When they reached the front, DeSantos brought the barrel of the AK-47 up and nodded at Vail, who pulled open the door.
DeSantos swung out into the alley. He indicated with a nod of his chin that it was clear and they retraced their steps back to Zemro’s SUV.
When they got there, Uzi jammed the butt of his Puma knife into the corner of the small driver’s side vent window and smashed the glass. He struggled to get his forearm through the narrow opening but was able to reach in and unlock the doors.
They got in and Uzi pulled out his satphone. He swiped and tapped, then handed it to Vail, who was riding shotgun. “Send Gideon a text. Tell him what happened and that they have to retrieve Raph’s body. And to be careful because there are likely other bombs.”
“We got lucky,” DeSantos said. “That could’ve been us back there.”
Uzi reached beneath the dashboard and fished around. A moment later he found the wires he was looking for and hotwired the car. He quickly pulled away from the curb and down the street, back into downtown Nablus.
Vail sent the message then felt the satphone vibrate. “It’s Hoshi.”
“Put her on speaker. And hand me that grease rag on the floor by your foot.”
“Hoshi, you’ve got me, Uzi, and Hector.”
Vail handed over the dirty towel and Uzi stuffed it into the hole created by the broken window.
“Where’s Mr. Fahad?”
“That’s a good question,” DeSantos said.
I wonder if he knew the place was rigged and that’s why he begged off going with us to Sahmoud’s.
“So he’s not with you?”
“No.”
“I wish I had better news for you,” Hoshi said.
Uzi leaned closer to the handset. “You couldn’t break the encryption?”
“No, I did. But what I found isn’t good.”
“Just give it to us straight,” Uzi said. “We’re in no mood for riddles.”
“So Nazir al Dosari’s father, Uday, was a Shin Bet informant — Shin Bet’s kind of like our FBI. Anyway, the Palestinians call these informants collaborators and Hamas and al Humat don’t take kindly to it. In short, the collaborators are killed. When he was twenty years old, Dosari found out what his father was doing and turned him over to Hamas. That was in 1990. Uday was tortured and then killed by being dragged through the streets tied to the back of a motorcycle.”
“Ratting out your own dad,” Vail said. “Heartless. But given what these extremists are like, that’s not surprising.”
“This is depressing,” Uzi said, “but it’s not bad news regarding our case.”
“Dosari has a half brother who’s five years younger. And his name is Mahmoud El-Fahad.”
Uzi stepped on the brakes and yanked the SUV over to the curb. “What did you just say?”
“Uzi,” Vail said, “your window’s broken. That rag definitely helps, but because of where we are, let’s not shout this from the mountaintops, okay?”
He rubbed his forehead then let his head fall back against the headrest.
“You still there?” Hoshi asked.
Vail took the call off speaker and brought the satphone to her ear. “Still here. We need time to absorb this.”
“I get it.”
“Call us if you find out anything else.” Vail hung up and leaned her back against the window, facing Uzi and DeSantos. Both were silent.
“Go ahead, Santa,” Uzi said to the windshield. “Tell me you told me so.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
“Knox has to know this, right?” Vail said. “And Tasset?”
DeSantos rubbed his thighs. “You would think. That’s a hard thing to keep secret, and if the Agency did their due diligence, which I’m sure they did, even if they missed it during their background checks, they would’ve seen that encrypted file. For all we know, that’s why it’s encrypted.”
Uzi ran a hand through his hair. “Just like they knew about my work with Shin Bet and Mossad, I’m sure they know about Fahad. And yet they put him on our team. What does that say?”
“Text from Mo,” Vail said, holding up Uzi’s phone. “He’s got a twenty for us.” She turned around to DeSantos. “For what? Sahmoud? The codex? The scroll?” The phone buzzed again and she read the message. “He wants us to meet him where we parked outside the Old City on King David. He’s getting a lift over there.”
Uzi looked at Vail but did not say anything. He turned back to the windshield. She knew what he was thinking: could they trust him?
Uzi yanked the gearshift into drive and pulled back onto the road.
“Uzi,” DeSantos said, “we need to discuss this.”
“What’s there to discuss? Mo’s half brother is al Humat’s second in command. His nephew blew himself to bits. And you’re saying he’s guilty by association.”
DeSantos loosened his seatbelt and grabbed hold of Uzi’s headrest, pulling himself forward, close to the back of his head. “Boychick, I’m saying we need to be careful. We don’t have enough information. We don’t understand the connections, the motivation. We have no clue what’s going on in his head.” He turned to Vail. “Am I right?”
“Yes.”
“Everything that’s happened,” DeSantos continued, “everything bad that’s happened, Mo’s been away — meeting with an informant. Or trying to get intel. Or just plain AWOL. Coincidence? Yeah, maybe. Shit happens. Or maybe not. Maybe he’s the one who’s been tipping people off.”
“Was he there when you were attacked at Arc De Triomphe?” Vail asked.
“No.”
“What about that flat in Paris, when they sent you the email to go to the arch?”
“No.”
DeSantos placed a hand on Uzi’s shoulder. “He might be the one who gave the sniper your location at Times Square.”
“He didn’t know we were going to be there.”
“He did,” Vail said. “I texted him, hoping he’d meet us there.”
Uzi sat tall in his seat. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what he’s been up to or what he’s thinking. He’s CIA, he’s taught to deceive, to have a cover story.”
“He’s taught to con you, to make you believe his cover story,” DeSantos said. “So which is the real story? What’s the truth?”
Uzi cut around a slow moving taxi. “What do you want to do?”
“I certainly don’t want to walk into an ambush.”
“Neither do I,” Vail said.
Uzi thought a moment. “We’ll go, hear him out, try to verify his intel.”
“Okay.” Vail nodded. “And if we can’t?”
“Then we have an important decision to make.”
68
Uzi pulled to the curb on King David Street. Fahad was standing there, talking to a woman wearing a burka. He excused himself and climbed into the backseat.
“I’ve got a location,” Fahad said.
Vail shifted in her seat to face the three men. “For what?”
“Kadir Abu Sahmoud. His home, in Gaza.”
No one spoke.
Finally Fahad looked at each of them. “Did I miss something? We’ve got Sahmoud’s address — an actual address — and from what I could determine, he’s there. This is awesome news. Let’s go.”
“We had a problem,” Uzi said. “Raph’s dead.”
Fahad jerked back. “Dead? What happened?”
“The office was rigged with explosives. Raph tripped one.”
Fahad’s shoulders slumped. “Man, I’m sorry. I–I wish I was there. I — he was a good guy.”
“He was,” Uzi said.
Vail saw a liquid sparkle in his eyes, tears pooling in his lower lids.
An awkward moment of silence passed.
“Look,” Fahad said. “I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but we’ve got a line on Sahmoud — our objective from day one. What’s the problem?”