“Do they know the whole story?” Carter asked.
Pierce shook his head. “As far as they know, it’s an elaborate reproduction that will be part of their annual consecration ceremony.”
Lazarus smiled to himself. They had used a similar deception, which like any good lie, was so much easier to swallow than the truth. If they had told the customs inspector that they were carrying the real Ark of the Covenant, the man would probably have flagged them as religious kooks.
As they continued along, Pierce peppered them with questions about their discovery on Tana Qirqos, dissecting at length the story Mateos had told them to explain how the Ark came to be in Ethiopia, and offering alternatives.
“There’s another theory that the Templars might have sent the Ark to Ethiopia for safe-keeping,” he told them. “Which, knowing what we now do, makes a lot of sense. They might have found the Ark under Mount Nebo, along with the Tabernacle, and then decided to split them up to prevent anyone from prematurely trying to fulfill the prophecy.”
Lazarus shrugged. “You should talk to Mateos.”
Pierce chuckled. “I’ll do that. I’m looking forward to it, actually.”
“You do realize we’re going to have to give it back?” Carter said.
Pierce’s smile went flat. “That’s something else we’ll have to talk about.”
“George, there’s nothing to talk about. This isn’t some forgotten relic that we discovered in a lost city. It’s theirs, and it has been for a long time. They chose to share this with us. The least we can do is respect their claim to it.”
“Like I said, we’ll have to…” Pierce’s voice trailed off as the sky went dark.
The change was so abrupt that brake lights began flashing on as other drivers reacted to something they had never before experienced.
Lazarus knew how quickly storm clouds could darken the sky, and it was nearly sundown…but this was something different. The sun had not slipped below the horizon, nor was there a cloud in the sky. He looked over at Pierce, whose grim expression confirmed what he knew.
“It’s happening.”
FIFTY-FIVE
Abdul-Ahad felt blessed. Despite his failure on Mount Sinai, Israfil had given him a second chance, entrusting him with a new, and even more important mission.
It almost made the pain bearable.
His eyes felt like they were full of sand, and nothing he could do would alleviate the sensation. At least he could still see.
It had taken him a long time to crawl down off the slopes of Mount Sinai, and despite his best efforts, he had been discovered. Fortunately, the emergency responders had mistaken him for one of the many victims of the attack. Instead of being arrested, he had been treated for his injuries. His eyesight had returned after an hour. He then slipped away into the nearby tourist village where he sent a text message to Israfil, reporting his failure. His unseen guide had praised his devotion and promised that his sacrifice would be remembered by God.
That had seemed like the end of it. He had made the decision to lie low, waiting for a chance to slip away from the active terrorism investigation. After a few hours, pain had blossomed in his eyes, as his inflamed corneas began exerting pressure against the surrounding nerves. The mere idea of trying to catch a ride back to Suez or returning to his home in Saudi Arabia, was too onerous to contemplate.
But then Israfil had sent another message, offering him a chance for redemption.
Pierce, the agent of the anti-messiah, was on his way to defile the holy city, Jerusalem. He could not be allowed to carry out his mission.
Israfil had recruited more fighters, sending some to retrieve Abdul-Ahad from Sinai, and others to keep an eye on Pierce. After hours of wallowing in despair, Abdul-Ahad was grateful to be given the chance to serve again.
Even with expertly forged travel papers supplied by Israfil, traveling in Israel was risky. But as they arrived in Jerusalem, they learned that Pierce had come to them. He was at the edge of the Old City’s Muslim Quarter, in the multi-tiered park-like environs of the Damascus Gate. The name of the district reflected a historic tradition rather than an actual cultural division, but the area surrounding Haram esh-Sharif — the Noble Sanctuary, or as the Jews and the Christians termed it, the Temple Mount — was occupied predominately by Muslims. The young Arabs and Palestinians working with Abdul-Ahad, guided by the faceless Israfil, could effortlessly blend in, disappearing among their fellow believers.
It was Pierce and his group who stuck out.
Pierce had arrived earlier, along with the two women and dozens of workmen, all of whom had descended the steps to a cave entrance in the Old Wall. They had transferred crate after crate of cargo from a moving truck. Israfil had advised them to keep watch from their post on a nearby rooftop and wait for a sign. After a couple of hours, most of the workmen departed. Pierce left in the truck, traveling alone. It was frustrating to have the target so close, literally within sight, but as always, Israfil’s wisdom was beyond question.
The sign had come, and what a sign it was.
It had come just before sunset. The man assigned to shadow Pierce had just reported that the subject of his surveillance had made a pickup at the airport and was on his way back. Abdul-Ahad had wondered if this was the reason Israfil had cautioned them to wait.
That was when the sky had gone dark with the abruptness of a sandstorm blotting out the sun. Only there was no storm. No weather at all. The sun simply disappeared from the sky, plunging the world into night.
A few seconds later, Israfil sent another message.
>Eliminate the agents of Masih ad-Dajjal. This is my final message. You will not hear from me again. Yawm al-Qiyāmah begins.
Abdul-Ahad’s heart soared. He passed the message along to the others and readied his weapon. “When Pierce gets here,” he told the others, “we’ll follow him into the cave and kill them all.”
They had no guns. Only Jews were permitted to buy and possess firearms in Israel, and acquiring them on the black market would have taken more time than they had. But swords and knives were easier to come by and were just as deadly. Pierce and his people did not appear to be armed.
Around them, the world was falling into madness. The air was filled with the noise of sirens and alarms, and occasional gunfire. Israfil had not been wrong. Yawm ad-Din, the Day of Judgment, preceding Yawm al-Qiyāmah, the Day of Resurrection, had arrived. In his mind’s eye, he could see the fighting all across the city — maybe all over the world — as the faithful took up arms to battle the armies of the anti-messiah.
The long promised battle for Jerusalem was beginning.
From the midst of the tumult, the moving truck arrived, its tires shrieking on the pavement, as it skidded to a stop in front of the cave entrance.
Abdul-Ahad gripped the hilt of his long knife with one hand, and raised the other, cautioning his men to hold off a few moments longer. It would take all of three minutes for them to leave their position, but once Pierce was in that cave, he would be trapped. There were no other exits. They could afford to wait a little longer.
The doors on both sides of the truck opened. Pierce was not alone.
More agents of Masih ad-Dajjal.
Two other people — a large man with dark skin and a black woman — got out of the cab with Pierce. The big man would be trouble, but the others would die quickly. Two more black men — definitely Africans — wearing the garb of Orthodox or perhaps Coptic Christian priests, got out of the back. Both were old and decrepit and would put up little, if any, fight. Abdul-Ahad had no reservations about killing Christian priests, either.