by Julian Noyce
Dennis shook Hutchinson’s hand.
“From now on. I pomise.”
Al Massri was still watching them.
“It’s alright!” Dennis shouted, “We’re just discussing the deal.”
He waved to show all was alright. Al Massri glanced at Natalie.
“I can’t stop thinking about that poor child,” she said.
“There are thousands like her.”
“I expect Israel has just as many.”
She hadn’t meant to say it out loud and she cursed the slip. She saw Al Massri’s face flush with anger.
“I’m sorry I meant no disrespect.”
His voice was flinty and cruel.
“Do you know how many childen have died because of Israel? Tens of thousands,” he said before giving Natalie a chance to answer. “Do you know how much land Israel has stolen from my country since 1948. Or how many refugees have been created? Over one million people have been driven from their homes, their lands, their livelihoods. My own grandfather used to work in Israel, for thirty years he worked there. Then one day he was kicked out and a wall was built. He died a poor, broken man….”
“I’m sorry. Please forget what I said.”
Al Massri knew the girl would never understand. He felt some of the anger leave him.
“Because this is your first time here and you are ignorant of our problems you are forgiven.”
Dennis and Hutchinson rejoined them. Dennis saw the look on his girlfriends face.
“Everything alright?” he asked.
“I was just telling your friend about the conditions in the refugee camps here in Palestine.”
“Horrible places,” Dennis agreed.
Al Massri ordered them onward. After a few minutes more they approached a large covered area. It was swarming with men wearing a variety of camouflage, some green, some desert, some mixed, green jackets and desert trousers or the other way round. More than once Dennis saw an american or british flag on a sleeve. Every man here wore a black balaclava that completely covered their face, leaving only eyes and noses exposed. Some wore, on their foreheads, green banners with white Arabic writing. Each man wore a military tactical assault vest over their jacket that held large knives, handguns, flashlights, spare ammunition and grenades. All carried AK-47’s. Three carried RPG’s slung across their backs. They all greeted Al Massri as a group.
“Jesus Pete. These guys look serious.”
“You’d better believe it,” Dennis moved closer to Natalie and said in a low voice so as not to be heard, “You went pale earlier. What did he say to you?”
“He was saying about how his people have suffered and I just said I’m sure Israel has too.”
Dennis winced.
“I didn’t mean anything by it. Just that there are two sides to every story and that surely Israel has one to tell also. Doesn’t it?”
“Yes it does,” Dennis made sure both Natalie and Hutchinson could hear him, “I warned you both to be careful about what you say. People have died for less. Remember we’re only alive still because he respects the work I did here. Offend him and he’ll have our throats cut as soon as look at us.”
“I thought you said he was a kind of friend,” Hutchinson added.
Dennis shook his head.
“His religion does not allow it. He will trade with us because trade is for the good of all but that’s as far as it goes. We cannot be friends, it is not permitted. I think it would be best from now on if you only asked relevant questions about the guns. Okay? Leave the talking to me.”
Al Massri led them in under the large canopy, which was a dozen tarpaulins tied together. There was a large square table in the centre and a man was opening boxes of communications equipment and inspecting it. It was hot under cover and Dennis felt the sweat trickling down his back. The air was thin and a constant trail of dust drifted past. Al Massri threw out his arms.
“What do you want?”
“We need a machine gun each, sidearms, vests….” Dennis looked Hutchinson up and down, “He needs clothes. Do you want a sidearm?” he asked Natalie. She shrugged. “Give her a sidearm. Oh and we’ll want some thigh holsters. Flashlights. Let me think a minute. We brought some food with us. We’ll think about provisions in a minute. Let’s start with weapons.”
Al Massri grabbed a crowbar and began opening some crates.
“For assault rifles we have AR-15’s, FN FAL’s, AK’s….”
“AR-15,” Dennis said, “Give us two of those.”
Al Massri took two of the American machine guns out of the crate and threw one to Dennis and one to Hutchinson, who hefted it in his hand.
“Not too heavy, “ he said, “Is it a good weapon?”
“Very,” Dennis replied.
“Extra ammunition?” Al Massri asked.
“What do they come with?”
“One clip each of thirty rounds in an extended mag.”
“We’ll take two hundred rounds each.”
Al Massri nodded at one of his men to sort the extra ammunition.
“Sidearms?”
“Something easy to use.”
Al Massri threw a gun over. Dennis caught it and turned it over in his hand.
“Sig-pro! Nice,” he said inspecting the German-Swiss made handgun, “These are used by police forces around the world.”
He tossed it to Hutchinson who passed it from hand to hand.
“Nice and light,” the American said. He handed it on to Natalie who looked at it and went to hand it straight back.
“It’s yours,” Dennis said to her, ”I suggest you tuck it into the waistband of your jeans so you can get to it easily.”
She did as she was told. The feel of it was reassuring to her.
“We’ll have thigh holsters for ours.”
Al Massri sorted two out. Dennis attached his to his jeans straight away. He stopped Hutchinson from doing his.
“Hang on Jim. We’re going to sort your attire out.”
“RPG’s?” Al Massri asked.
“No,” Dennis answered. His t-shirt was now completely soaked from the heat under the tarpaulins. “We could do with some flashlights though. The type that clip onto combat jackets.”
Al Massri sought out three.
“What else do you want?”
“I dunno. Are we still in budget?”
“Still in budget?” Hutchinson said, “That was twenty grand.”
“I told you prices have gone up. Before 2008 an AK-47 was less than a thousand, now they’re probably two. Plus the percentage Hamas takes for itself.”
“Grenades?” Al Massri asked.
Dennis looked at his companions, then at the bearded man.
“No,” then a thought struck him, “Have you got any trackers?”
“Personal trackers? Of course.”
“ Magnetic ones?”
“All types. What do you want to track? People? Vehicles?”
“Probably both.”
Al Massri spoke to the man sitting at the table. He was still opening small boxes. He hadn’t spoken since they’d got there. Now he beckoned Dennis over. He opened a box and took two personal trackers, the size of a large cigarette lighter, out and activated them. He handed one to Dennis and the other to Hutchinson.
“One more,” Dennis said.
The man nodded and opened another box. There was a brief discussion between himself and Al Massri. The faction leader had the final word and the man shrugged.
“They come in pairs. I told him to let you have the other one so now you have a spare.”
“I’m sure it will come in very handy,” Hutchinson thanked him.
“So how do we track ourselves?” Dennis asked.
“The signals can be picked up by computers, laptops and smart phones.”
The man handing out the trackers gave Dennis the codes for each personal tracker. Dennis found it on his I-phone and was impressed to see a red dot appear on the GPS map on his screen.
“It’s
working?” Al Massri asked.
They each checked with their phones. Each had a red dot.
“You had better turn them off again,” Al Massri ordered, ”I hope Israel is not already picking up the signals.”
“I wouldn’t have thought so,” Dennis replied.
“Let us hope not.”
“Do you want us to switch our phones off now.”
“It might be better if you did.”
Al Massri felt a little more relaxed once their phones were off. He should have insisted when they’d first arrived.
“Now,” he said, “A weapon for the woman.”
“AK-47,” Dennis said instantly, “Something lightweight, easy to use.”
Al Massri selected one and tossed it to Dennis who caught it mid air.
“This is a great weapon,” he said, “Designed in 1949 by the Russian general with the same name. Mikhail Kalashnikov. Still being used around the globe. Over 75 million rifles built. Weighs a little over ten pounds. Doesn’t freeze or stick in any condition. Even if you get sand in it.”
He took the AK-47 and handed it to Natalie. To her the weapon felt heavy and cumbersome but she took it and held it across her waist.
“Are you okay with it?”
“Yeah I’ll be fine,” she answered, already getting used to the weight of the gun.
“You could have it without the stock but I think it’s better for you with it. It’ll be easier to control.”
“Is that everything?”
“We need acouple of those vests your men are wearing, but not new ones. They’d stand out. We need to look like we’ve been doing this for a long time.”
While Al Massri went to sort out the vests, Hutchinson spoke to Dennis, while keeping his voice low.
“Pete I don’t think I can do this.”
“Of course you can.”
Dennis looked at his friend. Hutchinson, despite the weapons, the handgun and the thigh holster, still looked like an academic.
“We just need to make you look the part.”
Dennis reached forward and removed Hutchinson’s spectacles.
“Hey! I need those for reading.”
“How bad is your eyesight?”
“I can see fine. I need them to be able to read at a distance.”
Dennis spun around, looking for something for Hutchinson to focus on.
“Can you see that six wheeler lorry over there being loaded?”
“Yes of course I can.”
“Can you see what it says on the driver’s door?”
“I can see it. I can’t read what it says. It’s too far away. I’d need my glasses for that.”
“But you can see.”
“Yes. I can see as far as the horizon allows. I just need glasses for reading.”
“That’s good enough.”
Dennis put the spectacles in the older man’s shirt pocket. Then he reached up and ruffled the older man’s hair. Hutchinson took a step back.
“Pete!” he said reaching a hand up to smooth his hair over again. Dennis grabbed the hand to stop him.
“Don’t! Trust me! You look better like that. More rugged.”
Hutchinson looked to Natalie for approval. She nodded.
“I like the look Jim.”
“Really?” he asked, convinced he looked like a senior citizen yob.
“Really,” she affirmed.
Dennis took a step back and looked Hutchinson’s attire up and down.
“Khalil. Have you got any cargo style trousers and possibly a denim style shirt? Oh and two keffiyehs. I’d better wear one too.”
Fifteen minutes later and Hutchinson was looking more like a private contractor. His clothes were now casual, more military like.
“Hold the gun across your chest like this. Gun muzzle pointing down. Finger on the trigger. That’s it just there. Hold that pose.”
“That’s quite a transformation,” Natalie said, “Wow. You do actually look the part.”
“Yeah you do,” Dennis agreed. “Just try to look tough all the time.”
Hutchinson took a stance which made Natalie laugh.
“No don’t raise your eyebrows,” she chuckled, “Try to look serious. That’s it. You’ve got it.”
“I must admit,” Hutchinson said, “I do now feel that I can pull this off.”
“Good,” Dennis said, “Just a bit of confidence is all that is needed. Now we just need to see if you can shoot. Khalil! A few practice rounds.”
The big man nodded. He took a handful of extra ammunition clips and once again led the way.
“I must say,” Hutchinson said as he and Natalie walked alongside Dennis, “That you have a really good knowledge of guns. Are you also a good shot?”
“I have a small confession to make.”
‘What is he going to come out with now’ Natalie was thinking.
“You know when I told you and the metropolitan police that I did some training with the SAS,” he looked at them both for confirmation, “I lied. I learned to shoot with these guys.”
“What?” Hutchinson said, “You mean you were one of them. A terrorist.”
“Will you stop using that word around here,” Dennis said glancing nervously about, “They prefer the term ‘freedom fighter.”
“Freedom fighter. Terrorist. Isn’t that the same thing?”
“That depends on which side you’re on.”
Natalie was genuinely interested.
“What did you do?” she asked.
“I went out with them on a few nights. Only as an observer though. I want you to know and understand that. I didn’t have any weapons nor did I engage in anything other than report their story. We didn’t use cameras. I was only permitted to use a Dictaphone.”
“Did you take Kim whatshername with you?”
“No. It was too dangerous for her. Just me and my cameraman Greg. We went out onto the beach here at Rafah. I should explain that the entire beach area here though used by Palestinians for leisure is also a no go area. Israel has a blockade on the entire coast. Khalil’s group took me out on more than one occasion and they set booby traps on the beaches for any unsuspecting Israeli marines that come ashore. On some nights if they weren’t triggered we would go out and reset them elsewhere.”
Hutchinson was horrified.
“Did they kill anyone?”
“Not in the time I was there. I went out with them every night for a week.”
“Doesn’t that make you a terrorist as well?” Hutchinson asked.
“In the eyes of Israel maybe, or maybe our own governments, but at the end of the day I’m a journalist and I will do what is needed to get my story out.”
“I suppose so,” the American said.
Natalie just smiled at Dennis. She had gotten to understand with him that the story always came fist. No matter the risks.
“Come on,” Dennis said, “Let’s see if either of you can shoot a gun.”
Khalil Al Massri led them to an area away from the main road where there were sand bags piled higher than a man. Here, driven into the ground were wooden posts on top of which were targets. Some were roughly drawn outlines of people. Others just circles painted with a bullseye. Dennis was up first and he took aim with his AR-15 and splattered the body of a drawn target with a clip of bullets. He then let his machine gun drop to his chest, held by the straps, and pulled out the Sig-pro handgun from his thigh holster and holding it with both hands he emptied a clip into the target’s head.
Al Massri watched on, a little impressed.
“I see you have forgotten nothing,” he said as Dennis holstered the handgun.
“It’s just like riding a bike.”
“You,” Al Massri gestured at Hutchinson.
The American stepped up to where Dennis had stood. He raised the AR-15 to shoulder height, sighted down it and fired. He wasn’t prepared for the powerful kick it produced and it caused him to miss the target. Small puffs of sand erupted from the sand bags. Hutchinson stopped f
iring. Al Massri moved to him and put a hand on the gun.
“Hold it here like this. Tighter. That’s it. In closer to your shoulder. That’s better. Now sight down the barrel, line up with the sight at the tip. Now fire.”
The first bullet hit the target in the shoulder.
“Aim a bit lower, to the left. That’s it. Fire.”
Hutchinson hit the target in the chest.
“Good,” Al Massri said, “That would kill your opponent. Try again.”
This time Hutchinson hit the target easily. He emptied the clip into the chest. Then when the bullets ran out he turned to his companions with a big, beaming grin.
“Your sidearm,” Dennis said.
“Oh yeah right.”
Hutchinson reached down for the Sig-pro, brought it up and in his haste shot the target in the throat.
“Ouch,” Dennis said, “That would do the trick.”
Hutchinson aimed higher with both hands and emptied the gun into the targets face.
“Nasty,” Dennis said, a little impressed.
“You,” Al Massri said to Natalie.
Natalie stomped up to where the other two had stood, leaned her AK-47 over at an angle, flicked the safety switch to semi-automatic fire, levelled the gun at waist height and fired single shots at the target. Every bullet found its mark. Then she flicked the safety to auto, raised the gun to shoulder height and emptied the rest of the clip into the wooden target. She then lowered the gun again and turned to Dennis who was watching her open mouthed.
“Any good?” she asked.
Dennis got up and approached the target, still open mouthed. He examined the bullet holes she’d made then turned to look at her.
“Where the hell did you learn to shoot like that?”
“Believe it or not I do listen to what you say.”
“Yeah but even so,” Dennis looked back at the target.
Then Natalie laughed. Then he laughed. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close.
“Seriously baby. Watching you fire that gun was fucking hot!”
He was about to snog her when he remembered that Al Massri and his men were present and that such an outward show of affection in public would not be appreciated. Then he was letting go of her and they all spun around and everyone was looking up into the sky as a Hercules transporter plane roared past very low. On its wings were red crosses but there was no mistaking the death’s head skull on the tail. The plane was descending and obviously heading for the ruined airport.
