The Jerusalem Gambit

by Jack Leman

  “I am from Khalifa, in the Chouf Mountains. Do you know it?”

  After this corner she would be in her street and almost at her house.

  “No, I don’t.”

  A few more steps and she stopped in front of her door. She extended her hand to get the bucket.

  He slowly gave it to her.

  “Sister, let me know next time you go to the market, I will carry your bag. I will come to your street every morning at 10. Ok?”

  “I’ll see.” She said noncommittally, took the bucket, entered the courtyard and closed the door behind her. Her legs were shaky and her hands trembling.

  He is courting me, this son of a dog, she thought.

  13-Wednesday 1:10 pm

  Knesset

  Jerusalem

  Today, Avitan was constantly irritated by his dog Dolly, or by the two female soldiers next to him. He had been in a grim mood since they had paired him with them yesterday. The women had not stopped talking since they began their patrol duty, and Dolly continuously pulled on her leash.

  He was proud of Dolly, and normally they got along quite well. When he was serving in Gaza, Dolly had found two IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices), saving the lives of the soldiers waiting anxiously at a safe distance. The first time they called him to investigate, he was at the back of the troops, happy for once not to lead the column. The column of men opened up to make way for him and Dolly. As they passed through them, he could feel their stares of expectation mixed with pity. He felt like a man going to the scaffolds to meet his fate. At the head of the column, his commanding officer directed him to a spot thirty meters ahead, to the right side of the road. These were the longest thirty meters he ever walked. Dolly happily pulled on her lash, leading fearlessly. The anxiety of advancing alone with his dog on that roadside turned to panic when at some point Dolly sat and barked, signaling that she found some explosives. He had a silent prayer for the dog trainer who taught the dog to sit, because in her excitement she could step on a triggering device and blow up the explosive. Goodbye dog, goodbye soldier. Later, wincing under his comrades’ well-done-slaps on his shoulders and on his helmet- after disarming the IED- he had felt elated and filled with a tremendous sense of gratitude to Dolly.

  The second time, he and Dolly had stood in the open while the soldiers took position behind them, hiding behind any protection they could find, as if they were expecting to be hunted down by some sniper hidden in the surrounding houses. He had felt alone and vulnerable. There was a little cable sticking out from under the rubble. Dolly advanced without hesitation, sniffed the ground earnestly, backed up a few steps, sat, and started barking. Avitan moved next to Dolly and planted a little red flag on the spot where the IED was buried, grabbed the dog, and moved back with shaky legs towards the waiting column. He had to make an effort not to run. After his adrenalin levels dropped, a rush of pride had filled him, bringing tears to his eyes.

  But now, this new position of inspecting around the Knesset building was the most boring job he ever had. The dog was happily strolling, stopping here and there, sniffing to find a place to urinate. Time would have passed quicker if he could have bantered with his teammates, but the girls constantly chattered about some girls’ volleyball team of no interest to him. The Israeli made Galil assault rifle hung on their side from a long strap and left their hands free to gesticulate while talking.

  They were almost at the end of the southern side of the colonnade that ran around the Knesset. On the east side of the colonnade sat a green flat space, the courtyard. Behind the courtyard stood the white Supreme Court building. These two buildings symbolized Governance and Justice.

  Just before turning to the east side of the hall, Dolly raised her ears. Then she stopped and started barking. Surprised, they all stopped. The training kicked in and in a second the girls had their guns in their hand and their finger on the trigger. The team rounded the corner cautiously and stopped. Ten meters ahead of them, a man was taking pictures of his girlfriend against the wall of the Knesset. Avitan and the girls relaxed. Some stupid tourists who ignored the signs of no entry. The sudden appearance of an armed patrol startled the tourists. One of the soldier girls was quicker to understand the situation, put down her assault rifle, and admonished the tourists:

  “Didn’t you see the sign that said no entry?”

  “We must have missed it,” said the woman apologetically. “Sorry… we have finished anyway…”

  Saying that, they passed the patrol and walked back towards the courtyard.

  The man took precautions to hide his camera from the curious looks of Avitan and the female soldiers. They hurried away before the soldiers could start asking more questions. The woman turned and gave them a sorry smile, and they disappeared around the corner.

  ————

  “Did you get it?” the woman whispered to the man who posed as her husband. He was fumbling with a gadget that looked like a camera. “Yes, I got it. Let’s get out of here and find a place where I can use WhatsApp to send the info to the guys… Inshallah…”

  14-Wednesday 3:00 pm

  Syrian Air Force Intelligence (SyAFI) HQ, Mukhabarat SIS

  Damascus

  Captain Hamza entered the office as if entering a shrine. He closed quietly the high paneled door and waited respectfully to get his superior’s attention. Colonel Latif Almasy-Sarraf had his back turned to him and was looking out the window. The office was on the fifth floor of a stone building in the northern part of Damascus. It was inside a large military compound housing the Military Police Headquarters, the High Military Academy, and the Special Forces Command Center. The size of the room was about 80 square meters, with a high ceiling. To a first-time visitor it gave the impression of a converted cavern. A sitting area with a dark brown sofa and a row of armchairs could accommodate a group of twenty people. Several antique Damascene mother-of-pearl inlaid chairs ran along the walls to serve as extra chairs for the enormous conference table sitting in the middle of the room. Then came the black wood desk, which was as large as the conference table. There were no papers on the desk, only a gilded writing set with three long ink-pen, a leather desk pad, and a brass model of a MIG-25, offered to him by President Putin in person on one of his many voyages to Moscow. The only other personal thing he had on his desk was a massive cigar box made of pear tree root and a large ashtray with the tools of a cigar aficionado. The box was always full of special Havana cigars thanks to the unfailing attention of the Cuban Ambassador in Damascus.

  Latif liked order and clarity. He had learned it the hard way from his father who had been a loyal companion of Hafez al-Assad, the father of the current President. It was his late father who had laid the foundations of the Syrian Intelligence Services, or SIS, and brought it up to form a vast intelligence machine employing thousands of people that became the most powerful instrument at the order of the President.

  Colonel Latif turned and looked at his aide with an irritated look.

  “What?” He snarled. Captain Hamza was used to the way he treated his subordinates. He knew that a lot of responsibilities rested on Latif’s shoulders and that he did not hesitate to make drastic decisions when he felt the regime was in danger.

  “Sir, Detachment 413 has not checked in to confirm their arrival at the new site. They are already two hours late.”

  “Call the Major on his cell phone then…”

  “We did Sir, but his phone was turned off.”

  “Try the others on the detachment then…” Replied Latif in an irritated voice. “You know the procedures, no?”

  “We tried to get in touch with the crew on their cell phones, but they don’t pick up. I also tried to send a coded message by radio, but I got no answer back. Major Ghassan has always been very thorough with the procedures.”

  “OK, then send a team to check on the warehouse on the double, and get me the Major on the phone as soon as you establish communications again.”

  “Yes Sir, immediately!” said Hamza befo
re leaving the gigantic office.

  “That is not normal,” thought Latif.

  ————

  A Syrian Special Forces team in camouflaged uniforms led by a lieutenant and armed with AK-47’s drove in a battered civilian Mercedes car to the coordinates Captain Hamza had given them. The coordinates took them to a warehouse in a small industrial zone in the southern suburbs of Damascus. They parked the car thirty meters from the entrance to watch the hangar and see if there was any activity. After half an hour of surveillance, the commanding officer phoned Captain Hamza on his cell phone.

  “Sir, we are near the hanger and watching the entrance. We can see some muddy tire marks going towards the warehouse. We have been observing the hangar for half an hour and we see no activity.”

  “Go in the warehouse and when you get there put the Major on the phone on the double!” said Hamza… “And don’t get yourself shot if you have to break in the place…”

  One of the soldiers took position inside the compound and pointed his gun at the entrance gate. Two other soldiers went to check the back doors of the hangar. They went around the building and reported to their superior that there was no back door, no noise, and that the warehouse was most probably empty. Still, they were very cautious when they moved to the entrance and entered the warehouse. It was dark. The beams of flashlights attached to their assault rifles jumped up and down the empty walls. One thing was sure, there was no vehicle inside. The leader of the team radioed his commanding officer: “Alfa team inside. All clear. No visible sigh of vehicles, just muddy tire marks on the floor.”

  They had almost finished their inspection when a shriek filled the heavy silence of the warehouse.

  “Come here, quick! My God…”

  They converged towards the soldier who had shouted, and the beams of their flashlights illuminated six corpses lying on the floor in a heap.

  ————

  Captain Hamza was waiting in the office of Colonel Latif for the Colonel to acknowledge his presence. He had closed the door a little more noisily than he would normally do to attract his attention. Latif turned with a nonchalant stare towards his aide-de-camp and lifted his chin. He was a man of few words unless he was in a fury, which happened more often since the war with DAESH had consumed his nerves.

  “The warehouse is empty, Sir.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The vehicles have vanished, Sir… but that’s not all… we found six soldiers shot in the warehouse… the lieutenant thinks they were executed. Sir, we don’t know where Major Ghassan is.”

  Colonel Latif looked surprised, then his face contorted with anger. Hamza knew what was coming… he made himself as small as possible and humbly waited for Latif to say something.

  After a lengthy silence during which Latif took the time to assess the situation. He visualized in terror his fall in disgrace and even his execution; he fixed Hamza with fury and said,

  “I want you to find Major Ghassan immediately! Get him in my office by tomorrow morning. Do what you can… and send a team and secure the compound… we need to know what happened!”

  Hamza gathered his forces to say,

  “Sir, there are tire tracks suggesting the vehicles have left the warehouse. A team with an investigator is on its way to the warehouse, and we will know more soon…”

  Latif gazed at him.

  “Get out now and come back with answers before all the Air Force notices it!”

  Hamza rushed to his command room and ordered the 3rd Special Forces Group, whose barracks were a few miles east of the warehouse, to seal all the neighborhoods and interrogate the people living there. Once he made sure they understood his instructions, he called the officer-on-duty of the SIS and gave them the alert to look for a Seles Fruit Juice delivery truck and a white van.

  Chapter 3 - Thursday

  15- Thursday 7:30 am

  Israel Air Intelligence Group (IAIG) HQ

  Tel Aviv

  Naama walked into the office and sat at her place. At this time of the day, the desks were mostly empty, and she could drink her coffee freely. Normally, drinks were forbidden anywhere near the computers or any electronic equipment. A slight spill would kill any electronics instantly.

  The coffee felt good, and her mind started clearing. She had a dreadful night disturbed by a silly nightmare. She was driving a huge Coca-Cola delivery truck, and she tried to squeeze it into a tiny parking place barely enough to fit a compact car. There was a line of angry drivers behind her, honking because she had blocked the narrow street; and she attempted unsuccessfully to park her truck again and again. When she woke up, she felt tired, and her arms hurt. The dream took a moment to clear.

  The booth at her left side was still empty. She knew it didn’t mean that no UAV’s were in the air, just that teams in other rooms flew them. Israel had scores of UAVs and drones in the air twenty-four hours a day, each equipped for their specific mission. Some, like the Herons, were armed with guided air-to-ground, anti-tank or anti-radar missiles, some others were loaded with electronic jamming equipment to pave the way for F-35 attacks on enemy soil. Drones were already part of the everyday life of the Israelis. The police, the firefighters, journalists, used them to get live images from daily events. The intelligence agencies could connect in on these drones and tap on their images.

  Sipping her coffee, Naama glanced at her screens. The live feed had ended, so the first screen had switched to screensaver mode. On the second screen she could see an aerial view of some area of Damascus. On her third screen she watched some arrows move, each representing a patrol flight. All the arrows remained within the borders of Israel. She decided to review last night’s feed, wanting to clear from her mind the image of an unruly truck with which she had fought all night. She froze on the picture of the truck moving down the narrow alley and then she went frame by frame, like she had done yesterday. The image froze just when the turning truck hit the parked car. Naama could now see clearly the two vehicles crashing. She ran forward through the images of the maneuvering truck until it entered the street and froze the image again. There were three distinct sets of tire marks. She advanced the frames until the truck veered left and entered what appeared to be a warehouse. Once the truck was inside, she froze the feed again. This time she saw distinctly the three sets of muddy tire tracks turning left.

  She moved to the images of the next pass of the UAV on the same spot. She looked at the time of the fight. It was an hour and a half later than the previous pass. Naama fast-forwarded until she saw movement and slowed down the scroll. She saw a blue van enter the same alley, turn left and stop at the entrance of the warehouse, then disappeared inside.

  She fast-forwarded the feed to the end and saw no movement. After all, it was curfew time.

  She retrieved the feed of the UAV recorded after her watch time. The time on the screen was 2 am. She fast forwarded the recording until she saw some movement and watched two vans and the truck move out of the warehouse, turn south and pass a patch of open land. There had only been one white van entering the warehouse with the truck. She typed a command on her keyboard and the image switched to 3D mode. The picture tilted, and now she had an unobstructed view of the side of the truck. The blurry image gradually cleared as the computer analyzed and refined each pixel. Writings at the side of the truck appeared and became clearer. As the computer clarified the images pixel by pixel, she read aloud the markings appearing on the side of the truck.

  “Seles Fruit Juice…. Youmi…”

  She googled Seles Fruit Juices and found out the brand belonged to a Syrian industrial group that produced and distributed their products with their own trucks, along with the American brand Pepsi Cola. The bottling facility was in Ma’araba near Damascus. She also googled the name of the owners and decided it was all legitimate.

  Despite the results she was getting, Naama was still not convinced. She kept looking at the 3D image of the truck and realized that there was a second set of retracted wheels. The
y were positioned higher than the normal tires, not touching the ground. She highlighted the cabin of the truck and instructed the computer to find a matching model. After a few seconds of waiting, the computer gave her an answer: Mercedes 6x6 truck.

  The result intrigued Naama. Why use a Mercedes 6x6 to carry soft drinks? Specifically, one with a retractable second wheel. And why use a 6x6 for deliveries in the city? Normally, 6x6 wheel trucks were useful for off-road driving or to carry unusually heavy loads. Definitely not fruit juices.

  She switched on infra-red filter to get a thermal image of the truck. Her screen filled with blue, green and red splotches. She clearly saw the engines of the two vans and the engine of the truck. A red area just behind the cabin suggested some recently running machinery, but why on earth would it be on a fruit juice truck? This time she highlighted the whole truck on her screen and asked the computer to identify it by shape and size. On a little window that appeared on the right side of the screen, images stored on the hard disks of the computer appeared one by one. As the system continued to check the images, she waited impatiently for the results. Then one, two, three hits. The computer found three matching images. The scrolling stopped, and a list appeared at the bottom of the screen.

  1-Mercedes Benz 6x6 carrying a Tishreen ground-to-ground missile;

  2-Mercedes Benz 6x6 carrying a Fateh ground-to-ground missile;

  3-Mercedes Benz 6x6 carrying a Khalij Fars ground-to-ground missile.

  She was surprised that the computer left out the possibility of a match with a model of a delivery truck; she could accept a similarity with a military truck, but it was as if the computer was sure of the match it had found.

  Naama checked if her XO, David Berstein, had arrived, but his seat was still empty. She went to the office of the Wing Commander, Aaron Dana. She was used to dealing with David, but Aaron was something else; she didn’t have the same relation with him. Once she arrived at the door of his office, she reviewed her data once again to be sure of what she found and thought of how she was going to present her case to convince him.