Agent on a Mission

by Rose Fox

  Brigadier General Job was the last to arrive and was surprised to find Albert sitting together with everyone and not at the head of the table.

  “Today I am one of you,” Albert stated, “you are all Chairmen of the Council and I am just the moderator. Not one of us is more important than the others today because we are faced with a huge task.” He gazed around, looking at each of them. “I ask you all to check whether your shoulders are powerful enough, both for the rank they bear and for this mission.”

  Alongside Albert sat his personal friend Ronnie Shurok and Dr. Amir Bornstein, the doctor, who had retired with the rank of Colonel from his service as commander of medical services in the navy. Albert decided to co-opt him onto the Council team because of his professionalism. Dr. Amir dealt with cranial injuries and was a brain trauma expert. He was also called in at very short notice and made the trip in fifty five minutes flat, driving at record speed, travelling close on an ambulance driving a woman in labor to the Maternity Hospital near the government offices. Justice Tal sat beside him. He was a close friend and colleague of the hostage and his demeanor was grave and full of concern. In spite of the hour none of those present appeared to be excessively fatigued.

  “Gentlemen,” Albert explained, “I apologize and ask for your understanding,” and they all stared at him. “Now, please open your bags and pour the contents on this table.”

  Laughter was heard from everyone but all the respected participants picked up their bags and spread the contents out. There were earphones connected to thin red wires that startled the soldiers and they came in to examine them. There were empty glass test tubes in sealed nylon bags besides a doctor’s bag and booklets of prescription forms. A small blue spring for flexing hand muscles and a squashed stale sandwich lay beside the Judge’s bag. Small squares of silver paper, joined together in groups of three, containing condoms, fell out of Job’s bag.

  “Interesting,” Albert laughed as he noticed the silver packages. “You keep telling us you never have a spare moment, right?”

  “Sorry, he experiments with them. He fills them with water to check how many liters it takes till they burst,” Ronnie chuckled.

  Although it was clear what the packages contained, the soldiers asked Job to open one of them and display its contents accompanied by everyone’s giggles and Albert thought to himself that it was actually not the proper thing to do to carry out a check like this in everyone’s presence.

  The contents of the bags were returned and placed on a cart that was rolled into the room. A soldier rolled it back out of the conference room and shut the door behind him.

  More embarrassment followed when soldiers entered and asked them all to open their shirt buttons and spread their arms to their sides to check for listening devices on their person. Albert also raised his shirt to reveal a chest covered in graying curls.

  All the tests and teasing lasted about five minutes.

  “Gentlemen, to work!” Albert rallied them and the smile disappeared from his face.

  “Tonight’s the night,” he said. His excitement was obvious.

  “We received a message that the hostages are now being transferred in an easterly direction to a destination that is still not clear and that there will be a number of checkpoints on the way.”

  Beads of perspiration appeared above his upper lip and he wiped them away with his fingers.

  “We also know that they will be escorted from the last checkpoint by a helicopter that will follow them.”

  “Who is following them now?” Ronnie inquired.

  “We have put out an alert and we have people on to them, spread out in the field and prepared for any surprises.”

  “Have you noticed that there is no moon tonight and that it’s especially dark?” Job interjected.

  “Good for you, you beat me to it.”

  “Why are they transferring them?” Ronnie wanted to know.

  “We don’t know why. The truth of it is that till today, we had no hint of where they might be located.”

  Silence reigned and Job inquired, “who reported they were being transferred?”

  “Well, it’s like this,” Albert sighed. “At 1:55 a text message came to one of judge Ayalon’s telephones.”

  “To the Judge’s telephone? Really?” Dr. Amir probed.

  “Yes, a test message informed that the hostages were on their way. Wait, let’s read the message we received.”

  Albert asked one of the soldiers to bring him the page and when it was brought in, Albert perused it briefly and passed it on to the others.

  The five of them, including Albert, who had read the message several times, were very excited. The judge was the last one to hold the page and his fingers trembled. Dr. Amir began thinking aloud. “If that message was sent to one of Judge Ayalon’s telephones, then perhaps it was sent by someone really familiar with him, who remembered the number.”

  “That’s right. We think it’s someone connected to Adam’s undercover assignments.”

  “Really? What’s his name?”

  “I want to tell you something to complete the mosaic”, he shared with them.

  He clasped his hands on the table and his tone was almost apologetic.

  “The cousin of our female hostage came and told us that a young Arab fellow called Sharif had decided to set out to look for them. We tried to extract more information from her, but she didn’t know any more than that. She told us that he had visited their encampment and said he was going to release them.”

  “He was planning to release them? When did she tell you her story?”

  “A month or more ago and I admit we didn’t give her story much credence.”

  “Did you say an Arab?” Job wanted to know, “are you saying that an Arab went there to release Israeli hostages?”

  Albert twisted his lips and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Wait,” Ronnie pursued the matter, “if the notice came at two and they were already on their way, then now they are already a quarter-way along their route.”

  “Okay, that’s logical. What’s your point?”

  “That we don’t have time. Someone should check whether a helicopter has taken off?”

  He gently pulled the page from the judge’s hand and scrutinized it again.

  “Of course, we understand that it will be the sign that the hostages are on their last lap,” Albert pointed out.

  “Is it possible that fighters, first aid, drivers and everything the operation requires can be ready and waiting right now?” Job urged, adding, “let’s move quickly. Let’s get to work!!”

  * * *

  The headquarters of “Walid-el-Allah”, in the enormous tunnel, were buzzing with activity. Abu-Ali scratched the short beard on his cheeks, a sign of concern.

  He was the head of the executive arm of the organization and operated from here, from the bowels of the earth. At present his men were dealing exclusively with the complicated and highly secret operation of transferring the hostages from Iran to Lebanon.

  “Please check if our safety patrols are at their assigned locations,” he demanded.

  “Yes, Abu-Ali, and as you instructed, the camouflaged military vehicle, is travelling without an escort,” his one-eyed deputy assured him. He had lost one of his eyes while attending to explosive belts for Shi’ite suicide bombers. An explosive belt he prepared had blown up beside him.

  After his discharge from hospital, he was overjoyed at the privilege of seeing the second belt he had prepared, with only one eye, being tied round the waist of his young son-in-law and he proudly listened to the farewell videotape. His son-in-law had put on the belt and traveled to the Erez crossing, the border post between the Gaza Strip and Israel. Positioning himself between large numbers of people, he had blown himself up.

  Ahmad was happy when he listened to the news on the Israeli channel reported the outcome. It bothered him that, among the casualties, two Arab women, who had been standing there, were killed, together with eight Israeli sold
iers. That clouded the joy he felt and distressed him, but he knew his son-in-law had brought him respect in the eyes of his family and friends.

  Now, Abu-Ali was asking him:

  “Let me see the list of stops the car will make on the way. Four stops have been scheduled and I want to see where they will be stopping and who will be getting on to carry out the check.”

  Ahmad gave him the list and pointed to each of the checkpoints, then added:

  “Sir, there is a problem here at the third checkpoint.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Adjutant Sayid will be driving up to the third checkpoint. He is a man among men and presents no problems. The third checkpoint is in Syria, near Mount Shamush. Here he is to be replaced by another driver.” Ahmad explained.

  “I understand. Well, what’s the problem? It’s good to change drivers, even if he is a man’s man," and then added: "I think the change will make the trip safer because a fresh driver …”

  “Yes, but the replacement driver is Shaweesh Hussein. You know him, don’t you?”

  “Wait, is that Hussein who was appointed to the rank of officer by the Rais, the leader, Hamdallah, May Allah protect him? Marvelous! That’s Hussein, our hero, right?” Abu-Ali asked but scratched his short beard again because he understood that there might indeed be a problem.

  He knew that Shaweesh, Second Lieutenant, Hussein had fought heroically in the last war against Israel and was awarded the rank of officer and a medal, which he wore proudly on his chest that was scarred across its length and breadth. He had lain, wounded, in hospital for many days and his hearing had been compromised. Now he could only hear in his right ear and his hearing was not sharp in the left one.

  “Is the decision final?” he inquired.

  “No, I heard there are arguments.” Ahmad replied and turned his sighted eye to his commander.

  “Just a second, what do those who object to him driving say?”

  “I heard them questioning whether he was up to the job, Sir.”

  Abu-Ali stared at his deputy and remarked.

  “Hussein doesn’t hear in his left ear and you can’t see with your right eye. Isn’t that like letting you drive with just one eye, Ha?”

  “No, it’s not the same,” Ahmad argued. He laughed briefly, baring his yellow and black teeth. Abu-Ali didn’t know whether he was laughing at the example or at the insult inherent in his observation, but he did not care at that moment.

  “Come, let’s clear this up,” he suggested and contacted with one of his soldiers.

  “Hello, Hakim, what’s been decided about the relief driver tonight?”

  “Listen, the argument is still in full force. I’m for it. Don’t forget the man has already seen action against the Zionist enemy. I think he can overcome them with his intelligence and experience.”

  “But, Hakim, these days one needs two ears to hear with. It’s a dangerous journey and the cargo is precious.”

  “I would like to understand,” Hakim insisted, “This is only about a driver. What’s dangerous about him driving the car and both of them being honored for doing the job? After all, he deserves something. Don’t forget who he is!!”

  Abu-Ali sighed. He spoke slowly, and very thoughtfully. “Hakim, honor is important, even very important. I am prepared to die for honor. Nevertheless, I cannot forget what is at stake here. These two hostages, Habibi, (my dear), are our Fort Knox now. You know, like the gold bullion depository of America.”

  “Okay, sure, that’s clear to all of us.”

  “Hakim, is it too late to change the plan? Who will make the final decision?"

  At that moment, Ahmad, who was sitting beside him, hung up another telephone, after speaking to someone, and turned his seeing eye to Abu-Ali and said, "there's been another change. The car will board the train at Haleb Valley in Northern Syria and disembark at al-Qamishli.”

  “Really? Where’s the logic? After all the effort to avoid public view, how can they board a train?”

  “That’s fine. There’s a railway line from Haleb to Kurdish Qamishli. We have already used that train to transfer missiles and tanks and even barrels of oil.”

  “Ah, then that solves some of our problems of honor,” Abu-Ali said as he scratched his short beard.

  “Wait, that’s not final either. There is the question of continuing on the train to Latakia on the Mediterranean...”

  “Yes, surely to the south, it will reach Tel Kalka on the Syrian, Lebanese border,” Abu-Ali finished his remarks.

  “That’s right and from there it will arrive at the port city of Tripoli in Lebanon.”

  “Let me have a word with the commander. I want to be certain.”

  “Here, he’s on the line now. Speak to him.”

  On the other end of the line, chewing and sounds of eating could be heard and Abu-Ali laughed when he said:

  “Bon Appetit, Commander,” and made a sign to Ahmad of pouring water in a glass. Ahmad hurried to fulfill his commander’s request.

  “A’halan, (welcome), Sir, we solved one problem and another one came up,” Abi-Ali laughed.

  “Yes, it’s been decided to put the vehicle on the train, shorten the travel time and avoid complications and evil eyes.”

  “Listen, I told Hakim that I would choose the train that continues south to Tal Kalakh because from there it enters Lebanon itself and goes on to Tripoli.”

  “Well said, but that direction comes at a cost. Syria controls the city and having them inspect the vehicle is not something we want to risk.”

  “I understand. So I see the decision has already been made. But I wanted you to tell me who will replace the first driver, the one who can hear with both his ears.”

  A short chuckle was heard, following which the man said, “I heard that they had decided to leave this decision to our Rais, our leader.”

  Abu-Ali was still not satisfied. When he heard that the vehicle would disembark at Latakia, he understood that a problem had arisen with regard to the last route. He pointed to the diagram in front of him and turned to Ahmad.

  “What happens here in the last section of the route and where is the last checkpoint?"

  “Well, it’s like this. From Latakia, the car will be under constant surveillance of a helicopter. The end is at a tunnel near the Hatzbani River, in Lebanon near one of its small tributaries.”

  Abu-Ali glanced at his wristwatch and calculated aloud:

  “Let’s check the time line because in my opinion, it’s going to happen towards morning. We mustn’t forget that this is happening under the eye of the Zionists. Has anyone taken that into account?”

  Ahmad was not certain that all these factors had been taken into account and he claimed,

  “I don’t think so. Apparently they trust the surveillance of our pilot from above to report the final route of the vehicle live and in real time.”

  That still didn’t stop the very thorough Abu-Ali from worrying and this time he decided not to let it go and he called the commander back.

  A voice blurted out a short and impatient 'Hello'.

  “It’s me again, A’halan, (Hello), Sir,” he opened.

  “Yes, what do you want, Abu-Ali,” the voice replied. “Short, keep it short! The car is on the way and I hope there aren’t any unexpected problems now.”

  “No, no. I want to understand where, or more correctly, who will be watching the pictures that the helicopter will transmit from above?”

  “Excellent question, the photographs will be transmitted to our Rais. There are people around him and in the event of a mishap, God forbid; there is a pilot on the helicopter and a sharpshooter beside him.”

  “Are you taking into account it will already be daylight when the car gets there?”

  “The idea is that, in the event of any problem, night or day, the helicopter will descend and also instruct the sharpshooter to take out whoever needs to be taken out. I don’t believe we can get lower or closer than that. Is that what you wanted to kn
ow, ya’ Abu-Ali?”

  “Yes, and may Allah be with us, Amen.” Before hanging up, he remembered to ask. “Who will replace Sayid at the third checkpoint?” But the silence confirmed the conversation was over.

  Chapter Thirty

  Sharif swayed with the movement of the large car as he lay under the sticky carpet. He moved it occasionally to peek at the two of them as they lay motionless, drugged and completely unaware that they were travelling. He wondered when would be a good time to loosen the ropes, but was all too aware of the checkpoints on route and decided to let things be. He noticed that their hands were free and only their legs were bound, one leg of hers to one of his. Thick ropes also joined them together and the work of untying them would not be easy.

  Sharif fell asleep from the rocking of the journey and awakened when the driver spoke on the radio phone.

  “I await instructions regarding the replacement driver and the location of the second checkpoint.”

  The road was dark and the car drove through open terrain.

  “Stop at the oasis roundabout.” He heard the order come over the radio phone.

  The car drove on, drew up and stopped on a small hill. Beside it were palm trees that formed a circle around the little oasis. The car doors opened and Sharif shrank back in the niche under the back of the rear seat, covered with the carpet and felt both their heads touching his body. He was so frightened that his heart threatened to burst in his chest. He took care to take slow, measured breaths as he covered his nose with his hand.

  At the third checkpoint the car stopped, and Sharif’s heart missed a beat. The vehicle rocked slightly as the door opened and Sharif assumed that people were getting in. He contracted himself as hard as he could, forgot that he hadn’t eaten since noon the day before and when his stomach began rumbling, he was certain that everyone could hear it.

  Then he heard them talking. Someone said, “in the end they decided to let Shaweesh Hussein replace Sayid at the wheel and drive them to the end of the route.”