“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.