Vail studied his face. “Sent it where?”
“That, Miss Vega, was not my concern. And, I might venture to state, neither is it yours.”
“Do you have a business card? In case I have any other questions? I appreciate your honesty and apologize for my rudeness.”
Raboud ran a tongue across his lips, clearly considering the request. Then he reached into his suit coat and pulled out a sterling silver case. He handed her the card with a bow of his head. “Again, it’s a shame you wasted your time.”
Vail broke a smile. “I’m in France, in the world’s greatest museum. It’s not all bad.”
Raboud shared the grin — though Vail could tell it was not genuine. “Indeed. Stay the day, enjoy yourself. If any of my staff can be of service, please let Mr. DuPont know.” He nodded again at DuPont — a dutiful gesture — and then walked out.
47
Uzi and Fahad sat in the Citroën watching the entrance to a building that one of Fahad’s contacts had directed him to. The woman was friends with a seamstress who stitched together material, elastic loops, pockets, and Velcro enclosures for “utility vests” that bore a curious resemblance to those that suicide bombers used to strap explosives to their body.
Although the woman had suspicions, she claimed not to know their true use. Regardless, her brother delivered the finished products in boxes to a particular address in the south — where Uzi and Fahad were now parked. It was in the general area of Paris that was alluded to in the encrypted documents, so Uzi felt there was a decent chance the intel was solid.
They were in the Montmartre district, known for its history as an artist colony where the likes of Claude Monet, Salvador Dali, Pablo Picasso, and Vincent van Gogh had studios. Blocks away, up on the summit of a steep hill, was the domed Basilica of the Sacré Cœur, a landmark visible from many parts of the city.
The cobblestone roadway inclined fairly aggressively ahead of them, with a few businesses and bars on both sides of the Rue Muller and apartment buildings above. The area was fairly well maintained, though it was clear the neighborhood had seen its share of crime. First-floor windows were barred and occasional graffiti adorned the buildings.
Their car was parked at the curb, among many that lined the street.
“So your nephew was a suicide bomber,” Uzi said. “That must’ve been tough.”
Fahad pulled his gaze off the building for a moment. His eyes scanned Uzi’s face. “Harder than you can know.” He turned back to their target. “I didn’t agree with his methods, even though I understood what he was feeling. He got taken in by the rhetoric and became frustrated, wanted to do something about it. But the people he fell in with, they were using him. They knew it. I knew it. But Akil was young and naive. He didn’t get it. And he wouldn’t listen to me.”
“I’m sorry he took his own life. I’m sorry he killed innocent children. I wish there was a way to work all this out. But there aren’t any easy solutions. This business with the Aleppo Codex and the Jesus Scroll only makes matters worse. As if it needed anything to make it worse.”
“That’s for damn sure.”
“Where do you stand on all this?”
“You mean the peace talks? The two-state solution? Jerusalem? Refugee status? Or whether or not a Palestinian state should be allowed to have an airport and military capabilities?”
Uzi laughed. “I just mean … well, where do you stand on the land issue? Are you in the camp that believes Jews never lived in Israel, that the Palestinians should have all the land and kick the Jews out?”
Fahad shook his head. “Look, I’m a reasonable guy. I know the Jews have lived in Israel for what, four thousand years? I’m not an idiot. I don’t believe that by repeatedly denying something it’ll eventually become the truth. There are ancient Islamic texts that talk about the Jews living in Jerusalem. I’ve seen them, so I’d be a fool to make believe those documents don’t exist.”
“There’s a but.”
“There is a ‘but.’ Arabs did live in Palestine. We had homes there that we abandoned during the war. That’s why the UN declared two separate states back in 1947, one for the Jews and one for the Arabs. We have legitimate claims to the land.”
“All the land?”
He thought a moment. “Compromise and conciliation don’t go over well there.”
“I don’t think those words are even in their dictionaries.”
They laughed, but Fahad’s tone faded to one of introspection. “We should’ve accepted partition. No negotiation, no compromise needed. We would’ve had our state and you would’ve had yours. And a lot of young men would never have died in suicide bombings. A lot of death and destruction would’ve been avoided. But we’ve been our own worst enemy. We had a leadership vacuum, got some bad advice.”
“You talking about Arafat?”
“He tops my list but he’s not the only one.” Fahad shook his head. “Things could’ve been so different with better leaders, smarter leaders, people with a vision. I’m very frustrated for my people.” He went silent, staring ahead at the building they were surveilling. “We call the armistice agreement that divided the land al Naqba, the catastrophe. Difference is, I think of it as a catastrophe because of what we could have had. Instead of accepting the agreement, the Arab nations declared war. We lost and got decades of problems. We have to take some responsibility.”
“One could say your leaders are still at war to have it all.”
Fahad nodded absently. “I wish I could disagree with you.”
“Some of my people are wrapped up in that same fight.” They sat there a moment in thought. “It’s a shame more Palestinians don’t recognize Israel for all the good it’s done. Forget the technology and medical advancements it’s brought the world. Forget that it’s the first to send help when an earthquake or tsunami or some other catastrophe hits somewhere. No other Middle Eastern country goes to the lengths that Israel does to protect human rights or practice social justice. No Middle Eastern country offers women equal rights — except Israel, where women have the same rights as men.”
“Muslim countries in the Middle East aren't concerned with equality between men and women the way the West is.”
“No, I guess not. But isn’t it ironic that the Arabs living in Israel are treated better than Arabs anywhere else in the region? Israel’s the only country in the Middle East where you’re free to practice your religion, worship your God. And despite all the crap that’s gone on with Gaza, Israel still donates tens of millions of dollars in humanitarian aid to Palestinians — and opens its hospitals to any Palestinian in need. Even terrorists, as bizarre as that sounds.” He looked at Fahad. “Doesn’t any of that count?”
Fahad shrugged. “For my people, to the men in charge, the land is the only thing that counts. None of the other things you mentioned matters to them.”
“It should. It’s important.”
Fahad chuckled disdainfully. “They are blinded by their single-minded fixation. Their resistance.”
“You really think things would’ve been different? Wouldn’t the extremists have followed the same plan of action?”
Fahad stared out the window, considering the question. Finally he said, “Would we be in the same place we are now? I honestly don’t know. But yeah, it’s possible.”