Blood Diamonds - [Kamal and Barnea 05]

by By Jon Land

  Danielle could only hope that the shipment Sheik Hussein al-Akbar’s people had stolen from the Peter the Great was indeed stored in his fortress. If not she would have to confront the sheik directly to find out where it had been taken. Not a pleasant prospect, and one for which the odds of success were minimal at best.

  Danielle continued making her way through the tunnel, knowing it would eventually access the main part of the fortress. From there she would find and destroy the shipment stolen off the freighter and kill anyone who got in her way.

  She felt her heart settle in her chest, suddenly calm and composed. She was where she wanted to be, where she should have been a dozen years before.

  * * * *

  Chapter 78

  O

  sama bin Laden’s al-Qaeda group?” al-Asi questioned when Ben got to that part of his story.

  “The Russian at the storage facility was certain they were the ones who staged the raid.”

  “But came away empty-handed when this Belush released these . . . bugs.”

  “And it was then necessary to switch to Plan B,” Ben concluded. “Plan B was to contact this sheik in Beirut and put him on the trail of the freighter that had the last shipment of the Black Death on board.”

  “And when you arrested Anatolyevich ...”

  “... his freighter remained at sea long enough for the sheik’s people to get there and steal the contents,” Ben completed.

  Al-Asi nodded in somber understanding. “Which explains why Pakad Barnea set off to destroy this final shipment.”

  “She’ll never succeed alone, Colonel.”

  “Precisely why we are going to help her, Inspector.”

  “There’s a truck waiting for us just short of Israel’s northern border,” al-Asi explained. “Loaded with vegetables and fruits and equipped with the United Nations markings that will get us into Lebanon.”

  “How did you manage all this, Colonel?” Ben asked, amazed, as always, by al-Asi’s skills.

  “It pays to have lots of debts to call in.”

  “Have you left any for yourself?”

  “Just enough to help my family, if things come to that,” al-Asi said, grimly resigned to the possibility. But his voice perked up again almost instantly. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done something like this. I find it refreshing.”

  “You have friends in Beirut?”

  “Not a single one I can call upon, under the circumstances,” the colonel beamed. “Totally outside my sphere of influence. Calls for a different strategy. Exciting, Inspector, isn’t it?”

  They changed clothes before climbing into the supply truck that would take them into Lebanon. Ben finished dressing, then moved to inspect the contents of the truck’s rear hold. He ran his hands through the bushels of fruits and vegetables, their fresh smells washing over him, expecting weapons, even more men, to be concealed among the crates.

  “I told you, Inspector, no tricks today, no surprises,” Colonel al-Asi said, drawing next to him. He was wearing an outfit almost identical to Ben’s, the worn, shapeless clothes of a laborer. “We’ll cross into Lebanon in northern Israel and take the coastal road north to Tyre.”

  “Why Tyre?”

  “You’ll see. Come, let’s get a move on,” al-Asi said, climbing up behind the wheel. “I can hardly wait!”

  “You don’t have to do this, Colonel,” Ben told him, puzzled by the colonel’s almost jocular attitude.

  “Are you saying you don’t want my help, Inspector?”

  “I’m saying you’re not obligated to provide it.”

  “You’d so the same for me, wouldn’t you? Besides, how do you suppose the Palestinians will come out if this sheik or bin Laden’s people lets these things loose on Israel? What will we be left with when the Black Death is finished with the land, our land as well? At best we will have a country that is useless. At worst we will be stuck in the middle of a war that steals what little hope we have left. That’s the business the two of us are in, you and I, Inspector.”

  “Hope?”

  “Preserving it. Providing it. Everyone else seems to have forgotten what it means.” Al-Asi paused. “Your father knew what hope could accomplish. That’s why he came back. You know how often I wonder how things might have been different if I had acted sooner. If I had rushed Shaathbefore he had the opportunity to fire that first shot.”

  “If it wasn’t him, it would have been someone else. Another night, another place.”

  “And if not we would have Jafir Kamal now instead of Yasir Arafat.” Al-Asi started to smile, then stopped. “You would have been your father’s heir apparent.”

  “You’d wish that upon me?”

  “Instead, we’re stuck with each other.”

  “And what about you, Colonel, had my father lived?”

  Al-Asi flashed his devilish grin. “I suspect I would be doing just what I am now.”

  “You think my father would have made peace?”

  “I think he would have faced many of the same pitfalls that our current president has encountered. He would have had to learn to speak out of both sides of his mouth; that much, I’m sure of. He was not one to compromise his principles but politics in this part of the world comprises little else. Sticking irrevocably to one set of principles is the same thing as having none: In either case, you accomplish nothing.”

  Ben closed the truck’s rear flap. “How far would my father have gone?

  “What do you mean?”

  “If the Israelis betrayed him, refused to compromise. How far would he have gone, based on how he reacted when the other Palestinian council members disagreed with him in 1967?”

  “You’re worried he would’ve taken matters into his own hands, Inspector?”

  “I was thinking of these rebels in Sierra Leone who have the other two shipments of the Black Death in their possession.”

  Al-Asi nodded. “You’re wondering whether they will actually use this Black Death on their own nation. Destroy what they cannot control.”

  “Or destroy in order to control. That would be the way they would see it, the way my father would have seen it, perhaps. But why would the rebels need so much?”

  “A very good question, Inspector.”

  * * * *

  Chapter 79

  D

  anielle continued moving west through the tunnel, certain Sheik Hussein al-Akbar’s property would soon be above her, if it wasn’t already. If she couldn’t find the stolen crates quickly, she would reduce his entire fortress to rubble. She had enough plastique to do it, and it might be the only way she could be sure.

  Assuming the crates were still on the premises, that is. If they weren’t, if the sheik were hiding them elsewhere, then she was finished and so, perhaps, was Israel.

  No, she needed to be sure. Needed to actually see the crates before she destroyed them.

  Suddenly the tunnel ended. A dead end. What could she have done wrong? She could double back, retrace her steps until she found a corridor or route she had missed. But she hadn’t missed one; she was certain of that much. Was it possible that Borodin’s sources in Israeli intelligence were wrong about the sheik’s escape route?

  Danielle stepped up to the wall before her, touching it with her hands as if to smooth out its rough edges. She tapped on it in various places with the butt of her Uzi and listened for a hollow ping beyond. Then she scratched about its surface in search of a depression or ridge indicative of a hidden door.

  Nothing.

  Futility tugged at her. Had she come this far for nothing? Was this trip to Beirut about to end in failure just as the last one had?

  Danielle looked up, searching for any alternatives.

  The ceiling was a patchwork of structural cracks and fissures from a combination of dampness and having to bear more weight than it was built to accommodate. It was darkened by ink blot-shaped leaks in stray splotches, on the verge of collapse it seemed.

  Then why wasn’t there any debris or rubble on th
e tunnel floor? She had kicked plenty aside in getting this far. Now in this spot there was nothing.

  Danielle used the flashlight she had taken with her from the boat to better scan the ceiling. Sure enough she found a square impression that was perfectly smooth and finished. Not a single mar, crack, or line. Too symmetrical to be simple patchwork.

  She must have had it wrong: the storm drain did not link up with the sheik’s escape route. The escape route lay above, connecting to the storm drain via an access hatch.

  Here. Directly above her.

  Ten feet up, well beyond her reach. And why not? The escape route would be used only from the inside out. Its builders would have anticipated exactly what she was doing and planned for the eventuality. Even if Danielle found a way to reach it by climbing she was certain she would find the hatchway rigged with explosives or, at least, with electronic sensors that would instantly alert the sheik’s security to her presence.

  She was a fool not to have considered the obviousness of that before. So what did she have left? Besides a full-frontal assault, she could think of nothing. Wait until night fell and then try slipping past the sheik’s formidable security. Succeed where a dozen years ago seven men had failed.

  Think!

  The escape route entry was the key she had to stick with. How to utilize it, though? There had to be something else she could do to gain the access to the compound she so desperately sought.

  Danielle pictured the guard posted at the entrance checking the clipboard with notations that looked like names jotted down upon it. The sheik must be expecting guests. That helped explain why security was so heavy and the manicured grounds were so perfectly tended.

  Tensions would be running high, Hussein al-Akbar’s soldiers ready for anything, the escape route always there if they needed it.

  So Danielle would give them a reason to need it, the plan taking shape in her mind as she turned around and retraced her steps down the tunnel.

  * * * *

  Chapter 80

  C

  olonel al-Asi clung to the highway without incident through southern Lebanon. The truck’s United Nations markings and humanitarian contents allowed for easy passage into the country at an Israeli border crossing known as the Good Fence. Called that for the Israeli medical clinic that continues to treat both Lebanese Christians and Druze, Ben found the checkpoint surprisingly relaxed. Ironically, it overlooked Beaufort Castle, a former stronghold during the Crusades which more recently had become the source of PLO artillery fire.

  “I try to make sure the gunmen have the wrong coordinates,” al-Asi mentioned, as they had crossed into Lebanon.

  An hour later they passed the village of Sarafand and reached the outskirts of Tyre. Ben watched al-Asi tense slightly as he pulled into the parking lot fronting a small group of interconnected shops set before the beginning of the ancient ruins.

  “I hope you’re thirsty, Inspector,” the colonel said, shutting off the engine. “There’s an excellent juice bar here.”

  Offering no further explanation, al-Asi led Ben into a long rectangular shop featuring neat rows of oranges, lemons, limes, and mangoes stored within glass display cases, bushels of bananas and plantains stacked atop them. The juice bar was very bright and modern by any standards. Ceiling fans spun lazily overhead, cool conditioned air painting a light steam over windows.

  Al-Asi ordered blended fruit drinks for both himself and Ben, then turned toward a trio of men seated at one of the juice bar’s four round tables. The colonel approached them nonchalantly, Ben falling into step behind him. There was only one chair remaining at the table, and al-Asi sat down and maneuvered it so he was facing the oldest of the three men, his thick hair a strange combination of white and gray.

  “Salammu aleikum,” the colonel greeted.

  “Aleikum as-salaam,” the older man returned. “Al-masaari?”

  Al-Asi’s response was to reach into his light jacket and emerge with a thick manila envelope, folded over itself and wrapped with rubber bands. The colonel yanked the bands off and pulled the envelope straight. Then he removed a tightly bound wad of cash Ben recognized as American bills. Without hesitating, al-Asi slid the wad across the table into the eagerly waiting hands of the man with the white and gray hair.

  The older man thumbed through them briefly, nodding in satisfaction. He smiled, and Ben noticed he was missing almost all his bottom front teeth when he reached out and squeezed the colonel’s forearm with his free hand.

  “Shukran,” he said, handing al-Asi a wrinkled letter folded into quarters. “Thank you. Al hamdu illah.”

  “And I thank you for your blessing,” al-Asi replied in English. “Ma’ as-salaama. Good-bye.”

  With that, the colonel rose with his fruit drink and turned to Ben.

  “Come,” he said and led the way out of the juice bar.

  Back inside the truck, al-Asi took a hearty sip of his drink. “Very refreshing. You haven’t touched yours, Inspector.”

  Ben shifted the cup from his left hand to his right. “Those men were Hezbollah, I assume.”

  “Local leader. An underling, but a powerful one responsible for a number of incursions into Israel.”

  “I’m surprised you let him live.”

  “He always warned me in advance, so I could evacuate any civilians in harm’s way.”

  “How much money was in that envelope, Colonel?”

  “A hundred thousand American.”

  “To make sure we’re left alone?”

  “If the sheik calls for help, there will be no response now,” al-Asi explained.

  “So that’s what a hundred thousand dollars buys you around here. . . .”

  “He gave me a good price, because he knows we are doing him a service: With Hussein al-Akbar out of the way, he moves up in the command structure of Hezbollah. This part of the world is no different from any other, Inspector. It’s all about money.”

  “Which you can ill afford to squander, given the current state of things.”

  “I keep a rainy day fund for emergencies. This easily qualified.”

  Ben gazed at al-Asi gratefully, aware that he had done this for Danielle. “And it doesn’t bother you, of all people, being beholden to such a man?”

  “It’s he who’s beholden to me, Inspector. If he rises to a new position of power, it is I who will have put him there. Certain to come in handy later.”

  “What’s in the letter he gave you?”

  “Credentials, transit documents, to show anyone who stops us.”

  “I see what you mean about getting your money’s worth.”

  “This is Lebanon, Inspector,” al-Asi said, sounding strangely detached. “They lost the dream to which we still cling a long time ago. Replaced hope with currency.”

  “You bought us protection.”

  “I bought us the opportunity to help Pakad Barnea, Inspector. We’re only an hour from the sheik’s fortress now. Get ready.”

  * * * *

  Chapter 81

  W

  hat happened?” Latisse Matabu said, bolting upright to find Dr. Sowahy seated by her bedside. “I gave you a shot.”

  Matabu’s eyes bulged in rage, but the doctor continued before she could speak.

  “Your guards summoned me. You were crying out in your sleep, and they couldn’t wake you.”

  Matabu realized her sheets were soaked with perspiration, the monster that ravaged her body twisting and tearing at her blood and spreading with it through her veins. Her skin felt hot. Her hands were flaming red.

  “Go. Leave me.”

  “Not until I’ve given you another shot.”

  Dr. Sowahy reached down to the floor for his old, weathered medical bag, laid it in his lap, and unsnapped it. He removed a syringe and a vial, his hand trembling as he inserted the syringe into the vial and extracted the proper amount.

  Sowahy rose from his chair and moved to Matabu’s bedside where he rolled up the sleeve over the same arm in which he had given he
r the first injection. The doctor rubbed one of Latisse Matabu’s veins down with an alcohol swab. He had started to move the syringe toward the vein when she latched onto his wrist, holding it in place.