look like this, that
A pair of doves had found their way inside — always a hazard with such vast spaces. Startled from their roost by the sudden noise and light, they flapped around the cupola, seeking escape from this most gilded of cages. One of them shat in fear even as Benyamin watched, spattering the Foundation Stone itself. His heart went out to it, to them both; and just for a blink he saw his daughters in their last moments, trapped in the rear of that Haifa bus while his wife did her best to comfort them and shield them with her body, and the gunmen outside discharged their magazines, then coolly clipped new ones in.
The terror they must have felt.
‘Snap out of it,’ said Danel. ‘I need you.’
Benyamin’s legs weren’t working properly. Too much lactic acid from all the running he’d done. He had to look down at his feet as he followed him to a pillar, half concealed by steel scaffolding pipes, on which explosive charges had already been placed. ‘Well?’ asked Danel. ‘Will they bring it down?’
A single glance was all it took. The scaffolding was clearly there to facilitate repairs, not to buttress the Dome. ‘They’ll bring it down,’ Benyamin said. And that was that, his entire purpose for being here.
He stood by a pillar, wanting to be inconspicuous, watching as they went to work on the Foundation Stone. First, they covered the exposed rock itself with a double layer of blue silk. Then they unrolled two neoprene air mattresses side by side, zipped them together into a single large mat. They carried this mat over to the Foundation Stone and set it carefully down on it, then tied it to the surrounding pillars with a series of ropes.
The neoprene mattress had numerous internal compartments, each with its own intake valve. Danel and his team now fetched canisters of industrial foam, fitted nozzles to these valves, and pumped the compartments full. The foam expanded inside the neoprene before setting into a hard honeycomb shell capable of absorbing the impact of falling rubble, thus protecting the Foundation Stone from the coming demolition. There was still a risk that something sharp might stab its way through, however, so they stripped off their bullet proof vests and fitted them together with Velcro straps to make a Kevlar blanket that they laid across the neoprene carapace.
The Foundation Stone was now as safe as they could feasibly make it. They were ready to bring down the Dome.
FORTY-FIVE
I
‘Oh sweet Jesus,’ said Rachel. ‘He thinks he’s the Prince of Rome. He thinks he’s the fucking Antichrist.’
‘He’s crazy,’ agreed Luke. ‘He’s completely crazy.’
Rachel pulled an anguished face. ‘But what if there’s something to it? I mean, he’s got a point, hasn’t he? The Ark, the Newton prophecies, all the wars and earthquakes, the disease and famine. How many coincidences can there be before they stop being coincidences?’
‘There are always wars and earthquakes. Always disease and famine. And when are the Catholics not in turmoil? And forget Newton’s prophecies. He wasn’t a date-setter. He abhorred that kind of thing. He made his predictions to tamp down Second Coming fervour, not to exacerbate it. Anyway, he always said that the End Times couldn’t begin until certain things had come to pass — not that they would begin when they had.’
‘What about the 1260 years? Is that true?’
Luke grimaced. ‘Yes. But so what? Newton never linked it to the Second Donation of Pepin. He mentioned Pepin, yes, but only along with Phocas and Charlemagne and plenty of other possibilities. All Jay did was pick his preferred date, subtract 1260 from it, and see what fitted.’
‘And how about us finding the Ark today of all days?’
‘We found it today because these people went to extraordinary lengths to make sure we did. You think they’d have dug up St Paul’s if they hadn’t needed it till next year?’
‘I suppose.’
‘Listen to me,’ said Luke. ‘There’s nothing ordained about all this. There’s nothing destined. We can still stop it. We
She rattled her handcuff. ‘Fine. But how?’
‘By keeping our nerve. By waiting for our moment. It’ll come. And when it does, we have to seize it. No hesitation. No holding back. No regrets.’
Rachel gave a determined nod. ‘No regrets,’ she agreed.
II
The Prime Minister of Israel still had sleep in her eyes as she arrived in the cabinet room. The Interior Minister and the Ministers for Foreign Affairs, Finance and Intelligence were already there, while the Defence Ministry was represented by the Chief of the General Staff. And each of them were attended by flurries of frantic aides checking their devices and whispering breaking news into their bosses’ ears.
‘Are our captives from the Mount of Olives talking yet?’ she asked.
‘Not yet, Prime Minister,’ said Interior.
‘How are Gaza and the West Bank?’
He nodded briskly. ‘We have multiple reports of disorder, including several settlers’ homes on fire. At least a dozen rockets have been fired. No word on casualties yet.’
‘We’re taking fire in the north too,’ said the Chief of the General Staff. ‘Mortar shells mostly.’
‘Hezbollah?’
‘We imagine so.’
‘Any casualties?’
He shrugged. ‘If not yet, then soon.’
‘This is going to turn hot?’
‘It’s already hot. How much hotter it gets depends on the Dome. If these people bring it down …’ He shook his head. ‘We have to mobilize,’ he said.
‘If we mobilize, all our neighbours will mobilize too. It’ll only make things worse.’
‘With respect, Prime Minister, things already are worse. The moment the Dome comes down, we’ll be at war. We need to be ready.’
She looked around the table. Intelligence, Finance and Interior nodded, but Foreign Affairs was occupied with passing out copies of some new briefing paper. ‘What’s this?’ she asked.
‘Excuse me, Prime Minister,’ he said. ‘That list of prisoners they want released: these are their biographies.’
‘Any pattern?’
‘Not that we can tell.’
The Prime Minister studied her copy of the list. She recognized most of the names, and the ones she didn’t recognize fell into similar categories: Israeli citizens held on various charges in Egypt, Lebanon, Syria and Jordan. A mix of soldiers, spies, criminals and ordinary citizens who’d become victims of the region’s power games. ‘What do you think?’ she asked. ‘Manageable?’
Foreign Affairs nodded. ‘We’re already in the middle of exchange talks for many of them. We should be able to expedite.’
‘Prisoner exchange?’ scowled Interior. ‘It’s
‘We have to give up something,’ said the Prime Minister, ‘or they’ll blame us for it.’
‘They’ll blame us anyway. They always do.’
Intelligence had just received a briefing paper of his own. ‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘But I think we may have found out who’s behind this.’
