by L. Todd Wood
Even though it was still light outside, the time was after midnight, and the base streets were deserted. Connor exited the south gate and crossed the short bridge into the city. Soon he was coasting down the small hill along the waterfront of Cook Inlet to the tiny bungalow he called home. The beluga whales were diving in and out of the water. The sight was beautiful as the large group of stark white mammals moved up and down in the dark sea, gorging on fish as the tide rolled in. There must be hundreds of them.
Soon he had parked the bike behind his home and made his way to the porch of the old house overlooking the inlet, which he had made his home for the last year. It was almost one o’clock in the morning, and the sun was just now setting. The long Alaskan days could do a number on a person, completely screwing up their internal rhythm.
His favorite rocking chair was waiting for him, and he collapsed, relaxing for the first time in about twenty hours. The base command had even waived his crew rest requirements for the mission to search the P-40 Warhawk; they had flown much longer than the twelve-hour limit in peacetime. Whatever was on that airplane must have been important.
The pilot’s remains had been transferred to the morgue. A security police detail had met them at the tarmac to retrieve the body bag with military honors. Somebody’s family will be happy they finally found out what happened to him, Connor thought.
He had just lit a nice cigar, popped open a beer, and started to relax when he heard a sound in his driveway and noticed an SUV pull up the small, dirt alley between the next house and his. He recognized the vehicle. Lieutenant Colonel Blackman? Connor sat up. He saw his superior officer get out of the car and head to the back door. “Come on in, sir! It’s open!” he yelled to the rear of the house. He heard the screen door open and close and footsteps approach his porch. Soon, his commander was standing next to him. “I don’t know why you’re here but can I offer you a cigar?” Connor asked. “Not the best, but they are smooth. I just lit this one.”
“Sure, I’d like that,” Lt. Colonel Blackman responded and sat next to Connor, who sliced off the end of the stogie and handed it to his boss along with the lighter. They sat silently for a while and enjoyed the beautiful scene of the inlet in the twilight as well as the flavor of the tobacco. The belugas frolicked in the setting sun. Connor decided to let the lieutenant colonel break the ice and speak, which he did a few minutes later.
“You did a great job out there today, Connor. I appreciate your professionalism. That was a difficult assignment, to keep all of those interested people happy and your crew performing at top speed. And, way past your crew rest I might add.”
“Thank you, sir. I still don’t really realize what happened out there. What was all the hullabaloo about?” The colonel hesitated to answer then spoke.
“The mission was highly classified. That’s what I’m here to talk to you about. Did you see what I removed from the aircraft?”
“Yes, I did. It was a satchel of some kind.”
Lt. Colonel Blackman turned toward him and leaned in close to Connor to make eye contact. “Let me be very clear,” he started to speak then paused for effect. “You saw nothing. This was just a routine mission. The aircraft was just an old wreck and nothing else. Nothing important was seen, found, or otherwise. Do you understand what I am saying, Captain? Completely?”
“Yes, sir. I think I do.”
“Good. But just in case, I have this form you need to sign. Your future in this man’s air force depends on your being able to keep a secret.” The senior officer pulled out a folder with a non-disclosure agreement inside.
Connor’s eyes lit up. “Really? This is really serious, huh, sir?”
“Yes it is, Captain. I’m trying to make you understand this. This is really important. Capiche? Now read it and sign.” Connor did as he was told. He and the lieutenant colonel finished their cigars in silence. Connor knew better than to ask anything else about the mission. The need to know was paramount in military circles, especially in national security issues, which he surmised this event was.
Soon after, his commander left and Connor downed a couple beers. He thought about how much he loved Alaska and the freedom it offered, as well as the isolation. He watched the wildlife frolic in the ocean, oblivious to the humans on shore. I’ll have to leave this place one day. Connor fell asleep in his flight suit on the rocking chair in the Alaskan twilight, not to stir until the chill woke him in the Alaskan morning.
Chapter Three
Sderot, Israel
On Gaza Border
May 2018
Connor woke. He stared at the ceiling for some time, not wanting to move, wondering if he should get up. Natasha lay next to him, her naked, warm body clinging to him, entangled in his arms and legs like a hot pretzel. He smiled. He loved waking up to this woman. He would never leave her. That, he knew.
The heat was oppressive this morning, even though summer had yet to burst open—it was unseasonably hot. The sun had already burned off the cooler, night desert temperature. The sheet under him was damp with sweat. I need to get up. I can’t sleep anymore. My arm’s numb and killing me.
Connor slowly and carefully untangled himself from Natasha and swung his legs over the bed. The sun was pouring through the windows like a freight train, even at this early hour. It’s gonna be another blistering day, he thought to himself. After regaining feeling in his arm, he decided to take an early morning walk out into the desert to clear his mind. He enjoyed this time of the day, when the sun was yet to make its full force known. He felt at peace early in the morning, when the environment was not yet awake. He felt more peace and contentment here than he had in years, decades even. He felt like he had come home in some strange, prehistoric way. It was a good thing. I just hope it lasts.
The Negev was calm this early in the day. There was no movement. Nothing stirred, except the vultures circling overhead, waiting on some poor creature to die. There was only peace and quiet. He glanced at the large, flying carnivores above him and then nervously at Gaza in the distance. Kind of unnerving, he thought.
However, the wall was still there. The terrorists were still at bay. Nothing to worry about this morning. Just enjoy yourself, he thought warily.
For weeks, the rockets had rained down on the small, Israeli village of Sderot, located outside the Gaza Strip, in the latest conflict between Hamas and Israel. This morning, however, the sky was quiet. The Iron Dome alarms had not gone off for almost twenty-four hours now. He felt safe enough to stroll away from the house in his shorts. The nearest neighbor was several hundred yards away, and the main town was to the east behind him in the distance. His small, covered garden outside the walled compound looked strong this morning. The plants stood erect in the sun, having been artificially fed and hydrated over the evening. The hydroponic system provided the nutrients needed for growth without the roots being enclosed in soil. Israelis were experts at hydroponic farming, and it was Connor’s new passion. He beamed with pride at his vine tomatoes hanging from the top of the small greenhouse like they had thousands of years before in the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. Maybe I will become a real farmer.
After relocating to Sderot from Tel Aviv earlier in the year, as guests of the Israeli government, Connor and Natasha rebuilt their lives after the horrifying few months they had recently experienced. The two were introduced by former President Walker, who had been assassinated the previous year by forces unknown. All signs pointed to some type of internal hit, from inside the new administration that had succeeded Walker’s, but nothing could be proven.
Natasha, a Russian citizen and the former girlfriend of the Russian president, was previously also an American spy. This fact did not go over too well with the Kremlin; they relentlessly pursued her upon her escape while on a business trip to New York sometime before. She was tracked for over a year by the Russian FSB, or national security police, formerly called the KGB. When the FSB finally obtained her whereabouts, she fled, all alone, leaving a secure life in the United State
s to protect Connor, who was battling leukemia. Eventually the two had reconnected at a safe house in Brazil but were discovered by Moscow. The resulting firefight saw them both secreted out of Brazil to Israel by the Israeli Mossad, who was working with them to find the Sultan, a powerful, anonymous, Islamic figure pulling the geopolitical strings in the Middle East. Now they were rebuilding their lives again, this time at the pleasure of the Israeli intelligence service. They had jointly chosen this location due to its relative isolation; the thought being it would be easier to protect, as anyone approaching the compound would be visible long before they arrived.
The dust from the previous, chaotic year had finally started to settle. Conner was enjoying being able to attempt to relax for a change. He was a former Wall Street bond trader, unhappily thrown into global geopolitical intrigue. Now in Israel, he had taken a position helping a local startup; tech companies run by the Mossad still require financing. He was a natural, since his finance career had ended only a couple years earlier. Connor dove into the challenge. Natasha put her talents to work helping the Mossad screen Russian Jews immigrating to Israel for possible connections that could be exploited. Many had important relationships back in the Russian Federation and could possibly be useful to Israel. Connor and Natasha both turned down any travel or fieldwork outside the country. They were content just to be together in a safe place, a place where they even discussed starting a family. It would be a long time before they traveled outside of their newfound home; it was just too dangerous.
Connor thought of all that had transpired as he walked out into the desert from the protected compound that housed the small dwelling he and Natasha called home. He waved at the three Israeli soldiers who sat inside the wall, playing some kind of board game. They waved back. Connor had grabbed his M-16 just in case. It was a necessary precaution and was slung nonchalantly over his shoulder. Israelis were comfortable with weapons. It was a national pastime, an absolute necessity when dealing with thousands of people who wanted to kill any Israeli they could get their hands on if given the opportunity. It was not uncommon to see teachers, students, and young women with an automatic rifle slung over their shoulder like a school bag filled with books, or to sit next to an Israeli soldier on the bus carrying a grenade launcher.
The four Hamas, Palestinian terrorists had been waiting in the tunnel for hours, but they felt no apprehension or pain. They were well prepared, mentally and physically. They were trained in Hezbollah camps in formerly Syrian and Iraqi territory for eight weeks for this mission, dodging American airstrikes and Russian Hind helicopters that were still attempting to slow the Islamic State. Russia was still trying to support the Assad government while preventing jihadists from traveling up through the Caucasus, Russia’s soft, vulnerable underbelly, all the while coordinating with their new Iranian allies to redraw the geopolitical map of the Middle East. Primarily, however, they wanted to keep the Assad regime in power, along with their Iranian ally.
America was now trying to destroy ISIS as a viable force altogether. The American withdrawal from Iraq and the Middle East had left the Levant and the Fertile Crescent a complete mess, a cauldron of competing ambitions, agendas, and quasi-governments.
Israel had even diffused multiple backpack nuclear weapons that were smuggled into Israel, the source of which remained unknown. Only the entrepreneurial, Israeli security establishment had saved the Jewish State with its radiation detection equipment that was installed after Iran announced it was soon to acquire a nuclear weapons capability in the coming years, despite an agreement signed some years before.
The tunnels were rebuilt over the recent period, after the powerful 2014 Israeli assault on Gaza had destroyed them almost completely. Obtaining the materials was the major roadblock. Israel had learned that cement allowed into Gaza was turned into tunnel support and the Israeli security services tried not to make the same mistake twice. However, over time, enough material was found and the tunnels into Israel were rebuilt. It was bound to happen, a question of when, not if. The digging stopped about a foot from the surface, to prevent anyone from identifying the tunnel from above. There was always the risk of new Israeli ground-penetrating radar discovering the tunnels, but every precaution was taken to prevent this from happening, as in digging the passageways deep underground until the exit point. Some were noticed and destroyed, but even the Israelis knew they could not get them all. So quietly, Hamas built the capability to send small teams under the border into Israel. Now Hamas had decided to test this new capability, for they had a target they wanted to capture very badly.
Connor returned slowly back to the compound. His brief, early morning walk in the desert had calmed his nerves as always. Even though he felt peace, he seemed to have a constant companion of anxiety tugging distantly at his mind since they had moved to the Negev. He had no idea why. It was as if something was not quite right, something was out of kilter. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Maybe it’s because we both have been chased like wounded prey for the last couple of years? He just knew something was wrong. He had always trusted his instincts, and his instincts were telling his body to be anxious, even subconsciously. The early morning walks helped. Maybe it’s post-traumatic stress syndrome. However, the sun was rising now and the heat along with it. It was time to get back in the shade of the compound and into Natasha’s arms. He was sure she was still asleep and could visualize her sprawled on the bed, the sheets in a ball. Connor smiled. He eyed the compound a couple hundred meters ahead of him and, with the thought of Natasha, quickened his walk.
The terrorists silently removed the remaining soil above them and exited the tunnel in the desert near the compound. The four men were dressed in camouflage fatigues to blend into the terrain and in the dawn light were almost invisible against the tan background. Once they emerged into the open, they sprinted toward the walled dwelling. Their intelligence was spot on, the commander recognized. He knew every inch of the structure and had studied the diagrams and satellite photos intensely for weeks. Failure was not an option. They did not make a sound as they approached their target, weapons at the ready. As they neared the wall surrounding the house, they slowed their advance and crept to the opening, which Connor had left forty minutes before.
The Israeli soldiers did not stand a chance. As the terrorists entered through the unguarded door, the three young, Jewish men died instantly as they were gunned down sitting around a gaming table. They had grown lax while attempting to while away the time and boredom they had experienced for the prior six months in guarding the compound. They did not expect an attack in broad daylight and had let their guard down. It cost them their lives. Once the terrorists cleared the outside of the structure, they put two bullets each in the soldiers’ brains to finish them off, all quietly done with the aid of silencers. They then turned their attention to the occupants inside. At that moment, they heard an alarm sound inside the house.
Connor was walking back when suddenly he saw rapid movement on the desert floor on the opposite side of the compound. At first, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but then he realized it was all too real. Four armed men, obviously up to no good, had just emerged from a tunnel in the desert floor and were sprinting to his home, where his wife lay sleeping. Initially he froze, but a millisecond later, his training kicked in. They had rehearsed what to do in this type of emergency with the Mossad hundreds of times. He dug into his pocket and retrieved his specially altered cell phone and pressed a large, red button that protruded on the back side. Instantly, an alarm sounded inside the house via Natasha’s phone. The message was also sent to the nearby Israeli Defense Force headquarters as a call for support and reinforcements.
Natasha awoke immediately at the sound of the alarm, rolled off the bed onto the floor, and grabbed her weapon under the bed. She hit a lever near the bottom of the nightstand, and the entrance to the house locked shut immediately with reinforced deadbolts. A loud claxon began to sound in the entire village area. She crawled to the bedro
om window, which was complete with bulletproof glass, and looked quickly outside. The four terrorists stood highlighted against the dead bodies of the Israeli guards. Connor! Shit! Where are you? she wondered.
The lead terrorist saw Natasha peek out the window; he smiled and calmly raised his weapon and fired. They were not after her; however, her death would be a welcome outcome, a bonus if you will. The Russians will pay. He frowned as the bullets ricocheted off the hardened window. He pointed to the door and motioned to one of his subordinates. The man pulled demolition equipment out of a pouch and made his way to the door to rig it with explosives. I’ll show that bitch. Then he heard another sound; it was a man yelling outside the compound walls.
“Natasha!” the voice screamed.
Murray! the lead terrorist thought smugly to himself. He yelled at his men to forget about the girl and deal with the threat outside. One of the men rushed out the door to intercept Connor, and Murray cut him down with a burst of automatic weapons fire. The lead terrorist climbed a guard post in the corner of the compound and raised his weapon towards Connor. The remaining Palestinians closed the compound door. Connor was exposed and locked out of the house. Natasha was inside, surrounded by the bad guys.
The leader fired a burst over Connor’s head. Murray hit the dirt. “Put down your weapon. You are outgunned. Otherwise you and your wife will die,” the leader screamed in fluent English. “We don’t want her. We want you! Drop your weapon!”
