The Sacred Blood

Her eyes went wide as she realized that it was her blood being used for the ritual.

Returning the vessel to the attendant, the rabbi made his way through the dark hole. Two paces ahead, he stopped and crouched low to the ground. There came a metallic click, followed instantly by a bath of white light that washed away the darkness from a grand corridor running straight through the heart of the Temple Mount.

73

******

Pacing the Dome of the Rock’s wide ambulatory, the Keeper glanced over at the craggy expanse of the rock itself—Sakhrah. In preparation for what was to come, he prayed to the seventy thousand angels who continuously guarded over this spot, beseeching them for strength, begging for a sign should his intentions not please Allah.

Though young Ali had entered the secret tunnel never to return— peace forever grace him—he had still managed to confirm Ghalib’s suspicions that something devious was taking place beneath the Haram. He’d been surprised when Ali had reported just how ambitious the plan really was.

As he meandered past the balustrade along the rock’s southern side, he paused to pay homage to the wide gap that opened into the Well of Souls directly beneath. Islamic legend said that when Muhammad ascended to heaven, the rock had begun to fracture at this spot and rise up beneath him. But the angel Gabriel had held the sacred stone in place. Along the Sakhrah’s surface, he could see the indentations left behind by the angel’s fingers.

Oh Merciful One, most compassionate and all knowing, Ruler of Judgment Day. Give me guidance. Show me the straight way.

He circled back to the south door, where two Palestinians armed with Uzis awaited him.

“The Evil One is coming. Dajal is in our midst. Soon, brothers,” he told them. “Very soon.”

“Shall we lock the doors?” one of them asked.

Ghalib shook his head. “Leave them open.” Then he went outside.

74

******

Five soldiers had pushed forward and taken positions close to the unloaded flatbed truck parked near the stairs—the Trojan horse that had passed through the walls of the world’s most secure city. Another four soldiers hunkered behind the piles of stone beside it, one crouched low behind the forklift, another using the bell of a portable cement mixer for cover.

Having taken up a post behind them, Enoch noticed that there seemed to be some deliberation as to how to proceed. All focus was on the steps where the gunman had retreated into the Western Wall Tunnel. “Come on,” he grumbled, losing patience.

If there was going to be more shooting, he wasn’t wearing proper safety gear. Best to leave the heavy lifting to the front line. So as not to be confused for the enemy, he made sure to prominently display his blue Mossad armbands showing the agency logo—a menorah set inside a circle. He briefly wondered how Amit might react when the IDF’s reinforcements came spilling into the plaza.

Another six soldiers fanned in around Enoch, Galils drawn. One of them dropped to one knee beside him—a female wearing the epaulets of a captain. She was young, pretty too. Momentarily, he was taken aback, since during his days with the IDF, women had performed only low-rank duties. The IDF’s first female pilot had only earned her wings in 2001.

“What’s happening in there?” she asked, eyes forward.

“Rabbi Cohen just carted in an unknown shipment presumed to be a high-powered weapon or bomb. He’s also taken an American hostage.” This didn’t seem to faze her.

“What does the hostage look like?”

Amit hadn’t specified. “Not sure, but just look for the only woman in plain clothes.”

“How many hostiles are we talking about?”

Anyone’s guess, he thought. He shrugged. “Maybe a dozen. Just assume the worst. And they already shot one of your officers. So assume they’re all armed.” No doubt the truck had also been used to smuggle weapons.

“Got it.”

A military jeep came to a rough stop in the plaza, just outside the entry. More soldiers spilled out and immediately dropped a retractable ramp from the jeep’s tailgate. One worked a remote transmitter that brought the payload out on its own accord.

“Let’s get it up front,” the captain yelled back to them.

Enoch watched as the robot bounced off the ramp on two rotary tracks, looking like a miniature tank or moon rover. The thing sped past him on a beeline for the tunnel stairs, the operator keeping a safe distance, using an LCD on the remote to see through the robot’s camera eye.

“We’ll get them out,” she assured Enoch.

The robot was just easing to a stop atop the stairs. Its two mechanical bomb-dismantling arms stayed tucked at its sides while a third, equipped with a camera, telescoped out.

“Nothing so far,” the operator said.

“Sit tight,” the captain told Enoch. Then she sprang up and signaled for the operator to follow her.

Enoch watched them move swiftly to take positions behind the robot.

Less than thirty seconds later, when the robot bounced its way down the steps and detected no activity below, the captain signaled the first wave of soldiers into the tunnel.

Thirty seconds after that, Enoch heard the first exchange of gunfire— and it was fierce.

Two soldiers remained behind while the others spilled down into the tunnel.

“Damn it,” Enoch cursed. If the rabbi was planning to put a bomb beneath the Temple Mount, there was little time to spare.