by Jay Deb
Chapter 25 Zurich
The Thai girl came in. Once they settled down on the bed, Janco started talking. He liked the amorous activity, but he liked the chatting more; both activities together had become the lonely man’s only hobby. At least she pretends to listen to me, thought Janco.
For thirty minutes, he told her about his college life, where he’d grown up, how he’d met his wife, and how disappointing his marriage had been. He felt relieved, especially because he knew the woman barely understood anything he’d just said.
Chapter 26 Paris
No lead appeared on Janco’s whereabouts. The CIA had been working hard in Switzerland, Italy, and the rest of Europe. But there was no sighting of Janco, no reliable tip, no intercepted email or phone call, and time was running out.
“Things aren’t looking good,” Stonewall said to Doerr, who had moved to Paris. Paris had become the hotbed for terrorists since the UK had tightened its grip and massively increased surveillance. “Not good. I’m afraid he might already be in the hands of the Iranians or the North Koreans or the Chinese.”
“I can’t rule it out,” said Doerr, “but I think he’s still in Europe. That said, I think we should continue to keep our eyes on North Korea and Iran.”
“We do have proof that Russia and China are already on a hunt for him,” Stonewall said sarcastically. “Thanks to that irresponsible Washington journalist, now the whole world knows that a very skilled nuclear scientist is out there looking for home and shelter.”
“That’s the price of democracy we pay. Now, is there any progress in Italy?”
“Yes, there is one piece of information that came in. The Italian police were able to detain a man who had handed Janco an Italian passport with the name Gustavo Ajello on it. We’ve distributed that info all over the world, hoping some country’s immigration system will have a record. We’ve been in touch with the officials in Switzerland, France, Austria and Slovenia, as they share a border with Italy. But so far nothing. We’re focusing on France and Switzerland at this time. Slovenia can be ruled out.”
“I think it’s best not to rule out any place. Janco might have chosen a place just because it’s an unlikely choice.”
“I understand your reasoning, but our resources are stretched out thin right now. The president wants us to keep our crosshair on al-Qaeda and some senators are even suggesting that I created this entire problem of the missing scientist. And it might be sort of true, but we can’t stop bringing new ideas to the table for the fear of failure.”
“It’s best to ignore the Washington politicians,” Doerr said, “and do what we do best.”
“You can ignore ’em, but I can’t. I have to sit with Senate Intelligence Committee members every month and answer each of their stupid questions. The law requires me to do that. They create so many snags in my work that sometimes I feel they’re agents sent by foreign governments.”
“Sometimes I’m amazed that the pols get paid so much for stopping the real work.”
“Me too. But enough about them. Tell me, what have you done so far in Paris?”
“Honestly, not a whole lot,” said Doerr. “I have talked with a lot of people. No solid leads yet. Tomorrow I’m going to meet someone who can give me something important. He’s a journalist with lots of connections. I’m keeping my fingers crossed.”
“Great. I almost forgot. Mossad has sent us an operative to help us look for Janco. They said she’s their best. Her name is Dinah Ariella and right now she’s in a hotel barely five kilometers away from the safe house you’re in. Talk to her when you have a chance. She might be a good resource for us. She has vast knowledge of the Islamic State’s nuclear facilities.”
“Give me her address and number. I’ll go and meet her right now.”
DOERR MET ARIELLA in her hotel room and instantly liked the way she thought about problems. She was sharp, intelligent, and a straight-shooter, like Doerr himself. He told her about the missing American scientist, but it appeared she already knew a lot about Janco and his escape from jail.
An hour later, Doerr said, “Tomorrow I’m going to meet with a man who I worked with for almost a decade. Hoping to get something from him. You want to come along?”
“It’ll be my pleasure,” said Ariella in impeccable English. “Tell me where to meet you.”
“I’ll pick you up.”
FOR OVER SEVEN years, Doerr had known Parvez, a Muslim journalist in his fifties, a French citizen living in Paris for decades. Parvez had come to France as a teenager from Afghanistan with his father as a refugee, and he’d worked as a journalist for a Paris newspaper for over a decade. He knew a lot about the Muslims and a few mullahs in Paris and how the money flowed from France and other parts of Europe to Afghanistan, Pakistan, and the North African countries. He knew some of the middlemen, who took money from some countries and gave them to the terrorist outfits like Hamas and al-Shabab. He’d written articles in his newspaper, only vaguely referring to those middlemen. He knew a direct identification would be followed by reprisal from the persons exposed and their cohorts.
Parvez had named names to the French police from SDAT, the antiterrorism task force, who often came to him, seeking intelligence. Doerr had used Parvez’s help many times, sometimes for general information and, on a few occasions, the names of the perpetrators of specific crimes.
AFTER PICKING UP Ariella, Doerr arrived at Parvez’s office unannounced. It was Friday, a fine morning, the temperature hovering in the mid-sixties Fahrenheit, and the sun blazed through a cloudless sky. Parvez wasn’t in the office yet, so Doerr and Ariella waited patiently, sitting on the leather sofa, checking out the fashion magazines from the table and frequently keeping an eye on their smartphones, checking emails and text messages. Finally, Parvez arrived at eleven a.m.
Doerr greeted him and introduced Ariella. The three of them sat down in Parvez’s office, a small, modest room with a few old chairs and an even older table. A framed Mona Lisa duplicate painting hung on one wall, and a board with a number of sticky notes on the other wall.
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Parvez said in French, leaning back in his chair, running his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair. “What can I do for you, Mr. Doerr?”
“Does it always have to have a purpose?” Doerr said, grinning. “Can’t I just drop in to see my old friend?”
“You can. But I don’t think this visit is for a purely personal reason. So tell me, when did you come to Paris?”
“Almost a week now.”
“Looking for?”
“Looking for a man named Jon Janco.”
“Jon Janco.” Parvez leaned forward and stared at Doerr’s eyes. “I hear there were quite a lot of tremors about him in Washington.”
“Yes,” said Doerr. “My boss Stonewall is in a tough spot because of him ever since a Washington newspaper leaked the information about Janco going from a Nevada jail to Europe.”
“It must have been quite a ride for the scientist. And the newspaper really created a riddle about how he went from a cell in Nevada to Italy. Didn’t they? They gave the details slowly, spread over two weeks – clever. Their sales increased fifty percent in one month. Do you know if they were aware of the whole thing when they reported it first?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. It might have been a ploy on their part to give the information slowly, to increase sales.”
“Right.” Parvez nodded. “The days of honest journalism are over, Mr. Doerr. And that’s what brings the business down eventually. Business in my newspaper is not good. It’s bad. It’s very bad and finances are going south every single day. One other newspaper in the city shut down last year. And it looks like our company’s door is about to close as well. Don’t know what the future holds for me.”
Doerr couldn’t say anything, couldn’t console Parvez, so he looked at Ariella, and she didn’t appear to have much to say either.
“Parvez, you can join our agency,” Doerr said, “as a salaried employee, any
time you want. We’ve made heavy payments to suckers who gave us nothing. And you gave us valuable info many times but never took any money.”
“This is not the first time the CIA offered me a job. And even if I lose this journalist job” – Parvez pointed to the table – “I’ll never take a snitch job.”
“It’s not a snitch job,” Doerr said. “As a salaried employee of the agency, you would have to gather some information that is already available in public sources such as newspapers and TV. Compile them and send them to Langley. You might need to translate some stuff from French to English. Simple. If you–”
Indicating disagreement, Parvez raised his hand. “If I put a suit over a chicken, it remains a chicken. I love France. I love this country and this country has given me a lot. Though I’ll never be accepted as a Frenchman and many people still treat me like a foreigner, even a terrorist. But I grew up here. The only language my kids know is French. They love it, by the way. I can’t take them to Afghanistan even for a day. And I’ll never work for an outside government. That said, tell me what I can do for you today.”
“I think you can help us in tracking that missing scientist,” said Doerr.
“How? If you want some help and I can do it without raising anyone’s ire, then I’ll do it. But tell me how.”
“Frankly I’m not sure how exactly you can help. You do a lot of investigative journalism, don’t you?”
Parvez nodded.
“You’ve got some idea of how to find a missing man. Right?”
“I have done that sort of work before. Yes. And I did find a missing girl once and on another occasion I tracked down an old man suffering from dementia. Both were from Paris. But, in this case, we’re talking about a man who fled from another continent and is now somewhere in Europe, arguably. He could be anywhere in the world. Am I right?”
“Yes.”
“Then how can I find this man? How?”
“What I think is.” Ariella broke her silence. “If you can check with your sources. See if someone knows someone looking for this Janco guy. I think that’s what we need at the moment.”
“Yes,” said Doerr. He wanted to say the same thing, but he’d waited for Ariella to say it. He felt Ariella was the partner he’d been waiting for to crack this case. “If you need anything from our agency or the SDAT, to push or help someone, just let me know. I have authorization to get help from the French police.”
“Sounds like I can park my car anywhere in the city now,” said Parvez, smiling. “Don’t have to worry about a ticket anymore.”
“Except that,” Doerr said, “I can get you anything. But seriously, this is a very high-profile case. France wants this resolved ASAP too.”
“Okay. Give me a few days. A week maybe. I’ll see what I can find.”
They continued their conversation for another half hour, some banter, and some serious topics. Then Doerr and Ariella left Parvez’s office.
The pair walked slowly down the street, heading for the next intersection, hoping to catch a cab. They passed the spot where a bunch of bicycles were parked.
“Did you like the man?” Doerr asked.
“How can I like or not like someone on the very first meeting?” Ariella looked behind them, making sure no one was within earshot.
Switching topics, Doerr asked, “You took care of that chief scientist Golshan, didn’t you?”
“No,” Ariella denied vehemently. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
“Come on now. I know. We all know.”
Ariella said nothing.
“Nice job, by the way,” said Doerr. “I wish we had a few women like you in our agency. We dole out a lot of money to our sources. Such a waste.”
“Your agency has a lot of money, so they can spend.”
“Valuable information comes from people like Parvez, who refuse money if offered. Think about that Pakistani doctor who helped locate Bin Laden. He’s rotting in jail now and no lawyer in Pakistan will even represent him due to the fear of violence from militants. A shame. If I were the president, I’d launch another commando operation to bring the doctor to safety.”
“Maybe that’s why you’re not the president,” Ariella said jokingly.
Doerr saw two men approaching from the other side. “Tell me what you’d like for lunch. French? Or something else. It’s on me. There’s a fine restaurant around the corner and they serve kosher food.”
“I’ve never met a man who didn’t know an excellent restaurant nearby.” Ariella laughed.
“I’m not one of them. I just want to have a good working relationship with you.”
“I know. I’ve read your entire life story. What you’ve been through in your personal life.”
Doerr ignored her last sentence. “Really? Do you know which college I went to?”
“Cornell.”
DOERR CAME TO Ariella’s hotel to pick her up before heading out to meet AJ Lugar, a man supposedly well connected to North Korea, supplying them with weapons and intelligence. Lugar’s business wasn’t confined to North Korea. The CIA listed Poland, Romania, and many Middle Eastern and African countries as Lugar’s clients.
Doerr texted a message to Ariella’s number, and she came down to his waiting cab within a minute. He thought she looked beautiful in her skirt, blue blouse and a pink scarf wrapped around her jugular.
Doerr got out of the cab and held the cab’s door open for Ariella to enter. Once she was seated, Doerr walked around and sat next to her in the rear seat and smelled the fragrance she was wearing.
“Hi,” said Doerr and thought of complimenting her on her dress but then decided to skip it.
“Have you ever been to this Lugar guy’s place?” she asked as the cab started moving.
“Actually, no. But I spoke to him a few times before.”
“Is he an American?”
“He claims he is, but there is no proof of that. He also says he worked for the Marines, but we’ve no record that substantiates the claim.”
“Tell me again what does he do?”
“He supplies arms to many – mafia all over the world, terrorist organizations, legitimate states with money but no diplomatic relations – pretty much anyone who has the money and wants to kill someone. He purchases his arms from Russia a lot of the time, but he also regularly buys them from other countries like France, South Africa, and China. Lugar does business with many. Naturally he has a lot of intelligence – in which country the next bomb is going to explode or where grenades are going to be launched or in which month the Taliban is going to get a big shipment of ammunition. Lugar’s information often isn’t precise, but it gives a general idea.”
“If he has been aiding terrorists,” Ariella asked, “then why haven’t you guys taken him out?”
“We can’t kill them all, Dinah.” Doerr used her first name for the first time. “Sometimes we just keep the ones that we can control. I’m sure your agency faces situations like that. Right?”
Ariella nodded. “Yes.”
Forty minutes later, the cab stopped in front of a two-story mundane house, which had been painted white at some point in time, but now it was gray in some spots and yellowish in others. Doerr paid the cabbie along with a hefty tip and started walking toward the house’s door.
“Is this where Lugar lives?” Ariella inquired. “Or is it his temporary hideout?”
“Temporary.”
“Where is his formal residence?”
“No one knows. He has two dozen houses all over Europe and the Caribbean.”
Doerr reached the gate, which appeared to have been painted black recently. He rang the bell.
Thirty seconds later, the door remained shut.
“Is he really here?” Ariella asked.
“I’m sure he is. I received an email from him this morning. He’s probably feeding our photographs into some software, checking our background and history.” Doerr looked up. “There must be some cameras there.”
The gate op
ened and a thirty-something apron-clad woman stood there. “Come in, please. Mr. Lugar has been waiting for you.”
Doerr and Ariella stepped inside. The interior was decorated expensively, a sharp contrast to the building’s exterior.
“This way, please.” The maid pointed to the stairs. “He’s upstairs. In the first room on the right.”
A few seconds later, Doerr was standing in the middle of the room and Lugar was sitting behind a table. A large world map hung on the wall.
Lugar stood up and extended his hand. “Welcome Mr. Doerr. Finally, we meet.”
Doerr shook his hand. “Thanks. This is Ariella.”
More pleasantries followed.
Doerr was surprised to see how obese Lugar was. He looked to be around sixty years of age.
“Sit down,” said Lugar, and he sat down on his chair. He wiped the sweat from his eyebrows. “It gets hot in here sometimes.”
Doerr felt warm too. The temperature inside was nearly eighty degrees Fahrenheit, Doerr guessed.
Once everyone was seated, Lugar pressed a button and said, “Bring in some coffee and those Belgian cookies for my friends, Maya.”
Turning to Doerr and Ariella, Lugar said, “She makes really nice Chinese and Indian food. She goes where I go.” He was apparently referring to the maid who had welcomed Doerr into the house.
Lugar put a cigar between his lips and offered one to Doerr and then to Ariella. Both declined.
With a shake of the lighter, Lugar lit his cigar, took a deep drag and fumes billowed out of his mouth. “Tell me what can I do for you today?”
“There is a nuclear scientist who has gone missing from America,” Doerr started explaining. “We suspect he is holed up somewhere in Europe and we need your help to find him.”
“Went missing how?” Lugar asked.