A Deceit to Die For (22 page)

He felt the familiar vibration on his thigh as the Blackberry he had silenced for the meeting began to ring. He fished it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. It was a London number that he did not recognize. He waited for the caller ID to identify the number. He knew it would pop up on the screen before the second ring. The screen changed and his eyes narrowed as he read the words Metropolitan Police.

“Hello, Gilbert O’Brien speaking”

“Mr. O’Brien, John McIntosh with the Metropolitan Police Service. Do you have a moment?”

“I was just leaving for lunch with some of the company directors, but sure, how can I help you?”

“I’m afraid it’s a serious matter. I need to ask you a few questions. You are the son of Ian O’Brien, aren’t you?”

Gilbert answered with suspicion, “As a matter of fact I am. Why? Is something wrong?”

“Are you in London?”

“No, I am in Washington DC. I flew out of Paris yesterday, saw my father on my layover in London and arrived in DC last night.”

“Mr. O’Brien, I am very sorry to inform you that your father has passed away.”

Gilbert hardly skipped a beat.

“I’m quite sure there is a mistake. I saw him only last night. Are you sure you have the right O’Brien?”

The man on the other end of the phone cleared his throat.

“Yes, son. Ian O’Brien, Professor of Byzantine Studies at London University. Your father died in his sleep last night.”

“You’re serious?”

“Unfortunately, I am. I’m really very sorry. You were the first contact in the university file. I understand that Mr. O’Brien’s wife, your mother, Patricia, passed on two years ago. If there are any other next of kin . . .”

Senselessness was the first feeling that welled up in Gilbert’s heart, not grief or pain. There would be plenty of that later on. Right now, it just made no sense.

“No, no. Thank you. I’ll contact my brother and sister.”

“I understand. I suppose someone from the family will want to be here. I can have an officer meet you or a family member at the airport if you like.”

“Very kind of you, but there is really no need.”

“Very well. If there is anything else I can do for you, please let me know.”

“I would like to know the cause of death, of course, but I suppose you won’t share those details with me on the phone.”

“I’m sorry, but that is correct, Mr. O’Brien. I am not at liberty and don’t even have the report back myself. You can be sure there will be a thorough investigation. I have my best people working the case.”

“Thank you, Mr. . . . um . . .”

“McIntosh.”

“Mr. McIntosh.”

“Stop by my office when you arrive and I will be sure that you have every assistance.”

Gilbert hung up the phone. Suddenly, he felt nauseous. He also felt alone. Then he remembered Gwyn and he felt even sicker. He couldn’t break it to her on the phone. If he could catch her in Dallas, they could fly back to London together. That settled, he turned his attention to the matter at hand. His boss wasn’t going to like it, not in the middle of this crisis, but Tate had already told him to make himself scarce. They’d just have to get along without him.

><><><
 

 “Senator Giovanni’s office.”

“Hi Ashley. This is Tate.”

She lowered her voice just a little and spun around in her leather swivel chair so that she faced the wall.

“Hello stranger. It’s been so long, I’m not sure I’d recognize you.”

“You know how it is.”

“Let’s say I don’t.”

“Listen, can we talk about this later?”

“Okay, how’s seven o’clock at Altiramisu?”

“Can’t do it tonight. I’ll be boarding a flight for Paris then.”

“Then, we can rendezvous at the airport.”

“Tonight’s not a good time, Ashley. Can I speak with the Senator?”

“I’m afraid the Senator is not in. Can I take a message?”

“Just tell him the Libyan problem is solved.”

“I didn’t know we had one.”

“I just told you we don’t.”

“Maybe not with Libya, but with me you do.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“I’m not sure you can.”

“This trip to Paris will be a quickie. But, I’ll have to go back for a trial in the first week of October. Maybe, you could arrange for some time off and join me.”

“As long as you promise it’s worth my while. No quickies.”

“I promise.”

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D
ALLAS,
T
EXAS
  
Gwyn fished the ringing phone from her purse and looked at the screen.

“Hello, Gilbert?”

“Yes, it’s me. You sound surprised. I hope you had a good flight.”

“Lovely, until we hit customs, of course. I know this is going to sound awful, but a little profiling would speed things up there a bit. I’ve never seen it so bad here at DFW.”

Gilbert managed a weak chuckle.

“Texas may suit you better than I thought.”

“Oh brother, give me a break. You’re in the security business. Tell me, how many of those messages intercepted by the FBI calling for terrorist attacks on innocent people were from narrow-minded, bible-belt, evangelicals and how many were from Middle Easterners of a certain religious persuasion?”

It was not the time to argue the fine points of civil liberty with her.

“So, are you driving out to Uncle Henry’s?”

“If the truth be told, I spent the morning shopping at the Galleria. Now, there is culture for you. I have just sat down at La Madeline’s to have a bowl of tomato-basil soup.”

“Good. Look, I have to come to Dallas. In fact, I’m on the next plane. Why don’t you pick me up at the airport?”

Gwyn fairly squealed with delight.

“That would be wonderful. We can go out to the farm together.” She cut herself off mid-sentence. “But, you are coming on business, aren’t you?”

“Sort of. I mean, I won’t be able to visit the farm. I’ll be on American Flight AA773. Don’t make any plans, and bring your bags with you. Okay?”

“Will you tell me what’s going on?”

“No.”

“Okay, whatever you say.”

“Alright then, talk to you soon, dear.”

Gilbert felt like a hypocrite when he hung up the phone, but he had no time to wallow in guilt. He had a flight to book and a lost brother to find. Gwyn sat there puzzling as to why Gilbert had addressed her as “dear.” He hadn’t called her that in years.

CHAPTER
20

C
AIRO
  
The city was hosting another spectacular sunset, though few of the city’s almost seven million residents could see the sky for the concrete labyrinth that suffocated them. Ahmet listened as the final call to prayer was sounded from hundreds of minarets across the city. The absence of emotion on his face was merely a testimony to the tremendous amount of self-control he had cultivated since his initiation into the brotherhood. His mind, however, was racing. The brain strain required to get through this day had brought him to the brink of mental exhaustion. He was extremely perturbed at the team in London.
How can such a simple job go so wrong?

It didn’t matter now. He tried not to think about the mistakes and focus instead on a way forward. He was a problem-solver, a mover, a man who made things happen, but he knew his limits. He had gone over the report again and again looking for clues, only to come up empty-handed. He opened a new email and began jotting notes for Salih.

They had no idea where Ian had been Tuesday afternoon or evening. He had made no phone calls. Indeed, his phone had apparently been turned off.
Had the professor been on to them? It seemed unlikely.
Their IT surveillance team had managed to get his phone records for the 24-hour period before his death. Only one was somewhat out of the ordinary. The caller had left a message, saying that he had information that would help Ian solve his puzzle.
Had the caller been referring to the document?
The problem was that the call had been made from a pre-paid SIM, purchased that same week, and had been paid for with cash, so it was impossible to identify the caller. Salih said he was working on a theory. The other callers were of no consequence, a few professors and conference participants.

A digital copy of the document had been found on both Ian’s home computer and the secretary’s computer. The one from the secretary might have turned into a lead except for the fact that the body of the message simply said, “Here it is,” followed by the secretary’s university signature. If she had
 
addressed the recipient, it would have been simple, but even the fact that she didn’t meant something. Obviously, she knew the recipient, and was therefore comfortable with a more casual style. Salih’s team was working on the email address. Ahmet racked his brain for answers. They needed more data.

The digital files on Ian’s computer and the secretary’s computer had been inconspicuously and securely over-written with a secure delete protocol which exceeded that specified by US DoD 5220.22-M, so it was not going to be recovered. As far as they knew, there was only one digital copy unaccounted for, the one sent in the email from the secretary, and, of course, there was the original document.

A plan began to form. First of all, it was now imperative that the public announcement of Ian’s death relate it as due to natural causes. Maybe the mysterious possessor of the digital copy would fail to draw any connection between Ian’s death and the document. Discovering where Ian had been that afternoon was priority now. It would also be the most difficult piece of the puzzle. He would have a London operative with Scotland Yard hit the street with a picture of Ian and ask all the local cab drivers if they had picked up Ian and, if so, where they had taken him.

They would also need all the street video they could find. That would be easy since London boasted the most extensive system of security video cameras on the planet. There were hundreds of observation points around the city and security cameras installed at every major intersection. The tape that would need to be reviewed was less than twelve hours, but, multiplied by hundreds, it meant long hours in the London office.
That is the price the London team will have to pay for bungling this one.
He reviewed the notes he had been jotting down in the email. Satisfied, he hit the “send” button.

For the first time, his face registered emotion. He smiled. He had been so intent on solving the problem, and so perturbed at the mistakes, that he had forgotten that his earthly life was merely a test of his faith and submission to the will of Allah. He knew they would find the document like he knew that the trial he now faced was his destiny. He lifted his hands, palms up, and murmured a prayer of thanks for being considered worthy of the trial.