Chosen (18 page)

He raised his hands to his father in surrender as Samuel’s face reddened. “I know. He’s not family anymore. But he might possibly be the only link to Alexana we have left.”

On a temporary leave of absence while he searched for Alexana, Ridge was only too happy to drive Sam to Khalil’s hideout. If it helped in finding Alexana, he was willing to do anything.

Khalil was not happy to see them. He whirled in his robes, his face betraying his emotions. “You dare to bring someone here—you dare to come yourself—unannounced? I could have you both shot!”

“Khalil—,” Sam began.

“Quiet!”

Sam frowned. He knew Khalil no longer considered him a brother, but why was the man so furious? Simply because Ridge had exposed his hideout to another? No, there was more to his anger, Sam was sure of it.

“Because of you, I will need to relocate,” Khalil fumed. “You were to come here only if I summoned you. Who knows who might have followed you?”

“I’m sorry,” Ridge began. “It’s just that we’re still searching for Alexana.”

“I told you on the phone when I was informed you wished to speak with me,” he said, turning from them. “I do not know where she is.”

But Sam remembered a time when they had been exploring Hezekiah’s tunnel and were caught. Khalil had lied to cover their actions. His tone now was the same as it had been then.

“Ridge, please. Take a breather, will you? I need to talk to Khalil alone.”

“No!” Khalil turned on them. “Both of you! I want you both out!”

“Khalil,” Sam tried, “if you ever valued our friendship, give me five minutes. If I don’t get what I want in those five minutes, I’ll walk out of here and never return.”

A pained expression crossed Khalil’s face. “Very well,” the man said wearily. “But he goes,” he said, pointing to Ridge.

Ridge eased out of the tent, knowing that Sam was very close to discovering the truth.

As the gray goatskin flapped down behind Ridge’s back, Sam rose and walked toward Khalil. “Please. As the brother I once had, answer me. We’ve been told that Hamas is out to kill her. Is she dead?”

Khalil studied him again, pain clearly visible on his handsome features. “No, Samuel. She is not dead.”

Sam looked at the ground, shaking his blond head. “Thank you. I knew she could not be dead. I would have known it if she was.”

“You two were always kindred spirits,” Khalil said, sitting down on the luxurious cushions. He sighed. “Sit. Sit, my old friend.”

Sam did as he was bidden. “Please, is there anything more you can tell me?”

“If you give me your word it will not be on CNN.”

“Done. Ridge would promise anything to know. You have my word.”

Khalil paused, considering his friend. He spoke at last. “She is safe. I did not issue an order to kill her. But there are others who will act without my direction. Too many of my men knew of your visit to the Haram and the impending dig.” He gave Sam an accusatory look. “In order to head off a potential murder of a woman I once called friend, I sent four trustworthy men to collect her—”

“—outside the Dung Gate,” Sam finished for him.

“Yes.”

“Where is she now?”

“In safekeeping.”

“That’s not enough, Khalil!” Sam protested. “We want her! We can protect her!”

“Nonsense. Who can protect the woman better than I? I am the one who sees both sides.”

Samuel sighed. “You know you can’t hide her forever. And when she comes back, she’ll come out swinging. There’s no way you’ll keep her from the Haram; you know that. And I can’t keep her from it either.”

“You must,” Khalil insisted fiercely. “I am giving her time to calm down, come to her senses, walk away. If I release her and she ignores the warnings of those who feel she is a pawn to the Kahane, I can do nothing more.”

“Tell them the truth, Khalil. I’m in this project with her. There’s no one involved in a plot to bring down the Haram. I swear it!”

Khalil exhaled in exasperation and rose. “You have lived in this land too long to be so naive,” he said derisively.

Sam rose too, fighting to control his anger. “I swear it. She’s honestly going to make the Haram’s foundation stronger.”

“And when neither of you are looking, a Kahane or Mossad
agent will slip in and place a plastic bomb in a crook here or a crevice there.”

“No!” Sam would not accept it.

Khalil strode forward, stopping inches from his face. “How can you stand there and deny it? You know how things work here! You cannot have eyes in the back of your head!” He turned away. “It is not you, nor is it Alexana I mistrust. It is the doors you are opening. But the men of Hamas do not know you as I do. There are too many who believe that you are Jewish spies.”

Sam sat down, feeling beaten. “Then what are we going to do? You can’t hold her forever. Deep down, you know she won’t turn away from this opportunity when she gets free. I can’t stop her either. If Alexana has the go-ahead from both Eban and al Azeh, she’ll move forward with or without me.”

Khalil turned, and looked at Sam with a piercing gaze. “If I do let her go, then you had better remain very close to her. If she excavates, does indeed strengthen the foundation, and exits the Haram without causing damage, she’ll win many Palestinian friends—even in the Jihad and Hamas. But emotions are running too high. I am afraid she will not survive the dig itself. Do you understand me, Samuel?”

Sam stared back at him for several seconds, his mouth set in a grim line. “I understand.” He cast about for a point on which to pin his hopes. “Maybe your boys will forget about her,” he tried hopefully.

Khalil looked grim. “It is not likely.”

S
o you’re telling me that the leader of Hamas has spirited away your sister—actually has her hidden somewhere without his followers’ knowledge—and I can’t say a word to the world?”

“Not if you want her to live. There are many in Hamas who would perceive Khalil’s action as traitorous and torture him until he revealed her location.”

“You and I both know he would die before he told,” Ridge argued.

Agitated, Sam took a corner too fast, throwing both men to the edge of their seats.

“Look out!” Ridge yelled. “Getting us killed won’t help your sister!”

Sam screeched to a stop and pulled over on the narrow shoulder of the highway.

“Look, do you think this is a good place to stop—?”

“Ridge!” Sam interrupted. “Don’t you see? I know this is an incredible scoop for a reporter, but you’re more in love with my sister than Khalil ever was! Think about her safety! Do you have a choice?”

Ridge stared at the dashboard. “I am thinking about her safety,” he said slowly. “Without pressure from U.S. officials, triggered by media attention, she might never be found. Without U.S. pressure, she might not survive another night in Jerusalem once she
is
found.”

“You don’t know Alexana well enough yet,” Sam argued. “You can be sure she’ll escape wherever Khalil has hidden her. And she’ll be knocking on my door the next day, asking if the team is ready. My sister is the most determined woman I know.”

Ridge sighed. “We’ve got to stop her.”

“We can try, but I really don’t think we can succeed.”

“Then we’ll have to protect her from herself,” Ridge began. “Maybe Khalil’s right. If the only way to keep her safe is to hide her away someplace—”

“If she comes back—
when
she comes back—you can do your story. Wait for God’s timing, Ridge. Listen to his voice, not to your own fear. If you do so, you endanger Khalil’s position of authority and, consequently, her safety. If they figure out Khalil was behind the kidnapping, they might go after all his friends, looking for her. Right now, she’s out of sight and, hopefully, out of mind.”

“And when she comes back?” Ridge asked.

“We’ll have to keep her whereabouts hyper-secret. Maybe Khalil will find a way to deal with the assassins by then.” Sam’s voice held little hope.

“The city is far too small to hide her for long.”

Alexana felt badly about ditching the sweet young shepherd boy, but she saw no other alternative. Khalil had not been back for a week. Few visitors came to his friend’s home. Freedom was up to her to claim.

She crossed the rocks and climbed down the side of the hill, making her way toward the highway, which she judged to be about half a mile distant. Alexana reached the pavement just as the sun set,
and she breathed a sigh of relief. She paused and drew out the bottle of water that she’d strapped to her leg beneath her skirts and drank deeply, sweating beneath the heavy clothing. Even in the cooling darkness, the temperature still hovered at around sixty degrees.

Alexana looked each way, wondering how often traffic passed. Banking on the assumption that she was in the Negev Desert and that Jerusalem was due north, she began to walk, praying that her hosts—or captors—would not come after her before she obtained a ride. She frowned and rubbed in irritation at the silver coins that stuck to her damp forehead.

Her heart pounded as a Palestinian farmer passed her, then pulled over three hundred yards distant, apparently waiting. Middle Eastern women were not often seen traveling alone. She had relied on the Bedouin tradition of “taking care of their own” in getting a ride. Still, pulling off the impersonation without discovery would take some work.

As she approached the decrepit old truck, Alexana kept her head down, averting her eyes to avoid discovery. She moved to the passenger door, not daring to look in the vehicle, and awaited the driver’s greeting.

“Woman, what causes you to be on the road at this hour?” the man said, his voice full of reproach. Few respectable women would be found in such circumstances.

“I have lost my husband to illness,” she mumbled, hoping to hide any trace of an accent in her Arabic. “My son is ill, and I hope to find relatives in Jerusalem who will help me.”

She waited, holding her breath. The seconds crawled past as he studied her, thinking.

“You are not a woman of ill repute?” he asked suspiciously.

“No! By Allah I am not!”

“Get in,” he groused.

Alexana started to open the door, but his angry voice startled her, interrupting her action.

“In back, woman. I do not know you and will not be seen with you beside me.”

She nodded humbly, walked quickly to the back, and climbed up through the open tailgate. Alexana bit her lip as she tried to avoid animal excrement and find a clean place to sit. The truck lurched forward.

Sighing, she collapsed into a relatively clean spot of hay, staring across at a goat that observed her dolefully. He chewed his cud and looked away as the truck picked up speed.

“Well,” she whispered to her hairy companion, “I guess we’re on our way.”

The truck approached Jerusalem late that night. The city walls were lit by the reddish glow of lanterns, giving it a foreboding, impressive look. “Drat,” Alexana muttered, wondering how she would maneuver through the city without being apprehended by Israeli patrols. It was late for a Bedouin to be out, and she had no identification.

The driver stopped outside the Damascus Gate. “Get out,” he yelled back at her.

Alexana jumped down, and her heart pounded as the man drove away. “Okay, God,” she murmured. “It’s just you and me.” She approached the gate with purpose, walking as if she had nothing on her mind but thoughts of getting home.

Keeping her head down, she walked through, incredulous when the card-playing guards neglected to demand her ID. She had just
dared to take a breath, silently thanking God that he had apparently covered her with an invisible shield, when one man barked after her in Hebrew.

“Wait a minute! Get back here. You know we need to see ID after sunset.” He turned back to his cards smugly, wearing an expression of utter power.

Alexana kept walking, pretending that she had not heard. She gauged the distance to the nearest corner. If she could gain another few yards before they realized she was making a run for it, she might have a lead that would save her from being shot.

“Hey!” the guard yelled casually, still distracted by his card game. He looked over his shoulder after playing his card and repeated his command in Arabic. Playing another card, he muttered an epithet against Bedouins. He finally rose as he realized Alexana had not stopped or returned.

She heard his companion curse softly. There would be trouble with the sergeant if news of this got out. They would assume she was wearing a bomb or up to no good.

The first guard set out after her while the second radioed for backup. She turned the corner just as he raised his gun and yelled another warning.

Alexana gathered her skirts in her arms and ran hard, turning first one corner, then the next, until she had reached a familiar old Muslim alleyway. She stopped in a small alcove, panting and praying that she had lost the young soldier. When she had caught her breath, she crossed the narrow alleyway and, drawing on childhood memory, jumped and caught the crossbeam of a sturdy overhang. She swung to gain momentum, then, at the height of her arc, released her grip and landed atop the broad cloth swag like a circus gymnast.

She lay there, fighting off an insane urge to giggle, but remaining deadly still as the guard ran past three feet below her. He stopped at the corner and swore while Alexana prayed that the old canvas would not give way.

After what seemed an eternity, the guard removed the radio from his belt loop and made a connection with his companion at the gate. “She is harmless. I let her go,” he lied, then left the alley, muttering.

Alexana listened as his footsteps faded into the dark night. “Thank you, Father,” she whispered, looking up into the starry Jerusalem sky. Then she clambered onto the rooftop and made her way toward Lydia’s house.

Reaching the Nusseibahs’ building, Alexana took a deep breath and dropped to the wrought-iron balcony below.

She knew she would find Lydia at her parents’ home. The woman had made peace with her father after threatening to move out and live with Alexana. Seeing her determination, her father had allowed an uneasy cease-fire to take place, buying time as he presumably tried to figure out another way to dissuade his daughter.