Steve Berry - The Alexandria Link

Malone recalled the Bible and said, “The Lord had said to Abram: Leave your country, your people and your father’s household and go to the land I will show you. I will make you into a great nation and I will bless you. I will make your name great and you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and whoever curses you I will curse; and all peoples on earth will be blessed through you.”

“You say the words with conviction,” Pam said.

“They have meaning,” Haddad said. “Jews believe they are what grant them exclusive ownership of Palestine. I’ve spent most of my adult life studying the Bible. It’s an amazing book. And what separates it from all other epic tales is simple. Nothing mystical or magical. Instead, human responsibility is its focus.”

“Do you believe?” Pam asked.

Haddad shook his head. “In religion? No. I’ve seen its manipulation too clearly. In God? That’s another matter. But I’ve seen His neglect. I was born a Muslim. My father was Muslim, as was his. After the war in 1948, though, something overtook me. That’s when the Bible became my passion. I wanted to read it in its original form. To know what it truly meant.”

“Why do the Israelis want you dead?” Malone asked.

“They are the descendants of Abraham. The ones God said He would bless-their enemies the ones He would curse. Millions have died through the centuries, thousands over the past fifty years, simply to prove those words. Recently, Cotton, I was embroiled in a debate. A particularly arrogant man in a local pub told me that Israel possessed the absolute right to exist. He gave me six reasons, which hinged separately on archaeology, history, practicality, humanity, defense, and, to him the most important, entitlement.” Haddad paused. “Entitlement, Cotton. Biblical entitlement. The Abrahamic covenant. God’s land given to the people of Israel, proclaimed in all its glory in the words of Genesis.”

Malone waited.

“What if we have it all wrong?” Haddad glared at the map of Israel alongside another map of Saudi Arabia.

“Do go on,” a new voice said.

They all turned.

Standing in the front doorway was a short man with glasses and a fading hairline. Beside him was a woman, midthirties, small and compact, dark complexion. Both held sound-suppressed weapons. Malone immediately registered the make and model of the guns and knew who these two worked for.

Israel.

WASHINGTON, DC

9:50 AM

STEPHANIE FINISHED HER BREAKFAST AND SIGNALED THE waiter for the check. She sat in a restaurant near Dupont Circle, not far from her hotel. The entire Magellan Billet had been mobilized and seven of her twelve lawyers were now directly assisting her. The murder of Lee Durant had provided them all with motivation, but there were risks associated with her efforts. Other intelligence agencies would quickly learn what she was doing, which meant Larry Daley would not be far behind. To hell with them. Malone needed her, and she wasn’t about to let him down. Again.

She paid the bill and signaled a taxi that, fifteen minutes later, deposited her on 17th Street adjacent to the National Mall. The day was bright and sunny, and the woman she’d called two hours ago occupied a shaded bench not far from the World War II Memorial. She was a leggy blonde, strong-bodied, with, Stephanie knew, a shrewdness that demanded she be handled with caution. Stephanie had known Heather Dixon for nearly a decade. Carrying a married surname from a short-lived relationship, Dixon was an Israeli citizen attached to the Washington mission, part of the Mossad’s North American contingent. They’d worked together, and against each other, which was par for the course when it came to the Israelis. Stephanie was hoping today would be a friendly venture.

“Good to see you,” she said as she sat.

Dixon was dressed stylishly, as always, in brown-and-gold glen plaid pants, a white oxford shirt, and a black bouclé vest.

“You sounded concerned on the phone.”

“I am. I need to know about your government’s interest in George Haddad.”

The vacuous stare of an intelligence officer faded from Dixon’s attractive face. “You’ve been busy.”

“As have your people. Lots of chatter about Haddad the past few days.” She was actually at a disadvantage, because Lee Durant had been her contact point with the Israelis, and he hadn’t had a chance to report all of what he’d learned.

“What’s the American interest?” Dixon asked.

“Five years ago one of my agents almost died because of Haddad.”

“And then you hid the Palestinian away. Kept him all to yourself. And didn’t bother to tell your ally.”

Now they were getting to the meat of the coconut. “And you didn’t bother to tell us that you’d tried to blow the man up, along with my agent.”

“That, I know nothing about. Way out of the loop. But I do know that Haddad has surfaced, and we want him.”

“As do we.”

“What’s so important on your end?”

She couldn’t decide if Dixon was fishing or stalling.

“You tell me, Heather. Why did the Saudis bulldoze entire villages in west Arabia to the ground five years ago? Why is the Mossad focused on Haddad?”

She bored her gaze into her friend.

“Why did he need to die?”

A CALM FATALISM OVERTOOK MALONE. ONE RULE EVERYONE IN the intelligence business respected- Don’t screw with the Israelis. Malone had violated that wisdom when he’d allowed Israel to believe Haddad died in the bombed café. Now he knew that they knew. Lee Durant had said the Israelis were hyper, but he’d mentioned nothing about Haddad’s secrecy being compromised. Otherwise he would never have allowed Pam to come along.

“You really should lock your door,” the intruder declared. “All sorts of people could enter.”

“You have a name?” Malone asked.

“Call me Adam. She’s Eve.”

“Interesting labels for an Israeli assassination squad.”

“What do you mean?” Pam asked. “Assassination?”

He faced her. “They’ve come to finish what they started five years ago.” He turned toward Haddad, who showed not the slightest hint of fear. “What is it they want kept quiet?”

“The truth,” Haddad said.

“I don’t know anything about that,” Adam said. “I’m not a politico. Just hired help. My orders are to eliminate. You understand that, Malone. You were once in the business.”

Yes, he could relate. Pam, though, appeared to be another story.

“All of you are nuts,” she said. “You talk about killing like it’s just part of the job.”

“Actually,” Adam said, “it’s my only job.”

Malone had learned when he’d first started with the Magellan Billet that survival many times hinged on knowing when to hold and when to fold. As he stared at his old friend, a warrior of long standing, he saw that Haddad knew the time had come for him to choose.

“I’m sorry,” Malone whispered.

“Me, too, Cotton. But I made my decision when I placed the calls.”

Had he heard right? “Calls?”

“One awhile back, the other two recently. To the West Bank.”

“That was foolish, George.”

“Perhaps. But I knew you’d come.”

“Glad you did, ”cause I didn’t.“

Haddad’s gaze tightened. “You taught me a great deal. I recall every lesson, and up until a few days ago I adhered to them strictly. Even those about safeguarding what really matters.” The voice had grown dull and toneless.

“You should have called me first.”

Haddad shook his head. “I owe this to the Guardian I shot. My debt repaid.”

“What a contradiction,” Adam said. “A Palestinian with honor.”