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

by Lavina Giamusso

  As Khalid cleared the gangway leading to the arrivals’ lounge, two men—one tall and muscular, the other a head shorter than his companion with mousy-looking features—came to stand on either side of him. They were both dressed in the regulation-blues.

  “May we see your passport, sir?” the short one of the two demanded.

  Khalid didn’t know the procedure in this foreign land and didn’t flinch when asked to show his travel documents to an official-looking fellow. “Sure, by all means.” He put down his laptop case and fetched his passport out of his breast pocket.

  The mousy officer opened it and flipped through it. “Welcome to Australia, Professor. Would you follow us, please?” He handed the document back to him.

  By then Khalid had realized he was the only person, thus far, that had been stopped upon exiting the aircraft. He turned his head, hoping to spot Sylvan among the economy class passengers who were now coming out of the gangway.

  “Don’t worry, Professor, we’ll get your friend to join us in a minute,” Mr. Muscle said, a shrug and a smirk accompanying the words.

  Already walking in step with the two men, Khalid stopped abruptly and waited for his escorting officers to do the same. When they did, and turned to face him, Khalid deposited both his bags to the floor and crossed his arms over his chest. “Alright, gentlemen, I realize I am only a guest in your country, but since I seemed to have been singled out from among 300 or so visitors, before we go any further, I’d like to know what this is all about.”

  The officers looked at one another before answering.

  “Just come with us, sir, we can’t have this conversation right here,” Mousy urged, ready to resume his walking.

  Khalid’s obdurate stance stopped him. “Oh yes we can, and we will, unless you want me to make a fuss in the middle of this hall.”

  The taller officer took a step toward Khalid, manifestly ready to take him by the one arm. “Come, come now, sir, we don’t want to attract attention, now do we?” Khalid’s glare had him change his mind instantly.

  “No we don’t,” Khalid heard someone say from over his shoulder. He spun on his heels to find Sylvan standing at his back. “We’ll be going with you—no question—won’t we, Professor?” He smiled invitingly as he flung his bag over his shoulder.

  “Oh…, yes…, of course… Lead the way, by all means,” Khalid said, ostensibly appeased. In reality, he was seething. He picked up his laptop and overnight bag from the floor.

  The four men walked down a series of corridors and finally filed into a room that looked to be part of the customs’ offices. A lone table and four chairs were the only pieces of furniture in this rectangular room. They sat down. Khalid and Mark put their bags beside their respective chairs while the two officers took off their chequered-band caps in one movement and deposited them between their forearms, which they extended atop the Formica. The four men looked at one another as if assessing the debating camps on opposite sides of the table.

  The short fellow broke the silence. “I’m Constable Strickland, Professor.” Khalid clenched jaw remained closed. His piercing eyes did not leave the man’s face. “And this is my partner, Constable Damien.”

  Damien’s mocking eyes focused on Mark. “And you must be Sylvan Esteban, or should I call you Agent Gilford?” He paused. “I prefer you with blond hair,” he snickered, his own head adorned of curly, flaming-red hair.

  Strickland turned his head and looked at Damien disapprovingly. Familiarities or scorn toward foreigners, were not in his book of rules of behaviour. He returned his attention to the two people across from him. “We know this intervention must seem strange and certainly unexpected to you both, gentlemen, but we have been ordered to advise you of the change of plans.”

  Khalid’s anger was not abating. “What plans?” He didn’t like interference of any sort.

  “Prince Khalid, please…” Visibly taken aback, Khalid stared at his interlocutor. He hadn’t expected being called by his official title, although he knew their fake identities had been uncovered as soon as he heard Damien identify Mark. “…don’t make this more difficult than it has to be. We’re simply following orders, you understand.”

  “And what orders are those?” Khalid barked at his adversary.

  “For you to go back to Paris on the next available flight to France, Your Highness.”

  At these words, His Highness got to his feet with such an abrupt and violent jerk that the chair fell behind him. “You can’t do that! I’ve got a passport that has a three-month’s visa…”

  Mark leaned down, straightened up the chair and pulled down on Khalid’s sleeve. “Sit down…,” he told him as firmly as the circumstances allowed, “…please, Your Highness.” Khalid did.

  Strickland, evidently armed of great patience, totally ignored Khalid’s outburst and resumed his explanation. “And you, Agent Gilford, you have been assigned to extradite Mr. Samuel Meshullam back to Canada.”

  Khalid’s facial expression changed instantly and dramatically from one of annoyance into one of amazement. Had he been arrested already? Was there something he didn’t know? Clearly there was. But what? “What happened?” His tone of voice betrayed his bewilderment.

  “Yes, Your Highness, something has happened and you do not want to be party to this investigation. That’s the reason we’re sending you home.”

  Mark opened his mouth quickly—if he didn’t, Khalid would. “Do you mean the fellow is not behind bars yet?”

  Showing some embarrassment perhaps, Strickland surrounded his cap on the table with both hands. “We’ve got a warrant for his arrest, but we haven’t caught up with him yet.” He moved his head from side to side as if wanting to relieve the tension in his neck.

  “And I’m supposed to wait until you do?”

  “That’s the plan, Agent Gilford, and those are our orders,” Damien confirmed. “We’ve reserved rooms for the both of you at the Airport Hotel for the night…”

  Khalid had calmed down considerably but his curiosity aroused now, he had to ask, “Would you at least tell us the reason for the warrant?”

  Strickland turned to his partner before answering. The latter nodded almost imperceptibly. “Charges of attempted murder on the person of Ms Talya Kartz.”

  Khalid let a heavy sigh escape from his mouth, his upper body sagging against the back of the chair. At last, someone was going to do the right thing. He felt relieved as if the burden of the last two years of turmoil had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders. “Thank you, gentlemen…” He left the words hanging in the air, and then added, “Shouldn’t we see to our luggage…?” turning to Mark.

  “No need. We’ve taken care of it,” Strickland said, shaking his head. “And…, here is your return ticket to France.” He pulled out an envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to Khalid. “Your flight is departing tomorrow night.”

  The prince took the envelope. “Thank you again.” He got to his feet hesitantly. “Oh…, but I almost forgot, my passport…, my other passport is in Washington…”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ve contacted D.C. already, and your passport will be at the Hotel de Crillon when you get home in Paris.”

  “I see. Well then, I’ll make my way to the hotel…” He grabbed his two bags with the one hand and walked to the door.

  Mark, who had listened to the last of this exchange in puzzlement, got up, picked up his shoulder bag, and was about to follow Khalid out of the room when Damien called him back. “I think you might want to remain with us for a few more minutes, Agent Gilford…”

  Mark turned around, put down the bag beside the chair again. “…I... I... guess, I should.” He then shot a quick glance in Khalid’s direction. “I’m sorry… I’ll see you tonight then?”

  Khalid nodded, and as he was about to place his free hand on the doorknob, Damien called to him. “One of our colleagues is waiting for you outside, Your Highness. He’ll see you through customs and security…”

  “Yes, yes, o
f course.” Still somewhat in shock, Khalid walked through the door and was gone, leaving Mark to sit down again opposite the satisfied-looking constables.

  Chapter 18

  Talya’s weakened condition showed when she and Aziz arrived on the island. Although her racing wheels were doing most of the work, she felt her strength leaving her as every minute passed. Aziz had seen this before. Following months of inactivity, she had made demands on her body to which it was not prepared to respond. In less than 72 hours, Talya had resumed a great deal of activities and her muscles were screaming for help—and food.

  “Can we stop?” Talya asked, as they were half way up the hill leading to their B&B.

  “Sure. Why don’t we have a bite to eat? The restaurant is open. Maybe a large brunch…? What do you say?”

  Talya looked up at him and smiled. He always knew what she felt and what she wanted. “Good idea! Let’s go.” She put her chair in motion again and they turned into the terrace fronting a little house. She skirted the patio and rolled down to the entrance at the side of the establishment. Aziz opened the door for her, walked in and dropped his shoulder bag near a table. Talya manoeuvred the chair in front of it and took off her jacket.

  The waitress was already at her side, helping her out of it. “Would you like some coffee?” She smiled at the two people in turn.

  Talya looked up at her, thanked her and handed her jacket to Aziz. “Yes,” she added, “and some eggs Benedict for me...” She looked at Aziz. “Oh and some fruit, and maybe…”

  He took her hand. “Let’s see how you’re doing with that for now…, okay?” Talya nodded.

  “And for you, sir?” the young woman asked, pen poised on her order pad.

  He let go of Talya’s hand, grabbed the menu quickly and ran his eyes down it. “I’ll have bacon and eggs, pancakes and strawberries.”

  “Toasts with that?”

  “No, thanks.”

  As the waitress retreated, Aziz noticed that Talya’s hands were trembling. She had them folded in her lap and was looking down at them. “Do you want to go home?”

  She shook her head. “No, no. I’m just cold…, maybe...”

  “Okay, let’s wait until you get some food in you.”

  Chapter 19

  As soon as Khalid reached his room; he unpacked his laptop, plugged it in and waited until he could get on the Internet. For the past several weeks, he had learned and had grown to enjoy the technology. He could search for anything and get an instant response, and he could get in touch with anyone readily enough. The programs’ feature even allowed him to write his emails in Arabic. Once on-line, he took no time to contact his Uncle Abdullah in Riyadh. He had no idea of the time difference, and he was not even sure his uncle would respond after Khalid’s deliberate silence for the past months, but he had to try.

  Following the usual introductory sentences, he wrote:

  I am in Australia until tomorrow night. The authorities are seeking to arrest Samuel Meshullam (a.k.a. Isaac Whittlestein) in the next few days. There is an order of extradition for him to be returned to Canada as soon as he is captured.

  From what I can gather at this point, Muhammad Sadir’s involvement in this affair has been put into question. Since he is your friend and he has interceded in the locating of Ben Slimane, the question that has to be asked is whether he was himself a Mossad agent. How far did your friendship go? Be prepared to be questioned some time soon.

  Your devoted nephew, Khalid Saif Al-Fadir.

  He left the computer open, just in case his uncle would respond immediately, and went to open his suitcase. He wanted to get out of the suit and tie and into more appropriate clothes. He had not gone outside yet, but somehow felt oppressed. Distractedly, he took the envelope that Constable Strickland had given him at the issue of their interview. He opened it and looked at the tickets. To his surprise, he was booked on a flight to Singapore and then on a connecting flight to Paris. His heart sank. He sat down. He had expected to fly back to San Francisco, from where he had planned to make a detour via Vancouver. Again, he felt trapped. He could not figure out how or when he was going to see Talya. He was not aware that she was making great progress now toward a full recovery. He thought of Aziz’s call. He had let him and Talya down.

  He shook his head, dismayed. He rummaged through his suitcase and found the clothes he was looking for. He got up from the bed, and as he was about to go into the bathroom to have a shower, he heard the jingle alerting him that ‘he got mail’ from the computer.

  He dropped his clothes on the bed, sat down in front of the screen, open his uncle’s email and read:

  Khalid,

  Although very happy to hear from you at long last, the news your message brought me is indeed troublesome. Muhammad’s reputation was never a cause for me to worry. Admittedly, he was well informed when we first contacted him regarding the whereabouts of Mr. Slimane, which was surprising at the time. However, as a CIA agent for some years, I had no qualms regarding the information he provided. Are you suggesting he is then a double agent? If he is, you are right in assuming that I will be questioned regarding my association with him. All I can tell you, at this point, is that I have never known him to be involved with the weapons’ trade that was uncovered last year.

  Not wanting to sound remiss in my concern, I must ask you if you have been able to see Ms Kartz lately. How is she progressing? If you do see her, please give her my regards and my best wishes for her recovery. What she suffered is my fault.

  Your uncle, Abdullah Saif Al-Fadir.

  Khalid read the last sentence again. Uncle Abdullah should not feel responsible for Talya being shot, he thought. At the time, his uncle was himself entangled in a web of deceit that even saw him being declared persona non grata in Switzerland and subsequently dismissed from his OPEC secretarial position. Apparently, Mossad, together with the CIA, had used him as well as countless others in pursuit of their ultimate goal—defeat the Palestinians at Gaza.

  Khalid replied:

  Dear Uncle,

  I have not been able to visit Talya yet. Dr Hendrix has called on me to go to her, but the events that followed his telephone call interfered with my intention to fly to Vancouver and saw me land in Sydney this morning. I was intending to go back to Paris via Canada, but the authorities are preventing me to do so at this time. I will be in Singapore tomorrow and from there I am to take a direct flight to Paris.

  As soon as I reach my apartment, I will contact you again and perhaps then, we could discuss the possible involvement of Muhammad Sadir at length.

  Khalid.

  Chapter 20

  It was all he could do to contain his curiosity or amazement in front of the two constables. During the last 30 hours since he had left Ottawa, decisions had been made, measures taken and orders given that contravened everything he had heard prior to his departure. Mark was glad to hear that Samuel was up on charges and that extradition papers would be ratified as soon as the Aussies would put the guy behind bars. Yet, how did the wheels of his spydom suddenly spun into action when they had virtually grinded to a halt since Talya had been shot?

  What’s more, he wasn’t ready to open his mouth and give these two underlings any information he had regarding what preceded his trip to Sydney. He wanted to speak to one of his peers or to the man in charge.

  “As we told the both of you,” Strickland began, “we’ve got to find this Samuel fellow and surrender him into your custody as soon as we can. And to do that, we will need your assistance.”

  “What do you expect from me, exactly? It’s not like I’ve been here before…”

  “It’s not your first time in a foreign country and carrying out orders either,” Damien countered.

  “No, it isn’t, but generally I’m well briefed by my superior before I go anywhere. I never went blind anywhere…”

  “Sorry to contradict you again, Agent Gilford, but you’ve been to Florida and more precisely up the Jackson River, without orders, instructions o
r briefing, haven’t you?”

  Wow, Mark thought, these two have quite an update on my dossier. “Well…, yes…, you’re quite right, but that was an exception…”

  “An exception that landed Ms Kartz in deep trouble, didn’t it?”

  Mark didn’t like to be interrogated—certainly not by police constables. He decided to stop while he was ahead.

  Strickland realized almost immediately they had made an enemy of Mark; their direct and obviously undesirable approach had turned him into a clam. They still needed him to get to Samuel. They thought of themselves as good officers—and they probably were—but they were not trained to track down a master of deceit or one of Mossad’s more famous spies. Even with the latest technology at their disposal, they were at a loss when it came to chase and capture a slippery customer as Samuel was.

  “All right, Agent Gilford, we understand we’re only two coppers at our Majesty’s stipends, but we’ve got to get to this bloke before he slips through our fingers and vanishes before our eyes.”

  “Okay,” Mark relented, “I know what you’re saying, but I can’t talk to you or even answer your questions or allegations, without talking to my boss first. If you wish, I can go to your office, get on line with him and see what he says. And we can take it from there…, how’s that?”

  Both men nodded. “That’s sounds fair enough,” Damien said, replacing his cap atop his head. “Come on, Strick, let’s get him to headquarters.”

  Strick got up, grabbed his cap from the table, and led the way out of the room.

  Mark felt relieved. He was going to get a low-down on this incredible U-turn. Something must have gone horribly wrong in the agency’s relationship with the CIA for getting everyone turned around so quickly. Did Mossad activate a sleeping cell when they observed Khalid taking off from Ottawa? he wondered. However, he was relatively sure their under-cover movements had not been discovered. They would have been stopped in San Francisco if that had been the case.