WASHINGTON DC: The Sadir Affair (The Puppets of Washington Book 1) (14 page)

Within minutes of the news reaching Sorenson’s ears, he was on the phone with Fred Gibson. Once again, unfortunately, he had awakened the big man in the middle of the night.

“I’ll be damned!” Fred uttered when Sorenson told him what Carvey had learned in Melbourne. He was sitting on the edge of the bed (again) and had a hard time grasping the impact this news would have on what they knew of Talya and Samuel. “Thanks, Sorenson. Have a good night then.”

“Same to you, Gibson, and I’m sorry to have woken you.”

“Anytime, Sorenson, anytime.”

As he put the phone down, Fred shook his head and laid down again. He had to think what he needed to do next. Samuel was not going to kill Talya, and the only reason he had shot her last year was possibly to protect her from going any further into the investigation or from finding out Sadir was a man to be feared. He thought of Mark. He had to stop him as soon as he landed in Vancouver, which would be in a couple of hours now. There was no time to send anyone to meet him at the airport. He would need to get the customs’ office involved. Fred smiled to himself. Mark was in for another
apprehension
by the authorities. He was not going to like it.

The landing at YVR was one of the roughest Mark had ever experienced. The aircraft seemed to bounce onto the tarmac several times before finally rolling down toward the airport. As soon as he cleared the gangway, happy to be out of that overloaded cattle carrier, he saw the two officers who were waiting for him.
Not again,
he thought, when the two men approached him.

“Passport, sir?” the taller of the two said to Mark.

He dropped his shoulder bag to the ground and showed him his travel documents.

“Welcome home, Agent Gilford. This way, please.”

“Do you have any luggage that you would want to retrieve from the carousel?” the second customs’ officer asked him as they were taking the escalator down toward their offices.

“No, I usually travel light,” Mark sniggered.

“Do you have any weapons with you or on you?”

“That’s another no, Officer. I usually use the weapons given to me by the authorities of the country I visit. And Australia didn’t need me to do anything which involved weapons of any kind.”

Gilbert nodded and said, “Agent Gilford, we have been instructed to ask you to remain in Vancouver until Mr. Samuel Meshullam disembark at this airport.” Mark’s jaw fell open. He thought Samuel would have been ahead of him. “I see that you thought Agent Meshullam had already reached our coast.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Mark replied.

“Well, I am sorry to disappoint you in that regard, but no, Agent Meshullam has not crossed any of the borders in and around Vancouver.”

“Is Ms Kartz alright?” was Mark’s next question. He figured he would ask since these two seemed well informed.

“Yes, she is okay. She’s still on Bowen Island. We’ve had reports from our police department that she’s been seen in company of a Dr. Aziz Hendrix at quite a few locations on the island.”

“Okay then, that’s great news. Would you know which is the shortest way to that island and where I could find her?”

“We would, sir, but the orders from Ottawa are for you to remain in Vancouver. You should contact your boss as soon as you reach your hotel, but you are to stay at the Hyatt on Burrard Street meanwhile.”

“Well, thanks, Officer... What is your name?”

“Gilbert, sir, and this is Officer Jacobin.” He nodded in the direction of his colleague.

“Nice to meet you guys,” Mark replied, standing up.

“One more thing, Agent Gilford, before you go…”

“Yes?”

“You will have no access to any firearms while you are in the city, or until the police tell you otherwise. Is that clear?”

Mark was surprised.
What if Samuel comes after me, what then?
“Perfectly, Officer Gilbert, I’ll keep that in mind. Can I go now?”

“Yes. Thanks for stopping by,” Jacobin replied, a smirk on his face.

Mark was not listening. He was out the door like a shot. What had happened, he wondered. No rifle; no going to the island; no moving until further orders; and why the Hyatt? That was all too strange for an exhausted agent to figure out.

Talya was relaxing on the terrace of her room. The prospect of being alone on the island was far from a pleasant on. She was getting bored. She had left her writing aside for far too long. It was high time for her to get back in front of her computer. That thought reminded her of the time she had spent with Millicent in Melbourne.
What is the woman doing now
, she wondered. She gripped the armrests of the chair fiercely. She had blocked out the memory of Isaac since the shooting, but now, and quite suddenly, his face came to mind. Isaac was Samuel. No matter how many times she had tried to deny the fact, there was no escaping it; Samuel was the one who had put her in that wheelchair. She looked at it and wished she could have kicked it out of sight.

The double doors were slightly open. He was about to knock when Jay Kravits heard Talya scream. Not waiting for an answer, he swung the doors open and ran to the terrace. Talya was yelling for all to hear. “
I know it’s him. I know it’s him! But why did he do that to me?
”

“Chief, this is Mark,” he said when he heard Fred pick up the phone. He had arrived at the Hyatt a half hour earlier. He had dropped his shoulder bag on the bed, and had rushed into the shower. He took a cold one to wake up. Still finding this whole thing very odd, Mark wanted to stay alert when he would be talking to Fred.

“Ah good! You’ve made it. How you feeling?”

“Never mind that, Chief, what’s going on here?”

“The short answer is you’re staying at the Hyatt and put Muhammad Sadir under surveillance.”

“Sadir? What would he be doing here? What about Samuel? Where is he?”

“He’ll come in his own good time, don’t worry about him.”

“Come on, Chief, what’s happening? Has the world turned upside down while I was in that
frigging
plane?”

“Language, boy! I’ve told you before, none of the ‘F’ words with me, okay?”

“Okay, Chief, I’m sorry. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s a long story, Mark, and I don’t have time right now. But I’ll tell you this; Samuel is a friend of Talya. He’s known her almost since the first day she was in Australia.”

Mark was dumfounded. “If that’s true,
why would he be here? Wouldn’t he want to be as far as he could from this place?”

“No, Mark, not quite. See, we’ve finally come up with an answer as to who was behind the sale of faulty weapons to Israel. And Sadir appears to be that person.”

“And Samuel is after him now…?”

“Right.”

“But what about him killing Slimane if Mossad knew he wasn’t the traitor?”

“Because Mossad didn’t know—or Sadir managed to convince the powers-that-be he was a traitor to Israel. When we get to talk to Samuel, we’ll know better.”

“And I gather that’s why it was so easy for Sadir or Samuel to point the finger at Prince Abdullah,” Mark suggested.

“Yes, although, that’s not as clear-cut as you’d think, because there was a lot more involved in that affair than sending faulty armaments to Israel.” Fred paused. “Anyway, right now, we’ve got to worry about Sadir. If he came to Canada, it’s for a reason, and we want to know what that is. We’re hoping it’s not to tickle a terrorist cell along the West Coast.”

“Am I going to work alone on this one?” Mark asked somewhat anxiously. He couldn’t see himself tackling a terrorist cell.

“No, you’re not. We’ve been asked for you to work with Jack Lypsick.”

“Who’s Jack Lypsick?”

“The shrewdest agent in the CIA. He’s dealt with terrorists even before it became a household word.”

“What does he look like?”

“Get yourself a new cell phone and I’ll send you his photo along with that of Sadir as soon as you’re on line.”

“What about Talya? How is she doing? Does she know about all this?”

Mark heard the chief chuckle. “One question at the time, boy.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Okay. She is fine. Actually I phoned James Flaubert this morning to let him know you were back in town and to get the low down on her condition, since Khalid came here, in Ottawa, you remember?”

“Yes, and then?”

“Well, he told me that she’ll be staying on Bowen Island off the Vancouver coast for a while. There is a physiotherapist with her and if the surgeons agree, she might have an operation on her spine and she might recover the use of her legs after that.”

“Wow, that’s great. But why staying on Bowen?”

“Because that physio guy is staying at the same B&B and there’s no hassle to have their physio sessions, when they’d live at the same place.”

“What does the doctor think about it, or do you know?”

“Apparently, he’s all for it. It’s the best way for her to regain strength in her legs for when she’ll walk again.”

“Okay... Is Sadir in town already?”

“Yes—according to the report I got this morning. Anyway, Lypsick will give you the intel you’ll need when you show up tomorrow morning for breakfast at the restaurant of the hotel…”

“What, or who am I supposed to be this time then?”

“A vacationing billionaire. You’re waiting for Prince Khalid…”

Mark nearly dropped the phone. “Say what?”

“You heard me.”

“What is he gonna do here? I don’t think that’s a good idea, Chief.”

“Let Lypsick explain why, Mark.” Fred paused, and since he heard no reaction come out of Mark, he went on, “Okay…, any more questions?”

“No, no, Chief, I don’t think so. I just think Khalid shouldn’t be here…”

“And I think you’ll change your mind once you heard Lypsick... Okay, I’ve got to get some work done... Anything else?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’ll call you as soon as I’ve got the cell.”

“Good.”

“Thanks, Chief.”

Sadir went through the hassle of several stopovers between D.C. and Seattle, which took him down to Denver where he had to spend the best part of the night waiting for his connecting flight to SeaTac in Washington State.

When Sadir finally reached his room, slid his electronic key in the lock, opened the door and switched on the lights, he saw Lypsick. He was sitting in a chair near the window.

“Welcome to Vancouver, Mr. Sadir,” Lypsick uttered, joining the tips of his fingers in front of him.

Sadir stood in the hallway, glaring at the man. “What are you doing in my room?” The aggressiveness in his voice was undisguised. He took a few steps into the room and glanced at the two suitcases lying on the side of the desk.

Lypsick observed him walk in. “As you can see, we’ve got your luggage as promised.”

“Yeah, but what I’d like to know is what you’re doing here” Sadir dropped the key card on the dresser, and went to plop himself down on the bed.

Lypsick looked at him and sniggered. “This is probably the last time you’ll see me, Mr. Sadir. I was waiting for you to let you know that from now on end, I’ll be your shadow.”

“What for? I haven’t done anything wrong!”

“That’s what they all say, Mr. Sadir. You know that better than most.” Lypsick lowered his hands onto the armrests of the chair, extended his legs in front of him, and crossed them at the ankles. He looked uncomfortable. “In any case, we’re not here to talk about others but about you. You are the one who wanted to come here. And we want to know what you have planned.”

“I just wanted to go to Seattle. I never meant to come here…”

“I see. And you renting an apartment for the summer on English Bay a month ago was just a coincidence then? Was the apartment for someone else maybe?”

Sadir stood up. He looked like a trapped bear, about to stretch his big arms and throttle his assailant. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sadir growled as he took a step toward Lypsick.

The CIA man grabbed his gun out of its holster in a swift move, sat up and pointed it to Sadir’s chest. “That, too, is a comment we’ve both heard. Sit down!” Lypsick shouted.

Sadir backtracked to the bed and sat down again, carefully this time, his eyes riveted on the barrel of the gun.

“Consider this, Mr. Sadir; I could eliminate you right now—no questions asked. I would even get a bonus for getting rid of one more terrorist, but I won’t do that.”

“Why don’t you, and be done with it?” Sadir blurted, not leaving his eyes from the gun. “You’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you?”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Sadir. What we have in mind is not as quick and as painless as a bullet through your brain would be. Remember, how long it took for Ms Kartz to get from her hospital bed onto a wheelchair? Do you?” Sadir’s eyes grew wide. “Yes, Mr. Sadir, three long months before she could stop screaming from the pain.”

“But I wasn’t the one who shot her…”

“You’re right; you were not, but that’s not my point. It took months for her to stop screaming and that’s how long it will take for you to see any relief in our pursuit of the truth.”

“What do you mean?”

“Simply this, Sadir; we’re going to find out what makes you do the things you do, what makes you tick, and who’s the puppeteer. And once we’ve find that out, we’re going to try you in open court for every one of your crimes along with your cohorts. Ultimately, and unlike Ms Kartz, you will not find relief and walk free, but you’ll only stare at a needle before you close your eyes forever.”

“What if I were to give you what you want right now…?”

“Oh no, you don’t... Besides, we would be spending months chasing our tails, again, verifying your allegations, and in the end, we would be back here wondering why we believed you. NO! Sadir, your game stops right here. Now, I’m the dealer, and the hand I’m dealing you is made up of only face cards. You play your hand, and we’ll see how many chips you win, that’s all.”

A roar of laughter escaped the fat man’s mouth. “And you think I’m going to dig my own grave and give up the names of my collaborators, just because you’re dealing me a hand of face cards?”

“That’s exactly what you’re going to do, Mr. Sadir.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. What makes you think I would do that?”

“Ah! Very good question. I think your lovely wife and your two girls would prefer to see you rot in prison than being subjected to an accidental death, don’t you think?”

Sadir shuddered. His big frame seemed to crumple into a heap of fear in front of Lypsick’s eyes. “You wouldn’t…!” he groaned.

“Well then, you just watch and listen to CNN while you’re here. Lie to us, make one false move, and you’ll hear of their demise. You got that?”

“That’s blackmail! The CIA would never agree to do that...”

“Who’s talking about the CIA? Don’t forget our counterpart. They’re really waiting to exact Moses Law on you and your family right now. Remember, “An eye for an eye”? You’ve got so many deaths on your conscience as far as they are concerned; they wouldn’t mind giving you a taste of the same—any time now, actually.”

Lypsick replaced the gun in its shoulder holster, stood up, made his way down the hallway, and shut the door behind him as he walked out.