“I’ll never pass for a guard,” she said. Mustapha grunted and rubbed more dirt over his skin and clothes. Shoshana hated the smell of the dead man’s uniform. It reeked of stale cigarette smoke, sweat, and urine. It had not been washed in weeks. “What now?” she asked and stood for inspection.
“You go with Kermal here,” Mustapha explained. “He’ll take you to his checkpoint and you walk across the border into Turkey.”
“And you trust him?” Shoshana was incredulous. “I won’t fool anyone in this uniform.”
“He wants the money and it’ll be at night. You’ll get across.”
“Where will you and Meral be?” she asked, concerned about the young girl.
“Near here, waiting for Kermal to come back to get the last half of his money. If anything goes wrong, you come back here. We’ll find you.”
Meral pulled Shoshana aside. “Trust him,” she whispered. “It’s been arranged.”
Shoshana did not like the casual way Mustapha arranged things. “Why don’t I cross the border somewhere in the mountains where it’s safer and away from the guards?”
“The Turks have many patrols on their side of the border,” Mustapha explained. “If they pick you up without an entry stamp on your passport, they’ll turn you back over to the Iraqis.”
“Then how do I get an entry stamp?”
“Simple. The Turkish guards at Kermal’s checkpoint have also been bribed and will stamp your passport. They are expecting you.”
“So everyone has a price or we kill them,” she said, disgusted with it all.
“We have no friends,” Mustapha said, “so we must buy our allies.” He jutted his chin down toward the border. “It’s getting dark and time for you to go.”
Shoshana touched Meral’s cheek and followed Kermal down the mountain.
13
The small truck was waiting for the Eagle when it cleared the runway at Ramon Air Base. “That must be the Follow-Me,” Matt said. Furry humphed an answer and got his camera out, ready to take pictures of the Israeli air base located in the Negev Desert. “Not much to see,” Matt said. Most of the base was underground and the only worthwhile thing they could see was the control tower and the two jets sittingalert at the end of the runway. Both men were surprised at how fast the Follow-Me truck drove, demanding that they taxi fast to keep up as it led the way to the hardened underground concrete shelter where they would be parked.
The ramp was unusually quiet, and when they did see a truck or person, they were moving fast. At one point, the Follow-Me pulled off the side of the taxi path and stopped. Matt did the same and waited, wondering why the delay. Suddenly, four F-16 fighters erupted from the ramps leading to their underground shelters and taxied quickly to the runway. The big blast doors shut immediately behind them. The four jets slowed as they taxied onto the runway but did not stop. They took off in pairs with ten-second spacing between elements. “Did you see that,” Furry said, wonder in his voice. “We’d never taxi that fast or do a formation takeoff without lining up on the runway.” They were moving again.
“Yeah,” Matt replied. “Well, we’re taxiing that fast now. It doesn’t look very safe to me.”
“Depends on the way you look at it,” Furry said. “They don’t spend much time on the ground in the open. Probably figure they’re safer in the air.”
“You’d think they were in a combat zone.” Matt didn’t say more as they reached the ramp descending into the bunker. It was a massive structure with blast doors at both ends that were wide open. The Follow-Me drove quickly through the bunker and disappeared. A crew chief was waiting, holding his hands up and motioning them forward. Matt did as directed and then the crew chief crossed his wrists above his head, the signal to stop. He glanced at the nose wheel and shot Matt a look of disapproval. Matt was six inches off the mark. A crew boarding ladder was hooked over the left side of the cockpit and the two men clambered down, glad to be out of the cockpit after the long flight to Israel.
Men swarmed over the jet, refueling it from an in-bunker system. At the same time, other men were downloading the wing tanks. A disheveled-looking sergeant from Maintenance came up to them, asking if they had any problems and asking to see their maintenance forms. “No problems,” Matt told him and handed over the forms.
“What the hell!” Furry yelled behind them. “They’re uploading missiles.” Matt turned to his jet and was surprised to see loading crews slipping AIM-9 Sidewinders onto the missile rails on the wing pylons. Four AIM-7 Sparrows were on a missile trailer, waiting to be uploaded under the fuselage.
“Hey, Sarge,” Matt yelled at the retreating back of the maintenance sergeant, “what the hell is going on?”
“It’s a combat turn,” a voice behind him said. Matt turned to see a young man his own age standing behind him. The rank on his epaulets announced he was a rav seren, a major. “Dave Harkabi,” he said, extending his right hand. “I’m your escort officer.”
Matt shook his hand, more concerned with what was going on with his jet. “Should they be uploading missiles?” he asked. They were not combatants, at least not that he knew of.
“We practice every chance we get,” Harkabi explained. “They’ll download when they’re finished.” He glanced at his watch. “Won’t be much longer. If they take more than ten minutes, they’ll be out here all day until they get it right.”
“Jesus H. Christ,” Furry said. “A combat turn in less than ten minutes?” He whipped his camera up and took a picture of the men swarming around the F-15. An armed guard stepped up and put his hand in front of Furry’s camera and told him no photographs were allowed. “Oh, oh,” Furry said. “I took some pictures when we were taxiing in.”
“Give me the film,” Harkabi said. “We’ll develop it and return anything that’s not classified. Please don’t take any more photos around the base without permission.” Matt noticed that Harkabi had a definite English accent and decided that Mad Mike Martin would have a field day chewing out any one of his officers who was dressed so casually. Harkabi’s khaki shirt and trousers needed a pressing and his shoes hadn’t seen polish in a long time. Rather sloppy and unspectacular, Matt thought. “Come on,” Harkabi said. “They’re finished.” He led them out to a waiting car. The bunker’s blast doors were cranking closed and Matt caught a last glimpse of his bird, still fully loaded for combat.
“Whatcha think?” Matt asked Furry as they climbed into the car.
“That combat turn was impressive.”
“Can’t say much about their uniforms,” Matt allowed.
“The side with the simplest uniforms wins.” Furry intoned.
“Another one of your ‘rules'?” Matt asked.
“Yep. Also a history lesson.” He stared out the window as Harkabi drove them in and studied the base. It was modern, heavily bunkered, and judging by the ramps, all important buildings were underground. “Take a look around,” Furry said. “You probably won’t see this again.”
“What’s that?” Matt replied, confused.
“A base at war.”
Avi Tamir waited impatiently for his turn to see the prime minister, Yair Ben David. Normally, Tamir would have used the time to dig into one of the scientific journals he subscribed to and never seemed to have time to read. But today was different — Shoshana had called him that morning with the news that she was home. He had itched to leave his lab early and catch the train to Haifa. But Ben David’s secretary had telephoned, telling him that the prime minister wanted to see him that afternoon. Reluctantly, he made the sixty-mile trip to Jerusalem.