Tracks (41 page)

Someone had to be blamed.

Kasuma put her car in gear and
approached the scene.

By then more cars had arrived
and people began to run between the bodies, inspecting them.  They were
all shot except for the police lieutenant who was in the back of the ambulance
with what looked like a broken neck and a slit throat.

Kasuma joined the crowd of
onlookers.  Jack was freed.  She could confirm that.  Also the
casualties seemed to be exclusively Egyptian, though she could not be certain.

She counted nine bodies before
the Dahab police arrived and moved onlookers away.  She took advantage of
the first few moments of confusion and followed a small convoy of vehicles that
were diverted to a dirt road around the blockage, and in less than an hour had
a clear path north towards
Dahab.         

The top brass arrived an hour
later, among them Chief Halil with his entourage from Dahab.  The area was
sealed off and army troops were being sent to inspect the area.

The driver of the van was
found shortly after and was immediately taken for questioning.

No one paid any attention the
Bedouin woman in the rented car driving to Nueba.

*****

The sub was out of the water
less than five minutes.  Arik and Zvika, the Israeli Navy commandos,
steered the rubber boats parallel, and the crew transferred the stretchers
across.  Both wounded were then picked up by several hands and carefully
slid down the opening inside the sub.  The rest hustled down the shaft,
Captain Ben-Tzur last, giving orders to dive as he was securing the
latch.  

Harley was hustled to the
infirmary where the boat’s doctor was waiting, having been alerted.  Jack
was given a bed where a medic took a look at his knee and his general
condition.

Harley was fighting for his
life.  Barely breathing, he managed to survive the grueling stretcher trek
which his men managed in forty minutes and the half hour rubber-boat
ride.  Drenched in seawater, Harley was losing the
battle
, his pulse weak, his lungs barely
functioning.  The doctor was fighting a losing battle.  His men
managed to stop the bleeding, but his blood and heart were not getting enough
air.  

Devlin and Lizzy were standing
outside the sub’s infirmary.  The rest were huddled further down near the
officers’ cabins.  Tensions were high such that the air felt as if it was
a spring waiting to pop.

“You take over if Joe doesn’t
make it,” Lizzy whispered to Devlin.

Devlin straightened his gaze
at Lizzy.  The sergeant’s worried face
was
a mixture of salt and sweat.  Dried
blood, not his, was smeared across his forehead.

They both knew Harley’s
situation was hopeless.  Devlin was not sure there would be anything left
to take over.  Harley was the undisputed leader, orchestrator and force
behind the unit.  He was also the one with connections that got them their
partial legitimacy with Her Majesty’s Government.  He, Devlin, certainly
did not have the kind of recognition or military record Harley had conjured up
over the years and he certainly did not measure up to the colonel in the type
of clout he could muster.

Devlin believed in what they
were doing; covert, anonymous operations that helped friendly governments out
of tricky situations.  But it was Harley who was the architect.  It
was Harley who was sought after by obscure organizations looking to employ
them.  It was Harley whom ex-brigade people came looking for to join and
it was he who had a feel for who to accept and who to reject.  It was also
he who struck up the government retainer agreement for their services and every
other deal thereafter. 

Devlin considered
himself
a go-to guy - in the field.  He had battle
qualities maybe the best of the crew and Harley had let it be known.  But
he was no administrator.  He had no idea how Harley managed to get them
their Scottish camp and training grounds, their equipment or how he managed
their logistics.

It seemed he needed a leap of
faith to try and get into his shoes.  Plus he needed the
team
’s support.  There may be others who
considered themselves worthy.  He would not attempt to lead without consensus,
if he attempted it at all. 

If
Harley did not survive…

The doctor stuck his head out
from the room.  Both Devlin and Lizzy turned their heads expectantly.

“I am sorry,” the doctor said,
shaking his head. 

They were all in tears at the
funeral.

Captain Yoel Ben-Tzur was
asked to perform the eulogy before they slipped Harley’s body into the deep
blue water of the Red Sea.

It was a decision they all
took together, huddled on the sub’s watery deck.  Harley was not married,
had no children anyone knew
of
, had
no known female companion, no siblings and both his parents were dead.

They were his only family and
it seemed appropriate to give him a seaman’s burial.  Harley belonged
nowhere and everywhere and the Gulf of Aqaba was as good a place as any to send
him off, the place where he took his last breath. 

Lizzy thought his commander
and closest friend would be happy with their choice.

So they asked the Israeli
captain, his crew, and members of the elite Israeli Navy unit to do them the
honor and join them in a final farewell to a man, soldier, hero, they all loved
and admired. 

None of the Israelis knew
Harley’s background or exploits but from the little they
had
seen, they felt it a privilege. 
They knew a great soldier when they saw one and they gave him a seaman’s burial
as if he was one of their own.

Captain Ben-Tzur spoke Hebrew
reading phrases from the bible.  Then Lizzy said a few words, Devlin added
a farewell, Rolston spoke quietly and Long-John added his own.  Then the
crew of the sub fired three shots in succession as a final salute. 

Harley’s body, wrapped in an
Israeli flag, slid into the sea.

PART
THREE

DELIVERANCE

CHAPTER
THIRTY EIGHT

The Dan Tel Aviv Hotel on HaYarkon
Street, just above the boardwalk that spanned along the Mediterranean shore
from North Tel Aviv to Jaffa, was a hub of activity throughout the day and most
of the night.  Its reputation, central location, proximity to a large
number of foreign embassies and luxury apartments overlooking the Med owned by
Israel’s elite, made it an ideal place to socialize and conduct informal
meetings.  In its vast lobby one could identify notable business
executives, parliament members and a host of celebrities looking for a quiet
corner to chat.

In the far corner of the lobby
was the executive lounge where guests and members enjoyed an array of finger
foods and drinks.  Within the lounge, blending with the wallpaper, an
innocent door with a Private sign led to a private conference room that cost
guests 500 Shekels an hour with coffee, drinks and appetizers
served.          

Sam had received word that
Jack was bringing news of his son long before the Israeli sub reached the port
of Eilat.  He and Kessler also heard of Harley’s fate as they stood
anxiously with a number of Israeli Navy personnel waiting for the sub to
arrive.  Mai-Li was at the hotel sleeping.  She had yet to hear the
grave news of Harley.

When he finally embraced his
long-time colleague and friend,
as he
was
wheeled to an ambulance, he learned that there was a real possibility Sammy was
alive and that they had found a track.

Now they were in the Dan Tel
Aviv conference room for a classified brief, directed by the authorities to shed
light on the matter and agree on a way ahead.

Mai-Li took the news
hard.  When she heard of Harley’s death, she retreated to her room and
remained in solitude for the entire time in Eilat, wishing to see no one.

Everyone but Devlin from
Harley’s crew left after two days.  A member of the team was asked by the
British Ambassador to remain in Israel and Devlin was the unanimous
choice.  Before they left they took a day to rest and a second to
thoroughly brief Kessler and the Navy on what transpired.  A huge
diplomatic stink was brewing and Kessler wanted to make sure he had all the
facts.  He already had the Israeli internal security arm, the Mossad, and
the Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs waiting for answers.

The media was reporting nine
Egyptians, soldiers and police personnel dead following a surprise attack by an
unknown force that lay an ambush south of Dahab, escaping via the sea. 
The motive for the attack was still unclear but the apprehended van driver who
had gotten his wind back was providing speculation.  He admitted not
getting a very good look at the attackers because they had immediately covered
his head with a rag but he swore they spoke Hebrew. 

Then word was beginning to
leak from Police Headquarters at Dahab that the target was an American citizen
charged with kidnapping.  The prisoner, on his way to be tried at Dahab,
managed to escape.

Everyone was staring as the
state-owned Israeli Channel One news came on.  Three days after the event
it was still a hot item, with speculation running wild as various commentators
tried to solve the mystery.  Israel had denied involvement, thus escaping
a major setback to peace along its southern border.  Once again they
showed clips with body bags being loaded on ambulances and Police Chief Halil
being interviewed.

It was Chief Halil who gave
some merit to Israel’s denials, explaining the circumstances under which the
American was charged.  There were no Israelis involved in the kidnapping
of the French boy he confirmed, but he could not rule out Israeli assistance to
the Americans in the prisoner’s hijacking.

When the US State Department
and French Foreign Office denied involvement, condemning the act, the Egyptian
President Mubarak, taunted by Arab nations for action, demanded the UN’s
involvement in investigating the affair. 

The commentators were saying
it would soon be put on the back burner and get lost in the shuffle but the big
question remained: who sprung the prisoner and where was he stashed?  His
name was still being withheld and the fact that he was injured as well.

Jack was taken to Yoseftal
hospital in Eilat for emergency treatment then airlifted by helicopter to an
undisclosed location near Tel Aviv, a private clinic Kessler had arranged in
Herzliya.

Sam was still overwhelmed by
the news of his son.  He was both ecstatic to learn he was likely to be
alive somewhere and astonished at the hideous plot to kidnap American babies,
convert them and use them against their own country.

According to Jack, Sammy’s
whereabouts was quite possibly Beirut.  The organization’s location was
said to be somewhere in the center of town but in ten years, the Sons of Jihad
could have relocated anywhere. 

The vague account of the
method Jack had described worked in his favor, Sam reasoned to himself, since his
son was only eleven and surely too young to be transferred on, though he knew
such organizations were more than capable of training eleven-year-old boys to
inflict terror.   

Could he find Sammy? 
There was a real chance now, he thought, but far worse was the thought of how
much damage had been done to him - and could he undo it?  Sammy had no
memory of his first year and the only family he knew was the one currently
raising him. His personality was surely well-shaped.  They most likely
kept up his English but surely his mother language would now be Arabic. 
His family, friends, schoolmates, were all Lebanese.  He knew nothing
else.  His “mother” was Lebanese and so was his “dad”.   How
could he even begin to explain to the boy it was all a facade?  How could
he rip him away from all that he knew? 

Anguish crept over Sam but at
the same time it became clear he was not only taking his son back but he was
saving him from a horrible future.

Sammy was still young enough
to withstand it, Sam hoped.  He had to.  There was no choice.

Sitting along with Sam around
the conference table were Kessler, a high ranking member of the Israeli Foreign
Office, the British Military Attaché, the US Military Attaché,
Devlin, and Mai-Li.

The facts were fully disclosed. 
The Center’s line of activity; the events that led to Clair’s release and
consequent action to free her boy and flee to the mountains;  Ortega’s
murder; Harley’s involvement; Jack’s capture and eventual violent release.

Jack’s findings were left as
icing on the cake.

The diplomats around the table
had most of the facts before they came in but sat in utter silence through
Sam’s brief, shaking their heads.

“I must say,” commented the
American attaché, “you took no prisoners but how on earth do you manage
to finance all this activity?”