by Danny Bar
“Of course, it’s an old trick.”
“May Allah put a curse upon their heads,” he said in despair.
25
Yasmina wore pants for her meeting with Magic Flute at the Hilton hotel. She knew that would make Khalil happy, as the latter had repeatedly complained about the traditional village clothes obscuring her beauty.
Magic Flute sat on the armchair and she noticed that his face had thinned and his eyes were sunken in their sockets. Yasmina sat beside him, stroked his face and looked into his eyes.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” said Abu Ghazall and went to the other room, where the security guards were waiting.
An hour had passed and the telephone call from Yasmina did not come. After much deliberation, Amos decided to wait. During that hour Yasmina passionately gave her love to Magic Flute while he himself said nothing, just buried his head between her exposed breasts. She fondled him, ruffled his hair and directed him down her belly, until she could contain herself no longer and took him inside her. The sound of her moaning joined with his was heard through the wall separating the two rooms and reached Amos’ ears as well.
After another hour, Yasmina finally called him.
“Come in please, ya Abu Ghazall.”
When Amos entered the room, he found Yasmina peaceful and at ease, with her hair wet and fragrant. Khalil was sitting in the corner of the room, visibly relieved.
“Jamil was my target,” he told Abu Ghazall quietly, almost in a whisper. “The Jordanian headquarters was looking for a candidate to join Jamil for an attack against the Israeli Army. I volunteered. I met with a messenger from the organization headquarters next to the large water pool in Hebron. He gave me instructions to drive to the old windmill next to Ramallah and get the weapon from an anonymous man. I did not trust that man, I followed him from afar until I grabbed him in one of the alleys, took the weapon from him and cleared off in my car through a side road I am familiar with. He gave me four grenades and two Kalashnikov assault rifles. They are hidden in a vineyard. You know the place, I used to have a dead letter box there.
“My intention was to reach the meeting with Jamil and take him out by firing a bullet to his head. I wanted him to die like a dog because he has defiled Yasmina’s honor. I didn’t want him to die a Shahid. You of all people know how much a woman’s honor means for us.”
“I know that well,” Amos approved with a nod.
“Is it like that with Israeli’s too?” Yasmina asked naively.
“No, not exactly,” Amos laughed, “but my grandfather had once held a Sulha – a ceremony of reconciliation between two families following a family honor-related blood feud.
“Tell me about it,” Yasmina asked Amos and a strange spark ignited in her eyes.
“Now?” he marveled.
“Yes, it’s important to me,” she replied, suddenly seeming withdrawn.
“I will tell you, then.”
Yasmina struggled to conceal the tense expression that rose to her face.
“It was like an Arab version of Romeo and Juliet,” Amos began, “a young man and a young woman, no more than seventeen, lived in a village in the Galilee. They fell in love. The young man urged his father to ask for the girl’s hand in marriage and saw that his father’s face had turned pale. An ancient blood feud hung like an evil spirit above the two families, but the young man insisted and asked for his brother’s help. Nothing good had come out of that entire affair, because real war followed, at the end of which three men from both families were killed, and there was a tangible danger that things would only get worse.
“The village dignitaries suggested that a reconciliatory Sulha between the two families be held, but on condition that Abu Samuil, my grandfather, God rest his soul, will serve as the mediator. And so it was. The two lovers parted following the difficult feud, the young woman was married to her cousin and moved to live with him in one of the surrounding villages.”
“Which one?” Yasmina tensed and her eyes widened with curiosity.
“By Allah, I do not remember the name of the village,” Amos apologized.
“All right, go on,” she asked him impatiently.
“The young man married a relative from Jordan and moved to live in another village in the area, next to this uncle’s house. If it weren’t for that compromise, more people would have lost their lives and the blood feud would never have ended. My grandfather continued to visit both families in the Hebron area villages for many years. For each visit, he brought some of his homemade olive oil or labneh cheese, or gifts for the newly born children.
“I still remember how following one of his visits he enthusiastically told us of the girl born to the young man, her eyes as black as coal. A’yun al sud, he fondly referred to her because of the color of her eyes. She possessed a wild look and blazing eyes, just like yours,” he laughingly told Yasmina,” he could not take his eyes off her because of her great beauty. Several months before his death, the girl came with her father to visit him in his home. He sat with her for a long time and admired her beauty and sharp mind. His hope was that one day, destiny would somehow find a way for their children to meet. By Allah,” he said with excitement, “I let myself get carried away by this story and we still have many things to discuss.”
26
The main headline of the Al Fajr newspaper spoke of a crisis in the negotiations with Israel and about the American president’s intention of personally intervening to try to get the negotiations out of the stalemate.
Jamil quickly leafed through the pages until his attention was held by an item reporting that Walid Abu Sita from the village of Beit Kahil had been injured during a clash with an IDF task force and was arrested.
He took a piece of paper and a pen and wrote the following message:
In the name of Allah the great and merciful.
As I’m sure you’ve heard, brother Walid was arrested. I fear that he would fall into the Israeli’ traps during his investigations and will drag us all down with him. This requires me to relocate to Gaza as soon as possible. Until then, I will be staying at the house of the widow.
“Take this to the butcher tomorrow,” he instructed Yasmina after folding the paper.
Yasmina waited for him to fall asleep, then took a tiny camera from its hiding place. She placed the message on the table. The camera emitted a silent buzz, following which Yasmina returned the message to its place and quickly got back to bed.
27
It was 9:00 pm and the meeting at the head of the Shin Bet’s office had entered its second hour.
“Jamil is desperate. We need to act before he manages to hurt Amos,” said the head of the department.
“I object,” Amos surprised him and looked at the head of the Shin Bet, “first, we run the risk of exposing Yasmina. Second, Jamil is now unwillingly serving as our contact person to the foreign suicide bomber. If we hurt him, it would be like removing a cancerous growth without taking care of its metastases.”
“What do you suggest then?”
“We can sabotage his preparations to hurt Amos,” someone suggested.
“Yes, but how?”
“We can replace the missive he’d receive with one of ours.”
“And…” the head of the Shin Bet wondered.
“The new missive will forbid him from harming Amos so as not to endanger to larger operation.”
“And what if he relocates to Gaza?” the head of the Shin Bet asked gravely.
“This would be a disaster as far as we’re concerned.”
“Why?” the director was curious to know.
“Because here he is surrounded by a large number of agents. Should he relocate, we will lose all the threads we have and won’t learn the identity of his associates or nature of the attack he planned.”
“True,” everyone agreed.
“Let’s
do it, then,” the head of the Shin Bet determined and rose to leave.
“There’s another urgent matter we need to discuss.”
“Yes?” he sat back down. “We need to reach a decision regarding Magic Flute, I want to remind you that he is still incarcerated,” said the head of the district.
“Enlighten me.”
“Look, we’re not taking his betrayal lightly, but this is a phenomenon we have often encountered involving agents that ‘betray themselves’, as we call it. So long as he did not act against us, his betrayal isn’t as serious. Furthermore, the operation for locating the terrorists has entered its critical stage and Magic Flute plays an important role in our capabilities in the field, especially Yasmina’s capability of acting against Jamil.”
“I guess I don’t need to be a genius to guess what your position on this is.”
“True.”
“But that is less important, what is the security unit’s position?”
“They are willing to consider reinstating him as an agent, pending your approval and subject to strict security guidelines.”
“I approve, just remember, the security of our own people comes before any other consideration. If there’s even the slightest doubt, you’ll need to arrest him again immediately.”
“Who will prepare the forged missive?” the district coordinator asked.
“My very own teacher and mentor, Abu Rauf. I’ll drive up to see him right now, it’s an opportunity for me to pay him a visit,” said Amos and drove straight to the Arabic school.
He found the veteran teacher instructing a young cadet. After exchanging hugs and greetings in Arabic, he hinted that they should go into a side room, where he explained what he wanted him to do.
Abu Rauf took the missive in his hands, looked at it, then took it to his office.
He prepared a photocopy and carefully studied the handwriting. Then he scribbled a few words on a blank page and compared them with the original.
Amos glanced at his watch and tried to rush him, “We don’t have much time, ya Abu Rauf, Yasmina has to take the missive to Jamil before he comes back.”
“Haste is from the devil, remember?” Abu Rauf scolded him.
“Indeed I remember, my teacher, I’ve learned everything I know from you.”
“I was honored to teach Abu Samuil’s grandson. I sometimes look at you and see your grandfather coming back to life before my eyes,” said Abu Rauf. He raised his head from the missive, placed his reading glasses aside and looked at Amos, “I listen to your telephone conversations with the agents from time to time. I think your grandfather would have curled the edges of his mustache with pleasure if he could see you in action. Ya Abu Ghazall, I was an operator too, and I have grown to see young operators who look down at the most dignified of agents. They look at the sultan’s beard and see only a broom. You don’t have to love them all, but respect them, that is the only way leading to success. Here, my son, take it, it’s ready.”
“Shukran, ya Abu Rauf. Your words are like honey to my soul,” said Amos embarrassedly, took the forged missive and rushed to meet with Yasmina.
“It looks like the original, no one will notice it is forged.” said Yasmina contentedly, then suddenly turned serious, “Where is Khalil? You promised you’d release him in a few days, a week has passed since then,” she said disappointedly.
“Insha’allah, you’ll see him soon.”
“How soon?”
“About this soon,” he measured the distance to the connecting door with his hand, then pressed the handle and opened it wide.
“Khalil!” Yasmina jumped at Khalil and wrapped her hands around his neck.
Amos stood aside and rubbed his hands together with pleasure, “I’m not going to leave you alone this time…” they smiled with embarrassment and hurried to disentangle themselves from each other.
“Let’s drink something,” Amos suggested and ordered a pot of fragrant coffee from the room service. Then, all three of them sat down and conducted a loud conversation. Magic Flute’s mood improved by the moment.
Before leaving, Magic Flute rose from his seat, went to the adjacent room and returned with a small elegant box.
“I have a surprise for you,” he said and handed Yasmina the box.
Yasmina opened it and tears immediately rose to her eyes, “It’s lovely,” she said excitedly and wore the ring on her finger, then took a good look at it, “Shukran, ya Khalil.”
“And this is from me, congratulations to both of you,” said Amos with a big smile and handed her a red velvet box containing a gold-plated watch.
Yasmina could barely contain her excitement, “Kheir, Insha’allah?” she gave Khalil a questioning look, already guessing, but wanting to enjoy and savor that moment a little longer.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think,” Khalil told her while absent-mindedly stroking his finger.
28
“May their house fall upon their heads,” Jamil cursed and angrily tossed the missive to the floor, “I will continue to do this my way. No one will stop me, do you understand?” he cried out to Yasmina.
“Why should I?” she answered and turned her back to him. She smiled to herself, knowing that her mission has succeeded!
“Abu Ghazall is a dead man, and nothing will change that!” he said with rage and, as always, rushed out into the yard to cool his anger with water from the jug. When he had finally calmed down, he left his new shoes outside and went back inside.
Yasmina feared that the dog might destroy these new shoes as well and despite its loud protests, tied him in the backyard.
In the morning, she urged Jamil to hurry and leave her house before dawn.
An hour later, Magic Flute picked him up next to the Sheikh’s tomb. The deep contempt he felt for Jamil was completely absent from his face. On the contrary, he was extremely amicable with him.
The car bounded across the crooked dirt roads that coiled their way round the main road to avoid the IDF checkpoints, and the two quickly found themselves on a bare hill, where they stopped.
Jamil got out and examined the narrow road ahead, “There, do you see?” he pointed at a bend in the road, “that is where our ambush will be. You will position yourself next to the olive tree and wait for my mark.” He pointed his finger at a mound of stones.
“And who is our target?”
“Abu Ghazall from the Mukhabarat. Do you know him?”
“Who doesn’t?”
“Only those who taste his honey or feel his sting are familiar with him. Which do you belong to?” asked Jamil cynically and examined Khalil’s face. Not a muscle twitched on Magic Flute’s face, “Be careful with your words and accusations,” Khalil cautioned him coolly.
“I trust no man or woman. I’m sure Abu Ghazall has already spun countless webs around me. Luckily, he is always one step behind. Only this week, the army arrived at Walid’s house ten minutes after I left.”
“Perhaps Walid himself informed on you?” Magic Flute suggested.
“No. No. He himself was injured.”
“How?”
“His gun was jammed.”
“Ajib, strange,” said Khalil, “it got jammed just like that?”
“Yes, I’m trying to check how it happened.”
“And what happened to him?”
“The soldiers shot him.”
“Poor thing.”
“Maa’lish, never mind, let’s get back to the subject of Abu Ghazall. He works until late every day. Some nights he finishes at ten, sometimes at eleven, then he drives back home in a blue Mazda. I’ll show him to you, it’s important that you recognize him. We have time to carefully plan everything.”
“Time? Aren’t you moving to Gaza?” Khalil was surprised.
“How do you know I’m about to move to Gaza? I haven’t said that to anyone.”
Jamil grabbed Magic Flute’s throat and pushed him against the trunk of the tree, “tell me where you know this from, you dog.”
“Ya Jamil, your nerves are getting the better of you. Just open the Al Fajr newspaper like everyone else. It reports that you have escaped to Gaza.”
Jamil released his grip on Khalil and was appeased, “Oh, all right, then, the Jordanian headquarters spread that rumor to mislead the Mukhabarat.”
“Smart move,” Magic Flute remarked.
“True. The fools will chase me in Gaza instead of here. Now I will go to the beehive to collect some honey,” he laughed meanly and accompanied his words with a gesture that left no doubts regarding his intentions.
Magic Flute shrunk in his chair. He knew that Jamil was headed to Yasmina’s house. Were it not for Abu Ghazall’s strict instructions, he would have killed Jamil on the spot. But Abu Ghazall, who knew Magics Flute’s soul so well, had warned him before the meeting that should he do that, all their hard work would go to ruin and they would lose the only thread that might lead them to the other terrorists. “On the contrary, you should do everything in your power to keep him safe, he is our only guarantee of thwarting the large-scale terrorist attack,” he pleaded with Khalil.
On his way back, Magic Flute focused his attention on the road ahead and did not say a word. Close to the Tarqumiyah grove he parted from Jamil and continued to his meeting with his operator.
Jamil waited in the grove until evening fell, then moved under the cover of darkness toward Tarqumiyah. He arrived at Yasmina’s house while she was washing her body in the yard.
The barking of her dog told her that a stranger was approaching. She quickly dried herself and, with her body still dripping with water, hurried inside and closed the door after her. A familiar melancholy overtook her once more. Jamil’s presence had become more oppressive to her with each passing day. She treated him like a wife would, washed his sour, sweat-stained clothes, prepared his food and lent an ear for him to unburden his frustrations, which worsened by the day.