Sanctuary of the Chosen Audiobook Dave Hunt

The days before the wedding passed quickly. Much that had been puzzling was clarified as the four friends spent long hours talking—sometimes in quiet sorrow for things past or regretted, sometimes in exuberant and joyous laughter as they rehearsed the ways in which God had led them to this hour. The tragic death of Viktor at the hands of an Archon after Carla had half-carried him out of the disintegrating auditorium and pleaded with him to accept Jesus was discussed with great sorrow.

Carla’s account of her surrender to the Lord and how He rescued her from the Nine brought great joy. The diabolically clever metamorphosis of Del Sasso and the probable increasing persecution of the Messiah’s followers in the near future as the New World Order was established was discussed with concern.

“What happens if the police are waiting for us?” asked Miriam. Looking down from clear skies at the menacing smog bank shrouding Rome’s Leonardo da Vinci Airport, she was reminded of the perils facing the two fugitives as soon as they landed. “Tel Aviv could have called by now.”

“Relax,” Ari admonished, putting a protective arm around her. “If we look nervous, they might take us for drug smugglers. Have a dog sniffing our bags and find that kosher sausage,” he added with a laugh.

“I’ll just hang on to your arm and look like I’m in love. How’s that?”

“Great. Just try to make it convincing.”

“Ari! I’m serious. Suppose the Mossad is down there waiting for this flight?”

“Can you be in the lobby of the King David in thirty minutes?” The urgency was apparent as soon as Yakov heard the voice on the other end of the line.

“Ah, David… I was just getting ready to go out to visit Ari. What’s up?” 

“This is related. I’ll see you at the King David!” There was no hiding the suppressed excitement in his friend’s voice.

“Haven’t I seen you somewhere?” asked Ari. With great effort, he directed the question to the new orderly who stood before him balancing a medical tray. “What’s your name?”

In one of his more lucid moments, Ari was sitting on his bed in his large, shared room. Having difficulty knowing where he was and remembering almost nothing since he had returned to Israel, he was, nevertheless, getting disjointed memory flashes of more distant events. The medic, who had just been assigned to this wing in the psychiatric hospital, had come into the room with two guards to administer medication.

Confined to a small apartment on one of Tel Aviv’s back streets and under constant guard, Ari found the next few months to be the most difficult period of his entire life. Miriam had promised to marry him as soon as possible—and now he was unable even to see her. In an earlier time, Ari would have made his escape and given the Mossad a run for their money. Now, however, instead of taking things into his own hands as he had always done in the past, he waited patiently for God to give him the direction he so urgently needed.

After about an hour’s wait, Ari was at last escorted in by a secretary. As soon as he entered the room he could sense the animosity. He was no longer one of them. He’d already been written off as the enemy.

Besides the Chief and David, the other four were strangers to Ari. He knew of them by reputation but had never met any of them, nor was he properly introduced now. The Chief simply recited their names and positions as a matter of formality. No one made a move to reach out and shake the hand Ari offered, then withdrew in embarrassment.