CHAPTER 1
The next morning, a bright-red Cadillac convertible approached the bunker, located in a vast field surrounded by distant mountains. A few clouds drifted in the north; otherwise, the sky appeared a light blue. The driver stopped the car as a guard approached, carrying a rifle.
“State your business, ma’am,” the soldier ordered, holding his rifle at an angle in front of his chest.
The woman exchanged glances with her passenger, a man with gentle eyes and sandy-brown hair. “My name is Monica, and this is Andrew. We have been sent to see General Agnon,” she said. “May we enter?” She spoke in an Irish brogue, and her long, reddish-brown hair flowed down past her shoulders. Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead and Andrew’s.
“Do you have identification?” The soldier did not relax his stance.
Andrew reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a couple of papers. He gave them to Monica, who in turn handed them to the soldier. The guard scanned the papers, then nodded. “Park your car over there, beside the shed. I will inform the general you’re coming.”
Meanwhile, in the general’s office below ground, General Agnon swiveled in his leather-upholstered chair and turned to a corporal beside him. “Tell Private Agnon to come to my office,” he ordered.
The corporal saluted. “Yes, sir.” He left the room.
Perched at his computer, Agnon scowled as he watched the map on the monitor screen. Technicians had networked his office computer to those of the Operations Center, so that he could monitor the enemies’ movements from the privacy of his office. The hum of the air-conditioner soothed his overwrought nerves, and the cool air it emitted felt good on his face. Tall, broad-shouldered, and heavily muscled, the general had the look of the professional soldier all about him.
“Surely Puccini will protect our nation as he promised. Even if he did force many of my people to flee Jerusalem just the other day,” he muttered, scowling. “Until now, Israel has been safe from attack, but everything inside me tells me that’s about to change.” He ran his fingers through his gray hair.
The general bit his lower lip. “Trouble is, I’m not ready to face that. I’m not equipped to meet an attack on my nation by the Arabs or anyone else. Jehovah, help us!” He shook his head.
With a heavy sigh, he laid his elbows on the desk’s smooth, polished surface and rested his face in his hands. Everything that could go wrong was threatening to—everything! General Amos Agnon was not only worried about the Arabs’ intentions, he was quite irritated with his only son. He couldn’t believe that Theodor, of all people, would have the nerve to go around preaching for the past few years that Yeshua was the Messiah that his people had been waiting for. Every Jew knew that the Nazarene carpenter was an impostor!
Amos had endured his son’s heresy as long as he could—now he fully meant to teach his son a lesson Theodor would never forget. He could only hope that getting his son drafted and placed under Amos’ command would help to accomplish that.
Moreover, the thought of having to engage the Arabs in battle terrified the general. As so often happened, the ghosts of his past rose to torment him, and he shook his head violently to fight them off. Even though he had wanted to join the Israeli Defense Forces ever since he was a boy and had thought he was prepared to fight, his actual experiences in two wars had been so much worse than he had expected.
“I’m a career soldier—I’m supposed to be prepared for danger and death, and even imprisonment!” he told himself. “I thought I was, then—till it happened!”
General Agnon had first fought in the Yom Kippur war in 1973, then in the Iraqi war in 1981. He had been injured severely in one war, and taken prisoner in the other. His time in a Arab prison camp had been a horrible ordeal, filled with torture, starvation, loneliness, and—at times—light deprivation. He had endured nightmares and flashbacks about that time ever since his escape, months after his capture. To this day, the miracle, in his mind, was that he had escaped as physically unscathed as he had. He should have been permanently maimed by the torture and starvation, he knew, but he had not been. It certainly wasn’t because his captors had not tried!
“It was awful,” he muttered. “The prison guards were so cruel—barbaric! So many of my fellow prisoners died in that camp, and others came out permanently mutilated. It’s a miracle I didn’t come out the same.” He bit his lower lip. “Then the wounds I suffered in Iraq—they should have killed me, and they nearly did. But they didn’t.” He took a deep breath. “Puccini will help us—he’s got to!”
The phone jangled; he picked up the receiver and cradled it against his ear. “Yes?” he asked.
“A man and a woman have arrived. They wish to see you,” the voice said on the other end. “Their I.D. checks out—they were sent by the deputy prime minister.”
The general sighed and nodded. “I will see them. Send them in.” He hung up. I’ve still got to speak with my son, he thought. He should be coming in at any moment.
The door swung open; his son marched in and saluted. I’ve got to stop this! the general scolded himself. My son is here, and I’ve got to deal with him! He bit his lower lip and took a deep breath, then rubbed his eyes.
Rising to his feet, General Agnon circled his desk, glaring at Theodor. For a long moment, he did not speak. He just stood at attention, clasping his hands behind his back.
“At ease, private,” he said, at last. Dropping his right hand to his side, Theodor relaxed his stance. His father took a step toward him, a stern expression etching his lined face. “Have you been thinking about what I said, Theodor?”
Theodor swallowed. “I have done nothing but think since I was drafted and transferred here.” He took a deep breath. “I can only repeat what I have said before, Papá.”
General Agnon banged the desk with his fist, causing the paperweight to jolt. “Young man, I will not stand for such insubordination!” he roared. Theodor flinched, a sullen expression creeping onto his face. “Yeshua is not the Messiah, and I will not have you thinking He is! Or telling anyone else that He is. You are under my command now, Theodor, and I order you to desist all such heresy!”
Theodor grimaced, but did not respond. He pressed the toe of his boot into the carpet’s thick tufts, but remained otherwise motionless. Amos raised his hand to slap his son, then thought better of it. He stood ramrod-straight, fists clenched at his sides, and scowled at the young man.
“Wipe that look off your face, Theodor, now!” He ground his teeth in rage. “Remember that I am not only your father, I am your superior officer. You will show me the proper respect!”
With an evident effort, Theodor smoothed the lines on his face. Please, Jehovah, help me, he silently prayed.
END OF CHAPTER 1