The Sacred Blood

“The Ten Commandments?”

“That’s the condensed version, the ‘Testimony for Dummies.’ In Leviticus, God speaks to Moses in the first person and actually provides six hundred and thirteen directives, or mitzvoth, that were the road map for the Israelites’ daily living—diet, dress, death, health, marriage, divorce, sexuality, criminal justice, and so forth. It was all part of the covenant that needed to be abided by so that the Israelites could be delivered to the Promised Land.”

“And what does that have to do with the temple?”

“Everything, since two hundred and two of the directives spoke to temple worship. But it gets much deeper than that. You see, the Testimony was transcribed onto stone tablets—including the text paraphrased into the Ten Commandments. And God told Moses to build a vessel to hold them.”

“The Ark of the Covenant?” she said, half smiling.

“Right. And that was what the entire temple model was built upon. So to answer your question, at the very center of the Temple City would reside the Ark.”

Amit opened the door of the visitors’ center and ushered Jules through.

“Oh, come on now,” she scoffed. “You’re not really suggesting that Cohen just went to Egypt to reclaim the lost ark?” During her last excavation in Egypt, she’d heard plenty of wild legends from the locals in Tanis about Menelik—the love child of King Solomon and Sheba—secretly bringing the relic to their hometown. They’d even joked with her that she might uncover it beneath the sands outlying the city. She’d quickly reminded them that Indiana Jones had already beaten her to it.

Raising his eyebrows, Amit clammed up as they ducked inside.

They stopped to bid David farewell.

“By the way,” David began to explain, “some fellow called here looking for you—”

Then, without warning, one of the clear doors facing the parking lot let out a resounding crack that made Amit spin round. A tiny hole had punched through it and fractured the glass. Instantly, he dropped, yelling, “Get down!” as a second round zipped past him and struck David in the chest with a thwump.

The old man gasped and spun back off his chair, crashing onto the tiles behind the bag scanner.

At the same time, Amit tried to grab Jules, but his hands got nothing but air. She was already falling backward, tumbling onto the floor, hands clutching her side. Blood was seeping through her fingers.

“Jules!” Staying low, Amit immediately went and pulled her behind the bag scanner just as another round pinged off the tile, then ricocheted off the bulky machine’s thick metal housing. Peeking out, he could see the white arm cast swinging through the darkness, closing in fast.

David was splayed beside him, blood seeping along the tile grout lines beneath his right armpit. It was spilling out of his chest and over the handle of his holstered Beretta.

***

Outside, taxi drivers scrambled for cover as the gunman sprinted toward the front entrance.

Peering inside the foyer, the assassin could make out the guard’s outstretched arm sticking out from behind the clunky bag scanner. There was a thick swath of blood smeared along the tiles where the woman had fallen. The Israeli archaeologist wasn’t in sight but was certainly pinned down behind the hulking machine.

He deliberated for a moment.

Wait for the target to make a move? Not an option; too much time for the police to respond. The archaeologist had been moving quickly, cleverly shifting from place to place and covering his tracks very effectively. This guy was no amateur.

The assassin had already been sidetracked for a good hour by the Land Rover abandoned in the bus station’s parking garage. Then he was finally provided with tracking coordinates for the archaeologist’s mobile phone. Though the phone had remained powered off, the latest satellite tracing had been able to detect a chip in its battery. But that had required some administrative runarounds. So at this point, prolonging the chase wasn’t an option. He quickly determined that this might be his last opportunity to finish the job.

Keeping his eyes peeled on the foyer, he pushed on the door, but it didn’t budge. He quickly glimpsed the sticker above the thick handle that said pull. He reached for the handle with his broken arm, but the stubs of his fingers poking out beyond the plaster cast weren’t able to grip it.

Cursing, he pinched the gun with three fingers of his left hand and hooked the pinky and ring finger around the handle.

Much to his regret, that’s when the archaeologist sprang up over the scanner, wielding a pistol gripped firmly with both hands.

The shot was loud, the glass exploding out into his face even louder.

Shards ripped into his eyes, but something else had pierced much deeper into the side of his neck. He felt metal nick bone as the round exploded beneath his right ear. And he knew in an instant that it had cut through his spinal cord in the process, because the entire right side of his body shut off immediately—paralyzed. His right leg went out from under him, and he toppled sideways.

Dropping his gun, he clamped his left hand over the spray of blood spurting onto the cement. The archaeologist was standing over him seconds later, pointing the gun in his face, yelling questions that his ears could not register.

The blood gurgled into his throat, choking him. Then his mission came to a most unsuccessful end.

55

******

“You all right?” one of the livery guys yelled over, still shielding himself behind his limo door.

“I’m okay,” Amit said. “But I need an ambulance inside.”