“I have not changed, Sayyd,” the young man replied, his tone grave “it is not I who you have loved. It is another. The one you love did not turn against you. The one you see now has never before been seen.”
These words did not make sense to the older man and he frowned and squinted as he tried to determine their meaning. “You do not make sense, my son, you are speaking nonsense. You are the one I have chosen are you not?”
“No Sayyd, I am not. I am not your chosen one. I appear to be him but I am not.”
“My eyes see you sitting before me just as you have done so many times,” The Great One asserted. Leaning forward for a better look he said, “Come closer for my eyes deceive me.” He reached for his apprentice’s arm to pull him in for a closer look; it was then that Ari poked a tiny needle into The Great One’s hand.
On behalf of his brother he said, “He, who you loved, loved you in return. He saw in you a good I do not see. He could not deal with you harshly as I have done. So out of love for him I have come to do what he could not do. Rest assured he loved you well, but sadly for you, I do not.”
Ari watched in silence as the leader of The Sword of Justice collapsed sideways onto his pillows.
- 45 -
as the smoke clears
Saroyah was distraught. Her mother was going to leave and return home without her and she could not manage without her. Her three siblings tried to comfort her but their words fell on deaf ears. She cared only for her mother and was inconsolable. “I want to go home,” she cried. “I want to be with Umm. This is not right that we should be punished for the things others have done. What did we do that we should be sent from our home? What did I do that I should have been taken? I was held prisoner,” she screamed as if they were deaf she screamed it over and over again. “I WAS A PRISONER! Do you not understand how that hurt me? I was hurt and scared and now I am being left again! I cannot stand it! I will run away from here. I will jump from a high window! I cannot be left again…” Layla tried to calm and comfort her but her efforts were rebuffed. Lutfi ran for help. Several others came and tried to work their magic on her with words of love and caring but in the end Saroyah cried until she was hoarse and fell asleep on the floor.
When Elisabeth arrived the child was sleeping. She sat on the floor next to her and rubbed her back gently. She was going to have a bigger problem caring for these children than she had thought. She considered what resources might be needed and began to make plans for relocating them to another setting. If Saroyah should decide to run away from this place it would be hard to find her, calling the police or the FBI could attract unwanted attention to their situation. Chevra Hatzollah’s mission in Israel had to remain under wraps. They had acted without authority in a foreign country; they had engaged in covert activities involving a terrorist organization; they were housing the children of a wanted fugitive without legal authorization. The list goes on. In the end Elisabeth decided changes had to be made and the team would have to figure out its options fast.
Jamila had gone leaving her four under-legal-age children in her care. Saroyah was becoming a management problem because her mother’s priorities had changed. Gamil had moved to the top of Jamila’s list. They would have to manage, she thought. Jamila was doing what she felt she had to do and Elisabeth would have to do the same.
They heard him say “I’ll tell them not to disturb you until evening prayer, Sayyd,” as he bowed and backed out of the tent closing the flap behind him. Three of the advisors had been on their way to speak with him when they saw the young man called Rafi leaving his tent. “Tell us,” one said, “what does The Great One wish us to do about the threat from Hezbollah I’ve been in touch with my colleagues in Beirut and they are asking for direction.” Bowing low in the manner of respect, Ari replied “You will have to get that information from The Great One himself, I have no knowledge of his wishes in this regard.”
“I was interested,” said another, “in what you said yesterday, about the role of the follower. It seems you have a different view on this point. You were saying that the follower should assume that a direction has been implied and take actions without specific permission, is that correct?”
“Why yes, I…” the conversation was interrupted when the new servant girl approached. “Forgive my intrusion, Sayyds” she said, hijab covering much of her face, head bowed “I have been asked to deliver this message,” she handed a folded note to her brother.
“Many apologies for my rudeness;” said the new apprentice scanning the note, “My presence has been requested elsewhere. Many apologies, I must leave you and attend to this with great speed.” Turning with a low bow he followed the servant girl as she led the way to Bayan’s tent. Slipping between two tents she motioned her brother to keep on walking.
Both of them heard Moshe’s voice speaking rapid Hebrew through their earbuds as Ari and Rafi hurried to the specified location. Inside a ragged lean-to at the back of the camp were two sacks of dried chickpeas; buried within were costumes, wigs and makeup along with passports, airline tickets and a receipt for the limo rental. For the first time since the start of this mission the twins were acting in concert; one dawning the outfit of a limousine driver, a loose fitting thobe and taqiyah and the other was outfitted to look like a Sudanese diplomat. After applying dark toned face paint and thick facial hair with spirit gum they examined each other carefully and agreed that they would pass muster. Yosef joined them dressed as the diplomat’s servant who would ride in the most remote limo seat. Thus scripted and fully armed, they drove east with Yosef filling them in on the details of their cover story.
They had to cross the Syrian-Lebanese border, where they could expect a number of issues to arise. The arrest of a key Cabinet minister had caused problems throughout the country. Riots and rebel groups both for and against Marzuq took their propaganda to the streets. There was a heightened level of alarm and when news of The Great One’s assassination hit the airways, groups would turn against each other looking for the one responsible. Israel would heighten its threat level and prepare for the worst. Violence at the borders seemed inevitable. They could always hope that al Sierawan’s death would not be seen as an assassination since there were no obvious wounds. That would be too good to hope for, Ari thought.
Panic and chaos radiated in the cries of anguish that could be heard for miles. Their leader was dead and there was no one to take charge. People rushed back and forth talking in a jumble of words. Zuhair Bayan was called to The Great One’s tent. He was after all The Great One’s doctor. He spent two hours with the man’s body unsure of what to do. He could find no external marks save for a tiny prick on the man’s hand that probably came from one of the many insects roaming the desert. There were no bullet wounds, no knife wounds, no evidence of poisoning. There was nothing. In the end Bayan determined that the man died of natural causes, most likely a heart attack. Ironic he thought, given his love for this young man who recently arrived at the camp, that it was his heart that would in the end be his demise. And where he wondered was that devoted young man? The one who had caused so much trouble? So devoted was he to The Great One, he wasn’t even in the crowd of mourners gathered outside the tent! That was an outrage after all The Great One did for him! Where was the boy?
He pushed the thought away as there was much work to be done. He needed to get advice from his superiors. Would they want him to continue with the group, ascend to a leadership role, become The Great One? Or would they want the group to disband and want him to return home and resume his duties there? He needed to talk with them. He walked to his tent thinking of Shoshana and her beauty, thinking of the missing boy called Rafi, thinking of his wasted year with The Sword of Justice, and for what? Truly it was nonsense anyway. He knew the man was a lunatic with a crazy plan – the destruction of the world, an invisible tent over the Arab people? Where did he get that idea that the earth could revolve at the speed of light and blow everything from its surface? Really? What nonsense! In his heart o
f hearts Bayan had never been on board with any of this. In his heart of hearts he had never been on board with anything in this life he had been living. It was all a lie and he was sick of it.
It fell to Samira to do the tidying up. That meant collecting all the relevant writings and removing them from the scene so that resurrecting The Sword of Justice would be impossible. To do this she had to make contact with Abdul Jalil, the carrier of the books. She found the man prostrate with grief outside The Great One’s tent. He lay face down on the ground his precious basket of writings beside him in a heap. Softly she approached calling his name with a lilting voice. “Loyal servant,” she said, “our beloved master has left us. We alone are left to do his bidding. We have been appointed to protect and preserve his wondrous words, to hide his manifesto from those who would destroy it. Abdul, you and I have to carry out his mission. Come quickly before unworthy ones surge forward to grab his precious writings and destroy them. Come we must act immediately.”
The old man raised his tear streaked face and nodded, “The Great One, praised be he, instructed me to do just that.”
“Of course he did,” Samira said encouragingly, “he was so wise. What were his instructions to you, Abdul? Tell me and I will help you carry them out.”
Pulling himself to his feet the old man sighed, gathered together the books and papers and said “We are to walk to the furthest point visible from this place and bury them deep in the desert sand. I will go and get a digging tool,” he said. Silently Samira followed the man and did as he requested until every speck of paper describing the Cataclysmic Regeneration Plan had been wrapped in prayer rugs and buried five feet under the burning sand. As the carrier of the books turned toward the camp, Samira knelt as if in prayer, wedged a small egg-shaped gadget under her knee and pressed it deep into the sand.
Every TV network across the world from the BBC, to Al Jazeera to CNN to the Korean Central News Agency blasted these headlines:
“LEADER OF THE SWORD OF JUSTICE FOUND DEAD IN TENT! Shukri al-Sierawan, known as ‘The Great One’ was found dead in his tent located in Northern Syria at approximately 4PM Syrian time. The Leader was the founder of a new movement calling itself The Sword of Justice which was growing in membership every day. The popularity of the message was thought to be due to its extreme ethnocentric message which called for the destruction of the entire world except for the Arab nations. Al-Sierawan was declared dead of unknown, probably natural causes, by his long-time physician and advisor, Zuhair Bayan. Al-Sierawan who was 58 years of age was a native of the Al Qubayyat region of Lebanon. Born Arman Shaloub, he was the youngest member of a family of five. The family is well known in the textile industry and owns businesses across the globe. Al-Sierawan who studied in England is known for his treatise entitled the Cataclysmic Regeneration Plan which he claimed was handed down to him from Allah. He believed that the only people on earth who would survive his end of the world scenario would be the Arab people and devout followers of Allah. He claimed his plan was the answer to the problems in the Middle East.
“Supporters and opponents of the group rioted in the streets of Beirut, Damascus, Tehran, Baghdad, Riyadh, and Abu Dhabi. Israel raised its threat alert level to high in anticipation of accusations of involvement in Al-Sierawan’s death. A request for riot troops was submitted to the United Nations’ Security Council. Reportedly both Russia and China are preparing to submit sanction requests against Israel, Britain and the United States on grounds that they were behind the death of the group’s leader.
“Shukri al Sierawan’s was not married and had no known children. His body will be returned to the Shaloub family where funeral services are being arranged.”
Rafi sat on the porch at his Menara home and stared into space. The morning copy of Haaretz hung loosely from his fingers. Ari sat beside his brother watching him read and re-read the article, feeling a flood of unfamiliar emotions wash over him. Rafi had been unreachable since they arrived home. The Border Patrol Guards were so preoccupied with the riots, Ari, Rafi and Yosef easily slipped by in their limo and disguises. The exhilaration they felt after their escape faded as evening approached and Rafi withdrew into a shell of silence. Both Hakim and Hadara approached him but his responses were lethargic and monosyllabic. Ari, sensing his twin’s despair remained at his side, even though he understood at some non-verbal level that he had become part of Rafi’s problem. They were always together and Rafi’s self-imposed mutism did little to change that for Ari. No matter what happened their twin-ship prevailed.
She had just returned her cell phone to the pocket inside her robes when she heard him outside speaking to the crowds. It was amazing; she thought that he had carried this off so well. It was their good fortune that the man had been The Great One’s doctor. It was her good fortune that her subtle comments had plied their way into his mind so effortlessly.
“The Great One has the weight of the world on his shoulders,” she had said at one point. Another time she had commented on how exhausted he looked, pale and thin. “When I take away his plate,” she said sadly, “so much food remains. The man eats less than the desert lark. ”
She was glad, as the man’s doctor, Bayan had not come under suspicion. She liked this man and would not have wanted harm to come to him. As the chief advisor there was a chance he would ascend to the role of leader, but it did not seem to be going in that direction. She was grateful for that. Bayan entered his tent and took her in his arms. “Come with me Shoshana. Wherever I go and whatever I do, I want you to be with me,” he said as he held her. She smiled at him, her beautiful smile sparkled up at him, “There is much to be done here, Zuhair, this is not the time for us to speak of such things,” this was the first time she had spoken his given name and he looked at her with an amused expression on his face. A servant girl with nerve! Chutzpa!
“You are wise, my lovely, I have many things I must attend to and you must get back to your duties. Let us speak later, after the evening meal perhaps?” Again he hugged her and she left for the kitchen tent. Bayan unfolded his prayer rug and took out his laptop. He needed to let his superior know what was going on and get his orders updated. Alone in his tent, he made sure the tent flaps were tightly closed before he logged onto his skype account and typed in a long series of passwords and identification codes. “Shalom, my friend,” said a smiling Sol Aaronson, “how goes it with The Sword of Justice?”
They could not be in a public setting, Elisabeth was worried. There was too much publicity about this situation. There were news articles about the Finance Minister’s removal from power, speculation that there was a connection between his disgrace and the death of the leader of The Sword of Justice and there were riots throughout the Middle East. In practically every major city bombs were going off, people were being shot and the police were out-gunned at every juncture. This was certainly not the time to introduce an entire family of Lebanese children to the Chicago school system. It was too suggestive and all they needed was another situation that would make these children feel unsafe and unprotected. They had nearly lost their little sister, had been ostensibly abandoned by their father, and had fled the only home they had ever known, and now their mother left them here in this strange place with strangers. The last thing these children needed was another shock.
She’s been observing them closely and knew even though the older children were acting appropriately, there were signs that things were not really going too well. Their appetites were off, even though they were being served familiar foods, they were very quiet and overly compliant; they stayed to themselves, spoke only when spoken to, and showed no interest in things that would otherwise have interested them.
Picking up the phone Elisabeth located bi-lingual home teaching resources and made arrangements for Jamila’s children to begin some structured education the following week. In the meantime they would go sightseeing. The Reinhardt siblings gathered up their grandchildren, rented a few vans and embarked on an outing to the zoo.
; Samira stepped inside the kitchen tent and smiled to herself. It had been a little test, she knew she could not have feelings for an evil man and was relieved to find that was true. The bug she planted was paying off. Although she was initially surprised to hear Sol Abramson’s voice, it pleased her enormously to realize that Bayan was a Mossad agent. That made him kind of family, she thought. She wondered what his backstory was and how long he’d been with Mossad. And she wondered what Sol had in mind for Bayan now. This could play out in many ways she knew. He might be asked to assume a leadership role with The Sword of Justice, to step in and take over for The Great One; he could be asked to return to Syria and resume his government consultant role or he could be re-assigned somewhere else. She wondered what Bayan would want to do and if he would think of her when he made his decision. She considered the issue for a few moments. She had no official role to play in his decision-making process, but she did have a preference or two.
Seeing Double: An Elisabeth Reinhardt Novel Page 27