flesh and hang me from a tree. Fear not, for the flesh will be sacrificed so that the eternal spark may live on. Only then will I be given back to God to prepare the way for His eternal Kingdom.
Hear now that Israel will then perish, its idolatrous temple laid to ruin, and those who do not fall to the sword will be scattered. Many will lay claim to Abraham’s altar before the glorious temple rises up again, many lifetimes from now. You will know when that day comes, for my broken body will be reclaimed from beneath the sacred rock as a sign that a new covenant will be made.
Look not for the Testimony here, for Onias and the Sons of Aaron have brought it to a more righteous place in the land where the Israelites had once been captives. Forty days after God shakes the land of Zion shall it be brought and set upon Abraham’s rock.
Then the spirit of the Son of Man will descend upon the Chosen One to restore the Testimony.
The disbelievers will heed not the signs put forth before them. Thus a great battle will follow between the Sons of Light and the Sons of Darkness. But fear not, O Israel, for out of the ashes, the sheep will lie with the wolf and all peoples in all lands will look in wonder upon Zion and praise God.
Letting out a prolonged breath, Amit was speechless.
“If that’s what those scrolls said”—Jules had to get up and pace in a circle—“sounds to me like they were written by—”
“Jesus,” Amit said.
“Do you know what this means?” she rhetorically asked. “The implications? My God, this is the find of the century!”
“
Her enthusiasm immediately shrank.
“Obviously someone doesn’t want this to be made public.” And more and more Rabbi Aaron Cohen fit the bill.
“But why? It’s tremendous.”
“If you don’t mind me saying, I’m not sure that you’re quite getting it right,” he said. “This is a prophecy, Jules. A prophecy triggered by the discovery of Jesus’s bones beneath the Temple Mount. And all this talk of the Testimony . . .” He shook his head.
She wasn’t hearing him. “So what do you think the rabbi wants out of this?”
A much clearer picture was forming in Amit’s mind now. And it was a terrifying proposition. When he looked over at the Shrine of the Book’s white dome, a final puzzle piece snapped into place in his mind. “Let me show you,” he said, getting to his feet and waving for her to follow.
47
******
Mediterranean Sea 38U N, 19U E
Charlotte’s consciousness was a patchy haze, her senses tuning in and out in wild disarray.
Smells came first—spicy, pleasant. Cumin? Cloves? Maybe an exotic Middle Eastern dish. Strange.
Sounds came next—muffled, distant. Then sharper. Voices—maybe two, maybe five. It all seemed to blend together so that only their pitch created any distinction between them. But certainly men. A blaring whine came and went through her head, loud enough to make her wince. Then the voices became clearer. They were speaking in a foreign tongue. Definitely no romance language. Yiddish, maybe?
No sight. This scared her at first, until she could feel her eyelashes sweeping against the blindfold wrapped over her eyes. There was no hope of removing it, because her wrists were pulled tight behind her back with some kind of strap. And when she tried to move her left ankle, she felt resistance there too. Her leg had been tied to something.
She felt like she could vomit.
Then the numbness in her arms and legs began to give way to sharp pins and needles. Twisting cramps came next—neck, shoulders, back, hands . . . It took all of her power not to scream out. As she squirmed to ease the pain, the reclined leather seat she’d been propped in groaned.
She froze.
The voices went on.
There was definitely a sense of motion—smooth coasting. The way the sounds resonated around her, it certainly was too big to be a car. A bus was a possibility. Then a brief interval of turbulence dispelled any guesswork. The seat belt indicator chimed briefly overhead. More bumps, rougher this time.
The voices were laughing now. One of the men was taking a ribbing, probably because he was overreacting to the bumpy flight.
Then the pain ripped up her spine and circled up the back of her head, making her moan loud enough for them to hear.
The voices stopped. There came a brief exchange that she knew was something along the lines of:
One of them let out a tired groan and she could hear his heavy feet thumping along the cabin floor.
She tried her best to pretend she was still out. But she could feel him close, leaning over her, his warm breath reeking of scotch. The smell of metal came up into her nostrils too. She felt a large hand cup her breast and squeeze.
“Get off me!” she screamed, recoiling from his touch—more pain exploded along her shoulders.
The laughing intensified.
