Gabriel Allon #01 - The Kill Artist by Daniel Silva

Author:Daniel Silva [Silva, Daniel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Suspense, Thriller, Fiction, Political, Fiction - Espionage
ISBN: 9780449002124
Publisher: Fawcett
Published: 2004-04-05T06:00:00+00:00

She thought:

And you’re changing the subject.

She said, “You’re my first. I may have to do it again sometime.”

“Not while you’re sleeping with me.”

“Are we sleeping together now?”

“That’s up to you.”

“All right, we are now officially sleeping together.” She rolled onto her back, looked at the light from the street falling across her body, imagined it was Gabriel’s gaze. “Do you think we should get to know each other a little better, now that we’re officially sleeping together?”

He smiled and said, “What do you want to know?”

“I want to know what happened to your back.”

He turned and looked out the window.

She studied the digital alarm clock on the bedside table.

“There are some things about my past that you might find unpleasant,” he said.

“Bad things you’ve done?”

“No, Dominique. Bad things that were done to me.”

“How did you get that scar on your back?”

He turned and looked at her. “I grew up in a refugee camp in Lebanon—the Shatila camp in south Beirut. Perhaps you’ve heard of Shatila, Dominique.”

“Of course I’ve heard of Shatila.”

“The PLO had offices in the Shatila camp, so when the Israelis invaded Lebanon in ‘eighty-two, they shelled the camp day and night. A missile fired by an Israeli fighter jet hit the building where our family lived. The building collapsed on top of me, and a chunk of concrete tore away the skin of my back.”

“Why were you in Lebanon?”

“Because that’s where my family ended up after they were driven from their ancestral homes in Palestine by the Jews.”

Jacqueline looked at the ceiling.

Yusef said, “Why do you look away from me when I tell you that?”

“I met some Israelis once in a nightclub in Paris. They were debating this issue with a group of French students. They said that the Jews didn’t have to expel the Arabs from Palestine because the Arabs left on their own.”

Yusef laughed and shook his head. “I’m afraid you have fallen for the great Zionist myth, Dominique. The myth that the Palestinians would voluntarily trade the land where they had lived for centuries for exile and refugee camps. The myth that the Arab governments told the Palestinians to leave.”

“It’s not true?”

“Does it sound as though it could be true?”

“Not really.”

“Then trust your instincts, Dominique. If it doesn’t sound plausible, it probably isn’t. Do you want to know the truth about what the Jews did to my people? Do you want to know why my family ended up in a refugee camp in Beirut?”

“I want to know about you.”

“I’m a Palestinian. It’s impossible to separate me from the history of my people.”

“Tell me,” she said.

“By the way, which nightclub in Paris?”

“What?”

“The nightclub where you met the Israelis. Which one was it?”

“I can’t remember. It was so long ago.”

“Try to remember, please. It’s important.”

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