“Perhaps he trusts us as much as we trust them. Which isn’t much at all,” said Levine.
“I can see Quds here as a factor to protect the facility since it bears its own uniqueness and would no doubt fall under foreign inquiry should its true purpose be discovered. But al-Sherrod’s presence disturbs me greatly,” he added. “He sees everything, which I’m sure is why Ahmadinejad placed him here to begin with. So be careful, Umar. Don’t let his smiles draw you into a false sense of security.”
Sakharov was taking this all in but said nothing. After seeing the equipment, nothing else seemed to matter. In fact, he appeared to have a passive, almost dreamy appearance about him.
“When he told us of the hidden treasure,” he told Umar, “he was also telling us that Quds will be everywhere.”
Levine picked up the same notion — that al-Sherrod was surreptitiously telling them that as much as he was the eyes of Ahmadinejad; the Quds force would be the eyes of al-Sherrod.
They would be everywhere.
Levine then closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, causing the muscles to work. Doing recon throughout the facility is going to be difficult to achieve, especially under a constant and watchful eye. To get a message out to his sources, to proffer them the correct coordinates, was going to be an accomplishment.
He opened his eyes. Tomorrow, he thought, he would survey his surroundings and mine it for information before breaching the Comm Center and setting forth a series of communications that would likely cost him his life.
There were just too many eyes, he considered, too many obstacles to overcome. But since the safety of Israel was paramount, then his life was purely insignificant. This was something every agent was fully imbibed to believe: That the life of Israel as a whole is worth more than the cost of the individual. Should the individual give up his life for the whole, then he shall become heralded to greatness.
Still, Aryeh Levine found little consolation in this.
Suddenly al-Ghazi clapped him on the back, stirring him from thought. “Rest, Umar. Tomorrow we begin to seek the glory of our task, yes?”
The question was obviously rhetorical, so Levine didn’t answer.
Instead his mind wandered, trying to find a viable solution enabling him to contact his sources and enlighten them of the horrible truth within.
As fatigued as Umar al-Sarmad was, he could not sleep. The room was in actuality a prefabricated capsule fitted into a recess that was bored into the stone wall. Although it gave enough head clearance, it was still cramped and quite spartan. The bunk bed was riveted to the left side and a small desk to the right. Embedded into the walls were rows of fluorescent lighting. At least in Levine’s mindset, it was nothing more than a glorified holding cell.
As he lay there with one arm crooked behind his head, he had to figure a way to get at the control panel and send a message.
But like any idealist, he knew there was no practical approach to the scenario since there would be guards and personnel manning or protecting the consoles, the situation of making outside contact impossible to achieve. But the word “impossible,” at least for Levine, didn’t mean that something could not be done. It simply measured the degree of difficulty, which in this case, was at a very high degree.
Still, he believed there was a solution for everything. And over the next few days he would seek the measure to accomplish the means after he digested everything he needed to know about the facility. He would watch, he would learn, and he would inform the proper authorities to take action in a series of military sorties.
With his mind constantly working to focus on his game plan, he reached out and turned off the light, the room completely swallowed in darkness.
Lying with sleep hours away if it was to come at all, Aryeh Levine, now Umar al-Sarmad of the Islamic Revolutionary Front, a covert operator for Mossad, prayed not to Allah but to Yahweh, for a resolution where casualties could be kept to a minimum.
Idealistically thinking, he prayed that His answer would be “yes.” Realistically, however, he knew His answer would most likely be “no,” since realism always seemed to triumph over idealism.
Nevertheless, Aryeh Levine continued to pray.
On the following morning after Levine awoke from minimal sleep, he learned of al-Ghazi’s departure during the night.
When commandeering cells independently, work was never done.
Levine gathered himself and dressed accordingly, which also meant donning the black turban of war, and headed for the mess where he sat alone at a table under the watchful eyes of Quds soldiers who often tossed derisive, yet out of earshot, remarks in Levine’s direction, the comments drawing laughter from other Quds officers.
But Levine ignored them, thinking how funny it would be if he coordinated a military strike against the bunker ultimately swiping away those cynical smirks right off their proud faces.
A preamble of a smile came to his own lips as he toyed with his food briefly on his plate with his fork, before bringing a morsel to his mouth.
When he completed his meal he placed the plate and utensils at the counter and left the hall. Voices in Farsi called after him, more derisive remarks that went completely ignored.
Walking the facility he made mental notes and filed them away. In his observations he saw Sakharov wasting no time as he busied himself in the lab, the old man moving with more of a bounce to his gait. With him were two lab techs dressed in lab coats — one manning the helm of a keyboard that managed a high-definition wall screen, the other jotting notes on a Plexiglas clipboard as he tarried around Sakharov making notes on everything the Russian did.
Machines came to life, emitting energies Levine could never begin to understand. And then he wondered if even the reinforced windows separating him from the lab were enough to contain any measureable damages, should the so-called failsafe neglect to perform as required. After all, Sakharov was manipulating atoms.
Wherever he went Levine was not alone. Keeping several paces behind him were two Quds soldiers with their sidearms holstered. So Levine meandered, absorbing everything, the two soldiers always behind, not too close but not too far, either. When it came time to contact his sources, he would have to take them out in order to achieve the means. He would do it quickly, quietly, and efficiently. This he was sure of.
On the second-tier level overlooking the lab, also fully encased in bomb-proof glass, he observed a room in subdued darkness; the surrounding walls lit up with pinprick beads of light and display monitors.
The Comm Center.
He saw technicians speaking into their lip mikes as the accompanying software translated words in Farsi onto the screen. Other monitors depicted areas outside the bunker, such as the machine gun nests and the helipad, and of mountainous lanes and winding paths. Making an approach to the facility would be all but impossible without being seen.
He then turned. The soldiers were still there, making it quite clear that there was nothing covert about their actions and that Levine would be under their constant scrutiny.
“Taking in the sights, I see.” Al-Sherrod exited from the Comm Center, his yellow teeth as visible as a Cheshire grin in the quasi-darkness. “I thought you’d be with the good professor in the lab. After all, are you not his personal technician?”
“When Dr. Sakharov makes a request for me, then I shall answer.”
“I see.”
The diminutive man stood there for a long moment surveying Levine’s eyes. And Levine wondered if the man had the insight to see the true intentions that lie beneath his façade.