By Patrick J. McDonnell contact the reporter

 

From the summit of a hill named after St. Thomas the Apostle, Aqel Nasrallah peered into an impenetrable fog, scanning for potential infiltrators in the cottony horizon melding into the Syrian border. "Our great fear is that they will sneak in at night and take the whole village hostage," said Nasrallah, a burly former Lebanese military officer turned volunteer guard. "They are not far away."

This ancient Christian hillside town of white-stone houses and stately churches is perched precariously, and strategically, in northeastern Lebanon's Bekaa Valley, a sprawling area known for its agricultural abundance, plethora of Roman-era ruins and complex patchwork of religious faiths and political allegiances.

In the sleepy community, angels carved of stone stand vigil outside a convent where a road begins its winding ascent of the hill. A wooden cross marks the peak. In such troubled times, however, spiritual fortification is deemed insufficient.

The Syrian conflict, now in its fourth year, long ago spilled across the porous border separating Syria from Lebanon. Ras Baalbek's geography — the village is just a few miles from the international boundary — has placed it in the crosshairs of a ferocious and complicated geopolitical struggle with profound sectarian overtones.