O Jerusalem - Laurie R. King [123]
“Solomon’s Quarries. Also known as the Cotton Grotto.”
“They go nowhere,” said Ali dismissively.
“They go nearly a thousand feet under the city.”
“Wa! So far!”
“Have either of you been inside them?” asked Holmes.
Ali looked uncomfortable, but Mahmoud fingered his prayer beads thoughtfully. “There were rumours,” he said, “in the last days of the war, of a plan to destroy what your map calls the Antonia from underground. As I heard it, the British forbade the plot. They are sentimental about Jerusalem. However, I never paid the story much thought, since it was told me by Colonel Meinertzhagen. Do you know him? A complete madman, but a great warrior.”
“It is possible there has been a secret passage for millennia,” I said. “It is said of King Zedekiah that he and all his soldiers fled by night ‘by the way of the gate between the two walls, by the king’s garden.’ No-one knows just where they got out, although the king’s garden was at the southern part of the city. And Josephus says something about one of the sons of John Hyrcanus being killed in an underground passageway near the Temple.”
Holmes tapped the pipe stem carefully against his teeth a few times, then reached into his robe for another piece of paper, laying it on top of the map. “General Allenby’s itinerary for the coming weekend,” he said. “Meetings at Government House tomorrow; a ride into the desert in the afternoon, weather permitting; an intimate dinner with the troops followed by army amateur dramatics— the general is a brave man. But look at Sunday.”
We looked at Sunday, Holmes’ scrawl of the information given him no doubt by the general himself on their way to the American Colony: breakfast with Governor Storrs; church services with the Anglicans; then at one o’clock in the afternoon, as a public appearance of good-will, the walk through the Haram es-Sherîf with Governor Storrs and an impressive list of high-ranking officers and high-ranking officials among the Christian, Jewish, and Moslem communities. No rabbis, of course, not in the Moslem compound, but a handful of secular Jews had been included, and it was possible one or two rabbis would appear at tea in Government House afterwards. Two dozen names, virtually every shred of authority in Palestine, in one place, on Sunday afternoon, in the holiest site common to three religions.
The reminder was chilling: those people, in that place, with two hundred fifty pounds of explosive in the hands of a man like Karim Bey.
“ ‘I will wipe Jerusalem as one wipes a dish,’ ” I murmured, “ ‘wiping it and turning it upside down.’ ”
Mahmoud’s lips moved soundlessly as his fingers continued to manipulate the beads, but Ali said forcefully, “They must not go. Allenby must be made to cancel the meeting.”
“Karim Bey must be caught.” To my surprise it was Mahmoud who said it. “Too, even if the men are not there, Bey will detonate the explosives regardless. The site is of greatest importance; taking the lives for him would be an extra.”
“I agree,” Holmes said.
“The Jews will be blamed,” I said slowly. “If they lose no leaders, many will hold them responsible.” And another bloodbath would begin.
“No doubt Bey’s intention,” said Holmes. His pipe had gone out; he struck another match and held it to the bowl, speaking around the stem. “It is unlikely that Bey and his men are coming and going through the streets; at night, discovery is too dangerous, and during the day there are gossiping neighbours throughout the city. Either they come and go during daylight hours in a normally busy area or they come in a way that is unseen. In either case, we need to look at the cave.”
Ali’s wince was minute, but perceptible, and unexpectedly endearing.
“Looking at it will not take all four of us,” Mahmoud said.
“I had the impression you did not wish to be left out of any little part of this investigation.” Holmes’ face was smooth and without guile, although I knew he could not have missed Ali’s apprehension at the thought of descending into the earth.
“We desire to be consulted. Ali and I will