by Tim LaHaye
At midday all six men were out of the dugout. They were confident no one had followed them to this remote location and that as long as they stayed out of sight from the air, they could stretch their legs and breathe a little.
Michael was not as amused at Buck’s naiveté as Ken Ritz had been. He found little to smile about and nothing to laugh about these days. Michael leaned back against a tree. “There are some small airports here and there in Israel,” he said. “Why are you so determined to fly out of Egypt?”
“Well, that dream—I don’t know, this is all new to me. I’m trying to be practical, listen to the witnesses, follow the leadings of God. What am I supposed to do about that dream?”
“I’m a newer believer than you, my friend,” Michael said. “But I wouldn’t argue with a dream that was so clear.”
“Maybe we have some advantage in Egypt we would not have in Israel,” Buck suggested.
“I can’t imagine what,” Michael said. “For you to legally get out of Israel and into Egypt, you still have to go through customs somewhere.”
“How realistic is that, considering my guest?”
“You mean your contraband cargo?”
Now there had been an attempt at humor, but still Michael had not smiled when he said it. “I’m just wondering,” Buck said, “how carefully customs officers and border guards will be looking for Dr. Ben-Judah.”
“You’re wondering? I’m not wondering. We either avoid the border crossings or seek yet another supernatural act.”
“I’m open to any suggestion,” Buck said.
Rayford was on the phone with Amanda. She had filled him in on everything. “I miss you more than ever right now,” he told her.
“Having me come back here was sure the right idea,” she said. “With Buck gone and Chloe still tender, I feel needed here.”
“You’re needed here too, sweetheart, but I’m counting the days.”
Rayford told her about his conversation with Hattie and her plans to fly to the States. “I trust you, Rayford. She sounds like she’s hurting. We’ll pray for her. What I wouldn’t give to get that girl under some sound teaching.”
Rayford agreed. “If she could only stop through our area on her way back. Maybe when Bruce is going through some chapter on—” Rayford realized what he had said.
“Oh, Ray—”
“It’s still too fresh, I guess,” he said. “I just hope God provides some other Bible teacher for us. Well, it won’t be another Bruce.”
“No,” Amanda said, “and it won’t likely be soon enough to do Hattie any good, even if she does come here.”
Late that afternoon, Buck took a call from Ken Ritz. “You still want me to meet you in Alexandria?”
“We’re talking about it, Ken. I’ll get back to you.”
“Can you drive a stick shift, Buck?” Michael asked.
“Sure.”
“An ancient one?”
“They’re the most fun, aren’t they?”
“Not as ancient as this one,” Michael said. “I’ve got an old school bus that smells of fish and paint. I use it for both professions. It’s on its last legs, but if we could get you down to the southern mouth of the Jordan, you might be able to use it to find a way across the border into the Sinai. I’d stock you with petrol and water. That thing’ll drink more water than it will gasoline any day.”
“How big is this bus?”
“Not big. Holds about twenty passengers.”
“Four-wheel drive?”
“No, sorry.”
“An oil burner?”
“Not as much as water, but yes, I’m afraid so.”
“What’s in the Sinai?”
“You don’t know?”
“I know it’s a desert.”
“Then you know all you need to know. You’ll be jealous of the bus engine and its water needs.”
“What are you proposing?”
“I sell you the bus, fair and square. You get all the paperwork. If you get stopped, the tags are traced to me, but I sold the bus.”
“Keep talking—”
“You hide Dr. Ben-Judah under the seats in the back. If you can get him across the border and into the Sinai, that bus should get you as far as Al Arish, less than fifty kilometers west of the Gaza Strip and right on the Mediterranean.”
“And what, you’ll meet us there with your wood boat and ferry us to America?”
Finally, Buck had elicited a resigned smile from Michael. “There is an airstrip there, and it’s unlikely the Egyptians will care about a man wanted in Israel. If they even seem to care, they can be bought.”
One of the other guards appeared to have understood the name of the seaport city, and Buck guessed he was asking in Hebrew for Michael to explain his strategy. He spoke earnestly to Michael, and Michael turned to Buck. “My comrade is right about the risk. Israel might have already announced a huge ransom for the rabbi. Unless you could beat their price, the Egyptians might lean toward selling him back.”
“How will I know the price?”
“You’ll just have to guess. Keep bidding until you can beat it.”
“What would be your guess?”
“Not less than a million dollars.”
“A million dollars? Do you think every American has that kind of money?”
“Don’t you?”
“No! And anyone who did wouldn’t carry it in cash.”
“Would you have half that much?”
Buck shook his head and walked away. He slipped down into the hideout. Tsion followed. “What’s troubling you, my friend?” the rabbi said.
“I need to get you out of here,” Buck said. “And I have no idea how.”
“Have you prayed?”
“Constantly.”
“The Lord will make a way somehow.”
“It seems impossible right now, sir.”
“Yahweh is the God of the impossible,” Tsion said.
Night was falling. Buck felt all dressed up with nowhere to go. He borrowed a map from Michael and carefully studied it, looking north and south along the waterways that divided Israel from Jordan. If only there were a clear water route from the Jordan River or Lake Tiberius to the Mediterranean!
Buck resolutely rerolled the map and handed it to Michael. “You know,” he said, thinking, “I have two sets of identification. I’m in the country under the name of Herb Katz, an American businessman. But I have my real ID as well.”
“So?”
“So, how ’bout we get me across the border as Herb Katz and the rabbi as Cameron Williams?”
“You forget, Mr. Williams, that even we ancient, dusty countries are now computerized. If you came into Israel as Herb Katz, there is no record that Cameron Williams is here. If he’s not here, how can he leave?”
“All right then, let’s say I leave as Cameron Williams and the rabbi leaves as Herb Katz. Though there is no record of my being here under my own name, I can show them my clearance level and my proximity to Carpathia and tell them not to ask any questions. That often works.”
“There’s an outside chance, but Tsion Ben-Judah does not speak like an American Jew, does he?”
“No, but—”
“And he does not look in the least like you or your picture.”
Buck was frustrated. “We are agreed that we have to get him out of here, aren’t we?”
“No question,” Michael said.
“Then what do you propose? I am at an end.”
Dr. Ben-Judah crawled to them, obviously not wanting even to stand in the low, earthen shelter. “Michael,” he said, “I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your sacrifice, for your protection. I appreciate also your sympathy and your prayers. This is very hard for me. In my flesh, I would rather not go on. Part of me very much wants to die and to be with my wife and children. Only the grace of God sustains me. Only he keeps me from wanting to avenge their deaths at any price. I foresee for myself long, lonely days and nights of dark despair. My faith is immovable
and unshakable, and for that I can only thank the Lord. I feel called to continue to try to serve him, even in my grief. I do not know why he has allowed this, and I do not know how much longer he will give me to preach and teach the gospel of Christ. But something deep within me tells me that he would not have uniquely prepared me my whole life and then allowed me this second chance and used me to proclaim to the world that Jesus is Messiah unless he had more use for me.
“I am wounded. I feel as if a huge hole has been left in my chest. I cannot imagine it ever being filled. I pray for relief from the pain. I pray for release from hatred and thoughts of vengeance. But mostly I pray for peace and rest so that I may somehow rebuild something from these remaining fragments of my life. I know my life is worthless in this country now. My message has angered all those except the believers, and now with the trumped-up charges against me, I must get out. If Nicolae Carpathia focuses on me, I will be a fugitive everywhere. But it makes no sense for me to stay here. I cannot hide out forever, and I must have some outlet for my ministry.”
Michael stood between Tsion and Buck and put his hands on them. “Tsion, my friend, you know that my compatriots and I are risking everything to protect you. We love you as our spiritual father, and we will die before we see you die. Of course we agree that you must go. Sometimes it seems that short of God sending an angel to whisk you away, no one as recognizable and as much a fugitive as you could slip past Israeli borders. In the midst of your pain and suffering, we dare not ask you for counsel. But if God has told you anything, we need to hear it and we need to hear it now.
“The sky is getting black, and unless we want to wait another twenty-four hours, the time to move is now. What shall we do? Where shall we go? I am willing to lead you through customs at any border crossing with weapons, but we all know the folly of that.”
Buck looked to Dr. Ben-Judah, who simply bowed his head and prayed aloud once more. “O God, our help in ages past—”
Buck immediately began to shiver and dropped to his knees. He sensed the Lord impressing upon him that the answer was before them. Echoing in his mind was a phrase he could only assume was of God: “I have spoken. I have provided. Do not hesitate.”
Buck felt humbled and emboldened, but still he didn’t know what to do. If God had told him to go through Egypt, he was willing. Was that it? What had been provided?
Michael and Tsion were now on their knees with Buck, huddled together, shoulders touching. None of them spoke. Buck felt the presence of the Spirit of God and began to weep. The other two seemed to be shivering as well. Suddenly Michael spoke, “The glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard.”
Words filled Buck’s mind. Though he could barely pronounce them through his emotion, he blurted, “You give me living water and I thirst no more.” What was that? Was God telling him he could travel into the Sinai desert and not die of thirst?
Tsion Ben-Judah prostrated himself on the floor, sobbing and groaning. “Oh God, oh God, oh God—”
Michael lifted his face and said, “Speak Lord, for your servants hear. Heed the words of the Lord. He who has ears to hear, let him hear. . . .”
Tsion again: “The Lord of hosts has sworn, saying, ‘Surely as I have thought, so shall it come to pass, and as I have purposed, so it shall stand.’”
It was as if Buck had been steamrollered by the Spirit of God. Suddenly he knew what they must do. The pieces of the puzzle were all there. He, and they, had been waiting for some miraculous intervention. The fact was, if God wanted Tsion Ben-Judah out of Israel, he would make it out. If he did not, then he would not. God had told Buck in a dream to go another way, through Egypt. He had provided transportation through Michael. And now he had promised that his glory would be their rear guard.
“Amen,” Buck said, “and amen.” He rose and said, “It’s time, gentlemen. Let’s move.”
Dr. Ben-Judah looked surprised. “Has the Lord spoken to you?”
Buck shot him a double take. “Did he not speak to you, Tsion?”
“Yes! I just wanted to make sure we were in agreement.”
“If I have a vote,” Michael said, “we’re unanimous. Let’s get going.”
Michael’s compatriots pulled the boat into position as Buck slung in his bag and Tsion climbed aboard. As Michael fired up the engines and they started back down the Jordan, Buck handed Tsion the identification papers that carried Buck’s own name and picture. Tsion looked surprised. “I have felt no leading that I should use these,” he said.
“And I have a definite leading that I should not have them on my person,” Buck said. “I am in the country as Herb Katz, and I’ll leave the country as Herb Katz. I’ll ask you for the documents back when we get into the Sinai.”
“This is exciting,” Tsion said; “is it not? We are talking confidently about getting into the Sinai, and we have no idea how God is going to do it.”
Michael left the boat in the hands of one of his friends and sat with Buck and Tsion. “Tsion has a little cash, a few credit cards, and his own papers. If he is found with those, he will be detained and likely put to death. Shall we keep those for him?”
Tsion reached for his wallet and opened it in the moonlight. He removed the cash, folded it once, and stuck it in his pocket. The credit cards he began flipping one by one into the Jordan River. It was as close to amusement as Buck had noticed in the man since he had first seen him in the hideout. Almost everything went into the drink—all forms of identification and the miscellaneous documentation he had gathered over the years. He pulled out a small photo section and gasped. He turned the pictures toward the moon and wept openly. “Michael, I must ask you to someday ship these to me.”
“I will do it.”
Tsion flipped the old wallet into the water. “And now,” Michael said, “I believe you should return Mr. Williams’s papers to him.”
Tsion reached for them. “Wait a minute,” Buck said. “Should we not try to get him some phony ID, if he’s not going to use mine?”
“Somehow,” Tsion said, “what Michael says seems right. I am a man who has been stripped of everything, even his identity.”
Buck took back his ID and began rummaging in his bag for a place to hide it. “No good,” Michael said. “There’s nowhere on your person or in your bag they will not search and find an extra ID.”
“Well,” Buck said, “I can’t toss mine into the Jordan.”
Michael held out a hand. “I will ship it to you along with Tsion’s photographs,” he said. “It’s the safest.”
Buck hesitated. “You must not be found with that either,” he said.
Michael took it. “My life is destined to be short anyway, brother,” he said. “I feel most honored and blessed to be one of the witnesses predicted in the Scriptures. But my assignment is to preach in Israel, where the real Messiah is hated. My days are limited whether I am caught with your papers or not.”
Buck thanked him and shook his head. “I still don’t see how we’re going to get Tsion across any border without papers, real or phony.”
“We already prayed,” Tsion said. “I do not know how God is going to do this either. I just know that he is.”
Buck’s practicality and resourcefulness were at war with his faith. “But don’t we at least have to do our part?”
“And what is our part, Cameron?” the rabbi said. “It is when we are out of ideas and options and actions that we can only depend upon God.”
Buck pressed his lips together and turned his face away. He wished he had the same faith Tsion had. In many ways, he knew he did. But still it didn’t make sense to just plunge ahead, daring border guards to guess who Tsion was.
“I’m sorry for calling now,” Chloe said. “But, Daddy, I’ve been trying to reach Buck on his cell phone.”
“I wouldn’t worry about Buck, honey. You know he finds ways to stay safe.”
“Oh, Dad! Buck finds ways to nearly get himself killed. I know he was at the King David under his phony name, and I’m tempt
ed to call there, but he promised he would stay away from there tonight.”
“Then I’d wait on that, Chloe. You know Buck rarely cares much about what time of the day it is. If the story or the caper takes him all night, then it takes him all night.”
“You’re a big help.”
“I’m trying to be.”
“Well, I just don’t understand why he wouldn’t have his cell phone with him all the time. You keep yours in your pocket, don’t you?”
“Usually. But maybe it’s in his bag.”
“So if his bag is in the hotel and he’s out gallivanting, I’m out of luck?”
“I guess so, hon.”
“I wish he’d take his phone with him, even if he doesn’t take his bag.”
“Try not to worry, Chloe. Buck always turns up somewhere.”
When Michael docked at the mouth of the Jordan, he and his fellow guards scanned the horizon and then casually walked to his tiny car and crammed themselves inside. Michael drove to his home, which had a tiny lean-to that served as a garage. That was too small for the bus that dominated the alley behind his humble place. Lights came on. A baby cried. Michael’s wife padded out in a robe and embraced him desperately. She spoke urgently to him in Hebrew. Michael looked apologetically at Buck. “I need to keep in touch more,” he said, shrugging.
Buck patted his pocket, feeling for his phone. It was not there. He dug in his bag and found it. He should keep in touch with Chloe more too, but for right now it was more important that he get ahold of Ken Ritz. While Buck was on the phone he was aware of all the activity around him. Silently, Michael and his friends went to work. Oil and water were dumped into the engine and radiator of the rickety old school bus. One of the men filled the gas tank from cans stored at the side of the house. Michael’s wife handed out a stack of blankets and a basket of clothes for Tsion.
As Buck hung up from talking to Ritz, who had agreed to meet them at Al Arish in the Sinai, Buck passed Michael’s wife on his way out to the bus. She hesitated shyly, glancing at him. He slowed, assuming she did not understand English but also wanting to express his gratitude.
