“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.”