The Sacred Cipher (28 page)

Bohannon got out of his chair and crossed the room to take Caitlin’s picture in his
hands.

“Annie and I have spent a lot of time talking about this so-called adventure of ours
and praying about it as it became clear that someone would need to find out if Abiathar’s
letter is true.”

Tom lowered the picture and looked at his brother-in-law. “Joe, I’m afraid I may never
see my wife or my kids again. I’m scared that I may never come home, and so is Annie,
even though she’s trying carefully to hide it. I’ve been feeling like I have to go
to Jerusalem. I can’t explain it any better than to say I’ve felt ‘called’ to do this.

“But now . . .” Bohannon walked over to the sofa and handed Caitlin’s picture to Rodriguez.
“Now, we’re going to find this thing, shove it down their throats, and let them choke
on their lightning bolts.”

Late Friday night the fifth of June, the team met at Richard Johnson’s office in the
Collector’s Club for their final review of preparations. They were booked on a 6:00
AM
El Al flight the following morning. Bohannon felt they all needed some rest, but
none of them were likely to sleep that night. So it was a blessing that they had something
to keep their minds occupied: gathering, examining, practicing with, and packing their
survival gear, spelunking gear, and a miniature, mobile video camera with catheters
for probing under the Temple Mount.

When they needed a break from packing, they reviewed the satellite photos provided
the day before by Winthrop’s well-connected uncle and the small assortment of electronic
gadgets Winthrop had purchased from Uncle Ethan’s shadowy contact—a satellite phone
with an encryption option in a padded, metal carrying case; a pair of high-end GPS
units; and a small, square item about the size of a laptop computer battery.

“What’s this little do-dad?” Rodriguez asked.

“It’s called Siren,” Larsen answered, “and it is a very sensitive and effective tool
to detect sound. This little device just may save someone’s life.”

Rodriguez and Rizzo had been busy packing a medical kit on Johnson’s conference table
at the corner of the room, but they were also following the conversation between Bohannon
and Larsen. “Winthrop,” Rodriguez asked, “why would a sound detector be so valuable?”

The maps and drawings of Jerusalem still hung from the bookcases. Larsen crossed to
one close-up of the Temple Mount. “You see these walls,” he asked rhetorically, pointing
to the massive walls that supported the Temple Mount platform. “They may look strong,
but they are far from it. The walls supporting Herod’s Temple platform, after two
thousand years, are crumbling before our eyes.”

That got everyone’s attention.

“All of the walls have at one time or another collapsed in part or in whole,” said
Larsen. “The Romans, after conquering Jerusalem, spent an entire month systematically
tearing down the Temple and its retaining walls, dumping the debris into the surrounding
valleys until the fill reached the level at which they were working. The south and
east walls were probably collapsed to the last few courses by the Roman soldiers.
By late in the Roman occupation of Palestine, it is believed that the Mount was somewhat
restored in order to construct a pagan temple on the platform.

“Of one thing we’re sure,” Larsen continued. “During the early days of the Muslim
occupation, the entire area was beautifully restored. Many of the stones from the
retaining walls were placed back in line, and extras were used to construct two elaborate
palaces along the southwest corner. But then in 749, a transitional period between
the Byzantine Empire and the Muslim rule, the southern wall collapsed completely from
a massive earthquake. Another, more destructive earthquake devastated the Mount in
1546, swallowing up the Al-Aqsa Mosque, damaging the Dome of the Rock, and destroying
the dome of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.

“Now, all of that would simply be a history lesson,” Winthrop stressed, “except that
the two walls that remain the most vulnerable to collapse are the southern and eastern
walls. These are the highest walls and the ones that run farthest down into steep
valleys below. The primary danger remains earthquakes. Jerusalem is only a twenty-five-minute
drive from the most active seismic area in the world, a fault area that records three
hundred measurable events each year.”

Winthrop walked over to the outside wall of the office, turned on the device, and
held it against the wall. “Today, right now, the southern wall is in a state of possible
collapse,” he said. “During the Intifada uprising in 2006, Muslim authorities illegally
carried out a radical digging project along the southern wall, emptying out the interior
of the Mount’s southeast corner. The Muslims kept no record of what was done structurally.
It is possible, more than likely probable, that retaining features inserted by Herod
and designed to stabilize the integrity of the wall were removed. The wall began to
buckle and now is curving outward and leaking water after rainfalls. The last information
I received is that the Israelis had agreed to allow the Jordanian Waqf to send Muslim
engineers to inspect and repair the wall.

“But the engineering crisis remains,” Winthrop said, turning to face the room while
he held the device against the wall. “If the worst happened, Joe, and you were trapped
on the other side of this wall, I think you would be very happy if one of us had this
dandy little trinket in our back pocket.”

“Yeah,” said Rizzo, “maybe we could use it to order a pizza.”

Winthrop looked at the small device in his hand. It was far from high-tech, but it
might be the most important piece of equipment they were carrying with them. The object
was simple, but sturdy, essentially a motorized video camera about the size of a thin
cell phone mounted on a narrow, steel plate. The plate was welded to a pair of axles
and a small electric motor that drove four, independently suspended, mini tank treads.
The entire unit was painted a flat gray and was no more than five inches long, a couple
inches wide, and about two inches deep.

“Sewer Rat. It’s an apt name.”

Dr. Johnson had come up behind Larsen and sat down next to him. “I wonder how engineers
ever checked the integrity of pipe installations before this little guy was invented,”
Johnson marveled.

“The remarkable thing to me,” said Larsen, “is not only that they use something like
this to inspect underground sewer and gas lines, but they can also use it inside major
conduit to inspect the integrity of telephone or fiber-optic wire systems. It has
proven very reliable. Between the Sewer Rat and the video-head catheter systems we
got through medical supply, we should be able to penetrate just about any area under
the Temple Mount. At least,” said Larsen, looking over at Johnson, “I hope so.”

“Well, Winthrop, if this most unlikely of expeditions is successful, we will all owe
you a great debt of gratitude. Your generosity and your uncle’s assistance have provided
just about anything we could have dreamed.”

Larsen self-consciously nodded his thanks and looked to his left. He was surprised
to find Johnson staring at him. Johnson’s steel-gray eyes were alive with concern,
not excitement, an intensity that unsettled Larsen’s equilibrium. He held Johnson’s
gaze and waited.

“Winthrop, why are you doing this?” Johnson asked in a low baritone, trying to keep
the conversation private in a very animated room. “Why are you willing to risk your
life on what may be a wild-goose chase? I understand why I’m going.” Cradling his
coffee cup, Johnson leaned against a door frame and closed his eyes. “I would shoot
myself if I couldn’t go on this adventure,” he whispered, his head slowly rolling
back and forth. “God or no God, Temple or no Temple—this could be making history,
not just reading about it or teaching it. And it’s time I made some history.”

Johnson’s eyes opened abruptly as he continued. “We both know why Tom and Joe are
going. I’m told Rizzo also has some powerful, personal motivation. But you, Winthrop,
don’t you realize how much you are risking here?

“You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. You’re brilliant, you’ve got more money
than most governments, and you’re good looking enough and good natured enough to find
a woman who’s going to love you for you. Why take a chance on something as whacky
as this? You agree that some group appears to be intent on stopping us. You know that
if the Israelis, the Waqf, or Islamic terrorists get wind of what we’re trying to
do, they will try to stop us. I doubt they will be acting with any restraint. This
is serious, and it’s dangerous, and you don’t need it.”

Johnson moved closer to Larsen, whispering in his left ear. “Go home, Winthrop. Leave
this alone. It’s bad enough that four of us who know better are willing to do something
stupid. Please, don’t take this risk.”

For years, Larsen had revered Dr. Johnson and longed to live a life like his. Engulfed
in a wave of Johnson’s genuine concern and apprehension, moved by the passion and
pleading in his mentor’s voice, Larsen momentarily felt his resolve waver. As he raised
his head to look at Johnson, his eyes swept across the thermal imaging scan of the
Temple Mount. His heart pounded, his breath caught in his throat, a ripple of electricity
cruised across the muscles of his shoulders. When Larsen’s eyes met Johnson’s, his
decision had already been carved into will.

“Doc, thank you for caring so much about me . . . about my safety and well-being.
I appreciate it; I really do. It means a lot to me to hear such concern and caring
in your voice.”

“Then, why—”

Larsen firmly put his hand on Johnson’s arm. “Doc, there have been eight generations
of Larsens living on these shores since the first one stepped into what they believed
was a virgin wilderness. More than two hundred years separate me from those men and
women, but each day I walk in their shadows. There’s not really all that much that
a Larsen has been required to do to become successful, at least not for the last one
hundred fifty years. All the work was done long before my great-great-great-grandfather
was born. The only question left is whether you will work in the family business,
or whether you’ll choose a life of luxury and boredom, or both. It wasn’t easy walking
away from the temptation to be a Larsen. But there was something I wanted more than
money. It was self-respect. And once I got the opportunity to work and study at the
British Museum, once I met you and others like you who were dedicated and determined
to bring value to the world instead of just taking valuables out of it, I knew that
was the life I wanted to live.”

Winthrop dipped his head a few degrees to the right, just enough to get under Johnson’s
eyes as they stared toward the floor. “Doc, I decided a long time ago not to live
the life of a Larsen. That decision has already been made. So I don’t have that life
waiting for me. But even if I did, Doc . . . even if I did”—he paused, making sure
he had Johnson’s attention—“this is the kind of decision that will define a man’s
life. For some reason, I’m not even sure why, the men in this room have become my
family, not the Larsens. If I were to walk out now, I would be walking out on everything
I cherish, everything that holds value for me: trust, honor, respect, commitment,
faithfulness. The things that define a man’s character. That’s what this is about,
Doc, about living out, walking out the character I hope lives in me.”

Larsen searched Johnson’s gaze. “Does that make sense? Do you understand?”

Johnson stretched out his right arm and gently placed his hand on Larsen’s shoulder.
He didn’t say anything, just nodded his head and held his gaze, until Rizzo reminded
them of his presence.

“Are you two lovebirds about to break this up, or are you going to make me puke?”

“Rizzo, you’ve got all the manners of a sow.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Rizzo chirped, “I think you’re swell, too. But listen, how about if
we cut out the cutesy cuddling, get this gear packed up into the van, and go home
to get some sleep? How about that for an idea, eh?”

Rizzo struck his Ninja pose and Larsen was suddenly frightened that Johnson might
actually strike Rizzo, a fine start to what would inevitably be a difficult enough
task, even with the best of team spirit.

“All right,” said Larsen, getting up to grab his jacket. “Let me get the van, and
we can load all this stuff. Doc, the van’s across the street, should I just double-park
out front?”