The Secret Servant (Gabriel Allon #7)(13)
“There is a leader of these young men,” Ibrahim resumed. “He has not been in Amsterdam long—eighteen months, maybe a bit more. He is an Egyptian. He works in an Internet shop and phone center in the Oud West, but he likes to think of himself as an Islamist theoretician and a journalist. He claims to be a writer for Islamist magazines and websites.”
“His name?”
“Samir al-Masri—at least that’s what he calls himself. He claims to have connections to the mujahideen in Iraq. He tells our boys it is their sacred duty to go there and kill the infidels who have defiled Muslim lands. He lectures them about takfir and jihad. At night they gather in his apartment and read Sayyid Qutb and Ibn Taymiyyah. They download videos from the Internet and watch infidels being beheaded. They have taken trips together. A few of them went to Egypt with him. There is talk about Samir in the al-Hijrah. There usually is talk in the mosque, but this is different. Samir al-Masri is a dangerous man. If he is not al-Qaeda, then he is a close relative.”
“Where does he live?”
“On the Hudsonstraat. Number thirty-seven. Apartment D.”
“Alone?”
Ibrahim tugged thoughtfully at his beard and nodded his head.
“You told Solomon about Samir?”
“Yes, many months ago.”
“So why follow me tonight?”
“Because two days ago Samir and four other young men from the al-Hijrah Mosque disappeared.”
Gabriel stopped walking and looked at the Egyptian. “Where did they go?”
“I’ve been asking around, but no one seems to know.”
“Do you have the names of the other four men?”
The Egyptian handed Gabriel a slip of paper. “Find them,” he said. “Otherwise, I’m afraid buildings are going to fall.”
6
OUD WEST, AMSTERDAM
I was really looking forward to that Thai food,” said Eli Lavon.
“I’ll get you Thai food after we break into Samir’s apartment.”
“Please tell me where you’re going to get me Thai food at three in the morning.”
“I’m very resourceful.”
Gabriel rubbed a porthole in the fogged windshield and peered out toward the entrance of the Hudsonstraat. Lavon looked down and tugged at the buttons of his overcoat.
“We’re not supposed to use rental cars in operational situations unless they’re procured from clean sources.”
“I know, Eli.”
“We’re also not supposed to conduct break-ins and crash searches without proper backup or approval from King Saul Boulevard.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that.”
“You’re bending too many rules. That’s how mistakes happen. I was looking forward to spending the night at the Hotel Europa, not a Dutch holding cell.”
“Please tell me where I’m supposed to get a clean car and proper backup at three o’clock in the morning in Amsterdam.”
“So much for your resourcefulness.” Lavon stared gloomily out the window. “Look around, Gabriel. Have you ever seen so many satellite dishes?” He shook his head slowly. “They’re monuments to European na?veté. The Europeans thought they could take in millions of immigrants from the poorest regions of the Muslim world and turn them into good little social democrats in a single generation. And look at the results. For the most part the Muslims of Europe are ghettoized and seething with anger.”
Trapped between two worlds, thought Gabriel. Not fully Arab. Not quite Dutch. Lost in the land of strangers.
“This place has always been an incubator for violent ideologies,” Gabriel said. “Islamic extremism is just the latest virus to thrive in Europe’s nurturing environment.”
Lavon nodded thoughtfully and blew into his hands. “You know, for a long time after I came back to Israel, I missed Vienna. I missed my coffeehouses. I missed walking down my favorite streets. But I’ve come to realize that this continent is dying a slow death. Europe is receding quietly into history. It’s old and tired, and its young are so pessimistic about the prospects of the future they refuse to have enough children to ensure their own survival. They believe in nothing but their thirty-five-hour workweek and their August vacation.”
“And their anti-Semitism,” said Gabriel.
“That’s the one thing about Vienna I never miss,” Lavon said. “The virus of modern anti-Semitism started here in Europe, but after the war it spread to the Arab world, where it mutated and grew stronger. Now Europe and the radical Muslims are passing it back and forth, infecting one another.” He looked at Gabriel. “And so here we are again, two nice Jewish boys sitting on a European street corner at three o’clock in the morning. My God, when will it end?”
“It’s never going to end, Eli. This is forever.”
Lavon pondered this notion in silence for a moment. “Have you given any thought to how you’re going to get into the apartment?” he asked.
Gabriel reached into his coat pocket and produced a small metal tool.
“I could never use one of those things,” Lavon said.
“I have better hands than you do.”
“Best hands in the business—that’s what Shamron always said. But I still don’t know what you think you’re going to find inside. If Samir and his cell are truly operational, the apartment will be sanitized.”