Katzen held up his hands. "Don't do that," he said as the tears began to flow again. "Please don't. I'll cooperate."
The commander released Sondra as a man pushed Katzen from behind. He stumbled ahead. As he walked past the Striker, her eyes felt more lethal than the gun at his back. Dark slits, they cursed him to his soul.
Katzen winced as he walked through the cave into the sunlight. Tears continued to flow. He wasn't a coward. He'd protected harp seals by shielding them with his own body. He simply couldn't let his friends suffer and die. Even though, after this day, he knew that these people who had been so important to him for over a year would be his friends no more.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Shortly after noon, the C-141B landed in the fields outside the military base. Colonel August and his seventeen soldiers were already dressed in their desert takedown fatigues and camouflage face scarves and flop hats. They were met by Israeli troops who helped setup tents which would conceal their cargo.
Captain Shlomo Har-Zion met Colonel August with a typed message. It was written in matte gray-ivory ink on a white background which reflected the sun. August had experience with these kinds of field documents. The medium guaranteed that the information would not be read by reconnaissance personnel who might be positioned in the surrounding hills. The details were not spoken of. Electronic surveillance and lip-readers were used extensively by Arab infiltrators.
August tempered the reflectivity by moving the paper around as he read the message. It indicated that Op-Center had found a likely location for the ROC and the hostages. An Israeli operative had been dispatched to the area and would reconnoiter ahead of Striker. He would contact Captain Har-Zion directly. If the intelligence proved correct, then Striker was to move in at once. August thanked the superior officer and told him he'd join him shortly.
August helped as the Strikers and the Israelis off-loaded and prepped the vehicles. The six motorcycles were rolled out under a camouflage canopy and stored in the tents. The four Fast Attack Vehicles came next. Engine connections were checked to make sure that nothing had shaken loose during the flight. The.50-caliber machine guns and 40mm grenade launchers were also carefully examined to make sure that the mechanisms and sights were clean and aligned. The C-141B left quickly after refueling, lest it be spotted from the hills or by Russian satellites. The information would be relayed quickly to hostile capitals in the region and used against Washington at a later date.
While the team examined their equipment, August and Sergeant Grey went to a secure, windowless building at the base. With Israeli advisors the two Strikers reviewed maps of the Bekaa region, and talked with the Israelis about possible dangers in the area. These included land mines as well as farmers who might be part of an early warning network. The Israelis promised to listen for shortwave transmissions and jam any they might pick up.
Then there was nothing to do beyond what August did worst.
He had to wait.
THIRTY-NINE
Falah had walked most of the night and slept briefly before the sun came up. The sun was his alarm clock and it had never failed him. And the darkness was his cloak. That had never failed him either.
Fortunately, Falah had never required a great deal of sleep. As a young boy growing up in Tel Aviv, he'd always felt that he was missing something if he slept. As a teenager, he'd known he was missing something when the sun went down. And as an adult, he had too much to do in the dark.
One day it will catch up to you, he thought as he made his way.
Equally fortunate, after being driven to the Lebanese border, Falah had been able to make most of the first leg of his journey before resting. It was a seventeen-mile trek to the mouth of the Bekaa, and he found an olive grove well away from the dirt road. Covered with fallen leaves for warmth and concealment, Falah had the Lebanese Mountains to the west and the foothills of the Anti-Lebanon range to the east. He made certain there was a break in the peaks where he rested. That would allow the rising sun to kiss him before it cleared the mountains and woke others in the valley.
Virtually every village in Syria and Lebanon has its own preferred style of dress and cloth. Wraps, robes, trousers, and skirts with distinctive patterns, colors, tassels, and accoutrements are more varied here than anywhere in the world. Some of the styles are based on tradition, others are based on function. Among the Kurds who had moved into the southern Bekaa, the only traditional article of clothing is the headdress. Before leaving Tel Nef, Falah had gone into the "closet," a well-stocked wardrobe room, to dress for his role as an itinerant farm worker. He'd selected a ratty black robe, black sandals, and a characteristic black, stiff, tasseled headdress. He'd also chosen heavy, black-framed sunglasses. Under the torn, loose-fitting robe, Falah wore a tight rubber belt strapped to his waist. Two waterproof pouches were attached to it. One, on his right hip, contained a fake Turkish passport with a Kurdish name and an address in a Kurdish village. He was Aram Tunas from Semdinli. The pouch also contained a small two-way radio.
The other pouch contained a.44 Magnum revolver which had been taken from a Kurdish prisoner. A coded map printed with food dye on dried lambskin was tucked into the pouch with the radio. If he were captured, Falah would eat the map. Falah was also given a password which would identify him to any of the American rescuers. It was a line Moses had uttered in The Ten Commandments: "I will dwell in this land." Bob Herbert had felt the password for the ROC's Middle East mission should be something holy, but not something from the Koran or the Bible that someone might say inadvertently. When challenged after giving the line, Falah was to say that his name was the Sheik of Midian. If he were captured and the password tortured or drugged from him, chances were good an imposter would not think to ask for the second part. The impersonator would then give himself away by answering with the name on Falah's passport.
The Israeli also carried a large cowskin water pouch over his left shoulder. Over his right shoulder was a duffel bag with a change of clothes, food, and an EAR — an Echelon Audio Receiver. The unit consisted of a small, collapsible parabolic dish, an audio receiver/transmitter, and a compact computer. The computer contained a digital recorder as well as a filter program which was based on principles of the Doppler effect. It allowed the user to choose sounds by echelon or layer. At the press of a button on the keypad, the audio which reached the listener first was eliminated to make way for that which came next. If the acoustics were good enough, the EAR could hear around corners. The audio data could also be stored for later transmission.
Less than five minutes after he woke, Falah was bent over a stream, sucking water through a minty reedstalk. As he savored the cool water his radio vibrated. With the throw of a switch, the radio could be made to beep. However, when he was working undercover or stalking an enemy who could be concealed anywhere, that was not something Falah desired.
Crouching, Falah chewed on the reed as he answered. He never sat down in the open. In an emergency, it took that much longer to get to his feet.