Covenant by Dean Crawford Page A

said.
    “Why?” Rachel challenged. “Just because it sounds ridiculous doesn’t mean it’s not correct or even likely.”
    The main terminal of Ben Gurion International was dominated by a circular glass-vaulted ceiling from which poured a cylindrical sheet of glittering water. The waterfall drained into a pool that reflected light across the domed roof in a shimmering kaleidoscope of color. Ethan had the impression that he was passing through a giant fish bowl as he walked with Rachel toward the airport meeting point.
    “Yeah,” Ethan conceded, “but UFOs in the Bible?”
    “And in all other ancient creation works. Ezekiel speaks of such events in the Bible,” Rachel said, and her expression became distant as she spoke. “‘And I looked, and, behold, a whirlwind came out of the north, a great cloud, and a fire infolding itself, and a brightness was about it, and out of the midst thereof as the color of amber, out of the midst of the fire.’”
    “Could have been a meteorite,” Ethan suggested.
    “‘Also out of the midst thereof came the likeness of four living creatures,’” Rachel continued. “‘And this was their appearance: they had the likeness of a man.’”
    Ethan looked at her for a long moment.
    “I’d have thought Lucy would need more to go on than that.”
    Rachel was about to reply when a thunderous voice boomed across the terminal.
    “Ethan!”
    Ethan saw Aaron Luckov the moment he entered the terminal, a bearded and barrel-chested man who swept through the crowds like a tornado through an olive grove. The man possessed shoulders like a harbor wall and a grip that felt as though Ethan’s hand was being stood upon.
    “Aaron, been a long time.”
    “Too long, Ethan!” The towering Israeli swung an arm around Ethan’s shoulders, one hand clapping loudly against his back.
    “Is everything ready?” Ethan whispered as he returned the embrace.
    “It is prepared,” Luckov replied equally quietly.
    Aaron Luckov had served as an Israeli Air Force fighter pilot before starting up an air charter company with his wife. Ethan had known him for over a decade, and together they had shared both the best and the worst of times out in the ancient cities and deserts.
    “Aaron, this is Rachel Morgan,” Ethan introduced them.
    “Ah,” Aaron said, gently shaking Rachel’s hand. “I have heard much about you. I am so sorry to hear of your loss.”
    Rachel flushed. “Hopefully, it’s not a loss.”
    Aaron took Rachel’s bag in one meaty fist.
    “I hope so too. Come, I have a ride waiting for us outside and we’ll need to hurry.”
    “Why?” Rachel asked in confusion.
    “Because we’re not alone,” Ethan said, glancing across the terminal to where two suited men stood and observed them with fixed gazes. “How many?” he asked Aaron as they began to walk.
    “Two inside, two outside,” Aaron replied.
    “Why are they watching us?” Rachel asked.
    “They’re not,” Ethan said. “They’re watching me. ”
    Ethan felt his lungs spasm reflexively as Aaron led them out of the air-conditioned terminal into a merciless heat. A white convertible jeep was parked by the sidewalk, a petite and dark-haired woman sitting behind the wheel. Safiya Luckov was Aaron’s wife, a Palestinian with dark olive eyes and a bright smile. She got out and helped them with their bags before driving them out of the terminal and east toward Jerusalem.
    Ethan leaned back in the rear seat, finally able to stretch out after the long flight. “What’s the situation in Jerusalem?”
    Aaron’s rolling basso profundo voice carried easily above the wind.
    “Fragile, how else would it be?”
    Ethan had spent several months living within the disputed territories. He had seen the shattered, scarred wreckage of the Gaza Strip, where the Palestinians lived in a near-permanent state of squalor and oppression. And he had friends in the West Bank who had lived under Israeli military occupation for more than forty years since