The Syrian (Natasha Kelly, Mossad Spy)

by Felicia Mires

  "It's like looking for a needle in a haystack. If God wanted us to find it…But I don't really believe that. And he changeth the times and the seasons: he removeth kings, and setteth up kings: he giveth wisdom unto the wise, and knowledge to them that know understanding: He revealeth the deep and secret things: he knoweth what is in the darkness, and the light dwelleth with him."

  "God loves to delight us with His secrets. If He tells you one, will you share it with me?" John's lighthearted tone was infectious.

  "More like the other way around. When He shares one with you, will you tell me?"

  They laughed then Natasha began to study the topographic hologram. The surface of the land rose and fell. The rivers glistened and came alive. And Jerusalem, without its buildings, was truly a city on a hill, on a mountain, in fact.

  The area of Jerusalem faintly resembled…Natasha paused. Surely she recognized that shape. She searched the shelves for a book on the Hebrew alphabet. The 21st letter of the Hebrew alphabet was SHIN. It stood for the name of God, and it looked very much like the shape of the mountains and valleys that made up Jerusalem.

  Natasha's heart raced. She rushed back to the manuscript notes. The Garden was in the place where God put His name. Jerusalem looked like the Hebrew letter for God's name. She'd found it! And God had such a sense of humor. There for the whole world to see. The clues in His Word, the shape of His creation, and the symbols. That was the funniest of all.

  God left two cherubim to guard the Tree of Life, and what symbol had he told the Children of Israel to place in their temple? Cherubim. The curtain hiding the Holy of Holies was decorated with cherubim. That should have been the biggest clue of all. The divine presence of God, the mercy seat, and its offer of eternal life through God's mercy, guarded by cherubim. There was a significant parallel between the Tree of Life and God's mercy seat, sprinkled with the blood of Christ that brought eternal life. Both symbols of eternal life were guarded by cherubim.

  Natasha correlated all parallel references. The priests sprinkled blood toward the east. Leviticus 16:14. The east again. The Garden's entrance had to be the Eastern Gate that was also called the Gate of Mercy. Christ's return will be to the east, the Mount of Olives, the Eastern Gate. Natasha felt she could go on all night. God's Word was a miraculous montage of related symbols, and they all pointed to Him.

  John watched her with a gleam in his eyes. "You found something?"

  "I'm just enjoying this beautiful holographic display of Jerusalem."

  A noise at the door brought their heads around. Hassan entered with their evening meal. "He's gone. You'll eat here."

  After placing their trays on a table, he left without making eye contact. A glance at the library clock showed 1800 hours. Natasha had some decisions to make. According to plans made with Dirk, tonight they broke out. Hassan was on duty. That was necessary. But Yaakov was gone. Did she want Yaakov captured…even killed? It would be easier to escape if she and John were the only people involved. Up and over the wall…the end.

  Dirk and Hassan had discussed the possibility of Hassan remaining behind with Yaakov. Would it be too dangerous for him to remain after letting them escape? Hassan had recently been involved with the death of another guard. Yaakov might already suspect him.

  Natasha desperately wanted to discuss this with John. Should they leave tonight, or should they wait to capture Yaakov? If they waited, they ran the risk of being moved or separated again. But the Mossad hid in the desert outside the wall. According to her pre-arranged signal with Dirk, she would remove her earrings when she and John were ready for rescue. The satellite image would disappear then reappear when she put the earrings on an hour later. Then the Mossad would remove her and John. If she didn't put them back on, the Mossad would know she and John were not able to reach the rendezvous point.

  She paused with the fork in midair as the perfect plan occurred to her. She stuffed food in her mouth. Chewed and stuffed. Without warning, she jumped out of her chair and vomited on the floor. John looked at her in alarm, and Hassan rushed into the room. Natasha waved frantically at John for help. They half- carried her to the bathroom. Privacy, at last. Hassan stood outside while Natasha hastened to explain their dilemma to John, in between intermittent fake sounds of vomiting.

  John voted to get out, take the manuscript notes, and take Hassan, whom he was very surprised to hear was the "good guy." Natasha agreed and dropped her earrings inside her shirt pocket.

  She washed briefly and yanked open the door, pulling her hair behind her ear so Hassan would see she'd removed the earrings. "I need to lie down a minute."

  Hassan nodded permission.

  "I'll clean the library."

  John was going to check the exact time so Natasha could replace her earrings at the proper moment. He was also going to gather all necessary notes and the manuscript. They would have to leave the copy Yaakov had made for himself. He kept it locked up somewhere. He had allowed John to work on the original because it was easier to read.

  In their room, Natasha lay down on her cot. We're going home. Her small stash of clothes would be left behind. She didn't think the guards would allow her to carry clothes to the exercise yard. The sacrifice was well worth an escape.

  She lay in her room, willing the minutes to go by more quickly. It felt like the longest hour she'd ever endured. After an eternity of idleness, she rose from the cot and walked to her door. Hassan stood outside. They made silent eye contact, and she turned around and walked back to her cot.

  If only John would come. He could talk about something, anything, and the time would pass more quickly.

  When he did enter into the room, he wasn't carrying any of the notes or the thick manuscript. Her questioning eyes probed his. Evidently, he wasn't sure what she wanted, so he gave her two answers. He patted his stomach to show where he'd hidden the manuscript, and he told her how long she'd been waiting. "You've been lying here for about 35 minutes. Are you feeling better, my child?" His look of concern touched her heart. She wanted to assure him she'd thrown up on purpose, but she couldn't.

  "I think I need some fresh air. Would you take me outside to sit on the bench?"

  John walked closer to Hassan. "Might we be allowed to sit outside? Natasha does not feel well."

  Hassan picked up his radio. "The American has vomited and requests to sit outside for fresh air. We will be in the courtyard."

  They meandered slowly to the outside door. John wrapped his arm around Natasha's waist, and she leaned against him. A very convincing performance. It also hid the bulge in the front of John's shirt, which crinkled slightly when she drooped against it.

  Outside, the air proved refreshing. It had long been dark, and the lustrous night air of the desert brought relief from the stifling day. An intermittent breeze lifted Natasha's hair, and she pushed it out of her face. How she longed to replace the earrings, but Hassan would give them the signal for the correct time. He wore the only watch.

  Natasha tried to keep a running count. Thirty-five minutes when John came in the room. Ten minutes to walk outside. Fifteen more minutes to wait. Dirk and David better be ready.

  John made idle conversation, but Natasha wasn't really listening. When the door to the compound opened, her stomach rose in her throat, for real this time. Yaakov stood framed in the doorway. She had at least another ten-minute wait. He could ruin everything. What if he told them to go inside?

  Yaakov's white robe billowed as he came and stood before them, casting an appraising glance at Natasha.

  "I fear your desire for a substantial lunch has undone you, Miss Kelly. The rich food of the desert on an empty stomach was perhaps too much. How are you feeling?"

  "Better." She tried to appear as pathetic and forlorn as possible.

  "How fortunate. I would like to take your monk inside and discuss the latest translations. John?"

  He waited for John to stand and join him, but Natasha reached out to grab John's hand.

  "I...I don't want to be al
one. I might get sick again."

  "You have Hassan should you require anything."

  When he opened his mouth, Natasha knew it wasn't going to work. She couldn't wait any longer. With one hand, she slowly replaced the back to her earring. One was enough to activate the signal. Hopefully, the others had had time to get in position.

  John stood and turned as if to tell her goodbye. At that moment, a rope ladder dropped over the wall. Natasha responded instantly, knocking Yaakov backward with a kick. He fell to the ground.

  She jumped up and pushed John to the ladder. An agent appeared at the top of the wall. Hassan ran toward them. Yaakov rolled over and pulled out a gun.

  Natasha jumped on the ladder behind John and shoved him over the top of the wall. She turned to face Yaakov, but Hassan dropped to the ground before him as if offering protection, which also kept Yaakov from shooting Natasha.

  Hassan raised his gun. The first shot missed, mere inches from her foot as Dirk appeared. He reached down and grabbed her hand. In the same instant, another agent cleared the wall.

  Hassan's next shot and the shot from the other agent exploded at the same moment. She felt the bullet tear through her side.

  Her hand lost its grip on the rope ladder, but Dirk held firm, lifting her up and over in a matter of seconds.

  Hassan shot me.

  Dirk carried her away, and the next few moments passed in a blur. John's concerned face, someone wrapping her side, and pain…lots of pain.

  "It hurts."

  Someone stuck a needle in her arm, and she passed into sweet oblivion.

  Chapter 10

  Natasha felt as if she were teetering on the edge of a precipice. There were others with her somewhere, some friends, some not. Though she didn't see them, she had a sense of their presence.

  Ah, the dream again. She liked this dream. Maybe John wouldn't die this time.

  An immense wall rose before her, but there were no flames. The wall looked very much like the Eastern Gate, standing open, but it couldn't be. The Eastern Gate had been walled shut for centuries.

  She peered closer. It was indeed the Eastern Gate, shining like the sun. Was it gold? Or iridescent? No, it was pearl. That's why it changed color and reflected the light.

  Breathtaking color. Natasha sat beside the precipice and stared at the Gate with longing. Beyond the precipice was a chasm, preventing her from entering the Gate. She strained her eyes to see the wonders within.

  On either side, she sighted the cherubim, but they weren't menacing, nor did they block the entrance. Behind them, the colors of the garden shone with such brightness they looked illuminated from within. The rich color of the holographic map seemed a pale imitation of the thousands of flowers in Eden's meadow, more varied than any rainbow.

  From the midst of the flowers rose a majestic tree with arms reaching over the meadow. Every branch held lush greenery, and Natasha counted twelve types of fruit, ripe and inviting. The fruit is ripe!

  She stood, longing for the fruit. If only she could find the way.

  A bright, shining light appeared before the gate, so bright it hurt her eyes, yet she couldn't stop gazing into it. It rose and turned, becoming a colossal sword with a sharp double-edge. When it turned, a blinding light reflected in the gate then flashed at Natasha's eyes.

  She closed them tightly. When she opened them again, the sword had turned to the other direction and the white light reflected again. This sword appeared to have life. It stood in the Gate with arms outstretched. Was she seeing things? No one held the sword in her last dream.

  The arms reached out to her from the white light, and the sword came straight toward her. It dropped before her feet, making a safe path over the chasm. The shimmering figure of light beckoned with arms outstretched. All she had to do was step toward that light and surely she would be with Jesus…in His Garden.

  She stepped out.

  The others she had felt near her began to call her name. "No, Natasha…Natasha, wake up! You're going to be all right!"

  The pain was coming back. She fought to stay in the light.

  "Jesus, please."

  "Natasha, listen, you're having a reaction to the painkiller. Fight it. You've got to wake up."

  She heard Dirk's voice like a clanging hammer in her head. She didn't want to wake up, didn't want to feel that pain.

  John sounded calmer. "It would be easier to go back to sleep, Natasha, but God has something here for you to finish. Now…open your eyes."

  She blinked several times, tears sliding from the corners of her eyes. Each time felt like an explosion of light and pain.

  "The light," she finally got out.

  Immediately, the light was extinguished. But the nausea, from the pain and the unfortunate choice of painkiller, had just begun.

  "Sick," she muttered before bolting up and losing her stomach.

  Pain from the gunshot ripped through her.

  "Aagh," she choked, grabbing her side before the retching began again.

  She hadn't managed to open her eyes, so she didn't know where the vomit was going.

  Someone helped her lean over then held back her hair. "It's all right. I've got you."

  Dirk again. Definitely Dirk. But where was David Benjamin? He should be there, too.

  "David?"

  "No," he said in a tired voice. "It's Dirk. But David is here. Do you want him?"

  She threw up before she could answer.

  David's deep voice resonated nearby. "Natasha, relax. Everything is fine. We're all here…together again."

  Yes, David understood. They were all together now.

  Someone leaned her back, and cool cloths washed her face.

  When a cup of water met her lips, she rinsed out her mouth. Another cup was offered, and she took a small drink. Someone lifted her arm to take her blood pressure. Too tired to care, she didn't bother looking up.

  "It's all right now," said a strange voice. "Her blood pressure is down. Turn her on her right side and let her sleep."

  Very gently, she was rolled onto her side. The edge of her shirt lifted as someone checked the bullet wound.

  "The bleeding has stopped. It's a clean shot, went right through without hitting anything. Whoever did this was awfully lucky or a mighty good shot."

  "Hassan," she rasped out. "Tried to kill me."

  "No," said David. "He shot you to keep Yaakov from shooting you. And the wound is no accident. He's one of the best snipers in the Mossad."

  "Remind me to…repay the favor." Her voice grew in strength.

  "She sounds fine to me." Dirk observed wryly.

  "Perhaps it would be best if she were to sleep now." John patted her hand.

  As she drifted off once more, she became faintly aware of the drone of a helicopter. When they landed, she was transported to the hospital. Only John walked beside her gurney. This disappointed her, but she couldn't remember why. At the hospital, they poked and prodded in a most unsatisfactory manner, reminding Natasha of her previous visit almost two months ago.

  The physician obviously thought he had an amusing bedside manner. "You are my favorite non-existent patient."

  "You'll be my favorite doctor if you get rid of this pain."

  "You had an allergic reaction. I hesitate to give you anything."

  The helicopter medic wandered into the room and handed over a stack of papers. "My report." He left just as quickly.

  For several seconds, the doctor read then he frowned. "Why is morphine not on your official list of medical allergies?"

  "Because I've never had it before. The next time someone aims a pistol at me, I will endeavor to ascertain what narcotics are available before I let them shoot me."

  "I've changed my mind."

  "About what?" She felt almost too tired to care.

  "You are no longer my favorite. But I'm willing to give you another chance. I'll see you tomorrow when your temper has improved…and your drugs are working."

  Natasha had the grace to look chagr
ined. "Sorry."

  "You're forgiven. Tomorrow then." He pulled a curtain across the side of her bed.

  Soon a nurse entered with a hypodermic needle. "For infection and pain. You'll sleep now."

  Might as well. The last time she came to the hospital, people couldn't wait to see her. Now she was alone. "So much for the staying power of the men in my life."

  A voice from behind the curtain startled her. "That's not entirely true. May I come in?"

  "John! You better hurry. They drugged me again, and I might pass out. It's becoming a habit."

  John's arm was in a sling, but he smiled at her. "You look much better."

  Natasha had a sneaking suspicion about that sling. "You don't. You look like someone threw you over a wall."

  "Yes, I must thank you for that. I believe you're wearing my bullet hole."

  "It went all the way through and out the other side. Dirk and I will have matching scars. They keep saying it's amazing the bullet didn't hit anything vital. But I can tell you…it feels like it hit something vital…me."

  John chuckled.

  "I'm sorry about your arm, though. I didn't think. I just pushed."

  He took her hand. "You probably saved my life again. I thank you."

  Tears welled in her eyes, and she shook her head.

  "Now, none of that."

  "I know I'm just being silly. But there was no one here. I thought you all left me." She wiped at her eyes with her fist until he handed her a tissue.

  "I attempted to remain, but the medic from the helicopter insisted that my arm be examined. They took X-rays, and…here I am."

  A short silence developed. Natasha yawned.

  "But you're probably wondering about your two young men."