“I used this old generator,” Ould Salah explained, “before we were connected to the electric network. It hasn’t worked for years. If I put a mechanic on it, it may be operational again in a day or two. Want a generator?”
Martin and Philip looked at each other. Ould Salah swept his hand across the courtyard.
“I could probably assemble a van from these loose parts here,” he said. “Anything missing I could order from Nouakchott. Couldn’t take more than a month or two. Want to wait that long for a van?”
The two Englishman did not want to embarrass their host, but they thought his offers were ridiculous.
“I’ll sell you the generator for a very cheap price,” Ould Salah went on. “I’ll get it to work, add on some lighting equipment, tow it to your mine site, and it could provide you with the power to illuminate the inside of the mine. And I’ll give you my jeep for a day or two to transport your movie gear.”
“Your offer is very generous, Mr. Ould Salah,” Martin said. “Unfortunately, it does not meet our needs. We will have to explore alternate venues.”
“Pity,” Ould Salah said. “I did my best to help you.” He accompanied them to the entrance to the courtyard. “I shall get the generator to work, anyway. If you don’t buy it, perhaps someone else will.”
They shook hands, and Ould Salah gave Martin his business card.
“Call me if you change your mind,” he said.
I doubt it, Martin thought, pocketing the card. They returned to the hotel and arranged to fly back to Nouakchott, and from there, back to London.
Patricia finished her meal, asked for the bill, paid without leaving a tip and made for the door. Farhad caught up with her.
“Please!” His whisper was almost ferocious. “Give me another chance. I’ll be going home at three and returning here at six. Come back here at six. I might have something to tell you then. All right?”
Patricia hesitated for a moment. Obviously, Farhad was cooking up something.
“Very well,” she said. “But you had better have something to tell me! Otherwise, I’m going to make one hell of a scene!”
She left in a huff. Perhaps I should not have agreed, she pondered. Maybe he was just buying time to make up a story.
After turning the first corner, she called the admiral on her cellphone.
“Hello, admiral? It’s Patricia. I’ve been to the restaurant.”
“Did you see Farhad?” the admiral asked.
Patricia told him what had occurred.
“I don’t think we have much choice,” the admiral commented. “You’ll go back there at six. Meanwhile, go to your flat and wait. Who knows, John might call you there after all.”
But John did not call. At six, Patricia was back at the Bita restaurant.
Farhad was waiting for her. As she walked in, he led her into a quiet corner and made sure they were not being overheard.
“Mr. John will come tomorrow,” he said in a low voice. “They are still busy with him and it will take until tomorrow. Then he will come back. I promise you that no harm will come to him. On my honor.”
Patricia wasn’t buying that.
“Farhad, you know me by now. I hope you do not consider me a fool.” She looked the Iranian directly in the eyes. “You keep telling me that you know nothing. So how come you suddenly have this information regarding John returning tomorrow?”
Farhad remained with his mouth half open, as if restraining himself from saying anything incriminating.
“Your mother knows everything,” she accused. “She knows where John is, doesn’t she? Answer me!”
But Farhad bowed his head and said nothing.
Furious, Patricia stormed out and called the admiral again.
“You’re probably right,” the admiral said. “The mother is involved somehow and Farhad is protecting her. But we want them to cooperate with us, so we need to cooperate with them. Let’s give them some credit; we’ll wait until tomorrow and see what happens. I have a gut feeling that John is safe.”
The admiral’s soothing tone calmed Patricia’s nerves. She went straight home and spent the night in a restless sleep.
SIXTY-TWO
Retired Inspecteur Auguste Poulenc had invited two guests to dinner at his home. Actually, the idea originated with Commissaire Felix Duval after the latter discovered that his ex-colleague at the prefecture, Poulenc, was a close friend of one of the employees who worked with Professor Allier. Duval also learned that they frequently dined together at Poulenc’s home, and easily got himself invited as well. Now Poulenc was introducing his guests to each other.
“Michel, this is Commissaire Felix Duval of the prefecture, where I used to work. Commissaire, this is Dr. Michel Alvarez, an old friend of mine. He works in the Paris University.”
“Indeed,” Duval said. “How interesting. Which department do you work in, Dr. Alvarez?”
“I’m in the Irradiation Research and Development department,” Alvarez said. “It was in the news recently. You may have heard of it. Nasty accident.”
“Ah, yes, I remember. An electrocution. Professor Allier, wasn’t it?
“Correct. You have a good memory, commissaire.”
“I need it in my profession. Did you know the professor?”
“Of course. He was my direct superior in the department. I was his right-hand man, so to speak.”
“And who is your superior now?”
“Actually, no one.” Alvarez smiled. “I am to be the new head of the department.”
That means a promotion, Duval thought. The job involves lectures and publications. He’s looking at a professorship nomination. Oh, yes, that’s motive enough for murder …
“Congratulations,” Duval said. “Even though the circumstances were so regrettable.”
“Enough shop talk, gentlemen,” Poulenc interrupted. “Dinner will get cold if we do not commence at once.”
Over wine and cheese, Duval reopened the issue.
“Dr. Alvarez, I hope you don’t mind my prying. As a police investigator, I am intrigued by Professor Allier’s death. May I ask your opinion on a couple of subjects?”
“Certainly, commissaire,” Alvarez answered. “But I thought the case was closed.”
“Yes, that is true. It was ruled as an accident, but I have reason to believe that this conclusion may not be accurate. Do you believe it was an accident, Dr. Alvarez?”
Alvarez shrugged.
“Who am I to argue with the law?” he said. “There was an inquiry and that was the verdict.”
“I see. But what about the device on Allier’s worktable? Nobody—and I assume you were asked about it together with the others—knew what it was. Could you try to give me a guess now, Dr. Alvarez?”
“I’m afraid not, commissaire.” The wine kept Alvarez smiling all the while he was being questioned.
“I’ll tell you something no one else knows. There were no fingerprints on the plug connecting the device to the mains. I know you’re not a professional criminal investigator, but doesn’t this fact seem odd to you?”
Alvarez thought for a moment.
“Well,” he said, “it would make no sense for my good friend Allier to have wiped the plug after inserting it into the wall. So I would say someone else wiped the plug clean—perhaps even after the professor was electrocuted. So possibly there was someone else in the room with him at the time.”
Duval was relentless.
“Countless criminal cases and detective novels indicate that you search for the murderer in the proximity of the victim. As we know that his family has no connection whatever to the case, we need to look within the department employees.”
Alvarez frowned.
“Where are you heading, commissaire?” he asked.
“Oh, please don’t be alarmed, Dr. Alvarez. I’m just trying to develop an academic theory, that’s all. You don’t mind, do you?”
“I see.” The smile came back to Alvarez’s face.
“I presume y
ou know all the employees in the department. Who, in your opinion, would be interested in Professor Allier’s demise?”
“You put me in a very delicate position, Commissaire Duval. It is not a simple thing to point the finger of suspicion at a coworker. Murder, yet. Of course, every organization has its internal rivalries, intrigues, and aspirations, etc. But from here to murder—that’s a gigantic leap. To answer your question: no. I do not think anyone in the department would concoct, let alone carry out, such a plot. So I’m afraid you’ll have to ask the classic question ‘Who benefits from Allier’s death?’ to somewhere else.”
They ended the dinner, congratulated Poulenc on an excellent evening, and parted company.
Duval was not satisfied by Alvarez’s answers. He was the only one who benefited from Allier’s death, he thought. So far, nothing indicates that he could not have pulled off the murder himself. He was close to the crime arena, went about freely, nobody would question his authority or right to be anywhere …
Perhaps I have been wasting too much time on the Dupré widow and her British friend? Perhaps I blinded myself from seeing other approaches to the case? The killer may well be in the department right now, enjoying the rewards of his crime.
Still—I should not jump to conclusions. Not again.
The telephone rang in Patricia’s flat at eight a.m.
“Patty?”
“John! Good lord, Johnny—are you all right? I was worried sick! What happened to you?”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes, and I’ll tell you everything. Prepare some coffee, please.” He hung up.
Patricia called the admiral. He told her they should both be at his office at ten.
Half an hour later, John arrived. He and Patricia embraced and exchanged kisses on both cheeks.
“So tell me already,” Patricia said. “Where did you disappear to?”
“They abducted me and interrogated me for twenty four hours, with occasional short intervals.”
“But why? What did they want?”
“I had to convince them that I wasn’t a British agent, or one of the Ayatollah provocateurs. I think I did pretty well. I hope that now they’re ready to cooperate.”
“Oh, I really hope so.” Patricia’s eyes were shining, and she pressed his hands in hers.
“Not so fast, Patty. It seems there’s still an additional confirmation they need to get from someone higher up.”
“The admiral is expecting us at ten. We’ll hear all the gory details then. Drink your coffee and we’ll leave.”
“Mind if I have a wash up before we go?”
“There’s a fresh towel under the sink.” She smiled.
They took the subway and arrived at Admiral Stone’s office on time.
“My dear boy, welcome back.” Handshakes and backslapping were followed by an offer of drinks. “Frankly, we were somewhat concerned for your safety. Your disappearance was quite sudden. Perhaps we needed that, if only to remind us that we’re not playing parlor games. Well, you’re safe, sound, and healthy—that’s the main thing. Now tell us what happened.”
“Oumid told me that I had to meet one of their men who would take over responsibility. We set up a meeting in a public parking lot, and a closed commercial van picked me up. Oumid remained behind in the lot. The seat by the driver was occupied, so I sat in the back, between two heavyset men. I wasn’t worried, because I knew they wanted me to meet someone who was waiting for me. It was quite a long drive, probably to one of London’s suburbs. I can’t tell which, because the only window in the van, the rear window, was covered by a blind. And there was a partition between the passengers and the driver, so I couldn’t see out the front either.
“When the car finally stopped, my two burly neighbors exited first, and when I got out they grabbed me by the arms and led me into a small house. At this point, I realized that I was no longer free—that I was being held by force. But I decided not to resist. I was pushed into a large room that had one of its corners concealed behind a curtain. There were people behind it. I was seated facing the curtain and interrogated. I noticed that there were small holes in the fabric through which I was being observed. I guessed that they wanted to make sure that I was not sent by the British immigration authorities, or by the ayatollahs, as a provocateur.”
“How did you come to this inference?” the admiral asked.
“It was quite obvious. First, they gave all my particulars to somebody to check out—to confirm my identity. I don’t know what methods they used, but about fifteen minutes later they got the okay that I was who I claimed to be. Then they went into detailed questioning of my past—specifically regarding any connections I may have had with MI5, MI6 or Scotland Yard.
“While others checked out my responses, I was questioned about the ayatollahs. The fact that Patricia had recently been on a tour in Iran, and that I was working with her on this subject, raised their suspicions—I might have been using her to make contact with the Iranian regime. Or that perhaps she was recruited as their agent when she toured their country. My interrogators did not conceal the purpose of their questions, so it’s not so hard to come up with the conclusions I did. I’m sure they did so deliberately—they wanted to prove to me that they were well connected and could check out any story I could throw at them, so I’d better tell the truth. I cooperated with them fully.”
“And the bottom line is … ?” the admiral prompted.
“They are very methodical and industrious workers,” John said. “I believe we’re dealing with people we can trust. However, they want a final confirmation from someone in their leadership.”
“And during all this time, didn’t they give you anything to eat or drink?” Patricia asked.
“They certainly did—they were most courteous. Plentiful and tasty. But as I was under coercion, I didn’t wholly enjoy the meals. But I’m not complaining—just stating facts.”
“And then?” the admiral asked.
“This morning, when it was all over, it was still dark outside. They drove me to Trafalgar Square, told me to contact Oumid and sped away. I called Patricia, took a taxi to her place, and you know the rest.”
The admiral leaned back in his chair, obviously relieved.
“No harm done,” he said. “Carry on with your mission. I shall report to the board.”
After they had left the admiral’s office, John called Oumid and set up a meeting. Patricia was not at all surprised to learn that Oumid had not been in Rome.
From the Press—News Digest
Iran’s president, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, publicly announced that Iran has developed centrifuges using a new technology that would greatly enhance the output of enriched uranium. Iran had thus become independent of other countries.
Two weeks later, the Iranians attempted to launch a ‘spy’ satellite into space. This was met with mixed reactions: the Iranians claimed a resounding success, while the West asserted that the launch had failed and the satellite had fallen into the ocean. Photographs of the satellite disintegrating in flight were presented to back up this claim.
John Carmichael brought Patricia along with him for the meeting with Oumid. The latter had obviously been briefed in preparation for this meeting.
“I can now tell you,” he said, “that we have a figure of authority among us, a woman, who has ties with Iran. If you can manage to convince her, you’ll have everything you need in Iran. I warn you, this is no easy task. She is highly educated, experienced and extremely clever. You won’t pull the wool over her eyes.”
“Convincing her is my responsibility,” John said.
Oumid smiled.
“You cannot. She is of advanced age, married and very religious. She would never meet with a strange man, let alone in private. Only a woman may meet with her. You, Miss Patricia, would be that person.”
Patricia recoiled. She considered herself a beginner in these matters and was sure she could not convince a powerful and suspicious leader to cooperate.
“I … I’m sorry,” she said. “I think you need someone more experienced than myself.”
“That’s all right, Patricia,” John said. He remembered Anne Dupré, who had formed the ideology of the association. “We have the lady to do the job—I’ll just have to arrange it with her. But tell me, Oumid, why does a religious lady such as your leader object to the regime in Iran?”
“She expresses what we all think,” Oumid said seriously. “Those people over there are not true Muslims. They have abused Islam to gain power and oppress the populace. They are religious fanatics—totally without conscience. True Islam is a good and humane religion, full of brotherly love. Mohammed has ordered us to respect women and to provide for them as they deserve. The ayatollahs degrade women and make them their slaves. As for the economic and political aspects, they are ruining the country. Iran is an international pariah and the Iranian people are tyrannized. Yes, our leader is a devout Muslim, but an enemy of the Iranian government. I hope I have made myself clear.”
“You certainly have,” Patricia said. John nodded.
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