Newton’s Fire (23 page)

‘Wonky?’

‘Offset, then. Closer to the left of the wall than the right.’

She peered intently at it, frowned. ‘Huh,’ she said. ‘You’re right. But what does it mean?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t suppose it means anything. I just …’ But then he realized and snapped his fingers. ‘Sir Isaac Newton,’ he said. ‘
Sir
Isaac.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t follow.’

‘Newton wasn’t knighted until 1705.’ He zoomed in on the inscription, put his finger over the “Sir”. ‘See.
Now
it’s centred,’ he said.

She shook her head in bafflement. ‘Are you saying that the inscription originally read just “Isaac Newton”, and that the “Sir” was added later?’

‘Yes. I suspect so.’

A woman in front of them sighed and turned in her seat. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Some of us are trying to sleep.’

Rachel held up an apologetic hand, dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘But why? Was Newton really that vain? To go back to the vault just to add a Sir to his name?’

Luke shook his head. ‘You know what Dr Johnson said about the Giant’s Causeway? “Worth seeing, yes, but not worth going to see”. I’d guess Newton’s knighthood was much the same: worth doing, yes, but not worth going to do.’

‘So he had some other reason for going back?’

‘It wouldn’t have been Newton himself, I don’t suppose. He was into his sixties by 1705, and his legs were beginning to go. And Evelyn and Wren would both have been into their
seventies
. But they all had fiercely devoted disciples. Let’s say they each sent one.’

‘And Newton’s decided to give him his knighthood while he was at it,’ nodded Rachel. ‘But what would their real mission have been? Bricking up the doorway?’

‘That wall would scarcely have stopped anyone who’d already found the passage,’ said Luke. ‘I reckon that was just a nod to the Rosicrucians.’

‘Then what?’

‘What do we know? We know they took a hammer and chisel with them, or they wouldn’t have been able to knight Newton so neatly. And why bring a hammer and chisel unless you plan to inscribe something?’

‘The cipher,’ murmured Rachel.

‘That’d be my guess,’ said Luke. He tapped the screen. ‘See how this one is centred directly beneath “Sir Isaac Newton”? That surely implies they’d already added the “Sir” by then. Besides, the vault
was
the spot. Why mark it with an X unless the X leads somewhere else?’ He jotted down the various elements of the cipher on a scrap of paper, and they wrestled with it for a few minutes; but their minds were too tired to get anywhere.

‘How about your London friend?’ asked Rachel, fighting a yawn.

‘Jay?’ Luke nodded. ‘This is right up his street. And he lives just across the river from the coach station.’

‘Let’s go and see him when we get there.’

‘Are you sure? You don’t have to, you know, Rachel. It could be dangerous for you. And I can do it myself.’

Rachel looked pained. ‘Don’t you want my help?’

‘Of course I do. But not as badly as I want you safe. You can go pretty much anywhere from Victoria. Lie low until this blows over.’

‘There’s nowhere so low that they won’t find me eventually,’ she pointed out. ‘Besides, we owe it to Pelham and Olivia to solve this thing as soon as we can and then get the truth out. And we’ve got a far better chance if we stick together. Agreed?’

He couldn’t help but smile. ‘Agreed.’

‘Good. Now how about catching a little rest?’

‘Go for it,’ he said.

She zipped away the laptop, set it beneath her feet, closed her eyes. Her head began to loll. It tipped against his shoulder only for the jolt to wake her. She sat up straighter, apologised with a rueful smile. But the tiredness soon got to her again; her head began to tip once more. He leaned to his left to give her a softer landing. A strand of her hair fell ticklish across his cheek. He had to put a finger to his nose to stop himself from sneezing. Lack of legroom and the way he was leaning made his posture uncomfortable, but he couldn’t move just yet without risking waking her. Her hair rose fractionally with each exhale, then fell back again. She found sleep. The weariness on her face seemed to fade with every moment. Her colour improved. Still asleep, she felt for and took his arm, and a kind of peace settled over her.

Extraordinary to think that less than twenty hours had passed since he’d seen her photograph on her great-aunt’s kitchen wall. They’d been through so much together since that he felt as if he’d known her forever. It occurred to him, however, that though he’d seen her smile and laugh and joke and tease in that time, he hadn’t yet seen her light up from within in quite the way she’d lit up in that photograph. There was always something reserved about her, something withheld, perhaps from grief or stress or duty or simple tiredness. Whatever the reason, he had a sudden craving to see her smile like that again. He had a sudden craving to see her smile like that
for him
. And the mere thought of it provoked a painful twist of emotion in his heart: of sadness that he should have caught her up in this wretched business, mixed with an immeasurable gladness that she was here.

Megiddo, Israel

Avram Kohen had slept in the same bed for so many years that he panicked a little on waking to find himself lying on a thin blanket on an unfamiliar hard floor in complete darkness. But then memories came to his rescue: his nephew Uri pleading for his life; his night-time drive north here from the Negev.

The truck’s suspension creaked as he sat up. He felt stiff and tired and cold and filthy. He opened the rear doors, looked out at the broken concrete of the vast car park, and the hill that overlooked it.

Megiddo. Armageddon itself.

There was a payphone by the bus stop out on the main road. ‘Are you ready?’ he asked, when Francis picked up.

‘Another hour,’ said Francis.

‘We’ll be with you in forty minutes.’

He felt better for the modest exercise and the morning air as he walked back to the truck. He was a little hungry too, but Shlomo and his friends were the kind to be punctual. Indeed, a battered navy blue people carrier lumbered up the track a few minutes later. The doors opened and Shlomo and ten others got out. They all wore the distinctive beards, hair, hats and other garb of ultra-Orthodox Judaism, yet somehow they were different from the usual run: thinner and tougher and altogether more dangerous. A legacy of their army service perhaps.

‘Where are the others?’ asked Shlomo.

‘They’ll join us later.’

Shlomo frowned. ‘They didn’t want to be here for this? For the tenth heifer?’

Avram had deferred this moment as long as possible, to prevent defections; but now the time had come. ‘Their motivations aren’t your motivations,’ he said.

‘They’re not religious?’ asked Shlomo.

‘They’re good Jews,’ Avram assured him. ‘What more do you need to know?’

‘What kind of Jews?’

‘Settlers, mostly. From Hebron.’

There was silence. Haredim didn’t mix easily with outside groups, particular secular ones. ‘You lied to us,’ said Shlomo.

‘Did I?’

‘You know you did.’

‘Look at us,’ begged Avram. ‘Twelve men in a car park. You think we’re enough to seize and hold the Promised Land? You think that we can bring down the Dome and then build a new Temple all by ourselves?’

‘With the Lord on our side, praise His Name, we can—’

‘The Lord, praise His Name, has been on our side forever,’ snapped Avram. ‘And yet the Dome still stands. So maybe we’ve been doing it wrong. How about that for an idea?’ He looked around at them but saw only hostility and resentment in their faces so that he knew he needed a different approach or he’d risk losing them. ‘Listen to me,’ he said. ‘Please listen. These past twenty-four hours, I’ve been talking with sympathizers from across the world. I’ve told them of all the signs that the Lord has sent us in proof that this is our moment. The earthquake. The heifer. The forty-nine years of the prophet Daniel. The simple fact that tonight there will be no moon. But there’s one more reason we can be certain this is the time. A reason I shared with none of them, because they aren’t capable of understanding. But
you
will understand. Because tonight isn’t just significant in their Western calendar. Tonight is significant in our own calendar too. Tonight is
Rosh Chodesh Sivan
.’

There were murmurs among Shlomo’s men at this. They saw instantly where he was going. But he kept talking all the same, taking advantage of the moment. ‘The people of the Exodus were a diverse people,’ he said. ‘They came from different tribes and families, different traditions and beliefs. Then Moses led them out of Egypt and into Sinai, to the foot of its holy mount; and it was there that, for the first time, we came together as one people. It was there that we became Israel.’

Avram knew they’d be familiar with the passage, yet it demanded being read out aloud, so he strode back to his truck for his battered copy of the Torah, turning to the Book of Exodus as he returned to them, reciting the verses as he walked.

‘“In the third month of the departure of Israel out of the land of Egypt, on this day, they came in to the wilderness of Sinai. For departing out of Raphidim, and coming to the desert of Sinai, they pitched their tents in the same place: and there Israel camped against the mountain.”’

He closed the book, held it aloft like triumph. ‘“
And there Israel camped against the mountain.
” The only instance in the Torah, in the entire Tanakh –
the only instance
– where our people are described in the singular rather than the plural. You all know that. And you all know why, too. Because, on that one day, we all of us became Israel —
one
nation with
one
mind and
one
heart joined together in
one
covenant with the Lord, the covenant that we kept in the sacred Ark in the tabernacle and in the Holy of Holies in the Temple of Solomon on Mount Moriah. So what other day could we possibly choose for this great enterprise, but
Rosh Chodesh Sivan
? And yet you would have the Haredim do it alone? No. A thousand times no. This is the day when
all
Israel comes together in covenant with our Lord. And who are we to say that these Jews or those Jews aren’t worthy to be there with us? Who are we to put our own preferences ahead of the Lord’s? This way, we will be a mirror of our nation. This way, when our fellows wake up tomorrow in Tel Aviv and Haifa, in Europe and New York, whatever kind of Jew they may be, they’ll see people just like themselves on their television sets, striking a blow for our nation against the Arabs and their allies. And
all
Israel will flock to our side with passion and joy and courage and numbers because of it; and
all
Israel will demand that the Temple of Solomon is built once more upon Moriah. All Israel united as one again on
Rosh Chodesh Sivan.’
He came to a finish, half expecting to be greeted with acclaim and cheers, but all he got was a few grudging nods.

‘Very well,’ said Shlomo, interpreting the mood of his small company. ‘Just as long as there aren’t any women.’

Avram didn’t let his expression so much as flicker. ‘Of course not,’ he said.

Luke woke to the harsh shriek of the coach’s reversing alarm to discover his head resting on Rachel’s. He must have dozed off too. He sat up as gently as he could, partly to allow her a few more moments rest, but mostly because he didn’t want her knowing he’d fallen asleep. He didn’t quite know why it should matter to him that she should think of him as having stayed vigilant; but it did.

She opened her eyes a second or two later, rubbed them tiredly. ‘Are we here?’

‘Yes, Victoria,’ he said.

She closed her eyes again, leaned against his shoulder, snuggled up for a few extra seconds. Then the doors opened and the lights came on and she shook herself awake. He grabbed the laptop from beneath the seat.

‘What now?’ she asked, as they climbed down onto the concourse. ‘Taxi?’

‘Let’s save our cash. He’s only just across the bridge.’

She nodded at some payphones. ‘Shall we warn him we’re on our way?’

‘Let him sleep,’ said Luke. ‘I can’t remember his number anyway.’

The new day hadn’t yet dawned exactly, but the sky was growing light. They walked briskly to the Chelsea Bridge Road and the Thames ran fat and grey beneath them. An impressively dedicated rowing eight heaved and grunted out of view beneath the bridge. ‘A word to the wise,’ said Luke. ‘Jay isn’t always the easiest person in the world.’

‘How do you mean?’

Luke hesitated. It felt disloyal discussing his friend behind his back. ‘He has a mild to moderate case of Asperger’s syndrome. It’s a high-functioning autistic spectrum disorder, the one that can sometimes make people exceptional at music and maths and—’

‘I know Asperger’s.’

‘Jay’s brilliant at pattern recognition. That’s what makes him so good at codes. But he also has difficulty in reading people. He doesn’t empathize easily and he tends not to spot irony or jokes unless they’re heavily signalled. He doesn’t do small talk, so he can come across as quite curt, and when he gets onto a favourite topic, or gets overexcited, he can be hard to stop. Occasionally he’ll say something hurtful by mistake. And if he ever realizes afterwards, he’ll beat himself up for days about it. So he’s had to deal with a lot of self-hatred over the years. You can still see the hatching on his arms from when he used to cut himself. And I’m pretty sure he tried suicide at least once.’

‘Jesus.’

‘Don’t get alarmed. Asperger’s gets better with age. He’s grown much more confident since I first met him, on that documentary I did. But he still gets edgy around new people. Particularly women. Even more particularly young and beautiful women.’