Thunderstrike in Syria

Chapter Fifteen

I had been wrong about Hawk. He had not remained in Tel Aviv. He had returned to the United States that day after I had been smuggled into Syria. Nine days after the three Israelis and I had escaped into Jordan by helicopter, I was in the hidden complex of rooms within the Amalgamated Press and Wire Services building on Dupont Circle in Washington, D. C., sitting in Hawk's private office, giving my personal report.

"The SLA is finished," I concluded my report. "The splinter groups in various Mid-East cities will try to form another central organization, but they'll not succeed. There'll be some shoot-outs, but that's all it will amount to."

I leaned back in the deep armchair and crossed my legs, my eyes wandering to Hawk's collection of miniature porcelain eagles in a glass case on one side of the room.

"Yes, I agree, Carter." He leaned forward and picked up the half-smoked cigar from the ashtray on his desk and studied it for a moment. "They're still dangers. You know what they are." He looked sternly at me, his shaggy eyebrows forming a big V. "The people involved in the LNG operation might try to pull it off to get even with us for killing Karameh. Why didn't you try to capture him?"

"Sir," I said stiffly, "at the time I was having some difficulty just staying alive."

"I guess it was rough." Hawk's voice softened somewhat and his attitude became more friendly. "But you got out in one piece. That's all that really matters."

I said, "I assume that AXE has set up the necessary machinery to inspect all incoming supertankers from Libya before they're allowed to enter any American port — and more that you can't tell me about?"

Hawk moved his lips back over his teeth in his version of a smile.

"I'll tell you this, Carter. The possibility of any exploding gas cloud is now zero," he growled. "Do you have any more to add?"

"No sir. The operation was a total success," I said. "The Syrian Liberation Army has been totally neutralized."

Stupid me! I waited for a Well done, Carter. It didn't come.

"I have work to do, Carter," Hawk said gruffly.

I took that as my cue to go, stood up and walked to his desk.

"We'll be in touch," he said. Then, puffing out a cloud of poison gas, he looked down at the papers on his desk. He pressed a button on his desk and three doors swung open silently. I walked into the supply closet and the doors again closed.

Ten minutes later, walking down the hallway, I thought once more of Leah Weizmann, with whom I had spent my last night in Tel Aviv before flying back to the U. S. She had driven me to Lod Airport, but hadn't waited at the gate to watch me board the plane. She was too practical for any kind of sentimental goodbye. Shalom was all she had said.

Hawk? He'd always be around.

Smiling to myself, I left the building and walked out into the sunshine…