by Rose Fox
The volley heard was directed at the two boys who came out of the men’s tent to satisfy their curiosity and fell on the sand beside the tent. Another figure got out of the car and stepped over the bodies of Latifa and Jamilla on its way into the women’s tent.
All the children surrounded Amana and hugged her. The man cold-bloodedly raised his rifle and released low spurts of fire as he sprayed the tent from its length and breadth. As a background, shots were heard from the second tent like a duet, and they, both, complementing and sounds as music's sounds of Death.
Yet another man stepped out of the rear of the car and went over and made his way methodically between the six other tents, which were occupied by the married sons and daughters of the Alheb tribe. He killed all the tent dwellers, men, women, and children, and didn’t even spare the dogs and camels around and then, returned to the car.
When the car disappeared in a cloud of yellow dust, only the week-old infant was left. She bawled for a long time until the men of the tribe returned and discovered the catastrophe.
Spread over the small pile of bodies at the entrance to the tent was a photograph of a painting of three women and a young girl sitting in a tent. A snow white camel and a huge palm tree appeared outside. Two parallel lines had been drawn across the photograph like a canceled bank check.
The murderers sped across the desert sands and one of the killers texted a short message.
“Mission Accomplished”
The investigators, who arrived at the scene of the massacre, stood and stared. They were unable to absorb what had transpired. Shortly afterward, eight ambulances arrived, racing across the desert with their sirens blaring then departed in dead silence, loaded with the bodies of the victims.
*
On the day of the massacre of the 'Alheb' tribe, Foxy returned to Israel with new information and even before the wheels of his plane touched down, he received notice of the meeting.
The news of the terrifying murder had not yet reached them. Everyone knew that the Iranians were frustrated by the incessant series of attacks on their country, especially because of their inability to apprehend those, who were attacking them mercilessly and left no trail. Information about the satchel that had fallen off Abigail’s back in the ‘Imam’s Mosque’ had also reached them.
No one made light of Iran’s intelligence capabilities and the worst was feared, which was why Barak awaited the information that Foxy had with him. He strode into the room, panting and waiting impatiently for the man.
The meeting began as scheduled and as soon as he sat down, Foxy declared:
“I have proof of a connection between the attempts on Abigail’s life.”
“Is that so? Let’s hear it.”
He removed a minute audio cartridge from an interior pocket in his collar and a minute later they were listening to a recorded conversation.
“Yes, I hear you, speak, don’t mention names, and be brief.”
“Ah, ya'Effendi, I want you to know that he is leaving me and is telling stories about some mission.”
“Mission? Did he say where?”
“He said in ‘the field.' He told me things about them, I don’t know who they are and it also doesn’t interest me…”
A woman’s crying was heard and it was difficult to understand the words she said, almost shouting, and the people leaned forward to hear.
“Delay him, cancel the mission, do something, make it difficult for him!”
The man ended the .conversation.
“Fine, I’ve got it. Good thing you called today, my sister, I always knew you were larger than life!”
San asked:
“When did this conversation take place?”
“Oho, it was weeks ago. Shortly before the explosion of the arms’ freighter.
“What?!” San jumped and held socket of his missing eye, as if he had just lost it this moment.
“So why are we only hearing about it now?!”
And Barak asked: “Are you certain?”
“As sure, as there’s a tomorrow. If we don’t interfere and get hold of him right away, Karma may well make it to heaven, speeding along in a “Bentley de Luxe.”
Barak faced him and murmured:
“If I ignore your last remark, the person who dispatched the motorcyclist assassin against Karma two years ago was none other than Effendi Khaidar. He is Karma’s brother-in-law and the brother of the woman we just heard on tape.”
“Bingo!” Michael exclaimed and added:
“And he is the man, who brought the soldiers and the dogs to the tunnel and who planned the assassination at their wedding, as well as in the car on the farm after they were married.”
“Oho,” San remarked and the telephone rang.
Barak picked it up and from the expression on his face, he appeared to be emotional at what he heard and called out loud.
“Turn on the TV, quickly. They’re showing the tribe that was wiped out in the south.”
Even before seeing the photographs, he had a feeling that this slaughter was an act of vengeance against the agent and his heart beat hard.
The pictures rolled rapidly on the screen. The camera panned the killing field, but the faces of the victims were obscured. The newscaster quoted newspaper headlines from all over the globe that expressed disapproval and disgust at the slaughter.
“Wait, what is the response of the Iranians?” Barak inquired.
“Silence, as usual.”
Just then, the camera panned across the group of tents against the desert background that surrounded them and Barak looked at the pictures from close up and called out:
“Oh, it’s a case of mistaken identity. These tents belong to a different tribe!”
“It looks like internecine accounts about land rights or revenge being settled between tribes.”
“Inaccurate,” Foxy pointed out, “Look at this paper.”
The camera stopped on a photograph placed on a small pile of bodies at the entrance to one of the tents. Something in Arabic was written on it and Barak exclaimed:
“Oh!”
“I didn’t manage to read it. What’s written on the photograph?” Foxy asked and Barak said out loud:
"This is our answer to the artist.”
“Oh, this is a very hard answer, indeed!” Michael remarked.
“Look, it’s a painting of three women and a little girl in a tent,” and Barak nodded as he said:
“She’s stubborn as a mule.”
“Who? We have a portrait of three women and a young girl. Which of them is obstinate?”
“The one who drew the three of them and insisted on taking the painting, and this is the result.”
Michael looked at him quizzically and San explained:
“Lucy painted the portrait of the women of her family.”
“Do you mean to say, she is the painter?”
A minute later, Barak described in a restrained voice how he had taken all the pictures she had painted from her house and still had them stored.
“But, she apparently insisted on drawing them again, and simply sacrificed them like a gift.”
They were all silent and Barak turned off the TV.
“But, how did they know exactly where to find them in that desert? Michael said in surprise.
“Well, the fact is, the background of the painting brought them to the Negev and the Bedouin tribe.”
“What makes you so certain?”
“Do you remember the two, who were killed on the dunes? Did you give a moment’s thought to what brought them there – well, here’s your answer.”
“Then, they killed…”
“No, they were mistaken and they murdered another tribe.”
“Yes, they were searching according to the landscape in the painting.”
San sighed.
“The damage has been done, and I want to return to your remark that something will happen tomorrow evening in a luxury car.”
There was still an awkward sile
nce and the topics they had been dealing with made it difficult to return to the discussion. Michael took a breath and spoke.
“Okay, let’s get back to what I said before… no, wait a moment, it’s still too difficult for me after what happened there,” and San came to his rescue.
“You said that tomorrow, ‘the Noodle’ is scheduled to travel in a luxury car and that we ought to get in touch with him right away or something like that.”
“I intended saying that he was given the job of attaching a bomb to an identical car and he is supposed to board the Turkish ship. But, hey, why am I telling you this since you already know the details of this matter.”
“What are you talking about?!” Barak demanded. What’s this job we’re supposed to know about?”
“Í understood that this was the next mission our man was to be sent on.”
“Who sent him on it?”
“What?! Michael was horrified, “just don’t say that this instruction was not dispatched from here!”
“Absolutely not!”
“Oh, in that case, we have to stop him!” Michael said agitatedly.
“They’re using our agent to take out someone and possibly they will even kill him too.”
“How did he receive this assignment? Or, to be more correct, how did they get the code to reach him.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore. Now, we have to delay him.”
“Yes, but, in my opinion, ‘the Noodle’ is already on his way and there is no chance he will answer us.”
They were silent.
“I have a suggestion.” Michael offered. “We have Timmy, my son. He is our man in Azerbaijan and has been posted to shadow the couple.”
“Good, draft him a message, right now!”
Michael wrote the message as follows:
“Delay ‘the Noodle.'
He received a false assignment.
Give him the cipher code to receive the cancelation.”
Almost an hour later reached Timmy to the couple Öcalan's home, to move the message to her husband, who was already deep in his mission.
*
In the meantime, Karma reached the meeting place, to received the twin car and the timed explosive device.
Two men got out of the car that was parked in the dark and stood on either side of it. Their heads were covered with wool caps with holes for their eyes and his heart raced wildly. He felt as though they were about to execute him, so he remained seated in his car.
After about a minute, he summoned up the courage to go out to them. One of them extended his arm and patted the car Karma had stepped out of as if he was patting the rear of a purebred racehorse in an attempt to assess its value. The moon and starlight illuminated a box the second man handed to him. Karma took it from him without a word.
“It’s intended for another car, identical to this one that is at present being driven on the roads in Europe. Its destination is Syria in the Middle East.”
“How will it reach Syria?” he asked nervously and stared at the holes in their caps at their eyes.
“When that car reaches Italy it will sail on a ship to Izmir in Turkey.”
“And how do I fit into this plan?”
“You will drive this one to Italy and wait to board the same ship, with it, is that clear?”
Karma made an effort to absorb what he heard. The second young man approached him, wrapped an arm around his shoulders like an old friend and directed him towards the car he had gotten out of.
“This car runs like a well-oiled girl and is ready for you. That’s also how you’ll feel when you drive it.” He said and Karma glanced at the dashboard and shrank back at its grandeur.
“Okay, am I going to drive this to Italy?”
“Yes, you will wait there until Saturday night, in two days’ time and then board the ship “Ankara” with it. It is scheduled to sail at precisely ten o’clock at night. Is everything clear to this point?
Suddenly, he felt pressured and asked:
“What if I don’t get there in time?”
“Good question. Here, this is Ian’s number. He is on the ferry. If you are late, call him and let him know that he must wait for you.”
"To start driving you have to make this code, and here it is." he said and gave him a note they had prepared in advance, when they meant to give him Ian's number.
Ian was a seasoned seafarer and a member of the ‘Kaukab’ organization and he was supposed to bring the cars on the ferry to the ship. The masked men equipped Karma’s telephone with a tracer so they would have control and know when the Kurd reached the harbor. Ian had been also instructed to get rid of Karma as soon as he will come.
Karma got into the car and before he put the code he opened the box and peeked inside. The bomb was a timed device and had been as carefully placed in the box as a baby in a cradle. At the time, it didn’t occur to him to check the time the explosion was set for and he put it in the glove compartment. He Punched in the code, turned the key in the steering wheel lock and the car slid forward silently.
The smooth ride on the excellent highway made Karma sleepy and his eyelids grew as heavy as lead. He turned on the radio to keep wakeful and the sounds of music swelled all around him in the car. The song that was playing was one he had listened to many times with Abigail and he mused how much he would give just to be listening to his beloved wife. His telephone vibrated.
He decided not to pick up the call, but then, he heard beeps from his communications device from the backpack beside him. He was surprised because he knew the rule was never to send messages to someone on his way to an assignment.
The signals continued obstinately. He decided to look for another telephone to call Abigail and not answer the radio device, so as not to reveal his location.
A quarter of an hour later, the buildings of the first town came into view and when it was almost entirely dark, he stopped in front of one of them.
Seven steps led to the first floor and Karma knocked on one of the doors and waited.
An elderly woman, clad in a wide dark gown, opened the door and stared at him blearily. Karma doubted whether she understood what she was seeing, but a younger woman peeked at him from behind her.
“Hello, please forgive me. I have to make a call to save someone and receive a message.” He said the first thing that came into his head and afterward also thought that the sentence that he had blurted out was accurate.
“Mother, why not invite him in,” the young woman asked and pointed to the wall. Karma hurried to the telephone, hopping over toys and going around a baby crawling on the floor. He dialed Abigail’s number and the moment he heard her voice, the level of his anxiety dropped and his breathing eased.
“My dear Noodle, Timmy is here with a message. Listen,” she said.
A male voice said:
“Delay ‘the Noodle.' He received a false assignment. Give him the cipher code to receive the cancelation.”
Karma tried to understand: “A false assignment?”
“The job you received did not come from our people. You have been sent by God knows who, probably to kill someone else, who it seems was sent on an identical mission to kill you.”
"What, what?"
Pulse pounding in his temples as he absorb he is probably in the task of a hostile organization. It was also clear to him that if that so, they will not leave him alive after the execution.
“So, what do you suggest?”
“Continue, don’t change anything for the present but tell us the plan in brief.”
Karma hesitated. He wondered how he could tell if the person he was conversing with was genuine, but then he heard the three words: “Sun-Moon-Sky” and his magnificent smile spread across his face. He forgot or ignored that he was actually in the situation he found himself in only because he hadn’t heard this code in the message he received yesterday.
“I am on my way to Georgia to receive a “Bentley” identical to the one I am driving right now, to plant a bomb in
it.”
“Are you in possession of the explosive device?”
“It seems that I am. My job is supposed to be executed on the ship, not on land.”
A moment of silence was followed by a question,
“Where are you calling from?”
Karma turned to the woman,
“Where are we?”
And she answered right away:
“In Shakallah town,” and Timmy heard her answer.
“Okay, you will continue westwards to the Caspian Sea, progressing as planned, but delay your departure till half past seven and when you leave – ring once and hang up.”
He almost hung up when he heard Timmy say:
“By the way, I suggest you check the time the device is set to explode and don’t rely on what they told you.”
When he replaced the receiver, he almost collided with the woman, who brought him a glass of water on a tray. He raised the glass to his lips. While he drank, he put his hand in his pocket, pulled out a banknote and placed it on the tray under the glass, without even checking its denomination. Only later did her realize that he had left her ten thousand Rials, which he didn’t regret for one second.
Timmy heard Abigail murmur.
“I’m dying for a good omelet, what about you?”
"Well, how can one refuse you, only please, not too much,” he said. “I’m not a big eater.
When the aromatic omelet was served on the plate, he heard the beeps of an incoming message and Timmy hurried to decipher it.
“’The Noodle’ needs surveillance and cover. The meeting is in the Adriatic on board the “Ankara”. Leave now.”
Abigail also looked at the deciphered message.
“I have to get going,” Timmy said.
“Why?” she asked and glanced at her watch.
“Okay, take care of yourself and of my ‘Noodle.’”
The fragrant aroma of the omelet on the plate aroused his appetite. He went to the table, where he folded and stuffed the whole thing into his mouth. He mumbled something unintelligible that sounded like a complaint about the lack of consideration that didn’t allow a hungry man to eat his dinner properly. He set off on his way, chewing and laughing.
