Land, Jon

by [Kamal

  Ben understood Shaath’s mentality all too well. Having grown up during the hakba, the loss of Palestine, he was a hard-liner who would accept nothing short of a complete and unilateral Israeli withdrawal from the West Bank, Gaza, and Jerusalem—settlements included. He loathed the peace process for its concessions and compromise. And he loathed anyone who would accept anything less than what he believed the Palestinian people rightfully deserved. To Shaath, Ben’s presence here represented a compromise in the name of peace that he could never accept.

  “If I really had that kind of choice,” Ben said, “I’d have been long gone. I stayed because of men like you, what you represent: the old fears, the old hopelessness, the refusal to believe that change is really possible, because you don’t want change. So I stay to help make sure that change happens, and sweeps you away with it.”

  “But where were you when the real battles were being fought?” Shaath shot back at him. “What do you know about the pain we suffered during the whole of the occupation years? The sight of settlements springing up on fields the Israeli government confiscated from us. The arrest of children for carrying books home from school. Men detained for months because they misplaced their identification cards. They tried to break our spirit, and when that failed they agreed to give us land that was ours already. Peace at the expense of self-respect. They got everything they wanted, and we got nothing.”

  “Spoken like a true enemy of the peace process. Maybe I should add you to my list of suspects, Commander.”

  Shaath glared at him. “Only if they find you among the dead.”

  * * * *

  Chapter 32

  W

  hen he returned to his apartment, Ben lingered outside walking up and down the street in a fog, feeling despondent and listless. Though exhausted, he found himself alert and aware of every motion, every breath. He ached but couldn’t identify where the pain originated. Tawil never should have been following up leads or theories alone. But as his direct superior, it had been up to Ben to keep in better touch. If he had known what the young officer had been up to, Tawil would very likely be alive tonight.

  Another death added to the list. First his family, then Dalia, now Tawil . . .

  And Ben had no idea what the young officer had uncovered at that building in the moments preceding his murder. Tomorrow morning he would return to the Hisbe and inspect its interior. His hope was that Tawil’s killers had fled before their work inside had been completed. If nothing else, the presence of police through the rest of the night would keep them from returning, so Ben would be able to see the building in virtually the same state Tawil had.

  Ben finally entered his building, climbed the stairs wearily to his apartment, and unlocked the door. The light was on. A warning pang of alarm snapped him instantly alert.

  “Bang,” said Frank Brickland, before Ben even had a chance to go for his gun. He was seated in the ancient easy chair, feet up on the hassock.

  “Make yourself right at home, Colonel,” Ben said, feeling strangely glad to find Brickland waiting for him.

  “Thanks.”

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “I’m on a roll, hoss, and you should be on a plane; it’s time for you to use that American passport of yours and hightail it outta here.” Ben noticed the framed picture in Brickland’s lap just before the colonel returned it to the end table. “This your family?”

  “Used to be.”

  “You wouldn’t have come back here if it still was.”

  “No, I wouldn’t.”

  “Means you’re here for all the wrong reasons, hoss. Doesn’t mean you can’t leave for the right ones. Listen to someone who’s been there. Pack up and go home.”

  “I am home.”

  “Bullshit you are. Home is where you know what the fuck is going on. Walls of this fucking town are tumbling again, Benny. Get out before they crush you.” Brickland laced his fingers behind his head. “You’re better than I thought you were. I underestimated you. You find the kid you were looking for?”

  “Don’t you know? You know everything else.”

  “That information hasn’t caught up with me yet. Thought I’d save myself some hassle.”

  “And what if I have?”

  Brickland’s voice was stone cold. “What did he see, Benny?”

  “He claims he didn’t see anything.”

  “You believe him?”

  “No.”

  “Smart kid. Probably the only way he might live another couple days, way things are going.”

  “You didn’t ask me about Officer Tawil.”

  “Didn’t know you were expecting me to.”

  “Someone killed him tonight. They got Shanzi, they tried for the boy in Jerusalem, and they killed Tawil.”

  “They,” Brickland echoed. “The Wolf you’re after have cubs or something?”

  Ben sighed. “I don’t know what’s going on anymore.”

  “My point exactly. Now tell me about the woman they found this morning.”

  “This morning ... It seems a lot longer ago than that.”

  “I heard you knew her. I’m sorry . . .”

  “Thank you.”

  “You didn’t let me finish. I’m sorry because it’s become personal for you now, hoss. You had a better chance of solving this when you didn’t give a shit.”

  “Maybe I have solved it, Colonel: you could have sent those gunmen in Jerusalem.”

  “You still alive?”

  “For the most part.”

  “Then I didn’t send them.” Brickland took a deep breath. “God, this part of the world is a fucking mess. ...”

  “Should I ask my Israeli friends about your son, Colonel?”

  “Goddamn, just when I was starting to have some faith in you . . . Shit, Benny, you really think they’d tell you? You really think they’d even know?”

  “If he worked for them? I should think so.”

  “Don’t bother. Israel’s compartmentalized for a reason. Kept secrets don’t travel. Israelis learned that because they’re always fighting to survive. You think your Israeli girlfriend can punch a question into a computer and come up with an answer, you’re in the wrong business. Go home, hoss. Go home before it eats you up.”

  “I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you on your own, your own mission incomplete.”

  “Maybe I’m getting close too. See, I didn’t come here empty-handed.” Brickland reached into his pocket and drew out a white envelope. “Beware of fellow Americans bearing gifts. Maybe you forgot about those fingerprints you gave me last night. Got a positive ID for you on the corpse from the alley. Gives a whole new meaning to the den your wolf comes from. I assume your channels have come up with diddly so far, and I wouldn’t expect that to change if I were you.”

  Ben made no motion for the envelope.

  “When I got this, I figured I’d better come by in person, make sure you didn’t get killed before I had a chance to give it to you,” he continued. “I’d miss your company. I love our little talks.”

  “And because you were here, they didn’t bother coming, or didn’t stay long if they did.”

  “That’s the idea,” the colonel told him. “I think you’re even ready to get the number where I can be reached now.”

  “I’m honored.”

  “I figure you might need me ‘fore this is over.”

  “Why?”

  Brickland thrust the envelope at him like a dull blade. “Good news is that body ain’t my son’s. The bad news . . . Well, I think you can figure that out for yourself.”

  * * * *

  * * * *

  Chapter 33

  I

  thought we were supposed to meet at your office,” Danielle said after entering the store to which Ben had traced Officer Tawil’s last movements the night before.

  “A change in plans. I apologize for not notifying you.”

  “They told me at the detective branch you were here,” she said.

  The popul
ar knickknack shop had closed inexplicably on Monday, Ben had learned, not long after the body of the victim calling himself Harvey Fayles was found. Ben had returned first thing today to see if there were any contents that might yield a clue. Danielle had arrived when he was rechecking the main area fruitlessly for a third time.

  “I am careful to keep my log updated now, Pakad. The price I have to pay if I want the mayor to keep siding with me in my feud with Commander Shaath.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You’re the only reason I’m still on the case. The PNA would never dare offend the Israelis.”

  “You’re on the case because you’re the only one who can solve it.”

  “And you think that’s what your side wants?”

  “I think that’s what both sides want,” Danielle replied, trying to sound like she meant it.

  “You’re wrong,” Ben said flatly.

  He opened a storage closet and shone his flashlight through it, hoping for some paper, some trash left behind. Anything.

  “What’s that supposed to mean, Inspector?” Danielle asked when he turned back toward her and turned off his flashlight.

  “Are you as dumb as I am, Pakad, or are you just a good actress?”

  “I heard about the young officer,” Danielle said, drawing closer. “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I. He was talking to my answering machine from a public phone just down the street when he was shot. I heard the whole thing happening. And the worst thing is, Tawil died because he figured out something I should have.”

  “And what’s that?”

  Ben swept his eyes about the shop’s single, partitioned room. “That this was the place where the man we know as Harvey Fayles came before he was murdered.”

  “Before?”

  “Absolutely. The meeting was already completed when the killer struck Sunday night. It had to be that way, you see.”

  Danielle shook her head, confused. “What meeting? What are you talking about?”

  “You really don’t know, do you?”

  “No.”

  “No one’s said a word . . .”

  “No.”

  “Kept you in the dark. Used you as much as they used me.”

  The words stung Danielle, her father’s warning flashing through her mind.

  He had said the same thing!

  “What is this about?” she managed.

  “The real Harvey Fayles has been identified by his fingerprints. His real name, real identity, was Mohammed Abdul Fasil. Name ring a bell?”

  Danielle went cold. “Oh my God . . . Are you sure?”

  “My American friend Colonel Brickland is sure, and that’s good enough for me. Fasil was one of the most radical leaders of Hamas, as I’m sure you’re aware, known primarily for organizing the string of suicide bombings in Israel that almost paralyzed the peace movement several years back. If he came here for a meeting, it isn’t hard to figure out what the participants were talking about, is it?”

  “Then we should be glad the Wolf happened to choose him as a victim.”

  “There was no coincidence about it,” Ben said, kneeling near a strangely clean spot on the floor. He stopped and looked up at her. “And it wasn’t the work of al-Diib.”

  “I don’t like what you’re getting at.”

  “Neither do I, but that doesn’t make it any less obvious.” Ben stood up when he saw the suspicion swimming in her eyes. “This is your work.”

  “Mine?”

  “Israel’s. Excuse me for lumping you in. I know you had nothing to do with it personally, and it wouldn’t surprise me if all of Shin Bet was in the dark. But someone in your intelligence community saw al-Diib as a magnificent opportunity: execute Mohammed Fasil and make it look like the work of a madman who’s already killed eight other Palestinians.”

  Danielle shook her head defiantly. “That’s ridiculous. When we hit someone, we want the world to know.”

  “In years past, yes. Now even Israel can ill afford the political repercussions. The world’s changed, Pakad.” Ben smiled thinly. “Even the walls of Jericho have come down. Your intelligence people are now held accountable for their actions. But, when temptation to get Fasil must have proven too great, they came up with a plan that wouldn’t require any accounting. They replicated the attacks of the serial killer, figuring the world would blame al-Diib—”

  “Which it would have, if not for you.”

  “Us, Pakad. We’re a team, joined together by the fact that both of us are being manipulated.”

  “What do you have to prove all this?”

  “I have a dead terrorist and a murdered cop who had the misfortune of uncovering this part of the truth while someone was cleaning this place out last night.”

  “You think they saw him ...”

  “And then they killed him.”

  “Are you accusing us of killing your young officer as well?”

  “No, that was clearly the work of whatever terrorist cell brought Fasil to Jericho. Shanzi is another matter.” Ben paused, just long enough for his words to sink in. “So is the attempt made on the boy’s life in Jerusalem last night.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Danielle tried to chuckle and failed. “You’re giving us too much credit, Inspector.”

  “I am giving you credit for having infiltrated Palestinian refugee camps like Jalazon and Einissultan. Right or wrong, Pakad?”

  “Before—yes. Now—I don’t know.”

  “Let’s assume Israeli intelligence still has people inside the camps. Then the people behind Fasil’s murder would have learned about both potential witnesses. Shanzi, because very likely she couldn’t keep her mouth shut ...”

  “And Radji?” Danielle asked when Ben’s voice tailed off.

  “Because I came looking for him. In the camps, word travels fast.” He stopped. “But that can’t explain how they happened to show up in the Slave Market at the same time we did.” He looked her straight in the eyes. “Did you report your intentions to your superiors, Pakad?”

  “Of course. I was required to.”

  “So they knew where we were going and why.”

  “I haven’t reported what I uncovered before coming out here this morning.”

  In spite of himself, Ben looked at her expectantly.

  “According to what I’ve been able to learn,” Danielle continued, “Sunday night wasn’t the first time the man we knew as Harvey Fayles entered the West Bank from Israel. He made an almost identical trip thirteen days ago.”

  That struck a chord in Ben he couldn’t identify.

  “What is it?” Danielle probed, searching his face.

  “I don’t know, just something about the date of that first trip,” Ben said, and then he let it go.

  “I can’t say for sure he came to Jericho. But he was staying in Tel Aviv at another hotel and followed the same pattern he did on Sunday night: rented a car and drove legally into the West Bank, with all his papers in order.”

  “That strengthens my theory that Fasil’s murderer was an Israeli copying al-Diib’s MO.”

  “How so?”

  “It would have given the killer more time to set up the murder. Maybe he could even have found out when and where Fasil would be returning to Jericho so he could be waiting for him.”

  Danielle fumed at another unsubstantiated implication. “Are you saying one of our deep-cover moles killed Fasil?”

  “No, only supplied the information that got him killed, just like somebody else supplied those case files that allowed the killer to copy al-Diib’s work exactly.”

  Danielle remembered something. “But our case files didn’t mention everything yours did. The oil your Doctor al-Shaer uncovered in the wounds of the first Jericho victim, for example.”

  “And that makes it impossible for the second killer to have copied that part of the pattern. So, if I’m right, al-Shaer won’t find any of the oil in the blood samples he took from Fasil’s wounds. Everything hinges on that.”
<
br />   Danielle was right with him. “Then what are we waiting for?”

  * * * *

  Chapter 34