Agent on a Mission Page 21

  “Are you joining me, Sharif?” Adam asked.

  “No, I’m only here to make the introductions and deliver your vehicles.”

  “And, then what?”

  “Home,” Sharif answered and added: “Believe me; I don’t understand why I travelled all the way here or what you’re doing here.”

  Adam was silent and mused that if Sharif knew something, he was hiding the fact very well. Suddenly he grew angry with himself for not trusting Sharif, either. He suspected everyone, but he decided to carry on playing the game.

  “I was given a vacation. Don’t I deserve one?” he said and patted Sharif’s shoulder.

  “Sure you do. Where and how are you planning to travel?” he asked and carried on without waiting for an answer.

  “Adam, I’ll tell you why I’m asking. It’s because the vehicles we brought on the plane are two huge motorcycles. By the way, since when do you ride a motorcycle?" Adam looked at Sharif in amazement.

  “Did you come here to make fun of me? A motorcycle? What are you talking about? I don’t even remember how to sit on a two-wheeler without falling off. Sharif, are you pulling my leg?”

  “Not at all, come, we’re getting close to the motorcycles now,” he said. “The hotel parking lot is at the end of the road.”

  After walking along the wet street for another two minutes they reached a bend in the road and there, in front of them, lay the paved hotel parking lot that was full of vehicles. In the second row, there were two huge glistening motorcycles with large transparent windshields mounted on their handlebars. Sharif put out his hand to Adam, shook his warmly, and added:

  “I have to return. I would love to stay with you but I’ve been told that my flight leaves at noon and it’s already…” he glanced at his wristwatch and then turned Adam’s hand to reveal his wristwatch and said,

  “My watch is set to Israel time. There’s no point in adjusting it because I’ll be back home today.”

  “Come on, Sharif, can’t you delay for a half hour to have a drink with me in the lobby? Believe me, you won’t miss a thing, come on.”

  “I can’t, Adam, they told me explicitly not to spend time with you and, you know that I always obey.”

  He patted Adam’s shoulder and walked away. From time to time, he glanced back and waved goodbye. Before he disappeared round the bend in the road, Sharif turned round and, with both hands on his lips, blew Adam a kiss and stretched his hands out in his direction. Tears welled up in Adam’s eyes as the young man disappeared around the bend in the road.

  Adam turned his gaze towards the motorcycles in order to take another look at them and saw his friend, Judge Anton Stolov standing beside them, his arms folded on his chest as he laughed.

  * * *

  Chapter Sixteen

  The policeman received another short reminder about the Bedouin woman, who had disappeared. It was made clear it would be worth his while to find her. The call arrived the day after the incident with Latifah, Abigail’s sister, who was murdered by Modang, the Korean woman he had sent to meet her.

  “Get this, officer. Just one more incident like that one and your fate will be like that Bedouin girl,” the voice threatened and shivers ran down Shimon’s spine.

  That was all Ashraf said to him and he tried to think what he should do. Suddenly, he got an idea. He would try and draw out Naim, the man who had worked with the Saudi traffickers for years. He called him immediately and got straight to the point without any introductory niceties.

  “Hello, Shimon speaking. We have to talk. Come and meet me at the Be'er Sheba central bus station. Is seven thirty good for you?”

  Naim frowned, trying to recall who was speaking to him. He didn’t know Shimon well and only vaguely remembered the figure that had followed him off the plane and in the taxi and asked.

  “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Ashraf called me. He asked me to give you food for thought. He says you have crossed some red lines. Meet me promptly as arranged, I’ll be there,” he said and hung up.

  Naim’s spine tingled. He wanted to refuse, but understood that he had to go. For a moment he thought it over and then decided to visit the Ka’abiah encampment and get some professional legal advice from his beloved protégée.

  When he reached the tent little Arlene ran to greet him and he crouched beside her. Abigail watched her and laughed with pleasure. She pointed to him and said to her little daughter:

  “That’s your Grandpa. Gr-and-pa” and tears glistened in her eyes.

  “Come, sweetheart, let’s invite Grandpa into our tent.”

  Abigail moved the flaps to the entrance to the tent aside and Naim picked up Arlene, entered the tent and sat down on the mat. He had not visited the tent in a long time and he looked around and recalled those times when he had sat with Sultan, the father of the tribe, on this very mat.

  Abigail returned with a round silver tray, bearing two steaming cups of coffee. She kneeled, placing the tray before him and said:

  “Just like old times.” Now she smiled as she recalled how she had brought the tray to serve her father’s guest, curtsied and run outside and now, over twenty years later she sat facing him as her little daughter played on the mat. How much she loved him and appreciated the things he had done for her. His motives and intentions did not interest her, but she measured the results of his actions by her success.

  He apparently read her thoughts and hesitated as he said,

  "Abigail, how much do you know about my business dealings in recent years?”

  Abigail looked at him and frowned, understanding now that he wanted to talk to her seriously, so she raised her finger and asked him to wait. She immediately took Arlene’s hand and led her out of the tent with her. Naim stared after her. She was so beautiful, fresh and young and it pained him to recall the remarks made by his son, Walid, who had said: ‘You should know that because of your actions, Abigail is cursed today. She lives alone with a small child and no husband.’

  “Why do you look so serious?” Abigail said when she returned. He shook his head, trying to dispel his thoughts and replied:

  “This evening at half past seven I have to meet someone and I am, how should I put it…?” he searched for the right word and Abigail completed the sentence: “… frightened, no, worried” and she continued:

  “What is frightening or worrying about the meeting?”

  “Because, as you know…” he suddenly stopped speaking, then continued: “Wait, I want to know something. Am I right that lawyer-client confidentiality applies here?” he asked with a smile.

  Abigail put out her right hand and he shook it. “Signed and sealed,” she replied.

  The atmosphere was light-hearted but Naim’s face was desperately serious.

  “There are things that you don’t know and things that no one knows.” He declared.

  “Go on.”

  “Naima, I am not a righteous man and it would not be misleading you to say that I have been a criminal and a sinner for almost thirty years.”

  “Ah, so have you decided to talk or do you think they have caught up with you?”

  “No. I think that this meeting is a continuation of my sins.”

  Abigail nodded and remained silent. Naim told her about his travels, the flights and journeys across the desert to secret meetings with slave traffickers. When he described the sweaty fat figure of Omar, they both laughed till they cried, but later they became serious again when he described how Ashraf had joined his clientele without the knowledge of his master, Omar.

  “Was there a written agreement between you? I mean, signed deals or signed contracts?” Abigail asked.

  “No, it was all by word of mouth, and face to face. There were almost no phone calls, just meetings and talking.”

  “And those women; were they taken by force? Were they drugged or beaten?”

  “I don’t think so. I mean, I never saw things like that.”

  “What do you mean when you say think? Ho
w is it possible that you have no idea whether they were absconding from their families or forcibly taken from them? Perhaps they tied them up and dragged them?”

  Naim stared at her, suddenly grasping that he knew nothing of what the women experienced even though he had been trading them for years and he said:

  “I’m not the first link. I receive them, but the truth of it is that it never interested me. I didn’t ask and I didn’t want to know how they came to the meeting place. They all looked fine, spoke and were fully conscious.”

  “So, I don’t see where there’s a problem? You can always claim that you escorted them and even prove that you also took care of their wellbeing and security.”

  Naim laughed in relief. “Oh, how good that sounds. I'm just an innocent escort.” A moment later, he added, “but since we aren’t stupid, I also know and understand that it would be very easy to prove that I knew why they were coming and where I was taking them. It’s not like I was marrying them off or that the intentions of those who ordered them were respectable or good.”

  She rested her hand on his arm and waited for him to continue speaking.

  “But that’s not what happened on the last trip and I think the discussion will be about what did happen.”

  Naim told her about the pair of girls and that one of them had been replaced because she was apparently murdered on the way or exchanged for another. At any rate, she had died.

  “Perhaps she died of an illness or some other misfortune? What makes you consider the possibility she was murdered?”

  “Because of Ashraf,” he said. “She was his first order. I was joined on that delivery by a driver who was scared to death. He just trembled all the time.” Naim shuddered as remembered the man.

  “Did he have something to be frightened of?” she asked as she sensed his trembling.

  “It was pitch-dark in Prague, in the middle of a road to nowhere.” Naim’s hand pointed into the distance in no clear direction.

  “I don’t even know a landmark that could define the place.” He stared ahead into space and continued talking:

  “I felt that our car was under surveillance all the time because he kept getting instructions on the radio communication instrument.” Naim’s anxiety was very noticeable.

  “Even now, when I remember those moments, I feel my whole being shaking.”

  He grew silent and Abigail understood he had trouble getting the words out.

  “Naim, you don’t have to remind yourself of those things”, she said, and looked at him with affection and concern, but he didn’t even hear her remarks and continued speaking from where he had left off.

  “We reached the midway point. On the road in front of us stood a car from which a tiny little woman came out, wearing black gloves, followed by two blonde girls. Even though it was very dark the moonlight was enough to see that the woman escorting them had very dark hair.”

  Abigail startled and straightened up tensely. She was alert and her golden green eyes narrowed and Naim stared at her face that now matched the words Omar had used, so many years ago. ‘The girl with the wolf’s eyes'.

  “What did you say? A small woman with dark hair and gloves?”

  “Yes, she wore gloves.”

  “Modang was even involved in that?” Abigail asked.

  “Involved in what?” Naim didn’t understand.

  Abigail’s voice tensed up and she was alert and concerned.

  “The woman spoke to the driver,” Naim was almost sobbing. “I was worried about him when I saw how frightened he was.”

  “If you saw that driver again, would you recognize him? Abigail asked.

  Naim smirked and said, “if only that were possible. When the driver got out of the car, I heard two shots and…”

  “Did they kill him?!”

  “I think so. I was frightened to death and then I also understood what he had been afraid of.”

  “Well, really, Naim, how come they let you leave? After all, weren’t you a witness to murder?” She looked at Naim incredulous.

  “I don’t know, I didn’t actually see who shot or who was shot, it was dark, but I heard the shots and someone opened the door of the only other car that was there and then closed it. I supposed they had put something in the trunk.”

  They sat in silence and Abigail looked him, waiting for him to continue.

  “The woman told me to drive back and take the girls as planned.

  “In what language did she speak to?” she asked.

  “In good English... She also called me by my name.”

  Abigail looked at him askance and said, “Is that so?!”

  Now she wondered whether, perhaps, an Israeli was involved in Ashraf’s business deals. This thought led her to ask Naim,

  “I suggest that you meet with Ashraf’s agent. It’s the only way you'll find out something.”

  She looked at him and saw the tension in his face.

  “Naim, take the initiative, listen to me, you have nothing to fear from them because, if they haven’t killed you yet, they won’t kill you now. You're important to them.”

  When Naim left, he was pleased with himself, pleased that he had restrained himself from telling her the whole story. He still felt the time was not right to tell her about herself, when she was an infant, and that she was still being sought after even now, in spite of the twenty years that had passed. Although he wasn’t proud of what he had done, the thought of how things had worked out and that this Bedouin woman had grown up and was alive today because of him, also helped him calm down.

  saw how Abigail looked him and loved to see how dearly she regarded him. He feared that if he were to reveal the whole story, her image of him would be damaged.

  * * *

  Naim arrived at the meeting place with half an hour to spare and looked for parking among the many cars. Suddenly he remembered that he didn’t really know the man he had arranged to meet, but presumed that the latter knew him.

  Once more, he tried to imagine what the subject of their discussion would be. Perhaps it would be about the two women he had delivered the last time or something to do with the little black-gloved woman. He didn’t know whether she had been killed by her dispatchers or not. Since he still had some time left before the meeting, he decided to doze off for a while. He left the engine running and directed the cool air from the A/C towards his face. He folded his arms behind his neck and listened to the Arabic news broadcast as the sun set and the streetlights turned on. The car was parked in a spot that was not well lit.

  Metallic tapping on the car window startled him. A short figure stood outside the car, holding the keys he had used to tap on the window. Naim lowered the window and looked at him questioningly. The man opened the car door and impatiently ordered him to move to the seat on the right and he sat down in Naim’s place. He settled back into the driver’s seat, adjusted the mirror above and drove out of the parking spot.

  Naim was angry. He looked at the man, who was driving instead of him and pointed at him assertively with his finger to tell him to move to the right and stop. The man stopped as his face expressed his amazement. Naim pulled the keys out of the ignition, dousing the car and turned to the man.

  “With whom do I have the pleasure, Sir?”

  The man stared at him open mouthed and didn’t reply.

  “Is it your habit to get into people’s cars and just drive off with them?”

  “Perhaps I made a mistake,” the man declared, “are you Naim?”

  “Perhaps I am, but you didn’t bother to find out. You just climbed in and started driving. Who are you?”

  “And, who are you?” the man asked.

  “Now, that’s nice of you for asking. I am Naim. How do you do? And, what’s your name?”

  “I’m Shimon. Remember? We arranged to meet, but I understand that I am now on a charm school course to improve my manners.”

  Naim disliked the man and suddenly had an urge to end the matter. Initially, he played with the idea of
pushing him out or asking him to get out, but when he looked at him, he thought he might be able to use him as a threat to unravel what was happening with regard to him and Abigail.

  Naim got out and walked round the car, opened the driver’s door and ordered Shimon to move to the passenger seat beside him.

  He started the car and asked:

  “Where were you planning to drive to?”

  Shimon pointed ahead and to the right. He was dumbstruck.

  “I wanted to park at the gas station, at the corner with the air pump for inflating tires.

  “Okay, I’m almost there.”

  When the car stopped, Shimon turned to Naim and asked:

  “What is your connection to a Bedouin woman called Nazima, or is it Nechama?”

  Naim caught on that the man sitting beside him really didn’t know what he was talking about and that served his purpose very well.

  “Who is Nazima?” he asked, “I also don’t know anyone called Nechama.”

  “A Bedouin woman from the Negev, it’s an old story from some twenty years back."

  “What’s your business with her?”

  “They want to know where she is now.”

  “How would I know? I imagine that if she’s Bedouin, she’s probably in one of the tent encampments in the desert; in the Negev. Where else could she go?”

  Shimon looked at him. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “Naim, listen to me and listen well. You and I don’t know one another. Not yet. When I take on an assignment, I do the very best job I can. That Bedouin woman is my assignment now.” His voice was assertive and threatening.

  “You’re quite right,” Naim replied in a calm voice. Now, he remembered Abigail saying that he should not fear anyone and he drew strength from her words.

  “We really don’t yet know one another. By the way, who set you this assignment and how am I involved in it?”

  Now, they sounded like two boxers sizing up an opponent.

  “Ashraf ordered me to find out about the Bedouin woman. That’s all.”