The Last Testament

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

R AFAH REFUGEE CAMP , G AZA , TWO DAYS EARLIER

They were running out of places to meet. The golden rule of an armed underground-never in the same place twice-required an infinite supply of safe houses and Salim Nazzal was fearful theirs was running out. The peace talks in Jerusalem had not been good for business; the Palestinian street was suddenly less sympathetic to those who would put bombs on Israeli buses and in Israeli shopping malls. Give the talks a chance, that had become the favoured position of the man in the café. No one’s saying we can’t go back to armed struggle if-when-the talks fail. But, for a few weeks, let’s see what the negotiators can bring us.

In that climate, there was a limited number of Gazans ready to open their doors to a breakaway from Hamas which, everyone knew, was out to sabotage the talks. The risks were insanely high. If anyone found out who was under your roof, your home could be flattened by an Israeli shell. Or you could be shot dead by the Fatah men who, while officially in coalition with Hamas, had not forgotten the street battles they had fought with the organization not that long ago. Or you could be murdered by your former brothers in Hamas itself, disciplined for daring to rebel against a party line that was said to have the blessing of Allah himself.

So Salim bowed graciously to his host, a man, like himself, in his thirties with the neat, short beard of an Islamist. The house was like all the others here: a basic box made of breeze blocks, its floors covered with thin, threadbare rugs and equipped with a TV set, a cooker and a few mattresses on which an entire family would have to sleep. It wasn’t the tent city that international visitors would often expect from the words ‘refugee camp’. It was more like a shanty town, an urban slum. There were no streets as such, just networks of alleyways that would crisscross into a neighbourhood. This one was called Brazil, after the UN peace-keeping troops from that country who once had barracks here.

Tonight’s meeting was even more clandestine than usual. Salim had crucial, and highly confidential, information to impart. A technician at Jawwal, the Palestinian mobile phone company, had been closing down the account of the late Ahmed Nour when he noticed a last, unplayed message in the dead man’s voicemail box. The box was locked with a PIN code, but that was easy to over-ride. Curious about the Nour killing, he listened to it: a rambling, excitable message in English from a man who seemed to be some kind of Israeli scholar. The technician, a long-standing Hamas supporter with deep misgivings about the movement’s peace strategy, had then made contact with Salim, saying he wanted to pass this knowledge to Palestinian patriots and faithful Muslims.

‘Masa al-khair,’ he began.

‘Masa a-nur,’ the half dozen men present responded.

‘We are blessed to have heard news which will have a great bearing on our struggle. A Zionist activist and archaeologist claims to have bought, from an Arab in Jerusalem, a tablet expressing the last will and testament of Ibrahim.’ He paused for effect. ‘Ibrahim Khalil’ullah.’ Abraham, Allah’s Friend. The men’s expressions broke out into a series of sceptical smiles, and there was more than one mocking snort.

‘My reaction too, my brothers. But the indications are-and I beg of you that not a word of this travels beyond this room-that the document could well be genuine. Doubtless, this man will claim this text supports Zionist claims to Jerusalem.

‘We all know what the Hamas leadership will argue. They will say the tablet was looted from Iraq-’

There was the sound of a gunshot outside. After midnight in Rafah that was not so unusual. But all six men, including Salim, instinctively checked their mobile phones, to see if there were any messages warning of an imminent attack. None. After holding silent for thirty seconds, Salim continued. ‘We know what the leadership will say. Either that this is Zionist theft of Arab heritage, looted almost certainly from Iraq. Or that it is a fake and a forgery that only the Zionist media cannot see through, and so on and so on. We know what they will say because we would say the same.’

The men in the room nodded. Salim was younger than most of them but he was respected. In the second intifada he had played an active role in the Izz-ad-Din al-Qassam brigades, Hamas’s military wing. He was a bomb-maker, one of the few who had avoided the crosshairs of the Israeli military’s targeted assassination policy. That gave him a double credibility: he had killed Israelis and he had not got caught.

‘But none of that will matter. The Israeli right will not give up an inch of the Haram al-Sharif if they can point to some text that says Ibrahim gave it to them. The peace talks will be over.’

‘What if the document says the Haram belongs to us?’

‘I have considered that. I think it’s safe to assume that if a Zionist scholar had found such a text in the ground he would have put it straight back there.’

The questioner smiled, nodded and sat back.

‘So the decision we have is like this: some Palestinians will, I am sure, work very hard to prevent this document coming to light. They will think the obvious: that if Ibrahim’s will is known, it will weaken the Palestinian claim on Jerusalem. Such people will kill and be killed to prevent this ancient text ever being revealed. They have probably already started.

‘But there is another view. That if this tablet emerges, and if it gives the Zionists all they want, then they will definitely not agree to the arrangements they have been discussing at Government House. Why would they share Jerusalem when Ibrahim has said it belongs to them, all of it?’

‘They will call off talks immediately,’ chipped in one of Salim’s most reliable lieutenants.

‘They will. And this sham of a peace process will be over. No more talk of recognizing the Zionist entity. No more nonsense about a truce with the enemy. We can return to the legitimate struggle, one the Prophet, peace be upon him, has determined we shall win.’

‘So,’ began another. ‘You’re saying it is in our interest for this will, this testament, to become public?’

‘If we want this betrayal of our people to end, I believe so, yes. But we do not need to decide this yet.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that we can decide what to do with this document once we have it. But only once we have it. We must devote all our energies to finding it and capturing it. This is our holy duty. Whatever has to be done to get it, must be done. Do I have your agreement?’

The men looked at each other and then, as if in chorus, they replied. ‘God is great.’