by Ian Hamilton
“I’m tired, that’s all. How about you?”
She nodded. “I slept.”
“We’d better go in,” he said.
She followed him down the hallway to a closed door. He knocked, waited a couple of seconds, and opened it. The room had one rectangular table with twelve seats around it. To the left was a small table with two white carafes, jugs of milk and cream, and cups and saucers. There were three men in the room. Two stood by the table with cups in their hands, while the third was seated.
“This is Ava Lee,” Dulles said.
The man who was seated stood and walked towards her. He was short and wiry and had a fringe of grey hair that circled like a halo an otherwise bald head.
“Hello, I’m Brad Harrison,” he said.
Ava had been expecting a slightly older version of Dulles. Instead, Harrison had to be in his sixties and was somewhat stooped, but he still moved with agility and exuded considerable energy. If his back were straighter, he would have been only a few inches taller than her. As it was, he looked her directly in the eyes. She blinked when he did. Not many people had that kind of confidence. The only other person she had known whose eyes were as penetrating was Uncle. And strangely, like Uncle, Harrison was wearing a black suit with a white shirt and no tie. The only difference was that Uncle had buttoned his shirt up to the collar, while Harrison’s top button was undone.
“And Jeff Gilmour and Charles Bentley are the people getting coffee,” Harrison said. “Charles is wearing the suit.”
They nodded at her but didn’t move away from the table. Gilmour was close to six feet, with thick blond hair and a pudgy face; he was wearing a white Nike polo shirt and brown khakis. Ava guessed he was in his forties and had spent his life sitting behind a desk. Bentley was about the same height but looked ten years younger and fifty pounds fitter; he had a receding hairline and, like the others, was clean-shaven. He wore a charcoal-grey suit, white shirt, and blue silk tie.
“We thought it would be best if you sat here at the end of the table,” Harrison said, pointing to the chair they were standing next to. “Would you like coffee or tea before we start?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Ava said, taking the seat.
Harrison returned to his and Dulles sat beside him. Gilmour and Bentley sat across from them. They were sitting two seats down from Ava on either side. She didn’t know if the seating arrangement was intended to intimidate her, but it certainly sent the message that she was there to be questioned.
“Ms. Lee, we would like to thank you for agreeing to talk to us. We know you’re not under any obligation to do so,” Harrison said.
Ava noticed that Bentley had taken what looked like a small tape recorder from his pocket and placed it in front of him, angled towards her. “I’m only here because Alasdair made the request.” She looked at Bentley. “But I was told this was going to be unofficial and informal. If Mr. Bentley is going to tape our conversation, then I want to be extended the same courtesy.”
“Charles, turn that off and put it away, please,” Harrison said with a small, tight smile.
Bentley shrugged and did what Harrison had asked.
“Now, you know that we want to talk to you because of the goings-on at Zakat College,” Harrison said. “Alasdair has explained how you came to be involved, how you brought him into the picture, and how your collective efforts resulted in your findings this morning. He has nothing but compliments about your contribution and we’re appreciative of your work. But, unless you feel the need to review what he said, I’d like to move on.”
“I’m certain that Alasdair gave an accurate rendering.”
“Good. In that case what I’d like you to do is tell us exactly what you think happened at the college.”
“You know what happened.”
“Alasdair told us that you and he believe there is a multitude of bodies buried near the back of the college’s property. If that’s true — and no one is disputing that — how do you think they got there?”
“I believe that about 150 young men, maybe even more than that, were murdered in cold blood and their bodies were buried in a pit in the ground.”
Bentley started to say something, but a glare from Harrison stopped him.
“And who do you think caused those deaths?”
“It certainly appears to be Imam Tariq al-Bashir, who we now know is Wallace Murdoch, and the staff that he hired away from several national security organizations — including, probably, your own.”
“How do you know the name Wallace Murdoch?” Gilmour asked.
“Alasdair told me.” She saw Bentley’s mouth tighten. “We managed to acquire two of his brushes, which Alasdair sent to a lab in Manila. The lab found Murdoch’s prints on them.”
“We understand that you got the brushes through the Muslim Brotherhood.”
“Are you implying that the Brotherhood acted improperly?”
“No.”
“Good, because they deserve your thanks more than I do,” Ava said. “Look, I fell into this because I was doing a favour for a friend. That led me to the Brotherhood, and I became a conduit for their concerns about Zakat College. They were worried that the school was turning young Muslims into jihadis. They wanted the training stopped. They wanted to prevent any attempts at terrorism.”
“But is there any doubt in your mind that the men who were at the college were committed to becoming terrorists?” Bentley said.
“Or did the college turn them into that?” she said. “But either question is hypothetical because we’ll never know.”
“Charles, let’s not leap ahead,” Harrison said. “I’d like to go back and talk about Murdoch a bit more, if that’s okay with you, Ms. Lee.”
“Go ahead.”
“If Murdoch and his people did indeed carry out these acts, what do you think their motivation was?”
“I don’t know anything about him or them, so I can’t speak to ideological bents or character defects,” Ava said. “But we do know they were paid — and I’d guess very well paid, since they were willing to give up their jobs and live like monks in the middle of nowhere in the southern Philippines.”
“They were just hired killers?”
“Why not? Money has been sufficient motivation for killers since money was invented.”
“Murdoch left U.S. government employment four years ago. As al-Bashir he’s been in the Philippines for a year,” Harrison began.
“He most likely spent three years learning the Koran and developing his new persona so he would be able to pull this off. A lot of planning went into it. This wasn’t some fly-by-night operation,” Ava said.
“And undoubtedly you believe he was well paid for those three years as well.”
“Of course.”
“By whom?” Harrison said.
“This is ridiculous.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re asking me questions you already have answers for,” Ava said. “Let me ask you one that’s more to the point. Have you told the Philippine government who Tariq al-Bashir really is and who murdered all those young men?”
“No, we haven’t.”
“And why not?”
“The answer to that question is quite complicated. Among other things, it may be the same as the answer to the question about who paid Wallace Murdoch,” Harrison said.
“I think you’re going a bit too far there, Brad,” Bentley said sharply.
“Gentlemen, we asked Ms. Lee to come here because we want her co-operation. I can tell you that, after talking to Alasdair and after listening to her here, I believe we’re not going to get it if we keep circling around the main reason why she’s here.”
“And that reason is?” Ava said.
“Don’t pretend you don’t understand,” Harrison said.
“I’d still like to hear it.”
&n
bsp; Harrison sighed and shook his head as if trying to deal with an obstinate child. “Ms. Lee, we want your silence,” he said.
“We would appreciate it if you could forget the name Murdoch and leave things exactly as they are with regard to what the government of the Philippines knows,” Gilmour added. “They’ll be told what happened at some point in the future, but we have to insist on having control of the timing.”
Ava stared across the table at Gilmour and Bentley. “I’m not convinced that you’ll ever tell them, and you’re not in a position to insist on anything,” Ava said. “I knew you would want something like this. What I don’t know is how any of you could convince me it’s the right thing to do. I believe that Wallace Murdoch is a mass murderer, and by extension so is the man whose name no one has mentioned yet. You want me to forget the name Murdoch? What about Tom Allison?”
( 44 )
Charles Bentley slammed an open hand on the table. “Tom Allison is a great American patriot and a great friend to Israel!” he shouted. “I will not sit here and listen to him described in that manner.”
“He financed Wallace Murdoch,” Ava said. “He made Zakat College possible.”
“I also find your characterization of Murdoch extreme,” Bentley went on, as if he hadn’t heard Ava’s comment. “Many people would claim that Murdoch is the furthest thing from being a mass murderer. What he’s done is identify and eliminate terrorists who were a threat to America and Israel and Jewish people living in every part of the world.”
“The young men at the college hadn’t terrorized anyone,” she said.
“But they were committed. They all swore to participate in attacks on Americans. I’m told that every one of them was given two chances to leave that college, to walk away from their training without any repercussions, and they chose not to. These were not innocents. They had made a commitment to kill Americans.”
Jeff Gilmour leaned towards Ava. “How can you argue that these people didn’t know they were going to the college to be trained as terrorists?”
“They were enticed by Murdoch, by al-Bashir.”
“If it hadn’t been him, it would have been by some other imam or terrorist organization.”
“How can anyone know that?” Ava said.
“It’s no different in my mind from the kind of sting operations that our police forces use against pedophiles, drug dealers, and crooked politicians,” Bentley said. “There is a predisposition to do the deed. Murdoch simply baited the trap.”
“With one rather large difference,” Ava said. “When the pedophiles and drug dealers are caught, they are turned over to the legal system. They’re not summarily shot in the back of the head and tossed into a mass grave.”
“They would have done the same to us if given half a chance,” Bentley said. “Our president believes that while no one gets credit for disasters that are avoided, because they are never known to exist, it’s still necessary to make those hard decisions. One question we need to ask is, how many disasters has Murdoch helped us avoid? How many bombings won’t happen? Some of us are of the view that Murdoch has taken the fight against terrorism to a new and more refined level. The fact that his efforts were independent of any government is slightly troubling, but not when balanced against his results. The man should be thanked, not condemned.”
“Are you telling me that this idea originated with Murdoch and that he went to Allison with it?”
“I thought that had already been made clear,” Bentley said.
“If it wasn’t, it is now. I guess that means you think Tom Allison should also be thanked for embracing the idea and financing Murdoch,” Ava said.
“Perhaps he should.”
“Maybe you can give him a presidential commendation,” Ava said. “I’d like to see the wording of that, because I’m not sure what words you could substitute for ‘mass murderer.’”
“That wasn’t called for,” Harrison said. “Charles has a point of view that others also share, but it’s thorny and controversial enough that no one wants to publicly air it. And that brings us back to our problem.”
“Tom Allison and Wallace Murdoch?” Ava said. “Or me keeping my mouth shut?”
“What we’re facing runs deeper than them, although I would sound naive if I didn’t acknowledge that Murdoch’s ties to the agency and Allison’s connections to the White House are a concern,” Harrison said, sidestepping her latter remark. “But Ms. Lee, I genuinely believe this isn’t about right or wrong. This isn’t about our personal sense of morality. What’s done is done and can’t be undone. This is all about containment now. We do not want things to get worse.”
“How can they get worse?”
“If the details of Allison’s and Murdoch’s involvement became public, the results could be catastrophic. The Muslim world would be enraged, and even our so-called moderate Muslim allies would not want to be associated with us. Our agency would be smeared because of Murdoch, and our ability to work affected. The White House, the office of the president, would be connected to Allison and all kinds of inferences would be made. No one would believe that a rogue agent and an overzealous billionaire had acted independently. This would become the big secret American plot to wipe out Muslims.”
“So why am I a concern? What about Allison? What about Murdoch and his band of killers?”
“We’ll handle them. All I can say is that they’ll be out of this business.”
“You know they intended to expand into other countries, like some franchise operation?”
“There will be no expansion. This experiment ends in Tawi-Tawi.”
“But they’re free to otherwise go on with their lives?”
“I wouldn’t put it quite that way, but I don’t want to lie to you.”
“I appreciate that, but it doesn’t change the facts, does it.”
“No.”
“This is all about keeping me quiet?”
“Yes, I’m afraid it is.”
“Have you considered that my silence might make me feel like an accomplice?”
“If it made you an accomplice to anything, it would be helping to maintain stable relationships with our allies and making the world a safer place,” Harrison said. “That’s a worthwhile goal.”
Ava looked at Dulles, but he had turned away. Gilmour and Bentley seemed disinterested, and that bothered Ava more than Dulles’s avoiding her.
“We don’t want to make things worse,” Harrison repeated.
“Can we do some trading?” Ava asked.
“What do you have in mind?”
“The Muslim Brotherhood is afraid that the Philippine government will use Zakat College as an excuse to clamp down on them. Can you find a way to blunt that reaction?”
“That would be tricky. The Filipinos are sensitive to any outside interference in their domestic politics. But we could give it a try,” Gilmour said.
“Can you get Allison removed from the presidential advisory group?”
“No,” Bentley said sharply.
“Can you arrange for Murdoch and his group to be permanently sidelined?”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Harrison said.
“No, I want you to respond to it.”
“We don’t have any control over private citizens, and even if we did, that’s not how we operate,” Harrison said.
“Are you saying that you never operate like that or that this case doesn’t justify it?”
“Why are you trying to provoke us?” Harrison said.
“I’m not provoking. I’m testing.”
“Fuck her,” Bentley said to Harrison.
“No, fuck you,” she said, standing up.
“Don’t be rash,” Harrison said.
“That is the last thing I am,” Ava said.
“Then sit down, please.”
“N
o. I need some time to think, and I’m going back to my room to do exactly that.”
“We can’t let this drag on. We need to know what you’re going to do,” Gilmour said.
Harrison leaned forward. “I believe that if you really think about this, you’ll reach the conclusion that there are sound and humane reasons for not exacerbating an already horrible situation. And Jeff is correct about the timing. There are some constraints.”
“I’m not typically indecisive,” Ava said. “I will make up my mind and I’ll communicate with Alasdair when I do.”
She started towards the door, but before she got there, Jeff Gilmour spoke again. “Ms. Lee, I would like to add one more thing. I know you’re Canadian, and I assume from your crucifix that you’re also a Christian.”
“You’re correct on both counts,” she said.
“So it seems to me that we’re on the same team,” he said. “And our team is involved in a war for hearts and minds. You can hurt us or you can help us. For the life of me I can’t understand why you would choose to side with the opposition.”
“I’m not sure what team you’re referring to. I’m not aware of ever having been on one.” She opened the door and stepped into the corridor. She paused for a few seconds, long enough to hear Bentley say, “What a fucking bitch. I blame you, Dulles, for making us have to deal with her. If you hadn’t taken her to meet Tom Allison or told her about Murdoch, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
Ava started walking towards the elevator. If Alasdair Dulles had come to Manila for redemption, she thought, he might have to have wait for a very long time.
( 45 )
Ava turned on the television when she got to her room. The press conference was over and the host was now interviewing various government and academic experts about what they were referring to as the “Bongao Massacre.” All that anyone seemed certain of was that more than a hundred people were dead and that the government’s dispatch of a mixed military/police/civilian task force had been entirely appropriate. When asked to speculate about motives for the massacre, the experts were quick to say that the facts wouldn’t be clear until the task force had completed its work, but they threw around words such as cult, Muslim, terrorists, and jihad in a constant, interchangeable stream.
