woman, Von Volker reached for his jacket.

  ‘That was certainly eye-opening, my love, but what’s the occasion?’

  ‘Can’t I just be happy to see you?’

  ‘Yes, but this was more than that.’ Unlike Alice, Elise knew her place and took comfort in it. She never nagged at him to replace his wife because she knew Alice was important to Von Volker’s political aspirations.

  ‘I have something I want you to do.’

  She laughed. ‘You already know I would do anything I can for you. All you have to do is ask.’

  ‘This man.’ Von Volker flicked the photograph of Lev Strauss. ‘I need you to contact him and play a little game with him.’

  ‘Of course. Is that all?’

  ‘Yes.’

  With a strong push, Elise rolled him over onto his back and mounted him once more. She was almost as insatiable as he was. Knowing that he would soon have Lev Strauss where the Ayatollah and Colonel Davari had failed filled Von Volker’s blood with passion. His immediate response surprised Elise, but she laughed, positioned him better, and started to ride.

  13

  Scholar’s Rock Temple

  Himalaya Mountains

  People’s Republic of China

  July 27, 2011

  Steam from the bath rose around Lourds as he lay back and tried to figure out what he was missing from the mysterious cavern and the scholar’s rocks left by the immigrants from Jiahu. Something was there, pulling at the edges of his thoughts but never quite manifesting.

  It was maddening.

  At least the monks hadn’t sworn off all creature comforts in the temple. They believed in bathing and bathing well. They’d carved baths from stone that were just deep enough for a man to sink down into. Shamar had said it was a trade-off with the outside world. People donated supplies to the temple more readily if they could get a warm bath and have private sleeping quarters. The meager guest quarters hadn’t been enough for the whole expedition. Even though Lourds hadn’t asked for special treatment, he certainly hadn’t turned it down when it was offered.

  He luxuriated in the hot water. A stone oven in the center of the room provided heat. All he had to do was step out of the tub long enough to fill a copper kettle with water from the bath and reheat it. For the moment, the water was wonderful.

  He took a breath and slid down into the tub till the water closed over his head. He closed his eyes and let the hot water soak into him. He felt sleepy and knew that he would do well to crawl into bed on the other side of the room when he got out. He was already feeling pruny, like he had spent far too much time in here …

  And suddenly, just like that, it all made sense.

  Lourds couldn’t see in the darkness. He opened the stone oven, burned his fingertips enough to smart, and fed in a few pieces of wood. The orange glow brightened and pushed back the darkness. He spotted his pants, went to them, and started pulling them on.

  Once his boots were on, Lourds fisted his shirt and headed for the door. Out in the hallway, he trotted over to Hu’s quarters across the narrow stone hall. He rapped on the door. ‘David. It’s me. Time to get up.’ He rapped on the door again. ‘David.’

  Hu’s door opened and the professor filled it, standing there in Hawaiian boxer briefs, bedhead, and a perplexed expression. ‘Thomas? What’s going on?

  Lourds took a deep breath and tried to control the excitement that filled him. ‘We were wrong about the scholar’s rock room. I was wrong about it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The room. That’s what’s wrong. All of it. There’s no way those people went roaming about the countryside
for those scholar’s rocks. And no way they could have smoothed them like that with hand tools. I should have thought of it sooner. My only excuse is that I was too tired to think properly. Grab some lights and help me wake the others. We’re going to need help.’

  ‘Mate, I hope you’re right about the big reveal. We’re wasting a lot of our generator fuel lighting this place.’ Rory didn’t look happy or convinced.

  Lourds studied the room as the BBC production crew, Gelu and his Sherpas who had stayed to enjoy the respite, and the monks hung lights around the room. They’d put most of them on the east wall, where Lourds felt confident they would find the room’s secret.

  ‘Get your cameraman over here.’ Lourds ran his fingers through his hair and reseated his hat. ‘I only want to explain this once.’

  One of the young monks pointed and whispered. ‘Cowboy.’

  Lourds grinned at that and shot the young monk with a forefinger pistol.

  The monk laughed, then quickly took one of the staging lights Gloria gave him and started climbing the wall. He went up the craggy surface so easily it looked like he’d switched off gravity and flowed up.

  Gloria looked at Lourds with a confused expression.

  The cameraman switched the device on. ‘Let’s roll.’

  Lourds hit his spot, straightened his hat brim, and waited just a second. Then he waved at the 116 figures standing behind him. ‘Yesterday evening, when I first saw these scholar’s rocks depicting the migratory people who came here after Jiahu flooded, I was fooled. I thought those figures simply represented the struggles of those people to get to this place, the hardships they’d endured, and even the enemies they’d faced. I thought that was the whole story. I was wrong.’

  Reaching out, Lourds directed the camera toward the figures.

  ‘What you see there is only part of the story. It relates the history, and we’ve found some of the same symbols on those scholar’s rocks. I thought that was the find, and I thought that was the vindication of those people. Then I started thinking, wondering why the tortoiseshell had been left behind at the grave.’