Chapter Three

Bill Hayes, Israeli Air, Flight 7628, Two Hours Later

Jenna had bordered on mania when David returned with her, and it had taken the better part of an hour for the sedative Hayes had given her to kick in. Now, thankfully, the woman was resting comfortably in the alcove opposite. David was keeping a close watch on her, which left Hayes free to figure out why this was happening. He’d learned many years ago that there were no coincidences in life.

“I need to know what this is about.” Hayes said into his cell phone.

Across the aisle David looked up at the sound of Hayes’ voice, but quickly realized that the professor was on the phone. He settled back in, intently watching Jenna for any signs of distress.

Hayes had become adept at this kind of subterfuge since the small, portable phones first become popular. As a rule, he hated them, and would never actually own one that worked. The battery in the one he now held had died months ago, and there was nothing in Hayes that would mourn it. Still, it served its purpose.

“I have no idea.” Hayes continued speaking into the phone. “I was rather expecting you to have the answers.”

*****

Hayes had told Jenna as much as she needed to know about the day they’d found the Ark. What he had not told her were the extraordinary circumstances under which it had happened.

They had gotten the go-ahead from the Dominicans for the dig, though none of his superiors had any faith in their success. If they had, they would have been there themselves. As it was, the Israeli government was informed and, although complicit, no official was to be directly involved. If Hayes and the others were found, the blame was to fall on the five upstart researchers.

They had used the excuse of adding the supports, exactly as he had told Jenna. Once inside, however, it became obvious that if any tunnels had existed under the Mount, they were hidden by years of neglect and decay. The location given by the Copper Scroll was far deeper than the small passageway they had made in the foundations. To go any further would have required years of careful archeology and manpower. The project was an immediate failure.

With no great finds to be made, three of his fellows left the first day. Only Hayes and an American Jew named Joe Rosen remained, scraping through the dust and fallen brickwork for anything that might prove noteworthy. Nothing did.

It was at the end of the fourth day, after the engineers left to prepare for the Sabbath, that Hayes’ life was changed forever. Rosen had stayed with him to help photograph the interior of the dig. He was a secular Jew in an orthodox city, so he welcomed the chance to hide from the rituals. The half-bottle of Manishevitz he carried was the only Judaic custom that Rosen adhered to religiously. Hayes judged by the man’s stagger that it was not his first bottle of the day.

They entered the passageway in near total darkness. When they reached the last stretch of the dig, Hayes grasped at the murk for the extension cord, following it to the base of the light. It clicked on, creating a halo in an otherwise black tunnel. Setting the photography equipment on the small wooden table, he waited while his eyes adjusted to the room. Rosen did likewise, his hands now free to return to the wine. He took a long swig, then held the bottle out to Hayes.

“Swig?” he offered.

“Later,” Hayes replied, looking at the wine. “And from a different bottle. My god, man, does everything you eat get backwashed?”

“I haven’t eaten all day.” Rosen declared.

“That is not a comfort. I’ll pass.” Hayes said, staring at the various bits floating in the bottle.

“In this heat you’ll be begging for a drink in no time, and I will have the pleasure of explaining that I am now out.” Rosen said, attempting to drain the last of the bottle. There was more left in it than he had anticipated, and he coughed trying to finish it. Spittle and wine ran off his face, staining his tunic.

“I assume you’ll be licking up the rest of that now?” Hayes asked as he unpacked the photography equipment.

“It takes more than one bottle to get me licking myself.” Rosen said, suppressing a faint nausea that was welling up.

“Tell you what… When we get this done I’ll buy the next bottle. And dinner. You’re going to die a young man if you don’t start eating something.” Hayes said.
“Yeah… well. Try finding a place that’s open on a Sabbath eve in Jerusalem. Even the damned bootlegger’s closed.”

Hayes was genuinely surprised. “There’s a bootlegger in Jerusalem?” Hayes asked.
“Bill….” Rosen said in lieu of an answer.

“I know, I have to learn to get out more. I just figured that if there was ever a city that didn’t have a bootlegger, it would be Jerusalem.”

“Bill…” Rosen said again, his voice now low and steady. It was enough to get Hayes to look up from his work. When he did, he saw that Rosen was nodding toward the dimness behind him. He followed Rosen’s gaze to the alcove where the tunnel widened some ten feet beyond. The dim electric light was just enough to illuminate the outline of a man leaning casually against the wall. Hayes looked back at Rosen, who gave him an ‘I don’t know’ shrug.

Aware that he had been noticed, the figure spoke.

“Humanity seems to spend half their existence burying their past and the other half digging it up.” he said.

“We have permission to be here.” Rosen answered quickly. “We’re with the…” He stopped, realizing that he had no idea how to finish the sentence.

“Repair crew.” Hayes finished for him. “We’re from the university, making sure the workers aren’t touching anything of historic value.”

“This is Zion.” the figure pointed out. “Everything here has historical value.”

“You are of course correct.” Hayes said, straining his eyes at the darkness to get a better view of the man. “Which is why the state hires men like us to make sure none of it is damaged during renovations. I am Professor Bill Hayes, and this is my colleague Joseph Rosen. And you are…”

“I suppose you could say that I am the curator here.” the man said. His voice was simple but strong.

“I wasn’t aware that a curator has been assigned to this part of the grounds.” Hayes said, knowing full well that no such post existed.

“I assume you have some sort of credentials?” Rosen challenged from behind.
Hayes winced at the sound of it, shooting Rosen a look of annoyance. Diplomacy had always been antithetical to Rosen’s nature.

“Three religions are fighting to be the stewards of this place.” the figure explained, pushing himself from the wall and standing straight. “They forget that they are only stewards. Authority here comes from elsewhere.”

The darkness between them was not absolute, but it was enough to veil the details of the stranger. Hayes could see, for instance, that the man was not carrying a rifle. What he could not see was whether the man had explosives taped to his chest.

“My I ask why you are here?” Hayes said. “As near as I know, we’ve been as respectful as possible to both Jewish and Islamic concerns in our work. If there is something you feel we may have neglected we would be more than happy to listen.”

He could make out something of the man’s face in the darkness. There was something odd about it, but it was still too obscured.

“If you are repairing the wall, then I would offer no comment. Your men seem to be doing a fine job.” the man said.

“Thank you…” Hayes replied.

“However, if you are attempting to retrieve the Ark of the Covenant from its sacred resting place within these walls, I would say that you are doing a rather pitiable job.” the figure explained.

Hayes stiffened. Their real objective here was known to fewer than ten people, all of whom he knew and trusted. Still, there had been a breach. Who it was and what it meant were unclear, but the fact that this man knew their business could only mean trouble. The next few minutes— the minutes that changed both Hayes’ and Rosen’s lives forever— happened quickly.

Rosen had also understood the inherent threat in this man’s presence. Unlike Hayes, though, Rosen’s response to danger always leaned toward the pugilistic. Hayes was just opening his mouth to form some kind of denial when Rosen leapt past him, quickly closing the distance between them and the stranger. A stream of obscenities echoed off the ancient walls.

Hayes had only traveled a half dozen feet before Rosen was on the stranger, fists flying. In the darkness ahead Hayes heard a yelp, then a low, guttural thud. Before he could get close enough to intervene, Rosen was on the floor, writhing in pain and reiterating every curse he could had ever known. The tunnel exploded in light. The stranger stood at the center of the illumination, his features now readily apparent. Hayes’ feet hit the ground like wet cement, his body coming to a complete stop. Despite Rosen’s cries, Hayes could only stare, transfixed by the majesty of what he was seeing.

There was eerie stillness about the stranger’s face. He looked like a statue in chiseled stone; a mimicry of human life that fooled no one. Seeing Hayes, it turned its attention toward him. The smile it wore would have passed for warmth on human lips.

“He fell.” the being said, referring to Rosen. Hayes’ comrade remained on the floor, wringing his hands in pain. The unearthly events unfolding just above him had done nothing to quell his litany.

“You’re…” was all Hayes could think to say.

“If you are going to say God, I am not God.” the being said.

Hayes found himself focusing on the long, brown locks of hair. Even these had the same quality of motionlessness, as if unaffected by the environment around them. They stirred when he stirred, but otherwise sat with the same eerie stillness. Only the light around him moved, tracing trails around his head and arms in large, arching patterns. In a moment of insight Hayes suddenly realized how this light might have been perceived two thousand years ago.

“You’re... an angel?” Hayes asked.

“I am His Voice on Earth.”

“The Lesser Yahweh…” Hayes muttered, remembering a reference from the Babylonian Talmud.

“Humanity have given me many names. That is one of them, though not one I am comfortable with.” he said.

Rosen had crawled over to the edge of a chair and was pulling himself up on it as they spoke.

“Metatron...” Hayes sighed.

“As I said, I have many names. Metatron, Sagansagel, Malchut, Jaoel, Atmon…”

“Jackass...” Rosen muttered. Hayes shot an astonished look at his friend.

“What!?!” Rosen said in his defense. “My hand is messed up pretty bad here. I might as well have been punching the goddam wall.”

“Joseph’s temperament is not harsh to me, Bill Hayes.” the angel said, looking at Rosen. “In fact, it’s because of his manner that he’s been chosen for the tasks ahead.”

“You’re kidding?” The words escaped Hayes’ mouth before he’d had a chance to edit them.

“We have much to do, the three of us. But as to your question of names, Bill Hayes, I would prefer that you call me by my fondest name, Idris.” the angel said.

“Idris…” Hayes repeated, trying to place the name. He’d heard it, but was unsure where.
It was Idris, not the scroll, that led them to the Ark. From that day to this, the angel had acted as guide and protector to the relic, and to the two men chosen to guard it. Over the years, Hayes and Rosen had grown distant, though their paths were always to be linked by the secret they protected. In time, both men learned to accept the nature of their calling. For Rosen it had happened the second his fist failed to connect with Idris’ face. For Hayes, it had been a far more painful process.

*****

Hayes' fate turned in 1995 when Emma, his wife of twenty-two years, was diagnosed with heart disease. With advances in transplants and angioplasty, they’d both thought she’d have years. Less than a month later Hayes found her dead on the bathroom floor.
Hayes was beyond mourning. For days he acted on autopilot, tending to the funeral plans and his teaching responsibilities with equal, calm aplomb. Emotionally, though, he was destroyed. Everything he had ever wanted or cared about was contained in the depth of his relationship with Emma. It was cliché, but she really had been his life. She had saved him from the cold, isolated life he’d felt condemned to before they’d met. Now, with her gone, he could feel the weight of the world moving back in on him. He couldn’t make it without her. He wouldn’t.

As he watched her casket being carried from the church, Hayes made the clear and serene decision that he would follow her. He’d go to the reception, accept the condolences of the well-wishers, then go home to their empty house and pour himself a large brandy. Then, sometime before he had to crawl into their bed alone, he would slit his wrists. If the angel showed, he thought, so much the better.

He was at the foot of the church steps when he saw Idris across the street, staring at him with that cold, otherworldly stillness. A palpable hatred rose in him; a loathing he had never known before. Hayes’ eyes locked on Idris’, projecting every bit of the wrath that was rising in him.

Then, as suddenly as he had appeared, Idris was gone.

In his place stood his Emma. Her body, like Idris’, now held the same otherworldly stillness, but it was full. The butchery that the paramedics and coroners had visited on her body was erased. She smiled, and though it had the stiffness of Idris’ realm, it was genuine and joyful. Her lips moved, a tad out of sync with the words that echoed in Hayes’ mind.

Proud of you. she said.

Neither Idris nor Hayes ever mentioned the incident. The next time the angel appeared it was only to inform Hayes of the political changes in Israel after the assassination of Yitzhak Rabin. But Hayes put himself entirely into his work after that, charting the course of human events and watching for signs. Idris was patient in his tutelage, showing Hayes all that he needed to know about the coming End. In time, Hayes came to rely on the angel’s evening visits, always prepared with a list of questions and a ready chessboard.

When the Temple Mount was seized, Idris had shown up to let Hayes know that the Ark was going to be needed. Their plans were finally in motion, though old age and weariness was slowing Hayes’ progress. He had suspected that his diminished stamina was the real reason that Idris had insisted on Jenna coming along. Now, with the Valium finally sedating her, he’d begun to wonder.

“I need to know what this is about.” Hayes said into the dead cell phone. “I need to find out if it has anything to do with what is happening.”

“So do I.” Idris said flatly. He was seated across from Hayes, unseen by the other patrons on the plane.

“I need you to tell me what happened, and how it affects our plans.” Hayes explained.
“I do not know.” Idris said.

“You mean you’re not going to tell me…” Hayes began. He was stopped by the look on Idris’ face. In all the years he had known him, Idris’ expression had remained almost unchanged from the slightly bemused smile he had that first day on the Temple Mount. For the first time Hayes saw that Iris’ brow was slightly furrowed; a frown creasing the edge of his lips. The difference was subtle, but to Hayes it was akin to seeing the Statue of Liberty yawn.

“You’re saying that you really don’t know what’s wrong?” Hayes asked.

“I do not.” Idris said. “I have searched her entire being, and I can see no explanation for her condition.”

“I thought you were the embodiment of all-knowing omniscience.” Hayes said.

“I am the embodiment of His Will, and know all that He wishes. But I do not know all things. Very seldom is an aspect hidden even from me. Jenna seems to be such an aspect.”

“You know the Divine Plan for the universe, but you don’t know why my assistant is ill?”

“Precisely.” Idris said.

“Fine. What do we do with her?”

“If we were intended to do anything, I would know of it. As I do not, it should not distract us. Deal with her health as best you can, but your priority must remain with the terrorists. I will deal with Joseph.”

“I think I have the easier task.” Hayes said.

“I believe you are correct, Bill Hayes.” Idris said, and was gone.