Gaza Strip, West Bank
Evening of the Assassinations
President Baruti had had better days. He had caught a brief nap after the call with Prime Minister Cantor and then been awakened for a series of calls.
Two of those interactions worried him deeply. The first was with Masar Abadi, the Gazan prime minister.
‘These peace talks must stop,’ he declared as soon as Baruti took his call.
‘Don’t you want peace?’ the president countered.
‘Peace? Bah!’ Abadi snorted. ‘These Israelis are playing with you. They have fooled you into believing a dream. If they wanted peace, why did Mossad kill our negotiators?’
‘Prime Minister Cantor—’
‘DON’T SAY THAT SNAKE’S NAME,’ Abadi yelled shrilly. ‘That man wants to kill every Palestinian. He is an American pawn. He and the United States want to finish us.’
Baruti allowed him to rant and spoke when the man paused for a breath. ‘The negotiations will proceed,’ he told the prime minister firmly. ‘There is no going back. The world’s eyes are on us. We will not be the ones to back off.’
‘Israel is our enemy,’ Abadi roared. ‘We will have peace only when that country is destroyed—’
‘Enough,’ Baruti cut him off. ‘We’ll speak no more of enemies. Just so you know, it is Cantor who reached out to me. He took the initiative.’
‘And he stabbed you in the back,’ the prime minister hissed. ‘Be warned. You aren’t as popular as you think. You will not survive these talks. I have heard about Abdul Masih. He does not like what you are doing.’ And with that, he disconnected the call.
Baruti felt cold even though it was a warm evening. Masih was the commander of the Al Qassam Brigades, EQB, the military arm of Hamas. It carried out attacks on Israel, and while it took its political direction from its parent party, it often operated independently.
Masih, one of the most-wanted men in Israel, had survived numerous assassination attempts and remained at large. And very active.
EQB can kill me. Baruti spread his fingers and inspected them. He was pleased to see that they didn’t tremble. He snorted at this thought. Why EQB? Someone from my party or anyone from the street could assassinate me.
Abadi was right. His popularity ranking had tanked after the killings. Many Palestinians echoed the thought that the prime minister had partly articulated. That Cantor had initiated the talks to shore up worldwide support, to be seen as the good guy. And had then acted traitorously.
I trust him, Baruti thought, looking at the view of Ramallah, the capital of his government. And if I die, so be it.
He had three children, all of adult age, all of who were gainfully employed. His wife had passed away the year before.
If my children and grandchildren grow up without the threat of war … that was a dream worth dying for.
The second call wasn’t a threat to his life, but to his political well-being. It was from his deputy prime minister, Muhammed Bishara, who was from the same party, Fatah.
‘You’re in trouble,’ the caller began without preamble. It was turning into that kind of day—no one wasting time on greetings or pleasantries.
‘I just got off the phone with Abadi. He threatened me. How much worse can it get?’
‘This is about your political life. Many members of the executive committee are unhappy. They are talking about a no-confidence motion.’
Baruti sighed in frustration. He had met each of the committee’s members and had convinced them of the importance of the discussions in Jerusalem. They had agreed to back him.
Just two killings later, they have lost faith in me.
He knew he couldn’t underestimate Bishara’s warning. The committee wielded tremendous power and could remove him from office if all its members got together.
‘This must be the only country in the world which doesn’t want a peaceful existence,’ Baruti protested.
‘Have you seen the news? Have you stepped outside your office? There are riots in the West Bank and in Gaza. Our people are protesting, strongly and violently, against the Israelis.’
‘I know. But don’t they get it that continuing these discussions is our only hope?’
‘Emotions are high. Tempers are frayed. Right now, not many Palestinians trust the Israelis.’
‘I do. I trust Prime Minister Cantor.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Bishara replied sharply, ‘and it is your trust and nothing else that has brought us to where we are.’
‘You are doubting me?’
‘No,’ his deputy adopted a more conciliatory tone. ‘We, the cabinet, believe in you and this course of action. But we should not ignore what the people think. We have lived with war for so long, it has become almost a normal state,’ Bishara explained. ‘You have got to deliver something to our people to quiet them.’
‘The talks—’
‘Will take time. You have yet to appoint replacements for those killed. And who knows what the outcome will be?’
I can bring our people together if I tell them what Cantor has in mind.
But for that, he would need the Israeli’s permission. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he replied.
He flicked open the files on his desk and put aside two of them. The new negotiators who would replace Maryam Razak and Farhan Ba.
He then made a call of his own, to Prime Minister Yago Cantor. He kept it brief, just one line.
‘We need to meet.’