The Coast Watch captain went on the fisherman’s network frequency, notified the boats in the area about the three missing men, and warned them that if they picked up the men out of the water, they must report it immediately. The men were fugitives and would be arrested on sight. Anyone harboring the men would be subjected to stiff fines and imprisonment.
Then the Coast Watch boat worked a line a mile long up and back, crawling along at three knots, watching for any trail of bubbles.
Underwater, the SEALs worked through the clear water. The sun was out bright and the water sparkled with the light. They stayed at ten feet, figuring any swimmers would be above them. On the second run up the three-hundred-yard course, they found a trail of bubbles. The problem was they came from below. Canzoneri followed them down, and when he came up he surfaced to report.
“Just a gush of bubbles out of a crack in some rocks down there,” he told DeWitt. “Mother Nature passing air. Wouldn’t be surprised if it had a bunch of foul chemicals in it.”
They dove again.
On the third swing along their assigned corridor, Canzoneri swam up to DeWitt and pointed to his ears, then out to sea. They both tried to listen, then DeWitt grinned. It was a motor. It could be the sled. It was too faint to be the patrol boat’s motor. They knew how it sounded. This one was faint, but coming their way.
Canzoneri swam back along the line and compressed the men so they were only ten yards apart, so they could just see each other in the water. They kept at fifteen feet now and waited. They all gave thumbs-up. Everyone could hear the motor, a thin whining sound that would come from an electric motor underwater.
Mahanani stared to sea, and looked upward in surprise as he saw it coming. The nose of the sled was down about ten feet. It had one man on the handles and two more men with scuba gear hanging on to the sled man’s ankles as they were towed along.
Mahanani waved to the man on each side of him and pointed upward, then waited until the three men were directly over him. He surged upward, jerked the first man’s hands off the sled, and grabbed his air hose and ripped it out of its connection. He swam for the second man, but Victor was there ripping away at his face mask, jerking it free, then holding the man underwater as he clawed for air.
Mahanani went back to his first man and jolted him upward, bringing him out of the water and keeping the arm locked around his throat.
The patrol boat had seen the splashes; it raced in from three hundred yards away. A second man popped up, Victor with a nearly unconscious fisherman. Both men were grabbed and pulled on board the patrol boat.
Jefferson brought up the last man; he was half drowned, and the sailors on the boat used CPR and brought him back.
“We want them alive so they will stand trial,” Captain Dagan said. He radioed the news that all three fishermen had been captured including Zekharyah. They went out to the drifting fishing boat, put a tow rope on it, and sailed for the harbor.
An hour later, the SEALs were back in their temporary quarters at the air base outside Tel Aviv. They had showered and were getting ready for chow when somebody yelled near the door.
Don Stroh walked in and waved. “Am I too late to go on any of the missions?” he asked. Jaybird threw his floppy hat at the CIA agent. The rest of the SEALs shouted unkind words at him.
He chuckled. “Well, maybe next time. Don’t suppose any of you would be interested, but this mission is over. I’ve had you released from the military here. There will be a business jet here at 0800 tomorrow to pick us all up and start our homeward journey.”
That brought a series of loud cheers.
“Always said that you were an okay guy,” Jefferson yelled.
“The Israeli President has awarded each of you two medals. They will be noted on your record, but of course you can’t wear them until you retire.”
“Thanks a lot, Stroh,” Fernandez yelled. “How about that ten-thousand-dollar bonus you were going to get us?”
Stroh looked surprised. “Hell, hasn’t that come through yet? I put the requisition in about two years ago. Probably still going through channels.”
Three more floppy hats sailed in his direction.
He waved at them and went to talk to DeWitt and Murdock.
He shook hands with both. “You guys did great on this strange one. The President appreciates it. The Israelis are more than grateful, and I’m pleased. To show you how happy I am, the steak dinners are on me at the officers’ club in about twenty minutes. We have a reservation.”
32
The SEALs arrived at North Island Naval Air Station slightly after noon two days later. They’d had a holdup in London to pick up a special courier, and then another wait in New York. They dropped off their gear in the equipment room and pulled on their civvies.
“You all have three-day liberty,” Murdock said. “If any of you wind up in jail, you’re going to stay there until your liberty is up, so remember that. I’m going to sleep for the next three days.”
Jaybird dug into his civvies, waved at the bunch, and ran for his battered ’94 Chevy. It started. Good. He backed out of the lot and hustled across Coronado to the Little League field. There was no one practicing. He didn’t even know what day it was. He parked and walked up to the field, then sauntered into the public rest room the city had built nearby. In the men’s room he looked at the overhead where he had planted the video camera. It had to be there.
He saw it, and moved a chair over so he could stand on it and pull the camera down. He pushed it under his loose shirt and walked out of the rest room to his car. It wasn’t the new kind of video camera that let you play back what you had just shot. He had to go home, get the adapter, and put the cassette into his video player.
His mind was whirling. He couldn’t really use it as evidence in court. He had violated the privacy of anyone showing on the tape. But he also hoped that the camera caught Rusty Ingles with his pants down molesting at least one small boy. He needed proof, and this would be it. If he was lucky. If the sound-activation switches had worked. If there was enough light. If nothing went wrong. If they were in a spot where the camera could see them.
Jaybird drove sedately. He didn’t want to get a ticket and waste that much more time. He parked, ran up the steps to his apartment, and burst inside. It was just as he had left it.
He turned on the TV, set it on Channel Four, and pushed the tape in the video player. He hit the rewind, and was pleased how long it took to rewind. He had something on the tape.
Then it stopped and he punched up the play button. The TV picture shut off, there was some lead tape, then the inside of the playground bathroom came into view. The mike wouldn’t pick up much from that distance, but there were some rumbles of voices. At first there were only four young boys urinating with their backs to the camera. Then they left, and the next image was of a man and his young son using the urinals. There were ten more men and boys shown in the rest room. Where was Ingles? In the next section Jaybird saw Rusty Ingles come into the shot. Phil, one of the older boys on the Little League team, followed him. Rusty said something and they both laughed; then they urinated with their backs to the camera. Before Phil could turn around, Rusty was beside him, talking, his hand moving Phil’s hands away and caressing his small penis. Phil pulled back, but Rusty said something else, turned, and his own penis was out, hard and angled upward out of his fly. The young boy giggled and looked around, too scared to move.
Rusty played with the small cock for a few moments, but it didn’t grow any or get hard. Rusty said something else and they both laughed. Then Rusty began to masturbate. That was enough for Jaybird. He turned off the machine and took out the tape. He considered it a moment, then put it in a small box behind some books on a shelf in the living room.