“Robert Brixton?” the man said.
“Yes.”
“Special Agent Mumford.” He shook Brixton’s hand and took in the others.
“This is Ms. Kamea Wakatake,” Brixton said. “She’s also Morgana Skaggs, Congressman Skaggs’s daughter. And this is Mr. Eduardo Reyes, also known as Lalo.”
“We’ve been expecting you,” Mumford said. “You’re the friend Mac Smith called about.”
“Right. Mac’s a good friend,” Brixton said, taking his first easy breath he’d had for a while.”
“Follow me,” said Mumford. “We have a lot to go over.”
* * *
Brixton, Kamea, and Reyes spent the next few hours ensconced in a conference room with Mumford and three other special agents. The conversation was videotaped. A variety of breakfast pastries, coffee, and juice were provided.
“Anything else to add?” Mumford asked, after he and the other special agents had exhausted their questions.
“Yes, there is,” Brixton said, pulling the DVD Kamea had given him from his shirt pocket and placing it on the conference table.
“What’s this?” Mumford asked.
“From what Kamea tells me, it answers a lot of questions about the attacks on embassies and embassy workers,” Brixton said. “You and I will be seeing it for the first time.”
Mumford inserted the DVD in a large-screen computer, while another agent dimmed the lights. The DVD rolled, the voice of the man on the screen speaking slowly and with a heavy accent. The seven people in the room sat silently as they absorbed the man’s message. When it was finished and the lights were raised, Mumford broke the silence with, “Wow!
“I’d say that ‘Wow!’ sums it up,” Brixton said.
A woman entered the room and whispered something to Mumford. He excused himself and followed her out.
He returned fifteen minutes later.
“The Maui police are looking for the three of you, as well as a missing boat.”
“That’s the boat we borrowed,” Brixton said. He gave Mumford directions to where it could be found. “I also left a rental car on the street in Lahaina.”
“You’ve left a lot of problems in your wake, Mr. Brixton. According to the Maui police, a witness claims that Ms. Wakatake killed Samuel Prisler.”
“That witness, whose name is Akina, was about to mow down Ms. Wakatake and me,” Brixton said. “Fortunately Mr. Reyes here saved us.”
“There’s an APB out on you, and a warrant for your arrest,” Mumford said.
“That’s no surprise,” Brixton said. “But if we’re turned over to them, you can kiss your case against Prisler and his colleagues good-bye.”
“I’m well aware of that, Mr. Brixton,” Mumford said, “and we’re not about to let that happen. The Bureau is now in charge of the case. We’ve assured the Maui police that after we’re through with you they can apply for extradition from the mainland. In the meantime, we have to get you back to Washington. I’m assigning two of our special agents to accompany the three of you on the next scheduled flight from Honolulu.”
“On the government’s dime?” Brixton asked.
Mumford laughed. “Of course. We take good care of important witnesses.”
“That’s good to hear,” Brixton said. “My American Express bill is big enough as it is.”
CHAPTER
36
Robert Brixton would have gladly maxed out his American Express card in return for another hot shower—a leisurely one this time—a change of clothes, and a chance to stretch out in his own bed. But it wasn’t to be, at least until arriving back in Washington. He, Kamea, and Lalo were hustled off in a car to the Honolulu Airport, where they were escorted by the accompanying agents into a room without any identifying signs. The manager of the airport’s Transportation Security Administration processed a sheaf of documents provided by the agents and proclaimed that everything was in order.
“We don’t have to go through security?” Brixton asked.
“That’s right,” an agent said. “This is security.”
“You mean I can keep my shoes and belt on?” Brixton said, laughing.
They were preboarded along with the infirm and families traveling with little children, and directed to five coach seats near each other. The large jet aircraft then filled up with the rest of the passengers. Brixton couldn’t wait until the plane lifted off the runway and headed for San Francisco, where they would transfer to another plane to take them to Washington, D.C.
Between flights Brixton called Mac Smith to let him know what was happening and thanked him again for making contact with the Oahu FBI.
“Looking forward to seeing you,” Smith said. “I’ll have a cold, dry martini waiting.”
“Gin, not vodka.”
“Of course. I know my customers.”
“And shaken.”
“That too. Flo will be happy to see you.”
“She’s still there?”
“We persuaded her to stay.”
“Good,” said Brixton, meaning it.
* * *
Their arrival at Dulles International was met by three black limousines with tinted windows, four FBI special agents, two men whom Brixton pegged as intelligence types, and a uniformed Homeland Security officer. Little was said during the trip to the FBI building on Pennsylvania Avenue NW, where they were led to a large windowless room on the building’s second floor and questioned again at length.
“And you say that your brother, Paul, was dispatched to Washington by Mr. Prisler to escort suicide bombers to their targets?” the lead agent asked Kamea.
“Yes. They—Mr. Alvi and Mr. Prisler—wanted to make sure that the students who carry the bombs and detonate them would not lose their nerve.”
“And your brother was willing to do that?”
“He believed in what Mr. Alvi and his people believed in,” she said. “Mr. Prisler had established almost total control over Paul, and Mr. Prisler followed whatever Mr. Alvi instructed.”
“And Prisler sent you to Washington, too?” The question was directed at Lalo Reyes.
“Yes,” Reyes said, “but not to escort suicide bombers. They wanted me to identify and recruit gay men from embassies. There was a woman too, from the Polish embassy. I met her at a club.”
“To have them killed in order to make it seem, at least initially, that their murders were bias crimes,” Brixton said.
“I didn’t know any of that in the beginning,” Reyes said, his head lowered. “I had worked for the Spanish embassy before going to Hawaii and joining the center. When I came back to Washington, the embassy hired me again and I started hanging around bars. When I identified a gay man from an embassy, I would pass the information along to someone.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know his name. I was never told. I just dialed a number and was given a location where we’d meet. He was a big man with a shaved head.”
And so it went for another hour, questions being asked and asked again, tedious repetitions, every detail checked and rechecked.
A break in the interrogation occurred when the DVD was played. There was stunned silence in the room as the image of the terrorist outlined the philosophy and instructions of how this latest attack would be launched against the embassies of countries involved with the invasion of Iraq and Afghanistan: the United States, Britain, Australia, Germany, France, Italy, Denmark, Canada, Poland, and a dozen others.
The silence continued after the DVD had ended.
“It represents a shift from their usual approach,” the lead agent said. “They know they can’t pull off another nine/eleven, so they’ll pick us off one by one. And you know what? There’s not a hell of a lot we can do to prevent it. How do you stop them from killing an embassy employee in Los Angeles, or from blowing up a restaurant near an embassy in D.C.?” His grim words matched the expression on his face.
“We don’t have any choice but to try,” Brixton said.
“You’ve b
rought us one hell of an insight into their latest plan,” the lead agent said to Brixton. “Good job.”
“I did all this because I wanted to clear myself and avenge the murder of my daughter,” Brixton said. “Don’t make a hero out of me.”
“Still,” the agent said, “the information you’ve provided will save lives.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” said Brixton, “but what I’d really appreciate is something to eat. Any chance of getting some food?”
A platter of sandwiches and soft drinks was delivered. The food was welcome, but Brixton’s knee and back started to act up, and he twisted and squirmed in his chair in search of relief. After another round of questions, he asked when they would be free to go.
“I think we can call it a day,” the agent said. “Of course, with the Hawaiian police fighting for jurisdiction, we’ll have to ensure that you’re available to them once we’ve finished our investigation.”
“Are you saying that you’ll hold us?” Brixton asked.
“Investigators from Justice will be here tomorrow to question Ms. Wakatake. Do you prefer to be called that, ma’am, or Ms. Skaggs?”
“Morgana will be fine.”
“All right. Justice will want to gain further information from you, Morgana, and from you, Mr. Reyes.”
“What about me?” Brixton asked.
“They’ll want to talk to you too, of course, Mr. Brixton—or should I call you Agent Brixton?—but you’re free to go. We’ve been in touch with Agent Kogan at SITQUAL and with people at Justice. Based upon everything they’ve said, there’s no reason to hold you as a witness. Of course, you’ll have to remain here in Washington.”
“Fair enough,” Brixton said. “What about my buddies here?”
“Ms. Wakatake—Morgana—and Mr. Reyes will be put up in proper quarters and well taken care of.”
“That’s good to hear,” Brixton said. “I can leave now?”
“Yes, but we ask that you make contact with us each day.” He handed Brixton a card with a phone number on it. “Naturally, you are not to speak with anyone aside from authorized special agents and other government officials.”
“In other words, not the press.”
“Especially not the press.”
“That doesn’t pose any problem at all.” He rounded the table and shook Lalo Reyes’s hand. “Thanks for what you did back on Maui, Lalo.”
“I am sorry for all the trouble I have caused,” Reyes said.
“Yeah, well, it’s over. When this wraps up, go on back to Spain and go fishing with your father. That’s a lot less dangerous than joining cults.”
Reyes grinned and assured Brixton that he would do just that.
Kamea stood when Brixton turned to her. She’d offered nothing during the session aside from answering questions with terse, direct language. There were times when Brixton thought she’d lapsed into a daydream of sorts, drifting away into her own special world. Would the hold that Prisler had over her linger, haunt her for the rest of her days? Brixton leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thanks to you for making that call to me, Morgana. You did the right thing. Everything will work out for you, and I’ll be there to help in any way I can.”
A small smile appeared on her lips. “I appreciate what you’ve done,” she said. She squeezed his hand. “Mahalo. That’s Hawaiian for ‘thank you.’”
He winked and said, “Aloha, Morgana.”
He took a cab to his apartment, where he spent twenty minutes under a hot shower. His authentic Hawaiian shirt, jeans, and T-shirt were tossed in the kitchen wastebasket. He dressed in casual clothes, made himself a drink, and took it, his cell phone, and a bowl of peanuts to the balcony.
“Mac, it’s Robert. I’m back.”
“I talked to Special Agent Mumford on Oahu. He told me to expect a call from you. Glad you’re home.”
“Thanks to you. I was wondering whether I could stop over. There’s something I want to show you.”
“Let me guess. You brought me a lei.”
“Would you accept a DVD instead?”
“A DVD of what?”
“Let it be a surprise.”
“We’re here, not going anywhere.”
“I have a few things to do, but I’ll give you a call when I’m on my way.”
He next called Asal at her office.
“Ms. Banai isn’t in today,” he was told. “May I take a message?”
“No, thanks.”
He reached her at home.
“It’s me, Robert. Your office said you weren’t working today.”
“I’m working from home. Are you back from Hawaii.”
“Just got back. Sorry I didn’t call you before I left but it was last minute. I brought something with me that I think you’ll want to see.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a DVD that shows what your benefactor Zafar Alvi is all about, Asal, the murderous bastard that he really is.”
There was silence on her end.
“Are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here. I’m not sure I want to view this DVD of yours.”
“I don’t blame you for that,” he said, “but I think you owe it to yourself, and to me, to look at it.”
A deep sigh was followed by, “All right. When?”
“Since you’re home, I can swing by now. We can watch it on your computer.”
“I suppose that will be all right, but I’ll be busy for the next hour.”
“An hour is fine with me.”
He snacked on the peanuts and sipped from his drink. Having Asal view the DVD on which Zafar Alvi’s role in the embassy attacks was confirmed had consumed him from the moment he first viewed it at the FBI building on Oahu. He’d understood her reluctance to believe the worst about Alvi, to think ill of the man who kept her agency financially afloat and who promised to intervene with Iraqi authorities on behalf of her imprisoned brother. He also understood why she would view him, Brixton, with suspicion when he made damaging claims about the man who was in essence her sugar daddy, although it bothered him that she would think that he was libeling Alvi without evidence.
Now there was evidence. Now she would know that what he’d been claiming was honest and accurate. Not that it mattered in the long run. While he found Asal attractive and had enjoyed the time they’d spent together—including that one night in her bed—he’d decided that there was no future for them as a couple. He could never trust her. Besides, he missed Flo and was pleased she’d decided to stay in Washington. Now that the hell he’d been through seemed to have an ending in sight, he wanted to explore getting back together again.
But first there was unfinished business with Asal.
She opened her door without a smile, no indication that she was pleased to see him. That was okay. He wasn’t paying a social call.
“Come in,” she said. Her tone wasn’t welcoming.
He stepped into the apartment and saw that the desk in a corner was piled with papers next to her computer. An empty coffee cup sat atop one pile.
“I’d love a cup of coffee, if it isn’t too much trouble,” he said.
“Coffee?” she said. “Not a drink?”
“No, coffee would be fine.”
She went into the kitchen and returned with a cup. “I’ve run out of milk and half-and-half.”
“That’s okay. I’ll drink it black.”
“Your trip to Hawaii was good?” she asked.
“Depends on how you view it. It wasn’t much fun, if that’s what you mean, but it was successful. I hope you’re not shocked when I tell you that Mr. Alvi’s friend on Maui, Sam Prisler, is dead.”
“It was on AOL today. The report said that he was a prominent businessman and cult leader on Maui and had been shot to death. It mentioned you. It said that you and Congressman Skaggs’s daughter were involved. The police want to question you.”
“They’ll get their chance after the FBI and CIA are through with me. The congressman’s daughter was t
he one who shot him. I kind of like the irony. She used my handgun. I traveled back here from Maui with her and a young guy who helped Alvi and his terrorist friends identify shooting ducks. Want to hear more?”
She stood facing him, arms folded across her chest, her stance decidedly defiant. “You are always in trouble, aren’t you?” she said.
“Seems that way, only I don’t cause trouble. It just seems to find me.”
“So, Robert,” she said, “you’ve come with this DVD and you want me to see what’s on it.”
“That’s right. Have you seen Mr. Alvi lately?”
“He’s away,” she said.
“Left the country? If I were him, I’d do that, too, only I don’t think he’ll get very far.”
“I have to leave in a few minutes,” she said. “Show me the DVD and then go.”
He went to her computer, pulled the duplicate of the DVD from his pocket, and inserted it in the slot. He turned to her and patted the top of her desk chair. “Sit down, Asal.”
The image on the DVD came to life. The black-and-white image of the scruffy young man, his black beard twisted and oily, cold hatred in his dark eyes, his broken English delivered slowly but with menace behind every word, cast its spell over Asal’s living room. She and Brixton watched in silence as the terrorist leader spoke of the need to punish those countries that had helped the invaders and attempted to crush the people of Iraq and Afghanistan. He referenced the attack on the United States on 9/11 but made the point that no matter how much security had been initiated since that fateful day, the infidels would not be able to prevent attacks on their citizens, and that one by one their lives would be snuffed out in retaliation for their evil deeds. “It is the embassies of these corrupt countries that represent them to the world. It is only fitting that those who work for their embassies bear the brunt of our anger.”
Much of it was the sort of rhetoric that anyone watching TV over the past years had heard before. But then he shifted to more-detailed plans. It was here that he mentioned Zafar Alvi and addressed him directly. “You, Zafar, and others who believe in our cause will use your position and influence to launch these attacks on our enemies. We will bring true believers to the countries who have slaughtered our people in Iraq, Afghanistan, and elsewhere, students trained by us who will willingly and happily sacrifice themselves to further our cause. We will attack the enemies where they drink, where they eat, and individually on the streets of their corrupt cities and towns. We will kill those whose decadent ways reflect the society in which they live. Through you, our young people will carry out our revenge for centuries of oppression. They will find their targets wherever they are. No nation’s security can stop them. Each death will carry with it the message that we will prevail.”
Margaret Truman's Undiplomatic Murder Page 32
