Living Stones (23 page)

Alim nodded. “Yes, I have seen people lost for a time, but they usually find their way back to the guesthouse by asking for directions or help. Ashley has been missing for several hours. The Old City is not that big that she couldn’t find her way back to the Jaffa Gate, which is well known, and then to here by now. It is only beginning to get dark. So I doubt that she just lost her way.”

“David, what are your thoughts at this point?”

“Hmm . . .” David hesitated. “Blonde young women attract attention here. If she were lost or injured, particularly if she is conscious, she would be here now, or at least have called and let Marie know what happened. Someone would help her. Oh, here comes Ben. Any news?”

“No. She is not in either of the emergency rooms that medics use.”

“Then we have to assume that my friend’s story is probably accurate. There were no other blonde girls in the crowd, or I would have noticed them. So she must be in the hands of the man who gripped her arm and forced her into the Muslim Quarter. We know only that he was Arabian looking and tall. I know the Souk, and I looked everywhere on the streets and alleys, talking to shopkeepers. Of course, he could have taken her into any house or apartment.”

Everyone remained silent. Jim shook his head as he stared blankly at the wall across the room. Finally he spoke. “All the evidence points to an abduction of Ashley by a man taking advantage of the demonstration—someone who may have been after her in Bethlehem. We can’t seem to get any help from the police tonight. So what can we do?”

The group brainstormed every idea they could think of to look for her but Jim shook his head. “We don’t want anyone else lost in the dark. It might even be dangerous for either Ben or David to wander around now in the Muslim Quarter. And the police are too busy. I
doubt the American Embassy could be helpful tonight.”

Alim spoke up. “I know the area better than any of you. You may not realize, but I am Muslim. I could put on my taqiyah, my cap, and check every contact I have in that quarter to find Ashley. I’m not afraid.”

“Alim, we would appreciate that very much.”

No one had any appetite for dinner. The team sat with Jim, waiting. David and Ben left their cell phone numbers to call with any news and went home. Several went to their rooms to pray or rest, only to return to the front room. Minutes and hours ticked away. Shortly after nine, Alim walked in. They all jumped up to hear the news. It had been nearly three hours since he left.

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

Everyone seemed deflated, like a collapsing balloon. As long as Alim looked, they had hope. Now it seemed gone.

“I checked with many of my friends in the Souk, and no one had seen Ashley, or heard of her. News travels fast there, so if anyone had seen her we would know.”

“Thank you, Alim. You have done everything you could.” Jim then looked at the team. “You all have been great. You’re hungry and tired. I would suggest you snack on whatever you have until we can get some food in here.”

“I’ll call it in, Jim,” Alim said. “They deliver, and it’s not far away, just outside the Jaffa Gate.”

“Thanks for that too.” He then spoke to his team: “Everyone, feel free to stay here or relax in your rooms. We’ll meet here in half an hour. Dinner should be here then. Seems like there is nothing more we can do tonight.”

Ashley had regained her equilibrium after her fall and near trampling, then she scrambled with the demonstrators and her rescuer to escape the soldiers with their rifles. Her right arm hurt where he held it tight. She remembered a fellow runner stepping on her right upper arm at just that spot. She scanned the mob for Marie and David again, but saw only young Palestinians running. As the crowd thinned and scattered, Ashley had turned to the tall man with dark glasses holding her arm. Short of breath, her heart raced. They slowed to a walk. “Thanks for your help. You can let go of my arm. I’ll be fine now.”

He didn’t seem to hear her or perhaps couldn’t understand English. At least he didn’t respond in any way. She tried to stop to repeat that she would be OK, feeling suddenly cold and shaky. He dragged her forward, by her sore arm, forcing her to continue. Ashley raised her voice. “I’m OK now. Please let go of my arm!” She pulled her arm forward to free it.

He shook his head and said something that sounded Arabic. He grabbed her arm with his right hand and dropped his left one. Then Ashley felt something poke her in the back. In thickly accented
English she heard “gun.”

Her jaw dropped as she whirled to look at him, wide-eyed. Her mind raced back to Bethlehem and the wall. A tall man, severe look, this time with a white Muslim cap and dark glasses. But he looked like the guy at the wall in Bethlehem. Ashley trembled. She tried to jerk her arm away, but he held it tight and pressed whatever he had harder into her back. She almost screamed, but realized he could shoot her in the chaos and no one would come to her aid. She fought to wrestle out of his grasp. The shouts of the remaining crowd drowned out the sound of her struggle.

He pulled her close and shouted into her ear, “gun!”

She was determined not to panic. She would keep her head. Ashley suddenly turned toward him and tried to knee him in the groin, but hit only his thigh. He struck her with some hard object on the back of her head and shoved her forward.

Ashley screamed in anger, and then leaned back to resist his pushing her forward. The crowd, still moving forward, didn’t seem to notice. The man still forced her to walk fast. She dug her feet into the pavement as though skidding down a steep hill. Her lips tightened as she was overpowered. The man veered her into a small street heading into the Muslim Quarter, where Ashley recognized the narrow street and the first of the shops.

He seemed to change whatever he held to her back, as the object poking her felt less sharp. Maybe he
was
concealing a gun. He found the head covering she stashed in her backpack and forced her to put it on. He tucked the gun under his right arm without releasing his grip on her arm and adjusted her hijab to partially cover her face. She glimpsed the pistol out of the corner of her eye. He quickly hid it under a scarf, and she felt the barrel press into her back. They turned into small streets without shops, just apartments and occasional row houses.

Ashley stuck out her jaw defiantly. She would not cry. Her heart raced, and her face turned red. She refused to give this terrorist the pleasure of seeing her fear. She drew a deep breath and gritted her teeth as they walked. No one on the street seemed to be aware of her plight.

Ashley trembled at what might lie ahead. Sexual assault seemed
worse than being beaten.
Is he going to kill me? Why me? Why did he drag me away?
She realized she had become a target. Not a random crime that took advantage of a demonstration gone awry. But why?

She had read of obsessed men stalking women. Had he been the one to follow her up that rocky incline at Herodian outside of Bethlehem? She had seen his eyes gazing at her. Same eyes behind those dark glasses. As the puzzle pieces connected together in her mind, it all made sense. For some reason he had pursued her in at least three places. Had he seen her elsewhere also? Her mind raced. She fought tears of anger and frustration. She must not cry. She had to remain alert and strong.

Ashley thought of Marie and David. They would be frantically looking for her. She searched with her eyes and even stole a backward glance over her left shoulder, but they were not following. She knew Jim and her friends would make every effort to find her. But how would they know where to even look in the complicated mass of buildings that comprised the Old City and the maze of the Muslim Quarter? Ashley shook her head, losing hope of escape.

Out of the chaos, from somewhere in the back of her mind, floated the old song her grandmother Millie sang about God’s eye being even on the sparrow: “And I know he watches me.” Ashley prayed silently,
“Father, you are watching. You took care of me in Bethlehem. Please, God, help me now!”

They turned down several alleyways before Ashley’s captor shoved her through an entryway and up a flight of stairs. Unlocking an apartment door, he pushed her in and locked it with the key from the inside. Dropping her arm he motioned with his pistol for Ashley to sit on an overstuffed chair. He dialed his cell phone with his thumb while still pointing his gun at her.

“Umar!” The rest of the short conversation she couldn’t understand. Surveying the room, Ashley noticed some well-worn pillows on a worn rose-colored sofa and a number of pictures of people and scenes of Jerusalem. The kitchen off the living room contained a propane stove and a scratched white refrigerator. Everything appeared old and dark. The one window covered with a steel grate looked out into the narrow street and across it to other buildings nearby. They looked like apartments. A hall led to the back.

Finishing his conversation, he searched her backpack and removed her cell phone. With the pack, her captor pushed her down the hall and into a small dingy bathroom with no window and shut the door. An old bathtub seemed too small for most adults. Her
mind flew through many scenarios as she locked the door and used the toilet, a porcelain base on the floor with a hole and a tank above with chain for flushing. She had read of Turkish toilets. Her face in the mirror looked dirty. She washed her hands and face in the basin, but left on the hijab. She was trapped and uncomfortable. There seemed to be no escape.

Ashley stepped out into the hall. The man set the gun down on a small table behind him, making sure she saw it. It had some protrusion on the barrel at the end. He spoke ominously in English, “Quiet.” She then recognized the extension on the gun as a silencer, but maybe he meant her to be quiet, not the weapon. Ashley’s eyes widened. A silencer. She had seen them in gun shops in Oklahoma. He could kill her almost silently. He probably would if she screamed.

He shoved her silently into a small bedroom, windowless and dark. He flipped the switch, lighting a spare bulb hanging from the ceiling, gestured toward the bed, and left. She heard the lock click in the door. After a minute of silence, Ashley moved toward the door. Locked in. Taking off her hijab, she lay down on the dirty pink spread covering a single bed. Exhausted. She stared at the ceiling. Her hope of rescue was now gone, barring a miracle of God. What did her captor plan on doing with her? Ashley cried silently and let the tears flow freely.

Walid opened the apartment door at the knock and spoke in Arabic. “Umar, asalam alekum!”

“Asalam alekum. You sound happy.”

“I am. I can almost see the check for thousands of dollars. And we can punish the Americans and Israelis who persecute us.”

“Do you mean you found the American girl?”

“Umar, I not only found her. She’s here! In my mother’s apartment. In the bedroom now with the door locked!” Walid continued, telling his friend the whole story of finding and capturing Ashley. He related watching her ascend the ramp to the Temple Mount and waiting for her to come down, not imagining she would ever join the demonstration. It proved almost too good to be true and made
it easy to catch her. Then having her here and his mother away working until ten, everything turned out perfectly. “But we have to make plans to take care of the problem.”

“So what are you suggesting ‘we’ do?”

“If you want to get in on the reward, you have to be part of the action, Umar.”

“Alright. I’m in. Now tell me your plan.”

Walid checked his watch. “It’s five o’clock now. When it’s dark, you and I will walk out to the nearby Damascus Gate to get the car. It’s in a guarded lot fairly close. We’ll drive to the Gate, and I’ll leave you there in the car, ready to move it if needed since you can’t park there or drive through it.”

“So I’m in the car waiting.”

“Yes. I’ll force her to put on an old Afghan Chadri of my mother’s so she’ll be covered from head to toe and look like an old lady. She’s a fighter and kicked me. To be sure she’s quiet, I’ll have my gun with the silencer so she can see it, but hide it under a scarf when we are walking. We’ll use the streets without shops. Without many lights, no one will notice us.”