The Temple Mount Code

by Charles Brokaw

  ‘He was the winged horse that took Mohammad to the Al-Aqsa Mosque.’

  ‘But that’s not enough – ’

  ‘A further detail of interest: all five of these figurines are supposedly modeled on an artifact sculpted by one of the builders who worked on the Dome of the Rock. A man named … Sahih al-Maliki.’

  ‘I saw that name mentioned in the book, but I haven’t had time to research him. He was just listed as one of the men who helped build the Dome of the Rock.’

  ‘I researched al-Maliki.’

  ‘Good woman.’

  ‘There’s not much information on him. In addition to helping build the Dome of the Rock, he left behind a few sculptures.’

  ‘More flying horses?’

  ‘Al-Maliki only made the one al-Buraq. Want to guess who owns it?’

  Lourds sat in his chair and felt as though a lightning bolt had zinged through him when the pieces started dropping into place in his mind. ‘Professor Hashem Nabi Namati.’

  Alice sounded surprised. ‘You already knew that? Lev spent seven weeks tracking the manifest on that piece.’

  ‘I didn’t know that, but I saw a statue of al-Buraq on one of the shelves in Namati’s office only a few hours ago. I suspect Lev saw it too, and that’s why he verified the authenticity of the piece. Is there any mention of why Lev went to such trouble?’

  ‘No, but there is something odd in Lev’s notes. He took rubbings of all seven al-Buraqs in his possession. There are also rubbings of other flying horses as well. Lev was searching for something.’

  ‘Yes.’ Lourds sat at the desk and pondered the pages of the book, imagining how the statue of al-Buraq in Namati’s office would look across the pages. From his estimation, the statue would fit from top to bottom.

  ‘You’re quiet all of a sudden.’

  ‘I’m thinking.’

  ‘Care to share?’

  Lourds took a deep breath and let it out. ‘I think I know how this book was coded, and I think Lev had figured it out, too. In order to confirm it, however, I’m going to have to get Professor Namati’s statue.’

  Miriam didn’t know what woke her, but she came up from the bed with her fist curled around the Chinese Type 54 pistol she’d gotten from her Mossad contact in Tehran. She’d gotten it from the man when she’d been out shopping with Lourds.

  The pistol was modeled on the Russian Tokarev T-33. Chambered in the 7.62x25mm round, the weapon was the equivalent of a 9mm pistol. It came with an eight-round magazine, but the Mossad agent had provided two fourteen-round magazines as well. They were his ‘special gift’ for her, and he wished her well when he left.

  In other words, if she had to use the pistol, things would be particularly nasty, and she’d need the extra firepower.

  The room was still and silent except for the air-conditioning.

  ‘You’re imagining things.’ With a sigh, she flipped the safety back on the pistol and tucked it under her pillow once more. She lay there for a moment more, thinking of how the faces of the two men continued to haunt her sleep.

  The night wasn’t as bad as others had been. But she still had a lot of it to go. According to the clock on the bedside table, it was only a few minutes after one. She lay there a moment longer, then got up for a drink of water.

  While in the bathroom, wood shrieked as screws were pulled loose as the door burst open. Miriam dashed from the bathroom and streaked back to the bed, reaching for the pistol.

  A man threw himself at her and wrapped an arm around her ankles. Unable to take another step, she tripped and fell. Catching herself on her hands, she flipped over, freed a leg, and drove it into the face of her captor. The man’s head snapped back, and she slithered free.

  In that instant, she recognized him as one of the two men who had followed Lourds and her around much of the day. She got to her feet and leaped toward the bed, then the second man – standing in the broken doorway – lifted a pistol and shot her twice.

  Pain pierced her abdomen. Looking down, she saw two hypodermic darts jutting out of her stomach. Before she had a chance to fully realize she’d been drugged, not mortally injured, the drugs whispered through her system and shut her down.

  After telling Alice good night, and to get to Jerusalem where he’d be meeting her in the next couple of days if everything went well, Lourds pulled on his khakis and the Oxford shirt he’d worn earlier that day, stepped into his boots, and pulled on his hat. He shoved the book back into its hiding place in the air duct, then headed for Miriam’s room.

  He was too excited to sleep, and he wanted her thoughts on how they could steal the al-Buraq statue from Namati’s office. There was no way Lourds intended to give Namati a clue about what he potentially held.

  Lourds knew that he – and Lev – could still be wrong about the statue. But he only needed it in his hands for a few minutes to know for certain.

  When he stepped out into the hallway, Lourds saw two maintenance men working on the door to Miriam’s room. From the looks of things, the door had been ripped from its hinges.

  ‘What happened?’

  One of the maintenance men looked at Lourds. ‘No English.’

  Lourds shifted to Farsi and repeated the question.

  ‘The door is broken. We are repairing it. You go now.’

  Concern for Miriam drove Lourds through the door. The workers tried to stop him, but he was stronger than they were and got through despite their efforts.

  Miriam’s room was empty, like she’d never been there.

  Lourds wheeled on the men, grabbing the nearest one by the shoulders. ‘Where is the girl?’

  ‘There was no girl. This room was empty. It had a broken door. We are repairing the door.’

  Knowing the man would only keep lying to him, Lourds returned to his room and called the desk.

  ‘Good evening.’

  ‘This is Professor Thomas Lourds. I want to know where my companion is.’

  ‘What companion is that, Professor Lourds?’

  ‘The young woman I checked in with yesterday morning. Miriam Abata.’

  ‘Let me check.’ The clerk was silent for a moment before returning. ‘According to our records, Professor Lourds, you checked in alone.’

  ‘I didn’t check in alone.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t help you any further.’

  The phone clicked dead in Lourds’s ear. Panicked now, he started to get the book from the air duct, then realized that if he was picked up, he didn’t want it found on him.

  He left the book where it was, but he grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulders. Then he went out, knowing enemy eyes were probably watching his every move.

  43

  Evin Prison

  Evin District

  Tehran, the Islamic Republic of Iran

  August 13, 2011

  Miriam woke cold and alone in a dark concrete room. Shackles bruised her wrists and she hung on a chain from a thick metal ring mounted on the ceiling. She could barely touch the concrete floor with her toes, but if she didn’t, her weight made it feel like her arms were slowly being torn from her shoulders. She muffled a cry of agony, not wanting to give her captors the satisfaction of hearing her in pain.

  A shadow moved against the wall. She barely made out a man’s form as he knocked on a metal door.

  A metal plate slid across an opening, allowing a square foot of hard white light to filter into the room.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Tell Colonel Davari the woman is awake.’ Light glinted off the machine pistol slung at the shadow man’s shoulder. Both men spoke Farsi.

  Miriam knew she’d been taken by members of the Revolutionary Guard – the language and her surroundings removed any doubt.

  She was cut off from Katsas Shavit and the Mossad. All alone in enemy hands. The worst enemy hands, because even more damaging than being a spy, she was a woman.

  For long minutes, Miriam hung there with the chains biting into her numbed wrists, her calves and toe
s ached and cramped from standing on her toes, no relief in sight.

  Finally, dead bolts clanked on the door, and it slid out of the way. The sudden blaze of light was so powerful it felt scalding on her eyes. Heart pumping wildly, adrenaline spiking her system and temporarily lessening some of the pain, she watched as the grim-faced man in a Revolutionary Guard uniform strode into the room and stop in front of her. His insignia identified him as a colonel.

  ‘Miriam Abata, you are in Iran as a spy.’

  ‘No.’ Miriam wanted to be more articulate, but the frightened animal lurking in the back of her mind exploded out of the darkness and took control. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to be tortured. ‘I am a student. I am here to study. I am not a spy.’

  The colonel put his hands behind his back and gazed down at her. ‘You are lying, spy.’

  ‘I am a visiting scholar. Check my passport.’

  With insane speed, the colonel backhanded her across the face.

  Pain spiked through Miriam’s brain as her head snapped back. She sagged at the ends of the chains and felt the raw fire of the links biting into her wrists. She tried to get her feet under her again as the salty taste of blood filled her mouth.

  ‘Your passport is as full of lies as you are.’

  ‘No. I am an Israeli citizen. You must let me go.’

  ‘We execute spies in Iran. I’m sure your minders told you that before you accepted this mission.’

  ‘I am a visiting scholar.’ Miriam swallowed blood and felt two of her teeth loosened by the impact. Her face was already swelling, her right eye closing a little. The man hit very hard.

  ‘Where is the book? We know Lourds found it.’

  ‘The American professor brought many books. Which book are you – ’

  Colonel Davari didn’t move as fast this time. He slowed himself intentionally, letting her see it coming. Miriam ducked her head into her shoulder, but in the end, it did no good. He punched her in the stomach hard enough to drive the air from her lungs and make her vomit. The stinking mess ran down her clothes.

  Davari gestured to two of his men. ‘Get that off her.’

  At first, Miriam thought they were just going to remove the vomit. Instead, they both drew knives. The blades flashed as they yanked at her clothing. Each movement was excruciating to her wrists and calves. Her stomach throbbed from Davari’s punch. They didn’t work carefully. As they cut her clothing from her, various nicks and cuts tracked her body.

  They dropped her blouse and pants at her feet in rags. One of them slid his knife between the cups of her bra and pulled. The lacy material parted, and her bra fell to the floor as well, leaving her naked and unprotected except for the gauzy red panties that barely kept her modest.

  Another man unwound a water hose from a wheel on the wall. He turned the water on and used the spray attachment to hose her down. The cold deluge felt near freezing and took Miriam’s breath away. She cried unashamedly then and screamed in pain and fear and helplessness. The man directed the stream at her face and forced her to shut up or drown.

  Finally, the colonel raised his hand, and the man turned the water off.

  Sodden, shaking, her teeth bloody and chattering, Miriam hung at the ends of the chains and hoped the fiery pain in her arms and legs would cause her to black out. Unconsciousness eluded her, however.

  Davari stepped back into her face again. ‘Where is the book?’

  ‘Lourds has it.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You know which book I’m talking about?’

  ‘The professor brought many books with him. If the book you’re looking for is one of those – ’

  Davari hit her again. This time blood trickled from her nose. ‘Where is the book?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You’re being a very foolish girl.’

  ‘I am a visiting scholar. Not a spy.’

  ‘You are a spy, and you don’t know enough to save your own life. The Mossad will wipe their hands of you.’

  Miriam knew that was true. Before she had left Jerusalem, Katsas Shavit had told her that the Mossad could not risk much finding her if she was taken. Miriam had never thought she would be captured. They weren’t doing anything dangerous, nothing that would make them stand out.

  Then she realized that Lourds had been right. The men at the airport had been coming for them. Colonel Davari and the Revolutionary Guard had known she and Lourds were coming, and they’d lain in wait. She wondered if they had Lourds, but she didn’t dare ask.

  No one would be coming for her. She could only hope that she died soon, and with as little pain as possible.

  Davari leveraged a callused finger under her chin and lifted her battered face up to his. ‘You know this is true, don’t you, girl? You know not to cling foolishly to the hope that you will be rescued by your compatriots.’

  Miriam didn’t say anything. She knew anything she said to demean him would only be used against her. And it was futile. Mostly she was afraid he would be encouraged to hurt her some more.

  ‘Do you know how I know you were a Mossad agent?’

  She didn’t rise to the bait.

  ‘Because I know your father was a Mossad agent. He told me so in the final minutes before I killed him.’

  A scream erupted from Miriam and carried with it a strength she didn’t know she possessed. Hauling herself up on the chains, she lashed out with a foot, delivering a kick to Davari’s face.

  The colonel staggered back, blood trickling from his split lip. Then he clenched a fist and lunged forward, driving it into her face, finally delivering the blessed unconsciousness she was seeking.

  Imam Khomeini Metro Station

  Imam Khomeini Square

  Tehran, the Islamic Republic of Iran

  August 13

  Lourds got off the rapid-transit metro with the rush of morning workers. He was frazzled and worn, sick with worry, and still didn’t have a concrete plan for finding Miriam Abata, getting Namati’s al-Buraq, or getting out of Tehran. At the moment, all of those tasks seemed impossible.

  The Imam Khomeini Metro Station was located at the junction of Line 1 and Line 2. He skipped the elevator because it was filled with Muslim women who wouldn’t allow a man to ride with them. He’d almost made the mistake of trying to enter the last car on the train earlier. The first and last cars of every train were set aside for women who didn’t want to ride with men.

  He took the stairs up the sixty feet to the surface and stepped out into the station’s main area. With all the burqas and hajibs swirling around him, Lourds felt alienated, an obvious outsider in a foreign – and definitely hostile – land.

  Hitching his backpack over his shoulder, Lourds crossed the polished floor laid out in a pattern of brown tiles in the midst of white toward the entrance, bypassing the phone banks and cash machines. Even the beautiful Persian artwork on permanent display couldn’t distract him.

  He’d spent the night away from the hotel, hanging in cybercafés that didn’t deserve the name because they had limited access to the world. He’d searched for any news of Miriam, but there was none. Nor was there any mention of an Israeli grad student disappearing from the Ferdowsi Grand Hotel.

  While thinking desperately, Lourds had considered calling the Tehran police, but they were essentially the Revolutionary Guard, the same people who had ‘disappeared’ Miriam. The United States didn’t have an embassy in Tehran. Neither did Israel. The Canadians maintained ambassadorial relations, but Lourds knew they wouldn’t want to get involved in his current predicament.

  He was on his own, and he was hardly an army of one.

  Outside, Lourds took a deep breath and gazed out over the square. In the past, the neighborhood had been called the Shah Square. For a time it had been known as Toopkhaneh Square, literally translating into cannon house. Dar al-Funun, Iran’s first modern college, had found a home there during the nineteenth century, and it had been a place whe
re regal state ceremonies had been conducted.

  Those glory days were basically over. Protestors often gathered there to rebuke the Ayatollah and suffer the harsh wrath of the Revolutionary Guard and the Basij militiamen. Those brave Iranians standing up for self-government had paid for their courage with blood. Protestors had been maimed, terribly injured, or died there.

  The telecommunications building on the south side of the square didn’t even pretend to mimic Muslim influence. It was serviceable and massive, a gray wall that shadowed the square. On the other three sides of the square, small shops and boardinghouses fought for space where the poorer families in Tehran lived.

  Lourds felt the heavy despair that filled the neighborhood. He also drew several curious stares from passersby.

  In the end, he knew what he had to do. Just as with Miriam, he had to trust someone, and there were precious few in Tehran to trust. But something had to be done. He took his satphone from his pocket and called Reza.

  ‘Miss Abata was taken from the hotel?’

  Across the small café table from Reza, Lourds tried to maintain his calm. ‘Yes.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘I have to assume it was the Revolutionary Guard.’

  For a moment, Reza looked panicked. The reaction made Lourds feel a little better. Anyone who felt threatened by the mere mention of the Ayatollah’s bullies had to be close to being on his side.

  ‘I shouldn’t be here.’ Reza started to rise from his chair.

  Lourds leaned forward and put a restraining hand on the young man’s forearm. ‘Reza. Please. If something isn’t done, I’m certain those people are going to kill Miriam. I need help.’

  Reza stood a moment longer, halfway between rising and sitting. Finally, he blew out a breath and sat back down. ‘What have you done that would call the Revolutionary Guard down on you?’

  ‘Have you heard of Lev Strauss?’

  ‘Of course. I’ve read many of his proposed peace agreements regarding the Middle East.’

  ‘You know about his death?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I have reason to believe he was killed by the Ayatollah’s death squads because of something he was working on. Now I’m working on it.’