THIRTY-SEVEN

Ethan March had tried to connect with Deborah several times, but he only reached her voicemail. He left two messages. They weren’t returned. Then he took a chance and called the unlisted number at Hawk’s Nest that Deborah had given him. Abigail Jordan answered. She simply said, “Deb’s traveling with her father …” and didn’t elaborate.

After he hung up, Ethan thought back to his sense that Deborah’s mother had some doubts about him. He thought that was interesting, since her husband was the one who had known about Ethan’s screwups at McGill, and yet Joshua seemed to be willing to consider hiring him. Ethan had even come clean with Deborah about some of his dumber moves. In spite of that, Abigail was the cautious one.

Maybe it had something to do with the superreligious atmosphere that permeated the Jordan household — except for Joshua. They prayed before meals; Mrs. Jordan quoted the Bible; even Cal talked about his “spiritual journey” at the dinner table. Maybe Deborah’s mom only approved of Christian crusaders for her daughter.

Things started to add up when Ethan thought back to their picnic. They had traveled by horseback to Deborah’s favorite spot. After tying up the horses, they chatted as they ate lunch. Ethan could see that Deborah was different from the girls he flirted with in singles bars. Solid. Real depth. A great sense of humor. And beautiful. Oh, yeah.

Then the discussion got serious. Deborah looked him straight on. “So, you told me about flying that experimental F-35, getting the kinks out — when everything went wrong and you thought you were going to crash.”

“Yeah. I had my hand on the handle, ready to blow the ejection seat.”

“And if you did?”

“Then I’d have been in for an interesting ride. We simulated it in flight school, but when you’re up there going Mach two and things go south, man, it’s really different.”

“But what I mean is, so you eject … and then your chute doesn’t open. What then?”

“Well, first there’s the smaller one, the drogue that opens. Then the main chute.”

“And if neither one opens?”

“You die.”

“That’s it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you think about dying?”

“Of course.”

“Anything else? Thoughts about heaven? About God?”

“Sure, I guess, but not like you guys. Deb, you call yourself a Christian. You’ve obviously got a tight set of beliefs; you’re really strapped into that. But that’s not where I’m at.” Then he changed the subject. “Got any more fried chicken?”

Maybe that was a stupid dodge, but the more Ethan thought about it, the more he figured he was who he was. Why change?

Now, Ethan was driving to the unemployment office in Waltham, Massachusetts, the city he’d called home while he worked for Raytheon. As he drove, a sickening despair overcame him, a feeling of complete mission flameout. The thought of going on the public dole because he was unemployed made him want to vomit. That was for other guys. Not him.

He passed the office with the sign out front that said “Division of Unemployment Assistance.” He looked for a parking spot. But then he was shocked by what he saw. The line stretched outside and wrapped around the building. A patrol cop was in the middle of the line, trying to separate two men who were arguing with each other.

Ethan slowed down. He eyed the dismal scene of out-of-work America and then drove away. Forget this, he thought. I’ve got my pension. Some savings. Besides, Joshua Jordan said I might talk to him about working with his company.

Of course, Ethan knew the downside too. He didn’t want the job just because he’d helped Jordan’s daughter in a crisis. That would make him a charity case. Besides, even if he did get the job, would Jordan, remembering Ethan’s wilder days, ever take his eye off him? Would he ever really trust him?

Then the image of Deb’s face, her smile, flooded back, overshadowing everything. He wanted to be with her, and he wondered what she was doing right now. According to her mother, Deborah was traveling with her father. Okay, did that mean they were on defense business? Had she forgotten about him?

Ethan’s feelings for Deb were pushing him back into a familiar pattern, a dangerous one. He found himself wanting to take risks, possibly doing something stupid, just to be with her, wherever she was.

Joshua and Deborah, squinting in the glare of the blazing Israeli sun, reached into their pockets for their sunglasses. Standing on the tarmac, they looked around and stretched.

Now that the Citation X jet was parked, Billy told his copilot to pull the bags out of the storage deck.

Joshua glanced at the sign on the edge of the runway. The top half was written in Hebrew, the bottom half in English: “Welcome to Ramat David Air Force Base.” A host of F-16 fighter jets were lined up at the far end of the field.

Across the tarmac, two IDF officers were striding quickly to their location, the younger one carrying a briefcase. Joshua recognized the older one, an officer with stars on his uniform and gray at his temples. He broke into a grin.

“Aluf mishne, Colonel Kinney!” Joshua called out, and the two gave each other a hearty handshake.

Colonel Kinney then turned to Deborah with a wry smile. “You must be Joshua’s daughter? Great to meet you. Never mind your father, by the way … he’s just trying to impress us with his linguistic skills. He was using the Hebrew term for my rank.” Then he turned to Joshua. “How much Hebrew do you still remember, my friend?”

“Not much,” Joshua said with a chuckle. “Shalom. And boker tov. That’s about it …”

Kinney waved the group toward a large military helicopter that was farther down the tarmac and had just started its rotors. As they walked, he said to Deborah, “Your dad might be downplaying his role, but when he was here a decade ago, we worked together on Iranian reconnaissance — his clandestine flyover of one of their nuclear facilities. He spent so much time with us that he started speaking the language pretty well. That’s when I first met him.”

They ducked and climbed into the chopper. Kinney instructed Joshua to sit up front next to the younger officer with the briefcase. “This is Major Tikva. He’s the operations liaison from General Shapiro’s command. He’ll brief you on the situation.”

Joshua responded to the last name of the officer seated next to him. “Tikva. Good name.”

“Yes,” Kinney said with a nod. “Especially for this mission.” Kinney reached forward and closed the metal doors.

“So,” Kinney said to Deborah as they sat in the rear seats, “you’ll be graduating from West Point soon … with honors, I bet.”

“I hope so, Colonel.”

“Must be interesting to pursue a military career in the Army when your father’s a bona fide Air Force hero.”

“Well, sir,” she said with a smile, “you know what we say in the Army: What do you have when you have an Air Force hero?” She paused for comic effect. “The bottom half of a real Army hero …”

Kinney roared with laughter. “Josh! Your daughter’s all right.”

The big CH-53 transport helicopter took off and started winging its way toward the Negev desert. Deborah studied the dry, tan profile of the Israeli landscape; arid and harsh in places, yet studded here and there with lush fields of green.

She turned to Kinney and asked, “What part of Israel is the Ramat David Air Force Base in?”

“Southeast of Haifa, not far from Megiddo.”

Deborah’s face brightened. She knew about that place. “The Jezreel Valley?”

“Exactly. We’ll be flying over it shortly,” Kinney said, then added, “As a Christian you recognize that place, I’m sure … the book of Revelation chapter sixteen.”

Deborah was dumbfounded. Deborah tried to hide her surprise, but Kinney saw it in her face. “Surprised that a good Jewish fella like me knows the New Testament? And the prophecies of the apostle John about the final battle of Armageddon, or more literally, Har Megiddo?”

She nodded.

“There’s a story there. I’ll share it with you sometime.”

Deborah went silent. It was almost more than she could process. As she gazed out the window, she remembered something she had wanted to ask. “Major Tikva’s name … my dad said it was a good name, and you said, ‘Especially for this mission.’ What’d you mean?”

“Tikva,” Kinney said, looking ahead without expression, “means ‘hope.’ ”

Suddenly Deborah realized the sheer size of this adventure and wondered what she had really signed up for. She looked down to the valley floor below, with rocky outcroppings here and there and its trimmed agricultural fields spreading like a greenish tan tabletop all the way to the mountains at the horizon, occasionally studded by slender pines and bunches of date trees and palms.

This valley … yes, she had read all about it. She had been taught about it in Sunday school and at her mother’s knee.

A place of foreboding … but where Heaven would finally triumph.

Where this world would have its last, most horrific war.