The Red Syndrome (40 page)

hear a truck coming," said Arnon. "Let's hope they're friendly." We
waved our hands. A flatbed truck slowed down and stopped a short
distance away. I realized we'd made a mistake as soon as we saw the
two men approaching. One of them held a submachine gun while the
other stayed close to the truck, his AK-47 leveled at us.

"Ali," shouted the man who approached with the gun. "These are the
Europeans the radio was talking about." That much I understood. "Stay
where you are," he ordered, pointing his gun at us. "There's a reward on
your heads. You are spies."

"Spies," I said in Arabic, feigning a laugh; "we're agricultural advisers
working for the United Nations. We lost our way in the desert."

"I don't believe you," he said. "Show me your hands," he ordered Arnon.

"Look at them," he said, victoriously turning to the man with the AK47, who started approaching, "these hands have never touched a shovel."
I guessed the digging of our refuge didn't count.

"You're right," said Arnon with a candor that frightened me; for a split
second I thought he was going to confess. "I've never worked in the field
other than while doing my research. But as a scientist I know a lot about
agriculture and I teach farmers."

They searched us. We had nothing in our pockets but one dry pita.
"Get on my truck," All shouted, pointing the gun at us.

I quickly assessed our situation. They were two, we were three. But they
had two guns, and we had none. We climbed into the back of the truck.
I felt defeated. But only for a moment. I never give up, not here, not ever.
Oded and Arnon rode quietly, but I could sense their minds spinning like
mine, looking for the next opportunity. All's partner - his name was
Marwan, we learned - drove while All sat next to us with his gun ready. We were heading back in the direction of the village we'd come from. But
then a few minutes later we turned into a small side road, and after about
a mile we saw a village with only five or six houses, and a small metal shed
that looked out of place among the mud-brick huts.

"Get off," All ordered. His face was menacing.

We got off the truck. We needed to move quickly before these guys
could make another move. I wasn't concerned about the police. Where
would All find any? Killing us would be much easier, and the reward from
the xenophobic government would be nice.

I'm sure Oded thought so, too, but given the fact that All had a gun, he
chose the softer approach. "Tell him that I can prove that we're agricultural experts, and that that could be very helpful to him." I translated.

All looked at him in suspicion, again raising his gun and pointing it at
us.

`Roach," he said in contempt. "Go." He pushed us into the metal shed
and locked the door. The shed, I assumed, was the safest place to lock us
up. In these villages, if the huts have doors, they rarely have locks. The
shed was dark. It was nighttime, but the heat was sweltering and the
stench made it difficult to breathe. Moments later our eyes became used
to the dark. Judging by what we could see and smell, the shed was used
as storage for agricultural tools and fertilizers.

"We have to get out of here soon," said Arnon. "In a few hours the sun
will rise and" - he looked around - "we'll fry."

Oded didn't respond. He was busy rummaging through the fertilizer
bags and the containers, releasing additional waves of odor into the air.

"Do you see this fertilizer?" Oded finally said.

"No, but I sure can smell it," I answered. "Let's wait until morning and
then maybe then we can get our bearings." We sat in a corner and dozed off.

A few hours later we woke up, tired, thirsty, and hungry. A few beams
of sun filtered through small cracks in the roof.

Oded got up and went directly to the other side of the shed. Moments
later he returned, wiping his hands on his pants, carrying a small blue
plastic container. "This contains acetylene. If we mix it with chlorine, it'll
give us great results."

"What are you planning?" asked Arnon.

As always, Oded was calm and patient. "If we mix chlorine with acetylene it will turn into an explosive, acetylene chloride, that could blow up
this shed."

"With us inside," I added. "Besides, do they have chlorine stored here?"

"I don't see any; it's too dark."

Arnon went over to Oded, who was sifting through the bags.

"There's something here that says 'NPK five-ten-ten fertilizer,"' said
Arnon. "Is that any good?"

"That's a combination of nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium, a very
good start, but for a different solution." I heard the encouragement in
Oded's voice. "But for what I have in mind we'd we need an additional
compound."

"Come and see for yourself," suggested Arnon. "Some of these bags have
no markings at all; maybe you can identify them by their color or smell."

"I need approximately thirty gallons of lime sulfur," said Oded, "a
common fertilizer."

Arnon pulled out a green container. "Is this it?"

Oded looked at the label and said, "Yes, great, that's exactly what I need.
Now I can prepare a small but unpleasant surprise for All and Marwan."

Two or three hours went by. There was no movement outside. We
heard only the wind blowing. The heat was unbearable. I started banging
on the tin door: "Ali, we need water; we can't breathe here."

There was no response. "I have a better idea than just sitting here," said
Arnon. "Let's dig out. We have enough tools here, and this metal shed
can't be built deep into the ground. What do we have to lose?"

I couldn't object to that logic. I joined Arnon and we took two shovels
from the corner of the shed.

"Here," said Oded, pointing to the ground; "right over here should be
a good point to start. It's the back side of the shed, away from the road,
and the soil here seems sandy enough." We started digging.

Oded went to the far end of the shed.

"What are you looking for?" I asked while digging.

"A garden hose."

"How can they have hoses here? I bet they have no running water."

"Then I'll think of something else," said Oded cryptically.

An hour later we had a big pile of sand inside the shed, and we'd dug a
small passage underneath the side wall that was both wide and deep
enough for us to pass through. We didn't have drinking water and the
shed was hot as hell. We were dripping with sweat and dying of thirst. I
went first, squeezing myself out. It was good to breathe fresh, albeit dusty,
air again. I looked around; nothing but desert and barren land. No sign
of people. I helped Arnon out.

"Oded," I whispered when we didn't see his head coming out, "come
quickly."

"I need to finish this," Oded said from the inside. Two minutes later he
pushed out two shovels, and then his head wrapped with his shirt popped
out. He crawled out, pressing the shirt tightly over his mouth and nose.
He took a shovel and quickly covered up our passage with sand.

"Why bother?" I asked.

"I need to keep the shed as airtight as possible," he said.

I smelled gas.

"Let's move," whispered Oded.

A strong odor of rotten eggs spread in the air.

"Let's get the hell out of here," repeated Oded hurriedly.

We ran past the outskirts of the tiny village in the direction of our jeep.
We'd run about half a mile before we stopped to look back. Nothing. No
movement. We jumped into our jeep. Apparently our captors hadn't
thought to hot-wire it. I got the engine going once again and we sped
away in a cloud of dust, though we still didn't know where we were going.

"Tell me what you did," asked Arnon after he'd caught his breath and
taken a few swigs from the foul-tasting water container we shared.

Oded smiled. "When you mix lime sulfur with a phosphate-containing
fertilizer, you create hydrogen sulfide gas. At very high concentrations, it
can kill in only one breath. I filled up the shed with the gas."

"How high was the concentration?" I asked.

"It only takes a level hundred parts per million for hydrogen sulfide to kill.
Smaller concentrations cause unconsciousness and respiratory paralysis."

"We didn't need to kill them," I said.

"They won't die," said Oded. "The shed wasn't airtight, and most of the
gas will escape by the time they enter. More likely, it'll knock them out
for a few hours. By the time they regain consciousness, we'll be far away."

"What would happen if they entered the shed just now?" asked Arnon.

"Respiratory failure," answered Oded drily. "But in another twenty minutes, the gas won't be lethal, given the conditions of the shed, and in three
hours, it will have completely evaporated. And we're safe either way."

Arnon gave Oded a confused look.

"If All and Marwan enter the shed soon, they'll be unconscious for a
few hours, so they won't be able to chase us. And if they don't discover
our escape until three hours from now, by which time the gas will have
evaporated, we'll have had a head start and be far away," he concluded
with a smile. I looked at him in appreciation.

"Remember Arthur Koestler?" I asked.

He looked somewhat baffled, wondering why on earth I'd mention the
author given our current circumstances.

"I'm giving you a compliment," I said, seeing his expression. "He said
that creativity is a type of learning process in which teacher and student
are located within the same person."

We rode for an hour, and when I glanced at the rearview mirror, I sensed
trouble. "There's a car speeding behind us, and it doesn't look good."

I accelerated, but the car kept following us, blinking its lights as a signal
to stop. I had no intention of doing so. The terrain was solid, with small
pebbles that flew back as we spun over them.

The vehicle was gaining on us. I could now make out a white SUV,
with a much bigger engine than our jeep. It accelerated and appeared on
my left side. "Stop the car," shouted a man from the SUV, in English.
"Stop!" I accelerated; we were in open terrain. Both speeding vehicles
raised a trail of dust that made it impossible to use the rearview mirror.

The SUV almost passed us, but instead of trying to block us, it slowed
until it was near the very rear end, then veered sharply to the right and
clipped the jeep's side. We felt the smashing blow, and nearly flipped.
Usually the back side of a car is lighter than the front and therefore easier to ram, but our jeep was loaded with water and gasoline, making the back
just as heavy. The road, if you could dignify the flat terrain with that
name, was very wide. Just as the SUV was about to ram us, I'd anticipated
them and moved to the right, softening the blow.

Time to make a move, I said to myself. "Showtime! Hold on to your
seats, I'll try to shake them off."

I slowed down. "What are you doing," yelled Arnon, "they'll catch us."

I didn't respond. I stopped the jeep and quickly put the gear in reverse.
"Move it," yelled Arnon. "Are you crazy?"

I selected a point ahead of us, a big bush, and began backing up. As the
SUV slowed down to see what I was doing, I jammed on the gas pedal,
cut the wheel sharply a quarter turn to the left, and immediately put the
car into first gear. I stepped on the gas pedal all the way and the jeep leapt
forward, passing them. I managed to see their faces in the rearview
mirror: three mustached men who looked like soldiers trying to wave
away the cloud of dust the jeep had thrown at them.

"You're going back," yelled Arnon.

"I know," I answered coolly. "It's the only way to get rid of them; their
car's much faster than ours."

"What now? We can't go back," said Oded with his usual calm, although
I was sure he must have been as tense as I was.

"Once we shake them off, we'll bear northeast again."

"I don't think they're going to give up that easily," said Oded.

"We should find a place to hide. I'm sure they're armed," said Arnon.

In confirmation, I heard the first bullet hitting the roof, then a whole
barrage that missed us. "If a bullet hits the gasoline containers, we're history," shouted Arnon as the jeep bumped up and down on the dry terrain.

"And if they catch us alive, we won't be any better off; we need to get
away," I answered as I tried to maneuver the jeep. They had all the
advantages; a faster and bigger vehicle, and guns. We didn't stand a
chance. As if to give credence to my thoughts, the next barrage of bullets hit the rear tires, slowing us down immediately until the jeep came
to a complete stop. The SUV crossed our path and stopped in front of
us. Three men jumped out with Russian Kalashnikov assault rifles. They pointed their weapons at us and shouted in Arabic "Ta'al hon."
Come here!

Overpowered, we left the jeep with our hands raised. They approached
and abruptly handcuffed us, not forgetting to hit me and Arnon in our
torsos with their rifle butts. They pushed us into the backseat of the SUV
and started driving. No words had been exchanged.