Path Of The Assassin

Nothing amazed Harvath anymore, especially in the world of intelligence, but even so, Schoen had some incredibly well placed sources if he had already heard about the Operation Phantom attempt in Libya. If Schoen knew enough to mention Libya, then he probably had at least part of the bigger picture. Harvath decided to play along. “Funny you should mention Libya, Ari.”

“I’m guessing,” said Schoen, “that you were unsuccessful in completing your assignment.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Well, if you had, you would never have bothered returning my call.”

“Touché.”

“So you were unsuccessful, then.”

“Not completely.”

“What do you mean?”

“We learned something quite remarkable. We have reason to believe that the Abu Nidal Organization is not headed by his son, but by his-”

“Daughter,” completed Schoen.

Harvath was completely shocked. “How did you know?”

“It’s a very long and complicated story, Agent Harvath. Did you actually see her? The one with the silver eyes?”

“Yes, I did, but how did you-”

“Where is she now? Is she still in Libya?”

“She has probably already left.”

“Do you know where she was going?”

“We don’t know that yet. Listen, if you knew there was a daughter involved with all of this, why didn’t you say so?”

“Have you told the CIA what you discovered?”

“Of course,” said Harvath.

“And what was their response?”

Harvath began to see why Schoen might have been holding back on him. “Though they didn’t say it in so many words, they think its nuts. They don’t believe Abu Nidal would have turned the organization over to a daughter, even if he had one. What’s more, they said none of Nidal’s men would ever take orders from a woman.”

“And by now you know about both the sister and the brother?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” said Schoen as a long pause occupied the scrambled phone line.

“Good? Is that all you can say? This isn’t exactly quid pro quo.”

“I can say the same for you, Agent Harvath. You have not been fully forthcoming with me either. Where have they gone?”

“I don’t know. What I do know is that despite what I told them, the CIA is still focusing on Hashim, the brother,” said Harvath, trying to fit the pieces together in his mind.

“Let the CIA chase him. He’s not the one you want. It’s her.”

“And you want her too, don’t you, Ari?”

“I want her more than you will ever know, Agent Harvath.”

“Then tell me what you know.”

“It is not much, but maybe it will prove useful. Abu Nidal had a longtime friend and financial partner-an extremely wealthy Moroccan named Marcel Hamdi. We had him under surveillance in Marbella, Spain, where his yacht, the Belle Étoile, left the Puerto Banus two days ago. I’m going to have my people post the surveillance materials for you within a web site we occasionally use.”

“What does that have to do with Nidal’s daughter?”

Schoen was a very bright man and no stranger to manipulating people. He was sure that the CIA had informed Harvath that they believed he was connected to the Hand of God attacks. He had to play his hand very carefully. If he could stall Harvath long enough to get the cooperation he needed, then nothing else would matter. And the way to do that was to tell Harvath almost everything he knew.

“Hamdi is like a second father to her. We intercepted a communication that we thought might have been from her, but couldn’t be sure. Then the Belle Étoile left Marbella heading east. Yesterday, Hamdi stopped in the open ocean and was met by a seaplane. One of his bankers from the Palma de Mallorca branch of Deutsche Bank boarded the yacht with two large suitcases for him. Those suitcases contained over fifteen million U.S. dollars, cash. From what our sources tell us, Hamdi and the Belle Étoile are headed for an island somewhere off the southern coast of Italy.”

“Where? Sicily? Sardinia? Corsica? Which island?”

“That’s the problem, Agent Harvath. At this point, we have absolutely no idea.”

53

Harvath tried to connect Schoen’s new dots as he walked back to the staff town house where he and Meg were staying. The door to her room was slightly ajar and as he looked in, he could see she was sleeping. It was just as well, she probably still wasn’t speaking to him. He walked quietly down the hall to his room, popped several Tylenols, and fell asleep the minute he hit his bed.

Later that afternoon, Harvath awoke to the smell of fresh brewed coffee. When he entered the kitchen, he found Meg sitting at a small table dressed in civilian clothes and reading a day-old copy of The International Herald Tribune.

“Did you get a good sleep?” she asked, folding the paper and setting it on the counter behind her.

“Good enough for now. Is that coffee I smell?”

“Yup, Starbucks even. I got it at the commissary, along with some croissants and a paper. Help yourself.”

“You get the clothes there too?”

“No, an embassy staffer brought them over. I guessed at your sizes. Yours are on the chair in the hall.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”