The Aleppo Code (The Jerusalem Prophecies) Read online

  Praise for The Sacred Cipher, The Jerusalem Prophecies #1

  “I wasn’t sure at times if I was reading a novel … or the newspaper. Except that The Sacred Cipher was a far more fascinating read. If you read one book this year, make it this one.”

  —Wanda Dyson, author of Judgment Day and Obsession

  “More historically and biblically accurate than The Davinci Code and just as adventurous as an Indiana Jones movie, The Sacred Cipher combines action and mystery to draw readers into a world of ancient secrets and international escapades.”

  —Christian Retailing

  Praise for The Brotherhood Conspiracy, The Jerusalem Prophecies #2

  “Terry Brennan meticulously crafts stories of intrigue and action. His ability to weave archaeological and historical detail into a riveting plotline is simply amazing. Both The Sacred Cipher and The Brotherhood Conspiracy could step off the front page of any newspaper tomorrow. You’ll find them captivating!”

  —Mike Dellosso, author of Fearless and Frantic

  “The Brotherhood Conspiracy weaves a beautifully intricate web of intrigue and suspense. Painstakingly researched with powerful characters, it takes the reader on an exciting and thought-provoking adventure. Brennan brilliantly meshes an internal struggle of faith with an epic story about a world on the brink.”

  —David E. Stevens, former Navy commander and F-18 fighter pilot, author of Resurrect

  “An international mystery thriller with a rapid-fire plot … Readers who enjoy the creative juxtaposition of history, religion, and geopolitics will find in Brennan’s work a feast for the senses.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  The Jerusalem Prophecies

  The Sacred Cipher

  The Brotherhood Conspiracy

  The Aleppo Code

  The Aleppo Code: A Novel

  © 2015 by Terry Brennan

  Published by Kregel Publications, a division of Kregel, Inc., 2450 Oak Industrial Dr. NE, Grand Rapids, MI 49505.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without written permission of the publisher, except for brief quotations in reviews.

  Distribution of digital editions of this book in any format via the Internet or any other means without the publisher’s written permission or by license agreement is a violation of copyright law and is subject to substantial fines and penalties. Thank you for supporting the author’s rights by purchasing only authorized editions.

  Apart from certain historical and public figures and historic facts, the persons and events portrayed in this work are the creations of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Published in association with the literary agency of WordServe Literary Group, Ltd., 10152 S. Knoll Circle, Highlands Ranch, CO 80130. www.wordserveliterary.com.

  Scriptures quotations are from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.TM Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com

  ISBN 978-0-8254-4389-3

  Printed in the United States of America

  15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 / 5 4 3 2 1

  To my wife, Andrea

  Your smile and your spirit sustain me.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  For a guy with one idea to come up with an adventure trilogy—well, you know it’s not been a solo journey.

  First—always—I give thanks to God for the gift. Nothing is impossible for you.

  On this earth, I am deeply indebted to my family for their love, support, and encouragement. Andrea, my wife, has helped keep my eyes on God and my feet on the ground for thirty-six years. You have made me whole. And to Meg, Azizi, and Matt—thanks for all the round-table discussions and debates that helped sharpen my writing and broaden my characters. Particularly for Meg, a fountain of logic and good sense—and great ideas. You’ll write your own someday.

  Thank you to Kathy Vance, who helped put life to the one idea; to Wanda Dyson, who believed in the idea, and in me; to my accountability partners—MO, FA, MP, JL, MM, SV, and MW—who held me to a higher standard as a man, husband, and father. Thanks to Stacey Ashton, for thoughtful insight.

  And, as always, a rich thank you to the inspiring and talented team at Kregel Publications—Dennis Hillman, Steve Barclift, Dave Hill, Noelle Pedersen, and my editor, Dawn Anderson … I notice a lot of mistakes in the thrillers I read. Dawn, you are the best editor of the bunch. And so gentle with the whip.

  PROMINENT

  CHARACTERS

  The team that discovered the Third Temple of God hidden

  under the Temple Mount:

  Tom Bohannon. Executive director of the Bowery Mission in New York City; former investigative reporter.

  Joe Rodriguez. Curator of the Periodicals Room in the New York Public Library’s main building on Bryant Park; married to Deirdre, Tom Bohannon’s sister.

  “Sammy” Rizzo. Director of the book storage and retrieval system in the Humanities and Social Sciences Library on Bryant Park at 42nd Street in New York City; colleague of Joe Rodriguez.

  Dr. Richard Johnson Sr. Managing director of the Collector’s Club in Manhattan; former chair of the Antiquities College at Columbia University; fellow of the British Museum.

  Annie Bohannon. Tom’s wife of thirty years; photographer.

  Baqir al-Musawi. President of Syria.

  Benjamin Fineman. Messianic rabbi and custodian of Jeremiah’s Grotto.

  Bill Cartwright. Director of the Central Intelligence Agency; President Whitestone’s longtime friend and accountability partner.

  Chaim Shomsky. Chief of staff to the prime minister of Israel.

  Connor Bohannon. Tom’s son.

  Deirdre Rodriguez. Sister of Tom Bohannon, wife of Joe Rodriguez.

  Dr. Brandon McDonough. Provost of Trinity College, Dublin; expert in biblical archaeology; and Richard Johnson’s boss at the British Museum.

  Eliazar Baruk. Prime minister of Israel; lives in Tel Aviv.

  General Moishe Orhlon. Israeli defense minister.

  Jonathan Whitestone. President of the United States; Republican; evangelical Christian from the state of Texas.

  Kallie Nolan. Masters candidate in biblical archaeology; friend of Sammy Rizzo; assisted the team in finding the Temple.

  King Abbudin. Ruler of Saudi Arabia, fifth of the Saudi kings, secret leader of the Muslim Brotherhood.

  Latiffa Naouri. Chief historian of the Iraqi Antiquities Commission, former colleague of Annie Bohannon.

  Mike Whalen. Ex–Navy SEAL, leader of the National Geographic crew in Iraq.

  Roberta Smith. Leader of the Demotic Dictionary Project at the University of Chicago’s Oriental Institute, expert on the Demotic language.

  Rory O’Neill. Commissioner of the New York City police department.

  Sam Reynolds. Career diplomat of the US State Department; assisted the team that found the Temple.

  Sergeant Jeremiah Fischoff. Battle-tested veteran of the Israel Defense Force, wounded in the rescue of Annie Bohannon.

  Sheik Khalid al-Kabir. Head of the Anbar Awakening, the nomadic tribes in western Iraq who joined forces with US Marines to fight Al Qaeda; old friend of Annie Bohannon.

  Stew Manthey. CFO of the Bowery Mission; colleague of Tom’s.

  Middle East

  Central Iraq

  PROLOGUE

  1896

  London

  Edward Elgar not only felt like a fugitive, he acted like one. He believed his life depended o
n stealth.

  Elgar’s mind was no longer on the lecture he had just completed to the aspiring composers at the University of Westminster, nor was he conscious of his own shivers as he bundled his wool greatcoat tightly around his neck and pulled his hat down snugly over his thinning hair. He wasn’t as interested in staying warm, protecting himself against the biting December wind that whipped across Paddington Street Gardens, as he was determined to be invisible.

  Walking briskly along the east side of the gardens, Elgar kept his head tilted down, obscuring his face as he peered under the brim of his hat, scanning the street in front of him. He kept to the side streets, avoiding the easier walk on the Marylebone High Street in return for the shadows on gaslit Aybrook Street. Elgar regularly changed directions, glancing over his shoulder each time. At Manchester Square, he completely circled the square once, then half again, searching the shadows for movement and praying for his nerves to quiet.

  Building a reputation as a composer, chiefly from his works for the great choral festivals of the English Midlands, Elgar would have normally felt foolish orchestrating these cloak-and-dagger maneuvers. But there was the break-in at his home in Great Malvern one week ago, in which his study was completely ransacked, and the two knife-wielding assailants who cornered him on a side street three nights earlier after he’d attended a concert at the Crystal Palace. Were it not for the two constables who intervened and captured the foreign-looking criminals, Elgar could have lost his life.

  Elgar didn’t need to see their amulets to know that the killers were back, that he was their target, and that it was critical he contact Sir Charles Warren. Waiting three days for Warren to return from the Continent nearly destroyed his constitution.

  Exiting Manchester Square, Elgar momentarily regretted his decision to help his good friend and renowned English preacher Charles Haddon Spurgeon unravel the cipher that protected the mysterious message on that confounded scroll. When Charles dispatched the scroll into the safekeeping of his colleague Louis Klopsch, the New York City publisher of Spurgeon’s evangelical newspaper, both Spurgeon and Elgar felt released from their fear of the men who pursued the scroll—the men with the amulets. Spurgeon returned to preaching in his packed New Park Street Chapel in London, and Elgar returned to his work composing the Pomp and Circumstance Marches and his masterpiece, the “Enigma” Variations. But years ago, just prior to his death, Spurgeon had sent an odd warning for Elgar to notify Warren if his life were ever threatened like this. Combined with the report he recently received about the burglary in Klopsch’s New York City home … well …

  The Palestine Exploration Fund, the organization that funded Warren’s 1867 excavations under Jerusalem’s Temple Mount, occupied a four-story building constructed in the late 1700s in the Marylebone Village, its entrance tucked into the thin, short alley of Hinde Mews that turned off Marylebone Lane. Hard to find, but the rent was reasonable for an organization that Elgar knew was constantly scrabbling to maintain its funding.

  After surveying the darkened streets once more, Elgar entered the side door and trundled up the steep stairs, shaking the chill from his coat. The attendant asked his business as he reached the second floor and pointed him up the stairs to the reading room on the third floor, where most of the fund’s meetings were held. Elgar found the room warm, well lit, and inviting, a fire in the generous fireplace keeping out any chill.

  Any Englishman who read a newspaper could have recognized Sir General Charles Warren, who sat hunched deep in a leather armchair that flanked the fireplace. Warren’s face was a front-page fixture in the Times—and the more disreputable rags that claimed to practice journalism in London—not only for his many heroic military exploits in Africa but also for his daring, unprecedented explorations under the Temple Mount in Jerusalem. And then there was Warren’s unlikely, but remarkable, three-year tenure as chief commissioner of the London Metropolitan Police from 1886 to 1888, when he was the lead investigator in the Jack the Ripper murders. Warren’s face was often published more than the queen’s.

  Elgar crossed the room and extended his hand. “Sir Charles, thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

  Warren’s face was thinner than Elgar’s, but both carried the high forehead of intelligence, the thinning hair of middle age, and the mustache that was nearly obligatory for an English gentleman—though the thick, bristly hedge that overwhelmed Elgar’s upper lip was of a different magnitude than Warren’s. Starched collar, thick cravat, wool suit and waistcoat—Elgar’s brown, Warren’s gray—completed the uniform of the day.

  Warren stood and took Elgar’s hand. “My pleasure, sir. I’ve enjoyed your music and was fascinated by your association with the Reverend Spurgeon.”

  “Which is why I am here tonight, I’m afraid.” Elgar took off his coat, hung it beside the fireplace, and settled into the leather armchair opposite Warren’s. “Charles urged me to contact you if I ever believed—”

  “That your life was in danger?”

  “How did you know?” Elgar was stunned by Warren’s question, but even more shocked by his subsequent answer.

  “I know, sir, why you believe you are in danger, and I agree with your assessment. When you contacted me, I inquired with a former colleague at the Yard. I know about the break-in at your home and the attempt on your life. I know you’ve come to me for help and protection. And I also know I’m going to disappoint you.”

  “But … I …” Elgar stammered, trying to find traction for his thoughts.

  “Mr. Elgar, forgive me. I have looked forward to making your acquaintance. Sadly, it appears to be under strained circumstances, and more so, I have very little time this evening. I fear we will need to be brief and to the point. Please, allow me to begin.

  “I met the Reverend Spurgeon during my time as commissioner of police, and we continued that relationship until I was assigned to command the garrison in Singapore. During that time we spoke often and at length, both about my experience exploring under Temple Mount in Jerusalem and also about the scroll the two of you deciphered that claimed a third Temple had been built, and then hidden, under Temple Mount prior to the Crusades.

  “It is not because of the message on the scroll that you are being hunted, Mr. Elgar—”

  “Please, call me Edward.”

  “Yes … Thank you … It’s not the scroll, but rather because of a message contained in the mezuzah itself. A message that confirmed things I had discovered under Temple Mount, things that I have divulged to no one else except the Reverend Spurgeon. Two years after Charles died, on my return from Singapore, I took a ship north, crossing the Arabian Sea and Persian Gulf to the land route through Persia and Palestine. A longer trip, but necessary to support what Charles and I suspected.”

  With a momentary look around the room, Warren leaned in and closed the distance to Elgar. The composer became even more nervous.

  “I joined an expedition from the British Museum at the site of the ancient city of Babylon in Assyria. My friend Hormuzd Rassam led the expedition. He was looking for cuneiform tablets. What I sought, and found, Edward, you will not be able to verify because the proof is in two far-off places, New York City—protected and safe, we can only hope—and under the sands of the Persian desert.

  “I have kept this information in my safe until this night. I believe that you are one of the few living souls who can appreciate and understand its critical importance. Unfortunately, this information, were it to be discovered by others, would only increase the danger under which you now live.”

  Warren reached into the inner pocket of his suit coat, revealing to Elgar the pistol that rested in a holster under his left armpit. His anxiety already growing during Warren’s comments, Elgar’s heartbeat spiked at these last words and the sight of the weapon.

  “You should think about getting one for yourself,” Warren whispered. He held out a small envelope and kept it suspended between them until Elgar took it in his hand.

  “I know you are very fond
of ciphers and codes,” said Warren. “On the paper inside this envelope are a series of directions from a point in Babylon to a portal. These directions, if combined with other, coded instructions that were hidden in Spurgeon’s bronze mezuzah, would lead to the most astounding archaeological discovery in the history of man. And it’s a discovery which we must never allow to happen.”

  Elgar’s mind was as overloaded as it was on the first days of creating a symphony. “But … Sir Charles … I’ve come to you for help, for protection for my family. These men are now pursuing me.”

  Sir General Charles Warren, commander of the Thames District of the British Army, hero of the Boer War, drew himself upright in the leather armchair, facing Elgar directly and unveiling the full magnitude of his military bearing and presence. He leaned in closer to the composer, his voice low but brimming with authority.

  “Mr. Elgar, I sympathize with your plight … I do. But what we face today—what Charles and I faced every day since that trip to Persia—is the very real prospect of the most powerful and destructive weapon in the history of the world falling into the hands of bloodthirsty killers who would use this weapon not simply to further their nefarious ends. No, these men do not seek riches. What they seek is the destruction of Western civilization as we know it, the subjugation of the Christian world, and the overthrow of its precepts.”

  Whether from the heat thrown by the vigorous fire, or from his own growing sense of dread, Elgar was perspiring heavily under his wool suit. His breathing was shallow, and his mind searched the corridors of his wisdom, looking for a door through which to escape the responsibility Warren was entrusting to him.

  “I could be reassigned at a moment’s notice,” said the general, “dispatched to a part of the world where those directions would be even more at risk. No, I regret to say, Edward, this burden must fall to you. You understand codes and ciphers. Take what I’ve given you and make its secret secure. Use that code you deciphered from the scroll. Whatever you do, hide this secret and hide it well. If these directions are never deciphered, that would be an acceptable outcome.”