Angels Don't Die (Madeleine Toche Series Book 2) (9 page)

             
“Not yet.  But it makes sense to me.  I know he came to Israel immediately after the war, but that's the last I've heard of him.  People like us don't write letters or call to say hello,” Madeleine said.

             
“I guess not,” Karen agreed, biting into a fig.

             
“You said there was more,” Jack said.

             
“I watched two men, not professionals, but not untrained, watch the same window I was watching, one with binoculars, and the other with a sniper rifle.”

             
“Did it seem like they were going to carry out their mission,” John asked, moving his body towards Madeleine, as the topic of action had been breached.

             
“No, they were watching and probably training for an opportunity.  It could have been the Syrians, it could have been the Egyptians, but I don't think so,” Madeleine said.

             
“Why?” Karen asked.  “Aren't those the two countries most likely to attack Israel?”

             
“Those countries would have sent their best.  No, I believe those men were PLO.  They are fanatical, but draw from the ranks of the common man in the guise of patriotism.  Clearly they must have some training but not of the caliber one would expect of an assassination attempt on a high ranking Mossad leader.”

             
“So, we've seen the enemy,” John said flatly.

             
“Yes, John, we have,” Madeleine said.

             
“What do we do next, Madeleine,” John continued.

             
“I have to get inside of one of the PLO control centers and try to learn where they're holding Tracy.”

             
“MI6 gave us the location of one, but we'll need a little more information before we can figure out how to get you inside,” Jack said.

             
“Well, Karen, you told me you wanted to help.  Today you become a spy.  We'll go back to the market and get a good look at the comings and goings around the PLO control center,” Madeleine said.

             
“A little more tourist sight-seeing,” Karen said brightening to the idea.

“Yes, and bring your camera,” Madeleine said.

             
“I'll get a dark room set up in the bedroom,” Jack said.

             
“What do you want me to do?” John said. 

             
“Find us two vehicles capable of travel over rough terrain, something with a lighter engine.  I'm more worried about distance than speed.  Plus, the heavier ones may have more power, but are harder to get unstuck,” Madeleine answered.

             
“I'll get right on it.  I'll use cash and buy used ones.  I've spent plenty of time around motor pools.  I'll make sure they're dependable.”

             
“Get several jerry cans for extra fuel and water,” Madeleine said.

             
“I've got c-rations for five for a month as well,” John said.

             
“Get two extra cans for me as well,” Madeleine said.

             
“What do you need them for?” John asked.

             
“Call it an insurance policy.  Out in the desert, you can’t have enough water.”

             
“Do you think we’ll find ourselves out in the desert?” John said.

             
“I hope not,” Madeleine answered.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

             
Dressed once again in their tourist attire, Madeleine and Karen wandered around the neighborhood suspected of harboring the PLO center.  They had a specific address, but no guarantee that the occupants hadn’t moved on to another location.

The street was alive with activity.  It wasn’t an affluent area, but bustled with commerce.    The buildings were older, but well maintained.  There was little in the way of construction to indicate there would be any major changes to the character of the area in the near future.  The neighborhood was content with what it was, a marriage of businesses and homes.  Many of the older buildings were made of thick walls of white, irregular Jerusalem stone, giving them a strong, timeless appearance. People sat outside chatting over cups of coffee while children played in the dusty yards. The residences were decorated with flowers and plants that thrived in the heat and sunshine, and were watered by the people who took pride in their home’s appearance.  The houses and businesses were located close to one another, with many of the business owners living in apartments over their shops.  The street was clean and worn down by many generations of feet and vehicles. There were people bustling about carrying out their various tasks or shopping, stopping to speak to friends or to haggle with a shopkeeper who’d go
tten
their attention. The residents took little interest in foreigners, unless they were tourists willing to part with their money.  Karen and Madeleine took photos of each other standing near the address Madeleine had been given.

When they’d taken a couple of rolls of film, Madeleine and Karen selected a small café a discrete distance from the home they were watching. They sat under a brightly colored awning advertising a regional beer and waited for the waiter to arrive. 

             
“What may I get you to drink?” A dark young man dressed in a traditional white waiter’s jacket asked. 

             
“What's good?” Karen said playing her part well.

             
“I recommend one of our splendid Israeli wines,” the waiter said with a smile.

             
Madeleine gently bit her tongue, as she thought, local wine?  She tolerated the new wines from California, and could drink Barolo from Italy and a Spanish La Rioja, but the French made wine.

             
“White would be fine,” Madeleine said. “And may we have a plate of olives to start?”

             
“But of course, Madame,” the waiter said noting Madeleine's accent.

             
“Karen, we'll be a while at this, so we'll take our time.  I want to see who goes in and out of that house.”

             
“Should I take pictures?” Karen asked.

             
“No, we have what we need.  Now we have to watch how their daily routine is carried out.”

             
Over the next few hours in the shade of an awning Madeleine and Karen watched young men come and go, deliveries were made and a few women arrived and then left after a few hours. Towards the afternoon, a woman dressed in a head scarf and caftan carried a basket laden with market goods into the home.

             
“She's there to prepare the evening meal,” Madeleine said lowering her voice.

             
“How do you plan to get in?” Karen said leaning forward and whispering under the guise of reaching for a piece of fruit.

             
“It may have to be a more frontal approach.  I'm not sure yet.  But we should get back and check in.”  They settled their tab and walked back out from under the awning into the piercing heat of the midafternoon.

             
“Wow, talk about sun,” Karen said.

             
“I'm a bit more accustomed to it than you Karen, but I feel it too.  My mother is from Algeria originally.  I spent many vacations with my
Teta
and
Seedo
.  Grandparents have the luxury of choosing a pet name and those were theirs.   My grandparents had a modest home on the sea in Tidgit.   The sun was much like it is here.  I learned to speak Arabic as a child, my mother insisted on it and my father loved her, so he just smiled and tried to pick up a few words as well.”

             
“It feels like it must always be summer here,” Karen said pulling on her sunglasses and adjusting her hat.

             
“America is my home now, but this reminds me of my childhood in many ways.  Were it not for the political tension here, it would seem a magical place.

             
“So is the surface of the sun,” Karen said, making them both laugh.

             
Later that evening Madeleine gave the group an update.

             
“I've been watching Mossad headquarters for two nights now,” Madeleine said as they sat in the living room under the large rotating fan. 

             
“I can see you're getting anxious, Madeleine,” Jack said.

             
“Madeleine, Karen and I trust you completely, but we're starting to get worried that time is running out for Tracy,” John said.

             
“I've got nothing to add from MI6 in London,” Jack informed them.

             
“I agree, I need to make a move. I know what I know and that will have to do for now. I need to make contact with Hartmann.  I think if I go to the Mossad headquarters during the day, I can figure out how to get word to him.  I have to see him in person. I can’t just ask a security guard to pass him a note. I’m sure all their phones are monitored and the mail screened.  I'll give it one more day, and then I have to go to the PLO house and ask a few questions,” Madeleine said.

             
There was silence at the implication of what Madeleine said, as they looked at each other with solemn expressions.  Jack and John understood war and the need for information and how it was sometimes extracted.  If there was information to be found there, Madeline would get it.

             
The following day, dressed in a black scarf and kaftan, Madeleine slowly walked past the Mossad building.  Her intention was to determine if she could blend in with the locals and watch for signs of Hartmann.

  A short time after her arrival, Madeleine saw three black Mercedes pull into the compound’s parking area tucked behind a gate in the courtyard.  The cars slowed and then proceeded into an underground parking garage through a door adjacent to the glass doors of the lobby.  Madeleine scanned the vicinity looking to see if there were any other people watching the vehicles.

             
As she walked by the Mossad building for the second time, Madeleine saw at least six men that were loitering on the street.  They did little to disguise the fact that they were watching the motorcade drive into the building grounds.  Had one or two of them taken interest in the vehicles, she would have dismissed their interest, but all of them watched as if they were examining a target.  A trained agent would never be so obvious, she thought to herself.  They are going to attempt an assault, and soon, but not today.  There didn’t seem to be enough men or weapons to successfully mount any kind of attack.  They must have seen how the cars rode low to the ground, advertising the fact that they were armored. Anyone with a little training could see that. 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

             
Berthold Hartmann sat in a large conference room, deep beneath the Knesset building.  He had been summoned to the meeting on short notice by the Prime Minister. There were a dozen people sitting around a highly polished conference table, each examining copies of various classified reports that would be collected and destroyed at the end of the meeting.  Pitchers of water and coffee sat on a sideboard, but as of yet, were untouched.

             
“Tensions are high. Even the diplomats are starting to see that war is inevitable.” Sitting at the head of the table, a silver haired woman peered over the top of her reading glasses at the cabinet ministers seated to her left and right.

             
“Prime Minister Meir, the war is coming.  We should send our troops out and attack.  Show the Egyptians and Syrians that they cannot intimidate us!”  The man seated immediately to her left responded.

             
“They would be fools to attack.  We would easily win, just as we did in the Six Day War,” Moshe Dayan, the Minister of Defense, interrupted from further down the table.

             
Golda Meir, known to her people and the world as the ‘Iron Lady’ calmly listened to the men.  She looked like any other sedate grandmother, content to spoil her grandchildren and enjoy the twilight of her life.  She was anything but.  Born in the Ukraine, her family immigrated to the United States where she excelled in school and at an early age became involved in Zionist politics, married and relocated to Palestine.  All of her life had been devoted to the development and protection of the Jewish state.  In 1946 she had returned to the United States to raise the money necessary to fund the new Israeli treasury.  Others had tried to raise the money, but she was successful.  The funding had been vital for the new country. Without a viable currency and money to run the state, Israel lacked the credibility to take its place among the established nations of the world.