by [Kamal
“Three that we know of,” Ben nodded, swallowing hard, “all linked to Hamas.”
“The Khalil girl first, then the unidentified victim . . .”
“Mohammed Fasil,” Ben reminded.
“And the third?”
“The victim found the night before last: Dalia Mikhail.”
Sumaya’s stare tightened. “The commander was kind enough to brief me on that.”
“He told you she was my father’s whore. Is that a problem?”
“It seems to me this case is getting rather personal for you, Ben. I wouldn’t want to see you reading more into a scenario that is complicated enough already.”
“Whether it’s personal or not does not change the facts, sir. You can speak with Major al-Asi about Dalia Mikhail; I believe he is well acquainted with her case.”
The mayor bristled at mention of al-Asi’s name. “You believe this second killer is an Israeli.”
“All indications point to that.”
“Indications that are, at best, vague. And we know some of your conclusions are based on information gathered by breaking rules we have set forth for our officers and investigators. We take a very dim view of such things, you should know that.”
Ben knew Sumaya was referring to his unauthorized visit to Akram Khalil after learning he was a Hamas leader. Such contact was expressly forbidden without formal authorization. That was why Ben had asked Commander Shaath to leave before he told his tale. Shaath might yet claim his head over this, but at least it would be on Ben’s terms.
“There wasn’t time to file a formal request,” Ben explained, trying to sound reasonable. “Khalil could have been next, for all I knew. And, as it turned out, he was.”
“He and his family seem to have disappeared.”
“I don’t blame them.”
“It would help if we could question him, obtain corroboration for your story.”
“I think he’ll be staying underground for a while.”
“Unfortunate.”
Disheartened, Sumaya shook his head as he rose and walked away from the desk. He moved to the window and cranked the blinds open. The mayor clasped his hands behind his back and continued gazing up the street.
“You have done wonderful work this past week,” he said without turning. “You are a hero now, and rightfully so. For that reason I’m going to do you a favor.” With that he swung around deliberately and faced Ben, silhouetted by the sun’s rays. “I’m going to forget this conversation ever took place, but only if you leave this office now.” Ben stayed in his chair.
* * * *
D
anielle had told her story to Giott and Baruch, leery of the stranger looming in the room’s shadows who smoked throughout her tale.
“You realize what you are suggesting?” Giott asked her plainly when she was finished.
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Then do you also realize the implications should such a story escape the confines of this room?” Baruch challenged.
“Yes, again.”
“A plot hatched by us to murder members of a certain Hamas cell using the guise of a serial killer.”
“Not you.”
“Don’t be naive, Pakad,” sighed a sullen Giott. “Israel is us, all of us. That includes you.”
“I understand.”
“No,” Baruch snapped, “I don’t think you do. What the rav nitzav is saying is that depending on how such a revelation, or accusation, is interpreted, it could destroy the peace talks.”
“The peace talks are precisely what I’m concerned about. That’s why I wanted to bring it to your attention immediately.”
“The preservation of the peace talks is your primary concern, then?” Baruch demanded, staring at her with his piercing eyes.
“That, and finding out whether the plot by Fasil’s Hamas cell is still operational,” Danielle told him.
“Which,” Giott assumed, “would mean continuing with this . . . investigation.”
“Perhaps even expanding it,” Danielle conceded.
Giott and Baruch looked at each other somberly, then turned questioningly to the figure haloed by cigarette smoke in the office’s darkened corner. That was all the prodding the man needed to rise and step into the light, still puffing away.
“I think it’s time we talked,” he said.
* * * *
Chapter 52
F
or a long moment the ceiling fan’s lazy spin composed the only sound in the mayor’s office. Then Sumaya spoke again, softer, his voice as devoid of emotion as his office was of color.
“There is much at stake here, Inspector.”
“That’s what you said last week when you convinced me to take the case.”
“And we’re both out on a limb now as a result.”
“If Fasil’s plot goes forth, far more than us will fall.”
Sumaya turned back to the window and jerked the blinds upward. They rattled against each other and flapped against the glass as light washed into the room, illuminating the blank starkness of the walls.
Ben watched the mayor gesture toward the window. “Look outside. There’s no protest anywhere to be seen today. I’m told a march in support of the peace process has been organized for this afternoon. You caught al-Diib, Ben. You made it possible.” Sumaya’s voice sank again, his tone growing incredulous. “And now you want to squander that?”
“Fasil’s plot is something big, the biggest Hamas has ever taken on.”
“So the Israelis had him executed, along with the cell he was working with.”
“We don’t know if that stopped it.”
“You would have me accuse them of killing individuals we would just as soon see dead ourselves?”
Ben thought of Dalia and felt the familiar dull ache rising through him.
“These individuals committed themselves to destroying all chances for peace,” Sumaya said, “and, now that we are rid of them, you would risk accomplishing the very same thing?”
“Just keep the investigation open. I’ll only need a few men at most. We can keep it quiet.”
“It will blow up in your face.”
“My face was almost blown up last night.”
“Because you had the misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and without any formal authority at that. Hamas must have grown suspicious of Khalil, felt it was time to cut their losses. You would be well advised to accept that scenario.”
“I can’t. Pakad Barnea got a message to meet me that I never sent. Whoever did send it knew this was a cooperative effort, so they wanted to be fair and kill both of us.”
“That’s enough, Inspector.”
“It will only be enough when we are sure Fasil’s plot died with him.”
“It did; accept that.”
“I can’t. Let me continue on the case alone if necessary. I’ll take full responsibility.”
The mayor was nodding as if Ben had made his point for him. “And will you also take responsibility for your people, Ben? You claim to be Palestinian. Now act like one! You think autonomy, independence, even the founding of a Palestinian state is the end of the process? It’s only the beginning. With peace comes the opportunity for us to open our doors to tourists as well as Israelis. The towns that have enjoyed peaceful coexistence for years will become the model for the entire West Bank. Don’t you see?”
Ben remained silent.
“And it doesn’t stop there,” Sumaya continued. “We’re also looking at the lowering of trade barriers, the end to embargoes. Israel will be able to export freely into Syria, Jordan, Saudi Arabia, all the countries she has been pariah to these many long years. I am talking about goods that will cost a fraction of what they do when imported from Europe or the United States. I am talking about the new Israel’s manufacturing base increasing fivefold, even tenfold. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“No.”
“Who will do the work, Ben? Who will do the manufacturing? I’m talk
ing about jobs, jobs for the Palestinian people in Gaza and here in the West Bank. I’m talking about Israel needing the labor we can cheaply and conveniently supply. I am talking about manufacturing and distribution centers constructed on Palestinian land with Israeli capital. It doesn’t stop there, either. Even now, already, Arab consortiums are negotiating with Israeli interests on joint investment projects. A sixty-million-dollar Marriott hotel in Gaza. A hundred-million-dollar investment bank in Ramallah. And that’s just the beginning. With the opening of trade will come investment opportunities for the world in a great untapped market, and that means unprecedented opportunities for our people.”
Sumaya grabbed his desk and leaned over it passionately.
“This is what your father would have wanted. But without a final and lasting peace it will never happen. We have a window of opportunity here. If we let it close, given the political climate in Israel, it will be years before it opens again.” Sumaya settled slowly back into his chair. “The peace process may not survive this plot you allege of Fasil’s. But it definitely won’t survive the allegations you are lodging against the Israelis.”
“What would you have me do, then?”
Sumaya thought about that briefly. “Maybe you should go home for a while . . .”
* * * *
C
hief Inspector Barnea,” the man with the cigarette continued, purposely not introducing himself, “first let me offer my commendation for the brilliant career you have enjoyed thus far in the service of Israel.”
God, Danielle thought, he sounds like my father—like he used to, anyway. . . .
“This meeting today is about several things,” the man continued, “but mostly it is about that career. It would be a shame to waste it, to throw it away for nothing. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
The man nodded, satisfied. “I am here today out of respect not only for you, but also your family, especially your father. I am here to tell you there have been no murders since your Palestinian counterpart shot the killer known as the Wolf, and there won’t be any more. Am I making myself clear?”
“Yes.”
“Now, as to the business about a plot hatched by the murdered Mohammed Fasil, I agree this is a threat we must take seriously since we cannot rule out that it is to be aimed at Israel. We will be moving the venue of the peace talks to an undisclosed location. I want you to know that. We will also be conducting a full-scale investigation into the possible existence of this plot, which you are free to participate in once the talks have concluded. Are those terms acceptable to you, Pakad?”
Danielle knew she was not being given a choice here. They were stonewalling her investigation out of fear of the scathing media backlash that might accompany it. She had to assume Ben was facing the same response in Jericho, albeit with far more dire repercussions if he failed to heed the warnings of his superiors.
“We’re waiting, Danielle,” Giott urged, speaking out of turn.
“They are acceptable,” she made herself say.
“I know you still have many concerns,” the stranger continued. “I am not in a position to address them all, but I want to assure you that everything is under control. Do you understand? Everything is under control. I ask you to trust me on that. I ask that you accept the fact that your participation in this matter is no longer required. Is that clear?”
“Very.”
* * * *
I
am speaking of the United States,” the mayor of Jericho elaborated.
“I understand what you’re speaking of.”
“I’m not talking long term here, you know; you’re a hero now, after all. I’m talking about a short visit, a well-deserved vacation to celebrate your solving a case that had baffled everyone associated with it for nearly a year. Your leave would be only a few weeks, three at the outside.”
“I’ll be able to follow the peace talks on CNN.”
“It will be a different world if these talks accomplish what many expect them to. I’m told to expect surprises.” He made sure to beam a warm smile at Ben. “Thanks in large part to you. You have made your point. You have proven yourself. Go to the United States and relax for a while. Is that such a bad thing?”
“It depends what I find when I get back.”
* * * *
I
t was as if he was waiting for her, knew not only that she would be coming but also the subject of her visit.
Danielle arrived at the convalescent home at noon to find her father as sharp as she had seen him since the stroke. The notebook computer was already on his lap, and this time the newspaper that had dropped to his chest was rightside up.
“I’ve been to see them.”
His eyes urged her on.
“The investigation is finished. They are satisfied with the results.”
He started typing, ARE YOU SATISFIED?
“No, not at all. They know I’m telling the truth. But that’s not the issue.”
WHAT IS THE ISSUE?
“Embarrassment, humiliation—this is what they are trying to avoid at all costs now. They can’t afford another setback to the peace process.” She hesitated, moved slightly sideways, and watched his eyes follow her. “There was another . . . man there today, someone I’d never met before, never seen in the building.”
MOSSAD?
“Maybe. Who knows? You’d know him, though. He’s one like you. The old guard.”
DEFINITELY FROM INTELLIGENCE.
“They’re turning their backs on the truth. I’ve been ordered to give up the investigation.”
Her father thrust a trembling finger at her again and again, then typed: AND WILL YOU?
Danielle shrugged. “Israel has much to lose from this truth. That’s one of the points they harped on.”
EVERYBODY LOSES, INCLUDING YOU.
“They raised that point, too.”
NO!, her father insisted on the screen, fighting to summon his last reserves for the day. THEY’RE NOT FINISHED WITH YOU YET. YOU’RE TOO GREAT A RISK NOW.
Danielle thought back to the meeting, the cleverly veiled insinuations all three men had made.
A LIABILITY, her father typed when she remained silent, YOU KNOW HOW THEY TREAT LIABILITIES.
Danielle swallowed hard. Her father’s eyes were glazing over now, losing the little vitality they sometimes exhibited. He fought to retain control of his fingers, rebelling against him as he typed one final line:
THE TRUTH IS THE ONLY THING THAT CAN SAVE YOU.
* * * *
B
en satslumped inhis officeback atpolice headquarters,staring at the map stuck with pushpins, trying to determine what he should do next. The mayor wasn’t wrong in his claim that continued investigation on Ben’s part could destroy the peace process. But he was underestimating the devastating potential of Fasil’s plot. Still, his offer was clear: keep his mouth shut and Ben could remain a hero.
A hero . . .
He had hunted two monsters in his life now, killed them both. And both pursuits had left him beaten and empty. The Sandman had killed his family and sent him here, and now al-Diib was sending him back to the States. Like a ping-pong ball.
His instinct told him to stand his ground, but without stronger proof of what Fasil was planning, could he take such a responsibility on himself? If he was wrong, he could destroy his father’s dream forever. He wished Dalia Mikhail was still alive, wondered what advice she would give him . . .
She must have found herself in a similar position in the end, must have known that she was in grave danger after the murders of Leila Khalil and Mohammed Fasil. Ben wondered if she’d been trying to tell him at their last meeting. All that talk about secrets, wispy allusions to his father. In retrospect, it sounded more like an apology than anything, sounded like a woman trying to make peace with herself. She had often told Ben he was the closest thing she ever had to a son. Could she leave a son with nothing, just as his father had done?
Ben straightened i
n his chair, feeling suddenly cold and clammy. Of course she’d left him with something! She had told him as much, come right out and said it!
Secrets . . .
And the proof he needed.
* * * *
Chapter 53