Disappearance (A Mystery and Espionage Thriller)

by Niv Kaplan

  The Karen Glass case eluded even them.

  -------

  Somebody was knocking on his door. He sat up, surprised. No longer was he able to sleep through thick and thin. His eyes blinked as the first rays of sun infiltrated his room through the blinds. He looked at his old clock. It was seven thirty, Saturday morning. No one in his right mind would dare wake him at this hour. He had gone to bed not four hours ago.

  "Who is it?" he called hoarsely.

  "Sarah Price," answered a familiar voice.

  He was suddenly wide awake. There was only one thing he and Sarah Price had in common and there was only one reason why she would ever come to see him. His heart pounded as he jumped into his shorts and flung the door open breathing heavily.

  Sarah managed a tired smile.

  "Hello Mikki," she said as if they met on a regular basis. “Nadav and Eitan," she declared, pointing at the two men with her. "May we come in?"

  He stepped aside, still giddy. The three marched in and took positions in the room. Sarah slumped onto a wooden stool used to reach his top drawers. The stockier Eitan sat on the edge of his bed and Nadav sternly remained standing by the window.

  They did not waste any time.

  "Mikki, I'd like you to take a look at this photo," Nadav said, handing it over.

  Mikki was dumbstruck as he stared at the first actual testimony of Karen, alive, since she had disappeared from his car some thirty-eight months ago. He slowly lowered himself onto the bed, not taking his eyes off the photo.

  When he looked up, there was obvious turmoil.

  "Is she alive?" were the first words he managed to utter.

  "It's possible," Sarah said softly.

  Mikki asked for the full account and Nadav described the events that prompted their visit. Sarah pitched in, describing her involvement and reading out loud the letter left to her by Captain Gadot.

  "Mikki," Nadav concluded, shifting his gaze to Eitan for approval, "we stumbled upon these photos by accident and there's a lot we don't know. I have a report to submit to Army Intelligence by tomorrow morning but I'm considering looking further into this matter."

  Mikki got up.

  "Let's get outta here," he said, slipping on a tee shirt.

  They walked the narrow sidewalks of the awakening kibbutz, Mikki barefoot, shuffling his feet, studying the photo again and again, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. After a while they followed Mikki into the main dining hall and helped themselves to a typical kibbutz breakfast of vegetables, scrambled eggs, bread, and mugs of coffee.

  The dining hall was practically empty. Scattered early birds ate in peaceful bliss, and the four sat themselves at a corner table and began chipping away at their food.

  "How ironic," Mikki reflected, staring at his untouched plate, "she was probably able to see the kibbutz from where she was being held.”

  He methodically coated a slice of bread with jam, shoved the rest of the food away, and sipped his coffee, periodically biting into the sweetened bread.

  "What outfit you with, Mikki?" Eitan asked, hoping to build up some small talk.

  "Paratroopers, 890 battalion," Mikki answered dryly. "How long have you got?"

  "Less than two months.”

  "Same here," Eitan said, but the conversation was going nowhere.

  "Where'd you ambush these guys?" Mikki asked.

  "Just north of Nabataea.”

  Mikki nodded. He had been in the area himself. "Do you have a plan?" Mikki addressed Nadav, shifting the conversation.

  "We have no plan Mikki," Nadav said. "We were hoping you could help us make up our minds about this.”

  "How?"

  Nadav sighed. "We believe the probability of finding Karen is less than remote…"

  "Next to impossible if you ask me," Eitan interjected.

  "Not only has it been over three years," Nadav continued, "but we can't get any help. Whoever was involved in covering this up at the time is unlikely to embrace this renewed effort.”

  "Assuming they did what you suspect," Mikki pointed out.

  "I think there are strong indications of this in Gadot's letter and his brother Yossi probably knows more about what happened," Sarah said.

  "We were hoping you had additional information that could point in some direction or any direction that would help us decide what to do," Nadav said, pausing to look at Sarah and Eitan. "Sarah and I think it may make sense to go after this guy Mustafa, make him talk and see what we come up with. Eitan is not sure we should even do that.”

  Mikki was suddenly very alert. He liked the idea.

  "I seem to know less than you guys but everything you've told me so far fits with what I felt at the time - the sudden change in attitude after Gadot's death, the strange lack of media interest, the unexplained helplessness of the authorities both here and in the US. Even without being directly involved I would have expected this type of a case to make headlines and waves for a very long time.”

  Eitan spoke, trying to be polite but wanting to get his point across.

  "Guys, this is something that happened over three years ago. If it was so nicely covered up then, what chance do we have now?"

  "How do you feel about it, Mikki?" Nadav asked.

  Mikki gulped down his coffee and took a deep breath.

  "It's difficult to describe how I feel. On the one hand I'd like to see her alive, sitting right there, where you are seated. But I can't turn back time. Eitan's got a point. I wouldn't even know where to begin.”

  "We can try and find Mustafa. We have his description and we know where they held her," Sarah insisted.

  "OK, then what?" Eitan persisted.

  "We take it a step at a time," Sarah replied. "A story like this does not fall into your lap every day.”

  "To you everything is a story," Eitan snapped, "that's what you get paid for. But to us common people it could mean just another headache.”

  "I'd like to try it," Mikki said.

  "Try what?" Nadav asked.

  "Go after Mustafa. See what we can find. This affair has been messing with my head for so long I'd like to try and put an end to it.”

  He considered what he said for a few seconds and added thoughtfully: "It'll probably never be the same but it would be kinda nice to kiss her again.”

  Everyone smiled.

  "I say we go after the ox," Nadav said excitedly. Mikki nodded in agreement.

  "Count me in." Sarah smiled approvingly.

  Eitan hesitated. "You leave me no choice," he finally said, surveying the table, "if I agree then I'm as crazy as you guys. But if I don't, then it's all I'll think about." He sighed. "Since I'd probably go crazy either way, it looks like I've been suckered in.” He looked at Nadav accusingly then smiled.

  The tension around the table slackened instantly.

  Nadav sat back and relaxed, pleased with their decision, yet astonished at the swift turn of events. A minute ago they were strangers and suddenly they were bonded together. Mikki's interest was obvious and so was Sarah's. His and Eitan's was not as well defined but he felt they were committed by virtue of their personalities. He thought he knew Eitan quite well, convinced that, like himself, he would not back down until he saw the mission through, regardless of his skepticism.

  He knew they were asking for trouble but was convinced the consequences could be handled if the process was fulfilled.

  CHAPTER 16

  Jalabia was a typical Arab village. Two- and three-storey houses with tall concrete columns sporadically clustered about, blended in with the lucid contours of the land. Most houses displayed the gray color of bare building blocks, proof of an everlasting construction process of adding rooms and floors. The painted portions did not fare much better being dominated by peeling yellow paint. Goat and sheep shelters were natural extensions of the living quarters with scattered dusty olive trees, thorns and dry weeds adorning the unkempt backdrop.

  The unfinished structures and disorderly settings never seemed to matter to
those occupying the villages, as long as a delicate balance with nature was left intact. There were no streets, no sidewalks, no lawns, no shopping centers, and no playgrounds. Just crisscrossing tire tracks on dirt surfaces from one house to the next, amidst small vegetable patches, watermelon fields, fig trees, grape vines, and piles of junk. The below par living conditions, filth and neglect, were contrasted by a tranquil beauty that evolved from a basic principle of not altering Mother Nature's settings.

  A narrow asphalt road twisted up the steep incline to the village, dead-ending at the Mosque's square. The impressive structure was precisely built from common ‘mountain’ bricks, giving the building and its square an ethnic appearance, filled with history and tradition.

  Jalabia's location and spread, starting at the foothills and sprawling up the Golan plateau, gave Eitan an excellent view of the outlay. He stood atop the driver’s seat of the hunting Jeep, resting his arms on the coverless roof support, closely surveying the area with large military binoculars. Mikki was in the passenger seat, thoughtfully puffing on a cigarette. He had quit smoking the year before but had rejuvenated the habit the day they had come storming into his room with the news of Karen.

  From their vantage point, on a small natural ramp on the opposite side of the River Jordan, not half a mile away from the outskirts of the village, and well hidden by the thick vegetation, they could discriminate between the inhabitants almost to the color of their eyes. They were even able to peek through the windows, and discern the occupants.

  Mustafa, code name "the ox", was so far nowhere to be seen. They had been watching the village for a week and were by now very familiar with its daily routines but no one resembling the large heavy figure with the prominent Turkish mustache could be spotted.

  To pass the time and adhere to the meticulous task, they gave their subjects code names and would watch and log each activity according to the respective codes. The tall skinny fellow with the funny limp, in charge of the goats in house eleven, was given a code name "the droopy goat milker", and could be seen out and about milking his goats twice a day at seven in the morning and six in the evening. He would clean the shelter, after his helper, code name "goat herder eleven" would take the goats out grazing, and spend the rest of his time dangling from his hammock, in the shady front porch of his rundown house. A middle aged woman, who was either his mother or his wife, code name "the coffee maker", would serve him coffee on the hour, every hour, in small ceramic cups, on a fancy golden colored tray.

  They were quite certain they had managed to pinpoint the cluster of houses where the photos were taken. House eleven was among them and they concentrated on watching its vicinity, though they made sure not to neglect the rest of the village. Only once during the week did they see a gathering of sorts at house eleven. "The droopy goat milker" had some friends over, none from Jalabia and none resembling "the ox". They sat on the front porch an entire Friday sipping coffee, playing backgammon, and laughing out loud. At five that afternoon, the three guests piled into an old pickup and left the village. Eitan and Mikki considered following them but passed on the idea, afraid of jeopardizing the setup.

  The Jalabia avenue looked to be a dead end.

  Nadav had gathered bits and pieces of information through army intelligence, and Sarah did some probing through civilian media databases, but none of it presented any breakthrough.

  They finally decided to infiltrate the village and take a closer look around. It was a desperate move but no one had any better ideas.

  "The ox" had yet to surface.

  -------

  Eitan was carefully studying the route he was planning to take. He knew he wouldn't have a prayer during daytime. Jalabia was a small isolated community, not accustomed to passing traffic, and its inhabitants knew each other well. A stranger, even properly disguised with a kafiya and proper clothes, would immediately raise questions since they were an inherently suspicious bunch. He planned to sneak in at night and peek through open windows in hopes of reaching niches they could not probe from afar.

  Mikki blew out the cigarette and looked ahead. He wasn't very useful without the binoculars and they only had one. He looked up at Eitan. They had come to like one another despite their different personalities and different line of interests. Eitan was the hunter, rough and practical, Mikki the thinker, collected and imaginative.

  The task at hand and being cooped up in the Jeep for a week had brought them closer together and made them friends. After a rather cool start, the reserved pleasantries evolved to numerous heart to heart conversations, and they eventually discovered, that in fact, they did have a more than a few things in common. Similar service experiences, Mikki being a paratrooper and Eitan in Special Forces; carrying combat gear on an aching back; shooting a sub-machine gun on the run; hiding from incoming mortar, and storming enemy strongholds. Both had joined the forces and were released at the same time. They soon found out they had quite a few common acquaintances from both the service and from the Kibbutz movement.

  Two months had passed since they first met, yet it seemed to have occurred somewhere in an unrelated past. The task on hand usurped all their energies. Eitan had managed to come up with his most creative arguments yet, to secure exclusive use of the hunting Jeep and convince his family, friends, and fellow kibbutz members, to give him a month to recover and ease into civilian life. Naomi would buy none of it and was on the verge of ending their relationship. To maintain household peace, he was seriously considering letting her in on their little secret. Mikki had an easier time securing time off, with no girlfriend to persuade and with his kibbutz being more lenient with discharged soldiers.

  Once they had decided on the optimum surveillance fix, after careful consideration of all possible angles, they made a gallant effort to occupy it from sunrise until sundown. Occasionally, when he'd be too worn out to drive another hour, Eitan would slump into a sleeping bag on the floor in Mikki's room.

  Sarah joined them a few times, breaking the monotonous routine of the lookout. She delighted them with her charm and wit and pretty soon her visits became something to look forward to. Her end of the bargain, provided she made sure she could pay her rent, was to try and come up with new information regarding the case and its evolution over the last three years.

  Nadav, whom they had all agreed would risk a serious court martial if caught actively participating in their scheme, explored, within the limits of his accessibility to classified information, the authorities' involvement. His main task was to try and piece together the reason for the cover up.

  They all put in time and effort but it soon became apparent that trying to decipher a case of such magnitude was like shooting at clay pigeons, blindfolded. Three lost years, a hostile intelligence environment, a consolidated wall of silence, and extremely limited resources, made it an almost impossible task.

  They all knew it, but stubbornly plowed ahead.

  -------

  "You ready?" Mikki asked, looking at Eitan who was the soldier once again, dressed up in baggy fatigues, military boots, and a custom made hunting belt that housed a nine millimeter Beretta with a ten bullet magazine, a spare magazine, his evil looking hunting knife, and a hand-held radio they had recently purchased. His face was darkened with black charcoal. The white in his eyes looked a touch whiter and his teeth seemed a little shinier as he smiled reassuringly at Mikki. He was ready.

  Mikki held the other radio in his hand. They had tested them in advance from a distance of one mile and they seemed to work fine. Their only purpose was to warn of trouble. They were not meant for information to be exchanged while the reconnaissance task was in progress.

  The two stood for a minute staring the subdued village ahead, the sound of the river's running water piercing the silent night. They had crossed the river at the Daughters of Jacob bridge, a few miles south of the surveillance position, and carefully traced back over rugged terrain on the east side of the river, stopping just beyond the outskirts of the village, short of
the entrance road. They were now approximately parallel to the surveillance site but across the Jordan. It was 21:00 hours and pitch dark. They had waited for darkness but made sure to begin well before the inhabitants turned in for the night.

  It was time. Eitan waved and disappeared into the darkness. The village sparkled ahead. Mikki climbed into the driver's seat and sat rigidly ready to spring into action the moment the small radio squawked. He was about three hundred meters from the entrance road with a relatively clear path to it awaiting any unforeseen complications.

  Eitan walked fast and catlike-smooth. He reached the outskirts of the village in less than fifteen minutes and blended within its shadows. Familiar scents hit his sinuses, prevailing odors of horse manure and burned flesh. Sticking to building walls and darting through open spaces, he quickly made his way up the incline from one cluster of houses to the next, peeking into illuminated windows. The mosque's huge structure loomed ahead. Several figures were huddled in the middle of the square, talking in hushed voices. He circled the square in the shadows of the surrounding buildings and fled across a vegetable patch toward house eleven. Panting, he slammed into its wall and leaned with his back catching his breath. The village dogs began barking but he wasn't too concerned. They barked at anything.

  He carefully peeked through the closest window into the renowned house. "The droopy goat milker" was alone in the living room asleep in front of the television. He went around the corner and peeked again. It was the kitchen - "the coffee maker" was washing the dishes. He circled the entire house but did not find anything he had not already been aware of. An additional lit room was situated above the tall columns, on the downhill side, out of his reach.

  He moved to the neighboring houses finding nothing of interest. Not one unfamiliar face and certainly no one resembling "the ox". He continued up the hill moving from one cluster of houses to the next, inspecting each house, window to window. Zero luck! There wasn't anything he hadn't already observed from the surveillance site.