The Sacred Cipher (66 page)

They sat on the terrace of Richard Johnson’s apartment in the brittle darkness, collectively
swimming in the backwash of anxiety stirred up by the delayed reaction to unimaginable
trauma and fear. It was just past midnight in New York City, and the seven of them
had wandered out onto the terrace after watching the treaty-signing ceremony broadcast
live by CNN from Germany. Central Park spread out before them like a green bandage
on a concrete body, the night sounds of Manhattan far below.

Convened at Doc’s apartment to witness both the treaty ceremony from Germany and,
in a couple hours, the live broadcast from Jerusalem of the first Temple sacrifice,
it was a reunion of sorts, the first time they had all gathered together since the
team returned home. Kallie, banished by the Israeli government, was living with the
Bohannons for the time being, piecing her life back together. Tonight, she couldn’t
seem to avoid, nor looked like she wanted to, the constant attention of Sammy Rizzo,
her self-proclaimed rescuer.

“I hope the Palestinians don’t blow up the process,” said Annie.

It seemed to Bohannon that he’d barely let go of Annie’s hand since he returned from
Germany. Even now, she sat by his side, wrapped around his left arm, her head on his
shoulder.

“Each day I think something is going to go wrong,” said Joe, sitting side-by-side
with Dierdre on a made-for-two, cushioned patio swing. “I mean, we got home okay,
we didn’t get arrested, the world didn’t blow up . . . and we still have our jobs.”

“I told my boss I wanted a raise,” said Rizzo. “Combat pay.”

“Maybe Tom can arrange for the Bowery Mission to provide you with a bonus,” Johnson
generously offered. “How much did the organization realize from the auction of those
books?”

“Six million dollars,” said Bohannon. “But don’t get any ideas. It’s all allocated
to doubling the size of the women’s home.”

“Well . . . there you have it, my diminutive friend.” Johnson was draped along the
length of a lounge chair, one hand airily waving in the soft breeze. “Wounded in the
line of duty and nothing to show for it.”

“Maybe we can hock the mezuzah,” suggested Rizzo, “and all take a trip to the Virgin
Islands. You still got it locked up in the vault at the Collector’s Club?”

“Don’t worry about it, Sammy,” said Rodriguez. “The scroll and the mezuzah are safe
and secure. I wish I felt the same way about this peace treaty.”

“Well, Mr. Rodriguez, in my opinion one of the thorniest moments will come in a few
hours,” said Johnson, who was finally beginning to regain some of his lost weight,
“when the resurrected priesthood of the Aaronites is going to offer ritual sacrifice
in the Temple. After so many years of violence, I find it difficult to believe what
I’m seeing, that Arab and Jew could so easily put aside generations of hatred.”

“But, Doc, they just signed the treaty,” said Rizzo.

“Yes . . . yes, I know. But the pace has been so rapid . . .”

“That’s what I’m concerned about,” Kallie interrupted. “Everything is just moving
so fast. I was astonished when the Waqf relinquished control of the Huldah Gates,
allowed the Israelis under the Mount, and granted them permission to clear away an
entrance to the discovered Temple—even before the treaty was signed. Now, everything
is in place for the sacrifice. Don’t the Arabs get it?”

Perhaps it was the late hour, but Bohannon was getting confused. “Get what?”

“The significance,” Johnson mumbled. “The Temple has been consecrated, all the furniture
and elements are in place. All that remains is for the priests to lead a procession
into the Temple chamber, bringing the sacrifices with them. It’s astonishing . . .
historical . . . the first time in nearly two thousand years that the Jews will be
able to worship in the Temple with ritual sacrifice.”

Johnson stretched, then abruptly sat up straight and turned to his friends. “But first,
how about a midnight snack? Who wants Chinese?”

Doc Johnson’s media room smelled like soy sauce and onions. White cardboard containers
with swirly red designs littered nearly every flat surface. A potted plant was skewered
with a pair of chopsticks, courtesy of Sammy Rizzo, who found his hands full as the
boxed cuisine was passed from person to person. They were sipping tea and cracking
open fortune cookies as they watched the Temple ritual played out on Johnson’s plasma
TV. While the take-out was excellent, it was no match for the drama unfolding before
their eyes.

It was the third hour in Jerusalem, 9:00
AM
local time, and the Levites were about to open the Temple. Like fireflies to a yard
light, Bohannon, Johnson, Rodriguez, and Rizzo—pulling Kallie with him—were drawn
from their seats and gathered close around the television screen. Annie and Deirdre
sat just behind them.

“We were right there,” said Rodriguez, jumping in his seat with excitement. “Remember
that fallen column on the left? That’s where Doc dropped his last cyalume stick.”

“Thank you, Mr. Rodriguez, for reminding me of my bumbling, and in front of such nice
people, too.”

“Ease up, Doc,” Rodriguez said with a poke. “Tom and I would still be wandering around
in those caves like Hansel and Gretel if it hadn’t been for you. You saved our backsides
more times than I’d like to remember.”

“Duly noted,” Johnson said with a nod of his head.

Bohannon was enjoying the moment on many levels. He was blessed to hear the bantering
between his fellow adventurers. Bohannon knew how many times they had come close to
losing everything: their search, their hope, and their lives. He knew how many times
God had answered their prayers, his prayers. But what warmed his heart the most was
a new, just sprouting, conviction that seemed to be coming alive in Richard Johnson.
Earlier that night, Doc had pulled Bohannon into a side room.

“You know, Tom, I’m thinking that you may be right. God really does love each one
of us.” Bohannon nearly choked. “I don’t understand it, but I know I’ve just lived
it. I think I’ve been searching for God all my life. It’s going to take some time
to sink in, but the empirical evidence is that I think he’s found me.”

Remembering that moment, reflexively, Bohannon put his hand on Doc’s shoulder.

“They are about to cleanse the altar with the blood of the sacrifice,” said Johnson.
“This is the key moment. It is the blood offering that washes away the sins of the
Jews.”

“Eeewww . . . gross!” Rizzo shuddered from his perch in front of the TV. “Holy transfusion,
that is a lot of blood from one ram, don’t you think? Oh-oh, here comes another.”

The sacrifice ritual came to an end, and the priests began to line up for the procession
out of the Temple and back to the surface. CNN brought in some “expert commentators”
for the event, and the one who was getting the most face time was Ben Heath, the evangelical
pastor of a megachurch just outside Dallas. Heath continually emphasized the significance
of the just-completed Temple sacrifice to the course of history. “This is not just
a Christian thing or a Bible thing,” Heath responded to a question. “This event is
going to dramatically impact the lives of every human being currently living on the
face of this planet. The prophecy in the Bible has been unerring in its predictions
for the future. We have seen the fruit of prophecy fulfillment in every generation
since the books were first written down.”

“Why is that so important to us?” asked the commentator.

“Because the Bible is full of predictions about what will happen when the Third Temple
of God is consecrated, as is being done this very moment.”

“And what are some of those predictions?”

Heath hesitated.

“He sees the trap.” Bohannon pushed up to the edge of his chair and wiped the palms
of his perspiring hands against his thighs, just as he had done during the Giants’
final scoring drive in the 2008 Super Bowl. “He knows what CNN is looking for. The
question is, can he avoid it?”

“There’s truth here,” said Heath, “but it’s truth that needs to be revealed gradually.
Temple prophecy is abundant, it’s powerful, and it’s easily misunderstood. The return
of ritual sacrifice to the Temple of Jerusalem will have great historical significance.
Judaism believes it will herald the long-awaited arrival of the Messiah. But for those
who believe the entire Bible is true, both Old and New Testament, one thing is indisputable.
Consecration of the Third Temple of God brings us into the last days of this world.”

Eyes blinking rapidly, the announcer leaned toward the pastor. He looked bewildered.
“Are you saying this is going to lead to the
end
of the world?”

“No,” said Heath, his voice soft and calm. “What I’m saying is that the consecration
of the Third Temple brings us into a time, an era, at the end of which biblical prophecy
predicts that the world as we know it will end. No one knows when that time will be.
But if you are someone who believes that the Bible tells the truth—and in two thousand
years, the Bible has never been proven to be inaccurate—the Bible tells us that the
consecration of the Third Temple begins the march of time toward the last days of
the world. We are now, all of us, all around the world, in the last days. The thought
of that is enough to sober any man.”

The CNN announcer continued to stare at Heath, his mouth agape. After an awkward moment
of dead air, CNN went quickly to commercial.

“Wow, what do you think that means?” asked Rodriguez.

“What that clock means,” said Johnson, pointing to the mantle, “is that it’s time
to get to bed if I ever hope to get to work tomorrow.”

A loud yawn sounded as Rizzo stretched from his corner of the sofa. “Say, Doc, can’t
we just have a sleepover? I’ll cook breakfast.”

“Great idea, Sammy . . . if we were teenagers,” said Rodriguez. “Sorry to burst your
bubble, but Deidre and I have to get home.”

Kallie and Annie were gathering up the mangled food boxes, and CNN was still replaying
clips from the morning’s events in Jerusalem when Tom pulled Doc into a corner.

“Thanks for sharing your heart with me earlier,” Bohannon said. He pulled away and
held Doc at arm’s length, their gazes locked on each other. “This will likely be a
challenging search you’re on. Lots of bumps and disappointments along the way.” Bohannon
struggled to keep his emotions in check. “If you ever need me—”

They were silenced by a CNN breaking-news report from the still operating television.

“This is CNN. We are having difficulty reacquiring the video feed, but reports are
coming in of a violent earthquake in Jerusalem, just minutes after the completion
of the first sacrifice in the new Jewish Temple. Reporters on the scene, who have
been able to contact their desks, report that, among other extensive damage throughout
the city, the Temple Mount has essentially been split in half by the strong earthquake,
destroying all of the structures on the Mount. So much water has been released from
the massive, natural cisterns under the Temple Mount that it appears, for now, there
is a new river flowing through Jerusalem. We will have more on this breaking story
as it unfolds.”

While
The Sacred Cipher
is a work of fiction, several plot elements are based on fact.

The Bowery Mission (
http://bowery.org
) has served the lost, the least, and the lonely of New York City since 1878. It is
the third-oldest rescue mission in the United States, and one of its most effective.
Besides serving over 250,000 meals yearly to the homeless and poor, the Bowery Mission’s
nine-month, faith-based, residential recovery program has guided thousands of men
in transforming themselves from addiction and hopelessness to productive and healthy
lives. There are over three hundred rescue missions in the United States helping the
poor and homeless with a combined one million donors and over four hundred thousand
volunteers. Most of them belong to the American Gospel Rescue Mission organization
(
http://agrm.org
).