“Let’s hope that the city police are that understanding.” The two military policemen came in a vehicle behind the captain’s sedan. Murdock stewed about it all the way into town. Once there, he tried to relax. They were taken into a reception area, where a sergeant looked up the record and gave a folder to a police captain, who ushered the two officers and the military policemen into a conference room.
Introductions were made. Captain Ranon leafed through the report and looked up. Murdock couldn’t read his face. He was short and solid, with a bull neck ending abruptly in his chiseled face. A small crack appeared in one corner of his mouth; then his eyes took on a tiny glint.
“Commander, you’re with the U.S. Navy SEALs, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So is this lad we have in custody, one David Sterling?”
“That’s right, sir. One of my best men.”
“He seems to be good at several things. We have a complaint here that he was observed climbing the outside of one of our older hotels. He was on the fifth-floor level sitting on a narrow ledge, talking to the pigeons and singing bawdy songs.”
“Yes, sir, that could be our Sterling.”
There was an awkward pause. “Sir, what are the charges against Petty Officer Sterling?”
The captain looked at the papers again and rifled through two or three. “One charge is peeping, looking in a lady’s hotel room, but that one is probably without much merit. The second charge is trespassing. It seems he did not have the hotel’s permission to scale the outside of the building. It attracted quite a crowd before it was over. That is a minor charge.”
“There is more, Captain?”
“I’m afraid so. The more serious charges of exposing himself in public and lewd conduct.”
“Sir, I don’t quite understand.”
“Your Petty Officer Sterling was naked during this climb, Commander. Then he relieved himself, urinating on the fifth-floor ledge.”
Murdock shook his head as the Israelis behind him grinned and muffled the urge to laugh.
“Sir, this particular man has a tendency to get a little drunk at times and when he does, his usual conduct is to climb the outside of buildings in the buff. I can’t explain it. He can’t explain it. I’m sure some psychiatrist after three or four years of probing could come up with the reason. I assure you, he’s harmless. He’s also a highly decorated member of my platoon, where he has served with outstanding distinction for four years. He’s been wounded in action three times, and has a part of a Presidential Unit Citation. He would have various military medals, but our work is covert, therefore no publicity, therefore no medals.”
The police captain shuffled the papers again, closed the folder, and put it on his desk.
“Yes, I can see he’s an integral part of your operation. Are you now under orders with one Colonel Ben-Ami of the Israeli Army Special Operatives Section of the Mistaravim Counter Terrorism Unit?”
“We are, Captain. Sixteen of us.”
“Hmmmm.” The captain looked at the papers again. “Commander, the nickname of Jaybird, the first name that he gave us after his arrest. What does that mean?”
“Sir, it’s from some early American literature, folklore or local sayings. It comes from naked as a jaybird. Which, as you know, he tends to be now and then.”
The policeman looked at Captain Bildad. “Sir, I would assume that you represent Colonel Ben-Ami in this situation. What does the Army have to say?”
“Captain, we have been operating with the Third Platoon of the U.S. Navy SEALs now for about ten days. They have undertaken dangerous and highly productive raids in the Gaza Strip and in the West Bank. They have performed flawlessly, with precision, at the lowest cost of life. Petty Officer Sterling is an integral part of that operation.
“At the current time we are on a joint venture to stop once and for all the floating booby traps that our beach areas have been plagued with for the past eleven months. Petty Officer Sterling is a part of that operation. Colonel Ben-Ami requests that if the charges are not of a serious criminal nature, the man be released into the custody of the Israeli Army’s Military Police and jurisdiction.”
The police captain nodded at the Army captain, who took a step back. All but the policeman were standing. The cop looked over the papers again, then closed the file and held it out to one of the military policemen.
“Nothing here that should merit the incarceration of the man. He is hereby turned over to the military police, and his commanding officer, and because of his service to the nation, all records of this arrest and the incident are expunged from our databases. This session is closed. You are all free to leave. The man will be brought to you in the waiting area.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Murdock said. They filed out.
Captain Bildad walked beside Murdock. “Well, we won that one. I’ve lost here before. It’s a kind of informal hearing in noncriminal cases. The MPs will take Jaybird in their car until we get back to the base; then he’s all yours.” The captain grinned. “How many times has this happened?”
“Not sure, but he’s only been arrested four times now for it. No jail time, but there was a hundred-dollar fine and costs once.”
When Jaybird came out, he wore a jail jumpsuit of bright orange. The outfit discouraged escape attempts. They never did find his clothes, which he took off and threw away as he climbed the hotel. Jaybird wasn’t making jokes.
“Fucking head hurts like twenty jackhammers are having a contest,” he said. He looked at Murdock, then quickly away. “Sorry, Skipper. Just got carried away. Don’t know what the booze is they serve over here.”
“See you back at the air base,” Murdock said, a small smile showing. Jaybird did look like he was hurting. Good. Maybe it would be longer before he tried his naked climb again.
* * *
Back in the SEALs’ quarters a half hour later, Jaybird had little to say. He took a shower, grabbed a can of Coke from the machine, and hit his bunk. Nobody jazzed him about it. The old hands knew better from previous experiences, and the newer men took a clue from the vets.
The Israelis had brought in a big-screen TV set and hooked it to cable. In the other end of the dayroom they had provided a CD player and a hundred CDs, mostly American artists.
Murdock sat in between with the phone. He had been talking to a weather specialist at the Israeli Coast Watch.
“Right, I want to know how many times during the past two months there were high tides that peaked between six and eight in the morning.”
“I could almost tell you from memory, but I’ll do a search on my tides computer file. It should have it down to the minute. Then I’ll read off the dates to you. Will that work?”
Murdock said it would, and waited for the computer to do its work. Three minutes later the night man at the Coast Watch desk had the data. Murdock wrote down the dates. There had been eleven days in the past two months when the tides were high between 0600 and 0800 on the beaches around Tel Aviv.
Murdock tried to contact the bomb squad at the Tel Aviv police, but a recording said they were all out and in an emergency he should dial the general police contact number. He had to wait for morning.
About 2200 Murdock, Lam, DeWitt, Sadler, and Fernandez sat around a table in the dayroom talking about the bombings.
“No way we can just pick up the guy who spreads the bomblets,” Fernandez said. “Hey, we’ve got to follow the trail to the guy who provides him, and then nail him and find out where he gets the shit and nail him. We get back at least three levels and we should be able to choke off the beach bombings altogether.”
“Right,” Sadler said. “Just chopping off the rattles won’t kill the damn snake. Got to go for the body and then smash its head.”
“First we stop the drops, then we go for the next step,” Murdock said.
“Bet you ten to one it’s some fucking A-rab who owns the fishing boat that’s dumping the goods,” Lam said. “Then he has complete control
. He can go out anytime that he wants to.”
“Our top two suspects are Israelis,” Murdock said.
“That would make them traitors; they could hang. Does Israel have the death penalty?”
No one knew. The consensus was that it did not.
“How else can we hit the bastards?” DeWitt asked.
“We hit them right up the supply chain,” Murdock said. “The things come from overseas somewhere, so they import them. Once we nail the delivery boy on the Mediterranean, we should be able to squeeze the name of the up-the-line sumbitches out of him.”
Murdock looked around the group. Eyes were starting to drop shut. “Okay, you brain-trust guys. I’m packing it in. Tomorrow Lam and I will work the bomb squad and see what backgrounding we can do with our fishing buddy Captain Sartan on the two major suspects. The rest of you can do some training, or Ed will check with Colonel Ben-Ami to see if there are any other developmental tasks we can do while we wait for the next morning high tide.”
Murdock figured he’d drop right off the second his head hit the pillow, but it didn’t work that way. Jaybird kept cropping up. He’d really looked subdued after this episode. Lucky it was over here and not in the States. If Commander Masciareli, their SEAL Team Seven boss, found out about it, there would be hell to pay. He’d threatened to cashier Jaybird out of SEALs if he ever did his naked climb again. No reason he’d ever hear about it. Murdock would tell each man about the situation and pledge him to silence.
So, he had to have a long talk with the Jaybird. There was a chance that booze was getting to him. It could have turned into poison for him and set off some uncontrollable impulses in his brain. He’d have that talk with Jaybird and try to get him on the wagon for six months. With these hard-drinking SEALs, it would be tough, but not as hard as in the old days. Murdock shook his head, remembering when he went through BUD/S. It was a beer bust every other night. Yeah, he’d have that talk with Jaybird tomorrow. Take him on the trip to town to talk to the bomb squad and then the Coast Watch people. He had to get this damn timing down. It could lead to capturing the bomb spreader. Tomorrow.
28
The three SEALs sat in the conference room in the bomb squad’s domain watching a five-minute TV tape about the floating terrorist bombs and how the public could stay safe around them. As the tape ended, two cops came into the room. Both wore the standard khaki uniforms and both were sergeants.
One of them took the lead. “I’m Sergeant Elkan, lead man in the bomb detail. The captain says we’re supposed to tell you all we know about the booby-trap floater bombs we’ve been finding on our beaches.” He emptied out a paper sack on the table. Spewed out were several highly colored plastic tubes, each about a foot long. Some were straight, some in the form of a U, some with a twist and curl on one end.
“These are the devils. As the captain probably told you, we’re fighting a losing battle. We send a squad out on the beach every morning looking for them. Pick up the ones we find with metal grabbers like the street cleaners use. They go in our bomb box and get detonated out of town.
“The outer wrapping is waterproof. Inside there is a tiny quality of dynamite, but enough to blow off a man’s hand. We’re not sure why they detonate, but the secret is something in the plastic that reacts to the heat of the skin. Two fingers on the things for ten seconds and you go looking for your fingers.”
Murdock picked up one of the bombs and nodded. “I’d guess these have been neutralized.” He introduced himself, Lam, and Jaybird. “Sergeant Elkan, we’re not here to steal your thunder or to take your jobs. We were invited to take a look at the problem and see if we can help eliminate it. I understand you have a time profile from your computer concerning the day and tide position of each of the bomb incidents during the past two months. I’d like a copy of it if I could so you can advise us about the time line.”
Sergeant Elkan nodded, sorted through some papers on his desk, and laid out two of them. “These are charts for the past two months up to last night,” he said. “The green shade is the incoming tide. Then you have the change, and the outgoing tide is shown in red. Each of the bombing incidents is shown with an X marking the time when each bomb was found.”
Murdock and Lam studied the charts. Murdock looked up. “So it looks like your bomb finds have been in the morning when high tide peaks between six and eight A.M. Is that right?”
The two Israelis looked at the charts. “Yes, sir. The last four bombings have been in conjunction with high tide at those hours.”
“High tide tomorrow comes at 0823,” Murdock said.
“We have a routine patrol that covers every high tide, twice a day, no matter what hour it comes. It’s helped reduce the wounded and dead dramatically.”
“Any patrols offshore?” Lam asked.
“No, not our jurisdiction. The Coast Watch takes care of that area.”
“Could I have a copy of these printouts?” Murdock asked.
Sergeant Elkan handed him the folder. “Yes, sir. These are some more printouts and data we’ve established on the type and numbers of releases of the floaters. We hope that you can help. Right now we’re taking help from anywhere that we can find it.”
Murdock picked up one of the defanged bombs. This one was in bright reds, greens, and yellows in an eye-catching design.
“Can I borrow one of these, Sergeant Elkan?”
“Absolutely, Commander. Is there anything else we can do for you?”
“I think that covers it right now. Oh, at a later date we might call on you to bring out a bomb box. I’m sure you have one to put picked-up explosives in and to transport them.”
“We have one, and it’s available seven-twenty-four.”
“Thank you, Sergeant Elkan. I hope we need it.” They shook hands and the SEALs left.
“A little touchy, weren’t they?” Lam asked.
“Right, but they are just protecting their turf,” Jaybird said. “Like some expert is called in to do a job that they couldn’t get done.”
“If we have any big catch, we’ll call them in,” Murdock said. “Remember, we’re working back up the distribution line, so we have to be careful not to warn the next step up.”
They found their car and driver from the base waiting for them. Murdock looked down at his cammies. “We stand out like three-dollar bills in these suits. If we’re going to do any undercover work we need civilian clothes.”
“They have an Air Force store out at the base that has clothes,” Jaybird said.
“Let’s go see what we can find,” Murdock said.
On the ride back to the airfield, Lam began to frown. “Hey, whatever happened to Don Stroh? We haven’t seen him for days.”
“Maybe he got a real job to do,” Jaybird gibed.
Murdock grinned. Now that was more like the old Jaybird. “He must have got tangled up in red tape somewhere. This joint operation has a lot of tangles.”
At the store they found some jeans and T-shirts. Murdock said they could wear the same fishing shirts they had used the night before. The fishing fleet had long since sailed for the day. Murdock called their boat captain.
Ravid Sartan answered his phone on the second ring. “Captain, this is Murdock. I hope you had a good night’s sleep.”
“Always. I sleep like a rock. What’s happening?”
“We need to do some prowling. Zekharyah is out with his ship, but I thought we could talk to some of the people he deals with, suppliers, buyers who take his fish, the usual.”
“How could we do that and not get them suspicious that something is going on?”
“Can’t do it. We can stroll around and watch things, but talking to them isn’t a good idea. Not yet. Especially if they are involved in the bomb dropping.” The line was quiet for a moment. “You have any regular civilian clothes?”
“We just bought some. We look pretty good.”
“Fine. Meet me at that fish chowder cafe a block over from the wharf. I have something I want to show you.”<
br />
They met at the eatery and walked down several blocks. The street became shabbier, the people less moneyed, the buildings old and run-down. It was the closest thing Tel Aviv had to a business slum.
Two blocks farther down they saw a fight. Two small Asian men pounded on an older man, who tried to fight back but didn’t know how. Then one of the smaller men swung a knife, and the older man grabbed his throat and staggered sideways. Before he hit the ground the thugs had stolen his wallet and watch and run down the alley, vanishing into a ramshackle building.
“Don’t worry about it,” Captain Sartan said. “There was no way we could have helped him. It would only have put a spotlight on us for a dozen pair of eyes.” He motioned the SEALs forward. They went past the dead man and continued on.
“Another block and we come to a hundred-yard alley that’s known as The Devil’s Little Acre. This is the absolute bottom for killers, robbers, con men, and those who think they can control these nefarious citizens into a group for more efficient crime.
“The police don’t come here often. When they do it’s in force, and they figure on losing at least two men to hidden snipers.”
Sartan gave the SEALs each a floppy hat that covered their military haircuts and hid their faces.
“Nobody wants to be seen or remembered down here. Near this end of the alley is a friend of mine of long standing. He had some domestic troubles, a dead wife and her missing cash estate, and he wound up here feeling safe from everyone. Twice a month we get together to talk about the good old days, when there were fish out in the Med and a man could make an honest living. I have a pass at this end of the alley, but no farther. We call him Dr. Seuss because he draws funny animals. He has from ten to fifteen men working for him now, and he’s expanding. Soon he’ll move down deeper into the alley for more protection.”
A man came out of the shadows of the alley. He carried an Uzi that was trained on the four of them.
He jabbered in Hebrew, and Captain Sartan spoke back to him giving his name. The man, dressed in multiple layers of old shirts and a sweater or two, nodded slowly and waved them forward with the deadly Uzi muzzle.
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