by Danny Bar
“Of course, of course,” approved the head of the district, “although I can tell you from experience that at a certain stage they begin to provide more information of their own accord, even about those closest to them.”
“Well, have you chosen codename for her?” one of the participants in the meeting took an interest. He was a veteran, a highly experienced operator who has recruited numerous agents.
“Not yet.”
“I belong to those who hold the superstition that a good codename makes the agent and a bad one, God forbid, brings him bad luck. I would risk whistling against the wind during a sea voyage rather than choosing a bad codename.”
“Think carefully, this is just like choosing a name for your own daughter,” the head of the district summed up and the glasses were raised high once more, “L’chaim.”
“Cheers!” they echoed and clinked glasses.
18
The moment that Canard had called his operator and asked for an urgent meeting, the necessary arrangements were immediately made. Close to midnight, the Operations unit men had already taken their positions in the depth of the forest and observed the abandoned house.
At precisely midnight, the sound of approaching footsteps was heard. The silhouette of a man could be seen climbing the terrace surrounding the house and moved toward the observation point. The agent signaled with the flashlight he was holding.
The team members sighed with relief and went to meet him.
“Masa al khair,” the operator whispered to him.
“Good evening” the agent replied and handed them a sack.
The sapper removed the rest of the team members and opened the sack. He took out four hand grenades and two pistols and placed them on the ground. Very carefully, he examined them one after the other, and when he had finished, placed them all back in the sack.
All the while, the agent and his operator sat in the corner of the abandoned house and spoke about the trip from which Canard had returned at noon.
“I am supposed to meet an anonymous man next Monday, by the windmill outside Ramallah and hand him this sack. The Sheikh told me it was important I’d be there on time because these people need weapons for their coming operation.”
“Very good,” his operator told him. “In that case, we will take the weapons with us and return them to you on Monday, just before the actual meeting. Now the guy will sit with you and ask a few more questions.”
“OK, but hurry up, I need to make it to the Allenby Bridge in four hours to cross the border to Jordan, otherwise I won’t make it back by the evening.”
At two thirty, the head of the Operations team released Canard to his house and decided to conduct a short initial patrol in the outskirts of Ramallah, where the meeting was supposed to take place. From there he continued directly to the Shin Bet headquarters in Tel Aviv. At 6:00 am, he was already drinking coffee with the head of the special ops unit. A map of Ramallah was spread before them on the table, with an aerial photograph of the windmill.
“Observation of the place will be difficult,” he told the head of the unit.
“As far as I remember, there’s a hotel on the other end of the road, isn’t there?”
“True, but it is under Palestinian Authority control,” he answered hesitantly.
“So what? We’ll get one of our men inside a day before the meeting.”
“Do you have anyone in mind?”
“Zion, of course. He’s experienced and his Arabic is flawless, I’m sure he could pull it off perfectly.”
“Where is he now?”
“Taking part in an operation in Gaza.”
“Pull him out of there.”
On Saturday, the preparations had been completed and on Sunday, Zion drove to the “Semiramis Hotel” in the outskirts of Beit Hanina. Wearing a three-piece suit and a tie that gave him the appearance of a local businessman, he stepped inside the hotel.
“Rauf al Alami,” he introduced himself to the receptionist.
“Ahlan wasahlan,” the receptionist greeted him and handed him a form for filling his personal details, “Palestinian Authority regulations,” he apologized.
Zion went up to the room he’d been given and discovered that it didn’t have a clear view of the agent and the anonymous man’s rendezvous point. He returned to the reception desk, complained about the cleanliness of the room and asked to move to another. Following a long argument with the receptionist, he received a room facing the windmill, just as he wanted. He was pleased and reported to the operation’s commanding officer that he was observing the point.
In Tel Aviv, Erez began briefing the Operations team. He told everyone about the conversation between Canard and the heads of the terrorist organization in Jordan, as well as the weapons he had to hand over to the anonymous man during their meeting.
“Zion is already at the hotel observing the rendezvous point, have a look, this was taken by Zion today,” he said and projected a movie on the screen, clearly depicting the rendezvous point.
“Do you have a picture of Canard?”
“Yes, here it is, he is very easy to identify by the scar on his right hand. In any event, I will radio a description of what he wears for the meeting. Any other questions?” he examined the faces of the other participants, “In that case, set up time is nine. Good luck.”
The team headed down to the equipment storeroom to get ready. The personal equipment of each surveillance team member was neatly organized on the shelves with a magnetic name tag. The team members meticulously examined the equipment. In the parking lot, they conducted a radio check with the dispatch, placed velvet purple pillows on the back seat of each vehicle and hung a small Quran prayer book on the rear view mirror.
On the outskirts of Ramallah, they called Zion on the radio: “Zion, radio check.”
“I hear you loud and clear,” he whispered to them in Arabic.
“Pay attention, the agent just got out of the vehicle. He is holding a white plastic bag in his hand and is dressed according to the description we radioed earlier.”
“Copy that. I have a visual,” Zion reported, “he’s on the main road about a thousand feet from the rendezvous point.”
The team got ready.
Two minutes were left before the rendezvous time, and not a soul was in sight.
“The agent is waiting at the rendezvous point,” Zion continued to report.
It was exactly ten o’clock.
The minutes passed, it seemed as though no one would show up for the meeting.
It was ten fifteen. Five minutes before the agent would leave the place and return to his pickup point. Zion scanned the area of the mill and its surrounding fields and did not notice anything.
It was 10:20 pm.
The agent glanced at his watch, left the rendezvous point and began to cross the field toward the road. “He’s leaving,” Zion remarked disappointedly.
“Erez, this is Vered,” called Vered, who was dressed like one of the young daughters of the area’s wealthy families, who received their education abroad.
“Yes Vered, Copy.”
“There’s a suspicious man walking about not far from me and looking at the agent,” she whispered in a soft voice. “Male. About twenty-five, dressed in a blue shirt and jeans. Disheveled fair hair and blue eyes, looking about suspiciously.”
“Take a picture!”
“Approaching to take a picture.” She stood by the curb and waited until the man walked in front of her. Then she opened her makeup kit and directed the mirror until his reflection could be seen in it.
The man looked at her suspiciously.
“He has this wild look in his eyes,” she reported to her commanding officer and continued following the suspect with her eyes until he vanished in one of the narrow alleys.
Meanwhile, Canard had managed to get away
from the rendezvous point. Two of the team members accompanied him from afar. Suddenly, an unseen hand grabbed the agent and pulled him into a narrow alley.
“He’s gone,” the two reported to their commanding officer embarrassedly.
“Did you manage to see him?” he asked.
“Negative. It happened too quickly,” they said with embarrassment.
The anonymous man slipped with the agent into the nearby refugee camp and disappeared between the dense houses.
The operation’s commander lost no time and instructed the surveillance team to enter the refugee camp in search of the two, “All vehicles stay on the main road and block the entrances.”
Saul was the first to enter the camp. He sat in a small local restaurant and ordered a plate of hummus with olive oil.
The restaurant owner filled the plate with fresh hummus. With a circular movement, he wiped the edges of the plate with his thumb, poured olive oil and finally sprinkled some chopped parsley.
“Shukran,” Saul thanked him as the restaurant owner placed the plate in front of him.
“Ahlan wasahlan. Where are you from?” he asked with curiosity.
“Al Quds,” answered Saul.
“I knew you are not from around here. Every stranger entering this place is like a peacock in pigeon house,” he said and went inside the restaurant. Saul tensed and looked about him with concern.
The chances of locating the anonymous man diminished with every passing minute and all that remained was the picture Vered had taken.
“Strange… this man looks familiar to me,” muttered the team commander aloud as he inspected the picture. He called the operator who had meanwhile picked up Canard, “what does your guy have to say?”
“Canard says that as he left the rendezvous point and started walking toward the refugee camp a young man suddenly pulled him into an alley, snatched the bag from him and vanished as if he were a genie.”
“Any more identifying details?”
“He claims the man looked like one of those wild Bedouin who live in the desert areas close to Bethlehem or Hebron. What is going on in the camp?”
“It’s very difficult, the refugee camp residents are very suspicious,” he updated him.
“No wonder,” the operator replied, “the place is crawling with Islamic organizations activists.”
Vered also noticed the hostile attitude while roaming about the refugee camp. Her presence there immediately aroused the curiosity of the locals. Before long, one of the women blocked Vered’s way with her body.
“Can I help you?” she asked rudely.
“I’m looking for the fortune teller.”
“Oh,” the woman settled down a little, “many women come here to see her. Walk down to the end of the neighborhood, ask there, everyone knows her.”
Vered thanked her, and after walking out of sight, quickly slipped out of the camp and went to the commanding officer’s vehicle, “They’ll burn us,” she warned him.
“Abort the operation!” the team leader gave the command after thinking quickly, “Confirm!”
One after the other, the team members confirmed the instruction and left the place.
19
Earlier that day Magic Flute called Amos to let him know he would not show up to the meeting with Yasmina, “I have an important business deal I’m closing with merchants from Nablus.”
Business? Khalil, the wild man? Amos was very surprised, it wasn’t the Khalil he knew.
He decided to share his concern with his superior, “He’s been going through something lately, but I don’t know what it is. Each time I ask him about it, he simply sighs, ‘this is between me and Allah.’”
“When Allah is involved it should raise a red flag with you,” said the district coordinator.
“That serious?” Amos was astonished.
“Of course, an agent considers his operator almost as a god, powerful and almighty. He shares all his problems and secrets with him, no matter how intimate, and expects him to solve them.”
“What do you suggest that I do?” Amos felt lost.
“Take him to some nice, quiet restaurant in Tel Aviv, talk to him, feel him out, then gently peel him like an onion.”
Good idea, thought Amos on his way to meet with Yasmina. It was the first time they met alone. He was tense. The room was small and a large bed took most of the space. He pushed the two chairs aside as far as he could and turned on another lamp in the room.
Restless, he paced about the narrow room like a caged lion, until the knock on the door was heard. Yasmina was standing there, wearing a blue dress and full of smiles.
“Ahlan wasahlan,” he welcomed her warmly and closed the door behind them. From that moment they both spoke in hushed voices, verging on a whisper.
“Coffee?” he asked her in an attempt to break the heavy tension in the room.
“Yes, shukran,” she said.
He called room service and after a while there was another knock on the door. When Yasmina got out of the bathroom she found a cup of coffee on the table.
“Tislam idek,” blessed be your hands, she said softly.
“And yours,” Amos replied.
A few minutes later, Yasmina leaned forward to show Amos Jamil’s whereabouts on the map. Her face was close to his, and a pleasant scent engulfed him.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
“Abu Ghazall?” she said softly.
Amos opened his eyes and looked at her with surprise, “Yes, Yasmina?”
“I trust you.”
“Praise God,” he said with relief and turned his face away to look at the map, but Yasmina continued, “now I understand why Khalil speaks so often about his relationship with you, Abu Ghazall, but there is also something confusing about this relationship.”
“What is it?” he asked her.
“You place your life in the hands of another man, and your trust in him is the only protective wall.”
“I know, Yasmina, that’s why I promised Khalil to protect you,” he answered.
“Is that the only reason? Your promise to Khalil?” She sounded disappointed.
“No. Of course not,” he said passionately.
“Then, what am I? Another code name on your endless list of agents?”
“Yasmina…” Amos rebuked her.
“You give me instructions regarding how I should act with Jamil and what I should do until the next meeting. It’s not enough, Abu Ghazall. For some reason, it is important for me to placate you just to gain your compliments. Your words are valuable for me and they always make a big smile rise to my lips, one that remains on them long after our meeting is over.”
“That’s exactly what my wife keeps telling me,” he mumbled.
“Of course she does. Words give us power, Abu Ghazall, they are the secret key that opens our gates widely.”
Amos kept silent. He almost regretted he came alone to this meeting.
“I am a woman, and like all women, I crave to hear you complimenting me for my appearance, my hair, my perfume. I consider for hours what to wear before I come to meet you, but you fill your mouth with water. Only your eyes talk. They are saying what your lips refuse to utter.”
“I guess I underestimated the power of words, I always believed in deeds,” he admitted with embarrassment, it wasn’t the kind of talk he was used to having with his female agents.
“Nonetheless, you listen to every single word that comes out of my mouth.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked her.
“You know better than I do that in my society no one ever cares enough to hear my opinion, nor any other woman’s opinions, but I will be a pioneer that brings the change to my society,” she declared.
“My grandfather was a pioneer when he came to Palestine. It was dangerous but he did
n’t give up.”
“I have been living with this danger since I was a child, while climbing the steep cliff towering over the wadi next to my house. A small slip would have been enough to send me hurtling into the abyss and crash down to my death,” she said sadly. That though brought tears to her eyes. She gazed at Amos through the thin film covering her eyes and gave him a soft look, “can I ask you a question?”
“Of course, Yasmina.”
“Do you harbor any feelings for me?”
Amos was caught unprepared, “Yasmina!” he scolded her fondly, “your thoughts could barely squeeze into the narrow gate of Bab a-Zahara in Jerusalem’s walls.”
Her face flushed, which was probably why she felt so relieved when the ringing of the telephone cut their conversation short.
“The anonymous man has vanished,” reported the district coordinator over the phone.
“How did that happen?” asked Amos with open disappointment.
“The anonymous person has intercepted him after the scheduled time.”
“Do you have pictures of him?”
“Yes, perhaps ‘The Magic Flute’ would recognize him.”
“Send them to me too, maybe Yasmina can recognize him.”
“Yes, that’s a good idea. I’ll do it as soon as I get to the office.”
Amos finished the conversation and took advantage of the imposed break to end the meeting, “Well, it’s getting late, you better go now before Jamil arrives at your home, he’s unexpected.”
“Yes, he is! He comes and goes. A week ago he came with a gun and hid it in the well we have in the yard.”
“Do you think you could bring it to us for a few hours?”
“You can take it in the morning and bring it back in the evening after I get back home.”
“Where will you hand it to us?”
“The yard of the house faces the wadi, and there is a stone fence around it. I will wrap the gun with a sack and put it under a protruding stone on the fence. I’ll mark it by placing a little carpet on it. What do you think, Abu Ghazall?”
“That is an excellent idea.”
