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

by Lavina Giamusso

  Hiller smiled. “Now, what does the ME’s report tell you?” He handed him another folder.

  Laslo opened it and read it as if for the first time. He looked up from the folder to the Captain a couple of times before he answered, “It says here that the knife wound didn’t kill Abib... and... that he drowned.”

  “One last question, Laslo…, why the hell didn’t you read the report before now?” Hiller shouted…, so loud in fact, that everyone outside his office stopped. The proverbial fly could be heard buzzing.

  Laslo hung his head and slammed the folders on the Captain’s desk. “Because I’ve never seen these reports before!” he yelled. Then in a quieter voice, “I got the file out this morning and left it on my desk when Fisk and I went out to the mooring pier. Someone must have put those in when we were out of here.”

  “Okay, let’s see…” Hiller got up, went around his desk and marched into the incidents’ room. He stood stock still amid his men and looked around. “Okay. Has someone seen anybody around Laslo’s desk this morning or this afternoon?”

  A burly man sitting at a desk near Laslo’s pushed his chair back and faced his captain. “I did. This guy came in at about 2:00 and asked where Laslo was sitting. I told him and then he said he had a folder for him... I didn’t pay attention. I was on the phone, but I think he put something on his table and left.”

  “Did you ask his name?” Hiller asked, his imposing figure towering over the detective.

  “Like I said, I was on the phone…”

  “I guess that’s a no.” He turned to the other men. “Anyone else seen this guy?” There were shaking heads all around. He returned his attention to the burly detective. “Okay, Casey, could you recognize him if you saw him again?”

  “Sure. A Caucasian guy. He was lanky like, over six feet. He had a long face with some pocks, like he had had smallpox or something, beady eyes and was dressed with shirt and tie. He had slick, black hair going over his shirt collar…”

  “That’s Verduccio,” Laslo blurted from behind the Captain’s back. The latter spun on his heels.

  “Get him on the screen—NOW!” Hiller ordered. Laslo sat at his desk and without a word complied with the captain’s request. In a few seconds, Verduccio’s face appeared on the screen—except that now, access to his personnel file was denied.

  “What the hell!” Hiller yelled. “What’s going on here? Okay…, let’s take this one step at a time. Casey…?”

  “Yes, sir...”

  “Get your ass out of that chair and have a look here.” Casey did and went to look at Laslo’s monitor. “Is that the guy who came in this afternoon?”

  “Yeah, that’s him alright.”

  “Okay, good. Now, Fisk...”

  The young officer had been intent on the whole incident and was on the alert. “Yes…?”

  “You phone the ME and get a copy of his reports on the Marianne’s corpses and then you do the same with the forensics guys.”

  “Okay, no probs.” Fisk was already dialling.

  “Laslo, you call the fishing port authority and ask if the Marianne is still operating out of these waters. If she’s still there, you go with Fisk in the morning and have a chat with the owner.”

  “What about Ms. Kartz then…?”

  “I’ll get the ADA on the phone and straighten this out. If there is any warrant to be issued it would only be for involuntary manslaughter... We’ll see what she says...” Hiller strode back into his office and closed the door.

  Laslo looked at Fisk. “Wait until I get this Verduccio between four eyes...”

  Chapter 52

  Van Dams did not intend to accuse Prince Abdullah of anything until he had all of the facts in hand. Why did the prince felt responsible for Ms. Kartz’s shooting? That’s what he wanted to know. There was nothing in his dossier that indicated any more than a long friendship with Sadir. There were a few phone calls prior to Slimane’s death, but nothing that would inculpate the prince in any way. The meeting between his nephew, Prince Khalid, and Sadir in Washington was much more important, yet there had not been any reports officially filed regarding that particular encounter. Sadir had advised CSIS in Ottawa of the prince’s intention to go after Agent Meshullam of his own accord. At the time, Van Dams himself had been kept in the dark until Gibson informed him that the Australians were issuing a warrant for Meshullam’s arrest.

  Van Dams shook his head. If it had not been for Ottawa making the decision to have Meshullam apprehended and extradited back to Canada, he would not have been aware of Sadir’s wilful involvement, and their operations in West Africa would probably have petered out naturally. Besides, Mossad was not keen on re-opening the case. Even if they thought they had made a mistake to trust the Arab fellow, they would not have admitted their error. Van Dams knew from long experience in dealing with Israel that it was better to let sleeping dogs lie. They hated being wrong.

  Van Dams needed more information. He called Cameron Sheffield and asked him to bring Thomas Peterson to his office—on the double!

  After checking that Thomas had gathered every surveillance file and any intel he had on Sadir, Agents Sheffield and Peterson made their way to the Deputy Director’s office. They knew they were in for a grilling.

  Sylvia knocked, opened Van Dams’s door, and let the two agents walk in. “Agents Sheffield and Peterson,” she announced.

  “That’s fine, Sylvia,” Van Dams told her, getting to his feet. “Hold my calls for a while.”

  “Yes, sir.” She closed the door on the two men.

  “Let’s have a seat at the table, shall we?” Van Dams stretched an inviting arm to the small conference table and chairs located in a corner of his large office.

  The two agents took a seat side by side, facing the Deputy Director. They deposited the files in front of them and put down a flash-drive beside them.

  Van Dams eyes rested on the item. “Is that a compilation of the surveillance on Sadir?”

  “Yes, sir,” Sheffield replied. “We didn’t have time to make hard copies yet.”

  “Okay. What can you tell me about Prince Abdullah?” Sheffield and Peterson looked at each other, apparently undecided who should respond first. “Okay. Agent Peterson, let’s start with you. What have you discovered about Sadir and his relationship with the Prince?”

  “Between Agent Sadir and…”

  Van Dams shook a hand in Thomas’s face. “Let’s get this straight, Peterson; Mr. Sadir is no longer an agent of the CIA. You got that?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry.” A contrite expression came across the young man’s face. He hated making stupid mistakes.

  “Go on then...” Van Dams looked at him intently.

  “Mr. Sadir and Prince Abdullah exchanged a few phone calls before Slimane’s death and after that, nothing from the Prince.”

  “Was there other communications between Sadir and someone else after Slimane’s elimination?”

  “Yes, sir. One call in particular, in which Sadir described how Slimane was killed,” Peterson replied.

  “And when did that conversation take place…, but more importantly, who initiated the contact?”

  “I believe Mr. Gibson contacted Mr. Sadir from Vancouver, where he just arrived after Ms. Kartz’s shooting.”

  “Do you have a record of the conversation?”

  Sheffield opened one of the files. “It was actually a visual IM link-up and we recovered the text.” He handed the Deputy Director a sheaf of paper.

  “Let’s see...” Van Dams read.

  Gibson— Good evening, sir. My name is Fred Gibson of the Canadian Security Intelligence Service. I’m sorry to intrude on your schedule, but we thought you might be able to help us.

  Sadir— Ah, yes. My friend, Abdullah, spoke of you, sir. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. How can I be of assistance?

  Gibson— Well, it’s just a matter of confirming what you told Prince Saif Al-Fadir today. I gather you’ve found a body in Flint that fits the description
of Mr. Ben Slimane.

  Sadir— Yes, we did, Mr. Gibson, but we found out more than that... Does the name “Mossad” means anything to you?

  Gibson— Yes, I am quite familiar with this organization. Are you telling me that Slimane was a Mossad agent?

  Sadir— Yes. That’s the conclusion we reached when we identified the body that had met with a sudden accidental death in Flint.

  Gibson— How was he killed?

  Sadir— The van he was driving rammed into a tree—reported as a simple road accident actually.

  Gibson— Was the vehicle tampered with?

  Sadir— The forensic team is still on it, but as far as we could tell for now, the steering wheel locked on him when he tried to turn the corner down the street where he lived.

  Gibson— But that was a gamble... Whoever tampered with the steering mechanism wouldn’t know he would hit that particular tree.

  Sadir— Quite right you are, sir, but since he had been shot as he took the turn, the tree was perhaps the only thing that prevented him from creating a major accident.

  Gibson— Are you saying he was shot in the middle of an intersection? Unbelievable!

  Sadir— Quite. Yet, if you know anything about Mossad, they plan everything they do down to the smallest detail—and they don’t make mistakes.

  Gibson— I see. What about his identity? How did you determine he was Mossad?

  Sadir— That was a deduction on the part of my colleagues—but one that led us to his true identity. His real name was Ishmael Assor. We matched his face quite easily, once we had an inkling as to his affiliation.

  Gibson— I will not take any more of your time, sir, and I would expect to receive a report about this when I return to Ottawa.

  Sadir— Absolutely. I’ve already talked to your contact here in Washington and once we’ve completed our investigation, you should expect to have the report on line, even before you leave Vancouver.

  Gibson— Thank you, and if someday I can return the favour, let me know.

  Sadir— By all means, I’ll do that.

  Van Dams raised enquiring eyes to his two agents. “So…, it appears that our Mr. Sadir identified Mossad as the party responsible for Slimane’s elimination. He also released Slimane’s identity, which he should not have done. Then he describes the accident as if he was there...”

  Sheffield nodded. “And I seem to recall that he promised to send a report of the incident, but he never did—not that we are aware of anyway.”

  “Have you confirmed with Ottawa that they never received a report?”

  “No sir, not yet,” Sheffield replied.

  “Do that... after we’re done here. Then can you check if you have a record of the conversation that preceded this one where Prince Abdullah, I presumed, asked for details about Slimane’s death.”

  Thomas looked up at his supervisor before he answered. “I don’t think we do, sir...”

  “Look for yourself...” Van Dams handed the sheet of paper back to Thomas saying, “Read the opening lines.”

  Thomas did and shook his head. “Yes, you’re right, but I don’t think we’ve got any conversation from Prince Abdullah and Sadir...” He shuffled through the file. “But…, I think we’ve got something about Prince Khalid calling Sadir at about the same time.” He scanned through a couple of the record sheets and finally found what he was looking for. “Here it is, sir... It’s the Four Seasons’ number in Vancouver... where the call was initiated.” Thomas handed Van Dams the one page recording.

  Khalid— Ah, Mr. Sadir. How are you, sir?

  Sadir— Fine, thank you for asking. How is your uncle?

  Khalid— He’s actually sitting beside me in my suite at the Four Seasons in Vancouver and we both feel very sad at the moment.

  Sadir— I’m sorry to hear that, Your Highness. Is there anything I can do?

  Khalid— Perhaps, Mr. Sadir. We would like to know if you have been advised of Mr. Slimane’s death.

  ... Silence...

  Sadir— I have received information to that effect, yes...

  There wasn’t much after that,” Thomas said. “Sadir simply confirmed their agent was dead but didn’t give Prince Khalid any further explanation.”

  Again, Van Dams handed the sheet back to Thomas. “It seems that Sadir observed procedures during that conversation—for once.” The Deputy Director pondered for a moment. “Okay. There doesn’t seem to be anything in these records showing us why Prince Abdullah should feel responsible for Ms. Kartz’s injury. So, we’re back to conjectures... The same as we’re nowhere with knowing how Sadir maintained contact with Mossad…”

  “Not quite,” Thomas said. “If I may, sir?”

  “By all means, Peterson, what’s on your mind?”

  Thomas grabbed the flash-drive. “I’d like to show you what I mean.” He got up, went to Van Dams’s computer and sat at his desk. Sheffield and the Deputy stood up and followed the young technician. They stood behind him. “Here are the two IM communications that Sadir sent to Agent Lypsick before he went to Flint.” Thomas clicked on both files.

  As soon as Van Dams began reading, he grabbed the back of the chair, swivelled it and glared at the now terrified agent. “Why on earth didn’t you show us this before now?” he roared. “Do you know what this means?” Thomas shook his head. His lips quivered but no word came out of his mouth. “Well, let me tell you; because of you keeping this information to yourself, I’ve spent thousands in sending our Mr. Sadir on a wild goose chase along with Agent Lypsick. If I had seen this before, Sadir would be behind bars today.” Van Dams shoved the chair around brutally. “Get out of here, the pair of you! And don’t come back until you’ve got an entire file of these communications.”

  With shaking hands, Thomas closed the files and unplugged the flash-drive. He then followed Sheffield out of the Deputy Director’s office.

  On their way down the stairs, Sheffield was seething. He hated being put in a culpable position when he didn’t know what he would be accused of beforehand. On the landing between the two floors, he grabbed Thomas by the one shoulder and pivoted him as if he were a puppet. “Look. I’ve had it! Van Dams is right; why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

  Thomas hung his head and looked at the flash-drive in his hand. “I couldn’t.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Sadir’s got me cornered.”

  Sheffield stared. “I think you better give me more than that, buddy, because I’m not going to shove my career down the drain for someone who tells me he’s been cornered.”

  Thomas raised pleading eyes to his supervisor. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

  Sheffield held the young agent’s gaze for a few seconds. He could see Thomas was in trouble. “Okay, let’s get a printout of the flash-drive for the Deputy and then we’ll get out of here for a while.”

  “What about the meeting with the prince—don’t we have to be there…?”

  “After what you put him through this morning, I don’t think he’d want to set eyes on you for a long while.” “I’m sorry, Camy...” Thomas was truly sorry, in fact. Showing the two communications to the Deputy had been his way to come clean without anyone knowing that he had done so.

  Chapter 53

  Prince Abdullah Saif Al-Fadir was a man whose presence one could not ignore. He was a proud man. However, his pride had very little to do with snobbery or even being in line to the throne of Saudi Arabia. He had taken pride in raising his children and in loving the wives he married during his youth. An iron fist in a velvet glove was a description that fitted him perfectly. Since Khalid’s father died, Uncle Abdullah had taken care of his nephew and his brothers. He had never demanded of Khalid to return to Saudi Arabia or leave his home in Paris. He knew the family had banished the young prince nearly twenty years ago for indiscretion and for having the gall to oppose the decision of marrying the woman they had chosen for him. Uncle Abdullah had settled a trust on Khalid, which saw his nephew live comfortably i
n Paris and raise his daughter, Aisha. Since his exile, Khalid had kept in touch with his uncle and considered him as a good man.

  Khalid was reading the paper when he heard a knock at the door of his suite. He looked at his watch—2:10PM—and went to open the door.

  “Come in, Uncle. How are you?” He closed the door.

  “I am tired, Khalid, but other than that, I should say, I am in good health.” He went to sit on the chair, but not before he had taken his overcoat off. Khalid took it from him and put it down on the sofa.

  “What about you? Have you been able to meet with Ms. Kartz while you were in Vancouver?”

  Khalid sat down opposite his uncle. “I’m afraid not.”

  “Ha! Such a long journey for naught. Do you know if she is alright at least?”

  “She is, I’m happy to say, even more so now that she knows an operation on her spine is possible.”

  “You mean she might regain the use of her legs? But that’s wonderful…!”

  “Yes, Uncle, it was news worthy of a thousand praises to Allah.”

  “You say words of happiness but your face doesn’t show me the joy you should feel. What concerns you then?”

  Khalid put his elbows on his knees and didn’t look up for a moment. “Until your friend, Mr. Sadir is behind bars, we cannot rest, Uncle, and Talya’s life is still in danger.”

  “For all the shame that I feel right now, it does not equate my fear, Khalid.”

  Khalid looked up. “What is your fear? Do you fear for your life as well?”

  Uncle Abdullah shook his head. “I do not fear for my life, Allah knows that my heart is clean, Khalid, but I am in fear of what could be concluded from my friendship with Muhammad Sadir.”

  “And what would that conclusion be, Uncle?” Khalid asked.

  “Since Muhammad is now accused to have conspired to kill the CIA agent and to have attempted the assassination of Ms Kartz, I could be seen as the responsible party to the two felonies. Moreover, and perhaps more importantly, our family could be viewed as instigator of crimes against two Israelis.”