Seeing Double: An Elisabeth Reinhardt Novel

by Nancy Alexander

  Dressed in a United Nations Uniform, Galed showed his fake credentials to the security department staff, as he presented pictures of Saroyah and related a story about her being kidnapped from an important Iraqi family. He asked to review the security tapes and see if he could find her. Since his paperwork appeared official, the security officer allowed him to enter. On the tapes, he saw several pictures of the same man, balding and grey haired, wearing glasses and a white nursing attendant’s uniform pushing a wheelchair. The child in the wheelchair appeared roughly the same size as Saroyah. She was swaddled in cloth, she had her head covered in a pale blue headscarf with pink flowers. She held a tissue up to her face blocking out her features. As he stared at the monitors watching the male nurse, he became confused.

  First he saw the wheelchair man walking toward the east side of the airport and then toward the west. Then he saw the man walking in another direction, then another and another. Men pushing wheelchairs seemed to be everywhere. And then there were the crowds. Several wheelchairs seemed surrounded by family members, hovering and talking. Galed could not understand what was happening. Perhaps these men could not read the signs, although they were displayed in many languages. Then he wondered how this same man could be in so many places at once. Over and over again he saw wheelchair man surrounded by a bevy of people, push from one departure gate to another. It made no sense but the time stamps seemed accurate. Impatiently he called his men to see if they were having any better luck, sadly they were not, they kept bumping into one another at various points in the airport. Wheelchair man would suddenly appear then disappear only to appear again in another location.

  In a rage, Galed told his men to capture the man the next time they saw him. “Capture him!” Galed screamed. He directed his men to the tape’s location but when they got there no wheelchair was to be found. Galed searched the tapes in the security office again and concluded they were of no use. “I know what I saw and your tapes are useless, they are fakes!” He ran from the security department toward the International gates. At the Alitalia gate, which he had seen the man enter, the gate agent denied having any disabled children board any of their planes. He got the same answer from the British Airways gate agent. How can that be? Your security tapes are ridiculous. I saw these men pushing wheelchairs. I know I saw them!” he cried. For three hours Galed checked with every airline and every gate agent but each time he was told no sick or handicapped children had boarded all day. “This place was crawling with kids in wheelchairs, they were everywhere! You people are baboons!” Galed screamed as he stomped out of Ben Gurion Airport.

  Four hours later, Elisabeth ushered her party through customs. On their way out of the airport, Hadara, Gil and Yosef passed Simon and Sammy, wearing business suits and carrying briefcases, rushing to board the plane. After a brief wave, Gil turned to Hadara and said, “Okay, now that that’s over let’s go catch us some bad guys!”

  - 36 -

  ARRIVALS AND DEPARTURES

  There was great rejoicing in the baggage claim area at O’Hare Airport. Amidst the horde of weary passengers anxiously texting, lugging fussy toddlers and searching for pieces of luggage, Elisabeth embraced her sisters while Samira and Ari hugged Jamila and her children. Stella and Manny drove Jamila and her children to a safe house in Highland Park, where Saroyah would receive medical treatment and the family would have the chance to relax and regroup.

  Following their brief reunion, Ari and Samira navigated through O’Hare to the El Al counter where they purchased tickets for the next flight out of Chicago. They had accomplished their mission. The Chicago connection to the terrorist nuclear pipeline had been dismantled. Müeller was in custody; the other Mossad teams on this mission had some new leads for completing their missions. No one had been killed or discovered, so all in all, it had been a successful mission. Ari and Samira now focused on other matters.

  On the plane, they whispered back and forth. “I’m worried about Rafi,” Ari said.

  “Me too!” said Samira “When we get back he is our priority.”

  “I can think of nothing else,” Ari replied, “Its first and last on my agenda.”

  “Well, we’ll have to check in with our bosses at Mossad and get some direction on this.” Samira told him.

  Ari gave her a hard look, “I’ll do what I have to do for Rafi; our bosses can go to hell!”

  She looked at her brother in shock, he never spoke that way, “Wow, look at you getting all combative, I didn’t mean you would ignore Rafi. I won’t either. If it comes to that, we’ll both do what we have to do. You’re not his only sibling, you know,” Samira snipped.

  “Right, but I’m his only twin!” Ari retorted.

  They were silent for a while then Samira asked, “What do you think is going on with Abba? That was really weird of Eema not to say anything to us about him and to avoid telling us where he is. Do you think she doesn’t really know?”

  “That is just what I do think. Eema has no clue and that is why she is being evasive. She would not worry us unnecessarily.”

  “I guess you are right, but it’s weird that she doesn’t know where he is. After all, they are in touch nearly 24/7. Do you think they’re in a fight?” Samira asked.

  “Not at a time like this. Even if they were in a fight, they would stop in order to deal with all of what is going on. NO! Something is really wrong with Abba and we will need to find out what it is and where he is.”

  “Put that on our list,” Samira replied grimly. “And where is Am Gamil? It’s shocking that he’s not around to help with Saroyah! Where in the world has he gone? His kid is kidnapped and nearly killed and his family leaves the country and he’s nowhere in sight? What the hell is that all about?” Samira shook her head in disgust. “That’s just weird and unacceptable.”

  “Now, Samira, do not start judging everyone. There is something wrong. Our family does not act in this manner. We know them. This is not them! Something is most surely wrong. They are mixed up in something, being held against their will or they are compromised in some way. It is not logical to think otherwise.”

  “Okay,” Samira sighed, “but logic doesn’t explain everything. You are too logical! None of this is typical behavior for any of them.” She paused and then said “and what about Am Abdullah? He’s missing too! What in the name of G-d is happening to the men in our family,” Samira exclaimed.

  “Last time I heard of him,” Ari said in his reasonable tone, “he was on a secret mission in the Beqaa Valley capturing important materials. After that it seems he disappeared. I assume he went to report to his commanding officer but after that who knows…”

  They slept and whispered and slept some more knowing that upon arrival they would need to hit the ground running. They needed to report to their commanding officers at Mossad and they needed to see their mother and help find their father, but most of all they needed to help their brother. Hadara met her children at Ben Gurion Baggage claim. She was ready with big hugs and several minutes of blessings in which she held them and praised G-d for their safe return. When their bags arrived, they rushed out of the airport into a waiting car. Yosef grinned at them and off they sped toward the darkness of the desert. The plan was to rendezvous with Gil and Elias who had affixed tracking devices to the Jeeps Rashid and his men were driving. He and Elias had been following them for the last several hours. The soldiers for The Sword of Justice had crossed into Jordan and were traveling north at a high rate of speed.

  Holding his cell phone to his ear, Yosef drove and reviewed strategy options with Gil while Hadara briefed her children about family matters. Then they called their commanding officers at Mossad. Their commanders praised their work in America and told them to take a few weeks off. “You need some time to rest,” their commanders said. Samira grinned at her mother and asked, “You have anything to do with our ‘vacation’ Eema?”

  Hadara smiled and patted her daughter’s cheek, “Of course, Tatala,” she said, “We need a family reunion, righ
t? Now all we have to do is find our family so we can have that reunion.”

  “Ari, are you up for this?” Hadara asked him.

  “What do you think, Eema? I need to go sunbathing on a Mediterranean island? I need to connect with Rafi and I need to find my father and missing uncles. What do you think?”

  “That’s just what I think, dear,” Hadara said putting her arm around his shoulders. “That’s just what I think.”

  Hakim was getting nervous. He paced the room again, this time checking the doorknobs to see if they would turn. They did. With shaking hands, he opened the door a crack and peered into the hallway. Two men in army uniforms stood at opposite ends of the elegant carpeted corridor. They did not notice him. They stood at attention, guns at their sides staring toward the main lobby. He pressed his ear against the door catching a few snippets of whispered conversation.

  “…in the holding cell…?”

  “No, he’s to remain here for now…”

  “Keep an eye on him…”

  “It won’t be long now…”

  “…orders are for us to stay here…”

  The Prime Minister’s official conference room was at the other side of the building, but the office where he usually worked was the one in which he’d been sitting for the last six hours. It was not lost on Hakim that he had been sequestered but in the Prime Minister’s. Straightening to a full and confident stride he approached the soldier closest to him. “I’ve been waiting for the Prime Minister for several hours now, I suppose he is extremely busy and I unfortunately have the need to use the men’s restroom. Can you let the Prime Minister know that I’ll return shortly?”

  The soldier looked at him impassively and said, “I’ll take you there, Sir.”

  It was then that Hakim knew with certainty that an ill-wind had shifted in his direction. For years he walked these halls with authority. His own office was just three doors away. He had no idea what or why, but he was certain as he kept pace with the perfect strides of the young officer that he was headed toward imminent doom. “Thank you,” he nodded to the soldier, “I am most appreciative for your help,” he said hoping his dry mouth wouldn’t give him away.

  Hakim had visualized the blue-print plans for the building. He participated in its re-design several years ago and recalled vividly where all the exits and entrances were located. Knowing his escort would wait outside for him, he entered the extravagantly appointed Gentleman’s Rest Room and began his escape. Adjacent to the last stall was a locked janitor’s closet. Inside that closet, he remembered, there was a window. Outside was a ten foot drop to a courtyard with a large, formal garden with many carved marble statues and at the far end of that garden stood a hinged wooden gate locked from the inside, leading to the street.

  Abdullah pulled Shamir aside and asked “What has the prisoner said?”

  “Not much,” Shamir shrugged. “I have been questioning him for hours now, but he says nothing. Either he knows little or he is a very stupid man. I am not sure which.”

  “I will talk to him myself,” said Abdullah, annoyed that he had to sully himself with such menial work, “Shamir, you get in touch with those who are following that pilot and find out what he has said to them.”

  “Yes Sir,” Shamir said as he left the room.

  Abdullah had been waiting at Army headquarters for days now; waiting for information about the pilot; waiting for information about the explosion at the compound. He was angry that he was being detained this way, like he was a prisoner! They had taken away his cell phone saying they needed to do research on it, but they were not permitting him to make phone calls on other phones either. They told him they contacted his wife and told her he was alright. He didn’t know whether to believe them or not.

  Opening the door to the interrogation room, Abdullah was shocked to see the prisoner’s condition. He had changed drastically from when they pulled him into their SUV in the Beqaa Valley. He seemed exhausted, injured and sickly. Immediately, Abdullah ordered that the prisoner be released from his chains and given food and water. He sat calmly next to the miserable man and spoke softly to him. “I am sorry for your suffering,” he said. “I am the one responsible for you being here, but I did not mean for you to suffer. I will help you and you will help me. Do you understand?”

  The man nodded. After he had water and some food, he was allowed to clean himself and say his evening prayers. All the while, Abdullah sat in the room and waited quietly for the man to come and sit near him. It took the man one hour. Then, he sat near Abdullah and asked, “Can you get me out of here?”

  “That depends on what you have to tell me. Remaining silent is not in your best interest. You were caught in the desert retrieving nuclear materials to be used in the making of huge destructive bombs. Did you know that?”

  “No,” said the man, “I was told to go to the desert with my friend and pick up packages that would be dropped from a plane. I was not told what was in those packages.”

  “Okay,” said Abdullah, “who was it that told you to go get the packages?”

  “A man called Muhammad Chehab. I am told he is from Riyadh, but was living in Lebanon. He goes around with his nephew, named Imed Massoud. I know little of them. They approached me outside a café where I was looking for work, my friend and I both. We were sitting at this café and a man came up to us and asked if we wanted work. We both said yes and he told us what he wanted us to do.”

  “Where were you to take what you got from the desert?” Abdullah wanted to know.

  “We were to carry the packages to a small compound outside Nabaa el Kbir. About 3 kilometers north,” he said. The prisoner swallowed some water and again asked Abdullah if he could get him out.

  “We’ll need to check out your story. If it turns out that you were a mere courier and that’s all, then we can let you go. One more question, before I leave,” Abdullah added, “Do you know the name of the group this man Muhammad Chehab worked for or who he was reporting to?”

  The prisoner thought for a few moments then added, “He did not say this to me, but I heard the two of them talking, the uncle and the nephew, they talked about someone called ‘Great’. I thought he was an Iman or something like that. But they also called him by some other name. I thought that was odd, because leaders like Iman’s are called by their titles, not their names, it seemed disrespectful to me.”

  “Thank you for your help,” Abdullah said and got up to leave. Then he turned to the man and said, “I will return, do not be afraid.”

  “Thank you, Sayyd, the man said bowing low.

  The pilot, who had been intercepted by Lebanese intelligence, was a simple man. Hired it seemed for a simple job. He knew nothing else only what he had been instructed to do, by whom and for how much. Nevertheless, Lebanese Intelligence would hold him and question him for days, maybe months. He was an unfortunate casualty of the continual crisis in the Middle East. The information he gave however simple was important. The man said he had been hired by the Russian mob. He was a freelance pilot. He was a Syrian national and had no idea how the Russians came to contact him. He was, he said, just a simple man who asked no questions. In Syria, jobs for pilots were hard to come by. This was a big job and money was scarce. He had a family to feed. The man said he was grabbed on a street near to his home and was driven into the country blindfolded. He said he was taken to a small house where he met with three men. The house, he said was well guarded by men with guns. One man, who was very reverent toward the Russian man, spoke Arabic with a Lebanese accent. That man said very little but was called Gamil. The pilot described that man as good looking and nicely dressed.

  A man named Borisovich Kliemkov had given the pilot $100,000 US dollars to fly items of some sort to this spot in the Beqaa Valley and toss them from the plane. That was the sum total of his knowledge. He seemed to knew nothing else.

  The pilot was being held in the same cell block as the prisoner Abdullah and Shamir had been questioning but they were not told that the
pilot, whose information was so vital to their investigation, was confined just a few feet away. Only their superior officer had received reports about both of the prisoners and he intended to keep that information very private indeed.

  The caravan carrying The Great One finally arrived. They were met by those assembled in the camp; they cheered and bowed as the man appeared from the car. “I am most grateful that you are all here to greet me,” he said to the assembled crowd and offered some brief prayers to the gathering arms outstretched. “I need some time to refresh myself and then we will gather for prayers and a meal. You have done much work serving Allah. You are pleasing Allah by being here on this Holy mission. Allah will most assuredly praise our work.”