“I . . .” But that’s as far as Marwan got. Mr. Accad? He felt like he had been hit in the solar plexus. He tried to breathe in, but it felt like his body was frozen.
“I hope you don’t mind me calling you Mr. Accad. Marwan seems so informal, seeing as I hardly know you.” Naheem’s gaze was hard.
“How . . . how long have you known?” Marwan managed to stammer.
“Pretty much since you first arrived. We don’t have a television here at the apartment—Rima hates the things—but I do keep a little one hidden in my office at the church. Since yesterday, your face has been spread all over the news channels. And then, while you were gone, I read this.” Naheem turned the computer monitor on. There, on the front page of the Al Jazeera Web page, was Marwan’s face with a caption stating that he was wanted for numerous murders, including the recent slaying of billionaire Rafeeq Ramsey.
Marwan put his head in his hands. I’ve done it! I’ve brought my problems to this family! My nightmare is going to come true—again!
“I never meant to bring you and your wife into this,” he said.
“You do realize how empty those words sound as you sit here in my apartment.”
Marwan linked his hands behind his head. “Yes, sir, I do. I came against my better judgment,” he said to the ground, not able to look Naheem in the eye. “It’s just that it was so obvious that Dalia needed to see you and her mother again. I was willing to risk anything to make that happen.”
“Including our lives?”
Marwan didn’t answer. He just kept staring at the ground.
Then he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. For being so big, it was surprisingly light. “Marwan, son, look at me.”
Slowly Marwan raised his head.
“You did the right thing,” Naheem said with a soft smile. “To have my daughter back in our home, I would have given my life ten times over. And to have seen her late last night on her knees recommitting herself to God, I would have given a hundred lives.”
Naheem shifted his hand from Marwan’s shoulder to the back of his head and gave it a gentle shake to emphasize his words. “You will, of course, explain everything, and I will listen. But first, I want to say thank you, my son, for giving me back my daughter. You have given me the most wonderful gift. And if a little trouble should follow you—so be it.”
61
Goddard got up early. Although it had been only a few hours since he had fallen asleep, he knew that there was no chance he would get any more rest. Questions filled his mind, and he needed answers. He quickly grabbed some bread and cheese and coffee from the complimentary breakfast adjacent the lobby, then began walking the six blocks to Beirut’s central police station. As he traveled the already-busy streets, his mind raced.
What if Marwan Accad isn’t guilty of trying to blackmail Rafeeq Ramsey? What if instead of kidnapping Claudette Ramsey, Accad and his brother were just trying to find her, as they claimed? What if Claudette Ramsey wasn’t ever really a hostage to begin with? Is it possible she engineered the whole thing and was hiding out in Brazil? And what if Accad uncovered evidence of this—and of her plot against her fabulously wealthy husband, who showed no signs of a convenient imminent death—and was helping Rafeeq Ramsey crack the case? And what if Claudette and her accomplices, whoever they were, found out what Accad knew and decided to strike first?
This scenario, far-fetched though it seemed, could explain the way events had played out. And every other possibility seemed to fall apart as soon as any serious examination took place.
Even the accepted scenario of Marwan Accad acting alone or Marwan and Ramy Accad together planning the kidnapping had more logical holes than the Swiss cheese he was currently eating on the heel of a baguette. But this is Lemieux’s theory and, as such, is officially the gospel truth. Why is he holding on to Accad’s guilt so tightly?
The scenario of Claudette’s being involved could certainly explain Ramsey’s assassination. It would also explain the car bombing and the assassins at Le Méridien and in Saint Michel. But how would it explain why Accad was on the run instead of cooperating with the authorities? How would it explain the murder of Kadeen al-Wadhi?
The Lebanese police were preparing Ramy for the polygraph when Goddard entered the interrogation room, but he waved them off. Ramy glared at him as he walked in, looking like he would just as soon put a knife in him as answer his questions. Two can play at this game, Goddard thought as he stared back. By the time he sat across from Ramy, the pair looked like two prizefighters giving each other the stare down as they listened to the ring instructions.
“No wires this time?” Ramy asked.
“Not necessary. I hope you’ve thought about our previous conversation,” Goddard began.
“Nothing but.”
“May I assume, then, that you’ve decided to help save your brother’s life and tell me where he is?”
“No. Instead, what you may assume is that hell will freeze over before I help you in any way to find Marwan.”
Goddard’s cell phone rang. He quickly silenced it.
“So you’re content for some other country’s police, who will not show the same kind of restraint as we will, to put a bullet in your brother’s head.”
Ramy let out a derisive laugh. “No, you imbecile. I’m trying to prevent any information that I give to you from getting to the people who are trying to kill him. I hate to break it to you, Monsieur Detective, but you’ve got leaks in your department big enough to flood this whole city!”
“What do you know about my department? I will not have an accessory to murder impugning the name of . . .” Goddard stopped as he saw the satisfied smile spread across Ramy’s face. He had reacted exactly as the man had hoped he would.
His cell phone went off again.
“Phone’s ringing, Detective. Maybe it’s the mole calling to pump you for more information.”
Goddard stood from the table with such force that his chair clattered over backward. Another amateur move, he chastised himself as he pulled the phone from his pocket.
When he saw that it was DuVall, he answered. “I told you not to disturb me while I’m—What?”
He paced the room as he listened for a while, then said, “And where was he? . . . How did he know her? . . . Okay. . . . Okay. . . . This isn’t a game show! Just tell me!”
Goddard suddenly stopped. He picked up the chair he had tipped over and sat in it with the phone in one hand and his head in the other. “I knew it! That makes perfect sense. And when exactly was it sent? . . . Send me copies of everything over my phone. And great work, Colette.”
Goddard hung up the phone and waited for DuVall’s message to come through. His mind was going a mile a minute as he processed his new information. Could this really be true? If it is, we’ve got a long and dangerous road ahead of us!
62
Marwan shook his head. “Pastor Nour, you need to understand that it could be more than just a little bit of trouble. One of my closest friends took me in, and now Kadeen is dead because he helped me.”
“I’m sorry for that,” Naheem said. “But understand, that was back when you were fighting this battle alone. You’re not alone anymore.”
Marwan was having a hard time grasping this all. This man’s attitude was totally foreign to any experience he’d had in the past. “But why . . . ? What makes you think I’m worth risking your life for? I mean, come on, you don’t even know me. How do you know that I didn’t do all the things that the police are accusing me of? How do you know that I won’t be the one to harm you and your family?”
Naheem laughed. “Listen, my daughter isn’t always a great judge of character, but she’s not that bad. Besides, I always have this.” He pulled a SIG Sauer P226 from the small of his back and placed it on the desk.
Once the shock at seeing the weapon wore off, Marwan couldn’t help but join in the older man’s laughter. “Dalia said you were ex-military. I should have expected you’d have a weapon or two lying around
here.”
“Unfortunately, there’s just the one. But she’s a beauty, eh?”
“That she is,” Marwan said appreciatively. “And I suppose you setting it on the desk between us is designed to show that you trust me not to harm you.”
Naheem gave a sideways nod of his head.
“Well, thank you, sir. I do appreciate the confidence. Although, I do have to admit that the message loses a bit of its power when it’s made with an unloaded gun.”
Naheem looked at Marwan with surprise on his face. Then his whole body started shaking, his face broke into a huge smile, and like lava from an exploding volcano, his laughter burst forth and filled the entire apartment. Soon they both were in hysterics.
Dalia, who looked like she’d been woken up by the sound, burst through the open door. Her jaw dropped open as she saw her father and her fiancé doubled over, laughing, with a gun sitting on a desk between them.
Finally starting to calm down, Naheem managed to say, “Go, please, Dalia. Everything is okay. And close the door behind you.”
Dalia looked at Marwan for guidance, and he nodded his agreement. Visibly frustrated at being left out, she turned and closed the door hard behind her, which started the two men laughing all over again.
When he could, Naheem asked, “How did you know, O wise one?”
“It’s the sound. To the trained ear, a loaded SIG sounds very different from an empty one.”
Naheem nodded appreciatively. “Then I suppose I owe you an apology and an explanation.”
“Please—you owe me neither. I would have done the same thing.”
“But I feel I must explain. What happens to me—” he shrugged—“do to me what you will. However, when it comes to my wife and daughter, that’s where I feel I must use all means of defense.”
“You draw a fine line, Pastor Nour.”
“Sometimes that’s all the line you need.”
“But isn’t killing killing? Doesn’t the Bible say not to kill? It seems contradictory to me that a man of God such as yourself should resort to harming others rather than just trusting God to protect you and your family.”
“First of all, the Bible says ‘Do not murder,’ not ‘Do not kill,’” Naheem said. As he talked, he pulled a loaded clip out of his pants pocket. He expertly ejected the empty one from the pistol, slid the full one in, and chambered a round before placing the gun back on the desk with the grip facing Marwan. “I believe I am fully justified in using force to protect those that God has placed under my care.”
Marwan took the gun, ensured that the safety was on, then tucked it into his waistband. “If that’s the case, let’s talk about how we’re going to protect all of our lives.”
“Son, first I’d like to talk about how we can protect your soul.”
63
Ramy shifted impatiently, but Goddard ignored him. He needed to see this confirmation before he acted on it in any way.
Finally his phone beeped. He opened the message and read the attached documents. All showed exactly what DuVall had said they would. Closing his phone, he turned to Ramy.
“Your brother’s using the alias of Tariq Jameel, correct?”
The stunned look on Ramy’s face was confirmation enough.
“He was staying in an apartment just outside of Cairo in Heliopolis, near the airport, right?”
Ramy hesitated and then slowly nodded.
“What can you tell me about Dalia Nour?”
“Never heard of her.”
Goddard brought his hand down on the table. “Come on! Whether you believe it or not, I’m trying to help your brother! Tell me about Dalia Nour.”
“I’m telling you, I don’t know who she is!”
Goddard stared at Ramy. He’s telling the truth. Looks like big brother is withholding information from little brother.
He closed his eyes for a moment to calm down. When he opened them, he said, “Your brother thinks someone inside this investigation is framing him, right?”
Again, Ramy nodded cautiously.
“And you sent your people to Brazil to find Claudette Ramsey because you and your brother believed she was blackmailing her husband, right?” Goddard pressed.
“That’s right.”
“And his plan has been to stay on the run until you found Mrs. Ramsey and figured out who was trying to kill him?”
“Yes,” Ramy confirmed.
“But the problem was that when your guys found Mrs. Ramsey, you weren’t sure whom to turn her over to—you didn’t know whom you could trust down there or who was compromised, right? So you told your men to wait for further instructions.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But you’re stuck in jail and Inspector Lemieux is on the verge of tracking down your brother and throwing him into jail too—if he doesn’t kill him first, right?”
“‘If he doesn’t . . .’ What’s your point, Inspector?” Ramy asked. “Are you offering me a deal or something?”
“Mr. Accad,” Goddard replied, “I have become convinced that your brother is innocent.”
Ramy threw his hands up as he dropped back in the chair. “That’s what I’ve been telling you from the beginning.”
“Well, now I believe you. I also believe you when you say there is a mole in our investigation.”
Ramy’s eyes grew wide. “Who is it?”
“Marcel Lemieux.”
Ramy gasped. “The lead investigator? You’re sure?”
“I am now,” Goddard said. “When I received the court order to tap all of your phone calls, I also gained access to your e-mails.” He could see Ramy’s anger at that revelation, but he pressed on. “In searching through your e-mails, my assistant, Colette DuVall, discovered one from a high-ranking official in French intelligence. Do you know of whom I am speaking?”
“That’s Pierre Bessette. We’ve known each other for years. He’s clean as a whistle. There’s no way you can convince me he’s in league with Lemieux,” Ramy said defensively.
“Stay with me. I’m not trying to tell you that. Do you remember the e-mail he sent you a few days ago while you were in Baghdad—the one where he said that Lemieux had asked French intelligence for copies of their files on Marwan Accad?”
“Sure, but what does that prove? Wouldn’t you expect Lemieux to track down everything he could about his prime suspect in a high-profile murder?”
“Of course he would,” Goddard agreed. “However, DuVall tracked down that original e-mail from Lemieux to French intelligence. That one, my dear sir, was dated three days before Ramsey’s murder in Monte Carlo.”
“Three days before the shooting? I don’t understand. That would mean . . .”
“. . . that Lemieux knew Accad was onto Claudette Ramsey’s scheme. Lemieux has to be the one working with her. He planned the hit on Rafeeq Ramsey and your brother to protect both her and, more importantly, himself, because if Claudette was ever found out, it wouldn’t take much to run the trail back to him.”
“And he’s in a race against you to try to find Marwan.”
“Right. And if he finds him first, your brother’s a dead man.”
“How close is Lemieux to finding Marwan?” Ramy asked, his face showing his rising anxiety.
“I’ve got to think he’s very close, Ramy,” Goddard admitted. “He’s always seemed to be one step ahead of us. Which is why I need your help. Tell me where your brother is, and let me get him into protective custody until I can bring charges against Lemieux and get him arrested.”
“I’d help you if I could, Inspector Goddard,” Ramy said. “But I honestly don’t know where Marwan is right now. The only way I can reach him is on my satellite phone. That’s the sole number he’ll accept a call from.”
“Okay, your sat phone is in my hotel room,” Goddard said. “I’ve been monitoring it in case your brother called. We’ve got to try another call to warn him. I need to know if I can trust you to work with me on this.”
Ramy reached his hand across the tabl
e, and Goddard took it. “One hundred percent, Detective. You’re the only other one around here besides me who seems to be interested in saving Marwan’s life.”
Goddard signed all the paperwork necessary to release Ramy Accad. Then the two hurried out of the police station, jumped into a cab, and raced to the hotel.
64
Marwan rubbed his hands over his face, feeling the slight scratch of the dried sweat from his earlier run. Then he stood and walked to the window. This is the last thing I want to be talking about right now.
He drummed his fingers on the sill. However, doesn’t he at least deserve a hearing? He’s opened up his home to me, demonstrated his trust in me—he’s even gone so far as to arm me! He at least deserves enough respect from me to hear what he has to say. Then, when he’s got it out of his system, we’ll start planning how to protect the family.
Reluctantly he returned to his stool. “Okay, give it your best shot.”
“Ah, a challenge! I like that. I’ll tell you what,” Naheem said with a smile. “I’ll ask you one question, and I’m done. Unless, that is, you ask me for more. Fair enough?”
Marwan nodded.
“Let’s say one of those bullets finds you tomorrow or the next day,” Naheem said, shooting his fingers at Marwan’s forehead. “Suddenly you’re standing before God and he asks you, ‘Marwan, why should I let you into my heaven?’ What would you say?”
Marwan thought for a moment before responding. “There’s nothing I could say. I don’t deserve to be in heaven—I know it and God knows it. He knows what I’ve done in my life. He wouldn’t even bother asking the question.”
“Interesting. Are you happy with that answer?”
“No. But it is what it is.”
The two sat silently. Marwan stared at the ground, but he could feel Naheem’s eyes on him. He looked up. “Is that it? Are you done?”
The Witness Page 22