Highlander: Zealot by Donna Lettow

Author:Donna Lettow [Lettow, Donna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Fiction
ISBN: 9780446565646
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2009-09-09T00:00:00+00:00

When Avram and MacLeod met up once again on the roof of the apartment building overlooking the Gesia Street gate, it was well after sundown. Their post was meagerly supplied and sparsely furnished. A battered wooden crate, a stained and tattered blanket. A metal ammunitions box, still stenciled in German, holding a handful of grenades, a few extra rounds of ammo, and a half dozen Molotov cocktails lovingly handcrafted from old wine bottles during the lull following the January uprising. Over in one corner of the roof, a plunger detonator connected to two thin wires trailing over the side of the building, barely perceptible from the street. The wires disappeared under the sidewalk and eventually connected to a cache of explosives, dynamite mostly, in a carefully constructed cavern dug just inside the Gesia Street gate. It had taken some work, but MacLeod had managed to convince the ZOB leadership to risk most of the explosives they could scrounge on this and a similar mine beneath the Brushmakers’ gate. He knew they had to block German access to the Ghetto when the time came, to limit the number of Nazis they’d have to take on at any one time.

“Miriam all right?” MacLeod wondered. He’d dug up a shirt from the closet of someone he knew would not be returning for it. It made him feel like a ghoul, robbing the dead this way, but sometimes it was necessary. He prayed that, somewhere, the original owner might forgive him.

Avram carried a burlap sack with him, which he set down near the crate on which MacLeod sat. “Cohen checked her over. Good news is, no internal injury, no internal bleeding that he can detect. She should be fine. Bad news is, the Germans are still dropping by around four in the morning.” He sat down heavily on the blanket with a sigh. “I hate uninvited guests.”

“I guess it was inevitable. Doesn’t make it any easier, though.” As MacLeod spoke, Avram untied the sack and opened it. “I’d had this—I don’t know what you’d call it—hope? Dream? That the Germans would keep putting it off until the Russians, or maybe the Americans, could get here.”

“You don’t honestly believe it would be better with the Russians, do you? You said you’d once ridden with Cossacks. Then you know the Russians feel the same as the Germans.”

“I know you’re right.”

“As for your heroic Allies,” Avram went on, “it’s obvious by now they just don’t care. Shimon Mendelsohn told them. A dozen others, all with the same message. Jan Karski talked to your Roosevelt and your Churchill personally. Zygelbojm went on the BBC from London and told the whole world what was happening here, in Lodz, in Lublin.” He began to pull out a few small items from the sack, placing them on the blanket as he spoke. There was no anger in his voice, merely acceptance. He could as easily have been discussing the price of fish at the market. Avram Mordecai rarely wore his anger publicly.

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