Chapter 15
Plunging headlong into an operation such as the one they were putting in motion by sending their agent and Khalid into an open confrontation with Samuel, didn’t agree with Fred Gibson at all. Time wasn’t always on his side when he had to make decisions, yes, but to be shoved into a corner and being told “that’s the only way the situation could be resolved,” as Sadir had done, was not agreeing with Fred’s management style or his instincts. There was something wrong with this deal. Moreover, a few minutes ago the call from Sadir served to re-ignite his foreboding. In nothing short than open blackmail, Sadir had suggested sending Talya to Australia in order for the FBI to shred the cold-case file of the murder of Al-Nadir and his companion, Salaman Abib, on the trawler. Mark and Talya had been forced to kill two men on that fishing boat when they were hunting Agent Slimane down in Florida.
If he agreed to this, Fred could see Talya—an invalid—being killed along with Khalid the moment Samuel would have them in his scope. Mark would have to arrive on the scene before anyone else, and eliminate the Mossad man first. Mark was good, but he didn’t have Mossad’s training. Fred could see three caskets coming back from Australia, instead of Samuel being returned to Israel to his masters.
He got up, went around his desk and began pacing. “There has to be another way,” he muttered to himself. His fists deep into his trousers’ pockets, he continued rubbing the polish off the hardwood floor before he walked through the door in a rush.
As he entered Badawee’s room, without knocking, he noticed the lawyer was on the phone. Namlah beckoned to the Chief to take a seat and hurried to finish his conversation with the caller. He put the phone down then, and looked fixedly at his boss.
“What happened?” were Namlah’s opening words.
“They’re blackmailing us,” was Fred’s answer.
“Shall we start from the top, Chief? Tell me, who’s doing the blackmailing and why?”
“The CIA wants…” He stopped as if wanting to revise his train of thoughts. “No, Agent Sadir wants us to send Ms Kartz Downunder to convince Prince Khalid to carry out his plan. They want to close the file on the two murders in Florida and promise to do so, if we succeed in getting her to Sydney.”
Caressing his moustache, Namlah reclined in his chair. He then folded his hands over his stomach. “I see. This is quite complex,” he mused. “There are many issues here, and not all to do with the suggestion.”
“Can you explain what you have in mind?”
Namlah nodded, stood up and made his way to the whiteboard that hung on the far wall. Most people worked out their thoughts on paper, but Namlah preferred to put them on the board facing his desk, which enabled him to stare at the problem while he would be resolving it from his chair.
Fred swivelled the visitor’s seat around, his eyes following Namlah’s progress across the room.
The attorney took a marker-pen from the tray and began writing. “First, we have a prince determined to take revenge on the man who maimed his purported fiancée. Then we have Ms. Kartz whose killing of a man is hanging over her head like a Damocles Sword. Next, we have Samuel, who has probably received orders to kill our prince at the first opportunity. Do you see where I am going with this…?”
Staring at the bullet-point list, Fred didn’t see anything else, certainly not an answer. He shook his head.
“Well then, let me continue; next comes in, Prince Abdullah. He’s been instrumental in forcing the CIA’s hand into protecting both his nephew, Khalid, and Ms Kartz.”
Fred nodded and added, “Then, Muhammad Sadir joins in, at Prince Abdullah’s bidding, and begins to stir people into action.”
“Yes, but that’s not all. Sadir wants something else. He tells you that he wants Khalid to eliminate Samuel; to prove Saudi had no allegiance to Israel. Then, he now comes up with a story saying the only way to close the file on the Florida murders, is to send the suspect, Ms Kartz, to Australia to encourage our prince to avenge her being shot. What does that tell you?”
Fred remained silent for a moment, staring at the list of names and jotted circumstances beside each protagonist.
“I’ve got it!” Fred exclaimed at last. “But what can we do about it?”
Dropping the pen in the tray, Namlah shook his head. “Tell me first what you’ve concluded, so that we can be both on the same page.”
“Well, if we connect the dots, the only name that is common to everyone is Sadir. He was the one who gave up Agent Slimane, he was the one who knew of Prince Abdullah’s alleged involvement with the drug exchange for armaments, he was the one who sent Prince Khalid to kill Samuel, and now…, he’s trying to force our hand in sending Ms Kartz to her death.”
“And what’s your conclusion?”
“Either the CIA is into a cover up of some sort or Sadir is acting on someone else’s orders…, or even on his own!”
“Yes. I would rather opt for the ‘acting on someone else’s orders’,” Namlah agreed.
“On whose orders then?”
“My favourite and the only agency with enough power or reasons to do away with a Saudi Arabian Prince…”
“You mean Mossad?” Fred frowned. “But if that’s where you’re going, then it means Sadir is a double agent.”
“Yes, Chief, that’s precisely what I mean. Sadir has probably been playing the man-in-the-middle for many years and he has only one man to thank for his rise to power…”
“Who’s that?”
“I thought that was obvious.”
“You mean Prince Abdullah?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I am sure the man was duped, but he assisted Sadir when it came for him to stay in the States, and he helped him get where he is today.”
“Okay, but how do we turn around now? We want Samuel out of the picture, and we want Mossad to cease and desist when it comes to chasing Ms Kartz and our Prince. How do we do that?”
Turning again to the whiteboard, Namlah took the dry-sponge and erased the list, to Fred’s visible dismay. “You have several choices, each of which has risks attached to it.” He traced four columns and at the top of each, wrote the names of the main players: Talya, Khalid, Samuel and Sadir. “If we were to follow Sadir’s plan, here is what would happen…,” Namlah began while writing his evolving thoughts on the board. “Ms Kartz goes to Australia as suggested by Sadir and gets rid of the arrest warrant hanging over her head, but is eliminated in the cross-fire. Khalid confronts Samuel and gets killed in the process. Samuel washes his hands of two more murders, unless Mark intervenes, which could entail heavy consequences for us and the Australian government. Sadir fulfils his Mossad assignment and satisfies the FBI and they close the file on the Florida murders. Ultimately, Uncle Abdullah in his sorrow can look forward never to be blamed again for being involved in arms’ dealing with Israel.”
Fred was getting edgy. He wanted a solution to the problem, not another description of it. Yet, he knew Namlah couldn’t be rushed. His methodical mind had to function in its own good time. “Okay, now that you’ve described what should not happen, could you tell me what we should do about it?”
Without turning his head or answering Fred’s question, Namlah erased the statements within each column. “First, we should advise the Australian authorities of Samuel’s intent…”
“Based on what? We’ve got nothing on him to justify us butting in…”
Namlah turned around and fixed his gaze on the chief, and waited.
“I see, he’s suspected of attempted murder on Ms Kartz... and we should get him back to Canada to face charges.” Fred smiled.
“Absolutely. We have an extradition treaty with the Aussies, which should allow us to bring him back to Ottawa.”
“But how do we stop Khalid…? Apparently, he’s determined to seek vengeance…”
Namlah put up a hand to stop Fred before he went too far ahead of himself. “In the first place, I don’t think our prince has quite grasped the difficulty surrounding this situ
ation, but when he does, he’s going to back out on his own. He wouldn’t want to spend the rest of his days in a Saudi prison.”
“But we can’t wait until he comes to his senses…”
Again, Namlah raised a hand. “We won’t. As soon as they land, we’re going to tell Mark to explain to him what we’ve concluded. If he hasn’t realized it by then, Khalid will soon envision what could happen to him if he didn’t turn back and return to Paris.”
“Okay, so far so good, but what do we do about Sadir? We can’t just cross the border and accuse the man of treason, now can we?”
“No we can’t, but Mossad will do that for us.”
“How?”
“Believe me; they’re not going to stand for showing their hand at this stage. As soon as we apply for Samuel’s extradition, they’ll order Sadir out of the game. And if he doesn’t move on his own, they’ll soon get rid of him. He would have become a loose end which they don’t want or need.”
The chief got up and went to stand close to the lawyer. “Tell me something, Mr. Badawee, why are you staying here? Your power of deductions and knowledge of the law are both wasted in this agency.”
Namlah smiled, bowed slightly, turned away and went to wipe his hand with the towel that hung beside the whiteboard. “I dreamt to skate on the Rideau Canal since I was a boy. My father was well acquainted with a man from Canada when we lived in Syria, and I swore that, one day, I would not only learn to skate, but own a house near the famous Canal. And now that I do, I will not move.”
Fred nodded, and walked to the door. He spun around. “Thanks for the lesson, Professor,” he said, a grin exposing his glistening, white teeth.