The Temple Mount Code

by Charles Brokaw

  ‘How?’

  Lourds opened the book and laid the statue on one of the pages. He squared the horse up so it was facing toward the center of the book and the foundation matched the line drawn across the bottom of the page. ‘I used a light dusting of charcoal to mark the contact points and pick out the symbols.’

  When he removed the horse, six of the Farsi words on the page were marked.

  Stunned, Miriam gazed at the words. ‘These words are part of a hidden message?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s the message?’

  ‘It’s dire, I’m afraid.’ Lourds cleared his throat. ‘“I have held the Holy Koran of the great Mohammad in my hands. I have held the scroll that is our future. A worker found them both in a secret chamber dug under the holy rock from which Mohammad ascended to the heavens. I ordered the worker killed so no word of the Great One’s texts would ever be known. No man’s eyes should rest upon the sacred scroll because the Great One foresees the coming of the last religious campaign to turn the world into believers. The sky will burn with great fire and explosions that will destroy cities and states. The fire will rise high into the sky and reach the heavens. The explosions will shake the earth and be heard around the world. Islam will lay waste to the armies of the nonbelievers across the world. The Scroll orders in the future a great jihad against all infidels using this great fire and explosion which Islam has acquired until all finally yield to the power of Islam and convert. The Christian Kingdoms shall fall first before the devastation.” The author adds, “Look for the Winged Beast, and the texts of the Great One will be found.”’

  Miriam was surprised at how afraid the passage made her feel. ‘That sounds suspiciously like nuclear weapons.’

  ‘I know. There’s another message that’s repeated over and over, but I can’t make sense of it. It says that the key lies in the four corners of the world.’

  ‘Maybe it’s referencing a map in the text. Isn’t there a map in the book?’

  ‘Several in fact.’ Lourds flipped through the book and showed her the beautifully hand-drawn maps of Jerusalem, Mecca, Abyssinia, Yathrib – Medina, and other countries of the Arabian Peninsula. ‘There’s even blueprints of the Dome of the Rock.’ He turned to that page, located in the center of the book, and the pages fell open evenly.

  Miriam stared at the diagram of the Dome and was again taken by its beauty. The blueprint was done with a sure and steady hand, and there were even engineers drawn into it as they worked on various facets of the Dome.

  ‘Maybe … maybe I translated it wrong.’ Lourds’s voice was hushed as he studied the drawing. ‘Maybe it wasn’t the four corners of the world. I was thinking world, but maybe al-Maliki was referring to the book.’ He reached for one of the hinged brass corner pieces of the book.

  Excitement thrilled through Miriam as she watched him work. He took out the small knife he carried and opened one of the specialty blades. Working the tip between the leather and metal, the corner piece popped off into his palm. When he opened it, forming an hourglass shape, scratches marred the smooth finish inside.

  Symbols marked three of one of the piece’s sides and two sides on the other. The two pieces both shared one of the symbols, and Lourds unhinged both pieces and refitted them together, matching the symbol on the first piece to its mate on the second. Delicate burrs on the sides of the pieces allowed them to fit together exactly. Engraved lines met perfectly.

  ‘This is it.’ Lourds’s voice was a hoarse whisper. With meticulous care, he took apart the other three corners and opened them.

  Together, they matched the symbols and fit the pieces together till they had a brass map assembled of the eight pieces. It wasn’t square as Miriam had at first thought it would be, but a stair-stepped construction instead.

  ‘Is that a cavern system?’ Miriam traced the markings.

  ‘That’s what it looks like.’ Lourds peered more closely at it. ‘There’s writing here.’ He went to his backpack and drew out a magnifying glass. He turned the map to better catch the light. Then he gave the map to Miriam. ‘See if you can read that.’

  Miriam took the map and the magnifying glass. She struggled with the symbols, and Lourds helped her in several places. ‘“Where do the Souls gather in the Well and where does Mohammad see heaven?”’ She looked up at Lourds in disbelief. ‘You think this refers to the Well of Souls in the Dome of the Rock?’

  He stared back at her. ‘Don’t you?’

  Miriam couldn’t answer. It was too fantastic. And yet, just like the corner pieces of the book, it all fit. ‘There’s a cavern under the Dome of the Rock?’

  ‘According to that map, there’s more than one. Mohammad’s Koran and the Scroll are hidden somewhere in that cave system. If we can find the right starting point, if we can find these caves – ’

  ‘If you can get into that place without being killed.’

  ‘If we can. Then we can find out if this legend is true.’ Lourds looked at her. ‘There may not be anything there. This might all still be just a story, you know.’

  ‘But you don’t think it is.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Neither do I. Keep that thought. I’ve got to go. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’ She reached under the pillow for her pistols, tucked them into her waistband, pulled on the hated burqa that now served to disguise her armament, and left him standing there looking like he’d been hit with a baseball bat.

  49

  Covert Operations

  Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations (Mossad)

  Tel Aviv, Republic of Israel

  August 15, 2011

  The phone rang, and Sarah Shavit picked up the handset. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Ketsas Shavit, I have a phone call from Orchid.’

  Sarah let out a sigh of relief. She had worried for the past two days, ever since Miriam Abata had abruptly gone missing. Despite years of experience as a ketsas, the job still took its toll because there was no way to completely divorce herself from the fears that arose on a daily basis.

  ‘Put her through.’

  Connections clicked, then Miriam was there.

  ‘Hello, Auntie.’ Miriam sounded worn, but she also sounded like she was handling herself.

  ‘Hello. I haven’t heard from you lately.’

  ‘It’s been busy here. I think you saw the troubles in the news.’

  Meaning the prison attack? ‘There has been some mention of local discontent.’

  ‘I was in the middle of it.’

  Sarah’s stomach filled with cold lead. She’d heard the stories that came out of Evin Prison. The place was a pit of blackest evil. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘My professor saw me through.’

  ‘Really?’ Sarah couldn’t believe Lourds would have had the wherewithal to manage something like the assault on the prison.

  ‘He’s met some really good friends here. They’re going to take us to our next destination.’

  ‘The northwest section?’ Meaning the Kurds.

  ‘Yes. We thought we’d visit Turkey before we returned home.’

  ‘I will let your uncle know to expect you.’

  ‘Good. The professor’s friends will be helpful, but I’d like to know that family is looking out for us as well.’

  ‘They will be there.’ Sarah made a quick notation of the Mossad teams she would put into the area. ‘I want to send you a care package.’

  ‘I would love something from home.’

  Sarah wrote a quick e-mail to get one of the local Mossad spies to deliver an encrypted phone to Miriam. ‘It will be there soon. The same place?’

  ‘That would be fantastic.’

  ‘What about your professor? Did he get the chance to finish his work?’

  ‘He did, although he still needs to explore the matter further.’

  ‘He’s returning as well?’

  ‘Yes. We hope to see you soon.’

  Young Revolutionaries’ Safe House

  Tehran, t
he Islamic Republic of Iran

  August 15, 2011

  Despite the relative safety of his hiding place, Lourds’s stomach still tightened when the trapdoor opened. He was relieved and confused when he saw Miriam descending the ladder with a bag in one hand. She’d been gone almost two hours, and he’d begun worrying about her.

  ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Shopping.’ Miriam dropped the burqa to the floor and stood there in a new blouse and business slacks. The shoes were new, too. ‘I seem to lose more clothes in this country.’ Without another word, she divested herself of the blouse and slacks as well, hanging those carefully over the back of a nearby chair.

  She stood there in lime green bra and panties.

  ‘I can see how you’d have a problem losing clothes.’

  ‘Get over here, and you can help me lose these.’

  Lourds got up and went to her. He kissed her deeply as he slid his arms around her. Her small, hard body pressed into his, and he felt her hunger. They kissed passionately for a time, then she started stripping him as he stood there. As she unbuttoned and unzipped his clothing, he stroked her breasts and hips, making her breath quicken in anticipation.

  Then, when he was nude, she pulled him toward the bed.

  ‘I do hope you locked the trapdoor.’

  She grinned at him as she backed onto the bed. ‘I told them to leave us alone unless the Revolutionary Guard comes calling.’

  ‘I certainly hope they don’t.’ Lourds kissed her deeply again. ‘For several reasons.’ He removed her bra with a deft twist of his fingers that made her giggle in delight. Then he slid her panties off.

  When he went to her, she was warm, wet, and ready. He sheathed himself and rode her tenderly, bringing her to a surprisingly quick climax that ended in tears.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Lourds tried to back away.

  She caught him and held him, smiling. ‘Don’t you go anywhere. I’m not done with you.’ She looked up at him. ‘Three days ago, I thought I was going to die. Now I want to celebrate the fact that I didn’t. This … this is a big part of the celebration.’ She grinned at him impishly. ‘Bigger than I’d anticipated, actually.’

  Lourds leaned down and started kissing her again, then started moving, finding her more and more accepting, till the mutual rush of pleasure swept them away.

  Kurd Village

  Three Miles East of Turkish Border

  Oshnaviyeh (Shino), West Azarbaijan Province

  The Islamic Republic of Iran

  August 16, 2011

  Davari stood on a craggy rock shelf and looked down at the treacherous mountain terrain. Even though the trail was used often enough to be clear, it would be hard to follow at night. But the people he sought were desperate. The American professor and the woman had been largely undetectable until a few hours ago, when one of his Kurd spies had called the Revolutionary Guards from a short-wave radio.

  There had been a chance that Lourds and the traitors that helped him would get through, but Davari had spread the word – and the Ayatollah’s wealth – to arrange a spotting network. The Kurds were their own people, as hard and as unforgiving as the mountains they lived in. They knew no masters and very few friends, but they appreciated the weapons Davari had offered in exchange for information.

  The expedition had set out on horseback nearly eight hours ago and obviously intended to keep riding till they crossed over into Turkey a few kilometers farther north.

  ‘Is that them?’

  Davari looked back over his shoulder.

  Klaus Von Volker stood in the cold, looking decidedly unhappy. He’d been a reluctant guest in the Ayatollah’s palace since he still hadn’t dealt with the investigation awaiting him in Austria for the attempted murder of Thomas Lourds.

  ‘Yes.’ Davari identified Lourds’s hat. The American’s conceit was going to be the death of him one day. The colonel waved to his men, and they took up their positions along the mountain ridge. He lifted the assault rifle and peered down at the line of horses, curling his finger around the trigger and waiting for the right moment to spring his ambush.

  Hunkered down in the mountains only a few hundred meters away, Mufarrij removed the blanket he’d had covering the Dragunov SVDK sniper rifle. The weapon was a favorite of his, an upgrade from the SVD. The SVDK chambered a 9.63x64mm round capable of punching through vehicles and heavy body armor up to ten millimeters thick.

  It had taken his men and him an hour to creep this close to Davari, then Mufarrij had waited till the Revolutionary Guardsmen had deployed from their vehicles and taken up positions. Mufarrij didn’t want to leave any of them alive behind him to organize any kind of pursuit.

  He knew he wasn’t at his best. The day after the attack on Evin Prison, he didn’t think he was going to survive. During the last three days, he’d been living on pain pills and antibiotics to combat the fever from his wounds. The injuries on his skull and the side of his face still looked horrible and would leave him disfigured. If it weren’t for his keffiyeh, which he used to cover his face, he couldn’t have walked around without drawing intense scrutiny.

  The riders kept coming closer, unaware of the death waiting above them.

  Mufarrij was frustrated that he couldn’t get a clear shot at Davari. The Revolutionary Guards colonel was concealed in the rocks too well to make a good target. Mufarrij faulted himself for not taking the shot sooner, but he also wanted the chance to intercept Lourds. If he fired too soon, there’d be no chance of capturing the American at all.

  But the time to act was now, before Davari and his dogs could attack.

  Mufarrij put the sniper reticule over one of the Revolutionary Guardsmen and squeezed the trigger. The massive rifle recoiled against his shoulder, and the thunder of the shot echoed off the nearby mountains.

  Three hundred and sixty-seven meters away, the Revolutionary Guardsman’s head exploded like a smashed pumpkin. The shot initiated a barrage of fire that chopped into the riders below. A few dropped, but Lourds and the woman remained alive. Davari had surely ordered that they be left unharmed.

  The riders bolted to the right, heading for shelter behind a ridgeline. A horse went down before it reached safety, but the rider ran into the rocks.

  The second wave of Mufarrij’s offensive lit up the night as his team fired flares into the midst of Davari’s people. The Revolutionary Guards drastically outnumbered the Saudis. The flares robbed the Ayatollah’s butchers of their night vision, preventing them from locating their enemies. It also kept the Guardsmen from firing on the American and the people with him.

  Mufarrij searched among the bright landscape and shadows for his next target, found it, and fired again.

  Lourds squatted behind a tall stand of rocks, holding the bridles of Miriam’s and his mount. Both the horses were mountain-bred Kurd stock, used to warriors and weapons. They shivered in the cold night air, but didn’t bolt when the gunfire began. For that, Lourds was thankful. If he didn’t end up shot dead in the next few minutes, he didn’t look forward to being dragged to death over the rocky terrain.

  Adan dragged Foad to safety. Blood streamed from Foad’s leg, and he couldn’t put any weight on it.

  Farther up the mountain, Miriam stood with both pistols in her fists, totally unlike any graduate assistant Lourds had ever seen. She also seemed to be talking to herself. Or maybe she was praying. That would have been the more understandable alternative.

  Lourds didn’t know who had shot at them from the top of the mountain, but it now seemed that the two groups were battling it out. One group was limned by flares that burned their shadows out of harsh yellow-white light.

  Suddenly, the sound of far-away bumblebees filled the air. Curious, Lourds glanced up and saw aerodynamic shapes zoom across the skies. For a moment he thought he was looking at something out of science-fiction movies because what was coming at them were scaled-down, futuristic flying machines.

  In the next second, however, the machines did a lot more than
just fly overhead. Flashes from machine guns and rockets lit up the sky. Bullets sprayed into the rocks along the ridgeline, smashing everything they touched, flesh and blood as well as stone. Missiles dug craters in the ground and blew bodies into the air.

  Drones. Lourds recognized their handiwork now. Though he’d never seen them close-up before, he’d seen documentaries and read magazine articles on the next generation of aerial weaponry.

  The advantage in the battle along the ridgeline shifted dramatically. The unmanned weapons slew mercilessly, like vicious monsters out of legend whose thirst for blood would not be slaked.

  Davari ran for his life. He knew the drones were from the United States or the Israelis. No one else had that kind of technology. Instead of laying a trap, he’d been lying in one. In two, actually, because he suspected the people who’d fired on his men had been the Saudis. He didn’t think Mufarrij still lived – didn’t know how the man could have survived being shot in the head – but someone must have taken over his unit and come after Lourds.

  Scrambling along the ridge, Davari headed for one of the armored vehicles, hoping he could get away. He reached the passenger door of one as it started rolling forward, and tugged on the handle, but it was locked.

  Looking inside, Davari saw Von Volker at the wheel. The Austrian glanced over at him and laughed. Davari raised his pistol, wiping the smile from Von Volker’s face. The colonel fired, but the bullet only fractured the bullet-resistant glass and ricocheted away.

  Laughing harder, Von Volker accelerated and drove away. Unable to keep up, Davari tripped and fell face forward just as he saw a drone fire a missile at the car. In an eye-searing instant, Von Volker died in the fiery hell unleashed by the remote-controlled weapon.