“What do you know about the Emerald Tablet?”
Jacob raised a bushy eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”
“Because Newton mentions it in his papers on alchemy. He even interpreted the writing.”
“Many have interpreted it. No one alive knows who really wrote it. The brief text could go back to the ancient Egyptians, Hermes perhaps. Many describe it as a short, truth-seeking list that offers insight into the balance of the universe, especially in the area of natural laws.”
Marcus read from the screen. “Newton offered his own interpretations. He listed them from one through fourteen. He writes that the first thing the Emerald Tablet says is that all the rest of what it says is true. The other things include this:
“‘That which is below is like that which is above. This does the miracles of one thing only. The sun is the father and the moon is the mother. The wind has carried it in its belly, and the earth is the nurse. The father of all perfection in the world is here. Its power is absolute if it is converted into earth. Its force is above all, for it vanquishes every subtle thing and penetrates every solid thing…and so the world was created.’”
Jacob interlocked his fingers across his stomach. “What are you thinking?’
“Newton seemed to be trying hard to bring the metaphysical, spiritual and physical into one caldron, turn up the fire and see what it boils into.”
“How about his decoding, anything there? Such as using the ELS coding we found in the Torah? These have proven that biblical prophecies are real, as in revealing the names of some prominent rabbis centuries before their births.”
“If you have enough text in any book, War and Peace, for example, using the ELS codes, picking sequential letters, can fit whatever you feed into them. You must get more specific.”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s the question, and I’m hoping I might find the answers, at least some of them, from Newton.”
“He may have written more than a million words on theology alone.”
Marcus stared at the screen, the white light burning into his unblinking eyes.
Jacob said, “You’re tired, my friend.”
“Yeah. I’ll dump this to a flash drive and work on it from my hotel.”
“If you find something, please call me. I don’t care what time it is. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. I’ve arranged to have a rental car for you. It’s a blue Toyota in the car park outside. Taxi rides get old.” Jacob handed Marcus the car keys. “Goodnight, get some rest. Your eyes look like they hurt.”
“Thanks for the car.”
It was almost 9:30 p.m. when Marcus parked in a lot across from the hotel and walked into the lobby. His body was drained, but his mind couldn’t disengage from the possibilities of what Newton could have discovered if he’d had the resources of a computer. He checked his watch for the time back in Virginia and made a call.
“Amber, how are Buddy and the horses?”
“They’re fine. I rode Midnight yesterday. Hope you don’t mind.”
Marcus smiled. “Of course not. They need to be ridden more. Ride them anytime you want. Look, I need to stay a little longer over here, okay?”
“No problem. How’s the Holy Land?”
“I haven’t had time to visit much of it.”
“Take lots of pictures. You sound tired.”
“I’m working long hours. There should be plenty of food for the horses. If you run out of food for Buddy, I’ll reimburse you.”
“That’s fine. How long do you think you’ll stay there?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll call you as soon as I get a better handle on the timeframe.”
Marcus couldn’t remember the last time he overslept. But it happened, and it happened when he most needed to be up and out of the hotel. He looked at the bedside clock: 1:00 p.m.
How did Saturday arrive so quickly?
He sat up, on the edge of the bed, using the palms of his hands to wipe the lethargy from his eyes. Focus. He thought about what he’d learned the past few days in Israel and how Jacob’s intrigue had turned into admiration, his new BFF and cheerleader. But, how could Marcus score points in a bold new game where nothing was a consensus, an axiom — nothing was a given because no one on earth, except Newton, had reached that level? Marcus wondered how he could use math or science to prove theorems not provable by any known, conventional way.
Maybe he couldn’t, but he’d try. And, he’d try hard. He thought about that as he took a long, hot shower, ordered coffee and sat down to his computer to work. And he didn’t stop for five hours.
After 6:00 p.m., he went into the city to get some fresh air — to clear his head and find good food. He drove the small car through the streets of Jerusalem, cautious not to hit disoriented, camera-toting tourists stepping in front of his car. He thought about the decoding — the roadblocks. What am I missing? Marcus whispered, “The sun is the father and the moon is the mother.” Newton, you used your own theory of gravity to calculate the position of the moon to reconstruct the Judean Calendar. You explained and proved Daniel’s prophecy of seventy weeks by doing it. What else?
His mind turned over combinations of codes, ways to interpret, maybe translate and decipher some meaning out of what was frozen. For Marcus it was like watching a block of ice melt around an object, hoping the speck in the center of the ice is a pearl. He lost track of time driving. Rain began falling. Marcus searched the controls trying to find the wiper switch, finally engaging it. The blades smeared road dust with the heavy drops of water. Through the grime, Marcus read a road sign:
Abu Ghosh 7 Kilometers.
Where the hell am I? In the falling rain, Marcus didn’t recognize anything.
TWENTY-TWO
Lightning flickered in the low lying black clouds resembling flames behind the door of a blast furnace, licking the threshold and edges to escape. Marcus pulled off the road and up to a gasoline station. He looked at the car’s gauge. Almost full. He locked the doors and jogged through the rain to the porte-cochere over the front of the small store. A man stood near the door. He had close-cropped dark hair, late-forties, shoulders that stretched his Army uniform shirt, an unlit cigarette in the corner of his mouth. His pale blue eyes beamed. “Hell of a night,” he said.
“Sure is,” Marcus nodded, noting the soldier wore the rank of colonel.
“Gotta pump your own gas here.”
“Back home, too.”
“Where you from?”
“Virginia. How about you?”
“New York, Lower East Side. Are you buying any smokes?”
“Don’t smoke.”
The man smiled. “I ought to give ‘em up. If you’re lost and looking for directions, I can help. I’ve been here awhile now. My information’s free. Inside, could cost you the price of a soda pop.” He grinned. Mist blew in from the rain and wilted the cigarette. The man took it from his mouth, his eyes watching the lightning run through the hilly terrain. He turned back to Marcus. “Are you lost, pal?”
“I’m trying to get to the Mount Zion Hotel near the Tower of David. I’ve been driving around, got lost in thought and wound up here.”
“Bud, you absolutely got turned around. Look, I have no idea where the hotel is, but I can damn sure find the Tower of David. It’s right next to Jaffa Gate.”