bitter about his golden years.”

Charlotte tried to give him an obligatory smile, but it didn’t happen.

“Did you know this place was built by selling indulgences?” Conte glared up at the central dome, disapprovingly. “Back in the fifteen hundreds, Pope Leo X ran out of money to finish the project, so he basically raised funds by selling Catholics ‘get-out-of-Hell-free’ cards. Rich people got to prepay for God’s forgiveness. They even had a saying for it: ‘as soon as the coin in the coffer rings, the soul from Purgatory springs.’ ”

She felt like saying: How many indulgences would you need to buy to free your soul? Conte certainly looked like the type who needed a lot of forgiving. It made her wonder why he was even in Vatican City and what at all he had to do with the ossuary. Earlier, Father Donovan had looked more like a hostage in his presence, not a coworker. “I take it you don’t go to Church every Sunday,” she sardonically replied.

Leaning closer, he dropped his voice an octave and said, “After all that I’ve seen, particularly inside these walls,” he said, “I’m willing to take my chances.”

She tried to understand what he really meant, but there was nothing in his eyes and she certainly wasn’t about to ask him to expound. “Are you visiting or just stalking?”

The remark took him off guard. “Just seeing the sights,” he replied, looking away.

“Well, I’ve got to get going. Nice seeing you,” she lied. Turning to go, Charlotte felt his hand touch her shoulder. She went rigid and turned back to him with icy eyes.

Realizing his miscalculation, Conte threw his hands up. “Sorry. I know American women are sensitive about their personal space.”

“What do you want?” She pronounced each word clearly.

“I was going to see if you wanted company for dinner tonight. I figured, you’re here alone....I don’t see a wedding ring,” he added, eyeing her hands. “Maybe you’d like some conversation. That’s all.”

For a long moment, she just stared at him, unable to process the idea that he was actually hitting on her in St. Peter’s Basilica. Suddenly she felt bad for any woman that had been charmed by this character. Handsome— yes—but everything else was severely lacking. “I’ve got a boyfriend and I’ve already made plans, but thank you.” Uncertain as to how much she would need to interact with Conte during the coming days, she tried her best to be polite.

“Some other time, then,” he confidently replied.

“Good night.” She turned and made her way for the exit.

“Enjoy your evening, Dr. Hennesey. Buonasera.”

15

TUESDAY

******

Temple Mount

The rising sun cast a faint glow of deep blue and purple over the Mount of Olives as Razak made his way across the Temple Mount esplanade toward the Dome of the Rock Mosque’s golden cupola, its crescent-shaped finial delicately pointing toward Mecca.

No matter how many times he visited this place, it always affected him deeply. Here, history and emotion seemed to drip like dew.

In the seventh century, Temple Mount had virtually been forgotten and its bare esplanade was devoid of any great monument. All of its previous architecture had been destroyed many times over. But in 687 AD—only a few decades after a Muslim army led by Caliph Omar had conquered Jerusalem in 638—the ninth Caliph, Abd al-Malik, began construction of the Dome of the Rock Mosque as a testament to the site’s rebirth—and Islam’s physical claim over the Holy Land.

Throughout the centuries that followed, Islam had periodically lost its hold over the Temple Mount, most notably to Christian Crusaders whose occupation spanned the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. But it was once again under Islamic control and the Waqf had been entrusted to enforce and legitimize that role. It wasn’t easy, especially in the wake of mounting political instability that threatened Islamic exclusivity to the place—a privilege that had almost been lost after the Six Day War in 1967.

Razak tried to imagine how it would feel if the political situation had been reversed: Muslims reduced to worshipping a retaining wall with the Jews possessing a shrine on its holiest spot; Jews in occupied territories and the Palestinians in full control.

He scaled a flight of steps to the mosque’s raised platform. Outside the entrance, he removed his Sutor Mantellassi loafers, then made his way into the shrine. Hands crossed behind his back, he worked his way around the bloodred carpet of the octagonal ambulatory glancing up at the elaborate inner dome that sat high atop glassy marble columns. Directly beneath the cupola, cordoned by railings, lay a bare stone expanse of Mount Moriah’s summit known as “the Rock.”

The Rock marked the sacred site where in Biblical times Abraham made to sacrifice his son to God, and where Jacob had dreamed of a ladder to heaven. The Jews proclaimed that a grand Jewish temple built by King Solomon and improved by King Herod once stood here. And the Christians claimed Jesus had visited that same temple many times to preach.

But the site was most significant to Razak and his people for another reason.

In 621, the angel Gabriel had appeared to the great prophet Muhammad in Mecca, presenting him with a winged horse bearing a human face, named Buraq. Embarking on his Isra, or “Night Journey,” Muhammad was carried by Buraq to the Temple Mount where he was ascended through the heavens in a glorious light to behold Allah and consult with Moses and the great prophets. There, Muhammad was also given the five daily prayers by Allah—a core event in his ministry known as the Miraj.

The Miraj rendered the Dome of the Rock the third most important religious site in Islam, preceded only by Mecca—Muhammad’s birthplace—and Medina where, through great struggle and personal sacrifice, he established the Islamic movement.

Razak gazed up at the cupola’s exquisite tile work, taking in the Arabic inscriptions flowing round its base.

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