by Niv Kaplan
“It will be dark in an hour,” Kasuma said. “We need to prepare.”
Christine glanced at her wondering what she needed to do.
“You stay put,” Kasuma continued. “I’ll be back soon.” She gulped down the rest of her smoothie and walked back toward the hotel.
Following her movement, Christine noticed a man she had not noticed before get up from a beach chair and follow Kasuma. His male companion watched but remained sitting on the sand, smoking a cigarette.
Christine could not be certain he was actually following her or that he simply had something to do, but something in his and his partner’s manner alarmed her. She sat motionless, staring at the man left on the beach but he seemed totally unaware of her presence and was lighting another cigarette, looking outward toward the water.
Christine wanted to brush the uneasy feeling away but could not. The darker it got the tenser she got and when Kasuma failed to show after an hour, Christine began to panic. She got up and walked to the water, keeping a watchful eye on the man who had remained among the last of the beach goers. He finally got up to leave - his partner had not returned - but instead of walking to the hotel he approached her.
She froze, unable to move a muscle.
“Follow me,” he said in English. He had a deep low voice with a heavy accent.
She hesitated, tensing.
He stopped and crouched looking out toward the water.
“I work with Kasuma,” he said. He was dark and well-built, bony and muscular. His upper body was bare and he was wearing the bottom half of a black wetsuit rather than a bathing suit. His hair was bleached and he looked to be in his early twenties.
“Who are you?” Christine asked in English, her voice quivering, looking around for a glimpse of Kasuma.
“You see the blinking light over there,” the man said nodding his head in the direction of his stare.
Christine saw it. It was almost dark but she could just make out a boat bobbing in the water with a light blinking, atop its mast.
“We’ll have to swim there to get you to Israel,” the man said. “I’m with the Israeli Navy.”
“How far is it?” Christine asked.
“About a kilometer.”
“Sharks?”
“A few, but further out. Maybe we’ll meet some dolphins.”
The tension evaporated and Christine followed in the man’s footsteps. He walked briskly for another few minutes then sat on the sand, signaling Christine to sit next to him.
“You have a bathing suit?”
“I do,” she said. “What do I do with the clothes?”
“Dump them in the can over there,” he said pointing to a white garbage can among the beach shades.
Christine followed his instructions.
“We leave in half an hour. If anyone comes by here, we'll need to make out.”
Christine smiled to herself in the dark. It would be the second time she would kiss an Israeli that day.
“What is make out?” she asked, playing ignorant.
The trooper looked at her for the first time.
“You know. Kiss, be lovers,” he said flashing an embarrassed smile.
“OK,” Christine said playfully. She liked his looks. He had a handsome face and a good-natured demeanor.
“What’s your name,” she asked him.
“Gidi,” he said. “It’s short for Gideon.”
She wanted to ask him all sorts of questions. Where was Kasuma? Where was the Egyptian patrol boat? Who was waiting for her on the other side?
But she figured it would be prying. She did not want to put him on the spot and make him uneasy in case he could not tell her things, so she decided to keep quiet.
They sat in silence for a while, the waves cyclically washing over the cooling sand. It became entirely dark with the exception of the half moon and city lights in the distance around the tip of the Gulf and behind of them at the resort. Their target, the blinking, bobbing light in the dark waters was clearly visible.
Suddenly two men in uniform appeared from the hotel side and Gidi pushed her gently back on the sand and they kissed. The guards passed by them, and continued toward the fence in what seemed like a routine patrol. Christine and Gidi held their kiss until the guards were out of sight then laid on their backs for air.
“They’ll be back,” Gidi said, staring into space.
“I don’t mind,” Christine heard herself say. His flesh, the ambiance, the circumstance, the danger, all made her body suddenly passionate and she realized, in the midst of all the excitement, how long she had been without a man’s affection. His kiss was intimate, of that she was certain, and not just for the sake of covering up their intentions.
He turned on his elbow and looked at her and for a moment she imagined them, two lovers on an exotic vacation island. Unlike the backpacker who rudely stuck his tongue in her mouth when she kissed him in the taxi, this man’s touch was gentle, respecting.
Neither of them spoke. Christine remained on her back, staring at the stars all but oblivious to her impending endeavor. She felt confident. The young Israeli frogman would protect her, get her out. She glanced at him then turned to him and gently touched his bare shoulder.
“Kiss me again,” she whispered.
He hesitated but she stretched her neck offering her lips. When the guards returned the entangled couple looked quite authentic.
Twenty minutes later, they were in the water. Christine could swim but was no match for the trained Navy diver and he considerately kept pace with her as she fought the incoming tide.
They aimed for the blinking light. The water suddenly seemed dark and threatening to Christine, the farther they journeyed from the beach. Certain marine creatures and the lack of solid ground under her feet frightened her and she quietly thanked whoever schemed to have a frogman assist her.
Once past the incoming tide it became a little easier to swim in the Gulf’s relatively calm waters but it was cold and after a while Christine felt her limbs begin to chill.
Then Gidi motioned for her to stop.
“We reached the fence,” he whispered, bobbing in the water. “We need to dive here and you need to hold on to me while I get us through this.”
Christine could not detect anything in the water but she obeyed.
He had produced a pair of swimming goggles each and strapped a knife and a small flashlight to his ankle shortly before they set out. Now he was preparing to use them.
“Wait here,” he instructed and before Christine could object disappeared under water. It must have been a full minute before he resurfaced. To Christine it registered abandonment, as she remained helplessly frozen in her spot.
“You OK?” he asked, out of breath, when he finally surfaced. Christine could barely nod and before she could recover, he had dived again.
When he came out the second time, he motioned for her to hold on to him. “Put on your goggles and take a deep breath,” he said in her ear, then plunged, Christine holding on to him for dear life.
There was total darkness underneath but for the narrow strip of light Gidi’s flashlight produced. Suddenly they were next to a huge underwater fence stretching endlessly in all directions, Gidi’s strong arms lunging them toward it, parting it, then slithering through it, Christine slipping through right behind. She could see the flashlight illuminating a metal ball of some kind, which Gidi avoided and kept going straight for a few seconds, then finally he shot up to the surface.
Christine thought her lungs would burst as they emerged. She held on to Gidi choking and coughing until she got her breath restored. Then she put her arms around him and kissed him on the mouth.
“Are we through?” she asked, out of breath.
“Look there, another few hundred meters,” he gestured. She followed his gaze and saw the blinking light on top a silhouette of a boat bobbing against the faint thread of lights shimmering from the Jordanian port town of Aqaba.
“Let’s go,” he said and the
y carried on swimming until they reached the Israeli Navy boat waiting for them. Two strong pairs of hands fished her out of the water and soon they were on deck, wobbly and shivering. A warm wool blanket was thrown around her shoulders and someone handed her a cup of steaming tea.
“Drink up lady, you’re safe,” she heard a familiar voice call out.
It was Sam.
Christine let out a muffled cry of relief and joy cuddling up to him as he embraced her.
“Good to see you, Chris.” He spoke in her ear, rubbing her blanket to get her warm.
“G-Great t-to s-see y-you Sssammy,” she said, teeth chattering as she tried to sip her tea. The few sailors gathered around them now made way as a short stocky man in military fatigues with a beard and a captain’s hat stepped in front of her.
“Welcome,” he announced in lame English. “You may use my quarters to dry and wash up.”
“It’s very generous of you Captain,” Sam said speaking for Christine who managed an awkward smile, her teeth still chattering.
Gidi appeared by her side, covered with a wool blanket of his own.
“Want to wash up with me?” she said softly to him out of everyone’s earshot.
He smiled at her, the water drops on his wet face glistening, his eyes playful.
“Sam Baker,” Sam said, introducing himself.
“Gidi.” Gidi shook Sam’s outstretched hand.
“Thanks for bringing her safely to us.”
“My pleasure,” Gidi said glancing at Christine.
“Let’s get these folks to shore,” the captain declared as the sailors dispersed. The ship, which had been idle, now came quietly back to life. It gently turned and headed north, to Eilat, a journey that would take all of twenty minutes.
Christine took the Captain’s offer and disappeared below deck. Sam and Gidi remained on top.
“Who are you guys?” Gidi asked Sam.
“Small group trying to do a big job,” Sam replied philosophically.
“Will you succeed?”
“Probably not. We’ve already failed. Got one of us killed.”
“That never stopped anyone here,” Gidi observed. “Hundreds die every year for this country.”
“It’s a high price to pay.”
“It was much higher when we didn’t have a country.”
“I guess it was,” Sam remarked thoughtfully, thinking about Michele and Sammy and what price he was yet to pay for his tragedy.
The boat was inching closer to the port, the lights of Eilat getting brighter and more resolute.
“Take good care of her,” Gidi was saying.
Sam was thinking of Elena.
“Who, Christine? We will,” he said absentmindedly, smiling at the young Israeli. “I won’t let her out of my sight.”
“Good luck to you,” Gidi said as he let the wool blanket slide off his broad shoulders on to the deck.
Then he jumped into the water.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Clair was devastated when she learned Jack had been caught.
She and Ibrahim had waited all day and half the night before Faraj appeared. He was brief with the grim news.
He had hidden in the gorge and seen the soldiers capture Jack, handling him quite roughly. He did not elaborate how rough. Jack had hurt his knee and was crippled. There was nothing Faraj could do.
For the next two days Clair walked in a haze of guilt and worry. The boulders, the steep slopes, the dust, the sand, even the heat did not phase her.
Jack was going to pay for her mistake. Jack was going to pay for her stubbornness and carelessness. Not only had she disregarded Christine’s warnings and got herself arrested in Dahab, she then insisted they take Ibrahim along and by so doing, got everyone in trouble.
She did not think she could cope with the guilt but at the moment there was nothing she could do. If they ever managed to get out of this treacherous desert, she thought she was willing to sacrifice herself to free Jack. She’d go back and take the rap for him. Ibrahim could stay close by with his father. It was her and her son alone in the vast desert in the hands of a young Bedouin to see them through to a spot where supposedly someone will be to rescue them.
It almost seemed far-fetched.
It would mean Christine had made it to the coast and managed to get the map and information across the border where others were waiting to organize a rescue team to be sent back across the border to bring herself and her son to safety.
Clair did not even want to consider how many things could go wrong and even more terrifying, how many things needed to go right for them to make it.
If the past month was any indication, the chances of them fleeing Egypt were next to none. She had certainly done everything wrong and now Jack was a prisoner.
But she kept pushing, her feet doing the walking, her mind busy with reprimand and self-pity. She had to at least be strong for her son who was beginning to lag, dragging his feet.
They were climbing a ridge, the dark rock surface burning underneath their feet, the sun blazing over their heads. Faraj had promised it was the last ascent but he had promised that before and they kept climbing.
Water was getting short. They had been trekking for six days since that wretched road they had to pass, and it seemed to Clair no end was in sight. Twice they stopped at small Bedouin sites for water and food but kept right on going, afraid to miss the rendezvous time they had agreed with Christine.
Faraj was a good guide but he had his shortcomings and without Jack, Clair constantly worried that at some point, he would decide to abandon them. She had an extra fifty francs in her possession and kept it for just such an emergency.
Faraj’s greatest shortcoming was that he had no regard for time. He had no sense of it and did not need it. He understood that they had to get somewhere but could not understand their haste. Another week would not have made any difference in his eyes and Clair had to constantly beleaguer him to move on. Atop the ridge they finally saw the sandy flatlands that led to the Israeli border. It filled Clair with hope. Faraj smiled at her, flashing his crooked brown teeth.
“Not far now,” he said pointing down to an imaginary point.
Ibrahim translated, pointing himself in the direction of where Faraj had pointed but Clair could not see anything other than the bare ridge descending to a dry brown-yellow plateau.
“Where?” she asked, spreading her hands in despair, the sun boiling her kafiya over her head.
Faraj was still smiling.
“I will take you. Half a day, no more.” He took out the oilskin water canteen and drank. Ibrahim did the same.
There was no shade where they stood so they began to slowly descend the ridge. The rock face was steep and smooth at the top. It made it difficult to get a foothold. Sliding down was out of the question because of the absorbed heat emanating from the exposed dark rock. Gingerly they treaded down careful not to risk a fall that was several meters to spiky boulders down below.
An hour later they rested under a large boulder that provided some shade. Ibrahim let Clair sip some water then squeezed the rest of their canteen dry, looking inquiringly at Faraj.
“Down there, much water,” Faraj said, squeezing his own canteen dry.
They kept moving, the track leveling out a bit allowing greater progress. Faraj led them through an erratically narrow gorge they had not seen from above, their progress slowing through a series of dry cascades, which had to be carefully negotiated.
At the bottom, the ground leveled and they moved perpendicular, along the cliffs, the flatlands now directly below.
Faraj stopped for a moment and pointed.
“Israel,” he said but Clair could not distinguish where the border lay until she noticed a faint dust trail in the distance. “Army patrol,” Faraj said smiling again. “The border.”
Clair began to feel her thirst. Her mouth felt as if it had cracks in it and her tongue began to swell. In the extreme heat they had not drunk for several hours and i
t was beginning to show. She tried to wet her lips with her tongue but produced no saliva.
“Take us to water,” she pleaded, too exhausted to rejoice.
They kept moving along the cliffs, dust from the flat lands was now blowing in their face. They moved slowly careful not to stumble and fall down the slope below. Ibrahim was faltering again lagging behind, barely able to walk. Clair waited and took his hand supporting him.
Faraj had disappeared ahead around a towering cliff. When they reached the cliff and rounded it they saw a sight that took their breath away.
As if by some magic, the yellowish-brown landscape turned lush green. Amidst the scorched, sun-stroked desert environment they had reached a gorge alive with water. It was a rocky gorge almost hidden from view that cut deep into the rock face for about a kilometer. Its bottom was smooth rock while its steep sides filled with vegetation, the spring water flowing in a narrow channel along the center of the gorge creating a small waterfall at the entrance where Faraj was standing, soaking wet, gulping the flowing fresh water.
It was a scene Clair would never forget. She and Ibrahim squealed with joy and joined Faraj at the waterfall.
“Is this where we wait?” Clair asked Faraj after they had all quenched their thirst and lay on the cool rock face.
“Further in there are dates and figs with many places to hide,” Faraj explained. “It is where we need to be.”
Clair took that for a yes. She had no desire to move another inch in the arid desert and was thinking she could stay in this theatrical gorge forever, if need be.
*****
The mini-bus reached Eilat in the evening.
They all checked in at the Queen of Sheba and then gathered at a conference room Kessler had prearranged. The room was windowless with a long conference table in the middle. An assortment of food trays and drinks were stacked against the walls, and the group hungrily loaded white china plates with exotic Middle-Eastern cuisine. They sat around the large conference table, eating and informally chatting away.