John Lyman - The Secret Chapel

Lev dropped the scissors in the sink and stared into the mirror before turning to face Moshe. In his mind, he could still see Ariella’s face as she waved goodbye to him from the ground as the helicopter lifted into the air. His daughter, his beautiful Ariella. Anyone but her!

One of the female staff members came running into the room behind Moshe. “Oh, no, God. It can’t be!” She pulled her short black hair back with her hands, stretching the skin on her face and making her eyes look cat-like as she stared at Lev and Moshe, the tears flowing down her face.

As news of the crash sent a wave of sadness over the villa, some gathered downstairs, not knowing where to go or what to do, while others walked out to the beach to stare at the sea, hoping for a sign. Somewhere out there, God had just decided the fate of their friends.

Many wept and prayed for a miracle, but most knew that a high-speed jet crash was usually not survivable, even in water. Only a few hours before, they had all been together, safe at the villa, watching a tragedy unfold on the other side of the world. Now tragedy had visited their world.

Lev sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands while Moshe stood by silently, his hand resting on his old friend’s shoulder. Lev choked. He raised his head and looked up at Moshe through tear-filled eyes. “Call the chopper. We’re going out there to look for them. There might be survivors.”

The main cabin had sunk to the bottom of the Mediterranean, where it had come to rest in the inky blackness for the past hour. Pieces of wreckage still floated about on the surface of the water, and the smell of jet fuel lingered in the air. Miraculously, there had been survivors.

Sadly, the pilots had not survived the initial impact; their cockpit was crushed when it nosedived into a wave as the plane cartwheeled over the water. When the sea rushed into the cabin, Sarah’s emergency training kicked in. She unbuckled herself from her seat and pulled an emergency ring by the door, releasing a life raft that automatically inflated when it hit the water.

John had struggled to free Ariella who had been knocked unconscious and was still strapped in her seat. Leo and Alon had been flung from the aircraft through a ruptured hole in its side but suffered only cuts and bruises. They had paddled their way back into the sinking plane and helped John free Ariella before the cabin began its downward plunge to the sea floor.

The four bobbed to the surface, where John held Ariella’s limp form in his arms. She began to moan and slowly regained consciousness as they floated amid the pieces of wreckage. “What happened?”

“The plane crashed, Ariella,” John said.

“It what?”

“Try not to move too much. You might have a head injury.”

They found Sarah floating on her back, holding onto the inflated raft. She was wracked with fits of coughing from inhaling sea water. Unable to climb into the raft, Leo and Alon swam up beside her. The men then gently lifted both women over the sides and climbed in next to them. Aside from some cuts and bruises and one possible concussion, the group had survived the crash relatively unscathed.

John looked over at Leo while he stroked the water off Ariella’s forehead. “How did we survive that?”

“I don’t have a clue, John,” Leo said. “We were probably going in excess of two hundred miles an hour when I saw the right wing slice into a wave. Hitting the water at that speed is like hitting concrete.”

The group sat in the sloshing water inside the raft, too much in shock to feel any emotion. Ariella was now completely awake but still had no memory of the crash. They scanned the surface of the water for any sign of the pilots, but they all knew in their hearts that the men had now joined centuries of ancient sailors on the bottom of the Mediterranean.

Squeezing the mixture of jet fuel and sea water from her hair, Sarah reached into a bag stowed in the raft and activated the jet’s emergency locator beacon. She then produced a first aid kit and began tending to the minor wounds when Leo suddenly sat up and began frantically searching the sea around them. “The book, John! Where did you put the backpack?”

John’s eyes widened. “I put it next to my seat on the floor of the cabin … and that’s the last time I saw it.” John leaned back and covered his face with his hands. “It’s probably on the bottom of the ocean by now.”

Leo slumped in the raft, unable to think anymore. Survival was now their only priority. They would have to deal with the loss of the book later. He remembered the reddish smoke in the cabin and the smell of sulfur. Satan finally got his Bible back after all.

Nava’s large Blackhawk helicopter landed in front of the villa within minutes of being notified of the crash. She kept it on the ground just long enough to allow Lev and Moshe to climb onboard before she practically jumped the chopper back into the air and sped out over the beach, skimming the waves en route to the scene.

They flew in the direction of the crash with grim determination. Only the whitecaps of some breaking waves were visible to the searchers as they scanned a vacant blue sea around them. Continuing on, they were finally able to see ships and helicopters in the distance, and within minutes they were passing over an Israeli Navy vessel that was rushing to the scene.

Circling overhead, Nava watched several inflatable speedboats drop from the large ship and race toward a small yellow life raft bobbing in the middle of a floating debris field. A navy chopper swung in front of them and flew in low over the drifting wreckage before coming to an abrupt hover as two pararescue divers jumped into the water.

“There are survivors,” Gabriella shouted into her headset microphone. Lev and Moshe strained to see between the tops of the swells. Everyone back at the villa listening to the radio transmissions from the helicopter began to jump and shout for joy. People had survived. But how many?

Lev and Moshe finally saw the life raft and began to count. There were five. Unless they had been picked up by another aircraft or boat, two were missing. They scanned the horizon in an effort to see any bright-colored life jackets floating nearby.

Nava flew her helicopter in beside the navy chopper and radioed the Israeli Navy for permission to pick up survivors. As the big Blackhawk came in low, Lev looked down and suddenly burst out in tears when he saw the face of Ariella looking up at him from the small raft rising over the crests of the waves in the water below. His body was wracked by sobs of joy as everyone was quickly winched aboard and he was finally able to hold his dazed and shivering daughter in his arms once again.

Nava was hovering less than twenty feet above the surface preparing to depart when John suddenly shouted something to Leo before jumping from the open door and splashing into the water below.

“What’s he doing?” Nava shouted. “Has he lost his mind?”

John was swimming like a madman toward something bobbing in the water. A small speedboat from one of the ships arrived and pulled up alongside of him just as he reached the object and pulled it to his chest. Two burly Israeli sailors reached out and yanked him from the water while he held the backpack above his head for everyone in the helicopter to see.

“What kind of idiotic stunt was that?” one of the sailors said to him. “You could have been killed. No piece of luggage is worth that.”

“This one is,” John said.

As soon as he was winched back aboard the helicopter, John opened the backpack. The Devil’s Bible was still resting securely inside, untouched by the crash. Leo could only smile with relief. They had the book, but they were still in Israel. Leo started to speak, but Moshe held up his hand. “I’ll say it for you, Father. Now, one more time, John: never ever let that book out of your sight again.”