"The book contained very detailed information about an ossuary buried deep beneath Temple Mount in a hidden chamber."
"What book?"
"There were nine other ossuaries there, too. Am I not correct?"
"Okay." Razak's voice was encouraging. Not quite an admission.
"And I have the tenth ossuary."
Wishing he could record this conversation, Razak paused, stupefied. "You killed thirteen men. You desecrated a very holy site." He stood from the table and began pacing the apartment.
"No," the caller cut in, insistent. "Not me."
Razak sensed the man's sincerity.
"...But I know who did," the voice added.
"And how do I know you're telling the truth?"
"Because I'm going to give the ossuary back to you.... So you can put an end to this, as you see fit."
At first, Razak didn't know what to say. "And why would you do that?"
"I see what is happening there, in Jerusalem," the man continued. "Too many innocent people suffering. I know you agree. You're a just man. I could tell that the moment I met you."
It was almost too much for Razak to comprehend. "I don't suppose you'll be making the delivery yourself?"
"Unfortunately, there's more work I'll need to do. I'm sure you'll understand that I cannot take that risk."
"I see."
A pause.
Razak couldn't help but to ask: "What was inside the ossuary that made it so valuable?"
There was a long pause.
"Something very profound."
Razak shuddered when he thought about Barton's wild theory about fanatical Christians. Could the remains of Jesus really have been inside the missing ossuary? Did this mysterious book tell of the relic's ancient origins?
"Will the contents be returned with the box?"
"Unfortunately, I cannot allow that."
Razak dared another question. "Was it really his remains inside that box?" He tried to prepare himself for the response.
The caller hesitated, clearly knowing whom Razak was referring to. "There's no way to know for sure. For your own safety, please don't ask any more about this. Just let me know where you'd like it delivered."
Razak thought about it. He pictured Barton sitting in an Israeli prison cell, awaiting trial. Then he considered how Farouq-- the singular force behind the delivery of the book that had set everything in motion-- had likely played him like a fool, jeopardizing both peace and lives. Razak decided to give the caller a name and a shipping address. "When should I expect it to arrive?"
"It will be sent out today, I assure you. I'll spare no expense to have it to you as soon as possible."
"And the book?" Razak inquired.
"I'll be sure to include that as well."
"Can you send that to a different address?"
"Absolutely."
Razak gave him the second mailing address.
"And for the record," the caller added, "that English archaeologist being held by Israeli police had nothing to do with all this."
"I suspected that," Razak replied. "And the real thieves? What will happen to them?"
Another pause. "I think you'll agree that justice has its own way of finding the guilty."
The line went dead.
SATURDAY
63.
TEMPLE MOUNT
After dawn prayer, Razak headed straight for the El-Aqsa Mosque. He hadn't slept at all last night, his mind mulling over the shocking phone call he'd received from the priest he had met in Rome three weeks ago. The Israeli police were right. Only an insider could have abetted the thieves. Now it was clear that Graham Barton wasn't the insider.
In the rear of the building, he made his way down a service corridor ending at a newly installed metal fire door. Above it, a sign in Arabic read: "Open only in case of emergency."
He reached down and turned the handle.
Beyond the door, a freshly painted spiral staircase wound down twelve meters, directly to the subterranean Marwani Mosque. A secret passageway? Could this be the modern equivalent of the one Joseph of Arimathea used two thousand years ago?
Turning his attention back to the corridor, he let the door swing shut.
Off each side of this hallway lay the mosque's storage rooms.
His heartbeat quickened as he went over to the first door and opened it. Inside there were cardboard boxes stacked against one wall and a shelving unit containing cleaning supplies. Another shelf was stacked with fresh copies of the Qur'an, ready to provide spiritual enlightenment to new Muslim recruits. He shut the door and moved on to the next room.
Behind the second door were stacked chairs, a discarded desk, and spare oriental carpets rolled up in plastic, propped against a side wall. Against the rear wall lay the charred remnants of the mihrab that had been set ablaze by a young Australian Jew, Michael Rohan, on August 21, 1969. Razak remembered being told that the fanatic had informed Israeli authorities that his act had been inspired by God to expedite the coming of the Messiah and the rebuilding of the Third Jewish Temple.
Closing the door, Razak considered that maybe his theory was wrong. He wanted it to be wrong.
Next he continued down the hall to the door that marked the threshold to the last storage room. Trying the handle, he was surprised to find that it had been locked. He tried it again. Nothing.
Puzzled, he made his way back through the mosque's spacious prayer hall, out into the bright morning sun, and across the esplanade toward the Qur'anic teaching school. If he were to find the Keeper there, he'd insist that the room be opened for inspection.
But upstairs, Farouq's office was empty.
Razak stood motionless for a moment, struggling with what he should do. Then reluctantly, he circled behind the desk and searched its four drawers.
Inside, he discovered a strange array of items that included a compact handgun and a liter of Wild Turkey bourbon that, since the Qur'an strictly forbade drinking alcohol, Razak fervently hoped Farouq had confiscated from someone. There was an ornate bronze casket stashed in the left bottom drawer, but it was locked. Finally, he found what he was looking for: a key ring. Snatching it up, he made his way downstairs and out the building.
Traversing the esplanade, Razak was unaware of the Keeper trailing discreetly behind him.
Negotiating his way through the El-Aqsa's prayer hall, Razak produced the key ring, stopping at the rear corridor's locked door. One by one, he tried the keys. Coming across a small, tarnished skeleton key, he wondered if it opened the casket that he'd found in Farouq's desk. He continued through the set. Finally, with only two keys left and a waning sense of hope, a silver key slid easily into the lock. Praying silently and holding his breath, Razak turned it.
Clicking, the lock gave way.
Razak depressed the door handle. Beyond the threshold, the windowless room was dark. Moving inside, Razak fumbled for the light switch, leaving the door open. The room appeared empty.
The overhead strip lights crackled and slowly came to life, strobing the room with quick flashes that played with his eyes.
Then the room was aglow.
Instantly, Razak's face slackened in bewilderment.
Along the rear wall, the nine ossuaries, each etched in Hebrew text with the names of Joseph and his family members, had been neatly arranged on the vinyl-tiled floor.
"Allah save us," Razak muttered in Arabic.
From the corner of his eye he detected a figure in the doorway and spun round.
Farouq.
"You've done well, Razak." Farouq crossed his arms, stuffing his hands into the loose sleeves of his black tunic. "You mustn't be troubled by this. They will shortly disappear."
The Keeper's talent for making things vanish was starting to sicken him. "What have you done?"
"A noble deed to help our people," the Keeper stated flatly. "Don't concern yourself with the small sacrifices that need to be made."
"Small sacrifices?" Razak stared at the ossuaries. "You fram
ed an innocent man."
"Barton? Innocent? None of them are innocent, Razak. Not when their motive is to threaten Allah."
"Did the other council members know about this?"
The Keeper made a dismissive motion. "Does that matter?"
"You sent me to Rome to deliver a package to the Vatican-- a book that led them to perpetrate this unthinkable crime. I feel some explanation is warranted. Many men died for this and an innocent man is now being detained by the police. And what exactly have you achieved?"
"Razak." Farouq shook his head in disappointment. "You haven't grasped the seriousness of our situation here. We've achieved solidarity and unity. Our people rely on us to protect both them and their faith. And a faith like ours must remain strong throughout. Here in Jerusalem what we protect isn't just a patch of land or a sacred shrine. Islam is everything. To undermine its teachings is to take away a Muslim's soul. Don't you understand?"
"But this isn't a war."
"It's been a war since the very beginning. Ever since the Christians and Jews decided to reclaim this forgotten land made sacred by the great prophet Muhammad, Allah grant him peace. Need I remind you that I've shed my own blood to protect our people and this place? A great number of people have given their lives so that men like you"-- he jabbed a finger-- "can still have homes here."
Razak elected to remain silent. Undeniably a real debt was owed to men like Farouq, men who had vehemently opposed Israeli occupation. But he was tired of the rhetoric, tired of the perpetual hatred that plagued this place. He wanted answers. And Razak knew for certain that those answers would begin with knowing exactly how a book delivered to Rome had divulged the precise location of an ancient crypt concealed beneath Temple Mount for centuries.
"What was it that I delivered to Rome for you?"
Farouq contemplated the question. "If I tell you, will you feel at peace with what has happened?"
"Perhaps."
Farouq turned toward the door. "Come with me."
64.
Inside Farouq's office, Razak sat anxiously awaiting the Keeper's explanation for enabling Christians to violate the Temple Mount-- a deed so vile and deceitful that no motive seemed good enough.
The old man held out his hand. "My keys, please."
Razak pulled the key ring from his pocket and dropped it in the old man's palm.
Reaching beneath his desk, Farouq withdrew the small, rectangular casket and cradled it on his lap.
"When we began excavating the Marwani Mosque in 1996," he began, "tons of rubble were transferred to dumps in the Kidron Valley, every piece thoroughly sifted through and examined. The last thing we needed was some relic misconstrued as belonging to the Jewish temple."
"You mean Solomon's Temple?"
He nodded. "Concise archaeological evidence substantiating that claim has yet to surface and, as such, strengthens our position here." Farouq's gruff voice rose slightly. "But as you are aware, the Jews managed to persuade the Israeli government and some Muslim archaeologists to study the whole platform's structural integrity, citing a bulge in the outer wall that appeared during our work-- a sign that the foundations could be shifting." Farouq moved in his seat. "Myself and several other council members tried to stop them. But the Israeli Antiquities Authority convinced many people-- including some of our own-- that this work was essential. Their studies were to have begun just days from now."
It had been hard to avoid the heavily publicized controversy. Razak knew where this was going. "So you knew that the hidden crypt would be discovered?"
Farouq nodded.
"But how did you know it even existed?"
He patted the casket. "This extraordinary find was unearthed a few years ago. And very early on in the excavations."
Razak's eyes combed its stamped bronze exterior. The decor appeared Islamic, but on closer examination the symbols-- mainly ornate cruciforms-- were undoubtedly Christian. A unique image adorned the cover and he knew immediately from its blasphemous depiction of living creatures that it too wasn't Islamic. "What does that seal mean?"
"Two medieval knights in full armor, bearing shields, sharing a single lance and one galloping horse symbolizes those who swore to rid this land of Muslim influence. The Christian knights of Solomon's Temple. The Knights Templar."
Razak looked up sharply. "So Graham Barton was right?"
"Yes. This was the Templar seal when those infidels first occupied Temple Mount in 1099. You can imagine my surprise when I found it. I was even more surprised when I learned its origins."
"Where exactly did you find it?"
"Buried beneath the floor of the Marwani Mosque. An earth-moving machine broke a stone slab. A freak discovery."
"And what was inside?"
Farouq tapped the lid. "Among other things it contained an ancient manuscript called the Ephemeris Conlusio. But you delivered that to Rome three weeks ago."
Razak recalled that the bald priest he'd met at Cafe Greco had with him a leather portfolio that bore the symbol of two crossed keys and a papal mitre-- the royal crest of the Catholic Church. Vatican City. Fanatical Christians.
"We needed the Catholics' help."
Razak folded his arms. "I'm assuming that this book indicated the vault's precise location?"
"Among other things, there was a drawing accompanied by precise measurements."
"And the rest of the manuscript?"
Farouq described Joseph of Arimathea's account. The eyewitness telling of Jesus's capture, crucifixion, and subsequent burial. The revelation of the ossuary and its relics substantiating Jesus's crucifixion and mortal death. Farouq gave Razak time to let it all sink in.
Razak reflected on just how intuitive Barton had been. "If this was true, it would violate the Qur'an's teachings."
"Absolutely. You know our position when it comes to Jesus. Allah raised him up to Heaven before his enemies could do him any harm-- no arrest, no trial, no crucifixion...and certainly no burial. Now do you understand the necessity of eliminating this threat?"
Razak grasped that it wasn't just the Temple Mount that Farouq had been protecting. The implications ran far deeper. "Couldn't you have gone into the crypt to destroy these things without involving the Catholics? Without killing innocent men?"
"The risks would have been much too high," he said dismissively. "We both know the IAA employs many of our own people. People-- I might add-- who regularly attend prayer service in the Marwani Mosque. All devious tactics on their part, I'm sure. We are not allowed to excavate without explicit Israeli authorization. Had we done so, the death toll from protests would have been far higher than what we've already seen."
"So you let the Catholics do your dirty work. And it gave you total deniability." Each new revelation chipped away at Razak's spirit, everything he'd known to be true turned upside down. Once again, religion and politics had become inseparable.
"It was the only way to achieve our objectives," Farouq continued smoothly. "And since the threat was even more damaging to them, I knew the Catholics would act quickly to extract this relic. It enabled them to preserve their institution. In return we'd strengthen our own position here by eliminating a threat that contradicts the Prophet's teachings."
"There must have been a better way..." Razak's voice trailed off.
"You're thinking of that archaeologist, aren't you?" Farouq sounded disappointed. "Razak, we all know that in Israel, regardless of religious affinity, there are only two sides. And Barton is not on ours. Just remember which side you are on," Farouq warned. Brushing his palms together, he continued: "And before you pass judgment, let me show you one more thing." He opened his desk drawer and produced a ream of paper. Peeling off the top page, he laid it out for Razak. "Take a good look at this."
Razak studied the crude sketch of rectangles that was accompanied by some text that appeared to be Greek. He shook his head, failing to grasp what it all meant. "What's this?"
"Joseph's map of Temple Mount-- the same map the thieves had
used to determine the ossuary's exact location. Notice that structure on top?"
Nodding, Razak felt choked.
Farouq's voice was suddenly frail. "That's the Jewish temple Joseph so vividly describes in these pages." He patted the pile of paper.
"Then it did exist after all." Razak felt the breath sucked out of him.
Farouq smiled. "Perhaps. One could even argue, just as the Jews have, that the rubble in Kidron Valley contains its building blocks. Maybe now you'll understand my desire to avoid further digging. Following the theft, all discussions of excavations beneath the Temple Mount have been indefinitely suspended."
"And all archaeological evidence removed."
"Once we've permanently disposed of the remaining nine ossuaries, nothing will remain."
Razak was at a loss. If it was true that the Western Wall had definitely once supported a temple, it legitimized Jewish claims to the platform. The Jews' endless mourning hadn't been in vain. But now they'd never know. And unwittingly, he had helped make it all possible.
Farouq reached down again and produced a thick document. "I had the entire text of the Ephemeris Conlusio secretly translated. Read this in your own time," he set it before Razak, "then let me know what you'd have done. Make absolutely sure that you burn these pages when you've finished."
Razak wasn't sure if he could take any more of this.
"There is something you didn't deliver to Rome. Something you need to know." Farouq unhinged the casket's lid. "I found one other document in this Templar box. Another journal, though not one written by Joseph of Arimathea."
It was beginning to dawn on Razak that the old man's motives were complex, not driven purely by hatred. It only confirmed that circumstances had a cruel way of playing with a man's fate.
"Then whose journal is it?"
From the box, the Keeper pulled out a frail-looking scroll. "The Templar Knight who discovered the ossuaries in the first place."
65.
ROME
The Sacred Bones Page 30