The Marsh Angel by Hagai Dagan (best thriller books to read .TXT) 📕

Something like that, her smile broadened. A low cloud descended over Atlit. She slowed the car down, and navigated slowly through the thick fog.

Did you ever hear about Damun?

Of course. al-Damun. Their watermelons were famous all over Palestine.

Really?

Yes.

It’s near my kibbutz.

Oh, you’re from there?

Yes.

She fell silent, fixing her gaze on the fog ahead.

There’s nothing left of the village. Just some loose rubble, he said.

Yes.

Do you know what ever happened to its inhabitants?

Most of them fled to Lebanon. They reside around Tyre and the al-Bared River near Tripoli.

Did you hear about the Bedouin tribe, the Arab al-Ghawarneh?

Of course, we followed that story closely. It makes me furious.

And where did they go?

Most of them scattered in near-by villages, Makr, Jadaida… Or relocated to Old Acre.

There were two twin girls there…

What were their names?

Dallal and Sa’ira Zaidani, Tamir said, recalling the newspaper article he read.

I remember Sa’ira, she gave an interview… But I don’t know what happened to them. I could try and find out.

Tamir was silent. She drove incredibly slow. The impenetrable fog made the road and the world surrounding it nothing more than an abstraction. Suddenly, a green road sign appeared out of the fog. Oh, she said, this is my exit. I assume you need to continue on this road towards your kibbutz?

Yes.

Well, I was glad to meet you. What’s your name, anyway?

Tamir.

That’s a lovely name. Goodbye, Tamir.

He remained seated, looking at her. She turned her violet torso to face him.

Yataharaq al-hubb kama law kan najm ba‘id ‘ala hudd al-fajr, he said.

Love burns… She hesitantly translated, taken aback.

Love burns like a distant star on the border of dawn, he said.

What’s that?

Arabic poetry, he replied.

1.Riders in the Chariot (Yordei HaMerkaba)— A term denoting esoteric knowledge in the possession of an exclusive, select few. Originally, the term referred to a group operating during the first century B.C.E. who claimed to possess divine knowledge. The term ‘chariot’ (merkaba) is derived from the first chapter of the book of Ezekiel, where the prophet witnesses a sight resembling a chariot.

2.Unit 8200 — A unit of the Israeli Intelligence Corps specializing in SIGINT— signals intelligence— dealing primarily in interception of communications. The unit, which is under the direct command of General Headquarters, is the largest intelligence collection unit in the IDF. It is considered to be the Israeli equivalent of the American NSA.

3.Intelligence Analyst — A person whose role it is to receive raw intercepted communications, to decide its level of importance and urgency, to annotate it as necessary, and pass it on to relevant intelligence-processing bodies and decision-making authorities.

2. KIDONIT

I have devoted my life to tough and disagreeable work because I needed to love. And therefore I love the country I serve, her mountains, her valleys, her dust and despair, her roads and her paths.

— Benjamin Tammuz, Minotaur

a. Behind the Curtain

Kidonit is a medium-sized base couched at the top of one of the towering mountains of the Upper Galilea. The road to the base, bereft of any road signs, winds through monotonous pine forests. All the pine forests in the country look the same, Tamir thought to himself when he first passed through on his way up to the base, staring blankly out the window of the ride he hitched after a particularly long wait in the intersection at the foot of the mountain. The forest trees clustered together, enveloping the car and Tamir’s scattered thoughts. When the view opened up fleetingly, the rooftops of Safed were visible in the distance. But that did little to lift Tamir’s spirits; he felt a mixture of dulled, suppressed excitement and muffled anxiety. When the car finally emerged from the forest, revealing the base for the first time, it struck Tamir as commonplace and unremarkable: the same drab military aesthetic, the same loose assortment of makeshift structures, the same tired and hollow gaze in the eyes of the guard at the gate.

Tamir reported to the administration office, the quartermaster section, and the armory. He was equipped with everything that he would need— and especially with everything that he would never need. They showed him his quarters— a plain room with several bunk beds, again. He was told that his roommates were all intelligence analysts and translators. But don’t think that just because you’re from intelligence analysis you won’t have roll-call! the master sergeant warned. By the tone of his voice and the scorn in his eyes, Tamir understood that intelligence analysts enjoyed some sort of high status, or at least purported to, to the abhorrence of other people in the base. He nodded in silence. Tamir locked his new possessions in his designated locker and made his way to the place known as the ‘bunker,’ where he was to meet his supervising officer, the Hostile Terrorist Activity Intelligence Analysis Officer— the HTA-IAO.

From the outside, the bunker looked like a sort of truncated hill, modest in size, with a well-made concrete entrance shaft in one of its sides. Tamir entered through the shaft and found himself descending down a surprisingly broad slope, covered by a likewise-surprising high ceiling. He descended for what seemed like an eternity, before reaching an electronic gate. The guard asked to see his identification; said something to someone over the internal radio, and sent Tamir over to the security officer to receive an access badge with security clearance. When Tamir got back from the security officer’s office with his new badge strung around his neck, the guard once again spoke with someone over the radio; a couple of minutes later, from the depth of the bunker emerged a short, broad-shouldered, slightly hunched first-lieutenant whose face was laced with tiny red spots glowing like an incandescent rash. Tamir saluted hesitantly. The officer seemed pleased by the interaction, but quickly told Tamir that such formalities will not be necessary. They will be working closely together, and such rigid ceremoniousness would be a waste of time. The first-lieutenant snuffled his nose and introduced himself as Harel, the HTA-IAO. He