Chapter 75
Jennifer hung up the phone and said, “We need to go to Jerusalem.”
Aaron said, “Why? Did they find the lost Turtle?”
“No. Not yet, but Shoshana says we need to go there.”
Aaron went to the window, thinking. He turned back around, saying, “They’ve got nothing?”
“They’re on the track of Garrett, but they don’t have a location for him. Shoshana thinks we need to go there.”
“Why?”
Jennifer shrugged, not having an answer. Aaron said, “Never mind. Pack a bag, and make sure it has a weapon. If she said go there, she’s probably right.”
Jennifer started shoving things into a backpack, saying, “Can’t you guys call your Mossad badasses and do this?”
Packing his own bag, Aaron laughed, saying, “I can barely get them to do anything even when I have concrete proof. There’s only one person I could have called to get support, and he died in Switzerland. Trust me, the current leadership isn’t going to listen to the ravings of a woman they tried to kill.”
Jennifer stopped her work and said, “What’s that mean?”
Aaron continued packing. He shoved in a magazine of ammunition and paused. “Let’s just say that Shoshana’s ability to see things didn’t work out well for the Mossad. They fear her, but don’t trust her.”
“And that’s how she ended up with you?”
He started packing again, saying, “Yes, because the Ramsad who was killed could see deeper than these people. Because I don’t fear her, but I do trust her.”
Michelangelo entered the outskirts of the concrete jungle of modern-day West Jerusalem and followed the signs to the Old City. Driving through the city, following the route of the bus he’d taken a day before, he noticed an increased police presence, with cars and uniformed personnel on every corner, a different environment from even his visit yesterday.
He wondered if they were looking for him. He ensured he followed all traffic laws, inching forward to the Old City.
He knew there was a parking deck next to the Jaffa gate, and sought it out, his head on a swivel from the increased police presence. Eventually, he found it, taking a ticket and pulling into an open space, the juxtaposition of the modern-day parking machine stark against the ancient walls he was about to penetrate.
He exited the vehicle, putting on his backpack. He walked up the stairs from the parking garage and went toward the Jaffa Gate, seeing a Jewish community celebration, a crowd of people all chanting songs and walking toward the gate waving flags, around them uniformed police now wearing helmets. He fell in behind them and entered, then threaded his way through the Christian quarter and into the Jewish quarter. He checked his map, took a left, and began walking through the cloistered cobblestones to the Muslim quarter, ducking his head every time a patrol of riot police passed him.
Garrett paid for his cookies and took the free ticket, telling the girl she was doing God’s work. She smiled and nodded, not understanding that she’d just given him a way into the grotto that couldn’t be tracked by the intelligence agencies of her own state.
He walked to the cable car station and saw multiple people milling about, a tour bus belching exhaust adjacent to the building. He mingled in with them, walking to the platform like any other tourist. He passed his ticket to the person manning the entrance and they boarded, the cable car beginning its descent at an incredibly sharp angle. It wasn’t a long trip, but it was disconcerting, almost like they were sliding straight down. The tourists in the car busied themselves with pictures and chatter. Garrett simply waited on the car to dock.
Once it reached the bottom, he exited, ignoring the tour guide taking the rest of the patrons to see the crashing of the sea inside the tunnels. He wanted something else—the old railroad.
He split from them and went down a tunnel on his own, the walls carved out decades ago. He reached a narrow-gauge railroad track with a sign next to it explaining the history. He glanced behind him, saw no one, and began walking down the tracks, leaving behind the overhead lights of the tourist space.
He continued until he couldn’t see anymore, the blackness reminding him of the hood he’d been forced to wear in Syria. Of the hole he’d been held in. The memory hit him like a sledgehammer, and he paused in the tunnel, not wanting to continue. Not wanting to find out what was down the path.
He shook his head, clearing the fear. He pulled out a small penlight and continued on, hearing the echoes of the tourists grow fainter behind him. Eventually, the only sound was the crunching of his boots in the gravel. Ten minutes later, he reached the end, his penlight illuminating a brick wall that spanned the entire width of the tunnel, the tracks continuing underneath. He slapped his hand against it, feeling it solid. He looked for a door, sure they wouldn’t have simply blocked the entire tunnel, but found nothing, and realized he’d had more hope than fact with his plan.
Of course they wouldn’t leave open an infiltration route from Lebanon. What the hell were you thinking?
He felt a little stupid, rushing here to escape from a tunnel that he himself, as a Special Forces commander, would have ordered blocked. He took a seat on a rock, just resting in the darkness. He pulled out his phone and was surprised to see a signal.
He initiated the Zello app, pulled up the location for Michelangelo, and saw the icon in Jerusalem, just inside the Old City. He smiled and initiated a call. Mikey answered, and Garrett said, “How’s it going?”
“I’m here, but there are police all over the place. I can’t get into the Temple Mount.”
“Why not?”
“Apparently, there’s going to be some sort of Palestinian protest, and the Israelis have blocked the gates.”
Garrett almost took the Lord’s name in vain at the news. He said, “So how long is this supposed to go on?”
“The guard said they’ll open the gates in an hour or so if no protests materialize. Are you back in Tel Aviv?”
“Not yet, but I will be soon.”
“Do you want me to stay here? Or roll over a day?”
“Stay there. If it opens back up, do the hit. If not, we’ll roll over.”
He hung up, shaking his head at how hard this was becoming. It was almost as if God was thwarting his plans. Placing trials in front of him to see if he was worthy. And then he remembered Abraham’s story. That’s exactly what this was. He needed to prove he was worthy.
The thought gave him confidence. He stood up, moving quickly back down the tunnel. He’d leave here and travel to Eilat, coordinating with Michelangelo along the way. Mikey would be like the son of Abraham, sacrificed for the glory of God.
He entered the primary cave, seeing the railing with tourists taking pictures of the sea spray crashing into the grotto. He went behind them, heading to the exit, and saw another crowd of tourists enter the grotto. Inside the group were two people he recognized. Two people who struck the same unbridled fear in him that he’d felt in the tunnel.
Chapter 76
Highway 4 began winding up into the cliffs on the northern border of Israel, and then abruptly dead-ended, turning into a parking lot for an overlook, the place jam-packed with tour buses and other vehicles, the view out over the Mediterranean Sea incredible.