Free The Dust Will Never Settle by Mukul Deva Page A

not in the news.’
    ‘We don’t want the people behind the strike to know we are onto them.’
    ‘Good thinking.’ Ravinder gave an approving nod. ‘So you know exactly how the raid was executed?’
    ‘Yes, we do.’
    ‘Please share it with us. I am sure there can be major lessons in it for all of us.’
    Peled gazed at Ravinder. Then he began his story. ‘The strike on Jerusalem began at precisely ten-fifty that morning.’
    As he spoke he held a wireless controller in his hand. Powered by his laptop, footage from a security camera began to beam onto a screen at the far end. It showed dozens of tourists milling around, along with several security men.
    ‘The attack started innocuously enough, but escalated so rapidly that our security was initially swamped. By the time we recovered and started a counter-attack, the raiders had gained a foothold, a tenuous one, but enough to ensure that the damage inflicted was substantial.’
    His four-person audience listened in rapt attention.

    A security camera zoomed in to show three women walking up towards the Al Aqsa mosque. All seemed to be in their mid-twenties and blended into the touristy crowd with ease. They held travel books in their hands, big cameras slung around their necks, and water bottles peeped out of their backpacks. Their heads were covered with scarves and they wore full-sleeved shirts and trousers, ensuring there was no indecent display of skin.
    In retrospect it was easy to see that their eyes were not still; they constantly darted around, like the advancing scouts of a rifle section. They had divided the area into zones, so between the three of them maintained a total view of the surroundings. This heightened awareness was mostly due to the Benzphetamine pills they had taken a few minutes ago.
    It was at the Al Aqsa mosque that the Holy Prophet was given the commandment to pray five times a day for the following sixteen-and-a-half months, with Jerusalem as the Qibla (direction of prayers), though today Muslims face Mecca while praying.
    The Dome of the Chain marks the central point of the Al Aqsa, which like most mosques has four minarets, three square ones and a cylindrical one from the Mamluk period. Recognizable by its lead dome, which replaced the aluminium covering built in 1964 in order to restore it to its original cover, Al Aqsa comprises three distinct parts: narrow arcades running along one end, a huge atrium, and a covered area to the south.
    Signs of damage done to the mosque in 1969, when a fanatic Jew set fire to the covered area, are still visible. Amongst the numerous sad losses was the loss of the beautiful handmade pulpit from Aleppo made of over 10,000 interlocking pieces of wood, ivory and mother of pearl, held together without a drop of glue or a single nail, and considered one of the most beautiful pulpits in the world.
    ‘If the plan that had been developed for these terrorists had fully succeeded, the damage would have been much more severe.’ Ido’s tone was sombre.
    As the three women approached the main entrance of the mosque, they appeared engrossed in animated conversation. They were fifty feet from the entrance when a motorcycle sped past on the road in front of the mosque. About twenty metres from the main security post, the motorcycle lost control. Since the camera feed was not backed by an audio track, they could only imagine the loud thud with which the motorcycle hit the road. It would have been followed by a nerve-grating, screeching sound as metal scraped along the tarmac. The rider’s helmet broke loose. When the bike screeched to a halt she lay still – a young woman in her mid-twenties with blood covering her face.
    Two of the six security men stationed at the monument’s gates ran forward to help even as the attention of the other four remained focused on the fallen rider.
    Ravinder realized that the security men had been lured into a trap.
    Converging on the motorcyclist along with the security men were