Hannah and the Magic Eye

by Tyler Enfield

  “Perfect,” he whispered to himself.

  Now for the fun part.

  He turned on the camera, just as Hannah had shown him. Peering through the viewfinder, he saw that the exposure settings were visible along the bottom:

  f.8 80 600

  Hannah had done her part correctly—for these were the same numbers Henri had written beneath the illustration.

  With everything in place, Clooney snapped the photo and he was done. Easy.

  He was looking at the buttons on the back of the camera, trying to figure out which button would allow him to review the photo he’d just taken, when someone tapped his shoulder.

  Clooney turned around, and his heart jumped into

  his throat.

  There they were, staring right back at him. Clooney tried to speak, but no words escaped his mouth.

  “Thought you could get away?” said the biggest of the

  four boys.

  Clooney’s only thought was to run.

  r

  Hannah sat on the bench in the plaza, worrying, observing the people entering and exiting the Dome. Clooney had only just gone in and already her heart was drumming with impatience. How long would it take Clooney to locate the proper angle? And what if he couldn’t? And what if he accidentally changed the camera’s settings?

  So many things could go wrong, and yet there was nothing she could do. Hannah had to let go. Just relax she told herself. Clooney knows what he’s doing.

  Just then, she noticed four young men strolling across the plaza. There was no mistaking them. It was the same four thugs Clooney claimed to have swindled—the same ones they had run from in the alleys and only barely escaped.

  “Oh no!” she whispered aloud, standing up in alarm, her fingernails biting into her palms. She watched the young men remove their shoes before the shrine. They went in.

  Hannah panicked. She had to warn Clooney. But what could she do? With no time for a plan, Hannah pulled the veil tight about her head till only her eyes could be seen and raced for the shrine.

  When she reached the doors, she kicked off her sandals and kept her head low, avoiding the eyes of the guards and swept past them and into the Dome.

  I’m inside, she thought. Even Professor Weisman had never made it this far. She was inside the Dome of the Rock, and it was beautiful, and no one had prevented her entry, and then she saw Clooney standing before all four thugs. She couldn’t hear what was said, but Clooney raised a hand, as if to calm them. He took a step back. She saw one of the thugs snatch the journal from Clooney’s hand and she cried out—she actually cried out. With no other thought than to get the journal back, Hannah thrust herself between Clooney and the thugs and grabbed the journal with both hands.

  “That’s mine!” she hissed, yanking back on the book.

  “Hannah! Quiet!” whispered Clooney. “Everyone is looking!”

  “Not! Until! I get! My journal back!”

  She yanked harder, and then all at once the young man let go and Hannah fell back on her rear. The thugs turned tail and sprinted out the doors, leaving Hannah on the floor with her journal.

  Clooney looked at her with horror and amazement.

  “I got it,” she breathed, standing up and brushing herself off. “I got the journal.”

  “But your hair!” he gasped.

  Hannah lifted a hand to her head and immediately knew what was wrong. Her veil had fallen back when she hit the floor. Now she stood in the center of the shrine, journal in hand, her head completely exposed with her blonde hair shining for all to see.

  She quickly pulled the veil over her head but it was too late. With all the commotion, everyone was already watching. Everyone had seen. Before she could even slip the journal into her backpack, a Waqf guard had her and Clooney each in his grip.

  “You will come with me,” he said in a voice so calm and emotionless, Hannah knew not to test him. Without another word, the guard marched them out the tall double doors and toward a fate Hannah dare not imagine.

  r

  Inside the small administration building of the Waqf authorities, located just off the Temple Mount plaza, Hannah and Clooney sat in white plastic chairs in an office. The office was baking hot. A tired fan huffed warm air about the walls, turning left, then right, then left again, lifting puffs of paper upon the desk with each rotation.

  The official on the other side of the desk was an older man, Palestinian, wearing a dark suit and glasses. If his hair was shaved any shorter he would be bald. His eyebrow was more like a mustache on his forehead, having grown into one bushy mass. He had a strong, sharp nose and impatient dark eyes. On the whole, it was a humourless face that said Iqbal Hazdeen, the owner of this desk, took his job very, very seriously.

  “Are we under arrest?” asked Hannah.

  Mr. Hazdeen sorted through the papers on his desk. He began writing in a file. Without looking up, he said, “Not yet, but you will be shortly. We have contacted the police, and they will be here soon.”

  Hannah couldn’t believe she was being arrested. She wasn’t a bad child. Would she go to jail? And what about Clooney, would he go to jail too?

  “This is my fault,” she said. “Please let Clooney go.”

  “Clooney?” the man gave her a puzzled look. “You mean this boy? Samir Yusef?”

  She nodded, and Mr. Hazdeen returned to his files, writing furiously. He said, “Samir Yusef was your guide. Your accomplice. As a Muslim, Samir knows better than to assist a non-Muslim into the shrine. He is as guilty as you.”

  Mr. Hazdeen closed the first file and opened a second one. He turned to Hannah.

  “Your name?” he said.

  She told him, and Mr. Hazdeen wrote it down in the file.

  “And your father, where is he?”

  “Dead.”

  “Your mother then. Where is your mother?”

  “Brussels.”

  “Brussels?”

  “Belgium. In Europe. My mother is in Europe.”

  “Who is looking after you?”

  “No one.”

  Mr. Hazdeen gaped at her as though she were an alien. “You are alone?” he said. “How are you here, alone in Jerusalem?”

  Hannah looked down, saying nothing.

  She could feel Mr. Hazdeen staring at her, waiting for her answer. Finally he closed the file. “Very well. You do not need to answer me, as I have no jurisdiction within Israeli law. But when the police arrive you will be properly arrested. And when they ask you questions, I suggest you give answers.”

  Hannah shared a look with Clooney. They didn’t need to speak. Each knew what the other was thinking.

  Police meant Andrepont. Andrepont meant Cancellarii.

  They were doomed.

  There was a knock on Mr. Hazdeen’s office door. “Yes?” he called.

  An assistant poked his head in. He announced an Israeli police officer had arrived. Mr. Hazdeen gave Hannah a look of cold venom and exited the office. Out in the hall, she could hear him speaking with the officer. Mr. Hazdeen was explaining that Hannah had, as a non-Muslim, snuck into the Dome of the Rock. A grave offence. And Clooney had been her guide, which was nearly as bad. He demanded the police officer arrest them both immediately.

  In response, the officer explained that it was an unfortunate situation. He wished Hannah and Clooney had been more respectful of Islamic custom and the guidelines set out by the Waqf. But the truth was, the police officer continued, no Israeli law had been broken. There was nothing he could do.

  “Nothing you can do? But this is a absurd!” raged Mr. Hazdeen.

  “I am sorry,” the officer replied. “I understand your viewpoint, but it’s simply not a police matter unless a state law has been broken.”

  Hannah couldn’t believe her luck. They were actually going to walk free!

&nbs
p; After a moment, the officer offered a suggestion. “Mr. Hazdeen, if you like, I can have a talk with the children,” he said. “I can give them a bit of scare, so they understand the seriousness of the matter. Perhaps keep them from trying something like this again.”

  Hannah heard Mr. Hazdeen grumble in agreement and then the door to the office opened. The police officer stepped in and took one look at Hannah and then paused, looking at her, and Hannah knew in that instant that everything was not all right. She would not be walking free. From the look in the officer’s eye, she knew he recognized her.

  He’s seen my picture, she thought. He knows exactly who I am.

  If she had any doubts, they were wiped away in that moment, for the officer said, “Would you happen to be Hannah Dubuisson, by chance? The granddaughter of Henri Dubuisson?”

  Hannah felt her stomach rise into her throat. She nodded.

  Keeping his eyes glued on Hannah, he called the station on his radio. When dispatch responded, he said. “Remember that girl we’re looking for? The Dubuisson child? Well, you can tell the inspector we found her. That’s right. I have her now. Tell Andrepont we’re on our way.”

  r

  Hannah sat in the back of the police car. The officer hadn’t handcuffed her, which she was eternally grateful for. He hadn’t turned his siren on either. As they drove through the downtown district of modern Jerusalem, all she could think was, I can’t believe I’m arrested. I can’t believe I’m arrested.

  Clooney was set free. Apparently Andrepont had no interest in him because the officer simply told Clooney to clear out. To be a good kid and not cause any more trouble with the Waqf. Before Clooney had left, he made hand signals to Hannah, showing he would head to the police station and try to meet up with her there.

  “I have information,” Hannah told the officer in the front seat. He glanced in the rearview mirror, but said nothing. “I have information about some very dangerous criminals, right here in Jerusalem. One of them is a professor at the university.”

  “Save it for the inspector,” the officer said.

  Hannah was petrified with fear. Her hands trembled. She couldn’t steady her breath. She was going to jail. She was actually going to jail. And if she were in jail, no one would rescue Henri. The Cancellarii would keep him hostage forever, or worse… get rid of him.

  Hannah had tried so hard to make everything right, but everything was going wrong. Terribly wrong.

  They pulled into the station’s parking lot. The officer opened the rear door and guided Hannah out, but kept a hand on her shoulder as he led her through the station doors, passed the front desk, nodding at the uniformed receptionist, and headed straight down the hall.

  Hannah recalled scenes from movies. The interrogation room. She imagined a dark, empty cell with a single chair and a bright light shining in the prisoner’s eyes. A mean, angry policeman asking question after question until the prisoner gave in and finally told him everything he wanted

  to know.

  But this station hall only had offices with glass doors and windows. Hannah peered within and saw people in suits, talking on phones, doing paperwork, with no sign of the terrifying interrogation rooms from her imagination.

  The door at the end of the hall was open, and the officer led Hannah through. And there he was, Inspector Andrepont, sitting at his desk. Waiting for her.

  As soon as she entered, Andrepont rose to greet her. “Please, sit,” he said, indicating the couch against the wall. He almost seemed excited to see her.

  Inspector Andrepont dismissed the officer who had led her in and then gave Hannah a genuine smile. “Mademoiselle Dubuisson,” he said. “I am so glad you are safe. We have much to discuss. But before we begin, I must apologize.”

  An apology? This was not what Hannah had expected. She was speechless.

  “When I first encountered you at your grandfather’s home, I did not intend to frighten you. Though in looking back, I believe that is precisely what happened. I am told I sometimes have that effect. It is the frown, I believe. An unfortunate family trait.” He smiled ruefully. “Nevertheless, it was my intention to help you. It was my promise, in fact. I have promised to help you.”

  “Promised who?” asked Hannah, still on her guard.

  “Your grandfather, of course. The esteemed Henri Dubuisson.”

  “My grandfather? You know Henri Dubuisson?”

  “We are excellent friends,” he explained. “Henri and I go way back. All the way back to Brussels actually. We immigrated to Israel at the same time.”

  “But… how…” Hannah didn’t even know what to ask next.

  “I fear, Mademoiselle Dubuisson, you have had a rough arrival. On top of your grandfather’s kidnapping, you have been chased left, right, and centre, and have no doubt had unfavourable dealings with his old enemy. The Cancellarii. For years they have been tracking him, hoping to discover your ancestor’s ancient secret. Henri first came to me years ago, when he sought to uncover their plot. Since then, we have worked together in attempts to identify the Grand Chancellor and expose their secret society.”

  “But… the journal. When you came to Henri’s apartment, you were looking for his journal.”

  “But of course! That crazy journal is Henri’s life! The only thing he loves more than that journal is you, Mademoiselle. He made me promise to look after both if trouble arose. And clearly it has. Henri became quite suspicious about a week before your arrival. He warned me the Cancellarii might make their move. He said he was being followed.”

  “By Professor Weisman!” she said. “Is that why you were at the university?”

  “Indeed. Once I realized Weisman was the Grand Chancellor, I went to make the arrest. It was quite a coincidence to discover you at the same time.”

  “Did you get her? Is she arrested?”

  “I’m afraid not,” he replied. “Weisman managed to escape. Which means she and her Cancellarii are still out there. They will be looking for you, Mademoiselle, and the journal you carry.” He looked at her now, and she saw genuine concern in his eyes. “I must say, it is an immense relief to see you safe. I feared I had broken my promise to Henri and lost both you and the journal to the Cancellarii. And if you must know the truth, I did not look forward to Henri’s response.” He grinned. “He can be quite…”

  “Passionate,” said Hannah. “He is passionate.”

  “Thank you, a perfect description. Our Henri is passionate. And does not hesitate to speak his mind.”

  “So what now? How will you get Henri back? And capture Weisman and the Cancellarii?”

  He grimaced. “We are working on that.”

  “You don’t know,” she said. “You don’t know where Henri is.”

  “But we will,” Inspector Andrepont assured her. “We still have a few leads. The important thing is that you are safe now. And I am here to help you. But where are you going? Please, sit down!”

  “I know how to get Henri back,” she said, standing to leave. “And I cannot do it from here. I cannot explain any more. I must finish what I have started.”

  “Mademoiselle, even if I had not promised to look after you, I could not let you go free. This is now a police matter. You are in grave danger and are furthermore a child. I cannot allow you to wander the streets.”

  “Inspector Andrepont,” she began. “Who first discovered the identity of the Cancellarii’s Grand Chancellor? You or I?”

  “Well, that would be… you, mademoiselle. I believe you happened upon that information first.”

  “Correct. And who,” continued Hannah, “has managed to stay one step ahead of the Cancellarii? And the police force, too, I might add?”

  “I confess, you have done very well for a child. All things considered.”

  “And who was entrusted with this journal? And knows how to read it? And therefore has the clues needed to fi
nd the treasure, and so Henri as well?”

  Inspector Andrepont appeared distinctly unhappy. “You,” he said.

  “And who,” said Hannah, “is the only person with an actual plan for getting Henri back?”

  Inspector Andrepont stared at Hannah, his fingers drumming the edge of his desk.

  “You have made your point.”

  “Admit it, Inspector. I am your best chance of finding Henri. Keeping me here is to no one’s advantage.”

  Andrepont studied her and then shook his head in defeat. “I should have known Henri’s granddaughter would be stubborn as an ox. You have his eyes, do you know that?”

  She said nothing. A far off voice in her mind whispered, you have the magic eye…

  “Henri has the strongest disposition of any man I’ve known,” he continued. “A good friend to have. But not an easy one. Something tells me you aren’t going to give up on this, are you?”

  Hannah held his gaze. “Are you going to stop me?”

  He sighed, opening his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I am an officer of the law. My hands are tied. If I gave a child permission to leave this station, with no supervision, I would lose my job in a heartbeat.”

  He paused, giving her a significant look. “However,” he said. “I must now make a photocopy of your file. The photocopier is all the way down the hall. It is a long walk. And while at the photocopier, I may stop to chat with a friend or two. I may even get a cup of coffee. It could take me ten, perhaps even fifteen minutes before I return…”

  He continued looking at her, making sure Hannah understood. Then Inspector Andrepont grabbed the file and stood.

  He nodded meaningfully and headed out the door.

  Hannah couldn’t believe it. Andrepont was letting her go. Technically, she would be escaping, still running from the law, but she knew Andrepont wouldn’t stop her. She took two business cards from his desk. One card she placed in her backpack. On the second card, she wrote: