Beneath the raised walkway, the excavations on the Temple Mount’s southwest corner had now reached below the Ottoman-period steps and aqueducts to expose a monumental construct of eighth-centuryb.c.e. columns, steps, and walls called the Ada Carmi Building. And as he curved up the temporary bridge spanning over it, he couldn’t help but think that the site had suffered serious damage during the firefight that had taken place here back in June, when the thieves who’d stolen the ossuary from beneath the Temple Mount had opened fire on Israeli soldiers. Mortar shells had taken down entire walls and Iron Age stonework.
Staying low and moving up the curved walkway, he looked over to the archway where the soldiers were flooding in, Enoch right behind them.
“Go get ’em, kid,” Amit said.
The ramp peaked at Moors Gate, high up on the Western Wall—under normal conditions, the main tourist entrance to the Temple Mount esplanade. However, the Waqf had kept it closed ever since the restoration work in the Western Wall Tunnel had commenced.
The freshly painted new steel door featured a very modern key lock. Amit was fully prepared to put his lock- picking skills to the test once more. But he figured he’d test the door first. And much to his surprise, it was unlocked.
Amit slid inside and pulled the door shut.
72
******
Now Charlotte’s pulse was pounding. The gunshot had thrown Cohen’s thugs into high gear and they pulled harder at her arms as they moved her through a huge vaulted hall full of scaffolding. At the base of one of the room’s massive stanchions, three men were dismantling a pile of stones to access something covered beneath. Another eight stood close, looking on. She barely glimpsed one of the men emptying the arsenal concealed there —machine guns and other ominous-looking weapons.
They muscled her through an open security door and alongside the huge foundation stones.
The sweaty foreman had just caught up to them. In Hebrew, he rattled off what had transpired. Then he warned them that the soldiers were quickly advancing.
The channel beyond the door was tight, huge rectangular blocks on the right, modern concrete slabs on the left. They’d definitely brought her deep underground. But she still felt completely disoriented. Where in hell were they taking her?
Up ahead there were some stone steps. The handlers were getting antsy, pushing her along, almost forcing her to trip.
On the left side, the passage widened considerably, but the huge blocks on the right were still running along a straight line. Here they met up with seven bearded men dressed in white robes and headdresses. Opposite them were half a dozen others dressed in blue jumpsuits, each armed with a machine gun.
As if that wasn’t enough, Cohen was there too, dressed like a snake charmer. The sight of him actually made her stop dead in her tracks. His long sky-blue robe had shiny gold thread woven into its fabric, and tassels dangled from its hem. Tied around the waist was a crimson and red garment that looked like a fancy apron. And his colorful head-wrap was secured by a gold frontlet inscribed with Hebrew letters. The ensemble included a gold breastplate inset with twelve sparkling rectangular gemstones—topaz, emerald, sapphire, and amethyst among them—each with Hebrew inscriptions.
The veiled Egyptian relic had been placed in the center of it all, except this time, it had been fitted with two long wooden carrying poles and it was covered in animal furs.
“Remove the gag,” Cohen said.
One of the handlers cut away the duct tape, taking plenty of hair with it.
For a moment, Cohen stared at her natural, unblemished red curls. “Your screams won’t matter now,” he said. “So I suggest you not waste your energy.”
She glared at the rabbi’s attire. “Where are we?”
“We are beneath Jerusalem’s Temple Mount,” the rabbi coolly replied.
His hand snapped up. “All in good time.”
Given what was brewing outside, Charlotte thought, he seemed remarkably calm, as did the others gathered around him. What did Cohen have up his sleeve? There was no way he could stay holed up down here. Did he have a death wish?
Cohen spread his hands, signaling for the robed men lined up along the foundation wall to separate.
What Charlotte hadn’t seen behind them was a gaping hole that had been pounded through a thick layer of mortar and stone that sealed a soaring archway. She watched four of the robed men each claim a position at a corner of the box. In tandem, they reached down and clasped the closest pole end. Then they hoisted the box smoothly from the floor, like pallbearers.
“What you are about to take part in, Charlotte,” the rabbi said, “is a ritual that hasn’t taken place in almost twenty-five hundred years.”
The rabbi summoned one of the priests from the rear, who hastily brought over a gold cup fitted with a long handle. Charlotte watched as the rabbi took the vessel, closed his eyes, and chanted a prayer over it. Then he dipped his finger into the cup and proceeded to fling a drop of thick red liquid over the darkened threshold.
He repeated this six more times, while chanting a prayer.
“The sacred blood consecrates the gateway,” Cohen explained to her.
