Tracks

by Niv Kaplan

  Captain Ben-Tzur was ready for him when he arrived, a map drawn across a multifunctional metal counter used for briefing, planning, sleeping and eating. They shook hands, Harley slipping in beside him in the confined space which also housed a tiny sink and a metal filing cabinet which had on top a wooden framed photo of what Harley presumed were the man’s wife and two children. The two commandos were already seated. A minute later a seaman appeared with a container of sweet tea and several china cups, which the captain poured and distributed without asking.

  The map was adorned with circles, lines, and dots representing currents and depths along the Sinai coastline. The captain pointed out the anticipated Egyptian boat patrols around Nueba, Dahab, and Sharm el Sheik.

  “We’ll drop you off here at 01:30 hours,” he explained with a heavy Israeli accent, pointing to a spot about five kilometers from the coastline, half the distance between Sharm and Dahab. “That’s three hours from now. This will give you enough time to reach your spot in darkness.”

  Harley nodded, examining the map closely.

  “What type of shore can we expect?” he asked.

  One of the commandos replied.

  “Quite sandy and comfortable to land. There’s a small deserted inlet right here,” he pointed to a spot on the map, “where you can hide the boats. You must be aware there are now very few deserted spots on this coastline with all the tourist development going on. So we must hit the right spot otherwise we’re in danger of being spotted by any random onlooker.”

  The Navy diver continued: “The boats are inflatable and each has its own pump but even after you’ve deflated them they take up some space and can be detected quite easily. I suggest you hide them as best you can in the sand and leave someone on guard. He can point you back to the right spot and fend off any danger while you’re away.”

  Harley looked at the young frogman, admiring his confidence. Everything he said so far, made sense but sparing a man to stay with the boats was a sacrifice. He only had seven men along with himself, four to a boat, and it would greatly diminish his firepower.

  “It is your only way back,” the diver said, seeing his hesitation.

  “Can you two stay with the boats?” he queried.

  The question took the two Israeli commandos by surprise. They exchanged glances then looked to the captain.

  “Their orders are to return to the sub,” the captain pointed out.

  “So you stick with the boats,” Harley reasoned. “What difference does it make when you swim back to the sub? If anything happens you can always disappear in the water.”

  “I might not be able to wait for them if something happens,” the captain observed. “Then they’ll really be stuck.”

  “So will we,” Harley thought to himself but refrained from saying it. He had volunteered to take the risk and was being paid. They were doing him a favor under strict orders to avoid any contact, which could cause a political crisis between neighboring archrivals that just managed to keep the peace.

  “Are you willing to risk it?” he addressed the two Navy divers, unable to resist laying a challenge, testing their limits. Special Forces personnel, he knew from experience, had to have degrees of freedom to make their own call in the field. Otherwise they would be just like any other grunt obeying orders.

  A heated discussion developed in Hebrew between the two commandos and the captain after which they agreed to stay with the boats.

  “But you need to give us enough leeway to be able to make the sub if anything goes wrong,” they informed Harley. “It should take us an hour with fins.”

  “Will do,” Harley agreed, “and thanks. You guys are champs,” he commended them, feeling more comfortable to have them remain close by. When push came to shove, he knew they would help him.

  “Assuming you grab your man as planned, it will take you a half hour, from the time you reach the boats, to reach me - in broad day light!” the captain observed. “And I would need to surface to haul you guys in,” he added. “This is a procedure we normally practice a while before we carry it out.”

  “If all goes according to plan, we expect the convoy early morning, around seven or eight,” Harley acknowledged. “I expect we’ll have enough time to retreat before they can put things in motion.”

  “One distress call over the radio is all it takes to have a destroyer chase us out of here,” the captain remarked.

  “Captain, my guys are well-trained,” Harley reminded him. “We’ve done this before. It’s risky, I admit, but it’s the best we can do. Barring major glitches, I believe we can pull it off. If your sub is in any way threatened, disengage. We’ll try to survive in the inflatables, go hide somewhere, until you can pick us up. If the radios remain intact, we may be able to rendezvous somewhere else.”

  Now it seemed the captain was appraising him. He spoke after a few silent moments.

  “If I retreat, I’ll try to stay within radio range and pick you up later, probably at night. In any event I’ll stick around until Thursday night, then I go back to port.”

  “That’s fair enough,” Harley said. “What’s the range on the radios?” he asked.

  “Forty kilometers on a good day,” one of the commandos remarked. “This should be sufficient.”

  Harley nodded. “I’ll go and brief my guys if we’re done here,” he said slipping out of his seat careful not to hit something in the small confines.

  The captain reached up to shake his hand.

  “Whatever your plan is, don’t underestimate the Egyptians. They’ve improved over the years.”

  “I never underestimate anyone, Captain. It’s the secret of my success.” Harley smiled confidently shaking the seaman’s hand. “And I’ll need two stretchers to take along,” he added.

  The captain nodded.

  “I’ll see you guys on deck,” he said to the Navy divers and made his way back to wake up his flock.

  Of the twenty-one operatives who went to India, he chose seven to join him for Jack’s rescue mission: Devlin, Rolston and Copeland, Sergeant Lizzy O'Leary, Long-John, Jimmy the Driver and Robbie Frampton. It was the crew who rescued Clair and her boy with the addition of Long-John and Robbie, who was an Irishman with admirable sailing skills that Harley thought might come in handy. Mai-Li came along as a liaison/spokeswoman for Harley to handle communications with all involved. Ali went back to Scotland with the rest with instructions to keep them in shape.

  David Kessler did not make the trip on the sub. He had briefed them thoroughly on the developments and on Kasuma and deposited a short wave radio with Harley giving him the wavelength Kasuma was due to use.

  Three hours later the sub surfaced for ten minutes for the troop to gather up on deck, inflate the boats and quietly slide into the water. Zvika and Arik, the two commandos, steered the muffled engines toward the Egyptian coast. Harley had Lizzy, Robbie Frampton and Copeland handling the radio with him in one boat with Devlin, Rolston, Jimmy, and Long-John in the other.

  The distant shoreline was sprinkled with flickering lights but as the boats drew closer, a dark gap seemed to appear in front of them. They were honing in on an area that seemed, at least from a distance, to be deserted but there was always a possibility of someone ambushing them while they were at their most vulnerable during the landing.

  The two boat drivers cut motor power by half as they inched their way closer to the shore line. A deserted wide sandy expanse appeared in front of them, the only sound being the waves breaking with the tide. With Harley's boat in the lead they were parallel to the shore now, looking for the hidden inlet. Harley scanned the area with his night-vision goggles spotting the inlet a little to the South. He motioned to the Navy man, pointing in the direction. Arik adjusted the boat's bearing and within minutes both boats found solace in the protected cove. Soon, both boats deflated, they all crawled up the cove's edge to scan the area.

  The inlet was the mouth of a dry creek where the shore became rocky and steep. The sea had eaten into the rock c
reating a natural cove roughly ten meters wide and twenty meters deep. With the tide up, the water filled most of the inlet, leaving a narrow sandy step, waist high, where the men jumped out and stashed the boats away. The step could only be seen from the water. Above it were layers of sediment that hid the place from unsuspecting passers-by walking on the shore.

  The crew were now scanning the area, only their heads emerging from within the cove. The immediate terrain in front of them was a flat sandy expanse stretching in all directions. Further to the west, they spotted headlights of a moving vehicle, marking the main road they needed to reach. Beyond it were the sheer granite cliffs of the Santa Katarina ridge.

  Harley consulted the Israeli commandos. It seemed the only moderately obscured route was along the dry creek whose mouth formed the inlet they were in. It did not seem like much of a route from where they were looking but it would have to do. Otherwise, the span between the cove and the highway was totally bare and they could not afford to be spotted in either direction.

  Harley looked at his watch. It was 3:00 am on the hour. They had less than two hours to sun-up. Silently, he shook the Israeli frogmen's’ hands, made sure they were all on the same radio frequency and proceeded to lead the way from the inlet to the dry creek path keeping close to its walls which were high enough near the water but descended as they preceded further inland. The troop fell in step behind him, keeping a safe distance from one another so as to minimize the column from being detected.

  Harley led a pace as fast as the terrain would allow. He walked, stooped, along the creek's walls and stopped every few minutes to scan the area with the night vision goggles. The troop all knelt and alertly waited until he moved again.

  The desert remained silent as they continued to move. No visible humans or animals, stray dogs, goats, sheep or the like. The closer they came to the highway, the shallower the creek became until they almost had to crawl on their knees for cover.

  Harley stopped to scan for an appropriate ambush place. He needed a place that was both convenient to strike and provided a safe hiding place for the troop during daytime, not sure when Jack's convoy would show up.

  Directly in front, at the shortest distance, the road was straight and flat with no visible hiding places in its vicinity. To his right, the road made a wide turn toward the water. To his left, he estimated half a kilometer away, the road came down from higher terrain and emerged from a cut through part of a hill, making a turn into the flat area directly in front of them. He could not fully discern the behavior of the road through the hill but he realized it was his only option. To get there they had to cross an exposed area between the creek they were in and a parallel creek he could just make out, which he hoped would provide enough cover to lead them to the confines of the hill.

  With no time to ponder, he went back and alerted each of his men to the need to cross to the parallel creek, then sprinted across the exposed expanse. The men did it each in turn, one at a time, until all were safely nestled in the adjacent creek which was actually deeper and provided more cover. Not wasting a second, Harley pushed toward the hill. The creek proved a savior. Not only did it provide more cover, it also steered them toward the hill bringing them to a concealed spot at striking position from the road. The creek went around the back of the hill, allowing them to climb and hide amongst a cluster of boulders overlooking the road.

  Harley was satisfied with the hiding place, but he quickly realized they needed a ploy to stop the convoy. They could not simply attack the convoy by foot and expect to stop it even with the element of surprise on their side.

  "Any suggestions how we force the cars to stop?" he whispered to Lizzy, who was sprawled next to him.

  "We shoot the drivers," the Scotsman replied without hesitation.

  "We could miss you know," Harley remarked.

  "Then we shoot the tires," Lizzy retorted.

  "Too messy," Harley observed. "They could return fire and shoot Jack.”

  "How about we throw down some of these rocks and block the road," Rolston, who was positioned next to Lizzy, suggested.

  "I honestly don't think we can push them far enough to reach the road but I agree we need to block the road somehow," Harley said.

  Everyone pitched in but it was Robbie Frampton who came up with the best solution.

  Robbie suggested they hijack a vehicle shortly before the convoy arrived, and block the road with it. Fine tuning his idea they came up with a plan. They would try and make it look like an accident forcing the convoy to stop. One or two of them would hide in the hijacked vehicle, and strike from close range. The rest would strike from above shielding the operatives in the car, terminating any resistance, and reaching their objective. Further tuning called for a man on each end keeping any oncoming traffic from interfering. That would leave only six for the assault but Harley wanted to avoid surprises from his flanks.

  Devlin and Lizzy were chosen for the car. Copeland and Long-John would mind the flanks. Harley would lead Rolston, Robbie, and Jimmie from above.

  The sun was just clearing the calm waters of the Gulf when the radio given to Harley by Kessler crackled into life and they heard a faint female voice alerting them that the convoy was on its way. They convoy was traveling at an average speed of 50 Kilometers per hour and would reach them in approximately two hours barring any unforeseen stops along the way. The woman collaborator was to keep them informed.

  What they needed now was a vehicle to pass by at the right time so they could set the trap.

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  Lieutenant Hamoodi sat worried in the back of the ambulance. It was nothing in particular, just his nature.

  He fussed over his decision to leave the woman alone.

  They had apprehended the lanky male nurse after he had met with her and learned the nature of her inquiries. But having learnt that she was given false information, he decided to play out his scheme and make her think they were leaving a day late.

  Had he apprehended her, he might have caused a chain reaction which could play against him. He was sure she was not alone in this, and did not want to alert any co-conspirators with an arrest. He further hesitated to physically force her to cooperate, concerned it would take time and focus away from his primary mission, which was to bring the American "on time" to the trial which was due to open at noon.

  He had put a man on her tail and figured he could grab her at any time if she somehow posed a threat. He realized he was taking a chance, leaving her free, but he could not figure out where she would get the help. Once he reached his destination, the prisoner would be heavily guarded, so he could not fathom what threat she posed other than reporting their progress to someone far away.

  He knew the Bedouins would not dare engage Egyptian police or military, so he surmised there was no immediate threat and he could postpone arresting her until after he delivered his package.

  Just to be on the safe side, he requested additional military escort comprising a Jeep with three armed soldiers and two machine guns fitted in place of the front side doors.

  The Jeep was now in the lead, followed by the ambulance and Hamoodi's own men in a police Jeep in back. Hamoodi opted to sit in back with the prisoner, Chief Halil's threats still ringing in his ears. They were nine men overall including the ambulance driver and Hamoodi's deputy sitting with him in front.

  As they had moved out, he had received a report from the officer following the Bedouin woman that she had taken off with a rented car after the convoy. Hamoodi ordered him to remain on her tail a safe distance away and report her actions. He also instructed him to apprehend her the moment they reached Dahab.

  He looked at the prisoner who was propped up on the ambulance bed with his plastered leg raised high. His right hand was hand cuffed to a chain soldered to the floor of the vehicle. Hamoodi held the key in his pocket.

  To Hamoodi he seemed either asleep or delirious or both. His eyes were shut but would occasionally open almost in a panic and look around, then
relax and shut again. The man was physically huge yet extremely vulnerable in Hamoodi's eyes. He knew that look of dejection when a prisoner accepted his fate and lost hope. He had seen it many times before.

  There was a distraction up front which caused the ambulance to slow and then to stop. Hamoodi looked over the side. The military Jeep had braked by the side of the road and the soldiers were taking out their kit for preparing a morning coffee.

  Flustered by their behavior, he looked around then at his watch. Realizing they had already made half the distance and it was only eight, he decided a fifteen minute coffee break was not reason enough to get worked up and challenge the soldiers. He himself could use a hot drink and a cigarette.

  He ordered the ambulance driver to move the ambulance forward where he could see the prisoner then walked over to the soldiers and joined the circle around the gas stove which was boiling the water for the coffee. Taking out his box of cigarettes, he offered the pack to everyone then lit one himself.

  They had stopped in the middle of a long straight stretch of road, quite close to the water. Hamoodi thought he saw far in the distance a glint of light reflecting off a glossy surface of a car. He strained his eyes to look for it but could not make out the spot. He radioed his man but received no answer.

  Pulling hard on his cigarette, he lit another when his radio came to life. His man reported that he and his object had stopped a fair distance away but could actually see the convoy.

  The men were pouring the coffee into small china cups pulled out of an old sock used to keep them from breaking. Hamoodi took a sip of the sweet dark blend and immediately felt better.

  This was not his first such assignment in his fifteen-year career on the force. He had started out in Cairo where at the age of eighteen he volunteered to Police Cadet School to avoid being drafted into the military. A year later he was patrolling the streets of Cairo, handing out parking tickets and chasing thieves. Five years later he was sent to Aswan as a young sergeant and spent the next five years guarding the dam. He was chosen for officer training back in Cairo then was offered a choice between Dahab and Alexandria. He chose Dahab and quickly worked his way up to deputy chief.