envoy is bringing it. Kill him, and the peace falls apart. Hamas gains political control of the Palestinian Authority, and your goal of the return is still within reach.”
Of course
, he thought,
Hezbollah—or Hamas—needn’t worry about funding as long as the Shia dogs in Iran keep them in baksheesh.
He knew these men cared not a whit about the return of Palestinian refugees to their historic homeland. They only wanted the discord with Israel to continue to give them a reason to maintain their arms. As a “self-defense” force.
Ja’far spoke for the first time. “One thing: You cannot kill the man here, in Lebanon, no matter what this other group says. The al Qaeda financier has said he preferred it here, but we have told him no. They may push you that way. Do you understand?”
The Ghost said, “No, I don’t. If that’s the easiest, that’s what I will do.”
“You don’t need to understand why, but you will not kill the American here. It will produce repercussions that will ultimately affect our goals.”
“Our” goals? Or your goals?
“I understand. If I can get the funding and infrastructure to travel somewhere else, I agree. It will require much more in the way of intelligence, though, because I won’t be able to do my own work.”
“They will provide the funding. We can provide whatever infrastructure you need. We have assets all over the world. We’re also able to penetrate the Palestinian Authority. You will know what they know.”
“Where do I meet this other group?”
“The meeting is in four days, in the Ain al-Hilweh camp.” Ja’far smiled. “You won’t have to come back here.” He read out an address, then said, “What shall we call you, should we need to communicate?”
The Ghost thought for a moment, then said, “
Ash’abah
.”
He saw the change in the men’s demeanor and twisted the knife a little more. “It’s what everyone calls me back home.”
10
F or the thirtieth time , Jennifer said, “I can’t believe this. Are you sure there’s a message?”
“Yeah, I am. Can you quit asking that? We’ll know soon enough. If you can get me to an open area.”
I had my GPS out, but it wasn’t picking up a satellite signal due to the enclosure of the buildings left and right. We were in the Old Town of Damascus, doing a little “sightseeing,” after the fiasco of getting through immigration the previous night.
The trip itself was falling apart, and Jennifer wasn’t pleased. We’d run into trouble as soon as we’d landed. The official from the Ministry of Culture who’d expedited our visas was now persona non grata inside the government of Syria. No telling why, but with Syria in such a mess I was sure he was now getting the rubber-hose treatment. And he’d painted a bull’s-eye on Jennifer and me, since the government thought we were connected with him.
Our contact at the State Department had been no help. He wasn’t expecting us to travel for another three to five months, and with the U.S. Embassy shuttered in Syria due to the troubles, we had no one local to help. Jennifer had fumed, really pissed that her scientific expedition was slipping away. I tried to calm her down, then simply left her alone to grump in her room. When I got to mine, I’d found our mission had changed.
This morning we’d gone for breakfast, where I’d finally gotten thecourage to tell Jennifer we had to collect a message from the Taskforce. I couldn’t talk about it in the hotel, because after our experiences at immigration and customs, I was sure that place was wired for sound, so I’d just gone to sleep after logging out of my Yahoo account.
The e-mail, ostensibly from the university, complete with a university address, simply inquired about our flight. That would have been fine, except it also asked for a status of camera equipment we didn’t have with us. The word “camera” was a prearranged code letting me know we had a message from the Taskforce. I didn’t want
Of course
, he thought,
Hezbollah—or Hamas—needn’t worry about funding as long as the Shia dogs in Iran keep them in baksheesh.
He knew these men cared not a whit about the return of Palestinian refugees to their historic homeland. They only wanted the discord with Israel to continue to give them a reason to maintain their arms. As a “self-defense” force.
Ja’far spoke for the first time. “One thing: You cannot kill the man here, in Lebanon, no matter what this other group says. The al Qaeda financier has said he preferred it here, but we have told him no. They may push you that way. Do you understand?”
The Ghost said, “No, I don’t. If that’s the easiest, that’s what I will do.”
“You don’t need to understand why, but you will not kill the American here. It will produce repercussions that will ultimately affect our goals.”
“Our” goals? Or your goals?
“I understand. If I can get the funding and infrastructure to travel somewhere else, I agree. It will require much more in the way of intelligence, though, because I won’t be able to do my own work.”
“They will provide the funding. We can provide whatever infrastructure you need. We have assets all over the world. We’re also able to penetrate the Palestinian Authority. You will know what they know.”
“Where do I meet this other group?”
“The meeting is in four days, in the Ain al-Hilweh camp.” Ja’far smiled. “You won’t have to come back here.” He read out an address, then said, “What shall we call you, should we need to communicate?”
The Ghost thought for a moment, then said, “
Ash’abah
.”
He saw the change in the men’s demeanor and twisted the knife a little more. “It’s what everyone calls me back home.”
10
F or the thirtieth time , Jennifer said, “I can’t believe this. Are you sure there’s a message?”
“Yeah, I am. Can you quit asking that? We’ll know soon enough. If you can get me to an open area.”
I had my GPS out, but it wasn’t picking up a satellite signal due to the enclosure of the buildings left and right. We were in the Old Town of Damascus, doing a little “sightseeing,” after the fiasco of getting through immigration the previous night.
The trip itself was falling apart, and Jennifer wasn’t pleased. We’d run into trouble as soon as we’d landed. The official from the Ministry of Culture who’d expedited our visas was now persona non grata inside the government of Syria. No telling why, but with Syria in such a mess I was sure he was now getting the rubber-hose treatment. And he’d painted a bull’s-eye on Jennifer and me, since the government thought we were connected with him.
Our contact at the State Department had been no help. He wasn’t expecting us to travel for another three to five months, and with the U.S. Embassy shuttered in Syria due to the troubles, we had no one local to help. Jennifer had fumed, really pissed that her scientific expedition was slipping away. I tried to calm her down, then simply left her alone to grump in her room. When I got to mine, I’d found our mission had changed.
This morning we’d gone for breakfast, where I’d finally gotten thecourage to tell Jennifer we had to collect a message from the Taskforce. I couldn’t talk about it in the hotel, because after our experiences at immigration and customs, I was sure that place was wired for sound, so I’d just gone to sleep after logging out of my Yahoo account.
The e-mail, ostensibly from the university, complete with a university address, simply inquired about our flight. That would have been fine, except it also asked for a status of camera equipment we didn’t have with us. The word “camera” was a prearranged code letting me know we had a message from the Taskforce. I didn’t want
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