“I see.” O’Leary jotted down something on his notepad, and the man in the gray coat behind him tapped away on his laptop computer. “Was he working on any special projects at the time of his tragic death?”
“Not that I know of,” Annie shook her head for emphasis, eager to play up the naïve assistant angle.
“OK, I see,” O’Leary glanced back at his notes, and made a face.
“So, I notice that Mr. Bolling made several phone calls to you from his cell phone over the weekend that he was in Paris. Can you tell me what those calls were regarding?” O’Leary quickly looked up at Annelise to watch her reaction to the latest question.
“Oh really?” Annie tried to appear surprised and confused, but she knew her acting skills probably weren’t passing muster with this crew.
“Um . . . let me see.” Annie looked across the office and studied the portrait on the wall of Winston Churchill that had probably hung there for decades. She studied the line of dust along the ridge on the frame, and wondered how long it had been since anyone had dusted the old portrait. Annie had never been a good liar, and right now, her head was spinning with a dozen different potential answers she could offer the investigator, all with varying degrees of truthfulness and believability.
“Ms. Craig?” O’Leary was becoming impatient with Annie’s short answers and her seeming lack of information.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I was just trying to remember what it was we must have been discussing . . . .” In reality, her mind was swimming with the little comments and laughter they had shared during the few calls he made to her on his weekend in Paris. She remembered what he told her about how Raz was acting distant, and about how disappointed he was that Charlie and Jorge had backed out at the last minute of their little Paris reunion weekend. She remembered his funny story about how Raz was acting so serious, but had forgotten and left his coat in a men’s room in a Paris restaurant, causing them to have to run in the rain back to the restaurant to retrieve it. She could still hear his laughter as he retold the story about how dripping wet they had become.
“Ma’am?” O’Leary slammed his notebook shut.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Um… I think he was just asking about some numbers I had pulled for him regarding the value of the pound overseas. I guess he was trying to get a little work in while he was in Paris. He was kind of a workaholic like that, I guess.”
“Ok that’s about all for today, Ms. Craig,” O’Leary stood up and started stuffing his notepad and papers into his leather bag. The cadre of men behind him began to file out of the office, and Annie knew she had not given them anything they wanted to hear. It would have to be enough she thought to herself. They weren’t getting anything else from her. This was all a fool’s errand anyway. Andrew had been viciously murdered along with more than four hundred other innocent people. Why were they here, and not out looking for the terrorists?
O’Leary stopped on his way out the door and shook hands again with Hunter. Giving a gruff, “Thank you, Mr. Hunter, we’ll be in touch,” he was out the door. He positioned himself into the back seat as his team loaded their boxes and bags into the back end of their black Chevrolet Suburban. Slamming the doors, they pulled away from #10 Downing and headed back toward Vauxhall to plan their next step.
As the black SUV pulled away from the P.M.’s office, O’Leary turned toward the gray coat investigator and announced what was already obvious to everyone in the car.
“She’s lying.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Jeffrey glanced at his watch, 11:20 a.m. He wondered how long O’Leary and his crew would keep Annie back in Andrew’s office grilling her for information. This was crazy. There was no way in hell Andrew Bolling was involved in this disaster in any way, shape, or form. O’Leary was chasing a thin lead because he had nothing else to go on. Until a group claimed responsibility, the investigation turned up some evidence, or someone came forward with a stronger lead, they would just have to cooperate and put up with O’Leary’s team putting them under the microscope.
At that moment, O’Leary and his group emerged from Andrew’s office and made their way down the long corridor toward the front door. O’Leary stopped to shake hands with Jeffrey, but had very little to say.
“Thank you, Mr. Hunter. We’ve got all we need for now. We’ll be in touch.”
O’Leary was out the door before Hunter could quiz him on any new information about the investigation, or if they had any new leads. O’Leary was too smart to ever reveal too much, and Hunter knew he would get very little out of him today.
With O’Leary gone, Hunter wheeled around looking for Annie. Her desk was vacant, and there was no sign of her in the lobby or halls. From his vantage point, he could see through almost to the back of the offices, and there was no Annie in sight. He wanted to know from her what O’Leary was looking into, so he went to find her.
Glancing around as he walked toward the back of the building, there was no trace of his assistant, but he could feel eyes on him. The staff knew who O’Leary was and why he had been there. Damn, this place was worse than Fleet Street when it came to office gossip and rumors. Still, Annie wasn’t showing her face.
Stopping in front of Andrew’s door, he turned the handle — locked. What the hell? Why was this door suddenly locked?
Trying the door knob once more, he suddenly heard something coming from inside the office — a soft sound like a whimper or a moan. He looked around, no one was currently paying any attention, or at least they were hiding their interest very well.
Knocking softly, Jeffrey was annoyed that his assistant might be holed up in the office.
“Annie?” he said quietly through the door.
Inside, the noise stopped. In a few seconds, the doorknob turned, and the door slowly opened a few inches. Jeffrey was bewildered to see Annie’s face, tear-streaked, looking back at him through the narrow opening.
“Annie, what’s going on? Are you OK?”
For a moment, Jeffrey was completely baffled at what could have upset his assistant like this. But in an instant, he realized that with the terrorist bombing and their good friend dying, he had been suppressing his own feelings for two days now, and he shouldn’t be surprised that some were beginning to crack under the pressure.
“I’m sorry Jeffrey, come in.”
Annie stepped back and pulled the door open another two feet. Jeffrey stepped in, feeling a little awkward to be intruding on Annie’s private breakdown.
“No, I’m sorry to intrude. I just wanted to check on you — to see if O’Leary let on to what direction he’s taking this investigation, or anything else I need to be aware of.”
“Oh, no, nothing. I mean there’s nothing new. They took Andrew’s files and his computer. I guess you gave them permission to do that. They took pictures of a lot of his belongings and the contents of his desk. This is just all so absurd. I don’t know why they’re wasting their time on Andrew. There are terrorists out there planning their next attack on all of us, and the chief investigators for the British government are in the Prime Minister’s office photographing a desk. It’s just ridiculous.”
Annie’s grief was now turning to anger… Anger at O’Leary, anger at MI6, anger at the British government, anger at Andrew for being on the stupid train in the first place, and right now, anger at herself for getting so wrapped up in an extra-marital affair, and entangled in this horrible mess.
Suddenly, Jeffrey Hunter slammed his hand on the desktop with such force that it stung, and his face went red with anger.
“Damn it! O’Leary told me they wouldn’t remove anything today. He intentionally led me to believe they wouldn’t take anything so that they could get in here and rifle through his office before we could look everything over. Since it’s all subject to open records, I couldn’t have stood in his way, but I damn sure could’ve delayed it. This has already gone way too far!”
“I’m so sorry Jeffrey, I totally forgot you told me to let you know if they tried to remov
e anything. I guess with everything going on, I dropped the ball.”
Jeffrey went back to clenching his jaw, too angry and frustrated to say anything more about the computer and files.
“Annie, why did O’Leary want to question you? What in the hell did he think you could shed light on?”
“I don’t know. Right now, I’m just feeling a little sick over everything.” About this, Annie wasn’t lying. Her stomach had begun to churn again and she felt again like she might be sick. Her neck was so stiff from anxiety that she could hardly turn her head.
“Everything’s crazy around here right now, but we don’t have time to fall apart. I’ll call O’Leary and find out exactly what the hell he thinks he’s doing. Take some time to compose yourself, and I’ll see you later this afternoon. We need to go over the updates from the recovery operation and get ready for the next press briefing this afternoon.”
“Ok. Thanks.” Annie grabbed a Kleenex off the credenza and dabbed at the corners of her eyes where she knew mascara was probably making its way down her cheek. She had to get hold of herself. As Jeffrey turned to exit the office, Annie suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to tell someone — not everything, but something. She just needed someone to understand what she was feeling. Someone to share some of the load of the grief she was carrying around.
“Jeffrey… we’ve worked together a long time. I consider you a friend, and not just my boss.”
“Thanks, Annie, I feel the same way,” Jeffrey gave her a quick smile and reached out to give her a hug. It was not his normal manner for the office, but nothing around the office was normal anymore.
“There’s something I’d like you to know, as a friend, and in confidence.”
“Of course.”
Annie turned and faced the desk, looking away from Jeffrey. She could not bear to see his face when he heard whatever it was she was about to say. And she hadn’t entirely decided what that was going to be just yet . . . .
She took a deep breath. “I hate to tell you this, but over the past few months, Andrew and I had grown very close.”
“Okay…” Jeffrey held his breath. He couldn’t believe what Annie was saying.
“We were very close friends. Well, maybe more than that.”
“I see.” Jeffrey was in shock. What the hell was she saying? They’d been carrying on an affair? His close friend and his assistant? Right here beneath his nose? Fury rushed over him, but he remained outwardly calm, breathing slow measured breaths.
“Annie, are you telling me you were having an affair?”
Annie was horrified at what she had already said. What was she doing? This wasn’t going to solve anything and it wouldn’t bring Andrew back. It was only going to make matters worse — in fact, she already felt much worse.
“Oh no, no, no. It wasn’t an affair. Nothing sexual, or anything like that! There’s no way. We both knew the repercussions of anything like that. No, it was more emotional. We had just become very, very close. Probably too close. My husband would be devastated. Jeffrey, please tell me this will remain confidential.”
Jeffrey stared at the back of her head, doubting her story. But right now, he didn’t want to know any more. He never wanted to know any more. This wasn’t his business, and for both personal and professional reasons, he never wanted to hear more about this. It was a closed subject, as far as he was concerned.
“I understand. Yes, of course. This goes no further. I’m very sorry for your loss. I guess I understand now why you’ve been unusually upset over this whole thing. This stays between us. Please tell no one else.”
“I have no intention of ever telling anyone. I know you loved Andrew too, as a friend. I just needed to tell someone.”
“Of course.”
Finally, Annie turned back around and Jeffrey could see fresh tears streaking down her face. With this, he understood that indeed, Annelise Craig had loved their friend as well, but in a very different way than the college buddy friendship he and Andrew had shared.
Well damn, this changes everything, Jeffrey thought to himself. He gave Annie a quick hug — not very professional he knew, but he awkwardly didn’t know what else to do — and bolted from the room. He was angry, confused, and irritated, all at the same time. He didn’t have time for this nonsense. He made a beeline back to his office and before he realized what he was doing, slammed the door behind him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Rasul made his way down Cornmarket Street, now feeling much lighter than he had earlier this morning. He was glad that his meeting at the Islamic Center was over, and he could have a little fun. He eyed the pretty co-eds shopping along the pedestrian boulevard, and thought again how much he missed college, with its languid days and crazy nights. It was seriously the best time of his life, he thought to himself.
As he approached the building that had housed his old college apartment, Raz couldn’t resist the nostalgia he felt for his college days. The Starbucks on the first floor was bustling with business, and the warm pungent aroma of coffee wafted out the doors every time a customer entered or exited. Next to the coffee shop, he eyed the small side door that allowed entrance to the staircase leading to the apartments above. He tried the narrow door and found it unlocked. The lock was probably broken, he thought to himself, much like it had been for most of the years he lived in the upstairs flat with Andrew and their roommates. He took a risk and quietly walked up the tiny staircase that rose from the small grubby alcove. Each step he took up the rickety staircase made its own unique creak or squeak to announce his ascension up the stairs. Hopefully, no one in the building was home, and he could poke around without causing a commotion.
Throwing caution to the wind, at the top of the stairs, he gave two quick knocks on the door of this old apartment. Thinking better of his actions, he turned and started to make a fast retreat back down the stairs. Just as he started to descend the staircase, he heard the door open, and a dark headed student that looked to be of Indian descent stuck his head out the door. He’d obviously woken the young man up, and in an instant, Raz regretted his entry into the building.
“Yeah?” The sleepy student was fumbling with his glasses, and eyeing Raz with an irritated gaze.
“Oh, I’m sorry to disturb you. I was just . . . um . . . looking for someone. Well, actually, I was just looking at the building. I used to live here. This was actually my apartment a hundred years ago.”
Raz gave the student a small smile, half expecting a happy homecoming welcome back to his old stomping grounds.
“Oh, yeah, cool.” The Indian student was tired and unimpressed.
Raz turned to go, and then on a whim, spun back around. “Um, would you mind if I just looked around for a second? For old times’ sake? I’ll only be a minute . . . . ”
“Um, yeah, I guess so,” the student shrugged, and opened the door a bit wider. He was too groggy to care what the middle-aged Middle Eastern guy did. The young man looked to be in his mid-twenties, probably a graduate student, Raz thought.
Raz made his way into the dark apartment and waited for his eyes to readjust from the bright sunlight outside. The apartment was strewn with clothes, books, pizza boxes, and discarded plastic cups all over the place, much as it had been for most of the two years Raz had lived here. Raz could see that the two-bedroom apartment seemed to be occupied by only one occupant, as the second bedroom looked sparse and largely vacant, with nothing but a bed and bare mattress visible from the doorway.
Raz walked over to the window and looked out at the exact same view he had looked over twenty-odd years ago. Below, he could see the old roofs of the ancient buildings on Cornmarket, with their colorful roof gardens and patios. Beyond, he could see the Thames River as it meandered along the edges of town, and wound its way around on through the countryside. For a moment he felt transformed and was looking at the view with the same eyes he had had as a young, naïve student, looking over his own little corner of the world for the first time.
He thanked
the young man and made a hasty exit from the building, before the student completely woke up and threw the middle-aged stranger out of his small apartment.
In a moment, he was back on the street, heading south. He decided to walk toward the university and wander through some of his favorite buildings in the world, so he made a quick left onto Market Street, which transitioned into the campus at Brasenose Lane. It was all exactly as it had been for hundreds of years, like a mythical city, surrounded by surreal buildings. Rasul Aziz loved every square inch of it.
As he entered Radcliffe Square, he gazed up at the majestic Radcliffe Camera, its round edifice still rising like a cathedral on the university lawn. As usual, students and tourists strolled around the grassy square, oblivious to the hundreds of years of history that had taken place in the shadow of the magnificent structure. Radcliffe was a gorgeous library and had been standing here since the mid-1700s in all of its glory. It was all just as he remembered it, and he was mesmerized by the beauty of all of it.
Crossing Catte Street he approached the wrought-iron gates of All Souls College and walked up to the magnificent gilded gates that stood sentry at the entryway. He pressed his face to the cold black and gold iron and peered through to the expansive green lawn and twin spires of All Souls Quadrangle. Something about these gates, and the entrancing view, had always drawn him. He had gazed through their black and gold vines and arches a thousand times, peering through at the Gothic structure across the lawn that dated back to the 1700s.
Stretching out in front of the glorious buildings was the pristine green lawn, usually devoid of human inhabitants. Rasul had always thought that looking through these gates, with his face pressed to the iron like a little child looking through a storefront window, was like staring into a medieval still life painting. Today, as always, the gates were locked tightly shut, only allowing passersby a small window into the ethereal world.
The Cornmarket Conspiracy Page 9