Counterfire

28

The three SEALs sat in the conference room in the bomb squad’s domain watching a five-minute TV tape about the floating terrorist bombs and how the public could stay safe around them. As the tape ended, two cops came into the room. Both wore the standard khaki uniforms and both were sergeants.

One of them took the lead. “I’m Sergeant Elkan, lead man in the bomb detail. The captain says we’re supposed to tell you all we know about the booby-trap floater bombs we’ve been finding on our beaches.” He emptied out a paper sack on the table. Spewed out were several highly colored plastic tubes, each about a foot long. Some were straight, some in the form of a U, some with a twist and curl on one end.

“These are the devils. As the captain probably told you, we’re fighting a losing battle. We send a squad out on the beach every morning looking for them. Pick up the ones we find with metal grabbers like the street cleaners use. They go in our bomb box and get detonated out of town.

“The outer wrapping is waterproof. Inside there is a tiny quality of dynamite, but enough to blow off a man’s hand. We’re not sure why they detonate, but the secret is something in the plastic that reacts to the heat of the skin. Two fingers on the things for ten seconds and you go looking for your fingers.”

Murdock picked up one of the bombs and nodded. “I’d guess these have been neutralized.” He introduced himself, Lam, and Jaybird. “Sergeant Elkan, we’re not here to steal your thunder or to take your jobs. We were invited to take a look at the problem and see if we can help eliminate it. I understand you have a time profile from your computer concerning the day and tide position of each of the bomb incidents during the past two months. I’d like a copy of it if I could so you can advise us about the time line.”

Sergeant Elkan nodded, sorted through some papers on his desk, and laid out two of them. “These are charts for the past two months up to last night,” he said. “The green shade is the incoming tide. Then you have the change, and the outgoing tide is shown in red. Each of the bombing incidents is shown with an X marking the time when each bomb was found.”

Murdock and Lam studied the charts. Murdock looked up. “So it looks like your bomb finds have been in the morning when high tide peaks between six and eight A.M. Is that right?”

The two Israelis looked at the charts. “Yes, sir. The last four bombings have been in conjunction with high tide at those hours.”

“High tide tomorrow comes at 0823,” Murdock said.

“We have a routine patrol that covers every high tide, twice a day, no matter what hour it comes. It’s helped reduce the wounded and dead dramatically.”

“Any patrols offshore?” Lam asked.

“No, not our jurisdiction. The Coast Watch takes care of that area.”

“Could I have a copy of these printouts?” Murdock asked.

Sergeant Elkan handed him the folder. “Yes, sir. These are some more printouts and data we’ve established on the type and numbers of releases of the floaters. We hope that you can help. Right now we’re taking help from anywhere that we can find it.”

Murdock picked up one of the defanged bombs. This one was in bright reds, greens, and yellows in an eye-catching design.

“Can I borrow one of these, Sergeant Elkan?”

“Absolutely, Commander. Is there anything else we can do for you?”

“I think that covers it right now. Oh, at a later date we might call on you to bring out a bomb box. I’m sure you have one to put picked-up explosives in and to transport them.”

“We have one, and it’s available seven-twenty-four.”

“Thank you, Sergeant Elkan. I hope we need it.” They shook hands and the SEALs left.

“A little touchy, weren’t they?” Lam asked.

“Right, but they are just protecting their turf,” Jaybird said. “Like some expert is called in to do a job that they couldn’t get done.”

“If we have any big catch, we’ll call them in,” Murdock said. “Remember, we’re working back up the distribution line, so we have to be careful not to warn the next step up.”

They found their car and driver from the base waiting for them. Murdock looked down at his cammies. “We stand out like three-dollar bills in these suits. If we’re going to do any undercover work we need civilian clothes.”

“They have an Air Force store out at the base that has clothes,” Jaybird said.

“Let’s go see what we can find,” Murdock said.

On the ride back to the airfield, Lam began to frown. “Hey, whatever happened to Don Stroh? We haven’t seen him for days.”

“Maybe he got a real job to do,” Jaybird gibed.

Murdock grinned. Now that was more like the old Jaybird. “He must have got tangled up in red tape somewhere. This joint operation has a lot of tangles.”

At the store they found some jeans and T-shirts. Murdock said they could wear the same fishing shirts they had used the night before. The fishing fleet had long since sailed for the day. Murdock called their boat captain.

Ravid Sartan answered his phone on the second ring. “Captain, this is Murdock. I hope you had a good night’s sleep.”

“Always. I sleep like a rock. What’s happening?”

“We need to do some prowling. Zekharyah is out with his ship, but I thought we could talk to some of the people he deals with, suppliers, buyers who take his fish, the usual.”

“How could we do that and not get them suspicious that something is going on?”

“Can’t do it. We can stroll around and watch things, but talking to them isn’t a good idea. Not yet. Especially if they are involved in the bomb dropping.” The line was quiet for a moment. “You have any regular civilian clothes?”

“We just bought some. We look pretty good.”

“Fine. Meet me at that fish chowder cafe a block over from the wharf. I have something I want to show you.”

They met at the eatery and walked down several blocks. The street became shabbier, the people less moneyed, the buildings old and run-down. It was the closest thing Tel Aviv had to a business slum.

Two blocks farther down they saw a fight. Two small Asian men pounded on an older man, who tried to fight back but didn’t know how. Then one of the smaller men swung a knife, and the older man grabbed his throat and staggered sideways. Before he hit the ground the thugs had stolen his wallet and watch and run down the alley, vanishing into a ramshackle building.

“Don’t worry about it,” Captain Sartan said. “There was no way we could have helped him. It would only have put a spotlight on us for a dozen pair of eyes.” He motioned the SEALs forward. They went past the dead man and continued on.

“Another block and we come to a hundred-yard alley that’s known as The Devil’s Little Acre. This is the absolute bottom for killers, robbers, con men, and those who think they can control these nefarious citizens into a group for more efficient crime.

“The police don’t come here often. When they do it’s in force, and they figure on losing at least two men to hidden snipers.”

Sartan gave the SEALs each a floppy hat that covered their military haircuts and hid their faces.

“Nobody wants to be seen or remembered down here. Near this end of the alley is a friend of mine of long standing. He had some domestic troubles, a dead wife and her missing cash estate, and he wound up here feeling safe from everyone. Twice a month we get together to talk about the good old days, when there were fish out in the Med and a man could make an honest living. I have a pass at this end of the alley, but no farther. We call him Dr. Seuss because he draws funny animals. He has from ten to fifteen men working for him now, and he’s expanding. Soon he’ll move down deeper into the alley for more protection.”

A man came out of the shadows of the alley. He carried an Uzi that was trained on the four of them.

He jabbered in Hebrew, and Captain Sartan spoke back to him giving his name. The man, dressed in multiple layers of old shirts and a sweater or two, nodded slowly and waved them forward with the deadly Uzi muzzle.

“What if a new man didn’t know your name?” Murdock asked.

“Then the guard would use his cell phone to check.”

They went past two doors and up to the third one, which had two men standing in front of it.

Murdock checked the alley — not more than fifteen feet wide, not made for cars, none present, the buildings sagging and faded and some leaning out over the street. There was a general odor of decay, rot, and dirt.

They stopped at the front of the building with the two guards. Captain Sartan stepped forward and said a few words to the guards, who both had silenced Uzis and wore clean clothes but no uniforms. One opened a door and motioned them inside.

Once past the door, Murdock was swept up in an Oriental fantasy. The air smelled of flowers, and he saw a small waterfall to his right with tropical flowers blooming in and around it. The room was large, with a vaulted ceiling, draperies on the walls, and a thick carpet under their feet.

Captain Sartan smiled as he saw the looks of surprise on the SEAL faces. Two young women in harem costumes of frilly net pantaloons and sequined tops met them and waved them forward past a woman playing a small harp and another playing a plaintive Russian balalaika. Now the walls held oil paintings that could have been old-master originals. At the end of the room a door stood open a foot, with a huge man standing guard. He was dressed like a Moorish eunuch, complete with bare chest, red sash, pantaloons, boots, and a deadly-looking two-foot curved sword. His arms were crossed. When he saw Captain Sartan, he bowed and stepped aside. The door swung open and inside, the room was starkly futuristic, with metal walls, a thin carpet on the floor, ranks of computer terminals and video screens around one wall. On the other side sat a man behind a free-form desk of highly polished cherry wood.

He stood, grinned, and held out both arms. Sartan stepped forward for the hug and kisses on both cheeks.

Murdock could still see the wind and sun deeply ingrained in the old fisherman’s face. He was broad and thick, with no neck at all, with a bull head hacked from a chunk of granite that had stringy gray hair combed over the top and down one side.

“Sartan, you old bastard. Where have you been? Heard you tried to sell your boat. Does that relic still run?”

“Better than that yacht of yours, Marnin, you son of a cockroach’s mother. How have you been? You’re losing weight. Too many harem girls at the same time. I keep telling you that no man can handle more than two at a time and keep them both happy.”

“How is my first love Jemina? I always told her she was too good for you. You kept her pregnant and barefoot and now she’s going to college.”

“What can a man do?” Sartan turned and waved at the SEALs. “My good friend, these are special men. They are called the masters of the sea, the avenging gods that come out of the deep; they are three of the famous United States Navy SEALs.”

Marnin’s eyes widened and then snapped. “Yes, yes. I saw a demonstration once in the harbor. Impressive. Men’s men. Can I entertain you with men’s women?”

“Not this time, you old coot. We’re here on business.”

“Fishing. Good. I can now afford to buy you a trawler and you can fish off Ethiopia just like the swells in the high-rent district do. I can have it here next week, you outfit it locally, and I’ll pick up the tab and you can be off fishing in a month or so.”

“You’re not buying me a damned trawler. I told you that before. We have more important problems.” Captain Sartan reminded him about the floating booby traps. “We want to find out who makes them, who imports them, who supplies them, who buys them, and who dumps them in the surf.”

“Take about ten minutes. Old friend, you don’t want much.” He flicked an unseen spot off the shoulder of his thousand-dollar suit, and then nodded. “These hooligan schelmps. Their bombs killed one of my men. They have a complicated operation.”

“You know about it?”

“Just enough to stay away. They kill people for sport.”

“Arabs?”

“What other schelmps would do this to women and children out playing in the water and on the sand?” His face worked, and a tear slid out of one eye that he slashed at with one hand.

“Can you give us a name, a starting place?”

“More like an ending. I know for sure that it is that dog of a fishing boat captain Gabi Zekharyah who does the dropping. He would sell his own mother into a whorehouse for a hundred shekels.”

“You’re positive?”

“A thousand percent. But if you hit him first, the rest of the operation will fall back and set up somewhere else.”

“A starting place?”

“International Food and Novelties. We have citizens from a hundred and twelve different countries in Israel. Many of them yearn for foods and desserts and familiar items from their homelands. This outfit imports the stuff from all over the world.”

“Including China and North Korea?”

“Yes. A good Jewish business, run by an honest and fair man. But he has a traitor in his midst and he doesn’t know it. We’re not sure who it is. I didn’t look beyond there. The bombings slacked off and I had other vital concerns.”

“The inside man is an Arab?”

“As far as we know. He sets up the buys in China. When they arrive with a special notice, he sets them aside for his specific customer and takes payment, and enters the cash into the company books so nothing is lost and the company even makes a profit on the sale. I lost one man trying to get farther. He had been watching the firm for a week, and noted certain non-employees coming and going from the back door. He phoned me one night about one o’clock and said he would have good news for me in the morning. We found his body floating in the harbor the next afternoon.”

A voice sounded from one of the computers. Marnin stood at once, went to it, and sat down and typed in a few words. He came back and smiled. “Business,” he said. “When one of my target stocks drops to a certain price during trading, I put in a buy order on-line. Beats the hell out of a stock broker.”

He looked at the SEALs. “I know you boys are good, but be damn careful around that International Food place.”

He stood. “Now, excuse my bad manners. I have guests. How about something to drink, to eat? Anything? What can I bring you?”

“Actually, we should be getting to work, some backgrounding on this International Food firm,” Murdock said. “We definitely do not want to wind up floating in the bay.”

“I like this boy,” Marnin said. He pointed at someone across the room, and a moment later a man rolled a small cart across the room. On top was a jeweler’s black velvet cloth with four square jewelry boxes setting on it.

He handed one to each of the men. “Nothing for you, but something for that special woman at home. With my compliments. If there is any enforcing kind of work you need done along the lines you’ve been talking about, please come and see me.” He shook each man’s hand and led them toward the door.

“Marnin, you old fish scaler,” Captain Sartan said. “You take care of yourself.”

The man who controlled half the crime in Tel Aviv smiled. “Now you can be sure of that.”

Outside the front door, one of the guards walked them the fifty feet to the mouth of the alley and the more civilized street. Then he returned to his post.

“Now there is the kind of friend to have,” Murdock said. “Can we trust what he said about the foreign food importer?”

“We can trust him with our lives,” Sartan said.

Lam lifted his brows. “So if what he says is true, we will be trusting him with our lives. Let’s get started.”