87
******
“Moshe,” Cohen gasped in vindication. “Moses,” he repeated for Charlotte’s benefit.
Could it be? Charlotte wondered.
He began reciting Deuteronomy 34: “ ‘Then Moses went up from the plains of Moab to Mount Nebo and the Lord showed him all the land . . . saying: “This is the land I promised Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob when I said, ‘I will give it to your descendants.’ I have let you see it with your own eyes, but you will not cross into it.” So Moses died there as the Lord had said. God buried him in the valley and no one to this day knows where his grave is. Moses was one hundred and twenty years old when he died; his eyes were not weak, and his vitality had not left him.’ ”
She stared at the bones during his utterance. “So God interred Moses in the Ark?”
“Yes, Charlotte,” he replied, remaining behind her. “But notice in the words I just spoke that the Torah states that Moses did not die from physical ailment. He was a perfectly healthy one-hundred-and-twenty-year-old with the body of a young man.”
“So either he killed himself,” she surmised, “or . . . God killed him?”
“God sacrificed Moses’s body to free his spirit for the next realm,” he said in a soft tone. “The covenant—the Te stim ony —isn’t just the laws written on those tablets. It is an elevation of the human spirit to a boundless existence. These remains left behind—Moses’s bones,” he said, pointing inside the Ark, “are a physical connection to the most sacred legacy. The bones are the vessel through which the Testimony had been passed on to the next Messiah.”
“Jesus?”
He nodded. “And when the Spirit passed into Jesus, he preached the Lord’s word, then sacrificed himself atop Golgotha to seal the covenant God had spoken through Him—the Second Covenant. Or if you prefer, the New Testament.”
“I don’t remember Jesus willingly killing himself,” Charlotte countered. “Judas betrayed Him.” There was that whole story about Gethsemane when soldiers came to arrest him.
Cohen smiled. “Misinterpretation,” he sternly replied. “Judas was an Essene, certainly no traitor. Jesus sent him to the Sanhedrin to facilitate the final sacrifice.”
“That can’t be right,” she insisted.
“Oh?” He tilted his head. “I ask you, then: when Jesus named his betrayer at the final meal, did the other disciples try to stop Judas?”
Good point, she thought. “No.”
“In fact, they all went to the Mount of Olives to await the Temple Authority, just as Jesus had planned. The words are there, yet the truth is missed,” he said. “Another reason why the oral legacy is so vital.” He made a ball of his fist. “If one reads the texts according to their historical context, the Bible tells a most remarkable story of human existence, an evolution of spirituality that shifted from metaphorical rituals of animal sacrifice in the First Covenant to the slaughter of our own egos and pride that God taught through Jesus in His Second Covenant—the metaphors transformed into parables. Now we herald a Third Covenant.” He spread his hands over her head to indicate the glowing orb.
Charlotte watched as one of the priests presented something to Cohen —shiny, long.
“But like each of its predecessors, the New Covenant begins with blood. Sacred blood.”
88
******
Enoch snapped some bullets out of the spare magazine to fill the empty slots in Amit’s Galil and flipped the safeties off. He then insisted on going through the door first. His rationale was sound: “I’m a much smaller target,” he told Amit. “Standard protocol.”
Point taken. “Fine. I’ve got the right,” Amit said.
“Okay.”
“Just don’t shoot the hostage this time,” Amit teased. During one of the
Gaza raids, Enoch had planted three rounds in the buttocks of an Israeli diplomat.
“Funny,” he grunted.
“You scared?”
“Scared shitless,” he responded with a big smile.
“Godspeed, my friend,” Amit said, clasping his friend’s hand.
Since there were no exterior handles or knobs, Amit wedged his fingertips under the left door’s vertical stop and squeezed slightly to lever the door just enough to confirm that the lock was indeed breached.
In a sideways stance, Enoch was a meter from the door, weapon raised to his sodden right shoulder. His left hand stabilized the muzzle along his sight line, and his right index finger was hooked at the ready on the trigger—hunt-and-scope mode. Rolling his neck, he drew breath, held it, and signaled to Amit.
89
******
Before Charlotte could turn to get a better look at what Cohen had in his right hand, the fingers of his left hand had snaked through her hair and cranked her head back. A knee simultaneously jammed into her spine.
“Before the Lord shall we be purified!” he declared, his bestial eyes riveted to the bare flesh of her neck.
Now she had an upside-down view of the meaty gold blade Cohen was bringing down over her throat in preparation for a broad slice.
Just as her fingers clutched the glowing Mercy Seat, there came a loud disturbance from behind, immediately followed by gunfire.
The rabbi’s face showed surprise, but his gaze did not falter. He bared his teeth and prepared to cut her to the bone, to seal the covenant—at any cost.
But Charlotte had a different plan. As he crouched deeper to position the blade for a long, sweeping slash, she swung the Ark’s lid up into his face. It was unavoidable that the blade would cut her. How deep was the only uncertainty.
The sharp-edged wings of the gilded angels caught him below the chin. Crackling tendrils spat across the sphere’s surface and webbed over his face. Instinctively, he dropped the dagger midpull as his hands went for the lid.
Charlotte rolled out from under him, clutching at the blood spewing from the left side of her neck.
Grasping both sides of the lid like a serving tray, Cohen tried to throw the thing away, but the light held him steady between the angels, physically grasping at him, pulling his face forward. Shrieking in pain, he tried shaking his head free, but to no avail. The beard, earlocks, and hair sizzled away almost instantly. Then the light turned on the flesh, unfastening it, stretching it from the bones of his face, tearing it away in wet slabs.
More agonizing screams; tremors shaking the body . . .
Simultaneously, Cohen’s hands succumbed to the fury, the flesh rising up into horrid boils that blackened and split to release the ghastly redbrown ooze beneath. He fell to his knees before the Ark, pitching forward so that the lid fell back into place on the Ark’s base. Beneath the vestments, the entirety of his body was roasted within seconds, his organs bursting.
Then the robes went up in flames.
The light did not relinquish its hold until Cohen’s entire body had burned so fiercely that the gold frontlet and breastplate had melted into his blackened bones. Only then did the blinding glow subside and let the hideous remains slide onto the rock.
The fetid stench of burnt hair and flesh had Charlotte gagging as she scrambled away on hands and knees, blood trailing beneath her in splotches. The room seemed to be spinning as she struggled for air. How deep had Cohen cut her?
When she lifted her eyes and tried to get to her feet, her spotty vision captured one of the blue-suited gunmen in triplicate. He was pinned down behind one of the huge marble columns supporting the cupola. He swung his machine gun at her, his face snarling with hate. In that instant, she knew that her luck had run out.
She hoped that Cohen had been right—that God did have a plan for everything, that her life had meant something or had some divine destiny. Perhaps, as Donovan had suggested, in death there’d be another realm where the spirit would defy the flesh and roam free . . .
Knowing she’d cheated death one too many times, Charlotte Hennesey shut her eyes in peaceful surrender, just before she heard the gun let loose its fury.
90
>
******
After taking down one of the gunmen, Enoch rounded the ambulatory. That’s when seven robed men came charging across the rock, screaming like banshees. As far as he could tell, they weren’t armed. But he needed to get below the shrine immediately, which meant there was no time to negotiate. The best he could do was show some civility by shooting them low.
Enoch made three sweeps with the Galil, strafing the marauders below the knees, dropping six of them onto the rock. The seventh man managed to hobble even closer and gripped the railing to vault himself over it. A nasty shot to the groin put an end to those ambitions, and the man crumpled back onto the rock, screaming in agony.
Enoch went directly for the steps descending beneath an elaborate marble arch ornamented with gold Arabic text—the access way to the cave below the rock called the Well of Souls. He knew it to be a mystical realm where, according to legend, the voices of the dead could be heard. Running purely on adrenaline, he needed to remind himself not to be foolish and turn himself into one of the dead down there.
Ducking low, he peeked at the bottom of the steps. What little of the space below he could make out was brightly lit. There didn’t seem to be any shadows moving across the ornate Persian rugs covering the ground. It was also evident that there was nothing that would provide cover. If another gunman were hunkered down at the bottom of the stairs, he’d be a fish in a bowl. And this time, no Kevlar vest, either. Down there, at close range, head shots would be easy.
But if Cohen had secreted a bomb into the building, the cave would be the most logical place to position it: right where a strong explosion could be amplified enough to take down Islam’s sacred rock, right along with the foundation supporting the shrine’s walls.
And it all came tumbling down.
Taking a deep breath, he pressed forward, weapon at the ready on his shoulder, trying his best to keep his muscles loose and his trigger finger flexible.
The marble treads were like ice against his bare feet. He crouched low and dashed down the steps. Two thirds of the way to the bottom, he jumped and immediately did a tuck and roll when his feet connected with the ground. Heroism aside, he knew he stood a better chance moving abruptly and unevenly. Better than getting his legs shot out from under him.
One controlled tumble and Enoch rolled up into a well-executed crouch. He immediately depressed the Galil’s trigger and emptied a third of the clip in a wide sweep.
The biggest danger was the wild ricochets. One deflected round managed to graze his left shoulder.
The cave was empty. No hidden gunmen.
No bomb either.
Heart pounding, Enoch exhaled and pulled himself together.
That’s when he noticed the stark white angular casing of a newly installed security camera mounted high up the cave wall just beneath the stairs. And if he didn’t know any better, he’d swear that its lens winked in the light to tighten in on him.
“Crap.”
91
******
“Rumor has it you’re the next messiah,” a deep voice said.
Amazed that she was still alive, Charlotte eased her eyes open.
There was a broad-shouldered guy with a goatee standing over her,
smiling.
“Amit Mizrachi,” he said, introducing himself. He slung his machine
gun over his shoulder and maneuvered to help her to her feet. Dazed, Charlotte glanced over at the column, where, just beyond the
railing, Cohen’s last gunman was facedown and spread-eagle, soaked with
blood.
“Your throat all right?” He tried to see where the blood was coming
from but couldn’t make out anything.
Probing it with her fingers, she found that the four-inch gash that had
been there just seconds ago had already smoothed over. “Yeah. It . . . it
is,” she said. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done if . . .” “Looks like you handled yourself just fine without us,” Amit said, giving
the rabbi’s charred corpse a sideways glance.
“Us?” Charlotte could see only dead bodies.
The rumble of rotor blades was shaking the cupola again, much
closer now.
Then the second man materialized through an archway to her left.
When he saw that Amit had secured the area, he slung his Galil over his
shoulder and let out a whistle. “All clear below.”
As Enoch hopped the rail onto the rock and made his way over, a repulsed look twisted his face when he saw what had happened to Cohen.
Despite the grotesqueness of it all, he found himself moving closer to
inspect the body, and more important the magnificent glimmering relic
looming over it. “What in hell—”
“Don’t touch the box!” Amit yelled over to him.
Startled, Enoch immediately fell back a step and held up his hands.
“What the— ?”
“Sorry,” Amit softly replied. “It’s just that . . . well, you can see what
it did to the rabbi.” He’d barely glimpsed the rabbi go up in flames upon
contact with the Ark’s lid.
“Gotcha.” He cringed again. It appeared to Enoch that the rabbi might
have been the victim of intense radiation burn. His eyes suddenly went
wide and he pointed to the Ark. “Is it nuclear?”
“Something like that,” Amit said. “But if you don’t touch it, you’ve got
nothing to worry about.” That piece of Ark legend certainly seemed true.
“Right, Charlotte?”
She pictured the glowing bones inside the Ark. Moses? Her eyes went
back to Cohen’s charred corpse. Shaking her head, she didn’t quite know
how to respond.
“Ah. There’s one up here too,” Enoch blurted, pointing to the cupola’s
base where his gaze happened upon another discreetly mounted security
camera. “Have a look.”
Taking two steps closer, Amit craned his head until he saw the device’s
tiny lens glinting in the light. “Well, that should make things a bit more
interesting.” If the camera wasn’t just for show, the Muslims were sure to
have a field day with the footage.
“A camera downstairs got a great shot of me shooting up the Well of
Souls, too,” Enoch confessed. “That can’t be good.”
Both Amit and Charlotte looked at him and cringed.
“What were you shooting at?” Amit said.
Enoch’s cheeks immediately reddened. He shrugged, saying: “It was a
precaution.”
Amit’s eyebrows tipped up. A stupendous mess. And the Israelis were
going to have one helluva a time spinning it all. Striding to the Rock’s
edge and clambering over the railing, he inspected the walls above the
ambulatory. Immediately he spotted another camera glaring down about
three meters behind the Arab he’d riddled with bullets. He groaned in
frustration.
“Another one?” Enoch yelled over.
“Yep,” he sighed.
“You did what you had to do,” Charlotte said. “If you hadn’t stopped
him . . .” She motioned to the rabbi’s remains and the Israeli’s eyes followed. “Can you imagine what might have happened?”
“I suppose.” Slouching on the railing, Amit momentarily transfixed
on the Ark. Did Cohen really believe that by returning the legendary
relic to the Foundation Stone he’d invoke God’s retribution upon the
Muslims? Did he expect legions of angels to come liberate Zion? Then
again, what if Cohen had actually fulfilled his ambitions? Suddenly sensing the enormous weight of the death spread about him, Amit felt a cold
chill come over him.
He knew the maelst
rom had only just begun.
92
******
Amit and Enoch immediately collected the weapons from the two dead Palestinians and Cohen’s six guards and piled them in a faraway corner. Confirming that the seven robed men were all immobile and posed no threat (thanks to Enoch’s crafty shooting), they tossed their own weapons on the pile too. Then they sat beside Charlotte, in clear view of the shrine’s open doorway.
The Sacred Blood Page 30