Forever, My Homeland: The Final Book in the All My Love, Detrick Series

by Roberta Kagan

  “Damn… How could you lose them?” Elan asked, and sunk into the chair behind his desk. He reached for a flask inside the drawer in his desk and raised it to his lips and then took a long swig. The whiskey burnt his throat, but it brought him a moment’s peace.

  “They hung up before we could get a location.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Elan banged his fist on the table.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I tried…”

  “At least, the girls are alive. Now comes the hard part. Somehow, we are going to have to find them…” Elan coughed. He didn’t want to talk to Janice again, not yet. “You,” he pointed to one of the younger Mossad agents. “Call the parents of both of the girls and tell them that we got proof of life.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Amsel. Right away.”

  Elan leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin, his mind racing at a thousand miles an hour. Where could they be? The FPN was a well-known sect of the Fatah Al-Intifada. He knew all about them; it was his job to know. They were a violent group, like the PLO, and they would think nothing of killing the girls if their demands were not met.

  Israel did not negotiate with terrorists. This was something every Israeli knew and every Israeli lived with the possible consequences. But they also knew that once Israel began to give in to the demands of terrorists, the power of Israel would be lost.

  There had to be a way to find the girls. Every spy employed by Mossad had been sent out to search for the Americans. They’d talked to members of the FPN and the PLO, but so far they’d come up with nothing. This had to be a very small, select group. Elan thought that there was a good chance that at least some of the kidnappers were related to the FPN prisoners who they wanted to have released.

  Think, Elan, think…where could the FPN be keeping the girls? The problem with any of the Fatah was that they were so transient. They had caves and basements, cellars and barns all over the Middle East. The girls could be anywhere. Anywhere at all…

  CHAPTER 37

  The van seemed to fly through the streets soaring over bumps in the road. Once, they hit a pothole so hard that Bari’s head banged against the top of the vehicle.

  Bari contemplated Athir’s position and their plight. The people he cared most for, including his family, were involved. She and Marilyn were strangers. She was convinced they were within an inch of Athir letting them go before the rest of them came back. Her heart sank. There may not be another chance.

  The van backed up. Bari’s heart dropped. Where were they? The drive had not been so long this time. Was this a lonely road where she and Marilyn would be murdered? The door to the van flung open. They were in a different part of town than before; the sounds were all different.

  One of the men came and pulled Marilyn, and then Bari by the shoulders and both girls were forced out of the van. Then without a moment’s hesitation, they were directed into the building. This was a new location. The room smelled different, cleaner than before, and spices, as though someone had been cooking. The amount of steps to the stairs was different, and the number of steps to the lower floor was ten more.

  “Mahir.” Kazim indicated that he was speaking to another one of the members. Kazim handed the man two long metal dog chains with collars attached to them.

  The man called Mahir put the collars around Marilyn and Bari’s necks and then chained them to a thick, metal pole in the center of the room.

  “Oh no, please!” Marilyn said, and began to cry.

  What now? Bari’s mind was racing. What now? The men tested the chain. Once they were satisfied that the girls could not escape, they left, and the huge metal door clanged shut leaving the girls alone again.

  Outside the building, Kazim turned to his brother Athir.

  “We will not kill them unless we have to, but you must face the fact that if it does not go as planned, we must kill them.”

  “You promised me, and you’re our cell leader.”

  “I know. I’m sorry, but we have to do it. To protect ourselves, we may have to kill them. The FNP will not tolerate us letting them go if we don’t get our people out of prison. I have spoken with them and they are firm about this. You don’t need to be here when we do it. You can stay at home.”

  “When will you know if you have to kill them?”

  “In seventy-two hours.”

  Athir was dizzy. The world seemed to go dark around him. He leaned against a tree, to steady himself.

  “It will be all right, little brother. I’ll take care of everything, and soon we will have Fadi back with us again.” Kazim patted Athir’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort his brother, but instead Athir felt a chill rise through his spine.

  CHAPTER 38

  Gerhard and Tova were sitting in the Ben Gurion Airport waiting for the boarding of his plane back to Germany to begin.

  “This has been the most wonderful week of my life,” Gerhard said. “I thank you for everything, Tova—for everything.” He took her hand and gently caressed her palm.

  She smiled at him. “I’m glad you came. This was a very special week for me, too.”

  “My feelings for you run very deep, deeper than I can ever convey to you.”

  “Yes, I know,” she said.

  “You don’t love me?” he asked.

  She shrugged. What was there to say? “I don’t know, Gerhard. All I know is I can’t go back to Germany with you. But will you will come again to Israel next year?”

  “Yes, of course. I will return, just as we talked about with the lady at Yad Vashem. I will come every year. This is all I can do to try to right my father’s wrongs.”

  “Again…you are not responsible for your father’s actions. You were just a child, Gerhard.”

  “Yes, well…” he said, touching her cheek. “You are very kind, Tova.”

  She had never felt this way before. Over the past week, she had felt like her empty life was full. She and Gerhard had connected on every level. They talked about everything. He was the first man who had ever really listened when she talked.

  And now he was going home, and she was going home to Aya. Of course, she missed Aya, but wouldn’t it be wonderful to have someone to eat with every night instead of just sitting in front of the television in an empty room? And when she was not working, perhaps they would take in a movie together or even just go for a walk, or a hike in the mountains. She allowed herself to dream, and now facing reality hurt more than she wanted to admit. Yes, it was a shame that he had to go home. It was more than a shame; it was heartbreaking. But Tova was an Israeli, this was her home and she would not, could not leave. It was better to be alone in Israel than loved in another country.

  The flight attendant began to call the rows telling the people to come forward and board the plane. Gerhard took Tova into his arms and held her tightly until the last row was called.

  “It’s time…” he said.

  “I know…” She felt as if someone had carved a hole deep in the pit of her stomach.

  “Are you sure you won’t come with me?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I can’t, Gerhard.”

  “I am going to miss you so much, Tova. I love you…” Gerhard said. He squeezed her tightly, kissed the top of her head and then kissed her lips and touched her cheek. “I’ll keep in touch. I’ll write, and I’ll call…”

  She nodded and worked hard to keep the tears from spilling onto her cheeks. He turned and walked toward the boarding ramp. She watched him go. She stared at his back, his thinning blond hair, and his tall, slender frame. She’d come to know this man so well in only a week. A part of her wanted to run to him and say, “Yes, Gerhard, I’ll go with you. I’ll go with you anywhere. Please don’t leave.”

  He turned once and waved, then gave her a sad smile. He disappeared as he boarded the plane. She watched through the window as the aircraft taxied down the runway. Tova was crying now. Tears were a luxury she almost never allowed herself. But today she couldn’t control her pain. Gerhard was on his way home. He could no longer see
her, so she let the tears roll down her cheeks until the plane was airborne and on its way to Germany, carrying the only man she had ever loved.

  “God be with you…” Tova whispered softly, as the aircraft disappeared into the clouds.

  “Thank you so much for taking care of Aya,” Tova said to her neighbor as she lifted Aya in her carrier.

  The cat was meowing repeatedly. Tova knew that Aya was both glad to see her and angry to have been left for so long.

  Tova turned the lock and entered her silent apartment. The emptiness seemed even more pronounced now that she’d felt the warmth of sharing her time with another person. She’d never even told Gerhard that she loved him. She couldn’t. If she’d even said the words, she was afraid that she would beg him to stay. His life, job, and family were all in Germany. Tova would never live in a country where Hitler had once killed six million of her people. She belonged in Israel. Israel was her home.

  The stewardess was walking around the cabin asking if everyone preferred chicken or pot roast. Gerhard couldn’t eat. He politely refused. The man sitting beside him was red-faced and obese. He ate the food that was brought to him as if he hadn’t eaten in a month. Gerhard tried not to look his way. The gravy from the pot roast was dripping down the man’s double chin.

  “You should have something to eat,” Gerhard’s seat mate said. “It’s good.”

  “I’m not hungry. Besides, I’ve never cared much for airline food.”

  “This is not too bad. I’m telling you—you should try it.”

  “Thank you, but not today,” Gerhard said. He was sitting next to the window, and the man’s hefty frame made him feel boxed in and claustrophobic.

  “My name is Wilfred,” the man said,

  “Gerhard.” Gerhard didn’t feel like talking. He had so many different feelings inside of him that he was trying to sort out.

  “Where are you from?”

  “What?” Gerhard was looking out the window.

  “Where do you live?” the man asked again.

  “Oh, Berlin…”

  “I’m from Hamburg.”

  Gerhard nodded. Good for you, he thought, now please leave me alone. But of course, he could not say what he was thinking.

  “What do you do for a living?” the man asked, swiping up the last bit of gravy from his plate with the final morsel of bread.

  “I’m an engineer. I work on the roadways,” Gerhard said.

  “Oh, that’s very impressive. I work for an import-export company. There are still plenty of Jews in Germany. They want Israeli silver. So I come here and buy silver.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Eh, it’s okay. They Jew me down pretty good. You know how they are. Cheap! Between you and me, Hitler had it right.”

  “Shut up! Shut your mouth!” Gerhard was trembling. Why couldn’t he have been seated somewhere else? Preferably beside someone who would respect his need to be left alone.

  “Hey, no reason to get upset. I didn’t take you for a Jew. You don’t look like one…”

  “Just stop talking,” Gerhard said. Although it came as no surprise, it was a disappointment nonetheless, not only a disappointment, but a reminder. Anti-Semitism was alive and well, and had not died with the Nazis. Gerhard frowned at his seatmate, and then called the flight attendant over.

  A pretty girl, who had obviously been chosen for the job because of her attractive girl-next-door appearance, came walking up the aisle. Her perfectly styled hair bounced with every step.

  “How can I help you, Sir?” she asked, in perfect German. Then, she flashed him a sweet, hometown smile.

  “I’d like to change seats.” Gerhard said.

  “Is there a reason, sir? Is something wrong with your seat?”

  “Yes, there is a reason.” Gerhard said. He was not usually crude or insulting, but this disgusting man had angered him. “This man is quite obviously obese, and he is practically sitting on top of me. I’m very uncomfortable.”

  “Sir, there’s a seat in the back next to the woman with the baby. Nobody wanted to sit there. Are you sure you want to sit by an infant?”

  “Yes, that would be fine, preferable in fact,” Gerhard said, and he got up and moved.

  The baby woke up and cried on and off for several hours, but the child’s mother didn’t attempt to talk to Gerhard at all. And for that much, he was thankful. He spent the rest of the trip lost in his thoughts.

  CHAPTER 39

  Athir Nasir felt the cool wind against his face as he walked toward the Mosque, to say his evening prayers. He loved winter. The weather was so much more agreeable than the summers.

  Of course, he understood their plight. He lived it, and wanted to see his brother free. But when he thought of the bombings, the murders, and finally this terrible act of kidnapping, he knew that this was not what he wanted to do with his life.

  There was an old man he’d known all of his life, who was a very devout Muslim. His name was Wahib Shadi. He’d befriended Athir after Athir’s father died in a fight with Israeli soldiers when Athir was only eight. His mother was overwhelmed raising three boys, and hardly had time for anything other than the practical acts of cooking, cleaning, and trying to keep a roof over their heads.

  Wahib had become the father he had desperately needed. Wahib was a man of peace. Though a Muslim, he did not believe in jihad, and felt that trying to push the Jews out of Israel was an exercise in futility. He was old and wise and had seen the best men of many families killed or imprisoned. He had hopes for Fadi and Kazim, but only Athir had listened to him.

  Kazim was convinced that there was no other way to take back the land that was stolen from them along the Gaza strip. He told Athir that they must fight to keep Palestine from being overtaken by the Jews.

  “They will steal all of our land and everything that we have,” Kazim told Athir. His brother Fadi agreed, and so Athir, who was the youngest, had followed their lead. He’d heard about the blood, the killings, the death, but he’d never seen it. In many ways, his older brothers had protected him, and Athir loved them both. He wasn’t sure what he felt about the Jews, fear mostly. He’d learned from his brothers not to trust them, and he didn’t. But it was certain that murder and kidnapping were not the solutions to this age-old problem.

  After he had finished his prayers, Athir went to the market, to purchase some oranges and fresh vegetables. Then he walked for almost a mile to the small dwelling of Wahib Shadi. It was dark, but he could still see the little house beside a dirt road, with a fig tree in the front yard.

  Athir knew that that tree was Wahib’s beloved and most precious possession. Tonight he felt it extending its branches, to welcome him. When Athir was just a boy that house had seemed like a prosperous home to him. He could still remember how he had helped Wahib gather fruit from the tree and together they had shared the bounty Allah had given Wahib, amongst all of the neighbors.

  Now ten years later, at eighteen, Athir looked at the house with different eyes. He saw the poverty he’d never seen as a child. Wahib appeared rich because he was grateful for everything he had, but he was far from a prosperous man. How many wonderful nights Athir had spent, wide-eyed and listening to Wahib tell stories of the Prophet and his incredible kindness and wisdom. Those memories were some of the best times in his childhood.

  Now that he was becoming a man, he observed the kindness the Prophet taught did not extend toward the kafirs—Jews, Christians, and idolaters. But the way Wahib told the stories, he could believe that kindness was for all men.

  Now that Athir was old enough to earn money, he would come once a week and bring food for Wahib. He planned to look after the old man for the rest of Wahib’s life. In fact, he’d asked Wahib to move in with him, his mother, and his brother, but Wahib had refused, grateful but unwilling to be a burden.

  Athir shuddered. He had to talk to someone, and he trusted Wahib. If Kazim knew what Athir was about to do, he would be terribly angry. It had been made clear to Athir that he mu
st not tell anyone about the kidnapping or where the girls were being kept. But Athir could no longer hold the secrets inside of him. They were eating away at him like a cancer, from the inside out. Wahib would know what to do; he would have an answer.

  When Athir arrived at Wahib’s home, he noticed how badly the paint on the small structure had begun to chip. He wondered why he had not seen it before. But it was no wonder.

  Wahib was growing old. He was old when Athir met him, but now he was probably a little over seventy. It was hard for a man that age to keep everything up. Athir made a mental note that as soon as things settled down with his brothers, he would come and sand down the old paint, and then put a new coat on the little house for Wahib.

  Athir’s hand trembled as he knocked at the wooden door and waited. On the side of the building was a small, stained-glass window. Athir knew that inside the house, this window would catch the last light of day, and the red glass would sparkle across the dirt floor like rubies. This was the window to Wahib’s prayer room. Many times Athir had prayed there, and when he did, he’d felt such peace.

  Wahib opened the door. He wore a loose-fitting shirt and matching pants that had once been white but had long since yellowed with age and use. His long, gray beard was combed and on his head, he wore a black and white keffiyeh made of mostly cotton and some wool that hung loosely about his shoulders and was fastened with an agal.

  Athir handed the package of foodstuff to Wahib and then kissed the old man on both cheeks.

  “As-salamu alaykum,” Wahib said, smiling broadly. “Thank you for this…” he said, indicating the package.

  “As-salamu alaykum,” Athir answered. “No need for thanks, it’s nothing, just a small token.”

  “Come in, my friend. It is so good to see you. Can I offer you some food, something to drink?”

  “No, no thank you…” Athir answered. They spoke to each other in their native Arabic. “I hope you have a few minutes. I need to talk…”

  “Of course. For you, I always have time.” Wahib smiled. “Let’s take a walk. It is a certainly a beautiful night that Allah has blessed us with. We should enjoy it.”