Amsterdam

An excerpt of my book "The death sciences"

"The death sciences"

An excerpt

 

The restaurant was almost unbearably crowded and people kept coming in. He was about to turn back, but made up his mind and entered. He tipped his waiter lavishly sending him time and again for more coffee and more mineral water, thus he kept the table to himself. The waiter with a zealous show of loyalty, stood up as a living fence to defend the rights and interests of his temporary master.

Smoking cigarettes one after another, Samir watched the passers-by through the restaurant's glass wall; pondering whether he should get out and wait to be ‘received’ on the platform, or stay where he was �" in the heated and warm restaurant next to his precious table, in which some amounts of money were already invested. It was no more than a joke of course, which he tried to cheer himself up with. For time oozed by slowly and he was getting more and more nervous, with every passing moment! ‘His train’ was due to arrive in a matter of moments, and it seemed that nobody has arrived, or was already there on the platform to meet him.

From time to time he caught some fleeting looks of strangers, who sat around waiting for their dishes to come or for their bills �" curious looks of bored men and women, who were attracted to the tension that he no doubt radiated. I mustn't worry that much and if I can't help it, I must get hold of myself and hide that feeling deep inside �" play it cool, otherwise I would be lost, as simple as that! True enough I’m stuck in a narrow corner, on my own in a foreign country, alien surroundings, strange language. Still it’s up to them to reach me!

The commotion outside did not stop or dwindle, people kept parading to and fro, before his wondering eyes; guests kept changing tables time and again all around him; trains were arriving and departing, including ‘his train’, and it seemed more and more obvious that nobody would come to meet him. Was it their bad luck or his, either way he did not like it. Time seemed to have elapsed with sudden swiftness; he realized alarmed having a quick glance at his wristwatch.

Well, I’m sick and tired of watching passers-by, and I’d enough of waiting in vain for some a*s, who would no doubt try to teach me the facts of life after two or three sentences!

Raising his arm decisively he summoned the waiter and sent him to fetch the city's English directory, plus a phone. He found the number he was looking for in a few seconds, and dialed it quite nervously. A girl's voice answered him in Dutch, mentioning a syllable that sounded very like the abbreviations with which the organization was known all over the world.

‘Hello,’ he called aloud, wondering whether it was a tapped announcement or a real voice. After a very short pause the girl repeated her message in English.

‘Get me someone who speaks Arabic!’ He cut her short rudely with growing impatience.

’Just a moment sir,’ she answered politely, and again he had to wait till she'll get that certain someone.

Allah acbar...! (God almighty) He almost muttered aloud with disbelief, hopping the dubious hint of his, will get him through somehow.

‘Alo,’ He heard at last a male's guttural voice, whose owner's origin could not be mistaken

‘Some proper person was supposed to meet me at four fifteen, and I'm still waiting!’ He said wishing to god his message would hit its mark. They might be looking for him all over Amsterdam, if their man was on the platform in time…

‘What?’ The voice answered him in their mother's tongue, utterly dumbfounded. ‘Who are you and what do you want?’

‘Get me your boss!’ Samir ordered him angrily, ‘and right away!’

‘Look here whoever you are, I'm the organization's chairman in this part of the world. If you're in trouble of some sort, please call us tomorrow. We're already closed now; if you're short of means and you need a temporary lodging �" any taxi cab will get you to our address, we'll pay its fare and you might stay as our guest as long as you'll stay in this city.’

What a mess, what an incredible bloody mess... Samir thought desperately. What am I supposed to tell him now, on the phone…!

Well...?’ The chairman asked on the other end of the line.

‘Thanks, I can't come and I'm not short of means... The thing is I wasn't allowed to call you, but what other choice do I have?’ He added raising his voice in anger and frustration.

‘Oh I see, I see,’ the chairman hastened to calm him down. ‘Well I don't deal directly with cases such as yours, but I'll tell you what, be at the same spot tomorrow at ten o’clock local time sharp, is that clear?’

‘All right, thank you!’ Answered Samir relieved at last.

‘You'll get along, won't you, and is that what you said?’

‘You mean nothing is off limits?’

’Well,’ pondered the chairman. ‘Any hotel on the outskirts will do, ‘ma’asalameh’ (peace be with you).

He didn't expect the chairman to know every tiny detail in his domain, but isn’t he the one who runs the show?

Very strange isn't it? Samir thought while he was sitting the next morning at the same restaurant having breakfast. It did take him some time to find a suitable room, in a nearby hotel, which he at first rejected. But after a short tour in which he rode a cab, and visited several of those night shelters; he returned to the one he started his tour with. It was a modest abode, but clean and adequately convenient, not too far from the terminal's restaurant.

A good choice it was. He concluded pleased with himself. The very right place, a safe shelter to stay in for a short term, a spot that would enable me to leave in a hurry if things are getting too risky and really hot... He made his way to the terminal's restaurant on foot to stretch his limbs a little bit �" and to learn the surroundings better; and give some thought to the coming meeting, prepare himself for it. Summing the matter up, he decided to play the modest fellow, and thus leave them with the best impressions he could �" make a real good start by it; the only point that had bothered him still, was how would they reach him?’

But they claim to be so smart and sophisticated, so why shouldn't I count on their efficient means and methods? Let them do their job and find me!

It has been a long time, since he was so composed and calm. Anyway, if they missed me completely yesterday, how would they manage now, today? It could have been a good joke, if I wasn't a part of it.

He lighted up another cigarette while watching the tall Dutch girls with much interest, the least effort he could make not to get too bored.

The time was ten thirty five already and nobody had popped up yet to welcome his safe arrival.

Never mind, I’m not rushing anywhere, and after all I did my move last night and have nothing to worry about �" it’s their turn now.

In fact he was very eager to meet his fellow countrymen again, speak their mutual language. But above all, he was anxious to discuss his future; to have some idea vague as it might be, about his own fate.

Breakfast was over and he lingered over a cup of coffee with a few drops of rum, enjoying its aroma and the warmth it endowed his body. At about ten forty eight, when he was on the verge of calling the chairman once again, his eye caught the fleeting figure of a man through the glass wall �" whose oriental dark features left no doubt as to what his origin might be.

Watching Samir's face attentively, the stranger raised his brows with much exaggeration �" turning his face for a few seconds into a live question mark. Pushing the glass door open he entered the place, and then stopped still; passing his eyes all over the place, he turned back to Samir with expectancy.

Smiling as if he had known the stranger for years, Samir stood up waiting for him to approach his table; while the stranger a young man in his late twenties was moving toward him, without changing his stern expression.

‘Welcome brother o' mine!’ Whispered to him Samir in Arabic, sending forth his right hand. They exchanged a rather weak and cold handshake full of suspicion and mistrust, and sat down facing each other.

‘You look like some "Frangie…’ (Frenchman=foreigner) his guest muttered expressing his mistrust openly. ‘Well than,’ he added, ‘had a nice and eventless trip I've heard.’

‘That's right.’ Samir nodded his head answering eagerly.

‘Do you have anything of extraordinary importance to report, or…’

The waiter was hovering not too far off, venturing forward �" expecting some new order. Although they were speaking in their mother tongue, the stranger hesitated, stopped in mid sentence and turned his head toward the approaching waiter.

‘What will you have? Samir asked him, ‘a second breakfast?’ He added with a chuckle.

‘Coffee, just coffee and some mineral water �" and call me Abas. Samir isn't it?’

Samir nodded his head once again and summoned the waiter.

‘Coffee and a bottle of mineral water,’ Samir ordered in English.

‘Coffee’ Abas echoed after him to the waiter.

‘Is there anything else that you wish to have, some pastry perhaps?’ The waiter asked politely in hesitant English.

Abas raised his open right palm to his face almost pursued his lips in a negative smile, and looked back into Samir’s eyes, as if he didn’t understand. ‘Thank you,’ Samir replied him moving his head from side to side, and the waiter turned on his heels smartly, and left.

‘Do you see?’ Abas asked him. ‘There's no need to reveal unnecessary details about yourself, what languages you speak and any other data �" the fewer words you utter, the better.’

’Sure...’ Samir answered him unconvinced, and unimpressed. With a face like yours, it doesn't make the slightest difference whether you open your mouth or keep it shut; any fool would mark you down as an Arab. Here it comes again! He told himself utterly disappointed. The b*****d can't do without a show off. But beware you're leading things, to a nasty turn! He warned himself, alarmed. Abas was treating him as a novice, and being too sensitive might damage his future relations with this man and many others �" and after all he was a novice! Having reached remarkable achievements couldn't change the fact. He was a greenhorn and he had much to learn yet. Every hint and insinuation was hitting him with an impact of a poisoned arrow; as if it were an unforgivable insult �" as if his manhood was challenged, or worse doubted... Well it was his duty and his alone to clear the atmosphere, to obey and respect �" otherwise he is doomed.

He pulled out a packet of cigarettes out of his breast pocket, and offered it to Abas. The gesture was well timed, Abas was smiling at last. The thin layer of enmity that was menacing their meeting, faded away.

‘That's my favorite brand.’ Abas noted with satisfaction, drawing a cigarette out and rolling it eagerly between his fingers. Samir brought out a lighter, and extending his hand toward his guest, he offered him the tiny flame.

The waiter on his way back with fresh coffee reached their table and waited patiently to the end of the ceremony �" holding his platter above their heads almost.

But Abas took his time, and getting hold of Samir's wrist with the lighter in it, scrutinized it and its tiny flame for a few seconds �" then pulled Samir's hand closer to his face, lighting his cigarette.

The lousy b*****d is patronizing me! Samir thought with bitter disapproval. He was frustrated, but managed to keep a serene expression.

With the ceremony over the waiter made his move, laid the table anew and left right away.

‘Well how are you doing?’ Abas asked after a short while �" puffing smoke and talking at the same time.

‘Il hamdoulila’ (Allah be praised=I'm okay) answered Samir briskly.

‘Don't you find the whole thing tiresome; don't you have any ideas of, say, how to improve procedures etc.?’ He went on asking.

‘What procedures, what things, what exactly do you mean?’ Samir asked him with a feigned surprise, avoiding the open and obvious trap.

‘The way of life you're bound to lead from now on, that's the thing.’

‘As far as I know I'm bound to carry on my studies and thank god, I don't find anything particularly tiresome in that. That answer was too straight and had a hint of impertinence, though it was said quite politely.

‘ In that case I'm sorry to disappoint you my young compatriot, it’s the organization alone that will decide the course of studies you'll take; and for the time being you're planned to join a three months course �" to learn the art of guerilla warfare, in Yugoslavia.’

‘You must be joking!’ Samir answered he didn't have to pretend to be surprised this time. ‘I've just came from Belgrade. I flew there just three days ago �" and you expect me to believe I've been travelling day and night, nonstop by train to reach Amsterdam just to return to where I've started?’

Although he was shocked, he did not lose his temper, did not raise his voice, but kept whispering in Arabic his objections. Aware at the same time, with much relief to learn that when Abas mentioned ‘ideas’, he was checking his character, his temper; anyway he did not refer to his flight, which was an offence by all means. I did fly in spite of my instructions! I broke the rules and should be punished gravely for it... But it seems that I’m the only one that knows it �" the sole and only one...! I was on my own all along that trip, nobody watched me or took care of me! They were all too busy, curse the mothers who gave them birth �" to explore the many bars, the cabarets and the brothels of Amsterdam no doubt!

‘So what,’ Abas hissed at him. ‘These are your orders and that round about trip of yours was meant to mislead our enemies; nothing went wrong and here you are, safe and sound and the trip is behind you.’ Abas paused for a short break, taking a deep breath �" there were other ways to persuade that young man. ‘Besides, it’s your chance to get on within our ranks, don't you wish to become an expert of automatic weapons, or of high explosives; a demolition man mind you, who blows up bridges, railways; or be an expert in the martial arts, a black belt! Well...?’ He made another break chuckling slightly. ‘It won't interfere with your future studies, and if you ask me, I don't happen to know anyone, who was offered such a chance that early! And I haven't met anyone yet, who said no thank you!’

They were both leaning forward on their elbows, watching each other’s face, trying to figure each other out.

‘I say, it did confuse you a bit, that trip, didn't it? You need some rest, that course is due to begin next week �" there’s still time enough left for a second thought.’

But Samir was not persuaded at all by Abas’s arguments. Thus with some hesitations he decided to move against it. ‘Well, you're probably right and I'm no expert in that kind of business �" and I'm terribly sorry to let you down, but I've no intention to become one...! I've been sent abroad to carry on my studies. I'm sure the chairman was briefed about it, and knows my case.’

Abas was some four or five years older than himself; he had to be careful not to hurt his feelings. What did he know about him, nothing at all. He might be a powerful figure with someone to push him up the ladder. But in any case, Samir did not intend to fall into their rank and file and become some dubious hit man, prepared rather poorly in a three months course… A hit-man who would be an easy prey to the ‘Mosad’ experienced and efficient pros.’ He gave his share in that particular field and had had enough. If he would persist, if he would stand up for his rights, to carry on his studies, there's a good chance that whatever he did... back home... would soon be forgotten �" as an unsolved riddle, an enigma. Il fat mat! (The past is dead) He told himself encouraged. Why risk my neck again...? Why live in constant terror, of booby-trapped cars and avenging gunmen on motorbikes...! Now about that promise which nobody ever gave me... If anyone would ever probe deep into that matter, I could always claim that Abu-razek brought me an oral promise; it'll be all right, it'll work! Abas was right in one thing, certain people might end up confused no doubt after such a trip, but not me! He kept encouraging himself

‘The chairman has nothing to do with it, he is just a figurehead!’ Abas said resolutely. ‘By the way, what time did you phone him yesterday?’ He asked Samir.

‘Well, I believe it was at about seven fifteen.’

‘Was he the one who received your call?’

‘No, some Dutch female.’

‘Is that so,’ smiled Abas triumphantly. Well then…’ But in an abrupt change of mind he stopped in mid sentence, and raising the burning cigarette to his lips, blowing smoke thoughtfully he turned to Samir again. ’Esma ya...!’ (Listen) ‘Nobody intends to send you off in half an hour notice, even if you would have agreed to go. It would have taken at least another week before you could leave. So you still have enough time to change your mind, we won't force you �" we won't even try. It must be your own decision and anyway, it’s a very good start to any career in our organization. So don't dismiss it, give it a very serious second thought.

‘I will think it over.’ Samir promised him.

Abas did not answer, there was no need to. The young man expressed his refusal in a typically roundabout way.

© Haim Kadman 1989 �" all rights reserved.

18 chapters

120 pages

71,370 words