The Fallen Angel

underground structures and cisterns beneath the Temple Mount,” Lavon explained, “not to mention numerous aqueducts and passageways. The largest ones were located around the spot indicated on this map. In fact, there’s an enormous cistern in that area called the Great Sea that was carved from the limestone bedrock. It was illustrated contemporaneously by an artist named William Simpson.” Lavon looked up. “It’s possible David Girard and the imam are standing right there.”
    “Can we get to it?”
    “Simpson’s illustration clearly shows the presence of at least three large aqueducts leading to other cisterns and structures within the complex. But it’s also possible the Waqf has dug new tunnels and passageways under the guise of their construction projects.”
    “Is that a yes or a no , Eli?”
    “You’re asking me questions I can’t possibly answer,” Lavon replied. “The truth is, we have no idea what’s really under the Mount because we’re forbidden to set foot there.”
    “Not anymore.”
    “Do you know what will happen if the Waqf finds us up there?”
    “Actually, I’m more concerned about what will happen if a bomb goes off in an underground cavern between the Dome of the Rock and the al-Aqsa Mosque.”
    “Point taken.”
    “What would happen, Eli?”
    “I suppose that depends on the size of the bomb. If it were the size of the average suicide vest, the Holy Mountain wouldn’t feel a thing. But if it were something big . . .”
    “Massoud destroyed the Marine barracks in Beirut with the biggest non-nuclear explosion the world had seen in a generation. He knows how to make things fall down.”
    Lavon rose to his feet and walked over to the giant ashlars of the Western Wall. The tourists had been evacuated; the tiny synagogue known as the Cave was empty. They were entirely alone.
    “I always hoped I would have a chance to see what was on the other side,” he said, his eyes searching the stone. “But I never imagined it would come about because of something like this.”
    “Surely you’ve found something more down here than some old bones, Professor.”
    “Surely,” Lavon replied distantly.
    “Can you get us in there, Eli?”
    “Inside the Temple Mount?” Lavon smiled. “Right this way.”
     
     
    They headed past the Cave and then took a flight of steps down to an ancient stone archway sealed with gray brick and mortar. Next to it an illuminated modern sign read WARREN’S GATE .
    “It’s named for Charles Warren, of course,” Lavon explained. “During the time of the Second Temple, it led from the street where we’re standing now into an underground passageway. That passageway led to a flight of steps. And the steps—”
    “Led to the Temple.”
    Lavon nodded. “In 1981, the chief rabbi of the Western Wall foolishly ordered workmen to reopen the gate, but as soon as they started digging, the sound of the hammers carried through the passages and into the cisterns up on the Mount. The Arabs could hear it very clearly. They immediately stormed into the tunnels, and a small battle broke out. The Israeli police had to come onto the Mount to restore order. After that, Warren’s Gate was sealed, and it remains sealed today.”
    “But obviously, it’s not the only underground passage onto the Mount.”
    “No,” Lavon answered, shaking his head. “There’s at least one other tunnel that we know of. We found it a couple of years ago. It’s about fifty yards that way,” he said, pointing northward along the wall. “And it’s identical in design to Warren’s Gate.”
    “Why was it never made public?”
    “Because we didn’t want to start another riot. A handful of Israeli archaeologists were allowed to spend a few minutes inside before it was sealed.”
    “Were you one of them?”
    “I would have been, but I had a previous engagement.”
    “Where?”
    “Moscow.”
    “Ivan?”
    Lavon nodded.
    “How thick is the seal on the new tunnel?”
    “Not like this one,” Lavon said, patting the coarse brickwork. “Even an archaeologist with a fickle stomach could get through it without a problem. For a tough guy like you, it won’t take more than a couple swings of a hammer.”
    “What about the noise?”
    “The sermon should cover it,” said Lavon. “But there is another problem.”
    “What’s that?”
    “If that bomb goes off while we’re inside the Temple Mount, we’re going to end up like Rivka.”
    “There are worse places to be buried,