The Sacred Cipher (36 page)

“How clever,” purred Johnson. “That is an interesting connection. I’m impressed. So,
Kallie, since you are clearly the expert here, what do you think?”

Kallie’s voice was low, little more than a whisper. “Abiathar needed a way, he needed
an entryway to bring in his men, his material, and he needed a way that would not
draw attention to itself, even if the coming and going were minimal. During his lifetime,
or his father’s, no one would question a few workmen coming or going from the tombs,
carrying wood beams to shore up new tombs. And even though we don’t know much of anything
about the King’s Garden Tunnel, it may also have been a common access point.”

She turned her chair around to face the men, who had in the space of a few hours irrevocably
changed her life. “What’s my hunch? I think we’ve found Abiathar’s entrance. I don’t
have any evidence, but it seems to me, from all the possibilities you have been reviewing
and all the possibilities I have been researching, if there is a secret passageway
that would lead to a cavern containing the Third Temple, it would come from one of
these two locations. If I had to place a bet, I’d wager on the King’s Garden Tunnel.
Until a few months ago, no one knew it existed. Zechariah’s Tomb has been open for
hundreds of years, and it is so much farther away. I think the King’s Garden Tunnel
has to be the first place we look.”

“Hallelujah,” cried Rizzo, dropping the book off his lap.

Doc Johnson turned on his heel and paced toward the window. “Yes . . . yes . . . Tom!”
Johnson turned again, facing the room. “This all makes sense. Remember what Winthrop
was telling us about the Mount and the bedrock. Yes . . . yes . . . this all makes
sense. Kallie, you’re . . .”

Nolan waited patiently in her computer chair, arms folded across her chest. Doc Johnson
must have read her face, and the adrenalin spike drained from the room.

“Which leaves us one final, major hurdle,” said Kallie. Doc sat down at the table
and Bohannon ran a hand through his hair.

“How do we get into the tunnel without notice?” Rodriguez took a deep breath, held
up his two hands, palms upward, and shrugged his shoulders.

“Not only how do we get in,” said Kallie, “but also how do we determine if there is
an access point that may take us under the Temple Mount? And how do we figure out
where to look if we do get under the Mount? God knows how many caverns and tunnels
and caves may be under there.”

“Your use of the pronoun
we
may be a bit premature,” said Johnson, dryly.

Nolan pressed on, addressing Bohannon directly. “Tom, the only question that remains
to be determined is whether we go there during the day or during the night. Can we
trust going there during the day? Can we discover what we need to discover during
the night? Whatever the answer is, before we commit ourselves to either of these locations
with all our equipment for what will likely be several days, we need to know if there
is a likely tunnel, or an entrance to a tunnel, that could take us under the Temple
Mount.

“And it’s going to be
we
, Doc, because the four of you, by yourselves, will appear suspicious and out of place
if anyone were to take the time to look. But if you happened to be in the care of
an official garden guide, such as myself, then all anyone would see would be a small
group of tourists . . . affluent tourists. And they wouldn’t give you a second thought.
And then we can take as long as we like trying to find the way in. That’s why
we.”

Kallie was in.

Then all eyes were on Bohannon.

“To answer one of your questions,” he said, “we expect that in some way the scroll
will guide us once we get under the Temple Mount. Abiathar would not have left this
most important part up to chance. We believe the answer will be in the scroll.”

“Wait a minute. You’ve got it here?” she asked, incredulous. “This scroll may be priceless,
and you’re carrying it around in your luggage? Are you guys out of your minds?”

“What else were we going to do with it?” snapped Rodriguez. “Leave it at home? The
New York police commissioner told us to get our families out of town. Do you think
the scroll would have been safe anywhere we could have left it? Besides, I agree with
Tom. I’m confident we’re going to need it again before this thing is over. As far
as looking suspicious, we thought of that, too. All of our equipment is in backpacks,
and we’ve all come prepped with our Merrell hiking shoes and chamois shirts. We’ll
look like backpackers who are visiting the sights. But it would probably help to have
a guide along.”

Rodriguez waited for his brother-in-law. It was his call.

Kallie felt a shiver start at the bottom of her spine. Bohannon was looking at her
like a professor about to give a failing grade. She willed her heart to slow.

“We’ll be here at seven to pick you up,” Bohannon said to Kallie, his voice somber.
“Be in your guide uniform and ready to go. We’ll need to risk it during the day just
to get a reasonable sense of what we’re facing. I want to get to the Gihon Spring
as early as possible, before anyone happens to be wandering around.”

“Then make it five thirty,” said Kallie. “Jerusalem wakes up early. I’ll be by the
front door, waiting. And you guys, make sure you look like tourists. You got that,
Sammy? Hiking shorts if you have them, and rugged shoes. This will be no Sunday stroll.”

Bowing deeply from the waist, a slow extravagance of submission, he stopped when the
upper half of his body was parallel to the floor. The cross and lightning bolt amulet
hung straight down from his neck. “Welcome, Effendi.”

“How did you discover them?”

No greeting in return, no sharing of compliments. This was rude behavior, but this
was the Prophet’s representative. A very holy man, recently arrived from Egypt. Perhaps
he had no time for courtesy.

“A mere chance, Effendi. My cousin, he is a waiter at the Crowne Plaza. Often, he
brings us bits of conversations, bits that prove to be valuable in furthering the
cause.”

“Prove to be valuable in lining your pockets, more likely. Stand up.”

“Yes, Effendi.”

Rasaf straightened his back slowly, ignoring the pain, determined to present himself
as a worthy disciple. This was his great opportunity, after all. Bad manners would
not spoil this chance for him. Only the old man’s face was visible. That was enough.
His skin was very dark, heavily creased by sun and wind. His face was framed by a
thick, jet-black beard that oddly seemed both trimmed and wild. Rasaf took in all
of those elements quickly. But he could not escape from the old man’s eyes. They were
fierce, two discs of flaming onyx, consuming Rasaf. They spoke to him in songs of
Jihad. They called him to great sacrifice. They filled him with ancient hate. Rasaf
trembled.

“Where are they?”

“They drove to an apartment building on Bar-Lev Road near the university. We are watching.”

“Good. Continue to watch. Take no action, but stay with them without fail. We will
allow them to lead us. For now.”

“Yes, Effendi.” This
would
be his great opportunity, Rasaf exulted.

“Rasaf, do you have children?”

“Yes, Effendi,” Rasaf said, beginning to smile at his good fortune.

“Fine. It is good to have children.”

The eyes were burning pits, harbingers of mayhem. Rasaf began to bow under their relentless
power.

“Don’t do anything to make them orphans.”

Startled, Rasaf stopped bowing and looked up. And he was alone.

When they returned to the Hotel Tzuba that night, Johnson pulled out the thermal imaging
photos that Larsen had gotten from his Uncle Ethan. Johnson still marveled at the
thought of having the chairman of the Joint Chiefs as an uncle. The power of the Larsen
family was staggering, yet appeared to be directed only to service.

Even with a magnifying glass, Johnson could detect no significant change in image
along the Kidron Valley, no indication of the King’s Garden Tunnel, let alone any
other tunnel branching off from it or extending from Zechariah’s Tomb toward the Temple
Mount. It would have been heartening to find some evidence of a tunnel, but the lack
of evidence didn’t disprove its existence. It was as he had expected. The only way
they would truly know would be to go inside and find out for themselves.

And hope no one was watching.

Lieutenant Daniel Stern ached. Every part of his body ached. His eyes hurt, and especially,
his neck hurt. Yet he would not consider leaving his post. He stayed for The Hawk.
But he also stayed for his wife and children, now two and five. The sun was up, only
barely, yet its unmistakable message was that it would be another withering day. And
Stern had no idea when it would end.

The Hawk was on duty, sitting atop his perch. He had been on duty for nearly thirty-eight
hours without sleep. Captain Avram Levin was losing his patience and getting cranky.
For his squad, many of whom had joined him in the vigil, this was the most anxious
time. The Hawk was a good man, a good leader, an inspiration to his men. But his talons
were sharp when time and circumstance failed to follow his orders.

Levin’s team was perhaps Shin Bet’s best. That is why they were assigned to the Aleph
Reconnaissance Center to protect the Temple Mount. Not to protect the shrines from
tourists, but to protect Israel and its future from terrorists of any stripe.

Since the moment they focused on the four men at the entrance to the Western Wall
Tunnel, the Aleph team had intensified its sweeps. In addition to its normal timetable
and procedure, The Hawk would routinely, and randomly, call for a sweep of any area
that popped into his consciousness, even areas that were outside of his zone.

“Command, give me a sweep of David’s Tower, then down David Street. See if we can
pick them up again. Stern, roll down the Kidron Valley. If they are coming back, they
will be coming back soon.”

Mahamoud pulled out the cell phone and hit the speed dial button.

One ring only. Leonidas was on the other end.

“Nothing yet . . . be patient . . . I will call you when information arrives.”

The phone connection went dead.