Guardians of Honor: The Yearlings

Hounded, and sick with fear, a tanned young woman in yellow shorts and a white button-down blouse hastily purchased then surreptitiously donned a turquoise wraparound skirt and a large floppy sunhat from a vendor in a crowded open-air market in Western Jerusalem. She next slid on sunglasses and tied a multicolored scarf about her neck, pulling the items from her purse while anxiously taking a seat in a busy outdoor café on Ben Yehuda Street. She intentionally sat with her back to the road, using the reflection in the café’s large plate glass window to monitor the activity behind her. Her hands were trembling, and she tried desperately to slow her breathing and steady her nerves while pretending to study the menu. Using the window and a variety of other reflective surfaces, she cagily watched for the trio tailing her.

Two men and a woman - Sephardic, all in their late twenties, and all armed, she thought. How can an American run afoul of the Israelis? All too easily … Heavenly Father, give me strength.

A waiter arrived, and in flawless Hebrew, the woman ordered frozen lemonade with lime. To her left, several Israeli elders were having a fervent political discussion. Two tables to her right, three college girls were chatting happily about their recent shopping acquisitions. From their t-shirts, backpacks, and complexions the woman took them to be of Greek extraction; and from their general deportment, tourists. Two wore Stars of David, one a crucifix. Although she could not hear much of their conversation, the girls’ body language suggested that they were close friends.

Ten minutes then I’ll resume my counter-surveillance route to the clandestine meeting with my contact. If Tolstoy produces even half the material promised, it’ll make my career in the spy trade. If Shin Bet catches either of us … the woman suppressed a shudder. … Failure is NOT an option.

Across the bustling street behind her, the woman noticed an Arab merchant closing up shop.

That’s odd, given the early afternoon hour. Then again, there could be a million reasons for what he’s doing. … Stay sharp, but don’t be paranoid. … The Israeli summer heat is merciless this year, the woman thought a moment later, sipping her frozen lemonade and brushing blonde hair from her boiling brow.

The college trio then burst into laughter about something, causing the woman to vividly recall another school summer … a summer when the words duty, honor, country and friendship were seared onto her bourgeoning consciousness … a summer when personal integrity and practical Christian morality began to mean something to her … a summer not so long ago.

CHAPTER 1

HOME FIRES

Casey Sullivan returned to Austin in the midst of a sweltering heat wave. The Texas climate was quite a change from what she had grown accustomed to as a West Point cadet in New York’s Hudson Highlands. Nevertheless, Casey was looking forward to a well-deserved break from the perilous deep cover activities that she had conducted on behalf of the US Military Academy for the past year. Her Christian commitment had been tested in the fiery furnace of adversity, and with the Lord’s help, she had passed the first election. Little did Casey know, the next round of testing was about to begin.
Thanks to the kind efforts of Jennifer and Tracey (Casey’s best friends from high school), the first two of Casey's four weeks in Austin were the most socially active of her life. As usual, the young men were very impressed with her. But, Casey found them too dim, too shallow, or too insecure to justify any second dates. It also didn’t take long for her to realize that Jennifer and Tracey weren’t looking for commitment from their beaus; hence, their instant popularity.

I want more from life than that, Casey thought.

In the middle of her third week at home, Casey received an unexpected e-card from her ‘Christian’ extremist connections at Heritage Concepts, informing her of an upcoming barbecue at a local park. The card featured a collection of good-looking Nordics in swimsuits, one of whom was holding a volleyball with a stylized swastika on it. Casey laughed as she reflected on the situation.

Yes, I'm on vacation, but THIS is too good an undercover opportunity to pass up. I’ll send up a flare so the Texas Rangers can set up surveillance. But, there is no way that I’m going to miss this party. Someone is leaving me a trail of breadcrumbs that I hope will lead to some real evidence against the Cell, and allow me to get back to my normal life. Dear God, don't let me screw this up.

On Saturday afternoon, Casey drove out to the park, found the designated shelters, and joined the lines for a hot hamburger.

It’s time to get into character, she smiled. Just remember to bathe afterwards.

For the sake of her undercover legend, Casey decided to wear sandals, blue jeans, her ‘America for Americans’ t-shirt, rebel flag bandanna, and a pair of really cool sunglasses. She actually looked like a hip, young, Southern racist. As Casey glanced around at the attire of the one hundred or so other guests, it was clear to her that she had made the right wardrobe decision. To the untrained observer, this gathering might well have been a bunch of college kids out for some fun in the sun. And, Casey suspected, that was probably what the locals thought. But, a closer inspection of their logos, tattoos and jewelry told a very different story.

“Looks like a pretty nice turn out,” an attractive, strawberry blonde girl said to Casey as they waited.
“Yeah,” Casey nodded. “I’m glad the weather cooperated.”
“Me too,” the girl said. “Nice t-shirt.”
“Thanks,” Casey smiled. “I like yours too. What’s it say?”
“‘Aryans Awake,’” the girl replied.
“Cool,” Casey said.
“I’m April, but everybody calls me Skeeter.”