Read Online By the Rivers of Babylon by Nelson DeMille - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nelson DeMille
Tags: Fiction
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heat of the
Hamseen
permeated the small room.
Miriam Bernstein looked around the room again. “There are those among us who do not want to give up at the peace table what they bought in blood. I understand this. I do. And I know all the rebuttals to the peace-at-any-cost philosophy. We all do. I even believe many of them. I’m just asking you all to think about what I’ve said over the next few days. Thank you.” She sat down and busied herself with the papers in front of her.
No one made a reply. The room was very still.
General Talman rose and walked over to Teddy Laskov. He took him by the arm and they both walked out into the corridor.
Eventually, people began speaking in quiet voices to those sitting near them. Then the meeting broke into small groups as final plans were coordinated.
Jacob Hausner tuned out the low voices around him and regarded Miriam Bernstein for a long time. There was a subtle undercurrent between them. He felt it. Unresolved, it would surface at the most unexpected moment. He remembered suddenly and vividly the time she had refused an invitation to spend the weekend at his villa. He bristled now at the thought of it. Then he sat back and looked at the ceiling. To hell with her. He had other things besides Miriam Bernstein to occupy his thoughts.
There had been a lot of practice over the years for this moment. The Palestinians had always considered El Al a military objective, and the attacks had begun almost the same day El Al had in 1948. But it was the more spectacular terrorist operations of the 1960s and 1970s that had grabbed the headlines.
The last incident had been the attempted hijacking of an El Al 747 out of Heathrow Airport. Ahmed Rish had been the mastermind of that plot. Hausner’s face grimaced at the name. Rish. One of the last—and probably the best—of a bad lot. They’d had him in Ramla Military Prison once, too, after he had been arrested at Lod Airport on an unknown mission. In 1968, before Israel adopted a policy of refusing to negotiate with terrorists, they had exchanged him, along with fifteen other terrorists, for the Israeli passengers on the El Al flight that had been hijacked in the attempt to capture General Sharon. Hausner had thought it was a mistake then, and later events had proved him correct.
He wished that Ahmed Rish had turned up dead in one of the Mivtzan Elohim raids over the years. Rish’s specialty was airplanes, and the thought of Rish on the loose, an unrepentant and deeply committed terrorist, disturbed him. Hausner had been one of his principal interrogators at Ramla. Rish was one of the few terrorists who had made him lose his temper. Hausner remembered striking him. In his report, he concluded that Rish was a very dangerous man who ought to be locked up forever. But he had been released.
Rish had turned up in a lot of places since then, each one of them too close to an El Al plane. There were rumors that Rish had been one of the terrorists who had escaped the Entebbe raid. Probably true, thought Hausner.
When Isaac Burg had mentioned a guerilla caught in France, Hausner’s memory had been jogged. Rish had been spotted in France over a year ago, after the Heathrow operation. Why France? Hausner recalled that something about that had bothered him at the time. What was it? France. Rish. Rish’s
modus operandi.
That was it. There was something about Rish’s
modus operandi
that had struck him at the time. Rish wasn’t a gun-toting, half-crazed hijacker. He didn’t take many personal risks. Rish operated in a very remote, circumspect manner.
Why France? Why not the big Arab communities in Germany? The only Arab group of any size in France was the Algerians. Rish was an Iraqi, though he was fighting for the Palestinian cause. To the rest of the world, Arabs were all the same. But to each other they were not. Also, to the French police, who were used to Algerians, an Iraqi would stick out.
Yes, Rish was an insect who had touched the
Hamseen
permeated the small room.
Miriam Bernstein looked around the room again. “There are those among us who do not want to give up at the peace table what they bought in blood. I understand this. I do. And I know all the rebuttals to the peace-at-any-cost philosophy. We all do. I even believe many of them. I’m just asking you all to think about what I’ve said over the next few days. Thank you.” She sat down and busied herself with the papers in front of her.
No one made a reply. The room was very still.
General Talman rose and walked over to Teddy Laskov. He took him by the arm and they both walked out into the corridor.
Eventually, people began speaking in quiet voices to those sitting near them. Then the meeting broke into small groups as final plans were coordinated.
Jacob Hausner tuned out the low voices around him and regarded Miriam Bernstein for a long time. There was a subtle undercurrent between them. He felt it. Unresolved, it would surface at the most unexpected moment. He remembered suddenly and vividly the time she had refused an invitation to spend the weekend at his villa. He bristled now at the thought of it. Then he sat back and looked at the ceiling. To hell with her. He had other things besides Miriam Bernstein to occupy his thoughts.
There had been a lot of practice over the years for this moment. The Palestinians had always considered El Al a military objective, and the attacks had begun almost the same day El Al had in 1948. But it was the more spectacular terrorist operations of the 1960s and 1970s that had grabbed the headlines.
The last incident had been the attempted hijacking of an El Al 747 out of Heathrow Airport. Ahmed Rish had been the mastermind of that plot. Hausner’s face grimaced at the name. Rish. One of the last—and probably the best—of a bad lot. They’d had him in Ramla Military Prison once, too, after he had been arrested at Lod Airport on an unknown mission. In 1968, before Israel adopted a policy of refusing to negotiate with terrorists, they had exchanged him, along with fifteen other terrorists, for the Israeli passengers on the El Al flight that had been hijacked in the attempt to capture General Sharon. Hausner had thought it was a mistake then, and later events had proved him correct.
He wished that Ahmed Rish had turned up dead in one of the Mivtzan Elohim raids over the years. Rish’s specialty was airplanes, and the thought of Rish on the loose, an unrepentant and deeply committed terrorist, disturbed him. Hausner had been one of his principal interrogators at Ramla. Rish was one of the few terrorists who had made him lose his temper. Hausner remembered striking him. In his report, he concluded that Rish was a very dangerous man who ought to be locked up forever. But he had been released.
Rish had turned up in a lot of places since then, each one of them too close to an El Al plane. There were rumors that Rish had been one of the terrorists who had escaped the Entebbe raid. Probably true, thought Hausner.
When Isaac Burg had mentioned a guerilla caught in France, Hausner’s memory had been jogged. Rish had been spotted in France over a year ago, after the Heathrow operation. Why France? Hausner recalled that something about that had bothered him at the time. What was it? France. Rish. Rish’s
modus operandi.
That was it. There was something about Rish’s
modus operandi
that had struck him at the time. Rish wasn’t a gun-toting, half-crazed hijacker. He didn’t take many personal risks. Rish operated in a very remote, circumspect manner.
Why France? Why not the big Arab communities in Germany? The only Arab group of any size in France was the Algerians. Rish was an Iraqi, though he was fighting for the Palestinian cause. To the rest of the world, Arabs were all the same. But to each other they were not. Also, to the French police, who were used to Algerians, an Iraqi would stick out.
Yes, Rish was an insect who had touched the
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