The Lance

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Morning in Jerusalem, and the sky was a luminous blue that went on forever. It reminded Nick of New Mexico, the only other place he'd ever seen that kind of unearthly color.

The President rode with Prime Minister Ascher in the third of five identical armored, black limousines. Flags of Israel and America flew from the front fenders. Nick rode in the car behind the President. It was cool and insulated inside and smelled of new leather and stress. Nick felt trapped. The car was an easy target, armored or not. He looked out through tinted windows at the hostile faces passing by.

The motorcade rolled between a solid line of Israeli soldiers, through checkpoints manned with armored vehicles and troops carrying the latest Tavor Tar-21 assault rifles. It was a security nightmare, a scene of barely controlled chaos.

Thousands of protesters pushed against crowd control barriers keeping them from the Mount and from each other. Muslims, Jews, and Christians shouted and waved signs in Hebrew, Arabic and English. The noise was deafening. The crowd moved in a constant, seething motion, a coiled, restless serpent.

The Waqf had refused to let Rice drop in by helicopter. He would have to walk to the Mount like everyone else. Once out of the vehicles, the President's party was surrounded three deep by a phalanx of Secret Service and Shin Bet. They entered a covered walkway over a wooden bridge that stretched above the Western Wall. The large plaza in front of the Wall was packed with people praying.

The walkway was lined with more Israeli troops. It led to the Moors Gate, the only entrance for non-Muslims onto the Temple Mount. Carter walked a few steps behind Rice and Prime Minister Ascher. He couldn't help thinking it was heady company for a beat up former Marine. What the hell was he doing here?

Rice wanted to staunch wounds bleeding since the time of the Crusades. He was going to appeal for reason and new peace negotiations between the Palestinians and Israel. He'd chosen the Temple Mount to make his speech as an acknowledgement of Islam. Many saw it as a political gimmick at best and defilement at the worst. Nick thought it would have to be a damn good speech, if the uproar around the Mount was any indication of things.

They entered the Mount and were met by a delegation from the Waqf. A contingent of uniformed Muslim guards assigned to the Muslim Authority stood at attention along the sides of the broad square in front of the Mosque. They wore dark khaki colored uniforms with green flashes and green berets and were unarmed except for batons. The Israeli soldiers kept to the perimeter and were armed to the teeth. Overhead, Israeli military helicopters circled in the distance.

Thousands of square feet of carpets had been laid everywhere people would sit and walk, to keep their shoes from touching the sacred surface of the Mount. Guns and cell phones were never allowed on the Mount, but there were plenty here today.

The air was electric with tension. Nick's ear itched like hell. It felt like anything could set off a confrontation. If it went bad there was no telling what would happen.

The golden Dome of the Rock dominated the Mount. It was reached through a set of steps and an arched colonnade. The building was octagon shaped, the huge dome sheltering the Rock of Abraham rising from the center. Arabic inscriptions in green and gold ran along the eight sides of the shrine below the dome, over arched openings protected by carved grillwork. On the peak of the dome, the crescent and star of Islam gleamed in the bright morning sun.

The al-Aqsa Mosque was across from the Dome at the southern end of the Mount. Seven tall, strong arches lined the front of the Mosque, forming a sheltered porch and colonnade. In front of the Mosque was a large, square fountain for ablutions.

Unlike the golden Dome of the Rock, the smaller dome of al-Aqsa was sheathed in grayish lead. Four ancient minarets graced the building, the newest seven hundred years old.

It was here that Muhammad had arrived on the Night Journey. Muslims believed that from al-Aqsa the Prophet had gone to the rock of Abraham across the way and ascended on a winged horse to paradise, to talk with God. To the Muslim world, al-Aqsa was only a shade less important than Mecca itself.

In Islam the Temple Mount was called Haram-al-Sharif, the Noble Sanctuary. In the West the nearest equivalent was perhaps St. Peter's Basilica, but the religious fervor and sacred devotion directed at the Noble Sanctuary by Muslims had no real counterpart in the Christian world.

The news networks had set up cameras and satellite links for the event. Nick saw logos for CNN, Al-Jazeera, Israeli television, BBC. There were others he couldn't identify. The entire world was watching.

A speaking stage had been erected. Two rows of chairs for dignitaries lined the back of the stage. Secret Service and Shin Bet agents were stationed on the stage and around it. A raised podium bristled with microphones. It was armored and big enough for Rice to get behind if someone was stupid enough to start shooting. Bullet-proof deflectors were attached front and sides. It seemed an odd way to bring a message of peace and reconciliation to the world.

Calloway positioned Nick on the square in front of the stage, to the right of the podium. He gave him one of the earpieces and mikes used by the Secret Service. With his wrap around shades and cord curling away from his ear, Nick felt like he fit right in, even if his suit was gray instead of black.

In front of the stage, seats for the invited guests were arranged in a semicircular pattern. It was meant to create a friendly atmosphere. Nick couldn't help thinking it was going to take more than seating arrangements to get these people to agree on anything. The seats were filled, buzzing with speculation about what the President was going to say.

At five minutes before ten, Rice positioned himself at the podium.

Someone made last minute adjustments to his makeup. Someone else moved a microphone. The cameras fired up.

It was showtime.