The Sacred Cipher (64 page)

With that shot across the bow, Bohannon softened, trying to negotiate for time.

“Mr. President, don’t you think we understand the gravity of the situation? Mr. Krupp
is intimately aware of the powers and pressures on both sides of the Mideast conflict.
And all of us understand the risk of revealing the existence of the Third Temple.
But, sir, this could also be an unprecedented opportunity to forge a lasting peace
that would benefit generations to come. I understand your concerns, sir. But, respectfully,
this is not your decision to make. And trying to pressure us is not going to help.
I’m sure your advisors, who are listening in, will agree with me on that.”

Bohannon took a breath. Whitestone stepped into it.

“Don’t underestimate the power of this office, Mr. Bohannon. You would be surprised
how much power I have at my disposal.”

“Mr. President, I want you to use your power. But use it for bringing the two sides
together in Switzerland. Use it,” urged Bohannon, getting out of his chair and beginning
to pace, “to help bring about peace.”

Bohannon looked at the others as he waited for the president’s response, wondering
if he had pushed too hard, too far.

“Bohannon, listen to me. There is no time for debate. You’re a Christian, you know
the clock you will be starting,” said Whitestone, purportedly an evangelical Christian
and demonstrably an ardent supporter of Israel. “But that’s not my concern right now.
Right now, I’m concerned about the radical Islamists, the ones who are primed to ignite
a holy war and precipitate the slaughter of millions, Jew and Arab alike. You or Mr.
Krupp may convince the leaders of Jordan and Egypt to attend your intended summit
in Switzerland. You may even convince them there is a solution to the Jerusalem dilemma.
But what you will not be able to accomplish is the eradication of Al Qaeda or the
dozens of splinter groups who are committed to jihad. Revealing this information is
tantamount to lighting a fuse. We don’t know how long it will take, but eventually,
the flame will reach the explosive. And then, God help us all.

“You can’t do this, Tom,” said Whitestone, now adding intimacy to the weight of his
office. “In all good conscience, Tom, you can’t do this. Millions will die if you
do. That’s all I can say to you. Except, if you go through with this folly, you and
your family will feel the displeasure of this government. That’s not a threat. It’s
not a bully tactic. It’s just what will happen. Think carefully about what you do
next. Please, consider this carefully. Tom . . .

“Sir?”

“Take it to prayer, Tom. Please. That may be our only hope.”

“Yes, Mr. President, yes, I will. Thank you, Mr. President.”

Drained, chagrined by his combative attitude toward the president of the United States,
Bohannon placed the handset in the cradle and turned to the others. Rodriguez was
standing right next to him. “Man, I can’t believe how you gave it right back to the
president,” said Rodriguez, giving Bohannon a chuck on the shoulder. “Hey, you could
be from the Bronx.”

Bohannon put his hand on Rodriguez’s shoulder. “Thanks, Joe. I don’t know where that
came from.”

“He was bullying you, bullying us,” said Johnson, joining the other two. “Good for
you for standing up to his strong-arm tactics. I was proud of you.” Bohannon took
Johnson’s offered hand, but his eyes sought out Krupp, still seated, hands clasped
on top of his head, a wounded grimace on his face.

“Alex, what is it?”

Bohannon led the way to Krupp’s side. “What’s wrong, Alex? You look like all the air
just went out of you.”

Krupp ran his hands through his red hair, shaking his head from side-to-side. “I don’t
like this, I don’t like the way it feels. Something is way out of order here.”

“What do you suspect, Herr Krupp?” asked Johnson, sitting in the chair next to the
industrialist.

“I suspect,” said Krupp, “that the Arab groups are not the only ones who are determined
to keep this information from becoming public. Two hours ago I call the Israeli prime
minister, give him the information, and invite him to Switzerland. Then we get a call
from your president, here. How did your president know you were here, in my home?”

“Eliazar Baruk called Mr. Whitestone,” said Johnson, stating the obvious.

“Yes, but when?” Krupp asked. “Did he call the president when he and I hung up? Then
why did it take the president two hours to contact us here? If Baruk waited for two
hours before calling the president, what was he doing with the time? No, both of these
men were emphatic, you will not divulge this information; it is of the most dangerous
nature. If we don’t fall at their feet and promise obedience, what will they do next?
Hope for our good faith?”

Krupp’s eyes darted to each in turn. “I doubt it. Here is the most powerful man on
earth ordering us to back off and that you must return home . . . or what?” He got
up and began pacing in front of them. “The highest official in the state of Israel,
after Switzerland the most buttoned-up country in the world, tells us he needs twelve
hours to make a decision, then calls the president of the United States for muscle?
Israel, which sent raiding parties into Uganda, bombed a nuclear energy plant in Syria,
and invaded Lebanon for abducting one of its soldiers. Can you believe
that
Israel would just sit back and allow the American government to bail them out?

“Since when did the Israelis ever rely on someone else to take care of their problems?
Never. And the Israelis are not going to wait and see what happens, now. The Israelis
are on their way here,” said Krupp, smacking his left hand with his right fist. “They
are coming after you, after all of us. And you can be absolutely certain they are
not coming to politely request our evidence. They are coming to wipe all evidence
from the face of the earth, including us.”

Krupp stopped in mid stride, put his hands on the top of a winged-back armchair, and
gathered them all in his icy stare. “They’re coming to kill us, and we will get no
help from your government. The Israelis could be here in twenty minutes, or in several
hours. Whatever we do, we had better do it quickly.”

Once they entered European airspace, there would be no radio contact, either with
the other plane or with Orhlon in Israel. Painter, standing in the doorway between
the two pilots, patiently watched as the radar tracked their progress. The blip crossed
a white line on the dark screen.

Painter pulled a cell phone out of his pocket.
So simple
, he thought.
With all of our high-tech equipment, this is so simple
.

Painter pushed a button and sent his text message: “Final leg. All well. Down soon.”
That was it.
Simple. I wish all in life was that simple
.

“What are we doing here?” Bohannon asked no one in particular. “How did I ever allow
any of us to get into such a mess?”

These men had left their families and risked their lives to pursue something they
believed was vitally important. Bohannon was angry with himself and with everyone
who tried to stop them. And now this—abandon the pursuit that already cost so much,
or face the wrath of both the Israeli and American governments. They had found the
Temple. But now, they couldn’t tell anybody about it? Heads and spirits were bowed.
No one spoke. What could they do against insurmountable opposition? Either their discovery
would die, or they would put themselves, their families, who knew what else at significant
risk by trying to reveal it. What a waste! Why did they ever get involved in something
this crazy to begin with?

Krupp reached out and put his hand on Bohannon’s arm. He looked into Rodriguez’s eyes.
“No matter what we do,” Krupp said quietly, “we are all still at risk. And will always
remain at risk simply because of what we know. And that risk will include our families
. . . our wives and our children.”

“So, gents, this is it,” said Rodriguez. “What are we going to do?”

Krupp turned toward Bohannon, rested his other hand on Bohannon’s shoulder, and drew
him closer. He wanted eyeball-to-eyeball contact.

“Tom, ever since I’ve known you, there are a couple things I could rely on,” said
Krupp, embracing Bohannon’s mind with his eyes. “One of them was that you would always
do the right thing. It didn’t matter if it was difficult, didn’t matter if it was
unpopular. You took the time to find out what the right thing was, and then you went
out and did the right thing. Always. Consistently. It was something we could hang
our hopes and expectations on.”

Krupp reached out with his right hand and gently touched Bohannon’s left shoulder.

“Tom, go ahead, do the right thing,” said Krupp. “Ask God to tell you the right thing.
I know he will. And then, all of us, we’ll follow you. All of us, we all want to do
the right thing. We just don’t know what it is. Will you do it, Tom? Will you ask
God for the right thing?”

With a light spirit, but a heavy heart, Bohannon opened his arms. What resulted was
a football huddle; four men, their arms resting on each other’s shoulders. Three silently
supportive, one mumbling for help and guidance, all of them determined to follow.

Moments later, Bohannon opened his squished eyes and saw the other three staring at
him. “I just kept thinking of one thing. We have got to go public. Right now, it looks
like us against the world. To tell you the truth, I don’t see how we’ll ever be able
to get this information out. We have to go public, but it looks pretty hopeless.”

Rodriguez, silent for some time, stepped away from the huddle and crossed to the windows,
looking at the faint outline of mountains in the darkening distance. “I know a way.”

For the next hour and a half, the four men worked feverishly, though separately. Krupp
increased security around his estate and, against her wishes, dispatched his wife
and children to the farm of his security chief, not too far distant. Bohannon wrote
a detailed account of the search for the Temple, from start to finish, and Rodriguez
reviewed, edited, and compiled the video evidence of their investigation and discovery,
arranging it all in proper order with the help of Johnson.

When all was ready, Krupp opened his direct, secure landline. Within seconds, Rodriguez
plugged in his laptop and connected to the Internet, to the worldwide library exchange
system that keeps every library in the world updated with cutting-edge technology
and the latest information in the world of books.

For a moment, Rodriguez looked up at the faces around him. He took a deep breath.
And pushed Send. Instantly, all of the information concerning their discovery of the
Third Temple of God, hidden under Jerusalem’s Temple Mount, was electronically communicated
to every library in the world.