"Can't the FBI track the cell signal?" asked Mordechai. "We do it all the time."
"They're trying. But apparently, whoever's got the phone is pretty smart. They're keeping it off until they make a call. All the calls have been very quick, none more than a few minutes. And the FBI doesn't want to call the phone directly for fear it might tip off the terrorists, if it's in the hands of terrorists."
Mordechai could see Bennett's discomfort intensifying, so he shifted gears.
"Hey, how about that gift I promised you?" he asked, reaching into his briefcase and pulling out a gift-wrapped package about the size of a shirt box.
"Gifts are good," said McCoy as she cleared away some plates and glasses to make room. "What have you got?"
Mordechai slid the package over to McCoy to do the honors, as Bennett was staring blankly out the window.
"A file?" McCoy blurted out, not bothering to hide her disappointment. 'You got us a file? You know we've got these in America, Dr. Mordechai."
"You don't have this one." The old man grinned.
Intrigued, she glanced around the room. It was almost three in the afternoon. The place was nearly deserted. Sure no one was watching, she opened the brown folder. The first page was a spread sheet in Arabic.
"What's this, your income taxes?" she quipped.
"Keep reading."
She did for a few moments, and a few pages, then looked back up.
"How'd you get this?"
"I have my sources," he said, lighting up his pipe and taking a few puffs.
"I know, but really, how'd you get this?"
Sweet smoke filled the air around their table. Bennett turned back from the windows and looked at McCoy, then at Mordecliai.
"What are you guys talking about?"
The former Mossad chief had both their attention. Now he was ready to talk. He took a few more puffs on his favorite pipe, then leaned forward and began to whisper.
"You asked me to follow the money, right?"
"Right."
"So I did."
"And? What'd you find?"
"It's worse than we imagined."
"What do you mean?"
The story Mordechai proceeded to tell sent chills down their spines. On the first night of Operation Palestinian Freedom, U.S. forces, at the suggestion of Israeli intelligence, raided two seemingly innocuous warehouses in central Ramallah. Both were owned by Yasser Arafat and the Palestinian Authority. Neither seemed to have any strategic significance. But the gun battle to secure both facilities had been fierce, and now Washington knew why. Inside was a treasure trove — top-secret files of Arafat's dealings with other Arab and Islamic countries and organizations, including banking records, financial spreadsheets, phone records, written and electronic correspondence, memos, as well as transcripts of meetings and phone calls.
The files had been airlifted by helicopter to a secret IDF base near the Sea of Galilee. There, U.S. and Israeli officers began copying and cataloguing everything. The process would likely still take another week or two, Mordechai said, after which everything would be returned and put back in its place. In the meantime, however, Arab-speaking linguists and intelligence analysts were beginning to translate what appeared to be the most important documents.
"They've uncovered a money trail you wouldn't believe," said Mordechai.
"Try me," said Bennett, now fully engaged.
"For starters, just take a guess at how much money since 1998 the Saudis have pumped into the hands of Yasser Arafat, his henchmen, and the other Islamic extremist groups in the territories to conduct 'martyrdom operations' against us?"
"I have no idea. A hundred million?"
"Not even close."
"Five hundred million?"
Mordechai shook his head.
"A billion? asked McCoy, incredulous.
"That's what we thought," Mordechai admitted, "a billion and change."
"Not true?"
"Not even close."
"Well?"
"You ready for this?" Mordechai asked, then pulled out a pen, and began writing on a clean paper napkin: 15,442,105,150 Saudi riyals.
"What's that in real money?" asked Bennett.
"No pun intended?"
"Very funny."
Mordechai smiled, then wrote down the translation—$4 billion U.S.
Bennett couldn't believe it. He just stared at the figure for a few moments, then looked at McCoy. She, too, was stunned.
"You're telling me the Saudis gave the Palestinians four billion dollars since 1998 to wage war against Israel?" asked Bennett.
"That's what I'm telling you."
"All to Arafat?"
"No, some went to the Palestinian Authority. A lot of it went directly to the PLO, Fatah, Hamas, and Islamic Jihad — before we destroyed them a few years ago — and more recently to Al-Nakbah, which is slowly picking up the pieces left behind by Hamas and Islamic Jihad. Most of the money, though, does seem to have gone through Arafat and his henchmen. The unifying factor was an organization's willingness to conduct, facilitate or condone jihad — including suicide bombings — against Israeli civilians."
"How did it all work?"
"We're still piecing that together," said Mordechai, pulling several documents from the file. "Since the Six Day War in '67, the Saudi government as well as many wealthy Saudi individuals have funneled money to the Palestinian leadership through a number of so-called charitable organizations. The first and oldest is the Popular Committee for Assisting Palestinian Mu-jahideen. A second and more recent one is called the Support Committee for the Al-Quds Intifada and the Al-Aqsa Fund. And there are others. Since the late '90s, the Saudis have dramatically stepped up their giving, and earmarked large amounts of it to the families of suicide bombers and others killed or wounded in operations against Israel. They say it's for humanitarian purposes, for families grieving over their losses. But each family gets a check for five to ten times its normal annual income. It's clearly a payoff for families to brainwash their children to give themselves up for the cause while they get the cash."
Bennett and McCoy sifted through the documents, skimming the English translations and trying to grasp the magnitude of what they were looking at.
"It's not easy to move huge amounts of cash like that," McCoy observed.
"Apparently it's easier than we thought. The recoids seem to indicate that vast amounts of Saudi funds were wire transferred from a bank in Jeddah to the Palestinian Authority Treasury Department. We've even uncovered the main account number."
"How come nobody's told Erin and me about this yet?"
Mordechai scooped up a forkful of fish and considered how to answer that.
"They think you've got enough on your plate. They don't want you focused on anything but making peace."
"So why are you telling us now?" asked McCoy.
Mordechai said nothing. He took yet another forkful of food and poured himself another cup of coffee. Bennett could see the mischievous twinkle in his eye.
"Dr. Mordechai seems to be sending us a little message," said Bennett.
"Oh, really?" said McCoy. "And what's that?"
Bennett looked over at Mordechai and raised his eyebrows, but the mystery man didn't take the bait.
"Please, go right ahead," said Mordechai. "You're doing fine."
So Bennett continued.
"Making peace, according to the good doctor, isn't simply about cutting a deal, good as that might be. It's time to follow the money — and cut it off."
McCoy looked back at Dr. Mordechai.
"How's he doing?" she asked.
"He's getting warmer."
"All right, Jon, carry on."
Bennett wiped his mouth with a napkin, and took a few sips of water.
"If I'm hearing him right, he's saying the suicide bombers and other terrorists on the front lines are largely motivated by ideology, religious and political. They want to do something heroic, something they'll be remembered for," Bennett continued. "But Dr. Mordechai doesn't believe their leaders — the men who send these bombers into battle, the men who are more than willing to sacrifice hundreds of their own countrymen while they themselves live in walled compounds, surrounded by dozens of bodyguards, driven around in bulletproof limousines — such leaders aren't driven purely by a cause, certainly not the glory of Islam. They're driven by old-fashioned greed."