The Jericho Deception: A Novel

by Jeffrey Small

  Neither Wolfe nor Chris had mentioned any others. He followed the cables from the back of the machines. Rather than snaking down into the floor, the cables disappeared into the same two-inch plastic conduit. The conduit ran horizontally into the wall. Somewhere on the other side of that wall were three other Logos machines.

  Thirty seconds later he stood in the fluorescent-lit hallway outside a metal door to the right of the server room. His heart thumped in his ears as he tried the handle.

  Locked.

  He turned and headed down the hall toward the elevator. The clicking of a door opening in the quiet corridor caused him to jump. He spun on his heels in time to see a man emerge from the locked door he’d just tried. He balanced two file boxes stacked in his arms. The boxes wobbled as the man walked in the opposite direction from him.

  He didn’t see me.

  Ethan ran toward the door on the toes of his shoes. Even that seemed too loud, but the man didn’t turn. The metal door was closing faster than he’d expected. He thrust his fingers into the narrow crack between the door and the frame. He winced when the door pinched his skin but resisted the urge to jerk out his hand.

  With the exception of the breath expanding his chest, he didn’t move. The man carrying the box disappeared around the corner at the end of the corridor without looking back. Ethan pushed open the door with his free hand and shook out the pain from the red crease across his fingers. He stepped into the dark room, closed the door behind him, and felt for the light switch.

  The lights illuminated what appeared to be a storage and workroom about twenty by thirty feet in size. Several rows of file boxes were stacked to the right. To the left was a metal worktable where two dozen identical cell phones were plugged into several power strips. He thought back to his arrival and the guard who had taken his phone and wallet. He selected one on the end, where it would be least likely to be missed, and pocketed it. He wondered whether he could get a cell signal in this place. Then another thought occurred: Who can I call for help?

  He walked deeper into the room, where he confronted an unusual sight. An intricately carved church pew faced him from the back wall. The curved back looked as if it was designed to cradle each occupant. Whereas a standard church pew might hit one in the mid-back, this was taller, with the wood extending to head height. Then he noticed the cables. He leaned over the pew. They entered the base at three locations. He then traced the cables along the floor where they disappeared into the wall. He knew where they led: into the three Logos controllers. He stepped back and studied the pew.

  What is Wolfe up to?

  Then he noticed the open door to his right. He approached the door and, after allowing a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the adjacent space, his mouth dropped open. He was staring into a warehouse with a high, unfinished ceiling and bare concrete floors. Stacked on pallets in the space were dozens of Logos machines, shrink-wrapped in plastic. Also stacked on the floor, one on top of the other, were rows of the modified church pews.

  “Looking for something, Professor?”

  The rough voice caused him to flinch in surprise. He turned to face a huge man. The man was a couple inches shorter than he was but weighed twice as much, and not an ounce was fat. His black T-shirt stretched over hypertrophied muscles. Even his black pants revealed the separation in his quadriceps.

  The man’s face told the complete story. From the acne scars, protruding brow, square jaw, and yellowed eyes, Ethan knew immediately that the man had been taking anabolic steroids for years. The acne and eyes were obvious symptoms of excess androgens, variations of the male hormone testosterone, while the overdeveloped brow and jaw could only result from abuse of HGH, human growth hormone. But something else in the jaundiced eyes disturbed him. The man looked nervous, as if he were struggling with a terrible thought that threatened to burst from his head. Then Ethan realized the source of his own unease. He imagined the man wearing reflective orange-lensed sunglasses.

  “You must be James Axelrod—Axe, right?” The name of Wolfe’s security goon came to him out of the blue. He struggled to keep his voice even.

  “You are in a restricted area.”

  “What’s going on here?” He gestured to the stacks of pews in the warehouse behind him. He was nervous, but his anger emboldened him. Maybe, he thought, he could deflect his presence in the locked room by taking the offensive.

  “You will follow me.” The look in Axe’s eyes unnerved Ethan even more. “Now!”

  Axe turned and headed for the door without looking back to see if he complied. Ethan knew he had no choice but to follow.

  CHAPTER 42

  THE MONASTERY

  Mousa knocked out the twentieth pushup before his arms gave out. He collapsed on the floor, enjoying the cool feel of the tile against his stomach. His strength was returning. He’d already done thirty sit-ups—a far cry from the two hundred crunches and fifty pushups he began each morning with in Amman, but he was improving with each passing day. Many of his patients were elite athletes—football stars, tennis players—frustrated with the long recovery times from their surgeries. “Take each day as it comes,” he counseled them, “and before you know it you’ll be back to your old condition.” He now understood that giving the advice was easier than taking it.

  His right knee was doing better, but he was still missing the key ligament that would allow him to pivot the leg. He’d been doing squats and wall sits to strengthen his quadriceps muscles. He could probably even jog some now, but his knee wouldn’t be able to sustain any cutting motions to the side. When he returned to Jordan, he’d have one of his colleagues do the surgery. He wished he could perform it on himself, he thought, smiling. He was the best.

  The thought of home brought to mind images of his family. The hope of returning to them had sustained him through everything he’d suffered. The friendly priests had taken good care of him, but he was healthy now. Why was he still here?

  A nagging thought played in the back of his mind. At first, he’d been ecstatic to leave the brutal hands of his fellow Arab torturers. But the more time he spent in the monastery, the more he felt that something wasn’t right. The priests had a different demeanor than the imams at his mosque in Amman. They had an edge to them that didn’t seem befitting of holy men, as if they lacked that certain sense of peace that religion brought.

  Maybe that’s the difference with their religion, he thought.

  One of the central teachings of Islam was that complete surrender to Allah brought a lasting and deep internal peace. The literal meaning of the word Islam was just that: peace that comes through surrender. The fundamentalists of his faith had it wrong. They distorted the words of the Prophet to justify harm against civilians in the name of spreading their religion. Those men would do better to look within themselves, he thought, in search of the presence of Allah within. Doing so would quiet their blood-thirst and bring them real peace. The strange occurrence in the chapel had reinforced this knowledge. He’d glimpsed the power of Allah. He couldn’t explain it, but now he better understood the mystics of his religion, the Sufis. Allah couldn’t be described, only experienced.

  He wiped off his forehead with the single towel hanging by his desk. His thoughts drifted from the priests who’d cared for him to the one person who didn’t seem like the other Americans: the doctor. He was more inquisitive. He also was nervous, or maybe it was discomfort Mousa sensed.

  He wondered whether he could trust Ethan Lightman. He was ready to leave this place, and his gut told him that Ethan would be the one to help him do so.

  CHAPTER 43

  THE MONASTERY

  Axe burst through the doors of the dining hall. Ethan followed close behind, his mind scrambling for excuses as to why he had been in the locked room. The hall was deserted but for Wolfe and Chris, who were talking at the center table. Wolfe stopped mid-sentence when he saw them approaching.

  “I found the doctor snooping around the warehouse,” Axe said.

 
“I was working in the server room when I—”

  Wolfe raised a hand, cutting off his explanation. “Axe, you may leave us now.”

  “But—”

  Wolfe flicked the hand that was still raised, as if waving away an insect. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

  Axe glowered at Ethan as he turned to leave. The expansive dining hall seemed to close in around him.

  “So you have glimpsed the next phase of our project?”

  “What are you planning on doing with my research?” He decided to forget the excuses.

  “Doctor Lightman, what you don’t understand is the true potential for your work. What we have created here”—he spread his arms—“is just a prototype. The first of many.”

  “You plan on building more monasteries?”

  “We’ve spent billions of dollars on our military, but it remains ineffective at stopping suicide attacks. These lunatics line up to die for Allah; killing them isn’t a deterrent. For every one we kill or capture, three more are behind him to take up the cause.” He brought his fist down on the table. “The only way we can win this war is to destroy the enemy from the inside. Islam is like a virus—a virus that can only be eradicated with a Christian vaccine. We must begin a massive reeducation campaign.”

  “You’ll start a world war.” He glanced at Chris, who looked uncomfortable at Wolfe’s words. “You can’t keep all those facilities secret. Word will eventually get out, and every single Arab country will turn against us.”

  “That’s the beauty of the plan.” Wolfe grinned. “When we roll out Phase Two of Project Jericho, we’ll hide in plain sight. We’re going to establish new public churches—blend in with the existing Coptic Christians who have been here for centuries—but ours will have a kick.”

  “The pews?”

  “Members of our congregations will have mystical experiences of God. They’ll tell their friends and families how their lives have been changed by the gospel of Christ. We won’t be able to build the churches fast enough.”

  “What you’re planning is in direct violation of the Nuremberg Code.”

  Ethan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Everything about this plan violated the ethical principles he’d been taught since his first day of med school. What Wolfe envisioned was a massive violation of these protocols against hundreds, if not thousands, of unsuspecting subjects.

  “The terrorists don’t play by our rules.”

  “But our nation was founded on the principles of religious freedom and liberty. Isn’t that what makes us different?”

  “If we have the means to stop these madmen, wouldn’t it be immoral not to use every method at our disposal?”

  “At the expense of manipulating the brains of innocents? Over a billion people claim Islam as their religion—it’s the fastest-growing religion in the world—but the fundamentalists who embrace terrorism are only a tiny percentage of this number. Judging all of Islam by a few is like judging all of Christianity because of the Crusades or the Inquisition.”

  “Sometimes we must sacrifice a few for the good of the many.”

  “Isn’t that the same justification the terrorists use for exploding a bomb in a restaurant or train station where innocent women and children will be killed?”

  “Those sound like Elijah’s words.” Wolfe shook his head. “He was holding you back, Ethan. My old friend was brilliant, yes”—he flashed his perfect teeth in a broad grin—“but you are more so. You can create things here with me that you never could have imagined at Yale.”

  Ethan had never considered himself an idealist. He was a scientist; everything he did was supported by research and careful thought. But what Wolfe proposed caused every alarm to ring in his body. He knew then that he had to make a decision. The comparison to Elijah made his decision all the more clear. He had to choose right from wrong.

  “This project is bigger than a few men.” Wolfe rose from his seat. “I have a flight to Cairo in an hour. When I return in two days, I expect the Logos to be working.” He smoothed out the wrinkles on his silver bishop’s robes. “We have a major operation coming up. I need to know whether I can count on your help.” His eyes narrowed and his voice turned icy. “I would hate for anything unfortunate to happen to you like it did with Elijah. He was at the end of his career, but you have so much promise ahead of you.”

  Ethan’s gut churned. Did Wolfe just confirm the suspicion he hadn’t wanted to believe? He glanced at Chris, who refused to meet his eyes. The expression of dismay on his student’s face seemed real. Then his mind became suddenly clear, as if the thoughts and questions that had swirled about for the past several days had settled down, allowing the light of pure reason to shine forth. Wolfe had killed Elijah and now threatened to do the same to him. He had to stop this madness, even if it meant risking his life. He had created the Logos, and now he had to prevent its use.

  He took a deep breath, exhaled, and replied, “I have my reservations, but I’ll fix the Logos.” He managed a smile that he hoped didn’t look forced.

  “I thought so.” The grin returned to Wolfe’s face.

  “I’ve already spent hours going over the programming, but I’m missing something. I’ll run additional tests on the men this afternoon.”

  “Chris has a new resource that may help you.” Wolfe opened the dining hall door. “Work quickly. You don’t have the luxury of time.”

  The sound of the door closing echoed through the hall along with Wolfe’s lingering admission of guilt in Elijah’s death. Ethan knew that even if he fixed the Logos, Wolfe would never let him leave. He would disappear once he’d served his usefulness. He had two days to find a way out of there. His hand slipped into his pocket, where it closed around the hard shell of the cell phone.

  CHAPTER 44

  THE MONASTERY

  Chris hurried Ethan down the corridor without speaking. He studied the creased brow of his student’s face. Chris had seemed shocked at Wolfe’s cryptic admission of the truth behind Elijah’s death.

  “I’ll make him understand how important you are to the ongoing operation, but, Professor, you have to stop questioning the program.”

  “He had Elijah killed, Chris.”

  “I swear I didn’t know.” His voice cracked. “But what can I do?” He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m involved now too.”

  Ethan debated his next comment. Could he trust his student? His gut told him their prior relationship had been authentic. Anyway, he had no choice; he needed Chris’s help. The electronic locks on the doors were programmed to each specific key card, and his wouldn’t let him out of the facility. Then there was the matter of the desert that surrounded them for miles.

  “Is this what you signed up for?”

  The grad student glanced to the floor. “No,” he whispered.

  “I need your help getting out of here.”

  “Getting the two of you out of here without being noticed would be difficult.” He stopped by the last door at the end of the corridor.

  “Two?”

  Chris turned the door handle and led Ethan into the room.

  A woman sat on the bed, hunched over, with her face in her hands and her fingers entwined in her hair. The moment they entered, she jumped to her feet, produced a three-foot-long wooden stick from under the covers, and swung it at their heads. Ethan lurched backward. Chris, however, stepped toward the woman. He ducked the arc of the stick, caught the woman’s wrist before she had a chance to bring it back into his face, and disarmed her.

  Ethan locked eyes with Rachel. She stared at him with an open mouth and fiery eyes. Her hair was disheveled, as if she’d just woken up, but in a way he found alluring. In place of the form-fitting sweaters she wore around Yale, she sported a simple white T-shirt and black sweatpants. As his heart pounded from her sudden attack, a river of competing emotions washed over him: excitement at seeing her confronted an uneasy suspicion.

  The questions he wanted to ask seemed to catch in his chest. Why
is she here? Is she a spook like Chris? He’d longed to see her the past two days, but now he wasn’t even sure who she was. He thought back to how she’d been flirty with him from the beginning of the semester. Was that part of Wolfe’s plan too? He recalled Houston’s comment about speaking with her. Had she been undermining him all along? His world had begun to unravel when she’d claimed that one of her monkeys was having problems. He felt an emptiness open in his stomach.

  She struggled out of Chris’s hold on her wrist and turned to face Ethan. “You are part of this?” she screamed.

  “I . . .”

  She turned her fury toward Chris. “And you too!” She glared at both men. “How could you?”

  Chris stepped forward. “Professor Lightman didn’t even know this place existed until yesterday.”

  “So you’re responsible!”

  Chris recoiled as if propelled by the force of her presence. “No, I just work for the Agency part time while I’m finishing up my degree.”

  “The Agency?” She looked between the men. “You mean the CIA?”

  A flood of relief washed over Ethan. She doesn’t work for Wolfe. He reached out and touched her arm. “I’m still figuring out the same questions.”

  She shrugged off his touch and, ignoring his comment, took a step toward Chris, backing him up to the wall. “The last thing I remember was getting ready to go out when this huge man—the same one who chased me and Ethan in the library—broke into my apartment and attacked me.”

  The hulking image of Wolfe’s security chief caused Ethan’s chest to tighten. “My God. Are you okay?”

  “I was sure he was going to rape me.” A shiver passed down her body. “Then he paralyzed me with some drug. I was conscious but completely unable to move.” Her voice dripped with anger. “I can’t begin to tell you the terror of being carried out of the house expecting to be taken to some cellar somewhere to await whatever sick torture . . .” Her voice trailed off and she stared past the two men at the blank wall. “My head was covered in some hood so I couldn’t see anything, but I could tell that we’d arrived at the airport, and I figured he’d put me on a plane. But then he gave me another shot that knocked me out. The next thing I know I wake up in this room.” She gestured to the walls. “Wherever the hell we are.”