Fuse of Armageddon (30 page)

She waited for his reply. He gave none but glared at her, all his listlessness gone.

“See?” she said. “Your silence tells me enough.”

“The Bible says—”

“The Bible says what you want it to say,” she snapped. “I’ve seen your hateful television rants against those who disagree with you and your biblical interpretations. You call them replacement theologians. You call them anti-Semites, say that they have Hitler’s anointing. That would be me, then. Does the orphanage look like Hitler’s anointing?”

“The Bible is God’s literal truth. I will defend those fundamentals with my last breath.”

“Your passion I admire. But saying every word in the Bible is true in a literal sense is nonsense. There’s poetry in the Bible, metaphors. God, the ultimate creator, uses words in a beautiful, creative way.”

“To suggest the Bible contains fiction is a sin.”

“And you’re not listening to me. You’re suggesting that I’m not a good Christian if I want to try to discern the truth.”

“The truth is there, plain to see. All you need to do is pick up the Bible and read it.”

All her good intentions at humility were long gone. “How arrogant, believing you can understand the Bible completely by reading twenty-first-century events into its pages, ignoring the historical and cultural context of those to whom the books of the Bible were originally written. You would do well to remember that while the Bible was written and divinely preserved
for
believers throughout the ages, it was not written
to
our generation.”

“When you question the Bible, you are questioning God.” Silver’s anger was beginning to match Esther’s.

“Have you heard of radical Islam?” she asked. “If not, look around. You’ll discover you have been kidnapped because of it.”

“Of course I have,” he snapped back.

“Let me tell you what’s been happening in the Arab world. Islamic terrorists are well versed in the Koran. They pick and choose verses for their purposes. Because Muslims are rarely given permission to try to interpret the Koran themselves, they are denounced if they question the radicals.”

Esther paused. “It’s like a pyramid. The radicals are reshaping the Koran to justify their worldview. Below them are Muslims who actively support them. And the wide base of the pyramid is the rest of them, those who remain silent, either out of ignorance or fear of reprisals. More and more, these radicals are convincing the rest of the Muslims that if you are not a radical Muslim, you are not a good Muslim.”

“You,” Silver thundered with surprising energy, “are comparing me to a fundamentalist Muslim?”

“You bully those who question your end-times interpretations. And you sit at the top of a large pyramid that prospers because of your theology.”

“Nonsense!”

“I’ve been rejected for fund-raisers at colleges that share your interpretation of the end times. I’ve spoken to professors who must sign a statement that they believe dispensationalism or they wouldn’t be employed. Many say they wish they could teach a different interpretation, but if they did, they would lose their jobs. And the colleges would lose alumni support.”

She held up a hand to stop his protest. “Institutions from colleges to large churches to television ministries have put so much energy over so many decades into pushing this evangelical viewpoint that they would lose a huge power base to suggest that there might be another interpretation.”

“Israel is God’s chosen people.”

“And you define Israel as ethnic Jews?”

“Of course. What else could the Bible mean?”

“Have you ever given that question serious consideration? Have you ever asked yourself what Paul meant when he wrote that all of us are Jews through faith?”

Silver glared at her again. “I suppose you have a theology degree.”

“That’s what it takes for anyone to discuss this? How convenient. Then none of your followers can even question what you teach.”

“You came here to apologize to me,” Silver reminded her. “Attacking my teaching doesn’t sound like an apology.”

“Answer this,” Esther challenged him. “How much have you personally gained through your empire? And how much would you personally lose if you told the world there was a chance you might actually be wrong?”

Silver opened his mouth to retort but said nothing.

“That’s what I thought,” she said.

15:30 GMT


The platoon was ready for action again. Saxon was staying behind with the heifer. Patterson was part of the next phase of operations.

These were Patterson’s new orders: shoot to kill if anyone tried to interfere with the two-man mission. Man or woman or child, regardless of age. Nothing was to stop Patterson and Burge from dropping the canisters at the time specified by Saxon. Patterson didn’t know why or what was expected afterward, just that it was crucial to make it happen.

They were one of six two-man teams in motion, roaming the streets and alleys in their disguises as Arab farm laborers. Each man carried a hidden pistol. Here, even though it was common for men to carry machine guns, Saxon had specified he wanted as little attention as possible drawn to the teams.

Patterson walked alongside Burge, who carried what looked like a cell phone to anyone giving them a second glance. But it was a GPS locator preprogrammed with coordinates. It had been beeping every five seconds, but as the two of them neared the coordinates, the beeping grew more frequent—a sophisticated game of warmer-colder.

The air was dry and hot. It seemed to suck up moisture but exuded such a variety of smells that Patterson couldn’t identify any of them. None of the smells were pleasant.

The two men were silent. Burge was focusing on the tempo of beeping sounds coming from the GPS locator. Patterson was in no mood to talk. His intense fear about Sarah was like acid eating at his stomach walls.

“You don’t have any idea how big this is. . . . Our military unit is only a small part of a secret network of Christians dedicated to striking back at the network established by Islamic terrorists. All across America, men of influence and power are helping fight the war. . . . If you were back in Georgia, you would have heard that your wife has disappeared.”

Even if Patterson could identify any of the rest of the secret network, where would he start looking for her, and how could he possibly fight back?

Patterson wasn’t so lost in his thoughts that he had stopped surveying the street. They were approaching the front of a beat-up white van, just as junky-looking as most of the vehicles in Gaza. What was different, however, was the fact that three non-Arabs, two men and a woman, were visible through the windshield. Americans? Tourists?

Whoever they were, they seemed out of place. Their eyes slid over him as he and Burge approached, more proof of how well the Freedom Crusaders had prepared for their role here. To observers, Patterson and Burge were just another couple of Arabs.

If that wasn’t enough extra indication of the thoroughness of the secret network, Patterson didn’t need to look any further than the GPS locator in Burge’s right hand. The locators, one for each pair of soldiers, had been in one of the crates. Patterson had no idea, of course, who had supplied the crates or how long it had been since they had been filled. He couldn’t even guess at the route the crates had taken to reach them. Most certainly it had been at least a week of travel, probably more.

While Burge and the others probably would have found comfort in this efficiency, the implications were frightening to Patterson. It spoke of the power of the men behind the network. It also told Patterson that this phase of the operation had been planned well in advance. Which led to that other question. Who knew and how had it been possible to know so far in advance that Jonathan Silver would be held hostage in this part of Gaza? This too suggested that Patterson had no chance against the network.

If he wanted to see Sarah again, he’d have to obey Saxon. Even then, he’d have to trust and pray that Saxon would uphold the bargain when all of this was over.

Whatever it was.

15:35 GMT


“What’s this?” Kate said, staring at dark fabric that Quinn pulled from a plastic bag at the back of the van.

Just ten minutes remained before the ninety-minute deadline expired.

“A cultural experience,” Quinn said. They were inside, windows closed. The van was getting hotter, and he was sweating. They’d parked on the street just down from the orphanage. Now that the engine was off, noise from the nearby marketplace punched through the walls of the van. The view through the windshield showed two Arabs walking toward them. One was intent on a cell phone in his hand. The other glanced at him and Hamer with some curiosity, then looked away.

Kate unfurled the fabric. “A dress. A face thing.”

“Niqab,” Quinn said. “Traditional Muslim head covering for a woman. It shouldn’t be uncomfortable. Slip it over what you’re wearing.”

“It just happened to be in the van?” Kate asked.

Hamer cleared his throat. “Quinn insisted we find one. I agreed. It’s a great disguise. You wear it or you don’t stay.”

“I don’t need to hide to be able to protect myself,” Kate said.

“You’ll be protecting Quinn,” Hamer said. “And the operation. An American woman around here will be a neon sign screaming for attention.”

“Without military to protect us,” Quinn added, “we need to keep a low profile. Look in the bag. You’ll see clothes for me, too. I won’t pass as a Palestinian with close inspection, but it will allow me to move on the streets if I have to.”

Kate’s mouth tightened. “Fine.”

“I don’t see a portable air conditioner for this van,” Quinn said to Hamer.

“It’s not like we had a lot of notice. Didn’t seem high priority.”

“This van will be my base of operations,” Quinn told Hamer. “The fewer the distractions the better. Including heat.”

“
Your
base? I’m sure you meant
our
base.”

Quinn shook his head. “I need you to call for another car to take you and the soldiers away before the locals figure out what’s happening. And quickly; the deadline’s closing in.”

“You expect me out of here too?”

“You’re in more danger here than any of us,” Quinn countered. “We’re all as out of place here as cat droppings on a marble floor. But I’m just the negotiator. How much is a high-ranking IDF official worth dead or alive to these guys?”

Hamer didn’t answer, so Quinn pressed his point. “If I’m killed or taken hostage, it works to Safady’s disadvantage because it will take time to bring in a replacement. On the other hand, it serves him for me to stay alive. He picked the orphanage because this is his territory. I’m sure he’ll be able to put the word out to keep me safe from the locals. That’s why I don’t need protection, at least until negotiations are over, and I’ll take my chances then.”

Hamer thumbed in Kate’s direction. She was still crouched in the back with the soldiers. “And her? What if they take her hostage?”

“That would be the terrorists’ biggest mistake,” Quinn said. “They wouldn’t gain much from one more American, and she’d drive them crazy.”

“Ha, ha,” Kate said.

“Still, she should go with you,” Quinn told Hamer. “Niqab or no niqab. But I can’t make the call. You have to.”

“No,” Kate said. “I’m in it this far. I’m not going to turn back. Try, and I’ll blow this wide open.”

“This is my operation,” Hamer said. “I can’t just leave.”

“Sure you can. Whether you and I talk face-to-face or by cell phone doesn’t make much difference,” Quinn said. “Find a place to park on the Israeli side. Stay in contact from there.”

“You’re just going to sit in this van?”

“Like it’s my office. That’s why I want a portable air conditioner. Rule one in negotiating: never ask for more than you know you can get. Which is why I didn’t order a couch or plasma television.”

“First you strip the operation of military, and now I’m gone. It’s like I close my eyes for a second and suddenly you’re running things instead of me. Cohen won’t agree to this.”

“He won’t have a choice,” Quinn said. “He’s in Tel Aviv. We’re here.”

“This strategy is absurd.”

“I prefer to describe it as unexpected. Rule one in negotiating: tilt the playing field in your favor.”

“Rule number one where I come from is a lot simpler: when you have guns, you use them. What’s the world going to think when it gets out that the Israeli government has left the hostages unprotected?”

“The world doesn’t have to know it. Especially if you can keep Brad Silver from finding out. Or stop him from leaking information. Lock him in his hotel room. Cut his phone lines and Internet access. We’ll be fine.”

“But the IDF can’t just do nothing,” Hamer protested.

“How long would it take for choppers with soldiers to get here from the border?”

“Two minutes. Less if we’ve got the choppers in the air and waiting.”

“Keep them ready, then. Monitor the orphanage from surveillance airplanes. If this guy tries to move the hostages or starts shooting them, then use force. But until then, give the negotiating process a chance. Just don’t give the terrorists a platform to make this a bigger situation than it is by pouring Israeli soldiers into this area.”

“Sounds logical, coming from you. Maybe you should talk to Zvi.”

“So it looks like I’m giving you orders? How long did you want to keep your job? It’s better if all of this sounds like your idea and you had to talk me into staying. If it works, you’ll have Zvi’s job as soon as he steps down.”

“If it works,” Hamer said. “And if I ever believe the Mossad is a step up from IDF.”

“Have a little faith,” Quinn said. “Think of how my negotiating shifted your landscape and hope I can do the same with the other side.”

“This is what you call it? Shifting my landscape?”

Quinn shrugged. “Sounds better than having you think I outsmarted you.”

“Astounding how good I feel at this point. Does it come with a massage?”