Authors: Niv Kaplan
"Thank heavens you're here Ruthi," she gasped, "have you heard from Gabi? I haven't seen him or talked to him since early yesterday morning.”
"Yes, I have, Rachel. He's fine. He just needed to go under cover for a couple of days with that awful case he's been investigating. He asked me to personally see you.”
"It's that kidnapped American girl case, isn't it?" Rachel Gadot accused. "He hasn't been himself since he got involved in it.”
Ruthi nodded. She did not want to alarm her any more but she couldn't think of a way around it.
"Why don't I help you fix up a bit?" she offered, looking around the room, hoping to delay discussing the topic. Rachel grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to look directly at her face. Her breath smelled of cigarettes. She had returned to smoking as well.
"Tell me what's wrong. I must know!"
"Rachel, relax. Gabi's fine. He just needed to stay out in the field for a couple of days. He's done it before.”
"Not this way Ruthi, not without calling, not without sleeping. Something's awfully wrong. I know it. I saw the news yesterday and this morning's headlines. It's all about him, isn't it?"
She let go of Ruthi's shoulders and sat on the sofa next to little Jonathan. Assaf, their eldest, came over and sat next to her, hugging her arm. She began sobbing silently. Ruthi looked at the bewildered family huddled on the sofa, and felt a lump the size of a golf ball, choking her throat.
She needed to get out of there.
"Rachel, if Gabi calls, tell him to contact me as soon as possible. I must talk to him, but not on the phone. He can call me at home after work and I'll come see him where ever he'll be.”
She turned to leave, unable to face the pitiful scene. Rachel looked up at her with reddened eyes.
"Thanks Ruthi. I'll let him know," she said softly.
"Be strong Rachel. It'll all pass.”
Jonathan was beginning to show signs of waking. Rachel gently caressed his forehead. Assaf curled up in her lap.
Ruthi hurried out the door.
-------
Investigative reporter Sarah Price watched the evening news with growing concern as TV crews were reporting on a grotesque accident involving a delivery truck and a police car. It happened just after six that evening on a steep access road connecting Haifa with the coastal highway. The police car was reported to have been traveling
up the ascent when the delivery truck, traveling downhill, apparently lost control, veered off, crossed over to the uphill side and collided head on with the white, Ford Escort, police car.
The driver of the police car, Captain Gabi Gadot, was killed instantly. Rescue crews were shown working frantically to release the body from under the car.
She caught a glimpse of the truck driver, who was only slightly bruised, being taken to the Haifa police headquarters for questioning. He was a heavy built man with enormous arms, dark bushy eyebrows, and a crooked nose.
Sarah noticed she was sitting at the edge of her bed tense with anticipation. She looked at the brown paper envelope given to her by Captain Gadot the previous night, lying atop a stack of papers inside her open backpack with instructions to use, if and only if, he would contact her again and specifically authorize it.
She had been closely following the Karen Glass case. Her story of the allegations made by Karen's father made the front page of Maariv the previous morning.
There were no instructions for use in of case death. She wondered if she could ever use whatever lay inside the envelope. With shaking hands she opened the envelope and read its contents with growing disbelief.
Gadot did not say much when they met the previous night. He tracked her at the editorial desk at the newspaper and asked her to meet him in a small coffee shop on Shenkin Street. There he quickly gulped down a glass of black coffee before handing her the envelope. He asked to stay anonymous, explaining it was an extremely sensitive matter that left him without options but did not elaborate.
Her involvement reporting
the events prompted him to choose her.
The TV reporter summarized the incident as another accident in a growing list of fatal errors caused by dangerous roads and careless drivers. Sarah looked at the notes she had just read with a terrible sensation that what it contained, may this time, prove the TV reporter wrong.
PART TWO
THE DISCOVERY
CHAPTER 10
There was a knock on the door.
Lieutenant Nadav Carmon, busy preparing his report on the raid, looked up, distracted. Spread across his desk were aerial photographs of Southern Lebanon.
"Come in," he irritably responded.
Corporal Ami Kidron peeked in and stood holding the door ajar.
"What is it, corporal?"
the lieutenant demanded, anxious to continue his analysis.
"The photographs are ready sir. I think you’d better have a look.”
The lieutenant stood up, quickly circled his desk, seizing his M-16 submachine gun off the floor, and followed the corporal out the door. They hurried along, out of the officer's quarters and into the torrid heat, making their way toward the labs.
The IDF's Northern Command Intelligence headquarters, located in a heavily guarded compound, a few kilometers north of Zefat, was a vast complex of old and new buildings centered around a main tower which accommodated a cluster of antennas and satellite dishes used to monitor the enormous amounts of information needed to keep Israel appraised of possible threats. The place was a hub of activity with servicemen hurrying in and out of buildings in an endless effort to keep potential chaos under control.
The two hurried along on the narrow asphalt roads, keeping within the white lines marking the pedestrian footpath which left little room for military vehicles racing by. Guards were posted at the entrances to all buildings with the exception of the single storey barracks left unguarded during the day. They flashed their IDs at a weary sentry and entered one of the newer buildings, a three-storey, L-shaped structure, painted bright white reflecting the blazing sun.
The development
labs were on the second floor. They hopped up the stairs and entered a long white corridor encompassing entrances to the various labs. The corporal stopped at one of the entrances and slid his ID card through a magnetic decoder attached to the door automatically buzzing them in.
The lab was squeaky clean. Several on-duty personnel in brown fatigues quietly went about their business, running sophisticated photograph reproduction machines. Racks of neatly stacked and labeled brown envelopes were erected around the room. The corporal fished for a particular envelope on one of the racks marked 'newly developed' and handed it to the lieutenant.
Nadav slumped in a chair next to an empty desk, opened the envelope, and carefully examined its contents. Flipping through the batch of photographs he noticed most were too dark to discern, so he picked out the three most distinguishable ones and studied them. They were color photographs taken at a gathering of sorts, inside a rather dimly-lit house. Two of the photographs were taken under a bare light bulb clearly distinguishing three characters.
A dark skinned, seemingly large person, with dark eyes and a twisted expression partially masked by a protracted mustache, was standing under the light bulb next to a much shorter, scrawny looking man with crooked teeth and a mean gaze. Both were holding up glasses filled with drinks and both seemed to have a triumphant look on their faces.
Partially hidden behind them stood a woman; most of her body was obscured by shadows and by the two men, but her face could be clearly seen. It was a striking face conveying evident fear. Her blond curly hair parted across her forehead showing her eyes to be open wide and her mouth clenched shut as if she was nervously biting her lips.
The third photograph
gave some indication of the whereabouts of the curious gathering. It may have been a missed snap shot but it caught an open window showing distinct evidence of it taking place in what appeared to be an Arab village. Disorganized house formations on a side of a hill with more than a few unpainted buildings in various stages of construction, were clearly seen in addition to some smooth cone shaped stone roofs and a tower that was common to those built on top of mosques.
Nadav felt the corporal breathing over his shoulder.
"Has anybody seen these?" he asked quietly, attentively studying the photographs.
"I don't believe so," the Corporal replied in a suppressed tone close to the lieutenant's ear. "I had these personally developed, as you instructed.”
Corporal Amiram "Ami" Kidron was his most trusted subordinate and it was to him that he delegated the task of developing the negatives found in possession of the three terrorists Eitan Barlev and his reconnaissance unit had ambushed the previous night. Satisfied, he collected the photographs, stuffed them back in their brown labeled envelope and threw the envelope back on the rack. Turning to leave, he discretely motioned the corporal to follow.
-------
Back in the office, the lieutenant drew the three good photographs from his shirt pocket and carefully arranged them on his desk. The corporal looked somewhat surprised at the lieutenant's little magic trick, but said nothing. A report had to be filed before any photos could be taken out of the lab.
Nadav motioned for him to come to his side of the desk and they both inspected the photographs closely.
"Does the woman look familiar to you?" Nadav asked, thoughtfully gazing at the pictures. The corporal half smiled, nodding his head. "It's the reason I had you come down.”
"Can you place her?"
"Not quite.”
"What about the two men?"
"They seem vaguely familiar.”
"What do you think of the general scenario?"
"It looks odd."
"Why?"
"She doesn't belong."
"Why do you say that?"
"Well, for one thing, you don't see many blonde, European-looking women, partying that way with Arabs, and second, she looks quite frightened.”
"Do you think she was meant to be in the picture?"
"I doubt it. It looks as if they are trying to conceal her."
"They seem to be in good spirits," Nadav commented.
"I wonder why?" the corporal mused. "Can you tell anything about the village?"
"I can't, but I know someone who could probably identify it cross-referencing it with aerial photographs." Nadav looked at him contemplatively. "Ami, can you feed the faces in the main frame and come up with names?"
"Assuming they either have a record, or appear on some wanted list, the computer can easily match a face with a name.”
The lieutenant paused for a few seconds then came to a decision.
"Are you authorized to enter the main frame here?"
"Yes I am," the corporal answered proudly.
"Then this is how we'll do it," Nadav said collecting the photographs off the desk. "You enlarge the faces as much as you can without losing resolution, then feed the photos into the computer and see what you come up with.”
The corporal nodded.
Nadav went on. "Once you have the results, you bring 'em straight here. You are not to discuss this with anyone until we have a better idea of what we're dealing with. I don't want to rock any boats before there is a reason. Then I want you to try and identify the village. Are we clear?"
The corporal nodded again. Nadav handed him the photographs and showed him to the door. "Ami, make sure not to involve anyone we don't absolutely need before I complete my report."
Corporal Ami Kidron saluted haphazardly and quickly rushed out to fulfill his duties. Lieutenant Nadav Carmon went back to studying aerial photographs of Southern Lebanon. The report was due Sunday morning.
It was Thursday, July 9th, 1987.
CHAPTER 11
Eitan Barlev was exhausted. Seated alone in the back of an old Peugeot pick-up, a ride he had hitched from the port town of Acre, he could not get comfortable enough to snooze. The pick-up, fitted with a fabric roof held by metal bars and two wooden stools facing each other, skidded and rocked along the old battered road, crossing the Jezreel valley. He had to remain alert to keep his head from banging against the metal bars each time they plunged into an exceptionally large ditch.
He had gotten no more than two hours of sleep the last two days. The physical and mental pressures of the raid along with an ensuing sleepless night of debriefing and weapon cleaning left him fatigued and sore.
It was to be his last raid. He would soon be a civilian.
The road curved and curled, disappearing between rolling hills and cultivated farm land, the vegetation, normally plush green, displaying signs of dehydration from the brutal summer. A land desperate for water, he thought, noting the yellow and brown colors dominating the scenery. Scattered around the hilltops he could see Bedouin herders tending small flocks of sheep and goats grazing about, looking for anything green. He knew every inch of the expanse. Every nook and cranny, every hill and every creek had a meaning. He knew most of the Bedouin tribes and many of the Bedouins on a first name basis.
The pickup hit a ditch crossing Sultan's Creek. Eitan evaded the blow, holding on to the metal bar. He caught a glimpse of the old broken down bridge that once led to the Sultan's hearth.
Sultan, a well-respected Bedouin chief, died in the early 1900s. Legend had it that his ghost still haunted the area. After his death, none of the Bedouin tribes dared put claim to his hearth and even the early Jewish settlers gave up trying to nurture the land around the hearth. Though it was close to the creek's running water, it remained a bare spot in the middle of fertile land.
Eitan knew the place from setting ambushes for wild boar coming to relieve their thirst at the creek. As a young boy, his dad would take him on thrilling wild boar hunts across the valley developing his hunting skills. Dad and his hunting buddies would take off at sundown and get back only when there was no more room in the vehicles for the meat. At times it meant coming back early morning.
Eitan had fond memories of those days which set the stage for his hunting habits as an adult. He would join the ritualistic preparations as the hunters loaded the vehicles with guns and ammunition, food and water, then he would stand next to dad, in the back of the Jeep, holding on tight as it sped across dirt roads and cultivated land, chasing the elusive beasts. The modified Jeep was equipped with a searchlight mounted in back in place of the roof covers which were taken off. At night, one of the hunters would be responsible for operating the search light once wild boar was detected. Two other hunters would be standing in back, ready to fire, and dad would bark instructions at the driver who would stop at nothing until the objective was realized and a hog lay dead in its tracks.
Dad and the hunters had developed a sixth sense to find these well-camouflaged beasts. From the Nazareth Mountains to the north, through the basin cotton fields and grapevines, to the slopes of the Gilboa ridge in the south, they patiently tracked them down and frequently came home with several of them slaughtered. Back home they would take them to the slaughter house, skin them and hang them in deep freeze. Eitan could not recall the very first time he participated in skinning the animals, but his mom often reminded him that it happened when he was about four and the first couple of times he threw up all over his dad.
When the time came, they would defrost the meat, cut it into tender strips and put it on a grill for family and friends to enjoy. In those days, wild boar feasts were a weekly ritual. On Fridays, after a long grueling week of working the fields, they would gather around the grill, cut some fresh vegetables, fry some potatoes, and feast on the scrumptious and very un- kosher, white meat.
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The pickup came to a screeching halt. Eitan's thoughts heaved back to the present with a stunning blow from the begrudging metal bars. He collected his belongings and leaped off, waving a gesture of thanks to the driver, and thanking the lord the ride was over. He walked slowly up the road leading to Kibbutz Shdema, his Galil sub-machine gun strapped to one shoulder, his duffel bag on to the other. A cold shower and a good long nap were what he had in mind as he cursed the miserable July sun all the way up the incline.
It was to be one of his last military leaves. He had less than a month to serve. After a year as a volunteer counselor in the Kibbutz movement
and three long and intense years in the military Special Forces he was approaching a new chapter in his life. What lay ahead was not explicit.
He reached his room in the shabbier part of the kibbutz where an ancient looking single-storey row of flats had been furnished for the active duty soldiers. He noticed the dust piling up on the wooden rocking chair and coffee table on his front porch. Most of his plants, organized neatly around the exterior sitting place, were in urgent need of water. He flung the door open, welcoming the darkened cool interior of his modest quarters.
Naomi was there, waiting.
She lay across his bed facing the door with one hand supporting her head, wearing an airy undershirt that revealed more than it covered. A tiny white slip was the only other item forging her "welcome home" outfit, her long bronze colored legs stretched out provocatively. Eitan stood silent for a moment, his large frame silhouetted against the doorway relishing the seductive scene, controlling the urge to rush for the body he knew so well. He noticed her curves outlined underneath the flimsy piece of cloth, her nipples noticeably erect, her firm belly tense with anticipation.
He let his duffle bag and machine gun slide to the floor as he began to undress under her watchful eyes. The soreness was forgotten and the weariness magically dissipated as he went to her. She kissed his mouth and face and moved on to gently kiss his bruised body. He lay on his back succumbing to her sensual caressing. A wave of excitement jarred his body as he felt her rub against him. His body responded as she tenderly stroked him with her fingers.
He gently but decisively pulled her to him. She closed her eyes and held on to the bed-frame as they rhythmically moved together. Afterward, they lay silent, clinging to one another, kissing tenderly.
"It's been a while," he said, breaking the silence, feeling his body relax.
"A while too long," she whispered, smiling contently.
He studied her face as if for the first time. The North African-Polish blend created her exceptionally beautiful bronze-colored skin. Her lips were irresistible; her high cheekbones, slender jawline and dark eyebrows neatly arranged under a high forehead all complemented her pitch black hair, fashioned shoulder-high. Her nose, somewhat large for the small face, blended with her elegant features and her auburn eyes were large and soft, displaying a pervasive vulnerable expression.
She never went unnoticed in a crowd, he proudly mused.
They had been together for almost two years, though he had his eye on her ever since she suddenly blossomed at fifteen. She was two years younger than him and just about through with her mandatory two-year service, serving as a military social worker in impoverished northern towns, working with deprived children. Unlike Eitan, she was home on most weekends.
Since she was two years his junior, he courted her with extra care and unlike other guys, who resorted to disco parties and gossip, he relied on displaying his outdoor skills. They would go on long nature rides in his Jeep, chase rabbits, decipher bird types, survey the cotton fields, and pick apples. She would help him clean the stables and join him on weekend horse riding campaigns with his buddies, and though he frequently offered, she never agreed to join the boar hunts and she despised their meat.
At first he treated her like a child but soon learned she commanded respect. At seventeen she had become a mature flower ready to be picked, frequently approached by all kinds. He kept a respectful distance, letting her choose her own way. She admired his patience and never considered him out of the picture. They each had a fling or two with others during their courting phase but when they made it official, they and everyone else knew it was for the long haul.
She often visited him on base during weekends without leave. His army buddies loved the bronze colored, slender beauty that brightened their lonely Saturdays with her looks and a bag full of sandwiches, cookies and cakes, prepared especially for them.
Eitan felt mighty lucky.
He kept watching her as she gracefully slid off the bed and headed for the shower.
Eitan rolled on his back, stretched his aching body, and closed his eyes. He needed to sleep but found it difficult to erase from his mind the events of the raid. He had been on skirmishes before and had witnessed death but not quite the way it had happened in the ambush. He kept seeing the three figures walking toward him as unsuspecting prey. Then they lay there, lifeless, the troopers blasting them with everything they had.
Naomi appeared again, dripping water, a white towel covering her hair.
"What are we doing today?" she inquired, bending over and letting her hair scatter free, spraying him with a mist.
"I guess I'll go say hello to the folks after I get some sleep," Eitan
answered wearily.
"Then what?" she persisted.
"See the guys," he continued in the same weary tone.
"Are you going hunting tonight?" she asked, slightly annoyed at him for not including her in his plans.
"I'd love to but there's a party at Motti's which I assume you'd love to go to.”
She smiled. He did think of her after all. It was rare. Life wasn't easy with him. She constantly had to compete with his outdoor habits which she felt kept them from leading a normal life. Wild boar hunting had priority over everything and she wondered how long she would concede to it.
"Should I wake you?" she asked.
"Yeah..." he answered slipping into semi-consciousness.
She put on her bikini and went to the pool. Eitan had passed out.