Tracks (39 page)

“Can you identify the nurse
who treated her?” he queried.

“Not a problem.  The man
looks like a giraffe.”

“Get on him first thing
tomorrow morning and don’t let him out of your sight.  The rest of you
remain in your posts but keep an eye for the woman,” Hamoodi instructed.

It was night and they all
needed a break.  Hamoodi joined his men for a drink at a local bar then
left them.  He went back to the hospital to check on the prisoner. 
The two prison guards were outside the basement playing Shesh-Besh, smoking and
drinking coffee.  He joined them for coffee, smoked a cigarette and
watched as they rolled the dice.

A male nurse appeared and
entered the room to check on the patient. 

Hamoodi had an
inspiration.  He decided to test the waters by supplying
disinformation.  When the nurse came out he informed him that the
patient’s transfer would be delayed one day. 

He then went back to his hotel
room for a nap.  In two days, his prisoner would be moved to Dahab. 
If anyone tried anything, he would be a day
late.      

Kasuma received no new
information from Nurse Faisel when they met at the Reef Café.  He
stuffed the envelope containing the cash in his pants and proceeded to tell her
what she already knew.

“Meet me here at the same time
tomorrow and I’ll confirm his departure,” he said gazing down at her with an
aura of importance.  “I’ll need some more cash for my colleague.”

“How certain can you
be
of the departure time?”  Kasuma queried him. 

“As certain as I am the sun
will be up tomorrow,” Faisel said condescendingly.  “My colleague is the
one looking after him.”  

“Will I have 48 hours to
prepare?” Kasuma inquired, feeling more confident. 

“I believe so,” Faisel
concurred.  “What exactly are you preparing for?”

“That’s my business,” Kasuma
said bluntly.  “And you’d better forget you ever met me.”

Faisel raised his hands in
submission to indicate this was not his fight.  He gulped down the Cola he
had ordered and got up to leave, hitting his head on the erected lampshade
above their table.  Ducking to get out, he left rubbing his head.

The following day, Kasuma
remained in her room until it was time to meet
Summer
at the beach.

They met at the same spot.

“He’s being moved Wednesday
morning,” the anesthesiologist revealed. 
“Bright and early!”

“I need to ask you if you are
absolutely certain,” Kasuma pried.  “Higher forces are at work.”  She
smiled apologetically raising her hands to the sky.

“I was having lunch with
Doctors Fiad and El-Gaziz, his anesthesiologist and surgeon.  They both confirmed
he’s to be moved Wednesday,”
Summer
assured her.

Kasuma looked at her
watch.  It was just past noon, Monday.  Kessler had asked for 48
hours.  If she informed him now, he would barely have that.  If she
waited to confirm the news with Nurse Faisel at seven, it may be too late.

She thanked
Summer
and rushed to her hotel room where she made a phone call.  She figured
chances were slim that Jack would be moved before Wednesday.  If anything,
he could be moved later and she preferred to alert Kessler early than
late. 

That evening, at the Reef
Café, when Nurse Faisel informed her the day would be Thursday, wheels
had already been put in motion and there was nothing she could do to delay
it.  It would force the troop to hide on the coastline an extra day but at
least they would be in position.  No telling when exactly the entourage
was going to leave.  Worst case they would strike Thursday morning, best
case Wednesday morning and anywhere in between.

She, in any event, planned to
be in position from Wednesday morning on. 

CHAPTER
THIRTY SIX

The submarine made its way,
silently submerged ten meters deep in the black waters of the Gulf.  The sailors
had made room for the exhausted troop who now lay fast asleep on the narrow
bunks of the constricted tube.

They had arrived in Eilat not
ten hours before and managed several briefs from Sam, Kessler,
the
Israeli Navy and Intelligence personnel before boarding
the Navy sub which was to drop them in rubber boats within international
waters, roughly five kilometers from the Sinai coastline.  Two Israeli
Navy commandos were to escort them to the coast then return and stay with the
sub until they returned.  Any scrap with Egyptian authorities, and they
were on their own.

“Man the bridge,” the
loudspeakers roared across the length of the vessel, from its engine room to
the torpedo room to the communication hub.

Someone was tugging at his
shoulder.  A corporal had been sent to wake him up. 

“The captain wants to see
you,” the sailor said in lame English.     

No stranger to submarines,
careful not to bump his head, a disoriented Harley slipped out of the bunk and
followed the sailor to the captain’s quarters, wary of seamen rushing
purposefully by, squeezing through the narrow abrasive corridor, an array of
hoses and gauges embellishing its interior.

Captain Ben-Tzur was ready for
him when he arrived, a map drawn across a multifunctional metal counter used for
briefing, planning, sleeping and eating.  They shook hands, Harley
slipping in beside him in the confined space which also housed a tiny sink and
a metal filing cabinet which had on top a wooden framed photo of what Harley
presumed were the man’s wife and two children.  The two commandos were
already seated.  A minute later a seaman appeared with a container of
sweet tea and several china cups, which the captain poured and distributed
without asking.

The map was adorned with
circles, lines, and dots representing currents and depths along the Sinai
coastline.  The captain pointed out the anticipated Egyptian boat patrols
around Nueba, Dahab, and Sharm el Sheik.

“We’ll drop you off here at
01:30 hours,” he explained with a heavy Israeli accent, pointing to a spot
about five kilometers from the coastline, half the distance between Sharm and
Dahab. “That’s three hours from now.  This will give you enough time to
reach your spot in darkness.”

Harley nodded, examining the
map closely. 

“What type of shore can we
expect?” he asked.

One of the commandos replied.

“Quite
sandy and comfortable to land.
  There’s a small
deserted inlet right here,” he pointed to a spot on the map, “where you can
hide the boats.  You must be aware there are now very few deserted spots
on this coastline with all the tourist development going on.  So we must
hit the right spot otherwise we’re in danger of being spotted by any random
onlooker.”

The Navy diver continued: “The
boats are inflatable and each has its own pump but even after you’ve deflated
them they take up some space and can be detected quite easily.  I suggest
you hide them as best you can in the sand and leave someone on guard.  He
can point you back to the right spot and fend off any danger while you’re away.”

Harley looked at the young
frogman, admiring his confidence.  Everything he said so far, made sense
but sparing a man to stay with the boats was a sacrifice.  He only had
seven men along with himself, four to a boat, and it would greatly diminish his
firepower.

“It is your only way back,”
the diver said, seeing his hesitation.   

“Can you two stay with the
boats?” he queried.

The question took the two
Israeli commandos by surprise.  They exchanged glances then looked to the
captain.

“Their orders are to return to
the sub,” the captain pointed out.

“So you stick with the boats,”
Harley reasoned.  “What difference does it make when you swim back to the
sub?  If anything happens you can always disappear in the water.”

“I might not be able to wait
for them if something happens,” the captain observed.  “Then they’ll
really be stuck.”

“So will
we
,”
Harley thought to himself but refrained from saying it.  He had
volunteered to take the risk and was being paid.  They were doing him a
favor under strict orders to avoid any contact, which could cause a political
crisis between neighboring archrivals that just managed to keep the peace.

“Are you willing to risk it?”
he addressed the two Navy divers, unable to resist laying a challenge, testing
their limits.  Special Forces personnel, he knew from experience, had to
have degrees of freedom to make their own call in the field.  Otherwise
they would be just like any other grunt obeying orders.

A heated discussion developed
in Hebrew between the two commandos and the captain after which they agreed to
stay with the boats.

“But you need to give us
enough leeway to be able to make the sub if anything goes wrong,” they informed
Harley.  “It should take us an hour with fins.”

“Will do,” Harley agreed, “and
thanks.  You guys are champs,” he commended them, feeling more comfortable
to have them remain close by.  When push came to shove, he knew they would
help him.

“Assuming you grab your man as
planned, it will take you a half hour, from the time you reach the boats, to
reach me - in broad day light!” the captain observed.  “And I would need
to surface to haul you guys in,” he added.  “This is a procedure we
normally practice a while before we carry it out.”

“If all goes according to
plan, we expect the convoy early morning, around seven or eight,” Harley
acknowledged.  “I expect we’ll have enough time to retreat before they can
put things in motion.”

“One distress call over the
radio is all it takes to have a destroyer chase us out of here,” the captain
remarked.

“Captain, my guys are
well-trained,” Harley reminded him.  “We’ve done this before.  It’s
risky, I admit, but it’s the best we can do.  Barring major glitches, I
believe we can pull it off.  If your sub is in any way threatened,
disengage.  We’ll try to survive in the inflatables, go hide somewhere,
until you can pick us up.  If the radios remain intact, we may be able to
rendezvous somewhere else.”

Now it seemed the captain was
appraising him.  He spoke after a few silent moments.

“If I retreat, I’ll try to
stay within radio range and pick you up later, probably at night.  In any
event I’ll stick around until Thursday night,
then
I
go back to port.”

“That’s fair enough,” Harley
said.  “What’s the range on the radios?” he asked.

“Forty kilometers on a good
day,” one of the commandos remarked.  “This should be sufficient.”

Harley nodded.  “I’ll go
and brief my guys if we’re done here,” he said slipping out of his seat careful
not to hit something in the small confines.

The captain reached up to
shake his hand.

“Whatever your plan is, don’t
underestimate the Egyptians.  They’ve improved over the years.”

“I never underestimate anyone,
Captain.  It’s the secret of my success.”  Harley smiled confidently
shaking the seaman’s hand.  “And I’ll need two stretchers to take along,”
he added. 

The captain nodded.

“I’ll see you guys on deck,”
he said to the Navy divers and made his way back to wake up his flock.

Of the twenty-one operatives
who went to India, he chose seven to join him for Jack’s rescue mission: Devlin,
Rolston and Copeland, Sergeant Lizzy O'Leary, Long-John, Jimmy the Driver and
Robbie Frampton.  It was the crew who rescued Clair and her boy with the
addition of Long-John and Robbie, who was an Irishman with admirable sailing
skills that Harley
thought
might come in handy. 
Mai-Li came along as a liaison/spokeswoman for Harley to handle communications
with all involved.  Ali went back to Scotland with the rest with
instructions to keep them in shape.

David Kessler did not make the
trip on the sub.  He had briefed them thoroughly on the developments and
on Kasuma and deposited a short wave radio with Harley giving him the
wavelength Kasuma was due to use.   

Three hours later the sub
surfaced for ten minutes for the troop to gather up on deck, inflate the boats
and quietly slide into the water.   Zvika and Arik, the two
commandos, steered the muffled engines toward the Egyptian coast.  Harley
had Lizzy, Robbie Frampton and Copeland handling the radio with him in one boat
with Devlin, Rolston, Jimmy, and Long-John in the other.

The distant shoreline was
sprinkled with flickering lights but as the boats drew closer, a dark gap
seemed to appear in front of them.  They were honing in on an area that
seemed, at least from a distance, to be deserted but there was always a
possibility of someone ambushing them while they were at their most vulnerable
during the landing.

The two boat drivers cut motor
power by half as they inched their way closer to the shore line.  A
deserted wide sandy expanse appeared in front of them, the only sound being the
waves breaking with the tide.   With Harley's boat in the lead they
were parallel to the shore now, looking for the hidden inlet.  Harley
scanned the area with his night-vision goggles spotting the inlet a little to
the South.  He motioned to the Navy man, pointing in the direction. 
Arik adjusted the boat's bearing and within minutes both boats found solace in
the protected cove.  Soon, both boats deflated, they all crawled up the
cove's edge to scan the area.  

The inlet was the mouth of a
dry creek where the shore became rocky and steep.  The sea had eaten into
the rock creating a natural cove roughly ten meters wide and twenty meters
deep.  With the tide up, the water filled most of the inlet, leaving a
narrow sandy step, waist high, where the men
jumped out
and stashed
the boats
away.  The step could
only be seen from the water.  Above it were layers of sediment that hid
the place from unsuspecting passers-by walking on the shore.

The
crew
were
now scanning the area, only their heads emerging from within the
cove.  The immediate terrain in front of them was a flat sandy expanse
stretching in all directions.  Further to the west, they spotted
headlights of a moving vehicle, marking the main road they needed to reach. 
Beyond it were the sheer granite cliffs of the Santa Katarina
ridge.  

Harley consulted the Israeli
commandos.  It seemed the only moderately obscured route was along the dry
creek whose mouth formed the inlet they were in.  It did not seem like
much of a route from where they were looking but it would have to do. 
Otherwise, the span between the cove and the highway was totally bare and they
could not afford to be spotted in either direction.

Harley looked at his
watch.  It was 3:00 am on the hour.  They had less than two hours to
sun-up.  Silently, he shook the Israeli frogmen's’ hands, made sure they
were all on the same radio frequency and proceeded to lead the way from the
inlet to the dry creek path keeping close to its walls which were high enough
near the water but descended as they preceded further inland.  The troop
fell in step behind him, keeping a safe distance from one another so as to
minimize the column from being detected.

Harley led a pace as fast as
the terrain would allow.  He
walked
,
stooped
, along the creek's walls and
stopped every few minutes to scan the area with the night vision goggles. 
The troop all knelt and alertly waited until he moved again.

The desert remained silent as
they continued to move.  No visible humans or animals, stray dogs, goats,
sheep or the like.  The closer they came to the highway, the shallower the
creek became until they almost had to crawl on their knees for cover.

Harley stopped to scan for an
appropriate ambush place.  He needed a place that was both convenient to
strike and provided a safe hiding place for the troop during daytime, not sure
when Jack's convoy would show up.

Directly in front, at the
shortest
distance
, the
road was straight and flat with no visible hiding places in its vicinity. 
To his right, the road made a wide turn toward the water.  To his left, he
estimated half a kilometer away, the road came down from higher terrain and
emerged from a cut through part of a hill, making a turn into the flat area
directly in front of them.  He could not fully discern the behavior of the
road through the hill but he realized it was his only option.  To get
there they had to cross an exposed area between the creek they were in and a
parallel creek he could just make out, which he hoped would provide enough
cover to lead them to the confines of the hill.

With no time to ponder, he
went back and alerted each of his men
to
the need
to cross to the parallel creek, then sprinted across the exposed expanse. 
The men did it each in turn, one at a time, until all were safely nestled in
the adjacent creek which was actually deeper and provided more cover.  Not
wasting a second, Harley pushed toward the hill.  The creek proved a
savior.  Not only did it provide more cover, it also steered them toward
the hill bringing them to a concealed spot at striking position from the road.
The creek went around the back of the hill, allowing them to climb and hide
amongst a cluster of boulders overlooking the
road.