PROLOGUE
July 23rd, 1973 Kfar Remen, Lebanon
Avi glanced at the luminous dial on his watch – 1:12 am. Time to move. He half-turned his head towards Ray, nodded a silent greenlight, and raised his right arm, signalling Simeon.
Simeon immediately placed the binoculars on the window ledge and picked up his L42A1 sniper rifle – a conversion of the famed 303 British Lee-Enfield. He quietly rested the heavy, hammer-forged barrel on the window frame through an opening of broken glass, giving him an unobstructed line of fire. Pressing the rifle butt in the crease of his right shoulder, he rested his cheek on the cheekpiece, bringing his right eye level with the metallic scope. The sight had been adjusted earlier to the correct distance, well within the weapon’s effective range. A highly-trained and skilled sniper, he did not need to account for the usual external factors affecting the bullet’s flight path over a greater span, such as wind, humidity, temperature, and air density.
He took a deep breath, aimed with practiced precision, and as he exhaled squeezed the trigger. The weapon’s 7.62mm round exploded out of the suppressed barrel and, in less than a blink of an eye, punched through the sentry’s throat and embedded itself in the concrete wall behind. The man to the right of the gate was thrown back and slid down the wall. Startled by the sudden commotion, confusion etched on his face, the second guard turned towards his fallen colleague. Simeon kept his eye on the scope and panned left as he calmly and quickly worked the bolt again, putting another round into the chamber. He aimed again and depressed the hammer igniting the gunpowder in the cartridge. He ignored the recoil as the bullet travelling at over two-and-a-half-thousand feet per second, slammed into the second man’s chest, pitching him against the wall, then sending him head-first to the ground.
The three were on the two guards in a silent instant. Avi immediately placed his index and middle finger on the carotid artery of the first man’s neck to the side of the windpipe. Ray did the same to the second guard. Both had been killed outright. Avi looked briefly towards the gully in Gila’s direction before quietly pulling down on the gate’s handle. He carefully pushed the gate open wide. The three released the safety catches on their cocked and silenced pistols, then soundlessly entered the tiled courtyard. They paused briefly, listening for any giveaway sounds, then just as soundlessly crossed to the front door. Leaving the gate open, they left a watchful Gila with direct sight into the lit enclosure.
Avi placed his ear against the heavy wooden door and strained to hear for movement on the other side. He made a thumbs-up with his left hand and then placed his hand on the lever. Taking a deep breath, he slowly pressed down and pushed the door inwards, inch by inch. Quietly releasing the handle, Avi stepped into the open lounge with Ray and Dalfon immediately behind him. They were greeted by loud snoring in the middle of the room.
Avi and Ray had decided not to use the night-vision goggles. Exposed to sudden light, the blooming-out effect would have rendered them blind and defenseless for a few dangerous moments. It was too risky. They would have to rely on their natural eyesight.
Ray remembered the staircase lay a few steps ahead to their left. He closed his eyes tight for a few seconds before re-opening them – a trick he used to adjust his eyes to the dark. Human eyes take time to reach optimal sensitivity in low-light surroundings. The quarter moon’s glare had filtered through the various cracks and openings in the building resulting in partial darkness. However, a total absence of light is rare, even at night. Ray had become accustomed to operating in the dark during the two-year stint fighting communist guerrillas in the Dhofar mountains on the Oman/South Yemen border – acquiring exceptional night vision. Ray lightly tapped Avi’s shoulder. As they both made their way to the staircase, they caught the phut, phut sound of Dalfon’s pistol. The snoring came to an abrupt end.
Thankfully the stairs were made of stone – no creaking of dry timber treads contracting during the coolness of the night. They silently made their way to the second floor. Ray hesitated before stepping onto the spacious landing and looked around at the five doors. The one to his left and at the back of the building was where they assumed the kidnapped Brachfield would be held. It was closed – probably locked. The central one opposite led to a toilet and shower. It was also closed – no surprise there. The other three were ajar and dark, except for the one to the right of the shower room, which radiated a soft light. The only sound was snoring and muffled murmuring – the sort of mumbling that goes with heavy sleep.
Ray turned to Avi and motioned for him to remain, then stepped over to the closed door and tried the handle. It was secured. He stepped back, tapped his chest and indicated that he would take the lit bedroom. Avi nodded in return and pointed out the left door for Dalfon. The three immediately went about their business.
With his weapon at the ready, Ray gently pushed the door open to reveal a solitary figure lying on a metal-framed bed facing away from him – a blanket pulled up to his neck. Ray looked briefly over his shoulder, catching muted sounds of Avi and Dalfon’s guns, then stepped into the room. He tapped the sleeper sharply on the shoulder with the pistol. The man stirred and gave a throaty grunt of irritation, then reluctantly rolled over and turned his head to face the person who had disturbed his sleep. He let out a soft gasp as he stared wide-eyed into the barrel of Ray’s Browning Hi-Power pistol.
“Up you get!” Ray’s voice carried the hardness of command, his Arabic tinted with urgency. The man on the bed met his gaze, defiance melting into fear as his eyes flicked to the Browning Hi-Power. He glanced at a Kalashnikov rifle leaning against the wall next to the bedside table with the lamp, then back at Ray. His eyes betrayed contempt.
“Uh, uh!” Ray whipped the man across the side of his head with the pistol barrel, immediately drawing blood. The man recoiled from the blow – his resistance quelled. Avi walked into the room.
“I’m assuming this chap’s in charge,” Ray said.
“Okay. The others are taken care of… now, let’s see if we can get this asshole to talk,” he said. “Why don’t you see to the kid and leave this shit to me?”
“Where’s the key?” Ray urged. The man’s face had turned ashen. He raised his arms nervously, his palms outwards in surrender, then reached into his righthand trouser pocket and extracted a key. The abductor’s face paled, his hands trembling as he surrendered the key. His eyes, wide with fear, darted between Ray and the door, understanding his precarious position. Ray took it and left the room, leaving Avi alone with the man. After all, it was his domain – he had an in-depth understanding of the Arab mind. Avi was better equipped to carry out the interview.
Dalfon was on the walkie-talkie informing Terach when Ray walked across to the captive’s room. Ray unlocked the door and switched on the light. Ariel Brachfield was sitting nervously on the edge of his bed, staring in disbelief at his rescuer.
“Don’t be alarmed! My name’s Kazan, Ray Kazan. We’ve come to take you home,” Ray said, smiling encouragingly from inside the doorway. “Come! We don’t have much time!” he urged.
Neither spoke as they carefully descended the staircase – Ray leading the way with Ariel’s apprehensive hand on his shoulder. The house lights were deliberately left off. They would leave the place as they found it – in the dark. A shrill cry erupted from above, briefly pausing their descent. Ray smiled in wry amusement. Avi had just raised the interview a notch! He had no qualms with Avi’s methods. They got what they deserved. Gila, Rani and Dalfon were waiting outside the building. They didn’t have to wait long before Avi joined him.
“I have a name!” Avi said with a conspiratorial grin.
