“Got it! This is what we need,” Solomon said, the sigh of relief in his voice quickly repressed by professionalism. The Frenchman was slowing losing his accent, and his English almost sounded like he was a native speaker. It was Solomon’s linguistic skills that first brought him to the attention of the French SDECE; the French security service that eventually morphed into the DGSE in 1982. He had a short career in the French army, during which time he mastered Russian, English, and German. His linguistic ability combined with his average height and skinny build, made him the ideal intelligence officer. He was quick- witted and capable of easily vanishing into a crowd. Both skills proved useful during his time on the African continent as he helped the Nigerians in their failed attempt to wrestle control of their oil-rich Biafra region away from the British and Americans.
After the debacle in Africa, he was moved back to France by his superiors to work counter-intelligence. He spent much of the 1970s and 1980s tracking spies on French soil. In 1986 he was moved into the Operations Division, orchestrating clandestine operations against allies and enemies of the French government in countries all over Europe and the Middle East. The end of the Cold War changed his superiors’ thinking, and many in the DGSE who were previously lauded by the politicians, soon came under close scrutiny for their shady dealings with the dictators and despots of the world. Solomon decided it was time to vanish before his past caught up with him and made him another nameless body in a back alley of any of one of the numerous countries in which he operated illegally.
He had been preparing for the day of his escape for years. There were large sums of money sitting in bank accounts in Grand Cayman and Rio de Janeiro. When another DGSE agent named Jacque Mille disappeared into South America amidst heavy suspicion of selling radar secrets to drug lords, Solomon was finally given his opportunity. He was sent to track down the defector and bring him back. Instead, he used the opportunity to vanish into the mountains of South America. Ironically, he wished he was back in the steaming jungles of South America now. They were dangerous and wild, but the lawless mountains provided easy remedies for dealing with traitor and whores.
“This is the tape for the hour we chased her,” Solomon said as he grabbed the tape. “Let’s have a look at it. I was in ...Terminal One, right?”
“Yes, put it in,” Gregor replied. “The kid was jittery about us showing up. Let’s make this as quick as possible. We don’t want any surprises.” Originally from East Berlin, Gregor enlisted in the army at the age of eighteen. His clandestine potential was noticed by a member of the Stasi, East Germany’s security service that collected thousands of bits of information on everyone in East Germany during the height of the Cold War. When the Berlin Wall collapsed, so did Gregor’s unflappable faith in Communism, and his love for East Germany turned into a seething hatred. All the leaders of the promised revolution disappeared, telling the West whatever it wanted to know and collecting large sums of money for doing it. Solomon used every moment available to him to poke fun at the tall German for actually believing that Communism was a viable form of government.
Arab oil billionaires who paid top dollar for the best bodyguards available on the open market eventually recruited Gregor. Despite the exceptional income, Gregor did not like living in a region as unstable as the Middle East, and he quickly accepted a job offer from Aman. Solomon continued to remind Gregor that he got his job only because of Solomon’s recommendation. It was just one of many areas of difficulty that caused friction between the two former Cold Warriors.
Solomon shoved the tape into the closest VCR. He could not believe that the airport had not upgraded their surveillance equipment to a newer format. He pushed “play” and a full view of Terminal One appeared on one of the numerous televisions. The time showed as 10:07 p.m. at the bottom of the television. Solomon fast-forwarded through the first portion, watching in silence as crowds of people flew threw the airport in the hyperactive motion that could only be provided by holding down the fast forward button. He keenly observed the clock in the corner, searching for the correct time. Gregor peered over his shoulder like a fifth grader trying to cheat on a test, and followed the speeding clock as well.
“This should be about the correct time,” Solomon spoke softly. Both men stared intently at the screen, looking for the woman. She finally came into view for the first time. The camera doing the filming was located behind her, and they watched her hustling through the crowd. She disappeared into the bathroom once before coming back into view. She appeared to make several circles around the same area as if she was searching for something or someone.
“There’s one possible drop,” Solomon said. “We need someone to search that bathroom immediately. Check all the toilets,” Solomon commanded Gregor, who nodded silently.
This same sequence of events continued for twenty minutes with the different cameras throughout the terminal. She would disappear off the screen and another camera would pick her up a few minutes later. Solomon finally saw his own figure come into the picture. He allowed himself a small smirk of pride. He moved methodically and patiently in the video. The performance was pleasing, even to his critical eye. Finally he stopped the film at the point when he almost caught up with her. He closely studied her collision with the three strangers, and decided it could have easily been avoided. He pushed “pause” on the VCR and stared intently at the surveillance video. It was not much help in identifying the three people.
“Worthless. This tape is worthless. Can you see their faces Gregor? I certainly can’t,” he asked in a frustrated tone.
“Nothing,” Gregor replied. “They all have their backs to the camera.”
Solomon once again made a mental note of their appearance as best he could tell. Perhaps he could find some better shots of them somewhere else in the tape.
“That cell phone could be anywhere, but my bet is these three,” Solomon concluded. “They’re the only group she actually collided with. All the other contacts were simply brush ups,” he added, now even more convinced she was an agent. FBI? DEA? He would have to check with Aman when he returned. Aman possessed several great resources inside the government. He never divulged how he obtained the information, but Solomon had some hunches.
“I think you’re paranoid. Look at her erratic movements,” Gregor quickly disagreed. “She’s scared shitless and doesn’t know what to do. Are you sure it wasn’t just pure luck that she was able to escape? She could be sitting in some motel room on the strip getting high, and debating whether or not to flush that phone down the toilet. Worst case she could be a society slut or gossip columnist looking for a breakthrough story,” Gregor said in a staccato voice. Although Solomon did not say it out loud, Gregor could tell he was debating whether she could be some type of government agent.
“No, Gregor.” Solomon pointed at the footage and began to explain. “Her skittishness and jerky movements. It looks like she went up and down this same terminal five or six times. Why?” He answered his own question. “Because she knew exactly what she was doing,” Solomon nearly shouted. “This was planned. She had to have purchased a ticket beforehand to get to the departure area. This can only mean that was her intention. She was going to catch a plane, and we would have never caught her! Instead, we caught up to her quicker than she anticipated, so she was forced to dump the merchandise,” Solomon finished and waited for a response. After a few seconds of silence, he turned to see Gregor’s sharp-edged face and closely cropped salt and pepper hair still staring at the small television in front of them.
“Yes, I have to admit you could be right,” Gregor finally spoke. “Still, we should keep all options on the table. If you’re correct, then the real problem we have are those three people,” Gregor said as he pointed at the frozen image on the monitor. “Are they someone she just chose in a panic to dump it off on, or are they friends?” The German’s analytical mind contemplated the options. “If they are friends that makes things much more difficult. Nevertheless, we know our job. Find h
er. Kill her. It’s that simple,” Gregor concluded calmly.
“I hope so,” Solomon replied. “Let us go. This tape is going as well.” Solomon hit the “eject” button and gently placed the tape inside his sport coat. He hoped that after reviewing it again, he would be able to find a better shot of the three mystery people. Things would be much easier if they could narrow their search. As they stood up to leave the night watchman suddenly came back in unannounced, startling them both.
“That’s it, boys. Time’s up. Now get out of here before you get me fired,” the watchman said sternly, his trembling hands revealing the false bravado of his voice.
“With pleasure,” Solomon said with a smile. “Thanks for the time again, Jimmy. Here’s another grand for your trouble.” Solomon reached into his pocket for a wad of bills and pressed them tightly into Jimmy’s hand. “We’re taking a tape. Use a blank one in its place, and erase this night from your memory completely,” Solomon said in a relieved tone. He was ready to leave.
“I don’t even know what day it is fellas,” the watchman responded, his eyes lighting up at the additional cash. Solomon knew what he would do with it. It would be blown at one of the brothels on the outskirts of town; one of the brothels that Aman had a secret ownership stake in.
Chapter 7
The private elevator silently glided upwards until it reached the penthouse suite of the Desert Dust Inn. The “ding” of the elevator announced that it had reached Aman’s floor. He set aside the papers he had been scanning for the President-Elect. Aman watched Solomon burst out of the elevator and rush across the long expanse of lavender-colored carpet. The man is moving much too quickly for such an early morning hour. He turned and maneuvered the blinds so that they blocked part of the early morning desert sun beginning to stream into the office. He ignored the magnificent view of Caesars and the rest of the Las Vegas strip just a few blocks away from his hotel. At twenty after six in the morning, it was one of the few times during the day when traffic was sparse. Anyone on the road was typically returning from an all night drinking marathon, or up early to hit the golf course before the blistering Las Vegas sun hit its full stride.
At a shade over five feet five inches, and weighing two hundred fifty pounds Aman Kazim was a large man in pure size, if not height. His hair was jet black and it was one of the few parts of his body that seemed unaffected by his seventy plus years of hard living. He preferred spectacles to contacts since they did not irritate his eyes, and his face was a small oval that looked out of place on his large frame. He said a silent prayer that Solomon was bringing him good news. Bad news had the potential to destroy the empire that surrounded him. Losing his wealth was not his concern, it was losing what the money was so close to finally bringing him that made him nervous. My father would be so proud, he thought, as he reminisced about the beginning of his journey. Lately he had found himself to be much more sentimental than he ever imagined possible as he flashed back to his early days.
Born during the 1920s, Aman spent his formative years running through the streets of Cairo with his friends. His mother was Jordanian and his father Egyptian. They escaped to the United States just before the Nazis began their march across Europe and North Africa in 1941. His father secured a job working in a factory that mass-produced tanks for the war effort, and he was killed when he was crushed by a tank in a freak accident at the plant. The death of his father was a shock to Aman, and made him shut down emotionally. With many of the nation’s youth off fighting the war, Aman was able to gain admittance to a small college in New York City, where he later graduated with honors. He quickly followed up his accounting degree with an MBA.
The end of Aman’s schooling brought along with it another strange and traumatizing event. His mother was killed in a mugging attempt gone wrong. The cops could not solve the case, and Aman grew more frustrated and depressed by the day. The war was wrapping up, and he was now an orphaned immigrant. As far as he was concerned, his adopted country had killed his parents. His life had been stripped from him before he was ever given a chance. He contemplated returning to Egypt. There seemed no place for him in America.
Aman recalled the frustration he felt during those times as he stared at the tattered photo of his long deceased parents sitting in a gold encrusted frame on his desk. He raised his eyes from the photo as Solomon came to a stop in front of his desk. He looked up at the Frenchman. The realization that his father’s legacy now depended on the help of the French made him squirm with fear. He adjusted the tight fitting polo shirt as best he could and grabbed for the whiskey and water sitting on the left of his desk. He took a long pull and stared at his head of security with tired, bloodshot eyes.
“Please tell me you have some good news,” Aman stated gruffly. He sat the drink down a little too roughly and precious whiskey sloshed onto the shiny desk.
“Nothing of the sort boss,” Solomon replied. He never liked mincing words unless he was plying his tradecraft in the pursuit of a member of the opposite sex. It was one of the reasons Aman kept him around. Solomon got straight to the point, and as a man whose time was precious, Aman greatly appreciated it.
“Let’s hear it,” Aman beckoned. He gestured like the conductor of an orchestra, giving his approval for Solomon to continue.
“Sir, we could have a serious problem on our hands. I have been viewing the surveillance tape taken by airport security for the past hour. I can’t tell what she did with the cell phone you’re after. We tailed her to the airport, so I know that was the first public place she was in. She was able to get through the security checkpoint at the airport though. I got in myself, but it took some time. She had a lot of opportunities to do something with it.”
“Could the idiot whore have just stuck it in someone’s bag?” Aman asked.
“It’s possible, but if she is what I think she is, she would have held onto it. My concern is how she handled herself at the airport and managed to escape. The film footage I saw suggests she was not some hooker high on drugs. It looked more like a very methodical and very professional escape given her circumstances. There are very few places in this city she could have gone to escape your reach. We have informants all over this city. But she went to the one place that allowed her to buy some time. I believe she intended to jump on a plane. We thwarted that by sheer luck. It will be hard to find her before its too late. What’s on that cell phone that’s so important anyway? If I knew, it may be able to help me in my search. It could give us some clue where she is heading perhaps.”
“Don’t worry about that. When I think you need to know, I’ll tell you.” Aman wagged his finger at his employee to express his disapproval. “It’s your job to find her and bring her back here!” Aman suddenly brought his fist hurtling downward. It pounded into the desk, and he let out an animal growl that was part frustration and part pain as more of his drink spilled. “This can’t be happening.” Aman forced himself to relax. “What do you think she is?” He was afraid he knew the answer, but he wanted to hear an explanation from Solomon. This was the kind of thing his head of security was paid an exorbitant amount of money for after all.
“Sir, she went straight to the airport and right through security. She had every intention to hop on a plane and get out of this city. I stopped her from hopping a flight because I was close enough to her where I would have known what flight she was on. We would have stopped the plane and pulled her off, or met her at her final destination. When she realized a flight was not an option she went to plan B; a diversionary tactic to fool us.” Solomon paused briefly to try and gauge Aman’s reaction before he continued. “There is one group of three people she came into contact with. They are either her friends, or a way to throw us off guard. She must be some sort of spy or government agent of some sort. Either that or a very good undercover reporter. You could help me narrow that down. Who would want to set up, Zachariah?”
“Half this country would,” Aman fired back. “He has more than his share of enemies. Don’t worry abou
t that though. Can we catch her?”
“Possibly,” Solomon replied, clear hesitation in his voice. “No matter how good she is our organization here is huge. I have the city on lockdown and every available man working on it. I pulled the surveillance photos of her coming into the hotel for your party, and had copies dispersed to all our people. I also have a few other potential leads I am looking into.”
“Good,” Aman said. “And Solomon, it’s my organization. Not ours. Just remember that.” Aman had grown to depend on his head of security, but never hesitated to remind his subordinate of his authority. “What does Gregor think? Is he of the same opinion as you?” Aman hired them both because he liked a second opinion to satisfy his highly paranoid personality.
“Gregor thinks I’m a little paranoid but that is coming from someone who can’t come to grips with the fact that a woman got the better of him.” Although Solomon tolerated working with his partner, he also took advantage of his opportunities to dress Gregor down for his flaws as a spy and bodyguard. “He’s a chauvinist, just like all the Germans. He still refuses to believe what his father did as an SS man with Himmler was wrong.”
Aman chuckled at the childish jab. His two heads of security would never trust each other, and this was the way he preferred it. Europeans had long memories that were easily exploited. Solomon still looked at Gregor as a Nazi barbarian, and Gregor had more than once hinted at the weakness of the French; a country that relied on the U.S. and Britain to do its dirty work. They could be overly critical of each other, but both were professionals who were the best at their business. Their different backgrounds and nationalities kept them leery of each other without hampering their ability to do the job properly. Aman found this got him excellent intelligence while minimizing the off chance that they would ever plot against him.
Agent of Influence: A Thriller Page 4
