The Syrian (Natasha Kelly, Mossad Spy)

by Felicia Mires

  "Renee is a bit of a whirl, but you've nothing to worry about from Ann…or me."

  The door flew wide and Renee bounded out, followed by Dirk's mother at a more sedate pace.

  "Come along, Dad. Westminster awaits."

  At long last, they arrived at Westminster Abbey, and Natasha walked through the hushed halls in a daze.

  Renee blinked owlish eyes at Natasha. "Guess who's buried here?"

  "I haven't a clue."

  "Charles Dickens, Robert Browning, George Frederic Handel, and even…Laurence Olivier."

  "Amazing. So, it's just a big burial vault?"

  Mr. Sloan shook his head. "Not at all. After tours, the Abbey still functions as a house of worship for the Church of England…with services every Sunday. Each monarch, save two, has been anointed and crowned by the Archbishop of Canterbury, here, in the Abbey."

  Natasha gaped at the high ceilings. These halls echoed with the feel of something…regal, even holy. She'd never experienced anything like it.

  As the time approached for the meeting with Joan and her two "perfectly boring twees," as Dirk referred to them, Natasha's stomach churned.

  When they reached the Dorchester, she asked to be excused and went to the Ladies' Room to freshen her make-up.

  After a few moments, Renee joined her. "Don't be nervous. Dirk always teases Joan about being stroppy, but she's not really. It just takes her a while to unwind compared with the rest of us. Besides, I think you're absolutely cracking!" Renee gave Natasha a quick hug and walked out.

  Natasha faced the mirror for a minute. This day had been so perfect. Only having Dirk beside her could improve it. She closed her eyes. Thank you, Lord, for such a blessing.

  She wandered into the lobby.

  At once, two perfectly attired children and their equally perfect mother moved to confront her.

  "Natasha, this is Joan," said Mrs. Sloan. "And this is Bert, aged eight, and Samantha, aged six." They nodded politely at her one by one.

  "How do you do? Dirk has spoken of you often." Natasha gave them a beaming smile, which was best answered by Samantha, though she hid behind her brother and peaked out with a grin.

  "Our table is reserved in the Promenade." Mr. Sloan led the way. "Why don't we get acquainted there?"

  Natasha followed the family. Just ahead, walked the perfectly slim Joan in a beige silk jacket and skirt, her light brown hair perfectly coiffed in a sleek bob. The perfect Bert wore a dark blue suit and tie and looked absolutely darling, though he might not appreciate the thought. Natasha's nephews never did. The perfect little Samantha sashayed past in a yellow a-line dress, her face as heavenly as an angel. Dirk was right. Joan and her offspring were…perfect.

  Once seated in the opulent dining area, Dirk's mother smiled at Natasha. "Since this is your first time, we've ordered the traditional Afternoon Tea."

  "How exciting. Everything is lovely. Thank you for bringing me."

  "You're most welcome, young lady." Mr. Sloan inclined his head.

  Though he didn't say much, Natasha felt he'd enjoyed sharing British history with her.

  She placed her hands in her lap and studied her surroundings. A polished silver service and sparkling crystal adorned the white linen of the table. Pure white linen napkins, folded to represent a fan, sat before each setting. The wait staff, in their starched black tuxedos, stood at attention. Everything in the airy room reflected elegance, down to the gleaming Wedgwood china.

  "May I call you Tasha?" The children had remained so quiet, Natasha was astonished when Bert blurted out the question.

  "Don't be impertinent, Bert," Joan said, frowning. "I'm so sorry, Natasha."

  "It's quite all right." Natasha smiled then directed her attention to Bert. "I wouldn't mind, if it's all right with your mother."

  Two sets of pleading eyes turned on Joan.

  "That will be fine."

  Such an advancement in etiquette emboldened Samantha. "What does Uncle Dirk call you? Has he ever called you Tasha before?"

  Joan winced. "Samantha, that is none of your business. Do not speak unless you are spoken to. Really, Natasha, I'm very sorry."

  "Oh, it's not a problem. I understand curiosity. My sister's children ask me anything they want. And yes, Dirk has called me that. But, most of the time he calls me Natasha."

  The first time Dirk had called her Tasha, he'd been lying on the floor of John's abbey, bleeding from a gunshot wound to the abdomen. He could barely speak after a severe beating, which broke a rib and punctured a lung. He'd called her Tasha because he couldn't get anything else out. But the family knew nothing of his spy activities.

  She raised her head to find the entire family staring at her expectantly. She must have missed something.

  "I'm sorry. Did you say something?" A blush crept up her neck at their continued speculation.

  "We were wondering when you and Dirk were going to tie the knot?" Renee's infectious smile was irresistible. Natasha wished very much she could give them all an honest answer.

  "Don't pay her any heed, Natasha. That's rude, Renee. They'll tell us when they're ready."

  Joan wasn't perfectly boring. Just incredibly shy and sensitive to other people's discomfort.

  Natasha flashed her a grateful smile. "Please feel at ease to ask anything." She looked from one to the other. "Dirk hasn't discussed any dates with me. Each time we try to have a serious conversation, either my job or his job interferes. But I promise you won't be caught unawares. As soon as we decide anything, we'll let you know."

  Her solemn promise appeased them for a few seconds, but she recognized the look on the faces of the children.

  Bert popped up. "I want to know if your brother is really black as the ace of spades."

  Joan choked on her tea, and Natasha did her best to hide a smile.

  "Yes, he really is. I know that must seem strange, Bert. But if you knew my family, it would seem perfectly natural. We traveled all over the world, telling people about Jesus.

  "While we were in Africa, Katir's parents died. He was very tiny…about four years old. He came to stay with us, and we loved him very much. When our family moved away, my parents adopted him. We could never have left him behind. So you see…almost all my life, he's been my baby brother, and when I look at him…I don't see black. I just see Katir. Do you understand?"

  Both children nodded, then little Samantha gazed up at Natasha with solemn eyes. "I think it's sweet. I want a baby sister, but Mommy says-"

  "That's quite enough, Samantha. We don't need to reveal all the family secrets today." Joan took her daughter's hand and smiled. "Wait until tomorrow at least."

  Several adults hid a smile behind linen napkins, but they were rescued by a waiter.

  Natasha tasted everything set in front of her: Hot tea with cold cream and sugar, sandwiches with paper-thin sliced cucumbers, pastel petit fours, raisin clones with clotted cream, and Madeleine cookies.

  The entire family seemed immensely pleased with her enthusiasm towards the Tea, as if they'd been watching to see how well she fit in. Natasha felt like she'd passed a test.

  "Try this biscuit." Renee held up yet another cookie.

  "I can't. I'm stuffed." Natasha leaned back.

  She heard the clank of a fork as it hit a china plate. She glanced around the table. All eyes bored into her, except the children, who looked as baffled as she felt.

  Renee dropped her napkin and shook with gales of laughter. "Natasha, I think it's time to visit the Necessary Room."

  Mrs. Sloan managed a shaky smile. "Yes. Now that we're all finished, perhaps you girls would like to freshen up while Dad settles things here."

  Mr. Sloan and Bert stood as all the ladies followed Mrs. Sloan. Once they reached the hall, Renee held Natasha back.

  "I suppose you'd like to know why everyone is so tongue-tied."

  "Yes, what in the world happened?"

  Renee glanced around. "You dropped a real clanger. Priceless, really, but not on. I thought Mother
would faint…and Joan...did you see her face?"

  "What's not on? Tell me."

  "A bit of slang. You couldn't have known. But when referring to…umm…stuffed. It isn't an acceptable term for a posh gathering and doesn't refer to a meal."

  Natasha's mouth gaped open. "I'd like to crawl under a rock and never come out."

  Renee broke into renewed laughter as she ambled toward the Ladies' room. Natasha followed her down the passageway, oblivious to anything but the blunder she'd made.

  Father, why do these things happen to me? His parents must think I'm disgusting. Or worse, having sex with Dirk like some Hollywood bimbo. They probably can't wait to get rid of me. What am I going to do? How can I…

  Natasha recognized the trap. Letting her mind rabbit trail through a maze of disasters gave satan power in her life. Thank you, Lord.

  Her lips barely moved. "Satan, you're a liar, and I speak God's blessing and truth over my relationship with Dirk and his family. Now be gone in the name of Jesus."

  In the bathroom, Dirk's mother waited before a sink of clear blue glass, swishing her hands under the lion's mouth where water streamed out.

  "Natasha, dear?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Would you like to shop at Harrods? We'd have about an hour. Not really long enough to get the whole experience, but long enough to enjoy yourself."

  "I'd love to go shopping…any time."

  Joan and Renee shared an amused glance.

  "Let's go!"

  "Not so loud, Renee," said Joan with a pained look.

  "Let's go," whispered Renee.

  Joan rolled her eyes and smiled at Natasha.

  Thank you again, Lord.

  When they announced their intentions to shop for the rest of the afternoon, Mr. Sloan raised an eyebrow. Just like Dirk. Natasha smothered a grin.

  Joan stopped before Mr. Sloan. "Dad, if you'll go round to the house with Bert and Samantha, I'll join the women for shopping and bring them home."

  Mr. Sloan gave Bert's shoulder a squeeze. "I think we'd enjoy that a whole lot more."

  The four women swept through the doors of Harrods to the accompaniment of Renee's usual banter. "Established in 1849, boasting 5000 employees from 50 different countries with merchandise even more varied. There are 330 departments on seven floors. Where do you want to start?"

  Natasha stared dumbfounded at the directory.

  "Lost? If you want to experience the real Harrods, the Egyptian Hall and the Pet Department are considered a must-see."

  "Is it true at Harrods you can find anything for anyone?"

  Renee hooked her arm through Natasha's. "Let's find out. Come on, Mum…Joan…to the lift."

  Natasha used her camera to record each new site, enthralled with the unique displays, especially the Egyptian escalators. Surrounded by marble floors, with details of sculpted bronze, the escalator rose past gilded sconces and lamps made of papyrus plants up to balconies lined with hieroglyphs.

  She peered overhead as they glided upward. The writing above them looked familiar. She blinked. "Are those quotes from Ozzymandias?"

  Joan rolled her eyes. "Yes. Al Fayed has an ironic sense of humor."

  "Worse than that." Renee smirked. "When he inspects the store, he's preceded by bagpipers."

  "Never heard that one."

  "Probably a lot you haven't heard. Al Fayed claimed Prince Philip arranged the death of his son, Dodi Fayed, and Diana, Princess of Wales. So Harrods lost their royal warrants. Did you see that memorial near the escalator? There's a statue, too."

  "Enough gossip, Renee. You'll ruin the experience for Natasha." Joan looked down from the step above as she tapped manicured nails on the side rail.

  "It's all right." Natasha smiled and shrugged. "I don't know what a royal warrant is, anyway."

  Conversation ceased as a tall man in a black tuxedo stepped to the alcove over the escalator and belted out an opera.

  Natasha bent over, laughing. "Only at Harrods. At least he sings well."

  Guarding the outside of the Egyptian temple stood a six-foot statue of a sleek black cat. The gold eyes stared out with a haughty expression, daring one to trespass its domain. A glittering gold necklace with turquoise, rubies and sapphires encircled its neck.

  Natasha reached for the tag, discreetly tucked underneath. Her mouth gaped. "Three thousand dollars! Is it even real? It's not locked up."

  Joan lifted an elegant shoulder. "It's a copy of some bauble found at an Egyptian site."

  "What a bauble! I need to find something a little less…conspicuous to take home for the folks."

  Renee laughed. "The folks? Your parents, you mean?"

  "And my brother."

  Mrs. Sloan patted her hand. "I'm going to the Cosmetics counter. Take as long as you need."

  Natasha raised her camera to snap a shot of the shiny black cat with the expensive collar. When she lowered it, a tall dark man blocked their path.

  She felt Renee and Joan move closer. Natasha stepped forward and took a deep breath. This was not the time for Yaakov to send more kidnappers. What would Dirk's family think?

  He dipped his head before addressing her in a thick accent. "I'm sorry, madam. Harrods does not allow pictures inside the store…for security reasons."

  "I'm so sorry. I didn't know. Do you need the memory card?"

  "Not necessary, if madam will refrain from any further picture-taking."

  "Of course."

  He turned and strode away.

  Renee put her hands on her hips. "What utter rot. One would think you were a spy or something."

  "Imagine that. I think I'm more insulted that he called me madam…instead of miss."

  Joan and Renee exchanged a glance, then laughed. "I see your point."

  "I think it's time to visit the ladies' room."

  Renee snorted. "It costs the bomb here."

  "The what?"

  Joan leaned over. "She means it's rather dear…a pound, at least."

  "To visit the loo?"

  Renee howled with laughter. "That sounds hysterical with your Texas drawl."

  Eventually, Natasha purchased a token gift for everyone at home, each tucked inside Harrods' green and gold signature bag. And she'd thought of the ideal thank-you gift for Dirk's parents. Ann Sloan expressed a desire to see the actual photo taken of Dirk and Natasha in front of the Ein Avdat waterfall in Israel. Natasha chose a sparkling crystal frame to house an 8x10 photo.

  The hour expired before she knew it, and she stood outside waiting with Mrs. Sloan and Renee for Joan to bring the car round. Overhead, over 11,500 lights advertised Harrods' presence for the evening commuter.

  "What did you think, Natasha?" asked Dirk's mother.

  "Amazing…and outrageously expensive, but definitely worth a visit. Thanks for bringing me."

  "Our pleasure. We have another surprise for you when we get home."

  Natasha wanted nothing more than sleep for a week, but she pasted a smile on her face. When would she see Dirk's family again? And they were going out of their way for her.

  "We'll put on our posh frocks and visit Millenium Mayfair for dinner. Joe made reservations at Brian Turner's. You know, from Ready, Steady, Cook. On the way, we'll go by Big Ben. It's a wonderful sight in the moonlight. You must have a picture."

  "That would be marvelous, thank you."

  Now she knew where Dirk got all his energy…from his mother.

  Look for other titles by Felicia Mires:

  Fantasy: The Lands of Elohan series

  Fairies and Fantasy

  Elves and Dragons

  Once Upon a Fairy Tale

  A Dream Come True

  Adventure: Natasha's spy series

  Diamonds Are For Eden

  The Syrian

  The Blood Plague

  To Save a Jew Pt. 1

  To Save a Jew Pt. 2

  The Traitor Within

  Without a Traitor

  Romance:

  A Garden for Sarah


  Bachelorettes On Parade

  Madeleine and the Mind

  Seven Blind Dates

  Would You, Could You

  Wind series

  Wind on the Sand

  Whirlwind of Betrayal

  Winds of Change

  Mystery:

  Unseen

  Era/Historical:

  Gypsy Duke (regency)

  All Things New (WWII)

  Recommended reading:

  Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers is my all-time favorite

  Dee Henderson, the O' Malley series & the Uncommon Heroes series

  Dead Reckoning by Ronie Kendig

  Descended ~ Jett by Dana Pratola

  About the Author

  Felicia Mires is the author of over twenty Christian novels: historical, fantasy, and contemporary (all with a bit of romance). She loves all things literary, and when not writing, spends time editing for other authors and judging writing contests…so she can read more books. Felicia and her husband Gene reside in Orange, Texas. They have three children, as well as numerous children in the Lord at Life Church, Port Arthur, where they pastor young adults. Felicia is thankful for her family and the gift of writing for the heavenly Father. Relationship is what matters.