“Necessary? Necessary?” Mark exploded. “For God’s sakes, Chief, I’m about to face a Mossad assassin and you’re asking me if my back-up needs a refresher course? Come on, guys, let’s be realistic here; or would you want your men to get killed on their first sortie?”
“Calm down, Agent Gilford, we know what you’ll be up against—no doubt—but we could deploy many more than just two men, if that’s what it takes, but right now, what I’d like to know is what you are going to do once we locate Agent Meshullam.”
“IF—and that’s a big if—we locate him…”
“Why do you say that? He was observed just last week…”
“What about today? Do you know where he is right at this minute?”
Sorenson looked embarrassed. “We’ve assumed he wouldn’t move…”
Mark got up and slammed both hands on Sorenson’s desk, bending over it to get his face as close as he could to the chief’s without climbing onto it. As Carvey and Delgado were about to pull him off, Sorenson held up a hand and shook his head to let Mark have his say. “I thought I’d made myself perfectly clear, Chief. Meshullam knows I’m in town. He knows me as he would his own mother, and I know him for what he is.” He sat back down. “I can tell you one thing for sure; he’s no longer in King Avenue. He’s probably moved out of there, the minute he knew we took our flight from D.C.”
Sorenson let out a breath. “And where do you think he’s now?”
“Back in his comfort zone…”
“You mean Melbourne?”
“If that’s where he used to live as a kid, yes.”
“All right…, and just for the record, Agent Gilford, you don’t need to shout in this office! I will not tolerate you raising your voice to me again.”
“I’m sorry, Chief, I’m just tired…”
“I can understand that. Why don’t we adjourn until the morning?” Sorenson got a nod from his two officers as they got up from their seats. “Will you accompany Agent Gilford to his hotel?” He got another two nods. “At 0:900 hrs. tomorrow, pick him up and you three go to the range, understood?”
“Yes, Chief.” That’s all the two men said before they walked out with Mark in tow.
Chapter 23
Muhammad Sadir didn’t like the way things were going. Gibson’s agency had now alerted the Australians to find Samuel, and both governments had agreed to extradite the man back to Canada as soon as the Aussies would get their hands on him. “No, definitely, things are not turning the way I’d expected,” he said to himself. However, he was not alone in this sinking ship. Thomas Peterson was in it up to his neck as well. Muhammad wondered if he could shift the blame onto him—find a way to shine the limelight onto the guy for a change.
He rapped his fingers against the edge of his desk, a habit he had picked up long ago, and continued to think of what he could do to get out of this messy situation.
These days no one could be trusted; the Americans would think nothing of taking him out of the picture. He was of Saudi Arabian descent and he really couldn’t hide behind a face that told anyone looking at him, that he was Islamic.
He didn’t want to talk to Thomas just yet; the guy was not level-headed enough to plan anything effective that didn’t involve one computer or another. No, he had to do that on his own.
An hour later, Muhammad had made a decision. He poked his head at the door of his office and called his secretary. Linda picked up her tablet, practically jumped from her seat, and followed her boss back into his office.
Muhammad regained his chair behind the desk and the young lady sat opposite him.
“I’d like you to send an email to the Deputy Director, advising him that I’ll be on holidays from tonight until the end of the month.”
She wrote a few words down. She was a gorgeous woman. Looking at her shapely legs, Muhammad wondered when he would ever get a chance to get her in bed with him. Little did he know that Linda’s boyfriend, soon to be husband, a weight-lift champion, would never let him near her.
“And then I’d like you to send this passport”—he pulled Khalid’s travel documents out of the desk drawer and handed the folder to her—“back to the Hotel de Crillon in Paris.”
“Okay,” Linda said, “Do you want it to go on the overnight pouch to the embassy, or shall I send it registered mail to the Crillon?”
“Registered mail will be good enough. The man won’t be back at the hotel for a couple of days yet.”
“Very well, sir.” Linda rose from the chair and took a few steps toward the door.
“Oh, one more thing, Linda, if you don’t mind.”
“Yes?” She only turned her head slightly to look at the obese man. The expression on her face was that of someone who had looked at something disgusting for far too long.
“Book me a flight to Seattle for this evening, would you?”
“Return date?”
“Leave it open. I’ll make my own arrangements from there.”
Walking out, she blurted, “No problem.”
Back at her desk, Linda typed a short email to Dietrich Van Dams, the Deputy Director, marking it ‘urgent’.
The reply came almost immediately.
When Agent Sadir leaves his office, pack his belongings. Have them picked up by our courier and sent to his home. You’ve been re-assigned. We’ll notify you in an hour where you’ll be going next.
A satisfied gleam in his eyes, Muhammad decided it was time to tell Thomas what he had planned. Leaving his office, he nodded in Linda’s direction and told her he was going to lunch.
“See you later,” Linda said, without lifting her eyes from the keyboard.
As soon as she heard the sound of his shuffled steps decrease behind her down the corridor, she got up and went to the storage room a couple of floors below, took two or three cardboard ready-to-pack boxes and climbed the stairs back to Muhammad’s office. She grabbed everything she could find which she knew was his—books, photos, gadgets, etc.—and filled the boxes quickly and left them on his desk. She then unplugged his laptop and took it to her station. She would send it to the forensic department later. A half-an-hour later Muhammad’s office was clean, empty and as soon as the cleaning crew would have done with it, someone else would come and occupy it, but Linda would be gone by that time.
“How you doing?” Sadir asked flippantly when he reached Thomas’s cubicle. The latter raised his eyes from the screen and looked up at his colleague.
“Oh…, just fine. What’s going on?”
“Nothing special. Just wondered if you’d like to have lunch with me.”
That invitation took Thomas by surprise. He knew Muhammad was somewhat of a miser when it came to pay for a drink or even share in an employee’s gift. “Sure... That’d be great. Let me get out of this…,” Thomas said as he closed his computer program.
“Okay, I’ll wait downstairs for you.”
“Sure…, I’ll be down in a minute,” Thomas replied distractedly.
Thomas Peterson was the typical ‘Nerd’ or ‘Geek’. Of medium height, weight, stature and mild manners, his only distinguishing feature was perhaps his spiky, short hair and colourful clothes. A garish vest over a flowery shirt, green pants and sneakers, seemed to be the only pieces his wardrobe contained, in a variety of shades and patterns. He was a highly qualified technical analyst. If you were looking for something or someone anywhere in the world, he would find it. Among his successes, he counted numerous arrests due to his astute tracking of the perpetrators. Without leaving his station, Thomas was able to follow anyone’s movement any time of the day or night, a quality or talent that got him involved with Muhammad’s other business and with Mossad’s infiltration of the CIA. Deep down, Thomas was not a spy, he was not cut out to be anything else than a technical advisor, and he would rather never have been involved with any of Muhammad’s shenanigans, if it had not been for his interest in tracking down Mossad’s movements.
As he was about to leave, he saw something that attra
cted his attention on one of the side screen, a message from Prince Abdullah to his nephew. He had been tracking Khalid’s computer relays through his email service provider.
Thomas sat down at his desk again. He read the last three lines with a smile on his face.
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.
Thomas decided to keep this bit of intel for himself. Fuelling Muhammad’s tank of mischief was not a good idea. Thomas knew he had been too close to this affair, without alerting his supervisor, and he wanted to curb his involvement, or turn this thing around while there was still time to do so. On second thought, he decided to tell someone right now. Muhammad could wait.
“Hey…, Camy... Do you mind having a look at this?” Thomas called out to his supervisor, standing up and beckoning to Cameron Sheffield two cubicles down from his.
“Hold on…, I’ll be right there,” Cameron replied, saving whatever work he had on his screen. “What’s up?” He came to stand behind Thomas’s chair.
“This... Have a read...” Cameron did.
“Have you told anyone else yet?”
Thomas shook his head. “No. I thought you might be interested.”
“Okay. Let’s keep tracking the prince, I mean Khalid, and... Are you going somewhere?” Cameron asked, noticing that Thomas had his jacket on.”
“Yeah, Sadir’s invited me for lunch. He’s waiting downstairs…”
“Oh he did, did he? Well, sorry to have to tell you this, D., but our Muhammad is off the board as of ten minutes ago.”
“What do you mean?” Thomas’s sudden anxiety appeared in the beady eyes hidden in the reflection of his heavily rimmed glasses. “Is he going on holidays…?” He was hoping that’s all there was behind this strange announcement.
“You could say that. Actually, he is, but it will be an extended one. We’ll make sure of it. So, I think it’ll be better for you to quit the game with him right now, if you know what’s good for you.”
Looking up at Cameron, Thomas felt the blood drain from his face. He felt sick to his stomach. Had he gone too far?
“But don’t you worry your big head about it. What you’ve done will be very useful to us in the long run.”
Beads of sweat pearled above Thomas’s brow. “Do you want everything I got on Mossad then?” There was no need to beat about the bush; Cameron obviously knew what he had been doing.
“Sure, and everything you’ve got on Muhammad’s latest communications with anyone, and I mean anyone.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Okay... and I think I’ll have lunch with our vacationing fellow now. And you stay put, okay?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you!”
“You’ll owe me…,” Cameron said, walking away.
Thomas felt relieved. Camy had allowed him to get back into the team, a team he should never have left. As he turned to the tracking screen once again and took off his jacket, he let out a sigh of contentment. He wiped his face with a tissue he pulled out of the box on his desk, and with another, he wiped his glasses before putting them back across the bridge of his nose. There’s no place like home, he thought.
Chapter 24
As Mrs. Allison opened the door for her guests, she stared down at Talya. “My Dear God, Ms Kartz, what on earth happened to you? Please, come in…, both of you. Dr. Hendrix, good to see you again. But tell me... I really don’t know what to say... Sorry for staring...” She couldn’t keep her eyes from Talya’s frail-looking body…, the chair…, the blanket... It was all too much for the old woman.
Amid this babbling, incoherent welcome, Aziz and Talya tried to put a word in, to no avail. They went through an archway to a large room, the former parlour of the house, where Aziz sat down across from the woman and Talya, depositing the two shoulder bags to the floor.
The handsomely furnished room reflected the décor of the entire house. The walls lined with bookshelves, entertainment centre, and a couple of antique desks flanking a large fireplace, made the whole room as inviting and comfortable as one could want. The sofa facing the hearth and the couple of chairs set apposite added an accent of warmth to the entire place. You wanted to sit and relax in this room.
“I’ve got the room on the ground floor ready for you, dear,” Mrs. Allison said, tapping Talya on the arm compassionately. She was an elderly woman, matronly one could say, but her hospitable attitude, her grey hair and her soft regard made one forget that she was the owner of the house. She gave everyone the impression to be one’s grandmother, or aunt, waiting to welcome you home.
“Thank you,” Talya replied. “I’m sorry if we’ve put you out...”
“No-no, not at all, dear. We’re still in the low season, and I’ve got only one other guest apart from you two, so you’re no bother at all. But I had to put you upstairs, Doctor. We haven’t got two rooms on the ground floor, I’m sorry.”
“No problem,” Aziz said, “we’ll manage.”
“Would you like some coffee or tea?” Mrs. Allison was already on her feet. Clearly, she wanted to keep her guests in the parlour to hear what happened to Talya. Curiosity was gnawing at her thoughts. She could not imagine what could have happened to such a beautiful woman; nothing short of a car accident, she was sure.
However, Talya didn’t feel like talking. She wanted to go to her room, lie down and sleep. After a delicious and filling brunch, she felt more tired than ever. “No thank you, Mrs. Allison, I just need to lie down for now. Do you mind?”
“Not at all, dear, you go right ahead. I’ll show you where it is.” Matching words to action, Mrs. Allison led the way down the corridor, stopped in front of a double door, which she opened wide to let Talya roll her chair into the spacious suite. The décor reminded her of the room she had had in Khalid’s apartment in Paris. Shooting an appreciative glance to the tall wardrobe and the four-poster-bed opposite, she went to the French windows and looked out. The view was all encompassing and quite pleasant. It overlooked part of Snug Cove and faced the Sunshine Coast, north of Vancouver on the opposite side of the sound. The light-blue silk drapes that framed the window were the one thing that made Talya think of Paris. Similar drapes had framed the window of her room there, too. She stretched a hand and caressed them. The memory of Khalid and their time at the Hotel de Crillon came back to her mind so vividly; she had to turn away. As she did, she found herself facing Aziz.
He smiled gently at her. “Do you want to unpack and freshen up before lying down?”
The question brought Talya back to the present. She looked down at her legs for a moment and nodded.
“Okay, I’ll leave you two kids alone,” Mrs. Allison said from the doorway where she had remained while observing the couple. They’re so good together, she thought. “I’ll be in the kitchen, if you need me.”
“Thanks,” Aziz replied, not watching the woman as she closed the door behind her.
Chapter 25
When the elevator doors opened, Cameron Sheffield, a man in his thirties, always proud of his appearance and good looks, noticed Muhammad Sadir sitting in one of the chairs of the reception hall. He looked up at Cameron over the rim of his newspaper and returned to his reading. He was far from expecting Agent Sheffield to stop in front of him. He put down the paper in his lap and raised his eyes again.
“Thomas couldn’t make it,” Cameron said, “he’s busy tracking your friend…, so I thought you wouldn’t mind having lunch with me instead.”
Muhammad was stunned. This wasn’t good. He extracted himself from the chair, dropped the paper on it and grunted, “Sure…, by all means, why don’t we…?”
Leading the way out of the building, Cameron turned to the waddling agent and opened the door for him. “Where are we going?”
The two men headed in the direction of Sadir’s car.
“I had in mind to take Thomas to the Chinese place around the corner
. Would that be okay with you?”
“Sure, and that seems to be a good place to start…,” Cameron replied, climbing in the front seat.
“Start what?” Sadir brushed a puzzled face past his colleague, as he turned on the ignition. He had no idea how much the man knew or how much he was authorized to tell him. He would have to tread carefully. Say as little as possible, he thought.
“Your vacation... I hear you’re going to Seattle…, nice place. I’ve been there a few times when I was working in Canada.”
“You did? I mean you worked in Canada. I didn’t know that.”
“Yes…, actually I was on assignment in Hong Kong in ’97 when the colony was returned to the Chinese government. Vancouver was my home-base for about a year then.”
“I see,” said Sadir, although he didn’t see at all where this was going. Both men fell silent for a moment.
“They’ve got a large Asian community in Vancouver; did you know that?” Cameron said.
“Yes, I’ve heard. But what’s that got to do with me?”
“Oh, plenty, Agent Sadir, plenty...”
Muhammad was at a total loss. He had no idea what this meant. He had only alerted Van Dams of his intention of leaving on vacation an hour ago. “What does that mean?” He pulled into the mall’s parking lot.
Cameron waited until they were at the restaurant’s doorsteps to say anything. “Let’s go in, shall we?” He opened the door of the establishment and let Sadir pass ahead of him.
A little Chinese woman escorted both men to a table in a corner, poured some tea in their cups, and retreated quickly after she handed them the menu.
By this time, Sadir was worried. He wanted to know where he stood, or what Cameron had heard. “Okay, let’s have it. What’s going on?”
Cameron shrugged, not lifting his eyes from the menu.
“Come on, Sheffield…, what have you heard?”
WASHINGTON DC: The Sadir Affair (The Puppets of Washington Book 1) Page 8