Brad Thor - Path Of The Assassin

“Collaboration?” said Harvath. “You used me to get to Adara.”

“If that’s the word you want to use, then we used each other.”

Harvath was nearing his limit. “What the hell you are doing here?”

“I’m here for the same reason you are. I followed a string of clues-”

“Bullshit. I don’t know how, but somehow you followed us.”

“I will admit, Agent Harvath, that when you logged on to the web site I gave you for the surveillance photos of Marcel Hamdi from your hotel on Capri, it made it easier for us to locate the island he was traveling to and of course to listen in on your conversations. That being said, I can’t give you all the credit. I have had a team very hard at work, tracking down every lead.”

Something was pounding at the back of Harvath’s mind. There was something about seeing Adara and Schoen together. There was a link somehow between them. Something about the photograph he had seen in Adara’s study in Libya and a photograph he had seen somewhere else flashed in Harvath’s mind. Could the other have been in Schoen’s office? That was it! Both Schoen and Adara had the same photograph. But why? What was the significance? What was the connection between these two?

“Most of the details of this woman’s life are inconsequential and reprehensible at best, but we all know where they lead. The records of her birth and her twin brother’s in an East German hospital were conveniently destroyed. As she showed the greatest promise of the two monster children, her private education in the West was secured and funded by her father-”

“You are not fit to speak of my father,” spat Adara.

Schoen ignored her and continued. “Are you aware, Agent Harvath,” he asked, “of this woman’s other recent accomplishments?”

“What are you talking about?”

“She has been quite busy. In addition to reviving her father’s ailing organization, she has started another of her own. Why don’t you tell our American friends what you have been up to?”

“Go to hell,” she said.

“I will, don’t worry. And you are coming with me, but if you don’t feel like talking, maybe I should tell them.” Schoen pushed the pistol harder into the back of Adara’s head for emphasis as he said, “I’d like you to meet the mastermind, as well as the sole member of, the Hand of God organization.”

Harvath was floored, and Schoen saw it written across his face.

“Yes,” said Schoen, “she wasn’t above killing multitudes of her own people, as long as it united the Arab world against the Jews.”

“And killing Ali Hasan?”

“Would have all but assured the unity of the Arab states in a war against Israel. It was all very ingenious. Incredibly well thought out. It is a shame a woman this talented wasn’t working for us.”

“So, that explains the Galil I found outside,” said Harvath. “It would have been left behind for the Italian police as an added piece of evidence that an Israeli terrorist organization was behind the attack.”

“As well as this letter she was carrying,” said Schoen, removing it from his pocket and holding it up with his free hand for Harvath to see. “In it, the Hand of God organization takes full credit for killing Hasan. The world would have had no choice but to blame Israel for the assassination, and war would have been all but guaranteed.” Schoen placed the letter back in his pocket and cocked his pistol.

“Take it easy, Ari,” said Harvath.

“You think garbage like this deserves mercy?” asked Schoen.

There was no question that Schoen’s life had been ruined by the injuries he had suffered in operation Rapid Return, but there was something else happening here. There was something deeper about Adara Nidal that had unhinged him. Finally, it all made sense to Harvath.

“I want you to explain something to me.”

“First you explain something to me, Agent Harvath. Why do you pity her? How many of your people are dead because of what this animal and her brother have done?”

“Too many. Too many people who were important to me. How many people who were important to you?” said Harvath.

“Every Israeli who has died because of her is important to me,” replied Schoen, his body beginning to tremble with rage.

“But there is no one in particular. Your son went to Oxford, didn’t he? What was his name?”

“I don’t want to talk about my son.”

“What was his name?” repeated Harvath.

“No!” screamed Schoen.

“Daniel,” rasped Adara, so quietly at first no one could hear her. Then she spoke louder until there was no mistaking what she had said, “He was named Daniel!”

“How dare you speak his name!” yelled Schoen as he jerked his pistol back and struck her across the jaw.

“That’s enough,” said Harvath, raising his Browning and pointing it at Schoen’s head.

“I don’t think so, Agent Harvath,” answered Schoen as several heavily armed men sprung from behind the casks.

“What the hell is this?” demanded Harvath as one of Schoen’s operatives took his Browning, as well as the Beretta from Meg.

“We were also hoping to take the brother,” said Schoen. “But for the time being, one out of two will have to do.”

“The brother is dead. I saw to it myself,” replied Harvath.

“We have also been to the catacombs beneath the fabric shop and while, yes, there were several bodies, there was not one that could be identified as the brother,” said Schoen.

“Impossible. The Italian authorities sealed it off.”

“After we had been there. There were still several men alive. Some, weren’t even wounded. I can only assume they were trying to regroup. You have to learn to finish what you start, Agent Harvath.”

Schoen had been shadowing him the entire time. Harvath had no choice but to believe him. “What’s this all about, Ari? Revenge?”

“Look at me,” said Schoen. “Wouldn’t you want revenge for this?”

“But this isn’t about you. It is about your son, Daniel. Isn’t it? Tell me why you and Adara Nidal have the same rowing club picture.”

“It’s not true.”

“One of the men in that picture was your son, wasn’t it? This woman, the daughter of Abu Nidal, and your son were somehow connected. Were they friends? Was it more? Were they lovers?”

Schoen swung the pistol back again, but stopped in midair. Adara, on her hands and knees, was sobbing. Blood trickled from her mouth as well as her thigh, where one of Harvath’s shots had caught her and knocked her down outside.

“I had no idea my son had become involved with an Arab. I sent him to Oxford to propel him forward in life, and he made a decision that could only drag him down. What’s worse, it could have dragged me down along with him. Can you imagine? A top-ranking member of the Mossad with an Arab for a daughter-in-law? I had no idea at the time who her father was or what he had planned for her. But in hindsight, I can see that my intuition and actions were one hundred percent justified.”

“Justified?” said Harvath. “What did you do?”

“I did the only thing I could do. I tried to reason with my son, but he wouldn’t listen. He actually wanted to marry the girl. Can you believe it?”

“What did you do?” repeated Harvath.

“I withdrew my son from Oxford and forced him to come home to Israel. His mother was sick, and I used that to get him back. When the letters from the girl came, I intercepted them. I had one of our forgers at the Mossad draft a new letter-a Dear John, as you call it. I did the same thing in reverse to the girl at Oxford and included a doctored photo of Daniel with a young Israeli girl. It worked, Daniel never heard from her again.”

“You bastard,” sobbed Adara. “All of you Jews are fucking bastards! Every one of you deserves to die.”