by Harold
“Certainly, Imam.”
“I mention that detail because it may be necessary for you to dispatch some guards to conduct the shipment here. We cannot always rely upon our Syrian brothers for the public support that we might wish.” He curled a lip, sneering at the niceties of diplomacy. “But they have often been most helpful in the past, and as long as our people are involved in the shipments, I am told that there should be little trouble.”
Esmaili was enough of a strategist to grasp the essentials. “The goal, then, is deniability of direct Syrian support.”
Elham almost smiled. “More precisely, the goal is political deniability. Our government, the Syrians, and the United Nations will conduct a masquerade. In such cases, each side knows that the others are being disingenuous but it is to the advantage of all to proceed with the charade. If no one objects, the result is the same as if nothing happened at all.” A genuine smile unfolded itself. “Such people much prefer to avoid unpleasant facts than to deal with them.”
“Then I suppose we should be grateful that there are such creatures.”
“God is great, brother. God is great.”
* * * *
BEIRUT
Leopole had inherited Kamal Azzam, Kara’s chief bodyguard, who was charged with getting the American and Major Ayash to the airport for their return to Israel. Before they joined Ayash, Leopole wanted another perspective on Rafix Kara. He had no option other than Kamal.
“Kamal, I am worried about Mr. Kara. Is he all right?”
Azzam was nothing if not loyal. “Yes, of course he is all right. What do you mean, Mr. Leopole?”
“Well, when I left him he was much more, uh, animated than before.” Leopole recognized that Azzam’s English had its limits. “I mean, he seemed free-spirited, almost playful.”
The security man nodded in comprehension. “Oh, yes yes. That is medicine. Mr. Kara takes pills for pain.” He touched his head with both hands. “Has been okay mostly but sometimes old wounds hurt him still.”
The SSI operative filed that intelligence for reference. He wondered if Yakov Livni knew that the IDF’s senior Druze contact might be subject to morphine highs now and then.
Leopole heard the ballistic crack; a high-pitched snap instantly followed by a supersonic object striking concrete. Several more followed.
Frank Leopole was too experienced a gunfighter to remain upright on a city street, looking for the source of the shooting. He dived behind a fruit cart outside a stylish shop, drawing his loaner Sig as he did so.
He peeked from behind the cart, trying to sort out the situation. More gunfire. People racing in every direction, some screaming, a few sobbing. Two or three had assumed awkward positions on the sidewalk. Typical confusion. He remembered to breathe, sucking in oxygen to fuel his system.
The cart provided decent concealment but precious little cover. A rifle round could easily penetrate it, and probably most pistol ammo from across the street. Call it twenty-five meters.
Then Leopole remembered: there had been no time to check the Sig’s sights. He had no idea where it shot. Worse than that, he did not even know if it functioned. While it was extremely unlikely that Rafix Kara would own an inoperable weapon, one just didn’t know until one tried.
Leopole saw a hanging sign across the street, advertising women’s clothes. The Arabic script offered no decent aimpoint but the O in “Boutique” was a decent substitute for a zeroing bull’s-eye. He raised the P229, gripping with both hands, and stroked the trigger. The 9mm round impacted the sign, moving it visibly, but at that distance it was impossible to tell where.
He felt fifty percent better.
Kamal.
Leopole looked behind him, seeking Kara’s bodyguard. No sign of him. That was bad news indeed; the Druze was obviously a serious young man. Leopole was skilled at sizing up men, and Kamal had impressed him as dedicated to the point of obsession.
Where is he?
Twenty meters to his left front, Leopole glimpsed two men, one with an AK and the other with an FAL. They were walking briskly, diagonally across the street in his direction. He noted that they covered one another, the FAL man reloading while his partner scanned left and right. They’ve done this before.
The American looked again for his escort. The two shooters probably were hostile, but in West Beirut you never knew. They might be responding to an unseen threat. Leopole leaned back on his haunches and saw two forms on the sidewalk. One was a woman who was still moving; the other was Kamal Azzam, who was not.
That settled it. When the shooters got fifteen meters away, Leopole centered his borrowed Sig’s sights on the right-hand man with the AK. The American’s mind was rational; almost calm. His heart was not. He thought: Squeeze between the beats. Not enough time. He pressed the double-action trigger once, twice, three times.
Then he breathed and shifted targets.
The AK gunner had flinched visibly and turned partly away. In that interval Leopole had a new sight picture and was taking up the slack when more gunfire sounded to his left. Somebody’s shooting at the FAL guy. The remaining hostile spun on a heel, fired two rounds semiauto, and collapsed. More shots followed him to the ground.
Leopole shifted his scan to the right again and saw the AK shooter backpedaling to the far curb, firing short, ill-directed bursts. He must have a vest. It was longish distance for a head shot, but Leopole tried. He fired once, saw no hit, and realized that he still did not know where to hold. People were running in the background. Rule Four: be sure of your target and backstop. He reached for the magazine pouch on his left side and managed a tactical reload. Then he thought: Kamal.
Staying low, Leopole dashed to the Druze. From ten meters away he realized the young man was dead. Live people don’t look like that. Kamal had worn soft body armor that offered no protection against rifle ammunition.
A Lebanese in a uniform knelt beside the wounded woman, an AK-74 lying beside her. Leopole wondered if the gendarme—or whatever he was—had shot the second offender. Belatedly, the SSI man remembered to holster his pistol. It was not the time or place for a stranger to be seen packing.
A high-pitched European-style siren warbled up the block. Its two-tone, high-low bleat announced that Red Crescent had been summoned. With professional detachment, Leopole admired the response time. He knew of American emergency responders who refused to enter a crime area until the street was blue with police.
Abruptly, he remembered a National Guardsman who had responded to the Watts riots in ‘65. Leopole was not old enough to remember those days, when “African-Americans” were “Negroes.” But he knew that black radicals had torched buildings, then shot at the fire trucks, killing a fireman and two cops. The firemen had withdrawn, quipping, “Burn, baby, burn.”
Fahed Ayash was by his side. “Colonel, are you hurt?”
Leopole stirred himself from his reverie. He looked at the liaison officer. “Yeah, I’m okay. But. . .” He gestured at the body.
“Yes, I know.” The Israeli Druze grasped the American by the arm and led him toward a cab. “We must get away from here.”
Leopole resumed his scan of the threat sector. He was focused again. “What about Rafix? He’s got to be told about Kamal.”
A faint smile, condescending in execution if not intent. “Colonel Leopole, he will know very soon, if not already. But we must go.”
“What’s the hurry, Fahed?”
Ayash shoved his charge into a Citroen taxi. “Colonel, they were after us.”
* * * *
15
SAFED, ISRAEL
Yakov Livni already had a report from Fahed Ayash but the IDF colonel wanted a personal account from the American operator. Livni got straight to the point. “Tell me about it.”
Frank Leopole was brief. “I finished my meeting with Kara and was going to meet Ayash at a taxi stand with Kara’s bodyguard.” For reasons he did not fully understand, Leopole was reluctant to speak Kamal Azzam’s name. “I heard gunshots, too
k cover, and returned fire at two shooters in the street. When I looked around, the bodyguard was dead with some other people.” He shrugged it off. “Ayash showed up and got me to the airport. So here I am.”
Before the Israeli could respond, Leopole interjected, “How’d they know about me, Colonel?”
Livni removed his glasses and rubbed his forehead. “I think that Major Ayash addressed that point.”
Leopole leaned forward. “Yes, he addressed it. Hell, it’s all we talked about on the plane. He had some theories but nothing solid. I think he knows more than he’s telling me, Colonel Livni, and that makes me nervous. We have a saying, ‘Nervous as a long-tailed cat in a rocking chair factory.’ That’s how nervous I am. Not just for me, but for my people. You understand?”
Despite the edge in Leopole’s voice, Livni grinned in appreciation at the colorful humor. “Yes, Frank, of course I do. And you’re right. Major Ayash does know a little more than he told you, but that’s not his fault. He’s under orders to reveal only what is operationally necessary. Do not blame him.” He thumped his chest. “If you must, blame me.”
“It’s not about blame, Colonel. It’s about trust.”
Livni leaned back, more relaxed than before. “I can tell you that we recognized some Hezbollah operatives in Kara’s area. It wasn’t hard to add up two and two. They were undoubtedly watching his office, maybe even trailing him to see where he went, who he met. We knew that at the time but we judged the threat minimal.” He grinned. “After all, you were armed.”
“Well, I didn’t even have time to test the pistol. I think I hit one of those guys but if the Lebanese soldiers hadn’t shown up—”
Livni interrupted. “Tell me. Did he ply you with women, wine, or both?”
Leopole was startled. “None, Colonel. It was a straight-up business meeting. We confirmed the operating areas and the militias we’ll be training.”
Livni shook his head. “Well, if Rafix Kara didn’t ply you with something, it’s the first time I ever heard of. One of our previous consultants was two days late returning because he was so badly hungover in a bawdy house. When he could speak coherently, he said he only remembered the first night, and it was absolutely the best of his life.”
The American gave an ironic smile. “Maybe I should’ve played hard to get.”
“He never tried to bribe you or coerce you at all?”
“He just gave me the pistol and a Kevlar vest.”
Livni’s face split wide open in a beaming smile. “I knew it! You see, I know how that pirate works. He’s shrewd, Frank. He recognized that he didn’t have to bribe you to get his way because you are one of those straight arrows. So, to cement the bonds, he gave you something you valued more than mere wine or women.” The Israeli leaned close. “But I’ve seen some of his feminine stable, and a few of them would give Gabrielle a good run.” He winked conspiratorially.
“That good, huh?”
The Israeli slowly shook his head. “Oooh, the women I’ve seen . . .” Abruptly he caught himself. “But to return to business. You are justifiably concerned about what Hezbollah knows or suspects about your upcoming operation. We do not know if they have identified you but we can assume they know you’re American. Since you’re not part of the diplomatic circle, they will deduce that you have a military connection. That’s cause for concern, but it does not link you with your SSI team.”
Leopole mulled over that thought. Finding no flaw in it, he agreed. “All right. Unless they have a lot more info than seems likely, there’s not much chance they’ve connected me with the militia training plan.” A thought belatedly pushed its way forward. “But maybe they do know about the plan.”
Livni bit his lip. The American wondered if it were a giveaway or an unconscious habit. “We don’t have any evidence that they are aware of the operation, Frank. But even if we did, there’s not much we could do other than increase monitoring of, ah, some sensitive sources.”
“Okay then. I’ll brief my guys to proceed as planned, but maintain a heightened awareness.”
“Yes, that’s fine. Now, Major Ayash said you mentioned that Kara was in unusually high spirits when you left him. He’s not usually erratic. You suspect he’s medicated?”
“That’s what. . . the bodyguard . . . said. Kara has occasional pain from some wounds or injuries. I figured you’d know about that.”
Livni nodded. “Yes, he’s probably been shot and blown up more than anyone I know. And believe me, that’s saying something. It stands to reason that he would require pain medicine, but I’ve never seen it.” He paused for a moment. “Do you think the morphine, or whatever it is, might affect his judgment?”
“Damned if I know, Colonel. I hardly met the man.”
“Well, if it’s any comfort, he’s acting normally since you left.”
“Oh? How’s that?”
Livni decided to explain. “We learned that Kara discovered a possible security breach in his organization. He waited too long to correct it.”
“So what happened?”
“He corrected it.”
* * * *
NABATIYEH GOVERNATE
Mohammad Azizi was back, and this time he brought something besides encouragement and platitudes. He invited the imam and Esmaili to a private conference well away from the other Hezbollah fighters.
“I have been in contact with our operatives in Beirut and Damascus,” Azizi began. Esmaili concluded that since he did not allude to the all-powerful Dr. Momen, the statement indicated either rare honesty or secrecy to protect sources. In either case, Esmaili acknowledged that he could only accept the courier’s assessments at face value.
“We have been watching several offices in Beirut, both governmental and private ventures. The one that raised the most interest was the doings of Rafix Kara, a patron of the Druze cause throughout Lebanon. He has been meeting with foreigners including a westerner who almost certainly is American, and a man believed to be an Israeli Druze officer.”
Imam Elham absorbed that information. “Are the two working together?”
Azizi nodded. “It appears so. They were on the street outside one of Kara’s buildings when two of our men saw an opportunity. Unfortunately, the westerner defended himself and some Lebanese police intervened. We learned that one of Kara’s guard dogs was killed, as were some others. But that is of no concern.”
“What of our men?” Elham’s question surprised Esmaili. He did not expect the cleric to worry about lesser mortals.
“One was killed, the other wounded but escaped.”
“Then that man is the source of your information?”
“Yes, Imam.”
Elham was satisfied with the response. / should have known, Esmaili told himself.
“I have heard of this man Kara,” Elham continued. “He would be a river to his people. Perhaps he seeks additional help from the Zionists and their bought dogs.”
“Yes, perhaps. We had a man inside his office for a short time. He was well paid but produced little useful information. He has not reported lately.”
Esmaili sought to maintain his standing in the group. “If Kara is supporting Druze causes, is it not logical to assume that he will be interested in whatever happens around Hasbaya?”
Azizi rubbed his close-cropped beard. “Yes, it is. But so far there has been no indication. Our agents report most of what happens in the Druze settlements in this area.”
Elham stood, indicating that the meeting was over. “It does not matter. Events will take the course that God selects. We only serve Him and follow His path.”
Azizi also rose. “His will, Imam.”
“His will,” intoned Ahmad Esmaili.
* * * *
HAIFA, ISRAEL
“When we left Arlington, I told you that I would keep you informed at every step,” Frank Leopole began. “Well, this will be your final briefing before we go to Lebanon.” Leopole was the type of commanding officer who walked the walk. When it came to looking ou
t for the troops, almost everyone in the room had served under men who merely talked the talk.
“Major Ayash and I met with Mr. Kara in Beirut and confirmed that our clients will be prepared for us. The Druze are eager to receive updated training, and I am confident that we’ll find the militias receptive students. But as always, there are cultural concerns, and we’re going to rely heavily upon our IDF liaison officers.”
Leopole walked to an easel supporting a large-scale map of Lebanon with border areas of Israel and Syria. “We will fly into Beirut with our Israeli colleagues and spend a couple of days getting oriented. Then we’ll proceed to the area around Hasbaya, about forty miles south-southeast. That’s where the Israelis and the militias are concerned about growing Hezbollah activity. As you will recall from Mr. Baram’s briefings, the Izzies . . . er, Israelis . . . took some heavy casualties operating against Hezbollah. So keep that in mind, gentlemen. If IDF spec-ops teams are having a tough time, we can expect the same.”