Retribution (eBook)

Chapter 2

Gia Zatdi sat up in bed drenched in sweat. The images in her dream were real. The boy was only twelve, his face speckled with blood; his eyes locked with hers in fear and misunderstanding. His left arm was gone, blown off at the shoulder and blood was pooling on the floor.

She got out of bed and yanked her pajama top off.

“You okay, honey?” Rihad her husband asked. “Another nightmare?”

“I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”

“You can’t keep this up. You should see a doctor about this.”

She shrugged him off. “Just leave me alone.” She got up, put on a robe, and left the room.

She stood in the kitchen, looking out the window into the darkness. She knew Rihad was right. She couldn’t keep living like this. Reliving the event. The horror. The little boy’s terrified expression.

She had been a few blocks away from her job as a surgical nurse at Al Shifa Hospital in Gaza when the Israeli airstrike hit that day. She ran to the building. Half of it was rubble. She could hear the screams of dozens of people: doctors, nurses, patients, families, children. Blood, limbs, dead bodies were everywhere. It was chaos.

Gia worked with whoever was on duty, doing triage in the rubble and in the few operating rooms available. After thirty-six hours in surgery, she went home, returning after a brief rest to double shifts. It went on for days. She was obsessed and traumatized at the same time. Dozens were dead. Others were transported to nearby hospitals.

When the hospital was shut down to be repaired, she took some time off, then worked part-time at Augusta Victoria Hospital. In her spare time, she volunteered at AL Quds Public Hospital in Gaza City. The memories of that vicious attack haunted her. Who kills innocent people? she thought. The damn Israelis. Animals. They’d been killing innocent Palestinians for years.

She had to do more than just help the victims. She had to fight to stop the violence against her people.

Several months after the attack, she secretly joined the local chapter of CodePink, a feminist organization aimed at stopping the suffering in Gaza, and wrote articles for their newsletter, The Gaza Gazette, reporting on the misery of the Palestinian people, blaming both Hamas and Israel for the escalation of violence. But as the Israeli oppression and death toll of Palestinians mounted, the tone of her articles changed. She began sympathizing with the Palestinian extremists of Hamas and blaming Israel for war crimes and human rights violations. Her husband and family had been furious at her. They warned that she might bring down the wrath of the Israelis on them. She didn’t care. She had to tell the world the truth. Her nightmares of the violence she saw every day in the wards increased.

Unable to sleep, she lit a cigarette and brewed some coffee. She went into the study to review her notes for the next article. It was dawn before she looked up from her work.

Later that morning, she went upstairs to get ready for work. “Did you get any sleep?” her husband asked, as he watched her dress in her nurse’s scrubs.

“No.”

“Come on, Gia,” he said shaking his head. “You’re going to get sick if you keep this up.”

“It’s my life. Our people are suffering.”

“It’s our life, Gia.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “You are my wife. I love you and hate to see you this way.”

She shrugged him off. “I’m late. I have to go.”

He shook his head. “Don’t forget, we have dinner tonight at my father’s house, 7 o’clock.”

“Ugh. You go. I’m sick of your family. All they care about is grandchildren. There are more important things.”

“Gia… come on.”

“Oh, all right. But let’s not stay past dinner.”

“Okay. I’ll pick you up at 6:45.” He tried to kiss her, but she turned away and walked out.

***

The coffee shop was crowded. Gia found Mushirah sitting alone by the window. Mushirah Mifsud was a close girlfriend and wrote for The Gaza Gazette.

“Sorry I’m late,” Gia said, sitting down.

“Husband again?”

She didn’t answer.

“Double expresso?”

“No thanks,” Gia said. “I’ve already had half a pot. And besides, I’m nervous enough.”

“What time is the meeting?”

“I’m supposed to walk into the mosque across the street at nine-thirty.”

Mushirah sipped her coffee. “I still can’t believe he asked you to meet him.”

“Neither can I.”

“Why do you think he contacted you?”

Gia shrugged. “Maybe he likes my articles.”

“Well, be careful. It’s dangerous.”

“Don’t worry.” She pulled her notes from her purse. “Take a look at these questions. See if you have anything to add.”

Mushirah scanned the page. “No,” she replied. “It looks pretty good to me. How will you recognize him?”

“I don’t know.”

She smiled. “Rumor has it he’s really good-looking.”

Gia sat back in her chair. “I can’t believe you just said that. It’s not a date. I’m going there on business for our people.”

“Sorry. Good luck.”

She checked her watch. “I gotta go.”

“Call me later.”

***

Gia darted through the traffic and entered the mosque. It was dark and quiet inside. An older woman dressed in full black burka met her outside the women’s entrance to the prayer space. “Gia Zatdi?”

“Yes.”

“Follow me.” She escorted her to a small room in the back of the building.

“Put all your jewelry, pens, pencils, phones, recorders, purses, and anything else on your person into this basket,” the woman said. “Take off all your clothes.”

“Why? I’m just a nurse. I…”

“Just do it. It’s for security.” The woman watched as Gia undressed. “Face the wall.”

Gia complied.

“Move back and bend over and spread your bottom.” Gia was embarrassed but did it.

“Now, stand up and put this on and cover your face.” She handed her a black burka and gave her back her shoes.

“What about my things?”

“You’ll get them later.”

Gia was led to the back door of the mosque. She was blindfolded, then pushed into the back of a vehicle. She was trembling with fear.

The ride seemed to last forever. No one said a word.

The car stopped. Gia heard a tap on the window. “Get out,” a man’s voice said. The door opened with a loud squeak. He grabbed her arm. “Let’s go.”

Gia moved forward slowly, unable to see, her body scraping against the jagged walls of the corridor.

“Where are we?”

“No talking.”

She was led through twists and turns and stumbled down a series of steps. Finally, they stopped. The sound of children echoed from above.

“Take off her blindfold and sit her in a chair.”

Gia’s vision was blurry. When it cleared, she found herself in a large room, some kind of rough stone basement with entrances to tunnels in all four walls. Two chairs sat in the center of the room and a single light hung from a wire dangling from the ceiling. A man in an open shirt, jeans, and wearing sunglasses was standing in front of her.

“I’m supposed to meet Mustad. Is that you?”

“Maybe,” he replied. “You are a surgical nurse… At Augusta Victoria Hospital?”

Gia was shocked. “How do you know…

“We know many things about you, Gia Zatdi. Wait here.” He disappeared into one of the tunnels. A few minutes later, another man appeared, flanked by armed guards. At over six feet tall, his rugged frame and barrel chest commanded respect. He was dressed in a dark suit. He looked at Gia.

“You are the one who writes articles for The Gaza Gazette?”

“Yes.”

“I find them very inspirational. You are also a nurse who helps our people. You are blessed with many talents of great value to our cause.”

“Who are you?”

“I am Mustad.”

Gia’s heart was pounding. She was face to face with Mustad, the hero of the Palestinian people and one of the most wanted men in the Middle East.

“Why am I here?”

“You tell me.”

Gia fumbled with her thoughts. Finally, she blurted out the only thing that came to mind. “I want to stop the violence against our people.”

“Are you committed to our cause? Will you fight?”

Gia looked down. “Yes. I want to end the suffering, but…”

“There are no ‘buts’. You must be ready to do anything to destroy the infidel devils and save our people.”

“I will do what I can.”

Mustad looked away. He thought for a while. “That may not be enough. We will see.”

“How can I help?”

“First, begin by telling our people not to be afraid in your articles. Tell them… Allah is with us. He has seen our great suffering and heard our cries. He has watched as we were forced from our homes, evicted from our lands, our families separated or killed. Our tears have aroused his anger and he will answer our prayers a thousand-fold. For where there is faith, there is hope. Where there is unity, there is a promise. A promise...