The Sacred Cipher (15 page)

“Wha . . . what did you just say?”

As Bohannon finished his tale of the runaway truck and the two men with the odd-looking
crosses around their necks, a heavy stillness entered the room. The four of them sat
around the table cluttered with forgotten work. Now they knew they were hunted. Bohannon
feared Johnson was close to shock. Having someone try to kill him could do that. There
were predators out there, a cabal of killers who obviously were determined to protect
the scroll’s secret, whatever it was.

“Any luck at Trinity?” Bohannon spoke the words softly, gently, but they broke explosively
into the silence of men considering their own mortality.

“The rector was helpful,” Johnson responded hesitantly, “more than accommodating,
really.” Gradually, the color came back into his cheeks as he warmed, physically and
emotionally. “We had a wonderful discussion about the early history of New Amsterdam.
But alas, no significant light was shed on Elias Schwartzman. At least not information
we need, even though we searched the church archives. Plenty of documents have not
been archived, so there may still be vital information available from the church,
but that would be a formidable project. One I thought best to put in abeyance until
we exhaust every other avenue.”

“Speaking of archives,” Rizzo chirped from in front of the computer screen, “I’ve
uncovered a Web site that will search hallmarks. Just trying to draw . . . hmm . .
. got to get this right. Trying to draw the symbols inside the circle. Okay, looks
good. Let’s go fishin’.”

The hard drive jumped into motion, whirring and clicking as it raced around the world
of cyberspace, looking for a match to the interesting symbol. Rizzo anxiously watched
the screen.

“If this search doesn’t work, what do you think our next step should be?” Rodriguez
asked. “I don’t know—”

“Bingo,”
Rizzo barked. “Gotcha, sucker. The letters are Phoenician . . . ‘aleph’ and ‘resh’
. . . and they’ve matched to a hallmark.”

He was quickly surrounded, each pair of eyes trying to read the screen faster than
the others.

Abiathar
—
leader of a Jewish religious community in Palestine in the eleventh century
.

“That’s it?” said Rizzo, stunned at the brevity of the message. “That’s all they know
about this guy? A multibillion-bit world system, and all they’ve got is one sentence?
Criminy, we’re still skunked.”

Rizzo ran into Joe the following morning at the corner coffee-monger, the portable,
stainless steel stalls that dotted hundreds of corners in Midtown where men with accents
rapidly dispensed coffee, tea, bagels, and attitude, this one conveniently situated
on Fifth Avenue, just outside the Humanities and Social Sciences Library.

“Hey, Godzilla, I’ve been thinking,” said Rizzo.

“You aren’t even awake yet.”

“Yeah, but listen . . . I’ve been trying to come up with some way to unlock information
about this Abiathar, our mysterious author. Last night I whipped through the Internet
and uncovered several Abiathars, but nearly any of them could have been our man. We
ain’t gonna find out scratch that way.”

Rizzo scrambled up the ramp to the side door of the library, Rodriguez climbing the
stairs beside him.

“We need an expert,” said Rodriguez, “someone with a broad knowledge of early Middle
Eastern history. There’s George Pappadoukus in the Reading Room.”

Rizzo nearly dropped his Lipton with lemon. “Make me barf,” he squawked. “I wouldn’t
talk to that Greek geek if he was my only ticket to Mariah Carey. He wanted my job,
and it feels like he wants me to die from paper cuts anytime we’re in the same room.
Stuff that one.”

Walking toward the staff elevators, Rizzo grasped for other options.

“There’s another guy over at Columbia, where I got my master’s,” said Rodriguez, “but
this guy is years removed from ‘feet on the ground’ experience, and that’s going to
be critical.”

Rizzo felt his heart flutter and his gut twist. “Maybe I have an answer,” he said,
getting on the down elevator while Joe continued on to the periodicals room.

Kallie Nolan was a dicey choice, one fraught with anxiety for Rizzo, but the only
one he could come up with at the moment. Nolan was studying at Tel Aviv University
for her doctorate in biblical archaeology and, almost as difficult a task, to earn
the rare and highly coveted title of “garden guide.” With the heavy workload she was
already carrying, asking her to join in a wild-goose chase to track down some information
on this Abiathar guy was asking a lot. But Rizzo didn’t know where else to turn, so
he typed out a quick e-mail and hoped for a positive reply.

Just about a week later, on a Tuesday, Sammy was knocking on Joe’s office door, the
bottom of his New York Jets’ Brett Favre game jersey dusting the marble floor.

“Joe, open up, you’ve got to read this,” Sammy shouted through the mail slot at the
midpoint of the door to Rodriguez’s office. “C’mon, this is good stuff.”

Rizzo nearly fell on his face as the door jerked open. “It better be good,” Rodriguez
snapped. “I was up all night, my wife is getting really sick of this schedule, and
yesterday I fell asleep on my desk for two hours. One of these days, I’ve got to get
some work done.”

Sammy bounced from foot to foot with anticipation, and finally, Rodriguez got the
point.

“What is it?” he barked.

“I was wondering when you would come to your senses,” said Rizzo, climbing into a
chair. “Here, it’s a printout of an e-mail I just got from Kallie. We’re starting
to put the dots together.”

Rizzo had met Kallie Nolan several years ago when Kallie was doing archaeological
research in the library and had become a regular denizen of the stacks. She became
lost in the labyrinthine hallways one day, and Rizzo came to her rescue. After that,
she would often stop by Rizzo’s office for hot tea and interesting conversation. The
relationship became strained after Rizzo made a pass at her, so there had been no
telling if she would respond or just ignore his request. It had taken several days,
but Kallie had responded to Sammy’s initial e-mail with almost nine pages of information.

Rodriguez took the printout, stepped around his desk, and sat in the specially designed
ergonomic chair that relieved the constant back pain from too many years of competitive
basketball. Rizzo looked forward to his visits to Rodriguez’s office. It was so much
warmer and more inviting than Rizzo’s sterile glass-and-steel enclosure in the underground
stacks. Just off the periodicals room of the massive Humanities and Social Sciences
Library, a room that could have fit perfectly in any Tudor mansion in England, Rodriguez’s
office was a bibliophile’s dream—floor-to-ceiling oak bookcases on three walls, leaded
glass windows dominating the fourth. His desk and filing cabinets were in matching
oak, as was the floor, all complemented by an authentic Persian rug. Rodriguez had
inherited the office and its furnishings when he’d been promoted, and Rizzo accorded
him great credit in that he had changed nothing during his tenure except the desk
chair that kept his back pain in check. Rizzo loved this office, and often daydreamed
himself into its confines. When Rodriguez took a quick, questioning look at Rizzo,
he impatiently waved Joe back to the text of the e-mail:

Sammy,

I’ve done some research on the name you gave me, Abiathar, and he turns out to be
a very interesting character.

First, I’ve got to tell you this request of yours was a blessing. I’ve been struggling
to find an appropriate subject for my doctoral thesis, and you dropped one in my lap.
Below is what I’ve found out thus far, and I hope it’s what you’re looking for. I
hope the form is okay—I’ve already started work on the thesis, so I cut and pasted
a copy of what I’ve written so far. It reads a little bit like a fourth-grade geography
text, but this is the preliminary draft, framing information from a mishmash of sources
before I fill in with a lot more historical background. I’ve included all the information
because I think it will help make more sense of Abiathar’s story.

***

Faced with Jewish rebellion against Caesar, Roman legions swept into Jerusalem in
70 AD, destroyed and dismantled the temple, Herod’s Palace, and any vestige of Jewish
sovereignty. Every Jew who remained alive was banished from the city and all the areas
near the city. For nearly a thousand years, Jewish elders desperately tried to hold
together a community that had lost the center of its universe
.

Jewish life up to that point had been based on Jewish law interpreted by Jewish scholars
.

In this new world, one of the greatest challenges to scholars was how to deal with
a law centered on a temple and a priesthood that no longer existed. Much of this original,
biblical law dealt not only with temple life, but also the life of a community wholly
independent of non-Jewish governance
.

To compensate for this loss of temple and priesthood, the Jews created new structures
of governance (the Academy) in place of the Sanhedrin and new, hereditary leaders
(the Exhillarch in Babylon; the Gaon in Palestine) in place of the high priests
.

Though exercising significant power in their communities, these Jewish “officials”
still served solely at the pleasure of the ruling monarchs. There was an Exhillarch
in Babylon
—
ruler of all the Jews in Persia and Palestine
—
who could trace his lineage to the royal line of David. The Exhillarch exercised his
power through a pair of lieutenants, the Gaonim
.

Early in the eleventh century, wearying of the Jewish “rulers” who interfered with
his authority, the caliph of Babylon had them executed, and he abolished the positions.
Left without a hierarchical leader, the Jewish community in Palestine established
its own hereditary position of Gaon. In 1046, Solomon Ben Judah was appointed Gaon
of Palestine, in Jerusalem, and Jewish communities throughout the East were now under
his authority, but not always under his control. Financial offerings intended for
Palestine were often siphoned off to support Jewish interests in Spain, North Africa,
and Egypt, weakening Solomon’s position
.

Solomon died a few years later, having chosen his son Joseph to be Gaon and his other
son Elijah to occupy the office of “Av Beit Din” (head of the court). Both Joseph
and Elijah were worthy candidates, having studied Scripture and Jewish law and writings
since their early childhood. They were “scholars”
—
students for life who did no other work but to study, understand, and try to interpret
the Jewish law. When Joseph died suddenly in 1054, it wasn’t his brother Elijah who
ascended to the position of Gaon, as would have been expected
.

After a long wandering, David Azariah, from the house of the former Babylonian Exillarchs
and the line of King David, unexpectedly entered Jerusalem. How or why he garnered
favor is a mystery. Perhaps it was some good but undeserved reputation that followed
him. But after Joseph’s death, David was appointed Gaon and ascended to the highest
Jewish authority in the East
.

The people of Jerusalem quickly learned how wrong their choice had been. David proved
a nasty judge and spoke ill of both Solomon and Joseph. Stricken by a terrible, unshakable
disease in his second year, David Azariah suffered for six years before he died in
1062. Finally, Elijah could step up to the place rightfully intended for him by his
father, Solomon, and brother Joseph. Elijah was gladly received as the new Gaon and
remained in power for twenty-two eventful years
.