Seeing Double: An Elisabeth Reinhardt Novel

by Nancy Alexander

  - 35 -

  JIGSAW

  Homeland Security agents locked the door behind them and draped the entrance of the Tudor with “Crime Scene” tape, after photographing every inch of the house and loading every scrap of evidence into three large blue vans. This had been a treasure trove and they had Mossad and some obscure undercover Jewish group to thank for it. And thank them they did, profusely. They met T-Max and Pablo at an Inter-State rest stop where they took custody of one indignant Herr Friedrich Müeller, who was demanding to see his lawyer. The weapons dealer was tucked away in back of a heavily guarded Police Department van that was headed for a remote airstrip in the Illinois countryside where an Air Force jet was waiting to fly them to Washington, D.C. Every law enforcement agency that had anything whatsoever to do with fighting terrorism or protecting the United States had been alerted. Cell and landlines rang, faxes beeped, computer keyboards clattered and every satellite that could be tasked was busy with surveillance activities related to the capture of this former Rare Documents Specialist.

  Since they had played a key role in unearthing this terrorist network, the Director of Mossad and six advisors were being flown to Washington aboard a U.S. Air Force Jet accompanied by a squadron of fighter jets. The Joint Chiefs of Staff, the heads of the CIA, FBI, Homeland Security, State Department, Defense Department, and the U.S. Secret Service had been in lengthy briefings with the President and the Vice President and were prepared to move to an international level with this process. The National Terrorism Advisory System had been cranked up to orange.

  Duqaq Boulos stood at the window watching a pair of hummingbirds as they flitted around the red bougainvillea blossoms. It was fascinating to watch them hover aiming their tiny beaks at the flowers’ nectar, the speed of their wings so fast he could scarcely see them as they moved. It amazed him that the birds never landed but zoomed from place to place like tiny helicopters with wing beats possibly as high as 200 times per second. Boulos had always liked birds, they interested him. He often wished that he could fly. How wonderful that would be, he thought, to be able to soar over land, see things from a distance. Hearing the door knob click he saw that Sol Aaronson had returned, “Well, my friend,” he said to his interrogator turned benefactor, “Have you more questions for me?”

  “Only a few,” Sol replied, “What do you know about a German called Müeller?”

  Boulos turned slowly from his window view suddenly wary. There was something different in the other man’s attitude. Boulos didn’t know what had caused the change, but he had learned to pick up signals that were almost imperceptible to others. To him it was as clear as the wing speed on the tiny hovering birds he had been watching. Something had changed and before he answered any more questions he resolved to find out what it was.

  Samira moved across the room toward her brother, “What is wrong, my brother, you are suddenly in a different space,” she whispered sliding in next to him. Ari looked at her curiously, “You too are perhaps becoming telepathic, my sister?” he teased.

  “Come on, Ari, give…” she demanded somewhat impatient, “what’s going on?”

  “It’s Rafi,” he responded. “He’s in trouble. I contacted his back-up at Mossad and let them know what I know but I’m worried.”

  “Tell me what you know,” Samira directed, “tell me everything and we will figure out what to do.”

  “Tell us too,” Stella said coming over to sit near them. “We’re all in this together and seven heads are better than two.”

  Ari hesitated for just a moment then he agreed. Everyone gathered around to listen to Ari speak. The Reinhardts had identical twins in their family too, Ari thought, so perhaps they will be familiar with some of these phenomena. He started with, “My brother is in danger and you have proven yourselves worthy of my trust.”

  “Rafi and I can communicate with each other,” he began. “It started when we were small and has grown more complicated and intense over time. We are what you call telepathic. We can contact each other and know what the other one is thinking and feeling. This morning I got an urgent message from Rafi. He was in a truck traveling through an unknown desert with members of the terrorist group The Sword of Justice. He has infiltrated their group and is presenting himself as a staunch devotee of a man named Shukri al-Sierawan who is called The Great One. Rafi has established a close relationship with him but feels that others are envious of that relationship and he fears they mean him harm. One who is most distrustful is the leader’s Chief Advisor, Zuhair Bayan, a former Syrian official. This man has the power to authorize his arrest. He feels that might happen behind The Leader’s back and without his knowledge. His handlers are putting an extraction plan in place but there is no assurance that it will happen in time or even that they can get to him at all. I am most concerned.”

  Reina turned to Ari and asked “When was the last time you were in contact with Rafi?”

  “Nearly 5 hours ago,” Ari said.

  “Try and reach him now and see what the situation is,” Reina urged. “Go into the other room if you need to be alone and get in touch with him. We will start planning an intervention from our end.”

  Hakim Faysal received regular coded reports from his many contacts but he was out of action now, spirited away from a little café by guards and escorted to the Prime Minister’s Palace. He’d been here for hours. He dared not use his cell phone for fear that his messages would be intercepted. Hakim sighed as he looked around the room. He did not think he was a prisoner, but the Prime Minister had asked that he remain here and await further orders. Hakim of course complied. He never argued with the Prime Minister; who was not a man who tolerated dissention. His position of leadership in Lebanon had come at great cost. He had fought for his power and he knew how to keep it. He trusted few people and dealt harshly with those who betrayed his trust.

  Consulting text messages he’d received earlier he knew that Saroyah was safe and that Hadara was knee-deep in her protection detail. For the moment his wife and children were accounted for. He paused. But he was the missing piece! He didn’t know what Hadara knew about him. He doubted she had any idea how much trouble he was in. Hakim had been functioning for the last 10 years as a special attaché and public policy advisor to the Lebanese Prime Minister. That was common knowledge, but there was much that people didn’t know about him and that fact could put him in conflict with his wife. Hadara Eiliat was a purist. In her book regardless of its reason there should be no lies between husband and wife. Hakim Faysal could not get over the sense of foreboding that hovered around his heart. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. He reviewed his actions over the last several days but could not identify what had gone wrong. The last thing he remembered was racing through the desert as their compound exploded behind them. Somehow Abdullah’s assignment in the Beqaa Valley, the importation of chemical bomb materials, even his niece’s kidnapping was tied up with the reason he was being ‘held’ in the Prime Minister’s Palace. He referred again to his cell phone and began texting but stopped mid-sentence and turned the phone off. If he was under suspicion everything he did on his phone could be tracked. Anxiously, he stared down at his black phone screen then looked around the room for signs that he was being watched. I better not be, he thought as he scanned the bookcases for hidden cameras.

  Gamil crouched near the Grove’s oil loading dock watching his family depart. He was weeping so hard he could barely see through his binoculars. He wanted to race from his hiding place, to run to them, to hold and comfort them, but he could not. He could not go near them until his problem was resolved. This problem, as he thought of it, had to be resolved, but he could not for the life of him see how that could ever happen. He had made a mistake, a horrible mistake and for that he feared he would lose his family and perhaps his life. It was a horrible price to pay for a small mistake. But then, he asked himself, was this a small mistake? Perhaps it was a big one! A big, huge, horrible mistake! I will spend the rest of
my life suffering for this.

  Gamil worked as Financial Advisor to the country’s Agricultural Minister. In his role as consultant he inadvertently stumbled across some mysterious figures in the Ministry budget. One mysterious line item kept cropping up over the past several months. Large payments, oddly labeled ‘Seeding’ were being funneled to an obscure import/export company located on the Syrian fringe of Lebanon’s northern border. Further investigation showed that the money was ending up in the coffers of a small local Mosque translated from Arabic was ‘Allah’s Hand.’ Further investigation revealed that Allah’s Hand, made regular cash contributions to a fund managed by a man by the name of Zuhair Bayan, who it turned out was Chief Advisor to Shukri al-Sierawan aka The Great One, undisputed leader of The Sword of Justice.

  Gamil hastened to report this discovery to his superior the Agriculture Minister Isma’il Marzuq. As he explained what he found, the man grew eerily quiet. His face darkened and his jaw tightened. “Sit down, Gamil,” the man commanded. Uncertain, Gamil did as he was told. “I am not pleased that you have discovered this, shall we say, little investment. This new group offers great promise for all our people. They will grow stronger than Hezbollah which as you know opposes my re-election. I have been supporting this new group because of their opposition to Hezbollah. They promise to grow large and powerful and will take down the entire Western world and wipe Israel off the map.” Gamil was horrified. For the first time he felt he did not know this man who always seemed reasonable though somewhat detached. Hearing these words he felt frightened. He thought he knew this man he’d been working for but apparently he had no idea who the man was. “Now Gamil,” the man continued his tone hard, “You must tell no one of your findings. You must now prove your loyalty to me. To do that you must do me a little favor. It is essential that I meet with the leader of this group. If I’m going to continue to support them I need to meet with their leader, a man called Shukri al-Sierawan. You will arrange for me to do that. The meeting needs to take place in a quiet remote area as we must never be seen together. To be seen together would threaten our whole arrangement. You will set up such a meeting. If you do not do this you will be arrested, tried as an enemy of the state and executed. Do you understand me?”

  In the days that followed, Gamil did as he was told. He told no one of his accounting discovery; he set up a meeting between Ishma’il Marzuq, The Great One and some illegal arms dealers. He set it up at the one place he thought was safe, remote and peaceful…the Olive Grove. Gamil now realized the mistake he had made. He had steered these terrorists, because he knew that’s what they were, directly to his home; he put his family in danger and had gotten his child kidnapped. In trying to appease the Minister of Agriculture he had destroyed his family and had become an enemy of the State.

  Sammy and Simon had all the film they needed. They were ecstatic. The guest actors had played their roles to perfection! They went off, happy and well paid for a few hours of work and if they searched the internet for the film they just shot they would be disappointed to find that the program had been cancelled due to lack of funding. Up in their hotel room the twins uploaded the videos to Manny’s network so he could put the rest of their plan in motion. Simon and Sammy reviewed the specifics of the escape plan then they packed all their equipment and everyone’s personal belongings in shipping crates, checked out of the hotel and headed toward the Airport. The Chicago branch of Chevra Hatzollah was leaving Tel Aviv.

  Watching from his spot in the parking lot, Galed was surprised to see an empty school bus pull up to the ER entrance and a driver climb out. He sent two of his men to learn what was going on with this school bus. The men came back shrugging and reported he was told the bus was transporting sick and injured children to a rehabilitation facility.

  Shaking his head, Galed got out of the jeep thinking “If I want something done I have to do it myself...” and walked across to the bus driver, who was leaning against a lamp post talking on his phone. “It is interesting, my friend, that there is a bus here in the parking lot of a hospital. Since when do sick children ride somewhere on a bus?”

  “It is a puzzle to me, too,” the driver shrugged, “I, myself only take orders and my boss, he tells me to come here and pick up some children.”

  Galed intent on getting more information said, “Well, we all have to work, do we not?” and then asked, “Where are you taking these sick children to … schools?”

  “No my friend, I think to a hospital that has a school in it.”

  From whom do your orders come, my friend?”

  “From the local school district, my boss has his office there.”

  “Do you have the man’s name, my friend?” Galed asked knowing he was going way out of a limb here.

  The bus driver looked at Galed skeptically, “His name? Why do you want to know his name? Are you hoping to drive a bus full of children, yourself?”

  Galed smiled and said, “No, it is for my brother, he is out of work and looking for a job.”

  “Oh,” said the man, “your brother needs to apply with the office of schools in his district. I wish good luck to your brother. This is an easy job if you can stand the screaming children! But if it will help you the name of my boss is Jacobeen Harif.”

  Galed was annoyed when he returned to the jeep. He had wasted time, exposed himself in public and found out little. For curiosity, he looked up the number for the school district bus driver’s boss. He found that indeed there was a Jacobeen Harif working there. Annoyed that his ‘lead’ amounted to nothing except for verifying the bus driver’s information, he barked at his men and told them to get into the ER and make sure the kid was still there. He was growing impatient with this whole assignment. He wished he could go inside, shoot the child and whoever was with her and be done with it, but he could not. Orders were orders and this one came directly from The Great One himself.

  They had arrived at the campsite a few hours before dusk. Everyone worked cooperatively and quickly to get the camp operational. The Great One had not yet arrived as he and his advisors were taking an alternate route to the site. Manny had been able to intercept Bayan’s cell phone data and retrieved a text message he sent ordering the truck drivers to take no action against the young man riding in the back. They notified Moshe that Bayan had changed his mind. Moshe told Rafi that for the moment it appeared he was safe. Rafi was temporarily relieved, but would not feel completely safe until The Great One arrived. He knew there was only one person could ensure his safety.

  Rafi noted his guards didn’t seem to be watching him anymore. He assumed that was a good sign, but couldn’t be sure exactly what it meant. He settled into a tent with several others who had traveled to be here in the presence of The Great One. Rafi kept a low profile listening and learning as much as he could from those around him. Rafi spoke only when he was spoken to - as befitting a young man in the learner’s role. Since he couldn’t communicate with Moshe, or write anything down, he rehearsed everything in his mind, hoping Ari would pick up his thoughts and record them for him. He didn’t know for sure if that would work given the distance, but he hoped it would. Ari was his best bet.

  In the parking lot of the Be’er Sheva Hospital ER, the bus was being loaded with children of all ages and in all conditions. It was a slow process. The school bus, it turned out, was handicap equipped; wheelchairs were secured to automatic platforms that carried the children up and into the bus. Stretchers were carried up ramps and locked into floor bars. Each child was accompanied by at least one attendant clothed in hospital garb and carrying bags or medical equipment. Staring through his binoculars, Galed could not tell one child from the next. All were wrapped and swaddled in cloth; they all wore light blue head scarves with pink flowers on them. He could not imagine where these children were being taken, but he needed to find out if his quarry was among those being loaded onto that bus. In a fury, he rushed to the ER, but the entrance was blocked off because their bi-annual window washing was in process; Galed w
as obliged to race around the building in search of an open door. By the time he found his way to the Emergency Department, Saroyah and the loaded school bus were gone.

  Traffic at the Ben Gurion Airport was a tangle. It was the middle of the day, busiest for tourist travel. The temperature soared past 101, scorching the earth and the people on it. Bumping along in the yellow school bus, the four children remained quiet and still. Two lay bundled on stretchers and two were slumped in their wheelchairs. The children had papers indicating they had been selected to participate in the Startnet Program in Chicago. Established by the State of Illinois the program provides coordinated health and social services programs for children with special needs. The children, with their attendants, and paraphernalia would be off loaded at the United Airlines terminal. Simon and Sammy would meet the bus dressed identically right down to the number of pens in their nursing uniform pockets.

  Galed was in such a state as he raced to catch the bus that he never noticed the beat up looking car trailing after him. He and his troops managed to follow the bus to the airport, arriving just in time to see the empty bus driving away. They spotted two girls in wheelchairs; they looked alike and both could have been Saroyah. They were being pushed by male nursing attendants, middle-aged men who looked surprisingly alike. Confused Galed leaped out; he divided his men, assigning one group to follow one wheelchair and the other group to follow the other one, they rushed toward the airport. Galed never saw a man in jeans and a baseball cap approach the jeeps and slide underneath them.