Heads would roll when he learned which of his people had let down their guard. He would blame this on someone and do so in a most public manner. The thought of that mollified him somewhat. He wished that The Great One would stop talking; they were losing valuable minutes with this useless lecture. Quickly, he nodded and made affirmative noises…agreeing that this was a horrible situation, that the child must be re-captured and as soon as possible. He begged to be allowed to leave so that he could do his work in serving The Sword of Justice by re-capturing the child.
Upon leaving the main tent, Galed issued several instructions: find out how the child escaped, find out who helped her, find her and re-capture or kill her. Divided into groupings, his army scattered through the camp and into the desert. One group returned to the tent where the child had been held captive and began interrogating and searching for evidence; another group traced a barely visible track that led from a slit in the back of her tent into the dessert; another group headed toward the child’s home to see if she returned there; yet another group headed toward Israel to see if they could hear word of her from the streets and marketplaces where supporters of their movement might be located.
Climbing into the lead jeep, Galed Rachid moved into the desert following the faint track of what appeared to come from a farm truck. Rachid had been with The Sword of Justice for just over a year, having been sent as emissary from the Iraqi government to establish a relationship with this emerging Islamic extremist group, he soon was chosen as First Deputy for The Great One’s personal army. He had been impressed with the leader’s ideas and communicated as much to his superiors in the Iraqi cabinet. Over time it had become his job to serve two masters, he was devoted to The Great One, but also obligated to report back to his superiors in the Council of Ministers in Bagdad. Although Iraq is a democratic, federal parliamentary republic that elects its officials, it also has an elaborate underground network of paybacks and a complex system of checks and balances with barbaric consequences for failure or betrayal. Galed Rachid was familiar with the system of justice that actually ran his country. He had not only seen the exacting punishments netted out, but had handed out a few of those punishments himself. He wanted nothing more than to manage his dual alliance without being killed. He was under no illusions about the situation in which he now found himself. If he failed to find or kill Saroyah Ajram, he would meet his maker at the hands of The Great One or at the hands of his own government. If he brought shame on his country that would be the end of him, it was a national point of honor.
Hadara had burst through the door of the Olive Grove, her face aflame. Pulling Yosef toward her she hissed “Tell me what in the hell is going on here? That is impossible. I have never been so angry in all my life! Did you hear what Jamila said? He’s not been here for days. That lying Gamil has not heard the end of this from me.” “Don’t jump to conclusions, my friend,” Yosef hastened to reassured her and calm her down. “You don’t know why he’s where he said he isn’t or isn’t where he said he was, whichever.” “He lied to me! He flat out lied to my face! I will wring his lying neck,” she whisper-screeched. “How dare Hakim tell me he is in Istanbul and be in the desert with his brother? What kind of BS is this?” “Hadara,” Yosef said placing a hand on her shoulder, “these are difficult times. There are many things going on that you and I are not aware of. Perhaps he’s on a secret mission. Perhaps he is protecting you in some way. You cannot condemn the man without even knowing what is going on. Please be patient and calm down. We have a mission to carry out. For all we know Hakim has one too so you must not let him know that you know he lied about his whereabouts. That could put him in danger. You do not know who might be monitoring his phone and text messages. You must act normally to him until this is over.” Hadara tried to steady her voice before speaking. “I will calm down, Yosef, of course you are correct. The mission comes first. We will do what we need to do, save Saroyah, save the world and then I will wring his lying neck!”
She had a plan. She was not sure it was a good one, but it was a plan nonetheless. She crept into her parents’ room while the elderly couple slept and eased herself into a closet. In order for my plan to work, she thought, I cannot look like myself. In the dim light she found one of her mother’s old black dresses. A conservative one that she wore before the ‘modern’ times began. Over her head she draped a dark shawl wrapped so that it covered her head and most of her face. Slipping her feet into a pair of worn sandals, she retreated to the hallway breathing a sigh of relief that the first part of her plan had worked. Hunching her shoulders, she snuck down the rear stairway used only by the servants and entered the kitchen. She paused listening for any sound of movement in the room; hearing nothing, she scurried across the room and tucked into tall cupboard used only when they had large parties.
She was nodding off when she heard voices. They were in the kitchen preparing for the day as they always did, chatting about the usual things and beginning their usual tasks. She listened as Baha asked if there had been word of Saroyah? Fawz answered that she had heard nothing. Durrah said she was so worried about her and talked about what a terrible thing this was and what a wonderful child Saroyah was. Musnah remained silent. Her silence was unnoticed by her chattering companions, but in the cupboard, Jamila felt her pulse quicken. This was the clue she had been waiting for. She waited and listened as the women inquired about one another’s families, Musnah, again, offered nothing. At length, Baha asked her if there had been word of her grandson Imad? Musnah mumbled something unintelligible. Fawz followed up with more questions, all equally evaded. She wondered why Musnah was being so evasive. She had heard nothing about Musnah’s grandson. Twenty minutes of kitchen clatter and jumbled conversations continued when she heard Durrah ask, “Do you know who’s holding him?” A shock wave jettisoned through her when she heard Musnah answer, “The Jews, I think, we are not sure.” Jamila reacted instantly, there had to be a connection. She burst out of hiding, strode across her kitchen, screaming for the guards to come as she confronted the terrified cook. “What have you done Musnah? How could you betray me? Betray this family? Have you betrayed my Saroyah to save your Imad! Did you not think to come to me? To come to Gamil? Now they are both missing. You are the link! You have cursed this family and I hope
Allah deals with you directly!”
Hakim, Abdullah and Shamir sat together at one end of a long table laden with crates from the recent desert run, scooping fresh Baba Ghanoush with chunks of pita and drinking mint tea. They were trying to determine the identity of the other groups who had been in the Beqaa Valley waiting for that plane. Their wounded captive had been treated for his injuries, but was still unconscious. The photos Shamir had taken of the groups had been forwarded to their experts so while they waited, they turned their attention to the men carefully unpacking the crates. Having photographed the crates from every angle, the men proceeded slowly, noting every marking and stamp carefully, examining all the wrappings and labels. They needed to track the route of the nuclear materials contained in the crates; not just their last stop before being air dropped into the valley, but every stopping place along the way. They needed to know where the materials had been manufactured and who handled them along the way. They determined that some of the materials had been manufactured in Russia, some in North Korea. So far they had identified several way stations for shipments of nuclear materials. One was located in Turkey, another in Belarus and four others in major U.S. cities. In each instance, museums were used to pack and transport materials disguised as meticulously wrapped Old World artifacts or manuscripts.
Every now and then Hakim glanced at his cell phone. He was nervous. Hadara knew him well. If there was a word out of step, one single aspect of his meticulously worded text message that was off, she’d know it and she was not a woman who countenanced deception. This had happened only one time before in their long painstakingly crafted marriage and it had not been pretty. It had nearly cost him their relationship. Wiping sweat from
his face he looked up to see Abdullah staring at him. “Come, let’s take a walk,” he said to his brother. Once outside he said, “You are constantly checking your phone, my brother, what lie did you tell her this time?”
Hakim looked down at the ground as they walked and shook his head, “I didn’t want her to know about my being here with you today. We do not know what we will do with the information we will obtain and I did not want to raise questions with her that I am not in a position to answer. We do not know how all of this will play out. I do not know how my family may figure into all of this. My children are away somewhere. I have no idea if they are a part of this somehow. Hadara knows where they are, but as is our agreement, I am not told of such matters. These are Mossad secrets. As much as I love her and she me, there are things we do not share with one another. This time I made up a story, so she would not suspect that I am involved with this. For all I know, they are involved in it too, in different perhaps opposing ways. It’s been hard to have a family such as ours, filled with love and secrets. We have great love for one another, but on occasion our familial loyalties are undercut by loyalties to our countries.”
Abdullah sighed and patted his brother’s shoulder, “We always knew these things would happen. We knew it when we made our childhood pact so many years ago. We knew it when you and Hadara fell in love and planned to marry in spite of everything. We agreed to work for peace within and between our countries, but we always knew that there would be times when conflicts would arise. We agreed to trust that one another’s intentions were pure even if specific actions seemed to contradict our pact.”
Hakim nodded and they walked on in silence. Then he said, “I hope that this time will be no different. I hope that what you and I are working on will be compatible enough with her goals - that it will override her reaction to my dishonesty.”
“Be calm, my brother,” Abdullah said with a slight grin, “It’s not like you have taken a mistress, right?”
Hakim grinned back and said, “My brother that would be so much more forgivable! Hadara is a most understanding woman when it comes to matters of nature.” The men were laughing at that when they heard Shamir running toward them shouting.
- 26 -
NORTH-SOUTH-EAST-WEST
The plan involved several switches; they would travel 50 minutes to a narrow valley where another vehicle would be waiting and that one would travel 20 minutes to another vehicle there another switch would occur, and on it went until 2 hours later they were to arrive at a tiny speck of a village where a helicopter would be waiting to carry her home. Saroyah did not know what the plan was, but with every passing minute she grew a bit more hopeful that she might survive this trip. Silently, she prayed to Allah to carry her home to her family. She could not wait to feel her mother’s arms around her, to be surrounded by all that was warm and familiar, to tell her story of what had happened to her. Even now, stories sped through her mind; the screams of the captured man, the jolt of fear every time someone entered the tent. These days had been terrifying, never knowing if she would live or die, never knowing if they would make her scream like that man who was captured. She had heard everything. Her tent was just feet away from the place she thought of as the ‘torture tent.’ The man spoke to his captors in Hebrew and they spoke to him in Arabic, several different dialects, but all Arabic. Over and over they asked the same questions. He had proclaimed his innocence till his final moments. It was horrible. She could do nothing to help him. No one came to save him. If her time came to be in the ‘torture tent,’ she thought, no one would come to save her either.
She did not understand why Allah had not come to help that man. Allah or the man’s Hebrew G-d, whatever he was called had both left him to die. Why did the G-ds not help when people called upon them? Wasn’t that what they were supposed to do? Wasn’t that why people prayed to them? She wondered how all this had gotten started way back in time when religion was first invented. Perhaps Allah or the Hebrew G-d had been younger then, had more energy; maybe back then they were more willing to help people. Perhaps now they were older, she thought, like my ajdaadi (grandparents), and perhaps they could no longer move so easily. Perhaps they slept more, like my ajdaadi (her grandparents) do. Perhaps even G-ds got old and hard of hearing. ‘Allah’ she screamed it as loud in her mind as she could, trying to get the sleeping or perhaps the hard of hearing G-d’s attention. “Please,” she shouted in her mind, “please hear me, Allah, please help me.” Tears rolling down her cheeks, Saroyah silently shouted her prayers hoping that her beloved Allah, who must be old and tired after all his years of being a G-d, would have the energy to save just one more person, just one more time.
They straightened when the alert sounded. It was shrill and high pitched. It sounded like Morse code. Two long beeps followed by a short one. Cameras installed in trees along the narrow winding road were programmed to signal when a vehicle arrived. They watched as a white LIFELINE ambulance with its striking blue crisscross logo, its lights and sirens off, pulled up in front of the old barn door. A rusty grey van pulled up behind them. Over the intercom they heard T-Max say, “We’re home, Mama. Ready for some of your fresh baked cornbread and fried okra,” in his throaty southern drawl. Manny pressed a button raising the tattered barn door, steel reinforced on the inside and muttered ‘Ain’t no cornbread here, old man, you’ll have to settle for some stale bagels!’ as the tiny caravan drove forward.
Within minutes the team was assembled. Herr Müeller, bound and blindfolded, sat upright in a straight-back chair while the others took their places at the one-way mirror. “Do you have the questions ready?” Samira asked Reina. “I think so, you can take a look at them, they’re up on the computer over there,” she gestured to her workstation as Ari and Samira walked in that direction. “Add or change anything you want,” Reina added, “We have plenty of time to chat with our guest and are in no hurry to start talking to him.” “Well,” Ari said, “in some ways, Ma’am, that may be the truth, but in other ways we may have, I worry, less time than we think. We have been unable to reach our compatriots in New York City. I do not know if this is a problem or if it is not. If it is a problem and our compatriots are in trouble, we may not have so much time.”
The phone rang as the briefing ended, Hadara, immediately transformed into an experienced Mossad officer quickly said “Cain…cain, … How is she? ... You have seen her? cain…wonderful… exactly… uh huh…And the other matter? Good… uh huh … alright… that is good. They are all in place, yes? He is covered? And the other matter? Cain…. Do you have an update? Uh huh. Do you know where that will be? …. Alright we will meet you there,” she ended the call looking relieved. “Saroyah is rescued. Rafi’s team is back in place. They are all safe.” Hadara paused collecting her thoughts then she spoke pointedly to Yosef, “This phase is done, we have to move and move quickly.” Gil leaning against a doorway checked his iPhone and glanced at Elisabeth inquiringly. Perceiving a slight nod he turned his attention to his phone. The second phase of the project was about to begin. One at a time, Yosef and Hadara left the room walking in different directions. They were followed two minutes later by Gil. Following circuitous routes, Hadara and Gil met at a helicopter launching pad while Yosef drove two other agents in a battered jeep toward the tiny village where the extraction team was waiting.
In the back of a small Hasidic Synagogue, two Mossad agents dressed as Rabbis huddled with a little girl. They had been waiting for just under an hour when they heard the whirring blades of an approaching helicopter; they were about to leave the building when they got an urgent text from the circling chopper. “Bet kaf raish pay vav lamed… ” it warned ‘armed men with rifles would be arriving within minutes.’ Frantically, they searched the synagogue for something to shield themselves with so they could run to the chopper. Uttering prayers of forgiveness they gently removed the holy Torahs from their sanctified arc and lifting the arc above their heads, they tucked their bodies inside as best they could and raced toward th
e helicopter whipping up a dust storm nearby. Amid a barrage of gunfire they lifted the child toward the open door. Bullets pinged off the metal surface; Saroyah cried out as a bullet slammed into her leg. Arterial blood squirted wildly as she was dragged into the rising chopper. “I hit her,” Galed Rachid whooped triumphantly to his men who continued shooting as the chopper rose into the air. Hadara bound the wound to staunch the blood flow. Leaning out the open door Gil fired at the enemy as the jeep charged onto the scene, Yosef and the other agents hanging over the sides, firing repeatedly. Three of the terrorists were killed, two managed to escape.
Seeing Double: An Elisabeth Reinhardt Novel Page 14