Moffat's Secret

by J. C. Williams

  George was silent. Lupa was motionless, watching George watch the clock. After twenty minutes, Lupa started packing things up. She turned off the DVD and television. She opened a folder.

  “George, I’m leaving this with you. It’s a file of receipts of chemicals, transport records of trigger devices, a greasy stained lease agreement, and a few other items about your time here in Egypt. Good luck to you.”

  Lupa was half way to the door, when he called out, “Wait, wait. I’ll make the deal.”

  “That’s good, George. A good decision.” She left.

  George worriedly watched the clock tick away. Five minutes later, three men entered the room. Two were armed heavily. One introduced himself as an Israeli prosecuting attorney. George was cut loose from the chair. The prosecutor started a video recorder. The prosecutor asked George if he wanted an attorney and if he had a preference of nationality.

  “No. Yes. I don’t care. I’ll waive the attorney. Let’s do this quickly.”

  “This is the deal you agreed to,” the prosecutor said producing a two-page document. “It is your confession, a description of Boyer’s involvement in Israel and with Dr. Clark in England, and your agreement to testify. In return we will not extradite you to Egypt. I just need you to make the confession in your own words for the recorder.”

  “Okay, okay,” he said, his eyes still on the clock. He made a rapid confession to the deaths of Lipman and Feigel. The prosecutor asked him detailed questions, details only known to the police and the killer. Then the prosecutor asked the details of Dr. Clark’s death, and Boyer’s involvement. George finally took the offered pen and signed it. “Let’s go now, okay?” he said impatiently.

  “You are very anxious to get to a cell,” the prosecutor said, folding the agreement.

  “I’m anxious to get out of Egypt.”

  His visitors exchanged puzzled looks.

  “What the hell is going on?” George asked. “I’m supposed to be taken to Israel.”

  The prosecutor said, “You are in Israel.” Then he added, smiling, “For the moment.”

  Chapter 129

  Archer watched the interrogation of Boyer in London. Superintendent Giles personally took the lead. Interpol agent Tellier was present. George had done a masterful job of luring Boyer to London. The MI6 agent told Boyer that Archer must have lost his nerve in Egypt. Archer evidently decided not to make an announcement there. He never returned or checked out of his room. He said he tracked Archer to London and thought Boyer needed to go there to re-emphasize their agreement. George didn’t think he needed to kill Archer to get his silence.

  Once he was on British soil, Boyer was arrested for conspiracy to commit the murder of Dr. Clark and accessory to murder by the act of aiding the murder by administering a drug.

  He asked for a lawyer right away. Giles told Boyer he would get him to a phone. They led Boyer past another room with George inside, ensuring Boyer saw him.

  Just outside where Boyer was held, Tellier argued with Giles. They made sure Boyer could hear them.

  Tellier read George’s testimony on Boyer’s part in the deaths of Lipman and Feigel.

  “Let me take Boyer to Israel. He will be prosecuted there for murder, not just conspiracy to commit murder. The charge carries more weight there.”

  “No, Tellier. We want him here. The maximum sentence here for conspiracy is also life imprisonment.”

  “It may be the maximum, but you know its generally reduced or bargained out to fifteen years.”

  “You are right. But, we need to show a conviction. We need to show how effective our reorganization is.”

  “I think that Israel can force the extradition. I know the testimony and evidence is stronger there. Once the prosecutors become involved, I am sure they will move him.”

  “Adrien, consider this. What if Boyer confesses to conspiracy here and in addition, if Boyer gives up Haskin and Biskell and their collaboration on illegal dealings in antiquities – smuggling, stealing, and possession.”

  “We already have a link between Haskin and Biskell on the cars that Haskin owns. They were all smuggled into the US.” Thanks to Archer’s quick thinking and pictures.

  “However,” Tellier said, “I’d like stronger evidence. If Boyer could help deliver that evidence, I could see leaving Boyer in England.”

  Boyer wised up and when his lawyer arrived, he negotiated to just what Tellier proposed. He made a deal to plead guilty to conspiracy to murder in England if Israel would not prosecute him for the similar offences in their country. It didn’t take long to get the acceptance from Israel, because Tellier already had it. Israel agreed to it when Tellier delivered George to them as the confessed murderer. Tellier had monitored Lupa’s interrogation.

  Now it was time for Boyer to earn his deal.

  Chapter 130

  Archer was just an observer today in the northern Italian port of Livorno, two blocks from the target warehouse. Sandy was there. Detective MacDonald came from Boston. Closed circuit cameras allowed them to watch and hidden microphones allowed them to hear. A British Crown prosecutor attended as well.

  It had taken Archer five weeks to set up the sting before they suckered George into going to Egypt. They had to have everything in place so they could act before George or Boyer was missed. First Chad found the artifacts he needed in several museums. Chad had thirty items that dated from the fifth and sixth century BCE. There was some beautiful pottery, medallions, plates and even two bronze statues. They falsified the records of archeological site, and listed Chad as a digger under a false name and a good backstory. They put out feelers to some low level criminal fences who in turn promptly kicked it up to major brokers. Chad met with two, then he balked at using them, saying he knew of people in the US he could go to directly. He mentioned Haskin to ensure brokers would rush to make that contact. They worked out a deal for a half million dollars. Chad insisted the buyer had to take possession in Italy and the buyer was responsible for the transportation. With Interpol’s Tellier and Italy’s authorities, Chad made the final arrangements. As expected, Haskin sent Boyer. Boyer in turn lured both Biskell and Haskin to Livorno.

  Adrien Tellier was coordinating activities with the Italian authorities. The warehouse was a private enterprise holding a variety of items awaiting export. Brian Biskell owned thirty cars destined for Boston. These were all legal. They needed to be. They needed to pass any inspection of their VINs and their histories of possession. They were legal, but what Biskell’s two mechanics were about to hide within them were not.

  Tellier stood back knowing the Carabinieri had things well covered. Darkness had fallen thirty minutes ago. It made it difficult for the officers to cover every window and door. But it also gave them better cover and the ability to move closer. They awaited the go-order from their commander and two Italian prosecutors, one local to the port of Livorno and one from Rome. They would determine when they felt they had enough evidence.

  Chad and friends watched an antsy Biskell and a calm Boyer in a conference room.

  Mac said, “Chad, I think this will work. Biskell’s ego will bury him. I just hope we prepped Boyer well enough and he doesn’t panic.” He turned his attention back to the video feed.

  “Where is Haskin?” Biskell bellowed looking at his watch.

  Boyer answered, “He landed in Pisa ten minutes ago. He’ll be here any minute. About the same time as the shipment.” Boyer cast a concerned glance at the man who stood in the corner of the conference room. Biskell introduced him as Bones. The thug looked as intimidating as his name. His coat did little to conceal the weapon under it. He slouched, arms folded.

  “Haskin should trust that I know what I’m doing,” Biskell complained.

  They were at a table with eight chairs in one of several conference rooms provided for confidential meetings such as this.

  Biskell’s phone buzzed. He answered it. “Let them in.”

  He continued looking at his phone, reading texts and casually
said to Boyer, “Your merchandise is here. I will wait five more minutes and then you can decide. Do my guys start to work or do we call it off. Your boss’s nervousness is just unfounded.”

  Boyer had told Biskell’s people that Haskin was concerned about the Interpol’s interest in Biskell and possible auto theft. Boyer said Haskin wanted a personal look at Biskell’s plan.

  Then Boyer had told Haskin that Biskell was concerned that Haskin was keeping himself too removed from the deal. Boyer said Biskell felt he was taking all the risk. Biskell wanted Haskin there. Boyer played it well.

  The van with the thirty illegal artifacts stopped next to the autos. Everyone stood ready.

  Boyer’s phone buzzed. He told Biskell. “It’s Haskin. Let him in.”

  “Here we go,” Chad said. “Finally face-to-face.”

  Haskin strode into the room, took in the people, their demeanor, their body language, and took charge. He nodded to his security companion, who took up a position outside the door.

  Haskin walked toward Biskell, “Brian, good to see you again.”

  Biskell played nice. “Wayne. How are those cars working for you?”

  “Love every minute I can drive them. Unfortunately, business doesn’t give me as much time as I want. Like this business. I like to see, touch, feel. That’s the way I roll.”

  Biskell was not to be outdone, “That’s me to a tee. I am glad you came. You shouldn’t worry about Interpol. They’re my worry. And, I don’t worry about them. They have backed off. Boston PD has stopped their investigations as well. Even Scotland Yard has lost the will to fight. I take care of business.”

  “How did you do that, Brian?” Haskin asked hiding the sarcasm. “No, don’t tell me. Let me read it in your autobiography someday. You stand alone amongst the enemies of law enforcement.” Haskin figured that Biskell still reacted to flattery. Haskin just wanted to get this show-and-tell done and leave. He wouldn’t show it, but he didn’t want to be this close to any illegal activity. Damn Biskell and his insecurity.

  “I’ll tell you anyway. He’s over in the corner there. Wayne, meet Bones.”

  Bones smiled from a two day old growth. He unfolded his arms just enough to wave. Haskin nodded acknowledgement.

  Biskell, in all seriousness, said, “You need a Bones for your organization, Haskin. I told you that before.”

  Boyer spoke up following the script Archer and MacDonald had given him.

  “We do very well in that regard, Mr. Biskell. There are several people who may have been liabilities but no longer can cause us trouble.”

  Haskin was surprised at Boyer’s revelation.

  Biskell replied. “Good for you. However, I would bet those people are lightweights. Not a cop.”

  In the control room Mac and Sandy were excited. “C’mon say it, Biskell,” Sandy whispered.

  Boyer bristled on cue. “I wouldn’t say that. These are people that work with Israeli military intelligence. Well-protected people. These aren’t just some low level clerk like you told us was causing you trouble.”

  Biskell grew angry. “She and her drug buddy were blackmailing me. They could have brought down this whole enterprise.” He waved his arms around the room. “Miss Bertram will never see the light of day. Bones took care of it, thoroughly. Nothing to blow back on me. Boston PD had me in a number of times. They’ll never solve it. If you need a job done you do it right.”

  Mac was doing a little jig and fist pumping. “Yes, you son-of-a-bitch. Keep talking. We got your ass now.”

  Boyer shrugged. Under his breath, but loud enough to be heard he said, “Clerk.”

  Haskin didn’t know why Boyer baited Biskell.

  Biskell replied. “So you think you’re big shit because the people you eliminated were protected. That’s minor league shit, Boyer. Talk to me when you take out a cop, an inspector from Scotland Yard, under the nose of Interpol, and, get this, while on a stakeout looking for me.”

  “Yes,” Sandy said. “That should bury you.”

  Biskell laughed and nodded toward the corner. “That’s my Bones.”

  Haskin was wise enough to stop this conversation. “We all have places to be. Why don’t you show me how you’ll move my merchandise?”

  They all left the office. Inside the cavernous warehouse, ceiling-mounted cameras zoomed in. Parabolic microphones were activated. Both were controlled from the ops room of the Carabinieri.

  Boyer egged Biskell on. “Mr. Biskell, I understand that you started as a mechanic. Things have changed a lot since then, huh.”

  “I can still handle a wrench and get it done,” he bragged. “Wayne, bring me one of your pieces.”

  Haskin said something to one of the mechanics in Italian. The mechanic handed him a pair of gloves. Haskin opened the van and rummaged through the packing. He brought over an eight-inch plate, wrapped in bubble wrap and paper. He opened it to admire it, then, he re-wrapped it.

  Biskell looked at it. “I have just the place.”

  He popped the hood and looked at the underside. He worked his hands around the insulation, letting it flop down. He took some thin wire, looped it around the exposed metal of the hood, placed the plate in the wire net he created, and then he replaced the insulation.

  Biskell pulled his head out from under the hood.

  “There,” he said. “That’s how you hide an artifact. I’ve done this so often, you should have more confidence in me, Haskin.”

  He was about to say more when the doors to the warehouse crashed open. The Carabinieri flooded in.

  For just a moment there was confusion. Haskin’s security guard drew a weapon. He was dropped with a shot to the knees. Haskin remained stationary. Boyer ran to another area of the warehouse, hiding among the stacked pallets.

  Bones grabbed Biskell’s arm and raced him back toward the conference room. He had done his job and scouted exits before they met. Inside the same conference room, he slid back a closet door, went to the right and pushed hard. A hidden exit bar opened. He pulled Biskell behind him.

  The squad leader directed two of his men to follow Biskell and Bones.

  The Carabineiri quickly secured Haskin, the two mechanics, and Boyer from his hiding place.

  Five minutes later, the two that followed Biskell returned. Biskell and Bones were trussed up. Their mouths had duct tape across them. Their hands were zip tied behind them. Both had more duct tape hanging from their legs. They limped

  One of the Carabinieri explained to their leader how they found the two suspects. Both were lying on their stomachs in pain, their legs bent up behind them, wrapped tightly to their body.

  A block away, Lupa slipped into the shadows discarding a ball bat and roll of duct tape.

  Epilogue

  Archer stretched before his run. Sandy’s tiny apartment in London didn’t allow much room for his stretching and her hurried routine before work.

  “We have a long weekend coming up,” she said. “We’re both off Friday. Do you want to holiday somewhere?”

  “That would be great. We need some space to move around. We’ve been cooped up in here.”

  She laughed.

  “What?”

  “Cooped up? Like pigeons?”

  “I guess so. Never saw pigeons in a coop.”

  “Maybe that’s what we could do. Go to a pigeon race.”

  “Ho, hum,” Chad replied.

  “What about a drive north?” she suggested.

  “York? See granddad?”

  “We could stop there. I was thinking a little bit further. To Scotland. Gretna Green.”

  “How much farther is that?”

  “Not far. An hour. Or two. Or two and a half.”

  “You lived there for a while, right. Are there relatives to look up?”

  “I’m sure I can find a Moffat or two to make it worthwhile. If we had more time we could drive another few hours to Moffat itself. They are famous for their toffee.”

  “You don’t have some ulterior motive for visiting Gre
tna Green do you?” he teased.

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Like isn’t that where all the British teenagers ran off to get married because Scotland allowed marriage at a younger age.”

  “Good memory, Archer boy. It is a romantic place. Five thousand couples marry at the Blacksmiths Shop every year. We could watch other people being happy.”

  “That’s all?” Chad inquired.

  “You are reading too much into my suggestion. We are not teenagers.”

  “Far from it,” he said. Immediately he thought uh-oh. Too late.

  Sandy came close to Chad and poked him in the chest. ‘What are saying Archer? That I’m old?”

  “No, not old. Just older.” Another uh-oh.

  “Older? Older than what? I’m getting too old am I? Well wait until I get home tonight. I will show you who is getting old and cannot keep up.”

  She poked him again. This time with her fist in the arm. It reminded Chad of their first date.

  “Hey. That hurt. I’m calling the police.”

  “Don’t be daft. I am the police. Look here. I have handcuffs to prove it.”

  “Oo-oo-h, handcuffs. Now you’re talking,” he said leeringly and putting his arms around her drawing her close.

  “I’m not talking. You are. And you’re just flapping your gums. Go on. Get out. Run off that overabundance of testosterone.”

  Archer ran his usual route through St. James Park. April in London he mused. The temperature was very similar to Boston, highs of fifty-eight and lows of forty-five. However, London didn’t have snow still piled up from the winter storms.