by Henry Porter
‘Are you sure?’
What was he worried about? Her breakdown? Her history with Samson? Either way, she damn well wasn’t going to hear him out. She gave him a cool look that not even Jim could ignore.
The FBI returned in the early evening. Special Agent Reiner and Agent Paula Berg were joined by a man named J. P. Kristof, a Deputy Assistant Director at the FBI and in charge of the Bureau’s operation, who had also been given the role of coordinating efforts across the agencies. She thought he was there to take a look at her, but after a more or less repeat performance by Reiner and Berg, Kristof nodded to Reiner and said, ‘Why don’t you show Mrs Hisami the planner?’
Reiner opened the door and was handed an attaché case by an agent posted outside. It was Denis’s case, the one that Tulliver had carried from the meeting in Congresswoman Ricard’s office to the Rayburn Building and Room 2172. Denis used it for meetings, or on the plane when he needed to bring a lot of papers with him. He had had it with him when she first met him, in a hotel in northern Macedonia.
‘This was by Mr Tulliver’s chair and was left in the room when the hearing was evacuated,’ said Reiner. ‘It was retrieved and checked for contamination and, as it was obviously a crime scene, we went through the contents. We realised this was likely to be Mr Hisami’s case, not Mr Tulliver’s.’ He flipped the hasps. ‘It all seemed pretty straightforward. The papers are related to the hearing and there are the usual items found in a case like this.’ He looked up. ‘Why are you smiling, Mrs Hisami?’
‘The old calculator – it’s his Tandy from the seventies.’
Reiner picked it up. ‘Does that have significance?’
‘Denis bought it when he was a teenager in Kurdistan. It was a big deal for him. Solar-powered, and it still works! He has it to remind himself how far he’s come – something like that.’
‘So, he keeps personal stuff in the case as well as papers?’ asked Reiner.
‘I guess.’
He felt in one of the pockets in the lid of the case and pulled out a small red leather book. ‘Do you recognise this, Mrs Hisami? It’s a two-year planner – two weeks every page? It’s kind of neat. I wish I knew where to get hold of one.’
He handed it to her. ‘If you look through it, there are only a few entries and a few numbers. In all, there are exactly forty-eight.’ He looked at a sheaf of photocopies. ‘We would like to know what it all means. There are just five words in the whole two years – PEARL, BERLIN, PITCH, AURORA, SAFFRON – and a whole lot of entries that we surmise are International Banking numbers with the digits mixed up so that the actual bank account number is hidden. Unless we have the key, it will take a lot of computing power to unravel those. ‘We’re especially interested in the five words, which would seem to be a code, and we wonder if they mean anything to you at all?’
She shook her head. ‘But could you leave the photocopies and I’ll put my mind to this mystery later on? I can ask Jim Tulliver.’
‘We already have. He doesn’t know, and if there is someone who would know, it’s Mr Tulliver, right? He said he’s never seen the planner before, which is odd, wouldn’t you say? Mr Tulliver runs a lot of Mr Hisami’s life, and, well, this looks kind of important, with all the coded IBAN numbers.’ He paused and studied her. ‘Obviously, this is something that has personal meaning only to your husband – like the calculator.’
He handed her the photocopies. ‘You’ll see that the five words appear against certain dates over the last year and a half. We can’t see a pattern, but something may occur to you, and if you recognise one of those numbers, that might be the key to unravelling the others.’ He waited for her to respond. ‘If you’re interested, the words appear with differing frequency. BERLIN appears most often, with PEARL coming second. The others are used less frequently.’
She glanced down and saw the word BERLIN against 2 February of the previous year. She remembered that date from the log of Denis’s movements. On 2 February he had flown into Tallinn and on the third flown to London before returning to New York. She said nothing but looked at Reiner and raised her shoulders. ‘I’ll see what I can do. You think this is going to tell you why my husband, Samson and Mr Harland were all attacked on the same day?’
‘Maybe,’ said the Deputy Assistant Director, putting his hands together to wrap things up. ‘The understanding of motive. Why was your husband attacked? Why were Mr Samson and Mr Harland? And why not you?’
The mild callousness of the question startled her. She turned to him. ‘How dare you suggest it’s a matter of idle curiosity that I haven’t been killed or hurt.’
‘I meant no offence,’ he said. ‘Our British friends believe this was a revenge for Narva. If that were the case, you’d be a natural target. That’s all I’m saying, Mrs Hisami.’
But the tiger was out of its cage. Anastasia stood up and looked down at him. ‘This isn’t just one incident, is it, Mr Deputy Assistant Director? My husband has now been persecuted for three years. That campaign against him included my kidnap and his detention on false charges, and now he’s been poisoned while answering questions in a show trial whose only purpose was to humiliate and ruin him. Has anyone else in the United States endured such treatment? No! Yet no official organisation has ever come to his aid. Not once was he offered support! That’s extraordinary, given what Denis has done for America – the charities he’s funded, the taxes he’s paid, the jobs he’s created.’ Her outstretched arm pointed down the hallway to the area where Denis was being treated. ‘This is a man who has built whole industries and invested in collapsing projects where there was no hope. And yet he saved people’s livelihoods, their homes! He’s an American hero, but he’s treated like dirt. Why is that? Is it because his politics set him apart from the heartlessness of our times? Or is it because Denis is an outsider with a Middle Eastern background and dark skin?’
Kristof listened impassively and, when she’d finished, asked her to sit down.
She remained standing. ‘Mrs Hisami, please understand we have no agenda other than to find out who tried to kill your husband and why. Period.’
Reiner said, ‘We’ll be grateful for your attention on the planner, Mrs Hisami. And if you think of anything, call me.’ He gave her a card with a cell number. ‘We assume that you will remain in DC for the foreseeable period, but if you do travel, we’d certainly like to know where you’re headed and to stay in touch with you. I don’t need to remind you that this is a national security issue in which the President has taken a close interest. We may need to speak with you at any time.’
They rose and moved to the door. Agent Berg hung back a little and turned to her as her two colleagues exited. She gave a brief, corvine smile then said, ‘It’s nice to see a wife display such passionate loyalty. Don’t see that a lot these days. Good day to you, Mrs Hisami.’
Anastasia had no doubt what she meant and, later, when Tulliver joined her by the window of Denis’s room, she said. ‘They’re plugged into us – they’re watching everything.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘The bitch from the FBI was having a dig about Samson. She was saying, “We know everything about you and we’re watching.”’
He nodded. ‘Heard you painted the barn door red.’
‘Jesus, where did that phrase come from?’
‘My Kentuckian forebears.’
‘I’m going to email you this evening, and I will ask you to have the plane ready for a morning departure to the West Coast from Dulles. I’ll say I need to attend to things at the office on behalf of Denis the following day, okay? Maybe schedule the plane to return to DC two days after. Send out a few emails saying I’m going to be there.’
‘What about Denis?’
She shook her head. ‘They say he’s not coming round anytime soon. They keep on telling me about the time required for complete rehabilitation. They’re preparing me for some bad outcom
e, Jim. I feel it.’ Her arms were folded and her hands had retreated into the sleeves of her cardigan. She turned to him. ‘What if he doesn’t get better? How are we going to manage all this?’
‘One day at a time,’ he said, peering through the window. ‘Actually, he looks a lot stronger to me.’
‘I’ll need a car to Dulles at 2 p.m. That okay?’
‘And you’re going to London?’
She didn’t answer.
‘And when are you back?’
‘Don’t know.’ After a long look at Denis, she turned to go to her room.
‘There’s one other thing,’ he said. ‘I had a call from Warren Speight’s office. He wants to express his sympathy to you personally by coming over to the hospital.’
‘Why? He’s the reason we were in Room 2172 in the first place.’
‘He feels he should.’
‘The man’s a right-wing asshole. Pure fascist.’
He blew his cheeks out then gave her his regretful look. ‘I actually wouldn’t mind thanking the congressman myself. He saved me from getting covered with nerve agent when I went to help Denis. If he hadn’t yelled at me, I would be in there with Denis. Might be useful to hear what he has to say.’
‘Fine. We’ll do it early tomorrow morning.’
Chapter 13
The Tulip Guy
Jo Hayes was informing on him. The realisation came to Samson in the night as he lay half asleep in the hospital ward with his leg stitched and bound. She had kept her colleagues apprised of his movements during Anastasia’s kidnap but had, rather decently, tipped him off about the police’s intention to arrest him at Heathrow. So, there were no hard feelings and a year or so later they had dined at Cedar and ended up in bed. She called it a ‘consolation screw’ just to make sure that he knew she knew he still held a candle for Anastasia.
When she appeared in his ward, shoulder bandaged and arm in a sling but managing to hold two cups of coffee from the franchise café in the hospital foyer, he smiled and without the slightest note of recrimination told her, ‘I know what you were doing in the flat.’
‘How’s the leg?’ she said, awkwardly handing him a cup. She sat down beside him. ‘A millimetre or two to the left and they say you might have bled out.’
‘Fine,’ he said, though it ached like hell. ‘Jo, I know!’
‘That’s your trouble, Samson. You’re far too smart for your own good.’
‘For yours,’ he said, and grinned again. ‘Just tell me why?’
‘Drink your coffee,’ she said, unabashed.
‘You said you hadn’t identified me to your colleagues from that piece of film in the street, but of course you had and they told you to watch me. That’s why you were at the flat last night. Jo, you never stay two nights in a row.’ He was still smiling but also watching intently for her reaction.
‘Fuck it – yes.’
‘Well, they damn nearly got you killed, didn’t they? I hope you tell them that.’
‘I have.’ She smiled. ‘Thanks for being such a grown-up, Samson.’
‘What’s a little surveillance between friends?’
‘I told you more than I told them.’
‘I know you did. Of course, they don’t give a damn about my safety, or yours for that matter. If they were worried about me, as they said, they’d have had me covered when they followed me to Putney Bridge. Whoever’s after me was tracking my phone, which is why I had to turn it off and swap phones. Hence you couldn’t call me.’
She pouted then sipped her coffee.
‘So, what do they want?’
She moved closer so she was just a few inches from his face. Their eyes danced with routine intimacy, which made her smile briefly. ‘They want to know why you were outside that building.’
‘The Edgar? Why?’
‘There was something going on there. They raided it and picked up an individual they were looking for, but they didn’t find what they wanted. It’s all a bit vague, but they want to know what the fuck you were doing there.’
He put the coffee cup down and reached for her hand. ‘You can tell them I have absolutely no interest in the building, or whatever goes on there. Will you do that for me? It was coincidence that my work took me there. Nothing more.’
She nodded and withdrew her hand.
‘Do they have an ID for the man who tried to kill us?’
‘You know he died?’
‘I assumed that was the case, yes.’
‘His name was Pim Visser. Dutch citizen. Born in Rotterdam thirty-six years ago. Served four years for smuggling ecstasy. Dutch police say he had good connections in the criminal underground in Rotterdam – the penose – and may have been an ad hoc contract killer. He was nicknamed Rossi after the Italian motorcycle champion because he used high speed bikes to deliver drugs to the club scene all over Europe. An addict with a reputation for extreme violence, he was a suspect in the murder of a prostitute in Rotterdam and had two convictions for sexual assault.’
‘So was Rossi the driver for Miroslav Rajavic – the Matador?’
‘That’s assumed to be the case.’
‘I don’t understand how my neighbour heard Serbian in the flat when this man was Dutch.’
‘Visser had a Yugoslav mother. He speaks fluent Serbian. He was the link between the penose and the Balkan crime scene, mostly concerning the MDA market, it is believed. He was part of the delivery chain that fed ecstasy into Slovenia, Croatia and Serbia.’
‘So he was talking to the Matador on the phone.’
‘Yeah, it seemed that he was summoning help from his partner. Maybe he wasn’t sure of himself or was insisting that the other man – your Matador – carried out the contract, as it was his contract. I don’t know. But there was some kind of dispute and that was why he was shouting.’
The pattern was now established beyond doubt. Four men had been hired from the criminal underworld in Europe to do contract killings which would require a far higher degree of professionalism than any of them was capable of. Two were dead, one was in custody and the fourth had gone missing. He reminded himself to call Vuk Divjak in Serbia later.
‘Thanks for all that,’ he said. ‘So, you were going to tell me about the tulip guy – the man in the village you’re seeing.’
‘He’s a dear, I like him a lot. I would have spoken about this sooner but, well, you’re incredibly sweet, too, Samson. And we do have our good times, don’t we?’
‘We certainly do.’
She brushed the back of his hand with her fingernails. ‘Our time together is, like, halfway to love for me. Do you understand? It’s so good in bed that I kind of wonder why the hell we aren’t in love, just like anyone else would be. But you aren’t available and that has come to really matter to me, despite, or because of our extraordinary sex life.’
‘Despite, or because of,’ he echoed rather hopelessly. ‘So, you are planning to set up with the tulip guy?’
‘His name is Leo.’
‘I prefer Tulip Guy.’
‘We’ll see how things go. He’s helped me with a problem and I’m grateful to him.’
‘What was that?’
She didn’t reply and drew back a little. ‘I was worried they might give you a hard time about killing that man.’
‘Why. It was quite straightforward. They interviewed me last night. They wanted to know how many times I hit him. It was twice – once on the head and maybe a glancing blow which ended up on his head. They said they would wait for the autopsy.’
She looked concerned. ‘They could make life difficult for you over the next few weeks. They might cause trouble at the inquest. Not all my colleagues are good people. And there is’ – she lowered her voice – ‘a real sense that you pose some kind of threat.’
‘Have you made a statement?’
‘Yes, whil
e you were being stitched up.’
‘An unfortunate phrase. How many times did you say I hit him?’
‘Once or twice – I wasn’t sure, but I did say you reached for a knife, which would certainly indicate a determination to harm him.’
‘Right, but you’d been stabbed and you told them he was going to assault you, and he would have killed you afterwards.’
She looked down and nodded.
‘Good.’ He stopped, pulled the bedclothes back and pointed to the bag brought to the hospital by Derek and Jericho earlier. ‘Can you hand me that? I’m going to get dressed. I’ve got things to do.’
‘What about your leg?’
‘It’ll be fine.’
When he finished dressing, he sat on the bed and smiled at her. ‘What was the problem the tulip guy helped you with?’
She bit her lip. ‘I got to using a little coke in the clubs when I used to perform. It became a bad habit. This was two years ago, when we weren’t seeing each other. I went into rehab and quit really easily. Leo is an ex-addict and he was very supportive. The worst part is that a senior colleague found out about it. Of course, they didn’t refer to it when they asked me to watch you a couple of days ago, but you know it’s in the background. I could be fired for use of a Class A drug. I’m sorry – it doesn’t make me proud – but that’s how I came to be in your flat last night. They wanted to know what you’re doing.’
‘The important thing is this, Jo – I wasn’t there for you, but the tulip guy was.’ He put his hand up to her face and she pressed her cheek into his palm.
‘You had your own addiction, didn’t you, Samson? You went gambling crazy.’
‘Yes, but I quit too, and paid off my debts.’
They were silent.
‘Is this it?’ he asked.
‘Yes, it is.’
‘Were you going to tell me about informing on me?’
