Jaws of the Tiger

by Andre Baby

  Dulac could feel Arlberg seething. “I thought I gave you strict orders to get back to Lyon.”

  “Something important came up.”

  “I have Hays phoning me saying that he has reason to believe you’re still interfering with Wade’s investigation. Tell me Hays is wrong.”

  “Absolutely. Wade showed me a signed confession from Tajar Singh saying Mills was in on the hijacking. We’ve just arrested Mills.”

  “I see. But how does that justify your presence there?”

  “I’m curious. Why aren’t you concerned that Hays is the one interfering with this investigation?”

  There was a short pause before Arlberg spoke. “Dulac, I have full confidence in Scotland Yard’s ability to deal with this. You said yourself you had no reason not to trust Wade.”

  “Actually, he’s asked for my support.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll fill you in later on the details. Right now, I’ve got to go.” Dulac clicked his phone shut. “Wade, let’s get a bite to eat before she calls back. My treat.”

  Chapter 65

  The Bistro 51 restaurant, 4.15 pm.

  Dulac and Wade sat down at a table in the far corner of the room. After perusing the menu, they gave their order to the short, burly waiter with a ruddy complexion. Moments later, the waiter returned with two wine glasses and a carafe of house red.

  “As my American uncle used to say. It’s shootout time at the OK corral.” Dulac lifted his glass and toasted Wade.

  “Yes, but between whom?” said Wade.

  “It’s beginning to look as if we’re on our own. Frankly, I’m worried.”

  “About Hays?” asked Wade.

  “About Arlberg. She’s not one to usually back down from a fight.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything, but her quietly abiding by Hays’s orders to remove me is definitely uncharacteristic of her.”

  “You’re worried. I don’t know if I still have a job,” said Wade.

  “Join the club. In the meantime, let’s go over what we have.”

  “Now that Assirgan is dead, apart from Singh’s confession tying Mills to the hijacking, we have nothing but conjecture about why Bolding was murdered, or who was behind it.”

  “The only motive I can think of is that Bolding was in on the deal somehow and it went sour,” said Dulac.

  “By selling the stock?”

  “He probably did it twice. Seeing the company was well down the road to bankruptcy and wanting to protect his investment, he sells the stock openly, which he must as an officer of P & W. Then he gets greedy and shorts it under the cover of Mirolet.”

  Wade took a sip of his wine. “The latter remains unproven.”

  “In any case, it’s immaterial now. The question is, did Bolding have anything to do with the hijack? At first I thought so, but now I’m not so sure.”

  “What do you mean?” said Wade.

  “If he was going to hire the Tigers to hijack his ship to collect the insurance in order to bolster his ailing company’s finances, the first thing he would have done is make damn sure the insurance was in place and the premiums were fully paid. He wouldn’t have trusted Mills or anybody else with that. There was too much at stake. After the Caravan Star gets hijacked and the US Navy gasses the passengers and crew with Bezorban, Bolding sees an opportunity. There’s a possibility of saving his company by taking a multibillion dollar lawsuit against the US government.”

  “So he changes his mind?”

  “He’s in a quandary. If the company’s stock goes south, he’ll make money on the Mirolet short, but lose his reputation and be forever known as the heir of the Bolding Empire who screwed up and bankrupted the company. He hesitates, but the opportunity of the lawsuit against the US Government is irresistible. Even if P & W never goes to court, he can leverage negotiations with the Americans into enough cash to save the company and then some. It seems providential. He finally chooses the path of righteousness and decides to try and save the company and his reputation. Only there’s a problem.”

  “If the stock goes up, the shareholders of Mirolet lose their investment,” said Wade. “One person in particular can’t afford to lose. Allister Mills.”

  “Exactly. Another is the owner of the unregistered phone,” said Dulac.

  “And we don’t know who that is.”

  Dulac took in a deep breath. Did he trust Wade enough to give him the news? He decided that now was the time to drop the bomb.

  “We have a preliminary on who that is. And you’re not going to believe me.”

  Wade stared at Dulac, his expression dead-pan. “Try me.”

  Dulac stared back, ready to gauge Wade’s reaction. “Sir Terence Hays.”

  “What?” Wade’s face went white. “Jesus bloody Christ! Are you sure? I mean, how did you get that information, or do I want to know?”

  “Suffice it to say we have very efficient information-gathering resources at Interpol.”

  “You mean you hacked the British Government Personnel lines?”

  Dulac arched his eyebrows slightly and cracked a wry smile from the corner of his mouth.

  “Even if it were Hays, that doesn’t tie him in automatically to the hijacking,” said Wade.

  “Maybe, but there is the disturbing fact of those repeated calls to Toombs and to P & W with that phone. If Hays wanted to speak to Bolding or anyone else at P & W for that matter, why not use an ordinary phone? But let’s leave him out of it for the moment and continue. The most certain way to make sure the stock goes back down is to get rid of Bolding, the major shareholder and controlling mind of the company. Sure enough, immediately after the news of his death, the stock plummets.”

  “Surely you’re not suggesting Hays was behind Bolding’s murder? They were good friends.”

  “So were Caesar and Brutus,” said Dulac.

  “Point taken. But how do Messier’s murder and the attempt against you fit in? Surely you’re not suggesting that’s Hays’ doing also.”

  “I’m having trouble believing it but right now, he’s a prime candidate.”

  “That really is pushing the envelope,” said Wade.

  “Another possibility is someone at MI-6. They’re the most likely people capable of detecting any attempt to hack into the British government’s telephone lines.”

  “And Interpol,” said Wade.

  “Granted.”

  “So where does that leave us?”

  “With a few loose ends. There is something else that bothers me,” said Dulac.

  “Which is?”

  “What if someone else used Hays’ phone? How tight are the security checks and logs on the use of government personnel’s unregistered phones?”

  “I can find out. I would need the phone’s ID number.”

  Dulac clicked his cell open and dialed Gina’s encrypted number.

  “It’s me. Do you have the unregistered phone’s ID number?”

  “I can get it if you have a moment,” said Gina.

  “I’ll wait.” Dulac took a sip of his wine, then took out a pen from his breast pocket. A moment later, Gina was back online.

  “It’s RTF 5679-39401.”

  Dulac wrote down the number on a napkin and handed it to Wade.

  Wade took a sip of wine and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “There’s nothing more we can do about Mills until the outcome of the bail hearing this afternoon. I’m sure Jennings has told Mills to keep his mouth shut. In the meantime, I’ll have our people check this phone ID number.”

  “Let me know. While we’re waiting, I’ll get a room somewhere. Any hotel you would recommend?”

  “The Bristol is nearby. It’s not too expensive, in terms of—”

  “I know it. Stayed there before.”

  “Great. Meet you at Old Bailey at 5.30.” Wade signaled the waiter over to pay the bill.

  * * *

  Dulac went outside and hailed a cab. Fifteen minutes later, he ph
oned Arlberg from his sparsely decorated but comfortable art deco room at the Bristol.

  “How nice of you to call,” she said. “Are you still working for Interpol? I have a mind to cut off your expense account and credit card as of right now.”

  “Mills’s bail hearing is set for this afternoon. If the judge refuses bail, I’ll interrogate the hell out of Mills. Maybe get a confession. Wade is also checking the usage record of the unregistered phone.”

  “Fine. Let him. Let him proceed with the investigation. It’s their business. They have all the information they need. They—”

  “Why do I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me?”

  “Dulac, I find that comment highly offensive.”

  “Sorry. It didn’t quite come out as I intended. Listen, if I get a confession from Mills I can go to Switzerland. The Swiss can’t hide behind their bloody Omerta with two confessions. They’ll have to open their books on—”

  “You listen, Dulac. They’ll never open Mirolet. They have the British government’s interests to protect. This is out of our jurisdiction, Dulac.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “I’ve heard that Mirolet has British National Security written all over it. I can’t be more explicit than that. It’s not in the Swiss or British national interests.”

  “Did you get that from Hays?”

  “As a matter of fact, I didn’t.”

  “And what about the interest of twenty-seven dead passengers’ families, including Governor Dickinson ? Don’t you think they have the right to know the truth?”

  “Of course, but—”

  “Look, all I ask for is another day.”

  “Dulac, I really can’t be seen as dragging my feet any longer.”

  “Twenty-four hours.”

  “Damn you, Dulac.” Arlberg hung up.

  Chapter 66

  Southampton, Central Station, 8.45 pm.

  David Jennings had argued convincingly before Judge Pamela Ogilvy that his client Allister Mills had no criminal record, was an outstanding member of the community, and that Singh’s confession was worthless, having been obtained in exchange for reduced charges. Notwithstanding Jennings’s arguments, Judge Ogilvy had ordered bail at 50,000 pounds, and Mills had had to deposit his passport at Scotland Yard.

  Jennings had arranged for a bail bond and upon his release, Mills had left for Waterloo Station and bought a ticket to Southampton, arriving at his destination two hours later. He went to a phone booth and dialed the unregistered, encrypted number.

  “It’s me. Allister.”

  “How did it go?”

  “The judge set a preliminary hearing date for next week. Wade refuses to drop the charges and they’ve set my meeting for questioning at the Yard with Wade and Dulac tomorrow afternoon. This is getting pretty rough. I’m warning you, I’m not going down alone. I won’t be the fall guy.”

  “Where are you, Allister?”

  “I’m at Southampton Central Station. They have Singh’s confession and—”

  “I’m told it’s worthless. That’s the reason you got out so easily. You’ve got to get a hold of yourself, Allister. I’m not a lawyer but I’m told they don’t have a case without that confession. In the meantime stick to your guns. You must be seen as cooperating with justice.”

  “Easy for you to say. It’s my neck out there under the guillotine. If that damn Dulac gets wind of—”

  “Allister, I’m afraid I can’t be of further help. I’ve done all I can. Do not contact me again.”

  “What?”

  The line went dead.

  “Bastard!”Mills shouted out loud as he banged down the receiver. Leaving the sinking ship, is he? He walked out to the street and hailed a cab, directing the cabbieto Hingham’s Pub. He didn’t notice the two men who entered the cab behind his, the same two men who had taken the train, the same two men who had followed him since he’d left Old Bailey.

  * * *

  London, Bristol Hotel, 11.15 pm.

  Arlberg’s warning kept prodding Dulac awake. That and the signs of an impending headache. Unable to sleep, Dulac dressed, went to the bathroom, took two Aspirins and downed them with a glass of water. Throwing a cursory look at the mirror, he surveyed the havoc the previous week had wrought on his face. The furrows at the corner of his mouth had become more pronounced, his eyes had sunk deeper into their sockets. He patted the loose flab under his chin quickly and looked away, feeling suddenly much older than his forty-nine years. He went back to the bedroom, grabbed his pack of Gitanes, donned his overcoat and headed down to the lobby. He nodded to the tall bespectacled night clerk and exited through the revolving door. Outside, the air was damp. He turned up his collar and lit a cigarette. The first lungful felt ever so good and tasted even better. In front of him on Sloane Street, a steady flow of cars moved by. In the distance, the bluish lights of London’s Shard skyscraper pierced the busy horizon. Heavy traffic for this time of night.

  He turned and headed eastward, needing to clear his thoughts. As he walked, the idea that had germinated during his conversation with Wade took hold. At least two persons had an immediate, greater interest than the “British National Security”, as Arlberg called it, in finding out who might be behind the hijacking. One was Captain Goran Peterson’s widow. The other was Governor George Dickinson. Dulac recalled his conversation with Arlberg when she’d assigned the case to him. ‘Director Nancy Lombardi at Homeland Security is in charge in the US.’ It was worth a try.

  He took out his cell and dialed Gina’s home number.

  “It’s the middle of the night and you want me to get whose number?”

  “Nancy Lombardi’s office number. She’s the Director of Homeland Security. While you’re at it, get me her home phone number too.”

  “Mr. Dulac, I’m not sure I can access those databanks from here.”

  “I wouldn’t call you unless it was damn urgent.”

  * * *

  Half-an-hour later, Dulac’s phone rang. He recognized Gina’s number.

  “I could only get her office number. I doubt you’ll get through, through.”

  “Thanks, Gina.”

  Dulac looked at his watch. 11:25 pm.. There was a six hour time difference and with any luck, Lombardi could still be in her office. He punched in Lombardi’s number and heard the typical North-American ring tone. After four rings, a female voice came on the line: “Director Lombardi’s-office-how-may-I-help-you?” she shot out in one volley.

  “My name is Thierry Dulac. I’m with Interpol. Is the Director in?”

  “Is she expecting your call?”

  “No, but I’m sure she’ll speak to me.”

  “I’m sorry, but the Director is quite busy at the moment. Who did you say was calling?”

  “Dulac. Thierry Dulac. Tell her it’s about the hijacking of the Caravan Star. Tell her it’s about Governor Dickinson’s wife’s murder.”

  Moments later, a voice came online. “Lombardi.”

  “I’m inspector Thierry Dulac. I’m with Interpol.”

  “I remember the name. You were on the Caravan Star when she was hijacked. You tried to save the ship.”

  “Well, E for effort doesn’t count.”

  “How may I help you, Mr. Dulac?”

  “I’ll get straight to the point. I’m phoning you about getting access to telephone conversations of a high-ranking British official.”

  “What?”

  “I’m thinking these telephone conversations could help us find who was behind the hijacking.”

  “Listen, I have no way of checking you’re who you say you are. Besides, your request is pretty damn unusual. You’re asking me—”

  “Director, this is urgent. There are reasons why I can’t use, say, the usual channels. What I’m about to ask you is strictly off the record. If you want to check me out, my Interpol ID number is 07 3688-4. Have your people run a scan and they’ll confirm it. I’m staying at the Bristol Hotel in London and they can check
that also. If you want, I can go to the lobby and have the manager sit with me and you can take a look for yourself on my cellphone. You can check out my picture with what you have on file on me at Homeland. Besides, there is no reason why I would call you at this time of night other than the one I’m giving you.”

  There was a pregnant silence before she spoke. “All right. Assuming your identity checks out, what are you asking me to do?”

  “I’m asking you to contact the head of the NSA and get transcripts of calls for the last three months for the following phone. Do you have a pen?”

  “Yes, but I—”

  “Here’s the reference: British Government service. Serial no. RTF 5679-39401.”

  “And what has this got to do with the hijacking?”

  “That’s what we’re about to find out.”

  Chapter 67

  Scotland Yard, 8.00 am the next morning

  Dulac arrived early. His time was running out. He knew he’d pushed Arlberg way beyond her tolerance level for his “digressions”, as she called them. He flashed his creds to the receptionist. “Inspector Harry Wade is expecting me.” He didn’t wait for her approval and made his way to the elevator. He was walking towards Wade’s office when Wade’s secretary intercepted him.

  “Mr. Dulac.” She looked surprised. “I wasn’t—”

  “I’m early, I know, but I must see the inspector now.”

  “You just missed him. He was called down to the morgue to identify a body.”

  “Anybody I know?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  Dulac took out his cell and punched in Wade’s number.

  “Wade.”

  “Dulac. I’m at your office.”

  “I didn’t get a chance to phone you. It’s Allister Mills. I had his body sent overnight when I heard the news from Southampton Station 2. We’re—”