by Rose Fox
She felt, especially now, that she had lost her husband, that Karim was treating her like an unattached woman, permitted to any man. Tears of anger and insult welled up in her eyes and suddenly, she decided what to do. She went back into the lobby, and did not notice the surprised look on the sad-looking clerk’s face and the scrawny man retreated in fright.
Abigail sat down on the chair she had gotten up from earlier and spoke with restrained rage.
“I am still married and adultery carries a heavy penalty in this country.”
She ignored, but knew that she might also be punished in the end.
Karim opened and immediately shut his mouth. He restrained himself from saying that she was a widow, that he hadn’t yet committed adultery and that she was allowing herself to speak, forgetting that she was a woman in this country. He decided to hold his tongue because he knew something of Abigail’s character and feared he might get into trouble with her, so he said:
“Naima, my intention today was only to compliment you on your intelligence and beauty.”
“The meeting is over for today,” she declared, “but you will go off the subject now, and you should know that you owe me one.”
“Whatever you ask.”
“Help me to find out what became of my Karma, because I, myself, will deal with the people who hurt him in my own way.”
“But, Naima, you are in a delicate situation and…”
“Yes? very interesting. A mission that would change the balance of power in the world - this I can do, right?"
“You win. What do you want me to do?”
“I’ll tell you some other time but, for now, take me to your home.”
“You meant to say, to you, to your home, right?”
“No, I meant to say to get to your home, I was not wrong."
Karim cringed, fearing she would tell Alice what had transpired, but she read his thoughts and responded immediately:
“I don’t have to come to your house to do that. I fear that they will try and hurt me and that they are lying in wait for me near my home.”
“They? Do you have any direction?”
“Yes, of course.”
When they left and the door closed behind them, the clerk pressed a button that signaled that the man had also left the hotel.
They drove to Karim and Alice’s sumptuous home in silence and before they got out of the car, she whispered:
“What happened between us – never was and never will be.”
He stared at her retreating back, her tall and slender figure, and his soul went out to her.
*
Execution
A car was concealed among the trees, where they had been waiting a long time for this moment.
Two men loaded their rifles with special ammunition that enabled them to follow the instruction to bring them in, alive. It contained a folded mesh of nylon fiber. When the bullet will leave their gun's muzzle it will spread out in the air, When the bullet would leave the gun's muzzle it will spread out in the air, wrapped around, entrapped and capture the people it was aimed at.
The three of them were sitting in the courtyard of the house. The light was fading and the sensors of the projector on the wall responded to the dark and illuminated the yard.
Now, the courtyard was completely dark outside the circle of light. The temperature sank and cold began to permeate their bones.
“It was sweltering at noon and look how cold it is now,” Abigail remarked and slapped her arms to try and warm herself.
“Come let’s take everything away because it’s impossible to continue sitting here now,” Alice suggested and beckoned to Karim to help her take away the dishes.
A rifle shot was heard and just as Karim put down the tray to collect the plates on the table a mesh net dropped down from above, spread out, surrounded them and trapped them like three animals.
Karim stumbled, the tray slipped out of his hands, the dishes shattered and their shards scattered through the holes in the net. Alice screamed when another shot exploded the projector overhead, that went out, and four figures arose from the bushes. The net closed around the trembling and shocked threesome as it was dragged into the dark, picked up in a combined effort and thrown through the rear door into the car.
Alice screamed hysterically and incessantly asked:
“Why? What have we done?”
Abigail was silent, as she tried hard to work out who was behind their entrapment.
A soft light illuminated the ceiling of the car and its swaying put Alice to sleep. Karim looked like a pale spot and he made a sign to Abigail, drawing her attention to the lens on the ceiling of the car. It moved like the eye of a chameleon, indicating that they were under surveillance.
“They have gone completely mad,” he whispered, and Abigail pursed her lips to tell him to keep silent. Just then the car stopped, the light above them went out, and the door creaked opened. The cold seeped in, but no one came.
Alice moved and the nylon threads of the net cut into Abigail’s flesh and caused her pain. A minute later the three were dragged like a package and Abigail heard herself screaming in pain. They were thrown into a sealed bag and hit its bottom, pressed together and lying in a pile, one on top of the other.
The sickly sweet smell of rotten meat arose inside it and Alice groaned. She wheezed and Karim yelled:
“Alice, we’re all together with you, try to breathe through your mouth!”
Abigail understood that her friend was choking now and didn’t know that she had suffered from asthma since childhood and was at the peak of an attack at this moment.
Suddenly the bag opened and its sides were pulled down. A knife cut the mesh and the three of them fell out with a thud on the floor. Alice snorted, and from the gray color of her skin, she appeared to be dying. She opened her mouth wide to breathe and her eyes bulged out of their sockets.
A woman wearing a galabiya and holding a knife nodded to a short man and he pulled Alice by her clothes and dragged her away. Karim remained motionless and Abigail glanced at him with concern.
The woman kicked Karim, who groaned and held the place where he had been kicked. When her leg moved in Abigail’s direction, she grabbed hold of it momentarily then immediately released it so as not to make her fall down. She looked at Abigail angrily. The small man returned and the woman blurted out to him in a language that was familiar to Abigail – in Arabic, as it is spoken among the Bedouins of the Israeli Negev, and not Persian. The woman seemed sure that no one would understand her remarks.
“She looks like a fighter so, we’ll show her right away what we do with people like her,” then she went back to speaking in Persian:
“You’re a despicable criminal, who betrays the country she lives in.”
Abigail remained silent. She tried to appear submissive but then, the woman kicked her in the back with her thick-soled shoe and Abigail doubled over and gasped in agony. The woman screamed:
“You think you’re a great hero, right?!”
This time, when she raised her leg to kick her again, Abigail grabbed the fabric of her long dress, pulled her hard and the woman fell on top of Abigail and Karim. She got up slowly and blurted out in Bedouin Arabic:
“Let’s skip the initial stages with her and get down to business. Bring the rope and tie her to the post,” and Abigail’s heart pounded wildly.
The man went out, returned with some rope and they both pulled Abigail by her hair and pushed her into a second room. She knew she could overcome them, but she decided to wait for a better opportunity. She did not resist when the little man pressed her to a metal post and tied the rope around her ankles. The woman twisted her arms behind her and wound the rope around her elbows and her hips.
The man picked up a whip from the floor and in the minutes that followed, flogged Abigail and heaved like bellows as she counted out loud.
“One, two, three,” and Abigail continued his counting, through clenched jaws:
“Five, six,�
�� and he stopped. He glanced at the woman beside him, whose hands were on her hips.
“Let me take over,” She hissed and pulled the whip out of his hand.
She faced Abigail with parted legs, then dropped the whip on the floor and went out of the room. She returned with a branch and a cruel smile on her lips. Without waiting, she lashed her with the branch and the air whistled out of Abigail’s lungs. She continued striking her, holding the branch with both hands. Suddenly, she dropped the branch and picked up the whip from the floor again.
Abigail sucked in air, her pulse pounded in her head and waves of nausea rose from her stomach. The woman aimed the whip. She took care that the straps would wind around Abigail’s body and close round her neck and torso. Abigail struggled to breathe, her shirt was torn and the torn pieces hung down from her, revealing red welts on her flesh. Blood began to ooze from her neck. Abigail gritted her teeth hard, trying to control her brain and persuade it not to feel pain until the whip landed on her ear. The pain was so awful that she screamed like an animal being slaughtered and the woman stopped and stared at her.
Abigail felt movement in her belly that reminded her of her pregnancy. Just then, the woman began beating her again, after having gathered her strength and each lash sent a chill through her body. She vomited in a projectile stream on the woman in front of her and on the floor around her. She stopped whipping her and stared at her in revulsion.
A dark-skinned man entered the room spraying water and washing the floor. He did not relate to what was happening around him. Abigail thought about the blood and other bodily fluids he was forced to deal with in this room in the wake of the dead and unconscious people he saw there and a smile rose on her beautiful face.
The woman saw the smile and hinted to the little man, speaking to him in Bedouin Arabic,
“Call him. I think it’s just the right time for him.”
The short fellow hurried out of the room and returned with another man.
The man stood for a second, glanced at the people in the room and nodded at Abigail. He sat down facing her on a chair that was brought in for him and said:
“They caught you, ha?”
Abigail inhaled noisily and snorted with disdain. She restrained herself to control her nausea and avoid throwing up again and glanced at him briefly. The color of his eyes was unusual. They were golden. Then she heard him speak Bedouin Arabic and she considered whether she should say something in their language to get closer to them, but decided it was preferable to listen without them knowing she understood them.
The man was Ismat, the Chief Interrogator of the prison. He had special methods and was renowned for his successes in cracking obstinacy, and uncovering spies and enemy agents.
Today he had received the report of the capture of the woman with the light-colored eyes. He was told that she had been making a mockery of the army and the spies, who had been pursuing her all over the country. They delayed the execution of the eight agents they had seized because he decided to come personally to get as much information as possible out of her before adding her to the group of people, who were to be put to death.
For the present, he gazed at Abigail and thought how beautiful she was. He turned aside to address the woman, who had flogged her, in their language.
“Why did you start out with the pole?”
“Because she got smart with us and made me fall down.”
“Oh, really? Let’s check what else she’s capable of because she’s well-known as…”
“We won’t check anything!” she responded angrily, “we’ll carry on from here.”
“Wait, what do we know about her relationship with the Ambassador, she was caught with?”
“Nothing at all. She’s a tourist guide, who met him and it’s fair to assume that she…”
“Perhaps they met under other circumstances? See how unusual she is.”
The woman glanced at Abigail with animosity and suddenly drew closer to her and spat in her face. Abigail’s pale eyes narrowed threateningly and the woman slapped her face hard and shouted hatefully:
“Beast! You were sent by the ‘Mossad’, right?
Ismat rose and went to her and said at once:
“Come on, Aisha, that really isn’t the way to handle her!”
Abigail struggled not to smile when she heard her name.
He glanced softly at Abigail and smiled at her as if he wanted to calm things down and had her interests at heart.
“Untie her,” he said suddenly, and when the little man hurried to the pole behind her, he raised his hand to stop him.
“No, leave her tied up, and all of you, get out!” And when they left, he stared at her for a long time and hesitated. Suddenly he strode up and stood beside her.
“Where are you from?” he asked. “How did get to the traitor?”
Abigail did not reply but understood what they thought of Karim.
Ismat drew closer to her, touched her cheek and softly stroked her chin with his finger, then her wounded neck and moved gently over her skin that was revealed where her shirt was torn. Abigail felt his warm breath on her face, looked at him from close up, as he almost kissed her lips. He moved and stood behind her then quickly untied the rope that bound her arms. When he crouched to release the tie at her ankles, she felt his hand slipping up the length of her legs, rising slowly under her dress and she froze. He suddenly stood up and she felt his breath on her neck and heard him speak quietly in her hair.
“They knew who to send to us, right? You are stunning, a real beauty, there’s no doubt, but even a Lilith like you, the wife of Satan, will not succeed in tempting us.”
All at once, his hands trembled, his face reddened and his golden eyes shone. He let go of her and rushed out of the room, closing the door behind him and locking it. Abigail breathed a sigh of relief and felt nauseous again. She hurried to the rusty metal sink in the corner and threw up in it. The sour odor filled the room, her head began to spin and she leaned against the wall.
A wooden bunk was attached to the wall and when she sat on it, the cut strips of her clothes gaped open and she saw her wounds. Her ear hurt and when she put her hand up to touch her neck, she saw that her fingers were stained with blood.
Thin electric wires passed along the line where the ceiling met the walls, but they didn’t lead to a device of any kind. She recalled that no search had been carried out on her clothes or her person. She had might still the tiny communication device hidden in her bra, but she made no move to check it out because she was sure she was under close scrutiny.
Abigail felt like crying. Her ear rang; her body hurt from the lashes and she was hungry. All she could do was lie down and curl up on the bunk where she sat. When she lay on her side, she felt her fetus moving and she stroked it secretly as tears gathered in the corner of her eye.
She fell asleep and woke up when she heard a key turning in the lock. A red haired man was shoved into the room and he looked at her suspiciously. He began marching back and forth and yelled:
“Sons of bitches, bastards! May Allah take you all!” Then he recoiled as if he had only just noticed her and asked her at once:
“Who are you?” Abigail shrugged.
“What are you doing here?” He asked and immediately replied: “I know; you’re one of them! They put you here on purpose, right?”
“Those animals don’t stop at anything,” he announced, and suddenly screamed at the ceiling “Why?! Why did you have to kill all of them?!”
Abigail didn’t know how to relate to him. She wanted to tell him that she didn’t have the strength to contain his troubles. She was resting after they had beaten her and she wanted some quiet, but she was compelled to listen to him.
“Enough already! I have nothing more to lose. I even confessed and told them everything, but instead of killing me, they simply killed all the people who matter to me.”
He approached her and she felt his breath and then heard him whisper out of the corner of his mouth:
“I’m from the ‘Mossad’” and her face muscles froze.
“You must surely know that they only bring people here whom they suspect of being connected to it,” and out of the corner of her eye, Abigail saw the stone in her ring changing color. After a short silence, he asked:
“Have they told you when they’ll hang you? Because no one gets out of here alive,” and she caught her breath.
“Do you speak Persian?” he asked. “Say something to show me you understand me.”
Abigail nodded her head slightly to acknowledge she understood though she was still fearful of what he said.
“In an hour, perhaps two, they will come and take me to the Public Square.” He glanced softly at her.
“May I ask you something?” And, Abigail nodded.
“If you escape, please get a message to a man called Mushari He is a ginger head like me. Tell him that I didn’t inform on him,” He whispered again: “They call me Ali, but that’s not really my name.”
“And, what is your real name?”
“Oh, at last you’re talking, what’s your name?”
“Naima.”
“Where are you from?”
“From here.” She said and pointed to the pallet.
He looked her over, reached out to touch her wounds and she recoiled.
“I see they have taken care of you, ha?” he said and pointed to her torn clothes and bleeding neck.
“Who did that? Was it Gerard, the little bastard Frenchman or his bitch of a wife? Two mentally disturbed sadists.”
Abigail gritted her teeth when she remembered how the woman had spat on her and suddenly, she found him credible.
“Would you like to change places with me?” she inquired, and Ali got up from the chair and stretched out with a sigh of relief on the bunk in her place.
“If you tell me how they caught you, I’ll say what they suspect you did and also what your fate will be.” When Abigail was almost tempted to answer him, he said:
“No, don’t tell me, but I will give you the signs.”
He sat up on the bunk and spoke.
“If they caught you in the street and dragged you here then they know nothing about you yet. They will continue interrogating you,” and he waited for her response and when she said nothing, he continued:
