by Rose Fox
“Really? Could they be developing some internet games websites?” She laughed.
“You know, you could be right. It seems to me that the things are indeed connected to the internet and computer networking matters.”
Lutfi gazed at Abigail’s face, silently admiring her stunning beauty.
“What about you? You seem to be working non-stop without a moment’s rest. They say that you lead a lot of tours in the Azerbaijan region. Is that so?”
“Yes, one has to make a living.”
“Very nice, but persistant rumors are going around about a budding relationship with another exceptional guide, a man we both know, called Karma.” Abigail blushed to the roots of her hair but admitted at once:
“Indeed, it’s true.”
“In that case, listen, my beautiful friend, I have a gift for the two of you. I am inviting you on a new excursion to Tabriz, at my expense, of course, to the very same Palace and the Mosque of the Imam that you were prevented from reaching. You may, of course, disembark with everyone and go shopping at the Grand Bazaar,” and then he added: “But, of course, the shopping will be at your own expense.”
“It’s a deal,” she exclaimed, and they shook hands again.
* * *
The last week began with a surprise. Two entirely different radio transmissions were received on Karma’s radio.
When he went out to the street on Monday morning, someone in the crowd rubbed up against him and shoved a crumpled piece of paper into his hand. Karma heard him mutter the words: ‘Sun-Moon-Heaven’ and the words “eight in the morning.”
Initially, he was scared. Then he continued walking as he grasped the paper he received in his fist. He understood that the man was muttering the transmission code and had mentioned the time that the contact would take place. Later, it went through his mind that even when he thought he was alone – someone was always there; behind him. He didn’t know whether this idea encouraged or frightened him.
He did not tell Abigail anything about this.
The next morning, Karma locked the door, drew the curtains over the windows and pulled a transmitter out of his briefcase. He prepared to broadcast and tuned it to short-wave, then pulled out the decryption page that had been handed to him and placed it before him as he straightened out the wrinkles in the paper. Numbers and letters were randomly listed on the page and they would serve as a code to decipher the text. Once more, he adjusted the radio dials to a particular frequency on shortwave and waited.
It was 7:45, a quarter of an hour before the scheduled broadcast and he went out of the house.
Cars drove on the street and people went about their business and no one paid attention to him. He tiptoed around the building and when he was sure that the area was clean, he went back to his room.
As soon as he locked the door he heard a metallic voice, which said ‘Sun-Moon-Heaven’ and some other signals. He deciphered the sounds according to the key and read the decoded sentence.
“Give Lucy back up when she inserts the virus in the tunnel.”
Karma stared at the words and wondered to what kind of support it referred and into what tunnel she would be introducing the bug. Karma studied the words again, memorized them and then destroyed the document. Again he pondered what to do with the information he had received and supposed that the matter would eventually become apparent.
Almost a week later, when he was in his room at the pension, transmission signals were heard again. This time, when he deciphered the message, he understood the assignment.
“The target – Bushehr.
Photograph the building with the antenna,
Collect samples of sand at Natanz.
Pass them on to Michael.”
“Sand samples?”
He directed his question to the page and understood that he was participating in collecting intelligence and began to get organized. Meanwhile, the page with the key to the code was still on the table when a knock at the door was heard.
“Min hada?” (Who is it?)
“Ana Mary,” (It’s me, Mary).
It was the maid he was familiar with. He opened the door and it never occurred to him for a second that this woman, who changed the sheets and dusted the cracked mirror in the room, had caught sight of the page on the table. Even before he turned around, she pulled it and shoved it quickly into her blouse and continued hovering around the room she had come to clean.
Karma grabbed the handle of his briefcase and surveyed the room to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind before he left and went out to the corridor. The only thing that occupied his mind at that moment was to prepare food for the journey because he didn’t want to have to stop at restaurants or rest stops on the way.
He entered the dining room and looked around the tables, but he was too excited to eat and was not able to put a morsel in his mouth, not even toast, which he was fond of. Green cans of beverage stood on a long shelf and Karma thought they might be useful to him in two ways. He could drink their contents and later, he could urinate in the empty cans if he were not free to get out of his car.
As he left the dining room, Mary, the maid, came out of the elevator. He saw her but did not attach any importance to the fact that she hurried outside. He also did not notice a man in a dark suit, who got out of a car and stood at the front of the pension. She gave him the page and he stuffed four thousand rials worth of banknotes into her hand.
Karma’s destination, the nuclear facility at Bushehr, was the place, where only the first part of the uranium enrichment program was being carried out. It was located on the South Western coast. Karma did not know that the story of the site’s construction arose in the historic meeting between Abigail and Mas’habi. He also did not know that this was an assignment intended for Abigail but, because of that meeting, the ‘Mossad’ hesitated and finally decided to transfer the operation to him.
At midnight, the beep of an incoming message was heard.
“We will meet at “Saharon,” near the antenna, tomorrow.”
It was still dark when he departed, but these were the hours when the heat was especially oppressive. He soon found himself sweating profusely and his clothes clung to his body as the perspiration ran down his back. He looked out for a place where it would be convenient to turn onto the shoulder of the road and stop for a break, but there was none to be found. It was a winding road and his headlights illuminated rocks and cliffs that dropped sharply to the side of the road. Visibility along the way was limited to the distance from one curve to the next.
Dawn broke in the distance and at the next turning he noticed a clearing like a wide bay that extended into a sandy area and he stopped his car there.
His stomach rumbled and Karma couldn’t decide whether he was more tired than hungry, but his eyelids seemed weighted down with lead. He leaned back and succumbed to the draw of sleep.
He woke up after a few minutes, as hungry as a wolf and remembered the sandwich that awaited him in his bag. He felt around in the bag and only then discovered that the brown wallet he always moved from his briefcase to his bag was missing and he was concerned. Right away, he pulled the bag from the backseat and put it on his knees and fidgeted around in its depths and, finally turned it over and emptied it out on the car seat beside him.
Now, he found that the lucky chain that he always carried with him was missing. It was a thin leather thong threaded with colored beads, one of which was engraved with a prayer for success that he had found on one of his trips.
He realized that he had taken the wrong backpack in error. His heart missed a beat because, in his wallet, he had left two photographs – one of his daughters and another of his wife, Salima. Loving words, inscribed on the back of them, bore a date in September.
Karma thought of phoning Abigail to check whether the second backpack was at home, but he feared awakening a sleeping bear and arousing her suspicions. Moreover, he had left on an assignment and he knew it was forbidden to make telephone contact.
“What will be – will be!” He announced in a loud voice and felt again how his stomach was rumbling with hunger. Both the sandwiches he had prepared had only been spread with butter but he was hungry and wolfed them down in a few bites.
He put his hand into the bag again and it got caught in the mesh sleeve in which contained the camera with its lens turned outwards. He placed the tiny remote control in his left pocket, from where he could operate it by pressing the button and take photographs without revealing the camera. He got out and placed the bag on the roof of the car and, just for a trial run, he put his hand into the pocket and pressed the button on the remote. He heard the click of the camera taking the shot and since he had no one to fear for the moment, he pressed it again and again, enjoying the satisfaction the sounds gave him.
Karma was unaware that, at the same time, his camera had snapped pictures of two people on the mountain. They huddled under the trees in their sheltering shadow as they observed what he was doing. Of course, it also did not occur to them that their presence was being recorded by the camera’s lens. Their worst nightmares were coming true because their images were being documented and immortalized in the ‘Mossad’s’ database.
During these minutes of rest, perspiration cooled Karma’s body and he felt comfortable and satisfied. He got back in his car and continued driving along the winding road to his destination – Bushehr.
When he reached the main road of the city, the sun was at its highest point. The heat was really unbearable but then, he noticed the building with the antenna in front of him and remembered that it was one of his targets.
He parked his car and got out. While he walked, he pressed the remote control to the camera in his pocket incessantly, photographing the building itself, the figures entering it or standing nearby and he enjoyed listening to the clicks. He knew that interesting details of a kind that the human eye doesn’t discern were being recorded now.
* * *
SECRET OPERATIONS
The telephone rang early in the morning and Abigail heard Michael’s voice:
“One o’clock, in the green building on Karon Lane. I will be waiting in the lobby.”
Karon Lane was a long way from where she was and, as hard as she tried, she could not recall a green building. She decided that if he said he would wait for her in a lobby that was a sign he was referring to a hotel.
At six o’clock in the morning, she had already set out to wait at the light rail station. She traveled in the car to the last station and at noon she disembarked and quickly made her way to Karon Lane, a street she was familiar with. She searched for a ‘green building’ but, all she could see was a structure with green corners and presumed it got its name from them.
Abigail pushed open the big antiquated wooden door and heard a bell ringing at the entrance. She sensed the coolness and blessed chill of the building and stared at it. Everything seemed old and shabby, but the weighty and splendid chandeliers that hung down from the high ceiling brightly illuminated the lobby. It reminded her of the saying, “a gold ring in a pig’s nose”, that really suited the place. The curved reception desk was reminiscent of the one at the ‘Chai Huneh’ pension and she wondered if there was any connection between the two.
She saw Michael right away. He was sitting in the middle of the lobby and two empty glasses and a bottle filled with a yellow liquid stood on his table. She was so thirsty that she was unable to restrain herself and reached the table with three strides. She immediately pointed to bottle and spoke:
“A’halan, is that lemonade?”
Even before receiving a response, she poured a glass full, gulped the liquid down thirstily and immediately coughed. Her face contorted and she wiped her lips in disgust. The taste was shocking and it tasted as though she had just drunk vinegar or the juice of thousands of lemons.
Michael roared with laughter when he said:
“Hey, what was the rush? That bottle contains concentrated syrup you’re supposed to add water to.”
When he saw she was still choking, he signaled his order for water and Abigail apologized, explaining that it happened because it was a fiery hot day.
“Only today?” Michael exclaimed, “Well, soon you will get even hotter when you hear of the honor that has befallen you.”
She stared at him without curiosity, refilled the glass of water and poured it down her throat.
“They are sending the ship “El Cabo” with someone from the Iranian reactor.”
Initially, she inquired without showing particular interest.
“What cargo is it carrying?”
“Thirty hot pieces intended for the Middle East and that includes twenty-five launchers.”
“What’s the route and what type are they?” She spoke, again poured a glass of water and drank it.
“It’s not on a direct route and the type should make no difference to you, Ma’am,” he said.
“Well it does, and how!” she replied. “What about the sense of satisfaction? Have you forgotten about that?”
“Good, so if I tell you that they are the latest “Shihab 3” and are bound for the Syrian port of Latakia, will that help and satisfy you?” he inquired. “The route is fascinating. They are planning a detour round the Cape of Good Hope and through the Suez Canal in Egypt.”
“You don’t say! That’s a really long way round and quite illogical.”
“Correct, and it’s just to avoid meeting up with the American warships regularly patrolling the Persian Gulf. They behave like a Turkish Maharajah (Landlord) and they never leave the area.”
“I get it. Is this a solo assignment? Will I be on my own?”
“Not this time, you’re getting someone unique, a person who is part of the scenery here and will provide you with a natural cover on this assignment.” He ignored her stare.
“Don’t look now in the direction I will tell you because the man sitting behind the desk will join you soon. Our name for him is “Hodgkin” but he is known everywhere as “Abu-Zaken” (Beard-face).
Abigail glanced briefly at the man and understood why he had his nickname. His face was covered with gingery red curls. When she looked at him again, she noticed that the all the hair on his head was black. She raised her brows and made a sign of a question and was answered in two words:
“It’s natural.”
“When will it take place ?”
Michael sat with his back to the entrance so that he could speak freely.
“You will take care of the ship that is anchored in the nearby harbor and the assignment will be executed long before it reaches that port.”
“Why here, of all places?”
“Because, here the equipment is being sorted and divided for shipment.”
“Tell me a little about that “Abu-Zaken.”
“Ah, first of all, he’s a professional.
“And what is more, he is also a talented swimmer and an expert diver.”
While Michael was speaking, Abigail peeked at the bearded man and a minute after she turned to Michael she saw him standing beside them and jumped in fright. Hodgkin bowed formally and placed a menu on their table. He put on a professional smile and ran his fingers through his interesting beard. Abigail opened the menu and discovered a note inside, written in blue letters as if it had been carbon copied:
“The chicken will be cooked at five today.”
Without moving her hand from the menu, Abigail grasped the note and crumpled it into a ball with her fingers. When she almost decided to put it into her mouth to chew it and make it disappear. Michael rested his hand on her arm. He made a sign that everything was in order. What Abigail did not know was that the words, which were written ink diluted with alcohol, would disappear in a few minutes once it evaporated and leave the page blank.
She glanced at the clock on the wall facing her. It was 3:45 and she thought there was more than an hour till the meeting and Hodgkin kept them occupied for the interim. He sent platters full of excellent cuisine
to their table with a waiter in a tuxedo, who very theatrically offered them a bottle of wine. Abigail pouted her lips in appreciation and gave him a thumbs-up to express her admiration. When the waiter left, she whispered to Michael:
Hey, isn’t it strange that they serve wine here?”
Michael looked around and saw that wine was also being poured into glasses at other tables.
At precisely five o’clock, Hodgkin stood at the door and nodded his head in the direction of the street. Michael whispered to Abigail:
“You’re going out on a recce (preliminary investigation) to prepare for the attack.’
The way to the port was shorter than she estimated and after walking at an average pace for approximately twenty minutes, they reached the docks.
Hodgkin was familiar to the people, who milled around in the harbor. They approached them and chatted with him, leaving Abigail free to survey the area. She looked at the freighters anchored in the polluted sea and tied to the quay with long ropes, immersed in the water.
“Look at the amazing ships!” He exclaimed and Abigail turned her gaze to the vessel he pointed to. She understood that he was referring to it and she looked it over carefully and read its name, which was painted in bold letters.
EL CABO
Abigail memorized the ship so that she would be able to recognize it in the dark, when the time came for the assignment.
“What is our cover?” she asked quietly.
“If we bump into strangers, we’ll imbibe some of this,” the bearded man said raising an almost empty bottle of wine, he pulled out of a pocket in the lining of his jacket.
“I made a note of the wine you prefer,” he joked. “Take one like this with you and if necessary, we can pretend to be drunk.”
“We can also arrange a dress rehearsal before the premiere,” she laughed, “I mean, even if the show does not open.”
Dry leaves fluttered in the sea breeze, cracking under their feet as they wandered around and peered at different corners. Hodgkin signaled to her that they should return and ten minutes later, darkness descended on everything.