Newton’s Fire

II

Benyamin had fallen behind the others on the race to the Dome. He was older than everyone but Avram, and far less fit. The intoxication of seeing the Ark had worn off too, leaving him wondering what the hell he’d let himself in for. He arrived inside as Danel pulled the fuses of two construction flares that he’d set up on the carpet beneath the cupola, banishing the great darkness with their fluttering orange light, lighting up the gigantic space above them. Benyamin had seen countless pictures over the years, of course. He’d seen videos. But it was an Arab achievement and so he’d always dismissed it as nothing, as swimming pool architecture. But standing here, staring upwards, it was impossible to dismiss. Impossible to feel anything other than awe. He’d had no idea at all it would look like this, that anything could look like this. He felt giddy. He remembered why he’d wanted to become an architect in the first place.

A pair of doves had found their way inside — always a hazard with such vast spaces. Startled from their roost by the sudden noise and light, they flapped around the cupola, seeking escape from this most gilded of cages. One of them shat in fear even as Benyamin watched, spattering the Foundation Stone itself. His heart went out to it, to them both; and just for a blink he saw his daughters in their last moments, trapped in the rear of that Haifa bus while his wife did her best to comfort them and shield them with her body, and the gunmen outside discharged their magazines, then coolly clipped new ones in.

The terror they must have felt.

‘Snap out of it,’ said Danel. ‘I need you.’

Benyamin’s legs weren’t working properly. Too much lactic acid from all the running he’d done. He had to look down at his feet as he followed him to a pillar, half concealed by steel scaffolding pipes, on which explosive charges had already been placed. ‘Well?’ asked Danel. ‘Will they bring it down?’

A single glance was all it took. The scaffolding was clearly there to facilitate repairs, not to buttress the Dome. ‘They’ll bring it down,’ Benyamin said. And that was that, his entire purpose for being here.

He stood by a pillar, wanting to be inconspicuous, watching as they went to work on the Foundation Stone. First, they covered the exposed rock itself with a double layer of blue silk. Then they unrolled two neoprene air mattresses side by side, zipped them together into a single large mat. They carried this mat over to the Foundation Stone and set it carefully down on it, then tied it to the surrounding pillars with a series of ropes.

The neoprene mattress had numerous internal compartments, each with its own intake valve. Danel and his team now fetched canisters of industrial foam, fitted nozzles to these valves, and pumped the compartments full. The foam expanded inside the neoprene before setting into a hard honeycomb shell capable of absorbing the impact of falling rubble, thus protecting the Foundation Stone from the coming demolition. There was still a risk that something sharp might stab its way through, however, so they stripped off their bullet proof vests and fitted them together with Velcro straps to make a Kevlar blanket that they laid across the neoprene carapace.

The Foundation Stone was now as safe as they could feasibly make it. They were ready to bring down the Dome.