Ari and his father decided Gamil needed a hospital, but were not sure where to take him. A man with these severe injuries would be reported to the authorities. They could not take that risk. They didn’t know what Gamil had or had not done but he was family and deserved the chance to explain himself. In his current state, he could not speak or think coherently. Then there was the problem of their prisoner. They couldn’t leave him and they didn’t want to drive around with him while they looked for medical care. In the end, they decided to put their dignified prisoner in the trunk. It was risky because of the heat, but they felt they had little options. They couldn’t very well be driving through Israel with a wounded man and a handcuffed diplomat and not attract the authorities.
They drenched Hatolla with water to keep him from burning up in the heat of the trunk, punched a few breathing holes through the hood and stuffed him in. They then wrapped Gamil in whatever materials they could find and carried him out to the car. Ari wanted to contact Mossad, but Hakim was wanted by the Lebanese authorities and if the Israeli authorities were alerted to this fact, they might arrest and question him. This operation had to be covert. Texting Yosef, Ari learned about a doctor who would help and within twenty minutes Gamil was delivered to the back door of a local clinic; his fate unknown.
A ripple of energy flowed through the men of the inner circle as soon as the young woman entered the tent. She bowed low, her tray laden with food, her face strikingly beautiful in the dim light. She moved with the grace of a gazelle, her eyes shone like emeralds and her smile was dazzling. Never before had they seen a woman so lovely. Zuhair Bayan was immediately attracted to her; when she sensed him watching her, she lowered her eyelids in the way of chaste Muslim women. Inside she was cheering! Her demeanor composed, she moved back and forth with trays of food and drink, polite and modest as the Koran directed. Rafi took in all the interactions with a straight face, grinning on the inside as his sister caused the assembled to fall all over themselves politely thanking her for serving them, unusual in itself as servants, male or female, were rarely noticed and never thanked.
Once she knew that Bayan had noticed her, she knew it was only a matter of time before he came for her. She noted too the attention that The Great One was bestowing on her brother. Clearly he seemed as infatuated with Rafi as Bayan was with her. When she noticed Bayan looking at Rafi, she understood the dynamics that were forming. A fixed triangle had formed with Rafi as the object for both of them. One hated him and the other loved him. She wondered about the strong emotions Rafi had stirred up. She felt this bubbling pot heating up and grew more concerned for her brother. The emotions brewing here had to be shifted before Rafi got hurt. Leave it to me, little brother, Samira thought as she approached the men with a tray of pastries filled with honey and nuts, just leave it to me.
Sadly, Abdullah gazed at the body of his long-time friend, now twisted and tangled in scrub brush in the valley below. It had almost worked, he thought as he looked at the small screen in his hand, almost but not quite… The man had made a fatal error. He had not just told their commanding officer of their whereabouts, he had told him that Abdullah was planning to pass them inaccurate information. Shamir had been turned; his confession in the car had been a ruse. This is what Abdullah had feared. Knowing Shamir had betrayed him he had no choice. Abdullah gave the man a chance to prove himself and Shamir had failed. The mountainous winding road provided the perfect solution. As Shamir stared out the window, Abdullah shot him in the head and pushed his old friend out of the car, watching as his body crashed onto the rocks below. It was most likely that his body would never be found. It would probably be eaten by buzzards and roving red wolves before dawn.
He slipped Shamir’s cell phone into his pocket and put the car in gear. Now, he had another problem on his hands. His superiors had released him conditionally. They did not trust him or they would not have turned Shamir against him. If they didn’t trust him, after all these years of loyal service, he assuredly could not trust them either. Until this situation was resolved, if it ever could be, he would not be safe. He could not return to his home and endanger his wife and children. He could not return to the Olive Grove and endanger his parents. There was only one place he thought he could go. He prayed that he could find a way to get there.
- 42 -
IF WISHES HAD WINGS
Realizing his fragile denials weren’t going to help at this point, Boulos said “Okay, Okay, my friend just ask me questions and I will reveal to you all that I know, this is our agreement, it is not? Our gentleman’s agreement… Have I not been cooperative and open with you? Am I not honoring our arrangement my friend as a just and honorable man would do, is that not so?”
Sol gave him a hard eyed stare and said “Cut the crap, Boulos, I need names. You and the Nazi are middle-men connecting several points in a long chain of transactions, taking your cut of the riches and moving death from one point to another. So give me the name of the person who sold this stuff to the Nazi and give me the name of the person you were delivering the stuff to, I want delivery information and I want it now.”
Rubbing his hands together, Boulos said, “I do not know the name of the person who sold these things to this German but I will tell you where I took a package once before. It was a package of similar contents and I took it the time I met this Müeller person. I traveled to the city of Chicago in the summer of last year and picked up a package at a museum. It was in a sealed briefcase. Since I would not be able to get it through airport security, I traveled by car through the United States and entered Canada by some back woods route. From there I traveled east to Newfoundland and flew out of the Paradise River Airport on a small plane to the Keflavik Airport in Iceland. There I rented a car and drove to Landatangi, a small port in East Iceland and boarded a fishing vessel there to BrØnØysund, Norway. From there I went by car through Finland to Moscow. There I meet a representative of a Russian-Azerbaijani organization and they took the things from there.” Boulos spread his hands, shrugged and smiled at Aaronson.
“Thanks for the travelogue,” Sol said dryly “if this deal falls through you can get a job at AAA.”
Boulos looked at him questioningly, “Is this not what you wanted? The information about transport of those poisonous substances?”
“People, Boulos. I want names. Who did you contact in those places? Who helped you? Who did you meet in Moscow?”
“Ohhh,” Boulos said reassuringly, “please to remain calm my friend, I was getting to that. The people I met in Moscow had no names. I was to meet a man who was to guide me to another location. Actually I was met by three men, large men with guns. They looked like American gangsters to me, but of course they were not Americans, they were Russians. They did not speak to me or to each other. Everything was done in silence and by gesture. You know, a head movement means go that way and a push on the back means keep walking. Well these men drove me to a place called Penza where we stopped. There was a small open market where people sold their wares. Beside this marketplace there were some concrete houses with tin roofs. They were not in good condition and many poor people lived in each building. The windows had bars on them and some of the windows were boarded up with thin wood. It was here that we met; the second house down from the market on a little street. The house had a little shack built on the edge of it and was overgrown with weeds.” He looked at Sol as if to ask ‘how am I doing?’
Sol nodded and said “Go on.”
“In this house was a group of men waiting for me. They right away inspected the briefcase I carried. They nodded the okay and we sat to talk. The main man to talk was called Borisovich Kliemkov. He is a Lieutenant in the Noukhayev Crime Family, which operates from Moscow and sells weapons and does a lot of finance. The head of that family, Khozh Noukhayev, he is very smart guy,” at this Boulos tapped his forehead, “he went to university and studied about law and learned much about money, then he left for Baku, Azerbaijan and worked with the Chechen underground before he got
connected with weapons in the Middle East. So at this meeting beside this Boris fella was man from government of Lebanon. He was called Marzuq. He looked very official and very uncomfortable. He kept touching his hair and looking at his watch. He had many guards with him. They too looked very nervous. He wanted the chemicals I carried. The Russians were getting paid to arrange for my travel and have the meeting but the goods were going to this Marzuq person. Then during that meeting there was a disturbance. A group of men they thought were spying on them was there. The meeting broke up and all the guards and mob men ran from the building. They looked for hours to find those who were spying on them but never did. They were very angry and searched the room for bugs. They found four of them. That’s when things got very tense. The Middle East people thought that the Russian mob people had betrayed them and they threatened to shoot one another. There was much shouting and threatening. I ducked down underneath the table and prayed to Allah that I would not be shot too.”
Sol frowning asked “When exactly did this meeting take place?”
Boulos scratched his head and thought for a minute. “I have lost track of time, my friend, what day is it now?”
Sol made no response, since the current date had nothing to do with the date in question.
After a few moments, Boulos said, “it was in the summer of last year, I was in Chicago in July, I remember because that holiday of fireworks was about to happen. I think it took me over a month to make my travels. I did not rush, it was more important not to be tracked than to be fast. So this meeting in Penza would have been in August or early September.”
Sol summarized “so you picked up the stuff in Chicago and traveled across the world with it and handed it over to this Middle Eastern official at a meeting hosted by the Russian mob. Right?”
Boulos nodded.
“How much were you paid for your service?”
“$500,000 American dollars,” Boulos said quietly, “It was quite a lot of work.”
Sol looked at the man then slowly nodded, rose, and left the room.
After a careful check of the perimeter they pulled into the garage and lowered the steel reinforced door. Silently they entered the house, checking the doors and alarm boxes for sign of intruders. It was a simple task they performed every time they returned to their empty house. On the porch they noticed that the paper they left stuck in the lock was missing. Pulling their guns they glided the sliding glass door open and stepped into the living room back to back. Abdullah greeted them with a laugh, “Don’t Shoot!” he mocked putting his hands high up in the air “I give up!” The three embraced relieved to see each other. To ensure his safety the prisoner was brought in and tied in a back bedroom, blindfolded and gagged. Ear-buds connected to an I-pod loaded with popular Israeli tunes, were stuck in his ears to ensure their privacy and the three men retired to the kitchen.
Over coffee and Challah they told their tales. The main focus for everyone was what was happening at The Sword of Justice campsite. They reviewed various options and agreed that they would split up their tasks. The Faysal brothers would remain in Menara and interrogate their prisoner. It was unclear how he fit into the larger scheme but if he had information they needed to be successful at the campsite, they intended to find out what that was and to do so before Ari launched his plan at the enemy campsite.
The meal had ended. The Great One had retired to his tent and the advisors had wandered off in different directions. Samira sat on a stool in the servants’ tent sorting dried lentil beans when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Bayan keeping his face averted, motioned to her to follow him. “You are very beautiful,” he said to her when they had walked a distance from the others. “Would you do me the honor of sharing some mint tea with me?” Samira smiled a shy little smile and flicked her lovely green eyes in his direction. “Your eyes are amazing,” Bayan said to her, “never have I seen such a color. You must be of another heritage.” It was a leading question she knew, there were right answers and there were wrong answers. Wrong ones could get you killed. Samira sighed and gazed at her shoes.
“I do not know, Sayyd, I am an orphan. Never have I known my heritage. I was cared for in a home for lost children after the war happened between Kuwait and Iraq and Saudi Arabia. I do not know where I came from, but that was when I was found.”
Bayan looked at her with kindness in his eyes. His own childhood memories came flooding back to him. The home of his childhood, how it was bombed by Arab terrorists, how he saw his parents die. He remembered the kindness of those who cared for him and the other children who survived the attacks. He felt a kinship with this lovely woman, an attraction yes of course, but even more than that a kinship. She was shy as was appropriate for a woman of her status but she had a confidence about her that was unusual. She spoke with an intelligence that sparked something in him, something beyond the usual. To say he wanted her was true but more than that he wanted to learn about her, talk with her.
Bayan had had many women. They were just passing fancies, something with which to entertain himself. This was different. He worried because he was not sure this was the time for such a thing. He had too many things to deal with, there was too much at stake. Silently he gazed at the woman. She stood her ground, looking down but not moving away. He caught her scent, a faint floral scent, perhaps from her hair. He caught just a glimpse of her long black hair a few curls had slipped from under her hijab. It was lovely. It stirred a memory of someone, someone from long ago.
Samira was grateful for Ari’s research. He told her Bayan’s mother was named Sarah and his sisters were named Shayna and Shira. He sent a few pictures of Bayan as a child. In one of them he was sitting on a woman’s lap leaning against her. She wore a head scarf like the one Samira wore now, pale blue with swirls of yellow. In the picture the woman’s hair had slipped out and lay curled against her shoulder as Samira’s did now. She sighed deeply and waited for the memory to take hold.
“What are you called, my lovely?” he asked.
“Soshana,” she answered. He paused for a moment absorbing the name.
“Come with me my little rose,” he said as he reached for her hand.
Elisabeth found her weeping silently in the living room. She was clutching her cell phone kissing the top of it. She was muttering prayers in Arabic as she kissed the phone. Elisabeth sat down beside her. She too had received the text. She reached out her hand and Jamila placed her small slender hand into it smiling a tearful smile she said, Subhan-Allah over and over again. They had just learned that Gamil was responding to treatment and would survive. He was to be released within a few hours with a dozen medications and Hakim was to pick him up and take him back to Menara. “They’re running a rogue operation out of your house!” Elisabeth had texted Hadara. “Prisoners, patients, wanted fugitives! You better get back there before Hakim starts running his own spy network!”
The mirror was small and clouded with age so it was hard to see exactly what he was doing. Holding it at various angles he caught a ray of light seeping through the clothes thrown over the jeep and was able to get them in. He blinked with the discomfort. However did people wear these things every single day? he wondered, blinking to get the contact lenses in place. Glancing back at the mirror he was surprised to see how different he looked. Placing the ear-bud in his ear he adjusted his clothing and his equipment. His body was a veritable fortress. Guns, knives, listening devices, cameras and other assorted weapons were dispersed across his body, sewn into his clothing, perched under his turban. I won’t be in there too long, Ari reminded himself as he inched forward through the drowsy dromedaries lazily chewing their cuds.
A few feet away, Rafi strolled past walking in the opposite direction. He knew that his twin could do what he was unable to do. He had regrets about it but knew that it had to be done. Part of him wanted to turn and stop him. But he could not. The man was not all bad. Not all evil. Rafi was one of the only people who knew that Shukri al-Sierawan had a gentle side. A side that made Rafi
feel loved and cared about. True it was a thin line of rationalizations, but it was how he felt. Ari could do what had to be done, he would do what Rafi had laid the groundwork for and Rafi could not do. The Great One would not know. He would never know the difference. He would feel crushed and betrayed all the same regardless of the ostensible technicality of it not really being HIM who did the thing. Rafi felt tormented, tears stung his eyes as his twin approached the tent he’d just left. He could not wait for the mission to be over.
Seeing Double: An Elisabeth Reinhardt Novel Page 25