by Merry Jones
‘Tell me where your things are.’ She grabbed Hagit’s suitcase but, exhausted from the walk, Hagit had already fallen asleep. Harper dashed around, emptying Hagit’s closet and tossing clothes and toiletries into the bag. She gathered the rest of her own clothes and shoved them into her duffle. Glanced around to see if she’d forgotten anything. Decided that, if she had, it didn’t matter. Clothes were replaceable. She was ready to go, but Hagit and Chloe were asleep. She stood at the door, figuring out what to do next.
And remembered she hadn’t talked to Hank. Needed to let him know they were coming back tonight. She grabbed Hagit’s phone, called. Got his voice mail. Her stomach cramped. Why hadn’t she been able to reach him in over a day? Why hadn’t he called?
She needed to let it go. He was busy. Nothing was wrong. But her clenched stomach insisted otherwise. She left a message, asking him to call Hagit’s phone. Adding that it was urgent. Then she sat down, trying to convince herself that there was simply a problem with Hank’s phone. The battery had run out. Or he’d forgotten to turn it on. Or dropped it in the Dead Sea. She stared at Hagit’s phone, telling her stomach to quiet down, but the clench tightened, became a wrenching twist. Her hands were unsteady as she tried Trent’s number. And when the call didn’t go through and an electronic voice began speaking Hebrew, she froze, not even breathing.
Harper stood, ran a hand through her hair. What the hell? Why were neither of them answering? She set the phone on the counter, chewed her lip, told herself to keep moving, not to take the time to worry. Harper picked up the bags, moved them to the porch. Realized that she couldn’t carry everything, would need a cart. Or no, she could leave the bags until she got a vehicle, then pick them up along with Chloe and Hagit. In fact, the bags didn’t matter – she could leave them behind. What mattered was getting Hagit and Chloe away, safe from Lynne and Travis and the rest of their crazy flock. She was wasting time, needed to find a ride or a car, but how? She couldn’t leave Hagit and Chloe alone, felt off balance . . .
Oh God. She was standing in the middle of the bungalow, turning in circles. Panicking.
Panicking? Harper Jennings never panicked. She reacted to threats and danger reflexively, without self-doubt or intellectualization. She’d been trained to respond quickly, efficiently and effectively in emergencies of all kinds. So why was she running around her room, rotating like a spitted chicken?
Her head pounded. She shivered.
Harper stood beside Chloe, settling herself by matching the baby’s steady breath. She made herself hold still, massaged her temples. Tried to understand her reaction. She’d been surrounded by dangerous, misguided people before, had managed to stay grounded in literally hundreds of life-threatening situations. So it wasn’t, couldn’t be Travis or Lynne or the church group that was unsettling her. What then was it? Why were her senses malfunctioning, sending her in random unfocused directions?
Harper sat again, took a long deep breath. Relaxed her shoulders, her neck. Untensed her back. Closed her eyes.
And saw Hank, falling from the roof. Hank lying unconscious, his head smashed on one side.
Oh God.
Harper couldn’t breathe. She knew. Without any proof, without being told. She wasn’t sure what it was or why no one had told her, but she was certain. Something had happened to Hank.
Finally, the place was quiet. Lynne counted to five hundred, heard nothing. No voices. No footsteps. Soon, someone would come to clean the room; she couldn’t hang around. Slowly, she lowered the sheet, peeked out. The room was darkness and silence.
She counted some more, listening. Hearing no one. She took a breath, sat up, got out of the bed. Crept to the hall, ready to finish her work. Who cared if they caught her? The conflagration would begin after the sacrifice, and she’d be blessed with eternal life. No earthly chains would hold her.
The hall was empty. Lynne dashed across into Hagit’s room. Opened the door and entered in one swift move. Blinked in disbelief, her hands tightening into fists.
Harper Jennings, she sneered. Harper Jennings. Harper Jennings had taken the lamb.
‘Hagit,’ Harper repeated, gently shaking Hagit’s shoulder.
When Hagit’s eyes opened, they appeared glazed and unfocused. Then she bolted upright, glaring at Harper with accusing eyes. Finally, she relaxed.
‘I have to leave you and Chloe here while I find us a ride.’
Hagit seemed puzzled. ‘A ride?’
‘To Jerusalem.’
Hagit started to sit up. ‘You’re not serious.’
‘I think you’ll be okay for a few minutes. Those two guards should still be outside. I called Adi to ask her to stay with you, but no one answered—’
‘It’s the holiday. They’re all in shul. At services. But Harper, we can’t go to Jerusalem. Not just all of a sudden.’
‘Why not?’
Hagit opened her mouth, closed it. Said nothing.
Harper wanted to insist that Hagit explain. Why couldn’t they go to Jerusalem? What did Hagit mean? Did she know something about Hank and Trent? Harper stopped herself, not wanting to take the time. Not sure she could bear to hear the answer. She bit her lip.
‘Keep the curtains closed and the door locked.’
‘I know what to do. But listen to me. We should stay here—’
‘So someone can finally kill you?’
‘The guards are out there. No one will bother me.’
‘Should I take Chloe? Are you well enough to watch her?’
Hagit’s eyes narrowed. ‘I was Mossad.’
Harper went to the crib, touched Chloe’s curls, leaned over to kiss her, inhaled her scent. Then she ran to the door.
On the way out, closing the door, she saw the guards standing on the path. And beyond them, a man carrying something bulky near Travis’s bungalow, cloaked by the dusk.
Without a sound, Lynne crept down the hall, wondering how she’d get past the police. She moved swiftly, soundlessly. Cracking the door to the waiting room, she expected to see guards and braced herself for a confrontation. But the waiting room was empty.
Lynne released a breath. Kept moving. The guards, the police – they had to be outside.
She stood at the entrance, peering out into the dusk. Police cars, a coroner’s van were parked near the rear of the building. No one was guarding the front door.
Had they stopped looking for her? Did they think she’d already left the building? And where was Hagit?
Lynne opened the door just wide enough to slide through, then slipped out, hugging the wall, staying in shadows. At the end of the medical center, she ran.
Harper Jennings had taken her lamb. But Lynne wasn’t going to give up, not after going this far. There was still time. The ninth of Av was just beginning. She could still complete the directions in God’s code.
Then again, there might be security around the lamb. She’d have to find a way to get past them. And past Harper Jennings, the agent of Satan who wanted to obstruct God’s own plan.
Lynne walked quickly, silently, senses alert. Her jaw tightened. Harper was pure evil. Once she got rid of her, no other obstacle would block her. She’d have no problem performing the sacrifice.
Travis Ramsey smiled even though his load was backbreaking and his muscles screamed. He couldn’t help it. He’d spent the last hours scurrying around, dodging those hunting for him, pilfering or siphoning off what he needed, compiling it behind his bungalow under a tarp. It had been embarrassingly easy; no one had been looking for him in the open, near pumps or sheds; he’d been hiding under a hat and sunglasses, in plain sight. But it was neither their fault nor to his credit that he hadn’t been found. The real reason that he’d eluded them was that God had cloaked him from sight. God wanted him to succeed. Of that, he was certain. Any doubts had been dispelled as he’d spent days reading and rereading, studying his notes, re-examining the codes, making sure his translations were accurate. Searching for a mistake, double checking, triple checking for a misinterpr
etation or an amendment – because, after all, God had changed His mind before.
But Travis had found only the original code, calling for the blood of three lambs: one of Isaac, one of Ishmael, one of Jesus. ‘By fire,’ it said, and, ‘I will begin the conflagration,’ and it had identified this day of this year in this place, Megiddo.
So it had been written. So it would be done. And he, Travis Ramsey, concealed from those who would interfere, would set it off.
‘Wipe that shit-eating grin off your face.’
Damn. He’d thought he’d gotten rid of that voice, but now, after all this time, it surfaced again. He kept trudging along the road, shaking his head as if he could make the voice fall out.
‘You think God picked you? Hah! Why would He do that?’ the voice went on. ‘You’re nobody. You’re just a messed up kid who can’t tell when his socks are inside out.’
Ramsey refused to acknowledge the taunts. He kept going, hauling the heavy bags up the path. Keeping his mind on the task of God’s work.
‘What, you think you’re special? You’re the product of fornication and lust, born in sin like the rest of us. Repent.’
Why was the voice coming back – why now? He tried to shut it out, but it persisted. Memories rose up, and his father came at him, holding his belt. ‘Stop your ninny-blasted crying. You think I like this? I’m doing it for you, for your sorry-ass soul. Pain is part of atonement for your sins. Take the beating willingly and beg for more. It’s your only chance for redemption.’
Ignore it, Travis told himself. Think about fulfilling the code.
‘Where do you think you’re going? You think God’s made you His agent? What would God want with a maggot like you? You’re delusional. You’re hearing the Devil. Pray for forgiveness!’
‘Go away,’ he told the voice. How many times, in how many ways did he have to stifle it? He’d been chosen by the Lord to do this work. What difference did it make what a pathetic dead old preacher thought?
‘Get on your knees, Travis,’ the voice said. ‘You’ve let Satan feed you lies. Repent.’
‘Shut up!’ Ramsey growled, startling himself with his fury. Okay, enough. He had to stop the voice. Ramsey stiffened, closing his eyes, recollecting the first time he’d stopped that infernal voice. The wrench swinging, the stains spattering his father’s sofa cushions, carpet, walls. And then the sweet silence.
Ramsey opened his eyes, listened. The voice was gone again.
He resumed walking. His muscles throbbed. The hill seemed steeper than usual because of the weight of the bags.
Harper strained to see the man. Could he be Travis? Would he be stupid enough to go back to his bungalow and risk being caught? And what was he carrying? Where was he going? She should alert the guards. But that would distract them from watching Hagit. It would be better to follow him and find out who he was. Why make a fuss if it wasn’t even Travis?
She held back for a moment, trying to avoid the guards. But they spotted her, recognized her. Gestured for her to come closer.
‘And now where are you going?’
Damn. ‘Just to the office.’
‘The office? Why?’
Oh God. While they were talking, the man was getting away. ‘To make arrangements for a car.’
‘A car.’ The guards smirked at each other. ‘Tonight? It’s a holiday. The office is closed. The main building is being used for prayer.’
Damn. How would she get a car? Meantime, she’d lost sight of the man. Had to get past these guys.
And then it occurred to her: she would lie.
Her attitude changed. She smiled. ‘Well, in that case, I’d like to attend the service.’ There. Did they believe her? Had she sounded convincing?
‘Are you Jewish?’
Harper hesitated. ‘No, just interested in religion.’
She wasn’t dressed appropriately for a religious service. But she fingered her hamsa under the streetlight, hoping they’d see it.
‘Okay.’ The bigger one shrugged. ‘The service just started at sundown. You didn’t miss much.’
Harper thanked them and hurried up the path, looking for the man who might be Travis. Hoping she hadn’t lost him. She moved quietly through the shadows, listening, watching, but the path ahead was empty. Not a soul was out walking. Church members were still being confined to the restaurant building; kibbutz residents were attending prayer services in the main building. That didn’t leave many people to go strolling in the dark – just security personnel, Harper, and a man carrying a burly load. Harper hurried along until, finally, up ahead, she spotted a figure hobbling through the darkness, carrying a big sack. Near the center of the kibbutz, he passed beneath a streetlight, and Harper was certain.
Even from behind, she knew. She’d found Travis. She turned, looking for police or security, saw hedges, parked vehicles. A stray cat. Nobody.
Harper kept following him. This time, he wouldn’t escape.
Travis looked at the stars. He’d done it. He himself, alone. He had been generous to share the glory, but foolish to think others were gifted enough to comply. The women Lynne and Marlene were worthy concubines but inept executioners. And Peter had been felled by a scorpion, the Devil attempting to foil God’s plan.
So it had fallen to him alone to fulfill the commands that he alone had read and understood. And when he’d done his part, the four teams would spread out as planned, lighting four matches in the powder keg, igniting the tinder box of the Middle East, spreading flames from Megiddo to the ends of the earth, consuming the followers of Isaac, Ishmael and Jesus alike. The conflagration would swell, swallowing everything and everyone from Gog to Magog.
Travis stood tall, fluttery and lighthearted as he opened a can of kerosene – or maybe gasoline? Acetone? He’d filled so many containers, couldn’t remember which was which. Chemicals had come from sheds and gas tanks and pumps and maintenance stations, and now he poured them freely in a fragrant soup of flame enhancers.
‘“But the day of the Lord will come like a thief,”’ he quoted Peter as he christened the walls. ‘“The heavens will disappear with a roar, the elements will be destroyed by fire, and the earth and everything in it will be laid bare.”’ Travis splashed liquids, prancing giddily in the mud, anticipating the consternation, the conflagration, the celebration, the glorious conflagration that he, Travis Ramsey, was about to ignite for the Lord.
And then, from nowhere, a banshee rammed him, baring her teeth.
Harper followed Travis as he left the path, circling around to the rear of the main building. Silence was more difficult back there. The ground was gravelly; she had to time her movement with his, synchronizing their footsteps. She approached the rear of the building, careful to keep her distance. Smelling a familiar odor.
Harper stopped, recognizing it, her chest tight, unable to breathe. Men were screaming, guns popping. Flies buzzing . . . No. She pinched her arm hard, bringing her attention back to the moment, stifling the flashback. Then she continued after Travis.
With each step, the smell got stronger. Harper told herself to ignore it. It wasn’t real. It was a symptom of her Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, just like the cracks of sniper fire, the screams of the wounded, the coating of sand on her skin. It was all illusion, a wound in her mind. She bit her lip and pinched herself again, banishing the images and sounds of war, but the smell wouldn’t fade, persisted even when the other sensations faded. Odd.
Unless . . . maybe it wasn’t a flashback.
Maybe it was real.
Harper stopped on the gravel, smelling accelerant. Hearing liquid splashing.
Oh God.
She ran ahead, no longer trying to muffle her footsteps. Almost tripped over an empty gas can on the path. Paused to listen. Heard more splashing up ahead. Understood what Travis had been carrying and what he was doing with it.
His code. He’d said it called for triad of sacrifice – a Christian, a Muslim and a Jew. Travis was trying to complete the triad – but not by k
illing just one Jew. He was planning to slaughter everyone attending the service.
Harper had no time. Travis had already poured cans of accelerant behind the building, onto its walls. Any second, the place would be ablaze. She paused to plan her move while the spatter of fluid continued ahead of her – maybe forty feet away? No, less. Thirty? Travis was coming closer. Doubling back? Making sure he’d poured enough to make the fire inextinguishable? Or maybe ensuring that he had a safe escape route.
Finally, the splashing stopped. An empty container flew into the bushes, discarded, maybe twenty feet away. Any second, Travis would light a match and start the fire. Harper took a deep breath and took off, darting through the bushes, hurtling onto his back, knocking him to the ground. In the dim light, she saw the cigarette lighter fly from his hand, heard it land with a splatter.
‘No!’ he roared, rolling and wriggling to get her off of him, reaching blindly into puddles of accelerant to retrieve the lighter.
But Harper wouldn’t let up. She straddled his belly, grabbed at his arms. ‘Enough. It’s done.’ Her strength surprised her; her body moved on its own, machine-like. Weapon-like.
Travis stretched his fingers, searching for the lighter. ‘Get off me.’ He bucked.
Harper drew her fist back, rammed it into his jaw.
Travis caved but didn’t black out. He spit out a tooth. ‘Foolish woman! You don’t understand what you’re interfering with.’
‘Sorry. Armageddon isn’t happening today.’
In the starlight, his eyes gleamed. ‘No. You’re wrong. It was in the codes. On this date, the conflagration will begin. The fire was proclaimed by God—’
‘Maybe He changed His mind again.’
Travis blinked. ‘What did you say? You know about the codes? How?’ He lay back, sputtering. ‘Lynne? You were her dig partner. That blabbering cow will never earn eternal life.’
‘Well, she’ll earn life anyway. She’s killed three people.’
