by Allan Topol
“I’m not aware.”
“Efforts to conceal phone calls?”
Again, Carlos shook his head. “But his office is in a different wing of the Ministry.”
She took a deep breath and went for it. “What we’d like you to do is keep track of Alvarez as best you can. If you see anything suspicious, call me. If you can’t get me, immediately call Craig. I’ll give you all of our contact info.”
“You’re asking me to spy on him.”
That was the same word Craig had used. Of course it was apt. She swallowed hard. “Yes.”
He fiddled with his wedding ring. The last time she saw a man do that, he knew he was risking the safety and security of his family. They were in Iraq. She wanted him to take her to one of the Sunni tribal leaders
Carlos no doubt felt the same. Alvarez was a former General with rich friends. If they were powerful enough to make him Defense Minister, they’d be powerful enough to kill his deputy.
“This could get ugly,” she said. “If you don’t feel comfortable …”
“No. I’ll do it.”
44
PARIS
At 6:30 in the morning, Omar had everything in place in front of Etienne’s apartment building. Based on yesterday, he expected Etienne to come out of the building and turn right. So Omar directed Habib to park the gray van ten yards away to the left of the entrance. That way the van would be behind Etienne when he began walking.
Habib was behind the wheel. Omar in the front passenger seat. And Attia in the back of the van.
Though the morning air was chilly, Omar had his window rolled down. The smell of burning rubber was in the air. All night Muslims had rioted in the poor suburbs of Paris, burning tires and police cars. The radio said it was possible that Charles DeGaulle Airport might be closed because the road leading to it passed near “those areas.”
Last evening, Omar had watched television in Habib’s apartment. Rioting was occurring in many other Western European cities with large Muslim populations. Amsterdam, Marseilles, Seville, and several cities in Germany and England. The police were powerless to stop the rioting. Their objective was to contain it to Muslim areas.
Omar checked his watch. Two minutes to seven.
Then he saw Etienne. Clutching the same large briefcase as yesterday, the professor walked through the front door and turned right.
Omar sprang from the van. On the toes of his feet to avoid detection, he was following Etienne. When Omar was right behind his prey, he said, “Professor Etienne.” Startled, Etienne dropped the briefcase and turned around. Omar pulled the stun gun from his pocket and fired a shot into Etienne’s stomach.
He grabbed Etienne’s limp body before it hit the ground. The van was moving up quickly. In a flash, Attia was out of the van helping Omar lift Etienne. They flung him into the back like a sack of potatoes. Attia was in with him.
Omar was preparing to climb in the back and slam the door when he noticed Etienne’s briefcase in the middle of the sidewalk. Leaving it would be a mistake. He scrambled back out, grabbed it, and threw it inside. As he did, he looked around. Nobody in sight. They might have been seen from an upstairs window. But they’d be long gone before the police could begin a search. The cops had their hands full with the riots. Besides, the van had a license plate Habib had stolen at five this morning.
As Omar was slamming the van door from the inside, he shouted “Go” to Habib. His old friend hit the gas. He was driving fast, but not fast enough to be stopped.
Traffic was light. In minutes, they were on the periphery road that circled Paris. The van had recently been used to haul produce. The back smelled from onion and garlic.
Half way around, they picked up the main road heading south.
Forty five minutes later, they pulled into a Total gas station and parked in a deserted corner of the lot. Omar paid Attia five thousand euros. He jumped out of the van, planning to hitch a ride back to Paris. In about five seconds, Omar changed the license plate. Taking off the stolen one and putting on the original.
Omar remained in the back of the van with Professor Etienne, who was beginning to stir. “Drive,” Omar shouted to Habib. They were on the road again, heading south.
Omar reached into the groaning Etienne’s pocket and pulled out his cell phone. With rope, he tied Etienne’s ankles together. He put on a set of handcuffs stolen from the police. As Habib drove, Omar waited for Etienne to wake up.
When he did, the Professor began screaming. “Help me. Help me.”
Omar pointed the stun gun at him. “If you keep hollering, I’ll put you out again.”
Etienne looked terrified. “What do you want? Money? I’ll give you everything I have.”
“We need your help.”
“With what?”
“I’ll tell you when we arrive.”
“Where?”
“I can’t tell you that, but I want you to do something right now.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll dial your home on your phone. Tell your wife that you had to make a quick trip to London for your work. You’ll be back in a couple of days. I’ll hold the phone while you talk.”
“No,” Etienne said stubbornly.
“No, what.”
“I won’t do it.”
Omar wanted to smack Etienne hard in the face with the handle of the gun, but Musa had said, “Bring him here uninjured.” So that wasn’t an option. Still, he had to get Etienne to make the call.
“If you don’t, I’ll have someone kill your wife, Jacqueline, and your twelve year old daughter, Mina. Now make the call.”
“Who are you people?”
“In time, you’ll find out. Now make the call.”
The van came to a sudden stop. Etienne lunged for the door handle. Omar smashed the gun barrel against his wrist.
The professor screamed, “Ah … Ah …”
Omar took out his own phone, “OK you made your decision. I’m calling two of my people to tell them to kill Jacqueline and Mina.”
“You won’t do that.”
“Watch me.”
With a determined look on his face, Omar dialed.
“No,” Etienne cried. “No … I’ll do it.”
Using the Professor’s phone, Omar dialed Etienne’s house and held up the phone to the Professor’s ear and mouth. Omar was prepared to yank the phone away if Etienne didn’t follow the script. That wasn’t necessary. Etienne told his wife he was off for London. She didn’t question him.
Omar wasn’t worried about crossing the border into Spain in the Pyrenees. All those border-guard stations had been removed as EU integration took hold. They had on open road to Marbella.
Say goodbye to France, Professor Etienne, Omar thought. You’ll never see this country again.
45
PARIS
“Dealing with the Vatican is the most frustrating experience,” Giuseppe said to Craig and Elizabeth. It was ten in the morning, and the three of them were in Craig’s office.
“Cardinal Donatello, their Director of Security, insists on total autonomy in matters affecting the Vatican. He has to take each decision to a Committee of Cardinals. Meantime, he rejects every proposal of mine.”
“What do you want to do?” Craig asked.
“I know a top firm of civil engineers in Milan. I want them to take control of the Vatican’s water supply and set up a procedure for constant monitoring. If Musa slips any poison into the system, we’ll detect it immediately. That way it won’t do any damage. We’ll establish a hookup for an alternative water supply from Rome and furnish huge quantities of bottled water.”
Craig was pacing and thinking.
“What’s bothering you?” Giuseppe asked.
“Musa does everything on such a grand scale. He set off riots throughout Europe. I can’t believe that, if he wants to attack the Vatican, he’d focus on their water supply.”
“Then what would he do?”
Craig stopped pacing and sat back down.
“I don’t know. But we have to find out, and I’m sure we don’t have much time.”
Elizabeth said, “Maybe Alvarez will lead us to what we need.”
“Giuseppe doesn’t know about Alvarez and Carlos. Will you tell him about your meeting with Carlos in Madrid?”
Once she was finished, Giuseppe’s eyes lit up. “That could give us a lead.”
Craig glanced at the calendar on the wall. Today was Thursday, March 25. Sunday, the 28th, was shown in bold red letters. Easter Sunday. He focused on it.
“If you were going to attack the Vatican, when would you do it?” he asked. Before the others had a chance to reply, he answered his own question: “Easter Sunday.”
“Wonderful,” Giuseppe said. “That means we have three days and not a single lead, except for the theft of the water plans, which you tell me is taking us down a rabbit hole. Add to that, Vatican security people are giving me fits.”
“Also, remember Musa is planning to use the army he’s assembled for an attack somewhere,” Craig said.
Elizabeth added, “Meantime, what can we do about the riots?”
“They’re not as bad in Italy,” Giuseppe said.
“You have a smaller Muslim population,” she retorted.
Craig responded, “I can’t very well go on television and say a Muslim, one of Musa’s people, killed Lila. I don’t have any evidence. That would only fuel the flames. We have no choice. We have to let them run their course.”
“What we really need is to find Lila’s killer,” Elizabeth said. “That’ll stop the riots.”
“So far Jacques and the French police haven’t made any progress.”
The three of them looked at each other glumly.
Craig’s cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID. Jacques. Maybe he had something on Lila’s killer. “Yes Jacques.”
“Are you in your office?”
“Yeah. With Elizabeth and Giuseppe. I’ll put you on speaker.”
“Look at your computer. I want to send you something.”
Elizabeth and Giuseppe joined Craig behind his desk. In a few seconds, he saw General Zhou walking in a grassy area with another Chinese man.
“What are we looking at?” Craig asked.
“Real time feed from two of my men tracking General Zhou. They’re walking in the Tuileries. No doubt talking there because General Zhou knows we’ve got bugs in his apartment and taps on his phone.”
Craig didn’t recognize the man with General Zhou. “Who’s the other guy?”
“Freddy Wu. The Director of Military Sales for the Chinese government in Western Europe and North Africa. Based in Paris.”
“So General Zhou could be placing an order for more weapons for Musa,” Craig said, thinking aloud.
Giuseppe picked up. “Maybe arms to use against the Vatican.”
“Can you step up Italian border surveillance?” Craig asked Giuseppe.
“We can, but only on non EU entries. Sea ports, airports and the like. If they move the stuff by land, say from France, we no longer have checkpoints. Isn’t the EU wonderful?”
Craig returned to Jacques on the phone. “This is very helpful. Have the taps or bugs given us anything?”
“Not yet. Part of the time he uses an encrypted phone.”
“Probably for calls with Musa.”
“It’s Chinese technology. We haven’t been able to crack it. We’re still working on it.”
“Let me know.”
“OK. And something else. We checked airplane manifests since October. General Zhou has made six trips to Marrakech. The first a day after the Spanish train bombing with his Russian girlfriend, Androshka. The rest alone.”
Craig was weighing Jacques’s words. He could try to persuade Jacques to arrest both General Zhou and Freddy Wu, interrogate them separately, hoping to break Freddy. That might work, but Craig doubted Jacques would do it. Freddy was a Chinese government official. The French would never risk an incident with China.
Another choice was for Craig to inform President Li of Freddy’s activities with General Zhou. That would get Freddy fired. But what good would that do? Musa already had most of the arms he needed.
The best alternative, Craig decided, is simply maintain surveillance on General Zhou. At some point, Musa will leave his base and move to the place of action. Anyone who took the name of a war hero wouldn’t watch from the sidelines. But Musa had no battle experience. He’d need General Zhou, the military man, to advise on strategy. Following that reasoning, General Zhou would link up with Musa very soon. If they follow General Zhou, he would lead them to Musa’s headquarters for the operation. Somewhere in Europe. No longer under the protection of the Moroccan Prime Minister.
“Have your men stick close to General Zhou,” Craig told Jacques. “Let me know immediately if he leaves Paris, and follow him wherever he goes.”
46
PARIS
General Zhou had met Freddy Wu in front of the Hotel Crillon. They walked across the majestic Place de La Concorde with the 107-foot gilded obelisk in the center, a gift from Egypt in 1833. Looking over his shoulder, General Zhou saw the gray Citroën following. Two men in the car with a black-haired guy driving; a blonde brute beside him. There might be others on foot. General Zhou wasn’t willing to chance it.
He figured they’d have privacy on the path cutting through the Tuilleries, the garden with grassy areas filled with statues, rows of trees, flowers, and fountains. At ten in the morning, commuters had already crossed on their way work; it was too early for tourists. General Zhou watched the blonde getting out of the Citroën, following on foot, hanging back twenty yards, making no effort to conceal himself. The Citroën, keeping pace, moved slowly along the Rue de Rivoli.
At the midpoint of the path, Freddy stopped to admire the yellow tulips. General Zhou was standing next to him.
“Everything is on schedule,” Freddy said. “We’ll be bringing the missiles in by truck from France at the Italian Riviera border point near San Remo. All four missiles in one truck, carrying Chinese computers. They will be in four of fifty sealed crates marked on the outside as computers. They can only be discovered if someone opens all fifty. Which will never happen.”
“Unless there’s a leak among your people.”
“We don’t have leaks.”
“Where do they go from San Remo?”
Freddy looked around to make sure no one was approaching. Then he said softly, “The truck will drive southeast to Torino. It will pull into a warehouse at number 20 Via Sardegna in an industrial part of town at ten in the evening on Friday, March 26. Four vans will be parked in the warehouse. I’ll have someone to give instructions on how to assemble and fire. Make sure your people are there for the handoff. An hour later, the computer truck and the instructors are gone. It’s all yours from that point.”
“I understand,” General Zhou said. “Perfect.”
They resumed walking. General Zhou realized he had to pass along to Musa the information Freddy had given him. But it was highly sensitive. He was afraid to use the encrypted phone. Only a matter of time until the French cracked it. For all he knew, they’d done so already.
He had to deliver the news in person to Musa in Marbella. That meant shaking his tail. He couldn’t risk leading Craig to Musa.
“You notice the guy following us?” he said to Freddy.
“One in a gray Citroën, a beefy blonde guy on foot behind us.”
“I have to shake them.”
“When?”
“Today?”
Freddy thought for a minute. “When you go to a restaurant with Androshka, do those guys go inside?”
“They always wait outside.”
“Here’s what I want you to do. Get Androshka and go to lunch at Apicius. The restaurant we ate at a couple of days ago on Rue L’Artois. I’ll make your reservation and take care of the rest.”
General Zhou always liked to be in control. “You better explain.”
“I’ll get to the r
estaurant at one o’clock with Charlie Ming from my office who looks like you. Or at least close enough. Caucasians always have trouble distinguishing Chinese men.”
“Why do you call him Charlie? And you’re Freddy?”
“Operating in France and Western Europe, I prefer American names. The Europeans have been buying from the United States for years. If they hear Chinese names, they get nervous. Anyhow, when I was in the office this morning, Charlie was wearing a dark blue suit, white shirt and blue tie. Dress like that. I promise you’ll lose your tail.”
General Zhou now understood. “Also, I’ll need a phony passport, credit cards and French driver’s license.”
“I’ll bring them to lunch.”
General Zhou and Androshka were finishing dessert, a caramel assortment. Lunch was winding down. Investment bankers, masters of the universe, and others rich and famous, as well as those who prized great food, were drifting out. General Zhou drained his espresso and paid the bill. He looked across the table at Androshka and said, “Remember how you promised to do anything for me?”
“Of course. After you took care of Mikail. And I meant it.”
“Good. I’m going to the men’s room. I won’t come back to the table. Instead, another Chinese man named Charlie will sit down and pretend to be me. A minute later, the two of you will leave the restaurant and quickly get into my car with Captain Cheng driving. You’ll tell him to take the two of you to my apartment. Don’t talk to Charlie. Watch television. He’ll spend the night sleeping in a separate bedroom and leave at eight tomorrow morning. Do you understand?”
“Charlie won’t mess with me? Will he?”
“I’ll kill him if he does. Nobody but me gets into your honey pot.”
She giggled. Then turned serious. “When will I see you again?”
“I have to go away for a couple of days. Don’t try to call me unless you are arrested.”
“I understand.”
General Zhou felt a debt of gratitude to Mikail. He had taught Androshka well. She didn’t ask questions.
Freddy and Charlie were seated in the next room of the three in the restaurant. On the way to the men’s room, General Zhou signaled Freddy, who directed Charlie to follow him. In the men’s room, they changed ties. He does look like me, General Zhou thought.