The Celestial Gate, Avital Dicker [best inspirational books txt] 📗

had donned kufiyahs, and the space below seemed to be set up for a long-term stay. A bonfire was going strong in the center.

Against the far wall of the room, two men were seated behind a folding table with several laptops. One of them was having a conversation through a silvery earpiece; both were focused on one computer screen, which was incessantly scrolling long number strings.

Anise stared at a dangerous-looking, thickset man sitting on a cushion next to the bonfire, speaking loudly in Arabic. Assuming he was the leader, she started translating for Yam and Mor.

“They’re going to split into groups of five. Three are staying with him – I think those,” she said, pointing at the two near the computer and an armed guard who was pacing up and down the length of the chamber.

“What do they want to do?” Yam asked.

“They’re planning on leaving before daybreak through the tunnel that goes under the Western Wall to Chain Gate and from there to the Jewish Quarter and the Tower of David.” Anise had crawled a little farther ahead to hear better, dislodging a stone that fell into the space below. The three, holding their breath, rapidly pulled back.

The stone struck the shoulder of the man on the cushion, who let loose a stream of curses in Arabic.

Several men jumped up, their weapons drawn, and started searching the chamber.

The three held their breath. One of the men looked up and the three shrank into themselves, hoping to minimize their presence. For several long, tense minutes they remained frozen in place, until the men below relaxed, sat back down, and continue talking.

One by one, the three crept through the crawlspace. Mor turned right, with Anise and Yam directly behind him. They reached a spot where they could again stand up and continued to walk until the men’s voices were swallowed by the distance. Only then did Yam turn on his flashlight.

“Did you hear? They’re going to blow up the Tower of David! We have to do something,” a distraught Anise said.

“You’re crazy! There were dozens of men back there. Didn’t you see all their weapons? There’s only three of us and the only weapon we have is Mor’s pocketknife. You’re talking suicide,” Yam retorted hotly.

Anise said nothing; she knew Yam was right. The three of them alone stood no chance. Total suicide, she thought, frustrated.

After a few minutes of silence, Mor said, “I have an idea.” It took him some time to lay out his plan and another hour or so for the three to argue through the details before they had something workable in hand.

Yam marked their meeting spot on the map and they agreed to be there in another two hours.

Yam proposed that Anise and Mor take the map and walk together.

Anise’s eyes flashed gray with fury. “I don’t need a minder, thank you very much,” she said, already walking away. Yam, confused, watched her retreating back. All he wanted was to protect her, make sure nothing bad happened to her, and instead of thanking him, she got mad.

Taking his cell phone out of his pocket, he ran after her. “Anise,” he called, “wait, there’s no reception, but the phone has a flashlight. Please, at least take that.”

“I have my own phone,” she angrily hissed without looking at him and then disappeared down the tunnel.

Mor clapped Yam’s shoulder in sympathy. “Don’t get upset. I know her. This, too, shall pass.”

“I don’t care. Let her do what she wants,” Yam answered, trying to seem indifferent.

“OK, whatever. Just remember the signal,” said Mor, turning right. “Three flashes.”

Mor looked at Yam, asking himself if the plan would work or if he was just risking his friends’ lives. But all three had agreed and all three understood their chances were not good. Worried, he watched Yam get swallowed by the tunnel. Was it only yesterday that he’d been busy being mad at his dad, like every adolescent? Now, suddenly, he was responsible for other people’s lives. He looked away from the tunnel where Yam had gone and turned left, his lips pressed together with determination.

Still seething with rage, Anise walked down the ancient tunnel. That Yam, who does he think he is? He’s no better than I am, she thought.

This part of the tunnel had no electrical wires. The bare concrete walls made the place seem abandoned. Anise checked the ground carefully, but there were no footprints in the soil. After walking a few minutes, she calmed down and focused more carefully on the path. It seemed that no human foot had walked this route for decades.

Now, instead of inspecting the ground, she allowed her flashlight to play along the walls. She was very surprised to see that they were painted. She approached one wall, stunned by a vivid painting of a woman holding an infant in her arms. Underneath the painting was an inscription in a language she didn’t recognize. The painting looked ancient, leaving Anise to wonder if the woman depicted was the wife of whatever king had commissioned the painting or maybe the painter’s beloved.

Oddly, the painting reminded her of Yam, so much so that she could almost feel his lips touching hers. It was a mistake to kiss him, she thought, getting angry again. He thinks he can condescend to me just because he’s male, she told herself. She was perfectly able to defend herself, definitely better than he could. Ugh, she just couldn’t stand him! Who does he think he is? Pressing her lips together, Anise continued walking.

The narrow path suddenly widened into a small plaza. Bizarrely, an ancient-looking tree was planted in its center. Anise could only see its thick trunk, which poked upwards through the tunnel ceiling. The crown of the tree must be above ground, in the sunlight, she thought. What in the world could have made the people who lived here long ago dig an entire underground city? What frightened them so much they had to seek refuge down here? At the foot of