Selected Detective
GOA OLD SALT MINE VI

At a height of three meters, the elevator stopped again, Uzi's weapon aimed at them.

“This is where we part, gentlemen.” Har-Zion said, his mouth curling forming a triumphant smile. “We, at God's command, begin the rebuilding of the Temple and the inauguration of a new golden age for our nation. You guys..” He stared at the two detectives for a moment, and moved his shoulders to try to loosen the strangulation of his burnt skin where his body felt sticky. Then he signaled to his man to shoot immediately.

“Do not!” Layla's voice echoed around the cave.

“Do not!” it repeats, and then again, “Don't!”

Har-Zion's accomplices look towards the leader, but he gives no sign, to shoot or lower his weapon, so they stay as they were, with fingers firmly attached to the Uzi trigger. Below, on the floor of the cave, Ben-Roi and Khalifa were throwing glances at each other.

“Do not!” Layla screamed for the fourth time. His tone was desperate, almost hysterical, his hands clenched and opened. He actually wanted to talk earlier, when they were teasing these two men, but he was powerless to do so, choking on shame and hating himself.

Now, however, he was unable to stop himself anymore, even barely conscious of what he had said, just to feel that his whole existence has somehow narrowed itself to the focus of this moment, and that despite everything, despite years of lies and betrayal, he said, he was unable to keep silent while two people were viciously shot dead in front of him. It is of no value, of course, compared to how many humans have been killed over the years because of his actions, how he was immersed in indelible blood. There will never be redemption for what he has done. And he didn't look for her either. All he knew was that as he stood there staring at the two detectives his face was pale, his father's voice suddenly buzzing within his head like the sound of a clear bell, louder than ever heard before. The words he said the night he died: I can't leave someone to die like a dog, Layla. Whoever they are.

And as soon as he heard those words he experienced an uncontrollable and sharp yearning to know that there was still something from his father that was left deep within him, some kind of little surviving mark of his father's beautiful rays. That she remained his daughter, however dark the world she had made for herself. Layla pressed to the front of the elevator, her eyes catching Khalifa's eyes for a split second before she turned to the Israelis. His slender body blocked the firing range.

“You've won,” screeches on Har - Zion. “Don't you see that? You won, for God's sake.

Leave 'em. For just this once, stop killing and leave them.” Silence moment. The cave vibrates with the sound of a generator, Menorah sparkles in a dim flashlight. Then, slowly, Har-Zion nodded.

“He's right. It's time to stop killing.”

Layla's body sagged a little. Almost immediately she stiffened back when she noticed a cold smile adorning Har-Zion's face.

“Or at least some murders. Ini” he moves his hand slowly towards Khalifa and Ben-Roi “Their lives mean nothing. However, Al-Mulatham he, I believe, has achieved his goal. As Ms. Al-Madani has said, we have won. With Menorah on our side, we mean unstoppable. One last calculation, and then we can release the Palestinian Brotherhood together. And all the officers that walked with him. All his apparatus.”

When he said this last phrase, he glanced at his second person with a pouty hair, and at the same time moved his head towards Layla. The man nodded his head in understanding and, with a surprising calmness, stepped forward and floated his palm to Layla's right chest, pushing her back from the elevator platform and beating her hands and feet. For a moment he hung there, in the middle of the air as if hanging from the ceiling of the cave with an invisible wire; then his body was dragged slowly and thrown to the floor with a painful thud.

“Thank you, Miss Al-Madani,” says Har - Zion. “The State of Israel will forever be grateful to all your efforts. Arabs or not, you have rewarded yourself with the title Eshet Hayil. Brave women.” Layla soon found out that her spine was broken, possibly another bone, though, as it seemed to be numb from the neck down, she could not be sure either. Not a big deal. After all, he would die in a while longer, which he felt good about.

Surprisingly, as if to compensate for the fact that he could no longer sense anything, the other senses suddenly grew sharper. His nostrils trembled with the smell of pine wood which was the material of the coffin; his ears seemed to be able to catch unnaturally the sounds that in normal circumstances he would not be able to catch. Most powerful of all, he had developed the magical ability to be able to see four or five different things together at any given time, without moving his head at all. There is Har-Zion, standing on the elevator, laughing with his followers; Ben-Roi is a little on his left side, it seemed to be surprised to accept how excessive he really wanted to be if what happened to Layla was something like this; and who was kneeling right next to him while holding his hand how could he be there so quickly?

Khalifas. Layla can even see herself, as if she is standing on top of her looking down. A very thin smile rang in the corner of his mouth, even though there was no humor or satisfaction in it, he said, but it is more of an endless and exhausting form of loneliness that cannot find any other expression to express itself.

He always knew it would end like this. Since he returned from Britain a few years ago and started working as an informant for Har-Zion and Israeli military Intelligence. The real situation is so shocking in a giant cave full of Nazi loot, for God's sake! but not the violence, that right is the latest. Frankly, he was surprised that he could last for so long. At his side, Khalifa was saying something, although Layla seemed to be unable to hear his voice, which sounded strange under the circumstances of how many voices were so slow she could catch. He did not need to hear, for he could catch what Khalifa was saying from the movement of his lips.just one word, repeated constantly, a question, the same question he had asked him earlier.

“Ley? why?” What can he say? Nothing, really. He actually wanted to explain. Really want. At least one person knows. Confession on the death bed and that's enough.

But then, how could he? How can he make her understand? make anyone understand? That he had done what he had done was not for the reasons people used to receive money, coercion, ideology. No that's. He did it because on the eve of his fifteenth birthday, on a piece of dirt dump on the edge of Jabaliya refugee camp, under a starry sky and with the howls of stray dogs in the distance, he said, he witnessed the person he loved the most more than anything else in the world, his handsome, brave and gentle father, the greatest man ever, he was beaten to death with a baseball bat. By people of their own people. Witnessed by his own people. That is why he contacted Har-Zion and offered to work for him. That is why he cooperated with all things related to Al-Mulatham; that is why, the moment when he found Menorah, he called Har-Zion from the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and he called, do whatever he can to secure the lamp for him. For they have killed the only man he has ever truly loved, and for from that moment onward he hates them, all of them, all of them, swearing that whatever he did with his life he would make them pay for it, suffer for it, every Palestinian.

Thats why. That's answer. But how does it explain all this. make them understand? communicating all the shards of misery and pain, hatred and torment that had hit him all that year? He is not willing. And it's impossible. Far beyond his strength. It always has been and always will be. It's so alone.

He looked up at Khalifa's face a kind, brave, handsome face; like his father in some ways and tried to grab her hand. At the same time, with excess can see a lot of things that it seems to have gained as a result of its collapse, he could see up there that Har-Zion had raised his hand and pointed his gun straight at his head. Do it, he thought, do it. It's time.

“Oh God, My Father. Oh my God, my poor father.” And then the eruption was heard.

His head fell down. The black hole was gaping just above his left eyebrow, his blood flowing down his cheeks and chin and falling dripping onto the floor, then forming a thick puddle the size of a plate. For a moment Khalifa was so surprised to be able to move, Layla's hand drooped in her grasp, the echo of gunshots blaring around the cave; then, shaking her head, she placed Layla's hand slowly below, then stand up and retreat so that he stands next to Ben-Roi. The two stared up at Uzi's shot up there.

Khalifa should be scared. More afraid than he has felt, because what will soon happen to him. Whether it was because he was still reeling from the blows and hits he was experiencing, or simply because his death was now so inevitable that his body could not see what the importance of thinking about fear was. He even felt very calm. Zenab and the children, they were the only ones he cared about the most and the fact that he probably would not have received Islamic burial treatment. But he felt sure that God would understand. Allah is All-Knowing. That's why he .. well, God.

He glances at Ben-Roi and their views are linked. Someone will die with him. But then, maybe he was a slightly rude man. Rough, yeah. Argan, likes to fight. Not the kind of person he would make friends with. Even so, he's a good cop, seems to have done a lot of things quite well. And who knows, if his own wife had been murdered in this way, butchered without any interest, perhaps he, Khalifa, would have acted similarly. You'll never be able to say it. He tries to express something, apologizes, acknowledging that his decision to trust Layla's words more than Ben-Roi was based not on an objective assessment of the situation, but rather on blind prejudice, by the fact that he could not make himself trust a Jew compared to his fellow Arabs. He seemed unable to find the right words and then silent again.they looked at each other for a while longer, then, with a nod they turned back and looked at the elevator, fists tightened, and, waiting for the bullet.

Then everything went dark. For a moment, suddenly confused, Khalifa thought he was dead. Almost immediately, from the cries of Har-Zion's men, Khalifa realized that the generator must have died again, making the lights go out. So unpredictable and so disorienting, that he did not react, just stood glued to his place. Ben-Roi's instinct immediately urged, the Israeli clutching the collar of Khalifa's shirt roughly and walking forward, out of shooting range. Half a second later the Uzi barked, the darkness torn apart by the red and white blast, bullets bouncy on the floor and thrown into the pile of crates with the sound of a wood blast, rat-at-at. The two detectives ducked down, and then tried to get back on their feet and finally opened fire on a stone wall just below the elevator platform. More gunshots were heard and, suddenly, as soon as it started, the gunfire stopped.

They were silent, eyes tightened in the darkness. When the generator died earlier, it almost immediately went back on. But this time, it remained unlit.they could hear a whisper, a flashlight lit, then another, they could hear a whisper, and then there was a subtle squeak and slap as soon as someone began to climb the elevator's vertical path to the courtyard above, perhaps trying to get the generator back to life. One of the flashlights was directed upwards, shining on the climber; the others began to fidget back and forth near the pile of crates in front of them, vainly trying to lift him up in the darkness. The possibility that they would constantly be at the bottom did not seem to be happening to Har-Zion's men. Not yet, at least.

“Must move,” whispered Ben-Roi near Khalifa's ear. His voice was so slow that it was almost inaudible. “Should immediately be between crates.” Khalifa moved her hand to show that she understood. Shouts from above indicated that the climber was already on the balcony and was moving into the generator room.

“Must move,” hiss Ben-Roi again. “There is no more time.” Twenty seconds passed, the two frantically tried to set their next motion, realizing that by the time they emerged from under the platform they would almost certainly be heard or caught by the flashlight beam. Finally, in desperation, Khalifa reached into her jacket and pulled out a clip of ammunition containing five bullets she had stored, stressing it on Ben-Roi's arm. The Israeli immediately guessed what he was thinking.

“To the left,” he whispered. “We're just right away. Hand grip.”

“What?”

“In order not to split each other, idiot!” From above there was a mechanical noise so loud that Har-Zion's men began to pull the lever of the generator. At the same time, a flashlight suddenly flashed across the crate rack and began to circle the floor at the foot of the elevator. For a moment the lamp shone on Layla's body, then retreated to their hiding place. Now it's just a matter of seconds before they get caught in the light. Grabbing Ben-Roi's hand and pulling back his free hand, Khalifa shot out a bullet clip as hard as he could towards the farthest side of the cave. It seemed like the bullet would still be in the air due to the length of the impossible time and a flashlight beam flashed in front of the end of their shoes when, with a loud clattering sound, it came down again.

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