by Rose Fox
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 soldiers. 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 t
he 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 know, 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.”
Sharif did not know what was special about this man Hussein, who was being discussed, but understood that he would be replacing Sayid at the wheel. He didn’t feel comfortable with this because he found any change disturbing now. All at once, another voice spoke.
“Look, she’s starting to wake up. Perhaps we should top up the sedation?” Someone got out of the car and, according to the movement; Sharif understood that the second one had sat down at the other end, behind him. A few seconds later he heard talking.
“They say that in another few kilometers, the car will board the Kurdish train to Syria.”
“Oh, really? That’s quite a serious change. Why did that happen?”
“They said it would shorten the journey by quite a few hours. They want to try and reach the destination before daylight.”
Sharif grew anxious at hearing this as he would not be able to report any change in the route. Suddenly the doors locked with a click and he breathed a sigh of relief. The engine came to life and he did not know that Sayid, the driver, had been replaced by Hussein.
Adam began moving, emitting sounds and partial syllables. Sharif was concerned and surprised that nothing happened and could not believe the lack of response from the driver. He presumed that engine noise prevented him from hearing the loud mutterings of the hostage, which began to join into words and a few minutes later Abigail also began to groan.
Sharif decided to take advantage of the fact that the driver didn’t hear them and glanced at them above the carpet. He made eye contact with Abigail and immediately raised his finger to his lips, as if to say ‘not a word’. She nodded her head; her eyes crinkled into a smile of joy and he told her soundlessly, just moving his lips,
“If you don’t sleep, they’ll sedate you.”
Abigail twisted her hand as if asking:
“Where are we going?”
“To a new place and we’re going to try to escape.” He covered himself then peered at her again.
“Tell him when he wakes up,” he mouthed before disappearing beneath the plastic carpet.
The car rocked and swayed for a long time and the three of them fell asleep.
When all at once the car stopped, Sharif awakened, opened his eyes and listened. He could neither understand what was being said nor where they were but he kept still, afraid to check it out. After a while, he moved the carpet over him and sneaked a glance. A flashlight illuminated the area so Sharif silently pulled the carpet down and waited, realizing that some kind of inspection was being carried out.
; Sudden movement was felt as the car shifted, changed its angle and the engine stopped. Now, not a sound was heard yet they were not stationary. An unusual smell and heat spread through the air and Sharif sensed the absence of swaying and understood that they were not advancing on the wheels of the car they were in.
He peeped out and caught Abigail’s eye and whispered to her soundlessly, “train, train” and she acknowledged him with a nod. They continued travelling for a long time, stopping once and continuing immediately.
The train reached Latakia on the east coast of the Mediterranean Sea and from there they were supposed to continue driving, according to the original plan.
Sharif was wakened by the noise and commotion. He heard the engine start and the car rolled backwards in its descent from the train and settled on the ground.
Abigail was fully awake. She understood very well what was happening to her as well as what was about to take place very soon. A few minutes earlier she had looked into Adam’s eyes. He had gradually wakened from the sedation and she had whispered soundlessly to him,
“They’re moving us to Lebanon. Sharif is hiding behind our heads. Prepare to escape. Maybe someone's waiting for us.”
Adam understood and nodded but when he absorbed what she said a few seconds earlier, he turned his gaze to Abigail again. The little muscles in his face contracted into a broad smile that spread over his scarred face.
An indistinct whirring was heard above their heads; Adam pointed upwards and whispered soundlessly to Abigail,
“Helicopter, helicopter.”
Sharif heard them whispering, raised the carpet with his elbow and crawled silently between them. He knew it was time to release them from the ropes that bound them.
He recoiled as he knelt over Abigail’s legs. Large bloodstains that spread under her skin were visible under the rope and when Sharif merely touched the rope and pulled at it, her thin skin bled. The more he pulled the rope the more her legs were covered with the yellow discharge that oozed from her wounds.
Sharif tried to work out how to open the tethers, but appeared to be at a loss for a solution. Adam sat up and tried to help him, but it seemed like an almost impossible task. Sharif tried to pull the rope again and blood ran down Abigail’s legs.
