Hendrik Olaffson murmured, "They had a marksman in position. We worked it out afterwards. They shot her at a range of at least one thousand metres. One bullet, one firing, she went down. Then one more shot to detonate the donkey. It was incredible shooting."
"You are observant, friend."
"More, I have more to tell you."
"Tell me."
"Last night, just after dusk the Israelis fired many flares to the west of our OPs. There was no artillery, just flares. Now that is not usual for them. Yes, often it is flares and then artillery, but this time only the flares."
The traveller gestured with his hands. "I am just a humble traveller of the road while you, friend, are a trained and educated soldier. What does the firing of the flares tell you?"
The young Norwegian leaned forward. He did not say that the explanation offered for the firing of the flares was the opinion of his company commander, a regular officer with the rank of captain and fourteen years in the military. He gave it as his own. "They blinded our equipment. If they believe there is an incursion of the Palestinians or the Hezbollah then they would also have fired shells. They made useless our night viewing. My assumption, they acted to prevent us seeing what they were doing. Why should they do that?
My assumption again, they were passing through the NORBAT area. I offer you something else. During the night no transport left the checkpoint for Israel, so there is no indication that men coming from Lebanon were awaited and then taken back to Israel. I believe that the Israelis were inserting a squad into Lebanon."
"You believe that?"
"I am certain of that."
"Friend, you are a great help to the cause of freedom."
After he had drank the dregs of a mug of thick, sweetened tea, the traveller waved his farewell.
The marijuana was dispersed among the NORBAT men at the checkpoint, hungrily broken down for sale onwards amongst those men of the battalion who needed the treated weed to make bearable service with UNIFIL.
Hendrik Olaffson was becoming by the standards of a private soldier in the Norwegian army a wealthy young man. There was money in excess flowing inside NORBAT, there were only occasional four day visits to Tel Aviv and more frequent evening visits to northern Israel for the soldiers to spend their wages. He kept his money, Norwegian bank notes, hidden in a slit in the base of his kitbag.
He had neither a sense of guilt, nor any fear of discovery.
"That's him."
"You are certain?"
"It is the one against the sandbags."
"No doubts."
"I am certain."
For three days the two men from Shin Bet had escorted the tall Arab teenager, Ibrahim, from vantage point to vantage point on the extremes and slightly into the U N I F I L sector controlled by NORBAT. The Shin Bet men were both fluent Arab speakers, both armed with Uzi submachine guns. All the time one of them was linked by handcuffs to Ibrahim.
They were a kilometre and a half from the NORBAT checkpoint, on rough raised ground, and across a valley from the sandbagged position.
It was of no surprise to the Shin Bet men that the teenager was eager to co-operate in their investigation.
It was their experience that the fervour of an attacking commando was quickly dissipated by the despair brought on by capture. The interrogators who had beaten, kicked, punched the initial information out of Ibrahim had been replaced days before. They had done their work, they were not a part of the new scene around the teenager. In his early statements, between the screams, of course, Ibrahim had told the interrogators how he and Mohammed had reached Israel, had told them of the U N I F I L lorry. For the last three days, aided by high powered Zeiss binoculars, the two Shin Bet men and their prisoner had scoured through the magnifying lenses for the driver of the U N I F I L lorry.
The binoculars showed a well built and pleasant faced young soldier, with a shock of fair hair streaming from below a jauntily worn blue beret.
"Absolutely certain?"
"That is the one who drove the lorry to Tel Aviv."
They praised the teenager. They made him believe they were his friends. They made a pretence to him that his future might lie other than in a maximum security wing of the Ramla gaol.
They led him back into the security zone. They drove him into Israel with his head masked by a blanket. When they had returned to their base, reported their findings, a second team was infiltrated forward to maintain surveillance from a distance on the Norwegian soldier.
' I gather that last night, Dan, you went barging into Air Operations, demanding that a mission be cancelled."
"Correct, sir."
The Chief of Air Staff looked coolly at Major Zvi Dan. "I assume this was not a flippant request."
"It is critical that the mission be cancelled."
"They fly in ten minutes… "
"Criminal."
"… unless I am given reason for cancellation. You have one minute, Dan."
Major Zvi Dan looked at the face of his watch. He waited for the second hand to climb to the vertical.
"First, a raid on the camp from which the bus station bombers were launched will tell the Popular Front military command that at least one of their men has been raptured and successfully interrogated, which would lead to the dispersal of the camp. Second, such a dispersal would mean the disappearance of Abu Hamid, the Popular Front commander at the camp. Third, last night a two-man team left Israel to walk into the Beqa'a with the specific and only task of sniping Abu Hamid who was the murderer, with Syrian connivance, of the British ambassador in the Soviet Union. Fourth, the team is British, and our country needs friends where it can find them. If we foul that mission we hardly have Great Britain in our palm. Fifth, a planned snipe offers a greater guarantee of taking out a known and effective terrorist whereas an air-strike may kill some second-grade recruits but offers no certainty of success. Sixth, I would hate two very brave men, one a Jew, to walk into that danger for nothing… "
He paused. The second hand of his watch crawled again to the vertical.
He breathed in deeply.
The Chief of the Air Staff reached for his telephone, lifted it, waited for a moment for it to be answered. He glanced at the major, his smile wintry.
"The tasking of callsign Sierra Delta 6, the target should be the second option."
The telephone was replaced.
"Thank you, sir."
"You should not thank me, you should thank your own major general. Last week I attended a briefing given by our head of Intelligence. In his address he referred back to what he had said at the time of the synagogue massacre in Istanbul, where 22 Jewish lives were taken by the Abu Nidal group. At the time he said, and he repeated it for us, 'You cannot lash out blindly.
This is not a war of days, weeks, even months; those responsible will be pursued to the ends of the earth. But we must have a clear address before we act, then act we will.' I appreciated what he said… You have an address, you have a name. I pray to God that you can deliver to that address."
Major Zvi Dan ducked his head in acknowledgement.
He walked out of the office. He felt a huge exhaustion sweeping over him.
Holt lay in the rock cleft and slept. He was huddled tight, a foetus in the womb, his knees up and as close to his chest as the bulky shapes on his belt would allow.
The sun was rising, close to its zenith, but he had discarded none of his clothes, nor his chukka boots. A lightweight blanket was laid over him.
He was too tired to dream. He lay in the black abyss of sleep.
From a short distance the fact that two men rested up in the rock cleft could not have been spotted. Neither could it have been seen from the air as this small gap in the yellowed rock was covered by a drape of olive green scrim netting. His Bergen pack was beside his shoulder, he was not allowed to sleep against it for fear that his body weight could damage the contents.