Hatchet

by Israel Levy

  Gentlemen and ladies, everything here depends on split second reactions. You are to follow the terrorists from the hotel. No one leaves their target. You will each get a micro listening device that transmits sound and images in real time. This information will be delivered to the war room, which we shall refer to in radio communications as ‘Hatchet’. People from our Arab department will be on duty for simultaneous translation. All images will be available on your micro monitors and on Ziv’s laptop.” The communications packages were then handed out.

  “You’ll also find internal radio kits in your package, which consist of earpieces and three micro camera-phones for you to install in your rooms. The phones in your rooms have already been bugged. The terrorists will be looking for young security agents, so you must be extremely careful using your communications equipment.

  “And please, pay attention, if any one of you is discovered the whole operation fails. At the moment they have no idea we’re on their trail. We’ve fortified our armed security at the airport and on the planes and instructed the personnel not to interfere and to let you do your jobs, unless another order is given. If you find you must engage in open fire, you must wear these hats,” he handed each a yellow cap.

  “This is an identification mark. If you do not put these on you will not be identified as one of ours. The security guards do not know you and they will shoot to kill. We have highly trained guys here and without these hats some serious losses due to friendly fire may occur. Any questions?”

  There were none.

  “Okay, then. Let’s get to work.”

  The photo Naomi had been given was of one of the female terrorists. A beautiful young woman with black eyes, curly hair, wearing glasses (“That’s quite a hip frame. She looks like she’s a student”). There was a page attached to the photo with information about the target. Her name was Aisha Muaref, nineteen years old, born in Ramallah. After the Six Day War her parents moved, due to ideological motives, from Jaffa to the West Bank. Living in Ramallah, a communications student, speaks fluent Hebrew, has a black belt in martial arts, undergone a shooting course with the Hezbollah in Lebanon and graduated with success. Had three brothers, one killed during IDF action in the West Bank, another was a member of Hamas and took his own life at the Victoria suicide bombing attack (“My god, this is all connected”).

  The third brother was a young boy. The parents were academics and were against their daughter’s involvement with terrorism. She had a boyfriend, also an activist, by the name of Musa, a law student. She was staying at the Rome Holiday Inn, room 232 (“That’s the room right under mine”).

  Naomi left the room, went down to the lobby and out to the front of the hotel, trying to memorize the ways in and out of the building. Then she went back inside and approached the front desk.

  “Bonjour,” she addressed the clerk in French. “Do you speak French?”

  “A little bit. How may I help you?” said the receptionist with a smile.

  “I’d like to rent a car. Something small, but powerful.”

  The receptionist made all necessary arrangements and ensured Naomi her car would be waiting for her near the hotel entrance.

  She took the stairs up to the second floor. Women from housekeeping were piling bed sheets onto their carts, which they moved slightly to the side to let her pass.

  “Buongiorno,” they greeted her with a smile.

  “Buongiorno.”

  The door to room 232 was open. She quickly stepped inside and stuck the micro phone-camera to the frame of a picture that was hanging on the wall above the sofa. Naomi stuck a second tiny camera above the bathroom mirror and stepped out to find the cleaning lady putting fresh, crisp linens on the bed. She was surprised to see Naomi.

  “I’m sorry, this isn’t room 332.”

  “No, no, this is 232. Your room is one floor up. This is the second floor,” said the housekeeper in Italian with a bashful smile.

  “Ah, scusa, I must have made a mistake.”

  She walked back to the stairs next to the elevator and went up a floor to room 332. She opened the door, stepped inside, scanned every corner, entered the bathroom and turned the water on in the shower stall, then took out her miniscule radio device.

  “Hatchet, this is Hatchet Two.”

  “Copy Hatchet Two. Perfect sound and image reception. Out.”

  She pressed the button for Camera 1 and the bedroom appeared on the monitor. Then she pressed Camera 2 and saw the bathroom.

  Only then did she sit down by the phone, press the button for an overseas call and dial the Yirmiyahu number.

  “Hatchet Two,” she heard a voice say as her call was being transferred through a secure, coded voice scrambler.

  “Requesting telephone connection from Haifa area code to a mobile number…”

  She read out Shuli’s telephone number.

  “Hey, Sis.”

  “Hey, Noomik. What are you doing in Haifa? Where are you?”

  “I’ve gone up north for a few days, I’m staying at a B&B. I just really needed to clear my head. How are you feeling?”

  “Really good. The doctors are even saying this might take a lot less time than they had initially thought. And, what do you know, there’s this one young doctor here who’s really taken me on as his personal project. He’s divorced and he seems really nice.”

  “Sis, I see you’ve come back to life. Nice, we could use a doctor in the family.”

  “Don’t get all excited, he doesn’t even know I’ve got my eye on him.”

  “Right, right, the poor guy doesn’t even realize there’s no way to escape. Say, how’s Mom? Is she any better?”

  “You know what she’s like, still scared but functioning, just great.”

  Naomi saw the little light on her radio transmitter flash. “Shuli, I have to go, I’ll call you back,” she hung up before catching Shuli’s answer.

  “Hatchet Two here,” she said.

  “Heads up, the room has been entered.”

  She switched to the monitor on the Camera 1 channel and saw Aisha closing the door to her room, placing a medium size handbag on the bed. To Naomi’s horror Aisha began scanning the room. At one point she even stared right into the camera but then moved on and went to the bathroom. Naomi switched to Camera 2 and saw her again looking for anything out of the ordinary (“No doubt, she’s a pro, but our guys are just awesome”).

  Aisha picked up her phone and the Hatchet interpreter began translating her conversation for Naomi.

  “She called an internal line in the hotel and is speaking in Arabic.”

  “Ahlan, Faris, I’m in the room. I’ve scanned it and everything looks good. I’m going to lie down. Wake me up in two hours, we’ll go tour the airport.”

  “It’s a man she’s talking to,” explained the interpreter.

  “How many times, I told you no names. I’ll wake you. Have a good rest.”

  Aisha hung up and walked to the bathroom, shedding her clothes on the way. When she switched to camera 2 Naomi observed Aisha completely naked and felt uncomfortable (“What a great body, she’s tiny”).

  “Hatchet, let me know of any developments. Out.” She hung up.

  Then she called down to reception. “I’ve ordered a car, room 332.”

  “Yes, your car is here. The key will be waiting for you at reception.”

  “Thank you, I’ll be right down.”

  She went down, collected the key from the smiling receptionist, and stepped out to find her rental car. It was a small, silver Alfa Romeo. She climbed inside, popped the hood in order to check the engine. She looked under the car, sat back in the driver’s seat, checked her fuel gauge, started the car and took a quick spin around the parking lot (“Good, this will be fine”). Then she returned to her room and decided to use what little time she had left to take a rest . She tried to call Moshe
via Yirmiyahu, like she did Shuli, but got no answer. She left a message saying she missed him and was away in a B&B up north, and that she’d call him when she got back home.

  She switched her device to vibrate mode and kept it next to her cheek, resting her head on the pillow. She was overcome by fatigue, and fell into a state of deep slumber.

  At first she didn’t understand what was bothering her, but then realized it was the vibration.

  “Hatchet Two, this is Hatchet, do you read?”

  “Yes,” she said, still barely awake.

  “A man just called to wake her up.”

  Naomi switched to Camera 1. Aisha was getting dressed and making her bed (“I’m impressed”). She went to the bathroom and Naomi followed her on Camera 2. Aisha faced the mirror, putting on her makeup. When she was done, she collected her things, placed them back in a small toiletries bag, and returned to the bedroom. Naomi followed her on Camera 1 and watching as she picked up her handbag and placed it upside down on the bed. She turned two tiny buttons that were placed at the bottom of the bag and uncovered a hidden zip. Naomi tensed.

  “Hatchet Two, are you seeing this?”

  “I am,” Naomi confirmed.

  Aisha reached into the hidden compartment and took out a weapon (“That’s an AK-47 with a folding stock”). She rattled it, checking the chamber, stuck in a double magazine and placed the gun on the bed. Then she took out two grenades, checked the safety pins, and placed them beside the gun. When she was done, she knelt down on her knees, covered her head with a scarf, closed her eyes and began to mumble (“She’s praying”). She got to her feet, placed the gun and grenades back in the bag, glanced around the room, turned off the light, and left.

  “Hatchet, this is Hatchet Two.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “She has left the room carrying an AK-47 and grenades.”

  “Copy that. The others are also armed. Stay on her.”

  Naomi ran a hand over her clothes to smooth out any creases, grabbed her bag that was packed by the door, went down the stairs quickly, spotting Aisha waiting for the elevator on her way down, and quickly got into her car. She started the engine but didn’t turn on the lights.

  Aisha emerged at the front of the hotel and walked to the parking lot. She stopped outside a green Fiat. As the car made its way to the main road, Naomi was right behind it, keeping a safe distance.

  Twenty minutes later she could see the lights of the Fiumicino airport to the north of the autostrada. Aisha parked her car at the parking lot and Naomi did the same. She spotted Keren in pursuit of ‘her’ terrorist, who, like Aisha, carried a handbag. Aisha moved in the direction of Gate 7 with Naomi on her tail and Keren followed a man through Gate 1. Naomi made sure to stop every once in a while and look at a store window or ask some ground crew member for ‘directions’.

  She recognized the El Al security agents who were spread out in the hall, young men in stiff jackets (“These kids with their Ray Bans stand out like a sore thumb”). There was one by the check-in desk, one sitting among the passengers in front of the El Al counter, and a third leaning against the rail one floor up. Naomi could tell Aisha identified at least two of them. Ten minutes later she returned to the front entrance, got back into her car and drove to the hotel and Naomi followed suit.

  “Hatchet, this is Hatchet Two.”

  “Copy.”

  “She scouted the incoming hall. I think she identified some of the security guards.”

  “Copy that, stay on her tail.”

  Naomi spotted Aisha at a vending machine in the lobby. She turned to the elevator just as Naomi pushed open the door to the stairway and sprinted up the stairs to the third floor and into her room. She checked Camera 1 and saw Aisha entering her room and picking up the phone.

  “She’s calling the same room again,” she heard Hatchet say.

  “No security checks at the entrance. I walked right in with the gun. I spotted three security guards and some uniformed Italian police officers with automatic weapons. I think I saw a uniformed sniper over the tobacco shop.”

  The man now spoke. “I saw the exact same thing. I’ll come to your room with the others at midnight.”

  Aisha hung up and immediately called another number (“Looks like an overseas call,”). Hatchet continued the simultaneous translation.

  “Mama.”

  A voice spoke back to her in Arabic. “Aisha my love, my soul! Where are you?”

  “Mother, I’m doing something important. I just wanted to say that I love you and father. Send my love to my little brother, too.”

  “Aisha, my girl, you sound strange. What’s going on? I hope you’re not doing anything foolish.”

  “Mother, I’m doing what needs to be done. I have faith in Muhammad and Allah to guide me.”

  There were heartbreaking cries on the other end of the line. “Aisha, don’t do this to me. I’ve already lost your brother Salah and your brother Ibrahim! Aisha, Aisha!”

  Naomi saw Aisha put down the receiver and fall to the bed sobbing. She pulled herself together after a few minutes of crying, took off her clothes, put on a t-shirt and harem pants and started exercising, jumping jacks, sit ups and a routine which to Naomi’s surprise looked almost identical to the martial arts drills she remembered from Effy’s lessons (“That’s what he calls katas!”). Once she was done she removed her sweaty clothes and went to shower. Naomi switched to Camera 2 and saw Aisha’s silhouette under the running water. Then Aisha returned to the room and lay down on the bed (“She must have fallen asleep”).

  Naomi climbed into bed as well. She felt overwhelmed by the invasion of privacy she was committing, something she’d considered her whole life to be absolutely taboo. The lawyer in her found the bugging troubling (“I hope the Mossad has governmental authorization for this wiretapping”). She felt sorry for this girl, now her immediate enemy, and everything that she was going through. She remembered a lecture they’d had about the psychology of the struggle, warning them about the Stockholm Syndrome, where an abducted person develops empathy for his or her abductor.

  She set her alarm to eleven, to have enough time before the meeting of the terrorist group in Aisha’s room.

  She pressed her radio transmitter. “Hatcher, this is Hatchet Two.”

  “Go ahead Hatchet Two.”

  “Please inform the rest of the team about the midnight meet and translate it to them in real time.”

  “Copy, will do.”

  She placed her head on the pillow and dozed off in front of some Italian game show that was on the TV. Once again the vibration buzzing woke her up.

  “Hatchet Two, over.”

  “The gathering is about to take place.”

  “Thanks, switching to image.”

  There was a knock on Aisha’s door. Aisha reached under her pillow, took out a pistol (“Fuck, when did she put that there? I totally missed it”) and approached the door.

  “Min?” she pressed her ear against the door, gun in hand, ready for action.

  “Nahna, Aisha.”

  The door opened and two men and a woman entered the room. They all kissed Aisha on both cheeks and everyone took a seat, either on a chair or on the bed. Naomi recognized their faces from the images they’d been shown.

  Another knock and two more men entered, with another series of kisses. It was clear to her that one of the two was in command. The interpreter stepped into action.

  “Let’s go over the findings of our preliminary tour,” said the man (“Looks to be about thirty two, or thirty five”). He laid out a blueprint on the floor, at the foot of the bed (“I can’t make it out”).

  “Hatchet, this is Hatchet Two. Can you make out the blueprint?”

  “Negative.”

  “At the entrance to the departures hall,” continued the man, “there are police officers armed with automa
tic weapons. There’s no security search to get in to the general passengers hall. Then we have the anti-terror Carabinieri, also armed, and next the El Al security crew. Surrounding the El Al counter is a team of about ten undercover El Al security guards. As far as we know they’re all armed with pistols and some have mini Uzis in their briefcases. The area, for all intents and purposes, is sealed hermetically.”

  Naomi was amazed by the accuracy of their field intelligence (“They told us these guys were professional and they were right”).

  “We’re moving on with the plan,” the man continued without interruption. “As we speak, the Abu-Mozheir squad is stashing the guns and grenades in the lavatories next to the El Al sterile area.”

  “What about the guns we have on us?” asked the other girl. Everyone turned to look at her, shocked that she dared speak and interrupt.

  “We’ll leave them in the getaway cars at the airport parking lot. If we do not use the cars, the Abu-Mozheir squad will pick them up. Now, if you’ll let me continue. We’re checking in at the British Airways counter at ten a.m. with our bags and suitcases and no weapons. We go through passport control and up to the boarding gates, about fifty meters from the El Al gate.”

  He pointed to one of the men and the other girl and a spot on the blueprint, “You and you are here.”

  “You and I are here,” he told Aisha. “You guys are here, along the corridor, ready to stop any Carabinieri from approaching to help the passengers. When we see that most of the El Al passengers are in the sterile zone we go down, one at a time, enter the lavatories, grab our weapons and wait for the order. Aisha and I will come out first and take our position overlooking the security posts. The rest of you storm in at the same time from both sides. Keep in mind, the armed guards are usually by the coffee counter, dispersed amongst the passengers and here, next to the luggage carts.” Everyone huddled over the blueprint, speaking in hushed voices and pointing at certain spots.