The Secret Chapel (god's lions)

by John Lyman

  Ariella moved between Leo and Alon and whispered in their ears. “They’re going to kill us.”

  Without warning, Emilio stepped forward and snatched the backpack from John. At the same time, the two security men behind them raised their weapons. It was the last act of their lives. Two bullet holes appeared in their foreheads as Leo turned to see Alon crouched in a classic handgun combat position with his nine millimeter extended in front of him, smoke rising from the barrel. Alon swirled around just as two other security men pulled their weapons, but it was Lev who fired this time, dropping both killers to the ground.

  Emilio never looked back. Followed by the remaining panicked security men, he ran for his life down a side tunnel, clutching the backpack and disappearing into the maze under the Vatican.

  Alon shouted at them to drop the backpack and took off in pursuit. Leo reached out and grabbed him solidly by the arm. “Stop, Alon. I have the book.”

  Alon turned to face him, his eyes bulging. “What? I thought John …”

  Leo grabbed Alon by the shoulders. It was like stopping a bull that had seen a red flag waved before its eyes. “We switched.”

  Alon began to focus on the words, his pupils growing smaller as his body slowly began to release itself from combat mode. “You what?”

  “We switched. Back at the train station.” Leo drew a breath. “I have the book now. They only got a decoy backpack.”

  Alon turned and looked at John, who was nodding to him with his mouth hanging open. He scanned the chamber around them before returning the warm gun inside his waistband. Their Israeli protector began to take some slow, deep breaths as he had been trained to do following a lethal engagement. It was a method designed to steady his nerves and purge his system of excess adrenalin, allowing him to face the next threat with a clear head.

  Lev dropped the clip from his gun and reloaded as easily as if he were reaching for a beer in the refrigerator. Older bulls reacted differently than younger ones after a battle. Lev had been a battle-tested soldier before Alon was even born.

  John dropped to one knee, sick to his stomach. The bile rose in his throat as he looked at the dead security men around him. He had never seen death close-up like this before. Ariella knelt beside him and brushed the hair out of his face before gently pulling him back to his feet.

  Leo continued to watch the tunnel where Emilio had retreated. “We’ve got to reverse course and get to the chapel before our friends find out they have the wrong backpack and return with reinforcements.”

  Alon called Moshe on the radio to alert him to their situation, but the signal was pure static. Either they were too deep for the radio to work, or it was purposely being jammed by someone.

  Alon looked at the others. “We’re on our own. Let’s get moving.”

  Chapter 43

  Pakistan — The North-West Frontier Province

  The giant Russian-made rocket transporter rumbled out of its underground hiding place at the base of the mountains. Behind it was a solitary military truck full of men wearing checkered turbans and carrying automatic rifles and rocket propelled grenades. They followed a rocky path, skirting populated areas while looking skyward and chanting prayers in their native tongue.

  A spring thunderstorm had just passed and the skies were beginning to clear, but the men in the small convoy were not worried about satellite surveillance above their position. They had practiced daily and knew that their mission would take only a few minutes. After that, their fate was no longer important.

  After plowing over the rough terrain and traveling another mile, the massive, dull-brown vehicle slowed to a predetermined stop. The crew of the transporter waited. They radioed their leader in a nondescript safe-house in the nearby town of Chitral and scanned the horizon as the rag tag group of men in the truck behind them jumped out onto the wet soil. Awaiting final instructions, the men spread out and formed an armed ring around the perimeter of the rocket launcher.

  When confirmation finally came, the Taliban commander ordered the crew to activate the hydraulic pads that dropped from beneath the transporter onto the uneven rock-strewn plateau, creating a stable platform for launching. Simultaneously, the Cold War-era Russian Su-18 intercontinental ballistic missile, code named the Satan, was raised to its full upward position at the rear of the vehicle.

  Inside a cramped space behind the driver’s compartment, two technicians were activating the targeting computer that would send the rocket on its way. The commander stood outside and scanned the skies. He was looking for signs of a predator drone in the vicinity, but intellectually, he knew that if an unmanned enemy aircraft had already spotted them, they would be dead before they ever saw the missile that attacked them.

  Vapor rose into the cloudless blue sky from the side of the rocket as the freezing volatile fuel began to warm and vent to the outside. Predetermined target coordinates were confirmed by the crew, and the computer now took over the countdown. The men had done all they could; the rest remained in the hands of Allah and the gods of technology.

  They jumped from the cab of the transporter and ran toward the waiting truck in the distance just as a fiery blast erupted from the nozzles at the base of the rocket. Fire enveloped the truck as the thrust from the engines sent the giant, deadly arrow skyward, leaving a white plume of smoke in its wake.

  In a matter of minutes, the spent rocket would reach its apogee and the nuclear warhead would separate, beginning a six-thousand-mile-per-hour descent to its target below. Thousands of years of history, along with some of the most holy sites known to man, were about to be vaporized. The target was Jerusalem.

  Chapter 44

  The Carmela bobbed calmly at her dock in the yacht-encrusted Porto Romano Marina inside Fiumicino Harbor. The citizens of Rome flocked to the beautiful harbor and beaches nearby in the summer for weekend getaways and were unaware of the events occurring over two thousand miles away in the rugged mountains of northern Pakistan. Inside the yacht, the scenario was reversed. Alarms were going off and the crew was in a state of panic. Many seemed unable to move as they stood in front of TV screens scattered around the boat and watched the world situation spiral out of control. Air raid sirens were now blaring in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem as the Israeli military tracked the inbound warhead heading their way.

  The United States had been on a virtual lockdown since the nuclear attack on Houston. Widespread hysteria had set in around the country and revenge was in the air. As people around the country feared another attack, rumors swirled inside and outside the government as to who had finally committed the unthinkable act of nuclear terrorism on America. Inside the Oval Office in the West Wing of the White House, the president and his advisors were huddled in a feverish debate about their next course of action.

  One more incident like the one in Houston would be the tipping point toward a holocaust of unimaginable proportions aimed at anyone America and Israel believed was responsible. The entire world was now on high alert, and nerves were frayed at the highest levels of every government on earth. Unlike the major powers, terrorists didn’t have hotlines with their enemy to allow cooler heads to prevail. They just struck without warning.

  On the bridge of the yacht, Alex was frantically trying to raise Lev and the others on their radios in the tunnels under the Vatican. Lev’s words before he departed the ship echoed in the ship captain’s mind. We’ve got to get that demonic book into the chapel soon. The world has been on the verge of a total meltdown since we took it from the desert. We’ve become soldiers in a war between heaven and hell, and this is one war I don’t want to lose, for all of our sakes. Alex tried once again to raise them on the radio, but only static hissed from the speakers on the bridge. He felt helpless as he pounded his fists on the radio and listened for a response.

  Unable to reach Lev, the Carmela’s captain walked out on deck and lit a cigarette. He gazed out across the dazzling harbor at all the gorgeous people lying in the sun on the decks of their boats. Eating from picnic baskets and
playing with their children, they were totally unaware of the horror that was about to befall the world’s holiest city as they enjoyed life to the fullest. What if Lev and the others don’t make it to the chapel?

  South of the harbor, at Morelli’s country estate, Daniel had called the yacht for instructions. He wanted to know what he and Sarah should do in view of the impending attack on Israel. Unable to reach Lev, the communications officer on the yacht had told him to stay where he was. Daniel held the satellite phone in his hand and paced back and forth outside by the fountain in front of the house, wondering why he and Sarah were staked out in a village so far from Rome. Wouldn’t he be of more value back on the yacht?

  Sarah came down from the tower and called him into the house. The caretaker’s wife had already laid out a simple meal for them in the kitchen and placed a bottle of red wine on the table. Daniel uncorked the bottle and filled Sarah’s glass halfway to the top before pouring his own. They ate their meal in relative silence, neither one knowing what or who they should be guarding against.

  Sarah stood up and walked around the kitchen. “Why don’t we just get in the car and drive to the yacht?”

  “Because Lev and Father Leo decided that we should remain here for some reason. Believe me, if I knew, I’d tell you.”

  “But it doesn’t make any sense. I’m not complaining, Daniel, it’s just that I kinda want to know what we’re doing here.”

  “So do I, but Lev always has a plan, and he’s never let me down. He’s honest and smart and possesses a psychic ability to know what people need to do and where they need to be. I’d trust him with my life … so for now, we wait and keep a close eye on that road.”

  Chapter 45

  Leo and the others raced toward the chapel under the Basilica through the maze of tunnels. Leo couldn’t be certain exactly where he was, but he had retraced their steps as closely as he could remember. Stumbling forward, they came to a Y-junction ahead of them. Right or left? John pointed to the left, and they all took off in that direction. Within minutes, they had arrived at an area both Leo and John recognized. Above them, the wall Emilio had constructed to keep Morelli from entering the catacombs was now open, the broken bricks strewn about. Only darkness lay beyond the gaping hole. If anyone was on the other side, they were hiding in the darkness.

  Gradually, as if in a dream, a figure stepped through the opening and stood before them. Leo focused his eyes on the familiar red-headed man wearing a Roman collar.

  “Anthony …?” Father Morelli? Leo rubbed his eyes and backed away. Was this some kind of demonic trick? Everyone present had known Morelli and had been deeply touched by the news of his death, yet all were hesitant to approach him. Morelli descended the pile of rubble and stood in front of a shocked Father Leo.

  Leo just stared at Morelli with disbelieving eyes. “This can’t be.” Leo grabbed his old friend by the shoulders, halfway expecting his hands to pass through a ghost-like vision.

  Morelli hung his head in shame. He knew he had purposely lied to his closest friends and feigned death for reasons he had not been able to share with them. “I pray that you can all forgive me … but we had to make everyone believe I was dead so that I could intervene on your behalf while you went to Israel to find the Devil’s Bible.”

  Leo’s mind was reeling. “You … you knew about the book!” Leo was caught between the emotions of surprise and anger. “Why the charade? You’ve been my friend for over thirty years … and suddenly you can’t trust me?”

  “We were trying to convince others that I was dead and that the search for the book was over while you and John went to Israel. Real grief is hard to fake, and you were being closely watched. Vatican security had just learned that I was the target of an assassination plot by Emilio’s men and it was necessary that they believed I had died a natural death. Unfortunately, the attention shifted to you and John when they discovered both of your names in the code and found out you were on your way to Israel.”

  “They know about the code?”

  “A lot of people know about it; it’s not a secret. They may even know things we don’t.”

  A look of comprehension was beginning to cross Leo’s face. “How long have you known about the Devil’s Bible, Anthony?”

  “Since Father Bianchi told me about it on his death bed. He told only one other person, and that was the last pope, whose cross you’re now wearing under your shirt. That cross was meant to be used by the leader of those chosen to enter the cavern. Bianchi was used by Satan to take the book out of the cavern before he realized what he had unleashed on the world and returned it to its hiding place under the desert. It wasn’t until after Lev showed me the Bible code that I knew only the chosen ones would recognize the object in the cavern for what it was and be allowed to take it against Satan’s will when the time was right. Only God could lead you to the book through the code. That’s why I couldn’t tell you about it. No one on the Bible Code Team was allowed to know about the book in advance. Its existence was a closely guarded secret. Even Lev was unaware of what he was looking for. If I had told any of you about the book, and you weren’t one of the chosen, all of you would have been killed by the demons while you were trying to remove it.”

  Leo just stood there. The situation had an unreal quality to it, and he was having a hard time trying to process everything. The tension was finally relieved when John stepped forward and embraced Morelli. “Glad to have you back, Father.”

  The others still held back, not sure of what would follow next. Slowly, with the realization that his old friend was still very much alive, Leo’s suspicion began to fade.

  “Do you have it with you?” Morelli asked.

  Leo swung the backpack off of his shoulder and opened it up. Morelli peered inside at the object he had known existed-but was forbidden to see. The red book looked innocent enough to him, but he could sense the evil inside.

  “Close it up. I don’t want to look at it anymore,” Morelli said. “We have to reach the chapel before it’s too late. Things are happening in the world, and we have to stop them. Follow me.”

  The group fell in behind him, their senses on high alert for any unfamiliar sound or quick movement. Within minutes, Morelli found the tunnel he was looking for and veered off to the right. After leading them up a slight incline, he stopped next to the pinkish-colored stone that marked the outside wall of the ancient holy chapel.

  Leo and John stood next to Morelli in silence. The joy they felt at finally arriving back at this special place pushed aside their fear and exhaustion. The others gathered quietly behind them, no one wanting to say a word. They had finally arrived at their destination. Now what?

  John ran his fingers over the rock. “I know where I’ve seen this stone before. This is the same pinkish stone we saw in buildings all over Israel.”

  Alon moved to the wall and studied it for a moment. “It’s limestone from the Holy Land. Ancient buildings all over Israel are constructed from it. How did it get here under the Vatican?”

  “I have no idea,” Morelli said. “My best guess at this point is that ancient Christians transported the stone here somehow and used it to construct this chapel with a definite purpose in mind.”

  Morelli quickly spotted the section of the wall they had sealed back up when they first discovered the chapel. “The stones are just piled on top of each other with mud in between, so the wall should be easy to push in.”

  Alon put both hands against the wall and shoved. It gave way quickly, the stones falling into the chapel with the muted sound of stone hitting stone. In their excitement and haste to gain entrance to the chapel, the men began knocking more bricks loose with little thought to the structural integrity of the surrounding wall. Suddenly, a loose stone fell from a spot above, striking Morelli on the head and knocking him unconscious.

  Everyone stared in disbelief at the limp figure of Father Morelli lying on the tunnel floor, blood running from a small gash on the top of his head. Leo rushed to his side.
“Oh, my God. I can’t believe it. We’ve got to get him to a doctor.”

  Lev grabbed Leo by the arm and lifted him to his feet. “There’s no time for that now. Ariella was a field medic in the army. Let her tend to him.”

  “I’m not letting him die in this tunnel with help only a few stories above us.”

  “I’m afraid the help above is from God now, Leo. If we don’t get that book into the chapel right now the whole world will suffer. Father Morelli is a Jesuit, one of God’s soldiers. Soldiers get injured in battle, but the others must keep going. I promise you, Ariella will take good care of him.”

  Leo was torn but realized that Lev was right. Time was running out, and they had to go forward without Morelli. Leo made the sign of the cross over his friend and said a prayer for his recovery before turning away to face the gaping hole in the wall. Ariella cradled Morelli’s head in her lap and held pressure on his wound while the others found themselves shining their lights into the dark, empty space of the ancient chapel. They paused to collect themselves before stepping across the rubble into the large room beyond.

  Leo, Alon, and Lev stood silently inside the chapel, while John began frantically looking around.

  “Where should we put the book?” John said.

  Leo took in the surroundings. He had no idea. He set the backpack down and slowly pulled the Devil’s Bible from within. It was still sealed in plastic covered by the outer case filled with holy water. The group formed a circle in the middle of the chapel and stared down at the book. No one had a clue as to what they were supposed to do next.

  Alon rested his hand on the radio strapped to his belt, inadvertently pushing the antenna wire farther down until it clicked into place. The radio suddenly came to life as they all heard the strained voice of the yacht’s captain calling them. “Lev, Alon, anyone … can you hear me?