The Ghosts of Anatolia (45 page)

“My dad was a history professor, so I got interested in it early on. This past week, I did some research on the Internet. From 1915 to 1919 more than a million Armenians died in the Ottoman Empire, mostly in the area of Turkey called Anatolia and in Syria. There’s a huge controversy about what really happened, but books and documents written during that time by American missionaries and German Army officers documented the outright slaughter of thousands of Armenian men. After that, hundreds of caravans of women, children and old people were driven into the Syrian desert. Most of them either starved to death or were pillaged by local tribes. The accounts I read were shocking.”

“I think I read somewhere that the Turks deny it even happened.”

“They do. The Turkish government claims anyone who died during that time was swept away in the fighting and starvation brought on by the First World War. They say millions of Turks died, too. Anyway, the ongoing Turkish denials, and the failure to return lost land and other
belongings, really pissed off some of the surviving descendants. Beginning in 1973, several militant Armenian groups carried out bombings and assassinations all around the world, including in some major U.S. cities. A lot of the hostility was aimed at Turkish diplomats—like Kemal Arikan, the Turkish consul general in LA. He was assassinated in 1982 by a nineteen-year-old Armenian youth who was caught and sentenced to twenty-some years in prison.”

“I’ll be damned. Why haven’t I heard more about this?”

Jim changed lanes and accelerated around a dump truck. “Probably because the attacks suddenly ended in 1986, when you and I were in grade school.”

“What was the name of the terrorist group that carried out the attacks?”

“There were several. The Armenian Secret Army for the Liberation of Armenia, or ASALA, is the best known, but there were several other mysterious groups who took responsibility for one or more attacks, including the Justice Commandos for the Armenian Genocide, or JCAG, the Commandos of Armenian Militants Against Genocide and the Armenian Revolutionary Army. They called themselves the ARA.”

“Why did the attacks stop?”

“I’m not sure. There was infighting between the groups and some of their leaders were killed, but it’s not clear what really happened. Maybe the fall of the Soviet Union and the independence of Armenia had something to do with it.”

Leo shook his head. “You sure get all the winners, Butler,” he wise-cracked. “Talk about a cold case.”

“You know I like history—it’s damned fascinating, if you ask me. All these years and dozens of unsolved crimes around the world, and suddenly the big break may come from a storage locker in Bedford, Ohio.”

“So you believe the guns and dynamite belonged to the terrorists?”

“It’s possible.” Butler fished a paper from his briefcase. “Take a good look at this drawing. It’s a composite of the woman who paid for the storage locker all those years.”

Leo studied the sketch for a few moments. “How old did the witness say she was?”

“In her forties.”

“She looks a lot older than that.”

“Just memorize it, knucklehead.”

Butler took I-90 east and got off the highway in Euclid. Weaving through a neighborhood just off the freeway, he pulled to a stop across the street from a small sixties-vintage stucco house with an overgrown yard. “That’s the one,” he muttered.

The two agents got out of the car and crossed the street. Ambling up the sidewalk to the porch, Butler knocked briskly on the screen door. After a few moments, a peephole in the door opened.

“Who is it?” a weary-sounding female voice called out.

Butler held up his identification. “Good morning, ma’am; I’m Federal Agent Jim Butler and this is Agent Leo Wang from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives. We’re here to speak with Lucy Zakian.”

The front door creaked open and a middle-aged woman with gray-streaked brown hair peeked out through the screen. “I’m Lucy. Is something wrong?”

“We’d like to ask you a few questions. May we come inside?”

The woman stared at the two men for several moments.

“Ma’am?” Butler finally asked.

“Okay,” she replied, with a tremor in her voice, “just let me put my dog in the bedroom.”

Wang glanced at Butler. “It’s her,” he whispered.

Butler nodded and signaled for silence.

Lucy reappeared a moment later. Visibly shaken, she opened the screen door. The front room was neat but crowded with shabby furniture and a heap of woven carpets. The musty odor of old books wafted through the air. She motioned the visitors toward the couch. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Nothing for me, thanks,” Butler replied.

“No, thank you.” Wang opened up his notebook and fished a pen out of his coat pocket.

The woman sat facing them and anxiously clasped her hands in her lap. “How can I help you, officers?”

“Mrs. Zakian,” Butler began, “have you ever heard of Louise Corona?”

The woman shifted nervously in her chair. “Louise Corona? No, I’ve never heard of her.”

“That name doesn’t ring a bell? How about Louise Buschel?”

“I’ve never heard of her, either. What is this about?”

“How about an Armenian woman named Louise Cazian?”

Mrs. Zakian shook her head and brushed a strand of hair back from her forehead. “No,” she stammered, before erupting into a coughing fit. “Ex...excuse me.”

Butler made a note on his pad and glared menacingly at the shaken woman. “But you have been to the Bedford Self-Serve Mini Storage Facility just off the freeway in Bedford Heights. Isn’t that right?”

She looked down at her hands. “No, I’ve never been there.”

Butler held up the composite sketch. “Mrs. Zakian, I think you’ve visited that storage facility. Perhaps you’ve forgotten? Take a look at this drawing our artist made with help from the manager.”

Lucy Zakian stared at the drawing. She looked at Agent Butler and wiped her hands on her dress.

“This is your handwriting on this rental agreement, isn’t it, Mrs. Zakian?”

The woman peered at the photocopy for several moments and then looked back down. “It may be, but I don’t remember.”

“Mrs. Zakian, Agent Wang and I are investigating a storage locker in the Bedford Self-Serve Mini Storage Facility that was filled with guns, ammunition, blasting caps and dynamite. It’s located across the street from a day-care center and school that care for over a hundred small kids.
We’re certain that dynamite was stolen from a drill operator in Michigan. So several felonies have been committed and someone will likely spend a very long time in prison. We’d prefer not to add obstruction of justice to the other charges, so let me ask you this question one more time. Have you ever been to the Bedford Self-Serve Mini Storage Facility?”

Lucy Zakian stared fearfully into Agent Butler’s blue eyes. She glanced at Agent Wang, and then looked at her hands. “I’ve been there.”

Butler reached out and rested his hand reassuringly on the woman’s arm. “Mrs. Zakian, are you the woman who paid the rent for that storage locker all those years?”

Mrs. Zakian sat pensively for several moments and then nodded. “I rented a storage unit for my former husband, but I didn’t know anything about what was stored there.”

“I understand, ma’am. What’s your former husband’s name?”

“Gevork Zakian.”

“Do you know why he had the dynamite and guns?”

“I have no idea what he’d be doing with guns and explosives. I’m shocked.”

“Where is he now?”

“In Miami.”

“Did your husband have a nickname, ma’am?”

“Some people call him Moose.”

Butler glanced at Wang and smiled ever so slightly. “Did Mr. Zakian own an Open Pantry convenience store in Cleveland?”

“Yes, many years ago.”

“What does your ex-husband do now, Mrs. Zakian?” Agent Wang interjected.

“He’s the chairman of ANCA.”

“ANCA?” Butler repeated. “What’s that?”

“The Armenian National Committee of America.”

Butler jotted the moniker on his pad and underlined it twice. He looked up. “Do you have your ex-husband’s phone number and address?”

“Yes, but I haven’t spoken to him in years—ever since he remarried.”

“He’s remarried?” Butler asked. “Is that why you stopped paying the rent on the storage locker?”

Lucy took a deep breath and dabbed at her eyes. “Well, he stopped sending me money and I got tired of spending my settlement. I’m not rich, you know.”

“I understand. Mrs. Zakian, we’d like you to call your husband and ask him about the storage locker and its contents while we record the conversation. It’s the only way to prove you knew nothing about what he stored there. Will you do that for us?”

Lucy stared at the agent.

“Mrs. Zakian?”

“I’ll get his number.” The beleaguered woman got up from her chair and shuffled into the kitchen. Returning with a small phone book, she sat down and lifted the phone receiver to dial.

“Just a moment, ma’am,” Wang said. He retrieved a small recorder from his pocket and attached a microphone to the phone receiver. “Okay, go ahead.”

The woman dialed, and the sound of the phone ringing reverberated from the recorder.

“Hello,” a woman answered.

“This is Lucy. Is Gevork there?”

“Yeah. Hold on and I’ll get him.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“Lucy,” a deep male voice said a moment later. “What’s up?”

“Listen, Gevork, the police were here earlier today. Like, they were asking me questions about that storage locker in Bedford. Why didn’t you tell me what was in there?”

“Oh, Lucy.”

“What? I’m scared to death.”

“Oh, man.”

“There were enough explosives in that room to blow up the whole damned block. Jesus...I mean, this is insane. You have five kids...”

“Lucy, please, please, please. Not over the phone… I’ll fly there in the morning. Okay?”

“Okay. You’d better not let me down.”

“I’ll be there. Don’t say anything to anyone. I’ll call you when I get to the airport.”

The phone line clicked to a dial tone and Lucy hung up the phone.

“You did great,” Butler reassured her. He got up from his chair. “When he gets here tomorrow, I’d like you to meet him here. We’ll set up a listening device. Okay?”

Lucy didn’t look up. She stared at the floor and nodded submissively.

“Thank you. We’ll be back at seven in the morning. Don’t speak to anyone about our being here, especially to your former husband. The best thing to do is just not answer the phone if it rings.” He handed her a card. “You call me if you need to talk to someone. Okay?”

Lucy nodded and the agents slipped out the door.

The next day, Butler and Wang were set up in a surveillance van in front of Lucy Zakian’s house. Around the time Lucy had told them to expect Gevork’s arrival, a taxi slowed to a stop and a slender, middle-aged man, dressed in a dark suit and tie, emerged and hustled up the walk to the front door.

The sound of the doorbell resounded from the digital recorder. Butler glanced at the technician and nodded approvingly.

“Lucy,” a husky voice said a moment later.

“Did you hear from the police?”

“Not yet. Have they spoken to you since yesterday?”

“No.”

“Why are you so upset?”

“Because I’m the one that’s going to get shafted.”

“Listen, Lucy, I didn’t know what was in that storage locker.”

“Then who put it in there? You have to know that.”

“Yeah, yeah. Somebody asked me to rent that locker. They were some of the guys from overseas. And they told me to forget about it.”

“You didn’t know they stored dynamite and guns?”

Gevork sighed. “I didn’t know any of that.”

“Remember those FBI agents that came here many, many years ago?”

“Listen, I had FBI guys come in so many different times to talk to me. It never came to anything. Lucy, whatever happens, just keep your cool. They’re going to go after you, and they’ll try to use you to get to me. Do you hear me?”

“You’re paranoid. Why would they want to get to you?”

“Why do you think? Because I’m the head of the Armenian National Committee.”

“Well, at least you’ve got important friends to protect you.”

“All you did was rent a storage locker. That’s all you did. Now, here’s the money I owe you for the past few months. Does that cover it?”

“Yes, I guess it does.”

“Well, I’ve got to go now. I have a reception back in Washington this evening. Take care of yourself, Lucy. Let me know if you need anything. Okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I’ll call you next week.”

Zakian rushed down the walk to the waiting taxi. He ducked inside the car and it pulled away a moment later. Turning the corner at the end of the street, it disappeared behind a line of shrubs.

Wang waited ten minutes before he drove up the street and parked in front of the house. The agents jumped out of the van and walked up the sidewalk. Butler knocked on the door and Lucy opened it.

“Did you hear?” she asked. “He said he didn’t know, either.”

“We heard,” Butler replied. “You did very well and we appreciate your cooperation. Before I forget, do you have anything here that belongs to your husband, like boxes, photographs, papers, or letters?”

“Yes, now that you mention it, there are two boxes of old clothes, papers and such in the basement.”

“How long have these things been here?”

“At least ten or fifteen years. He left them when we split up.”

“Is that all you have?”

“That’s it. After twenty years of marriage to that bastard all I have is two cardboard boxes of rubbish.” She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, and retreating into the living room, sat in a chair.

“Please don’t touch any of his stuff, okay?” Butler said. “We’ll get a warrant, but it’s important for you not to move the boxes or even look inside them until I get back. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir, I understand.”

“It’s also important for you not to tell anyone we’ve spoken today. Okay?”

“Yes, yes. I just hope you don’t think I had anything to do with this. I swear, I didn’t know what was in the storage unit; I just paid the bill like Moose told me to.”