Seeing Double: An Elisabeth Reinhardt Novel

by Nancy Alexander

  Rafi stood a bit back from the crowd watching the proceedings. He was aware of the plot against him and was keenly aware that one person at this campsite would protect him. That one person was The Great One. He knew that The Great One supported him at the moment, but was uncertain about how long that might last. He didn’t know the range of influences that abounded, but assumed that there were many of them. Rafi assumed the pose of a devout follower, making the appropriate sounds and movements, but his anxiety mounted as he watched the chief advisor watching him from afar. The man didn’t take his eyes off of him. Rafi wondered if he was looking for something in particular.

  He became suddenly self-conscious. Was his ear piece showing? Had his contact lenses slipped? Under the cover of the crowd, he noticed his enemy watching him and wondered how long it would be before the man made a move against him. He then wondered what he could do to get the man to change his mind about him. Perhaps I just need more time. As he stood with the listening crowd Rafi reflected on the message he got earlier from Ari and began to devise a plan. He knew Zuhair Bayan was his enemy and he had to win him over. In order to do that he needed more information about Bayan’s history and goals. He either needed to align himself with him or he needed to get something over on him. While everyone was busy in the main tent, he slipped away hoping his absence would not be noticed.

  - 37 -

  GRATEFUL CONNECTIONS

  Ari leaned back against the slats in the wooden bench and stared at the sky. The sun was just going down leaving the sky a radiant pink and orange. But Ari was not aware of the beauty around him, he thought only of his brother’s plight. Rafi was up against a determined enemy who had the power to crush him like a bug. Ari knew that he was Rafi’s best chance of survival. He had left his mother, sister and Yosef pursuing jeeps full of soldiers and made his way back to the family home in Menara. He quickly checked the perimeter and made sure that no one had tampered with the locks and alarms. Once inside, he devoted himself to helping his twin. Tapping into his technical knowledge, he hacked into the Syrian Embassy’s database to review Zuhair Bayan’s personnel file. From there, he hacked into the man’s bank accounts and reviewed his personal financial information. Then he located Bayan’s personal computer files stored on the Embassy’s main server. They were password protected and the data was encrypted but Ari thought he could infiltrate the account given enough time. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but thought he’d know when he found it.

  Tucked inside a folder labeled favorite games he found his first clue. Several items had been scanned and stored there including a yellowed photograph and a scrap of paper with several scribbled names in Hebrew. One name was Zeryka Ben Harav. Immediately he set about searching the data base for that name. It would, he was certain, lead to an important clue.

  Zuhair Bayan, regarded as a purist by his Syrian Brethren, was intelligent, capable and completely devoted to Islam. Although he was married, he and his wife had borne no children and seemed on the verge of a break-up. Ari decided that one of the easiest things to do was hack into the Bayans’ email accounts. In reviewing his wife’s emails, Ari found that Bayan was a womanizer and there was another suggestion that he had become addicted to drugs when he was in medical school and still used occasionally. It was clear that his wife was discontented with her husband and looking for some way to get even with him, but these facts, even if proven true, would have little positive impact on Rafi’s situation. No, Ari needed to find out what made Bayan tick; he needed to give his twin some tools to better manage his relationship with the man. Research into his life could provide them with the key. Sipping dark, syrupy coffee he worked through the night. It was early dawn before he found something that seemed worth pursuing. It was a single entry in his bank statement. It indicated a payment of 100,000.00 Syrian pounds to a small synagogue in Israel called Bet Kehilat Shalom. That was odd, to say the least, an impassioned Jew-hater giving money to a synagogue?

  It could be that the synagogue was a front for a terrorist group, it could be a payment for confidential information or perhaps Zuhair Bayan had a secret connection with Israel. Ari thought about these options as he poured another cup of coffee and opened an online connection to Bet Kehilat Shalom’s website which turned out to be tiny and located near the Jordanian border. Upon closer examination of their historical records, Ari found a few early photographs, including clergy and founding members. Among the old and worn pictures he found one tattered and faded showing a group of men and boys gathered on the steps of a nearly completed building. Nestled between two bearded men was a small child. Mouth agape, Ari grabbed his cell phone.

  Hakim moved stealthily through the crowd blending in as best he could. Using the reflection from windows he passed he checked behind him to make sure he wasn’t being followed. He crossed the street several times, always with a crowd doubling back to see if he was being followed. So far so good, he thought. He boarded a city bus and sat in the back, peering out the rear window, studying the crowd as the bus lumbered forward. He needed a plan and he needed one fast. He couldn’t use his cell phone, but he had his wallet and fortunately he remembered the important numbers by heart. A half hour later, he exited the bus and found a small store that sold miscellaneous items. Browsing, he found sunglasses and a black turban along with a disposable cell phone, a newspaper and a lady’s compact. Opening the paper he held the compact open with his thumb so he could keep an eye on the street behind him. Thus disguised, he wandered to the back of an open air café, ordered mint tea and began making phone calls.

  Shamir was waiting for him when he left the prisoner. Abdullah had gotten the information they needed but was filled with uncertainty. Abdullah was focused on the answer to the last question he asked the prisoner. “Why didn’t you tell the other interrogator these things? It would have gone much easier for you.” The answer startled Abdullah.

  “I did tell him these things. For what reason would I not tell them?” the man had asked. Abdullah believed him. Indeed why would he lie about such a thing? Where is the benefit in that? So if the prisoner was telling the truth why had Shamir not given him that information? In fact why had Shamir insisted that the man had been uncooperative? With downcast eyes, he approached his long-time friend and helper and said. “Explain why you were unable to get information from this man? He was cooperative and offered no resistance to me.” Shamir appeared offended.

  “My friend,” he said, “I did my very best to get him to talk. I used all the usual tactics, but he said nothing. Perhaps you have a special gift for getting people to talk,” he smiled.

  Abdullah was in no mood for flattery. “So that’s your story?” he spat. He frowned, wondering if there some reason Shamir wanted him to talk to that man. Perhaps he needed to get me out of the way for a while, he thought.

  Shamir backed up a few steps and looked at his boss. “Sayyd, I would have no reason to do such a thing. I have done nothing to justify your suspicions.”

  “Perhaps you are right,” Abdullah said sullenly, “I am not sure what is going on here and why I am being treated this way. I am being excluded and have been barred from leaving and they have taken my cell phone.”

  “They are treating us both that way, Sayyd, I do not know why, but I too have been barred from leaving and they also took away my cell phone.”

  Abdullah faced Shamir and asked, “Have they asked you any questions or talked with you at any time when I was not present?”

  “Yes, yesterday they asked me to tell them the story of our travels and I did so. It was perfectly straightforward. I told them what we did and how everything happened. There are no lies, I said what occurred and that was all. They asked no other questions and said nothing else to me.”

  “Well,” Abdullah said appearing to soften, “I will see if I can find out what is happening” and he walked off. Shamir leaned against the building’s basalt blocks and watched him go. Then he slipped his hand in his pocket, pulled out his cell phone and entered a
number.

  He was walking back from his tent when the man called Jalal, the book carrier, approached and softly said, “The Great One wishes to have a word with you. I will take you to him.” He was an elderly man; stoop shouldered wearing a loose fitting didashah. Rafi followed him through the camp thinking if the book carrier had been sent for him The Great One must be settled down somewhere with his books. Jalal led him to a small tent. It was draped with several carpets and set apart from the others. The tent was guarded in the front and the rear by armed soldiers wearing uniforms of the Iraqi army. Feeling anxious, Rafi entered the tent bowing low. Inside the space was covered with carpets. Candles sat on a small table topped with a brass tray along with a brass carafe and two cups. Shukri Al-Sierawan sat in a meditation pose at the back of the tent. His eyes were closed and he rocked slightly in keeping with the rhythm of his chants. Rafi approached the man silently, slid down to the carpet slightly in front of and facing him and picking up with the tone and rhythm of his chants joined him, miming every movement and word. This went on for a while without a word being spoken. Rafi was not completely sure that The Leader even knew he was there, but when he opened his eyes, their eyes met.

  Smiling slightly he said. “It brings me joy that you have joined me in this manner. It is the correct way for an apprentice to join the master.”

  Rafi bowed his head reverently and said, “I am honored to be permitted to serve Allah at the feet of one who is so wise.”

  Their conversation continued in this poetic worshipful vein for several more minutes. At length The Leader said, “There is someone in this camp who does not trust you. He had plans to destroy you, my young one. I put a stop to the last plan, but may not always be able to do that. I am not sure how to keep you safe.”

  Rafi looked at the man uncertain about how to respond. At length he said, “I am honored that my leader thinks so well of me that he put a stop to the plot against me. If it is Allah’s plan that I should depart this earth before many years have passed, then I will bow to his greater wisdom.”

  The Great One looked at the younger man for a long time before saying, “You are wise beyond your years. That is why Allah has sent you to me. You are a gift to me from our Lord and I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, but do remember that although I decreed you safe passage to this man who wants you dead, there are many ways to die. I cannot prevent them all.” With that, The Leader raised his hands and placed them on Rafi’s shoulders, “Let us pray together,” he said.

  With his hands on Rafi’s shoulders, Shukri al-Sierawan traveled in time to his own memories of childhood. There had been a boy, a boy named Roshan whose father worked in his family’s textile mills. Roshan came often to work with his father and became Arman’s friend. It was this boy in whom Arman confided his greatest secrets. When Arman told his friend of his visions, of his idea that he was born to become a great leader, a holy man and that he wanted to change the world, Roshan had been awe-struck. “You will be exactly that which you wish to be,” he told Arman. “You will be a great leader and I will come and join you and we will serve Allah together.” These memories emerged now as Arman Shaloub aka Shukri al-Sierawan aka The Great One looked at Rafi’s bowed head and knew with certainty that this young man was the reincarnation of his lost friend. It had been less than a week after sharing this with his friend that Roshan had been killed, crushed by some machinery in his father’s factory. Arman wondered if his friend’s death was a punishment for telling him his secrets. He felt so guilty about that this he never shared his secrets with another person and he never again formed a new friendship. He had never gotten over that loss. It had made him more reclusive and introverted than ever. He carried a deep resentment toward his father, his textile mills, his brothers and their businesses, even his mother for her pride in her husband’s success. He associated them all with the loss of his friend. To Arman, their financial success had come at the price of his only friend Roshan’s life!

  No, Arman Shaloub never forgot his friend and today, as he looked at Rafi Tahan praying at his side, he felt a joy he had not felt since he was a child, playing in the factory with his friend. He thanked Allah over and over again for this second chance. He knew he would do anything to keep this young man by his side. Rafi was Roshan returned to him from the dead and this time he would never let him go.

  - 38 -

  IN GOD WE TRUST

  Galed and his men had stopped for the night. They had pulled off the road and laid out their sleeping bags near an outcropping of rock. They had no idea that two cars had been tracking them from afar. Watching their GPS screen, Gil saw the jeeps pull over and followed suite. Hadara, Yosef, and Samira, following behind joined them. That’s when the call came in. Hadara grabbed the phone and stared at the screen. Not recognizing the number, she hesitated, but it kept ringing so she answered.

  In a cautious voice she said, “Cain?”

  “My darling, Praise Allah I found you,” Hakim gushed. “I have been so worried. Are you alright? Are the children alright?” He was in tears now, desperation in his voice.

  “Hakim? Hakim is it you?” Hadara whispered anxiously. “Are you alright? What happened to you? Where are you?”

  “I cannot talk much. I was held captive. I will explain later. It is not safe. Just tell me you are alright.”

  “I am fine. The two who were away together have returned. The other one is still away. Where are you?”

  “I cannot tell you that now. If you can tell me where you are and I’ll come to you.”

  “I cannot tell you that; it is not safe. We are,” she hesitated, “away. I will meet you at the usual place when I can… be safe. I love you.”

  “I love and adore you, my precious one. I will see you soon.”

  Hakim hung up and looked around the café, now packed with the late night crowd. No one seemed to be paying him any attention, but of course if they were good at their jobs, they would not appear to be listening, would they? He figured he could get to the Olive Grove and from there he could cross the border. He would wait for a while and then move. He ordered Lamb Shawarma and more tea as he plotted his escape route. Once he was safely away, he would figure out what had gone wrong and why he had been held captive by the government he had served for so many years.

  Amal and Hala Faysal whispered together in their bedroom. They had heard from Jamila that she and her children were safe in the United States. They had received a message from Hakim that he was safe and would be arriving soon. He asked them to alert the guards to his arrival and leave the back door unlocked. He promised to come to their room as soon as he arrived.

  They had not heard from Abdullah or Gamil; where they were seemed to be anyone’s guess. All the servants had been asked to remain at the Olive Grove so that they would not be alone in their palatial residence. Fawz had carried up some tea and cakes a short while ago and told them that Musnah was still under guard, confined to her room in the servants’ quarters. Fawz was worried about her because she was still refusing to eat or drink and would not stop crying. She asked that Hala come and talk with her. She agreed.

  Hala walked slowly down the back stairs toward Musnah’s room. Softly, she knocked and entered the room to see Musnah sitting on the edge of her bed, head in her hands, rocking back and forth. “We do not think this is your fault, Musnah,” she said, “We think the men were here to see someone of importance. We do not think your nephew was at the center of the problem. We are not sure who did what exactly but we believe you did not betray us. Please do not blame yourself. Please calm down and have something to eat. You are not in trouble here. We have always cared for you and think of you as a member of our family. Please, Musnah, calm down and eat with me.” Hala reached out her hand and patted the old servant’s hands.

  Musnah sighed spoke quietly. “There are things you do not know, my honored mistress, things I know that you do not know. Very bad things,” she said softly.

  Hala felt a jolt of alarm run through h
er body. “What things?” she asked.

  “Things that will change everything,” the servant said.

  The room was opulent. The men perfectly attired. The atmosphere was solemn. Each man thumbed through a thick report describing momentous political developments in neighboring countries and possible problematic activities by some of their own, respected citizens. “Situations here in the Middle East,” said the Prime Minister, “are often complex and fraught with critical decisions. In this instance several of our own are being accused of engaging in questionable activities regarding this group that calls itself The Sword of Justice. There have been questions raised about my own trusted emissary, whom you all know well, Hakim Faysal. He was being held for questioning but it appears he left the premise of his own accord and cannot now be located. It pains me to say that warrants have been issued for his arrest. Now of course this does not mean he has committed any crimes but questions have been raised and they must be explored. Our guards are under orders to detain him without bloodshed so that we may question him about these issues. We do not wish harm to come to him but we need some answers.”