other-side-of-deception-victor-ostrovsky

THE OTHER SIDE Ot DtCEPTlOS / 181Jericho and spend the rest of the day there and go back to Amman inthe evening, after the shift change of the guards at the bridge."I nodded and sipped the hot coffee. Suddenly, a loud crashingsound came from the front door. Fadllal's eyes opened wide. Thehost's face was horrified. Something was wrong. Within seconds, therewere several Israeli soldiers in the room, pointing their weapons at usand shouting in Hebrew to others outside. "We got them," the officershouted. "Search the rest of the house, go, go, go." Soldiers were allover the place. We could hear the women's cries and the sounds ofbreaking dishes.One of the soldiers was quickly tying our hands behind our backswith plastic disposable handcuffs. "What the hell is going on?" Ishouted in English. "I protest. I'm a British citizen, and I demand toknow what is going on.""You will be quiet," said the officer, pointing his automaticweapon at me. "Bring him in," he said to someone behind him in thehall. One of the old men I'd seen sitting on the other side of the streetwas brought in. He stood there for a second, hesitant. The officershouted at him in Arabic. The old man pointed to Fadllal and saidsomething. "What I had dreaded had happened; nothing could be worse thanwhat was taking place. There was no way out of this. My only hopewas to stick to my story and bluff it out as a British subject. The soldierswere speaking Hebrew between them. "He's a Jordanian officer,"they said. "The others are probably his men. We'll get more out ofthem in Ramallah." I knew that I had to do something. I consideredjumping out the window and risking being shot, which would be betterthan what awaited me in the interrogation rooms of the Shaback inRamallah."Take him downstairs," said the officer, pointing at Fadllal. "Andhim." He pointed at the host. They left the driver and me on the floor,guarded by two soldiers. Once the others were out of sight, the driverstarted crying to the soldiers, talking in Arabic. One said to the otherin Hebrew, "He says he's a tinker.^ He wants us to call the boss." Thesoldier who spoke Arabic walked over to the driver and picked him upby the collar, placing the rifle at the back of his head and pushing himtoward the door. Suddenly he slipped, and at the same instant hisweapon discharged. The sound was deafening, and the wall aroundthe door was at once covered with blood. The driver's head was half-3. Stinker: Slang for informer.missing. The soldier let go of the man, who slumped to the floor like asack of potatoes. The soldier started shouting at his friend, "You'recrazy! Look what you did! You're crazy!""It was an accident," the soldier shouted back. "A fucking accident."He ran to me, grabbed me by the collar, and shouted at me inHebrew, "Accident, right? Accident!" I couldn't say a word, only nodded.The other soldier shouted in Hebrew, "Shoot him, you have toshoot him. He's a witness, and he'll tell. Shoot him, you idiot, or Iwill." He lowered his gun and came at me. I could hear the sound ofrunning up the stairs. The officer was at the door, but he just stoppedand stood there. I could see the soldier's finger tightening on the trigger.I hoped it would be over fast. I felt calm; there was nothing Icould do. I said to myself, Bella, I love you, I'm sorry for everything.The soldier pulled the trigger. I heard the knock of the hammer on theempty chamber.There was a moment of silence. I had my eyes shut tight, expectingthe final blow. Then I heard the loud laughter of Fadllal. In a singleinstant, it became clear to me that this was all a test. But how the helldid he get the soldiers to play along?Fadllal walked over to me and helped me up. He then gentlyremoved the cuffs from my hands and ushered me out of the place andinto the car. There was a new driver behind the wheel, and we droveoff. Fadllal explained it all on the way. The soldiers were Palestiniansfrom a special unit of the Jordanian intelligence; they'd been workingin the West Bank almost from 1968. They had several storage locationswith Israeli uniforms and arms and would assist in all kinds ofreconnaissance jobs. They worked all over the country, and all of themspoke excellent Hebrew. At first, they were to be an asset in case ofwar, like the Germans had behind American lines in World War 11, butwhen the Jordanians started to work in the Territories, it was decidedto use them all the time. They monitored exercises and brought inample tactical information regarding the front line.The driver was a real traitor and had been under suspicion forsome time now. Fadllal had decided to use the elimination of thetraitor to test me. He had no doubt now that I was not working forthe Mossad.Crossing back into Jordan was as much of a strain on me as wasthe crossing into the West Bank. The guards were different, but theywere just as thorough, and the clearance seemed to take forever. Onceon the other side, we took a taxi to a place called Tel Nimrim, where alight blue air-conditioned limo was waiting for us at the side of theroad. I slept the rest of the way to Amman. Fadllal woke me up when