The Infiltrator

by Brad Taylor

  Aaron looked surprised, but Shoshana was pleased. “He did. And it’s been signed.”

  Aaron said, “How did you know about that?”

  “I read it. When I learned I was going to a Jewish wedding.”

  Aaron nodded, impressed. I said, “What the hell are you guys talking about?”

  Shoshana shook her head and said, “Couldn’t expect him to do any reading.”

  Jennifer laughed and said, “It’s like a biblical prenuptial agreement.” To Aaron she said, “Are you going all traditional, with a chuppah and everything else?”

  Now really impressed, Aaron said, “It’s sort of a mix. They’ll let us set up the chuppah, but the security requirements at the Kotel are such that it’s going to be quick, without all the pomp and circumstance. But Shoshana would have the ceremony nowhere else.”

  Our food arrived, blessedly saving me from saying anything stupid, because I had no idea what they were talking about.

  We made small talk, and Shoshana was acting almost normal. Like a female on a date, instead of a female pretending to be on a date so she could slit your throat. I relaxed, enjoying the time with them. Shoshana finished her dish, stood up, and took my hand, surprising me. Jennifer elbowed me and I stood. She led me to the edge of the roof, pointing in the distance at a gold-domed building.

  She said, “That’s the Dome of the Rock. Right next to it is the Western Wall. We call it the Kotel.”

  I glanced back at her and realized she was teaching me instead of using my ignorance as a joke. I said, “That’s where you’re getting married? At the Western Wall?”

  She nodded, her eyes glistening. “Yes. It’s sacred to Judaism. Tradition states we get married outside, under the stars, but we put up a canopy called a chuppah as a symbolic home. I thought the location was perfect.”

  I looked in her eyes, for the first time realizing she held more depth than I had ever imagined. She had always seemed one-dimensional. A killer of men, and nothing else. I leaned in and kissed her cheek. It was a reflexive action, and I was surprised I did it. I said, “Thank you for treating me as an equal here. I’m sorry I didn’t study beforehand.”

  She smiled at the gesture and said, “You have always been my equal. Thank you and Jennifer for showing me what is possible.”

  I began an aw shucks routine, kicking the dirt with my feet, when she said, “When are you going to marry Jennifer?”

  What the hell? It was a trap.

  I started to say something, and she held a finger to my lips, saying, “I brought you out of earshot for a reason. Don’t become a fool and make a scene.”

  I remained mute and she said, “I can feel Jennifer. I can see it. Don’t be stupid and lose what you gave to me.”

  Before I could answer, Aaron stood up and shouted, “Hey, we need to go. It’s a fifteen-minute walk, and we don’t want to be fighting the tourists when the Mughrabi Gate opens.”

  Shoshana said, “This isn’t done. We’ll talk later.”

  I followed her to the table saying, “I don’t need your help with Jennifer.”

  She looked back at me and said, “Yes, you do. More than anything else I can give you.”

  • • •

  Dawood entered the tunnel, weaving through the people shopping in what was known as the Cotton Merchants’ Market. He saw the Cotton Merchants’ Gate ahead of him—the one closest to the Dome of the Rock—and recognized the Islamic Waqf officials outside, checking everyone who entered.

  He stopped the men and said, “Everyone have their certificates?”

  They nodded, knowing the only way they would be allowed to enter through this gate was to prove they were Muslim.

  Dawood said, “Okay, don’t show any fear or trepidation. They’ll smell it like the dogs they are.”

  He received another nod, the team looking at him with wide eyes, their breathing coming in short, sharp gasps as if they’d just avoided a car accident. He said, “Take a deep breath. All of you. Calm down. You look like you’re about to rob a bank.”

  One of the men laughed, breaking the tension. Dawood said, “Remember the plan. We’ll enter the esplanade, move straight to the mosque, and enter the prayer hall. We’ll conduct our prayers, and then I’ll go outside to look at the Mughrabi Gate. You will go to the classroom on the eastern side. All of you. The weapons are in the trunk at the rear, the one they use to store children’s toys. You remember?”

  They all nodded back at him, having been inside the al Aqsa mosque many times. He continued, “There should be a long line of tourists waiting to enter the Mughrabi Gate. Christians and Jews. You get the weapons, and I’ll meet you at the front of the mosque. We’ll attack that gate. If there aren’t a bunch of people waiting, we’ll go through the gate and attack the Western Wall. Be prepared for both. Either way, kill the police first.”

  He went from man to man, searching each of their eyes. He saw nothing but determination. He brought them into a circle, hugged them, and said, “Allahu akbar.”

  Softly, they chanted back, “Allahu akbar . . . Allahu akbar.”

  He broke the huddle and turned to the stairs leading to the Dome of the Rock. Marching to his destiny.

  11

  Sitting in a plastic chair at the back of the Western Wall plaza, surrounded by worshipers and tourists visiting the sacred expanse of stone, Ezra waited on the next call. A woman approached him, asking about restrooms, and he directed her to them. He wished he could have come in civilian clothes, but he would need the uniform to clean up the loose ends of the operation.

  Masoud, of course, was the primary one, but he wasn’t the first on deck. That honor would go to Dawood’s brother. He could finger Ezra as having come to talk to Dawood, so he would need to be eliminated.

  Without even realizing he was doing it, Ezra rubbed a small pistol through the fabric of his pants. It was untraceable—a weapon he’d taken off of a terrorist more than a year ago, saving it for a special occasion. Today was that day, and Abdul Haq would die “fighting” his arrest.

  The team itself was, of course, a huge vulnerability, but he was confident none of them would be alive at the end of the day. He’d leave that to the security forces blanketing the Temple Mount. The only one he needed to ensure died in the firefight was Dawood. None of the other men could identify him.

  The contact phone vibrated in his pocket, and he felt a spurt of adrenaline. He withdrew it, glanced left and right to ensure he was out of earshot of the throngs of tourists, and answered.

  Masoud came on, breathless. “They’re here, they’re here. Come now, before they begin shooting.”

  “What are they doing?”

  “Praying. But one went out to the courtyard.”

  “What’s he doing?”

  “Looking around.”

  Ezra thought, He’s conducting reconnaissance. We’re close.

  He said, “Okay, so they’re about to grab the weapons?”

  “Yes, yes! Please come quickly.”

  “I’m on the way. Remember, don’t say anything to anyone about our relationship.”

  “I haven’t. Of course not.”

  “I mean when the police arrive. That area will get blanketed, and the police conducting the security sweep won’t know about you.”

  Ezra heard nothing, then a faint, “Okay, okay.”

  “There’s no need to worry if you keep your mouth shut, but if you start saying you hid the weapons, no matter what you say next, they might lose control.”

  “Wait . . . Are you saying I might get arrested?”

  “Maybe, but don’t worry about it. I’ll solve that problem quickly, and then we’ll announce the sting.”

  “I don’t know about this.”

  “It’s too late now. Just hang on. A few more minutes.”

  “Are you coming now?”

  Ezra imag
ined Masoud was looking out a window, wondering where the police response was. He said, “Yes. We’re organizing the assault right now. It’ll be seconds until we’re there.”

  Ezra hung up the phone before Masoud asked another question, but he didn’t leave his chair. He simply waited on the gunfire. He now had Masoud firmly implicated in the attack, calling his drop phone moments before the gunfire.

  The cell number was inside the vast database of Israeli security as a suspected terrorist handset. Ezra had found it on an operation a few months ago. It should have gone into evidence for the conviction of the man who held it, but they had enough evidence to burn him. He’d kept it. Now it had connections to both the terrorists about to shoot and a member of the Waqf who ostensibly was responsible for preventing just such a thing. Ezra would leave it at the safe house as one more nexus in the case against Masoud. Once the man was in the custody of Israel, he would meet an untimely end, and the evidence collected against him would be used to dismantle the Islamic Waqf control of the Temple Mount.

  The phone began to vibrate again, an insistent buzzing. Ezra ignored it.

  12

  We went down the stone steps to the plaza fronting the Western Wall, and I saw a multitude of people coming and going, with a parallel line of Orthodox Jews, regular worshipers, and tourists facing the stone, some rhythmically nodding and chanting, others sticking in bits of paper. To the right was a wooden walkway that gradually went up until it connected with the Temple Mount at the top of the wall.

  Shoshana said, “That’s the Mughrabi Gate. See the people? It’s always crowded.”

  Sure enough, there was already a line of tourists waiting to get in. I asked, “Why only one gate? Why don’t you just open another one?”

  “We can’t. When Israel acquired the holy sites in the Six-Day War, they agreed to what’s known as the ‘status quo,’ which means that Jordan would maintain responsibility, and all the rules that were in effect before the war would remain. One of them was that non-Muslims can only enter through one gate—that one. We can’t even pray up there, according to the status quo.”

  I said, “That seems a little shitty, given the historical importance to you guys.”

  She smiled and said, “That’s why the Kotel is so important. We pray here because it’s as close as we can get to the temple.”

  Aaron said, “Speaking of which, would you like to leave a note in the wall?”

  I said, “No, that’s okay. I’m not sure what I’d put in it.”

  Jennifer said, “I want to leave one.”

  Shoshana said, “Well, you’ll have to go to the women’s side, and they don’t really follow that tradition. Or you could have Pike leave it.”

  I knew the segregated worship areas would aggravate her, and expected fireworks. Instead she said, “Aaron, could you leave it for me?”

  Huh? I blurted out, “Why? Am I not good enough?”

  She was already scribbling. She said, “It’s not that. It’s just private, and I know you’ll read it.”

  Aaron chuckled and took the note, saying, “It would be my pleasure. You can follow me up to the rope line if you want.”

  She nodded and they walked away, Shoshana trailing them with her eyes. She said, “I know what she wrote.”

  I said, “No, you don’t. Quit that shit. It’s probably a prayer for our mangy cat.”

  She said, “No, it’s not. And you know what it’s for as well.”

  I really didn’t want to have this conversation, especially with a crazy woman who thought she could read minds. I glanced at my watch and said, “We’ve only got about five minutes before they open the gate.”

  She gave me a disgusted look and said, “You can’t run from this forever.”

  I said, “I’m not running from anything. I’m just not going to intrude on her privacy. She wants it secret, so it’ll stay secret.”

  She said, “Doesn’t matter. Her prayer is in the wall, and God favors her. It’ll happen whether you want it or not.”

  I rolled my eyes, watching Aaron and Jennifer come back to us. Shoshana whispered in Jennifer’s ear, and Jennifer whispered back, aggravating the hell out of me. Aaron said, “We’d better hoof it to beat the tourists.”

  We walked to the southern end of the wall, toward the walkway. It looked like one of those old wooden bridges with a roof, except it was long, going up one way before making a turn and continuing higher to the gate.

  Aaron showed our passes to the policeman at the bottom, and his eyes grew large. Shoshana said, “This was supposed to just be a temporary fix, but trying to do anything permanent causes the Islamic Waqf to freak out about the status quo, so it’s been here forever.”

  The policeman handed back the passes, saying to the tourists, “Make a hole.”

  I would have expected the tourists to complain, but nobody did. Probably because of the solemn nature of the shrine.

  We went all the way to the top, meeting more policemen. Aaron went through the pass thing again, and once again got the same response: wide eyes and an automatic obsequious deferral. I don’t know what the paper said, but it clearly held some leverage.

  He opened the iron gate, and we entered the courtyard for the Temple Mount, the al Aqsa mosque on the right and the Dome of the Rock on the left.

  Shoshana was all smiles, genuinely giddy about showing her land to her friends. She said, “Let’s go to the Dome of the Chain first, then to the Dome of the Rock. I’ll tell you about . . .”

  She stopped talking, causing me to look at her, confused. She was staring at an Arab male walking toward the mosque. She said, “That’s the boy from the store.”

  I said, “Yeah, so? He’s Muslim.”

  The man reached the entrance to the mosque and disappeared inside. Shoshana morphed right in front of my eyes, the smiling, laughing bride replaced by a violent killing machine, the danger emanating out and surrounding her.

  I said, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  She looked at Aaron and said, “It’s going bad. Right now.”

  He read something in her that I couldn’t see. Something he’d grown to trust. His face hardened and he said, “Go.” She began running toward the mosque, and I immediately followed, hearing Jennifer do the same. For as much fun as I had teasing her, deep down I believed.

  Aaron turned to the police at the gate and shouted, “Call security. Flood this place,” then turned to chase us.

  Jennifer caught up to me and we closed on Shoshana. She shouted, “What’s happening?”

  I said, “Get ready to fight.”

  13

  Shoshana reached the entrance to the mosque just as five men came barreling out, all carrying folding-stock AK-47s. None of the weapons were held at the ready, the men acting as if they were sprinting somewhere else and hadn’t intended to use them immediately. The first man out was the one from the antiquities shop. She saw his eyes spring open, and his weapon rise. She was just as shocked as he was at the force confronting her, expecting a single threat. She leapt on him without hesitation, knowing she was dead. One of the men would kill her, but not before she took the leader’s life. She just prayed that Aaron would stop the others, making the sacrifice worth it.

  She had yet to realize that she was not alone, and that she’d been followed by a friend who believed in her. A friend who was just as good at killing as she was.

  The two lines crashed together like the Roman legion meeting the Visigoths, Shoshana attacking with a ferocity that destroyed the leader’s ability to resist, slapping his weapon high and hammering his face with a palm strike that shattered his nose. His head snapped back and she planted her leg behind both of his, slamming him backward to the ground, using his own weight as a weapon. He bounced his skull against the stone and feebly tried to fight back, but he was woefully late. She wrapped an arm around his neck, pushed his head forward, then drove it in
to his chest with all the force her legs could muster, snapping it. She grabbed his weapon and rolled upright, seeing an Arab aiming an AK-47 at her head.

  She screamed a war cry, waiting on the bullet, and his head exploded, the body thrown backward. Amazed, she looked to her right, seeing Pike Logan with an AK-47 aimed her way, standing over the body of a dead terrorist. Behind him was Aaron, battling another man. She whipped back to her feet, looked to the right for a threat, and saw Jennifer on the ground in a fight for her life, the man on top of her.

  She saw Pike rotate to Aaron’s battle and leapt over her dead target to Jennifer, reaching the fight just as the man drew a knife. He raised it, and she trapped his wrist, locking the elbow joint. She extended his arm and lashed out with her foot, catching the back of his elbow and splintering it. He screamed, and Jennifer rolled out from under him, jerked his head back by the hair, curled her knuckles at the first joint, and speared his throat with a ridged knife-hand. He ceased fighting, rolling around in a death gargle, and they both turned to the final fight, but there wasn’t anything to be done.

  Pike had made it to Aaron, and the two destroyed the last man in a flurry of blows, ripping him apart. Aaron held him from the rear, and Pike delivered a deathblow. Aaron let him go, the body collapsing to the ground, a lifeless sack of meat. Shoshana saw both of them sweep out with their newfound weapons, looking for a threat.

  The border police started to rush in, squads of men fanning out, and she heard a shout behind her. She whirled, and an Arab man dressed in an Islamic Waqf uniform came running into the plaza from the mosque. She swept his legs out from under him, flattened him to the ground, then rotated her legs over his chest, cinching his right arm into an arm bar. He yelped, waving his other hand in the air.

  The police closed on them, shouting orders and waving weapons. Pike and Aaron dropped their AKs, holding their hands in the air. She maintained control of the Arab.