by Nancy Madore
“But…how?” she wondered.
“I’m going to take you to a nearby Bedouin camp,” he told her. “There’s someone there who will take you. However, you must not mention anything that’s happened here or you will put yourself in grave danger. Do you understand?”
Helene nodded, trembling with hope. None of it seemed real—nor did it make any sense—but Helene was in no position to question it. Nor had she any desire to question it. Like a friendly mirage in the middle of a desert she couldn’t resist it. She got in the lieutenant’s car and he drove her to the Bedouin camp, just as he promised.
The camp was not as large as the one she’d visited the day before. This one appeared to be made up of mostly men, but there were a few women and children scattered about. The presence of children fed Helene’s hopes that her nightmare might actually be nearing an end.
All eyes were on Helene as she followed Lieutenant Brisbin into a large tent that was set off to one side. There were three Arabs inside the tent. The lieutenant addressed them in Arabic. They spoke for several long minutes, pausing to cast glances in Helene’s direction from time to time. The men seemed surprised by what the lieutenant was telling them, but they did not appear to be put out in the least. On the contrary, they seemed quite eager to help.
“This man will take you home,” Lieutenant Brisbin said, addressing her at last. A young man stepped forward. “His name is Aabid Al-Zaa’ir.”
“But…I don’t speak Arabic,” said Helene.
“He speaks English,” said the lieutenant. “He is not a Bedouin, he merely enjoys their hospitality when he travels through these parts. He is an old friend of mine who knows the area well. You will be safe with him.” Helene looked at Aabid. He was quite young and seemed very nervous. And terribly shy. He never actually looked at Helene, though his eyes would occasionally dart in her direction. He had large, anxious eyes and full, youthful lips that were topped with a thin layer of hair that would someday become a mustache. None of the men spoke to Helene and she recalled what her father told her about women in Muslim society. Would she be traveling the entire distance with Aabid in silence?
“The Bedouins require your assurance that you are willing to go with Aabid before they will condone it,” continued the lieutenant.
Helene turned to the two older men who were keenly watching her and nodded. “Yes, I will go with Aabid,” she told them, anxious to get away from Lieutenant Brisbin.
“Very good,” said the lieutenant. He said something to the men in Arabic and then turned back to her. “Well, Helene,” he said with an unpleasant light shining in his eyes—“Until we meet again.”
“Goodbye,” Helene replied, cringing at the thought of ever seeing him again.
“Be sure and do as Aabid tells you, and you’ll be safe.”
The two older men followed Lieutenant Brisbin out of the tent and—Helene hoped—out of her life forever.
Chapter 37
Present Day
It was just past lunchtime, but it felt like midnight if you looked outside, and they were all munching noisily on potato chips.
“How did you know it was Lilith they conjured?” Nadia suddenly wondered.
“Our people came in shortly after Lieutenant Brisbin and his men cleaned everything up,” explained Gordon. “News of four missing persons was just getting out, along with rumors of the discovery at Qumran. Considering that two of the missing persons were archaeologists, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. Fragments of Lilith’s Book of the Dead were left at the sight, where they also found remnants of the metal shavings. There could only be one reason for leaving the book behind; the Nephilim soul it was written for—Lilith—had already been conjured.”
“Our operatives originally assumed that all four of the missing persons were killed,” said Will. “But then word got out of a young woman fitting Helene Trevelyan’s description at a nearby Bedouin camp.”
“One survivor…and it’s a female,” said Clive. “And one missing djinn…also a female.”
“You can see why they flagged Helene to Lilith,” said Will. “And they were able trace her to Aabid Al-Zaa’ir in Saudi Arabia.”
“Which makes the perfect hiding place,” said Clive. “It’s next to impossible to get near women there. One of our operatives got close, but she hid behind her husband, too afraid—or guilty—to talk.” He eyed Nadia stubbornly, obviously reluctant to let go of his long held conclusions about her grandmother.
“It’s hard for anyone who hasn’t been to Saudi Arabia to imagine how difficult it is to get near women there,” said Gordon. “Everything goes through their husband or father, or lacking one of those, a brother or other relation. They’re forbidden to speak to any man outside their family, and strongly discouraged from speaking to women outside their mosque. This applies to everything…even a court of law. In a murder investigation—they would rather protect a woman’s modesty than to solve the crime.”
“Anyway, a woman’s testimony isn’t worth much over there,” added Clive. “Only half that of a man’s.”
“If she didn’t hide there by choice, Lieutenant Brisbin effective silenced her forever by leaving her in the hands of that Arab,” said Will. “Yet why wouldn’t he just kill her? He had to have a reason for keeping her alive.”
“Maybe Lieutenant Brisbin wasn’t directly involved,” Nadia suggested, instinctively rejecting any suggestions that her grandmother might have been a djinn. “Maybe he was just covering up for the Arabs, which would explain his reluctance to kill Helene.”
“He read Helene’s letter to Edward,” Will reminded her. “He quoted from it.”
“Yes, but the Arabs could have shown him that as proof of their allegations that they were stealing their artifacts,” said Nadia.
Will eyed her skeptically.
“That still leaves Butch,” Clive reminded her.
“My grandmother never stopped wondering what happened to him,” said Nadia.
“It’s like he disappeared into thin air,” said Clive. “Which puts a serious dent in your theory about Lieutenant Brisbin’s supposed reluctance to kill.”
“We’ll have to track Brisbin down,” said Gordon. “His name wasn’t even mentioned in the original file.”
Clive glanced at his watch and shook his head. “Here it is Monday—in Saudi at least—and we’ve got nothin’! New York is only seven hours behind us. Our cell’s about to dive head on into a shit-storm and there isn’t a damn thing we can do about it!”
Will and Gordon exchanged looks. “What are we missing?” Will asked no one in particular.
Gordon raised a finger. “We know the cells were put on alert early Friday morning,” he said, then raised a second finger. “We know that the mission references Lilith twice, indicating a clear connection to the djinn found in Qumran and Nadia’s grandmother.” He raised a third finger. “We know that a seminar in LA—sponsored by BEACON—is either the target or an intermediate point.” He raised a fourth finger. “We have reason to believe it’s a suicide mission involving biological weapons instead of bombs.” He raised his fifth and final finger. “And we know that it begins Monday afternoon with our cell flying out to LA.” Gordon stopped there, possibly because he ran out of fingers.
“She’s been instructed which classes to attend,” said Will, picking up where Gordon left off. “Why would they do that?”
“I still think she’ll be picking up the rest of her instructions at that class,” said Gordon.
“Or else that’s where she’ll be picking up the infection,” said Clive.
“It would be great if it were that easy,” said Will. “The instructors for those classes are under surveillance as we speak. They’ll be intercepted and replaced with special operatives at the last minute. So far, they haven’t found any evidence of an infectious disease among them.”
“The missing purification ritual is a puzzle too,” said Clive. “No self-respecting extremist would infect themselves without that r
itual. Why didn’t they mention it?”
“Maybe they’re planning to cover that in the seminar,” suggested Gordon.
“Yeah, but these cells need to get in the right frame of mind, you know?” said Clive. “They need to get fired up! You don’t just snap your fingers and bang! You’re ready to die. You need preparation…platitudes, promises, prayers. It doesn’t happen in a day.”
Nadia jumped off the couch, spraying potato chips in all directions. “Your cell isn’t participating in the attack!” she cried.
They all looked at her in surprise. “You mean she’s a decoy,” clarified Will in that tone that said, ‘we already thought of that.’
“No!” insisted Nadia. “I mean…she is kind of a decoy actually, but what I’m trying to tell you is that maybe she’s not going to the mission, she’s going from it!” She looked at them expectantly and then tried again. “Escaping the Goddess of Death…as in escaping the plague, or whatever it is they’re planning.”
She had their full attention now. After a few seconds of stunned silence, the men turned to look at each other.
“Where does your cell live?” Nadia continued. “Where is she flying from?”
“DC,” Clive answered meaningfully.
“Oh my god!” Nadia’s blood felt like it was turning to ice. She scanned her memory for upcoming events. “The…the…World Bank Meetings! I think they’re being held this week! Check! Check!” She yelled at Will, who was already punching buttons on his phone.
“They are.” he said. “All week.” He held up his finger for them to be silent as he lifted the phone to his ear, but then he appeared to change his mind, getting up and abruptly leaving the room.
“How the fuck did we miss that?” asked Clive.
No one said anything for a few minutes and then Gordon remarked—“I bet if we look at everyone flying out of DC on Monday we’ll find a virtual army of sleeper cells making their escape.”
Clive nodded. “Obviously they want to keep enough of their little soldiers alive for whatever they have planned afterwards.”
“They only need a few people to infect the city,” Gordon agreed.
“Why waste all that talent?” added Clive.
Gordon began pushing buttons on his phone. “Who would you say has the easiest access to those flight records Clive…the FAA?” he asked.
Will returned, visibly upset. A vein in his jaw was twitching erratically. But when he spoke his voice was as controlled as ever. “This World Bank thing starts Tuesday. The meetings are taking place in various locations throughout the city. All the big players will be there; high level execs from banks, big business and even the colleges. There’ll be politicians from all the industrialized countries and some from developing countries looking to network. These meetings epitomize the western influence. I can’t believe we didn’t think of it sooner. It’s almost too obvious.”
“And too big?” added Clive with meaning.
Something like anger flashed in Will’s blue eyes, but it passed too quickly for Nadia to be sure. “Yeah, it will be too big to shut down without more than what we have. People have been flying in from all over the world. And none of the other intel divisions have found anything to suggest that DC is the target—although they had already been planning to beef up security because of LA being on high alert. Still…it’s not enough.” He looked at Nadia. “We need more.”
Nadia wasn’t sure she had anything more to give.
“But…seriously…shouldn’t you be doing something more than just…listening to stories?” she asked.
“Like we told you before, there are other intel ops at work, chasing every lead we give them,” Will reminded her. “What we need is more leads. It’s gonna take more than just a hunch to get them to stop those meetings. Your grandmother got us this far, so let’s just keep following her and see where else she takes us, okay?”
Nadia recalled how emphatically her grandmother implored her to go back when she had her out-of-body experience. Was her grandmother trying to help them somehow?
“I texted the office,” Gordon told Will. “I know we have more pressing issues at the moment, but I went ahead and ordered a search of the people flying out of DC today and tomorrow. For later.”
“Good thinking,” said Will.
“I just feel like we should be doing something,” insisted Nadia. “And if you call me Nancy Drew again I’m going to slap you,” she said to Clive, but he seemed too preoccupied to make jokes.
“We are doing something,” Will told her. His blue eyes remained fixed on her face even though he addressed Gordon and Clive. “Pack everything up guys. We’re leaving.”
Nadia gasped. “We’re going to DC?”
“No. Back to New York.”
Nadia could hardly believe her ears. “Oh my god!” she cried.
“When’s the jet getting here?” asked Clive.
“It’s not,” said Will. “We’re meeting it in Tabouk. We have a stop to make before we go back.”
Gordon and Clive exchanged looks, and then all three of them looked at Nadia.
“Looks like you’re finally going to get to meet your grandfather,” said Clive with a smirk.
Nadia turned to Will for confirmation.
“He probably won’t speak to us, but I’m sure he’ll agree to see you,” said Will. He seemed pleased to be able to do this for her, although Nadia realized that it wasn’t really for her. They wanted information. “Someone will meet us when we get there.”
“How far is it from here?” she asked, growing more excited with every minute that passed.
“About four hours away,” said Gordon.
“Just enough time for you to tell us the rest of Helene’s story,” said Clive.
Chapter 38
December 1948
There was a soft rustling noise beside her and Helene turned to find the young man, Aabid Al-Zaa’ir, standing there, holding a small, black bundle in his hands. Helene eyed him warily. He looked even younger than she originally thought, but his expression was that of a much older man. His blackish-brown hair was mostly hidden beneath his turban, but small, dark curls peeked out from under the grayish material. He had large, dark eyes, a faint, neatly trimmed mustache and smooth, chestnut-brown skin. He smiled encouragingly as he gently thrust the bundle at Helene, and she noticed that his teeth were exceptionally white.
Helene stared at the cloth bundle, unsure of what he wanted her to do with it, but he stubbornly pressed it into her hands. “Wear it,” he insisted. “It’s for your protection.”
Helene shook it out and examined it. The material was as light and shapeless as a sheet. She supposed it wouldn’t hurt to put it on and, in fact, it might be nice to escape the curious stares of these people for a while. With a sigh of resignation she pulled the garment over her head, taking several minutes to get it positioned correctly. There was a little flap in the front that she knew went over her nose and mouth, but she wasn’t sure how to attach it. Aabid approached her cautiously and gently took the flap from her bungling fingers. Within seconds it was securely fastened.
“This is a niqab, which you must wear with the khimar whenever you are in the presence of men,” he told her.
“I thought men weren’t supposed to talk to women,” she said.
Aabid’s eyes narrowed as he examined her face. “That is correct,” he said. “But I am your guardian now, so we are permitted to speak to each other.”
“How can you be my guardian?” Helene asked. “You’re barely older than I am.”
He frowned. “You must learn to control your tongue,” he advised her gently. “It is not permitted for you to speak in that way.”
“In what way?” she asked.
“Without respect,” He replied. “You must be respectful at all times, especially in the presence of men.”
“Why ‘especially in the presence of men’?” she asked.
Her question appeared to puzzle him. “Women cannot show disrespect to men.
”
“Why not?” she persisted.
“Because it is haraam…forbidden, by Allah.”
“Allah,” she repeated thoughtfully, wondering how she was supposed to argue with that. “And anyway, what’s so disrespectful about what I said?”
Aabid was quickly becoming exasperated. It was apparent that he was not used to being questioned—at least not by a woman. “It’s…your tone of voice…and your manner. And your questions. Women do not question men!”
With every word he uttered, Helene was becoming more and more apprehensive—and homesick. She couldn’t help thinking of Edward and how freely she was able to speak with him. He actually enjoyed her straight-forward, slightly sarcastic—and sometimes downright bossy—manner. On the rare occasions when they argued, Edward was always the first to give in.
But she didn’t have the strength to argue at the moment. “All I want is to go home,” she said with a little sigh of resignation.
“We will leave presently,” he announced in a commanding voice, as if it had been his idea, and then picked up her suitcase and carried it outside before she could respond. Helene followed him to a scruffy, sad-looking little donkey, where he was rearranging bundles that were hanging on either side of the animal’s back. He added Helene’s suitcase to the load, moving with a confidence and efficiency that was unusual in a person so young.
“Come,” Aabid said, holding out his hand to Helene, and she realized then that he expected her to get on the donkey. She took a step backwards, but the determined gleam in his eyes told her that he would forcibly place her on the animal if he had to. She ignored his hand and approached the donkey herself, but it wasn’t as easy to mount as she anticipated, especially while wearing the khimar. After several failed attempts, Aabid approached her from behind, picked her up and set her on the donkey riding side-saddle. Ignoring her efforts to get comfortable, Aabid took her hands and firmly placed them on the bridle. Without giving her a chance to object he began leading them out of the Bedouin camp. Lieutenant Brisbin had gone, but a crowd of Bedouins gathered to see them off. A few of the men shouted something to Aabid in Arabic and, although Helene didn’t understand what they said, she could feel her face growing hot from the manner in which they said it. She was suddenly glad for the khimar.