“Who operates the terminal?”
“It is manned by Palestinians, but the Israeli Army is in charge. You see over there?” he added, pointing at another small settlement on the Israeli side of the fence. “That is the illegal Gush Katif Jewish settlement. Over there. By the tanks.”
“I see it.”
Mashish looked at his watch. “It is almost time.” He moved away from the window and walked over to a corner of the room. Then he squatted on his haunches, pressed a piece of masonry in the floor, and a panel in the wall swung open. Mashish smiled and said, “They find the tunnels almost as quickly as we build them. But this one has never been used. It is brand new.”
“Where does it go?” asked Al-Hakim.
“To the Palestinian Community Center, beside the Gush Katif.” Mashish glanced at his watch again. “Look, now,” he said.
Al-Hakim stared through the window. As he watched, a small group of boys materialized on the outskirts of Camp Canada. They began to pick up stones, and to throw them with uncanny precision over the fence at the tanks guarding a pair of bulldozers beside the Jewish settlement.
“Behold our Palestinian artillery,” Mashish added with a grin.
The tanks came to life. Their turrets swung around toward the Palestinian refugee camp. Then, without warning, they opened fire with thirty-caliber machine guns. The children stood their ground. The continued to throw stones even as the sand around them exploded in puffs of dust. Al-Hakim watched with fascination. He could see tracers despite the noonday sun. Then the Israeli soldiers found their mark. A small boy, no more than eleven or twelve, picked up a stone, reeled back to throw it, when gunfire rippled through his chest and sent him sprawling to the ground. His head exploded like a firecracker. The rest of the boys dispersed in all directions.
“It is time,” Mashish said. “Quickly now.”
Al-Hakim followed Mashish into the opening. A narrow corridor led through the darkness to a staircase. They scrambled down wooden steps. As they moved, Al-Hakim could hear Mashish begin to cry. “Why do you weep?” he asked him. He could not see the Palestinian’s face. Mashish carried a flashlight but he kept it pointed at the steps.
“It is with joy,” Mashish replied. “That was my brother by the fence, the one who fell.” He paused for a moment. Then he turned and said, “Now he is free.”
Ben Seiden drove into the parking lot of Mossad headquarters in Tel Aviv. It was 6:00 AM on Monday and the lot was practically deserted. He parked his car and got out. It was another gorgeous day. The weather had been unusually balmy over the last few weeks, and he wondered at this as he made his way inside. Despite the recent bombings, Seiden — like so many Israelis — couldn’t help feeling somewhat cheered by the recent thawing in relations between the Palestinians and Israelis. PLO General Secretary Abu Mazen and Prime Minister Garron had just returned from yet another peace conference. Ever since the Second Gulf War and the overthrow and capture of Saddam Hussein, the United States had been pressuring both sides to come to an accord. Indeed, for the first time in history, a U.S. President openly sponsored the idea of an independent Palestinian state. And while Garron continued to throw up obstacles against the Roadmap, at least there had been some movement. But, despite the good news… No, because of it, Seiden was worried that the more radical terrorist groups, such as the Brotherhood of the Crimson Scimitar, would do whatever they could to undermine the peace process. They, like the extremists on the Israeli right, were likely to become even more intransigent as hopes for peace grew stronger. And now with El Aqrab in custody, it was a virtual certainty. The fact that Gulzhan Baqrah had hijacked that trainload of HEU in Kazakhstan weighed heavily on Seiden’s heart. “Somewhere on the soil of our enemies,” only meant one thing to him — Israel, perhaps more than ever before, was in jeopardy. And worse, due to the power struggle between El-Fatah and Hamas, the Israeli security apparatus was being pressured not to clamp down on the Palestinians. At a time when such pressure was most needed. Such was the irony of peace.
Seiden entered the building, flashed his ID at Security, and made his way down the long green central corridor to his office. As he unlocked the door and stepped inside, he noticed instantly that something was amiss. The light on his desk was still on… and yet he had turned it off the night before. He always did. Seiden was a punctilious man. He hated the idea of wasting energy. He made his way around his desk and stopped.
There. In the floor. His safe was open. He couldn’t believe it. Mossad headquarters was, without doubt, the most secure location in all of Tel Aviv and yet, somehow, someone had broken in. He got onto his hands and knees and started rifling through the safe. How strange, he thought. Nothing appeared to be missing. He poured through the documents again. There was no doubt about it. Everything was there. Perhaps the thief or thieves had photographed the contents. Seiden closed the safe, fastened the door and spun the dial. Then it occurred to him. Even if nothing was missing, now someone could claim that it was.
Mashish and the Egyptian mule Al-Hakim drove along the outskirts of Beersheba, winding their way along the dusty desert road toward the old city. It had taken them several hours to make the journey from Rafah to Beersheba, but they had done so without incident. Mashish had been prepared. Despite the numerous checkpoints, despite the diligent searching of the IDF, no one had found the aluminum case that Al-Hakim had secreted in the bowels of the Renault 405.
When they had traveled a few kilometers east of the modern city, Mashish pulled over by a low stone wall and the men got out. Mashish was unhappy. It was only four o’clock but his favorite hummus joint, Bulgarit, on K.K. le Israel Street, was already closed. He was hungry, he told Al-Hakim. We will eat soon, the large Egyptian replied.
They strolled along the dusty path and Mashish told Al-Hakim about the city’s past. Tel Sheva, the mound of biblical Beersheba where they now stood, was located in the northern Negev, several kilometers east of the modern city. The Arabic name of the mound, Tell es-Sab'a, preserved the biblical name. The ancient town was built on a low hill, on the bank of a wadi that carried floodwater during winter. The site itself was more of an administrative center than a city. It was small, about three acres in size, but it was strategically placed, for it guarded the road that ran from Transjordan to Gaza on the Mediterranean Coast, and the route proceeding from Beersheba to the Hill Country of Judah. An aquifer deep beneath the wadi ensured the year-round supply of water. It was this that had brought them to Beersheba. This and the symbolism of the town itself. From the period of David onward, Beersheba had served as the southernmost outpost of the Judean kings. Indeed, the ideal boundaries of the land of Israel were "from Dan (not far from Aval Bet Maacha, in the north) to Beersheba (in the south)," as quoted in Judges 20:1.