“It was forty years ago. No, more than that.” Kristall’s voice had hardened. “We caught them in the act. They all went to prison. All but one…the one who escaped.
“And that’s why we have paid to put up the best 24-hour security system on the planet around that Muslim shrine. ‘Flaming Sword.’ No one, nothing gets through it undetected. Weapons, explosives easily spotted. But a missile—that’s something else. In August, we came awfully close to disaster. If the Synagogue hadn’t burned…”
She trailed off again.
“If you think my idea is so laughable, why are you going on like this?” he asked her.
“No one’s laughing, Davan. I brought you out here to talk it through with you because no one else wants to talk about it. Not the Prime Minister, not anyone. They all think we’re invincible. I told him, there are two billion Muslims in the world, and the number is rising fast. There are five million Jews in this country, and the number is going down.”
Ari interrupted her. “What’s the new weapon?”
She was quiet for a moment, but took a rattling breath and went on as if she hadn’t heard him. He knew then he would get no answer.
“To make things worse, there are all these fringe groups who are tired of waiting for the Messiah to come. They all believe the Temple has to be built first, so they want to speed things up a bit. To give God a nudge and force the Almighty’s hand by blowing up the Dome.”
“I’ve heard about all that. Do you think this Mishmar of Emanuel Shor’s is involved in that sort of thing?”
“I’m not concerned about them. We’ve been watching them for years. As for Dr. Shor…well, never mind. They’re not on my mind right now. It’s this Palestinian, this Ayoub.”
Ari frowned. “Why would a Muslim want to destroy the Dome?”
“Doesn’t it occur to you that the best way to push Israel into the sea would be to get the Muslim world angry enough to attack us in force? What would motivate the combined armies and air forces of twenty Islamic countries to come at us all at once? What kind of an event might prompt ten million Muslim boys to wade through oceans of their own blood to get at us? The destruction of this Dome would do that.
“Davan, unlike you, I’m not a sabra. I wasn’t born in this country. I didn’t grow up with Hebrew on TV in a nice West Jerusalem neighborhood. I grew up in Ukraine, where we were zhids—the cause of everybody’s problems. Everything bad in life was because of the zhids. You don’t get paid enough? It’s the zhids’ fault. You lost your job? The zhids took it. Our neighbors hated us.”
Ari had never heard Kristall talk like this.
“At school, in the marketplace…it didn’t matter. It wasn’t what they said or even did. It was how they looked at me. Sometimes I wished they would say something to me. I dreamed they would, so I could smash their faces.
“When my family wanted to leave, the government laid an ‘emigration tax’ on us, supposedly to get back the money they had spent ‘educating’ us. It took everything we had, but we left for eretz Israel, and for a while it did feel like a new world.
“It didn’t take me long to find out that nothing had changed. We were still surrounded.”
The air was pale with heat and the exhaust of the streets, the reflection of the dimming sun spreading like a reddish stain over the Dome. Below the Wall, the evening auto traffic was pressed into a noisy, slow-moving wedge. Ari and Kristall looked out over the Old City, its trees and dusty roofs quiet in contrast with the world outside the Wall. Kristall absently pulled out a cigarette, looked at it, and threw it back in her bag.
“I want you to take responsibility for this Ayoub,” she said. “The Eagle is yours.”
At that moment, her GeM sounded from the bag. “What is it?” she snapped a tiny receiver into her ear and then was listening intently. Somewhere, over the noise of the traffic, a peacock gave a faint call. At last she rang off and looked up at Ari.
“You were saying something earlier about ‘ritual murder?’ ”
“If I remember right, you used that expression, not I.”
“How did the Pope die?” she asked. “And Shor?”
“Commando-style—one shot to the head, three to the chest on a horizontal axis.”
“The ceremony continues. You have two more. Died the same way, this afternoon. In an office tower in Tel Aviv.
“Who?”
“Shimon Tempelman and Catriel Levine.”
French Room of the Adolphus Hotel, Dallas, Texas, 1200h
Four playful cherubs danced down from a blue heaven trailing a tinselwork of flowers. The ceilings and walls, bright and mellow at once, flowed with ribbons of colored light. Through an arch of gilded plaster, a window revealed a row of bank buildings across the street, but softened the traffic sounds from the abyss below.
“Roast venison with rosemary potatoes.” Pastor Bob Jonas grinned decisively at the waiter, and then looked triumphantly around the table. “Six-shooter coffee with that,” he added in a loud whisper.
“I’ll have whatever Chef says,” Lambert Sable dismissed the waiter.
“Yes, Mr. Sable,” the waiter bobbed. “I’m sure he’ll want to greet you himself.”
“Tell him not to bother.”
There was a tricky silence. Then Pastor Bob laughed. “Not very often a servant of the Lord gets to eat in a place like this. Might as well leverage the opportunity.”
“You mean, to share a table with sinners?” the reporter asked.
“I don’t see anything wrong with eating lunch with the Dallas Morning News. Jesus ate with the publicans and the sinners.”
“Mr. Sable,” the reporter asked, “we’ve been trying to get an interview with you for a long time about your support for Pastor Bob here. What made you agree to it now?”
In his inelegant suit, Sable looked utterly out of place in the restaurant. Nothing fit him quite right. His clothes were expensive, but the shapeless body couldn’t fill them. He had never finished high school, a Marine at eighteen, a software billionaire at forty, never quite sure what other people were about. Two wives were unaccountably gone; his children errant and immersed somewhere in Las Vegas, addicted to this and that. But his mother had raised him on the Bible; it was the one thing he counted on. And now, he was hopeful, the long confusion of his life was over.
“Because people need to be warned. My board wanted me to stay away from you—you’ll understand why—but there’re only a few days left, and I’ve got a burden for all these people.” He gestured around the room.
The reporter took stock of the other guests, mostly women branded with the Neiman-Marcus logo and murmuring over champagne and salads of tiny, expensive greens. She turned back to Sable.
“You’re quite convinced, then.”
“Oh, yes, the winding-up scene is only hours away now.” The reporter was an attractive woman. Sable cursed his sweating habit; he felt his scalp dripping and dabbed it with his napkin. “So I said, to heck with the board, you media folks can help us get the word out before it’s too damn late.”
“Maybe you can help me understand why you feel this way.”
“That’s why I asked Pastor Bob to join us,” Sable said anxiously. “He’s got it all figured out. He can explain it a lot better than I can.”
The pastor crossed her hand with his. “First of all, Olive, are you saved? Are you a Christian?”
“I’m Jewish.”
Pastor Bob grinned at Sable. “We got work to do with this young lady, Lam.”
The reporter explained. “The News sent me because they think I can take a more objective approach to this story. Maybe you could start from the beginning, just for me.”
“From the beginning?” Pastor Bob glanced up at the pink cherubs overhead and appeared to say a little prayer. “Okay. Here goes. The Bible says that before the end of time, ‘the Lord himself s
hall descend from Heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first: Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air.’ We call this the Rapture of the Church.”
“So all the Christians will, what, fly away? Rise up into the sky?”
“Something like that. All we know is that one moment you’ll see us, and the next we’ll be gone.”
“Leaving people like me—Jews, non-Christians, nonbelievers—behind?”
“That’s right. What follows will be seven years of tribulation. The devil will rule the earth, and God will pour out his wrath until he makes an end of all wickedness. At that point he’ll establish his kingdom finally and forever.”
“But how do you know this Rapture will take place on Monday?”
Pastor Bob put his palms together as if in prayer. “Simple mathematics. The Jews measured time in jubilees—periods of fifty years. The earth will only last six thousand years, or 120 jubilees. According to the ancient rabbis, the 120th jubilee will mark the final deliverance from all sin; now, Monday is the Jewish day of atonement and also the end of the 120th jubilee.”
“But the earth is billions of years old. Where do you get this notion of six thousand years?”
“My dear, the Bible says the earth is only six thousand years old, and that’s good enough for me. Just add up the genealogies in the Bible—it’s as simple as that. Now the Lord doesn’t want his saints to suffer through the seven years of tribulation, so up we go. Mr. Lambert Sable here and I are flying all the folks who want to go to Jerusalem to meet the Lord personally on Monday.”
“So, what becomes of the people who are left behind?”
Pastor Bob stopped smiling and put both hands flat on the table as if he were going to push himself up. “Bible prophecies couldn’t be clearer about that, ma’am—Daniel, Joel, Zechariah, Malachi, John the Revelator. And you need to hear it because it involves you and your people. After the Christians are gone, the Jews will come together at last and build the Third Temple right where the Dome of the Rock is in Jerusalem.
“This will infuriate the Muslims, who surround Israel on all four sides. The demolition of that Dome and the rebuilding of the Temple will ignite the greatest war the world has ever seen. Millions of Muslims will converge on Jerusalem, slaughtering every Jew they can find until the city is nothing but a cup of Jewish blood. It’ll make the Holocaust pale by comparison.
“Only then, when his own crucifixion at the hands of the Jews is avenged, will Jesus Christ make his final appearance in glory.”
After a difficult silence, the reporter turned to Sable. “So…you’re buying this? And you’ve actually willed all of your property to…um…”
“I call it the Left-Behind Foundation,” Sable answered. “It’s to fund the evangelizing of all the people left in the world after the Rapture.”
“So there is some hope for us?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. Many people will be saved during the Tribulation; I want my assets to go into helping them.” Sable was eager.
“But it’d be oh, so much better for you not to have to face the Tribulation, dear lady. You need to come with us, Olive. You really do,” Pastor Bob said, reaching across the table for her hands. She drew back.
The Pastor beamed at her and looked at his watch. “You’ve got about eighty hours to change your mind.” Then he saw the waiter approaching and dropped his napkin in his lap. “And here comes my venison with rosemary potatoes.”
Near the White Tower, Ramla, Israel, 2330h
“And certainly We created man of the essence of clay… Then We made the seed a clot… Then We made the clot a lump of flesh.”
The green robes of the circle of brothers had long since dimmed into undifferentiated black. The only light came from a pale lamp the white-robed Sheikh used to read by, and the other three witnesses sat, all in white, at the remaining compass points. The sword lay on its tapestry on the ground before the Sheikh, who chanted from the book propped on his lap, stopping after every phrase, aching for breath.
“As for those who led the way, the first muhajirun… God is pleased with them… He has planted for them gardens streaming with running waters, where they shall have eternal life… This is the height of exaltation.”
A barefoot young initiate, all in black, stood in the center of the circle. The Sheikh paused while the initiate cupped his hands in a fountain. He washed his hands, face, and feet, breathed in the water and washed his mouth. Then the circle of men arose to begin the night prayer.
As the prayers closed, the initiate remained on his knees, hands spread before him as if holding an offering of incense or cupping the light from the Tower. The Sheikh continued:
“We caused to grow gardens of palms and vines for you… And a tree that grows out of Mount Sinai that sheds oil.”
One of the witnesses stood and opened a vial of olive oil, then slowly poured the oil over the head of the young man, who looked up at the sky, at the faint golden light reflected on the remains of the Tower, and shook his rich, wet, black hair. “You are anointed as the Black Stone is anointed, the cornerstone which fell from the garden of Heaven.”
“We made a covenant with Adam, but he forgot it, and We found him lacking in faith. And when We said to the angels: ‘Bow down before Adam,’ they all bowed themselves down except the Shaitan, who refused.
“ ‘Adam,’ We said, ‘The Shaitan is an enemy to you…Let him not turn you out of Paradise and plunge you into affliction…
“But the Shaitan whispered to him, saying: ‘Shall I show you the Tree of Immortal Life and an everlasting kingdom?’ …
“The man and his wife ate of its fruit, so that they saw their nakedness and covered themselves with leaves of the Garden. Thus did Adam disobey his Lord and go astray…
“Whoever you are, death will overtake you, though you are in lofty towers…”
The Sheikh stopped for breath. He leaned back and closed his eyes, his head surrounded with the stalks of white star flowers. It was not a large garden, but a very old one, set with low walls and flagstones, watched over by the medieval ruin of the White Tower and hemmed in by an olive grove. A single lemon tree near the fountain was about to bloom; the hot night had allowed a limp breeze with a trace of lemon flower.
The Sheikh sat up, rubbed his eyes, and continued: “Then his Lord had mercy on him; He forgave him and rightly guided him…
“Go hence,” he said, “and may your offspring be enemies to each other.”
Panting, the old man leaned forward and picked up the scimitar. The fiery lightning ran the length of the blade. He elevated the sword in both hands and went on reading:
“This is the Verse of the Sword—When the sacred months are over, slay the idolaters wherever you find them. Hold them, besiege them, lie in ambush everywhere for them. If they repent and take to prayer and alms, let them go. God is forgiving and merciful…
“How can there be a covenant between idolaters and God and His Apostle, except those with whom you made an agreement at the sacred mosque? So as long as they are true to you, be true to them; surely God loves those who carefully do their duty… God will not call you to account for what is futile in your oaths, but He will call you to account for your deliberate oaths.”
The initiate bowed to the Sheikh, took up the sword in its tapestry, and then returned it to the Sheikh’s outstretched hands.
“The sword is the symbol of the covenant you make on this gathering day to do your duty. Do you accept?”
The young man nodded, and the three witnesses stood and approached him. They unfolded a long white robe and dressed him in it and put a white turban on his head. The old man then laid over the robe an ancient green stole and said in a stern voice, “We invest you with the khirqa, the robe God gave Adam in the Garden of
Eden. Wear it so you may find the sweetness of faith. We bind your head with the royal turban. Wear it as a crown in token of your throne and kingdom. Its virtue will accompany you to your grave.”
Then the Sheikh set down the sword and toiled to his feet with the help of two brothers at his side. He took the initiate by his right hand. “This is the bayat, the taking of hands—whosoever gives his allegiance to this band of brothers gives it to God Himself. The Prophet established this order when he allowed his most trusted followers, the first muhajirun, to take his hand and commit themselves to infinite loyalty to God and His Messenger. It is the link in the chain that connects you to the light of the Prophet, peace be upon him. It connects you to the chain of all the prophets, Adam, Noah, Abraham, Moses, and Jesus.”
He enfolded the young man in his arms, touching him with the hem of his own robe, saying, “Those who are keepers of their covenants and who keep a guard on their prayers—these are they who are the heirs, who shall inherit the Paradise.”
“You are the true Son of the Eagle,” he whispered in his ear. “May you be the last.”
Chapter 2
Friday, October 8, 2027
Interrogation Room, Shin Bet Headquarters, Queen Helena Street, Jerusalem, 0030h
Jules Halevy sat on one side of the table. He rubbed his wet face and beard. “Doesn’t the air-conditioning work in this building?”
“Not well,” Kristall answered from the other side of the table. The interrogation room was buried in a labyrinth of hallways where no air from the outside could penetrate, and she was smoking with unusual energy. A glass of boiling hot coffee stood at her elbow. Kristall had no sensitivity to heat.
“So. Here we are. What can I help you with this time?” Halevy smiled without humor.
“We’re grateful to you for coming tonight,” Ari said from his perch on the corner of the table. He didn’t like bringing people in for questioning in the middle of the night; he put himself in their place and resented the Service for it. Usually, he thought, it was unnecessary.
Kristall gave Ari a harsh look. “Dr. Halevy, one question. Tell us everything you can about the Mishmar.” She sat back in her chair and exhaled smoke.
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