The Temple Mount Code

6

As he watched the bloody mess the Neda Agha-Soltan protest had turned into on his plasma television, Grand Ayatollah Mohammad Khamenei’s flushed with rage.

At least there was satisfaction in watching his Basij kill and maim the protestors. They were obstacles to all of the Muslim world reuniting and become one faith strong enough to stand against the West and bringing the cleansing faith of the jihad against all nonbelievers.

‘Supreme Leader.’ Allameh Rajai stood at the door. A tall man with a black beard and round-lensed glasses, he carried himself with military erectness. Most of the scars on his face were hidden by his beard, but others showed where he’d been hit by shrapnel and knife blades. A bullet had caromed through his left jaw and required reconstructive surgery. He’d been twelve at the time, already fighting for his faith.

The Ayatollah had been so engrossed in the television program that he hadn’t heard his aide enter. He muted the news broadcast and waved the man over. ‘What is it, Allameh?’

‘Your son Vali awaits your audience.’

Khamenei smiled and stroked his graying beard. Vali had been an unexpected prize, and he enjoyed the boy’s company immensely. So curious and so dutiful. ‘Please show him in.’

‘I also have news of Colonel Davari.’

‘Give me the report first. My son will wait a few minutes. Patience is a strength.’

‘I have had contact with Colonel Davari. He is on the ground in the Gaza Strip and expects shortly to be meeting with Commander Meshal.’

‘Good, good. Everything is proceeding according to plan.’ The Ayatollah clasped his hands behind him and took a deep breath as he centered himself. The images on the television continued to play.

Despite the violence and stupidity displayed there, he didn’t like the idea of people dying because they were not well enough informed. If they only knew everything he did, if he had Mohammad’s Koran, the violence between the different Muslim factions would end. God willing, he would have the Book soon.

He turned back to Allameh. ‘What about the infidel?’

Allameh picked up the reference smoothly. ‘Klaus Von Volker will meet with Colonel Davari in Lebanon. His people have brought another shipment in to Commander Meshal’s people.’

‘Instruct Colonel Davari to enlist Von Volker’s aid in the apprehension of that Jewish dog, Lev Strauss. He has gone to ground in Jerusalem, and our agents attract too much attention from the Mossad. They will never find Strauss in time.’

‘Of course.’ Allameh bowed.

‘Send in my son. His smile is given to me by God, and he will brighten my day.’

A few minutes later, young Vali stood just inside the room. Seven years old, he stood straight and tall, and his father proudly took note of the warrior already blossoming in his son. His hair was thick and black, his eyes deep brown pools in his handsome face.

The Ayatollah motioned. ‘Come to your father, boy. I would tell you a story.’

‘Of course, Father.’ Obediently, the boy walked to the Ayatollah’s side. ‘I have heard there were protests today.’

‘It is nothing. My people are taking care of it even as we visit.’ The Ayatollah smiled at his young son.

‘I wish I were old enough to fight our enemies.’

‘One day, my son, you will be. Until then, you will be your father’s joy, and I will thank God for every day we have.’

‘Yes, Father.’

‘Join me in the garden.’ The Ayatollah dropped a hand to the boy’s shoulder and guided him into the private garden that abutted the rooms.

The rectangular garden contained an abundance of flowers, shrubs, and trees. It was surrounded by a high wall, and closed-circuit television as well as human guards watched over every inch.

The Ayatollah loved the garden because it reminded him of the old stories in the Koran. The modern world, especially all Western things, were kept at bay. He sat at the edge of a fountain built on an artesian well. The flowing water burbled and sparkled on the leaves of the acacia shrubs that lined the fountain except in the sitting areas.

‘I have told you the miraculous story of Mohammad before, my son.’

The child grinned. ‘Many times, Father. But it is all right. I never tire of hearing you tell it.’

Leaning forward, the Ayatollah ruffled the boy’s hair. ‘It is one of my favorite stories, too. My father told it to me all my life. I wish that he had lived to tell it to you.’

‘When we get to heaven, he will tell it to me then.’

The Ayatollah smiled. ‘Yes, that will be so. However, you are in for a treat today, for I am going to tell you a part of the story I have never told you before.’

The child’s eyes shone in expectation.

One of the Ayatollah’s eldest wives — not the boy’s mother — brought out a plate of fruits, honey, and bread, and a carafe of fresh water. She placed the plate between them without a word, then left.

The Ayatollah waved to the plate, and the boy chose a date and popped it into his mouth.

‘And so it came to pass that God laid a heavy burden on the soul of Mohammad.’ The Ayatollah gave himself over to the story, picturing the events in his mind. ‘During the night at Mount Hira, the angel Gabriel visited Mohammad, who was an old man living in Medina at this time.’

‘Older even than you, Father?’

The Ayatollah chuckled. ‘Yes, older than me, but not for much longer, I’m afraid. I’m swiftly catching up.’ He paused. ‘So Gabriel talked to Mohammad and told him it was God’s command that he acknowledge God by telling everyone to read in the name of the Lord and Cherisher. He was to tell them that God created Man from a blood clot, that God was bountiful, and that God taught Man the use of a pen that he might teach Man other things that were not known. When these things were written down, they became the Koran.’

The boy plucked another date from the serving tray. ‘That was only the first time Gabriel visited Mohammad.’

‘That’s correct, my son. After Mohammad set about the work God had tasked him to do, many obstacles were placed in his path.’

‘Like the obstacles you have in your path, Father.’

‘Yes. Exactly. I do not view my obstacles as tests of faith. I am strong in my faith. These obstacles only make my faith stronger. I am better for them.’

‘And Gabriel visited Mohammad again.’

‘Indeed, he did. This time Mohammad was near the Ka’ba in Mecca.’ The Ayatollah listened to the birds chirping in the trees and the water burbling. The sun felt good on his skin. And he enjoyed his son’s company. ‘Gabriel returned and guided Mohammad through the Isra and Mi’raj.’

‘On the winged horse, Buraq, who was named so because he is fast as lightning.’ The boy’s eyes shone brightly as newly minted coins.

‘That’s right. On Buraq, who was tall and white, bigger than a donkey but smaller than a mule. Off they flew into the Long Night.’

The boy stared into the fountain, and the Ayatollah knew Vali was imagining what that flight must have been like. The Ayatollah had done the same thing when his father had told him the story.

‘The journey was only just begun. Gabriel took Mohammad to the “farthest” mosque.’

‘To Al-Aqsa Mosque, right, Father?’

The location and the name of the mosque wasn’t definitely listed in the Koran. The Ayatollah nodded. ‘It was Temple Mount.’ It could be no other. ‘That is where God made the first man, though it was from blood, not dust as the Jews and the Christians tell their stories.’

‘They do not know, Father. They are very stupid people.’

‘Yes, and those that will not take the wisdom of enlightenment when it is offered to them will perish.’ I will kill them myself if I must. ‘While Mohammad was at Al-Aqsa Mosque, he visited with the other Prophets of God. With Moses, Joseph, and Christ — who was not the son of God but merely a man, though he was a Prophet. He talked of God’s Will and the messages that must be carried throughout the world.’

‘Such as how many times a day a man must acknowledge and give thanks to God.’

‘Exactly. He also saw God in all his glory, surrounded by angels. Mohammad saw paradise, and he saw hell.’ The Ayatollah took a deep breath. ‘Now I will tell you a story that you must not repeat to anyone until the day I tell you that you may. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Father. I understand.’ The boy’s eyes rounded in fear and curiosity, and the Ayatollah knew his own must have matched his son’s when his own father had told him the rest of the story.

‘Do you swear before God?’

‘I swear.’ Vali nodded solemnly.

‘While he was on the journey of the Long Night, which only took one night in our world, Mohammad had time to write his own Koran. The true Koran. From God’s own sacred lips.’

The boy gasped.

‘For all of these years, the Muslim faith has been split over what is Mohammad’s teaching and what is not. But that Book, writ in Mohammad’s own hand, tells the one truth.’ The Ayatollah paused. ‘Even better, Mohammad was given a Scroll that foretold the future of our faith, of the plans God has for us in this world before we go into the next.’

‘The future, Father?’

‘Everything, my son. God gave Mohammad all he would need to lead this world to its salvation. Unfortunately, on his way back to this world, Mohammad — overcome by all that he had seen and God’s beauty — dropped his Koran and the precious Scroll.’

‘How could he do such a thing?’

‘Despite God’s mission for him, Mohammad was only flesh and blood. He was stronger than men but weak in that moment, as men sometimes are.’

‘Where did he drop his Koran and the Scroll?’

The Ayatollah took a breath and tried to decide how much to tell the boy. He knew his family was sequestered away from the rest of the world, that nothing he told them would make it outside the palace walls, but the knowledge was a burden. Finally, he made his decision.

‘At first, my son, the few who knew of the loss — and even Mohammad himself — believed he had lost his Koran and the Scroll in the other worlds. If that had been so, we could never have gotten them back. However, as time has gone on, this has proven not to be the case. The Book and the Koran are here, in this world.’ The Ayatollah ran a hand through his son’s black hair. ‘In fact, I nearly have them within my possession.’

‘That is so wonderful.’ The boy smiled.

The Ayatollah’s heart softened at the sight of his son’s excitement. ‘When I get the Book and the Scroll, Vali, I will place them in your hands and let you know the truth.’

All his agents had to do was find the man who had the book that revealed the whereabouts of Mohammad’s Koran and the Scroll. They would. Of that, the Ayatollah was confident. They almost had him now.

The infidel Klaus Von Volker knew no master except profit, and the Ayatollah had taken advantage of that. The man’s greed and ambition shackled him more completely than any chain.

Then the resulting jihad would unleash a rain of holy fire that would cleanse the world. The early Muslims had spread God’s word with their swords. The Ayatollah had new weapons at his disposal, a nuclear arsenal that was being planned and built at that very moment.

And in time, by my hand shall the unbelievers perish, he thought as he gazed fondly at his son.