Murdock pointed at Lam and Jefferson and they vanished below the deck. Murdock talked with the captain in muted tones. Captain Sartan was slight, with black eyes, a sharp nose, and a long face. He had a mustache and his hair was a little long. His hands and arms looked strong enough to bend steel bars, and his body was quick-moving on seaman’s legs.
“We’re here to do anything we can, and watch whatever we can. Let me know what needs to be done.”
“Yes, they told me you’d be coming,” Captain Sartan said. “We’re ready to sail with the rest of the fleet. We won’t do anything out of the ordinary to make us stand out. I have another crewman below who will help us with actual fishing once we get to the right spot.”
“We’ll try to blend in and stay out of sight and out of your way. You know what we’re looking for. Did you know the man who brought supplies on board here this morning?”
“Yes. He’s been working several boats along here for ten years. Solid, absolutely trustworthy.”
“He looked like an Arab.”
“He is an Arab,” Captain Sartan said. “You know, one out of five who live in this country are Arabs.”
“I heard. You’ll go out the harbor just beyond the breakers, and then, I understand, some boats go right and some go left, working just outside the breaker line before heading for their fishing spots.”
“Right. Every captain has his own ideas where the best location is to fish. Some know, some don’t. When one man gets a good bite, he radios it to the rest and we all move that way. Usually the bite is over by the time we get there.”
“You troll or use the nets?”
“Both. The net is small and has an open mouth. We pull it in once every hour.”
“Baited hooks on the trolls?”
“Right, and some flashers and feathers, anything to entice the fish to bite,” Captain Sartan said. “Fishing is not good off here. The captains try to earn a living, pay for their boat, and dream of a bigger boat so they can afford longer-range fishing on the rich banks off Ethiopia. You won’t recognize any of the fish we catch today.”
The captain checked an old pocket watch, put it away, and went to the cabin. Murdock and a regular crewman threw off the lines, and the old diesel engine began hammering as the small craft pulled away from the dock. Murdock found a good spot just in back of the small cabin and took out the 9x35 binoculars. He kept them under his blue shirt. As soon as they moved up the surf line, he would have them out and watching the three or four other fishing boats near them. If any one of them threw anything overboard, he would take the name of the boat and radio it in. An Israeli coastal cutter would be on his stern within minutes.
Murdock and the other two SEALs checked every fishing boat they could see with binoculars as half a dozen sailed along the coastline at a steady ten knots. It was still dark, but there were enough work lights and deck lights on each craft to give the watchers the vision they needed. None of them saw anyone throw or drop anything overboard.
Twenty minutes later all but one of the craft had turned away from shore, heading for favorite fishing areas. Murdock helped with the net, getting it ready to let out. Then, when they began to bait the large hooks and stow them in special compartments along the inside of the rail, he worked at that too. Most baits were inch-wide “steak” slices through the backbone of a fish about an inch and a half thick.
A half hour later the ship slowed and the deckhand let out the net that trailed far aft. Then he let down the outrigger poles that held six lines each. Each line had thirty baited hooks or lures on it.
After an hour of trolling back and forth, they used a power winch and pulled in the small purse seine net. Captain Sartan came to supervise. When the net came in, they were busy pulling small fish out of the tangle of the net itself. Each fish, no matter how small, was thrown into a fish box about two feet wide, three feet long, and eighteen inches high.
When the main pocket of the net came in, they had many more fish, many of them still alive. They were dumped on the deck and scooped up with shovels into the fish boxes. When one was filled, it was lowered into a hold that was kept at thirty-five degrees to gradually chill the fish, keeping them fresh until they were back in port.
The captain looked at the three boxes of fish and shrugged.
“That pull might be good enough to pay for the diesel oil I’m burning on this run,” he said. “I see why I quit being a fisherman.”
When they pulled in the twelve lines one by one with hand cranks, they found fish on one out of six hooks. Some were small; three or four on each line were ten to twelve pounds. The captain was pleased.
When one line was cleaned of fish, it was quickly rebaited and let out again with a sinker of deliberate size to keep the hooks at a desired depth.
Slightly after 1600, they worked their trolling back toward Tel Aviv, and soon pulled in the lines and net for the last time. The captain shook his head when Murdock said he had hoped that they would find something.
“Wrong way to do it,” Captain Sartan said. “I know these men, these boats. I can pinpoint four or five captains who might be blackmailed into helping some Arabs do this terrible thing. They are weak, they are bad fishermen, and they have large debts that they can’t pay.”
Murdock brightened. “Will you come talk with the Army man who is investigating this problem?”
“For Israel, I will be honored to do so. As soon as we get in and I sell the fish, I will change clothes and go meet your Army man. I have thought the small bombs must be coming from the fishing fleet. I just didn’t know how. But after talking to some people I know, I think there is a pattern that we can work and men we can pressure. Yes, I think we can find a way to beat these terrorists.”
“Why didn’t you tell somebody before?” Murdock asked.
“Hell, I was deep in debt, trying to make the boat pay. I heard about the bombs. One even injured a friend of mine and his boy, but I was too blown away with my own problems. Then I sold the boat, got my debts cleaned up, and then the police came asking about using my boat. They told me why. So then I got to thinking. Know what I mean?”
“I know. We didn’t find a thing out there today. How would they do it if it is a fishing boat?”
“Easy if you know the Mediterranean the way a fishing boat captain does. The tide takes about six hours to come in, more or less. You want the bombs on the beach by daylight or soon after that. You wait for the change of tides that start about midnight and scatter your bombs on that day about midnight. Nobody can see you at night, and there isn’t much going on with patrol boats, especially when they see a fishing boat either going out early or coming in late.”
“That would do it.”
“Also, it would account for the bombs showing up on random days. Check the bombs and the incoming morning tide. My bet is that they would match.”
Murdock and the two SEALs helped scrub down the deck and hose off the fish scales and residue. When they pulled into the dock near the other fishing boats, the boat looked like any of the dozen or more docked there.
“When and where do we go see this Army friend of yours?” the fishing captain asked.
“As soon as we get cleaned up, in non-fishing clothes, and I can make a phone call.”
“Sounds good to me. I want to catch these murdering terrorists.”
It was almost an hour later that Colonel Ben-Ami, wearing civilian clothes, Captain Sartan, and Murdock met in a small cafe. They had half sandwiches, coffee, and talked. After ten minutes, the colonel studied the fisherman.
“Captain, I believe you have given us a good lead here. How do we proceed? You mentioned two or three fishing boat captains who do not own their boats and are working for hire who are also deep in debt and might be open to some kind of blackmail and bribery.”