City Havoc
Page 22
“Sure,” I said, smiling, “we can thank him for his help.”
“It’s worth a try, even if it’s just for a quote for the book about the outcome,” she said, refilling her coffee cup. “That’s worthwhile, isn’t it? And he just might let something slip.”
“I doubt it, but let’s do it.” I didn’t think we’d get anything useful to give the constabulary, which obviously considered the case closed. For that matter, so did Wolcott, and that might be a concern down the road. But Val was right, I thought. As enterprising journalists and authors, we had to make the extra effort to get at the truth; we just might be lucky enough to get some insights or comments from Professor Cabral and more fodder for our forthcoming opus.
Professor Cabral greeted us amicably and led us into his living room. His wife, Sara, ducked in to serve chilled lemonade and then excused herself. A neat-looking checkered dress accentuated the dark-haired woman’s matronly figure. She didn’t seem like the wife of a true believer of sorts or a terrorist.
“So it’s back to the Big Apple for you?” Professor Cabral said, smiling at me.
“Yep,” I said.
“Glad everything is now cleared up,” he said.
“Not quite,” Val said.
Professor Cabral looked at her with a practiced calm but with a question poised on his face as if a student were talking to him in the classroom and he were just waiting for the time to offer an incisive analysis in response. His half-glasses sat low on the bridge of his nose as he waited for her to go on.
“We’re just trying to tie together some of those proverbial loose ends,” I said, wanting to make it clear Val and I were still working together. But I think the good professor had long suspected our growing intimacy. The clues were fairly obvious, mostly on my part.
“Always worth a try,” he said with an amiable air. He sat back in his chair waiting for more of what he apparently expected to be an intellectual discussion.
“The thing that puzzles me is how this group knew about the committee and Val,” I said. “Corinne, the secretary at our office, didn’t know Val was working with me.”
Actually, this was a bit of a bluff, as Corinne might have somehow listened in on my conversation with Val from the office, overheard something or just been told by Stacy. Poor Stacy—such a problem with non-trade information processing. But Cabral might not have been aware of all this. I gave him my most bland look as he seemed to be digesting my statement.
At last he shrugged. “Seems like they had pretty good intelligence.”
“Sure did,” I agreed, almost amused by his smooth evasion.
“Any idea of who the leak might be?” Val asked, and there was nothing bland about her manner. “I’m working on a follow-up article.”
We had decided to mention the book project; there was no reason not to. No loss of composure surfaced from Professor Cabral. He was in total control of the situation. I had to admire his aplomb. For all we knew, he might be planning his own follow-up book. Publish or perish in academia, as the saying went, though we knew he already had tenure at the university.
“No,” he said, as if he were regretting he couldn’t be more helpful. There was no sign of agitation or impatience from him. I showed more nervousness than he did.
A truly pregnant pause ensued, what some might term the mother of all pregnant pauses. But it was Val and I who were uncomfortable, not Professor Cabral, who sat back in his comfortable teak chair as if he were conducting an informal seminar with two of his most precocious students.
Finally Val spoke. “Perhaps you can shed some light on what the motivation might be for whoever made the additional leak. That would help us a great deal.”
Val said “us,” and I think Cabral picked up on it, but he just smiled. “I could venture a guess.”
“Are you looking for quotes for your book?” he asked.
Val was the first to respond, as I probably looked sheepish. “Yes. You’re an authority. Quotes from you would be terrific.”
“Thank you,” Cabral said. “But don’t overestimate any modest contribution I might make.”
“Whatever you say would be great,” I chimed in, grateful for Val’s adroit approach. We were targeting him, but somehow we were the ones out on a limb.
Professor Cabral seemed to be choosing his words with extra care. “Well, I’d say you were obviously dealing with a true believer of sorts, someone who . . . rightly or wrongly, thought he or she . . . was doing the right thing.”
“Someone who was part of the HAP organization or was funding them, given the use of mercenaries?” Val probed. She took a notebook and pen from her purse.
“Not necessarily. This person, if indeed such a person exists, could just be a sympathizer and not an active participant. Such a person might not even be part of a sister group. For that matter, such an individual might not be able to foresee the consequences of his or her actions.”
“Someone on the sidelines?” I asked in a musing way while Val jotted down her notes. I didn’t want to seem too eager. We were playing a strange game, and I suspected Professor Cabral was far better at it than Val or I was.
“Would such a tightly knit group allow such a loose allegiance?” Val asked as a follow-up question. She took notes very fast, using a personal shorthand only she could decipher. No one could read my scratches, either.
“Good point,” Professor Cabral conceded, again assuming his pedagogical stance. “But these various organizations do sometimes have a working relationship with kindred groups or even individuals. For example, we find that a great deal on the Internet. On the basis of shared philosophical values, this supposed leak might actually be part of another group who just latched on to the HAP and managed to contact them in some fashion out of general sympathy, even if terrorists were involved. This hypothetical person could be in tune with whoever funded the terrorists while against the violent tactics of the terrorists. Or, as I said, it could possibly be just one individual having or thinking he or she had the same core values. I covered some of this syndrome in my book, you know.”
“And do you have another book in mind?” I asked. Val was scribbling as fast as she could, and I wanted to give her time to catch up.
Cabral gave us a congratulatory smile, but it wasn’t hard to think that was the case.
“Yes. I’m assembling notes, much as you are. New theories are spouting all the time. For example, one I want to explore is a notion of trudno, which I believe means “truce” in Arabic. It first came into use with Hamas and the Israelis before the last war in Gaza, but now it may take on a wider meaning. Under this theory the Muslims would get their new caliphate from Morocco to Indonesia, while the West, mainly the U.S., would be under some sort of modified American caliphate under the direction or dictatorship of an American quisling.”
“Fascinating,” I said.
“How long would this so-called truce last?” Val asked.
Cabral shrugged. “Good question, and I hope I can come up with a good answer, or prophecy, in my book. It’s all hypothetical, of course.”
I hoped his answers in class were less convoluted, though what he said resonated to a certain extent. While Val had read Cabral’s first opus, I had yet to undertake a comprehensive sifting through this learned tome, though I certainly planned to. “Do you think this is what happened?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Cabral said with a disarming smile. “This is all strictly theoretical.”
“But fascinating,” I repeated unnecessarily as Val nodded. “It gives us a way to at least consider what happened.”
“Do you think we’ll hear from the HAP again?” Val asked.
Professor Cabral mulled over the question for a moment. “If they were funded by a terrorist group, like Al Qaeda, as clearly seems to be the growing suspicion, I’d say another group might be hired to strike again in another city. Terrorists want to tear us down economically. That seems to be part of their master plan.”
I had to admire
Professor Cabral’s incisiveness. “Thank you for these quotes,” Val said, putting her notebook down. She gave Cabral an appreciative smile.
“Of course,” the professor said. “Glad if I was helpful,” he added as a tiny smile hovered over his lips. He was toying with us, and with success. We were no surer of our hunch than when we had arrived at his home. While we could never accuse him directly, the book could be slanted despite his ostensibly helpful quotes to suggest his complicity as long as it wasn’t libelous. I was sure that Val felt the same way. Let readers reach their own conclusions. They would be aided, of course, by some sly and subtle steering on our part.
We left Professor Cabral’s house not that much wiser than when we had entered. But if we hadn’t gone, we would have regretted it. The sun was setting, and some angry clouds were converging to the west over the ocean. A breeze ruffled the fronds of a towering palm tree overlooking the house.
“Have a good flight, Derry,” Professor Cabral said from his doorway. “And Holly, keep in touch. Good luck with your book. I read all your articles with great interest. ”
I’m sure he did. Professor Cabral was a polite conspirator if indeed he was the secondary leak. We still weren’t completely sure, and might never be.
“You never know when our paths will cross again,” he said, giving us a final friendly wave as we walked to our car on his flagstone driveway. “Who knows? We might be on the same talk show flogging our books.”
Suddenly, a police car came whizzing up the driveway. My two favorite detectives, Saskin and Hague, emerged. Hague came up to a puzzled Cabral and proffered a document.
“This is a warrant to search your house,” Detective Hague said, handing the document to the startled professor as we looked on with bewilderment.
“What’s going on?” Val asked Detective Saskin before he caught up to his confederate.
Saskin stared at us for a moment, especially Val, as if he were making up his mind whether to bother telling us anything. “We got the other HAP guy in Utah, and he gave it up,” he finally said. “He said he’d overheard that they had a professor friend in L.A. He didn’t know the name, but that the guy had written a book. I think we’ll get enough for an indictment.”
Many professors write books, I thought. Saskin might be overly confident. Still, they might just find something incriminating in Cabral’s house. A computer disc? Suspicious e-mail? Doubtful. Professor Cabral would be too careful for such obvious evidence of his complicity. Detective Saskin came up to Cabral and stood as if he were rooted to his doorstep, holding the warrant in his hand as if it were a paper appendage. “Want to join us?” he asked, making no attempt to mask his sarcasm as he passed him to go inside the house.
Before turning to go in, Professor Cabral shot us a baleful look. Then he issued a defiant smile as he went back into his house.
“Well,” I said when Val and I were alone again. We were both still registering what had happened and what might happen. “We have some new material.”
“That we do,” Val agreed, taking my hand as if I needed guidance while leading me to the car. “All the more reason to get together.”
I couldn’t argue. Moreover, I didn’t want to.
About the Author
Other novels by Jack Adler include a historical trilogy –Parthian Retreat, Seres Sanctuary, and Parthian Karma; and another historical novel, A Rage Of Duty. Contemporary novels are: The Montrell Tapes, Di Mario’s Revenge, Ditzy and Champion, and Blackmail High. Nonfiction titles include: Southern India, Exploring Historic California, Splendid Seniors: Great Lives/Great Deeds, There’s A Bullet Hole In Your Window, Consumer’s Guide To Travel, Make Steady Money As A Travel Writer-Without Traveling, and Travel Safety (co-authored). The Library of Congress selected the latter book for translation into Braille.
As a playwright Adler has received a grant from the Yaddo Foundation. Several one act plays have been produced off-Off Broadway, with one published. As a journalist Adler has been a columnist , on a free lance basis, for the Los Angeles Times’ travel section and Westways Magazine. His articles have appeared in many other newspapers and magazines. He has taught various writing courses for UCLA Extension and for the Writer’s Digest School.
Adler and his wife, Barbro, reside in Los Angeles.
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