“Oh, shit,” I say. I don’t care who hears me.
“We’re trying to find him as we speak. We’ve got people in Jerusalem hunting him down right now.”
“What about Sarah’s friend? The one she went with to Israel… what’s her name? Rivka.”
I hear Lambert sigh. When he does this, I know I’m not going to like what he has to say. “Sam, Rivka Cohen’s dead. She was found in an alley in East Jerusalem, strangled to death.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Colonel!” I’m losing my mind here. I want to pick up something and smash it to pieces. “I can’t be here, Colonel. I’ve got to go to Israel now.”
“Sam, you don’t have the resources that we do. Believe me, we’re in a better position to find Sarah than you are.”
“It’s me they want, Colonel. My daughter is just the bait.”
“That’s exactly why I can’t let you go yet. Please, Sam. You have a job to do there, and we need you to do it. I know this sounds horrible, but you’ve got to forget about her for now.”
I suck in a breath and say, “All right, Colonel. I’ll do your little errand tonight, but come tomorrow morning I’m going to Israel — no matter where I am or what I’m doing. I’m picking up and leaving this fucking island, and I’m going to find my daughter. Do I make myself clear?”
I can’t believe I just spoke to my commanding officer that way. But then again, I don’t hold a military rank. Colonel Lambert is really just my supervisor and I’m his employee. It’s not the same thing.
“I understand, Sam,” Lambert says. “I don’t blame you.”
That calms me down a bit. “Thanks, Colonel. Sorry. I, er, got a little carried away.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just do what you have to do tonight and let us know what you find out.”
We sign off and I look out the window at the bay. The sunset casts a bloodred spill over the choppy surface, and I wonder if that means anything.
At ten o’clock, well after dark, we board what’s called a Rigid Raider — a fast patrol craft with a fiberglass reinforced plastic hull and a single 140-horsepower outboard motor. It’s normally used to patrol harbors and inland waterways. The thing holds about eight or nine guys, and the captain tells me there’s an even larger version of the Rigid Raider that holds up to twenty men. On this particular voyage a pilot and a private join the captain and me. From what I can tell, they know nothing about my mission. I imagine they’re just following the captain’s orders.
The pilot keeps the speed down so as not to attract too much attention. It’s not uncommon to see these patrol boats at all times of the day or night, but I figure they think it’s best that we keep a low profile. The boat moves along past Cape Pyle and then around the easternmost tip, Cape Gkreko. The water seems choppier here, and the captain tells me that there are strong currents on this side of the island. He wants to get me as close as possible to the Green Line because it’s going to be a strenuous swim.
I can see the lights of Famagusta from here. The captain tells me to get ready and he helps me with the BCD and tank. The pilot turns off all the lights on the boat and cuts the engine down to a quiet putter.
“This is your stop,” the captain says. He holds out his hand and I shake it.
“Thanks for everything,” I say.
“Thank me when I pick you up in the morning.” He doesn’t say if he picks me up in the morning.
I put on the fins, lower the face mask, secure the SC- 20K on my back, and I’m good to go. I climb over the side while holding on to the ladder, insert the regulator into my mouth, hold on to the DPD, and dive backward into the cold, dark water.
34
The captain was right about the strong currents, but the DPD prevents the swim from becoming a struggle. I forge ahead, allowing the device to pull me along at a speed of roughly a knot per hour. I figure I can climb out of the water near the docks and use the moored boats as cover. I seriously doubt there will be much activity there at this time of night.
The DPD’s headlight casts a ghostly glow on the floor, and I can see masses of brightly colored coral shelves and an abundance of fish. Not being much of a fisherman, I can’t identify them, but I know none of them are dangerous. Apparently there are no sharks in the Mediterranean, but barracuda have been known to take bites out of swimmers. Moray eels are also nasty creatures that are a must to avoid. At any rate, what I see here would fit nicely inside a restaurant aquarium.
The computer tells me I swam a distance of three-quarters of a mile when I finally see the wooden posts supporting the Famagusta docks. The water is dirtier here as a result of pollution from the dozens of moored boats. I surface with just my face above the water so I can evaluate the situation.
There are boats of all sizes — catamarans, motorboats, sailboats, several small yachts — and a brightly lit boardwalk. I see a lone night watchman in a shed on the boardwalk. The Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus flag flies on a tall flagpole that’s next to the shed.
This is easy. I swim to the dock and follow the edge to the shore. When I’m able to touch bottom I crawl up, remove my fins, and climb out of the water into the shadows. I avoid the boardwalk altogether and make my way up a concrete slope to level land. This is where I’m most vulnerable to being seen, so I quickly skirt into a grove of trees that abuts the docks. I get lucky and find a water drainage pipe built into the ground where I can store my SCUBA gear. The sky is clear and I don’t expect rain, so the stuff should be safe nestled inside the pipe. I strip off the tank, BCD, and other gear and leave it. I retrieve my headset and goggles from my Osprey and I’m ready.
It’s a three-mile hike to Famagusta Center. Since I’m keeping to the shadows and avoiding streetlights, it takes me nearly an hour to get there. Now it’s nearly three in the morning and I have two, maybe three hours before dawn.
The property is in a clearing outside of Famagusta, just off the main highway. At the moment a wire fence surrounds the grounds. Signs written in Turkish and English read: Keep Out — Construction Hard Hat Area. Other signs proclaim — Famagusta Center, Opening Soon! Vendor Space For Rent! The place is well lit with floodlights, trucks carrying debris periodically leave a loading dock area at the back of the complex, and men in hard hats go in and out of various entrances. That’s a clue right there that something’s afoot — construction employees normally don’t work in the middle of the night. These guys appear to be working feverishly to meet some kind of deadline. Lambert’s probably right — Tarighian means to use his weapon as soon as possible.
I’m unable to see an area of the fence that’s not covered by the bright lights. I’m beginning to wonder how the hell I’m going to get inside when providence intervenes. A pair of headlights appears on the road near where I’m crouched, and they’re headed my way. When it’s close enough I see that it’s a professional electrical company’s van, and there’s a lone driver inside. The van passes me, not traveling very fast, so I jump up and toss a rock at it. As the van slows I run behind it and slap the back doors a couple of times, loud enough for the driver to hear me. He slows even more and stops. When he lowers the window, I’m there with the Five-seveN pointing at his nose.
“You’re going my way,” I say. “Can I have a lift?”
He doesn’t understand the words, but he gets the meaning. I keep the gun trained on him, walk around the front of the vehicle, and get in the passenger side. I tell him to drive on as I crouch on the floorboard, my pistol stuck against his potbelly. He’s obviously frightened and I tell him to calm down. He nods and proceeds.