Living Stones - Softcover

With special interest in the current Middle East, retired surgeon Dr. Lloyd Johnson turned to fiction writing. He is a member of a Seattle writing group and blogs regularly on Israeli/Palestinian subjects. Johnson is a clinical professor emeritus at the University of Washington in the Department of Surgery. He is fellow in the American College of Surgeons, and past president of the Seattle Surgical Society. He authored twenty-six scientific articles in peer-reviewed journals/texts. He has worked and traveled extensively overseas, including Asia, Africa and the Middle East, and served for six years as volunteer executive director and board member of a humanitarian non-governmental organization in Central Asia. The author lives in Edmonds, Washington.

He has showed you, O man, what is good.
And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
And to walk humbly with your God.

Micah 6:8


Prologue


Ashley Wells crumpled on the sidewalk as the synagogue behind her collapsed in a cascade of debris and dust spraying in a thousand directions.  The shock wave leveled everything in its path, including Ashley and her fellow graduate student, Najid Haddad, who had been standing on the sidewalk chatting on a sunny Friday afternoon. Ashley had noticed a young Caucasian man across the street in a hoodie staring at them, but she didn’t think much of it. Other pedestrians had slowed to admire the magnificent stone Jewish house of prayer.
After their eyes briefly met, the man in the hoodie wheeled around and walked away. Ashley turned back to Najid. Suddenly a roar overwhelmed her and in the same second she was slammed to the ground. Next came agonizing pain, then blackness.


Najid stood unharmed except for minor lacerations on his arms. Ashley’s body had protected him. He turned her onto her back. “Ashley, can you hear me? Ashley! Ashley!” Blood pooled on the sidewalk. She moaned. He felt a rapid pulse at her wrist. He waved his arms. “Help! Help!” His voice was just another in a chorus of screams as people scurried to the crowd gathered in the street. Then everything blurred as sirens screeched and police and Medic One ambulances appeared. Najid stepped aside, shaking his head, wide–eyed. He trembled. “Oh God, help Ashley! Make her live!”
Emergency personnel swarmed around her, quickly pouring in IV fluids. They moved her onto a stretcher and into a Medic One van, which then sped away with siren blaring and red lights flashing. Police, guns drawn, with helmets and flak jackets, rushed into the debris of the synagogue searching for other victims.
Najid gazed at the bloody sidewalk, shaking his head. His mind whirled and echoed with the explosion, unable to focus. It seemed unreal. He had fled  violence in the Middle East for a peaceful education in Seattle. In a daze, he began walking slowly past large maple trees and older homes with wooden porches. Tears welled in his eyes. The prayer kept coming, “Oh God, please help Ashley. Don’t let her die.”
Still dazed, he heard staccato footsteps behind him and someone yelling. Suddenly a policeman yanked Najid from behind, clamped handcuffs on his wrists, and pushed him into a car with blue lights blazing. Najid shuddered. This happens in America too?


Chapter 1

Robert Bentley, face flushed, stormed out of his father’s dark-paneled home office, with Conrad Bentley close behind.
“Your life has been pretty easy. We’ve given you everything you could want. Half a million dollars in trust funds.”  The older man raised his hands palms up, shaking his head. “What more could you want?”
“I’m out of here, Dad. All you think about is money! You really could care less about me! Tell Mom goodbye when she comes home, if she still wants to live with you! Don’t come looking for me. I won’t be back!”
 Conrad Bentley shouted back, “Don’t act so indignant, son. If you’re so high-and-mighty then why have you dabbled in drugs with Mark instead of studying at Cornell?!”
Robert raced across the mansion’s patio and vaulted over the door of his red Corvette, which glimmered with its top down. Gunning the engine, the twenty-one-year-old jerked the car into gear. The tires screeched as he roared around the circular driveway, slowing only enough for the automatic gate to open. Knuckles white on the steering wheel, he flew down the street, suddenly swerving to miss a child on a bicycle.
He slowed, glancing in the rearview mirror for any police. The elegant Long Island community had proven generous with traffic tickets.
Robert seethed, gritted his teeth, and shook his head, fingers raking his dark hair. His dad had no clue! Of medium height and slender frame, shorter than his father, he scowled and hunched his shoulders over the steering wheel.
Robert heaved a deep breath and sighed, telling himself to calm down as he headed toward Mark’s modest house. Talking to Mark  might make him feel better.