The three SEALs sat in the conference room in the bomb squad’s domain watching a five-minute TV tape about the floating terrorist bombs and how the public could stay safe around them. As the tape ended, two cops came into the room. Both wore the standard khaki uniforms and both were sergeants.
One of them took the lead. “I’m Sergeant Elkan, lead man in the bomb detail. The captain says we’re supposed to tell you all we know about the booby-trap floater bombs we’ve been finding on our beaches.” He emptied out a paper sack on the table. Spewed out were several highly colored plastic tubes, each about a foot long. Some were straight, some in the form of a U, some with a twist and curl on one end.
“These are the devils. As the captain probably told you, we’re fighting a losing battle. We send a squad out on the beach every morning looking for them. Pick up the ones we find with metal grabbers like the street cleaners use. They go in our bomb box and get detonated out of town.
“The outer wrapping is waterproof. Inside there is a tiny quality of dynamite, but enough to blow off a man’s hand. We’re not sure why they detonate, but the secret is something in the plastic that reacts to the heat of the skin. Two fingers on the things for ten seconds and you go looking for your fingers.”
Murdock picked up one of the bombs and nodded. “I’d guess these have been neutralized.” He introduced himself, Lam, and Jaybird. “Sergeant Elkan, we’re not here to steal your thunder or to take your jobs. We were invited to take a look at the problem and see if we can help eliminate it. I understand you have a time profile from your computer concerning the day and tide position of each of the bomb incidents during the past two months. I’d like a copy of it if I could so you can advise us about the time line.”
Sergeant Elkan nodded, sorted through some papers on his desk, and laid out two of them. “These are charts for the past two months up to last night,” he said. “The green shade is the incoming tide. Then you have the change, and the outgoing tide is shown in red. Each of the bombing incidents is shown with an X marking the time when each bomb was found.”
Murdock and Lam studied the charts. Murdock looked up. “So it looks like your bomb finds have been in the morning when high tide peaks between six and eight A.M. Is that right?”
The two Israelis looked at the charts. “Yes, sir. The last four bombings have been in conjunction with high tide at those hours.”
“High tide tomorrow comes at 0823,” Murdock said.
“We have a routine patrol that covers every high tide, twice a day, no matter what hour it comes. It’s helped reduce the wounded and dead dramatically.”
“Any patrols offshore?” Lam asked.
“No, not our jurisdiction. The Coast Watch takes care of that area.”
“Could I have a copy of these printouts?” Murdock asked.
Sergeant Elkan handed him the folder. “Yes, sir. These are some more printouts and data we’ve established on the type and numbers of releases of the floaters. We hope that you can help. Right now we’re taking help from anywhere that we can find it.”
Murdock picked up one of the defanged bombs. This one was in bright reds, greens, and yellows in an eye-catching design.
“Can I borrow one of these, Sergeant Elkan?”
“Absolutely, Commander. Is there anything else we can do for you?”
“I think that covers it right now. Oh, at a later date we might call on you to bring out a bomb box. I’m sure you have one to put picked-up explosives in and to transport them.”
“We have one, and it’s available seven-twenty-four.”
“Thank you, Sergeant Elkan. I hope we need it.” They shook hands and the SEALs left.
“A little touchy, weren’t they?” Lam asked.
“Right, but they are just protecting their turf,” Jaybird said. “Like some expert is called in to do a job that they couldn’t get done.”
“If we have any big catch, we’ll call them in,” Murdock said. “Remember, we’re working back up the distribution line, so we have to be careful not to warn the next step up.”
They found their car and driver from the base waiting for them. Murdock looked down at his cammies. “We stand out like three-dollar bills in these suits. If we’re going to do any undercover work we need civilian clothes.”
“They have an Air Force store out at the base that has clothes,” Jaybird said.
“Let’s go see what we can find,” Murdock said.
On the ride back to the airfield, Lam began to frown. “Hey, whatever happened to Don Stroh? We haven’t seen him for days.”
“Maybe he got a real job to do,” Jaybird gibed.
Murdock grinned. Now that was more like the old Jaybird. “He must have got tangled up in red tape somewhere. This joint operation has a lot of tangles.”
At the store they found some jeans and T-shirts. Murdock said they could wear the same fishing shirts they had used the night before. The fishing fleet had long since sailed for the day. Murdock called their boat captain.
Ravid Sartan answered his phone on the second ring. “Captain, this is Murdock. I hope you had a good night’s sleep.”
“Always. I sleep like a rock. What’s happening?”
“We need to do some prowling. Zekharyah is out with his ship, but I thought we could talk to some of the people he deals with, suppliers, buyers who take his fish, the usual.”
“How could we do that and not get them suspicious that something is going on?”
“Can’t do it. We can stroll around and watch things, but talking to them isn’t a good idea. Not yet. Especially if they are involved in the bomb dropping.” The line was quiet for a moment. “You have any regular civilian clothes?”
“We just bought some. We look pretty good.”
“Fine. Meet me at that fish chowder cafe a block over from the wharf. I have something I want to show you.”
They met at the eatery and walked down several blocks. The street became shabbier, the people less moneyed, the buildings old and run-down. It was the closest thing Tel Aviv had to a business slum.
Two blocks farther down they saw a fight. Two small Asian men pounded on an older man, who tried to fight back but didn’t know how. Then one of the smaller men swung a knife, and the older man grabbed his throat and staggered sideways. Before he hit the ground the thugs had stolen his wallet and watch and run down the alley, vanishing into a ramshackle building.
“Don’t worry about it,” Captain Sartan said. “There was no way we could have helped him. It would only have put a spotlight on us for a dozen pair of eyes.” He motioned the SEALs forward. They went past the dead man and continued on.
“Another block and we come to a hundred-yard alley that’s known as The Devil’s Little Acre. This is the absolute bottom for killers, robbers, con men, and those who think they can control these nefarious citizens into a group for more efficient crime.
“The police don’t come here often. When they do it’s in force, and they figure on losing at least two men to hidden snipers.”
Sartan gave the SEALs each a floppy hat that covered their military haircuts and hid their faces.
“Nobody wants to be seen or remembered down here. Near this end of the alley is a friend of mine of long standing. He had some domestic troubles, a dead wife and her missing cash estate, and he wound up here feeling safe from everyone. Twice a month we get together to talk about the good old days, when there were fish out in the Med and a man could make an honest living. I have a pass at this end of the alley, but no farther. We call him Dr. Seuss because he draws funny animals. He has from ten to fifteen men working for him now, and he’s expanding. Soon he’ll move down deeper into the alley for more protection.”
A man came out of the shadows of the alley. He carried an Uzi that was trained on the four of them.