Bennett mulled that over for a moment. “I imagine Doron would love to cut a peace deal with Iraq,” he agreed. “But would Al-Hassani agree? I don’t know.”
“I think he would, Jonathan,” said Lucente. “Al-Hassani is poised to become the oil kingpin of the Middle East. He wants permission to rebuild the oil infrastructure in Iran, Saudi Arabia, the Gulf states, and the former Soviet republics and to run it himself. He also wants Russia’s seat on the U.N. Security Council. I’ll give him both tomorrow, but not unless he signs a full peace treaty with Israel. That’s why I’m headed to Babylon. I just wish you two were coming with me. Think about it, and I’ll call you when I get back to Brussels.”
28
It was just after eleven when they finally reconnected.
The two Bennetts and the two Baraks met at a little café called Keshet in the heart of the Jewish Quarter of the Old City. Normally the café closed at nine, but the couple who owned it was meeting with their accountant to go over their tax returns, and when Dr. Barak, an old friend, showed up, they happily put on some coffee and brought out baklava.
It was a quiet, charming little place with wooden tables and chairs. On a hot summer night they could probably accommodate upward of fifty patrons, but this, of course, was the middle of January, and though it was unseasonably mild, the Quarter was deserted. Bennett suggested they meet inside, but Barak insisted he needed the fresh air. Besides, he said, he saw no point in letting the owners or their accountant overhear their discussion. So the four of them dragged chairs out to one of the outdoor tables and made themselves at home.
Barak rested his cane against the table and took a seat with his back to the café, eager to enjoy the quiet of a large courtyard to his left, typically filled with the laughter of little children, mothers chatting with neighbors, and Yeshiva students arguing over some obscure Torah passage. Natasha took a seat beside him while Jon and Erin sat across from them, soaking up their surroundings as well. For all their travels to this Holy City, they had never had the time to be tourists and thus had never strolled along these stone streets like so many young lovers had through the ages.
Behind them was a branch of the Mizraim Bank, Bennett noticed, which was good because he needed to use the ATM before they headed back to the King David. A sign next to the bank pointed the way to a short walk to the Western Wall. He thought he might like to take Erin down there if they didn’t finish up too late. They certainly had a lot to pray about, and what better place than the wall?
To Bennett’s immediate right was a colonnade that led to the Cardo Center, the Arab market, and the heart of the Moslem Quarter, not a route he thought would be best tonight but one that would actually be quite interesting during the day. For now, though, they were being served piping hot Turkish coffee and a generous spread of fruit and nuts and sweets.
Barak was clearly itching to pick up his story where he’d left off. “Ever hear of a man named Abdullah Farouk?” the old man said when they were alone again.
Neither Jon nor Erin had.
“He’s a Saudi prince,” Barak explained. “He’s been hunting for the Ark for years and has poured millions of dollars into the quest. He’s absolutely obsessed with the idea that the Copper Scroll is the key to finding the Ark, and he’s terrified that the Jews will get to it first. His family thinks he’s crazy. But that’s what makes him so dangerous. He’s rich and he’s driven and he simply won’t give up. According to Eli, Farouk has had ties with all kinds of terrorist groups over the years — Hezbollah, Hamas, Al-Qaeda, and more recently, Al-Nakbah. Basically, he’ll give enormous sums of money to anyone committed to driving the Jews into the sea and to keeping Israel from ever finding the Ark.”
Barak reached into his briefcase and pulled out a clipping from a London-based, Saudi-financed newspaper. He handed it to Bennett. “Prince Pledges Millions to Ark Quest” read the headline, dated six years earlier.
With Erin looking over his shoulder, Jon scanned the story and came to a quote, highlighted in yellow, which he read aloud.
“‘People don’t understand,’ Farouk explained over a cup of tea in a mosque outside of London. ‘This isn’t about finding some dusty old relic for a museum. It’s about finding the first weapon of mass destruction. Laugh if you want, but what if the legends are true? Have you read the ancient manuscripts? In their original languages? The Ark killed tens of thousands. It shattered enemy cities. It leveled entire armies. What if the Zionists find it first? It would make them invincible. They could control all of Palestine. They could seize Mecca and Medina. They could dominate all of the Muslim lands, and there would be nothing we could do to stop them. Then again, imagine if I found it first. What if the very power of Allah was in our hands? It is we who would be unstoppable. Not only could we destroy the Jews, but we could build an Islamic caliphate that could rule the world.’”
Bennett took another sip of coffee.
“This Farouk guy has been watching a little too much Raiders of the Lost Ark, don’t you think?”
“I’ll say,” Erin laughed. “A classic fanatic.”
Bennett noticed the old man’s hesitation.
“You don’t think he’s nuts?”
“I said he’s obsessed, but not crazy,” Barak explained. “There’s a difference. But either way, it makes him dangerous.”
“So you think he might be behind these killings?” said Erin.
“I do,” Barak confirmed.
There was something in the way he answered that made Bennett uncomfortable.
“It’s more than that, isn’t it?” he asked, setting his coffee down and staring into Barak’s eyes. “You believe him, don’t you?”
“I didn’t say that,” Barak demurred.
“You think the Ark actually has some sort of supernatural powers, don’t you?” Bennett pressed.
“Don’t you?” Barak replied.
Bennett said nothing for a moment. Nor did Natasha or Erin.
“Look, Jonathan,” Barak explained. “There is no one in Israel who has studied the history of the Ark more carefully than I have. Yet there is so much we don’t know. No one has seen the Ark in almost three thousand years. It is surrounded by mysteries and legends. Who among us can separate fact from fiction at this point? But there is one point upon which the Holy Scriptures could not be more clear: the Ark is an object of tremendous power, mystical power. It is to be feared, not dismissed. Men who were careless about its fearsome power died instantly. Those who touched it improperly died instantly.”
“Come on, Dr. Barak, really,” said Bennett. “I’m a Christian. I believe what the Bible says about the Ark. But as you said yourself, that was thousands of years ago.”
“Jonathan, you are new to all this, I realize. Thus you have a luxury I dare not share — cynicism. But you should know that Eli Mordechai understood the significance of the Ark. What’s more, he understood the stakes should the Ark fall into the hands of a man like Abdullah Farouk. Eli gave up his life to prevent that from happening. So perhaps you should not be so cavalier. Perhaps you should—”
A shot rang out.
Barak snapped back in his chair and fell to the ground. Natasha screamed as blood oozed from the old man’s mouth. Another shot went wild, shattering the café’s plate-glass window. Jon and Erin dove for cover as more shots ripped through windows and walls. Natasha was on the ground, her arms wrapped around her grandfather. She was still screaming, her hands shaking uncontrollably.