Jenny was standing beside him.
She ran up and threw her arms around him. He could feel her tears as she kissed him.
“I’ve been so worried about you.”
“All I’ve been doing is thinking about you. Thank you for coming.”
She smiled. “I’ll always be there for you, you know that.”
“I’ve heard that in Jerusalem, being framed happens often.” Razak embraced Barton. “But justice has a way of finding the guilty.”
“It certainly does. Speaking of which,” Barton said, confused, “how did you manage this? What convinced the Israelis it wasn’t me?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Razak replied. “I brought a gift for you.” He held out a thick envelope that looked like it contained a large book.
“What’s this?”
“A copy of one of the exhibits presented as evidence in your defense,” Razak answered cryptically.
Barton accepted the package.
“There’s a lot of history inside that envelope,” Razak promised. “You should read it. It says many interesting things.”
71
******
Farouq sat on his veranda, overlooking the red-tiled roofs and weathered facades of the Old City’s Muslim Quarter. It was an unusually mild day, with a flawless sky and a gentle breeze fragrant with the scent of palm.
He felt good. Better than he had felt in a long time, in fact. Israel was once again teetering on the verge of violent confrontation, the struggle for Palestinian liberation was alive and well, and the faith of all—the vital fire required to keep the conflict burning—was strong. Smiling, he sipped his mint tea. In the distance, he could hear the crowds near Temple Mount, though today, the tone seemed to carry a different air, sounding almost... celebratory?
Inside the apartment, the phone chimed.
Farouq levered himself out of his chair and went inside to get it.
“ As-salaam.”
“Sir,” Akbar’s voice was shaky. “Have you heard the news?” “No, I have not. What are you so worried about?”
“Please. Turn on your television . . . CNN. Then call me to let me
know what to do.”
There was a click and the line went dead.
Alarmed, Farouq grabbed the remote and turned to CNN. Two commentators were on split-screen—an anchorman sitting behind a news desk, and an attractive blond woman standing against the backdrop of the Temple Mount. On the bottom of the screen, a text box read: “Live from Jerusalem.”
Crossing his arms, Farouq remained standing as he listened in. Farouq’s face sagged. Relics? Informant? The anchorman turned to the camera.
“I’m sure this is causing quite a stir in Jerusalem,” the male reporter stated in a serious tone. “Taylor, how are local officials reacting to this news?”
There was a slight delay as the satellite feed bounced the question from New York to Jerusalem.
“Well, Ed, as it stands,” the female reporter replied mechanically, “we’re still awaiting a formal statement from the Israeli government. So far, we’ve only been hearing reports through local news stations.”
“And has this anonymous informant been identified?”
A longer delay.
“As of now, no,” she replied, cupping her earpiece. “And that seems to be causing just as much excitement as the relics themselves.”
“If you’re just tuning in, we’re live with a breaking story coming out of Jerusalem, where late this morning, Israeli officials recovered a key item linked to last Friday’s violent exchange that took place at the Temple Mount, leaving thirteen Israeli soldiers dead ...and until now, many unanswered questions. Taylor, this book that’s been given anonymously to the Israeli police...is it certain it’s authentic?”
It can’t be, Farouq tried to convince himself. Knees suddenly weak, he slumped into an armchair.
“We’ve been told that the archaeologists working with the IAA—the Israeli Antiquities Authority—have analyzed this ancient manuscript and that based on carbon dating studies, yes, they are convinced the document is real. They have invited outside scientists to see the evidence, leading many to believe that the claim is valid.”
“Have you been told what the book says?”
The transmission sputtered for a split second.
“We haven’t been told yet,” she replied, shaking her head, “But the
IAA will be holding a press conference tomorrow afternoon to release complete details. Sources close to the investigation suggest that the book contains compelling historical accounts of the Jewish temple that was situated on the Temple Mount in the first century. Equally astounding, the book is said to contain shocking facts about the life and death of Jesus Christ.”
“Shocking indeed.” The reporter’s face intensified and his shoulders became even more rigid.
“As you can imagine”—her brow creased tightly—“this is all nothing short of astounding. Jews here are celebrating in the streets... Muslims are not at all pleased. And certainly, the Christians we’ve spoken to are anxious to learn more. The Temple Mount has long been the center of an ongoing religious rivalry between the three faiths...”
Feeling as if the world were crashing down around him, Farouq alJamir stared at the screen. He tried to postulate how the original manuscript could have found its way back to Jerusalem...and so suddenly. Certainly, the Vatican wouldn’t have offered it up, knowing full well the nasty consequences. Surely, Razak had given the Vatican envoy the original text in Rome, not a copy. Or had he? Could there possibly have been a second book? The odds seemed highly unlikely.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang.
