The Celestial Gate by Avital Dicker (red white royal blue txt) 📗

“I’m going out to make some phone calls and put together a search party.

“I’m coming with you,” Sual said.

“No!” Theo cut her off. “It’s too risky,” he added, trying to soften his initial reaction. He knew he had no right to prevent Sual from entering the Old City with them, but he found the idea that something might happen to her unbearable.

Sual stared at him coldly. “I speak Arabic and I can identify every cobblestone in the Old City blindfolded. Let’s see you stop me,” she challenged.

Theo stared back, suppressing his urgent desire to pull her close and kiss her. How stupid he’d been. How had it taken him until today to realize just how important she was to him?

Anise opened her eyes. She tried to move but realized she was tied up. In the dark, she couldn’t tell where Yam and Mor were. “Mor,” she whispered.

“I’m here,” she heard him answer.

“Where are we?” she wanted to know.

“I have no idea,” Mor answered weakly. Footsteps echoed between the walls. “They’re coming back,” he managed to gasp out.

“Who?” Anise demanded. “Who’s coming back?”

Mor had no chance to answer before a cone of light blinded them.

“Leave the girl. Let’s start with the boys,” said a man’s voice in Hebrew. Anise couldn’t make out any faces but, based on the number of shadows dancing on the wall, she thought there were three of them.

When the men turned their backs to her and faced the boys, she saw they were wearing yarmulkes. Jews, she thought, trying to figure out where they were. Based on the electrical wires along the walls, Anise concluded they were still in the new tunnel system. Not far away, she could just make out a few sleeping bags and a small table with some remnants of food on it. They’ve been down here a while, she realized. Based on the blotch of sunlight on one of the steps, Anise assumed they were close to an exit.

Yam and Mor, trussed back to back, sat some ten feet away from her.

One of the yarmulked men kicked Yam in the stomach; Yam doubled over in pain. Then, a shrill walkie-talkie rang nearby. “Start talking,” the tall man ordered, “how did you get here? Who else is with you?” Yam, still bent over and gasping with agony, was unable to make a sound.

“There was an attack, so we came down to hide here,” Mor answered instead of Yam.

“Was I talking to you?” the tall man said threateningly, raising his hand.

“Hey, they’re only kids,” said the shortest of the three and grabbed the tall man’s arm. “Relax.”

“She doesn’t look like a kid at all.” The tall one had turned to Anise and was stripping her with his eyes. Anise felt humiliated. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and rage.

“Command to yarmulke, we’re under attack,” squawked the walkie-talkie, “return. Repeat, we’re under attack.” The sounds of explosions and shooting came clearly through the device.

“We have to go,” said the man holding the walkie-talkie.

“Coming. Over and out,” he barked, and then all three hurried out, forgetting one of the flashlights in their haste.

Anise breathed more easily, but the lecherous look stayed with her, making her feel nauseous.

“I still have my pocketknife, but I can’t get to it.” Mor brought her back to the present.

Yam wiggled around, trying to reach Mor’s back pocket, but their hands were tied. “I can’t get it either,” he said, frustrated.

“Wait! I’m coming,” said Anise, who started to roll toward Mor, her mouth filling with dirt. Then, she felt something sharp in her back.

“Sorry, that’s my foot,” said Yam, and added helpfully, “try to head to the right.”

She tried rolling more to the right, but this time crashed into Mor.

After a few unsuccessful attempts, Anise finally managed to sit close to Mor and stick her a hand into his jeans pocket. But, with her hands tied to one another, it was difficult to reach the elusive tool. After several failed tries, she had her hands on the pocketknife at last.

“If we weren’t in this situation, I’d have said I rather enjoyed that,” Mor laughed.

“Oh shut up,” Anise was immediately irritated. She started cutting at the thick rope, but the little tool didn’t make much of a dent. After several minutes, her wrists were bleeding from the friction.

“Hurry up, they could be back any second,” Mor urged.

“Stuff it! As if I’m not tense enough already,” she retorted, sweating with exertion.

“Are you OK?” Mor asked with concern.

“Well, they’re shooting at me, tying me up, threatening me, and now, any second, they’re about to kill me. Does it sound like I’m OK?”

Anise fell silent and bit her lips. She knew she shouldn’t have taken it out on Mor. None of this was his fault. But her nerves were at the breaking point. The terrorists could be back at any time.

She now yanked at the rope with all her might and it finally gave. Anise closed her eyes for a brief second of thanksgiving.

Within minutes, Mor managed to free himself and Yam, who hurried to make sure he still had the map. A touch to his back pocket confirmed it was still there. While the three men had confiscated their weapons, it hadn’t occurred to them to do a body search of their young captives.

Anise found their backpacks tossed in a corner. She took out a bottle of water and moistened her dry lips.

“C’mon, let’s skedaddle before they come back,” said Yam, picking the flashlight up from the floor.

“Just a sec,” was Mor’s reply. He hurried over to the sleeping bags and pulled out a rifle concealed in a bedroll. “They never imagined we’d escape,” he snickered with satisfaction. All three started running toward the stairs and the exit, when suddenly the walls behind them imploded and rocks rained down everywhere. The air was again clogged with dust.

“What the actual hell was that?” Mor mumbled after it grew quiet again. Standing up, he saw Anise bleeding from her arm and Yam tightening a bandage around the cut. A