The Marsh Angel

by Hagai Dagan

  I went to al-Mazra‘a for a meeting attended by several senior members of the organization. We were briefed on political affairs, and heard surveys of military and state affairs. Everyone reported on their own sector. The focus was on youth recruitment from the refugee camps. Talal Naji awarded me the organization’s decoration of excellence. He joked and said that from now on they’d give new recruits a yellow badge.

  Yellow badges? … Something didn’t sit right with Tamir. He called Nissenbaum and asked him who the source they were about to question was.

  Tulip, Nissenbaum replied.

  Yes, but what’s its real name? Do you know?

  Yeah, ‘Ali Numiri.

  The name didn’t ring any bell. He told Nissenbaum Talal Naji’s joke about the yellow badge and said he didn’t get it.

  Ah, yes, Nissenbaum said, they call him ‘Ali al-Asfar.

  al-Asfar, Tamir said, the Yellow.

  Yes, Nissenbaum confirmed, ‘Ali the Yellow.

  e. Memory and Forgetfulness

  Tamir scheduled to meet the guy from 504 at the bus station near the Rosh Pina intersection. He wore civilian clothes, as he was instructed to do. The guy came in a brown Ford sedan. His face was slightly pale, his gaze purposeful and restless, and his hairline receding despite appearing to be in his early thirties. He wore a pair of black jeans, Palladium boots, and a blue short-leaved Polo shirt. He drove with an urgency which stood out in the sluggish streets of Rosh Pina. Tamir asked half-jokingly whether he should cover his eyes.

  No, it’s fine, said the guy who introduced himself as Yaki the SRO, Special Roles Officer. We trust the people 8200 send us.

  Really?

  No. We asked the Shin-Beit to run your name through their system. You came out clean.

  Really?

  No.

  The two of them sat in silence. They drove by rows of basalt-stone houses. Tamir suddenly conjured up the image of Ophira’s dark neck and her deep, dark cleavage, parting her bright uniform. The word volcanic sprang to his mind, spelled out in black block letters.

  Yaki’s voice suddenly reached him, as if from afar. He stirred. Yaki said he’s ‘Ali the Yellow’s operator. He explained the protocol: he would introduce Tamir as an intelligence expert. ‘Ali doesn’t need to know which unit you’re from. Actually, he doesn’t need to know anything about Israeli intelligence, or anything about our side. The questions need to be phrased so that they give away as little information as possible. Tamir said that was clear. Yaki asked how his Arabic was, and whether he needs him to translate. Tamir replied that he hasn’t spoken Arabic since his training course, but that he was pretty good at it then. In terms of comprehension, he thinks it’ll be fine. If he’ll need help with translation, he’ll ask.

  Did you prepare a lot of questions? Yaki asked and peeked at his watch.

  Not too many, Tamir said and touched the yellow writing block he toiled over when preparing for the questioning with Nissenbaum. His heart was racing. He tried to look calm.

  It’s okay if you’re a bit nervous, Yaki turned to look at him. It’s your first interrogation. But try to sound calm when you speak. It’s important that he feels we’re the ones in control.

  Tamir nodded.

  I’ll introduce you as Eran. There’s no reason for him to know your real name.

  The car ascended up the hills above Rosh Pina and stopped at a street corner in front of a dense thicket of tall bushes. They walked through a narrow path between the bushes and found themselves in front of a faded red door. Tamir thought Yaki would use the door buzzer and identify using a password, but he simply looked into the camera fixed on the wall above them, took a key out of his pocket, and opened the door. Two men came towards them in the hall, one tall and lanky, the other short and portly. Golden eyeglass frames slid down the bridge of the portly man’s nose. He’s watching TV, the lanky man said. Yaki introduced the portly man to Tamir: Doron from the Lebanon Branch at MID-RD, who’s also here to question ‘Ali the Yellow. Tamir felt intently alert, his anxiety diminished to a small, manageable size.

  They went into a broad room furnished with black leather couches, a large glass table with a black metal frame, and a large television set. A lone picture hung on the wall, an oil painting of an olive grove in a mountainous landscape. Tamir thought it wasn’t very good. The window was shut. A man of average height dressed in gray pants and a light-colored button-down shirt got up to greet them. His slightly pudgy face donned an expression that seemed part convivial and part cautious. He and Yaki hugged. Tamir couldn’t determine how cordial the two actually were. Yaki made the introductions: Eran and Yossi, intelligence experts; ‘Ali Numiri, a senior member of the Popular Front – General Command. Tamir knew that ‘Ali wasn’t a senior member of the organization, and he knew that Yaki knew as well, that he’s introducing him this way only to flatter him.

  I’m honored, Tamir said and extended his hand. He wasn’t going to kiss ‘Ali’s cheek.

  ‘Ali shook the hand extended towards him and looked deeply into Tamir’s eyes. He didn’t say a thing.

  They sat down. There were bowls of cookies and peanuts laid out on the table. Is everything okay? Yaki asked ‘Ali, is there anything you need?

  Everything is fine. What about the trip to Tel-Aviv you promised?

  ‘Ali, you know we always keep our word. After we finish this debriefing, we’ll drive down to Tel-Aviv, go to the beach, go to clubs, go watch soccer… Our soccer’s not that great, but it’s better than what you have in Lebanon. I saw you lost to Saudi Arabia.

  Lebanon, ‘Ali snarled, shit soccer, shit sport. I don’t care about your soccer either.

  We can go to the beach to see some girls.

  Tel-Aviv’s not the only thing I’m interested in, ‘Ali winked. We can travel around the Galilee, see the view…

  See the view? Since when do you care about the view? Yaki wondered.

  Well, since I’m cooped up in this apartment all day, it would be nice to get a breath of fresh air. We could go eat at a nice restaurant, perhaps by Mount Meron, I hear it’s nice there, and then in the evening go to a club.

  Yaki exchanged glances with a thickset man in a yellow plaid shirt who stood silently in the corner. What now? he asked. Would you like some more coffee?

  Maybe something different, just to change things up, ‘Ali winked.

  Yaki gestured with his eyes to the other person who wasn’t introduced to Tamir. He left the room and came back a moment later with a bottle of Chivas Regal Scotch whiskey and four glasses. The ice hasn’t frozen yet, he apologized. He poured the drinks, and the four raised their glasses. Here’s to fruitful collaboration and to living the good life! Yaki toasted. Tamir was impressed by Yaki’s Arabic. He thought he detected a hint of an Iraqi accent. He tipped back his glass and felt a soothing warmness in his stomach as he sipped the amber-colored drink. He hadn’t had anything to eat all day, and felt it would be wiser if he didn’t have any more to drink. On the other hand, the whiskey helped loosen his stiff limbs. There was a lot at stake, and he knew he had to be sharp and focused. He recalled the initiation ceremony his father had held for him when he was thirteen. He taught him how to drink vodka, how to knock it back in one gulp, and then, looking Tamir in the eyes with a look that was part jocular and part gravely serious, added: everything in moderation. Jews have always known how to drink without getting drunk. We can’t afford to cloud our minds. Getting pissed is a privilege reserved for goyim.11

  Yaki said they’d start with a few general questions.

  You’ve already asked me general questions, he replied with slight irritation. For three days, all you’ve asked me are general questions.

  Bear with us, we’ve got just a couple more, Yaki gave him a smile which projected both conciliation and rebuke. He asked him questions regarding his travels within Lebanon, about different people he knows, his daily routine,
and the vehicles he uses. ‘Ali replied in a manner which Tamir thought sounded honest and detailed. Yaki wrote down his answers, but there was no need for him to do so since there was a medium-sized tape recorder with a microphone protruding on the table beside them.

  The man named Doron from MID-RD followed, asking questions about political meetings which took place at the refugee camps that ‘Ali was present in. He asked to know who participated in the meetings, what was said, and whether there was internal fighting among the members. Doron was the only one in the room who didn’t know Arabic. He asked in Hebrew, and Yaki translated. ‘Ali answered at length, and sprinkled his answers with jabs and jokes at the expense of different functionaries. Everyone laughed, even though it was clear that most jokes were insider jokes which only ‘Ali understood. Most of the information was insignificant, though; after all, participants in such meetings were for the most part members of the political and business ranks of the organization. At that point, Doron started asking about deployment of forces, weapons and military equipment, and the structure of the organization’s outposts. ‘Ali had much less to say about these matters. His answers became increasingly sparse, and it was evident he paused to think before giving his answers. The fluidity of his answers regarding the political meetings had all but vanished. Doron asked whether the Front was in possession of tanks.

  I don’t recall seeing any tanks where I was around, ‘Ali answered.

  Maybe you heard someone say something?

  Why do you think they should have tanks?

  ‘Ali, we’re the ones asking the questions here, Yaki said in a low voice.

  Doron asked about the whereabouts and maneuverability of the Front’s seaborne unit. ‘Ali said they don’t tell him about things like that. The seaborne unit is top secret. He’s not even sure the Front actually has a seaborne unit. He thinks those are just rumors. Who told you guys that? he asked. Are you sure you trust him? Maybe someone’s trying to mislead you? To scare you? You know, these organizations’ top priority is to hurt the enemy’s morale. That means you, he stifled a smile. If you tell me who’s telling you these stories, I could tell you if his credible or not.

  We’ll think about it, Yaki said.

  Doron asked, as you would expect, if he knew about any unusual maneuvers or operations set to take place now or in the immediate future. ‘Ali said in a slightly offended tone that had he known about something like that, he would’ve told them without waiting to be asked.

  So, basically, ‘Ali, you don’t know anything that’s of any worth to us. So, why are we paying you so much money? Yaki asked provokingly.

  For me to be at the right place at the right time, ‘Ali replied without hesitation. So that should anything happen in my area, you’ll have eyes and ears. That’s worth a lot of money, perhaps even a bit more than you’re paying me, actually. We’ll have to talk about that.

  Your organization recently carried out an airborne attack. I don’t recall you telling us anything about that. Where were your eyes and ears then? On vacation in Jounieh?

  I work hard for you and stick my neck out on the line. Do you have any idea what would happen to me if I’m exposed? First, their butchers would have their way with me, and then they’d pass whatever’s left of me to the Syrians. What do you think, that I can hear everything? If you want me to hear about the airborne unit’s activities you need to get me promoted first… A little bit of cash in the right hands wouldn’t hurt. If I were to take part in the core leadership’s meetings in al-Mazra‘a I’d be much wiser. But now that you mention it… I spoke with Abu Maher last week. He coordinates the organization’s quartermaster requests vis-à-vis the Syrians. He goes to all the bases, checks what equipment is needed and files former requests. Long story short, he complained that the Syrians have been denying his requests recently. Maybe they have financial problems. It’s high politics that neither he nor I know anything about. He even said that things have become so bad that there’s talk of turning to Iran through Hezbollah.

  Doron quickly jotted down ‘Ali’s words in his notepad. He seemed to be very interested in this information.

  Anyway, ‘Ali continued, I asked Abu Maher what kind of requests have been denied, and he said there were warehouses for small aircrafts that needed fixing around Tripoli.

  Warehouses for small aircrafts? Is that what he said? Doron asked. In those words exactly?

  Yes, I think so, ‘Ali replied. Something like that. If you’re so interested, you need someone inside the airborne unit. It wouldn’t be a bad idea, would it? Or do you already have someone like that? He looked around the room and cast his eyes on Tamir in particular, for some reason.

  What’s the deal, ‘Ali, are you providing us with intelligence consultation services now? Yaki said. Why don’t you stick to answering our questions.

  Okay, I was just trying to help. We’re on the same side, aren’t we? ‘Ali asked and sipped his whiskey.

  Doron said that he had no further questions at this point. Yaki nodded to Tamir.

  Tamir peeked at his yellow writing block and put it aside. He looked at ‘Ali. He knew he wasn’t supposed to disclose the sources of his information or the extent of the knowledge behind his questions. He had to be particularly careful not to divulge the existence of the black material that reached him. On the other hand, that is what stood at the heart of this whole exercise. But regardless, something didn’t sit right with him. The more ‘Ali answered Doron’s questions, the more Tamir felt a certain dissonance in the back of his mind. The expression ‘small aircrafts’ seems very general, he said, looking at ‘Ali. Did he specify which aircraft?

  No, ‘Ali replied, I don’t recall anything like that.

  Strange, Tamir said. This man, Abu Maher, deals in equipment and quartermaster stores. He’s not a political operative. I would image he’d be more specific.

  He might have said gliders, ‘Ali said.

  He might have? Yaki asked. Did he, or didn’t he?

  Yes, he said, I think so, ‘Ali said.

  Tamir decided to take a risk. In their last operation, they made it near the border, he said. These are not long-range aircrafts. One can assume that they took off from around the valley. Why would they want to move north to Tripoli and be further away from the border?

  I don’t know. I told you already, they don’t include me in these kinds of discussions. Maybe they decided to shelve those kinds of operations for now? Maybe they want to narrow the organization’s operational profile?

  Did you hear anything about that?

  There was some talk.

  By who?

  Someone named Hassan Hamud came back from a meeting with Talal Naji. Talal is a political operative, but he knows things. He sits with the boss all the time. Hassan Hamud wasn’t sure, but he thinks that’s what he understood from Talal. You have to understand, these people tend to speak in hints rather than say anything outright.

  Yes, I know that very well, Tamir thought to himself. They speak that way over the radio, too. He peeked in his writing block and asked two or three questions about the organization’s collaboration with Hezbollah in the south, just to divert the discussion a bit, and also because Nissenbaum requested that he ask about it. ‘Ali seemed pleased with these questions. On his end, Tamir made ‘Ali believe he was very pleased with his answers. Wage your war with trickery, his father once told him when he asked how he managed to survive a whole year in a concentration camp with hard labor and no food. Wage your war with trickery, he said and did not elaborate. Tamir looked at ‘Ali the Yellow’s pudgy face, which seemed as conceited as it was flushed from the whiskey he kept consuming. Not very wise of him, Tamir mused.

  What’s the organization’s recruitment policy? Tamir asked to the surprise of everyone present. Who do you recruit? Who do you target? That’s not military information.

  ‘Ali’s answer touched on a few things, such as a
ppeals to youths in refugee camps and the propaganda wars against the PLO and other organizations, such as the Democratic Front.

  What about girls?

  Girls?

  Girls, females. Do you target them as well?

  Yeah, sure. We’re a secular organization. We don’t believe a woman’s place is at home. Women should contribute to the Palestinian resistance.

  Where do you send them? What kind of roles do female recruits perform?

  Mainly working in the camps, working with youths, publicity, logistics, if necessary…

  What about operational roles? Are there any female combatants?

  Not that I know of. It’s dangerous and too difficult.

  No one?

  No, no one. You know… There can always be exceptions, unusual cases…

  Like Leila Khaled.

  Yes, for example. But she wasn’t with us. With us… At the moment, I don’t… he started at Tamir with a befogged gaze. It was clear he was trying to be cautious and calculated in his response, but his pupils were clouded in the golden mist of Scotch whiskey. I’m not sure I… If you direct me more with your question, perhaps I’ll be able to give you a better answer.