“Incredible.”
“In 2001, a Wahabist imam in Saudi Arabia paid Ben Said a million dollars to reconfigure the exploding vests used by Palestinian suicide bombers, making them smaller and lighter-and thus less identifiable and more deadly. The French have been on his case since 1995, when Ben Said was hired by GIA-Groupe Islamique Armé. He provided GIA with three bombs, which Algerian Islamists set off in the Paris metro. DST has a thick file. The British, too. And Israel. But no one has ever been able to pinpoint him.”
“So whoever he is, he is a shadow.”
Shahristani nodded in agreement. “A ghost, a wraith.” He indicated the photograph lying on the tablecloth. “It’s altogether possible you are looking at the only surveillance picture of Ben Said that exists.”
Tom squinted at the picture. Ben Said was the taller of the two men. He didn’t look like your typical Hollywood assassin. No muscular build, chiseled profile, or catlike bearing. What Tom saw was a slightly pudgy, clean-shaven man of about forty or so with a square face and a full head of longish dark hair combed straight back. His double-breasted sport coat was open and flapping as he walked, revealing dark trousers held up by a wide belt with an oversize oval buckle. “Who took this? Is it from a credible source?”
“Thomas,please.” Shahristani gave him a sly smile. “Sources and methods, dear boy.” He paused, then stared into Tom’s eyes. “I took the picture, Thomas. And verified who was in it.”
“How?”
“I discovered Ben Said’s safe house.”
“When did you do this, Shahram?”
“Just over two months ago. In August.”
Tom turned his attention back to the photograph. Two steps behind Ben Said was a shorter, older man, also clean-shaven, with a round face, a prominent, Roman-like nose, and gray hair.
“Who’s the number two?”
“Don’t you know?”
“Shahram-”
The Iranian’s expression was grim. “It is Imad Mugniyah, Thomas. Imad Mugniyah. After Usama Bin Laden, the world’s most wanted terrorist. The man with a twenty-five-million-dollar bounty on his head.”
9
“WHAT?” TOM WAS INCREDULOUS.“Impossible.” There were only two surveillance photographs of Imad Mugniyah in existence. Tom had copies of both, and this guy was not the man in those pictures. Tom had pinned one of the Mugniyah pictures to the wall of his cubicle at CTC so he could stare at it every single day he went to work. He tapped the photo. “This isn’t Imad Mugniyah.”
“It is. He, too, has had plastic surgery.”
That was news. “When?”
“Most recently, two years ago.”
“We heard nothing about it-not a whisper.”
“Why would you?” Shahristani said dismissively. “You have no agents in the Seppah. You have penetrated no one into Hezbollah-in fact, your CIA officers are still forbidden to operate in West Beirut.Forbidden -it is insanity. And you have no agents inside the Palestinian terror networks, either.”
“That’s because I work for a private company.”
“You know what I’m saying.” The Iranian’s dark eyes flashed at Tom. “I am telling you the truth. Imad Mugniyah himself killed your three Americans. There were three kilos of Ben Said’s precious new plastique-virtually his entire supply from what I can tell-planted on the motorcade route and detonated using a cell phone. The explosives were sent by Tariq Ben Said on an Air France flight from Paris.”
“Impossible.”
“Not impossible. I told you: Ben Said has been working for years to fabricate a form of plastique that gives off no scent. He’s obviously done it, because the explosive was shipped right under the Israelis’ noses, using a European mule. The plastique was concealed in a suitcase on the September tenth Air France flight to Tel Aviv. That same day, Imad Mugniyah took a train to Rome. The next day he flew Alitalia to Cairo, and he slipped through the Rafah tunnels on the twelfth.” The Iranian saw Tom’s incredulous expression and made a dismissive gesture. “Ben Said himself arrived in Israel the last week of September-just before the Jewish holidays.”
“From where?”
“Paris.”
“Israel is a hard target, Shahram. Why would Ben Said risk exposing himself?”
“The stakes were very high, Thomas. There was a lot of money involved. Ben Said’s presence was Imad Mugniyah’s way of proving to Arafat that Iran and al-Qa’ida are willing to put aside religious differences in order to wage jihad against Israel and the West.”
“Why do they need Arafat?”
“Because Arafat has something both Imad Mugniyah and Tariq Ben Said lack: he has an organization that enjoys diplomatic status and is favorably received in the European capitals.” Shahristani made a sour face. “The Europeans are fools. No-worse. They are petit bourgeois who want to keep their thirty-hour work weeks, their full pensions, their government subsidies, and their full bellies, and if paying off terrorists helps them, then so be it.” He rapped his knuckles on the tablecloth. “Europe’s comfortable lifestyle makes it blind to the truth.”
“The truth?”
“That Arafat has never stopped employing terror.” Shahristani sipped Evian. “PLO emissaries travel with immunity. How do you think Arafat ships the millions he’s skimmed from the Palestinian aid packages? He used the PA’s diplomatic pouch. Now Imad Mugniyah and Tariq Ben Said need those same diplomatic pouches to move their supplies around Europe-even into America.”
“And the Gaza hits?”
Shahristani frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Motive?”
“I’m not sure,” Shahristani said, far too quickly. “Imad Mugniyah’s presence in Gaza was close-hold. He had his own security-his Hezbollah guards from Lebanon, and two men from Seppah.”
Shahram had changed the subject. It was classic tradecraft, indicating reticence, or deception. Tom decided to press the issue. “Motive,Shahram…”
Shahristani lit another cigarette, took a long drag, and let his silence do the talking.
Tom tried another tack. “So, we knew nothing?”
“Nothing. You were blind.” Shahristani shook his head. “And so were the Israelis-until it was far too late.”
“What do you mean?”
“Twice in the last three months, the Israelis uncovered Ben Said’s untraceable explosives. But they didn’t realize the implications.”
“What? How?”
“This past August, there was an explosion in a second-story room at the Nablus Road Hotel in East Jerusalem. When the authorities arrived they found a tourist-a German citizen of Arabic descent named Heinrich Azouz-who’d blown both arms and a good part of his face off. Obviously, Azouz had been building a bomb and he’d set off the explosives by accident. Shin Bet checked Azouz’s records. He’d traveled from Frankfurt the previous day on Lufthansa. Shin Bet assumed-incorrectly-that he’d been supplied with explosives domestically. When the Shin Bet lab did its forensics on the residue, they identified it as Semtex-assumed it was from the Fatah stocks. Ben Said’s formula prints just like Semtex. It employs virtually identical tagants. So that’s what they saw: Semtex. Just like the stuff the Al Aqsa Martyrs Brigades uses. They never did any follow-up analysis. Never sent the explosives to their security people. Never reverse-engineered the explosives and put samples through any of their detection devices.”
“But?”