“Does he love you?”
“I think he does, very much.”
“Then be patient. It’ll
work out. Don’t push him. Let him work it out by himself.
He’ll come around. You are the one and only woman he has been with since
his wife died. It means something.”
Supporting one another, they
hailed a taxi, which took them uptown. Natasha got off on Second Avenue and
36
th
Street; Elena proceeded a little further up to Sam’s apartment.
Before she fell asleep she had
a thought that maybe it could work in reverse. If they had a child
together, it might free Sam and change his frame of mind.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
Jose Luis Ortega’s remains
were transferred in a wooden casket through the border checkpoint at Taba, five
days after Clair and her son safely crossed the fence.
Four of those five days were
spent in stiff negotiations. Ortega’s only brother, Fernando, flew in
from Madrid and along with Sam, David Kessler, the Spanish consuls from Cairo
and Tel Aviv and the US consul from Tel Aviv, haggled with the Egyptians over
the release of the body.
To finally get it, the
Spaniards had to agree to drop any murder allegations and not press any charges
against Ortega’s executioners who claimed he was accidentally killed while
attacking a judge trying to flee the Dahab prison after he was apprehended for
kidnapping El-Shara’s boy. The Spaniards also had to agree to keep the
episode away from the media.
Nothing was revealed about
Detective Jack Preston.
Sam refrained from confusing
the two issues and made absolutely certain they got Ortega’s body before
raising the topic of Jack.
When he finally did, the
Egyptians refused to discuss it. When the American consul threatened
sanctions they acknowledged the fact that Jack was in custody and awaiting
trial but refused to allow any visiting rights or consider reprieve.
The consul promised action as
he bordered the flight back to Tel Aviv but Sam was pessimistic.
Standing at the Taba Border
checkpoint with Kessler and Fernando Ortega, who was to escort his brother’s
casket back to Madrid, he wondered whether the diplomatic channels had been
usurped and Jack was being made scapegoat in the name of pacifying the
Egyptians who threatened to complain of the US meddling in their private
affairs.
Fernando Ortega spoke little
English and was not a conversational man. Sam watched him as he intently
scrutinized the border exit where the casket was due to appear. He
felt certain antagonism from him and realized he was partly to blame for
Ortega’s death. He had to accept the grim burden and understood that the
family would have their grievances with him.
“I got a bad feeling about
Jack,” Sam said to Kessler who was nervously puffing on a cigarette.
“I don’t trust these
Egyptians,” Kessler was saying, he too focused on the border exit. “They
could change their minds at any time.”
“Jack has no chance standing
trial there,” Sam persisted.
Kessler looked at him,
distracted. “What are you thinking?” he asked suspiciously.
“I’m thinking Harley all over
again,” Sam said.
Kessler looked dumbfounded.
“That’s a little above our heads. Don’t you think?”
“I don’t know, David.
You tell me.”
“You need to find him first.”
“And when we do?”
“It depends. Getting him out
of a guarded prison is nothing like escorting him over the border like we did
with Clair and the boy. That was quite a big risk in itself.”
“Can you help?”
Kessler sighed. He had
already exploited quite a large number of resources and favors with the Israeli
Intelligence services to rescue Clair and her son. Extracting Jack from
within Egypt, assuming they were able to gather accurate enough intelligence as
to his whereabouts and come up with a reasonable plan, would be a colossal
undertaking with extremely slim odds of success. It was more likely to
fail and cause a major diplomatic stink than anything else.
But David Kessler was
committed to the cause by now and could not ignore Sam’s distress.
“Would Harley agree to it?” he
questioned Sam.
“If there’s enough money in it
for him, he’ll probably do it.”
“Can you pay him?”
“I could come up with some
cash, I believe,” Sam said. “The question is - can you guys give us a
hand?”
Both Kessler and Sam knew that
without Israeli assistance, they were doomed. Harley’s crew could perform
the actual extraction but everything leading to it, including gathering
intelligence, employing informers, providing needed hardware and insertion
means, all were predicated upon a hefty Israeli contribution.
“It’s a long shot, Sam.
Very risky.”
“Will you do it?” Sam
persisted.
“If we
get a break, maybe.
Otherwise I doubt I’ll get
cooperation.”
“What do you mean – ‘a
break’?”
“I mean, if we find out where
he is. Then we can point people there. Otherwise it’s like a needle
in a haystack.”
“Can’t we work some process of
elimination and focus on a most probable site? I mean, in the end, he has
to be tried in Dahab.”
“There’s no such thing as ‘has
to be’ in the Arab lexicon. They damn well do as they please and can try
him in Cairo for all we know.”
Kessler paused then went
on.
“And even if they do try him
in Dahab, once he gets to trial, he’ll be out of our reach. We need to
get him before he reaches a court if we have any chance at all.”
Sam fell silent. A
procession of vehicles appeared, rolling slowly towards them through the border
checkpoint. A military Jeep led the way followed by a command car and two more
Jeeps belonging to the UN forces.
Fernando became
emotional. His body became rigid and he apprehensively began inching
toward the approaching vehicles, Sam and Kessler by his side.
The procession cleared the border
obstacles, gates and fences, and stopped by a grassy roundabout that had a
large Israeli flag propped in its middle, the placid Gulf waters and Jordanian
cliffs looming under the blazing sun in the background. An Israeli
liaison officer stepped out of the leading Jeep and solemnly waited to greet
them. They shook hands and followed him to the command car where the wooden
casket with Jose Luis Ortega’s body lay.
Fernando touched the casket
and began stroking it, tears running down his cheeks. Sam felt a heave of
emotion engulf him and he looked away, his vision becoming bleary. His
association with the Spaniard suddenly flashed through his mind. He
recalled Black Jack recruiting him after the Ricardo affair. Ortega had left
the Spanish Airport Police force to join them. He and Jack had become
best of friends. He recalled himself and Ortega bumping into another dead
end following the Rio boy in Madrid not three weeks earlier, which now seemed
in another time zone. Ortega had been a loner, a serious person with a
perplexing sense of humor. He never married and Sam did not know of any
women in his life though he was apt to stare and comment favorably on the
opposite sex, no different than most heterosexual men.
Sam had thrashed himself
constantly over sending the Spaniard on his own after Christine and Jack, and
had envisaged his plight countless times, being accused, pursued and shot by
his captors, bleeding his life away, unaided, on the burning desert sand.
Fernando was now hugging the
coffin, openly sobbing.
“We’ll go get our car,”
Kessler said in Hebrew to the officer and led Sam away, leaving Fernando to
mourn.
“Tragic,” Kessler
mumbled. “Is he his only family?”
“His parents live near Madrid
but are too old to travel. Fernando’s married and has two children.”
“Will you be at his
funeral?” Kessler asked.
“I suppose I must,” Sam said,
“though I hate to leave matters here unresolved.”
Kessler unlocked the rental
car’s doors and rolled down all windows before they could slither into the smoldering
car, Kessler at the wheel.
“You go, Sam. You owe it
to them. I’ll watch things around here meanwhile. When you return,
we’ll figure out where we stand.”
Kessler was being kind.
Not making any promises, he would look into the matter and try to determine
things. Sam hoped he might even use his informer again, the one that had
assisted Chris. He secretly agreed that determining where Jack was being
detained was foremost if they had any chance of springing him. He also
had to admit that without such a break, it was almost unattainable. Jack
would have to be the one to send a signal or he was doomed.
Kessler positioned them last,
behind the UNIFIL Jeeps as the convoy slowly moved out in the direction of the
Eilat airfield, Fernando sitting alone in the back of the command car next to
his brother’s coffin.
Two police motorcycles joined,
clearing the way at the front.
To their right the blue-green
waters shimmered in the blazing sun. The port town of Aqaba on the
Jordanian side lay peaceful across the tip of the Gulf. They drove past
the Eilat reef observatory and further past the Eilat port with its tall cranes
offloading anchored ships and square parking lots crowded with lines of new
imported cars waiting to be shipped north.
The Eilat Airfield was a
single runway for small jets and turbo-prop airplanes. Its tiny terminal
resembled a bus station, just off its main street.
The procession was allowed
entry through a side gate advancing to an awaiting Arkia Turbo-prop who was to
fly them to Tel Aviv’s Ben Gurion airport. From there they were booked on
an Iberia flight to Madrid.
They parked on the tarmac next
to a line of small planes and Sam hurried to the terminal to arrange the
paperwork and buy a ticket for himself. He was back when the wooden
casket was being hauled into the cargo bay, Fernando and Kessler glumly
watching the proceedings.
“I’m coming with you,” Sam
addressed Fernando pointing at the fresh ticket he had just purchased.
“Gracias,” Fernando said,
bowing his head.
“Wise move,” Kessler said as
they followed Fernando to the front of the plane. A small group of people
had lined up by the stairs waiting to board.
“I’ll be back soon as it’s
over,” Sam said leveling his gaze at Kessler.
“I’ll make some inquiries,”
Kessler said, giving nothing away.
“I need to help Jack.”
“I know Sam. I’ll do my
best.”
“Harley will do it. I’ll
guarantee that. Just find Jack for me.”
Kessler nodded but said
nothing. They shook hands and Sam climbed the stairs. At the top he
turned and looked down at Kessler.
“Thanks for everything.
You’ve been a friend.”
Kessler smiled as Sam stepped
into the airplane.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
Ali’s red training suit looked
a small fading speck among the trees as Mai-Li tried keeping pace with the
crew.
The five thirty morning
conditioning sessions were a big challenge for someone as unadjusted as she was.
The exercise spanned nearly ten kilometers of non-stop physical workout through
hillside terrain involving running, climbing, crawling, balancing,
strengthening and stretching every existing muscle, without as much as a
minute’s rest. A chilly drizzle stung her face and she constantly slipped
on the wet earth.
Fatigued to the point of
collapse, Mai-Li had to stop for a spell to catch her breath. The closest
person to her was Lizzy O’Leary who was now hanging on a rope, pulling himself
across, over a bottomless gully.
Mai-Li was not sure she could
swing it. The gully was roughly five meters wide and at least twice as
deep. The rope over it stretched between two trees. To reach it one
had to climb up several feet of bare wood with hardly a foothold.
Exhausted, she reached the
tree, stood a minute catching her breath and began a futile attempt to climb
it. She put both hands around the wet trunk and tried pushing with her
legs but kept sliding down. Lizzy had cleared the gully by now and was
forging ahead.