Broken Lands Page 7

  Most importantly, Jezabilah was content with having completed the first and most important phase of the operation which had focused on reducing the manpower of the PA’s and Hamas’ barbaric secret police. There were also numerous hits on some of the most vicious Jihadists who for years had terrorized their own population. One of them had been a member of the militant group that had murdered her husband in cold blood when they broke into her apartment. To her satisfaction, no one else would ever have to suffer from these evil men’s brutality.

  Jezabilah quickly got into her car and drove eastward on the road to Bethlehem. Her thoughts were engulfed by the successful events of the week. When Jezabilah saw Mamoon’s Humus Palace after she turned at Rafajan Street, she felt a sudden urge to be in Tel- Aviv at the Yemenite quarter. She recalled the meetings she had with Yair, where they had met on many occasions and chatted over lunch or dinner, going over future plans, all the while flirting with one another.

  Suddenly, her focus was shattered when her cellular rang. She saw that an emergency audio message had been received. She pressed the open button, and stated the audible password, “Credo 13,” and listened to the message.

  Uri’s alarmed voice came through loud and clear. “Stop your car and get out immediately, not a second to waste!” She hit the brakes instantly and leaped out of the car. Just seconds later, as she was still rolling downward into a ravine that ran alongside the road, her car exploded into thousands of pieces. The fireball it created could be seen from many kilometers away. She lay there covering her head with her aching forearms, as bits of metal and glass fell on her like a heavy winter’s snow whose flakes were shining with radiating energy. The initial sensation of shock had shifted into the pangs of pain resulting from her contact with the thorny shrubs and jagged gravel. Suddenly, she saw a bright beaming light shining in the sky. She felt faint and even though her ears were still ringing from the blast, she was still able to recognize the sound of an Israeli helicopter closing in on her location. The last thing she saw was the spiraling cloud of dust that encircled the area before the helicopter landed.

  Back at the Organization’s Operation Headquarters, it was business as usual; people were running from office to office and others in their designated positions facing monitors and communicating over closed lines. I was in touch with the helicopter pilot and conveyed all the orders and directions necessary for handling Jezabilah’s rescue. “Good work, Erez, that was some quick decisive action,” I said. We looked at the operations clock hanging on the wall to make sure that everything was on schedule.

  “Thanks, Yair.” Erez flashed a subtle beaming smile that represented pride and gratification. He had had a pivotal role in the rescue. “Yair, in this world, it is not enough to have eyes behind your head, but also above your head.” I nodded in agreement with a smile, thinking about his unceasing excellence in performing his duty in so many of the Organization’s missions.

  “That’s why I never sit down on the job,” inserted Erez with pride and a sense of great accomplishment. Being able to save lives was the apex of our work.

  “I am so grateful,” I responded. “You just cannot imagine how much. This woman is so vital to our future. You have saved the project and solidified all the achievements and hard work that we put into this matter.”

  “Okay, Yair. If you’re trying to emphasize the importance of our team’s actions, you have made your point. Now get the hell out of here. I’ve got a lot of data to transfer to some of our new contacts in North America. Besides, the helicopter transferring Jezabilah to the hospital should be landing shortly. I don’t need any top-secret space eyes to know that you ought to be there when Jezabilah is carried off the rescue helicopter.”

  “At ease, Erez,” I called in an excited tone, and proceeded out the door, thinking for a second about Erez’s comment. When I got to the landing field, I continued towards the transport tunnel. I placed my thumb on the fingerprint scanner and then looked into the eye-scanner. I was identified accordingly and as soon as the doors responded to the ID verification, I continued on toward the reception hall.

  When the helicopter landed, I was already waiting in the hanger. The assigned medics took Jezabilah into the ambulance and I joined them. Jezabilah had some major cuts, bruises and bumps, but was conscious and in good spirits. Luckily, there were no serious head injuries found in the initial external examination. As far as the hospital personnel were concerned, she was just another army operative who had gotten hurt in a training exercise. Her identification as a Palestinian operative was covered by fabricated official documents.

  “You were very fortunate to come out alive,” I said with a smile of relief. “Another few seconds and you would have gone up in smoke.” She could see my concerned look. Jezabilah managed a slight smile, although still in great pain. In a frozen moment, we looked at each other with respectful admiration. She held out her hand and grasped mine. Her touch was warm and affectionate. It sent vibrations running up and down my spine. I was grateful that she was okay and felt a sense of relief. After the examinations were completed, Jezabilah was moved to a private room in the recuperation unit in the west wing of the army hospital. This part of the hospital was especially set aside for top security personnel. As a general rule, the guards who were placed in designated points had implicit orders to take down anyone who might attempt to enter the wing without the proper clearances.

  “I really appreciate all you have done for us.” Jezabilah stated quite emotionally, still feeling some dizziness. “Every time I go out on a mission, I feel so secure knowing that you and your crew are watching over us, paving the way for any specific assault,” she said sighing.

  “I am glad that there is such a mutual fondness between us,” I said in softly. “The important work Inkasar and you are doing is so meaningful for molding the future of our nations.” No one was in the room, and I knew that Jezabilah could feel the sincere, heartfelt love I had for her which was expressed by the touch of our hands; seductively touching.

  After a week of recuperation, Jezabilah was transported back to her base in Palestine, accompanied by one of our special units. She was surrounded by a large number of guards since her identity was obviously no longer a secret.

  Inkasar was growing in popularity day by day. Many of the recruits were joining for one main reason: to avenge the deaths of family members who had been killed by Jihadists who controlled most of the gangs in Palestine. One such recruit was Khaled, a well-built, handsome, young man who joined the movement just months back and had quickly moved up in its ranks.

  Khaled’s life as a child was encompassed by turmoil, a perpetual hell. The neighborhood he lived in was infested with roaches and rodents, not excluding some of the Al Qaeda terrorists that had arrived from as far away as training camps in Afghanistan, Pakistan and Yemen. During his teenage years, his brother Ahmed, a devoted operative for Fattah, was away on Jihadist missions planting bombs. Khaled spent his spare time reading the bomb-building manuals that his brother had stashed in his room. The only normal activity that had given him joy was listening to the collection of classical Arab music his father had played for hours.

  Most of the terrorist operations, as always, were being funded by Iran and Qatar, but the money was being tapped at the end of the line by countless corrupt, government officials who abused their own operatives and staff. Neither Ahmed nor his family ever got to see any of the money that he was supposed to have received in payment for his terrorist activities. They were all very devoted to their cause, but Khaled and his family were shocked when Ahmed was murdered by the Force 17 Police. He had been killed mainly because he had begun to inquire rather vehemently about the money that he and his family had never received. Killing for power or honor was a time-held tradition for resolving all or any disputes in Palestine and other Arab nations, and since the courts in Palestine were completely controlled by Hamas and Fattah regimes, sentencing and justice were usuall
y carried out at the edge of a sword, a spraying of bullets, or by a public hanging. Khaled’s father, who was not well, died of a heart attack. He could not endure all the tension that was around him.

  It was a hard time for Khaled, being the head of the family; especially when there were weekly payoffs that had to be made to the Fattah’s collection officials. The muftis controlled everything, and anyone who opposed them usually met with an early death. Such was the case with Ahmed, but Khaled was not about to bow down to the status quo. It was a dark time for his family, but he saw the light that came from a new source that would revive his spirit. When he joined Inkasar, he washed away all the lies that had been fed to him. He was rejuvenated with new hope and dared to dream of a better life for his family and his nation. Khaled had always been loyal to the cause that was preached to him throughout his childhood. However, he was totally outraged when he found out why his brother had been killed by Force 17 Policemen; it left a deep hole in his soul. His allegiance dwindled to nothing, and he was fueled by the suffering that reigned in his soul. When he found out who was behind the murder of his brother, he made up his mind: ‘This is never going to happen to us again.’ He pictured a day when he would avenge Ahmed’s murder and make up for the disgraceful treatment of his family. He had been taught that everyone should trust one another in their neighborhood regardless of what happens, but no longer, not now, and not ever. He knew that there was a better way for all of them.

  After all the sleepless nights spent in sorrow, Khaled decided that he was going to take action and kill the men who killed his brother. He gathered all the necessary items he needed and pursued the assailants who had murdered his brother. It took a while, and many inquiries to find them, but when he did eventually locate them – with the help of his closest friends – his plan took its course. He approached the men and greeted them.

  “Welcome!” he called out to them as he approached them. “I heard that you are enjoying your stay in our town.” The two men stopped their conversation and looked at Khaled coldly, amazed that he had the nerve to even approach them. They were used to being ignored because of the fear they had generated all around.

  “I hope you have enjoyed some of the great food we have here.” said Khaled. “Did you know that our dates are the best tasting ones in all the territories?” The men were not responsive and proceeded to ignore him.

  Khaled continued talking with them and started dropping the name of one of the main Hamas leaders in the area, glorifying his terrorist activities. He knew that they would open up to him if they felt he was one of them. The men recognized the name and suddenly felt a comradery with Khaled which began a bragging session; the men praised themselves for violent deeds they’d perpetrated in different venues throughout the years. Moments later, after complimenting them for their loyalty, Khaled pulled out a carton of halva. He presented it, arms stretched forward, his eyes beaming with a magical beckoning in order to get them to accept the box. They were now smiling, quite at ease and focused on Khaled. He consequently saw that it was just a matter of moments before they’d take the bait.

  “This is a gift from Hezbollah contacts up in Lebanon. It was sent especially for those of you who are working with Hamas,” he told the two men, smiling delightfully.

  He handed them the box, “Here you go, guys. Take it. It’s my honor to be able to deliver it to you.” The men were taken in by the gesture and smiled gratefully, as one of them finally took the box from Khaled.

  “Peace be with you. I have to go on now and deliver some of these gifts in some other locations. I hope to see you soon.” He saluted them and walked off in a cautious urgency. “Go to hell, you slime,” he muttered to himself.

  When Khaled was about fifty yards away, he looked back to check and see where the two men stood, and then fiddled for something in his right pocket. His eyes seemed to glow with a fierce sense of satisfaction as a big bang exploded through the street behind him and all sorts of objects flew in all directions. He had made sure not to detonate the explosive at the bottom of the halva gift box until he saw that there was no one else near his targets. Globs of molten halva were dripping down from the awning of the store that was adjacent to where the men had previously stood. There wasn’t much that remained of their physical beings as some crows descended on some of the body parts that had scattered in every direction. Accompanied by a sigh of relief, Khaled’s expression was enhanced by a villainous smirk and an air of jubilation. His heart was beating like a locomotive from the overwhelming excitement of his accomplished vengeance, and his thoughts were rather vivid and direct: I hope you both rot in your personal hell.

  He had finally achieved his goal, and with a great sense of fulfillment. Now he had to begin the reformation of his political beliefs; something he had planned on doing for some time. These first steps were now in play, and since he knew that things were bound to get worse, urgency was essential. Most of the people he had known growing up spoke only of the destruction of Israel and the desire to kill Jews to the last one. There were attempts on the lives of Israelis every day, and Hamas and Fattah continued the radicalization of Israeli Arabs, encouraging them to carry out terrorist activities all over Israel. All the while, there were daily battles in many areas due to the increasing breaches at the borders. There were numerous counterattacks by Israel in retaliation of the rockets fired by the militant branches being run by Hamas. With the perpetual zigzag of cease-fire agreements, it appeared as though this scenario would continue on forever.

  Khaled arrived at Zaid’s apartment, which was a short walk away. Zaid was an old family friend. He had invited Khaled to come and visit him and to have a heart-to heart talk. He too felt the pain of Khaled’s loss. Zaid had always been an extremist; an extremist for peace with only one doctrine: that of anti-violence. He was not a fanatical anti-Israel or an anti-west extremist. His calm, political voice could be heard only by close friends in the Inkasar movement. Zaid’s apartment was in a rundown neighborhood at the edge of town which had junk and debris scattered everywhere.

  The Palestinian Authority left these areas in shabby condition, deliberately raising the frustration of the people and placing the blame on the Israelis for minimizing the allowances for infrastructure. In some of the streets, sewage ran freely alongside the piles of uncollected garbage. The PA had received millions of dollars in order to import sanitation trucks and sewage maintenance supplies, but these vehicles and hardware materials were sold off during the process of shipping. The money was then passed along to those who were closely tied to the leaders of the regime, rather than providing the services that were so direly needed by the population. There were many Hamas-sponsored gangs controlling the neighborhoods, and their main focus was protection money. You could see the fear in the eyes of most of the elderly merchants and residents when these brutes would make their rounds. They supported themselves mostly by selling drugs, transporting stolen merchandise from warehouses and stores besides from stealing produce and livestock from Israeli farms and ranches near the border.

  Khaled walked up the stairs and knocked on Zaid’s door, using a special predetermined rhythm, which was in fact a coded tapping. Without any delay, Zaid opened the door to welcome him. “My dear friend! Please come in and make yourself at home.”

  They kissed one other on both cheeks, hugged tightly, and patted each other on the back. It had been a long time since they had seen one another, and this was an important meeting. They rarely sat and talked in great lengths, especially due to their difference in age. Khaled remembered the times Zaid used to visit his family, and all the arguing that went on about politics. Zaid and Ahmed were good friends but didn’t see eye-to-eye ideologically. Khaled had been the little boy who had to sit quietly and not interfere with any of the adult conversations. Now Khaled could be more forthright about speaking his mind. A plate of freshly picked Medjoul dates awaited temptingly on the table. Zaid served Khaled some mint tea that he had jus
t steeped.

  “Thank you, Zaid. Can you believe the shit that is going down around us?” he asked.

  “Yes! It is unbelievable how we have to deal with the continuation of hostilities with our neighbors. Neighbors who have gone to great lengths to sit down at the table in order to come to a peaceful solution.” stated Zaid, while sipping the mint tea.

  “These idiots never wanted peace at all, did they? Now I know all about the misuse of tax and donation monies. I have been hearing some radio broadcasts from Israel, and I am beginning to believe what they are saying. Otherwise, nothing of what we see going on under our noses makes any sense,” said Khaled, taking a bite into a date, sitting back and shaking his head.

  “You and I know that the terror being perpetuated in the area is nothing more than a distraction to steer the public eye from realizing the many levels of dishonesty being implemented all the time,” added Zaid.

  “The Taliban and all these fanatical Islamic radicals are nothing more than a bunch of mobsters focused on making money and using their power to have control over people. It’s all a front for their dealing, diverting donation money, arms, extortion and the sale of stolen merchandise,” Khaled nodded in agreement. As Zaid continued detailing the timeline of past failed events, Khaled’s thoughts were entwined in what Zaid was saying, but his heart was dancing to the beat of his feelings and expectations that he had never had in his life; aspiration to be someone important, to help improve and make changes in people’s lives.