Daniel Silva - The Fallen Angel

“Where is he, Uzi?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Damn it, Uzi! Where is he?”

Though Navot did not know it, Gabriel was at that moment perched at the edge of the excavation pit with Eli Lavon at his side. Beneath them glowed the chalky white bones of Rivka, witness to the Roman siege of Jerusalem and the destruction of Herod’s Second Temple. For now, Lavon was oblivious to her; he had eyes only for the tiny image on the screen of Gabriel’s BlackBerry. It showed David Girard, aka Daoud Ghandour, standing in an underground chamber of some sort at the side of Imam Hassan Darwish, the Muslim cleric from the Supreme Council of the Jerusalem Waqf.

“Are those pillars in the background?”

“The pillars aren’t the concern right now, Professor.”

“Sorry.”

Lavon inspected the second image—the trapezoid with the mark and the number 689 in the lower third.

“It would make sense,” he said after a moment.

“What’s that?”

“That the chamber where they’re standing is located in that portion of the Mount. The ground beneath the Dome of the Rock and the entrance to the al-Aqsa Mosque is riddled with conduits, shafts, and cisterns.”

“How do we know that?”

“Because Charles Warren told us so.”

Sir Charles Warren was the brilliant officer from the British Royal Engineers who conducted the first and only survey of the Temple Mount between 1867 and 1870. His meticulously detailed maps and drawings remained the standard resource for modern archaeologists.

“Warren found thirty-seven underground structures and cisterns beneath the Temple Mount,” Lavon explained, “not to mention numerous aqueducts and passageways. The largest ones were located around the spot indicated on this map. In fact, there’s an enormous cistern in that area called the Great Sea that was carved from the limestone bedrock. It was illustrated contemporaneously by an artist named William Simpson.” Lavon looked up. “It’s possible David Girard and the imam are standing right there.”

“Can we get to it?”

“Simpson’s illustration clearly shows the presence of at least three large aqueducts leading to other cisterns and structures within the complex. But it’s also possible the Waqf has dug new tunnels and passageways under the guise of their construction projects.”

“Is that a yes or a no , Eli?”

“You’re asking me questions I can’t possibly answer,” Lavon replied. “The truth is, we have no idea what’s really under the Mount because we’re forbidden to set foot there.”

“Not anymore.”

“Do you know what will happen if the Waqf finds us up there?”

“Actually, I’m more concerned about what will happen if a bomb goes off in an underground cavern between the Dome of the Rock and the al-Aqsa Mosque.”

“Point taken.”

“What would happen, Eli?”

“I suppose that depends on the size of the bomb. If it were the size of the average suicide vest, the Holy Mountain wouldn’t feel a thing. But if it were something big . . .”

“Massoud destroyed the Marine barracks in Beirut with the biggest non-nuclear explosion the world had seen in a generation. He knows how to make things fall down.”

Lavon rose to his feet and walked over to the giant ashlars of the Western Wall. The tourists had been evacuated; the tiny synagogue known as the Cave was empty. They were entirely alone.

“I always hoped I would have a chance to see what was on the other side,” he said, his eyes searching the stone. “But I never imagined it would come about because of something like this.”

“Surely you’ve found something more down here than some old bones, Professor.”

“Surely,” Lavon replied distantly.

“Can you get us in there, Eli?”

“Inside the Temple Mount?” Lavon smiled. “Right this way.”

They headed past the Cave and then took a flight of steps down to an ancient stone archway sealed with gray brick and mortar. Next to it an illuminated modern sign read WARREN’S GATE.

“It’s named for Charles Warren, of course,” Lavon explained. “During the time of the Second Temple, it led from the street where we’re standing now into an underground passageway. That passageway led to a flight of steps. And the steps—”

“Led to the Temple.”

Lavon nodded. “In 1981, the chief rabbi of the Western Wall foolishly ordered workmen to reopen the gate, but as soon as they started digging, the sound of the hammers carried through the passages and into the cisterns up on the Mount. The Arabs could hear it very clearly. They immediately stormed into the tunnels, and a small battle broke out. The Israeli police had to come onto the Mount to restore order. After that, Warren’s Gate was sealed, and it remains sealed today.”

“But obviously, it’s not the only underground passage onto the Mount.”

“No,” Lavon answered, shaking his head. “There’s at least one other tunnel that we know of. We found it a couple of years ago. It’s about fifty yards that way,” he said, pointing northward along the wall. “And it’s identical in design to Warren’s Gate.”

“Why was it never made public?”

“Because we didn’t want to start another riot. A handful of Israeli archaeologists were allowed to spend a few minutes inside before it was sealed.”

“Were you one of them?”

“I would have been, but I had a previous engagement.”

“Where?”

“Moscow.”

“Ivan?”

Lavon nodded.

“How thick is the seal on the new tunnel?”

“Not like this one,” Lavon said, patting the coarse brickwork. “Even an archaeologist with a fickle stomach could get through it without a problem. For a tough guy like you, it won’t take more than a couple swings of a hammer.”

“What about the noise?”

“The sermon should cover it,” said Lavon. “But there is another problem.”

“What’s that?”

“If that bomb goes off while we’re inside the Temple Mount, we’re going to end up like Rivka.”

“There are worse places to be buried, Eli.”

“I thought you said this place was nothing but a pile of stones.”

“I did,” said Gabriel. “But they’re my stones.”

Lavon lapsed into silence.

“What are you thinking about?”

“The pillars.”

“Get me a hammer and a flashlight, Eli, and I’ll take you to see the pillars.”

THE DRIVE FROM KING SAUL BOULEVARD to the Prime Minister’s Office in Jerusalem usually took a half-hour, but on that afternoon, Uzi Navot’s motorcade accomplished it in just twenty-two minutes door to door. By the time Navot entered the building, Gabriel’s radio had been switched off the papal protection network onto a secure band reserved for Office security personnel. As a result, Navot was able to listen as Gabriel and Eli Lavon raided a storage room in the Western Wall Tunnel for the supplies they would need to break into the Temple Mount.

The prime minister was waiting in the cabinet room, along with the defense minister, the foreign minister, and Navot’s counterpart from Shabak. Live CCTV images of the Old City flickered on the video display wall. In one, the Vicar of Christ was approaching the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. In another, several thousand Muslims were gathered atop the Haram al-Sharif. And in a third, a dozen Israeli police officers stood watch in the now-empty Western Wall Plaza. It was, thought Navot, the Good Friday from hell.

“Well?” asked the prime minister as Navot settled into his usual seat.

“They’re just waiting for your order.”

“A single analyst says there’s a bomb in the Temple Mount that could bring down the entire plateau, and you say I have no choice but to believe her.”