Everyone remained silent. Jim shook his head as he stared blankly at the wall across the room. Finally he spoke. “All the evidence points to an abduction of Ashley by a man taking advantage of the demonstration—someone who may have been after her in Bethlehem. We can’t seem to get any help from the police tonight. So what can we do?”
The group brainstormed every idea they could think of to look for her but Jim shook his head. “We don’t want anyone else lost in the dark. It might even be dangerous for either Ben or David to wander around now in the Muslim Quarter. And the police are too busy. I doubt the American Embassy could be helpful tonight.”
Alim spoke up. “I know the area better than any of you. You may not realize, but I am Muslim. I could put on my taqiyah, my cap, and check every contact I have in that quarter to find Ashley. I’m not afraid.”
“Alim, we would appreciate that very much.”
No one had any appetite for dinner. The team sat with Jim, waiting. David and Ben left their cell phone numbers to call with any news and went home. Several went to their rooms to pray or rest, only to return to the front room. Minutes and hours ticked away. Shortly after nine, Alim walked in. They all jumped up to hear the news. It had been nearly three hours since he left.
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
Everyone seemed deflated, like a collapsing balloon. As long as Alim looked, they had hope. Now it seemed gone.
“I checked with many of my friends in the Souk, and no one had seen Ashley, or heard of her. News travels fast there, so if anyone had seen her we would know.”
“Thank you, Alim. You have done everything you could.” Jim then looked at the team. “You all have been great. You’re hungry and tired. I would suggest you snack on whatever you have until we can get some food in here.”
“I’ll call it in, Jim,” Alim said. “They deliver, and it’s not far away, just outside the Jaffa Gate.”
“Thanks for that too.” He then spoke to his team: “Everyone, feel free to stay here or relax in your rooms. We’ll meet here in half an hour. Dinner should be here then. Seems like there is nothing more we can do tonight.”
Chapter 48
Ashley had regained her equilibrium after her fall and near trampling, then she scrambled with the demonstrators and her rescuer to escape the soldiers with their rifles. Her right arm hurt where he held it tight. She remembered a fellow runner stepping on her right upper arm at just that spot. She scanned the mob for Marie and David again, but saw only young Palestinians running. As the crowd thinned and scattered, Ashley had turned to the tall man with dark glasses holding her arm. Short of breath, her heart raced. They slowed to a walk. “Thanks for your help. You can let go of my arm. I’ll be fine now.”
He didn’t seem to hear her or perhaps couldn’t understand English. At least he didn’t respond in any way. She tried to stop to repeat that she would be OK, feeling suddenly cold and shaky. He dragged her forward, by her sore arm, forcing her to continue. Ashley raised her voice. “I’m OK now. Please let go of my arm!” She pulled her arm forward to free it.
He shook his head and said something that sounded Arabic. He grabbed her arm with his right hand and dropped his left one. Then Ashley felt something poke her in the back. In thickly accented English she heard “gun.”
Her jaw dropped as she whirled to look at him, wide-eyed. Her mind raced back to Bethlehem and the wall. A tall man, severe look, this time with a white Muslim cap and dark glasses. But he looked like the guy at the wall in Bethlehem. Ashley trembled. She tried to jerk her arm away, but he held it tight and pressed whatever he had harder into her back. She almost screamed, but realized he could shoot her in the chaos and no one would come to her aid. She fought to wrestle out of his grasp. The shouts of the remaining crowd drowned out the sound of her struggle.
He pulled her close and shouted into her ear, “gun!”
She was determined not to panic. She would keep her head. Ashley suddenly turned toward him and tried to knee him in the groin, but hit only his thigh. He struck her with some hard object on the back of her head and shoved her forward.
Ashley screamed in anger, and then leaned back to resist his pushing her forward. The crowd, still moving forward, didn’t seem to notice. The man still forced her to walk fast. She dug her feet into the pavement as though skidding down a steep hill. Her lips tightened as she was overpowered. The man veered her into a small street heading into the Muslim Quarter, where Ashley recognized the narrow street and the first of the shops.
He seemed to change whatever he held to her back, as the object poking her felt less sharp. Maybe he was concealing a gun. He found the head covering she stashed in her backpack and forced her to put it on. He tucked the gun under his right arm without releasing his grip on her arm and adjusted her hijab to partially cover her face. She glimpsed the pistol out of the corner of her eye. He quickly hid it under a scarf, and she felt the barrel press into her back. They turned into small streets without shops, just apartments and occasional row houses.
Ashley stuck out her jaw defiantly. She would not cry. Her heart raced, and her face turned red. She refused to give this terrorist the pleasure of seeing her fear. She drew a deep breath and gritted her teeth as they walked. No one on the street seemed to be aware of her plight.
Ashley trembled at what might lie ahead. Sexual assault seemed worse than being beaten. Is he going to kill me? Why me? Why did he drag me away? She realized she had become a target. Not a random crime that took advantage of a demonstration gone awry. But why?
She had read of obsessed men stalking women. Had he been the one to follow her up that rocky incline at Herodian outside of Bethlehem? She had seen his eyes gazing at her. Same eyes behind those dark glasses. As the puzzle pieces connected together in her mind, it all made sense. For some reason he had pursued her in at least three places. Had he seen her elsewhere also? Her mind raced. She fought tears of anger and frustration. She must not cry. She had to remain alert and strong.
Ashley thought of Marie and David. They would be frantically looking for her. She searched with her eyes and even stole a backward glance over her left shoulder, but they were not following. She knew Jim and her friends would make every effort to find her. But how would they know where to even look in the complicated mass of buildings that comprised the Old City and the maze of the Muslim Quarter? Ashley shook her head, losing hope of escape.
Out of the chaos, from somewhere in the back of her mind, floated the old song her grandmother Millie sang about God’s eye being even on the sparrow: “And I know he watches me.” Ashley prayed silently, “Father, you are watching. You took care of me in Bethlehem. Please, God, help me now!”
Chapter 49
They turned down several alleyways before Ashley’s captor shoved her through an entryway and up a flight of stairs. Unlocking an apartment door, he pushed her in and locked it with the key from the inside. Dropping her arm he motioned with his pistol for Ashley to sit on an overstuffed chair. He dialed his cell phone with his thumb while still pointing his gun at her.
“Umar!” The rest of the short conversation she couldn’t understand. Surveying the room, Ashley noticed some well-worn pillows on a worn rose-colored sofa and a number of pictures of people and scenes of Jerusalem. The kitchen off the living room contained a propane stove and a scratched white refrigerator. Everything appeared old and dark. The one window covered with a steel grate looked out into the narrow street and across it to other buildings nearby. They looked like apartments. A hall led to the back.
Finishing his conversation, he searched her backpack and removed her cell phone. With the pack, her captor pushed her down the hall and into a small dingy bathroom with no window and shut the door. An old bathtub seemed too small for most adults. Her mind flew through many scenarios as she locked the door and used the toilet, a porcelain base on the floor with a hole and a tank above with chain for flushing. She had read of Turkish toilets. Her face in the mirror looked dirty. She washed her h
ands and face in the basin, but left on the hijab. She was trapped and uncomfortable. There seemed to be no escape.
Ashley stepped out into the hall. The man set the gun down on a small table behind him, making sure she saw it. It had some protrusion on the barrel at the end. He spoke ominously in English, “Quiet.” She then recognized the extension on the gun as a silencer, but maybe he meant her to be quiet, not the weapon. Ashley’s eyes widened. A silencer. She had seen them in gun shops in Oklahoma. He could kill her almost silently. He probably would if she screamed.
He shoved her silently into a small bedroom, windowless and dark. He flipped the switch, lighting a spare bulb hanging from the ceiling, gestured toward the bed, and left. She heard the lock click in the door. After a minute of silence, Ashley moved toward the door. Locked in. Taking off her hijab, she lay down on the dirty pink spread covering a single bed. Exhausted. She stared at the ceiling. Her hope of rescue was now gone, barring a miracle of God. What did her captor plan on doing with her? Ashley cried silently and let the tears flow freely.
Walid opened the apartment door at the knock and spoke in Arabic. “Umar, asalam alekum!”
“Asalam alekum. You sound happy.”
“I am. I can almost see the check for thousands of dollars. And we can punish the Americans and Israelis who persecute us.”
“Do you mean you found the American girl?”
“Umar, I not only found her. She’s here! In my mother’s apartment. In the bedroom now with the door locked!” Walid continued, telling his friend the whole story of finding and capturing Ashley. He related watching her ascend the ramp to the Temple Mount and waiting for her to come down, not imagining she would ever join the demonstration. It proved almost too good to be true and made it easy to catch her. Then having her here and his mother away working until ten, everything turned out perfectly. “But we have to make plans to take care of the problem.”
“So what are you suggesting ‘we’ do?”
“If you want to get in on the reward, you have to be part of the action, Umar.”
“Alright. I’m in. Now tell me your plan.”
Walid checked his watch. “It’s five o’clock now. When it’s dark, you and I will walk out to the nearby Damascus Gate to get the car. It’s in a guarded lot fairly close. We’ll drive to the Gate, and I’ll leave you there in the car, ready to move it if needed since you can’t park there or drive through it.”
“So I’m in the car waiting.”
“Yes. I’ll force her to put on an old Afghan Chadri of my mother’s so she’ll be covered from head to toe and look like an old lady. She’s a fighter and kicked me. To be sure she’s quiet, I’ll have my gun with the silencer so she can see it, but hide it under a scarf when we are walking. We’ll use the streets without shops. Without many lights, no one will notice us.”
“So what do we do when we get her in the car?”
“We’ll tie her hands, maybe her feet. Then we drive down the Jericho Road into the desert. I know a side road we can drive on without lights. The moon is well over half-full to the east, so we can see. Not even the Bedouins live on the hillsides in that area. Bring your pistol, and the two of us can finish off the infidel, bury her with my shovel I have in the car, and come home. No body to discover. No way to find us.”
Walid waited for several moments for Umar to speak. He felt a strange heaviness himself. Finally he heard a subdued, “OK.”
Somehow “finish off the infidel” dampened his enthusiasm for the money as he thought of his beautiful victim.
By eight p.m. and after eating, Walid and Umar crept silently out of the apartment to walk to the Damascus Gate. She wouldn’t know they were gone.
“Are you sure you are going to be able to keep her from crying out or screaming when you bring her to the car?”
“The gun speaks English, Umar. She knows I could shoot her with the silencer on and no one would know. She’d just fall quietly. Remember, I know a way to the gate that avoids any shops that might be open. Besides, it’s dark.”
Chapter 50
Walid’s mother wiped the glass cabinets of the jewelry shop again since strangely no customers appeared. At eight p.m. she wondered why the Souk remained so quiet, empty of tourists. Probably because of the day’s demonstration and shooting. Her shopkeeper boss smiled at his employee in her hijab. She knew his customers enjoyed her friendly manner and that she earned every bit of her salary and more.
“It’s as quiet as Saladin’s tomb tonight, Salma. You take the rest of the evening off, and I’ll see you tomorrow. No sense in both of us staying here until ten.”
Salma strolled the short distance to her apartment, stopping at her favorite open stall for some halal beef and a few vegetables. She climbed the stairs and on opening the door immediately noticed the smell of food. “Walid, are you here? You should be home with your family.” She called out again. No answer. She didn’t know whether to be puzzled or angry at her son, or both. She looked in the bathroom and saw the towel had dropped to the floor. She tried the bedroom door. Locked. Someone had locked it and left the key on the small table.
“What is going on? Walid, are you in there?” she called.
From behind the door, a woman’s voice called out something she didn’t understand. Walid didn’t answer. She waited a minute for them to dress, and opened the door.
A beautiful young woman stood looking at Salma, fully dressed. No Walid. She looked European, not Semitic, and had long golden hair. She had obviously been crying and probably sleeping since her hair appeared uncombed. But the bed looked as though it had not been used, except for the pillow. Her eyes glistened, wide-eyed, staring at Salma. Something seemed very wrong. Trembling, the young woman nodded to Salma and bowed slightly, greeting her in Arabic.
“Asalam alekum. I’d like to explain to you, but I don’t know Arabic.”
Salma had learned some English in the shop and recognized a few words. She realized this woman spoke English only. She returned the greeting and then asked, “Walid here?” in English.
“No.” The woman shrugged and raised her palms.
Salma understood that she didn’t know where Walid had gone. She noticed bruise marks on the young woman’s right arm. What is this all about? She’s not much more than a girl. Something bad has happened to her. Walid must have put her here. Why, and what happened that he locked her up? He must be coming back before ten, when she would normally arrive home. Why would Walid do this to a girl? What does she want to do?
At that moment, the young woman used her hand, motioned toward the apartment door, and then pointed to herself saying, “Go!”
Salma understood immediately. She directed the young woman to follow her. They hurried down the stairs and out into the narrow street. Salma didn’t know where she wanted to go and shrugged with hands up, pointing first one way toward the Damascus Gate, and then the other way toward the center of the Souk.
“Jaffa Gate!”
“Ah, ha!” Salma nodded and pointed toward the shops. The young woman burst into tears and quickly enveloped Salma with a huge hug. Then she scampered away like a frightened gazelle.
At that moment Walid strode from the opposite direction on his return from the Damascus Gate. He saw his mother and the girl from a distance. He broke into a run. No! She’s released the infidel!
Salma blocked him. He almost knocked her over. She grabbed his arm. “Mother, let me go! I have to get her! She’s bad. I can’t let her go. Quit hanging on to me!” He struggled to free himself.
“Walid, you should be ashamed of yourself! I don’t know what’s going on, but that’s not the way Mohammed, peace be upon him, would want you to treat a woman.”
“She’ll go to the police and report me. You have no idea what I’ll lose. I’m sorry, Mother.” He jerked his arm violently, causing Salma to fall, and dashed after the girl. He saw her stop momentarily. A shopkeeper pointed west toward the Jaffa Gate, and she turned the corner. Walid had never seen a woman run l
ike that. Her head covering blew off. She sprinted like a football forward flying toward the goal. Walid tried to catch up, but he could not close the forty-meter gap. He noticed a few people on the street, staring, first at her blond hair flying, then at him. She seemed to be headed toward the police station near the Jaffa Gate. She turned to see him. He slowed down and ducked into a side street. He’d failed. He’d been seen by too many people. Possibly even the police. Disaster loomed.
Salma picked herself up, shook her head, and limped back up the stairs. Her hip landed on the street and she was in pain. She kicked the door open. Her son had become a wild man, locking up an American young woman in his mother’s apartment then chasing her down the street. He had no respect for age and knocked his own mother down. She could have broken her hip. She slammed the apartment door and screamed after him, “You’re no Muslim! I hope she gets away!”
The guesthouse front room might well have been hung in black crepe. The team gathered around some pizza, but no one seemed hungry. A heaviness permeated everyone on the team. Jim sighed deeply and suggested they give thanks for the food. All heads bowed. Someone sniffled. Jim felt so helpless, so despairing of finding Ashley. The whole “trip of a lifetime” came crashing down in tragedy. What could they do in the morning? The whole team would be flying home, leaving at five a.m. Without Ashley. He would stay behind. They had just discussed how Ashley had survived the bombing at home and an armed kidnapping attempt in Bethlehem, and now this.
Suddenly Jim heard someone running, and a disheveled Ashley bolted through the door, gasping for air, and collapsed on the table.
Living Stones Page 16