SANCTION: A Thriller Read Free Page A

people of Palestine down this road but, it must be understood, that without a reason to believe that Israel wants peace, we must assume this ceasefire is one of only temporary status.”
    Ben Schweitzer sat in the back of the room, his smartphone recording the press conference from inside his jacket pocket.
    He was short, not so much that he needed a booster seat in restaurants, but such that he was below the Israeli national average as well as that of his native Czechoslovakia. Everything else about Ben however was exceptional. He was lean, on the muscular side with ample biceps and strong shoulders developed from years of Krav Maga. His features were sharp, like they were carved from stone and his hair, a thick pile of black unruly layers.
    Both of his parents had been German Jews from Austria. They fled to Great Britain at the beginning of World War ll but had found it difficult to fit in with English society. They were determined never to return to the country that was populated by people who allowed the atrocities of the camps so after the war ended; they relocated to Czechoslovakia–where Ben’s father had distant relatives.
    After college, Ben had been recruited by the Israeli Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations. He found his place in the Mossad as a field operative digging up information on potential enemies within political streams. Though he grew up as far away from Jerusalem as one could, his parents had raised him to see only his Jewish heritage as trustworthy and he vowed to protect it however he could. As an agent of the Mossad, his current assignment was to assess Imam Nazari.
    He knew Nazari was lying. Ben was aware that the Israeli government had used back channels to contact the Imam’s people on three different occasions. The reason they had not been able to come to the “peace table” was because the Hamas wanted all the negotiations to be public from the outset. The Israeli Prime Minister had seen too many failed accords to be willing to negotiate under the watchful eye of the World without laying some preliminary groundwork beforehand. Nazari had not answered that call.
    Schweitzer had watched Western countries go from calling Yasser Arafat, “The Father of Terrorism,” to awarding him the Nobel Peace Prize. He was sure that Nazari and Arafat were of the same cloth. So, naturally, he was predisposed to distrust the cleric.
    As part of Ben’s cover, he reported to a Czechoslovakian newspaper, where he maintained a political Op-Ed weekly article. It afforded him genuine credentials as a reporter, which he used to move about in political circles quite feely.
    Nazari was nearing the end of his thirty minute speech. His guards tensed, all of their eyes panning the crowd with intensity. Ben knew the security threat to the Imam was real. His own nation presented the greatest reality to that threat. However, seeing the guards displaying such bravado and machismo made him laugh to himself.
    The speech ended and Ben picked up his battered briefcase and made his way around the back row of chairs to the rear of the room. He could hear the other reporters volleying for a chance to ask their question. Ben never asked questions.
    The Jewish spy was nearing a metal detector that led to a set of glass double doors when he was stopped by a man in a black military uniform. It was one of Nazari’s guards.
    The man was tall, at least six inches above Ben’s’ five foot seven. A broad set of shoulders outlined a thick muscular neck. His dark hair hung low over his eyes so that he had to brush it away from his face several times.
    “Can I help you?” Ben asked as the Arab sized him up. He stood directly in front of Ben, making it clear that he would need permission to continue.
    “Imam Nazari is allowing several reporters to accompany him to his Estate in Syria. They will be invited to interview him privately, as well as present questions to select ranking members of Hamas.” The guard’s accent,