Tracks (43 page)

Elena knew Arabic and she
owned a Greek passport.  Those were the two reasons that tilted Sam’s
decision to allow her to pitch in against his better judgment.  No one
else he trusted had those credentials.  She would be above suspicion and
could come and go as she pleased.  She had neither training nor
experience, but she pleaded with him to let her help and he gave in, dreading
the thought of putting her in harm’s way. 

As she walked, a flock of
children ran by, chasing a kite heading for the Mediterranean waters. 
Various peddlers were collecting their goods from the stony pathway along the
pier.  A few of them feebly tried to lure her to look at what was left
from a long day of trade but she did not stop.

Then she recalled what Sam had
told her and casually stopped at a stall selling lucky charms, checking her
flanks in the process.  Seeing no one suspiciously taking interest in her,
she gave the peddler whatever coins she had in her pocket for a small wooden
cross and continued along the pier.

The sun was just settling
beyond the precise Mediterranean horizon, casting long shadows on the pier,
when she felt someone pulling at her dress.  She looked behind her and saw
a small
boy,
his arm outstretched begging for
money.  She would not have normally given him a second look but for the
small, folded piece of white paper that appeared in his outstretched
hand.  The boy was actually winking at her as if signaling for her to take
whatever he held in his hand.

 She dug out a few more
coins and placed them in the boy’s hand, taking the note. The boy scooted and
she continued walking tightly, making a fist around the note.  Two minutes
later she stopped to read the note.  It gave the name of a coffee shop she
could see just ahead.

The Golden Pot, a trendy
brasserie by Lebanese standards, served European style salads, soups and
baguettes, espresso and cappuccino along with black Arabic coffee, humus and
kebab.  

It was quite busy when Elena
walked in, filled with tourists and Lebanese trendsetters, joggers,
businessmen, women, and children in cribs.  For a moment there Elena
thought she was in Kolonaki, a rich trendy district in Athens.

She looked around and saw no
one behaving out of the ordinary.  Then a waiter came over and asked her
to follow, leading her to a table that was hidden from view of the entrance
where a man in a suit sat, smiling. 

Elena did not know the man who
got up and bowed slightly, as was customary Arab protocol, as the waiter pulled
the chair back for her to sit.  She decided to keep the scarf around her
face until she felt comfortable with the man.  He pulled out a box of
cigarettes and offered her one.  When she declined he lit one for himself,
took a long drag and proceeded to smile at her.

“Welcome to my neighborhood,”
he said in Arabic.

She nodded but said
nothing.  Sam had instructed her to keep quiet until she heard the agreed
code.

“Harley sends his regards,”
the man added in English.  That was it.  She relaxed.

“Thank you,” she said and
unwound the scarf from around her face. 

“My name is Aziz,” the man
switched back to Arabic.  “What should I call you?”

“I am Elena,” Elena said, not
thinking twice about giving her real name.

“Can I order us some salads?”
Aziz asked politely.

“That will be fine,” Elena
said.  She was feeling jetlagged and quite hungry after the long haul from
New York via Athens.  She had stopped at Athens for only a day before
continuing to Beirut. There she took out some money from her bank account and
checked a safe deposit box she had rented before leaving for New York. 
Then she went to the central post office to retrieve whatever mail had been
kept for her in her absence.  Most of it was trash but she did find her
divorce papers had come through.  She was now formally single.

It took almost an hour before
Aziz got to the point.  They were served an array of salads dipped in
olive oil to munch on, while wiping away the humus with pita bread from a
ceramic bowl.  The main dish included kebab on a skewer with fried
potatoes and spicy sauces. 

Aziz resumed talking when the
coffee and baklava arrived, and he began to chain smoke. 

“We’ve set up a place for you to
stay not far from here,” he said, lowering his voice.  “You will be looked
after by my people and you must never walk around by yourself.  I have
made some inquiries based on the information I got from Kessler.”

“Who are you people?” 
Elena blurted unable to contain herself.  She knew all about Kessler
wondering how far his contacts went.

Aziz smiled a forgiving
smile.  “In our business it is not appropriate to ask such questions, but
let’s just say we report to the same people.”

Elena stuffed a piece of
baklava in her mouth and gulped her coffee, a little embarrassed.

“We’ve identified an
organization,” Aziz continued, “that we believe is linked to the Sons of Jihad
but we need to further corroborate our suspicions before we can move to the
next step.”

“And what will be the next
step?” Elena carefully queried.

“That depends,” Aziz said,
flashing a thin smile.  “But it would involve physically tracking them
around Beirut to see if they can lead us to where we want to get.”

“I was told you’ve already
identified their whereabouts,” Elena put in.

“That depends whose
whereabouts you mean,” Aziz replied.  “There are endless terrorist groups
in this town and we need to surgically rummage through the garbage to find a
solid link to where we need to get.  We have identified an activity in the
center of the city that may be linked to the group we are looking for but it is
not as solid as I’d like it to be.”

“How much more time will it
take?” Elena asked.

“Not sure,” Aziz said, “but we
are pretty close.  It may take a week, maybe more.”

Elena nodded in acceptance.
Her instructions were to make contact and call in the troops when the situation
was ripe.  She, of course, would exclusively rely on Kessler’s contacts,
but the team thought they needed confirmation from one of their own before they
made a move.  Elena volunteered, arguing she was the least identified with
the Center’s activities, she had a Greek passport, and she spoke Arabic. 
Sam did not like it and neither did Jack, but there was no denying Elena, who,
since being set free from her husband’s embrace, was reverting back to her old
wild ways.

Aziz paid for the meal then
sat back for a last smoke. 

“I am going to leave soon,” he
informed Elena.  “You will wait a few minutes then walk in the direction
you came from.  A little girl will grab your hand on the way.  Walk
with her to your hotel as if you are family.  Check out and ask the
concierge for a taxi.  The girl will lead you to the apartment we set up
for you.  Rest up and stay there until you hear from me.”

Elena nodded. 

“If anyone comes knocking, do
not open the door unless they give you the agreed code, the same one I used in
English.”

“Welcome to no man’s land,” he
said, smiling as he got up to leave.  “I’ll be in touch.”

Then he disappeared.

The apartment was well
furnished, the refrigerator stuffed with food and drink.  The little girl,
Tamra, remained with her for a few minutes then slipped out.  Elena
showered and fell on the bed, exhausted. 

It was dark when she
awoke.  She looked at her watch. It was after midnight.  Jetlag had
kicked in.  She tossed and turned for a while.  Unable to sleep
again, she got up to make herself a cup of tea.  She sipped it quietly
looking out the window at the muted town.

She was thinking of little
Sammy, wondering how close he was to her, if he was there at all.  The
information, coming from a dying murderer, was hazy at best.  Sammy could
be anywhere.

An hour later, someone knocked
at her door.  It was Aziz with two men by his side.  The men remained
outside the door while Aziz walked in.  He stood by the window, his back
to her and stared out for a brief minute before he turned looking somewhat
tense.

“Would you like to join me?”
he asked.

Elena was caught off guard.

“And go where?”

“To look for the boy,” Aziz
said, sounding exasperated.

“Why, sure,” Elena blurted.
“That’s what I am here for.”

“Then, let’s go,” Aziz
snorted.  “Wear black, we’ll wait outside.”

They sped away in a rundown
Toyota Land Cruiser, Aziz driving, the two men in the back, AK-47s at the
ready.  Beirut was a maze of bombed buildings, dead-end streets and
roadblocks, inhabited by faceless people with guns.  At night it was a
ghost town with intermittent gunfire blazing aimlessly in any direction. 
Streaks of bullets could be seen painting the dark sky.

It felt dangerous.  It
was dangerous.  Aziz did not offer any explanations until they reached the
first roadblock.  “Look down and don’t say a word,” he instructed. 
“If they ask anything, we are going to the hospital.”

It was a UN roadblock. 
The hostile, Scandinavian sounding soldier, walked up to their car flashing a
torch at Aziz who blurted they were in a hurry to get to the hospital. 
Elena did not dare raise her head to look at the soldier but heard the
exchange. 

They were finally let
through.  Aziz kicked the car into gear and drove carefully between the
barricades until they were back on the damaged street maneuvering over bumps
and craters.  They drove for an hour, passing two more roadblocks before
Aziz turned the car abruptly into a small shelter where a second car stood
waiting.

Elena remained in the car as
the men filed out to meet the passengers of the second car. They stood between
the two cars speaking in hushed voices until Aziz opened the door on her side.

“Around the corner,” he
started with no preamble, “there’s an apartment building we believe serves as
one of the Shiite command posts.  It is not a major one but we believe it
may retain some leads to Sons of Jihad who we are certain are run by Shiites.”

Elena nodded, a little out of
breath.

“We’re going to seize an
apartment on the second floor,” Aziz continued, “as it may have some evidence
we can use.”

Elena kept nodding wondering
where she was supposed to fit in.

“You come with me. 
Wherever I go, you go, wherever I move, you move.  Keep behind me at all
times.  When we have secured the apartment, we’ll call you in.”  With
that, Aziz gave her a wrapped package to take with her and moved, swift as a
cat, to follow his men.

Elena tried to keep up. 
Two men were left with the cars in case a quick getaway was needed while the
other four moved toward the building.

The entrance was dark but
unguarded.  The men quickly moved to secure the small lobby inside.
Leaving one man on guard, they flew up the stairs to the second floor making
not a sound as they slithered along the dark corridor and planted themselves at
the sides of the intended door.  On cue, they shot the lock with a
silencer and kicked open the door, jumping in without hesitation.

When Elena was called in, she
saw several figures standing huddled at gun point, in one corner of a very
small room.  One of the men was rummaging in an adjacent room while Aziz
was looking inside a large closet.  He had a small flashlight and was
exploring the closet interior until he let out a triumphant groan, discovering
a hidden door that led to another small room.  Aziz called Elena to follow
and when she walked through the closet she saw a small office equipped with a
computer and several large boxes stacked one on top of the other.

Aziz came to her. 

“The package,” he ordered as
Elena handed it to him.  He ripped it open, handing her a stack of floppy
discs.

“I need you to quickly copy
whatever is on that computer,” he said, shining his light on it.

Apparently they were not
computer literate, Elena realized, as she pressed the power button and waited
for the screen to come to life.

The only files she found were
in My Documents and she downloaded all of them on to six of the ten floppies. 
She double-checked and found some hidden files which filled two more of the
discs.

Aziz was collecting any paper
documents he could find, stuffing them into a nylon bag. When he was done, he looked
in the wooden crates taking out two guns which he threw over his shoulder and a
few magazines which he stuffed in his pockets.  He then handed out four
more guns to his colleagues through the closet door, together with boxes of
bullets and a stack of magazines. 

The entire operation took no
more than ten minutes.  Aziz and Elena slipped out of the office closet to
the main room where the figures were now cuffed and bound, tapes on their
mouths.  Elena, having gotten accustomed to the dark, could see two
adults, a man with a large mustache, half naked, and a woman in a black gown,
tied to one another on a bed, while three kids, two boys and a girl, puffy-eyed
and shaking, were tied together on the floor.