The Marsh Angel

by Hagai Dagan

  What information?!

  I’m not sure you have the security clearing to know.

  I have clearing for everything! Don’t play games with me.

  You haven’t shown me your ID, and you’ve only introduced yourself by your first name. For all I know, you could be a KGB agent.

  You know, you’re not doing yourself any favors here! Gabi snapped at him and pounded the table with his fist.

  Suddenly, Tamir heard a sound coming from behind the slit in the wall. Seconds later, he heard footsteps approaching. The door opened, and two men in civilian clothes entered the room. Okay Gabi, said one of them— a mustached, puffy-cheeked man with a receding hairline who wore a black short-sleeved polo shirt, despite the chilly weather— we’ve got it from here.

  Gabi started at him momentarily before reluctantly rising to his feet, collecting his writing block and pen, and swiftly exiting the room. Tamir assumed he will be viewing the conversation from behind the slit.

  I’m Menashe, the man in the polo shirt said. The other man stood silently beside the table. The small red yarmulke on his head flashed like a warning light in the cramped space of the room. The mustached man fixed his gaze on Tamir. You’re not supposed to be conducting investigations outside of the intelligence framework you’re assigned to. You know that, right? he said.

  Yes.

  And still, you chose to go there.

  Yes. I didn’t have enough information in the intelligence framework I am assigned to.

  That’s clear. But this is the reality we live in.

  Yes.

  Listen, I’ll be clear and to the point. It’s very important to me that you confirm that you understand what I’m about to say, okay? The girl? Drop it. That is, whatever you extract from your materials, do what you’re supposed to do with it. But that’s it. No extra probing into the matter. Got it? It’s much more sensitive than you might think. Just drop it. I’ll let this one slide. I get it— you were curious, you thought this was your pet project, whatever. But the trail ends here for you. Is that clear?

  Clear.

  Good, I’m glad we have an understanding. This is a game you know nothing about, and that’s the way it should stay. Gabi will finish up with you here.

  They turned to leave the room. The second guy, who was younger than Menashe and wore a mahogany-colored dress shirt, cast one final look at Tamir with a mixture of curiosity, hostility, contempt, and warning, and left without saying a word.

  Gabi came back into the room. One more thing, he said. This organization, Al-Shajara. Stay away from there, you hear me? We’re going to chalk this down as a one-time slip, on the condition you keep it that way. And take my advice— steer clear of those organizations. Believe me, it’s not in your best interest. You serve in a very sensitive position, and if you keep ties with these types of organizations it’s going to raise some questions.

  Got it.

  Even after you discharge and you’re no longer serving in a sensitive position, you’d do well to steer clear of that lot. That’s not a relationship you want to foster, if you know what I mean. And we’ll always know.

  Got it.

  Alright. You can go.

  As Tamir stepped outside, he was momentarily blinded by the bright light of the sun casting its rays over GHQ. He existed the base and turned into bustling Kaplan Street. He decided not to head directly to the bus station, and instead wandered up the street. As he passed Beit Sokolov, he stopped in his tracks and decided to go into a café called The Library. He ordered a coffee and a croissant. Scattered thoughts clouded his mind with a busy, deafening hum. Only when he took a sip of his coffee did he realize just how badly he had needed it. The coffee was awful and the croissant was stale, but Tamir felt rejuvenated, as if he were infused with blood right on the cusp of succumbing to dehydration. He didn’t even taste the coffee Gabi had placed in front of him. There was something menacing, almost impure about it. Now, after some time had passed, feelings of anger and humiliation flooded him with a wave of disgust. Where the hell did those guys get off talking to me like that? he thought. Who do they think they are? He recalled their condescending tone, the degrading way with which they asserted their authority, how they pried into his personal life, debasing him like there was something inherently wrong about him, like he was some kind of sinner. But they were careless— their questions and warnings gave quite a bit away. It was clear to him now that they were indeed connected to the twins, to their sudden disappearing, and to the erasure of their past. The black matter related to ‘Ali al-Asfar suddenly seemed inconsequential in comparison. The whole thing was blackening, he thought to himself, blackening at an alarming rate.

  g. Speculations

  When he got back to the department, Moti asked Tamir how it went at GHQ. He replied it went fine.

  I’m not asking, and I don’t want to know why they summoned you, Moti said. I just need you to tell me it’s case-closed, and that you can go back to focusing on your job.

  Tamir assured him that it was indeed case-closed.

  Good, Moti concluded, keeping his watery-eyed gaze fixed on him for an extra moment. Tamir felt there was something distrustful about that gaze, and thought to himself that he probably did try to find out what the matter of the summons was. Moti left the room, and Tamir turned to his computer. Dear god, he thought in exasperation when he saw the backlog of dispatches that had piled up during the few hours he was away. He sighed, and started going over them.

  Tamir was well versed in the different Unit 504 sources in Lebanon by now, and had developed a decent command of the Mossad sources reporting on Lebanon— whether from within the country or from outside. The Mossad kept a credibility ranking for each of their sources, but Tamir had developed his own assessment, based in part on the corroboration of their reports with information coming in from other unit sources. He also learned to evaluate reports flowing in from Yakal, the Shin-Beit unit operating in Lebanon. Taken together, Tamir felt increasingly confident in his ability to evaluate, analyze, and process the stream of communications flowing his way. But that day, Tamir encountered a new Mossad source he was unfamiliar with, named Raspberry. Based on Raspberry’s high credibility ranking, it appeared that the source was present in the events it reported on, rather than passing on second-hand information. The source reported about a meeting held at the Front’s headquarters in al-Mazra‘a. Usually, reports of this nature concerned political decisions and declaratory matters of little practical value, but this time, the report contained operational information. Tamir held his breath a read:

  A meeting was held in al-Mazra‘a on 29th October. The source believes the meeting was attended by all the major operational factors of the Front. The source heard a telephone call by Jihad Jibril in which he reported to an unknown factor about the meeting. According to Jihad, it was decided that from there on out, they would increase operational coordination within the unit and take it up a notch in light of the instruction to collaborate with the new friends. Jihad added that now was not the time for competition, and that from now on the brothers will work together, because something big is in the making. The source couldn’t make out the meaning of the instruction to collaborate with the new friends, nor ascertain who the new friends were. Regarding the brothers, the source believes the new friends and the brothers are one and the same.

  Tamir exhaled. He reread the dispatch twice and paused to contemplate it. He then printed it out and went into Moti’s office. Moti was on the phone. He gestured to Tamir to come in. He sounded upset, complaining into the receiver that there’s only so much that they can drop on the department. He slammed the receiver down in anger. You’re lucky you’re not an officer, he said to Tamir.

  Why?

  Because they’re dropping an investigative-officer on us again. There are some irregularities in the quartermaster inventory lists. This entire army is rotten at the core, and yet th
ey choose to saddle us with these inquiries, even though we have important intelligence work to do. Can’t they see that?

  Tamir stood in silence.

  What do you have for me?

  He handed Moti the dispatch.

  Looks like serious business, Moti mumbled. What do we know about this source?

  It’s new. First time I’ve come across it.

  And what do you make of it?

  I think… I’m not sure, but I think that it might know more than it’s telling them.

  What makes you say that?

  Like I said, I’m not sure…

  And yet?

  Well, first of all, I think the instruction they’re talking about could be related to the dispatch from the Saudi embassy in Paris.

  Yes…

  If that’s the case, then the new friends they’re talking about are the Iranians.

  Uh huh…

  Now, it’s possible that he’d call them new friends the first time and brothers the other, and if that’s the case, then the source would be right.

  But…

  But that doesn’t sound very plausible. It makes much more sense that they’re referring to two different things. That’s usually the case in their conversations. Every codename refers to something else. I find it hard to believe that the source wouldn’t know that, unless it’s not a member of the Front. But if it’s not from the Front, how would it have heard Jihad’s call?

  Oh, well, there are all sort of possibilities…

  Right. It doesn’t have to be from the Front. But my intuition says it is.

  Uh huh.

  Tamir paused. Moti fixed his watery eyes on him and seemed helpless for a moment. So, who are the brothers? he asked.

  There are a couple of options, but I have a hunch. It’s pretty speculative.

  Speculative? Moti chewed on the word as he uttered it as if it were an odious stick of gum.

  Yes.

  Okay, let’s hear it.

  My hunch is that the brothers are in fact brothers, meaning Jibril’s two sons, Jihad and Khaled.

  Jihad is the commander of the airborne unit, Moti demonstrated his proficiency.

  Right.

  And… Remind me, what does Khaled do?

  He’s the commander of the seaborne unit.

  You’re kidding me…

  Don’t forget, two days ago Kidonit intercepted a dispatch about speedboat engines crossing the border. We can’t say for certain that they are intended for the Front’s seaborne unit, but if my hunch is correct…

  Moti bit his bottom lip. He absentmindedly reached his hand to his short collar, his fingers lightly stroking his platoon-commander pin. He squirmed in his chair, which looked much more comfortable than Tamir’s. So, you think we’re looking at a collaboration between the Front’s airborne and seaborne units?

  It’s possible, Tamir made sure to express caution. If that’s the case, then it’s something we’ve never seen before. Obviously, it could only be a training exercise, but if we connect it to the Saudi dispatch…

  I see. Well, it’s still…

  Speculative.

  Yes. He squirmed in his chair again. Okay, I’ll put my ass on the line and make some calls. People have probably noticed this dispatch by now… Now, let me tell you how what’s going to happen. I know it well by now. Soon, within the next couple of days, there’ll be a meeting held at GHQ. An assessment meeting. I’m telling you in advance, you’re coming with me. So, talk to the bases, talk to anyone you need to, just do whatever you can to make your evaluation less…

  Speculative.

  Yes.

  Tamir went back to his office. He spoke with Harel at Kidonit and Neta in Efroni, but didn’t learn anything he hadn’t already known. He instructed them to keep their ears open for any unusual activity by the Front, as well as by Revolutionary Guard and Hezbollah factors. He felt stupid for saying that— obviously, they were doing that anyway. That is exactly what Neta told him, to which he replied that he knows, but that he has to say it anyway. She laughed and said she’ll be coming to headquarters for a training session soon, so maybe he could show her the big city afterwards. I’m just a girl from provincial Haifa, she reminded him. He said he’d be happy to. And indeed, for a fleeting moment, he felt something approximating happiness.

  He spent the rest of the day reading more dispatches, summaries, and logs, but found nothing else of substance. On the other side of the room, Ilay was busy with his humungous card cabinet, updating details. In the meantime, the sky outside grew darker, as if the glaring red lights of the antennas on the roof of the building sucked in the dying sunset light.

  h. Is Something Bothering You, Binder?

  Ah, there she is. She has finally appeared, flying along the Lebanese coast in an Ultralight motor-glider, turning towards the sea, nosediving down to the water which parts to greet her, formless and empty, like a primordial void; a guard-of-honor of Phoenician merchant ships decorates the mouth of the vortex; she dives deeper and deeper; the abyss slowly engulfs her, but a large fish emerges from the black waters towards her with its mouth gaping open; she directs the Ultralight’s flight towards it with expert skill. Inside the belly of the fish, Tamir is sitting there waiting. Who are you? she asks him. Me? I wanted to get away from Ronen Schwartz. I was ordered to protect Tel-Aviv, the apple of God’s eye. And you? I was ordered to kill and destroy the inhabitants of this land, she replies. Including me? Tamir asks. Well, maybe not you. They look at each other. Around them, the void emits sweet, dark suction sounds. What now? she asks, her conviction momentarily shaken. Maybe we should flee to Tarshish, Tamir suggests.

  He awoke, perturbed by his vivid dream. He glanced at his watch. Quarter to six. He sighed, got up, and fixed himself a cup of coffee. It tasted murky. He left his apartment with that taste lingering in his mouth, only to find a city slowly succumbing to the advances of winter. The streets quivered lightly; the bus coughed and wheezed; the whole world receded, wallowing in self-pity. Tamir brooded over his dream, and continued doing so even as he passed through the gate and entered the base, the futuristic, fortified structure, the empty department. He sat at his computer, first looking for communications on the Front’s networks. Nothing. How could that be? Radio silence? Perhaps the whole thing was about long-term plans? He sighed and gazed pensively at the screen.

  Moti walked in and updated him that the assessment meeting will take place that afternoon at GHQ. Come prepared. Don’t embarrass me there, he growled.

  Tamir prepared as well as he could. Keren told him that Moti will probably do all of the talking, and that he’ll only be there as a prop to nod in agreement at appropriate times. You mainly need to practice your nodding, she added with a smile. Ilay, who had recently come into the office, rebuked her. This is no time for sarcasm, he said, our expertise is required in order to properly assess the situation. It’s a very important matter. Tamir went over the relevant materials again, then printed and sorted them in a neat binder.

  The hours passed by. In the afternoon, they drove out to GHQ in Moti’s white Renault army car. During the drive, Moti asked Tamir what his plans for the future were. He replied that he hadn’t thought about it yet. You should start thinking about it, Moti said in response. If you prove yourself in your position, you should seriously consider signing on for additional service and advance within the unit. That’s an odd way to put it, Tamir thought, to advance within the unit. He didn’t respond, and an awkward silence pervaded the car until they finally reached GHQ.

  Quite a few people sat gathered in the office of the deputy director of the MID-RD: heads of relevant branches in the Research Department, representatives of the Mossad and Shin-Beit, and representatives of the IAIG and the NID— Israeli Air Intelligence Group and Naval Intelligence Division. They each took their seat around a long elliptical table laden with bowls of fruit and
pastries. No one had touched the refreshments yet at that point. Moti sat at the rear of the table and instructed Tamir to sit behind him, in the second row of chairs pressed against the wall. Those seats were filled by a row of young, file-carrying assistants such as him.

  The deputy director of the Research Department opened the proceedings. He was a heavy-set colonel with a hooked nose, a steely gaze, thick eyebrows which rendered his expression perennially grouchy, and voice which sounded like it was amplified through a megaphone. Even when he lowered his voice, it still resonated inexplicably loud. He told the attendees that the purpose of the meeting was to assess recent developments in Ahmed Jibril’s Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine – General Command. He clarified that only representatives of intelligence collection and research bodies were invited to take part in the meeting. We don’t need the Operations Directorate at this point, they’d just get in our way, he said, his jab eliciting a few chuckles from the room. Tamir thought he looked slightly disappointed not to get a bigger laugh.

  The deputy director brushed aside a plate of fruit placed in front of him and asked the head of the Lebanon Branch of the Research Department to give a brief overview of the organization— its background, its operational capabilities, and its activity over the past few years. The man in question, a balding, dark-skinned man wearing squared silver eyeglass frames, who managed to appear grayish despite his olive-green uniform, produced a decent, though slightly long overview of the Front. His presentation was littered with several vague statements and inaccuracies, Tamir noted to himself, and was very inarticulate, at that. He emphasized that the airborne attack carried out recently in the security strip— using Ultralight gliders, as the wreckage of one of the aircrafts revealed— constituted a marked departure from the standard modus operandi of the organization, which has kept a relatively low profile over the past few years. Activity has picked up in the aftermath of that attack, which could suggest another attack being prepared, signaling a change of direction and a raising of the organization’s operational profile.