The Sacred Cipher (50 page)

Baruk’s unflinching gaze locked on Sharp. Then he shifted. “Moishe, what will this
mean?”

For a moment, Orhlon was at a loss. Baruk wasn’t sure if it was because of what he
knew or how he felt. Baruk imagined Orhlon’s brain was racing to review every possible
strategy and unimaginable scenario.

“Mr. Prime Minister,” said the raspy-voiced defense minister, his tone somber, “I
agree with Levi. I am confident the reports he received were accurate. But grasping
the consequences of these reports is something from which my mind has rebelled.”

Suddenly, Orhlon looked older, more worn down, than at any time Baruk had known him.

“I am confident, sir, that if we should allow these men to proceed, if they discover
the Temple . . . should they make public their discovery, we would rapidly find ourselves
in an endgame scenario with the Arab nations.”

“Moishe,” Baruk said solemnly, “I need you to tell me precisely where this will lead
us.”

They all knew the answer that was coming, but someone had to speak it, to make it
real.

“Mr. Prime Minister, if we don’t stop these men from revealing their discovery,” said
the defense minister, “both Director Sharp and I are confident that Israel will find
itself in the ultimate conflict with the Arab states that surround us.” Orhlon hesitated
slightly and took a deep breath. “The radical Muslim states are determined to eradicate
Israel. The reality of a temple whose existence they have long denied would give historical
legitimacy to the Israeli state, and they would be forced to act. They would try to
wipe us off the face of the earth. Egypt and Syria will have their tanks rolling within
the hour. Their missiles and bombers will be in the air, their divisions forming to
swarm over our borders. Before the end of the day, we will face the ultimate decision,
whether to use our nuclear weapons or to allow the Arabs to destroy us.”

“Moishe, you have always been an alarmist,” Chaim Shomsky, the overweight, overbearing
chief of staff volunteered. “Nuclear war destroys everyone, kills everything. There
is no Israel, there is no Middle East, there is no future for either Arab or Jew.
No one is going to take that chance.”

Baruk walked over to the chair at the head of the table and rested his hands on the
top of the chair back. “And we’re not going to take any chances, either,” Baruk said
decisively. “Lukas, I want the full resources of your organization dedicated to finding
these men. You have complete authority to do anything that is necessary to prevent
this information from becoming public.”

The prime minister pulled out his chair and sat down. There was no other sound in
the room. All eyes remained on Baruk.

“Have I made myself perfectly clear, Lukas?”

Lukas Painter was a lifelong professional of the intelligence community. There was
neither an ounce of fat on his body nor an ounce of doubt in his allegiance. He had
served four different prime ministers, and never before had he been given a blank
check. He knew exactly what Baruk was instructing him to do.

“Yes sir, Mr. Prime Minister,” Painter said in a verbal salute. “Absolutely clear.”

Uninvited, Shomsky jumped in once more. “Really, Mr. Prime Minister, I believe General
Orhlon is overstating the seriousness of—”

The prime minister’s right hand came up quickly, his arm and palm extended toward
his chief of staff. With his left hand, he reached for the red phone and put the receiver
to his ear.

“Get me the president of the United States.”

There was plenty of time for thinking during the ride from Tel Aviv. Rizzo hitched
a ride with a big-rig truck driver, who bought his story of being separated from his
tour group and getting left behind. Wanting to be alone with his thoughts, Rizzo had
feigned sleep during most of the trip while he sorted out his options.

Kallie is no female James Bond
, he thought.
She
’
ll give up the plan in no time. So the Israelis will be looking under the Temple Mount.
They’ll probably keep Kallie in custody until they figure out what is going on, so,
no way of getting to her. But it’s unlikely they would be watching her apartment.
There would be no reason to keep that under surveillance Makes it the best place of
refuge, and I can take better care of my arm
.

It was well after dark when Rizzo exited the truck in Jerusalem, back in front of
the Crowne Plaza Hotel and the central train station. Standing on a concrete planter,
he waved down a taxi for the ride to Ammunition Hill and Kallie’s apartment.

In the blue light of a cyalume stick, Bohannon looked across the lake and felt the
onslaught of despair. “What can we do?” he wondered aloud. “What can we do?”

Faced with the impossible, he did the only thing that, for him, was possible. He knelt
down on the ledge, folded his hands over his chest, and closed his eyes.

“Father, I believe it is your will for me to be here. I know, when Annie and I prayed
together, we felt a unity in our spirits that you had spoken to each of us, that I
was to come to Jerusalem and search for this Temple. So, here I am, Father. I’m confident
in you, but I’m not confident in me. Sometimes, I think all of this is nuts. It’s
crazy for me to be here, crazy for us to be risking our lives like this. Then I recall
your words in my heart. So here we are. Are we nuts, or what? I don’t know. All I
know is that you’ve got to help us. If we’re going to get across this lake, if we’re
ever going to find this Temple, you need to help us. And you need to help us now.
Otherwise, we’re probably going to die down here.” Bohannon felt a hand on his right
shoulder . . . a moment later, another hand on his left. “Father, lead us and guide
us now. Give us your wisdom, your discernment, your strength. Put your hedge of protection
around us and keep us safe. Help us get safely to the other side and, Lord, help us
to get out of here, and home, in one piece. Amen.”

His
amen
was echoed, once from his right and once from his left, and three times from across
the lake. And the answer came to his heart.

“C’mon,” he said. “We’re going to try and float a raft across this lake.”

In all of their planning, none of them foresaw the need for a boat.

So now they improvised, and their choice was not pleasant.

With light from one of the cyalume sticks, Bohannon and Rodriguez quickly reviewed
all the gear in their Lost Creek packs while Johnson updated the written log of their
exploration on the waterproof pages of a survey book. The decision was inescapable.
Their packs were water-resistant, not waterproof, and there was little confidence
the packs could support their weight. They had a watertight, airtight Pelican case
to protect the satellite phone, but it was too small and there was just one. The only
possible source of floatation would be their sleeping bags. And even those would be
a risk. Larsen had wisely insisted they purchase the best possible bags they could
find, so they were outfitted with North Face Nova “mummy” bags that not only had a
zero-degree rating, but were also filled with goose down and constructed of a multilayered
waterproof shell. The bag, when totally zipped shut, had only a very small opening
over the face for breathing.

Bohannon and Rodriguez figured they had only one chance of getting across this underground
lake. Seal all the zipper openings of the sleeping bags with duct tape, and duct tape
the three face openings, sealing all but a very small corner of each. The plan was
that each man would blow as much air into his sleeping bag as possible to inflate
the bags, sealing the corner closed with a duct tape flap when they needed to catch
their breath. When the bags were inflated as much as possible, they would be fastened
together with more duct tape. They would put the raft in the lake, put their packs
on top of the raft, and the three of them would kick-paddle the raft to the other
side of the lake.

That was the plan. None of them thought it was foolproof. In the darkness, using their
Maglites and helmet lamps, they thought they could see three openings on the other
side of the lake. It was impossible to tell the lake’s exact width. It was at least
two or three hundred yards. So much could go wrong. The bags could deflate, either
immediately, or slowly, as they crossed the lake. Without inflation, the bags would
likely sink under the weight of their packs. Even if they remained inflated, the bags
could still sink, they could buckle under the weight of the packs, allow water to
get on top of the raft, and succumb to the growing weight. They could get to the other
side and find that the openings either didn’t go anywhere or were an optical illusion.

And no matter what the outcome, if they survived, they would all be soaked to the
skin. If their sleeping bags took on water, it would be a disaster. They would have
to find a way out, immediately, or risk death by hypothermia.

Or they could quit now, leave all of their equipment, and beat a hasty retreat to
Zechariah’s Tomb.

“Yes, Jonathan, we know they are searching for the Temple. If a temple is found and
these men report their findings, we are confident the Muslims will rise against us
and precipitate an endgame conflict. We cannot allow that to happen.”

Baruk and his advisors, clustered around the speakerphone, waited for the American
president’s response. Baruk knew that Jonathan Whitestone was now huddled with his
own advisors.

“Eliazar, you said you don’t know where these men are, currently. So there is nothing
that can be done at this moment. Perhaps a temple does not exist under the Mount.
Perhaps you will find them first. I believe we need to wait, see what transpires.”

Baruk’s back began to stiffen. Were they on their own?

“But, Mr. Prime Minister, this much I can tell you. We will never allow Israel to
face a real threat of extinction. If these men do find a temple, the United States,
and I, personally, will do all in our power to ensure the discovery will not lead
to an ultimate conflict with the Arab states. Whatever steps that might require. Do
you understand me, Eliazar? None of us could afford such a conflict.”

Nodding his head in relief, Eliazar Baruk smiled at his assembled advisors. “Yes,
Mr. President, I understand you perfectly. And we are deeply grateful. We will telephone
you as soon as we have any additional information. Thank you, Jonathan, thank you
very much.”

The lights on the phone blinked off. Baruk surveyed his advisors.

“Levi. Lukas. Find them . . . and kill them.”