by Jack Leman
“Ok, go ahead, but try not to be on the road when the curfew comes in effect.”
Karim took all the identity cards and slowly drove away from the on-looking soldiers.
Taking back his identity card from Karim, Fuad took a deep breath. The guard had not questioned or even noticed the different uniforms in the car. He didn’t know if he should be relieved or worried. Maybe, if they had been caught, it might have ended his problem.
————
The militiaman from the roadblock watched at the van drive away and take the exit to Al-Kisweh. He took his cell phone and dialed the Hezbollah headquarters in Damascus.
“… this is roadblock 81.”
“Yes, roadblock 81. What is the problem?” answered a metallic voice.
“No problem, Sir. I just wanted to report that I let pass a van with a sergeant from the Air Defense Forces and three soldiers wearing PIJ uniforms. The van was carrying electrical materials, rolls of cables.”
“Which way did they go?”
“They went south, and they took the exit to Al-Kisweh Industrial Zone. Sir, they also mentioned that the PIJ was conducting maneuvers in the area.”
25- Thursday 8:05 pm
Hezbollah HQ
Sha’alaan Quarter
Damascus
On the sixth floor of the Al-Madfaa building, right across from the offices of the Vice-President of the Syrian Republic, the lights were still on. Sitting at his oversized desk, Darib listened to the recording of the phone call his communications center had received a few minutes earlier. He checked on the map to confirm the location of roadblock 81. It was a kilometer north of the exit of an industrial zone. He asked himself: What does an Air Defense Sergeant do with PIJ militiamen? The van had passed the roadblock just a few minutes before the curfew. If they wanted to be out of the streets by 8 pm, their destination must have been close to the roadblock 81. In that case, the closest destination would be the Al-Kisweh Industrial Zone.
He took a sip of his burning hot tea and made a face when he noticed he had forgotten to add the sugar. He put a spoonful of sugar in his cup and churned it noisily.
Darib checked again the daily notices to see if someone had reported any maneuvers in the area. There were many military bases around the Al-Kisweh I.Z. so it was not an inappropriate place to deploy troops to play war games. Usually, the army always notified beforehand to avoid clashes with other troops. There was no notification of any maneuvers. The information that the PIJ was on maneuver could be a cover-up of something more important.
Darib thought of the phone call he had received from the commander of the Iranian Al Quds Intelligence Chief, Mirza Dogairi. He hadn’t bought the story of the stolen vehicle. There was something more important than a missing soft drink truck, and he wondered what they were after. He hesitated to pass on his suspicion on the location of the truck to the Iranians yet. He was certain that Mirza would report it immediately to the Syrians. He decided not to hurry; he would need more information before he shared the news with the Iranians or the Syrians.
He called Yahya, his most trusted commander of the Hezbollah Special Forces, on his cell phone. Yahya had proved useful on many occasions and, most important, he and his men knew how to keep their mouth shut.
“I want you to take a surveillance squad to the Al-Kisweh Industrial Zone and report on any unusual activity. A fruit juice delivery truck has been stolen and they are probably hiding in the area, among the rubble. We need to find it before anyone else. If you find anything, take cover and continue reporting on your observations. You will make sure there are no leaks from your men and that I get the information on my personal cell phone as quickly as possible. You must not share this with anyone else. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Sir.” was the answer, and the game was on.
He filled himself another cup of tea from the samovar in the corner of his office, which had been brewing the dark concoction all day long.
26-Thursday 9:15 pm
Mossad HQ
Tel Aviv
Oded rushed to Director Tamir’s office, this time without waiting for Clarit to show him in. He knew he would have to deal with her later for this offense he was doing.
Oded felt like he was walking in a curtain of smoke. A smoking cigarette consumed itself languidly in the ashtray and its smoke filled the room. The television sets on the wall were broadcasting in a cloud of smog. He coughed discreetly to mark his presence in the room.
Tamir was at his desk, busy reading a report on the Syrian Hezbollah. They had closed the border between Lebanon and Syria; ordered all the troops on hand to reinforce the checkpoints on the Damascus-Beirut highway; ordered to stop a fruit juice truck, the same truck Mossad was looking for. Tamir needed more information to provide for the National Security Council meeting tonight at 11 pm.
Tamir raised his eyes expectantly to Oded.
“Sir, there are fresh developments. First, the Duvdevan team reached the warehouse and reported half an hour ago that the place was swarming with Syrian Special Forces. They confirmed the muddy tire marks on the road, apparently going in the warehouse and pointing to at least one vehicle with two synchronized front tires.”
“That was quick,” answered Tamir. “Ask them to continue to observe the warehouse and report any suspicious activity.”
“Ok Sir, next development…” responded Oded, shuffling the papers in his hand.
“We have reliable intelligence from Hezbollah’s headquarters in Damascus. They apparently sent an armed surveillance team to an industrial zone just south of Damascus. Their orders are to comb the industrial zone and look for suspect activity. They have specific orders to look for a fruit juice delivery truck.”
“Where is that industrial zone?” asked the Director, looking alarmed to hear about the lost truck again.
“About twenty kilometers south of Damascus. There was a missile cache for Hezbollah in the industrial zone until our Air Force destroyed it last October.”
Tamir had already asked the IAIG to assign a UAV to check the roads from Damascus to Lebanon, but so far they had reported nothing out of the ordinary. He had also issued orders for all the local operatives in the area between Beirut and Damascus to be on alert and report if they saw a fruit juice truck. The possibility that there could be several trucks driving around was a problem. But he would deal with that later. His next move had been to ask the IDF Chief of Staff to put on standby a Sayeret Maglan team. The Sayeret Maglan, also called Unit 212, was a group of elite paratroopers who operated behind enemy lines. They had particularly distinguished themselves by reporting and eliminating Hezbollah targets in Syria and Lebanon. They were the Israeli equivalent of the British SAS, or the American Delta Force. On many occasions, they had followed up their surveillance job with the coordination of ground attacks with the IAF by using special targeting equipment. They were used to being close to bombed targets and skilled at getting out of the difficult combat zones.
But Tamir had another reason, a personal one, to use the Sayeret Maglan team. After the Yom Kippur war in1973, his twin brother Avi fought in the secret Unit 101 under the command of Ariel Sharon. After their success, they evolved into the famous Sayeret Maglan team (or Unit 212). Avi commanded the Maglan team until a few years ago, when he had to resign from his post because he was diagnosed with cancer. He died only a few months after his resignation. So Tamir had this sentimental attachment to this unit.
For this operation he wanted to avoid the mayhem of joint leadership that made decision taking more difficult than it was. Normally a joint committee coordinated these kinds of operations, usually with the participation of the Mossad, Air Intelligence, IDF or other military intelligence groups involved in the operation, sometimes even with a representative from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. With so many people on board, it wasn’t always clear who was running the show. Here, Tamir was determined to chair the coordination committee himself.
He looked up to Oded and said,
“Ask the Air Intelligence Group to change the route of the UAV and to orbit around the area of the industrial zone. Then contact the Sayeret Maglan and tell them to move to the industrial zone and to report any activity there. Check that the helicopter rescue teams, and back-up teams are on standby.”
27- Thursday 10:30 pm
Tira
Israel
It was already dark outside. The sun had set, and the birds went to sleep. There was no noise coming from the streets. When he heard the door open, he went to meet Nashwa at the garage. He watched her park her car alongside the big black Mercedes.
He took her in his arms and kissed her soft lips as usual. He was in love with this woman. Fate had brought them together, and he was afraid the same fate would separate them. He knew soon he would have to leave her and even leave behind his life in Israel. He had enough money in a Swiss bank to sustain a life abroad; he was still young, so he could also work. He was having difficulties in choosing between his sentiments and the rationale of his obligations. She was tired, and it was late at night. After half-hearted love-making, they were dozing lazily on the bed.
But Ridwan was not dozing. He was in deep thought about how to proceed. He also felt a pang of guilt because of what he would do.
He stirred and opened his eyes. He saw that Nashwa was not sleeping. It was now or never.
“Will you take your family to the swearing-in ceremony?”
Nashwa stretched her naked and slender body and answered.
“I am not sure. I have been told it was customary to do so. My mother is looking forward to coming; my father, you know him, is not so keen and my daughter is not sure. She says she has some problems with her pregnancy.”
Ridwan played absentmindedly with her hair. He liked the sweat peach smell of her shampoo.
“I thought your battered Honda would not look very nice at the ceremony. Now that you are a member of the Knesset, you should drive a car that reflects your status. That’s what your electors are expecting from you.”
Ridwan had a point. The thought had occurred to her, but she couldn’t come up with a solution. Financially, she was squeezed by the cost of her campaign. She had thought of asking her party, but she knew better: they were as broke as her. Now that the matter was out in the open, it weighed on her to arrive in front of her electors in a battered car.
“But it’s just in four days… and I don’t have the money to get a new car… especially after the expenses for my campaign. Maybe I could rent one for the ceremony?”
“Actually, I thought I could help you with that problem.”
“But, you have already helped me a lot with the campaign… you are a very generous man.. but..”
“I was thinking of the Mercedes in the garage. I bought it in Tel Aviv, for a very cheap price. My guys in the workshop changed the upholstery and repainted the car, but that also wasn’t an enormous investment. Now the customer to whom I would deliver the car changed his mind at the last moment and it’s sitting there, in the garage.”
“And?”
It was the car of her dreams. Only if she could afford it!
“Let’s make a deal. I don’t want any down payments… and you pay me in one year. How is that…? Come on! Get dressed and let me show you the car…” Said Ridwan while getting up from the bed.
Nashwa was more than tempted. She could already see herself arriving at the ceremony at the Knesset in the Mercedes and back in Tayibe for the celebration given by the mayor of the city.
As Ridwan got dressed, he was crushed by his feeling of being used in this shameful plot. “That’s what happens when you sell a car to the wrong person. I wish I had never met him. I wish I could move abroad and live in peace.” he thought. He still remembered the faces of the people in Gaza to whom he had asked for references. They had been afraid even to pronounce his name.
He pulled Nashwa to the garage and opened the door of the Mercedes,
“See… the seats are leather… we even installed a new music set…”
Nashwa caressed with her fingers the delicate leather. She could see her parents sitting in the Mercedes, filled with pride for their daughter. She saw herself entering the courtyard of the Knesset with the big black car, and she liked the idea.
28- Thursday 11:00 pm
Mossad HQ
Tel Aviv
Tamir had prepared for the NSC meeting with the PM and had pushed his staff to get maximum information about the Syrian missile to answer any question they would ask. He was ready now.
His phone rang.
“Yes, Clarit.”
“Tamir, they just called from the office of the PM; they want to reschedule the meeting for tomorrow at 11.00 am. What should I say?”
“Tell them I will ask the Syrians to stay put until then! How predictable.”
“Sorry Clarit, tell them it’s fine and that we are waiting for them here in Tel Aviv.”
Now he had some extra time in front of him. He decided to take a few hours of sleep and moved to the sofa under the television sets.
Chapter 4 - Friday
29- Friday 6:00 am
Al-Kisweh
Yahya, the leader of the Hezbollah platoon, armed his AK-47, and checked his troops around him, three squads of three fighters each. Their commander moved with the Alpha team. As usual, they led the way. The platoon entered the destroyed industrial zone from the north and progressed building by building. It was a tedious advance because they risked being discovered at any moment by lookouts from the wrecked buildings, if there were any. They had to be very cautious. They tried to appear inconspicuous as they walked between the dwellings of the refugees from the north of Syria. A swarm of children surrounded them and asked for candies. They tried to ask the children discreetly if they had seen any Seles trucks but soon realized it was a bad idea to talk about Seles, because it set the children to expect the militiamen would offer them bottles of the soft drink. Finally, they shooed away the children as they arrived to the part of the industrial zone which had been the most damaged by the Israeli bombings. Nobody lived in that part of Al-Kisweh.
The surroundings were eerie. An enormous field of rubble, remains of destroyed furniture, one or two building carcasses, a few standing walls, and that was it. 100 meters to the left of the Hezbollah team stood a pylon which had survived the bombings against all odds, and which had a cable dangling along it.
Suddenly, on a signal from the leading fighter, they froze in their places. They crouched slowly and disappeared from view. They waited patiently in silence and listened. The voice of someone asking for a tool rose from very close. At the bottom of the pylon, a man in uniform was securing a cable to the shaft of the pylon. The cable ran through the heaps of debris towards the Alpha team’s hiding post and disappeared in an opening 40 meters ahead of them. A voice rose from under the ground in answer to the question the militiaman shouted. He could hear more people in the basement of the ruins facing them, and he was convinced they were up to something unusual.
The squad settled down and contacted their commander in Damascus.
Yahya made sure his men were hidden from view and sent a man to find alternative hiding places with a better coverage of the basement. He looked around him, and when he thought nobody was looking, he lit a cigarette, took three drags, and put it out with his boot. He put the stub in a little metallic box for later use. He had promised himself many times to stop smoking, but every time he went on an operation, which was almost routine, he postponed his efforts to another time.
He heard distinctly the conversation going on in the building's basement. Someone was trying to rig the electricity grid to some machinery. The voices were very close, but he still could not see the people who talked.
The scout returned with information about alternative hiding places, and Yahya gave the order to move to their new positions facing the entrance.
Once the team settled in their new hiding places, Yahya looked with his binoculars to the area in front of him.
Three people worked on a ramp that logically led to a basement. One of them was wearing the uniform of a Sergeant of the Air Defense Forces and the others PIJ uniforms. There were lookouts at the corners of the ramp, all wearing PIJ uniforms. He counted six, and he had to assume that there were more hidden from view, even more in the basement. He felt uneasy when he realized they outnumbered his men.
He turned around and inspected the area behind them. There were a few half-destroyed buildings that could provide a better shelter and a safer hiding place. If he moved his men there, they would be too far to hear what was going on in the basement. He checked again the positions of his men and decided to stay where they were.
30-Friday 10:20 am
Al-Kisweh
Tal Mizrahi, Zadok Benyuda and Doron Arditti arrived at the Al-Kisweh Industrial Zone in a Peugeot car with Syrian plates during broad daylight. They parked the car on the side of a dusty little square where children were playing football with a half-deflated ball. While Zadok and Doron kept watch on each side of the car, Tal unloaded three bundles marked Mahfouz Fertilizers from the trunk. He then checked his friends and looked around him. The children were too busy with their game, and no one was looking at them. Tal took out the spare wheel and leaned it at the side of the car as if he was going to change the tire. He made sure again that they were not observed and checked on his friends who were smoking a cigarette. He reached at the niche where the spare wheel had been stored and opened a secret compartment. He took out a long canvas bag and three smaller satchels. After putting back the spare wheel in its place, they loaded the bags and the bundles on their shoulders and continued on foot, constantly checking the surrounding ruins. For anyone who would look into their bundle, they carried sample packs of different fertilizers to be distributed to families with orchards in their backyards. It was a different affair with the canvas bags.
The Sayeret Maglan team had been in Syrian territory for one week already, posing as traveling salesmen from Damascus. The clothes they wore came from local producers, the shoes were of some cheap Chinese brand being sold in local markets, their watches of a local brand. They carried nothing that could link them to a foreign organization, except of course the special equipment which would send them to the scaffolds if caught. Their car had been stopped at roadblocks many times, but after showing their identity cards and answering some questions of no importance, they were allowed to continue on their way. According to the papers they presented to the militiamen, their names were Abdullah Attia, Safi Kouri and Rafiq Tannous, all coming from different parts of Syria. People with these names existed in reality, they had just borrowed their identities. Their stories were matched as well, and were a mixture of reality and fantasy. The Mossad experts had been very thorough in their fabrication.
