Inside Farouq’s office, Razak sat anxiously awaiting the Keeper’s explanation for enabling Christians to violate the Temple Mount—a deed so vile and deceitful that no motive seemed good enough.
The old man held out his hand. “My keys, please.”
Razak pulled the key ring from his pocket and dropped it in the old man’s palm.
Reaching beneath his desk, Farouq withdrew the small, rectangular casket and cradled it on his lap.
“When we began excavating the Marwani Mosque in 1996,” he began, “tons of rubble were transferred to dumps in the Kidron Valley, every piece thoroughly sifted through and examined. The last thing we needed was some relic misconstrued as belonging to the Jewish temple.”
“You mean Solomon’s Temple?”
He nodded. “Concise archaeological evidence substantiating that claim has yet to surface and, as such, strengthens our position here.” Farouq’s gruff voice rose slightly. “But as you are aware, the Jews managed to persuade the Israeli government and some Muslim archaeologists to study the whole platform’s structural integrity, citing a bulge in the outer wall that appeared during our work—a sign that the foundations could be shifting.” Farouq moved in his seat. “Myself and several other council members tried to stop them. But the Israeli Antiquities Authority convinced many people—including some of our own—that this work was essential. Their studies were to have begun just days from now.”
It had been hard to avoid the heavily publicized controversy. Razak knew where this was going. “So you knew that the hidden crypt would be discovered?”
Farouq nodded.
“But how did you know it even existed?”
He patted the casket. “This extraordinary find was unearthed a few years ago. And very early on in the excavations.”
Razak’s eyes combed its stamped bronze exterior. The decor appeared Islamic, but on closer examination the symbols—mainly ornate cruciforms—were undoubtedly Christian. A unique image adorned the cover and he knew immediately from its blasphemous depiction of living creatures that it too wasn’t Islamic. “What does that seal mean?”
“Two medieval knights in full armor, bearing shields, sharing a single lance and one galloping horse symbolizes those who swore to rid this land of Muslim influence. The Christian knights of Solomon’s Temple. The Knights Templar.”
Razak looked up sharply. “So Graham Barton was right?”
“Yes. This was the Templar seal when those infidels first occupied Temple Mount in 1099. You can imagine my surprise when I found it. I was even more surprised when I learned its origins.”
“Where exactly did you find it?”
“Buried beneath the floor of the Marwani Mosque. An earth-moving machine broke a stone slab. A freak discovery.”
“And what was inside?”
Farouq tapped the lid. “Among other things it contained an ancient manuscript called the Ephemeris Conlusio. But you delivered that to Rome three weeks ago.”
Razak recalled that the bald priest he’d met at Cafe Greco had with him a leather portfolio that bore the symbol of two crossed keys and a papal mitre—the royal crest of the Catholic Church. Vatican City. Fanatical Christians.
“We needed the Catholics’ help.”
Razak folded his arms. “I’m assuming that this book indicated the vault’s precise location?”
“Among other things, there was a drawing accompanied by precise measurements.”
“And the rest of the manuscript?”
Farouq described Joseph of Arimathea’s account. The eyewitness telling of Jesus’s capture, crucifixion, and subsequent burial. The revelation of the ossuary and its relics substantiating Jesus’s crucifixion and mortal death. Farouq gave Razak time to let it all sink in.
Razak reflected on just how intuitive Barton had been. “If this was true, it would violate the Qur’an’s teachings.”
“Absolutely. You know our position when it comes to Jesus. Allah raised him up to Heaven before his enemies could do him any harm—no arrest, no trial, no crucifixion ...and certainly no burial. Now do you understand the necessity of eliminating this threat?”
Razak grasped that it wasn’t just the Temple Mount that Farouq had been protecting. The implications ran far deeper. “Couldn’t you have gone into the crypt to destroy these things without involving the Catholics? Without killing innocent men?”
“The risks would have been much too high,” he said dismissively. “We both know the IAA employs many of our own people. People—I might add—who regularly attend prayer service in the Marwani Mosque. All devious tactics on their part, I’m sure. We are not allowed to excavate without explicit Israeli authorization. Had we done so, the death toll from protests would have been far higher than what we’ve already seen.”
“So you let the Catholics do your dirty work. And it gave you total deniability.” Each new revelation chipped away at Razak’s spirit, everything he’d known to be true turned upside down. Once again, religion and politics had become inseparable.
“It was the only way to achieve our objectives,” Farouq continued smoothly. “And since the threat was even more damaging to them, I knew the Catholics would act quickly to extract this relic. It enabled them to preserve their institution. In return we’d strengthen our own position here by eliminating a threat that contradicts the Prophet’s teachings.”
“There must have been a better way...” Razak’s voice trailed off.
