Chosen (22 page)

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.”

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.

R
idge 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.

The effect of the press attention was tremendous. The vast majority of the protesters dispersed and failed to reappear for what had become their regular evening demonstration. A few radicals remained, shouting of the Kahane plot and the Muslim traitors who had betrayed them. But despite the continued danger those few represented, the team breathed a collective sigh of relief. Somehow, several identifiable, angry faces seemed less intimidating than a mob of indecipherable, furious voices.

Several days after the story first aired, Ridge sat watching Alexana as she and her team discussed plans for the following day’s work. By
digging around the clock, workers had made excellent progress. Stratum Three had been reached, and the new foundations were complete. Soon they would begin smaller excavation projects, sending teams in either direction down the main pathway, which had been cleared.

She looks exhausted,
Ridge noted grimly. Usually Alexana was amazingly well put together, even in the most difficult of circumstances. Ridge studied her glasses that kept falling off her nose, the victim of a broken stem. Tendrils of hair escaped her thrown-together ponytail, and her customary whites and khakis had faded to creams and browns under a thick coat of excavation dust. There were dark smudges at her temples where she had impatiently wiped dirt away, smearing the dust with tears from her irritated eyes.

Alexana dismissed the crew and raised her head to look for Ridge. Spotting him, she smiled wanly, looking slightly guilty under his concerned gaze. She walked over, and Ridge pulled her into his arms. Nearby, three huge Israeli guards kept watch. “You’re exhausted,” Ridge said with compassion.

She melted under his touch, feeling loved, protected, understood. “I am tired,” she admitted. “Want to eat with me in my room?”

“I’ve got a better idea. Grab Huey, Dewey, and Louie over there,” he nodded at the guards, “and tell them I’m taking you on a date.”

“Oh, Ridge. That sounds great. But I’m so—”

Ridge placed his fingers over her lips to hush her. “Trust me. You’ll love it. I know you’re beat. Trust me,” he repeated.

Accompanied by the three bodyguards, Ridge and Alexana left the Haram after five that evening. Inside the police car that was their
transport, Alexana leaned her head against Ridge’s shoulder. As he put his arm around her, she struggled to fight off sleep. “I don’t know about this. I’m so tired, Ridge,” she began again.

“Sana Roarke,” he said with a tender look, “trust me.”

“Okay,” she sighed. “I’ll just take a little nap on the way there. Do you think I could grab a shower before dinner? I’m afraid my face will land in the soup bowl if I don’t.”

“You are a bit grubby,” he teased. “But I’ve got better plans for you. Snooze for a few minutes, love. I promise, you’ll feel better in a couple of hours.”

“I hope I’m in bed in a couple …” She was asleep against his shoulder before she had completed her sentence.

They arrived at the Intercontinental Hotel fifteen minutes later, and Ridge led Alexana into the hotel via the service entrance. The Mossad guards melted into the background like trained FBI agents, watching every entrance and keeping contact with one another via earpieces and tiny microphones attached to their clothes.

Ridge escorted Alexana directly to the spa, where he kissed her, then left her to the care of a kindly, strong Palestinian woman of about sixty. She led Sana into the women’s lounge where, delighted by the prospect of some pampering, Alexana showered, using a heavenly, mint-scented shampoo that made her scalp tingle, a conditioner that coated her hair into a soft sheet of gold, and a body soap smelling of almonds that somehow soothed her aching body.