The Sacred Cipher (42 page)

“Stern, come on. Talk to me. At least let me know you’re still awake.”

“Nothing, Captain. And unfortunately, I am still awake.” Stern turned in his chair,
facing Levin. “Nothing on the roads, sir, and nothing in the streets. It’s been totally
silent for over an hour. One farmer’s truck struggling up the causeway. Never stopped.
It’ll be light in”—he looked at his watch: four twenty—“just over an hour. If they
are going to make a move on the tunnel, it will have to come very soon.”

The Hawk picked up the phone and checked, once more, on the units staged and waiting
for action.

“That is very bad news, Leonidas, but thank you, nonetheless. We will provide for
the families and, of course, for you. What of the Americans?”

While his voice remained cordial, the Imam’s eyes had become blazing torches.
Kill my men? There will be retribution
, he vowed. But first, the Americans. First, the safety of the Noble Sanctuary, the
Haram al-Sharif, must be assured.

“What? No, they cannot have vanished. You are telling me,” his voice rising, “that
Shin Bet has lost them, has no idea of their whereabouts?”

A moment to listen.

“No,” the Imam shouted. “No—that is not acceptable, Leonidas. Not acceptable.”

The connection severed, and the line went dead. The Imam looked at the screen: Signal
Lost.
No
, he thought,
we are not lost
.

Quickly, but without a whisper of sound, he descended the curving steps and entered
the porter’s office. “Awaken the faithful. Awaken them now.”

Rodriguez led the way, three farmworkers making a delivery. Each had a heavy burlap
sack hoisted on his right shoulder. They began walking down the path alongside the
road. To his left, from the east, Bohannon could see the first glimmer of pink.

Rasaf was getting restive. None of his men had reported. Which meant none had seen
anything. Even though he was deep under the trees of the car park, he still had a
clear view of the Mount and the entrance to the King’s Garden Tunnel. His men were
also stationed with good lines of sight. But the blackness of the night had lost its
luster. Dawn was not far off. Where were they?

Captain Levin nearly fell off his stool when the major walked through the door, unannounced.
By reflex, he and his men quickly snapped to attention. “Be at your ease; stay at
your stations,” said the major, crossing to Levin’s perch, welcoming hand extended.
“Avram, it is a pleasure, my boy.” Levin received the earnest warmth in the major’s
eyes and began to relax his alarms. “What do we have?”

The alarms reengaged. “Nothing, I’m afraid,” he said, offering the major his chair
and feeling emasculated in his acceptance. “In the last two hours, only four vehicles
have been on the road past the King’s Garden Temple: two automobiles traveling south;
one automobile and one farmer’s truck traveling north. None of the vehicles slowed
down, let alone stopped, anywhere along the Derech Ha’ofel. Since midnight, the pedestrian
traffic has been almost nonexistent. A few drunken tourists, about 2:00
AM,
but they were Russian—now they are in jail.”

He turned to the major, and away from the screens. “But nothing, nothing on the Americans.”

This was it. Bohannon, Rodriguez, and Johnson had momentarily stopped in the shadows
of an outcropping. Stepping out would put them in full view of anyone who might be
watching, and Bohannon knew there were many who could have taken on that responsibility:
Israelis, Muslims, the lightning bolts, maybe others. He looked into the faces of
the other two, sweating under the weight of the burlap sacks. “Tom,” said Rodriguez,
“we’re screwed. Whether we walk out from behind this rock or not, we’re screwed. We’re
never going to get out of this mess except one way. And that way,” he said, pointing
with his elbow, “is out there. C’mon. We’ve got to take the chance.”

Before Bohannon could react or respond, Rodriguez was walking out of the shadows,
stoop-shouldered, his back bent to the weight, his feet slowly picking their way down
the path. He was hiding in plain sight. The trump card was played. Bohannon, then
Johnson, followed.

“Rasaf, there’s movement.”

Flicking away the cigarette, Rasaf grabbed the wireless phone. “Where?”

“On the streets to the Temple Mount.”

“Fool,” Rasaf growled into the speaker, “I don’t care about the streets to the Temple
Mount. What’s happening on the road, or down by the tunnel entrance?”

“Fool,” mocked the voice on the other end, “you should care about the streets to the
Temple Mount. There are thousands . . . thousands . . . of Muslims coming down every
street.”

“Captain, look at the streets,” yelled Ehud, embarrassed by the volume of his alert.

Levin and Major Mordechai scrambled to the screens. The streets around the Temple
Mount were overrun with Muslims. They were pouring into the huge square atop the Mount
and spilling over its sides. Mordechai was already on a phone. “Dispatch all the police
. . . keep the guard in reserve.”

Levin was about to grab a phone himself, but Stern grabbed his hand instead.

“Captain, we’ve found something. Swinging cameras around to the Mount, we found this
on the other side of the valley, under a grove of trees, just off the Jericho Road.”

Levin remembered the truck chugging up the hill to market. Weren’t there two men sleeping
on the sacks in the back?

A bitter-tasting bile rose in his throat. “Not again.” The Hawk didn’t hear the hint
of fatalism in his own voice. He was moving too quickly.

Rodriguez slid on the loose gravel and nearly lost his balance. They turned away from
the main path and to a much steeper path, short, leading to the corner of the entrance,
but covered with loose stones. All three of them shifted the sacks to their left shoulders
and reached out to the towering boulder on their right for balance and support. Rodriguez
stopped to peer around the boulder, and Bohannon crashed into his back, falling awkwardly
into the thick brush on his left.