Hadassah Covenant, The by Tommy Tommy Tenney, Mark A Page B
Authors: Tommy Tommy Tenney, Mark A
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Nonnegotiable.”
“I agree. I’ll be totally discreet.”
There was a knock on the door. A steward entered, carrying two steaming lunches, set them down before each, then backed out, closing the door behind him.
Both of them looked wearily at the plates, then broke into laughter. The food had arrived just as they were through. And then a sudden pain in the still-healing muscle wall of her abdomen cut short her laugh. With a grimace, she reached for her belly.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make you hurt yourself.”
She shook her head forgivingly. “The doctor said it’s healing fine. I’m lucky to have only had such a small wound.”
“But in such a critical area,” he said, his voice gentle. Then he leaned across the table and looked deeply into her face. “You have such extraordinary eyes, Hadassah. I’ve always . . .”
But he didn’t know how to finish, and an awkward silence descended on them.
“I just had an idea,” Jacob suddenly said with a forced energy. “It’s not much, but . . . just this morning, I was given a strange briefing from the head of Mossad, about a matter that might possibly involve you. One of our top undercover men has just been rushed back from Iraq with some documents that, if they’re authentic, could set off bombshells across the Middle East. In an odd twist, it looks like theonly way to authenticate them will be to compare them with your family’s Hadassah documents. I was going to grant him access as your husband, but maybe . . .”
“Maybe I could help him myself?”
“Exactly. Might help you open some of your own back channels with intelligence. Make some connections that have nothing to do with me.”
“That’s exactly what I need. And I could take it from there.”
“Just remember, my dear, I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing, letting you do this. I’m certainly not setting you loose because I think you won’t come up with anything. Quite the opposite. And also, quite frankly, I’m afraid that if you truly get somewhere, I’m not sure I’ll be able to protect you. Every Israeli can use a little help from the Mossad at some point or other.”
“I understand. And thank you. Now where could I meet this man?”
“I’ll arrange it. He wanted to see the Hadassah scroll, so—back to where it all started. The Shrine.”
Chapter Thirteen
I SRAEL M USEUM , S HRINE OF THE B OOK—LATE THAT NIGHT
S he had stepped onto the floor beneath the Shrine of the Book’s curved dome many times in her life—especially since learning right before her wedding day that the famous museum housed her own family’s oldest and most cherished documents.
Yet she had never seen it at this hour—eleven o’clock at night—and never in these conditions. All lighting was turned off, and the only illumination in its curved roof line glowed from a pool of moonlight pouring in through the hole overhead. Banks of deep shadow only seemed to lengthen the stone floors and heighten its sensuous overhead lines. Its only sounds were the faint echo of her delegation’s footsteps upon marble and her own breathing.
She paused for a second to take in the strange sight, causing her Shin Beth bodyguard—at least the only one she could see—to almost collide with her back. He stepped back with a cowed grunt of apology. Surely only a handful of people have ever seen the room in this eerie atmosphere , she noted silently. She fought back a shiver of privilege mixed with unease, feeling a bit like one of those reckless teenagers in the horror movies who inexplicably walk into a cemetery at midnight on a full moon.
Looking around, she remembered another reason she was liking the Shrine’s unusual appearance—she appreciated the contrast with the bright, vivid tourist attraction she had visited with Poppa on that day barely five years before. The wonderful morning when he had brought her here and first informed her of her family’s unique heritage.
Her
“I agree. I’ll be totally discreet.”
There was a knock on the door. A steward entered, carrying two steaming lunches, set them down before each, then backed out, closing the door behind him.
Both of them looked wearily at the plates, then broke into laughter. The food had arrived just as they were through. And then a sudden pain in the still-healing muscle wall of her abdomen cut short her laugh. With a grimace, she reached for her belly.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make you hurt yourself.”
She shook her head forgivingly. “The doctor said it’s healing fine. I’m lucky to have only had such a small wound.”
“But in such a critical area,” he said, his voice gentle. Then he leaned across the table and looked deeply into her face. “You have such extraordinary eyes, Hadassah. I’ve always . . .”
But he didn’t know how to finish, and an awkward silence descended on them.
“I just had an idea,” Jacob suddenly said with a forced energy. “It’s not much, but . . . just this morning, I was given a strange briefing from the head of Mossad, about a matter that might possibly involve you. One of our top undercover men has just been rushed back from Iraq with some documents that, if they’re authentic, could set off bombshells across the Middle East. In an odd twist, it looks like theonly way to authenticate them will be to compare them with your family’s Hadassah documents. I was going to grant him access as your husband, but maybe . . .”
“Maybe I could help him myself?”
“Exactly. Might help you open some of your own back channels with intelligence. Make some connections that have nothing to do with me.”
“That’s exactly what I need. And I could take it from there.”
“Just remember, my dear, I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing, letting you do this. I’m certainly not setting you loose because I think you won’t come up with anything. Quite the opposite. And also, quite frankly, I’m afraid that if you truly get somewhere, I’m not sure I’ll be able to protect you. Every Israeli can use a little help from the Mossad at some point or other.”
“I understand. And thank you. Now where could I meet this man?”
“I’ll arrange it. He wanted to see the Hadassah scroll, so—back to where it all started. The Shrine.”
Chapter Thirteen
I SRAEL M USEUM , S HRINE OF THE B OOK—LATE THAT NIGHT
S he had stepped onto the floor beneath the Shrine of the Book’s curved dome many times in her life—especially since learning right before her wedding day that the famous museum housed her own family’s oldest and most cherished documents.
Yet she had never seen it at this hour—eleven o’clock at night—and never in these conditions. All lighting was turned off, and the only illumination in its curved roof line glowed from a pool of moonlight pouring in through the hole overhead. Banks of deep shadow only seemed to lengthen the stone floors and heighten its sensuous overhead lines. Its only sounds were the faint echo of her delegation’s footsteps upon marble and her own breathing.
She paused for a second to take in the strange sight, causing her Shin Beth bodyguard—at least the only one she could see—to almost collide with her back. He stepped back with a cowed grunt of apology. Surely only a handful of people have ever seen the room in this eerie atmosphere , she noted silently. She fought back a shiver of privilege mixed with unease, feeling a bit like one of those reckless teenagers in the horror movies who inexplicably walk into a cemetery at midnight on a full moon.
Looking around, she remembered another reason she was liking the Shrine’s unusual appearance—she appreciated the contrast with the bright, vivid tourist attraction she had visited with Poppa on that day barely five years before. The wonderful morning when he had brought her here and first informed her of her family’s unique heritage.
Her
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