The Spear of Destiny (25 page)

  Dennis knew Hutchinson wouldn’t be happy but to the journalist’s surprise the American said.

  “Will he have a good selection?”

Dennis grinned.

  “We’ll have to see what he’s got.”

  “What do you mean smuggle?” Natalie asked, “Smuggle what?”

  “Food mainly. But anything he can get his hands on. Ninety per cent of what you can buy here in shops has been smuggled into Gaza in one form or another.”

  “Smuggled from where?”

  “Egypt mainly. Some does get through from Israel but not much. In Rafah, which is where I’m taking us now there are smugglers tunnels that go deep into Egypt. Everything is brought in through them.”

  “Including weapons?”

  “Yeah probably. Though they’d never admit it.”

  “What if the government found out?”

Dennis raised his eyebrows at her.

  “Oh I see. They already know.”

A police car going in the opposite direction slowed to almost a stop as it passed them. All three officers in the car were staring at them. Dennis glanced across at them.

  “You see, we’re already drawing attention to ourselves.”

The next time he looked over the driver appeared to be getting ready to perform a u-turn in the road and come over to them. Dennis quickly put the defender into first gear and rejoined the road.

  Thirty minutes later Dennis turned off this road and began heading towards the Egyptain border again. The tarmac road ended and turned to sand, terrain more suited to the land rover. Ahead they could see the beginnings of ruined buildings, houses, huge mounds of earth, large earth moving vehicles and the tarpaulins of makeshift camps.

  “Where the hell are we now?” Hutchinson said.

  “It looks like a building site,” Natalie added.

  “More like a refugee camp,” Hutchinson put in.

  “You’re both wrong,” Dennis said stopping the land rover next to a man in a green khaki army uniform and carrying an AK-47 Kalashnikov. Dennis wound his window down and greeted the man who looked through the windows at Dennis’ companions. He and Dennis exchanged a few sentences in Arabic then the armed man nodded and stepped back. Dennis did his window up and then turned to Natalie and Hutchinson.

  “Welcome to the smuggling capital of Gaza.” 

They drove on past buildings several storeys high, some just ruined hulks of masonry, many exposing the scars of bullet holes and fire damage, others, amazingly looked finished, complete with doors and windows. Ahead was a tall guard tower proudly displaying the Palestinian flag.

  “There are over twelve hundred tunnels here,” Dennis said as they drove past row upon row of tents, “The tunnels burrow under the border and into Egypt. The Egyptian government has, since 2009, been trying to close them but they’re fighting a losing battle. For every one they are able to destroy another ten open up. They are mainly under the tents and tarpaulins. Some are under the floors of houses. There are also loads of them out under those olive groves over there.”

  Natalie and Hutchinson were amazed at what they saw as they drove through what was clearly a huge well organised, precise, operation, on a massive scale.

  They passed a black Mitsubishi warrior pick up truck filled with police.

  “Uh Pete,” Hutchinson said, pointing out the officers.

  “Relax. This is state sanctioned smuggling. There is nothing secretive about what goes on here. Every one of the smugglers pays a tax to Hamas to keep his tunnel open.”

  “It’s absolutely unbelievable,” Hutchinson said.

  “It’s a fight for survival. For some it’s their only way of life. On average three a week are killed by Israeli or Egyptian attacks or just tunnel collapses.”

  “Why do they do it?”

  “For them the money is good. A successful smuggler can earn twenty five dollars per day. Without the risks they take and the smuggling Gaza would die.”

  Dennis brought the land rover to a halt by a large block of houses with armed guards with machine guns patrolling outside. A large dog ran up and started barking at Dennis as he got slowly out of the vehicle. The dog ran off in the opposite direction. Natalie and Jim joined him. The guards were watching the three. Dennis waved at one of them and the man put his hand up in reponse, his manner not unfriendly. Dennis took the briefcase containing the cash from Hutchinson.

  “Stay close to me,” Dennis said to his companions. He could see that Natalie was nervous but she smiled at him and followed a few paces behind. Hutchinson couldn’t take his eyes off a boy of about eight years old who was running around playing a game with other boys while brandishing a handgun.

  “Jesus,” Hutchinson said, “I hope that thing isn’t loaded.”

To his relief it wasn’t. He watched as the boy caught another about the same age and pinned him against the wall, levelled the gun at the other boys head and pulled the trigger. The gun was then lowered and handed to the other boy who now became the ’you’re it’ as the game of tag continued and the children ran off  laughing.

  Dennis greeted the armed men at the door, exchanging pleasantries with them before he was allowed in. The three of them were quickly patted down for concealed weapons while one man watched. Dennis opened the case briefly to show the guards what was inside and he was allowed to pass. Natalie and Hutchinson followed him in. The man who had watched leading the way.

  The interior of the large house was plain, the walls whitewashed. They passed many rooms that had beds in them. They climbed a flight of stairs. There were two armed guards at the top and they moved out of the way, their faces stony. They turned a corner and entered a large lounge, the entire floor space of the first floor. There were huge French doors that led out onto a large balcony and patio area. Armed guards paced up and down the well furnished patio.

  A large rug covered the centre of the lounge floor, on it a large coffee table. Three large sofas filled the room, large enough to seat five people each. There were only three sitting though. Two men sitting opposite each other were smoking cigarettes. On the sofa with its back to the French doors sat a huge man wearing a red beret and british army woodland camouflage. His eyes were concealed by a very expensive pair of ray ban sunglasses. The lower part of his face was concealed by a huge bushy black beard with flecks of grey in it. In front of this man, on the coffee table, was an AK-74M Kalashnikov assault rifle equipped with a GP30 40mm grenade launcher attached.

  All conversation on the sofas stopped as the three visitors approached. The two men facing each didn’t move. They both wore ammunition belts around their waists and both had handguns within easy reach in holsters on the hips. One sat casually with his arm draped over the back of  a sofa and he nodded at Dennis and grinned at Natalie exposing a mouth of gold teeth.

  The big man in the camouflage suddenly jumped to his feet and strode around the table to greet Dennis.

  Dennis spoke first, aware of the certain etiquette required.

  “Salaam Alaykum,” he said using the Arabic greeting.

  Khalil Al Massri towered over Dennis.

  “Salaam,” the big man replied using the lesser greeting. Then he looked to Dennis’ companions and smiled at them both.

  “This is Natalie Feltham and Jim Hutchinson,” Dennis said introducing them.

  “Salaam,” Hutchinson greeted Al Massri.

  “Salaam.”

Natalie not understanding the etiquette involved just said.

  “Hi.”

Al Massri flashed her his strong white teeth. He was keen to find out what Dennis wanted but he put this aside to continue the Arab custom of welcoming someone into his home.

  “Would you care for some mint tea?”

  “Yes thank you,” Dennis answered for them all.

Al Massri spoke rapidly to a man lurking by the door who nodded and left to make the sweet tea that should never be refused when offered. The two men on the sofas were dismissed and they got up and moved to an opposite wall each and stood with arms folded and watched. Al massri had decided to wait for the tea to arrive before getting down to business. He invited the visitors to sit, taking his sofa to himself.

  “So tell me my friend. How long has it been?”

  “Almost three years,” Dennis replied.

Al Massri nodded slowly, casting his mind back.

  “Perhaps I should explain,” Dennis said to his companions. Natalie focused on him. Hutchinson couldn’t take his eyes off the machine gun on the coffee table. Hutchinson had worked in hostile countries for most of his life, had often worked huge archaeological sites that required armed guards but had never been so close to a weapon like this. A weapon that could cause so much death and destruction.

  “I mentioned to you both before that I reported on the three week war between Palestine and Israel. I was working here and based in Rafah where I was staying. I was here with a film crew and Kim Ngyuen. You remember her from London?”

  “I remember her,” Natalie said.

  “I had been covering the war for its first week when I was contacted, or should I say, invited by Khalil to meet with his faction. At the time we had no idea as to what they wanted only that they wanted to talk to us. What they wanted to say we didn’t know either. They gave us no clue. So we met them not knowing if we were being led into a trap. When we did finally meet in an obscure location they told us of their story. That they were a military faction that Khalil had founded. They had been active since early 2002 and were funded by a much larger group. They wanted to tell us about themselves which I documented without names or locations. Each of them wore balaclavas every time the cameras were on. Khalil’s group were responsible for rocket attacks and strikes against Israel. They even took us on a mission which we didn’t film.”

  Al Massri said something in Arabic and Dennis replied.

  “Khalil said that what I’ve told you so far is sufficient and that you do not need to know more.”

  Natalie and Hutchinson  both nodded at the man in camouflage.

The sweet mint tea arrived, served traditionally in the little clear glasses. The friends each took one from the tray offered. Al Massri took his last. Natalie never having tried the drink before sipped it. Though incredibly sweet it was very refreshing.

  “You like?” Al Massri asked.

  “Yes. Thank you,” she replied.

He nodded and smiled, then his attention turned to Dennis.

  “Now perhaps you are ready to tell me why you have arranged to visit me.”

Dennis reached down by his feet, brought the briefcase up and rested it on his lap, entered the codes for the locks, unpopped them, opened the case towards himself, put it on the table and spun it around to face Al Massri who’s eyes widened.

  “There is twenty thousand american dollars there. We would very much like to buy some guns.”

  Al Massri reached forward and picked up a banded wad of notes.

  “It’s all in used fifty’s,” Dennis said, “Almost impossible to trace.”

  “Do you need any documents? Passports? Permits?”

  “No I’ve already taken care of that,” Dennis said trying to avoid Hutchinson’s questioning stare, “Do we have a deal?”

  Al Massri grinned at the journalist.

  “We have a deal. What type of weapons would you like?”

Dennis looked at his travelling companions then back at the arab.

  “What have you got?”

Al Massri got up and picked the Kalashnikov up from the coffee table.

  “If you are ready.”

Natalie quickly finished her mint tea. Dennis left some of his. He closed the briefcase and took it from the table and offered it to Al Massri who took it and gave it to one of his bodyguards.

  “The price of weapons has increased greatly since the three week war. Do you wish to spend all twenty thousand?”

  “Whatever it takes,” Dennis replied.

  “Where are we going?” Natalie asked. She instantly regretted her slip of manners.

  “You wanted to buy weapons. I don’t keep them here. Don’t worry it’s just a short walk.”

  They stepped back out into the warm sunshine. A small girl of about six was playing near the steps that led into the house. She had a naked Barbie doll that was missing one arm and a plastic Russian fighter jet. Al Massri stopped to talk to one of his men and Natalie went over closer to the little girl who was holding the doll up and flying the jet fighter at the dolls head and veering the plane away at the last moment accompanied with the sound of machine gun fire coming from the little girl’s mouth. The child continued to play her game as she looked up into Natalie’s eyes.

  “Hello,” Natalie said, “You’re pretty.”

No reply.

  The little girl flew the plane in once more.

  “Your dolly is very pretty. What is her name?”

No answer.

  Al Massri turned to look in their direction.

  “My name is Natalie,” she pointed at her chest, “Natalie.”

Still nothing from the child.

  “She doesn’t speak,” Al Massri volunteered.

  “No,” Natalie said, looking from the bearded man to the child.

  “No. Her name is Fatima,” he said, “She is….,” he made a swirling motion with his finger to his temple, “She is….I don’t know the English,” he struggled, “She hasn’t spoken since her parents were killed in front of her.”

  “Traumatised,” Dennis corrected him.

  “Yes. This is it. Trauma….as you said.”

  “Traumatised.”

  “Her family were killed?” Natalie asked.

  “Yes in an air strike on her family’s house. She was pulled from the rubble. She spent two days with her father laying across her. His head was crushed and his brain had come out of his head.”

  Natalie brought her hand up to her mouth. Hutchinson was shaking his head. Dennis remained impassive. During his time in the middle east he had seen far worse.

  “You poor thing,” Natalie said, taking her hand away again. She turned to Al Massri again.

  “Can I give her a gift?”

He waved his hand expansively.

  “Yes.”

Natalie reached around behind her neck and undid the small clasp on the heart shaped pendant and gold chain she always wore. She put it around the little girls neck and let the pendant down gently onto the little chest. Fatima dropped her toys and reached up and held the pendant in her fingers, twisting it this way and that.