The Sacred Cipher (40 page)

One of the other men was driving the battered Subaru. They were headed west, intending
to make a big, lazy loop before heading back to Jerusalem. Rasaf was on the cell phone.
“Yes, Effendi, the scroll is safe. We were successful in helping the Americans avoid
the ambush, and Shin Bet stopped to deal with the wreckage on the road. No, Effendi,
we could not follow. But we will be waiting for them at the King’s Garden Tunnel.
Be assured, Effendi, the scroll will soon be returned to the hands of the Prophet’s
Guard. And then we may all return home. Thank you, Effendi. I am blessed that you
are pleased.”

Rasaf closed the phone and leaned his head onto the seat back. It was only then that
he realized he had somehow lost his leather hat.

The phone rang in Aleph Reconnaissance Center. Captain Avram Levin knew it was Shavuot.
Much of Jerusalem was closed and quiet. But security never sleeps. This weekend, neither
would he.

Levin had been on duty for three days. So had his team at the computer terminals.
None of them were thinking about leaving. Their replacement details had been reassigned
to other tasks, a good thing since the threat alert had been elevated, leaving Levin
and his detail to deal with ensuring the security of the Temple Mount and the Old
City of Jerusalem.

The phone rang again. The Hawk reached for the handset.

“Yes?”

Stern had turned away from his computer screen to watch Levin. He would have to be
reprimanded for that. Yes, it was three days. Yes, Stern had a family. But there .
. .

“Yes,” said Levin, no change of inflection in his voice. “Yes . . . I see . . . and
forensics will gather any clues? Yes, all right. Thank you.”

The Hawk carefully replaced the handset. Stern waited for his voice. As the silence
stretched, hope deflated.

“Threat level has been elevated once more. We are now at Threat Level Red. The Americans
escaped. They escaped from Shin Bet, they escaped from two hostiles in a car who attacked
them with automatic weapons, they escaped from an additional group of hostiles who
attacked them with rocket-propelled grenades. Four men are dead, apparently all Muslims,
apparently all part of the first group of hostiles who attacked the Americans as they
fled Kibbutz Tzuba. And apparently, this first group of Muslims was killed by a second
group of Muslims, those with the RPGs. Why all of this has happened, we have no idea.
Why the Americans are in the company of one who appears to be an Israeli, we have
no idea. Why these two groups of Muslims are pursuing the American group, we also
have no idea.”

Levin sat on his stool, his eyes closed, and allowed the silence to build in the room.
The Hawk was not opposed to the dramatic.

“We have no idea where they are. But we do have one advantage, isn’t that right, Stern?”

“Yes, sir. We know where they are going,” said Stern. “They are coming to us.”

“Yessss,” hissed The Hawk. “And we will be ready to welcome them.”

Kallie Nolan was on the ground, barely balanced on all fours, retching and crying
at the same time. Johnson had pulled out one of the blankets and draped it over her
back. Bohannon and Rodriguez were sitting on the ground next to the building, Rodriguez
rocking back and forth from his waist up. Bohannon had his hand on a large wad of
gauze, pressing it against Rizzo’s bicep, trying to stop the bleeding. Approaching
the building, Johnson could actually feel the menace of restrained aggression.

For a long time, no one spoke.

It was later, but none of them knew how much later. It was farther away, but none
of them knew for sure how much farther away.

Bohannon had driven like a maniac for miles, making random, rapid turns onto one road
and then another, without thought, without direction. He heard the nearly silent sobbing
coming from behind his seat and knew that Doc was holding and comforting Kallie. He
stole a glance at Joe and was not surprised to see panic in his eyes, yet a dangerous
resolve locked in his jaw. “Sammy’s been hurt,” said Joe. “Something caught him in
the arm, and he’s bleeding.”

“And I ain’t got that much blood,” came a strained voice from the back.

After an interval that could have been thirty minutes or three hours, Bohannon slowed
the car and shut down the headlights. They were on a thin ribbon of road, darkness
all around them. For quite some time, they had seen no other vehicles in either direction.
Descending a hill, the road bottomed out into a flatland that appeared to be farms.
Guided only by the faint light of moon and stars, Bohannon carefully navigated the
middle of the road, his eyes searching ahead. Suddenly, but slowly, he turned the
Toyota to the right and flicked on the switch for the four-wheel drive. The large
SUV rocked down a short embankment at the side of the road. There was silence in the
car as Bohannon gingerly picked his way along what he hoped was a dirt track. His
hope was soon fulfilled.

There were no lights. As quietly as possible, Bohannon steered the Toyota alongside
a building that had appeared on their right. It looked like a barn or a storage building
for machinery. Beside it was a huge cypress tree. Bohannon stopped the SUV in the
blackness under the tree, hard against the side of the building.

Spilling out of the car, Kallie scrambled into the distance to relieve the upheaval
in her guts while Joe helped Rizzo to the side of the building and Tom dug a first-aid
kit from one of the backpacks.

Out of the darkness, Bohannon heard Johnson’s voice. “There must have been three groups,
right? Or were there four?”

There was quiet again.

Kallie’s spasms subsided, and she sat back, resting on her haunches. Johnson got up
and crossed to the tree. Gently, he put his arm around her shoulders, helped her to
her feet, and guided her to the wall where the men were sitting. Though her back rested
against the wall like the others, her head and shoulders had slipped to the right
and were cradled in Johnson’s arms.

Bohannon cleaned Rizzo’s wound, despite his protests that he was fine. Something,
shrapnel or glass, had ripped into his right bicep, nearly halfway through his arm.
No arteries were cut. Bohannon couldn’t tell about anything else. They got the bleeding
stopped and wrapped the arm in a huge wad of antiseptic-covered gauze.

“Yeah,” said Bohannon, his answer, like his thoughts, moving in slow motion, “there
must have been three different groups out there. The Shin Bet squads, but I don’t
think we ever saw them. Then there were the guys who came up behind us. I think they
were connected to the guys with the roadblock.”

Bohannon’s lips stopped as his mind tripped back. Sataf Roundabout . . . down the
road . . . a car behind them . . . over the hill . . . the road blocked . . . then
light, fire, explosions all around them. Everything was noise. His mind replayed the
noise over and over again. Rizzo’s voice brought him back to the wall.

“But who shot the rockets?” asked Rizzo, propped against one of the backpacks, his
eyes closed.

Silence sat as thick as the blackness. Bohannon began to think there would be no answer.

“Not rockets, RPGs,” said Rodriguez, his voice low, but sculpted with rage. “Rocket-propelled
grenades. Smaller, easier to transport, as easy as shooting a gun. One of the gangs
in New York got their hands on some RPGs when I was a kid. Blew apart the house of
a rival gang leader. Killed four little children. That’s all, just four innocent kids.
I was walking down the street, saw the smoke and fire trails, just like tonight. Nobody
ever paid for that house, for those kids. Just got away with it.”

Bohannon realized that they couldn’t stay where they were for long and somebody had
to make some decisions—give them some purpose—before they all became unraveled.

God, why have you given me this burden?
his spirit cried.
I’m no leader. I don’t know what to do
.

But then, he did.

“Yes, Major. Two squads, out of sight, flanking the King’s Garden Tunnel. Another
two squads at the Citadel, in reserve. One squad south, one squad north on the Soueyvet
Road to close off escape. All cameras are working, all avenues of access covered.”
Levin listened for a moment. “Yes, sir . . . yes, we are all tired. And I would agree
with you that we need to be relieved, that we need to have a fresh squad on duty.
But, sir, please, give us a few hours. Give us until daylight. I can tell you that
none of us are going to leave until we apprehend these men. My squad and I would prefer
to finish what we’ve started.” Again, he listened. “Yes, sir, you have my word. If
we lose our edge, our effectiveness, we will immediately stand down. Yes, sir . .
. and thank you, sir.”

Levin rested the handset in the cradle, wondering if his request was prudent or prideful.

“Thank you, Captain.” It was Lieutenant Stern standing at his computer. Sergeant Ehud,
the rest of the squad, were also standing. “Thank you for your faith in us. None of
us are willing to give up now. We’re in this with you. And we won’t let you down.”

The Hawk leaned against his chair, too tired to sit. What had he ever done to deserve
men like these? It was just past midnight. A new day. Perhaps, now, their luck would
change.

Bohannon shared the bottle of water with each of them, not for drinking, but for pouring
on their faces, for rubbing on the back of their necks. They needed to snap back.

He walked over to Joe, who was inspecting the riddled Toyota.

“The car is okay, Tom,” he said to Bohannon. “Nothing vital was hit. The rear gate
is full of holes, and one taillight is shattered. Otherwise, it looks okay.

“But you know, I don’t think they were trying to disable the car. Otherwise, they
would have shot out the tires, ruptured the fuel tank, or blasted out all the windows.
I don’t think they were trying to kill us, at least not initially. I think the guys
behind us were just trying to drive us into the roadblock and trap us there.”

Rodriguez looked at his brother-in-law. There was steely resolve in his eyes. “They
were after the scroll, Tom. The Prophet’s Guard. That’s why they didn’t try to wreck
the car. They know we have it with us. If Shin Bet nailed us, the ‘bolts’ never would
have gotten their hands on the scroll. So they had to act fast, stop us, and get the
scroll before the Federales showed up. Which means there are more of them out there
waiting for us to show ourselves again.”

“But who were the other guys?” Bohannon asked, rubbing the back of his head. “I was
all set to agree with you, but think about it for a minute. The Guard wants the scroll
back. They don’t care about us, except we have the scroll. And they will protect the
scroll at all costs. We saw that in New York. So who was protecting the scroll tonight?
The guys with the guns and the roadblock? Or the guys with the RPGs who took out the
guys who were trying to take us out?”