Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (170 page)

Khalid nodded approval and flicked a length of ash into
the crystal block on his knee. 'The three of us share enough
common goals and problems that we cannot afford the luxury
of fighting among ourselves. There is safety in numbers, and
in order to be strong, we must be friends.' His eyes held
Najib's in their lazy way. 'Well, if not friends exactly, then at
least temporary allies.'

Najib nodded. 'Very well, then. Obviously you already
know what it is that I want. Now it is my turn. What is it that
you want?'

Khalid's voice was soft, 'I want this nonsense about a holy
war dropped. I care neither one way nor the other for the
Jews' Wailing Wall or the Christians' St. Peter's Square, but I
care deeply for our people and for Mecca. I refuse to allow thousands of innocents to die needlessly, or our most holy
shrine to be destroyed. In order to do this, as well as to ensure
the continued survival of the PFA, Abdullah must go. Other
wise, it is only a matter of time before this organization is
destroyed.'

'And then, after Abdullah?' Najib asked quietly. 'What will
happen then?'

'Then I shall be the leader of the Palestinian Freedom
Army,' Khalid said, surprised that Najib should have asked.

Najib held his gaze. 'And that will change things?'

'For the better, I hope. However, if you do not believe that,
then you could at least draw comfort by considering me the
lesser of two evils.' He gave a wry little smile. 'Are we agreed,
then? We can count you in?'

'Not so fast.' Najib made a gesture. 'Back up a little. You
said Abdullah must go. What exactly do you mean by that?
Abdullah will not voluntarily relinquish any of his power.'

Khalid nodded. 'He must be killed. He leaves us no other
choice.'

'And what about the men who are loyal to him?'

Khalid was silent.

'Then let me put it this way. Besides yourself and Hamid,
how many more men can you count on to help us?'

'There are but the three of us,' Khalid said softly.

Najib stared at him. 'Are you mad? Abdullah has the sup
port of hundreds. Of
thousands.'

'At the moment, he has the support of ninety-seven men here at this palace. It goes without saying that if we are to succeed, we stand our best chance of eliminating him here.'

'And the two Libyans? Did you count them?'

'No. But they will die also.'

'And the German girl makes one hundred.' Najib shook his
head. 'There are not enough of us,' he said with finality. 'It
would never work.'

Khalid was undeterred. 'We would enjoy the element of
surprise,' he said doggedly.

'There are not enough of us! We cannot even get to him
while he sleeps. You heard him tell us. One of the Libyans is
always awake guarding him.'

Khalid looked at Najib shrewdly. 'How were you going to
get the Jewish girl out?'

Najib stared at him.

'Why do you look at me like that? As long as we work
together, in the end we can both succeed and get what we set
out to achieve.'

Najib pondered that before he answered. He wondered how
Khalid would react when he told him. 'Are you willing to fight
at the side of the Israelis?' he asked.

Khalid sucked in his breath and stared.

'Are you?' Najib repeated.

Khalid looked instinctively toward the door. His voice was a whisper. 'What makes you think the infidels will want to
help?'

'The return of Daliah Boralevi and the prospect of cutting
down Abdullah say they will. They cannot afford to let him
begin his holy war. They stand to lose more than anyone else.'

Khalid remained silent.

'Well?' Najib was waiting.

Khalid frowned. 'Who will have to know of their invol
vement?' he asked at last. The moment he said it, Najib knew
he nearly had him snared.

'The two of you,' Najib said after a moment. He frowned
thoughtfully. 'Me. The girl. And the Israelis, of course. I don't
think you have to worry about that, though. It is to their
advantage to make Abdullah's death look like a power
struggle within the PFA. Otherwise, if the Saudis know the
truth, they are likely to consider the rescue attempt an
invasion. The Israelis don't dare let that happen. It could spell
war.'

There was a silence as each of them worked out the potential
consequences in their heads. The risks were steep. But then,
so were the rewards. All three of them knew that there was
no such thing in life as major rewards for minor risks: risk and
reward were always proportionate.

Najib glanced from one of them to the other. He could
almost hear their gears turning. Now that they were nibbling, he knew better than to rush them. They had to make up their
own minds.

'I have one question,' Khalid said tightly. 'We know that Abdullah must be killed. Possibly the two Libyans, and the German girl also. But we cannot massacre everyone in the palace.' He paused, his eyes searching Najib's. 'What I want
to know is: how am I guaranteed that no one will connect
Hamid and me with the Israelis? If they do, you know we
wouldn't last the first night.'

Najib nodded. 'I've already thought of that. It's simple, really. No one will know they're Israelis because they won't
be in uniform, and I'll make sure they carry an assortment of
Russian and American weapons. As long as they keep their
mouths shut throughout the operation, and leave no wounded
behind, you're covered.'

Khalid took a deep breath. After a while he chuckled. 'In a strange way, it would be poetic justice, don't you think? The
Israelis helping me into a position of terrorist power?'

Najib did not reply.

Khalid looked at Hamid, and a silent signal seemed to pass
between the two of them.

Najib looked at Khalid questioningly.

'You can count us in,' Khalid said definitely.

Najib sprang it on them then. 'First, I want three guaran
tees,' he said flatly. 'Without them, you are on your own.'

Khalid's voice was edgy. 'And what are those?'

Najib ticked the points off on his fingers. 'First, after this
mission is finished and done with, I am out of this organization
completely. I want nothing more to do with the PFA. Second, I want to ensure my safety and the girl's, and that goes for as
long as we live. And third, the same goes for her family. The
Boralevis and ben Yaacovs are never to be touched by viol
ence from this organization again.'

He could feel Khalid tightening up. Guarantees that went
years down the road weren't easy ones to make. 'Those are
my terms. Take them or leave them.'

The minutes ticked soundlessly by. Again Najib did not
press for a rushed answer. He didn't want a quick yes that
wouldn't be honoured.

Khalid finally nodded. 'I will guarantee that,' he said slowly.
'But only from the PFA. As far as the PLO and the Fedayeen,
and the other groups are concerned . .
.'He
shrugged help
lessly. 'I cannot be held accountable for them.'

'I do not expect you to be responsible for the actions of
other groups. Only for your own.'

Khalid began to smile. 'It is agreed, then.'

'Good.' Najib nodded. 'And now, since we have only a few
hours left for planning our strategy, we had better get busy.
In the morning, I am flying to Riyadh, ostensibly to have
this'—he raised his bandaged hand and smiled grimly—'taken
care of. As they say in the westerns, when I return, it will be
with the cavalry.'

'Then we have no more time to lose. When are you planning
on returning?'

Najib met his eyes straight on. 'Two nights from now. Wait
ing any longer wouldn't do us any good. It'll either work
or . . .'

Khalid finished the sentence: 'Or it won't.'

Chapter 21

Famagusta, Cyprus, was an ordinary seaside city with gran
diose pretensions of becoming a kind of Mediterranean Miami
Beach. Although balconied hotels and modern apartment
blocks of concrete and glass lined the length of the shore, it
hadn't yet reached the exalted status to which it aspired, nor
was there a likelihood that it ever would. Overall, it looked
more like one of those Spanish resorts on the Costa Brava
which had gone slightly to seed, and as the day waned, a
curious phenomenon occurred. The Famagusta beach faced
east, and as the sun began to move behind the tall buildings,
the sunbathers had to move out of the giant blocks of creeping
purple shadow and arrange themselves in regimented rows
along the narrow, sunlit strips between the buildings.

The glass-walled suite was fourteen floors above the
shadow-darkened beach, and Najib, facing the windows from
the couch at the far end of the room, saw only a panorama of
vast blue sky. A distant speck of aeroplane flashed bright silver
as the sun reflected off it.

He lowered his eyes from the window and focused them on
Schmarya. The old man was in an armchair and faced him
squarely across the coffee table; Dani's swivel armchair was
angled toward them both.

No one spoke. For over a minute already, they had been
sitting in such intense silence they could have heard a pin drop.

Najib slowly switched his gaze over to Dani. Dani's face
was a carbon copy of Schmarya's—white and tense—and Najib
could see shock in both men's eyes. Their disbelief was nearly
palpable; Najib could almost hear them wrestling with them
selves, and he knew that they were trying to find loopholes in
his story.

Najib pushed himself to his feet, went soundlessly over to
the sideboard, and splashed three glasses half-full of brandy.
He carried them back to the coffee table, set one down in
front of each of them, and lowered himself onto the couch
again.