by Alana Terry
She watched her own back as she stepped off the street into the stylish building constructed of smooth stone. The windows of the building were so tinted she couldn’t see past a foot inside.
The tinted glass doors opened to a pale yellow foyer. As soon as she entered a man in uniform emerged from one of the side doors and greeted her by name.
“This way, Ms. Michelman.”
Sighing, she followed him. She’d have to get used to strangers knowing her name and friends not knowing her at all.
“Shalom, Colonel,” Hadassah said as soon as she entered his office, and before he turned in his swivel chair.
“Shalom,” he replied, then turned to face her.
“Hadassah Michelman, sir,” the officer accompanying her said.
“You may go,” the Colonel told the officer. “Now, Ms. Michelman, you look as if you have made a decision.”
“I did, sir.” She folded her hands to keep from fidgeting and looked at him with as much confidence as she had. “There has been a chain of events since I left the police station on Sunday evening, and those events cemented my decision. I will work for Israeli Intelligence, sir.”
“Well, Ms. Michelman, I’m proud of you.”
“And I’m expecting you to clear the names of everyone who works for R.S.O.”
“I didn’t promise to clear their names.”
“You used this ultimatum to recruit me, sir; it would be decent of you to follow through with your end of the bargain.” She had rehearsed this last part so many times in her head she couldn’t understand why her bones shook as she spoke.
“Is that all?” His face twitched. She didn’t know if he suppressed a sneer or a smile. “You are like your mother. We definitely look forward to your service with Sayeret Matkal.”
“Can you get me into the hospital to see Zach, I mean, Mr. Safar?”
“All in good time, Ms. Michelman,” he replied.
“Now is a good time, sir.” Her bones might shake right out of her skin, but she began to enjoy this negotiation.
The Colonel frowned and stared at her. “For a girl of eighteen, you have chutzpah. We’ll arrange something for you. Tell me, will we see anything of your mother?”
“All in good time,” she said, suppressing her smile.
The Colonel’s boisterous laugh startled her. “You are too much like her. I’ll get you in to see Mr. Safar tomorrow evening. We’ll leave for Jerusalem on Thursday so we arrive before Shabbat.”
“SO?” MOM SAID, SNAPPING Hadassah from the memory of her meeting.
“He took it diplomatically.”
“There’s something I think you should know, since you’ll be in Jerusalem. Something I doubt the Colonel will tell you.”
Hadassah’s ears pricked up, and a smile began to form. She knew whatever this was, coming from Mom it had to be interesting.
“The Ark of the Covenant was found.”
The smile disappeared. Hadassah swallowed hard. “I didn’t expect that.”
“You know what this means, right?”
Her jaw felt strange and tingly. “Do the Temple Mount Advocates have it?”
“Yes, but no one knows outside the Advocates and the Mossad. I hope I can trust you with this secret.”
“Yeah, definitely. Do you think they’ll try to rebuild the Temple?”
“Not while the Dome of the Rock is there.”
There was a long silence while they sat in traffic. A dozen or more scenarios buzzed through Hadassah’s mind.
Mom cleared her throat as if she knew her daughter was trying to tie pieces together. “So, did the Colonel say anything else to you?”
“He said he’d like to see you.”
“Oh, did he? The Colonel and I butted heads often while I worked for the Mossad.”
“I can understand that. He’s probably mellowed out by now. But why do you think he came to Rome?”
“The Pope. And intel about your tangos.”
Hadassah stayed silent as she tried to make sense of it all.
“Tell me about Zacharias. Is he still in the hospital?”
“I’ll be allowed to see him tonight.”
“Shall we stop by the hospital first? I could walk up there with you.”
Chapter 44: Zach
HADASSAH STEPPED PASSED the armed guards and into the room where Zach slept. The view from his window spanned the beautiful neighborhood around the Spanish Steps, where children played on the flagstones and mothers hung out laundry to dry in the beautiful sunshine. She continued to watch this domestic scene with a mix of sadness and longing until she heard Zach stir.
“Hadassah?” He coughed drily.
She turned from the window to grace him with a smile. “Hi, Zach.”
“You look good.”
“Thanks, you’ve looked better.” He looked as pale as his sheet and scarred for life, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him all that.
“I know. The nurses keep threatening to put make-up on me to make me less appalling.”
“You ready to leave yet?”
“I’ve been ready to leave for days, but he won’t let me leave.” Zach pointed to the armed security guard right outside the door. “How did you get in?”
She rolled her eyes as she took the seat beside his bed. “I’ve got connections.”
“Can you introduce me?”
“My mom.”
“Ah.” He chortled, then coughed.
“I was wondering, Zach—how did you know Ebola virus was in those devices?”
He gave a wry smile. “A little trick I learned from some hobbits in a book I obsessed over as a kid. I just pretended to be passed out so I could hear their whole plan.” He coughed again.
She chuckled. “I’m glad you did.”
“Me too.” He laughed. Then he broke into a coughing fit which looked and sounded painful.
She rushed to get him a drink of water.
“Save your breath, friend,” she said when he stopped coughing. “I wanted to let you know the rest of the team left for America today with Ileyah.”
“Thank you for getting my sister out.” He tried to smile, but could only cough more of those painful sounding coughs.
“Are they taking good care of you here?” Hadassah asked.
Zach motioned for the pencil and paper on the nearby end table. He wrote, Doctors tolerable, nurses not. But I feel better. “It’s good to see your face, Haddy.” Then the coughing started again.
“Save your energy for healing up quick. I’ll be praying for you. And please pray for us while you have some time to spare.”
He pulled the paper closer and wrote, Help me find the men who did this.
“I leave for Jerusalem tomorrow. I’ll do what I can from there. I hope to see you soon.” She gave him a kiss on the top of the head and left.
Chapter 45: Jerusalem
THURSDAY
Once the plane reached 35,000 feet and the turbulence calmed, Hadassah took out her phone, angled it away from Colonel Schindler, who sat beside her, and switched it to plane mode. What could I expect to find in my phone to comfort me now? She opened up the Bible application and typed in “comfort.” The first verse to pop up was from Psalm 23, “Your rod and your staff they comfort me.”
Dad’s teaching flooded her mind. Abba Father’s rod and staff weren’t intended to punish her, but to protect her from her enemies. What comfort she found in the knowledge of His protection turned bittersweet as her thoughts drifted to Dad. Would God protect him as well? Was he still alive?
With every limb tingling, she scrolled through the apps to her e-mail.
The Colonel turned toward her and scanned her face, but remained quiet as if he wouldn’t know what to say even if he was the talking type. She looked up at him and neither one of them smiled. The Colonel was impossible to read, and she hoped she compartmentalized enough to be just as difficult.
When she looked at her phone again, it took everything in her not to broadcast surprise.
An e-mail from, of all people, Paul. Her fingers sweat and shook as she fumbled to open it. Don’t drop the phone.
“Hadassah—I... I’m writing you at Matt’s request. He knew, given the intelligence we unearthed, that we would be ferreted out by the authorities. I’m the only one who escaped the raid. I’m on the other side of Babylon now, hidden in a safe house with several of Dave’s friends. But before I was separated from Matt, Adam and Maleek, Matt entrusted a letter to me to deliver to you. But I have no idea what address to send it to, and who knows how long it would take to get there or if it’d be intercepted along the way. So I typed it out:
“My beautiful Hadassah,
“I know that when you read this letter my fate will be unknown to all except the Lord and my captors, but even now, girl, don’t fear, ’cause I’m not afraid anymore. Remember how we talked about having grace in this hour? I pray that God gives you the measure He has given me, or even greater grace.
“Very early yesterday morning I saw your dad. I saw him with my own eyes, and I saw my dad as well. They, among at least ten thousand others, are slaves here, mistreated but not badly abused. Some have suffered great abuse at the hands of their slave drivers, but not your dad and not mine. They were working side by side building a stadium in Babylon. And what pretense keeps them, and so many others, here against their will? They have been deemed criminals. If you are reading this, then so have I. But don’t despair, girl.
“Remember how we talked on the beach—becoming slaves to reach the slaves with the gospel? I will be a slave of Yeshua, just as Paul the Apostle was. So if they have my body and my freedom, they still don’t own me because I belong to Yeshua, and am His slave first and foremost. It all makes sense to me now, as if the Holy Spirit gave a special revelation. And I hope it makes sense to you too, soon.
“Don’t worry, though. This dude’s not goin’ down as a slave of Babylon. I’ll be bustin’ out of this joint the first real chance I get, and I’ll have our dads with me. Until then, please pray for me, but don’t cry. I’m yours forever, girl. Waiting on your sweet love, Matt.”
Don’t cry? What, was he serious? The tears began to roll silently by “My beautiful Hadassah” and torrented at his reminder of their conversation on the beach. She laughed out loud, even in the midst of her tears, when reading about him busting out of the joint. His voice rang so clearly in her mind.
She dropped the phone onto her lap, closed her eyes and willed her tears to stop. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the Colonel, no matter how strongly she felt his gaze.
“News about your dad?” he asked.
She winced, both at the idea of him knowing about her dad and the prospect of answering this question. Without opening her eyes she nodded. A passing flight attendant tapped her on the shoulder and handed her a packet of tissues.
“On the house, sweetheart,” she said with a wink.
The pity embarrassed Hadassah to silence again. She wiped her face of tears, refusing to look at the Colonel, who continued to stare at her.
“We’re planning to send another recon team in come winter,” Colonel Schindler explained.
She covered her eyes with her forearm. “He’ll have been there two years.” She gulped down fresh tears.
“I’m saying that if you’re successful on your other missions, you may be included.”
All at once her tears dried up and she faced him. “I won’t let you down, sir.” Please, Abba Father, she whispered in her heart, please help me succeed.
The plane landed at Ben Gurion airport, or, as Colonel Schindler called it, Natbag, which was southeast of Tel Aviv. Ignoring any nervousness, disquiet and general anxiety wracking her heart, Hadassah unbuckled her seat-belt before the captain turned off the fasten-seat-belts sign. She still hoped Mom would meet up with her in Jerusalem. But Mom had had that cryptic look during their farewell in Rome. If Hadassah knew anything she knew it meant more news about Dad. News Mom wouldn’t share, but would be traversing the globe to learn more. Maybe it was better not to know.
She grabbed her luggage from the overhead compartment and squeezed past the lingering passengers crowding the aisle. Colonel Schindler followed behind her, eying her every move, poised to pursue her if she ran ahead of him. If she was supposed to be helping him, why did she feel like his prisoner?
But her lungs longed to breathe the air of Israel, to taste it as if for the first time. Her body twinged with delight, and if she had allowed herself she would have smiled.
The baggage carousel brought her luggage around first, as if the boys at El Al’s baggage claim knew how much she wanted to see outside the airport. She wasn’t in Jerusalem yet, but Tel Aviv put a bounce in her step. The thick, warm air enveloped her on the walk to the car, and she savored every breath.
Colonel Schindler drove to Jerusalem with the tinted windows rolled up, but she still studied many details of the landscape. Memories sprang to life as she saw neighborhoods, outdoor markets and museums. Memories of a simple life when the longings in her heart made sense.
Stepping outside the car in Jerusalem, and walking toward a nondescript building fashioned from Jerusalem stone, she tasted the air again. Hot. Humid. Holy. A torrid blast of this air pushed against her back and wisped her curls into her eyelashes; she blew the hair away while glancing up to the hill where Yeshua promised He would plant His feet—the Mount of Olives. On its slopes stood the resolute and relatively new neighborhood. And somewhere near that neighborhood, she was sure, sat a house of prayer, a promise of the Lord’s presence and allies in the faith.
The gold dome on the Temple Mount caught her eye; to the west of it stood the Wailing Wall. She felt a bit like that wall, stuffed with the requests of others. If only the Colonel let her stop to think, she would hear Abba Father’s plan in the midst of all this.
At least Paul was safe. And Matt knew what was going to happen before it did. That had to be some comfort. But it wasn’t. She missed Mom, Dad, and her teammates who had become like family. Perhaps she could call for backup on the next assignment. Her thoughts were all over the globe, and she tried to reel them in.
However scattered her mind may have been, her heart knew this to be true: she was in Jerusalem, and Jerusalem was home.
From the Author
Acknowledgments
MY HEART BURSTS WITH gratitude toward my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, my Life, my Love, with whom my will to live and love thrives.
I want to thank my husband who, in tenderness and wisdom, counseled most steps of this journey, holding my trembling hands.
Three women sewed time, editing skills and creative influence into this book, carefully reading each word. To my two critique partners, Sarah Tipton and Lindsay Franklin, and my amazing editor, Nicole Cober-Lake—thank you!
Thanks to my family: Peter and Kathy, Bill and Susie, Steve and Jesse, Jonny and Desirea, Mark, Ben and Amanda, Amy, Kathryn, the Smith/Holihan clan, and especially my daughter for dealing with an over-tired mommy.
Thanks to the following people who made publication possible:
M.L. & P.L.; M.L.F.; G.R.F.; S.P.S. & W.S.; W.R. & M.B.R.; S.P.R. & J.C.R.; R.A.U.; R.W.B.; J.R. & D.S.R.; D.H. & R.H.; C.C.
A special thanks to Lauralee Bliss, who came up with ‘Special’ Ops, then introduced me to all the amazing people at ACFW. I’ve learned so much and forged friendships that will last a lifetime.
And lastly, thanks to the teachers at IHOP (that’s the International House of Prayer, not pancakes). Your teachings inspired this story!
Manuscript for Murder
The Hartfield Mysteries (Book 1)
Chautona Havig
COPYRIGHT © 2012 BY Chautona Havig
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without the permission of Chautona Havig.
The scanning, uploading, and/or distribution of this book via the Internet or by any other means without the permission of the author and publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized
electronic editions and avoid electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your respect and support for the author’s rights is appreciated. In other words, don’t make me write you into another book as a villain!
Edited by: Barbara Coyle Editing
Art fonts—“Smart Frocks” and Calamity Jane
Cover photos: chuvipro/iStockphoto
James Steidl/shutterstock.com
Cover art by: Chautona Havig
The events and people in this book, aside from the caveats on the next page, are purely fictional, and any resemblance to actual people is purely coincidental and I’d love to meet them!
All Scripture references are from the NASB. NASB passages are taken from the NEW AMERICAN STANDARD BIBLE (registered), Copyright 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation
~For Challice~
It’s not Charlie Chan, so you should be able to sleep at night. If you can’t, well... um, put on Emma and let Knightly scold you or something. That oughtta work. You are such an amazing mother. You have no idea how proud I am of you. Right now, you are in the part that was hardest for me, and you’re doing such an incredible job. Those grandkids of mine—blessed beyond anything they could ever imagine. That son-in-law of mine? He can’t possibly know how lucky he is to have you.
Chapter 1
TWO YEARS AGO—
“When that dude realized it was the history teacher, I was like shocked, y’know? I was like, ‘Dude! It has to be that science geek’s- whatshisname’s—dad.’”
Always invisible to those around him, he watched, disgusted, as she smiled at the teenager slouched against the bookshelves. The kid struck him as an exceptionally inarticulate California surfer, and though her answer sounded patronizing to his ears, the teen seemed oblivious.