by Rose Fox
Sharif understood they were running away. Three of them disappeared in the darkness. Where was the fourth?
Sharif remained sitting silently.
After a while he rose and went to the spot where he had seen them in a huddle. A figure lay on the ground and he waited, afraid to get closer to it. The figure lay motionless and Sharif approached slowly, prepared for anything that might occur and flexed his muscles for the possibility that he might have to flee.
When he came close to the figure, he bent over it and saw that the man was dressed in a military camouflage uniform and was apparently dead.
Sharif didn’t wait long and immediately got an idea. He pulled off the dead soldier’s uniform, his socks and shoes and even his underwear. He undressed and put his clothes on the dead man on the ground, who now resembled him exactly.
Before leaving, he thought for a moment and returned to the dead man. He laid his red bag with the clothes Raj had given him beside the corpse but didn’t forget to take his money out of it. When he finished getting dressed in the uniform he returned to the circle of trees and fidgeted around in the clothes, checking out where the open and concealed pockets were. After he was done checking the clothes he was now wearing, he got up and marched around in the army boots as he accustomed himself to walking confidently in shoes that were not his own.
Sharif now looked like a soldier in the Republican Military Guard, a Shi’ite soldier down to the very last detail.
When dawn broke, Sharif, the soldier, marched southwards; a tall, dark fellow, who spoke Arabic and had his mind set on joining the soldiers guarding the hostages. That was what he was determined to do now and it was the high point of his life, without considering the consequences and risks his actions involved.
Sharif had decided to focus only on the positive possibilities and directed his thoughts to his being where he was, marching across the sands of Iran. He had faith that God was with him and would continue to be with him.
Dawn came and the sun shone on the barren wilderness. He advanced for a considerable time, but had no sense of distance. He looked back towards the circle of trees where he had left the dead soldier, but it had disappeared into the horizon a long time ago. He hoped that someone would find the corpse dressed in his clothes with the red plastic bag beside him and that this would close the case of his escape and disappearance and the search for him would end.
He saw a group of soldiers. One of them straightened up and saluted him and the others immediately turned round and also saluted him. He saluted them in return and carried on walking, his head held high, surprised and puzzled. He realized that he was probably marching in the uniform of an officer with rank.
When the soldiers were out of sight, he stopped and felt his sleeves and discovered brass on his shoulders, one on each side and realized how important it was to recognize each rank and what it signified.
Some five minutes later he saw another group of soldiers near a military personnel carrier. When he drew closer he heard one of them saying to the other:
“Look, the Second Lieutenant, Shaweesh, is here. No, don’t look at him now!”
The soldiers were busy offloading the truck. Some of them were on the flat bed and others were beside it and they all carried crates. He wondered whether to get really close to them and decided to continue on his way when someone yelled from behind him:
“Hi, (hello), A’halan!”
He looked back. One of the soldiers stood a short distance away from the group and he saw that he had two brass buttons on each shoulder, meaning that he was of higher rank than himself. Sharif knew that in Israel, that was the rank of a Lieutenant.
First of all, he saluted him with ease, without straightening up and standing to attention. He just raised his hand as he had seen the other soldier salute him. He went towards him, trying to still his pounding heart.
“Where do you come from? Are you from the same place as them?” the Lieutenant asked, pointing to the soldiers working near the truck.
“I must keep my silence, Commander,” Sharif replied.
“Come on, why don't you join us and become a soldier in the ‘Kadi’ unit? Just as long as you know we are driving and not going on foot, of course. Come on, let’s ride to their new place," he said.
Sharif could not believe what he was hearing and carried on playing the role the Lieutenant had mistakenly cast him in.
“No thank you, my orders were to come on foot,” he replied with a smile.
“Who gave you orders like that? Captain Jamal? That’s not okay. What a rascal!”
“No, it wasn’t him. Another Lieutenant gave me the order.”
“Ah, that’s better. It isn’t like Jamal to give orders like that. You’re right, it’s not his method. Wait, I know who said that. Lieutenant Marzukh, because that is like him and he walks a lot. No wonder he is thin like you.” The Lieutenant added, returned his salute and Sharif understood that that was the end of their conversation. Sharif saluted casually again, continued for about another twenty meters when he heard the officer yelling something behind him. He was startled and turned round slowly.
“Hey Sawish, what’s your name?”
“Mahmoud, Mahmoud Talal!” he shouted in response and the officer waved goodbye to him.
“Hey, and what’s your name?” Sharif called back to him.
“Bassam, Bassam Khudira!” the officer shouted back.
Sharif waved goodbye and continued walking letting out a sigh of relief that threatened to burst his chest as he began thinking aloud.
“Get it into your head”, he said out loud to himself, “there’s Captain Jamal, an officer who doesn’t tell his men to take care of themselves yet, it seemed, takes care of them very well and then there’s Lieutenant Marzukh, who isn’t seriously concerned about his soldiers and doesn’t bother to take care of them but loves himself too much to walk a great deal or deprive himself of life’s comforts. At any rate, he is very slim.” Sharif tapped his finger on his forehead.
“And then there’s Lieutenant Bassam Khudira, whom I’ve already met and will also remember and, of course, he is the commander of the ‘Kadi’ unit that always travels in vehicles.”
He committed the details to memory and went on walking, kicking up the sand with his high boots, now feeling completely comfortable and accustomed to them.
After walking for another half hour he saw a barbed wire fence that surrounded a huge plot that had nothing on it other than sparse overgrowth. In the distance he saw soldiers at fixed distances from one another and they appeared to be guarding something. He stared at their weapons, which were carbine rifles and he noticed that they all wore camouflaged uniforms like his. Sharif stood at the fence that stretched in every direction and wondered what to do next.
In the distance he saw a gray car approaching that did not look like a military vehicle but the driver, who could be seen through the windshield, was in uniform. The car sped towards him and stopped about a meter away from him.
Sharif raised his arm and yelled at the driver, “why did you stop? You could have just passed me and carried on!”
The driver opened the car door but spoke to the soldier sitting beside him. Then he got out of the car and in the most natural way possible, approached Sharif and saluted him. Sharif noted that three yellow V shaped strips were affixed to his shirt sleeve, showing that the soldier had the rank equivalent to sergeant in the British Army and, perhaps, here too.
Sharif responded with a salute and spoke to him casually. “I’ve been waiting here for a long time. What delayed you, sergeant?”
“Ah, what did you say? You waited for me? I wasn’t told anything and I didn’t know that another person was joining us. They arrived only yesterday. Are they already sending back-up? Nice, very nice!”
“How’s it going?” Sharif inquired. He heard the Sergeant’s answer and at that moment he was convinced that Allah’s presence really was everywhere.
“Listen, a few problems arose that we
re not simple. We lost Corporal Rachma. He was killed and from what?!” He raised his voice. “From shots fired by Mussawi. He wanted to shoot the two stupid hostages, who tried to escape and in the end he killed our Rachma.”
“You don’t mean to say! Tell me, I didn’t understand, why was Mussawi shooting at all?” His heart almost jumped up to his throat.
“What do you mean by why? The hostages freed themselves from the ropes on the flat bed and almost escaped!” The soldier was flushed and red in the face and seemed to be reliving the experience.
“But, don’t worry; he took care of them.” He said with obvious delight and Sharif immediately asked.
“How did he take care of them?” and then regretted asking.
“I’ll tell you. Jawish got up on the truck and you know how strong he is. He almost killed them with the plank.”
It took enormous effort for Sharif to swallow and he couldn’t stop coughing. It was difficult to hear these things. He tried to catch his breath while he was coughing and spluttered,
“Imagine what would have happened if they had managed to escape.”
“Oh, wow!” The sergeant waved his arm and laughed, “They would executed the whole lot of us and believe me, there are a lot of us. Tell me! Wouldn’t that have been a pity?”
“You’re right. How many of you were on that truck operation?”
“Do you mean the whole transfer project? Just a moment, let’s check it out. At the outset we were close to twenty people because there was a lot to do. Those missiles are really heavy, it’s no joke. Don‘t forget there were also some very heavy crates, Each wooden crate of grenades weighs forty kilos but it was as if they had filled them with stones.”
“Well, fine, but there were a lot of you.”
“Right, but they left only eight on the truck because we came with the tractor.”
“Make up your mind; was it a truck or a tractor?” Sharif asked and the sergeant looked at him and inquired:
“What’s the question?”
“Nothing, y’allah, come on, let’s get to work.” After a moment’s thought he said, “I’m counting on you to guide me. I want to see good work here. And I’ll tell you another important thing. I really don’t know how to deal with matters here.”
“That’s not a problem. But I don’t understand; why don’t you know? Where did you come from?”
“From there, you know, from the previous place.”
“Ah, they have to get the same treatment. Continue just as you did with one difference. There they lay on the sand and you saw what happened after the earthquake, right? We were lucky not to have been buried there together with them.”
“Right. Does that mean it couldn’t happen here?” Sharif inquired.
“Certainly not! I see you really don’t know anything about this place. So come with me. I’ll take you on a short tour,” he offered, “I hadn’t planned to talk so much. There’s a lot of work to be done. But I have a little more time for you, shaweesh, y’allah, come on!!”
The sergeant approached, looked and checked the coils of the fence with his foot on the sand. Suddenly, something popped up revealing a narrow, dark opening like the descent into a sewer.
At that moment Sharif felt something burst inside himself. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined that he would find himself standing at the opening to a tunnel, especially in a place where hostages were being guarded.
Finally the reality of it penetrated and he realized where he was. He shuddered at the idea that he was going to see them. His stomach ached; he was dizzy and found it difficult to stand in one spot. He stepped aside and vomited on the sand.
The soldier waited for him to come over, stared at him but did not say a word. He raised the cover, put his hand inside and tightened something inside the tunnel. The noise of cables was heard and the clacking of gears and a metal platform appeared.
“After you,” Sharif suggested.
“No, you first.” The sergeant responded.
“Fine, just tell me how I’m supposed to know what to do here? Who’s the expert, you or me?”
“Okay, when you’re right, you’re right.”
The sergeant entered cautiously, pressed a button Sharif didn’t manage to see from outside and disappeared from sight. After a short while, the empty elevator platform reappeared and Sharif mounted it and noticed a small metal lever. He pulled and withdrew it but nothing happened and when he pressed it inwards the elevator began its descent. That took about ten seconds and Sharif estimated that the depth of the excavation was about twenty five meters or even more.
A long corridor that was illuminated by tiny lights appeared before him. Sharif looked for the sergeant who had disappeared. Some of the walls were concrete and some were wooden. He slid his hand over them when suddenly another soldier appeared from one of the rooms. He was also a sergeant.
Sharif was very tense, almost fainting with fright and he raised his hand to his chest. He panted and spluttered, “you gave me a fright, sergeant, where did you come from?”
“Really?! What’s your name, Shaweesh, (lieutenant)? I’m Marzukh,” the sergeant announced.
“Marzukh? Nice, then you have a bright future ahead of you.” Sharif laughed and patted him on the shoulder.
“Why?” the soldier asked, not understanding.
“Marzukh, well, what about Lieutenant Marzukh, do you know him?”
“Ah, very nice, you’re referring to that Lieutenant Marzukh but I will never be able to compare to him because he is a sportsman. You have to be born like that.”
“Yes, I know. And he’s so thin but that’s no wonder. He walks a lot and he also expects others to do the same.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“I’m Mahmoud, Mahmoud Talal,” he introduced himself and joined him on his walk down the corridor.
“By the way, are we waiting for a group from the ‘Kadi’?
“Yes, why do you ask?”
“Because I saw them beside the truck, a few kilometers from here. They were offloading crates and I spoke to their commander, Lieutenant Bassam, Bassam Khudira.”
“You mean they were loading, not offloading. Then yes, they should have been here already. Where did you see them?”
“Let’s say they’re about a half hour from the circle of palm trees. I saw them on my way.”
“Wow, wow, you did a lot of walking! What are you talking about? You’re the one who’s like Lieutenant Marzukh.”
“Well, let’s not exaggerate. Less talk and more work. Let’s get to the important stuff," Sharif suggested.
Sergeant Marzukh led him to one of the cells, pointed to the crates that had to be organized and remained silent. Sharif looked around and then asked casually:
“When do we get out of here?”
“You asked for the important stuff, so here it is. Until we finish this we won’t be able to take the crates from the ‘Kadi’ unit so we have to make haste.”
Marzukh rolled up his sleeves and set about arranging the crates as he said:
“We have around ten roomfuls like this and I don’t see how we can take care of all this alone. Wait here while I go and call Walid and Ahmad. I’ll be right back.”
An hour later, Sharif stood sweating with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows after he had almost finished arranging the midsection of the first room when he heard Marzukh call out to him:
“Mahmoud, my brother, don’t bother with it,” He said as he walked up to him quickly and placed a hand on his arm.
“You don’t have to arrange anything.” He said as he looked around. “Good job. You managed a lot but it’s a pity.”
“Why is it a pity?”
“Apparently, in two days, though it’s not yet official and remember, you didn’t hear this from me, everything, including the hostages, will be moved to a completely different location. I heard that they are arranging trucks.”
He laughed with glee when he saw how Sharif stared at him and listened w
ith heightened interest, perhaps, with too much interest.
“You don’t say!”
“Now, listen. They’re doing it gradually so that the transfer plan won’t attract attention. Don’t forget they have to keep it secret from those who shouldn’t know. That’s why they’re planning it in several stages. It won’t be done in large convoys or in a barrage of fire but in single shots,” and he laughed at the metaphor from the world of ammunition.
“I get it. Each time, just one or two trucks, no more.”
“Yeah,” he responded. “And the two of them will be sent in a single car, without an escort.”
“Seriously?!”
“That’s what I heard.”
Sharif stood scratching his head. He looked around him and pretended to regret all the effort he had put in.
“Wow, I put a lot of sweat into that. It’s a pity you didn’t tell me at the start.”
“But, I didn’t know. I’ve only just been told.”
“So what do we do now?”
“Nothing. It will stay packed like this and be loaded gradually on the trucks.”
“That’s all well and good but where is it all to be transferred?” Sharif inquired.
He was agitated and very excited and therefore took care not to look Marzukh in the eye. He turned his gaze from corner to corner as if he was examining things and thinking about them simply from an organizationally interested point of view.
“I really don’t know. If I heard right, I think our activities will transfer to Lebanon.”
Sharif almost had a fit when he heard that and a cry escaped his lips.
“Wait, I’m just making an assumption based on what I’ve heard here and there. I think, in the end it will really be a last minute decision.” He turned to go and added, “and that may also change in another hour.”
When he left the room, Sharif had to make an effort to regulate his breathing and organize his thoughts.
Sharif had not even started looking for Adam or Abigail. He tried to integrate with the guards and the men patrolling the place as he listened to everything they said and absorbed the information. The whole time his brain was concerned with the main reason he was there. He thought about how it would be possible to get them out or if there was any possibility of concealing them in order to bring them home. Now, after talking to Marzukh, he decided to wait patiently for the consignment that would leave within a day or two.