The Sacred Cipher (59 page)

“Even on the southern side?” asked the major. “Our engineers are worried that even
more of the southern wall may break loose, especially with this accursed rain.”

“I don’t care about the rain, I don’t care about the wall, I don’t care about anything
except preventing those men from leaving Jerusalem. Whatever the cost. If necessary,
their discovery will die with them. Get it done, Major. Get it done, now.”

Bohannon was beginning to feel like a lottery winner who knew he didn’t have all the
answers but suddenly was perceived as some savant. He wanted to pray, he believed
God wanted to answer his prayers. But now, Doc and Joe looked at him as if he were
like some kind of fortune-teller, a trickster who could pull a rabbit out of his hat
at his whim. What if God didn’t answer his prayer? What if God didn’t show him how
to get out? What if he didn’t have another of those “visions” in his brain like the
one that told him to make a raft or look again at the scroll, or the last one that
told him to climb up in that crevice, that showed him the shaft, the stone shelf,
the hole for the catheter?

How could they get out of the tunnel, and out of Jerusalem, without being captured
or killed by the Shin Bet, the Arabs, or some Jewish soldier who might stumble over
their attempted exit?

With workmen inspecting the foundations of the Temple Mount after the collapse of
the southern wall, with Israeli army units in possession of their location and scouring
the maze of tunnels under the Temple Mount, the team knew they had to get out quickly.
But it was now a sure bet, with the sun up and the Mount the focus of attention, that
they couldn’t get out the way they had come in. They were trapped, holding the greatest
secret of the last thousand years, unless they could find another way out. So they
prayed.

Almost immediately, stunning the other two, Bohannon released their hands, grabbed
the satellite phone and dialed the States, connecting with a journalism buddy now
heading up PR for a massive, multinational firm.
If he has the access I think he has . . .

As soon as Bohannon hung up, he immediately began praying again. Within minutes, the
phone beeped a return call. On the other end of the call was Alexander Krupp, CEO
of Krupp Industries, the European industrial giant, and Bohannon’s Sigma Pi “little
brother” when both attended Penn State University. Krupp Industries, manufacturer
of steel, arms, oil refineries, and a laundry list of other government essentials,
exercised incredible clout in the Middle East. Because it helped bring home the oil
on which the prosperity of the Arab states depended, and because it manufactured some
of the finest and most dependable armaments in the world upon which the safety of
Israel depended, officers of the conglomerate were on friendly terms with every government
and every significant organization outside of government in the Middle East.

Bohannon quickly summarized the situation for Krupp, who didn’t ask any questions
as the story unfolded. “Alex, I’m sorry to get you involved in this. The whole thing
seems to be blowing up. But I didn’t know anyone else to call. You know this area.
You know these people. I’m hoping you can help us get out of here in one piece.”

A momentary silence on the other end filled the line, and Bohannon feared he had misjudged
his relationship with Krupp, whom he hadn’t seen in several years.

“This situation sure has changed, Tom. In the past, it was always you rescuing me.
I’m glad you called. I believe I can help.”

Bohannon’s heart leaped with hope, and his eyes lit up with promise.

“Listen, Tom, the southern wall of the Temple Mount has collapsed, probably because
of all the rain.”

“Yeah, we know that,” said Bohannon. “We picked it up on the GPS we have.”

“Well, as soon as we heard about the wall coming down, I called the Israeli Interior
Minister directly and offered the help of our engineers and crews. We’ve been building
a chemical refinery outside Jericho, and we’ve had to do a lot of work shoring up
hillsides. We just airlifted in additional crews of men and engineers for this job,
along with a load of equipment, and they were sitting at the airport, waiting to be
transported to the work site. The minister was grateful for the help, and our crews
are on their way. They should be there any moment. Listen, this is what I want you
to do.”

The light, more than the dark, tripped the alarms in Sergeant Gefen’s brain. He was
nearly motionless as he began to scan the large hall he and his men had reached. Embracing
the shadows, Gefen trained his night-vision on the large mound of rubble at the northwest
corner of the room and the six Arab men who were carefully inspecting the debris.
He flashed six fingers to his squad leader, who passed the info down the line. Gefen
then signaled for silence, and was out, into the hall, without a sound. Eight Israeli
soldiers followed, each without a sound. In the half-light of the large room, nine
shadows fanned out unobserved. The Arabs were stirring up so much dust it was as if
the Israelis were moving in a cloud. Gefen was only two feet from his mark when a
rock broke loose, the Arab stumbled and looked back into the dust cloud. Before any
sound could escape his open mouth, Gefen had a blade to his throat and had fired two
shots into the ceiling. Each of the other Arabs were stunned when they turned and
found the point of an Israeli muzzle.

Minutes later, three large, industrial trucks pulled up on the Ha’ofel Road and quickly
disgorged more than two-dozen workmen. The trucks were covered in canvas, and the
workers covered in overalls, each a pale blue with the giant, orange “KI,” for Krupp
Industries emblazoned as a signature. With few words and even less wasted motion,
the workers rapidly split into pairs: six pairs grabbing steel bracing beams, and
the other six pairs gathering up various tools, implements, and coils of wound, steel
cable. All twelve teams broke into a trot, hustling to the southern wall as quickly
as they could.

With a precision that was remarkable to observe, the Krupp crews swiftly had the six
bracing beams positioned against the remaining upright sections of the southern wall.
While six teams jogged back to the trucks for more steel beams, the remaining workers
began drilling holes for the anchors and unraveling steel cable. A growing crowd of
both soldiers and civilians anxiously watched the efforts of the Krupp crews as they
scrambled all around the southern wall—the parts that remained standing and those
that had collapsed in wildly strewn, massive stones. Engrossed by the flurry of activity
unfolding in front of them, none of the bystanders paid any attention to the two workers
with the large tool bags who appeared to be inspecting the wall farther to the south.
Moments later, if anyone had bothered to look, the two workmen slipped out of sight
as if by magic.

Rodriguez, Johnson, and Bohannon rapidly stowed all of their gear following the conversation
with Krupp, paying special attention to ensuring the video equipment was adequately
padded. Urgency marked their movements. Bohannon, as he began climbing down the wall
face, tried earnestly to keep that urgency from turning to panic.

They heard shots fired somewhere in the distance as Bohannon completed the call. Now
they were running for their lives, for their only possible means of escape. But they
were only running in their minds. Physically, they were inching along the narrow crevice,
pushing themselves through this crushingly small space, striving to reach the tunnel
they had entered outside the Hall of the Sanhedrin, the one they believed—hoped—would
take them down to the Huldah Gates, to the escape route, before they were cut off
by Israeli soldiers or Arab zealots.

Krupp had warned them. They must get to the base of the Huldah Gates tunnel within
the next thirty minutes, before his engineers and workmen completed their emergency
repairs to the southern wall. “Get to the base of the tunnel,” Krupp had said, “and
I will get you out safely. But you must move quickly.”

Bohannon’s brain was about to burst.
How can I move quickly, when I can barely move at all?
He heard Joe and Doc behind him, scratching along the surface of the crevice. They
agreed that silence would be necessary, so Bohannon wrestled mightily with the urge
to call back over his shoulder, to encourage Joe and Doc to a pace he couldn’t keep
himself. Then he saw the light, and he pushed ahead with even more vigor to the edge
of the tunnel. Searching carefully from his concealed location, Bohannon could neither
see any movement, nor hear any sounds in the tunnel that led to the Huldah Gates.
He looked at his watch.
Only ten minutes
, he groaned inwardly.

Bohannon squeezed himself out of the crevice, pulled out his backpack, and then began
pulling against the rope that Rodriguez had connected to all three men. Straining
against the rope, Bohannon could feel Doc Johnson moving, but not moving fast enough.
C’mon . . . c’mon!
Eight minutes left.