Mor stopped. In that instant, all the pieces fell into place. He knew exactly what was going on. This is a planned war over Jerusalem, the city sacred to all the religions, he thought. So stupid – to kill millions over ownership of a bunch of old rocks.
Hearing steps behind him, he immediately turned his flashlight off.
The steps sounded near. Very near. It was too late to run now. The slightest twitch would give him away; he’d have no chance of retreating. Mor’s fist closed over his pocketknife. He would at least try to protect himself.
A light flashed in the dark. Once. Twice. Three times. With relief flooding his body, he wiped the sweat from his dripping forehead. At that moment – despite his mixed feelings toward Yam who was clearly trying to win Anise away from him – Mor was truly happy to see him
Yam seemed psyched. “Listen up! There’s a tunnel going directly under the Temple Mount. It’s pretty new, which is why it’s not on the map. I think we can use it to get out,” he said excitedly.
Mor took the torn black yarmulke he’d found out of his pocket. “Yeah, that makes sense. I figured they’d be digging there because I think the Jewish underground is planning on blowing up the al-Aqsa mosque,” he said. But Yam wasn’t listening. Instead, he was looking at his watch. What’s keeping Anise? he thought worriedly.
Chapter 12
Sual, exhausted, returned to Theo’s room in the ward. “The phones are still out. The injured are jammed into the hallways. Nobody knows what’s happening out there,” she told him.
“If we get no answers by tonight, we’re going out to look for the kids ourselves,” Theo answered.
Sual laughed bitterly. “Oh, stop it, Theo. Look at yourself. You’re not even allowed out of bed on your own. You’re most definitely not going anywhere.”
The ICU nurse gently shook Amalia who’d fallen asleep in the armchair next to Yoav. “Please, you have to take care of yourself too. Go back to your room and rest. Besides, the doctors are doing their rounds now. I promise to let you know the moment Yoav wakes up.”
Amalia had just returned to her room when Superintendent Azoulai, looking more drained than ever, stepped in.
“I have good news,” he reported. “One of the waiters wounded at the consulate is hospitalized here. He says he saw three kids fleeing out the back. Unfortunately, I still don’t have anyone who can enter the Old City to look for them.” Azoulai’s walkie-talkie squawked shrilly. He promised he’d come up with a solution the moment it was possible and left to deal with more pressing matters.
The silence in the room was heavy. Sual looked at Theo, whose unshaven cheeks were covered in tears. Since Claudia’s death fifteen years earlier, she’d never once seen him cry.
Sual dampened a towel with cold water and tried to cool his forehead. He was burning with fever.
“I have a friend from the army. Maybe he can help us,” Amalia whispered. “I’ll try to get a hold of him.” Remembering that there was no cell phone reception, she muttered, “There must be a landline phone somewhere in this building.”
“Come with me,” said Sual, there’s a phone at the nurses’ station. I’ll show you.”
The boys were just emptying their backpacks when Anise showed up, out of breath from running. “You’ll never guess where I’ve been,” she panted.
“What the hell is wrong with you? We were worried sick!” Mor said, taking his irritation out on her.
“No, you don’t get it. It’s amazing! I’ve got to show you. Nobody in a million years will ever be able to find us!” Anise exclaimed.
Yam wanted both to hug her and hit her. This girl doesn’t listen to anybody, plus she drives me crazy, he thought. And why the hell couldn’t he stop thinking about her? At least, she seemed to have forgotten their quarrel from before, and he sure wasn’t going to remind her of it. In fact, right now, he preferred not to speak at all.
Anise, eyes flashing, continued to ramble on about some ancient tunnel. “I don’t know when it was dug, but it looks at least a thousand years old. Maybe more,” she said with wonder, and went on to describe the paintings and the sliding rock-wall that trapped her inside and how she looked and looked forever until she found the mechanism to open it again. “Just like in The Hunger Games,” she laughed.
Yam could no longer hold back. “Stop talking movies. You’re imagining things. All of this sounds surreal. And, in any case, you’re over an hour late,” he burst out in anger.
Mor saw the dark clouds gathering again in Anise’s eyes. The last thing he wanted was another fight. “Let’s get going,” he interjected and started cutting the cord he’d taken out of his backpack.
The three heaped all the branches they’d collected into a pile, tying each stick separately. After an hour or so, they had some twenty improvised torches.
“Now what?” a tired Anise asked.
“Now we wait for night,” Yam answered. Anise ignored him.
Mor had found two cans of corn in his bag. Opening one with his knife, he put the other one back. It was the last of their cans. Their food was running out and they had no idea when they’d get out of here. While a can of corn split three ways wasn’t going to quiet any rumbling stomachs, it was better than nothing.
Yam set the clock on his cell phone to ring at three in the morning. He tried to fall asleep, but sleep eluded him.
Anise couldn’t fall asleep either. She thought back to the girls at school who’d mocked her just for being Arab and how, in other places, others would have mocked those same girls just for being Jewish.
“My mother always says that God doesn’t belong to any religion and that what’s important is to be a good person, not blindly follow thousand-year-old rules,” Yam said softly, thinking about his parents who’d split up because of a stupid argument over religion, throwing their love away over nothing.
The three must eventually have drifted off because, when Yam’s phone alarm went off, they all startled awake. Anise again found Yam’s arm across her body, holding her tight. It irked her. Yam irked her in general. She couldn’t understand what she’d seen in him to begin with, but there was no time to follow that train of thought right now.
After quickly getting their things in order and dividing the torches up among them, they returned to the crawl space they’d been in earlier. Yam was the first to reach the opening to the tunnel above the terrorists’ chamber. He peeked down below and saw only a single lamp glowing. The bonfire had burned itself out long ago and the men all seemed to be sleeping. Even the guard, leaning against the wall, was snoring, his head tipped back at an odd angle.
Mor found a rock in the tunnel wall to serve as an anchor. He tied the rope to it, tugging it several times to make sure it would hold.
“We have to light the torches together and throw them down at the same time,” he whispered.
Anise was pale, and the pulse in her temple throbbed.
“There is no turning back after this,” Yam breathed the words softly at her. “Nobody has to play the hero.”
Anise stared at him intently. “No. We have to do this. God has become a symbol of hatred and violence and somebody has to fix it,” she answered.
“Let’s do it then. It’s do-or-die time,” Mor tried to lighten the atmosphere. Nobody as much as cracked a smile.
“Everyone remembers where to aim?” Yam asked. Mor and Anise nodded.
“Let’s get ready,” Mor whispered, aiming two torches at the weapons cache in the corner. Anise aimed for the sleeping men, while Yam aimed for the bonfire. On Mor’s count of three, they heaved with all their might and then quickly crawled backward, covering their faces to avoid inhaling the smoke.
The fire caught within seconds. The men below started waking up in a panic. Several had on clothing that was now in flames and they rolled across the floor to put them out. Thick smoke quickly filled the chamber.
Mor looked at the heap of weapons. The cache should have blown by now, he thought, worried. But a second later, the chamber boomed with a string of explosions accompanied by shrieks and curses in Arabic.
Mor breathed with relief and allowed himself a little smile. For the time being, everything was going according to plan.
The three looked at the terrorists stampeding over their over one another on the way out of the inferno. Within seconds, the chamber was empty.
They waited another few minutes until the popping sounds of exploding ammunition ceased.
“All right, let’s get to work,” Mor muttered. He again made sure the rope was securely anchored to the rock. Yam was first to go down, while Mor and Anise quickly followed.
Though the air was still thick with smoke, Yam strode directly to the communications table and disconnected the computers. After putting one into his backpack along with three walkie-talkies he found on the floor, he stomped on all the screens, rendering the laptops unusable.
In the meantime, Anise hurried to stuff her bag with canned foods and drinks and Mor rooted through what was left of the weapons pile.
He picked up one of the rifles and cocked it. “Hey, watch it!” Anise yelled, taking a step back.
“Have you forgotten that I know how to shoot?” said Mor, pushing a magazine into place. “We have to get rid of the weapons in case they come back,” he added.
“We especially have to get rid of those,” Anise answered, pointing to two RPGs.
“How?” Yam wanted to know.
“How about we tie them to the rope and pull them up?” Mor suggested, and started hoisting himself up the rope, back toward the tunnel. Yam and Anise gathered all the weapons, tying the rifles to one another. They had to do this several times, but eventually Mor managed to pull most of the arms out of the chamber.
Yam picked up a silver-colored briefcase.
“What’s that?” Anise asked.
“I don’t know,” Yam said, “but it looks important. We’ll grab it just to be safe.” Yam tied the oddly heavy bag to the rope and motioned to Mor to begin pulling it up. The briefcase was halfway between the chamber and the tunnel when Mor lost his grip on the rope, and the briefcase slid back down.
Anise had her back to the rope. “Watch out,” Mor yelled, but it was too late. The shiny case smacked into Anise’s neck, causing her to fly forward and fall onto Yam. Yam now found himself on his back with Anise on top. She was so close that Yam stopped breathing. He wanted to stay in the exact same position forever.
Mor was the only one who saw the terrorist coming their way. He tried to signal to Yam and Anise from above, but the two were so wrapped up in one another that they didn’t see his frantic waving.
Mor couldn’t decide whether to call out to them or not. He finally decided against it: if he did, all three would be exposed and that wouldn’t do anybody any good, he thought, and quickly yanked the rope upwards.
By now though, Anise had turned aside. Recognizing him right away, her eyes took in the heavyset man: it was the commander of the cell whose plans to blow up the Tower of David she’d translated from Arabic for Yam and Mor just a few hours ago. She tried to stand, but the man roughly shoved her hard to the ground with the butt of his rifle.
Anise could feel her entire body start to tremble. From where she lay on the ground, she could see Mor up above. He signaled her. Trying to push her fear down, she swallowed her saliva, but the cold metal of the rifle tip was now pressing against the bridge of her nose. The terrorist’s murderous gaze left no room for doubt as to his intentions. She knew he wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.
“I want the briefcase,” he said in heavily accented Hebrew.
Anise again looked up at Mor who was just then cocking one of the rifles. Mor, please hurry up, she prayed. “I will ask once more. Where is the briefcase?” The terrorist’s tone was aggressive and his small eyes moved nervously from side to side.
Though Mor’s hands were shaking uncontrollably, he did his best to aim the rifle. The man looming over Anise had his back to Mor. Please, don’t let him move, Mor prayed as he took a deep breath. This was no sharp-shooting competition. Yam and Anise – their lives depended on him. The rifle, a submachine gun, was heavy, and Mor was used to a light air rifle. Nonetheless, Mor did his best to empty his mind and slowly steadied his hands. Intent on his target, he felt the pressure lift. Focused now on nothing but the target, he fired.
The bullet hit the terrorist in the thigh, and he fell forward. Mor breathed in relief. Yam used the opportunity to leap at the rifle that had fallen from the terrorist’s hands. But the terrorist grabbed one of Yam’s legs, so that Yam fell to the ground. At the last minute, Yam managed to toss the rifle to Anise, who stood to the side, frozen, unable to move
Yam and the terrorist rolled on the ground, vying for an advantage. But the stronger adult tightened his grip on Yam’s throat. Yam struggled to breathe.
“Use the rifle,” Mor yelled from above. He grabbed the rope and quickly rappelled down to the chamber. But the terrorist only gripped Yam’s throat harder. Yam’s face was bright red and his body started to convulse.
“Anise!” Mor yelled again.
Anise, shaken out of her paralysis, made for the rifle. She lifted the weapon by its barrel and, with all her might, brought the stock down on the head of the terrorist who collapsed, unconscious, onto Yam. Gathering every last mental and physical resource, she tried to stop the tremors juddering through her body.
Breathing with difficulty, Yam extricated himself from underneath the terrorist’s still body.
Now standing by Anise’s side, Mor admiringly said, “Whoa – what a whack!”
“What are we going to do?” Anise asked in a whisper, checking the pulse of the unconscious terrorist at her feet.
Yam rubbed at the welts on his throat. “Maybe we ought to kill him,” he said. “He has it coming.”
Anise looked at him with anger. “Really? This is the leader of the cell! Somebody could come in here any second!”
“Maybe we can hoist him up,” Yam said unwillingly. The three agreed it was the only reasonable solution. They lassoed the unmoving body to the rope and clambered up themselves.
The lead terrorist was heavy. The three of them pulled at the rope together, and very slowly managed to heave him up. Anise’s arms trembled with the effort and the rope cut her hands so badly they started to bleed. She tried alternating her hold on the rope, but in the end, it was all too much. The rope slipped out of her hands, pulling all three of them forward.
The terrorist was now suspended in the air, his body smacking into the wall.
“Shit! I’m sorry,” Anise hurried to grab the rope again. But the man had been roused when his body slammed against the rocks, and he didn’t seem particularly happy to find himself suspended in the air. He bellowed curses and started kicking his legs, causing the rope to swing wildly. It also made the rope very hard to grasp. “We should have tied his legs together,” Mor said.
Anise grabbed a rifle and pointed it at the man. Now, her Arabic came in handy. “Shut up or I’ll shoot,” she hissed with a self-control that surprised even herself. The man looked upwards and quieted down. “Try something and I’ll be more than happy to put another bullet in you,” she continued.
“I didn’t know you know how to shoot,” Mor muttered.
“I don’t,” she answered.
Anise led the pack, with Mor behind her, the barrel poking hard into the terrorist’s back. “Hey, this is a real city down here,” Yam said with awe when seeing the plaza in the ancient tunnel.
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Anise promised.
After passing the ancient tree trunk, Anise pressed the cleverly concealed point in the tunnel wall she’d accidentally discovered before. Silently, the rock slid aside.
Yam was unable to take his
eyes off the vibrantly painted walls.
“Let’s find a place to stash this guy first,” Anise said, turning everyone’s attention back to the most pressing issue.
They tried to force the captive terrorist to sit down in a corner of the small room, but he wriggled, kicked, and spat at Yam when Yam tried to tie his legs. Yam wouldn’t have minded punching him. Instead, he tore off a piece of his shirt and stuffed it into the man’s mouth. “That’ll teach you to spit,” he angrily said, and again rubbed at the welt around his neck. “Be grateful you’re alive,” he added.
Anise stayed in the room to guard the terrorist while Yam and Mor went out to bring back the rest of the weapons and ammunition. The evil glower of the man’s eyes made Anise shiver. She kept the rifle close to her to feel safer, feeling his eyes boring a hole in her back, and tried hard to ignore his presence. She wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of seeing her afraid. She focused on removing and opening the canned goods from her backpack and projecting an aura of indifference.
For the past few days, the three had eaten infrequently and little, dividing the portions up so that they’d have enough for the days ahead. That entire day, she’d been acutely aware of her hunger. She’d gone to sleep with an empty stomach and had woken up with a rumbling belly. Tonight, though, they’d eat their fill.
Now, Yam and Mor were back with all the weapons they’d salvaged.
“Enough for a small army,” Mor announced, and fell upon the open cans, not caring what was in them. All three ate indiscriminately, barely tasting any of the food.
With a loud sigh, Anise lay back and stroked her full belly with satisfaction. Yam made dessert out of the last pickle and, while chewing pensively, stared at the text on the wall.
The Celestial Gate Page 14