The Spear of Destiny

Chapter FIFTEEN

CITY OF RAFAH, SOUTHERN GAZA.



Natalie looked across at the Mediterranean sea just four miles away and twinkling in the sunshine. It was a warm late October afternoon. The sky overhead clear. The sound of Israeli fighter jets never far away.

For the first time the team of Natalie, Dennis and Hutchinson had entered a war zone. From Rome Hutchinson had intended for the three of them to enter Israel directly but Dennis had persuaded them the easiest and best way to enter the Palestinian territories, currently closed to tourism, was through Egypt and the Rafah border crossing.

They had needed special permission to enter Gaza, as all visitors do, and during a three day stay over in Alexandria, Egypt, Hutchinson had managed to go to his office and make a phone call to a contact from the international solidarity movement for human welfare, otherwise known as the ISM, to invite them in as guests. Dennis’ status as a freelance journalist helping to speed up the normally three week waiting period process for the invite. Hutchinson had managed to arrange important archaeological permits to accompany them.

Dennis had acquired the 1994 Land Rover defender they were travelling in from someone he knew in Alexandria and the vehicle was perfect for what they needed. He had paid a fair price for it and had removed the black UN lettering from the white paint.

“Wouldn’t it be better to leave those on?” Hutchinson had asked.

“No,” Dennis had replied, pulling the last of the black stickers off. Their outline could still be made out as the paint around them had discoloured over the years, “Trust me they’ll only draw the wrong sort of attention to us and as westerners we are targets for kidnapping as it is,” he glanced at Natalie in the rear view mirror, “It might be a good idea to get rid of your ‘I love NY’ hat,”

He threw her a black and white Keffiyeh, the traditional head scarf worn by Arabs, “Put that on instead.”

“I thought only men wore them,” she said, tying it in place.

“Some women wear them. In some countries they’ve become a fashionable item.”

She concealed her blonde ponytail in it and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window.

“I quite like it,” she said.

“I don’t understand why we couldn’t have just flown into Gaza this morning,” Hutchinson said as they passed a sign for the Yasser Arafat airport.

“I told you,” Dennis said, “The airport was destroyed in 2001 by Israel and the other airport simply known as Gaza, two miles from the city of Khan Yunis is currently blockaded by a no fly zone controlled by Israel. Nothing can land or take off.”

“So everything has to come in and go out this way?”

“Pretty much. Though of course there are other border crossings. One is at the other end of the strip known as Ezra and the others are Karni, Kerem Shalom and Sufi, and these are cargo terminals.”

“Are they all as painfully slow as Rafah was?”

“Pretty much. Though of course a lot of it depends on the mood of the border guard on the day. It probably doesn’t help that certain governments have declared the Hamas government as a terrorist organisation.”

“Which governments?” Hutchinson asked, expecting the UK and US to probably be spearheading it. He wasn’t surprised at the answer.

“The US and the UK,” Dennis replied, “The EU, Canada, Japan and of course Israel.”

“Are there any friendly nations?”

“The Arab nations, Iran, Russia and Turkey.”

“And what do you think?”

“I don’t get involved in politics. But I will say I’ve always been treated fairly by Hamas. Remember I lived and worked out here before the coup.”

Hutchinson let his mind drift back to their morning’s events. Crossing from Rafah in Egypt to Rafah in Palestine had been painfully slow. The city was split between the two countries with a no mans land in the centre.

They had arrived at Rafah at 9am when the border had opened. The Egyptians currently controlled the border and only allowed five to seven hundred Palestinians in and out per day. The border was only open on five days of the week. They had entered the small airport style terminal building and had handed over their passports and Egyptian permit letters. It had taken nearly an hour for these to be authenticated. Hutchinson had become frustrated by the delay and got annoyed. Dennis had sat with Natalie with his baseball cap pulled down over his eyes, presumably sleeping. Hutchinson got further annoyed at the noisy, smelly, local people around him. One small boy had decided to stand in front of the American archaeologist and stare while he picked his nose and put his fingers in his mouth. Hutchinson looked at the parents who were also staring at him. Finally he could take no more and he shooed the child away. The parents continued to stare.

Finally after another hour and a half their names were called out and Hutchinson jumped to his feet. They joined the queue of pedestrians and got their passports stamped with their Egyptian exit stamps. Once outside they climbed aboard the waiting coach that drove them to the Palestinian side of the Rafah crossing. They had left the coach and entered the building. Hutchinson had stopped at the door to look back as Natalie went on in.

“Congratulations,” Dennis patted him on the back, ”You’ve just left Egypt. Welcome to Palestine.”

“To tell you the truth Pete. It’s a lot scarier than I thought it was going to be. Are we going to be alright? ”

“Trust me. I lived here for four years.”

“Only four?” Hutchinson asked. He couldn’t imagine surviving four weeks.

“Yeah I covered the Gaza war in December 2008.”

“The Gaza war? What was that?”

“It was a three week conflict between Israel and Palestinian militants.”

“What was it about?”

“Palestinian militants were firing rockets into southern Israel and hitting civilian targets. Israel responded with operation ‘cast lead’. They attacked police stations, military targets and also political and administrative institutions. On January 3 2009 Israel began a ground invasion. A UN mission headed by Richard Goldstone accused both sides of crimes against humanity and following international criticism for the growing number of casualties, Israel withdrew on January 21.”

“How many were killed Pete?”

Dennis had covered the story and the figures had shocked him.

“Thirteen Israelis.”

“Is that all? How many Palestinians?”

“Over fourteen hundred.”

A policeman standing nearby overheard their conversation and he now turned and stared in their direction.

“Listen we’d better shut up. No more politics from now on okay. They’re a bit touchy about it.”

“A bit?”

“Very then.”

They caught up to Natalie who was at a table having her luggage searched.

“What were you two talking about over there?” She’d seen the policeman’s scowl.

“Don’t ask.”

Natalie watched as the border guard took a long time in rummaging through her underwear, too long for her liking. She reached towards her personal items but froze as he barked at her in Arabic and shook his head at her.

“What is he looking for?” she asked Dennis.

“Restricted items. Alcohol and pornography mainly.”

“That’s just great isn’t it?” Hutchinson whispered into the journalist’s ear, “We’re being checked by a terrorist organisation. Shouldn’t it be the other way round.”

Dennis rounded on him.

“Jim. From now on you really need to be very careful with what you say. Believe me you don’t want to get arrested for making political statements out here. Your government would be unable to help and you’re making me really nervous.”

Finally the guard finished with Natalie’s hold-all and he grinned at her as she took it back. He jerked his thumb at her towards another table where another customs man waited to ask her routine questions about her visit. She bit her lip at the obscenity that she wanted to shout at him and went to the next table. The first guard watching her bottom in her jeans as she walked away. Dennis and Hutchinson were processed in turn and then finally the three of them stepped outside. Their land rover was waiting for them, itself having received a thorough going over. Hutchinson had brought along some cases that had fragile archaeological artefacts on them and he was annoyed to see that they’d been opened also. He checked the contents and then resealed them.

“What are they?” Dennis had asked back in Alexandria before they had left.

“You just never know when they’ll come in handy,” was the reply.

Now the three of them were heading back into the city of Rafah.

“So who is this guy we’re going to see?” Hutchinson asked.

“His name is Khalil Al Massri. He’s a, sort of a friend, kind of an old acqauintance,” Dennis replied.

“And is he the reason you wanted twenty thousand dollars in cash?”

“Yes.”

“And er! What does he do?”

Dennis put an indicator on and pulled the defender to the side of the road.

“He’s a smuggler and arms dealer.”

Hutchinson rolled his eyes and focused on the ceiling.

“I thought so.”

Dennis knew Hutchinson was always touchy on the subject of guns. Natalie was staring at Dennis in the rear view mirror.

“Look we’re going to need to arm ourselves out here. I’ve already said that the fact that we are westerners puts us at risk of kidnapping. Also if we’re right about Von Werner coming here, well, you’ve seen his private army of military contractors, I don’t think we’ll get away with it next time. Remember Naples?”

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.

“There you are. A pretty necklace for a very pretty little girl.”

Suddenly the child dropped the gold heart and she threw herself forward and hugged Natalie tightly. Natalie put her arms around the tiny back and held Fatima equally, her eyes closed. Then the little girl released her grip and smiled at the beautiful woman.

Al Massri watched on.

“There are many thousands of children here in Gaza just like her.”

He nodded at one of his men who moved to the child.

“Come on little one,” he said, “Let’s get you away from the house.”

The child followed him towards where she lived on a small makeshift bed under a large tarpaulin.

“We took her to an orphanage but she came back. She seems to like it here. She can stay, where she will grow up to hate my country’s enemies.”

Natalie rejoined them. Tears were running down her face. Al Massri finished talking to his man then led them on. Hutchinson was still puzzled at something Dennis had said in the house. He caught up to the journalist and grabbed his arm to slow him down. Al Massri, unaware, moved further on ahead flanked by his bodyguards.

“Pete I don’t like this one bit. Are you sure we can trust him.”

“He can be trusted. He would give his life for what he believes in.”

“What didn’t he want us to know when he stopped you from explaining any more about him?”

“His group has used torture on its enemies. Torture and suicide bombings.”

Hutchinson could only imagine the horror.

“I’ll be honest Pete. I’m petrified of him, of the power he holds.”

Hutchinson had watched as Al Massri had walked up the road with his machine gun slung carelessly over his shoulder and people had called out to him.

“What was that about not needing passports. Already taken care of. How are we going to get guns through Israel and into the west bank?”

Dennis knew that the time had come. He reached into his jeans back pocket and pulled out three passports, opened them one at a time and handed one to Hutchinson who looked at the writing on the front.

“These are Australian?”

Dennis nodded and pointed at his girlfriend.

“Meet the new head of the British red cross in Palestine. Miss Natalie Feltham.”

“What?”

“Natalie is travelling under her own name but now she is a top aid worker with the red cross.”

Hutchinson couldn’t believe his ears. He knew he wasn’t going to like the next answer.

“And we are?” he asked looking at his own photograph in his forged passport.

“We are private military contractors or PMC’s as they’re known for short. We are working for an Australian security company called utility resources group. We are based in Dubai. We’re her bodyguards and because I speak Arabic I am also her interpretor.”

Hutchinson was speechless. Dennis knew his plan was brilliant. Finally Hutchinson asked.

“How were you able to arrange this without us getting wind of it?”

Before Dennis was able to answer the american said.

“That afternoon in Alexandria, when Natalie said she wasn’t feeling well and you said you had business and were gone all afternoon. You did it then didn’t you.”

Hutchinson suddenly saw red.

“You’re going to get us f*cking killed!”

Dennis grabbed his arm and pulled him in close.

“Do you want to keep your voice down,” Dennis said looking anxiously at Al Massri.

The bearded man had heard and had stopped and was now facing back in their direction.

“Is everything alright.”

Natalie had almost caught up to Al Massri and she looked back, shielding her eyes from the bright sun.

“Yeah fine!” Dennis yelled back.

“For f*ck’s sake don’t do this now Jim.”

“I wish you’d include me in everything Pete.”

“I didn’t want to tell you back in Egypt in case you reacted as you just have. I didn’t want you to pull out.”

“We probably should.”

“No way. We are in way deep. Remember the spear. That’s what we’ve come after. Don’t forget that.”

“I haven’t forgotten and I’m not going to quit. From now on I want to be included in everything okay. No more secrets.”

Dennis shook Hutchinson’s hand.

“From now on. I pomise.”

Al Massri was still watching them.

“It’s alright!” Dennis shouted, “We’re just discussing the deal.”

He waved to show all was alright. Al Massri glanced at Natalie.

“I can’t stop thinking about that poor child,” she said.

“There are thousands like her.”

“I expect Israel has just as many.”

She hadn’t meant to say it out loud and she cursed the slip. She saw Al Massri’s face flush with anger.

“I’m sorry I meant no disrespect.”

His voice was flinty and cruel.

“Do you know how many childen have died because of Israel? Tens of thousands,” he said before giving Natalie a chance to answer. “Do you know how much land Israel has stolen from my country since 1948. Or how many refugees have been created? Over one million people have been driven from their homes, their lands, their livelihoods. My own grandfather used to work in Israel, for thirty years he worked there. Then one day he was kicked out and a wall was built. He died a poor, broken man….”

“I’m sorry. Please forget what I said.”

Al Massri knew the girl would never understand. He felt some of the anger leave him.

“Because this is your first time here and you are ignorant of our problems you are forgiven.”

Dennis and Hutchinson rejoined them. Dennis saw the look on his girlfriends face.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“I was just telling your friend about the conditions in the refugee camps here in Palestine.”

“Horrible places,” Dennis agreed.

Al Massri ordered them onward. After a few minutes more they approached a large covered area. It was swarming with men wearing a variety of camouflage, some green, some desert, some mixed, green jackets and desert trousers or the other way round. More than once Dennis saw an american or british flag on a sleeve. Every man here wore a black balaclava that completely covered their face, leaving only eyes and noses exposed. Some wore, on their foreheads, green banners with white Arabic writing. Each man wore a military tactical assault vest over their jacket that held large knives, handguns, flashlights, spare ammunition and grenades. All carried AK-47’s. Three carried RPG’s slung across their backs. They all greeted Al Massri as a group.

“Jesus Pete. These guys look serious.”

“You’d better believe it,” Dennis moved closer to Natalie and said in a low voice so as not to be heard, “You went pale earlier. What did he say to you?”

“He was saying about how his people have suffered and I just said I’m sure Israel has too.”

Dennis winced.

“I didn’t mean anything by it. Just that there are two sides to every story and that surely Israel has one to tell also. Doesn’t it?”

“Yes it does,” Dennis made sure both Natalie and Hutchinson could hear him, “I warned you both to be careful about what you say. People have died for less. Remember we’re only alive still because he respects the work I did here. Offend him and he’ll have our throats cut as soon as look at us.”

“I thought you said he was a kind of friend,” Hutchinson added.

Dennis shook his head.

“His religion does not allow it. He will trade with us because trade is for the good of all but that’s as far as it goes. We cannot be friends, it is not permitted. I think it would be best from now on if you only asked relevant questions about the guns. Okay? Leave the talking to me.”

Al Massri led them in under the large canopy, which was a dozen tarpaulins tied together. There was a large square table in the centre and a man was opening boxes of communications equipment and inspecting it. It was hot under cover and Dennis felt the sweat trickling down his back. The air was thin and a constant trail of dust drifted past. Al Massri threw out his arms.

“What do you want?”

“We need a machine gun each, sidearms, vests….” Dennis looked Hutchinson up and down, “He needs clothes. Do you want a sidearm?” he asked Natalie. She shrugged. “Give her a sidearm. Oh and we’ll want some thigh holsters. Flashlights. Let me think a minute. We brought some food with us. We’ll think about provisions in a minute. Let’s start with weapons.”

Al Massri grabbed a crowbar and began opening some crates.

“For assault rifles we have AR-15’s, FN FAL’s, AK’s….”

“AR-15,” Dennis said, “Give us two of those.”

Al Massri took two of the American machine guns out of the crate and threw one to Dennis and one to Hutchinson, who hefted it in his hand.

“Not too heavy, “ he said, “Is it a good weapon?”

“Very,” Dennis replied.

“Extra ammunition?” Al Massri asked.

“What do they come with?”

“One clip each of thirty rounds in an extended mag.”

“We’ll take two hundred rounds each.”

Al Massri nodded at one of his men to sort the extra ammunition.

“Sidearms?”

“Something easy to use.”

Al Massri threw a gun over. Dennis caught it and turned it over in his hand.

“Sig-pro! Nice,” he said inspecting the German-Swiss made handgun, “These are used by police forces around the world.”

He tossed it to Hutchinson who passed it from hand to hand.

“Nice and light,” the American said. He handed it on to Natalie who looked at it and went to hand it straight back.

“It’s yours,” Dennis said to her, ”I suggest you tuck it into the waistband of your jeans so you can get to it easily.”

She did as she was told. The feel of it was reassuring to her.

“We’ll have thigh holsters for ours.”

Al Massri sorted two out. Dennis attached his to his jeans straight away. He stopped Hutchinson from doing his.

“Hang on Jim. We’re going to sort your attire out.”

“RPG’s?” Al Massri asked.

“No,” Dennis answered. His t-shirt was now completely soaked from the heat under the tarpaulins. “We could do with some flashlights though. The type that clip onto combat jackets.”

Al Massri sought out three.

“What else do you want?”

“I dunno. Are we still in budget?”

“Still in budget?” Hutchinson said, “That was twenty grand.”

“I told you prices have gone up. Before 2008 an AK-47 was less than a thousand, now they’re probably two. Plus the percentage Hamas takes for itself.”

“Grenades?” Al Massri asked.

Dennis looked at his companions, then at the bearded man.

“No,” then a thought struck him, “Have you got any trackers?”

“Personal trackers? Of course.”

“ Magnetic ones?”

“All types. What do you want to track? People? Vehicles?”

“Probably both.”

Al Massri spoke to the man sitting at the table. He was still opening small boxes. He hadn’t spoken since they’d got there. Now he beckoned Dennis over. He opened a box and took two personal trackers, the size of a large cigarette lighter, out and activated them. He handed one to Dennis and the other to Hutchinson.

“One more,” Dennis said.

The man nodded and opened another box. There was a brief discussion between himself and Al Massri. The faction leader had the final word and the man shrugged.

“They come in pairs. I told him to let you have the other one so now you have a spare.”

“I’m sure it will come in very handy,” Hutchinson thanked him.

“So how do we track ourselves?” Dennis asked.

“The signals can be picked up by computers, laptops and smart phones.”

The man handing out the trackers gave Dennis the codes for each personal tracker. Dennis found it on his I-phone and was impressed to see a red dot appear on the GPS map on his screen.

“It’s working?” Al Massri asked.

They each checked with their phones. Each had a red dot.

“You had better turn them off again,” Al Massri ordered, ”I hope Israel is not already picking up the signals.”

“I wouldn’t have thought so,” Dennis replied.

“Let us hope not.”

“Do you want us to switch our phones off now.”

“It might be better if you did.”

Al Massri felt a little more relaxed once their phones were off. He should have insisted when they’d first arrived.

“Now,” he said, “A weapon for the woman.”

“AK-47,” Dennis said instantly, “Something lightweight, easy to use.”

Al Massri selected one and tossed it to Dennis who caught it mid air.

“This is a great weapon,” he said, “Designed in 1949 by the Russian general with the same name. Mikhail Kalashnikov. Still being used around the globe. Over 75 million rifles built. Weighs a little over ten pounds. Doesn’t freeze or stick in any condition. Even if you get sand in it.”

He took the AK-47 and handed it to Natalie. To her the weapon felt heavy and cumbersome but she took it and held it across her waist.

“Are you okay with it?”

“Yeah I’ll be fine,” she answered, already getting used to the weight of the gun.

“You could have it without the stock but I think it’s better for you with it. It’ll be easier to control.”

“Is that everything?”

“We need acouple of those vests your men are wearing, but not new ones. They’d stand out. We need to look like we’ve been doing this for a long time.”

While Al Massri went to sort out the vests, Hutchinson spoke to Dennis, while keeping his voice low.

“Pete I don’t think I can do this.”

“Of course you can.”

Dennis looked at his friend. Hutchinson, despite the weapons, the handgun and the thigh holster, still looked like an academic.

“We just need to make you look the part.”

Dennis reached forward and removed Hutchinson’s spectacles.

“Hey! I need those for reading.”

“How bad is your eyesight?”

“I can see fine. I need them to be able to read at a distance.”

Dennis spun around, looking for something for Hutchinson to focus on.

“Can you see that six wheeler lorry over there being loaded?”

“Yes of course I can.”

“Can you see what it says on the driver’s door?”

“I can see it. I can’t read what it says. It’s too far away. I’d need my glasses for that.”

“But you can see.”

“Yes. I can see as far as the horizon allows. I just need glasses for reading.”

“That’s good enough.”

Dennis put the spectacles in the older man’s shirt pocket. Then he reached up and ruffled the older man’s hair. Hutchinson took a step back.

“Pete!” he said reaching a hand up to smooth his hair over again. Dennis grabbed the hand to stop him.

“Don’t! Trust me! You look better like that. More rugged.”

Hutchinson looked to Natalie for approval. She nodded.

“I like the look Jim.”

“Really?” he asked, convinced he looked like a senior citizen yob.

“Really,” she affirmed.

Dennis took a step back and looked Hutchinson’s attire up and down.

“Khalil. Have you got any cargo style trousers and possibly a denim style shirt? Oh and two keffiyehs. I’d better wear one too.”

Fifteen minutes later and Hutchinson was looking more like a private contractor. His clothes were now casual, more military like.

“Hold the gun across your chest like this. Gun muzzle pointing down. Finger on the trigger. That’s it just there. Hold that pose.”

“That’s quite a transformation,” Natalie said, “Wow. You do actually look the part.”

“Yeah you do,” Dennis agreed. “Just try to look tough all the time.”

Hutchinson took a stance which made Natalie laugh.

“No don’t raise your eyebrows,” she chuckled, “Try to look serious. That’s it. You’ve got it.”

“I must admit,” Hutchinson said, “I do now feel that I can pull this off.”

“Good,” Dennis said, “Just a bit of confidence is all that is needed. Now we just need to see if you can shoot. Khalil! A few practice rounds.”

The big man nodded. He took a handful of extra ammunition clips and once again led the way.

“I must say,” Hutchinson said as he and Natalie walked alongside Dennis, “That you have a really good knowledge of guns. Are you also a good shot?”

“I have a small confession to make.”

‘What is he going to come out with now’ Natalie was thinking.

“You know when I told you and the metropolitan police that I did some training with the SAS,” he looked at them both for confirmation, “I lied. I learned to shoot with these guys.”

“What?” Hutchinson said, “You mean you were one of them. A terrorist.”

“Will you stop using that word around here,” Dennis said glancing nervously about, “They prefer the term ‘freedom fighter.”

“Freedom fighter. Terrorist. Isn’t that the same thing?”

“That depends on which side you’re on.”

Natalie was genuinely interested.

“What did you do?” she asked.

“I went out with them on a few nights. Only as an observer though. I want you to know and understand that. I didn’t have any weapons nor did I engage in anything other than report their story. We didn’t use cameras. I was only permitted to use a Dictaphone.”

“Did you take Kim whatshername with you?”

“No. It was too dangerous for her. Just me and my cameraman Greg. We went out onto the beach here at Rafah. I should explain that the entire beach area here though used by Palestinians for leisure is also a no go area. Israel has a blockade on the entire coast. Khalil’s group took me out on more than one occasion and they set booby traps on the beaches for any unsuspecting Israeli marines that come ashore. On some nights if they weren’t triggered we would go out and reset them elsewhere.”

Hutchinson was horrified.

“Did they kill anyone?”

“Not in the time I was there. I went out with them every night for a week.”

“Doesn’t that make you a terrorist as well?” Hutchinson asked.

“In the eyes of Israel maybe, or maybe our own governments, but at the end of the day I’m a journalist and I will do what is needed to get my story out.”

“I suppose so,” the American said.

Natalie just smiled at Dennis. She had gotten to understand with him that the story always came fist. No matter the risks.

“Come on,” Dennis said, “Let’s see if either of you can shoot a gun.”

Khalil Al Massri led them to an area away from the main road where there were sand bags piled higher than a man. Here, driven into the ground were wooden posts on top of which were targets. Some were roughly drawn outlines of people. Others just circles painted with a bullseye. Dennis was up first and he took aim with his AR-15 and splattered the body of a drawn target with a clip of bullets. He then let his machine gun drop to his chest, held by the straps, and pulled out the Sig-pro handgun from his thigh holster and holding it with both hands he emptied a clip into the target’s head.

Al Massri watched on, a little impressed.

“I see you have forgotten nothing,” he said as Dennis holstered the handgun.

“It’s just like riding a bike.”

“You,” Al Massri gestured at Hutchinson.

The American stepped up to where Dennis had stood. He raised the AR-15 to shoulder height, sighted down it and fired. He wasn’t prepared for the powerful kick it produced and it caused him to miss the target. Small puffs of sand erupted from the sand bags. Hutchinson stopped firing. Al Massri moved to him and put a hand on the gun.

“Hold it here like this. Tighter. That’s it. In closer to your shoulder. That’s better. Now sight down the barrel, line up with the sight at the tip. Now fire.”

The first bullet hit the target in the shoulder.

“Aim a bit lower, to the left. That’s it. Fire.”

Hutchinson hit the target in the chest.

“Good,” Al Massri said, “That would kill your opponent. Try again.”

This time Hutchinson hit the target easily. He emptied the clip into the chest. Then when the bullets ran out he turned to his companions with a big, beaming grin.

“Your sidearm,” Dennis said.

“Oh yeah right.”

Hutchinson reached down for the Sig-pro, brought it up and in his haste shot the target in the throat.

“Ouch,” Dennis said, “That would do the trick.”

Hutchinson aimed higher with both hands and emptied the gun into the targets face.

“Nasty,” Dennis said, a little impressed.

“You,” Al Massri said to Natalie.

Natalie stomped up to where the other two had stood, leaned her AK-47 over at an angle, flicked the safety switch to semi-automatic fire, levelled the gun at waist height and fired single shots at the target. Every bullet found its mark. Then she flicked the safety to auto, raised the gun to shoulder height and emptied the rest of the clip into the wooden target. She then lowered the gun again and turned to Dennis who was watching her open mouthed.

“Any good?” she asked.

Dennis got up and approached the target, still open mouthed. He examined the bullet holes she’d made then turned to look at her.

“Where the hell did you learn to shoot like that?”

“Believe it or not I do listen to what you say.”

“Yeah but even so,” Dennis looked back at the target.

Then Natalie laughed. Then he laughed. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close.

“Seriously baby. Watching you fire that gun was f*cking hot!”

He was about to snog her when he remembered that Al Massri and his men were present and that such an outward show of affection in public would not be appreciated. Then he was letting go of her and they all spun around and everyone was looking up into the sky as a Hercules transporter plane roared past very low. On its wings were red crosses but there was no mistaking the death’s head skull on the tail. The plane was descending and obviously heading for the ruined airport.

“Hey Pete I thought you said nothing was allowed in or out. That nothing could land,” Hutchinson said.

“That’s right. Nothing can.”

“Well someone, somewhere, has obviously got clearance.”

Dennis watched as the plane banked and then dropped more height and disappeared behind buildings and tarpaulins. Then Dennis was running for the Land Rover. “Come on!” he shouted at Natalie and Hutchinson, “Let’s go.”