WASHINGTON DC: The Sadir Affair (The Puppets of Washington Book 1)

by Lavina Giamusso

  He could not grasp what was obviously happening to him. He had fantasized vengeance, and his fantasy was now becoming a reality. He was instructed to follow his friend, an assassin, to a duel he only fathomed could take place. He began to realize the enormity of the situation. He had never met this Isaac fellow. He had only heard his other name mentioned in passing, Samuel, which meant God’s Word in Hebrew. Possibly, he was only an agent with no real agenda against him or Talya; he just executed orders as so many others did. However, here he was, on his way to kill the man. He had told Talya one day, if she wanted to take vengeance as a companion, she would have to take the devil as her assistant. Incredible as it was, Khalid was doing exactly that. With vengeance in his heart, he had concocted a devil’s plan to kill a man. It was crazy! He would not be able to go through with this. He couldn’t.

  If he went to Talya, Mossad would claim that Saudi had forged a secret alliance with Israel, and his uncles would think nothing to have Khalid executed as soon as he would return home—to Paris. It would not be beyond expectation if he were to see reprisals exacted on him for meddling in the Saudi Arabian King’s political affairs, or international relations. What’s more, if he killed the man, Mossad and the Australian authorities would hunt him down like an animal, the same way they did with Talya. He was an outsider.

  These tergiversations convinced him that Sadir (or even Fred) had been wrong; there was no way he was coming out of this alive. If he did pull through, he could only look forward to spending the rest of his days in prison, most certainly, in fact.

  Replaying the luncheon conversation he had with Muhammad Sadir in his mind, Khalid asked himself why the man was so intent on baiting him into action. He had used an old trick on Khalid, knowing that he was as stubborn as a mule when it came to obtaining what he wanted in life, nothing on a silver platter mind you, but stubborn enough to get what he was told he could not have. He remembered thinking of the word reversal when Sadir changed tack, and advanced the idea that the CIA should repay a debt to his uncle. What a laugh! The CIA never paid any debt of the sort. They had already forgotten about Uncle Abdullah and his alleged contraband; they had other problems to deal with now, terrorism being one of them.

  Chapter 14

  “Do you really think he’s going to go through with it?” Thomas asked Sadir as the two of them were drinking their first coffee the morning after Khalid left D.C.

  “Frankly, I don’t know. He’s got one-track mind like most of the men in his family, but it’s hard to say.”

  “How are you going to ensure he’s carrying this out to the end?”

  “Perhaps, Ms Kartz should do the convincing.”

  Thomas’s smirk was indicative of his tacit approval. “And how do you propose to do that? She’s not going to jump at the chance to join her prince in a country that really doesn’t remind her of anything too good, you know.”

  “Let’s not forget our prince has saved her neck more than once…”

  “Yeah, but he’s also left her to deal with a traitor, and I don’t think she’s the forgetting kind.”

  Sadir chuckled. “Ottawa would be only too pleased to erase the slate and have us do the erasing, don’t you think?”

  Thomas raised a questioning eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

  Advancing his head closer to Thomas’s, Sadir looked into his colleague’s eyes. He didn’t want to say aloud what he was in fact dying to hear from Thomas. “Think about it, D., the Florida cops could get her up on charges if we wanted to scrape the bottom of this pile of corpses, couldn’t we?”

  “I see. You want to rack up a series of warrants for her arrest, is that it?”

  “Just one would do—for Al Nadir. She killed him, remember? His case hasn’t been closed yet.”

  Thomas brought his mouth closer to Sadir’s ears and lowered his voice to a whisper. “And they would be glad to give us a hand, if we were to inform them what our colleagues at the Bureau discovered at the bottom of the Jackson River, when Ms Kartz left the scene…”

  “I think you’re on to something there, Thomas, my friend.” Sadir raised his cup to his lips and grinned before emptying it in one long gulp. “Let’s get back upstairs, shall we?”

  Thomas finished off his coffee, too, and followed Sadir out of the cafeteria. However, something bothered him. He knew what Sadir had engineered against Ms Kartz and Agent Slimane earlier that year. He had instant messaging communications to prove it. Sadir’s vengeful Islamic character didn’t seem to have any bounds. Thomas held trump cards, if things were to go wrong, and for that, he was glad.

  Chapter 15

  Plunging headlong into an operation such as the one they were putting in motion by sending their agent and Khalid into an open confrontation with Samuel, didn’t agree with Fred Gibson at all. Time wasn’t always on his side when he had to make decisions, yes, but to be shoved into a corner and being told “that’s the only way the situation could be resolved,” as Sadir had done, was not agreeing with Fred’s management style or his instincts. There was something wrong with this deal. Moreover, a few minutes ago the call from Sadir served to re-ignite his foreboding. In nothing short than open blackmail, Sadir had suggested sending Talya to Australia in order for the FBI to shred the cold-case file of the murder of Al-Nadir and his companion, Salaman Abib, on the trawler. Mark and Talya had been forced to kill two men on that fishing boat when they were hunting Agent Slimane down in Florida.

  If he agreed to this, Fred could see Talya—an invalid—being killed along with Khalid the moment Samuel would have them in his scope. Mark would have to arrive on the scene before anyone else, and eliminate the Mossad man first. Mark was good, but he didn’t have Mossad’s training. Fred could see three caskets coming back from Australia, instead of Samuel being returned to Israel to his masters.

  He got up, went around his desk and began pacing. “There has to be another way,” he muttered to himself. His fists deep into his trousers’ pockets, he continued rubbing the polish off the hardwood floor before he walked through the door in a rush.

  As he entered Badawee’s room, without knocking, he noticed the lawyer was on the phone. Namlah beckoned to the Chief to take a seat and hurried to finish his conversation with the caller. He put the phone down then, and looked fixedly at his boss.

  “What happened?” were Namlah’s opening words.

  “They’re blackmailing us,” was Fred’s answer.

  “Shall we start from the top, Chief? Tell me, who’s doing the blackmailing and why?”

  “The CIA wants…” He stopped as if wanting to revise his train of thoughts. “No, Agent Sadir wants us to send Ms Kartz Downunder to convince Prince Khalid to carry out his plan. They want to close the file on the two murders in Florida and promise to do so, if we succeed in getting her to Sydney.”

  Caressing his moustache, Namlah reclined in his chair. He then folded his hands over his stomach. “I see. This is quite complex,” he mused. “There are many issues here, and not all to do with the suggestion.”

  “Can you explain what you have in mind?”

  Namlah nodded, stood up and made his way to the whiteboard that hung on the far wall. Most people worked out their thoughts on paper, but Namlah preferred to put them on the board facing his desk, which enabled him to stare at the problem while he would be resolving it from his chair.

  Fred swivelled the visitor’s seat around, his eyes following Namlah’s progress across the room.

  The attorney took a marker-pen from the tray and began writing. “First, we have a prince determined to take revenge on the man who maimed his purported fiancée. Then we have Ms. Kartz whose killing of a man is hanging over her head like a Damocles Sword. Next, we have Samuel, who has probably received orders to kill our prince at the first opportunity. Do you see where I am going with this…?”

  Staring at the bullet-point list, Fred didn’t see anything else, certainly not an answer. He shook his head.

  “Well then, let me contin
ue; next comes in, Prince Abdullah. He’s been instrumental in forcing the CIA’s hand into protecting both his nephew, Khalid, and Ms Kartz.”

  Fred nodded and added, “Then, Muhammad Sadir joins in, at Prince Abdullah’s bidding, and begins to stir people into action.”

  “Yes, but that’s not all. Sadir wants something else. He tells you that he wants Khalid to eliminate Samuel; to prove Saudi had no allegiance to Israel. Then, he now comes up with a story saying the only way to close the file on the Florida murders, is to send the suspect, Ms Kartz, to Australia to encourage our prince to avenge her being shot. What does that tell you?”

  Fred remained silent for a moment, staring at the list of names and jotted circumstances beside each protagonist.

  “I’ve got it!” Fred exclaimed at last. “But what can we do about it?”

  Dropping the pen in the tray, Namlah shook his head. “Tell me first what you’ve concluded, so that we can be both on the same page.”

  “Well, if we connect the dots, the only name that is common to everyone is Sadir. He was the one who gave up Agent Slimane, he was the one who knew of Prince Abdullah’s alleged involvement with the drug exchange for armaments, he was the one who sent Prince Khalid to kill Samuel, and now…, he’s trying to force our hand in sending Ms Kartz to her death.”

  “And what’s your conclusion?”

  “Either the CIA is into a cover up of some sort or Sadir is acting on someone else’s orders…, or even on his own!”

  “Yes. I would rather opt for the ‘acting on someone else’s orders’,” Namlah agreed.

  “On whose orders then?”

  “My favourite and the only agency with enough power or reasons to do away with a Saudi Arabian Prince…”

  “You mean Mossad?” Fred frowned. “But if that’s where you’re going, then it means Sadir is a double agent.”

  “Yes, Chief, that’s precisely what I mean. Sadir has probably been playing the man-in-the-middle for many years and he has only one man to thank for his rise to power…”

  “Who’s that?”

  “I thought that was obvious.”

  “You mean Prince Abdullah?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. I am sure the man was duped, but he assisted Sadir when it came for him to stay in the States, and he helped him get where he is today.”

  “Okay, but how do we turn around now? We want Samuel out of the picture, and we want Mossad to cease and desist when it comes to chasing Ms Kartz and our Prince. How do we do that?”

  Turning again to the whiteboard, Namlah took the dry-sponge and erased the list, to Fred’s visible dismay. “You have several choices, each of which has risks attached to it.” He traced four columns and at the top of each, wrote the names of the main players: Talya, Khalid, Samuel and Sadir. “If we were to follow Sadir’s plan, here is what would happen…,” Namlah began while writing his evolving thoughts on the board. “Ms Kartz goes to Australia as suggested by Sadir and gets rid of the arrest warrant hanging over her head, but is eliminated in the cross-fire. Khalid confronts Samuel and gets killed in the process. Samuel washes his hands of two more murders, unless Mark intervenes, which could entail heavy consequences for us and the Australian government. Sadir fulfils his Mossad assignment and satisfies the FBI and they close the file on the Florida murders. Ultimately, Uncle Abdullah in his sorrow can look forward never to be blamed again for being involved in arms’ dealing with Israel.”

  Fred was getting edgy. He wanted a solution to the problem, not another description of it. Yet, he knew Namlah couldn’t be rushed. His methodical mind had to function in its own good time. “Okay, now that you’ve described what should not happen, could you tell me what we should do about it?”

  Without turning his head or answering Fred’s question, Namlah erased the statements within each column. “First, we should advise the Australian authorities of Samuel’s intent…”

  “Based on what? We’ve got nothing on him to justify us butting in…”

  Namlah turned around and fixed his gaze on the chief, and waited.

  “I see, he’s suspected of attempted murder on Ms Kartz... and we should get him back to Canada to face charges.” Fred smiled.

  “Absolutely. We have an extradition treaty with the Aussies, which should allow us to bring him back to Ottawa.”

  “But how do we stop Khalid…? Apparently, he’s determined to seek vengeance…”

  Namlah put up a hand to stop Fred before he went too far ahead of himself. “In the first place, I don’t think our prince has quite grasped the difficulty surrounding this situation, but when he does, he’s going to back out on his own. He wouldn’t want to spend the rest of his days in a Saudi prison.”

  “But we can’t wait until he comes to his senses…”

  Again, Namlah raised a hand. “We won’t. As soon as they land, we’re going to tell Mark to explain to him what we’ve concluded. If he hasn’t realized it by then, Khalid will soon envision what could happen to him if he didn’t turn back and return to Paris.”

  “Okay, so far so good, but what do we do about Sadir? We can’t just cross the border and accuse the man of treason, now can we?”

  “No we can’t, but Mossad will do that for us.”

  “How?”

  “Believe me; they’re not going to stand for showing their hand at this stage. As soon as we apply for Samuel’s extradition, they’ll order Sadir out of the game. And if he doesn’t move on his own, they’ll soon get rid of him. He would have become a loose end which they don’t want or need.”

  The chief got up and went to stand close to the lawyer. “Tell me something, Mr. Badawee, why are you staying here? Your power of deductions and knowledge of the law are both wasted in this agency.”

  Namlah smiled, bowed slightly, turned away and went to wipe his hand with the towel that hung beside the whiteboard. “I dreamt to skate on the Rideau Canal since I was a boy. My father was well acquainted with a man from Canada when we lived in Syria, and I swore that, one day, I would not only learn to skate, but own a house near the famous Canal. And now that I do, I will not move.”

  Fred nodded, and walked to the door. He spun around. “Thanks for the lesson, Professor,” he said, a grin exposing his glistening, white teeth.

  Chapter 16

  As Friday night rolled around, Talya was ready, packed, and looking forward to their weekend on Bowen Island. Aziz had made sure the batteries of her racing wheels were fully charged and made a reservation with the taxi company to have one of their wheelchair-vans in front of the building’s door at 8:00AM the next day.

  That night they went to the Boat House—their favourite restaurant—by the beach and not too far from Talya’s place.

  Talya was a changed woman. Still thin and emaciated-looking, her whole demeanour, however, was one of a person who enjoyed life to the fullest. Her long, black dress draped elegantly over her legs, with its long sleeves, hid her scarred arm very nicely and enhanced the white curls surrounding her face. She had put on some make up, although her cheeks had almost returned to their rosy colour already.

  Aziz sat down across from her at a table near the picture windows. He couldn’t stop staring at the woman he loved. The past seven months’ ordeal was fading from his memory very quickly. He didn’t want to think about it. Tonight they were closing the book on the Ben Slimane Affair. Or were they?

  “I got a call from Fred Gibson last night,” Aziz said when their entrees were on the table.

  Talya looked up from her plate, wondering if she wanted to hear this. “And what did the man have to say for himself?”

  Aziz smiled. “He was very happy to hear that you’re making good progress and he’s invited us to Ottawa whenever you’re fit to travel.”

  Talya dropped her fork. “What for?” she blurted, peering into Aziz’s eyes. “I have no intention whatsoever to travel anywhere near that agency. You can tell him so, next time he calls. And what did you say?”

  “Nothing.” Aziz picked up
a prawn from his dish and bit on it with gusto. “I mean…, I didn’t say yea or nay. I just told him that travelling was not in the cards for you yet. That’s all.”

  Talya grabbed hold of the fork again and stabbed a couple of pieces of calamari on her plate in the same manner a snorkeler would stab a fish for his dinner. “Good! And it won’t be in the cards ever again. I’ll be going back to work next week and if there is any travel to be done, it’ll be to Paris…” It was Aziz’s turn to stop eating. Their eyes locked. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m not going to get involved with the prince again, no, I’m going to get him to fly us down to Bamako to go and pay our respects to Hassan’s father. The man deserves that much from Khalid and from me. His son died because of us, and going to see him is long overdue. Besides, I want to see for myself what’s been done with the Kankoon permit and have a nice long visit with Chantal.”

  Aziz didn’t know what to say. He had known Talya wouldn’t have forgotten the events of the past year and knew that she would have wanted to return to Africa someday, but he tried to put that thought out of his mind. He couldn’t accept seeing her leaving for a continent that was at the origin of all that happened to her. The only solace he took in the whole idea was that Talya proposed to visit Chantal Gauthier. He had never met the woman, but from what Talya explained after her return, she had always steered her in the right direction and hadn’t taken no for an answer when it came to protecting Talya from making unwise decisions.

  The troubled lines of his face finally receding into a happier expression, Aziz nodded. “But let’s get to Bowen Island first, shall we?”

  Not really knowing what came over her, Talya giggled and began tittering uncontrollably. The contagious laughter soon took hold of Aziz and he started chuckling. The two of them had tacitly decided to leave the past behind, for a while anyway.

  Chapter 17