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

by Lavina Giamusso

  “Oh no. I was on my way already. I have some paperwork to finish. But who was that?”

  “Chief Sorenson.”

  “Oh? Has something happened to Agent Gilford?” Jimmy deposited his load on the Chief’s desk.

  Somewhat avidly, Fred grabbed the bag, rummaged through it and pulled one of the bagels out. “No, nothing happened…, yet.” He pulled the coffee from the tray, and handed the bag back to Jimmy. “But he’s flying back to Vancouver today and he thinks we should dispatch another agent to watch over Ms Kartz before Meshullam gets there.”

  Jimmy sat down, took the second bagel out of the bag and laid it on a napkin in front of him. “But why would they choose Agent Meshullam to harm Ms Kartz? Isn’t he the one who shot her?”

  Chewing contentedly, Fred said, “Exactly, my dear Jimmy. Exactly my point. See, if Mossad really wanted her out of the picture, they wouldn’t go to the trouble of sending Meshullam to do the deed. Any agent on their payroll could do that.”

  “Hum... Yes. So, what’s the reason?” Jimmy drank some of his latte, and began eating. “What about Agent Sadir? I heard he’s been removed.”

  “Yeah, and that’s another mystery.” Fred swallowed the last bite of his bagel. “The CIA has been very cagy about that. I don’t know what they’re hoping to accomplish. And I don’t know where he is, and that bothers me.”

  “Well then, if I may suggest, sir, wouldn’t it be a good idea to get in touch with your contact in Washington?”

  Fred wiped his mouth, drank a bit more coffee and reclined in his seat. “Yes, Jimmy, it would be a good idea if it were not for the fact that I know the CIA is concocting something and they’re not ready to let me in on it.”

  “Why would that be?”

  “Because, that’s the nature of the beast. They do not tell anyone what they’re doing until the very last moment or until it’s too late for us to do anything.”

  “You mean like the time they went ahead and exiled Prince Abdullah out of Switzerland?”

  “Exactly like that. And that’s what scares me about these guys. They think they’ve got the world by the tail until they face a catastrophe.”

  “Like nine-eleven.”

  “Yeah. And now that you’ve reminded me of something, would you mind verifying if Prince Khalid has returned to Paris and if he’s staying put?”

  Finishing his bagel, and still sipping on his coffee, Jimmy nodded. “May I ask you something?” he hazarded.

  “Sure, go ahead.”

  “What if Mossad wasn’t after Ms Kartz after all?”

  Fred frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, sir, from where I’m sitting, it seems strange that Agent Meshullam is going to Vancouver...”

  “And…?”

  “Well…, if we suppose that Mr. Sadir has been steered to the Pacific Coast, maybe the two men have been ordered to meet somehow... Or maybe Mr. Sadir had told Mr. Meshullam that if anything went wrong to meet in Vancouver. I don’t know...”

  Fred was staring, his eyes fixed on Jimmy’s face. “I think you’ve got something there. Let’s hear the rest of it.”

  “I don’t really know, but I should think the CIA wants Sadir to fall into Mossad’s hands somehow. Maybe, they’ve got an idea that we could catch Sadir red-handed and try him in Canada...” He shook his head. “I really don’t know how to piece this all together, sir. I’m just seeing everybody wanting to go to Vancouver all of a sudden. It’s like waiting for Apostle Peter in Rome’s arena…”

  “As I said, Jimmy, you’ve got something there. If you’re right, Sadir is on his way to BC... Get Badawee in here. He’s got to hear this.”

  Jimmy raised a hand. “But it’s only 7:00AM, sir.”

  “I don’t care if it’s 2:00AM—get him in here!”

  Grabbing the leftovers of their breakfast, Jimmy got to his feet and nodded. “Right away, sir.”

  “Oh, and tell him we’ll meet in his office. He’s got that whiteboard he loves so much...”

  Jimmy smiled and walked out.

  Chapter 34

  “Sergeant Phillips, would you ask Officer Carvey to come to my office as soon as possible?” Sorenson said on the phone. “I have something I’d like him to do for me.”

  “Right away, sir,” the sergeant replied. “Did you want to see Delgado as well?”

  “No, not at the moment. I’ll be expecting him as soon as he’s free.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Putting the receiver down, the sergeant shrugged and called Carvey.

  “What’s up, Sergeant?” Carvey answered distractedly, his focus remaining on whatever he was doing.

  “Get your butt upstairs on the double. Sorenson wants you.”

  When he heard the chief’s name, Carvey jumped up. “Yes, Sergeant, on my way.”

  Delgado was looking at the sergeant from across the room. “Does he want me, too?”

  “No, mate, just Carvey.”

  Carvey made his way to the sergeant’s desk, saying, “I wonder what he wants now. I hope it’s not running after another bloody Jew or a lost Canadian.”

  “Watch your language, Carvey,” the sergeant said. “We don’t need any racist comments in here, understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He heard his colleagues’ chuckles as he left the Incident Room.

  Being aware that the door of the chief’s inner office would probably be wide open, Carvey adjusted his tie, passed his fingers through his hair and checked there was no speck of dust on his trousers, before he entered the anteroom.

  He knocked on the opened door. Sorenson didn’t lift his head, but said, “Come in, Officer Carvey. Close the door.”

  Carvey did as he was told and came to stand at attention in front of the chief’s desk.

  Still not looking up, Sorenson said, “Sit down, Carvey.”

  Carvey did, and waited.

  Finally, Sorenson raised his gaze to him. “Here is what I want you to do. Take this ticket.” He handed the officer the airline’s folder and a note with a name and address typed on it. “Get yourself down to Melbourne on the noon-flight and go to that address.” Carvey looked at the piece of paper and wondered what it all meant.

  Sorenson looked at his man while he opened an envelope and pulled out a recent photo of Talya. “I want you to interview Millicent Harsinai. I want to know what her connection to Samuel Meshullam is. Moreover, I want to know if she recognizes Ms Kartz from this photo” —he handed him the picture— “or if the name means anything to her.”

  “May I ask why we are doing this, sir? I thought we were done with this Mossad agent.”

  “Well, you thought wrong, Officer Carvey. Until I say the file is closed, it will remain very much opened. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir, perfectly clear. Thank you, sir.” At these words, Carvey got up, and took his leave.

  But before he reached the door, Sorenson called him back. “One more thing, Carvey...”

  Pivoting on his heels, Carvey retraced his steps to come to stand in front of the chief’s desk again. “Yes, sir.”

  “Take an overnight case with you. I may want you to stay in Melbourne for a couple of days, depending on the information you obtain from Mrs. Harsinai.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll do that, sir.”

  “All right, on your way then.”

  As soon as Carvey had left his office, Sorenson called the sergeant again. “Would you send Officer Delgado to see me now?”

  “Yes, sir, right away, sir.” As the sergeant hung up, he saw Carvey come back. “What’s up?” Not waiting for an answer, he called out to Delgado. “You’re up next, Delgado.”

  “He’s calling me now…?”

  “Yes, Officer Delgado, get up there.”

  “All right, Sergeant.” As Carvey reached his desk, Delgado took the time to ask, “What did he say?”

  “I’m on the next flight to Melbourne.”

  “Bloody hell, what’s going on?” Delgado blurted in disbelief. �
�What will you be doing there?”

  “Interviewing a Millicent Harsinai.”

  “Really? Mama mia! You’ve pulled the right number there, mate.”

  “Why? Has she got good knockers?”

  After the laughter from their mates died down, Delgado said, “No, mate, she’s on the bestsellers list. She’s an author. Didn’t you know?”

  “What did you expect from Muscle Man?” a constable asked.

  “He knows nothing about poetry, mate. He hasn’t got your Italian blood,” another officer remarked from a neighbouring desk.

  “All right. No, I didn’t know she was a bloody author. All I know is that I’ve got an interview with her and…”

  “Alright, Delgado,” the Sergeant said. “Get going. Sorenson is probably having kittens by now.”

  When Delgado sat down opposite the chief, he had no idea what was expected of him. They had quite a few cases opened at the moment; any of them could be requiring particular attention.

  “Alright, Delgado, what I want you to do is rather simple. I need you to go to King Avenue, verify that Samuel has left the premises, ascertain when he left, and find his car at the airport.”

  Delgado’s eyes grew wide. “Sir…, do we know what sort of car he drove?”

  “Yes, we do. You will get the details from Sergeant Phillips.”

  “And what do I do with the car, once I find it?”

  Sorenson looked at the officer as if he were a child visiting the principal’s office for the first time.

  “You ring the SOCO team to have it towed away back to the lab and then you come back here.”

  “Is that it?”

  “Yes, that’s it, Officer Delgado, apart from writing a detailed report of your findings in King Avenue.”

  “May I ask why we’re doing this?”

  “Because I’m asking you to do it.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  “Close the door behind you,” Sorenson added when Delgado was about to leave.

  When he reached the Incident Room again, Delgado noticed Carvey was already gone. “He shoofed it off already?” He looked around him for anyone who cared to pay attention to him.

  A constable looked up. “What did you expect? You two are not attached at the hips, are you?”

  Delgado shrugged. He gathered his note pad, car keys and was about to make his way out of the Incident Room when the sergeant at the head of the row of desks called to him.

  “Yes, Sergeant?”

  “Here’s the information you needed about that car.” Sergeant Phillips handed Delgado a note with license plate number and description of Samuel’s Jaguar on it. “And when you get in Meshullam’s house, don’t touch anything. We’ll get the SOCO team on site as soon as you’ve determined the house hasn’t been occupied since the bloke left.”

  “Okay, mate. Thanks for that.”

  “Don’t mention it. We’ve lost a lot of time. We should have been on top of that bloke since we’ve had his warrant. Anyway, let’s get this thing settled properly now...”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  Chapter 35

  As soon as Namlah Badawee reached his office, carrying his coffee, he sat down, punched the intercom button and waited until Gibson picked up the phone.

  “I see you’ve made it,” Fred said. “Thanks for coming in early. Jimmy and I will be right over. Stay where you are.”

  “I’ll be waiting,” Namlah answered, sipping on his coffee. He wondered what could be that urgent to be called so early in the day for a meeting. He shrugged, deposited the large latte on the side of the desk and opened the Meshullam file.

  Gibson knocked on the lawyer’s open door.

  “Come in, come in, Chief. Good morning. Have a seat. And you too, Jimmy,” Namlah invited.

  “Okay,” Fred began, “Jimmy here gave me an idea, and I’d like you to hear him out.”

  “Sure. What’s on your mind, Jimmy?”

  “Well, sir, I’ve been thinking of all these people popping out of nowhere and suddenly going to Vancouver…”

  Namlah held up a hand. “Sorry to interrupt you, but what “people” are you referring to?”

  “There’s that Agent Meshullam, then there was Prince Khalid, and then I suspect Agent Sadir could also be on his way there.”

  Namlah’s eyebrows shot up. “What would make you think Agent Sadir is going to Vancouver?”

  “Well, sir, I’m thinking of the way he’s been removed, and why.”

  “Okay, go on.”

  “See, he’s the one who supposedly found Slimane’s location—when no one had any idea where the man was. Then, he is the one who sent Prince Khalid to Australia. I’m sure, though, the prince had the same thing in mind. I mean he probably wanted to avenge Ms Kartz’s attack at some point. He already wanted to do that ever since she was shot. Anyway…, then, as soon as we decided to bring Agent Meshullam back, Sadir gets nervous and tells everyone he’s going on holidays…”

  It was Fred’s turn to look surprised. “How do you know that?”

  “Well…, the message, sir…, it said that he’s taking a leave of absence…”

  “So?”

  Jimmy shook his head. “Don’t you see? If he’s the one who’s alerted Agent Meshullam that things were going south on him, he probably decided to get out before the CIA got the wind up.”

  “But it’s the CIA who removed him…?”

  “No, that’s not the way I see it. The CIA probably did in a way, yes, but all they really wanted to know is where he intended to go when he said he was taking a holiday.”

  “And when did you figure out Sadir was going to Vancouver, or how did you come to that conclusion?” Namlah asked, stroking his moustache.

  “Well, this is the thing, sir, I don’t know it for a fact, but since the CIA is onto Sadir for some time now and since they’re keeping tabs on Meshullam, they probably put Sadir where he would find Meshullam...”

  “You mean they’re trying to force a confrontation?”

  Jimmy nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir. That’s what I think. By my way of thinking, if Meshullam has been ordered back to Vancouver it’s not only to get Sadir between four eyes, but to protect Ms Kartz.”

  “But why?” Fred blurted.

  Namlah decided to answer that one. “Chief, if Mossad spared Ms Kartz once, they’re not coming back to finish the job. From what you said, Jimmy, and I would have a tendency to agree, Sadir is the target—not Ms Kartz.”

  “You mean Mossad wants to get his hide?”

  “Absolutely, Chief, if we go by Jimmy’s surmise. And I think we should.”

  “And that thing you said the other day about the CIA trying to find proofs of Sadir’s involvement in Slimane’s death; is that what Mossad is afraid of?”

  “Yes and no.” Namlah lost him. “What I mean is this; if Mossad got rid of Slimane is most likely because he took matters in his own hands when he sent faulty weapons to Israel...”

  Fred said, “You mean the CIA was in on Slimane’s killing?”

  “Yes.”

  “But then why would they need proof, if they were in it together with Mossad?”

  “Simple. They want proof against Sadir. Evidence that he knew where Slimane was, and organized his killing.”

  “But isn’t Mossad the one who sent Meshullam to kill Slimane?”

  “Yes, but, they only did when Sadir revealed his location.”

  “Good God! Are you telling me Sadir was the one behind the faulty arms’ shipment?”

  “I guess that’s what I’m saying,” Namlah concluded. “And for a Mossad man to be involved in arms shipment to Israel is one thing, but when Slimane allegedly began shipping faulty weapons, Mossad got angry. The only one who was liable to do that was an Islamic Radical. So, when they followed the lead back to its origin they found none other than Agent Sadir—a Muslim man.”

  Chapter 36

  Carvey arrived in Caroline Street at about three o’clock. He had been told Millice
nt was home of an afternoon generally. He parked the rental car nearby and made his way up the street and down the laneway leading to the entrance of the building. He looked up at the row of tall pines lining the lane and facing the apartments’ terraces. Well hidden from any peeping toms, he thought, but climbing these trees would give any burglars easy access to the flats.

  He rang the doorbell marked “Harsinai” and waited. When he heard an ageing woman call down to him, he looked up at the third floor balcony.

  “And who might you be?” Mrs. Harsinai yelled to Carvey.

  “I am Officer Sylvester Carvey, ma’am, from the New South Wales Police Headquarters.”

  “And what would a New South Wales Police Officer be doing at my door?”

  “If I may come upstairs, ma’am, I shall explain.”

  “All right, Officer Carvey, come up,” Millicent said, turning toward the inside of her flat.

  Once on the top floor landing, Carvey waited for a couple of minutes in front of the door. He heard the woman (he assumed) rummage through things and wondered what she could be doing.

  Millicent Harsinai flung the door wide-open, stood stock still, and looked up and down at the man facing her. Her long, flowery dress enveloped her body perfectly, without enhancing her ample curves. The salt-and-pepper hair and grey eyes gave one the impression this lady was as sharp as they come.

  “Aren’t you an Adonis!” Millicent said to him with a broad smile lighting her face.

  “I’m sorry?” Carvey blurted. “I’m Officer Sylvester Carvey. Were you expecting someone else?” Obviously, Adonis didn’t mean anything to him.

  Millicent burst into laughter, putting one hand in front of her mouth and tapping the officer on the arm with the other. “No-no, dear, nothing of the sort... But do come in, come in.”

  “Yes, ma’am, thank you.”

  “Have a seat.” She pointed to a sofa along the far wall of what Carvey thought would be a very nice lounge room if it weren’t for the table and computer encumbered of papers, folders, books, and for the files being strewn about the floor or being piled precariously atop the other pieces of furniture. “And don’t be surprised with the mess, I’m a writer, as you probably know, and this is my office…”