Angels Don't Die (Madeleine Toche Series Book 2) (28 page)

             
Hartmann raised his palms and spread his hands as if to say, who knows?

             
Dayan was clearly not finished.  “We intercepted this radio transmission between the Mirage and our pilot, Dayan pushed a button on the desk in front of him and a faintly audible but garbled recording of pilots Cohen and Hinni played over the speaker.  The last audible tones of Hinni’s hummed farewell were heard as the tape ended.

             
The ministers looked at one another, clearly not recognizing the significance of the few bars of music.  Hartmann and Meir knew what they represented; they were the opening cords to Le Boudin, the signature song of the French Foreign Legion.

             
“Does anyone know what this means?” Dayan asked.

             
Both Hartmann and Meir immediately took great interest in the sheaf of papers in front of them, avoiding Dayan’s gaze, but not before Meir shot a quick glance at Hartmann, catching his eye.  The other ministers shook their heads along with Hartmann and Meir.

             
“Enough of collateral matters,” Prime Minister Meir said projecting her voice. “We have a counter attack to mobilize.”

             
When the cabinet meeting broke up, Prime Minister Meir pulled Hartmann aside as the ministers rose to leave and carry out their designated responsibilities. Meir whispered in Hartmann’s ear, “The French Foreign Legion? You are a resourceful man.”  Hartmann gave Meir one of his rare smiles, gently patted her on the shoulder and walked out of the room.

             
Madeleine sat propped up on a makeshift hospital bed at the new safe house.  A tube ran down from a saline drip into her arm as she looked at her husband and friends gathered around the foot of the bed.

             
“How do you feel?” Karen said reaching out and squeezing Madeleine’s foot.

             
“Fortunate, given the mistakes I made in the last few days.  Physically, I feel better with each passing hour.  I will be ready to get up soon enough.”

             
“Madeleine, you almost died in the desert,” Jack said abruptly.  “We thought you were lost.”

             
“I was never lost, I just didn’t know if I’d be able to walk out of there after being stranded by the assassin our ‘friends’ sent out to kill me,” Madeleine answered.  “I’ll give you the full story later.  It suffices to say for now that if the Legion hadn’t shown up, I would have died.  I couldn’t have walked much further.”

             
“The war started with the Yom Kippur holiday,” John said, moving closer to the side of the bed.  “That means that our time schedule is being moved up.  We need to retrieve Tracy now, while the Syrians’ attention is focused on the war.”

             
“Yes. While the war dictates our time table, it also allows the Mossad to openly assist us in rescuing Tracy.  Director Hartmann has told me that he has been authorized by the Prime Minister and the Knesset to attack the facility where Tracy is being held.  We can accomplish both missions at the same time.  We may not be able to return to Israel, and will probably have to follow John’s escape plan and fly out that way,” Madeleine said. “We’ll have at least one other agent with us when we infiltrate the compound and retrieve Tracy.”

             
“The more help the better,” Karen said.  “Knowing where they might be holding him makes the waiting so much harder.”

             
“Remember Karen, it’s our best intelligence only.  We have no guarantee that Tracy’s there,” John cautioned.

             
“I can feel it, John,” Karen said.  “It just makes practical sense that the Syrians would want to keep their hostage during the early stages of their war, so they can wait and use him when he gives them an advantage.”

             
“I agree,” Madeleine said nodding her head.  “We must remember, whatever plans the PLO might have had for Tracy are trumped by the Syrians and what they think is the best course of action regarding him.”

             
“It’s clear to me that whatever they decide will happen quickly,” Jack said.

             
“Hartmann told me that the Israelis are going to push back hard in the next couple of days.  Further, that since the Syrians and Egyptians were the aggressors, Kissinger and the White House have authorized significant support.  I don’t know if there will be any assistance in rescuing Tracy.  I haven’t been privy to that information,” Madeleine said.

             
“My guess is that the NSA or
CIA
or whoever, made a deal with the Mossad, charging them with the duty of retrieving Tracy,” Jack said.

             
“That could be,” John said.  “Now they can kill two birds with one stone.  I hope they’ve shared whatever information they have with the Israelis.”

             
“Then this is our best chance,” Madeleine said lowering her legs over the side of the bed.

             
“I know what your answer will be, Madeleine, but I have to ask the question,” Jack said sitting next to Madeleine on the bed.  “You had a horrible ordeal all alone out there in the desert.  Are you recovered enough to go forward?”

             
“I never felt alone,” Madeleine said.  “I’ll make it.  Besides, I have a debt to repay and my godson to find.  Like the rest of you, I’m tired of this.  I want to get Tracy and go home.”

             
“Then let’s get started,” Jack said.  “I’ll phone Ariel and ask her to assemble her team.  We will need to cross enemy lines and may encounter a battlefield.  On the other side of it, we’ll be infiltrating a hostile country. We’ll need a foolproof plan to pull it off.”

             
“You make it sound so easy,” Karen said.  “Madeleine, I’m sure you’re hungry.  I’ll make everyone something to eat.  Is there anything in particular you would like, Madeleine?”

             
“Wine.”

             
“Do you think that’s a good idea right now?” Jack said.

             
“Oh, the English,” Madeleine answered.  “You would think by now, they would know better than to question the French about wine,” Madeleine said as the others laughed, happy to see her strength returning.

CHAPTER
FORTY

             
Syrian Army Colonel Adad Al Diri sat behind a small metal desk in his office and looked at Al Lubnani.  Al Lubnani sat on an uncomfortable metal chair and tried to plead his case.  Al Diri commanded the Syrian Army base and was focused on the attack on Israel that had started.  Outside of his window, equipment and troops were being loaded onto trucks destined for the front; now well inside of Israeli territory.  He commanded several thousand eager young men, most of whom were children during Syria’s defeat during the disastrous Six Day War with Israel.  In 1967 his country lost the Golan Heights.  Egypt lost the Gaza and Sinai, while the Jordanians gave up the West Bank and East Jerusalem.  It had been a costly defeat for all three countries.  Al Diri had been in the Syrian army when it was pushed back over the existing borders.  He took that as a personal defeat, and now there were far more soldiers eager for revenge.

  Israel had been the aggressor at the outset of the Six Day War, any notion that it had been a preemptive strike was mere propaganda. The Jews had picked a fight that Al Diri was happy to revisit. The sneak attack on the Egyptian air force would not be repeated, and thus not set the tenor for the rest of the conflict.    Perhaps this time, the whole of Israel would be taken. His troops would have the ample air support that was crucial to their success.

The PLO was a distraction that Al Diri could do without.  He was a soldier, and he felt that they fought without honor, using terror tactics, and never directly faced their enemies.  Al Lubnani was taking valuable time away from the early stages of what his superiors expected to be a resounding victory.  Al Lubnani was an irritant and a member of an organization that he knew would lose favor once Syria’s victory was assured.

             
“We need the agent for an attack on the US Embassy, Colonel.  Your superiors were made aware of that fact when we gave you our prisoner for temporary safe keeping,” Al Lubnani said.

             
“Things have changed.  We will be keeping the prisoner and do with him as we see fit.  The war is going in our favor and we don’t want to overtly antagonize the Americans at this juncture.  They have already started to send all manner of supplies to the enemy,” Al Diri said, lighting a Russian cigarette with a match he struck on the bare surface of the desk.  He extinguished the match and intentionally blew his smoke out directly at Al Lubnani in a dismissive manner.

             
“I must protest,” Al Lubnani said, moving his face out of the direction of the smoke.

             
“That may be, but when we and our allies stand victorious at the end of what may well be a short campaign, we will be the ones that decide your fate.  I would think the Palestinians would want to do everything in their power not to anger the countries that are fighting their war for them.  If Palestine is to be a sovereign nation, it will be because we allow it.  So, go away and let me get back to the defeat of Israel.”

             
“I meant no disrespect, Colonel.  I am merely suggesting that my organization would like to participate in the victory,” Al Lubnani said.
             

“Your organization, while good intentioned, is not a trained military fighting force. Leave that to us. I’m sure you will explain that diplomatically to your superiors. Now leave me, I have a war to win,” Al Diri said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

             
“I thank you for your wise counsel,” Al Lubnani said as he stood and left the room.  Pompous ass, he added silently.

             
Tracy sat in a room in the security area of the Syrian base.  The room was locked but was not intended for discomfort.  He began to have some hope of making it out of his ordeal alive.  He had observed Russian military advisors on his way from the transport helicopter into the building.  This time he hadn’t been forced to wear a hood and his hands were loosely bound.  He understood Russian, and picked up from their conversations that the Arab allies had won the first battles of the war.   He could tell from the numerous takeoffs and landings that something big was underway.

The presence of the Russian advisors troubled him.  He certainly didn’t want to be handed over to them and a completely uncertain future.  He hoped that if the war was starting, perhaps the US would then be in a position to try to get him out or at least work with the Mossad for his release.  Whatever happened he knew it would have to be soon if he was going to make it home. 

Unlike the Palestinians, the Syrians treated him with respect. His captors said little, but he was given decent food and was placed in a room, not a cell.  When he was first captured, the PLO had kept him in lightless underground cells.  After a long, jolting ride in the desert heat, he had been brought to this new place. His new prison was above ground, but no less sturdy.  He was in a brick structure.  A small window at the top let in light but it was too high for him to see out. Although he asked his guards often what day it was, he found himself losing track, and the boredom of the empty room and the lack of windows made it worse. 

His tried to remember Rachel’s face and the sound of her voice.  Her death had only been a few weeks ago, but he couldn’t dwell on it.  He hoped it wasn’t the selfishness of his need for self-preservation that pushed those simple memories out of reach. He wondered about the possibility of escape. He knew the farther he was from a friendly country the more unlikely he would ever get away, but he refused to give up hope.

CHAPTER
FORTY
-
ONE

             
“The Syrian base is located near the town of, Suweida, just north of Bosra,” Ariel said pointing to a map spread out in front of Madeleine and the others on the table in the new safe house.

             
“How will we cross into Syria?” John said.  “Hopefully not on the backs of camels.”

             
“That would provide the most cover,” Madeleine said.  “I’m worried about making it past the enemy.”

             
“So far, the war is not going well,” Ariel said.  “The Syrians are focused on pressing their victory in the Golan Heights.  I think the best way to go is to skirt the bottom of Jordan and enter at the top of the Golan Heights, flanking the enemy.”

             
“Has Jordan participated in the attack?”