Seeing Double: An Elisabeth Reinhardt Novel

by Nancy Alexander

  - 17 -

  PAST TO PRESENT

  They were learning more about Herr Friedrich Müeller of the Chicago Field Museum. Manny Reinhardt, their computer maven, easily determined that Herr Müeller had initially worked for the Gutenberg Museum in Mainz, Germany for 12 years; from there he went to the Museum of Fine Arts in Lyon, France before coming to the Field Museum in Chicago 4 years ago. His area of expertise was “Rare Documents from the late 18th and 19th centuries…” Locating personal information about Herr Müeller, however, was proving a bit difficult. The Müeller family had owned a small vineyard in the Rhine Valley where young Friedrich, surrounded by ancient castles rising out of the mists, became engrossed in the history of his country, which led him to an interest in historical documents. Aside from late life professional development, his early story was more elusive. It appeared that young Friedrich participated in the HJ, or the Hitler-Jugend, the second oldest paramilitary organization of the Nazi Party, developed for male youths from age 14 – 18. The HJ were viewed as future Aryan Supermen and were programmed to hate all other peoples as having impure bloodlines. The group emphasized physical and military achievements over academic studies but loyalty to the Third Reich was overarching.

  Manny speculated that Friedrich’s interest in historic documents grew in value as Hitler grew in power. Ancient documents were used and misused by the Third Reich to reinforce propaganda and public indoctrination. So over time, Friedrich’s position within the government grew in importance. It was known that Herr Müeller’s father, Heinz served in the German army, but his rank and branch of the service remained a mystery. The absence of information about the family rang an alarm bell for Manny. Having lived through Hitler’s Germany the Reinhardt family suffered untold traumas and losses at the hand of that regime, they were sensitized to the cloud of secrecy surrounding the Nazis and those involved with their activities. Were it, he reasoned, to be the case that the Müellers were Nazi sympathizers or active members of the Nazi party; it would make sense that Herr Friedrich Müeller’s lifetime hatred of the Jews would influence both political beliefs and subversive activities.

  Six months before, Mossad learned that museums across the globe were being used to smuggle components to be used for weapons of mass destruction. Several such middlemen had been identified and those researching museum personnel compiled a list of likely suspects. Ari and Samira had come to America as part of the team organized to track down these terrorist supporters. Presenting herself as Samira Tariq, a Syrian working with others seeking to purchase weapons grade Uranium, she contacted Müeller subsequently obtaining a sample of the product for testing. Ari, a scientist by training, was to test the sample packed in the gift shop bag Samira was given in the warehouse.

  Today, Samira planned to meet the Field Museum’s Rare Document Specialist at a French café called Le Petit Canard, where she would wine and dine him ostensibly to continue discussing the terms of the arms sale, giving the team time to do their work. T-Max needed ample time to break into Müeller’s office and search for information. Pablo and Ari dressed as drivers for the TRANSWORLD SHIPPING COMPANY maneuvered their 16-wheeler, bearing crates containing AFRICAN ARTIFACTS, into the warehouse loading dock. They carefully, unloaded their precious cargo loaned to the Museum by the Isidor Kahane Collection housed in Zurich. This exceptional collection of culturally significant art was to be put on display for the first time in the United States. As this was an extremely rare collection, those delivering it required ample time to carefully unload and relocate their crates. Under the guise of situating their cargo they searched for weapons grade materials.

  Since Müeller was an important link to other brokers in this terrorist network, it was essential that he be fully investigated. Samira intent on keeping her guest occupied, noted that he seemed increasingly ill at ease. She wondered what accounted for his attitude change from the ego-centric, confident man she had met just a few days ago. This man was nervous, his eyes roamed the room checking out every diner; his voice squeaked with tension. Something had spooked this guy and she didn’t know what. Worried he would bolt, she ramped up the charm, engaging him in a meandering discussion that touched on various topics; she kept her eye on a pulsing vein in the corner of his forehead. When she talked about menu options the vein was nearly still, when she mentioned Lebanon, that vein started to pulse more rapidly. She wondered if news of the desert drop or Boulos’ capture had reached him. She dropped the word ‘Mossad’ into the conversation as a passing comment about world security and the man’s vein started to throb. Herr Müeller was definitely not enjoying this elegant French cuisine. He nearly jumped out of his seat every time new customers entered the restaurant. Intuitively, she shifted her strategy to a more primitive one. Smiling coquettishly, she inquired about whether there might be a Frau Müeller or perhaps a girlfriend. She hinted that perhaps she would be interested in the position. Flirting shamelessly, she distracted him from his obsession with the door, directing his attention instead to her unbuttoned blouse as she murmured sweet nothings and plied him with steaming mouthfuls of bouillabaisse.

  Pablo and Ari slowly unloaded their crates of African statues and masks and using pocket-sized detection gear wandered around the lower floor of the Museum until they were able to locate 3 containers with uranium and plutonium. Within forty minutes, those containers, replaced with look-alikes labeled AFRICAN ARTIFACTS, were fastened securely in the back of the truck which slowly pulled away from the warehouse.

  With surveillance equipment installed, hard drives duplicated, contacts identified and warehouse inventories copied, T-Max strolled out of the Museum texting an innocuous message to his team from 'Verizon Wireless' that said “Your bill is now available online…”

  - 18 -

  SHOP TILL YOU DROP

  The advertisement read ‘Visit Adina Textiles, near the entrance to Tel Aviv’s famous Merkaz’. Adina’s prided itself on having the finest exotic textiles in Israel and was located right next door to The Treasure, a delightful café featuring “mouthwatering Middle Eastern specialties at very reasonable prices.” Wisps of artfully highlighted hair escaped her wide brimmed hat as Elisabeth Reinhardt strolled along the neat paving stones of Nahalat Biryamin. With her cloth shoulder bag slung over her shoulder and dark sunglasses blocking out more than the Mediterranean sun, she inspected colorful merchandise displayed on slanted tables or hanging in store fronts. Bicycles, motor scooters and motorcycles wove through the sidewalks and streets. A meandering crowd of mixed ethnicities carried packages and backpacks, pushed strollers or walked arm in arm; some of the men wore yarmulkes or traditional Orthodox black coats, some women wore headscarves, still others the traditional Middle Eastern garb for Arab women. It was a bustling commercial area, jam-packed and noisy. Cars, mostly compacts, crowded the streets; trucks blocked traffic as they unloaded their wares or collected trash. Horns honked, people talked, music blared from buildings or balconies.

  Elisabeth selected various items at her leisure; a teal shawl glimmering with sequins, two hand-painted silk scarves, a paisley backpack and a pair of sparkly gold sandals; an ordinary tourist shopping in an open marketplace, as natural as can be. She could almost forget what she was doing in this marketplace as she shopped surrounded by exotic sights, sounds and smells. She could almost enjoy it. As she approached the outdoor section of the café, she heard laughter coming from a table next to the building. Turning she saw three faces, two she knew well, one she had not seen in years; it was older yes, but it was the same face; a strong featured face striking even in this moment of dress-down spontaneity. Hadara Eiliat sat with Elisabeth’s twin brothers sharing platters of hummus and pita chatting like old friends. She was delighted to see Hadara looking so healthy and confident. She and Hadara had shared a strong therapeutic bond during those early years and Elisabeth hoped that the work they’d done had served her well. She was about to approach their table when she saw Sammy’s head shake and his hand jerk up in a cautionary signal.
Following his gaze she saw someone kneeling on the sidewalk, as she turned to walk away the air exploded. Noise, smoke and chaos filled the marketplace as panicked people ran for shelter. Screams filled the air. Elisabeth felt strong hands propelling her forward. Dizzy, she felt something warm dripping down her face and allowed herself to be moved through space. Minutes expanded into timelessness, her eyes stopped focusing, her ears stopped working and all she heard was a deathly silence as her ears stopped transmitting. She knew the man was talking to her, she could feel his lips close to her ear, but she heard nothing and didn’t care. By the time she was tossed into the back of a car she had lost track of time and place. The only thing she knew as she floated into unconsciousness was that she was in the backseat of a car and she was not alone.

  Hadara Eiliat lay quietly on a rough concrete floor. She sensed men moving around her, but they did not approach her. Motionless, she listened hoping to find out more about her situation before they realized she was conscious. She didn’t know who they were and didn’t know if she was safe or being held captive. She thought back to just before the explosion. She had been sitting with Elisabeth’s twin brothers. They had come to her Menara home to fill each other in on the details to date. They had traveled to the marketplace where they planned to meet with others of their group. She had seen Elisabeth, just caught a glimpse of her, the woman who had helped her so long ago. The woman to whom she had sent Ari… when he was being pursued by killers. She hoped Elisabeth was alright, unharmed by the bombing.

  She remembered how the world turned upside down; booming sounds of a bomb going off, sirens blaring, buildings crumbling, glass shattering, walls collapsing, people screaming and running. She and Sammy had run toward the street; Simon had run somewhere else. Hadara had tripped over a bicycle, fallen. Sammy pulled her up and off they ran through the chaotic crowd. She didn’t know if she had been the target of the attack or if it had been random, one of those bomb-in-vest terrorists obeying the Jihadist directive to die so that others might die. Was this Al Qaeda or Hamas or something else? Somehow it felt personal, not random, and if it was personal she may have been the target. She hoped that her friends had not been hurt in the attack. She hoped that she was not now in terrorist hands. If she were, it would take all her strength of body and mind to survive it. Surreptitiously, she checked to see if her wristwatch was in place. It contained a GPS locator and if she still had it on that meant Mossad could locate her. Her head was facing away so she couldn’t see her wrist. Gradually she rotated her hand lowering her wrist to the floor until she could feel the clasp against the wooden floorboard. It was there, she was relieved. Remaining motionless, she concentrated on listening to the different voices and accents. It seemed most of them were in an adjoining room but she sensed one person, perhaps her guard, remained nearby. From a distance she heard Hebrew, English, and Lebanese accents. At first the voices were a blur fading into each other. As she listened, she felt a rising sense of alarm. Something did not make sense. One of the voices should not be here, a voice out of place, someone did not belong here.

  She felt her guard moving, he was sitting behind her. A rookie mistake. She risked opening her eyes a fraction, a small window was across the room. She gazed through the dirt streaked glass, saw darkness, a beautiful starry sky stretched into forever; no lights, no buildings, nothing, just expansive darkness and a lovely sky. Seeing no landmarks, she reasoned she had been taken out into the desert far from civilization. The cinderblock room was large and empty. From the angle of the window and the smell of gasoline, she concluded she was on the second floor of a warehouse or a garage. Fully conscious now, her mind raced through possibilities. The bombing in the marketplace could have been the beginning of a larger plan that involved her and her children and her little niece and her husband and his family, perhaps even the Reinhardts. She didn’t know why she had been captured or by whom. Snippets of phrases drifted in and out. “…up to you…” “How … expect me to…?” “…she knows you… she trusts you…” “… what will happen …” “I can’t….” “…there isn’t much time…” “…her life…” “please, I beg…” “…not an option…” “…get it from her…” They were arguing, several men with different accents. She thought they were talking about her. What bothered her most was that voice, the one that did not belong; something was terribly wrong.

  - 19 -

  WITH DAYLIGHT COMES THE DAWN

  Saroyah opened her eyes when she heard rustling around her. Still blindfolded, she had become accustomed to the different sounds of the times of day. She heard men starting their morning prayers, she heard the women preparing the food for the day and she heard the camels beginning to stir. She was aware of her own body rhythms now, her need for food, her need to use what passed as a bathroom in this desert camp. She knew that if she called out someone would come to help her, but she wanted to wait a bit longer to see if she could learn more, perhaps she would hear something revealing when they thought she was still sleeping. She recalled the man from last night, the one with the educated voice. He sounded like a teacher. He acted polite but there was a frightening seriousness about him. His accent sounded Syrian but not the ordinary kind. It was different, sort of fancy. The man asked her lots of questions about what she had overheard at the Olive Grove. He wanted to know what she remembered, if she had seen any of the men, could describe what they looked like. She had not known what to say. She was always taught to tell the truth but she was frightened. She knew that she knew too much and if she told him what she remembered it would be bad for her. The truth was, she remembered everything, their words, their names, their faces. The truth would get her killed, but lying was a sin. No, she decided there were no safe answers, so she curled up and remained silent.

  Musnah’s grandson Imad had been to her home many times through the years, but this time he was different. He acted mean and talked about bombs and attacking people. Someone called The Great One was there and someone else whom they treated as if he was very important. Two important men had been there meeting at the Olive Grove. Over and over again the man with the ‘teacher’s voice’ asked her questions and over and over again she said, “I don’t know. I was just petting my cat, she had kittens.” She worried they would hurt her if she didn’t answer their questions, but then she reasoned that she was a child and her family was important so perhaps they would not hurt her. Perhaps, they would ask her family for money and then she could go free.

  Saroyah no longer cried much. She had adjusted to her life as a blindfolded prisoner. She had stopped focusing on her family and how much she missed them. She focused instead on the present. The sounds around her, the questions she was being asked. These things were important. For the moment, she did not fear death. She believed they would take care of her, feed her and not harm her, at least for the moment. She knew she was there because of the men she saw. She knew the grandson but she could describe the others and she understood that having seen them was a problem. They had not wanted to be seen. Ever! By anyone! That meeting was to have been a secret. She expected them to kill her but they hadn't done that. When that hadn't happened she realized that for some reason she was important to them, as long as she was important to them they would not hurt her.

  As she lay in silence, she felt rather than heard a presence. She inclined her head in the direction of the presence and waited. She wanted to call out, but she didn’t want to call the guards in case this was a helper of some kind. She sniffed and caught a different scent; something like fresh air and camels. She sniffed again and it moved closer to her. It whispered something to her, something in Hebrew. Her captors didn’t know she spoke Hebrew. She was Lebanese after all and lived her whole live as a Lebanese child. She had relatives, however, who were from Israel and when they were together both languages were spoken, so Saroyah became fluent in Hebrew. She instantly knew that the person in the tent was here to free her. In the barest of whispers she asked, “Higata l'azor li?” (have you come to help me?) The wh
ispered answer… “Cain.”

  Duqaq Boulos felt the chill from the metal floor seep into his bound body as he lay in the bare prison cell. He heard faint noises, metal against metal, boots tramping, men’s voices; foul odors permeated the space around him, but he could see nothing. The space around him was pitch black. He moved his face against the surface, no blindfold, blinking his eyes several times he thought he could see the barest hint of light across the room opposite where he lay. That relieved him; for a horrible moment he feared for his eyes, but now he thought he saw some light. He had no memory of what happened in that little house near the Syrian DMZ. One minute he was sleeping on a small cot with his guards nearby and the next moment he was here, wherever here was. He tried to remember more details, but there were none. He had been captured somehow, safe in his homeland, safe in a small ‘safe house’ and now he was here. There was no doubt in his mind that this was the Israelis doing and, perhaps, the Americans as well.