WASHINGTON DC: The Sadir Affair (The Puppets of Washington Book 1) (12 page)

Auckland was not Samuel’s only and last stopover before reaching Vancouver. He knew he would have to get lost for at least a week while travelling in the direction of his ultimate destination. The best way to do that in the middle of the Pacific was to take a cruise. Seven days at sea would give him time to plan his next move once he landed in Vancouver. He had left his laptop and cell phone in Melbourne at the hotel. Even if the police would ever get their hands on either item, they would not be able to track him down. He had destroyed the hard drive from the computer and taken the memory chip out of the cell. He bought another laptop and disposable cell at the airport’s duty-free shop in Auckland, and since there was still time to get to the cruise line’s office, he took a cab to the port. He looked at the board of departing ships for that night or next morning and opted for a cruise that would take him to Fiji. From there he could take another cruise either to Vancouver or to Central America, depending on how he felt at the time. Mossad had taught him a long time ago never to rush to a destination or let any pursuer deduce where he was intending to go in the end. Costa Rica would be another option, he thought.

Since he didn’t want to be noticed amid the favourite passengers, or being asked ‘to the Captain’s table’ anytime during the cruise, he decided to book the trip travelling on the lower deck of the ship. He got a cabin with bunk beds, shower and private lavatory. That arrangement suited him just fine since there wasn’t anyone else booked in the same cabin.

The ship sailed at 7:00PM that evening. Samuel was aboard a half hour prior to sailing, which allowed him the time to make it to the upper deck and watch the farewell dance on the pier performed by the local Maori dancers.

As soon as Mark reached the Sydney airport he went to the Qantas counter and got his boarding pass. He rushed through the security gates and got to a payphone. He slipped his credit card along the slider, got a dial tone and punched Fred’s number at home. He didn’t care what time it was; he needed to let the Chief know what he was doing and get him to detail someone to Vancouver a-sap. Samuel had almost 24 hours on him.

“Fred Gibson,” the man groaned. It was 5:00AM in Ottawa.

“Chief, listen, we’ve got to move fast…”

“Mark?” Fred said his voice gruff with sleep. “Where are you?”

“I’m boarding a flight to Vancouver in a half-an-hour. Samuel is already gone. Get someone to Vancouver as soon as you can, Chief. Talya is Samuel’s next target...”

“Hold on, Mark…” Fred’s unease was audible now.

Mark paid no attention. “No time, Chief, I’ve got to go...”

“Don’t you hang up on me, boy!” Fred roared, flinging the covers aside and sitting on the edge of the bed. It was too late, though, Mark had already hung up.

Fred looked at the receiver in his hand, then banged it in the cradle and went to take a shower. He knew it would take Mark at least 15 hours to reach Vancouver, if he got a direct flight. If not, it would take him maybe 20 hours or more to get to the BC coast.

As soon as he was dressed, he got down to the kitchen, and took the time to gulp down a large glass of orange juice before heading down to his car. He knew he was in for a long day, but he would grab something to eat after he would have set the wheels in motion.

On the one hand, he thought Mark was right, Talya was next in line to be eliminated, yet there were two issues about it that bothered him. Why would Mossad choose Samuel to take her out? And Badawee’s words rang through his brains repeatedly; “She is Jewish...”

Could it be that he was right? Mossad was trying to enrol her and not kill her. “But why?” he yelled, slamming his big palms on the wheel of his car as he was driving to his office. Thank goodness she was tucked away somewhere on that island. They wouldn’t know where she was, or so he hoped.

When he got to the car park, he slid his window down and stopped beside the security officer. “Get her parked in my spot, Dex; I’ve got to get upstairs.”

Although a bit surprised to see the Chief come in so early, Dex only nodded. “No problem. Shall I get the keys upstairs to you?”

“Sure,” Fred said, extracting his huge body out of the front seat.

“Okay.” Dex slid in behind the wheel as soon as Fred had climbed out of the vehicle.

Once he was sitting behind his desk, Fred called Jimmy, his aide, and told him to get to the office on the double. “Oh, and get me a tall latte with something to eat on the way, will you?” Fred added before hanging up.

Next, he dialled Sorenson’s number. He smiled to himself, knowing he would be interrupting his evening meal. “My turn, buddy,” he mumbled.

“232-45-056,” Sorenson said as he picked up the receiver.

“Chief Sorenson, please,” Fred said, with overstated politeness.

“Sorenson speaking. Who’s calling?”

“Sorry to bother you, Sorenson, but if you’ve got a minute, I’d like to confirm something with you. This is Fred Gibson, but I think you knew that...”

“Yes, Chief Gibson, I knew that, as you say. What is it you want me to confirm?” Sorenson’s voice was as dry as an emery board.

“Simply this; have you been able to determine for a fact that Agent Meshullam has left Australia?”

“The simple answer is no, Gibson. Your Agent Gilford
demanded
to be relieved of his duty and to have free passage back to Canada. We granted his request because he made a good argument to the effect that Agent Meshullam had been informed of being the subject of a warrant for his arrest, besides which, he must have been advised already of Mr. Sadir’s removal. More than that I couldn’t say.”

“Thanks, Sorenson. Would you do me one last favour? And then I promise I’ll leave you alone for the next century!”

Sorenson chuckled, noticeably mellowing. “All right, Gibson, what is it?”

“If you know anyone in Sydney or Melbourne where Meshullam grew up or where he was staying lately, would you interview them for us?”

“Hum…, let me think... No one really comes to mind, although I went through his dossier thoroughly, but let me give it another check and ring you back. May I ask why? Why would you need such information?”

“Call it a hunch. Something tells me there has to be a reason behind Mossad sending Meshullam to eliminate Ms Kartz. And if they’re not after her hide, I’d want to know what the possible connection between the two is.”

“I see. As I said, let me see what I can do. I’ll ring you back in a day or so, when I have something to report.”

“Great! Thanks again, Sorenson. I’ll owe you one.”

“That, you will, Gibson, you can be sure of it.”

A roar of laughter out of Fred’s mouth accompanied his putting the phone down.

“The guy is priceless,” Fred said aloud as Jimmy appeared at the same moment through the door.

The young man was carrying a bag of what looked like bagels and lox in the one hand and a tray with two coffees in the other. “Did I hear you correctly? Did you say someone is priceless?”

“Indeed I did, my dear Jimmy, indeed I did, as our English Masters would say.” Realizing suddenly that Jimmy had only taken minutes to get to the office; he looked at his aide quizzically. “Have you flown over here?”

“Oh no. I was on my way already. I have some paperwork to finish. But who was that?”

“Chief Sorenson.”

“Oh? Has something happened to Agent Gilford?” Jimmy deposited his load on the Chief’s desk.

Somewhat avidly, Fred grabbed the bag, rummaged through it and pulled one of the bagels out. “No, nothing happened…, yet.” He pulled the coffee from the tray, and handed the bag back to Jimmy. “But he’s flying back to Vancouver today and he thinks we should dispatch another agent to watch over Ms Kartz before Meshullam gets there.”

Jimmy sat down, took the second bagel out of the bag and laid it on a napkin in front of him. “But why would
they
choose Agent Meshullam to harm Ms Kartz? Isn’t he the one who shot her?”

Chewing contentedly, Fred said, “Exactly, my dear Jimmy. Exactly my point. See, if Mossad really wanted her out of the picture, they wouldn’t go to the trouble of sending Meshullam to do the deed. Any agent on their payroll could do that.”

“Hum... Yes. So, what’s the reason?” Jimmy drank some of his latte, and began eating. “What about Agent Sadir? I heard he’s been removed.”

“Yeah, and that’s another mystery.” Fred swallowed the last bite of his bagel. “The CIA has been very cagy about that. I don’t know what they’re hoping to accomplish. And I don’t know where he is, and that bothers me.”

“Well then, if I may suggest, sir, wouldn’t it be a good idea to get in touch with your contact in Washington?”

Fred wiped his mouth, drank a bit more coffee and reclined in his seat. “Yes, Jimmy, it would be a good idea if it were not for the fact that I know the CIA is concocting something and they’re not ready to let me in on it.”

“Why would that be?”

“Because, that’s the nature of the beast. They do not tell anyone what they’re doing until the very last moment or until it’s too late for us to do anything.”

“You mean like the time they went ahead and exiled Prince Abdullah out of Switzerland?”

“Exactly like that. And that’s what scares me about these guys. They think they’ve got the world by the tail until they face a catastrophe.”

“Like nine-eleven.”

“Yeah. And now that you’ve reminded me of something, would you mind verifying if Prince Khalid has returned to Paris and if he’s staying put?”

Finishing his bagel, and still sipping on his coffee, Jimmy nodded. “May I ask you something?” he hazarded.

“Sure, go ahead.”

“What if Mossad wasn’t after Ms Kartz after all?”

Fred frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, sir, from where I’m sitting, it seems strange that Agent Meshullam is going to Vancouver...”

“And…?”

“Well…, if we suppose that Mr. Sadir has been steered to the Pacific Coast, maybe the two men have been ordered to meet somehow... Or maybe Mr. Sadir had told Mr. Meshullam that if anything went wrong to meet in Vancouver. I don’t know...”

Fred was staring, his eyes fixed on Jimmy’s face. “I think you’ve got something there. Let’s hear the rest of it.”

“I don’t really know, but I should think the CIA wants Sadir to fall into Mossad’s hands somehow. Maybe, they’ve got an idea that we could catch Sadir red-handed and try him in Canada...” He shook his head. “I really don’t know how to piece this all together, sir. I’m just seeing everybody wanting to go to Vancouver all of a sudden. It’s like waiting for Apostle Peter in Rome’s arena…”

“As I said, Jimmy, you’ve got something there. If you’re right, Sadir is on his way to BC... Get Badawee in here. He’s got to hear this.”

Jimmy raised a hand. “But it’s only 7:00AM, sir.”

“I don’t care if it’s 2:00AM—get him in here!”

Grabbing the leftovers of their breakfast, Jimmy got to his feet and nodded. “Right away, sir.”

“Oh, and tell him we’ll meet in his office. He’s got that whiteboard he loves so much...”

Jimmy smiled and walked out.

“Sergeant Phillips, would you ask Officer Carvey to come to my office as soon as possible?” Sorenson said on the phone. “I have something I’d like him to do for me.”

“Right away, sir,” the sergeant replied. “Did you want to see Delgado as well?”

“No, not at the moment. I’ll be expecting him as soon as he’s free.”

“Yes, sir.”

Putting the receiver down, the sergeant shrugged and called Carvey.

“What’s up, Sergeant?” Carvey answered distractedly, his focus remaining on whatever he was doing.

“Get your butt upstairs on the double. Sorenson wants you.”

When he heard the chief’s name, Carvey jumped up. “Yes, Sergeant, on my way.”

Delgado was looking at the sergeant from across the room. “Does he want me, too?”

“No, mate, just Carvey.”

Carvey made his way to the sergeant’s desk, saying, “I wonder what he wants now. I hope it’s not running after another bloody Jew or a lost Canadian.”

“Watch your language, Carvey,” the sergeant said. “We don’t need any racist comments in here, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

He heard his colleagues’ chuckles as he left the Incident Room.

Being aware that the door of the chief’s inner office would probably be wide open, Carvey adjusted his tie, passed his fingers through his hair and checked there was no speck of dust on his trousers, before he entered the anteroom.

He knocked on the opened door. Sorenson didn’t lift his head, but said, “Come in, Officer Carvey. Close the door.”

Carvey did as he was told and came to stand at attention in front of the chief’s desk.

Still not looking up, Sorenson said, “Sit down, Carvey.”

Carvey did, and waited.

Finally, Sorenson raised his gaze to him. “Here is what I want you to do. Take this ticket.” He handed the officer the airline’s folder and a note with a name and address typed on it. “Get yourself down to Melbourne on the noon-flight and go to that address.” Carvey looked at the piece of paper and wondered what it all meant.

Sorenson looked at his man while he opened an envelope and pulled out a recent photo of Talya. “I want you to interview Millicent Harsinai. I want to know what her connection to Samuel Meshullam is. Moreover, I want to know if she recognizes Ms Kartz from this photo” —he handed him the picture— “or if the name means anything to her.”

“May I ask why we are doing this, sir? I thought we were done with this Mossad agent.”

“Well, you thought wrong, Officer Carvey. Until I say the file is closed, it will remain very much opened. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir, perfectly clear. Thank you, sir.” At these words, Carvey got up, and took his leave.

But before he reached the door, Sorenson called him back. “One more thing, Carvey...”

Pivoting on his heels, Carvey retraced his steps to come to stand in front of the chief’s desk again. “Yes, sir.”

“Take an overnight case with you. I may want you to stay in Melbourne for a couple of days, depending on the information you obtain from Mrs. Harsinai.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll do that, sir.”

“All right, on your way then.”

As soon as Carvey had left his office, Sorenson called the sergeant again. “Would you send Officer Delgado to see me now?”

“Yes, sir, right away, sir.” As the sergeant hung up, he saw Carvey come back. “What’s up?” Not waiting for an answer, he called out to Delgado. “You’re up next, Delgado.”

“He’s calling me now…?”

“Yes, Officer Delgado, get up there.”

“All right, Sergeant.” As Carvey reached his desk, Delgado took the time to ask, “What did he say?”

“I’m on the next flight to Melbourne.”

“Bloody hell, what’s going on?” Delgado blurted in disbelief. “What will you be doing there?”

“Interviewing a Millicent Harsinai.”

“Really? Mama mia! You’ve pulled the right number there, mate.”

“Why? Has she got good knockers?”

After the laughter from their mates died down, Delgado said, “No, mate, she’s on the bestsellers list. She’s an author. Didn’t you know?”

“What did you expect from Muscle Man?” a constable asked.

“He knows nothing about poetry, mate. He hasn’t got your Italian blood,” another officer remarked from a neighbouring desk.

“All right. No, I didn’t know she was a bloody author. All I know is that I’ve got an interview with her and…”

“Alright, Delgado,” the Sergeant said. “Get going. Sorenson is probably having kittens by now.”

When Delgado sat down opposite the chief, he had no idea what was expected of him. They had quite a few cases opened at the moment; any of them could be requiring particular attention.

“Alright, Delgado, what I want you to do is rather simple. I need you to go to King Avenue, verify that Samuel has left the premises, ascertain when he left, and find his car at the airport.”

Delgado’s eyes grew wide. “Sir…, do we know what sort of car he drove?”

“Yes, we do. You will get the details from Sergeant Phillips.”

“And what do I do with the car, once I find it?”

Sorenson looked at the officer as if he were a child visiting the principal’s office for the first time.

“You ring the SOCO team to have it towed away back to the lab and then you come back here.”

“Is that it?”

“Yes, that’s it, Officer Delgado, apart from writing a detailed report of your findings in King Avenue.”

“May I ask why we’re doing this?”

“Because I’m asking you to do it.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“Close the door behind you,” Sorenson added when Delgado was about to leave.

When he reached the Incident Room again, Delgado noticed Carvey was already gone. “He shoofed it off already?” He looked around him for anyone who cared to pay attention to him.

A constable looked up. “What did you expect? You two are not attached at the hips, are you?”

Delgado shrugged. He gathered his note pad, car keys and was about to make his way out of the Incident Room when the sergeant at the head of the row of desks called to him.

“Yes, Sergeant?”

“Here’s the information you needed about that car.” Sergeant Phillips handed Delgado a note with license plate number and description of Samuel’s Jaguar on it. “And when you get in Meshullam’s house, don’t touch anything. We’ll get the SOCO team on site as soon as you’ve determined the house hasn’t been occupied since the bloke left.”

“Okay, mate. Thanks for that.”

“Don’t mention it. We’ve lost a lot of time. We should have been on top of that bloke since we’ve had his warrant. Anyway, let’s get this thing settled properly now...”

“Yes, Sergeant.”