"All the flying we did over the Pacific Northwest in America and I never had fighters out looking for me like here," Martee protested.
"It’s different in the Middle East," Haim assured her. "In America they don’t really expect to find an enemy flying around their skies. They expect a real invasion to come across the ocean and be obvious. Here they have small borders and worry about anything bigger than a bird. They are constantly sneaking drones in on each other. It’s going to be ten times as bad in Israel and you will be taking us right into what is like an electronic fort, walling the border off."
That didn’t seem to impress Martee at all.
"Where do you think you are going to sneak across the border into Israel?" Haim asked her, as she settled to a dark rooftop overlooking the airport perimeter. "If you think you can pretend to be a plane flying from Cyprus I have news for you. The flights are all planned and have documents filed detailing when they leave and arrive and you have to talk to the controllers at each end to verify who you are."
"We understand Haim," Roger finally told him, tired of the rant. "We have someone who is going to talk for us at both ends."
"How? Even if you had an airline pilot along with us, you still wouldn’t have a flight plan filed."
"Actually we do," Josh informed him opening his laptop. "Flight 428 Cyprus Airways – a small Airbus departing Larnaca 22:35, arriving Tel Aviv approximately 23:30."
* * *
"This is insane. You’ll never get away with it," Haim moaned, as the flight they were awaiting taxied down to the end of the runway near them. They were monitoring the crew chatting with the tower.
"We, Haim, we. No more of this you stuff, unless you want me to open the door and let you jump out. You have less than a minute to decide to bail," Roger hurried him.
"OK, we’ll never get away with it. I’m in, but have the grace to allow me to complain about it. This is not what I signed up for with the foreign service."
"You have universal military service in Israel don’t you?" Roger asked. "I know everybody in the service bitches about everything all day long. But come on man, didn’t you get in a few hazardous situations? Haven’t you heard the bullets crack by?"
"I was a cook," Haim confessed. "A chef really. We never saw anything bloodier than a very rare prime rib."
"How the devil did you get from cook to foreign service?" Rog asked.
"It's a long and unlikely story. I'll tell you someday if we survive."
Just beyond the fence the small airliner turned off the taxiway and paused briefly lined up with the runway, pointed out over the ocean. They lifted and hovered just above the building, as close to the perimeter as they could get without being in the open. The aviation radio on the instrument panel let them hear the clearance to take off, even before they saw the plane roll and Martee dove for the ground accelerating.
Haim gripped the armrests in fear as they charged the chain link fence at ground level. A spinning rollercoaster loop over the fence took less than a second, with Haim pulled back into his seat with more than his natural weight as they dove again. Martee cut it so close they heard the barbed wire on top of the fence scrape their top. The mad charge put them behind the jet before it had gone its own length. She had to brake hard to keep from ramming it.
In the airport security office, ground radar put an alarm icon on the screen behind the departing jet. The officer responsible checked his camera for that location and the fence was whole and there was nothing near it. They often got false positives when the jet exhaust kicked up debris, so he reset it before the plane even had its wheels up.
The turbulence and roar from the engines pointed right at them came through the ships body like they weren’t even sealed up. Martee eased up and to the side, away from the control tower until she was flying almost beside the horizontal stabilizer, just far enough away to avoid the end vortex and well above the turbulence behind the wing.
They were hidden from the tower by the tail and barely out of sight from the co-pilot’s seat. When the nose of the airliner came up she anticipated it and climbed a little faster than the tail, rising to the top of the vertical stabilizer. After that she was glued to its movements, smoothly turning and leveling like she was a remora attached to a big shark.
"Just like that disk of the Blue Angels you showed me," she bragged.
At altitude the ship buffeted pretty badly. A bigger plane on a longer flight might have taken them too close to the edge of the sonic envelope to stand. As it was, it reminded Roger of a ride in a cigarette boat into a stiff wind, that hadn’t been any fun at all.
"Why are the stars so hazy?" Martee asked. "It doesn't look like clouds."
"The dust blows of the Sahara this time of year," Haim explained. "I noticed it when we were on the ground in Cyprus, but didn't think it important to mention. It doesn't really matter, unless it gets so bad they cancel flights."
"It gets too thick to fly through?"
"Not so much too thick to see through, but it will damage the turbine blades in the engines. Sometimes it gets so bad you should wear a paper mask outside to breathe."
"I'm just as happy," Josh informed them. "The sandstorm interferes with millimeter radar too. It makes it harder to see us as a separate return right up against the other plane, unless they are running some pretty good stuff in targeting mode."
The arrival at Ben Gurion airport was almost a reverse of their departure. They listened to the tower directing the airliner in and assigning it taxi turn offs. As the jet approached, Martee dove away from it just before the perimeter fence, plunging into a dark industrial area.
She picked a large flat-roofed building and plunged behind it like hawk dropping on a mouse. Then, after barely missing the ground, hurried up and over the edge of the roof skimming across to the corner overlooking the airport. She wanted to be down and not moving as quickly as possible. They waited with the drive live, ready to run if they needed and listened to the radio.
"Cyprus Air 428," the tower called. "We had a brief secondary return on radar as you cleared our perimeter. Please be advised you will be inspected externally at the gate by Security and you should have your maintenance do an external inspection before you do a turn-around in case you had something fall off."
"Roger that control. We didn't feel anything before touch down, but we'll advice our maintenance before we load passengers again."
That was it – they seemed to have gotten away with it. Once they were sure they didn't have to flee, Roger exited the ship and went to the nearby roof corner, where he pulled on a thin SWAT mask over his face that was black and held back his thermal emissions. He scanned the perimeter road both ways from behind the parapet.
Josh came out too, but sat at the rear of the ship, guarding the approach across the big roof. The security fence was easily visible on the near side of the pale grey ribbon of the road, even without a moon. It was clear and dead flat on both sides with a huge roll of tiger wire on top. In a few minutes a darkened patrol truck silently eased along the inside of the fence. Rog pulled up a pair of compact binoculars and examined them as they came closer.
The driver simply drove but the man in the passenger seat and one in the rear had on the bug-eyed night vision goggles and peered both inside and outside of the fence looking for debris, or any irregularity.
When neither were looking his direction and still well away, he sank below the edge of the parapet, so there was no outline of a head sticking up or stray thermal signature. He didn't look again until they were a hundred meters the other way, down the fence away from them.
After an hour and only occasional light commercial traffic in their neighborhood outside the fence, Roger went back to Josh and they traded spots. It wasn’t until one in the morning they lifted just inches and skimmed between the vents and other rooftop machinery back to the far side of the building. They eased over the edge, staying down between the buildings, making occasional detours around activity ahead. Finally they reached
residential areas and swept through back yards and down deserted streets until they were far away from the airport in open farm land.
Martee silently drifted into a dark grove of trees, in a hollow tucked between some small hills. Roger gave Haim one last chance to walk away and disassociate himself from them. It was his country here after all. He could walk in and not have that much explaining to do, as compared say to suddenly turning up on Cyprus with no documented entry. If he chose that, they would fly off and where they went and what they did was no longer his concern.
When he still insisted he would act as their agent, Josh made sure Haim had a flashlight, their passports and as much cash as they could give him even if it was US currency. He did have his bank card in his wallet, he reminded them. He took Josh’s cell phone.
At the last minute Josh gave Haim a handful of heavy gravel. "If you need to bribe somebody they may help you," he said. "If they know what they are or you can convince them."
"Are you sure you aren’t bribing me?" Haim asked him.
"Hell, no Haim. We’re going to bribe you later after we get this all squared away in the proper manner all retiring bureaucrats are corrupted. We’ll offer you a job. If you don’t have to use those tonight as pocket money, have them made into a nice necklace for your sweet wife," Josh told him, remembering how he’d spoken of her in the consulate. "She deserves it for all the crap she puts up with from your job. Believe me, if we hire you I’ll make damn sure you get home for supper once in awhile."
Haim stared at him open-mouthed. Just when I think you can't surprise me again… he thought.
"It’s a deal," he agreed, finally without private reservation.
"Well here," Josh said before he could step outside. "If you join this outfit we have certain dress codes." He put his own compact automatic in the man’s hand and dropped a couple magazines in his jacket pocket. "Never know what you’ll find out there in the dark."
* * *
Well before dawn, in that twilight when the sky is steel gray, Martee set down again back near the ocean in another grove of woods. This was an orange grove, with the green oranges hanging like hard little tennis balls. The only witness to their landing was a flock of geese waddling among the trees, picking at the unmowed grass between the rows.
They stretched their necks to look and sounded a few alarmed honks. When the strange shape stopped moving they decided it was no danger and lowered their heads to resume foraging.
His friends left Roger to guard the ship with their help and they walked down the hillside to a dirt tractor track. They walked along, eventually coming to a country road, going to a home Josh remembered well. By the time they reached the house the light had changed from grey-blue to golden, with the sun breaking the horizon.
The building and a few more in sight down the road, looked almost Southwestern, but they were stucco on stone instead of adobe brick. The land looked more like Florida with some palms. When they walked up to the home they smelled fresh bread and there was music playing.
A feminine voice sang duet with the recorded music and then a male voice provided counterpoint without any live assistance. The women sang again and when the male part came again Josh joined in and bellowed the song along with the recording.
When the female part resumed it was joined by shocked silence from the live singer, then the music was turned down.
A short woman, maybe fifty-five or so, came out with flour on her hands.
"Yehoshua, what are you doing here?" She scolded him in Hebrew. "I haven’t heard from you for so long, I thought you were dead." She came up and gave him a hug, leaving flour-prints on his shoulders.
"I rented out your place on the sea to a couple different people, but none of them have any appreciation. The couple who live there right now are dead inside, but they just don’t know it. They bicker with each other and irritate the neighbors. They don’t bring any love into my house. Do you want it back? I'll kick the bums out," she vowed.
"No, please I don’t want any fuss." Joshua told her in English. "Martee doesn’t have any Hebrew and is a little short on English at times, but it would be a kindness if you could use it. I’d love a place, but I have another friend beside Martee here that will be coming and we need a place with a garage or courtyard. I’m not as limited as I was before in what I can pay. I don’t need some little tzeemer. I can afford a real villa. You can get a little extra back for all the times you took care of me and it won’t matter."
"Come in," she invited, switching to English as he asked, taking Martee’s hand and leading her to the door. "I have fresh bread and yogurt and a fruit salad for you and will make a pot of tea. So you are Martee? I’m Nava,"
"You certainly are," Josh interrupted, teasing because it meant beautiful.
"Flattery will get you honey in your tea," she promised. "You say another friend and you don’t stand close to her, so she’s not your girl. Perhaps there is still hope for me?" she asked coyly, waving them to seats.
"Ah, lovers come and go, but a true friend is forever," Josh told her reaching across to take a floured hand. "Besides if you take up with your landlady, it’s not far from being a kept man."
"Yes, I can see why you'd worry. After your neighbors complained that you were living with three young women, there wouldn’t be much to salvage of your reputation." Nava agreed, pulling her hand loose and smudging a flour dot on the end of his nose.
Martee was finally to the point with her English she could appreciate the verbal duel.
Nava had black dense hair like it was carved out of coal and heavy eyebrows that looked not the least masculine. She lifted one now and held up a restraining digit.
"Sit quiet, or think on some clever thing to say and I’ll set the table for us." When she got up Martee followed and Nava handed her things to put out things like she had expected it.
"You were hurt," she told Josh when they all sat.
"Yes, I took a ride with some soldiers. It was… unwise. We may have some people looking for us now, so I’m looking for quiet and an out-of-the-way spot. We won’t be going to the clubs, nor having big parties."
"That’s what they all tell you when they are renting. You’d think they were all monks with a vow of silence," she jabbed, "and when you negotiate the rent you’d swear they all took a vow of poverty too. But I have a place on a rise looking over the sea. No beach, because it is all rocks and surrounded with trees. But there is a beach a few kilometers away and a market town close enough, although your staff will do your shopping. I’m told the fishing is good if you want to try it."
"That sounds nice. But the staff, they come with the house?"
"They live there, a couple, but I wouldn’t worry, they can be discreet – especially if I tell them. If you sent them away it would cause more talk than keeping them. They are local people with family and everybody in town would know you fired them within a few days, when they moved out and started asking family who had work for them. Better to use them as a source of local labor you know and obligated to your people for the work."
Josh nodded. "I have to get a wire transfer from New York. I can cover the rent with diamonds now if you want and when the cash comes through pay you and you can keep the stones for advancing the credit."
"My, you are doing better," she said. "You don’t even ask how much a month. I don’t have any gems," she said, spreading her bare floured fingers to show them. "Give me one nice diamond to wear and I’ll take that for waiting for my money."
"They’re not cut yet, but I’ll pick you a nice one."
"I just bet you know someone who can do it though?"
"As a matter of fact we have a friend coming from New York. I’ll arrange for him to do it," he promised.
"Eat," she said. "I have to put more dough on the griddle.
* * *
Haim was sitting having breakfast too. He'd walked in further than he remembered, from his drop-off, but eventually came to a small place he'd visited before. He could call a cab h
ere, or have his Ministry send a car around.
Getting an appointment with the foreign minister of your country is not an easy task, even when you are consulate staff to a major ally. Explaining why he wasn't at that post would complicate it.
Haim knew he wouldn't be seeing him this morning, maybe not even today. The first thing he needed was some high powered help, to get somebody on the phone who could even set an appointment.
The thought kept coming to speak to Intelligence, but he wasn't entirely comfortable with the intelligence community. Yet he knew they wouldn't argue about what form to fill out and tell him everything they couldn't do before moving. If he described his experience at the hotel to the Consul, the man would think he was on drugs.
Coming right down to it, Intelligence was a better match than Commerce not only to his problems, but to his three new associates. If he told Intel why crossing his three new friends could have dire consequences they might understand. To Commerce dire consequences was if somebody might put a tariff on stuffed plush toys. Of course he thought ruefully, that accurately described my attitude last week. That nudged him over the edge on who to call.
"Ariel? Haim here. I'm in Tel Aviv and I have a huge problem, that is an equally large opportunity. I'm at a little cafe way out on the North side. Can you run out here and join me? I'm afraid that oaf who replaced you in New York has given us a bit of a problem.
"I had to leave yesterday by rather unorthodox means. My passport is still at home and I'll need your help retrieving or replacing it. For that matter, on second thought, I think we may as well have my wife join us here as well. I'll call her while you are coming over and let her know what is going on... Yes I'm aware she is long suffering. Everyone has been telling me lately.
"What? No it wasn't all that difficult coming in with no passport,” he lied. “You spooks don't think the rest of us have any resources. I'll have a little respect, thank you. Commerce is what cranks out the shekels to keep you boys playing the game, you know," he tweaked him. "In about a half hour then," he agreed, giving directions.
Paper or Plastic Page 31
