“I bring you greetings from the new Director, Mr. Hinkle,” said Rogers. “He sends you his personal thanks for your help in protecting our diplomats and citizens. He says that the American people owe you a debt of gratitude that can only be expressed, for now, in secret.”
Jamal touched his heart. Was it the politeness of the Arabs, or an example of the inexplicable, mesmerizing power held by whoever happened to hold the position of Director of Central Intelligence?
“That is kind of the Director,” said Jamal. “Please give him my regards. Tell him that whatever our differences on the political level, we will continue to abide by our promise to protect American citizens.”
“He will be pleased,” said Rogers.
Jamal nodded. He took out a cigarette and lit it.
“Jamal,” said Rogers. “I have something that I want to tell you.” But Jamal wasn’t listening. The mention of the Director and security cooperation had sent him off on a new tangent.
“I have a spy story for you,” said Jamal. “You can tell the new Director when you get home.”
“I’m not sure that he likes spy stories. And there is something important I have to tell you.”
“He will like this one,” said Jamal. “Do you remember the man they called the Snake?”
“The man from the PFLP?” said Rogers. “The super-terrorist.”
“Yes. You read that he died, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” said Rogers. “Of leukemia. In a hospital in East Germany.”
“That is not how he died,” said Jamal with a thin smile.
“It isn’t?”
“No. He was murdered.”
“How?”
“He was radiated to death.”
“What in the hell are you talking about? Where was he radiated to death?”
“In Baghdad.”
“How?”
“Aha. Now you are interested. I will explain. The Snake was working then for the Iraqi Moukhabarat. Whenever he went to see the chief of the Moukhabarat, he would be received in a special waiting room, which had been constructed just for him and shielded with lead.”
“Lead?”
“Yes, lead. The Iraqi would make the Snake sit there in that waiting room for thirty minutes, maybe an hour. The Snake thought nothing of it. You know how the Arabs are. They always keep you waiting. But all the time he was in that room, they were pointing an X-ray machine at him, beaming it through a hole in the wall.”
“What happened to him?”
“He got sicker and sicker. Just as all the newspaper stories said at the time. But he didn’t know why. He went to Algeria for treatment. And then finally to East Germany.”
“Where the diagnosis was leukemia.”
“Yes,” said Jamal. “But when he died finally in East Germany, they made an autopsy. And that East German autopsy report was very interesting. It spoke of ‘unnatural complications’ in the case. We have a copy of the autopsy report, if you are interested.”
“Of course I am interested,” said Rogers.
“Would you like to know what the payoff was for the Iraqis?”
Rogers nodded.
“Look at the oil production totals for the OPEC countries in the months before and after the Snake’s death. You will notice a large increase in Iraqi production and a roughly equal decrease in production by Saudi Arabia.”
“That’s the damnedest story I’ve ever heard,” said Rogers. “Why don’t we know about this?”
“Because you are slipping,” said Jamal with a wicked smile.
There was silence.
“Jamal,” said Rogers again, more insistently. “I asked for this meeting because there is something I have to tell you.”
“Very well,” said the Palestinian. “What is it?”
“I want you to be very careful,” said Rogers slowly. “Your life is in danger.”
The Palestinian laughed.
“You came all the way to Beirut to tell me that? That is hardly news to me, my dear Mr. Reilly.”
“Your life is in danger,” Rogers repeated, “from the Israelis.”
“The Israelis have given up on me! They know that I am invulnerable.”
“Don’t be so sure that they have given up,” said Rogers. “Remember that there is a new Israeli government, and there are old plans that can be dusted off.”
“What of it? Our fates are all in the hands of Allah.”
“Let’s cut the crap,” said Rogers. “I am trying to save your life. So listen to me.”
“I am listening.”
“I want to tell the Israelis that you have been working for us. That you are off limits.”
“No.”
“Why not? I think they suspect as much already.”
“No,” repeated Jamal.
“But why not?”
“Because what you said is false. I don’t work for you. I work for my people.”
“Yes, of course. But you’re in danger…”
Jamal cut him off.
“My answer is no. I will not depend on the charity of the Israelis. I would rather be dead.”
Rogers realized that he was getting nowhere.
“I have another proposal,” said the American.
“What is it?”
“I want you to leave Beirut.”
“Maybe you did not hear me before,” said Jamal, his voice rising. “I am not yours to command. You don’t tell me where to go.”
“I know. I understand. I’m only suggesting that perhaps now, for a little while, you might think about going somewhere safer than Beirut.”
“For me, there is nowhere safer.”
“You are impossible!”
Jamal smiled for the first time.
“Yes,” he said. “I am.”
“Look,” said Rogers. “If you won’t listen to reason, there isn’t much we can do for you. But there are a few things. What kind of car are you driving?”
“Chevrolet,” said Jamal.
“Bullet-proof?”
“Yes.”
“We can get you a better one.”
“All right,” said the Palestinian. “I accept.”
“What kind of radios do your bodyguards use?”
“East German.”
“They’re junk,” said Rogers. “The Israelis can easily intercept the signals. We’ll get you new radios. Fuad will bring them to you.”
“Fine,” said the Palestinian.
“What else?”
“That is enough,” said Jamal.
“No, it isn’t,” said Rogers. “What else, God-damn it!”
“Mr. Reilly,” said Jamal, putting his hand on Rogers’s shoulder. “If the United States cannot keep its friends in the Middle East alive, then it is the United States that has serious problems, not me. So I will trust in your good
