The Great Deception (15 page)

The supreme leader in Israel clipped off
the end to a cigar. He ceremoniously sniffed it before sticking it
between his teeth and lighting up.

Demsky apologized anyway despite what the
Jewish leader had just said. Then Alfred brought a cold, beading
glass of water to his forehead for relief before he spoke on more
important subject matter.

"Prime minister, I have some news here in
the West to report of that you may be

interested in."

Tuvia Elkin settled into his lounge chair on
the stone patio in the courtyard of Beit Aghion (the Jewish
residence for prime ministers).

"Tell me, Alfred. I'm listening." His hazel
eyes stared at a sculpture of a lion while he puffed aromatic rings
of smoke.

"Scorpion has a new leader. Damion Westover
has been kidnapped. And an op of ours to extricate some valuable
possessions of his went terribly bad."

Tuvia scowled hard and grunted. "This is bad
news indeed. What can I do for you Mr. Demsky?"

The Sentinel director eyed a younger picture
of himself on his desk while he twirled an expensive pen between
his fingers. "President Toporvsky has asked me to investigate
Scorpion to find anything I can to tell us what they're planning.
And to get Damion back."

"The second part will be easy. As to the
first item, I am less certain."

Alfred uncharacteristically smiled. "I only
wish I shared your same optimism. Nothing is certain these days,
I'm afraid."

"What you need is the experience and assets
of an established intelligence agency." Tuvia's baritone voice
resonated with Demsky. "Precisely," he agreed to the point being
made. "If anybody could unravel this enigma, it'd be the
professionals of Mossad." There was a smile in Tuvia's voice when
he said, "Don't underestimate your own strength, director. Between
our two countries, I feel a solution is closer than you might
think." The flattering speech only went so far to assure Demsky. He
had his doubts. A pack of gum resting on the first tier of a desk
organizer had his name on it. His fingers made fast work of the
shiny wrapper. No sooner had he plopped the sugary stick in between
his teeth did he realize he still had the prime minister of Israel
on the line. "Was there anything else, Alfred?"

"I beg your pardon Mr. Prime Minister. My
brain has been out to lunch ever since I left the security briefing
earlier this morning. Long

days, you know."

"Yes, misery loves company."

Demsky chuckled. "There was one more thing,"
he said.

"Yes, anything."

"What do you know about the end times
prophecy in the Bible?"

He couldn't believe he had just asked that.
The president and his opened Bible at the National Security Council
had irked him for long enough. It was time he got to the bottom of
it. Maybe the leather bound book with the golden letters spelling
Holy Bible was a book of secrets after all. He would know soon.

--

Tel Aviv, Israel

He had survived his first day back to
school. Should it have come as any surprise though? Son of Seth
Markov, real-life GI Joe...Jason Bourne.

Azriel left the empty halls and followed the
restless students out the doors. He watched as many filed into the
waiting busses curbside. But that wouldn't be him, he hoped. No,
for Uncle Ephraim would come to the rescue in his Mercedes.

Azriel let his book bag fall to the
pavement; he sat down beside it. A light breeze blew his dark curly
hair here and there. The handsome Jewish boy wistfully stared
across the parking lot towards the busy roads, hoping to see the
sun glinting off his uncle's sporty car coming to get him.

Right then his sixth sense tingled as he
felt the stare of another person fall across his back. Azriel
turned around.

"Hi!"

His pensive thoughts and anxiety about
getting a ride went out the window. There
she
was. The girl
of his dreams from his economics class, saying hello to him. The
sun shone in his eyes so much that he had to cover them--and lose
sight of the pretty girl as a result.

"My name's Azriel," he shyly introduced
himself.

"I
know
what your name is. The whole
school does." Her eyelids scrunched as she giggled.

"I wonder how? I've only been here a day,"
he replied a little dully. "Come on, economics class? That little
stunt you pulled?" She loomed larger now, presently inviting
herself to sit next to him. Drawing her knees up to her chin, she
appeared to settle in.

"You like it here?" Azriel asked, not
knowing what else to say. He was more nervous than anything
else.

She smiled, showcasing her beautiful bite.
Amazing what braces can do for an individual: it corrected her
overbite and made it hard to look away whenever she opened
wide.

"Yeah, you can make good friends here. I'm
Esther by the way," she said while examining him when he wasn't
looking.

"Esther? That's a beautiful name."

"You're just saying that!" she playfully
shoved him.

He blushed and shrugged. "What else do you
want me to say?"

The last buss filled up. The driver gave it
another minute before pressing a button to close the doors. A deep
rumble of the engine proceeded a belch of exhaust as it rolled off
the lot.

Esther watched all this before turning to
Azriel to ask the obvious. "Waiting for your ride?"

He nodded. "Someone coming to get you?"

"My mom gets off of work soon. She'll be
here no more than ten minutes from now.

You need a ride?"

For a moment the offer sounded amazing. But
Azriel had no idea if his uncle intended to pick him up or not.
He'd sure hate to leave and later have to explain to an upset Uncle
Ephraim he had made other arrangements. "It really isn't a problem
Azriel," she said softly in a coaxing voice. "This doesn't have to
be an everyday thing. A little favor once in a while wouldn't hurt
anybody."

Azriel didn't want to say no to the girl he
felt so strongly attracted to. "Oh alright. Just this once," he
gave her a wry smile.

What he felt at that moment? Excited.

"Great!" Esther played with one of her
pigtails briefly. "Did you have a good first day?"

Azriel didn't have to think very hard to
answer.

Um, yeah?! I'm talking with the girl I've
had eyes for...after only one whole day!
"Hmmm, considering I
didn't even imagine myself back in a school again, yeah, I'd say
today turned out great."

"What do you mean...you were a dropout or
something?"

Azriel kicked a loose piece of gravel. "I
don't like talking about it." Esther didn't want to make him feel
uncomfortable. Yet she very craftily thought of a way to make him
share without appearing eager to do

so. "If it's nothing you'd care to pass
along, it's alright." Silence.

"I lost my dad when I was two." She looked
to him for a reaction. Her face told on her: she knew more about
Azriel than she'd ever let on.

The guard slowly started to come down
anyhow. He looked interested now. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said
with genuine sympathy. He knew what it felt like to lose a parent.
"I never met my mother," he admitted very cautiously. It was easier
for him to be cloistered than to come out of the shell. But somehow
Esther made him feel safe; he did not know how.

"That's tragic!" she reached over to gently
scratch his back with her long white nails. Azriel's muscles
tightened.

"Does that make you uncomfortable?" she
asked surprised.

He looked chagrinned. "I'm not used to much
attention from females. That's

all."

"Ah! I know something you could use a little
more of then!" she said with a mischievous grin, continuing her
strokes on his back.

Azriel resigned his tortured self to the
continuation of the treatment. Off in the distance the sound of an
approaching engine growing stronger made him look up to see who was
there.

"Is that your mom?"

A deep purple aerodynamic van with a white
racing stripe down the hood, flared tail lamps and running boards
that jutted out cruised through the parking lot with efficiency
until it came to a stop a short distance away from the waiting
teenagers.

Azriel squinted in vain to see through the
tinted windows.

A window rolled down and a very young woman
smiled and waved at them.

Esther rose to go first. "Come on!" she said
to the ever reluctant Jewish boy. The butterflies came back again.
They had never gone away, really...maybe stopped flapping their
wings though. He could feel the fluttering feeling in his stomach
ramp up as he approached the sleek ride.

A giant side door effortlessly popped open
and appeared to be suspended in mid-air. No sign of hinges
what-so-ever. Twenty-first century engineering.

"Who's your boyfriend?" Esther's mother
teased as the two youths found a seat next to each other.

"Mom, meet Azriel, he's the new kid at
school," she said, all in one breath. The craft vibrated as its
ducted fans began to go round and round, gaining momentum for what
took place next.

"Thanks for the ride, miss," Azriel quietly
said.

"Don't mention it. Anything for my
daughter," she tossed a needling look Esther's way.

"Where do you live Azriel?" Esther
asked
…
more for her mom
’
s benefit than her own.

The boy gave her the address to an apartment
on the west side of town.

"You live in Park Tzamaret?" She asked in
disbelief.

She must think I come from money or
something.

"It's actually just a small studio
apartment way up in the clouds. Not exactly luxurious
accommodations like you might expect." He could tell they were
still dubious, but none of it mattered.

Through voice commands Esther
’
s mom told the car where to go. After that she
submitted her ticket to the automated traffic system to gain access
to one of the many beltways that the city's air traffic commonly
took to get places.

Thirty seconds later she was cleared to
safely join the traffic up in the sky. The purple van did all the
pitching and maneuvering--taking all the hassle out of driving.

--

Jeddah, Saudi Arabia

A long, winding spiral staircase climbed to
the upper stories of the royal residence of the leader of the
United Islamic Caliphate. There were no stairs to traverse, only a
sloped incline.

The well-dressed man put one foot in front
of the other while occasionally peering over the edge of the ornate
white staircase with its many colorful banners flowing down from
it. At the very bottom his eyes gravitated towards a splendid
crystal grand piano and its accompanying band with all their wind
instruments striking a familiar tune. The melodious musical notes
drifted up to his ears. Their intervals varied as greatly as the
tempo to the score itself. The overall effect was delightful
nonetheless. It almost made him envious of the band members'
skill...make him regret his decisions during his youth to put away
the instruments in favor of playing sports.

At last the upper landing to the ascent
drew nigh. Below him the snaking staircase went in and out of
focus: he now truly felt the height of where he stood. This was all
very symbolic and by design. Soon he and his entourage that went
with him would be at the very threshold to the throne room
belonging to the most powerful man in the Middle East--Rehan
Kahlil.

The gilded doors with the crescent moon
embossed into it and the phalanx of body guards in front were
signposts that royalty was near. The lead guard came forward and
cautiously eyed the group of four strangers. He pulled up his guest
list on his wearable computer (like the preceding two checkpoints
had dutifully done) to begin the vetting process before letting
anyone into the king's chamber.

Three of the four men stated their names and
provided identification. The whole affair proceeded along very
unceremoniously until it came time for the king's appointment to
identify himself.

When he spoke a mysterious wind rushed over
everyone. The forces of darkness were at work within the members.
The unknown man destined to have an audience with King Kahlil
appeared on the list under a pseudonym. The name must have checked
out though. Upon further examination of the palace records and a
thorough check of the database, this man who would see the king
held all the rights to do so.

All guests passing through the king's court
had to trouble themselves with yet another full body scan before
they could see his royal highness.

The administering agent asking all the
questions and directing the process cast one last doubtful glance
at the visitors before he begrudgingly told his fellow men of the
watch to get the doors.

They grabbed for the great door pulls and
gave a mighty tug. The doors that were barely a decade old
stubbornly yielded on hinges that belied their short life. A room
lit by ancient methods with a lack of air circulation took the
newcomers by surprise. An empty hall with marble pillars on either
side pointed towards the most important chair in the land. On it
sat a fellow not fit to be sitting in it--from physical
appearances, that is.

Make no mistake, however. For where Kahlil
came up short in terms of a commanding physical presence, he
certainly overtook with his rational mind and subtle tongue.

The men walked in a procession, single
file.

The king spared his roving gaze for the
character he most wanted to see. He caught glimpses of the man's
face from the light the flickering torches threw. Shadows played
across the face of the man in question, distorting his features to
a curios King Kahlil. There he precariously sat, half off his chair
in an eager posture: his leg muscles, which suddenly were called
upon to support the extra weight, coiled with anticipation.