The Marsh Angel, Hagai Dagan [free e reader .TXT] 📗

didn’t and kept on walking, the soldier following his movement with a look of deep disappointment. He ambled on, slowly making his way towards the living quarters.

d. Tulip

The following day, Tamir arrived at the bunker later than usual. He slowly made his way to his desk, courteously nodded at the Syrian IAO and translators, and went over the hefty mound of summaries that had already accumulated on his desk. He saw that there was nothing of note, turned his computer on, and started reading last night’s dispatches.

The red phone rang. It was the head of Department 195. He asked Tamir how he felt in his position, if he was managing the workload, and how he got along with Harel and Jonny. Tamir tried to sound positive, but was hardly enthusiastic. The department head reiterated the positive impression Tamir had left on him following the airborne attack. He emphasized that his performance that night compensated for the first impression he had made when he sent that alarming dispatch about the unusual radio silence. Tamir asked himself what was the actual purpose of this call. The department head told him that he believed people should spend at least one year stationed in bases before considering transferring to headquarters. In fact, he said, he prefers having competent, experienced people at the bases who know how to do their work, ideally even remaining there throughout their service, but sometimes unusual circumstances arise. You probably know that Eli Nissenbaum is discharging soon, he said. It’s never easy replacing someone who has amassed such a wealth of knowledge and expertise on a particular organization. That’s also why his recommendation carries a lot of weight, and we factor that into our considerations.

Tamir remained silent. He waited.

You’ll probably be glad to hear the Eli recommended you for the position, the department head said.

Yes, Tamir mumbled.

You don’t sound very excited.

No, yes, of course, I’m very flattered.

Okay, so my question is whether you’re interested in the position of head of the Front/Jibril unit. Obviously, there hasn’t been any decision made yet, but I need to know if you’re interested at all, because if you tell me that you absolutely love serving in Kidonit and want to stay there, I’ll respect your enthusiasm and won’t force you to come down here.

Tamir felt entrapped. He inhaled and paused for a long moment before replying. My service here means a lot to me and I’m very committed to it, he said, but I know that serving as unit head in headquarters is a challenging and important role, especially now that the organization is more active than ever. It would be a privilege for me to be part of the effort to thwart its efforts.

A diplomat as well, huh? Where did you learn to talk like that? the department head said. Tamir wondered if he was hearing an undertone of ridicule in his voice, or the opposite, appreciation. He knew that army men generally tended to dislike overly eloquent speech, so he tried to dial down his articulacy. He wasn’t certain he succeeded this time.

Okay, I understand, the department head said. I’ll let you know my decision soon. One more thing, I got a call from 504. They’re bringing in a source for questioning. Do you know what I’m talking about?

Tamir confirmed. He knew the protocol. Occasionally, if possible, they’d bring in agents from Lebanon and question them in hideout apartments. The point of the questioning was to compile a complete picture of the information the source had gathered— something that was difficult to do through the usual means of communications while the source was in Lebanon— but also to test their credibility, especially in sources whose credibility was uncertain. They would create a cover story for the source, like a business trip to Syria, and then smuggle them through one of the border crossings. In the apartment, the source would be treated to lavish hospitality, such as the unit’s limited budget allowed for.

This is someone who is connected to Front/Jibril, the department head said. Hypothetically, they are only supposed to bring in MID-RD elements to question him, but everyone knows that we know these organizations better than them, so they want us there as well. I’d send Nissenbaum, but he’s half way out the door already, and regardless, he has some important exam at the university that day. This could be a good trial-by-fire for you. Talk to Nissenbaum, he’ll fill you in. Prepare for the questioning together. I want this to go off without a hitch. You need to realize that when you go there, you’re representing the department and the unit before other Military Intelligence Directorate factors. So you need to come prepared. Is that clear?

Clear.

Okay.

Sir…

Tamir, you don’t have to call me sir. Call me Moti.

Moti? Really? He’d be better off going as sir, Tamir thought.

What did you want to ask?

Who’s the source?

Uh, its name is… Tamir heard the sound of paper rustling and assumed the department head was sifting through his notes. Ah, there it is. Its code name in the system is Tulip.

Tamir remembered having seeing dispatches from that source, but couldn’t recall what they were about.

So, talk to Nissenbaum. And I want a full report after the questioning. Don’t mess this up!

Tamir promised he would do his very best, and hung up the phone. He logged into the system and searched for dispatches from Tulip/504. Several hundred dispatches popped up. Tamir started going over them. They dealt mainly with recruiting youths to the organization in Palestinian refugee camps. Occasionally, they concerned procuring equipment such as radios or binoculars, but almost always to rear units rather than combat forces like the seaborne or airborne units. He read and read, but could hardly find anything of operational value. Some dispatches reported about the activities of functionaries: the secretary of some committee of Beirut refugee camps went for a meeting in Sidon, a demolition expert completed a training course in Syria and was sent to instruct cadets (location unspecified). The dispatch