CHAPTER 2
Tess! he thought. It’s Tess! What is she doing, cooking meals for the IDF?
Several minutes later, the two men reached the counter where Tess and one of the other cooks was serving the food. Tess, David noticed, looked grumpy; a scowl etched her face.
She must be having a bad day, he thought. Out loud, he greeted her with a smile. “Hello, Tess. I didn’t expect to find you here.”
Tess snorted. “Well, I am, and I can only trust that you’ll have more appreciation for my cooking than your new friend here.” She glared at the IDF recruit. “He tells me he doesn’t like my creamy broccoli pasta.”
Miki chuckled, then wrinkled his nose as he gazed down at the pasta dish. “We just don’t share the same tastes, Tess. Personally, I prefer the tuna knish. You wouldn’t happen to have some of that, now, would you?”
Dropping her wooden spoon on the counter with a clatter, Tess put her left hand on her hip and glared at Miki. She pressed her right palm against the counter surface. “No, I don’t, Mi—uh, Miki, and I won’t be making it for another few days. I’ll have you know I made this creamy broccoli pasta myself, and I just happen to be proud of it. And I won’t have new recruits telling me it’s not good.” She picked up the wooden spoon and waved it for emphasis. “Now, you have a choice—you can eat what we offer you, or you can go hungry!”
Raising his hands in surrender, Miki then held up his tray. “Yes, ma’am,” he teased. Still glaring at him, Tess piled some pasta on a plastic dish and handed it to the recruit.
Despite the turmoil in his heart, David couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched the angry angel scold the new IDF recruit. Never tell a cook you don’t like what she’s made, he thought, averting his face to hide the grin sneaking across. They all take it so personally! Even angels, it appears.
Silently, he followed Miki toward through the rows of tables. To his dismay, he could not see a single place empty on any of the wooden benches.
“We’re going to have a hard time finding a seat, I’m afraid,” he muttered. Miki nodded agreement.
David gritted his teeth. Were they going to have to eat standing up?
“David!” A shout from across the mess hall startled the Israeli. Silence descended across the vast dining area for a moment, as David scanned it for the source of the shout. To his relief, Richard Daly stood in the back, waving his right hand. The chatter resumed.
This time, David led the way, rushing down the aisle toward his friends, tray against his chest. “Come join us.” Ryan rose to his feet. “We’ve saved a couple of spots for you and Miki.”
Grinning his thanks, David slid onto the edge of the hard, unyielding wooden bench; Miki perched next to him. A captain sat on the other side of Ryan Daly, across the table; he glanced at Miki. “Hello, private.”
“Captain.” Miki saluted, then picked up his fork.
David gaped at Richard, then at Ryan. “What are you doing here?”
Richard and Christina exchanged glances; Rachel took a swallow of Coke. Next to her, Kristen shrugged. “Richard’s car went out,” she said. She turned to feed the her two-year-old son who sat in a high chair beside her. Food smeared his cherubic faces and his bib. “Little Nicole’s in a carrier at my feet,” she told David. “She’s sleeping at the moment.” Kristen bent sideways to check on her. David smiled. He loved the Whittaker babies.
Richard grimaced. “My car went dead on the road, and we couldn’t get it to start up again. Miki, there, stopped to help; he called a tow truck to come get our car.”
Christina swallowed a piece of broccoli. “Then he offered to bring us here until the car’s fixed, since he had to return to the base; a mechanic is working on it now. So here we are.” She patted her hair. “It was so good of the guards on duty to let us in. I wasn’t at all sure they would, since we’re civilians.”
David smiled. “Well, you’re in good hands, and there’s no safer place to wait than here.” He paused. “By the way, I saw—uh, my cousin yesterday. He’s doing fine.” He had suddenly remembered that the captain might know of Ben Weizmann from the wanted posters that had been displayed on television. He turned to Miki. “My cousin is a loyal Jew who became a believer in Yeshua recently.” Miki nodded his approval.
Richard raised his hand. “We’ve already asked the blessing, David, but since you just got here, let’s do so again.”
The assembled group bowed heads for prayer. “Lord, thank You for this meal,” Richard prayed. “Amen.”
“Amen,” the others echoed.
He raised his head, and resumed eating. David took a bite of the pasta; it tasted soft and creamy to him. A moment later, the IDF recruit looked from Richard to Ryan, then to the members of their families. “Your friends have been telling me a little about themselves,” he told David.
Richard nodded, as he leaned his elbow on the dining table. “Yes. Until recently, I worked as an airline pilot in New York City, and Ryan was a private pilot for Antonio Puccini. During the last few years, my wife helped run a church orphanage. But we’re all in hiding now, as well as our daughter—from Puccini. Especially Ryan and Kristen and their babies. Puccini wanted to kill them and take their babies for the state, to be brainwashed.”
Ryan nodded. He drained his glass, then set it down with a clink. “My wife and I both worked for Puccini,” he explained to Miki. “Kristen used to be Puccini’s secretary, and she was quite efficient.” He smiled at his wife, who blushed; he chuckled. “She’s in hiding now, as I am. She’s a wonderful mother to our two babies.”
He craned his head to smile at his son, who waved his hands. “Dad-dy! Hungry!” Ryan laughed.
Richard chuckled. “And I’ve got a good family, too. My wife’s a good woman, and our daughter is a good girl. A wonderful girl.”
Christina and Rachel exchanged smiles. A rhinestone necklace adorned Rachel’s neck, David noticed. She always did love jewelry, he thought.
Rachel smiled wryly. “I’m adopted.” She wiped her chin. “My real parents are dead.” She glanced down at her plate. “I like this pasta. I wish I could tell Tess.”
Richard smiled. “Me, too. We’ll have to get Tess’ recipe. And I have a hunch she already knows you like it.” Leaning back, he furrowed his eyebrows. “We’re all going to be in hiding soon.” He coughed. “It’s been several days, now, since Puccini came back to life, indwelt by—” Glancing at the captain, he cleared his throat. “Well, all I can say is that the—uh, pivotal event can’t be much longer now.”
“No, it can’t,” David agreed. “And we’ve got to get ready. We’d better pray for good travel conditions when it comes. Including good weather—we can’t have this frigid cold and rain lingering when the event occurs.” He swallowed. “We must also pray that it’ll happen on any day but a Saturday.” He glanced down at his plate of creamy broccoli pasta, ignoring the captain’s puzzled gaze. “But right now, let’s eat.”
For the next several minutes, talk dwindled while the Dalys, the Whittakers, David, Miki, and the captain ate their dinners. A calmness descended on David as he munched his chunky, yet creamy food. Miki, he noticed, picked at his plate.
He really does not like this pasta, David thought, amused. That’s really too bad—it’s quite delicious!
At last, the captain laid down his fork and leaned back. “Our new cook is certainly worth her pay,” he commented.
Richard grinned. “Tess is an excellent cook,” he agreed, between mouthfuls. He glanced at the recruit. “I’m not so sure that Miki agrees, though.” Miki made a face, then laughed.
Rachel gazed at David. “Why does it matter if it’s Saturday?” She scratched her forehead.
David wiped his chin, then laid his paper napkin beside the plate. “Well, Rachel, Saturday is our Sabbath, and Jews abide by strict rules of rest on that day. That’s been especially the case since the new temple was rebuilt. One of those rules is that we can only travel a short distance on the Sabbath—a little over a half-mile, to be exact. So we need a nice warm, dry day that falls on some other day of the week.”
Rachel frowned, then nodded. “It’s been cold and wet for two days.”
“Yes.” Christina bit her lower lip. “We must pray that it’ll warm up, fast. And that the rain will stop.”
The captain frowned. For a long moment, he shook his head, biting his lower lip. At last, he set down his coffee cup; it clinked in its saucer. He gazed at Richard, then David. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t have time to ask you about it now. Right now, I’m faced with a problem and I need some help.”
He paused, then turned to look at Miki. “I don’t usually come to new recruits with these kinds of issues, private, but you have already shown yourself to be an above-caliber soldier with exceptional ability to come up with solutions. Your sergeant has commended you highly to me. Therefore, I am going to ask you something.”
“Yes, Captain?” Miki sat ramrod straight, gazing into the officer’s eyes. The others sat silently, motionlessly, gazing at the two. Only little Jeremy waved his plastic cup, apparently unconcerned.
The officer wiped his chin. “Because of the recent events in Rome—Puccini’s death and resurrection—our prime minister’s pilots have been detained in Rome. They flew one of Barak’s officials there for the celebration and they haven’t been able to return since. At the moment, there are no substitutes who can be called on to fly Barak to a meeting he’s been ordered to attend in Rome.”
Miki nodded. He said nothing, but furrowed his eyebrows as he listened. He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table.
“The meeting is scheduled for early tomorrow afternoon, so he needs a qualified pilot and first officer no later than tonight. Do you personally know of anyone who can fill in for his regular pilots?”
Miki leaned back in his chair, laying his hands on the table’s surface. For a long moment, he gazed down at his half-empty plate. The others sat silently, watching him.
At last, Miki raised his head. He looked at Richard, then at Ryan. “Two well-qualified pilots are sitting right here at this table,” he said, at last. Richard and Ryan froze, gaping at him. “As you know, Ryan, until recently, flew for Puccini, and Richard used to fly in America. Both men lack the certification to fly an Israeli plane, but they’ve got security clearance. So if the certification qualification can be disregarded, I can think of no better pilots to substitute for the ones who are still in Rome.”
David exchanged startled glances with Richard, whose eyebrows furrowed. It surprised David that Miki would recommend two Americans. And Richard, for his part, couldn’t believe his ears. As Miki had just said, he was only authorized to fly planes based in America, not those of Israel. Besides, he had no desire to take on such a job—not even temporarily. He was willling to help pilot the evacuees to Petra, but not to become a pilot for Prime Minister Barak.
“Uh, how do you know of us anyway?” Richard asked Miki. He rubbed his hair back as he spoke.
Miki smiled. “I have resources,” he said simply.
Richard chuckled, looking down at his own empty plate. He then gazed into the captain’s eyes. “Thanks for the recommendation, Miki, but I’d rather not.” He looked at Ryan. “Ryan and I have other plans.”
END OF CHAPTER 2