by By Jon Land
“Rav Nitzav!” she managed before a hand clamped over her mouth. But their eyes met again until Giott’s turned away uncertainly. “You’ve got to listen to me!” she rasped into the oily palm covering her mouth. “I know what’s—”
Giott had just looked uncertainly back at her when a third standing ovation drowned out the rest of her words. Danielle tried to pull free of the soldiers, hoping to lose herself in the crowd long enough to find Ravel. She had almost succeeded, when a soldier slammed a baton into the back of her skull and she crumpled to her knees at the feet of her former superior.
* * * *
T
he only way to wipe oat terror is to wipe out its reason for being!”
Ben caught only the barest glimpse of Danielle as Israeli soldiers hustled her limp form away from the area. He knew now he was the only person standing between Ari Bar-Rosen and an assassin’s bullet. And he also knew that the stir caused by Danielle’s arrest and struggle would likely spur Ravel to action quicker than expected.
“The only way Israelis can live safely in their homes is to make sure all Palestinians have homes where they can live! ...”
Ben judged that Ravel could not take the risk that the soldiers would finally listen to Danielle’s ravings once they dragged her out of the area. He would enact his plan at the earliest possible time now and take his chances. For a killer of his level, improvisation would be nothing new.
“The only way Israel can heed the wishes and fulfill the dreams of the many is to stop obliging the nightmares of the few!”
Ravel would activate his plot from this section, assuring blame would be cast upon the Palestinians. But how was he planning to escape? Ben wondered as yet another ovation shook Masada.
Ben pictured delegates seated on either side of the assassin. What would they do when Ravel made his move? His plan must have taken their presence into account, his precise location among the crowd chosen strategically. The gun would have been planted beneath his chair by a workman, perhaps even Ravel himself in a different guise, explaining how he had joined the Palestinian delegation without ever having been at the base with the rest of its members.
“The only way Israel can remain truly strong is to realize that the Palestinians cannot remain weak. And the only way the Palestinians can establish their nation is to accept the inalienable right of Jews to maintain theirs as well.”
The latest ovation jarred Ben and he bounced up to his feet, twisting around. Behind him, about a dozen rows back, a man had stooped over as though to retie his shoes. He cast his gaze up furtively, and Ben caught a glimpse of his face before view was blocked.
“I think I see Ravel,” Ben said to al-Asi, just loud enough for the colonel to hear. “I’m going after him.”
“You’re what?”
The crowd sat down again en masse, but Ben stayed primed on the balls of his feet, ready to bounce up. He would wait until the next ovation to lurch backward through the crowd, hoping the cover of bodies would keep Israeli soldiers from firing at him. Create a moment of confusion and hope that moment was enough for him to reach Ravel.
“The Jews and Palestinians have lived as we have lived for thousands of years. Together, yet apart. Close, yet far. Identical goals that have long canceled each other out in mutual exclusivity. Are we to continue this for another thousand years? Is that what we want for our children? Or has the time finally come to tear the signposts of the past away and venture down a new uncharted road we will pave with hope.”
Ben could feel the audience springing for another ovation. He lurched up from his chair and pushed himself into motion, plowing backward.
* * * *
T
he soldiers dropped Danielle harshly to the ground a safe distance from the assembled throngs. A pair of hands held her face tight against the earth, and she sucked in mouthfuls of dust and dirt every time she continued trying to scream her warning.
“Let her up! Let her up now!”
Danielle recognized the voice of Hershel Giott even as the hands holding her suddenly weakened.
“Do it!” Giott ordered, his eyes meeting Danielle’s when she was able to turn her head. “And come with me, all of you!”
* * * *
B
en led with his shoulder and caught his fellow Palestinian delegates so off guard that they shrank aside as chairs tumbled in his path. He never looked back to see if pursuit was coming, determined to keep his surge going until it brought him to Ravel.
Hands began to flail away to stop him, and Ben mounted chairs to avoid their grasp. He hurdled from one to the next toward a figure hunched in front of a chair four rows ahead on his left. When the man finally straightened, Ben recognized him clearly as Esteban Ravel from his picture.
Then he saw the odd-looking rifle in his hands. It resembled a simple length of pipe, but Ben was certain the trigger and hammer assemblies were hidden from view.
Ravel raised his rifle, using the tightly packed cluster of bodies for camouflage and angling the weapon so it almost rested on the shoulder of the man before him. Ben saw one of Ravel’s eyes close as the assassin aimed through a narrow sight mounted on the shaft and felt for the trigger.
Ben leaped up onto one last chair and lunged off it, hurling himself through the air as Ravel fired.
Something that felt like a kick from a steel-toed boot hammered Ben’s ribs and twisted him around in midair, but he crashed into Ravel before the assassin could make another move. The collision spilled Ravel over backward to the hard earth, his hot steel weapon now smoking against Ben’s side.
Ravel tried to free himself, but Ben clamped his hands on his shoulders to stop him. He tore the assassin’s jacket and part of his shirt away in the process.
Ravel was wearing an Israeli army uniform beneath his dress clothes! In the chaos that ensued after his bullet struck home, that was how he had planned to escape!
Ben felt suddenly weak; something was spilling out of him, like a leak in his chest, and he realized it hurt very much to breathe. Still, he wouldn’t let go of the killer, not even when Danielle Barnea tried to pry him off, not until he was sure Ravel wouldn’t be going anywhere either.
* * * *
EPILOGUE
T
he Shiva, the traditional Jewish memorial service, for Hyram Levy was held in his Jerusalem home three days after Ari Bar-Rosen was officially installed as prime minister of Israel. Since Levy had not actively practiced Judaism for years prior to his death, the more stringent traditions of covering mirrors and sitting only on crates were abandoned. The simple, open gathering drew an eclectic group composed of business associates and customers of both Israeli and Palestinian descent, as well as high-ranking politicians from both sides.
Danielle Barnea arrived at the beginning of the second hour and was greeted at the door by David Wolfe. He took her gently by the arm, transferring a cup and saucer from his right hand to his left.
“Chief Inspector, what a pleasant surprise.”
“When I heard you had returned to Israel, I couldn’t resist, Mr. Wolfe. Or do you go by ‘Wollchensky’ again when within our borders?”
Wolfe looked disappointed. “I should think you would have come to pay respect to the deceased.”
“We can discuss our levels of hypocrisy another time.”
Wolfe smiled and rested his cup and saucer upon a mantel set over a small fireplace. “Actually, I’m glad you came. It gives me a chance to congratulate you on your reinstatement to the National Police.”
He extended his hand and Danielle took it. “It hasn’t been made public yet.”
“I know. I understand your superior, Giott, has regrettably retired.”
“I believe he’s taking a leave of absence, and that hasn’t been made public either.”
“Yes, well, he had an excellent career. He deserves a long and healthy retirement.”
Danielle realized Wolfe’s eyes had not left her for an instant since she entered the room.
“I’m also glad for the opportunity to thank you in person, Chief Inspector.”
“You don’t owe me any thanks.”
“I have been fully informed of your efforts at Masada.”
“It was the efforts of a Palestinian detective that saved the day.”
Wolfe nodded. “Ben Kamal. I’m well aware of that too.”
“Then you probably also know that he and the officer in charge of the Palestinian Protective Security Service are privy to the same information you shared with me about Prime Minister Bar-Rosen.”
Wolfe’s expression remained utterly impassive, noncommittal.
“In the minds of some,” Danielle continued, “that could pose a rather uncomfortable problem. I came here today to let you know you have nothing to worry about on that account.”
“Is that all?”
“No,” Danielle said, and ever so subtly she removed Wolfe’s cup from its saucer and placed it on the mantel. Then she tucked the empty saucer into a small plastic bag and slid it into her pocketbook. “It’s funny, but two things still stick in my mind about Hyram Levy’s murder. The first is that a number of witnesses reported seeing an old beggar in the street the night he was killed. And the second is the claim of an old Palestinian woman, who was among the first to have a child stolen, that Al Safah had returned to Israel.”
“How interesting.”
“I thought you’d feel that way. I understand you were quite partial to disguising yourself as a beggar during your undercover days with the Haganah.”
“I was indeed. Tell me, what happened to this old woman?”
“She died.”
“Pity.”
“Don’t worry. There are still a number of fingerprints we have not identified from Levy’s shop.” Danielle felt the shape of the saucer through the fabric of her handbag. “I bet if I had the prints lifted off that saucer, we would find a match. I think I will hang on to it. Just in case anything happens to Inspector Kamal or Colonel al-Asi, you understand.”
“I think I do.”
Danielle started for the door, followed step for step by Wolfe. She turned back after opening it and grasped his arm, just as he had grasped hers.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Danielle said, and closed the door behind her.
* * * *
B
en was finally able to receive visitors that night, having been taken upstairs from intensive care. Colonel al-Asi had stopped by briefly. During his short stay, he informed Ben that Captain Fawzi Wallid had been promoted to chief of police for the district of Jericho, thanks primarily to his excellent work supervising Ben’s most recent investigation.
“You will also be happy to hear that Leila Fatuk has been returned to her parents,” the colonel told him. “They are most grateful.”
“What about the rest of the children?”
Al-Asi shook his head. “She was the only Palestinian.”
“Then the others are still on that island. . . .”
“Italian commandos raided the island this morning, Inspector. They found it deserted.”
Ben sighed and worked his morphine pump, a measure of the drug dribbling instantly into a vein in his arm.
Al-Asi glanced at the table by Ben’s bedside. “I had your phone turned on. In case there was anyone in the United States you wanted to call.”
Ben felt his mouth going dry. “I don’t believe there is.”
The colonel smiled. “I’m glad to hear that, Inspector. I truly am.”
* * * *
B
en was still groggy when Danielle arrived that evening. A plainclothes security guard closed the door behind her.
“I’m surprised he let you in,” Ben said.
“It’s been taken care of. He’ll be gone by morning.”
“Who’ll guard me?”
“That man is the kind you need to be guarded from, believe me.”
Ben stiffened a little. “What about Ravel?”
“He committed suicide in his cell.”
“How convenient.”
Danielle sat down on the edge of the bed and took his hand. “I understand Prime Minister Bar-Rosen wants to meet with both of us.”
“What do you think we should tell him, Pakad?”
“I think we should congratulate him on a great speech.” Ben squeezed her hand back. “And leave out the results of our latest joint investigation?”
Danielle looked at him unsurely, surprised.
“Our investigation pertaining to the white-slave trade,” Ben elaborated.
“He could help us eradicate it,” Danielle said, and breathed easier. “At least end the practice forever in Israel and Palestine. Once and for all.”
“A start, anyway. I quite agree.”
Ben nodded. “And while we’re at it, perhaps we should ask his permission to see each other.”
“I’d say he’s already given it, if his speech was any indication.”
“Gives you hope, doesn’t it?”
“For now,” Danielle said, and kissed Ben lightly on the lips.
* * * *
D
avid Wolfe followed his granddaughter’s gaze out beyond the shores of Caesarea.
“This is where it happened,” Tali said excitedly, pumping his hand up and down. “This is where the story of the four friends began!”
Wolfe looked out to the sea and for an instant, just an instant, saw a rusted freighter renamed the Gideon making a dangerous run through the British blockade for the beachhead. Then he nodded.
“I’m so glad you took me here, Papa. I love this country, I love Israel.”
Wolfe brought his granddaughter to him.
“You’ll tell me the story again, won’t you?”
“Of course. Don’t I always?”
His eyes wandered back to the sea, following the lifeboats in their desperate race for the sand. Then he turned to the right and imagined the British patrol jeep converging on the men who would become the greatest friends he had ever known in his life.
“Papa?”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad the story had a happy ending.”
“So am I,“ David Wolfe said, hugging his granddaughter tight against him so she wouldn’t see his tears. “So am I.”