Peeking through a crack in the wooden wall she saw five men. One was familiar; he was the grandson of one of their servants. One man was well dressed with a trimmed beard and a fancy men’s suit. Another man, older with a long grey beard was referred to as The Great One. That seemed odd to her. He didn’t seem so ‘great’ to her. He must be some kind of an Ayatollah, she decided. Two other men looked like they were guards. They stood very straight and didn’t talk or sit down. She wondered who they were and why they were here on her property? She wondered how they had gotten through the locked gates and who the well-dressed man in the fancy suit might be. She saw the guards carried many weapons. Frightened she decided she must run for help, she must tell her mother and father. This meeting was a terrible secret, a secret too big for her to carry all by herself.
She wiggled out of her hiding spot and that's when it happened. She bumped into a crate, spilling some feed. The guards heard her, saw her running and knew instantly she witnessed their meeting. They caught her within minutes. That was the last thing she remembered before waking up in this tent with these strangers.
Now lying bound and blindfolded, she feared she might never return home. In her fear-induced thoughts, she sometimes thought she heard her mother’s voice calling to her; “Saroyah Sagheerah” she’d call, ‘Saroyah, my little one’ and then she’d imagine her mother hugging her close and telling her that she loved her. Yes, Umm will come for me, Umm and Abba will come for me, I know that they will, the child told herself over and over again. “They’ll figure out where I am and rescue me. Kahli Hakim and Khala Hadara, they have some special powers. I have heard it whispered. They know many people and will find a way to save me. If these people want money, my parents will give it to them. We have many camels and many olive trees. Allah has blessed us with much wealth. I will pray that Umm and Abba find me soon. I trust in Allah to help my family to save me. Soon I’ll be home again. Soon I’ll be freed from here. Soon… Soon… Soon…,” the child whispered to herself, as tears escaped her blindfolded eyes and crept down her cheeks.
Rafi listened in respectful silence as was appropriate for his age and status. Being an outsider, he was unfamiliar with the specific expectations that this group would have for him. He listened carefully observing every gesture, sound and movement. He watched those around him, trying to determine the unspoken rules that are present in every group. He needed to know these people and know them fast, who were trusted, who had The Great One’s ear; he watched those around him compete for the man’s attention, noticed who was aligned with whom and who appeared distrustful or alienated from whom. His life and the success of this mission hinged on knowing these things. Rafi had outstanding intuition and he needed to use all his powers of observation and sensitivity to deal with these people surrounding him. The people gathered here were from many different places including countries currently at war with each other. The Sword of Justice touted as the solution to the Middle East Crisis spanned political divides and geographical jurisdictions.
It seemed his handlers worked a miracle to get Rafi included in such a group. He was curious about what The Great One had been told that made him willing to open his tent to a stranger, one so young had no power or authority. Those assembled here were seasoned officials or government representatives. They were familiar with one another and with the ways of the group. He felt uneasy being here; and was convinced another agent should have been chosen for this assignment. His handlers had given him the assignment of collecting information about the group and its members. They needed to learn about The Sword of Justice, its principles and agenda, purpose, power and strength. They had hinted that The Great One would be responsive to him. Rafi wondered why they thought that. He was told to present himself as an eager student. That, he was told, would work. Listening in silence, he decided, was his best plan. He would seek out the Great One as his mentor. Every powerful man wants disciples who will worship and learn from him. He would present himself as a devoted follower of the Koran who was passionate about the needs of the Arab world. He would attach himself to the Great One as a devoted disciple and given that he had none of the complex alliances the other members did, he would speak with a fresh unencumbered voice. He would become his assistant, his helper, and his confidant. Rafi was not sure exactly how to accomplish this, but he was absolutely certain this was to become his role. He would carve out a relationship with The Great One that would guarantee him safety from the jackals who glowered around him. He would rely on his intuitive people skills and his oratorical skills. He had always had a way with words and could be an impassioned, persuasive speaker when motivated. His knowledge of the Arab world, its politics, language, customs and religion was excellent, thus he reassured himself. Relieved, he breathed deeply and relaxed taking in all that was being said and done, secure in the knowledge that he could play this role well and it would enable him to deliver what his handlers needed. Assuming of course that this actually was his assignment, he was prepared to provide it.
Ari and Samira were bleary-eyed and exhausted. Their conversations with their hosts had stretched into the early morning hours. The sun had come up and the neighborhood was coming to life as people drove off to work or school with a clatter of trash cans, slamming car doors and barking dogs. Samira was spooning sugar in hot coffee when Elizabeth entered the kitchen and sat down. Sammy, Stella and Gil looked over at her expectantly as she asked conversationally, “So how is your mother these days? It’s been years since I last heard from her.”
Ari and Samira smiled wryly surprised Elisabeth had figured it out so easily. “What gave us away?” Samira asked with a toss of her hair. “You did,” Elisabeth said, “just like that,” she indicated the swinging hair. “That, plus ‘es beshert!’ I remember how often your mother used to say that.” Stella, Sammy and Gil exchanged glances and Samira explained “Mother knew Elisabeth years ago,” and to Elisabeth, “She’s well, thank you, she sends you her warmest regards.”
“It seems,” said Elisabeth, “that she has sent me her children as well. Tell me why didn’t you just come out and tell us your mother was Hadara Eiliat to begin with? Why this charade?” Simon, listening from Chevra Hatzollah’s base began a name search. “It would have taken no time, at all, and would have saved us hours of unnecessary consternation.”
“We regret the deception,” Samira responded, “it was necessary that we buy some time until we could be sure we could trust you.” It was a half- truth but she thought she’d start there.
“What makes you think you can trust us now?” Gil asked calmly.
“We are not tied up,” Ari said with a slight smile, “and you haven’t shot us yet.”
“It takes that little to earn your trust?” Stella shot back annoyed at the deception.
“In our world,” Ari said “those are not small favors, plus,” he nodded toward Elisabeth, “your sister did save my life earlier today.”
“Right,” Elisabeth responded, “about that, who were those thugs who wrecked my office and would have killed us both? And exactly why were they after you, and more importantly, why didn’t you warn me outright that we are about to be attacked?”
“You must believe me,” Ari looked into Elisabeth’s eyes beseechingly, “I did not think these men would make a breach into your office, I assumed they would wait outside for my return. I did not think even thugs would break into the office of an American psychologist in the broad of daylight. I knew that I would be in danger when I left, but forgive me, I did not know they would come into the building chasing after me and endanger you. It was an error in my judgment, I regret to say. I am so very sorry, dear Doctor Reinhardt. I thought you would perhaps hide me somewhere. I was hoping for at least that much help. I did not know how effective your hiding would be. That big escape was a big surprise to me I did not expect.”
Elisabeth recalled the young man’s anxiety and demeanor as he sat in her office. She nodded and moved on, but she did have a lingering doubt. The only reason
she could think of for that kind of set up was to force her to reveal her hidden exit. But how could he have known about that? And even if he did know it existed why would he want to find it? What would make her hidden exit important to this young Israeli spy? She tabled these questions and moved on.
“Ari, who were those men and why were they after you? They had a compelling reason because, you are right they wouldn’t have taken such a huge risk otherwise.”
With a sidewise glance at his sister, Ari began his tale. “As you may recall, my mother, she is with the Mossad. Samira and I are also with the Mossad.”
Elizabeth nodded, “We figured as much” she said.
“Of course,” Ari nodded “It is as you say, in our blood,” another wry smile.
“We,” here he shrugged toward his sister, “are one of 5 two-people teams who are here in your country to locate people who are selling and transporting certain elements that are needed to make nuclear bombs. Weapons grade Uranium and Plutonium is being shipped along with certain antiquities through several museums that are located here in your United States - one of these selling sites is in Chicago. Packaged inside of huge crates containing rare artifacts, these materials are being sent to museum warehouses; later they are repacked and shipped off as gifts from the gift shops or as museum items going abroad. Samira and I are tracing that pipeline. We located one of the, what you call ‘men of the middle’.”
Samira smiled and corrected “Middlemen.”
Ari nodded and continued, “An employee at your Field museum, he is called Friedrich Müeller, is one of them we believe. Mr. Müeller works in the East European Rare Documents division of that museum. The men following me want these weapons for themselves.
Samira took over saying, “Müeller gave me a sample of these materials just yesterday. I told him I was a buyer working with a big deal Syrian weapons dealer, who is trying to access these materials to sell to an emerging terrorist organization operating across the Middle East. This big deal dealer has many contacts in the weapons trade including the Russian Mafia. My luncheon companion, she gestured with her hand, Mr. Gil here, has the gift shop bag Müeller gave to me. He took it from me at the restaurant, isn’t that right Mr. Gil?” She grinned at Gil.
On the other side of the table, Gil grinned back, “You are quite right, I gave it to Sammy to check out.” Samira joined in, “The people following me outside the restaurant were your CIA, in the black van and I think the same group of what you called ‘thugs’ who were following Ari also were out there in the blue SUV. They are from Al Queda in Iraq. But we think there is a bigger worry that Al Queda. There is a new terrorist organization called The Sword of Justice. They are a newly formed violent group who are intent on world destruction. They are collecting weapons and military grade nuclear components from across the globe. They purport to be a religious group seeking justice in the name of Allah. We are not certain about their exact mission but know they are willing to demolish entire cities, if not countries, in the name of Allah and they will stop at nothing to destroy Israel.”
Gil nodded then asked, “And the Camry? Who do you think was following you in that?”
“Now, that I do not know,” Samira said shrugging. “He was clumsy, that is all I know. And not very good at his job, either. I nearly knocked him over in that restaurant, so he is not good at avoiding detection,” she said with a dismissive shrug.
“And what, pray tell, do you plan to do with the material Mr. Müeller gave to you?” Elisabeth asked looking at Samira.
“I am going to test it,” Ari answered, “I am a scientist, you see. My specialty is nuclear bombs, how to make them and how to destroy them. The latter would of course be my intent here. We have a lab set up and I’ll test the materials there, it’s not far from here in….”
Next to him, Samira stiffened slightly in her seat, signaling that Ari was saying way too much. Compliant, Ari shrugged, smiled his slightly crooked smile and bent his head over his coffee adding sugar as he stirred.
- 15 -
THE DOMINO EFFECT
Sol Aaronson studied his laptop plugged into a 1500 watt transformer in the back of the van. Although the sun had been gone for hours, he was sweating from the heat. What a G-d forsaken land this is, he thought for the hundredth time and wished more than anything that he was sailing on the Mediterranean enjoying the cool breezes and the beautiful blue water. He loved the sea, the peaceful movement of his boat gently lulled by the blue waves; only sailing could calm him so completely. In front of him, the screen flashed urgently, yellow highlighted messages marched from side to side announcing that reinforcements would be arriving momentarily. Helicopters would be landing. The sleeping terrorists would be awakened within moments. The assault had to be instantaneous with no warning time for guns or instant messages to others of their group. They would be captured and flown to an air strip miles from here. They would be interrogated and their plan would be learned. These were dangerous people. Dangerous to his people, dangerous to the world.
A philosopher at heart, Sol Aaronson appreciated the irony here. He knew that these people he viewed as dangerous terrorists saw him the same way that he saw them. Each polarized Middle Eastern group firmly believed it was right and had truth and justice on its side. Ironic and sad beyond all sadness, he reflected that perhaps there was no one true truth, no truth above all truths. Truth was relative; relative to where one stood on the continuum of truths. Truth related to geography. Truth relative to one’s relatives! Yes it all related to where one had been born, the family each person had been born into, the language they spoke, the bible they read, the G-d they worshipped. It boiled down to the relativity of relativity he thought. It all boiled down to this unsolvable puzzle, this international, cross-denominational rubix cube!
Breaking into his concentration Yosef whispered, “They’re here.” Sol, Yosef and Elias checked their weapons and crept toward the rendezvous spot. Five men heavily armed, dressed in flak jackets and night vision goggles were waiting. “It’s a go in 3, 2, 1…Go, Go, Go…”
The assault on the little house was launched. Six minutes later the area was vacated. The opponents had been overpowered, the house thoroughly checked, all equipment packed and loaded. Five of the eight man team lifted off, their captives drugged and bound on the floor of the chopper headed toward the Mediterranean. The confiscated computers and electronic devices were stowed in the rusty van with the rest of the team that crept innocuously toward the Israeli border. Riding in silence with guns at the ready, they watched for an ambush. Daylight would soon arrive and with it came new danger.
Jamila sat face in her hands, the folds of her hijab falling loosely around her shoulders; her distress evident as she listened to her husband and her brothers strategizing. Hakim put his arm around her shoulders and said “Hadara phoned and told us the Israeli’s located the camp where Saroyah is being held. According to Mossad, she is safe and being well cared for. Hadara said she cannot make direct contact with her because she might inadvertently alert her captures.”
What Hakim did not say was how anxious that conversation had made him. Something was wrong. Hadara’s voice was unnaturally tense, her words guarded. He looked at his brother-in-law as he said “Hadara says Mossad has an undercover operative in place, one of their agents is embedded in the camp.” Hadara didn’t tell her husband who that embedded agent was and that rescuing Saroyah would place him at risk. Only she knew how precarious this situation was. Two lives hung in the balance; two families were perched on the brink of disaster. Elsewhere, Hadara hung up the phone, her face pale, her hands frozen with fear she clicked out the words on her keyboard. ‘Mission’s a Go! Mission’s a Go!’
Tears flowed as Jamila pondered her child’s fate. She could not understand a world in which children were hurt, used as leverage or bait. Why had they taken her child? She could not understand this. Why her child? Who was she that this had happened? What made her child important in this crazy world of hatred and death? The chi
ld had done nothing. She knew nothing; of that she was sure. She was convinced that the child was taken because of someone else, as leverage or punishment of some kind. She looked at her husband pacing nervously in front of the window. Gamil Ajram was a kind man, a good Muslim man, who worshipped as Allah had decreed. He had been a good husband to her and a good father to their children. All their years together he had done nothing to attract attention, nothing to bring them and their family into the center of world events. Now their child was a pawn, no, a domino in this complex series of events. It couldn’t be the child’s fault, that made no sense. People did this kind of thing for some reason. What connected her child to a group of villains? With fresh suspicion Jamila looked over at her husband. There was something different about him. She couldn’t put her finger on it though. Something was off. He was upset, of course they all were, but there was something else. Something was making him jumpy, evasive even. He was avoiding her eyes. He was moving away from her. Something else was going on with him.
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