Harry rose and dusted himself off. He kept repeating H6254. He reached into his coat pocket and jotted the number down on his pad. Almost simultaneously, he dashed for his car and grabbed the car phone on the floor and called in the license plate number. In non-stop fashion, he called the Medway police station to alert them of the vehicle and to be sure that protection was maintained at the Elliott house. Chief Anderson assured him that an APB on the car would be sent immediately to all squad cars in the area and in surrounding towns. Harry left his car phone number with Anderson and asked him to let him know as soon as he got information on the car.
Within minutes, Harry’s phone rang and it was Anderson on the other end of the line. “Mr. Esten, the car is a rental from Hertz out of Logan and we’re on the phone with them now to see who rented the car. Hang on a minute,” an excited Anderson bellowed. “I’ve got it now: the car was rented by a Fajid Singh, it’s a foreign license and they’re faxing a copy of it to us now. Don’t leave the restaurant, stay put—I’ll have somebody there in five minutes.”
“Okay, Chief, will do. Jim, get back inside and make sure the others stay there too, and lock all the other doors. I’ll be in in a minute.”
Harry picked up the phone and contacted the Boston FBI office for more information. He instructed them to check with Logan Airport on all arrivals from Kentucky in the last two days and to get passenger lists for them to review to see if Fajid Singh’s name appeared or other Arab names on the same flight. He then asked the Boston office to get him all the information they had on Singh in their files or through the CIA. He would fax them a copy of the license as soon as he saw it from the Medway police.
Inside the restaurant, Jim was impressed at how quickly Harry reacted to this situation and the calmness with which he went about his business. Harry was a trained professional and this incident was not to be taken lightly. Within hours, the area would be crawling with agents from both Boston and Providence, along with local police, looking for a 1987 black Chevrolet Impala with Massachusetts license plate H6254.
In the meantime, calls were made to all area motels and hotels to find out if two Arab men had checked in together recently. The process would be tedious because there are many hotels and motels within a twenty-mile radius of Medway. If this turned up nothing, the search would be expanded to include places in Boston near Logan airport.
As the minutes passed, Jim could see the fright on Bob Elliott’s face as he was hunched over behind the maître d’ station, out of vision from the front door.
“I don’t understand this,” he shouted. “What’s going on here?”
After cautiously looking out the shattered glass door in the front of the restaurant, Jim moved quickly toward Bob to reassure him that everything would be okay.
“It’s complicated, Mr. Elliott,” Jim began, “but it seems that the woman who gave you up for adoption in Paris later married a prince from a Middle Eastern oil country and later became king when his father died. Any son of the king or queen, your birth mother, can become the next king if her husband dies. You were a twin, Mr. Elliott, and your twin brother was murdered four days ago in France. There are some mean guys out there who don’t want either of you to be in line to succeed the king.”
“Succeed a king,” queried Bob frantically, “are you out of your fucking mind? All I know is my parents who raised me. I don’t give a shit about an Arab oil country.”
“I know it’s hard to swallow, but that doesn’t mean anything to these guys. They’re hired to eliminate the possibility of a successor, period, and that’s now you and you alone,” Jim replied.
Within minutes, Chief Anderson’s police car arrived at the Lamplighter and he was shocked at the bullet-laden holes at the entrance of the restaurant. Another Medway police cruiser arrived and Bob Elliott was carefully escorted into Anderson’s car. The two cruisers then headed back to Bob’s house on Tiffany Lane where other cruisers were congregating at curbside in front of the residence. Harry had indicated that Bob’s car would first be thoroughly searched for any explosive device and then would be driven to his home once the inspection was complete.
After Anderson had handed Harry a faxed photo of Singh’s driver’s license, Harry had instructed Bob not to leave his home until further notice. He asked Anderson to place a perimeter of officers completely around the Elliott property. Harry said he would meet with them shortly as he and Jim needed to wait for more information first.
After making a call to St. Matthew’s to inform Father Dick of the recent events, Jim was given his telephone number at the Westin.
“Father Merrill, Jim Howard, I have news on Bob Elliott. He is the same Bob Elliott who plays for the Red Sox and he lives in Medway. His parents are the ones who live in Kentucky but they spend the Thanksgiving weekend at Bob’s house every year. That’s the good news, Father,” Jim explained.
“No, oh no, Mr. Howard, please don’t tell me something bad has happened to him too,” Father Dick said in disbelief.
“No, he’s alive. Someone tried to shoot him this morning, but the FBI is in on this now and were able to stop the guys this time. It’s a very scary situation here, but the police are protecting him and his family until they can catch these guys. It looks like the same people who were in Dijon earlier this week. By the way, what are you doing in Boston, anyway?” asked Jim.
Father Dick explained his meeting Françoise and about her husband’s scheduled kidney transplant operation the day after Thanksgiving. Apparently, Harry had already informed the Boston FBI office to increase the security at the hotel. He also asked that the Bureau add security at Mass. General in anticipation of Ahmad’s arrival there on Friday morning.
Around noon on Wednesday, Harry received a fax at the Medway police station with more information on Fajid Singh.
Fajid Singh, a.k.a. Saad Al Abdullah, is a known and hunted assassin from Saudi Arabia according to a CIA dossier. Singh is credited with several killings of Middle eastern members of the royal family in Qatar, where the ruling party was in conflict with military leaders attempting a coup. Singh is known to team up with Abou Ben Habib, another CIA watch. Singh rented a car in Paris for two days last Saturday. Both men were listed as passengers on a flight from Paris to Louisville under the names of Said Mushtaf along with Habib under the name of Muhammad Desai. Tuesday’s Delta flight from Louisville to Logan Airport showed both of them arriving in Boston yesterday. Both are considered armed and extremely dangerous.
Harry and Jim left the police station and headed for the Elliott household. Carl Elliott answered the doorbell and, after flashing the official formalities, he showed them into the living room off the main foyer. Bob Elliott’s house was huge and the first level was ideally suited for social gatherings with a large L-shaped living room, complete with fireplace and Steinway in opposite corners and surrounded with several soft chairs on a thick beige carpet. The L-shape led into a large dining room with a table surrounded by ten chairs and a very large hutch set between a side and rear window. It was much too visible from the outside Harry observed. The dining room, in turn, led into a lively kitchen area bright with natural sunlight reflecting through sliding doors leading to a patio that ran the length of the kitchen and dining rooms and accessible from both rooms. The remainder of the first floor consisted of a large family room connecting to a screened-in porch which also led to the rear patio. Bob and Julie were seated in the living room along with Ben and Judy.
Harry briefed everyone on the latest developments but soundly warned all family members that the danger remained as the two assailants were still at large. Guards were posted on all sides of the house until further notice. Bob was still stunned from the morning gunshots and attempt on his life. He had difficulty understanding why this was happening to him. His father, Carl, was also perplexed and tried to console the family as best he could. The news of a queen being the natural mother to his adopted son was so bizarre that he too did not know how to react to this revelation.
&nbs
p; “I’ll let Jim Howard try to fill you in on exactly what has happened here,” lamented Harry almost with an apologetic tone. Jim related the entire story from the beginning and, except for not identifying Father Dick by name, recounted the brief encounter in Paris nearly thirty-six years earlier. The eventual transition of Françoise Dupont into a princess and, subsequently, a queen of an oil-rich country was right out of a fairy tale. Were it not for the allowance of heirs to the monarchy from either spouse, none of this conspiracy would be occurring. Jim informed everyone of the king’s upcoming surgery in Boston and that the natural father also was in Boston. He further related how the priest had never been aware of any pregnancy and eventual birth of two sons until a week earlier and that is how he had become involved in the sequence of events.
“I have another brother,” Bob said.
“I’m afraid to let you know, Mr. Elliott, that he was killed by what we believe to be the same two people looking for you right now and at the restaurant this morning. Your natural brother, and twin, was a college professor in France and his name was Charles Larouche, a bachelor. The murder was meant to look like a break-in, but, given all that’s happened in the last few days, we’re convinced that these people are the same ones we traced from France.”
CHAPTER 19
Thanksgiving morning at the Elliotts was not the customary early rising in preparation for breakfast at Danny’s Diner in Medway and the traditional high school football game between Medway and Millis that followed. Instead, the family quietly gathered in the kitchen and dining room for coffee and an assortment of cereals, muffins, and fruit, courtesy of the Medway Police Department. Bob, over the years, had always been supportive of the police union and provided autographed baseballs each year as part of the fund raiser for the policemen’s emergency fund. A police officer, standing guard outside their front door, brought in the morning newspapers and indicated that he would do the same the following day along with any mail delivered to their mailbox.
Every member of the family was now in the position of keeping themselves busy under the house confinement orders by the FBI. Windows had been covered in dark cloth to prevent any view of the family inside the house. Unfortunately, this also prevented any daylight from entering except for two skylights in the ceiling of the screened porch. Bob offered the officers coffee several times but was told that they were fine and were often relieved by other police officers since the weather that morning was only in the 20s, much colder than normal for Thanksgiving.
Chief Anderson had been able to get a local glass dealer to replace the glass broken by the gunfire at the Lamplighter. The restaurant had hundreds of lunch and late afternoon reservations on Thanksgiving and closing the restaurant would have imposed too much hardship on the patrons of the establishment. Bob had thought about closing the Lamplighter due to the shooting, but as it turned out, it would be dinner as scheduled thanks to Chief Anderson. It was Bob’s intention to keep the Wednesday episode quiet and all employees had been ordered to do the same. Bob’s maître d’ would operate the Lamplighter on Thanksgiving in his absence. He had called the restaurant at 11:00 a.m. to make sure that all the proper arrangements had been made as patrons would begin arriving around 11:30 a.m. for the Noon seating. There would also be a 2:00 p.m. and 4:00 p.m. seating to follow.
Bob still had a lot of difficulty understanding what was going on and how, suddenly, his secure lifestyle was threatened by something completely out of his control.
At the Westin Hotel in Boston, Ahmad and Françoise were spending a quiet day in their suite along with other members of the king’s entourage. Security in and around the hotel had been heightened and no one was allowed access to the thirty-fifth floor unless previously approved by the king himself or by Françoise. Father Dick had left early that morning to say Thanksgiving Mass in Rhode Island and planned to return to Boston later that same day. He had informed Françoise that he would call immediately if there was word from the FBI on the two assassins. By now, the state police had joined the manhunt for Singh and DeSai, and all agencies had full descriptions of the two assailants and the vehicle they were driving. Somehow, they had eluded the search and were nowhere to be found.
Ahmad was angry at the thought that a relative would plot against the succession laws of Khatamori, but more so that it was Answa, whom he felt closer to than anyone except Françoise. Apparently the Minister of Finance had also innocently informed Answa of the series of payments that had been made years before by Françoise to the orphanage in Giverny. The Minister felt that, in the event these payments required further investigation, the head of the country’s security should be made aware.
The telephone in Ahmad’s suite rang and it startled Françoise considering the circumstances with the assassins on the loose and the impending surgery to Ahmad on Friday. The king’s servant answered and immediately looked at Ahmad.
“It is the long-distance operator, Your Majesty.”
“This is Ahmad Maurier, you have a call ready for me?” he queried.
“Mr. Maurier, we have a Mr. Arif on the line, one moment please.”
“Hello, Your Majesty?”
“Kirit, I have some very important instructions for you. You are to arrest Answa immediately and see to it that his confinement is well guarded. You are also to take the military guard and surround the entire palace grounds until I or the queen tell you otherwise. I fear that Answa has betrayed us, but I cannot be certain yet. Is that clear?” Ahmad’s voice was getting louder, so much so that the assigned nurse outside his bedroom door burst in at the loud voice.
Ahmad noticed the concerned look on her face and immediately held the phone aside and told her, “I’m sorry for the loudness, I am on a long-distance call and thought that speaking louder would help. There is nothing to be alarmed about,” he continued.
“Your Majesty, you must remain calm, it is crucial that your vital signs remain normal before and up to the time of the transplant operation,” the nurse replied.
“Yes, yes, I know, I will be sure that it does not happen again,” he assured her and she hesitantly left the room.
“Kirit, did you understand what I just told you?”
“Yes, Your Majesty, your orders will be carried out at once.”
Kirit Arif was the Minister of Defense which, in such a small country, amounted to a mere two hundred soldiers that guarded the borders and served as honor guards at functions in the palace. Kirit was loyal and trustworthy and did not question the reasons for the orders, he would just follow them. Ahmad told Kirit to call him back immediately once Answa was under house arrest.
At nearly the same time, Singh was calling Answa to inform him about what had happened at the restaurant. When Answa answered, he was concerned that the American authorities were on to them and that it would be nearly impossible to get near Bob Elliott at this time.
“Fajid, I want you to kill Habib. Remove your hair and mustache, and buy a pair of glasses to change your appearance. They are looking for two men, not one. Use a different name; say a French name, not a Muslim one that would attract too much attention. Get rid of the car and steal another. So many cars are stolen in the United States that another will not make anyone connect it to you. Once you have done this, you are to rent a furnished apartment in the town near where Bob Elliott lives. In a few days, security will not be so strict. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Answa, he is right here in the room with me, I will take care of it,” Singh replied.
“I will leave immediately for America and contact you when I arrive. Be at the North Central Airport in Lincoln, Rhode Island, on Saturday. I will be arriving there in the afternoon. We may need to take care of Ahmad first. The Elliott son can wait for now.”
“Remember, Fajid, I need someone like you to head my security force after this is over.”
“I will be there, Answa, er, we will be there,” Singh muttered as Habib was looking at the television while stretched out on the bed in the motel room. There is no honor a
mong assassins. Shortly there would be only one.
Habib never knew what hit him as the two bullets from the silencer killed him instantly. Singh would dispose of his body that night, check out of the motel, and leave the rental car in a parking lot in another town, miles away. Stealing another car would not be difficult as he positioned himself near an all-night convenience store where customers would leave their keys in the ignition as they picked up a few items. Oftentimes, they even left the motor running as they never suspected that they would be victimized in such a short time.
Singh shaved his head, beard, and mustache and had bought a pair of cheap eyeglasses at a local drugstore in Woonsocket, twenty minutes away from Medway. He had left the rental car in a supermarket parking lot where it would not likely attract attention for several days. Habib’s body was rolled in bed sheets and stuffed in the trunk.
Thanksgiving night was cold in Rhode Island with temperatures dipping into the low 20s. When the ’86 Chevy Impala pulled up to the L’Il General convenience store, Singh was positioned at the side of the building as he watched the man enter the store, his car engine still emitting smoke from the November chill. He made a beeline for the car and, in a split moment, sped down the road unnoticed. He entered Bellingham on Route 126 and stopped at the first market he found, picked up a local newspaper, and went next door to the Pinecrest Diner. While there, warming up over a bowl of soup, Singh scoured the want ads for furnished apartments and found several. He managed to get one that night and decided to lay low over the next day until Answa arrived at North Central on Saturday.
In the meantime, Ahmad received a second call from Kirit informing him that Answa had been arrested and confined to his quarters in Khatamori. Answa vehemently denied any wrongdoing and was furious at Ahmad’s orders to arrest him. Following this news, Ahmad wrote a message in which he asked Kirit to relay to Answa. It read:
Flower of Heaven Page 15
