Living Stones (27 page)

“Good for you.”

“But I haven’t put together all that I have learned. There are people in each religious group that have views so contrary to each other. I need to talk it through with you. That’s how I process things, by talking. And asking questions. I have collected so many different ideas and impressions and beliefs. Many are a lot different from what I held in Seattle before I left.”

“Give me an example.”

“OK, two rabbis . . .” She stopped and laughed at herself. “Sounds like the old joke of two guys in a bar. OK, we talked to two Orthodox rabbis, one who survived the holocaust in Auschwitz as a child. He loves Zionism. It’s part of his faith, and he wants more settlements to take over East Jerusalem and the West Bank to eventually drive the Palestinians out completely. He likes America’s money and support
but doesn’t understand why Christians in the United States would get behind Israel like they do. Particularly since that view of the end times often involves killing Jews at Megiddo.”

“So who is the other rabbi?”

“He’s also Orthodox and also believes in the truth of the Old Testament. He’s the rabbi for the Jewish student, David, who guided us and hunted all over the Muslim Quarter for me. Wonderful guy! Anyway, this rabbi hates Zionism. He believes taking homes and lands by force violates Judaism.”

“So then what do
you
think, Ashley? Did you get your questions answered? You know, how the Jewish people feel about the support Israelis get from Christians in the United States?”

“Not really. In any kind of scientific experiment, you need enough subjects in your control and experimental groups to make any differences statistically significant. My sample size was too small.” They both laughed.

“I met some wonderful Muslims like Fatima’s family who endured so much loss since 2002. They accepted Fatima’s following Jesus as long as she remained a cultural Muslim to the world and didn’t become a ‘Western Christian.’ I’ll never forget them. But then there’s that other Muslim guy, my abductor.

“We loved our guides, David and Ben, guys who were so kind—both Jews—particularly David, who risked his life trying to find me. But then we had bad experiences with Israeli soldiers at checkpoints or the bulldozer guy representing the Israeli government.”

“So you found good ones and bad ones of both Muslims and Jews. What about Christians?”

“Well,” Ashley chuckled, “again my sample is too small. I wish I could have gone to your church and met your friends there. But if your family represents Christians who have suffered along with other Palestinians, then I have found people who love God and believe in peacemaking. Same with Faisal and his wife in the West Bank. On the other hand, I didn’t like some of the religious stuff we experienced in the Christian holy sites.”

“So you found it complicated?”

“Right!”

“Good for you. It is.”

It had been several hours of talking since lunch. Ashley wandered into the kitchen to get some tea. She found Najid standing and looking out the living room window when she returned. She didn’t want him to leave. The hours of the afternoon had flown by.

“Would you like to take a walk after tea?”

“Let’s do. I think we need to talk about your being tracked down in Jerusalem and what to do now, here in Seattle.” He sipped his tea.

Ashley averted her eyes and didn’t respond at first. It had been so wonderful to talk about her trip. The abduction was past history. She didn’t want to talk about it or deal with it anymore. But now it seemed, the menace continued. Was there someone here out to get her, even in Seattle? When would this end? What should she do?

She knew Najid remained concerned for her safety and that made her care for him. Care? Did she really mean ‘love’? She shocked herself at the admission. Yes, she did love him. She had never met any guy like him. He helped her forget everything for a while. And now he wanted to discuss the blackness again. She stirred her tea and raised her eyes to Najid.

“I don’t know what to do now that I am back. Even if the FBI or police had me under their surveillance for a few weeks, they can’t be with me all the time when I’m out. Gordon Appleby told us that.”

Najid seemed lost in thought. Finally he broke the silence as they finished drinking. “Let’s go.”

They strolled out into the summer afternoon to Ravenna Park, staying in the open areas and avoiding the wooded ravine, although she had enjoyed jogging there many times before the bombing. She took Najid’s arm, and he seemed pleased, tightening his arm against her hand. She had never touched him like that before. She sensed some tingling. It felt so good. And she felt safe with Najid.

“So Ashley, if the police can’t protect you when you are out, what will you do? You don’t want to be . . . what is the word?”

“A recluse?”

“Yeah. I learned that recently but forgot.”

“You’re right. I have too much to do to stay at home completely. I know I need to be cautious, but I refuse to give in to fear or evil. I
need
to protect myself, but I also need to trust God. He sent Salma for me in Israel. It’s the only way I can get through this. But maybe a plan will help. I do need to study for the MCAT, and I can do that at home.”

“MCAT?”

“Medical College Admissions Test. It’s what you have to take to get into medical school. I plan now to take it at the end of summer so I can apply this fall.”

“So you’re not taking any classes this summer?”

“No, and no lab assistant duties either, just like you. But I do need to work on my thesis as well. What does your schedule look like now?”

“I am taking a class this summer and working on my thesis too,” Najid replied. “But I have a flexible schedule for the most part.”

“So getting back to my problem, I think I can get my housemates to help. Two of them are also grad students and can be with me going to and from the library. Maybe some other trips too, like shopping and church.”

“Here’s a bench, Ashley. Let’s sit down.” They had reached the park in an open area just off 15
^th
Avenue. Najid grasped her hand. “You probably won’t understand this, and I don’t know how to tell you in the American way, but you have experienced my family and will realize that human beings are pretty much the same in Israel or here. We have the same feelings and desires, whether we have been treated badly or well.”

Ashley silently searched Najid’s face.

“You have been so welcoming to me, a stranger. You have been kind. And now we have been through so much together. You have met my family, and they think highly of you. They didn’t want you to leave.”

Tears welled up in Ashley’s eyes, and she wiped away a couple of them running down her cheeks.

“Oh, I’m sorry that I made you cry!”

“No, Najid! You just touched . . .” She placed her hand over her heart.

“Ashley, I would do anything I can to keep you safe. I’m not sure what that would look like. See, I know that phrase, ‘What that would look like.’ ”

She laughed as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “You’re getting pretty smart! Too American.”

“So let me help you. I have the time and I’m flexible with my schedule. Here is my suggestion: We get in touch every morning by phone. You tell me what your schedule is for the day and whether one of your friends at the house is going to the campus or somewhere else with you. If you want to go out, and you need someone to go with you, I will come and we can go together. I don’t want you out alone. If you need to work at the library or go shopping for food, I need to do those things too, and we can go together. OK? Isn’t that what you say all the time, ‘OK’?” He smiled. “You protected me from the bomb. Now let me protect you.”

“You may be putting yourself in danger, you know. It happened before. I must be bad news for you.”

“I can handle bad news once in a while.”

She laughed and shook her head. “Najid, you amaze me. I’ve never met a guy like you who can handle trouble so calmly.”

“Well, you’d never met a Palestinian before.”

“OK.” Ashley laughed, and leaning toward him, she grabbed him around the neck pulling him close, and kissed his cheek.

Gordon Appleby had worried about Ashley most of the night after meeting her at the airport. So his early morning tennis match would take his mind off this frustrating case. His smartphone rang just as he started to serve the first game of his second set at the Seattle Tennis Club. He groaned as he peeked at his Caller ID. His phone read “FBI Washington.”

“Sorry,” he called to his partner as he jogged off the court. He ducked into the dressing room and sat down on a bench next to a row of lockers.

“Appleby here.”

“Gordon, we have more information on the Ashley Wells situation.”

“Give me a few minutes to get to the office and the secure phone.” He ducked outside, shrugged to his partner and dressed quickly.

With no one in his office, Gordon left the door open. He picked up the phone. “What’s up?”

“Mossad has amazing ways to get guys to sing, and Walid
warbled all the right notes. They found the big man there, got into his computer, and think they discovered the contact in Seattle.”

“Did they follow the money?”

“They tried to trace the money, but ran into a roadblock. The funds wired to the big man’s account in Jerusalem came from a Seattle bank but under a name and account number that’s apparently an alias. Seems the guy in your town had several names and false passport numbers. But we know that because we have his real identity from the guy’s hard drive, which Mossad hacked into in Jerusalem.”

“So, don’t keep me in suspense. Who is it here in Seattle?”

“Name’s Jabril. Goes by Imam Jabril.”

“Oh, we know him well! He’s shifted over the past year to become radicalized and has been preaching jihad to some young guys. He operates from an old house that we have bugged. They call it the ‘Islamic Center.’ We haven’t been able to pin anything on him or any of his followers yet.”

“You do now. That’s why I’m calling. He’s an accomplice. He may have heard from his friend in Jerusalem and could be planning to skip town. We need his computer and any information he can provide. We could be getting close to the real jihadist. Though I doubt it’s the imam himself.”

“So what are my instructions?”

“Get a search warrant and local police to bring the guy in from the Islamic Center. And do it quickly before he gets away.”

Armed with compelling “probable cause” for the search, Gordon easily convinced the judge to issue a search warrant. He and several police officers raced to the Islamic Center. They inched toward the building carefully, stationing officers on each of the four corners of the old house. Gordon approached the front door and knocked, pistol in hand. No answer. He shouted at the door, “FBI, open up!” Still no answer. He glanced in the windows. The front room looked empty. Hearing no sound, he kicked the door in and, with another officer, searched the big room, kitchen, and the bedrooms both upstairs and down. Nothing suspicious. A desk in a small bedroom
downstairs would be the most reasonable place for a computer, but no luck. With the police they turned over every piece of furniture, and they looked under each bed. They searched every drawer and cupboard including in the basement. Finally Gordon checked the garage near the alley and found the door open. He assumed it must have been a fast getaway.

Gordon quickly phoned his boss from his insecure cell phone. They’d have to choose their words carefully as usual on the public airways. “Looks like the bird got the word and flew away. We have looked everywhere in the place, and found nothing. Apparently took his laptop with him. We couldn’t even find any paper files of interest. We’ve come up with nothing, nada, zip.”

“Did you find anyone to talk to?”

“No. Quiet as a tomb. It’s Saturday. All the activity was yesterday. Too bad we didn’t have the overseas information then.”

“Yeah. We’ll put out an all-points bulletin for the guy, with his picture. I hope you have one.”

“We do, in the office. I’ll e-mail it to you.”

“Did you have any information about his car?”

“Unfortunately not.”