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.
CHAPTER 12
It didn’t take Buck long to learn what Michael meant by “feathering” the throttle. Any time Buck clutched to shift, the engine nearly stalled. When he came to a complete stop, he had to keep his left foot on the clutch, his right heel on the brake, and feather the throttle with the toes of his right foot.
Along with the title to the dilapidated rig, Michael had included a rough map. “There are four different places where you can cross over from Israel into Egypt by auto,” Michael had told him. The two most direct were at Rafah on the Gaza Strip. “But these have always been heavily patrolled. You might rather head south directly out of Jerusalem through Hebron to Beersheba. I would advise continuing southeast out of Beersheba, though that is slightly out of your way. About two-thirds of the way between Beersheba and Yeroham is a southern but mostly western cutoff that takes you through the northern edge of the Negev. You’re less than fifty kilometers from the border there, and when you come within less than ten kilometers, you can head north and west or continue due west. I couldn’t guess which border would be easier to get through. I would recommend the southern, because you can then continue to a northwest route that takes you directly into Al Arish. If you take the northern pass, you must go back up to the main road between Rafah and Al Arish, which is more heavily traveled and more carefully watched.”
That had been all Buck needed to hear. He would take the southernmost of the four border crossings and pray he was not stopped until then.
Tsion Ben-Judah stayed on the floor under the seats until Buck had rumbled far enough south of Jerusalem that they both felt safe. Tsion moved up and crouched next to Buck. “Are you tired?” he asked. “Would you like me to take over driving?”
“You’re joking.”
“It may be many months before I am able to find humor in anything,” Tsion said.
“But you’re not serious about sitting behind the wheel of this bus, are you? What would we do if we were stopped? Trade places?”
“I was just offering.”
“I appreciate it, but it’s out of the question. I’m fine, well-rested. Anyway, I’m scared to death. That will keep me alert.”
Buck downshifted to navigate a curve, and Tsion swung forward from the momentum. He hung on to the metal pole next to the driver’s seat, and he spun around and smacked into Buck, pushing him to the left.
“I told you, Tsion, I’m awake. You need not continually try to rouse me.”
He looked at Tsion to see if he had elicited a smile. It appeared Tsion was trying to be polite. He apologized profusely and slid into the seat behind Buck, his head low, his chin resting on his hands, which gripped the bar that separated the driver from the first seat. “Tell me when I need to duck.”
“By the time I know that, you’ll likely already be seen.”
“I do not think I can take riding long on the floorboards,” Ben-Judah said. “Let us both just be on the lookout.”
It was difficult for Buck to get the old bus to move faster than seventy kilometers per hour. He feared it would take all night to get to the border. Maybe that was OK. The darker and the later the better. As he chugged along, watching the gauges and trying not to do anything that might draw attention to them, he noticed in his rearview mirror that Tsion had slumped in the seat and was trying to rest on his side. Buck thought the rabbi had said something. “I beg your pardon?” Buck said.
“I am sorry, Cameron. I was praying.”
Later Buck heard him singing. Later still, weeping. Well after midnight, Buck checked his map and noted that they were rolling through Haiheul, a small town just a tick north of Hebron. “Will the tourists be out at this time of night in Hebron?” Buck asked.
Tsion leaned forward. “No. But still, it is a populated area. I will be careful. Cameron, there is something I would like to talk to you about.”
“Anything.”
“I want you to know that I am deeply grateful that you have sacrificed your time and risked your life to come for me.”
“No friend would do less, Tsion. I’ve felt a deep bond with you since the day you first took me to the Wailing Wall. And then we had to flee together after your television broadcast.”
“We have been through some incredible experiences, it is true.” Tsion said. “That is why I knew if I could merely get Dr. Rosenzweig to point you in the direction of the witnesses, you would find me. I did not dare let on to him where I was. Even my driver knew only to take me to Michael and the other brothers in Jericho. My driver was so distraught at what happened to my family that he was in tears. We have been together for many years. Michael promised to keep him informed, but I would like to call him myself. Perhaps I can use your secure phone once we have passed the border.”
Buck didn’t know what to say. He had more confidence than Michael that Tsion could take yet more bad news, but why did he have to be the one to bear it? The intuitive rabbi seemed to immediately suspect Buck was hiding something. “What?” he asked. “Do you think it is too late to call him?”
“It is very late,” Buck said.
“But if the situation were reversed, I would be overjoyed to hear from him at any time of the day or night.”
“I’m sure he felt—feels the same,” Buck said lamely.
Buck peeked into the rearview mirror. Tsion stared at him, a look of realization coming over him. “Maybe I should call him now,” he suggested. “May I use your phone?”
“Tsion, you are always welcome to whatever I have. You know that. I would not phone him now, no.”
When Tsion responded, Buck knew that he knew. His voice was flat, full of the pain that would plague him the rest of his days. “Cameron, his name was Jaime. He had been with me since I started teaching at the university. He was not an educated man; however, he was wise in the ways of the world. We talked much about my findings. He and my wife were the only ones besides my student assistants who knew what I was going to say on the television broadcast. He was close, Cameron. So close. But he is no longer with us, is he?”
Buck thought about merely shaking his head, but he could not do that. He busied himself looking for road signs for Hebron, but the rabbi, of course, would not let it go.
“Cameron, we are too clo
se and have gone through too much for you to hold out on me now. Clearly you have been told the disposition of Jaime. You must understand that the toll the bad news has taken on me can be made neither worse by hearing more, nor better by hearing less. We believers in Christ, of all people, must never fear any truth, hard as it may be.”
“Jaime is dead,” Buck said.
Tsion hung his head. “He heard me preach so many times. He knew the gospel. Sometimes I even pushed him. He was not offended. He knew I cared about him. I can only hope and pray that perhaps after he delivered me to Michael, he had time to join the family. Tell me how it happened.”
“Car bomb.”
“Instantaneous, then,” he said. “Perhaps he never knew what hit him. Perhaps he did not suffer.”
“I’m so sorry, Tsion. Michael didn’t think you could take it.”
“He underestimates me, but I appreciate his concern. I worry about everyone associated with me. Anyone who appears they might know anything of my whereabouts may suffer if they are not forthcoming. That includes so many. I will never forgive myself if they all pay the ultimate price for merely having known me. Frankly, I worry about Chaim Rosenzweig.”
“I wouldn’t worry about him just yet,” Buck said. “He’s still closely identified with Carpathia. Ironically, that’s his protection for now.”
Buck drove cautiously through Hebron, and he and Tsion rode in silence all the way to Beersheba. In the wee hours of the morning, about ten kilometers south of Beersheba, Buck noticed the heat gauge rising. The oil gauge still looked OK, but the last thing Buck wanted was to overheat. “I’m gonna add some water to this radiator, Tsion,” he said. The rabbi seemed to be dozing.
Buck pulled far off the road onto the gravel shoulder. He found a rag and climbed out. Once he got the hood propped up, he gingerly opened the radiator cap. It was steaming, but he was able to dump a couple of liters of water in before the thing boiled over. While he was working he noticed a Global Community peacekeeping force squad car slowly drive past. Buck tried to look casual and took a deep breath.
He wiped his hands and dropped the rag into his water can, noticing the squad car had pulled over about a hundred feet in front of the bus and was slowly backing up. Trying not to look suspicious, Buck tossed the water can into the bus and came back around to shut the hood. Before he shut it, the squad car backed onto the road and turned to face him on the shoulder. With the headlights shining in his eyes, Buck heard the Global Community peacekeeper say something to him in Hebrew over his loudspeaker.
Buck held out both arms and hollered, “English!”
In a heavy accent, the peacekeeper said, “Please to remain outside your vehicle.”
Buck turned to lower the hood, but the officer called out to him again, “Please to stand where you are.”
Buck shrugged and stood awkwardly, hands at his sides. The officer spoke into his radio. Finally the young man emerged. “Happy evening to you, sir,” he said.
“Thank you,” Buck said. “Just had some overheating problems is all.”
The officer was dark and slender, wearing the gaudy uniform of the Global Community. Buck wished he’d had his own passport and papers. Nothing sent a GC operative running more quickly than Buck’s 2-A clearance. “Are you alone?” the officer asked.
“Name’s Herb Katz,” Buck said.
“I asked you are you alone?”
“I’m an American businessman, here on pleasure.”
“Your papers, please.”
Buck pulled out his phony passport and wallet. The young man studied them with a flashlight and pointed the light into Buck’s face. Buck didn’t think that was necessary with the headlights already blinding him, but he said nothing.
“Mr. Katz, can you tell me where you got this vehicle?”
“I bought it tonight. Just before midnight.”
“And you bought it from?”
“I have the papers. I can’t pronounce his name. I’m an American.”
“Sir, the plates on this vehicle trace to a resident of Jericho.”
Buck, still playing dumb, said, “Well, there you go! That’s where I bought it, in Jericho.”
“And you say you purchased it before midnight?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you aware of a manhunt in this country?”
“Tell me,” Buck said.
“It happens that the owner of this vehicle was detained, just over an hour ago, in connection with aiding and abetting a murder suspect.”
“You don’t say?” Buck said. “I just took a boat ride with this man. He runs a tour boat. I told him I needed a vehicle to just get me from Israel to Egypt so I could fly home to America. He told me he had just the rig, and this is it.”
The officer moved toward the bus. “I’m going to need to see those papers,” he said.
“I’ll get them for you,” Buck said, stepping in front of him and jumping onto the bus. He grabbed the papers and waved them as he came down the steps. The officer backed away and into the light of his own headlamps again.
“The papers seem to be in order, but it’s just too coincidental that you purchased this vehicle only hours before this man was arrested.”
“I don’t see what buying a bus has to do with what some guy is messed up with,” Buck said.
“We have reason to believe that the man who sold you this vehicle has been harboring a murderer. He was found with the suspect’s papers and those of an American. It will not be long before we persuade him to tell us where he has harbored the suspect.” The officer looked at his own notes. “Are you familiar with a Cameron Williams, an American?”
“Doesn’t sound like the name of any friend I’ve got. I’m from Chicago.”
“And you are leaving tonight, from Egypt?”
“That’s right.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Buck repeated.
“Why do you need to leave through Egypt? Why do you not fly out of Jerusalem or Tel Aviv?”
“No flights tonight. I want to get home. I’ve chartered a flight.”
“And why didn’t you simply hire a ride?”
“If you look closely at that title and bill of sale, you’ll see I paid less for the bus than I would have for a ride.”
“One moment, sir.” The officer went back to his squad car and sat talking on the radio for several minutes.
Buck prayed he would think of something that would keep the peacekeeper from searching the bus.
Soon the young man emerged again. “You claim to never have heard of Cameron Williams. We are now determining if the man who sold you this vehicle will implicate you in his scheme.”
“His scheme?” Buck said.
“It will not take us long to find out where he has hidden our suspect. It will be in his best interest to tell us the whole truth. He has a wife and children, after all.”
For the first time in his life, Buck was tempted to kill a man. He knew the officer was just a pawn in a cosmic game, the war between good and evil. But he represented evil. Would Buck have been justified, the way Michael had felt justified, in killing those who might kill Tsion? The officer heard squawking on his radio and hurried back to the squad car. He returned in a moment.
“Our techniques have worked,” he said. “We have extracted the location of the hiding place, somewhere between Jericho and Lake Tiberius off the Jordan River. But under the threat of torture and even death, he swears you were merely a tour guest to whom he sold the vehicle.”
Buck sighed. Others might consider that mutual ruse a coincidence. To him it was as much a miracle as what he had seen at the Wailing Wall.
“Just for safety’s sake, however,” the officer said, “I have been asked to search your vehicle for any evidence of the fugitive.”
“But you said—”
“Have no fear, sir. You are in the clear. Perhaps you were used to transport some evidence out of the country without your knowing it. We simply need to check the vehicle for anything
that might lead us to the suspect. I will thank you to stand aside and remain here while I search your vehicle.”
“You don’t need a warrant or my permission or anything?”
The officer turned menacingly toward Buck. “Sir, you have been pleasant and cooperative. But do not make the mistake of thinking that you are talking with local law enforcement here. You can see from my car and my uniform that I represent the peacekeeping forces of the Global Community. We are restricted by no conventions or rules. I could confiscate this vehicle without so much as your signature. Now wait here.”
Wild thoughts ran through Buck’s mind. He considered trying to disarm the officer and racing away in the man’s squad car with Tsion. It was ludicrous, he knew, but he hated inaction. Would Tsion jump the officer? Kill him? Buck heard the officer’s footsteps move slowly to the back of the bus and then to the front again. The flashlight beam danced around inside the bus.
The officer rejoined him. “What did you think you were going to do? Did you think you were going to get away with this? Did you think I was going to allow you to drive this vehicle across the border into Egypt and to simply dump it? Were you going to leave it at an airport somewhere for local authorities to clean up?”
Buck was dumbfounded. This was what the officer was worried about now? Had he not seen Tsion Ben-Judah on the bus? Had God supernaturally blinded him?
“Uh, I, uh, actually had thought of that. Yes, I understood that many of the locals who try to pick up extra money helping with baggage and the like, that they, uh, would be thrilled to have such a vehicle.”
“You must be a very wealthy American, sir. I realize this bus is not worth much, but it sure is a big tip for a baggage handler, wouldn’t you say?”
“Call me frivolous,” Buck said.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Katz.”
“Well, you’re welcome. And thank you.”
The officer reentered his vehicle and pulled across the road, heading north back into Beersheba. Buck, his knees like jelly and his fingers twitching, slammed the hood shut and boarded the bus. “How in the world did you pull that off, Tsion? Tsion! It’s me! You can come out now, wherever you are. No way you fit up in the luggage rack. Tsion?”