Blood Diamonds - [Kamal and Barnea 05] Read online

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  Chapter 23

  I

  want to see what happened here for myself,” Daniel Sukahamin, defense minister of Sierra Leone, insisted.

  “The area around the town may not be secure, sir,” warned the American colonel who headed the team of U.S. military advisors.

  Sukahamin twisted toward him in the rear of the jeep, as the vehicle thundered down the road, approaching the outskirts of Katani. “I believe making villages like this secure was your job, Colonel. Wasn’t that what you were sent here to do?”

  Daniel Sukahamin had been a close, undaunted ally of Sierra Leone’s President Ahmed Tejan Kabbah since Kabbah’s forces retook power from the RUF in 1998. It had been Sukahamin who strengthened ECOMOG, an alliance of West African states conceived to keep the rebels in check during the cease-fire. He had also come up with the idea of rallying the Mende kamajors together to form the Civil Defense Forces and defend their own villages against attacks by the Revolutionary United Front. The kamajors were the traditional hunters of the Mende tribe, the main ethnic group living in the southern and western provinces of the country. Their involvement helped splinter the RUF and prevent it from achieving footholds beyond their base in the east.

  But the Civil Defense Forces, the CDF, were difficult to keep under control and, once armed, often did more harm than good. Battles broke out among local tribes, as well as between the tribes and the standing army, and Sukahamin realized that in the kamajors he had created a terrible monster that was sometimes as bad in its own way as the Revolutionary United Front. It became a full-time public relations job to blame the RUF for the atrocities perpetrated by the kamajors.

  After the international peacekeeping force dispatched by the United Nations had proven utterly ineffectual, becoming hostages rather than protectors, Sukahamin enlisted the help of American soldiers in the role of military advisors. The role of these soldiers, on the surface, was to train and equip what small organized army the defense minister was able to cull from the ranks of the Civil Defense Forces. Clandestinely, though, the Americans led missions and conducted counterterrorist activities aimed at disrupting, perhaps ultimately destroying, the Revolutionary United Front. As a result, for the first time in longer than he could remember, Daniel Sukahamin could actually envision a time when his country’s civil war would at last be concluded.

  “Minister,” the American colonel started to explain, “my orders—”

  “Fuck your orders! My country is dying, Colonel, and the Americans sent you here to save it.” Daniel Sukahamin leaned back and stiffly folded his arms, staring straight ahead. “We know General Matabu and her rebel forces are preparing to launch another assault on Freetown. If we fail to hold the capital, or even engage in a drawn-out battle, we risk splintering the Civil Defense Forces into a dozen factions. The Dragon will wear President Kabbah’s balls around her neck and proclaim herself leader.” Sukahamin turned back to the American. “You have children, Colonel?”

  “A boy and girl, sir.”

  The defense minister’s gaze turned cold and steely. “Do you know what would happen to them if they were here when the government fell? The boy’s limbs would be hacked off one at a time and he would be left to bleed to death. The girl would be raped by as many rebels as could thrust themselves inside her before she died.”

  The colonel wrinkled his nose in disgust.

  “I do not exaggerate. This is the reality our people face.”

  Sukahamin was about to continue when he saw the first wave of villagers from Katani coming forward, blocking the road.

  “What the hell,” the colonel muttered.

  The villagers cowered at the sight of the jeeps, most backing away while some shed the meager belongings from their backs and fled into the woods. A few approached the vehicles whining and screaming, too many talking at once to be understood.

  The colonel stripped the M-16 from his shoulder, leveling it as he signaled the other two soldiers in the jeep to do the same.

  “I warned you this area wasn’t secure, sir,” he barked at Sukahamin.

  But the defense minister was struggling to make sense out of the villagers’ desperate pleas.

  “It’s not the Revolutionary United Front they’re running from, Colonel,” Sukahamin reported.

  The colonel shook his head in confusion. “Then what is it?”

  Sukahamin listened some more before responding. “The end of the world, Colonel. They say they are fleeing the end of the world.”

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  Chapter 24

  H

  is office is in that restaurant right over there,” Danielle told Ben, after the bus dropped them in Haifa. “You can wait outside if you like.”

  “What, your friend Sabi doesn’t like Palestinians?”

  “Not when they’re also policemen.”

  “I think I’d better come inside with you.”

  “Suit yourself,” Danielle said, her detached tone unchanged from the interrogation room. And New York.

  “I’m sorry,” Ben told her.

  “For what?”

  “Do you really need to ask?”

  Danielle didn’t look back at him. “You know the worst thing? I don’t remember. The first thing I recall is waking up in the hospital. Afterwards.”

  “That’s enough.”

  “No, it’s not, because I can’t try to figure out what I did wrong, what I could have done different.”

  Ben suddenly grew calm. “Do you remember what else you told me about the failed raid in Beirut a dozen years ago?”

  “No.”

  “That you kept a copy of the tape for years afterward. Watched it again and again.”

  “So?”

  “To figure out what you did wrong,” Ben continued, “what you could have done different. That didn’t help then and it wouldn’t now. It’s a blessing you can’t remember.”

  “You saved my life; I remember that. I must have let my guard down. That never would have happened ten or twelve years ago.”

  Ben turned toward the waterfront restaurant they had walked to from the bus stop. “How well do you know this man?”

  “We’ll see.”

  Located in northwest Israel, the port city of Haifa was lined with harbors that featured a constant flow of boating traffic, both large and small. From fishing boats to pleasure craft, to expensive yachts, to freighters hauling merchandise in and out of the country, Haifa’s port was home to some, a way station for many, and a quick stopover for still more. Its strategic Mediterranean location made it conducive to trade for virtually any European commercial center and convenient for any seaworthy pilot.

  But the city enjoyed a thriving business center as well, so the sound of boat horns and the smoky bellows of incoming freighters inevitably battled the noises of traffic inching its way along the city’s busy portside streets. All of Haifa was enveloped by a sense of having to get somewhere fast, from the babble of tourists snapping their pictures to the rush of businessmen and the blur of traffic choking the streets.

  The city over the years had expanded up the hillside into a series of tiers. The bus had dropped Ben and Danielle off on the lowest tier, the port level, which left them only a short walk to the Banker’s Tavern restaurant where the unofficial mayor of Haifa ran his business. Little of that business was legal, since Sabi was as close to a crime boss as Israel had.

  A smuggler as well as an Israeli Arab, Sabi was one of the few people who got along with everyone. Palestinians welcomed him because of the constant flow of merchandise he expedited, free of Israeli duties and taxes, into the West Bank and Gaza. And Israeli officials looked the other way, even in these times of the continuing intifada, because Sabi’s shipping contacts in Alexandria, Port Said, Turkey, and elsewhere remained crucial to the nation’s trade. The National Police, meanwhile, left him alone because he kept control of the unsavory characters who came and went through Haifa much better than they could ever hope to underany conditions. Sabi
could play both sides against the middle and never seem to lose.

  “Pakad Danielle Barnea!” he roared excitedly, as soon as Danielle entered the restaurant. “Is that you?”

  As always, Sabi sat in his corner booth, occupying most of one side by himself. His incredible girth was part of his legend, and he seemed to grow bigger each time Danielle had occasion to meet with him. His huge jowls hung like slabs of meat from his face. He had a triple chin and a roundish, basketball-sized head that seemed to grow directly out of his neck. The pair of men sitting opposite him in the booth had to pull in their legs for him to shuffle his way out, watching as he swallowed Danielle in a bearish hug when they met halfway across the floor.

  Sabi eased her away from him but kept hold of her shoulders, casting a brief glance toward Ben who had remained in the doorway. “I was worried, Pakad Danielle Barnea. After all that I had heard these past few days . . . Now, please, what is it I can do for you?”

  “You can tell me about the Russians who are moving arms through Israel.”

  Sabi scowled. “Bastards have no honor. Impossible to do business with.”

  “You don’t deal in weapons, anyway.”

  “Not for a long time. Too dangerous. Bad for trade. And anything that is bad for trade is bad for Sabi, eh Pakad?”

  “Not bad for these Russians, obviously.”

  Sabi snickered in response this time. “Enterprising criminals Israel was kind enough to take in after they had drained their own country dry. Take my advice and throw them all out on their asses. Come,” he said, leading her to the booth his two bodyguards had vacated, “join me.”

  “I’m not exactly in a position to pass on anyone’s suggestions right now,” Danielle said, once they were seated across from each other in his booth.

  Sabi’s thick, oval eyes softened. “You look hungry, Pakad Danielle Barnea. Please, have something to eat,” he offered, opening his palms to indicate the selection of food that covered the table. “Min fadlak. Help yourself.”

  “Later, Sabi.”

  “Just a bite of tabbouleh,” he persisted, indicating a salad dish. “Or somemelukkhiyaspinach soup. Make you strong like the American Pop-eye, eh?”

  Danielle had to admit the smells were inviting enough to make focusing on the matter at hand difficult. She had barely eaten a thing for three days. Her stomach grumbled as Sabi continued to coax her.

  “How about a platter of mezze, appetizers, or some fresh baked mankoushi. I have some loaves cooling in the kitchen now.”

  “No, thank you.”

  Sabi frowned. “It’s a bad sign when a hungry person chooses not to eat. Usually means they have lost more than their appetite.”

  Danielle remained silent.

  Sabi hoisted a bottle that had been resting before him. “Some wine, then.” He poured her a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon without waiting for her to respond. “The best the Kefraya vineyards of Lebanon have to offer. They send bottles to me special. Would you like to know why? Because I intervened when the Israeli troops were trampling their vineyards during the 1982 invasion. People are not apt to forget such favors.”

  Danielle left her glass of wine untouched. “I understand.”

  “Do you really? Then you should work for me.” Sabi leaned forward until his huge stomach pushed up against the table. “You would thrive in a world where there are no politics.”

  “There are always politics, just different kinds.”

  “And what kind is it that brings you here to me?”

  “I need to get into the West Bank.”

  Sabi looked at her suspiciously, then gazed at Ben. “Does this have something to do with that Palestinian standing in the doorway?”

  “He saved my life today.”

  “I know who he is, Pakad. I know all about him.”

  Danielle kept her eyes off Ben, on Sabi. “Not as much as you think you do. What about the West Bank?” she prodded.

  “Not something I’m often asked to do. Out of the West Bank, yes, but into the West Bank. . .” His words trailed off into a shrug that merged his massive neck into his shoulders. “It shouldn’t be a problem. But I will need some time to make the arrangements.”

  “Take all you need. Can you arrange for me to use the restaurant’s kitchen in the meantime?”

  Sabi lit a huge cigar, didn’t challenge Danielle further. “Of course. Anything else, Pakad?”

  Danielle looked briefly toward Ben. “Just one more thing ...”

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  Chapter 25

  I

  won’t ask,” Ben said, as he followed Danielle into the kitchen.

  “It’s better that you see.”

  Once in the aromatic kitchen, filled with the luscious smells of herbs and fresh vegetables, Danielle filled a bowl with water. Then she pulled the eyeglass case from her pocket and opened it. After removing the glasses, she carefully popped the large, ultra-thick tinted lenses out one at a time and dropped them into the bowl of water where they quickly sank to the bottom. Next she located a microwave oven and placed the bowl inside it. Danielle set the temperature on high, the clock to the five minute mark, and pressed start.

  The microwave began to whir, and Ben could see the water just beginning to boil when his cell phone rang.

  “My Israeli counterparts are very upset with me, Inspector,” greeted Nabril al-Asi, sounding coarse and impatient, his tone lacking its usual joviality.

  “I can ex—”

  “They want to know why someone whose identity papers they approved on my recommendation could be involved in a jail break.”

  “Jail break?”

  “That’s what happened, isn’t it?”

  “No. Well, yes, but not that way.”

  “Is Pakad Barnea still incarcerated?”

  “No.”

  “Is she with you in Haifa?”

  Ben recalled the new technology that allowed al-Asi to pinpoint his position from his cell phone signal. “Yes.”

  “Then you helped her escape.”

  “Because she would have been killed otherwise. There was an assassin at the jail,” Ben said, eyeing Danielle as the microwave continued to whir. “An American assassin Pakad Barnea had met up with before. He struck while we were meeting in the interrogation room.”

  “And I suppose you’re going to tell me he is responsible for the nine dead, eight Israeli policemen and the lawyer who was representing Pakad Barnea.”

  “As a matter of fact—”

  “I believe you, Inspector. The problem is the Israelis won’t. The story they are floating mentions nothing about an assassin on the premises. Now I want you to listen very closely to what I’m about to say: If you return to the West Bank now, I can keep you out of this. Protect you. Another day, and matters will be beyond my control. So you must returnnow.”

  Ben took another look at Danielle. “I’m sorry, Colonel,” he said into the phone.

  He heard al-Asi sigh instantly. “I am, too. You and Pakad Barnea are about to become two of the most hunted individuals in all of Israel, more so than even the terrorists I deliver to my Israeli counterparts from time to time.”

  Ben swallowed hard. “What about you?”

  “Don’t worry about me. I still provide too many services for the Israelis for them to stay mad very long. They’ll probably target me for assassination and then purposely bomb the building when I’m not there.”

  “Thank you, Colonel. I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

  “I don’t have much else to do these days. Lots of time spent at Rafiq’s Supply Store picking up things for the house and our new offices. Every day I go there. By the way, I was wondering if you knew anything about roses?”

  “No.”

  “I’m planting some now in my new garden. I don’t think I’m doing it right. I assume Pakad Barnea is with you.”

  “She is.”

  “Do you think she knows anything about roses?”

  “I can ask her.”

  Ben cou
ld hear al-Asi sigh again on the other end of the line. “Don’t bother. I fear I’m wasting my time. Building swing sets, mowing the lawn, playing gardener. We can’t make up for what we’ve lost.”

  “We have to try, Colonel.”

  “Yesterday I took a team to arrest an especially nasty militant hiding out in the Jabalaya refugee camp. The residents rose up against us, against me, before we even got close.” Al-Asi paused. “I thought our people were standing in mud but it’s really quicksand, isn’t it, Inspector?”