The Code War by Ciaran Nagle

pin sharp as if they
had been etched. Nancy fairly hit the mirror with her hand and
wiped vigorously over the arrogant letter. It had no effect. Notice
me, it seemed to say. Don't ignore me.
    Nancy stared hard at the capital R. This time she knew she
couldn't forget it. A shiver ran through her as another thought
occurred. Was she being watched?
     
    Martin's story and Nancy’s reflections
were interrupted as a waiter came and deposited some menus on their
table. This would be their first meal in Israel together and they
turned to concentrate on the choices awaiting them.
    ' Chicken, chicken or chicken, it looks like', said Pete, as
he surveyed what was on offer.
    'Shame, I was hoping for
chicken' , offered Martin who always ate
the most. 'Do they really not eat pork at all in
Israel?'
    Nancy saw a shiny black Mercedes draw up to the kerb near where
the group’s table was set. Inside were three men of Arab
appearance, unshaven and smoking. One of these had been staring at
Nancy for some time. Now he managed to catch her eye. He smiled at
her and a moment later got out of the car and approached the
table.
    ' Good
evening. English, American, German?' he asked in a voice that was
accented but richly-toned.
    Nancy was just about to say
' what do you want?' in her frostiest
voice. But brawny Martin, who was on his second beer and clearly
enjoying himself, butted in first.
    ' We’re
English, my good fellow. Archaeologists actually. Just here for a
couple of weeks digging in the desert.'
    ' Shut
up, Mart, don’t tell everyone our business,' hissed
Andy.
    But it was too late.
    ' Archaeologist? You all archaeologist?' smiled the Arab,
pointing in turn at all four of them.
    ' Yes'
said Nancy.
    'No' said Martin. 'We’re
archaeologists' , indicating himself and
the two other boys. 'She’s our organiser. She looks after us'. He
ignored the savage look from Andy.
    The Arab smiled widely and turned to Nancy. 'Fixer. You’re the fixer
for them. You’re the fixer that make things happen'. He was
laughing now and leaning over the table, his hands resting on the
tablecloth. But his eyes weren't smiling. They were cold. They were
calculating. They were ruthless.
    Nancy returned his stare evenly,
saying nothing. But when he remained grinning she spoke up
again.
    'We're perfectly all right on our
own. We don't need any help, thank you.' Nancy continued to look
directly at the Arab all the while. Her words were sharp and her
message was clear: go away.
    But Nancy was surprised to see that her cold words were having
the opposite effect. If anything, he was looking at her with
increased interest. Respect even.
    He turned and cast a quick glance at the doorway through which
a waiter might come at any moment. Then looked back at them. He
dropped his voice to a whisper.
    ' Look,
you like some hash? I get you very good hash at very good price.
You here for holiday or work, no matter. Enjoy good hash. Your
first evening here?' he addressed the question to Martin who had
been the most willing to talk to him.
    'Yes, our first evening,' said Martin who was finishing his
beer.
    ' OK.
Look what I do for you. Because you nice people and you come to my
country. I give you special price for first night. Four hash
cigarette, four Israel pounds. One pound each.'
    A moment later four rough looking rolled
and stuffed leaves had appeared on the table.
    ' You
have nice time tonight,' he continued. 'Nice food and nice smoke
later. At your hotel. Not smoke here. Not safe. What you say, four
pounds?'
    The boys looked at each other. It
was the p erfect way to end a perfect day.
Sun, sex, food, beer and now drugs. In the morning they’d go to
work in the desert but tonight they were on holiday. They were
young, foolish and it was the thing to do.
    A five Israeli pound note came out of
Pete’s pocket and landed on the table beside the joints. The man
snatched it up.
    ' OK I
bring you change here tomorrow. You have good night.'
    Then he was gone.
    The four looked at