End of Days (Pike Logan #16)(124)
She turned to him, her helmet tilted to the side, saying, “This is like a bad Halloween costume.”
Aaron said, “It’s good enough to pass through the gate. Let’s go.”
She said, “I can’t speak Hebrew.”
“Follow behind me. I’ll do the talking.”
They exited the tunnel and Jennifer said, “Okay, Han, I’m with you.”
He exited the alley, giving her a quizzical look. “What’s that mean? Who’s Han?”
“Come on. We’re literally reenacting Star Wars.”
He said, “What do you mean?”
“You know, when Luke and Han dress up like storm troopers and infiltrate the death star? That’s what we’re doing.”
They approached the Tribes Gate and he said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She said, “Seriously? You’ve never seen Star Wars?”
“No.”
She shook her head and said, “Let’s just pray they shoot as bad as the storm troopers in the movie.”
Aaron walked directly to the gate, Jennifer following behind. He was halfway inside the stone archway when he was stopped by another uniformed Israeli. They had a short conversation in Hebrew, Aaron raised his voice, and the man fell away. Aaron picked up speed and Jennifer raced to keep up. The exited into a courtyard of the Al Aqsa compound, right behind the Dome of the Rock.
He said, “We’re in, but we won’t last long. That officer who tried to stop us said they’re looking for a fight up here.”
Jennifer nodded, then said, “This place is much bigger than I thought it would be. He could be anywhere.”
They circled around the Dome of the Rock, catching the stares of Muslims who’d come to pray. A group began to coalesce around them, shouting in Arabic. Aaron raised his hands, speaking Arabic in a calm voice. The crowd wasn’t overtly hostile, but Jennifer could sense the anger just underneath the surface.
They reached the entrance to the Dome of the Rock, the small crowd following behind them, and Jennifer grabbed Aaron’s arm, whispering, “That’s the Turtle.”
A man was exiting, dressed like a local with a skullcap on his head, looking at a cell phone.
Aaron raised his own phone and pulled out the picture they’d been given from immigration control. He glanced at it, then the man, then back to the picture. He said, “You’re right. It’s him.”
The man saw their uniforms and began retreating to the Gate of the Tribes. Aaron said, “Stop right there!”
The Turtle began running, and Aaron chased him down, tackling him, and it was the spark that ignited the fire in the mob. Wrestling the man on the ground, Aaron began fending off people attempting to kick him, the crowd shouting around him. Jennifer fought through them, putting herself between the men on the ground and the mob, pushing people back, shouting, “This man isn’t Muslim! He’s pretending to be Palestinian!”
The mob either didn’t listen, didn’t speak English, or didn’t care, closing in on them. Aaron continued to fight, rolling over on top of him, blocking his arms from striking, but the Turtle made no effort to cause harm, desperately working the cell in his hand. He pressed the call button and tossed it away, into the crowd. A young man picked it up, holding it in the air, and Jennifer sprinted to him, sliding her legs behind him and pushing forward, slamming him to the ground.
She grabbed the phone and was hammered from behind by a teenager jumping on her back, knocking her to the ground. She rolled over, kicking the man off her, and saw Aaron slam the Turtle’s head into the stone, then leap up.
She crab-walked backward as the crowd began beating her with anything they had, the ordinary people bending to the collective insanity that all mobs become. Canes, umbrellas, fists, and feet all rained down. She curled up in a ball and Aaron exploded into the scrum like a grizzly bear, flipping people through the air until he reached her.
He jerked her to her feet and she handed him the phone, saying, “He dialed it. It connected. By the time I got it in my hands, it had connected.”
He said, “But it didn’t go off. It’s on a timer. He initiated the timer.”
A rock hit him in the shoulder, the crowd growing more and more angry. He whirled, seeing more people picking up stones. He said, “It’s got to be inside the Dome. He just came out of there.” He turned to the mob, his back to her, drew his baton, and shouted, “Go, go!”
She raced to the entrance, hearing the mob begin screaming at her “desecrating” the sacred space in an Israeli uniform. She entered the rotunda, the people inside shocked at her appearance. Some cowered, expecting tear gas and rubber bullets, like had happened across the compound in the Al Aqsa Mosque last year. Others with more courage began shouting at her. She looked left and right, the desperation beginning to grow. She had no idea how long the timer would run, and no idea where the Turtle had left the destructive device.
She ran around the rotunda, circling the Rock of Ascension, and the crowd began to follow her, now shouting at her in Arabic. She reached a stairwell leading down into darkness and took it, skipping down the steps three at a time, the people above following her.
She reached a small cavern with a family inside, the father holding a backpack in his hands, a ringing coming from it, the mother seeing her appear and wrapping her arms around her children.