The Syrian (Natasha Kelly, Mossad Spy)

by Felicia Mires

  She looked at John. He smiled and nodded.

  "My parents were the best," Natasha added. "No matter where we were, no matter who we were around…They always made sure we knew God came first, family came second, and missionary work was their job. It came last. Lots of other missionary families we met weren't that way. You could tell they equated their mission from God with their relationship to God. Their families were always expected to understand. But I didn't recognize all that going on around me until I was older." She paused, somewhat self- conscious. She'd revealed things to John she rarely told anyone. "What about you, John? Why did you leave everything and join a monastery? Don't you have family?"

  He shifted in his chair. "Yes and no. I have no children. My wife died years ago. I have a brother, but he doesn't live in Israel. The rest of our family was lost to the holocaust in Germany. There was no reason I should "not" join the monastery. I needed time. Time to know God, to understand His ways, to seek Him with all my heart. I ran from God for years after my wife died. I blamed Him for not healing her. I committed myself to Israel and to commerce. One day I woke up and realized it wasn't enough. I'd left God out for too long. When I turned back to Him, I saw He'd always been faithful to me. I could trust Him with all that was precious to me. I wanted to know more. Thus, here I am."

  "But how did you learn that God was faithful? How did you walk out your faith and trust?"

  This was something Natasha really wanted to know. John's life sounded tragic. Up until now, it had been easy for Natasha to say she trusted God. She had no reason to doubt Him.

  "I didn't learn it. I read it in God's Word. He is faithful. He cares for every need in my life. There is nothing about me that isn't important to Him. I decided God's Word is true…every word. If His Word is true, then something was wrong with me. I made a decision. No matter what happens, I will trust. At first, it was very difficult. The mind wars with the heart. I had to purpose in my heart to persevere. I experienced hardship, and I chose to lay my burdens down over and over until one day in the midst of hardship, I realized I had trusted without having to think about it first." He shrugged. "That's how it is with me. I don't know how others trust. For me, it was a decision…a choice. I believe God's Word, or I do not. If I believe, I trust. It really is very simple, if you measure everything to His Word."

  "That's why you memorize so much of it." Natasha was beginning to understand that she'd taken her faith for granted. "Until recently, I've never been faced with terror or loss. You're teaching me how to walk out what I believe. So many people need to hear what you know." She paused. "I wish you wouldn't go back to the abbey. Do you really want to?"

  "I'm not sure. One day at a time. Right now, I have this." He gestured to the room full of literary spiritual treasures. "God will take care of the rest."

  The door creaked open, and Yaakov interrupted them. "I find I am free for dinner. Would you care to join me?" He strode regally into the room, once more in a white robe, but with a white shora around his head held in place by an 'agal.

  Natasha crossed her arms and leaned back. "Do we have a choice?"

  "There are always choices, Miss Kelly. Dinner will not disappoint you. Come."

  They followed him around the complex. Natasha memorized each doorway they passed. Unfortunately, there were no windows.

  The large room where Yaakov stopped looked much like every other, all in white. In the middle sat a low table, almost on the ground, surrounded by bright orange, teal, aqua, and fuschia silk pillows.

  "We will copy the Bedouin tonight and sit on the ground, though we will not have a fire. I have arranged many delicacies for you to sample." Yaakov spread his hands over the pillows. "Please seat yourselves."

  First, he offered hot, Bedouin coffee. Natasha reached for the cup but couldn't resist a little needling of Yaakov. "I thought sharing coffee and a meal with the Bedouin meant you were under their protection…a friend."

  "Are you not under my protection?" He gestured at the armed guards standing near the door. "At a Bedouin meal, being a female, you would have no purpose but to serve. Is this what you desire?" When she didn't respond, he continued. "Let us enjoy our meal without further recriminations." He spoke the traditional blessing and sat back.

  Arab servants brought in trays of heaping food. Natasha murmured her own blessing as she wondered what to eat.

  "You might want to try this." John directed her to sample foods he thought might be more palatable to her American tastes.

  He chose well, for she enjoyed all she ate.

  Yaakov leaned closer and fixed his black eyes on her. "What do you think of John's handiwork? I have read the notes thus far. What is your opinion?"

  Natasha hated to tell him anything, but if he'd already read the notes, then he knew everything. "I haven't finished. There's a lot to absorb, but I think it's clear The Teacher of Righteousness thought Israel was Eden. There's no indication of where he thought the Garden was located. Perhaps I haven't read enough."

  "Yes, eastward in Eden is extremely vague. What do you think of the food?"

  Yaakov's manner and conversation were that of the perfect host. It was like sitting in the midst of a dream. Her mind told her, "this man wants to kill you...has killed many." Her senses told her she was enjoying herself.

  John continued to relate his writings of the day. There was no reason not to. Yaakov would read them anyway.

  Perhaps she should venture a question. "Why do you want inside the Garden of Eden?"

  If possible, his eyes became even darker. "To bring peace to our peoples, of course. The Jew and the Arab must live in unity. Eden will bring life into the desert. There will be enough land for everyone. All will be happy."

  "So you want it for purely humanitarian reasons. It never occurred to you that the Tree of Life is hidden there, and you might live forever, rule the world, claim world domination for the Arabs…" Had she pushed him too far?

  "The tree of life, which bare twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit every month: and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations. The book of Revelation. The tree promises healing life for the world. What more could we want? There would be an end to disease...to poverty. The great Garden would feed the peoples of the world. There is nothing else they will need. And I can bring it to them. They will want me to live forever."

  As he continued his dream of the new world order, Natasha realized he was fanatically insane. A demonic fire lit his eyes. Truly frightening. He would kill anyone who got in his way. But he would appeal to a great many people. His charismatic personality made his passion convincing. With a manuscript of the scroll, he could make it seem a divine destiny. If someone didn't stop him, many people would be swayed by his arguments. Natasha recalled a verse from the Bible. "And many false prophets shall rise, and shall deceive many. And because iniquity shall abound, the love of many shall wax cold."

  Yaakov crossed his arms over his chest and sighed with a pleased smile. Perhaps he thought he could persuade her to join him. Surely he wasn't that naïve. "It's late. I'm sure you are tired. Your clothing has been provided, Miss Kelly. Water is scarce in the desert, but we have an adequate supply. If you would care to shower now or in the morning, it is at your disposal. No one will bother you." He stood. "Now, if you'll excuse me. There are some matters that require my attention. You may not see me for a few days. I insist you enjoy my hospitality. Trespassers to this area are often shot. I would not venture outside without your guards. They will provide anything you require in my absence. Inshallah."

  Back in their room, John and Natasha sat on their cots in the dark. There was so much to think about, but the stress of the past weeks felt an intolerable load. Weariness plagued Natasha, but she had to know what John thought.

  "I suppose saying what we really think is out of the question?"

  "He knows what we think of him. What troubles you?"

  "I think he's a dangerous fanatic who supports terrorism to bring about the world ord
er he espouses. I don't think the world knows who he really is. He's clever. And he's done a good job of appearing moderate. That makes him desirable politically. Few people would believe us, even if we told them."

  "Then we will have to stop him ourselves. God will make a way. Now before we rest, let us worship."

  John began to sing. His voice, though deep and rough, held a passion for his Lord. A tear slid down Natasha's cheek. Always, she should have an attitude of worship. She joined her voice with his until she grew peaceful and relaxed. She fell asleep to the soft sound of John's voice.

  Weeks of early rising for training brought Natasha's eyes open long before John awoke. She peered into the hall to see if the guard was nearby. He stood outside, awake and ever alert.

  "Restroom," she whispered as she walked past.

  Once inside, she found her suitcase full of clothes and a few of her personal toiletries. Toothbrush and paste, hairbrush. What a shame she'd never acquired any of those spy-tech toiletries she'd seen in the movies. Dirk's movies, come to think of it.

  She showered and changed then went to the library to pray because John was still resting. How would one guard watch both of them now that they were separated?

  Another guard joined her at the library.

  Natasha prayed for some time. She wanted God's guidance and His protection on herself and all those she cared about. She asked for creative ideas, wisdom, knowledge, and understanding beyond her years. She asked for God to change Yaakov, and if that wasn't possible, if Yaakov had a reprobate mind, for God to remove him and thwart Yaakov's purposes. "Let the enemy fall into his own traps and make my paths straight. I know I'm here for a reason. Help me trust You. And Father, not my will, but Thine be done."

  When John entered the room, she was reading a Bible.

  "Would you care for some breakfast, Natasha? You look lovely, today."

  She glanced at him. He had showered and changed as well, a pale blue dress shirt and fitted navy slacks.

  "You look pretty dapper yourself. Does it feel strange not to wear your monk's habit?" She joined him in the hall, followed by her guard.

  "At first. The habit is so all-encompassing that you feel a little exposed without it."

  They walked into their room. On each cot sat a tray with steaming coffee, fresh melons and figs, crusty bread, and goat cheese. Natasha was surprised at how much she enjoyed it. She'd never cared much for breakfast at home. Perhaps she'd try a light dish in the mornings.

  When she finished, she rose and walked about the room. "John, would you like to exercise before it gets so hot outside?"

  "Certainly."

  The guard said nothing as they walked past, informing him of their intentions. His steady gait behind them assured them of his presence. Natasha hadn't seen the guard that was supposed to be a friend. How could she find a way out of this place? Thus far, she hadn't located a single door which opened to the outside except for the exercise courtyard. It must also be the landing pad for the helicopter. After Yaakov left them at dinner, she'd heard a helicopter. And John said he'd landed in the courtyard. There might not be another door out of the complex. The next time she saw that guard, she'd ask him. Maybe he could think of a creative way to answer a few questions.

  The next two days went much the same as the first. Natasha and John ate, slept, walked, talked, and read manuscripts. She knew now that John and his wife had lived on a kibbutz. John liked to read mysteries and westerns. And most astonishing of all…his tastes in music. He loved the twang of American country and western, although he wasn't crazy about some of the lyrics. It had been a long time since he'd been to a concert or movie, so she brought him up to speed on current pop culture.

  "I am better off in the abbey," said John.

  That brought a chuckle from Natasha. "Sometimes I feel the same."

  On the second afternoon of Yaakov's absence, Natasha felt restless. She'd still not seen the friendly guard and wondered if he'd left with Yaakov.

  John was bent over his notes, intent on the manuscript, and hadn't spoken for an hour. She rose and walked into the hall. Maybe it was time for a walk to see just how far she got before the guard stopped her. She passed her room, then the restroom, and his pace increased. When she reached the door to the courtyard and kept going, he called out.

  "Stop."

  She kept right on walking. When she turned the corner out of his vision, she nearly collided with the friendly guard.

  He frowned at her. "This was very foolish."

  The other guard came up behind her. She ignored him.

  Looking up at the friend, she spoke in English. "Is there another way out of this place besides the courtyard? Cough once for yes and twice for no."

  He responded in Hebrew. "Go back to the library." Then he grasped her by both shoulders and turned her around. Before releasing her, he squeezed her shoulder once.

  Natasha breezed past the guard who had followed her to the library. She felt absolutely giddy inside. Ridiculous how the answer to one question encouraged her.

  Once more in the library, she knew she couldn't tell John, but it seemed he had something to share with her. His eyes lit up when she pulled out her chair. "Natasha, I did not see you leave. I want you to read this."

  He handed her several sheets of paper. There were lines written and lines crossed out, as if John had difficulty transcribing this section. She finally deciphered the gist of it. The Teacher of Righteousness had again jumped to another topic. Some travelers with news from Jerusalem joined their group. According to them, the Wicked Priest had decided it was time to purify the temple of the unclean influence of the Romans. He had demanded a new Parah Adumah. Since there were none to be found, he steadfastly searched for the ashes of old. And his eyes turned toward the Teacher of Righteousness.

  The Teacher must have shot off his mouth a few too many times about hiding implements from the Wicked Priest. Now, he felt it was the right time to move the ashes to a new location, as the Romans had further threatened the Qumran settlement.

  He asked the travelers to hide the ashes of old in one of the many caves on Mt. Nebo. The travelers later returned and gave him precise directions for the whereabouts of the ashes. He listed them.

  Natasha's head jerked up from the notes. "Do you think these directions are specific enough to find the ashes?"

  A slow smile spread across John's face. "I do."

  "Where is Mount Nebo?"

  "On the other side of the Dead Sea. In Jordan."

  "Hmm. Out of Israel's reach. Do you think Yaakov is going to be interested in this?"

  "I do," John replied earnestly. "Anything that will further his prestige with his followers and with the world will be used to his advantage."

  "You can't hide this from him. If he finds the ashes, we'll just have to take them from him when we escape."

  He leaned back in his chair. "Or get rescued."

  For the rest of the afternoon, John worked feverishly to uncover more clues from the manuscript, but the Teacher had once again moved to a new topic.

  Some time later, the friend guard came to the door. "He's back. You'll have dinner with him. Be ready."

  When he turned to leave, Natasha called after him in English. "What's your name?"

  "Jake," he yelled back over his shoulder.

  John and Natasha looked at each other. "Short for Jacob," they blurted in unison, then sputtered into laughter.

  "We're together way too much. Now we're starting to think alike." Natasha rubbed her chin. "Even in the abbey, we always seemed tuned in to each other."

  "Yes," John agreed then his face grew somber. "Yaakov has returned. I'll read this excerpt at dinner, so we won't have to wait for his reaction."

  A great idea. Then she could watch Yaakov's face.

  They didn't have long to wait. The guard knocked on the door of the library then took them to the room with the long, low table. Yaakov stood with his back to the door, dressed in a pinstripe European suit, clean-shaven, bu
sinesslike, apparently talking to himself in staccato Arabic. He whirled around, and Natasha noted the wireless earpiece. Yaakov was on the phone. For some reason, she found this quite amusing.

  When she laughed, he ended his conversation. "Forgive me. I didn't hear you come in. Please…be seated."

  Natasha grabbed at a big pink pillow and fluffed it up before dropping to the floor. She looked up to see how John would make it. He seemed to move slower and slower every day. He reached out then bent one knee before sliding slowly to a cushion.

  Yaakov joined them. How incongruous he looked in his expensive suit, sitting on the floor. "You both look well. How goes the translating, John?"

  "Have you read the section I told you about in Numbers which details the Parah Adumah…the red heifer sacrifice?"

  "Of course. I read it the moment you requested I do so. Have you translated another reference to the ashes?"

  Natasha watched the interplay between the two men with interest. Yaakov acted the eager pupil learning from an esteemed master.

  "More than a reference. We have directions to the hiding place. I'm sure you know what it would mean for Israel to obtain a sanctified, clean sacrifice."

  "Yes, yes, of course." Yaakov stared into space for a moment. "But the Arab world would become inflamed. They would see that as another reason for the Jews to destroy the Dome. This, they would never allow."

  Yaakov was torn, weighing the advantages of finding the ashes for the Jews or preventing them from having them. His decision was made more quickly than Natasha expected.

  "Where is the resting place?"