Blood Moon Redemption

by Judy DuCharme

  “I do. We were unsure of him, but never dreamed it was this bad. What have you heard about him, son?”

  “He may be dead.”

  “Oh, well . . . ” His mom wrung her hands. “I suppose . . . oh, I don’t know. I just want to know Tassie’s really okay.”

  His dad sat up straighter as his mom stood to go make a cup of tea. “You said ‘may be’. Do you know if he’s dead?”

  “Well, Jethro saw him and thought he might be, but then they went to find Tassie. When they checked into it, they couldn’t find out for sure if he was dead or just seriously injured. Best case scenario is he’s hospitalized.”

  His mom stopped, turned, and stared at him. His dad tilted his head and squinted his eyes.

  Rube looked around. “What?”

  “Jethro? Our Jethro? Winkelman Jethro?”

  Rube took a deep breath and shook his head. “Man, I am so slipping up. I shouldn’t be on the case when it’s my sister. They tried to tell me, but I wouldn’t hear it. Mom, sit back down. I have a lot to tell you.”

  “No, I’ll get us all a cup of tea. I have a feeling this will be a long conversation.”

  “Dad, I . . . ”

  “Let’s wait for the tea. I’ll get the cheese and crackers. We’ll sit at the table.” He looked sideways at his son. “Rube, should I take notes?”

  “I’d rather you didn’t, Dad. Why do I feel like I got caught with my hand in the cookie jar?”

  “Sorry, son, but we just need to know what’s going on.”

  His mom brought in the tea. His dad set the cheese and crackers on the table and sat down across from Rube. They both picked up their tea and waited for Rube to explain.

  Rube bit his lip, then looked at both parents. “Okay, bottom line, right away, and it stays here. Is that clear?”

  His father shook his head. “Okay, but what . . . ”

  “Stays here, Dad, you guys know too much already.”

  “All right.”

  “Please, Rube, just tell us.” His mother set her cup down and took a deep breath.

  “Bottom line, Jethro and I are both CIA.”

  His dad looked at Rube over his glasses and held his breath.

  His mother looked up at the ceiling. “Well, I’m glad I set my cup down.” She placed her elbow on the table and rubbed her forehead against her hand. “Does Jill know this?”

  Rube’s grin was sheepish. “Jill was CIA before me but is basically retired.”

  “How did this happen?” His dad put both hands on the table and stood up. He turned around and then sat down again. “How did I not see this? Jethro, too?”

  “Yes, Jethro was recruited at our wedding . . . before I was.”

  “What? Did Rupert know this?”

  Rube laughed. It was a nervous laugh. “Well . . . Rupert was CIA as well and good friends with Jill’s dad who is also retired CIA. Jill’s dad recruited both Jethro and me. Actually, Jill told her dad I needed to be in after I got the Washington Electric job.”

  “So, those training sessions in other countries weren’t for the electrical grid job?”

  “Training and missions.”

  “Oh, my. And I thought we had such a quiet, nicely boring, family.” His mom sliced a piece of cheese, placed it on a cracker, and ate it.

  “So, you were there in Israel, looking for Tassie?” His dad leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair.

  “I was in Israel. Jethro went to Syria. I wanted to go, but they made me stay back and do tactical because I was pretty emotional. Jethro and Es . . . the guy from Israel he was with almost lost her when the explosion happened.”

  “Son, was she hurt? Truth, please.”

  “Scratched from a bush she landed in, shaken up, cut on her forehead, but for the most part, amazingly okay.”

  “And where is she now?” His mother leaned forward.

  Rube looked down. “In Israel.”

  “Why?” It was in unison from both parents. His dad put his arm around his wife.

  Rube stood up and walked around his chair, placing his hands on the back of the chair. “She’s working for the Goldmans and the Israeli law firm that handles their oil permits.”

  His dad gave a little chuckle and put his hands up. “Well, that makes perfect sense. What in the world is she thinking? What is going on, here? She should be home. Isn’t she still in danger? Wouldn’t Omar’s people come after her? This is crazy.”

  Tears ran down his mom’s face. “This can’t be!”

  “It’s her choice, Mom.”

  “But, she’s been traumatized. She’s not thinking clearly.” His mom dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.

  “She believes the prophecy about her.”

  His parents looked at each other and then at Rube. His mom put her head in her hand before looking up again. “The prophecy about her being influential in Israel’s future?”

  “Yup.” Rube reached over for a piece of cheese.

  “So now what? I miss my girl.” His dad placed his hand over his wife’s hand.

  “Well, Dad, she wants you and Mom to join her.”

  His dad rolled his eyes. “Well now, that sounds reasonable.”

  His mom tilted her head. “We could, you know.”

  His dad shook his head again. “Oh, boy, here we go.”

  MEANWHILE IN DAMASCUS

  Omar’s eyes flew open. His body convulsed in pain. Groans were everywhere. He realized the groans belonged to him. A young woman came into focus. Beautiful, long flowing hair, face close to his filled with sweetness.

  Omar’s voice struggled. “Paradise?”

  The sweet face smiled and giggled. “No, Mr. Tugani, Damascus General Hospital. We thought we might not get you back. You were severely hurt and burned in the explosion. But you are alive.”

  “The explosion?” Omar’s mind tried to comprehend. Thinking was so difficult. He attempted to sit up. Searing pain across his mid-section screamed at him.

  “Oh, sir. You cannot move. You are injured. Please lay still.”

  Omar closed his eyes and searched his mind. Memories came in waves. A beautiful woman. Her name? Tassie. A Jew. Why would I remember a Jew? Chicago. Oh, yes. A bottle. Magical powers. Really? ISIS. Conquest. Meetings. Decisions. The woman again. The explosion? The explosion. That man. No. I’m alive. I’m here. I’m not dreaming now. That was a dream. The explosion was real. The man was not.

  “How are you, Omar? Are you awake?”

  That voice he knew. Omar opened his eyes. An old and wizened man stood there. His face was stern, yet there was compassion in his eyes. He gripped Omar’s hand. Omar winced and tried to make it a smile. “Grandfather, so good to see you.” Out of the corner of his eye, Omar saw the young nurse leave the room.

  The old man’s laugh unsettled Omar. “It is good to see you alive, but not so incapacitated.”

  “I’m awake now. How long was I out?”

  “Two days, son, two days. At least your enemies think you are dead. But your subordinates have feared you are dead.” Omar’s grandfather turned and nodded to two men that now stood in the doorway. They walked over to Omar. They were Omar’s brothers, Saiim and Daran. Grandfather closed the door.

  Again, Omar grimaced. This was not a good sign. “Brothers, what brings you to Damascus?”

  “You, Omar. Well, actually, Grandfather and the Brotherhood. Decisions still have to be made. ISIS needs some guidance and help. The fighting has been stymied moving south. Baghdad has fortified itself. The U.S. reentered in the name of support. Iran has sent militia against us. Russia is sending us fighter planes and weapons. Egypt has contacted us and will consider assistance, albeit discreetly.”

  Omar shook his head and thought it would fall off. He closed his eyes until the dizziness left. “No, not Egypt, not now. It would show our hand too early. We need Lemkrof moving Russia through Ukraine, Slovakia, and Czech Republic while everyone focuses on Iraq. If Egypt enters the ring, all will know, and if we haven’t closed
enough borders, the U.S. or Israel will attack. We can’t have that happen.”

  “Brother, you fear the U.S. and Israel?” Saiim tipped his head to his grandfather. “I told you it was too much time in the U.S. and with his pretty little Jew. He’s gone soft. Perhaps we should pull these plugs.”

  Omar bit his tongue. He had been so proud of his rise to power, ahead of his older brothers. Grandfather had preferred him, he was sure, but now he was not so certain. He looked at the old man who looked away.

  “Omar, I think we need to put Saiim in charge. Daran will be his right-hand man until you are well.”

  The bile rose in Omar’s throat. The protest rose in his whole being. “No, Grandfather, I will pick up right where I left off.” Every ounce of his body hurt, but to be trounced by his brothers was not acceptable.

  Grandfather gave an almost imperceptible nod to the brothers. They left the room without a word. Grandfather reached out and gripped Omar’s shoulder. Pain shot through every fiber of his body. “Son, you’ve done good work, but you are unable right now. You are a great loss to the cause, but I think your brothers will do an acceptable job. I will stay right beside them, but we need the two of them. You could do it alone. I hope you survive. Perhaps there will still be a spot for you.”

  “Grandfather. Please. I . . . ”

  The old man shook his head. “The decision is made, Omar. It saddens me. You made me proud. But now your brothers will take over. Do get well.” He squared his shoulders and left the room without looking back at Omar.

  Tears filled Omar’s eyes and he squeezed them shut. How can this be? I’m the man. I run the show. They can’t do it without me. I must get well quickly.

  A sharpness penetrated his arm. Turning his head, he saw the sweet young nurse pulling a needle from his arm. “You need to sleep, Mr. Tugani. You will heal faster.”

  “No!” The sound was gurgled. He thrashed.

  The nurse laid her hand on his arm. “Yes, it will be better.”

  No. I must get up. I have decisions to make. Why is no sound coming out of my mouth? Why can I not think? Omar felt himself sinking. Was it quicksand? Was it death? It did not feel like sleep.

  The pain left. The nurse left. No, the room left. Grandfather let him die. It was wrong, but he certainly deserved Paradise. The light and glory that seemed to descend upon him and around him was more wonderful than any had ever told him. He glanced to his side. A throne. Yes. He had served Allah well and was being rewarded. But why did Allah, or anyone, have sandals on? A sensation of fear crept up his body. Omar hesitated then turned fully.

  The King smiled at Omar. “Yes, we meet again.”

  Omar convulsed. The King reached over and touched his shoulder. The shaking stopped. The strangest peace filled him. He’d felt pride; he’d felt power; he’d felt satisfaction. Peace, however, was a stranger. Omar was not sure if he liked it. He looked at the King. “Who are you, really?”

  “Omar, I am Jesus, whom you despise. Even so, I desire to show you where you will live in your spirit if you follow me, the place you will go when you die.”

  Omar coughed.

  Jesus smiled. “I know your thoughts, Omar. All is made plain to me.”

  Omar said nothing. He looked around and saw the most magnificent streets of gold below him. Gold. And fields, mountains, rivers, trees, and flowers of every color in a vast panorama before him. He sat above this scene so that nothing hindered his view.

  “You would sit with me in the heavenlies, Omar, and all this would be yours to enjoy.”

  I like the gold.

  “I thought you would.” Jesus laughed. “Remember, I know your thoughts. Now, Omar, this is not your Paradise with seventy virgins. I would like to show you what that is actually like.”

  Omar looked over and studied Jesus.

  “Look there, Omar.” He gestured to his left. “That is where your friends go when they assume they are going to Paradise.”

  Omar turned. A black cloud stood in front of him. As Omar watched, it thinned and revealed a pit filled with fiery stones. The stench of burning flesh assaulted his nose. The red glow of the stones provided the only light. A sound of agonized cries rose to Omar’s ears. He felt rather than heard a voice calling his name. The weight and the screech of the voice unnerved him. Shivers ran down his spine as he felt the heat of the place.

  Omar squinted his eyes and stood. He walked to the edge of the cavern. He saw no one, but he felt a chaotic spirit and grimaced as he felt pain. The pain enveloped him, and tendrils of flames licked at his feet. “No, this is not Paradise. This is not where my friends go.”

  Jesus stood beside him. “Yes, Omar, it is. It is tragic and doesn’t have to be.” Jesus pointed. Omar saw his hospital bed. Doctors and nurses stood around shaking their heads. He saw in the hallway his grandfather seated with his head in his hands.

  “Omar, you can live or die. You will die now, if I don’t intervene. The doctors cannot help you. Your grandfather, as much as he loves you, cannot help you. If you die now, without making me your Lord, you will not go to Paradise. You will go to this awful place I just showed you. But, if you take me as your Lord, you will come to be with me when you die, and in this life you will know peace and freedom in your spirit.”

  Omar jerked his head around. “This can’t be happening, because it is not true. You don’t exist. It’s just a dream.”

  “Yes, it is a dream, but it’s true, Omar. I have loved you since before you were born.” Omar whirled to face Jesus. “I am not a God of hate, as you have been raised to believe. I gave my life for all those who dwell in the world whether they respond to me or not. But I stand before you today and give you a choice between life and death. Choose life, Omar, choose life.”

  “I can’t . . . I mean . . . why . . . ? What do you expect of me? What do you have in it for me?”

  “I have set plans for you, Omar. They are not what you have done or what your family has taught you. If you follow me, you will discover these plans. And if you follow me, you will have peace now and forever.”

  “I am gifted at war, not peace. I lead. I command. I receive respect. I don’t need peace or love . . . that is temporary. I have responsibility. That is the mark of a man. I will have peace and love in Paradi—” Omar stopped.

  “There is no peace or love there, Omar. Only pain and regret and hate. Your fuel now is hate, is it not?”

  “Yes, hate is good fuel and for good reason.” Omar looked into Jesus’ eyes. It stunned him. What was it? His eyes were pools. Deep, calm. Omar had never seen anything like it. It transfixed him. It held him. Is that peace? Love?

  Omar wanted to be cynical, but he felt cynicism leave. The void was quickly filled with a remarkable understanding that life was good, that people had worth, that men had a purpose to benefit others. It was almost more than he could bear. Yet it felt good. It fit. That surprised him. It fit.

  Omar looked around. Jesus was fading, and the hospital room was moving closer. He heard the voice of Jesus one more time. “I will pursue you, Omar, until you choose to pursue me. I have given my life that you might know me. I did it because I love you and have given you a great purpose.”

  Omar shivered and then all went dark once more.

  Omar coughed. The nurse screamed. Something fell and clattered on the floor. Someone called a name. Another called a number. Omar could hear people running and yelling. He opened his eyes. His grandfather had tears in his eyes. His brothers stood back with eyes wide. They were not smiling.

  Doctors were taking his pulse and shining lights in his eyes. Then he realized it. The pain was gone. His mind was clear.

  “I think I’m okay.” His voice was clear. He sat up. With all the IVs it was difficult, but there was no pain.

  “Your skin is no longer burned. Look at this!” The doctors pulled his hospital gown sleeve up, so all could see. “These were serious burns. There’s fresh skin here now.” They backed up. Everyone was silent.

  Grandfather ste
pped even closer. “Allah has raised his leader up. We will win this war. We will conquer. You are all witnesses to the amazing power of Allah. I don’t believe you need to be here anymore, son. We have work to do.”

  Saiim and Daran locked eyes and sighed deeply. Grandfather saw it. “Your time will come. It is not yet. We have Allah’s seal on Omar now and we must submit to his plan.”

  The doctors unhooked all tubes and monitors from Omar. He stood up thinking he would be shaky, but instead he felt strong and agile, not even stiff. There was a niggling in the back of his mind, but he ignored it. Allah had raised him up for his purpose. That dream he had . . . it was a dream.

  CHAPTER 22

  A FEW DAYS LATER, CHICAGO

  Marge set a plate of fresh baked oatmeal raisin cookies on the table with two cups of steaming decaf coffee.

  Jack raised his eyebrows and set the newspaper aside. “A bribe? Comfort food? What’s up?”

  “I think I’m nervous.” Marge’s smile was weak.

  “Comfort food, then. What’s on your mind?”

  “Are we thinking of moving to Israel or just going to visit?” Marge plopped into the chair and popped half a cookie into her mouth. “I mean, fif wis um good ijea.”

  Jack reached over and took her hand. “Translation? With your mouth empty.”

  “I’m sorry, Jack.” She wiped her mouth with a napkin and took a sip of her coffee. “I just wonder if this is really a good idea.”

  “Going to Israel or moving to Israel?” He broke off a piece of cookie and put it in his mouth.

  “Either. I’m worried for Tassie’s safety. What if Omar is still alive and comes after her?” Marge started to wring the napkin around her fingers. “I mean Rube didn’t tell us everything. If he’s CIA, then he knows a lot that he isn’t telling. I know Jethro is watching her and so is the IDF, but Jethro seems so young . . . I can hardly believe he’s CIA.”