Seeing Double: An Elisabeth Reinhardt Novel

by Nancy Alexander

  For the life of her she could not comprehend how this had happened. Her mind traveled back to her childhood, how the ‘pact of five’ had vowed to help solve the problems between their two countries. They were idealistic, filled with hope and passion. Their friend Yosef, her brother Hakim and his wife Hadara had indeed gone on to solve many of these international problems; her brother Abdullah too had traveled a righteous but different path. She was the only one of them who had not gone on to help solve world problems but all five of them still proclaimed loyalty to The Olive Branch. None had forgotten or betrayed their commitment. Through the years they had been working together in secret toward the betterment of their world and now this had happened.

  Could it be an accident? A coincidence? No, she didn’t believe it was a coincidence. No they were targeted for some reason. Something had happened that had pointed the finger of fate toward her, her child, her family. Jamila was a traditional Lebanese woman. She lived by the Koran and the principles of her people. She lived in her parents’ home, cared for them as they aged, helped run the family business and raise her children all according to the scriptures and the rule of Allah. Jamila, along with her brothers, had been educated at the best schools both here and abroad. An avid reader, she kept informed about world politics, economics and governmental policies. She followed the news about her own government closely.

  Lebanon is a democracy with both a Prime Minister who heads the Council of Ministers which holds Executive Power in the government and a President, who is elected by the Parliament. For the past 12 years, her brother Hakim, held an important governmental job and had served as ‘public policy advisor’ to two Prime Ministers. His job often involved clandestine travel to attend top-secret meetings across the globe on behalf of the Prime Minister.

  Frowning, she looked across at her brother and wondered if this could be laid at his feet. He was important. He was in the spotlight, not her and not her little Saroyah. She wondered if he had done something to enrage the Prime Minister so much he would order this kidnapping? And this was no ordinary kidnapping. There had been no ransom demand, no contact. If the kidnappers didn’t want money but wanted something else they didn’t seem to want it from her and Gamil or did they? Her eyes wandered over to her restless husband. She frowned. He too worked for the government. He hobnobbed with important people every day. He worked with important secrets involving money and deals. How could she be sure he wasn’t involved in this somehow? Would he tell her if he were? She stared at him through tear weary eyes and felt sick.

  A betrayal loomed somewhere and it had to be connected to this family, who else would even know about her little girl? As she listened to the discussion in the background, Jamila was overrun with feelings she had never before experienced; anger, paranoia, suspiciousness, even vindictiveness. She didn’t know who to trust. She didn’t know who had betrayed her, but as she looked around her living room, she felt certain it was someone close by. Jamila had always been a peaceful woman, never raising a hand in anger, rarely raising her voice above a conversational tone, but now she felt a murderous rage. She could kill whoever had caused harm to her child. She didn’t know who that was, but when she found out, nothing would stop her from seeking revenge.

  The Great One listened carefully as the plan was outlined. Part of him, the Holy Man, was grieved at the use of a child in this complex manipulation they were about to launch. That part of him abhorred the plan but there was another part of The Great One that was pragmatic and militant, a strategist, a master manipulator of organizations and countries. He had insisted that the child not be harmed, but also realized that this child had it in her power to bring down their newly founded organization. While no one knew exactly what she had heard, it was clear she had in her power to reveal enough of their plan to lead the authorities to their doorstep. He was assured repeatedly that the child was being well cared for and that she would not be harmed at least until he ordered them to kill her. Yet he could see that alive she provided the needed leverage. Her family and some of her relatives had considerable power and influence in their countries not to mention money. Money and power were crucial to a movement such as his. Money permitted them to complete their mission, Allah's mission, to achieve world dominance. In his mind he saw that the future of his grand scheme could boil down to one little girl.

  How ironic that a child could be the key to success or failure. It was portentous that the one time he broke his own rule never to hold meetings outside of his own campsite this happened. It must be a message from Allah, he thought. He had ignored the advice of his advisors and broken with his established principles.

  He wondered momentarily if he had been betrayed and the child had been planted to spy on him but he dismissed these thoughts as ludicrous and extreme. That did not make sense… a little girl as a pawn in some international intrigue? It had been some horrible accident and now he was responsible for the distress of a child. More than that he was responsible for her life and perhaps, he reflected she was responsible for his!

  The Great One believed he was a moral man, fighting a Holy War against infidels and sinners and here a young Lebanese child, innocent by all measures, had been caught up in his secret web. Yes it distressed him. It put him in conflict with his values. He tried to say ‘things happened for a reason’ and that ‘one had to concentrate on the greater good’ but still his heart was heavy. He was distressed by these developments and as if that weren't enough, there had been rumors that there was an infiltrator in his camp. They were just whispers but they worried him. He reasoned it was a risk one took if multitudes of followers were to be allowed to join the movement. Inevitably there would be infiltrators from other camps and groups.

  Many new people had come to join The Sword of Justice. They were the rank and file members living in communities throughout the Arab world. They did the daily work of spreading the word, gathering information, attending rallies, committing acts of terror against the enemy. They carried out the daily work of the organization, they were the worker bees. There were those who did the daily or menial work in the camp, providing the necessities, clothing, food and safety and lastly there was the ‘special circle.’ The important advisors, who thought, decided and led the group. They were the ones who gathered around him now sipping mint tea and talking to each other as he listened. Sitting in a meditative position, head bowed, eyes closed he concentrated on their words and his thoughts. He prided himself on being an excellent judge of character. He believed he could tell a man’s character by the tone of his voice, his breathing and his eyes. Since the meeting started he concentrated on those things, especially on those things he could hear. He listened to their conversation as an eavesdropper, not taking part, not weighing the value or meaning of their words, but listening to the heartbeat behind their words.

  There were men from across the Arab world chosen for many different reasons, sent by governments to find out about his new group, and then there were the former followers of Osama Bin Laden, perhaps looking for new leadership now that their leader was dead. He knew these men had many allegiances and were not completely loyal to him or his goals. He listened to them and put them into categories; those he could trust, those he could not trust and those he was unsure about. Two of the men now sitting in his inner circle would be put to death, he was sure of that, one would be sent away because was not trustworthy enough. But one had captured his interest. He was drawn to this one, a new follower, a young one. Him, he liked. The young man seemed eager and honest. He was smart with fresh, open ideas. He sensed no fear in him, this Rafi Tahan. He was…The Great One thought, the perfect apprentice. He was the prize. He would choose this young one and teach him everything. He would hold him close and groom him to become the next leader of The Sword of Justice; Rafi Tahan was charismatic with a voice of billowing silk. His newest disciple would become The Chosen.

  - 16 -

  LANDINGS HAPPY AND OTHERWISE

  Blinding sun shone through the windows as E
l Al’s Boeing 747 taxied along the tarmac toward the Tel Aviv terminal, engines droned loudly. Upon hearing the pilot’s voice asking passengers "to remain seated with their seatbelts safely fastened” there was rustling of excitement as people readied for departure. The long line inched through the terminal toward Customs where one by one weary travelers presented passports and answered questions. Entering a small booth, the woman offered the guard her passport and official papers indicating that she was a consultant with the Startnet Program in Chicago and had traveled to Israel in order to evaluate children who sought admission to their program. The security guard, who spoke fluent English, had many questions, among which was where she intended to stay and for how long? He was also interested in whether she knew anyone currently living in Israel and if she intended to visit with them during this trip. She told him she had reservations at the Shalom Hotel in Tel Aviv and hoped to stay about 10 days. With a small smile said she had no friends in Israel, but hoped to make some. The guard smiled back and returned her paperwork welcomed her to Israel and gestured her to move forward.

  Loudspeakers cycled through announcements in Hebrew, English, Arabic, Spanish, and French as people retrieved their luggage and struggled through the crowds departing Ben Gurion Airport in various vehicles headed into the sweltering heat. She had just settled into her luxurious room when a sharp knock heralded the arrival of a large bouquet of flowers and a basket of fruit. The greeting card said “Welcome to the Promised Land.” The card was unsigned. After typing a brief text message on her smartphone, Elisabeth Reinhardt settled down to wait.

  The CH 47 whop whopped through the pitch-black desert sky heading toward the US Naval Air Station in Souda Bay, Crete. Known for its reconnaissance missions and air refueling support for Operations Desert Shield, Desert Storm and Iraqi Freedom, Souda Bay was the perfect destination for their undercover mission. It was a safe distance from heavily infiltrated terrorist locations, not that any place was completely safe, but here they would be able to get the supplies and support they needed to complete their tasks. Sol Aaronson checked his watch for the fifth time and spoke into his headset to the pilots. He muttered acknowledgment of their response and leaned against the chopper wall to wait.

  Duqaq Boulos and four other men lay tied and gagged on the vibrating metal floor surrounded by their Israeli captors, guns trained on their sleeping heads. They had been given enough drugs to keep them sedated for several hours, at least until the chopper landed and the men were confined to their cells. The Israelis were feeling good about their mission. They had been able to invade the little ‘safe house’ in Syria and capture the men without a single shot being fired. Every move had been pre-planned and well executed. They owed their success in large part to Mossad’s Emergency Readiness Division. Division teams were trained to launch capture or rescue missions at a moment’s notice. The Division was split into 6 units and each unit had three teams. Each team had 10 members with varied skill sets. They manned computers and made all necessary arrangements with foreign and domestic government agencies, managed equipment like helicopters and firearms while still others managed the flow of information, internal communications and allocated or relocated people as needed, and then there were those who went into the field, risking life and limb to do the Division’s work. This team had been lucky enough to have two of their top agents involved: Yosef Yadin, legendary under-cover man who’d worked his lifetime with Mossad and had been responsible for locating and identifying Duqaq Boulos and Sol Aaronson, one of the Unit Chiefs, who rarely went into the field to personally command operations.

  They had little hard data on Duqaq Boulos, but this extraction was vitally important. Mossad researchers were burning the midnight oil trying to learn as much about the arms dealer as possible. He appeared well connected with the neophyte organization Sword of Justice, about which they had little concrete information. They knew, however, from what they observed at the small café near Arbel Cliffs and from overheard conversations at the little Syrian house, that this man was connected to an outrageous elaborate plot to destroy the state of Israel and the United States of America. Of that there was no doubt. Sol ran through his various options for obtaining information from these captives. He was inclined to take it slow however there were other pressures in the field that made speed a priority. But Sol Aaronson was a man of principles. He’d make sure the prisoners were not harmed, that they would be provided for. He would approach them in a reasonable manner and wait until his researchers provided him with information about these men before he began to interrogate them. His preference was to approach his prisoners in a cooperative manner and hope they would reciprocate. There were options if they didn’t.

  Lying flat on their stomachs at the base of the Mount Lebanon mountain range, Abdullah and his assistant Shamir stared through their binoculars scanning the expanse before them. They had been camped in the dry semi-desert of the northern Beqaa Valley since they received the report three days ago. The report had been picked up from an intercepted radio communication from an undercover Mossad group. Two men had been followed and captured trying to negotiate an arms deal near the Arbel Cliffs. Abdullah wondered idly if Yosef had been involved in this mission. His old friend was one of the best undercover guys Mossad had and if Yosef was involved, his brother Hakim’s wife Hadara could not be far behind. Yosef and Hadara were two peas in a pod! Surprising, he thought, that they had not been the ones to marry. Instead, she and my brother Hakim had wed in the most implausible of marriages. Who can know the mysteries of the heart, he reflected with a smile as he thought back to those days when his brother Hakim would sneak off with Hadara and not come back for hours. Those two were so much in love. Abdullah was pleased to think their little pack of five was still working together, if only in this rather remote parallel way.

  One captured man was named Muhammad Chehab. He had traveled with his nephew Imad to meet with a third man, a Syrian named Boulos who was trying to buy weapons grade uranium from them. A deal had apparently not been reached and the three split up. These two had been followed to Tiberius where the Israeli’s captured them and they revealed that a shipment of high quality uranium was expected to be flown in and dropped in the Beqaa Valley. It was expected to arrive at any moment now. Packed in UNICEF bags containing food and medical supplies the nuclear material would parachute to earth. The Israeli’s were unwilling to violate their treaty with Lebanon and since Lebanon didn’t want live nuclear materials floating around their country, a Special Intelligence unit from the Lebanese Army had been dispatched.

  They heard rumors that a mercenary group out of Russia and Azerbaijan was supplying weapons to the Middle East and had arranged for a small fixed-wing aircraft to deliver its parcels to this isolated place. When it arrived Abdullah would be waiting. He would make sure this nuclear poison stayed out of the hands of every militant extremist group. He would prevent this Russian-Azerbaijani group from further destroying the Middle East. Abdullah was a patient man with foresight and a grasp of regional politics. He realized the implications of nuclear weapons in the Middle East and knew how it could play out. He had lived here his whole life, listening to his father converse, sometimes in secret, about such matters. He, more than his siblings understood the role his father had in the peace-keeping efforts during the last 5 decades. His father had been committed to peace in his beloved Lebanon. As a child Abdullah talked with the members of The Olive Branch about his determination to carry out his father’s commitments. While Abdullah did not fully understand why their little group had formed such a strong bond he knew that they had. He remained fully committed to the goals of his childhood pact. Now as he lay here on the desert floor he knew that he was doing the right thing for his country and for the ‘pact.’

  As he waited he worried about his young niece. He had been deployed on this mission hours after hearing about her kidnapping and since then was prohibited from using his cell phone, so he didn’t know what had happened lately. He had a bad feeling abo
ut this situation. In his country, children like Saroyah were rarely kidnapped and if so the reasons were immediately apparent. Prickling at the edge of his mind was the thought that somehow all of these events were connected. The kidnapping, the airplane drop-off, the nuclear arms deal, the new extremist group. It was all happening too close together and so many events involved so many of them. He didn’t believe in coincidences.

  He looked around and wondered how many others were hiding amidst the shadows and rocks, crouched down on the thin soil with its low-lying shrubs? This was a million dollar drop off, so others would most assuredly show up for the pick-up. He and Shamir saw no one and heard nothing. Not the sound of a match being struck, not the sound of boot scraping against rock. Lebanon has a complex geography ranging from its lush Mediterranean coastline to its snow-covered mountainous slopes. Some of its areas are densely populated, but this part of the country is sparse in plant and animal life.

  The mere fact that this site was chosen was enough to convince Abdullah that the plan was devised by someone who knew his country well. Here there were no hungry people rushing to collect parachuted food or UNICEF medical supplies. Here there were only snakes, lizards and invisible men. In all the country, this was the best place for hiding. People could move in and out of this area virtually undetected. Those who would be here to meet the plane would be able to move in, grab the stuff, and move out with no one the wiser. They would be focused and move with intent. That’s what Abdullah was counting on. He expected them to be so focused they would not notice two men with guns creeping up behind them. They would want only one thing from the sacks and boxes that would be falling to earth. But they would not take time to sort through packages. They would grab everything and stuff it into some vehicle or load it onto camels and be off as fast as possible. Those waiting to pay them were impatient to make their bombs. Somewhere in this great under-populated expanse were terrorists, enemies to his people and enemies to the world waiting to take the next step in their war. They could not be allowed to take that step. They had to be stopped.