by Allan Topol
He covered everything. The note before the train bombing. Who the historical Musa Ben Abdil was. Facts about Ibrahami. He played the CNN tape. He described their meeting with Lila in Marseilles. The bios of Ahmed and Omar. The theft of Vatican plans and the Mediterranean chase. His meeting in Rabat. What he and Elizabeth saw in the Atlas mountains. Finally, what happened to them in Musa’s camp.
Through his hour long presentation, the Defense Ministers listened closely, taking notes, never interrupting. Looking around, he was certain they grasped what he had said.
Now for the hard part, convincing them to act. Before addressing the words on the next slide, he paused to sip from a bottle of water, then turned to the words on the screen.
“Action steps,” he read slowly. “Demand that Morocco extradite Ahmed Sadi, a French citizen, who calls himself Musa Ben Abdil to Spain, to stand trial for last October’s Spanish train bombing. If Morocco will not extradite him, then I recommend that the EU send in armed commandos to remove him and fly him to Madrid.”
He looked around the room from one skeptical face to the next.
“I am prepared to be part of that commando team,” he added.
Alvarez spoke first, “Tell us precisely what evidence you have implicating Ahmed in the Spanish train bombing.” The tone was hostile.
Craig had covered that in his presentation. He kept his anger in check and repeated, “Elizabeth and I met in Marseille with Lila, the sister of one of the ringleaders of Ahmed’s group. She has known Ahmed since they were children. She recognized Ahmed’s voice on the tape played on CNN.”
The British Defense Minister said, “I happen to be a lawyer. That’s insufficient evidence to obtain an extradition order, certainly not to convict someone of murder.”
“Play the tape again,” Moreau said.
Elizabeth played it. “That voice is garbled,” the British Minister said. “No one could ID someone from that.”
Alvarez said, “I completely agree.”
“Let’s focus on what’s coming if you don’t act,” Craig replied. “We know the water plans were stolen from the Vatican construction project. The only reason for that theft is to plan for a terrorist attack in the Vatican.”
The Italian piped in. “We can’t let that happen.”
“I agree,” the German said, “but we have no proof that Ahmed’s people carried out that theft. It could be Al Qaeda. It could be Catholics angry about child sexual molestation. It could be anyone.”
“The speedboat was heading in the direction of Morocco,” Craig insisted.
“Proves nothing,” Alvarez retorted. “It’s a big sea. They could have turned around and come back to a Southern Italian port, for all we know.”
Craig was frustrated. These people just didn’t want to deal with the facts in front of them. “But Elizabeth and I saw the armed camp in the Atlas Mountains. We saw Ahmed there. His people are planning to launch a major attack.”
Again it was Alvarez. “They might be planning an attack in Morocco or Algeria to take over the government.”
Craig was convinced Alvarez was gaining his revenge against Craig for last October’s events. He wanted to say, “That’s stupid and absurd.” But he couldn’t. So he replied, “I find that inconceivable under the circumstances.”
Moreau spoke up. “The last thing we want is involvement in Northern African politics. Do you know how long and painful it was for us to extricate from Algeria?”
“This is different.”
“I suppose you want us to start bombing their base.”
“That would be a good idea.”
The Frenchman laughed. “I like you, Craig. You were extremely effective in thwarting the assassination attempt on President Dalton last October. Jacques believes you’re doing an outstanding job. I agree. But what you’re proposing gives away your American background. You Americans always bomb first and think later.”
The others laughed.
Craig was thinking: And you Europeans always stand around with your fingers up your ass until your cities are overrun.
“To be serious,” Moreau added. “I think your evidence to support this type of a military action is weak.” Moreau sounded sincere.
Craig disagreed, but he was convinced Moreau was trying to be objective, unlike that asshole Alvarez. Craig responded earnestly. “I understand your point. Of course I’d like more evidence. More certainty. But in dealing with potential terrorist attacks, unfortunately we rarely have absolute certainty. With thousands of innocent lives at stake, we have to make judgments based upon instinct and experience. For me, both are crying out: Stop Musa now, before it’s too late.”
For a long moment no one responded. Then, sounding triumphant, Alvarez said, “Come back to us if you get something else.”
The meeting broke up without agreement on any action. Craig realized he was on his own with Elizabeth, Giuseppe, and Jacques to stop Musa without official government support.
How in the world will we do that?
37
General Zhou sipped a Macallan neat while he waited impatiently for Alvarez to arrive. His apartment occupied a whole floor of a luxury building off Place de l’Alma in a fashionable part of Paris, with a view of the Eiffel Tower across the river. The television was turned on mute to CNN. He wanted to see whether the Defense Ministers issued a statement following their meeting. So far nothing.
Where is Alvarez? he wondered. The Spaniard should have been here by now. What if he changed his mind? Alvarez didn’t know that General Zhou had the incriminating recording, and he had to be thankful for the ten million Euros. No, he’ll come. He better come.
I have to know what happened at that meeting.
From one of the bedrooms he heard Androshka and Masha yakking in Russian. Other than being Mikail’s moll, he had no idea what her life had been like before she met him. From time to time she’d spin fanciful and wildly inconsistent stories—a child born in poverty; the daughter of a Russian General; a descendant of the Czar; a child of the Gulag. He was convinced she had no idea what was real and what wasn’t, nor did he care. She gave him great sex. She never questioned what he told her. And since Mikail’s death, her gratitude was limitless.
Half an hour later, General Zhou’s cell phone rang. Not the encrypted phone he used only for communicating with Musa, but his ordinary Nokia. General Zhou answered immediately.
“My car just pulled up in front of your building,” Alvarez said.
General Zhou exhaled in relief. “Good. I’ll tell the doorman to let you come up. Top floor.”
Alvarez looked weary, his shirt and tie loosened at the neck. General Zhou thought he’d been run through the mill.
“How about a drink?” General Zhou asked. “I’m having scotch myself.”
“Pour me a double over ice.”
General Zhou fixed the drink and handed it to Alvarez, who took a long gulp.
“Tough meeting?”
“Craig Page is one of those hard-driving, aggressive Americans who want to run over everybody like a steamroller.”
Oh, oh, doesn’t sound good. “Did the Defense Ministers stand up to him?”
“We did, but it wasn’t easy. He wants us to attack a French Arab, who calls himself Musa, based in North Africa. Also send in commandos to kidnap him. Craig is a wild man. But in the end, he didn’t get his way. We’re not taking any action.”
“What’s he think Musa did?”
Alvarez took a drink before responding.
“Craig says he carried out the Spanish train bombing six months ago. According to Page, now he’s planning to poison the Vatican’s water supply.”
“Does Craig have any evidence against this Musa?”
“Not for the Vatican attack. For the Spanish train bombing, Craig claims he spoke to a woman in Marseilles, Lila, the sister of one of Musa’s gang, who knew Musa when he lived in a Muslim slum outside of Paris. According to Craig, Lila identified Musa’s voice
on the recording taking credit for the train bombing.”
General Zhou concealed his alarm. “That doesn’t sound like much of a case.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Good for you.”
“The others agreed … Still it is troublesome. If Zahara gets wind of it, he might persuade the Prime Ministers to reverse the decision.”
“You won’t let that happen. Will you?”
“No. Of course not. I tell Zahara as little as possible. You were a military man. I’m sure you operated the same with the Chinese civilian leadership.”
“But of course.” General Zhou gave a short sly laugh. Two military men tightening their bond.
“What will Craig do now?” Zhou asked.
Alvarez shrugged. “He won’t quit. That’s for sure. The guy’s like a dog with a bone. And he has that woman reporter to do his bidding.”
“Elizabeth Crowder?”
“Yeah. Speaking of women, is Masha here?”
General Zhou pointed to one of the bedrooms. “She and Androshka are getting dressed. Meantime, let me put on my jacket and tie, and we’ll leave.”
“Take your time. I’ll enjoy the scotch. I have to unwind.”
“I promise you won’t think about business any more this evening. Masha won’t let you.”
General Zhou winked.
In another bedroom, he took the encrypted cell from his pocket and called Musa’s matching phone.
“What happened in the meeting?” Musa asked before General Zhou said a word.
“The good news is that the countries aren’t taking any action.”
“I’m not surprised. They can never agree on anything.”
“The bad news is that Craig Page has a witness who implicates you in the Spanish train bombing.”
“How can he possibly?”
General Zhou explained about Lila in Marseilles. For thirty seconds, Musa reeled off a string of curses.
“Has Craig taken Lila into protective custody?”
“Alvarez didn’t say anything about that. So I presume, no.”
“OK, now tell me about the missile deliveries.”
“Everything is on schedule. In a few days I’ll have precise delivery instructions, which I’ll bring to you in person. The pontoon boats will be arriving at the crack of dawn tomorrow. We will be good to go with both operations.”
“Unless that cow Lila ruins it. But I won’t let her do that.”
38
MOROCCO, ATLAS MOUNTAINS
In a white fury, Musa pressed the power-off button on the cell phone. He couldn’t believe that Lila was threatening to unravel his entire operation. Craig Page wouldn’t quit after his rejection by the Defense Ministers. He’d use Lila to build a case and eventually get some action. Dammit… Dammit.
He picked up a green crockery water pitcher on his desk and flung it hard against the far wall, where it shattered into a myriad of pieces.
Omar came running into the office. “Is everything alright?”
“It’s all turning to shit.”
Musa explained what General Zhou had said.
“The European Defense Ministers weren’t willing to act,” Omar said. “Maybe we can tough it out.”
Musa snarled. “Craig Page will build on what he learned from Lila. We can’t tolerate that. We don’t know what else her brother told her.”
As he finished speaking, Musa recalled his last conversation with Omar about Lila. Omar had wanted to eliminate her.
“I was a damn fool,” Musa said. He pounded his fist on the desk. “I should have listened to you about Lila. Then we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“It’s not too late. I’m willing to go to Marseilles and kill her.”
“Craig’s smart. He’ll have cops or intelligence agents protecting her.”
“I can be resourceful.”
“I need you to go to Paris to kidnap Professor Etienne at the University of Paris and take him to my house in Marbella. I was planning to tell you about that when General Zhou called.”
“Who’s Professor Etienne?”
“I had a meeting with Professor Khalid at the University in Casablanca. He told me that Etienne, a well respected medieval scholar at the University of Paris, has discovered that, on her deathbed in 1504, Queen Isabella wrote out on a parchment an edict granting to Muslims in perpetuity a swath of land in Southern Spain.” Excited, Musa was talking rapidly. “That’s huge for us. It changes everything.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We’re not acting on behalf of any government. Rather, for Muslims throughout the world. This parchment gives us a legal basis for the invasion of Southern Spain.”
“But how can we get the parchment?”
“First we have to find out where it is. Khalid didn’t know. But he told me Etienne does.”
“Now I see why you want me to kidnap Professor Etienne.”
“I have to decide which is more important. Having you eliminate Lila or kidnap Etienne.”
“I can do both,” Omar said with confidence. “Fly to Marseilles, then go to Paris.”
If Omar was captured or killed in Marseilles, Musa didn’t have anyone else good enough to abduct the Professor. Losing Omar would be like losing his right arm.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be careful in Marseilles,” Omar said as if reading Musa’s mind.
“If her protection is too great, I want you to abort and go to Paris.”
“I’ll do that.”
“For the Paris job, get on the internet and learn everything you can about Etienne. As I said, he’s a professor of medieval history, at the University of Paris. Also, get help from the boys in Clichy.”
Omar turned to leave the office. A powerful idea popped into Musa’s head.
“Don’t go yet. I want to talk about Lila some more.”
“Sure.”
Omar sat in front of the desk.
“Sometimes,” Musa said thoughtfully, “We can turn what seems like a disastrous development into an advantage. I want to do that with Lila.”
Omar looked puzzled. “Sorry. That’s a little too mysterious for me.”
“Did you ever hear of Florinda, the beautiful young Arab woman in the Eighth Century?”
Omar shook his head. “I didn’t go to Columbia University.”
“I’ll ignore that. Anyhow, she was bathing naked in the Tagus River in Spain. The Visigoth King Rodrigo saw her and raped her. When word spread, enraged Muslim hordes crossed the Strait of Gibraltar and captured the Christians’ lands in an act of vengeance.”
“Aha. Now I understand.”
“Good. Here’s what I want you to do.”
39
PARIS
Craig Page rarely dreamt. But tonight his dream was so vivid he might as well have been watching a video. His daughter Francesca, twenty five, his only child, his only family, was driving at night in a blinding snowstorm. Suddenly, a big rig, an eighteen wheeler, came barreling down on her from the front. The truck crashed into her car, folding it up like an accordion.
In a cold sweat, Craig shot to a sitting position, screaming. “No Francesca. No.”
That woke Elizabeth beside him in bed. She clutched Craig tightly. “What happened?”
“I had a dream. Francesca’s death. In Calgary. Just as it happened. It was so real.”
The starkly modern bedroom, all metal and glass, Elizabeth’s taste, not his, was warm, because the heat never worked right in the old building, but he was shivering. Elizabeth turned on a light and draped a blanket around him.
“No sense trying to sleep now,” she said. “I’ll get us some Armagnac. We’ll talk.”
He followed her to the living room, took the glass she handed him, and sipped the golden liquid.
“I haven’t dreamt about her in months.”
“You know why now?”
He nodded. “Because I’m convinced General Zhou is supporting Musa. As I’ve thought about it, I’m even more persuaded.�
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“I’m still not sure. Musa’s arms are Chinese, and the instructors are Chinese, but Beijing could be doing this without General Zhou.”
“You think my hatred for him is blinding me?”
“That would be understandable.”
“From all my experience, I know he’s part of this.”
“Face it, Craig. You don’t have a shred of evidence.”
“Musa’s from Paris, and I know General Zhou has been living in France since he was exiled from China. I’ve had one of my people keep tabs of his location. I have an address for him in Paris and another in the South of France. Also phone numbers.”
She looked startled. “You never told me that.”
“It’s my own little obsession, waiting for him to slip up, so I could lower the boom.”
Craig thought about his options. Calling General Zhou in for interrogation was pointless. He’d deny any involvement with Musa, and Elizabeth was right. Craig didn’t have evidence to incriminate the man.
Zhou had never become a French citizen or changed his visa to stay this long. Craig was tempted to call Jacques and have him arrange with the Interior Ministry to expel General Zhou. Put him on the first non-stop plane to Beijing. Let him face punishment in China for violating his expulsion order. That would give Craig a measure of personal revenge, but wouldn’t advance the ball with Musa.
Besides, there was an advantage to having General Zhou in Paris. It was conceivable that General Zhou could lead Craig to Musa or provide information about what Musa was planning next.
“Where does he live?” Elizabeth asked.
“In Paris, in a chic area off Place de l’Alma. He also has a house in Cap d’Antibes in the South of France.”
“The man obviously has lots of money.”
“His brother, the wealthy industrialist in Beijing, is probably funneling cash to him.”
“Why don’t I have a brother like that? Mine are all New York City cops. What are you planning to do?”
“Call Jacques and have him put a tail on General Zhou. Tap his phones. Also plant a bug in his apartment.”
“Without proof linking him to Musa, that’ll be a tough sell.”
“I have to find a way to convince Jacques.”