True Identity: A David Jezreel Story

By Samuel Griswold

A plot to kill the American president. A man who's lost his memory is the only one who can prevent the assassination.  Will he remember in time?                                                                                                                 An Israeli Mossad operative working undercover in Iraqi Kurdistan is caught in an explosion during a cross-border raid on Kurdish rebels by the Iranian Revolutionary Guards Corp. Knocked unconscious, he wakes to find that he has no memory of who he is, or why he is there. Will he remember in time to prevent the planned assassination of Ramon Sandoval, the newly-elected American President? And why is he receiving strange visions of the Hebrew Patriarch Abraham? Is his mind playing tricks on him, or are they memories of a previous life?

With scenes ripped from today's headlines, True Identity is an action-packed historical thriller that reveals who the Hebrews really were and the origins of Judeo-Christian tradition.   

                                                             A must read for fans of Daniel Silva, Steve Berry and J.F. Penn!                                                  

"Suspense and spirituality all wrapped in one story!"  

"A heart pumping story with so many twists and turns that it's hard to put down."

"The description of the travels makes you feel like you were there!"  

"I felt like I was experiencing the sights, scents, suspense and action."

"The ending is a cliff hanger.  I can't wait for the next installment.  Enjoy!"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Samuel Griswold
• Release date: Apr 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9781500607029

Samuel Griswold

Books have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. From a very young age, I was taught to love reading and learning. Like many, I was read to before I could read myself and I learned to read at an early age. I was also raised to be proud of my Jewish faith and heritage.  This all went into overdrive when I turned thirteen and experienced a spinal injury that forced me to be in traction three times each day for years. Having to remain completely stationary for one-half hour each time, I had little other option but to read. And so I did. Everything I could get my hands on, especially about history, the Jewish people and the Middle East.   For the next several years, I studied all of the world's major religions and many minor ones in search of answers and a new understanding of my life.  I found partial answers in many different faiths and learned tolerance and respect for all beliefs.  I realized that the Divine Creator gives insights and inspiration to all who seek it according to their ability to understand.  Spiritual truths can be found in all faiths and, in most instances, it is personal experiences and cultural context that separates us and prevents us from learning together.  My heart turned me toward Eastern religions like Hinduism and Buddhism with their more contemplative approach to faith. Beliefs such as reincarnation and meditative practices spoke to me, but seemed foreign and unrelated to the Judaism I was raised with.  It was then that a chance encounter with two Hasidic travelers introduced me to Kabbalah and a completely different understanding of my Jewish faith and heritage.  I discovered that contemplative practices, meditation and reincarnation had been a part of Judaism since Biblical times  It was my limited exposure and ignorance that kept me from being aware of this earlier.  Eventually, I came full circle in my spiritual journey, returning to the faith of my ancestors with a renewed spirit and sense of purpose.  Now, all of this reading and research is paying off, as I've developed a unique expertise that I'm able to incorporate into the writing of my own spiritual novels, press articles and blog. Let's stay in touch!  I humbly request that you connect with me on Facebook and read my blog at www.samuelgriswold.com

Book preview

Chapter 1

The sound was deafening as Iranian artillery rained down around them. Informants had warned them of the impending attack by the Iranian Revolutionary Guards Corps, and most of the local villagers and guerrilla fighters of the Party for a Free Life in Kurdistan (Partiya Jiyana Azad a Kurdistane- PJAK) had already fled. Rihanna Keren, herself a fighter for the PJAK, was one of those who remained behind to help the last evacuees and to fight the Iranian advance.

But she was not alone. Though few in numbers, those who fought with the PJAK were bold and daring. They followed in the tradition of all Kurdish peshmerga, or those who face death.

Before her stood a living example of the rugged peshmerga fighter. Directly in the path of gunfire with artillery shells blasting all around him, the man purposefully helped the injured and those left behind. He was calm in a storm of chaos.

His features were typically Kurdish—dark hair; a long, straight nose; and blue eyes. His muscular build and six-foot frame stirred feelings that made her heart beat a little faster.

Mesmerized, she watched what seemed like a slow-motion film, as he reached into gunfire and randomly exploding shells to save anyone that he could. Who was he, this Kurdish lion? She thought she knew. If her suspicions were correct, he could be none other than the legendary Azad Khebat.

Azad Khebat was actually not his real name, but an alias meaning free struggle. No one knew his real name or identity. It was rumored that he was an Israeli Mossad agent, with ancestral origins in Kurdistan, who was helping the PJAK with training, supplies, and covert operations into Iran.

Then she saw her—a young girl of only three to four years of age in the center of the street. She was terrified and screaming for her mother.

The man saw her too. Without hesitation, he ran toward her. Just as he reached the young girl, an artillery shell exploded nearby. Instinctively, he covered the child with his own body as he dropped to the ground unconscious.

No! screamed Rihanna, as she raced to the man and girl who were still lying in the street.

She arrived to find the girl uninjured, but frightened. The man lay unconscious, having taken the full impact of the blast himself to save the child.

Her friend Tarkon arrived a moment later.

Let me help you, he said. You take the girl, and I’ll carry him.

Surrounded by explosions and bullets, they quickly carried the girl and her hero to safety behind a nearby wall.

We can’t leave them here, Rihanna said.

I agree. I know the girl’s family and will get her to them.

I mean him, Rihanna explained, pointing to the mysterious stranger. We’ve got to get him out of here.

No problem, Tarkon said reassuringly. We will. But why the urgency?

If I’m right, this is Azad Khebat. We can’t let him be captured.

You mean...

Yes! I mean Azad Khebat.

Tarkon looked over at the stranger and then back at Rihanna.

Wait here, he said. I’ll be back soon.

Without another word, Tarkon picked up the girl and raced off.  He darted from building to building seeking shelter from the blasts and gunfire. Rihanna watched him for a moment, until he ran out of her sight, and then looked back at the unconscious stranger. She knew what his capture would mean, not only for him, but for their overall fight for freedom and democracy in Iran. It would be a huge setback, if not the end of their cause.

***

As promised, Tarkon returned a short time later. This time, he was alone.

I found her aunt and uncle. She’s safe now, he said.

Good.

They both looked down at the still unconscious man.

So, what about him? she asked.

I’ve got a pack mule waiting. Night is coming, and the Iranians should halt their attack until daybreak. We’ll take him down the mountain under the cover of darkness to a car that I’ve arranged to meet us.

Rihanna reached over to take his hand.

Thank you. If I’m right, we’ve just saved our people a terrible loss.

I know, he said.

Chapter 2

It was a new moon, and they headed down the steep and treacherous slopes of the Qandil Mountains in complete darkness. At times, they traveled blind, seeking a path and sure footing. They were ever mindful of scouts from the Iranian Revolutionary Guards Corps, who might be patrolling in the area.

Do you think we are alone? Rihanna asked.

I can’t be sure, but wouldn’t doubt it, Tarkon said.

There’s no moonlight for them to see, and they don’t know this area as well as we do. So, I’d guess they are waiting until morning. By then, we’ll have him out of the area and safe.

They both looked back at the still unconscious stranger, who lay limply across the back of the pack mule. He was completely unaware of his surroundings or the fact that he was being rescued.

***

Dawn was breaking with its first rays of light when they finally reached the base of the mountain. As planned, a nondescript sedan was waiting for them. They quickly lifted their hero off the pack mule and loaded his heavy frame into the backseat of the car. Rihanna slid in beside him. Tarkon stood outside.

Where will you go? he asked.

To a safe house in Saqlawa, to start with. We’ll see after that.

Stay safe.

I will. What about you? she asked.

I’ll see how I can help here first and then head to Judi Dagh for the Yazidi festival.

Maybe we’ll meet up there, Rihanna said.

Sounds like a plan. Now get going before it’s completely light.

He motioned to the driver, who quickly accelerated away.

Chapter 3

Mujo traveled along the winding, hilly road that led from Sarajevo to Belgrade. To him, this area was the front line in the clash of faith and civilizations between the Christian West and Muslim East. This was made evident during the Balkan War of the 1990’s.

For Mujo, this was personal and the start of his own jihad against both the West and Israel, whose weaponry had been used by the Serbs in their attacks on Bosnian Muslims. He clearly remembered seeing Hebrew markings on the unexploded artillery shells and the scraps of those that had caused destruction.

It was during one of these raids that he’d come home to find his wife and children massacred. The bodies of his three children lay in a pile near a wall. Each of them had been shot execution-style with a single bullet to the back of the head. His wife’s body lay naked and bruised across the room. It was obvious that she’d been raped, likely several times, before they killed her too. His only hope was that his children had been murdered before having to witness this gruesome and brutal act. But he suspected and feared that this was not the case.

Overnight, he went from being a simple farmer and carpenter to a vengeful jihadist and now world-class assassin. Hezbollah operatives and agents of the Iranian Revolutionary Guards Corps were actively recruiting and training local Muslims, and it didn’t take long for him to find them.

For the next several years, he trained at Hezbollah camps in Lebanon’s Bekaa Valley. Once he showed enough skill, he was taken to Teheran for more in-depth training and knowledge of assassination techniques. He ceased to be a person and lived his life as a shadowy ghost. Only a few at the top levels of the IRGC knew how to reach him, and they called upon his services when needed. He’d removed Iranian democracy protestors, Israeli diplomats, and United Nations officials, all without leaving a trace. More recently, his work had taken him to Iraq to erase threats to the Iranian ruling regime.

Today, he traveled to Istanbul, the launch point of another mission that would be of far greater consequence to the world.

Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar was in the Old City section known as Sultan Ahmet Square. It included over four thousand shops, covering sixty-five streets of Istanbul’s real estate. Built in the mid-fifteenth century by Mehmet the Conqueror, the Grand Bazaar was meant to serve as the city’s major trading center.

Mujo loved Istanbul and all that it represented. In Byzantine times, the city was called Constantinople and was the center of Christianity in this part of the world. But this all ended in 1453, when the Muslim Turks conquered the city