The Caleb Collection

by Ted Dekker

  Rebecca instinctively jerked down, into cover.

  Eleven dark horses marched towards them out of the red sky, in even step. She knew immediately that it was the Arab. The assassin had found them and was coming in force! Dear God, she had to save Caleb!

  A cry suddenly sounded from the tribe, and Rebecca spun for it. Half a dozen monks ran for the edge of the camp, robes flowing behind. They were going to reveal themselves!

  Rebecca jumped up and shouted at the monks. “Get back!” Didn’t they see the horses? “Get back!”

  But they didn’t seem to hear, much less get back.

  Hadane was among them—leading them, actually. They came out of the tents like pack rats now, the whole tribe running for the front edge of the camp, as if to welcome the Messiah himself. But this was not a savior. This was death, and it was marching with guns loaded.

  Rebecca jumped over the rock. Below her Hadane yelled instructions at his tribe, motioning them to line up beside him. All of them, monks and women and children. A man with dark hair pushed in eagerly next to Hadane and she saw that it was Caleb. They had lost their minds en masse.

  Rebecca ran across the boulders, heart slamming in her chest, desperate to take up a firing position close enough to stem the attack. Dear God, help me.

  It occurred to her with that prayer that she didn’t have a chance against eleven armed men. If she fired, she would give her position away. She could not save the tribe alone. She should be hiding, not scrambling to attempt an impossible rescue.

  But Caleb was with them, wasn’t he? And without Caleb, her mission would fail.

  Rebecca ducked her head and leapt over the rocks.

  The tents looked red in the setting sun’s light, like a field of uniform boulders with pointed tops. Ismael swallowed against a dry throat and took a deep breath. He checked his safety one last time and glanced down the line of trotting horses.

  The men stared ahead, soldiers proud at the edge of battle. Never mind that this battle was a foregone conclusion—they had been trained to sniff out a slaughter, and they could smell the blood now.

  Ismael felt a bead of sweat break over his left eye and he let it run. His only prayer was that the Jew was still there.

  “Ready to charge,” he said. His voice sounded high with excitement. He kicked the stallion, and it broke into a gallop. The others followed immediately, lagging momentarily and then catching up.

  They charged abreast, bearing down on the sleeping tents like an eagle rushing in for an unsuspecting mouse.

  Rebecca bounded down the rock pile, yelling at the tribe.

  “Get back! They’re Arabs, you fools!”

  A muted thunder rolled across the flats and she glanced up to see that the horses were in a charge.

  “Get into the rocks!” she screamed.

  But no one seemed to pay her any mind. They strung out in a long line, with wide spaces between each person. Hadane stood with his feet spread and planted, staring directly ahead with head tilted down, like a gunslinger in the desert, facing off with Pecos Pete.

  Rebecca landed on a boulder ten meters from Hadane, then crouched behind another to give her cover. Caleb stood between her and the leader, copying the monk’s stance. The Arabs’ horses pounded towards them, less than a hundred meters off now.

  Hadane threw his arms wide, as if he were on a cross. He twisted his head to face Caleb, and Rebecca saw his bright eyes clearly.

  “Do you believe, Caleb?” the man yelled over the approaching roar. His eyes flashed and a maniacal grin split his face. He yelled again.

  “Do you believe? Do you remember the day the sun stood still? The day the sea parted? Believe, Caleb! Believe!”

  Caleb kept his eyes on the monk. He lifted his arms. The whole tribe stood with arms lifted now, like scarecrows in flowing robes, facing the horses. Several of the younger children chased about their legs, jumping, oblivious to the predicament that faced them. The others ignored them.

  “Look into the eyes of God, Caleb! Look and believe!”

  Hadane stretched his arms over his head, fists clenched, to form a V. He lifted his chin and cried out, “Belieeeeeve!” It sounded like a scream.

  Rebecca watched, stunned. Caleb threw his head back and wailed at the sky. “I belieeeeeve!”

  Rebecca spun to face the horses. The riders were in view, led by a black stallion, its rider’s kaffiyeh streaming back in the wind. They galloped with rifles in one hand and reins in the other, leaning into their charge. Firing into the rogues would accomplish nothing until they slowed. When they did, she would kill as many as possible. But the tribe stood defenseless. They would be slaughtered, and in the end she would die with them. But still, she could not simply watch as the Arabs butchered such sweet, innocent . . .

  Rebecca swore at her sentimentality and lined her sights on the leader. He would be the first.

  Down below her, Hadane and Caleb were still screaming at the sky; from the desert, the horses still thundered in. They showed no sign of slowing. Now they were thirty meters off, at a full gallop.

  Rebecca’s finger snugged the trigger to fire.

  It struck her then that something was happening—something that felt disjointed in her mind’s eye. The Arabs were not bringing their rifles down to fire. They were not bracing for any kind of impact. They were simply rushing forward, full tilt.

  Rebecca saw this through her sight, and she pulled back slightly for a broader view.

  Sound suddenly began to fade. Her ears felt stuffed with cotton. Caleb stood with his head cocked back and his mouth spread in a silent scream, wailing at the sky, but the sound did not register. Two horses were now barreling down on him, no more than twenty paces off. She could see the flare of their nostrils, the sagging of their lips with each stride, their huge eyes peeled in horror.

  But their riders . . . they weren’t even looking at the tribe!

  The lead rider suddenly reared back, three meters from Hadane. His black stallion clawed at the air. The other riders pulled up hard on taut reins. Their horses braked to a halt, protesting vigorously. The tribe stood still, arms stretched up and faces tilted to the heavens with Hadane, screaming in silence.

  It occurred to Rebecca that she wasn’t breathing. The horses stamped and the riders looked at the tents beyond the tribe. For a moment silence settled on the eerie scene and Rebecca stared in total disbelief. A buzz filled her mind.

  A child laughed.

  Rebecca heard the laugh and immediately saw the young girl from the corner of her eye, hiding behind her mother’s tunic, peeking and smiling at the soldiers.

  But the soldiers didn’t hear her. Or see her.

  “Where are they?” the leader demanded in Arabic. “Where are the tents?”

  The buzz in Rebecca’s head faded to a high-pitched pinging sound. What she saw was an absurdity that refused to connect with her mind. The Arabs did not see the tribe. Nor the tents.

  “On the other side of these boulders,” one of them replied.

  “Shut up, you idiot! They were right here.”

  “The sun plays tricks in the desert,” another said.

  The leader walked his horse right up to Hadane, and then right past him, as if he didn’t exist at all.

  But Hadane did exist. And he was still screaming silently at the darkening sky.

  A tremor shook Rebecca’s limbs.

  The leader stopped his horse behind Hadane, centimeters from his head. The other horses stamped forward on stiff legs, their flesh quivering, stepping through the tribe. The leader spun his horse around twice, his eyes darting around, scowling.

  He kicked the stallion. “Hiyaa!”

  The horse bolted. The rogues followed, galloping into the camp, past the tents, and through the other side. The sound of their hoofs faded into uncanny silence.

  Rebecca crouched, every muscle strung tight.

  A scream started, very soft, as though far away, and then swelled to full volume. Hadane’s scream. Caleb’s scre
am. All of them screaming the last syllable of believe. “ . . . ieeeeeeve!”

  It rushed to full volume and then ceased, as if someone had pulled the plug. They lowered their arms and looked around with wide eyes.

  Some began to laugh.

  Hadane grinned from ear to ear, and Rebecca slumped to her seat behind the boulder.

  They were jumping around and dancing and laughing for ten minutes before Rebecca made her way out of the boulders to face them. The horde of Arabs had gone, in search of the tribe.

  Caleb stood limp, staring out to the desert with his back to her, but Rebecca made for Hadane who was holding a small child and spinning in circles. He set the child down as she approached.

  An odd resentment had settled on her in the Arabs’ wake. In an inexplicable way, Caleb had proven himself to her with the demonstration of power, but she couldn’t accept his proof. For one thing, her mind was still having difficulty believing what she had seen. The tribe had found a way to blind the Arabs to their presence, and even thinking about it made Rebecca feel stupid. Either way, she could not agree with Caleb’s beliefs, regardless of his proof. He was a Christian. She was a Jew. Their beliefs clashed.

  “I will take Caleb now,” she said. “I have to go.”

  “Did you like it?”

  He was talking about the Arabs. “Interesting. Madness.”

  “We were simply riding our bicycles,” he said. “One day you should try to ride.”

  “Please. I’ve heard enough about bicycles and oceans and the eyes of God to keep me entertained for a month. I don’t know what kind of sorcery you work, but I can see why you keep it in the desert. You dance and hop and carry on like children and you practice this magic. Frankly, it feels laced with madness. Now I have no choice but to take Caleb.”

  “If you take Caleb, you will take the madness,” he said with a gentle smile.

  A voice spoke behind Rebecca. “I will go.”

  She turned. Caleb stood looking at her with those impossibly green eyes. She felt oddly disarmed and averted her stare.

  Caleb turned to Father Hadane. “I owe you my life, Father.”

  “You owe me nothing, my son. You only owe it to God to run when he asks you to run.”

  Caleb stepped forward and knelt in the sand, taking Hadane’s hand. “I owe you my life.” He kissed the elder’s hand and stood. They looked at each other for a few long seconds.

  “We have a long journey tonight,” Rebecca said.

  “You understand that you aren’t taking me,” Caleb said. “I am going. And I’m going because I’m meant to go.”

  “Yes, of course. Then let’s go.”

  Hadane reached up and ran a thumb over Caleb’s cheek. “Visit again, my boy. Remember what I told you. Be bold. Cowardice keeps man double minded, hesitating between two worlds. True faith abandons one option for the other. Hesitation is the death of faith.”

  “Yes,” Caleb replied. “What’s the use of asking, if we don’t dare ask for anything we can’t satisfy in our own power? I will remember, Father.”

  “Good.”

  They hugged. Miriam led two camels out to them—Rebecca’s and another for Caleb. Had they prepared for this already?

  Five minutes later, after Miriam had told them which stars to follow and which mountains to keep in sight, Rebecca led Caleb out of the camp, leaving a throng of well-wishers waving in the last light.

  It was going to be a long journey, and in all honesty, Rebecca wasn’t even sure where they were going.

  26

  Darkness had blackened the desert for a full hour before Ismael pulled up on the far side of the boulders. He stared forward into the night, blinking. A slight tremble shook his hands. She had escaped again.

  The caravan’s tracks had been everywhere, but they hadn’t led anywhere. The troop had marched the perimeter once already, with the tracker, Hasam, searching in the failing light for the signs of a caravan’s exit into the desert. Nothing. Their horses were nearly dead; they had no choice but to stop for at least a few hours.

  Ismael slid from his stallion. “We will camp here and leave at midnight. Water and bed the horses.”

  “Should I send the Jeep back around the backside?” Captain Asid asked. “The tracks are everywhere on that side. They still could be hiding.”

  “No. They couldn’t have hidden so quickly. They’re gone. We can’t afford to spend the fuel.”

  The captain looked back into the night. “I could have sworn I saw—”

  “You saw boulders, Captain. The desert plays tricks. The Jew is gone. Our objective now is the monastery. Get the horses watered.”

  The captain turned his sweaty face away and barked the order to set camp.

  Ismael slung his saddle from his horse and dumped it on a rock. If the Jew had left for the monastery with Caleb, he might miss them both. There was now the possibility that she could reach the monastery and be gone before he arrived. If the godforsaken horses had any more strength, he would make a run for it now.

  The men dismounted and struck a quick camp. They had used nearly half of their water supply. Two more days and they would be out. They would have to swing by the springs he’d passed through nearly a week ago now.

  Ismael spit into the darkness and closed his eyes. The anger had lodged in his gut like a bitter pill, refusing to budge. During his five years with the intifada he had been in a dozen situations that would make an ordinary man cry with frustration. But none had produced the heat that flowed through his veins now. He wasn’t sure how to deal with the devastation he felt. He only knew that he couldn’t allow the men behind him to see. They would never understand. To be Arab and Muslim was one thing. The Egyptians did a fine job of being Arab and Muslim. But to be Arab and Muslim and Palestinian and to see your own brother butchered like a cow by a Jew was another thing altogether. The Syrian Republican Guard had some of the Middle East’s best trained and best armed soldiers, but not even they had the fuel of hate driving them like the Palestinian forces did. Nothing could motivate like the death of a brother or the loss of a home.

  Ismael took a deep settling breath. The Jew was killing him with this cancer of hate that ate at his gut. He would track Rebecca down until his own death if he had to.

  He reached for his pack and pulled out the satellite phone. It was time to tell Abu the news.

  Professor Zakkai paced in the monastery’s kitchen, their makeshift op-center. It had been four days since Rebecca’s last contact. Even Samuel, a trained soldier, had lost his steadfast patience judging by the sweat on his face. Avraham was the only one who didn’t seem too worried, and then only because the prospect of losing Rebecca obviously didn’t bother him.

  Zakkai, on the other hand, was literally begging God for her return— she was not only a dear friend, but she might hold the key to the Ark. He felt like his stomach had been cinched into a small knot.

  “We should send a search party after her,” he said to Samuel. “She’s obviously in trouble.”

  “Or dead,” Avraham said.

  “We can’t afford to send any men,” Samuel said. “Not only do we have no clue where to send them, but we can’t afford to weaken our defenses here.”

  “Defenses for what?” Zakkai demanded. “There is no threat! We’re sitting here on our hands, while she’s out there, bleaching in the desert. How can we not send a team out?”

  “To where? The desert is huge. She left nothing but tracks, Doctor. Tracks that are blown away by the wind. Don’t worry, if anybody knows how to survive, it’s Rebecca and Michael. I’ve served with a thousand men, and not a single one of them holds a candle to either of them. Rebecca’s alive, and the only reason she’s not here is because her mission requires her to be somewhere out there.”

  “Ha.” Avraham wore a smile. “You hope to marry her someday, eh, Samuel? She’s gotten into your head with her pretty face. She’s a woman! If you hold her over any man in the army, you’re a fool!”

  “Don’t be an id
iot! She has a record that puts yours to shame. And she handled you nicely enough, didn’t she?”

  Avraham scowled. “She did not handle me. I gave in to her authority for the sake of the mission—there’s a difference. One day you’ll see that. It’s been four days; our agreement called for only three days. We should have killed the hostages and left yesterday.”

  “We’ll leave when I say,” Samuel said. “We wait.”

  “We can’t kill the hostages,” Zakkai said.

  Avraham looked at him with a raised brow. “On the contrary, Professor, we must kill the hostages. How long will it take for them to spread the word of our little exercise here? An hour? Two? We might never make it back to the Red Sea, much less Israel.”

  “There’ll be no killing of hostages,” Samuel said. “We take our chances without the blood of innocents on our hands.”

  “You can’t be serious. This is a military operation.”

  “We’re here for the Ark, not for killing.”

  They stared each other down for a few long seconds, and Zakkai wondered if Avraham would snap one of these times. The man wore a pistol— maybe they should remove it.

  Avraham suddenly turned to Zakkai. “This mission is turning bad, Professor. The longer we wait, the higher the chance of our discovery. As long as we’re waiting, we should use the dynamite and begin excavations immediately.”

  “Dynamite could harm the Ark,” Zakkai said.

  “Not if it’s used carefully. In the service, we placed charges on bridges so that they would collapse only when used with a heavy load. We could blow only those walls and floors that wouldn’t compromise the structure of the building, and only with enough dynamite to make pickax work easy. No harm.”

  Zakkai weighed the suggestion. In truth, he had already considered using dynamite, in spite of Rebecca’s order not to.

  “And if we do happen to find the Ark,” Samuel said, “do we have the evacuation plan?”