CHAPTER 9
As the tourists and the Israeli approached a corner, an imperious voice startled them. “David! Stop!”
Again, the group halted. A brown-haired man wearing a dark-blue suit approached them from across the street. “I know that man,” David said, pursing his lips. “He works for Dayan, too. He works as Dayan’s second-in-command.” Sighing, he rubbed his forehead. “If I know him...”
The other man reached them. “Weizmann, Elijah Dayan wants you,” he ordered. “He has something he wants you to do for him. Immediately.”
As irritation etched his face, David shook his head. “Can’t Dayan get someone else?” He glared at the other man. “I have to find my sister!” He looked from one side of the street to the other, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Tiny concrete shards crumbled under the toes of his shoes. “She’s somewhere in this rubble—I have to find her!”
The man shook his head. “That may take days, and what Elijah wants us to do cannot wait. Elijah wants you now!”
David pressed his lips into a thin line. Christina glared at the man as a smoldering rage welled up within her. She couldn’t believe the gall of this man, or of Elijah Dayan himself. Here they were, searching for missing relatives, and Dayan wanted David to break off the search and see him right then! She clenched her hands into fists.
Richard grasped David’s shoulder. “I know,” he said. “I understand, believe me—we all do! Especially Christina and me, because our daughter’s missing, too. You have our promise that we will do everything in our power to find Deborah. And when we do, we’ll send you word.”
David nodded, a wan smile on her face. “Thank you. I know you will.”
As he trudged across the broken street and around the corner with the man, shoulders slumped, Ryan patted his sister’s arm, then pulled his handkerchief out of his jeans pocket. “Don’t forget, Brownie, Elijah’s the False Prophet.” He sighed, then wiped beads of sweat off his face with his handkerchief. “That means the spirit of Christianity is completely foreign to him as well as to Puccini. He will not be concerned about the missing relatives of his own employees.” Folding his handkerchief, he stuffed it back into his jeans pocket.
Christina nodded. “I know you’re right, but you’d think even Dayan would have more compassion than this. After all, David’s own sister is missing, too!” She reached up to twist a strand of hair around her index finger.
Richard nodded agreement. “We’ll just have to do our best to find them both.” He hurried down the street, with the others following. “I just hope we can retrace our steps in this rubble!”
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“Miss Weizmann!” A pause. “Miss Weizmann! It’s Rachel! Can you hear me?”
Rachel’s faint voice reached Deborah’s ears. The woman lay helpless on her side, buried by chunks of debris. Linoleum shards dug into her side, making her wince. Only her upper body lay uncovered. She could see only bare outlines of objects around her. Thick darkness otherwise blanketed the store.
“Rachel,” she croaked. “I—can’t—shout. Don’t know if—you—can—hear—me.”
“Miss Weizmann? Can you hear me?”
Raising her head, Deborah silently prayed, Please, God, let me voice be strong for her! Please, God, let my voice reach her ears. Out loud, she called, “I hear you—Rachel! Yes, I hear you.” To her relief, her voice felt and sounded stronger.
“I’m so glad!” A pause. “Miss Weizmann—I’ve been praying and praying. That someone’ll find us.”
Rallying again, Deborah answered, “You keep doing that, Rachel. Unfortunately, I’m not going to live long enough to be rescued.” She swallowed hard. “I’m—I’m hurt. Badly. Fatally, I fear.” She laid her head back on her arm.
A Heavenly beam of light illuminated the ruins of the store; a second later, a familiar figure appeared in front of her. “Andrew!” Deborah gasped, turning her head upward to face him.
“Yes. It’s me,” Andrew knelt at Deborah’s side. “God has sent me here, Deborah.”
Deborah gazed into his eyes. “You—you’re the angel of death.”
“Yes.” Andrew touched her shoulder, then rested both hands on the broken tiles. “I am. God has sent me to take you Home.”
Deborah tried to smile, but succeeded only in forming a grimace. She winced. “You don’t look at all as I thought an angel of death would—do you?” she croaked, her voice faint. “You—you have the most gentle eyes I’ve seen in anybody.”
Andrew chuckled. “The world has given the angel of death a most fearsome reputation, but really, that’s not the way we are at all.” A smile crept across his face. “God wants you to know that He’s proud of you—for your walk with Him, and for the way you stood firm even when your brother persecuted you and threw you out. He also wants you to know that your prayers for David have not been in vain.”
Deborah nodded, a faint smile crossing her face. “What about the others? What—?” She looked toward the debris blocking the back of the store from view. “What about Rachel? She’s trapped back there.”
Andrew nodded, his eyes sad. “God has his hand on her, Deborah, and on the others, too. The others are unharmed, I’m pleased to report. And He will stay with Rachel through her ordeal.” Deborah nodded, then winced as a spasm of pain shot through her abdomen.
He touched her shoulder again. “It’s time to go.”
Before Deborah had a chance to respond, she found herself standing at Andrew’s side. Her lifeless, crushed body lay huddled at her feet. Putting his arm around her shoulders, Andrew took her to Heaven.
END OF CHAPTER 9