The 13 th tribe

[34]

Three iron-clad doors-layered against each other like sliced bread-blocked the monastery’s main entrance. Inside the compound, Jagger pounded his fist on the one facing him. Solid as the stone walls around it. A single lamp bathed the courtyard in an amber glow. He turned in a circle, noting the few still-lighted windows scattered among the buildings. Most of the monastery’s twenty monks had gone to bed, and tonight only five other people called the place home: Jagger, Beth, and Tyler; Ollie, whose habit was to read in bed until about ten; and the stranger.

The stranger.

Jagger shook his head and tried not to think of him.

He let his eyes rise above the Southwest Range Building’s central dome to Mount Sinai, a looming presence, darker than the sky. Last night, sitting with Beth, it had been magical and holy; tonight it seemed like a dark being maliciously lording over a colony of caged insects.

He shifted his attention to the third floor of the guest quarters. A light burned in their apartment. He imagined Tyler asleep in his bedroom, Beth in the living room-which also served as dining room and kitchenette-studying C. S. Lewis or Thomas a Kempis with a Bible in her lap and a pen in her hand. The image made him want to get his rounds finished faster.

He turned and stepped into the deeper shadows near the mosque and switched on a flashlight. A white beam cut down an alley, exposing two startled cats. They darted away, and he followed slowly, swinging the beam between the walls.

After the teen had handed his butt to him on a platter, he’d cornered Gheronda and told him about it, gun and all. The old monk expressed concern, but in the end patted him on the shoulder and told him he was sure the boy and the arrival of the man were coincidental. He’d proven as closed-mouthed about the stranger as Leo. Jagger had then visited the little police station in St. Catherine’s Village. Predictably, the two cops inside had nodded, mumbled assurances, and continued playing cards.

Jagger tried not to let his frustration turn to anger, tried to convince himself he was being as paranoid as everyone else apparently thought he was.

A noise startled him. He spun around in the ally, flashing the light back toward the main gate. No huge figure with twin machine guns. No monster loping toward him. Nothing at all.

“Hello?” His voice echoed and faded.

He willed his heart to calm down, but he couldn’t quite release his grip on the baton, still resting in its quick-release scabbard. He continued down the alley, keeping the beam away from the windows.

The noise came rushing up behind him, reverberating off the walls. Loud, jangling, insistent. Jagger swung around, yanking out the baton, snapping it open. A wobbling light blinded him for a moment, until he ducked away. It was sailing down the alley at him. Then in the moment before his own flashlight beam landed on his attacker, he knew who it was.

Kich-kich-kich-kich-kich…

Tyler’s grinning face glowed in the light, bouncing up and down as he ran-his hair bounding a second out of sync. “I scared you!” he said and laughed. He grabbed Jagger’s waistband as he ran past, snapping to a stop like a dog reaching the end of a chain and nearly tugging Jagger off his feet. They spun toward each, and Tyler doubled over with laughter, his face turned up to show Jagger slits of eyes and a mouth stretched wide.

It took all of a quarter second of that face, that laughter to rid Jagger of worry and anger over the noise his son was making in this preeminently quiet place.

“You!” he said and threw a couple soft punches at his son’s belly and chest.

Tyler slapped Jagger’s fists away. “You… you… shoulda..” Tyler sucked in a deep breath. “Shoulda seen your face.” He laughed harder.

“Okay, shhh.” But Jagger himself had to laugh. He grabbed Tyler’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug.

“I thought you didn’t get scared,” Tyler said.

“I never said that. A lot of things scare me.”

“You never jump,” Tyler said. “Not when I wake you up or jump out at you… not normally.” He laughed again.

“I guess you caught me in a scareable mood.” Jagger released him. “What are you doing up anyway?”

“Mom said I could come find you. She said you need help patrolling.”

“She did?” He looked around. Amazingly, none of the windows facing the alley showed fresh lights. “Not a good time tonight, sport.”

“Why? You hardly ever patrol the monastery… and never at night.” He said it as though it was the coolest thing ever.

“There’s a reason I’m on guard tonight,” Jagger said.

“ Danger? ” Tyler’s eyes flashed big.

“Maybe.”

“Just for a little bit? Please?” He looked up the dark alley to where it ended in the jaundiced glow of another light. “Just to the burning bush?”

Jagger ran his fingers through Tyler’s hair. “All right, but then I’ll walk you home, and you go to bed.”

“Deal.” Tyler raised his hand and Jagger slapped it.

“And no more scaring me,” Jagger said.

His son’s grin stretched wide. He said, “I’ll try to restrain myself.”

“And can you not rattle? Didn’t you see the sign that read ‘Hush, monks asleep’?”

Tyler put his hand on the utility case. “It only rattles when I run.”

“Don’t run.”

Tyler agreed, and the two of them continued on down the ally, flashlight beams bobbing and weaving. Tyler shifted around to Jagger’s right side so they could hold hands.

After a few steps he said, “Dad?”

“Hmm?”

“What would you do if you found a bad guy?”

“I’d arrest him.”

“What if he fought you?”

“I’d fight back, get him in handcuffs.”

“What if he was tougher than you?”

Jagger looked at Tyler and smiled, then they did what they always did when Jagger’s masculinity was questioned: they both laughed.

And Jagger tried to push aside the memory of the teenager whupping him in the cave.