Pillars of Solomon - [Kamal & Barnea 02]

by By Jon Land

“A joint interrogation as well, Pakad?”

  “He has two hands. More than enough fingers for both of us to break.”

  * * * *

  W

  hat exactly are you proposing?” Captain Wallid asked after Ben had finished explaining Ibrahim Mudhil’s involvement in both investigations.

  “A joint operation by us and Pakad Barnea’s people to bring Mudhil into custody.”

  Wallid continued to rotate his gaze regularly toward Danielle, even though she hadn’t spoken since their brief introduction. “An operation like that would take considerable time to coordinate. The channels, the approvals—who knows where Mudhil will be once you are ready to proceed?”

  “We’re ready now, sidi,” Ben told him.

  Wallid thought briefly, eyeing Danielle again. “Not without official approval, we’re not, and that would mean acknowledging your involvement, Inspector.”

  “We’ve had some experience in these matters before,” Danielle said before Ben could warn her off with his eyes.

  “Things were different before, Chief Inspector Barnea. I’m afraid we cannot rely on the spirit of cooperation to be of assistance this time.”

  “Unless a different department handled the operation on our behalf,” Ben interjected. “Say a department beyond reproach.”

  “You’re speaking of Mukhabarat.”

  “Intelligence,” Ben said to Danielle.

  Captain Wallid nodded, liking the prospects. “They would, of course, understand that we have called them in for assistance because of security and jurisdictional concerns, and that the responsibility for failure lies squarely with them.”

  “Some departments have no fear of failure.”

  “Your friend Colonel al-Asi’s, for example.”

  “I think he would be open to assisting us, yes.”

  Wallid’s stare grew a little deeper. “Let me give the colonel a call myself.”

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 34

  T

  hat’s his house on the corner,” Nabril al-Asi said as his driver pulled the Mercedes sedan up to the curb. A few people passing by tried to peer inside through its darkened windows. “According to our sources, Ibrahim Mudhil returned home just after midnight with a woman and has remained there ever since.”

  “So what happens now?”

  Al-Asi checked his watch. “In less than three minutes, my men will pay him an unannounced visit. Then we will have a talk with him.” The colonel’s eyes lingered on Danielle. “All of us. By the way, it is good to see you again, Pakad Barnea.”

  “I don’t think we’ve ever met before.”

  “We haven’t, but I have seen you all the same.”

  Danielle turned to Ben, unsure how to take al-Asi’s remark until Ben smiled.

  “Two minutes,” al-Asi announced.

  No city better illustrated the tenuous and difficult peace than Hebron, Ben reflected, a city where 130,000 Palestinians lived side by side with 450 Jewish settlers and three times that many Israeli soldiers there to protect them. In years past those soldiers had dominated life in Hebron, securing a peaceful existence for the settlers no matter what the cost to the vast Palestinian majority.

  Although much had changed since the city was turned over to Palestinian Authority control, some things remained the same. A security fence still enclosed the Jewish enclave of Eli, but it was patrolled by even more soldiers. Palestinians were finally able to drive vehicles, not just donkeys, down the city’s main thoroughfare, Al-Shohada, although the north end was blocked by an Israeli checkpoint to protect the Jewish settlement. So, too, the Palestinians were now allowed to use the pay phones installed years before on the street; but, strangely, they seldom worked since the Israelis had ceded control. The settlers used to buy fresh fruits and vegetables from Palestinian marketplaces. Following the change in control, the army had banned them from the city for security reasons.

  The stone houses that lined Ibrahim Mudhil’s street looked faded and bleached, narrow in the front with a greater depth stretching to the rear. Spaced very close together, with paltry yards, they were indicative of the city’s predominantly working-class population. Al-Asi knew those homes well from a number of sweeps his men had conducted here in search of weapons which might have been used in attacks against the settlers if they had not been confiscated.

  “It’s time,” the colonel said, and looked up from his watch.

  In eerie synchronization a team of his plainclothes operatives, dressed to blend perfectly with the residents, appeared from a variety of directions and approached Mudhil’s home. Ben noticed several of them holding their hands close to their faces.

  “Formerly state-of-the-art communications equipment,” al-Asi explained, fitting an earpiece into place. “The Israelis were kind enough to pass on to us what the American Secret Service passed on after they no longer needed them.” He touched his earpiece. “My men are at both doors now.”

  Ben and Danielle watched through the rear window as a pair of the colonel’s men broke through the front, imagining a similar scene taking place in the back.

  “They’re in,” al-Asi narrated. “Checking both floors for our friend. Entering the bedroom . . . now!”

  Al-Asi’s features sank. He yanked the earpiece from his ear and stuffed it in his pocket.

  “What’s wrong?” Ben asked.

  “They found the woman,” al-Asi said, throwing open his door. “Ibrahim Mudhil is gone.”

  * * * *

  T

  he stone house smelled hot, baked by the early-afternoon sun. The inside felt like an oven. Ben could feel the sweat running down his brow and see dabs of it soaking through Danielle’s light blouse. Only al-Asi seemed impervious, striding up the steps in a carefully pressed Canali suit, unruffled except for a matching handkerchief held in his hand.

  The woman his men had found was sitting on the edge of the bed when he entered the larger of two bedrooms. She looked to be in her late twenties: rumpled hair, a dark complexion, and eyes that couldn’t decide between scared and angry.

  ”You know who I am?” the colonel asked her.

  “The police?”

  Al-Asi shook his head. “This is your lucky day. They would just beat you and throw you in jail. I, on the other hand, will give you a chance to avoid both those fates.”

  ”I have done nothing!”

  ”No one ever does. Makes my job simple. Do you know why?”

  The woman shook her head.

  “Since no one, it seems, ever does anything, it allows me the luxury of embellishing events as I see fit. Do you understand?”

  The woman nodded, even though she didn’t look like she understood at all.

  ”I can do this to the benefit or detriment of anyone I choose, the decision for which is ultimately left to them.” Al-Asi came right up to her and cupped her chin gently in his hand. He raised her head slowly, turned it from side to side as if inspecting her. “You, for example, could be a good woman or a prostitute.”

  ”I am not a prostitute!”

  ”That makes you a good woman.”

  ”Yes!”

  “Where is Ibrahim Mudhil?”

  ”I don’t know.”

  “That makes you a prostitute.”

  The woman didn’t hesitate. “He left early this morning through a tunnel to the house immediately behind this one.”

  Al-Asi nodded to a pair of his men, who exited the room in search of it. “I see,” he said, walking deliberately through the room, letting his eyes wander. “Where did he go?”

  “To work.”

  “And what is he stealing or smuggling today?”

  The woman pushed some air through her lips.

  Al-Asi stopped at a worn, antique bureau, atop which rested a circular chunk of marble that had been turned into an ashtray. He dumped the ashes and cigarette butts onto the floor and wiped the residue with his handkerchief. Then he brought it with him to bed, holding it gently as he sat down next to the woman on the be
d. She stiffened, no place to go.

  “A nice ornament,” said the colonel, “although I believe this is actually the bottom of a bowl that has been evened out around the edges. A shame really, because it will now be impossible to match up the rest of the real piece.” He turned his eyes from the marble back to the woman. “Are you aware of the penalty for smuggling antiquities?”

  “That’s an—”

  “They’re rather severe, let me assure you.”

  “I didn’t know—”

  “I’m sure you didn’t, but you will find our government most unforgiving when it comes to removing artifacts from land we have just recently been able to call our own. The Jordanians and Israelis are even less forgiving, and I believe this piece more likely came from one of their sites.” Al-Asi stood back up. “I don’t think you want to find this out for yourself.”

  “It’s not mine, I swear!”

  The colonel walked over to the floor where he had dumped the ashes and leaned over. He found a cigarette butt and held it so the woman could see.

  “Magenta lipstick. The same shade, I believe, you are wearing now. You used an ancient artifact as an ashtray. I’d say that makes it yours.”

  “I didn’t steal it.”

  “Mudhil did.”

  “He brought it home.”

  Al-Asi held his finger up dramatically, as if to stop time. “Now, listen to me. You are very close to being able to go free now. You are also very close to being turned over to either the Israelis, who will detain you without a trial, or the Jordanians, who will sentence you no matter how the trial comes out.”

  “Petra!” the woman screeched, bouncing off the bed to her feet. “Ibrahim Mudhil’s been going to Petra! I’m telling the truth, I’ll prove it!”

  The woman began to move madly about the walls, feeling for Ibrahim Mudhil’s secret stash. “It’s here, I’m telling you! I’ve seen him open it when he thinks I’m asleep!”

  Al-Asi was standing close to another part of the wall, not leaning against it lest his suit pick up some of the grit shed from the white stone.

  “You’ve got to believe me!” the woman pleaded. “It’s here!”

  The colonel turned from her and effortlessly pulled a hinged section of the stone wall away to reveal a secret compartment he must have noticed before. “You mean this?”

  * * * *

  I

  ’m impresses, Colonel,” Danielle complimented al-Asi after the woman had been escorted from the room. “I truly am. I admire your tactics.”

  “You should, Chief Inspector Barnea. After all, I learned them from your people.”

  “Can we get into Petra?” Ben asked as Danielle and al-Asi continued to look at each other respectfully.

  “It is complicated,” the colonel said. “I’ll have to call the Jordanians and inform them. They insist on such courtesies, you understand.”

  “But will they cooperate?”

  “Most certainly. After all,” al-Asi said, holding a hand out to indicate the cache he had found in the wall, “we have some items to return to them.”

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 35

  I

  ’ve always wanted to see Petra,” Danielle said when they were back inside al-Asi’s Mercedes.

  Ben closed the door behind him. “It looks like you’re going to get your wish.”

  “Are you a student of archaeology, Chief Inspector?” al-Asi asked from the front seat.

  “I’ve lived in the Middle East all my life. It’s difficult not to be an admirer of it at the very least.”

  “I understand,” al-Asi said as the Mercedes’ engine turned over and a burst of cool conditioned air filled the cab. “You will be especially impressed with Petra. You will see why that means ‘City of Rock’ when we get there later today, if the Jordanians are willing.”

  He had stowed the now carefully wrapped and cushioned antiquities removed from Ibrahim Mudhil’s wall in a leather tote bag resting next to him on the front seat. The bag shifted slightly as the Mercedes pulled away, and Al-Asi latched a hand onto it to keep the contents from being jarred.

  “It was a fortress at one time, wasn’t it?” Ben asked.

  “Impregnable and virtually unreachable, thanks to a single approach through what amounts to a narrow ravine.”

  “Many an army stopped in its tracks, no doubt,” said Danielle, remembering pictures of the gorge the colonel was referring to.

  “But I seem to recall Petra itself came to a bad end,” Ben said to al-Asi.

  “Indeed. Consider the location: equidistant from the Dead Sea and the Gulf of Aqaba near the intersection of the great caravan routes from Gaza on the Mediterranean, Damascus, Elat on the Red Sea, and from the Persian Gulf.”

  “So what happened?” asked Danielle.

  “A rival city, Palmyra, stole its trade. Petra was finally conquered by the Muslims and then captured by the Crusaders. Eventually, without trade, it crumbled and fell into history.”

  “How quickly can you arrange for us to get in there?” Ben asked.

  “Late this afternoon at the earliest. I must reach my counterpart in Jordanian intelligence to smooth the process. We don’t want to make a fuss about this, do we?”

  “No,” Ben and Danielle said together.

  * * * *

  T

  hat afternoon al-Asi’s Mercedes and a pair of Protective Security Service cars drove past the banana and date groves beyond Jericho for the Allenby Bridge. The air was dry and dusty, leaving a film on the windshield of the Mercedes that reappeared as quickly as the driver cleared it with the wipers. Ben wondered how so much vegetation could flourish here. Another paradox of Palestine.

  They crossed the quarter-mile length of the bridge into southern Jordan, where the irregularly shaped Shara Mountains, colored gray and ash, rose ominously before them. They were met on the Jordanian side of the bridge by a single all-terrain jeep. A man in a kaffiyeh stepped out and embraced al-Asi as soon as the colonel emerged.

  “It is good to see you, my brother,” the Jordanian said, squeezing himself against al-Asi’s Canali suit.

  “I have brought you a present, my brother,” the colonel said, and handed him the small paper bag he had brought with him in the car.

  Ben watched as the Jordanian intelligence officer opened it and removed the Zegna tie Ben had brought back for al-Asi from Jerusalem. The Jordanian’s eyes bulged happily. He embraced al-Asi again, even tighter.

  “Thank you, thank you, my brother!”

  “A token of our appreciation, Major Marash,” the colonel said, gesturing subtly toward Ben and Danielle. “And ...” He signaled for his driver to approach with the leather bag of smuggled antiquities in hand. He took the bag and handed it to the Jordanian.

  Marash returned the tie to al-Asi long enough to unzip the bag and inspect its contents. His eyes bulged again.

  “Allah be praised! You have done a wonderful thing for my country, my friend. We are in your debt. Ask of me what you want.”

  “The man who did this, once we find him.”

  Marash’s expression changed from grateful and friendly to stern. “We go to Petra. You will follow me.”

  * * * *

  F

  rom the Allenby Bridge they had to take a wide sweep around the mountains and approach Petra from the east. After they passed a guardhouse at the edge of a cultivated valley, the road began to narrow, shrinking finally to a thin gorge enclosed on both sides by menacing walls of jagged sandstone. Here they abandoned their vehicles in favor of donkeys before entering the famed passage called as-Sik, which led into Petra.

  The gorge swept circuitously through the imposing pinkish stone for over a mile, twenty minutes by foot or donkey.

  “I’ve heard it told,” al-Asi said, riding between Ben and Danielle, “that the rocks on either side of this chasm are so high and the passage so narrow that a mere ten men could easily hold advancing armies at bay.”

  “Comforting thought,” Ben noted, pe
ering up at the sandstone walls rising two hundred feet above them.

  The gorge remained a dozen feet wide at its narrowest point. Sturdy vehicles were capable of passing, but were forbidden to enter in all but emergency situations out of fear of pollution and damage.