CHAPTER TWELVE
IT didn't take Buck long to learn what Michael meant by “feathering” the throttle. Any time Buck clutched to shift, the engine nearly stalled. When he came to a complete stop, he had to keep his left foot on the clutch, his right heel on the brake, and feather the throttle with the toes of his right foot.
Along with the title to the dilapidated rig, Michael had included a rough map. “There are four different places where you can cross over from Israel into Egypt by auto,” Michael had told him. The two most direct were at Rafah on the Gaza Strip. “But these have always been heavily patrolled. You might rather head south directly out of Jerusalem through Hebron to Beersheba. I would advise continuing southeast out of Beersheba, though that is slightly out of your way. About two-thirds of the way between Beersheba and Yeroham is a southern but mostly western cutoff that takes you through the northern edge of the Negev. You're less than fifty kilometers from the border there, and when you come within less than ten kilometers, you can head north and west or continue due west. I couldn't guess which border would be easier to get through. I would recommend the southern, because you can then continue to a northwest route that takes you directly into Al Arish. If you take the northern pass, you must go back up to the main road between Rafah and Al Arish, which is more heavily traveled and more carefully watched.”
That had been all Buck needed to hear. He would take the southernmost of the four border crossings and pray he was not stopped until then.
Tsion Ben-Judah stayed on the floor under the seats until Buck had rumbled far enough south of Jerusalem that they both felt safe. Tsion moved up and crouched next to Buck. “Are you tired?” he asked. “Would you like me to take over driving?”
“You're joking.”
“It may be many months before I am able to find humor in anything,” Tsion said.
“But you're not serious about sitting behind the wheel of this bus, are you? What would we do if we were stopped? Trade places?”
“I was just offering.”
“I appreciate it, but it's out of the question. I'm fine, well rested. Anyway, I'm scared to death. That will keep me alert.”
Buck downshifted to navigate a curve, and Tsion swung forward from the momentum. He hung on to the metal pole next to the driver's seat, and he spun around and smacked into Buck, pushing him to the left.
“I told you, Tsion, I'm awake. You need not continually try to rouse me.”
He looked at Tsion to see if he had elicited a smile. It appeared Tsion was trying to be polite. He apologized profusely and slid into the seat behind Buck, his head low, his chin resting on his hands, which gripped the bar that separated the driver from the first seat. “Tell me when I need to duck.”
“By the time I know that, you'll likely already be seen.”
“I do not think I can take riding long on the floorboards,” Ben-Judah said. “Let us both just be on the lookout.”
It was difficult for Buck to get the old bus to move faster than seventy kilometers per hour. He feared it would take all night to get to the border. Maybe that was OK. The darker and the later the better. As he chugged along, watching the gauges and trying not to do anything that might draw attention to them, he noticed in his rearview mirror that Tsion had slumped in the seat and was trying to rest on his side. Buck thought the rabbi had said something. “I beg your pardon?” Buck said.
“I am sorry, Cameron. I was praying.” Later Buck heard him singing. Later still, weeping. Well after midnight, Buck checked his map and noted that they were rolling through Haiheul, a small town just a tick north of Hebron. “Will the tourists be out at this time of night in Hebron?” Buck asked.
Tsion leaned forward. “No. But still, it is a populated area. I will be careful. Cameron, there is something I would like to talk to you about.”
“Anything.”
“I want you to know that I am deeply grateful that you have sacrificed your time and risked your life to come for me.”
“No friend would do less, Tsion. I've felt a deep bond with you since the day you first took me to the Wailing Wall. And then we had to flee together after your television broadcast.”
“We have been through some incredible experiences, it is true.” Tsion said. “That is why I knew if I could merely get Dr. Rosenzweig to point you in the direction of the witnesses, you would find me. I did not dare let on to him where I was. Even my driver knew only to take me to Michael and the other brothers in Jericho. My driver was so distraught at what happened to my family that he was in tears. We have been together for many years. Michael promised to keep him informed, but I would like to call him myself. Perhaps I can use your secure phone once we have passed the border.”
Buck didn't know what to say. He had more confidence than Michael that Tsion could take yet more bad news, but why did he have to be the one to bear it? The intuitive rabbi seemed to immediately suspect Buck was hiding something. “What?” he asked. “Do you think it is too late to call him?”
“It is very late,” Buck said.
“But if the situation were reversed, I would be overjoyed to hear from him at any time of the day or night.”
“I'm sure he felt—feels the same,” Buck said lamely.
Buck peeked into the rearview mirror. Tsion stared at him, a look of realization coming over him. “Maybe I should call him now,” he suggested. “May I use your phone?”
“Tsion, you are always welcome to whatever I have. You know that. I would not phone him now, no.”
When Tsion responded, Buck knew that he knew. His voice was flat, full of the pain that would plague him the rest of his days. “Cameron, his name was Jaime. He had been with me since I started teaching at the university. He was not an educated man; however, he was wise in the ways of the world. We talked much about my findings. He and my wife were the only ones besides my student assistants who knew what I was going to say on the television broadcast. He was close, Cameron. So close. But he is no longer with us, is he?”
Buck thought about merely shaking his head, but he could not do that. He busied himself looking for road signs for Hebron, but the rabbi, of course, would not let it go.
“Cameron, we are too close and have gone through too much for you to hold out on me now. Clearly you have been told the disposition of Jaime. You must understand that the toll the bad news has taken on me can be made neither worse by hearing more, nor better by hearing less. We believers in Christ, of all people, must never fear any truth, hard as it may be.”
“Jaime is dead,” Buck said.
Tsion hung his head. “He heard me preach so many times. He knew the gospel. Sometimes I even pushed him. He was not offended. He knew I cared about him. I can only hope and pray that perhaps after he delivered me to Michael, he had time to join the family. Tell me how it happened.”
“Car bomb.”
“Instantaneous, then,” he said. “Perhaps he never knew what hit him. Perhaps he did not suffer.”
“I'm so sorry, Tsion. Michael didn't think you could take it.”
“He underestimates me, but I appreciate his concern. I worry about everyone associated with me. Anyone who appears they might know anything of my whereabouts may suffer if they are not forthcoming. That includes so many. I will never forgive myself if they all pay the ultimate price for merely having known me. Frankly, I worry about Chaim Rosenzweig.”
“I wouldn't worry about him just yet,” Buck said. “He's still closely identified with Carpathia. Ironically, that's his protection for now.”
Buck drove cautiously through Hebron, and he and Tsion rode in silence all the way to Beersheba. In the wee hours of the morning, about ten kilometers south of Beersheba, Buck noticed the heat gauge rising. The oil gauge still looked OK, but the last thing Buck wanted was to overheat. “I'm gonna add some water to this radiator, Tsion,” he said. The rabbi seemed to be dozing.
Buck pulled far off the road onto the gravel shoulder. He found a rag and climbed out. Once he got the hood propped up, he gingerly opened the radiator cap. It was steaming, but he was able to dump a couple of liters of water in before the thing boiled over. While he was working he noticed a Global Community peacekeeping force squad car slowly drive past. Buck tried to look casual and took a deep breath.
He wiped his hands and dropped the rag into his water can, noticing the squad car had pulled over about a hundred feet in front of the bus and was slowly backing up. Trying not to look suspicious, Buck tossed the water can into the bus and came back around to shut the hood. Before he shut it, the squad car backed onto the road and turned to face him on the shoulder. With the headlights shining in his eyes, Buck heard the Global Community peacekeeper say something to him in Hebrew over his loudspeaker.
Buck held out both arms and hollered, “English!”
In a heavy accent, the peacekeeper said, “Please to remain outside your vehicle.”
Buck turned to lower the hood, but the officer called out to him again, “Please to stand where you are.”
Buck shrugged and stood awkwardly, hands at his sides. The officer spoke into his radio. Finally the young man emerged. “Happy evening to you, sir,” he said.
“Thank you,” Buck said. “Just had some overheating problems is all.”
The officer was dark and slender, wearing the gaudy uniform of the Global Community, Buck wished he'd had his own passport and papers. Nothing sent a GC operative running more quickly than Buck's 2-A clearance.
“Are you alone?” the officer asked.
“Name's Herb Katz,” Buck said.
“I asked you are you alone?”
“I'm an American businessman, here on pleasure.”
“Your papers, please.”
Buck pulled out his phony passport and wallet. The young man studied them with a flashlight and pointed the light into Buck's face. Buck didn't think that was necessary with the headlights already blinding him, but he said nothing.
“Mr. Katz, can you tell me where you got this vehicle?”
“I bought it tonight. Just before midnight.”
“And you bought it from?”
“I have the papers. I can't pronounce his name. I'm an American.”
“Sir, the plates on this vehicle trace to a resident of Jericho.”
Buck, still playing dumb, said, “Well, there you go! That's where I bought it, in Jericho.”
“And you say you purchased it before midnight?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you aware of a manhunt in this country?”
“Tell me,” Buck said.
“It happens that the owner of this vehicle was detained, just over an hour ago, in connection with aiding and abetting a murder suspect.”
“You don't say?” Buck said. “I just took a boat ride with this man. He runs a tour boat. Hold him I needed a vehicle to just get me from Israel to Egypt so I could fly home to America. He told me he had just the rig, and this is it.”
The officer moved toward the bus. “I'm going to need to see those papers,” he said.
“I'll get them for you,” Buck said, stepping in front of him and jumping onto the bus. He grabbed the papers and waved them as he came down the steps. The officer backed away and into the light of his own headlamps again.
“The papers seem to be in order, but it's just too coincidental that you purchased this vehicle only hours before this man was arrested.”
“I don't see what buying a bus has to do with what some guy is messed up with,” Buck said.
“We have reason to believe that the man who sold you this vehicle has been harboring a murderer. He was found with the suspect's papers and those of an American. It will not be long before we persuade him to tell us where he has harbored the suspect.” The officer looked at his own notes. “Are you familiar with a Cameron Williams, an American?”
“Doesn't sound like the name of any friend I've got. I'm from Chicago.”
“And you are leaving tonight, from Egypt?”
“That's right.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Buck repeated.
“Why do you need to leave through Egypt? Why do you not fly out of Jerusalem or Tel Aviv?”
“No flights tonight. I want to get home. I've chartered a flight.”
“And why didn't you simply hire a ride?”
“If you look closely at that title and bill of sale, you'll see I paid less for the bus than I would have for a ride.”
“One moment, sir.” The officer went back to his squad car and sat talking on the radio for several minutes.
Buck prayed he would think of something that would keep the peacekeeper from searching the bus.
Soon the young man emerged again. “You claim to never have heard of Cameron Williams. We are now determining if the man who sold you this vehicle will implicate you in his scheme.”
“His scheme?” Buck said.
“It will not take us long to find out where he has hidden our suspect. It will be in his best interest to tell us the whole truth. He has a wife and children, after all.”
For the first time in his life, Buck was tempted to kill a man. He knew the officer was just a pawn in a cosmic game, the war between good and evil. But he represented evil. Would Buck have been justified, the way Michael had felt justified, in killing those who might kill Tsion? The officer heard squawking on his radio and hurried back to the squad car. He returned in a moment.
“Our techniques have worked,” he said. “We have extracted the location of the hiding place, somewhere between Jericho and Lake Tiberius off the Jordan River. But under the threat of torture and even death, he swears you were merely a tour guest to whom he sold the vehicle.”
Buck sighed. Others might consider that mutual ruse a coincidence. To him it was as much a miracle as what he had seen at the Wailing Wall.
“Just for safety's sake, however,” the officer said, “I have been asked to search your vehicle for any evidence of the fugitive.”
“But you said—”
“Have no fear, sir. You are in the clear. Perhaps you were used to transport some evidence out of the country without your knowing it. We simply need to check the vehicle for anything that might lead us to the suspect. I will thank you to stand aside and remain here while I search your vehicle.”
“You don't need a warrant or my permission or anything?”
The officer turned menacingly toward Buck. “Sir, you have been pleasant and cooperative. But do not make the mistake of thinking that you are talking with local law enforcement here. You can see from my car and my uniform that I represent the peacekeeping forces of the Global Community. We are restricted by no conventions or rules. I could confiscate this vehicle without so much as your signature. Now wait here.”
Wild thoughts ran through Buck's mind. He considered trying to disarm the officer and racing away in the man's squad car with Tsion. It was ludicrous, he knew, but he hated inaction. Would Tsion jump the officer? Kill him? Buck heard the officer's footsteps move slowly to the back of the bus and then to the front again. The flashlight beam danced around inside the bus.
The officer rejoined him. “What did you think you were going to do? Did you think you were going to get away with this? Did you think I was going to allow you to drive this vehicle across the border into Egypt and to simply dump it? Were you going to leave it at an airport somewhere for local authorities to clean up?”
Buck was dumbfounded. This was what the officer was worried about now? Had he not seen Tsion Ben-Judah on the bus? Had God supernaturally blinded him? “Uh, I, uh, actually had thought of that. Yes, I understood that many of the locals who try to pick up extra money helping with baggage and the like, that they, uh, would be thrilled to have such a vehicle.”
“You must be a very wealthy American, sir. I realize this bus is not worth much, but it sure is a big tip for a baggage handler, wouldn't you say?”
“Call me frivolous,” Buck said.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Katz.”
“Well, you're welcome. And thank you.” The officer reentered his vehicle and pulled across the road, heading north back into Beersheba. Buck, his knees like jelly and his fingers twitching, slammed the hood shut and boarded the bus.
“How in the world did you pull that off, Tsion? Tsion! It's me! You can come out now, wherever you are. No way you fit up in the luggage rack. Tsion?”
Buck stood on a seat and scanned the racks. Nothing. He lay on the floor and looked beneath the seats. Nothing but his own bag, the pile of clothes, the foodstuffs, and the water, oil, and gasoline. If Buck hadn't known better, he'd have thought Tsion Ben-Judah had been raptured after all.
Now what? No traffic had passed while Buck was engaged with the officer. Did he dare shout into the darkness? When had Tsion left the bus? Rather than make a scene for anyone who might happen along, Buck merely climbed aboard, restarted the engine, and drove down the shoulder of the road. After about two hundred yards, he tried to pop a U-turn and found that he had to accomplish it with a three-point turn instead. He drove down the other shoulder, clouds of dust rising behind him, illuminated by the red taillights. C'mon, Tsion! Tell me you didn't start off walking all the way toward Egypt!
Buck thought of honking the horn. Instead he drove another couple of hundred yards north and turned around yet again. This time his lights picked up the small, furtive wave of his friend from a grove of trees in the distance. He slowly rolled the bus to the area and opened the door. Tsion Ben-Judah leaped aboard and lay on the floor next to Buck. He was panting.
“If you have ever wondered what the saying meant about the Lord working in mysterious ways,” Tsion said, “there was your answer.”
“What in the world happened?” Buck said. “I thought we'd had it for good.”
“So did I!” Tsion said. “I was dozing and barely understood that you were going to do something with the engine. When you raised the hood, I realized I needed to relieve myself. You were pouring the water when I got off. I was only about fifteen feet off the road when the squad car rolled by. I did not know what you would do, but I knew I could not be on that bus. I just started walking this way, praying you would somehow talk your way out of it.”
“Did you hear our conversation, then?”
“No. What all was said?”
“You won't believe it, Tsion.” And Buck told him the whole story as they rolled on toward the border.
As the old bus putted along in the darkness, Tsion apparently grew brave. He sat in the front seat, directly behind Buck. He was not hiding, not leaned over. He bent forward and spoke earnestly into Buck's ear. “Cameron,” he said, his voice quavery and weak, “I am going nearly mad wondering who will take care of the disposition of my family.”
Buck hesitated. “I don't quite know how to ask you this, sir, but what generally happens in cases like this? When pseudo-official factions do something like this, I mean.”
“That is what bothers me. You never see what happens to the bodies. Do they bury them? Do they burn them? I do not know. But the mere imagining of it is deeply troubling to me.”
“Tsion, far be it from me to advise you spiritually. You are a man of the Word and of deep faith.”
Tsion interrupted him. “Do not be foolish, my young friend. Just because you are not a scholar does not mean you are any less mature in the faith. You were a believer before I was.”
“Still, sir, I am at the end of my insight in knowing how to deal with such personal tragedy. I could not have remotely handled what you're going through in any way near how you're handling it.”
“Do not forget, Cameron, that I am mostly running on emotion. No doubt my system is in shock. My worst days are yet to come.”
“Frankly, Tsion, I have feared the same thing for you. At least you have been able to cry. Tears can be a great release. I fear for those who go through such trauma and find it impossible to shed tears.”
Tsion sat back and said nothing. Buck prayed silently for him. Finally, Tsion leaned forward again. “I come from a heritage of tears,” he said. “Centuries of tears.”
“I wish I could do something tangible for you, Tsion,” Buck said.
“Tangible? What is more tangible than this? You have been of such encouragement to me I cannot tell you. Who else would do this for a man he hardly knows?”
“It seems I've known you forever.”
“And God has given you resources that even my closest friends do not have.” Tsion seemed deep in thought. Finally he said, “Cameron, there is something you can do that would be of some comfort to me.”
“Anything.”
“Tell me about your little group of believers there in America. What did you call them? The core group, I mean?”
“The Tribulation Force.”
“Yes! I love hearing such stories. Wherever I have gone in the world to preach and to help be an instrument in converting the 144,000 Jews who are becoming the witnesses foretold in the Scriptures, I have heard wonderful tales of secret meetings and the like. Tell me all about your Tribulation Force.”
Buck began at the beginning. He started on the plane when he was merely a passenger and Hattie Durham was a flight attendant, Rayford Steele the pilot. As he talked, he kept glancing in the rearview mirror to see if Tsion was really listening or merely tolerating a long story. Buck had always been amazed that his own mind could be on two tracks at once. He could be telling a story and thinking of another at the same time. All the while he told Tsion of hearing Rayford spill his own story of a spiritual quest, of meeting Chloe and traveling back from New York to Chicago with her on the very day she prayed with her father to receive Christ, of meeting and being counseled by Bruce Barnes and mentored and tutored by him whenever possible, Buck was trying to hold at bay his fear of facing the border crossing. At the same time he was wondering whether he should complete his story. Tsion did not know yet of the death of Bruce Barnes, a man he had never met but with whom he had corresponded and with whom he hoped to minister one day.
Buck brought the story up to just a few days before, when the Tribulation Force had reunited in Chicago, just before war erupted. Buck sensed Tsion growing more nervous as they neared the border. He seemed to move more, to interrupt more, to talk more quickly, and to ask more questions.
“And Pastor Bruce had been on the church staff for many years without having truly been a believer?”
“Yes. That was a sad, difficult story even for him to tell.”
“I cannot wait to meet him,” Tsion said. “I will grieve for my family, and I will miss my mother country as if she truly were my parent. But to get to pray with your Tribulation Force and open the Scriptures with them, this will be balm for my pain, salve for my wound.”
Buck took a deep breath. He wanted to stop talking, to concentrate on the road, on the border ahead. Yet he could never be less than fully honest with Tsion. “You will meet Bruce Barnes at the Glorious Appearing,” he said.
Buck peeked in the mirror. Clearly Tsion had heard and understood. He lowered his head. “When did it happen?” he asked.
Buck told him.
“And how did he die?”
Buck told him what he knew. “We're probably never going to know whether it was the virus he picked up overseas or the impact of the blast on the hospital. Rayford said there seemed to be no marks on his body.”
“Perhaps the Lord spared him from the bombing by taking him first.”
Buck considered that God was providing Rabbi Ben-Judah to be the new scriptural and spiritual mentor for the Tribulation Force, but he didn't dare suggest that. No way an international fugitive could become the new pastor of New Hope Village Church, especially if Nicolae Carpathia had his sights trained on him. Anyway, Tsion might consider Buck's idea a crazy one. Was there not some easier way God could have put Tsion in a position to help the Tribulation Force without costing him his wife and children?
In spite of his nervousness, in spite of his fear, in spite of the distraction of driving in unknown, dangerous territory with a less-than-desirable conveyance, suddenly Buck saw it all laid out before him. He wouldn't call it a vision. It was simply a realization of the possibilities. Suddenly he knew the first use for the secret shelter beneath the church. He envisioned Tsion there, supplied with everything he needed, including one of those great computers Donny Moore was dolling up.
Buck grew excited just thinking about it. He would provide for the rabbi every software package he needed. He would have the Bible in every version, every language, with all the notes and commentaries and dictionaries and encyclopedias he needed. Tsion would never again have to worry about losing his books. They would all be in one place, on one massive hard drive.
And what might Donny come up with that would allow Tsion to broadcast surreptitiously on the Internet? Was it possible his ministry could be more dramatic and wider than ever? Could he do his teaching and preaching and Bible studies on the Net to the millions of computers and televisions all over the world? Surely there must be some technology that would allow him to do this without being detected. If cell phone manufacturers could provide chips allowing a caller to jump between three-dozen different frequencies in seconds to avoid static and interception, surely there was a way to scramble a message over the Net and keep the sender from being identified.
In the distance Buck saw GC squad cars and trucks near two one-story buildings that straddled the road. The buildings would be the exit from Israel. Up the road would be the entrance into the Sinai. Buck downshifted and checked his gauges. The heat was starting to rise only slightly, and he was convinced if he drove slowly and was able to shut off the vehicle for a while at the border crossing, that would take care of it. He was doing fine on fuel, and the oil gauge looked OK.
He was irritated. His mind was engaged with the possibilities of a ministry for Tsion Ben-Judah that would outstrip anything he had ever been able to accomplish before, but it also reminded him that he too could, in essence, broadcast over the Internet the truth about what was going on in the world. For how long could he pretend to be a cooperative, if not loyal employee, of Nicolae Carpathia? His journalism was no longer objective. It was propaganda. It was what George Orwell would have called “newspeak” in his famous novel 1984.
Buck didn't want to face a border crossing. He wanted to sit with a yellow pad and noodle his ideas. He wanted to excite the rabbi over the possibilities. But he could not. Apparently his rattletrap and its vulnerable personal cargo would have the full attention of the border guards. Whatever vehicles had preceded them were long gone, and none appeared in the rearview mirror.
Tsion lay on the floor beneath the seats. Buck pulled up to two uniformed and helmeted guards at a lowered crossbar. The one on the driver's side of the bus signaled that he should slide open the window and then spoke to him in Hebrew.
“English,” Buck said.
“Passport, visa, identification papers, vehicle registration, any goods to declare, and anything on board you want us to know about before we search should be passed through the window or told to us before we raise the gate.”
Buck stood and retrieved from the front seat all the papers related to the vehicle. He added his phony passport, visa, and identification. He slipped back behind the wheel and passed everything out to the guard. “I am also carrying foodstuffs, gasoline, oil, and water.”
“Anything else?”
“Anything else?” Buck repeated.
“Anything else we need to see, sir! You will be interrogated inside, and your vehicle will be searched over there.” The guard pointed just beyond the building on the right side of the road.
“Yes, I have some clothing and some blankets.”
“Is that all?”
“Those are the only other things I am carrying.”
“Very good, sir. When the bar is raised, please pull your vehicle to the right and meet me in the building on the left.”
Buck slowly drove under the angled crossbar, keeping the bus in first gear, the noisiest. Tsion reached past Buck's chair and grabbed his ankle. Buck took it as encouragement, as thanks, and, if necessary, farewell. “Tsion,” he whispered, “your only hope is to stay as far in the back as possible. Can you scoot all the way to the back?”
“I will try.”
“Tsion, Michael's wife said something to me when I left. I didn't understand it. It was in Hebrew. The last two words were something like Y'shua Hama-some-thing.”
“Y'shua Hamashiach means 'Jesus the Messiah,'” Tsion said, his voice quavery. “She was wishing you the blessing of God on your trip, in the name of Y'shua Hamashiach.”
“The same to you, my brother,” Buck said.
“Cameron, my friend, I will see you soon. If not in this life, then in the everlasting kingdom.”
The guards were approaching, obviously wondering what was keeping Buck. He shut off the engine and opened the door, just as a young guard approached. Buck grabbed a water can and shouldered his way past the guard. “Been having a little trouble with the radiator,” he said. “You know anything about radiators?”
Distracted, the guard raised his eyebrows and followed Buck to the front of the bus. He raised the hood and they added water. The older guard, the one who had talked to him at the gate, said “Come on, let's go, let's go!”
“Be right with you,” Buck said, aware of every nerve in his body. He made a huge noise, slamming the hood. The younger guard moved toward the door, but Buck passed him, excused himself, put one foot on the steps, and tossed the water can into the bus. He thought about “helping” the guard search the bus. He could stand with him and point out the blankets and cans of gas, oil, and water. But he had already come dangerously close, he feared, to making them suspicious. He came back off the bus and into the face of the young guard. “Thanks so much for your help. I don't know much about engines, really. Business is my game. America, you know.”
The young guard looked him in the eyes and nodded. Buck prayed he would merely follow him into the building on the other side of the border crossing. The older guard was waiting, staring at him, now waving for him to come over. Buck had no choice now. He left Rabbi Tsion Ben-Judah, the most recognizable and notorious fugitive in Israel, in the hands of border guards.
Buck hurried into the processing building. He was as distracted as he'd ever been, but he couldn't let it show. He wanted to turn and see if Tsion was dragged off the bus. No way he could escape on foot as he had on the road not long before. There was nowhere to go here, nowhere to hide. Barbed wire fences lined each side. Once you got in the gate, you had to go one way or the other. There was no going around.
The original guard had Buck's papers spread out before him. “You entered Israel through what entry point?”
“Tel Aviv,” Buck said. “It should all be there—”
“Oh, it is. Just checking. Your papers seem to be in order, Mr. Katz,” he added, stamping Buck's passport and visa. “And you are representing ... ?”
“International Harvesters,” Buck said, making it plural because he meant it.
“And you're leaving the area when?”
“Tonight. If my pilot meets up with me at Al Arish.”
“And how will you dispose of the vehicle?”
“I was hoping to sell it cheap to someone at the airport.”
“Depending upon how cheap, that should be no problem.”
Buck seemed frozen into place. The guard looked over his shoulder and out across the road. What was he looking at? Buck could only imagine Tsion detained, handcuffed, and led across the road. What a fool he had been to not try to find some secret compartment for Tsion. This was madness. Had he driven a man to his death? Buck couldn't stand the thought of losing yet another member of his new family in Christ.
The guard was on the computer. “This shows you were detained near Beersheba earlier this morning?”
“Detained is overstating it a bit. I was adding water to the radiator and was questioned briefly by a GC peacekeeping officer.”
“Did he tell you the previous owner of your vehicle has been arrested in connection with the escape of Tsion Ben-Judah?“
”He did.”
“You might be interested in this, then.” The guard turned and pointed a remote control device at a television up in the corner. The Global Community Network News was reporting that a Michael Shorosh had been arrested in connection with the harboring of a fugitive from justice. “Global Community spokesmen say that Ben-Judah, formerly a respected scholar and clergyman, apparently became a radical fanatic fundamentalist, and point to this sermon he delivered just a week ago as evidence that he overreacted to a New Testament passage and was later seen by several neighbors slaughtering his own family.”
Buck watched in horror as the news ran a tape of Tsion speaking at a huge rally in a filled stadium in Larnaca, on the island of Cyprus. “You'll note,” the newsman said, as the tape was stopped, “the man on the platform behind Dr. Ben-Judah has been identified as Michael Shorosh. In a raid on his Jericho home shortly after midnight tonight, peacekeeping forces found personal photos of Ben-Judah's family and identification papers from both Ben-Judah and an American journalist, Cameron Williams. Williams's connection to the case has not been determined.”
Buck prayed they would not show his face on television. He was startled to see the guard look over his shoulder to the door. Buck whirled to see the young guard come in, staring at him. The young man let the door close behind him and leaned back against it, his arms folded over his chest. He watched the news report with them. The tape showed Ben-Judah reading from Matthew. Buck had heard Tsion preach this message before. The verses, of course, had been taken out of context. “Whoever denies Me before men, him I will also deny before My Father who is in heaven.
“Do not think that I came to bring peace on earth. I did not come to bring peace but a sword. For I have come to 'set a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law'; and 'a man's enemies will be those of his own household.' He who loves father or mother more than Me is not worthy of Me. And he who loves son or daughter more than Me is not worthy of Me. And he who does not take his cross and follow after Me is not worthy of Me.”
The news reporter said solemnly, “This just a few days before the rabbi murdered his own wife and children in broad daylight.”
“That's something, isn't it?” the older guard said.
“That's something all right,” Buck said, fearing his voice betrayed him.
The guard at the desk was stacking Buck's papers. He looked past Buck to the young guard. “Everything all right with the vehicle, Anis?”
Buck had to think quickly. Which would look more suspicious? Not turning to look at the young man, or turning to look at him? He turned to look. Still standing before the closed door, arms over his chest, the rigid young man nodded once. “All is in order. Blankets and supplies. ”
Buck had been holding his breath. The man at the desk slid his papers across. “Safe journey,” he said.
Buck nearly wept as he exhaled. “Thank you,” he said.
He turned toward the door, but the older guard was not finished. “Thank you for visiting Israel,” he added. Buck wanted to scream. He turned around and nodded. “Yeah, uh, yes. You're welcome.”
He had to will himself to walk. Anis did not move as Buck approached the door. He came face-to-face with the young man and stopped. He sensed the older guard Watching.
“Excuse me,” Buck said.
“My name is Anis,” the man said.
“Yes, Anis. Thank you. Excuse me, please.” Finally Anis stepped aside and Buck shakily left. His hands trembled as he folded his papers and stuffed them into his pocket. He boarded the rickety old bus and fired it up. If Tsion had found somewhere to hide, how would Buck find him now? He executed the fragile dance between clutch and accelerator and got the rig moving. Finally up to speed, he shifted into third, and the engine smoothed out a bit. He called out, “If you're still on board, my friend, stay right where you are until the lights of that border crossing disappear. Then I want to know everything.”