One of the snatch team opened the doors of the van and they stepped out to find themselves inside a large storage shed.  

Apart from a stack of old oil drums in one corner and a small pile of cardboard boxes labelled “fragile” in the other it was completely empty. The walls and the pitched roof were formed of large sheets of dull green corrugated metal. A glazed narrow window strip ran along the top of the walls. It was filthy with grime and what were probably floodlights outside, appeared like dirty splashes of white paint against the external surface of the glass. The concrete floor was a drab greyish brown and reminded Alex of the rundown indoor basketball court at his old secondary school. 

The distinctive smell of aviation fuel hung heavy in the air and every so often the entire structure vibrated with a thunderous roar as a large airliner passed low overhead on its landing approach.

In addition to Alex, Elena and Omri, there was the driver, his companion and another two men present at the warehouse. All four were snatch team members and wore dark blue boiler suits and black balaclava hoods concealing their heads and faces. Two of them carried Galil semiautomatic machine guns slung over their shoulders.  

Alex noticed for the first time since their pick-up at the underground car park beneath the hotel that the van had the EL AL logo painted on the outside.  They stood in a group by the side of the van. Alex and Elena were holding hands, almost reflexively, something they rarely did. He shuddered once or twice, either from the chilly air in the shed or from nervous anticipation. Feeling him shiver she squeezed his hand reassuringly but unconvincingly as her own hand was equally cold and clammy.  

‘We’re back somewhere at Ben Gurion aren’t we Omri’ Alex said as a matter of fact. 

‘What was that?’ Omri replied breaking off from a conversation he was having with one of the men. ‘What did you say?’

‘We’ve come back to the airport haven’t we? We’re somewhere on the apron.’

‘I couldn’t possibly comment’ Omri replied grinning disingenuously.

‘We’ve been here over a minute and none of you have lit a cigarette. I’ve never been with a group of more than two Israelis without at least one them lighting up within thirty seconds. But you can’t smoke here can you because of the air fuel…What is this place Omri’ Alex persisted, ‘a customs shed or something?’ 

‘What does it matter?’ answered Omri.

‘I didn’t say it mattered, but it is ironic.’

‘How so?’

‘It’s as if the Ark hasn’t entered Israel at all.’

‘But this is Israel Alex. This is very much Israeli soil. And by the way, speaking of irony, according to the United Nations this is indisputably Israel while the Temple Mount is not…’

‘You know perfectly well what I mean Omri.’ 

‘Sure I know what you mean and you know I feel the same as you do. But you heard the PM.’

‘I heard him. I couldn’t believe my ears but I certainly heard him.’ 

‘I’m truly sorry Alex.’

They were quiet for a moment and then Elena asked Omri, ‘What are we waiting for exactly?’

‘The director of Mossad with the code’ he answered.

‘The code to what?’ she queried looking puzzled.

‘The key code to the access panel of the vault where the Ark is being stored. Only he and the P.M. know it.

According to these guys he’ll be here any minute.’  Then, almost the instant Omri finished speaking a siren blasted above the sliding door to the shed. Elena nearly jumped out of her skin and Alex grimaced and covered his ears with his hands. Immediately the two armed men trotted away towards the shed door.

‘My apologies!’ Omri shouted as the siren died away. Putting his arm round Elena’s shoulders he said. ‘If I’d known I’d have warned you. It’s intended to be heard over the noise of the aeroplanes. In any case, Avi’s here.’

‘Avi?’ queried Alex.

‘Oh sorry! Avi Peled, the Mossad chief. He and I go way back.’ 

One of the armed men slid the door open just wide enough to allow in a tall slim middle-aged man in a light khaki suit before immediately closing it again.  

Avi Peled approached them at a leisurely gate, barely lifting his large feet off the ground. The sideways sway of his long arms seemed slightly out of sync with his stride and gave the impression that he was walking more slowly than he actually was. 

He smiled when he saw Omri and greeted him in Hebrew. They then shook hands and half embraced. A well-rehearsed exchange of banter followed during which Alex detected the word “professor” mentioned two or three times. He guessed that Omri wanted to avoid Avi repeating the PM’s earlier faux-pas. Then, after a minute or so they turned towards Alex and Elena.

‘You must excuse us Professors Martinez’ said the Mossad chief smiling warmly and in perfect, American accented English. Then holding out his hand towards Alex, ‘but Omri and I are old friends…’

If one didn’t know, Alex thought as they shook hands, looking at the two friends, one would never have guessed that they were the same age. Perhaps running Mossad was an even more onerous job than he could have imagined but to Alex’s eyes Avi could have been a good ten years older than Omri. 

His ovular face was pale and yellow and the little hair he had left was a dull grey and combed over his bald pate in lank strands. His eyes were bloodshot and deeply shadowed and with heavy eye bags. His high forehead was furrowed with permanent worry lines and his thin lips were chapped and chewed. The matching dimples on his chin and at the tip of his broad nose seemed to accentuate his haggard and world-weary appearance. 

‘Old friends my arse!’ Omri exclaimed smacking Avi playfully on the back. ‘We had no choice! We were in the army together. From basic training onwards Avi here was forced upon me!’ and they both laughed.

‘That’s true’ continued Avi, ‘and what was worse, the bastards at officer school made Omri my commander for nearly all of our time together.’

‘Was he a hard task master?’ Alex asked Avi picking up on the jovial spirit between the two men.

‘Are you kidding? He ran our unit like he was Genghis Khan…’

‘He’s lying!’ exclaimed Omri giving his old colleague another playful thump. ‘I was the model of leniency…’

‘Sure! With the girls!’ Avi cut in. ‘With the girls Omri was the most lenient officer in the entire army!’

‘Now I know you’re telling the truth’ Alex said laughing too. ‘That’s my Omri okay!’

Omri was standing with his arms folded across his chest feigning a look of righteous indignation.

‘If we didn’t have a lady present’ Avi continued nodding at Elena, ‘I could tell you stories about Omri’s leniency towards the girls in his command that would make you blush…’

‘Don’t mind me, please!’ said Elena gesturing encouragingly with her hands. ‘Please, do go on.’

‘I think not!’ Omri said firmly wagging his finger.

‘But seriously though’ Avi said, his tone suddenly altered to earnestness, placing his hand on Omri’s shoulder, ‘this guy was the best unit commander in the army and the bravest. He saved my life twice during the battle for the Old City. Once during the assault on the Lions’ Gate he rugby tackled me away as I was about to tread on a booby trap and then later, on the Via Dolorosa he took out a sniper who had his gun trained on me…’ 

‘I can quite believe that too’ said Alex smiling at his friend who looked distinctly uncomfortable being praised so effusively. 

There was an awkward silence for a moment and then Omri eager to change the subject said to Avi; ‘Speaking of the Old City, there’s a rather important relic from the Old City just behind that wall over there which our distinguished Spanish guests are eager to see.’

‘Sure’ said Avi nodding affirmatively. ‘You people follow me.’

As he led the three of them towards the far wall of the shed Alex and Elena found themselves holding hands again. 

Then Alex felt Omri’s great paw-like leathery hand gently squeezing his neck and he turned to find him grinning at him; a tight lipped twinkly eyed grin, as if to say ‘well old pal, this is it. This really is it…’ Alex tried to smile back but could only return a wide-eyed nod.   

Then suddenly the contact of his wife’s and his friend’s hands were irritating and stifling and with an involuntary jerk he wriggled clear of both of them. They looked at him with concern but he held up his hands and between two deep breaths said; ‘I’m fine. Really I’m fine. I just…I just need to be on my own for this…until I’ve seen it…then afterwards…’

Meanwhile Avi pushed firmly with his index finger on what appeared to be a multiple light switch fixed onto the corrugated steel wall. After a couple of attempts the front; switches-and-all, sprung open to one side revealing what looked like an entry-phone keypad typical of an apartment block. The only difference Alex could detect from the regular sort was the presence of two large flat faced buttons beneath the pad; one scarlet and the other green.

 Avi turned around. ‘Not much of a holy of holies I’m afraid’ he said looking at Alex, ‘but under the circumstances I’m afraid it’s the best I can offer you. Now if you’d be so kind as to look the other way for a moment while I tap in the code…’ 

They dutifully turned their backs and Alex heard seven beeps as Avi entered the code.

‘Okay, that’s done’ Avi said. After they had turned back around he pointed towards the green button and asked Alex; ‘Would you like the honour Professor Martinez?’ 

Alex took another deep breath then nodded. ‘Yes’ he almost whispered.

As he approached the panel Avi added; ‘Stand back as you press it…’

Another deep breath and Alex nodded again and mumbled ‘bien’. Overwhelmed by his nervousness he instinctively reverted to Spanish. 

The green button was at exactly his eye level. He stood staring at it, his breathing now verging on hyperventilation. 

He felt lightheaded and as he gazed at the button he found it hard to focus. It seemed to have the form of a ball and for a moment there were two of them and then they melded back into one and parted again, first sideways, then up and down, together, apart, then together. Large beads of sweat ran down his temples and the back of his neck, soaking his shirt collar…’

‘Alex’ he heard someone saying to him, as if in the distance, then again, louder this time, ‘Alex old friend’ it was Omri, ‘are you alright?’

Suddenly there was a thunderous noise and the shed shook and Alex felt as if he had been woken from a trance. 

 As the howling of the four RB211 turbines faded into the distance he turned to Omri and said ‘I’m fine now.’ 

 He smiled at Elena. In Spanish he said; ‘Fifteen years of my life—of both our lives—and this is what it’s all come down to’ and still looking at her, searching for calm and reassurance in her astonishing eyes, he pushed the green button.

For a second nothing happened. Then there was a shushing sound of air being compressed. A corrugated panel, a foot or so above the ground, six feet wide by eight feet tall, just to the right of the key pad, advanced forwards from the wall about ten inches. Then there was a series of clunking and clicking noises and the panel slid smoothly and silently across towards the right. 

As it moved away Alex saw eight inches of gleaming metal and he realised that the corrugated surface was merely a camouflage for what was in reality a steel door to a vault. 

‘This is where we keep our most special and valuable imports and exports Professor’ he heard Avi informing him from over his shoulder. ‘It’s rarely used at all and normally for highly classified bits and pieces— important that is from a national perspective—but nothing to compare with this. I would say with extreme confidence, that this is the most sacred cargo ever placed here.’

Alex peered into the vault but it was pitch black. 

‘Here. Let me professor’ Avi said reaching around the left-hand side of the vault’s entrance, presumably reaching for the light switch. ‘Omri explained to me that you would like to go in on your own to start with.

Well professor, it’s all yours for as long as you need…’ 

There was a click followed a moment later by the distinctive whirring of fluorescent tubes firing up, and the strobe-like flash, flash, flash as the bulbs lit…



The basilica at the Valley of the Fallen is hewn from living granite forming a vast man-made cave. 

After entering, it took several seconds for the three companions’ eyes to adjust to the relative gloom of the artificially illuminated interior after the blinding glare of the white paved esplanade. 

The most striking thing upon entering was the sweet cave smell accompanied by a wave of cold air which enveloped them like a cool blanket. It reminded Omri of walking into the treasury at Petra which although much smaller offered a similar effect on the senses; especially the nasal senses. No doubt the Jordanian sandstone emitted a subtly different smell to this Spanish granite, like two distinct wines but the general effect was almost identical.

They left the porch and passed under the ornate wrought ironwork gate with its pair of Hapsburg Imperial Eagles and into the crypt. 

Despite her best efforts even Elena could not help but stare upwards at the arched vault of the ceiling and marvel at the sheer scale and ambition of the space. The roof in particular had been cleverly worked with undeniable skill to simulate a lattice of arched beams and dressed stone supporting the raw rock above.  

Beneath stretched the crypt, all eight hundred plus feet of it, including at the far end a great transept and choir containing the high altar and tombs of Franco and de Rivera set under a carved domed cupola.

But then, just a few steps after they had passed beneath the iron gate Omri stopped and gasped audibly. He had caught site of two towering black metallic sculptures, dramatically up-lit and set into two raised niches facing each other across the alter. The statues were of massive winged angels cast in a heavy deco style, their gazes averted slightly towards the floor and both gripping downward pointing broadswords.

For a second or two Omri just stood there looking from one angel to the other in obvious amazement. ‘What is it Omri?’ demanded Elena tersely, mistaking his astonishment for admiration. ‘Surely you don’t like those statues too? They’re so…they’re just so clumsy. They’re exactly the kind of clunky brutalism you’d expect from an artist commissioned by a fascist dictator.’

‘But don’t you see it?’ replied Omri looking inquiringly at Elena and then at Alex.

‘See what?’ Elena came back still sounding curt.

‘Don’t either of you see what I’m seeing—really?’ Omri was almost pleading with them. ‘I thought that you guys had been steeped in this Ark stuff long enough to see what I’m seeing.’

But they both just looked back at him and then at each other in blank bewilderment. 

‘Look!’ he almost shouted at them, his arms outstretched towards the two statues while gesturing with his head to each angel in turn, his eyes glaring and then pointing towards the alter with his camera.  ‘Of course!’ exclaimed Alex.

Of course, what?’ Elena said almost demanding to be let in on the secret.

‘Elena’ Alex said now grinning broadly, cupping her cheeks in his hands. ‘Do you remember reading about the Ark in the first book of Kings in the Bible and how it sat in the Holy of Holies in Solomon’s Temple? Do you remember what else was in there, in the Holy of Holies guarding it?’

He gave her a moment to think, grinning and nodding at Omri.

Then she too broke into an open-mouthed smile before exclaiming; ‘Oh yes! Two massive carved angels!

The Ark sat between two protective angels.’

‘Two angles ten cubits tall to be precise’ added Omri. ‘And I’d be willing to bet that these two fellows here are about five metres tall, from their feet to their wing tips—in other words, about ten cubits.’  

‘So what does this mean?’ Elena asked looking at

Omri. ‘It’s just a coincidence, isn’t it?’

‘Unless your husband is mistaken’ Omri said grinning mischievously at Alex, ‘and your government really does know about the Ark and placed these two statues here as some kind of secret acknowledgement, then yes it’s obviously a coincidence.’

‘I can assure you that it’s a coincidence’ said Alex ignoring the jibe; ‘These statues were commissioned at the same time as the basilica itself, decades before Franco knew about the Ark.’

‘Still, it’s an amazing piece of happenstance’ Omri declared, ‘although my high school RE teacher always assured me that there’s no such thing as coincidences.’

As they continued slowly down the centre of the aisle the Israeli resumed his photography taking pictures of each of the six apses, of the ceiling, of the floor and the seating and then the stairs leading up to the transept and the choir.

They passed behind the raised altar and stared up at the cupola before arriving at the two marble slabs denoting the tombs of Franco and de Rivera, about ten yards apart.

‘So where exactly is our object?’ asked Omri in a lowered voice.

‘You’re standing on it now’ Alex said looking at the slab beneath Omri’s feat. ‘You’re right on top of it.’ 

Instinctively Omri took a quick half-step backwards. Then he bent his neck and looked down at the grey paving stone beneath his feet, his chin seemingly glued to his chest. His arms sank to his sides and he just stood there like that, stock-still, for almost a minute.

Omri dropped down onto one knee. He glanced around the transept to make sure that there was no one else within earshot before taking the camera in both hands and sliding open the little panel on its rear. He then held down the button with his left thumb and began slowly moving the camera over the stone slab. 

Almost immediately the camera started emitting a sharp crackly high-pitched whine, causing Omri to twitch momentarily as if he had received a mild electric shock. His entire frame remained rigid except for the circular motion of his arms as he scanned the floor. 

Alex and Elena stood either side of him, both of them transfixed by Omri’s sudden display of physical concentration. Although they could only see his partial profile, they could sense the intensity etched on his face.

Then Omri relaxed and he reached down towards the slab with his hand and delicately, hesitantly touched the stone with his fingertips like it was an old master canvas hanging in a great gallery. As he did so they heard him mutter something to himself in Hebrew. And then he raised his face to look at them and they saw that his eyes were glistening. 

He slowly stood up, spent another two- or three-minutes staring at the floor, breathing slowly and deeply, regaining his composure. Finally, he turned to them and said; ‘Forgive me for doubting you Alex. Forgive me for doubting a Son of Kohath.’

He then continued photographing, taking at least half a dozen shots of the paving stone and its immediate vicinity.

In all the years Alex had known Omri he had never seen him display emotion of this sort. Sure, there had been the many heated scholarly disputes, mostly with Ron and even the odd row but never anything like this.

Not even on the Arad dig when on one occasion a shard was uncovered with an inscription on it that seemed at first to contain the name of Solomon’s son King Rehoboam (but which later turned out to be merely the Holy Land’s oldest discovered laundry list). Not even then did Omri do anything more than smile broadly and congratulate the young student discoverer with a firm pat on the back

As they began their return walk back down the aisle towards the rectangle of white daylight at the entrance Alex gave Omri’s arm an affectionate squeeze. He said; ‘If you don’t mind me asking, was that some kind of prayer you made back there?’

‘Gracious no! Nothing like that!’ replied Omri returning his friend’s arm squeeze, ‘I pray about as much as you do.’

‘I never pray.’


‘So, what were you saying? Can you tell me?’

‘Sure, I can tell you and Elena too—but no one else. Not even Carlos Garcia—at least not yet.’ He stopped and looked directly at Alex and then at Elena. ‘Do you both understand?’

‘We understand Omri’ confirmed Elena, ‘but what did you say?’

‘I spoke to the Ark.’

You spoke to the Ark? Alex repeated in disbelief.

‘You didn’t pray but you spoke to the Ark! I think I’d rather you had prayed.’

‘Do you think that the Ark understands Modern Hebrew?’ teased Elena.

‘Of course not!’ replied Omri playing along with her. ‘That’s why I used Classical Hebrew.’

‘And what did you say to the Ark in Classical Hebrew?’

‘I merely told it that I thought it was about time it came home.’

And with that Omri thrust the camera back in his bag and marched back out into the searing daylight.