Blood Moon Redemption

by Judy DuCharme

  Jethro swallowed and released a pent-up breath. “Will he just dispose of her?” He rubbed his neck.

  “He might. We need to locate her first. They may be here at the hotel. Our room wasn’t broken into. They must have had the key. Maybe he owns the hotel. He has the money.”

  “Makes sense.”

  They ate in silence for a few minutes. A group of businessmen sat in the tables near them and talked loudly about the contracts they’d signed, and the money exchanged. That afternoon they’d fly home, much more prosperous than when they arrived. And not only that, but the man had promised them some women to entertain them for a few hours before their flight.

  Esras shook his head and glanced at Jethro. “Tassie might be included. She’s here somewhere. This hotel or that other building or neighborhood.”

  The businessmen finished their breakfast and went outside with their coffee to sit on the veranda by the river. Jethro and Esras followed them. To any observer, they blended in with the businessmen. Their discussion revealed the women would arrive in about an hour. Seated at a wrought iron table near the river, Jethro and Esras watched for any glimpse of Omar or Tassie, hoping she might still be with him.

  Jethro prayed she was okay. He only had that painful, tear-stained image of her on the plane and the look of total shock as she realized who he was the day before. He’d always admired Rube and Tassie growing up. Popularity followed them while he was the nerd. Grandad wore the moniker of nerd long before Jethro. Tagged as Mr. Luney because of his love of space and science, Jethro assumed his grandad’s travels consisted of teacher conferences. However, they were CIA missions. Jethro never had a clue until he met Rube’s father-in-law who recruited him on Grandad’s recommendation. It was the most exciting day of his life. And, now he was tasked with saving Tassie’s life.

  Esras cleared his throat. “Visual at ten o’clock.”

  Jethro nodded and pulled out his phone and sent an encrypted text to Rube and Jonas back at the museum. They had not used the phones after the relic had been taken from them knowing it might be detected, but now it was essential. Contacts needed to be informed.

  A few of the businessmen also noticed Omar and Tassie. “There he is. He’s bringing one. More will follow.” The men grinned and patted one another on the back. A few rose and headed toward a back entrance of the hotel.

  Those behind stayed seated. “We go in five minutes. Guess we don’t want to overwhelm the ladies by arriving all at once.” They all snickered.

  Jethro and Esras stood and walked to the river, then circled around the veranda, hoping the businessmen would block Omar’s view of them.

  Would Tassie see them and break and run. She was a smart woman, but what had Omar done to her in terms of control? Would they be able to get a shot off at him or did he have snipers hidden on roofs and in bushes? Even if they shot him, and retrieved Tassie, would they be able to get out of the city without being detected or captured? Would their contacts be able to help? It wouldn’t be easy, but they had to follow her, get her attention. Maybe they could rescue her from the businessmen.

  They paused to see if Omar offered her to the men, but he steered her away from the hotel as his bodyguards arrived on the veranda with several women and escorted the remaining businessmen into the hotel’s back entrance.

  Rube sat in the office with Jonas. He observed the computer screen placed on the desk. Jethro and Esras had been outfitted with an Israeli developed global positioning identification chip. “I didn’t know that Jethro was fluent in all the Arab dialects.”

  “He’s been in the field some time. I understand that he began studying languages in high school. His grandfather and your father-in-law connected at your wedding and recruitment followed.”

  Rube shook his head. “Where was I? How did I not know this? Was I in the field or something? Wait. Our wedding? No wonder, I wasn’t even recruited then. I never would’ve dreamed Jethro had seniority on me.”

  “Is that a problem?” Jonas paused in his typing and dipped his head toward Rube.

  “No, just makes me wonder if there are others in the family with CIA connections.”

  “I worked with your wife, her dad, and Jethro. I’m always the back-up assistant. I’m a tactician, and help operatives strategize routes and procedures.”

  “So, you’re Mossad or IDF?”

  “Technically, I’m IDF. That is where I put in my time. I do some training and tactics for the Mossad. So, actually I’m both.” Jonas smiled.

  A message feed came across the computer screen. Jonas quickly decrypted it.

  “They have visual contact. Jethro’s picture of Tassie on the plane has been inserted into his glasses, accessible through his phone. When he looks at a woman in a burka, the facial recognition app deciphers the image on the phone.”

  “Where in Damascus are they?”

  “Downtown near the Barada River. Near the Four Seasons Hotel. Our operatives have stayed there before. The building is less than twenty years old. Jethro and Esras are on Shukri Al Quatli Street, near the Eastern Gate.”

  “I was there once. Can we zoom in on the street and see if we can locate Tassie ourselves?’

  “Rube, our technology cannot be matched by anyone. However, too many eyes are detectable. We don’t need any more eyes on the package if Jethro and Esras have a visual on her.”

  “Right. I just keep seeing my mother’s eyes pleading with me to get her home.”

  “Believe me, Rube, I know exactly. That’s why you’re here, not there. Being such a small country, we deal with family connections all the time. No matter how great your ability, you sit it out, work with the technology, but not in the field.” Jonas stood up and poured a cup of coffee from the little corner stand behind his desk. Setting it in front of Rube, he turned to get one for himself.

  With the warm cup held in both hands, Rube studied the computer screen. The red and blue dots indicating Jethro and Esras were moving. He wanted to zoom in, but Jonas was right. “I think this is fairly close to the House of Saint Ananias. A guy I was undercover with wanted to visit it when we were there. I think it’s where the Christian Church got its strongest advocate other than Jesus, and it’s amazing it’s preserved from the first century.”

  “That would be the apostle Paul, right?” Jonas sat back down behind his desk and took a sip of the hot coffee. “Yeah, it’s interesting being Jewish, living in the land, yet it’s the Christians who want to visit all the sites. A bit ironic. But I don’t mind. My brother-in-law is a tour guide, and it’s amazing the Christians’ love for Israel. I understand the Muslims’ attachment to the land because so many have lived here so long, but the Christians are just in love with Israel.”

  “Tell me what you think about all the rabbis saying Jesus is the Messiah. My mom told me it was on the news. They went public.”

  “That’s what I mean . . . it’s all so interesting. I believe in God. I believe He wants to bless and protect Israel. I like being Jewish and I love being able to serve my country, but I’m not so sure about Jesus. I mean we’re taught that the Messiah will come, hasn’t yet come. And now the rabbis that taught us are saying, ‘Oops, He’s here. Actually, He was here.’ It’s a little strange.”

  “I hear ya.” Silence settled on the two. Rube prayed for the safety of his sister.

  Omar and Tassie walked along the road nearest the river. He’d had enough of Tassie and he had the relic now. It was time to be done with this woman. American women were so bossy, so irreverent. Sharia law was what they needed. They had an opinion on everything and expected to be treated with respect. Well, he’d played the game. It had been fun. But now it was time for the Islamic Caliphate. For Sharia Law. For conquering the Middle East for Allah. To blot out the little Satan, Israel. To someday wipe out the Great Satan, the U.S. Nothing could replace the pride he felt to be a part of it.

  Omar pulled himself up straight. Not only a part of it, but a constructor of much of the plan. What delight that his cousin a
nd the other Taliban had been let out of Gitmo. The American president thought they would be good . . . just talk about it and everyone would work together. Well the president had part of it right. The Taliban, the al-Qaeda, and the ISIS would talk and work together, thanks to the great skills of Omar Tugani, the mastermind of Allah’s plans for this time and place.

  His grandfather had seen it in him, from that fateful day Omar was sent to live with him, uprooted from the city and so resentful. His grandfather knew. He saw the fire in Omar then and the ability, and he had groomed it, shaped him, taught him, and then sent him to the U.S. to make contacts, to make inroads and plans. And now, victory. The bloodshed did not bother him. Those it bothered, he did away with quickly. There was no time for patience anymore. They had been patient and now the wait was over. The plans had been laid out and now fulfillment was coming.

  Why had he put up with this woman so long? Perhaps to get the relic. For some reason I need this relic. It will keep me safe. I am not dumb enough to think there won’t be those who will attempt to take my place. And I will have the relic and I will be protected. But now Tassel Lydia Stevens was dispensable. She always loved the water. Chicago. Grant Park. Door County. Water, water, water. Omar spat. I will leave her in the river. A fitting end. I will let her see the relic and then dispose of her.

  A short distance from the hotel and the river, Omar stopped. He pulled out the relic. Shock covered Tassie’s face. “How did you get that, Omar?”

  He slapped her. She had no right to demand information from him. “I have my ways. I get what I want.”

  She said no more and lowered her head. That was better.

  Jethro saw Omar and Tassie stop. He faced her and pulled out the relic. He was laughing. He held it, so she had to reach for it. Then a sizzle filled the air.

  “Drone!”

  Jethro and Esras dove over the veranda wall and rolled down a grass embankment toward the river as the explosion obliterated a car and anything near it. Debris and smoke filled the air. They both scrambled back up the hill and ran toward Tassie and Omar. But Tassie and Omar had disappeared.

  Sirens pierced their ears. Screams and cries for help were everywhere. Running to the spot where they last saw Tassie, they found a small crater. It was surrounded by broken rock, pieces of cars, and pieces of people.

  Jethro bit his lip. Keep looking. Doesn’t mean they have been blown up. Does it?

  A man lay like a rag doll about forty feet from the crater. Jethro went near and leaned in for a closer look. It was Omar. He was dead or close to it.

  Jethro signaled to Esras. “It’s him. Dead or almost. Check this distance in a perimeter. She may have been thrown just as far.”

  Jethro circled to the right, while Esras went to the left. They dodged people with broken or missing limbs, many deathly silent, others crying for help. Three ambulances arrived, and triage was being set up. Scanning every person in a burka, neither Jethro nor Esras saw Tassie.

  Could she have survived? Did the relic survive? They surveyed the area with as much precision as the chaos would allow, making one more circle. Jethro wanted to cry himself. Prophecy had been spoken about her. He had to believe she was alive. Everything within him screamed that she was dead, but what if she survived? That was the premise they had to go by. Now they had to determine what she might do.

  Jethro turned in a circle studying every direction. “If we assume she survived, she would try to escape. She had no idea, at least I don’t think she did, where we were. Which way would she run?”

  “On the chance she saw us over on the veranda, let’s check that out and the river.” Esras began to run. Jethro followed.

  People were either actively searching for or assisting the injured. Others wandered. Confusion reigned. At least no one paid attention to Jethro and Esras.

  Part of the triage was setting up on the veranda. Jethro’s eyes took in everyone in a burka. No Tassie. Perhaps she had shed the burka . . . still no one resembled his cousin.

  “River on this side. Business section there. Would she go to a residential area?” Esras stopped and looked at Jethro.

  “Maybe someone would take her in if she was injured. Would they protect a woman injured or being given over to men’s pleasure?”

  “Jethro, injury yes, but man’s discretion, no. This is not a woman friendly atmosphere. Few will give her shelter, but if she is injured, it’s a possibility.”

  Jethro pulled his jacket off and wrapped it around his head. He coughed from the smoke and debris that continued to clog the air as they ran toward the residential section closest to the hotel. Esras kept his head down and his hand over his mouth and nose as they dodged the broken concrete. The cries grew more faint as they put distance between them and the site of the explosion, but the traffic increased as ambulances and service personnel hurried to assist.

  CHAPTER 20

  A FEW MINUTES EARLIER, DAMASCUS

  “Now, Tassie. Look at it.” They stood near the street, just a short distance from the hotel on a sidewalk leading to the river.

  Carefully Tassie lifted her head. Omar shoved the relic in her face and then held it two inches away. “Ha, namesake, Tassel. But it’s mine, so I don’t need you. I’ll let you touch it one last time. Go ahead.”

  Tassie reached up and placed her hands on the bottle. At that instant there was a sizzle followed by an explosion. The drone hit the nearby car, but the force of the explosion sent the two of them flying, as well as anyone in the vicinity.

  Omar landed on the paved sidewalk on his head and rolled, cracking his face against a small stone fence. He immediately found himself standing on the other side of the fence, looking at a man who most likely was dead and laying right where he thought he had landed. He looked around. No one else moved. He alone survived. Well, that was only right. He was the most important man in the country. Allah had blessed him and chosen him. And he had the relic. He began to feel for the relic. He must have dropped it.

  It was gone and so was Tassie. He needed to find the relic. Perhaps she grabbed it when the explosion took place. It protected me. I hope it didn’t protect her.

  Omar stepped over the fence, but when he looked down, his other foot seemed to pass through the fence. That was weird. He paused and looked at the man lying dead beside him. He looked strangely familiar. He could be his brother. Omar paused. Something was not right here. He bent down to turn the body over and his hand passed through the body. He screamed and jumped.

  Omar heard footsteps. Coming toward him was a regal man with robes of glorious fabric and colors. A light seemed to surround him, emanate from him. Omar remembered stories of the Twelfth Imam and how he would come in great elegance and richness. Could this be him? This was no head of state that he knew. He wanted to fall on his knees before this man, but he could not move.

  Omar ordered himself to look down. He could not. The light mesmerized him making him feel dizzy yet more stable than he’d ever felt before. He could not remove his eyes from this dazzling authority and feared he would be struck down for his disrespect, his insubordination. The man, the king, advanced toward him. There was nothing else. No sound. In fact, the silence was engulfing. It confused Omar, yet his mind felt so clear. Who, indeed, is this?

  A fragrance. A slight odor of lavender. It was light, effervescent. Omar quickly glanced around, still no sound, no movement, only this man, this king, walking regally toward him. He stood and waited. He could not move.

  “Omar.” The voice was rich, so authoritative, yet almost melodic. Omar couldn’t quite comprehend the quality.

  “You . . . you know my name?” Omar fell to one knee.

  “I knew you before you were born.”

  Omar felt his head would explode. This was too much to grasp. This must be the Twelfth Imam.

  “I am not the Imam, Omar.”

  Omar’s head jerked up. His mind jerked to attention. “Then who . . . what . . . I mean, if . . . I may humbly . . . ask, who, sir . . . are you?” Drums
were going off in Omar’s chest and he could barely breathe. If this was not the Twelfth Imam, it must . . . it couldn’t . . . be . . .

  “I am Jesus, the Christ.”

  Omar fell to the ground and pounded his fists. “Nooooo! This cannot be. I will not see this.” He jumped up and turned away. He walked and clenched his fists with every step.

  I have heard of these visions and dreams. They are from the great Satan, not from Allah. I will not succumb. I will not.

  Omar stopped and looked down. There on the ground lay the body that was killed in the explosion. Was this someone else? He knew he should be several blocks from the bomb site by now. He glanced behind him. The horrible glorious man was still there. The man’s eyes bore through him. Now there was pain. This man must be evil.

  He tortures me. I will not bow to him. I will not submit to his ways. Never.

  “Then you may die, Omar. That is you on the ground. If you remain there and die, you will not go to paradise. I am the door to life, not Islamic jihad. You love death. This is death. It is pain and fire for eternity. I am the way, the truth, the life. Choose life, Omar.”

  Omar threw himself to the ground, falling on top of the man. Pain engulfed him. “No, no, this cannot be true. I choose life, but my life, not yours.”

  Darkness. Nothing. Am I done? Am I dead? No paradise. Pain. Fire. I’m burning up.

  Omar could think no more.

  The explosion sent Tassie flying through the air. Whatever she landed on penetrated her burka. There were stinging scratches everywhere. Bees, ants, shrapnel? She had trouble seeing. A liquid ran into her eye and darkened her vision.

  Cries, she heard cries for help, cries of loss everywhere. Sirens screamed, and smoke rose.

  Omar had been beside her. He’d taunted her with the relic, held it to her face, said she would never have it. For some reason he let her reach up for it. She knew he would pull it away and laugh or hit her with it. But she had wrapped her fingers around it, felt the cool smooth glass.