Crescent Dawn (39 page)

“Is he all right?”

“Yes. Apparently a van filled with Christian pilgrims missed a turn and drove into him. He’s okay, but his car is wrecked. He thinks a few elderly tourists might be injured, so it’s going to take a while to clean up. He doesn’t think that he’ll be able to get here for another hour.”

“Then I guess we better start without him,” Dirk replied, opening the door and climbing out of the car. Sophie followed him, opening the trunk and removing a pair of night vision binoculars, which she strung around her neck. Then she leaned over and opened a large leather case that was lying flat in the trunk. Inside was a weathered, government-issue Tavor TAR-21 assault rifle. Sophie slid in a fully loaded clip and chambered the first round, then slid the weapon over her shoulder.

“Armed for bear this time, I see,” Dirk remarked.

“After Caesarea, I will always be better armed,” she said, her voice filled with resolve.

“Why not let the Shin Bet handle the stakeout if you suspect the Lebanese smugglers are involved?”

“I considered that,” she replied, “but the tip was rather flimsy. We’re most likely dealing with some ragtag teenage pothunters who probably won’t even show up.”

“That would be all right with me,” Dirk said with a wink as he grabbed her hand.

They crossed the road and hiked down the embankment that spilled into the cemetery. Sophie stopped and scanned the grounds with her binoculars.

“We need to move farther down,” she said quietly.

They hiked another dozen yards down the slope, stopping at a low rise that offered an unobstructed view of nearly the entire cemetery. Around them, the Muslim flat stone graves glimmered white under the moonlight like an array of displaced teeth scattered about a sand-colored blanket. Sophie took a seat on a stone ledge and carefully surveyed the lower grounds with her night vision glasses. She spotted a few kids playing a late-night game of soccer on the other side of the Western Wall, but the cemetery itself appeared deserted. She was scanning toward the east when she felt Dirk’s body slide in alongside her, his arm wrapping around her waist. She slowly lowered the binoculars.

“You are distracting me from my work,” she protested lightly, then placed a hand around the back of his neck and kissed him passionately.

They embraced for several minutes until a faint shuffling sound disrupted their intimacy. Sophie quickly gazed down the hill again.

“Three men with large backpacks,” she whispered. “Two of them appear to be carrying shovels or possibly weapons, I can’t tell.”

She put down the binoculars and looked up the hill. “We need Sam,” she said with frustration.

“He’s still a half hour away,” Dirk said, glancing at his watch.

The sound of the three men’s steps grew louder as they trudged up the center of the cemetery. Sophie unholstered her Glock pistol and handed it to Dirk.

“We’ll make the arrest,” she whispered. “Then I’ll call the Jerusalem police to take them in.”

Dirk nodded in agreement as he took the pistol, checking to see that it was loaded. They crept from their spot, moving slowly down the hill. They followed the larger grave markers for cover, which gradually carried them to their right. Approaching a raised tomb that offered concealment, they inched along its high back side, then kneeled down and waited.

The minutes ticked by slowly as the three purported grave robbers worked their way closer. Sophie quietly clipped her flashlight to the barrel of the Tavor, then held perfectly still as the men trudged by a few feet away. She nodded to Dirk, then suddenly sprang to her feet. Leaping behind the men, she clicked on the flashlight, then shouted in Arabic, “Stop! Hands in the air!”

The three men turned and froze at the sudden ambush, squinting as Sophie played the light’s beam on their faces. Two of the men, each holding an AK-74 pointed at the ground, glared at her with menace. One of them was short, shabbily dressed, with droopy eyes, who Sophie recognized as Hassan Akais, the subject of the tip. The second was equally dirty, distinguished by a prominently bent nose. It was the third man, however, who sent a shiver down Sophie’s spine. Clearly the leader of the trio, he calmly stared back at her with probing eyes that danced above a deep scar on the right side of his jaw. It was the same face that had glared at her in Caesarea, leading the assault that killed detective Holder.

Sophie’s hands trembled in recognition, causing the flashlight’s beam to flicker about the terrorist’s face. Sensing her hesitation, Akais quickly and silently swung his weapon up to bear on Sophie. As his finger reached for the trigger, a loud shot echoed through the cemetery. A splotch of red materialized on the gunman’s wrist as a 9mm slug tore through his forearm.

The man winced in pain, letting go of the trigger while grabbing his bloodied arm with his free hand. He looked up blankly at Sophie before spotting Dirk standing a few steps to her side, an automatic pistol extended in his hands at arms’ length.

“Throw down your weapons or I shall aim a bit higher next time,” Dirk commanded.

The other Arab, who wore a long, straggly beard, quickly shed his AK-74, but the wounded man didn’t move. He stared at Dirk with hatred in his eyes. Then suddenly his face softened, and he gritted his teeth in a defiant smirk as his gaze shifted past Dirk’s shoulder.

“I’m afraid it is you who shall throw down your weapons,” came a hardened female voice from the darkness. “Place your hands in the air where I can see them.”

Dirk turned toward the voice to find a short-haired woman standing directly behind Sophie with a pistol pointed to the back of her skull. He saw she was dressed in dark, casual clothes, but had her own night vision goggles perched on her forehead. Dirk felt another presence, and he craned his neck slightly to see the shadow of another man in the darkness with a raised gun aimed at his own head.

Sophie gave him an apologetic look as she lowered her Tavor to the ground. With little choice, Dirk smiled innocently at the Turkish woman, then gently tossed his pistol onto a nearby grave.

D
IRK AND SOPHIE WERE MARCHED AT GUNPOINT UP THE side of the hill and into the narrow passageway. Like the Arab terrorists that followed them, they were startled at the sight of the huge quarry that awaited on the other side, now illuminated by the pale glow of several lanterns. Sophie had visited Zedekiah’s Cave on several occasions and was astonished to find another, equally expansive quarry situated beneath the Temple Mount. Her awe turned to fear when she spotted the bloodstained body of al-Khatib lying facedown beside one of the lanterns. Her fear was only enhanced at her recognition of the Arab terrorist leader.

“The tall one . . . he led the attack at Caesarea,” she whispered to Dirk.

Dirk nodded, already aware that the well-armed contingent was after something more important than an old grave or two. The Janissary prodded them to a low stone ledge, where they took a seat, under gunpoint, near the dead Palestinian. Maria ignored them as she gathered the heavy backpacks from the three Arabs.

“This is the entire quantity?” she asked Zakkar.

“Yes, all twenty-five kilos are there, with fuzes and detonators,” the Arab replied. He gazed up at the high ceiling. “Do you aim to blow up the Dome of the Rock?”

Maria looked at him coldly. “Yes, and the al-Aqsa Mosque. Do you have a problem with that?”

The Arab shook his head. “You will cause great anger in our lands. But perhaps it will result in the greater good of Allah.”

“There will be a greater good,” Maria replied sharply.

She knelt down and quickly inventoried the explosives, then rose to her feet. Noticing Sophie and Dirk observing her movements, her face quickly soured.

“You nearly exposed our mission,” she hissed at Zakkar.

The Arab shook his head. “They are archaeological police looking for grave looters,” he said without acknowledging his own recognition of Sophie and Dirk. “It was a random surveillance. Why don’t we just kill them now?” he asked, tilting his head in their direction

“Israeli archaeologists, you say?” Maria mulled her own words over. “No, we shall not kill them. They shall die ‘accidentally’ in the blast,” she said with a wicked grin. “They will make the perfect scapegoats.”

She waved for the Janissary to approach, then turned again to Zakkar.

“Have your two men stand guard,” she said, glancing at her watch. “It is time we set the explosives, which I wish to detonate at one o’clock.”

She picked up a lantern as the Janissary hoisted up two of the backpacks. Zakkar addressed his two men, then picked up the other pack and a lantern and followed Maria as she disappeared down one of the passageways.

“Destruction of the Dome will unleash a horrific wave of bloodshed,” Sophie whispered to Dirk.

“Silence!” barked the bearded Arab, briefly waving his gun in Sophie’s direction.

His partner, the wounded man named Akais, sat on a nearby rock, cradling his arm. The gunshot had missed any major arteries, and he had stemmed the flow of blood with his
keffiyeh
, now wrapped tightly around his arm. Though he had walked easily up the hill and into the quarry under his own power, he was now suffering a moderate degree of shock from loss of blood. At times he would glare at Dirk with rage, then his eyes would glaze over into a thousand-mile stare.

Dirk methodically surveyed the quarry, searching for a means of escape that wouldn’t garner a bullet in the back. But there appeared to be few avenues. Staring at the dead Palestinian for a few moments, he took note of the two remaining lanterns. One was lying on the floor near the dead man, some ten feet from his own position. The bearded gunman slowly circled the other lamp, perched on a stone across the cavern.

Dirk caught Sophie’s attention and casually motioned toward the bearded guard. Then he rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth, whispering beneath it.

“The lantern . . . can you turn it off?”

Sophie eyed the lamp and the adjacent guard, then nodded faintly with a determined glare. She then carefully scanned the walls of the cavern, examining every cut and chisel mark that she could make out in the dim light. On a wall beyond the guard, she found what she was looking for, an irregular mark from which to build a story.

She stared at the spot with rapt fascination until the guard caught her gaze and turned to see what she was looking at. Keeping her eyes locked on the wall, she gently rose to her feet and took a step forward.

“Do not move,” the Arab hissed, turning back toward her.

Sophie tried her best to ignore him without getting shot.

“This quarry is two thousand years old, directly beneath the Dome of the Rock,” she murmured. “I think I see a sign of the Prophet over there.”

The guard looked suspiciously at her, then at Dirk. The NUMA engineer gave him the best clueless and uninterested look he could muster. Grabbing the lantern, the Arab backed slowly to the wall, keeping his assault rifle leveled on the pair. Reaching the wall, he took several hasty glances at the carved limestone. A pair of parallel gouges ran lightly across the surface at eye level while a faded mark in charcoal was visible between the cuts. The gunman looked at the mark blankly, then focused on Sophie.

“Yes, that’s it,” she said, taking another tentative step forward. When the gunman didn’t react, she continued walking toward him at a cautious pace.

“Any tricks, and your friend dies first,” the Arab spat, keeping his gun aimed at Dirk. He then turned and yelled at his companion.

“Hassan, stay alert.”

The wounded gunman responded by sluggishly nodding his head.

“Now, show me,” the gunman continued, speaking to Sophie while backing away from the wall.

Sophie crept to the wall and placed a hand on the surface near the cuts and marking. She had seen similar cuts in the walls of Zedekiah’s Cave and knew they were nothing more than the preliminary markings for a limestone slab that for some reason was never cut by the quarrymen. The faded charcoal was likely a numerical marking or placeholder for the unused stone. Yet she played it for much more.

“Like his footprint in the Dome’s sacred rock above, I believe this may be an indication of Muhammad’s departure on the Night Journey,” she said, referring to the visit to heaven atop a winged steed. “I can’t quite make it out under the light, though. May I borrow the lantern?”

She never looked at the guard, instead pretending to be engrossed in the wall carving as she extended a hand out toward him. He reacted instinctively, tentatively passing the lantern while also shifting the muzzle of his rifle in her direction. Grabbing the lantern, Sophie held it up to the wall, her eyes still glued to the charcoal marking.

“See this here,” she said quietly, pointing her free hand at the rock. She then casually let her hand slip to the base of the lantern, where her fingers groped for the power switch. Finding it with her index finger, she clicked the lamp off and froze.

Under the yellow glow of the far lamp, she was still quite visible to the Arab. He started to grunt a command at her, then noticed a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye.

Dirk had quietly been waiting for that moment. The instant Sophie’s lantern went dark, he sprang from the ledge. He knew bullets would follow him immediately, so he took two steps and dove for the light.

He wasn’t to be disappointed. The bearded gunman swung his weapon and fired instantly. But Dirk had already hit the ground, and the bullets whizzed high over his head. Extending an arm as he landed, he grabbed the lantern one-handed. Not bothering to fumble with the switch, he simply slammed the lantern against the ground, smashing the glass panes and bulb.

The cavern plunged into total darkness, which was quickly punctuated by bursts of fiery light from the muzzle of the Arab’s assault rifle. The angered gunman fired several protracted rounds at Dirk, which echoed like thunder through the quarry as bullets ricocheted off the limestone walls.