so I come by my earthy trade quite honestly.” The ironic grin was back. “But I deal in other areas as well.”
Turning away from Australopithicus, Derringer asked, “Should we talk here or go somewhere else?”
“I suggest the cafeteria. It’s on the lower level and we can find a quiet corner there.”
The American nodded. “Very well.” He glanced at his Rolex. “Ah, how long do you want to talk?”
The Israeli shrugged. “As long as it takes, Adm… er, Mike. If you have another appointment… or need to meet somebody else…”
“Oh, no. I’m alone.”
Baram, who knew about a good many things besides agriculture, had already made Derringer’s close escort. The athletic young man known as Breezy was fairly discreet, but spent too much time watching his principal. However, the hefty black woman was the more accomplished at tradecraft. Martha Whitney had logged time with the agency in some interesting venues, having long since mastered the ability to fade into a crowd.
“I too am alone,” Baram responded. “So we’re both footloose and free.” He stepped back, allowing the American to precede him toward the lower level. Baram’s chauffeur maintained visual contact but mingled with a group of schoolchildren. Breezy missed the mark; Whitney did not.
Braced with coffee and tea, the two professionals selected the farthest two-seat table from the serving line. Derringer noted that the Israeli sat facing the entrance, back to the wall.
“Mike, I am here to make you an offer. More exactly, I can make SSI an offer.”
Derringer sipped his coffee. “I guess it doesn’t involve farming.”
“No, it does not involve agriculture.”
Derringer nodded. “Go on. Please.”
The diplomat allowed some girls from a Catholic school to pass, herded by two nuns. When the giggling crowd had moved on, he resumed his pitch.
“You follow the news, Admir… ah, Mike. You know that Israel’s 2006 incursion into Lebanon stirred up a hornet’s nest. In fact, the heavy resistance we met from Hezbollah was described as a defeat in some quarters.”
“Including inside Israel, I hear.”
Baram closed his eyes briefly, nodded, and seemed to choke down something in his mouth, and refocused his concentration on the American. “We cannot afford to allow Hezbollah and its Iranian sponsors to gain more strength and influence in southern Lebanon. The outcome could only bring greater conflict, possibly disaster. But neither can we provide open support to the Druze communities that oppose those factions. It’s just not a political possibility, no matter the prospects on the ground.”
“So how does this involve SSI?”
Baram leaned closer. “We want to hire you both as an operational asset and as a cutout — a cover, if you will.”
The American sat back, trying to formulate a response. “SSI in Lebanon? Why us?”
“Well, Mike, at risk of seeming flippant, I’ll say that apparently SSI has no other business at present.” He allowed that intelligence to sink in. Then he smiled. “I believe the timing is fortunate for you. Isn’t it?”
Derringer was careful to keep a level gaze with his new colleague. “Well, as somebody once said, the devil is in the details. Tell me more.”
Mordecai Baram told him.
“It’s your call, Avri.”
The pudgy, balding man in his late fifties wore regulation green fatigues devoid of rank or emblems. His relationship with the thirtyish officer in working clothes and Israeli military boots was part professional, part personal. The younger man was the son of the elder man’s sister.
Captain Avrim Edrim slumped against a cedar and mussed his hair. Ordinarily thick and curly, it was matted with sweat and dust. “We’re short three men now. One dead, two wounded.”
Colonel Yakov Livni studied his nephew. The senior officer wanted to reach out and touch the youngster’s arm, but people were watching from a respectful distance. “That’s why it’s your decision, boy. We can’t get any replacements for two or three days. They’ll be good men, well qualified, but of course they won’t be fully integrated into your team.”
Edrim raised his chin and locked eyes with Livni. “The briefing stressed that we need to keep up the pressure here. We don’t have enough teams to cover the area adequately, even with our Druze contacts. At least not yet.”
“My information is that nothing has changed.”
Edrim could not keep the irony from his voice. “No, nothing’s changed. The information was wrong, Yakov. There was no sign of ‘the package’ that we were sent to find. I’m not convinced it even exists.”
Livni ignored the gibe. “You know that any such ‘package’ is too important to ignore. I cannot reveal sources, of course, but there have been persistent reports that Hezbollah is working to deploy tactical weapons.”
“Well then…” Edrim’s mind was set. “If Mossad believes it’s worth the risk to keep understrength teams in the field, I have to accept that assessment.”
The older man felt a twinge of guilt. “Avri, you know I asked Mossad’s special operations division for some help. Twice, in fact.”
“Yes, I know. They’re more involved in assassination and kidnapping and sabotage than…”
“Well, yes. But with the current political climate in Tel Aviv, our friends in the
Edrim squinted at his uncle in a parody of the colonel’s nearsightedness. Yakov Livni was too vain to wear glasses for anything but reading. “So you’re telling me that headquarters has tried shuffling the deck before?”
A blink and a smirk. “Youngster, I am not telling you anything.”
“Aah… I see.” The familiar grin was back on the captain’s tanned face.
“Look here, enough bantering. Hezbollah is trying hard to establish a larger operating area here and in Nabatiyeh Governate. We don’t think they expect to control both regions simultaneously — at least not yet. But they keep probing, keep pushing to gain a secure base of operations. The indications are for a bigger effort than before. What form it might take, we can only guess.” Livni wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. “In any case, we cannot let them consolidate more than they already have.”
Edrim leaned forward, away from the tree. Standing upright, he replied, “Well, Uncle, that’s clear. You said it’s my choice, and I choose to continue. I have some really good boys; we’ll be all right.”
Mentally, Livni berated himself.
But there was no turning back: Edrim would not permit it of himself. “All right, then. Where do we go next?”
Livni pulled a topographical map from his satchel and spread it so they both could see the area. A pudgy finger stabbed the grid north of Bint Jubayl. “Right here.”
Frank Leopole lost his patented leatherneck cool. “Work with the Israelis again? Admiral, you gotta be shitting me!”
Milliseconds later the erstwhile O-5 realized his gaffe. His face reddened beneath his tan and he murmured, “Ah, I’m sorry, sir. That kinda slipped out. But…”
The three grades between the two retired officers had long since melted in the warmth of their professional relationship. Derringer continued, his aplomb largely intact.
“Gentlemen — and ladies — you should understand something. We’re not here to debate the issue. The board has already approved it, and much as I’d rather work for somebody else, we really have no choice. I hate to sound like a bean counter, but with our accounts receivable problems, and accounts payable only accumulating, we have to take this contract.”
Sandra Carmichael, an Army lieutenant colonel in a previous existence, approached the situation from an operational perspective. Foreign ops were, after all, within her realm. “Sir, I have two questions. One: I agree with
