Breaking the Banker

Knew about him? Henri’s brain was bursting. What context was there in that? What did this young man know about what transpired between him and his father all those years ago. Was the young man going to denounce him on the basis of family honor? Or was it something else altogether that he knew—Henri’s connection with the Palestinian organizations purpose perhaps? Henri was doing everything he was being asked to do; why would they be sending someone to Washington, D.C., to contact him directly? But, hadn’t the young man said he worked for the U.S. government? Was Henri’s complicity with Mideast terrorist groups—something that had now become quite an international crime—being exposed? Or was it both family honor and criminal activity? Or something else altogether?

“Listen, I don’t have a seminar scheduled now,” the young man said. “Do you? Perhaps we could go somewhere quiet for lunch?”

Did Henri really have a choice? The sudden shock of it left him almost speechless—and without choices.

They lunched in a dimly lit alcove at a discrete little restaurant in Georgetown, and Henri was both relieved and aroused that Salim seemed to only know of his relationship with Sa’eed as being lovers; nothing was mentioned of Henri’s business with secret Palestinian bank accounts and Sa’eed’s possible connection with that.

“I never could forget what my father said of his love for you and the consummation of that love,” Salim said.

“He told you of that?” Henri asked. “Weren’t you rather—?”