Udi repeated the briefing: We would travel on the road around Djebel Koukou, stopping at a point overlooking the airfield. We had a camera with a giant telephoto lens, enough for our needs during the daytime. If the action on the airfield began after dark, we’d make sure we weren’t under surveillance and Udi would remove the night vision device from the secret compartment in his bag and give it to us. Also concealed there was a dismantled mini-Uzi whose parts had been treated in a way that ensured they wouldn’t show up on airport security scans. The car would remain at the roadside as part of the cover story and Udi would move away, but he’d stay close enough to intervene if necessary while Niki and I would climb by foot until we reached the best vantage point.
Intelligence and the reports of operatives who had been there before informed us that at night, about once every hour, an armed military squad patrolled a track that crossed the path along which we would climb. The soldiers were equipped with torches and scanned the area, which was designated a closed military zone at night. Signs announcing this were posted on both sides of the road we were driving along but were in Arabic only, which Canadian tourists couldn’t be expected to understand.
Udi continued: After we separate at the foot of the hill, we’ll do exactly what we’ve done during our training in the Jerusalem hills and climb until we reach the point that has been selected by topographical analysis, “but you can use your discretion if you locate a superior site for observing the landing strip”.
“In the daytime, and even in the evening, your painter’s easel is good enough cover. But you have no good cover for being there at night,” he continued. “The best way to get rid of an army patrol is to create an intimate scene. You’ve finished painting, you’ve drunk too much wine, and one thing led to another.”
“Let’s get back to the matter at hand,” I tried to obviate his intrusion into our intimacy, although he was merely repeating the operational orders. “For example, what do we do with the NVD if we are discovered?”
I wasn’t upset that Udi was leaving us without cover. Together with Avi, before we left Israel we’d prepared responses to several situations, all based on my painting and our relationship. We were to take with us a bag containing a blanket, wine, two glasses and bread and cheese, for a nighttime picnic that we could say we’d planned. In addition, I’d have my easel and a sketchpad containing drawings of the landscape that I was to make in advance, so that I’d be able to say to anyone asking questions that “I started them here before the sun set.” I was also aware that the risks Udi was taking were not small – there aren’t many tourists who stop at the side of a deserted road armed with a mini-Uzi. It was clear he wouldn’t be able to use the weapon against a suspicious patrol as long as we were performing our mission because, if gunshots were heard, the place would soon be crawling with security forces, putting us in danger too.
Udi ignored the resentment in my words, and calmly analyzed the hypothetical situation that I’d raised. The response we agreed upon was that as soon as I realized a patrol was approaching, I would hurl the NVD as far away as I could, and deny any knowledge of it if it was found.
“What if we can’t positively identify the plane that lands as the one we are waiting for?”
“The couple in Tehran is supposed to be relaying the description of the aircraft and its take-off time. Our intelligence will track it all the way with radar and audio surveillance so we should know when it’s due to land. It’s likely you’ll have enough info to make the identification.”
We went over more last-minute questions and Udi provided reasonable answers.
“OK, let’s say you see the plane land in the evening, and you wait until it takes off again in the middle of the night. What happens then?” he asked us.
“We report, pack up the kit and get the fuck outta there,” Niki replied quickly.
This made Udi laugh, but the smile that crept onto my lips was soon erased when her choice of words reminded me of my last feeble attempt to make love to her.
I took a few photographs that I could use as a basis for the pictures I would make at the hotel, I also made a few sketches for the benefit of anyone watching us, and we drove away. On the way back we planned how we would check to make sure we were clear of tails as we drove in two cars to our destination.
Udi returned us to our hotel and informed us that, according to the latest intelligence, the ship that had been expected to dock had been held up, so we didn’t have to waste time keeping an eye on the port from our room. “On the other hand, however, the aircraft is being loaded in Tehran right now.”
We dined at the hotel’s not very good Le Continental restaurant. Afterwards, Niki went up to the room and I picked up the car I’d ordered that morning, and bought the stuff for our picnic. Back in the room, I made some landscape sketches on the basis of the photos. I wanted to put Niki into the pictures, and when I turned around I saw she was sitting on the edge of the bed and hadn’t said anything. As I watched I saw what seemed like a tremor in her back spreading slowly throughout her slight frame. Her arms and legs began shaking and her lips shivered. I hugged her and asked what was wrong but she couldn’t speak. I took a miniature brandy from the mini-bar and gave it to her to drink. I thought she had calmed down a little but after a minute or two she rushed to the bathroom and threw up.
I bent over her, holding her forehead and neck with both my hands, as her small body writhed and expelled not just food but the juices of her stomach. The sounds she was making were awful.
“Fucking Algerian food,” I said in frustration, but honest Niki shook her head. “I’m terrified that this is going to be our last day,” she blurted out.
“So let’s call it off then,” I said.
“No way. I’ll have to get over it,” said my brave companion.
For the next hour we lay in bed hugging. Niki was still trembling, and now and again her stomach heaved. I wanted to call Udi but she stopped me.
“We don’t know when it’s going to happen, and in any case we’ll have a few hours’ prior notice. Let’s see how I feel when the time comes.”
I was reminded of Dudu, whose stomach also betrayed him on the eve of the mission in Sudan, and who was then ousted from the squad. I assumed that here, too, an element of fear was at play. Understandable fear. At border control, Niki was still a Canadian tourist with all the cover in the world. In a little while, she would be a Mossad operative who, for some time, would not have any logical cover for what she would be doing, deeds that could put her behind bars for many years. Perhaps a samurai does not tremble before a battle, but Niki was now a samurai without a master, preparing to do battle at the end of which, even if she was successful, she would not know what her fate would be.
Udi called and gave the code word that meant that the plane had taken off from Tehran. He said he’d pick us up in an hour’s time. It was going to be a long night’s work. The plane would land very late in the evening, and who could tell when it would leave again for Beirut.
I should also have been anxious but something happened to me that had happened before when I was getting ready for a mission. The anxieties that should have turned my stomach upside down were washed away by adrenalin and by mental focus, as if they weren’t there at all.
I made Niki a cup of tea with a dash of brandy and ordered melba toast from room service, but mostly I hugged her close. The colour gradually returned to her cheeks and then she got up, stood in the middle of the room and began doing breathing exercises with her eyes closed. She added arm movements that looked like tai chi or chi kung – I couldn’t tell the difference – and then she knelt on the carpet and went into a state of deep meditation.
When the time came for our rendezvous with Udi she stood up, smiled wanly and said, “I’m ready.”
We drove behind Udi to Celeste, a north-eastern suburb of Algiers. It really looked celestial, perched on a green hill from which both sides of the bay were visible as the sun set. I gave my hand to Niki, more in
concern than in love, but she clasped it gratefully. I was a little too full of adrenalin to enjoy the view or the romantic aspects of the time and place.
We executed the moves we’d planned for detecting tails but our morning’s activities had apparently allayed any suspicions the Mukhabarat may have had, and we were clean. I followed Udi to the fortress on the hilltop where we gave each other a last once-over and, when we were sure no one was following us, we headed for the spot where we were to leave our car. Udi stopped precisely where we had arranged and after yet another anti-surveillance check, he got out of the car with his little bag. From its double lining he removed the mini-Uzi which he had already assembled and put it into his belt, and the NVD, which he gave to us. He shook my hand with both of his, kissed Niki, said he was relying on us, and watched as we started our climb. We hurried away from the road, carrying the camera, the NVD, my folding easel, my sketchpad with its ready-made drawings, and a picnic basket which also held my brushes and paints. As the dark enveloped us, we heard Udi driving off, and half a minute later he stopped and we checked our radio contact.
Everything went according to plan, and no one interrupted us. We made our way to the prearranged observation point which turned out to be the only place from which there was an unobstructed view of the entire length of the landing strip. The runway was relatively short, well concealed among the hills, and I wondered how a cargo plane could manoeuvre its way to land there. At any rate, there was no air traffic so far, and I expected that when our plane arrived we’d have no special difficulty identifying it.
We set up camp, spreading out the blanket, taking out the wine, the glasses and smelly French cheeses. I hid the NVD in a hollow in a rock a few dozen yards away and tore one of the pictures I had prepared in advance out of the pad and fixed it to the easel. By the faint light from the moon, I adjusted the lines I’d made that morning to the view that was spread out before us now. I opened the box of watercolours, took out the brushes which I had hardly used at all since I had painted Niki in Toronto then poured a little water from the bottle I had brought into a plastic cup, dipped a brush into it, and began filling in the lines in shades of green and brown.
Niki spread herself out on the blanket and when I had stopped painting I sat down and she put her head on my thigh and her arm gently around my back. A chill was creeping up from the valleys, there was a slight breeze carrying with it the sounds of branches creaking, rustling leaves and small animals moving around, as well as jackals wailing and dogs barking in the distance. Niki held me tighter.
I shuddered and felt a need to pee but decided not to move. Spending a night outdoors in Israel was sometimes nice and sometimes not, depending on where you were and why you were there. I knew this from my army service and the many hikes I’d been on alone, especially after I returned from Japan and decided to spend vacations hiking the Israel Trail – all of its 840 km winding from its northernmost tip at kibbutz Dan down to its southernmost in Eilat – instead of taking more trips in Asia. Now, on that Algerian hillside, I felt a combination of the night I’d spent alone in the Dishon valley in the Upper Galilee, hearing wild pigs grunting and rooting around nearby, and the nights lying in ambushes in Lebanon.
While I was trying to sort out my feelings, the receiver in my ear came alive: Udi reported that the plane was approaching and I passed on the news to Niki. She stood up and I retrieved the NVD. I didn’t know how the intelligence for our mission was set up but I was glad it was working.
I focused the device onto the airfield, all of which was clearly visible. The landing lights that we’d hardly seen before were now in plain view.
“Our friend is cleared for landing,” Udi said.
With the scope glued to my eye, I could only see the space that the device was pointing at, and Niki was watching the sky and directing me.
“There it is, there it is,” she said excitedly, just as the noise of the engines reached me. I followed her outstretched arm. The hours I’d put in studying the Iranian air force paid off. I saw immediately that it was an Antonov An-74, a smallish cargo plane immediately recognizable by the two jet engines perched on top of the high wings. Its landing gear was already down, and it was descending towards the runway. Painted on its tail fin was the Iranian flag with the emblem of four crescents around a line that looked like a sword at its centre; Moshik had told me that this was a way of writing the name of Allah in a special script. I could see no lettering on the fuselage. Once on the ground, the aircraft executed a turn at the end of the runway and stood there, ready for takeoff. I reported to Udi and felt a great sense of satisfaction. Half the puzzle was complete.
Niki and I spontaneously hugged each other. We decided there and then that we’d drink a toast to this initial success and I uncorked the wine and poured it into the glasses. “Here’s to …” I began and observed enormous anticipation on Niki’s face but I couldn’t lie to either of us. “Here’s to the mission,” I said finally, and Niki pursed her lips in a sad smile, and took a sip. Now that the tense period of expectation was over and we had to wait to see when the plane took off again, we suddenly felt hungry and attacked the bread and cheese in the picnic basket.
We could see the plane with a naked eye, and from time to time I checked it through the NVD, but the only activity I noticed was refuelling, as the An-74 was designed for shorter distances. We now had an indefinite wait and it was getting colder, and the night noises were louder.
“Will you hug me? I’m cold,” said Niki. I obliged, and we lay there cuddled in each other’s arms on one half of the blanket, covered by the other half, trying not to make any unnecessary movements or any noise.
At short intervals, I sat up and focused my viewing device. I could see people on ladders propped against the tail and it soon became clear that they were sticking the Algerian flag, with the crescent and star in the middle, over the Iranian flag. I reported this to Udi, and he said we deserved a kiss.
Not long after that, he told us that the pilot had requested permission to take off. I felt a twinge of excitement at the thought that somewhere beyond the horizon unknown people were working with us and supplying us with intelligence. I wondered if they knew who and where we were and what we were doing. The mission had been easy. It was the only plane at the airfield, and a few minutes later it was taxiing down the runway, with the Algerian flag clearly discernible on its tail.
“Yallah, come to daddy,” Udi told us when I reported that the plane had taken off. We packed up our equipment and began the walk down the hill.
I should have been full of pride and satisfaction. We had just completed a mission that the State of Israel had seen as highly important, and we were among the few who could have accomplished it. But, instead, I felt shrouded in a pall of gloom. Instead of celebrating our victory tonight, I would be busy tying up the loose ends prior to my private mission which, while closing the earlier chapter of my life, would also be the end of the present one. Even if I got out, Niki would never forgive me. The Mossad would never forgive me. And if I ever forgave myself, it would be because of the tremendous commitment I felt to doing this thing. I would not be able to live with the knowledge that Dolly’s murderer had been within my reach and I’d let him get away and go on planning terrorist attacks that would take Israeli lives.
As far as I could see in the dark, Niki was also wrapped in gloom. She also apparently sensed that by doing this job I felt that I had ended not only my obligation to my country but also a chapter in our lives.
We were only about two hundred yards away from our car when Udi’s voice came over the radio: “Patrol heading your way.” Shit, I thought as I pulled Niki down onto a fairly flat patch, in the hope that the soldiers wouldn’t see us. I quickly spread out the blanket and laid out the cheese, wine and glasses, the sketchpad and brushes. I didn’t have time to put the easel up. I hid the NVD behind a big rock, a few yards away, and we lay hugging each other on the blanket. We heard footsteps and voices. Niki astutely put her hand i
nto my trousers, but I moved it away gently. The sex had already occurred and now we were enjoying the afterglow, was the way I’d play it. At the last moment, I remembered to rip the receiver phones out of our ears and the tiny transmitter mics out of our coats and toss them into the bushes. This was a “contingency” for which we hadn’t prepared a “response”. Clearly we wouldn’t want to be caught with radios, but it wasn’t something that the planners had thought of when prepping us for the various things that could happen.
The footsteps came closer. I didn’t move, still hoping the dark and the mist would keep us hidden. Then a powerful torch beam blinded me.
What had sounded reasonable around the table at the base – that anyone who came upon us intimately intertwined would be discreet and considerate enough to leave us alone – simply didn’t hold water on the Algerian hillside. The four soldiers in the patrol aimed their rifles at us and barked orders in Arabic. What they saw may have spoken for itself but our attempts to explain didn’t help because none of them could understand English. One of them knew enough to say, “Up, up!” gesturing skywards with his rifle.
I detached myself from Niki and got onto my feet. I hoped they wouldn’t think of raping her and doing away with me there and then. In my mind I worked out how I would grab the rifle pointed at me and charge at them. I presumed that Udi, who wasn’t hearing anything since I got rid of the radios, was coming closer. The soldiers had come from the west, and Udi was to the south-east of us, and this was why he had noticed them only at the last minute. Despite the very uncomfortable situation we were in, I derived some sense of security from the knowledge that he was close by, and at the same time I was angry and frustrated that things hadn’t been planned better. No one had even thought of the possibility that we’d have no way of communicating. The soldiers indicated they wanted us to accompany them and I didn’t know whether to try to play for time so that Udi could get within range for his mini-Uzi to be effective, or by staging an injury for example, giving him time to get closer, or just to obey the soldiers and rely on our cover story to get us out of trouble.
Final Stop, Algiers: A Thriller Page 37
