Fare Forward Page 25
"It's him isn't it?" I say it so softly that he does not hear me.
"The missing link in my work." He is not talking to me but says the words as if he still cannot believe it. "The missing piece has always been right in front of me. The tunnels." He has never been this explicit before.
"Benjamin."
"He is living proof that the passages do exist and have been used for thousands of years," he says it simply—as if this would not be history making, altering the way we see our universe forever. I can feel the weight of my body melting into the seat I'm sitting in, as if I am dissolving. Liquefying. I need to stay calm, the shocking reality of what he is confirming raises infinite questions.
"Papa," I say slowly, not sure what reaction I will receive. "I need to know. Can Benjamin and I be together?"
I feel a courage that I am living out the fate that has been written, the many pieces of my life finally coming together. He seems ready to answer my question.
"I realize now that the answer is not up to me. Gabriella, you need to search deep into your heart. That is where you will find the answer. Whether he is your destiny."
* * *
56
* * *
I LOOK UP, DISTRACTED momentarily by the overhead lights that are all suddenly illuminated and the ringing sounds of the alarm system on the aircraft.
I hear the captain's voice."Attention ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seat belts. We will be making an unscheduled landing. There is nothing to worry about, we've had strong headwinds and need to take on additional fuel."
Despite what the captain said, anxiety rises quickly in the cabin. Passengers look out the windows and ring call buttons while flight attendants move expertly up and down the aisles to buckle seat belts and calm nerves. The plane banks sharply to the left and begins its steep descent. I try to conceal my fear. A voice comes over the loudspeaker in English, then Hebrew, and informs us that we will be landing briefly in Turkey. That's it, no other information. As we descend toward earth, turbulence shakes the plane, and I grip my grandfather's arm, as if in some way that could counterbalance the force of the winds outside the aircraft.
"Don't worry, my Gabriella. You have a long and wonderful life ahead of you. We are safe in the hands of these pilots."
All the same he reaches over to tighten the seat belt around my shaking body. Just to show me how relaxed he is, he places the headphones I have given him into his ears and settles into the remainder of what is now our premature, terrifying landing.
The giant plane emerges through the cloud cover above Istanbul— our new unplanned destination. We are much lower than I anticipate, and the thickness of the clouds has concealed a terrible rainstorm that we fly into. The jerking motion is making me sick to my stomach, and I try to empty my mind of all thoughts, find the faith that he has, that we are safe. Yet, I am overcome with a sense that all is not right, and it connects directly to his safety. A reason for this unexpected change in plans, I know, I'm sure, has something to do with my grandfather. As I turn to him, I feel the tears streaming down my face.
"I want you to know something; I love you so much, Papa. I am so happy for you and proud of you. Of everything you have done." I grip both his hands in mine as the shapes of the city come into focus out the window. He has a faraway look on his face, and I keep talking. "And the Conference. We will all be there together with you, and then, of course, there will be the Nobel Prize."
This would be the last remaining honor that has eluded him all these years. He seems to listen to me, waiting for the shaking and vibrating of the descending flight to stop so that he can respond. Searching for words as a seriousness comes over his face. "Gabriella, if for any reason anything should happen to me, you must know that all that I have is yours. The house, everything in it, my papers, my research, and the studio, of course. These things are for you."
"Why are you saying this? Please, Papa, nothing is going to happen to you. We don't have to talk about this now."
"I have made all the arrangements. You don't have to worry about anything. Ever."
"Why are you telling me this?"
He has never spoken before about my life without him, and I don't want to hear it. Not now, not on the threshold of everything he has worked for. Nothing was going to happen.
"Please remain in your seats." The Captain's tense voice comes through the intercom again as the wheels of the plane slam into the ground. "Do not move until we receive further instructions."
I notice that the men who had been sitting near us—the security guards—have jumped to their feet. One has moved to the exit door, and the other has his back to the cockpit. He is less than five feet away from us. We taxi away from the active landing runway, and it is clear that this is not a routine landing. I see flashing emergency lights—blue, white, and red—circling and lighting up the sky and then, something else. It's the cars on the runway; not first-aid trucks, fire, ambulance, or even refueling tanks. They are military and unmarked security vehicles. The jet comes to a complete stop in the center of a distant runway and I am certain that we are nowhere near the main terminal area. Men with drawn guns run toward the aircraft, wheeling a large staircase toward the door behind where we are sitting. Everyone is silent.
I clearly make out the sound of pounding feet climbing the metal staircase outside the fuselage. I hear banging on the door from the outside. The flight attendant I had spoken to earlier and one of the security agents begin to unlock the door. His fingers are on the trigger of his small submachine gun. There is a knock from outside and a conversation on cell phones in Hebrew. I strain to understand what they are saying, desperate for any information.
"Yes, yes, he is here. We are prepared to move."
The door bursts open and five armed men storm onto the plane and over to where we are sitting.
"Dr. Vogel," one says in perfect English, "please come with us. We have important information regarding your safety. Your security has been compromised—please hurry."
They reach for him and unbuckle the seatbelt, moving quickly, not giving him time to react. I force myself to process the surreal nature of what is happening. We had just been flying thirty thousand feet over this country talking about the future and fate and—
"STOP!" I yell. I grab onto his arm in a tug of war over my grandfather's delicate frame.
He turns to the men in dark glasses and finally speaks. "What about my granddaughter? We are traveling together."
"She will continue with the other passengers. We have made arrangements for her. She will be escorted to a safe location," one of the men responds as he eyes me cautiously, as if he is identifying me from a photograph, confirming. The men speak rapidly into their cell phones.
"She is the most important thing in the world to me," he looks at me as he says the words slowly.
"No, Papa—please." I try to get a grip on my emotions, calm down, believe what they are telling me, put his needs first. "Don't worry about me. Please."
His safety is the only thing that matters at this moment.
"I don't want to leave you," he says.
It is clear that there is no choice, the situation is bigger and more dangerous than either one of us can imagine.
"I will see you in Israel, just like they said." I try to convince myself.
Reluctantly he accepts my answer.
"Dr. Vogel, come with us. Now. Please hurry. There is no time to delay."
He turns and walks toward the open door of the plane, assisted by an agent on either side of him. I am in shock, I cannot believe what has just occurred. I am unable to gather my thoughts, process what all of it means. And then, I hear his voice once again. "Wait, please. I have to tell her something."
I stand up in the aisle of the plane as he returns to me. He takes my face in his hands and holds it firmly, pressing my cheeks as he looks deeply into my eyes. And when he is sure he has my attention, he says the words he had said the day I stood in his library at the beach. The day bef
ore school started when he gave me the amulet.
"Remember this, you're never alone. We'll be with you. Always."
I watch as he is led away and know how right he is.
* * *
57
* * *
FOR THIS LANDING, the view out of the window is very different.
The unplanned detour to Istanbul has delayed our arrival into Tel Aviv's Ben Gurion International Airport by several hours. Given everything that has happened, I am relieved to see the coastline of Israel appear as the easternmost edge of the Mediterranean meets its shores. It is sunset, and I see the miraculous view, a golden glow cast over the land. The sense of homecoming and the magical sight has calmed me somewhat. But all I want to do is get off the plane and try to figure out what to do next. The vacant seat next to me has been filled by a stone-faced security agent. He stares straight ahead at the wall either too bored to or under orders not to converse with me.
"Excuse me." I try to get his attention. "Tell me what's going to happen when we land?"
"You find out shortly," he answers without even turning his head to look at me.
"Where are you taking me?"
No response.
I steel myself for whatever is ahead as I try to quiet the range of thoughts in my mind. I lean against the window and feel my forehead on the cool plexiglass. The skyline of Tel Aviv comes into view, a city whose amazing growth has been fueled by the brain power of so many who reside in this small country. We fly over white beaches and houses and roads as the jet banks for its final approach.
I feel the buzz of his cell phone as it vibrates on the arm rest between us. He picks it up and listens, nods, and answers a few questions in Hebrew. Then he looks over at me and exhales. "You are architecture student, yes?" He seems annoyed, as if he was told to engage me in conversation.
"Pardon?" He's talking to me now?
"You study architecture, in New York. Our new airport is very beautiful." He is clearly uncomfortable with small talk.
I blink at him in disbelief. "Where is my grandfather, why is this happening?"
He turns away as if he has not heard my question. Clearly, he is going to be of no help at all. "When we land, turn on cell phone. You will have message."
With a sudden jolt and screech of wheels, the plane hits the ground, and I hear the familiar cheering from passengers, applauding our arrival. I hold my phone in my palm and wait for the moment when I can turn the power on. Immediately after I do, the phone starts to vibrate.
I have several messages waiting.
The first is from Maggie, the second from Emily, and the third one from my grandfather. He has left a phone number for me to call upon landing and my fingers cannot dial fast enough. I need to hear his voice on the other end. Finally, I get my wish.
"Gabriella." He tries to greet me calmly as if we have not just experienced the most frightening of circumstances together.
"Where are you, are you okay?" I try to keep my voice low although every instinct in me wants to scream out with frustration and fear.
"Yes, fine. I promise you. I am completely fine." His voice shakes slightly. "Quite grateful actually to the international intelligence community. I cannot tell you where I am right now, but please know that we will be together soon. I am comfortable and—safe."
I can tell that he is frightened; I can hear it in his voice.
"I've been so worried about you. Papa, I haven't spoken to you about this but I've had the sense for a while now that something might happen. I should never have allowed you to—"
"Rubbish, sweetheart, nothing will happen. You need to take care of yourself now, and I will see you very soon. Everything is fine."
I don't believe him. "What about the conference? Will you be able to present your paper?"
"Gabriella, I have been told not to speak specifically over the phone even though this is a secure line."
"But—"
"Please, you must not worry about anything, remember what I promised you."
I have a thousand questions that need answers but I realize he is no longer on the phone. The next voice I hear belongs to someone else. "Ms. Vogel." It's English but covered with a heavy Israeli accent. "I want to apologize to you for this change in plans."
"Who are you, why—" I stop mid sentence as I realize that I am being handed a small device, similar to a cell phone, by the grim-faced passenger who has sat next to me for the last two hours. I am stunned.
"You can be in secure contact with your grandfather with this device," the man on the phone says, as if he knows the exact timing of what has just been placed in my hand. "Please play the message that has been left for you."
For the first time, my eyes meet those of the man to my right, and he points to a small green button on the phone. "Here, press and put on."
I take the headphones he hands me and place them in my ears. The message begins. My grandfather's face appears on the screen. I realize that the recording must have been made moments before the phone call and sent electronically to the device I hold. I look carefully at his face and scan it for any signs of distress. There are none. He seems calm—almost peaceful—as if he was sitting with me in his library at the beach.
"Gabriella, I want you to know that I am completely fine. I am very sorry to have put you through this ordeal. I was advised not to travel by commercial airliner several weeks ago, but I thought if I changed our itinerary you might become alarmed. Clearly, I underestimated the situation and apologize to you for this unexpected event. But all is well. As a precautionary measure, you will be taken to a secure house in Jerusalem where you will be well taken care of. Some new information has been revealed, and it has caused me to—reconsider—certain basic assumptions. About my work."
It was a scripted act, and I could see right through it.
I knew he was upset. The screen goes dark and the device shuts itself off. I am left staring at a black screen, stunned by what he has said about his work. I had been so completely focused on the message from him that I didn't notice that everyone has disembarked from the plane, and I am sitting quite alone with my personal security detail to my right, watching and waiting for me.
"Are you ready, Ms. Vogel?" He looks out the window, satisfied that what he seeks is there. "I take you to Jerusalem, as you were told in message."
"Yes." I am too exhausted to protest or question anything further. I get up and walk to the door of the plane with him and down the stairs, into the private car that waits on the runway, my grandfather's ominous words swirling in my head.
* * *
58
* * *
WE ARE SPEEDING, flying through the Judean Hills on our ascent up to Jerusalem. The familiar road switches back and forth, and I know we are not very far away. I feel completely exhausted—physically, mentally, and emotionally. I try to sleep during the forty-five-minute drive from the airport. My watch says that it's nine o'clock, and I know it's been more than twenty-four hours since we left New York City. There are very few cars on the road, and I am too tired to even worry about where I'm being taken. My only concern at this point seems to be getting some sleep to gather my strength. I know I will need it to deal with everything that waits and that there is no choice other than to trust what my grandfather has told me. That all is well and that I will see him soon.
But I don't believe him.
I am half asleep as the car arrives at a large private home on a hill overlooking the Old City of Jerusalem. When I emerge, I am struck by the feeling I recognize very well, the familiarity of this place. I have seen it before. The wind greets me as I step shakily out of the car and onto the ground. It feels crazy but I recognize where I am—everything about it. The limestone walls, the flat roof, and the beautiful black iron gates that I'm sure, lead to a garden of olive trees and roses.
I feel two warm arms around my shoulders as a heavy-set woman silently escorts me up the steps and into the house. She leads me into a large bedroom where she respectfull
y helps me undress and get ready for sleep.
I lie down in the bed and inhale the delicious lavender scent of the soft white sheets. They feel so cool and refreshing against my weary body. I can't think or question anything anymore. All I want is to move into the world of stillness, cradled by the heavenly down comforter that seems to float all around me.
* * *
When I open my eyes, I'm not sure where I am.
Slowly, the memory of the last two days comes back to me. All of it. The state of my grandfather's library in Gloucester, the flight, and the unexpected landing in Turkey. Especially everything my grandfather had said to me—about the possibility of not coming back.
I sit up in the bed and look around the room for the first time. Sweeping views of the Old City of Jerusalem fill the glass wall across from the bed. The power of the sunlight on the golden city is stunning, and I determine that I am near the Mount of Olives as I recognize many landmarks that I know so well. The space is a brilliant combination of contemporary and ancient construction. A curved glass wall wraps around the front of the room and large steel beams hold the cantilevered floor out three stories above the ground below. Typical everywhere in the city, the floors are made almost completely out of ancient building materials, elements that connect every building to the ancient origins of the city. A perfect juxtaposition of old and new—Jerusalem limestone, marble, and slate. The walls are smooth and pure-white plaster in contrast to the uneven surface of the stone. Other than the few remarkable paintings, everything in the room is white. The furniture, the large feathered bed, the magnificent flowers, and the filmy curtains that frame the wall of glass. Hardly the dark remote bunker I had formulated in my mind when told I was being taken to a secure location.