A Love and Beyond

by Dan Sofer

  “Dave, Dave, Dave,” the kidnapper said. ‘“Am I disappointed in you.”

  ***

  Shani shifted on the passenger seat.

  The digital clock on the dashboard read 10:02 AM. Dave had left the car twenty minutes ago.

  Where is he?

  If Dave had let anything happen to Mandy…

  She balled her hands into fists.

  “Five more minutes,” she said aloud. “Five more and we follow.”

  She climbed over the gear stick and into the driver’s seat. Just in case they needed a fast getaway.

  “He loves her,” Ruchama said, apropos nothing. She had devoured her takeaways and fallen into a thoughtful silence.

  “Who?”

  “Dave. He still loves Mandy.”

  “Please.”

  “He’s here, no? He could have stayed in the hotel.”

  Shani sighed. “If Dave had loved Mandy, he wouldn’t have dumped her. He’s just covering his tracks. He doesn’t want a scene with an old flame to upset his new girlfriend.”

  The car purred. Shani turned the vent and cool air blew on her face. Ruchama rapped her fingers on the lid of the cooler.

  “Maybe he wants a second chance?”

  “There are no second chances, Roo.”

  Shani stopped herself in time. She knew about second chances.

  That was a long time ago. She had been young and naïve. It had kicked off a chain of events that had made her who she was today. But she was not going into that, not even with Ruchama.

  Her phone rang. She snatched it up.

  “Dave? Where are you?”

  Silence.

  “Hi,” Dave said. “I need help.”

  “Is Mandy OK?”

  Another pause.

  “Can you come?”

  “We’re on our way.”

  “One more thing,” Dave said. “Bring the cooler bag.”

  ***

  The keypad beeped six times and the door to Mandy’s cell clicked open.

  Mandy sat up on the stiff bed.

  Since the previous night, she had had little interaction with the Sons of Light. She had heard a commotion of footsteps and angry voices beyond the door.

  Heads would roll for her near escape. Or for taking her hostage in the first place. The Sons of Light made for one seriously dysfunctional family.

  But, if what she had learned was true, she had cause for hope.

  Dave was on his way. Had he negotiated her release already?

  Damian stood in the doorway with a tray.

  Not yet.

  John had delivered her breakfast that morning. He had let her out for a short bathroom break and watched her eat without a word. Mandy had a better chance of squeezing information out of Damian.

  That would prove easier than she had expected.

  Damian walked up to her.

  “Everything will be OK,” he whispered.

  He placed the tray beside her on the bed.

  A few slices of whole-wheat bread, an apple, and a tumbler of milky water.

  He hovered over her.

  “I’ll have a word with the Teacher,” he said. “When things calm down.”

  “What about Dave?”

  “Shh.”

  He placed a finger over his lips. He winked at her, pulled the hood over his head, and left the room.

  The Teacher.

  Mandy had hoped for a responsible adult and a fast track to freedom. Her hopes faded by the hour. With his white robes and graying goatee, the so-called Teacher of Righteousness seemed as delusional and unpredictable as the rest.

  She ate her lunch.

  One full day in prison. Would her flatmates worry about her yet? It was Independence Day. They wouldn’t make anything of it until Sunday.

  It didn’t matter.

  Dave was sure to rescue her by then.

  They’d have one great story for their grandkids.

  Six beeps and the heavy door clicked open again.

  That was quick.

  The man at the door pulled back his hood. It was Jay.

  “G’day, Mary,” he said. “Fancy some company?”

  Mandy shuddered. She had feared this might happen. Jay would not be as subtle or hesitant as Damian.

  But he didn’t have romance on his mind. He pushed two figures wrapped in gray cloaks into the room and they sprawled on the floor.

  He leered at Mandy before closing the door.

  The figures wallowed and groaned, trying and failing to get up.

  Mandy rushed to the nearest. Duct tape bound the wrists. She sat the figure up and pulled back the hood.

  Mandy recoiled in shock.

  She pulled back the hood of the other figure.

  “Shani,” she said. “Ruchama. What are you doing here?”

  ***

  The Teacher of Righteousness arranged the documents in a row on the wooden desk.

  Five paper rectangles. Five texts of varying size. Five windows on the future.

  One scroll.

  One Truth.

  He had printed two off the Internet. Three he had acquired and scanned.

  Number six still eluded him.

  Jay had sworn to produce the final piece today, yet the sun had started to fall and the Teacher waited still.

  Jay had shown promise. He had produced two jars. He had joined the Sons of Light, converted to The Way. But his zeal was a pile of gunpowder, and yesterday Jay had lit the fuse. He had ignored the Teacher’s warnings. He had kidnapped a girl and brought her into the heart of the Yachad. He had fired a flare into the night sky and shattered the dome of invisibility the Teacher had worked so hard to construct.

  Within twenty-four hours, his star disciple had become a liability.

  If Jay kept his promise, none of this would matter. The Sons of Light would outlive their utility. The Teacher would seize the prize and shed his followers and their failings along with his white cloak.

  There came a knock at the door.

  He collected the papers together and shoved them into a drawer of the desk.

  “Enter,” he said.

  Jay stood in the doorway. He smiled obsequiously. He held a large, orange box.

  Was this some kind of joke?

  “I have it,” Jay said. “We have it.” He placed the box on the desk with pride. He was panting.

  “Good,” the Teacher said. “Leave us.”

  Jay’s smile dropped. He made no move to leave. He had more news and the Teacher would not like it.

  “And?”

  “Schwarz,” Jay said. “I told him to come alone but he brought two girls.”

  “What of it?”

  “Well…” Jay chuckled reflexively. “We got them too.”

  “What?”

  “They saw us. And the jar. I couldn’t let them go blabbing. I put them with Mandy for now.”

  The Teacher cleared his throat. “Now we have three prisoners?”

  “Well. Four. We have Schwarz as well.”

  The Teacher inhaled long and deep. Four prisoners. One for each disciple.

  “We’ll deal with the Sons of Darkness later,” he said. “Now let me be.”

  Jay hurried out the room and closed the door.

  The Sons of Darkness. The Teacher smiled at the neatness of it all.

  He pulled the lid off the box and peered inside. The jar lay on a bed of bubble wrap. The Teacher did not stand on ceremony. He extracted the jar, cleared the desktop of the box, and spread the bubble wrap on the table. From a drawer of the desk, he withdrew a hammer and rubber gloves.

  He took a few moments to admire the jar and its inscription. Then he steadied the jar on the desk and brought the hammer down.

  ***

  “These guys are crazy,” Mandy told her flatmates, now her cell mates. “Certifiable. They all think they’re biblical characters. King David. King Solomon. The one who brought you in thinks he’s Jesus Christ.”

  Shani shook her head. She sat next to Ruch
ama on the hard bed. “Jerusalem Syndrome. Happens to tourists all the time. The Kfar Shaul psychiatric hospital is full of them.”

  “Our King David?” Ruchama asked.

  “Yeah,” Mandy said. “But I wouldn’t call him that, if I were you. He might fall in love. They’ve got their own weird religion. They call themselves the Sons of Light. And they’re supposed to be celibate. I think they’re vegan too. They’re looking for a jar connected to the Dead Sea Scrolls. Don’t ask me why.”

  The company of her friends gave Mandy a boost of energy and she almost forgot that she was a prisoner. Told this way, her story sounded like an adventure. It would have a happy ending.

  “A scroll jar?” Shani said. “Dave said they were after a magic stone.”

  “Dave? You spoke to Dave?”

  “Who do you think got us into this mess?”

  Shani told her about Dave’s phone call and their trip to Qumran.

  “I told you there was more going on,” she said. “Dave got into trouble with the Sons of Light. That’s why he had to break up with me.”

  Shani and Ruchama exchanged glances. Ruchama looked at the floor.

  “What?”

  “Mands,” Shani said. “Dave wasn’t trying to protect you. He really has a new girlfriend.”

  “Come on, Shani.”

  “I’m serious. She was with Dave at the Crowne Plaza. Her parents too. We met them. And Dave was not happy to have us around.”

  Mandy felt the energy drain out her legs. This was Dave breaking up with her all over again.

  “But he’s coming to rescue us.”

  Shani shook her head.

  “Don’t count on it. He led us into their trap. The meshugenas got what they wanted. We haven’t seen him since. He probably traded us for a few camels. For all we know he’s on his way back to the hotel and his new girl.”

  Ruchama nodded.

  It was true.

  Dave had another girl. He was not riding to her rescue. Dave was… not who she thought he was.

  Mandy broke into sobs. Her chest trembled. Tears burned tracks down her cheeks. Her friends embraced her on either side.

  “I’ve been such a fool.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “Shh. It’ll be OK.”

  She wiped at her tears. Things were not OK. She had followed Dave into hell and dragged her friends after.

  “How are we going to get out of here?”

  “We’ll think of something. If they’re as crazy as you say, they’ll mess up.”

  The keypad beeped again. The door unlocked.

  Jay had returned. Another cloak-wrapped figure tumbled into the holding cell and the door closed.

  Shani stepped over to the writhing heap and pulled back the hood.

  Dave Schwarz had joined the party.

  ***

  The Teacher looked up from the desk. Before him lay the scroll in its entirety, the five pieces united for the first time in two thousand years. He had deciphered the final passage. Laid bare its secrets.

  I should have guessed. The solution was brilliant. Where else to hide such a trove?

  Act now. While you can.

  The Teacher sent a text message from his phone. He collected the sheets of paper and stowed them in the drawer along with the chunks of shattered pottery. He tucked the copper square into his canvas shoulder bag.

  There was a knock at the door. Jay stood at attention.

  “Gather the troops,” the Teacher said. “We leave in five minutes. Bring all your equipment. Be ready for the unexpected.”

  Jay’s eyes widened with lust but he hesitated. “Teacher,” he said. “What about the Sons of Darkness? They could… get in our way.”

  They had discussed this before. The Teacher had accommodated Jay’s requests for exotic supplies but he drew the line at weaponry. Jay was the sort of man to use it.

  “Not by might,” the Teacher quoted. “Nor by power, but by My Spirit, said the Lord of Hosts.”

  Jay’s chest rose and fell. The Teacher had stretched his patience again. The anticipation made it hard for him to restrain his passions. Careful now. You still need him.

  “But to be safe,” the Teacher added, “tell John to stay behind and guard the prisoners.”

  Jay made to protest but the Teacher raised his hand.

  “Hurry now. Your birthright awaits.”

  Jay nodded and fled the chamber. So easily prodded. Pity the fool.

  The Teacher fished a small key from his pocket and unlocked the bottom drawer. A silver pistol lay among a clump of loose bullets. He lifted the pistol, unhinged the barrel, and inserted the silver slugs. He slipped the weapon into his shoulder bag. Just in case.

  He was right to separate the two friends. A mutiny at this point would be fatal, although, by the night’s end, the Sons of Light would cease to exist.

  The End of Days. Irony curled the edges of his lips.

  He looked about the chamber for the last time. The orange box caught his eye. He lifted the lid. A silvery glint. The other object in the cooler still sat in bubble wrap. The Teacher picked up the cylinder and pried the lid open.

  A black stone, polished to perfection. The Teacher’s face stared back. The stone seemed to hum pleasantly. It begged to be held.

  “Hello,” said the Teacher. “What do we have here?”

  ***

  Dave squirmed on the hard floor. His arms ached.

  He had lain in darkness, his wrists bound behind his back, his mouth sealed with tape, his head covered by a rough hood, for what seemed an eternity. Then the men had hauled him out of the van, up steps, and through a corridor.

  Shani looked down at him.

  “Hm-hrr-mm,” he said. I’m sorry.

  Shani made no effort to untie him. She looked at him as if he was a bug stuck to the underside of her shoe.

  He wasn’t getting his message across.

  He struggled against the thick duct tape.

  No luck.

  He rolled onto his side, kicked his legs, stuck his elbow into the ground, and achieved a sitting position. A second figure approached him, Ruchama, and pulled the tape from his mouth.

  “Ouch,” he said. Then, “Thanks.”

  She got to work on his hands. A spiral fluorescent on the wall cast a yellow glow over the stark room, which contained two steel-framed cots and…

  Mandy!

  Dave staggered to his feet.

  “Thank God you’re all right.”

  She glanced sideways at him. She had been crying.

  “Keep your distance,” Shani said. “If you know what’s good for you.”

  Fear gripped Dave from head to toe.

  If those bastards had hurt her in any way…

  “Is she… Did they hurt her?”

  “They haven’t hurt her,” Shani said. “But I told her the truth.”

  “What truth?”

  Shani rolled her eyes. “About your girlfriend.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief.

  Mandy was unharmed. That’s what mattered. She might hate him. He deserved that. He could live with that. And he had a lifetime to make it up to her. He would need it. But the cruel man and his accomplices had not laid a hand on her.

  Thank the Good Lord.

  The road ahead was clear. The insight that had quickened in the tunnel below the City of David had stirred again on the road to Qumran. On the dark, hot floor of the van, the conviction had burst into the world.

  There’s nothing so powerful as a man who knows what he wants.

  Dave knew what he wanted.

  “Mandy,” he said. “I can explain.”

  Mandy turned to face the wall.

  Shani folded her arms. “This’ll be good.”

  “Shani, stay out of this.”

  “I’d love to.” Shani spread her arms indicating the prison cell. “But here I am. Thanks to you.”

  “I had no choice. They had seen you and th
ey wanted the scroll jar. It was the only way to get Mandy back.”

  Mandy blew her nose and ignored him.

  Shani had turned her against him. He didn’t blame Shani, either. He’d have to work hard to earn back their trust.

  He could start by setting them free.

  There came the sound of beeping and the shifting of bolts.

  He turned toward the door.

  The cruel man stood in the doorway. He slapped the cricket bat on the palm of his hand and smiled.

  Dave could run at him, knock him down. But the memory of the bat still stung the side of his head. And behind the man stood others.

  “You,” the man said. He pointed the bat at Mandy. “Come with me.”

  Mandy glanced at Dave and made for the door.

  “Mandy, no!”

  But it was too late. Mandy had walked through the doorway.

  “What do you want with her?”

  The man winked at Dave. “Just a little insurance. Be good and she’ll be home and hosed before you know it.”

  Chapter 13

  The shift manager at the Crowne Plaza had looked forward to a quiet evening.

  Hotel occupancy had dipped, the Israelis preferring the wild parties of Tel Aviv to mud massages and sulfur springs on Independence Day.

  That suited him well.

  The all-nighter also provided a convenient escape from the annual Nakba get-together at his in-laws’, who seized every opportunity to mourn the existence of the Jewish State, the source of their gainful employment, health insurance, child stipends, and all other worldly evils.

  He closed the door of his office, poured himself a generous serving of Johnnie Walker from the bottle he stashed in the desk drawer, and eased back on the padded leather armchair.

  He breathed in the heady scent of Scottish aqua vitae. The second sip was always more palatable than the first, the third even more so.

  He aimed the remote at the flat-screen television and flipped channels.

  The Jerry Springer Show had just started.

  His favorite.

  He joined in the war cry: Jer-ry. Jer-ry. Jer-ry.

  There was a knock at the door.

  He slipped the whisky glass out of sight and muted the screen.

  A head with close-cropped hair poked through the crack of the door.

  “Excuse me, sir,” the boy said in Arabic. “A woman at the desk demands to see you.”

  The desk hand, an eager lad from Jericho, was two days on the job and his English lacked polish. Probably a minor misunderstanding.