Staring out at the black, glassy surface of Lake Kinneret, Jordan battled the nerves in her stomach. Night had fallen, and she and Taylor had been sitting in their diving gear at the edge of the water for the better part of an hour. Six meters to their left, a dry stone wall topped with barbed wire marked the southern boundary of the Sapir Pumping Station. To their right was a mango orchard.
“Anything yet?” Ganani’s voice boomed through the earpiece wedged in Jordan’s ear. She reached up and turned down the sound.
“Negative. You?”
“Nothing. Maybe I was right that they wouldn’t do this on the Shabbos.”
“Patience.” Jordan was talking to herself as much as to Ganani. Why hadn’t Brodsky’s men made their move?
Taylor gave her a thumbs-up. He was as convinced as she was that the attack would come tonight. He was keeping his Navy SEAL head in the game.
The sound of youths enjoying the Shabbos at the Karei Deshe Youth Hostel drifted toward them from two hundred meters along the shore. Shabbat meant there was only a skeleton crew of guards on duty at the pump station. The moon was waning, a mere sliver in the sky. It was the perfect night to destroy a nation.
Three underground pumps had to be destroyed in order to incapacitate the pump station. If they damaged one pump, no one would notice the difference. If they damaged two pumps, the aboveground pump would kick in, fulfilling its purpose of covering breakdowns and malfunctions. Two downed pumps would affect the water supply, but Israel would have enough surplus water to survive. If all three underground pumps were destroyed, the nation would be brought to its knees.
One document she’d read had indicated that after a catastrophic failure, it could take as many as five years to get the pump station back up and running. During that time, the nation would be forced to depend on its desalination efforts and on the inadequate number of wells tapping the underground aquifers. Destroying the Sapir Pumping Station would derail the peace talks. Israel would never agree to sign an accord. Anyone who could read a map could see that. The underground aquifers were all located in the occupied territory. Surrendering the occupied territory meant surrendering control of the remaining water to the Palestinians.
What came next is what Jordan figured drove Brodsky and the Neturei Karta. Destroying the pumps meant Israel would be forced to divert water from the Jordan River—an act once perpetrated by their enemy and a precursor to the Six-Day War. This time, it would become the catalyst for reclaiming Eretz Yisrael. Jordan figured, if all went as planned, because of the deaths and the involvement of the Palestinians, including the attack on the U.S. secretary, the PLC would be blamed. Cline’s death raised some questions, but not enough to prevent the allies from throwing in.
Jordan stretched to ward off the bone-deep weariness that threatened to overtake her. She hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours. None of them had. Yet here they were. They knew how to get in, but they had no knowledge of the end game. They had to be prepared for anything.
They were all in position and ready. Haddid, the floater, was parked on approach. Ganani, the sniper, was perched in her nest. Walker, the computer whiz, was hunkered down in front of the computer back at base. And finally, Taylor and Jordan, the SEAL team, waited beside the south wall of the pumping station, ready to move on Walker’s signal.
Jordan tugged at the collar of her wet suit and repositioned the small dive pack on her back. It held the oxygen tank, a wet bag with her gun, and extra ammunition. She stirred the water with the toes of her fins.
“They’re coming,” Haddid said. Jordan froze in position. “I see two SUVs moving up the road.”
Headlights swept the grass one hundred meters behind Jordan and then swung to the left. Ganani confirmed the sighting.
“They’re turning in through the gate,” she said.
“Do you recognize anyone?” Jordan asked.
“Unknown.” Ganani had dropped her voice to a stage whisper. “Driver and passengers are still in the cars.”
Jordan heard one of the guards speak, followed by the rattle of chain links. She heard the crunch of gravel and, a few moments later, the slam of car doors.
“They’ve parked near the entrance to the building,” Ganani said. “I count four.”
“We have more traffic,” Haddid said.
Dry grass rustled as Ganani moved position. “It’s Lotner.”
Taylor started to stand as a patrolling guard turned the bend near the water and moved up alongside the south fence. Jordan grabbed Taylor’s arm and yanked him back to the ground.
“Lotner can tell us where Lucy is,” he whispered.
“You can’t help her if you get yourself killed.”
Walker’s voice came through the com. “On my mark.”
Jordan wanted to shout “not yet,” but now she didn’t dare speak. She and Taylor pressed themselves close to the low wall and froze. The guard raised his flashlight, shining the light out across the open grass to the orchard.
“Go,” Walker said.
Jordan started counting seconds in her head. She didn’t dare look at her watch.
The guard standing above them swung the beam back and forth, settling the light on a small mango tree. He was waiting for something. Had he heard them speaking?
“I count three more men, plus Lotner,” Ganani confirmed. “That makes eight.”
“I’m headed your way, Ganani,” said Haddid.
At the shouts of the men at the gate, the guard clicked the light off and hustled away. Jordan continued counting for ten seconds.
“Walker,” she whispered. “Restart the count.”
Forty-five, forty-six.
“Walker!” The stage whisper wasn’t enough to raise him. They couldn’t afford to lose their window. Reaching out, she tugged on Taylor’s sleeve.
“Let’s go.” Jordan marked the time on her watch. “We have less than eight minutes to enter the pipe.”
A gunshot stopped her at the water’s edge. “Who fired?”
“Lotner,” Ganani said. “The guard at the elevators picked up the phone, possibly to confirm his orders. Lotner shot him.”
Jordan heard the retort of a rifle. The guard who had been by the dry wall fence dropped. Had he spotted them? Had Ganani shot him? Jordan didn’t know if he was hit or hiding.
“We have to go now,” she said, splashing into the water up to her knees.
“Do you see Lucy?” Taylor asked.
“No. She’s not here,” Ganani shouted. “Go. Now!”
Shouts from the youth hostel mixed with gunfire and the screams of men. Several of the Karei Deshe Youth Hostel guests started into the grass.
Taylor pulled the com device out of his ear.
“We’re down to seven minutes before we have to enter the pipe,” Jordan said, stuffing her own com device into the wet bag. Tightening the dive weights around her waist, she pulled on her mask and clamped the breathing apparatus into her mouth. Reaching back, she turned on her air.
The water felt cool as she slipped into the lake. The shore dropped off quickly, and she swam as fast as possible toward the pump station. After several meters, she reached the first pipe.
She looked back for Taylor and then checked her watch. Six minutes, forty-five seconds. Keeping her hands on the steel pipe casing, she dove and kicked toward the end of the pipe. The shore dropped off and she swam deeper and deeper. It took her a moment to remember her dive training. Breathe in through the mouth and out through the nose. She felt short of breath and battled an urge to swim for the surface. Treading water, she forced herself to breathe slowly and her heart rate to calm. She needed to keep her wits about her.
Taylor came up behind her. He gestured to make sure she was all right. She gave a thumbs-up, clicked on her dive light, and started moving again.
The pipe seemed to go on forever. She glanced at her watch periodically and felt fear start to grip her. At fifteen seconds, she felt the suction. The current grew stronger, dragging her toward the pipe. Fighting a wave of panic, she yanked her feet free of the rip and moved to the top of the pipe where the pull of the water wasn’t as strong.
Jordan forced herself to calm down. There was no time to indulge her fears. She and Taylor were already behind schedule. Pressing herself close to the steel to mitigate the strength of the suction, she crept forward until she reached the pipe opening. She motioned for Taylor to free the bolt cutter strapped to his back.
The giant grate covering the mouth of the pump was littered with trash from Lake Kinneret—diapers, bathing suit tops and bottoms, and cups and plates. It looked more like some kind of free-form modern art than a garbage trap. Taylor fit the blade of the cutter on the top wire, and Jordan tapped his shoulder and shook her head. She pointed down to the bottom. Unless they cut the grate loose from below and stripped it away, the suction would simply hold it in place.
Together, they tackled the wires. Taylor cut, and Jordan peeled. It took them a minute to push the grate free of the mouth of the pipe. They were forty-five seconds behind schedule.
Swinging herself into the mouth of the pipe, Jordan trusted that Taylor would follow. The suction grabbed her and dragged her inside. She banged her leg on the outside lip of the pipe and felt a sharp pain slice across her thigh.
The force of the water tumbled her forward. She banged her head, her elbows, and her knees. It was like being tossed around in a water slide. She struggled for position. In order to make maximum time, they needed to swim with the current. She had no idea how far along the pipe she was or how much time had elapsed. She had no idea how far behind her Taylor was. She just put her head down and swam.