Then, in 1880, a young boy living in Jerusalem literally stumbled upon a remarkable discovery. While playing around the Pool of Siloam at the mouth of the tunnel, he slipped on some rocks and bumped his head. When he opened his eyes, he looked up and realized he was looking up at a Hebrew inscription, carved into one of the tunnel’s walls. After he told his parents and teachers, a group of archeologists arrived to check out the boy’s story. It turned out he had, quite by accident, found a description of how the tunnel was made — incribed there by the workers who had made it.
Most intriguing to Bennett, however, was Natasha’s description of the work of a British officer named Montague Parker. In 1909, Parker brought a team to Palestine and began a two-year process of cleaning out the tunnel and excavating its vicinity. The interesting thing was why.
It turns out Parker had been hired by a Finnish philosopher and poet named Valter H. Juvelius, who had become absolutely convinced from studying the writings of the Jewish prophets — particularly the book of Ezekiel — that the Temple treasures and the Ark of the Covenant would be found in or around Hezekiah’s Tunnel. Unfortunately, Natasha explained, Parker and his team hadn’t paid off enough of the locals. Muslim leaders caught wind of what they were trying to do and ran them out of town, almost killing them in the process.
Now Bennett wondered, Would they fare any better?
64
“Hold here for a moment,” said Natasha.
“Why? What’s the problem?” asked Bennett.
“Nothing,” she insisted. “Just look up.”
Bennett, Erin, and Arik all pointed their flashlights toward the ceiling, now between eight and ten feet above the floor.
“I don’t see anything,” said Erin.
“It’s hard to see without stronger lights,” Natasha explained. “But the ceiling above us isn’t natural limestone. It’s part of an artificial wall. If you were to break through it, you’d find a vertical shaft about a meter and a half wide, running some twelve meters straight up. That’s connected to a larger vaulted cistern, which is connected to another series of tunnels and shafts. All told, the system extends some seventy meters to a secret well opening at the top, inside the Old City of Jerusalem. It’s called Warren’s Shaft. Archeologists believe that’s how Jerusalemites got water up to the city before this tunnel was built.”
“Never heard of it,” said Erin.
“Charles Warren, British military officer, 1867,” said Natasha. “Look him up online when you get home.”
“If we get home,” said Bennett, his tactical pessimism rising to the fore.
“Why was it walled off?” asked Erin.
“It’s not clear, exactly,” said Natasha. “Some say the system dates back to the tenth century BCE, some three centuries before this tunnel was built. Eventually, of course, the tunnel moved the water more efficiently than the shaft system. So it’s believed the Israelites sealed it up to keep all the water moving from the spring to the Pool of Siloam.”
“Guys, we really need to keep moving,” said Bennett.
“Actually, we’re already here,” said Natasha. “Arik, you can keep going. But we’re just a few yards away.”
Arik passed by and kept hustling toward the other end of the tunnel. Natasha, meanwhile, rechecked her map until she was sure they had found the precise center of the tunnel, then turned west and marched another twenty-five yards, based on her interpretation of the Mount Ebal Scroll. Then she turned her flashlight against the right side wall, drawing Jon’s and Erin’s flashlights as well.
“That’s not limestone,” said Bennett, pointing to a small, square patch maybe three feet by three feet.
“No, it’s plaster,” said Natasha. “And it’s old. Very old. When the tunnel was first built, they sealed it up with plaster so none of the water could leak out of the natural cracks and holes in the limestone. Every few centuries they would replaster it, just to be sure, but obviously it’s been a long time since it was done last.”
Bennett tapped it with the butt of his Uzi. Some pieces began to flake off. Was this really it? Was there really something behind that wall?
“Give me your packs,” said Natasha. “I’ll hold them for you.”
First Jon and Erin put on miner helmets and turned on their lamps. Then they gave their backpacks and Uzis to Natasha and grabbed sledgehammers.
“On my count,” said Bennett. “One, two, three!”
And with that, they attacked their target with all the strength they had left.
“I’m so sorry to bother you again,” Mariano began.
“You’d better have good news,” said Al-Hassani.
“We do, Your Excellency. The Bennetts and the Barak girl are in Je-rusalem. We know where, and our teams are converging on them even as we speak.”
Progress was maddeningly slow.
Their work was made all the more difficult by the fact that the tunnel itself was no more than two and a half feet across, giving them precious little leverage with which to wield their hammers. But bit by bit, piece by piece, the plaster was falling away, and after another fifteen minutes, it became clear that they were really on to something, for the wall behind the plaster had long ago been chiseled away.
Mariano peered through the sniper scope.
He could see Roni Migdal, an Uzi dangling at his side, pacing nervously and puffing away on yet another cigarette. Mariano took a deep breath, adjusted for the chilly breeze blowing through the valley, and pulled the trigger, watching Migdal’s head snap back and his body collapse to the ground.
Arik Allon never saw the ambush either.
One minute he was shivering quietly on the steps leading down into the Pool of Siloam, trying to stay warm. The next minute he was thrashing about wildly in the water. Two men were upon him. A hand was clamped tightly over his nose and mouth. A knife came slicing across his throat. He struggled desperately to get free. His lungs screamed for oxygen. He drove his nails into the flesh of those pinning him down. But it was all in vain. For a moment he could see the frigid waters around him rapidly turning red with his own blood. And then it all went black.
Now they could see a large hole behind the plaster.
Bennett’s arm muscles were burning. He could no longer feel his feet, they were so cold. But he could not stop. Adrenaline was taking over. He set his hammer down and grabbed his pick, as did Erin. All they needed was another few minutes, and the passageway they were uncovering would be wide enough to enter.
Mariano raced into the tunnel.
He and three of his men came charging from the direction of the Pool of Siloam. Four more entered the underground river from its source. Unencumbered by sledgehammers and backpacks, they moved quickly. By his calculations, the two teams should meet at the tunnel’s midsection — trapping their quarry between them — in less than ten minutes.
Natasha tried the radio again.
“Roni, can you hear me?”
Nothing.
“Arik, you there?”
All she got was static.
“We’ve found a hole. We’re almost in.”
Again there was nothing.
“Hello? Hello? Are you guys okay?”
Mariano had Roni Migdal’s radio clipped to his belt.