“I want protection,” Gabriel said. “When this thing goes down, we’ll be the number-one suspect. We always are, even when we’re not responsible. We’re going to need your help weathering the storm.”
“I can speak only for the DO,” said Carter. “And I can assure you that we’ll be there for you.”
“We take out bin Shafiq at the time and place of our choosing, with no interference from Langley.”
“The president would be grateful if you could avoid doing it on American soil.”
“There are no guarantees in our business, Adrian.”
“Touche.”
“You might find this hard to believe, but I can’t make this decision on my own. I need to speak to Amos and the prime minister.”
“Amos and the prime minister will do what you tell them.”
“Within reason.”
“So what are you going to tell them?”
“That the American president needs a favor,” Gabriel said. “And I want to help him.”
12.
THE PRIME MINISTER GRANTED Gabriel his operational charter at two-thirty the following afternoon. Gabriel headed straight for Armageddon. He reckoned it was a fine place to start.
The weather seemed perversely glorious for such an occasion: cool temperatures, a pale blue sky, a soft Judean breeze that plucked at his shirt-sleeves as he sped along the Jaffa Road. He switched on the radio. The mournful music that had saturated the airwaves in the hours after the attempt on Shamron’s life was now gone. A news bulletin came suddenly on the air. The prime minister had promised to do everything in his power to track down and punish those responsible for the attempt on Shamron’s life. He made no mention of the fact that he already knew who was responsible, or that he had granted Gabriel the authority to kill him.
Gabriel plunged down the Bab al-Wad toward the sea, weaving impatiently through the slower traffic, then raced the setting sun northward along the Coastal Plain. There was a security alert near Hadera-according to the radio, a suspected suicide bomber had managed to slip through a crossing in the Separation Fence near Tulkarm-and Gabriel was forced to wait by the side of the road for twenty minutes before heading into the Valley of Jezreel. Five miles from Afula a rounded hillock appeared on his left. In Hebrew it was known as Tel Megiddo, or the Mound of Megiddo. The rest of the world knew it as Armageddon, forecast in the Book of Revelation to be the site of the final earthly confrontation between the forces of good and evil. The battle had not yet begun, and the parking lot was empty except for a trio of dusty pickup trucks, a sign that the archaeological team was still at work.
Gabriel climbed out of his car and headed up the steep footpath to the summit. Tel Megiddo had been under periodic archaeological excavation for more than a century, and the top of the hill was cut by a maze of long, narrow trenches. Evidence of more than twenty cities had been discovered beneath the soil atop the
He stopped at the edge of a trench and peered down. Crouched on all fours was a small figure in a tan bush jacket, picking at the soil with a hand trowel. Gabriel thought of the last time he had stood over a man in an excavation pit and felt as though a lump of ice had been placed suddenly at the back of his neck. The archaeologist looked up and regarded him with a pair of clever brown eyes, then looked down again and resumed his work. “I’ve been waiting for you,” said Eli Lavon. “What took you so long?”
Gabriel sat in the dirt at the edge of the pit and watched Lavon work. They had known each other since the Black September operation. Eli Lavon had been an
“What have you got there, Eli?”
“A piece of pottery, I suspect.” A gust of wind took his wispy, unkempt hair and blew it across his forehead. “What about you?”
“A Saudi billionaire who’s trying to destroy the civilized world.”
“Haven’t they already done that?”
Gabriel smiled. “I need you, Eli. You know how to read balance sheets. You know how to follow the trail of money without anyone else knowing it.”
“Who’s the Saudi?”
“The chairman and CEO of Jihad Incorporated.”
“Does the chairman have a name?”
“Abdul Aziz al-Bakari.”
“
“One and the same.”
“I suppose this has something to do with Shamron?”
“And the Vatican.”
“What’s Zizi’s connection?”
Gabriel told him.
“I guess I don’t need to ask what you intend to do with bin Shafiq,” Lavon said. “Zizi’s business empire is enormous. Bin Shafiq could be operating from anywhere in the world. How are we going to find him?”
“We’re going to put an agent into Zizi’s inner circle and wait for bin Shafiq to walk into it.”
“An agent in Zizi’s camp?” Lavon shook his head. “Can’t be done.”
“Yes, it can.”
“How?”
“I’m going to find something Zizi wants,” Gabriel said. “And then I’m going to give it to him.”
“I’m listening.”
Gabriel sat down at the edge of the excavation trench with his legs dangling over the side and explained how he planned to penetrate Jihad Incorporated. From the bottom of the trench came sound of Lavon’s work-
“Who’s the agent?” he asked when Gabriel had finished.
“I don’t have one yet.”
Lavon was silent for a moment-
“What do you want from me?”
“Turn Zizi al-Bakari and AAB Holdings inside out. I want a complete breakdown of every company he owns or controls. Profiles of all his top executives and the members of his personal entourage. I want to know how each person got there and how they’ve stayed. I want to know more about Zizi than Zizi knows about himself.”
“And what happens when we go operational?”
“You’ll go, too.”
“I’m too old and tired for any rough stuff.”
“You’re the greatest surveillance artist in the history of the Office, Eli. I can’t do this without you.”
Lavon sat up and brushed his hands on his trousers. “Run an agent into Zizi al-Bakari’s inner circle? Madness.” He tossed Gabriel a hand trowel. “Get down here and help me. We’re losing the light.”
Gabriel climbed down into the pit and knelt beside his old friend. Together they scratched at the ancient soil, until night fell like a curtain over the valley.
