WASHINGTON DC: The Sadir Affair (The Puppets of Washington Book 1)

by Lavina Giamusso

“I haven’t heard anything, Agent Sadir. I’ve simply been advised that you were going on an extended vacation to China, Shanghai to be precise.”

  Sadir’s face passed through the colours of the rainbow in a matter of seconds. He was floored. The Deputy Director must have been on to him, or was that a Mossad move. He felt like a trapped animal.

  “Don’t worry, though,” Cameron went on, “China is quite interesting—lots of things to see. Only one thing, though, they don’t like Arabs too much I’m told.”

  That was the last drop; the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. Muhammad got up in a brutal rustle of the chair and walked out of the restaurant. Cameron shrugged, waved at the little waitress and ordered lunch.

  Chapter 26

  “China?” Sadir muttered under his breath, as he drove down and parked his car in the garage. “What the hell am I going to do in China?” His climbed out and locked his car.

  He was about to step into one of the elevators when a security officer stopped him.

  “Agent Sadir?”

  “Yes? What do you want with me?” he blurted when the officer grabbed him by the arm.

  “This way, sir.” He led him to the security room at the back of the bank of elevators, Sadir gesticulating and trying to get his arm free. “Don’t make a fuss, Agent Sadir. It won’t take long.”

  “Long for what?”

  “Not here, Sadir. Get in there,” the officer ordered, pushing the agent in front of him.

  “I demand to know what this is all about,” Sadir shouted.

  Once in the room, another officer sat him down forcefully and handcuffed his left wrist to the arm of the chair.

  “Okay, Sadir, here’s the deal; you surrender your handgun, badge and everything that belongs to us and we let you get out of here in peace.”

  “You’ve got no right to treat me like this. I demand to see the Deputy Director.”

  “He doesn’t want to see you, sir,” a third man said, coming out of a dim lit corner of the room. “Actually, he asked me to have you sign your resignation.” He handed Sadir a letter-size sheet of paper.

  Sadir took it with his free hand and read it. “I won’t sign this,” he growled. “I won’t resign!”

  “Well, it’s your choice, really, but if you don’t we could make life miserable for you, if you know what I mean, and China would be a good place to start doing that.”

  Sadir glared at the man. He had never seen him around the office or anywhere else for that matter. He was a little fellow with a strange look on his face, something between vicious and sadistic.

  “What about my stuff upstairs…?”

  The man’s mouth morphed into what resembled a smile. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve shipped it to your house already. And your wife’s got your tickets to Shanghai.” Since Sadir didn’t answer, the agent went on, “Consider yourself lucky. The Deputy Director is only asking for your resignation now, and as far as everyone else is concerned you’re on extended leave. You should thank him, really. You could be going somewhere much darker than China.” He cackled into a sombre laughter and then stopped abruptly. “Okay, enough talking. Here’s a pen. Sign the darn letter so I could go back to what I was doing. You’re messing up my day.”

  Sadir grabbed the pen from the man’s hand, and putting the letter on his knee, he signed it.

  “Very good, Mr. Sadir. Now empty your breast pocket and give your wallet to the officer here.” The agent nodded in the security officer’s direction. He took the wallet from Sadir’s shaking hand, extracted the CIA identification and returned it to him.

  The second officer uncrossed his arms from in front of his chest, unlocked the handcuff and lifted the ex-agent out of the chair by the arm. The small man retreated into the darkness of the room, putting Sadir’s letter in his pocket.

  As soon as the two officers had taken Sadir’s gun and badge from him, they led him out of the room and onto the street.

  It had taken a little less than five minutes to shatter Sadir’s life to pieces.

  He knew that if he didn’t take the flight to Seattle, or tried to hide somewhere else in the States, they would eventually catch up with him. He didn’t relish the thought of rotting in prison awaiting a trial that would never eventuate. Besides, he had his wife and two daughters to think about. Maybe he could contact Samuel in Australia. Sadir shook his head. Not a good idea. He knew Samuel was already on the move. They wouldn’t have waited to contact him. He felt abandoned, which he was, in fact. Better that than having to deal with anything else the CIA had in mind. Maybe when he arrived in China, he could turn back.

  He went back to his car, drove out of the parking lot and headed to the airport. He didn’t want to end up shackled in some Chinese dungeon, never to be heard from again.

  They hadn’t taken his credit cards, so there was still a chance he could go somewhere else than China.

  In the CIA’s security room, the little man was looking at one of the screens. On it, there was a background map of Washington D.C. and a moving dot showing where Sadir was travelling. He sniggered. “Let’s see where he’s going,” he said to the officer sitting in front of the set of computers.

  “He’s not going home, that’s for sure,” the fellow replied.

  “Let’s hope he chooses the correct destination. I would hate to have to pull him back. Feeding him would cost a fortune.” The renewed cackling laugh had the officer turn his head and smile. Jack Lypsick, you’re a weird guy, he thought.

  When he reached the airline counter, Sadir asked if he had a reservation for Seattle.

  “Yes, you do, Mr. Sadir,” the young lady said. “Will you be flying onto YVR right away or staying a few days in Washington State?”

  Sadir stared at her. He hadn’t understood what she said. “What’s YVR?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. That’s Vancouver, in Canada.”

  The surprise on Sadir’s pleated face was unmistakable. It reduced his speech to a stutter. “I…, I don’t know... I, I mean…, I don’t know…”

  “Don’t worry; we can leave that leg of the trip open if you like.”

  “Well…, yes…, I guess.” Sadir was thinking about his passport. He didn’t have it on him.

  Looking at her screen, “Would you mind waiting for a moment, sir?” the attendant said suddenly.

  Sadir began to fret. Sweat beaded above his brow. He took his handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his face. He had been happy to hear that Linda had made the reservations after all, but to hear that his trip had been extended to Vancouver worried him. Who made those reservations, he wondered. He waited.

  When the attendant came back to her seat, she handed him a large envelope saying, “We’ve had this package waiting for you, and I almost forgot to get it for you before you left. Sorry about that.”

  Sadir’s hands were trembling when he opened the envelope. Inside he found a passport and a letter. He didn’t bother reading the letter—time for that later. He said to the young woman, “On second thought, why don’t you book me on the connecting flight to Vancouver right away.”

  “No problem, sir. Any luggage?”

  “Umm…, no…, my wife is bringing it with her. She’s supposed to meet me in Seattle.”

  “That’s fine then. Your flight is departing tonight at 8:15PM and you should be at the security gate an hour prior to departure.”

  Sadir nodded, visibly relieved, and thanked the young woman when she handed him his boarding passes.

  “Lypsick here, Deputy Director. Sadir is on his way to Vancouver, as planned,” the little man said into the phone, and hung up.

  Feeling very uncomfortable, hot, sweaty and harassed, Sadir went to sit in one of the airport’s restaurant. He ordered a soda with plenty of ice and sat back to read the letter that accompanied the passport he found in the envelope.

  Mr. Sadir,

  You are now on your way to Vancouver, Canada. When you arrive, you will go to the Hyatt on Burrard Street, where a room has be
en reserved for you. In the room, you will find your luggage. We will know when to contact you. Wait for further instructions.

  Your friend, JL

  PS: Do not, under any circumstance, try to contact Ms Kartz.

  How did they know he had intended to go to Vancouver ultimately? How was his luggage going to get there, was his next question.

  Sadir got up and went to the payphone near the men’s room—he had left his cell phone in his desk drawer. As he pulled out a few coins from his trousers’ pocket, he noticed a little item, which he recognized immediately. “Bastards!” he muttered under his breath. They had put a bug in his pocket when the security men searched him before he left. He dialled his home number feverishly.

  As soon as he heard his wife’s voice, he knew something was wrong.

  “Moh, where are you?” she said anxiously. “I’ve got your colleague here... A Mr. Lip...” she hesitated. Sadir heard a man say “Lypsick” in the background. “…Yes, Agent Lypsick is here. He wants me to pack your bags... and... he says... to pack enough clothes for you for a month. What’s going on, Moh? When are you coming home? Where are you going…? You said…”

  “Jocelyn… please… let me talk to Lypsick... Hold on. Wait. When did he get there?”

  “A few minutes ago…, why?”

  “Never mind. Just put him on.”

  “He says you’re going to Vancouver... and…”

  “Just put him on,” Sadir snapped.

  He heard his wife say, “No… I want…” as Lypsick took the receiver from her.

  “Listen, Sadir. You’ve got your instructions. Now, leave your family in peace. You’ll get your stuff in Vancouver as arranged. Talk to you later.”

  Sadir didn’t have time to answer before he heard the click. Lypsick had hung up in his ear.

  Chapter 27

  The weekend was well on its way now. Fred wasn’t due back in the office until Monday, but Mark’s call bothered him. He wasn’t so worried about the phone call itself; it was the fact that Sorenson seemed to be ordering him around, which annoyed him the most. Nicknamed “the cat”, Mark Gilford, needed to be guided but not put on a leash. He wouldn’t be able to function if anyone restricted his movements with orders or suggestions as to his behaviour. As he was about to send an email to Sorenson, he saw the message from the CIA in Washington. It read:

  Be advised—Agent Muhammad Sadir has taken a leave of absence. All inquiries should be directed to Agent Cameron Sheffield.

  Signed: D. Van Dams, Deputy Director.

  “Badawee was right,” Fred muttered. However, this message was worrisome to say the least. It meant that Mossad had put things in motion. If they were the ones who had organized Sadir’s departure so quickly, it would not be too farfetched an assumption they were onto Mark and the Prince. By now Samuel was probably aware that his CIA contact had been removed from active duty and he would be on the move or even gone from Australia altogether. Besides, there was Talya to consider. She was in danger again. Mossad would have to get rid of her before she had an opportunity to reach the stand at Samuel’s trial. He remembered how difficult it had been to keep her in protective custody the last time she had been a target. The Saudi royal family had intervened and she had been released in Prince Khalid’s personal custody then. This whole situation was moving too fast for Fred’s liking. He swore under his breath. Why don’t they leave the poor woman alone?

  Namlah had gone shopping with his wife and kids that afternoon, and had his arms full of grocery bags when he came in and heard the phone ring in the hallway of his home. He dropped one of the bags on the chair beside the telephone table and picked up the receiver, the second bag still in his other arm.

  “Hello, Mr. Badawee here.”

  “Counsellor, Gibson here, I’m sorry to bother you, but would you mind coming in…? I know it’s the weekend…”

  “Has something happened?” Namlah asked, depositing the other bag beside the first one.

  “A lot, Counsellor, and I need your assistance before making a decision.”

  “All right…, I should be able to be in the office in an hour.”

  “Good. I’ll see you then.”

  When Namlah hung up, he heard his wife call from the kitchen. “Who was that? Is everything okay?” She came to stand beside her husband.

  “Sure. That was the Chief. He wants me to go in for a while.”

  “Has something happened, did he say?”

  Namlah shook his head. He didn’t want his wife to start worrying. “Not really, but he’s got to make some decisions before Monday and he’s asked for my input, do you mind?”

  Salina Badawee picked up the bags from the chair, saying, “No, of course not. I just thought of Thelma and Bob; remember they’re coming for dinner. Do you think you’ll be back by six?”

  “Oh, I’m sure it won’t take that long.”

  “Okay…, you go ahead,” Salina said, already on her way back to the kitchen.

  Within the hour, Namlah knocked on Fred’s office door. “Come in, come in,” he heard the chief say.

  “Have a seat, Counsellor.” Fred beckoned to the lawyer to sit down across from him. “Thanks for coming in.”

  “What happened?” Namlah asked, lowering himself into the chair.

  “Plenty. You were right. Mossad seemed to have reacted as soon as they were alerted of the Aussie issuing a warrant for Samuel’s arrest... and... Sadir has been sent on leave.”

  Namlah stroked his moustache. “Hum, I didn’t expect they would move on Sadir so fast. That’s a bit surprising.”

  “Surprising?” Fred’s quizzical face told Namlah he didn’t understand.

  “No-no... It’s not the fact that they reacted, but the fact that the CIA ordered Sadir’s removal that’s surprising. In my mind, Mossad would shut down all communications with him, yes, but not remove him until they were sure his usefulness ran out. But, if the CIA thought he’d stepped out of line somehow, then yes, they would send him away rather quickly.”

  “And inviting Ms Kartz to follow the Prince to Australia had a lot to do with the speed at which they disposed of him, I’d say.”

  Namlah pushed on the armrests and straightened up in the chair. He seemed a bit restless. “That was a mistake, yes. Sadir should have stayed put. The CIA had him under observation probably since Ben Slimane’s elimination. But he had ideas of grandeur, I guess, and he wanted to gain points with Mossad, perhaps, by having Prince Khalid, Ms Kartz and our agent killed in the one go.”

  “Okay, I understand that, but again the question is what do we do about it? And what about Ms Kartz; I think she’s in danger…”

  “No doubt she is, along with everyone who was remotely involved with the arms’ provision to Israel, outside of the Mossad cell, of course.” Namlah returned to stroking his moustache. “Have you called her lately?”

  “Yes, when we didn’t know where our prince had gone... but I didn’t get her on the line.”

  “Did you talk to someone…?”

  “Yeah, I got the doctor. He was the one who had called on Khalid to come to Vancouver. He wanted his help.”

  “To do what?”

  “Well, you’ve heard him when he was here. He wanted to help her out of her post-traumatic depression, if he could.”

  “Yes,” Namlah nodded, “I remember. And what did the doctor have to say?”

  “He just said he would relay the message. They were on their way to some island apparently for the weekend...”

  “Do you know where?”

  “No, I didn’t check, why?”

  “I think it would be a good idea to know exactly where she is from now on. Mossad has eyes everywhere and they’ve probably kept tabs on her.”

  Fred’s big heart was nudging at his brain. He didn’t want to admit the obvious. “But she’s an invalid for God’s sake. They wouldn’t...”

  “Oh yes, they would, sir. No doubt whatsoever. She can talk, can’t she?”

  “But why didn’t th
ey kill her right off the bat then?”

  “Good question. I think the answer to that is buried in Mossad’s intentions.”

  “What intentions? What are you talking about?”

  “Keep in mind; she is Jewish, Chief.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything? Jewish or not she’s a liability.”

  “Yes, but for whom?”

  Fred said, “Are you trying to tell me they want to enrol her or get her to switch camps? I don’t see it.”

  “Again, let’s look at the big picture. Prince Khalid is partly responsible for her trouble and for the death of Hassan Sangor; she’s not a forgiving woman, you know that. Then, you’ve got Khalid’s Uncle dwelling in arms trade or in drug smuggling; and both men are Muslims.”

  “So, you’re saying it would be easy for her to be swayed into joining Mossad’s camp if they demonstrated to her that they spared her…? But that’s tantamount to ask her to commit treason. She wouldn’t.”

  “Frankly, I don’t know her well enough to tell you what she’ll do. Besides, and I’m sorry to contradict you, Chief, but being a Mossad agent in this country doesn’t amount to treason. Israel isn’t on our enemies’ list, not that I know of. And the fact remains that Samuel has eliminated the man at the bottom of her troubles.”

  “Wouldn’t she stay quiet then?”

  “Maybe, but the point is her memory of Slimane being a Mossad agent and Samuel (or Isaac at the time) would be very accurate. She could identify him... and so could the doctor, as I understand it.”

  “You think the doctor is in danger as well then?”

  “Of course he is. He was a witness to the killings on the trawler, and he was in Paris when Slimane identified himself for the first time. Besides, now that we’re bringing Samuel back to stand trial, both Ms Kartz and Dr. Hendrix will be on the list of witnesses for the prosecution. Mossad cannot afford to have anyone on the stand that could destroy their infiltration cells in the States.”