Matt Rees - A grave in Gaza

There was a laugh. “I swear by Allah, he’s almost back to his normal cheerful self,” a voice said, and there was another laugh. He recognized the voice, but its owner was in Gaza, and Omar Yussef had convinced himself that the gunman had hit him so hard he had cleared the border fence, right out of the stinking Gaza Strip.

“Sami, help me get him upright.”

The familiar voice again, and he knew the name it spoke. His brain jarred as they propped him against the padded headboard. The friendly kidnappers had given him pillows and-now he felt it beneath him-a mattress. His squirming brain dropped the pain down into his neck and shoulders and on into his stomach, where it rolled like the boys he had seen roughhousing on the beach beside their fishing nets. The pain blotted out the lovely mountain views he had imagined when he tasted the water and forced him to remember that he was in Gaza. He was in bloody Gaza, he knew it, and he cursed again.

“Shame on you,” said Khamis Zeydan.

Omar Yussef breathed heavily. He put his hand to his face, on the left where the pain was worse. His eyes were covered in cloth. He put a finger beneath the cloth to lift it and a shiver of light bolted into his eyeball. Slowly, he rolled the bandage up to his forehead and exposed both his eyes to the light.

“We tried to fix your glasses,” Khamis Zeydan said. “The lenses aren’t broken, but the frame is a little bent.”

Omar Yussef took the glasses. He slid them on. They sat awkwardly on his nose, the right lens half an inch higher than the other one. His hotel room came into focus. Perched on the bed either side of him sat Khamis Zeydan and Sami Jaffari. They smiled, their faces pale, sensing the pain of the blow that had knocked him cold. Beyond the foot of the bed, James Cree sat in a gilt rococo chair with his elbow on the small vanity table. A bandage wrapped his head and his eyes were open wide, staring, drawn and sleepless.

“Sami found you outside,” Khamis Zeydan said. “He was down in the lobby and he heard shouting, so he went to look. He found the two of you, unconscious. It looks like you were both pistol-whipped. James came to about an hour ago. You’ve been awake for a while, but you haven’t made much sense.”

“Magnus?”

“Kidnapped by the Saladin Brigades. How do you feel?”

Omar Yussef groaned. “Can you turn off the air-conditioning? I’m very cold.”

Sami went to the corner of the room by the door, out of Omar Yussef’s sight. The infuriating purr halted and he felt warmer. He closed his eyes and listened to the silence, but he couldn’t get back to the mountains, so he opened his eyes and straightened his back.

“Are you okay, James?” he said.

Cree lifted a glass of whisky. “I’m well looked-after.” There was a bottle on the vanity next to him.

Khamis Zeydan laughed. “Scotch was the first thing James asked for when he came around in the lobby. Fortunately, there were no Islamists present. He was surrounded by delegates of the Revolutionary Council, who, as you know, are not strong adherents to the proscriptions of the Prophet, peace be upon him. A number of delegates were able immediately to oblige our Scots friend with their hipflasks. Though one of them, who claims to be a doctor, wanted to give you smelling salts.”

Omar Yussef looked confused.

“I said to him, Does it look like my friend has simply fainted? Put away your stupid smelling salts. Our party is full of people who obtained their medical degrees behind the Iron Curtain.” Khamis Zeydan smiled. “For medicinal purposes, I also gave James a bottle from the supply in my suitcase.”

“Who are the Saladin Brigades? That’s what was written on those headbands the gunmen wore. But how did you know they kidnapped Magnus?”

Khamis Zeydan pulled a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket. He unfolded it and gave it to Omar Yussef.

The top of the page bore a crest with a rampant eagle and two scimitars. When Omar Yussef tried to read, his brain pitched and rolled and, in his stomach, the rough and tumble started again. He handed it to Khamis Zeydan. “I can’t. Please read it to me.”

“ The Saladin Brigades demand the release of the brother and struggler Bassam Odwan of Rafah. Corrupt forces in the ranks of Military Intelligence wish to transfer the guilt for their cruel crimes to the brother Odwan and the Saladin Brigades. The Brigades demand Odwan’s release in return for the freedom of the supposed UN official currently in the custody of the Brigades. The foreign UN official, who is under investigation for spying activities, will be handed over to the authorities in return for the release of Odwan. Odwan must be returned to his comrades in Rafah to continue his resistance against the Occupation. ” Khamis Zeydan folded the paper and put it on the nightstand. “There’s more of the usual sort of heroic verbiage, but that’s the essence.”

Omar Yussef gave an exasperated, furious exhalation. “What is this all about? Who the hell is Bassam Odwan?”

“Bassam Odwan was arrested for killing the officer who had the big funeral yesterday. You heard the officer’s comrades firing into the air during his funeral when you arrived at the hotel.”

Omar Yussef remembered the truck and the coffin draped in the Palestinian flag on the way into Gaza City. “Why did Odwan kill the soldier?”

“Odwan is a member of the Saladin Brigades.” Khamis Zeydan glanced at Sami. “Usually, the police don’t touch the Saladin Brigades. It’s the most powerful gang in the Gaza Strip. On this occasion, a Military Intelligence officer tried to arrest Odwan. Apparently Odwan didn’t want to be arrested and he killed the soldier.”

“What does that have to do with Magnus? And he isn’t a spy.”

“Don’t get excited about that accusation,” Khamis Zeydan said, laying his hand on Omar Yussef’s leg. “They can’t announce that they kidnapped a foreigner just to use him as a hostage. They have to make it look as though they did this to protect the Palestinian people.”

“We must find Magnus.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple.”

“What are you talking about?” Omar Yussef grabbed Khamis Zeydan’s arm.

“This needs to be handled at a senior level. Even if we could find out where they’re keeping Magnus, they wouldn’t just give him up after we knock quietly on the door. And if we take along the security forces, there’ll be one hell of a shootout. That’d be a lot more dangerous to Magnus than whatever they’re doing with him now. After all, this isn’t Iraq-they aren’t about to chop off his head.”

“Then we need to persuade whoever’s holding Odwan to let him go. After that, Magnus can be freed.”

“The commander of Military Intelligence, General Husseini, personally went to Rafah to coordinate Odwan’s arrest. Do you think he’ll just allow the killer to stroll away?” Khamis Zeydan grimaced. “Look, the Saladin Brigades run tunnels under the Egyptian border into Rafah to smuggle weapons into the Gaza Strip. A Military Intelligence officer named Lieutenant Fathi Salah tried to arrest Odwan, to stop the smuggling. Then Husseini paraded the coffin all over the Gaza Strip and put on a hero’s funeral for Salah, as a way of showing that his men make sacrifices to preserve law and order. He can’t just let Odwan go a day later.”

Omar Yussef pushed himself up onto his elbows. The dizziness spotted his vision with bright colors. “In the flyer, the Saladin Brigades claim Odwan is innocent. If Odwan killed Lieutenant Salah, we need to prove to the Saladin Brigades that their man is in the wrong. Or if someone else killed Lieutenant Salah, we can show General Husseini that Odwan’s not guilty. But we need to investigate, to find out the truth.”