The Black Widow (Gabriel Allon #16) - Daniel Silva Page 0,34

the while his thoughts wandered to the photographs contained in the locked stainless steel briefcase at his ankle. He had never carried a briefcase before—not willingly at least, only for the sake of his cover. It felt like a ball and chain, an anvil. He supposed he should find someone to carry it for him. But inwardly he feared that such a move might nurture in him a taste for privilege that would spiral, inevitably, to a valet, a food taster, and a standing appointment at an exclusive Tel Aviv hair salon. Already, he missed the small thrill of piloting his own automobile down the ski-slope grade of Highway 1. Fareed Barakat would surely have found such sentiments curious. It was said of Fareed that he once jailed his own butler for allowing the Earl Grey tea to steep a minute too long.

At length, Fareed brought the topic of conversation around to the situation at King Saul Boulevard. He had heard about Gabriel’s pending promotion, and Uzi Navot’s impending demise. He had also heard—from where he refused to say—that Gabriel intended to keep Navot around in some capacity. He thought this a very bad idea, horrendous actually, and told Gabriel so. “Better to sweep the decks and make a fresh start of it.” Gabriel smiled, praised Fareed for his shrewdness and wisdom, and said nothing more on the subject.

The Jordanian had also heard that Gabriel had recently become a father again. With the press of a button he summoned an aide, who entered the office bearing two gift-wrapped boxes, one enormous, the other quite small. Fareed insisted that Gabriel open both in his presence. The large box contained a motorized Mercedes toy car; the second box, the smaller, a strand of pearls.

“I hope you’re not offended because the car is German.”

“Not at all.”

“The pearls are from Mikimoto.”

“That’s good to know.” Gabriel closed the box. “I can’t possibly accept these.”

“You must. Otherwise, I’ll be deeply offended.”

Gabriel was suddenly sorry he had come to Amman without gifts of his own. But what was one supposed to give a man who jailed his butler for misbrewing a pot of tea? He had only the photographs, which he retrieved from the attaché case. The first showed a man walking along an East London street, a book bag over one shoulder, a man who might have been an Arab or a Frenchman or an Italian. Gabriel handed the photograph to Fareed Barakat, who gave it a brief glance. “Jalal Nasser,” he said, returning the photograph to Gabriel with a smile. “What took you so long, my friend?”

14

GID HEADQUARTERS, AMMAN

FAREED BARAKAT KNEW MORE ABOUT ISIS than any other intelligence officer in the world, and with good reason. The movement had its roots in the grim Amman suburb of Zarqa, where, in a two-story house overlooking a derelict cemetery, there had once lived a man named Ahmad Fadil Nazzal al-Khalayleh, a heavy drinker, a vandal, a vicious street brawler who had so many tattoos the neighborhood children referred to him as “the green man.” His mother was a devout Muslim who believed that only Islam could save her troubled son. She enrolled him for religious instruction at the al-Hussein Ben Ali Mosque, and it was there al-Khalayleh found his true calling. He quickly became a radical and a committed enemy of the Jordanian monarchy, which he was determined to topple with force. He spent several years inside the GID’s secret prisons, including a stint in the notorious desert fortress at al-Jafr. The leader of his cellblock was Abu Muhammad al-Maqdisi, a firebrand preacher who was one of the foremost theoreticians of jihadism. In 1999, when a young, untested king ascended to the throne after the death of his father, he decided to release more than a thousand criminals and political prisoners in a traditional gesture of goodwill. Two of the men he freed were al-Maqdisi and his violent pupil from Zarqa.

By then, the former street brawler with many tattoos was known as Abu Musab al-Zarqawi. Not long after his release, he made his way to Afghanistan and pledged allegiance to Osama bin Laden. And in March 2003, with the American invasion of Iraq looming, he slipped into Baghdad and formed the resistance cells that would eventually come to be known as al-Qaeda in Iraq. The wave of beheadings and spectacular sectarian bombings carried out by Zarqawi and his associates pushed the country to the brink of all-out civil war. He was the prototype of a new kind