by [Kamal
“President Arafat,” one of the reporters called, “please comment on the continued refusal of the Israelis to discuss the partition of Jerusalem.”
“The issue on the table,” Arafat began humbly, “is not partition, but the creation of a mutual capital our two peoples can share in name.”
Reporters scribbled furiously across their pads. Cameras whirred. Flashbulbs popped. Video cameras zoomed in for closeups, as a buzz spread through the room. It stopped when the room’s occupants saw Commander Omar Shaath take his spot behind the podium. Ben watched Arafat turn to Mayor Sumaya, who whispered something that obviously didn’t please the Palestinian leader.
Shaath was opening the zipper of his attaché case. “I apologize for my tardiness, Mr. President and other honored delegates. Ladies and gentlemen,” he said to the gathered media which had turned its collective eye upon him, “the leaders of our proud people entrusted me with a mission I have only just completed, uncovering something they have insisted I make known to you without any further delay.”
Arafat had risen to his feet, fuming, stabbing the air with his hand as he addressed the delegates nearest him. He had even started to move toward the podium himself when Shaath opened the zip-lock bag and started to tip it upside down, releasing the contents for all to see.
“I give you the source of my reason for coming here.”
Ben watched Shaath gaze down in befuddlement when the assembled crowd of reporters remained silent except for the exchange of a few murmurs and scattered chuckles.
Sand was running out of the bag, spilling off a pile it had made on the podium all the way to the floor below.
“Sand,” someone said.
“Sand from the Sinai Desert,” Ben elaborated loudly from the back of the room as he burst past the Palestinian police guards with Danielle at his side.
All eyes in the room swung toward the two of them, including Arafat’s and Sumaya’s. But it was Shaath’s hate-filled gaze that Ben locked onto, watching the commander’s confident expression turn to shock as he realized he’d been had.
That was for my father, you bastard, Ben thought, wishing Shaath could read his mind.
“Chief Inspector Barnea of the Israeli National Police and I bring it here today as a symbol of peace already established.”
“And who are you?” a reporter asked, but some of them recognized him and were feverishly writing on their notepads again.
“Inspector Bayan Kamal of the Palestinian police force.”
A murmur spread through the crowd. Photographers squeezed forward to snap pictures.
“Are you the detective who captured and killed the serial killer known as the Wolf?”
Ben eased Danielle up alongside him. “The two of us did it together, an Israeli and a Palestinian. Perpetuating that kind of relationship is what this conference is about.” Ben turned back toward the delegates in the front of the room. “That is why our esteemed President and Mayor Sumaya of Jericho from the Palestinian Council asked the two of us to come. And we brought with us this talisman that ...” Ben paused here and stared Shaath right in the eye. “. . . Commander Shaath was kind enough to display.”
Arafat smiled and seemed to nod toward someone in the back of the room.
Sumaya glared at Shaath, who lumbered away from the podium.
The pack of reporters thrust more questions at Ben and Danielle, but they shrugged all of them off, deferring the answers to the distinguished panel better suited to answer them. Ben caught a glimpse of Major Nabril al-Asi hovering at the pack’s rear, smiling at him, his expression coming up just short of a wink. The major exchanged a few words with an older Israeli man, casually dressed in a sports shirt and smoking a cigarette, before moving off to intercept Commander Shaath.
“I know that man,” Danielle said softly, watching the Israeli slide discreetly from the room.
“What do you mean?”
She hesitated, looked as though she didn’t trust her eyes. “Never mind.”
Ben and Danielle slipped out of the room minutes later and quickly extricated themselves from even the most stubborn reporters, en route to a deserted, book-lined library just off the King David’s lobby.
They embraced as soon as they had gotten inside, the door closed behind them.
“You did it,” Danielle said, after they finally parted to catch their breaths. “They can’t treat us like pariahs now. We’ll be heroes with our pictures plastered in every major newspaper in the world.”
“I hope they got my good side.”
“So what happens now? Would you like to be around here when history is made?”
“Let’s stay. . . . No, on second thought, let’s get out of here. I can think of plenty of better places to spend the rest of the week.”
“So can I,” said a new voice.
Ben turned and saw a figure seated in a chair across the room, his back to them. Ben thought for an instant it might be Frank Brickland, until he saw a hand grasp a cane and lean upon it for support.
“You did very well at the press conference,” Zaid Jabral complimented, rising. “I thank you for saving the entire story for the exclusive you promised me.
“I’ll tell you the whole story. Then you can decide how much of it they’ll let you print.”
“I think, more than anything this time, I just want to hear it. Then someday ...”
“Always someday.”
“Your friend Yousef Shifa called me,” Jabral told Ben. “The Israelis held him overnight but will be releasing him this afternoon. I told them he worked for me, agreed to pay for all the damages.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll send you the bill.” Jabral limped toward them. “How does it feel to be a hero again, Inspector?”
Ben looked at Danielle. “I don’t think I make a very good one, to tell you the truth.”
“Oh, by the way. I ran a story on that boy Radji and his sister in yesterday’s edition. The Israeli press picked it up and printed it today. I’m told the hospitals treating them have been flooded with donations, adoption requests, even a film offer from Hollywood.”
“They won’t be going back to the camp, then.”
“Not unless it’s in the script.” Jabral stopped a few feet from them. “And what about you, Inspector?”
“Home suits me just fine.” Ben looped an arm around Danielle’s shoulder. “Suits us just fine.”
“And just where might that be?” Jabral wondered.
“It doesn’t matter,” Danielle replied.
“Just leave a number with me for when Hollywood calls. They’re bound to, you know. I’d get working on the sequel now if I were you.”
Ben drew Danielle against him, smiling. “We’ll see what we can do.”