Bennett was covered with chunks of rock that had blown apart in the explosion. Erin brushed them off, took him by the arm, and whispered in his ear, “Jon, it’s me. Are you okay?”
“I think so — are you?” he replied.
“Come on,” said Erin. “Follow me.”
They continued racing down one tunnel and into the next. When they stopped to get their bearings, they realized they were in another cistern of some kind, perhaps thirty or forty feet in diameter. It was clearly man-made, carved out of the limestone. Out from it fanned three tunnels like the spokes of a wheel.
“We’ve found the waterworks,” Natasha whispered as they huddled together and charted their next move.
“What do you mean?” Bennett whispered, still trying to catch his breath.
“For years, scholars have believed there was an elaborate and complex system of tunnels and aqueducts running underneath Jerusalem, dating back to hundreds of years before Christ,” Natasha explained, still keeping her voice low. “The tunnels supposedly channeled water from the Gihon Spring — and the winter rains — to large storage ‘tanks,’ if you will, and then on to various wells throughout the Old City. But until now, only a few remnants of the system had ever been found. The rest was just speculation.”
“What are you saying?” asked Erin. “That no one’s ever been down here before?”
“Not since the Romans sacked the city,” said Natasha. “We’ve always assumed these tunnels were here, but no one ever found the way in. Don’t forget, twenty centuries of construction, destruction, and more construction — the entire Old City of Jerusalem — lies right above us.”
Another buzz of excitement rippled through the trio, but they didn’t have time to waste. They’d have company again soon.
“Jon, call Ken,” said Erin. “We need backup fast.”
“I tried,” he said. “I can’t get a signal.”
“Check again,” Erin insisted. “We can’t hold them by ourselves.”
Bennett pulled the phone from his pocket and powered it up. Still no signal. They had to split up, he decided. The best odds they had were by dividing their forces, luring their enemies into the tunnels, and taking them out one by one.
“Then we’d better hurry,” Natasha urged.
They could already hear the men working their way down the shaft behind them.
Bennett took the lead. “Erin, you go left. Natasha, you go right. I’ll take the middle tunnel. Move fast. Stay in the shadows. Conserve ammo. And pray.”
66
Flashlight in hand, Natasha sprinted into her tunnel.
It was wider than the others, maybe four feet across. But there was no place to hide. The ground was solid limestone. If she’d had a week she couldn’t have dug a foxhole deep enough. Nor was there a single boulder or outcropping behind which she could take cover. The only hope she had was to get low, stay low, keep quiet, and hope to God no one found her.
She turned off her flashlight and lay down, straining to hear any sound, any movement. She had never been in such utter darkness. It was unnerving. The limestone was cold to her legs and stomach. But it was dry. Somewhere, somehow, this system had once been sealed off from all the other waterworks running under it. When? Why?
She clenched her fists and noticed how wet with perspiration her hands were. They were trembling. She was scared — almost as scared of being alone as she was of dying.
With the death of her grandfather, Natasha was utterly alone in the world. Except for her cousin, Miriam, whom she practically never saw, nearly everyone she’d ever loved had died a brutal, senseless death. Were the Bennetts about to suffer that very same fate? She couldn’t bear it. She had become close to them in the last few days. In some ways she felt like she’d known them all her life.
They weren’t just newlyweds. They were so obviously in love. They were soul mates, as she’d once been with Binyamin.
And they had something else she envied. They really seemed to know God. Not about Him. They actually seemed to know Him — personally. Theirs weren’t rote, liturgical prayers. They really seemed to be talking to someone who was listening and answering. How was that possible? She read the same Bible they did. But to her it was a treasure map, guiding her to the secrets of an ancient world. To them it was a letter from a God who loved them. And though Natasha dared not tell a soul, she was jealous.
She’d always considered herself a tough, smart, independent woman, and in many ways she’d become even more so since her husband’s death. But the last few months — indeed, the last few days — had changed all that. She could feel the tectonic plates of history shifting under her feet. She wasn’t sure if she bought into all of Uncle Eli’s talk about the earth’s “last days.” But something strange was happening. That much was certain. And the death of her grandfather had rattled her, forcing all of her fears and insecurities to the surface.
She longed for Jon’s and Erin’s inexplicable sense of calm. It seemed to steady them, even when all hell was breaking loose. She coveted the sense of purpose and destiny that kept them moving forward when anyone else in their right mind would have given up and turned back. They were risking their lives every day, and for what? Even if they lived, what were they going to get out of all this? It was clear they loved Israel, and Uncle Eli, and it was clear they loved her. Humanly speaking it made no sense.
Being followers of Christ had certainly made a difference in their lives, she knew. Particularly Jon’s. She knew just enough about him to know that being here cut against everything he’d been raised to believe, everything he’d begun to achieve on Wall Street and in Washington. There was something about becoming a follower of Christ that had radically reshaped the way he thought, the way he made choices. He had once been driven by wealth and power. But now he was willing to sacrifice everything for his God and for this woman he loved. It suddenly occurred to her how desperately she wanted to know this same God for herself, before it was too late.
The problem, frankly, was Jesus. He said He was the Messiah. She had read the New Testament. She knew He had said, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father but through Me.” She also knew He had said that the only way to know God personally was to be “born again.” It’s why His disciples loved Him. It’s why His enemies hated Him. But was it true?
Logically, Natasha knew she had only two choices: either Jesus was the Messiah or He wasn’t. If He wasn’t, and He knew He wasn’t, then He was a liar, not the good man or moral teacher she’d always described Him as. Then again, if Jesus wasn’t the Messiah but thought He was, then He was crazy, a lunatic, a nutcase not worthy of a second thought.
But she’d read the New Testament in college, and the Christ whose life she’d read about didn’t strike her as deceptive or delusional. To the contrary, she saw a man of love and compassion, someone who was kind to children and willing to take on the religious hypocrites of the day on behalf of the poor and the unloved and the widows. She saw someone humble and wise, someone with the ability to do miracles that astounded even His most bitter skeptics. The truth was, she liked Jesus, but where did that leave her?