by Terry James
The KC-135 co-pilot watched the entourage leave his plane. He grinned at Mark as he passed. “Good luck, Captain,” he said.
“I’ve got to get my things before we leave. The package they put aboard, the reason I’m here,” Mark said, trying to slow the four men from hustling him away from the aircraft.
“It’s taken care of, Captain. Everything’s already aboard the chopper,” the Israeli officer in charge said.
Randall Prouse’s buddy from the State Department had parted from them with the admonition, “You would be better off in the hotel room, until we see which way this thing is going to go.”
Trowell laughed, and said, “But I know you better than that, Prouse. If there’s something to be dug up out there, there’s nothing, not even an Arab-Israeli war, that’s going to stop you.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what I’m about, Trowell, just like you’ve got to stick your nose in everybody’s business around the world--invited or not.”
They hugged, both laughing, promising to get together before they left Jerusalem.
Randall Prouse became serious, then. “Thanks, my friend, for getting us out of Ben Gurion. I’m very grateful.”
Forty-five minutes later Randall Prouse turned one way, then the other, sighed, and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. Finally, his lack of patience was rewarded.
“So sorry for the delay, Dr. Prouse,” the voice, in broken English, said in his ear. “I believe we have your party, now.”
“Yes, thanks.”
Prouse’s eyes narrowed in concentration, awaiting the connection he had been trying to complete for a half-hour.
“Randy?”
“Ruthie!” he said, a wide smile betraying the fact his mood had brightened.
“Are you safe?” There was anxiety in Ruth Prouse’s voice.
“We’re all fine, Sweetie. Just having trouble with these infernal connections to the States.”
Christopher and Susie Banyon looked at maps spread on the hotel bed. Susie smiled when she knew Ruth had at last heard from her husband.
“Ackmid is coming by for us. He’s taking us to Yadin, to examine the piece of the scroll from cave 11,” Prouse said with joy in his voice.
Susie glanced at the archaeologist, thinking of his anxious wife on the other end. Ruth Prouse just wanted to talk about them being together again, and Randy was expressing his elation over his work. Such, Susie thought, is the plight of wives tethered to men of such boldness. She herself must be such a woman. She was here, in Jerusalem, at the worst possible time.
“The kids? Giving you any trouble?” Prouse said. “Yeah. You tell him I’ll deal with him when I get home.”
Prouse let his eyes wander the room, seeing nothing, listening to his wife’s domestic talk. A knock on the hotel room’s door caused him to interrupt her.
“Yeah. Well, Ruthie, I gotta get off now. Everything’s fine here. I’ll let you know when we’ll be coming home. Love ya, Babe!”
While Prouse hung the receiver on its cradle, Christopher reached for the door.
“Hold it, Chris! Never open your door here, unless you’re absolutely clear who’s on the other side,” the archaeologist said, pulling aside the small security viewing hole’s cover.
“Akmid?”
“Yes, Randy. It is I…” the high-pitched voice came from the other side. Prouse recognized it as Akmid Jepha, a Palestinian Arab he had known for five years.
Greetings and introductions made, Prouse looked into the Arab’s dark eyes, totally absorbed in the man’s words.
“The piece is about so…”
Akmid held his hands about 12 inches apart, indicating the size of the piece of scroll in question.
“However, although it is in ancient Hebrew, it is not a part of the Isaiah text itself. It is--how do you say? A supplement, apparently, according to Yadin.”
“Where is Yadin?” Prouse asked, while rising from sitting on the edge of one of the beds and walking to the window. He pulled the blinds apart and peered out to see the Dome of the Rock’s rounded top shimmering in the Jerusalem sun.
“He awaits at the Museum of Antiquities,” Akmid said. “We’d better make tracks while we can,” Prouse said. “They might lock this old town down at any second.”
All the Taos scientists sat around the huge mahogany conference table. They had just been told the status of the major projects in which the secretive complex was involved.
People on the outside had complained of a troubling hum coming from the areas surrounding Taos and Santa Fe for years. The government had always denied the existence of any military or any other research and development that would cause the low throbbing noise that plagued the ears and brains of some people in the region.
The Cold War and the arms and space races with the Soviet Union made the lies to the public justifiable. Government spokesmen automatically branded anyone who tried to investigate the “hum” as being of the “UFO kook” mindset. Media, for the most part, agreed. Even presidents stayed away from the uncomfortable subject of the Taos hum, except for Lyndon Johnson.
But, this President was too involved in Vietnam, and now the brewing problems about to explode between Israel and its enemies, to pay attention to details.
Robert Cooper was glad of the fact. Johnson was just the sort of powerful man--from his days of almost absolute sway over Congress, as Senate majority leader, to be put off, if he truly set his mind to get involved.
Johnson trusted Daniel Eganberg--under the supervision and oversight of Robert S. McNamara--to carry on with the Taos underground research and development. He was promised “great things” from the facility. Both the President and the Secretary of Defense bought the package Eganberg sold them.
It was he, Robert Cooper, who had assured Eganberg that the venture would “be successful beyond our wildest dreams.”
But none of them--not the President of the United States; not the Secretary of Defense; not his superior, Eganberg--knew the whole truth. They were in the dark, he thought, with an inward smirk, about Dark dimension. About RAPTURE, the acronym for the Rapid Atomic Particle Transmolecular Unification Reassembly Energizer. They knew about the precognition neuro-diviner device--but not what it was actually designed to do. They knew nothing about the RAPTURE--or about the Dimensionals…
Cooper smiled to himself, knowing what the young man with the somber look was going to tell him. The Secret Service agent, especially chosen to also represent the NSA, CIA, and FBI so all clandestine possibilities were covered, approached his boss, who sat talking to Gerhardt Frobe.
The agent bent to whisper in the deputy director’s ear. Cooper, a grim look on his face, stood and walked to the podium at the top end of the conference table.
“Pardon me, ladies and gentlemen,” he said into the microphone attached to the lectern’s top.
“I’ve some tragic news to report.”
All voices co-mingled in surprise and he waited for the rumble to subside.
“I’ve just been informed that Director of Covert Operations for the Department of Defense, Daniel Eganberg, was killed when he fell from his apartment’s balcony.”
Chapter 12
June 4, 1967 – 1:50 p.m. Jerusalem time
East Jerusalem was in turmoil. The crowds of mostly Arab inhabitants hurried to get their essential marketing needs completed. War was imminent.
The brilliant sky caused the new and ancient structures to cast shadows of flickered darkness, then brightness upon them. Randall Prouse, Christopher and Susie Banyon, victims of Akmid Jepha’s driving, negotiated the narrow streets.
The World War II Vintage Jeep felt as if it would rattle apart with each pocked area Akmid couldn’t seem to avoid.
Hostile looks met them around every corner, the hatred glaring mostly from young Arabs in native dress. Randall Prouse wouldn’t say it aloud, but it was the first time in years he had felt so threatened while traversing the old city.
His worries stemmed from the fact Susie w
as with them. If they were attacked, he would, without hesitation, cover her, get her to any shelter he could manage. Maybe it would have been better to have waited until this thing blew over to meet with Yadin.
No…it was critical that they examine the find.
Once the fighting began, there was no telling where it would end. Many thought it would end only with the final battle of the prophesied war called Armageddon. It would end at Armageddon, of course. But how near was that war to end all wars?
Christopher Banyon felt the tension in Randall, saw the intense concentration in his eyes. Not concentration on the buildings in order to get to the Antiquities Museum as quickly as possible, but concentration upon each group of Arab men they approached.
Pressed against his friend while the Jeep jostled them, he felt the tautness of the archaeologist’s muscular body ripple with each gathering they passed.
Susie felt every bump and shake while the Jeep rattled onward, and she did her best to just hang on, and not let the men know that the ride was almost painful. It was all worth it, though, she thought, hanging on to the side of the Jeep. The words kept running through her mind, “Whither thou goest, I will go…”
Akmid showed no concern while he herded the Jeep down one narrow roadway, then another. If there was one good thing about their situation, running the hostile streets of east Jerusalem, it was that their driver was an Arab, known by all other Arabs.
The Palestinian Antiquities Museum was a welcome sight to the archaeologist, who quickly jumped from the Jeep and offered his hand to the tiny hand of Christopher Banyon’s new bride. She had a problem extricating herself from the seat, so he lifted her by her waist and deposited her on the stone surface that fronted the ancient building.
Christopher lifted the big map case from between the seats and the rear of the Jeep, then followed his wife, Prouse, and Akmid into the museum.
Musty smells and dank odors assaulted their nostrils. Randall Prouse didn’t notice, while he quickly led the way in the direction of the basement steps, toward the oldest area of the structure. He knew that Yadin would be waiting there for them.
“Friend, Randy!” the small man said with a toothy smile peeking out from between the opening in his graying beard. The two men embraced.
“Too long, my great friend, Yadin,” Prouse said continuing to hold onto the Arab.
“Too long, Randy,” Yadin said, his eyes glistening with emotional tears of reunion.
“You are most welcome,” Yadin said, after Prouse had made the introductions. “Although it is a most troubled time,” he added.
“What do you think will come of this…trouble?” Prouse asked, glancing around the room, trying to see the object of his visit.
“Only God knows,” Yadin said, shaking his head and lifting his clasped hands toward the basement’s ceiling.
“Will you and your family be okay?” Randall asked, looking into the dark eyes.
“We shall take precautions, until this is settled.”
“Good. That’s good,” said Prouse, his mind on Yadin’s wife, Mary, and their large family. He knew them all, had spent time as their guest on many occasions, some of those occasions under threats by Yadin’s own hate-filled Arab brothers.
“Now. You must see this, Randy!”
Yadin looked around the bulky archaeologist to Christopher Banyon. “Your friend--does he know the possible significance?”
“Believe me, Yadin, he knows.”
“Come, then--come, see what we have discovered. It is truly phenomenal,” the Arab said, moving into an adjoining room.
He led them to a large table covered with felt. Christopher thought it looked like it could once have been a pool table.
A large, flat portfolio-type case lay atop the green felt.
Yadin unzipped the case and carefully moved that half to one side. Another felt cloth, this one earth-brown, covered the object of their trip.
When the Arab archaeologist removed the cloth, Randall Prouse stepped closer for a better look, his pulse rate increasing.
“This fragment was part of the same scroll, but in a place that indicated it was an adjunct to the scroll. It isn’t part of the Scriptures. But, see here--the one who wrote the Scriptures, wrote this also.”
Randall Prouse accepted from Yadin a large magnifying glass and moved it over the Hebrew letters.
“Yes. It is the same hand, no question.”
“And, see what it says. It is fantastic!”
Randall Prouse read with slow deliberation, emphasizing each word as he read from right to left.
“War in heavens and on earth shall begin the consummation when first scroll words shall be found.”
The Arab said with excitement, “And now, the part broken off of that fragment.” Yadin unfolded another cloth from the second, smaller fragment.
Prouse again ran the glass over the Hebrew writing. Christopher Banyon moved closer, to look at the fragment of text, while Prouse read.
“Watch for the bene elohim…The bene elohim deludes when approaches the great taking away.”
Christopher Banyon felt a rush of strange emotion hearing the words.
“You okay, buddy?” Prouse said, seeing the minister’s dazed expression.
“What does it mean, Randy?” Christopher said, but knowing Prouse had no answer. “What in the Lord’s holy name does this mean?”
Robert Cooper sat in Gerhardt Frobe’s office. He stared straight ahead while he sat behind the scientist’s desk, its top cluttered with papers and devices of experimental science. He listened to the phone’s receiver. It was Gwendolyn Eganberg, and her voice was filled with panic.
“Bobby, you’ve just got to come back here. I can’t stand another minute of this interrogation! If you were here, they would leave me alone. But, they act like I had something to do with him falling from--”
Cooper heard her sob, then regain control.
“Bobby, should I tell them about…about the thing I saw, you know, when it entered Dan’s body?”
Cooper blinked, his mind snapping back to the conversation, from almost total immersion in thought about the certainty that he would be receiving another phone call at any moment.
“What…? No, No!” he said, cursing.
“You say nothing. They’ll think you’re completely crazy if you tell them something like that. They will take you in for interrogation like you do not want, Gwendolyn. Do you hear me? Do you understand?”
There was more sobbing on the other end of the line.
“Listen, Gwen. You had absolutely nothing to do with Daniel’s death, except a husband-wife argument over sex. You were in the bathroom, and he was depressed because you and he weren’t getting along. You had cut him off from sex…”
He paused, to hear that her sobs had quieted.
“Remember, that’s the story. He was under stress because of his heavy responsibilities at work, and depressed because you and he had had an argument, and he just, he decided to end his problems.”
Gwendolyn Eganberg sighed, sniffled a couple of times, and wiped at her nose with a tissue.
“Do you hear me, Gwen? That’s all you have to say, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, trying to regain composure.
“I’ll see to it that the whole thing is taken care of--the funeral, everything.”
Frobe’s office door opened a crack, and the scientist stuck his head inside. “Bob. It’s the Secretary of Defense on that line that’s blinking.”
“Gotta’ go, Gwendolyn. I’ll be back in D.C. on the 6th. I’ll take care of everything. Relax, get some rest.”
When he hung up, he took a deep breath and pushed the blinking button, the second from the left along the bottom of the phone’s plastic console.
“Hello, Mr. Secretary,” Cooper said through a tight-lipped smile.
“You probably have some idea of what this call is about, Bob,” the voice at the other end said.
“Sir, not for sure,” the deputy director
lied, his eyes slits of concentration as he stared into the shadows of Frobe’s office.
“I have someone here who I think you’ll want to speak with,” Robert McNamara said. A second later, a familiar voice was on the line from D.C.
“Bob? How are things down Taos way?”
“Fine, Mr. President,” said Cooper, sitting a bit more erect in Gerhardt’s desk chair.
“We’ve got to move on with the project, don’t you agree?” Lyndon Johnson drawled.
“Yes, sir. It’s crucial.”
“You’re our boy, Bob,” Johnson interrupted. “Your nation needs you. I need you to carry on.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll do my best, Mr. President.”
“I’ve named you acting director of Covert Operations at Defense. I know I can count on you. We can make it permanent when I’ve had a chance to talk to my national security people.”
It was a done deal, Robert Cooper told himself with a satisfied smile. No one dared buck Lyndon B. Johnson, not even Wilbur Mills or the other powerhouses. Acting director, director, it was all the same. The deal was done.
“I don’t know what to say, Mr. President. I’m humbled.”
“Just get in there and pitch, partner. Like Dan did. You’ll do a great job.”
“Thanks, Mr. President, I will try.”
“He’s gone, Bob,” the Secretary of Defense said, having taken over the conversation from Johnson.
“I understand you’re making all the arrangements for the funeral.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll take care of everything,” Cooper said.
“Great. Keep us informed.”
“Yes, Mr. Secretary, will do,” the newly designated acting director of Covert Operations for the Defense Department said, his heart racing with the thrill of conquest.
Taos underground complex - Late evening, June 4
The nursing station was vacant just outside the room where Laura Morgan lay comatose. Those nurses assigned to both Laura and Dr. Gessel Kirban were permitted 30 minutes every 2 hours to break for personal reasons. Usually, the nurse on the 11 p.m. shift took only 15-minute breaks, preferring to take 15 minutes per hour.