“Your boy – is he tall and blond?” she asked Amalia, who nodded yes.
“I think he’s with my kids,” Sual whispered. “I saw them going to the roof. And if they were up there, there’s a chance they got away.”
Amalia grabbed Sual’s hand and squeezed it hard. For a moment, the Jewish lawyer from Tel Aviv and the Muslim Arab from Jerusalem were simply mothers.
At Amalia’s request, Sual asked the nurses about Yoav, but the news was not encouraging. He’d been shot in the chest and was still in the ICU. “The doctors did get the bullet out, but the next few hours are critical,” Sual reported back.
Amalia closed her eyes. She thought about all the ugly words she and Yoav had thrown at one another and that Yam had overheard, leading him to run out, slamming the door behind him. She’d have given anything to be able to take the words and the whole fight back.
Chapter 10
Deep underneath the city, in the partially collapsed tunnel, Anise was rummaging around in her backpack. There were a few pitas and some hummus packed in a plastic bag. She took them out; the three hadn’t eaten a thing since morning.
Yam didn’t even chew; he swallowed the pita whole, giving Anise hope. He must be feeling better, she thought. He’d been lucky. Other than the dislocated shoulder, he’d only sustained some bruising. There was nothing seriously wrong with him and he seemed much better already.
Yam concluded the spartan meal with a big swig of water, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “OK,” he said, “we have to decide what we’re doing.”
“We’re not doing anything yet,” said Anise. “First, you have to rest. In any case, it’s still too dangerous to go out,” she added assertively, feeding some more sticks to the fire.
“She’s right, you know. The whole area is crawling with terrorists, and you’re badly bruised all over,” Mor agreed. “We have the map. The minute you’re feeling a little better, we’ll move out using the oldest streets. The terrorists may not know those.”
Suddenly, the fire went out. Mor felt his way in the dark for his flashlight, but it was too late. The noise was deafening, and again rocks rained down. The three clung to one another. Please, not again, Anise prayed, Not another cave-in…
This time, it ended as suddenly as it had begun, and silence descended once more. A few seconds later, the coals grew hot and the fire started to burn on its own.
The three looked at one another astonished. “That was no cave-in. Look at the fire,” Anise whispered.
The flames licked the air, climbing higher, twisting and fusing, casting shadows on the ground. It was a sight of splendor.
“Whoa! It looks like letters,” Mor murmured. “I swear to you – the fire is writing. Look – here’s an “o’,’” he pointed, “and there’s a ‘d’!’”
“Yes!” And that looked like an ‘e’!” Anise added.
“You’re nuts,” Yam laughed, “it’s what happens when flames meet a bit of wind.”
“How do you explain the letters?” Anise asked. “And how to you explain the fire starting to burn again?”
Yam had no answer. True, it was a little weird, but so many irrational things had happened to them over the last two days that he wasn’t going to single this out for special significance. It must have a logical explanation, he thought, and took out the map. “Ali was right. It really is an underground city,” he said, changing the subject.
“Let’s see which gate name contains at least one of the letters we saw,” suggested Mor.
“Well, Zion Gate has an ‘o,’ and Herod’s Gate has all of them – ‘o,’ ‘d,’ and ‘e.’ And, look here – we’re really close to Herod’s Gate,” said Anise, pointing at the map.
Yam said nothing. Let them believe what they want if that’s what will make them want to leave before the tunnel collapses once and for all, he thought. “I suggest that, just to be safe, each one of us memorize a section of the map in case we’re separated,” he said.
Mor and Anise agreed that this was a good idea. They divided the map into three areas: Anise studied the route to Herod’s Gate, while Mor and Yam concentrated on the branches veering off the central junction. They numbered all the branches and memorized the exits.
When they were done, they were exhausted and decided to risk staying put to grab a few hours of sleep. Yam put out the fire to make sure they wouldn’t be discovered by anyone else down there, and then the three bunched up together to stay warm.
Anise was unable to fall asleep. Her proximity to Yam, lying to her right, made her uncomfortable; the memory of his lips on hers made her body shiver. To her left lay Mor with his reassuring warmth and familiar smell. Both of them next to her was too much. Much more than she could bear.
At the hospital, Theo, Sual, and Amalia were sitting with Superintendent Moshe Azoulai of the Jerusalem police in the doctors’ lounge, which was serving as a temporary headquarters. Moshe was unshaven. Since the start of the attacks two days ago, he hadn’t slept at all. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to sit with three worried parents, but one of them was the Italian consul, and the foreign minister had made it amply clear that the senior officer was to attend to this matter in person.
Superintendent Azoulai had tried to argue with the minister, explaining that, at the moment, there was a shortage of manpower and that it was impossible to dedicate officers to look for the consul’s missing son. But it was useless, so here he was. He did his best to keep the meeting short.
“It’s dangerous to enter the city,” he told the anxious parents. “This is what we call a rolling event. The security forces and the army are doing all they can, but hundreds of thousands of residents are trapped and being used as human shields. We’re limited in terms of the actions we can take because we don’t want to harm innocent bystanders. The terrorists seem to be leaving through a network of tunnels that are, at this very moment, being identified and located by our forces. This attack was carefully planned over a long time. Now, elite units have managed to evacuate most of the injured from the embassy building, but there were further attacks in the neighborhood, and at this time there is no way of knowing what happened to your children.”
Theo, Sual, and Amalia watched him in stunned silence. Moshe gave them a tired look. “I promise you that the moment it becomes possible we will send a search party. But right now there’s nobody to send. The city is in flames.”
Theo thought about all the years he had already wasted mourning for Claudia instead of loving his son. Well, he wasn’t about to wait anymore for anyone.
He took Sual’s uninjured hand. “Don’t worry. We’ll manage somehow,” he whispered.
Sual looked at the seeping bandage running the length of his torso. She worried his stitches had popped. “You must get back into bed,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument. Walking him back, she had to support him every step of the long corridor.
The hospital was overflowing. Dozens of injured lay in the hallways for lack of space in the rooms and new victims, both soldiers and civilians, kept pouring in. Sual tried but failed to catch the attention of a nurse. She finally gave up, helped Theo lie down, and went in search of a doctor. Amalia used the opportunity to sit down next to Theo.
“Yoav is coming around too,” she told him. “In a few days, I think we may be able to quarrel again.” She was trying to sound cynical and in control, but by looking at her face it was clear to Theo how relieved she was.
“So, are we going out to look for them?” she finally asked.
“Just let them try to stop us,” Theo answered.
Chapter 11
In the tunnel underneath the Old City, Mor, realizing they were no longer alone, prodded Yam awake, motioning him to stay silent. Yam, in turn, woke up Anise, who lay asleep between them, and the three quietly packed up their little camp, hid the leftover food, and erased all signs of the fire.
&nbs
p; Sounds were now coming frightfully close by. “They’re speaking Arabic,” said Yam.
“I can’t tell what they’re saying,” Anise murmured. “It sounds as if it’s coming through a wall. Let’s try to get a little closer,” she said.
“It’s too risky,” Yam replied, but Anise ignored him. He doesn’t get to decide, certainly not for me, she thought. In any case, what did they have to lose? Chances of getting out of here alive were slim, no matter what.
“Hey, wait up, you nutcase,” Mor hissed at her. Yam had no choice now but to follow the other two.
All three inched forward in the dark as quietly as possible until they reached the point where the tunnel branched. “Follow me. This is the part of the map I memorized,” whispered Mor, pulling them to the right. The tunnel quickly turned into nothing more than a crawl space, the ceiling so low they now had to proceed on all fours. “This way bypasses the tunnel from above,” Mor explained. Indeed, the sounds were now coming from directly beneath them, almost touching distance away. There was a narrow opening at the end of the crawl space where it was possible to observe what was happening below with relative safety.
The large chamber beneath them was well equipped. Two large spotlights mounted on a wall filled it with a harsh, bright light. One corner contained a stockpile of weapons. Yam could see hand grenades and rifles, and even a few rocket-propelled grenades. Some of the men were wearing stocking caps and others had donned kufiyahs, and the space below seemed to be set up for a long-term stay. A bonfire was going strong in the center.
Against the far wall of the room, two men were seated behind a folding table with several laptops. One of them was having a conversation through a silvery earpiece; both were focused on one computer screen, which was incessantly scrolling long number strings.
Anise stared at a dangerous-looking, thickset man sitting on a cushion next to the bonfire, speaking loudly in Arabic. Assuming he was the leader, she started translating for Yam and Mor.
“They’re going to split into groups of five. Three are staying with him – I think those,” she said, pointing at the two near the computer and an armed guard who was pacing up and down the length of the chamber.
“What do they want to do?” Yam asked.
“They’re planning on leaving before daybreak through the tunnel that goes under the Western Wall to Chain Gate and from there to the Jewish Quarter and the Tower of David.” Anise had crawled a little farther ahead to hear better, dislodging a stone that fell into the space below. The three, holding their breath, rapidly pulled back.
The stone struck the shoulder of the man on the cushion, who let loose a stream of curses in Arabic.
Several men jumped up, their weapons drawn, and started searching the chamber.
The three held their breath. One of the men looked up and the three shrank into themselves, hoping to minimize their presence. For several long, tense minutes they remained frozen in place, until the men below relaxed, sat back down, and continue talking.
One by one, the three crept through the crawlspace. Mor turned right, with Anise and Yam directly behind him. They reached a spot where they could again stand up and continued to walk until the men’s voices were swallowed by the distance. Only then did Yam turn on his flashlight.
“Did you hear? They’re going to blow up the Tower of David! We have to do something,” a distraught Anise said.
“You’re crazy! There were dozens of men back there. Didn’t you see all their weapons? There’s only three of us and the only weapon we have is Mor’s pocketknife. You’re talking suicide,” Yam retorted hotly.
Anise said nothing; she knew Yam was right. The three of them alone stood no chance. Total suicide, she thought, frustrated.
After a few minutes of silence, Mor said, “I have an idea.” It took him some time to lay out his plan and another hour or so for the three to argue through the details before they had something workable in hand.
Yam marked their meeting spot on the map and they agreed to be there in another two hours.
Yam proposed that Anise and Mor take the map and walk together.
Anise’s eyes flashed gray with fury. “I don’t need a minder, thank you very much,” she said, already walking away. Yam, confused, watched her retreating back. All he wanted was to protect her, make sure nothing bad happened to her, and instead of thanking him, she got mad.
Taking his cell phone out of his pocket, he ran after her. “Anise,” he called, “wait, there’s no reception, but the phone has a flashlight. Please, at least take that.”
“I have my own phone,” she angrily hissed without looking at him and then disappeared down the tunnel.
Mor clapped Yam’s shoulder in sympathy. “Don’t get upset. I know her. This, too, shall pass.”
“I don’t care. Let her do what she wants,” Yam answered, trying to seem indifferent.
“OK, whatever. Just remember the signal,” said Mor, turning right. “Three flashes.”
Mor looked at Yam, asking himself if the plan would work or if he was just risking his friends’ lives. But all three had agreed and all three understood their chances were not good. Worried, he watched Yam get swallowed by the tunnel. Was it only yesterday that he’d been busy being mad at his dad, like every adolescent? Now, suddenly, he was responsible for other people’s lives. He looked away from the tunnel where Yam had gone and turned left, his lips pressed together with determination.
Still seething with rage, Anise walked down the ancient tunnel. That Yam, who does he think he is? He’s no better than I am, she thought.
This part of the tunnel had no electrical wires. The bare concrete walls made the place seem abandoned. Anise checked the ground carefully, but there were no footprints in the soil. After walking a few minutes, she calmed down and focused more carefully on the path. It seemed that no human foot had walked this route for decades.
Now, instead of inspecting the ground, she allowed her flashlight to play along the walls. She was very surprised to see that they were painted. She approached one wall, stunned by a vivid painting of a woman holding an infant in her arms. Underneath the painting was an inscription in a language she didn’t recognize. The painting looked ancient, leaving Anise to wonder if the woman depicted was the wife of whatever king had commissioned the painting or maybe the painter’s beloved.
Oddly, the painting reminded her of Yam, so much so that she could almost feel his lips touching hers. It was a mistake to kiss him, she thought, getting angry again. He thinks he can condescend to me just because he’s male, she told herself. She was perfectly able to defend herself, definitely better than he could. Ugh, she just couldn’t stand him! Who does he think he is? Pressing her lips together, Anise continued walking.
The narrow path suddenly widened into a small plaza. Bizarrely, an ancient-looking tree was planted in its center. Anise could only see its thick trunk, which poked upwards through the tunnel ceiling. The crown of the tree must be above ground, in the sunlight, she thought. What in the world could have made the people who lived here long ago dig an entire underground city? What frightened them so much they had to seek refuge down here? At the foot of the tree, Anise found a large amount of dried-out sticks. Remembering the fire they’d had to build, she quickly filled her backpack with this unexpected treasure. When her bag was full, she leaned against a wall, sipped some water, and looked around. Three paths extended from the small plaza, and she wondered which one to follow. She thought she could feel something moving, so she leaped aside, only to realize that the wall behind her had started to slide. The spot she had only a moment ago been leaning on was now a large opening.
Damn all these secret passages, she thought, irritated. It was much more frightening than it was enchanting.
Anise again looked around to make sure she was alone, but the place seemed abandoned. It must be some ancient mechanism I operated by accident, she deci
ded.
Approaching it carefully, she aimed her flashlight at the dark gap that had opened up. It looks like a family home, she thought and shone her light all around, taking in the small room. On one wall, six wide steps had been carved out of the rock. There were paintings here too, and one wall featured a long text written in the unfamiliar language she’d just seen in the tunnel. It must have been their way of transmitting knowledge to the next generation, she concluded, stepping into the space to take a closer look. A marble block occupied the center of the room, which Anise decided must have been the family’s table. Or, it suddenly occurred to her, maybe this is the house of prayer Ali was talking about? She remembered his words: “If you find it, you will be protected.” Abruptly, something behind her moved. Anise whirled around, but she was a second too late. The rock had slid back into place. The opening was gone and she was trapped inside.
Mor filled his bag with sticks. He couldn’t understand where they were all coming from. After all, they were below ground. But it really didn’t matter and he had no time to worry about it. He was making his way back to the meeting point when he suddenly stepped on something. He angled his flashlight down only to discover a large black yarmulke, the kind worn by religious Jewish men.
Mor picked it up, dusted it off, and shoved it into his pocket. It’s not enough that we have Muslim murderers, but there are also Jewish terrorists wandering around down here? he thought. Whatever. They were really all the same, twisting religious belief to justify murder and hate. God is probably feeling nauseous…
Mor remembered a TV news report he’d recently seen. Armed, masked Muslims in orange jumpsuits were eagerly talking about how they were about to conquer Jerusalem. To make sure no one doubted the seriousness of their intentions, they aimed their weapons at some unlucky American hostage and shot him in the head. Immediately, the TV program segued to the Jewish underground. Like the terrorists in orange, they were armed and masked and were threatening to blow up the Temple Mount.
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