Hannah and the Magic Eye

by Tyler Enfield

  Hannah and Clooney took the bus back to the university. They crossed the wide lawn and recognized the same guard, standing like a statue before the building’s glass doors, his hands clasped behind his back. He wore the uniform of a security guard and had short brown hair, thin, pale lips, and the shoulders of a bull. As Hannah approached the doors, she noticed him whispering into his radio, just as he had done last time.

  Clooney noticed too. “I don’t like him, Hannah.”

  “Neither do I. But I must go up.”

  “Then I’ll wait here,” he suggested. “If I notice any trouble, I’ll give you a sign.” He showed her his slingshot. “If you hear a pebble on your window, that means get out. Trouble is on its way.”

  Hannah nodded and started through glass doors. She rode the elevator up to the fifth floor and all the while felt a pit in her belly. Like something bad was about to happen.

  But as she entered the office, Hannah relaxed. Professor Weisman was like a smile factory, bursting with salutations as she poured cups of steaming tea for the two of them.

  Hannah went straight to the window, lifted the blind and saw Clooney on the pavement below. He waved and then saluted her. She waved back and took her seat in the chair opposite Weisman’s desk.

  “Sorry about running off,” Hannah began. “I know you were worried, but I just had to find Henri.”

  “Of course you did, dear. I am just glad you are safe,” said Weisman, patting her hand. “Any news of your grandfather?”

  “No,” said Hannah. “The Cancellarii still have him. But I learned something important. About the journal, and the map. And I need your help.”

  “Oh?” said Weisman, taking a sip of tea. “And what did you learn?”

  “Well,” said Hannah. “Remember how you said the map leads to King Solomon’s treasure? A treasure of silver and gold?”

  Weisman nodded, eagerly following the conversation.

  “It doesn’t lead to gold,” said Hannah. “It leads to a ring. A magic ring. It’s called the Seal of Solomon.”

  Weisman nearly choked on her tea. “The Seal of Solomon! But how do you know this?”

  “It’s a long story. But for now, I need your help getting into the Dome of the Rock.”

  Professor Weisman held up her hands. “Slow down, Hannah! Slow down! The Seal of Solomon? The Dome of the Rock? Do you understand what you are asking? You can’t enter the Dome. Even I have never entered.”

  “Yes, but I thought with the university, and you are an archaeologist, and Henri said you knew practically everyone… Is there nothing you can do to help?”

  “Hannah, this is no small task. The Dome of the Rock is completely off limits. And if the Waqf ever found out I had aided your entry… well the consequences for the university would be enormous.” Professor Weisman eyed Hannah. “Before I even consider this favour, I would need to know why it’s necessary. Why don’t you show me the journal? You do have it with you, don’t you?”

  Weisman took another sip of tea, casually awaiting Hannah’s response, but Hannah ignored the question.

  “Professor Weisman, I need to ask you something.”

  The professor sat back in her seat, motioning for Hannah to continue.

  “I want to know if you think the Seal of Solomon is real. If it really has magical powers. And if you think this map really leads to it.”

  “Let me put it this way. I believe your grandfather believed it. And that, dear girl, is proof enough for me. I have known Henri a long time. He wouldn’t put his nose into something he did not believe genuine. And the Seal of Solomon, should it prove real, would be far more valuable than any amount of gold. It would in fact be priceless. A treasure greater than any the world has known.”

  “Greater than 56 billion dollars?” asked Hannah, recalling the figure Weisman had given her on the previous visit.

  “Hannah, if the legend of the Seal is true, then the ring contains the wisdom of King Solomon, which no amount of gold can purchase. From an archaeological standpoint, it would be the find of the century.”

  In her excitement, Professor Weisman went on to explain that all three of Israel’s religions—Judaism, Islam, and Christianity—told the story of King Solomon’s wisdom and described the ring which the angels had given him. It was said that only Solomon was worthy of bearing the ring because such power would be devastating if it fell into the wrong hands. And so safeties were created to keep the ring safe and to prevent evildoers from ever acquiring it.

  “But that is nonsense, naturally,” said Weisman, waving the notion away. “It is only a fool who fears power. And such fools, of course, should never have power in the first place.”

  “If this ring is as powerful as you say,” said Hannah, “perhaps it is wise to be careful.”

  “Wise!” barked Weisman, surprising Hannah with his abruptness. “Do not confuse wisdom with fear.”

  “I am only saying there might be a reason King Solomon hid the ring and kept it safe from the world. Henri always said, ‘power follows wisdom.’”

  “I disagree,” Weisman said outright. “I would say the opposite. Wisdom follows power. Think of it this way. Power is not only in ancient rings. It exists in many things.” She rummaged through the drawer of her desk and suddenly removed a pistol, which she pointed at Hannah. “A gun, for

  example.”

  Hannah, who generally got along with everyone, was not used to having pistols aimed at her. She gulped.

  “So you see, dear Hannah. I now have the power to take your life. You, in return, will give me the journal, which will lead me to a ring of unfathomable wisdom. Bringing us back to my point. Wisdom follows power…”

  Hannah felt glued to her chair, unable to breathe.

  “You are Cancellarii,” whispered Hannah with the shock of realization. “You are the Grand Chancellor! I saw you at the airport, in the back of the sedan. That was you who set the motorcyclist after me. You who has been following me all along.”

  Weisman cocked the pistol. “The journal, dear girl. Believe me when I say I do not wish to use this. But I will if I must.”

  Slowly, Hannah dug a book from her backpack. She placed it face down upon the desk. She pushed it across. Weisman retrieved the book without taking her eyes from Hannah and placed it into her drawer and shut it.

  “Thank you, Hannah, you have been most helpful,” she said. “And now to finish this business.”

  Weisman pressed a button on her office phone. “Will you please send Mr. Jurowitz up to my office? I need him immediately.”

  Moments later, the professor’s door opened, and Hannah recognized the same security guard from before. “Yes, Professor?” said Jurowitz, eyeing Hannah with disdain.

  “Mr. Jurowitz, I am happy to say we are now in possession of the item we’ve long sought.”

  “We have the old man’s journal?” he said.

  “We do. But unfortunately we now have a second Dubuisson as well,” she said, indicating Hannah. “Tie this girl up and take her to the warehouse. We will keep her hidden along with Henri until this is over. And then we will decide what to do with the two of them.”

  “My pleasure,” said Mr. Jurowitz, stepping toward Hannah.

  In that instant, there was a crashing sound, and a rock burst through the window. Bits of glass shattered across the desk, and Weisman turned in surprise. Hannah yanked the umbrella from her backpack and swung it at Weisman’s hand. The pistol flew from her grip, skittering across the floor. Hannah took a second swing at Mr. Jurowitz and he jumped back from the blow. Instead of swinging again, she reached for the doorknob and charged out the door, sliding to a halt in the hallway beyond.

  She couldn’t believe it. Standing at the end of the hall was Inspector Andrepont, appearing equally surprised to see her. They faced off, each eyeing the other, and then Andrepont drew a gun from his jacket and fi
red…

  … at Mr. Jurowitz, who was sneaking up behind Hannah. The security guard leapt back into the office to avoid further gunfire, and Andrepont met Hannah’s eyes.

  “Run Hannah!” he yelled. “You must run!”

  She spun and dashed down the hall in the opposite direction. The elevator doors were open, and she leapt inside, punching the button for the first floor. And as she waited for the doors to close, she heard more gunfire in the hall, two different guns this time. The doors finally closed, and Hannah threw herself against the back wall, breathing hard as the elevator descended.

  When she reached the bottom floor and the doors opened, Clooney was standing there, eyes wide. “I saw Andrepont heading into the elevator! Did you see him? I tried to warn you with my slingshot!”

  “No time to talk! This way!” The two sprinted out the glass doors, across the lawn and onto the first bus to the Old City of Jerusalem.

  r

  They entered the Old City through the Damascus Gate. The sights and smells of the Muslim Quarter once again blasted Hannah back in time. Clooney led the way down the main alley. On the right was a café with two tables out front, and men smoking shisha and drinking coffee. There were orange crates stacked higher than Hannah on either side of the café’s arched entrance, and Clooney pulled her inside, sitting her down at a table. The proprietor glanced their way, and Clooney raised two fingers, ordering them

  each a tea.

  Clooney glanced at the patrons of nearby tables, making sure no one was listening.

  “We can talk here,” he said. “We should be safe.”

  “I don’t want to be safe here,” she replied. “I want to go to the Dome of the Rock. Right now. There are no other options. I have to reach the next point and photograph the rock.”

  “Hannah, you don’t even have the journal. You said the professor took it, when she pulled the gun on—” Clooney stopped short as Hannah lifted the journal from her backpack and displayed it upon the café table.

  “Wrong,” grinned Hannah. “I gave her my copy of An Illustrated Guidebook To Israel’s Historic Sites. Clooney, we can still do this. You and I can do this, I know we can.”

  Clooney looked at the journal. He looked at Hannah. “Listen, you know I like to joke around, right? I like to have fun. But this time, no joking. This is for real. You cannot enter the Dome of the Rock. It is simply not possible.”

  Hannah stood up, preparing to the leave the café. “Then I will go alone.”

  “Hannah!” he pulled her back to her seat. “Listen to me! The Waqf will catch you, and when they do, it will be trouble. Big trouble.”

  “If you are scared just say so.”

  “Of course I am scared! But that isn’t the problem.”

  “I will wear a disguise.”

  “And if your disguise fails? I don’t think you understand the risks, Hannah. If I thought there was a way, believe me, I would help you with this. Why must you always be so stubborn?”

  “Stubborn? My grandfather has been kidnapped! The Cancellarii will not stop chasing me, or you for that matter, until they have Solomon’s ring. I see no other choice.

  “There is one other choice,” said Clooney.

  Hannah waited for him to speak.

  “Let me enter the Dome,” he said. “I can take the picture.”

  “I already told you. You don’t know how to use my camera.”

  “Then teach me,” he said. “Teach me, Hannah.”

  r

  Hannah opened the journal and searched for the exposure settings Clooney would need to photograph inside the Dome. Henri had listed the following three numbers beneath the illustration:

  f.8 80 600

  Hannah set the exposure and handed the camera to Clooney.

  “This is how you turn the camera on,” she explained. “I’ve set the exposure so all you need to do is press this button here. That’s what takes the picture.”

  “Nothing more? This is easy.”

  “And of course,” she added, “you’ll need to match the illustration in the journal to your view through the camera. Just don’t change any of the settings and it should work. I hope.”

  She handed him the journal. “Do not lose this.”

  He smiled. “It will never leave my sight. I promise.”

  It was not that Hannah didn’t trust Clooney. But the idea of giving her camera and the journal over to anyone made her very nervous.

  “All the same,” she said. “I want to come with you. As far as I can.”

  “That would be to the Temple Mount. The plaza surrounding the Dome,” explained Clooney. “From the plaza you can see everything. You can watch me enter the Dome, and you can watch me exit. Will that make you feel better?”

  She nodded.

  “Still, your idea of a disguise is not a bad idea,” said Clooney. “Even in the plaza, the less attention you draw to yourself, the better.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “At the very least, a veil. Something to cover your head. If they see your blonde hair and green eyes, the Waqf may pull you aside for questioning. But whatever you do, just make sure you go nowhere near the Dome of the Rock. Don’t even hint at it. Do you agree?”

  She agreed.

  In a nearby marketplace, Clooney directed Hannah through the vendors’ stalls. He took her to the place his aunties shopped, and he haggled loudly with a shopkeeper, and once a price was agreed upon, he rifled through the stacks of clothing.

  “What about this?” asked Hannah, holding up a blue dress and veil.

  “No, try this one,” insisted Clooney. “You look better in green. Green is definitely your colour.”

  Hannah tried the clothes on before a mirror in the back of the stall. In the end, they left with the dress, veil, and a pair of matching sandals as her disguise.

  “How do I look?” she said, pulling the veil close about

  her cheek.

  “Like a sad, pretty French girl, trying to dress like an Arab.”

  “How many times must I tell you. I am not French, I am from—”

  “No, don’t say it,” he said, placing a finger to his lips. “You are from Jerusalem.”

  Hannah smiled, nodding. “Right, I am from Jerusalem…”

  They wound their way through the Muslim Quarter, heading for the hill that led to the Temple Mount. In the distance, Hannah could already see the gold dome they were headed for.

  “So you are saying,” said Clooney, “you think Professor Weisman is the Grand Chancellor of the Cancellarii? And she is behind your grandfather’s kidnapping?”

  “She did pull a gun on me. And she admitted she

  has Henri.”

  “Then what about Andrepont? Where does he fit in?”

  “That part is more confusing,” she confessed. “Maybe there was a feud between them. Andrepont versus Professor Weisman. A fight for power within the Cancellarii. I do not know, and I do not care. I plan to keep my distance from them both.”

  Their path to the Temple Mount was through a narrow lane that doubled as a market. Along the way they passed several incense shops, bread shops, shops selling exquisitely fashioned lamps and antique frames. Clooney directed her left, into a long, dark alley, completely roofed over. It was almost like a tunnel, with more vendors and cafés lining the walls on either side. At the end of the long tunnel was a sunburst of light. It was so bright, Hannah could not see what lay beyond.

  As they approached the tunnel’s end and her eyes adjusted to the daylight, they climbed a set of broad stone steps. They halted atop the first landing, and she turned a circle in wonder.

  “So this is the Temple Mount,” she said. “I have always wondered what it looked like.”

  “This is just the beginning. There is another set of steps,” said Clooney.

  They cli
mbed the second flight of stairs, and Hannah stopped in her tracks. There it was. The Dome of the Rock. She had no idea it would be so beautiful. The gigantic shrine rose from the centre of the plaza. It was octagon-shaped, with dazzling blue tiles and a huge golden dome above. Somewhere within the shrine lay a rock that was so sacred to the Muslims, they allowed no non-Muslims to enter.

  Hannah glanced around. There were lots of people in the plaza. Most everyone was Muslim—the men wore beards, and some even wore turbans, while the women were covered in hijabs or burkas. Hopefully no one would pay her any mind. She sat down on a bench at the edge of the plaza and within view of the Dome of the Rock.

  She took Clooney’s hand. “You can do this.”

  He hung the camera about his neck and lifted the journal in assurance. “What could go wrong?”

  r

  Clooney waved goodbye to Hannah and started across the plaza. He wove his way through the crowds. Ahead, he saw the entry arch to the Dome of the Rock, and the two giant wooden doors stood open with guards posted on either side.

  At the entrance, Clooney removed his shoes. The guards barely glanced at him as he passed through the doors and into the ancient shrine, and then he stopped.

  Because it was amazing. It did not matter how many times he had visited, the inside of the Dome of the Rock was as breathtaking as ever. Sunlight entered through stained-glass windows. The floor was plush carpet, and the dome soared high above. Pillars formed a ring around the outer edge of the chamber. And in the very centre was the rock. It was huge. Like a giant, rough-hewn platform. As a Muslim, Clooney was taught to believe this was the exact spot their prophet Muhammad left earth for the heavenly realms. According to Hannah, it was also the place Jews believed Abraham prepared to offer his son to God. And Christians believed this was the very place Jesus was first presented to the temple. All three religions revered this location.

  Glancing about, Clooney saw people kneeling in prayer. Careful not to disturb them, he quietly opened the journal. He found the illustration that included the rock before him. After a little repositioning, moving a little to the right and then back a full step, he found his view matched that of the journal’s illustration.