“How do we know it’s not another setup?” Vail asked. “We could walk into an ambush.”
DeSantos turned to face Fahad, his expression hard. “Where’d you get this information?”
“From two of my informants. One in Nablus, a Palestinian Authority cop. He told me Sahmoud lives in Gaza near the resort beach community. He mentioned something that reminded me of another guy I know in East Jerusalem who works construction. I cabbed it over and made a couple of calls and found that they were paving roads near Silwan. He was a little dodgy, but bottom line is that his daughter and son-in-law live in a house down the block from someone who they’re sure is Sahmoud.”
“How can they be ‘sure’?” DeSantos asked.
“His son-in-law owns a cell phone startup in Gaza City, but my CI has always thought their money comes from somewhere else — a stipend from the money Hamas gets from taxes on the goods smuggled into the strip through its four hundred tunnels — weapons, fuel, medicine, consumer goods, cars, appliances, drugs, cigarettes. Anyway, point is, his daughter and son-in-law are one of almost two thousand millionaires living in Gaza. And they’ve got a house that my CI described as gaudy.”
“This is where Sahmoud lives?” Uzi asked.
“Down the street.”
“Again,” DeSantos said, “how do they know Sahmoud lives there?”
“His son-in-law told him one night when they’d had a lot to drink. They were sitting around the fire and he said he’s seen Sahmoud. A few months later my CI and his wife spent the weekend there and saw guards escorting a man around that looked like Sahmoud. They drove him around in a town car that was heavy and fortified — as if it were bulletproof and blastproof.”
“Anything else?” DeSantos asked.
Fahad shrugged. “That was enough for me — and it fit with what the cop in Nablus told me.”
Vail took turns reading Uzi’s and DeSantos’s faces. They were processing the intel, running it through their bullshit meter. If she were plugged into this world, she would be doing the same.
Finally Uzi said, “I think we should go and take a look, maybe sit on the place for a few hours and watch.”
DeSantos sucked on his bottom lip, then nodded. “I can live with that.”
Hopefully we all can.
69
Gaza was everything Vail had expected — and none of what she expected when they first boarded the plane to Israel. She figured she would see what had been shown on news reports following the most recent war: total devastation, destroyed buildings, a landscape flattened by mortars and artillery and bombs, a poor and destitute population.
There were areas like that — shells of structures that once stood, piles of rubble still littering the scenery, residents in simple clothing and looking the worse for wear. But by and large, that was a fraction of what she saw as they drove toward the address that Fahad’s informant had provided.
They entered Gaza from Israel through the Erez Crossing along the strip’s northeastern border. As Uzi and Fahad explained to Vail, the sixty million dollar pedestrian and cargo portal was built by Israel when it withdrew all its settlers and soldiers from Gaza in what was envisioned by Israeli Prime Minister Ariel Sharon as a land-for-peace deal in 2005. If all went well, it would serve as the template for negotiating a similar pact for the West Bank, with the goal of establishing a Palestinian state.
But four months after the Erez terminal was completed, Hamas won the popular election for the territory, its reign of terror began, and all hopes of a negotiated peace deal were put on hold.
Blockades were put in place to stem the flow of weapons from Iran, and Egypt closed the southern border to prevent Hamas and al Humat terrorists from entering the Sinai and collaborating with the Muslim Brotherhood. Passage into Israel from Gaza was restricted to curtail suicide attacks and into Gaza from Israel to prevent the smuggling of contraband that could be used to build bombs.
Gaza became isolated and the people became a society controlled, manipulated, and intimidated by their elected government.
“I remember when my mom and I would take a bus into Gaza once a week to buy vegetables and fish,” Uzi said. “No checkpoints. No problems.” He glanced around. “That was before the intifada, before the suicide bombings.”
“A lot of things changed,” Fahad said. “If only we could turn back the clock, start again. Maybe things would be different.”
Vail glanced at Fahad. Is this an act, or is he sincere?
With a scarf again covering her face, Vail took in Gaza City’s high-rises and businesses, hotels, museums and bustling avenues. Apartment buildings and homes. Fahad told her there were theaters and several universities as well as beautiful beaches along the Mediterranean coastline with resorts and sophisticated restaurants.
The sun was starting its descent as the winter afternoon passed. Despite the gathering clouds, there was still considerable light left to the day.
DeSantos’s phone rang and he dug it out of his pocket. “Hot Rod, talk to me … Yeah … Okay.” He pressed a button and said, “You’re on speaker.”
“I got a hit on something. Not sure if it means anything, but I haven’t seen any recent sit-reps from you guys, so I’m a bit in the dark. In case it’s significant you should know that Hussein Rudenko’s back on the grid. And he’s in your area.”
Holy shit. Rudenko!
“I knew we hadn’t heard the last of him,” DeSantos said.
“Hussein Rudenko, the arms dealer?” Fahad asked.
“Weapons trafficker wasn’t bad enough,” Uzi said. “He added terrorist to his resume. Karen, Hector, Hot Rod, and I got into it with him in London a couple of years ago.”
“As soon as we heard there were rare manuscripts and antiquities in play,” Vail said, “I should’ve known Rudenko was involved.”
“Hang on,” Uzi said. “We don’t know for sure he’s got anything to do with the codex or the scroll. Hot Rod, exactly what do you have?”
“I asked NSA to point their ears to Gaza and the West Bank in case anything came up that’d be important to you guys,” Rodman said. “They trapped a cell call ten minutes ago and got a voice match to Hussein Rudenko.”
“We’re in Gaza right now,” DeSantos said. “We need to know if Rudenko just happens to be in the area or if he’s selling weapons or planning an attack with al Humat.”
“I’ll see if NSA can track the phone’s GPS. Give me a few minutes.”
DeSantos ended the call and set his phone down on his thigh. “This is no coincidence.”
“If we look at this logically,” Vail said, “the most obvious reason for Rudenko to be here, now, is that he has possession of the scroll.”
“We know that al Humat — or one of their representatives — has the codex,” Uzi said. “That phone conversation we intercepted in Paris from Borz Ramadazov after he left the Louvre — he said he had it and was bringing it to the safe house. He had no reason to lie because he had no idea we’d tapped his phone.”
DeSantos swung around in his seat, taking in the city streets, no doubt doing some surveillance due diligence. “But we just missed Doka Michel, who supposedly was transporting the codex to Sahmoud’s office. Someone tipped Sahmoud, so when we got there, there was no codex and no Sahmoud, and the place was rigged. He knew we were coming.” DeSantos glanced at Fahad. It was subtle, and Fahad was looking out the window, so he probably did not notice.
“Rudenko could be buying it,” Uzi said. “Or the scroll.”