A room was being prepared with the necessary equipment. This man, this Nazi sympathizer, aka Islamic extremist sympathizer, was going to help unravel and destroy The Sword of Justice before it could implement its plan for world destruction. It seemed unreal even to say it, but the Reinhardt family knew better than to dismiss the possibility, no matter how farfetched it seemed. Having lived through the horrors of WWII, they knew how far a charismatic leader could go and how many lives could be destroyed at a whim. They knew that the masses were gullible and could be converted to mindless followers, persuaded by garbled promises mixed with intimidation. They knew if people heard twisted logic and self-justifying phrases long enough they would stop thinking for themselves. The masses would let self-preservation assuage their consciences and denial cloud their thinking; soon right and wrong would intertwine like a distorted caduceus enabling the most horrific plans to be implemented without moral considerations.
Reina and Manny were ready. They stood and looked around the room they had set up; it was constructed of concrete blocks and it was windowless and empty, save one metal table and 3 chairs. An ensemble of spot lights hung from the ceiling and a narrow table displaying an intimidating array of medical equipment sat by the doorway. Pleased with the results of their efforts they waited for the others to arrive.
Abdullah and Shamir crouched under a cluster of scrub trees squinting into the sun as the plane dropped its precious bundles to earth. They watched as two men hiding near an outcropping rushed forward and hoisted the crates into a camouflaged SUV; no sooner had they loaded the crates, 3 rugged-looking Bedouins galloped up on horseback. “They’ve got Kalashnikovs!” Shamir said as the shooting began. Two Bedouin men climbed into the SUV and the third man thundered away with two rider-less horses, leaving bodies lying in the sand. “We need one alive.” Abdullah said raising his rifle. When the SUV was nearly parallel they rose out of the sand, shot the driver, wounded the other man, climbed into the vehicle and drove off, with their prisoner bound and gagged.
Knowing that others could be watching, Abdullah decided to leave the valley and head toward their compound. Submerged in a populated area, surrounded by congestion and crowds, the compound was the perfect hideaway. Zahlé, the third largest city in Lebanon was the shortest distance away. Just 40 minutes later, creaky wooden gates opened so they could enter a rectangular complex topped by a faded red tiled roof.
“Three sturdy men in work clothes dragged their prisoner away and carried the confiscated materials up a flight of stairs to a large room equipped with long wooden tables, a few desks and some office equipment. Hakim sat at a large desk. “How did you do, brother?” he asked as Abdullah and Shamir strolled in. “Fine, I don’t think we were followed, but keep the guards posted. I need a few minutes to clean myself and then I will tell you everything. See if you can get us something to eat in the meantime will you, Shamir and I are parched and starving.” Of course, my brother,” Hakim said. He was an unofficial member of this little group. Having been charged by the Prime Minister with looking into illegal arms moving through their country, Hakim had a dual purpose for being there: fact finding for the Prime Minister and supporting his brother in his mission. They both thought that in some strange way this was related to their niece’s kidnapping.
The Prime Minister had asked Hakim to look into whether there was a leak in the upper echelons of the Lebanese government. He suspected that someone in his inner circle was involved in illegal arms dealings with a specific terrorist group. Hakim was there to determine if there were covert ties between his government and terrorist organizations and/or Russian/Azerbaijani arms exporters.
Frowning, he texted a message to the guards posted on the roof of the building “Stay alert, stay on guard until further notice.” He texted a second message to the men who were tracking the plane from the Beqaa Valley. The plane had been traced to a small airport in northern Syria where the pilot was being followed. Their men on the ground were shadowing, photographing and awaiting instructions. “Report status ASAP!” Hakim was especially interested in this pilot’s information because it could yield critical information. A third text was sent to the kitchen staff requesting refreshments and a fourth text went to Hadara, inquiring into her welfare and apologizing for not being with her. He explained that he had been called away unexpectedly and was sitting in the Istanbul Airport waiting to board a flight to Narimanov, Azerbaijan. He did not know when he would be able to return home. Oh, the burdens of his job as an attaché! The text closed with “I love you my dearest, you and only you my beloved Hadara. I cannot wait until I return and hold you in my arms again. I remain your adoring husband…”
- 24 -
THE SANDS OF TIME
The air was cold. Sparking stars studded the deep blue sky as far as the eye could see millions and billions of them glimmered everywhere. The constellations were so clearly outlined it looked like they had been stenciled. All was quiet in the camp, only the guards roamed about, rifles slung over their shoulders, alert Belgian Malinois at their sides. There were 8 pairs walking in an easily timed pattern from point to point. Moshe and two newly arrived agents lay flat among the camels who had settled down on the cool sand for the night quietly chewing their cuds, long lashed eyes closed. It was approaching 2:45 when they moved. One at a time, creeping from point to point, they ran hunched over for a few feet then stopped and waited for another break. Two guards nearest them had stopped for a chat and a smoke. Their voices carried on the silent night air were clearly heard. “…first thing in the morning,” said one guard.
“What happened…” asked the other one.
“…report from a courier and from that man we caught the other day…” said the first.
“So where are we going to go?” asked the second man. “It’s not yet been decided, The Great One will inform us after morning prayers. He says he’ll get his message directly from Allah.”
“Ah yes,” said the other man nodding agreement “it’s only right that it be that way, Subhan'Allah.”
Amidst the warm air, Moshe felt a chill right down to his bones. They were breaking up camp. In a few hours they would fold the tents, load up the camels and move to another location. That endangered their whole operation. It meant that Rafi would need to have his tracking team back with him and fully attending to him during such a move. It meant that the child needed to be rescued tonight. There was no pushing back the schedule, it had to be now. Prayers would start at the crack of dawn and once that happened there would be no chance of getting her out or getting Rafi’s team up and ready. It’s now or never, he thought as the team crept forward to the child’s tent.
Jamila could not sleep. She was upset. Her stomach churned, her mind raced. How could she sleep when her daughter was gone? She paced through the gardens, smelling the floral scent around her and looking up at the magnificent starry sky. She saw little. She had not heard from the rescuers; she didn’t know where her husband or brothers were. She knew that Hadara was angry with her, thinking she had accused her of the kidnapping. She had said no such thing and told her so. She had no idea who would have told her such a thing. It was a blatant lie, but she couldn’t care about that now. Hadara had come and gone, upset that Hakim was missing. Why she expected him to be there she did not know. She said she heard he was here waiting for her, but he had not been here for days. Jamila told her that and Hadara seemed confused. Jamila didn’t pay much attention to what Hadara had said; she couldn’t care about that now. She had her daughter to worry about. Hadara told her she had a plan and that Jamila and her children should be ready to leave the country. Jamila had just stared at her. Nothing made any sense. She was going nowhere until her daughter was safe.
She asked Hadara if the men were going to help with this family evacuation. Hadara had shrugged and reminded her about the people, her friends from America, who would be helping. Jamila said she remembered and would be ready, but she didn’t mean it. She pleaded with Hadara to just please save her baby
. Hadara left soon after that discussion realizing that Jamila had no idea where any of the men were. According to her, Abdullah was gone. Off somewhere doing G-d knows what. Hakim was not where Gamil said he would be and she could not determine if Hakim had been at the airport in Turkey like he said he was. She still had not heard from him and that was most unusual. Gamil had not shown up at the Olive Grove since she left him at that warehouse, even though he had indicated his intent to return home. It was strange that all three of the men were missing. As Hadara and Yosef drove away she decided not to focus on what she did not know but instead to focus on what she did know. A plan was in place and she would focus on its completion.
Jamila continued to pace. She had stopped trying to figure the men out, their schedules were ridiculous and who knew if any of it was true. These men were so full of secrets and lies. When they were children with their big plans and hopes for building a safe new world for their people, the secrets had been part of the fun. No longer was that true for her. It was not that they were bad men; she never thought that. Her two brothers and her husband were good men, busy on secret missions and secret missions meant secret lives. Who knew what they were really up to? She never knew and had stopped asking. Jamila gave them the benefit of the doubt, she assumed what they did was justified even if it needed to be kept secret. If it weren’t for the fact that her child was mixed up in all this, she wouldn’t be asking now.
Wandering through their gardens she realized she didn’t know who to trust. She had long suspected that one of her household staff was behind this. Who else would know where Saroyah was and when she would be there? She wasn’t snatched from a marketplace; she was snatched from here, from her home. Jamila could not imagine that it had anything to do with the child herself. Not really. That made no sense. How could it? It had to be about one of the adults or perhaps the whole lot of them; powerful and rich as they were. Perhaps it was a plot against the Lebanese aristocracy and her little girl was the pawn.
No, the more she thought about it, this thing had to involve an insider. Perhaps more than one…after it would not be all that easy to steal an 11 year old. And the kidnapper had to get in and out through a gate. They had guards posted all over the place. No one from the outside could get in and wander around grabbing little girls. How did they get in here in the first place? The Olive Grove was well guarded. It was a big business now, not like when she was a child. Large concrete walls had been built with turrets and gun posts. At the front gate a guardhouse stood with an automatic gate, guns and guard dogs. The Faysal Family Olive Grove had become a huge sprawling complex with many workers and many trucks. They were a wealthy family with a successful business. They had much while others around them had little. Jamila could understand how people would be tempted to commit crimes. Money was essential and there were those who would do anything for money. Perhaps it had been one of their guards. The kidnapper got past the guards somehow. Not once, but twice! Coming in and getting out! And how in the world had they gotten Saroyah out past those guards anyway? In a sack? On a camel? In a car trunk? How had they done it? And who had helped them?
Jamila decided someone in her household could not be trusted. The men were all away doing something she didn’t know about, so that left finding her daughter up to her! “Okay,” she said to herself, “I’ll have to do this myself. I’ll find out who in this house has betrayed me and I’ll find it out today!”
“So the solution to the Middle East problem is world destruction?” Elisabeth asked as they completed their crash course in Islamic Extremist philosophies.
“That’s about the size of it,” Sammy said reaching for the carafe of coffee.
“It’s time to coordinate our efforts,” Gil said as he tapped his cell phone and walked over to the door. “Your friends are here,” Gil said as he opened the hotel room door to Hadara and Yosef.
“Elisabeth,” said Hadara warmly as they embraced, “It’s been too long.”
“It has indeed,” Elisabeth said smiling at Hadara, “and you must be Yosef,” she turned extending her hand. “I’ve heard so much about you please come sit down both of you.” Introductions were made, coffee was poured, and reports were given.
“How did you get away from whoever had you?” Elisabeth asked Hadara.
“It’s a long story…” Hadara began…
“Let me explain,” Yosef interrupted and briefed the group on the whole fiasco. As Gil and Elisabeth listened they realized that most of the story was being omitted, especially those parts that related to the identity of the group holding her. That done, they moved to the Saroyah issue. “It’s been determined that she is being held by The Sword of Justice. Mossad has people in place on site,” Yosef explained and they were to move in and get the girl before morning prayers today but so far there had been no word. We have another operative in place at the camp,” Hadara tensed up at this point, “and we have no word from him either.”
The group was silent sensing her tension. “Is that Rafi?” Elisabeth asked her directly. Moving her eyes in Elisabeth’s direction, Hadara sighed and nodded slightly.
There was a moment of stillness around the table as all present empathized with her mother’s fears. With a nod, Yosef asked Gil for an update. The two men had been in communication for several days and a trust had developed between them. Gil picked up with the Chicago story. “…the information we’ve gotten from Müeller’s office is good and solid; it takes us up to the top of the terror cell. Ari verified the chemicals are top grade so that’s worrisome, but it fits the scenario. Our group will continue to work on him and as much as possible before handing him over to the US authorities. You’ll be getting full reports from Ari and Samira with everything that Mossad needs to know about the situation so I won’t take up time now filling you in on all those specifics.”
“There is at least one more piece that we’re unclear about,” Hadara said slowly, “regarding an undercover action in Lebanon, something about a fixed wing aircraft dropping nuclear material into the Beqaa Valley and heading back toward Syria. I have reason to believe that will become significant. Mossad heard about it and picked up the trace of a small plane landing on an airstrip near the Syrian border. We started tracking the pilot of the plane on the ground only to find that we are not the only ones following him. There are at least two other parties tracking him. We have to make sure we pick him up first. Hadara looked at Yosef who nodded and rose to leave the room when a beep from his cell phone stopped him. After a moment he handed her his cell phone. We’ve intercepted some of the mobile calls coming from that area and…..” Yosef explained watching Hadara’s face. A frozen expression came over her face as Yosef continued saying “…we have localized some of the numbers and who they are calling; we are cross checking to find out who all is involved in this thing.” He ended and the group fell silent, something of major import was palpable in the air; they all felt it. Glancing at Hadara, they knew to leave it alone.
“Look,” Sammy offered, re-focusing the group “We’re just here to help you guys, we don’t have a dog in this fight,” he grinned as he quoted an old Hop-along Cassidy show, “So you don’t need to tell us anything we don’t need to know.”
“Exactly,” Simon piped up, “just tell us what you want us to do and we’ll do it!”
“Thank you my friends,” Hadara said smiling weakly at them. “We should be hearing from the team on Saroyah any minute now. Then we’ll know what direction to take.”
- 25 -
ROUNDUP
Her legs felt wobbly, but the adrenaline coursing through her body helped as they raced through the moonlight to the waiting truck. Hoisting her into the back, the men threw themselves face down on the sand as the truck sped away. Faint cries were heard from the campsite signaling her absence had been detected. Saroyah, aided by a bearded agent wearing the baggy clothes of a poor farmer, crawled into the false bottom of a basket filled with dried lentils. She could hear several vehicles in the distance as the search for he
r began and unmistakable blasts of gun fire erupted. Around her bushel baskets of cotton, wheat and barley swayed with the movement of the ancient flatbed. She heard the ‘farmer’ warning her to be quiet and still if they were stopped. She didn’t need to be told twice. She was young, but she knew the stakes. She knew all too well what would happen if she were found. Terrified, she remained silent, barely breathing as the truck bumped along through the darkened desert.
It was not yet dawn but inside the musky tent, the forces gathered; the servers stood around the periphery; the advisors sat in a circle, silent witnesses while Galed Rachid stood stiffly facing The Great One. His eyes were downcast in shame as he endured the angry onslaught. “How did this happen? How did a small child manage to escape? I do not understand how this happened! It is inconceivable! You must find her immediately! I do not care about costs, do you understand? It is essential! The child can identify me, she has relatives who hold much power; they can reach into the heart of several governments and mobilize great forces against us! Do you not understand how important this is? You must re-capture her or if that is not possible, eliminate her!” Galed Rachid felt his ears grow hot; he felt his throat grow dry. To be called out this way was humiliating, having his troops witness such a tongue lashing was an assault on his authority, his esteemed role in the organization. He could not believe The Great One would address him in such a manner, with disdain and disrespect!
Seeing Double: An Elisabeth Reinhardt Novel Page 13