Shock Wave, page 6
“Good thing I got my ‘Get into Jail Free’ card, then.” Faraz shook the sergeant’s beefy hand.
Major Harrington handed Faraz the mission file and gave him one of his too-strong handshakes. “There’s an open safe on board. You put these papers inside and lock it before you leave the plane. They’ll bring them straight back to me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Happy landings, Lieutenant. Good hunting.”
“Thank you, sir.” Faraz mounted the stairs toward the smiling air force flight attendant standing at the doorway of the small jet. Not many “prisoners” got assigned one of those.
“Good afternoon, sir. Welcome aboard.”
Faraz settled into a wide beige leather seat. He stared out the window. As the plane began to taxi, he turned away from his last look at America and opened the file.
* * *
Fifteen hours and one refueling stop later, Faraz stowed the file and shielded his eyes as he stepped off the plane at an Israeli desert airstrip. He could see a road in the distance, a small building with a flight control room on its roof, a dark blue van bearing the logo of the Israeli Prison Service and little else.
Faraz got a casual salute from an officer at the bottom of the stairway. He noted that it would be his last.
“Welcome to Israel. I’m Captain Ilana Zemer.”
“Thanks. Good to meet you.” Faraz shook her hand.
Zemer looked him over. Taller than Faraz, with black hair pulled back into a bun, wearing trousers and shirt the same color as the Negev sand, she spoke to him like he was a new recruit. Or a prisoner.
“You know you will not receive special treatment.” She cocked her head toward the van. “Once you are inside the facility, you are a terrorist prisoner, like any other.”
“Yes, ma’am. I understand.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“We all have our orders.”
“I must ask.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m sure.”
He wasn’t, really. Who could be, in a situation like this? Was there any other situation like this?
“I will be like any other prisoner. But you’re aware of the code word.”
“Yes, but it is only to be used for urgent communications or if your life is in danger. We have translated it for you, which may be useful depending on your situation.” She handed Faraz a piece of paper with the words in English and transliterations of the Hebrew and Arabic. “They will take this from you when you arrive at the prison. You have ten minutes to memorize it.”
“And I will be placed into the necessary grouping?”
“Yes. We are aware of the contacts you need to make. That is why you are here at this prison.”
Captain Zemer walked Faraz to the van and spoke to the three-man crew. “This is Khayal Durrani, prisoner number 2082-2708. He is an American who joined the jihad. Put him in solitary.”
Faraz shot her a look.
“Some time in solitary will raise your credibility and make you look more like a prisoner and less like, well, what you are.”
Faraz pointed to a bruise on his face. “But we already—”
Zemer shook her head. “Solitary. Then we will release you into the general population to make your contacts.”
That was not in the mission brief, but the Israelis were in charge now.
The guards cuffed his hands in front of him and put shackles on his ankles, connected by a short chain. He flashed back to his time in Syria, where he had worn a similar set just a few months ago.
One of the guards grabbed his arm. “Get in.”
Faraz complied. He sat on a bench on one side of the van, under a small, barred window, clutching the piece of paper.
The van doors slammed and the vehicle moved off across the tarmac.
Faraz studied the words in the light from the window. “Hazat ’Ardia” in Arabic. “Gal Helem” in Hebrew.
In English, “Shock Wave.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Bridget limped into General Hadley’s office, leaning on her cane. While his staff worked in the second basement, the director of the DIA got a suite upstairs near the secretary’s and a view that included the Washington Monument and a corner of Arlington National Cemetery.
“We’re going to Tel Aviv,” he said before she could sit.
“Hmm, okay. I thought you wanted me to move into Walter Reed.” Bridget sat on a guest chair in front of Hadley’s desk.
“You look better and the docs say you can travel.”
“Do they now? You’re getting medical reports on me?”
Hadley’s right index finger tapped the three stars on his left shoulder.
“And, what’s our mission, exactly?” Bridget asked.
“We’ll meet with my old running buddy General Oded HaLevy, head of Israeli military intelligence. The White House wants to get Abdallah launched, but the president feels he can’t count on the prime minister to agree to a prisoner exchange. It’s on us to push the general to push the PM, or to make something else happen.”
“Make what happen?”
“Whatever it takes.”
“You’re surprisingly eager on Abdallah, considering that he bailed on his meeting with you.”
“I’ll survive the slight. I guess he needed a minute or two. He’s back on task now, according to Harrington. You got any better options?”
Bridget knew that Hadley knew she didn’t have any better options. “When do we leave?”
“Tonight.”
* * *
The van was cleared through the double fencing around Israeli Prison Service Facility Number Seven.
The back door opened and Faraz shielded his eyes from the desert sun. The driver stepped in and took the piece of paper from his hand. “From here, no one knows who you are. They only know what to do if any prisoner says the code word.”
“Got it.”
“Ready?”
Faraz took his last breath of freedom. “Yes.”
The driver and the other guard each grabbed an arm and pulled Faraz from the van. He stumbled when he hit the ground, and the driver kicked him. “Up, terrorist!” the man shouted.
Faraz stood. They took his arms again and marched him into the prison.
* * *
Bridget and General Hadley got to Israel twenty-four hours after Faraz. At Ben Gurion Airport’s VIP terminal, a protocol officer met their military executive jet—the same type Faraz had used—and sped them to the defense ministry headquarters in a three-vehicle motorcade.
They went through the entrance reserved for official visitors, with no security check, and took an express elevator to the top floor, where a conference room door stood open, revealing green cushioned chairs and pale-blue walls decorated with portraits of Israel’s past defense ministers.
“James, it is good to see you.” General HaLevy met Hadley at the doorway and put him into a bear hug. “And I’m pleased to congratulate you in person on your promotion.” The general was a hair under six feet tall and not much overweight for a man in his sixties, with puffy jowls and hands the size of rib eyes.
“Thank you, Oded,” Hadley said, disengaging from the embrace. “It’s good to see you, too. This is Bridget Davenport, director of Task Force Epsilon.”
Bridget was relieved that she got a simple handshake.
“Ah, the famous task force and the famous Captain Ba—”
“An honor to meet you, sir.” Bridget cut him off before he could use her new moniker.
“And, James, perhaps you remember my covert operations chief, Colonel Ariyeh Ben-Yosef.”
“Of course. I first met him when he was a cadet,” Hadley said. He leaned across the table to shake Ben-Yosef’s hand.
“Do not admit that,” HaLevy said. “They will make you retire immediately.”
“Don’t tempt me.” Hadley turned to Ben-Yosef. “I knew your father, Colonel. He was a good man.”
“Thank you, sir.” Ben-Yosef’s smile disappeared for just a moment.
“And I remember, Oded, that you took young Ari under your wing after Lebanon.”
“Yes, but I promise, I did not personally promote him.”
Ben-Yosef gave Bridget the once-over without bothering to hide it. He was early forties, with olive skin, slicked back dark hair, crow’s feet and a casual confidence that could easily slide over into arrogance. He wore tan desert camo, which contrasted with the older men’s dress uniforms. Bridget shook his hand. He gave her a smile that she thought belonged in a hotel bar.
Bridget pursed her lips and looked away, catching a glimpse of the view toward the Mediterranean, a mile and a half away, before the general’s aide closed the heavy curtains. When the aide retreated, the four of them settled into their seats, two by two—like in the Bible, Bridget thought—on either side of the conference table.
Hadley had asked for the meeting, so he opened the conversation, “I know you’re in the middle of a crisis, Oded, so I appreciate your meeting with us. As you know, we have a plan in motion, and we need your help.”
“We are always in the middle of a crisis, and of course, you will always have my help. But in this, I am not the one to decide.”
“But you meet with the prime minister daily. No?”
“More or less. But, James, this is a longstanding problem for us and a longstanding policy. We cannot release these terrorists and we cannot encourage more kidnappings. I told you this on the phone.”
“My understanding is that there could be some flexibility in the case of these hostages and with our operation as an added incentive.”
“The prime minister only seems flexible compared to his coalition partners. I do not believe he will do it, in the end.”
Hadley asked Bridget to present the intel about A-HAI and Assali and to lay out the spike in comms intercepts and bank transfers.
“I know all this,” HaLevy said, waving a hand to cut her briefing short. “And you know, James, we do not negotiate with terrorists.”
“I also know that you have done so when it suited you and that you have hundreds of low-level prisoners you could release with little impact.”
“Not hundreds. And they would not accept those men, not without the high-level terrorists who we will not release.”
“Many in Israel believe getting your people back is the priority in this situation.”
HaLevy scoffed. “Will you teach me Israeli politics now James? Many people believe many things, but they do not have the responsibility to keep the state safe. And as for keeping America safe? Well, you may have to find another way this time.”
Bridget spoke up. “General, this is not just about stopping the next attack on America. We believe Assali will use his Palestinian network to attack Israel as a way to put pressure on us. Eilat and Aqaba, the kidnapping, these are the beginning of something bigger.”
“Perhaps,” HaLevy said. “But we have dealt with such waves before. The cabinet believes releasing the prisoners would only make it worse, and honestly, I agree. I recommended putting your man in place in the prison as a favor to you. The prime minister agreed in case things change. But I do not expect it.”
Bridget felt Colonel Ben-Yosef staring at her and did her best to ignore it, focusing her gaze on the general.
“Perhaps there is a way,” Ben-Yosef said.
Now, Bridget had to look at him, as did the two generals.
“What way?” HaLevy asked.
“There could be many reasons we release one prisoner or a small group—illness, humanitarian grounds, even end-of-sentence. We could get the American into position without any connection to the kidnappings. I’d be happy to liaison with Miss Davenport to see if we can work something out.” He smiled a “gotcha” smile.
Hadley seemed not to notice and turned back to his counterpart. “Oded, this is a high priority mission. The president wants it to happen. Whatever you can do to get our man launched will be much appreciated.”
“How long are you staying in Israel, General?” Ben-Yosef asked.
“I have a couple of meetings at the embassy and then I’m off. But Bridget can stay to coordinate, if that would be helpful. Can’t you?”
Bridget shot Hadley a look. They hadn’t discussed that. She’d brought exactly one change of clothes, which she’d already put on before landing. She still wasn’t used to dealing with the three-star version of Jim Hadley. “Yes, sir,” she said, trying to make clear she wasn’t happy and knowing it wouldn’t matter.
“Good.” General HaLevy appeared relieved that the meeting would end at something other than loggerheads. “Colonel Ben-Yosef and Ms. Davenport will work the issue for us. James, we will stay in touch. And next time, stay a little longer. It’s been too long since that time I took you to my favorite hummus restaurant in Hebron.”
“With two armored vehicles and a Special Ops team.”
“The price one pays.”
There was a knock on the door. HaLevy’s aide stepped halfway into the room. “General, your, um, other visitors are here.”
“Ah,” HaLevy said. “Perfect timing. Send them in.”
The aide opened the door all the way, and a woman came in with a girl about six years old. The child took tentative steps at first, but when she saw General HaLevy, she ran to him.
“Sabah,” she shrieked.
HaLevy caught her and lifted her into his arms. “James, this is my granddaughter, Tali, and my daughter Rivka, who you met many years ago, I think.”
“Of course.” Hadley half stood from across the table.
Rivka walked past her father to Colonel Ben-Yosef and leaned over to give him a kiss. She was petite, with tight jeans, a white scoop-neck T-shirt and shoulder-length light brown hair streaked with blond.
Hadley smiled. “So the colonel is your . . .”
“. . . son-in-law. Yes. They have been together since that difficult time when he became an unofficial member of our family. Some years later, they made it official.”
Ben-Yosef spoke to Tali. “You have kisses for Sabah but none for me?”
“No!” The girl rolled her eyes and put her arms around the general’s neck.
“I’m sorry for the interruption, James, but it is Take the Kids to Work Day, or whatever they call it. Another American import, I think.”
“Well, it’s very nice to see Rivka again and to meet Tali, but we need to get to the embassy.” Hadley got up and reached across the table to shake HaLevy’s hand. “Thank you, Oded. Let’s make this happen.”
HaLevy stood with Tali in his left arm. “If it is in any way possible, I’m sure we will.”
Bridget handed a business card to Colonel Ben-Yosef. “You can reach me on my cell or through the embassy.”
“I’ll do that.” With his wife in the room, the colonel was suddenly projecting a professional demeanor.
Bridget smiled at Rivka, who had a proprietary hand with blue-painted fingernails on the colonel’s shoulder.
* * *
After the meetings at the U.S. embassy on the Tel Aviv waterfront, Bridget walked Hadley to his car.
“Sorry for the short-notice assignment,” he said.
“No notice, you mean.”
Hadley looked out toward the beach crowded with sunbathers catching the afternoon rays and young people in bathing suits playing volleyball. The sun shined from a clear blue sky over the Med. “Yeah, well, there are worse duty stations. You were in one of those not long ago.”
“True that, sir. This definitely looks like an upgrade.”
“Well, don’t get too comfortable. I need you back in DC ASAP. Meanwhile, the embassy doctor will track your progress. And stay away from the volleyball. You don’t want to open your wound.”
“Yes, sir.” She shook his hand and Hadley got into the car. Bridget waved as his vehicle and security team rolled out of the driveway.
* * *
Back inside, Bridget settled into a small office on the military liaison’s floor. She had a desk, a chair, a secure computer and not much else. Her narrow window looked south along the beachfront promenade. If she pressed her head to the glass, she could see the Med. Bridget looked at the backpack sitting on the floor, her luggage for what was supposed to be a six-hour visit. It held her toiletries and the clothes she’d worn on the flight.
On her personal email, Bridget found a note from Will in Baghdad. “Hi. Strange to have you so close and yet so far. Why not swing by on your way home? It’s pretty boring here without you.”
Bridget had hoped for a reunion when he rotated out in a few weeks. Now, if he got to DC on schedule, they might yet again be on different continents.
She switched to a chat app. “Hi. Got your email. Looks like I’ll be here for a while.”
“Cool. How about date night? We’ll break some rules, get mad, make up . . .”
Bridget was glad Will was sounding more like himself. The leg injury he sustained in Afghanistan had landed him in a desk job, possibly for good. The months of separation and the stress of his slow rehab had just about ended their relationship.
In all, they’d known each other for less than two years and been apart for most of it. Then, he showed up in Baghdad. They had a big fight, went on a barely legal operation together and she nearly died. And right after they made up in her clinic room—with only a kiss to seal it—she’d flown off on the medevac to Germany.
“Sounds like fun. You’re good at commandeering choppers. Come on over for dinner.”
“BE RIGHT THERE!!! Ha ha. I WISH! Watch out for those Israeli guys.”
“Roger that,” she replied. It was like he had ESP. “How’s the leg?”
“Cane has been under my bed for the last week. Plan to keep it there.”
“Excellent!”
“So, why Tel Aviv?”
“Um . . .
“Need-to-know basis, as usual?”
“All you need to know is that I miss you. Now, let’s see how soon we can both get back to DC.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He sent her a salute emoji.
Bridget sent him back a thrown kiss and closed the app.
She opened her classified email to write to Colonel Ben-Yosef. If she was staying in Tel Aviv to coordinate with the Israelis and press them to help launch Faraz’s mission, she was going to have to deal with him. She’d fended off plenty of men like him during her military and Pentagon careers. She was very good at saying no, and her martial arts training was there to back her up. Also, he was married. With that adorable little girl.
