The Marsh Angel by Hagai Dagan (ebooks online reader .TXT) 📗

kill her. What could he have done? I don’t blame him. It’s completely plausible that after another session with them, he’ll betray us again. We have to take that into consideration.

I have a feeling about that girl, Tamir returned to the matter of al-Darija, but it’s just an intuition.

Where would we be without intuition, Yaki uttered, slowly chewing a mouthful of tabbouleh salad.

The story sounds strange. Arrived from Cyprus, already had airborne training, streamlined into the organization’s most elite unit… It sounds… too good. Like someone planned it.

I hoped you hadn’t noticed. I thought all you guys knew about were antennas and communications.

So, what do you plan to do about this?

What can I do? I’m just an operator. All I can do is report what he said to my supervisors. What they’ll do with the information, who they’ll pass it on to, what the top brass will decide among themselves… That’s way above my pay grade. I’m not that girl’s operator. I’m that poor son of a bitch, ‘Ali the Yellow’s operator. He wiped the hummus from his plate with increasingly aggressive, sharp motions.

I see. Anyway, I’d like to know everything there is to know about her.

Is this something personal for you? It sounds that way…

What? No, of course not.

Okay then. I was worried there for a minute. Personal business is strictly off limits in our line of work. Anyway, I’ll try to pass you any information I get, whether through accepted channels or through not-so-accept channels. You earned it. If a report on her favorite color of underwear comes in, you’ll be the first to know about it.

And probably the last, Tamir said.

I don’t think so. Everyone’s gonna want to know everything there is to know about her now.

I’m just thinking to myself, Tamir muttered into his pita— laden with eggplant salad and tahini, and exuding pleasant charred and lemon-zesty aromas— that with all due respect to Jibril’s organization, and to the need to prevent terrorist attacks and all, they’re not that important…

Not that important?

You know, if someone thinks it’s very important to slip an agent into Lebanon, why would they choose that organization? It’s a small, negligible organization, not exactly a strategic enemy or an existential threat.

Yaki opened his mouth to say something, but clamed up. The owner of the restaurant placed a plate of succulent kebabs on their table, emitting an intoxicating and familiar aroma of grilled lamb. He asked if everything was to their liking, and whether they wanted anything else. Yaki thanked him with a smile.

You understand what I’m saying? Tamir continued. This can’t be the whole story.

Yaki looked at him with a penetrating gaze. Tamir thought to himself that those eyes have probably seen a thing or two. During his training course in Bahad 15, stories, rumors, and legends had circulated about Unit 504. The same eyes which were surveying him now quite possibly had done the same to mukhtars with conflicting loyalties, drug dealers required to spy in return for safe passage, priests intimidated into hiding ammunition and radio equipment in their churches, and prostitutes forced to give a free night to a regional Amal commander so that he could be photographed and blackmailed.

Yes, Yaki finally said, I believe that’s not the whole story.

You know who else came from Cyprus?

No.

Aphrodite.

The goddess?

Yes, she was born from the foam of the waves in Cyprus.

I see you have spare time for hobbies…

Tamir sat in silence. His thoughts scattered. The tumult of the sea swelled in his mind. Foam and fog condensed in the dark. He thought he saw something in the distance, a faded figure, among the waves, within the gloom.

h. Neta the Intelligence Analyst

At the end of that week, Tamir headed out to Efroni Base, a small collection of buildings located in the towering heights of the Adamit range overlooking south-west Lebanon, housing a spotters-unit, an artillery-corps unit, and a small infantry force. Tucked away behind the unremarkable buildings was a yellow-gray structure with an array of antennas clustered together haphazardly on its roof. The head of Department 195 asked Tamir to fill in for one of the two intelligence analysts stationed there. There was one intelligence analyst and one IAO stationed at Efroni, and the IAO had fallen ill. The department head thought it would be good for Tamir to get to know other bases related to the department before transferring to headquarters, anyway.

From the outside, the place struck Tamir as being in a state of disarray, an impression which was significantly reinforced once he entered the small structure. Inside, there was no trace of military discipline and regimentation: most soldiers walked around in civilian clothes, or some kind of military-civilian clothing hybrid. He noticed an abundance of slippers, flip-flops, sweatpants, and beanies in a wide array of colors. The most common articles of clothing, especially among the girls, were hoodies. That came as no surprise to Tamir— not only were hoodies comfortable, they were particularly effective in combating the perpetual frost of aggressive air-conditioning. A warning letter from the master sergeant of the base hung on one of the walls, demanding that military dress regulations be followed, threatening that anyone who would be caught violating said regulations would be severely punished. No one seemed to take the warning seriously, though; someone had painted a pair of luscious red lips blowing a kiss next to the master sergeant’s signature, and added an appropriate biblical quote in curly pink letters: All that the Lord hath spoken will we do, and obey.

Are you Tamir? A curly-haired girl wearing a purple t-shirt, military coat, and cerulean slippers approached him and asked. I’m Neta. I’m the intelligence analyst.

Tamir nodded, a cautious smile on his face.

I went over the materials of the attack you had recently. Awesome! Pretty cool operation, right? Front/Jibril, who’d have thought! I thought they weren’t even into carrying out attacks. We get nothing here other than Hezbollah. No one really bothers with the Palestinians any longer.

Well, there you go, Tamir replied, an improbable comeback.

It’s just