The Sacred Blood

grimace.

He stretched his leg up high and kicked it away. The corpse went bobbing along a smooth wave to the cistern’s opposing wall, leaving a rippling wake in its path.

“Disgusting.”

The orange glow reflected over the top of the water. But along the wall directly below where he’d fallen from the tunnel, a different light caught Enoch’s eye—an ever-so-faint outline below the crystal-clear waterline.

Plowing his way through the water, he dipped his hands below the surface to examine the wall. The stones fell away under his fingertips. His numb digits had a tough time transmitting texture, but he had no problem determining that there was an opening there—and it was wide.

A passage? Maybe. But why the light? Had the explosion blown a hole this deep?

Couldn’t be. The light wasn’t orange. It looked more as if someone was shining a flashlight from deep within—a warm, yellowish light.

So the next question was, just how far in was the light source?

The trembling was getting worse by the second. Still no activity overhead.

He screamed for help several more times, to no avail. Then he came to the desperate realization that the underwater passage was his only hope.

It took a good thirty seconds for him to get up the nerve to immerse himself. But that’s what he did.

The water felt like needles against his eyes as he assessed the channel— maybe a meter in height, same in width. It ran straight for about eight meters, then took a slight bend where the light shone brightest. Since the ancients hand-carved these things, there was enough room to pass through them. But what lay beyond?

He sprang his head up from the water, his entire body tight.

Here goes nothing.

He pulled off his sneakers and socks, then stripped off the heavy Kevlar vest riddled with shrapnel that would have otherwise minced his chest. Filling his lungs to the limit, he dropped back below the water and kicked his way through the opening. A combination of foot-flipping and handgrappling the smooth walls propelled him forward at a healthy clip. But if the light source wasn’t indicating a way out, he’d never be able to reverse course without first running out of oxygen.

This was a one-way trip. And it terrified him.

Up ahead, the passage got tight—really tight.

Now his eyes felt like glass on the verge of shattering.

The constricted bend came up quickly. He was forced to squirm through it sideways.

The light instantly brightened so that he could see its source up ahead, another ten meters or so away. With his limbs offering little response, he gave it everything he had, kicking off the stone wall for one final forward thrust.

Now he could actually make out the shimmering surface of the water. If the light was dropping down some kind of vertical shaft, like a well, he thought, he might have an opportunity to draw more air. But if he wasn’t able to climb it . . .

Two meters.

“Gaaah!” he screamed as his head broke through the surface of the water. He gasped for air. But he needed to hold his eyes shut and rub them for a minute before he could see where fate had delivered him.

When his eyes finally began to adjust and the blur gave way to discernible dimensions, he liked what he could make out so far. The water tunnel hadn’t ended in a vertical shaft. It actually continued up a sharp rise.

The light was very bright now, about four meters up the grade. On his elbows, Enoch began dragging himself up and out of the water until his slightly bent knees could be of assistance. As he crept higher, his vision became crisper, so that now he could make out the substantial metal grate that blocked his exit.

80

******

Cohen and his men anxiously waited for the gunfire inside the shrine to cease. When it finally did, only two of the six who’d stormed the building emerged, and one of them was bleeding profusely from a wound to the thigh.

It was then that the rabbi first heard the sounds coming from the east. Gazing up into the night sky, he could see lights approaching, the whopping of rotor blades echoing through the valley.

“Quickly!” he instructed.

One of the men went ahead and found the lights.

At the shrine’s door, the rabbi paused to study what lay beyond. He’d

heard much about the exquisite Arabian decor inside the Dome of the Rock. On one occasion, he’d even happened upon some pictures of its interior. But all that did little justice to its true magnificence. Punishing himself for this unwilling admiration—this evil enticement—he cast his eyes straight ahead to the open area that sat directly beneath the cupola. He proceeded into the ambulatory.

If it wasn’t the first step, it was the second when his senses immediately registered an overpowering presence here. It was as if he felt a supernatural aura wrapping around him. Faltering midstride, he struggled to conceal his alarm. He froze. But as quickly as it had come, the sensation dissipated. Something atmospheric, perhaps? he tried to convince himself. Calm yourself. Let God guide you.

Cautiously, the rabbi—the high priest, the kohen gadol, he reminded himself— eased deeper into the shrine. Cutting a straight line across the ambulatory’s rich red Persian carpeting, he ignored the two dead Muslims who had been pulled off to the side and gave a reverential glance at his brave men who’d fallen close to the entrance.

The Ark was paraded in behind him, followed by the men handling Charlotte and the surviving two