by Ace Collins
“Janie,” McGee teased, “the shades are a nice touch.”
“Thanks. Some trucker tried to pick me up when we stopped for breakfast. So I guess they’re working. The guy backed off when Harlow snarled. Diana told me he was good looking.” She turned her head his way, arched her left eyebrow, and smiled.
McGee had no idea if she was pulling his leg. “Well, I’m glad you ate,” he said. “I don’t have much in the way of food here.”
“That’s okay,” Curtis chimed in. “We have all kinds of things in the cooler. The way Lije packed, we could live on the lake for a week…if you like Vienna sausage.”
Heather tossed a newspaper onto the dining room table. “Your new landscape art in this morning’s Gazette.”
McGee glanced at the photo of the burning cross. “Yeah, I thought about going out and toasting some marshmallows, but was afraid the crowd might pelt me with rocks. Amazing when the KKK is now considered more mainstream and admirable that I am. Online there are all kinds of folks praising the Klan for this move. I’ve learned that hate can sweep the country far faster than any known illness, and it doesn’t take much to stir up the mob mentality. When it comes to race or religion, push the right button and normal folks become lunatics.”
He pointed to the living room of the two-bedroom structure. “You probably don’t need to be here long, so have a seat in the living room and I’ll lay things out for you.”
He remained standing as his guests found their places. When everyone was comfortable, he quickly went through his plan. “Heather, I understand you’ve been working with several law students setting up the Kaitlyn Foundation.”
“Yes, they’ve been doing research and helping fill out the mountain of forms.”
“That’s perfect,” McGee said. “Starting Monday, you’ll need to be there every day, but instead of doing research on the foundation, you and three students will be studying every facet of the Jones case. I need you to find any mistakes, no matter how small, that were a part of the original case. Go right back to the arrest and processing. We’re looking for anything that might have slipped through.”
“What if the students tell the press what we’re doing?”
“They won’t. One of my best friends is the dean of the law school. He’s already picked out three kids. They’ve been told that if they tell anyone what they’re doing, including their families, it will essentially end their careers before they have a chance to start. The four students who have been working on the foundation, keep them going on the same work they’ve been doing. Make sure they believe that the three new kids are working for the foundation too.”
“Okay. Sounds tedious, but that’s the way law seems to be.”
“Heather, I need anything I can get to delay the execution.” McGee’s voice conveyed a sense of urgency. “I want to bombard the court with filings. I’ve got to find something to push back the clock for Jones. So if there’s a question about anything, let’s use it.”
“But that ultimately won’t do much,” she argued. “All it would buy at most is a few days or weeks.”
“I know,” he said, “but that might give us enough time to find the man who really killed the Klasser family.”
The room became quiet. Even Harlow seemed to hold her breath.
“You know who it is?” Lije asked.
“I do,” McGee acknowledged, “but can’t prove it yet. In fact the only way I can do that is by tracking the guy down. If I can toss him out in front of a judge and prosecutor in a courtroom, Jones will walk. I guarantee that.”
“Who is he?” Janie asked.
“The only person he could be,” McGee explained. “The DNA evidence and the eye witness nailed Jones. There would seem to be no way around it unless you think about the fact that Jones was adopted. That’s one thing we all know. I’m now ninety-nine percent sure that he was a twin. If my theory is right, that twin was in the U.S. during the week before 9/11. Maybe even earlier. He supposedly was working for Mossad.”
“Israeli intelligence,” Curtis chimed in.
“That’s right,” McGee said, “but there’s much more. I think he was a double agent for Osama bin Laden. Albert Klasser’s brother is in the Mossad. He told Albert about the chatter on the attacks, and Albert was about to tell the FBI. Could he have convinced anyone the plan was real in time to stop the attacks? Who knows. But Abdul Arif, the agent, couldn’t take the chance.”
“You say you’re almost sure?” Curtis noted.
“Yeah, I’m waiting for a birth certificate and photos. I hope to have those in the next couple of days.”
“Any idea where Arif is now?” Curtis asked.
“No, which is why I need you.” McGee turned toward the former ABI agent. “While my guy is digging up the documents I need in Iraq, I need you to see what you can find on Arif. Use your contacts and see if he’s in the States. He uses several different aliases. I have them listed in this file.”
McGee picked up a folder from his desk and tossed it to Curtis. “You can start with these and see if they lead you anywhere. I’m pretty sure he’s alive. He might still be working for Al-Qaeda, we just don’t know. We have under a month to track him down and catch him in our net. You’ll be the point guard on this end of the case. You find him, we come out smelling sweet.”
Curtis nodded.
“What about me?” Lije asked.
“You’re going on goose chases,” McGee said. “I can’t hunt down leads when we come up with them. When I’m not working on things in my office, I’ll be a decoy leading the media and anyone else who’s interested away from what I really need to see. You’ll be my eyes and my legs. There’ll be times Ivy Beals will join you, times you will work on your own. Once we find something, you’ll be on the road.”
“So,” Lije replied, “what do I do now?”
“That depends on how fast Diana finds a lead. Until then, I suggest you work on the mystery on Swope’s Ridge. That should convince anyone who’s keeping an eye on you that we really have gone in different directions.”
Lije nodded.
“Janie,” McGee continued, “I need you to be the ultimate cover. You’re going to get calls. Make sure no one picks up even a hint that we’re working together. Crank out some meaningless correspondence to make the office look as if it has no focus on this case.”
“Sounds boring,” Janie replied, “but if that’s what you need.”
“I need something else too.”
“Sure.”
“Find out all you can on the three court-appointed lawyers who have represented Jones in the past eight years. I want to know them as well as I know myself. I want to know their moral weaknesses. I want to know how seriously they took their duties. I want to know what kind of toothpaste they used. I might be able to use something in their backgrounds to get an appeal or a delay. At your old firm you used to do a lot of this kind of work preparing for cases. Back then it was a scouting report on an opponent. This time it’s just helping me find a place to drive a wedge.”
“I’ve still got my sources from the other firm I worked for,” Janie said. “I can get you want you need.”
“Any questions?” McGee asked.
The room was silent. He hoped that meant they were ready and not overwhelmed. “Then have a good weekend and be ready to go to work on Monday.”
“Okay, gang,” Lije said, “let’s get to the water.”
“You mean you’re really going skiing?” McGee asked.
“A good cover is carried through,” Curtis explained. “We’ll be out there all day.”
“Nothing like a sunburn,” Janie added, “to convince folks we’re not interested in working on your case or any other case.”
“Wish I could join you,” McGee said. He looked directly at Curtis. She smiled. He continued to look at the former ABI agent as he added, “One more thing. We are the only ones who know of this plan. Not one of my office staff is on board with this facet of the operation. If the word gets ou
t, it means one of you is a mole.”
Heather looked shocked. “Are you accusing—”
“No, just being cautious. Someone’s out to ruin us. They’ve already gotten some information before I was ready to make it public. Brisco was tipped off to call Warden Burgess; it wasn’t the other way around. I’m just as sure none of you had anything to do with that.
“I have to play the rest of this life-or-death game very carefully.
A man’s life is at stake. We have to find Arif now, and we can’t have any more slipups. If the press gets wind of what you’re doing, the circus will return to Salem, and none of you will be of any use to me. If that happens, an innocent man will die.”
47
DIANA CURTIS HAD BEEN GLUED TO THE COMPUTER screen for seven hours. After a quick start filled with unexpectedly detailed information—so detailed it appeared Abdul Arif had been intentionally putting down a trail—things had gone cold. The last record of Arif using his passport was in 2005. He had presented it to customs at Heathrow Airport, entered England, and vanished. He never left the UK, was not arrested, did not use his charge cards, set up no bank accounts, bought no property, and never registered for a driver’s license. He hadn’t died, at least not under his own name nor any of his aliases.
Curtis stretched her lean frame, took a sip of lukewarm coffee, and picked up a legal pad filled with worthless notes, much like her notes from the war archives in Berlin. Until Peter Wilshire found her there, she’d had nothing. He couldn’t help her today. So who could? How was she going to find Arif without a Peter Wilshire?
She went back to the computer and typed a short email: “Need a contact in London with government intelligence. Who do you know?”
She knew her source could help, but would she get a response? She studied the screen as if her stare would trigger a quick response. It did. Less than a minute later an answer popped into her inbox. “Don’t know anyone in intelligence. Contact Terry Best at Scotland Yard. Might be able to help. The private number is 1-020-555-1212.”
Grabbing her cell phone, Curtis typed in the number and waited. On the third ring, a woman answered with “Yes.”
“I need to speak to Terry Best.”
“You are.”
Curtis had expected the Yard officer to be a man. Hearing a bright soprano voice surprised her. “Miss Best,” she began, “I’m Diana Curtis with the Arkansas Bureau of Investigation. My badge number is 7134.” She paused, hoping that the outdated information might buy her the confidence she needed to request information.
“Nice to hear from you,” came the matter-of-fact reply. “By the way, are you aware of the time here in London?”
“I’m sorry about that,” Curtis replied. “I’m trying to dig up information that might halt an execution in Texas.”
“Ah, yes,” Best said, “barbarianism is still alive and well on your side of the pond. If I can do anything to help you get rid of that inhumane practice, even in just one case, I’m in the game.”
So far so good. She’d hit a nerve. Now it was time to drop the bombshell. If Best couldn’t help, maybe she would connect her with someone who could.
“I need information on a man who disappeared in the UK a few years back. He entered Britain under the name of Abdul Arif.”
There was a pause. “Arif, you said? Was he Iraqi?”
This was better than she could have expected. It seemed Best either knew the man or at least knew of him.
“That would be him,” Curtis assured the Yard officer. “By your tone I’m guessing that name means something to you.”
“Bloody well,” she replied. “Arif was actually sent to me by one of our top men, Peter Wilshire. If Peter were here he could give you a bank vault of information.”
Incredible! Could the world get any smaller? Wilshire, the same man who’d save her life while giving his own, knew Arif.
“Miss Curtis,” Best said, “where’s this going? I’m afraid I’m treading on some pretty thin ice here. I probably shouldn’t have told you what I just did. The shock of Peter’s recent murder and your dropping that particular name in my ear caught me a bit off guard. As you Americans say, I let the cat out of the bag and now I might need to put it back in.”
Curtis knew it had been too easy. The roadblock was going up. How much would she have to admit to get Best to take another step? If possible, she needed to leave Jones’ name out of it. If that got out, then the circus, as McGee had put it, would visit Salem. So how did she move forward? As the Yard officer was obviously anti-capital punishment, might she be able to use that as a wedge? Curtis plunged ahead.
“I’m working with a team that believes Arif was responsible for a murder that a man on Death Row in Texas was convicted of. It was a brutal, multiple homicide with political implications.”
“Are you positive?”
Curtis took a deep breath. “Yes.”
Best was still there, she could hear her breathing, but the Brit was not speaking. Was she going to shut down or open up? What could she do to push her into talking? “Officer Best?”
“Inspector,” she corrected Curtis.
“Inspector Best, I knew Peter Wilshire. Can you tell me why he was working with Arif?”
“You knew Peter?”
“Yes, we met in Berlin once.” At least that wasn’t a lie.
“Peter did holiday in Germany a great deal,” came the reply.
That comment seemed to keep the door open a little, but still there was no sign of any more information coming forth. Time to push the next button. “I also know that Peter worked with both the Yard and Interpol.”
Those magic words broke the dam. Best seemed much more relaxed as she continued. “Peter actually knew Arif through Interpol. Had something to do with a terrorist attack that was prevented in 2000 because of information provided by Arif. It seems that Arif came to Peter claiming he needed to go undercover. He said there was a hit of some kind on him by Al-Qaeda. At Peter’s request, I arranged a new identity for the man.”
“Can I ask what was the name he was given and if he’s still in England?”
Best took a deep breath. “I think I’ve already told you more than I should have. If Peter were still alive…It’s kind of a sticky wicket. We cannot ethically out someone we are sworn to protect. I think you understand.”
“But Inspector,” Curtis argued, “this man’s a murderer. If I don’t find him, an innocent man will die.”
If that didn’t cause her to break loose, then the gate would be forever closed. Curtis waited. She could have read a great deal of War and Peace while the Brit considered the situation.
“I don’t know what I can or should tell you,” Best finally whispered. Still obviously conflicted, she added, “Would it help you to know he’s no longer in the UK?”
“It’s a big world,” Curtis shot back, “and the UK is only a small part of it.”
“We got him a job in Germany.”
“Where?”
“The War Archives in Berlin. Peter had a contact there.”
“Name?”
“You know I shouldn’t do this.”
“I also know you don’t want an innocent man to go to the death chamber. If you don’t want innocent blood on your hands, I need the name he’s now using. The clock’s ticking even as we speak.”
“Joseph Gonzales. He spoke fluent Spanish, so we built an identity around that. We gave his birthplace as Mexico City.”
“He’s still at the archives?”
“No, he only worked there a few months. He left and took a job in a nursing facility north of Berlin. We are alerted when the people we help move.”
“Beeskow?” Curtis asked.
“Yes,” a shocked Best replied. “How did you know?”
“Just a guess. Is he still there?”
“No. Let me check my files.”
As she waited, Curtis considered the odds against Arif ending up at the same place she and Peter had visited. There had to be a connection.
“Here’s what I’ve got,” the inspector explained. “And I don’t want my name involved in this. I’ve never broken the rules, but executions should’ve gone the way of steam trains. I have no stomach for them. They’re bloody inhumane.”
“Thank you,” Curtis replied, “I won’t betray you.”
“Arif flew to Mexico earlier this week. Our contacts in MI6 have since lost track of him. He may very well be using a different name now.”
So British Intelligence was in on this too. This thing was getting bigger by the minute.
“Why,” Curtis asked, “did you keep such close track of him?”
“Peter trusted him,” Best answered. “I didn’t. So I alerted a contact I had in MI6 and asked him to keep an eye on Arif for me. Normally he probably would’ve tossed me off. They often make fun of Scotland Yard—they have kind of a haughty attitude and all—but they had a request from a high-level member of the Mossad to alert them to Arif’s movements. My stock went up when I provided them with his new identity. It seems everyone had lost track of him until last week.”
“Interesting,” Diana said.
“I’ve got to go,” Best replied. “Keep me out of this unless you find him. If you do, then let me know.”
“Understood.”
The line went dead.
48
CURTIS BEGAN THE SEARCH FOR THE ELUSIVE JOSEPH Gonzales, aka Abdul Arif. Using hacking methods she had learned at the ABI, she tried to locate the man through flights and purchases. While there were thousands of Joseph Gonzaleses, only one had recently used a passport to leave Germany. His destination was Mexico. He had arrived in Mexico City three days before and had not used his passport to leave the country. Hundreds of flight and credit card entries for that name popped up. Which one was the right Joseph? There was no way of knowing. Trying a different tactic, she began a search of the other identities Arif had used in the past.