The terrorist was now suspended in the air, his body smacking into the wall.
“Shit! I’m sorry,” Anise hurried to grab the rope again. But the man had been roused when his body slammed against the rocks, and he didn’t seem particularly happy to find himself suspended in the air. He bellowed curses and started kicking his legs, causing the rope to swing wildly. It also made the rope very hard to grasp. “We should have tied his legs together,” Mor said.
Anise grabbed a rifle and pointed it at the man. Now, her Arabic came in handy. “Shut up or I’ll shoot,” she hissed with a self-control that surprised even herself. The man looked upwards and quieted down. “Try something and I’ll be more than happy to put another bullet in you,” she continued.
“I didn’t know you know how to shoot,” Mor muttered.
“I don’t,” she answered.
Anise led the pack, with Mor behind her, the barrel poking hard into the terrorist’s back. “Hey, this is a real city down here,” Yam said with awe when seeing the plaza in the ancient tunnel.
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Anise promised.
After passing the ancient tree trunk, Anise pressed the cleverly concealed point in the tunnel wall she’d accidentally discovered before. Silently, the rock slid aside.
Yam was unable to take his eyes off the vibrantly painted walls.
“Let’s find a place to stash this guy first,” Anise said, turning everyone’s attention back to the most pressing issue.
They tried to force the captive terrorist to sit down in a corner of the small room, but he wriggled, kicked, and spat at Yam when Yam tried to tie his legs. Yam wouldn’t have minded punching him. Instead, he tore off a piece of his shirt and stuffed it into the man’s mouth. “That’ll teach you to spit,” he angrily said, and again rubbed at the welt around his neck. “Be grateful you’re alive,” he added.
Anise stayed in the room to guard the terrorist while Yam and Mor went out to bring back the rest of the weapons and ammunition. The evil glower of the man’s eyes made Anise shiver. She kept the rifle close to her to feel safer, feeling his eyes boring a hole in her back, and tried hard to ignore his presence. She wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of seeing her afraid. She focused on removing and opening the canned goods from her backpack and projecting an aura of indifference.
For the past few days, the three had eaten infrequently and little, dividing the portions up so that they’d have enough for the days ahead. That entire day, she’d been acutely aware of her hunger. She’d gone to sleep with an empty stomach and had woken up with a rumbling belly. Tonight, though, they’d eat their fill.
Now, Yam and Mor were back with all the weapons they’d salvaged.
“Enough for a small army,” Mor announced, and fell upon the open cans, not caring what was in them. All three ate indiscriminately, barely tasting any of the food.
With a loud sigh, Anise lay back and stroked her full belly with satisfaction. Yam made dessert out of the last pickle and, while chewing pensively, stared at the text on the wall.
“It’s Latin,” he finally said. “My father liked to incorporate Latin sayings into his paintings before he turned religious and became fanatically observant.”
Anise walked over to the terrorist and removed the fabric from his mouth. She decided not to take any unnecessary risks and therefore left his hands tied. Trying to suppress her revulsion, she started to feed him some corn. The terrorist stared at her with evident hatred, chewing with an open mouth revealing tobacco-stained teeth. Anise was not deterred. She forced herself to stare back at him, refusing to show weakness. “What’s your name?” she asked in her most nonchalant tone.
“Nasat,” he answered without looking away, “and I’m going to kill you.” He followed his threat in Arabic by spitting a gob of half-chewed corn onto her shoe.
This was too much even for Anise. She stuffed the rag back into his mouth. “Your mouth is full. You don’t need any more food,” she declared before joining the boys who’d arranged themselves on top of the rock shelves at the other end of the room. It’s the last time I’m feeding that animal, she told herself.
“It’s not possible that God sees what’s happening down here and isn’t doing anything about it,” she said to them.
“If there is a God to begin with,” Yam said with doubt.
“Or maybe He’s busy,” Mor laughed.
“Hey, I’m not kidding,” an agitated Anise answered. “I have to find Him.” Suddenly, she had the distinct sensation that she’d said exactly that same sentence some other place and time, but she couldn’t remember where or when.
“We have to find the gate,” she said. “Which of the gates has at least one of the letters we saw in the bonfire flames – ‘o,’ ‘e,’ and ‘d’?”
“Herod’s Gate,” said Yam, “also Lions’ Gate, and Golden Gate.”
“Well, we’ve already been to Lions’ Gate, so we have two gates to check. Which one is closer?” Anise asked.
Yam took out the map. “We’re actually directly underneath Golden Gate, which is also the gate closest to the Western Wall. We can get there through the new tunnels.”
A troubled Mor looked at Nasat. “The first thing he wanted to know was where the briefcase was,” he said, the gears in his mind clearly turning. “I wonder what’s in it. We have to try to get him to talk.”
“Well, good luck with that!” Yam snorted. “I don’t think he’s about to volunteer any information.”
Without answering, Mor dragged the silver-colored briefcase toward Nasat.
“Let’s see what we can get out of you,” he said, trying to seem calm. Sitting down at a
