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

has changed since the interrogation two days ago. He was ten feet taller. He had already felt himself growing in stature after his handling of the airborne unit’s operation, his head elevated like an antenna probing the sky, but now, after the successful interrogation of ‘Ali the Yellow, he felt like a cold and lethal intelligence machine. He walked into the hideout apartment with a spring in his step— or so he felt— his gaze quiet and assertive.

There were more people present this time, some wearing civilian clothes and others in full uniform, their rank insignias varying from captain to lieutenant colonel. When Tamir walked in, he was greeted by everyone with nods of their heads. Some shook his hand. Yaki led him out to the shabby garden behind the house. Another person escorted them. They thanked Tamir for his contribution to the interrogation and for revealing the source. They updated him that ‘Ali confessed to being a double agent. They’ve already gotten the whole story from him— how and when he was recruited, who operated him and how, etc. It’s clear that the Syrians were involved, although from a distance. We took into account the whole time that he could be a double agent, Yaki said, we have to assume that about all of our sources. In Lebanon, everyone sells information to whomever is willing to pay for it. If you can sell the same information two or three times, all the better. This case was a bit more complicated.

Anyway, the other person who hadn’t identified by name said, we can make this work for us. If he has access, even indirect, to Syrian intelligence factors, it’s worth trying to take advantage of.

Tamir nodded. They updated him that they would try to continue to operate ‘Ali in an attempt to gain whatever knowledge possible about his operators on the other side. The Front will keep thinking he’s a double agent, but he will in fact switch allegiance and work for us. Tamir asked what guarantees they had. Yaki admitted they’re taking a risk, but a small risk. We’re not going to tell him anything of any importance on our end, the other guy said. Besides, we threatened him a bit, Yaki added. If we find out that he’s working against us ever again, we’ll make sure they get the impression that he’s flipped, and they’ll carry out Lebanese justice with him. Tamir asked what would happen if he disappears in Lebanon, or just refused to come in again. He can do that of course, they said, but we provide him with something he needs.

Tamir asked what.

They exchanged gazes. Money, the other guy finally said. Besides, if he stands us up then we expose him. Now, you can interrogate him. We’ve allocated the next hour just for you, without other intelligence factors.

‘Ali the Yellow sat hunched and withdrawn on the edge of the couch. A couple of marks on his face had started to blacken. His eyes were tired. Tamir thought it’s disadvantageous to interrogate him when he’s tired, as he might forget some details. Yaki stood behind ‘Ali and put his hand around his shoulder for a moment, in a part protective, part threatening gesture. ‘Ali recoiled further into himself. Tamir tried to send him a cordial smile, but he was answered with a look of pure insult and hostility. He gave up the friendly act and started asking his questions. ‘Ali replied with a tone Tamir described to himself as chastened candor. He seemed to genuinely know very little about the airborne unit and the its members. He said that they indeed seem to be preparing for another operation, but that he didn’t know any further details. Jihad Jibril was highly lauded for the last operation, which served as a test of the unit’s abilities. Tamir asked if that means that next time, they won’t settle for the security strip and try to infiltrate Israeli itself. ‘Ali said he didn’t know, but that it sounded plausible. The organization was trying to prove its worth, otherwise it would get cut off from funding. Tamir asked who was funding the organization. ‘Ali looked at him in wonder, like he was asking something completely obvious. It’s always been the Syrians.

Only the Syrians? Tamir asked.

‘Ali looked at him with caution and hesitated for a moment. Yaki put his hand over his shoulder again. ‘Ali writhed in his chair. This time there was no whiskey before him, nor anything else to quell his nerves. Well, there are the Iranians, too, he finally said.

Tamir simply stared at him.

They help us, you know, with instruction, sometimes with weapons, methods… And money, as well.

Someone in the room said in Hebrew that the interrogation should focus on this lead. Tamir suggested that they conduct a different interrogation dedicated to that, later. Yaki nodded. We’ll do it later. You can carry on. Tamir hesitated for a moment. He knew that what he was about to ask exceeded the scope of questions he was permitted to ask, but he didn’t care. No one in the room tried to stop him. He asked ‘Ali to carry on where they stopped last time. ‘Ali complained that he had already gone over it with Yaki, but Tamir insisted that he wanted to hear it for himself.

‘Ali sighed and said he was contacted by the organization’s preventive-security unit who informed him that they were suspicious of a female combatant in the airborne unit. Tamir asked what was the basis of their suspicion.

She had just recently joined the organization, ‘Ali said. She came to Lebanon from Yemen through Cyprus. Which means she wasn’t raised in the refugee camps like everyone else. She said she came from the diaspora, from Yemen. She was highly motivated. They wanted to send her to the usual track— training, some ideology, and finally a desk job— but she insisted that she wanted to be a combatant, that she wanted to avenge what was done to her family in Palestine.

How