Outside Eden (32 page)

Ben Haim drove through, wondering if he was making a grave mistake. This woman was the follower of a fanatic. Once they got to the dig, she might kill him anyway. And what did she want at the dig now, at night on a holiday? The shock of finding her in his car was wearing off; he began thinking more clearly.

‘What will you do at the site?’

‘Not your concern.’

‘Of course it’s my concern. It’s taken years to get this project underway, and we’re beginning to make progress—’

‘I don’t care about your stupid dig.’

She didn’t? ‘Then why are we going there?’

He watched her in the mirror. She sniffled, watching the road, the windows. Agitated. Not focusing on him. He could swerve, knock her off balance, and as she recovered, he could open the door and jump . . .

‘Don’t you know what’s happened?’

‘You mean at the kibbutz? I heard about a fight in a bunker. Your pastor apparently tried to kill a woman, and two men were killed—’

‘Did you know the pastor’s dead?’

He hadn’t known that.

‘He burned to death.’

‘What? No, I didn’t know.’ Ben Haim had heard the fire alarm, wondered what had happened. Whether anyone else had been hurt. ‘That’s terrible.’

She sniffed. ‘I was his assistant. He left some supplies at the site.’

‘Supplies?’ Ben Haim considered slamming on the brakes, jumping out when she fell backwards. He watched her in the mirror, smearing away tears. She looked fragile, maybe broken. Not like a killer.

He drove more calmly, finally turning into the parking lot of the old Megiddo prison. Saw some cars parked there. Wait. Were other people there?

‘Drop me over by those rental cars.’

‘Those are yours?’

‘The church rented them.’ She paused. ‘The Lord promises us eternal glory if we complete three sacrifices by the ninth of Av.’

‘That’s today.’

‘We are to offer a Muslim, a Christian and a Jew.’

‘What?’

‘I’ve done the first two. Pastor tried the Jew and failed.’

Ben Haim pulled over to the rentals and stopped the car. The knife pressed the back of his neck. He stiffened. ‘I have children.’

‘All God’s children will rise and share His glory.’ She opened the door, put one foot out and leaned forward, reaching the knife around to his throat. When she slashed at him, Ben Haim grabbed her arm, twisted it and tossed her out of the car. His back door was open, flapping as he stepped on the gas. He looked back, saw Lynne sprawled on the ground beside the rental cars. She was still clutching the knife, but her head was bent, and she sobbed, thwarted again.

The hotel was closed off. Police cars with flashing lights blocked the road. Harper sat in the back of the jeep, scanning the area. The intersection was lined with camera crews, police, soldiers, military vehicles, ambulances. The entire hotel and street around it were lit up, glowing in the night. The soldiers who’d driven them to Jerusalem pulled as close to the hotel as they could, spoke in Hebrew to each other, commenting on the scene.

Everyone – the whole world – must have known about the hostage situation. But Harper hadn’t even suspected. She wanted to thrash Hagit, to blacken her other eye. How could she have kept the truth from her, hiding from her the fact that Hank had been kidnapped? That seven of the symposium attendees had been taken prisoner in the hotel? How long had Hagit known? And why had she agreed to keep such a terrible secret? Harper had saved her life – at the very least, Hagit owed her honesty, didn’t she?

Harper’s jaw ached from clenching her teeth. She glared at Hagit, fists itching to deck her. Saw a haggard, gray-haired lady with a bandaged neck and forehead.

‘You’re angry.’

How perceptive of her.

Hagit shrugged. ‘I don’t blame you. But it was decided to keep you uninformed as long as possible. To keep you from getting involved.’

It was decided? ‘Who decided? Your government? Who gave them the right to decide what I know about my husband—?’

‘No, it wasn’t the government.’ Hagit watched her with tired, sympathetic eyes.

Then who?

‘Harper. It was your husband. He asked that you not be told.’

What? Not possible. Why would Hank ask that? ‘How? If he’s a prisoner, how could he manage to ask anything?’

‘When they were taken, he still had a phone. He made a call to Inspector Alon. That’s how.’

Harper felt slapped. Hank had had his phone, had called the police. But, instead of asking them to contact her and bring her back, he’d asked them to keep her uninformed?

‘He wanted you to stay where you were. To be safe. Not to worry.’

Harper looked out the window at the hotel.

‘That was, after all, the whole point of you going in the first place.’

Wait, what? Harper’s chest tightened. ‘What are you talking about?’

Hagit sighed. ‘There was intelligence. Reports that the symposium might be targeted—’

‘Who are they? What do they want?’

‘They’re terrorists. What do terrorists ever want? They want to terrorize. In this case, they want to disrupt international cooperation. To punish Arab countries for cooperating with Israel, even as regards something as critical as water. And they want to use the opportunity to free some fellow terrorists from prison.’

Harper’s hands were icy. The lights and barricade went all the way around the hotel. No way she could penetrate. Unless there was an underground entrance. But the guards weren’t fools; they would have them covered, too. Damn. What could she do? There had to be a way in.

Finally, she looked at Hagit. ‘The truth. Are they alive?’

Hagit reached out, put her hand on Harper’s. ‘We have been assured, but we have no proof. Without the internal cameras working, we don’t know. But we’ll find out soon. The exchange is soon. Set for two a.m.’

‘What time is it?’

Hagit asked the driver; he answered in Hebrew.

‘Almost time.’ Hagit looked out the side of the jeep at the sky. ‘The helicopter should be here.’

Helicopter?

‘With the prisoners.’

‘I thought Israel doesn’t negotiate with terrorists.’

Hagit sighed. ‘It isn’t just us. Jordanian, French and Egyptian delegates were taken. There is pressure to get them back alive.’

Harper closed her eyes, trying to absorb all the information. Her chest was raw, her legs numb from sitting still with Chloe’s weight on her lap.

‘Look. It was hard for me not to tell you. But it was for the best.’

The soldiers turned to Hagit, jabbering, nodding at the sky. Harper heard the distant chop of a helicopter. Oh God. Her skin prickled, alert. What if something went wrong? Where was Hank? Was he alive? Again, she saw him, his bloodstained polo shirt.

‘How’s the exchange supposed to happen? When will they release the prisoners?’

Hagit looked away. ‘I don’t know the details. They know what they’re doing, though. Trust them.’

Like hell. ‘Tell me.’

The helicopter hovered overhead, drowning out their voices. Hagit had to shout.

‘The helicopter can’t land on this hotel. So it’s landing a block down. On an office building.’

And?

‘This is their demand: the street is to be empty. No army, no police. The kidnappers will drive the hostages to that office building in armored cars. They will release them only when they find their demands have been met, and then they will take off in the helicopter.’

‘How do they know they won’t get shot down?’

Hagit’s face told her the answer. Of course: they would take a hostage with them. Maybe several.

And then, when they were safely away, they’d kill them.

The helicopter stayed over the street, waiting as a pair of black limousines penetrated the blockade, drove to the front door of the hotel.

Harper sat up, not breathing, throat clenched. The street was empty, just as the kidnappers had demanded. Soldiers, officials stood around the perimeter, armed but helpless. Harper saw people beginning to file out of the hotel. Were these the hostages? She watched for Hank. Didn’t see him. Couldn’t wait any more. Couldn’t sit. In a heartbeat, she thrust sleeping Chloe onto Hagit’s lap.

‘Hold her for a minute,’ she shouted over the helicopter’s engine.

Before Hagit could respond, Harper opened the door and hopped out of the jeep, standing where she could see the front of the hotel. Their driver climbed out, joining her, his hand near his weapon.

‘Harper,’ Hagit yelled out the window. ‘Don’t be stupid—’

‘I need to watch for Hank.’

Up ahead, across the street, men were getting into the limousines. In a moment, they’d drive off. Where were Trent and Hank? She squinted into the lights and, for the briefest moment, glimpsed Hank. He was wearing a white polo and cargo pants, and he lowered his head, climbing into the second limo.

Harper’s knees threatened to give way. She grabbed onto the soldier’s arm, biting her lip to stifle a wail. The limo doors closed, engines started and, as Harper’s eyes filled with angry tears, the cars blurred and pulled out of the driveway, heading up the street.

Helpless, Harper stood in the street beside the jeep, watching the second limo, aware of Hank, each heartbeat, each breath. Was he thinking of her now? Did he know she was there? The limo proceeded slowly, steadily. Coming closer. Looking larger.

Police, soldiers, everyone stood silent, rapt as the limos approached. The helicopter moved, finally, heading for a nearby rooftop. Dimly, Harper became aware of voices. People shouting in a side street, but she paid no notice, kept her eyes on the limos, watching for Hank until, behind her, she heard a sharp metallic crash.

Harper pivoted, saw a smashed ambulance, a broken barricade. A couple of soldiers running, weapons raised. And a car careening up the street – not a limo or security vehicle, not military. A new Corolla.

Around her, police and soldiers remained focused on the hostages, the helicopter. But the Corolla was barreling ahead, accelerating, on a collision course with the limousines. Harper didn’t think; she just reacted, grabbing the soldier beside her, pulling out his gun. Raising it, aiming, shoving him away when he fought her for it. Aiming again while he and others finally saw the car. Seeing it change direction, steer right towards her, just heartbeats away. Steadying her stance, inhaling, Harper glimpsed the driver’s face. Saw that it wasn’t one of the kidnappers. And fired anyway.

From then on, it was a jumble. The recoil of her gun. The firing of many others. The screech of the car veering out of control. A thick weight knocking Harper’s back, pushing her away. A crack like the sky shattering. The shaking of the earth. Harper pictured Chloe and Hank and, as the night around her erupted in flame, she thought that Travis had been right. It was the end of the world.

Don’t cry, Lynne comforted herself. Don’t fall apart. Ben Haim didn’t matter. There would be other chances. Meantime, she had to keep going. She got up, brushed herself off. Headed for the rental cars.

There was one for each sector. But with the rest of the church being loaded onto buses and taken away, the designated drivers wouldn’t be around. She didn’t know who besides herself was free. Had they ever found Marlene? Was Lowell still loose? What about the guys in the medical center? Were they still there? Never mind. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. All that mattered was finishing the sacrifice. She would do it, still had time.

Her hands were dirty, two – no, three nails broken. Blood crusted around one of them. Her fingers were unsteady. She needed to pray. Please, Lord, give me strength. Guide me to fulfill Your wishes . . .

She stopped, mid-prayer, unable to finish. Angry. What kind of God was she working for? Travis had led his people across the world, had devoted himself to obeying God’s coded word. And look what had happened. Couldn’t an all-powerful Lord cut them a single break? So far, at every attempt, they’d confronted obstacles. Been stifled. People had died. Travis . . . Travis had died. What kind of a twisted freaking cold-hearted God would permit that? She stopped, stared up at heaven and let out a bellow. A howl.

But what was she to do? She couldn’t just walk away. Had to finish it so Travis could come back. So they could be together.

But what about Peter? What if he came back, too? It wouldn’t happen, she decided. But if it did, Ramsey would simply explain that he and she were soul mates. That God Himself had paired them. And Peter would buzz off. Lord, guide me, she whispered. Lord, give me strength.

Tears blurred her vision. She smeared them across her face, deciding which car to take. Were they all the same? She hadn’t paid attention, hadn’t been assigned to this phase of the plan. If she relaxed and opened her mind, Travis’s spirit would guide her to the right one. She took a breath, straightened her spine, closed her eyes. Waited for a sign. Thought of the number three, like the trinity. Like the triad of lambs. Headed for the third car from the left. Stopped. Reconsidered. She was in Israel; Hebrew was read right to left. Maybe she should take the third car from the right. Why was every single little step so complicated? What difference did it make which car she used? It didn’t. She could take any of them and it would be fine. She opened the door to the third car from the right, found the keys under the seat, found the phone, punched in the number pasted to it, started the engine, pulled out of the parking lot.

The whole way to Jerusalem, she sang hymns. Once there, she used her GPS to find the hotel and even then got lost. Jerusalem was a maze. Street names changed randomly. Roads wound into each other. Finally, she found the hotel . . . But something was going on there. The road was blocked. Maybe because of the holiday? She’d heard you weren’t supposed to drive in Jerusalem on holidays. She’d heard people had been spat at, that cars had been stoned. But this looked different. The street ahead was bright with huge lights. She pulled up as close as she could. A guard stepped over to her car.

‘It’s a detour,’ he barked. ‘Go back and around.’ His English was good. He pointed to show her the way.

Lynne nodded, thanked him. Before she turned the car around, though, she looked up and down the road. The spotlights were aimed across the street, onto the King Saul Hotel, the very place she’d been headed. That couldn’t be a coincidence.