It didn’t take them long to clear customs, security and all the rest of it, and for the three men to be on their way to the New South Wales police headquarters in Sydney. Expecting their new building to be completed in the next few months, their offices were still located somewhere downtown; exactly where, Mark could not say. They were driving on the left side of the road, which, for one thing, scared him. As Mark was getting used to the traffic moving on the “wrong” side of the road and to the car fumes that seemed to choke the city, they arrived at their destination.
Mark was ushered directly into a large anteroom and asked to sit down in one of the old leather chairs. Damien disappeared into an adjacent room and Strickland sat beside him, cap in his lap this time. The two men remained silent until the door on the far wall opened and an officer in uniform, appeared in the embrasure.
“Agent Gilford, please come in,” the man stated, waving to Mark to follow him back into the room. “I’m Chief Constable Sorenson.” He extended a hand to Mark, which he took in a firm handshake. “Have a chair.” Mark felt out of place straight away. Not only was the office spacious, well-appointed, but Sorenson’s speech and presence were intimidating. He commanded respect. Mark looked down at his scruffy jeans, his wrinkled T-shirt and would have like to hide under the man’s desk rather than talk to him. He sat down between Damien and Strickland, and opposite Sorenson, feeling totally out of his element.
“As I understand it from Constable Damien here”—he nodded in his direction—“you are requesting to place a call to your superior in Ottawa, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Chief Gibson has explained the matter quite plainly to me, and I believe my constables have transmitted the message in as many details as were pertinent and necessary.” He stopped, frowning and scrutinizing Mark’s face. “So, why would you feel the need to obtain more information at this juncture? Or verify my instructions as it were?”
Good God, the man has the ego of an elephant and if I start going against his tsunami of orders now, I’ll be unable to move an inch.
“I have no intention to contravene your instructions or orders, sir, not at all. I wanted to contact Chief Gibson to obtain the latest information on the CIA’s movements and on one person in particular, Agent Sadir.” Sorenson’s eyes grew wider. “Agent Sadir, I believe, holds the thread that could lead us to our Mossad fugitive.”
“What makes you believe such an extrapolation from a mere encounter between the prince and Agent Sadir?”
The man is a prick, Mark decided. “Sir, if I may…, your constables told Prince Khalid that he would find his passport at the Hotel de Crillon upon his return to Paris.”
“Correct.”
“Well, sir, that tells me that you have been in contact with Agent Sadir or that you will be shortly, since Agent Sadir was the last person in possession of our prince’s passport.”
“And?”
“And what?” To Mark it was obvious. Sadir had probably changed his mind about Khalid meeting Samuel and the duel had been called off. He had called Ottawa, and in turn, the Chief had called Sorenson to stop them. The only hole in this story was why. What happened that made Sadir take a 180-degree turn? “Agent Sadir must have encountered some problem at his end and called off the whole deal. That’s all.”
Sorenson chortled. “I see why you would want to talk to Chief Gibson. You don’t know what happened, do you?”
“No, sir, I don’t. I have been in a plane for the best part of 30 hours and now that my instructions seemed to have changed, I’d like to know why.” Mark caught himself. He sounded like a criminal trying to defend his alibi with a lie. He had to get out from under this guy’s eyes, and grip. He would not be able to function like this. That would mean he would bungle his assignment... no time for that.
“All right, Agent Gilford, you shall have your wish.” Mark couldn’t believe his ears. “Let’s get to the other room and see if we can contact Chief Gibson.”
In a chorus of movement, the three officers and Mark got up and moved toward the door. Damien fell in step with Mark; he didn’t want to lose him.
When Strickland opened the operation centre’s door, and let his Chief, Damien and Mark pass ahead of him, Mark stopped in awe on the threshold. In the semi-darkness, the multiple monitors lining the walls of the room were relating instant, simultaneous information about various operations in the field. The multi-dimensional screens overhung a semi-circular pit where a number of technicians were conducting their particular operation from their keyboards. No one turned when Chief Sorenson came in. These officers were totally absorbed in their tasks.
“I see that you are impressed, Agent Gilford,” Chief Sorenson said, visibly pleased with Mark’s reaction.
“Why yes, sir. We’ve got about the same thing in Ottawa, but the degree of sophistication of these computers hasn’t reached our shores yet.”
“That’s one of the advantages of being close to our Japanese neighbours. Mind you, it took quite a lot of convincing on our part to arrive at this result. Our government would have preferred to build these computers on Aussie soil, but that would have delayed progress by five or more years, which was not a viable proposition. Anyway, we’re not here to discuss politics. Let’s get you on line with Chief Gibson.” Mark nodded and sat down in one of the chairs facing a larger screen and beside Sorenson.
“Jim, would you get Chief Gibson in Ottawa on line for us?” the chief said to the back of the officer closer to him.
The young man turned around, nodded, and returning his attention to his screen, he typed a few words on the keyboard. He waited, said something into his Bluetooth and then looked at Sorenson, shaking his head. “It’s 3:00AM in Ottawa, sir. Chief Gibson is not in his office.”
“Very well then. Get him on the phone at home.”
Mark cringed. Fred never liked to be awakened in the middle of the night.
Jim turned to his screen again and amid multiple mini-screens, Fred Gibson’s number appeared. Sorenson picked up the small earphones and mike that hung over one of the armrests of his chair, and nodded to Mark to do the same. They slipped them into their ears and switched the microphones on. Within seconds, they heard Fred’s grunts of annoyance over the line.
“Gibson here,” he grumbled.
“Chief, Mark here…”
“What? Where are you, boy? What, what’s going on? Have you got him?” As his brain got in gear, the words came out of his mouth clearer.
“I’m still in Sydney, Chief. I’ve got Chief Sorenson here and he authorized me to call you from headquarters...”
“Did you say, “Authorized you”? Since when do you need anyone’s authorization to call me? What have you done? Have you been arrested?”
“No, nothing like that. I’m the one who insisted on calling you at this hour...” He saw Sorenson smile gratefully from the corner of his eye. “I just wanted to know why you’ve stopped us and how come Samuel is to be arrested and extradited?”
“And you call me at 3:00 in the morning for that?” Fred bellowed. “Listen, Mark, it’s simple; you’ve got to find him a-sap, stay alive and bring him back. The rest I’ll explain later when I’m dressed and able to make sense of what I’m saying, okay?”
“Okay, Chief, I’m sorry.”
“Okay…, talk to me tomorrow…, I mean today... Whenever.”
Sorenson turned to Mark as he took his headset off. “I’m sorry, Agent Gilford. It appears that I have overstepped my authority. I guess your attire had a lot to do with my doubting your status or rank. Let’s go downstairs now and I’ll introduce you to the two men who will assist you in this assignment.”
“But I thought Constables Damien and Strickland were assigned to this case already,” Mark uttered, rising from the chair.
“My mistake, Agent Gilford, I should have told you earlier, but the two constables will make the arrest ultimately, yes, however, the locating and apprehending of the felon will be the responsibility of ou
r agents. They are well trained, by MI5 no less, but they know very little when it comes to dealing with a Mossad spy, and that’s where you come in.”
Chapter 21
As expected, Samuel neared Melbourne in the early hours of the morning. He didn’t want to go to Millicent’s place just yet. He needed to rest for a few hours before he tackled that problem. If she were still in Melbourne, he would have to get her out of the way. He couldn’t kill her. That would attract too much publicity. Besides, he liked the woman. He had to find another way. As he drove past her building, he saw her car parked by the curb. He went down Caroline Street and his headlights hit a sign “To Let”. Samuel turned onto the avenue alongside the building and stopped. He turned off the headlights, rolled down the window and looked up at the multi-stories apartment block. He nodded. This was a satisfactory location; facing the river, no neighbours for hundreds of yards around and only the Yarra across the main façade. He decided he would catch a few hours’ sleep at the nearest hotel and get back here before noon.
As he turned onto the bridge crossing the river, he noticed how different the city looked since he left. Perhaps, the images he kept in his mind were fading away and being replaced by new ones. His nostalgia of home and of Australia had never left him. When he spent some years in Israel, he felt as if he was visiting his ancestors’ homeland, but it never felt like home to him.
He parked in the underground garage of a shopping mall, adjacent to a posh hotel, took the lift to the lobby, and registered for a two-night stay. He paid with an old credit card, bearing yet another name, and made his way to his room. He took his shoes and socks off—Australians love to walk barefoot everywhere—and lay down on the bed. Within minutes, Samuel was asleep.
Chapter 22
As soon as they passed through the door into a long hall-type of room, Sorenson went to the desk of the officer nearest to the window. He bent down to the man’s ear and whispered a few words.
The officer got up in a shot saying, “Yes, sir, right away.” He rushed along the row of desks lining the windows that stretched the length of the room and afforded a view of the city bustle two floors below. “Carvey?” he summoned, “Would you mind coming up for a minute? And you too, Delgado, the Chief wants a word with you blokes.”
The two men abandoned what they were doing and strode to the far wall where Mark and Sorenson were waiting. The latter made the introduction and once the officers had shaken hands with Mark, the four men made their way back to the Chief’s office on the third floor.
“They say you’re a big shot in the Canadian Agency,” Carvey said to Mark as they were climbing the stairs.
“Is that a question?” Mark retorted coldly.
“No, not really, Agent Gilford, we were told you’ve had your hands full with a Saudi Prince and his fiancée for a while…”
Mark halted on one of the stairs. “Stop it right there!” he groaned. “If you are going to work with me, we’re not going to talk casually about the subjects of our investigations, past or present, in the open air for everybody to hear. Understood?”
Sorenson and Delgado had also stopped two steps ahead of the men, and looked down at them a smirk on their faces. “You’ve always been a bit of a chatterer haven’t you, Carvey?” Sorenson remarked jocularly. “Just keep your mouth shut for now, will you?”
“Yes, sir.” Carvey resumed his climb beside Mark; his eyes fixed on his feet, and followed the others up the stairs.
Sylvester Carvey was a big fellow. You wouldn’t want to mess with him, Mark thought. His big muscles, tapered waist, strong legs and easy gait portrayed a man who was used to workout at the gym on a regular basis. His clean-shaven jaw and closely cropped, brown hair delineated a gentle face. He was not aggressive, just overwhelming. As for Ernesto Delgado, he was the antithesis of his partner. A small, non-descript man, with short, black hair, he was thin and seemed to be light on his feet. He was quick, decisive and sharp-looking. He, too, was clean-shaven but with his Hispanic, olive complexion, he probably had a difficult time keeping the dark stubbles in check.
When they reached Sorenson’s office, the officers and Mark followed him and sat down facing him. He pulled a file out of his desk-drawer, opened it and looked at each man in turn.
“Okay, Agent Gilford, here is what we’ve got on Samuel Meshullam thus far. We know he’s arrived in Sydney seven months ago and since then he’s been living in Manly, on King Avenue to be exact. He’s rented a house on the edge of the reserve…”
“Sorry to interrupt, Chief, but what is a “reserve”?” Mark asked.
The three men looked at the Canadian Agent as if he were a child coming out of elementary school with a bad report card.
“Ah, yes, of course, you’re not used to Strine, are you?” Sorenson said, joining in the chorus of chuckles from Delgado and Carvey.
“What’s Strine?” Mark added another to his first query.
Delgado chortled. “That’s the Australian way of saying we talk funny.”
Sorenson shot an admonishing glance at the officer. He seemed always afraid of someone fraying his authority. “All right, a reserve is a park, generally small and located amid city built areas.”
“Okay, I’m sorry…, please go on.”
Sorenson nodded. “As I was saying, our Agent Meshullam has been living at No. 2 King Avenue in Manly for the past seven months. We only know this because when Ms Kartz was shot, your Chief Gibson, asked us to track him down. However, we didn’t do anything about the man’s presence here since no crime had been committed on Australian soil and we had no evidence of a crime being committed in Canada either. As far as we were concerned, until we were given different orders, we just kept watch on the bloke.”
Mark started to fidget in the chair. “What about now?”
“We believe he’s still there.”
“When did you receive the extradition order or when were you alerted that things had changed?”
Clearly, Chief Sorenson didn’t like to be questioned. He frowned. “On Friday, why?”
“Do you think he would have gone somewhere else?” Delgado asked.
“Depends... It depends on how quickly Meshullam was notified he was up for grabs,” Mark answered, turning his face to the officer on his right.
“What do you have in mind, Agent Gilford?” Sorenson asked, while the two officers turned to Mark as if waiting for him to impart a small piece of wisdom.
“Sir, I’m sorry, but I thought it was obvious. We know Meshullam is a Mossad agent. It would stand to reason then that he was advised of any move we made the moment we made it. We also know that since you’ve stopped us at the airport and that you’ve been talking to Agent Sadir in the meantime, Mossad has informed Meshullam of our arrival or even the purpose of the Prince’s visit to Australia.”
“Let me see…, Agent Gilford; are you saying Agent Sadir is a double agent?”
Delgado and Carvey switched their gazes in unison from Mark to Sorenson, a mechanical gesture that didn’t escape Mark’s notice. These two have been together a long time, he thought.
“Let me answer that with another question. Why would the CIA be interested in the movements of a Mossad agent that’s been dormant for months?”
Sorenson hesitated. “Well, for one thing, Prince Khalid intended to meet Meshullam…”
“You’ve become aware of that fact only because either Sadir or Chief Gibson told you it was the case, right?”
“Hum…, yes, as a matter of fact, it’s Chief Gibson who phoned me and told me that Sadir had met with the prince, and he told me that he was going to…”
“Exactly. Sadir phoned Chief Gibson and between them, they arranged for me to organize the Prince’s escapade. My assignment was to keep Meshullam and the prince alive. We could not stop Prince Khalid or arrest him, so I was to play bodyguard for a while.”
Sorenson looked at Mark intently. “And when the Canadian government realized they were going to be made a scapegoat if the Prince died
or if Meshullam was eliminated, they decided to stop the charade before getting in hot water with the CIA. Does that sum it up?” Sorenson needed approbation. The spy game not only didn’t appeal to his sense of correctness but it didn’t fit with his understanding of the way the law should be upheld. No man should have to resort to lying in order to get at the truth.
“No doubt that our agency in Ottawa saw it the same way you do now, Chief.”
“All right, now that we have a handle on the problem, let me hear how you want to resolve it.”
Mark looked at the two agents on either side of him in turn. “First, I’d like to know who my two partners are.”
Delgado shifted in his chair. “What do you want to know?” He crossed his arms over his chest. He was on the defensive. Mark wondered why.
“Not much, really, I’d just like to know if you’ll have my back when things will get ugly.”
“Do you want some sort of reassurance from two decorated officers that they will protect you, is that what you’re asking?” Sorenson didn’t like this line of questioning.
“I guess that’s what I’m asking, yes. Actually, medals and decorations don’t mean a thing to me when it comes to chasing a guy the likes of Meshullam.” Mark turned to Carvey. “How many times have you had the opportunity to use a sniper rifle since you’ve been at MI5?”
Carvey put his elbows on his knees, trying to avoid Mark’s piercing eyes. “Well…, actually, a couple of times on task-force assignments…”
“I see. What about you, Delgado?” The latter looked at Sorenson for help. It didn’t come. The chief’s blank stare was leaving the bloke alone in the middle of the ocean—without a buoy.
“No rifles, just automatics...” Delgado answered ashamedly.
“Okay,” Mark declared, stretching his back against the chair, “I think we’ll go to the rifle range tomorrow…”
“Do you think that’s necessary?” Sorenson ventured.
WASHINGTON DC: The Sadir Affair (The Puppets of Washington Book 1) Page 7
