Three Great Novels

by Henry Porter

  ‘Right, they watched nearly three million people, all dressed identically in white, for a full five days and can definitely say what each one of them was doing?’

  ‘Yeah, well...’

  ‘There’s a really good case for threatening to release Dolph’s research on this. Has anyone thought of twisting their arm a bit?’

  ‘We’ve already threatened. But they’re not playing. Look, I’ve got to go.’

  ‘Hold on, I have a couple more questions.’

  At that moment a fire truck, horns blaring, passed along 44th Street under her window. Herrick blocked one ear.

  ‘Holy shit!’ said Lyne when the noise had died. ‘That kind of proximity to a fire truck means you could only be in Manhattan. What the hell are you doing?’

  She reached for the packet of Camels she’d bought at Heathrow and lit up. ‘Okay, so I am in New York, but it’s where I should be.’

  ‘For chrissake Isis, you should be taking time out. You looked like shit yesterday.’

  ‘Thanks, but to answer the question at the back of your suspicious corporate mind, I am perfectly okay, utterly sane. Besides, you’ve only to look at the evidence to see this is the place to be. We know Rahe was here as recently as last week; we know he hired a car for three days - what for? - and we know that this entire network has been funded by money made on the New York property market. Rahe had a whole different existence here as Zachariah. Besides these things, there’s a website which was dormant during the period Loz was out of New York but has now started up again. What could be clearer?’

  ‘Hold on there, gal. What website? What’re you talking about?’

  ‘Harland has a line in on Mossad - Eva, his ex. She was meant to meet me here with information about a site they’ve been monitoring. I suspect that is where the confirmation came from about the assassination attempt on Norquist, though I don’t have any hard evidence.’

  ‘You’re losing me.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m going too fast for you. Look, there were two sources of information on the Norquist hit. One came through the encrypted screensaver that we had access to through Rahe. The other one has never been explained properly, but I’d put money on it that this is where it came from.’

  ‘That’s all history. Do you know what the website is?’

  ‘No idea. Bloody Eva didn’t make the breakfast meeting.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  ‘Phone her, then start looking into Rahe and Loz’s lives here. You can help by getting the Chief to release to me all SIS research on the property dealings.’

  ‘That means I have to tell him where you are.’

  ‘But you were going to do that anyway.’

  ‘Stop being such a ball-breaker. I am trying to help here.’

  ‘Right, get me that stuff and send it to isish1232004 at Yahoo. Don’t encrypt it. That’s like a flag to the NSA, and anyway I don’t have any of the programs on my personal laptop. Just serve it up as it comes.’

  ‘Teckman is likely to want to put your people in New York onto this.’

  ‘That’s fine.’ She stubbed the cigarette out. ‘Now call me whenever you get something.’

  She hung up. This was okay, she thought, she could do this. As long as she wasn’t expected to go to meetings and watch the hours tick away, there wouldn’t be a problem. She flipped open the phone again, dialled Eva’s number and got the message service. ‘I don’t know where the hell you are,’ she said. ‘But I’m waiting at the Algonquin to meet you.’ She left her own number and rang off.

  She ordered coffee from room service and then started setting up her Apple laptop, fitting it with a US phone adapter. By the time the coffee arrived she had typed a list of what she needed to do, half-admitting to herself that she was shooting in the dark. The first item simply read Ollins. She dialled the number Harland had given her, and within a couple of rings an alert voice answered. ‘Ollins here, please state your business.’

  Herrick explained that Harland had told her to call.

  ‘Yeah, I already heard from the sonofabitch. Last time I talked with Harland he was helping a fugitive from justice, as it happens, a man whom we knew to be a terrorist. I don’t know how things are in your country, Ms Herrick, but in mine that’s not a good place to start when you are asking a favour.’

  She waited a moment before replying. ‘Did Harland tell you he was in hospital with gunshot wounds? Did he tell you that he was shot by the wife of the suspect Youssef Rahe, Sammi Loz’s principal European contact, who was in New York last week using the identity of David Zachariah?’ She had guessed right. All this was new to Ollins. Now she had his attention.

  ‘No, he didn’t mention it. You say Youssef Rahe was here?’

  ‘Right. He drew money and he used a rented car. We requested information from the FBI on this yesterday and got nothing. We really need to know where he went.’

  She gave him the details of the car rental, then told him there were five other men thought to be part of the network in Europe. She could hear him making notes. ‘Your people should know most of this. I know it’s being shared.’

  He grunted. Evidently it hadn’t reached him. ‘Okay, Ms Herrick, what do you need from me?’

  ‘Two things. I want to go to the Stuyvesant Empire Bank on 5th Avenue and talk to them about the account David Zachariah used. I need you to be with me because otherwise I won’t get access. Second, I want to get into Sammi Loz’s rooms in the Empire State building.’

  ‘You know Sammi Loz was one of the men killed in Egypt? There was a definite ID of his remains.’

  ‘I was there, and I can tell you there was no proof.’

  This seemed to impress Ollins and he gave another of his grunts. ‘Look, about the bank, Ms Herrick. I can’t make it until this afternoon. I’ll meet you there at three-thirty, quarter of four. I’ll call ahead. We’ll see about the Empire State later.’

  She gave her number and told him she was wearing a dark blue T-shirt and a beige linen jacket.

  She left the hotel with a little tourist map and turned right to walk the hundred or so yards to 6th Avenue. On reaching Sixth she became aware of the enormous scale of Midtown, which she hadn’t at all appreciated during the cab ride in from the airport during the middle of the night. Then the compressed, thunderstorm heat of Manhattan hit her. She walked south to Bryant Park, where she drew iced tea through a straw and tried Eva again but without success. Then she made her way along 42nd Street to 5th Avenue. Passing the New York Public Library she glanced up at the couples sitting on the steps, fanning themselves in the sluggish air like a theatre audience.

  It took nearly an hour of tramping up and down 5th to locate the Stuyvesant Empire Bank, which turned out to be just half a dozen blocks from 34th Street. Its frontage was so nondescript that she passed it several times. All the while the Empire State building loomed imperious and Germanic in a strange apricot light that escaped from behind the massive cloud formations to the south and west.

  Just six blocks away, she thought. Less than ten minutes’ walk. Rahe must have visited the Empire State the previous week. This gave her an idea. She called Lyne from the street and asked him to send pictures of Rahe and the suspects in the Bosnia photograph to her email address. She also asked for a picture of Sammi Loz.

  She began to retrace her steps to the hotel while going over the details of the pictures. Lyne tried to interrupt several times, eventually saying, ‘Isis, you’re not listening.’

  ‘Sorry, go ahead.’

  ‘We’ve got some good information on Larry Langer. He comes from a Connecticut family. They’re rich people, originally in the garment industry, who moved out of New York. Langer was a delinquent kid - a real nut. Disappeared to Bosnia for five years and returned briefly to the States in ninety-nine after wandering the globe, saying he was a Muslim. That didn’t please his family because they’re Jewish. They haven’t heard of him since. But they have reasonably fresh pictures, and these are being released worl
dwide tonight, together with the Bosnia photograph of Aziz Khalil. They didn’t want to do it, but now they totally buy the idea that there may be five guys still out there.’

  ‘Send one of Langer to me.’

  ‘You got it.’

  ‘What about Latif Latiah, Abdel Fatah and Ajami?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘And you’ve circulated all the agencies with the information. What about Mossad?’

  ‘I couldn’t tell you about that. But I guess someone has talked to them.’

  ‘So what are you doing now?’

  ‘Nothing much. Waiting, I guess, and working through the night. Oh, I nearly forgot, I had a call from Dolph. He’s doing fine now. So’s Joe Lapping.’

  Seeing the tourist map tucked under her arm, a beggar in ragged shorts and T-shirt had started to bother Herrick, singing her praises in extravagant terms. ‘Honey, just let me drink your bathwater,’ he shouted.

  Herrick spun round. ‘Will you fucking well leave me alone you creep.’

  ‘I hear you’re getting into the ways of the city,’ said Lyne, when she returned the phone to her ear. It was then that her eyes caught sight of a familiar walk way off down 5th. A man holding some ice-cream cones, moving through the crowds just like Foyzi had in Cairo. Then he disappeared from sight.

  ‘Are you there, Isis? What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing. I thought I saw someone I recognised.’

  ‘Look, why don’t you get a little rest? You’re doing everything you can. Oh, one other thing. I told the Chief I heard from you.’

  ‘I knew you would - you’re a bloody boy scout…’

  ‘He agreed I could send it, but he’s awful sore you’re not at home watering the roses, or whatever you English girls do when you’re relaxing.’

  ‘Leave it out, Nathan.’

  ‘Well, it’s good to have it official, anyway,’ he said. ‘Besides, you do need to rest. Go lie down for chrissakes, or you’ll be thinking you know everyone in New York.’

  She hung up and made her way back to the hotel, where she took a shower and lay naked in the cool sanctuary of her room for about an hour, getting up once to try Eva again and download her email.

  She arrived at the bank at exactly 3.30 to find a dapper figure dressed in a black lightweight suit marching up and down the sidewalk, talking on his cell. She pulled her passport from her shoulder bag and put it under his nose. He nodded, but continued to speak. At length he hung up and put out his hand.

  ‘Special Agent Ollins, pleased to meet you. Your guy, Youssef Rahe, made a trip up to the Canadian border last Wednesday. We got a payment at a gas station.’

  ‘But we know he didn’t use the Zachariah cards.’

  ‘Exactly. He paid in the name of Youssef Rahe. Maybe he made a slip or something. Anyways, we can place him at a gas station outside Concord, New Hampshire, last Wednesday at 11 p.m. That’s just eighty-five miles from the border. What do you think he was doing there?’

  ‘Picking up someone.’

  ‘Right. That’s the only reason he would go up there. The attendant remembers him because of the Arabic name. He says the car was headed north and there was a passenger inside. Who might that be?’

  She lifted her shoulders.

  Ollins brushed the top of his close-cropped blond hair with the flat of his palm, apparently absorbing Herrick for the first time. ‘Okay, let’s see these people,’ he said, jerking his thumb at the bank.

  They were shown into a room, where three bank executives were nervously ranged along a table. Herrick withdrew her laptop from her bag and switched it on. ‘Gentlemen,’ said Ollins. ‘We need your help, and fast. Miss Herrick is from England and she’s working with us on a counter-terrorist operation. She has something to say to you and some questions to ask. We would appreciate it if you’d do everything in your power to help her.’

  Ignoring the throbbing pain in her arm, Isis began to speak slowly, breathing as calmly as she could. ‘You are aware that we’ve already made inquiries about account 312456787/2, held in the name of David Zachariah. And we’re grateful for your service. First of all, I want you to confirm that the picture I am going to show you is of the man you knew as Zachariah.’ She spun the laptop round on the table.

  The three executives leaned forward, two of them reaching in their pockets for reading glasses. They exchanged looks, then one said, ‘That is Mr Zachariah, yes.’

  ‘Now I’m going to show you some of Mr Zachariah’s associates. ’ She turned the laptop back to her and clicked on the icon for the Bosnia picture. ‘This is not too clear, but I want you to look at it very carefully and see if you recognise anyone.’

  Again they huddled round the laptop and squinted at the image. ‘Maybe it would help if you emailed us this picture and we had it enlarged and printed out,’ suggested one.

  All this took five or six minutes and eventually a secretary appeared with the copies of the Bosnia photograph, as well as the new Langer picture, which Herrick intercepted and placed face down on the table. As they looked again, she ran through the names she had in her notepad - Larry Langer, Aziz Khalil, Ajami, Latif Latiah and Abdel Fatah.

  ‘We believe all these men are still at large. We are particularly interested in Langer.’ She turned over the study of Langer, a haunted-looking man in his thirties with sunken eyes and a beard, smiling ruefully at the camera. ‘This man appears in the other picture before you.’

  ‘Langer, Langer,’ said one of the executives.

  ‘His people were in the rag trade - the garment industry. It’s close to here, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, we have had dealings with the family.’ He swivelled to a terminal by the wall and turned it on. For some time he worked through the files. ‘Yes,’ he said, pushing himself back so the others could see. ‘Lawrence Joseph Langer. Date of birth, 1969. He had a checking account with us for twelve years, though it was inactive for long periods.’

  ‘Can you look up Zachariah’s records and see if there are any transactions between the accounts?’ asked Ollins.

  ‘No problem,’ said the man, printing off the file on Langer.

  After a few moments he spoke again. ‘It seems that Mr Langer was in receipt of money from Zachariah on several occasions. But more significant, perhaps, is that Mr Langer also provided a reference when Mr Zachariah set up his account here in the late nineties.’

  Ollins had the printout of the Langer account on the table and was going over it with a pen in his hand. He ringed several items.

  ‘Look at this,’ he said, pointing Herrick to a line which read, ‘Account holder’s address: Room 6410, 350 5th Avenue, New York, NY 10118… Dr Loz’s rooms.’

  Over the next hour they turned up two more secrets from the records of Stuyvesant Empire. A search of the name Langer-Ajami produced a business account that had remained at the bank for just eighteen months before being transferred to Lebanon. This stirred the memory of one bank official, a solicitous man with silver hair and a gold pin that pinched his shirt collar together under the tie knot. He said he now remembered interviewing Langer about a carpet import business that was going to sell Turkish rugs and matting in outlets along the east coast.

  Another suggestion from Herrick unearthed dealings between accounts held at a bank in Bayswater, London, in the name of the Yaqub Furnishing Company and Yaqub Employment Agency. Herrick explained that these were almost certainly Rahe’s accounts. It was noted that for a period of two years, money had flowed from a real estate company called Drew Al Mahdi to the Yaqub concerns in England. Herrick pointed out that Al Mahdi roughly translated as ‘rightly guided one’ and that this was a phrase used by the Shi’ite community. The bankers all shrugged and said they weren’t familiar with the different sects of Islam, or for that matter Arabic.

  By five, Ollins had heard enough. ‘You gentlemen will keep this bank open until we have been over every account here. Is that understood? Because what you have here is nothing less than the funding of a terrorist organisation wit
h your bank at the centre.’ He scooped up all the printouts and copies of photographs and asked for an envelope to put them in. Before leaving, Herrick emailed all the pictures to Ollins at his office so he would have them in electronic form when he returned.

  Outside, Ollins made his dispositions on his cell phone, ordering three colleagues into the bank immediately and redeploying others in the Bureau’s state headquarters down at Federal Plaza.

  ‘You got to understand, this happened on my watch,’ he said to Herrick with a pained expression. ‘You know, we’ve been doing every goddam thing in this city - twenty-four-hour monitoring of suspects’ phone calls, email and internet usage. We’ve monitored their credit card spending, their bank accounts. We pay attention to the people they talk to in the street, what newspapers they read, what their neighbours say. I’m telling you, there’s nothing we haven’t covered in the lives of hundreds of individuals. And then we miss this, for chrissake!’