The Sacred Cipher (33 page)

Clearly, this would not be an entry point for their search.

This was a disappointment for Bohannon, primarily because he remained ignorant of
so much about the Old City, the Temple Mount, and its surrounding areas. During the
weeks of preparation, he had been briefed by Doc, Sammy, and Joe on the basics of
Jerusalem topography, the layout of the Old City and its walls, plus the physical
dimensions and orientation of the Temple Mount. Telling was one thing; seeing was
another. And the more he saw, the more doubtful Bohannon was of being able to fulfill
their plans.

For one thing, while Jerusalem was no New York City, the human activity around the
Temple Mount, even at night, was significant and discouraging. Bohannon often imagined
the Temple Mount as being off by itself, outside the mainstream of Jerusalem’s urban
bustle, a quiet, secluded location that would be all but deserted in the wee hours
of the morning. What he found was a city intricately entwined with itself. While the
Old City and the Temple Mount were certainly different from and separated from New
Jerusalem on the west, the whole place was a thriving metropolis of which the Old
City and the Mount operated more like the hub of wheel spokes going in all directions.
It was certainly not isolated.

Bohannon looked wistfully at the entrance to the Western Wall Tunnel.
How convenient that would have been
.

Glancing at his watch, Captain Levin barked an order to his men, who were already
kicking themselves for getting posted on night duty with Levin. “Sweep the Mount and
the Western Wall,” snapped Levin. “Do it now.” Hands moved, dials twisted, keyboards
were punched, and backs straightened. It was going to be a long night.

“Warren’s Gate is inside that tunnel, isn’t it?” Bohannon asked, knowing the answer,
his eyes still on the entrance. “We’re never going to be able to use that for an entrance.
And Warren’s Gate is supposed to be the closest to the Holy of Holies, right?”

Nobody tried to answer; nobody looked toward Bohannon. They just stared at the tunnel
entrance, wondering where, how they were to find an opening like this that would allow
them access to the underbelly of the Temple Mount. Standing not far from the Western
Wall, with the Temple Mount rising above them, despondency began to build like storm
clouds. Bohannon’s voice was a bit plaintive. “How are we going to do this?”

Without explanation, Levin abruptly stopped his restless pacing and perched himself
on a high stool, with a small, straight back. Looking over the shoulders of his squad,
he took a much-maligned pipe out of his shirt pocket and began gnawing on its stem.
The taste of tobacco was still there, but that was all the vice he allowed himself
since the first spot was discovered. Which didn’t matter here since this watching
post was strictly nonsmoking, a rarity in the Israeli military, but a necessity to
maintain the integrity of their highly sophisticated equipment. And this was not a
detail where any of them would have introduced any distraction. All of their families
lived in the city.

“Daniel, hold that position,” Levin said quietly, the mangled stem still in his mouth.
His eyes remaining on the fifth screen, the one in the middle of the bank. Levin lowered
himself from the stool. “Bring it up.” Like an unfolding telescope, the picture on
the screen narrowed its focus over and over, pulling the small knot of men into closer
relief. There were four of them, three Americans by the look of them, one of them
very short. But it was the cut of the fourth man that initially caught Levin’s interest.
The fourth was dark, rather tall, dressed like a native. But he just didn’t look “right.”
And “not right” was what had been drilled into Levin and all of his men so often that
they thought about it in their sleep. “Not right” was always dangerous, often deadly.

“Can you hear anything?”

“No sir, they’re not speaking.”

“Well, they certainly don’t look happy. If they look any harder at the tunnel entrance,
they’ll bore a hole through it. Are you making a second copy of this for print?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Send it to the Avina Station as soon as it’s complete. Request they let us know if
they come up with any matches.”

“Yes, sir.”

Levin put his left hand on the soldier’s shoulder and leaned in closer to the screen,
where the four men were still gathered close together. They were speaking, but so
softly the sound could not be recorded. Yet their eyes remained on the opening to
the Western Wall Tunnel. “The old one dresses like an academic. From the cut of his
clothes, he could be British,” said Daniel Stern, a recently commissioned lieutenant
who had come up through the ranks. “The second one is clearly American, but he looks
more like a businessman on holiday than anything sinister. The small one? . . . dark
features, perhaps Italian, but the dress is American, also.”

Levin inclined his head toward Stern, but kept his eyes on the four men at the tunnel
entrance. “It is not the Brit nor the Yanks that I’m concerned about,” said Levin.
“It’s the tall one, the dark one, the one who looks like a local. And what those three
are doing with him . . . and what the four of them are thinking about.”

“I think we had better get moving,” said Rodriguez. “If we stand here any longer looking
at that tunnel entrance, somebody could think we’re up to no good.”

The men turned to their right, walked back through the Wailing Wall plaza, and stood
at the southernmost point of the Old City. For years, the Wailing Wall had been the
only exposed section of the Temple Mount’s Western Wall, a sixty-foot-long exposed
section of one of Herod’s great walls. A narrow walkway ran in front of the Wailing
Wall, a space where only a few at a time could come face-to-face with the stones that
supported the Temple. After the Six-Day War in 1967, when Israeli soldiers captured
East Jerusalem—including the Old City—and united the city for the first time in nineteen
years, General Moshe Dyan ordered the immediate bulldozing of an entire neighborhood,
creating the huge plaza in front of the Wailing Wall, which now allowed thousands
of Israelis to come and pray at any time.

“Back to the hotel . . . or more snooping?” Rizzo asked, rubbing his hands together.

“For me,” said Rodriguez, “I think if we keep hanging around out here at night, we’re
just asking for somebody to take an interest in us. Let’s get some sleep and come
back tomorrow when the place is crawling with tourists.”

Contact was lost as the four men passed the Wailing Wall plaza and turned north, along
the very edge of the Old City. Trees, hillocks, and buildings blocked the view, and
there were no navigable streets in that area—thus no cameras looking for car bombers.

“Copy it and send it. I want multiple images of all four men, different angles, and
I want them posted in here immediately, so all the watches will have them fresh in
their minds.” Captain Levin chewed on the stem of his pipe and suddenly longed for
more than the taste of tobacco. “There may be nothing wrong with these guys, but they
just feel wrong,” Levin said to the room, turning away from the monitors. “Somebody
get some coffee in here. Reuven, increase the frequency of all scans. Daniel, call
command. Recommend a higher level of alert. All right, gentlemen, let’s stay sharp.”

The Hawk went back to his chair but remained standing. Both his pipe and his talons
were in restless motion. His instincts were telling him this was going to be a long
week.

It was not quite midmorning Sunday when they met Kallie for breakfast at the Crowne
Plaza Hotel, near the convention center and not far from Jerusalem’s central train
station.

On the ride home the night before, Bohannon had convinced the others that they needed
more information, and more help, from the archaeologist. Although Sammy was adamantly
opposed and none of them were happy about the risk she would take, Kallie was all
for it. All of them knew they might as well pack up and go home if they didn’t have
somebody they could trust, somebody who had the information they needed and who would
be willing to help them in this seemingly crazy scheme.

It was another bright, sunny morning, with cobalt blue sky and a menacing promise
of withering heat. With a light morning breeze still on the air, they sat on the patio,
under a large umbrella, luxuriated in the luscious local fruit, and tried to avoid
fixating on Kallie, whose flowered summer dress had become the central point of several
orbits.
Perhaps she was oblivious to the attention
, Bohannon thought, as he watched a young waiter nearly fall over an errant chair.
Or perhaps, she had gotten so accustomed to it that she didn’t notice anymore. It
was clear Kallie relished this opportunity to share as much information as she possibly
could and that she was determined to prove just how invaluable she was to their purpose,
whatever that purpose was.