Agent on a Mission

by Rose Fox

  “True, but this test says otherwise,” she said, waving the lab results in her hand.

  “Hmm…” muttered the Judge.

  “Your Honor, you understand that that’s the only way I can summon him to a hearing, in which he will have to swear under oath, of course, that someone else volunteered his blood for the test instead of him.

  * * *

  Chapter Twelve

  “Order in court!” The Clerk proclaimed.

  All the people in court rose when the judge entered and took his place on the bench.

  The prosecutor, Aaron Bialik, rocked on his heels and pulled the sides of his black cloak together in a kind of involuntary movement.

  “I call the witness, Walid, from the Ka’abiah tribe.”

  Walid entered the court, his hands cuffed and legs in chains, awaiting release from them, and made his way to the witness stand. Abigail was surprised to see him and was certain he had completed his sentence. She stared at the young man, at Naim’s son. She remembered that he was almost twelve years older than her and had been her intended bridegroom.

  “Are you acquainted with the defendant, Gil Ayalon, who stands accused of the murder of the cab driver, Jacki Taub?

  “No, and I don’t know what it’s about.” Walid responded.

  “Do you not know anything about the case?”

  “Absolutely nothing.”

  “I suggest that you think again. Try and recall where you met.”

  “I do not remember ever having met him.”

  “And, what if I say you’re lying?” Aaron suggested, clearly trying to upset the witnesses’ cool.

  “It’s your word against mine,” was the response he got.

  “I’ll rephrase the question. Who shared a cell with you before your trial for drug possession?”

  Walid did not reply and Aaron immediately followed with another question:

  “Are you familiar with the name, Jamal?”

  “Yes, I know several people called Jamal.”

  “Okay, I’m referring to Jamal, your cell-mate, seven months ago.”

  “Yes, there was a fellow called Jamal, but he was released even before my trial.”

  “Thank you. Now we’re getting somewhere, because that’s the chap I‘m referring to.”

  Advocate Aaron adjusted his cloak, stared at Walid and hissed, “and if I say that Jamal acted on your instructions and was killed on your instructions?”

  “What are you talking about?!” Walid raised his voice and looked upset. He couldn’t understand how the matter had been discovered.

  “I’m talking about the mission you sent him on and from which he never returned.”

  There was a buzzing in the crowd. The judge banged his gavel on the block and called for silence. Walid’s face reddened under his dark skin and his voice trembled as he spoke.

  “I really do not know what you’re talking about!”

  “I didn’t imagine you would say anything else.” Aaron said. “I’ll tell you something quietly. You, my friend, did not believe that anyone would testify to having seen Jamal before he exploded in the desert, right?”

  Abigail shivered in the back row of the courtroom.

  * * *

  Shimon wandered slowly between the rows of prison cells, his hands behind his back and a look of importance on his face. His eyes scanned the cells and as he passed them, he stared through the bars.

  It was two thirty in the afternoon and the few prisoners in the cells dozed on their bunks. Some prisoners were still busy working at the jobs the prison organized for them. The prisoners chosen for these jobs were shortly to be released or were being rewarded for good behavior.

  He stopped in front of a cell and looked at one of the prisoners. The prisoner stared back at him and then returned his gaze to his hands which rested on his knees.

  “Hi, Sasson, you’re tired, right?” Shimon asked the prisoner, who shrugged his shoulders and didn’t reply. He despised this policeman and avoided responding.

  “Where are your friends?”

  “At work.”

  “I mean Walid. Is he also at work?”

  “Maybe, I think he is.”

  “Tell him I’m looking for him. He’ll know why.”

  “No problem.”

  Sasson continued sitting and didn’t even look at the policeman.

  The truth was that Shimon thought it was payback time from Walid for having told him who had informed on him, so to speak.

  He paused for a few more seconds in the hallway and walked to the locker cells. He took out a key and opened one of them, removed his jeans and blue denim shirt and put them on a bench in the locker room. Then he stripped and stood under a stream of warm water, planning his next moves.

  * * *

  Today was the end of the tenth month out of Walid’s thirteen month sentence.

  The electric gate in the prison wall closed behind him. On his back he carried his knapsack, which contained a black tricot shirt, a denim jacket and socks that had shrunk in the wash. The wallet in his pocket held fifty two Shekels and a monthly pass bus ticket with five perforations, just as it was when he was taken into custody. He waited at the bus stop and caught one to the Central Bus Station in Be’er Sheba.

  An hour later, he disembarked, sat on a bench in the large square and looked around.

  Everyone was on the move and he felt strange and different. He was hot and took off the denim jacket he was wearing and rested it on his knees.

  During his months of confinement, there had been plenty of time to think. He had not had even a moment’s regret for Sultan’s death. It was difficult to ignore his upbringing. He had been brought up to believe that a son must honor his father and he was obliged to honor Naim, his father. During his adolescence and university years he had come into contact with Israelis and envied them their education. None of them spoke of honor killings or vendettas, but Walid was unable to uproot the values instilled in him by his parents and family.

  During the many days Walid lay on his bunk in prison, he found himself thinking about the conviction for which he was serving time in prison. The injustice of it burned in his bones, but he had made a decision that he would consider his imprisonment to be punishment for the act of blood revenge. Indeed, it was true that he had not been involved in dealing drugs, but he quietened his soul by considering his time in prison as punishment for the blood murder he was responsible for.

  A week before his release, Shimon the policeman, dressed in civilian jeans, came to see him, together with a prison guard, who unlocked his cell door.

  “Come on, buddy, let’s go out into the yard.” Shimon invited Walid, who narrowed his eyes, not understanding the policeman’s pleasant demeanor. They walked down the long corridor in silence, pushed open the heavy door and went outside. At this hour of the evening the courtyard was deserted and illuminated by overhead spotlights.

  “How are you doing?” Shimon asked him as they walked, without looking in his direction, “What use did you make of the information I gave you?”

  Walid stopped for a moment and Shimon pulled him to continue walking.

  “Look, you begged to know who planted the bag of drugs in your camel bag so I told you.”

  Walid took care to remain silent. He realized it was payback time and he owed Shimon, so he waited to hear what he wanted from him and was surprised at how modest his request was.

  “I just need one small thing from you. I want the telephone number of your sister, Abigail,” Walid stopped and stared at him.

  “Abigail is not my sister, she’s my cousin. I don’t have, and I’ve never had her phone number.”

  Shimon sighed in disappointment.

  “But, I can get her sister, Latifah’s number. Perhaps she can give you her details.”

  Even now, as he sat on the bench at the central bus station, it seemed very small compensation for the information Shimon had given him about the informer. Walid called Naim, his father, but there was no reply. He le
ft a short message.

  “A’halan, Hello, Father, I’m out."

  Walid knew something of his father’s business dealings And, at heart; he was pleased not to be a partner in them. He recalled the telephone conversations his father held outside the tents, as he walked among them and he understood they were secret and also tinged with an element of danger.

  * * *

  When Naim returned to his tents in the evening, he was surprised to find his son there. Walid stood up and they embraced. When Naim looked at him, his heart ached. Walid was thinner than ever and his head was clean-shaven.

  “Hello, ya’Ibni, my son, it’s good to see you.” He patted him on the shoulder.

  “A’halan w’Sahalan," Hello and welcome, he replied, “Where have you been, Father?”

  “On business, you know.”

  “No, father, I don’t know. What business?” he asked defiantly and raised his eyes to look at him.

  “What has happened, son?” he asked.

  “Nothing. Really, nothing happened. All in all, I just served almost a year in prison and everything is simply great and wonderful now, my Father.”

  “Sit with me,” Naim requested, and after Walid sat down, Naim sat down too, and called out in the direction of the entrance to the tent.

  “Nadia, bring coffee for two to our tent!”

  “Father, do you know that I have no idea how that bag of drugs got into the saddlebag on my camel?”

  “I know and I believe you. I knew it all along.”

  “Really?! So why didn’t I hear that from you till now?”

  A tense silence grew between them. Nadia came to the entrance of the tent and Walid got up to take the coffee tray from her. A minute later, the strong aroma of the brown liquid rose as it was poured from the metal finjan and Naim served the coffee to his son, then poured himself a cup and sat down. They drank the coffee noisily, not looking at one another.

  “When did you get home?” Naim asked.

  “Yesterday afternoon and ever since, I haven’t been able to find peace of mind.”

  “What are you talking about?” Naim asked and Walid glanced at his father as if he was looking at him for the first time. Clearly he was fighting to control his feelings and from his breathing it was clear that he was furious.

  “Father, you taught me how to behave and what I did was based on the values you instilled in me.”

  “Okay, you are a good son, who brings me honor.”

  “Father, you also taught us to hide or conceal everything and not speak of personal matters, but that’s what has caused all the complications in my life.” Suddenly Walid raised his voice, “I’m speaking about honor, about broken promises and even honor killings.”

  Naim was silent. He thought that this was the first confrontation he had ever had with his son, who was lashing out at the man who had given him life. It was hard for Naim to bear and he said quietly:

  “Right, but I also taught my children to be polite and honor their elders in general and their parents in particular.”

  “Don’t shame me now!” Walid yelled, “I sat in prison for something I didn’t do!” He waited a minute and continued in a quieter tone.

  “I want to tell you that I deserved the prison sentence and I received it straight from Allah and it was small in comparison with what I really did!”

  Naim stared at his son. He didn’t understand what he was referring to.

  “Why do you say you deserved a prison sentence? You said you didn’t put the …”

  “Father, Uncle Sultan died because of me. I sent someone to kill him. It was because he broke his promise to you. Because your honor was wounded!”

  Naim breathed heavily. Suddenly he grasped what his son was saying, was overwhelmed and shouted.

  “What? Did you send someone to kill Sultan?!

  He grabbed Walid by his shirt and shook him furiously as he continued yelling.

  “Ya’Walid, my son, why?! Why?! Tell me it isn’t true! What did you have to do with Sultan?”

  Walid freed himself from his father’s grasp and stood in front of him, his face contorted in rage.

  “You spoke to me in two tongues ya’Aboui, my beloved father, a concealed one and an open one and I used your concealed language.”

  “What are you talking about?! Naim screamed.

  He beat his head with both hands and had there been a concrete wall beside him, he would have banged his head against it. Naim trembled and gazed into space like a blind man. Suddenly, he thought of Abigail, Sultan’s daughter. How would that young Bedouin woman react when she learned that it was Walid, who sent Jamal to the tribe’s tents with a grenade taped to his ankle? How could he justify the act?

  He collapsed on the mat. Walid looked at him mercilessly and continued shouting accusations at him.

  “Father, you promised that I would take Naima as my wife. You said that in front of witnesses and I also know that you said that she would not be my first wife. Did you say that or didn’t you?!”

  Naim bowed his head as he grasped what his son meant when he spoke about honor. Walid continued speaking and each word hit Naim like a sledgehammer.

  “But you told me to go out and find whoever pleased me. You even gave me to understand that you wanted me to find another woman. I brought another woman and did not take Naima.”

  Walid choked with anger and inhaled noisily.

  “You knew, I knew and everyone knew that you promised and I want you to know that, perhaps, because of that Naima’s life is cursed, because she is always alone. To this day, she lives alone, with her little daughter and without a husband.”

  Naim heard these remarks and his heart almost burst and he could feel how it missed a beat. He had never given thought to this. All those years he had worked hard to conceal the child and he was certain that he had saved her life and now, his son was presenting him with a completely different picture of her situation and her life.

  “Father, why didn’t she remain with her family? Why did you take her from there?! Where did you send her? Why?!”

  Naim remained silent. How could he talk? How could he reveal his business dealings? He was frightened that if he explained, the kidnappings and his shady deals in Saudi Arabia and other Arab countries would be revealed and he bowed his head. Suddenly he understood the truth, stared at Walid and said:

  “But, it was I who broke the promise, not him, so why did you send someone to kill him?”

  “I was informed that Sultan planted the drugs on my camel and I understood that he was taking revenge on both of us and was paying us back. I believed that.”

  “Oh! My son, my son,” Naim cried and looked at Walid’s extinguished eyes and sunken cheeks. He pulled him to his heart and embraced him, crying bitterly into the shoulder of his first born and only son.

  *

  In the meantime, Shimon got to work and began calling Latifah, Abigail’s sister. He planned to use her as bait to get to Abigail and turn her over to Ashraf.

  A week before the meeting Latifah received the fateful phone call. She was standing outside her mother Leila’s tent and planning to set off on an outing to Be’er Sheba with one of her sisters, the beautiful Liraz.

  “Latifah?”

  “Yes, who’s calling?”

  “Hello, I want to ask if you’re in touch with Abigail, your sister.”

  “Not much, but her little daughter, is always here.” She replied and didn’t notice the faster breathing that she heard and, of course, didn’t see the speaker’s eyes widening in surprise and how he smiled to himself.

  “Very nice. Do you know where Abigail is? Does she actually live with you?”

  “Who is that speaking?” Latifah asked. “Who wants to know?”

  “I’m a policeman and I was given your sister’s name because I need legal counsel for some prisoners.”

  “I understand,” she said. “I’ll pass on the message when I see her.”

  “I’ve got a better idea. Come, let’s sur
prise her and meet at her apartment, in Tel-Aviv. Just give me her exact address and come there on your own.”

  At that moment, Leila came out of the tent, holding her twelve-month old granddaughter. Latifah turned to her, with the telephone still at her ear.

  “Mother, where does Naima live? What’s her address?”

  “Why?”

  “I want to meet someone at her place.”

  “No way! You won’t go and meet anyone.” Leila exclaimed as she put little Arlene down on the sand.

  “Not on my own, at Naima’s home,” Latifah said. She caressed Arlene’s curly head as she grabbed hold of her legs.

  "All right, but only if Naima is with you. You will not remain alone with anyone.” Leila said.

  “All right, I understand!”

  “She lives in Tel Aviv, on Gordon Street. I don’t know the number of her house.”

  “Did you hear that, officer?” she asked and Leila threw her a glance when she heard the word, ‘officer’ but she didn’t say anything.

  “I heard. Come, we’ll meet there; let’s say on Monday, next week at five in the afternoon. Listen, you must come alone and you mustn’t tell anyone about our meeting, because it’s supposed to be a surprise. I will bring someone with me, who will make you very happy.”

  When she wanted to hang up, she heard him say:

  “Why don’t you surprise her and bring her little girl with you to see her.”

  Latifah stepped out of the taxi in Tel Aviv on Monday and recalled that she had visited her sister together with Adel, her brother, when Abigail was pregnant. Since then, she had kept a key to her sister’s home and now she was going to put it to use. She had taken care to keep this meeting a secret, as agreed with the policeman, and hadn’t told anyone, not even her sister, Abigail.

  This morning she had tried to persuade her mother to let Arlene travel with her but her mother’s refusal had been adamant.

  “This child is not going away from me and that’s that. If you want to take her out, do it with her mother. I will not permit it.”