The Shahid's Widow

by Danny Bar

  “On him,” reported the second sniper as Jamil’s head appeared in the cross hairs of his telescopic sight.

  A spotlight illuminated Jamil’s face, the face of a trapped animal unwilling to surrender before it fights for its life. Two officers approached him, they stopped far enough not to be harmed by a potential blast.

  “Police! Put down your bag and lie down on the ground!”

  “Allahu akbar!” shouted Adnan and began to run toward them, sending his hand into the bag and pressing the activation button.

  A volley of rifle shots brought him down to the ground, covering him in his own blood.

  With an almost inhuman effort, he moved his hand and repeatedly pressed the activation button.

  “Allahu akbar! Allahu akbar!”

  The two officers hurried to the ground to take cover. No blast followed, and when they raised their heads again they saw Adnan lying lifeless on the ground.

  Jamil took advantage of the commotion, jumped over the bridge, slipped through the tight ring closing in upon him without anyone noticing and disappeared into the nearby streets.

  “Jamil has escaped!” Tamar suddenly cried on the radio.

  “He has the real explosive device. I repeat, the real explosive device is strapped to Jamil’s body,” the team updated the command post.

  The Prime Minister rose to give his speech. Someone passed him a small note as he stood behind the armored podium. He lingered for a brief moment, read the note, then nodded at the head of the Shin Bet.

  “Dear citizens, the enemies of peace have raised their ugly heads. They seek to bring down the peace process. From this stage, we give them and the world the following message: We will defeat you! We will have peace!”

  A tight ring of police officers began to form around the square in an attempt to prevent Jamil from entering it.

  The dispatcher, who was following Jamil’s movements, as seen via satellite, replaced the map projected on the screen with a map of the Rabin Square and its surrounding streets.

  A bright dot of light marked Jamil’s location.

  “Zlatopolski Street,” dispatch reported to the surveillance team. Police forces immediately sealed off Ben Yehuda Street to prevent passage toward the square. It was too late.

  Jamil managed to slip through the roadblocks and was already close to Ben Gurion Boulevard, just six-hundred yards from the square.

  Ellen looked at the square and her eyes focused on the fountain. The network had received confused reports about gunfire at the Hilton hotel area. She decided to relay the news to her viewers, but chose to be careful and mention that for the moment, the report remained unconfirmed.

  What happened to Adnan? she wondered, and suddenly felt a living part of the drama unfolding before her eyes. And yet, she had to admit she was still undecided about which side she was rooting for. It was almost as if she was watching a football game played by two teams that had nothing to do with her. A hunted hunter, she thought to herself, and found it hard to decide which was which, merely focused the camera on the square in front of her.

  While the Prime Minister continued his speech, large police forces advanced in a pincer movement toward Gordon Street to form a human barrier blocking off the street.

  “He is three hundred yards from the square” the dispatcher reported. Jamil moved closer to the square. The command post officer considered stopping the Prime Minister’s speech and evacuating the rally participants, but feared that a massive stampede might follow.

  “Jamil is slipping right between our fingers.” The head of the Shin Bet was amazed.

  “He’s conducted a thorough reconnaissance tour of the area,” Amos reminded him.

  “One hundred yards,” the reports continued to flow to the command post. Jamil was getting closer and closer.

  Suddenly Jamil appeared at the end of Gordon Street and started to run toward the square. A cry echoed from the end of the street. “Allahu akbar!”

  Ellen quickly diverted the camera to focus on him.

  A man’s figure detached itself from the crowd and ran towards Jamil with outspread arms until it collided with him, dropping him to the ground and rolling with him on the road.

  “Traitor!” Jamil shouted and tried to release himself from his grip. But the man wrapped his arms around Jamil’s thighs, pinned him to the ground and prevented him from getting up. Jamil shook the man off him and began to advance again. The man held Jamil’s ankles and lay on top of him.

  “Traitor!” Jamil screamed at him and extended a hand toward his pocket. A brief moment later a terrible blast shook the entire area.

  The Prime Minister was rushed to his armored vehicle, but he firmly refused to leave. “I’m going back to the square,” he declared. He asked the head of the Shin Bet for a quick update and went up on stage.

  “Stay where you are,” he tried to overcome the cacophony of shouting and screaming that filled the square. “It’s all over, a great miracle has just taken place here.”

  Two ashen bodies were sprawled beside the square.

  Amos examined them closely.

  Jamil was identified with certainty because of the bag he was carrying, but the second man’s identification was more complex. A police sapper turned the body on its back and Amos shuddered.

  “Magic Flute… he muttered in shock and held his head between his hands.

  “Well, as far as we know, the terrorist himself was killed in the blast, and there are those who claim that another man exploded with him. Security forces say this was a second suicide bomber and not one of the rally participants. We can now confirm that a third terrorist was shot dead about twenty minutes ago outside the Hilton hotel. Police believe he was a tourist. We still have no official information on that. Michael?”

  “Thank you, Ellen. Well, an apparently failed suicide attack during the Tel Aviv peace rally, according to the initial reports, the only ones killed were the three terrorists but there are several injured among the rally participants. We’ll continue to update, stay with us.”

  Amos was startled by the sudden sound of his cellphone ringing. He ignored it at first, but was filled with anxiety as he saw his wife’s name on the screen.

  “Amit,” his wife muttered and burst into tears.

  As soon as the incident ended, Amos rushed to the hospital where his son had been brought.

  His wife ran to him in the corridor.

  He hugged her and questioningly looked at her, “How is he?”

  “The doctor said he’s fine,” she calmed him, “the suicide bomber who was killed absorbed the full force of the blast.”

  “A Bloody Attack,” declared the next day’s headlines. “A miracle. Three terrorists died before getting a chance to get close to the crowd.” Commentators claimed that a malfunction had caused the charge to explode earlier than planned. The subheads spoke of difficulties in identifying the body of the terrorist killed outside the Hilton hotel, since the press card he was carrying on his body had been stolen from the PRN camera crew. It was only two days later that the name of the third terrorist was made public.

  “Look,” Amos’ father pointed at the second name appearing in the newspaper article about the attack.

  “Why are you taking an interest in this particular name?” Amos was surprised.

  “Do you remember the Sulha reconciliation ceremony my father had done years ago? That terrorist, Khalil, was the son of the woman who married her cousin and moved with him to the Hebron area. Who would believe that her son would one day become a terrorist?”

  Amos gulped and said nothing. He wanted to tell his father that that “terrorist” was the man to whom Samuel owed the life of his grandson.

  “Then who was Ayun al Sud, the black-eyed girl who came with her father to visit grandfather on his deathbed?” he asked his father.

  “She was the daughter
of the man who wanted to marry that terrorist Khalil’s mother.

  “And what was her name?” asked Amos impatiently.

  “Oh,” he smiled, “she had a beautiful name, the name of a fragrant flower.”

  About the Author

  Danny Bar was born in 1955 in Israel and joined the military service when he was 18, serving as part of the special brigade of “Golani” unit. Upon finishing his service, he joined the Israeli Secret Service better known as the “Shabak”, and was assigned to the Special Operations Unit.

  After many years in the elite unit, Bar retired and became the General Manager of the “Ben Shemen” Youth Village where he stayed for 7 years. The Youth Village is a well-known educational institute founded in 1927 that amongst its famous alumni, was Mr. Shimon Peres - the former Israeli president.

  Message from the Author

  I wrote this book from an inner perspective, enabling readers to better understand the battle of minds taking place between the Israeli Intelligence Service and Islamic terror organizations. The readers are introduced to the Palestinian culture, language and changes within its society over the past few years.

  If you enjoyed this book, please don’t forget to leave a review on Amazon! It only takes a minute, I highly appreciate your input.