Peace, Love and Lies: International Mystery & Crime Thriller

  “Vision from the tower?”

  “We placed two binoculars and a 70 millimeter Martin.”

  Ehrlich looked at the screens before him with the eye of an expert. “CCTV-70, closed-circuit television. Look at screen number one and you’ll be able to see it soon.” He explained to me in a half-whisper.

  “And also,” Dagan continued while peeling another chocolate bar. “An infra-red binocular and a thermal one. Soon you will be able to see the people by their heat signature, but remember that this is the side facing us, and on the other side we will hardly be able to see any movement. At any rate, a team was sent to Yahud with another Martin and a lot of ammunition. We’ll see what comes of it.”

  “Sounds OK, but I want more. Get me two UAV’s in the air,” Harel said after a short pause. He was referring to unmanned aerial vehicles, or drones—that much I did know.

  “I want a gyro locked onto the plane with a view from above and from the cockpit. We may be able to get a good picture. What about listening posts?”

  “There’s no range for the time being.”

  “Does a radio transmission from the plane reach up to here?”

  “Yes, sure.”

  “So why can’t we hear them?”

  “Maybe because they are not talking,” Dagan said, shifting his weight from one leg to the other and getting the ”No Shit” look from Harel. He looked like he yearned to get back into the field.

  “Get me the control upstairs.” Harel got angry.

  The soldier by the tactical HQ door yelled, “Attention!” All the military personnel stiffened. The younger ones jumped to attention while the more senior ones looked intently at the door. The general chief of staff of the armed forces walked in with his deputy, along with the prime minister and at least twenty others. There wasn’t any room to move within the tactical HQ.

  The chief of staff, another red beret former paratrooper commander, led the prime minister towards Harel.

  “How is the foreign minister right now?” The chief of staff kept his good mood despite the difficult events.

  “We don’t know. According to reports, it seems like he is not capable of talking.” Harel put his arms across his chest.

  “Is it a health problem?” the prime minister asked, like a good father. He too had been a general in the army once. “Or did someone knock him out?”

  “I believe it is a health issue. There were a number of explosions inside the plane mid-flight, and they are not letting him talk. It looks like they are about to go on air and tell us what their terms are.”

  “I see,” the prime minister said slowly, eying the chief of staff silently as if waiting for some reaction. The chief of staff mumbled something, looked left and right and finally asked the usual question, “Do we have CCTV?”

  “Yes,” Harel replied. “For the time being we have two cameras and soon we will be getting an airborne shot.”

  “What about ears?”

  “One of the passengers called on his cell phone and it’s working more or less. Apart from that, we can’t hear anything.”

  “What about remote listening?”

  “We don’t have range. We’re working on it.”

  “What do we hear from the plane?”

  Harel looked over at Dagan who was quick to swallow something and then replied, “Almost complete silence. Every two minutes or so, someone shouts in Hebrew with an Arabic accent ‘Shut up! Shut up!’, and that’s more or less all of it.” The PM looked frustrated. “I’d want to check it out,” said the chief of staff.

  “What about the press?” the prime minister threw the question out to anyone.

  From the third circle behind him, a balding thin brigadier general came to the front. He was the IDF spokesman and the least sharp-looking person you could think of. “Sir, we issued an initial press release that an air force plane carrying the delegation was hijacked and there are no more details at this time.”

  “Very good,” said the prime minister. “It’s enough. We don’t have to say more. Release as little as possible; as little as possible.” He repeated, looking around him. “Where are the reporters?”

  Ehrlich pinched my arm lightly. I shrank in my place. He stood in front of me trying to hide me.

  “There are close to forty reporters downstairs, at the briefing room,” the lanky spokesman replied, “but they are starting to disperse throughout the airport. You never know where they might go. They might even come here. There are fifteen of them at the BACHA—the nearby air force base. A few of them have started to wander off around the runway.” The spokesman was wheezing as if he had exerted himself physically.

  “Where is Mossik?” the prime minister was looking for the people he knew.

  The airport manager approached him.

  “Security has so far stopped two film crews who had crossed the fence against regulations. I don’t know how long we can hold them all off.”

  “Harel?” the PM was expecting some solutions.

  “We’ll get them two companies of border patrol to keep the order and secure the perimeter, but we must do more with the press.” The army spokesman shrank and recoiled.

  “Listen, buddy,” the general chief of staff turned to the spokesman like a father to a misbehaving child, “Start giving the press something that will keep them all in one place. Can we think up an event that takes place on the air force base?”

  “But, sir, you know that after we play a trick like that with a false alarm that won’t make the news; you are going to end up looking very bad in tomorrow’s papers. They will get back at you,” the spokesman chirped.

  “I don’t care how I end up looking.” The chief of staff stole a glance at the prime minister. Some of those present chuckled quietly. “All I care about is for this event to end in peace.”

  “You are a channel that they must be friendly with, no matter what,” said the PM.

  “Yes, sir,” the spokesman said in a tiny voice.

  “What’s happening over at the military side of the airport?”

  The prime minister went back to his question. “Can we speak freely here?” He threw his quick nervous looks around. “Are the guys practicing?”

  “Where is Dagan?” asked the chief of staff

  “The guys are at their home base for the time being,” Dagan reported as he walked closer to the inner circle. “They have been practicing on a model of the plane, and in the next forty minutes will arrive at the air force base and will continue practicing here.”

  “Alright,” the prime minister said. “Let’s go to air traffic control to see what’s happening with the plane. Half an hour from now, I want to tour the air force base. As for the media, tell Rachel to work on a press conference in the briefing room in an hour, with the chief of staff and me. This will give them a reason to assemble in one place, wherever they may be.”

  He stared at the radios and the computers for a long time as if trying to get them to talk, or maybe debating whether all this electronic gear was up to the task.

  “So who do we have running the foreign ministry right now?” he asked without looking at anyone in particular.

  Harel, the man in charge, tried to reply, “The minister is on the plane with two deputy director generals from the office. The cabinet secretary, who would have been able to coordinate our foreign contacts right now, is on the plane as well. The foreign ministry director general is in Bangkok.

  “Has he been recalled?”

  “Yes,” Harel replied, “But it will take him forty-eight hours to make it back here. There are some riots and strikes in Bangkok right now. Practically speaking we are left with Bar-Sela; you know him; the minister’s chief of staff and the senior deputy director general.”

  “Some title,” said the prime minister

  This title belonged to my good friend Uzi. So he wasn’t on the plane. At least now I would have someone I could count on.

  “The fat guy?” the prime minister went on muttering. “He’s quite heavy
.” I felt a twinge of pain at Uzi’s humiliation.

  “Are you sure you need the foreign ministry right now?” Harel asked.

  “I certainly hope I don’t,” the prime minister admitted. “Have we heard from the Egyptians yet? How come the European Union has not started giving any advice yet? What about that nag from the Red Cross?”

  “Johann Strauss?”

  “Is that really his name?”

  “That’s what we call him. His name is Johann Raus. He called three times in the last half hour.”

  “Get someone to sit on him,” the prime minister instructed. “He can’t help, but at the same time he can certainly cause us damage.” He started walking towards the exit, pulling behind him a trail of his assistants and aides. We stayed behind at the tactical headquarters.

  “Thank God we have some quiet. Now we can start thinking.” Harel sat down and chewed on the butt of an unlit cigar stuck in his mouth.

  “What about the plane, have they started transmitting anything?” he shouted at the radios in the corner.

  Amir, the operations sergeant with the ironed uniform, sounded stressed, “No, n— nothing for the time being.”

  “I’d like to hear the inside of the plane.”

  Amir pressed a button and we heard a loud noise, but no words were audible.

  “Range z— zero,” he stuttered and swallowed his saliva in excitement. “Fifteen f— feet,” he continued.

  We heard a small rumble and Harel said, “Try to improve it. Do something!”

  The rumble became a weak conversation in Hebrew between a man and a woman. She said, “But when will they come?”

  The man replied, “Don’t be so sure that you want them to come. When they come, the whole thing could blow up in our faces.”

  “Avi,” her amplified voice whispered in broken words throughout the tactical headquarters. “I think I’m going to vomit again. I am terrified. All I can think about is my mother.”

  “There’s nothing left for you to vomit,” he replied, despairingly “Think about me. I may be the last thing you will ever see.”

  “Why do I deserve this? You’re such a pest,” she complained.

  “It’s OK, honey, it’s OK,” he mumbled quietly. “Just hold my hand tight, that’s all.”

  I looked at Ehrlich in embarrassment. He was fervently scratching his chin. The technical miracles of the communications corps allow us to penetrate almost into people’s souls. Sergeant Amir continued without losing his pace and said, “Thirty feet,” and then all we could hear was the rumble once again.

  “Get me the cockpit,” Harel hollered. “What are you playing with?”

  “Here’s the c— c— cockpit,” Amir went back to stuttering.

  A clear and sharp voice said, “Lod Control, this is Deir Yassin, I will not repeat my message again. Lod Control, this is Deir Yassin, do you read me?”

  Harel screamed, “Why aren’t we hearing this on the wireless line?”

  “The wireless line is silent; something in our equipment is screwed up. Just a second.” The sweating lieutenant colonel from the communications corps was working hard. He picked up a telephone, called the tower and said, “What have you received from the plane so far? Why aren’t you saying anything?”

  He listened intently, raised his eyebrows, and then covered the mouthpiece.

  “They aren’t getting anything; communication is down.”

  The room was again tuned in to the cellular phone’s transmission and we heard Deir Yassin say, “Damn it, either they are ignoring me on purpose, or the communications are shot. We have to be careful. Look around you.” And then he repeated, “Lod Control, this is Deir Yassin. Lod Control, this is Deir Yassin.” There was no reply.

  “Do we have an ID on Deir Yassin?” Harel spoke, almost to himself.

  “We sent a computer printout of his voiceprint to the security service in Tel Aviv. They’re working on it,” Amir informed him.

  “Check with them again. I hope they’ve understood by now that this is a top priority.”

  “Four X-ray Lima, Four X-ray Lima, this is Lod calling,” the voice of the air traffic controller came back to me. Why the hell aren’t they answering? “Four X-ray Lima, Four X-ray Lima, this is Lod calling.”

  Shoshi, the busty and omnipotent sergeant, approached Harel, “The Head of LUFF is downstairs with Strauss from the Red Cross. He wants to see you ASAP.”

  “What’s LUFF?” I whispered to Ehrlich, and Harel asked at the same time, “Who’s at LUFF these days?”

  “It’s Micko, the liaison unit to the foreign forces,” Ehrlich was quick to answer, and Harel seemed relieved to hear this name.

  “Don’t they have their own emergency HQ yet?”

  “He does, at police HQ, as per standard operating procedures,” Shoshi confirmed.

  “Are they deployed and ready?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Believing is not enough. Check it.” Harel was brisk. “I will see them in five minutes at the VIP Lounge.” He looked around the room as if seeking something.

  “You!” He pointed at Ehrlich. “And you too!” He pointed at me as if he was about to shoot. “You’re coming with me to see the Waltz man.” I knew some people in that unit, having met them at a Christmas Eve reception that they organized for UN Commanders and the press. I had no idea what Harel had in mind.

  The buzz of my beeper awoke me from this amazing world into a different reality. I was shocked by the thought that I had been mesmerized by this event for over two hours and hadn’t checked up on my crews and the transmission. I looked at the beeper screen. “Come down to the briefing room. Haroush.” Thank God for small favors like Haroush.

  I grabbed Harel in the corner so nobody would hear us.

  “What’s the story with the Red Cross? What are you planning for me?”

  “There are no free rides, honey. You need to decide and you better do it now. There are no freeloaders in my tactical headquarters. This Mendelsohn…”

  “Strauss?”

  “I know. He’s a pain in the ass. Micko, the ULFF is a great guy but with all those assholes around him, he won’t be able to do much. You heard the PM; we have to be careful with the Red Cross. If I can stick you on them, maybe I’ll get some peace and quiet.”

  “And what will I have to do? You’re not recruiting me to the army, are you?”

  “Not unless I have to. But it does mean you will have to maintain secrecy and loyalty, and I’m counting on you for that. You’ll get some good stories, and I may get some significant help from you. Don’t argue with me now. I can do it. It’s an emergency anyway. What’s your problem?”

  “I need to continue running my office.”

  “You will, I’m sure.”

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  I went down to the briefing room. The place was packed full of cameras and filming crews. Reporters were huddling in the corners, trying to transmit status reports into their cell phones. I looked around me. Haroush came and stood by my side, hugged me, kissed me and said, “My little nestling, are you alright? How do you feel?” His eyes were scanning the room the whole time.

  “I’m fine, I’m in full control actually, but the problem is that I can’t use all the stuff I heard upstairs.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” he went on, still scanning the room. “Danny, you know.”

  I looked at him for a second. “Has anything happened?”

  “I am worried about you.”

  “What’s your point?” I started getting upset. “I’m fine, really. So far, Danny has managed to get by in any kind of situation. We have work to do, don’t we?”

  “Sure, no prob.”

  “So? So how are we looking, godammit?”

  Haroush was calm and professional. “I have one crew in the forward cargo terminal. Our guys went in there claiming they were picking up a package. They’ve already placed a camera in the back window of the washroom. The image is not bad; with a st
rong zoom lens, you can see something. There is another crew here, for the press conference in ten minutes.” He tried to give me his fatherly look.

  “What are we reading on the telex and from the faxes?” The year was 1993 and I felt like the chief of staff at tactical headquarters. They should know who the boss was around here.

  Haroush was not too impressed. He took out a notebook from a handbag, opened the spring buckle, handed over a bunch of papers and reported, “There’s one statement from Jibril out of Beirut, generally expressing the group’s happiness for the fact that the peace process is now finished once and for all. There’s a message that the Red Cross in Khan Younes received from Hamas, saying that Israel needs to evacuate Temple Mount and the Cave of the Patriarchs within two hours, or else they’ll blow up the plane. The foreign ministry issued directives to the embassies to raise their security alert levels.”

  “You know who’s running the foreign ministry now?”

  “Your friend, Uzi Bar-Sela. He was lucky enough to have gotten out of this trip.”

  “Anything else?”

  “The usual garbage.” Haroush sighed. “Peace movements, war movements, nationalist extremists—pro and anti—and left-wing extremists—pro and anti.”

  “Has the story come out already on how they managed to board the plane?”

  “No, but there’s a bunch of weird stories making the rounds out here.”

  “Have you tried looking into the air force base? There’s going to be some action there soon.”

  “You mean they’re organizing a rescue force?”

  “Yes,” I said. “They aren’t seriously considering any other options. Try to find out, but don’t mention my name no matter what”.

  “No prob, you little snake.”

  They had managed to convert the VIP Lounge into another military, chaotic, forward post in record time. M-16 rifles were leaning against a snack cart. Two maps, God knows of what, were pinned to the wall nearby. The loudspeakers were playing “There’s a place for us…,” accompanied by the sounds of a sentimental piano. ‘Somehow, someday, somewhere…’ Sergeant Shoshi hovered around the room. Three tables were put together into a makeshift board table. Around the table sat Harel, Ehrlich, two new guys, and most of the others. A lanky civilian with a tall frame and thinning hair was talking excitedly, arms flailing. He must have been Johann Raus, Red Cross representative in Israel. ‘All the lonely people’, the background music played on. ‘Where do they all come from?’