It was just a matter of time.
25
My phone rang. The caller ID showed it was Hafsah, so I answered it.
“This is ,John…”
“Hello, John. I was thinking we might have a picnic this evening. Are you free?”
“Hi. Yes, I think I can get free, pretty much anytime you like. How did your shopping go today?”
“I think I may have found the things I needed.”
“Well, that’s nice. What time would you like me to pick you up?”
“Would four thirty be a feasible time? I thought you might know a suitable place where we could have our picnic and watch the sunset.”
“I’ll think of somewhere. What would you like me to bring?”
“I should have everything we will need. Just come pick me up at the hotel.”
I found Hafsah waiting for me in the lobby of her hotel. Today, she was dressed in blue and grey ‘urban camouflage’ pants, black hiking boots and a dark grey long sleeved t shirt (that accentuated her curves), under a light-weight, navy blue jacket. Her dark hair was again pulled back into a pony tail. The whole affect was feminine, casual and practical, suitable for either a hike in the woods or hiding in a dark alley. Her attire was a perfect complement to my blue jeans and long-sleeved black shirt, under a charcoal grey field jacket and a black ball cap. She’d an old fashioned picnic basket with a red and white checked table cloth folded on top under the handles.
“Wow, Hafsah, I’m impressed. I haven’t seen a picnic basket like that in years. I can’t imagine how challenging it must’ve been for your logistics and supply people to come up with one.”
She looked at me innocently and said.
“Whatever do you mean, John? I told you I’d been out shopping.”
For just a second, I was confused. I’d been certain our previous phone conversation was about something else entirely.”
“Gotcha!” she said, grinning.
I made a face.
“Do you mind if we take a different vehicle? I have use of a friend’s SUV. Perhaps it would be more suitable to our adventure?” Hafsah asked.
“Hmmm. You really have been shopping.”
She smiled and handed me the keys.
The SUV turned out to be a brand new Chevy Tahoe. The Tahoe was black as midnight, but shiny with the show-room clear-coat and sparkling with chrome. We drove out of the parking lot turning right onto Grande. I was planning to turn left onto Broadway, thinking I would head on out to Lake Palestine for our picnic.
“John, we’re going to go north on Broadway. You’ll need to get in the right lane.”
I glanced over at her. Her face was all business.
“OK. Do you want to tell me where we’re going?”
“We are going back to the machine shop that is owned by Mr. Suliman, on the north side of the town.”
“Rats.” I responded.
“What? Where do you see rats?” She asked, looking around and sounding almost alarmed.
“No rats. It’s just an expression suggesting disappointment.”
She smiled. “Oh, yes of course.”
“Why are we going to the machine shop? What did you find there?”
She looked over at me as I turned onto Broadway.
“Well, Mr. Tucker, I think I may have found Nat Baha.”
Twenty minutes later, we were heading north on Broadway toward where it became Farm to Market road 14. As we approached the intersection with Loop 323, Hafsah pointed across the loop.
“That is Mr. Suliman’s machine shop over there,” she said
We’d to stop for the red light and it gave us a moment to study the rusting steel buildings in the light of the early evening sun. The place appeared to be deserted, the rolling, eight foot tall, steel mesh gate was closed and secured by a heavy chain and padlock. The fully paved lot and small complex of interconnected buildings was completely surrounded by an eight foot tall chain link fence, topped with concertina wire.
When the traffic light changed, we crossed the loop and studied the buildings as we drove past. There were no vehicles parked where we could see them. In the gloom of late afternoon, the place had the kind of run-down look only old industrial settings can achieve. There was a scattering of the common detritus of unidentifiable trash, plastic buckets, rusting metal and old wooden pallets leaning against the buildings.
“Keep going north,” Hafsah instructed me.
“OK, but there isn’t much up this way till we get to the interstate,” I observed.
“We are going farther, all the way to the Tyler State Park.”
“The State Park, really? Why there?”
“We will have our picnic,” Hafsah said with a smile. “Then we will come back here and we will search the machine shop.”
“Why? Do you think Nat Baha may be hiding there?”
“Mr. Suliman was happy to show me his machine shop. He has a variety of heavy machinery for fabrication and welding, as well as the usual assortment of smaller hand and power tools. He only employs two or three workmen. In one building I saw a work table with some odds and ends of tools and bits of metal on it. He did not pay any attention to that table, but I did.”
I looked at Hafsah, indicating my interest in her story.
“I showed no obvious interest in the table, because what was on the table, partly covered by a shop towel, were three receivers for Kalashnikov assault rifles. AK 47s, to be more precise. There were no barrels, stocks, magazines, or anything else in evidence that would have been apparent to most people. I believe those receivers were being modified from semi-automatic firing capability, to fully automatic capability. That would be illegal in your country, would it not?”
“It’s possible to get a federal permit, but I doubt a local machine shop would be permitted to modify AKs. Still, that alone doesn’t indicate Nat Baha might be hiding there.”
“I also saw an electronic amplifier, huge speakers, an electric guitar, a stool, some cables and some other things over in a corner of one of the buildings. I asked about these things, because it was clearly incongruous in a machine shop.”
I nodded, “Yeah, it is interesting.”
“Mr. Suliman told me those were his nephew’s musical instruments and that his nephew would sometimes practice out there. He then dragged a tarpaulin over and covered the equipment.”
“Sounds reasonable,” I observed, as I turned in to the park entrance.
“Of course, it sounds reasonable, but there are too many coincidences. I do not believe in coincidence, John.”
I looked over at her and said, “I knew we had something in common.”
26
The sun was just setting as we spread the table cloth out over a picnic table. From this spot, we’d a lovely view of the lake. She opened the picnic basket and pulled out plates, napkins, and cutlery, even some plastic wine glasses. Then, Hafsah brought forth a bottle of Argentine Malbec, a spiced cheese, sourdough bread and some fried chicken!
She saw the startled look on my face.
“What were you expecting I would have brought for a picnic dinner? Have I forgotten something? ” She asked, clearly concerned.
“No, Hafsah, I couldn’t be more pleased. This looks fantastic. I guess I thought the picnic basket was a prop, you had hidden weapons in there, or something like that.”
“Prop? Do you mean faux, like a theater dressing?”
“The thought crossed my mind.”
“Maybe you were expecting me to pull out an Uzi, or a dagger?”
“Well, a dagger would be useful for slicing the bread.”
“…Or slicing your throat. You cannot just pull the bread apart?” She growled.
“Oh, yes of course…I uhh…I only meant…”
Hafsah laughed. “Gotcha, again! Honestly John, you make it very easy for me to have sport with you.”
“I aim to please.” I chuckled.
“It is beautiful is it not?” Hafsah asked, looking around at the pine fo
rest and the lake, with the setting sun reflected on its surface in shades of gold, orange, red and purple.
I only had eyes for her. “Yes, beautiful.” I said.
She caught me looking and she blushed a little. Maybe it was just the coloring of the sunset.
We sat and ate and laughed as the sun went down.
It was fully dark as we put the remains of our picnic back in the SUV. Hafsah opened the back hatch of the Tahoe and the interior lights revealed a black duffle bag on the floor.
She turned to me. ”In that bag you will find tools and weapons. Also there is night vision gear. We will go now to the machine shop. I will show you where to park. We must be stealthy. I saw no alarms, but Hakim is clever and he will be alert for trouble. Are you any good at close quarters, hand to hand combat?”
“I was a SEAL, Hafsah. I have the best training Uncle Sam can provide, but I’ve also spent some time with the Palmach, and I honed my close combat skills with Ini Lichtenfeld.” I said.
“I read something about that in your dossier. How is it possible? I think Lichtenfeld died about twenty years ago.” Hafsah observed.
“What I mean is I studied Krav Maga with one of his students.”
“You say you spent time with the Palmach. Wasn’t the Palmach part of Haganah? Haganah became the Israeli Defense Force more than sixty years ago. I don’t think anyone who was in either Palmach or Haganah is still living.”
“Not many, no. I must say, you have a surprising understanding of Israeli history.”
“But you said…”
“It’s not important. The point is I can take care of myself. What about you? You can’t weigh more than a hundred and ten pounds, soaking wet. I don’t think hand to hand combat would be recommended for you.”
Hafsah ignored my comment and unzipped the bag. She started to hand me a Glock nine millimeter, but I declined it.
“I’ve got a .45 tucked behind my back.”
“Do you have a sound suppressor for it?” She asked.
“No, but I’m not planning to use it, anyway.”
Hafsah slapped me, very fast and very hard. I never saw it coming.
“Wake up! This man will kill you. I cannot take you with me if you do not have your mind in the mission. Take this Glock and this suppressor. Do you know how to attach it?”
“Yes, of course.” I was thinking how suddenly Hafsah had gone from being the soft, sweet woman I’d been kissing only moments before, into this hardened, combat ready…hellcat.
“Are you with me in this?” She asked, sharply.
“Hooah.” I growled, by way of reply.
Hafsah put her face close to mine. She looked deeply into my eyes.
“I am sorry, John There is a time and place for everything. Now is the time to prepare to make war, not love. Now is the time to think about how to stay alive. If you cannot do this…”
“It’s done! What else do you have in the bag?”
Hafsah smiled sadly. She pulled out another Glock in a black shoulder holster with two extra magazines on the off-side. She shed her jacket and shrugged into the shoulder rig. As she put her jacket back on, she pointed at the bag.
“There are two Uzis, also with sound suppressors, extra magazines for the Uzis and our handguns, night vision gear and tools to breach the fence and the padlocks. You will also find grenades and most anything else we might need. We will leave our identification in the vehicle, to be retrieved later. You will take your orders from me and do exactly as I instruct you. Is this understood?”
I was tempted to ask her if there were sound suppressors on the grenades. It was exactly the type of question we would have asked back in the SEALs, but I could tell explosives humor was not her style.
“Yes ma’am.” I answered, firmly. I didn’t even smile, at least not so she could see it.
“Do you have any questions before we begin this operation?”
“Did you see an alarm system or surveillance cameras?”
She nodded. “There are three cameras. There is a surveillance camera pointed at the front gate, one pointed at the parking lot and one directed down over the front door. I saw no cameras inside the building. There is no apparent alarm system, but there could be motion detectors.”
“I doubt it. Considering the location and the conditions, that machine shop is unlikely to employ anything so sophisticated. What about cameras at the other doors?”
“I did not observe any as we drove past the buildings. I’m confident the other doors were without cameras.” She replied.
“Where are your Mossad teammates?”
“They will be close by, securing our vehicle and ready to provide emergency reinforcement, transportation, diversionary activity, or whatever other assistance we require.”
“How will we communicate with each other?”
“You and I will be close together at all times. We will use hand signals as necessary. Are there any other questions?”
“Yes, Hafsah. Will you pray with me?”
Hafsah blinked several times, and then she slowly nodded her head.
“Yes, John, I will pray with you.”
I took both her hands in mine and closed my eyes. I thanked God for His grace and mercy, for His provision in all things. I thanked Him for bringing Hafsah into my life and for guidance in the thing we were about to do. I waited a moment to hear if Hafsah might have something to say. She didn’t. I prayed that Hafsah might come to know His son, our savior. I closed by saying “Come quickly, Lord Jesus.”
When I opened my eyes I found Hafsah staring at me.
“You speak to God as though you know him, as though you felt his presence, as though you were talking to a much loved father. Is this not so?”
“Yes, it is so.” I smiled at her.
“You speak of Jesus as though he were still alive…”
“He is alive, Hafsah. He is no longer here on earth, because He completed His mission here. Because of what He did, I live. Because of what He did, I can call God ‘Abba’- father. The God of creation looks upon me as one of His children whom He loves.
“You can call God ‘Abba’? That is an intimate term, like you are saying ‘daddy’.” She said, marveling.
I nodded, with a smile.
Hafsah choked a little, and said. “All this week, I have seen Jesus in my dreams. As a child I was taught that Jesus was an important prophet, not as important as Mohammad, but a prophet all the same. I do not dream about Mohammad, but sometimes when I dream, Jesus holds me tenderly in his arms. When he holds me, I feel clean and safe and…loved. Then I wake up to this horrible world, the comfort quickly fades and I am left with only the vague memory of the dream.”
“I told you, Jesus is alive. Would you like to meet Him?”
For a moment Hafsah looked startled. I sensed her struggling. Then her features changed again.
“Yes, but not tonight. Tonight, we will kill Hakim.” Hafsah had regained her hardened countenance and determination. “It is time to go.”
27
Following Hafsah’s directions, I pulled off the road on a dirt driveway that ended in a partially fenced vacant lot. It hadn’t been mowed or maintained in quite some time. Our Tahoe was screened from the road by the saplings and brush that had grown up in it. There was a bank of trees down one side of the lot.
Hafsah had filled me in on the plan as we drove down from Tyler State Park.
After I parked the Tahoe under the trees in a spot well hidden from the road, we pulled the rucksack out of the rear compartment of the Tahoe and fished out the night vision gear and a couple of black balaclavas. We pulled on the balaclavas leaving only our eyes uncovered. Once we’d the night vision gear on, our faces were completely hidden.
“Once we get on the other side of these trees, we will be on the north side of the machine shop. This is the backside of the property and completely hidden from sight of anyone driving by. We will come up against the chain link fence. Once we get there, we must remain silent. Remem
ber what I said. We stick together and you follow my lead.” She’d that kind of green and hazy look everything gets in the enhanced ambient light as seen through night vision optics.
“OK, lead on.” I said, hefting the rucksack.
With two Uzis, extra magazines, tools and grenades, the bag was bulky and somewhat more heavy than practical, but I’d been designated as the pack animal. Hafsah had commanded we be silent, so I refrained from braying.
We eased through about fifteen yards of brush and deadfall limbs under the trees almost as quietly as deer through the forest, although perhaps lacking the same grace.
Soon we were at the chain link fence, about mid-way on the north side of the machine shop. Everything inside the fence appeared to be paved or oily, hard-packed ground. The air was heavy with the smell of creosote, oil and burnt metal.
We took a moment to observe the back of the buildings. There was one security light burning, and it was mounted on an electric service pole at the front of the property on the edge of the parking lot. We were about eighteen feet from the back of the nearest building. From the edge of the fence to the back of the building there was an open-sided structure with a sloping steel roof. There were a couple of fifty gallon drums, some pallets and stacked steel plate, bar stock and pipe in various dimensions, stored here.
I looked at Hafsah, and her greenish, almost spectral image pointed at the fence and made a cutting motion with two fingers of a gloved hand, scissoring.
I opened the rucksack and pulled out the heavy bolt cutters. Hafsah put her hand over mine and indicated I should wait for a moment. She dug into the rucksack and came out with a smaller and lighter version. In five minutes I’d cut through the bottom of the eight foot tall fence just high enough to allow our passage through. First Hafsah, then the rucksack and lastly, I eased through the fence.
Once we were on the property, we paused to reconnoiter. Hafsah pointed at me, then at herself, then at an easterly corner of the nearest building. I nodded and followed her to the corner, carrying the rucksack. Hafsah took a quick look around the corner then looked back around for a more extended study. She took my hand and pulled as she went around the corner, ducked low. I followed right behind her, carrying the heavy duffle.
The Ticking Clock Page 10