Bethlehem and Jericho
351
CAPTAIN SIDKI TALKS
I WAS worried. It would not be difficult to find loopholes in
the story of my "escape" from the Haganah. I followed Moustafa to headquarters where, to my surprise, Moustafa and I
were invited to have supper with Colonel Azziz, in charge of
Egyptian forces in Bethlehem, and several of his officers.
Later, the tallest of these—a sharp-featured Arab of about
twenty-five, with a deep olive complexion and piercing black
eyes—summoned me to his room. He drew the blinds. Sitting
on the chair with a gas lamp behind him, he looked at me intently without saying a word.
"May I ask who you are?" I broke the silence.
"I'm Captain Moustafa Kamal Sidki, in charge of Intelligence in this area."
"Moustafa has told me about you."
"He has told me about you, too. Captain Zaki has also
talked to me."
"Of the two whom do you believe?"
"We will come to that," he said. "I understand you are a
reporter for Al Misri. May I see your credentials—all of
them?" Under the gaslight he examined each minutely, including those given me by Major Abdullah el Tel.
"The Arab Legion is no friend of Egypt," he said, heatedly.
"What's wrong with the Arab Legion?" I asked innocently.
"Everything," he snapped, eyes blazing. "They're not Arab.
They're British agents, British tools. ... I am a strong Arab
nationalist. I was released from prison only four months ago
with seventeen other officers."
"The charge must have been serious," I said, surprised at
his candor.
"Yes. Plotting against the government. We were all nationalists—the nucleus of something much bigger to come.
We want to build the future of the Arab world on a military