The Marsh Angel Hagai Dagan (kiss me liar novel english .txt) 📖

This way you can look at my ass and Nina’s as well, she said. It’s nice, isn’t it?

Very nice, Tamir replied. Just then, Neta’s army phone rang.

Get it, he whispered.

Yeah? she panted into the receiver, and immediately handed him the phone. It’s for you.

Tamir tried to sound collected when he asked who this was.

It’s Jonny. I hope I’m not interrupting.

It’s fine.

Something interesting just came through. Do you wanna hear it? I’d rather not do this over the phone, but this could be urgent.

Talk in hints.

It came through encrypted. Kh’s guys to J’s.

Okay. And the content?

Link-up complete. The cage is in motion.

Tamir held his breath. Neta let out a sigh and sat down beside him. His eyes followed her movement lamentedly. He asked Jonny if the message explicitly said what he just told him.

Word for word, Jonny said.

So there it is, Tamir said. This is it. He instructed Jonny to alarm everyone he possibly could, and hung up the phone. He asked Neta if she had an emergency contact list.

No, she said.

Okay, so let’s go to headquarters, he said.

You wanna see me haul ass?

Absolutely.

She really did drive fast. She stopped at traffic lights, but otherwise recklessly veered and swerved around cars, going 85 mph down Bnei Efraim Boulevard. They reached the base a couple of minutes before Moti, and ran into him in the parking lot. He looked at them slightly bemused. Tamir cut straight to the chase. Listen, Moti, they said link-up. I think that means the seaborne unit linked up with that Iranian oil tanker. That might be what they’re referring to as cage. The question is, why are they reporting it to the airborne unit station? This could be the collaboration we’ve been suspecting…

How can you be certain it’s that tanker?

I can’t. Never mind though, the navy should search for it, or for something else out at sea— but we have to get the Mole out. There could be an attack unfolding as we speak.

Moti looked at him intently. Tamir saw fear in his eyes. He expected him to disagree, but Moti simply nodded reluctantly. Okay, he said, I’ll send out the Mole. You be the IAO. Neta, you stay here with me in the intelligence analysis post. We’ll be the command post listening in, assuming the attack is targeting the central region. I’ll instruct Eforni and Nisanit in the south to send out their Moles as well. That way we’ll cover pretty much all of the shoreline. First order of business— Neta, call in the six on-call producers. Let’s go to my room, I’ll show you the lists. Will you manage?

Of course.

Tamir, you need to speak with the operations office and prepare the Mole, a list of frequencies, and make sure all of the equipment works. We’ll send producers to link up with you, but the responsibility is on your shoulders. You’re in command of that vehicle. Clear?

Clear.

Let’s hope the navy will stop them in time. We don’t know when they left or where they’re sailing… Moti looked lost for a moment.

Let’s get the Mole out and we’ll have a better idea of what’s going on, Tamir said. Neta, anything that comes through the bases— let me know immediately. How does the radio work in the Mole?

You have an S.B. line there.

Got it, Tamir said and started running to the operations office.

q. Radio Check

It took about an hour and a half for the producers to arrive, and another forty minutes for the quartermaster to supply them with weapons, combat-vests, helmets, and ammunition. At the same time, the Mole was being prepared and its equipment checked. Tamir used the time to brief the producers, only some of which had any experience with Palestinian or Lebanese communications. Finally, at 3:30 a.m., preparations were completed and the Mole was on its way. For lack of any better idea, Tamir instructed the driver to head to the beach, near the Mandarin Hotel, and then to slowly drive south along the coast. He then settled in the back alongside the producers who had already manned their posts and started scanning the airwaves. He told them to focus on frequencies in the region of 90-140 MHz, but also to sample higher and lower frequencies for Arabic in Palestinian dialect.

The van reached the beach and started steadily making its way southbound towards Tel-Aviv. The producers slowly turned their dials, tuning in to random taxi-cab and police networks. They placed their weapons and helmets beside them, since they got in the way of their work. Tamir knew he was supposed to instruct them to sit in full gear despite their discomfort, but he didn’t say anything. He had no mind to confront them, and all he cared about was that they perform their job well. The van inched along behind Reading, through north Dizengoff Street, and down along the beach. Tamir glanced out of the van and saw a group of merry people leaving a pub.

Arabic sounded from one of the producers’ station. Tamir sat up in alert. They listened attentively. No. The hoarse, muffled sound suggested this was a civilian station. A man over the radio was explaining that Palestinians are Canaanites, the original settlers of the land. Moses was Egyptian, the voice declared, he received the Torah in Sinai and died in Jordan. And who were occupying the land at that time? The Canaanite Palestinians. The Jews have always been outsiders, invaders. So, we’re actually Egyptians? the producer asked in confusion. Just keep scanning, Tamir said. Voices of taxi drivers in conversation sounded from the stations. If you ask me, one of them said, we should kill all the Lebanese, the only language they understand is force. These guys never run out of things to say, the producer said as he turned the dial. So, we went to my mother-in-law’s house, relayed another voice, and guess what she told me… Tamir didn’t get to hear what the in-law told the taxi driver, or police officer perhaps, as the dial