Dark Waters Read Free Page B

There was no more doubt. His friend was dead.
    Anger festered in Tibi’s belly as the Israelis in the bar reveled in Muatab’s death. To them, Muatab was nothing more than a killer.But to Tibi, he was a hero. The Palestinians would celebrate him as a martyr. As it was written in the Quran and ordained by Allah, “A soul for a soul.” They would avenge his death. Tibi would see it was done.
    The camera panned to a view of the Zinah Dizengoff Hotel. The newscaster reported that the shots were fired from a fourth-floor window. Tibi was sure the shooter was gone by now. But who was he, and how had he known about the exchange? No one at Tibi’s workplace of work was smart enough to figure out that he had taken anything of importance. After all, he was just a maintenance worker. And Zuabi had only given him instructions that morning to meet the contact at Dizengoff Square. That meant the sniper had to be an Israeli or an American, either working with the contact or having tailed him to the square.
    Tibi decided he had waited long enough. Paying for his coffee, he exited the bar and headed south, swept along in the wake of the crowd pressing toward Dizengoff Square. Before he could break off and move toward the bus stop, a soldier moved toward him.
    “Hey, you!”
    Tibi froze.
    “What are you doing?”
    As an Israeli Arab, Tibi knew he was someone on whom suspicion might fall. He didn’t want to bring attention to where he was headed, so he pointed across the street to the post office, with its red-and-white sign and deer logo. “I am going to the Postal Authority.”
    “Then why are you lingering here?”
    A surge of anger made him brave. He was a citizen of Israel, with the same rights as anyone else. “Because there is a crowd stopping here.”
    Those who only minutes ago fled in terror were now filtering back. Tibi understood why. What better place to relive anear-death experience than the crime scene? But this soldier focused on him. Not because of his presence, but because he was Arab.
    The soldier waved his rifle. “Move along.”
    Even though he wanted to stand his ground, Tibi knew now was not the time to stand and fight. Turning away, he struck out toward the Postal Authority. He would go in and then out the back. In the end, all Tibi wanted to do was leave him with no memorable impression.

Chapter 6
    J ordan parked the embassy vehicle on a side street near Zinah Dizengoff Square behind a dozen other police and military vehicles pulled up haphazardly to the curbs and counted twenty-three Israeli soldiers blocking the perimeter of the square. Their khaki green uniforms offset a long row of bright blue removable metal fencing, creating a picket-like effect as they stood at attention, their guns ready. Even so, a large crowd had gathered. Workers from nearby office buildings had come out to gawk, along with the hotel staff and the waiters and cooks from the restaurants lining the street. Along the sidewalks, parents boosted children onto their shoulders. Tourists snapped photos. Everyone looked to see what was happening near the fountain—everyone, that is, except a solitary man who kept his head down and moved swiftly toward the Postal Authority. Something about him struck her as off.
    Jordan tracked his movements as she climbed out of her car. At the entrance to the Postal Authority, the man looked up. Olive-skinned, with dark hair and dark eyes, he appeared to be an Arab. He held open the door for an elderly patron and then ducked inside. When he didn’t exit quickly, she chalked up her suspicion to nerves.
    She reached for her Kevlar vest—the one with “Federal Agent” stamped on the back—and slipped it on over her shirt. Regulationsrequired she wear it, though from her perspective, it was like donning a bull’s-eye. Her outfit screamed “American.” There was already one dead agent. Why not make it two?
    She checked her gun, making sure it was visible on her hip and holstered securely per the