Duqaq Boulos opened his bloodshot eyes at the sound of heavy boots approaching. Through the night he had heard the sounds of his guards screaming and protesting their innocence, saying they knew nothing about any operation. This morning, however, the sounds had changed. Now, there was conversation. The screams had ended. Now, they would be given food and water, there would be comfort. The men had broken. He was not surprised, not really. He knew they were nothing but the sons of a donkey, low level mercenaries and they did not know much. They would tell what they knew, but what help could a few pieces of a huge puzzle be? No, he knew that the pressure would be on him. He was the lynchpin. He had been the one the Russians contacted. He had been brokering their nuclear arms deals in the Middle East for years. He knew about the deep pockets in countries like Syria and Iran. That’s where the ‘big bucks’ were. Hell, those guys had as many ‘bucks’ as gallons of oil!
He knew his captors would want to hear all about the Russians and their Azerbaijani friends who had a corner on the market in the field of weapons production and export. Duqaq Boulos had been in on this action with them for years. Only recently had he gone off on his own little independent venture and struck a deal with The Sword of Justice people. That’s where he planned to earn his 'big bucks' as the Americans would say. This was going to be his last big deal, his retirement package!
He listened to the boots outside his cell and knew they would be expecting more from him than from the others. Soon, he knew it would be his turn. He had been alone since being captured, ignored. No one had come to speak to him or ask him anything. This meant one thing and one thing only. They were collecting information from the others, who seeing nothing to gain from silence, had talked. When they approached him they would know he was the head of this operation, he was the boss and they would come after him with all the force and tricks they had. They would cause him pain; make him feel helpless. They were ruthless barbarians, that he knew to be true, but perhaps he thought, I don’t need to suffer. Why not just tell these G-d-less sinners what they want to know. Why should I suffer for The Sword of Justice? Why should I suffer for those money-hungry Russians? I am not one of them after all; I am just a business man and business men make deals, right?
Then he thought:
Perhaps if I tell them everything I know they will let me go. I can cut some kind of deal: information for freedom. Yes, that’s it. I will go free, perhaps I can promise to forgo my weapons-trade business. I was going to do that anyway, but I can let them think I’m doing it for them, as part of my deal with them.
Boulos relaxed, momentarily comforted by the thought that he could go free then he thought, No, I am being a fool. They’ll never let me go. They’ll never free me from this hellhole. They’ll send me to Gitermo or whatever they call that place across the ocean where they hold the faithful followers of Islam.
He wrestled irritably with his thoughts. I have one main decision to make. Will I make them kill me or will I kill myself? I will not allow myself to be tortured. I will die before I tell them one single word about my work or my employers. I owe silence to those who paid me. Hell, no I don’t. I owe them nothing, they are using me to do their dirty work. I can make a deal with these fools and they’ll set me free. They are all dogs and liars.
His thoughts went on in this vein until the door opened and Sol Aaronson walked in.
Aaronson was grey-haired and muscular, he moved with the posture of Four Star General and the grace of Baryshnikov. His dark eyes conveyed stories of untold horror and a deep wisdom. This was a man to be reckoned with, a serious soldier, a leader, a man whom others trusted, this was readily apparent from the respect his men displayed. Sol Aaronson was a curious blend of many influences. He graduated from Tel Aviv’s most prestigious Yeshiva having studied Torah and Talmud there from the age of four. Later he attained a Doctorate in Philosophy and Theology from Oxford University and was awarded a Rhodes Scholarship for continuing study. Sol served as an ordained Rabbi, attained the rank of Lt First Class in the IDF (Israeli army) and went on to join Mossad, where he became a member of the Kidon. He stayed with Mossad rising through the ranks.
Now, he stood looking down at his prisoner saying nothing. He stood there staring for a long time as Duqaq Boulos stared up at him. Then he turned on heel and walked toward the door. On his way out the door, he issued two commands: “Untie him. Give him food and water.”
Moshe Aaron was crouched down in the supply tent hiding behind burlap sacks of dry goods. He could smell the mint and figs in small baskets near him. He was nearly faint from hunger and thirst, but moving risked detection, so he stayed where he was and waited. He had made contact with the child. She was aware that people were here to help her and would be less panicky. He hoped that her change in attitude would not be detected by her captors. He assumed that they would assume she felt safer because she had not been hurt. No doubt they had seen similar changes in attitude with other prisoners. Through his ear piece he heard his teammates as they spread through the camp’s periphery. They had a skimpy plan that involved cutting through the girl’s tent in the middle of the night, grabbing her and running off with her into the dry, dark desert. It was a reckless plan. Simple and unsophisticated, but that was the best they had come up with. No guns, no revolt, no bloodshed. They would cut a hole, grab the kid and run. What they would do if someone saw them was not yet clear. What they would do if someone shot at them? Well, they weren’t sure about that, either. Yep, Moshe had to admit. It was a hellava plan!
They agreed to do nothing with Rafi, just leave him in place and ‘please G-d’ he would be safe until Moshe could reconnect with him the following day, assuming he lived through the night. Once the girl was safe, they would continue their original mission, G-d willing.
- 23 -
GOOD LUCK, BAD LUCK
“So,” Hadara said, “exactly who are you people? I’m getting a funny feeling that there is more here than meets the eye, or in this case, the ear.” She smiled at her little wordplay. Looking around the room at her ‘captors/allies’ she asked, “Who here wants to tell me the truth? Two gold stars to the first person who raises his hand!” She was feeling stronger now, more like her old self, a no nonsense leader in one of the best covert organizations in the world. The men exchanged glances and remained silent. “Okay, guys, that’s enough fun and games, tell me what’s really going on. Gamil? Mr. Lieutenant Sir? Mikhail, whose working for no-one knows who, Mr. United Nations representative? Anyone?” A hunched old man in dirty coveralls entered with a tray of food and some bottles of water. Everyone sat down at the table and helped themselves.
Walter Ross was the first to answer, “Some of us were unsure of you, ma’am, of your loyalties. It was rumored that Hezbollah was about to grab you. Then it was rumored that you were working with them and you had set off that bomb in the marketplace yesterday and so we brought you here.”
Hadara thought, that explains why they treated me like a prisoner but didn’t hurt me. They didn’t know what to make of me. Okay, she thought, that makes some sense.
“We found your brother-in-law and brought him here to identify you. He vouched for you. We also ran your fingerprints and determined you are who you claim to be, but we were unsure of, well, who you are working for.”
Hadara nodded as if this made sense. They ‘found’ my brother-in-law? ‘Found’ him?? Really? Exactly how had that happened? He just happened to be strolling down the street and they just happened to ask if he was my brother-in-law? They commandeered this stranger’s help with my identification? That’s a non-starter, Lt Ross!
This was not the first time she had been questioned. It was not the first time her loyalties had been brought into question. She had, after all, lived most of her life under a cloud of mystery. Who could blame them for their questions? That part seems reasonable, sort of, I’ll hear them out, she thought. “Okay, let’s say I’m with you so far,” she said, suppressing her skepticism, “Let’s move on … who are you guys suppo
sed to be exactly and who are you working for? The U.S.? The UN? Hamas? Lebanon? Who?”
“Well, probably, between us you’ve got everything covered,” the Lieutenant smiled coolly. We’re sort of a joint task force, informal, of course, but you get the idea.”
“No, I don’t actually.” Hadara said, “Who exactly pulled this informal task force together? Under whose auspices are you working? Interpol? Terrorists? Whose lame brained idea was it to capture and hold me here?” She defied them to answer.
“Mine,” said a familiar voice. She turned as Yosef Yadin walked through the doorway. As he moved toward her, Hadara rose and slipped into his arms. “Are you okay?” he asked briefly examining the cut on her forehead.
“I’m fine, just trying to get some answers from these guys, they are surprisingly evasive.”
“What they told you was essentially right,” Yosef said with an emphasis on ‘essentially.’ There was a question about who bombed that marketplace and since you’re high profile there were some who thought you were the target and some who thought you were in cahoots with the bomber. And you, my friend are much too valuable a commodity to let go of! I wanted you safely out of the way so I sent Mikhail to watch over you and support this group’s efforts to get you and hold you till I got here. Mikhail pulled Gamil into it so he could keep an eye on him too!” Yosef said with an ‘I’m just kidding’ wink to Gamil.
Some freelance Moroccans were working the gig and suspected you were a bad guy, that’s sort of how Mr. Hatolla got here,” at this the Arab gave a slight bow and added “Once they realized who they had captured, they contacted me, I contacted the UN and they asked me to stay and make sure you came to no harm.”
“Well, for a covert operative it seems a lot of people know who I am!” Hadara commented wryly.
“Well, Ma’am” Husain Hatolla interrupted, “with all due respect, your capture was not just about you, as important as you may be it is also about Middle East peace. My country, Morocco and I would add the United Nations advocates finding a peaceful resolution to our mutual problems.” he added with an edge.
“Of course,” Hadara replied seriously. She then looked at her brother-in-law and asked, “What about you Gamil? How exactly did you get involved with all this. And please don’t insult my intelligence by saying they found you so you could identify me? That makes no sense. How do you even know these people?”
Gamil looked uncomfortable, “I contacted Yosef to see about leads to Saroyah’s kidnapping. I figure someone knows more than they are saying and thought if I hung around with people coming to this bombing from different angles I’d pick up some leads.”
“What?” Hadara was nonplussed. Bewildered she sputtered, “You think a bombing in an Israeli marketplace is connecting with Saroyah’s kidnapping in Lebanon? Who is the ‘we’ who thinks ‘all this is linked?’ What kind of Kool-Aid are you people drinking? Gamil, are you actually suggesting I had something to do with her kidnapping? Me?!” Hadara was outraged.
“Hadara, you must not take it personally, Jamila is frantic; we had to check out every lead. We have no idea why she was taken, but she is a child. It is us, the adults around her who have connections, who are important. She is only a tool, a way to maneuver somebody. Those who took our child took her because of us, one of us. It has to be that! Doesn’t it?” he exclaimed. “People don’t kidnap a little girl because of the child herself! What would make her valuable to them? She couldn’t know anything of value. She didn’t see anything important! We never thought you kidnapped her, but rather those who took her may have done so to manipulate you!”
“And what… you were following me… you and your ‘merry band of men’?” Hadara shot back at him. “Just hanging out there waiting for a bomb to go off so you could rescue me?”
“Hadara yes, we were following you, just to see if some others were following you; we were going to approach you about Saroyah.” Gamil answered.
“Who, Gamil? Who was following me?” Hadara’s days as an interrogator were coming in handy.
“Some of the men from the Olive Grove,” Gamil said adding reluctantly, “And we saw you with two strange men. And there were other people following you as well. One a very tough looking American, that’s why we called in the U.S. Navy to liaison with us.”
“Oh, you simply dialed up the US Navy and they rushed this Ross fella over to help? Do you know how crazy that sounds? You make it sound like you have the White House on speed dial! You sound like this whole operation was your idea. How was it you got put in charge of an operation this size? This is way out of your skill set, Gamil. You are in over your head. Plus it doesn’t in the slightest explain your connection to our UN Select Committee Member here. You guys seriously need to get your stories straight. I could drive an armored tank through the holes in it.” Hadara hissed.
“Please Hadara, do not be angry with me,” Gamil pleaded, “I was desperate.”
Hadara glared. There was something strange about Gamil, very strange indeed and none of it could be explained by anxiety about his child or worry about his wife. No something was definitely different about this brother-in-law of hers. He was lying; he was sneaky…no, she realized with sudden awareness, he was guilty. That was it. Gamil was up to something and it wasn’t good.
Changing the subject she asked, “Okay Gamil, say you’re worried and upset, I give you that but how could you plan something like this? You had to have help. Who was helping you? And, by the way where is my husband in all of this? Is he involved in this marketplace tailing, bombing, kidnapping deal?” Hadara demanded. She was suddenly more emotional than she expected. It surprised her. Perhaps she was getting too old for this work. Perhaps, she thought that hit on my head messed up more than my good looks.
“Hakim is upset and worried,” Gamil continued carefully, “he is angry with us for all of this,” Gamil said gesturing to the roomful of people. “He wanted to be here, but was unable to come. He proclaimed your innocence more than once. He had been waiting for you at the ‘Grove.’”
She frowned at him for a moment, wondering why he lied again. She knew her husband was not at the Grove. His last text said he was headed to Azerbaijan plus Jamila told her yesterday she had not seen either of her brothers for two days. She knew a pack of lies when she saw them not to mention a pack of liars. However, some specific phrases stuck with her. The phrase about Saroyah not seeing anything had a poignant ring to it. Without another word she stood and she headed for the door, “Okay, I’m done. I assume I am free to go. Your little task force can disband or go grab a falafel…whatever… thanks for your hospitality.”
With Yosef by her side she left. “I want a full briefing, Yosef starting with what’s going on with my children and Saroyah. And by the way why didn’t you come ‘identify me’ yourself instead of sending Gamil or whoever else you sent! Where the hell have you been?”
“Calm yourself, my friend,” Yosef said putting his arm around her shoulder, “I will tell you everything.”
His crisp wingtips clicked as he walked along the tiled corridor at a quick clip; he was rounding the corner to his office when he heard a sound behind him. Whirling around, he was shocked to see a large, bald, black man with a diamond stud in his pierced ear, approach him quickly. The man called out “Friedrich…wait up my friend!” His arms encircled Herr Müeller in a comrade-like hug as he stuck a needle in the German’s neck. Lifting the unconscious body he carried Herr Müeller into the Rare Document Specialist’s office, deposited him in a chair and texted “It’s time!” then began to unbutton his shirt. Within minutes an ambulance pulled up and a uniformed paramedic walked briskly into the building pushing a stretcher; moments later two paramedics left with the gurney holding their sleeping patient, blissfully unaware of the siren screaming around him. As the ambulance sped toward the highway, T-Max smiled at Pablo. It had been an effortless catch and grab. Their guest was unharmed and their ETA was 75 minutes.
Tucked away in a dilapidated grey farmhous
e in the Illinois countryside, members of Chevra Hatzollah were preparing for the arrival of their newest guest. Stella clicked away on a keyboard organizing their information about Friedrich Müeller. They needed every piece of information about him they could find before interrogating him. Manny and Stella combed through the data stolen from his office; it was a virtual gold mine. Müeller, arrogant and confident, had done little to hide or disguise his covert data so his hard drive included an easily accessible list of contacts including names/places/roles of everyone involved in selling or shipping weapons grade nuclear materials. Outlined on the screen was the complete pipeline of sellers and buyers from the bottom right up to the top. The decision had been made to contact US officials immediately after they interviewed the man and got what they needed. They would pass custody of Herr Müeller along with all his information, to the FBI, Homeland Security and the CIA;’ they would notify Mossad and whatever other international agencies would need the information. After they were done with him the government could decide what to do with him. This data was crucial to fighting The War on Terror and they wanted that information in the right official hands.
Seeing Double: An Elisabeth Reinhardt Novel Page 12