by Merry Jones
‘You are. Beautiful.’ Hank had come into the bathroom, stood behind her. Ever so gently, he put his arms around her waist, kissed her neck. His gentleness triggered tears. ‘They said. You won’t scar.’
Wait. Something was wrong. ‘What did you say?’
‘The doctors. Said. Your arms and hand might scar a little. You have some third degree burns there. But not your face.’
Harper gaped.
‘You’ll be okay.’
‘Hank?’ It was all she could manage to say.
‘What? What’s wrong?’
‘You got hit on the head?’
‘Just a bump.’
She put a hand to her mouth, another to his chest. Was it her imagination? Was he talking more clearly? A tear trickled over her crusty skin.
‘Are you in pain?’ His brows furrowed.
She shook her head.
‘Then what?’
‘Nothing. Just you. I missed you.’
Gently, he kissed an uninjured ear. ‘I missed you, too.’
‘Hank. Do you realize? You’re talking better.’ Tears kept coming.
‘No. I don’t think so.’ He hesitated. ‘Am I?’ His mouth opened. He stood, scratched his head. ‘Do you really think so?’
Harper didn’t answer. Her hands were wrapped in gauze; she used it to dab away another tear.
Hank’s speech was almost normal, and nobody knew why. The doctors said it was unusual, but not unheard of, for aphasia sufferers to spontaneously improve. They theorized the injury to his head might have affected the change. They were fascinated, wanted to run tests.
Harper’s delight about Hank’s speech was dulled when Inspector Alon reappeared. He brought a box of halvah, but his manner was somber.
‘You should be in serious trouble.’ He sat opposite her in the visitors’ lounge. ‘You assaulted a soldier and took his weapon. But as it is, four kidnappers were killed and the rest are in custody. The prisoners for the exchange are back in prison. All but three captive symposium members and the limo driver were rescued. The woman you shot intended to cause a disaster, but unintentionally, her bomb thwarted the terrorists and saved many more lives than it took.’ He didn’t smile.
Harper didn’t either. In fact, she glared. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about the hostage situation? I had a right to know that my husband was in danger—’
‘Mrs Jennings.’ Alon shook his head. ‘Keeping you uninformed was not an easy decision, but we thought it best to honor your husband’s request and protect you from the truth for a while. You and your child were safe, guarded by experienced agents—’
‘You mean Hagit? Some agent. She was captured and almost killed – I had to save her.’
‘It wasn’t just Hagit alone. We were focused on the symposium situation, but we also had people watching the rest of the country, including the small religious sect. Bringing you here would only have complicated matters—’
‘My husband’s life was at stake. Even if he asked you to hide that from me, I had a right to know.’
‘I’m sorry, but you didn’t. This is our country, our security, our decisions. We needed to minimize publicity as well as threat. To communicate only as needed. Let me ask you: if we had told you what was happening, what would you have done?’
Harper let out a breath. She got his point.
‘You and I both know you’d have gotten involved and drawn attention to the situation. In fact, as soon as you found out, you ran here like a bat out of hell with no concern for consequences.’
‘Maybe I wouldn’t have if you’d included me in your plans from the beginning.’
Alon leaned forward, elbows on knees. ‘Mrs Jennings. We have quite well trained defense and anti-terrorist forces here. Even with your military background and good intentions, let me remind you again: in this country, you are merely a tourist.’
Harper stiffened. Fuming.
‘In fact,’ Alon sat back, crossing his legs, ‘after killing two men, stealing a jeep and confiscating a soldier’s weapon, if not for my intervention, you’d be in a different hospital. In prison, pending evaluation of your case.’
Harper crossed her arms, remembering her burns only when deep slow pain rolled through them. Cautiously, wincing, she uncrossed them, and looked at the window, saying nothing.
Hank joined them, bringing coffee.
‘What did the doctors say?’ Harper had trouble taking the cup, couldn’t hold it, so she pretended she didn’t want any. ‘No thanks.’
Hank set her cup on an end table. ‘They don’t know what to think. They’re baffled. And cautious.’ He sat beside Harper, touched her less wounded shoulder. ‘But we’ll talk about it later. I don’t mean to interrupt your conversation.’
Harper stared at him, dumbfounded that Hank had just articulated those sentences. Maybe she was dreaming? Or in a coma?
But Inspector Alon seemed real enough. He went on, updating them. The symposium had been put on hold, due to the violence. Relations with Jordan, Egypt, Germany and France hadn’t been helped by the incident, but, in actuality, everyone was thankful that more hadn’t died. And the important work would continue, perhaps with some of the same participants, within the year.
As to Travis’s followers, Jimmy, Wendell, Marlene, Lowell, Frank and Harold and the rest of the church council had been arrested. His other followers had been unaware of the human sacrifices, had been appalled when Travis had died attempting arson and mass murder. After being questioned, they’d been shipped home.
The council members, hoping to obtain clemency, had talked nonstop about Travis’s discovery, translation and interpretation of the Bible code. They’d confirmed that the code had called for the sacrifice of a Christian, a Muslim and a Jew. That Lynne, with Marlene’s help, had conducted the first two offerings in the Jerusalem shuk, but because she’d messed up the locations, the third had been assigned to Peter Watts. When he’d become incapacitated, Travis had taken on the responsibility himself.
‘And tried to sacrifice Hagit,’ Harper added.
‘He would have if not for you.’ Alon sipped coffee.
The council had also revealed Travis’s plans for the car bombs. He’d intended to explode them at designated points in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, near Gaza and Megiddo to spark God’s final conflagration.
‘We knew about Ramsey Travis and his church. We’d gathered intelligence; the group had been assessed but, this time, we underestimated the threat. Until the incident with Hagit, we wrongly thought of Travis as a standard-issue, basically harmless fanatic. You were right, Mrs Jennings. We arrested the wrong man for the murder of the American in the shuk.’
Harper closed her eyes, saw Travis crumble to the ground, consumed by flames. She took a breath, said nothing.
Hank asked about the status of the dig, and Alon told them it was back in operation with a new staff of volunteer college students from all over the world.
A policeman came in, whispered something to Inspector Alon.
‘It seems that I have to go.’ He finished his coffee and stood. ‘I wish you a quick recovery, and a safe return home.’ He met Harper’s eyes for a long moment, shook Hank’s hand, and took his leave.
Hank started to say something, but was interrupted by cheery voices from the hallway. Adi, Yoshi, Gal and Yael rushed in, jabbering and carefully hugging, their arms laden with sunflowers and baskets of spiced nuts and fresh fruit. As he greeted her, Gal handed Harper an envelope containing a cell phone and passport.
With his right arm in a cast, Trent had trouble pouring a drink. But he managed. He seemed reluctant to go to his own room, still shaken and unwilling to be alone.
Chloe shrieked and ran across the room, crashing into his legs, causing his Scotch to splash onto the carpet. Hank scooped her up, carried her like a sack of laundry to the bedroom.
‘Need help?’ He’d already packed, was ready to go. His only significant injury had been to his head; he had a colorful bump and some staples on his scalp.
>
‘No, almost done.’ It wasn’t easy packing with bandaged hands, but Hagit was doing the folding. Harper missed her already. Wasn’t sure how she’d manage to say goodbye.
‘Remember, you’ll Skype with me,’ Hagit told her. ‘You’ll let me know you got home all right. And I’ll teach more songs to Chloe.’
Harper nodded. ‘What will you do with yourself? You’ll be bored without us . . .’
‘No, she’ll be relieved.’ Hank grinned.
‘Geet!’ Chloe reached for her.
‘What are you talking about?’ Hagit stopped folding, took Chloe from Hank, kissed her. ‘I already have my next assignment. I start before your plane takes off.’
‘Really?’ Harper doubted it. Hagit had barely recovered from her injuries. Still had a bright red scar on her forehead, a greenish yellow hue around her eye.
‘Doing what?’ Hank handed a stack of t-shirts to Harper. ‘More babysitting?’
‘You know I can’t tell you. I’m a secret agent.’
‘I thought you were retired.’
Hagit smirked. ‘And I thought you were smart enough to recognize a lie.’
Harper met her eyes. Saw a glint. Were Hagit’s eyes tearing?
‘Okay. That’s the end of packing. Now, I have to go.’ Hagit gave Chloe a squeeze. Handed her back to Hank. Kissed him on both cheeks. Took Harper’s less burned hand, kissed her less burned cheek. ‘Take care of yourself, Harper. And your family. I wish you well.’
Harper wasn’t prepared, hadn’t expected Hagit to leave so abruptly. She tried to collect thoughts. What could she say? She held Hagit’s hand, met her eyes. ‘Thank you.’ The words seemed lame.
‘Don’t forget to wear your hamsa. Hang one in your house . . .’
‘Hagit, still with the hamsas? After all that’s happened? The hamsas didn’t protect us—’
‘Of course they did.’
‘Yours didn’t help you. Travis nearly killed you—’
‘Nearly. I’m still here, aren’t I?’
Harper sputtered. ‘What about me? The explosion almost—’
‘Yes, almost. What’s wrong with you?’ Hagit shook a finger, scolding. ‘Can’t you see what would have happened if you hadn’t been protected? The Evil Eye is watching. It follows you. Remember. Wear your hamsa.’
Harper couldn’t help smiling.
‘Why are you smiling? It’s not a joke. Wear it. Promise me.’
She lost the smile, made a somber face. ‘I promise.’
‘Good. Have a safe trip home. Shalom.’ She turned to go.
‘Shalom,’ Hank repeated.
Shalom? Really? Harper’s throat thickened. She held onto Hank’s arm, walking Hagit to the door. Chloe began repeating ‘Shalom’, singing bits of the goodbye song she’d learned in the nursery. Trent stood and held up his drink, toasting as Hagit walked by, wishing her well. Hank opened the door; Harper gave one last gentle hug.
And then, the door closed. Chloe kept singing, but Hagit was gone.
Harper blinked away another tear.
‘You okay?’ Hank watched her. Chloe squirmed; he set her down to scramble around.
Harper sniffed, composed herself. Nodded. Of course she was okay.
‘We have a few hours. Why don’t you rest?’
Harper thought about it, realized she had an errand to run. ‘No, let’s go to the shuk.’
‘The shuk?’ Hank looked doubtful, eyeing her bandages.
‘For souvenirs.’
Trent volunteered to watch Chloe. So, twenty minutes later, Hank and Harper were in the shuk, walking slowly past booths selling rugs, jewelry, water pipes, clothing, spices, nuts, flowers and fruit.
Vendors called to them, offering bargains and treasures.
Finally, Harper stopped at a display of hamsas.
‘I’ll give you a special price, to show my wishes for you to heal.’ The vendor eyed Harper’s bandages. ‘Three bracelets, ten shekels.’
‘No, that’s too much—’
‘Okay, I want you to be happy. For you, I’ll give three bracelets for eight.’
They haggled, quibbled, finally reached an agreement. Hank didn’t have cash, so he used his credit card to buy fifteen hamsas: six key chains, six charm bracelets, three pendants, for a total of two hundred shekels, somewhere over sixty dollars.
Finally, for the last time, they left the shuk. Back at the hotel, they collected Trent and Chloe. Harper tried to put their purchases into their carry-ons but the bag of hamsas slipped out of her bandaged hands. Picking them up, she looked at the receipt.
‘Damn.’
‘What?’
‘Didn’t we agree on two hundred shekels? Look at this.’
Hank looked. In loopy scrawled numerals, the receipt said three hundred.
His eyebrows raised. He shifted Chloe to his other arm. ‘Son of a gun. Ahmed soaked us.’
‘What time is it?’ Harper started for the door. ‘Let’s go back—’
‘Harper, relax. We got taken.’
‘So, let’s get untaken.’ Harper stuffed the hamsas into her bag. ‘I don’t like being a chump. Let’s go straighten that guy out.’
Hank smiled. ‘You’re real intimidating with your bandages.’
‘Come on, Hank, it’s not right—he probably cheats unsuspecting tourists all the time.’
Hank nodded. ‘I bet he does.’ Setting Chloe down, he wrapped Harper in his arms. Harper smelled his shaving cream. Suddenly, settling things with the vendor didn’t seem all that important. What mattered was her family, her friends. And, if those hamsas could keep them safe, then they’d be well worth the extra money. Not that she believed that Evil Eye nonsense.
But wearing the hamsas wouldn’t hurt.
