Disappearance (6 page)

She sat on the bed, watching him carefully.

"Do you miss Karen?" She insisted, needing an answer.

"Why are you so concerned? Why now?"

"She has never been away this long.  She’s never celebrated her birthday without us. I thought you had time to think…"

"I've been thinking for the last twenty-two years, Martha!" he protested, raising his voice.  "I've been trying to sort it out for this long and it still doesn't make any sense!   What do you want to hear? I'll say anything you want."

He had managed
to  avoid  the  question  once  again,  she thought dejectedly as they fell silent again.

"What are her plans?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"They're throwing her a party tonight.   Saturday she'll be touring the area.  She'll be in Tel Aviv next weekend; then she is off to Greece."

"Who are they?"

"Her friends, Paul!" she stormed at him.  "She has quite a few and they make her happy!"   She hated his need to be in control.

"I'm sorry…"

"Don't apologize," she cut him off, "you'll be at it again tomorrow."

They were silent again.  He walked in and sat on the bed next to her taking her hand.  She looked up.  There were tears in her eyes.

"Why, why can't you accept them?" she pleaded.

He looked into her eyes.  He desperately wanted to make her happy but too much had happened.  

There was no turning back.

CHAPTER 4

The white Volvo was parked on the side of the main road facing north, just outside the kibbutz.  Two men inside, sat quietly, intently watching the exit.  The windows were rolled half way, letting the cigarette smoke and bad odor filter out.

Raul reached back for the  thermos  and  poured  himself another cup.  The coffee was getting cold. They had been sitting there since dawn, waiting, watching.

"Are you sure about the car, Mustafa?" he asked his partner, speaking Hebrew with a slight accent.

"Blue, 1975, four-door Subaru," Mustafa answered in Arabic.  They both spoke fluent Arabic, Hebrew, and English.

"Any idea where they're heading?"
Raul pressed on.

"Supposedly north, but we will follow where ever they go.  Where is Suliman?"

"In the orange grove, two kilometers south of the village, just off the main road."

"Does he have the truck?"

"He better…!" Mustafa blurted, smiling dangerously at his accomplice.

Raul sat back and lit another cigarette. The plan seemed good, but he was nervous. It was a dangerous mission, much more complicated than previous ones. He looked at his partner. They had worked together for years and he trusted him with his life.  Mustafa was big and heavy. His thick black mustache was curled at the ends like that of a Turkish legionnaire. Strong as an ox, vicious as a bloodhound, and with his six-foot two-inch frame, he towered over most people in the region. Raul was the only one to ever see him smile.

He checked his watch again.  It was 8:37 AM.  He closed his eyes and began to envision every step of their scheme one more time.  It wasn't long before Mustafa's elbow startled him out of his trance.  The blue Subaru exited the kibbutz and headed north.

It was Saturday, May 26, 1984.

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It was a
glorious  morning.    Karen  was  watching  Mikki skillfully  maneuver  the  car  on  the  dangerously  narrow, winding road.  The Northern Galilee main highway was only slightly better than a dirt road, with one narrow lane in each direction and no shoulder margins.  The car was rattling and shaking as it flew by the humps and holes.

Karen didn't care.  She was exhilarated.  It was just her and Mikki, alone for the entire day.  She looked out.  Most of the scenery was blocked by huge Eucalyptus trees along both sides of the road.

"The trees,” Mikki explained, “were planted there for  a reason. First to help the settlers dry the swamps then to hide vehicle movement from Syrian artillery positioned right above on the Golan Heights, until we took it during the Six Day War."

In between the trees, Karen could see the rich farmland. Cultivated cotton fields stretched out for miles with grape vines, apple and orange groves sporadically adding green and depth to the predominantly leveled terrain.  The hills on both sides of the valley were covered with flowers.   She rolled down her window and felt the air clean and fresh, closed her eyes and took a deep breath enjoying the wonderful spring scents.

They were entering the town of Kiryat Shmona.  Nestled at its northern end, it served as the agricultural hub of the Hula Valley. During workdays it was filled with commotion: factory workers lunching, trucks delivering produce, buses loaded with soldiers, merchants wheeling and dealing, a busy market place with hustlers and beggars, mothers shopping, their kids roaming around, and ear piercing police sirens from time to time.

Saturdays, the streets were deserted.  The blue Subaru cruised down the main street through the center of town before Mikki made an abrupt turn into a small hidden street.  He guided the car through the narrow side streets wheels screeching, making tight turns, and came to an abrupt halt in front of a small, run down building.   Jumping out of the car, he hopped over its front to Karen's side, opened her door, and stood at attention.

"Welcome to Salim's Bakery," he announced as Karen stepped out of the car.

She couldn't resist.   She threw her hands around him and kissed him hard on the mouth. Mikki staggered back a bit, but held his own as they engaged in a long, erotic kiss.

"Mikki... Mikki... you conniving, scheming dog, you ungrateful slob…"

Karen turned around, a little surprised to see a round, heavyset man with a white baker's hat and a filthy apron, standing at the
entrance with a silly grin on  his  kind  face, mumbling words she could not understand.

Mikki smiled and went to greet him.

"Karen, meet Salim, the world's greatest bun and pita maker!"

Salim took her hand in his greasy palms and shook it warmly. He then led them into the bakery.   The place was hot and filled with white flour dust.   Karen could see rows of buns, loaves of bread, and pitas, inside the blazing ovens.  Two dark-skinned youths worked around
a  large wooden   table, preparing the dough.  In the next room, a heavyset woman and a couple of girls were putting the ready-made bread into paper bags and into small wooden crates, which were being loaded by two other dark-skinned youths, onto a  delivery truck.  The place was filthy but the smell of fresh baked bread was mouthwatering.

They sat on a carpet around a small dusty table, Salim muttering a few words in the direction of the women.  The heavy set woman got up and left the room.  She came back after a few minutes with a pot full of black coffee, a tray of freshly baked buns, butter and goat cheese.  Salim reached under the table and produced three small ceramic cups.  He poured the coffee and offered them the buns and spreads. The combination had a heavenly taste.

The bakery was a family operation, Karen learned.  The heavyset woman was Salim's wife, the youths were his children and the truck driver was his brother.  The bakery was first opened by Salim's father in the 1920s. It supplied all the Arab villages in the region before the Jewish settlers moved in.  When Salim took over in 1955, it was the Jewish settlements that provided him with most of the work.   Many of his Arab clients disapproved but he never mixed business with religious and political beliefs.  He was a businessman and a survivor.  Mikki first met him when he assisted on the kibbutz's bread delivery truck.  They would come in every morning at 4:00 to pick up the fresh bread for the day.   Salim would offer them coffee and they would sit and chat for a while before driving back. They became friends.  Mikki would come in whenever he was in the area.

Salim insisted on grasping the essence of their relationship and wouldn't let them leave until he had all the facts.  Mikki had taken on the role of a translator communicating the baker's most sensitive questions to Karen who took an instant liking to the kind old baker and his hard working family. Salim's wife packed some pitas and buns for them as they were getting ready to leave. Salim hugged them both as they left the bakery and stood there, leaning against the door, smiling and waving goodbye, as they sped away.

They were back on the main road heading north, having left the sleepy town behind.   Mikki turned east at the Beit-Hilel intersection, and shortly after began to climb the steep mountain range of the Golan.  The road was extremely narrow and the turns were sharp.   Several army vehicles nearly ran them off the road.   Karen let out a sigh of relief as they reached the top.  Mikki smiled at her reassuringly as he eased the car off the road, parking dangerously close to the edge of a cliff.  They got out and walked to the edge.

The view was breathtaking. The Hula valley lay below in all its glory.  Karen could see the farm land divided into squares and rectangles.  Spring was everywhere.  The fertile ground was green, the Jordan River a slender snake, crawling lazily along, splitting the valley in half. Dirt roads crisscrossed the entire valley in all directions. Tractors and farm vehicles could be seen working the land.  Most of the settlements were clearly visible. Opposite stood the stern Naftali Mountains.

"This is what the Syrians saw before the ‘67 war," Mikki was explaining, "we were sitting ducks.  Can you see the main highway?"

The line of Eucalyptus trees hiding the main highway was clearly contrasted against the flat farmland.  Karen could see bright reflections of light from cars passing between the trees.

"You could throw a stone and hit those tractors working the fields," Mikki continued, but Karen wasn't paying much attention, enjoying a sense of freedom she had never felt before.  For the first time in her life she was on her own, free to deal with life without scrutiny. She felt she  could accomplish anything if she could only break the invisible umbilical cord that kept pulling at her, repressing her aspirations.  She wanted to preserve the feeling for as long as possible but knew it would only last a few precious moments. She glanced at Mikki. His curly brown hair fluttered backward in the wind exposing his high forehead.  His face was tanned and rugged.  His demeanor seemed rough but his touch was gentle.  She loved his straightforward manner.   He shared everything with her without fear.

She suddenly felt very aware, as if looking at herself from the outside. Too much of a good thing, she thought, as childhood memories began to creep back in.   Mikki felt it and moved closer.  He put his arm around her shoulders and held her tightly.   They stood silent for a while, light breeze caressing their faces.

"You're in one of those moods again," he remarked, sensing her, trying to be gentle.  She nodded and stuck her head in his neck, feeling his pulse.   She put both her hands around his waist and grasped him tightly.

"What is it, Karen?"

The pain was back. "It's complicated Mikki, leave it alone."

He wasn't convinced.  He took her by the shoulders and put her at arm's length, looking straight into her eyes.   "It's happened too many times for me to leave it alone. It seems to come between us every time we get close.  It hurt us the first time we met and it still does!"

She felt anguish.   He was reaching out but she couldn't respond.

"Karen, let me in, please
.." he pleaded. "What is so horrible that you won't share with me?   You know everything about me, why can't you let me into your world?"

"It's dark, Mikki," she shot back in a low, frightened voice.  He was taken aback.   She could tell he was startled by her reaction.   She was too, but she kept going.   "It's a sick and frightening world Mikki, full of lies and abuse.  It belongs to power hungry people who cover everything with money."

She took a deep breath.  "It's deceptive Mikki.  It looks clean and rewarding from the outside, but it's rotten inside. It's difficult to explain to someone who lives so plain and simple but... I guess you're right, it exists between us and probably will exist until I sort it out..."

"Tell me what it is, Karen? Tell me what's scarin' you."

"Most of it happened at home Mikki, at an early age..."

She couldn't go on.  Feeling drained, she realized she was on the verge of tears.   She bit her lower lip but kept her head high, looking straight at him.  He reached out with his hand and gently touched her face with his fingers, wiping away the tears that were drifting down.

"What about this scar?" he asked, touching the area under her left eye.  Her breathing was suddenly heavy.  She reached up with both hands and removed his hand from her cheek.  Then she quickly stepped forward and kissed him, holding on to him, feeling the fear engulf her.  Her dry mouth moistened as his tongue invaded it.   She held on until her body began to loosen.  Mikki pulled back, gasping for air.  He looked her over, noticeably concerned, and then pulled her head to his chest. They silently stood holding on to one another, both captivated by thoughts and emotions.

Moments later they were back on the road heading south on the Golan ridge.

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Raul was losing his patience

They had been trailing the "love birds" for most of the day, barely able to keep up on several occasions.  The lovers thoroughly covered the territory, stopping at every nook and cranny from the Gamla hot springs in the Yarmuch basin to the south, through Zavitan canyon and Banyas falls, to Mount Hermon at the tip of the northern border.

So far it had been impossible to get the break they needed to carry out the plan.   The instructions were rigid, any deviations needed approval.   It was beyond their control.   They would have only one crack at it, and it had to be done today.

He was beginning to wonder if they could pull it off.

They were parked outside a small coffee house in the Druze village of Migdal Shams at the foothills of the Hermon Mountain.  The "love birds", as Mustafa described them, had been inside for the last half hour.

It was 3:45 PM.

Raul studied his partner from the corner of his eye.  Mustafa sat at the wheel, displaying no emotion.  "They'll be heading back pretty soon," Raul stated.

Mustafa did not reply.  He looked straight ahead, focused on the coffee shop's door.

"We're running out of time," Raul continued, a hint of desperation in his voice.

"We'll get 'em," replied Mustafa from under his huge mustache, his voice hushed.

Raul wasn't convinced but there was nothing he could do.  He slumped back in his seat, impatiently drumming his fingers on his knees, thinking of the money and prestige they stood to lose if they failed.