Reprisal!- The Gauntlet

by Cliff Roberts

  “No ‘if.’ I will talk to the man whether you talk with me or not. Shall I go?” Ron asked.

  Several more tears slowly dripped down her cheeks. She used the back of her right hand to wipe them away before she spoke.

  “I will talk with you. After all, you are the only one who talks to me at all in this hell hole. Oh, they will occasionally drag me from my cell and threaten to torture me and sometimes they do, but not a single guard speaks to me as a person. I am alone until Allah decides I have suffered enough, and then, he will welcome me into his heavenly home.

  “I have cooperated with them since my surrender, and yet they have locked me away. I would have been better off to have let my so-called friends kill me. They would have taken their time, but it would have ended far quicker than this,” she stated, her voice quickly trailing off to a whisper.

  “I know they have been unfair and unkind,” Ron said, “but they fear you, both of them—your so-called friends and the Israelis. They know you could spell their downfall. They hate you for it, and yet, the Israelis have kept you alive. They have also kept the secret that you live. If they really wanted to hurt you, they could have told your friends long ago and even being imprisoned here, they would have found you. It is not a great bargain, but then few things in life seldom are,” Ron spoke calmly, trying to give her hope that wasn’t there.

  “What is it you seek?” she asked. She focused her gaze upon the floor in front of her. “I grow tired of my own whining.”

  “Well, I’m here to talk to you about a subject you spoke with the Israelis about a few days ago. It seems your old friend in the West Bank wasn’t home when they went to visit, and a few of the partiers found the reception very unpleasant,” Ron stated.

  “I see.” A smile danced across her face for a moment, then faded quickly to her normal scowl again, “It is not my fault. They only asked if I knew where he might go after he left Lebanon, and I told them that many travelers found the West Bank beautiful this time of year. He has several old friends there in the Martyrs Brigade. They did not ask what I would do if he were to visit me,” she stated without emotion as if she was reciting something she had read in a book. She stepped over to the table, pulled the box from the bag and stared at it.

  “What would you have done if he had come to visit you?” Ron asked. He moved along the wall giving her space.

  “Turkish,” she snapped coldly, dropping the box back into the bag and dropping the bag onto the table with a thud. “You would think they’d be able to get the good French kind, wouldn’t you?” she questioned.

  “I wouldn’t know,” Ron stated flatly, unwilling to be drawn into a quarrel about the quality of her cigarettes.

  “This is how they treat a valuable asset. Cheap, cheap, cheap!” she whined loudly, then stopped, abruptly changing tone and subject. “What would I do if that son of a whore came to visit me?” She turned and looked at the far wall, but you could tell she wasn’t looking at it. She was thinking of how she was going to answer.

  “First, of course, I would have moved him to a safe house within minutes of his arrival, well away from the headquarters building,” she stated, without looking away from the far wall. “If the Brigade didn’t do this, it had to be because they wanted his presence to be noted; they used him as bait to lure the Israelis in. I think this is what they have done, or you would not have come. But that is another subject for another time.” She turned her head and looked at Ron, fixing him with her eyes.

  “If I had used him as bait, I would have waited until the last minute, mere moments before the gunships arrived, and then I would have moved him. I would have taken him out through the underground garage of the guest house. There is an entrance a quarter of a kilometer to the east in an old warehouse. Then, I would have moved him north to a safe house, a farm, and hidden him there. You know the kind. They only have few animals, perhaps a small olive grove. Several men seem to be working the farm, but they produce little if anything, and at night, there would be armed guards hidden in the grove.

  “The house would appear to be closed up tight, day and night, so that no light could be seen from the outside, and no one could see in. More importantly, with my friend being of so much interest, I would be careful not to allow any eavesdropping on conversations inside the house by producing white noise to hamper surveillance, maybe some copper strips nailed to the outside of the house.

  “Yes, we know about these things,” she stated while looking at Tom to gauge his reaction. “The Israelis and the CIA are not the only ones with scientists and engineers in their employment. We can use sophisticated electronics, too.” To his credit, Tom stood impassively.

  “When the time was right,” she began again, “I would move him to Iran or Iraq.” Her face seemed to light up at this point, and she waved an arm as if brushing away a cobweb.

  “Yes, Iraq is still a safe haven for terrorists,” she continued as she once again turned towards Ron. “Your country is too trusting of the new Iraqi government. Now that they have gotten you to leave, they are reverting to the old ways, and they will become a bigger thorn in the world’s side than ever before. They are not men who can be trusted.” She paused for a moment to let the statement sink in.

  She turned towards the picture once again, her face showing a trace of sadness. “I would think they would wait a week before trying to move him again. If I were you, I would begin my search today. A flyover should produce the signature of the white noise and provide at least one location to check, probably close to the River Jordan. You could watch from inside Jordan, and when you are ready, cross the river easily and take them by surprise.

  “This time of year, the river in the north is just a small stream, barely ten feet wide and no more than a foot or two deep. Yes, that is what I would do if my friend had come to me. But why would he be so foolish and come to me? He would be as big a fool as I have been. I could have gone to Europe. The Israelis would have had a very difficult time finding me. Even my old friends would not have recognized me.” She started to pace slowly along the wall after her voice trailed off, glancing now and then at Ron.

  “It sounds like you’ve thought about it lot,” Ron said.

  She turned and looked at him with a grin on her face. “No, I didn’t have to. It is the standard procedure of the Brigade. I seriously doubt they have changed how they operate on my account. I am but a woman. I couldn’t possibly have remembered all of my training. Plus, it would be very difficult to retrain an army with so many illiterates in the ranks.”

  “This is why they fear you,” Ron replied.

  She spun around rapidly and pinned Ron with her eyes, her face a mask of hatred and sudden rage. Her cheeks were bright red and her eyes had the look of stone. “Enough of this foolishness! You pay me compliments? I don’t need your pity! I demanded respect when I was on the outside. I killed hundreds of infidels like you, and I was celebrated for it. It was the disinformation your people planted that turned my friends against me. It was the only way you could get to me. Now leave, before I forget I’m a lady, and don’t come back unless you bring the French kind next time!” she screamed. With a quick lunge forward, she brushed the bag with the box in it off the table, then spun around, turning her back to Ron and Tom, dismissing them.

  Ron turned without saying anything, walked to the door, and rapped on it for the guard. Tom leaned in close to him and said in whisper, “That was interesting.”

  “He speaks!” The woman immediately snapped. “He knows nothing of my life, but yet finds me interesting. He won’t last very long in the West Bank! He can’t keep his mouth shut as instructed!” she railed at them.

  The light blinked out and the door opened. Ron held his finger to his lips as Tom turned toward him, cutting off any complaint or conversation. Tom looked surprised and annoyed but kept quiet as they were escorted back to the warden’s office.

  Upon entering the office, Emil looked up from some papers he was reading and said, “I see your new assi
stant got the full show from our lady in the dungeon.” The comment confirmed Tom’s suspicion that the room had been bugged. “It might have been better if you had seen her alone. She seemed so guarded. Of course, not every conversation yields actionable intelligence. She has been less than friendly lately; perhaps the stress has finally broken her. Can I fuel your vehicle for the return trip?” Emil offered with a large smile on his face.

  “No, thanks, I’ve plenty of fuel, a double tank. One never knows when one might be detoured, and the desert is not a good place to run short of fuel or water,” Ron bantered, returning Emil’s smile. He let Emil’s observations pass without comment, though he wondered why he was fishing for intelligence.

  “Perhaps some refreshments for the drive home then?” Emil asked.

  “Now, that would be welcomed, my friend. We both know that we are required to leave everything at the first gate, and by now it would be warm. You are a most generous host,” Ron complimented him in the Middle Eastern way.

  After receiving a half dozen bottles of water and fruit juice, Ron and Tom made their way back through the prison security and began the long drive to Tel Aviv. Tom tried to speak after they left the last gate where they retrieved their weapons, but Ron once again held up his finger to his lips and shot Tom a withering look. Tom took a deep breath and looked out the window, watching the unending sand roll past under the blazing Middle Eastern sun.

  Finally, after ten minutes, Ron spoke. “It’s okay to speak now.”

  “Are you telling me they’ve got listening devices this far away from the prison?” Tom asked.

  “Yes,” Ron replied.

  “This was a waste of time,” Tom stated emphatically. “Why’d we come here again?”

  “First of all, that lady back there was a very high ranking member of Hamas. She planned and executed over fifty successful attacks against the Israelis, killing over a thousand men, women and children. The Israelis tried over a dozen times to take her out, but failed every time. She was that good.

  “Finally, someone in Mossad got the brilliant idea to let her own team take her out for them. The Israelis let it slip to a double agent that she had provided intelligence that allowed them to mount a successful rocket attack on one of her biggest rivals. It took only a few days for Hamas to begin hunting her.

  “Her home was attacked and her whole family killed, but she wasn’t there. Hamas sent roving gangs of thugs to every person she knew. Several more people died before she was able to intervene and kill several Hamas leaders in the West Bank, Gaza and Lebanon. She then killed the double agent before slipping into Israel somehow. Once there, she hid out for several weeks apparently trying to escape to Europe, but she found that all her old contacts had abandoned her.

  “She finally saw the situation clearly and turned herself into the Israelis, and they dumped her here. They could have shot her on sight, and maybe that was what she was hoping for, but the Israelis saw an opportunity to gain valuable intelligence about her friends in Gaza, the West Bank and elsewhere, so she lives,” Ron stopped to take a breath, and Tom continued to sit quietly.

  “Now she’s very anti-Israeli,” Ron started again, “and she makes them work for every piece of intelligence she gives them. She only gives them exactly what they ask for, nothing extra. Take our little operation. She told them only what they asked about, but she told me a great deal more. She puts on this act, like she is just a little bit crazy. She’ll talk in circles, and she throws out what appear to be random thoughts.” Ron paused to yawn. It had been a long night and before he could continue, Tom spoke up. “Why the act?”

  “Why?” Ron asked. “The Israeli prison system isn’t exactly airtight. There are a number of Palestinian laborers in the prison at any one time, and any one or all of those laborers could be spies and probably are. That’s why they never use her name and refer to her only by her cell number. Not even the guards know her name. That’s a very closely guarded secret. You may also have noticed that her cell was the only one with guards posted outside, and when they opened the door the light was out; and when we left, they turned it out before opening the door. They don’t want anyone looking in and recognizing her.

  “The Israelis tape everything that is said or done in that cell. The tapes are then shipped to the Mossad for analysis. They look for any tidbit she may have given them. It’s all for her security. She was the one to spell out the terms of her surrender and her incarceration. Her complaining is just for show. Everything she says is purposely vague, and she’ll only talk in hypothetical terms. She might mention a name or two in the conversation, but she doesn’t give a lot of context. So, it’s hard to say exactly what she meant. Again, security. However, the conversation we had was extremely helpful to us,” Ron said with a smile.

  “How’s that?” Tom asked skeptically.

  “Weren’t you paying attention?”

  “Paying attention to what? She talked a lot of gibberish as far as I’m concerned,” Tom stated as he glared at Ron.

  “Yeah, she did that, but she also told us where to find Ashrawl,” Ron beamed.

  “What? She told us while talking hypothetically?” Tom questioned.

  “Now you get it. She didn’t exactly say, ‘Hey, if you go here, Ashrawl will be waiting,’ but she did tell us what to look for and where to look for it, without saying exactly where he is,” Ron explained for Tom. “That way she doesn’t actually give away anything that is detrimental to her friends and colleagues.”

  “How would she even know that information?” Tom asked, doubting Ron’s claims.

  “That brings us back to the laborers in the prison. There is a strong underground within the Palestinian state. Many, if not most, of the business leaders want to remove the thugs at Hamas and the Brigade from power and get back to having real lives. But they need a leader. They have decided that she could be that leader. The Israelis believe that the business leaders convinced her to swear off violence and to embrace diplomacy. They believe that’s the reason she turned herself in and is now helping them.

  “The laborers who work with the underground supply information to her, and she passes it on. However, within that same labor pool are the spies for the opposition who would kill her and her friends if they could discover where she is. It’s extremely complicated, but I’ve found her information to be top notch.” Ron looked at Tom much like a teacher would a student, looking for comprehension on the student’s part.

  “Okay,” Tom replied, returning to gazing out the window. “So, how do we know that the Israelis won’t get to Ashrawl before we do?” he asked.

  “That’s where the week or so she mentioned comes in. It has two meanings. The Brigade takes its time moving people because they are always looking for an angle to benefit themselves. The Israelis will take about a week to gist the tapes, even as a priority. So we have a week to find and dispatch Mr. David Ashrawl.”

  Tom didn’t reply, leaving them to sit in silence as they drove back to Tel Aviv, both men contemplating their next moves.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Senator, how good it is to see you again,” Steven stated as he stepped around his cherry wood desk and reached for the senator’s hand with a large smile on his face.

  “Steven, I hope I’m not interrupting,” Senator Sarah Bains of Georgia stated as she shook his hand, although she did not return his smile.

  “Not at all. I always have time for my friends,” Steven assured her warmly. “Let’s have a seat.” He led her to the couch in front of the riverstone fireplace with its black obsidian mantle. The two different stones made for a remarkable contrasting feature that was pleasing to the eye.

  Steven’s office was the largest room on the fifteenth floor of the Kilauea Corporation’s World Headquarters building in Richmond, Virginia. It took up half the floor. Two walls of the office were floor-to-ceiling glass, in front of which his desk sat at an angle to the room. Off to the left side of his desk as one entered the office was a large conference tab
le which was nothing more than a glorified paper collector, since he liked to hold all of his meetings here—informally in front of the fireplace. To the right side was the fireplace with a leather couch, two leather recliners, an old wooden rocker and a coffee table placed in front of it. The inner wall of his office, the one he faced all day, was covered with large pictures of Hawaii and its volcanoes. Each picture was highlighted by its own recessed spotlight giving each picture a spectacular glow.

  Steven spent as much time as possible in Hawaii and would have made his corporate home there if the travel hadn’t proved to be such a pain. The floor of his office was tiled with a black tile cut from cooled lava on the Kilauea volcano on the big island of Hawaii. It formed a walkway from the entrance door to and around his desk with thick sand-colored carpet covering the conference and sitting areas. The effect was quite stunning.

  As Steven and the senator settled on the couch, Steven couldn’t help but notice that the senator was perched on the edge and looked exceedingly uncomfortable. Before he could ask her what had brought her to Richmond, one of his secretaries entered with a tray of coffee and pastries. She set it down on the coffee table, smiled, and quickly left the room.

  “Coffee?” Steven offered as he poured himself a cup.

  “I… ah…no, thank you.” Senator Baines, a two term firebrander who never suffered from nervousness, or shyness for that matter, was clearly struggling to express herself.

  “Senator, what’s the problem?” Steven asked, taking a play from Chip’s playbook and asking without beating around the bush.

  “I hardly know where to begin. It’s such an outlandish claim,” she stated.

  “And yet here you are,” Steven stated the obvious.

  “Have you seen the commercial yet?” the senator asked. “It is despicable.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen the ad. It’s just an attempt by Starks and the Democrats to scare you and me off. It’s a blatant lie, and we both know that. I’m working on a counter ad, and I’ll let you have a say in it if you’d like. I’ll be running it in your district and all the big markets. It’s about all I can do—they never actually name us. They only imply it could be us, which my attorneys tell me will make any legal action difficult at best and most likely we won’t prevail. That would only provide the opposition with more exposure.”