Clancy, Tom – Op Center 04 – Acts Of War

Falah was led into the cave.

The young Israeli knew something about the groups that worked in this part of the world. The Palestinian groups Hamas and Hezbollah tended to set up shop in villages and on farms, where attacks against them would kill civilians. The Lebanese Freedom Front, devoted to the overthrow of Syrian rule in Lebanon, worked in small, mobile pockets. The PKK worked in somewhat larger groups, but they also tended to stay mobile. Straining to look straight ahead as he reached the cave, what Falah saw was not a mobile unit. There were sleeping quarters, electric lights, racks of weapons, and supplies. He also caught a quick glimpse of what they used to call “Satan’s footsteps” in the Sayeret Ha’Druzim. The shallow pits that led from captivity directly to Hell, since no one ever came out of them alive. One thing Falah did not wonder was whether he’d be coming out of this cave alive. His Sayeret Ha’Druzim training didn’t merely emphasize the positive. It demanded it.

Still tied, Falah was led down a flight of stairs to what was clearly the group’s command center. The finished quality of the room surprised him. These people were not expecting to be driven out. He wondered if this were where the Kurds hoped to make the heart of a new nation. Not in the eastern part of Turkey, where their nation had been located centuries before, but in the west. Down through Syria and Lebanon with access to the Mediterranean.

There was a man seated at the desk reading documents. Another man was sitting behind him. He was squatting on a low stool, listening to a radio, and taking notes by hand. The man who had led Falah here saluted. The man at the desk returned his salute, then ignored Falah as he continued studying what looked like radio transcripts. After what seemed like two or three minutes, the man at the desk picked up Falah’s passport. He opened it, studied it for a moment, then put it aside. He looked at the prisoner. A jagged red scar ran from the bridge of his nose to the center of his right cheek. His eyes were deathly pale.

“Isayid Aram Tunas,” said Commander Siriner. “Mr. Aram Tunas.”

“Aywa, akooya,” Falah replied. “Yes, my brother.”

“Am I your brother?” Siriner asked.

“Aywa,” Falah answered. “We are both Kurds. “We are both freedom fighters.”

“Then that is why you came here,” Siriner said. “To fight alongside us?”

“Aywa,” Falah replied. “I heard about the Ataturk Dam. There were rumors that the men behind it had come to a camp in the Bekaa. I thought I might seek them out and join their group.”

“I’m honored.” Siriner picked up Falah’s gun. “Where did you get this?”

“It is mine, sir,” Falah said proudly.

“For how long has it been yours?”

“I bought it on the black market in Semdinli two years ago,” Falah replied. That was partly true. The weapon had been purchased on the black market two years before, though Falah hadn’t been the one who bought it.

Siriner put the gun back down. The radio operator put fresh transcriptions on Siriner’s desk. The commander continued to look at Falah. “We detected someone in the foothills with a radio set,” the commander said. “Did you happen to hear or see anyone?”

“I saw no one, sir.”

“Why were you running?”

“I, sir?” said Falah. “I wasn’t running. I was at rest when your men surrounded me.”

“You were perspiring.”

“Because it was very hot,” Falah said. “I prefer to travel when it’s cool. Stupidly, I did not realize I was so near to my goal.”

Siriner regarded the captive. “So you wish to fight with us, Aram.”

“I do, sir. Very much.”

The commander glanced at the soldier standing beside Falah. “Cut him loose, Abdolah,” he said.

The soldier did as he was told. As soon as his head was free, Falah rolled it around. When his hands were loose, he flexed his fingers. Siriner pointed to Falah’s gun. “Take it,” he said.

“Thank you,” Falah said.

“I have a great deal to do here,” Siriner said. “If you serve under me, you will be required to follow orders without hesitation or question.”

“I understand,” said Falah.

“Tayib,” Siriner said. “Fine. Abdolah, take him to the prisoners.”

“Yes, sir!” the soldier said.

“Two of them are American soldiers, Aram,” the commander said. “One man, one woman. I would like you to shoot them in the back of the head with your pistol. When you are finished, I’ll have instructions as to the disposal of the bodies. Are there any questions?”

“None, sir,” Falah said. He looked at the pistol. Suddenly, he raised it. He aimed at the commander’s head, and fired. The hammer clicked on an empty chamber.

Siriner smiled. Falah felt a gun barrel pressed to the back of his neck.

“We watched you from the American van,” Siriner said. “It has a variety of electronic devices for watching one’s enemies. We saw you run. We knew you were spying on us.”

Falah swore to himself. He’d seen the van there, the one the Americans were anxious to get back. He should have remembered it was operational. Those were the kinds of mistakes which cost lives. Including, it would seem, his own.

“It’s interesting, isn’t it?” Siriner said. “Most spies would have gone so far as to commit the murders. You must be Druze or Bedouin. You have a more sensitive nature.”

Siriner was correct. Israeli operatives who went deep undercover for long periods of time had to do whatever it took to gain access. It was a sad but necessary sacrifice for the greater good. Druze and Bedouin reconnaissance agents and trackers did not work that way.

Siriner smiled as he snatched the .44 from Falah. “Also, I sell these on the black market in Semdinli. Aram Tunas was a good customer of mine. You look nothing like him. You also think nothing like him. I only emptied one chamber so the gun would not seem to weigh less. You should have fired again.”

Falah felt like a fool. The man was correct. He should have fired again.

Siriner looked at him a moment longer. “Would you mind telling me who Veeb is?”

“I’m sorry?”

Siriner reached down. He picked up Falah’s radio, which had been sitting on the floor behind his desk. “Veeb. Whoever you were trying to contact with this.”

Falah had no idea what the man was talking about. But that didn’t matter. If he said that, no one would believe him. So he didn’t bother saying anything.

“No matter,” Siriner said as he called another man into the room. He handed the newcomer the .44. “Take this spy outside and execute him. See that his body is returned to the Israelis. Also, use the van to inform the Americans that the corpses of their people will follow if another rescue is attempted.”

With two guns pointed at the back of his head, Falah was led up the stairs. In the Sayeret Ha’Druzim he’d been trained to take out a gun pointed to his back. You turned clockwise if it were in the right hand, counterclockwise if it were in the left hand. You cocked the same-side elbow behind you, waist high. As you turned, you used your elbow to push the gun hand in the opposite direction. The turn left you facing your attacker with the gun pointing away from you.

The maneuver worked even if your hands were tied. But it only worked with one gun. Siriner obviously knew it, which was why he had two guns trained on the prisoner. As he was led from the cave into the sunlight, Falah knew he had just one option. As soon as they were outside he’d try to “reap” the men. He’d drop to the ground, extend his leg back, and sweep it to the side. There was room for that out here, though Falah knew he probably wouldn’t get both men before one was able to fire.

While he had grown accustomed to living with death, he had never grown accustomed to failure. If he regretted anything, it was that. That and the fact that Sara, his, lovely Kiryat Shmonan bus driver, would never know what had happened to him. Even when the Israelis found his body—and they would; the Israelis will go to almost any length to recover the bodies of soldiers and spies—they wouldn’t say anything about it. They couldn’t admit he’d ever been in the Bekaa. Falah hated the idea that she might think he’d just left the village and her.

The slanting, late-afternoon sun felt warm as Falah was marched into it. They stopped on the dirt road just outside the cave. A guard was stationed a few yards away, outside the van. He was holding a .38 at his side and watched the men dispassionately.

Blessing his God and his parents, Falah was prepared to die as he had lived.

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