“We have to be very careful. I’ve spoken with Director Tasset, no one else. If she is a mole, we don’t know who else has slipped under our radar. These people are very good.”
“My God, Santa… Do you realize what this means?”
“Yeah. And I’m really sorry.”
“I don’t think you understand.” Uzi looked at Aksel. “You didn’t tell him, Gideon?”
Aksel looked away.
Uzi ran his fingers through his hair, then let his head fall back against the seat. “This can’t be. It’s gotta be a mistake.”
DeSantos’s gaze ping-ponged between Aksel and Uzi. “What is it? What’s the problem?”
Uzi closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “Batula Hakim is the terrorist bastard that murdered my wife and daughter.”
The wide eyes, the parted lips told Uzi that DeSantos’s shock was genuine. His partner didn’t know — if it was true — that Leila was the woman who’d murdered Dena and Maya.
That this could be the case was too horrific for Uzi to bear. Not now, not tonight. Not with all that had happened. He didn’t know when he would be able to deal with such a thing. At the moment, he had to focus, remove all emotion from the equation — something he didn’t do six years ago. The event that had set all this in motion.
He had to clear his head. He had to think.
He asked the first question that came to mind. “Why has she suddenly surfaced?”
“That is the question, isn’t it?” Aksel said. “Why now, why here?”
Uzi and DeSantos shared a look. “She’s involved with Rusch’s chopper,” DeSantos said. “Has to be. Her cell takes it down, then she inserts herself into the investigation. That way she can keep an eye on what’s going on, know what we know.”
“It’s your job to turn the tables on her,” Aksel said. “You must find out what she knows. She’s a terrorist. To know what she’s after, you have to think like she does.”
“We have to figure out what her interests are,” DeSantos said.
Uzi reached into his jacket for a toothpick, then struggled to rip it from its plastic. After sticking it in his mouth, he said, “Assuming she is who you think she is, we know the groups she’s affiliated with. Their views are the same as most Islamic terrorist groups—” He stopped himself, the sudden realization like a knife wound to the lung: The peace talks, the covert meeting tomorrow — no, today. Shit, it’s today.
“You need someone else on the case,” Aksel said to DeSantos.
Uzi’s face tingled as if he’d just been slapped. “I’m on the case, Gideon. In fact, I’m the one in charge.”
“And you’re the one who failed. Hakim was operating a cell right under your nose, and you didn’t pick it up. Ultimate responsibility falls on your shoulders, Uzi.”
DeSantos’s face tightened. “With all due respect, that’s ridiculous, Director General. There’s over a hundred joint terrorism task forces across the country — tens of thousands of intelligence agents in the US alone. None of them picked it up. It isn’t one person’s failure any more than 9/11 was.”
Despite DeSantos’s attempt to defend him, Uzi realized that Aksel was right. There are 104 JTTFs, but only one in Washington — clearly a center of activity for al-Humat, possibly even their US base. In his own backyard, and he failed to see it.
“He’s right,” Uzi said. He looked out the window. The limo was stopped at a light on 23rd, approaching L Street. Uzi knew exactly where he was. He popped open the door and got out.
“Uzi, wait—” DeSantos followed him out of the limo. “C’mon, man, he’s just playing head games with you. You can’t bear the weight of all this on your shoulders.”
Uzi stopped but did not turn around. He felt like he was in another session with Rudnick — which, he was beginning to think, would not be a bad place to be right now.
“Boychick, listen to me.” He gently pulled on Uzi’s shoulder, then stepped in front of him. “Leila had the ultimate cover story. Working for the fucking CIA, for Christ’s sake. No one would’ve thought to look there.”
“But fourteen people died because of my failure to see it. Another mother and daughter are dead because of me—”
DeSantos grabbed Uzi’s shoulders and looked into his eyes. “Uzi, listen to me. None of this is your fault. If anything, Tasset has to take responsibility. His agency is the one that hired her. They should’ve vetted her better.”
Uzi chuckled. “Yeah, we both know that’s foolproof. Look at me.”
“Except that in your case, Knox knew who you were.”
“If he knew from the beginning, why didn’t Shepard?”
DeSantos let go of Uzi’s shoulders and looked off at the building behind them. “I don’t know. Knox has a reason. He’s always got a reason.”
“Maybe he figured I’d bring info with me that’d help in flushing out these groups. If that’s what he was thinking, if that’s what he was after, then I obviously let him down.”
“Uzi….” DeSantos looked at the ground, then rubbed at his forehead. “Batula Hakim is here, right? She murdered your wife and daughter, right?”
Uzi looked away, then nodded.
“You have an opportunity here to even the score. You hear what I’m saying?”
“I’m not a kidon anymore. I’m not part of Mossad. I’m not on a mission to eliminate a terrorist who’s planning a massive strike on civilians.” He thrust his hands into his jacket pocket. “When I went on a mission, it was never personal. I had no stake in the outcome other than to do my job. I work for the US government now. I’m a federal agent.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I can’t just go out and… eliminate her.”
“Yeah, but I can.” DeSantos’s voice matched Uzi’s timbre. “I can arrange for her to go away.” His eyes patrolled the dark recesses of the narrow commercial street.
Uzi did not hesitate. “No. We do it the right way. Gather evidence, make an arrest.”
“You sure?”
Uzi nodded. “I’m not a killer, Santa. With the Mossad, I was a soldier in a war, with a mission to save lives. I’m on the other side of the world now. Different job, different life.”
“But my job lets me settle the score for you.”
Uzi shook his head. “We arrest her.”
DeSantos shrugged. “Okay. Your call.” He indicated the idling limo. “Let’s get back.”
As they turned toward the vehicle, which had pulled over to a curbside loading zone, they saw Aksel standing beside the open rear door, his head rotating slowly in all directions.
“We stopped without warning,” DeSantos said to Aksel. “No one could know we’re here.”
Aksel turned to Uzi. “Did you get your issues settled? Do you feel better now?”
“Don’t start with me, Gideon.”
“We’ll be doing this by the book,” DeSantos said.
Uzi stepped closer to Aksel. “Just how sure are you that Leila Harel is Batula Hakim? Her physical appearance—”
“Is somewhat different.” Aksel smiled. “Yes, it is, isn’t it? When you saw a surveillance photo of her eight or nine years ago, she was a nineteen-year-old living in the backrooms of a terrorist lair. Tents, sleeping bags. But her body’s matured. She lost weight, works out, wears makeup and tight dresses with high heels. She’s had plastic surgery and uses her tradecraft well. She may be a terrorist, but she’s a professional.”
“A wolf in sheep’s clothing,” DeSantos said. “We know the type.” He looked at Uzi and received an acknowledging glance.