“But”—she did a quick mental calculation—“that’s less than two days away.”
CHAPTER 79
“Giving us a narrow window of opportunity.”
As he spoke, Caedmon was acutely, painfully, aware of the play of opposites. Good and evil. Love and hate. Life and death.
“So, what exactly are you saying—that MacFarlane intends to destroy the Dome of the Rock on December eighth?”
“It does fit in with all of his apocalyptic posturing. And there’s a certain irony in his selection of holy days, Eid al-Adha being the Muslim Day of Sacrifice, commemorating the day when Abraham intended to sacrifice his beloved son Ishmael to prove his love to Allah. The Dome of the Rock marks the precise location of where the sacrifice was to have taken place. It’s also the spot where the Prophet Muhammad ascended to heaven—making the Dome of the Rock the third-holiest site in all of Islam.”
“Right behind Mecca and Medina.”
He nodded, staggered by MacFarlane’s dark vision. Eid al-Adha. The Day of Sacrifice. The day when Muslim worshippers would be packed onto the Temple Mount. Ten thousand strong.
“Maybe we need to dial back a bit. I mean, the encrypted message doesn’t specifically mention anything about destroying the Dome of the Rock,” Edie pointed out, playing devil’s advocate.
“But MacFarlane did unequivocally state that he intends to install the Ark of the Covenant in the newly constructed Temple,” he countered. “And I think it no coincidence that the Dome of the Rock sits on the very site where Solomon’s Temple once stood.”
“Solomon’s Temple?” Edie gave him a long wordless stare, her pupils contracting into microdots. As though she, too, suddenly realized the magnitude of the encoded message. “Oh, God . . . I didn’t know,” she murmured. “That changes everything.”
“The terrible thing about the truth is that sometimes you find it. Not only is the Temple Mount a holy site for the three major religions of the world, but over the centuries, it has been the most fought-over piece of real estate in the world.” Fraught with bloodshed, carnage, and internecine rivalry, the history of the Temple Mount was a fantastical tale almost too violent to be believed.
“I know that in 1967, during the Six-Day War, the Israelis captured the Temple Mount.”
“Although in an attempt to appease their Muslim neighbors, the Israelis permitted the Waqf, or Islamic Trust, to continue to act as the official administrators of the holy site.”
“So while the Jews have sovereignty over the Temple Mount, the Muslims maintain control of it.”
“And, as you undoubtedly know, this arrangement has been a point of contention between several generations of peace negotiators.” A heaviness in his heart inspired him to say, “Not for the first time have I wondered if the world would have been a better place had Solomon’s Temple never been constructed, the site being one of the most volatile spots on the planet.”
Slumping slightly in her chair, Edie stared at the innocuous sheet of lined notepaper.
Caedmon also stared at the deciphered message, stunned anew. “And now a madman has arrived on the scene, wholly intent on destroying the Dome of the Rock so he can build a Third Temple. With the Ark in his arsenal and a well-trained army at his disposal, he could easily bring about a series of events that mimic the events foretold in the Old Testament. Thus fulfilling Ezekiel’s prophecy.”
“We can’t let that happen,” Edie whispered, her body rigid with the strength of her emotion. “I don’t know if you’re aware that for some time now there’s been a strengthening alliance between Jewish and Christian fundamentalists.”
“Birds of the same dark feather,” he uncharitably remarked.
“Old Testament prophecies are shared by both religions. Which means that MacFarlane might possibly have allies inside Israel who would be more than willing to help him destroy the Dome of the Rock.”
Caedmon shook his head, the scenario having just become that much more frightening.
“Fanatical Christians working in league with fanatical Jews to incite the fanatical Muslims of the world. Incite any of the three and you have global instability. Incite all three and you have the makings of the next world war.”
Knowing that many a war had been ignited by the collective frenzy of which they spoke—the Middle Ages had been one big bloodbath of blind faith—Caedmon turned his head and stared at the churning water visible through the picture window on the other side of the club room.
They couldn’t get to Malta fast enough.
CHAPTER 80
Caedmon glanced up from the map spread before him on the bar counter.
A vacancy having come open at the last minute, he and Edie were seated at the Dragonara Hotel bar waiting for the maid to finish cleaning their suite. To his surprise, Valletta, the capital city of Malta, was quite the convention center; their seaside hotel was currently hosting a large gathering of British plastic surgeons. Because Malta had at one time been part of the British Empire, it was a popular destination with his countrymen. He’d purposefully selected the Dragonara in order to fade into the crowd. If a desk clerk or bellhop was questioned as to whether an Englishman had checked into the hotel, the reply would be “Yes, the hotel currently has two hundred English guests.”
Before returning his attention to the map, Caedmon surreptitiously glanced at the mirrored wall behind the bar, having resorted to old behaviors, scanning each and every bar patron, running mock scenarios in his head, trying to discern who among them would go in for the kill. He would have preferred sitting at an innocuous table in the back of the room, but the overflow of plastic surgeons swilling predinner drinkies had forced them to grab two stools at the bar.
“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask, is there really a big rock inside the Dome of the Rock?”
Caedmon nodded. “In fact, the rock, known in Hebrew as the Shetiyyah, is believed to be the foundation stone of the world. Before it was stolen by Shishak, the Ark of the Covenant rested on top of the Shetiyyah.”
The bartender, a swarthy fellow with an amiable disposition, placed a tonic water and a cola in front of them. Then, with a practiced flourish, he presented Edie with a plate full of fried calamari and a small dish of quartered lemons.
“Grazzi,” she replied in Malti, the response earning her a toothy grin.
Out of the corner of his eye, Caedmon watched as Edie squeezed a lemon, not on her squid, but into her cola. He continued to watch as she pursed her lips around the end of a fuchsia-colored straw. He well recalled how her lips had clamped around him earlier in the day.
Careful, old boy. Now is not the time for prurient thoughts and adolescent longings.
With a renewed focus, he stared at the GPS receiver, continuing the business of transferring the coordinates that he’d discovered in the database file onto a local topographical map with the aid of a map ruler. In the event the GPS batteries died a sudden death, he wanted a hard-copy backup.
“From where I’m sitting, Malta doesn’t look like that big of an island.”
“Approximately three hundred square miles. About the size of the Isle of Wight.” He plotted the last set of coordinates. “Ah! I think I’ve got a location.” Excited to have made such fast work of it, he pointed to a small jut of land off the south-west coast of Malta.
Edie squinted as she peered at the map. “Calypso’s Point,” she read aloud. “Geez, it’s no bigger than my front yard. What do the dark wavy lines mean?” She pointed to the contour lines that distinguished a topographical map from the run-of-the-mill motorist map.