The Syrian (Natasha Kelly, Mossad Spy)

by Felicia Mires

  Panic gripped Natasha. Should she turn to the left or the right? But she couldn't take her eyes off the precipice. From deep within it rose a light even brighter than the flames. Her eyes ached from the intensity.

  The light seemed to turn, taking on the shape of a double- edged sword that shot to the sky. Its mirror-like finish reflected the fire, sending a blast of white light in her eyes. They clenched shut, stunned by the pure light.

  When she managed to open them, the sword faced the other direction, reflecting its white glory toward the other side of the precipice. No hand wielded it, yet it turned on its own. But neither did it have life.

  A shadow approached from the right, and Natasha jerked. It was nothing like she'd ever seen, casting an image of light not darkness. What could cast such a shadow?

  Beyond the sword, in the midst of the fire, a presence formed. She strained her eyes. When she thought her gaze had fixed on the solemn visage of a gleaming man, a shifting transformation revealed a lion, fearless and glorious with eyes of burning bronze and a mane like tongues of fire. Still it moved, and no matter how hard she tried, Natasha couldn't focus on one shape.

  From beside her, a dark hand reached to take the sword. With gut-wrenching certainty, she knew its intent to smite the presence. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She leapt, focusing her entire body on that hand. When she would have fallen into the precipice, she felt the great light surround her, and she floated.

  But…how? What held her in place?

  The light took the shape of a great shining wing. A wing so full of light it appeared to be nothing but light. Other wings hovered over and beneath her, four in all, and her fear subsided.

  She closed her eyes, and suddenly, stood again on the edge of the precipice. The hand still hadn't reached the sword.

  As Natasha turned to gaze at the presence, four wings unfurled, and the face no longer resembled a lion, but an eagle. Virtue radiated from its golden eyes. Natasha felt there was nothing it didn't know, didn't see.

  The eyes. How could she have missed them before? They were everywhere, before and behind, and the sight of them filled her with awe. She knew the all-seeing eyes saw the dark hand reaching out to wreak destruction.

  Without warning, the colossal sword turned against the hand, and though the edge never touched its flesh, the piercing light brought affliction to the hand. The wound didn't slow it for both hands reached out with licentious avarice.

  Why could Natasha not see the face behind the grasping hands? She felt she knew it, though it continued to be hidden from her.

  The hands now directed an army of bodies to march before them. Row after row of a faceless, dark horde.

  At Natasha's feet, she spotted a Book. She reached down and opened the Book, and Words of Life flowed from her tongue. It stopped the army at the very edge of the precipice. The army had no will of its own but worked the will of the dark one who sent them. Filled with dismay, Natasha sought the presence in the fire and saw not one, but two, cherubim residing in the glory.

  Before she could form her question, they spoke the answer in her thoughts. How could she set the army free? How could she show them the truth?

  The answer is in the Book.

  Immediately, Natasha stood before the army with the Book in her hand. The wings of the cherubim flowed out around her. She held up her hand and pointed at the army, and her voice came forth though she hadn't opened her mouth. "And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free. If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed."

  She observed many as the truth penetrated their souls. Scales, like clouded glass, fell from their eyes, and they dropped to their knees and cried. "Holy is the Lamb that was slain. Holy, holy, holy."

  Those who rejected the truth became more hardened and purposed to continue against the sword and the cherubim. When they would have overrun the worshippers, Natasha gazed again on the cherubim and asked her silent question.

  How can the evil be overcome?

  The answer is in the Book.

  The army of worshippers, with the words of the Book, faced the army of evil. "And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of their testimony; and they loved not their lives unto death."

  One by one, the evil tide turned aside until none stood against the worshippers save the director of the dark, grasping hands. The hands held more power than before and wielded their own sword, as black as the other was light.

  When the black sword wafted through the air, a pungent, rotting stench attacked her senses. With a certainty, Natasha knew it wielded death. She could love her life, or she could stand between death and those who worshipped the Lamb.

  She would defeat those hands of death once and for all. With one last glance at the cherubim and flaming sword, Natasha jumped between the worshippers and the black sword of death.

  The sword swooped down, and she lifted the Book. The clash was loud enough to vibrate her entire body. The sword lifted again and came crashing down, but she blocked it with the Book. Over and over, the sword lifted and fell. How she blocked the blows, she didn't know. Still they came. Her strength was failing, and her arms wavered.

  She collapsed on the ground before the worshippers, too exhausted to stand any longer. The sword came down straight toward her. She placed the Book over her heart and closed her eyes.

  "To die for Him," she whispered.

  "No, Natasha, for you shall surely live!"

  John. He was there! John stood before the black sword, placing the Book before him. The sword sliced into his body, and he dropped to the ground.

  The edges of the sword disintegrated until nothing remained, and the hands that wielded it, dissolved. The arms fell away, likewise the body, until nothing remained but the face.

  The light from John's body illuminated the other's evil face for an instant, before it too, faded to nothing.

  But, Natasha saw!

  "Natasha...Natasha, you're dreaming."

  "John is dead. Oh, John."

  Tears burned under her eyelids, yet she couldn't seem to open them.

  "No, you're dreaming. Open your eyes, Natasha. John is here."

  She fought the drugged state to open her eyes, blinking several times, before they remained open. Finally, life came into focus. John's smiling face leaned over her. She twisted her head to see where they were.

  A small room, which reminded her of the cells the monks slept in, white concrete block walls with no window, a concrete floor, two cots, a card table, and a steel-framed door with a small grated opening near the top.

  She shoved with her elbow and attempted to sit up. "John." She wiped at a stray tear, lost her balance, and fell back. "Where are we?"

  "In Syria, I believe. Would you like some water?" He held out a cup.

  She lifted it and took a sip, gaping at her other hand. It was swollen and bruised. "I have a headache, and my hand feels broken where someone kicked it. Have you got any aspirin?"

  She stared into his kind face. He'd aged since she saw him last. He wasn't wearing his monk's robe and somehow looked out of place in dark trousers and a white collared shirt.

  "There is nothing. I'll pray for you. Pain, be gone in the name of Jesus."

  Natasha moved her head back and forth. She looked at her hand and flexed her fingers. "Yes…it's gone. I wish I had that kind of faith."

  "As a grain of mustard seed, so have you." He reached out and helped her sit up.

  "John, I have so many questions. Are they listening to us?" She studied the room again. The ceiling was too high to reach and showed nothing useful, just a bare bulb shining in a socket.

  "There's always a guard. If you call out, someone will answer. Are you hungry?" He patted her hand reassuringly. He looked clean and well-kept, but dark shadows marred his eyes.

  "Yes, what time is it? They took my watch." She rubbed her wrist, then reached up to her ears as if brushing back her tangled hair. The earrings remained in pla
ce.

  "It's late morning on Shabbat. Do you know when you were taken?"

  In between watching her face and the door, he tapped on her hand. It took her several seconds to realize the significance of the pattern. Eden is known.

  "Some time around 0300. I think I feel sick."

  Natasha leaned over and grabbed his hand, tapping one finger on his palm. Who knows?

  "Were you drugged?"

  He patted a brisk hand against her back. I only. Yaakov is here.

  "With my own dart pen. Payback." Gripping his hand, she squeezed her next message. Trusted agent here somewhere.

  "I will ask for a food tray. It will settle your stomach." John rose and walked to the door to knock loudly.

  The response was immediate. "What do you need, old man?"

  "You have drugged the girl. She will be sick without food."

  "And a bathroom!" yelled Natasha. "Quickly!"

  A key grated in the lock, and the door opened. A voice from outside grunted. "Come, if you want the toilet."

  Natasha wasted no time. She walked to the door and followed him down the hallway. It revealed nothing. Another concrete floor, and a few steps to the bathroom. Inside, the bare amenities: a sink, toilet, and a shower nozzle positioned high on the wall. No tub, no curtain, no privacy. She shut the door in the face of the guard, but there was no lock.

  His gruff voice came through the door easily. "Be quick, or I enter."

  She longed to dunk her head under a running shower and wash away the heaviness but settled for splashing water on her face. At one point, she came close to losing her stomach, but she made it down the hall. The armed guard showed her little attention, shoving her in the room and locking the door without another word.

  He wasn't the one she'd hoped to see. His short-sleeved shirt and bare arms held no scars. And he was young. Yaakov's followers were always young.

  John tapped her tray as she walked in. She concentrated on the message as she walked to the cot.

  They listen.

  No privacy. That would wear on her already frazzled nerves. She sat and stared at the tray as if contemplating it while she tapped absentmindedly.

  Wrong guard.

  She picked up the sandwich and ate. Better not ask what was in it. It wouldn't matter, anyway.

  John made idle chit-chat while she chewed the textured crust. The whole situation seemed surreal, him chatting as if nothing was abnormal, her eating as if she hadn't a care in the world.

  "Feeling better?"

  "Yes, thank you. How are you? Did they hurt you?"

  "Very well, considering. They haven't injured me. Did you visit home before coming here?"

  "Yes, I saw my family, then Benjamin sent a message that you were here, so I came back to check on you. I've been reading my Bible a lot, just like I promised. I'll recite something for you later."

  He chuckled, and his countenance brightened. "Good news. You look different. Has anything changed?"

  John asked the question as if they chatted all the time. Already, she felt calmer.

  "I've been working out, probably lost a little weight. I asked Benjamin about your monks. They're all well. Your order has decided to keep the monastery open, so when you finish here, you can go back."

  Could he see the question in her eyes? Would they go home?

  "I'm glad the abbey will remain. They serve a useful purpose to the Bedouin who visit the oasis."

  His benign smile held comfort. John was the most peaceful person she'd ever met with such an unparalleled faith.

  "How about your young man? Did you have that talk?"

  "I never saw him again. He writes a lot, though. And he sends flowers. But I haven't answered."

  "And why is that, young lady?"

  At that moment, John resembled her father, a little stern, slightly forebearing.

  "Uh...many reasons. He says he found the Lord, so…he'd learn God's ways with time. I guess…" She searched her thoughts for the truth then shook her head. "It's me. I don't see how someone like that, a movie star, could fall in love with someone ordinary like me. I have nothing to offer that he hasn't seen already in a hundred different women. Only…they're better." She lay back on the cot, feeling dreadfully tired. "I can't believe that's what we're talking about."

  "You know the truth. Don't let the father of lies deceive you and steal God's blessings."

  John always made so much sense. As if he heard the mind of God. For who hath known the mind of the Lord, that he may instruct him? But we have the mind of Christ.

  "You're right. You're always right. I'll have to fill my mind with God's Word, so I know the truth." The truth. She sat up. "John, I remember that dream."

  "Would you like to share it with me?"

  "Yes, it was…vivid. I'm not sure who was with me. I just knew I wasn't alone. In front of me was this precipice of burning fire. I wanted to get away, but somehow I couldn't…"

  She related the dream in as much detail as possible. Occasionally, John asked a question. "Let me see if I understand. You saw a flaming sword that turned back and forth, attended by two cherubim. Did you recognize the location of the precipice?"

  "It wasn't a place I've ever seen. I kept trying to see the face of the person controlling the army. I knew if I was afraid to stand up to him, I'd lose. Love not your life unto death was the verse I heard from the Book."

  "But when you stood before the black sword what happened?"

  "I used the Book as a shield, but I got too tired to fight. Then I sat down and closed my eyes. I guess I just gave up and said I was ready to die for the Lord. But you came and said, 'No, you shall surely live.' And then the sword hit you. You fell down and the evil man disintegrated."

  "Is this why you thought I died?"

  "Yes, I saw you."

  "You said you saw me fall. Did you check to see that life was gone?"

  "No, but that sword sliced right through you. What do you think?"

  "I think you heard me calling to you in your sleep. I did say, 'No, you shall surely live.' Perhaps you placed me in the dream because you heard my voice."

  Relief flowed through Natasha's body. "Do you know what place I saw?"

  "Yes," began a voice from the hallway. "Let's hear the answer to that."

  Natasha jumped, twisting to look at the door. It swung open to reveal the face from her dream. Natasha controlled her reaction, which only seemed to annoy the man. His face became a sneer.

  "Come, Miss Kelly, surely the great Christian woman recognizes the symbols that represent the gate to Eden."

  "God's symbols are His own. What He chooses to reveal is surely His business."

  His eyes narrowed, shooting hatred at her. "And what have you to say, old monk?"

  "I agree, God will tell her when He wants her to know. If ever."

  "It is time. Would you care to be enlightened by the manuscript, Miss Kelly? You may join us." He walked away.

  Natasha looked at John for permission. He nodded. "It is best to humor him. Besides, we will remain together."

  She followed him out of the room. Now she knew the face of Yaakov. The whole world knew the face of Yaakov, but that wasn't what the world called him.

  He wore a traditional snow-white Arab robe with a black headwrap. It worked for him. Yaakov looked mean as a snake and just as deadly.

  He led them through the narrow hallway then rounded the only corner. It opened into a library of sorts. One door. No windows. Natasha felt a sudden longing to see the world outside.

  Bright lights hung overhead, their florescent glow shining on the many tables and bookcases in the room. Natasha took a step closer. Yellowed charts and maps littered a table. Other tables held ancient and rare books. The bookcases held more of the same. Yaakov craved ancient knowledge.

  One table in particular held the obvious focus of this room. A worn, bound manuscript lay open beside stacks of notes, and nearby, an abundant supply of pens, pencils, and colored hi- liters.

  Yaakov w
aited for her acknowledgment of all he'd acquired. She refused to give him the satisfaction, standing bored and unaffected at John's side.

  "You're welcome to peruse any reference you find. The manuscript copied from the Dead Sea Scroll is on that table. We've made much progress translating the abbot's poor penmanship. I suppose we should be thankful that a modest shepherd could read and write at all."

  Natasha had wondered about that herself. God certainly moved in mysterious ways.

  "After you've made yourself familiar with the manuscript, I will show you other things that may bring Eden into focus. The monk says not yet, but I disagree. By the way, you may record any notes you wish." His sardonic smile taunted them with the probability of their inevitable demise, and he left.

  Natasha felt an instant release from the tension generated by Yaakov's presence and wandered to where John had seated himself.

  "What are you working on?" she asked, sitting beside him.

  "I am attempting to translate this Essene dialect of Hebrew into something more manageable. Would you like to read what I have accomplished thus far?" He handed her a stack of notes.

  "Thanks, I've been longing to get a look at these. Are there any references to the pierced Messiah or the piercing Messiah?"

  A smile lit his eyes. "You've been doing your homework. There are no Messianic references. This would seem to be a diary of the Teacher of Righteousness and the steps he took to ensure the Wicked Priest of his day did not acquire certain spiritual implements."

  "Such as?"

  "The Parah Adumah ash of old, the Garden of Eden, the rod of Aaron…various other ritual implements."

  "Wait, what is a Parah Adumah ash of old? A red heifer, right?"

  "Read Numbers 19:1-9. The red heifer is for ritual cleansing."

  John picked up his pen and began to read a section of the manuscript. Natasha walked to a bookcase and retrieved an English translation Bible.

  "And the Lord spake unto Moses and unto Aaron, saying, This is the ordinance of the law which the Lord hath commanded, saying, Speak unto the children of Israel, that they bring thee a red heifer without spot, wherein is no blemish, and upon which never came yoke: And ye shall give her unto Eleazar the priest, that he may bring her forth without the camp, and one shall slay her before his face: And Eleazar the priest shall take of her blood with his finger, and sprinkle of her blood directly before the tabernacle of the congregation seven times: And one shall burn the heifer in his sight; her skin, and her flesh, and her blood, with her dung, shall he burn: And the priest shall take cedar wood, and hyssop, and scarlet, and cast it into the midst of the burning of the heifer. Then the priest shall wash his clothes, and he shall bathe his flesh in water, and afterward he shall come into the camp, and the priest shall be unclean until the even. And he that burneth her shall wash his clothes in water, and bathe his flesh in water, and shall be unclean until the even. And a man that is clean shall gather up the ashes of the heifer, and lay them up without the camp in a clean place, and it shall be kept for the congregation of the children of Israel for a water of separation: it is a purification for sin."