Circle Around the Sun

by M. D. Johnson

  Emily was given several classes by a man named Anthony Wallace-Terry who was a Ministry of Defense liaison on loan to Scotland Yard’s MI5 Counter-Terrorism Division. Wallace-Terry actually worked for MI6 and was Tony Shallal’s immediate chief. He was an expert in identifying potential terrorist threats. A lecturer of considerable repute, Anthony Wallace-Terry had been a proponent of non-negotiation with hijackers at the 1963 Tokyo International Convention of Hijacking and had convinced most of the conferees to refuse to capitulate to the demands of terrorists. His special interest was the emergence of Middle Eastern radical factions since the early sixties. The best known was of course, the Palestinian Liberation Organization or PLO, founded as a nationalist umbrella organization dedicated to establishing an independent Palestinian state.

  He explained that after the 1967 Arab-Israeli War, control over the PLO had been wrestled over by various “fedayeen” militia groups, of which the most dominant was “Fatah” led by Yasser Arafat. Only last year, Wallace-Terry confirmed, Arafat had become chairman of the PLO’s executive committee, making this umbrella group very dangerous indeed. The Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine, known as “PFLP” was of profound interest to Emily as it was widely held that the group, according to Shallal’s lecture that morning, was actively recruiting women.

  Emily learned that on December 11th, 1967, Dr. George Habash created the PFLP as a consortium of independent groups. Known as “The Physician” or al-Hakim, he remained solely motivated by one desire, that of totally liberating Palestine from its oppressors. It had become a fierce, radical terrorist group and it attracted publicity by ruthless attacks on civilian targets with highly trained conventional and guerilla forces. Their focus was to develop such forces for use in attacks against Israel and its supporters. Their objective was to create an image of the Palestinian struggle as part of the world wide Marxist-Leninist revolution, to establish a Marxist-Leninist government in Palestine, and to thoroughly oppose all settlement negotiations between Israel and Palestine. Incidents so far included an attack on an El-Al airliner en route from Rome to Israel in July 1968, a year later the firebombing of Jewish owned Marks and Spencer’s in London and in September 1969, the simultaneous hijacking of three airliners, two of which were flown to Jordan and one to Egypt. All three had been blown up in front of television cameras. Also the Baader-Meinhof bombings in Berlin last December, and of course the recent mid-air explosion of the Swiss Airliner with forty-seven civilians onboard and an Austrian Airliner carrying mail to Tel Aviv.

  The problem, as Wallace-Terry saw it was that radical students worldwide had declared support of the organization and it was attracting more and more “thinking” young people. Splinter groups were now working with the PFLP, even exchanging members for missions. Of immediate interest was a recruitment effort within European universities, which was communist-backed, and presented as the struggle against Israeli supremacy in the Middle East. Many of the young people involved were being seduced, he insisted, under the guise of conscientious objections to the ongoing conflict in Viet Nam. Wallace-Terry opined that when terrorist organizations are threatened they trade members or form a coalition in the spirit of cooperation and alliance much the same as a small group of business owners would do under major corporate threat from outside. He went on to explain that there is a certain degree of cooperation suspected between the latest Euro-threat, being The Baader-Meinhof Gang, now also known as the Rote Armee Faktion or as it was popularly termed ‘Fraktion’, and its new firmly established friend the PFLP. Furthermore, there was a strong possibility that another splinter group was sending women terrorists for training in camps on the Lebanon/Syria border. Positive identification had not yet been made, but a friend of Habash’s second in command, Dr. Wadi Elias Haddad, “a good looking girl,” Wallace-Terry said somewhat lecherously, “named Leila Khaled, who is a student at the American University in Beirut has been observed openly recruiting. Khaled successfully hijacked a TWA plane last year. Right after the high-jacking, she underwent plastic surgery and returned to fight again.” He then showed the famous magazine shots of her. “She is considered a ‘spotter’ and we believe she recruits and helps train the best! Although currently under surveillance by our American cousins as well as our chaps, it serves our interest to watch the talent she taps; they are the threat for the future. So far the Yanks have also indicated the presence of several females. Please look at the lists we have given you and memorize the faces of these women. They are active in the IRA, RAF, and a Japanese group that has also settled in Lebanon,” Wallace-Terry said, matter-of-factly.

  “Your role,” Wallace-Terry declared, now focusing his attention on Emily, “is to infiltrate a camp, gain the confidence of the women and brief us as often as possible. You will be monitored the entire time and a more in-depth level of instruction in that area will be given to you closer to your being transferred to your duty station.” With this statement, he concluded his training sessions and the final stage of Emily Desai’s introduction into the covert world began.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  By one month after the entry of her son Masud into the world, Emily, now known only as Amina or Mina Desai, had read Carlos Marighella’s “Handbook of Urban Guerilla Warfare” so many times that she knew chapters by heart and could quote Marighella on demand. She had been thoroughly indoctrinated with practical military knowledge while the actress hidden deep within her psyche now truly believed that you could “only become a good fighter by learning the art of fighting.” Marighella, she understood had once said, “No one can become a guerilla without undergoing a period of technical preparation,” and with that concept firmly implanted in brain she was delivered by jeep to the Syrian border where she met with the man who would later take her back through almost the same spot, though approaching from another direction, to a training camp not far from Baalbak, Lebanon, high in the mountains above Beirut.

  To her astonishment the site was about 100 kilometers from Beirut and was near the home of the most spectacular Roman ruins in the Middle East. They passed the Baalbaak Acropolis with its temples of Bachus, Venus and Jupiter and the journey would have been completely enjoyable had it not been for the presence of the driver. This man, who would be her contact to the western world and her “watcher”, was none other than her husband’s best friend...Mustafa Jalil!

  “You work for the British?”

  “I have no choice. They found me in Turkey trying to smuggle dope and this seemed like a better deal than facing the Turkish authorities. Your husband evidently informed on me. He was the only person who knew. I haven’t seen or heard from him in months. After all these years we are now on opposing sides but with the same dream for our country. I believe that we must rid Afghanistan of the Western capitalist influence and he believes the Islam is the only true path to freedom. He’s a dead man anyway.”

  “Why do you say that?” she asked, still in a state of shock at the very thought of any collaboration with this man. Emily however still enjoyed the singular satisfaction of knowing that her betrayal of him was the root cause of his use by the British.

  “He has made some very dangerous friends” Jalil added wryly “Dangerous to himself, to his parents and to our country. He can never go home again. The path he follows will kill him, and that is perhaps what he wants. A noble death as a martyr for Allah.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “That is not your concern. The British watch him too. Knowing that bastard de Crecy, he probably arranged his entry into Jordan.”

  “Jordan, what the hell is he doing there?”

  “You husband is infatuated with a Palestinian cleric who preaches in a village near Amman. The cleric believes that the PLO is too left wing, that Arafat is nothing but a Marxist and he is detracting from the real mission, which is to free Palestine and the Middle East from the west. Ghulam hates communism and he has become an ardent supporter of this man. But the British and Americans will play with him like a puppet.”


  “Where are we going now?” she asked as they drove towards the outskirts of Baalbaak heading towards the mountain range.

  “To the training camp where you will live for several weeks. They are expecting you, I have recruited you and you are already a known commodity to the PFLP. Some of the others like the Germans you know already. I cannot tell you who they are or you will not act surprised. Remember I am not responsible for your safety. I consider you a disruptive piece of fluff who destroyed my friend, but I am to be your contact and will see that all information gets back to Shallal.”

  “Why do I have to use you?”

  “You won’t leave here for at least six weeks” He stared coldy at her ignoring the question “The compounds are as they say, co-educational, but the sleeping quarters are segregated. This is a Palestinian camp, after all. We will rarely see each other, but there is a time after the classes before lights out when the people gather. I warn you Emily; do not under any circumstances play around here. It will be taken badly. The Germans are not adjusting well. They think this is one of those places where one does the ‘cure’ after an illness. They do not have a serious approach and it is being taken very badly by the Commander. Don’t make the same mistake. A few miles before we reach our destination, you must place this over your head. They need to feel secure that you will not betray the location. After the first checkpoint you can remove it.”

  By this time they were driving slowly passing Chtaura and toward the ruins of Anjar spring, a place that thousands of years ago was the capital of an Aramaen Kingdom that stretched from the Euphrates to the Yarmouk River. Strategically, Anjar was the nucleus of the ancient trade routes leading to Damascus, Homs, Baalbak and the south. It is some of the most fertile land in Lebanon, surrounded by gushing springs which are the rich source of the Litani River. Anjar stands in forceful contrast to the Anti-Lebanon Mountains which divide Syria and Lebanon. In Arabic, Anjar was known as “Ain Gerrah” and was the name for an ancient pre-Hellenistic stronghold. It was fitting, thought Emily as she placed the hood over her head, that over a thousand years later, several miles away, facing this site with its majestic columns and arches should be the home of another stronghold…known to some as Shatila, the training camp where she would live for almost two months as a terrorist.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  They crossed the checkpoint without a problem. Emily was allowed to remove her hood only when the silence she had become used to on the drive transformed into shouts of guttural Palestinian Arabic, a dialect that was at first hard for her to fully understand, mixing with a cadence chanted by marching soldiers.

  The circular compound was guarded by men in fatigues wearing black berets and carrying very reliable Kalashnikov Assault Rifles. Emily noted the AK-47s, remembering that the weapon’s popularity among Arab armies and Palestinian terrorist groups was based not only on its ease of use but more importantly that it could be covered in slime, mud and sand and still function perfectly. It was an ideal weapon for inclement weather conditions as was proven daily in Viet Nam where it gave the advantage to the Viet Cong as American soldiers faced tremendous problems with their M-16s. Its short barrel did not detract from its efficiency. Emily had discovered at her recent training that the Australians, also in Viet Nam, prized the weapon above their own.

  The sand and dust burned her lungs immediately. She noticed that it was much colder here than in the city of Beirut. Mustafa processed her in and left her with another group of recruits in an ante-room leading to a much larger area where various desks were set up. She was told to remove her clothing and submit to a complete physical examination.

  The physician performing the examination did so in the presence of a nurse. They were both dressed in traditional Moslem clothing. While Emily could not identify the female nurse, whose head and face were covered, there was something about her that was very familiar.

  The examination was routine and cursory and Emily was in no way embarrassed or humiliated. She was found to be in good health for a woman who had given birth six weeks previously. There were no objections to her remaining at the camp. The doctor did however prescribe a low estrogen birth control pill and advised her to begin to take it on the fifth day following the onset of her menses. She was quite taken aback by this idea and made no pretense of taking his advice.

  “I’m not here to pick up a lover; I’m here to learn to defend Palestine.”

  “I’m sure you are, young woman. But I have found that an ounce of prevention is worth more than the horror of abortion and a few of your colleagues have already become attached to their fellow warriors, shall we say? It might be to your advantage to take control of the situation now.”

  Emily noticed that he spoke Arabic as a foreigner, possibly Russian, which surprised her. When she looked at him again, she realized that he was not an Arab at all. In fact he looked Jewish and was quite possibly Eastern European.

  When the examination concluded she was ushered into a dormitory with ten beds. An area at the end of the unit held two large shower stalls, two toilets and two wash basins. Much to Emily’s surprise each self-contained toilet had a bidet alongside it. While this was not a health spa, it was far and above her initial expectations.

  She noticed a tampon dispenser and cabinets well-stocked with a generous supply of necessities for personal hygiene; sanitary napkins, all of a German brand, Lebanese olive oil soap and assorted creams, deodorants, toothpaste and toothbrushes still in their cellophane wrappers. On the shelves as in any local hotel were cotton towels, washcloths, and finally a long separate cabinet containing bed linen. There were also ten separate laundry hampers each with a space for a name tag.

  The dormitory itself looked like any one would find in a European hospital and was probably a good deal cleaner. Emily was completely taken by surprise. So far this place was definitely not what she expected.

  The door opened and a woman dressed in a khaki military uniform smiled and held out her hand formally, coldly and without emotion. She introduced herself as Leila Khaled and Emily could see why Time Magazine had renamed her “The Deadly Beauty.” At this moment Emily, though impressed by the woman’s friendly smile and good looks realized that they did not necessarily match the coldness of her manner. It had been said that Khaled bore a strong resemblance to Audrey Hepburn and was stunning enough to have been a model. European newspapers focused on her breast size, her facial beauty and the ring she wore on the third finger of her left hand. A ring she had said was made out of a pin of a hand grenade. She was tall and willowy with a slender build and black hair partially covered by her ever present checkered keffiah fringed with the colors of Palestine, red, green, black and white, and a perfect facial bone structure that had only last year graced the front cover of magazines around the world as the symbol of the new Palestinian woman at war.

  “I know why you’re here, Amina Desai,” she said as she lit a “Rothman’s King-size” cigarette.

  Emily was stunned, but recovered quickly, and not knowing where the words came from said, “Good, that saves any long drawn out explanation.”

  “You’ll make it here as long as you remember nothing is more important than freeing Palestine. A woman can be a fighter, political activist, be loved, married, have children, still be a good mother, but first you are a freedom fighter. Never forget that Amina Desai, you have been chosen. This is your destiny!”

  “Are there other women here?”

  “Of course,” she continued in the Palestinian Arabic and English, switching slang terms whenever words failed her. “There are the Germans, even a former nun. A nurse, I think. But the Germans, they’re all such idiots. They’re all pot-heads. Only Meinhof actually does anything physical, and there’s a girl named Ingrid Siepman who has been here a little longer. She’s one of us now. It is for us an honor to be trained here. The Islamic attitude is of course that women should be protected from the world as a rule. We are different. Westerners are beyond redemption, too bossy, too free. They do no
t follow orders, they are spoiled. There’s another German named Dieter Kunzelmann who has done well. He is working at the pharmaceutical center here on the site. But Ensslin and Baader, they are useless, arrogant pigs. Baader refuses to get up in the morning, he cannot train himself. At least Meinhof lifts weights.” She lit another cigarette with the first, and noticing Emily’s slightly disapproving expression continued, “Yes, I chain smoke. It’s no apology. It’s my only diversion from the cause. You look like you have recovered from having your baby. Is he alright? Safe? I want children as well. I grew up in Haifa when it was beautiful. The Israelis, you know, commandeered it after World War II. We were repatriated, that’s what they called it. Refugees! The homeless. They took our orange groves and our olives, polluted our rivers with their chemicals and disposed of us. They did to us what the Nazis did to them. My family fled to Tyre, a place well known for historical aggression.”

  “Ah yes,” said Emily, “The ancient town of Sur.”

  “You read Plato?”

  “Of course, the English do afford us the privilege of education despite our heritage. Sur, captured first by the Saracens, five hundred years later by the Crusaders and then by the Muslims. Full of Roman columns, aqueducts, Roman baths, exquisite mosaic and tourists. Right?”

  ”Full of cheap labor and a breeding ground for the cause, Amina Desai,” running her name together Palestinian style, “My people are dying. Those who can work with empty bellies take the menial jobs, a little better than slavery. Our men are beaten, our women mistreated. May God help our women! There’s continual abuse from our men, the Lebanese and the Jews. No, Amina Desai, we cannot take this. We will fight. Men, woman and children. We will fight with slingshots and stones if need be, as we did thousands of years ago against the same enemy. We will fight with any weapon we have and we will have the attention of the world! We must win. This cause is higher and more personal than love of Islamic thought. This is the very existence of the Palestinian people. We are being annihilated. Wiped away. No one cares about us but us.”