49

NORTHERN ISRAEL

Omar Mohammed and Bernard Langevin watched the IDF limousine depart Northern Command headquarters. They waited until it turned the corner before either spoke.

“Do you think he’ll get his full payment?” Mohammed asked.

“Well, he has so far. His nuke is the real deal. Without the documentation I can’t tell the remaining shelf life but it looked good enough to scare me out of my knickers. You know, it was smart to hide the bomb inside the blast zone. The ambient radiation would cover any trace of the weapon, assuming there was any, and not many people would spend much time looking there.”

Mohammed pivoted on a heel to return to the headquarters’ air-conditioned comfort. His Banana Republic attire was beginning to show unseemly perspiration stains. “Tell me, Bernard. Do you think he really killed his compatriots?”

“I don’t know. Not that it really matters. Either he’s a murderer or an opportunist. Maybe both. In any case, he prevented another nuclear detonation, and whatever else he’s done in his life, that’s a plus.” Langevin thought for a moment. “Omar, what do you think or the guy? Personally.”

“I believe he is who and what he says. Our Israeli friends may have a file on him, but in any case they will know the facts soon enough.

“So why’d he turn? I mean, he spent his whole life fighting. It looked like he had a clear shot at a worthwhile target on this side or the border. Presumably he could have set the timer and scooted for safety if he wasn’t into self-immolation. So why does somebody like that suddenly get greedy for money?”

Mohammed cocked his head and stroked his goatee. “Bernie, this is an interesting man. As a case study, that is.” The native Iranian pulled a notepad from his jacket. “Esmaili has a world of experience. Revolutionary guards, the Iraq war, special operations, cooperation with Hamas and the Palestinians, and the last two or three Lebanon conflicts.” He looked up. “He’s in his early forties and he’s been at war for almost thirty years. My reading is that he simply got sick and tired of the constant fighting. He seems to think that he has earned a rest.”

Langevin was unconvinced. “I’m not so sure, Omar. I mean, that could be true, but to what extent can we really know? After all, he could have simply set the timer and disappeared after the explosion.”

Mohammed placed a fraternal hand on Langevin’s shoulder. “My friend, I think that he did not want to be used anymore. Twice he told me that the imams and the hierarchy used up a generation of naive young patriots and religious zealots. But the old men who sent them out to die always remained safely behind. Always.” He shrugged. “As for the money—that was probably convenience, not entirely greed.”

“You think he could’ve got more than two million?”

“Almost certainly, based on his knowledge of Hezbollah operations alone. Of course, it required good faith on the part of the Israelis, but at this point in his life, I believe that our Mr. Esmaili decided he had nothing to lose by trusting his enemy.” Mohammed arched an eyebrow. “And he’s a shrewd businessman: two million is quite a bargain.”

Langevin looked around to ensure that no one overheard. “How long do you think he’ll last on the outside?”

Mohammad stroked his beard again. “Oh, eventually the facts will be known, by intention or by mistake. But wherever he goes, I would not wager his surviving long enough to spend his money.”

“Well, maybe his information will do some good before then.” Omar Mohammed indulged in a wry smile. “I would wager a goodly sum that if Imam Elham remains in Lebanon very long he will receive some unexpected visitors one night.”

Bernard Langevin, PhD, smiled in recollection. “As our young friend Breezy would say, ‘Hoo-ah the unexpected visitors.’”

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