A Touch Of War

by Isaac Stormm

  “Which is why I know you’re lying. The U.N. Charter prevents those assigned to aid missions from taking sides in conflict. You committed a grievous act against those who trusted you.” He moved just a tad closer, giving the impression he’d run out of patience. “Believe or not, I may be willing to compromise. Normally, as you might suspect you would receive a lengthy and uncomfortable interrogation. And it might repeat over days, even weeks. If you tell me who your Israeli contact is, I’ll contact the prime minister and you’ll be on your way back to Britain tonight and all that will happen is you’ll be forbidden to come to Palestine ever again. I’ll even let you think about it on the way to Tel Aviv, and there you can give your final answer to your next interviewer.” He folded the card back up and handed it to David, then nodded his head for her to be taken away.

  She said nothing to the two team members who hands went under her shoulders, lifting her just off the floor to lead her out. She displayed not even the slightest hint of resistance by a tug or kick as they opened a storm door which led into a garage. They placed her in the back seat of a blue Honda Accord which sat next to a black Mini-Cooper. One man climbed in beside her while the other slid into the front passenger seat. A driver had been waiting the whole time and he twisted the keys and pressed the garage opener on the visor. The door screeched, revealing a hot concrete driveway that looked like it might melt into the heat mirages emanating upward in shimmering lines. It’s doubtful anyone across the border fence took notice. They drove the same automobiles as the residents, even with the same license plates to complete the masquerade.

  David bade them farewell before heading back to Foxmann, who watched them leave, looking out between a sliver of curtain in the living room. David came up to him holding a mop and bucket he cleaned the mud up with.

  “Isn’t that a bit chancy?” David said, confused by his boss’s kindness. He knew there were methods, none like he’d seen Foxmann use just now. “That’ll give her more time to tweak her story.”

  “I know. That’s why I meant nothing I said. I could tell she’s a tough one, radical even. I’m willing to bet she’s also Muslim. We’ll need that agent’s name, except I’ll leave it to someone else. She’ll get an interrogation, after that they’ll probably rendition her to Morocco. She’ll get quite a surprise in Tangiers and we should have the name in a couple of days.” He looked at his watch. “Damn it. I’m late. Come on, I’ve got another little mission to tell you about.” They turned off the lights and headed for the car. Unlike the girl who faced miles of winding road to get to the capital, Foxmann had a nice UH-60 waiting two miles away.

  Foxmann and David sat in the back as Timothy revved the Mini-Cooper and backed it out. As they started down the residential street, Foxmann texted Grozner’s office that he was underway and put down the phone. “Gil, it looks like a dangerous assignment’s about to be green-lighted. You’re the most experienced man I’ve got. I need you. This involves us working in conjunction with the Americans in a place you’ve never been before. I am asking you to volunteer.”

  “When do I leave?”

  “As soon as you get back to base and clean up. Don’t bother shaving.”

  “Any chance of a few hours rest being squeezed in?”

  “When you’re in the plane and on your way.”

  David wasn’t married, which Foxmann saw as a plus. He wanted the other man to be a bachelor too. In the oft chance that someone might be taken alive, which he doubted any of his men would allow, he didn’t want them to have baggage that might be revealed under torture. The Iranians had as good of interrogators as Israel, and they relished dispensing pain, even if there was no proof of guilt. No need to give them extra ammunition to use, because he’d seen their work in Lebanon when they ‘guested’ with Hezbollah. They boiled alive civilians accused of fraternizing with Christian militia members who of course worked with Israel, and they were only too happy to post the photos on the internet. God forbid what they had in mind for a Jew.

  “Sounds exciting,” Gil said. “Oh. One more thing.” He pulled a black iPhone 5 from his pants pocket and handed it over. “The pictures of the apartment she was in and all the stuff they were working on are in here. The place looked like slobs lived there.” Foxmann took the phone, not bothering to look and placed it in a pocket.

  “Any names found?”

  “Only those known to us.”

  “Grozner’s going to flip if it’s an Israeli helping these people.” Foxmann watched the road ahead, seeing the turnoff approaching to get them to the chopper. “I’m kind of leaning toward another U.N. envoy high up that visits regularly or some westerner using a charity as a front. How did you get rid of their merchandise?”

  “Landfill. And luck. Families live there, wandering around at all hours. We went last night. Had some kids follow us before we scared them off. I’m certain it won’t be found. I do wish we could have brought it out.”

  “Problem is, making the story stick. The U.N. has many friends.”

  “You think this assignment will be the same way?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Let the games begin, then.”

  Chapter Five

  Washington, D.C

  6:45 P.M.

  Two plates set beside each other. Each across the small round table in the president’s dining room. Unlike the large formal hall with its lengthy wooden table with yellow trim, this room was little bigger than a dining room found in the city’s middle class suburbs. For this reason, it remained ideal for one-on-one meals with a foreign leader who came without a wife or kids. A crystal chandelier and an antique cabinet next to one of the three doors completed the setting while a small kitchen worked adjacent behind a closed door. Most presidents preferred this room and Anderson was among them. As he entered, he saw the plates already filled. Both contained a small helping of macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, two biscuits and a dash of salad. An empty cup and glass awaited filling, and just a fork lay on napkins. It all indicated a meal on the run and as he was about to sit, Jennifer stepped out of the kitchen. She’d found he was going to the situation room again. And whenever he did, many others, and she figured the same crew from this morning, would arrive in quick order. Anderson figured she wanted to take this moment to offer a bit of accommodation and maybe, get a little more information.

  “I know you’ve got business to take care of. I figured I’d fix this up myself,” she said.

  Anderson pulled the chair back for her as an attendant attired in a white shirt, black tie and pants, carrying a pot of coffee and a small glass jug of iced tea approached. He poured each a portion just shy of the rims. “Please leave these.” Anderson took a taste of the steaming cup and swigged it about a second before swallowing. ”Damn good stuff. Thank you.” The attendant nodded and Jennifer watched him exit before she decided to ask.

  “How’s your day been?” she said with a half-smile.

  He chuckled a bit then smiled. That’s what she wanted and he knew it. “Confusion. uncertainty. Typical day.”

  “Does it have anything to do with what you told me this morning? The reason I ask is I noticed you cancelled the rest of the day’s events.” She knew that today he was to stay home and welcome a girl’s school, have a public bill signing and the Chinese Ambassador to sit in her place for dinner. He never cancelled unless he was sick.

  “You know I can’t talk about that. Someday I will, I promise. There’s just too much going on right now to piece together.”

  “You going to be okay for tomorrow?”

  “Yes. Back to the grind tomorrow.” He took another sip and picked up a fork “We better eat.” He scooped up some food and asked. “By the way, I noticed you cancelled all your events today too. What have you been doing?”

  “Thinking.”

  “Worrying?…Don’t do it. Let me handle this.”

  “Does this mean we might be going to war?”

  It fell like a hammer. “Jennifer, don’t come at me with that
.” He knew she could see through whatever facade he tried to create. “I don’t want you to mope around thinking that’s going to happen. We won’t go to war.” He hoped he convinced her even though just thinking about it kept him wondering what lay at the end of all this, as well. The most fateful decision thus far in his presidency was going to be made in less than two hours. He accepted that the Israelis were talking to each other, encouraged by his comments earlier. He still didn’t want to have a firm answer just yet. He wanted to make the decision seeing his people one last time. He just felt more comfortable looking at his advisors’ faces. Insecurity, he figured. Maybe it was because he had always tried to avoid confrontation except against political opponents. Sending men to Iraq and authorizing covert Special Operations and drone strikes, was everything he wasn’t. He did it anyway after he was convinced it too dangerous not to. For a second, as he took another bite, he wished everything away, thinking how good it would be to call everything off and reign in all American involvement in that part of the world. He knew most of the so-called Arab friends there were double talkers, damning his country to hell, while extending a hand to be held. The Israelis were better, more westernized, and stayed quiet when he condemned their policies. Still, they also became naughty at times when they needed something bad. He recalled the attack on the USS Liberty in 1967, and Jonathan Pollard, the spy, in ’87. He figured their behavior similar to a dog’s, well-trained and full of loyalty who walked beside you, slept on your bed and snapped at you if you tried to take his treat away. With the Arabs, he figured, they were of the feral kind, sometimes friendly, sometimes dismissive, other times waiting for you to walk out so they might maul you. You never could tell. That is why the Middle East baffled him. It contained the full range of love and hate and everything in between, that outside nations struggled to keep relations and tempers peaceful.

  “You haven’t heard a word I said, have you?”

  He stopped dipping his fork. “I’m sorry. What was it?”

  “The Chinese Ambassador’s wife is here in D.C. visiting this week, she asked for a tour of the house tomorrow. I said okay. Is that alright?”

  “Yes, of course.” He looked at his watch, then tipped the cup to his lips until it was almost empty. “Do me a favor. Impress upon her the virtues of democracy. I like to do that subtly, to any of our guests from dictatorships. Nothing forceful, just mention how everybody can plot their own course in this country. I think it makes them uneasy. Administrations have done it for years.”

  “Even First Ladies?”

  He poured another cup. “Starting tomorrow.”

  The small talk and humor, as pleasant as it might have been, revealed in that moment something she never saw in all their years together. Except for his rebuking her about her comment, he wouldn’t make eye contact. This situation bore all the hallmarks of something that consumed his thoughts.

  Tel Aviv

  11:22 P.M

  Foxmann looked over the biographies of the his men on the tablet. Their faces topped with berets sat in a small picture to the left, their physical statistics to the right. He scrolled down a little and saw their rank and accomplishments. All possessed the fluency of Kurdish and he read Captain Gil David, age thirty, Graduate of Tel Aviv University, Sayeret Golani, eight years. In between, a year with British S.A.S. serving in Afgahnistan. Entered Depth Corps fourteen months ago. Eight missions into Gaza, four into Syria, and into into Lebanon all lasting a week or more. Fluent also in English, Arabic and Farsi. There were none better, and imagined he’d be a prime candidate for Foxmann’s job when he left.

  Michael Lehman 32, Sergeant. Third in command. three years Sayeret Golani. nine years Sayeret Matkal. Exchange one year with U.S. Army 5th Special Forces Group in Iraq. thirteen months Depth Corps. three missions into Gaza, six into the West bank, four into Syria and five into Lebanon. Fluent in English, Arabic with working knowledge of Farsi.

  Foxmann thought if Sergeants had to look a certain way, Lehman must fit the profile. five seven,, stocky with a round face, chubby jowls that sat upon a short, thick neck and a reputation for superb marksmanship, not the kind Depth Corps had, which was excellent, the kind that people paid to see. He once cut a card in two with the thin side facing him from 50 meters over open sights on a pistol. Plus, he always won admiration for anyone under his charge due to his easygoing demeanor.

  Foxmann lay the tablet on the table. These were not necessarily the most accomplished men in Depth Corps, by far though, they were the most qualified for this particular mission. He had full confidence in Gil’s choices and he knew all of them. “Here they are.” He slid the tablet over to Grozner, who started his reading.

  “I have a question, and request,” Grozner said, still scrolling. “The question is, why use a commercial flight? The request is, I’d like for you to let someone else lead this thing.”

  “It’s not really a commercial flight. It’s a cargo flight. We’ve been running these incognito for the last fourteen months, once or twice a month to Azerbaijan. Mostly, it’s civilian technology we share back and forth. We’ve been landing at one specific airbase, bypassing the airport. We’ve gotten agents and even some equipment offloaded. The Azerbaijanis are jumpy at Iran’s intentions so they’ll let us do as we please provided we compensate them.”

  “Friendly blackmail.”

  “Yes, but the location we have is ideal. Also you saw the tech we’re transferring isn’t top of the line, just enough to make them feel good. Their president wants to keep up with the times, and he knows nobody except us will give him such things. He has an insurrection too, you know.”

  “Moving on, the request you have should be rescinded. They need me. I’m more familiar with the area than they are.”

  “What of the Americans? Are they going to be able to bring the helicopters?”

  “Yes. We paid an extra twenty million.”

  “We’ll have to make a request to the Americans for some money instead of hardware to write it off.”

  “That figure doesn’t buy much in the way of military stores. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Grozner closed the tablet’s cover and handed it back. “Everything is ready then.”

  Foxmann knew the backdoor dealings with Azerbaijan paid off. Going on for some four years, they finally convinced a Muslim country to look past the old hatreds between the two faiths and races and see the bigger picture. He didn’t care that they paid for the friendship. It paid for itself many times over, and could only increase a hundredfold now.

  “I’m sorry that your time with Anna and the kids won’t happen now. Independence Day always means more to me as the years pass. Even though I never married, the fact we’re still here after all these years is my comfort. You plan on leaving tomorrow?”

  Foxmann nodded. His phone beeped twice. “It’s Anna, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be in my office.”

  Grozner gave a slow blink of the eyes and nodded approval. Foxmann left, tapping the autodial on the walk to the elevator. He sensed the dejected tone everything was about to take.

  “Can you tell me where you are?” she asked.

  He pressed the down button and the door slid shut. “Still at the office. Listen you’ve been through this before so I don’t have to tell you. I’ll be away for a few days…Don’t worry, it’s nothing in harm’s way.” Like he could tell her if it was. He wanted to pluck the right words so as not to get her agitated.

  “No tonight?”

  “See if Sarah wouldn’t mind going with just you.”

  “You know how she’ll be.”

  He never missed an Independence Day before. He had to keep it moving. “Call mom and dad, tell them what’s up and that supper tomorrow is off and I asked you to get together with them tonight.” The door opened and he exited past civilian aides waiting for the space. The door closed and he passed another before reaching the office. “I want to say more, given how many times you’ve gone through this. I just can’t right now.”

&nbs
p; “I’ll do what I can. This comes awful sudden.”

  There it was. That fading tone of disappointment. How women like her stayed married to Special Forces members he would never know. “I love you and we’ll make up for it.” Her goodbye seemed more a sigh than words. The line clicked. And he sat down in his chair and placed the phone in front of him. He looked at it, then looked away disgusted, fighting a conscience compelling him to call her back and try to add a few more meaningless sentences. His fingers reached out. He hesitated. They settled for picking it up, letting him look at his reflection in the dark screen. Emotions subdued the sense of country and obligation. To him, he imagined her tiring of being a military wife. He sensed it even though they’d been over it all in the past. A scene passed for a millisecond of her leaving him. There was an ultimatum coming at some point, and he feared not too long from now. He would have to make a choice. How everything played out starting today would determine that. He shifted to Washington, D.C., wondering how imminent Anderson’s call was and if he was feeling similar emotions.

  Chapter Six

  Washington, D.C

  May 15

  The White House

  5:22 P.M.

  He reached the edge of the hallway, peeking around the corner like some eager schoolboy watching his classmates, to see Mitchell entering the situation room. He started that way, suspecting he would be the last to enter when he heard, “Mister President.” Mitchell came up to him. “I’ll give a rundown on the people we’ll be using.” No skepticism in that sentence. Anderson still knew he had to be reluctant. Too little time for someone of his character to come around. “Do you want to give your decision before or after I give it?” He carried a tablet in his right hand. They turned the corner and saw the group sitting in the order they were this morning, laptops already on. Anderson sat down, looking at his screen as it suddenly changed to 2 small squares showing faces too distant to make out.