WASHINGTON DC: The Sadir Affair (The Puppets of Washington Book 1) (3 page)

Given that he had not heard a word from Khalid since he called on Monday, on the Wednesday afternoon, James decided to check with the Sands to see if the man had checked in. To his surprise, he was told the guest and his two friends had cancelled their hotel reservations the night before. James put the phone down, sat there looking at it for a minute before picking up the receiver again. This time he dialled Aziz’s clinic. The doctor’s response was short—he was with a patient—but worrisome. He had not heard from Khalid in the past 48 hours either.

James’s next call was to Fred Gibson.

“Mr. Gibson, how are you, sir?”

“Fine, Mr. Flaubert. What can I do for you?” Fred was non-committal. He sensed this was not a courtesy call. James Flaubert wouldn’t be on the phone for a casual chit-chat.

“I won’t interrupt your day with long explanations. I’d just like to know if you’ve seen Khalid lately.”

“Yes. He was in Ottawa for a meeting yesterday. Why?”

“Do you know if he planned to make it to Vancouver afterward?”

Fred didn’t want to or couldn’t elaborate on the answer to that question. He hesitated. “Well…, yes… he was planning to visit Vancouver. Hasn’t he shown up already?”

“No, he hasn’t. He was due in this morning but it’s now three o’clock and the hotel told me that he cancelled his reservations. Should I be worried? Or have you said something to him that made him change his plans?”

“I may have made a suggestion to that effect…, yes,” Fred admitted, feeling relieved that Khalid had apparently returned to Paris.

“Could you tell me why then, he has not contacted us to let us know what he was doing?”

“I don’t know, but from what you’ve just said, I think I should find out. This sounds unusual and we need to keep tab on the man in any case…”

“Why’s that?”

“Precautions, Mr. Flaubert, nothing more. Let’s not forget he’s royalty and we have a duty to see to the well-being of such visitors. Besides, any surveillance measure on a Muslim fellow is designed to protect him. You never know what could happen to him these days.”

James had to admit that since nine-eleven Muslims in general were not welcomed with open-arms in North America.

After he hung up, Fred called Jimmy and asked him to get Agent Gilford on the line. He also asked him to start a surveillance detail on Khalid as soon as the Agency would have located him.

Mark Gilford was relaxing on the terrace of his apartment in Ottawa when he heard his cell phone ring on the table beside him. He looked at the screen and swore under his breath. Fred calling him was never a good sign.

“Yes?” Mark was purposely curt.

This young man had a talent for divorcing himself from emotions that could interfere with his job, a job he did well. Besides being an intelligence agent, a spy, to put it simply, he was a skilful sniper and an assassin.

Fred knew Mark very well, very well indeed. He knew that his inquisitive mind and his indifference had served the agency well. Fred didn’t need to give long explanations or reasons for calling on him. “Would you mind getting yourself prepared for a surveillance detail?”

“Who?”

“Khalid.”

Mark moved the phone away from his ear and looked at it for a second. He wasn’t sure he had heard the name correctly. “Did you say Khalid?” He pressed the speaker digit.

“Yes, the very same. He was in town yesterday and after our meeting he checked out of his hotel and… well…, he simply vanished.”

“And what was he doing here? Or should I ask?”

“We’ll talk about that when you get here.”

Hanging up, a puzzled look on his face, Mark went to the kitchen and opened a cupboard. The back of it resealed a safe in which he kept several weapons of choice. He took the smallest one, placed a cartridge of ammo in the grip and inserted it in its ankle-holster, which he tied mid-calf. He closed the safe, locked it and closed the cupboard. Walking down the hall to his bedroom, he swore aloud this time. “…What the hell is going on? Why doesn’t he stay away?” he grumbled, while he changed into a suit and tie. His wardrobe contained nothing but the best apparels. To look at him—in his late twenties, blond curls and blue eyes—one would never guess, Mark Gilford was a dedicated killer.

If one were reading a brochure describing Bowen Island off the Vancouver coast, it would tell one this small blob on the map was a mere twenty minutes away from the port of Horseshoe Bay, and its escarped landscape only allowed for a few clustered houses to be built along the shores or in the more accessible meadows. Main Street ran from the ferry’s dock up the hill to a crossroad, where one of the
streets
would take the tourists to a park descending gently toward the marina. Many beaches skirted the pine-covered hillsides, some easier to get to than others, some strewn with rocks and pebbles while others were covered with coarse, grey sand, but all of them were nestled in delightful coves at the end of the few roads crisscrossing the island. Typical of the chain of isles populating Howe Sound, Bowen Island was one of the favourite hideouts for the rich-and-famous who wanted to escape the hassles of the city.

Aziz knew Talya had spent many a weekend on Bowen Island during the first summer she had returned from a lengthy stay in Australia. She and he had spent their vacations there, before the troubles started and before Talya had become the pawn in a deadly chess game of intrigue.

He wanted to take her away, not to Second Beach, but to Bowen Island.

In his mid-thirties, Aziz was an earnest soul. He was devoted to the well-being of his numerous patients and anxious to make their lives easier as much as possible. His father had passed away when he was in high school, leaving him and his mother with enough to live a comfortable life and for Aziz to go to med-school. He was a good-looking man. He had inherited his mother’s dark, wavy hair and his father’s hazel eyes and chiselled face. Standing tall at nearly six-foot, beside Talya, walking down the street, they would turn heads. They always felt comfortable in each other’s company. Like socks and shoes, they fitted well together.

That night, when he passed the threshold of Talya’s apartment, Aziz felt disappointed, not to say frustrated. Khalid, once again, had not shown up. His resentment toward the man had grown now into utter disgust. He had
abandoned
her in Miami, which unaccountable move had provoked a series of incidents that saw Talya knife a man and the FBI chase her across the States. As far as Aziz was concerned, Khalid was a typical Arab, in only for money, women and grandstanding appearances when the chips were down. Granted, he had saved Talya’s life on several occasions, but since his unexpected disappearance from Cayenne, where he had evaded yet another of Slimane’s devious schemes, and his admission that he knew of his uncle’s involvement in a drug and arms’ trade in the Middle East, Aziz no longer trusted the man.

Talya was sitting at her desk. She had not neared that corner of the apartment in weeks.

Aziz couldn’t contain his amazement or joy at seeing her in front of her computer, typing away. “Hello, milady,” Aziz said, kissing the top of her head.

She only acknowledged his presence with a mumbled, “Hi!” which told Aziz to retreat. If Talya was concentrating on her writing, she allowed no one to disturb her. Yet, before making his way to the kitchen to prepare their evening meal, he looked quickly at the screen. What he read sent him down a stream of recollections, which he didn’t want to visit. Talya was recounting the events that ultimately landed her in that wheelchair.

Maybe she needed the release. Maybe she would find solace in pouring her memories onto the pages of a book. Maybe distancing herself from the experiences, by describing them and reliving them through a fictional character, would get her back to the present and move her out of her lethargic state. And maybe… there wouldn’t be any need for Khalid to intervene, which thought delighted Aziz no end.

Opening the fridge, Aziz’s reaction was one of wonder. He couldn’t believe it. There were fruits, vegetables galore, yoghurt, flax bread, a bottle of orange juice, and other items that he knew the nurse would not buy. She was there every morning only to bathe Talya, administer the daily meds, dress her and take her out for a half-an-hour. They would fetch Talya’s racing wheels from the garage, and take a stroll along the beach promenade, that would be all. The nurse was not to go grocery shopping with or without her charge. She would prepare lunch for Talya and if some things were missing from the cupboard, she’d leave a note for Aziz to purchase them.

Taking an orange and a banana out of the fridge, Aziz walked back to Talya’s desk and deposited the fruit under her nose. “What’s this?” He grinned, as Talya lifted her gaze to him.

“I’d say this is an orange and this looks like a banana.” A veil of joy had draped over her face. “I could give you a more accurate or detailed description of each if you like.”

“But where did they come from…? That’s what I’d like to know.”

Giggling and even laughing, Talya shook her head. “From a tree and from a plant...”

“I don’t believe it!”

“What? I tell you that’s where these two came from…”

“Stop it, Talya! Did you go shopping?”

“Why yes, I did, my dear Aziz, and I must say, it’s much easier now than before. I don’t have to carry the grocery bags anymore.”

Aziz was still incredulous. He couldn’t believe the change that had occurred in the last 24 hours. Talya must have been coaxed into returning to normality. He couldn’t believe that such a drastic, yet most welcomed transformation had taken place without someone’s intervention.

“Did Khalid call you?” Aziz hazarded to ask.

“How could he? And why would he? The phone plug is still off the wall.”

His butt resting against the desk, his arms crossed over his chest, Aziz looked at the opposite wall. “So it is…, but something must have happened between last night and today. You are different. Did someone come for a visit or something?”

“Well, yes, something did happen…”

“What?” Aziz blurted, suddenly worried. For an instant, he thought Khalid had gotten in touch with her somehow and “ordered” her to get ready for his arrival, and told her he wanted to see her the way he remembered her. Such an imposition would have had the desired effect, knowing Talya. In the past, she would have done almost anything to please him.

“Remember, I asked you to turn on the TV in the room before you left last night?” Talya asked.

“Yes…, so?”

“Well, since I couldn’t sleep, I watched a program where a woman in a wheelchair was abusing her husband…”

“Doing what?”

Talya glared at him. She didn’t appreciate the interruption. “He was responsible for putting her in that wheelchair and she was taking revenge on him by abusing of his kindness. She literally transformed him into her servant. I didn’t want that to happen to us, Aziz. You’ve been a model of kindness and generosity since I came out of the hospital and I could not see the two of us living a life of resentment. That’s when I decided to use my racing wheels this afternoon after the nurse left and get some groceries for the fridge.”

Aziz was all smiles now, the smile turning quickly into uncontrollable laughter. He bent down to her and kissed her feverishly. Talya, for the first time since her accident, didn’t push him back. On the contrary, she responded excitedly and had to take a breath when their lips finally parted.

She looked up at him. Tears glazed his eyes. He turned away embarrassed, grabbing the orange and banana from the desk, and walked back to the kitchen. He was overwhelmed.

She followed him.

He took some veggies out of the crisper and asked, “How about we go to Bowen Island this weekend?”

“Yes! Yes, yes…
Please!
” Talya screamed with delight.

He dropped the potatoes and carrots in the sink and went to kiss her again.

Outwardly relaxed, Mark was sitting opposite Fred in his office. The agency’s chief had briefly explained the reasons for Khalid’s visit and the conclusions they had drawn during the meeting.

“So, you’ve warned him if he paid a visit to Talya, it would create trouble for his family, is that it?” Mark asked.

“Yes… The visit itself would be innocuous,” Fred replied, “but we believe that Mossad would use it to demonstrate to the Palestinians that Israel has a powerful ally, which in turn would create unrest amongst Saudi’s neighbours.”

“And what do I do when I get him between four eyes?” Mark was afraid to hear the answer to that question. He was very much aware of what the agency could do in comparable circumstances. They could order the elimination of the meddling or unwanted party.

Fred looked at Mark with knowing concern. He knew what his agent had in mind. “No, we’re not going there, Mark, and you know what I mean. We need to know what his intentions are and we need to convince him to go back to Paris.”

The word ‘convince’ had a dozen connotations when it came to steer an individual in a particular direction.

“Okay…,” Mark said, not wanting to dwell on the subject any further. “Have you been able to locate him? He’s got almost 24 hours on us already…”

Fred waved a dismissive hand. “We know where he is not. That should give you a head-start.”

“Oh sure,” Mark chortled, “I’ll get a bicycle from the garage...”

The chief couldn’t help but explode in roaring laughter. He was picturing Mark, in his Armani suit and silk tie, saddling a bike and chasing after his pedalling prey, clad in his princely, Arab garments, down the riverbank.

A grunt shook the folds of his jaw, and his laughter receding quickly into a low moo, Fred resumed, “Hum…, we know he sent the Lear back to Paris.”

“He did?” Mark was knocked for six. Khalid wouldn’t do that if he intended to leave the country in a hurry.

“Yes…, and we’ve checked with the airlines. No record of any reservations made under either of his names. We’ve also checked with the car rental companies…”

“What about trains?” Mark asked.

Fred’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t picture Khalid taking a train anywhere. “No, we’ve not checked with any of the railways... What makes you think that our prince would take a train? He couldn’t get anywhere fast…”

“And that’s exactly why we should check with Via Rail. Khalid would have
time
to reach his destination undisturbed, without leaving much trace of his passage anywhere between here and where ever he’s going.”

“But we know where he’s going…”

“No, we don’t,” Mark cut-in. “We only assume that he’s going to Vancouver because that was his original intent. But now, and after what you’ve told him, he could be going anywhere.”

“You mean we’ve got to chase a ghost again?”

During the investigation geared to finding Ben Slimane, the year before, the agency had been forced to chase the man across three continents until everyone concluded he was a ‘ghost’ and that until he was found dead in Michigan.

“Not quite, Chief. This time we’ve got a definite departure point and we’ve got a possible destination—Vancouver.”

“But from what you’ve just said, he might not choose to go to Vancouver at all.”

“Yes, but he might choose Vancouver as a stopover…”

“On his way to where?” Fred asked.

“I’ll answer that with another question; where did he intend to go right after Talya was gunned down?”

“You mean Honolulu?”

“And…?”

“Of course!” Fred erupted, “he’s going Downunder.”

“That’s what I think. You’ve mentioned during your meeting that you told him about Isaac, or whatever his name is right now…”

“Samuel Meshullam…”

“Yes, him. And you told him where he was.”

“So, you think Khalid has taken a train to Vancouver and from there he’d be sailing for Australia?”

“That’s a possibility, yes, because Khalid is an obstinate fellow. He won’t let matter rest until he gets rid of any or all hindrances that would prevent him to reach his goal.”

“And as long as Samuel—or Mossad—is in the picture he won’t rest?” Fred paused. “But taking on Mossad by himself would be suicide. Do you think that’s what he wants—get himself killed?”

“No, I don’t think so, Chief. I think he wants revenge. He wants to do away with the man who destroyed Talya’s life, first.”

“And then what? He’ll be a sitting duck...”

Mark shook his head. “Not quite. Again, from the summary of your discussion with him, killing a Mossad agent would prove to his family that he has no allegiance to Israel and that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill any of them. He’s looking for approval, for support from his uncles, and the only way to do that and to avoid unrest in the Middle East is to demonstrate that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill another Israeli and a Mossad agent at that.”

“Jimmy!” Fred yelled, pressing the intercom button on his phone.

“Yes, sir,” the voice replied immediately.

“Get the departure schedules from Via Rail and Amtrak for trains going south or west from Montreal, will you? I’m waiting!”

“Yes, sir, right away.”             

“And make that from Tuesday afternoon…”

“Okay, no problem.”

“Satisfied?” Fred asked, pressing the intercom button off, and locking his eyes on Mark’s face.

“That’s a start…, but I think we should look at flight departures from New York and San Francisco, too.”

“You mean he would bypass Vancouver altogether?”

“I’m not sure. I’d just like to cover all the bases.”

Fred grunted. “Do you want to do this alone, or do you want Benny with you?”

“Alone, Chief.”