by Ted Dekker
“Yes, sir, I understand . . . Well, yes I think she does seem . . . respecting of him . . . Yes, sir.”
He handed the phone over. Avraham took it and spoke quickly. “Thank you, sir. We won’t let you down.”
“I’m counting on it,” Solomon said. “Israel is counting on it. And, Avraham, perhaps it would be wise to encourage Caleb to stay away from my daughter. She’s a Jew. He’s a Christian, for God’s sake.”
Avraham smiled. “My sentiments exactly.”
He hung up.
“You are now under my command, Samuel. Do you have any doubts about this?”
Regardless of his personal sentiments, the man was a trained soldier. “No, sir.”
“Good. Then I want you to follow me.”
“I’m covering the bell tower.”
“Am I blind? When I ask you to follow me, you will do so.”
“Yes, sir.” Samuel keyed his handset and called up another man to cover the tower. He was a smart soldier; Avraham would give him that much. Someone to watch later.
Avraham followed Samuel down the stairs.
“Where to?”
“To arrest Rebecca.”
Samuel stopped and turned back. Now his eyes were round like an owl’s.
“Don’t be a fool,” Avraham said. “We don’t have time to squabble over leadership now. You know that as well as I do. We have two hours before the Ark is ready. I have no intention of spending it arguing with a woman who has lost her sense of loyalty. And if you have any questions about my authority, I suggest you air them now. I will not be so cordial in front of others.”
Samuel stared at him, and Avraham would have made his point with more force if it wasn’t for the fact that he needed the man. Solomon had made his orders clear to Samuel. He needed his loyalty, at least for a few more hours.
“Do you question my judgment?”
“No, sir.”
“Of course you don’t. We are running out of time, soldier. I suggest we go.”
The sun had been down an hour, and the Arabs had placed over a dozen explosives on the north side of the monastery. They had done so by engaging the Jews with small arms fire on the south side, just enough to hold their attention. Under the cover of night, the tracker, Hasam, and one of the soldiers had taken two trips each to the northern foundation and laid enough dynamite to knock a hole the size of Beirut in the heavy wall. But Ismael wasn’t ready to detonate yet. This time he would be sure. As long as they had the time, he would lay every stick of dynamite.
A figure vaulted the rock to Ismael’s right. It was the tracker, and he was covered with sweat. “Sir!” he blurted. He paused to catch his breath. “I have something to report, sir!”
Captain Asid spun from the wall of rocks overlooking the monastery. “Keep your voice down, you fool. They can hear you across the valley!”
The tracker collected himself.
“Well, what is it?” Ismael asked. The man looked like he’d seen a ghost downrange.
“I overheard the soldiers in the temple, sir. I believe they have . . .” He paused, searching for words. “They have the Ark of the Covenant.”
Ismael had told them about the Jews’ foolhardy mission, of course, and now Hasam had overheard the Jews discussing it himself.
“We know what they think—”
“No, sir.” Hasam was shaking his head vehemently. “They have found the Ark in a cavern under the monastery and they are crating it up now for transportation.”
Ismael stared at the tracker, unbelieving. Was it possible? “They have the Ark? That’s impossible! You’re sure?”
“I didn’t see it, but I can tell you that they are sure. Nothing else could account for what I heard.”
Ismael turned back towards the monastery. He had wondered why they hadn’t fled the moment the Jew had arrived with Caleb. This would explain it. Because they had the Ark! They couldn’t leave the Ark. And if they had the Ark, it would mean . . .
A small ball of heat mushroomed in Ismael’s skull. He spun around and ran for his horse. The beast stamped in fear, and he quickly calmed it enough to pull the satellite phone free from his saddle pack. He switched it on and swore silently while it searched for a signal.
This changed everything. Everything! His discussion with Abu on the Temple Mount flashed through his mind. Their worst fears—the one scenario that hadn’t really been a fear at all because it seemed so unlikely—had actually materialized! He had come to Ethiopia to kill one of Islam’s worst enemies and instead he’d discovered one far worse.
The signal bar swelled and he punched in his father’s number, hit an eight instead of a five on the last digit, cleared the screen cursing bitterly, and entered it again. This time he completed the whole sequence and lifted the phone to his ear. His whole body was wet with sweat. What if Abu wasn’t . . .
“Hello.”
“Abu!” The connection wasn’t good. He covered his other ear with his free hand and turned away from the wind. “Abu?”
“Ism . . .” Static filled his ear for a moment. “ . . . bad connection.”
“Father, can you hear me?”
“Yes. Go ahead. I have you now.”
“Abu. They have the Ark.”
The phone filled with static again. He swore and turned again. “Abu? Abu, can you . . .”
“Yes, I can hear you. Settle down! What do you mean, they have the Ark?”
“They’ve found the Ark in the monastery. One of my men overheard them by the north wall—”
“How do you know—”
“I’m telling you, they have the Ark!” Ismael’s voice sounded high in the night air. “Believe me, they have it.”
This time there was only a stunned silence.
“Father?”
“You are absolutely positive about this, Ismael?”
“I believe so. Yes.”
“They are in the monastery?”
“Yes.”
“Can they escape?”
Ismael hesitated. “No. No, I can’t see how they can. We have them surrounded.”
“And yet they already have once.”
Ismael blinked rapidly several times. Yes, they had, hadn’t they?
“Listen to me, Ismael. I can’t tell you how much damage will be done if they escape to Jerusalem with the Ark. It will bring a war. Do you understand? Not just a skirmish, but a full-scale war with full armies committed.” A pause. “Do you hear me? You must destroy the monastery!”
His father paused. “And if they do escape, they must not be allowed to reach Jerusalem. You may want a war, Ismael, but I do not. Stop them, and all of Islam will be in your debt.”
Ismael took a deep breath and settled himself. “Actually, you’re right, it is war that I want.”
“You will have your war. But not like this.”
“If you don’t trust me, then send in an air strike.”
“Do I have time for that?”
“You see, you don’t trust me. And no, you don’t have time.”
“Then I not only trust you, I depend on you. Islam depends on you. Allah depends on you.”
Ismael glanced up and saw that Asid had walked up. “I will call you soon. Allah be praised.” He cut the connection. His father was begging. When was the last time his father had begged anything of him?
“What shall I tell the men?” Asid asked.
“Tell them nothing. We will blow the monastery as planned. And if there is an Ark, we will take it ourselves.”
Rebecca stared down the barrel of Avraham’s nine-millimeter Browning. Behind her Leiah and Jason and the monks stood in stunned silence. To Avraham’s right, Samuel looked on, but he made no move to stop the man. That was the real problem here.
“Don’t be stupid, Avraham,” she said. “You’ll never get away with this.” She looked at Samuel. “Take his gun, Samuel.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t.”
“What do you mean you can’t? You’ve forgotten whom you follow?”
“No, sir. I follow David Ben Solomon. He’s put Avraham in charge of the evacuation. I’m sorry but—”
“Don’t be a fool! My father’s in Jerusalem! This is a mutiny; can’t you see that?” If she moved quickly enough—while Samuel chewed on her words— she might be able to sidestep Avraham’s shot. But who was behind her? A week ago she might not have cared. She lowered her hand near her revolver.
“Keep your hands up!” Avraham shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. “You have to listen to me, Samuel,” Rebecca said. She looked deep into his eyes. “We have the Ark of the Covenant, and we are taking it to Jerusalem. Have I ever not pulled you through? Avraham has other plans. Don’t you, Avraham?”
He tilted his pistol and shot over her head. Several monks cried out, startled. Rebecca didn’t flinch. If not for the monks, she would have made her move then. But they were in the line of fire.
“The next bullet will be in your head! Take her gun, Samuel.”
They faced off, still for several beats. Then Samuel walked forward and Rebecca felt a tremor rip through her bones. This couldn’t be happening! Her mind flew through several options. She considered grabbing Samuel and spinning him around as a shield, but she knew that Avraham would shoot him without a thought. Her draw was fast—she would have the time to kill Avraham, but not without sacrificing Samuel. How had he managed to pull this off?
Samuel reached her and lifted her side arm from its holster. Rebecca stood, hardly believing that she was allowing him to take it. But her mind was still frozen with the realization that if she made a move, innocent people would die. Caleb’s people would die.
Where was Caleb? Down in his room the last she had seen him, pacing and meditating while the world fell apart above his head.
“I’m sorry, Rebecca,” Samuel said. A shallow grin spread over Avraham’s lips and he waved his gun for her to walk. She stood, paralyzed, her mind scrambling for orientation.
He’s going to kill you, Rebecca. Look into his eyes—he has no intention of leaving you alive. She felt Samuel’s nudge, and she walked out of the sanctuary on numb legs.
The sound of sporadic gunfire thundered from the tower. They had been exchanging rounds for several hours, each for their own purpose. The Arabs were laying explosives; she had guessed that much. But the Jews had no intention of being in the monastery when the charges blew. It would take the Arabs hours to discover that they had blown up nothing. At least that had been her plan.
Avraham dismissed Samuel and forced her down a long hall towards the monks’ quarters. How long ago he’d planned this, she didn’t know, but he was carrying through deliberately.
He chuckled behind her. “You should know better than to cross a man when you don’t have your father to hide behind, Rebecca.”
She ground her molars.
“I’m holding the gun and believe me, I haven’t decided whether or not to use it,” he said. “Don’t tempt me.”
They walked further and his breathing sounded loudly in the stone hall. “You know that I’m going to kill him.”
Her pulse surged. He was talking about Caleb! She felt panic crowd her chest, and she almost threw herself back at him then, consequences aside. But she forced herself to walk on without showing emotion.
“The Arabs will kill the rest of you,” Avraham said. “But Caleb is different. He has violated David Ben Solomon’s daughter and I can’t let that go, can I?”
“If you touch him, I swear that I will hunt you down and rip your throat out,” she said.
“You terrify me. In there!”
She stopped and looked at the room to her right and then stepped in. It was pitch dark—only the lamplight from the hall showed her the cot. A bedroom. A lock had been hastily, but firmly, latched to the outer side of the door. Avraham had been busy in her absence.
“The state of Israel thanks you for your services, Rebecca. We never expected you to actually find the Ark, but now that you have, you’re no longer needed. It is time to meet God.”
“We?”
“Yes, we. You don’t think I’m working alone, do you?” He chuckled again. “I’ve been assigned to your father from the start. You think I work with the old goat out of a passion to see the Messiah come? You’re as stupid as he is. Your days were numbered long ago, Rebecca. It’s only a convenience that they will end in Ethiopia, fifteen hundred kilometers from anyone who cares, under a mountain of rubble.” He motioned at the wall behind her. “This room is on the north wall. If I’m not mistaken, our Arab friends are busily lining that wall behind you with explosives, a pleasant surprise really. At least your death will be a quick one.”
He had been their enemy all along! The revelation sent a chill to her heels. “Why?”
“Why? You poor little innocent girl. Not everyone wants the Temple rebuilt. Good-bye, Rebecca. Say hello to God for me.”
He slammed the door and she heard the latch clank shut. Tiny pinpoints of light burst in her eyes, but they faded quickly, leaving only a thick blackness. A knot rose in her throat as the full reality of what she’d just heard settled into her mind.
For a long time she could do nothing but stand there and stare into the dark.
34
It took them less than half an hour to complete the crate under Avraham’s supervision. In the end, it wasn’t nearly as stable as Zakkai kept insisting it should be, but Avraham overrode the man with a few forceful words.
There was no telling how soon the Arabs would begin their attack, and he had no intention of being around when they did.
The seven Israeli soldiers dropped through the hole into the Ark chamber one by one.
“What about the prisoners?” Samuel asked.
“It’s their monastery, not ours,” Avraham said. “We leave them to the Arabs.”
“And where is Rebecca?” Samuel asked as the last soldier lowered himself by the rope ladder. Zakkai looked up from his position by the Ark. He didn’t know about Rebecca yet.
“I’ll bring her last, after you have the Ark safely out,” Avraham said. “Let’s move it!”
“Where’s Rebecca?” Zakkai asked.
“She’s in custody, as ordered by her father.”
Zakkai blinked. Several of the others turned, surprised.
“Tell them, Samuel. Your dear Rebecca has had her ear twisted by Caleb. She’s no longer sure about taking the Ark. We had no choice.”
Zakkai looked at Samuel, eyes round in the torch’s flames. “Samuel? Is this true?”
“Yes. I spoke to David myself. He put Avraham in charge.”
Avraham breathed an internal sigh of relief. He had stretched the facts, but now Samuel had played his part as a good soldier and affirmed them “Now, I suggest we move while we still can,” he said.
They stood still, looking at him as if frozen in this chamber like mummies.
“Move!”
They moved.
Zakkai had wrapped the poles in canvas and fixed them on the crate’s corners. At his instruction, four men hoisted the box and followed him and his torch into the tunnel.
Avraham watched them go, like pack rats into the dark, hauling their oversized coffin. That’s what they would say in the unlikely event anyone asked—they carried the body of a deceased monk and his possessions for burial.
Avraham had already checked the tunnel’s exit himself. It came out behind a rock beyond the hill, nearly five hundred meters from the monastery, well beyond the Arabs’ perimeter. The leper colony and the truck waited a half-hour march to the west.
Avraham waited five minutes, long enough for the others to near the tunnel’s end. Then he followed, alone. He’d had no intention of bringing Rebecca, of course. Her fate was sealed with the monks’.
The thumping of his boots followed him down the tunnel. Water dripped somewhere.
He’d thought about killing Caleb as he’d promised Rebecca, but it would have been a risky indulgence. The men’s loyalty for the next few hours was more important th
an his personal revenge. Both Caleb and Rebecca would die anyway—Caleb in his own dungeon where he’d sequestered himself and Rebecca in her prison. If Caleb had come up, he would’ve shot him. But the man had remained in the bowels of the monastery, lost to the world.
Avraham eased around a large boulder and stepped into the night ten minutes later. The others were already gone. Gunfire sounded to the east— unreturned this time. It was only a matter of time before the Arabs noted the lack of gunfire from the tower, and then they would attack.
He lifted his hand to his cheek, took a breath, and raked his nails down hard enough to draw blood—a necessary wound. Pain throbbed through his jaw. He gritted his teeth and struck out for the leper colony.
A tingle of pleasure spread over his skull, like a warm, thick milk. For all practical purposes, the Ark was his.
The bedroom was furnished with a cot, a nightstand, and a single oil lamp, that much Rebecca discovered by feeling her way in the darkness. She had spent the next ten minutes in a meticulous search for matches, and then abandoned the search with a deep ragged breath. The room was her tomb, and she was suffocating already.
The blackness was thick enough to smell, she thought. The musty odor probably came from the grate in the corner, a gray-water drain. Rebecca worked her way around the room a third time, doing her best to ignore the tremble in her fingers as they searched for anything that might lead to an escape. She breathed through her nostrils in steady pulls. Sweat snaked down her neck, and slowly a desperate sense of doom crowded her mind. The door’s latch refused to budge under repeated assaults. She sat on the cot, shaking from head to foot, fighting off panic.
There was no way out.
Dear God . . .
She stopped, unsure of what to pray. When had God heard her prayers and responded? An image stuttered through her mind: the monks, standing in the desert with their hands and chins raised, screaming silently at the sky while the Arabs walked around them. How could she deny such a power? She couldn’t. But the fact that the monks were Christian was a problem, wasn’t it? It was like watching a Muslim heal the sick.
