For the Love of God and the Arab Rising

  Chapter Thirty: Solomon and David travel to Damascus. Solomon stood patiently whilst the driver handled his bags and requested payment. Sol entered the departures concourse of Heathrow airport, it was 7 AM and the place was packed. He was twenty minutes behind David who had already checked in his bags and was waiting in the departures lounge. They were both checking in for flight BA2391 bound for Damascus International Airport: Syria. Their briefing was to act as strangers, which was not difficult considering they were two among three thousand passengers milling about the airport. Whilst Solomon waited for the instruction to board the plane he read his mission notes and discovered he was to liaise with an Orthodox Jewish rabbi, known as Shraga Simmons; who resides in the old town of Damascus. David on the other hand had already read his notes and knew he must find his guide and contact known as Zaqaria, who would meet him at DAM airport and ensure he was immediately transported via road to Beirut, where upon he would wait for his high level contact who would ensure he received an introduction with the Lebanese Prime Minister. The flight to Damascus would leave Heathrow airport in thirty minutes and even though it was a very late decision, Sol decided to get some essentials that would tide him over for the next couple of weeks. He could end up anywhere in the next couple of days and decides on toiletries, some under wear, socks and the obligatory book. David is a little more organized and has packed his bags thoroughly, and in advance; he decides to sit in a quiet corner of the waiting lounge and read his mission notes once more. It soon becomes apparent to him that there is a day’s drive to get to the Lebanese Border Crossing in Masnaa; an International custom control centre between the countries of Lebanon and Syria. It is completely land-based and links the checkpoints of Masnaa in Lebanon and Jdeidet Yabous of Syria. In-between is eighteen kilometres of no man’s land, a typical desert environment of sand dunes and a rocky mountain pass at high altitude, hot in the daytime and extremely cold at night; anyone caught out in the open would be extremely lucky to survive without specialist survival gear. Through this dangerous landscape runs the only link road between Beirut and Damascus; this is the main transport link between the two countries. Trucks rumble to and from each checkpoint transporting livestock, animal feed, food, and manufactured products; the old and worn diesel trucks constantly discharging black, sooty fumes into the hot and humid atmosphere. The checkpoint guards are constantly stretched to discover contraband and firearms destined for the black market or terrorist groups. The mountain roads are dangerous and David is concerned, not so much for his safety, but for the success of the mission. If he is robbed and killed by bandits, the pilgrimage will be over and all will be lost. He reads a little more of his mission notes and discovers that there is no comfortable hotel stay for him, there is not time. He was to meet his contact at the airport and head for the border crossing by road which would take most of the night. But here, now, he had been seated in the departures lounge for some 45 minutes now and as he looked across the lounge; a hundred rows of seats filled the vast space. People sat, slept, came and went. And announcements of flight departures periodically broke through the back ground noise. Then flight BA2391 was announced to depart from gate 27 at 9 PM; David and Solomon both worked their way into the queue. Solomon hung back and joined the rear of the queue; he could see David presenting his boarding pass. After boarding and being seated, Solomon eases back into the business class recliner and pulls out his briefing notes. David does likewise but both maintain their briefing to regard each other as a stranger and hence they have not spoken since their last briefing at the lodge.

  The ten hour flight proves to be uneventful and the plane lands at Damascus International Airport at 7 PM Syrian standard time, which is two hours ahead of Greenwich Mean Time; by the time they had passed through passport control, waited at the luggage carousel and retrieved their bags it was 7:55PM. Solomon was tired and wanted to sleep, he had risen at 5 AM and any sleep he had on the plane was uncomfortable and periodically broken on the hour by cabin staff, surrounding noise or lack of comfort. He shook off the nagging ache around his eyes and walked out onto the concourse and towards the taxi rank. The heat hit him first, it was a mid- November evening; but still thirty degrees and extremely humid, his breathing became laboured and his light slacks stuck to his legs. He took a deep breath and hailed a cab. ‘TAXI’ A beaten up white Chrysler immediately swerved into the kerb; the driver was out of the driver’s seat in a second and took his bags; Solomon opened the cab door and took his seat in the rear of car. The boot slammed and the driver returned. ‘Where to sir’ ‘Al Mamlouka Hotel’ The drivers thick lack eyebrows visibly rose with surprise. ‘A good choice sir, have you come far? How long have you travelled sir?’ Solomon forgave his lack of grammar and heavy accent and answered his questions; playing the game of ‘get to know me’ and ‘give me a good tip’ the same as if he was in London. Soon though, he sank back into his seat and tried to relax, the conversation drifted away, both players taking the hint that enough was enough. The heat made him sweat, his shirt sticking to his skin. Pulling the air conditioning lever located in the centre of the cab toward the cool blue end of the scale produced no noticeable difference in the temperature of the air stream exiting the air vents; it was insufferable. Some ten minutes passed by as he watched the passing traffic stream by; it was only just starting to get dark and soon every car’s headlamps blazed through the night air. Thankfully the old town is not too far a journey and they soon arrive at the hotel, the large canopy announcing its presence with brilliant lights that illuminated the front of the hotel and the immediate vicinity. The taxi driver helped Solomon with his bags, he was quick and polite: ‘That will be 400 Syrian pounds - kind sir.’ After a quick mental calculation, Sol worked out it was about £40.00. The mission notes gave a rough conversion rate of 100 to 1 for the Syrian pound; but also advised haggling as the meter was rarely used during the night time hours. Sol would have to accept the price as he was so tired. He strolled into the opulent reception of the Al Mamlouka Hotel; his eyes took a while to adjust; but when they did he took another moment to take in the beauty of the reception room: the brown speckled marble floor contrasting perfectly with the pastel yellow wall coverings and golden woodwork. A large palm tree central to the atrium giving a sense cover for the people sitting beneath it. He approached the central desk to check in: attentive staff quickly confirmed his booking and directed him to his room. After unpacking his bags, he showered, changed, and decided that the better man would make himself comfortable and read his mission notes. So stayed I he did, he read his notes and slept well.