by Niv Kaplan
“Some are shipped in cargo boats to Alexandria and are smuggled to Israel. Some stay in Egypt, some go to Croatia or Turkey.”
Peka studied her intensely. “How…?”
“Bedouin tribes smuggle them across the border to Israel. The Israelis have caught a few.”
“What did they do with them?”
“Handed them over to the embassies. Apparently nothing became of it.”
“So where are these girls now?”
“My source assumes they were sent back to their families but he doesn’t know for sure. Still, we might be able to back track their route to get our proof.”
“Will the Israelis cooperate?”
“They might. It’s worth a try.”
“You doing anything tonight?”
“No plans.”
“How about dinner and jazz in the Village?” Peka inquired.
“Who’s paying?”
“I am.”
“Is this a date?”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“I’ll be there.” Natasha said flashing him a teasing smile, getting up to gather her things. She put on her coat and bent to kiss him on the cheek, before she left.
Peka would be left with her lunch bill as well.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Jack woke up in a room that seemed empty.
He was on his back; his left leg bandaged and raised, an IV needle in his left arm. He had no idea how long he had been under but realized he survived the general anesthetic.
There was a faint light just above his head, which illuminated his bed but he could not make out what the rest of the room looked like. Beyond his bed was very quiet and pitch dark. He tried to say something but managed a strange howl that echoed in the room.
He had a headache and felt sick. There was a soggy smell to the place, like in a basement. When he tried to shut his eyes, the world swirled and it felt as if he was going to puke.
Having no idea what time of day it was or when he would be tended to, he lay there helpless and wondered whether he needed to apply some of the methods that kept him sound while in solitary confinement.
After a while the knee area began to ache, then it pained him, then began to throb. There was nothing he could do but endure it quietly.
Sometime later a door opened, and light suddenly burst in, blinding him. The door closed again and he could hear someone shuffle around. Then a fluorescent lamp lit up and Jack could finally make sense of where he was.
The room was rectangular, long and empty with a low ceiling. It did not seem like a hospital room but for the two occupied beds with IV and monitoring equipment surrounding them. The place indeed looked like a basement.
A male nurse was tending to the patient occupying the second bed on the far side corner of the room. Several minutes passed and the nurse turned to Jack.
He spoke good English.
“I see you are alive, Mr. Jack.”
Jack could only nod.
“I’m Zaki,” the nurse introduced himself then proceeded to tend to Jack’s bandages and IV. He peeled off the dressing allowing Jack to see his knee. The operated area was sewn in a zipper-like fashion. A strip of stitches adorned the inside part of the knee with traces of blood around it. Nurse Zaki carefully cleaned the area, then applied some ointment and re-bandaged the knee.
“It hurts,” Jack managed to whisper as the nurse put his head closer.
“The doctor will be here soon and will give you some pain killers,” he offered. "Your knee will be put in a cast when the swelling goes down." He then replaced the IV bottle and left the room, killing the bright fluorescent light.
Silence returned but now Jack was aware of the other patient’s presence. He assumed it was a man, knowing the Egyptians would never mix genders, and though the patient did not move much, Jack could hear him shift under his sheets.
The doctor’s entourage appeared sometime later. Jack could feel his pulse throbbing around the knee. They tended to the roommate first taking their time then finally approached Jack.
Once again Zaki peeled off the bandages allowing the doctor to examine the knee. Pressuring here and there, he caused Jack great pain but seemed to be quite satisfied with the job.
“How much does it hurt?” he asked.
“A lot!” Jack growled.
He gave instructions to his entourage in Arabic and left the room.
Nurse Zaki remained to re-bandage while another male nurse applied a syringe to the IV bottle explaining that it was morphine that would gradually relieve the pain.
Nurse Zaki informed Jack that dinner would be served in an hour thus orienting his sense of time. When the two left the room, shutting off the lights, Jack noticed his roommate’s bed lamp alight. As he half turned to get a better look, he was surprised to see the man propped up on his pillow, staring at him.
His features were anything but Middle-Eastern. He looked European and was totally bald. Most of his face was shadowed but as he looked up, Jack noticed a deathly thin face, the skin wrinkled, eyes deep in their sockets.
“You American?” the man asked in a hoarse voice. Jack could not distinguish the accent. He nodded and tried to twist back to get a better look.
“Name’s Rooney,” the man said.
“Jack,” Jack managed to growl.
“You a prisoner?” the man asked.
“You American?” Jack retorted, ignoring the question.
“Born there.”
“What’s the accent?”
“Grew up in Africa.”
“You from New York?” Rooney asked.
Jack nodded again, turning away, his body aching from the cumbersome position. The man troubled him.
He looked like a ghost but spoke resolutely. There was no point denying his prisoner status. The man seemed quite sharp and well versed.
“Been locked up for ten years,” he said.
Jack turned to look at him again.
“What the hell for?”
“Long story, but I’m gettin’ outta here.”
“Where to?”
“Heaven or hell; take your pick. Probably hell.”
Jack looked confused. The man flashed a crooked smile. Most of his teeth were missing.
“I’m gettin' outta here in a box, my friend. Liver’s shot. Kidneys are gone.”
“What are the doctors telling you?” Jack asked.
“Surprised I’m still breathin’. I’m here because I’m dyin’. Otherwise I’d be back in the cell.”
Jack took a minute to digest the information.
“You in for life?” he finally asked.
“That and then some,” Rooney sighed. “I, my friend, do not exist.”
“What did you do?” Jack could not help himself figuring he’ll probably never know.
“I jeopardized an organization. They couldn’t afford to let me loose. What’d they do to you? Break your leg?”
“No. I hurt it trying to escape from them.”
“You CIA?” Rooney asked recklessly.
“Not even close,” Jack replied, wondering how he should respond. He figured Rooney would quickly find out the truth if he ever made it out of their room. But at the moment, there was no way he would know. Partial truth might be better.
“They pinned an attempted kidnapping charge on me,” Jack finally said. “I was hired by a divorced mother to track her kid over here. When I found him, they stuck me with the charge. I tried to disappear, but they caught me.”
Jack noticed Rooney’s face darken. His demeanor seemed to shrink all of a sudden and his mouth quivered.
“You OK?” he asked, concern in his voice.
Rooney took a moment to gather himself.
“Acid stomach,” he complained shifting positions uncomfortably. “Filters ain’t working’.”
He slid on his back and remained silent for a while, eyes shut. Jack could see his body convulsing. Then he suddenly turned and heaved on the floor, a mixture of vomit and blood, just as nurse
Zaki entered the room with dinner. He thrust the tray on Jack’s bed, produced a pair of surgical gloves and hurried to aid Rooney who was choking on his bile. He must have pressed an emergency button because several more people in white hurried in to assist. Rooney was soon cleaned up and connected to an oxygen source. They alerted the doctor who rushed in and examined him thoroughly.
“Not much we can do,” Jack heard him say in Arabic. He gave further instructions to his crew and left without looking at Jack.
Zaki remained with him for a while, then removed the oxygen mask, replaced the IV bottle, and prepared to leave.
“Are you planning to eat?” he asked, pointing to the tray on Jack’s bed.
Jack had no appetite to begin with and even less so looking at Rooney. He kept the water bottle and passed on everything else.
He dozed for a while, slipping in and out of consciousness as the night progressed. The morphine did its job and alleviated some of the pain. At one point someone came in to replace his IV bottle.
He woke up with a start in the midst of a terrible nightmare. Something terrified him. The place felt like a morgue, pitch dark, yet someone was talking to him. Dazed, he thought he was hearing voices, then realized it was his roommate, his voice hoarser than before, yet comprehensible.
“…need to confess,” Rooney was saying. “I did a terrible thing. Need to tell someone before I die.”
“I’m here,” Jack whispered. “Go on, tell me.”
“It won’t be long now,” Rooney kept muttering. “The Lord is coming for me. I’ll pay for my sins.”
He suddenly went quiet and Jack thought he was gone but he began speaking again.
“Are you listening to me?” he suddenly cried out. “Can you handle me?”
“Go on, spill it out,” Jack encouraged him, hoping to relieve the dying man’s pain.
“They were right, lockin’ me up, I deserve it!” he gushed. “I deserve the punishment for the killin’.”
“Who are they?” Jack asked.
“The Organization. The conspiracy. They trained me, they sent me and I let them down raping and killing that woman.”
Rooney’s speech was suddenly interrupted as his body convulsed and he fought to keep from vomiting. Jack heard him choke and gulp.
“We stood before him in awe and pointed to the crib on the floor,” Rooney continued hallucinating. “Remember, Ramone? The man didn’t flinch, just stared at us with those pale blue eyes, real angry. ‘Why’d you do it?’ he asked. We swallowed our tongues, man. ‘Why’d you kill her?’ he kept asking, raisin’ his voice at us, treatin’ us like scum.
"We didn’t know his name. Ramone, he started apologizin’ saying we went crazy seein’ her naked and all. The man, he was disgusted - ordered us to leave and turned his back.”
“What did you do?” Jack asked, a shocking suspicion building up inside him.
“We were trained to conquer America. It’s the Organization. They trained us. Those bastards...”
“Who’s the Organization?”
“It’s a scheme by the League to destroy America. That’s why they took me and Ramone, and all those little kids so they can send us back with their American passports…”
“The Arab League trained you?”
“It’s their followers over in Beirut. That’s where they bring the kids and train them to spy on America. Ramone and me, we got the kid there but they punished us for killing the woman. Didn’t even try us. Stuck us in the cell for life, said we don’t exist.”
A cold chill ran up Jack’s spine and the blood froze in his veins. For the first time since he awoke from his operation he was thankful for the dark. The knee was suddenly forgotten.
It was inconceivable that he would find himself in a room with Michelle’s murderer and Little Sammy’s kidnapper. Yet the man was describing identical circumstances.
“When did this happen?” he asked, heart pounding.
“More than ten years ago man, but I see the woman every night, and the kid. She talks to me…”
“Where was she from?” Jack persisted, straining to keep a cool head.
“The snotty bitch was from the city of Angels. She comes with them every night. It’s why I used the alcohol and drugs, so I can sleep.”
"Why her?"
"I was a nurse at the hospital where the kid was born but they told me to wait for him a year."
Jack was thunderstruck, his mind in turmoil. He and Sam had sacrificed everything in the last ten years because of this helpless dying creature, laying not ten feet away from his bed.
The scheme was incredible and pure evil. Kidnap babies from America, train them and send them back to do damage.
The ramifications were mind-boggling and Jack wondered how many of them were loose in America having infiltrated sensitive organizations.
They could already be exerting influence and it would almost be impossible to find them, he thought.
“I won’t survive the night, my friend,” he heard Rooney pleading. “Absolve me; I need to clear my conscience before I go.”
Jack found it hard to concentrate. His mind in disarray he suddenly had an inspiration.
“I’ll absolve you if you tell me the name of the organization and where the kids are taken,” he said, his voice quivering with rage.
Rooney coughed blood. Then spoke his voice hoarser, almost inaudible.
“They’re called the Sons of Jihad,” he snarled. “Best kept secret in the Arab world. Few people know its exact location. Ramone and me, we were taken in blindfolded with the kid. But it’s in Beirut, somewhere in the center.”
Jack toyed with the idea of taking vengeance back on Rooney for all the misery he caused, but thought the better of it. The man had little time and was duly suffering. On the outside chance that Rooney would survive his ailment, Jack did not want to disclose his true identity and his involvement in the affair.
By pure coincidence, or fate, a door had been opened and he would not gamble with a chance of finding Little Sammy. Not for pride; not for self-satisfaction; not even for revenge. For Sammy’s sake, his ego would remain in check, though God knew he could strangle the man in a flash.
Rooney was making gargling noises, his speech in comprehensible now.
“You are absolved my friend,” Jack whispered in the dark making a cross sign. “May you rot in hell!”
In the morning they wheeled Rooney’s body out in a black plastic bag.
Jack needed to figure a way to get his colleagues the information.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Terminal four at Heathrow Airport was, as always, lively with travelers. Coffee shops, restaurants, duty-free shops, book shops, airplane lounges were all humming with activity. People were roaming the colorful, brightly lit halls for a last minute perfume, a bottle or two of wine, or a book to read on a long haul flight.
The security lines were jammed almost to the gate control entrance. Mai-Li and Ali, equipped with media credentials and business class tickets to Bangkok, stood at the Fast Lane, not moving much faster than all other lanes.
Across the glass partition, they could see Devlin and Jimmy who held tourist class tickets to Hong Kong. In front of them were Rolston and Lizzy who were flying to Bombay.
Harley and Robbie Frampton had left with Lufthansa via Frankfurt a day earlier, and so did the rest of the team, traveling alone or in pairs to various locations before arriving to New Delhi. Only Copeland and Long-John flew British Airways direct to Delhi from Heathrow to meet up with the Indian Special Forces and allow time to organize the needed equipment.
They reached the security checkpoint, took off their jackets, fished for loose coins in their pockets, hoisted their trays onto the conveyor for x-rays and passed under the metal detector without a hitch.
Squinting over at Devlin, Ali could see he had no such luck and was being thoroughly searched by the security guard. She and Mai-Li headed for the British Airways Business Lounge across from Gate Ten where they relaxed
with wine and aperitifs until their flight was called.
They had spent the four-day leave together with Ali’s parents, recuperating from their intense fortnight of preparation. Harley had remained a gentleman and for the time being did not further pursue his advances at Mai-Li.
Ali’s parents, Beth and Martin, pampered them with Scottish meals, drinks and succulent desserts. Beth’s specialties were mousses, meringues and fruit salads. Martin acted as their tour guide, driving them around the rolling lush landscape abundant with lakes, or lochs in Scottish, in his amphibious Land Rover Jeep, able to pass through just about any terrain including the numerous shallow creeks they needed to cross. He had a story to tell of just about any point of interest on the way, many with his daughter as the star.
“...and this is where Ali nearly drowned after she decided to test the ice with new ice-skates I had just bought her...” he reminisced, as they stopped atop a hill overlooking a sparkling lake bordering the farm.
They lived on the outskirts of a small town famous for its whisky distillery but most inhabitants, like Beth and Martin, were farmers. Martin knew the area like the back of his hand. Among his many attributes and responsibilities to his farm, he was the elected inspector for the local wildlife nature reserve, whose job it was to dispose of waste and fire hazards left by sightseers, lure away hunters looking for game, and prevent any law breaking.
Mai-Li could see where Ali got her athleticism and energy from, as well as her good looks. In his late fifties, her dad was agile and vigorous with a youthful curiosity.
He talked of his territory with a passion. They roamed the vast reserve expanse three out of the four days paying attention to detail from the smallest of animals to the tallest of plants.
Mike Devlin came by after breakfast on the fourth day and the three of them drove to the famous Loch Ness area. They had tea with scones at the visitor center overlooking the loch. Mai-Li was fascinated by the various illustrations of sightings of the famous monster occupying its depths.
They discussed the impending operation trying to anticipate its outcome. Mai-Li and Devlin compared notes on their visits to the area. Ali had never been to Kashmir.