Three Stories (Story two - part four)

Three Stories One Middle East

Nader Habibi

 Story two
Part Four

Ronen's Quest

The alarm went off at 4:30 am and despite feeling very tired and sleepy, Ronen dragged his body into the shower. He quickly got ready and walked down to the hotel lobby a minute before five. There was no one in the lobby except for a night clerk behind the counter. Ronen sat on a comfortable sofa and closed his eyes. He was planning to sleep in the car for the duration of the ride as well, but he was so sleepy that he quickly fell sleep on the sofa. It was the sound of conversation between two hotel guests nearby that woke him up, and he realized that it was half past seven and he must have missed the driver. But the driver would have surely spotted him if he had entered the lobby. Ronen walked to the registration desk and asked if anyone had asked for him. The answer was negative, and he had no messages either. He then walked back to his room and called Prince Jassem’s office manager, Mr. Marvin, and asked him about the driver that was supposed to come after him.

“Haven’t you watched the news this morning, Mr. John?” asked Marvin.

“What news?”

“Last night His Highness Sheikh Hadi al-Kowsar replaced Prince Jassem with his younger brother, Prince Hamed, as heir to the thrown, and Prince Jassem is no longer Director of the Tourism Development Board.”

“This is certainly a big surprise. I don’t suppose you know who will be the new Director by any chance?” asked Ronen.

“No sir, but it will probably be Prince Hamed or another member of the royal family.”

“Did the Emir offer any explanation for this decision?”

Marvin was quiet for a few seconds. “No sir. Not that I’m aware of,” he replied.

Ronen hung up and went downstairs to buy a morning paper. The royal replacement was the main headline of Bahrain Tribune. Large pictures of the Emir of Bahrain and Prince Hamed were printed on the front page. Ronen carefully read the related report, which described the decision and detailed Prince Hamed’s background. There was, however, no explanation about why the decision was made and what had happened to Prince Jassem.

Ronen returned to his room and turned on the television. Without bothering with Bahraini channels, he turned to the al-Jazeera network. Not surprisingly, it was showing an analysis of the latest round of violence in the Palestinian territories. Ronen searched for news of Bahrain’s royal replacement on other channels but found none, so he switched back to al-Jazeera, hoping that it would eventually be covered. He wanted to contact his mission supervisor at the Israeli Embassy in London, but he didn’t see any need to wake him up at four o’clock in the morning and decided to wait for a few hours. His mind kept going back and forth between the fate of Prince Jassem and thoughts of his Palestinian family. He knew that the Americans had been concerned about Prince Jassem’s political views and wondered if they had played any role in King Hadi’s decision.

Al-Jazeera finally covered the news and offered a brief analysis. An Arab political commentator, based in London, claimed that Emir of Bahrain was angry with Jassem because he had disagreed with his father’s close ties with the United States. So Jassem’s anti-Western views were not such a secret after all.

It was a little past eleven a.m. when he called the London office of Peace magazine. The call was automatically forwarded to the project supervisor’s cell phone.

“Hello!” said a sleepy voice on the other end.

“Hi Richard, this is John,” said Ronen. They both knew that Ronen’s cover as John Northon must be preserved at all times.

“Hi John. How is your trip going in Bahrain?”

“It was going very well up until this morning when I found out that the Emir removed Prince Jassem from his post as Director of the Bahrain Tourism Board, and it’s not clear when he will assign a new director,” said Ronen.

His mission supervisor was already aware of this development but pretended to be surprised. Ronen wanted to know whether he should return to London or stay in Bahrain for a few more days. He mentioned that based on his friendly contacts with Prince Hamed, he might be able to arrange an interview with him.

The mission supervisor saw no need to talk to Prince Hamed at this point and instructed Ronen to return to London. Ronen flew back to London later that evening and spent the next day at the Israeli Embassy. He met with the same group of Israeli and American officers that he had met with before flying to Bahrain.

Based on his conversation with Prince Jassem, Ronen described him as a radical that would have been a headache for the West and for Israel if he were ever to become the Emir of Bahrain. The American intelligence officers were as surprised by the Bahraini Emir’s sudden decision about Jassem as the Israelis. They speculated that the British government must have arrived at the same conclusion about Jassem and decided to use their influence within the Bahraini Royal family to turn the Emir against him. The Israeli officers, on the other hand, believed that Emir Kowsar’s decision against Jassem was not influenced by outside intervention but was based on his own personal reservations about Jassem’s political opinions. In any case, they all felt relieved that Jassem was marginalized before he could do any damage. Ronen flew back to Israel the next day, Friday June 22^nd.

When he left the airport, it was already four o’clock in the afternoon and he decided to go home instead of going to work. He was driving home in a taxi when he heard the news on the radio. A Palestinian suicide bomber had blown himself up at a bus station in Tel Aviv and several people were killed. The news didn’t come as a shock to Ronen or the driver.

“This is the third explosion this month. When is it ever going to end?” commented the driver before he used a cell phone to let his wife know that he was okay.

Ronen turned on the television to get more information about the explosion as soon as he entered his apartment. Six people were dead and another fifteen were injured. He had just finished unpacking his luggage when the phone rang. It was Anatoli.

“Have you heard about today’s explosion?” Anatoli asked.

“Yes. I’m watching the news right now.”

“We just found out that Ehud’s mother was there and that she is severely injured.” 

Despite how he felt about Ehud, Ronen couldn’t help feeling sorry for his mother.

“That is so unfortunate. Does Ehud know?” he asked.

“Yes. He is on his way to Beit Urshalim Hospital right now.”

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow,” said Ronen.

“No, you should come to the office right away. General Ben David wants everyone to work on this throughout the night. Three of the six people who died so far were soldiers, and I have never seen him so angry before.”

“I’ll be ready in ten minutes. Can you send a driver to pick me up?”

“I already did. He should be there shortly!”

An hour later, Ronen, Anatoli and two other high-ranking intelligence officers were in General Ben David’s office. Ronen had never seen Ben David so upset and eager for action before.

“The Prime Minister and the nation expect us to quickly punish any group that is behind this attack. This is the bloodiest attack in the past four weeks and some of the injured victims might also die over the next few days. As you all know, Ehud’s mother is among the injured and her condition is critical. So we owe it to him to find the bastards that were behind this attack.”

For Ronen and the other officers present, this pep talk was unnecessary. They were all highly motivated professionals who were always at the peak of their performance. The routine after a major attack like this was clear. They would identify the group behind the attack and assassinate or capture as many of them as possible. Another common step was to demolish the residences of the suicide bombers. 

Later that evening, the militant Palestinian group Islamic Jihad took responsibility for the attack and identified the suicide bomber as Yasser al-Masoud. As soon as this news was released, Ronen and Anatoli ran a computer search for this name. He was only 17 and had no prior record of militancy and anti-Israeli activity. His brother, Abbas al-Masoud, was in contact with Hussein al-Khalid, Zeinab’s brother. Abbas was meeting with Khalid in Zeinab’s house when the Israeli missile killed both of them.

Around 10 pm, when Ronen and the other officers were still busy identifying all the people who had any type of association with Yasser al-Masoud, the word came that Ehud’s mother had passed away as a result of her injuries. Ronen couldn’t help thinking about the irony of this situation. Ehud’s mother had been killed by a man whose brother was indirectly killed by Ehud.

As expected, the retaliation was swift and deadly. Two Palestinians with direct connections to Yasser al-Masoud were assassinated in a secret mission and another two were arrested. Three known leaders of the Islamic Jihad in Ramallah and Jenin were killed by three separate missile attacks. At least twelve bystanders and relatives of these targets were also killed in these attacks.

In the past, Ronen always felt good about identifying the Arab targets and participating in the assassinations, but now his perspective was different. On the surface, his performance and behavior was same as before but, deep inside, he felt torn between his Jewish and Palestinian roots. He wondered how his Palestinian brother and sister would feel about him if they learned about his role as an Israeli spy and soldier.

                                                                         ****

When Ronen arrived at Ben Gurion Airport, it was a few minutes before 11 pm. Since there were only two flights departing that evening, the terminal was less crowded than usual. Ronen went through the security check and customs in less than twenty minutes and five minutes later, he was sitting at the Gate 5 waiting area. He was tired and was looking forward to a good sleep during the eleven-hour flight to the United States. 

He felt fortunate that in the middle of all his missions, General Ben David granted him a one-week vacation. The General did stress, however, that he should have taken a vacation right after his mother passed away.

Ronen had been looking forward to this trip for the past two weeks. This was his chance to meet the oldest son of Karim al-Banna, his biological brother, Omar. Finding Omar’s exact address and phone number wasn’t difficult. The name of the small town that he and his family lived in was Swarthmore. Ronen remembered how Zeinab and her sister struggled to pronounce this name. He also thought that it was a strange name for a city.

Ronen had even found out the name of the engineering firm that Omar was working for. To make sure that Omar was going to be in town during his visit, Ronen had emailed him as the manager of an engineering firm in Saudi Arabia that was trying to recruit a few highly qualified engineers who were fluent in Arabic. Omar responded with interest, and they agreed to meet for lunch on Saturday, July 14^th, in Philadelphia. It was only after arranging this meeting that Ronen bought his round trip ticket from Tel Aviv to Newark. He had no intention of going to this meeting, but it assured him that Omar would be in Swarthmore during the next few days.

Ronen’s ticket was for an economy seat but soon after the plane took off a flight attendant invited Ronen to take one of the empty first-class seats. This nice gesture was a result of an intervention by the flight’s undercover security agent who had recognized Ronen as the instructor of a special training course that he had taken a year earlier. Out of respect and admiration for Ronen, the agent had asked the pilot if they could move him to a first class seat and the pilot gladly agreed. Ronen slept through most of the flight and, when he woke, only one hour was left of the flight.

Ronen asked a flight attendant for a copy of the Yedioth Ahronoth.  Casually eyeballing the second page, the name “Swarthmore” in one of the news stories caught his attention. “The Pakistani Sara Goldberg Visits Swarthmore” the title read. What a coincidence, he thought to himself. All his life he had never seen or read anything about this small suburb of Philadelphia and now suddenly it was mentioned in a popular Israeli newspaper.  Ronen read the story with interest. The report was about the disappearance of an eighteen year-old girl named Sara Goldberg who lived in Swarthmore and had disappeared a few weeks ago. Immediately after her disappearance, a young girl named Yasmin, who lived in Pakistan, had claimed to be Sara. She apparently was manifesting all the memories and the personality of this American girl and denied any knowledge of her own original personality.

The report also showed a picture of this Pakistani girl and her parents arriving in Philadelphia. After several weeks of investigations, the FBI and Pakistani police had ruled out any criminal intentions and Yasmin was in the U.S. undergoing medical and psychological examinations.  No one had any explanation for this strange phenomenon.

It occurred to Ronen as he read this story that he must be very careful while in Swarthmore. There would probably be many reporters in town covering this story and his face might accidentally appear in a picture or in TV footage. If this story had made it to the second page of Yedioth Ahronoth it must be a sensational front page story in many American papers, he thought to himself.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we will be landing at Newark Airport in approximately twenty minutes. The local time is 5:02 am,” said the Captain, first in Hebrew and then in English. 

It was still dark when the plane landed and began to slowly taxi toward the designated terminal. Through the small window to his right, Ronen was looking at the parked airplanes and the few airport personnel who were working in that early hour of the morning. A man was driving a special airport vehicle that had two luggage transport carts attached to it like a train. Since the vehicle was moving in the same direction as the plane and the carts were empty, Ronen concluded that it must have been coming to carry their luggage. How punctual! He thought.

As the vehicle moved closer to the plane, he could almost see the driver’s face. Ronen was watching the driver when suddenly he disappeared. The vehicle was still moving forward but the driver was not behind the wheel. Ronen leaned forward and carefully looked at the area around the vehicle thinking that he must have fallen down on the ground, but he didn’t see a body on the ground. The vehicle kept moving forward and Ronen was using his hands to block the light reflection on the glass to see outside better.

“Did you see that he suddenly disappeared?” asked a man sitting behind him. Ronen twisted his body to the right as much as he could to face the man that had made this comment through the small gap between his sit and the window.

“You saw it too?” asked Ronen. But the man was not looking out the window.

“Richard? Richard?” an elderly woman shrieked suddenly. She was sitting in front of Ronen.

“Richard?” she said with an even louder scream. A flight attendant walked quickly toward her to find out what was wrong.

Suddenly loud noises could be heard from the economy section of the plane as well.

“My husband, he was sitting next to me and suddenly he disappeared,” explained the old woman in Hebrew and then started calling her husband’s name again.

“The man next to me also disappeared suddenly,” yelled the man sitting behind Ronen.

“The American couple in front of me is no longer here,” said another passenger.

By now, the voices from the economy section were louder and several passengers were shouting and screaming. All the passengers in the first class section were talking to each other in disbelief and looking around. A flight attendant from the economy section pushed the curtain aside and quickly ran toward the cockpit.

The first class attendant was trying to calm down the elderly lady and prevent her from standing in the aisle. A few other passengers stood in the aisle despite repeated requests by the flight attendants to remain in their seats. The flight attendant was shouting at people but so many people were talking at the same time that no one could hear her. She was the same flight attendant that had invited Ronen to the first class. In desperation she looked at Ronen.

“Could you please help?” she asked him.

Ronen quickly unbuckled his seatbelt and stood in the aisle next to the flight attendant.

“Everyone sit down and clear the aisles,” he shouted, but no one paid attention.

He grabbed the arm of a fat bearded man who was standing near him and pushed him back into his seat.

“Hey! Don’t touch me you idiot,” yelled the man as he tried to push Ronen back.

Before he had a chance to touch him, Ronen grabbed his hand and twisted it so hard that the man screamed in pain. Then Ronen quickly pushed him back into his seat and held a fist in front of his face.

“If you stand up again, I’ll break your teeth,” said Ronen.

The man, who realized he was no match for Ronen, kept quiet. The scuffle caught the attention of the other first class passengers who were standing in the aisles.

“Everyone sit down and clear the aisles,” shouted Ronen as loud as he could.

Slowly the passengers began sitting down one by one. He turned to the attendant. “I’m going to help the flight attendants in the economy section.”

The airplane, which was slowly moving forward up until then, came to a complete stop.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the Captain speaking. Please remain seated and clear the aisles. I repeat, please remain seated. We are aware that some of the passengers are missing but, if you stay calm and clear the aisles, the flight attendants can search for them. We are only twenty meters away from the gate and you will be able to leave the airplane shortly.”

The Captain began to repeat the same message in English as Ronen entered the economy section. The announcement had temporarily ended the shouts and screams, but there were still many people standing in the aisles. The security officer spotted Ronen.

“Colonel Shamir!” he shouted and raised his left hand. He was holding a handgun in his right hand and standing about five rows away from Ronen. There were two men and one woman standing in the aisle between Ronen and the agent. Ronen quickly forced the three passengers to sit down and finally stood next to the agent.

“I’m Avi Golan. I need your help sir,” he was a young man, twenty four or twenty five years old at the most, and slightly shorter than Ronen.

“I’d be glad to help.”

Avi reached into his jacket with his left hand, pulled another handgun from his right side and offered it to Ronen. “You’d better take this. You stay in front and I’ll go to the back,” he said to Ronen.

A male flight attendant was struggling with a woman who was frantically screaming and refused to sit. Avi pushed his way around them and kept moving toward the back rows as he forced people to sit down. Ronen approached the screaming woman who was standing next to row fifteen. She was struggling to move forward but the flight attendant was holding her back. A female passenger was also holding her arms and trying to restrain her hands.

As Ronen walked toward them, he noticed that some passengers were pointing towards row twelve. Ronen turned to see what they were looking at and could not believe his eyes.  A ten-year old boy was sitting with his seatbelt on. He only had one leg and one arm.  He was alive and seemed to be in a state of shock. No cry, no word, no movement. He was just looking forward and breathing fast. The screaming and crying woman that other passengers were trying to restrain was his mother.

“These are all signs,” said an elderly lady. “The world will end soon. Lord’s Kingdom will be resurrected,” she added but her voice was lost among the other loud voices.

Ronen touched the child’s shoulder, but he didn’t react. He then gently raised his short sleeve. The arm was completely gone, but there was no blood and no sign of it being torn away. It was as if this child was born without an arm.

“Where is my son’s arm? What happened to his leg?” the woman kept shouting. The passengers finally cleared the aisles and sat down after Agent Golan fired a warning shot and threatened to shoot anyone who was standing in the aisle. They were all frightened. Many were praying and those whose relatives had disappeared were still shouting and crying. 

The flight attendants quickly counted the passengers and reported to the Captain that nine passengers were missing. 

“The Captain wants to have a word with you, sir.” said a flight attendant to Ronen.

He quickly walked to the cockpit.

“I understand that you are a member of the Army Intelligence Office, Colonel Shamir. Is this correct?”

“Yes sir, it is correct.”

“I’m a former Air Force pilot and I’m glad you are aboard. I have no idea what just happened. I cannot get in touch with the flight control tower and there is no ground crew to help me park the plane at the gate. It is as if everyone has suddenly disappeared. On top of this, we have nine missing passengers who couldn’t possibly have left the plane.”

“I was looking at a crew member outside when it happened. He suddenly vanished as he drove a luggage truck parallel to our plane. It seems impossible but I saw it with my own eyes and I can’t think of any explanation either,” said Ronen.

“I also saw two people suddenly disappear on the ground,” said the co-pilot as he pointed out the window.

The cockpit door suddenly opened and a flight attendant stood halfway inside the door.   

  

“Captain, I talked to the passengers who claim their relatives have disappeared, and I have prepared a list of those missing. The passengers are very restless. Any idea when we will be able to let them leave the plane?” said the woman as she handed a paper to the co-pilot.

“There is no one out there to help us attach to the gate. Just keep them seated until I figure out what to do?” responded the Captain and the attendant closed the door.

“Captain, look over there,” said one of the co-pilots as he pointed to the left. A few people were walking on the tarmac toward the terminal but, from their appearance, it was clear that they were passengers not airport crew. Then, they saw a few more passengers come into their view.

“It looks like a plane is unloading its passengers,” said Ronen.

“I think we should do the same,” said the Captain. “Assef, could you help the flight attendants open the emergency doors? Colonel Shamir, could you help with the evacuation?” said the Captain.

He then spoke to the passengers and informed them that they would be evacuated via the emergency exits.

As soon as they opened the plane’s emergency doors, the slides were automatically inflated and touched the ground. Ronen was one of the first people to use the emergency slide. He then stood by the slide to help the other passengers disembark. The evacuation of the more than two hundred and fifty passengers and crew took nearly fifteen minutes. By the time Ronen was able to walk away from the airplane, it was almost 5:30 am and the sun was rising. He followed a few passengers to a set of stairs that took him inside the terminal. Talking to the other passengers, he quickly realized that none of the people around him were American. It was as if only the Americans had disappeared. But why? And how?  He didn’t know if this was happening only at Newark Airport or in a larger area. He saw no point in trying to retrieve his luggage, and there were no people in the customs area to check the arriving passengers’ passports and visas. So he just walked toward the nearest exit door. Ronen began to worry about his brother and decided to go to Swarthmore immediately. As he stepped out of the airport building, a man was anxiously walking in.

“Excuse me, do you know what has happened?” asked Ronen.

“All I know is that a lot of people are missing. Did you just arrive?” he asked Ronen. Ronen quickly recognized his Russian accent.

“Yes,” answered Ronen.

“Where from?”

“Tel Aviv.”

“My wife is coming from Moscow,” said the man and walked toward the terminal building.

Ronen walked out of Terminal B hoping to find a bus or catch a taxi, but he noticed that no buses or cars were driving on the roads in front of the terminal. A few cars were visible on the road, but they were either parked or had crashed into each other. Some had also crashed into the sidewalk. There were several people on the road in front of the terminal. They were crossing the multiple parallel roads in front of the terminal and walking through the parking lot toward the main entrance to the airport. A few people were crossing the roads coming toward the terminal. Most were anxious and walking fast. Ronen approached an elderly Asian couple that were walking toward the terminal but could not walk fast. 

“Excuse me, I know you are in a hurry, but can you tell me where I can take a bus or a train to Philadelphia?” Ronen asked.

The couple did not stop. “You can’t drive car. Many accidents on road,” said the woman with a strong accent.

Ronen quickened his pace as he followed a few other people who were trying to leave the airport on foot. People were talking to each other nervously – some had cuts and bruises on their bodies. Under normal circumstances, he would have tried to help the others but, at that moment, all he could think about was finding his brother as soon as possible. As he crossed the parking lot and approached Airport Street, he heard shouting fifty meters ahead. Two young men who looked in their twenties were exchanging punches and kicks with a man and a woman.

“Help, help!” the woman was shouting. “It’s our motorcycle. Help!” she shouted again.

“You fucking thieves. Let go of my bike!” shouted a man with a British accent.

He was trying to prevent two teenagers from taking a motorbcycle that was lying on the ground. The teens were shouting back at the couple in a foreign language that Ronen recognized as Portuguese. One of the teenagers punched the man in the stomach and pushed him back as the other one picked up the bike and quickly sat on it. The man, who was clearly in severe pain, rushed forward and grabbed the second teenager who was trying to sit on the bike from behind and put his left arm around his neck in a choke hold as he pulled him off the bike.

Ronen was only ten meters away from them at that moment and rushed toward them. Suddenly the other teenager, who was sitting on the bike, pulled a knife from his left-hand pocket and stabbed the British man in the back. As he screamed in pain, his grip on the other teen loosened and he lost his balance. The woman screamed in horror and stepped forward to grab the wounded man. The teenager who was holding the knife pulled it out of man’s back and swung it on the face of the screaming woman. It left a large cut on her left cheek and blood poured out as she fell. 

The other teenager was about to get on the bike when Ronen punched him as hard as he could on the back of his head slightly above the neck. It was a precise blow and, just as Ronen had predicted, the teen lost consciousness immediately. The other teen was still holding the knife in his hand and tried to swing it at Ronen’s face, but he was no match for the well-trained Israeli spy. Ronen deflected the knife easily and delivered a severe punch to his left temple.

As both teenagers fell on the ground Ronen grabbed the bike to prevent it from falling on the wounded woman. The teenagers were both laying on the ground unconscious. 

Several other people approached the scene and tried to help the wounded couple. For a few seconds no one was paying any attention to Ronen. He quickly picked up the bloody knife, pulled the bike away from the crowd, turned the engine on and rode away. He figured the wounded couple was in no shape to use the bike, and he had as much right to use it as any other stranded passenger. The bike was a medium-size Honda, fast enough to take Ronen to his brother’s place in Pennsylvania.

Ronen understood why the two teenagers were trying to steal this bike as soon as he entered the highway. There were car accidents and abandoned cars all over the road. These were the cars that must have been moving on the highway when their drivers had suddenly disappeared. Some cars had crashed into others and some had flipped over at the side of the road. In many locations, the abandoned cars made it impossible to drive a car or any large vehicle. Only a motorcycle or a bicycle was able to move around these cars, and Ronen drove toward Philadelphia as fast as he could. He was hesitant to stop anywhere that there were other people, because he knew what a valuable possession a bike was under those circumstances and he did not want to take a chance. Luckily for him the bike had enough gas. He saw many people walking on Highway 95 as he drove. Some waved at him requesting a ride and some were busy trying to get into the abandoned cars. He avoided them all and quickly maneuvered among the cars.

After about two hours, he saw an exit for Philadelphia and took it, but he had no idea how to go to the small town were his brother lived. He had to take a chance and ask someone. He carefully looked at the people who were on or near the highway. He spotted two women in a corner who were at least two hundred meters away from any other people around there. He decided to ask these two women for directions, because they were unlikely to pose a threat to him.  

He stopped the bike about ten meters in front of them but did not turn off the engine. They stopped walking and got closer to each other. He sensed that they were afraid of him.

“Excuse me. I mean no harm. Can you tell me how I can go to Swarthmore?” he asked.

From the shape of their faces and their skin color, he guessed that they must be of Indian or Pakistani origin. One of them was a young girl and the other one looked in her fifties. They kept their distance from Ronen.

“Where?” Asked the younger woman after some hesitation.

“Swarthmore.”

“What?” Asked the woman again.

“Swarthmore!” shouted Ronen over the sound of the bike’s engine. “It is south of Philadelphia.”

The two women exchanged a few words with each other. Ronen looked around and noticed two men approaching them, but they were still far away.

“Swarthmore!” he shouted again.

“I don’t know for sure but after the bridge you will see a sign for 95 South. Maybe that will take you. Sir, can you please give us a ride? We have been walking for the past two hours.”

Ronen felt sorry for them, but the two men were getting closer.

“Please sir, at least take my mother to Philly. She can’t walk anymore.”

Ronen did not say anything. He quickly rode the bike next to the two women.

“Get on quickly,” he said to them while fixing his eyes on the approaching men.

The men started running when they saw the women sitting on the bike.

“Hurry! Hurry!” Ronen shouted.

They were less than five meters away and shouting for him to stop when Ronen accelerated and drove towards the bridge as fast as possible. He dropped the women off after the bridge and took 95 South. It took him another hour to finally make it to Swarthmore.

There were fewer crashed cars on the city streets. Ronen figured this must have been due to the fact that the disappearance happened in early morning hours and, unlike major highways, ordinary city streets were mostly empty at that time of the day. When he entered Swarthmore, he found himself on a street called Chester Road. Now he had to find his way to another street called Princeton Avenue, based on the address that he had for his brother.

Chester Road was deserted except for a truck that had crashed into a tree and had blocked the entire road. Ronen rode onto the sidewalk to pass this truck. Soon after, he noticed a woman running toward him and waving her hand. It was an Asian woman.

“Excuse me, have you seen a small boy and a girl?”

Ronen slowed down but did not stop.

“No,” he replied and kept going.

From a distance, he noticed a black passenger car that had collided with a utility pole. He saw a woman walk away from the car. She walked to the middle of the road and waved both of her hands when she saw Ronen’s bike. Then, she bent down and squatted on the road as Ronen approached her. It was a young girl with dark hair. She was crying and screaming.  Ronen was in no mood to help someone else, but she was pointing to the car and it looked as if someone’s life was in danger. Ronen looked around to see if any other people were nearby that might pose a risk to him. He didn’t see anyone and stopped his bike near the girl. As he got off the bike, the girl was shouting something in a foreign language. Ronen recognized it as Urdu.  

“Do you speak English?” asked Ronen.

The girl pointed to the car. She was crying and could hardly speak.

“Child …. child…” she said.

Ronen walked to the car and saw a child laying on the backseat. It was a young girl, six or seven years old. Both of her hands and one leg were missing. Ronen touched her neck. She was alive but unconscious. He remembered the child on the airplane who also had lost some limbs when the disappearances occurred. So he was not shocked by what he saw. He stepped away from the car and looked around to see if anyone was approaching.

Then he walked toward the girl.

“She is still alive but unconscious,” said Ronen and then helped the girl to stand up and walk to the sidewalk.

“Do you have a phone that I can use?” asked the girl.

“No,” he replied and then suddenly recognized her face.

“Hey, are you from Pakistan?”

“Yes.”

“Is your name Yasmin?” asked Ronen.

“Yes. I’m Yasmin Khan. How do you know my name?”

“I saw your picture in the newspapers and on TV,” said Ronen. She was the Pakistani girl in the Jerusalem Post article – the one who claimed to be a missing American girl named Sara who lived in this town.

“Why would my picture be in a newspaper? What about me? … Please! You must help me. I have no idea how I got here. I live in Karachi, Pakistan. I woke up this morning and found myself in an empty house in this town. Do you know how I got here?” asked Yasmin.

Ronen looked around again to make sure no one was coming toward them. Then he looked at her with curiosity.

“Then you are not claiming to be this American girl named Sara anymore?” he asked.

“Who is Sara? I never claimed to be anyone else. I’m Yasmin Khan.”

Ronen looked at his watch.

“Look, I don’t have much time to explain, and it is a long story. It looks like you have regained your original personality after what happened this morning.”

“I don’t understand!” said Yasmin.

Ronen wanted to leave and find his brother’s house, but he felt sorry for this girl because he was already familiar with her story.

“Look! That is not important now. From what I have read about your situation, you came to the United States with your mother and father a few days ago for medical evaluations. So your parents must be somewhere around here,” said Ronen as he looked around him again.

“You mean my parents are here in this town?”

“Yes or maybe somewhere near this town. And since they are not American, it is likely that they have not disappeared.” 

Ronen saw a sudden change in the Pakistani girl’s mood. She stopped crying. “Are you sure my parents are here?” she asked anxiously.

“I’m not sure of anything, but the news report that I read about you mentioned that they were with you when you arrived in America. There was even a picture of all of you at the Philadelphia airport.”

But the Pakistani girl had no recollection of any of this.

“Please, could you help me find my parents?”

“I’m here to find my own brother who lives in Swarthmore. You can ride with me, but first I need to locate my brother’s house and find out what has happened to him.”

From her body language, Ronen could tell that the Pakistani girl felt uncomfortable sitting behind him. She looked at the car.

“What about that child?” she asked.

“We can’t do anything for her now, but I can come after her later. Are you coming?” asked Ronen as he ignited the engine. Yasmin sat behind him and gently put her hands on his sides.

“You better hold on tight or you might fall.”

“What is your name?” asked Yasmin as she wrapped her hands tightly around his waist.

“It was Ronen up until a few weeks ago. But now I don’t really know,” said Ronen and then he drove down the empty street.

Since it was pointless asking Yasmin for directions in Swarthmore, Ronen began looking around for someone else he could trust to approach. It took him nearly five minutes before he spotted a man. It was an older man with dark skin and white hair. He was walking on the sidewalk at a normal pace but as they got close and he could hear the bikes roaring sound, he started running.

“Excuse me!” said Ronen with a loud voice, but the man kept running. Ronen drove in front of him.

“We are not going to harm you. I need directions.”

The man finally stopped. He was breathing heavily. His lower lip was slowly bleeding.

“What happened to you?” asked Ronen.

“A couple of men hit me and took my money. It’s not safe. There are no police. There is no one around. Where are all the people?”

He had an accent that was clearly not American. Ronen had no time to answer his question.

“Do you know how I can go to Princeton Avenue?” he asked.

The old man wiped the blood off his chin. He was still bleeding.

“You are on Swarthmore Avenue now. Keep going until you cross the railroad tracks. Then turn right onto Dartmouth. The second stop sign is Princeton.”

Ronen thanked him and gave him a twenty-dollar bill before riding away. After a short distance, he saw the railroad tracks and was reassured of being near his destination. He was just about to cross the tracks when someone shouted “Yasmiiiin!”

Ronen stopped right on the tracks. He and Yasmin both looked back. They heard it again. An older man was shouting “Yasmin, Yasmin” and running towards them from the street that ran parallel to the tracks.

Yasmin recognized the man and quickly got off the bike.

“That’s my father! Baba, Baba!” shouted Yasmin as she ran toward her father.

Ronen turned the bike around and rode slowly behind Yasmin. Yasmin ran into her father’s arms in tears. The man was also crying as he embraced his daughter. Ronen watched them as they spoke in Urdu. The father was overwhelmed with joy as he repeatedly kissed and hugged his daughter. Ronen was looking for an opportunity to catch their attention and let them know that he had to leave. Finally, after a few seconds, he stepped forward to make his presence known. Yasmin pointed to Ronen and said something in Urdu. The man walked toward Ronen.

“I’m Mohammad Hossain Khan. I’m forever in your debt. Thank you for helping my daughter,” said the older man.  Ronen looked around to make sure no one was approaching them before responding. “I know all about you and your daughter’s problem. I’m glad she is back to her original self. Now that she has found you I can go.  I need to find my brother as soon as possible,” said Ronen.

 “Sir, before you leave could you tell me what is happening in this town. There is no one on the streets and some people have disappeared all together. There is no electricity, and the phone isn’t working either.”

“It’s not just this town. It happened everywhere a few hours ago. All the Americans suddenly disappeared. There is no logical explanation for this, but it seems to have happened.”

“But my host is a Pakistani man, and one of his daughters has disappeared.”

“Was she born in America?” asked Ronen.

“Yes! It makes sense now. His older daughter who was born in Pakistan is fine, but the younger daughter that was born here is missing. They are all driving around town searching for her.”

“I’m sorry. I have to get going,” said Ronen as he got on his bike and rode toward Princeton Avenue.

He quickly forgot about Yasmin as his mind refocused on Omar, the brother that he had never met before. He had an idea of what Omar looked like based on a picture of him that he saw in Farha’s apartment in Bahrain. It was only a short ride to Princeton Avenue from where Ronen dropped off the Pakistani girl.

Ronen’s heartbeat quickened as he approached house number 214. It was a two-story, blue colored house with a U-shaped driveway in front of it. Ronen slowly drove his bike near the entrance door, which was half open. He stood in front of the door and rang the bell. No one came to the door, and he rang it again. 

“Hello! Hello!” There was no answer.

Ronen wondered if Omar and his family had disappeared. The information that he had gathered about Omar did not say if he had become a U.S. citizen or not. But having lived in America for so long, this was a possibility. Then he heard some voices from across the street approaching the house. There were two men and a woman. He immediately walked toward the bike and stood in front of it just in case.

“It is useless. My family is gone. They’ve all disappeared,” shouted one of the men.

As they approached the driveway, Ronen recognized Omar’s face despite the fact that he looked older, with more gray hair and an unshaved face. It was Omar who was speaking. The young couple accompanying him was Asian. Ronen walked toward them.

As they got closer, Ronen stared at Omar’s face. Omar and the couple noticed him, as they got closer. Omar’s eyes were red and tears were visible on his face. Omar did not say anything. He just stared at Ronen. For a moment, Ronen thought that perhaps Omar had also noticed their strong resemblance. Under normal circumstances, Omar would have asked this stranger what he was doing on his front yard, but this was a very unusual circumstance and he just stared at Ronen in silence.

“Can we help you?” asked the Asian man. Ronen, who was overwhelmed with emotion, did not respond immediately.

“This is private property. Can we help you?” said the Asian man again with a louder and more demanding voice.

“Yes ... Yes … I’m sorry,” said Ronen as he quickly began thinking up a plausible cover story.  The excuse that he had already prepared for meeting with Omar was no longer useful under these unusual circumstances. Luckily, all those years of training in espionage and deception had well prepared him for such moments. 

“Sorry for trespassing,” he said with a British accent. “I live down on Swarthmore Avenue, and I was going around to see if anyone has a shortwave radio that can give me any news as to what is happening. There is no TV, phone or Internet service and most of our neighbors are missing. I guess you are missing some loved ones as well,” said Ronen.

He immediately realized how stupid an excuse it was. Why would anyone drive a bike to go from door to door? But fortunately Omar was so preoccupied that he did not notice. He was still looking at him without any reaction.

“His family is missing,” said the Asian woman.

“I’m so sorry!” said Ronen, “Most of my…” Omar interrupted him before he had a chance to complete this sentence.

“I have a shortwave radio, but I need to find batteries for it. Come inside,” said Omar who spoke with a strong Arabic accent.

He then quickly walked into his house but turned around and looked outside when he heard the sound of Ronen’s bike engine. He thought Ronen was leaving.

“Can I park the bike in the your back yard? It’s not safe to leave it here?” Omar looked at him with doubt for a second. “Ya, sure!”

Ronen drove his bike to the other side of the building to park it in a place that was not visible from the street. When Ronen entered the living room, the first things that caught his eyes were the family pictures on the walls. He immediately recognized a couple of them, and the faces that he saw helped him overcome any doubts that he might have had until then about this man being Omar Al-Banna. One of the photos was a family picture of Farha and her children. The other one was a black and white picture of Karim Al-Banna and Zeinab. Omar hastily brought up a dusty radio from the basement and put it on the coffee table. Ronen was staring at him as he went into the kitchen and returned with a pack of batteries.

After a few seconds Ronen tuned the radio to the BBC World Service. They all gathered around the radio.

“… has declared a state of emergency. Russia and China have also declared states of emergency in the past five minutes. So far there is no explanation for the sudden disappearance of millions of Americans, which took place simultaneously all over the world between 10 am and 10:30 am GMT. Based on the latest news release by the Foreign Secretary, it appears that all American citizens, meaning anyone who has an American birth certificate or passport, have disappeared…”

“Oh my God! Allah o Akbar, Allah o Akbar!” shouted Omar as he moved his head back and forth with closed eyes. Ronen lowered the volume.

“Was Leyla a U.S. citizen?” asked the Asian woman.

“Yes,” answered Omar as he tried hard not to cry. “She got her citizenship four years ago. Karim and Hoda were born here. I’m not an American citizen. I just have a green card.”

They were all silent for a few moments as Ronen and the Asian couple looked at Omar. Ronen felt sorry for his brother. He was not sure what he should do next. The only thing that he was certain about was that he didn’t want to leave his brother alone at that moment. Omar was no longer crying. He was staring at a picture of his family. They were all silent for a few moments. Without taking his eyes away from the picture, Omar reached out and raised the volume. They listened to the rest of the news broadcast from BBC World Service. It was all about the disappearance of Americans. The entire world was in shock and no one had any explanation for what had happened.    

  End of Story Two. Continue to Story Three