The Marsh Angel

by Hagai Dagan

  Tamir scribbled something down in his yellow writing block, just to give ‘Ali the impression he’s writing something. What do you mean by ‘direct you more’? he asked.

  If you know about someone in one of the units, and you’d like more information about her…

  But you just said you don’t know anything, what good will it do if I give you a name?

  Maybe the name will jog my memory. A person can forget, you know.

  Yes, Tamir concurred, memory and forgetfulness, it’s a complicated thing. It reminds me of an old children’s rhyme in Arabic. For a moment, the image of the Bedouin girl Sa’ira’s soft-singing lips and the quiet abyss of her sister Dallal’s eyes sprung to Tamir mind. He sang, as if absentmindedly, the song he had sung in his head repeatedly following that visit to the village of the Arab al-Ghawarneh:

  The hoopoe forgets, the heron takes flight,

  The kingfisher submerges, the pelican sleeps tight,

  The ibis hides in the thicket, the pigeon sits for all to see.

  Only the stint… He repeated, accentuating the words: bas al-Darija…

  He paused and gave ‘Ali the Yellow a piercing gaze.

  I don’t know anything about her! ‘Ali cried, slurring his speech from all the whiskey he’d drank. She’s one of yours, anyway! Or the Syrians’!

  What the hell just happened here? Yaki asked Tamir in Hebrew.

  Tamir asked for a break in the side room. The thickset man from 504 remained with ‘Ali, while the other three retired to the adjacent room. Tamir explained that there’s a problem of source confidentiality here.

  Source confidentiality my ass! Yaki said.

  Give us the general outline without mentioning sources, Doron suggested.

  Tamir said a few words about al-Darija. He knew very little, anyway, mainly that she appears to have been part of the task force that carried out the last operation, and that some information was intercepted, suggesting that she’s a spy for our side. I have reason to believe, he added, that ‘Ali knows about this and that he was sent here to find out if it’s true.

  Sent? You have reason to believe? Based on what?! Yaki raised his voice.

  Tamir couldn’t tell Yaki about the black material. I can’t tell you, he said, but it doesn’t matter, he just confessed to it himself, didn’t you hear?

  It’s true, he exposed himself, Doron said.

  He’s drunk!

  They both looked at Yaki with compassionated eyes. It was clear that he was reluctant to lose a relatively good source. Tamir said ‘Ali’s whole story about the airborne unit and the warehouses in Tripoli seems fabricated. There’s no indication of such a thing in the unit’s sources. Why would they follow up such a success by dismantling the force and retreating north? Doron agreed and said ‘Ali might be saying that to lull them into a false sense of security. It could possibly even indicate exactly the opposite, increased preparations ahead of another operation. Tamir added that his response regarding the seaborne unit seemed off as well, like he was trying to coax out information rather than provide information. Regarding the tanks, Tamir noted ‘Ali’s denial was strange. The Front has a station called Sabra and Shatila Tank Regiment. Their communications clearly indicate that they are in possession of at least four or five old T62 Soviet tanks. Yaki listened to what was being said and his disappointment quickly morphed into rage. I’m going back in there, and I’m going to break every bone in his fucking body, he uttered.

  No need to rush, Doron advised.

  And all of a sudden, that son of a bitch is interested in Mount Meron, Yaki recalled. He’s always been single-mindedly obsessed with Tel-Aviv and girls. Someone’s telling him to take an interest in Mount Meron. Yaki’s hand was clinched in a foreboding fist.

  I would love to have the opportunity to try and get everything I can from him about this Darija, Tamir said.

  Okay, Yaki regrouped. I need to get the top brass down here. To think.

  Can’t I question him a bit further? Tamir asked.

  You just exposed a double agent in your first interrogation, isn’t that enough?

  No…

  You’re here with your car, right? he asked Doron.

  Yes.

  Okay, so drive him wherever he needs to go. If we decide on any further investigations, we’ll contact you.

  f. Abandoned House

  That evening, Tamir received a call from Unit 504 inviting him to another interrogation in two days’ time. The following day, Nissenbaum and the department head called to congratulate him. The department head lavished Tamir with praise, telling him he had heard that he exhibited initiative and creativity. You made the unit and the department as a whole proud, he said. As far as I’m concerned, Nissenbaum’s unit is yours. We’ll issue the order today, and you can be down here in about two weeks’ time to start your training.

  Harel came in in the afternoon. No one had updated him, so Tamir brought him briefly up to speed, omitting most of the details. Harel nodded his head, and asked him to go fetch him something utterly unimportant from translation. As he walked away, Tamir saw him pressing the speed-dial button on the amethyst to call Department 195. When he came back, Harel patted him on the back with his sweaty palm and congratulated him half-heartedly, slipping in a little rebuke as well, insisting that Tamir should have updated him beforehand. It’s inappropriate for an intelligence analyst to attend an interrogation without his IAO knowing about it.

  Tamir didn’t argue. He said that he was absolutely right, and that it’s unfortunate he won’t have the opportunity to make up for his mistake.

  Yes, Harel said in the tone of someone who’s just recalled a pesky matter, I hear you’re leaving soon. Well, I hope you managed to learn something during your time here. I think you’re making a mistake, but best of luck to you. We’ll keep doing our work here. He sounded offended.

  Tamir nodded. What else could he have said?

  The next day, he drove out to Rosh Pina again. He reflected just how much he has changed since the interrogation two days ago. He was ten feet taller. He had already felt himself growing in stature after his handling of the airborne unit’s operation, his head elevated like an antenna probing the sky, but now, after the successful interrogation of ‘Ali the Yellow, he felt like a cold and lethal intelligence machine. He walked into the hideout apartment with a spring in his step— or so he felt— his gaze quiet and assertive.

  There were more people present this time, some wearing civilian clothes and others in full uniform, their rank insignias varying from captain to lieutenant colonel. When Tamir walked in, he was greeted by everyone with nods of their heads. Some shook his hand. Yaki led him out to the shabby garden behind the house. Another person escorted them. They thanked Tamir for his contribution to the interrogation and for revealing the source. They updated him that ‘Ali confessed to being a double agent. They’ve already gotten the whole story from him— how and when he was recruited, who operated him and how, etc. It’s clear that the Syrians were involved, although from a distance. We took into account the whole time that he could be a double agent, Yaki said, we have to assume that about all of our sources. In Lebanon, everyone sells information to whomever is willing to pay for it. If you can sell the same information two or three times, all the better. This case was a bit more complicated.

  Anyway, the other person who hadn’t identified by name said, we can make this work for us. If he has access, even indirect, to Syrian intelligence factors, it’s worth trying to take advantage of.

  Tamir nodded. They updated him that they would try to continue to operate ‘Ali in an attempt to gain whatever knowledge possible about his operators on the other side. The Front will keep thinking he’s a double agent, but he will in fact switch allegiance and work for us. Tamir asked what guarantees they had. Yaki admitted they’re taking a risk, but a small risk. We’re not going to tell him anything o
f any importance on our end, the other guy said. Besides, we threatened him a bit, Yaki added. If we find out that he’s working against us ever again, we’ll make sure they get the impression that he’s flipped, and they’ll carry out Lebanese justice with him. Tamir asked what would happen if he disappears in Lebanon, or just refused to come in again. He can do that of course, they said, but we provide him with something he needs.

  Tamir asked what.

  They exchanged gazes. Money, the other guy finally said. Besides, if he stands us up then we expose him. Now, you can interrogate him. We’ve allocated the next hour just for you, without other intelligence factors.

  ‘Ali the Yellow sat hunched and withdrawn on the edge of the couch. A couple of marks on his face had started to blacken. His eyes were tired. Tamir thought it’s disadvantageous to interrogate him when he’s tired, as he might forget some details. Yaki stood behind ‘Ali and put his hand around his shoulder for a moment, in a part protective, part threatening gesture. ‘Ali recoiled further into himself. Tamir tried to send him a cordial smile, but he was answered with a look of pure insult and hostility. He gave up the friendly act and started asking his questions. ‘Ali replied with a tone Tamir described to himself as chastened candor. He seemed to genuinely know very little about the airborne unit and the its members. He said that they indeed seem to be preparing for another operation, but that he didn’t know any further details. Jihad Jibril was highly lauded for the last operation, which served as a test of the unit’s abilities. Tamir asked if that means that next time, they won’t settle for the security strip and try to infiltrate Israeli itself. ‘Ali said he didn’t know, but that it sounded plausible. The organization was trying to prove its worth, otherwise it would get cut off from funding. Tamir asked who was funding the organization. ‘Ali looked at him in wonder, like he was asking something completely obvious. It’s always been the Syrians.

  Only the Syrians? Tamir asked.

  ‘Ali looked at him with caution and hesitated for a moment. Yaki put his hand over his shoulder again. ‘Ali writhed in his chair. This time there was no whiskey before him, nor anything else to quell his nerves. Well, there are the Iranians, too, he finally said.

  Tamir simply stared at him.

  They help us, you know, with instruction, sometimes with weapons, methods… And money, as well.

  Someone in the room said in Hebrew that the interrogation should focus on this lead. Tamir suggested that they conduct a different interrogation dedicated to that, later. Yaki nodded. We’ll do it later. You can carry on. Tamir hesitated for a moment. He knew that what he was about to ask exceeded the scope of questions he was permitted to ask, but he didn’t care. No one in the room tried to stop him. He asked ‘Ali to carry on where they stopped last time. ‘Ali complained that he had already gone over it with Yaki, but Tamir insisted that he wanted to hear it for himself.

  ‘Ali sighed and said he was contacted by the organization’s preventive-security unit who informed him that they were suspicious of a female combatant in the airborne unit. Tamir asked what was the basis of their suspicion.

  She had just recently joined the organization, ‘Ali said. She came to Lebanon from Yemen through Cyprus. Which means she wasn’t raised in the refugee camps like everyone else. She said she came from the diaspora, from Yemen. She was highly motivated. They wanted to send her to the usual track— training, some ideology, and finally a desk job— but she insisted that she wanted to be a combatant, that she wanted to avenge what was done to her family in Palestine.

  How do you know all this? Yaki interrupted. Did you recruit her?

  I already told you…

  Now tell everybody.

  No, I didn’t recruit her. She passed through someone else. I was just filled in before meeting you.

  Did you see her?

  No.

  Okay, carry on.

  Usually, no one gets excited by that kind of talk. Everyone has a score to settle with you. Everyone wants to fight and avenge. On the contrary, people who come in too committed to the cause raise our suspicion. But I guess she managed to make an impression. She said she already had military training in Yemen.

  With who? Tamir asked. The diaspora was a codename for PLO forces who fled following the Lebanon War and resettled in different Arab states.

  In a branch of the PLO airborne unit in Yemen. But she said they were too moderate for her liking, and that she had no intention of sitting around waiting in Yemen until the mahdi arrived. She wanted to fight right away. That must have made an impression, but also raised some suspicion. The people in our organization, they’re not exactly the most trusting of outsiders, you know…

  Did she really have airborne combat training?

  I guess so. That was also one thing that played to her advantage. But what really played to her advantage… ‘Ali went silent.

  Well?

  I repeat— I never saw her. This is just what I could make out from the preventive-security guy who briefed me.

  What was his name?

  Na’im Armali.

  Okay, go on.

  I understand she’s very good looking.

  Do you have any details about her looks?

  No. Actually… He said something… Black eyes.

  Well, that’s a lot, Yaki sighed, but Tamir was very alert.

  Somehow, word about her spread, and she was taken to meet Jihad. You need to understand, Jihad, he loves women, good looking women… And everyone knows that. So, someone must have wanted to make him happy. You understand?

  Yes.

  So, she met him, and that was that.

  What does that mean?

  That was that. After meeting him, she started training with the unit.

  The airborne unit.

  Yes.

  But she was still suspected.

  Yes.

  Did she participate in the last attack?

  No one said anything about that, they keep those details secret, but there was some talk about our heroine, about a flying heroine… You never know what’s fact and what’s fiction with those kinds of things.

  And that’s it?

  Yes.

  Yaki drew his face close to ‘Ali’s yellowy face. Are you sure? he asked in a foreboding voice. I really hope you didn’t forget anything. I would be very sorry to hear if it should turn out that you did forget something. It would be very detrimental to the newfound trust we’re trying to cultivate between us…

  No, I… I don’t think I forgot. Uh… There might be one more thing, but it doesn’t seem important.

  Let us decide that, Yaki replied.

  So, Armali said they questioned her thoroughly before she started training in Baalbek, and that he noticed her accent was indeed Palestinian, and that it really was similar to accents he knows from Jordan, but that at some point she said, now I’m here.

  And?

  As you know, there are many ways to say the word now. He said that after conducting so many questionings, he’s developed an ear for idioms. She didn’t say halqeit, she didn’t say al’an, she didn’t say hallaq, she didn’t even say hassa… She said issa.

  And what does that mean? Yaki asked.

  Well, I’m no expert in dialects, but the preventive-security guy said it sounded Galilee, something like the Western Galilee, or Acre…

  Tamir gripped the pen in his hand so tightly his knuckles became white.

  But we tread around the matter carefully, like a minefield, because Jihad really likes her, ‘Ali emphasized. No one wants to piss off Jihad. That’s why no one’s gonna do anything until there’s any proof.

  g. Intuition

  After the questioning, Tamir asked Yaki if he had some free time. Yaki suggested they go to Jish and grab some hummus.

  Isn’t that a bit far? Tamir wondered.

  Not when you drive like w
e do around here, he threw him a suppressed smile. Indeed, Yaki’s car zoomed around the curves of the winding mountainous road running along the northern border. Tamir tried to hide his alarm. Yaki said that in Lebanon, if you don’t drive like this, they suspect that you’re a foreigner. While the tires sprayed gravel in the air as he took another sharp turn, Yaki told Tamir about his travels around southern Lebanon, and his love for the torn and bleeding country. In his eyes, Lebanon was the wild north— lawless, cruel, and seductive. I know we’re gonna get out of there at some point, he said, but honestly, I don’t know what I’d do then. My whole life is up there.

  They reached a restaurant in Jish, the site of biblical Gush Halav and home of John of Giscala, Tamir recalled from history class. Yaki greeted the owner, who swiftly covered their table in plates of hummus, assorted salads, and stuffed vegetables in the local tradition. ‘Ala ayni wa-‘ala rasi,12 he said.

  Tislam idik,13 Yaki replied. Tamir waited for the man to be sufficiently far from the table before asking Yaki when ‘Ali the Yellow was going to be sent back to Lebanon.

  We’ll keep him here for a couple more days, he replied. We’ll put some pressure on him, intimidate him a bit and then caress him, you know, the whole routine. Then we’ll have to send him back. If he stays for too long, it’ll raise their suspicion. Do you know why he works for us?

  I thought you said for the money.

  People don’t usually risk their lives just for money. Not to mention that we’re no CIA, you know? Our resources are limited.

  So, what then?

  His daughter had bone-marrow cancer. We used to bring her in to receive treatment in Israel. Hospitals in Lebanon are pretty decent, but you’d be better off doing those kinds of things here. ‘Ali knows that if she goes into remission, she could come back and be treated here. If he’s loyal, that is.

  So, why did he switch sides?