“Oh, right,” said Bennett, remembering Dr. Barak’s words in the Jordan Archaeological Museum. “It took three years or something.”
“Four.”
Bennett turned and looked back at Natasha. “You’re right. I do hope you’re faster than Baker. Why did it take so long to open the Copper Scroll anyway?”
“It didn’t,” she explained, still hard at work. “What took so long was figuring out how to open it. When they actually got around to doing it, it didn’t take long at all. Once they had a plan, Baker and his team cleaned away as much of the external oxidation as they could. Then they X-rayed the scroll to see where the letters were positioned inside. After that, they built a high-speed circular saw, like something a jeweler would use to cut diamonds, and they sliced the scroll into twenty-three segments.”
Bennett remembered the copper segments in the flimsy display cases in the museum.
“And they did this all the while attempting to cut only between the various columns of text so as to avoid destroying any of the letters,” Natasha said.
A few minutes later, Bennett walked over to the table and set down two plates of food. “How long would it take to build a saw like that?” he asked.
“We already did it,” she replied.
“What are you talking about?”
“We already built one,” Natasha said again. “It’s in my grandfather’s office in Jerusalem. Don’t forget, he was absolutely sure we were going to find the Key Scroll. So he had the engineers at the museum make one for him. There’s just one problem.”
“What’s that?” asked Bennett.
“We can’t go back to his office without getting caught.”
“Good point,” he said, wondering again if any of this had been worth it. “So now what do we do?”
“I have an idea.” She smiled. “You’ll see.”
48
FRIDAY, JANUARY 16 – 11:00 a.m. – WHITE HOUSE SITUATION ROOM
“The president will see you now, Mr. Costello.”
Costello thanked the president’s military assistant and waited for a Marine guard to enter the passcode into the Situation Room. Once inside, he shook Bob Corsetti’s hand and was directed to take a seat beside Indira Rajiv. Already seated were President MacPherson, Vice President Bill Oaks, Homeland Security Secretary Lee James, CIA Director Jack Mitchell, Secretary of State Nicholas Warner, and National Security Advisor Marsha Kirkpatrick.
“Good morning, Mr. President.”
“Good morning, Ken. Thanks for getting back here so quickly. I want to talk about Lucente and the U.N. in a moment. But first I understand we have a serious situation developing in Israel.”
“We do, Mr. President,” Costello confirmed.
“I’ve just read the memo you sent to Marsha and the update you e-mailed from the plane on the way home,” MacPherson continued. “But just to clarify, Ken, most of this is based on your phone call with Jon?”
“Several calls, actually, but yes, Mr. President, that is correct.”
“So Jon actually told you that the men found dead in Mordechai’s house were killed by Erin?”
“In self-defense, sir.”
“He said that himself?”
“He did, sir.”
“Those exact words?”
“Yes, sir.”
“‘Self-defense’?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What about the four people the Israelis found dead in the café in the Jewish Quarter?”
“It didn’t come up, sir.”
“And you didn’t ask?”
“No, sir. But the Israelis are saying those three—the café owners and their accountant—were killed by a different gun—a sniper rifle, I believe.”
“Not a Beretta?”
“Correct, sir.”
“And Jon told you he couldn’t turn himself in because he fears a penetration of Doron’s inner circle?”
Costello nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Didn’t he expect you would have to pass that on to me?”
“I wouldn’t presume to know exactly what Jon’s thinking at the moment, sir. But yes, I think that’s a pretty safe assumption. He certainly knows how this office works.”
“Have you talked to anyone in the Israeli government since you spoke with Jon?”
“No, sir. I thought it best to bring this to Ms. Kirkpatrick’s attention first, and then to yours.”
MacPherson nodded and turned to CIA Director Jack Mitchell. “What do you make of all this, Jack?
“Mr. President, I’m tempted to say Jon’s gone off the deep end this time,” said Mitchell, whose own history with Bennett was long and complicated. “But in this case there is a lot of circumstantial evidence to suggest some sort of conspiracy is unfolding.”
“Such as?”
“There’s the bombing at the Willard that resulted in Dr. Murray’s death. There’s the car bombing in L.A. that took Barry Jaspers’ life. There’s Eli Mordechai’s assassination to account for, the unsolved mystery of Lionel Mansfield’s death in London, and now the murder of Dr. Barak in Jerusalem. I never thought of archeology as such a dangerous profession, but it’s clear that somebody’s on a killing spree.”
“But how can you be sure all those deaths are linked?” the president asked.
“Because every one of those men was working on a project for Prime Minister Doron.”
The president gave Mitchell a hard look. “What project?”
Mitchell didn’t blink. “Doron put together a team of archeologists to look into the possibility of recovering Israel’s ancient Temple treasures and rebuilding the Temple.”
“And you knew about this?” MacPherson demanded.
“Yes, sir.”
“Who else knew?”
Every eye in the room volleyed back to the DCI.
Mitchell opened a folder and handed out a single sheet stamped “Top Secret—Eyes Only” to everyone in the room, beginning with the president. Costello did a double take when he got his copy. Listed, of course, were the names of the Israeli prime minister and his closest advisors. Dr. Yossi Barak’s name was also there, as was Natasha Barak’s, along with Dr. Barry Jaspers, Dr. Lionel Mansfield, Dr. George Murray of the Smithsonian, his literary agent, and each of the men’s wives. But there were other names on the list as well.
Dr. Larry McKenzie, Director, National Security Agency
Dr. Christopher Watkins, Director of Analysis, NSA
Col. Tanya Freeling, Hebrew Analyst, NSA
Dr. John Mitchell, Director of Central Intelligence
Dr. Alex Valetta, DDI, CIA
Daniel J. Tracker, DDO, CIA
Dr. Indira Rajiv, Director, NAMESTAN Desk, CIA
Costello looked to the president. The shock in MacPherson’s eyes mirrored the shock in his own.
“Indira, what is this?” asked the president. “You knew about Doron’s Temple project too?”
“I did, sir.”
“How?”
“Electronic intercepts,” Mitchell explained.
“What are you talking about?” asked the president.
“Sir, last fall, after Bennett gave you a copy of Dr. Mordechai’s ‘Ezekiel Option’ memo, I asked NSA to wiretap Mordechai’s phones and pay extra close attention to Doron and his inner circle.”
“Why?” MacPherson wanted to know.
Vice President Oaks took a crack at that. “Let me guess, Jack. You wanted to know where Mordechai was getting his information?”
“In part, of course,” Mitchell conceded. “Mordechai was projecting events none of us in the Agency had foreseen, and every day that went by, he was being proven right. I found that extraordinary, and I found it hard to believe that the Bible was the source of his prescience. I was sure he had other sources, and I wanted to track them down and tap them myself.”
“But that wasn’t all?” the vice president asked.
“No, it wasn’t,” said Mitchell. “I also needed to know how Prime Minister Doron and his tea
m were using Mordechai’s information.”
“You were afraid they might strike at Russia and Iran first?” asked Kirkpatrick.
“Weren’t we all?” asked Mitchell. “And we were right to be concerned. Doron almost did launch first.”
“But it was Mordechai who stopped him,” MacPherson noted.
“It was a number of factors, Mr. President,” said Mitchell. “But the point is, I needed to know precisely what was happening in Israel, and who was influencing whom, and what might happen next so that I could brief you and the rest of the NSC as accurately as possible. Given the circumstances, I would do it again.”
“You would tap the phones of the Israeli prime minister, the head of the Mossad, and the former head of the Mossad without my authorization?” MacPherson asked.
“Yes, sir—given the uniquely dangerous situation we were in, on the brink of a worldwide nuclear war.”
“I will deal with all that in a moment, but this still doesn’t explain how you knew about Doron’s Temple project.”
“That’s true, Mr. President,” Mitchell said, “but I’ll explain. The truth of the matter is that there was so much happening in the days and weeks after the firestorm that I never called Larry McKenzie at NSA to shut the operation down.”
“You’re saying we just kept gathering intel on Eli and Doron?” asked the VP.
“Yes, sir.”
“And then?”
“And then,” Mitchell continued, “about a month ago, Larry and his team—Chris and Tanya—came over to Langley and told us what they had.”
“Why didn’t you shut it down right then?” asked MacPherson.
“I’ll admit,” said Mitchell, “by then I was curious. Indira here reminded me about rumors that had been floating around the Agency for years that two CIA officers had died back in the nineties trying to track down the Temple treasures and the Ark. And then Larry and his team began picking up strange chatter out of Italy, Kuwait, and Iraq about something called Operation Black Box, but we didn’t know what that was. I thought they might be connected. But so much else was happening, I couldn’t give it much time.”
The president leaned in toward Mitchell and lowered his voice. “When George Murray was killed, why didn’t you say anything?”
The DCI said nothing.
“When Barry Jaspers was killed, why didn’t you say something to me then?”
“I don’t know, Mr. President. It was just a working theory, one of many. I didn’t think it was ready to bring to your level just yet.”
Costello watched the president lean back in his chair, mulling it all over.
After a moment, MacPherson said, “You mentioned Operation Black Box. What is that?”
“We don’t know at this point, sir,” admitted Mitchell. “But one possibility is it’s an operation to take out the people involved with Prime Minister Doron’s project. That’s why I think it’s just possible that Bennett may be right. Someone may be after him.”
The president turned to his Homeland Security secretary. “What about you, Lee? You buy it?”
“No, I don’t buy it, Mr. President,” James said without hesitation. “With all due respect to Jack here, I just can’t see anyone on Doron’s team betraying him like that.”
“Can’t or won’t?” asked Mitchell.
Costello watched James turn to the DCI. He expected him to fire back hard, but James was too much of a gentleman for that.
“Jack, be serious,” James replied. “You really think someone in David Doron’s office is feeding inside intel to Israel’s enemies? You think someone inside Doron’s office is trying to keep Doron from rebuilding the Temple? There’s no evidence of that.”
“Except for the list of dead bodies,” replied Mitchell. “And the fact that someone does seem to be tracking Jon and Erin Bennett.”
MacPherson looked back down at the names typed, single-spaced, on CIA letterhead. “There’s another possibility here. If there is a mole, it’s possible that it’s not in Doron’s office at all,” he said to no one in particular. “Theoretically, it could be one of our own.”
The room grew icy and still.
Mitchell shifted in his seat. “Yes, sir,” the DCI said at last. “I guess it could.”
MacPherson turned to his chief of staff. “Bob, get the attorney general and the director of the FBI on the phone. I want a lie-detector test given to every American on this list by close of business tomorrow. I want to know who leaked this thing, and if anyone in my government was involved, I promise you, heads will roll.”
49
SATURDAY, JANUARY 17 – 8:35 a.m. – TIBERIAS, ISRAEL
Natasha led Bennett into the basement.
They flicked on some lights and then entered a storage room, and there in the far corner was a strange machine with all kinds of wires and tubes running in and out of it.
“What is that?” Bennett asked as his eyes adjusted to the harshness of the fluorescent bulbs overhead.
“A laser,” Natasha said as she went over and turned it on.
“It’s huge.”
“It’s industrial strength, top-of-the-line.”
“But why’s it so big?”
“Copper is one of the toughest metals to cut with a laser,” said Natasha. “It’s highly reflective and highly conductive, meaning it can absorb a truckload of heat without melting or cracking, both of which slow down the cutting process. Typically, the less copper an alloy contains, the faster it will cut. But in this case, we’re dealing with extremely pure copper, which means we needed a laser that could operate at 400 watts, rather than the typical 100 to 250 watts. The problem is, 400 watts is a whole lot of energy and creates a whole lot of heat. Making sure the laser—and the scroll—are stable and keeping the laser well cooled and ventilated takes a bit of space.”
“I guess so,” said Bennett. “And you just happened to have one lying around?”
“I told you already,” said Natasha. “My grandfather and I have been making preparations for this for almost three months.”
“Right, but I thought that’s why he had the special saw built at the museum.”
“He did.”
“Then why this?”
“It was my idea,” said Natasha. “I thought I’d play around with it a bit and see if it would work. I asked Miriam if she would get me one, and she agreed.”
“Did you tell her why you needed it?”
“Not exactly.”
“Did you tell her about the Key Scroll?”
“Of course not. I just said I needed it for an upcoming project. She said yes. End of story.”
“Did your grandfather know about it?”
“No, I never told him.”
“Why not?”
“You met him,” said Natasha. “He was old-fashioned. He had a certain way of doing things, and that was that. He was in the room when Dr. Baker opened the Copper Scroll in Manchester in 1956. He saw how it was done, so he decided that’s how it should be done. He wasn’t exactly open to new ideas about the latest technology.”
“Not big into lasers, huh?” asked Bennett.
Natasha shook her head. “He never even saw Star Wars.”
* * *
Ken Costello kept tossing and turning.
It was only 2 a.m. in Washington, but his body was still on Israel time, and there it was nine in the morning. He was glad to finally be back in his own bed after several wrenching days in Israel, back with his wife, whose pregnancy was just beginning to show. But as she slept soundly, he couldn’t sleep at all. He kept replaying the meeting in the Situation Room over and over in his mind.
How in the world could Mitchell have authorized wiretaps and other electronic surveillance on Israel’s top leaders? How could he have kept all that from the president? Costello could only imagine the political firestorm that would erupt if such information leaked out. Any leverage MacPherson might have over Doron to keep the Temple from being built would fly right out the window.
But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that it wasn’t shock he was feeling so much as anger. Had someone at the CIA or NSA leaked Doron’s Temple project? To whom? For what reason? And as much as he wished it weren’t true, Costello couldn’t shake the feeling that it was.
There was no shortage of officials in the American intelligence community opposed to Israel’s plans to rebuild their ancient Temple in Jerusalem. Some opposed the idea for geopolitical reasons, fearing it could trigger another regional war or impede the peace process. Others opposed it on ideological grounds, convinced as they were that religious fundamentalism was at the root of most of the world’s conflicts and thus suspicious if not outright hostile to those who held strong spiritual convictions.
As for himself, Costello didn’t know where he stood. He and Tracy had quietly been studying End Times prophecies for weeks, drawing much of their information from Eli Mordechai’s Web site, as did millions of other curious souls. Though he could never admit it at work, he found himself intrigued by the possibility that major prophecies were coming true in their lifetime and that even bigger ones could be on the way.
Mordechai had taught that the War of Gog and Magog was just the beginning. The Temple would be built next, he explained, whether world leaders wanted it to be or not. And the Rapture could happen at any moment, he warned, followed by the rise of the Antichrist and then the Tribulation. Is that what was really about to happen?
In some ways it seemed so ludicrous. Yet so much of what Mordechai had predicted had already come true. What if the old man was right about the rest, too? And then there was the big question: when Jesus came, would Costello be allowed to meet Him in the air, or was he in danger of being lost? Costello wondered. And what about Tracy? Would they go to heaven together or suffer seven years of hell on earth, if they even made it that long?
Such were the questions that weighed on him these days, but he could not make up his mind. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t seem to take the leap of faith required to become a true, devoted follower of Christ. The notion of being “born again” was just a little too much for him. And yet the words of the Bible seemed to haunt him. “He who has the Son, has eternal life; he who does not have the Son of God does not have the life. . . . Now is the day of salvation. . . . Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and will dine with him, and he with Me.”
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