Darkness due to the waning crescent swathes the surroundings. An obscure hilly pathway. A gush of cold western breeze carries the scent of Jordan River. On the eastern coast of the river, ranges of faint lighting can be seen. Those are the camps of Jordan's border guards. From the other side of the Jordan River, several Israeli observation posts are visible.
Following the pathway, four silhouettes are slowly advancing. One of them is black. He has trimmed curly hair, thick lips, long face and a large well-built body. This is Abu Bakr Senouci. The second person is intensely sun-burnt and has a well kempt beard on his face. He is Abd Ar-Rahman. They are the representatives of UMLLA (United Muslim Liberation League of Africa).
The third person is about six feet tall. He has a yellowish complexion, a Fez on his head and french-cut beard. The cunningness of his nature is apparent through his expressions. He is Mustafa Amin Çağatay, the leader of the Turkestan Liberation movement, from Turkey. They have come to Saimum's Groundwork Committee's private meeting with their appeals. And the fourth man is Abd Ar-Rashid, who is guiding them through the way.
Abd Ar-Rashid seems worried. He looks at Çağatay. 'Excuse me, Mr. Amin, didn't Hasan Tariq say anything to you after delivering the letter?'
'He seemed very busy,' Amin Çağatay replies in a quick, but calm voice, 'Once he handed me the letter, he did not wait any longer than five minutes. I hesitated to question him further. This morning when I heard from Ali Efendy that he has gone missing, I was shocked. But I acknowledge it now that we should have taken into consideration his unusual restlessness.'
In the next few minutes they reached a spot from where they could see the countless lights down there at the foot of the hill. They, analogous to the galaxies in the sky, formed a line that stretched towards the North.
Abd Ar-Rashid points at that with his forefinger. 'Look at the evidence of Israel's barbarism. Deprived of their homeland, of their belongings, they live like animals in petty shacks years after years. These thousands of destitute Muslims desperately waited for the United Nations for twenty whole years. Starvation, unhygienic food, malnutrition and lack of treatment are gradually leading them towards death. In these twenty years, United Nations has never failed to neglect their cries, not even for once.' Abd Ar-Rashid pauses for a moment, then says, 'The waiting period is over now. The walls of forbearance have been crushed. We have paid a great price for relying on others. Now, we have armed ourselves. Only two pathways are open to us: we'd either gain victory or die martyrs.'
'Mr. Rashid, I have always known that there weren't any possibilities for education or forming organizations among the refugees. How did you all surprisingly form this organization? How did you even train?' Amin Çağatay asks.
Abd Ar-Rashid smiles mildly and says, 'You are somewhat correct about our system, but not entirely.'
He continues, 'When the thousands of wounded and uprooted people entered Jordan, Syria, Iraq and the Sinai in throngs, we did not have anything but the bare ground to recline on and the well water to drink from. During those awful days, there were many who helped us, but we intimately found by our sides an incredible team of brothers. I heard from my mother, she used to tell me often that Allah has sent the Ansar of Medina to our aid. You all know them - they are Ikhwanul Muslimin (Muslim Brotherhood). The brothers did not only set up tents for us and brought us food. They divided the displaced into several units and established an education center in each. The education centers provided long-term military training. Members of the Brotherhood worked as teachers and instructors. I heard they used to say, "Considering the way the Muslims countries incompetent in world-politics and drowning in internal conflicts are weakening, we cannot place our reliance on their military strength to liberate Palestine. Palestine's true freedom can only be earned by the resistance of our valiant youth."
'The birth of Saimum also resulted in the Brotherhood's hands. Perhaps Israel's flag would have collapsed from the pinnacle of Tel-Aviv and drowned in the Meditteranean sea long before. One awful day, the luminary of our hope was eclipsed. Hasan Al-Banna, the leader of Muslim Brotherhood, was shot dead on the terrain of Egypt...' Rashid stops at a thwack by Amin Çağatay's elbow. He looks ahead to notice a light signal from a dark cave flickering in a specific pattern. He informs his companions that they have reached the first checkpoint. A few meters away, two silhouettes are standing in position with machine guns.
Abd Ar-Rashid whistles in a strange note. Immediately a giant guard clad in black walks to Abu Bakr Senouci and holds a plate full of wooden letters. Senouci picks the letter W. The guard lowers his revolver, salutes and shakes hands with each one of them. They crossed the first checkpost.
'What was that?!' A surprised Amin Çağatay asks.
'Your turn will arrive in the third one,' Abd Ar-Rashid replies with a chuckle. 'You will also have to pass such tests to enter the outpost.'
'But I did not know about this, Hasan Tariq didn't tell...' Çağatay worriedly says.
'Yes, I get it. And I am equally ignorant about all these. Let's see. I have informed brother Musa about you.'
After the next few miles of arduous trekking, they reach the second checkpost. Just like the previous time, Abd Ar-Rahman is brought a tray with wooden letters on it. He takes the letter A.
Amin Çağatay gets stuck in the third checkpost. They are ordered to wait there until new commands arrive from the headquarters.
About fifteen minutes later, Amin Çağatay is released with Ahmad Musa's orders.
~
On the mountainside beside a narrow valley twelve miles north to Amman and twenty miles east to the Jordan River, few secret chambers are dimly glimmering. Saimum freedom fighters' camps and observation posts are scattered all around the cave. Guerilla operations directed from here have ruined their night's sleep- the Jewish despots of the country from Eilat to Gaza and Haifa to Jerusalem. Today, they are afraid of patrolling with their rifles even in the darkness of night. As if they have figured out that the day is near, when each drop of Palestinian blood will be avenged.
Inside one of the secret chambers, a large round table is set. Every object in the room is shining clean. Ten chairs surround the table. Eight seats are occupied. Two empty chairs are at one side - one is Hasan Tariq's and the other one is Ali Efendi's. Hasan Tariq is missing; Ali Efendy hasn't reached yet. Beside the three members of Saimum, two representatives from Africa and one from Turkey are also present in this meeting. Africa's finest ambassador, Abd Ar-Rahman, is reading the report sent by UMLLA Central Council. Perspiration forms on his forehead despite the winter night. Ahmad Musa's head is lowered. His thoughts have completely absorbed him.
Abdur Rahman's report says: 'Africa has a total population of 322 million people, and 198 million of them are Muslims. Including the foreign colonizers, the Christian population adds up to 47 million. They are scattered throughout different countries of Southern, Eastern and Western Africa. In the Muslim countries of this region, the Christian population is no higher than 15%. Despite being minimal in quantity, with the assistance of their imperialist kindred, they subjugated and subjected to colonial oppression the people of countries like Ethiopia, Chad, Mali, Nigeria, Tanzania, Sierra Leone, Dahomey, Central African Republic, Upper Volta, Ivory Coast, Senegal and more.
'The door of education has been shut for the Muslims. Although, if a Muslim child gets to an educational institute, he would be bound to change his Muslim name and some ended up being converted to Christianity. Economic activities and business opportunities have all been appropriated to the Christians. Partaking in politics is forbidden for the Muslims. Stuck in a situation so suffocating from all sides, their existence is endangered.
'There is, apart from that, political repression. A few days ago many workers of the Liberation Front were tortured to death. Ethiopia's freedom fighters were beheaded, and their bodies were hung on trees; witnessing to which even the uninvolved foreigners could not hold back their tears. Zanzibar's Muslim Prime Minister Kassim Hanga, Ali Mohsen Al-Barwani, Salam Bamb and many more have been suffering for years under imprisonment. Countless people are waiting for death inside the dark cells of not just Tanzania's but several other African prisons.
'We have learned through struggles and now we firmly believe that justice cannot be begged for; nor can the excuse of international justice bring the oppressed any relief. There is only one way to their freedom: fighting for it. To drive this campaign towards its goal, we have the following appeals:
Sufficient financial aid to direct a long-term liberation war.
Necessary arms and ammunition for an active war.
Medical necessities and treatment for the wounded soldiers.
Authorised instructors for the soldiers' education and training.
Leaders to take command of the freedom movements instigated by Saimum.'
Abd Ar-Rahman finishes the ten-page long written report. Everyone is silent. From the exclusive map of Africa spread on the table, Ahmad Musa raises his face. 'Why did you decide the mountains of Libya and Chad to be the location for your main and permanent bases? Wouldn't a place near the seaside be more logical?'
Abu Bakr Senouci proceeds to reply, 'There are three reasons. One, both the places are unapproachable and very far from the cities of our adversaries. The places are not only geographically inaccessible because of the large mountains, but also because the Bedouin tribes reside there. They are our allies and counterparts of the liberation struggle.
'Two, we can maintain a confidential communication with the African Muslims countries from here with much ease.
 
'Three, our arms and ammunition supply will be secured. We can receive resources easily through the Red Sea and the borders of Sudan. And from the north, along the waterway of the Mediterranean sea, and then through Cyrenaica and the Libyan desert, our provisions would safely reach us. Cyrenaica's isolated coast and grim mountain woodlands would prove favorable for this purpose. We were assured of considerable help from the Cyrenaican and Arab Bedouins. The Bedouins abhor their occupiers. They haven't yet forgotten the torture Italian companies had subjected them to. Traces of the oppression are still alive on the streets and steppes of Libya and Cyrenaica to this day. Countless wells were stuffed up with cement - a cruel strategy of killing the natives with thirst. In many areas of the region, ruins of towns are still found whose inhabitants died out only due to the lack of water.
'Another reason to select Kufra and the Libyan desert's southern border as our base is that the values of the Sanusi movement and Abdelkarim Al-Khattabi's raging influences flourish among its elders and youth, though it may sound like a tale.'
Ahmad Musa's glad eyes glimmer. 'Your foresight is praiseworthy, my brothers,' he says, 'I believe that your victory is certain. You have behind you the legacy of the Sanusi order, the influences of Abdelkarim Rif and Hasan Al-Banna's teachings of unity and altruism.'
 
Mustafa Amin Çağatay says that he hasn't completed his report yet and that he will present it in the closing session.
The report presentation pauses for the time being. Ahmad Musa presses a button next to the table. A short while later a person enters and greets them.
'Isn't there any news of Ali Efendi?' Musa asks.
'No.'
'We want to go to the control room. Ask Jameel to arrange our visit.' Ahmad Musa turns to the rests and grins. He says, 'Amin Çağatay wishes to know how we are advancing against Israel. That's the reason for this arrangement.'
'For that, we are grateful to brother Amin.' Abu Bakr Senouci smiles.
~
Treading along a few dark and winding pathways in a mountain, eight silhouettes stop at a place that is of a triangular shape. The place is small in expanse. A humongous rock rooted on the north side has created a roof-like cover above their heads. When they reach the spot, a big stone slides open in the north-western corner and a flash of strange light dazzles their eyes. Ahmad Musa along with the rest enters inside through the narrow opening. Another session of similar alleys like before begins here. Mountain walls are on their either sides.
After a few minutes of walking in the darkness, Ahmad Musa halts. He loudly knocks at a specific spot next to him three times. Then he softly knocks another five times. A faint blue bulb lights up about twenty feet above them.
Ahmad Musa repeats the set of three and five knocks. This time eight rope ladders descend from the ceiling.
'Now what a training we have to go through!' laughs Mawlana Farooq, from Dhakni's Revolution Council.
'Hailing from the mountains yourself, don't embarrass my tiny hills, Mr. Mawlana.' Ahmad Musa replies, equally amused.
As the men step on the ladders, they are elevated to the concrete roof of a vast expanse. A gush of cool wind makes them rejuvenated; a gift from the Jordan River. Had the night's darkness not been there, they could have witnessed the silver ribbon-like river flowing not too far.
Ahmad Musa takes everyone across the roof and reaches a staircase. While walking down the stairs, Mawlana Farooq, Abu Bakr Senouci and Abd ar-Rahman's mouths hang open in surprise. They see two people - World Muslim Summit's helmsman Mufti Ameen Al-Azhari and the military expert of World Muslim Congress, Abdullah Amr - standing at the end of the stairs, beaming with open arms. After a series of friendly embraces, they continue walking.
Abu Bakr Senouci is still in a state of shock. Ahmad Musa looks at him. He chuckles and says, 'Mr. Ameen Al-Azhari is the president of Saimum's Groundwork Department, and Mr. Abdullah Amr is the chief advisor.'
The men enter a dimly lit room. Light from outside enters through the door to illuminate a part of the long table. They take their seats at the southern side of the table. Slowly, the door shuts, and the little light that was present also fades away. The room is now in complete darkness.
Ahmad Musa's grim voice is heard. He says, 'Our advancement against Israel, the poisonous fruit of a long term and worldwide conspiracy built upon the groundwork of erudite Jewish thinkers, will be explained to you by Mufti Ameen Al-Azhari.'
Ameen Al-Azhari places his elbows on the table and bends slightly forward.
'Before shedding light upon Saimum's primary schemes, I need to talk about something related.' He begins in his calm voice, 'The targeted disunity between the Arab countries, weaknesses in their foreign policies and dependency regarding military matters resulted in the Arabian lands to be still in the Jewish hands. In this condition, it is impossible to uproot the Zionists through regular warfare. They have behind them the joint strength of the East and the West. To free the Arab lands, to avenge the oppression Muslims have been enduring through decades, we must strike Israel into pieces - internally. Saimum was founded on this notion. Saimum's schemes can be divided into three parts,' he pauses for a while, then says pointing to the wall in front of them, 'Look there.'
Everybody fixate their gazes at the wall. From somewhere a beep is heard and then a huge map of Israel is projected on the wall. Uncountable blue dots appear throughout the map.
Ameen Al-Azhari speaks, 'The blue dots that you can see on Israel's map are its villages. Their numbers add up to 2399. In each village, we have established an insurgent unit of seven. Most of them are Muslims from other Arab lands in the disguise of Palestinians. We have actively worked six long years to form these units. Under the ground of each village, we have created a small arms depot. Earlier, the depots were mostly empty, but after the June War in 1967, we filled them with the armors collected from the Sinai desert. Each armory contains dozens of hand-grenades, five rifles, six pistols and one submachine-gun. We have launched hundreds of attacks on the frontiers of Israel to divert the Israeli spies and soldiers from noticing our unit formations. Israel actually went desperate with their borders. Their deliriousness was fully proven when they attacked Karameh (an area in Jordan) suspecting the presence of Saimum's headquarters.'
The invisible projector beeps again. Two large blue dots form on the map, one inside the Sinai Plateau and one fifty-miles into Golan Heights.
 
'These two areas have our major resource bases, which were built under the soil of two ancient churches,' Al Azhari continues, 'The first stage of work is complete. We are about to enter the second phase of our mission.'
 
Four red dots appear on the map. 'The red spots indicate the four Israeli cities, Eilat, Ludd, Tel-Aviv and Haifa, where the Jews have established their missile bases. The two holy sites of Hijaz fall in the radius of these missile bases. Same with Turkey and major cities of the Arab countries. The first and most important task of the second phase would be destroying these bases all at a time before launching our ultimate attack on Israel. We know that Israel has at least eleven atomic bombs. They, however, will not be able to utilize any, because we will attack from within, not from the Arab lands outside. In any case, we will stay fully alert and spoil their ploys of using the atomic weapons.'
Immediately after the last sentence of Ameen al-Azhari, Amin Çağatay hesitatingly says, 'If you don't mind, I'd like to...'
Ahmad Musa's mind was occupied with thoughts. His reverie breaks, and he says in a clear voice, 'No no, why would we mind?'
Amin Çağatay places a cigarette in his mouth and ignites his lighter. The lighter startles Ahmad Musa. A flash of piercing light and a subtle sound created by it do not go unnoticed by him. Meanwhile Mr Azhari says again, 'After the accomplishment of the second phase, at a specific time, our final battle will begin. The ultimate assault that we will launch from its interior- Israel will have absolutely no power to avert. Before its guardians from overseas can come to stand beside it, Israel will be finished.'
Before Mr Azhari pronounces the last word, the dark room radiantly smiles at the brightness that illuminates it. Ahmad Musa has stood up. He slowly walks towards Amin Çağatay; his expressions nonchalant. Çağatay is sitting with his hands stretched on the table, and his gazes are taking a tour of the room. Curious gazes. There's a storm inside his mind. 'Shemil Ephan.. wasn't this old brat made the head of Internal Security? He gluttonously ate salaries and slept like a sloth... And how much have these cunning rats advanced in their second phase? Their damn schemes seem too accurate. It's horrifying to even think that in every village...'
Ahmad Musa gently places a hand on Amin Çağatay's shoulder, a cigarette in his hand. The latter's chain of thoughts breaks, and he jolts in his place. He twists his head and stretches the edges of his lips to see Ahmad Musa. He has pulled himself together. 'You startled me. I was still wandering in the radiant world of your schemes.'
'I am sorry, brother,' says Ahmad Musa. He takes a cigarette from his left hand to the right. 'Can I use your lighter please?'
Çağatay's smile douses. Two piercing eyes clash with Ahmad Musa's. But only for an instant. He feigns cheerfulness and replies, 'Yes, of course!'
He draws the lighter from his pocket. Lighting it up, he takes it near Ahmad Musa' mouth. With the lit cigarette between his lips, Ahmad Musa speaks, 'Wow, the lighter system is cool. Is it made in Germany? Can I see it?'
Mustafa Amin Çağatay was definitely not ready to find himself in such a situation. Perplexity becomes apparent on his face. He hesitantly extends the lighter.
Ahmad Musa has been keenly observing him. He notices Çağatay's hand delving into his coat pocket. He is not unaware of the meaning behind this. One look at this lighter and he knows that a tiny but powerful camera is attached to it.
Exhaling a gush of smoke, he bends on his elbows over the table. Eyeing the mufti Ameen Al-Azhari, he smirks. 'An addiction as small as this is unacceptable to Mufti Azhari. Great that today I found a companion. How old is your habit?'
Not just Ameen Al-Azhari, but along with Abu Bakr Senouci, Abd Ar-Rahman and Mawlana Farooq, everyone is rendered speechless at this blatant lie. They all know Ahmad Musa; he never smokes. Is he just joking or is it a purposeful pretension? He is not someone that fools around. That means? Their surprised eyes hold an ocean of questions.
At Ahmad Musa's words, Çağatay seems a bit relieved. As if a thick cloud just passed from over his face. Stealing a glance at Ameen Al-Azhari, he ludicrously says, 'This bad habit has been with me since teenage years. You may call it a negative influence of friends.'
Ahmad Musa laughs. 'Your friends have benefitted you too. How else would you have become such a great soccer player?'
'Even I don't disagree with the good sides,' Çağatay chuckles.
'You know what I think, you could've been the best wrestler in the world. Why did you give up on that?'
Suddenly Çağatay's expressions change. He tries to figure out something. He says calmly, 'But why are you asking these questions?'
Ahmad Musa stands up straight. 'I was just comparing you with Mustafa Amin Çağatay. I know from his dossier that he really is a great wrestler, and that he has never landed his foot on a soccer ball. But you...'
Before he could finish, Çağatay springs up from his chair. But he is late. Ahmad Musa's six chambered revolver's shining barrel is already gaping at him.
'Take out that hand from your pocket. If you don't wish death, then surrendering will be a smart move,' he offers with a grim voice.
'I don't fear death, Musa. Neither do I wish you remain alive.' He swiftly draws his hand out of the pocket with a grenade.
At the unbelievable and sudden turn of events, everyone in the room is struck with bewilderment. They stand there petrified - the grenade in that careless man's hand can not only blow up the few people of this cave but can easily flatten a part of this mountain.
The so-called Çağatay is not given a chance. Smoke silently froths out of Ahmad Musa's revolver. His victim's body plummets on the table, the grenade remains in his lifeless grip.
At this moment, the door swishes open. Ali Efendi and the real Mustafa Amin Çağatay walk in. Everyone stares at them, mouths agape - excluding Ahmad Musa.
~
Major General Ali Efendi has narrated the events of the previous day and the night before. The rest are speechlessly seated encircling a round table.
Ahmad Musa speaks first. 'Hasan Tariq left for Istanbul in the afternoon two days ago. Starting from his arrest to Mustafa Amin Çağatay's kidnapping and turning a Jewish spy into looking like him by plastic surgery - how did they manage all of it in such a short time? Did they know about today's gathering from before? And that Mustafa Amin would join us?'
'As far as I know, WRF and Mossad's cooperation made this possible,' Ali Efendi replies, 'Turkish Secret Services had informed that yesterday, from the Turkish-Iraq borders a coffin was carried through Iran and boarded into a submarine waiting in the Caspian Sea. If it was Hasan Tariq who was smuggled inside the coffin, then we can say that WRF has helped Mossad with all the information regarding this meeting; and in return, Mossad handed them Hasan Tariq.'
'We learned about WRF's proficiency from other sources too. But there is something I don't understand, why is WRF this interested in Hasan Tariq?' Ahmad Musa asks.
Reflecting for a moment, Ali Efendi says, 'You all must remember two years ago a foreign diplomat in Jordan by the name of Marthall Khirv was arrested under the charge of spying. Only because of Hasan Tariq, Khirv was caught red handed along with all the documents. In that same incident, the widely renowned and indomitable detective diplomat Brigadier Klimovich was shot dead by Hasan. I think this surreptitious international communist and terrorist organization WRF has come to take revenge on him. Today, we can doubtlessly confirm that Khirv and Klimovich were both WRF members.'
Ahmad Musa slowly raises his head, like he has just recovered from an abyss of his thoughts. He steadily says, 'By tracing Klimovich, Hasan Tariq got into his secret location and found an undecipherable map. However, he could not keep it to himself, for he was attacked the same night. Leaving behind the corpse of Klimovich, they fled with the map,' he pauses, then continues, 'Though we have lost the original version of their plans, we have a copy of it; I don't know if they know this. And if revenge was their goal, they could have killed him instead of detaining him. This proves that they want to question Hasan Tariq about the map. They won't kill him before learning from him how far he has deciphered their schemes and if anyone else knows about this.'
'What is their plan about? What have you come to know from it?' Mustafa Amin Chagatai worriedly questions.
'The meaning of this plan is still unclear to us. It's a map of Muslim-majority lands, from Tanzania and Morocco all the way to Indonesia. It has a lot of symbols and countless rows of red and black lines. What we can infer from the recent incidents is that this map belongs to WRF. If that's correct, then the meaning is quite clear to us: they have conspired against the entire Muslim world. We have to rethink this design of their plans. But before that, the case of Hasan Tariq...' Ahmad Musa couldn't finish.
A signal on one side of the stone walled room glows red.
'Invading Israeli jets are detected in our sky. Our radar has sent the signals,' Ahmad Musa says, looking at it. He stands up. 'Let's go.'
Everyone climbs to the roof. The western sky has turned red.
'I suspect the Jews have bombarded the other side of the Jordan River.' Ahmad Musa says.
Abd Ar-Rashid glances at his wristwatch and says, 'At 12 am tonight, a unit of our fighters had attacked a new Israeli base three miles west to Jerusalem. I think they completed the mission and returned to that side of the river. The Israeli jets must have followed them to that area.'
Radar observer Abdullah Masood dashes in. 'Israel has dropped bombs on an Arab village a couple of miles west of the Jordan River,' he informs.
All of their heads turn to the reddened horizon. Who knows how many children, men and women this fire has consumed? Speech cannot make it through their lips. Perhaps everyone has the same question: when is the end of these searing tests?
When will their quest of sacrifice end?
_ _ _ _ _ _
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