arrived.
Deker glanced at his watch. It was 6:15 p.m.
The bronze sky outside the cafe seemed to weigh heavily over the squat buildings as sunset neared. But the narrow street was livelier than Deker had hoped. There were women carrying grocery bags, boys riding bicycles and street vendors hawking their wares. The explosion would shatter windows for fifty to one hundred meters around, and Deker worried about injuring innocents in the street.
Rachel, of course, would be mortified to know that this was why he had missed her at the Western Wall tonight. Nasty business, and he was through with it. Which was why he would never tell her, only ask her to marry him and move back to the States, where she could pursue her graduate degree in psychology and then spend the rest of her life rehabilitating him.
The thought of Rachel was the only thing that could bring a smile to his face. She knew something was up. She had come in on him at his apartment when he was hiding Omekh’s chipped bowl in his closet. She must have suspected he had already picked up an engagement ring. She had made some passing remark at dinner a few days later about “conflict” or “blood” diamonds and how important it was to make sure you knew where things really came from, and not to support industries that exploited children or funded wars.
Fortunately, he would be able to assure her that the diamond he was giving her had come from his nana, and the only conflict it had seen was World War II. They could then talk about their bright, open future together. Deker yearned for that kind of innocence and passion for life again—before his two wars with the U.S. in Iraq and Afghanistan and this recent stint with the IDF in Israel.
Rachel was the way.
Deker looked at his watch. It was 6:16 p.m. He could picture her right now at the Western Wall. He could see her pour the water into a special bowl for the Shabbat hand-washing ceremony and dry her soft, strong hands with her little towel. And now, at exactly eighteen minutes to sunset, she was lighting her Shabbat candle.
As the candle burned, she would spread her hands around the flames and draw them inward in a circular motion three times to indicate the acceptance of the sanctity of Shabbat. Then she would cover her eyes and recite the blessing:
“Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who has hallowed us through His commandments, and has commanded us to kindle the lights of the holy Shabbat. Uncover your eyes and behold the Shabbat lights.”
Deker swallowed and took the detonator out of his pocket again. He looked out the window of the cafe and pressed the red button twice and watched.
There was a terrific explosion, and he felt the cafe shake. But the villa across the street stood still. The explosion had come from several streets away.
People started shouting in the streets outside, but Deker just sat there, stunned.
Almost immediately the TV in the Arab cafe blared the news that a blast had gone off at the Western Wall. Two young men in back high-fived each other, but the half-dozen other faces watched in sober dismay.
Deker stared at the detonator in his hand as a wave of panic and nausea overwhelmed him.
35
Deker raced on foot through the twisting alleys of East Jerusalem toward the Temple Mount, tears forming in his eyes as he was breathing, “No, no, no!”
By the time he reached the Western Wall Plaza, the lights of the ambulances, police cars and news crews glowed in the twilight. He slowed his pace, catching his breath as he brushed past the EMTs toward the taped-off area.
Four people were dead, a newswoman was breathlessly reporting as she stared into the lens atop her cameraman’s shoulder. Six others were injured, two critically.
He scanned the crowd as he pushed his way to the police line. There were more onlookers than people praying at the wall. Knowing Rachel, she’d be the first to be offering comfort to the victims or support to the first responders.
But he couldn’t see her anywhere in the chaos.
He could, however, see Stern and Elezar standing to the side with a couple of plainclothes Mossad officers conducting their inspection before any evidence was completely contaminated. They were blocking his view.
He approached them slowly, not certain if he wanted to talk to them or not. His feet felt like lead, his mouth was dry. The shouts and cries circling his head from the crowd gave him a headache, and the sight of the small ceramic shard in Stern’s hand made him nauseous.
Their faces said everything when they half-turned and saw him. They looked away as he pushed his way through and beheld the charred bits of limbs and flesh of the victims strewn across the plaza.
Deker collapsed to his knees, his soul swallowed up by a black void of grief and hopelessness, and wailed like a dying animal.
Rachel was gone, and with her the spark of his own life.
36
Even from the abandoned farm, Deker could see from a distance that Jericho was sealed up tight as a drum. Everyone must have fled the surrounding fields as soon as the Israelites had crossed the Jordan and sought refuge inside the walls of the city. No one went in and no one came out.
That included Rahab, assuming she was still alive.
As he looked up to see the clouds move like a spirit across the moon and listened to the rustling trees whisper ancient secrets, Deker felt as if he were the last soul alive in this world.
Until he spotted a movement out of the corner of his eye.
Moving quickly and quietly through a date grove, careful not to betray himself with a sound, he peered out through some palm leaves and started.
Kneeling in the dirt, hands stretched out toward the heavens with his sword across them, was none other than General Joshua bin-Nun.
He seemed to be talking to somebody Deker couldn’t see.
Deker squinted his eyes and scanned the horizon, looking for a security detail of young Judeans like Salmon and Achan—or, worse, Hamas and a squad of Reahn assassins. But there was nobody else.
Deker couldn’t believe Bin-Nun would expose himself to the enemy while his troops were recovering from the mutilation he had inflicted on them back in Gilgal.
Deker whipped out his scythe sword, just in case he had missed some shadow force, and rushed through the brush toward Bin-Nun.
Bin-Nun, sensing his approach, spun around quickly with the point of his sword to Deker’s throat, stopping him cold. Then, looking at him quizzically, Bin-Nun asked him, “You mean to save her, don’t you?”
“I do.” Deker sheathed his sword. “Who was that you were talking to? Why is the general out alone without his guards?”
“I came to inspect Jericho for myself,” Bin-Nun told him. “I was praying and looked up and saw an angel standing in front of me with a drawn sword in his hand. It was a real angel, not like you. I went up to him and asked, ‘Are you for us or for our enemies?’ The angel replied, ‘Neither, but as commander of the army of the Lord I have now come.’”
Deker took a breath. “The commander of the army of the Lord?” he repeated in as even a tone as possible, so as not to suggest he doubted Bin-Nun. “What did he say?”
Deker stiffened as Bin-Nun put a hand on his shoulder and turned him toward the city about a kilometer away. “Can you pick out this harlot’s window in the city wall from here?”
