a tree that grows out of Mount Sinai that sheds oil.”
One of the witnesses stood and opened a vial of olive oil, then slowly poured the oil over the head of the young man, who looked up at the sky, at the faint golden light reflected on the remains of the Tower, and shook his rich, wet, black hair. “You are anointed as the Black Stone is anointed, the cornerstone which fell from the garden of Heaven.”
“We made a covenant with Adam, but he forgot it, and We found him lacking in faith. And when We said to the angels: ‘Bow down before Adam,’ they all bowed themselves down except the Shaitan, who refused.
“ ‘Adam,’ We said, ‘The Shaitan is an enemy to you…Let him not turn you out of Paradise and plunge you into affliction…
“But the Shaitan whispered to him, saying: ‘Shall I show you the Tree of Immortal Life and an everlasting kingdom?’ …
“The man and his wife ate of its fruit, so that they saw their nakedness and covered themselves with leaves of the Garden. Thus did Adam disobey his Lord and go astray…
“Whoever you are, death will overtake you, though you are in lofty towers…”
The Sheikh stopped for breath. He leaned back and closed his eyes, his head surrounded with the stalks of white star flowers. It was not a large garden, but a very old one, set with low walls and flagstones, watched over by the medieval ruin of the White Tower and hemmed in by an olive grove. A single lemon tree near the fountain was about to bloom; the hot night had allowed a limp breeze with a trace of lemon flower.
The Sheikh sat up, rubbed his eyes, and continued: “Then his Lord had mercy on him; He forgave him and rightly guided him…
“Go hence,” he said, “and may your offspring be enemies to each other.”
Panting, the old man leaned forward and picked up the scimitar. The fiery lightning ran the length of the blade. He elevated the sword in both hands and went on reading:
“This is the Verse of the Sword—When the sacred months are over, slay the idolaters wherever you find them. Hold them, besiege them, lie in ambush everywhere for them. If they repent and take to prayer and alms, let them go. God is forgiving and merciful…
“How can there be a covenant between idolaters and God and His Apostle, except those with whom you made an agreement at the sacred mosque? So as long as they are true to you, be true to them; surely God loves those who carefully do their duty… God will not call you to account for what is futile in your oaths, but He will call you to account for your deliberate oaths.”
The initiate bowed to the Sheikh, took up the sword in its tapestry, and then returned it to the Sheikh’s outstretched hands.
“The sword is the symbol of the covenant you make on this gathering day to do your duty. Do you accept?”
The young man nodded, and the three witnesses stood and approached him. They unfolded a long white robe and dressed him in it and put a white turban on his head. The old man then laid over the robe an ancient green stole and said in a stern voice, “We invest you with the khirqa, the robe God gave Adam in the Garden of Eden. Wear it so you may find the sweetness of faith. We bind your head with the royal turban. Wear it as a crown in token of your throne and kingdom. Its virtue will accompany you to your grave.”
Then the Sheikh set down the sword and toiled to his feet with the help of two brothers at his side. He took the initiate by his right hand. “This is the bayat, the taking of hands—whosoever gives his allegiance to this band of brothers gives it to God Himself. The Prophet established this order when he allowed his most trusted followers, the first muhajirun, to take his hand and commit themselves to infinite loyalty to God and His Messenger. It is the link in the chain that connects you to the light of the Prophet, peace be upon him. It connects you to the chain of all the prophets, Adam, Noah, Abraham, Moses, and Jesus.”
He enfolded the young man in his arms, touching him with the hem of his own robe, saying, “Those who are keepers of their covenants and who keep a guard on their prayers—these are they who are the heirs, who shall inherit the Paradise.”
“You are the true Son of the Eagle,” he whispered in his ear. “May you be the last.”
Chapter 2
Friday, October 8, 2027
Interrogation Room, Shin Bet Headquarters, Queen Helena Street, Jerusalem, 0030h
Jules Halevy sat on one side of the table. He rubbed his wet face and beard. “Doesn’t the air-conditioning work in this building?”
“Not well,” Kristall answered from the other side of the table. The interrogation room was buried in a labyrinth of hallways where no air from the outside could penetrate, and she was smoking with unusual energy. A glass of boiling hot coffee stood at her elbow. Kristall had no sensitivity to heat.
“So. Here we are. What can I help you with this time?” Halevy smiled without humor.
“We’re grateful to you for coming tonight,” Ari said from his perch on the corner of the table. He didn’t like bringing people in for questioning in the middle of the night; he put himself in their place and resented the Service for it. Usually, he thought, it was unnecessary.
Kristall gave Ari a harsh look. “Dr. Halevy, one question. Tell us everything you can about the Mishmar.” She sat back in her chair and exhaled smoke.
“One question, madam? One question? One question like that will take a long time to answer. Why don’t you ask me another question…explain nuclear physics, for example?”
She took a long draught of coffee and put it down.
Halevy sighed and answered in a weighty French accent. “The Mishmar? We are patriots. We are a patriotic group. We are Zionists.”
“Who want to build the Temple on Mount Zion.”
“Yes, that is one of our aims.”
“And how do you plan to carry out this aim of yours?”
“With the help of God.” He answered her stare with his own.
“You don’t contemplate helping him along with the job?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean plotting to remove the Muslim shrines on the Temple Mount. To make God’s job a little easier?”
Halevy reared back as if slapped, then began to laugh.
“You can giggle later. For the moment, I want you to answer my question,” Kristall said in a ragged voice. Halevy stopped laughing.
“You take me from my house and my wife in the night. You bring me to this ‘office,’ this torture chamber. And then you demand my respect.”
“Professor, I’m prepared to keep you from your house and your wife in this torture chamber, as you call it, for many more nights. As soon as I have what I need from you, you may go home.”
Halevy grimaced. “No, no. Of course not. There is no such plot. Our group exists to keep the hope of the Temple alive. To prepare for the day.”
