Grains of Truth (36 page)

They’d covered a considerable distance across the difficult terrain before his pace slowed and he released the grip on her arm.

“Forgive me, Julia. These delays are rather inconvenient.” His taut features relaxed as he slipped back into the role of bafflingly urbane host. Pointing to an outcrop of rocks at the base of the mountains he said, “See the acacia trees there by the entrance to the wadi? We will go there and take refreshment in the shade while we wait for the engine to cool.” He wanted to be as far away from the vehicle as possible should trouble arise.

It always seemed strange to Julia to find plants growing in this desolate landscape. She’d learned that the extreme conditions of the ecosystem, over thousands of years, had triggered transformations in the structural organisms, enabling them to adapt to the harsh environment. The wadis, fossil beds of age-old rivers when there was much more rainfall, cut a maze of valleys across the vast region of the Sinai. They could be miles long and hundreds of meters wide, or merely crevices in the rock. 

The area was sparsely populated. Apart from the occasional oasis and Bedouin camp, it was inhabited mostly by rodents, reptiles and the odd stray camel. It could be an excellent place to hide—if one could manage to maneuver without a compass, avoid the landmines buried from innumerable wars, and steer clear of snakes and other poisonous reptiles. If one had water to survive the brutal temperatures of the long, hot days and blankets to shelter from the raw cold of the night.

Julia recalled vividly the bone-chilling cold at the top of Mt. Sinai, shivering beneath smelly camel blankets rented from the enterprising Bedouins at its peak. She also remembered the sanctuary of St. Catherine’s Monastery.

Ahmed had long since abandoned any attempt at anonymity, along with the fearsome Faoud. Julia knew this did not bode well for her future. If she could get away, with even a small head-start, she could easily disappear. Whatever her chances might be in the inhospitable mountains, they would be better than what faced her now. If she could make it to St. Catherine’s, the monks would protect her.

Julia trudged along the barren ground, her frenzied mind searching for a plan. She started when he came to a stop. They’d reached the grove of spindly trees and it was now fully light. The sun had risen quickly in the sky, causing the temperature to jump at least twenty degrees.

Ahmed removed a wool blanket from the rucksack, a worn version of the one Julia purchased from Zed that terrible day in Kom Ombo, and spread it out in the filtered shade of the largest tree. She sank gratefully down and kicked off the flimsy shoes, full of sand and sharp pebbles that cut unmercifully into her feet. As she did, she noticed a rock beside the blanket, about the right size to fit into the palm of her hand. If she could only free her arms, and distract him long enough to pick it up.

“Not exactly the appropriate footwear for such an expedition,” he commented dryly.

Hot, exhausted and beyond caution, with feet bloody and sore, she shot back without thinking, “Well, perhaps in the future you’ll let me know the agenda ahead of time so I can dress properly.”

At this, the terrorist threw back his head and laughed out loud. “Ah, Julia, you are an interesting woman.”

Encouraged by this unexpected display of familiarity, she pressed the advantage. “Listen, since we’re out here in the middle of nowhere, could you remove this awful thing?” She flapped her arms inside the dusty, stifling burqa. “Wearing black in this sun is like roasting in an oven.”

He looked down at her for a thoughtful moment. “Yes, I don’t see why not.”

Free from the constricting garment, she felt a surge of emboldening hope. With as pathetic a look as she could muster, she held out her securely bound wrists. Again, that unnerving look before he shrugged and untied them.

When he offered a bottle of water, she drank deeply and then splashed her face. Unencumbered and thirst quenched, she looked around at the stark landscape. Many thought it depressing. Julia found it hauntingly beautiful.

The unmistakable appreciation on her flushed face so clearly revealed her thoughts, even in her dire situation, Ahmed was moved to say, “I’m sorry you have become involved in this, Julia.”

She turned to look up at him and was astounded by the sympathetic expression on his beautiful face. Here they sat, she thought in wonder, in the middle of the Sinai desert: two strangers brought together by unimaginable circumstance, on opposite sides of a conflict not of their own making.

“Why, Ahmed? Why are you doing it?”

He seemed far away for a time as he gazed out across the sand. The words came softly, like a prayer. “It is for Allah. And it is right. The Islamic world has tasted the humiliation and degradation in Palestine for more than eighty years. Why do you suppose men and women around the world line up to plead for permission to become martyrs? The Western governments are corrupt and must be stopped.”

He tilted his head back to take in the infinity of sky and spoke as if a script were written there. “In the rest of the world, Western political assumptions are so taken for granted that no one thinks about them anymore. But at least one of these assumptions—the modern belief in secular civil government—is, for us, an alien creed. For more than a thousand years, we have avowed faith in a Holy Law that governs all of life.” That sweet, sweet smile caressed the corners of his lips. “The Jihad is to eradicate the cancer of your ‘democracy’ and prevent it from spreading.”

The absurdity of this discussion—in this place, under these circumstances—escaped Julia for the moment. “I agree that many mistakes have been made. But why does it have to be this way? With violence and pain and death for innocent people? You’re an intelligent, educated man. There are many like you who believe in your cause.

“Why can’t you, together, find a better way? A peaceful way?”

Even as she spoke spontaneously from the heart, Julia reminded herself of the risk in saying these things. If he were to discover that she knew of his real purpose, things would be much worse for her. Much worse.

“Ah, so now you will try to reform me?” Mischief danced in his eyes. Beneath them, she noticed sunlight glinting off a silver charm that hung from a chain around his neck. It represented, she knew, the five pillars of Islam: Faith in God and Muhammad as His messenger; the ritual of prayers five times each day; Charity to the needy; the annual fast of Ramadan; and the Hajj, the pilgrimage to Mecca all Muslims hoped to make at least once in their lifetime.

His lips lifted at her stare. He was, undeniably, the most amazingly beautiful man.

Julia tore her eyes away. This classic face masked an underlying, unwavering intent to commit appalling acts of destruction. To look at him, to hear him, made it near impossible to believe that he, along with his fellow terrorists, was planning the unthinkable, unimaginable horror of genocide. It would be conceit of the highest order to think for one second that she could reform him.

But she had to try. 

“It’s not for me to say who’s right or wrong. The only thing I know for sure is that violence is wrong. It only begets more violence. The lesson is there throughout history. I agree that there needs to be a revolution of sorts: to redistribute global wealth more equally and reform the corruption and immorality that’s tearing the world apart. But peaceful revolutions can work. Look at Mahatma Gandhi and all he accomplished. Without violence. It can be done!”

The words erupted from the depths of her soul with such potent conviction it made her eyes bright with unshed tears. Her upturned palms reached out to him, fingers spread wide, in a gesture of desperate appeal.

The sight of her, kneeling on the blanket in the filtered rays of the sun, looking up at him in her passionate plea, touched a place deep within Ahmed. An infinitesimal spark of doubt stirred, like a shooting star.

A shrill sound startled them both from the riveting exchange. The flicker of doubt died away. He reached in a pocket to retrieve his phone, turning his back as he moved away.

Julia drooped down, worn out by effort and emotion. Her eye fell to the rucksack, less than a yard away. Her heart stopped at the sight of the handle of a gun peeking out from its depths. But before she could scoop it up, Ahmed turned back. With nerves still aquiver, she leaned back on the corner of the blanket. Her hand brushed against something hard and warm. The rock. Cautiously, keeping watch from the corner of her eye, she picked it up and slid it into the folds of her robe. 

Ahmed returned to find her lying on her side, eyes closed, with the loathsome burqa rolled into a ball beneath her head. The sweet smile softened his features as he sat on the edge of the blanket to watch her as she slept. There was another reason for his smile: Arrangements for the last delivery of weapons was confirmed. Everything was going according to plan.

~

Feigning sleep, Julia watched him through lowered lashes as he watched her. Her mind kept pace with her thundering heart. If she could get him to bend down, perhaps to examine her damaged feet, she might have a chance. Hit him on the back of the head as hard as she could, grab the sack with the water and the gun and run like hell. It wasn’t far to the wadi. She could make it. As long as she hit him hard enough to knock him out or at least stun him for a few precious minutes. And as long as he wasn’t carrying another gun.

While her head swirled with the possibilities, not once did her deeply-rooted pacifism interfere. At last, summoning every shred of courage in her soul, she gripped the rock, opened her eyes, took a deep breath, and stretched her legs. The movement caused her to wince in real pain. He tilted his head in question before his eyes followed hers down to her feet. 

She sat up slowly. “My feet are destroyed. I don’t know if I’ll be able to walk.” In a small, hesitant voice she asked, “I don’t suppose there’s water to spare for rinsing them off?” The rock burned in her hand, concealed beneath the crumbled robe beside her.

He showed no expression as he knelt at her bruised, bloody feet. She stared in bewilderment as he gently lifted one, cradling it in his hands. The tingling sensation that reverberated up her leg at his touch shocked her into immobility. Their breath simultaneously quickened as their eyes locked in mute comprehension of the arousing connection.

“Ahmed!”

The cry came from the distance. “Ahmed!” Faoud stood, waving his arms, halfway between the road and the acacia trees. Shimmering on the golden sand in the blinding sun, he could have been a mirage. He was not. 

Eyes still holding hers, Ahmed slowly lowered the battered foot, to place it just as gently back on the blanket. In a single fluid movement, he came to his feet, raising a hand to acknowledge the signal. He tossed her a bottle of water and removed a cloth from the rucksack. Tearing it into strips, he dropped them in her lap. “Wrap your feet before replacing the shoes. And put those back on,” he added, pointing to the wadded up robe and burqa. 

His eyes never left her as she followed the terse command.

Her feet attended to and shrouded once more, Julia rose, keeping the rock hidden in the folds of her robes. Had she not, he would have seen it when he picked up the blanket. They started back, walking abreast, back to the road and the defective van, now ready to carry them closer to whatever destiny awaited. When his long stride put him slightly ahead, and he couldn’t see, she let the rock sink back into the scorching desert sand.

Chapter 43

Five athletic-looking men followed Benjamin Richter into the terminal at Eilat airport. Not wanting to draw attention to their presence, the Mossad officers traveled in pairs and took a commercial flight. The first one of the day put them on the coast just before seven in the morning.

Benjamin chose the best men available. Security forces were stretched critically thin, as usual, but he’d worked previously with each one of the members on this hastily-assembled team and had total confidence in their abilities. They would, without fail, follow orders to the letter, even without having been fully informed of the grave nature of their mission. As far as they knew, it was a matter of routine intelligence work to flush out deadly Muslim terrorists, ever-present in their midst.

Christ, he thought bitterly. Routine intelligence to flush out deadly terrorists. What had the world come to when you could say—even think—something like that?

The men moved efficiently through the airport and took two separate taxis to their initial destination. Benjamin decided to maintain secrecy of their presence in the area. The local authorities would not be brought in unless something concrete was discovered—and only then at the last moment. The risk of exposure was too great in this morass of treachery.

Benjamin, once more, reviewed the facts that led him here. Eilat lay at the southern tip of Israel, on the Gulf of Aqaba where it funneled down to a narrow strip along the coast. The Egyptian border town of Taba was only a few kilometers to the west, with the Jordanian border town of Aqaba equally close to the east. All three had active ports. Due to the proximity of the three countries at this point, loyalties often became blurred.

Both Jordan and Egypt were now recognized supporters of Israel, but Jordan remained her strongest ally in the entire Middle East. The late King Hussein established peaceful relations with the Jewish state and this relationship continued with his successor and son, King Abdullah. Benjamin respected him for this. In the face of severe criticism from most of his neighboring Arab countries, King Abdullah stood as a buffer for Israel on its western border, and continued to work on the Israeli-Palestinian peace process.