John Lyman - The Secret Chapel

In mathematical research, a “p-value” of one in twenty usually indicates that something is “true”. In 1989, a senior cryptologic mathematician with the Department of Defense-working in the offices of the National Security Agency-made a startling discovery. He was awaiting word from his wife on the solution to a nineteen-day-long calculation running on his home computer. As a skeptic, he had set out to disprove the claim that a team of Israeli scientists had found a code in the Torah-a code that would prove to the world that the Bible was divinely inspired by God. When his wife called, he was astonished to hear that the “p-value” was one in sixty-two-thousand five hundred, meaning that there was a 99.998 percent certainty that the code was real. Mathematicians around the world have yet to disprove this finding.

Israel-The Negev Desert

May 15, 1948

On the last day of their lives, the British troops were breaking camp. For the past year, the soldiers had been living in an isolated region of the desert-one that appeared devoid of any visible life, making the men’s daily patrols seem pointless. Their only contact with the outside world had been the monthly visits from the army supply trucks and a few brief encounters with the Bedouin tribes who passed through the area.

Faced with the prospect of fighting and dying in a land far from home, the time spent in monotonous anticipation of combat that never came had taken its toll on the weary band of men who had been consigned to a bleak existence for way too long. On this day, however, the somber mood in camp had changed. The men were celebrating the news that their tour of duty was finally coming to an end, and that soon, they would all be home with their families in England.

High overhead, the relentless thermal presence of the midmorning sun reflected off the desert sand, creating a shimmering effect over the heated landscape as a tall, thin sergeant drove his open jeep through the camp. Peering through the dusty orange haze, he spotted a group of tanned soldiers loading the last of their equipment into a line of waiting trucks. He pulled up beside them and stopped.

“Let’s keep moving, lads. The captain wants us out of here before noon.”

A shirtless private grabbed an empty water container and turned toward the jeep with a grin. “Not to worry, Sergeant. Every minute we spend here is one minute less we’ll have at the bar tonight.”

They all laughed as the sergeant threw the jeep into gear and headed for the last tent that remained standing. His blue eyes gazed out across the desert at the blurred images of desolate gray mountains and saffron colored cliffs surrounding their position. He smiled to himself with the knowledge that, after today, these images would be nothing more than a distant memory.

Sliding to a stop in a cloud of dust, the sergeant jumped from the jeep and ducked into the captain’s tent. In the relative darkness, he saw the young, blond captain sitting quietly on a folding wooden chair, his once-cheerful face masked by a look of quiet resolution. He was holding a letter from his wife, a letter that he had read at least twice a day for the past month. Enclosed with the letter was a picture of a dark-haired young woman holding an infant-a girl barely six months old. The child had never laid eyes on her father, but that would change, the captain had promised himself, as soon as they were out of this hellish place.

“What time is it, Sergeant?”

“It’s almost ten o’clock, sir. We’re ready to move out.”

“Just throw everything in the back of my jeep. I’d like to be out of here before the sun gets any higher.”

Reaching into the pocket of his faded khaki shorts, the sergeant produced a handkerchief and ran it over his forehead and through his hair. “Yes, sir, most of our gear is already loaded in the trucks. This is the last tent standing. These Arabs can have this bloody desert. I never want to see sand again unless it’s at the beach.”

A rare smile brightened the captain’s features as he tenderly folded the letter and placed it in the pocket of his sweat-stained shirt. “I have to admit, lying on the sand under the sun doesn’t have quite the appeal it used to.”

Flicking a small brown scorpion from his boot, the sergeant motioned for two privates standing outside the tent to enter. The soldiers moved quickly, and within minutes, the captain’s home for the past twelve months was nothing more than a rumpled mound of canvas lying on the sand.

The soldiers tossed it into the back of one of the large sand-colored military trucks, while a British flag flying from a makeshift pole was lowered for the last time, becoming the final thing to be packed away before the convoy set out for Jerusalem.

Climbing into the passenger side of the lead jeep, the captain turned to make a final visual inspection of the deserted campsite. The men had done a good job. It appeared as though no one had ever been there. No one ever should have been. He glanced over his shoulder at the line of vehicles behind him and motioned for the column of trucks and jeeps to begin their final patrol out of the desert.

Straining motors and grinding gears echoed off of the encircling mountains as the sergeant squinted ahead from under the brow of his cap and worked the steering wheel to avoid the occasional large rock or deep rut that lay in their path. Puzzled by the absence of wildlife, the captain adjusted his sunglasses and gazed out over the barren landscape. “Tonight I’ll be having a scotch on the rocks in the bar at the King David Hotel in Jerusalem.”

“That sounds like a bit of heaven, sir. Some of the men will be downtown hoisting a pint or two themselves this evening. Have you heard anything from headquarters?”

“About what, Sergeant?”

“Did they say when our ship would be leaving for England, sir?”

“I imagine that will be in a few days from now, after the government formally announces our intention to pull out of Palestine. I was saving it as a surprise, but you and the men have earned a well-deserved leave. Headquarters is rewarding all of you with some long overdue rest on the coast in Haifa before we board the ship for home.”

“A dip in the Mediterranean sounds mighty good right now. You could use a nice cool swim yourself, Captain.”

“I plan to.”

“Any ideas about what will happen to this country after we leave, sir?”

“Unfortunately, I’m afraid the Jews and Arabs will have a go at each other like cats and dogs after we’re gone. Britain is through policing these people, and I for one am glad.”

“Yes, sir. No more patrols out in the desert with the sun boiling our brains and nothing green to look at.”

“At least the patrols at night were cooler. My only regret is that we never found the source of that odd red glow out there by the canyon… or that awful howling that came from the same area. Every time one of our patrols got close to that light, it just faded away. I thought it was interesting, but the look on the general’s face when I mentioned it made it obvious my discussion on the subject would be a bad career move.”

“Kind of like looking for a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, eh, Captain?”

“We never found a single track in the area, human or animal. It’s a real mystery. The blokes at headquarters even flew a bomber over the area and took pictures. Nothing. Not a bloody thing on the film. All of the pictures came out as black as night when they were developed. I stopped logging it in my daily reports before they started to think we’d all gone loony out here.”