“Yes, well, your office called earlier. They told me you would be coming by.” She tried to change the subject. “Please come in.”
The two men stepped inside. Sarah closed the door behind them. Ellison gave her a business card and told her he was with the Bureau’s International Operations Division, training section.
No matter how hard she tried to fix her attention on Ellison, Sarah couldn’t help but sneak another glance at the younger one. Six two, dark wavy hair, brown eyes, and tawny complexion. She guessed that the James Bond of the FBI couldn’t have been more than mid to late twenties.
She was overjoyed to have company, any company, so this was a pleasant surprise indeed. After four days alone, with only the dog Bugsy for companionship, Sarah was going stir-crazy in the cloistered apartment.
“The handsome one is here for training,” said Ellison.
“Gimme a break.” Adin blanched. “Don’t listen to him. He’s been giving me a hard time since we met.”
“I can imagine.” Sarah looked up at him and smiled coolly.
“Nice to meet you.” He reached out and shook her hand.
Sarah had always wondered if such smoking exterior looks routinely spoiled whatever was on the inside. She had never been close enough to find out.
“They told us you had a dog?” Ellison was looking around. “A Doberman?”
“You mean Bugsy,” said Sarah. “Not to worry. I locked him in the back room. He’s a little skittish around strangers, especially men. I figured you probably didn’t need that. Why don’t we go in the living room.” Sarah led the way. “Go ahead and have a seat. Can I get you some coffee? Something else to drink?”
“I’m fine,” said Ellison.
“How about you?”
“I’m good,” said Hirst.
The two men planted themselves on the couch like bookends.
Sarah took one of the wingback chairs across from them.
“How are you doing here alone?” said Ellison.
“I’m OK,” Sarah lied.
“You know, we have offered to have one of our female agents come and stay with you until your father and your friends get back. It’s not a problem.”
“I know, but it’s not necessary,” said Sarah.
“What about counseling?” said Ellison. “I know they’ve talked to you about having someone from our behavioral science unit come by. We have mental health people on staff. They’re not generally into therapy, but they do have training . . .”
“I know, but I think I’m OK.”
“OK, but if you change your mind, I want you to call me.”
“I will.”
“You’ve got my card,” said Ellison.
She looked at the business card. “What, ah, what exactly is the International Operations Division, training section?”
“Back to business,” said Ellison. “How much did they tell you on the phone?”
“Nothing,” said Sarah.
“IOD has to do with overseas operations. In addition to doing investigations stateside, the FBI also maintains agents in various U.S. embassies around the world. They provide a liaison with law enforcement from other countries. We exchange information, and in that regard we do a fair amount of training. That’s where my office comes in.”
Sarah nodded as if she understood.
“To make a long story short, you’ve become part of today’s training exercise. That is, if you’re willing to do it.”
“Sure, why not? I have nothing else to do,” said Sarah.
“Adin says that someone from his agency overseas sent him an inquiry last night about getting whatever information he could on witness protection as well as the bureau’s safe-house operations. Did I state that correctly?” He looked at Hirst.
“Dead-on.”
“So we thought we would start with a tour of the facility. Your name came up, so we thought we’d start here.”
“How did my name come up?”
“That was my fault,” said Adin. “Someone told me that your father and his partner and someone else had left . . .”
“That would be Joselyn Cole,” said Sarah.
“I figured it would be easier if we were disturbing fewer people. Since you were here alone, you became the guinea pig.”
“I see. Well, I’m delighted. So where’s home?” she asked Adin.
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. If I did, I’d have to kill you.” The instant he said it, Adin made a face. “Forget I said that.”
“That’s OK.” Sarah smiled.
“Good move, Adin. You get twenty points deducted for lack of tact,” said Ellison. “Want to try for more?”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right, really.”
“Adin sometimes works undercover. Though how he manages it with moves like that, I’m not sure,” said Ellison.
“Undercover I leave the levity at home,” said Adin. “The only time I screw up is when I’m myself, in a bar with a girl.”
“Foot-in-mouth syndrome?” said Sarah.
“You’ve seen this with other stupid guys, I take it,” said Adin.
“A few times.” She laughed. “So is Adin Hirst your real name?”
He made a face, like maybe yes, maybe no.
“I don’t want to be killed. So I won’t ask any more questions,” said Sarah. “What is it you need from me?”
“I have a short questionnaire. A couple of pages,” said Hirst. “If you can fill it out at your leisure and send it back through Agent Ellison’s office, that would be a big help.”
“Sure.”
“When, ah, when are your father and his friends going to be back?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Where did they go?”
“I can’t tell you that. If I did, I’d have to kill you.” Sarah smiled at him.
Hirst laughed. “Touché.”
“You speak French, you must be from France.”
“Funny you should say that. All the girls I kiss tell me the same thing.”
“Oh, you’re bad,” she said. “I’ll bet that’s not on your résumé.” She looked at Ellison, who was red to the tips of his ears. “Did you know you had a professional tonsil hockey player on your team?”
“Now you see, you’re wrong,” said Hirst. “With me it’s only a hobby.”
“I think maybe . . . I think we should, ah . . .” He looked at Sarah. “You’re not on sound surveillance here, are you?”
“God, I hope not.”
“I think we should look around a little. The unit itself, the apartment,” said Ellison. “And maybe talk to you a little about your experiences here.”
“This is about the best one I’ve had since I got here,” said Sarah.
All three of them cracked up. Sarah thought Ellison might have a heart attack. He was laughing that hard. When he finally regained his composure, he opened his notebook as he wiped a tear from his eye. “Let’s try to get serious here for a moment. Let’s start with a critique of security, starting with the front door,” said Ellison. He looked at Hirst.
“Good point,” said Adin. “Let’s see. Why did you open the door?” He looked at Sarah.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a simple question. Why did you open the door?”
“Because you rang the bell.”
“How did you know who it was?” said Hirst.
“Because your office called. I told you.”
“I have no doubt somebody called,” said Adin. “But how did you know it was the FBI?”
“Because that’s what they told me. Who else would have the number to this condo? It’s unlisted. The place is run by the FBI,” said Sarah.
“All of that is true,” said Ellison. “Still, what Adin is saying is correct. It’s possible that an unlisted number, even one issued to the bureau, can be discovered by an outside party. If so, they can call the number and identify themselves as anyone.”
“I assume that perhaps you’
ve given the number out to relatives?” said Hirst.
Sarah nodded a little sheepishly. “Just my aunt and uncle back in Ohio. No one told me I couldn’t.”
“That’s why the FBI has to keep changing the numbers,” said Adin.
“So when your office called . . . I assume it was your office?”
“It was,” said Ellison.
“So what was I supposed to do?”
“As soon as they identified themselves,” said Adin, “you should have taken the name of the person calling, and the division or office they were calling from. Get all the information and details you can, write it all down. If they want to give you a phone number, fine, but don’t call that number. As soon as they hang up you call downstairs to the duty desk and give the agent all the information. He or she will call the division, check it out, and get back to you.”
“And until they do, you don’t open the door when someone shows up,” said Ellison.
“I see. I thought the place was safe,” said Sarah.
“It is, but because of the people we house here, it’s also a target. Precautions are in order,” said Ellison.
“I screwed up,” said Sarah.
“How could you know? You came in late, and you’re here alone. I’m sure your father and the others were given an orientation, brief as it might have been. They no doubt assumed whoever was on the duty desk would do the same with you. They didn’t.” Ellison took out a small pad and made a note. “What else did you see?”
“Me?” said Sarah.
“No. The hockey player here. He’s the one being graded,” said Ellison.
“When she opened the door, the chain was off,” said Hirst.
“Right. That door is steel, and it’s imbedded in a steel frame,” said Ellison. “The bolts fastening the safety chain are three inches long. They are threaded all the way through the steel frame and into the masonry wall. Same with the hinges. The chain itself is titanium, three-eighths-inch links. Somebody tries to kick that door open, they’re going to break their foot. The same with their shoulder. Of course, none of that works if you open the door without the chain on. That’s what it’s for. What else?” said Ellison.
“The credentials,” said Hirst.
“What about them?”
“She didn’t look at them, and even if she did, it wouldn’t have mattered,” said Adin.
“How do you know she didn’t look at them?”
“Because she was looking at me.”
“OK, we won’t dwell on that one,” said Ellison. “What should she have done?”
“Assuming she had confirmation of our visit from the duty desk, she should have opened the door with the chain on, taken the credentials through the opening, and made sure that the name on the credentials squared with the name from the duty desk.”
“And if not?” said Ellison.
“Slam the door on our fingers and call the duty desk,” said Adin.
“Maybe we should start over so I can practice,” said Sarah. “You can go outside the door. I can put the chain on, and you hand me whatever you want through the crack.” She stared at Adin.
“I don’t think I want to do that. Not with that look in your eye.” He smiled.
“And the dog,” said Ellison. “For the time being, until your father and his friends get back, do yourself a favor and don’t lock him up. Especially if someone you don’t know comes to visit.”
“Got it,” said Sarah.
“Good. Then we’ll give Adin a tour of the unit, let him see the layout, ask any questions. Perhaps we’ll let the Doberman growl at his groin and we’ll go,” said Ellison.
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
Liquida cleared French customs at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris and stopped to purchase a few quick items, four separate French SIM cards for his unlocked cell phone and a small pocket French/English dictionary. He grabbed a cab and told the driver to take him to the Hotel Saint-Jacques on the rue des Écoles.
In the backseat of the cab, Liquida slipped one of the SIM cards into his phone and then checked the dictionary. He had the driver get the telephone number for the hotel’s front desk from taxi dispatch. Liquida then called the number and asked to speak with Monsieur B. Merchand. It was an alias Bruno had used before; the B for Bruno, with the surname “Merchant” translated into the language of the country he was residing in at the moment.
A few seconds later he heard the familiar voice on the other end: “Hello!”
“WOD here.”
“Ah, good to hear from you. I got your message. Where are you?”
Liquida was both relieved and disturbed to learn that Bruno had retrieved his message from the Thai messaging system before it had been removed. He wondered if anyone else had. He quickly conferred with the driver, then back to the phone and Bruno: “We are about twenty minutes out.” Liquida checked his watch. “We should be there by eleven. I assume you have the documents?”
“I do,” said Bruno.
The Spanish passport Liquida had been using since his flight from the States was burning a hole in his pocket. He wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible. French immigration would show airport entry of the Spanish businessman at Charles de Gaulle. Of course, Liquida was not so foolish as to list his residence in Paris as the Saint-Jacques on his entry immigration card. Instead he wrote down “The Ritz,” one of the few Paris hotels he could recall off the top of his head. Now Liquida would use the Spanish passport to send the FBI on a wild-goose chase.
“Is there a café where we can meet before I check in? Perhaps you can bring the documents?” asked Liquida.
Bruno got the message. Liquida was on the run, as usual. “There is a coffee shop directly across the street. La Petite Périgourdine. You can’t miss it.” They exchanged SIM card phone numbers in case Liquida got lost.
“I will see you in twenty minutes.” Liquida hung up.
* * *
The two men sat at a quiet table at the back of the café, Liquida’s rolling luggage next to him as he examined the three new passports Bruno delivered to him. The photograph on each was the same, a stock shot Bruno maintained just for this purpose.
“Good.” Liquida checked the entry and exit stamps, looked at the dog-eared pages, a few of which were suitably stained. All three of the passports were well worn. He noticed that one of them, the Italian passport, bore an entry stamp for the Charles de Gaulle Airport dated that day. “Very good. What about departure? Will it clear the French immigration computer?”
“There is no need to worry,” said Bruno. “You will not be going out through immigration. We have arranged private transport, a Gulfstream from a secluded runway near Marseilles. The plane belongs to the client. It’s long range. From there to Morocco for refueling and on to Mexico. Only one stop.”
To Liquida this was sounding better and better. “When do we leave?”
“When the job is done here.”
Liquida sipped an espresso from the small cup as Bruno gave him the details on the two NASA defectors. “There is only one problem,” said Bruno. “We cannot move forward until we get the missing data from the Iranian. His name is Raji Fareed.”
“You would think he would want to cooperate,” said Liquida. “Can’t you appeal to his patriotism?”
“We tried that. It seems that his family fled when the shah was toppled back in the seventies. He went to the States as a young boy. We’re not sure what’s going on. Perhaps he doesn’t like the current regime. If so, he’s not saying. He says he has the software, but he doesn’t want to deliver it. He wants to go back to the States.”
“That’s not going to happen,” said Liquida.
“No. We thought perhaps he just wanted to renegotiate the deal. We tried that. It didn’t work. At this point, it’s neither here nor there. Bottom line is, we have to get the information and we have to do it quickly.”
“What about the other one? Maybe he can help,” said Liquida.
“You mean Leff
ort? No. There is bad blood between the two of them. Fareed seems to think that Leffort is getting a better deal. More money. It seems Leffort antagonized him before they even arrived.”
“Is he?”
“Is he what?” said Bruno.
“Getting a better deal,” said Liquida.
“I don’t know. I don’t care. Leffort is highly educated, very smart, lets you know it all the time. A real asshole, if you know what I mean. I suspect he has been playing mind games with the Iranian for some time. Telling him one thing, doing another. Keeping secrets, as well as most of the advance payments from what I gather. It’s been going on since before they left the States. By the time they arrived here, the two of them were barely talking. If it were up to me, I would have you cut both their fucking throats. Unfortunately, according to the client, we need to get the information from the Iranian, and Leffort is necessary to the project,” said Bruno.
“Which is?”
“Making money.” Bruno looked at him as if the Mexican had just walked on sacred ground. “I don’t ask. I don’t care as long as they pay me. And these clients pay very well. There is a bonus for all of us if we deliver the data and the necessary personnel to Mexico by the due date.”
“How much?” said Liquida.
“To you, two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, U.S.”
“When is the deadline?”
“Five days from now.”
If Bruno was telling him a quarter of million to expedite delivery, Liquida knew that Croleva was getting three or four times that much.
“Which takes us back to the Iranian,” said Bruno.
“There are ways to make a tongue wag,” said Liquida.
“Yes, I know, electrodes and car batteries. The problem is that here we are talking sophisticated computer software programs. Something you and I would not know from a Chinese anagram. Once we torture him, we alienate him. The man, Raji, he is no fool,” said Bruno. “Beyond that, he is Persian.”
“What does that have to do with it?”
“His pride has already been injured. He is feeling insulted because of the way Leffort has treated him. If we torture him, he may decide not to talk and force us to kill him.”
Trader of Secrets: A Paul Madriani Novel Page 15
