WASHINGTON D.C.
The Sadir Affair
The Puppets of Washington Series Book 1
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LAVINA
GIAMUSSO
Blue Shelf Bookstore
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Washington, D.C. – The Sadir Affair
© 2015 BlueShelfBookstore
All rights reserved
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The localities, including Sabodala, landmarks and government organizations mentioned or described in this book do exist. The characters and events are fictional. Their resemblance to actual events or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Check my other books in the Series:
The Puppets of Washington Series
Table of contents
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I would take flight in the morning air,
With my memories of better days,
With sighs of hopes in every breath,
Clearing the ground of desperation,
I would soar above the grey skies of sadness
Into the arms of the love, I once embraced then lost.
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PART 1: Resentment
Chapter 1
Her once vibrant, blonde curls lay flaccid around her head like a scarf of despair. Her once lovely face was now the portrait of the all-consuming pain she had endured for the past several months. Looking at the North Shore Mountains from the terrace of her apartment, Talya Kartz was lost in thought, almost absent. She was revisiting the places of her youth, the places where she had found solace amid the tiresome memories of days filled with anger and regret. She spared some thoughts for the man responsible for her misery, a man she had loved, a man who had become an assassin. He could have killed her, but he didn’t. Why, had been the question that had superseded every other since the shooting. She couldn’t get him out of her mind. She loathed the sight of him now. Yet, she wanted to see him again. She wanted to unreel her vengeful torment upon him. The rage she felt was oddly intertwined with the memory of the times they spent together—the beaches, the sunshine, the warmth of the day...
The winter had dragged on forever and she was happy to be outside without a coat or a blanket wrapped around her legs. Confined to a wheelchair, her main pleasure appeared centred on being alone outside. Unable to get out of bed at night, she would roll herself onto the carpet in the early hours of the morning to drag her body to the terrace door. The nurse would find her on the floor, staring at the ocean or asleep, her head leaning against the windowpane.
Her apartment had become her cage. She had concentrated mainly on learning to move about without the use of her legs as much as was allowed or possible. Ultimately, she had given up on the idea and got used to her wheelchair, although she still preferred sitting on the ground when she was alone. It was as if the floor or the barren ground gave her a sense of vitality, absorbing her pain and restoring her will to live.
“I’m home! What’s for dinner?” Aziz erupted jokingly, as he came through the door late that evening. Hearing no response, he rushed to the terrace. There, Talya was again; sitting on the ground, her back against the stone wall, watching the ocean. “What are you doing here? I thought you had gone out. Come on, let’s get you inside. It’s getting cold.”
Talya looked up at him but didn’t reply.
“Come on, Milady, I’ve got your favourite pizza for dinner…”
Returning her gaze to the ocean, “Is swimming good for me?” Talya asked.
“I’d say so. It’s a muscle stimulant, but you know that. They’ve put you in the pool at the hospital many times.”
“Yeah, but that’s not the same as really swimming, is it?”
“No, it isn’t. I’m sure by the summer; you’ll be able to go swimming.”
“Can we go now?”
“Now? I don’t think so. You need to get a little stronger before you venture in open waters, matey. Remember your legs won’t help you anymore.”
“I know, I know, but I thought we could go to Second Beach in the Kiddies Pool. I just want the feel of the water around my body. Can you understand what I’m saying, Aziz?”
Talya extended her left arm, grabbed the cushion of the wheelchair, lugged herself to where she could hold onto the armrest, and heaved her body into the seat. Beads of sweat pearled on her forehead while Aziz turned her hips into the chair.
“I need to be somewhere where having legs doesn’t matter. Somewhere I could move without having to manoeuvre a stupid wheelchair and somewhere no one needs to help me lie down, get up, or roll around.”
“Okay, let’s plan something for next weekend, okay?” Aziz suggested.
One of her rare smiles appeared on her face. Aziz could have lifted her to the sky for one of those smiles. He waited every hour of every day now to see a smidgen of pleasure light up her face.
“What kind of pizza did you get?” Talya asked, wheeling herself to the kitchen.
“Mushroom and cheese, and I bought a tin of anchovies.”
Talya looked up at him in surprise. She loved anchovies but he hated them.
“I know, I know, I don’t like them, but I thought I could put some on half of the pizza and I’ll eat the other half…”
“You didn’t have to do that! I love pizza anyway.” She shrugged and turned her chair around. “Whatever...”
The smile had disappeared. The joy or the promise of better times had dissipated once again. Aziz shook his head and watched her roll her chair back in the direction of the terrace.
Of course, Talya was an invalid, but it did not mean she was a vegetable either. Aziz was reaching a point where he did not know what to do to please her anymore. Yet nothing displeased her; the neutrality, the idleness, the irresponsiveness, the inertia were the most unnerving to him.
Strictly speaking, Talya was not Dr. Aziz Hendrix’s patient. She had been his lover, friend and companion for some three years. He had seen her reduced to a mangled and frail invalid, literally shrivelling in size, while her mind focused only on mastering the art of indifference.
Talya used to be a fighter. She used to argue and debate her points of view. She used to battle her way through life, but this battle she was not fighting it. The surgeons, physiotherapists, nurses, and medication were fighting it for her. If her treating psychologist had asked him if Talya was suicidal, Aziz would have said no. To him, she had no desire to kill herself, but would she eat or drink if no one was there to feed her? He didn’t think so. Now that she was able to go out, drive her ‘racing wheels’—the nickname she had given to her motorized chair—to the shops and stores, or even take a bus, Aziz had yet to see her pass through the front door of her apartment of her own accord. It was as if she had decided to shut the world out.
After dinner, Aziz went home as usual, once he had put Talya to bed. The nurse would be there in the morning to take care of her for a few hours and leave her after lunch. He would come back at night. That routine had been going on for months, and Aziz was getting tired of it. As much as he loved Talya, he didn’t think he could continue looking after her now that she was well on her way to becoming independent if she wanted to be.
Chapter 2
Captain Khalid Sahab, as friends and acquaintances knew him, was an inveterate pilot. He had
lived at the Hotel de Crillon on the Place de la Concorde since his father died many years ago. Although not flaunting his princely background at anyone’s face, Khalid was an Arab fellow who enjoyed the Parisian life and the luxury that came with his blue blood ancestry. Not a pretentious man by any means, Khalid had an acute sense of his fellow human beings, an odd and instant insight into their characters. He was intelligent, well educated—in England—and he displayed a deep-seated wisdom. Tall and handsome by many women’s description, he was not flirtatious or even interested in befriending the opposite sex. Originally raised as a Touareg, his beliefs led him to maintain his distances from women. His greying hair at the temples revealed his age and when people saw him in the company of his daughter, Aisha, they somehow gathered that he was serious about his family ties and beyond the age of chasing the alluring Parisian skirts.
He had been thrown in the midst of an international, political affair some two years ago now, which had almost ruined him financially and had left him emotionally scarred. He had met Talya at a time she was herself in deep trouble. Together they evaded their enemies and thwarted or even foiled the operations of a drug lord in France while uncovering an arms’ trafficking ring spanning some three continents.
He deplored Talya’s injuries. He knew that, ultimately, she had blamed him for what happened. She had been shot, and his absence at the time made it all the worst for him and for her. He had left her to her own device in Miami and he knew the move had ignited a pursuit by a Mossad agent that ended up in disaster.
He had not heard from Talya in many months. He phoned James Flaubert, her boss and founder of Carmine Resources on many occasions, only to learn of her progressive recovery but also of her cloistering. James had told him she wanted to see no one and lived a secluded life now.
Khalid was again reminiscing of the happy times he spent with Talya when the phone on his desk rang and startled him back to the present.
“Yes, Marie, what is it?” Khalid answered tersely.
“A Dr. Hendrix is on the line for you, Capitaine. Shall I put him through?” the woman replied quietly. Marie was the ‘gérante’ of the hotel. She had seen Khalid through the worst and the best moments of his life. More than a manager, Marie was like a mother to Khalid.
“Yes, Marie, please.”
“Khalid?” Aziz asked as soon as he heard the phone being picked up.
“Yes, Aziz. How can I help you?”
“No, not me, Khalid—you’ll never be able to help me—it’s Talya who needs your help.”
Paying no heed to Aziz’s comments, “How is she?” Khalid asked.
“Physically, as well as can be expected, but psychologically, she is irresponsive.”
“What do you mean, irresponsive?”
“Do you know what apathy means?”
“Yes, why?”
“I guess you’ve lost your perspicacity while ignoring your friends…”
Khalid was reaching the point of annoyance very quickly. Aziz had put him on the defensive. “All right, and what do you want me to do about it? She wouldn’t even pick-up the phone when I tried calling her. She does not want to see me—you know that!”
“She might not pick-up the phone, but if she knows you’re at her doorsteps, she’ll see you—I’m sure of it.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Khalid, don’t play games with me. I know you’re still in love with her and if anyone can get her out of that bubble of hers, it’s you.”
“Listen to me, Aziz. Let’s say I get her out of her torpor and she finally starts living a normal life again, what would happen if she decides to come back to Paris with me? Because that’s a possibility. Have you thought of it?”
“I would prefer seeing her going to Paris with you for ever—if that’s what she wants—than seeing her the way she is now.”
“All right. Let me make some arrangements and I’ll contact you with an arrival date.”
“Thank you, Khalid.”
“I hope that was as sincere as your plea on her behalf was,” Khalid said.
“Yes, it was. Yet, I would like to hear the story from your lips one day.”
“By all means, Aziz, you should.”
When Khalid hung up, he was thrilled. Not solely because he was going to see Talya again but because he was finally going to be able to open the book that had been closed too soon in his opinion. Mossad was an enemy not to be underestimated and if someone did not turn the page in this book quickly, the dormant monster would awake soon with dire consequences for everyone involved.
Chapter 3
Sabrina, the receptionist told him that Khalid was on the line once again. James was out of excuses.
“Good morning, James,” Khalid replied to James’s quick and frosty greeting.
“Good of you to call again.” The president of Carmine Resources stretched his lanky frame to the back of the chair.
“I am not going to ask you to give me the latest report on Talya’s recovery. I know you’re tired of giving me the same answer.” That was true; James no longer knew how to tell Khalid that Talya didn’t want any visitor or that she seemed to be retreating into a solitary world, and only accepted loneliness for her companion. “The reason for my call is simply to inform you that I should be in Vancouver the day after tomorrow.”
James passed his fingers through his wavy, grey hair. “Should I be concerned…?” That question was perhaps well justified on James’s part. Every time Khalid had come on the scene, troubles had followed him.
“No, not at all. Dr Hendrix is the one who called me and asked for my assistance.”
“To do what?” James asked.
“He thinks I could help Talya in getting her out of her self-imposed seclusion.”
“It’s not only seclusion, Khalid, that’s ailing Talya. You must realize it’s much more than that.”
“Yes, I do realize it, and this is perhaps why I want to see for myself what can be done about it, if anything.”
“Are you a psychiatrist now?” The obvious scoff had its roots in James knowing that Khalid was a good judge of character. He had seen him handle Talya’s difficult traits on many occasions, but this was different; Talya was drowning into some sort of lethargy, from which she didn’t want to come out.
Khalid chuckled. “No, James, I couldn’t begin to pretend to have such knowledge of the human mind, yet and maybe, I could look into the reason for Talya’s wilful retreat.”
“Okay, if you think your presence will make a difference, I’m all for it, of course. Do you want me to tell her you’re coming?”
“No!” The word resounded over the line loud and clear. The firmness in Khalid’s voice took James aback. “I’m sorry, James, but I don’t want her to know that I come to her aid. She would not react well to the announcement.”
“Very well then, when should I expect you? And where will you be staying?”
“I should be at your office on Wednesday and I have made reservations at the Sands for now.”
“Wouldn’t you prefer staying at the 4 Seasons…?”
“No, not this time. I need to be in walking distance of her apartment.”
“Quite. I understand.”
Replacing the receiver, James thought of the first time Khalid came to Vancouver; it was again when Talya needed someone to help her—out of a depression.
Chapter 4
Samuel Meshullam was a man of means. He lived comfortably, had money to spare although no one had ever heard him talk about his job—if he held one, no one knew. He lived in a house at the edge of the ocean and abutting a ‘reserve’ or park in Manly, a suburb of Sydney, Australia. His dark hair and sharp facial features, partially hidden under a shadowy beard, told of the man’s strength of character. His eyes darted at the smallest noise. He seemed to be on the alert all the time. His neighbours tried to befriend him when he first moved to the area, but he soon distanced himself from everyone. By all accounts, the man didn’t like company. He often
walked across the park, crossed the little bridge and made his way to a secluded beach bordering yet another reserve. He was used to walking long distances and preferred travelling on foot to using any mode of transport, even though he owned a sports’ car, which he used mostly to travel to Melbourne or other towns north or south of the city.
Although no one had ever seen him go to work, Samuel had an occupation, which paid him very well. He was a consultant, a man that you hired when you needed a job done and done well. His kind of consulting was not in high demand, but one contract could see him living in the lap of luxury for years, if that’s what it took until the next job came about. Besides, Samuel had no parents or family to encumber his life with questions or queries as to his means of living or even lifestyle. Perhaps the only characteristic that could distinguish Samuel from many other fellows was that he had been trained and was now in Mossad’s employ, the Israeli equivalent of the American CIA.
The reason he was currently living in Sydney or in Australia for that matter, apart from the fact that he had been born and raised in Melbourne was that he was now in hiding and would remain so until ‘further orders’.
His last job had seen him shooting a woman in Vancouver. He was already back in Sydney when he learned that his target nearly died from his bullet, which was exactly what had been required of him. He had been assigned to “slow the woman down” but not to kill her. Like him, Talya Kartz was Jewish, and killing a Jewess would not only have weighed heavily on his conscience but would have put him in God’s bad books—if there were such a thing.
WASHINGTON DC: The Sadir Affair (The Puppets of Washington Book 1) Page 1
