The Secrets We Live In: A Novel

by Fazle Chowdhury

  "I don't remember seeing him walk in when we were checking the guests." Said security.

  "And we check everyone carefully before we let them in," the other added.

  "I’ve called the police per protocol,” another security man said.

  Zain couldn't believe this was happening. He closed his eyes, wishing this was all a nightmare, but knew that once he opened his eyes, the man's lifeless body would still be lying on the ground. But Ferdash did know who the dead man was. This was Walter Ule.

  ╔ ——————————————— ╗

  CHAPTER

  THIRTEEN

  ╚ ——————————————— ╝

  On a slightly cool afternoon that announced the beginning of fall and the departure of the summer heat, two men sat behind each other, looking in different directions. Dupont Circle, a centerpiece traffic intersection, visible to all who attended the surrounding bookstores, cafes, and lively dining. It is a cluster of items that forms a circular roundabout that is the bane of all drivers and pedestrians. Few residents in the area knew of the Queen Anne Revival architecture demonstrated at large, a style of red bricks buildings with decorative features well suited for the 19th century but certainly not for the modern age. The bustling Sunday noon featured old friends, new friends, and time-wasters who frequented the area to pass the time until dark. To other people, it was a regular Sunday afternoon but for Simon Eldan, a man who had way too much makeup powder on his face as well as wearing torn khakis and deranged sunglasses with a V-neck yellow shirt and a medium build man with a blue cap who went by “Haviv.”

  “Nice outfit, but we shouldn’t be talking,” Haviv warned.

  Eldan took a deep calming breath.

  “I know, but I need to understand a few things,” Eldan replied.

  They began talking quietly, almost in whispers. Haviv was eating his sandwich slowly and adjusting the blue collar of his dress shirt while Eldan chewed gum.

  “Why isn’t Langley doing anything about the attack on the House building?” Eldan asked.

  “Short answer, Representative Scheinermann asked the Director to stand down on the matter,” Haviv replied. He disclosed that although Langley previously shut down its covert program to arm and finance the Polygon, Scheinermann bullied the director into reactivating it. The group was assisting in other efforts across Europe, supported by some other intelligence networks conducting other covert operations with the Polygon’s support, including fighting terror and jihadi groups.

  “Is it possible that some rogue faction of the Polygon might be attacking assets here?” Eldan asked.

  “Yes, but there is no evidence yet,” Haviv replied.

  “What if I produced some?”

  “Unless there is a Congressional hearing, you can do whatever you like, evidence or not. It doesn’t matter.”

  Haviv continued to chew his sandwich. The sound of his chewing irritated Eldan, but he restrained himself from saying something about it.

  “How do I get the Polygon out of here at least?” Eldan asked.

  “That’s like cleaning the toilet. It’s only clean until the next person shits!” Haviv said.

  Eldan did not like the response.

  “Ok, what’s it going to take to get the Polygon out altogether?”

  “Well, to do that, you need to hit them on two fronts.”

  There was a pause.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Haviv kept on eating his sandwich. Eldan waited patiently for him to respond.

  “Cut their main source of funds and their key depot.”

  Eldan waited for a few women approaching to walk past.

  “I can’t stop their funding, but I could hit their depot.”

  “No,” Haviv warned. “You can’t do one. It has to be both!” he said.

  Eldan was taken aback by the information. There was no quick fix to the problem. It would have to be a prolonged campaign.

  “You didn’t think this was going to be a walk in the park, did you?” Haviv asked.

  Eldan sighed. “No, but I was looking to find the key component that could cut off their limbs.”

  Haviv smiled. “What would you give me if I told you that? Now don’t make any lame and cheap promises, even though you do honor them.”

  Eldan kept on chewing his gum calmly.

  “I can only make you a Deputy Director after the next administration comes in or the one after. Other than that, I got nothing else to offer. But you have to understand that it’s for the greater good.”

  Haviv started giggling. “At which point will you ever think of money, Simon? I mean seriously.”

  Eldan became quiet. A large ice cream truck passed by its selection Vanilla or Chocolate.

  “Much like that Ice Cream truck, I have limited options,” Eldan said.

  Haviv kept on giggling. He finished the last piece of his sandwich and cleaned the bread crumbs off his hands. The pigeons nearby congregated close to him to eat them.

  “Isn’t it nice when pigeons keep public pavements clean?” Haviv asked.

  Eldan did not respond.

  “Here’s my thought, why don’t you outsource this work, Simon?” Haviv suggested.

  “You want to do it?” Eldan asked.

  “No, not me, Simon. How about that Ambassador in Paris, Auzaar?”

  Eldan was surprised. “Ambassador Auzaar? What has he got to do with this?”

  Haviv rubbed the corner of his lips with his thumb. He looked to his left and then to his right. No one was approaching. He covered his mouth with his palm to make sure no one could read his lips from afar and spoke quickly but well enough for Eldan to hear what he said.

  “You never asked yourself why Scheinermann wanted him out of the way.”

  Eldan thought about what he had just heard. “Ambassador Auzaar only wants his nuclear deal accepted. What has that got to do with the Polygon?”

  “Everything,” Haviv replied.

  Haviv explained in detail to Eldan. Operation Dionysus —a plan to kidnap 89-year-old Walter Ule, a former Nazi who sold nuclear designs, was not endorsed by Langley. They used it as a vehicle to lure in other actors and keep track of terror groups. One of the consequences of the operation was that it was the longest and most expensive covert operation ever undertaken. It cost close to $309 million per year. After the financial crisis in 2008, when regulators were all over the place, more money was spent on hiding the cost of the operation than on the operation itself. Then as Langley reopened its Polygon program, there was a feeling that new and rogue elements in the group had come to know of Ule’s past and leaked the information. Haviv suspected that some people within his own group sold Ule out. But they covered their tracks by assisting the Polygon and doubling their backing.

  “What has this got to do with Ambassador Auzaar?” Eldan asked.

  “Ule was kidnapped some time ago, and we suspect Auzaar has a hand in it. He is not just an Ambassador. He is an asset of some unknown intelligence group but certainly not Langley’s. I have a feeling that he will get his nuclear deal, but he is not going to get it through diplomacy only; he will also have to settle some scores.”

  “How?”

  “I have a feeling that he has the allegiance of some members of the Polygon. He has used them to do his dirty work. Kidnapping a Journalist, propping up candidates in local elections around Europe, using the group as a proxy to facilitate things between other intelligence groups, but most importantly, monopolizing the underground nuclear black market ―something western intelligence thought was under their control. Now, the cracks are being revealed as we monitor activities”.

  “But who does Auzaar want to go after?”

  “Two individuals, both complicit with Scheinermann in his dealings with the Polygon.”

  Eldan squinted to hear more clearly.

  “One is Paris-based Ambassador, Shahaan Bagratuni ―known in the intelligence networks as Ule’s supplier and his contact in the
Polygon. The other is Ambassador Jack Evans”.

  “What is Evans’ connection to this?”

  “Oh, Auzaar just hates him.”

  Eldan thought for a while. “You think Auzaar can alleviate some of our fears about the Polygon?”

  “Based on recent developments, any form of covert assistance to help the Ambassador can be used to get him on our side. It can help based on the concerns you have, but….”

  There was a pause.

  “But what?” Eldan asked.

  “I suspect Scheinermann may have put him on a hit list?”

  Eldan was worried.

  “You mean Scheinermann wants to have Ambassador Auzaar assassinated?”

  “Yes,” Haviv replied.

  “The Polygon won’t allow this, would they?”

  “I can’t say.”

  Haviv told Eldan about how the Polygon was going through a reset as its new council of leaders tried to mesh with the old guard and the much more aggressive new generation of fighters. Intelligence reports suggested that there was much talk about inclusiveness and collaboration during a recent council meeting —such words indicated that the old guard was having difficulties controlling the now majority younger rogue elements. The old guard of strategists couldn’t match the criminally-minded technocratic capabilities demonstrated by the new generation of social media savvy, multi-lingual, slim-fit chisel-faced commanders who were experienced in warfare and had served time in international prisons during which they developed links. Unlike the old guard, the new guard and its pay-to-play diplomacy were shrewd and calculative. Unlike the old, the new had several bounties to their name, averaging well over $15 million of the commander ranks and not too less to the next group of fighters.

  “Which group does Scheinermann or Auzaar have close links with?

  “Again, very difficult to say. But both do have links within each group. We would need to wait and see how far they can influence them. But Simon, remember, the Polygon though a united group, has splinter groups within them, which means that the leadership of the Polygon may want one thing while the splinter groups want something totally different.”

  Eldan became silent. He just sat there breathing the cool afternoon air.

  “It’s complicated Simon, think about it for a couple of days, and when the time comes, I’ll reach out to you. Maybe then you will know what you want,” Haviv said.

  While thinking about everything he had just learned, Eldan felt he would have to do something drastic or wait and bid his time. He did not choose the latter.

  “I want to go after Scheinermann. You got anything on him?” Eldan asked.

  Haviv giggled again.

  “That will cost you, Simon.”

  “I’ll come up with your price somehow.”

  Haviv was secretly pleased. Up until that moment, he couldn’t talk about money with Eldan, but an opportunity had now presented itself. He mentioned that there were rumors that Scheinermann had hidden close to $220 million in offshore tax havens and secretly bought luxury homes in Monte Carlo, Venice, and in Corfu. The only problem was finding evidence to show Scheinermann’s list of offshore properties. Haviv also suspected that the Polygon had been complicit in this, the middleman who purchased the estates through their offshore companies.

  “That’s not good enough,” Eldan said.

  “Oh, you don’t understand. If the money for these properties and all related expenditures were funded by taxpayers and through criminal networks, then you have a case”.

  Eldan thought for a while. “How much is this going to cost me?”

  “Much more than the last time,” Haviv laughed.

  “Will you be doing this via Aphroditus?”

  “No,” Haviv said with a smile.

  “I don’t like sharing my cake.”

  ╔ ——————————————— ╗

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  ╚ ——————————————— ╝

  The sirens of the ambulance replaced the pumping of the music. The paramedics rushed into the garden with a stretcher.

  "Make sure the area is clear," called out the security.

  The guests were buzzing with shock.

  “Sir, I don’t understand how this happened,” said Salima.

  At 2 am, the key members of Zain’s inner circle met in the Mesopotamia Room, and the security was on high alert. They evaluated the party footage from the CCTV cameras to see if they could figure out what had happened. Ferdash and Mazaar were listening to audio recordings of the party. Suspicion was heavy on the surface. How could a compound where he and his men had guarded so well be the center of such attention?

  The police soon arrived and began to interview the guests. Zain felt uneasy.

  “What if they think I'm responsible for this?” Zain fretted.

  “Have faith, Sir. We’ll get through this,” said Mazaar.

  "Everyone, stay back. We need this area clear,” Zain heard the security say.

  "Should I bring everyone inside?" the security asked through their communication devices to Salima.

  "There are too many,” replied Salima shaking her head.

  “We probably need to call additional services to sort out the parking lot situation,” suggested her staff.

  “I should call the Foreign Ministry before the press goes all out for us,” Salima said.

  Then, a member of the security brought in a folder and handed it over to Mazaar. He, in turn, signaled to Salima.

  “So we have the roster of everyone in attendance and every detail to hand over to the police, yes?” asked Salima.

  “Is that the most updated list?” asked Ferdash,

  Salima checked, and she gave her confirmation. She then handed over the papers. Mazaar checked the roster one by one.

  “Salima, is there any way we can also have video footage to hand over?” Ferdash asked.

  “Why would we hand over video footage?” objected Mazaar.

  The conversation turned cold in the room. One group wanted to hand over everything and more to the police while the rest were selective. After a few rounds, the consensus was to provide everything.

  “We may also want to provide documentation of the Ambassador’s hour-by-hour whereabouts tonight,” suggested Ferdash.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary,” called out Mazaar.

  “No, it isn’t. We can be transparent to an extent, but there is certain information that we shouldn’t make publicly available,” he protested.

  Mazaar whispered to Zain not to tell the police about the drunk man until more details were revealed from the security and stick to the meeting appointments.

  "Let me discuss this with Salima and see what we can decide," Zain said.

  There was a knock on the door, and the security entered with the inspector of the police, Renaud Pasquer.

  The inspector was dressed in elegant evening wear but not in a black-tie like the rest. He looked to have a suspicious eye. His slim stomach replicated. Perhaps he missed more meals than his occasional drink and smoke. He looked around like a puppy sniffing for evidence. But the first thing on which his suspicions landed was Zain. He could already tell the ambassador was under a lot of stress and didn't think he could handle the crowd outside, even though his own security had it under control.

  As Pasquer approached Zain for introductions, Salima cut him off.

  “I’m the ambassador’s Chief of Staff. Please call me Ms. Abbasid,” she said.

  “If Madam is handling this in her official capacity, I have no problem directing my questions to you first. In the meantime, my subordinates will be taking the guest names and contact information as they exit,” he said.

  “We already have a roster we can provide you,” suggested Salima.

  “Thank you, Madam. That would be much appreciated, but we will still do our job,” he said smiling but matter-of-fact.

  From the Mesopotamia Room, Zain watched as the police monitored e
ach guest and took their information as they left. There was nothing but silence.

  "Ms. Abbasid?” asked Pasquer.

  “I do like how your security has handled this, but I would also need a list of their names.”

  “Sir,” Ferdash said, looking at Zain,

  “you probably should get some rest.”

  “Oh, Monsieur Ambassador,” objected Pasquer,

  “if you don’t mind, I have a few questions for you."

  Ferdash and Mazaar frowned.

  “Of course, Inspector,” said Zain reluctantly.

  “It’s only protocol, Monsieur. This is your home, and my questions won’t take long."

  He began to sort through the papers he had been given. Half an hour later, one of Pasquer’s subordinates walked in and whispered something to him.

  “All the guests have exited?” Pasquer asked. The subordinate indicated yes. Sirens could be heard in the distance, like an ongoing flash.

  Salima put a hand on Zain's shoulder.

  "Are you all right, Sir?"

  "I’m fine, just tired," Zain sighed.

  Everyone in the room could see that the night had taken a toll on Zain.

  “Ok and, Monsieur Ambassador?” asked Pasquer.

  Salima sensed Zain getting nervous and gave him a signal that she was there to step in. But her signals brought little relief. This wasn't the first time the police had questioned him, but it still felt new and different. The other times their paths had crossed, it was for official business. Mostly, someone had made some kind of threat towards Zain for his stance on several political issues. Zain had caught media attention—and Pasquer’s—by supporting Alice Derrida for the candidacy of Mayor of Saint-Valery-sur-Somme. With Zain’s behind-the-scenes dealmaking with several groups, Derrida, a former human rights lawyer, and daughter of a Jewish-restaurant owner, secured and won her election by a hefty 49.7%. Some media outlets had charged that Zain’s coalition of business partners provided just enough financial support for Derrida’s win.

  Only a few weeks earlier, Pasquer observed Zain’s campaign paying the fines for some textile migrant workers who had gone on strike and found it difficult to find representation at the courts to fight their unfair wages.