“Thank you.” Marcus turned and headed for the front door. Walking by a parked taxi, he recognized the gold hoop earring. He recognized the man’s face. Marcus leaned toward the open window of the cab where the driver was listening to a soccer game on the radio. “Who’s winning?”
The cabbie looked up through bloodshot eyes. “Not my team, that’s for sure.”
Marcus smiled. “Maybe one day the Americans will have a contender.”
The man chewed on a worn toothpick and grinned. “I believe it is not possible.”
“Two nights ago you dropped off an attractive woman. She had a lot of suitcases and bags. It was around eleven at night.”
“I remember. It’s not because of her beauty. I pick up many beautiful women in my taxi. I remember her because she had me sit in the side car park lot with her for one hour. Of course, my meter was running.”
“Why’d she have you wait with her?”
“She said she was waiting for someone.” The driver grinned. “Maybe that someone was you, eh? When she saw you come up the street, she had me quickly pull to the hotel door and begin to unload her stuff.”
Marcus said nothing.
“Crazy woman. Now that she found you, my new football friend, I hope she was worth it.”
Marcus nodded, stood straight and walked to his car. Pulling out of the lot, he headed for the Cafez coffee house.
Marcus worked on decoding in the coffee house for more than two hours when Bahir entered. “How are you feeling?” Marcus asked.
Bahir grinned and lifted the palms of his hands in the air. “Much better, thank you. When you get to my age, the common cold is like coming out of surgery. Everything hurts.”
“Earlier you said I wasn’t asking the right questions.”
Bahir smiled with his eyes.
“You mentioned the spear used to stab Jesus at the time of his death. What’s more, you quoted a line that’s the title from a poem written by General George Patton, Through a Glass, Darkly, and it alludes to the damn spear. What’s this mean?”
Bahir lowered his body slowly, back straight, into a plastic chair and slid the chair closer to the table. He looked around the coffee shop and dropped his voice. “Some call it the Spear of Destiny or Holy Lance.”
“Why?”
“It has been said, prophesied perhaps, that whoever has the spear, if he understands its secrets, its power for good or evil, he has the destiny of the world in his or her hands. This would make it one of the most valuable artifacts on the face of earth.”
“Does this spear still exist?”
“I am not sure it can be destroyed, no easier than evil can cease to exist. Some of the world’s greatest leaders and some of its most ruthless dictators owned the lance. Among these men are Constantine, Charlemagne, Otto, Frederick Barbarossa, and Adolf Hitler. Charlemagne is said to have carried the spear through forty-five victorious battles, but died not long after he, by chance, dropped it from his horse. It is said that whoever has possession of this lance is near unconquerable. However, should the owner lose or sell the spear, he or she will quickly perish.”
Marcus leaned closer to Bahir. “If Hitler had possession of it, what happened to the spear after his death?”
“If he lost the spear, possibly it attributed to his death.”
“Then who would have it today?”
“I do not know this.”
Marcus felt his stomach churn. He looked up from the laptop screen into the old man’s thoughtful face. “Why is this happening? Why’s it happening to me?”
“We all have a destiny. Perhaps you are aligned to fulfill a prophecy.”
“What is that supposed to mean? Aligned by whom? I came here to examine the work of Isaac Newton in reference to his research on the Bible. Now, all of this — the spear, the death of an American president’s son, which now looks like he may have been murdered. I dream about the assassination of a guy I never knew existed and then read about it in the news a few days later, so he was alive when I had the dream. Then I see decrypted data that indicates someone is going to assassinate the prime minister. I can find things about other people, but I still don’t know who killed my family.”
“Perhaps you will in time.”
Marcus stared at the laptop. “I’ve found something else that makes no sense to me.”
“What is it?”
“Do you sell wine in this coffee house?”
“No, why do you ask that?”
“Because, after I read this to you, we may want a drink.”
FORTY-FIVE
Two Israeli soldiers entered Cafez, stepped to the bar and ordered coffee and scones. Bahir’s grandson took their orders. The men waited, eyes scanning the coffee shop. They made small talk, paid their tab and left.
Marcus lowered his voice and looked straight at Bahir. “After deciphering the information or data I entered, the decoded passages read, ‘That which has been sealed, the return of the lamb, shall be opened when the pears of the saint using oil returns to a divine heart. A clean force released deliverance from the heart of our Lord and left an open door upon the wounded hearts of man. As the ground shook, the blood fell from above to that which is below…water in the dust, the alpha and omega lies hidden as it is buried in the hearts of man. From the plot of those using oil from pressed olives, from the five crosses, to the head of the garden, one eye weeps for man, one sees revelation in the direction of the temple measured by Solomon. A rose without thorns blooms under a new sun. The truth is found fewer than two hundred shadows of the moon, for the shadow is to the seeker as the seeker is to the shadow.”
Marcus pushed back in his chair. “My head’s spinning. The deciphered information seems more convoluted than the integrated passages. What does it mean? One eye weeps for man — one sees revelation in the direction of the temple measured by Solomon? What the hell is this? ”
Bahir grunted. “I do not know. I do know you get oil from pressed olives. It is said that five crosses represent the five holy wounds on Christ before he died. The two nails in his hands, one nail in his feet, the crown of thorns on his head, and the wound caused by the spear thrust near his heart.”
Marcus touched his T-shirt. He felt the raised scar beneath the cloth. He said nothing. His eyes burned into the screen, his mind rushing. “What is the significance of ‘a rose without thorns blooms under a new sun? And the truth is found fewer than two hundred shadows of the moon, for the shadow is to the seeker as the seeker is to the shadow.’ What truth?”
Bahir was quiet for a few seconds. “Some scholars have called the second coming of Christ as a new sun. The shadows of the moon might mean a reference to days and time of measurement. Perhaps you, Paul Marcus, are the seeker. If so, where is the shadow of the moon?”
“It’s all riddles. You mentioned heart…the word heart is on the screen…divine heart. Before that it reads pears of the saint using oil…the saint using oil, not a saint. Who is the saint…a specific person?”
“I do not know.”
Marcus continued staring at the words. “And you said one of the five crosses is a wound caused by the spear. The word pears on the screen can be formed to s-p-e-a-r.”
“Yes,” Bahir leaned closer, watching the light from the screen in Marcus’s eyes.
“The saint using oil…” Marcus paused for a few seconds. “The words using oil can spell a name — a name I’ve never heard. L-o-n-g-i-n-u-s…Longinus. Was there a Saint Longinus?”