Bedouins, thought Daniel, holding on to his seat. Real ones, not the smiling, bejeweled businessmen who gave tent tours and camel rides to tourists in Beersheva. The most unlikely of informants.
The Bedouin saw themselves as free spirits, had contempt for city dwellers, whom they regarded as serfs and menial laborers. But they chose to live at bare subsistence level in terrain that had the utmost contempt for them and, like all desert creatures, had turned adaptation into a fine art.
Chameleons, thought Daniel. They told you what you wanted to hear, worked both sides of every fence. Glubb Pasha had built the Arab Legion on Bedouin talent; without them the Jordanian Army wouldn't have lasted twenty-four hours. Yet, after '67, they'd turned right around and vol-unteered for the Israeli Army, serving as trackers, doing it better than anyone. Now there were rumors that some of them were working for the PLO as couriers-grenades in saddlebags, plastique drop-offs in Gaza. Chameleons. 'Why'd they come forward?' Daniel asked. 'They didn't,' said Afif. 'We were on patrol, circling southeast from Al Jib-someone had reported suspicious movement along the Ramot road. It turned out to be a construction crew, working late. I was using the binoculars, saw them, decided to go in for a close look.'
'Ever had any trouble with them?'
'No, and we check on them regularly. They're paupers, have enough trouble keeping their goats alive long enough to get them to market without getting into mischief. What caught my eye was that they were all gathered in one place. It looked like a conference, even though their camp was a good kilometer north. So I drove and found them huddled around the mouth of the cave. They started to move out when they heard us coming, but I kept them there while I checked it out. When I saw what was inside, I had them pull up camp and regroup by the cave while I called you.'
'You don't think they had anything to do with it?' The Druze twirled one end of his mustache. 'How can you be sure with the Bedouin? But, no, I think they're being truthful. There weren't any signs of recent activity in the cave. Old dried dung-looked like jackal or dog.'
'How many of them actually went into the cave?' The kid who found it, his father, a couple of others. We | Aere fairly soon after they did, kept the rest out.' 'I'll need fingerprints and foot casts from them for com-parison Forensics should be here within the hour. It'll be a long day.'
'I'll handle it, no problem.'
Good. How many men do you have with you?'
'Ten'
'Have them do a search within a one-and-a-half-kilometer radius from the cave. Look for anything unusual- clothing, personal articles, human waste-you know
'Do you want a grid search?' 'You'll need reinforcements for that. Is it worth it?'
'It's been weeks,' said Afif. 'There was that strong khamsin eleven days ago.'
He stopped talking, waited for Daniel to draw the conclusion: The chance of a footprint or clue withstanding the harsh easterly heat-storm was minimal.
'Do a grid within half a kilometer from the cave. If they find another cave, tell them to call in and wait for further instructions. Otherwise, just a careful search of the rest of it will be enough.'
The Druze nodded. They dipped, traversing a network of shallow wadis strewn with rocks and dead branches, the jeep's underbelly reverberating hollowly in response to an assault of dancing gravel. Afif pushed his foot to the accelerator, churning up a dust storm. Daniel pulled down the brim of his hat, slapped one hand over his nose and mouth, and held his breath. The jeep climbed; he felt himself rise out of his seat and come down hard. When the particles had settled, the Bedouin camp came into focus along the horizon: dark, oblong smudges of tent, so low they could have been shadows. As they got closer, he could see the rest of the Border Patrol unit-two more jeeps and a canvas-top truck, of all them sporting revolving blue lights.
The truck was pulled up next to a ragged mound of limestone and surrounded by a mottled brown cloud that undulated in the heat: goatherds shifting restlessly. A single shepherd stood motionless at the periphery, staff in hand.
'The cave's over there,' said Afif, pointing to the mound. 'The opening's on the other side.'
He aimed the jeep at the flock, came to a halt several meters from the goats, and turned off the engine.
Two Bedouins, a boy and a man, stood next to the canvas-topped truck, flanked by Border Patrolmen. The rest of the nomads had returned to their tents. Only the males were visible, men and boys sitting cross-legged on piles of brightly colored blankets, silent and still, as if tranquilized by inertia. But Daniel knew the women were there, too, veiled and tattooed. Peeking from behind goatskin partitions, in the rear section of the tent, called haramluk, where they huddled among the wood stoves and the cooking implements until beckoned for service.
A single vulture circled overhead and flew north. The goats gave a collective shudder, then quieted in response to a bark from the shepherd.
Daniel followed Afif as the Druze pushed his way through the herd, the animals yielding passively to the intruders, then closing ranks behind them, settling into a mewling, snorting pudding of hair and horns.
'The family is Jussef Ibn Umar,' said Afif as they approached the pair. 'The father is Khalid; the boy, Hussein.'
He handed their identification cards to Daniel, walked up to the Bedouins, and performed the introductions, calling Daniel the Chief Officer and making it clear he was someone to be respected. Khalid Jussef Ibn Umar responded with an appropriate bow, cuffed his son until the boy bowed too. Daniel greeted them formally and nodded at Afif. The Druze left and began instructing his men.
Daniel inspected the ID cards, made notes, and looked at the Bedouins. The boy was ten, small for his age, with a round, serious face, curious eyes, and hair cropped close to the skull. His father's head was wrapped with wide strips of white cloth held in place by a goat-hair cord. Both wore loose, heavy robes of coarse dark wool. Their feet were blackened and dusty in open sandals, the nails cracked and yellow. The smallest toe on the boy's left foot was missing.
Up close, both of them gave off the ripe odor of curdled milk and goat flesh.
'Thank you for your help,' he told Ibn Umar the el-der. The man bowed again. He was thin, stooped, sparsely bearded, and undersized, with dry, tough skin and one eye filmed by a slimy gray cataract. His face had the
