The Washington Sanction

by Mark Arundel

  ‘You did that deliberately,’ he said.

  Karen laughed excitedly with the adrenalin and the exhilaration of victory.

  ‘Just keeping you honest,’ she said.

  They walked for a while, along the beach, side by side.

  A Brown Pelican flew past, only six feet above Rafferty’s head. The prehistoric looking bird, with a seven-foot wingspan, was hunting the shallow surf for fish. They both dipped instinctively in a reflexive action and spun to look as the ugly bird flapped and glided out again over the water. Turning its head, the pelican moved rapidly, pulling one wing under, rolling in flight and then diving. The long, stretched beak and head entered the water followed by a splash from its rounded body. The bird resurfaced with a fish, tipped its head back and gobbled it down. Rafferty thought he noticed the boastful expression of a successful hunter on the bird’s face.

  The sweat was cooling on their bodies and their chests no longer heaved.

  ‘Do you want to finish the run?’ Karen said.

  Rafferty nodded and Karen started to jog. She led him back onto the narrow strip of sand beside the road and stretched the pace.

  Her running style was balanced and her leg muscles quickly warmed again. He watched her as they ran together and he realised she had been right about what she had said the evening before. He did like her. She was brave, sexy and clever. He compared her to Marilyn and saw they shared a similarity. They both behaved in the same way towards him. Neither of them feared him. This realisation changed things and he wondered if he should reconsider.

  Karen led them up a slope away from the beach onto a strip of grass beside North Bay Boulevard. The grass was firmer than the sand and Karen accelerated. She left the grass, crossed the road and headed inland. The tarmac was firmer still and Karen ran with a bounce, pumping her thighs and arms. Rafferty dug in behind and kept close, enjoying the burn and the fresh island air. She took them right, right again and then left. They crossed over North Shore Drive, the main road in and out, and arrived back at the beach on the other side of the island near the bar. Rafferty recognised the location and remembered where he had parked the Ford the evening before. Karen glanced back over her shoulder.

  ‘Do you know where we are?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll have a beer,’ he said.

  Karen laughed.

  ‘It’s too early; they won’t be open,’ she said.

  She was right. They ran over the boardwalk onto the soft sand and beyond the empty tables. The window shutters were down and the chairs were stacked away in the corner.

  The beach on this side of the island was wider and Karen led them out towards the shimmering water and the slow, rippling surf. Except for a handful of elderly walkers, they were alone.

  Karen slowed in the soft sand and ran diagonally towards the ocean. They reached the wet, harder band of shoreline where the air was cooler and the sand lay decorated with shells left by the tide.

  Karen turned northwards along the water’s edge, about a mile out from the house. From here, it was beach all the way. Rafferty came up alongside her and they slowed to an easier pace.

  Karen smiled. She was happy.

  ‘Well, have you fallen in love with the island?’ she asked.

  ‘It has its attractions,’ he said, looking at her sweaty face.

  She nodded and smiled again.

  ‘There’s the house,’ she said and pointed.

  Rafferty sat alone on the deck and gazed across the dunes at the sea and the sky. The air was breathless and the warmth from the sun was lifting the scent of dry wood from the decking.

  The sound of flapping wings made him turn his head. An osprey had landed on a pole by the side of the house. Held under one foot, speared by the scimitar-like talons, was a freshly caught fish. The fish was still alive and flailed helplessly, pinned by the two-foot sea hawk who demonstrated the arrogance of all raptors; he cocked his head and surveyed his kingdom before bending down and with the effortless use of his powerful beak pecked out the fish’s eye. The predator then proceeded to strip and eat the fish head first with one unhurried tear after another.

  Karen came out of the house and handed Rafferty a cold beer. She sat beside him and they watched the osprey together in silence.

  ‘Do you have an answer for me?’ she said.

  ‘What was the question?’

  ‘Do you think Marilyn was killed?’ she said.

  Rafferty took his eyes from the osprey and turned to Karen. There was a pause as if he was considering something important.

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  Karen nodded.

  ‘…and do you think it was because of the affair?’ she asked.

  Rafferty had remained looking at her.

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘Are you going to tell me what happened?’ she asked.

  ‘Don’t you already know?’ he said. ‘You seem to have the answers.’

  ‘Not all of them,’ she said.

  ‘Tell me what you think happened,’ he said.

  ‘Okay, this is what I think happened,’ she said. ‘I think Shetland Greene killed Marilyn because of the affair with the President. I don’t know the exact reason but I suspect it was something to do with national security. Perhaps, she posed some risk or perceived risk; lovers say the silliest things. Then, when you found out Greene had killed her, you killed him. It may not have been premeditated, I don’t know. You fought with him, perhaps because he had just told you what he had done. It was because you loved Marilyn. Greene pulled his knife and it ended up in his chest. You then took his possessions, the money, the wristwatch and his briefcase containing the FBI badge to make it look as if the Cuban deal had gone bad and they had killed him. Then you waited. You waited until you found the right man. That man was Oswald. You recruited him pretending to be FBI Agent Shetland Greene. After the shooting, you had hoped someone would kill him. A police officer, but when he wasn’t, you had to silence him. You persuaded Ruby to shoot him. I don’t know exactly how. Possibly, you have a connection with organised crime or you were able to convince him it was his patriotic duty. Either way, Oswald died and you thought it was over.’

  Karen paused and they stared at each other in silence.

  ‘Vengeance is the most powerful of all motives,’ she said.

  Rafferty held her eyes and shook his head.

  ‘Unrelated analytical deduction,’ he said.

  Karen didn’t reply.

  Rafferty smiled and stood up.

  He went inside the house and packed his bag.

  ‘At the airport,’ he said from the door, ‘I’ll have them send the car back for you.’

  Then he left.

  54 January 10, 1964, Da Nang, Vietnam

  Captain Chin sipped his rice moonshine crossed legged at the low table and studied Rafferty’s face in the glow from the oil lamp.

  ‘You want to sink your own destroyer?’ he said, questioning doubtfully. His small face scrunched into a frown.

  Rafferty shook his head.

  ‘No, Chin, only fire at it,’ he said. ‘Not sink it.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ Chin said. His face lightened and he nodded. He sipped more rice moonshine.

  They were sitting in Chin’s home. A three-roomed house made from stone, mud and wood. In the corner, Chin’s wife was cooking on a wood-fired stove. She stirred the rice pot and tasted the fish stew with a spoon.

  ‘It has to appear as if the North has made the attack,’ Rafferty said. ‘We only want to scare the destroyer, not sink it. Just shake them up a bit.’

  ‘Yes, shake them up,’ Chin echoed. He nodded thoughtfully and poured Rafferty more moonshine.

  Rafferty had gone through the whole plan twice now, and still, he wasn’t convinced Chin had fully understood it. He hadn’t anticipated on participating in the actual mission but now he was beginning to reconsider.

  Chin’s wife served them wooden bowls of rice covered with steaming fish stew. They ate with chopsticks and when Chin had empt
ied his bowl, Rafferty went through the plan again. This time, by the end, he felt more confident, but he was still considering accompanying the small Vietnamese captain. He had to be sure. It mustn’t go wrong.

  It was long after dark when Rafferty left Chin’s home.

  He walked across the dirt road, onto the grass verge and then it started to rain.

  In the seconds it took him to reach the corner, the rain had become torrential and huge forks of lightning burst over the mountains and thunder roared aggressively across the water.

  Rafferty buttoned his jacket and pulled up his collar. He made his way through the streets, taking a longer route to ensure nobody followed.

  He had parked away from Chin’s house and been careful to walk unnoticed and enter the house unseen.

  The dirt underfoot was turning to mud and his jacket and head were drenched. He saw his car and carried on by before stopping and looking back. It was clear. He walked quickly back, opened the door and hurried in. He hadn’t checked the interior first.

  The man’s slow, deep Russian voice made him freeze.

  ‘Keep your hands on the steering wheel,’ the voice said. ‘Just sit quietly.’

  Rafferty felt the metal barrel of a pistol pushed hard against the wet skin of his neck. The passenger door opened and a second man got in. He was soaked and water from his head splashed onto Rafferty’s face. The man in the back jabbed the gun barrel.

  ‘Drive,’ he said.

  Rafferty fired the engine. It spluttered and he revved it hard. He pulled away.

  ‘Where to?’ he said.

  ‘I will tell you,’ said the man sitting in the back.

  Rafferty glanced sideways at the passenger seat. Even in the gloom, he could tell the man who had got in was the size of a bear. He filled the seat like a giant. He had huge hands and a square jaw. His heavy, protruding brow gave his face a constant frown. The giant spoke.

  ‘He is not so dangerous,’ he said.

  ‘Do not be deceived,’ the other man replied. ‘Believe me, he is very good.’

  Since hearing the first word from the Russian, Rafferty’s mind had been working. He turned his head and glanced back.

  ‘You’re right, Kasseri,’ he said.

  The man on the back seat laughed.

  ‘There, you see,’ he said.

  The giant huffed and cursed in Russian. His full name was Innokentiy Tarasko Savin. People knew him simply as Savin. He made a scoffing sound and cursed again.

  They left the town and drove onto the coast road. Marik Kasseri gave directions from the back seat and Rafferty followed them.

  The old Packard’s wipers were too weak for the lashing rain and Rafferty had to slow and steer carefully in the mud to avoid hitting the bank.

  The sudden flashes of lightning reflected in Savin’s black eyes. Rafferty saw Kasseri’s face, watching him cautiously, reflected in the rearview mirror. The scar across his cheek was a black slash, ridged white by the lightning flashes.

  ‘I don’t usually run cab fares after dark,’ Rafferty said. ‘Where can I drop you?’

  Kasseri laughed and Savin pulled a knife from his jacket. He pushed it against Rafferty’s ribs.

  ‘Shut up,’ he said. His frowned deepened, shrinking his eyes into two black slits.

  Rafferty drove on in silence.

  The minutes passed slowly and the rain and mud sucked at the thin tyres making him grip the wheel tightly.

  ‘Why are you doing this, Kasseri?’ he asked.

  He thought he heard the Russian sigh.

  ‘Moscow,’ Kasseri answered. ‘They demand results, always wanting more.’

  ‘Why don’t you retire?’ Rafferty said.

  Kasseri laughed sardonically.

  ‘They would not let me,’ he replied. ‘I tried.’

  ‘Shut up,’ Savin said and jabbed the knife again against Rafferty’s side.

  Rafferty drove for another ten minutes before Kasseri told him to pull over.

  He stopped the car by the side of the road. Savin placed a hood over his head and bound his wrists. He pulled him out and put him in the back. Kasseri got in the front and then Savin drove them on.

  The three men rode together in silence.

  Another fifteen minutes passed and then they stopped. Savin pulled Rafferty out. He could hear the rain hitting the hood.

  They led him across squelching mud for two hundred yards with Savin tugging him, and he struggled not to stumble in the deep grass.

  Inside the barn, the air was dry and smelt of straw and animals. Without the rain hitting the hood, Rafferty could hear Savin breathing above his head. They pushed him into a chair and then secured his legs and chest with ropes. Savin removed the hood and Rafferty watched Kasseri light an oil lamp and place it on a box a few feet from the chair. The glow flickered as the wick took and settled, throwing shadows around the barn and lighting the wet faces of the three men.

  Kasseri stood beside the lamp and Savin moved behind him.

  ‘This barn is a long way from the road and even farther from a house. It is owned by a sympathiser of the North,’ Kasseri said. ‘Nobody is going to save you.’

  Rafferty pulled against the restraints. They were strong and heavy.

  ‘If you talk,’ Kasseri said, ‘I won’t kill you.’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘What are you doing here? What are you planning?’

  ‘Why do you want to know?’ Rafferty asked.

  ‘I have to have something to give Moscow. I think you are planning something important. I have to know it,’ Kasseri explained.

  ‘There’s nothing, Kasseri,’ Rafferty said. ‘You’re wrong.’

  Kasseri spoke to Savin in Russian and the giant moved his arm. When he stepped forward, he carried something in his hand and as he walked into the lamplight, Rafferty could see what it was. He was carrying a knife.

  Kasseri shook his head.

  ‘You know,’ he said, ‘if you hadn’t caught Natalie in your safe we wouldn’t have to be here. I send you a beautiful movie star and you spoil all my hard work. Then I send a burglar when you are away, and your safe is empty.’

  Kasseri shook his head again.

  ‘So now I have to resort to behaving like a street thug,’ he said.

  He paused and stepped closer. His voice lowered to a growl.

  ‘Are you going to tell me?’ he asked.

  Rafferty didn’t respond.

  Kasseri sighed and took another step forward. He brought his face lower and stared into Rafferty’s eyes.

  ‘This man,’ he said, turning and looking at Savin, ‘will cut off your fingers one by one; or your toes; or what about your eyelids? You’ll never be able to close your eyes ever again.’

  Savin stepped forward and raised his knife with eager anticipation.

  Rafferty showed no fear.

  ‘Perhaps you were expecting the electric animal prod?’ Kasseri asked.

  Rafferty looked at him and his eyes widened.

  ‘…why?’ he asked.

  ‘Leonid,’ Kasseri replied.

  Rafferty understood.

  ‘That wasn’t me,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know anything about that until afterwards.’

  ‘Then who was it?’ Kasseri asked.

  ‘…another man.’

  Kasseri nodded slowly.

  ‘What man?’ he said.

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Americans like to hide their dirty washing,’ Kasseri said. ‘Why do you not tell me the truth?’

  ‘It is the truth.’

  ‘Oh, yes, like Marilyn. You killed her and then covered it up.’

  At the mention of Marilyn, Rafferty lifted his face and Kasseri saw the change in his eyes.

  ‘I didn’t kill her,’ Rafferty said, and Kasseri saw the truth in his face. It reflected clearly in the lamplight.

  ‘If you didn’t, then who did?’ Kasseri said.

  ‘Shetland Greene,’ Rafferty replied. ‘Greene u
sed the animal prod on Leonid and then broke discipline and killed Marilyn.’

  Kasseri breathed deeply.

  ‘Who is this Greene?’ he asked.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Rafferty said.

  ‘You said that before, why?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter because Greene is dead.’

  ‘…how, how is he dead?’

  ‘I killed him.’

  There was a long silence.

  Kasseri stared at Rafferty.

  Finally, he looked up at Savin.

  ‘Put the knife away,’ he told him. ‘Release him.’

  Savin didn’t understand.

  ‘Do it,’ Kasseri said with the authority of his position. His voice resonated as it had done all those years before when he commanded his own Cossack unit against the Germans.

  He pulled up a wooden chair and sat down. Savin undid the ropes and released Rafferty. Kasseri found an unlabeled bottle and two small glasses in his jacket pocket.

  ‘Wait outside,’ he told Savin.

  The giant swore in Russian with obvious anger and disappointment and then he left.

  Kasseri filled the two glasses and gave one to Rafferty, just as he had done that time with Marilyn in her home.

  Rafferty took it.

  Kasseri made the toast.

  ‘Marilyn,’ he said, nothing more.

  Both men emptied their glasses. The vodka was clean.

  ‘She was unique,’ Kasseri said. It was a simple statement of fact.