by Dan Sofer
The voices of the Sons of Light echoed from the cave.
Let them squabble over gold and silver.
The Teacher’s treasure far out-valued anything so base.
A shaft of stone bridged the chamber ahead. Wisps of gossamer fabric hinted at embroidered curtains that had once divided the Temple into chambers.
He scanned the darkness with his flashlight. A glimmer of white stone. A raised square twenty feet ahead. And a familiar shape.
The Teacher strode toward it. His foot slipped downward. He faltered, but regained his balance. He aimed the light at the floor.
A fissure cut across the chamber and snaked up the walls on either side. Where his shoe had scraped the edge, bits of earth rolled and fell. He leaned over the rim. The gaping hole swallowed the beam of his flashlight.
Fault lines crisscrossed the Jordan Rift Valley. Their tremors and earthquakes had left scars but they had failed to destroy Jerusalem Below.
Too wide to jump; no way around.
But the Teacher had an idea.
He doubled back. At the end of the tunnel, the girl remained where he had left her. He had taken a liking to their hostage and felt a pang of regret to see her suspended by her arms. The bundle of rope lay at her feet.
The girl startled at his sudden reappearance.
“Apologies, my dear,” he said. “I just need…”
Across the mini city, the Sons of Light flanked the black opening of the entrance tunnel, Jay and Sol on the left, Damian to the right, their shovels raised over their heads, ready to strike.
“What the Devil…?”
His breath caught in his throat.
Three men in army fatigues rushed out of the tunnel. The first wielded a handgun, the other two held machine guns.
Jay and Sol clunked their shovels hard on the heads of the machine gunners. Damian swung at the third. The handgun flew through the air. The gunman fell backward and clutched his arm. The other two intruders lay motionless on the ground.
Damian raised the shovel over the wounded man. “Who are you?” he shouted.
“Are they cops?” Sol asked.
Jay disentangled a machine gun. “Sons of Light. Meet the Sons of Darkness.” He pulled back the bolt of the weapon and metal parts clanked. “Let the End of Days begin.”
***
It happened fast and while Dave was distracted.
Ornan raised his hand, a signal for Ben, Dave, and Shani to wait. Then Ornan and his men filed out the tunnel.
Mandy dangled in the distance, a silver strip of tape over her mouth. A man had materialized beside her. He wore a gray hunting cap and goatee.
Erez?
Hard to tell from far away and in poor light.
Dave cringed.
Thump! Thump! Clang!
Three men with spades stood where Ornan and company had walked moments ago. Their backs faced the tunnel. The big one wore a cowboy hat and a sweaty undershirt. The second had red hair. The third man stood naked from the waist up. Dave recognized the long, greasy hair and wiry build.
Ornan had walked into a trap.
“Who are you?” the redhead said. King David, Dave guessed. Panic made his voice shrill.
“Now,” Shani hissed at his neck. “Before they get the guns. Go!”
“Go where?” he hissed back.
What exactly did Shani expect him to do against a mob of lunatics?
“Are they cops?” the cowboy said.
“Sons of Light,” said the man with the cruel voice, the kidnapper and self-proclaimed Jesus Christ, “meet the Sons of Darkness.”
A metal mechanism clanked noisily, the sound of a machine gun preparing to fire. “Let the End of Days begin.”
So much for “before they get the guns.”
Dave stared at the yellow portal, frozen. Across the room, Gray Man lowered Mandy’s arms and pulled her into the building like a spider retreating into a hole.
The Teacher of Righteousness.
Shani gave Dave a shove. “We can surprise them.”
“She’s right,” Ben whispered. “It’s our only chance. But we have to do it together.”
Dave’s eyes refused to leave the empty doorway where Mandy had stood. He tried to move but his limbs had turned to jelly.
The moment surged. The universe listened. A window had opened. Any instant, it would close. Dave knew the sensation well. All his life, he had looked on as critical moments like this passed from the world, never to return.
“Dave?” Ben’s voice was faint and far away.
Jesus waved the machine gun in the air and laughed.
A shot of indignation coursed through Dave’s veins. At Jay for dragging Mandy into this. At his own history of inaction. It was risky. It might fail.
It’s our only chance.
“Dave!”
“I’m in.” The sound of his own voice woke him from his trance. He took charge. “Ben, you take the big one. Shani, get King David.” Dave balled his hands into fists. “Leave Jesus to me.”
For a microsecond Dave’s brain considered the words—bizarre on so many levels.
Ben touched his shoulder. “Time to get your girl.”
“Ready? Set. Go!”
Ben leapt forward. Dave followed. Out the hole. Down three steps. A shovel lay on the ground behind Jesus. Dave made for it, turning sharply and hurdling one of Ornan’s men.
Ben charged at King Solomon and roared. The Sons of Light turned toward the sound of Ben’s battle cry.
Dave grasped the shovel.
Ben collided with the fat man, ramming his shoulder into the cowboy’s belly in a fierce rugby tackle.
Dave brought the shovel down as hard as he could on the greasy head of Jesus.
Then the room exploded.
Dave ducked. Bullets ricocheted, pelting the dirt floor and chipping clumps of rock off the walls.
The gunfire cut out. Dave’s ears rang. The acrid stench of gunpowder filled his nostrils. Clouds of dust rose around him. Dave patted down his body. As far as he could tell he was unhurt. He breathed in short, quick gasps. His hands trembled.
The dust settled. Jesus lay on his back, eyes closed. Dave saw no sign of bullet wounds. The clank of shovel on skull echoed in his memory and sent a shiver down his spine.
God, I think I killed him. I killed a man with a spade. A bad man. A very bad man. But still.
Dave picked up the machine gun. It was heavier than it looked. He had never held a gun before. He brushed off the dust.
“Ow!” The barrel burned his fingertips.
King David waved his shovel at Shani like a lion tamer. His eyes moved from the pile of Jesus to the machine gun in Dave’s hands. The king dropped his shovel and put his hands in the air.
“Don’t shoot,” he said. “I’m cool. Just don’t hurt me. OK?”
Dave straightened. It felt good to be on the right side of a machine gun for once.
A groan. Ornan lay on his side and supported his right arm with his left.
“Tie them up.” He winced. “I think the fool broke my arm.”
“There’s rope in the bag,” King David said helpfully. “And tape.”
“I’ll get it.” Shani darted to a large black duffel bag.
Dave lowered the machine gun nozzle to his captive’s feet.
“On the ground,” Shani told the redhead king. “Hands behind your back.”
Ornan’s men lay motionless on the ground.
Are they alive? How do you check for a pulse?
And Mandy! The Teacher still has Mandy.
“Ben?” Dave called. He glanced around. “Ben!”
A hand stuck out of the ground. “I’m all right.” A head followed the hand and Ben climbed out of the pit. He dusted off his clothes. “Big guy broke my fall. He’s taking a nap. Whoa, Dave. Easy with that thing.”
Dave exhaled. He wanted to hug his burly friend.
Ben scooped up the cowboy hat, shook it off, and put it on his head. “What do you think?”r />
“Perfect. Now, Indy”—he winked—“let’s get my girl.”
“The stone,” Ornan said. “Get the stone. The Teacher must have it.”
Ben turned to King David. “Is this Teacher of yours armed?”
King David lifted his chin off the ground to speak. “No.”
“They went in there.” Dave pointed at the building at the back of the room.
Ben drew a deep breath and nodded. “Let’s go.”
“Not so fast,” a cruel voice said.
Dave spun around.
Shani stood awkwardly on her feet. An arm locked her neck and a grimy hand pulled back on her forehead. Over her shoulder, Jesus snarled.
“Drop it,” he said. “Now.”
***
The Teacher marched Mandy down a long, dark passage. A string of loud noises erupted behind them, the nerve-grinding rattle of a jackhammer. Or a machine gun.
The Sons of Light had floored the intruders and seized their weapons. By the sound of it, they were not afraid to use them either.
Mandy had never really feared the Sons of Light. They were a quirky bunch. Misguided. At times comical. As soon as they got what they wanted, they would let her go. Unharmed. That’s what she had thought. Until now.
Delusions were one thing; murder was a different ball game altogether. Their skeleton closet grew darker and deeper by the minute.
The Teacher scanned the stone floor with his flashlight and pushed ahead. He seemed as eager as Mandy to get away from his disciples.
Maybe you’re not so crazy after all.
He had cut the rope that held her arms above the doorway and pulled her inside, but tape still bound her wrists and sealed her mouth.
Mandy sighed at her own naivety. She had half expected Dave to jump out the tunnel to her rescue.
Thank God he had not.
The uniformed intruders, whoever they were, could not help her now either.
The Teacher halted. A loud plastic click echoed off unseen walls. The light blinked out, and a fluorescent bar flickered to life in his hand.
They stood in the middle of a tall, wide chamber. Winged creatures watched them from the walls in the pale electric light. The jagged edge of a deep crevasse blocked their path.
The Teacher placed the light on the floor and fumbled with a black grapple hook and a bundle of thick cord.
Muffled voices drifted from the outer cave. One of them sounded like Dave.
Dream on, Mands.
She had last seen Dave in a holding cell along with Shani and Ruchama. He had tried to explain and make things right. She should have given him the chance. Dave wasn’t perfect—understatement of the decade—but thanks to him, Mandy had felt love. A hot, burning, blind love. She had found her faith. She had believed in someone again even if he had turned out to be a two-timing jerk. Or was he? Dave had stuck his neck out for her. What had he tried to tell her?
I’ve got to call for help. If I get out of this alive.
“Yes!” the Teacher muttered excitedly. The metal hook wobbled at the end of the rope.
The Teacher swung the rope like a lasso and let go. He had aimed for a finger of rock that protruded from the wall overhead, just beyond the crevasse. The grapple hook undershot the fixture and clattered uselessly on the other side of the gaping hole. The Teacher reeled in the rope and tried again. This time the hook launched over the stone beam, and the cord wrapped around the outcrop twice. The Teacher pulled back with all his weight. The hook held.
He offered Mandy the end of the rope.
You have got to be kidding.
“Go on,” he said.
She peered over the edge of the crevasse. It dropped away into bottomless black. She shook her head.
The Teacher reached out and peeled the strip of silver from her mouth.
A gesture of goodwill?
Then he pulled a gun from his bag, a long-barreled silver revolver that made her think of Dirty Harry.
“Please?” he said.
We’ll do it your way, then, she thought.
Mandy took the rope. Years ago, in a different lifetime, she had rappelled around Enchanted Rock State Park with her father. It wasn’t difficult. She stepped back, stretching the cord, and placed her hands high on the rope. Then she bent her knees. Cool air brushed her face as she glided over the abyss. She looked down only when her feet touched solid ground on the other side.
Mandy flung the rope back to the Teacher.
No point being smart. He had a gun, a deep chasm lay between her and the only exit, and an army of lunatics with machine guns roamed outside. Right now, the Teacher was Mandy’s only ticket out of there. Besides, give the old man a chance to fall in.
The Teacher tossed her the flashlight. He shoved the gun into his shoulder bag and gripped the rope. He froze.
“Lift your legs,” Mandy said. “Gravity will do the rest.”
The Teacher swung forward. Mandy stepped aside to avoid a collision. He found his feet.
“Thank you.” His eyes lingered on her. His mouth curled in a bemused smile.
“You’re welcome.”
Knew you’d warm to me in the end.
The Teacher took the flashlight and led the way.
“This is the inner sanctum of the Temple Below,” he said. “The Holy of Holies, where the real treasure lies.”
Mandy had learned about the Holy of Holies in her class on the weekly Torah readings.
“The Ark of the Covenant?”
The Teacher chuckled. “No. Far more valuable.”
He pointed the light at the darkness ahead. “See for yourself.”
Mandy squinted. A stone altar, waist high. Fat horns marked the corners. A shudder rippled through her. A cliché of B-movies. The crazed cult member ties the young woman to his sacrificial altar and raises a large dagger over his head. Was Mandy that girl?
The moment of fear passed. An object took shape at the center of the altar. Mandy had never seen one before but by the size, lid, and rounded shape, she made an educated guess.
“A scroll jar?”
All this for another piece of old pottery?
“The scroll jar. And within, the Mother of All Scrolls.”
Another code word. Delusional people loved codes and riddles. The Sons of Light. The End of Days. The Mother of All Scrolls. Did a fancy name make an old pot more interesting?
“Wow.” She purged her voice of cynicism.
The Teacher approached the altar. Mandy followed. A perfectly fitted, sunken circle held the base of the jar. The Teacher ran his fingers over three angled characters etched in the surface. He lifted the domed lid of the jar and peeked inside.
“Yes!” He shook with excitement. Mandy looked over his shoulder. A thick wad of rolled parchment.
“What is it?”
“The answer. The answer to all questions.”
Here we go again.
He replaced the lid. “If you’d be so kind.” He handed her the flashlight.
The Teacher applied both hands to the jar and pushed.
She had a bad feeling about this. In the movies, this was the point when the tomb raider pulled the lever or stepped on the trip wire. Then the walls would close in or a large stone ball would roll down the tunnel to crush them.
The jar gave way with a soft crack and separated from the altar for the first time in what she guessed was many, many years.
The Teacher hugged the jar and stepped around the altar.
“Aren’t you going to read it?”
“All in good time, my dear. Come along.”
Behind the altar, on the far wall, the fluorescent light revealed a low, dark crawl space.
“After you,” he said.
***
Jay closed his arm around the girl’s neck. His skull throbbed. The hair at the back of his head felt damp and sticky.
Slowly, David Schwarz lowered the machine gun to the floor of the cave.
“Next time,” Jay said, “hit the side of the
head, not the back.”
There would be no next time, of course.
The Teacher had warned him. The Sons of Darkness were always one step behind.
Ben Green wore Sol’s cowboy hat. Green and his henchmen must have discovered the Yachad and freed Schwarz and the blond.
“Where’s John?” Jay said. “What have you done with him?”
John would not have gone down without a fight.
Schwarz and Green exchanged glances.
“If you’ve harmed him…”
“He’s safe,” Green said. “Let her go and we’ll take you to him.”
Did they think they could turn the tables so easily? Jay had prepared for this. “Just this one? What about your lady love?”
Jay searched his peripheral vision. His insurance policy no longer stood between the pillars of the Temple Below. The Teacher must have taken her inside. All the better.
Schwarz stepped forward.
Jay tightened his grip and the girl squirmed and gasped.
“Stay where you are, Son of Darkness!”
Adrenaline pulsed through his veins. One twist and he’d break her neck.
“Please,” Schwarz said. “We know the police are already looking for you. Let her go and you can leave. We won’t stop you.”
How does he know?
They must have tortured John, the poor bastard.
You can’t trust them.
“Sure,” he said. “And I’ll just shake hands with the darkies waiting outside?”
The Harper wallowed on his belly, his hands tied behind his back.
“Hey,” he said. “Untie me.”
“Shut it, you sniveling crawler.”
“Hey, I’m with you.”
“Stiff kumara, mate. I’ve had a gutful of ya whinging. You chose Darkness. You can rot with the lot of them.”
A machine gun strap stuck out under one of the downed intruders. Jay edged closer. A few more feet and he could—
Jay’s eyeballs burst into flame. The world capsized. The floor rose up and slammed into his shoulder. Air seared his lungs. He convulsed on the ground and coughed in long painful spasms.
What Devil’s work is this?
He pressed his fingers to the smoldering orbs in his skull but the fires raged on. Tears welled in the sockets, wetting his fingertips and pouring down his cheeks.
Hands gripped his legs and wrapped them with rope. They rolled him over, pried his arms from his face, and tied his wrists behind his back.