They now approached the small town of Solpar, nearly 20 kilometers east of Beirut. Suddenly the well-posted road they had been traveling was lacking its road signs, this at a main junction where five roads converged and went off various directions. They had no choice but to pull over and ask directions. Most of the locals waved them off. They were either unable or unwilling to read as Jim pointed to the town of Dahl Al Baidar on their paper map. One vendor who spoke English haltingly said he would direct them if they bought something from his fruit cart.
Dan purchased two oranges, smartly overpaying as he handed the vendor a US five dollar bill. The man eyed it appreciatively before simply pointing over to a building with Dahl Al Baider painted in bold black lettering on its side, an arrow pointing the way.
As Dan shook his head, a smile graced his face. He turned to Jim. “It’s printed on the damn building.”
They quickly pressed on.
“Tell me again why Nora couldn’t meet us in Beirut,” Dan said to Jim.
Jim grinned as he shook his head. “You crazy Irishman, for the third time in three days, she was told by a friend in Israel to stay away from Beirut proper. It contained nothing but too many spies and idiots.”
Dan nodded once more. “You mean like the bastards that woke us up from our nice sleep threatening to kill us or do you mean the two gentlemen on motor bikes that were shooting at us?”
“Exactly,” replied Jim.
A few kilometers past Solpar, the road quickly gave way to hard-packed gravel. A few kilometers more, the stone gave way to dirt, a commonality in a country with few paved roads outside of the main cities. Dan consulted the paper map when he lost his iPhone signal for the umpteenth time, using his cheaters to read the small print.
“The town of Dahl Al Baidar should be maybe a klick more,” he said, the road starting to widen as they got closer to the town entrance and the top of Mt. Elias. It was an imposing site. At the town’s entrance majestically stood two, weather beaten stone towers with a battlement spread between them marking its entrance, each built during the Crusades some nine hundred years ago. The rest of the town’s 15 or so buildings consisted of an even combination of newer wood and brick homes. They parked their car near the brick wall of a small bar; a sign above it proclaimed it the highest point in the Lebanon, before stepping inside for what they hoped would be a cold beer.
Dan produced a smile that Jim couldn’t help but notice.
Jim nodded before acknowledging Dan. “Yes, It was planned for your sake,” he said, laughing aloud. ”Lead the way, Irish.”
Once inside, the bar was traditional; a beamed ceiling, dark cedar booths, a cedar log burning on the stone hearth, an worn marble-topped counter, and behind the bar ranged any liquor bottle you could think of.
“If it weren’t for the constant sun,” said Dan, looking around at what appeared to be familiar surroundings, “it looks as if we landed in Ireland.”
“I only take you to the finest places,” said Jim, pointing over to the bar.
The barkeep was a tall, olive skinned young man who sat at a stool to the left of the nearly empty bar, nodding toward a side table where a young woman sat alone, and a map of Lebanon spread before her. He stuck out his lower lip and nodded a few times. “Pas mal,” he said in Lebanese accented French, not bad.
Jim and Dan followed the young man’s gaze to where Nora sat. Nora looked up at the same moment, a warm smile spread across her face when she noticed Jim.
“James Dieter, you old salty dog,” said Nora, running over to where they stood, first hugging Jim than kissing his cheek. “You haven’t changed a bit. A little grayer maybe?” she said as she ran her fingers through his hair. “And chunkier in the mid-section too, but still the same handsome man who tuned down my marriage proposal three long years ago.”
Jim nodded back at her, taking her in appreciatively from head to toe. “I bet you still dream about me?” he said, a smile spreading across his face.
Nora nodded. “You caught me. But only when I need a good fight to clear the air.”
“Ouch,” he replied in jest. “I guess I deserved that one.” He was referencing their nightly spats when she was a veteran reporter in Kabul and him a Navy SEAL. Nora had developed a penchant for taking dangerous assignments, wanting to deploy with the troops whenever the opportunity presented itself. Jim tried his best to get her to stay on base. They butted heads constantly. Their budding romance lasted for five torrid months before it finally ended when Nora proposed to him. Jim laughed in her face, thinking it was all a joke. That being the last time they spoke until seven days ago.
Nora thrust her hand out to Dan. “Well since he won’t formally introduce us, allow me; Nora Robinson, almost ex-fiancé of your partner in crime here.”
Dan could not help but smile. “I have the funny feeling we are going to be fast friends,” he replied, winking at Nora. “Anybody with a wit as sharp as my own is a friend of mine.” He paused several seconds, shaking his head. “But let me get this straight,” Dan said, taking in Nora approvingly. “He turned you down? Because if he did, he’s a bigger fool than I thought.”
Nora nodded. ‘Yah, can you believe it? The old fart turned me down cold.” She playfully punched Jim’s arm.
Jim looked at both of them, shaking his head. “This is a great start; my almost ex-fiancé and my business partner, teaming up on me. This is going to be a long, few weeks.”
Nora led them back to her table, taking a seat, motioning for Dan and Jim to do the same. “Won’t you gentlemen join me?” She caught the eye of the young barkeep, holding up her beer bottle, pointing to Jim and Dan, her ordering a round.
The barkeep quickly deposited three ice-cold beers on the table before retreating to his perch behind the bar.
Jim was the first to speak. “Okay, you have my attention. What did you find out from your Israeli contact? Moreover, why did you need to meet in this God-forsaken place in the middle of nowhere? Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind seeing you. You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said lovingly, his words spoken with genuineness.
Nora tapped his hand. “Can’t a girl just want to see an old flame every once in a while?” she replied, batting her eyes at Jim, flicking her long hair to the side.
“Sure, anytime you want you come to see me in the Florida Keys. Just don’t drag my ass to Timbuktu,” he replied with a tinge of sarcasm.
“Deal,” Nora replied. “Next time we can meet in the Keys. But until then, just go with what I’m about to tell you.” She looked to the barkeep then back to Jim.
Jim noticed that Nora looked a bit uneasy and it wasn’t from his biting words. He had watched her eyes dart from him to the barkeep several times since they had sat down.
In a low voice she said, “Might be Hezbollah,” indicating the man was possibly affiliated with the local militia.
Dan turned slightly so he could get a good look at the man, him smoking a cigarette and sipping his own beer.
“Yeah, a real religious guy,” said Jim, smiling at Nora. “I didn’t think they could smoke or drink?”
Nora agreed. “Most don’t. However, the ones that migrated down from Bosnia in the 90’s do. Most of the Hezbollah turn the cheek to whom they still refer to as the new recruits.”
“What do you think? Is he trouble?” Jim asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. You might be surprised,” Dan answered, nodding to Nora.
At that very moment three very unpleasant looking men walked in, sitting down at the bar’s counter. A bulge at the base of their backs indicated each was armed. They said something to the man behind the counter, shaking his hand, than, with their backs to the bar, turned their attention towards Dan, Jim, and Nora.
Nora slowly leaned down, reaching into her knapsack that lay by the side of her chair, placing her right hand on the 9mm Glock she had picked up for $50US in a Beirut open market the day before. Beirut was famous for its open markets, most selling everything from baby strollers to an anti-tank
rocket. The market Nora purchased her Glock from also happened to be the same one Jim and Dan were chased out of earlier in the day.
Dan noticed her action but didn’t turn around. “How many?” he said.
“Three,” she informed him. “Either you were followed or me. I’m betting it was me. I’m not as good as I used to be. I guess I need more practice. It’s been awhile.”
“Yes, it was probably you. They don’t get many beautiful women around here,” Jim said winking at her. “Okay,” we need a quick plan. We need to draw at least one of them close enough so you can shoot one or two and Dan and I can take out the remainder. Jim turned in his chair to face the man behind the bar, indicating he wanted three more beers.
“Christ Almighty,” Dan said. “You want beer at a time like this?”
Jim smiled. “It’s a makeshift plan. Just go with it. I have no intention of having these thugs harm any one of us, especially, Nora.”
The waiter smiled as he placed the beers on the table, mumbling something in what might have been Hebrew or Arabic under his breath. After he turned his back to return to the bar, he temporarily blocked the view of the others. Nora quickly slipped her gun to Jim.
You’re the better shot,” she said quietly, a smile gracing her face.
For a moment Jim forgot where they were, their eyes meeting for a split second, him wondering how he could have ever let Nora go. But that was for another time, another place.
It was Dan’s turn to speak. “Let’s start an argument and draw them over to the table. A good old-fashioned one; possibly like the two of you used to have in Kabul?”
“I think we could muster that,” replied Jim.
Nora smiled before nodding. “Yes, you were always very good at starting something and never finishing it.”
“And now it starts,” said Dan.
As if on cue, Jim raised his voice as he spoke. “Who the hell do you think you are? Are you saying I never finished the last fight we had? I walked out of the tent to try and cool down. You were the one who left me.”
Dan pushed back on his chair raising its front legs and rocking on the rear. “This looks real to me,” he said in a low voice.
Nora and Jim ignored him.
“You bastard,” replied Nora angrily. “I never walked out on you. I left on an assignment with the General Staff. When I returned later that day you were gone and the only thing you left me was that stupid letter.”
At the bar, the three men had turned back to face the unexpected entertainment of Jim and Nora’s fight, grabbing their bottled beers they now were walking slowly towards them.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dan noticed the men were almost in range. Just five more feet and he could jump the largest of the three. He watched as they moved closer, Dan grabbing his bottle around its slim neck to use as a club.
Nora jumped to her feet, pointing down at Jim with her index finger. “You were no good then, and you’re no good now.”
This provided Jim an excuse to jump to his feet in order to respond, pointing at Nora with his left hand, grabbing the 9mm with the other and in one swift motion brought it up to bear on the three men who now stood only five feet away. “Hands up,” he said.
Dan broke his bottle on the edge of the table, now holding the jagged piece in his hand. “I’d listen to the man if I were you,” he said menacingly.
The largest of the three smiled at them. He then looked back at the bartender and the two men standing beside him. “So you think you can shoot each of us with that little pee shooter before we kill you,” he said in near perfect English with an accent Jim couldn’t quite place.
Jim laughed aloud. “I can get four shots off in less than two seconds with each shot placed between the eyes of you and your people. Of course you being my first victim.”
The larger man nodded before speaking slowly and deliberately. “I can see why my boss wants us to assist you in your little adventure.”
Jim looked back to Nora then to Dan. Nora shook her head but Dan smelled something was afoot. He walked over to who appeared to be the leader of the group, reaching around and pulling a pistol from the base of his back, his eyes never leaving the leader. Dan eyed the stock of the weapon, its serial numbers filed down. He turned it over. It was a Beretta Model 70, the signature terminator pistol of the Israeli Mossad. “Jim, I think these men have a little explaining to do,” holding up the pistol for Jim to see. Jim was all too familiar with the Beretta Model 70 in his former line of work.
The leader of the group smiled once more. “I see you know your weaponry. Very impressive. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Lieutenant Benjamin Silverman. The man to my left is Chaim Mazil and to his right, Amiel Topel. The man behind the bar is Menashe, he works undercover for us. We all represent Mossad.” He points over to Nora. “Ms. Robertson had the pleasure of speaking with our boss, Benny Machaim, three days ago in Jerusalem.”
A look of complete surprise spread across Nora’s face. “I had no idea,” she said, looking first to Jim then to Silverman.
Jim looked at his potential colleagues, smiled, shook his head, and then laughed aloud. “Who’s looking out for whom? But it seems we have the upper hand here,” he said as he waved the man’s weapon in the air above him.
“I let you take it,” said Silverman. “I, or any of my men could have shot you anywhere from the market in Beirut earlier today up to when you parked that idiotic little car outside this bar.”
Silverman now smiled back at Jim, convinced he had the upper hand. “Why do you think those two idiots on the motorbikes stopped following you this morning? Allow me to tell you why; because my team removed them for you. That’s why. And I’m sure you know what I mean when I say removed.”
Jim looked to Dan, they both nodded approvingly. “I was wondering why they didn’t follow us out of town,” replied Dan, looking to Silverman.
Silverman motions to the table. “Why don’t we all sit and have a cold beer while I provide a little background? It might help to diffuse the situation we have here.”
Jim lays his weapon on the table in good faith.
Silverman sits, and with a wide smile gracing his face, continues: “Mr. Dieter. There is almost no unfortunate situation in the Middle East that Israel's enemies do not attribute to Israel. Now take myself. In my position at Mossad, I am responsible for, shall we say, nurturing relations with Lebanon's Christian minority.” Silverman turns to his man still behind the bar. “Menashe, a round of drinks for our new friends.” He pauses until after the beers are delivered, the pause deliberate. Silverman then sips his beer, and continues. “The Mossad's relations with the Christian’s in Lebanon are a rather unique one. It’s one you Americans may say is a marriage of convenience. We need them, and they need us. The tortured relationship has enabled senior Israeli Defense Forces brass, including the commanders of the forces in the field, to reconnoiter as far as Beirut, and to receive all the necessary intelligence we need. However, their services are not free. They are capitalists at heart. They prefer the term businessmen. It’s all semantics if you ask me. We pay them in weapons and gold. All captured Arab stock from our little conflicts. They wouldn’t want to be caught with an Israeli Uzi by one of their Hezbollah friends now would they?”
Jim nodded approvingly. “So I’m guessing I have you or one of your boys to thank for the background intel I received when I reconnoitered Beirut’s Green Zone back in 2002?”
Silverman nodded slyly. “If it was in the Green Zone of Beirut, then yes, we will accept the thanks.”
Jim saluted him with a raised bottle before he brought the bottle to his lips, drinking its contents, slamming the empty bottle on the table. “I think we better get that bartender back over here,” he said with a smile. “Only this time tell him to bring a bottle of whiskey with a chaser. I promised myself long ago that if I ever caught up with the Angel who saved my ass, I was going to buy him a drink.”
Silverman nods. “I heard a saying from a Christian
friend of mine that only Angel’s drink whiskey with a chaser.”
Jim’s eyes went wide at the mention of the simple code phrase from a decade ago. Not a common phrase that someone would utter. To Jim, it was one burned deep into the recesses of his mind. It was from the last time he was in Lebanon and one of the few times in his life he needed rescue. He was surrounded by militia. They were squeezing his perimeter when seemingly out of nowhere, an Israeli Little Bird helicopter swooped in blasting his enemies’ positions, there-by allowing Jim to escape back to his rendezvous point. He now nods back to Silverman, only the two of them possibly knowing what transpired that day.
The bottle arrives along with eight glasses and a small container of ice.
Silverman cracks the seal, pouring small amounts in each glass. “Do you mind if I continue with my Mossad story?” he says before offering a glass to each person in the room.
Each of them raises the glass in silent toast before drinking its contents.
Jim smiles appreciatively before turning to Dan and Nora. “I have the funny feeling we’re going to get along famously with these guys.”
UPON THE CONCLUSION OF his story, Silverman nods to his fellow Mossad agents. “We must now each go our separate ways,” he says before pointing to the front door of the bar. “But before we do, please give me the keys for that silly car you drove here. Have no worries, we will dispose of it.”
Dan was about to protest but Silverman held up his hand before continuing. “I would not leave you stuck in this austere location. So, I have also arranged for you to have an upgraded car for your ride to the coast. Also, this will shake any possible tail you may have had, besides us.” Silverman rises from the table, his hand extended. “It’s waiting outside. Nora knows where to go from here. Dodo filled her in on the particulars. But just in case use this.” Silverman hands her an old Garman GPS. “It works better than your cell phone and no one can track your signal,” he said, pointing to Nora’s phone she held in her left hand. “But you must keep to a strict timetable. Don’t waste time sightseeing or as you Americans say dilly-dallying. So, until we meet again in a few days. And have no worries, I will have everything you need waiting for you.”
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