The satellite phone went dead. They had found the Temple. They had gotten it on video. They had gotten the evidence. Now, would anyone ever see it?
“What do we do now?” asked Johnson.
“Just what we did before,” said Rodriguez. “Tom, your faith and your willingness to listen to God got us here. I believe they can also get us out of here. Ask him to show you the way.” And he grabbed a hand in each of his.
46
Orhlon was proud of his team. It had taken much less time than he would have expected for them to break the encrypted communications, primarily because they were U.S. military codes the Israelis had stolen a year ago. Understanding how these men got U.S. military codes, that was tomorrow’s problem. Now, he waited for the screen to clear. “There, quick, mark that location.” He picked up the radio. “Gefen?”
“Yes, sir?”
“North of you about three hundred fifty meters, west about seventy-five meters. They appear to be above you, higher than your location. They said something about the Hall of the Sanhedrin and the entrance tunnel of the Huldah Gates. Then we lost the transmission. I’ve had the Office of Antiquities on the phone. They believe there must be some way for you to move northwest, some tunnel or opening. The entrance tunnel to the Huldah Gates would be to your northwest, in the vicinity of their last location. See if you can find a way for your men to move northwest. Try to reach the entrance tunnel. There would have to be stairs. After that, you’ll just have to search wherever you can. They are in there somewhere. Whatever they are trying to do, they’ve got to be close to getting it done. Move, Gefen, move quickly. Or I fear the Temple Mount may come crashing down upon all our heads.”
Orhlon replaced the radio.
“General, we cannot trace the recipient of the satellite transmission,” said Major Mordechai. “We don’t know who they were calling.”
“It doesn’t matter who they were calling,” said Orhlon. “They were transmitting coordinates. They’ve got a specific location. If they’ve found it, we cannot allow them to escape. I don’t care how ballistic the Arabs get, call in the reserve units. Surround the Temple Mount from every direction. I want that entire area buttoned down, enough men to have a soldier stationed every ten meters.”
“Even on the southern side?” asked the major. “Our engineers are worried that even more of the southern wall may break loose, especially with this accursed rain.”
“I don’t care about the rain, I don’t care about the wall, I don’t care about anything except preventing those men from leaving Jerusalem. Whatever the cost. If necessary, their discovery will die with them. Get it done, Major. Get it done, now.”
Bohannon was beginning to feel like a lottery winner who knew he didn’t have all the answers but suddenly was perceived as some savant. He wanted to pray, he believed God wanted to answer his prayers. But now, Doc and Joe looked at him as if he were like some kind of fortune-teller, a trickster who could pull a rabbit out of his hat at his whim. What if God didn’t answer his prayer? What if God didn’t show him how to get out? What if he didn’t have another of those “visions” in his brain like the one that told him to make a raft or look again at the scroll, or the last one that told him to climb up in that crevice, that showed him the shaft, the stone shelf, the hole for the catheter?
How could they get out of the tunnel, and out of Jerusalem, without being captured or killed by the Shin Bet, the Arabs, or some Jewish soldier who might stumble over their attempted exit?
With workmen inspecting the foundations of the Temple Mount after the collapse of the southern wall, with Israeli army units in possession of their location and scouring the maze of tunnels under the Temple Mount, the team knew they had to get out quickly. But it was now a sure bet, with the sun up and the Mount the focus of attention, that they couldn’t get out the way they had come in. They were trapped, holding the greatest secret of the last thousand years, unless they could find another way out. So they prayed.
Almost immediately, stunning the other two, Bohannon released their hands, grabbed the satellite phone and dialed the States, connecting with a journalism buddy now heading up PR for a massive, multinational firm. If he has the access I think he has . . .
As soon as Bohannon hung up, he immediately began praying again. Within minutes, the phone beeped a return call. On the other end of the call was Alexander Krupp, CEO of Krupp Industries, the European industrial giant, and Bohannon’s Sigma Pi “little brother” when both attended Penn State University. Krupp Industries, manufacturer of steel, arms, oil refineries, and a laundry list of other government essentials, exercised incredible clout in the Middle East. Because it helped bring home the oil on which the prosperity of the Arab states depended, and because it manufactured some of the finest and most dependable armaments in the world upon which the safety of Israel depended, officers of the conglomerate were on friendly terms with every government and every significant organization outside of government in the Middle East.
Bohannon quickly summarized the situation for Krupp, who didn’t ask any questions as the story unfolded. “Alex, I’m sorry to get you involved in this. The whole thing seems to be blowing up. But I didn’t know anyone else to call. You know this area. You know these people. I’m hoping you can help us get out of here in one piece.”
A momentary silence on the other end filled the line, and Bohannon feared he had misjudged his relationship with Krupp, whom he hadn’t seen in several years.
“This situation sure has changed, Tom. In the past, it was always you rescuing me. I’m glad you called. I believe I can help.”
Bohannon’s heart leaped with hope, and his eyes lit up with promise.
“Listen, Tom, the southern wall of the Temple Mount has collapsed, probably because of all the rain.”
“Yeah, we know that,” said Bohannon. “We picked it up on the GPS we have.”
“Well, as soon as we heard about the wall coming down, I called the Israeli Interior Minister directly and offered the help of our engineers and crews. We’ve been building a chemical refinery outside Jericho, and we’ve had to do a lot of work shoring up hillsides. We just airlifted in additional crews of men and engineers for this job, along with a load of equipment, and they were sitting at the airport, waiting to be transported to the work site. The minister was grateful for the help, and our crews are on their way. They should be there any moment. Listen, this is what I want you to do.”
The light, more than the dark, tripped the alarms in Sergeant Gefen’s brain. He was nearly motionless as he began to scan the large hall he and his men had reached. Embracing the shadows, Gefen trained his night-vision on the large mound of rubble at the northwest corner of the room and the six Arab men who were carefully inspecting the debris. He flashed six fingers to his squad leader, who passed the info down the line. Gefen then signaled for silence, and was out, into the hall, without a sound. Eight Israeli soldiers followed, each without a sound. In the half-light of the large room, nine shadows fanned out unobserved. The Arabs were stirring up so much dust it was as if the Israelis were moving in a cloud. Gefen was only two feet from his mark when a rock broke loose, the Arab stumbled and looked back into the dust cloud. Before any sound could escape his open mouth, Gefen had a blade to his throat and had fired two shots into the ceiling. Each of the other Arabs were stunned when they turned and found the point of an Israeli muzzle.
Minutes later, three large, industrial trucks pulled up on the Ha’ofel Road and quickly disgorged more than two-dozen workmen. The trucks were covered in canvas, and the workers covered in overalls, each a pale blue with the giant, orange “KI,” for Krupp Industries emblazoned as a signature. With few words and even less wasted motion, the workers rapidly split into pairs: six pairs grabbing steel bracing beams, and the other six pairs gathering up various tools, implements, and coils of wound, steel cable. All twelve teams broke into a trot, hustling to the southern wall as quickly as they could.
With a precision that was remarkabl
e to observe, the Krupp crews swiftly had the six bracing beams positioned against the remaining upright sections of the southern wall. While six teams jogged back to the trucks for more steel beams, the remaining workers began drilling holes for the anchors and unraveling steel cable. A growing crowd of both soldiers and civilians anxiously watched the efforts of the Krupp crews as they scrambled all around the southern wall—the parts that remained standing and those that had collapsed in wildly strewn, massive stones. Engrossed by the flurry of activity unfolding in front of them, none of the bystanders paid any attention to the two workers with the large tool bags who appeared to be inspecting the wall farther to the south. Moments later, if anyone had bothered to look, the two workmen slipped out of sight as if by magic.
Rodriguez, Johnson, and Bohannon rapidly stowed all of their gear following the conversation with Krupp, paying special attention to ensuring the video equipment was adequately padded. Urgency marked their movements. Bohannon, as he began climbing down the wall face, tried earnestly to keep that urgency from turning to panic.
They heard shots fired somewhere in the distance as Bohannon completed the call. Now they were running for their lives, for their only possible means of escape. But they were only running in their minds. Physically, they were inching along the narrow crevice, pushing themselves through this crushingly small space, striving to reach the tunnel they had entered outside the Hall of the Sanhedrin, the one they believed—hoped—would take them down to the Huldah Gates, to the escape route, before they were cut off by Israeli soldiers or Arab zealots.
Krupp had warned them. They must get to the base of the Huldah Gates tunnel within the next thirty minutes, before his engineers and workmen completed their emergency repairs to the southern wall. “Get to the base of the tunnel,” Krupp had said, “and I will get you out safely. But you must move quickly.”
Bohannon’s brain was about to burst. How can I move quickly, when I can barely move at all? He heard Joe and Doc behind him, scratching along the surface of the crevice. They agreed that silence would be necessary, so Bohannon wrestled mightily with the urge to call back over his shoulder, to encourage Joe and Doc to a pace he couldn’t keep himself. Then he saw the light, and he pushed ahead with even more vigor to the edge of the tunnel. Searching carefully from his concealed location, Bohannon could neither see any movement, nor hear any sounds in the tunnel that led to the Huldah Gates. He looked at his watch. Only ten minutes, he groaned inwardly.
Bohannon squeezed himself out of the crevice, pulled out his backpack, and then began pulling against the rope that Rodriguez had connected to all three men. Straining against the rope, Bohannon could feel Doc Johnson moving, but not moving fast enough. C’mon . . . c’mon! Eight minutes left.
Sergeant Gefen procrastinated for a few, long minutes. There was no explanation. Yet, there had to be an explanation.
Just as the Arabs were doing when they arrived, Gefen and his squad scoured this huge hall, looking for an escape route. The Americans had been here. He was sure of it. The coordinates matched what he was given. The dust of centuries was noticeably disturbed, not just by Arab sandals, but also by men in hiking boots. The Americans had been here. But Gefen had no idea where they had gone.
They were an unsightly and comical trio, trying to perfect an impossible balancing act. Bohannon and Rodriguez each grasped one of Johnson’s arms. They were trying to guide him around the endless, wildly strewn, massive stones that littered the tunnel’s descent to the Huldah Gates. The well-intentioned support only made Johnson’s task that much more difficult, because it was near impossible to keep control of his backpack, now bouncing wildly side-to-side since he had no control of his outstretched arms. Each time one of his rescuers tugged at one of his arms, his balance would be abruptly destroyed and the backpack would go flying in the opposite direction as Johnson was shunted around another obstacle.
In the midst of this game of human Ping-Pong, flinging the flailing body of Doc Johnson down the tunnel ahead of them, Johnson nearly crushed a man in pale blue overalls.
Less than forty minutes after they disappeared from view, the missing Krupp workers appeared again at the far southern edge of the southern wall. But this time, there were five workers, all of them in pale blue Krupp overalls, all of them carrying bulging tool bags. All five men had their heads down, straining against the weight in their bags. But all five were also listening for any shout of alarm. No warning shout came. No one noticed that two men had gone in, and five had come out.
Quickly, silently, the five melted into the rest of the Krupp team, which was now tightening the tension on the steel cables that kept the crisscrossed steel bracing in place while others gathered up the tools and leftover material and began returning them to the trucks.
In less than an hour, Krupp’s engineers and crews stabilized the remaining sections of the southern wall, gathered up their tools and materials, and were on their way . . . this time with three extra workers on the trucks. The convoy returned to the airport where a Krupp A-70 cargo jet was still unloading steel to be used in the chemical refinery, the team’s original mission. While most of the overall-clad workers commenced loading the steel beams onto the trucks, three walked up the ramp into the gaping maw of the super-hauler, the jet’s only cargo on its return trip to Germany.
Strapped into a rudimentary jump seat, Bohannon looked out a small window at the rapidly receding countryside of Israel. He should be happy to be out of those caves alive. He should be ecstatic with the discovery they had made and the evidence he carried. He should feel vindicated that there would be many perplexed looks and frustrated conversations in the offices of Shin Bet and the Northern Islamic Front, demanding to know what happened to the three Americans who were so recently trapped under the Temple Mount and the tunnels that snaked under its surface.
But those were not the thoughts that filled Bohannon’s mind as the plane disappeared into a cloud bank. He thought of Sammy and Kallie Nolan and wondered if they were safe. He thought of Winthrop Larsen and his critically important help. He thought gratefully of Uncle Ethan and Sam Reynolds at the State Department, and wondered if they would be caught in the middle of what the general expected would be “a spittin’ storm.” Not for the first time, he thought of Annie and their children, of Deirdre, and wondered if Rory O’Neill had been able to keep them safe. And he attached a prayer to each of his thoughts.
He was still thinking of others when his body finally shut down, and in spite of the incredibly uncomfortable chair and the spiderweb of straps holding him in place, he collapsed into a fitful, manic sleep.
PART THREE
PROPHECY FULFILLED
47
Bohannon could see the sunshine, feel its warmth, before he opened his eyes. Its power penetrated through his eyelids, calling him to wakefulness. He was wrapped in a soft, safe cocoon and was unwilling to leave its embrace. Slowly, his consciousness was coaxed to meet the morning. Or was it morning? It could be any time during the day. Bohannon had lost all conception of time over the previous five days. It was a bed. Crisp, clean, white sheets and comforter, soft down pillow. I think I’ll just roll over for a moment.
The sun was setting when his eyes opened once again. This time, the growling in his stomach and the inevitable “call of the wild” required Bohannon to reluctantly get back on his feet. His room was really a suite in a castle, with every modern amenity. He used the most basic. Clean clothes were waiting for him when he came out of the shower in his private bathroom. Piles of food were waiting for him when he finally ventured down the great stairs and was directed into the conservatory by the respectful and attentive staff. Krupp and his wife, Maria, were sitting in wicker chairs in a corner, reading, waiting for their guests to appear.
The stars were out, the team reunited, and their bellies were full. Now, with the equipment assembled, Alex and Maria Krupp were the only audience for their world premier. Using their maps, supported by their GPS units, the three men unraveled the
ir tale from the first discovery at the Bowery Mission, their adventures in trying to discern the scroll’s message, the threats against their lives and Winthrop’s murder, through to the harrowing two days racing around Jerusalem and the sometimes frightening three days under the Temple Mount. As the story unfolded, Bohannon was stunned to realize that he had been gone from New York City for a week. It felt like seven years, not seven days. Bohannon was drawn from his reverie when Rodriguez, who talked the Krupps through the Hall of the Sanhedrin and the crushing crevice, looked his way, expecting his brother-in-law to pick up the story.
The utter unreality of the situation nearly caused Bohannon to laugh out loud. Here he was, a guy who managed a homeless ministry in Manhattan, in what was essentially an ancient castle in the depths of Bavaria, sitting across from one of the richest and most powerful men in the world, asking him to believe that what he was about to see was a one-thousand-year-old secret that could change the course of history.
If Bohannon watched this on television, he never would believe it possible. How could he expect anyone as savvy as Krupp to believe this unbelievable story?
“Go on, Tom,” Krupp said, apparently guessing what Bohannon was thinking. “Don’t leave us breathlessly on the cliff.”
The Sacred Cipher Page 36