Chosen (16 page)

High above them, past many layers of stone, a man looked from the doorway to his companion as they bowed and prayed. “You saw them,” he whispered in Arabic.

“I did,” the man stated, not looking at him.

“It was Alexana Roarke and her brother? You’re sure?”

“I am sure, Shehab,” the man said, afraid to see the other’s eyes. The voice was frightening enough.

“Khalil will have to act now,” Shehab said. “No more warnings. They must be stopped.”

Deep in the Negev Desert that night, Shehab met with Khalil.

“You saw them yourself?” Khalil asked, his voice devoid of emotion. He was glad for the cover of darkness that hid his upper lip—covered with sweat—and forced himself not to wipe it away.

“I did. My companion saw them enter the tunnels, given access by al Azeh himself. We hid after prayer, then watched them emerge five hours later when prayer was called again, using the cover of our own holy time to do their dirty work,” Shehab spat out.

Khalil ignored the man’s assumption. “And you wish me to act.”

“
I
wish you to?” the man’s voice rose in intensity.
“You
should wish to do so! What keeps you from entering the woman’s apartment tonight and slitting her throat yourself? Why do you not take charge? It is unlike you to act this way. Have they bought you off? Or does the woman have your attention in other ways?”

Khalil whirled, a growl on his lips as he swiftly nabbed Shehab’s throat between his powerful fingers. He pulled the smaller man’s face
close to his own. “Never again will you question my authority, or my loyalty to Hamas,” he hissed. “I am well aware of what I must do. You will wait for instruction.”

Shehab backed away, bowing. “Give me the chance, Khalil,” he said ingratiatingly. “I will take care of the Roarke woman once and for all. Let me prove myself to you and Hamas by this holy act. Let me protect our holy mosque.”

Khalil turned away, frowning. “You will await my orders,” he repeated.

Shehab bit his lip. “As you wish,” he said dully and disappeared into the black, starless night.

R
idge swallowed hard, facing his informant, willing himself to remain impassive. “You are so sure that you will be successful that you are claiming Hamas responsibility before your task is complete?”

“I am. To know our target and receive an American ‘scoop’—is that the word?—will cost you five hundred American.”

Ridge laughed, hoping he did not sound nervous. “Five hundred? This must be big news indeed.”
Please, God! Please let us not be talking about Alexana.
But instinctively, he knew.

“It will be good information for you as well,” Shehab said. “In case you do not know, your own life is at risk.”

Ridge’s sinking feeling grew. “How’s that?” he said, playing dumb.

“Where is the money?”

Ridge pulled out his wallet and counted out three hundred dollars. “Two more if the news is as worthwhile as you say.”

Shehab nodded. “I would stay away from Dr. Roarke if I were you. I know you have been seen with her. It is not good for your health.”

“Why?” Ridge leaned forward urgently. “She is not working on the Haram. The dig has been postponed.”

“Apparently they have been given permission to proceed,” Shehab said, grinning. “I myself saw them enter the tunnels, like black spies, not two days ago. They will soon begin. But I will stop them.”

“How?” Ridge asked, again willing himself to sound uncaring, like an uninvolved journalist, simply collecting information for a story.

“I will kill her,” Shehab announced proudly.

“And why don’t you think that I will try and stop you?” Ridge could not keep the pitch of his voice from rising.

“Warning her would be unwise, Mr. McIntyre,” Shehab threatened. “If you get in the way, there will simply be two dead instead of one. What is the sense of that?”

Ridge squelched the urge to grab the man by his throat. Instead, he squeezed out, “Perhaps I have feelings for this woman. I might feel the need to protect her from you.”

Shehab frowned at Ridge’s reaction. He had obviously not expected such strong personal sentiment from the journalist. His eyes narrowed. “This is a war, Mr. McIntyre. She is not innocent, but a pawn of the Kahane. If we do not act, they will take the Haram from us. If you are involved, you choose a side. And if you choose Dr. Roarke’s side, you will not live to see tomorrow.”

You will not live to see tomorrow. They plan to act tonight.
Ridge had to find her. He stood and threw two hundred dollars on the table. “Thanks for the scoop, Shehab,” he said mildly. “It will make a great story.” He turned and forced himself to walk away calmly.

Ridge ran to the École Biblique, praying that he would find Alexana inside. He felt weary, suddenly aware of his lack of sleep and the weight of his worry for his love.

He asked an elderly monk how to get to the library, then ran forward, ignoring the man’s protest that visitors must not intrude on the sanctity of the compound. Ridge burst into the library, unintentionally slamming the heavy, ancient door as he came through.

“Sam! Thank God!” he said between gasps for air.

Sam looked at him, confused, as did Professor O’Malley and six others from the team. In front of them lay stacks of books and piles of notes. Behind them, a photo of the Haram was projected on the wall and beside it an illustration of the Temple as it once had looked.

“Where is your sister? I’ve tried reaching her on my cell phone all morning!”

Sam frowned and checked his watch. “She might be outside the Double Gate at this point. She was going to—”

Ridge’s heart sank. “She’s outside the city walls?”

“Well, yes. If she’s where she’s supposed to be.”

“Come on!” Ridge yelled over his shoulder. “I’ll explain on the way!”

Alexana closed her notebook and rose from her perch on a three-by-nine-foot Herodian stone. From outside the Haram, she had sketched the Double and Triple Gates with the help of renowned architect Benjamin Shachaf, making plans on how to excavate beyond them.

Ben had left an hour earlier, but Alexana chose to stay, tingling in anticipation of beginning the dig. When she closed her eyes, she could see the stairs as they once were: a series of steps and landings that encouraged worshipers to enter slowly, reverently. She imagined the people reaching the temple, washing in the ceremonial
mikvahs.
Outdoors, the steps spread over two hundred feet in length to the
Double Gate, which would have once led to the grand Temple one hundred feet above. She raised her head and shielded her eyes from the intense sunlight.

“Father God, let me show the world what Jesus would have once seen. Let me show them a little more about his life, his ways. And let me do this for your honor, not my own.”

As she prayed in the peaceful quiet, a shiver suddenly ran down her spine and broke her concentration. She opened her eyes and looked around, but saw no one.

Rising, she gathered her things and picked her way down to the asphalt-covered highway. Forty feet from the Dung Gate, a car screeched up beside her.

Alexana turned, frozen by surprise, but did not run. She was surrounded in seconds by black-masked assailants who pulled her into the backseat of the car.

“No!” she shouted, kicking and struggling to get away. “No! Help! Help me!” she cried before a man pulled her toward him, covering her mouth.

The car screeched away just as Ridge and Sam reached the gate. Spotting her notebook and backpack on the pavement and catching sight of the car speeding away, they knew exactly what had happened.

Frantically, Ridge looked one way and then the next, searching for empty cabs. But there were none to be found.
No one would be willing to pursue the kidnappers anyway,
he thought grimly. He set out after the car in a dead sprint, willing his body to go faster and faster.

But it was no use. In seconds the car had outdistanced him by half a mile. Ridge watched helplessly as it disappeared into the winding
streets of a neighboring Palestinian village. Sam reached his side, panting as hard as Ridge, and stared after the car.

“Call the … police,” Ridge gasped, pulling his cellular phone from his pocket. “Tell them your sister … has been abducted … by men in a … beige BMW.” His head felt thick, his thoughts garbled, as fear choked him.

“License plate … number?” Sam asked hopefully, gasping for breath.

“No. I don’t think … there was one,” Ridge panted.

Sam stared at the despondent man for a moment, then clasped Ridge’s shoulder. “We’ll find her.”

“Yeah,” Ridge swallowed hard, his face distraught, angry. “But will we find her alive?”

Alexana struggled against the men who held her, knowing that it was futile, but needing to try. Wearying of her fight after only five miles, the assailant in the front seat turned with a syringe in hand.

“No!” Alexana said. “You don’t have to give me that! I’ll be quiet.” She forced her body to relax, trying to demonstrate that she would cooperate.

“We do not only want you quiet,” the man said in Arabic, leaning over the seat as one of the guards pulled her bare arm forward. “We want you blind.”

Alexana winced as the syringe entered her arm and the yellow liquid hit her system. She began to pray that it would not kill her. But before she could finish her silent cry, unconsciousness enveloped her.

According to her watch, Alexana awoke twenty hours later, her mind fuzzy and her head aching as if from a migraine. She tried to
sit up, but then slumped back against the bed. The afternoon was stifling hot, especially with the closed windows, yet Alexana felt sick at the mere thought of standing to reach the dirty panes.

She raised her arm to look at her watch again and noticed that she had been dressed in traditional Bedouin attire. Her long dress of heavy black cotton was hand-stitched with brightly colored patterns of reds and purples. She touched her face. A complex veil of coins, teardrops, and other metal ornamentation covered her forehead, nose, and mouth, exposing only her eyes. The black veil had been sewn to the edges of another cloth that covered her hair.

Wearily, she struggled to make sense of her surroundings. She did not remember what had happened; indeed, she could barely recall her name. A man entered the room.

He was handsome in white formal clothes that flowed softly as he walked. His white headdress was secured with a black, twisted cord. The man knelt beside her bed. “Sarah,” he said over his shoulder, speaking Arabic. “Please open that window.”

He took Alexana’s hand, and she stared blankly at him through watery eyes. “Alexana. Are you awake? Can you hear me?”

Khalil.
Her thoughts began to focus.
Khalil!
She tried to make a sound, but her mouth would not function.

Khalil patted her shoulder as Sarah brought her a glass of water. Gently he lifted Alexana to a sitting position and pulled aside her veil while the woman lifted the cup to her lips.

Alexana drank thankfully, suddenly aware that her mouth and throat were parched. “Khalil.,” she whispered.

“Shh.” As tenderly as he had raised her, he lowered her back to the cushions. “Please, Sarah. Leave us for a moment.”

The woman bowed and backed out the door as she was bidden. He turned to Alexana.

“I do not know how clearly you can think. I am sorry you were drugged. It was the only way. It is safer if you do not know where you are. An assassin was on the move. If you had remained in Jerusalem last night you would not have lived.”

“But you …,” she tried.

“Listen to me, Alexana,” Khalil said urgently. “Yes, I knew about the danger. I discouraged the assassin, but men loyal to me reported that he planned to defy my orders and act on his own. Our people had seen you enter the Haram and Solomon’s Stables. We knew then that you had been given permission to proceed. My men will not listen to reason. Too many want you dead. I cannot control them all in this matter. I sent four friends who trust me implicitly to collect you. Even they do not know where you are now, or what I plan to do with you.”

Alexana raised a hand to her aching eyes and rubbed as the coins on her forehead clanged like church bells in her drugged ears. She struggled to make sense of his words.

“You feel terrible. I can see that. But you are alive!” He rose and paced the floor. “I could not let them kill you. You are too important to me. And although you are a stubborn woman, I still count you as a friend.”

He turned back to her. “I must go now. I am expected at a dinner party tonight and must punish Shehab for acting against my orders.” He grinned at the prospect. “You are in the house of my friend. He and his family will care for you until I can decide what to do.”

He bent and kissed her brow below the coins. “I will be back as soon as I can, Alexana.” Quickly, he strode through the door, apparently not hearing her feeble call. Feeling incredibly weak, Alexana let unconsciousness claim her once again.

The next time Alexana was awakened, it was by two women. Her watch was gone. She had no idea what time it was or how long she had been in the house of Khalil’s friend, but she did realize that the narcotics were slowly wearing off.

The women raised her to a sitting position, then fed her broth and water and tea. When she had finished, they held on to her arms and pulled her to her feet, smiling as she took several unsteady steps.

“I have to call my family,” Alexana said to the older woman, who she assumed was the wife of Khalil’s friend. In her groggy state of mind, Alexana spoke rough Arabic, but it was good enough for conversation.

The woman shook her head. “We have no phone here. You are to wait until Khalil returns. You are our guest.”

“I am in hiding,” Alexana corrected. “Where are we?”

Her hostess paused. “We are not to tell you that. Khalil warned us that you are a clever woman and that you would try to return to Jerusalem if you got your bearings. It is not safe for you, or for us. We are trying to help.”