Two Days in Caracas

by Luana Ehrlich

  I nodded. “So what happened when you returned to Venezuela? Did Zaidi get in touch with you?”

  “No, not immediately. Six months went by, and I didn’t hear anything. Then one day, about the time Ernesto graduated, Zaidi showed up at my house. That’s a day I will always remember. It was Saturday, and my son and I were watching a soccer match on TV. Zaidi rang the doorbell, and when I went to answer it, there he was.

  “When I invited him in, I was surprised by how happy Ernesto was to see him. It was obvious they’d been communicating, and I later learned they’d been emailing each other regularly. Zaidi said he’d come to the house to invite Ernesto to attend a summer youth camp Hezbollah was sponsoring on Margarita Island. After we talked for awhile, he sent Ernesto out to buy him some cigarettes, and the moment we were alone, Zaidi told me the real reason for his visit.”

  I asked, “Did it have anything to do with some construction sites?”

  Roberto nodded, but then he asked, “How do you know about the construction sites? I don’t understand how the sites could be connected to locating Ahmed and turning him over to the Colombian government.”

  “You don’t need to be concerned about that right now, Roberto. Just tell us what Zaidi said to you about the real reason for his visit.”

  Roberto didn’t appear to be satisfied by my answer, but he continued his story anyway. “He said he knew Ahmed Al-Amin had talked to me about helping a consortium of Syrian businessmen develop an import/export business in Venezuela. I told him Ahmed hadn’t mentioned what kind of business it was, but I’d be happy to do all I could to facilitate any red tape involved in helping their business get established here in Venezuela. He said—”

  “Do you remember any of their names? Could you identify any of the Syrians who wanted your help?” I asked.

  Before Roberto had a chance to answer my questions, Buck walked in the room. He stood quietly in the doorway between the kitchen and living room for a few minutes, and since Roberto had his back to him, he didn’t realize Buck was even there.

  When Buck saw he had my attention, he motioned for me to meet him in the back bedroom. I gave him a brief nod, and he turned and left the room.

  Mitchell, who also saw Buck, tried to distract Roberto.

  “Roberto, would you like to take a break before answering those questions? I know I could go for something cold to drink right now.”

  Roberto shrugged. “I’m not in charge here.”

  I said, “I’ll meet you in the kitchen in a few minutes.”

  After Roberto and Mitchell left the room, I walked down the hallway to the master bedroom, where Buck handed me an Agency sat phone.

  “This better be good, Olivia. I was making progress with Roberto.”

  “That makes two of you. Ahmed’s made a lot of progress trying to locate Roberto.”

  “You’ve got my attention.”

  * * * *

  Olivia quickly updated me on Ahmed’s status by explaining how the surveillance crew outside of Zaidi’s apartment had observed Ahmed entering the apartment building about the time Roberto had arrived at my location.

  She said Ahmed was in the apartment by himself for over an hour, but during that time, the bugs hadn’t picked up anything besides the sound of a teakettle whistling on the stove.

  The situation had changed when Zaidi arrived.

  “As soon as Zaidi walked in the door, he told Ahmed he had a good idea where Roberto might have gone. He remembered Roberto’s wife had a sister in Caracas, and on his way in from the airport, he had called someone and told them to locate an address for her.”

  “Where are the ladies now?”

  “They’re finishing up at the salon. I’m considering grabbing them before they get back to Roxanna’s house. If I don’t, Zaidi’s men might already be there.”

  “Do it.”

  “You mean you and I finally agree on something?”

  “See? Miracles do happen to you.”

  It was faint, but I thought I heard her laugh.

  She ordered me to stay on the line while she gave Wylie some instructions about where to take the three women.

  When she came back on, she said, “I’ve arranged a safe house for Roberto’s family near you, so when you want to question Marianna, she won’t be that far away.”

  “I may not need to question her. Roberto is singing like a bird now.” Then I added, “It was Ben who got him to talk. Since Ben was with Ernesto when he died, I think Roberto can tell Ernesto’s death affected him.”

  “Becoming emotionally involved in a case doesn’t usually make for a good intelligence officer.”

  “In this instance, it worked in our favor.”

  “Roberto may not be willing to keep talking once he knows his family is safe and out of Ahmed’s reach.”

  “Who says I’m sharing that information with him?”

  Chapter 40

  After I hung up with Olivia, I gave Buck instructions about the role I wanted him to play when my interrogation of Roberto resumed. Basically, I told him to listen for a certain key phrase, and then I asked him to do a bit of play-acting.

  When I entered the kitchen, I found both Roberto and Mitchell eating a sandwich, and after I wolfed down something stuck between two slices of bread, the three of us returned to the living room.

  As soon as Roberto was seated on the sofa again, I repeated the last question I’d asked him. “When Zaidi approached you about the possibility of helping the Syrians with this business enterprise, did he give you the names of those associated with this project?”

  Roberto shook his head. “No. I only dealt with Rehman Zaidi. The consortium’s business in Venezuela has always been handled by a lawyer in Caracas.”

  “So what did they want you to do for them?”

  “At first, Zaidi told me the group planned to build two large warehouses in Cumaná and Maracaibo. They were to serve as distribution centers for the goods they were importing from the Middle East. It made perfect sense for the centers to be located near these two port cities, since all their goods would be arriving in cargo ships. However, the task of getting them built quickly—which they insisted was a necessity—required a massive amount of documentation.

  “What they needed for me to do for them was cut through all the red tape involved with getting the warehouses built. They wanted me to run interference for them, and I was to make sure all their permits were expedited. I was also to collaborate with the contractors to prevent any work stoppages.”

  “Is this something you’d ordinarily do in your position as trade minister?”

  Roberto shook his head. “No, not really, but ...” he paused and hung his head, “when Zaidi asked me for this favor, he also gave me a substantial amount of money. He told me it was for Ernesto’s college education, but we both knew the cash and the favor he wanted were connected.”

  “So you used the money to send Ernesto to the University of Texas?”

  “Yes, and then the next year, he gave me the same amount of money for Emma’s private schooling here in Caracas.”

  “You’ve held a government job for most of your life, Roberto, so I’m sure this wasn’t the first time you were offered money for expediting someone’s paperwork through government channels.”

  He nodded. “I’ve done it several times before. As you probably know, that’s just the way business is conducted here in Venezuela. But, this time it was different because there was so much money involved and ...”

  He hesitated, and I suspected he’d finally reached the main focus of his story, the real reason Ernesto had been killed.

  His hesitancy made me wonder if he felt his behavior was somehow responsible for his son’s death.

  I prodded him with a question. “And you discovered something about the warehouses?”

  He nodded. “When I visited the site in Maracaibo about six months after the construction had gotten underway, I realized the warehouses weren’t going to be used for an import business. I came
to this conclusion because of the type of security fence being erected around the site. It wasn’t the kind of thing usually found at a commercial establishment. I also discovered the storage units had an elaborate climate-controlled environment—something I’d never seen in that type of warehouse before. When I questioned Zaidi about it, he told me the warehouses shouldn’t concern me, to forget about what I’d seen, and to concentrate on making sure things ran smoothly.

  “I did as I was told, and I tried putting it out of my mind. But a few months ago, I happened to be at a diplomatic reception where I overheard a conversation between a general who was on the National Defense Council and the comptroller general of the National Armed Forces. They were discussing a rumor circulating among the top brass in the military that Syria was disposing of its chemical weapons’ stockpile by handing their supplies over to Hezbollah. He’d heard some of those weapons could be headed for either Cuba or Venezuela, maybe even both countries.

  “After hearing that, I did some research on the type of storage facilities required to safely handle chemical weapons, and I discovered the buildings being constructed at the two sites met the criteria for storing canisters of sarin gas, exactly the type of chemical Syria was rumored to have turned over to Hezbollah.”

  Roberto shook his head. “The thought of having weapons of mass destruction in my country was repulsive to me, and I spent many sleepless nights trying to decide what to do about my suspicions. For all I knew, the shipments were coming here with the full knowledge of our president.”

  I said, “But you didn’t really believe that, did you?”

  “Not really.” He sighed and leaned his head against the sofa for a few moments. “I finally decided to confront Zaidi with this information, and an opportunity presented itself when some of the construction workers initiated a slowdown at the Maracaibo site. I decided not to intervene just to see what would happen. Within a couple of days, Zaidi showed up at my office.

  “I knew the only way I could find out what was going on with the warehouses was for me to pretend to be excited about the idea of Venezuela acquiring chemical weapons, so that’s exactly what I did. I told him about the rumor I’d heard. I said I hoped he could verify this was true and that the warehouses under construction were going to be used to house Venezuela’s first chemical weapons arsenal.”

  “Did he believe you?”

  Roberto nodded. “He totally bought it. This surprised me, but, I realized he wanted to believe I didn’t have a problem with what Hezbollah was doing. He said the weapons didn’t belong to the Venezuelan government, and that no one in the administration knew anything about them.

  “He also said the agreement Syrian President Assad had entered into with Sayyed Nasrallah, the Hezbollah leader, meant the weapons were to be held by both the Syrian government and the Iranians, with Hezbollah acting as caretaker. By doing this, Assad was able to retain possession of at least some of his chemical weapons stockpiles, after he was pressured by the international community to destroy them.”

  I asked, “Did Zaidi tell you where the canisters are being stored while the warehouses are being built? Do you know where these chemical weapons are right now?”

  “No, not specifically. He said when Hezbollah was given the pallets of canisters from the storage facilities at Shamat and Furklus, they were placed aboard several ships in an effort to avoid detection by either the Israelis or the Americans.”

  Mitchell said, “Are you saying there are multiple ships loaded with tons of sarin gas navigating through the ocean’s shipping lanes right now?”

  Roberto said, “Yes, but the ingredients in the canisters aren’t lethal, at least not in their present state. The sarin is stored as two distinct chemicals, and until the two are combined, the canisters pose no danger to anyone. The only way the canisters become weaponized is when they’re put in an artillery or rocket shell and fired. Firing the shell mixes the two ingredients, and when it reaches its target, that’s when the sarin is released.”

  Mitchell said, “I guess I should find some comfort in that.”

  I asked Roberto, “So what changed? You said Zaidi believed you when you said you were okay with the canisters being stored in your country. Now, however, you seem to be on Hezbollah’s hit list.”

  He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Once Zaidi shared this secret with me, he seemed more relaxed around me. I think he enjoys talking, and it wasn’t long before I realized he wasn’t just Hezbollah’s messenger boy; he was actually a member of Hezbollah’s leadership council back in Syria. He talked openly with me about the training he’d received in Iran with the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps, the IRGC. He also told me the IRGC had instigated a plan to use Hezbollah—particularly their Latin American members—to get back at the United States for boycotting their goods and trying to put an end to their nuclear weapons program.”

  I asked, “Did he give you any specific details about how Iran plans to use Hezbollah against the U.S.?”

  He nodded. “That’s why the chemical weapons are being warehoused here. Iran is using Hezbollah to train recruits here so they can use the chemical weapons against targeted cities in the United States.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Mitchell said, glancing over at me to gauge my reaction to this news.

  I didn’t look at him, because I was focused on Roberto’s body language. I wanted to see if I could detect any sign the statement he’d just made was a lie.

  Unfortunately, I saw nothing to indicate he was lying.

  Roberto massaged the bridge of his nose for a second. “No, I’m not kidding.”

  “Roberto,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “those canisters are designed to be used in a rocket or an artillery shell. How is Hezbollah planning to target American cities? What mechanism will they use to deliver the gas?”

  He shook his head. “He never told me that, and I didn’t ask. Since he mentioned dropping the canisters on American cities, I just assumed they were going to use planes to do this, but I don’t know that for sure.

  “When he told me this, all I could think about was my son in Texas. I asked Zaidi how his plans were going to affect Ernesto, and he said Ernesto had already indicated his willingness to help him advance the cause of Islam. He told me that was the reason Hezbollah was sending students like Ernesto from Venezuela and other Latin American countries to receive their education in the U.S. He said these young people were going to be used to carry out the attacks against the Americans.

  “When I realized he was grooming Ernesto to become a terrorist, essentially destroying my son’s life, I knew I couldn’t stand by and let that happen. I believed the only way I could affect their plans was to slow down the construction of the warehouses, and that’s what I did. Although I pretended to be working on the labor problems at the work sites, when construction came to a standstill because of a workers’ strike, I did nothing.

  “The second thing I did was get in touch with Ernesto. I suggested he leave school a few days early. I even proposed the fishing trip as an incentive for him to do so. I wanted him back here with me, where I knew he’d be safe. I guess he must have told Zaidi I was worried about him, because a few days later, Zaidi questioned me about the slowdown at the work sites. He seemed suspicious of my intentions, and he even grilled me about whether I’d changed my mind about helping Hezbollah store the weapons in Venezuela.”

  I asked, “So you think he realized you were no longer willing to cooperate with Hezbollah?”

  He nodded. “I’m pretty sure that’s what happened. I also believe he must have informed his superiors back in Damascus, because a few days later, he told me Ahmed Al-Amin had some business in the States and was planning to get in touch with Ernesto while he was there. He made it sound like a threat of some sort. He also said Ahmed needed my assistance in obtaining a Venezuelan passport. He gave me an email account to use when communicating with Ahmed, and he said I should address him as my brother in the email. He also told me to use the na
me, Alberto Montilla, on Ahmed’s passport.”

  I said, “Why would Zaidi ask you to get a passport for Ahmed? Issuing passports isn’t part of your portfolio at the trade ministry, is it?”

  Roberto shook his head, “No, but ...”

  He looked away for a moment, and I thought I knew why. Accepting cash in exchange for cutting through some red tape associated with the warehouses wasn’t the only bribe he’d taken from Hezbollah.

  Roberto said, “I’d already been working with a friend of mine in Passport Control, and we were obtaining Venezuela passports for some of Zaidi’s friends. He was paying both of us very generously for this help.”

  “Zaidi’s friends?” Mitchell said. “Don’t you mean Iranians trying to pass themselves off as Hispanics or Arabs claiming to be Venezuelans? Are those the friends you mean?”

  I was surprised at the outrage in Mitchell’s voice, and Roberto seemed startled by it as well. However, once I realized Mitchell must have been thinking about the cartel members who’d been involved in Bledsoe’s murder, then I understood his anger.

  Roberto looked over at me, “You said you’d tracked Ahmed to Venezuela because he was selling weapons to the Colombians, but, besides being interested in the construction sites, you also seem to know about the false passports. I’m beginning to wonder if you’re really telling me the truth.”

  Now seemed an appropriate time for Buck to make his acting debut.

  I gave him his cue.

  I said, “What I’m telling you, Roberto, is that Ahmed Al-Amin is a contract killer hired by Hezbollah to assassinate you. The question is, are you willing to help us capture him before he has a chance to do so?”

  Chapter 41

  I had barely finished speaking when Buck rushed in the room. He was waving a cell phone in one hand and gesturing at me with the other.

  “This phone call’s important,” he said, attempting to sound excited. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, but you’ve got to take this call. Ahmed’s here in Caracas, and he knows exactly where Roberto is hiding.”