Exodus (23 page)

Avi watched as a breakaway protestor made it halfway up the ramp, clearly heading for Mughrabi Gate. A shot rang out from above and he sank to the ground, clutching his chest, blood blossoming through his clothes. The shot had come from atop the walls protecting the Temple Mount. The crowd roared and surged, pushing the Israeli soldiers, who turned in horror to see the man fall. They had been ordered to stop their own people, but now the shooting of an unarmed protestor by the other side could be seen as an act of war. That moment of indecision turned the tide as the soldiers relaxed the lines and the mob surged through.
 

Avi fought his way to a better vantage point. The shofar should have sounded by now, but he couldn’t see Natasha, or anything resembling the Ark. He cursed her incompetence and whispered revenge, but even without the Ark, this would strike a blow at the heart of the Peace Process, for the press he had called were getting plenty of footage of the exploding violence. More shots came from the walls and this time, the Israeli soldiers began shooting back. Avi knew that it wouldn’t be long before reinforcements were brought in on both sides to quell the riot. They needed to get into that compound if they were to escalate the battle.
 

The mob had become a violent spiral of rage and they stormed the ramp together, some falling as they were picked off from above. Screams joined the shouting but the crowd didn’t stop. One of the extremists grabbed a battering ram from a security outpost that had been barely defended and a few of the biggest men used it to hammer the door leading into the mosque compound. The door wasn’t strong enough to resist the weight of the protestors and soon the ram smashed it open and the mob surged into the Noble Sanctuary, the Haram el-Sharif.
 

The chants of the crowd grew louder. One group of men ran for the Dome of the Rock, and another toward the al-Aqsa mosque, forbidden to non-Muslims. The guards of the compound began shooting, trying to stop what looked like an invasion, as extremist Muslim groups stormed into the compound bringing more weapons and calling for jihad in the name of Allah.
 

Avi noticed a cameraman dodge bullets and shelter behind a fountain. Bullets pinged off the enamel tiles, but he still held the camera up to capture the firefight. Avi reveled in the thought of the news footage streaming live to the world. Some of the Israeli soldiers had joined the protestors now, as Avi had foreseen they would. Inevitably the battle was splitting down racial and religious lines.
 

He ran with the crowd towards the Dome of the Rock, where faithful Muslims were abandoning their prayers, even as the guards defended their retreat. Avi saw the Imam come out and stand in front of the entrance, his old face crumpled with anguish at the devastation, his words of peace unheeded. He was drowned out by the roaring of the mob, a rage that could not be contained.
 

Avi watched in despair as the Imam was overwhelmed and kicked to the ground, disappearing under the throng who surged into the Dome. Avi cursed Natasha. This should have been the moment of triumph. If the Ark had been returned to the Temple location today, there was no way the Israelis would ever let this place remain in Muslim hands. War would have been a certainty. But without the Ark, he feared the violence today would just be portrayed as another riot of minority extremists.
 

When the Imam went down, Avi knew the tide would turn against them. The act would spark violence and reprisals throughout the city, but ultimately it would fail, because there was no Ark of the Covenant to unite the sides against each other for a longer-term war. Natasha El-Behery would pay for her failure, but al-Hirbaa would eventually find another way to bring down Israel.
 

A Muslim worshipper ran across the plaza, looking behind for fear of more violence. Avi jumped out in front of the man, swinging him into the bushes and slamming the butt of his gun into the man’s temple. Quickly, he stripped off the man’s outer clothing and pulled them on over his own, discarding his Jewish kippah and replacing it with a taqiyah, a Muslim prayer cap.

Emerging from the dense bush, Avi walked quickly to one of the side gates into the Muslim quarter, as young men surged from the streets below into the compound, ready to join the fight. Avi stepped aside to let them pass, for he knew there would always be another chance. Jerusalem was a city permanently on the edge of its own destruction and Avi knew that the end would come, just not today.
 

Al-Jazeera Broadcast, Jerusalem, Israel
 

The Old City of Jerusalem exploded with violence this morning with running battles between Jews and Muslims. Twelve people are reported to have been killed, seven Jews and five Muslims. The Imam of the Al-Aqsa mosque remains in critical condition tonight from injuries sustained as he tried to reason for peace. The Dome of the Rock was looted and defaced with offensive graffiti.
 

Israeli officials have condemned the violence as committed by marginal extremists attempting to disrupt the peace process. Some Muslim leaders are proclaiming the violence an act of religious war, and calling for the expulsion of the Jews from Jerusalem.

Calm was restored after several hours by the Israeli police and military in what are now being called “heavy handed tactics”. Tear gas was fired and the compound cleared of non-Muslims in accordance with the current law forbidding them access into the area.
 

At the time of the violence, the President of the United States was signing the new Peace Accords between Israel and the Palestinians in the hope of knitting together a new generation of moderates on both sides.
 

At the press conference, the President announced “There will always be those who seek to pervert and destroy the peace process, but we stand together today and pronounce that extremism cannot win while the majority continue to seek a peaceful solution. We have signed these accords with the support of the international community. We may not share a common religion, but we have a shared humanity and a hope for our collective future. This land belongs to Jews, Muslims and Christians, who must ultimately learn to shake hands and start anew.”
 

Hundreds of bunches of flowers have been laid on both sides of the Western Wall today expressing messages of peace and hope.
 

DAY 8

St Barts Hospital, London, England. 6.18am
 

The light was dazzling, even through her closed eyelids so Morgan kept them closed, squeezing them tight against the day. Her head was pounding and she could feel a throbbing in her hand where the knife had pierced. Her chest was tight and constricted and the older wound in her side was a deep ache. Over it all, she could feel the soporific haze of painkilling drugs, but underneath her body still thrummed with hurt.
 

Still with her eyes closed, she reached her right hand over to her left and felt the bandages. Pressing a little, Morgan winced with the pain even as she wiggled her fingertips. They moved, so at least the attack hadn’t done any major damage.

“How are you feeling?” a voice asked.
   

Morgan opened her eyes a fraction and saw ARKANE Director Marietti standing by the door. She tried to speak but her throat was hoarse and all that came out was a rasp.
 

“It’s OK,” he said. “Don’t try to speak. You’ve got some recovery to do yet again, although you’ve been unconscious for 24 hours. Smoke inhalation can cause severe issues and you’re lucky you’re not burned to death. You can thank Sebastian Northbrook for that. He’s in Intensive Care, by the way.”

Morgan shut her eyes to shield herself from his angry glare. She hadn’t known how she had escaped a fiery death in the Temple but the thought of the curator dragging her through the smoke made her weak with guilt.
 

 
“Seriously, Morgan,” Marietti continued. “Didn’t you think I needed to know about your mission? I could have prevented what happened. As it was, you were rescued by two pensioners and a geek, instead of a specialized ARKANE team who could have captured Natasha and secured the Ark at the same time.”
 

Morgan could hear the anger in his voice, and she was mad at herself thinking of what Sebastian had risked for her. She hardly knew the man, but he had come to her aid and now he was critically injured. Ben must have been there too, and Martin. Her crazy backup team. Marietti was right, what had she been thinking?
 

She heard the chair squeak as Marietti sat in the chair by the bed, his voice was softer now.
 

“You’re part of ARKANE now, Morgan, not some vigilante who can go after the bad guys alone. You have a team.” She felt the weight of his hand gently on her arm and just for a second, she knew that he really meant the words. “It’s also my fault,” he continued. “I should have checked in with you but the Middle East political situation has been taking all of my attention. Now I have to deal with the wrath of British Freemasonry, although it helps that they can’t actually acknowledge what was really stolen. The conspiracy nuts would have a field day with this, but Martin says that you saw a piece of the real Ark. How can you be so sure?”

Morgan was desperate to speak, to tell him of the overwhelming sense of awe she had felt in the presence of the sacred objects, of how she had wanted to fall down and worship whatever was causing the emotions to rise within her. She had felt the passion of David dancing before the Ark, and she wanted to have that feeling again.
 

Was that what the mystics experienced when they saw God? Was that how her father felt when the sacred letters of the Torah danced before him as he studied Kabbalah? In the temple, she had glimpsed a glory she had only read about before, but how could she put that into words? And where was the Ark now? She tried to sit up.
 

“Try to relax,” Marietti said. “Here, sip this.”

He held a glass with a straw to her lips and Morgan sucked some of the cool water down. Her throat stung but she felt the lubrication begin to return.
 

“The Ark?” she whispered.
 

Marietti looked out of the window, staring off into the far distance as he spoke.
 

“That’s the strange thing. We were expecting Natasha to take it to Jerusalem, to the Summit as the threats said, but she never showed up. We had security everywhere but it seems that she didn’t even land in Jerusalem. She vanished along with the Ark pieces and we don’t know why, or where she might have taken them.” He looked at Morgan. “Which is why I need you to recover as fast as possible. You know more than anyone about how Natasha works, maybe you can find an insight that no one else can. Martin is still recovering, but he’s working from his hospital bed and we’re certainly suffering without him at HQ. I need you to think, Morgan, because we have to find that Ark. The immediate crisis has been averted, but the pieces can’t be loose in the world for long, because too many groups would claim them as a powerful symbol. The Ark may not have sparked a war today, but it’s still a flashpoint that could ignite violence at any point. In the wrong hands, it
will
bring war.”
 

Morgan nodded. Her inner resolve hardened and this time there would be no room for error.
 

“The doctors say that you’re lucky to have escaped with such minor injuries,” Marietti said. “Your hand will take some time to heal properly, but you’ll have full function back in the next few months. The smoke inhalation issues are minor complications and I know you’ve taken quite a beating, but can you hold out for a few more days?”

“Laptop?” Morgan wheezed out the word.
 

Marietti smiled at her unspoken assent.
 

“Of course, I’ll have one brought over. You’ll be able to access the ARKANE databases from here, but time is ticking Morgan. We must assume that the forces who employed Natasha are looking for her, as well as everyone else who knows about the Ark’s existence. The Freemasons will be mobilizing a team and they have formidable forces available to them. I need you out of here in 48 hours, that’s about as much time as we can spare.”
 

Morgan mentally assessed the accumulated injuries in her body, the wheezing in her chest and her overall pain level. It was still below her threshold of giving up.
 

“I’ll be out in four hours if you can get the drugs authorized,” she whispered, looking at Marietti, her cobalt eyes metal-hard, the violet slash almost glowing. “Then I’ll finish this.”
 

Marietti nodded and stood up, turning to go. Then he wheeled back towards her.
 

“Morgan, I know there’s vengeance in your heart - and rightly so - but search your conscience if you find Natasha. We now know that she’s pregnant with Milan Noble’s child so there is an innocent life at stake. If you find her, it will be up to you how you deal with her, but make the right decision, because the wrong one may haunt you for the rest of your life.”
 

At that moment, Morgan glimpsed the secrets that this man kept, the souls that haunted his nights and the wrong decisions he had made. She saw her potential future and it was terrifying, then she blinked and the vision was lost.
 

Hampstead, London. 11.32am
 

Morgan walked down the leafy suburban street looking at blue plaques on the walls of the grand houses, marking the noted names of history who had once lived there. London was dotted with such markers, centuries of intellect layering the city in memory, and this area in particular was full of them.
 

In the last few hours, while the doctors patched her up and dosed her with drugs, Morgan had worked with Martin to delve further into Natasha’s past, using ARKANE’s access to secret records. Martin had even hacked into the database of the SSI, the Egyptian State Security Investigations Service, for information on several generations of El-Beherys. One thing had emerged with startling clarity.