Abigail – The Avenging Agent: The agent appears again (44 page)

“Is everything okay?”  He nodded when he
replied:

“Almost, I’ll tell you later.”

He slept all morning and when he awoke,
Abigail sensed that he wanted to be left alone and she did so, in spite of her
curiosity about the horse and his ‘almost’ answer.  At noon, she peeped into
the room and he smiled at her tiredly.

“Are you still tired?” she inquired,
“Where’s the car, and the horse…”

“Oh, what can I say, I wish I hadn’t
gone to that meeting,” he stated.  “They sabotaged my car so I came home on a
horse that was left there.”

Later he made a phone call and spoke
quietly.  She left the room but, not before she heard Michael’s name at the
beginning of the conversation.

In the afternoon, a car drew up outside
the entrance to their house.  It was driven by Timmy.  Michael sat beside him. 
A short youngster got out of the back, his eyes darting suspiciously and went
to the horse.  The whinnying and snorting of the horse were evidence of the emotional
meeting between the two and one minute later the horse burst into a gallop, as
his rider waved goodbye.  Michael patted Karma on the shoulder and praised him:

“Congratulations on the idea and the
initiative you took.  By the way, the glamorous gray lady is under close
surveillance.”

Karma got up in the morning in a great
mood and declared:

“Y’allah, let’s continue putting this
house in order and mending what needs mending.”

In the hours that followed, he changed
light bulbs and fixed whatever he could.  Towards evening, they went out to
look for a washing machine and a refrigerator.  Abigail decided they didn’t
require a large oven, but insisted on getting a small toaster oven.

“We’ll warm up readymade food rather
than cook grand meals,” she decided.

‘You’re exaggerating, I’m prepared to
cook!” he declared. “Once I cooked for a whole family and I still remember how
to cook.”

“Is that so?  What family did you
prepare meals for?”

“See here, ah…sometimes I would join up
with other people and offer to cook for them to pay for my board and lodging.”

“Ah, what do you say?”  She laughed, but
Karma almost slapped himself for the slip of his tongue.

The following day, they went out to the
yard.  Karma leaned on the wooden railing on the verandah and watched Abigail
as she moved around the trees and shrubs.  

“Hey, the trees are already laughing at
your caresses,” he shouted and she stood still, with her hands on her hips and
yelled back at him:

“Instead of making comments that don’t
help, why don’t you dig a hole around that tree to contain the water and stop
it running to waste. 

He groaned and went down the two broad
wooden steps, skipped over the dry shrubs that hadn’t been uprooted yet,
dragged a rusty spade that Abigail had attached to a new broomstick.

That afternoon they discussed an issue
they had previously avoided.  Abigail tapped her fingernails on the table and
as she started to sip from the cup of coffee he had prepared, she began hesitantly:

“What’s your opinion about… coordinating
between us.”

Karma looked at her and asked:       

“Why?”

“So as to be cautious and evade a common
enemy who seems to be pursuing us.”

The truth of it was that her curiosity
bothered her all the time.  She couldn’t stop wondering where he had spent the
long months during which he disappeared, and he certainly wasn’t about to tell
her.  Till now he had even concealed the organization he belonged to while
Effendi’s recent threats of what would happen if he did not divorce his new
wife echoed in his mind.

Abigail sighed.  She removed the dishes
from the table and Karma thought about what she had said. 

“You know, it wouldn’t be right to share
things.”

Now she asked:

“Why?”

“Because the less we know about each
other, the better it will be for both of us.  If one of us gets caught, that
person is likely to blurt out details.  If you don’t know, you can’t tell.”

“All I asked was to know under what
aegis we are operating, nothing more.” And he considered the sense of what she
was saying.

“Do you know what?  I’ll tell you if you
tell me,” he laughed, “but you go first.”

Now she laughed, too, and said:

“On second thoughts, there really is not
logic in what I said.  You come from a different place and there is no
likelihood on earth of there being a connection  to the place I come from.”
And, with that, the matter was closed.

Towards evening, they went out onto the
verandah. Karma stretched out on the old rocking chair that he had spent the
whole day repairing while Abigail surveyed their garden when they suddenly
noticed a couple peeping at them and she waved to them.

“Hello, welcome.”

“Hello,” the woman answered, and the man
apologized:

“Forgive us, my wife is too curious.” 
And Abigail laughed.

“We wanted to see who had come to the
house that was deserted for so long,” the woman explained while the man tried
to pull her away.

Abigail lifted the fronds of the creeper
that hung over the entrance and had a better look at the middle-aged couple and
hurriedly addressed them.

“Please, come in and honor us with your
presence,” The man let go of his wife’s hand and she said:

“No, we shall invite you first because
you are the newcomers.”

Karma joined Abigail and hinted that she
accept the invitation.  She smiled and said:

“Thank you, only not today.  There is so
much to be done here. We’re exhausted from taking care of the house and
garden.  If tomorrow suits you, we’ll come.”

“Wonderful.  We’ll be expecting you at
this time, tomorrow.” The two said this almost in unison and continued.  The
man returned a minute later, pointed at the mountain slope and said that they
live in the gray building, a five-minute walk up the hill and waved to them
from behind the shrubs.

The
next morning, Abigail wanted to go out to buy a gift for them, but Karma
stopped her.

“Why? 
Here, the custom is for the hosts to give their guests a gift, so don’t insult
them.”

“Is
that so?!”  Abigail laughed, “That’s an interesting custom.  It suits me.”

The
visit was delayed for two more days.

A high-pitched signal and a short beep
were heard from the house.  Karma swung his communications pack on his back and
said he was going out for some air and would return immediately.  He climbed up
the steep slope, moving slowly through the dense forest.

The sun’s rays were unable to penetrate
the thick vegetation and it was dark all over. When he pushed it aside, he saw
narrow rivulet of flowing water.  He knelt down, dipped his hands into the
freezing water and washed his face.

Karma
assembled the communications device he had taken out of his backpack, put the
headphones on his head and wrote down the encoded message according to the
deciphering key on the page he was holding and read it:

“Load the Trojan Horse
today. Going out to swallow 3 pencils.  

Take
care of the cave.”

            When
he came home, he said two words to Abigail:

            “I’m
going.”

            He
slung his bag, which was always packed and ready, on his shoulder, fleetingly
kissed her lips as he felt their softness and took pleasure in her delicate
fragrance.

            When
he closed the door behind him, he couldn’t help drawing a comparison between
her response, now, and that of Salima, his wife, when he told her he was leaving. 
Karma knew that it wasn’t a fair comparison because Salima had been left with
their daughters and didn’t know when or if he would ever return.  Yet, he found
it difficult to forget her harsh and hostile reaction.

            The
meeting was in a natural cave, tucked away in a rock cliff, and after an hour
he arrived to the area. When he reached it he strained his eyes and recognizing
it, he made the usual sound, a whistle imitating the call of a night-owl and entered.
A cold chill greeted him and he had to take a moment to accustom himself to the
gloom.

            Two
people sat talking.  One of them was Michael, his operator, and the other stood
up and introduced himself as “Foxy.” A little smile broke out on Karma’s face
because the small-statured man’s face was, indeed, reminiscent of a fox, with
his narrow eagle-like nose.  His brown eyes were close set and his reddish hair
was cut short.

            “What
is the plan?” he asked.

            “A
drone.”

            “Are
we going to prepare an unmanned aircraft?”

            “Almost. 
This time, we’re going to produce only one prototype.  We are planning to have
it explode in their most highly secured stockpile of arms.”

            “That’s
a marvelous idea, but how will it get in there?”

            “Well,
it’s like this,” Foxy began. “The idea is that the drone will fly innocently to
the border.  We will shoot it down, but we will be quiet and won’t expose the
Revolutionary Guards when they claim that they derailed its mission and shot it
down on their territory.”

            “Wonderful,
I             get it.  But after they’re certain they have it under control
what then?”  

            “Again,
we’re banking on their curiosity being aroused and that they’ll store it in
their ‘Holy of Holies.’

            I
see you’re hoping that they, themselves will store it in their “Fort Knox” for safe-keeping.” 
Foxy chuckled and continued detailing his idea.

            “The
moment that baby is safely ensconced in their stockpile of weapons, then…”  He
threw up his hands in the air, inflated his cheeks and yelled:

            “Boooommm!”

            “Hey,
they’re not stupid.  Don’t you think they will check the drone isn’t
booby-trapped?”

            “Of
course, they will, but we’re also not idiots,” Michael said, “This is the reason
we are meeting here today. We have to ensure they don’t find the explosive
material and that they will store the drone that we will prepare here between
their “Shihab 3” missiles.”

            Karma
remained silent, awaiting the explanation.

“I suggested building only one exceptional
side,” said Foxy.

“One side that is booby-trapped.  Not a
bad idea.  What does it require?”

“We thought we should wrap the explosive
in something to hide it.”

 “Well, it’s possible to create a
mixture of sawdust, epoxy, and gunpowder,” Karma suggested.

“Pal, we have gunpowder and explosives,
but how the hell do we get out hands on glue or sawdust?

“What? Are there no carpenters around
here?” Michael asked, enthusiastically, “I’m going out to look for them.”

Michael left and returned an hour later
holding a metal box, and carrying swollen jute bags on his back.  When he laid
them on the floor, the smell of warm sawdust rose in the air.

First, they mixed the sawdust and glue
in a plastic barrel.  Foxy remarked that it looked like dough and added dark
granules of gunpowder.  Michael observed that it was the seasoning, perhaps like
black pepper or caraway seeds.

“Mix it, mix it well,” Foxy instructed,
“till it is pale and smooth.”

They poured the mixture into a metal
pan, which was shaped like the side of the intended drone and left it overnight
to dry.

Meanwhile, they assembled the other
parts of the drone, leaving out one of its sides. When they removed the frame
and attached the new side, they were thrilled with how well it matched and fit.

“What now?”

“We’ve completed our part, others will take
over now.”

Karma was on his way home the following
evening.

*
* *

            Sayid
and Ilia’s home was located high up on the mountain, a strenuous twenty-minute
walk up a path that climbed the slope.  Abigail and Karma advanced slowly on a
well-trodden path that was a bed of pine needles.  Lampposts glowed yellow in the
branches and lit their way.

            When
they almost stepped on to the path leading the house, the front door opened and
Sayid called out to welcome them:

            “A’halan
w’ Sa’halan and Mar’haba!” (Hello, greetings and welcome to you) He waved them
in and bowed.  Two pairs of slippers stood at the entrance and Karma removed
his shoes and put on the slippers offered to him, pointed to the other pair
that were suitable for a woman and Abigail followed his example.

            The
lemony aroma of cooking filled the air in the house and Sayid led them straight
to the kitchen.  Covered saucepans stood on the marble counter and the table and
the dishes were served.  Plates, adorned with gold were arranged on the table
cloth and Abigail counted nine place settings.  Ilia, the wife, came bearing
two boxes wrapped in shiny paper, which she gave them, kissed Abigail’s cheek
and embraced her shoulders.

            After
the customary greetings, Ilia called her five children, who came running and
took their places, while the eldest daughter began busying herself, helping her
mother.  Ilia served up generous portions on the plates and urged them to take
extra helpings of pilau as the rice, served at the center of the table and covered
with fragrant steaming lamb, was called.

            At
the end of the meal, the men rose and withdrew to the lounge.

            “Ilia,
I was delighted with the dishes you served today and I hope you will give me
the recipe for your delicious pilau.”

            “With
pleasure,” she responded, “I have an even better offer to make.  Let’s go to
the markets in Baku, where we can savor the smells and buy spices for pilau and
when you prepare it, you can invite us to taste it.

            “I
will be honored.  You will be our first dinner guests.”

            Karma’s
voice was heard from the living room:

            “I’m
a Kurd!” And he called out to Abigail to come and tell where she hailed from
and laughed.

            “That
depends on who wants to know,” she called back and went to them.

            “Why? 
Were you born in several places so you can choose where, depending on who is
asking?”

            “Of
course! For example, if I tell you I am a Bedouin, what does that mean to you?”

            “Ah,
what is the meaning of a Bedouin?  What’s the name of the country the Bedouins
live in?”

            “That’s
precisely what I meant.  They don’t have a country.  They are vagrants who
wander with their clans in the deserts of the Middle East.”    

“That’s it, now I understand the
connection between you.” Sayid cried out animatedly, “Karma belongs to the
Kurds in Turkey, who also don’t have a country,” and announced at once:

            “They
never had a country, nor will they ever have one!”

            “Hey,
ho!  What an inflammatory statement, I have just heard!” Karma sprang up to
contest it.

            “With
all due respect, you should know that we will prevail, with Allah’s help, when
the territories in which we are dispersed will be recognized as Kurdistan.” He
disregarded what Sayid has just said and continued:

            “The
Kurdish rebels are fighting like lions against the armies in those areas and
dream of a country of their own.”

            “Carry
on dreaming!” Sayid cried, “no one will give up the territories where you
live!”

            Abigail
giggled.  She saw that the tempers were heating up and knowing Karma, she knew
that the argument of his life was about to open and she returned to the
kitchen.

            Ilia
spooned four heaped teaspoons of aromatic coffee into a small metal pot and
placed it over the flame as they heard Karma’s excited voice coming from the
living room.

            Ilia
held the tray and walked to the living room. She set it on a small table that
stood beside the sofa and Sayid, her husband, poured the dark liquid into the
four cups and served it to each of them.  Ilia signaled Abigail to leave them
to their argument and they both returned to the kitchen.

            “When
will we arrange to travel to Baku?”

            “It’ll
depend on when Sayid has time.”

            “Ah,
no problem, we’ll wait.  What is his occupation?”

            “He
transports merchandise,” she said, “from Russia to Turkish businesses in Baku.”

            She
sat down with her cup of coffee.

            “Sometimes
I join him and we take advantage of it to enjoy ourselves.  We’ve eaten at
Turkish restaurants and shopped at their markets.”

            She
stood up with the two empty cups and Abigail noticed the swollen belly of her
hostess.

            “Ilia,
how old is your eldest daughter? By the way, she resembles Sayid.  Her nose and
eyes and the dimple in her chin are just like his.”

            “Yes,
everyone says that,” laughed Ilia, “she is almost fourteen,” and when she saw
the expression on Abigail’s face, she added at once:

            “And
we’re expecting another child in two months or less.”

            “Wonderful,
I wish you luck.”

            Ilia
nodded and asked:

            “When
did you purchase your home?”

            “Oh,
two years ago,” Abigail replied.

            “Who
recommended this of all places?”

            “Ah,
someone called Alice Kodor and her…”

            “What?!
The Ambassador’s wife?” she exclaimed and a different expression lighted up her
eyes,

            “Did
you meet?”

            “Yes,
several times, but I never visited their home.  Where do they live?”

            “Ah,
they have a large house, more than an hour’s drive from here.  It’s rumored
that they ended their service in Jordan, or Lebanon, perhaps.”

            Abigail
smiled, musing that it suited Karim not to be precise, but it was clear why he
hadn’t mentioned Israel by name.

            “Where
do you come from?” Abigail inquired.

            “From
Irbil, I’m a city girl at heart.  I met Sayid when he came to deliver
merchandise.”

            “Is
that so?  Did you meet him in the market?”

            “No,
I was helping my parents sell fruit and vegetables in the market.  I was almost
sixteen.” Pride entered her voice as she related how Sayid had returned to look
for her and ask her parents to meet his parents.

            Sayid’s
voice was heard coming from the living room.

            “Hey,
listen to this!”  He waved the newspaper in his hand,

            “Here’s
a story that lifts my heart and makes me very proud.”

            Karma
turned his gaze away from the newspaper he was holding.

            “They
report shooting down a drone that entered our airspace.” He said in a rather
loud voice and it was obvious that he was directing his comments to the two
women in the kitchen, as well.

            “Really? 
How was the drone brought down and where?” The question came from Abigail, who
came closer to them.

            “Oh,
I enjoy stories like this so much! They are our brave soldiers!” He roared, to
the disdain of his wife, who remained seated in the kitchen.

            “What
more do they say about it?” Abigail asked and Ilia pulled her back to the
kitchen, as she muttered:

            “Leave
them, what do we care about their nonsense.”

            Karma
did not appear to share Sayid’s excitement and rejoicing, but he didn’t say a
word.  Sayid glanced at him and continued reading the newspaper.

            In
the evening, after the guests left, Ilia told her husband that their new
neighbors were acquainted the diplomatic couple, Alice, and Karim Kodor.  Sayid
stared back at her in surprise.  

            The
explosion occurred the next day.

            An
enormous cloud of smoke mushroomed above the massive arsenal belonging to the
Shi’ite Hizbollah and the sharp odor of gunpowder hung in the air for several
days.  Newspaper headlines reported:

“Huge explosion at ammunition warehouses of “Shihab-3”
missiles."

            It
was written in the newspaper that the drone that had crossed the Lebanese
border and disappeared in the Wadi Naija region.  It reported that only after
the soldiers had checked it out and were convinced that it was not
booby-trapped, they transported it and brought it straight to their missile
weapons arsenal.

            Sayid
was astounded as he read the article aloud from the newspaper to his wife,
Ilia.

“…then
the “Mossad” agents could give the order and using remote control, cause the
booby-trapped drone to explode, together with the whole weapons warehouse with
all its missiles.

The article also mentioned that the
explosion also took the lives of at least eighteen men from the Revolutionary
Guards, including the Head of their Ballistic Missiles Systems Unit.

When he finished reading it, he sat and
thought.  He picked up the phone at once and tried to reach Ramzi, a senior
member of the government and a friend of many years.  When he was unable to
reach him, he left a message.

“What do you know about Karma Öcalan and his wife,
Naima?”

The answer was not long in coming.

“Nothing
at all.  Give me more details.  Why are you asking?”

Sayid replied immediately:

“He
is new in our area and his response to this story smelled bad.”

            After
thinking it over, he added:

“They are friendly with the Ambassador Karim Kodor and
his wife, Alice. You should check their connection to the newly-weds.”

            Sayid
did not get an immediate response, but his remarks were dealt with and
addressed by the senior government agents, who arranged an appropriate
response.

*
* *