Aziz knew Talya had spent many a weekend on Bowen Island during the first summer she had returned from a lengthy stay in Australia. She and he had spent their vacations there, before the troubles started and before Talya had become the pawn in a deadly chess game of intrigue.
He wanted to take her away, not to Second Beach, but to Bowen Island.
In his mid-thirties, Aziz was an earnest soul. He was devoted to the well-being of his numerous patients and anxious to make their lives easier as much as possible. His father had passed away when he was in high school, leaving him and his mother with enough to live a comfortable life and for Aziz to go to med-school. He was a good-looking man. He had inherited his mother’s dark, wavy hair and his father’s hazel eyes and chiselled face. Standing tall at nearly six-foot, beside Talya, walking down the street, they would turn heads. They always felt comfortable in each other’s company. Like socks and shoes, they fitted well together.
That night, when he passed the threshold of Talya’s apartment, Aziz felt disappointed, not to say frustrated. Khalid, once again, had not shown up. His resentment toward the man had grown now into utter disgust. He had abandoned her in Miami, which unaccountable move had provoked a series of incidents that saw Talya knife a man and the FBI chase her across the States. As far as Aziz was concerned, Khalid was a typical Arab, in only for money, women and grandstanding appearances when the chips were down. Granted, he had saved Talya’s life on several occasions, but since his unexpected disappearance from Cayenne, where he had evaded yet another of Slimane’s devious schemes, and his admission that he knew of his uncle’s involvement in a drug and arms’ trade in the Middle East, Aziz no longer trusted the man.
Talya was sitting at her desk. She had not neared that corner of the apartment in weeks.
Aziz couldn’t contain his amazement or joy at seeing her in front of her computer, typing away. “Hello, milady,” Aziz said, kissing the top of her head.
She only acknowledged his presence with a mumbled, “Hi!” which told Aziz to retreat. If Talya was concentrating on her writing, she allowed no one to disturb her. Yet, before making his way to the kitchen to prepare their evening meal, he looked quickly at the screen. What he read sent him down a stream of recollections, which he didn’t want to visit. Talya was recounting the events that ultimately landed her in that wheelchair.
Maybe she needed the release. Maybe she would find solace in pouring her memories onto the pages of a book. Maybe distancing herself from the experiences, by describing them and reliving them through a fictional character, would get her back to the present and move her out of her lethargic state. And maybe… there wouldn’t be any need for Khalid to intervene, which thought delighted Aziz no end.
Opening the fridge, Aziz’s reaction was one of wonder. He couldn’t believe it. There were fruits, vegetables galore, yoghurt, flax bread, a bottle of orange juice, and other items that he knew the nurse would not buy. She was there every morning only to bathe Talya, administer the daily meds, dress her and take her out for a half-an-hour. They would fetch Talya’s racing wheels from the garage, and take a stroll along the beach promenade, that would be all. The nurse was not to go grocery shopping with or without her charge. She would prepare lunch for Talya and if some things were missing from the cupboard, she’d leave a note for Aziz to purchase them.
Taking an orange and a banana out of the fridge, Aziz walked back to Talya’s desk and deposited the fruit under her nose. “What’s this?” He grinned, as Talya lifted her gaze to him.
“I’d say this is an orange and this looks like a banana.” A veil of joy had draped over her face. “I could give you a more accurate or detailed description of each if you like.”
“But where did they come from…? That’s what I’d like to know.”
Giggling and even laughing, Talya shook her head. “From a tree and from a plant...”
“I don’t believe it!”
“What? I tell you that’s where these two came from…”
“Stop it, Talya! Did you go shopping?”
“Why yes, I did, my dear Aziz, and I must say, it’s much easier now than before. I don’t have to carry the grocery bags anymore.”
Aziz was still incredulous. He couldn’t believe the change that had occurred in the last 24 hours. Talya must have been coaxed into returning to normality. He couldn’t believe that such a drastic, yet most welcomed transformation had taken place without someone’s intervention.
“Did Khalid call you?” Aziz hazarded to ask.
“How could he? And why would he? The phone plug is still off the wall.”
His butt resting against the desk, his arms crossed over his chest, Aziz looked at the opposite wall. “So it is…, but something must have happened between last night and today. You are different. Did someone come for a visit or something?”
“Well, yes, something did happen…”
“What?” Aziz blurted, suddenly worried. For an instant, he thought Khalid had gotten in touch with her somehow and “ordered” her to get ready for his arrival, and told her he wanted to see her the way he remembered her. Such an imposition would have had the desired effect, knowing Talya. In the past, she would have done almost anything to please him.
“Remember, I asked you to turn on the TV in the room before you left last night?” Talya asked.
“Yes…, so?”
“Well, since I couldn’t sleep, I watched a program where a woman in a wheelchair was abusing her husband…”
“Doing what?”
Talya glared at him. She didn’t appreciate the interruption. “He was responsible for putting her in that wheelchair and she was taking revenge on him by abusing of his kindness. She literally transformed him into her servant. I didn’t want that to happen to us, Aziz. You’ve been a model of kindness and generosity since I came out of the hospital and I could not see the two of us living a life of resentment. That’s when I decided to use my racing wheels this afternoon after the nurse left and get some groceries for the fridge.”
Aziz was all smiles now, the smile turning quickly into uncontrollable laughter. He bent down to her and kissed her feverishly. Talya, for the first time since her accident, didn’t push him back. On the contrary, she responded excitedly and had to take a breath when their lips finally parted.
She looked up at him. Tears glazed his eyes. He turned away embarrassed, grabbing the orange and banana from the desk, and walked back to the kitchen. He was overwhelmed.
She followed him.
He took some veggies out of the crisper and asked, “How about we go to Bowen Island this weekend?”
“Yes! Yes, yes… Please!” Talya screamed with delight.
He dropped the potatoes and carrots in the sink and went to kiss her again.
Chapter 9
Outwardly relaxed, Mark was sitting opposite Fred in his office. The agency’s chief had briefly explained the reasons for Khalid’s visit and the conclusions they had drawn during the meeting.
“So, you’ve warned him if he paid a visit to Talya, it would create trouble for his family, is that it?” Mark asked.
“Yes… The visit itself would be innocuous,” Fred replied, “but we believe that Mossad would use it to demonstrate to the Palestinians that Israel has a powerful ally, which in turn would create unrest amongst Saudi’s neighbours.”
“And what do I do when I get him between four eyes?” Mark was afraid to hear the answer to that question. He was very much aware of what the agency could do in comparable circumstances. They could order the elimination of the meddling or unwanted party.
Fred looked at Mark with knowing concern. He knew what his agent had in mind. “No, we’re not going there, Mark, and you know what I mean. We need to know what his intentions are and we need to convince him to go back to Paris.”
The word ‘convince’ had a dozen connotations when it came to steer an individual in a particular direction.
“Okay…,” Mark said, not wanting to dwell on the subject a
ny further. “Have you been able to locate him? He’s got almost 24 hours on us already…”
Fred waved a dismissive hand. “We know where he is not. That should give you a head-start.”
“Oh sure,” Mark chortled, “I’ll get a bicycle from the garage...”
The chief couldn’t help but explode in roaring laughter. He was picturing Mark, in his Armani suit and silk tie, saddling a bike and chasing after his pedalling prey, clad in his princely, Arab garments, down the riverbank.
A grunt shook the folds of his jaw, and his laughter receding quickly into a low moo, Fred resumed, “Hum…, we know he sent the Lear back to Paris.”
“He did?” Mark was knocked for six. Khalid wouldn’t do that if he intended to leave the country in a hurry.
“Yes…, and we’ve checked with the airlines. No record of any reservations made under either of his names. We’ve also checked with the car rental companies…”
“What about trains?” Mark asked.
Fred’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t picture Khalid taking a train anywhere. “No, we’ve not checked with any of the railways... What makes you think that our prince would take a train? He couldn’t get anywhere fast…”
“And that’s exactly why we should check with Via Rail. Khalid would have time to reach his destination undisturbed, without leaving much trace of his passage anywhere between here and where ever he’s going.”
“But we know where he’s going…”
“No, we don’t,” Mark cut-in. “We only assume that he’s going to Vancouver because that was his original intent. But now, and after what you’ve told him, he could be going anywhere.”
“You mean we’ve got to chase a ghost again?”
During the investigation geared to finding Ben Slimane, the year before, the agency had been forced to chase the man across three continents until everyone concluded he was a ‘ghost’ and that until he was found dead in Michigan.
“Not quite, Chief. This time we’ve got a definite departure point and we’ve got a possible destination—Vancouver.”
“But from what you’ve just said, he might not choose to go to Vancouver at all.”
“Yes, but he might choose Vancouver as a stopover…”
“On his way to where?” Fred asked.
“I’ll answer that with another question; where did he intend to go right after Talya was gunned down?”
“You mean Honolulu?”
“And…?”
“Of course!” Fred erupted, “he’s going Downunder.”
“That’s what I think. You’ve mentioned during your meeting that you told him about Isaac, or whatever his name is right now…”
“Samuel Meshullam…”
“Yes, him. And you told him where he was.”
“So, you think Khalid has taken a train to Vancouver and from there he’d be sailing for Australia?”
“That’s a possibility, yes, because Khalid is an obstinate fellow. He won’t let matter rest until he gets rid of any or all hindrances that would prevent him to reach his goal.”
“And as long as Samuel—or Mossad—is in the picture he won’t rest?” Fred paused. “But taking on Mossad by himself would be suicide. Do you think that’s what he wants—get himself killed?”
“No, I don’t think so, Chief. I think he wants revenge. He wants to do away with the man who destroyed Talya’s life, first.”
“And then what? He’ll be a sitting duck...”
Mark shook his head. “Not quite. Again, from the summary of your discussion with him, killing a Mossad agent would prove to his family that he has no allegiance to Israel and that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill any of them. He’s looking for approval, for support from his uncles, and the only way to do that and to avoid unrest in the Middle East is to demonstrate that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill another Israeli and a Mossad agent at that.”
“Jimmy!” Fred yelled, pressing the intercom button on his phone.
“Yes, sir,” the voice replied immediately.
“Get the departure schedules from Via Rail and Amtrak for trains going south or west from Montreal, will you? I’m waiting!”
“Yes, sir, right away.”
“And make that from Tuesday afternoon…”
“Okay, no problem.”
“Satisfied?” Fred asked, pressing the intercom button off, and locking his eyes on Mark’s face.
“That’s a start…, but I think we should look at flight departures from New York and San Francisco, too.”
“You mean he would bypass Vancouver altogether?”
“I’m not sure. I’d just like to cover all the bases.”
Fred grunted. “Do you want to do this alone, or do you want Benny with you?”
“Alone, Chief.”
Chapter 10
Having changed his appearance somewhat; dressed in jeans, T-shirt and leather jacket, Khalid had boarded the evening Amtrak train in Montreal, which saw him arrive at his hotel in Washington D.C. in the early hours of the next morning. After breakfast, he made an appointment to have lunch with a friend of his uncle, a man by the name of Muhammad Sadir. Agent Sadir was high up the ladder of the CIA and had been instrumental in closing the dossier on Ben Slimane. During his meeting with Fred, Khalid had deliberately omitted to ask the assassin’s —Samuel Meshullam— precise location, not to alert the chief of his intentions. Vancouver had been his primary destination, but ever since Talya’s so-called accident, Khalid had kept a secret desire to avenge her shooting by meeting the perpetrator face-to-face, from everyone remotely interested in his agenda. However, now that his original plan had been upset and that he couldn’t possibly meet with Talya before he accomplished his goal, he had no alternative but to meet the problem head-on.
Muhammad Sadir waddled into the restaurant, looked around and finally asked the maitre d’ if he could lead him to Captain Sahab’s table. The man complied without hesitation and took him to a corner of the establishment, away from the brouhaha of the luncheon crowd.
Khalid stood up, bowed slightly to his guest and thanked the maitre d’, who turned on his heels quickly and was gone. Sadir descended into the chair opposite his host, and before uttering the first word, peered into the eyes of his friend’s nephew with a querying stare.
Khalid held the gaze for a fraction of a second before he said, “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me in such short notice, Mr. Sadir.”
The CIA man waved a podgy hand in Khalid’s face but smiled. “Not at all, not at all, I’m the one who should thank you for taking the time.” Sadir paused, staring again. “But what brought you to D.C., or isn’t it something you’re ready to tell me?”
The discussion was not off to a good start, Khalid thought. He usually would take the lead in any conversation rather than the other way round.
“Shall we have lunch first?” Khalid suggested, picking up the menu from the side dish.
“Of course. I can readily appreciate your predicament, Captain Sahab, and having lunch will take the edginess between us, yes?”
Khalid didn’t reply. The man’s discernment bothered him.
The server broke the silence between the two patrons by asking if the gentlemen would like something to drink before lunch. A shake of their heads told him to move on to the next topic. “Shall I take your order now or would you like some time…”
Another wave of Sadir’s hand stopped him in mid-stream. “I’ll have a clubhouse—no bacon—and a soda,” he replied, handing him the menu.
“The same for me,” Khalid rejoined, “and a Perrier.”
“I’ll be right back,” the server uttered, taking the menu from Khalid’s extended hand.
Stretching his shoulders against the back of the chair, Sadir placed both hands on the armrests. His rotund girth and heavy frame fitted in the ample chair, only just. “As I said, I can understand your predicament, Captain Sahab, and after talking to your uncle…”
“You talked to Uncle Abdullah…?”
Sad
ir smiled. “Does it bother you…?”
Khalid shook his head and lowered his eyes. “Not really, no.”
The drinks arrived at that moment, and while the server uncapped the two bottles of water and poured some in the glasses, the two men fell silent; Khalid noticeably exasperated and Mr. Sadir rapping his fingers on the edge of the table.
When the waiter had gone, Sadir went on, “Well then…, your esteemed uncle told me that he hadn’t heard from you since Ms Kartz’s unfortunate accident and although he has tried to contact you, you have not responded to his repeated calls. I would not want to intercede in your family affairs, Captain, but as your uncle’s long-time friend I am duty bound to ask you, in plain language, what’s going on?”
Khalid felt uncomfortable. This man had seen through him. It was as if he could read his mind. He raised his eyes to him. “That’s what I came here to find out.”
Sadir guffawed. “I see. And you think I have the answers you seek?” He shook his head. “No, Khalid Saif Al-Fadir, I don’t. You are a prince among kings, you are part of the elite of this world and in all humility, Your Highness, you can’t expect me or the CIA to ask you to do our job for us.”
“But you know where I can find him.”
“If we’re talking about someone who’s recently moved to Sydney, the answer is yes. But”—Sadir brought his forearms to rest on either side of the plate in front of him—“if you expect me to send you Downunder to get yourself killed, the answer is NO!”
WASHINGTON DC: The Sadir Affair (The Puppets of Washington Book 1) Page 3