Aaronson: “You said there were women there. Is he ever with any of them in a more personal way?”
Boulos: “If you mean the way I think you mean, it is an absolute no! He doesn’t even look at them. I do not hear him say he has a wife or children. He speaks nothing at all about personal things. Perhaps he is one of those holy men who made the promise to be without women... You know?”
Aaronson: “You mean he’s taken a vow of celibacy?”
Boulos: “Yeah, that is it. Perhaps it is that but I do not think it bothers him. You know like it would a normal man.”
Aaronson: “So he doesn’t act like a ‘normal’ man?”
Boulos: “Not at all in those ways, like you mean. He doesn’t like people really. They are not real to him and especially women. He shuns them, shuts them out. There are none who he speaks to or lets be near to him.”
Aaronson: “Do you know if he has ever worked or had a job?”
Boulos: “No, I do not think he ever works. He is a thinker. He talks and listens. He does nothing. He is served by others. He thinks he is a leader. What kind of work could one like that do?”
Aaronson: “So he never talks about working or past things he may have done?”
Boulos: “His hands are soft like a baby and his skin is pale and smooth. Never is he in the sun or working in the fields. His voice is soft like a girl’s. I think he is rich all his life, taken care of, not working not doing anything before this. You know?”
Aaronson: “Do you think he is from a wealthy family?”
Boulos: “Most assuredly it is yes. He is not a man of the people. He does not know how to do many things. He is spoiled rich. He sits and thinks and pats his beard. Always he is running his hands down his beard, like this,” Boulos demonstrates
Aaronson: “How old do you think he is?”
Boulos: “I think maybe fifty, but he looks many years older, not because of wrinkles but because of a weak tired look, bent back, grey hair. It seems he never exercised much, never worked hard.”
Aaronson: “So what do you think he has been doing all of these years?”
Boulos: “I do not know. Perhaps he just sits around and thinks. That’s what he does now mostly. Thinks and watches people. Oh I forget … he also writes. He keeps many notebooks and writes with long pens dipped in ink. Always he is writing and there is one whose job it is to carry his notebooks. Always that servant is near him with a big basket with woven handles. That man carries his books for him. Everywhere the man carries that basket and follows him from tent to tent. It is his only job. His name is Abdul-Jalal which means Servant of the Great. I do not know if he was given this job because of his name or it he was given this name because of his job. One does not know these things. Perhaps the servant was chosen first and that is how he decided to call himself ‘The Great One’!” Boulos chuckled at his little joke. He was enjoying his time in the spotlight. He did love an audience.
Aaronson: frowning at the man’s frivolity asked “What does he do with these books, does he read from them to others or just write in them?”
Boulos: “He mostly writes in them. And he keeps them close by. There are times when he reads from them to groups of people. They are in a stack beside him all the time. When he leaves the tent Abdul-Jalal gathers them up and follows him. ”
Aaronson: “What does he want from his followers?”
Boulos: “He is looking for people who can spread the word for him. Spread his message to the people so he has many followers. He wants many followers, but you see he is shy and is not so good a speaker. Unless he is facing many, many people, then he can be more like a leader, one who others want to hear. You know? He needs a few select followers who are good speakers and can speak for him.”
Aaronson nodding slowly: “Where do you think his many followers have come from?”
Boulos: “Everywhere. They come from all over the Arab world. They love this man. I do not understand that for myself. They do not know him the way that I do. If they did perhaps they would not be so anxious to follow him. I do not know how they know of him or why exactly they love him, but they think he is a god of some kind. They bow down to him.”
Aaronson: “Really, bow down?”
Boulos: “Oh yes, not on their knees, but stooping over like this.” (Boulos stands bows from the waist facing the floor and walks a few steps backward)
Aaronson: “Do they seem to be afraid of him?”
Boulos: “No… well, wait a minute… maybe, yes. The followers are not, but the ones close to him, his soldiers and advisors… yes, I think it is true. I think that they are afraid of him. He can be harsh. Once I was in the camp, they had captured a man and tortured and killed him. The Great One wanted to watch and had the man brought in front of the entire camp for this to happen. I am a tough man, but I did not like to see this thing.”
Aaronson: “Were you there when they brought in a small girl as a captive?”
Boulos frowning: “No, I had not heard they did that. I do not know of this thing.”
Aaronson: “Do you know the names of any of his associates or advisors?”
Boulos: “I do not know his whole name, but there is a man, a Syrian man, who is called his Chief Advisor. That man has connections within his government and reports to them. I am not sure where are his loyalties lying. Perhaps he is not sure, as well. The first name of this man is Zuhair. I do not know his last name, but he is maybe 40, hefty and has lots of dark hair without any grey in it.”
Aaronson: “Can you tell us anything else about this man?”
Boulos: “Well, he has a mark, a strange mark like that Russian symbol. It is on his face. It is purple I think.”
Aaronson: “Russian symbol?” Picking up a pencil he sketched a hammer and sickle.
Boulos pleased: “Yes! That is it exactly. Like that part there.” He points to the sickle.
Aaronson: “Was this a tattoo or something he was born with?”
Boulos: “I am certain, born. It is not so perfect like a tattoo and then there is the color. Who would put the color purple on his face?”
Aaronson: “Where on the face is this mark?”
Boulos pointing to his cheekbone near his eye. “It is there, right there.”
Aaronson: “And this man is from Syria. Are there many others from Syria?
Boulos: “There are some I cannot say how many. I say most every Arab country except Egypt and Yemen have sent people, official people to meet with this man. People do not say what country they are from, but I hear their voices and can make out many accents. Every country wants him to be their friend especially that is important if he becomes famous and has much power. He has the ear of the poor farmer. Many governments shall we say curry his favor. They fear him and want to make sure he doesn’t grow too strong. But there are some governments who are seeking to make him famous. They give him money.”
Aaronson: “Do you think he started this group and is the designer of its ideas and beliefs?”
Boulos: “That is a definite yes. This is, how you say, his baby. That is a definite. No one knows the ideas like he does. When he reads to his followers from one of his books, it is a great occasion. Like a holiday. He reads and others sit and listen and they praise him many times over and there is food and music. He has many books. Some look like they are years old. In some, the paper is yellow and the pages are torn along the edges. He has been writing in these books for many years. These books contain all that he wrote about his group. They are like his Koran Allah forgive my saying so.”
Aaronson: “How about his defenders? Does he have an army? Do they have weapons?”
Boulos: “It is hard to tell about this question. They have many people around the camp walking with guns and acting like they are soldiers. I do not know these uniforms. They are not real ones like from any country’s army I see. Sometimes more come in by truck and sometimes they leave and go somewhere. It seems there are many and they have much weapons but I do not know about this for sur
e.”
Aaronson: “Do you know the commanders of this army?”
Boulos: “There is one I know. He acts like the boss of all the army. He is called Rashid. He is tall and very thin with a scar across one eyebrow, but he can see with this eye. I think a knife went like this,” he mimes a movement across his eyebrow to his nose. “I believe he is Iraqi. He is another who I think serves two masters. I do not know this for sure, but it seems to me like that is so. I have seen The Great One being very angry at this man and when that happens, this man gets a certain look in his eye that tells me he is wanting to kill The Great One. It is more than his pride that is injured, I think. One time I see him talking to an official who came in from that country. The man wore a splendid black robe over a suit, like a Shite cleric with a black turban on his head. I think it was a secret meeting and that Rashid was giving reporting to that man.”
Aaronson: “Where do you think the organization gets their money?”
Boulos: “That I do not know. I do know that they get much money from somewhere because their camp is large with many people and it costs much to feed and house all these people and to have an army and buy all their guns. I do not know where all the money comes from, but they have much of it. They must for these ones do not work or produce any money on their own. It is from others that they get their monies. Wealthy oil rich Arabs give them money, but I do not know who those people are.”
Aaronson: “How long have you worked for them?”
Boulos: “For about a year now, but my friend, you are now straying into forbidden areas. Not to talk about me, was that not our agreement, no?”
Aaronson: “You are right. I am just trying to figure out how long you’ve known them so we can get a sense of how current your information might be.”
Boulos: “Oh yes, well about one year, maybe a bit longer. And I was there in his camp often.”
Aaronson: “What do you think the goals of this group are?”
Boulos: (Looking around the room he said expansively) “To destroy everyone in the world who is not an Arab.”
Aaronson: “Really? Everyone?”
Boulos: “Yes, really, it is definitely true. Israel, the US of A, England, yes everyone else who is not Arab. Shukri al-Sierawan swears that Allah will put some bubble made of plastic, maybe, around his people and save them.”
Aaronson: “How is he planning to destroy the world?”
Boulos: (Shrugging) “With bombs perhaps? Or gasses... something like that. I was asked to supply certain products for explosions...big ones. But remember we are not to discuss these personal things for my own safety, remember my friend?”
Aaronson: “Boulos, you have been most helpful. Before we stop for today can you tell us where they are camped right now?”
Boulos: (Shrug) “Who knows? If they have left the place where I saw them before, then I think they are going to a more hidden place. The Great One gets in touch with me no matter where I am or where he is. It is like magic!” Boulos grinned. “I never am told where he is any time. If he needs me he finds me and I am brought to him at his camp.”
Aaronson: “Do you think you could look at a map with our experts and make some guesses as to where they might go? I know you visited two of their other camps so you have some idea about the things they are looking for in a campsite.”
Boulos: “Of course I can do that for you, my friend.” He smiled and reached over to pat Aaronson’s hand. “But for now I am tired. Perhaps some food and a good night’s rest would help my memory be fresh.”
Aaronson: “That’s fine. Let’s stop for now, but one more thing. Have you ever known The Great One to meet people away from his campsite?”
Boulos: “No. It would take a lot for him to do this. The meeting would have to be very important, with a very important person for him to leave the safety of his camp. This is a very cautious man. Perhaps if he did something like this, it would be to meet with a high level government official of some sort.” He shrugged. “I do not know of such a meeting you understand, it’s just what I think.”
Aaronson: “These men,” he nodded toward 2 guards, “will see to it that you have a good meal and show you to your room for the night. Have a pleasant evening Boulos, we’ll meet again tomorrow.”
Boulos: (Looking warily at his guards) “I am most certain that these men will take good care of me according to your instructions my friend.”
Aaronson: “Of course, my friend, according to my instructions.” Rising they shook hands and Boulos left the room, accompanied by his two guards.
- 33 -
BEST MADE PLANS
His legs and back were killing him, scrunched up as he was. His greatest fear was that he would need to spring into action and would be unable to get up! Lots of help he would be then! The traffic in the ER miraculously had slowed. The waiting room now held just two injured people waiting to be seen. In the doorway, he saw an ambulance driver chatting up an ER nurse. In the hallway, he watched a woman leaning over a gurney brush her fingers gently across a man’s forehead. He supposed the man was her husband. Gil texted Hadara saying he had to move around a bit but got no answer. Painfully, he pulled himself to a standing position and limped toward the blue curtain surrounding the child’s bed. Looking in, he saw that they were both sleeping soundly. Hadara leaned forward, her cheek on the child’s pillow; her Glock19 clutched in her hand. Gil moved his neck back and forth to loosen the tight muscles and shuffled downheartedly toward the waiting room. Far in the back near the rear exit, the two limping men watched him steadily. He stretched and scratched his head as if to wake himself up and ambled toward the coffee machine.
Yawning, he sipped his coffee and wandered outside. The night air felt good, a bit cooler than he expected, but pleasant. As he sipped his coffee and smoked a cigarette he scanned the area. Positioning himself to keep one eye on the limping men, he scrutinized the end of the parking lot where two jeeps sat; their motors off and their lights out. In the moonlight he could make out two figures watching the ER entrance. These men, he assumed completed the assault team assigned to kill Saroyah. He wondered what their plan was and what they were waiting for? Grinding out his cigarette stub, he returned inside.
She knew that before she could ask a single question she had to change the situation. Musnah could not be questioned in the kitchen with everyone standing there watching her, judging her. She had to be placed in a safe room with only Layla and herself present. Meeting with Jamila and her parents in the living area she explained who she was and why she was there. Jamila refused to allow Musnah to be unchained or removed from her guards. “Where will she run to?” Elisabeth asked Jamila. “Where? You and the house guards can be right outside the door. Please let me question her in a way that will get us the information we need.”
“I have seen many investigations on the television, even American television,” said Jamila. “I know they are not careful about how the person feels. They threaten and scare them. That is what you should do.”
“I do not operate that way. I operate differently. I ask you to please cooperate. We don’t have much time. We are working on big plans that have delicate timing and we cannot afford to waste time this way.”
“You are blackmailing me,” Jamila shrieked, losing her battle with self -control.
“Jamila,” her father interrupted. “This woman has come from a great distance to help us. Hadara asked her to come. You must let her do her work.
“I will not let Musnah be unchained,” Jamila said again. “My child is missing and she is a criminal.”
“My daughter,” her father continued, “this is a horrible time, but you must keep your wits about you. This is not the time to lose your perspective.”
“Lose my perspective! I have lost my child!” Jamila shouted at her father and weeping, leapt to her feet when her mother spoke, her quiet voice pulling Jamila to a stop.
“My dearest one,” Hala Faysal said, “Come and sit here with me so we can speak in private for
a moment.”
Jamila returned to her mother’s side. The older woman pulled her in close so they could whisper to one another.
Sensing that the mood had shifted Elisabeth spoke softly “Jamila, Hadara brought us here to help. You must leave this to me, we do not have much time.” Elisabeth said firmly. Jamila looked up and gave her assent with a slight head nod.
Elisabeth and Layla walked toward the kitchen, “Do not hold this against my mother,” Layla implored following her, “she is not usually like this, she is very upset.”
“I completely understand,” Elisabeth assured her, “but we need to get ready to talk with your cook. Push those thoughts from your mind, I need you to focus so I can brief you on our plan. Please listen carefully to everything I say and do exactly what I ask you to do.”
Layla looked at her and solemnly nodded her head. “I will do my very best,” she agreed as Elisabeth settled down in front of her and spread a paper out on the table between them explaining her strategy.
Seeing Double: An Elisabeth Reinhardt Novel Page 18