by Isaac Stormm
“We’ll pretend we got mechanical problems. Two us will be roadside, the others hiding, preferably on elevated ground. We get them to stop, we pull pistols on the road and somebody with the AK can take them out from the side if necessary. That’s basically it.”
“I know some good places,” Jerome reassured. “Not too far away, actually.” He pressed the gas pedal down a little harder, picking up about ten miles per hour more than the steady 35 he was doing.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Tel Aviv
The Prime Minister’s office
May 30
“Foxmann could really come through with a capture,” Grozner said. “We should have more faith in him.”
“I have faith,” Metzer replied, “I’m just worried that the course of events will follow everything else so far. Disaster.”
Grozner seemed to recoil at the sentence. “Disaster? My God, man, we still have our armed forces intact. Barely even broke a sweat.”
“But, we’re not winning. Before, we got things over quick. We have an enemy whose armed forces are still intact. And we’ve never fought a protracted war. And I’m convinced that’s what the Iranians and the Saudis want. That’s why they’ve done so little. They’re waiting for the right moment.”
6:27 A.M.
Sunrise peaked over the distant mountains as Foxmann and his men found position along the road. Jerome parked the van on a shoulder and opened the back doors retrieving a spare tire which he sat down next to the right rear. Foxmann looked off at the knoll across the road and could barely see David’s head. He had the Kalashnikov and the necessary field of fire should things go south in a hurry. The two other men were waiting out of sight below him.
So far only two cars had passed. One of which stopped and offered to help. Polite “No, thank yous” sent them on their way and right now another car, a small blue sedan appeared to be slowing as it came upon them. It rolled to stop and Foxmann noticed two passengers who looked at him curiously. They then pulled off in front of the van and exited.
Foxmann, in his best Arabic, explained to them they were waiting on someone else to arrive, that the engine was also shot. He waved them on with a polite sweep of the hand as if shooing them back to their vehicle.As they left, Foxmann heard Jerome call, “Here comes our man.”
Foxmann twirled around seeing the tinge of gold paint glimmering off the hood in the distance. “This is it,” he called to the others. He walked almost to the center of the road and began waving his hands.
The car appeared not to slow, so he moved more to the center still waving. The tires screeched as the vehicle came upon him. A head popped out the passenger side window, and cursed at him. Then the driver leaned out and waved him out of the way.
Foxmann yanked the pistol from his belt and brought the sight to the driver who ducked back inside. Foxmann fired twice, the pistol’s whisper report sending the rounds on their way. The glass fractured into spider web patterns specked with blood. Jerome fired at the front passenger who tried to open the door. He slumped down in his seat then fell out onto the pavement.
The back door opened and a man leaped and rolled out and away from the vehicle firing as he did. Foxmann’s sweeping pistol tracked the shooter who continued rolling to the shoulder of the road. He stopped and Foxmann looked down the muzzle of his pistol and fired just as he rolled again. His round smacked into the empty pavement and the gunman stopped and aimed directly at Foxmann. He fired once, his pistol’s discharge drowned out by a louder report. The man’s head popped into a pink mist as an AK round found its mark.
Foxmann ran toward the back of the sedan. He confronted a man holding a pistol staring down its muzzle at him. Both men stood there, weapons trained on each other’s heads. A Mexican standoff.
David ran around to the other side and pointed the AK through the window. “Drop it.”
The man looked at him then Foxmann. A smile started to form on his lips. He shrugged his shoulders, put the gun down and shoved it toward him. Foxmann picked it up, never taking his eyes off the sights. He glanced over at David who opened the door and grabbed the man’s arm, pulling him out. The man tumbled onto his butt and when David released him, he placed his hands up.
“Get him to the van, now,” Foxmann exclaimed, putting both pistols back into his belt.
“Jerome’s been hit, Jessy,” David said, tugging at the man’s shoulder again, pulling him to his feet. Foxmann ran and knelt down next to Jerome whose head lay in a halo of oozing blood. He remained perfectly still when Foxmann felt his wet hair, finding a small entry point and a mass of sticky blood sopping his hand.
Jerome moved his lips, a wheeze coming before he spoke. “I can’t feel anything. Did you get him?”
“David did.”
“That was no… Hezbollah…I mean he was different. Check the guards.”
“I will. First we’ve got to get you to safety.”
“Don’t bullshit me…Colonel. I know I’m dying… Just get me out of the middle of the road.”
David arrived at Foxmann’s side, looking over his shoulder.
“Give me a hand. You take his feet.”
The two men lifted the stiffening man up and moved him to the side of the road behind the van. Jerome’s head went limp and dangled like on a swivel as they lay him down.
“That’s it,” Foxmann proclaimed, quelling a touch of sadness welling within him. “Let’s check those guards.”
Jerome’s body was loaded into the back, as Foxmann and David went to search the guards. They found no identification on either. But they all shared a common theme. Beards, which was not unusual, and complexions which clearly were not Middle Eastern, but more Caucasian. Jerome may have a point after all. Besides, the way his killer reacted by rolling as he fired accurately meant that he was trained to a higher skill set than the average Hezbollah fighter. Who he was no one knew, but two options presented themselves.
“Mercenaries?” David asked, almost as if to read Foxmann’s mind as he collected the man’s weapon from his rigid grasp. That was one. Eastern European security or Spec Ops was another.
“Let’s get the hell out of here. I’m going to call for an extract ASAP,” Foxmann said as he finished rifling through the driver’s pockets. “I’ll drive.”
They left the ambush site behind and headed back toward Beirut. A car passed a few minutes later headed for the ambush point. They were going to get quite a surprise, Foxmann thought, and he gunned the engine faster heading toward the 50 miles per hour mark. “Confirm our catch. I’ll give the extract point as well.”
The van skidded through a turn, raising a couple of wheels off the pavement. But he caught the slide and remained in control, keeping both hands tight on the wheel and working the gas pedal.
David made the call and confirmed the extract coordinates.
“We’ll be there in an hour,” Foxmann said.
Tel Aviv
Prime Minister’s Office
“We’ll know what Tehran’s plans are now,” Metzer said.
“Maybe not. He probably won’t know much beyond the actions he took. But he has names and places we’ve never looked before. How are we going to interrogate?”
“Questions first. There won’t be any physical pain. No waterboarding either. We’ll give him a shot of sodium pentothol.”
Sodium pentothol was famous for its ability to produce the truth from a suspect by messing with his mind. He became drowsy, rambled on when asked questions and once off of it, didn’t remember a thing. Effective. Though it was banned by convention, Israel still used it.
“We haven’t used that in years,” Grozner said.
“We’ve also not had such a high value target in our hands until now, either.”
Outside Beirut
10:21 A.M.
They ditched the van and walked the 200 or so meters to the extraction point which was located amidst a series of small knolls absent of road or trail. No houses either made the procession go without worr
y of curious eyes. Now Foxmann and Zarin huddled around Jerome’s body in the small field while David and the others set up perimeter security.
Zarin had not said a word since being taken. He continued to look down at the ground. Foxmann could care less. He knew how big this guy was and that he needed expert interrogation. Mossad was going to work this guy over, that was for sure. And if past successes were any indication, he’d be spewing out everything he’d learned about drone warfare since he took up interest of the subject.
“I hear the chopper,” David said.
The whup, whup, whup sound appeared faint at first but rapidly grew into a singular tone of thrashing blades. A black dot emerged in the distance and grew steadily.
“Here.” Foxmann pulled Zarin’s arms behind him and bound his wrists with a torn piece of cloth from a shirt. Once it was tightened into several knots, he said, “Get Jerome’s body aboard first.”
The three men took station around the corpse and lifted him up as the chopper flared and began its descent. Wind and dust blew into their eyes and on their clothing as the side door came to a rest a few feet away. They placed the body aboard on the deck and motioned for Foxmann to follow.
He took Zarin by the arms and transferred him to the crew chief who helped the man aboard. Then he followed. The chopper revved into a high, sonorous buzz and slowly lifted off. The hot sun’s rays filled and warmed the cabin as the aircraft set a course for Tel Aviv.
Zarin looked over at Foxmann. “It is no good,” he yelled. “You cannot defeat the will of Allah.”
“We might. Just this once,” Foxmann shot back. He looked out and saw the terrain becoming more patchwork of different colors as the bird clawed for more altitude. Soon, they were over the sea. The coastline disappeared behind them, and they banked left to take them toward Israel.
Vienna, Austria
OPEC Headquarters
10:45 A.M.
The Saudi representative moved the microphone to just below his lips. Seated with him at the round table were all the Middle Eastern Oil Exportation countries of Kuwait, Iraq, Algeria, Libya, the United Arab Emirates and Qatar. Their sullen and serious faces looked over at Katrina Lambert sitting on the other side.
“We want blood,” the Saudi representative said to her. “My people have witnessed a criminal regime wipe out its leadership, sicken its people with radiation, and the country could be on the brink of civil war, between the Wahabbi sect and moderates. If such calamity takes place, it will send us back to the Middle Ages. That’s why I adjourned this meeting today. We are proposing cutting off all oil exports to any allies of Israel active on their behalf. Even your NATO ally Turkey sent us a message suggesting the same thing.”
Since Israel got most of its oil from Russia and the former Soviet Republics, she knew he meant America. “We have sent our people to die, if necessary, protecting your oil,” she shot back.
“While simultaneously meddling in the Persian Gulf. Your aircraft have just attacked facilities inside Iran. You have a large number of forces in Kuwait, which, if I am correct, The Kuwaiti Emir now says he wants removed.”
“We were attacked in the Gulf by the Iranians.”
“Which you provoked by having warships in the Strait of Hormuz. I know you have patrolled there for years. But having an Israeli ally that close to their shores…You were warned a thousand times over the years that you would be attacked if Israel attacked Iran.”
Lambert jumped up from the chair to face the seated ministers. With her chin firm and lips tightened, she said, “You as well as I know we were fulfilling obligations to protect the Strait from this war. How dare you imply we are the aggressors.”
He motioned for her to sit back down. “Please, Madame Secretary, let me finish.”
She folded her arms and stood firm.
“OPEC is in touch and that includes every country you see represented here, with the U.N. We are going to offer another cease-fire. We will give the Israelis until midnight tonight to cease all offensive activity in the Middle East or the rest of the countries you see here besides we Saudis and U.A.E will consider themselves in a state of war with the Jews.”
Her jaw dropped, and she shook her head. “My God. This is insanity. You cannot—”
“Yes, we can. And we will. Washington must use its considerable influence to reign the Jews in. If they don’t, consider yourself an accessory to the crime. If it goes that way, we will be forced to take the next step to choke Israel to death.”
It threw her off. He was hiding something. A veiled threat perhaps? She had to know. “What are you proposing?”
“Let me show you.” He whispered into an aide’s ear and got up. The aide opened twin doors behind him. There stood a man in a black suit and tie who walked into the room to stand next to the Saudi. He was not Middle Eastern, but a tall Caucasian with receding red hair and thin face.
“Do you know who this man is, Madame Secretary?”
“Enlighten me.”
“He is from the Russian Foreign Ministry. Speaking on behalf of his country, I would like for him to explain to you what we mean if things don’t go our way.” The man sat down in the Saudi’s chair not bothering to acknowledge her.
“This morning Russian forces were invited into Iraq to protect its oil fields from Israeli attack. After much discussion with this panel, we have determined that if Israel does not agree to an OPEC/U.N. proposal to end hostilities, then my country shall cease all exports of oil to Israel indefinitely.”
The words rained like hot coals over her. So much for good graces being heard. “Do you realize the gravity of what you just said? This isn’t a peace proposal, but blackmail against Israel and the United States.” Anger welled in her stomach. She wanted to start cursing right there, but knew better. She had to keep a civil face.
“You may call it what you will,” he said, “but in this dire time, only extreme action is what can save the entire Middle East from being engulfed by war.”
“With this proposal you are virtually guaranteeing war. You cannot be serious in thinking Israel will go along with it. They will reject it before they even know the intricacies of it.”
“That is why we are counting on the United States to use its considerable influence to bring Israel back into line.”
This was not a peace proposal. This was a damn ultimatum. Outrageous. She looked into the faces of the other OPEC members. Saw only stern expressions ready for her to heel to. She wouldn’t. “In all my years of public service, I have never witnessed such harsh rhetoric. You are gravely mistaken to threaten more bloodshed. That’s all this new stance will bring. The U.N. will never go along.”
“On the contrary,” the Saudi said, bent over toward the mike. “Like you, they have no choice. Now obviously, no one here really wants to go to war with anyone. Am I correct?”
They all nodded in agreement.
“But you see Israel has unilaterally spread this war, not just started it. Attack Iran. Invade Lebanon. Kill the leaders of my country. We would have no credibility if we didn’t all unite as business partners, as Arabs, and most of all Muslims to face this threat to our survival. The Russian got back up and let the Saudi sit. He stood looking over his shoulder at Lambert and she felt for the first time in her career to be swimming in a pool of sharks ready to take a chunk out of her next words. In other words, she had to be careful, as blood dripped from the weight of her next statement. Maybe appease them a little without giving them anything.
“I will inform the president of this development. Of course, he will be shocked like I. Nevertheless, he will contact Secretary-General Rasmuth and give you an answer to this proposal.” Right then and there she thanked God she didn’t have to make the final call, but also didn’t know exactly how her boss was going to take anything different away from this encounter. Then she realized, the last hope would be Rasmuth, and he was an untested, even greater unknown. She hoped she would be able to listen to the exchange between the two and offer her though
ts to pull out of this quicksand environment. And somehow, call it premonition, she imagined him coming down on the side of OPEC. Shudder the thought. But she knew a side would be taken.
“It may take time—”
“You’re running out of it,” the Saudi said. “Twelve midnight Vienna time. About thirteen hours to pull the strings on America’s unruly child. Beyond that, expect to see all of our countries’ forces mobilized and reserves called up. Anything happening beyond the deadline, say, a desire for more time, will be ignored.”
She turned away and began walking as he spoke. Then, with a raised voice, he called out, “Twelve midnight. We will not stop until we reach Jerusalem this time.” An aide quickly opened the door for her and she disappeared out into the hallway where the aide joined her side. “Get me Washington,” she said, her voice low but stern.
Israel
Zarin said nothing the entire flight. Didn’t even look at anyone, just the floor. When they set down on the landing pad, Foxmann and David took him under each arm and stepped off, handing him over to two guards who spirited him away to a waiting car.
“Damn op. It was almost perfect.” Foxmann looked back at Jerome’s body being removed by three men. “But that had to happen.”
“But we got the BeeKeeper,” David responded.
“Colonel Foxmann.” He looked around and saw a man in civilian clothes waving next to a HUMVEE.
“I’m going to the latrine,” David said, and let him continue on his own.
When he got there, the man pointed to the back seat and said, “In here, it’s the prime minister. He says it is most urgent.”
Foxmann fitted in and picked up the headset. “Yes?”
“We’re restarting our offensive into Lebanon. You’ll be on standby. How’d it go?”
“Our contact was killed, but we got the bastard.” He paused a second then added, “Ariel, there is something peculiar here. He was protected by white faces. Caucasian men. I think Russia is more deeply involved than we give them credit for.”