The Republican Guard rode their horses hard, beyond the point of exhaustion, only because Ismael knew about the spring they now approached. Their water was gone. They had abandoned the two Jeeps in the foothills, loaded the munitions on the horses, watered them well, and struck directly for the spring. The tracker had estimated that the camel tracks they followed were less than several hours old by the signs. So then, the Jew could not be far ahead—camels were slow beasts. With any luck they would catch them before the monastery.
Ismael reined his horse up at the edge of the spring and dropped into the sand. The others crashed in around him. They let the horses stamp up to the waters, sweaty and snorting.
“Another run like that and we’ll kill them,” Asid said.
“But they aren’t dead, are they? If we fail with our mission, on the other hand, you might be.” Ismael was studying the banks as he spoke. The camels had skirted the twin ponds, dragging something. His pulse quickened.
“How far till—”
“Water the horses,” Ismael snapped. “I’ll be back.”
He slid his rifle from the scabbard, checked the load, and walked around the pools. The tracks led from the oasis to the cliffs, then into a canyon. He edged around the corner and saw that whatever they had been dragging had been lifted. A weak attempt to cover tracks. An attempt that a soldier as experienced as the Jew would make only in a hurry.
Ismael gripped the rifle in both hands and studied the sandy ground. The tracks disappeared around a bend. With a parting glance back at the oasis, he slipped into the canyon and hurried for a rock outcropping this side of the bend. Except for his steady breathing and the gentle murmur of voices from the watering hole behind him, the air lay still. He made his way up the canyon, running from rock to rock, keeping to the south wall.
At the next bend, he saw the large island of boulders in the middle of the canyon. And beyond the boulders, a path that snaked up a dead end. He thought immediately that he’d been too late. It must be a back way that Caleb knew, which would make sense if he’d lived in these hills all his life. But still, there was the fact that they had tried to cover their tracks, which meant that they might be only a few kilometers ahead. He should get back to the horses. The Jew would be a sitting duck in the open. Not to mention that camels—
A tan head suddenly eased out from behind the large boulders, thirty meters ahead.
A camel!
Ismael jerked back, his heart suddenly slamming in his chest. They were still in the canyon! They had tried to fool him, but now one shot to the head of their camels and they would be on foot.
Another thought crashed through Ismael’s mind: if he had been seen, which he would not put past the Jew, she would know that he had seen the camel. She may have been holding off a shot, thinking that he might see the path and leave. But now she had seen him jerk back—the next time he wouldn’t be so lucky. Speed. He had to act fast, before she expected him to.
Ismael ducked and ran into the canyon. He slid down at the base of the boulders, expecting a shot to ring out.
But none did. He inched around, keeping low at the base. The camels stood dumbly in the sun, not twenty meters off. Two quick shots and the Jew would be as good as dead. He pushed himself to one knee and lifted his rifle.
It was the first time Rebecca had seen the Arab’s full face. He was Ismael. Son of Abu Ismael, brother of Hamil. She knew that because she had studied Hamil before killing him. Ismael, Hamil’s mourning brother, had shouted obscenities at a camera crew once, naming Rebecca as a witch who was poisoning the land. His hate for her ran deep, and she hardly blamed him. She knew how losing a brother or a sister felt.
If it had been any other face peering around that cliff wall, she might have pulled the trigger. But to see Ismael here, deep in the desert so far from Palestine—her head spun with questions.
And then he jerked back. One glance and she saw that the camel had walked out. He knew! She swallowed. So it would come down to a firefight after all. Dear God, favor Isaac.
Ismael acted quickly, diving to the rocks before she could regain a target. And then he rose to one knee, filling her sights. He was going after the camels! She eased the slack on the trigger. I’m sorry for your brother, Ismael. Now it’s your turn to die as well.
And maybe you as well, Rebecca. When the gunshot reaches the oasis, the soldiers will come. She had no choice.
Movement to her right caught her attention half an ounce from the hammer fall. It was the shape of a man, walking into play, and she knew in one unutterable moment of horror that it was Caleb.
She shifted her eye without losing Ismael and stared in shock. Caleb was walking towards the Arab! Dressed in a white tunic and strolling as if they had planned to meet all along.
Ismael rose to his feet, his rifle trained unwavering on Caleb’s chest. Caleb stopped three meters from the Arab.
Why Rebecca didn’t pull the trigger then, she would never understand. She told herself that it was because by coming out, Caleb was telling her not to. Ismael was standing there, his barrel pointed at Caleb, ready to send a slug through his heart with a twitch of his finger, and Rebecca remained frozen, like a block of ice.
“You are the Arab?” Caleb’s voice sounded softly down the canyon, a decibel above a whisper. In its wake absolute stillness. Rebecca had stopped breathing.
“Why are you trying to kill me?” Caleb asked.
Rebecca slowly lifted her head from the rifle and looked at Caleb, twenty meters from her position. He stood with his arms limp at his sides— like a child.
Ismael took a step back, transfixed by the sight. His eyes were wide, trained over the barrel, but he didn’t shoot.
“My Master once taught that the peacemakers would be blessed,” Caleb said.
“Shut up!” Ismael’s voice echoed in high pitch. His eyes jerked around the canyon. Why didn’t he shoot? Because he knew that he was being watched. If Caleb had walked out to him, someone else surely saw him as well. If he shot, he, too, would be shot. He knew that, Rebecca thought.
Caleb lowered his head and looked at the man past arching brows. He took a step forward, then stopped.
“You know, when I was a child I sang once and a thousand people fell over. I closed my eyes and sang a simple song in Ge’ez, and when I opened my eyes, they were all on the ground.” Caleb’s voice held a slight tremor. “Do you know why, my friend? It was because the Spirit of God breathed over them. Man sometimes has a hard time dealing with the breath of God.”
“Don’t be a fool! Don’t take another step! Where’s the witch?”
So he knew it was she, Rebecca thought.
“You mean Rebecca? She’s no more a witch than I am a magician. We’re simply people. She’s one that God’s pursuing, and I’m one that God has caught. And that means I have a little power.” He paused and lifted a hand slowly. “Now don’t shoot. I’m only lifting my hand. But you know yesterday we lifted our hands above our heads like this”—he lifted both hands—“and you rode your horses right through our camp.”
Ismael blinked rapidly several times. “You’re lying! We saw no camp.”
“Yes. That’s the point. You were blinded, I think. Either that or we were made invisible, but I think blinded is more accurate because that happened before, in the Bible, you know. That’s what Hadane knows; that’s what I had forgotten. We still live in the time of the Bible, between Christ and the Apocalypse.”
“What are you talking about? You’re talking nonsense!”
“No, I’m not. Really, I’m not.” Caleb lowered his hands slowly. “Do you want to see the power?”
Ismael didn’t respond. He was still frozen.
“You know, this is amazing,” Caleb said, looking down at his hands. “I’m really not sure if I even have the power to show you. To be totally honest I’m standing here terrified.” He looked up. “Really, I am. It feels like I’m stepping off a cliff here. One foot is over and the other is still anchored and I’m trying to decide whether or not to jump. What do you think, should I jump?”
Ismael just stared at him, his face now ashen.
“Courage, my son. That’s what Father Hadane said,” Caleb said. “Courage, my son. Cowardice keeps man double minded, hesitating between two worlds. True faith abandons one option for the other. You ever wonder what true faith is? I may be talking as if I was full of faith, but really, I’m trembling under this robe. Look at it.” He looked down at the hem, and Rebecca saw that he was right. She could see the quiver in the gown from where she crouched! The man was mad.
“So you see, I think I’ve just stepped off the cliff and I’m free-falling now,” Caleb said, looking up at the Arab. “Now the question is whether or not I will land hard and die.”
Ismael just stared at him, completely off guard by the strange speech. They stood like that for some time, long enough for a bead of sweat to leak down Rebecca’s cheek and drip on her thumb. Her palms were wet and her breathing shallow, and she just stared at the two men facing off, immobilized.
“Are you going to shoot me?” Caleb asked.
It was an impossible moment. The Arab gripped his weapon, knuckles white and shaking. But he did not fire.
“Then if you aren’t going to shoot me, I think you should sit down,” Caleb said. “I’m falling off a cliff; the least you can do is sit.”
For a moment Ismael stood unmoving. He suddenly began to shake. His face twisted in a sort of anguish, and he staggered back one step. His mouth fell open in a silent cry of agony. For a terrible moment Rebecca pitied him.
He suddenly fell to his rump, with a dull thump. He still held the rifle, and his hands pressed against its stock, white with pressure. He was trying to pull the trigger, she thought. He was actually trying to shoot!
Caleb stared, his eyes wide with wonder.
The Arab was trembling all over now. He looked like he had accidentally fallen on a high-voltage power line. Tears broke from his eyes and ran down both cheeks. He craned his head back in agony, his mouth gaping and his eyes clenched in a silent cry. The gun fell from his hands, and he slowly drew his knees into his chest, like a fetus.
Rebecca swallowed, struck by a deep empathy. Ismael was being consumed with sorrow, she thought. He was crying for his brother—for his land, for his life—and suddenly Rebecca was fighting a balloon of sorrow that was trying to rise through her own throat. Tears blurred her vision and she wiped at them quickly.
Dear Ismael, I am so sorry.
The Arab toppled over to his right side and lay still.
The canyon hung in silence for a few long moments. Caleb looked down at Ismael, wide-eyed; the Arab looked unconscious; Rebecca hardly dared to breathe.
But an opportunity had presented itself.
She vaulted the rock and landed on the sand, facing them. “Let’s go!” she whispered. “The others will come looking. We have to hurry!”
She grabbed the reins of both camels and tugged them towards the path which rose to the plateau above. Her mind buzzed like a tuning fork, stunned by the events. But they had to flee, didn’t they? Yes, of course. Dear Ismael, I am sorry? She had thought that? How could she think that? Rebecca grunted and shook her head.
It occurred to her that she was alone on the path. She spun back. Caleb stood, planted where she’d left him, facing the Arab.
“Caleb! Hurry! We have to get out of here!”
He hesitated one moment longer and then followed in an uneasy gait. Pulling off a disappearing act with the tribe, at the side of Father Hadane, was one thing, Rebecca thought. Now he had done this on his own, and she wasn’t sure he knew how he’d done it.
She sure didn’t know.
The path dumped out into rolling hills, and she mounted her camel. Whatever had happened, his God was turning out to be not so bashful. Even so, they would be lucky to reach the monastery ahead of the Arabs. And either way there would be a firefight.