by Henry Porter
Harland got up a little stiffly and walked through the kitchens to find Loz waiting with small black bag at the rear door. He worked the double lock, moved out into the warm evening and indicated to a car across the street. Just then a man hurried to them clutching one of his pockets.
‘Mr Loz. Federal Bureau of Investigation. Agent Morris. I need you to come with me, sir.’
Harland stepped forward. ‘I’m afraid that’s not possible. This man is in my custody. I’m taking him to the headquarters of the United Nations under the explicit instructions of the Secretary-General.’ He showed him the UN police badge that Jaidi had issued him during an internal investigation six months before.
‘I’ll check this out sir,’ he said, pulling the microphone on his lapel towards his mouth.
‘You do that Agent Morris,’ Harland replied, knowing it would be a matter of seconds before his colleagues at the front of the restaurant came on the scene to seize Loz legitimately. ‘But I have to take this man with me now. It’s a matter of the greatest urgency.’ The agent, who was saying something and pressing his hand against his ear at the same time, put himself between Harland and Loz. ‘Back off, sir,’ he said to Harland. ‘This is a Federal matter.’
‘Go to the car,’ Harland told Loz.
‘No, you stay right where you are, sir,’ the FBI man replied, moving for his gun. Harland clamped his hand round the holster and moved his forearm up against the man’s Adam’s apple, forcing him back to Sevastapol’s door. He held him there and wrenched the gun from its holster. ‘This is one occasion the United Nations takes precedence over the United States - okay!’ He ran over to the car and scrambled in, but as he reached round to pull the door closed he felt his back go, and fell in agony across the seat. ‘Take us to the UN building,’ he shouted to the driver.
The Ukrainian chauffeur supplied by Limoshencko warmed to the task of out-driving the FBI and shot up 6th, running lights on Houston and West Four, then crossed to the East Side along the top of Washington Square Park. In less than five minutes they were on 1st Avenue, speeding towards the sanctuary of the United Nations. No car followed.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘Harland, pick up! I know you’ve got that goddam back doctor with you.’ Harland recognised the voice of Special Agent Frank Ollins of the FBI. Ollins had led the air crash investigation two years before. For a time they had been uneasy allies during the investigation, but then Ollins had been warned off by the Bureau.
Clutching his back, Harland moved to the phone. ‘Hello, Frank. How can I help you?’
‘I guessed right,’ said Frank.
‘How’d you get my direct line - the switchboard isn’t working this time of night.’
‘I got a phone directory for the UN, for chrissake. What’s it to you?’
‘Then do me a favour and look up the number of the Secretary-General. Ask the duty officer what Mr Jaidi’s instructions are concerning Dr Loz. After that, find the number for Senator Howard Staple. You know who he is, Frank? He’s one of New York’s two senators. Mr Staple is a long-time patient and friend of Dr Loz’s. You ask him whether he thinks arresting an innocent American citizen on the grounds that he is a Muslim is either fair or just, or indeed tactful at this point. You ask him, Frank, then come back to me.’
‘Look, we just want to talk to him.’
‘Then book an appointment like everyone else. You know where to find him. You know his schedule. Your men have got his office covered twenty-four hours a day.’
‘Why don’t you just put him on the street now, Harland? We know he’s with you.’
‘Good for you. But to answer your question, no, I’m not going to give him to you.’
‘For Christ’s sake, Harland, you do realise you could be aiding a major terrorist? We can file any number of charges for your treatment of Agent Morris in the street this evening.’
‘I don’t think so, Ollins,’ said Harland, laughing. ‘You want me to have a word with the fellows in the press department? By noon tomorrow I’ll have a story about the FBI harassing UN officials on every news service in Europe and the Middle East. I take it you’re aware of the situation in the Middle East, Frank? I know it’s not your beat, but even you understand that the US is in a bind. What do you think the State Department is going to say to Justice and the director of the FBI when you try to arrest Dr Loz? You’re out of your depth, Frank. Leave this man alone.’
‘I hear you threatening me,’ said Ollins calmly. ‘And I’m sure you’re acting with the best motives, but you don’t want to be caught up in this, believe me. I’ll be waiting outside.’ There was a click as he hung up.
Harland turned to Loz, who seemed unfazed by what he’d heard. ‘How’s the back?’ he asked. ‘I’m afraid it’s not going to get any better with me treating you on a desk. But what I did should work for a day or two. You want a glass of water? You should drink more water, you know.’
Harland replied that there was whisky in his assistant Marika’s room - his whisky, but kept in her cabinet at her insistence. When Loz had gone into Marika’s office, he stretched a little and moved to an armchair where he opened Benjamin Jaidi’s letter.
My dear Harland,
If you are reading this, Sammi Loz has signalled that he is in need of our help. This should be offered unconditionally by you on my behalf, and you should regard all United Nations facilities and the influence of my office as being at your disposal. Your role will be simply to watch Dr Loz and watch over him. I stress the distinction between those roles, though he has performed numerous services for this office and I believe we owe it to him to help him through his present difficulties. I enclose a letter which states that you are working for me and directs anyone who challenges or questions you during the course of this assignment to my office. This, I hope, will be of some use to you, my dear Harland.
Yours with gratitude,
Benjamin Jaidi (signed in his absence)
He folded the two sheets of paper and placed them in his pocket. Loz returned with the whisky.
‘You read the letter. I was right, wasn’t I? Jaidi wants you to help me.’ He handed the glass to Harland.‘What do we do now?’
‘I’m thinking,’ Harland replied. ‘Perhaps you’d better tell me what you want, apart from avoiding arrest?’
‘To go to Albania,’ said Loz simply.
‘Just like that? It’s not Atlantic City you know.’ He exhaled heavily and took a mouthful of whisky. ‘If you turn up in Tirana waving a picture of your old school pal they’re likely to put you straight in jail. And when it comes to prisons, I’d choose American over Albanian any day.’
‘I have to go. You must understand that there’s no other way.’
‘Even if you get there, you have to realise your man will have been seen by the CIA. Despite all protestations to the contrary, the CIA and FBI do talk. When you show your face in Albania the CIA will tell the FBI and that is likely to confirm all the suspicions they have about you. You’ll wind up in prison for a very long time. Much better to go to the FBI. Tell them the story of Khan and then go to Albania if you must.’
Loz was unmoved. ‘That is not possible.’
‘It’s your only course.’
‘And where will you be, Harland, if they lock me up? What will you do for your back? You have a very serious condition and I am confident that I’m one of the very few people who can treat it. The Secretary-General told me you had tried everything before coming to see me. Is that right?’
Harland shifted in the chair and drank some more whisky, wondering about the imperturbable man in front of him.
‘I want to know more about you and Karim Khan - all the things you left out in the restaurant. If I think you’re keeping anything from me, I’ll put you back on American soil straight away.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘Why you owe him.’
‘He saved my life.’
Harland revolved his hand. ‘More, Doctor, I need more.’
‘In Bosnia he offered his life for mine.’
‘When were you there?’
‘Ninety-two to ninety-three. I had finished my course at Guy’s, Karim had one year to go. We joined a convoy taking supplies from London to Sarajevo. We went for the adventure and we didn’t imagine what we’d find when we got to Bosnia. The trucks never reached Sarajevo of course and most of the stuff was looted in Krajina, not far from the coast. But Karim and I managed to communicate with the peacekeepers and became involved.’
‘You fought the Serbs?’
He lowered his gaze. ‘We were Muslims. Although neither of us had attended a mosque for many years, we felt obligated to help our people. I was there for a short while; Karim remained until nineteen ninety-six.’
Loz took off his jacket and started unbuttoning his shirt. He slipped off the right side and turned to reveal a patch of mottled light skin on his back, matched by a similar, smaller patch on his front to the right of his diaphragm. ‘These are the grafts I received after being wounded by a mortar shell.’ He did up his shirt and put on his jacket, fastidiously nipping at his collar and sleeves. ‘We were serving with the brigade in the north of the city. We were in a trench, very much like you have seen in pictures of the First World War, facing the Serb lines. Ahead of us was an outcrop of rock where the Serbs had a heavy machine gun and mortar. Snipers used the rock also. They could look down almost into our trench and we were losing a lot of men. The outcrop was about fifty yards from the Serb lines and we believed if we captured it we’d save many lives as well as improving our concentration of fire.’ As Loz talked he moved his hands through the air and glanced up to give an idea of the angles of fire.
‘We launched an attack but were beaten back. As we retreated across no man’s land they got the mortar range right and I was hit in the back and the leg. I was lying out there all night. The Serbs didn’t finish me off because they thought my cries would demoralise our lines.’ He stopped and moved to perch on the side of Harland’s desk. ‘Karim got back safely. He could not stand to hear my pain. He shouted to the Serbs that they could have him in exchange for allowing me to be taken back to our lines. The Serbs agreed, although we knew they would try to trick us and kill Karim and his helpers, as well as me. The arrangement was that two of our men would accompany Karim to the spot where I was lying and bring me back. At the same time two of their men would walk out and take Karim. All six of us would be exposed and both sides knew their men could be killed instantly. It was all about timing.
‘Karim reached me and walked on with his hands in the air to meet the two Serbs, leaving our two guys by me. As he left, the two men who had come to pick me up began to count the seconds away. One… two… three - very slow, like that. It looked to the Serbs like they had the advantage because they could get their men back to safety and pick the rest of us off. When Karim reached the Serbs they called out, and this big Algerian man, very strong in the legs, lifted me on his back and we set off to our trench with the other man counting out loud. They knew they had thirty seconds to get me back because Karim was counting also. As they reached thirty they lowered me into the trench. Then Karim put his plan into action.’
Loz stood up, put his hands behind his neck, then continued. ‘He had strapped hand grenades under the hood of his jacket, attached by the pins, so when he pulled the grenades away, the pins came out. Remember, his arms were raised like this, so he was able to let them drop back behind his neck. Just as they reached the trench with me, he took hold of two hand grenades, slipped behind his escort and threw them in the direction of the Serb lines. He could throw a cricket ball a hundred and fifty yards and aim it like he was dropping a penny into a glass. Two more followed. By this time our side were firing to cover him, but the Serbs couldn’t get a clean shot at him because their men were in the way. He had many more grenades in his pockets and a couple of handguns concealed in his waistband. He dealt with the Serb escort and then went on to take that rock outcrop by himself. God knows how many people he killed in those few minutes but it was certainly the bravest act any of us had seen. And it didn’t end there. He took me to find treatment and waited until he knew I was going to be okay.’
During the telling of this story some of the polish had slipped from Loz’s manner and Harland sensed that he regretted his vehemence. Loz’s eyes returned to his shoes and he smiled to himself.
Harland said nothing.
‘You know, Karim was soft. He liked the easy life in London, la dolce vita - the women, the clubs, the alcohol, the restaurants. When he got to Bosnia he couldn’t take the cold, the lack of sleep and the food. But instead of crawling back to London with his tail between his legs, he became a real soldier, one of the best men defending Sarajevo. He buckled down to it.’
‘When did you last see him?’
‘In London - 1997.’
‘So by then you had moved to New York and set up your practice in the Empire State?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you weren’t trained as an osteopath by then?’
‘No, I took the premises while I was training.’
‘Expensive.’
‘Mr Harland, that’s what I wanted. I was a rich young man. So was Karim. It wasn’t a problem for me, you understand. ’ He paused. ‘So, have you heard enough about us?’
He shook his head. ‘I am not going on the run with you, Doctor. You’re going to see the FBI and tell them what you told me. Straight. Explain who Karim is.’
‘They’ll put me in prison.’
‘They won’t be able to: Ollins will come in here and talk, then he will leave. ’
The interview went on until dawn in Harland’s office. Ollins insisted that Harland leave so he went off and found himself somewhere to stretch out. He was woken by the toe of Ollins’ well-worn black brogue at six, but had to be helped up.
‘You’re too old for this shit, Harland,’ said Ollins, without letting the slightest sympathy crack his face. ‘Why don’t you stick with the water sports in Dubai?’
‘Water supply, Frank - drinking water for people who don’t have it.’
‘You know what, Harland? Your back quack doesn’t ring true to me. Just because we can’t lay a glove on him now doesn’t mean we’re going to quit trying.’
‘But you got some of what you wanted?’
‘Nowhere near.’
‘Still, you have to agree you’ve had unobstructed access to someone in UN custody.’
Ollins levelled his gaze at him. ‘I just want to know one thing. What are you and the Secretary-General going to do if this guy is a terrorist, as we believe he is? How are your boys in the press department going to spin that one? “Jaidi Aide Gave Terrorist UN Haven.” Don’t imagine Jaidi will stand by you for that. He’ll stiff you, Harland, and then where will you go - a guy with a back problem who knows about water? Huh?’
‘I’ll get someone to show you from the premises, Special Agent,’ said Harland.
When he returned to his office he found Loz gazing meditatively along the East River. ‘What do you want me to do, Harland?’ he asked.
‘What did you tell Ollins?’
‘Everything I told you.’
‘Good, that should keep him quiet for a while. The canteen will open soon. You should go and have breakfast while I think and make some calls.’
As Loz wandered off, Harland received two calls in rapid succession, the first from an assistant Secretary-General who was with Jaidi in Cairo, wanting to know the situation. The second came from a man named Charlie Coulson, one of several MI6 officers attached to the British Mission to the UN. Coulson had somehow heard about the situation and tried to impress upon Harland the need to get Loz out of the UN as soon as possible.
‘We don’t want this to turn into a stand-off between the Americans and the UN with a Brit in the middle,’ he said. There was something about the way he was speaking that made Harland think that there were others listening. ‘Look, is there any chance of you leaving your c
hap and having a cup of coffee with me? There’s a place called The Sutton Coffee House on First Avenue. I’ll see you there in twenty. Your man’s not going anywhere without you.’
Coulson was in a booth reading the Financial Times. He was exactly as Harland had guessed from his voice - a combination of military briskness and social ease. He was in his forties and wearing a dark blue suit, suede loafers and a spotted tie.
‘We’d like to know what you’re up to with this character,’ he said, after the waitress had brought coffee.
‘That’s UN business, I’m afraid.’
‘We think it goes beyond that,’ said Coulson. ‘We understand Secretary-General Jaidi is involved. That makes it very high profile. Tell me, what do you know about Loz?’