Tracks (24 page)

CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE

Kessler waited for the crew at
Ben Gurion airport, near Tel Aviv.  He was there not only as an escort for
the continued leg to the south, but primarily to make sure they were not
stopped by customs and security and asked awkward questions.  Including
Mai-Li, seven passengers made up the group from Inverness.  Harley had
picked only a handful of his most trusted men for the operation.  There
was Devlin, Sergeant “Lizard” O’Leary, Jimmy the driver, Lieutenant Copeland
who was to monitor things from afar, and Captain Malcolm Rolston who together
with Devlin was a troop leader.

Harley had surprised Mai-Li by
accepting the challenge without much dialog, barring the issue of payment and
Israeli cooperation.  He would be paid, in advance, a half million US
dollars, direct to a Swiss bank account under some fabricated firm name.

Kessler briefed them on the
way.

The Israelis would allow them
out across the border fence, into Egyptian territory, then let them back in
once they got back.  The crew would flush out Black Jack and company from
their hiding positions and escort them across the open terrain to Israeli
territory.  In case of engagement with Egyptian forces, they would shoot
their way through using weapons supplied by the Israelis.  Israel could
claim a skirmish with terrorist factions or drug smugglers.

Capture of a single member of
the team would mean disaster. Harley had not consulted anyone and was risking
his own neck.  Kessler provided Israeli cooperation.  Sam had Metzger
provide the money.

They had two days before the
rendezvous with Jack.  The Bedouin contact that had provided the
information was going back to Nueba to fetch Christine and bring her across the
border.

 
*****

They met again at the Tarrabin
village where Christine had remained in hiding for the duration of Kasuma’s
three-day trip to Israel.

Kasuma arrived late in the
evening on the fourth day of her absence. She briefed Christine and laid down
the plan of her escape from Egypt. 

They were to wait until early
the next morning then were to be driven in a taxi full of tourists to Taba,
just across the border from Eilat.  They would wait until nightfall at the
Hilton Taba, then simply walk through the old
Rafi
Nelson village and swim around the fence to Israel where their colleagues would
be waiting.

Christine realized Kasuma had
never met and therefore did not know any of the Center’s operatives whom she
hoped were the “colleagues” waiting for her.

Aside from swimming around the
fence, which seemed dangerous but more reasonable than trying to pass border
control, the one major problem was passing an Egyptian military check point
just north of Nueba, on the main junction to Western Sinai and Cairo. 

Kasuma figured they were quite
safe in an ordinary taxi full of travelers but it remained a sticking point.

“Why not just walk to Taba?”
Christine queried as the two sat on the sand dipping bare feet in Red Sea
waters.

“It would be much more
conspicuous for two women to be on foot in these parts,” Kasuma reasoned. 
“Past Nueba, the highway gets real close to the waters and it’s a very long
walk that could take several days.”

“How do we swim around the
fence?”

“You swim.  I’ll take you
to the spot.  There are normally a couple of soldiers and a small boat
guarding the pass but they’ll be drunk or drugged when we get there, so you
won’t have much to swim.  I got you a bathing suit in Eilat for the
task.  You won’t have more than two, three hundred meters to swim. 
Your friends will be waiting on the other side with Israeli seamen.”

Christine sighed.  She
worried about the plan but had to admit there was not too much choice. 
Trying border control was out of the question and there was nowhere else close
enough to cross the border.

It was risky but risk was part
of the trade.  It was risky business trying to release a mother from
prison and extract her boy from his father in a Third World country.  A
price had to be paid.  Their organization was paying dearly and the end of
it was not in sight.

The two women went back to the
huts.  A half-moon was illuminating the Gulf, the waves gently caressing
its shores.  It seemed incredibly peaceful.  Christine lay on the
large rug among the cushions and pillows hoping to get a little rest before she
embarked on her precarious escape.  Kasuma disappeared, promising to come
wake her when it was time.

She noticed how tense she was,
her belly tight,
her
mind full of gloomy thoughts,
eager to escape and get to safety.  Then she could grieve over Ortega and
whoever else.

She wondered about Jack, Clair
and the boy and how they were doing.  In two days they would need to make
the rendezvous point.  Then she thought of Sam and how worried and full of
guilt he must be now that he knew El Chino’s fate.  And she thought of her
mother, praying she had gotten the word that she was OK.  She had to see
her, touch her, and relieve her of the terrible worry.

The sun was just over the Red
mountains to the east when Christine felt someone tugging at her
shoulder.  Realizing she had fallen asleep, she sat up, shivering, the
enormity of what lay ahead striking her instantly.

Ahmed handed her a cup of
coffee.  Crouching, he gave her an encouraging smile.  Christine
nodded thankfully and sipped the hot sweet black liquid then on impulse decided
to go for a dip.  She signaled Ahmed to turn around, took off her clothes
and ran, diving into the chilly salt water of the Gulf, splashing around to
ease the chill shock.

Kasuma was on the edge of the
water with a towel when Christine got out.  Her body was trembling but she
felt refreshed.  Wrapping the towel around her shimmering naked frame, she
ran to the bath hut and thankfully dipped in hot water and soap.  After
she got out and dressed, she felt ready to face the difficult day.

They crowded in the old Peugeot
station wagon with four other Israeli backpackers returning home.  Kasuma
sat in front and Chris blended in
in
the back. 
She had given up her Bedouin attire and was now a French tourist on her way to
catch a charter flight to Paris from Eilat.

They reached the checkpoint a
half hour out of Nueba and were stopped for inspection by Egyptian military
personnel. An armed soldier poked his head into the taxi and looked around, his
eyes stopping briefly on each of its passengers.  Christine forced herself
to look him in the eye.  Any hesitation or sign of apprehension could give
her away.  Her heart was beating fast and she felt her face redden but the
soldier remained oblivious.

Seemingly satisfied, he
muttered a few words in Arabic to the driver and slowly walked toward the
gate.  He entered the small hut by the gate and came back out with another
soldier; now both were approaching the cab.

Christine was now profusely
sweating and notably concerned.  She looked around but saw no
escape.  Afraid the soldier might have recognized
something,
she did the only thing she could do to avoid giving him a second look. 
She grabbed the Israeli chap next to her and kissed him square on the
lips.  Caught unawares, the man backed away for a brief moment then
returned her kiss, sticking his tongue in her mouth.  Christine grabbed
his hand and put it to her face hiding a substantial part of it.

The two soldiers were now
re-inspecting the passengers, talking among themselves, enthusiastically gesturing
at the couple kissing.  Christine would not let go until the soldiers
backed away.  The Israeli already had his hands on her breasts but it did
not matter.  After short deliberation, the soldiers moved to the gate and
opened it, allowing the taxi to move on.  Relieved, Christine disengaged
herself from the man, smiled at him thankfully, and ignored him the rest of the
way.  In the front seat, Kasuma breathed a sigh of relief.

The late
Rafi
Nelson was an Israeli entrepreneur, who in the late sixties built himself a
tourist village just across the Israeli border after Israel annexed the Sinai
following the Six Day war, claiming it his own.  To this day its legal
procedures remain unclear, but the fact of the matter remained that he was owner
of the land and reaped its profits.  In the early eighties when Israel was
preparing to return the Sinai,
Rafi
Nelson’s village
and the Taba area remained a bone of contention for a long while before it was
resolved and given to the Egyptians.  The village was now in Egyptian
territory but still mostly populated by Israeli tourists, mostly high society
movers and shakers, musicians, playwrights, authors, actors, ball players and
suchlike.  Situated on the water, it bordered right on the fence
separating Egypt and Israel.    

Christine and Kasuma moved
slowly among the crowd of die-hard sunbathers, as the evening shadows grew
longer.  Few people were in the water at that time of day.  Settling
under a shade by the far corner of the resort, closest to the border, they
signaled a tanned waitress to come take their order.

The two banana smoothies
tasted heavenly after the demanding day.  They had reached Taba past
midday. Following the checkpoint affair, they got stuck in a traffic jam across
from Corral Island.  A bus skidded, blocking the entire road and cars had
to wait almost three hours for it to be towed.  

They spent time in the Hilton
at Taba, keeping as far away from Egyptian officials as possible, the casino
providing most of their cover.  They gambled some coins and mostly moved
around the tables.  Later they took a walk on the beach and ended up at
the village.  Throughout the day, a few glances were thrown their way but
nothing alarming.

“It will be dark in an hour,”
Kasuma said.  “We need to prepare.”

Christine glanced at her
wondering what she needed to do.

“You stay put,” Kasuma
continued. “I’ll be back soon.”  She gulped down the rest of her smoothie
and walked back toward the hotel. 

Following her movement,
Christine noticed a man she had not noticed before get up from a beach chair
and follow Kasuma.  His male companion watched but remained sitting on the
sand, smoking a cigarette.

Christine could not be certain
he was actually following her or that he simply had something to do, but
something in his and his partner’s manner alarmed her.  She sat
motionless, staring at the man left on the beach but he seemed totally unaware
of her presence and was lighting another cigarette, looking outward toward the
water.

Christine wanted to brush the
uneasy feeling away but could not.  The darker it got the tenser she got
and when Kasuma failed to show after an hour, Christine began to panic. 
She got up and walked to the water, keeping a watchful eye on the man who had
remained among the last of the beach goers.  He finally got up to leave -
his partner had not returned - but instead of walking to the hotel he
approached her.   

She froze, unable to move a
muscle.

“Follow me,” he said in
English.  He had a deep low voice with a heavy accent.

She hesitated, tensing.

He stopped and crouched
looking out toward the water.

“I work with Kasuma,” he
said.  He was dark and well-built, bony and muscular.  His upper body
was bare and he was wearing the bottom half of a black wetsuit rather than a
bathing suit.  His hair was bleached and he looked to be in his early
twenties.

“Who are you?”  Christine
asked in English, her voice quivering, looking around for a glimpse of Kasuma.

“You see the blinking light
over there,” the man said nodding his head in the direction of his stare.

Christine saw it.  It was
almost dark but she could just make out a boat bobbing in the water with a
light blinking, atop its mast.

“We’ll have to swim there to
get you to Israel,” the man said.  “I’m with the Israeli Navy.”

“How far is it?” 
Christine asked.

“About
a kilometer.”

“Sharks?”

“A
few, but further out.
  Maybe we’ll meet some dolphins.”

The tension evaporated and
Christine followed in the man’s footsteps.  He walked briskly for another
few minutes then sat on the sand, signaling Christine to sit next to him.

“You have a bathing suit?”

“I do,” she said.  “What
do I do with the clothes?”

“Dump them in the can over
there,” he said pointing to a white garbage can among the beach shades.

Christine followed his
instructions.

“We leave in half an
hour.  If anyone comes by here, we'll need to make out.”