The Syrian
Felicia Mires
COPYRIGHT
First published in USA May 2013
Copyright © Felicia Mires
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be circulated in writing of any publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This book has been produced for the Amazon Kindle and is distributed by Amazon Direct Publishing
To my husband Gene, who always comes to my rescue.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
The Blood Plague Chapter 1
Forward
Though I've spent years researching the Mossad, I always wish I knew more. I hope you enjoy this tribute to one of the world's finest intelligence agencies. Jehovah's blessing on David's Mighty Men.
"Without guidance do a people fall, and deliverance is in a multitude of cousellors." Proverbs 11:14
Shalom
Chapter 1
The confrontation hung before Natasha Kelly like a guillotine. Her parents waited at the table, the meal long over, though the appetizing aroma of cashew chicken hung in the air.
Natasha glanced around her kitchen as if the pale blue walls and smooth granite countertop could bring inspiration. English Ivy twisted across the top of the window beside the yellow stenciled tulips her mother had helped her paint.
Behind Natasha, the bay window provided a view of the cedar deck Katir had built last summer. Her brother was quite the handyman. The landscaping around the deck dazzled the eye with just the right blue, purple and pink flowers.
Her home offered tranquility and rest, yet she was leaving to face terrorists. Again.
The coffeepot sizzled as a last drop hit the hotplate.
She grimaced. Even coffee with the Bedouin sheik hadn't changed her views on the foul-tasting brew, but she kept her mother's liquid life for gatherings such as this.
Now that she'd placed the last plate in the dishwasher, she could delay no longer. With a cup of steaming coffee in hand, she returned to the table.
"Here ya go, Mom."
"Mmm, thanks, sweetie."
Her father smiled, reaching a hand toward her. "You're going back, aren't you?"
"I have to."
Her mother stiffened. "Why?"
What a combination. Tall, athletic father, salt and pepper hair and a bold faith that moved mountains. And her petite mother who quelled African chiefs with a glance, but mothered hurting multitudes on the mission field. Natasha had received her father's height and her mother's blond hair.
Temperament? She was still working on that one.
"It's a long story. I know you wondered about what happened in Israel…"
"Natasha, I understand you couldn't talk about it when you returned home. And I wouldn't ask now, if you weren't saying you want to go back."
"I know, Mom. When Abram first asked me to find out what happened to his diamond shipments, I had no idea how truly despicable terrorists could be. I mean…things like that happen to other people, not me. The terrorists followed me to Africa, along with MI6, the British secret service." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "I knew nothing of either until my hotel room got ransacked. Then someone chased me down a dark alley and shot at my car. Tennia helped me sneak out of the country by trading identities. I took her place as a flight attendant."
"Another disguise." Warren Kelly grinned. "How in the world did you make your skin dark?"
"Tennia's skin is more chocolate. We used brown make-up on my face and hands, and I wore a wig. It worked, because she'd been wearing the same wig ever since we met up. Everyone saw the wig and dark skin and thought they were looking at Tennia."
"Ingenious."
"Not really, Mom. MI6 tracked me from Africa to Israel with a chip hidden in my compact."
Her father nodded.
"When I reached the Diamond Institute, Abram wasn't around, but his nephew, Yuri, tried to take the diamonds from me. Abram showed up so Yuri shot him." She closed her eyes and saw the scene of Abram's death, the hearty gray-haired man struck down in an instant and the sticky red path coursing down the front of his chest. "There was nothing I could do."
She felt her father's hand grip her arm. "We don't blame you, sweetheart. There was no way you could stop Yuri."
Her eyes popped open. "No, there wasn't. The Mossad agent with Abram couldn't even stop Yuri. David Benjamin took me to a camp in the desert full of agents posing as filmmakers." She shook her head. "Not really posing, they make real movies. You've seen them."
Warren Kelly shot his wife a glance. "Dirk Sloan is British intelligence."
A nervous laugh escaped Natasha's throat. They'd seen the tabloid photos. If only they hadn't read the headlines about her supposed engagement. "Right. That's what brought about all those silly pictures. It was part of his cover."
"You mean you're not going to marry Dirk Sloan?"
"Mom...of course not. Anyway, the CIA, MI6, and the Mossad are part of a joint organization, Trinity Pictures. The Mossad have asked me to work with them…they'll train me in Israel."
Her mother gasped. "You're going to be a spy? Are you giving up your shipping business? What will your brother have to say about all that?"
"No, I've talked to Katir. He said he could handle things indefinitely."
Their faces remained blank. They didn't really understand yet. She'd have to tell the whole story.
"You see, I met someone. An old monk. He had this copy of a Dead Sea Scroll. Not one from the museums, something never published. And it says the Garden of Eden is in Israel."
Her father's eyes lit up. "That makes sense. Israel has to be God's Promised Land for some reason. But why can't we see it?"
"I know this sounds crazy, but it's in another dimension, like the heavenly realms, or angels, or God…everything we can't see."
She forced herself to meet their eyes, drawing reassurance from their intent fascination.
"Whether we believe it or not doesn't matter. There's a Syrian who calls himself Yaakov. He convinced the Arabs and some of the Jews that he can bring Eden to life in Israel. Think of it. All the food problems of the world…over. Israel would have prosperity and respect from the rest of the world.
"But Yaakov really wants the Tree of Life…immortality. He thinks he's the anti-christ or something close to it."
Warren put his arm around his wife as if she needed support. "You're dealing with some powerful evil spirits, Natasha. But you know God is all-powerful. He'll protect you. Your mother and I will pray."
The parental blessing. Relief flooded Natasha's spirit. "I appreciate it. That's why I wanted you to know what was going on. It's a little more serious than Abram's missing diamonds. The terrorists wanted the diamonds for Eden, to pay for their endeavors or stir things up. I'm not sure. Now they've taken that monk, John, as a captive. They need him to translate the manuscript about the scroll."
Her mother leaned forward. "When are you leaving for Israel?"
"As soon as I get a flight."
Natasha set her carry-on in a chair and rested a fond gaze on her parents. "Now, one last time. You've got that number for the agent in the CIA?"
Her mot
her patted her purse. "Got it."
Warren Kelly smiled and took Natasha's hand. "I'm not worried. You shouldn't be either. God is your ever-present help in time of trouble. Your mother and I will pray every day."
Natasha nodded. She knew those prayers had kept her alive the past few weeks.
The airport speaker called Natasha's flight.
"Let's pray once more before you leave."
Natasha listened as her father spoke a blessing over her life…her future. Excitement welled in her spirit. God was leading her along a new path.
They waved goodbye again as she handed her ticket to the stewardess. Natasha tried to ignore the concern apparent from her mother's furrowed brow. But she understood.
Two weeks ago, Natasha had arrived in Houston, looking like she belonged in a hospital. Her face and body had been covered in cuts and bruises from a fall off the side of a mountain and other mishaps. She'd played down the dangers from that investigation, but her parents weren't completely naïve.
Once onboard the plane, she stowed her carry-on in the compartment overhead and took her seat. She half expected a tall, blond, and bronzed Dirk Sloan to walk through the airplane door at the last minute. Four weeks ago, he'd done just that.
She shook her head, causing her long, blond hair to cascade over her shoulder. She didn't want to dwell on the last few weeks. Thinking about Dirk reminded her of Abram…and his nephew, Yuri…whom she'd killed.
No, I didn't kill him. Ok, so I shot him with a tranquilized dart. But he fell off the mountain while trying to kill me.
She really had to deal with these issues, but now was not the time.
Keep your focus on John.
Had Yaakov hurt him in any way? The monk was a very old man. Lord, please keep him safe.
The plane taxied down the runway. Natasha realized she'd watched the hatch, hoping Dirk would miraculously step on the plane. With a deep sigh, she turned toward the window for another pep talk.
I've got to help John. I'm going to Israel, and I'm going to learn how to be an agent for the Mossad.
As the flight attendant began her safety demonstration, Natasha closed her eyes to pray.
Lord, I know we've been over all this, but I need Your peace right now. I can't do this on my own. I don't even want to try. Help me, Lord.
She thought of John. About now, he'd probably be quoting some wonderful scripture to make her feel better. Where was he? He'd risked his life to help her rescue Dirk. Now she hoped to rescue him.
The attendant came by with an evening meal, and Natasha peeled back the lid. A wave of warmth hit her nose with the unappealing aroma of plastic.
She concentrated on the passengers around her instead of the food, though she didn't expect anyone to follow her this time. She didn't interest Yaakov anymore. He had John. But she needed the practice of observing those around her. Her past record at recognizing friend or foe was abysmal. She'd suspected Dirk of being a terrorist then discovered he was British intelligence.
Natasha rose and walked to the restroom to freshen up. The mirror reflected a clear complexion, with no trace of the bruises or contusions hidden under thick make-up. Although her wrenched shoulders and cracked ribs still ached, she moved and walked with no sign of injury.
The Mossad doctor in Israel, and her own doctor at home, said she needed to heal for at least six weeks before attempting any strenuous exercise.
Of course, that was before David called to say Yaakov had abducted John. Natasha would be expected to negotiate rigorous training. Was she up to it?
The seat belt sign flashed, and she returned to her seat. They were landing in London, and she had a connecting flight.
She rushed through the airport, lugging her carry-on, and arrived at her boarding gate as they were closing the entrance. She flung her boarding pass at the attendant and ran down the tunnel to the plane.
An attendant showed her to the correct seat while Natasha scanned the passengers around her. She knew who she wanted to see, but Dirk wasn't there. No reason he should be, either.
While she recuperated at home, he'd written, called, and left messages on her machine. He sent telegrams and flowers. Each message asked her to talk. He was ready to talk. They had something to talk about. But Natasha disregarded them all, not sure she felt capable of having that conversation. She'd already told him everything he needed to know to find the Lord, and she continued praying for him. She couldn't handle close proximity.
In the monastery, when she saw Dirk bleeding and near death, she realized she'd fallen in love with an unbeliever. Even if he became a believer, she didn't see a way they could have a relationship. Too many obstacles separated them. He flew all over the world from one day to the next. He traveled undercover, unable to communicate for long periods of time. He killed people. As a movie star, he spent months at a time with beautiful women at exotic film locations.
That might bother her most. Appalling thought.
Nothing about his life was normal. Celebrity status made him instantly recognizable as evidenced by their one stop at a tourist spot during their mission. People mobbed Dirk, taking pictures, asking for autographs. It hadn't helped when he egged them on with comments about Natasha, destined to drive the public wild. The next day their pictures were splashed across every major newspaper with headlines suggesting they were dating, engaged, or already married.
His last note said he was coming to the States to see her. Obviously, David Benjamin hadn't informed Dirk that Natasha was returning to Israel to be trained by the Mossad. Apparently, the two men didn't tell each other everything. But David could have mixed motives. He'd asked Natasha to consider a relationship with him.
The ding of the pilot's bell alerted travelers to return their seats to the upright position. Natasha straightened and prepared for landing. David had promised to meet her at the airport, so she'd probably get through customs quickly.
She felt a flutter in her stomach at the thought of seeing him. Surprising. Better to ignore the ramifications of that.
She followed other passengers across the hot tarmac toward the terminal. As she reached the building, a man with Jewish kippa and black haredim clothing rounded the side.
In a matter of seconds, Natasha found her head shoved against the building and a large smooth hand pressed tight over her mouth. The intruder held his face so close to hers that other passengers would glance away, assuming them to be reunited lovers.
He effectively hid his actions by placing his body between Natasha and the passing pedestrians. She stared into calm dark eyes though it did nothing to reassure her.
She collapsed in an effort to throw him off. He backed, thrusting a note in her hand.
"Gay avek!" said a rough voice. Then he disappeared around the corner.
Natasha dashed after him, but several planes had disembarked. Passengers meandered everywhere, and no one resembled her attacker.
She looked behind her. The other passengers had entered the terminal, and the flight crew stared after her in confusion. Before they could ask questions, she slipped past them and ran inside.
Near the door, she found a waiting area and gratefully dropped into a chair. When she opened her hand, she saw a small piece of folded white paper. She dropped her travel bag on the floor beside her.
Two dark leather shoes stopped before her. "Natasha, where have you been? I saw your name on the manifest, so I knew you were here. The flight crew has already come through." David Benjamin fired off questions in Hebrew almost faster than Natasha could comprehend. He leaned over for a quick hug then stood. "It's good to see you. What's wrong?"
Natasha tipped her head to peer at his six foot, three-inch frame. "Can't I walk through this airport once without being mauled?"
"Are you in trouble already?"
She briefly described the incident, because she knew he would ask questions over and over.
"All he said was go away…get out of here. Something like that."
"It will be impossible
to find him now, but I'll have security perform a sweep for unauthorized persons outside the terminals. Natasha, if you looked him in the eye, would you say he was your height?"
"Sounds right."
"What color were his eyes?"
"Brown."
"Why did you think he was a Jew?"
"He dressed like one. He had a beard, those payot sidelocks…a little kippa."
"He was haredim?"
"Exactly."
"Perhaps it was a disguise."
She leaned back and closed her eyes. Do men always have to think they know everything?
"Well, David, he spoke Yiddish. He looked Jewish. He sounded Jewish. Obviously, someone who knows I understand Hebrew sent me a message. Why don't we read it?"
"I suppose it's too late to hope for fingerprints?"
"I haven't touched the inside. Why don't you open it?"
Natasha held up her palm, and David removed the slip of paper. With tender care, he opened the folds to reveal the message.
Enter not into the path of the wicked, and go not in the way of evil men. Proverbs 4:14
But it was the signature at the bottom that brought the most consternation.
John
Their heads jerked up and eyes locked. "Natasha, I want you to make a detailed description of that man."
"But, don't you think…"
"We need to get out of here. Have you got any luggage?"
David grasped Natasha's elbow and pulled her along with him.
"Yes. Wait, why are we in such a hurry?" She jumped to maintain his long stride.
"Later. Isn't that your case?" He hefted two matching tapestry bags off the conveyor belt. "All right, anything else?"
Hands on her hips, she shook her head. His boyish expression seemed mischievous, in direct opposition to his earlier concern. She chuckled out loud.
With feigned innocence, he directed a sideways glance at her. "What?"
The Syrian (Natasha Kelly, Mossad Spy) Page 1