New sneak peek # 7 THE GILBOA IRIS

“You’re a very interesting person, Mr. Devlin.”

      “How so, Detective?”

“We’ve done a little homework on you. It’s not every day that a kid from the back roads of Nebraska gets to travel to exotic places like Lebanon.”

      “Last I checked it wasn’t against the law to travel.”

“Did you hear me accuse you of anything, Mr. Devlin?”

      “No, sir,” Mace whipped out his dimpled smile.

“Why Lebanon of all places?”

      “Why not?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Tanzy’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “Maybe because there’s a civil war there? Maybe because it has become dangerous for Americans to travel there without getting kidnapped.”
“Maybe I like living on the edge,” Mace quipped.

     “What were you doing there for six months?”

“Lebanon is a fascinating place, Detective Tanzy. I wanted to travel after getting my degree from MIT before settling down in a job.”

      “Where did you travel besides Lebanon?”

“It appears to me that you already have that information.”

      “Just answer the question, Mr. Devlin.”

“Germany. I traveled to Germany for several months and then to Lebanon.”

      “What did you do in Germany?”

“Drank beer and hung with the fraulein.”

      “Do you know a Gerhard Kestel?” 

“No.”

“Are you sure about that?” Detective Tanzy asked with a skeptical frown that seemed to be a permanent fixture on his face.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

      With a contemptuous smirk, the detective excused himself from the room. A few minutes later, he returned to the interrogation room with a man in a dark-grey suit. His forehead bore a deep-set widow’s 

peak and his black-rimmed glasses hung low on the bridge of his nose, imparting an appearance of an IRS auditor. “Mr. Devlin, this is FBI Special Investigator Harris Taylor.”

      Traces of his smile vanished. Mace was visibly annoyed. “Should I 

be calling my lawyer?”

      “Do you think you’ll need one, Mr. Devlin?” Agent Harris Taylor was expressionless as he seated himself across from Mace, placing a file on the table between them.

      “Why am I being questioned by the FBI?”

      The FBI agent opened his file and took out a photo, placing it on the table in front of Mace. “That person that you’re standing next to in this photo is Gerhard Kestel.This picture was taken two years ago in Lebanon, in 1982, and two years afterKestel moved his paramilitary training camp to Lebanon with PLO assistance. Mr. Kestel is a neo-Nazi leader with close ties to Yasser Arafat, the Hezbollah, and the Moslem Brotherhood…but you already knew that, Mr. Devlin, didn’t you?”

      Mace stared hard at the photo, furrowing his brows in confusion. “I don’t know any Gerhard. This guy introduced himself to me as Wilhelm Hess.We met at a bar in Berlin, and I didn’t ask him about his politics. We got friendly and he invited me to a party at his apartment – so I went. I figured what could be so bad…women, beer…why not?” 

      The investigator coolly conveyed his disappointment. “Surely you can come up with something more creative.” 

      Mace eyed both Detective Tanzy and Special Investigator Harris Taylor with a condescending grin. “You’re both picking at straws here. You’ve got nothing to go on, so you’re wasting your time questioning me about some bum I hung out with at a bar in my travels. Well, let me save you some time, gentlemen. I’m a man who enjoys a good beer or two – or three,” he added, as an afterthought. “I meet plenty of questionable characters in the lairs I hang out in. It makes life interesting. But I don’t give a damn about their politics and they don’t give a damn about mine. We get drunk and we get laid. End of story.”

      Taylor stared at Mace as if looking straight through him, disregarding what he considered a poor attempt at a cover-up, and then continued with his questioning as if Mace had not uttered a word. 

      “Before traveling to Germany, Mr. Devlin, you spent some time in Elohim City in Oklahoma.”

“Yes. My sister lives there with her husband. What of it?”

      “So your sister is a neo-Nazi, too?”

“Now wait just a minute!” Mace stood up from his chair.

      “Sit down, Devlin!” Detective Tanzy ordered, shoving him back into the chair, startling him.

      “We know what kind of place Elohim City is.” Taylor continued in a monotone voice. “You’re a Nazi, Mace Devlin – a home-grown, white Aryan supremacist, scum-of-the-earth Nazi.”

      “I don’t have to take this crap! Are you arresting me, or what? Because if that’s all you’ve got, you have no right to hold me here.”

      “With what kind of work were you and Dr. Harow involved at RDECOM?” Taylor asked, ignoring Mace’s outburst.

“That’s classified,” he spit out. 

      “But you don’t have the same security clearance as Dr. Harow did. Do you?”

“No.”

      “Still, you had two years to ingratiate yourself with Dr. Harow and gain his trust. So much so, that you were often a houseguest in his home.”

“I had a tremendous amount of respect for Dr. Harow. And yes, he and his wife were very gracious to me.”

     “Did they know you were a neo-Nazi?”

“I’m not a neo-Nazi.”

      “Mr. Devlin, you run from one neo-Nazi stronghold to another; from here to Germany to the Middle East. You met with Gerhard Kestel in Berlin and then met up with him again in Lebanon. This picture of 

you and Kestel was taken at his paramilitary base in Lebanon.” 

      Mace shifted uneasily in his chair, his Midwestern charm cracking under the strain. “This is all pure conjecture on your part,” he insisted. “While in Berlin, I mentioned to him that I was planning to travel to Lebanon and since he was planning to be there as well, he told me to look him up when I got there.”

      “Your explanations are ridiculously flimsy. Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“I’m telling you the truth.”

      “Mr. Devlin, we can place you at the headquarters of the National Socialist German Workers Party in Lincoln, Nebraska. Here’s a copy of your membership ID card.” Taylor pulled out another sheet from his 

file and placed it in front of Mace. 

      Mace’s expression turned cocky. “That’s not illegal.”

“It is if you’re involved in the coordination of neo-Nazi and Muslim terrorist activities.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

      “Of course not,” Taylor said dryly. “Let’s get back to you and Dr. Harow: you took the shuttle together to New York on Friday. Isn’t that correct?”

“Yes. We traveled together every Friday to New York.”

      “So, he must have mentioned his weekend plans to you.”

“He may have said something about a Broadway show.”

      “For that reason you didn’t expect him to come home early Saturday night.”

“What the Harows did on their weekends did not affect me one way or another.”

      “What were you searching for last night in the Harows’ home?”

“I wasn’t there.”

      “You were after some classified material that Dr. Harow had in his possession. Material that you didn’t have security clearance for – material that you wished to pass on to Arab terrorists.”

“That’s pretty farfetched, even for the FBI. But anyway, I told you, I was nowhere near the Harows’ home on Saturday night.”

      “Where were you?”

“With a lady friend.”

      “All night?”

“Pretty much. That is, until I got the call from Dara, which was about, I don’t know, maybe 4 a.m. The detective can back me up on that.” He nodded his chin toward Detective Tanzy.

      “And, needless to say, your lady friend will back you up on your alibi.”

“She has no reason not to.”

      “What is your interest in Dara Harow? I understand you shared a room with her at the Mayflower."

“She called me. She doesn’t have anyone else here that she can trust. And I think it’s understandable that I’d try to be a comfort to her at this time. She needed a place to stay – I wasn’t going to leave her high 

and dry. The poor kid is in a state of shock.”

      Detective Tanzy, until now, remained quiet while observing Taylor and Mace. He had a look of disgust on his face. “That’s touching. Quite a balancing act, Devlin – being a neo-Nazi and comforting a Jew at the 

same time.” Tanzy started for the door. “I’ve heard enough.”

“I told you, I’m not a Nazi.” Mace glared at him. 

      “Then how is it that you are a member of a neo-Nazi organization?” Taylor broke in. 

      Mace rolled his eyes and sighed loudly. “I joined when I was eighteen. It was a social thing – I never took it seriously.” 

      Taylor showed no emotion on his face. He simply took out another photo from his file and placed it on the table. Mace’s face turned ashen, his lips twitched involuntarily. 

      “I think we can stop dancing around the truth now…don’t you, Mr. Devlin?” 

Second Excerpt: THE GILBOA IRIS

“What’s going on with the two of you?” Alana cackled lightheartedly.

Too angry to deal with the subject, my response was curt. “Nothing.”

She turned her head to Roni’s jeep and then back to me. “Well, Mr. Greek god can’t seem to take his eyes off of you. And frankly, sweetie,” she jabbed me in the side good-naturedly, “if you couldn’t feel the electric bolts flying between the two of you today, then you sure need a bit of rewiring – not to mention the fact that you two looked kind of cozy in the front of the jeep just a moment ago.”

I cringed at that, still feeling mortified by Roni. “All I ever noticed about Roni is his offensive attitude,” I replied, perhaps with a bit too much annoyance as my answer caused her to laugh with gusto.

“Sure, Dara, sure – whatever you say. Like that’s all any of us notice about Roni.” Against my will, I broke out in a wide smile and playfully jabbed Alana back. My curiosity, however, got the best of me and I turned around to see that Roni was watching me just as Alana said. Only, now, I saw that the scowl was back on his face. This was maddening. He then put his jeep in reverse, maneuvered a sharp turn and sped away.

Equipped with ladders, work gloves and large burlap sacks that we slung over our shoulders, we climbed up and began picking the fruit. Once our sacks were full, we descended the ladders and emptied the contents with caution into one of the massive bins positioned every ten or so yards along each chain of trees. We moved up and down the rows, sometimes trading stories with one another as we worked, but mostly listening to Yaniv’s melodic singing as he plodded along in his cheerful manner, picking grapefruit with his rifle slung over his back. Every now and again, we heard Jenny grumble about the thorns, at times using expletives for emphasis, and Alana’s laughter in response. It was backbreaking work – the sacks were heavy and bulky from the grapefruit – but I found it gratifying and enjoyed it.

After close to two hours, I noticed Alana had dozed off beneath the next tree that I had planned to work on. She looked serene as she lay there on the ground, secreted by the low branches. I chuckled to myself. She was a sweet girl and I was glad to know her. Jenny, Rachel and Miri, too. But, Alana, so very good-natured, was always spreading the cheer and laughing about one thing or another, and it was fun and uplifting to be around her. Pixie-like and petite, she reminded me of Tinkerbell in the Peter Pan story. It was as if she sprinkled magic pixie dust of good spirits and jollity wherever she went.

I moved my ladder to the next tree so as not to disturb her nap. Poor kid, she must be exhausted. I climbed my ladder to begin at the top and work my way down. It was nearly one thirty in the afternoon and the workday was due to end in half an hour. I emptied another load of grapefruit into the bin, and it was then that I heard what at first sounded like firecrackers. Deep in my gut, though, I knew better. I never heard gunshots before, except on television and in the movies, but when the next round came, not two seconds later, it was clear – and a myriad of things transpired all at once.

“Everyone down!” Yaniv shouted from a few trees away. Hurling his semi-automatic machine gun into position, he crouched to the ground. Bullets were flying all around us, splintering the trees and ricocheting off the metal slats of the ladders. We all flew to the ground, scurrying for cover behind the trees. “Gunfire! Northeast end of the orchard, fifty meters in…” Yaniv communicated on his walkie-talkie with the local head of security. Swearing under his breath, he mumbled, “Roni was right.” He laid low, staring through the sight of his M16, and fired in the direction of the bullets. At that moment, shocked out of her sleep, Alana ran out from under her tree in a panic.

I heard a frantic, high-pitched screech that pierced the air, “Nooo!” It took me a moment to realize it came from me. “Alana, get down, get down!” random cries barked from the trees. She reeled around in confusion and then jerked back and hit the ground face up, her arms spread-eagle. Blood oozed from her lower abdomen, spilling down her side onto the earth, and all the while the bullets continued to hit the ground where she had fallen. Alana arched her head back in pain, her eyes bulging, and dug her nails into the dirt. She opened her mouth as if to scream, but no sound came out. Adrenalin took the place of logic and I propelled myself over to her, crawling low, my face scratching against the earth.

“No, Dara!” shouted Yaniv. “We get rid of the threat first!” But it was too late, and I couldn’t retreat to a safer position without Alana. I wouldn’t. “Don’t do it! Get back!” Yaniv implored me.

“They’re going to kill her!” I screamed back.

“Dammit, girl!” Yaniv continued shooting and there was suddenly an ebb in the crossfire. “One down,” he muttered.

I reached Alana, grabbed her under the arms and began dragging her away from the open area. The shooting started again when I was one yard away from the tree. Just then, I felt it. A burning rip right through my leg. A howling, guttural sound of pain came out of me. I clenched my teeth, my chest rumbled with anger. With one final lunge and a gut-splitting scream, I pulled Alana under the tree.

She was unconscious, but still breathing. I didn’t know what to do for her. I didn’t know how to stop her bleeding. I tried putting pressure on her wound with my hands but it didn’t help. I pulled off my T-shirt and used that to apply pressure, but that wasn’t helping either. There was so much blood. I was scared – so scared I wanted to throw up. The burning pain in my leg was shooting in all directions, and I was drenched in Alana’s blood as well as my own. Oh, God, please help us.

“Yaniv! On your left!” It was Roni. The next moment, I heard it – the Arab war cry, Alahu akhbar! Alahu akhbar! Through the gaps between the branches, I saw a lone man, eyes ablaze, his neck wrapped in a kaffiyeh, pounce into the clearing, firing indiscriminately. From Roni’s position, a burst of fire, and then there was silence. The entire attack couldn’t have lasted more than several minutes, though it felt like an eternity. Roni commanded us to stay where we were. No problem there.

We all waited in an eerie stillness. Yaniv and Roni surveyed the area for other terrorists. I heard more communication over the walkie-talkies. They found Yossi’s body, the guard Roni referred to as the old timer, though he was just fifty-three years old. The terrorists had stabbed him to death. Seconds later, the army arrived along with ambulances. The paramedics placed Alana and me on gurneys and removed us from under the tree. They first bandaged Alana, hooked her up with an IV and sped away with her in one of the ambulances. Out of the volley of voices, I heard someone say they were airlifting her to Haifa’s Rambam Medical Center. One by one, everyone emerged from the trees. Jenny became hysterical when she saw me covered head to toe in blood, and Ben and Joey both tried to calm her down.

Unable to move, I remained on the ground, staring wide-eyed at the sky in a state of numbness, too shaken to utter a sound, save for gasping every now and again from the pain. Another paramedic tended to my leg wound and attached an IV to my arm. Roni knelt by my side, staring at me in silence.

Things started to look fuzzy, and I couldn’t discern his expression. I expected him to be angry with me, but instead he seemed…anguished. He cupped my hand in both of his and spoke in a soft voice – almost a whisper, “You’re crazy, you know that?” A rush of dizziness filled my head, and blackness took over.