The Sacred Blood

“So let us talk,” he said. “Voice our concerns. Discuss our ongoing mission to preserve Islam and its sacred shrines.” His head tipped right as his accusatory stare went directly for the man who most opposed him. “Why don’t we start with you, Muhammad?” The turbaned sixty-two-year-old shifted uncomfortably in his chair and cleared his throat. “The Israelis continue to dig beneath the Haram while the Waqf sits idly by . . . watching, waiting,” Ghalib said in a sharp tone. “What do you suppose we are waiting for? Do you believe that your prayers will stop the bulldozers?”

“Of course not,” Muhammad said defensively. “You know that is not the case.”

Ghalib spread his hands. “Then defend your case.”

Another dry cough. “Ever since the theft in June . . . since your predecessor was indicted as an accomplice,” he reminded Ghalib, “our power has been greatly diminished.”

Ghalib’s crooked lip tilted higher. His predecessor, Farouq bin Alim Abd al-Rahmaan al-Jamir, was still in custody with the Israeli authorities and facing severe charges for conspiring to commit a theft that left thirteen Israeli police and soldiers dead. Though Israel’s only state-sanctioned execution had been the May 1962 hanging of Nazi SS leader Adolf Eichmann (who’d been captured hiding in Argentina by Mossad agents), many high-ranking Israelis in parliament insisted that Farouq should be put to death for treason.

Ghalib shook his head, his lips turned down. “Your power has not changed. But your will has surely weakened.” He knew what made the man soft and sympathetic. Though Palestinian by blood, Muhammad was Israeli by passport. It was evident that it wasn’t just the cover of his immigration documents that had changed from green to blue. And unlike his suffering brethren, Ghalib knew, righteous Muhammad lived on the prosperous side of Israel’s separation fences that cut away the West Bank and Gaza with hundreds of kilometers of poured concrete, steel, and wire.

Anxiety building quickly, Muhammad was hoping someone at the table would support him. None spoke up. “There was an earthquake,” he stressed. “Mild, yes. And when it first happened we were granted permission to see what had happened. I personally viewed the tunnel . . . you too, Safwan,” he said, pointing to the gaunt Arab wearing a kaffiyeh who sat across from him. “You saw it with your own eyes. Tell them.”

Safwan was silent; his charcoal eyes went to his hands.

Muhammad persisted, “Considerable damage was done—”

Ghalib overrode him. “Need I remind you that the damage was done long ago when you sat idly by over the past decade and allowed Jews to excavate the tunnels beneath the Muslim Quarter?”

“It was a trade-off,” he insisted. “They got the tunnel; we were permitted to restore the Marwani Mosque.” He held his hands and balanced them like scales.

“And see where that got you? You cleared the way for thieves to blow a hole through it.”

The Marwani Mosque had been the thieves’ entry point to the arched vaults beneath the mount—and a hidden chamber sealed behind its rear wall, which they’d accessed with C-4 plastic explosive.

Muhammad’s face reddened. He was playing right into Ghalib’s hands. And the man was certainly looking to make an example out of him. One thing was now clear: Ghalib’s appointment here was indicative of a subversive political agenda playing out on a much higher level. Given the current state of affairs, he still couldn’t imagine how the Israelis had even granted Ghalib entry into the country. Most likely, Ghalib had been snuck in by his Lebanese Hezbollah contacts. Ghalib had yet to step foot off the Haram, refused all media appearances, and corresponded under the assumed name Talal bin Omar. However, the Israelis weren’t stupid, so Muhammad could only guess that they preferred having Ghalib within easy reach. “The proper resolution we’ve always sought has been peace. Cooperation. Coexistence. Just as the Prophet teaches us.”

Ghalib sneered. “Peace? Coexistence?” He mockingly held his hands out at the man and let his gaze circle the table. “There is no peace in Jerusalem. Peace is a hopeless ideal that appeals only to the weak. There will never be peace in a place where Jews burrow like vermin beneath the great Prophet’s sacred mosque. And coexistence is an excuse for your fear of their guns and nuclear weapons. Only victory will bring peace. And in the name of Allah, we will prevail.” The teacher in him shone through, ever ready to provide Qur’anic tafsir favoring jihad. “Do you not agree?”

Scowling faces swung toward Muhammad. The Keeper’s question was a loaded gun. He paused to consider an appropriate rebuttal. “I do not condone what is now happening, but—”

“My ears have heard this digging!” another elder burst out. “While praying in the mosque . . . below my feet . . . I hear chipping sounds!” He cupped a hand around his ear and tried to imitate it: “Chh-chh-chh. Chh-chh-chh. This is what I hear. It is true. The Jews seek to destroy the Haram!”

The room erupted.

Smiling, Ghalib savored the moment. A half minute later, he finally raised his hands up to silence them. “Infestation. Like termites. That is what we are dealing with. There is a plague here that must be eliminated. We must free our house from defilement. It is not a choice. It is our sworn duty.”

The council members barked their support.

“We must avoid drastic action,” Muhammad delicately pleaded as he rose to his feet and placed a hand flat on the table. “Hostility will only cost innocent lives,” he said, patting the hand twice. “Has this not been proven time and time again?”

Rebuking shouts drowned him out. Ghalib once again intervened to settle them down. Then he jabbed a spindly finger toward Muhammad and commanded, “Sit down!”

Muhammad’s firm expression withered into despair. He threw his hands up in surrender. “I cannot support this . . .” He made to leave the room.

Ghalib’s right hand sliced the air like an ax blade. “I am not finished!” he roared, nostrils flaring.

Muhammad froze and turned back to him.

“Jews have no place here!” Ghalib held up a balled fist and swung it like a hammer. “This is a truth that cannot be questioned! Be assured that our response to recent events will be swift and concise. And our voice must be one. It is evident that your disgraceful words are solely your own and will not poison our ears. Therefore, your services are no longer required by this council. Now go, and don’t come back.” His hand chopped an arc to the door. “And let me remind you that anything you say outside these walls will have very serious consequences.” His face twisted. “Very serious indeed.”