Motherland Page 4

  Connor’s heart sank. He was outgunned. He’s right. I really have no choice, Connor thought to himself. He made a split-second decision and put his rifle to the desert floor beside him, stretched out, and put his hands above his head. The IDF will be here soon. Maybe Natasha was able to secure the house, but that won’t last long. I’m sure these idiots have equipment to get in the house, given enough time. But if I let them take me, then maybe they will leave her alone. Otherwise, if they are cornered, they will kill both of us. “Alright! Alright! I’ve put my weapon down! Leave her alone!” Connor yelled back.

  “As you wish!” the terrorist said as his two remaining soldiers quickly ran to Connor, tied his wrists behind his back, grabbed his weapon, and pulled him to his feet. The three terrorists then ran to the entrance to the tunnel, pushing Connor along ahead of them. They left their dead comrade behind. He couldn’t talk now anyway. The IDF sirens wailed in the distance, alerting the town to the threat. They arrived two minutes later but it was too late for Connor. Natasha was left inside the house to greet them.

  The tunnel was large enough to stand up inside although just wide enough for one man’s body. Connor was pushed forward with the muzzle of the gun. The terrorists were yelling Allahu Akbar, Allah is greater and rejoicing, now that they knew their mission was successful and they were safe. They anticipated, forty minutes later, emerging from the tunnel into a safe house in Gaza with their prize intact.

  Chapter Four

  Gaza

  Connor felt himself being prodded down the tunnel, hands tied behind his back. A bag had been placed over his head, and he was having trouble breathing. They were moving so fast, he occasionally hit his head on some hard surface on the ceiling of the passageway. It hurt. He wondered if he was bleeding. Blood trickling into his eyes confirmed that fact. This seemed to go on forever. The ropes around his wrists cut into the skin, and he was frequently pushed up against the jagged rock walls of the tunnel, causing further shallow wounds. Finally, he felt the stifling air in the tunnel freshen, and he was brought up through some type of entrance. They walked for about fifty yards and then he was forced into a vehicle. The car abruptly started moving and must have drove for about ten minutes. He could hear the loud voices of many Arabs around him inside, screaming unintelligibly.

  They ended up in a market or public gathering. Connor could feel the energy of the throng of people. Then he was hauled out of the vehicle and into some type of structure and forced into a chair. His hands were tied again behind his back to the piece of furniture. It was dark. “If you fall over, you die, painfully,” one of the terrorists said sternly. Then Connor heard him leave the room and everything went quiet. He was left alone.

  Connor sat this way for a long time. He had no idea how long. His wrists hurt and his arms ached and his head pounded. The blood had dried on his face and around his eyes. The bleeding has stopped. At least Natasha is okay I think. Wrong time to take a walk in the desert I guess. He chuckled out aloud. This is not good.

  Connor fought to draw on his internal strength and control his fear. He was alone for hours, hours and hours it seemed. The darkness and the heat started to get to him. After a long time, he drifted in and out of consciousness over what must have been the length of a day. He had long since stopped being able to feel his arms or hands. The blood flow was severely restricted. He was thirsty. And he waited, and waited, and waited.

  At some point, he felt as if someone was in the room with him, but he could not see in the blackness. Sounds of a door quietly opening and closing drifted through his mind. The hood restricted his breathing, and he sweated whatever fluids he had left in him through the pores in his head, soaking the fabric that kept out the light. He passed out.

  He heard the sound again, the sound of a door opening, but he could not tell if it was real. How long have I been here? How long before something happens? I’m so thirsty.

  His training from years before had already kicked in. As an Air Force pilot, Connor was required to take Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape training, or SERE, before flight school. It was a grueling three weeks in the wilderness and then multiple days in a mock prisoner-of-war camp, so, he knew somewhat what to expect. He had been interrogated before but this was the real thing. He knew they were trying to soften him up to make him easier to break. But what did they want? Information on Israel? On Natasha? On his connections with the Mossad? I’m not in a good situation. I know too much about too many things. This is not going to end well, he thought. He knew everyone breaks eventually.

  There was the sound again. He could almost hear someone breathing beside him. I must be imagining things. He drifted off into an uncomfortable sleep. Or, at least he thought he had; however, he was jerked back awake as he felt himself falling sideways. I can’t do this forever. Soon I’m gonna need some water badly. He screamed for help.

  The small chair was hard and uncomfortable. It was also hard to keep straight up. He almost fell over several times. Connor didn’t know it, but he had been sitting in the room for forty-eight hours with no real sleep. He also knew what sleep deprivation did to a body, and it didn’t take long. He tried to stay alert to what was happening around him. But it was hard. He was slowly losing control.

  Suddenly, he heard someone speak, someone very close to him. He thought he was dreaming at first but then he realized he wasn’t. “You want to know who I am, don’t you?” the voice said. Connor recognized the voice had a Farsi accent.

  Connor didn’t say anything. He tried to stay calm. I wish I could warn Natasha. They know where we are.

  “You’re not going to talk to me? Don’t worry. If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead already. And don’t worry about your pretty little wife. We’re not after her. Not now anyway. We got what we wanted. We wanted you.”

  Connor decided to speak. He tried to talk but his mouth was too dry. “Why?” he whispered.

  The man saw his mouth moving through the black cloth but could not understand him. “I’m sure you don’t know who I am, but I know who you are. We’ve been following and watching you for some time now. Your exploits in Brazil last year were quite impressive. Don’t you think?”

  Connor shook his head in the affirmative.

  “Don’t worry, that’s not what you’re here for. It was just business, I know. Killing a few assassins doesn’t get me worked up. If I didn’t respect you, you might not be alive right now, so let’s say that’s a good thing, yeah?” Connor tried to speak but no words came out.

  “My name is Ahmad. That’s all you need to know. Don’t talk yet. You’re not ready. We want to cook you a little more in here. You like the heat, yes? I’ll be back in a while. Then we can talk, when you’re good and ready.” The man’s voice became more evil. “And you will be ready, I assure you.” Then the man left the room.

  More hours passed. Connor gave up any hope of being alert. He dreamed. Then the blackness came. It was a welcome relief. How long he was passed out he didn’t know. But eventually, the peace ended.

  The hood was ripped off his head. Connor almost fainted from shock at the change. Then he gulped the new supply of air. For a moment he felt pleasure. Then the bright spotlights were turned on, aimed directly at his face. The light poured into his eyes like a million pieces of glass, stabbing him with pain. He screamed.

  He seemed to sit like this for more hours, although it was only about thirty minutes. “What do you want?” he asked the lights. No one spoke for a while. Then he heard an answer.

  “A new matter, rather urgent, has come to our attention. We want you to think back, Mr. Murray, way back. To a time when you were alone, flying up in Alaska. Do you remember this time?”

  Connor thought. “Yes,” he answered after some time, straining his parched throat to talk.

  “Do you remember a certain mission in the mountains? Where you found a wrecked aircraft from the World War II?”

  Connor was confused. What did this Iranian care about the crashed P-40 he found emerging f
rom the glacier decades before? He remembered the document he was forced to sign for his commander, the one that said the entire mission was highly classified. Connor remained silent. He noticed his arm hurt, a lot. The ropes must be cutting into my skin, he thought to himself. Still, he said nothing to the terrorist.

  “So you are not going to talk to me? Again, don’t worry. We are not going to beat you. We have more sophisticated methods at our disposal these days. Let me explain if I might. You see, we want information about that crash. We know something was found there. We have hacked into your Rescue Coordination Center database, which was not so hard to do by the way, and we have discovered that a satchel was removed from the aircraft fuselage. We simply want to know what became of it and what the contents were. That is not so hard, is it? You see, we need the information. Last year, I received orders to just watch you and your pretty wife while you toiled with your little farm in Sderot. Now those orders have been amended. Now I don’t care whether you live or die. What I care about, and what my superiors care about, is finding that satchel and the associated information. Do I make myself clear?”

  Connor still said nothing as he suffered from the thirst and pain.

  “Do you want some water?”

  Connor shook his head yes.

  “Aaah, I’m sure you are quite thirsty.” Ahmad walked over to where Connor was sitting and lifted a bottle of water to his lips. The liquid stung his cracked skin and dribbled down his face. A relief washed over his body as the fluid of life entered his veins. The pain in his arm became more acute, and some feeling returned.

  “So, once again. What can you tell me about the satchel?”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about,” answered Connor with newfound vigor.

  “I know that is a lie. But like I said, I will not trouble you further. However, I do have something to tell you. You see, we know you remember this incident. We also know that there is no way you could know where the satchel is now or what was in it. We’ve talked to others you see. That fat RCC officer for one, he was willing to tell us a great deal. As much as he knew I think. It was sad that he had to have the accident. Car crashes can be so…dirty…of an affair, don’t you think? But, we have an offer for you. As they say in your American gangster movies, an offer you can’t refuse. We want you to find out where this satchel was placed and what was in it. You can do that for us, can’t you?”

  “And what if I don’t?”

  “I thought you might ask about that. Do you still feel the pain in your arm?”

  “Yes. How did you know?” The bright lights still seared into the back of Connor’s eyes. It was a different, intense, kind of pain he had not experienced before, but his arm hurt as well.

  “I know because while you were passed out, we gave you some drugs to make you sleep for a while. Then we inserted a device under the skin into your upper arm, near your chest. That is the pain you feel.”

  “What kind of device?” Connor asked, now worried.

  “A GPS tracker for one. You see, we will be tracking your progress in the quest we have given you. We also implanted a small bit of poison. It is not much but enough to kill you within thirty seconds. That is, IF we activate the capsule, which we can do anytime with this device.” He held up a small transmitter so Connor could see. “Yes, Mr. Murray, we are going to release you soon, so that you can get more information for us. But, if you do not do as we ask, we will activate this device, and you will die, quickly but painfully I’m afraid. Oh, and another thing I should mention. If you try and remove the device, if it is exposed to air, it will activate immediately. We will be watching and following you. And another nice touch we programmed into the transmitter. If you come within five hundred meters of a U.S. or Israeli embassy, or military facility, the device will activate immediately and you will die, as I said, quickly but painfully.”

  Connor didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. His arm throbbed with pain.

  “So, now that you know what we want, we are going to let you go. Not here in Gaza of course. You’re going to take a little ride on one of our boats. You will find out where to soon enough. We are going to give you another shot now. But don’t worry, the effect will not be permanent. Oh, and one more thing. You will be provided with contact instructions on how to get the information we seek to us. We expect progress within two weeks, or else. We will be waiting. You will have a different identity. And don’t try to contact any of your spook colleagues, or your pretty wife. That won’t end very well for you.” A different man came forward out of the light and stuck a needle into Connor’s arm then there was only blackness.

  Natasha waited but dared not leave the house, not until the cavalry arrived at least, which happened ten minutes later as several Israeli Defense Force (IDF) units roared up to the facility in their Humvees, fifty-caliber machine guns at the ready. A dozen soldiers dismounted immediately and secured the residence and compound. The bodies of the soldiers were put in body bags and taken away after a forensics team took pictures and preserved evidence of the raid.

  Natasha, against her will, was then taken to a more secure facility at an unknown location within Israel, her location in Sderot obviously no longer a secret.

  Chapter Five

  Connor awoke. His arm hurt, but he realized he was able to move both his arms. He was no longer tied to the chair. It was light outside. Was it a dream? Where’s Natasha? He was lying in a bed. He sat up, trying to understand where he was. It was afternoon. My arm hurts. And so does my head.

  He looked to the left of the bed. There was water and some food on the table near the headboard. He ate ravenously and drank all the water available. He then lay back down to let his body recover from the recent experience and trauma. Where am I? It wasn’t a dream, he thought.

  Thirty minutes later, he sat up, alert, his strength recovering somewhat, and stood to look out the window. He saw olive trees, lots of them, and lots of artichoke plants. The countryside was green, in contrast to what he was used to. Then he felt pain in his arm and winced. There was blood coming through his shirt. He pulled away the cloth and saw the recent, two-inch-long wound stitched up, and he remembered. The cut was jagged and rough, like it was done in a hurry. Great. I need to take care of this. It looks like it’s getting infected.

  There was money by the bed also, lots of it, euros. In addition, there was a fake passport, a Russian one, and two credit cards. Ivan Yaroslavovich. Nice Russian name. What have I gotten myself into? There were also some clothes and a small satchel. He opened it. There was a phone inside and a note scrawled on a piece of paper. Only use this phone. Believe me, your life depends on it. “Nice,” he said aloud. There was also a business card with just a phone number and email address written on it. I guess that’s how I contact them.

  Connor surmised he was in some type of hotel room. He walked into the bathroom and took a shower, cleansing the wound as best he could. The wound on his forehead and those on his arms and shoulders he also took care of. Then he got dressed in the new clothes, which fit surprisingly well.

  He grabbed the travel document and the money, put everything in the satchel, and left the room. There was a key, which he used to lock the door. Not sure I’ll be back.

  He walked down the stairs and heard a woman talking on the phone She was speaking Italian. Phone! I need to contact Natasha. But should I? Not yet. I need to find out more of what is going on. And I guess I’ll use the phone provided, for the time being at least.

  He exited the stairs and entered the lobby of a small guest house. A woman looked at him and said, “Buongiorno!”

  “Grazie,” he replied. There was a small sign in Italian near the computer on her desk. I must be in Italy.

  He walked outside. There was a small market nearby. It said Brindisi on the front of the door. Yes, I’m in Italy, on the coast. He could smell the sea nearby. Not a bad place to be if I wasn’t in this situation. I wonder how I got here? But now, that doesn’t matter. What to do? He kept wal
king. Soon he ran into a small café overlooking an olive grove. The Adriatic coast was visible on the skyline. As good a place as any to sit and think. Okay, I know where I am. It looks like I have plenty of money. I have IDs. He looked down at the phone that was in the pouch. I need to call Natasha and let her know what is going on. Or should I? Not now. I’ll think of a way soon enough. I need to let her know I’m okay, at least for now.

  He ordered a coffee and something to eat, which was like moving heaven and earth in Italy in the afternoon. He was still starving. However, he felt better with something more in his stomach. Now I need to figure out what I’m gonna do. He picked up the smartphone and turned it on. It worked and soon connected to a network, and he felt not so alone. Immediately a message popped up on the screen.

  Keep your phone charged and on your person at all times. We’ll be watching and listening.

  Of course you are. Why would I think otherwise? He set the phone on the table. I’m sure it’s a listening device and will record everything I do. Connor speculated for a moment then thought, I have no choice. He picked the phone back up and opened the browser. Soon he had logged into Facebook and searched for his old commander in Alaska, Lt. Colonel Blackman, although he remembered his friend had retired a while back as a full-bird-colonel. His picture soon popped up on the screen. The colonel hadn’t posted for a long time, and there really was no clue as to where he was. Connor opened the messenger and started typing. I’ve got to at least make them think I’m working on this and can get information they can’t That way, at least they will keep me alive.