movie, the one with Kevin Costner in it. You know the movie I’m talking about?”
Monique smiled back at him. “Yes, I do. But right now—”
“I know, you’re in a hurry. But I have to tell you, we have a very big mess here. You won’t believe what a big mess this is.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s such a mess I can’t see what happened to your data. I know the signals from Maryland came to this station and were shunted to line number three-seventeen. That’s a dedicated fiber-optic line, installed by Bezeq last year. I know the line exists, because I went inside the station a few minutes ago and saw it on the control panel. But it’s not on the map!” He slapped the blueprints. “I have to tell you, I don’t understand it. Bezeq is supposed to update these maps every week.”
Monique narrowed her eyes. Although she wasn’t a real FBI agent, she knew a clue when she saw one. “Who ordered the installation of the line?”
“That’s another crazy thing. I checked the order and there’s no name on it. And the address is a post office box. But the person who ordered the line has been paying his bills, so at least Bezeq is happy, yes?”
“Is there any way to find out where the line goes? Maybe by talking to the crew that installed it?”
Aryeh made a face. “Ah, those guys are schmucks. I know a quicker way.” He folded the blueprints and threw them into the backseat of his car. Then he reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a flashlight. “Line three-seventeen is bunched with five other lines inside a cable that runs into the Old City. So we’ll just follow that cable. We’ll see where your line branches off, yes?”
“Can you do that? Don’t the cables run underground?”
“Yes, in most places that’s true. But everything is crazy in the Old City. The archaeologists won’t let Bezeq dig there, so they string the lines wherever they can.” He locked his car and started walking toward the Old City’s wall. “Come, this way. The cable runs through the Lions’ Gate.”
Aryeh walked quickly for a small man. David and Monique followed him, heading for an archway flanked by lions carved into the stone wall. David recognized this entrance to the Old City—he’d seen the Lions’ Gate before, when he’d visited Jerusalem ten years ago, but now it shocked him anew with its simple beauty. For a historian, the Old City was truly heaven on earth. Less than a mile across, it was filled to bursting with ancient mosques and temples and churches. David looked to his left and spotted the Dome of the Rock, the Muslim shrine that dominated this part of the city. It sat on an elevated plaza that the Jews called the Temple Mount, because that was where their Holy Temple had stood before the Romans destroyed it in 70 AD. And just below the Temple Mount was the Via Dolorosa, the path Jesus had taken on his way to the Cross. It was enough to inspire even an agnostic like David, who was raised Catholic but hadn’t stepped inside a church in thirty years.
They went through the Lions’ Gate, then walked down a gently sloping alley paved with stones worn smooth by millennia of foot traffic. The alley was crowded with people headed in the opposite direction, mostly Palestinian women in white head scarves leaving the Old City with full shopping bags. A flock of elderly nuns shuffled past, followed by a pair of Israeli soldiers nervously patrolling the Muslim quarter. Both sides of the alley were lined with shops offering trinkets for the tourists—T-shirts, posters, skullcaps, hookahs, and a wide variety of garish oil paintings depicting the Crucifixion. Palestinian men sat in front of the shops, under awnings of rusted iron, drinking tea from slender glasses. They looked suspiciously at Aryeh Goldberg but said nothing as he shone his flashlight down the darkening alley. He pointed the beam at a black cable that ran just above the awnings.
After a few hundred yards they came to a stone wall
Monique smiled back at him. “Yes, I do. But right now—”
“I know, you’re in a hurry. But I have to tell you, we have a very big mess here. You won’t believe what a big mess this is.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s such a mess I can’t see what happened to your data. I know the signals from Maryland came to this station and were shunted to line number three-seventeen. That’s a dedicated fiber-optic line, installed by Bezeq last year. I know the line exists, because I went inside the station a few minutes ago and saw it on the control panel. But it’s not on the map!” He slapped the blueprints. “I have to tell you, I don’t understand it. Bezeq is supposed to update these maps every week.”
Monique narrowed her eyes. Although she wasn’t a real FBI agent, she knew a clue when she saw one. “Who ordered the installation of the line?”
“That’s another crazy thing. I checked the order and there’s no name on it. And the address is a post office box. But the person who ordered the line has been paying his bills, so at least Bezeq is happy, yes?”
“Is there any way to find out where the line goes? Maybe by talking to the crew that installed it?”
Aryeh made a face. “Ah, those guys are schmucks. I know a quicker way.” He folded the blueprints and threw them into the backseat of his car. Then he reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a flashlight. “Line three-seventeen is bunched with five other lines inside a cable that runs into the Old City. So we’ll just follow that cable. We’ll see where your line branches off, yes?”
“Can you do that? Don’t the cables run underground?”
“Yes, in most places that’s true. But everything is crazy in the Old City. The archaeologists won’t let Bezeq dig there, so they string the lines wherever they can.” He locked his car and started walking toward the Old City’s wall. “Come, this way. The cable runs through the Lions’ Gate.”
Aryeh walked quickly for a small man. David and Monique followed him, heading for an archway flanked by lions carved into the stone wall. David recognized this entrance to the Old City—he’d seen the Lions’ Gate before, when he’d visited Jerusalem ten years ago, but now it shocked him anew with its simple beauty. For a historian, the Old City was truly heaven on earth. Less than a mile across, it was filled to bursting with ancient mosques and temples and churches. David looked to his left and spotted the Dome of the Rock, the Muslim shrine that dominated this part of the city. It sat on an elevated plaza that the Jews called the Temple Mount, because that was where their Holy Temple had stood before the Romans destroyed it in 70 AD. And just below the Temple Mount was the Via Dolorosa, the path Jesus had taken on his way to the Cross. It was enough to inspire even an agnostic like David, who was raised Catholic but hadn’t stepped inside a church in thirty years.
They went through the Lions’ Gate, then walked down a gently sloping alley paved with stones worn smooth by millennia of foot traffic. The alley was crowded with people headed in the opposite direction, mostly Palestinian women in white head scarves leaving the Old City with full shopping bags. A flock of elderly nuns shuffled past, followed by a pair of Israeli soldiers nervously patrolling the Muslim quarter. Both sides of the alley were lined with shops offering trinkets for the tourists—T-shirts, posters, skullcaps, hookahs, and a wide variety of garish oil paintings depicting the Crucifixion. Palestinian men sat in front of the shops, under awnings of rusted iron, drinking tea from slender glasses. They looked suspiciously at Aryeh Goldberg but said nothing as he shone his flashlight down the darkening alley. He pointed the beam at a black cable that ran just above the awnings.
After a few hundred yards they came to a stone wall
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