“I’ve some very disturbing news to report to you,” Barkes wiped his brow thinking, God how I hate this part of the job. “We discovered Ruth Keinan’s body yesterday in her flat. It appears that she consumed a large amount of alcohol and succumbed to a combination of acute alcohol poisoning and suffocation from her own vomit.”
Agent Penefield raised a brow. “Are you sure there weren’t any needle marks on the body?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“What about sexual assault? Was there any semen in the body or on the bedding? What was her blood alcohol level?”
He’s certainly asking a lot of questions, thought the detective. “You seem to know a great deal about forensics for a businessman.”
“I studied criminology in college, but I changed my major when I found the pay was substandard. Do you think there was foul play?”
“Why anyone would target the owner of a company that imports stone doesn’t make sense to me.”
Agent Penefield was prepared for the question. “Ruth Keinan’s father is a very rich and powerful man in Israel and has been the target of kidnapping by Palestinian militants in the past. We’ve been alerted by the Israeli police to be most diligent in our contacts and our activities.”
Detective Barkes bought the story. “If you’d like to question the coroner, be my guest. She’s located at the Hornsey Coroners Court & Public Mortuary, Myddelton Road. Also, I’ll do additional investigations into the whereabouts of Ruth Keinan on Saturday night. Did she have any friends that she spent time with who I could talk to?”
The secretary, who had been listening to the conversation, dried her eyes. “She did have a friend she spent a lot of time with. Her name is Sharon Bensworth and I have her number somewhere.” She searched for about a minute and handed the detective the number.
“I’m sorry for your loss and will do some additional investigation.” With that, the detective left the premises to find Sharon Bensworth.
Agent Penefield went back to the surveillance room. “Abraham, they found Ruth’s body in her apartment. They’re listing the cause of death as acute alcohol poisoning and suffocation.”
“Suffocation?”
“Looks like she drank so much booze she threw up while passed out and it blocked her windpipe.”
“No foul play?”
“They haven’t uncovered anything, but I think it’s wise I pay a visit to the morgue.”
“I agree. If our cover has been compromised we’re going to have to move and fast. Let me know what you find.”
Agent Penefield arrived at the mortuary and, using his British Intelligence cover, he spoke to the coroner who called in the Anatomical Pathology Technician who performed the autopsy.
“I’m Albert Radcliff,” the technician said holding out his hand.
“Dennis Penefield from the London MI5. I’d like to ask you some questions if you don’t mind. The deceased is the daughter of a high-ranking Israeli official and we’ve been asked to investigate.”
Dennis questioned the technician in detail, who verified the entire report. “What about any needle marks?”
“I saw no marks and it was a thorough exam. There was no sign of a struggle, or sexual assault. I’m satisfied that the cause of death was as stated,” said Albert.
Dennis left the morgue returning to Bethlehem Stone Imports. He sat with Agent Stevens going over the autopsy report.
“Abraham, I reviewed everything and nothing points to foul play. We’ll report it to the Division Chief Mark Heckman and let him make the decision on whether we should move or stay put.”
The phone number that Detective Barkes was given by Ruth’s secretary belonged to the Greenwich Nail and Hair Salon. It took the detective thirty minutes in heavy traffic to arrive at the salon. Sharon Bensworth had bought the thriving business the year before and somehow had continued to lose customers. On the brink of bankruptcy, she wasn’t in the mood to see anyone when introduced to the detective.
Sharon’s demeanor changed abruptly when told of Ruth Keinan being found dead. “I was with her on Saturday night. We went to the New City Disco in Chelsfield.” Sharon was visibly shaking as she recalled the evening events.
“Did you see her with anyone?”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t stay too long. I met this absolutely gorgeous hunk from São Paulo, Brazil and after three or four dances we left.”
“Do you have his name or number so we can talk to him?” asked Barkes.
“All I know is his first name, Edwin. I’ve no idea how to contact him.”
Detective Barkes wasn’t surprised by the response. A one night stand with a guy from a foreign country. The women were suckers for the Latinos and they seemed to be scoring big in London. At least that’s what he had heard from his bachelor counterparts who were none too happy about the competition.
“Call me if you remember anything else,” said Barkes as he left for Chelsfield.
The New City Disco in the mid-afternoon showed all the wounds of a well-used pub. The wooden floors were stained from spilled drinks and crushed cigarette butts. The disco reeked of smoke and stale beer. The owners hadn’t put a dime in the place in years and were milking it for all it was worth. Barkes found the bartender.
“Did you work this past Saturday evening?”
“Yep,” replied the obviously bored man.
“Do you remember this woman?” Barkes handed him a picture of Ruth.
“Four hundred people in here Saturday night and you want me to remember this one?”
“I thought maybe she would stand out.”
“Only if she showed me her tits, otherwise I’d have no idea,” the bartender quipped.
I’m wasting my time talking to this guy. He’s clueless. I’ll have to come back in tonight. Maybe one of the waitresses will remember, thought the detective as he left.
By eight o’clock Barkes was back at the disco, interviewing each one of the cocktail waitresses, showing them a picture of Ruth. He got the same response. No one could remember her out of the hundreds that had been there that evening. He left totally frustrated, went back to the station and finalized his report. The victim had acute alcohol poisoning resulting in suffocation.
The Mossad
Mark Heckman, after receiving the news about Ruth Keinan’s death, was troubled. “One moment Dennis, I’m putting you on hold while I get Benjamin Werner.”
Ben listened to Dennis Penefield’s explanation over the speakerphone. “Dennis, this is Ben. What do you mean it looks like a simple accident? Nothing’s simple.”
Dennis continued, “Ben, I was at the coroner’s office and went over in detail the autopsy with the technician who performed it. Nothing was neglected. There were no strange or unusual marks, no sign of sexual assault, not one thing to indicate that this was a murder. With the political atmosphere here in the UK, I’ve taken a low profile and relied upon the local authorities to complete the investigation. My hands are virtually tied and I’m afraid to do more, risking our presence here.”
Mark chimed in. “Ben, even you had doubts initially for using this company as a front because of Ruth’s history of alcohol abuse. She was a binge drinker in college and wrecked her car. Her father, because of his position in the community, was able to prevent DUI charges being brought against her.”
Ben felt the knot tightening in his stomach. “Keep me informed if anything new comes out of the investigation by the Metropolitan Police. If they don’t uncover something, it’s business as usual in London.”
CHAPTER 16
IMMIGRATION, 1988
Bashir and Jonah were having dinner at a Chinese restaurant near Piccadilly Circus. Bashir had selected the site because of the high tourist traffic. It was the first time they had met since the Ruth Keinan incident.
Bashir lifted a cup of tea. “Here’s to your accomplishments, Jonah. Soon you will be at the University of Florida studying for your masters.” He pushed an envelope across the table. “Take a look at
this dossier.”
Jonah opened the envelope taking out the contents. He read out loud the information, “Luis César Bonilla Ceballo is a very successful landowner from the Santa Fe de Bogotá area in Colombia. He has established one of the first companies to produce cut flowers for export to the United States.” Jonah looked up. “Why does a person who grows flowers in Colombia have anything to do with me?”
“Keep going.”
Jonah’s curiosity was building. “In 1981 Luis immigrated to the United States and bought a bankrupt landscaping company. By 1985 he had grown to be the third largest landscape corporation in the state of Florida.”
“That’s not the best part,” Bashir quipped. “Continue.”
“His son Ronaldo César Bonilla Ceballo and daughter Maria Angela Bonilla Ceballo attend the University of Florida. The son is studying Landscape Architect.” Jonah smiled. “Bashir, this is too good to be true.”
“Before you get too excited, you better read on.”
“The daughter Maria doesn’t make friends readily and is very introverted. She is overweight, tends to be unkempt and is a chain smoker.” Jonah raised his hands, palms up. “So what do I care about this woman Maria? Someone’s done a great deal of research to discover Luis César Bonilla Ceballo and the landscaping business. This could be potential employment.”
Bashir was about to laugh, but kept his composure. “Not only potential employment, but a potential wife.”
“What?”
“Yes, Maria Angela Bonilla Ceballo has been targeted by the Muslims For Justice as the best fit for your part of the plan.”
“I have no say?”
“What do you think?”
“I have no say,” said the despondent Jonah.
The Muslims For Justice, being ever vigilant in finding prospects for the three men were elated when discovering Luis César Bonilla Ceballos. He was a wealthy landscape proprietor in south Florida who had emigrated from Colombia. His son Ronaldo and daughter Maria attended Florida University as undergraduates.
Maria Angela Bonilla Ceballos was a pampered child whose mother had died when she was two years old. Her overly protective father, who had never remarried, sent her to be educated by the nuns of a nearby convent in Tabio, Colombia. The Ceballos ranch was only one kilometer from the convent, and every day the ranch manager and three handpicked workers would take Maria and her brother to school in a bulletproof SUV, while brandishing shotguns and AK-47’s.
Luis César paid his ranch hands twice the going pay scale to ensure that his children were protected. Even so, he worried daily about kidnappings and always rode in a vehicle escorting the SUV, keeping a wary eye out for any insurgents.
At the convent, four Colombian army soldiers were posted at each corner and two more at the front doors. With a Colombian Army encampment only half a kilometer away, the likelihood of attempting a kidnapping from the convent was very remote.
Luis had made his fortune from shipping cut roses to the United States. As a wealthy landowner he constantly worried. FARC (The Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia), would target me or my children for kidnapping and ransom.
With this ever present concern weighing heavily on his mind, he applied for political asylum in the United States.
Once in the United States things were much different for Maria. She was eleven years old when she arrived. Her English was poor and she attended a private school for girls at her father’s insistence. She did not make friends readily and along with her inferior language skills, she became even more introverted. To escape, she found condolence in food and by the time she entered University of Florida she was almost 180 pounds.
Ronaldo on the other hand, attended public school at his insistence. Reluctantly his father gave in to his constant pleading and was surprised how his son readily fit in his new environment. He had numerous friends and when they came to his home his sister would shut herself in her room, not wanting to see the ridicule in the eyes of her brother’s companions.
Jonah landed in the Orlando International Airport on what he would recall as the flight from hell. The nine hours of traveling with a plane full of children on their way to Disney World tested his patience to the limit.
By the time Jonah had departed U.S. Customs he was exhausted. Entering the waiting area he looked for the student representative who was to accompany him to Gainesville. He was gazing at the throngs of people with signs when a female voice called out, “Jonah, Jonah Meyerson.”
Jonah turned to see a woman, maybe twenty-five years old, holding a card with his name on it. Her hair was straight and cut short and she wore baggy jeans, a Gator’s tee shirt and tennis shoes.
Jonah went over to her and held out his hand. “I’m Jonah Meyerson.”
The woman grabbed his hand and didn’t let go. “Oh, I’m so glad to finally meet you. My name is Beverly Kaplan and I was assigned to help you get acquainted with the campus. My car is in the parking lot. May I help you with your luggage?”
“No thank you; it’s only these two suitcases.”
They left the terminal and walked to the parking garage in the stifling heat. Outside Jonah thought, I haven’t experienced temperatures this high since leaving Saudi Arabia.
As soon as they got into the car Beverly asked, “Is this your first time in America?”
“Yes,” replied the tired Jonah.
“What do you think so far?”
“I’ve only seen the terminal and this highway. It’s kind of hard to give you an answer.”
She laughed. “That’s a pretty stupid question now that I think about it.”
Finally Jonah sighed, “It’s been a long day and, if you don’t mind, I would like to take a short nap.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. The handle for the reclining the seat is on the side.”
Jonah closed his eyes, not even bothering to move the seat. Finally I have some peace.
It was an hour later when Beverly woke Jonah with a shrill, “We’re finally here at your new home.”
Are all American women like this? Jonah got out of the car to retrieve his luggage. Standing in front of the Tanglewood Apartment complex he thought. Looks just like an old 1950s motel that I’ve seen in some movie about Miami.
Tanglewood was chosen because Ronaldo Ceballo was also housed in the same complex. The apartments were on a first-come, first-served basis but a ‘friend of the family’ had reserved Jonah’s apartment several weeks before, with a well-placed hundred-dollar bill to the outreached hand of the housing manager.
Jonah picked up his bag after retrieving the apartment key and headed to the second story entrance. As he climbed the stairs he heard Beverly call out, “I’ll call you in the morning to begin our day of orientation.”
The phone is going to be off the hook for the next couple of days, thought Jonah as he finished climbing the steps. “Another day with her and I might rethink this whole project,” he said jokingly to himself. He turned at the end of the stairs, giving her a wave. In the room he collapsed on the bed.
Howard Lieberman, a.k.a. Abdul-Aziz al Hummos
The flight to Washington, D.C. had just left Heathrow and would be in the air for the next seven hours. Howard picked up his briefcase, taking out an envelope. Prior to leaving for the airport Wael Qassem handed it to him. “Howard, in here is the information from the Muslims For Justice regarding your future wife.”
“I’m to have a wife? Why so soon? I haven’t even begun my classes.”
“The leadership feels it has discovered a woman whose father could expedite your objectives.”
“Is there a timetable for me to start pursuing this person? Don’t I need to get settled at the school first?”
“No one’s holding a gun to your head,” said Wael. “You’ll know when it’s the proper time.”
“Suppose she doesn’t think it’s the proper time? Then what will I do?”
“We’ll cross that bridge if it happens. I’m sure with your good looks and personality you
’ll charm her off of her feet.”
“Wael,” said Howard. “Has it ever occurred to you or the Muslims For Justice that I have never dated a woman?”
Wael just shrugged his shoulders.
Howard’s curiosity had gotten the best of him as he opened his envelope with anticipation. Inside he found only one page of information. Pulling out the paper he thought, I hope I’m up to the task that the Muslims For Justice have asked of me. Never having been with a woman on romantic bases has me in unknown territory. I’ll just have to leave it to my instincts and hope for the best.
His forehead wrinkled as he looked at the paper. I guess they have it netted down. I was expecting several pages.
Across the top of the page it read:
MEMORIZE AND DESTROY!
Woman of choice: Michelle Branson
Religion: Christian – Presbyterian
School: George Washington University, junior year
Major: Psychology
Employment: George Washington University Bookstore
Father: Ralph Branson, high-level U.S. Government Official
That’s it? I guess I have my work cut out for me.
Michelle Branson
Michelle was a petite young woman with dark brown hair and blue eyes. She was just leaving her job at the university bookstore when Professor Lawrence Ferrell came up behind her.
“Michelle, wait, we need to talk.”
“Lawrence, I can’t continue this anymore.”
“But I don’t want to throw away the relationship.”
“What relationship? We had two years of Freudian sex and, frankly, I think I’ve exceeded the norm.”
“Come here where we can talk,” said the professor pulling her to an isolated area. “Listen, I’ll never bring up the subject again.”
“Lawrence, you’re never going to change. I went along with the bondage and the kinky role-playing, finding some of it to be sexually stimulating. But I’m not inviting a third person under any circumstances.”
“I told you. I’ll never ask again.”
The Third Cell Page 15