The devils shepherd, p.34
The Devil's Shepherd, page 34
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Mack Marcus exhaled in English.
“He was on leave,” said Badash. “But only for four days. A nice little road trip to Eilat. He tried to pass a kibbutz tractor on a long curve, smashed into a gasoline truck.” He paused for a moment and cursed under his breath. “Even the spies in this country drive like fucking fools.”
“Oh my God,” Yudit whispered. “He killed himself. And his family.”
“No.” Badash waved a finger. “It wasn’t a suicide. The truck driver’s shaken but okay, said Buzahglo tried to avoid him, skidded about a hundred meters. He obviously had no idea he was about to be blown.” The Shabak officer moved to a chair and sank into it. “So not only was Krumlov on the level, he also guessed that Bluebeard’s handlers wouldn’t tell him even if they knew their mole was going to be unearthed. That way, they could have his intel right up to the minute he was taken down.” Even the hardened counterintelligence man seemed stunned by the tragic irony of it all. “Krumlov knew how his own people worked, and he was just holding out so he could be here to bask in the glory. And it would have been well deserved.”
They were all speechless, each of them thinking of the Game and its deadly gambits and how quickly God could just snap his fingers and turn their mole hunts and plots and counterplots into laughable dust. But just as quickly their thoughts turned to Eckstein and Baum, still out there in harm’s way and striving for a prize that had just been immolated. Itzik, rooted to the floor and unable to move his arms, shouted over his shoulder.
“Kidon, for God’s sake get me that Hercules pilot!”
But the air force major had already tried, and he rejoined the group and spoke in a pained and remorseful tone.
“I can’t, Itzik,” said the major. “They’ve already gone feet dry.” The Hercules was over the African continent, racing for the rendezvous point, with all of its communications gear shut down. “They’ll be in radio silence until they come out. . .”
21
The Sudan
May 10
THEY HAD TO carry the children up the last ridge before the Wadi of Dinder. It was only 200 meters high, but like the finish line at the end of a long footrace, when you see it you suddenly feel every tortured muscle in your legs and each breath seems as though the air you take is laced with poison. Half of the orphans were already limp with dehydration, and the other half were in shock and immobilized by fear. The adults, who were really no better off, accomplished this final feat in three full shifts, scrambling back down to the Sudanese border hut and piggybacking another load, until Eckstein finally picked up Adi and slung the boy’s legs around his waist. Adi looped his arms around the Israeli’s neck and held on tight while Eckstein pumped out his final reserves, hauling the both of them to the top of the ridge line.
“I am sorry, Etyan,” Adi repeatedly apologized. “I am sorry.” But Eckstein could only nod and grunt as he labored upward, and he just imagined that the little boy was Oren and he knew that he could have climbed Everest with him just so.
Karni, who had dragged the bodies of the three border guards behind the hut, remained below, wearing one of their field jackets and unconsciously fingering a bullet hole in the cloth as he briefly impersonated a Sudanese and watched the road for wayward vehicles. He checked the magazine on a silenced Beretta and slipped it into his pocket, deciding to keep the Sudanese jacket as a souvenir.
When the children and the rest of them had all disappeared over the rise above, he came up with a pocket scope and squinted across the road and along a wide wadi that snaked down from the Ethiopian mountains to the south. Then he nodded to himself and turned and sprinted up the mountain like a goat.
At the top of the ridge, all of the adults, including Manchester and Debay, had crumpled to the cool earth with exhaustion. They lay on their backs on a small slope on the western side, their equipment burdens immobilizing them like inverted turtles. Just below, the children were huddled in a pile beneath a broken acacia tree. A single Mat’kal canteen was passed around, just enough for the grownups to wet their lips, and then the rest of the canteens were given to the children and the water was done.
Eckstein rose shakily to his feet. Dawn was beginning to break over the Dinder, just slivers of pink above the distant purple mountains. Below was a wide bowl of hard-packed sand and prickly brush going gray in the early light, surrounded on all sides by small craggy ridges, like a miniature desert inside a moon crater. Near the far edge an incongruously lush oasis poked up from the barren earth, glistening palms and African bull grass waving in the morning breeze. There might be water there, but he knew that it was deceptively far away and there was no time to get to it. Closer to him, on the eastern side of the bowl and just at the foot of the ridge below, stood a man-made gate of ancient stones, sort of a half-moon wall with an opening in the center, as if this bowl had once been an amphitheater and there stood the ticket takers. But it was likely just an old shepherd’s hut, or maybe a tomb.
“They’re coming.”
Eckstein turned to Karni’s voice. The captain had just crested the rise and was breathing heavily but steadily. He looked at his watch. “There’s a lot of them now. I guess we put the fear of God into them.”
“Or just bloody pissed them off,” Manchester commented.
“What’s the air force ETA?” Baum asked. He was covered with a thin film of dust, and together with his sweat it had formed a strange cap of mud on his bald head. He was trying to stand up and having some trouble as he tried not to show how his thighs had turned to jelly.
“Thirty-seven minutes from now,” said Karni.
“We can hold the fuckers off for half an hour,” Manchester spat, and he got up from the ground and turned to squint back into Ethiopia.
“Maybe,” said Eckstein. “But look.” He pointed off to the northern end of the Sudanese wadi. “Wind’s from the south. The Hercules will pop up over that ridge and drop into the crater. But we’ll have to lay panels for him.”
“Right,” Benni agreed. “Otherwise he’ll take one look at this cereal bowl and choose the better part of valor.”
“Which is?” Eckstein cued his partner like a comic’s straight man.
“Retreat,” said Benni.
The air force Hercules pilots were absurdly brave and could land their hulking C-130s on a goat path, but if there were personnel on the ground they demanded orange touchdown panels at the very least. Such a signal indicated that the landing zone was smooth enough and free of obstructions, if not gunfire.
“But we can’t lay signals yet,” said Eckstein. “Right now, the rebels don’t know we’ve called in a plane, but if one of them spots those fucking panels they’ll bring up everything they have just to take him down.”
Karni looked back down into Ethiopian territory again and clucked his tongue, as if a waiter had again brought him the wrong dish. He swung to two of his Mat’kalniks. “Yakir, Gadi,” he called to them and pointed to two spots on the ridge. “Mizvadot, po v’sham. Suitcases, here and over there.”
The two commandos unslung their heavy backpacks and removed a pair of dark green plastic boxes with molded carry handles. Remote detonators were Velcroed to the satchel charges, and they tore them off and quickly moved to set up the high explosives at Karni’s behest.
Eckstein looked up at the sky. The stars were quickly fading, and although the sun had not yet shown itself, high wisps of morning clouds were already taking on the burnished copper tints of its rays. This is insane, he thought, to try to pull off something like this in broad daylight, where the enemy could see everything you did and your only salvation was a fat, hulking cargo plane as big as a barn.
Something banged off of a nearby rock and sent up a small plume of dust, and then the stutter of an automatic weapon reached up from the Ethiopian side. Karni immediately squatted down and everyone else followed suit.
“Somebody tell those bâtards you cannot shoot with accuracy uphill,” Debay growled.
“You tell them,” said Manchester. “We’ll wait here.”
Eckstein looked over at Krumlov, who was crouching nearby and staring at the Israeli major. Eytan had been avoiding making this final decision, but there was nothing for it now and he had to find a way to live with himself, if he was going to live at all. He felt Benni’s eyes upon him, and when he glanced at his colonel Baum nodded his approval.
“Go, Jan.” He kept his focus on the Czech as he pointed off into the Sudan across the crater. “Run for it. You can make the western hills in half an hour, just drop your pistols there and walk into one of the refugee camps.”
“I will not,” Krumlov said. Another staccato of weapons fire banged off the Ethiopian hills, and more dust spat up on the ridgeline.
“Get the fuck out, Jan!” Eckstein yelled now. “I’m giving you your fucking life, you fool! Now take what you have and go!”
“If you send him away I will go with him too, Eytan.” Dominique had made her way up from the children and was on her hands and knees, wincing as the distant gunfire grew closer.
“Do what you have to, Dominique.” Eckstein looked at her fully, hardening his heart and taking no responsibility for anything of what she felt, for him or for Jan or for Étienne. “You can be saved and taken to Israel or you can stay here in hell, and I can’t do anything about that. Only you can.”
She bit her lip and nodded as she realized that here was a man with much more on his mind.
“You can’t just let him go, Eckstein,” Karni called from his position a bit farther up the ridge.
“Shut up, Karni,” Benni spat. “Eckstein’s mission commander here. When you’re in command I’ll let you know.”
Debay eyed the Mat’kalnik like a wary wolf, watching his fingers and his face.
“I am getting on that plane,” Krumlov said to Eckstein, and he began to stand up, fumbling in his trouser pocket for something. “You’ll have to kill me to stop me.”
Eckstein started to respond, but Benni raised a hand and waved it and was about to say something when Krumlov suddenly pulled one of the Makarovs from his pocket. His hands were shaking, but he moved to cock the weapon, and Karni reacted instantly and yanked his own Beretta from his battle jacket.
Debay could have just opened fire on the Mat’kalnik, but something stopped him from his own ingrained instincts, and instead he leapt across five meters of earth and rammed his head into Krumlov’s stomach just as Karni fired. Dominique screamed and the two men crashed to the ground as Benni stood up and roared at the Mat’kalnik.
“Are you out of your mind, boy?!”
Karni kept his smoking pistol trained on the forms of Debay and Krumlov, where they lay embraced in a cloud of dust.
“No. But are you, Colonel? The man draws a weapon and you expect me to just spit at him?”
Debay rolled off of Krumlov. The Czech was gritting his teeth and holding his thigh with both hands, and a stream of blood ran out from between his fingers and onto the ground.
“You’re all a bunch of fucking wankers,” Manchester spat, and he crawled up to the ridgeline, set himself in, and began to snipe back at the rebels on the other side. The rest was punctuated by his careful trigger squeezes and the concussive bangs of his Sterling.
Eckstein was on his feet, his fists balled, his knuckles white. He looked down at Krumlov, watching as Dominique quickly tied off his blood flow with a torn kaffiyeh and Debay gripped the Czech’s hand as he writhed. The bullet had obviously struck a bone, and both Krumlov’s nurse and bodyguard cursed the Israeli commando roundly in French. Eytan looked over at Karni, who now exhibited some remorse and had lowered his Beretta.
“Thank you very much, Karni,” Eckstein hissed. The commando officer frowned at him. “Now you have to take him with you.”
Benni stared at Eckstein, realizing that his comment had carried a strange syntax: Now you will have to take him with you . . . “Yes,” said Baum to the captain. “We cannot leave a wounded man in the field, no matter who he is or what orders you have.”
Karni snorted. It was sacred IDF lore, the unbroken commandment, and certainly no one of Mat’kal would be the first to sully it.
“And you can carry him, Karni,” Eckstein spat, adding insult to injury. “Right now. Get moving.”
“I will carry the colonel,” said Debay as he stood up, nearly beating his chest.
“You’ll do exactly as I fucking say!” Eckstein shouted at the Belgian, and then he spun on Karni and his Mat’kalniks and everyone stared at him. “This isn’t the fucking Parliament.” He stalked over to Debay’s fallen MAT-49 and tossed the submachine gun to the mercenary. “Get up on that ridgeline and help Manchester.” Debay hesitated, looking down at Krumlov’s ashen face and his lips nearly bloody with biting them. “Do it, goddamnit!” Eckstein shouted again and Debay turned and made for the ridge line.
Eckstein looked at Karni and jabbed a finger in Krumlov’s direction. “Pick him up and take him down to those rocks.” He swept his arm downhill toward the small gateway of ancient stones, and his voice was still loud and harsh and it grew louder as he had to shout over the sound of Debay’s gun now joining Manchester’s. “And take your men and get the children and Dominique down there, too. Then set out the panels.” He looked at his watch. “You’ve got exactly twelve minutes.”
Karni looked at Eckstein, then at Baum.
“Well, what the fuck are you waiting for!” Benni bellowed. “You heard the man.”
Karni shrugged, walked to Eckstein, and handed him the pair of satchel charge detonators. Then he did something he had not done to another officer since he was a conscript at Sanure. He saluted.
“You’ve got balls, Eckstein,” the commando said, and he meant it. “Big ones.”
He bent to Krumlov and the Czech yelled as Karni heaved him to his feet, bent under his belly, and hauled him up over his shoulders. He started off down the hill and his three men followed along and gathered up the children. The orphans were able to stand now, and inasmuch as Karni could encourage them in their native tongue they found a bit of strength, and most of them managed to descend without being carried.
Adi broke from the little group and hesitated, turning and looking at Eckstein, who waved him down the hill and managed a brief smile of reassurance. Dominique took the little boy’s hand and began to follow after the commandos, but then she suddenly stopped.
She left Adi and ran back to Eckstein, and he made to push her back but she only took his face in both her hands and her tears overflowed as she looked at him. An RPG banged from the Ethiopian side of the ridgeline, but the rocket was not made for ascending trajectories and it just thundered as it exploded somewhere on a rock, and Eckstein could not hear her as she whispered, “Merci, mon brave.” And then she was gone.
Baum moved close to Eckstein and jabbed a finger at him.
“I don’t know what you’re planning . . .”
“Taksheev li. Listen to me, Benni.” Eckstein reached out for Baum’s wrist and gripped it as he spoke rapidly in Hebrew. “That plane has maybe three hundred meters to make a short-field landing. Am I right?”
Benni looked off at the crater, squinting and measuring with his eyes. “So what? That’s what it’s designed for.”
“Listen to me.” Eckstein reached for the cloth of Benni’s soiled shirt now, gripping it and pulling and locking his partner’s eyes to his own. “The pilot can’t just rev up after that and make a straight takeoff. He’ll have to taxi back and turn around and set up in a very small space. If we’re all on the plane, who’s going to hold those bastards off?”
Benni began to shake his head.
“Who, Benni? Someone has to stay here and suppress them while the plane turns around, otherwise it just won’t work. You know that, you can see it.”
“Not you.”
“Yes, me.”
“Manchester and Debay,” Benni sputtered and pointed up at the ridge. “They’ll do it.”
“It’s our mission, Benni. Ours. Right up to the end. You can’t ask for volunteers. You want it written in the AMAN bible that we didn’t have the balls to pull off our own mission, so we sacrificed a couple of brave Christians?”
“No.” Baum began to wag his head hard.
“I’m right. You know I’m right and we don’t have time.”
“Okay,” Benni finally relented. “But it’s me. I’ll stay.”
“No, you won’t.”
“We’ll flip a coin for it.”
Eckstein almost smiled. “I’m afraid I’m flat broke. And I’m running this op and I’m not going to argue with you so don’t even try to pull rank on me because you know damned well I couldn’t give a shit anymore.” He pointed downhill to the small gateway of fallen stones. “I’ll set up right down there. Good cover.”
Benni looked at the crumbled gateway, then back at Eckstein. “You can sprint for the plane just before takeoff,” he said hopefully. “I’ll hold it.”
“Maybe,” said Eckstein, but he knew there would not be time. “But if I can’t make it, I’ll just run my ass off to the far side of the crater. I’ll do what I told Krumlov to do, walk into some refugee camp as Anthony Hearthstone, lost and befuddled photographer.”
“No.” Benni shook his head again, but Eckstein looked at his watch and now gripped his partner’s shirt two-fisted.
“For God’s sake, Benni, we’ve got seven minutes left for this! Now please, go down there and make sure those children get on the plane and to hell with everything else!”
“But, Oren . . .” Benni whispered.
And Eckstein felt the tears well in his own eyes and he tried very hard not to show that his heart was crumbling quickly. “He would be proud of me,” he whispered. “He would do the same, if I’ve taught him anything at all.”
Eckstein reached into his rear pants pocket, and he came up with his tattered copy of A Farewell to Arms. He handed the codebook to Benni, who just stared at it through glassy eyes. “Give it to him,” said Eckstein. “It’s not much, but it was a good book for both of us.”
