Chasing the Wind

by Norma Beishir

  So much for down time, I thought after considering deleting the offensive e-mail and claiming I never received it. Knowing Ally, she’d have my hard drive checked out to make sure.

  I purchased a calling card and went to the nearest available phone. As I waited for my call to be put through, I took off my Chicago Cubs baseball cap and ran a hand through my hair. “Come on, pick up,” I muttered. “If I’m here much longer, they’ll charge me rent.”

  A female voice answered on the fourth ring. “Viewpoint, good afternoon.”

  “What’s good about it?” I grumbled.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry,” I said. “Put me through to Alberta Ashland.”

  “Who’s calling, please?”

  “Tell her it’s Darcy. Tell her I don’t have a lot of time,” I snapped.

  There was a pause on the other end. “Sorry, Mr. Darcy. I didn’t realize it was you. I’ll put you right through,” she assured me.

  “You do that.” My patience was wearing thin.

  Moments later, Alberta came on the line. “Darcy,” she greeted me with a cheerfulness that made me want to puke. “I take it you got my e-mail?”

  “I got it. What’s this assignment?”

  “Charlie Cross is there covering the conflict,” Alberta said. “He needs the best lensman I’ve got—and that’s you.”

  “Yeah? When did you take up brown-nosing, Ally?”

  “Much as I hate to admit it, you are the best,” she responded begrudgingly.

  “I’m officially on vacation, remember?”

  “You’ll have to postpone it. War waits for no man.”

  “War? Is that what they’re calling it this week?”

  There was a warning pause on the other end of the line. “I don’t have time for this today, Darcy,” she said finally.

  I scratched my head. “So where is Big Thunder?” I asked.

  “Tel Aviv. Leaving for Megiddo in the morning.”

  I laughed. “Armageddon Megiddo?” I asked. “End-of-the world Megiddo?”

  “The same. There was another suicide bombing there overnight,” she explained. “Six people were killed, including the bomber, seventeen injured.”

  “This is not news, Ally. They’ve been at war since Moses came down from the mountain,” I pointed out.

  “You’re not funny, Darcy.”

  “I’m too tired to be funny. Funny takes effort.” I paused. “I really needed this vacation, Ally.”

  “I’m sure. Who is she this time?”

  “Who’s who?” I asked.

  “The woman. You’re a chronic workaholic. The only time you want time off is when you’ve got some poor, unsuspecting woman caught in the crosshairs,” Alberta laughed. “You’re already paying alimony to two of your three ex-wives, but I hear you’re always on the lookout for number four.”

  “You hear wrong,” I said. “I’ve sworn off marriage. If there were a twelve-step program for it, I’d sign up. From here on out, I only live in sin.” Hell, I couldn't afford to be stuck paying out more alimony.

  “If you say so.” Alberta was obviously in no mood to debate with me. “Listen, Charlie’s at the Armon Ha Yarkon. I suggest you catch up with him tonight. He wants to get an early start tomorrow morning.”

  I took off my glasses and rubbed the bridge of my nose. “I’m glad it’s not summer. By midday, it’d be hotter than hell.”

  Alberta didn’t miss the opportunity when it presented itself. “And I’m sure you have firsthand knowledge of hell.”

  “As you said, I’ve been married three times,” I said.

  Alberta started to say something else, but was stopped by another incoming call. “Got to run, Darcy,” she told me. “Call Charlie.”

  “Yeah.”

  I hung up, checking my watch again before leaving the communications center. So much for my vacation….

  On the road east of the Ramat David Israeli Air Force Base, Charlie Cross and I were covering another suicide bombing aboard a bus that had, only a few hours before, been filled with tourists. Now, it was a burned-out shell smoldering in spite of all attempts to extinguish the fire resulting from a homemade bomb. Charlie talked to the survivors who were able to speak, law enforcement officials on the scene, and emergency workers. I took a series of photographs. I’d been so jaded for so many years, numb to the pain and suffering that was depicted in my work—but in one day, everything had changed. Now, I found it hard to be objective about much of anything in the Middle East.

  The world had changed so dramatically in such a short period of time.

  “When I was in college, when I was still young and stupid and a little idealistic, I used to find it hard to believe anything like this could happen,” Charlie admitted as we gratefully accepted water offered to us by one of the emergency workers. “I guess a few years in this business kind of leaves you hardened to the realities, though.”

  I mopped sweat from my face. “Yeah. I thought I was desensitized to it all—until a bunch of maniacs in jetliners flew right over the top of my home to take out the World Trade Center,” I said. “I was having coffee and getting ready to leave for the airport. I was headed for Manila—would have been on United Flight 93 if Mia hadn’t screwed up my reservation.”

  “Makes you think, doesn’t it?” A few yards away, bodies covered in black were removed. Beyond that scene, the wreckage of the bus was about to be towed away.

  “Makes me wonder why I wasn’t on that plane. Really.” I paused. “I’ve found myself wondering more than once if there was more to it than Mia’s ineptitude.”

  Charlie grinned for the first time. “Do you believe in Fate, Darcy?”

  “I’m not sure what I believe anymore.” I watched as the last of the emergency vehicles pulled away. “I believe the whole world’s gone nuts, that’s for sure.”

  “I was in Washington,” Charlie recalled. “On 9/11, I mean. I passed the Pentagon maybe fifteen minutes after it happened. Things seemed pretty senseless to me that day.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Makes you wonder where it’s all going to end.”

  I thought about it. “My ex-wife would have said with Armageddon.”

  Charlie looked up at the road sign nearby: Megiddo, 5km. His smile was forced. “Well, it looks like we’re in the right place for that.”

  I shot him a skeptical look. “You believe in that sort of thing?” I asked, surprised.

  Charlie shook his head. “Heaven and hell and all that supernatural baloney? I’m not sure. I do believe there’s such a thing as pure evil. The things that have happened in the past few years couldn’t have happened if there weren’t.”

  I remained skeptical. “You sound like my ex.”

  Charlie stared at me for a moment. “She’s been on your mind a lot lately, hasn’t she?” he finally asked.

  I didn’t bother to deny the obvious. “Yeah,” I admitted. “After 9/11, I started thinking about all the things she’d tried to tell me while we were together—things I didn’t listen to, didn’t take seriously. The joke’s on me, I guess. She may have been right. We may turn out to be the architects of our own downfall, after all.”

  “You think?”

  “I’m starting to think anything is possible—”

  “Hey! Stop!” Charlie broke into a run—and for a man of Charlie Cross’ bulk, that was no easy feat. When anyone describes Charlie as a bear of a man, they're not exaggerating. I turned to see three young men driving off—in our rented Jeep. I ran after Charlie, but it proved useless. We finally stopped in the middle of the road, watching helplessly as the Jeep disappeared on the western horizon.

  We were stranded.

  28

  Connor

  “I’ve gone over it several times, Lynne.” Dr. Moshe Biran was what one might expect of a Biblical scholar, Israeli citizenship aside: a small man with thick white hair and a neatly-trimmed beard. Lynne had studied Aramaic under him years before. We had come to Jerusalem to hopefully have hi
m verify her suspicions regarding the papyrus.

  Biran turned his computer monitor at an angle that allowed us to see it as he spoke. “You are certain it is no more than two thousand years old?”

  “No question,” I assured him.

  “Puzzling, to say the least,” he said, thoughtfully rubbing his beard.

  “It’s a reference to John the Baptist, isn’t it?” Lynne asked.

  Biran shook his head. “No, I don’t believe it is,” he said.

  “But it doesn’t fit any other Biblical reference,” Lynne said.

  “Perhaps not any of the books of the canonical Bible,” Biran suggested.

  Lynne nodded. “The Apocryphal books.” She studied the monitor for a moment. “The prophet shall come forth out of the island of the angels at a time when perpetual darkness threatens to consume the earth. He must find hope himself before he can give hope to the world, and become one again under the eyes of God.”

  Biran nodded. I was silent. It all sounded like the premise of an apocalyptic movie to me.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Lynne started. “Which prophet does it refer to?”

  “None,” Biran said. “I believe this is a reference to a prophet yet to come.”

  Lynne gave him a puzzled look.

  “If only we had the complete text,” Biran said with a heavy sigh. “Some fragments do coincide with the prophecies of Daniel and Revelation in that it makes reference to a dark, turbulent time preceding the Second Coming.”

  I found that amusing. “The end of the world?” I asked.

  “Theologians are divided on whether or not the prophecies describe the literal end of the world, or an ending of the world as we know it,” Biran said. “My personal belief is that it is symbolic, written in a rather poetic language of the time. Dreams, visions, all symbolic.”

  I leaned back in my chair and regarded Biran with skepticism. “So we’re not going to have our cities trashed by three-headed monsters or be overrun by insects with human faces whose stings cause such agony we’re driven to insanity?”

  “I do not believe so, no. Think instead of the monsters as dictators, world leaders corrupted by power,” Biran suggested. “Think of the insects as disease, economic recession. Think of what the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse represent.”

  “And this prophet, whoever he or she is, will have the power to stop it?” I asked, still unconvinced.

  Lynne spoke up. “No. Only God can do that,” she explained. “The prophet is a messenger. Whatever power he may possess comes from God working through him. He will have no control over it himself. It will come and go at God’s will.”

  “Convenient,” I said.

  Lynne gave Biran an apologetic look. “He’s not a believer,” she explained.

  Biran smiled. “Neither was I at one time.”

  “Island of the angels,” Lynne said thoughtfully. “To my knowledge, there is no such place in the Middle East. I’ve never seen any references to anything even close in description.”

  “You’re looking in the wrong direction,” I said.

  Lynne and Biran looked at me, both of them surprised.

  “In Latin, it would be ex insula Angelorum,” I told them. “The Angel Isle. England.”

  "I know you wanted to be married in your father's church," I started as we headed back to our hotel, "but that may not be possible for a long time. How would you feel about getting married here?"

  I could tell she was surprised…but she wasn't opposed to the idea. Jerusalem was a special place for her. "We'd have to do the paperwork—I'm not even sure what that involves here. We'd need witnesses, rings…and photos. I want wedding photos."

  "Is that a yes?" I asked.

  "That's a yes," she said, kissing me.

  29

  Darcy

  “I don’t believe it,” I said slowly, recognizing the woman I spotted across the street.

  Charlie laughed. “You look like you’ve seen the Ghost of Christmas Past there, buddy,” he noticed.

  “You’re not too far off,” I said, gesturing. “Over there. My ex-wife.”

  Charlie looked in the direction I was pointing. “Which one?”

  I could have strangled the smartass. “What do you mean, which one? The woman, idiot.”

  “No, I mean which ex-wife,” Charlie said. “You’ve had so many, you know.”

  “The third Mrs. Darcy,” I said. “Over there, with that man.”

  Charlie grinned. “Looks like she traded up, bud,” he commented. “He’s a lot younger than you.”

  “So is she,” I said, heading across the busy street. Charlie reluctantly followed, muttering something about it not being a good idea.

  “Duchess!” I called out to her, waving.

  She didn’t look happy to see me. Not that it surprised me. I considered myself lucky we were in a public place and wondered if she might be armed.

  “Darcy,” she said, obviously uneasy as I joined them on the curb. “I wish I could say it’s good to see you, but…”

  “You were always a lousy liar.” I glanced at the man with her. He was silent, but the look in his eyes said it all: possessive. He reached out and took Lynne’s hand, clutching it tightly.

  Lynne was looking at him, too. “Connor, this is my ex-husband, Phillip Darcy,” she said. “Darcy, this is my fiancé, Connor Mackenzie.”

  Fiancé? She’s marrying this guy? I was surprised. Finding my voice, I introduced Charlie, who finally caught up. “This is my colleague and sometimes friend, Charlie Cross. Charlie, my ex-wife, Lynne Raven, and her fiancé, Connor Mackenzie.”

  “Hi.” Charlie shook Connor’s hand.

  “Duchess is an archaeologist,” I told Charlie. Then, to Lynne: “Doing a dig here?”

  She shook her head. “The dig’s in Egypt. We just made what we believe is a major find, a two-thousand-year-old papyrus—that’s why we’re here. We came to consult with Moshe Biran.”

  I laughed. “Is that old fossil still alive?” I turned to Charlie. “This guy’s so old, I suspect he was there when Moses came down from the mountain.” Then, to Lynne: “Are you going to be sticking around awhile?”

  She nodded. “We’re going to be married while we’re here,” she said, smiling for the first time.

  That surprised me. “You always wanted to get married in your father’s church,” I recalled.

  “And you didn’t.” She paused. “We can’t get away right now, so Connor and I are looking for a church here.”

  “There’s a nice little church near Gethsemane,” Charlie offered. “Perfect for an intimate wedding.”

  I was annoyed with my so-called friend. Lynne looked grateful. “We’ll check it out, thank you.”

  Connor looked at his watch. “Darlin’, I think we should be going,” he said in a low voice.

  She nodded, then turned back to me. She obviously didn’t know what to say. “It’s been interesting,” she said finally.

  I nodded. “Yeah.” I looked at Connor, then back at Lynne. “I know I was an ass when we were together, Duchess,” I admitted. “I can’t take that back, but I do hope you’re happy now.”

  She nodded again. “I am. Very happy.”

  I looked at Connor again. “Congratulations.”

  Connor only nodded.

  “I blew it with her,” I told Charlie as they walked away. “I blew it with every woman I’ve ever known.”

  Charlie chuckled. “Post that confession on the internet and the entire female population will declare a worldwide holiday,” he said.

  “She’s something of a surprise,” Charlie said as we walked back to our hotel. “Not what I would have expected. Your more recent women friends have all been of the same breed—elegant, sophisticated, cosmopolitan types. Beautiful packages, but not much going on inside.”

  I was too tired by that time to be insulted by Charlie’s implication. “Shallow and superficial, you mean,” I concluded.

  “Well—yeah. This woman, she’s differe
nt.”

  “Believe it or not, pal, I used to go for smart women—but then I discovered that beautiful and brainless had lower expectations.”

  “And she’s wife number—what, again?”

  “Three. She packed up and took off while I was on an assignment,” I recalled. “I came back to find her gone. No forwarding address, no explanation, no nothing.”

  Charlie grinned. “As many times as you’ve been divorced, I wouldn’t think an explanation would be necessary.” He lit a cigarette and took a long drag.

  I shook my head. “I didn’t realize she was so unhappy until the suit showed up at my door, handed me the legal papers and told me to have a nice day,” I said. The memory still pissed me off. “I really wanted to deck him.”

  “Shooting the messenger?” Charlie asked, amused.

  “It was that smug smile of his. It was like, ‘Hey, loser, you’re being dumped.' It was like he knew.”

  “He probably did,” Charlie said agreeably. “You must hold some kind of record for this sort of thing.”

  “Yeah.”

  30

  Lynne

  “Why does he call you Duchess?” Connor asked.

  I shrugged. The truth was that I hadn't a clue. “It’s not meant as flattery, or any kind of term of endearment. I used to think he called all of his women ‘Duchess’—it was easier than trying to remember all of our names. It’s like the guy who names all of his dogs Rover rather than have to keep reminding himself of his new dog’s name,” I said.

  “Do you think he still loves you?”

  I laughed aloud at the thought. “Darcy wouldn’t recognize love if it walked up and slapped him in the face!” I said. “Darcy knows lust. He and lust are longtime cellmates. But love? Nope—they’re complete strangers.”

  “Did you ever love him?” Connor wanted to know.