John Lyman - The Secret Chapel

Vapor rose into the cloudless blue sky from the side of the rocket as the freezing volatile fuel began to warm and vent to the outside. Predetermined target coordinates were confirmed by the crew, and the computer now took over the countdown. The men had done all they could; the rest remained in the hands of Allah and the gods of technology.

They jumped from the cab of the transporter and ran toward the waiting truck in the distance just as a fiery blast erupted from the nozzles at the base of the rocket. Fire enveloped the truck as the thrust from the engines sent the giant, deadly arrow skyward, leaving a white plume of smoke in its wake.

In a matter of minutes, the spent rocket would reach its apogee and the nuclear warhead would separate, beginning a six-thousand-mile-per-hour descent to its target below. Thousands of years of history, along with some of the most holy sites known to man, were about to be vaporized. The target was Jerusalem.

The Carmela bobbed calmly at her dock in the yacht-encrusted Porto Romano Marina inside Fiumicino Harbor. The citizens of Rome flocked to the beautiful harbor and beaches nearby in the summer for weekend getaways and were unaware of the events occurring over two thousand miles away in the rugged mountains of northern Pakistan. Inside the yacht, the scenario was reversed. Alarms were going off and the crew was in a state of panic. Many seemed unable to move as they stood in front of TV screens scattered around the boat and watched the world situation spiral out of control. Air raid sirens were now blaring in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem as the Israeli military tracked the inbound warhead heading their way.

The United States had been on a virtual lockdown since the nuclear attack on Houston. Widespread hysteria had set in around the country and revenge was in the air. As people around the country feared another attack, rumors swirled inside and outside the government as to who had finally committed the unthinkable act of nuclear terrorism on America. Inside the Oval Office in the West Wing of the White House, the president and his advisors were huddled in a feverish debate about their next course of action.

One more incident like the one in Houston would be the tipping point toward a holocaust of unimaginable proportions aimed at anyone America and Israel believed was responsible. The entire world was now on high alert, and nerves were frayed at the highest levels of every government on earth. Unlike the major powers, terrorists didn’t have hotlines with their enemy to allow cooler heads to prevail. They just struck without warning.

On the bridge of the yacht, Alex was frantically trying to raise Lev and the others on their radios in the tunnels under the Vatican. Lev’s words before he departed the ship echoed in the ship captain’s mind. We’ve got to get that demonic book into the chapel soon. The world has been on the verge of a total meltdown since we took it from the desert. We’ve become soldiers in a war between heaven and hell, and this is one war I don’t want to lose, for all of our sakes. Alex tried once again to raise them on the radio, but only static hissed from the speakers on the bridge. He felt helpless as he pounded his fists on the radio and listened for a response.

Unable to reach Lev, the Carmela’s captain walked out on deck and lit a cigarette. He gazed out across the dazzling harbor at all the gorgeous people lying in the sun on the decks of their boats. Eating from picnic baskets and playing with their children, they were totally unaware of the horror that was about to befall the world’s holiest city as they enjoyed life to the fullest. What if Lev and the others don’t make it to the chapel?

South of the harbor, at Morelli’s country estate, Daniel had called the yacht for instructions. He wanted to know what he and Sarah should do in view of the impending attack on Israel. Unable to reach Lev, the communications officer on the yacht had told him to stay where he was. Daniel held the satellite phone in his hand and paced back and forth outside by the fountain in front of the house, wondering why he and Sarah were staked out in a village so far from Rome. Wouldn’t he be of more value back on the yacht?

Sarah came down from the tower and called him into the house. The caretaker’s wife had already laid out a simple meal for them in the kitchen and placed a bottle of red wine on the table. Daniel uncorked the bottle and filled Sarah’s glass halfway to the top before pouring his own. They ate their meal in relative silence, neither one knowing what or who they should be guarding against.

Sarah stood up and walked around the kitchen. “Why don’t we just get in the car and drive to the yacht?”

“Because Lev and Father Leo decided that we should remain here for some reason. Believe me, if I knew, I’d tell you.”

“But it doesn’t make any sense. I’m not complaining, Daniel, it’s just that I kinda want to know what we’re doing here.”

“So do I, but Lev always has a plan, and he’s never let me down. He’s honest and smart and possesses a psychic ability to know what people need to do and where they need to be. I’d trust him with my life … so for now, we wait and keep a close eye on that road.”

Leo and the others raced toward the chapel under the Basilica through the maze of tunnels. Leo couldn’t be certain exactly where he was, but he had retraced their steps as closely as he could remember. Stumbling forward, they came to a Y-junction ahead of them. Right or left? John pointed to the left, and they all took off in that direction. Within minutes, they had arrived at an area both Leo and John recognized. Above them, the wall Emilio had constructed to keep Morelli from entering the catacombs was now open, the broken bricks strewn about. Only darkness lay beyond the gaping hole. If anyone was on the other side, they were hiding in the darkness.

Gradually, as if in a dream, a figure stepped through the opening and stood before them. Leo focused his eyes on the familiar red-headed man wearing a Roman collar.

“Anthony …?” Father Morelli ? Leo rubbed his eyes and backed away. Was this some kind of demonic trick? Everyone present had known Morelli and had been deeply touched by the news of his death, yet all were hesitant to approach him. Morelli descended the pile of rubble and stood in front of a shocked Father Leo.

Leo just stared at Morelli with disbelieving eyes. “This can’t be.” Leo grabbed his old friend by the shoulders, halfway expecting his hands to pass through a ghost-like vision.

Morelli hung his head in shame. He knew he had purposely lied to his closest friends and feigned death for reasons he had not been able to share with them. “I pray that you can all forgive me … but we had to make everyone believe I was dead so that I could intervene on your behalf while you went to Israel to find the Devil’s Bible.”

Leo’s mind was reeling. “You … you knew about the book!” Leo was caught between the emotions of surprise and anger. “Why the charade? You’ve been my friend for over thirty years … and suddenly you can’t trust me?”

“We were trying to convince others that I was dead and that the search for the book was over while you and John went to Israel. Real grief is hard to fake, and you were being closely watched. Vatican security had just learned that I was the target of an assassination plot by Emilio’s men and it was necessary that they believed I had died a natural death. Unfortunately, the attention shifted to you and John when they discovered both of your names in the code and found out you were on your way to Israel.”

“They know about the code?”

“A lot of people know about it; it’s not a secret. They may even know things we don’t.”