The Celestial Gate

by Avital Dicker

  “It’s Latin,” he finally said. “My father liked to incorporate Latin sayings into his paintings before he turned religious and became fanatically observant.”

  Anise walked over to the terrorist and removed the fabric from his mouth. She decided not to take any unnecessary risks and therefore left his hands tied. Trying to suppress her revulsion, she started to feed him some corn. The terrorist stared at her with evident hatred, chewing with an open mouth revealing tobacco-stained teeth. Anise was not deterred. She forced herself to stare back at him, refusing to show weakness. “What’s your name?” she asked in her most nonchalant tone.

  “Nasat,” he answered without looking away, “and I’m going to kill you.” He followed his threat in Arabic by spitting a gob of half-chewed corn onto her shoe.

  This was too much even for Anise. She stuffed the rag back into his mouth. “Your mouth is full. You don’t need any more food,” she declared before joining the boys who’d arranged themselves on top of the rock shelves at the other end of the room. It’s the last time I’m feeding that animal, she told herself.

  “It’s not possible that God sees what’s happening down here and isn’t doing anything about it,” she said to them.

  “If there is a God to begin with,” Yam said with doubt.

  “Or maybe He’s busy,” Mor laughed.

  “Hey, I’m not kidding,” an agitated Anise answered. “I have to find Him.” Suddenly, she had the distinct sensation that she’d said exactly that same sentence some other place and time, but she couldn’t remember where or when.

  “We have to find the gate,” she said. “Which of the gates has at least one of the letters we saw in the bonfire flames – ‘o,’ ‘e,’ and ‘d’?”

  “Herod’s Gate,” said Yam, “also Lions’ Gate, and Golden Gate.”

  “Well, we’ve already been to Lions’ Gate, so we have two gates to check. Which one is closer?” Anise asked.

  Yam took out the map. “We’re actually directly underneath Golden Gate, which is also the gate closest to the Western Wall. We can get there through the new tunnels.”

  A troubled Mor looked at Nasat. “The first thing he wanted to know was where the briefcase was,” he said, the gears in his mind clearly turning. “I wonder what’s in it. We have to try to get him to talk.”

  “Well, good luck with that!” Yam snorted. “I don’t think he’s about to volunteer any information.”

  Without answering, Mor dragged the silver-colored briefcase toward Nasat.

  “Let’s see what we can get out of you,” he said, trying to seem calm. Sitting down at a safe distance, he pulled out his pocketknife. “What’s the code for the lock?” he asked.

  Nasat shot him a venomous look and said nothing.

  Feigning indifference, Mor started to fiddle with the digital lock. For the first time, Anise saw fear in Nasat’s hate-filled eyes. His forehead broke into a sweat and, squirming, he tried unsuccessfully to move back.

  Mor took the gag out of Nasat’s mouth. “Talk,” he commanded.

  But Nasat, who only glared at him resentfully, maintained his silence.

  “No worries. We’ll continue tomorrow,” Mor smiled coolly. “Are you comfortable?” he continued in a friendly tone. “I promise you, next time I ask, I won’t be so nice.” With that, he dragged the briefcase back to its place and, exhausted, stretched out on one of the shelves. “He’ll talk tomorrow,” Mor added with confidence.

  “Will you come with me or what?” Anise asked.

  “The truth is that there are a couple of things I’d like to tell God too, so, yeah, I’ll come with you,” a sleepy Mor retorted.

  “I’m not even sure God exists,” Yam argued.

  “He exists,” said Anise, her eyes heavy with fatigue.

  “But I’ll come with you,” Yam added quietly. Anise didn’t hear him: her weariness had won out and she was already fast asleep.

  The next morning, Mor showed Yam and Anise how to use the weapons. Each of them took a rifle and several magazines. Mor opted to continue using Nasat’s submachine gun.

  He then made sure Nasat was securely tied. “A few days alone may refresh your memory,” he said with a humorless smile. Nasat tried to mumble something in response through the gag, but Mor ignored him. The three left and the rock slid silently back into place.

  It was obvious that the tunnel they were using was recent. Widely dug, its walls were concrete and electrical cables stretched all along them. The place seemed deserted, and the three were able to progress relatively quickly. After walking for a few minutes, Yam thought he heard a steady drip of water. He moved closer to the sound. Water was, in fact, trickling down the wall to be caught by a narrow channel hewn out of the rock below.

  Anise smiled for the first time that morning. She kneeled down next to the stream and dipped her hands in it. The water was so cool and refreshing. Grateful, she rinsed her face, scraping away at the layers of dirt and mud that had stuck to her over the past few days, finally wetting her hair. Yam, too, washed his face. Only Mor remained alert, his finger on the trigger.

  “Hey – you’ve still got grime over there,” said Anise, tossing handfuls of water at Yam.

  “You need a shower, girl,” Yam smiled mischievously, and before she had a chance resist, Yam pushed her into the water. Anise grabbed Yam and wouldn’t let go, leading both to tumble into the stream.

  “Oh my God, it’s freezing!” she laughed.

  “Guys – have you forgotten where we are?” Mor was angry. Watching Anise and Yam giggling together was driving him mad.

  “Come on in,” Anise called while, at the same time, trying to hold Yam’s head under the water.

  Mor looked at her. The wet clothes clung to her body, outlining her tall frame and strong muscles. He felt the blood drain from his face. “Someone might walk in and shoot you dead while you’re busy fooling around,” he said hotly and continued walking without waiting for his friends.

  He’s right, Anise thought, this isn’t the time to be goofing around. She got out of the water and hurried after Mor, who kept up a stubborn, angry silence, refusing to engage with either her or Yam for the rest of the way.

  Several minutes later, they arrived at the end of the tunnel. To their relief, they saw a set of stairs leading to the upper level and from there out. A few solitary sunrays made their way into the gloom.

  Suddenly, Mor heard a noise. He grasped his gun harder. He started to turn. It was too late. The blow that landed on him from behind knocked him unconscious.

  Chapter 13

  Theo was beginning to recover. He could now walk a little without any help, and the doctors were planning on removing his stitches the next day. The swelling on Sual’s face was going down and just her arm was still giving her trouble and remained in a sling.

  Yoav was out of the ICU. He now lay in the ward near them and Amalia, elated that he was alive and out of danger, didn’t move from his side. She avoided mentioning any of the harsh words said in their quarrel and willed herself not to mention the prayer book on the nightstand next to Yoav’s bed.

  Yoav looked at her and closed his eyes. If they emerged from these events in one piece, he would have to find a way to make up for all the pain he’d caused for so many years to this brave, beautiful woman. Everything will be different, he promised himself. This time, family will come first.

  Just then, a police officer walked into the room. Superintendent Azoulai, he said, sent his apologies. “He asked me to tell you that the city is full of terrorists, both Arab and Jewish, and that one attack is happening after another,” he reported. “Just a few hours ago, we lucked out and caught a cell going to blow up the Tower of David.”

  It was worse than that. In Jaffa, Haifa, and Beer Sheva, there had also been mass-casualty attacks. The news was saying it was a global wave of terrorism that was also spreading to Eur
ope. The police officer reiterated that headquarters had received instructions from the Italian Foreign Ministry: Theo, as the serving consul, must return to Italy. They’re bringing back all the diplomats, he added. And, tomorrow, after being released from the hospital, a car would be waiting outside to drive him to the airport.

  Theo waited until the policeman left. “There is no way I’m going back to Italy,” he said.

  “I imagined you’d say that,” Amalia smiled. “I’m going out to make some phone calls and put together a search party.

  “I’m coming with you,” Sual said.

  “No!” Theo cut her off. “It’s too risky,” he added, trying to soften his initial reaction. He knew he had no right to prevent Sual from entering the Old City with them, but he found the idea that something might happen to her unbearable.

  Sual stared at him coldly. “I speak Arabic and I can identify every cobblestone in the Old City blindfolded. Let’s see you stop me,” she challenged.

  Theo stared back, suppressing his urgent desire to pull her close and kiss her. How stupid he’d been. How had it taken him until today to realize just how important she was to him?

  Anise opened her eyes. She tried to move but realized she was tied up. In the dark, she couldn’t tell where Yam and Mor were. “Mor,” she whispered.

  “I’m here,” she heard him answer.

  “Where are we?” she wanted to know.

  “I have no idea,” Mor answered weakly. Footsteps echoed between the walls. “They’re coming back,” he managed to gasp out.

  “Who?” Anise demanded. “Who’s coming back?”

  Mor had no chance to answer before a cone of light blinded them.

  “Leave the girl. Let’s start with the boys,” said a man’s voice in Hebrew. Anise couldn’t make out any faces but, based on the number of shadows dancing on the wall, she thought there were three of them.

  When the men turned their backs to her and faced the boys, she saw they were wearing yarmulkes. Jews, she thought, trying to figure out where they were. Based on the electrical wires along the walls, Anise concluded they were still in the new tunnel system. Not far away, she could just make out a few sleeping bags and a small table with some remnants of food on it. They’ve been down here a while, she realized. Based on the blotch of sunlight on one of the steps, Anise assumed they were close to an exit.

  Yam and Mor, trussed back to back, sat some ten feet away from her.

  One of the yarmulked men kicked Yam in the stomach; Yam doubled over in pain. Then, a shrill walkie-talkie rang nearby. “Start talking,” the tall man ordered, “how did you get here? Who else is with you?” Yam, still bent over and gasping with agony, was unable to make a sound.

  “There was an attack, so we came down to hide here,” Mor answered instead of Yam.

  “Was I talking to you?” the tall man said threateningly, raising his hand.

  “Hey, they’re only kids,” said the shortest of the three and grabbed the tall man’s arm. “Relax.”

  “She doesn’t look like a kid at all.” The tall one had turned to Anise and was stripping her with his eyes. Anise felt humiliated. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and rage.

  “Command to yarmulke, we’re under attack,” squawked the walkie-talkie, “return. Repeat, we’re under attack.” The sounds of explosions and shooting came clearly through the device.

  “We have to go,” said the man holding the walkie-talkie.

  “Coming. Over and out,” he barked, and then all three hurried out, forgetting one of the flashlights in their haste.

  Anise breathed more easily, but the lecherous look stayed with her, making her feel nauseous.

  “I still have my pocketknife, but I can’t get to it.” Mor brought her back to the present.

  Yam wiggled around, trying to reach Mor’s back pocket, but their hands were tied. “I can’t get it either,” he said, frustrated.

  “Wait! I’m coming,” said Anise, who started to roll toward Mor, her mouth filling with dirt. Then, she felt something sharp in her back.

  “Sorry, that’s my foot,” said Yam, and added helpfully, “try to head to the right.”

  She tried rolling more to the right, but this time crashed into Mor.

  After a few unsuccessful attempts, Anise finally managed to sit close to Mor and stick her a hand into his jeans pocket. But, with her hands tied to one another, it was difficult to reach the elusive tool. After several failed tries, she had her hands on the pocketknife at last.

  “If we weren’t in this situation, I’d have said I rather enjoyed that,” Mor laughed.

  “Oh shut up,” Anise was immediately irritated. She started cutting at the thick rope, but the little tool didn’t make much of a dent. After several minutes, her wrists were bleeding from the friction.

  “Hurry up, they could be back any second,” Mor urged.

  “Stuff it! As if I’m not tense enough already,” she retorted, sweating with exertion.

  “Are you OK?” Mor asked with concern.

  “Well, they’re shooting at me, tying me up, threatening me, and now, any second, they’re about to kill me. Does it sound like I’m OK?”

  Anise fell silent and bit her lips. She knew she shouldn’t have taken it out on Mor. None of this was his fault. But her nerves were at the breaking point. The terrorists could be back at any time.

  She now yanked at the rope with all her might and it finally gave. Anise closed her eyes for a brief second of thanksgiving.

  Within minutes, Mor managed to free himself and Yam, who hurried to make sure he still had the map. A touch to his back pocket confirmed it was still there. While the three men had confiscated their weapons, it hadn’t occurred to them to do a body search of their young captives.

  Anise found their backpacks tossed in a corner. She took out a bottle of water and moistened her dry lips.

  “C’mon, let’s skedaddle before they come back,” said Yam, picking the flashlight up from the floor.

  “Just a sec,” was Mor’s reply. He hurried over to the sleeping bags and pulled out a rifle concealed in a bedroll. “They never imagined we’d escape,” he snickered with satisfaction. All three started running toward the stairs and the exit, when suddenly the walls behind them imploded and rocks rained down everywhere. The air was again clogged with dust.

  “What the actual hell was that?” Mor mumbled after it grew quiet again. Standing up, he saw Anise bleeding from her arm and Yam tightening a bandage around the cut. A desolate Anise was staring at the exit, now blocked by massive boulders.

  “That sounded like a bomb,” said Yam.

  For many long minutes, the three tried to move the boulders, but it was pointless. The rocks were just too big and too heavy.

  “You’d need a crane to move this mess,” said an exhausted Yam. He stopped for a moment to consider. “Clearly, we’re not leaving through here. We’re going to have to go back through the tunnel and find an exit at the other end.” The three turned their backs to the stairs and, in gloomy silence, walked back into the tunnel.

  “I’m beginning to think we’re never going to get out of here,” Anise said after a few minutes of walking.

  Yam tried to marshal all the optimism he had left before answering her. “We’ll make it. I promise you.” He then felt Anise’s hand take hold of his own and his heart skipped a beat.

  They could once again hear the drip-drip of water. “Hey – listen up,” said Mor. “We’re still under the Western Wall.” Mor smiled with relief and this time went over to the stream to wash his face. The cool water felt wonderful, as if it could wash away the fatigue and despair of the last few hours.

  They continued walking, following the drainage ditch. Some parts of it had collapsed from the explosion and the uncontained water created large mud puddles on the tunnel floor. In some places, the ceiling had caved i
n, and the three were forced to crawl on the muddy ground to move ahead.

  Suddenly, someone nearby sighed. All three froze in place and Yam turned the flashlight off.

  Then came another sigh. “It sounds like someone’s injured,” Mor whispered. The three moved forward with caution. After another ten or so feet, Yam turned the flashlight on. The three were shocked to see the three men who’d captured them dead in a pool of mud.

  Anise vomited.

  Mor was the first to pull himself together. “One of them is still alive,” he said.

  Yam looked at the man who, just a few minutes ago, had kicked him in the stomach. His leg was flung out at an unnatural angle, the broken bones sticking out through his skin, but he was still conscious.

  “Why do I always have to save the ones who’re trying to kill me?” Yam wondered in exasperation, joining Mor with evident lack of desire. Together, they pulled the Jewish terrorist out from between the two corpses lying on him.

  “If we leave him here, he’ll die,” said Mor.

  Yam didn’t answer. The man would have killed him without thinking twice. The vicious kick to his torso was still making his mid-section throb. Plus, he can’t move, he thought. It would be virtually impossible to get him out of here.

  Anise knew exactly what was going through Yam’s mind. She, too, knew that if they tried to take the wounded man with them, they might pay for it with their lives. “We’re not like that,” she murmured close to his ear and locked her fingers with his.

  Yam remained undecided for a moment, but then had to concede: Anise was right. He grunted with irritation, but then took out a rope and tied the three backpacks together into an improvised stretcher. “All right. Let’s take him to the room Anise found and then head for the next exit,” he said.

  “That’s quite a POW camp we’re setting up,” Mor laughed as the three began to tug on the “stretcher.”

  The room wasn’t far away, but the added weight meant that crossing the short distance took an hour.