CHAPTER 11
Buck was struck that there were no real beds and no pillows in the hideout. So this is what the witnesses meant when they quoted that verse about having nowhere to lay his head, Buck thought.
Three other gaunt and desperate-looking young men, who could have been Michael’s brothers, huddled in the dugout, where there was barely room to stand. Buck noticed a clear view at ground level to the path behind him. That explained why Michael had not had to declare himself or give any signal to approach.
He was introduced all around, but only Michael, of the four, understood English. Buck squinted, looking for Tsion. He could hear him, but he could not see him. Finally, a dim, electric lantern was illuminated. There, sitting in the corner, his back to the wall, was one of the first and surely the most famous of what would become the 144,000 witnesses prophesied of in the Bible.
He sat with his knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs. He wore a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and dark dress pants that rode high on his shins and left a gap between the cuffs and the top of his socks. He wore no shoes.
How young Tsion appeared! Buck knew him to be a youthful middle age anyway, but sitting there rocking and crying he appeared young as a child. He neither looked up nor acknowledged Buck.
Buck whispered that he would like a moment alone with Tsion. Michael and the others climbed through the opening and stood idly in the underbrush, weapons at the ready. Buck crouched next to Dr. Ben-Judah.
“Tsion,” Buck said, “God loves you.” The words had surprised even Buck. Could it possibly seem to Tsion that God loved him now? And what kind of a platitude was that? Was it now his place to speak for God?
“What do you know for sure?” Buck asked, wondering himself what in the world he was talking about.
Tsion’s reply, in his barely understandable Israeli accent, squeaked from a constricted throat: “I know that my Redeemer lives.”
“What else do you know?” Buck said, listening as much as speaking.
“I know that He who has begun a good work in me will be faithful to complete it.”
Praise God! Buck thought.
Buck slumped to the ground and sat next to Ben-Judah, his back against the wall. He had come to rescue this man, to minister to him. Now he had been ministered to. Only God could provide such assurance and confidence at a time of such grief.
“Your wife and your children were believers—”
“Today they see God,” Tsion finished for him.
Buck had worried, Buck had wondered: Would Tsion Ben-Judah be so devastated at his inequitable loss that his faith would be shaken? Would he be so fragile that it would be impossible for him to go on? He would grieve, make no mistake. He would mourn. But not as the heathen, who have no hope.
“Cameron, my friend,” Tsion managed, “did you bring your Bible?”
“Not in book form, sir. I have the entire Scripture on my computer.”
“I have lost more than my family, Buck.”
“Sir?”
“My library. My sacred books. All burned. All gone. The only things I love more in this life were my family.”
“You brought nothing from your office?”
“I threw on a ridiculous disguise, the long locks of the Orthodox. Even a phony beard. I carried nothing, so as not to look like a resident scholar.”
“Could not someone forward the books from your office?”
“Not without endangering their life. I am the chief suspect in the murder of my family.”
“That’s nonsense!”
“We both know that, my friend, but a man’s perception soon becomes his reality. Anyway, where could someone send my things without leading my enemies to me?”
Buck dug into his bag and produced his laptop. “I’m not sure how much battery life is left,” he said. He turned on the back-lit screen.
“This would not happen to have the Old Testament in Hebrew?” Tsion said.
“No, but those programs are widely available.”
“At least they are now,” Tsion said, a sob still in his throat. “My most recent studies have led me to believe that our religious freedoms will soon become scarce at an alarming pace.”
“What would you like to see, sir?”
At first Buck thought Tsion had not heard his question. Then he wondered if Tsion had spoken and he himself had not heard the answer. The computer ground away, bringing up a menu of Old Testament books. Buck stole a glance at his friend. Clearly, he was trying to speak. The words would not come.
“I sometimes find the Psalms comforting,” Buck said.
Tsion nodded, now covering his mouth with his hand. The man’s chest heaved and he could hold back the sobs no longer. He leaned over onto Buck and collapsed in tears. “The joy of the Lord is my strength,” he moaned over and over. “The joy of the Lord is my strength.”
Joy, Buck thought. What a concept in this place, at this time. The name of the game now was survival. Certainly joy took on a different meaning than ever before in Buck’s life. He used to equate joy with happiness. Clearly Tsion Ben-Judah was not implying that he was happy. He might never be happy again. This joy was a deep abiding peace, an assurance that God was sovereign. They didn’t have to like what was happening. They merely had to trust that God knew what he was doing.
That made it no easier. Buck knew well that things would get worse before they ever got better. If a man was not rock solid in his faith now, he never would be. Buck sat in that damp, moist, earthen hideout in the middle of nowhere, knowing with more certainty than ever that he had put his faith in the only begotten Son of the Father. With his bent and nearly broken brother sobbing in his lap, Buck felt as close to God as he had the day he trusted Christ.
Tsion composed himself and reached for the computer. He fumbled with the keys for a minute before asking for help. “Just bring up the Psalms,” he said. Buck did, and Tsion cursored through them, one hand on the computer mouse and the other covering his mouth as he wept. “Ask the others to join us for prayer,” he whispered.
A few minutes later, the six men knelt in a circle. Tsion spoke to them briefly in Hebrew, Michael quietly whispering the interpretation into Buck’s ear. “My friends and brothers in Christ, though I am deeply wounded, yet I must pray. I pray to the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. I praise you because you are the one and only true God, the God above all other gods. You sit high above the heavens. There is none other like you. In you there is no variation or shadow of turning.” With that, Tsion broke down again and asked that the others pray for him.
Buck had never heard people praying together aloud in a foreign language. Hearing the fervency of these witness-evangelists made him fall prostrate. He felt the cold mud on the backs of his hands as he buried his face in his palms. He didn’t know about Tsion but felt as if he were being borne along on clouds of peace. Suddenly Tsion’s voice could be heard above the rest. Michael bent down and whispered in Buck’s ear, “If God is for us, who can be against us?”
Buck did not know how long he lay on the floor. Eventually the prayers became groanings and what sounded like Hebrew versions of amens and hallelujahs. Buck rose to his knees and felt stiff and sore. Tsion looked at him, his face still wet but seemingly finished crying for now. “I believe I can finally sleep,” the rabbi said.
“Then you should. We’ll not be going anywhere tonight. I’ll make arrangements for after dark tomorrow.”
“You should call your friend,” Michael said.
“You realize what time it is?” Buck said.
Michael looked at his watch, smiled, shook his head, and said simply, “Oh.”
“Alexandria?” Ken Ritz said by phone the next morning. “Sure, I can get there easily enough. It’s a big airport. When will you be along?”
Buck, who had bathed and washed out a change of clothes in a tiny tributary off the Jordan, dried himself with a blanket. One of Tsion Ben-Judah’s Hebrew-speaking guards was nearby. He had cooked breakfast and now appeared to roast Tsion’s socks and underwear over the small fire.
“We’ll leave here tonight, as soon as the sky is black,” Buck said. “Then, however long it takes a forty-foot wood boat with two outboard motors and six adult men aboard to get to Alexandria—”
Ritz was laughing. “This is my first time over here, as I think I told you,” he said, “but one thing I’m pretty sure about: if you think you’re coming from where you are to Alexandria without carrying that boat across dry land to the sea, you’re kidding yourself.”
At midday all six men were out of the dugout. They were confident no one had followed them to this remote location and that as long as they stayed out of sight from the air, they could stretch their legs and breathe a little.
Michael was not as amused at Buck’s naiveté as Ken Ritz had been. He found little to smile about and nothing to laugh about these days. Michael leaned back against a tree. “There are some small airports here and there in Israel,” he said. “Why are you so determined to fly out of Egypt?”
“Well, that dream—I don’t know, this is all new to me. I’m trying to be practical, listen to the witnesses, follow the leadings of God. What am I supposed to do about that dream?”
“I’m a newer believer than you, my friend,” Michael said. “But I wouldn’t argue with a dream that was so clear.”
“Maybe we have some advantage in Egypt we would not have in Israel,” Buck suggested.
“I can’t imagine what,” Michael said. “For you to legally get out of Israel and into Egypt, you still have to go through customs somewhere.”
“How realistic is that, considering my guest?”
“You mean your contraband cargo?”
Now there had been an attempt at humor, but still Michael had not smiled when he said it. “I’m just wondering,” Buck said, “how carefully customs officers and border guards will be looking for Dr. Ben-Judah.”
“You’re wondering? I’m not wondering. We either avoid the border crossings or seek yet another supernatural act.”
“I’m open to any suggestion,” Buck said.
Rayford was on the phone with Amanda. She had filled him in on everything. “I miss you more than ever right now,” he told her.
“Having me come back here was sure the right idea,” she said. “With Buck gone and Chloe still tender, I feel needed here.”
“You’re needed here too, sweetheart, but I’m counting the days.”
Rayford told her about his conversation with Hattie and her plans to fly to the States. “I trust you, Rayford. She sounds like she’s hurting. We’ll pray for her. What I wouldn’t give to get that girl under some sound teaching.”
Rayford agreed. “If she could only stop through our area on her way back. Maybe when Bruce is going through some chapter on—” Rayford realized what he had said.
“Oh, Ray—”
“It’s still too fresh, I guess,” he said. “I just hope God provides some other Bible teacher for us. Well, it won’t be another Bruce.”
“No,” Amanda said, “and it won’t likely be soon enough to do Hattie any good, even if she does come here.”
Late that afternoon, Buck took a call from Ken Ritz. “You still want me to meet you in Alexandria?”
“We’re talking about it, Ken. I’ll get back to you.”
“Can you drive a stick shift, Buck?” Michael asked.
“Sure.”
“An ancient one?”
“They’re the most fun, aren’t they?”
“Not as ancient as this one,” Michael said. “I’ve got an old school bus that smells of fish and paint. I use it for both professions. It’s on its last legs, but if we could get you down to the southern mouth of the Jordan, you might be able to use it to find a way across the border into the Sinai. I’d stock you with petrol and water. That thing’ll drink more water than it will gasoline any day.”
“How big is this bus?”
“Not big. Holds about twenty passengers.”
“Four-wheel drive?”
“No, sorry.”
“An oil burner?”
“Not as much as water, but yes, I’m afraid so.”
“What’s in the Sinai?”
“You don’t know?”
“I know it’s a desert.”
“Then you know all you need to know. You’ll be jealous of the bus engine and its water needs.”
“What are you proposing?”
“I sell you the bus, fair and square. You get all the paperwork. If you get stopped, the tags are traced to me, but I sold the bus.”
“Keep talking—”
“You hide Dr. Ben-Judah under the seats in the back. If you can get him across the border and into the Sinai, that bus should get you as far as Al Arish, less than fifty kilometers west of the Gaza Strip and right on the Mediterranean.”
“And what, you’ll meet us there with your wood boat and ferry us to America?”
Finally, Buck had elicited a resigned smile from Michael. “There is an airstrip there, and it’s unlikely the Egyptians will care about a man wanted in Israel. If they even seem to care, they can be bought.”
One of the other guards appeared to have understood the name of the seaport city, and Buck guessed he was asking in Hebrew for Michael to explain his strategy. He spoke earnestly to Michael, and Michael turned to Buck. “My comrade is right about the risk. Israel might have already announced a huge ransom for the rabbi. Unless you could beat their price, the Egyptians might lean toward selling him back.”
“How will I know the price?”
“You’ll just have to guess. Keep bidding until you can beat it.”
“What would be your guess?”
“Not less than a million dollars.”
“A million dollars? Do you think every American has that kind of money?”
“Don’t you?”
“No! And anyone who did wouldn’t carry it in cash.”
“Would you have half that much?”
Buck shook his head and walked away. He slipped down into the hideout. Tsion followed. “What’s troubling you, my friend?” the rabbi said.
“I need to get you out of here,” Buck said. “And I have no idea how.”
“Have you prayed?”
“Constantly.”
“The Lord will make a way somehow.”
“It seems impossible right now, sir.”
“Yahweh is the God of the impossible,” Tsion said.
Night was falling. Buck felt all dressed up with nowhere to go. He borrowed a map from Michael and carefully studied it, looking north and south along the waterways that divided Israel from Jordan. If only there were a clear water route from the Jordan River or Lake Tiberius to the Mediterranean!
Buck resolutely rerolled the map and handed it to Michael. “You know,” he said, thinking, “I have two sets of identification. I’m in the country under the name of Herb Katz, an American businessman. But I have my real ID as well.”
“So?”
“So, how ’bout we get me across the border as Herb Katz and the rabbi as Cameron Williams?”
“You forget, Mr. Williams, that even we ancient, dusty countries are now computerized. If you came into Israel as Herb Katz, there is no record that Cameron Williams is here. If he’s not here, how can he leave?”
“All right then, let’s say I leave as Cameron Williams and the rabbi leaves as Herb Katz. Though there is no record of my being here under my own name, I can show them my clearance level and my proximity to Carpathia and tell them not to ask any questions. That often works.”
“There’s an outside chance, but Tsion Ben-Judah does not speak like an American Jew, does he?”
“No, but—”
“And he does not look in the least like you or your picture.”
Buck was frustrated. “We are agreed that we have to get him out of here, aren’t we?”
“No question,” Michael said.
“Then what do you propose? I am at an end.”
Dr. Ben-Judah crawled to them, obviously not wanting even to stand in the low, earthen shelter. “Michael,” he said, “I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your sacrifice, for your protection. I appreciate also your sympathy and your prayers. This is very hard for me. In my flesh, I would rather not go on. Part of me very much wants to die and to be with my wife and children. Only the grace of God sustains me. Only he keeps me from wanting to avenge their deaths at any price. I foresee for myself long, lonely days and nights of dark despair. My faith is immovable and unshakable, and for that I can only thank the Lord. I feel called to continue to try to serve him, even in my grief. I do not know why he has allowed this, and I do not know how much longer he will give me to preach and teach the gospel of Christ. But something deep within me tells me that he would not have uniquely prepared me my whole life and then allowed me this second chance and used me to proclaim to the world that Jesus is Messiah unless he had more use for me.
“I am wounded. I feel as if a huge hole has been left in my chest. I cannot imagine it ever being filled. I pray for relief from the pain. I pray for release from hatred and thoughts of vengeance. But mostly I pray for peace and rest so that I may somehow rebuild something from these remaining fragments of my life. I know my life is worthless in this country now. My message has angered all those except the believers, and now with the trumped-up charges against me, I must get out. If Nicolae Carpathia focuses on me, I will be a fugitive everywhere. But it makes no sense for me to stay here. I cannot hide out forever, and I must have some outlet for my ministry.”
Michael stood between Tsion and Buck and put his hands on them. “Tsion, my friend, you know that my compatriots and I are risking everything to protect you. We love you as our spiritual father, and we will die before we see you die. Of course we agree that you must go. Sometimes it seems that short of God sending an angel to whisk you away, no one as recognizable and as much a fugitive as you could slip past Israeli borders. In the midst of your pain and suffering, we dare not ask you for counsel. But if God has told you anything, we need to hear it and we need to hear it now.
“The sky is getting black, and unless we want to wait another twenty-four hours, the time to move is now. What shall we do? Where shall we go? I am willing to lead you through customs at any border crossing with weapons, but we all know the folly of that.”
Buck looked to Dr. Ben-Judah, who simply bowed his head and prayed aloud once more. “O God, our help in ages past—”
Buck immediately began to shiver and dropped to his knees. He sensed the Lord impressing upon him that the answer was before them. Echoing in his mind was a phrase he could only assume was of God: “I have spoken. I have provided. Do not hesitate.”
Buck felt humbled and emboldened, but still he didn’t know what to do. If God had told him to go through Egypt, he was willing. Was that it? What had been provided?
Michael and Tsion were now on their knees with Buck, huddled together, shoulders touching. None of them spoke. Buck felt the presence of the Spirit of God and began to weep. The other two seemed to be shivering as well. Suddenly Michael spoke, “The glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard.”
Words filled Buck’s mind. Though he could barely pronounce them through his emotion, he blurted, “You give me living water and I thirst no more.” What was that? Was God telling him he could travel into the Sinai desert and not die of thirst?
Tsion Ben-Judah prostrated himself on the floor, sobbing and groaning. “Oh God, oh God, oh God—”
Michael lifted his face and said, “Speak Lord, for your servants hear. Heed the words of the Lord. He who has ears to hear, let him hear. . . .”
Tsion again: “The Lord of hosts has sworn, saying, ‘Surely as I have thought, so shall it come to pass, and as I have purposed, so it shall stand.’”
It was as if Buck had been steamrollered by the Spirit of God. Suddenly he knew what they must do. The pieces of the puzzle were all there. He, and they, had been waiting for some miraculous intervention. The fact was, if God wanted Tsion Ben-Judah out of Israel, he would make it out. If he did not, then he would not. God had told Buck in a dream to go another way, through Egypt. He had provided transportation through Michael. And now he had promised that his glory would be their rear guard.
“Amen,” Buck said, “and amen.” He rose and said, “It’s time, gentlemen. Let’s move.”
Dr. Ben-Judah looked surprised. “Has the Lord spoken to you?”
Buck shot him a double take. “Did he not speak to you, Tsion?”
“Yes! I just wanted to make sure we were in agreement.”
“If I have a vote,” Michael said, “we’re unanimous. Let’s get going.”
Michael’s compatriots pulled the boat into position as Buck slung in his bag and Tsion climbed aboard. As Michael fired up the engines and they started back down the Jordan, Buck handed Tsion the identification papers that carried Buck’s own name and picture. Tsion looked surprised. “I have felt no leading that I should use these,” he said.
“And I have a definite leading that I should not have them on my person,” Buck said. “I am in the country as Herb Katz, and I’ll leave the country as Herb Katz. I’ll ask you for the documents back when we get into the Sinai.”
“This is exciting,” Tsion said; “is it not? We are talking confidently about getting into the Sinai, and we have no idea how God is going to do it.”
Michael left the boat in the hands of one of his friends and sat with Buck and Tsion. “Tsion has a little cash, a few credit cards, and his own papers. If he is found with those, he will be detained and likely put to death. Shall we keep those for him?”
Tsion reached for his wallet and opened it in the moonlight. He removed the cash, folded it once, and stuck it in his pocket. The credit cards he began flipping one by one into the Jordan River. It was as close to amusement as Buck had noticed in the man since he had first seen him in the hideout. Almost everything went into the drink—all forms of identification and the miscellaneous documentation he had gathered over the years. He pulled out a small photo section and gasped. He turned the pictures toward the moon and wept openly. “Michael, I must ask you to someday ship these to me.”
“I will do it.”
Tsion flipped the old wallet into the water. “And now,” Michael said, “I believe you should return Mr. Williams’s papers to him.”
Tsion reached for them. “Wait a minute,” Buck said. “Should we not try to get him some phony ID, if he’s not going to use mine?”
“Somehow,” Tsion said, “what Michael says seems right. I am a man who has been stripped of everything, even his identity.”
Buck took back his ID and began rummaging in his bag for a place to hide it. “No good,” Michael said. “There’s nowhere on your person or in your bag they will not search and find an extra ID.”
“Well,” Buck said, “I can’t toss mine into the Jordan.”
Michael held out a hand. “I will ship it to you along with Tsion’s photographs,” he said. “It’s the safest.”
Buck hesitated. “You must not be found with that either,” he said.
Michael took it. “My life is destined to be short anyway, brother,” he said. “I feel most honored and blessed to be one of the witnesses predicted in the Scriptures. But my assignment is to preach in Israel, where the real Messiah is hated. My days are limited whether I am caught with your papers or not.”
Buck thanked him and shook his head. “I still don’t see how we’re going to get Tsion across any border without papers, real or phony.”
“We already prayed,” Tsion said. “I do not know how God is going to do this either. I just know that he is.”
Buck’s practicality and resourcefulness were at war with his faith. “But don’t we at least have to do our part?”
“And what is our part, Cameron?” the rabbi said. “It is when we are out of ideas and options and actions that we can only depend upon God.”
Buck pressed his lips together and turned his face away. He wished he had the same faith Tsion had. In many ways, he knew he did. But still it didn’t make sense to just plunge ahead, daring border guards to guess who Tsion was.
“I’m sorry for calling now,” Chloe said. “But, Daddy, I’ve been trying to reach Buck on his cell phone.”
“I wouldn’t worry about Buck, honey. You know he finds ways to stay safe.”
“Oh, Dad! Buck finds ways to nearly get himself killed. I know he was at the King David under his phony name, and I’m tempted to call there, but he promised he would stay away from there tonight.”
“Then I’d wait on that, Chloe. You know Buck rarely cares much about what time of the day it is. If the story or the caper takes him all night, then it takes him all night.”
“You’re a big help.”
“I’m trying to be.”
“Well, I just don’t understand why he wouldn’t have his cell phone with him all the time. You keep yours in your pocket, don’t you?”
“Usually. But maybe it’s in his bag.”
“So if his bag is in the hotel and he’s out gallivanting, I’m out of luck?”
“I guess so, hon.”
“I wish he’d take his phone with him, even if he doesn’t take his bag.”
“Try not to worry, Chloe. Buck always turns up somewhere.”
When Michael docked at the mouth of the Jordan, he and his fellow guards scanned the horizon and then casually walked to his tiny car and crammed themselves inside. Michael drove to his home, which had a tiny lean-to that served as a garage. That was too small for the bus that dominated the alley behind his humble place. Lights came on. A baby cried. Michael’s wife padded out in a robe and embraced him desperately. She spoke urgently to him in Hebrew. Michael looked apologetically at Buck. “I need to keep in touch more,” he said, shrugging.
Buck patted his pocket, feeling for his phone. It was not there. He dug in his bag and found it. He should keep in touch with Chloe more too, but for right now it was more important that he get ahold of Ken Ritz. While Buck was on the phone he was aware of all the activity around him. Silently, Michael and his friends went to work. Oil and water were dumped into the engine and radiator of the rickety old school bus. One of the men filled the gas tank from cans stored at the side of the house. Michael’s wife handed out a stack of blankets and a basket of clothes for Tsion.
As Buck hung up from talking to Ritz, who had agreed to meet them at Al Arish in the Sinai, Buck passed Michael’s wife on his way out to the bus. She hesitated shyly, glancing at him. He slowed, assuming she did not understand English but also wanting to express his gratitude.
“English?” he tried. She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. “I, uh, just wanted to thank you,” he said. “So, uh, thank you.” He spread his hands and then clasped them together under his chin, hoping she would know what he meant. She was a tiny, fragile-looking, dark-eyed thing. Sadness and terror were etched on her face and in her eyes. It was as if she knew she was on the right side, but that her time was limited. It couldn’t be long before her husband was found out. He was not only a convert to the true Messiah, but he had also defended an enemy of the state. Buck knew Michael’s wife must be wondering how long it would be before she and her children suffered the same fate that Tsion Ben-Judah’s family suffered. And short of that, how long before she lost her husband to the cause, worthy though it was.
It would have been against custom for her to have touched Buck, so he was startled when she approached. She stood just two feet from his face and stared into his eyes. She said something in Hebrew and he recognized only the last two words: “Y’shua Hamashiach.”
When Buck slipped away in the darkness and arrived at the bus, Tsion was already stretched out under the seats in the back. Food and extra water and oil and gasoline had already been stored.
Michael approached, his three friends behind him. He embraced Buck and kissed him on both cheeks. “Go with God,” he said, handing him the ownership documents. Buck reached to shake hands with the other three, who apparently knew he wouldn’t understand them anyway, and said nothing.
He stepped onto the bus and shut the door, settling into the creaky chair behind the wheel. Michael signaled him from outside to slide open his driver’s-side window. “Feather it,” Michael said.
“Feather it?” Buck said.
“The throttle.”
Buck put the pedal down and released it, turning the key. The engine roared noisily to life. Michael put up both hands to urge him to be as quiet as possible. Buck slowly let out the clutch, and the old crate shuddered and jumped and lurched. Just to get out of the alleyway and onto the main thoroughfare, Buck felt as if he were riding the clutch. Shifting, clutching, and, yes, feathering the throttle, he was finally free of the tiny neighborhood and out onto the road. Now, if he could just follow Michael’s instructions and directions and somehow get to the border, the rest would be up to God. He felt an unusual sense of freedom, simply piloting a vehicle—albeit one like this—on his own. He was on a journey that would lead him somewhere. By dawn, he could be anywhere: detained, imprisoned, in the desert, in the air, or in heaven.