What Benjamin had not said, what he had dared not admit, even to himself, was that he had become increasingly uneasy about Israel's policy towards Palestine and the Arab world generally. He had grown up through it all. He had seen men, women and children die on both sides and what had been accomplished? He wasn't sure. Surrender was never an option, but victory seemed further and further away. He wasn't even sure that anyone knew what victory for Israel looked like anyway. Now he was watching an entire new generation of Jews and Arabs make the same mistakes he and his generation had. If the only answer to bombs was shells, and neither side was going to run out of either, then what was the future? It was these thoughts that occupied Benjamin's mind whilst the American was talking.
The American finished, it was Saeb's turn to open negotiations this time. He shuffled his papers, cleared his throat, and began to speak.
'Thank you,' he began 'I would like to raise the issue of' he was interrupted by shouting coming from outside the suite. The unmistakable sound of Spanish hailed though a megaphone, followed by the English translation.
'Throw down your weapons and face the wall with your hands on your head.' The Mexican police sergeant instructed the two protection officers outside the suite. They, unfortunately, had clear instructions, no one inside. They both drew their weapons and fell in a hail of bullets from the multitude of police officers. The door burst open and four Mexican officers stormed in, led by the Sergeant. The American, startled and confused jumped out of his seat, turned to face the officers. He reached for the passport that declared him a simple businessman. This was an unfortunate mistake. He received four shots to the chest, close together from the Sergeant and the other officer nearest to him. The American fell down and didn't move.
Saeb Tibi and Benjamin Yogev both sat quite still at the table, both experienced in warfare they knew their only chance was to keep still and cooperate. Neither of them had any weapons.
'Put your hands on your heads' the Sergeant instructed them both.
They complied. Two of the officers moved around to their backs and locking a handcuff on one wrist, they brought their arms down behind their backs, and secured the other wrist into the other handcuff. Neither man resisted, or protested.
'Search them' the Sergeant instructed.
'Nada.' Nothing the first said in Spanish, the second agreed, yes nothing.
Odd, the Sergeant thought to himself, these drug dealers always carry weapons. He looked around the room, no briefcase of money, nor of drugs, no scales, nothing in fact to show this was the drug deal he was tipped off about. Just the two men out front with guns and the guy on the floor, he pointed to the American.
'Recover his weapon' the Sergeant instructed one of his officers.
'He hasn't got one' the officer replied, after searching the cooling body thoroughly.
'What? He was reaching for a gun. Check his left inside jacket pocket.' the Sergeant was starting to get a very uneasy feeling.
The officer pulled out the passport and showed it to his Sergeant.
'It's only his passport. It says he was a machine-tool dealer.'
'Mierda...... mierda mierda mierda, cogida!,' The sergeant swore several times, realising that this was looking less and less like the drug bust he had been expecting.
'Check those two.' he instructed the officer.
The officer reported that both the others had business cards identifying them as owners of engineering businesses. The sergeant didn't like were this was going. But, he thought to himself, I was given a reliable tip. Fourth floor of the Hotel Del Principado. He looked again at the piece of paper he had written down the location of the drug deal. He looked at the hotel's headed paper on the desk against the wall. Hotel Del Presidente, he read, he read the paper again. They were similar, but not the same, I'm at the wrong hotel. I AM AT THE WRONG HOTEL. I've got to make this right somehow, the thought insisted itself on him. He pulled out an evidence bag and slid the American's briefcase into it. I'll deal with this later. He called for the bodies to be taken to the mortuary and had the two “businessmen” arrested for drug dealing.
15:27 31 October [21:27 31 October GMT]
Booking desk, Central Police Station, Mexico City, Mexico.
The desk sergeant was overwhelmed with petty criminals. When the arresting sergeant offered to book the evidence in the desk sergeant readily agreed. He knew it was against procedure, but these things tended to be flexible at peak times and he knew that the arresting sergeant would leave him to sign the forms so everything looked official. The arresting sergeant, alone in the evidence room placed the revolver in the briefcase and took one of the bags of cocaine destined for destruction and placed that in the briefcase. That should do it, he thought to himself, after all, they might really be drug dealers after all, who knows?
18:09 31 October [00:09 01 November GMT]
Interview Room, Central Police Station, Mexico City, Mexico.
They had both refused consular access. They were, after all, holding fake passports, good ones, but officials from the countries of their fake passports would spot them quickly enough. They both stuck to their cover stories, they were businessmen from two South American countries and were interested in purchasing high quality second-hand machine tools. The American had come recommended and they were meeting him together to share a container and thus save on shipping costs. They knew of each other through the person who had recommended the American. They both had to use the same court appointed lawyer, as they had no one to contact. When the lawyer arrived, both their hearts sank; he was young, looked tired, and carried a huge pile of case files. When the lawyer mentioned the find of drugs and a gun in the American's briefcase they could not refute it. This was supposed to be the first time they had met the American, so they just had to say that they didn't know what was in the American's briefcase. The lawyer said that this would not be an easy case. Being in association with a drug dealer carried the same penalty as drug dealing. In any case, they were looking at a year or more of prison before trial. They both stuck to their cover stories, aware that more than their lives were at stake.
19:41 31 October [01:41 01 November GMT]
Holding Cell 4, Central Police Station, Mexico City, Mexico.
Benjamin Yogev had to admit how tired he was, he'd been on the go now for twenty hours. A consequence of the four and a half hour flight from Israel to London and then the twelve hours of the onward flight to Mexico City added to the two-hour layover and the eight-hour time difference his body was experiencing. However for all that he had not found the questioning overly stressful. Sure, he thought to himself, if I had really been the owner of an engineering business then I may have been traumatised but I have been interrogated by professionals.
The memories of his various interrogations took him back through his life. He thought back to his father's shop in Jerusalem, Abraham's. He'd spent many happy hours and days there, helping with deliveries, making deliveries and learning to count the Shekels, his love of numbers was probably born there. He was adored by all who shopped there and was given the nickname of Little Abraham, which was just fine with him. His father, Abraham, had only a basic education and strived to ensure that all of his children were well educated.
School suited the young Benjamin. The structure, discipline, and reward system worked to his advantage. Year on year he grew in both height and intelligence and when his physical height reached its maximum of 5' 9” his intellectual height kept going. Enlisting as a Paratrooper seemed natural to young Benjamin. His father was both proud and a little disappointed; he was hoping his first-born would follow him into the business, but secretly he knew that Benjamin had already outgrown being a shopkeeper.
The move from school to military proved to be the making of Benjamin the man. The tough discipline, hard physical training and the excellent advanced education helped him to be recognised as a rising star. It was in the Paratroopers that Benjamin took up two of his hobbies, boxing, and triathlon. He never truly e
xcelled at either, both of his coaches complained he was always holding back, this was particularly apparent in the boxing ring.
'He has the mind and body of a boxer' his coach had remarked one particular occasion to his commanding officer, 'but he doesn't have the heart of the boxer. He never closes in for the finish.'
Like his fellow paratroopers, he was schooled in many of the martial arts including Krav Maga, the Israeli method of self-defence. Here too his ability to finish was questioned, he just seemed that touch more reticent than his peers to go the final step, even if the final step was non-lethal.
So much concern was raised that his commanding officer decided to review his file, with a view to moving him out of the paratroopers. Pending the review, he was placed on guard duty.
Things changed three weeks later during one of his graveyard shifts of six to six. Just after two in the morning, his base came under attack. They breached the first gate, killing all four guards on duty there. Six assailants were now making for the second gate. All were wearing backpacks and Benjamin was in no doubt that, they would head for the barracks once inside. Suicide bombers. Just like those who killed Ishmael! Benjamin fired his assault rifle as he sprinted after then dropping immediately, forcing two to stop, and return fire. Benjamin didn’t stop even when comrade was hit, he continued to fire and one more fell to the ground. Benjamin pushed on, heart pounding, legs moving with a will of their own, and then a fierce blow struck his shoulder, like a cricket ball moving at speed. He stumbled slightly, but his trained legs and his momentum kept him going towards his targets, then he felt the pain explode out from the impact area and his left arm became useless. He held onto his rifle, pointing it up as he ran, then straight towards his targets each time he fired. Damn, he thought, I can't aim for shit. However, his fire was sufficient to provide him with some cover as he closed the distance to his targets. The remaining target firing at him was panicking, he kept looking behind at his comrades running towards the second gate and switching back to see this guard who had appeared out of nowhere running towards him. Firing off one final burst, he turned to follow the other suicide bombers into the heart of the camp. It proved a fatal decision. Benjamin was able to aim roughly ahead of him, and his target virtually ran into his line of fire. Two down, Benjamin thought, but what about the others? Then fate turned Benjamin's way, the guards on the second gate stuck to their training and didn't come out to meet the attackers, they activated the blast barrier sealing off the camp to the attackers. Benjamin didn't miss a beat; he raised his rifle again and shot the two closest to him. His rifle empty he simply dropped it and kept running, pulling his knife out as he closed the gap to the remaining two attackers. He lunged at the nearest, who sidestepped and punched Benjamin to the right side of his head. Stumbling badly this time he didn't fight it, instead he used his moment to roll forward and spring up behind the second, where he plunged his knife into his chest, entering up through the attacker’s abdomen as he reached around the attacker. Benjamin felt the weight of the attacker fall on to him as his knife pierced the heart. Benjamin tried to withdraw the knife, but it was lodged solid. He released the knife, and pushed the body with all of his might onto the remaining attacker. The attacker dodged the falling body, but it gave Benjamin time to stand-up and face him. The moonlight reflected off the blade the attacker was now holding, Benjamin made an apparent lunge for him, but fainted to the attackers left. This put Benjamin on the attacker's unprotected side, in a crouching position; he punched the attacker's left knee from the side with all his strength, it made a satisfying popping sound and gave way. The attacker, stunned, fell right on top of Benjamin. Benjamin wrapped his legs around the attacker’s waist and arms, pinning him, his left arm still useless he didn't have the strength to snap the attacker’s neck; he opted instead to choke him with his right arm across the attacker’s throat. The attacker kicked and struggled, Benjamin held on, only releasing when his attacker had been totally still for a count of thirty. Benjamin checked for a pulse. No, no pulse.
Benjamin received a special commendation for outstanding bravery. The case review was quietly closed, and his former coaches told of his actions so that they could look out for others like him.
Benjamin's mind moved forward in time, to the events that had brought him to this negotiating role, and ultimately to this police cell, he thought grimly. Benjamin was never quite sure how or when he turned into a politician. After his time in the Paratroopers, he undertook some special duties for an agency attached to Mossad but operating under different rules. After this, he was approached by the far right party “The Sons of David” and persuaded to stand for election. It was in this capacity and as a former soldier, that Benjamin was approached to act as a negotiator. Why me, had been his obvious question, because you don't want to do it, because it goes against everything you believe and because if someone like you doesn't like the deal then it is not something that we could recommend to the people.
At first, he had assumed he had been chosen to ensure that there was no peace accord. Therefore, he had begun by objecting to and demanding anything and everything. At his third report back, he was asked, told really, to suggest a very small compromise, just to test the water and see the response. He did. The response was cautious but positive, the matter in other negotiations would have seemed so trivial, but for an Arab and a Jew to agree on anything, especially this Arab and this Jew, was a miracle indeed. More small compromises were made by both sides. Benjamin had started to realise that the process and intent, on both sides, was real. The enormity of the responsibility had weighed on him greatly. All of the negotiations to date had been negotiations about negotiating, how would the two sides negotiate? Who would represent them on both sides? How many? How many sessions? What times would they be? Where would they be held? Who would host them? Who would arbitrate? How? A million questions, all politically sensitive and loaded with dangers.
They had made real progress in this. Now it was all shot to death. Quite literally. The loss of the American and our incarceration makes it very unlikely that anyone will continue the negotiations.
Benjamin sighed. He resigned himself to his fate. He must keep quiet for the sake of his country lest it be embarrassed and worse still, not make the effort ever again. That would condemn his country to a very bleak future. Benjamin sighed again, and started some press-ups, might as well keep fit.
20:22 31 October [02:22 01 November GMT]
Holding Cell 9, Central Police Station, Mexico City, Mexico.
Saeb Tibi stretched out after his yoga. He had been born a happy little boy. Quite content to play on his own or with others, his imagination ever his friend. However, he was also an intelligent and sensitive child, so by the age of nine he was becoming acutely aware of the injustice that pervaded his and his family’s lives. This was the birth of his anger and hatred. It came to colour every aspect of his life, everything wrong in the world, his world, became their fault. They became the wrong and he became the mighty right. He was educated in the Hanafi School of Sunni Islam. Whilst his Imam was radical, and he was influenced strongly by it, he also read parts of the Koran that he was not schooled in, and found it strange that not only were Jews mentioned, they and Christians were respected as "People of the Book.” This inconsistency he translated quietly in his own mind, if Allah can live with Jews in the world then so can I, but I don't have to put up with their cruelty and injustice.
So, for Saeb, the Jews of the occupation were the ones he fought, and fought with all his might. The others he would leave alone, for Allah to judge. His hatred grew with each injustice, with each year, his heart iced over and his soul burned for revenge.
Anger should visit, never stay. Bodies and minds use anger to produce change, which may be to run away, or protect a family against a predator. When anger comes to stay, it infects the body and mind. The body is poisoned with constant stress, years of life expectancy literally worried away. The mind has it worst of all. The ever-present anger colours th
e vision, so that you cannot see what is really there. It muffles the hearing, so you can only here the bad, never the good. The mind itself becomes twisted; cause and effect are often reversed so that effects create the cause. Action is perceived as retaliation, as the mind decides that it knows what others will do and therefore sets you on a preventative path. All actions seem rational to the angry man. As the anger builds through more injustice, acts become more radical, more disproportional to the causal event or anticipated event. In the end it all becomes about feeding the anger, it has consumed the whole of the person, now it reaches out to consume those around it.
This was Saeb before he found yoga, or yoga found him. He would never have tried it, this bending and balancing, had it not been for a fellow member of “God's Might” the Palestinian group which he had joined after two of his brothers were shot whilst demonstrating. He too had known pain and suffering, and saw the anger in Saeb, that had once eaten himself. He insisted that Saeb go with him.
'How can you say you don't like something unless you have tried it ten times?'
However, for Saeb it only took four times. He looked forward to his fifth session with keen anticipation. The sense of peace and satisfaction that he felt upon finishing a yoga session he knew he could never fully describe. By the tenth or twelfth session, his anger had started to change into something more purposeful. By his twentieth, he was a man reborn through Allah's will. A man with a purpose and the passion, forged from his anger, to see it through. Saeb Tibi was a man reborn to do Great Things. However, he had found that Great Things call you in their own time, not yours.
Dark Matter Page 10