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Prologue The
Islamic terrorist group known as al-Qaeda recently ramped up their efforts in
the Middle East by funneling significant resources to Palestinian resistance
movements in the West Bank. Al-Qaeda's
aim is to take down the Israeli state
and turn the region into an Islamic caliphate. Their more immediate goal is to
derail peace talks designed to wrap up a final status agreement leading to an
independent Palestinian state existing side by side with Israel. A
dramatic upsurge in attacks against Israeli settlers and soldiers has set off
alarm bells around the world. Recent Israeli seizures of arms caches,
including bomb-making materiel, in the West Bank triggered the Central
Intelligence Agency, Washington's covert arm abroad, to launch an effort to
deny weapons to the region. To
that end, CIA operative Dean Wells, an Arabic speaker who knows the region
well, was dispatched to Syria to infiltrate and buy off key players in
militant Palestinian organizations to discourage them from doing business
with al-Qaeda. Chapter 1 Dean
Wells stepped onto the sidewalk and shaded his eyes. The street was crowded.
People, cars, motorbikes and food stalls competed for space. It
was Sunday, but in Syria, it was a workday. "A
taxi cab, Mr. Dean?" the hotel doorman asked. Dean
smiled and shook his head. "La mamnuun." No thanks. He
had work to do: U.S. Government work. He
took a deep breath and headed up the sidewalk. Women hidden in burqas picked
through local produce. Children squealed and ran freely. He ducked under an
awning and slid between hunks of mutton and camel meat that buzzed with
flies. At
the top of the hill, he stopped and looked beyond the bustle of Aleppo, the
cultural and culinary capital of northern Syria. Nut and fruit orchards
stretched as far as he could see. If only the rest of the Middle East were so
prosperous. He
was already sweating through his business suit. How could women survive in
those black, all-concealing robes? Not so long ago, women in Syria wore
white, open-faced headscarves. It was unnerving how a wave of fundamentalism
had swept over the Middle East. A car swerved around a stopped delivery
truck, jumped the curb and came straight at him. "Oh, just another
Sunday driver out for the scenery," he muttered. He found the bookshop
he wanted and stepped through the doorway just as the car wedged with a
metallic shriek between the building and a juice stand. It
was cool inside the shop. The neatly aligned books all had Arabic titles. He
translated a few titles in his mind. They were sacred Koranic texts. The
small shop was empty except for a chubby man standing at a counter stacking
up Syrian pounds. The denominations were large, the value was small. Dean
approached him. Was this his contact? He studied the white hair, the broad
features, the heavy gold ring. Palestinians lived all over the Middle East,
from Syria to the Gulf States. Was this the middleman for the Palestinian
militant he wanted to meet? "I
have some items for Abdul Aziz," Dean said, referring to the militant by
name. He wouldn't open his briefcase in public, but it contained tens of
thousands of dollars and two student visas to America for Abdul Aziz's
daughters. The
man kept counting the money. Dean
glanced around the shop. It was the kind of business that didn't attract much
foot traffic. Outside, an argument was heating up between the food stall
operator and the driver. Dean
was about to repeat his message concerning his items for Abdul Aziz when a
shot rang out at the doorway. The dispute was getting ugly. The
bullet zinged into the shop and the man hit the floor. Dean
ducked between bookcases. Who were they aiming at? Syria
was growing more dangerous. Not so many years ago, he had spent leisurely
summers in Damascus watching passers-by and sipping Turkish coffee. There
were no angry words spoken on the crowded streets. Now, people had short
tempers and seemed on edge. The
street was silent. The shop's air, with moldy paper and musty leather
bindings, had a new smell. Gun smoke. The
incident was interfering with his mission. The
man began gasping. It wasn't the sound of exasperation. Footsteps
on the sidewalk receded into the hum of the city. Maybe one of the ubiquitous
plainclothesmen was chasing the gunman. Dean
rose and walked to the counter. He was surprised to see blood spurting from
the man's chest. The man's lungs had collapsed and he writhed in pain. "Good
God," Dean said, and knelt to help him. "I thought you had al-Qaeda
protection." The
man winced and nodded. Dean
had to keep him alive long enough to answer some vital questions. He pressed
a palm over the wound in the center of the man's chest. Blood bubbled up
between his fingers. "Who
will deal with me?" Dean whispered. A
bundle of yellowed pages fell from the man's hand and fluttered to the floor.
Dean squinted at the familiar-looking script, handwritten characters
punctuated with curious dots. It was an ancient Hebrew text. He
had no time to read the words, but could appreciate the time and effort it
had taken to create the manuscript. He
wasn't there for an ancient manuscript, yet here it was, close to the blood
that spurted from the man's chest. "This
is a symbol of our good faith," the man said in a fading voice. Dean
pressed a second hand over the wound. It felt sticky and warm. "Read
the first page," the man said with closed eyes. "There you will
find Aziz." The
man rolled his eyes toward Dean with a jerky motion. "Only
you can bring us peace." Then
the man's face relaxed. The blood stopped flowing. He was dead. Footsteps
were returning. Dean had little time to react. He wiped his hands on the
man's shirt, gathered the pages and stuffed them into his briefcase. Then he
headed for the back door. A
moment later, he slipped into an alleyway and quickly put distance between
him and the shop. With luck, no one could place him at the scene. He
had to get the parchment to Washington for analysis. It contained the
location where he could meet Abdul Aziz, the Palestinian militant. But it
would take several days to get the coppery smell of blood and the bookstore
owner's imploring look out of his mind. |
Description
Enjoy this tightly plotted inside look at the CIA
and high-stakes chase from Aleppo to Hebron, and from the Red Sea to
Jerusalem. You'll feel the hot desert wind blowing down your neck as Carla
tries to unravel the mystery and Dean races to thwart al-Qaeda's plot to blow
up peace talks. Bookstores
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