Chapter Thirty Three: The Al-Feranj Synagogue. It was 9pm and getting dark. He joined the general influx of worshippers gently flowing through the marble arches. He blended in and took up a position at the back of the hall. As the crowd continued to mill around him and take up their own positions, his only thought was to quickly step to the side and get to the lower reaches of the building before the crowd settled, confirmed their faith and knelt to pray. No movement would go undetected after everyone within the hall fell to their knees. There was a door to the left, it was not locked; in fact there was no lock. It was risky, but he must take the chance or he would fail in his mission. He took his chance and stepped through, he waited with anticipation to see if anyone followed him to investigate what he was up to, but no one followed him or shouted out a warning. He followed a corridor for some 50 yards, checking doors as he went. Eventually, at the furthest point, he pushed the last door until it opened; he was faced with a spiral stairwell that went up as well as down. The stair treads were made of stone and worn away at the centre; the spiral was tight and steep; it was ancient, Sol could smell the history in the place. The obvious choice was to go down, not because it was the safest option, but because that was the more likely place to imprison someone. The stairwell was not lit either and he was pitched into darkness once the door closed behind him; just one or two shafts of light squeezing their way past the old and loosely fitting wooden door. He crept down the staircase carefully, one step at a time. He suddenly realised the danger he may encounter and knelt down to remove his pistol from its ankle holster, and then continued onwards. It seemed to take forever to reach the next point of exit; but this was an ancient foundation below a relatively new building and he could only guess at how deep the stairwell may go. After approximately six revolutions of the stair; the air became damp and cold, but light started to creep into the stair well. He stopped and listened, a feint noise could be heard, but nothing he could make out. He could smell the musk of a thousand years floating in the air. He stepped into the room; it was open to the stairwell with no door and lit by wall mounted torches giving off thin black lines of soot that blackened the adjacent wall and ceiling. The floor was made of stone but covered in sand. He slowly stepped towards the far side of the room, listening intently for any sign of danger. The smell of blood, sweat and urine hung in the air; it reeked of pain and despair. He could only imagine the countless souls that may have been lost to this place over the centuries. There were two doors to choose from, but only one was lit; this was starting to look promising. He entered the narrow stone corridor and slowly worked his way forward, past one, two, three heavy doors until he reached a forth. He could hear voices behind the door. There was no way he could open the door without alerting everyone within the room and he did not want to go blazing in, killing everyone when there was no proof of the Rabbi being in the room. But he must find out who and what was in the room. The words of Grand Master David Gregg were echoing of the stone walls of this ancient building: find the Rabbi, time is running out, find the Rabbi! He placed his pistol back into its ankle holster. Solomon’s temperament changed in a moment; from one of caution and fear, to one of strength and brazen courage. He would pretend he was a regular and authoritative visitor. He clenched his fist and thumped on the door three times with such force he hurt his hand. The room fell silent, and then the occupant let out a burst of Arabic in reply; Solomon only recognised the last words of the sentence because it sounded like a name. The door was pulled open with force and vigour, much to the surprise of Solomon; who was himself more of a surprise to the rough looking scoundrel on the other side of the door, his eyes opened wide with terror. Solomon took one step into the room and crashed his right handed fist into the jaw of the man, knocking him flat out to the ground. Two others sitting at a table stood bolt upright, their wooden chairs flying backward and crashing to the floor. Sol took another step forward and kicked the man on the left in the groin; the man cried out in pain and doubled over. The other man had a few more seconds and had managed to remove his dagger from the sash around his waist. Solomon rushed toward him. The man’s dirty face turned primal, pierced by the blazing white of his eyes. He raised his arm to prepare for the killer strike; Solomon grabbed his right forearm with his left hand and clutched his windpipe with his right, the man gasped for breath and scrambled with his spare hand at Sol’s wrist to attempt a release. Solomon slammed his head into the stone wall; the man went limp and Solomon dropped him to the ground. He spun round and faced the other man as he managed to straighten himself up and gather his breathing. The man froze, raised both hands in submission and dropped to knees: ‘NO sir, No sir’ Solomon pointed to his chair and commanded he sit. The man sat down. Solomon looked him in the eye and placed his heavy hand on his shoulder. ‘Rabbi, where is the Rabbi’? The man closed his eyes momentarily and shrugged as if to confirm he had no understanding of what Solomon was talking about or just did not know anything. Solomon new these thugs would not be sat here for nothing, he must be close. He repeated his command and twisted the man’s ear, he screamed out in pain. Solomon gagged him with his hand and twisted his neck also, nearly breaking it. The man’s eyes bulged out of his head in terror and a muffled confusion ensued. Solomon removed his hand, but the man was speaking Arabic. There was no way his limited knowledge of the language would help him here, he was unsure as to what to do; the Rabbi was meant to be his contact, aid and interpreter. He repeated his command: ‘Rabbi, where is the Rabbi’? The man pointed towards the door he had just come through; Solomon dragged him to his feet and threw him through the door, the man hit the opposite wall and grimaced. ‘Rabbi, where is the Rabbi’? Solomon followed him further down the corridor, they turned left and then right; Sol watched him a well as he could in this light, all the time wondering if this man was leading him into a trap. The area was hardly lit at all and the stench was unbearable, he gagged a little and kept going. The Arab appeared not to notice the smell and shuffled forward at a slow and steady pace. He stopped and stepped through a small stone arch, and fumbled in his robes. Solomon leaned on the arch and could feel the texture of the cold stone beneath his fingers. The door shifted momentarily and then stopped abruptly. Solomon gave it a hefty shove with his leg and it swung open with force; dust and rust flew into the air. Solomon pushed the Arab into the cell and adjusted his eyes to the darkness. In the corner was a small figure of a man, now looking up at the commotion. It was the Rabbi for sure. ‘Are you Rabbi Shraga Simmons’? ‘Yes my son, who are you.’ ‘Mother sent me’. ‘And I shall be happy to receive you my son.’ ‘Come we must go. Is there another way out of here besides the upper floor’? ‘Yes follow me. The Rabbi moved slowly, he was old and had been inactive and under fed for some days, he stretched his legs and gladly left his cell. The Arab went to follow them; one look from Solomon was enough for the Arab to slink back into the cell that he had helped incarcerate the Rabbi in; Solomon pull the door closed and turned the key. The Arab did not complain or shout for help he knew his fate was sealed and if he was patient he may be released: if he was lucky. Solomon grabbed the lone torch from its wall bracket and followed the Rabbi further into the bowels of this ancient foundation. The Rabbi soon warmed up and was moving along quicker with every step. The Arab was now in complete darkness and started to scream for help and salvation. They turned left, then right, the passage getting more narrow and lower too: Solomon had to stoop as the top stones touched his hair. The Arabs shouts became more feint with every turn of this dark, damp and dusty passage. Then suddenly, the Rabbi announced: ‘Here, it’s here’ ‘What’s here, I cannot see a thing’. ‘There by my feet, where the floor meets the wall’. Solomon strained his eyes and pointed the torch closer to where the Rabbi was pointing. It looked like a large stone was missing, leaving a hole. ‘What is it and where does it lead to’? It is designed to sweep the waste away; this is the outer wall of the Synagogue. Aren’t we still below ground? Only at the front of the building, this is the rear, where the gro
und falls away at the edge of the hill. Is there a drop? About 12 feet; but the ground is soft, you will be fine, look at me I am nearly sixty years of age. I will go first, lower me in feet first. The Rabbi hoisted up his robes and knelt down; once he had edged his legs into the hole, he beckoned for Solomon to grab his hands and lower him down slowly. Sol was apprehensive, but trusted the Rabbi’s knowledge of the building and was impressed with his gamesmanship. Sol was smiling and his eye brows were raised. He lowered the Rabbi as low as he could, looking for reassurance that the Rabbi was happy with his actions. ’Are you OK’ ‘Yes, I can feel the opening with my feet, let go’ ‘Let go! Are you sure’? ‘Yes let go or we will be here all day’! Sol let go and could hear his Robes sliding against the ancient stone, and then a moment of silence before a thud and a grunt. ‘Are you OK’? ‘Yes, my knee hurts like hell, but I’m ok’ Sol turned around and lowered himself feet first and backwards into the hole, grazing his shins as he went. First his legs, and then as he let go of the torch, his upper torso; finally he was hanging by his finger tips and his feet were sticking out into the night air below him. He could hear the Rabbi encouraging him to let go. He would not normally have had to perform such a trusting manoeuvre, but the Rabbi had made it, so let go he did, and slid about six feet before picking up speed as he flew through the air. And just as he began to panic he hit the floor; his legs doing nothing to absorb the unexpected shock, only once his hips and torso had hit the ground did his speed of ascent diminish. He rolled over on to his side, gripping his ribs where his knee had hit home, hard. After a few seconds of rubbing their bruises, Sol suggested they head for his hotel room to clean up, eat and talk about their next move.
They were now outside the streets of the old town and it was nearing mid night; but they were still inside the newly expanded streets of the city itself. So after scrambling down the bank, they quickly walked a while and re-entered the old town quarter. Some ten minutes later and they were looking at the hotel. The Rabbi’s robes were filthy, his black hat was missing and his long beard was matted, amazed onlookers and staff stared in disbelief at the dishevelled Rabbi and a soiled Solomon headed for the lift. Once inside the room they enjoyed the privacy it offered, they showered, ordered something to eat and sent the Rabbi’s robes for cleaning. The Rabbi was an educated man and spoke excellent English. The Rabbi confirmed he had been incarcerated by Quedo and the thugs Sol had met in the lower floors of the synagogue. He had been praying, when he was grabbed from behind, blindfolded and thrown into the cell. They must avoid him at all costs; he may well turn up at this room at any time: they were in great danger.