Agent on a Mission

by Rose Fox

  Now, Arlene stood still for a few seconds and watched enviously as Muna’s mother embraced her daughter and kissed her head. Her little heart quickened its beat and she sat in a corner of the tent.

  The party was attended by all the children of the tribe. There were Naim’s seven grandchildren, Uncle Adel’s two children and nine cousins from her mother’s sisters. They all played and scampered around their grandmother, Leila.

  The day before, a reporter on Arab affairs on Channel 10, Hezi Ben-Artzi called to ask if they would allow them to attend the birthday party for only ten minutes to take photographs. Leila was fond of Hezi and watched him every evening between seven and eight, when he appeared on the show of the two popular broadcasters, Yaron and Modi. The truth was that Hezi had followed the lives of the families of the hostages and covered them very well. He tried to make them feel comfortable and Leila did not sense her privacy was being intruded on. Thus, when he approached her the day before, she found herself in a dilemma.

  Leila had zealously refused to be photographed and share her grief with the public. On one hand, she knew she would not be able to conceal it, nor was it really possible because she realized that her Naima, her daughter, had now become valuable public property and a symbol of the state. Leila understood that her seizure and imprisonment by the greatest enemy of the country eclipsed her own personal tragedy.

  Then, she saw a cloud of dust in the distance, informing that a car was on its way to them. Yosef pointed to the car in the distance and noticed that Leila was looking at it tensely.

  “Are we expecting anyone else?” Yosef inquired without looking away from the dust cloud advancing towards them.

  “No, not as far as I know,” she replied and Adel joined them, looking at the car that had slowed down and drew up in front of them.

  "Who is still supposed to arrive?” he asked. He also knew that his mother had refused to allow the party to be photographed. Leila and Yosef shrugged.

  Hamdi, the dog, began barking in the direction of the approaching car and became very agitated. Little Arlene ran to the dog to soothe him and at that precise moment, the camera appeared, as it protruded from the back window of the car. A second later the camera flashed and photographed little Arlene trying to calm the barking dog.

  Leila was boiling with rage at the sight of the camera flashing.

  She rose from her chair and approached the car slowly. An argument as heard between her and the people in the car and then Leila put her hand into the car and pulled the strap that was tied to the body of the photographer. She lifted up the camera and threw it on the sand. Without a word, she turned round and went back and sat down again in her chair, her face white with rage.

  Everyone stopped talking. They all stared at the spectacle that had lasted barely a minute.

  The young man, who had been taking photographs got out of the car and stared sadly at the remains of his broken camera on the sand. He bent down and tried to collect its scattered parts, trying to reassemble them, like a kid trying to put together a Lego toy that has fallen apart. Finally, he collected up all the pieces, got back in the car and closed the door. Through the windscreen, he could be seen talking to the driver, who turned towards him.

  Everyone looked at the car with its engine still idling. The driver opened the door, got out and strode slowly towards Leila. He took his time and was apparently thinking of a suitable reaction. Yosef and Adel stepped forward and stood close to her, wanting to show they were protecting her.

  The young man was Hamudi, an Arab from Shechem, one of Sharif’s older brothers and he had come to the birthday party by chance.

  Hamudi knew of the connection between Sharif and the captive Judge and now came to ask if they had any knowledge of what had become of his brother, Sharif, and where he had disappeared to. Hamudi assumed that here, in this tribe, he would find the answer.

  He stood facing Leila and glanced around.

  “Who are you Ma’am?” Hamudi asked in Arabic. Leila was surprised.

  “Who are you, Sir?” she responded gently.

  “I’m Hamudi from Shechem.”

  “And I am Leila of the Ka’abiah tribe.”

  “I am Sharif’s eldest brother. Do you know him?”

  Leila stared at him with her black eyes, and her heart bled. She could not find the courage to face him and she was dumbstruck. She knew very well where his brother had gone and what he was trying to do at that very moment. Yosef, too, was stirred by this revelation.

  Adel recovered first, approached the man and hugged him but Hamudi remained tough and did not respond. He was well aware that his reaction now was a deep insult to Leila and the people and that was his intention.

  Yosef said gently, “how were we to know?”

  Hamudi turned his back on them and walked back to his car, holding his head up proudly. He knew that he had not humiliated himself and understood that he should be proud of Sharif, his brother, even though he had no idea exactly where he was right now.

  Leila whispered something in Yosef’s ear and he nodded and quickly followed the man, almost running after him. He caught up with him near the car and they spoke to one another. Yosef poked his head into the window and also spoke to the man, who sat holding the pieces of his camera, watching what was happening in silence.

  The car drove away and Yosef returned and stood beside his wife, Leila. He spoke as he gazed after the disappearing car.

  “I promised to pay to fix the camera or buy him another,” and then added more quietly, “I told him that we love Sharif and that our heart is with him. I also told him that you love Sharif.”

  He glanced at Leila, but she had closed her eyes. At that moment she was thinking bitterly, what has happened to me and how many more mistakes will I still make?

  What pained her even more were the many witnesses to the event.

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  The tractor pulling the flatbed truck piled with missiles and the two hostages stopped in front of a thick barbed wire fence. It was miles long and prevented animals from roaming into the enclosed section. Its purpose was to protect the area under which a special tunnel lay. Guards milled around at various distances from one another and kept watch that no one would reach the place unless he was supposed to and his arrival had been planned in advance.

  The two hostages were lying down on the swaying track. Adam’s face was washed with blood. The blood, which had stopped running from the open wound on his forehead, had frozen to a jelly-like consistency in the cold. Abigail lay with her eyes closed and moaned. Her right cheek was swollen and large drops of blood lay under her nose.

  A soldier got down from the flatbed truck, approached the fence and pressed his foot down on the ground. To his right, a circular cover, like a sewer lid, opened. He lifted the cover off a round shaft that opened and led underground. The entrance to the shaft was outside the fence and not hidden on purpose to create the illusion that there was nothing suspect about it.

  The excavation of this tunnel was carefully planned and had taken almost two years to execute. It had been constructed with competence and a great deal of material and had proved itself in the recent earthquake. Its passages hadn’t suffered any damage, nor were excavations blocked because the compressed sand between the concrete walls had not crumbled or spilled. Thus, it was decided to transfer all the arms and ammunition as well as the precious prisoners to this location.

  Hamdallah had named it the new branch of the “Walid al-Allah” bank.

  The soldiers sent here had been trained solely to guard this place and were familiar with every turn in the maze of alleys deep down. All the soldiers who guarded the hostages in the tunnels that had been damaged were transferred to other duties and were forbidden to speak a word. Each of them was appointed to discover and check if any of their colleagues from the old tunnel revealed new information for him.

  About a week earlier one of the guards had tagged Abigail as a special target. This h
appened after he checked out a lot of things that had been published in the Israeli press and concluded that she should be guarded more carefully than the Judge.

  Two of them dragged Abigail, unconscious, to a cargo elevator intended to move weapons. Another soldier supported her limp body and descended with her in the elevator, which was operated manually with gears and a conveyor belt. When they reached the bottom, the side of the elevator facing the tunnel was opened. Another soldier met them there and laid her on a plank on a sideless gurney that moved along on a rail to the end of the corridor, about a kilometer from the elevator shaft opening.

  The soldier raised and lowered his arm and a narrow red beam flashed to the wall and an opening appeared in it. Motionless, Abigail was placed in a tiny room that was hidden behind the sand covered door that had just opened. Then, after a few seconds she was tied with a rope that was wound round her shoulders, hips and legs.

  The new location was meshed with cameras and bulbs radiated infrared light. The soldier pushed two tiny metal switches down and flooded the place with pale red light. When he finished tying up Abigail, he raised the two switches and left the secured place quickly so as not to cause the system set off an alarm.

  As he left, the sand covered door closed, leaving no sign of the extension to the excavation on the sand wall.

  Adam woke and opened his eyes. They had also put him on a plank bed and left it in another cell tied with ropes that came out of the plank itself.

  In this tunnel, the lights burned day and night. No light came into it when the circular door to it was opened.

  An hour later Abigail awakened and mumbled. Her lips were swollen; she licked them with her tongue and then recalled the last things that had happened to her. She screamed:

  “Adam, Adam. Can you hear me?!” Her voice echoed back at her. Again she called out in supplication,

  “Adam, Adam. Say my name!”

  The echoes that came back to her made it clear that she was completely alone. Suddenly the red light came on and she heard footsteps. A small package, thrown in her direction, hit her and she called out in Hebrew,

  “Water! Water!”

  Abigail knew that the word for water was similar to the Arabic word, but it was important to her that they not know she spoke and understood that language.

  The soldier came in and stood over her and pressed water out of plastic bottle, spraying a thin stream of water in the direction of her mouth. The sharp stream of water pricked her face and dripped into her hair and down her neck.

  “Here, drink, you bitch. Die already!” She heard the young man say.

  She licked her swollen lips as the soldier stared into her eyes and examined her expression. When he turned to walk away he said in Arabic,

  “Shu Ismak? (What’s your name)?” But Abigail remained silent. Clearly he suspected and was checking whether she understood Arabic.

  She answered him in Hebrew. “Do you speak a little Hebrew?”

  “Yes, a little Hebrew. I’m from Al-Kuds, Jerusalem.”

  Abigail replied at once.

  “May Allah bless you and treat you well.”

  The man stood with his back still towards her and then as he continued walking she heard him mumble in Arabic,

  “You’re playing games with us. You speak of Allah, but you pretend not to understand or speak Arabic.”

  He continued mumbling to himself and for a long time she heard the echo of his disappearing footsteps as she was left to think about what had just transpired. She realized that the soldier suspected her and her stomach churned with fear.

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Sharif continued under cover of dark.

  A lone bird screeched between the trees and he shuddered. He raised the collar of his coat till it touched his ears and carried on walking. This time he decided not to try and hail a car for fear of being caught and also because he believed that he was still being pursued. He was certain, after eluding the police, that he had been listed as a suspect and feared that any citizen would be permitted to apprehend him.

  It was terribly cold, almost freezing, even though it had stopped snowing. The headlights of a car illuminated him from behind and the car drew up beside him. The driver called out something to him in Russian. Sharif looked at him and waved to him to carry on driving. The driver shrugged and continued and the fact that he made no effort to persuade Sharif to climb in, convinced him to trust the driver. Sharif waved his arm and called out to the driver and the car stopped some one hundred meters ahead.

  Sharif ran and when he reached the car he was panting heavily, and after he climbed in and sat down, the driver drove away immediately.

  “Hello.” Sharif tried to start a conversation with the man in order to find out where they were. “Where are we?” Sharif asked in Arabic.

  “Close to the Iranian border,” the driver replied without looking at him and Sharif noticed that he used a slightly different language.

  “What language is spoken in this region?” The driver gave him a quick glance and Sharif, laughing briefly and asked again,

  “Did you answer me in Arabic or something close to it?”

  “Here, we speak Russian, Persian and Arabic, too. “Where are you from?” The driver asked in Arabic.

  “From Europe, I don’t know this region at all. Where are you going to?”

  “To work, to Nicolai’s farm. I have to get there by three. I have to manage to milk the cows, feed the sheep and clean out their pen.” The driver looked at Sharif.

  “Today I’m also expecting to birth two cows, so I have to hurry.”

  The atmosphere became pleasant and the driver offered Sharif something wrapped in paper.

  “Chocolate,” he said.

  “What’s your name?” Sharif asked with a smile as he took the chocolate from him.

  “Sirhan, and yours?”

  “I’m Mahmoud Talal,” Sharif replied immediately.

  The driver sounded like a pleasant citizen and Sharif thought he could dare to ask him the question that was bothering him the most.

  “Are you familiar with any Iranian Shi’ite soldiers?”

  Sirhan threw Sharif a quick glance then returned his attention to the dark road. Sharif decided to try another tack; he wasn’t prepared to let go, especially as he had met up with a citizen, who seemed honest and straight.

  “Are there any military in this region?”

  Once again Sirhan glanced at him quickly.

  “No, I don’t know of any and I haven’t seen any Iranian soldiers.”

  The indicator lights illuminated Sirhan’s face and Sharif recognized something like fear in his expression. He understood that there was no salvation to be found from him and he kept quiet.

  Sirhan said in broken Arabic,

  “No any good, Iranian army kill people,” and he demonstrated that by drawing his finger across his throat and added:

  “Iranian army got two Zionists.” Sharif suddenly grew alert.

  “I didn’t hear anything about that, tell me,” he said and turned his body towards him.

  Sirhan told him with gestures and words that were a mixture of Russian and Arabic how the way there is guarded and pointed southwards.

  “There, in that direction, there are more soldiers,” he explained.

  “So isn’t that a sign, perhaps, that there's something there that has to be guarded?”

  The driver shrugged his shoulders and Sharif threw a question at him, as if by the way. “What happened to the two Zionists?”

  “Do you want to see Zionists?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Sirhan laughed.

  “It’s easy to see you’re young. If I were to hear anything about the Iranian army, I would run far away, very far away.”

  “Look, I’m looking for something to do. I haven’t got any family and I want to do something heroic.” Sharif declared.

  “I understand. So, go there, you’ll meet soldiers and they’ll take
you where you want to go.”

  They travelled in silence and at a bend in the road, Sirhan stopped his car. “We’ve arrived. You can get out here.”

  Sharif got out of the car, waved goodbye and gazed after the car till it disappeared in the dark.

  He looked in the direction Sirhan had pointed and thought that it was a good idea to advance under cover of dark. If indeed, they are as violent as he had understood from the driver’s remarks, it would be better to get closer to them in the dark and not risk the daylight hours. He hiked for a few kilometers along an unpaved road and after an additional half-hour he began to feel tired and decided to rest at the side of the road.

  Facing him, he saw the shade of a circle of trees and he went in that direction. They were very tall palm trees that surrounded a well. Sharif reached them and sat down. He leaned against the rough trunk of one of them, folded his arms behind his head and fell asleep like that.

  He awakened when he heard thunderous beats and the ground beneath him shook. It was still dark and his eyes could not pierce the thick darkness but he was able to distinguish figures. Two or more were in pursuit of one figure. Sharif pressed himself against the tree trunk and didn’t move as he waited for the running figures to disappear into the darkness.

  The runners met and it appeared as if they were hugging or, perhaps, wrestling amongst themselves. He wasn’t interested in what they were doing. His only concern was that they not discover him and he waited patiently.

  They passed close by him and he counted four figures. Suddenly something sparkled and Sharif wondered if they had a knife or a sword that reflected the faint starlight. He strained his eyes to see but their clothes were dark and mottled for camouflage and it was difficult to distinguish separate figures. They were panting and cried out something and once more formed a cohesive group and moved together as if they were dancing. Initially he thought they were performing a prayer ritual or were caught up in some fervent religious ecstasy but then the human bundle separated and the people dispersed and they ran in different directions.