Chosen

by Lisa T. Bergren

  Ridge followed her to the hole in the Temple Mount floor, where it had been widened. A metal ramp—studded for traction—led down to the cavern far beneath them. Alexana spoke with Sam, then, tossing Ridge a wide grin, disappeared down the ramp. He followed, motioning for Steve to get everything on tape.

  With one eye glued to his camera, Steve switched on the lamp as the natural lighting faded. Deeper and deeper they descended. Ten feet, twenty, thirty. Ridge sucked in his breath as they reached bottom, forty feet below the surface.

  There a waterfall of light cascaded downward, and they were so deep that the sounds of men talking above were muffled. Dust pervaded the light, giving it the appearance of a physically tangible beam. Archway after archway spanned overhead, creating a magnificent wall of support.

  Steve lowered his camera and simply stared. “It’s like stepping back in time,” he said reverently.

  Alexana smiled like a proud parent. “We’re directly behind the Triple Gate, which the priests used to enter the temple. They probably used these caverns to store oils, wine, flour … anything they might have used in religious ceremonies.”

  She gestured for the two men to follow her deeper into the section of supporting arches, then stopped at the base of one column. Steve filmed while Alexana pointed out tiny holes at the corner, then she moved on to show them identical marks on another column. “From Crusader times,” she supplied. “They attached metal rings to which they could tie their camels or precious horses.”

  They moved farther east. “Here, there are thirteen rows of vaults, thirty feet high, with eighty-eight piers. The temple once stood on the Haram foundation, forty feet above us.” She looked into the camera. “Here,” she said, pointing out a large stone at the base of the nearest pier, “are Herodian stones easily identified by their masonry technique and dimensions.”

  She waved one arm upward. “There, you can see the smaller stones that represent the rebuilding undertaken during the Crusader period. This arch system supported the entire southeastern end of the temple. With the Royal Portico right above us at one point, you can see why they were vital. The rest of the temple is founded upon bedrock. When earthquakes occur through this region, this section rocks and rolls more than anywhere else on the mount.” She smiled as Ridge and Steve looked nervously upward.

  “What?” Ridge asked defensively, catching her look. “So I don’t want tons of the Haram coming down on me. Does that make me a coward, or smart?”

  Alexana looked at him with laughing eyes, but moved on, continuing their tour without comment.

  MAY 17

  Alexana’s jubilant mood soon came to an end. Abraham and Kamal had reached a deadlock in their debate about how to best fortify the arches and subterranean structure. The team could not move forward until the construction engineers gave them direction. The impasse dragged on for days.

  By the end of the week, Abraham and Kamal refused to even speak to one another. Frustrated, Alexana paced back and forth, wringing her hands.

  “You need a break,” Ridge said. “Let me take you to dinner.”

  “Where?” she asked.

  “My treat, my surprise,” he said mischievously.

  His tone helped ease Alexana’s irritation. Perhaps a romantic excursion was exactly what she needed. “Sounds good,” she agreed, smoothing back her hair. “Please take me far, far away.”

  “Can we make it a night?”

  She looked at him pointedly, a question on her face.

  He held his hands up in a gesture of innocence. “Separate rooms, separate rooms.”

  Her look softened. “That’d be wonderful. Can you at least tell me what to pack?”

  “Casual, comfortable clothes,” Ridge said mysteriously. “Think layers.”

  “Okay,” she said hesitantly. “Pick me up at seven?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  At seven-thirty that night, Alexana forced herself to stop pacing and sat down to wait. She had been looking forward to spending time with Ridge. How could he be late when he had made such a big deal about their getaway?

  The old black phone rang, disturbing the quiet of the apartment. Instinctively knowing it was Ridge, she reluctantly picked it up.

  “Alexana, it’s Ridge,” he said, sorrow evident in his voice. The line crackled, and he sounded half a world away.

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m on a plane to Egypt. Someone just tried to assassinate the prime minister. They missed. But I’m going there to do a live report.”

  “Oh,” Alexana said quietly. Both were silent for several moments. Then she began, brokenly, “Is this how it will be for the rest of our lives? Barely seeing each another or separated by nations?”

  “Alexana, isn’t that a little melodramatic? I know it’s been crazy, that our time has been rushed. But it won’t be this way all the time.” He paused, then said with conviction: “I’ll change jobs if it comes right down to it.”

  Alexana gasped, stunned by his words. “You’d do that for me?”

  “And only for you.” Even from a distance, the warmth in his tone sent a slow blush up her neck.

  “How can you be so sure?” she faltered. “How can you talk about tossing aside your career, as if you don’t care?”

  Over the line, she heard Ridge sigh. “Look, I can’t talk much longer. But hear me, Alexana Roarke: I’m in love with you. No career is more important than you are to me. That is my pledge to you. I’ve found the most wonderful woman in the world, and I’m not going to let anything come between us.”

  She struggled to find words. No man had ever made her such a priority. No man had ever made her feel so treasured.

  “I love you, Ridge,” she said, passion evident in her voice. “Come home in one piece.”

  “Rain check on whisking you away?”

  “After what you just said, Ridge, no rain check is needed.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  MAY 23

  For several days Ridge and Steve covered the events in Cairo, where rioting had broken out in the streets. Following these demonstrations, a key White House correspondent went into the hospital for emergency surgery, and CNN headquarters temporarily assigned Ridge to Washington to cover a meeting between the Syrian president and North American leaders.

  On the TWA flight to America, Ridge plugged in his portable computer and modem. After keying in the word Jerusalem to check up on events at the Temple Mount, he grew pale as he read an exasperatingly short report filed by the UPI news service:

  JERUSALEM/23.May/0730

  Today, under the leadership of biblical archaeologist Alexana Roarke, excavation teams continued to delve beneath the Temple Mount in Jerusalem while demonstrators numbering over three hundred raged outside. A crew of approximately sixty men and women, wearing bulletproof vests, were escorted by armed guard onto the Temple Mount, which is closed to tourists for an unspecified time period. The crew is working to uncover the stairs that once led to the temple from the Kidron Valley, stairs that many believe were once walked by Jesus Christ.

  Demonstrators maintain that the Temple Mount, known to Muslims as the “Haram,” should not be tampered with, fearing Jewish plots to destroy their holy mosques and rebuild the biblical Temple of old. This, despite the fact that Dr. Roarke was given joint approval by Abdallah al Azeh, head of the Waksf and Islamic Affairs, and Abba Eban, head of the Israeli Antiquities Authority. Eban could not be reached for comment, but according to a source close to al Azeh, the Palestinian official stands by his decision.

  Ridge clasped his hands together to still the uncontrollable shaking. Armed guards. Bulletproof vests. He checked his watch. The report had been filed less than an hour before, right after the teams had entered the Haram. Headquarters could not have known about the events before calling him to Washington and would certainly send him directly back to Jerusalem to cover the story unfolding there.

  Steve read the report over his shoulder while Ridge leaned back, closing his eyes. The
cameraman swore under his breath. “Any way we can get the pilot to turn this plane around?”

  “It’s not likely,” Ridge said. “But you better believe I’m going to be on the next flight back.”

  MAY 25

  Ridge and Steve arrived at the Haram thirty-two hours later, unshaven and sorely lacking sleep. Ridge reached the excavation site just in time to see Alexana and Sam emerge from the gaping hole. Spotting Ridge, Alexana hurried over to give him a quick hug and kiss. “Ridge! I was so worried about you!”

  “I left messages on Lydia’s answering machine,” he said desperately. “I’ve been going nonstop since we last spoke.”

  “I haven’t been home,” she said. Her voice was grim. “I’ve been sleeping in a safe house supplied by the Israeli government.”

  Ridge rubbed his aching eyes. “Won’t that make you seem all the more biased, politically?”

  “I’ve got little choice,” she said, looking frustrated. “It’s the safe house or my apartment. I can’t endanger Lydia and her family. Right now, I think I’ll sleep better in a place where no one would look for me, and where there are armed guards at my door.”

  “You’re not worried about being followed?” Ridge asked, but they were interrupted by Moshe and Sam summoning Alexana to review the next phase of their excavation plans.

  “Thanks to crews working ’round the clock, temporary reinforcements are almost complete,” she explained. “The team’s moved on to building foundations for the permanent cement piers. You’re welcome to go down with Sam. I’ve got to go,” she said ruefully. She gave him a tender look. “I’m really glad you’re back.” Then, squeezing his hand, she turned from his side.

  Ridge watched as she walked away, putting on glasses to review the plans spread on the ground before her. She was the epitome of the intellectual woman he had always admired. And she was in love with him! He felt like the luckiest—yet the most doomed—of all men. What if someone harmed her? She was on at least one hit list. How many others had she made while he was gone?

  The thought made him feel utterly helpless. Please, God, he prayed silently as he stared at Alexana, please, please keep her safe. It’s out of my hands and up to you.

  Looking out past the Haram walls did not make him feel any better. Israeli police had cowed the crowds into dispersing, but the memory of CNN footage was burned into his thoughts. He and Steve had stopped by headquarters in Jerusalem en route to the Temple Mount; memories of film showing enraged faces and a chanting mob still sent chills down his spine.

  He glanced from the minaret to the plaza. Below, soldiers patrolled in teams of four, scattering flocks of pigeons in their wake. Even more tension than usual could be felt; the heightened emotions surrounding the Haram were somehow palpable. As he stood watching, a soldier stopped a Palestinian man, questioned him, then threw him against the wall for a body search. Ridge grimaced.

  The smell of frying falafels wafted upward, testifying that life went on as usual despite the craziness at the edge of Jerusalem. Ridge’s stomach rumbled, reminding him that he had not eaten since breakfast on the plane. It hardly mattered. He could not eat. The city was in turmoil.

  And so was his heart.

  That evening the protesters returned in what was becoming a predictable routine. They seemed not to care that both Palestinian and Israeli soldiers were present to defend the excavation team. Ridge and Steve left the Haram and approached the crowd to film some personal interviews. Against the shouting of the mob, Ridge had to yell to be heard.

  “Does anybody speak English? English? English?!”

  A young boy waved from behind a wall of Israeli guards. Steve ran over to him and gestured for Ridge to join them.

  “Can we ask you a few questions?” Ridge shouted.

  “Sure. Very fine,” the boy said, grinning.

  Ridge frowned. Many young people would say anything just to get on camera, but this youth was the only protester who had responded to their plea. He waved the boy through, and reluctantly the guards let him pass.

  The threesome stepped away from the crowds, seeking a measure of quiet for their interview.

  “My name is Ridge McIntyre.” He extended his arm and shook the boy’s hand. “This is my cameraman, Steve Rains. What is your name?”

  The boy spoke rapidly, uttering a name that seemed to Ridge to be unpronounceable. Ridge looked helplessly at Steve, who shrugged.

  “Okay. We’ll just go with A Concerned Palestinian Youth. Tell me, why are you protesting? The team on the Haram is half Palestinian. So are the guards that are protecting them. For that matter, the project has been approved by Abdallah al Azeh.”

  “Many of my people think that those traitors were paid many American dollars to do this,” the boy said earnestly, surprising both men with his command of the language. “No true believer of Allah would desecrate the Haram or the holy mosque. It is a plot. Our mosque is in danger!”

  “Would anything convince you otherwise?”

  “Nothing! Even if they are innocent in their work, they still are exposing the Haram to grave danger. The Kahane look for opportunities like this.”

  “Are you a member of Hamas?”

  “My father will not allow it,” the boy admitted. He lifted his chin proudly. “But I may join my brothers there no matter what my father says. Next month I will be sixteen. Old enough to be a man. I can make my own decisions then.” He placed his hand on his chest as he spoke, the picture of heroic youth.

  “Do your Hamas brothers intend to put a stop to this dig?” Ridge asked tightly.

  “I cannot say.”

  “Why don’t you ask me?” came a deep voice behind the boy. Stunned, Ridge watched as Khalil seemed to emerge out of thin air. Upon closer inspection, he noticed a narrow opening farther down the wall where Khalil had entered their quiet alcove.

  “Off camera,” Khalil directed, looking at Steve. The cameraman continued filming defiantly.

  “Off camera,” Ridge echoed, and Steve obediently lowered the heavy Betacam.

  Ridge noticed a dramatic change in the way the man presented himself. It was evident in his relaxed tone, his posture … even his attire. “Khalil,” he said. “Dressing for a special occasion?” The man wore khaki slacks and a button-down cotton shirt the color of saffron. With a braided belt and expensive topsiders to complete the ensemble, he looked more like a young American college professor than the head of the militant Hamas.

  Khalil smiled, but ignored his comment. He shooed the young boy away, and immediately—eyes wide at hearing his name—the boy obeyed. Khalil turned back to Ridge. “I understand that you are seeing Alexana.”

  Ridge tensed and squared his shoulders. “I am.”

  With his jaw clenched, Khalil circled Ridge, as if surveying the stock of which he was made.

  Ridge gave a slight shake of his head to Steve, discouraging any reaction from him.

  Khalil stopped, his face inches away from Ridge’s. “What makes you think you can protect her?”

  Ridge gave him a tense smile. “You might have noticed something about Alexana Roarke. She’s not really one to be squirreled away in some hiding place. The woman’s headstrong. And I, for one, admire her for it.”

  “Even if her choices place her in danger?”

  Ridge spoke carefully. “I admit, I don’t care for that aspect of her work. But I cannot convince her otherwise. I believe you tried to do so yourself and found her equally impossible to sway. I’ve decided her safety is out of my hands. I’ll do what I can, but the rest is up to God.”

  Khalil glowered at him. “You can do nothing more with her?”

  Ridge shook his head in resignation. “She’s on a mission. And no one is going to stop her.” He paused, then said evenly, “You might as well know I’m in love with her.”

  Khalil gave him a penetrating look. “I am not surprised. You know that I loved her once?”

  “I guessed as much the first time I met you.” Ridge wondered, would Khalil have
him killed for loving the same woman? Suddenly it was hard to imagine that the casually dressed man had the power to order an assassination. Again, Ridge imagined him strolling on an Ivy League campus.

  Khalil looked past him and studied the Haram. “I want you to give Alexana a message. The people who are most dangerous to her are temporarily in hand. I believe I can buy her time to complete the dig, but there are no guarantees. Tension continues to mount within my ranks. If the excavation takes longer than projected, there will be little I can do.

  “But if she can get in and out and prove to the masses that she follows through on her promises—I speak of the fortifications she planned—she will guarantee the safety of her team better than ever before. That is the only reason I do not send her away yet again. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, I—”

  “There is no need for you to speak.”

  Ridge ground his teeth together, willing himself to be patient.

  “You and your friend there,” Khalil motioned to Steve, “can be useful to Alexana by airing footage of her progress.”

  “We were intending—”

  “Do it tonight. Tomorrow at the latest. It is imperative. Do you understand?”

  Ridge swallowed his pride and glared at Khalil. “I understand.”

  At that, Khalil turned on his heel and disappeared.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  MAY 26

  Ridge heeded Khalil’s advice. Despite the fact that he and Steve had planned to wait until the following week to air the entire story as a special feature, they talked their superiors into airing a portion of the story on Headline News.

  By the following morning, the segment had been shown twelve times. The BBC picked up the story and aired it over their radio program. Major networks around the world followed suit. Word was out that the Haram had been excavated and that the foundations were stronger than ever before.