Ben had left an hour earlier, but Alexana chose to stay, tingling in anticipation of beginning the dig. When she closed her eyes, she could see the stairs as they once were: a series of steps and landings that encouraged worshipers to enter slowly, reverently. She imagined the people reaching the temple, washing in the ceremonial mikvahs. Outdoors, the steps spread over two hundred feet in length to the Double Gate, which would have once led to the grand Temple one hundred feet above. She raised her head and shielded her eyes from the intense sunlight.
“Father God, let me show the world what Jesus would have once seen. Let me show them a little more about his life, his ways. And let me do this for your honor, not my own.”
As she prayed in the peaceful quiet, a shiver suddenly ran down her spine and broke her concentration. She opened her eyes and looked around, but saw no one.
Rising, she gathered her things and picked her way down to the asphalt-covered highway. Forty feet from the Dung Gate, a car screeched up beside her.
Alexana turned, frozen by surprise, but did not run. She was surrounded in seconds by black-masked assailants who pulled her into the backseat of the car.
“No!” she shouted, kicking and struggling to get away. “No! Help! Help me!” she cried before a man pulled her toward him, covering her mouth.
The car screeched away just as Ridge and Sam reached the gate. Spotting her notebook and backpack on the pavement and catching sight of the car speeding away, they knew exactly what had happened.
Frantically, Ridge looked one way and then the next, searching for empty cabs. But there were none to be found. No one would be willing to pursue the kidnappers anyway, he thought grimly. He set out after the car in a dead sprint, willing his body to go faster and faster.
But it was no use. In seconds the car had outdistanced him by half a mile. Ridge watched helplessly as it disappeared into the winding streets of a neighboring Palestinian village. Sam reached his side, panting as hard as Ridge, and stared after the car.
“Call the … police,” Ridge gasped, pulling his cellular phone from his pocket. “Tell them your sister … has been abducted … by men in a … beige BMW.” His head felt thick, his thoughts garbled, as fear choked him.
“License plate … number?” Sam asked hopefully, gasping for breath.
“No. I don’t think … there was one,” Ridge panted.
Sam stared at the despondent man for a moment, then clasped Ridge’s shoulder. “We’ll find her.”
“Yeah,” Ridge swallowed hard, his face distraught, angry. “But will we find her alive?”
Alexana struggled against the men who held her, knowing that it was futile, but needing to try. Wearying of her fight after only five miles, the assailant in the front seat turned with a syringe in hand.
“No!” Alexana said. “You don’t have to give me that! I’ll be quiet.” She forced her body to relax, trying to demonstrate that she would cooperate.
“We do not only want you quiet,” the man said in Arabic, leaning over the seat as one of the guards pulled her bare arm forward. “We want you blind.”
Alexana winced as the syringe entered her arm and the yellow liquid hit her system. She began to pray that it would not kill her. But before she could finish her silent cry, unconsciousness enveloped her.
According to her watch, Alexana awoke twenty hours later, her mind fuzzy and her head aching as if from a migraine. She tried to sit up, but then slumped back against the bed. The afternoon was stifling hot, especially with the closed windows, yet Alexana felt sick at the mere thought of standing to reach the dirty panes.
She raised her arm to look at her watch again and noticed that she had been dressed in traditional Bedouin attire. Her long dress of heavy black cotton was hand-stitched with brightly colored patterns of reds and purples. She touched her face. A complex veil of coins, teardrops, and other metal ornamentation covered her forehead, nose, and mouth, exposing only her eyes. The black veil had been sewn to the edges of another cloth that covered her hair.
Wearily, she struggled to make sense of her surroundings. She did not remember what had happened; indeed, she could barely recall her name. A man entered the room.
He was handsome in white formal clothes that flowed softly as he walked. His white headdress was secured with a black, twisted cord. The man knelt beside her bed. “Sarah,” he said over his shoulder, speaking Arabic. “Please open that window.”
He took Alexana’s hand, and she stared blankly at him through watery eyes. “Alexana. Are you awake? Can you hear me?”
Khalil. Her thoughts began to focus. Khalil! She tried to make a sound, but her mouth would not function.
Khalil patted her shoulder as Sarah brought her a glass of water. Gently he lifted Alexana to a sitting position and pulled aside her veil while the woman lifted the cup to her lips.
Alexana drank thankfully, suddenly aware that her mouth and throat were parched. “Khalil.,” she whispered.
“Shh.” As tenderly as he had raised her, he lowered her back to the cushions. “Please, Sarah. Leave us for a moment.”
The woman bowed and backed out the door as she was bidden. He turned to Alexana.
“I do not know how clearly you can think. I am sorry you were drugged. It was the only way. It is safer if you do not know where you are. An assassin was on the move. If you had remained in Jerusalem last night you would not have lived.”
“But you …,” she tried.
“Listen to me, Alexana,” Khalil said urgently. “Yes, I knew about the danger. I discouraged the assassin, but men loyal to me reported that he planned to defy my orders and act on his own. Our people had seen you enter the Haram and Solomon’s Stables. We knew then that you had been given permission to proceed. My men will not listen to reason. Too many want you dead. I cannot control them all in this matter. I sent four friends who trust me implicitly to collect you. Even they do not know where you are now, or what I plan to do with you.”
Alexana raised a hand to her aching eyes and rubbed as the coins on her forehead clanged like church bells in her drugged ears. She struggled to make sense of his words.
“You feel terrible. I can see that. But you are alive!” He rose and paced the floor. “I could not let them kill you. You are too important to me. And although you are a stubborn woman, I still count you as a friend.”
He turned back to her. “I must go now. I am expected at a dinner party tonight and must punish Shehab for acting against my orders.” He grinned at the prospect. “You are in the house of my friend. He and his family will care for you until I can decide what to do.”
He bent and kissed her brow below the coins. “I will be back as soon as I can, Alexana.” Quickly, he strode through the door, apparently not hearing her feeble call. Feeling incredibly weak, Alexana let unconsciousness claim her once again.
The next time Alexana was awakened, it was by two women. Her watch was gone. She had no idea what time it was or how long she had been in the house of Khalil’s friend, but she did realize that the narcotics were slowly wearing off.
The women raised her to a sitting position, then fed her broth and water and tea. When she had finished, they held on to her arms and pulled her to her feet, smiling as she took several unsteady steps.
“I have to call my family,” Alexana said to the older woman, who she assumed was the wife of Khalil’s friend. In her groggy state of mind, Alexana spoke rough Arabic, but it was good enough for conversation.
The woman shook her head. “We have no phone here. You are to wait until Khalil returns. You are our guest.”
“I am in hiding,” Alexana corrected. “Where are we?”
Her hostess paused. “We are not to tell you that. Khalil warned us that you are a clever woman and that you would try to return to Jerusalem if you got your bearings. It is not safe for you, or for us. We are trying to help.”
Alexana sighed and sat back down on the bed, examining her image in the mirror the girl handed her. With her blond hair hid
den, she looked like a traditional Bedouin woman, although a little pale. If anyone were to come near, and if Alexana averted her gaze, they would not recognize her as a Westerner.
“He leads the men who want to kill me, but then comes to my rescue,” she muttered in English. “So what am I supposed to do now, Khalil?” She shuddered at the thought of what Ridge and Sam must be going through wondering whether she was all right. Did they think she was dead? She had to get back to the city. But how?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
APRIL 22
Spare me the flak, Steve,” Ridge snapped. “Just find someone else to do it. Someone at headquarters can certainly report that she’s missing.”
“Yeah, but the audience would eat it up. Your girl, kidnapped. Why not let them in on it? The world would go nuts, just like when you saved my tail in Lebanon. Come on, Ridge.”
“No. I’m not going to exploit my relationship with her to gain some ratings points.”
“Even if it helps you gain political backing? She’s out there, Ridge. She’s alive. You need U.S. pressure to help you locate her and bring her home. Then you need more American pressure to make sure she stays alive when that stubborn girlfriend of yours goes ahead with the Solomon’s Stables dig.”
“Who’s to say she’s still alive?” Ridge growled, his face revealing his fury. “How can you push me on this?”
Steve was unfazed. “Shehab hasn’t come back to you since he told you of his mission three days ago, right?”
“Yeah. So?”
“Wouldn’t the greedy jerk be back to spill the details and get more money, rather than simply fade into the woodwork? Besides, it’s not Hamas style to let something like this pass unnoticed. They’d want to exploit their control over the preeminent Dr. Roarke by showing video footage.” He lowered his voice. “Think like they would think,” he instructed. “Wouldn’t they at least show her body if she were dead, to tell the world that they have the upper hand? As a warning to others? As a further declaration of war?”
Ridge sank into a chair, realizing that he was becoming more exhausted by the hour. He looked at Steve with hope. “You really think she’s alive?”
“Oh yeah, she’s alive.”
“Let’s shoot that report.”
Ridge’s phone rang off the hook for four hours after the footage aired that evening. People called from all over the world—experts on terrorism, government officials, resourceful viewers who called to extend their good wishes. Much later, Ridge gave in to a fitful, dream-laden sleep.
He awoke in the early dark hours of morning to a sound in his room. Sitting upright, he listened carefully, the blood pulsating in his ears. Another creak to his right. Close. He whirled his head but stopped as he felt the cold edge of a knife blade at his throat.
“You warned her,” Shehab growled.
Ridge swallowed hard. “I did not.”
The knife pressed harder. “You would have warned her if you could.”
“I told you as much,” Ridge said through gritted teeth. “I love the woman.”
“Fool!” Shehab growled, pressing harder. Finally, he eased the knife away and stalked over to the desk at the window. He turned and watched Ridge warily.
Ridge briefly closed his eyes, then rose from the bed and turned on his bedside light.
Shehab whirled, revealing a black eye and a broken nose. He rushed over to the bed and pulled the plug from the outlet.
Ridge waited, dead still.
“No lights,” Shehab growled. “I am not to be seen.”
“You are not to be seen? Or you don’t want to be seen with that shiner? Where’d you get it?”
“No questions!” Shehab cried. “I have come here to find the woman. Where have you hidden her?”
“I told you, I would have warned her, but she was taken before I reached her.”
“You saw this?”
“I.… Wait a minute.” Ridge could hardly believe what he was hearing. “Are you saying somebody else nabbed her? It wasn’t Hamas?”
Shehab paced silently.
“Then who has her?”
Shehab sighed. “It is of little consequence to me. Perhaps the Kahane jackals have hidden her away. As long as she is far away from the Haram, I am satisfied.”
“She is not involved with the Kahane,” Ridge insisted.
Shehab snorted. “Impossible. You think they would ignore such an opportunity? Even if she is not overtly involved, one of her team is.” He strode to the door, a dark shadow in the dawn light. “If you have lied to me, I will be back. And the knife will not remain clean.”
APRIL 23
Alexana drank the strong brew, thankful for the caffeine jolt and hoping that the coffee would help clear her senses. Four days after having been drugged, she still suffered from the effects. As the women left with her lunch dishes, she moved to the living room window. Outside was a huge Bedouin tent, traditionally used by the wealthy for entertaining, despite the modern amenities available indoors.
She sighed heavily. She could be at any one of hundreds of encampments located across several deserts. If only she could get outside, she might be able to recognize some landmarks.
“Looking for an escape route?” a deep voice asked her.
She whirled. “Khalil! I have so—”
He walked toward her. “You are beautiful in the dress of my Bedouin friends. Very enticing.”
“Khalil.” Alexana pulled away her veil in an effort to make him focus. “I appreciate that you’ve tried to protect me, but I must get home.”
“Impossible. If you are seen by a member of Hamas, you will be killed.”
Alexana kept her gaze level, testing him. “Rescind your order.”
A pained expression crossed Khalil’s face. “I did not order your death warrant. I have told you. I can no longer control the various factions within our group in this matter. There is too much being accomplished for me to risk my station. Simply trying would make many of my men question my wisdom and authority.”
“Yet four of them agreed to come and collect me,” Alexana accused.
“There are some devout believers who trust me beyond the scope of others,” he admitted. “They have no idea what I plan to do with you now.”
“If you can convince them that you have your reasons, then you can convince others,” she tried.
“No, Alexana,” Khalil said, regretful. “I cannot. If I had seen any other way in the first place …”
“Khalil, please. I can’t stay here forever!”
“No. Just a few months.”
“A few months! You must be joking! I have an excavation to lead!”
Khalil grabbed her arms, digging his strong fingers into her tender flesh. “You must give it up! Do you not see? It is your only chance!”
Alexana struggled under his grip. “It is my only chance to prove, once and for all, that I am not a pawn to either side. I must show that I am a professional archaeologist who simply wants to excavate a site. I will make it stronger, Khalil. I will. The Haram will be safer when I’m done.”
Khalil released her and walked away, shaking his head. “I might be able to believe you. But there are too many who are ready to fight at a moment’s notice. Hysteria and mob mentality already run rampant in Palestine. You do not think this will be a spark to dry weeds?”
Alexana rubbed her arms, realizing that he had not meant to hurt her but feeling angry anyway. She swallowed hard. “Perhaps if I delay the dig awhile …”
“You must cancel the dig and stay out of sight. In a few months, tensions will ease. You may be able to live in Jerusalem again. But not now. You must stay hidden. If you refuse to do this for yourself, I will keep you safe.”
“You have no right!” Alexana protested. “I am a grown woman! This is kidnapping!”
He reached out to touch her cheek. “It is an effort to keep you alive.”
She slapped his hand away. “No. No more, Khalil. I must make my own choices,” she said. “I appreciate
what you’ve done. You probably even saved my life. But I need to take care of myself now. There are others who need to know that I am okay.”
“Like Ridge McIntyre?”
Her eyes flew to his face, and Khalil closed his own in silent defeat. He turned away. “You are in love.”
“Yes,” Alexana admitted softly. “Have you spoken to him?”
Khalil nodded. “He called this morning. He obviously knew that Hamas had not abducted you. He wondered if I knew who had.”
“And you said?”
“I told him that it was not Hamas. How could I know who had done such a thing?”
“You couldn’t have hinted that I was alive?”
“It is imperative that no one—especially a CNN journalist—know that I am hiding you, nor that I know that you are alive.”
Alexana turned to the window, tired of arguing. “I cannot, I will not stay here, Khalil.”
“You are a hundred miles from civilization, Alexana,” he broke the news quietly. “To run would be to sign your own death certificate.” He left the room without another word.
Following Steve’s directions, Sam found Ridge in a corner of the Church of All Nations, staring at the ceiling. The reporter looked wrung out, exhausted, echoing the image Sam had seen in his own mirror that morning.
Sam slid to the floor beside Ridge. “We’re doing all we can,” he assured him.
Ridge turned to him. His eyes were sad. “Shouldn’t I be comforting you?”
Sam shrugged. “I guess I’ve known Alexana longer than you. She’s strong, Ridge. Stronger than most women I know. And she’s alive. I’d know it somehow if she were dead.”
Ridge looked unconvinced. “I’ve seen people disappear in Guatemala, Peru, Liberia, Pakistan, Lebanon. People who never come back. I’ve seen their families try to grieve and get over it, but they never really do because they don’t have a body to bury and say good-bye to.”
“Ridge. You can’t let yourself think that way. I can’t let myself think that way.”
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