THE LAST ARK

CHAPTER 22: HILL OF KOKHLIT

Ruins of Qumran, Dead Sea Four Days Before Temple Ceremony

Elevated above the ruins of Qumran, near the only large rock outcropping on the plateau, Derek uses a compass embedded into his lenses to fi nd the direction of the winter solstice. “An American named Jim Barfi eld decoded the fi rst copper scroll and believed this rock to be the hill of Kokhlit,” Loir explains. “Th en we should be able to pinpoint the precise GPS coordinates where the winter sunrise meets the Jordan River,” Derek notes the fi rst step written on the panel. Although thousands of years ago, they would not have been so precise. T h en there is the ancient oasis to fi nd amid modern development, and then a canyon with a vertical rock. “It doesn’t matter, and this is all a waste of time. We already know the ark will be in Jordan,” dismisses Matan. “King Hussein will never permit Israel to search. A temple has no meaning to God without the ark, so Loir, once again, I’m afraid this is not the time for the temple.” Derek dismisses the comment, not out of disrespect as much as a self confessed ignorance about matters of religion. He takes a 360-degree scan of the surrounding area. Qumran overlooks the Dead Sea a mile from shore and a few miles south of where the Jordan River delta empties into the Dead Sea. Interestingly, the ruins are also close to St. George monastery, where Abbot Sabas once lived in a cave and where Abbot Cirillo lost his life. Sabas spoke of a large rock north of the ruins by the Dead Sea, which must be this rock. “Tell me more about this place and the first copper scroll,” he asks. “Qumran is best known for where Bedouins discovered the famous Dead Sea scrolls in one of the many limestone caves that dot the cliffs,” Matan explains, pointing to the caves. “During the Roman occupation, Qumran was home to a radical sect of religious purists called the Essenes, who split away from the corrupt priests and temple worship. They occupied Qumran from 150 BCE to 70 CE when the Romans massacred them. Scholars believe the Essenes scribed most of the Dead Sea scrolls, but not the copper scroll.” “Matan is correct,” Loir says, “except archaeologists recently confirmed Qumran was first built in the sixth century BCE, during the first temple period, the same era as the copper scrolls. After a Babylonian m******e, Qumran lay abandoned until the Essenes. Not found in jars like the Essene scrolls, they found the first copper scroll hidden behind a handmade mud wall.” “When the American identified all sixty-four scroll locations within the ruins of Qumran, the IAA brought a metal detector,” Loir continues. “The survey confirmed nonferrous metals at each location, but they only dug less than a meter before concluding the theory false and halting the project. The scroll clearly noted to dig over three meters. IAA hid the truth.” “Where is that copper scroll now?” Derek asks, still trying to connect to anything that should involve him or SLVIA. “They took the original scroll to the Jordan Museum in Amman, but there is a replica at the Rockefeller Museum in East Jerusalem. Translations are online,” Matan responds. All the archaeology and history may be interesting, but he wonders if this detour could be part of his slide into insanity. Maybe he’s giving too much ground to these treasure myths and fantasies. SLVIA could have read the first scroll translation online, but why would it care? As they walk down the hill and back through the ruins toward parking, Loir points out the various locations from the first copper scroll. When Derek looks back to the hill, he realizes that all the locations line up in a row, almost as if to point toward that one large outcrop of rock north of the ruins. Derek has never been a fan of random chance. Everything has a reason, especially a treasure map such as the first copper scroll. “Where did you say Jeremiah buried the ark?” Derek asks. Matan looks east across the Dead Sea to a mountain range spanning miles up into the Jordan River Valley. “Legend claims Mt. Nebo, but it could be anywhere along the Nebo range.” “Makes sense. They would hide the ark within visual sight,” Mordechai says. T here could be countless locations for a now-buried cave, except they now have a start point, a compass heading, and two landmarks. “Why wouldn’t Israel look harder for something so precious?” Mordechai questions. “Secular politics care little for spiritual truths of the Jews,” simmers Matan. “The Knesset bow more allegiance to the G7 than to the Torah. Americans and the EU stand up for the Palestinians while Jordan clings to an Islamic califate by controlling the Haram esh-Sharif. The Sanhedrin waits patiently for Moshiach to bring peace before they stick their neck out for a temple. And American evangelicals seem willing to risk Armageddon to bring their second coming. The only safe solution will be to do nothing.” “Yes, yes, Matan,” Loir bubbles over. “Don’t you see that if the people learn we found the Ark of Testimony, and not just gold or silver, it will inspire them to return to God? We both know that Jewish visits to the Temple Mount have soared. With support from the new Saudi king, then we may once again worship Elohim in his temple.” Derek tries to imagine the response in Israel to finding an ancient box and struggles to see how it could change any of the situation or sentiments on the ground. “Barukh ata Adoni. Eloheinu, melekh ha’olam, Blessed are You, LORD our God, King of the universe,” exclaims Loir, lifting his hands. “Lower your hands,” chides Matan. “You’re drawing attention.” Indeed, there were few tourists at that hour, but security was clearly taking notice of the group. Slowly, they turn to walk toward the parking. “I am not trying to quench your joy, Mr. Sasson, but the Christian perspective would say that a third temple will exist in the heavenly kingdom,” says Mordechai. “The sacrifice of the Christ ended the need for temple sacrifice. Others would say a third temple would only reveal a false messiah.” “So, young man, you come from a good Jewish family, and now you side with the evangelicals expecting our temple to bring war and not peace,” retorts Loir with a snort. Mordechai lowers his gaze, clearly unwilling to raise a confrontation. T he SLVIA had also warned of a temple, but never said why. It makes little sense why the SLVIA sent him here, which leaves the alternate conclusion: It didn’t. This entire trip is nothing more than a delusional red herring of his own making while he neglects Jenn at home and abandons Jester to the cyberwar building daily. “Well gentlemen, I’ve fulfilled my promise to the abbot. The next steps sound like national or religious issues that are really not my gig,” Derek says, then turns to Mordechai. “You know, it’s probably safe by now for you to head back home. I need to do the same.” Mordechai lowers his eyes, looking disappointed. Derek chuckles, thinking the kid likes the excitement. Better get him back to the monastery before he gets hooked on it. Loir and Matan simply exchange a look he can’t interpret. On the drive back to Tel Aviv, Matan and Derek share the front seat. “Mr. Taylor, how do you make a living, if I may ask?” “I sold a cybersecurity firm last year. I’m in between gigs.” Derek lies. He’s a fugitive from the FBI, and he still owns controlling shares of Taylor Security Systems and Services, known as TS3, now run by his partner. “Interesting,” Matan replies. “When we get back to Bar-Ilan, would you mind looking at our server? We have an application we cannot erase.” Derek grins. “Yeah, some files can be stubborn.” They may not be acting as the admin. “What type of app?” “A game,” Matan replies. “Scavenger Nut Origami.” “Are you serious?” Derek exclaims, having trouble believing his ears or controlling the excitement in his voice. Both his pulse and imagination race. Scavenger Nut Origami, or SNO, was the ingenious cover application that the SLVIA often used to recruit new contacts into Spy Net Online. The program cleverly hid the identities of millions of unsuspecting SNO informants. Within the more secretive tier of the Spy Net, both he and SLVIA collected and shared intelligence with trusted SNO allies, such as Admiral Scott or Sir Anthony Giles at MI5. Nonpolitical or nationalistic, SNO focused on exposing corruption from the Concilium Tredecim, but branched out to cover the explosion of other cyberthreats. He always found it ironic that while many in Washington branded SNO as a terrorist group, others were secret members. In fact, SNO members come from every country on earth and all walks of life, most of them recruited and known only by the SLVIA. Derek is familiar with only a few hundred. Over time, as individuals earned more trust, the SLVIA would communicate with them directly as an online persona. Usually her default persona of Heather, Nelson Garrett’s deceased mother, but sometimes it would choose a different persona such as the nun, Sister Sylvia. In fact, the SLVIA code had developed thousands of deep fake personas to emulate celebrities, CEOs, and world leaders, useful in accessing secure systems or other information. “Are you a player?” Derek asks, lowering his voice to sound calmer. “No, but my last student assistant, Ari, was deep into online gaming. He left the department a few months ago,” Matan explains. “We keep thinking we’ve erased the program, then it appears again. Now it has an entire workstation locked.” Dr. Garrett designed a classified stealth file technology into the SLVIA to move itself and erase the trail, a nifty feature for an espionage AI program but unnecessary for a game. If they can see the program, something went wrong. “Is the application causing any harm to other systems?” he questions, trying to understand how much of the code remains active. “No, but we’re unable to boot up the server without a code key,” Matan replies. Derek’s never heard of a SLVIA code key, but then, SLVIA never had to enter emergency hibernation mode. Either way, he’s just stumbled onto a good reason to stick around a little longer. The breadcrumb. “Yeah, sure, be happy to check it out,” Derek agrees, his heart racing with anticipation. If the hunch pans out, he will need Nelson here as soon as possible. T hen it occurs to him he should have heard from Nelson hours ago. Something went wrong in Ethiopia. Derek casually taps on the stem of his glasses to bring up data feeds, looking for a message. Nothing, except a series of urgent texts from Jester about a nuclear submarine incident. A deep well of angst and guilt wells up within him, turning his excitement over the SNO app into a feeling of dread over his friend. Derek foolishly sent the brilliant, one-of-a-kind lab rat into harm’s way, all to scan a fake relic. Reckless and arrogant. Another sign of his desperate slide into lunacy.