Fuse of Armageddon (29 page)

Safady pointed at the table in front of the backdrop. The video camera and tripod were set in the previous position. “You know why we are here,” he told Jonathan Silver. “Another video session for you to speak to the world. Sit.”

“No.” The skin of Silver’s chest stung in a narrow, horizontal band where moments before Safady had ripped the duct tape loose from the grenade and pulled away strips of hair. The muscles in his lower back were sore from sleeping on the thin mattress. He was emotionally worn and could not keep his weariness out of his voice. “It’s not going to happen.”

“Don’t you dare defy me!”

“I’m finished taking orders from you,” Silver said. It was more effective than if he’d walked over and slapped Safady. Silver took advantage of the silence. “Here’s where you and I discuss terms. None of your men are here to listen, so you don’t have to worry about saving face.”

Safady’s speechlessness continued. His eyeballs bulged, and his mouth contorted. Silver doubted the man was acting. He realized he actually found enjoyment in angering him, then felt guilt at this. Not enough guilt, probably. Jesus might have been compassionate enough to truly love His enemies, but Silver wasn’t going to pretend to himself that he was capable of this with Safady.

“We understand that the children will suffer consequences if we try to escape,” Silver said. “You have my word that no one in the group will attempt it again. Other than that, we refuse to serve your cause. Including this.”

Silver’s epiphany had come amid the joy of holding Alyiah upon her return. Was his faith in God real and worth anything? Yes. He’d been willing to give his life in order to save another, and that realization in itself was transforming. With this, Silver had been released from the fear of the tyranny of death. He felt he was finally beginning to understand and believe on a deep, emotional level that he was a child of God, that life beyond the shell of his body on earth would be joyful and eternal in the presence of God. Death was the worst that the enemy could deal, whether this enemy was Satan stalking humankind or Safady trying to inflict monstrosities on his captives. Once the fear of death had been shed, the enemy had no power; this was something the martyrs had understood, the men and women who’d bravely faced every antichrist through the ages, from Nero to Hitler.

“Do I have to remind you that I have your life or death in my hands?” Safady threatened, so filled with rage that he was hardly able to spit out the words.

“You don’t,” Silver said. “God decides when I die.”

“I am god to you while you are in my power!”

“I believed that for too long. Now I don’t. If you kill me, it’s only because God has decided it should happen.”

Silver had realized something else while lying in his bunk bed praying. Bowing to Safady’s will was literally serving Safady instead of God. All that Safady had to offer was a reprieve from death. But death would arrive sooner or later regardless of the outcome over the next days. Weighed against the glorious hope that came through the resurrection of Jesus, Safady’s power over the group of hostages was nothing. Understanding this had given Silver incredible new insight into stories of the Bible that had, until then, slowly become crusted with triteness until they were go-to clichés for him, handy when it came to preparing sermons for television broadcasts. Suddenly the Bible was real to him again. Time and again in the Old and New Testaments, God’s people had trusted in Him, despite the overwhelming threats against them. And those people had not just used that trust for platitudes; they had acted on it.

If Silver died today, this renewed faith more than made up for the price he was paying for it. Especially because his faith gave him so much more than hope beyond life on earth. It gave him dignity. And power against Safady.

“The group is united,” Silver said. “Every one of us is willing to die if needed. We are your prisoners, but you will no longer bully us.”

Safady stared at him as if trying to measure whether Silver was bluffing. “The children . . .” With the back of his hand, Safady wiped a trace of spittle from his lips. “I hold their lives in my hands. If you defy me, you are responsible for their deaths. I sent them back to you. I can just as easily take them away again.”

“They live or die according to God’s will.” Silver spoke calmly. “And you get the ransom money according to my will.”

Safady spit into Silver’s face.

“Just so you know,” Silver said, ignoring the spittle, “you won’t get a penny of it until the children are released first.”

“You’re prepared to give up your life to save them? That’s insane.”

“No,” Silver said. “Making a sacrifice to save others is the way of the Cross. What’s insane is asking young Muslims to give up their lives to destroy others.”

27

Khan Yunis, Gaza Strip • 15:26 GMT


Safady’s first question to me will be about the IDF military plans,” Quinn told Hamer. “It won’t be smart for me to lie to him. I doubt you’ll be able to disguise your commandos well enough to fool the locals. And you can bet Safady will have spies everywhere. He’ll be like a smart trial lawyer, asking questions when he already knows the answers.”

Just under twenty minutes to the deadline.

They were driving in a dusty panel van now, a cargo vehicle so ancient it would not draw any attention. The chopper had landed without incident. They’d been whisked away in a Mercedes, then taken into an orange grove and transferred to this vehicle. The switch had taken an extra five minutes but was a precaution to make up for the fact that the IDF had not had time to find them a bulletproof means of transportation. Anonymity would have to serve as protection instead.

“Stall him,” Hamer said. The van had already made it through the Gaza border crossing. The soldiers inside the van were a token protection. They didn’t have much time to talk last-minute details.

“This man is not stupid.”

“Neither is the Mossad or IDF or the Israeli government. We don’t make a habit of telling terrorists our plan of attack.”

“This isn’t flight 572 sitting on a runway,” Quinn said. He was referring to the famous Black September hijacking attempt in 1972; Israeli commandos disguised as airline technicians had stormed the plane and successfully gained control of the aircraft.

“You’re a negotiator, Quinn, not a military adviser.”

Along with one driver, there were three young soldiers in olive green uniforms that marked them as general corps. They grinned at Hamer’s comment, not hiding their amusement from Quinn. He’d noticed they’d done a bad job of hiding their admiration for Kate, too.

“Here’s a question,” Quinn said. “As a negotiator, not a military adviser.”

The van hit a rut and bounced him in the air.

“What is it?” Hamer was sweating. The van didn’t have air-conditioning.

“What do you think Safady really wants?” Quinn asked.

“I thought negotiators were good listeners.”

“So you think it’s the money. The hostage demand. That’s it?”

“It’s a well-planned operation. Almost American in its efficiency.”

“What about media attention?” Quinn asked.

“That’s obvious. Too obvious to even mention. That, and the fact that he’s already getting it.”

“All this time in the IDF, and still you don’t think like an Arab.”

The van turned hard as the driver swerved to miss a goat.

“I don’t need you to lecture me,” Hamer said. “Wasn’t rule one something about teamwork?”

“Rule one is to understand the person on the other side of the table,” Quinn said. “If this were a typical hostage situation—say a bank robbery gone wrong—the hostage taker’s biggest motivation would be to get out alive. More often than not, the solution is to find a way to give the hostage taker a way to save face as he gives up. I don’t think we have that in our favor here.”

Hamer nodded. “Because if I thought like a radical Islamic terrorist, my life wouldn’t be the most important thing in this hostage taking.”

“Exactly,” Quinn said. “Safady is a radical Islamic terrorist. If it’s him.”

“You’re saying it’s not Safady?”

“I’m saying let’s not make an assumption that prevents us from considering all possibilities. So let’s consider a broad generalization about the Arab world and one of the reasons it hates Israel.”

“We win . . . all the time.”

“Right. Palestinians are humiliated that Israel has managed to defy the Arabs for decades, despite repeated attacks from all sides.” Quinn said, conscious that Kate was listening as closely as the soldiers in the van. “Humiliation that, from their point of view, the Palestinian land was stolen from them, and that they are helpless to do anything about it. You know as well as I do that Palestinian terrorist organizations brag endlessly about the tiniest of victories against Israelis.”

“Brag?” Hamer snorted. “Exaggerate and lie. They wound one Israeli civilian and report on Al Jazeera that five soldiers died. What’s your point?”

“A big part of the strategy of the war on terrorism—on both sides—is positioning in the media,” Quinn said. “There would be a lot of prestige in this if one of Safady’s motives is to use the hostages to lure an Israeli military contingent into an unmanageable situation.”

“Our special forces are highly trained,” Hamer said.

“Bring in tanks and surround the orphanage. Safady will love it. You’ll have riots and more footage of boys with rocks defying Israeli soldiers with machine guns. And your soldiers will be helpless anyway. They’d never dare fire at an orphanage with children inside, not with the television cameras rolling. Because once the tanks get there, you know the media will be right behind.”

Hamer was silent.

“Safady will like the alternative just as much,” Quinn said. “If you don’t bring in enough military force, the Israelis risk losing men in a pitched battle to Palestinian terrorists waiting and primed for the chance to fight you on their terms and their territory.”

“Ah, so the best military strategy is none at all.” Hamer spoke dryly. “Let’s stop the van so I can call Zvi and tell him not to bother planning anything in support of the hostages.”

“You think you’re funny, but you’re not. Has it occurred to anyone at the Mossad that Safady was relatively easy to find? Someone who has been invisible for five years. Who managed to kidnap thirty Americans and move them into the heart of the Gaza Strip in a way that the Mossad still hasn’t figured out.”

“It hasn’t escaped me that maybe he wanted us to find him.”

“So what if he’s hoping you’ll bring in the military? If so, he’s made plans for it.”

“The time and place to have this discussion was back in Tel Aviv.”

“Then we’d still be back in Tel Aviv, still discussing options, with Safady about to begin shooting hostages and throwing them on the street. There’s a reason I’ve waited until now to bring this up.”

“What are you suggesting?” Hamer asked.

“Exactly what you already suggested. Something Safady hasn’t planned for. No military at all.”

Hamer laughed, then stopped. He saw the look on Quinn’s face. “You’re serious? In your office, you talked me into this because you said you’d have military protection.”

“Would you have let us into Gaza otherwise?”

“Not a chance,” Hamer answered.

“Then it would have been stupid to make this argument there. But we’re here now. There’s no turning back. And our best shot is no military.”

“Unbelievable,” Hamer said. “To think that I once believed you were lousy at this.”

15:27 GMT


“I have wronged you,” Esther said to Jonathan Silver. “I’ve been angry with you, and I want to ask your forgiveness.”

She’d just stepped away from her twenty minutes of daily solitude. Today, she’d been uneasy all through her prayer time, feeling separated from God. When she’d realized why, she’d argued with God, trying to justify her anger and her actions. But in His unyielding silence God had spoken to her.

Reach out to the man. He is one of My children too.

She’d kept fighting her pride, but after watching Silver risk his life to save Alyiah, it was easier to humble herself.

So here she was, apologizing.

“You told me last night that our presence here puts your children in danger.” Silver’s attempt at a brave smile pierced her. “I understand better now. You shouldn’t blame yourself for being angry with me.”

“There’s more for you to forgive,” Esther answered. There
was
more. She’d been carrying a secret satisfaction seeing Silver in this position, as if God had found this ironic way to punish the man. But if it was God’s punishment, that was between God and Jonathan Silver. Her task was to care for him as well as possible.

“How can there be more? We don’t know each other.”

“True, you don’t know me.” She hesitated. Was the door she was about to walk through a selfish one? By revealing what she was about to reveal, would she be confessing a wrong or sinfully setting aside her remorse and attacking the man she wanted to attack? “But I’ve known about you for a long time. And I’ve been battling you for years.”

There. It was said. Out in the open.

His shoulders straightened slightly. “Here. In Gaza. You’ve been fighting me?”

“I’ve been fighting your ministry, your end-times prophecies, your entire dispensational theology. I need to set that aside right now.”

“
My
dispensational theology?”

“The whole idea that God has two peoples—the church and Israel. That this land has been promised to the Jews. That there must be a rebuilt Temple before God can return.”

“That’s not
my
theology. I teach it, but it’s not mine.”

“Who else in the evangelical world has a higher profile? If there is a single person who represents it best, it is you. ‘God will bless those who bless Israel,’ you say every week to your millions of followers. ‘God will curse those who curse Israel.’”

“But fighting me from here? I don’t understand. How?”

“Twice a year, I return to the United States to raise money and awareness to help children here in Gaza. I try to get Christians to donate their money to my cause. Many churches won’t even let me speak. At other churches, I face those who call me a sinner for speaking against Israel. The truth is I’m very sympathetic toward Israel. I just want an equal voice given to the Palestinians. They have nowhere to go, and they are God’s children too. What I hear time and again, however, is that it’s God’s plan to give all of this land to Israel. That as a Christian, I shouldn’t be helping the Palestinians.”