John Lyman - The Secret Chapel

The two men were stopped in their tracks. If they went forward, they would be arrested at the checkpoint. If they turned around and left, they would be stuck in Rome another day, another day running from the unknown and trying to figure out how they would get to Israel.

Leo looked up toward the ceiling as if pleading with God for an answer.

“They won’t know it’s an archaeological artifact,” John said.

“It’s almost two thousand years old.”

“Yes, but it has a painting of a jet plane hitting a modern skyscraper. I don’t think the guards at the checkpoint will think someone two thousand years ago painted it. I’m having a hard time believing it myself.”

“You’re right. It’s too obvious. Good thinking, John. It might raise eyebrows, but it shouldn’t get us arrested. Let’s go for it.”

The two very nervous men made their way toward the tables in front of the x-ray scanner, where they emptied their pockets, took off their shoes, and placed the backpacks on the conveyer belt. The security officer watching the x-ray machine immediately saw the solid rectangular shape and ordered the backpack searched.

“What’s this?” The man was holding the ancient stone brick in his hand.

“A heavy souvenir,” John replied, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “I wish I hadn’t bought it, but it was just so weird I had to have it.”

“It’s weird alright,” the officer said. “It looks old.”

“Well, the stone is as old as the earth itself,” Leo said. “But the painting can’t be any older than 2001.”

“That’s true,” a second security officer said. “I wouldn’t want something like that in my house.”

“That’s what I told him,” Leo said, nodding his head in John’s direction. “You should see some of the weird art in his apartment.”

“OK,” the man said, returning the brick to the backpack. “Have a nice trip.”

The security men exchanged amused glances and went back to the tedious process of screening the next passenger. Leo and John grabbed their backpacks and walked away from the checkpoint toward their gate, trying to look as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

“I really need a drink now,” John said, sweat beginning to drip from under his hairline.

Leo’s pulse was still pounding. “Me too.”

They headed straight for a darkened airport lounge that smelled of cigarette smoke and stale beer. Taking seats at the bar, the two watched their reflections in a mirrored wall and sipped from their glasses of red wine until their flight to Israel was finally announced.

“That’s us,” Leo said, picking up his backpack.

John followed along through the departure gate and cast one final glance back over his shoulder. No one appeared to be taking any undue notice of them as they walked through the Jetway and stepped into the plane.

The two weary men watched the flight attendants walking up and down the aisle, slamming overhead compartment doors shut and checking seatbelts. Finally, the doors were closed and the lights dimmed as the plane adopted the muted hum of electrical power that preceded the start of the engines. They felt a slight jolt and saw the terminal begin to recede when a small tractor on the ground began to shove the jet backward, away from the gate. John closed his eyes and drummed his fingers on the armrest of his seat while he listened to the four engines come to life one at a time.

The large jet moved away from the terminal on its own power as John opened his eyes and peered out the window at the rows of blue taxiway lights passing below in the darkness. Without fanfare, the plane turned onto the main runway and started its takeoff run. Leaving the ground behind, the jet streaked upward, and the twinkling lights of Rome were quickly extinguished when they entered the base of some low-hanging clouds.

After drinking some bottled water, the two reclined their seats. Within minutes, they were both sound asleep, thirty-five thousand feet above the Mediterranean Sea. They were on their way to the Holy Land.

Jerusalem itself had no international airport. All flights from outside the country arrived at Ben Gurion, located between Tel Aviv on the Mediterranean coast and Jerusalem twenty-eight miles to the east. The sun had risen over the nose of the plane several minutes earlier and Leo and John were now fully awake, watching the scenery grow closer outside their window as the blue and white El Al jet flew in low over the coast of Israel and circled to land.

After touchdown, the aircraft taxied to the ultramodern Terminal 3, where the still-exhausted men shuffled their way out of the big Boeing jet and on through the lines at customs. The two were still paranoid after their ordeal in Rome, and every new situation made them grow progressively more anxious. Israel’s international airport reputedly had the tightest security of any airport in the world. Israeli soldiers with automatic weapons were everywhere, along with an invisible security presence no one ever saw, even though it saw them.

Walking through the main concourse, John reached inside his backpack and ran his fingers over the cool, chalky surface of the ancient brick. Satisfied that it was still tucked safely inside, he gave a thumbs up to Leo before they stepped out of the airport into the bright light of the Holy Land.

“God, what a feeling this place has,” John said. “I’ve never been here before. Just think, soon we’ll be walking in the footsteps of Jesus, Mary, the Apostles; it’s overwhelming.”

Leo stretched and watched the wide-eyed tourists flowing out of the terminal. “I experienced the same euphoria on my first visit to Israel many years ago. It doesn’t matter whether you’re a Christian, a Jew, or a Muslim; the emotions people experience here are powerful. Walking in the steps of our biblical forefathers has a profound effect on those who flock here every year from all over the world. They may not feel it yet, but as soon as they enter the old part of the city and touch the ground where Jesus carried the cross, they will know in their hearts that God is close by.”

Father Leo was as excited to be here as he had been on his first visit. It was springtime, and the Mediterranean climate was Eden-like. Breathing in the fresh air, Leo and John stood on the sidewalk in front of the airport. They were wondering what to do next when an old green Land Rover pulled up to the curb next to them. The driver flashed a grin and motioned with his hand. “Leo, John, hop in. We must hurry.”

Behind the wheel was a distinguished-looking man with gray hair and a beard. He was dressed in a khaki shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing strong tanned forearms and the rough hands of a man who enjoyed working outdoors. In short, he looked like the movie version of an archaeologist.

Leo and John traded looks but remained frozen on the sidewalk while the exasperated driver attempted to wave them into the vehicle. “I’m Lev Wasserman, Anthony’s friend. We’re not allowed to park here. Get in before we get in trouble with the authorities.”

A soldier in the brown uniform of the Israeli Defense Force was already walking in their direction. Leo grabbed the passenger-side door handle and slid into the front seat, while John followed his lead and climbed into the back. Lev waved to the soldier as they pulled away from the terminal and headed off down a palm-lined boulevard toward Tel Aviv and the coast.

“We’ve been waiting a long time to meet you, Professor,” Leo said, extending his hand. “I only wish Anthony could have been with us. I know you two were good friends.”

“I considered him one of my best friends,” Lev said, shaking Leo’s hand and glancing in the rearview mirror at John in the backseat. John’s eyes met Lev’s in the mirror. “I have to ask the obvious question, Professor. We couldn’t use our cell phones or e-mail you about-”