The Solomon Key (22 page)

The driver turned the minivan into an underground parking garage, taking it around a bend and up a ramp to the next level. Construction equipment was everywhere, cones, caution signs, and arrows all telling people that the level was closed. But the driver pulled onto it anyway. Instantly, four men dressed in orange construction gear appeared beside them and began clearing the equipment away so that they could pass through. Once a path was made, the minivan rolled deeper into the empty parking level while a flurry of bright orange replaced everything behind it.

They pulled up to the back of the garage, next to the elevator, and the driver put the van in park. “You can get out,” he said. And both men opened their doors.

As soon as Scott stepped onto the concrete floor, the elevator doors opened and two men raced into the garage, pushing a gurney. They went straight to the back of the van and carefully transported Cindy, wheeling her back onto the elevator and disappearing behind closing doors.

Scott could only watch in silence, hoping that Mayhew’s prayers would be answered.

“Come,” said the driver, and he began walking to the elevator. It was a few minutes before the doors opened again, but when they did, there were men with guns waiting for them.

Scott took a deep breath before stepping inside.

It opened on the fortieth floor, and they were ushered into a common office setting. Their escort walked them through a sea of cubicles, computers, phones, and piles of paper. A shell company. After passing through a few rooms, they came to a door that had a security pad above the handle. Someone stepped forward and swiped a keycard before punching a sequence of numbers into the keypad. A beep sounded, and the handle turned.

Entering another room, they found this one to be full of huge file cabinets. But a large wall safe in the back of the room caught Scott’s attention. Its steel door stood six feet high. A minute later, after a series of
beeps
and
boops,
it swung out toward them, away from the wall. But there was no money in it. No trays stacked with paper currency, no bars of gleaming gold, no piles of diamonds, no columns of little drawers with keyholes. All that was there was a hallway stretching back into darkness.

“You first,” said one of the armed men while looking straight at Scott.

So he stepped in, figuring he didn’t really have a choice. But after a few paces, the steel door began closing behind him. “Hey!” He turned to jump back out but couldn’t make it in time. The door closed and more electronic sounds signaled the vault’s lockdown. He was plunged into darkness. “Hey!” He banged on the steel door, but it accomplished nothing. Swearing, he turned to face the only path available and began walking, a cool breeze spreading goose bumps up his arms. He touched the walls beside him just to make sure they were still there. Ten steps later, light suddenly appeared at the end of the hallway, a man’s silhouette standing in its center and waiting for him.

“Please, come,” its voice said.

Scott quickened his pace, wondering what strange new turn things were about to take now. Stepping into the light, he found himself standing in a bright room, a single man reaching out to shake his hand. The man had dark hair and brown eyes, and Scott guessed that he was in his late fifties. His black slacks and white shirt were accented by a bright blue tie. Scott took his hand while quickly surveying his surroundings — two black touchtable desks, a table, some radios, and a map. There were a few books piled up on the table, and a few chairs facing the desk. There was another, smaller safe in the wall behind the desk. There were no windows in the room, and Scott was willing to bet that this room was known only to a handful of special people.

The man spoke as he waved Scott to a chair, shutting the steel door behind him. “I imagine you must have some questions.” His tone was rather cheery considering what was happening in the world.

Scott sat. “A couple.”

“You probably want to know who I am.”

“Are you a psychic?” he quipped.

The man walked around to the table and sat on its edge, facing Scott. He folded his arms and nodded. “Ask away then.”

A small smile tugged the corner of Scott’s mouth. “Okay. Where am I?”

“Columbus, Ohio.”

“Where is everyone?”

“They were told to stay indoors until further notice.”

“How bad is it?”

The man shrugged. “It’s still too early to be sure, but I imagine a few million people when the smoke clears.”

Scott almost fell out of the chair. “A few
million
?”

“Easy. The nuke itself…”

“A
nuke
?”

“I’m afraid so. In Texas.”

Scott sat frozen, the magnitude of the word not fully registering.
Nuke.
He lifted his eyes, “Who?”

The man raised his eyebrows. “Who are they
saying
?”

“Yeah.”

“No official word yet, but no doubt it will be blamed on Russia or Syria.”

Scott cursed. “What about all the other places?”

“You’re referring to the reports on the news… Thankfully, they were a bit exaggerated. Our intelligence indicates a couple of nuclear power plants, some explosions in Canada, but the nuke was the central act.” He sighed. “But like I said, it’s still too early to tell.”

It took an extreme amount of willpower to push the whole nuke thing out of his head and turn his attention to other matters. He took a deep breath. “Who captured us?”

“CIA.”

“How’d you find them?”

“We knew exactly where they were taking you, so we set up an ambush.”

“And where were they taking us?”

“A DARPA science and engineering laboratory in Blacksburg, Virginia.”

Scott shuddered, thankful that he missed that trip. “What’s your name?”

“You can call me Mr. Smith.” And then he laughed. “Or anything you want.”

“That’s fine.”

Another smile. “But do you prefer Matthew Scott... or Joshua Cavanaugh?”

Scott held his breath. “How do you know who I am?”

“I’m an agent for the Israeli Mossad, Matthew, and I know pretty much everything they have in their computers.” He waved behind him toward the glass touchtables that were displaying technical readouts across their faces.

“I’m in the database?”

“Oh, you could say that.” He got up and began walking around the room, his hands in his pockets. “I’m not sure how you managed to stay hidden all these years, but they’re coming for you now.”

Heart racing in his chest, he asked, “Do you know what I did?”

Mr. Smith’s eyes went soft for a moment. “I do. But many of us were ordered to do things that we did not quite understand, and questioning orders was not an option. Neither was disobeying them.”

Scott looked away, clenching his jaw. And then a door that he hadn’t noticed, one that blended perfectly into the white walls around him, suddenly clicked open.

A man wearing black fatigues walked into the room, presenting a glaring contrast to their surroundings.

Mr. Smith turned away from Scott and focused his attention on the visitor. “Do you have it?” he asked with urgency.

“Yes.” And then he reached forward and handed him a ring.

The
ring.

Mesmerized, Mr. Smith studied the object in awe. Finally able to tear his gaze away from it, he looked up to the man who had delivered it. “Thank you.”

The man nodded before turning and walking back through the door, shutting it behind him.

Mr. Smith set the ring down on a touchtable and then slowly walked over to the door that just closed. He put his ear up to it and waited a few seconds. Then he took a small radio from off the desk, pushed the transmit button, and spoke into it. “Okay.”

The huge steel door opened again, and now another man stepped into the room. He walked past Scott, picked the ring up off the desk, and looked intensely at Mr. Smith.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, still ignoring Scott.

Mr. Smith nodded. “Yes.” And then he added, “My prayers are with you.”

The man turned and walked back through the dark hallway, this time with the mysterious ring in his possession. As soon as the door shut, Mr. Smith sat down, closed his eyes, and mumbled a prayer.

“What was that about?” Scott asked.

Mr. Smith opened his eyes and folded his hands. “As I said, I work for Mossad.”

He only had a slight accent, like he had spent most of his life in North America. “So?”

“So I’m also an Orthodox Jew.”

“Congratulations.”

“Are you familiar with various Jewish beliefs — Orthodox, ultra-orthodox, conservative, progressive?”

Scott shook his head and spoke with a touch of venom on his tongue. “I’m familiar with Zionism.”

He sighed. It was clear from Scott’s tone that he was holding the movement somewhat responsible for the deteriorating condition of his own country. “Political, Christian, Religious… there are several forms of Zionism, Mr. Scott.”

“Which is the one that conspired with the Devil to set the stage for this hell? Which one is the one that was responsible for the
USS Liberty
, the Mossad agents dancing with joy after taping the collapse of the Twin Towers in New York? Which form of Zionism is that?”

Mr. Smith paused, nodded solemnly. “In both instances, the government was hoping that the end result would be an American war with Israel’s enemies.”

Scott looked at him blankly. “Thanks.”

A small grin. “I am not a Zionist, Mr. Scott. I am from the traditional Orthodox position that condemns Zionism, so I can understand your feelings toward my Land, and I can only apologize on her behalf.”

Scott turned his head and took in the room. “What about Daniel and the other Mossad agents?”

“I assume you are referring to the man who acquired the ring from Edward Cairns?”

A nod.

“He was a Zionist. His interests were opposite of mine.” He nodded toward the door behind him, the one the ring had entered through. “As is theirs.”

“You’re a double agent.”

He laughed. “I am simply trying to prevent a great catastrophe from occurring.”

“And what is that?”

“Do you know of the Six-Day War?”

“Yeah, the war Israel started against her Arab neighbors, the reason for the attack on the NSA’s spy ship coasting nearby.”

“No, that is not why the
Liberty
was attacked. Not because she had evidence of Israel starting the war, or because she was within ear shot of the El Arish massacre. The most decorated ship in American naval history was attacked by unmarked Israeli planes and Israeli patrol boats because that was the plan that had been drawn up between Israel and the United States. After sinking the
Liberty
, the attack would have been blamed on Egypt, and America would have entered the war and helped take over the entire Middle East. Fortunately for those who survived the three hour attack, a Russian spy ship entered the area. Because there were witnesses, Israel retreated, allowing the
Liberty
to limp away.”

Scott nodded. It was something he’d always suspected. Why else would Johnson park the ship in the Mediterranean, call off the 6th Fleet’s attempt to help, and then threaten the survivors with death or life imprisonment if they ever spoke of what really happened that day? Why would Commander McGonagle be given the Medal of Honor in secret and then told not to tell anyone he won it? Given the history of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, of America’s war appetite, it was only logical. It was the same with Cuba, it was the same with Vietnam, it was the same with Iraq, Iran, and Syria.

Mr. Smith said, “You do not seem shocked.”

“I’m not. Gulf of Tonkin, Operation NORTHWOODS, PNAC. The list goes on and on.” He was referring to the staged incident that led to the Vietnam War and the plans drawn up by the Joint Chiefs of Staff in 1962 to commit terror attacks in the US and blame it on Cuba. And then a touch of emotion glazed his eyes. “I’ve seen firsthand what we’re capable of when we want to go to war.” He blinked, tried to get back to the subject. “The Six-Day War…”

Mr. Smith waved a hand over the touchtable and sent the scrolling readouts into some kind of hibernation mode that left the desk blank. “The evil forces that operate behind the scenes are responsible for the creation of both Zionism and radical Islam. It is their plan to have both religions exterminate each other.”

“Okay.”

A humble glimmer accented Smith’s eyes. “Do you hate us for what we’ve done?”

Scott knew that many believed political Zionism to be the peak of the invisible world government, right above the Bilderbergers, Business Advisory Committee, Council on Foreign Relations, and so forth. While there was no doubt in his mind that Israel’s government was just as guilty as any other in scheming to align things for their so-called “New Order of the Ages,” he doubted the operation was unfolding at their sole discretion. “I have nothing against your people. They should be entitled to what is theirs.”

“Ah! And what
is
ours if God has chosen to take it away? Of course I believe in the ancient prophecies, of Messiah reigning from the Temple in Jerusalem, but I do not believe, as do my Jewish brothers, that we, by our own strength, can hasten that day through political and secular conniving. Like Abraham trying to bring about God’s promise by taking Sarah’s handmaiden, or like Moses slaying the Egyptian, we are only complicating the situation. So while they try to coerce His coming, they are only heaping up more judgment on us. And the Messianic Kingdom will not come until we are purified from our sins.”

Scott stared into his eyes, not knowing why this had become the conversation of choice or how it was relevant. “I’ve spent time in your country. I know the different viewpoints concerning how your ‘Day of Restoration’ will come. But what does that have to do with us, right now?”

“It has everything to do with right now.” He stood up from the chair and began pacing. “Do you know what the ring is?”

“No.”

Mr. Smith stopped in his tracks, turned his head, and examined Scott. He looked baffled by his answer.