Keepers of the Gate - [Kamal & Barnea 04] Read online

  “You don’t sound optimistic.”

  Her expression looked bled of feeling. “Mashallah. Whatever God wills. But the Israelis never approve anyone unless it’s political.”

  Hanan Falaya’s voice sounded emotionless and drained of hope. The original home of her husband’s parents in Jerusalem, she explained, had been seized during the Six-Day War of 1967 and remained inhabited by Israelis to this day. In between juggling as many cleaning jobs as she could, she was active with a committee determined to see to the return of all confiscated Palestinian homes or, at least, appropriate financial reparations. She seemed to enjoy telling Ben this, if for no other reason than to avoid discussion of her son’s murder.

  The last few hours had clearly taken their toll. The color had drained from her face, except for her eyes which were drawn and bloodshot. Grief, Ben knew from his own mirror and experience, had a way of accentuating every line and wrinkle, and the plight of Hanan Falaya was no exception. He could imagine her as she must have once been: a vibrant, hopeful woman with a family to tend to. The house full of sweet and spicy smells from the nightly dinner she would lovingly make. Now, instead, the unpleasant smell of stale and soured food hung in the house’s air, leaving Ben to wonder if tonight’s dinner sat spoiling atop the stove, to remain forever uneaten.

  “You said you thought your son was frightened of something,” he started.

  “I’m certain he was,” Hanan Falaya said, squeezing the arms of her chair.

  “Do you have any idea of what?”

  “No. He wouldn’t tell me.”

  “When did this start?”

  “A week ago, ten days. Maybe a little longer. Who knows anymore with kids when they get to this age, they’re so busy. You have children, Inspector?”

  “No. Not anymore.”

  Hanan Falaya’s eyes prodded him.

  “They were murdered six years ago.”

  Hanan Falaya swallowed hard and something changed in her gaze, looking at Ben now instead of past him. “Here?”

  Ben shook his head. “In America.”

  “Evil is everywhere, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Umm Falaya.”

  “I’m not a mother anymore,” she said, looking down. “One boy dead and two in prison.”

  “Israeli prison?”

  “One there and the youngest, who was arrested three months ago during a street battle, here.” She grasped a flap of the chair’s fabric and squeezed it. “He’s only fifteen. I told him not to go. I told him!”

  “What’s the name of your son being held in Palestine?”

  “Farouk. Why?”

  “Just curious.” Ben leaned over and took her hand. “You’re certain the change in your son’s behavior began as little as a week ago, as much as ten days.”

  She squeezed his hand tightly. “Something like that.”

  “Do you remember him receiving any phone calls or mail around that same time?”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “No visits from friends or strangers?”

  “I don’t know his friends. I don’t know if he has any. He used to, but then he started with the computer....”

  “But he had the computer much longer than ten days.”

  “Six months. The school gave it to him and let him keep it.” Hanan Falaya pushed herself out of her chair and bid Ben to join her. “Come, the computer’s in his room. I’ll show you.”

  * * * *

  B

  en wasn’tmuch goodwith computers;he didn’t have to be to find there wasn’t much to look at on the Falaya boy’s computer at all. In fact, there was nothing.

  FILES NOT FOUND

  “What’s it mean?” Hanan Falaya asked, peering at the monitor over Ben’s shoulder.

  “The contents of the hard drive have been erased.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “The computer’s empty. There’s nothing on it.”

  “My son would never have done that. Not to his computer.”

  “I didn’t say it was something he did, Umm Falaya.”

  Something changed in the woman’s expression, resignation retreating in favor of mild surprise. “You believe me?”

  “I believe all aspects of this investigation should be looked into. You said your son was scared of something. You said he had been spending a lot of time, too much time, on his computer. Do you know where he keeps his back-up discs?”

  “I don’t know what a back-up disc looks like,” Hanan Falaya said, embarrassed.

  A quick check of the desk drawers revealed no discs whatsoever. Ben wasn’t surprised. If the Falaya boy had reason to erase his own hard drive, or if somebody had done it for him, he or they wouldn’t have left backup discs behind. Still, the boy would never have destroyed all his discs, only the pertinent ones. By all appearances, though, there were no discs present anywhere.

  “I would like to take this computer with me, if you don’t mind,” Ben said to Hanan Falaya.

  “Why?” she snapped, resisting as if holding on to the last tangible part of her son.

  “Because it may be possible to reconstruct the contents of the hard drive. I’d also like to hear more about your son’s school and about his job in Israel.”

  “The school is how he got the job. They made all the arrangements, secured all the necessary papers and passes.”

  Ben shook his head, wondered if he had heard the woman correctly. “Arranging jobs? Lending computers? What sort of Palestinian school is this, Umm Falaya?”

  “An experimental school for both Palestinians and Israelis,” the woman told him. “Outside Jerusalem near Abu Gosh. My son was the best student.”

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 9

  I

  ’m sorry I’m late, Mr. Hessler,” Danielle said, when she was introduced to Paul Hessler in the living room section of his Tel Aviv Hilton suite.

  Shin Bet, Israel’s internal security service, had posted guards throughout the lobby and along the floor on the chance that Hessler’s life remained in danger. His son’s murder at Ben-Gurion Airport was already being labeled the worst security disaster since the Rabin assassination. Clearly, Shin Bet couldn’t afford to take any further chances. The suite he had been assigned had been designed for visiting heads of state and other dignitaries. Paul Hessler technically qualified as neither, though in actuality he was much more.

  No one had done more for his homeland, Danielle knew, than the old man seated before her. A steady portion of his multi-billion-dollar fortune reaped from computer software, oil exploration, and biotechnological research was either granted outright to various components of the government or reinvested in Israeli industry. Hessler had built factories and plants to bolster the country’s often sagging economy. He put thousands of people, primarily immigrants who would have otherwise become burdens of the state, to work even though the costs of operating in Israel were excessive and the country’s laws restrictive in promoting real foreign investment.

  Danielle knew the Hessler legend as well as anyone. How he had escaped from one of the hundreds of Nazi labor camps based in Poland just before the camp was dismantled and the remaining prisoners slaughtered. History had known little of this sordid chapter of the war until relatively recent days, and what it knew now made Hessler’s tale of survival all the more incredible.

  He had been found by American soldiers while fleeing through the woods days after his escape from the camp outside of Lodz where he had watched both his parents die in the ghetto. His feet were bloodied, blistered, and scraped raw. He had not eaten, had drunk little water, could only mumble incoherently when he was at last rescued. But he was carrying a tattered, worn set of papers that were enough to get him placed in a resettlement camp and later on a boat of Jewish refugees bound for Palestine.

  An orphan, like so many others. Including her now.

  Alone.

  * * * *

  D

  anielle had decided to keep her appointment with t
he doctor before meeting Hessler even though it meant fighting rush hour traffic to reach Tel Aviv. She knew the news was bad as soon as Dr. Barr walked into the room, not so much from the way he looked as the way he was holding the file containing her test results. He was a small man with thinning gray hair and a dour face. His smile, when it came, always seemed forced.

  “I’d like to talk to you about the results of the latest test we did,” he opened, after they were both seated, his forced smile nowhere to be seen.

  “The ultrasound?” Danielle asked, trying not to shake.

  “The prenatal series.” Dr. Barr leaned back and his chair creaked. “I’d like to do a follow-up.”

  “Why?”

  “Some of the blood work was inconclusive.”

  “Is that cause for concern? Should I be worried?”

  “You asked for the full genetic spectrum, Pakad.”

  “I thought I was playing it safe.”

  “You were and I’m not saying you’re wrong to, not at all. But ten years ago these genetic markers hadn’t been identified and today, lots of times, the pattern results remain inconclusive.”

  “What are we talking about here?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  “Can’t you give me some idea?”

  The doctor’s expression didn’t change. “The testing of genetic predisposition and tendencies remains an inexact science. Discussing things further at this point would alarm you for reasons that will probably turn out baseless. Today I’d just like to draw some more blood and we can discuss the results tomorrow morning. Until then, I don’t want you to worry,” he finished in an effort to sound comforting.

  * * * *

  W

  aiting forthe bloodto bedrawn hadmade Danielle even later than she had counted on for her meeting, but Paul Hessler didn’t seem overly bothered. His gaze was so distant it looked out of focus. His eyes were red and puffy, and his hair stood straight up where he had forgotten to comb it back into place. He sat stoop-shouldered before her with the folds of his slightly protruding stomach hanging over his belt.

  “You look like your father,” Hessler said, suddenly paying attention to her.

  “Did you know him well?”

  “We met in a camp in Greece, made the trip here together.” Hessler sounded as though the past was a much better place to live in for now. “Fought side by side for the Haganah with the other madmen. We parted ways briefly when your father joined the Irgun, then met up again ... later. Anyway, he was a great soldier, but a lousy politician.”

  Danielle tried very hard to smile, but the lump in her throat made it hard.

  “I was a poor soldier mostly, but a very good businessman. Always negotiating. Making deals for the weapons men like your father could use.” Hessler sank further into his chair. The drooping skin around his chin and jowls seemed to slide down his face, as if his bones had lost hold of it. “I had not seen your father for ten years when I learned of his death. I have been following your career ever since. He would be very proud.”

  Then you must not be following my career very closely....

  “What did you say, Chief Inspector?”

  “Nothing.”

  “My hearing is not what it used to be; little is.”

  Danielle leaned a little forward. “I know how difficult this must be.”

  “The bullet was meant for me, Chief Inspector. It should be my death you are investigating, not my son’s.” Hessler took a deep breath that ended as a sigh. “It is a terrible thing to lose a child. As a woman, you can understand that, I’m sure.”

  “Yes,” Danielle said, “I can.”

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 10

  T

  hank you for coming to see me, Inspector,” John Najarian said after Ben had him paged outside at the Jericho Resort Village’s pool area. The sun beat down harshly, baking the concrete even in places where soft cushiony layers of padding had been inlaid to prevent cracking and expansion. Given the weather, Ben had expected the resort to be more crowded, but few of the chaise lounges set around the pool area were in use, and stacks of towels remained piled beneath their umbrellaed stands.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” said Ben.

  “Something important, I’m sure. That’s why I’m so interested in you. Come, we can sit at the bar. Are you thirsty?”

  “This time of year in Jericho, I’m always thirsty,” Ben said.

  Najarian smiled. A wealthy Detroit businessman with vast holdings in real estate, Najarian wore a terry-cloth robe over his bathing suit. Ben’s page had pulled him from the largest of the three interconnected pools in the complex where he was dutifully completing his laps. Najarian had the look of a man who worked hard to stay in shape. A few years older than Ben, he had a rich tan that hadn’t come in his few days in Palestine.

  They sat down at the pool bar and Ben took a chair that gave him a clear view of the sparkling fountain that crowned an assemblage of covered tunnels connecting the three pools. Various Jacuzzis rimmed them as well, and from this angle Ben could see the volleyball court that had been set up on a fake beach. From the nearby tennis courts, camouflaged by wind screens, he could hear the steady pop of balls being solidly returned and the occasional clang of one striking the fence.

  The Jericho Resort Village, with its expansive rooms, villas, and townhomes was the first of its kind in Palestine. A lush, tropical oasis for tourists, built to compete with the better known resorts in Israel’s Eilat and Tiba, which now belonged to Egypt. It boasted competitive prices and a location easily accessible for the wealthy of Jordan and, ultimately, Syria, not to mention Americans like John Najarian. But the return of armed hostilities in the region had doomed occupancy rates, except for police recruits relocated here by the Palestinian Authority after Israelis shelled the academy outside of Jericho.

  “I have a confession to make,” Najarian started, sipping his Bloody Mary. His terrycloth robe had opened and Ben could see his torso was hairy, thick, and bearlike—a match to his bushy eyebrows. “I don’t have any business in the West Bank.”

  “Oh?” Ben said. He had ordered an iced tea garnished with fresh mint leaves and rolled the frosty glass between his hot palms.

  “I came strictly to meet you, Inspector. Or should I say, ‘Detective.’ “

  “Only if we were back in Detroit.”

  “You’re from Dearborn. I’m from Auburn Hills. We’re practically neighbors.”

  “I haven’t lived in Dearborn for a long time.”

  Najarian leaned slightly forward. “I’ll get right to the point. You’ve heard of my firm, Security Concepts?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “We handle private specialized security for businesses and individuals throughout the Midwest, and we’ve got plans to expand to both the East and West Coasts. Private security, I tell you, is the wave of the future, Ben. May I call you Ben?”

  “Feel free.”

  “Our bodyguards are strictly ex-military and Secret Service. Our surveillance and security equipment is state of the art.”

  “I don’t need any.”

  Najarian forced a laugh. “Your former superiors say you were one of the best cops they ever saw, and the work you’ve done over here has gotten some great coverage back home.”

  “My mother sends me the clippings.”

  “I’m Armenian, Ben, and our two cultures have got plenty in common. Personally, I don’t give a shit what a man is. I care about what he does. That’s why I’m here. To offer you a job.”

  Ben’s throat tightened as he swallowed some tea.

  “As I said, Security Concepts is expanding. I need good people to head up individual departments. People who can function autonomously and not hear from me unless they fuck up. I’m talking about a couple hundred thousand in salary, plus incentives, a generous stock option, not to mention profit-sharing.”

  Ben laid his glass down on a coaster. “Are you sure you’ve got the right Ben Kamal?”

  “The Ben Ka
mal who doesn’t take shit from anyone in Palestine or Israel. The Ben Kamal who closed every case he was assigned back in Detroit.”

  “Except the most important one.”

  Najarian took a gulp of his Bloody Mary, keeping his eyes on Ben the whole time. “You shot the Sandman dead, Ben.”

  “Not before he killed my family. In my own home.”