by Randy Dutton
Pete looked closely at the sketches. “She’s got beautiful features.”
Jim continued, “Yes she does.”
“And her eyes, are they really that blue?” Pete asked.
“So he claims. I have to say your case really benefited from Art Middleton’s recollection of details.”
“Could be because he’s younger...and single.” Tom gave a telling nod to his son.
“We have a branch office trying to get details from the UN and the Spanish government on what personnel attended the conference, both officially and as a guest. If this was a liaison for an official to have a dalliance, their government may not know, or may not choose to cooperate. But then, why would a paramour be walking through Malé alone? We’re also checking all other attendees from every Spanish-speaking country. But Mr. Middleton was quite sure the accent was Castilian, which would reduce the chance of someone from Latin America.”
“Why Castilian?” asked Pete.
“Because of the distinction of some letters. He said the pronunciation of certain letters indicated”—he looked down at his notes—“and he really did say this – a stronger velar fricative, and that Latin American Spanish is more guttural.”
“How would he know?” asked Tom.
“Art studied in Spain for awhile...said it was one of the best times of his life.”
“I would like to say”—Tom was staring at the sketches—“that Art’s version is closer to the woman’s appearance. I think he had a better angle as well. Her scarf partly blocked my view at times.”
“All right then. The team leaves tomorrow for the Maldives. Do not discuss this case with anyone but those in this room, and our team. Hope your passport’s in order, Pete. I’ll need a copy for my office to make your flight reservations. They’ll call you with the details. The flight is open-ended, the return contingent upon what we find...or don’t find.”
Chapter 21
June 28, 0830 hours
Maldives International Airport, Maldives
The tropical air hit them like a sauna as they deplaned. Their morning arrival was at the Maldives Airport, on Hulhumalé Island.
Don Cuervo was first off. A 40-year old graduate of Yale Law with 15-years experience in international investigations, he led the team. He was six foot, slim and athletic, serious, and very focused.
Cathy stepped out next. As Don’s paralegal, she was along to talk with female witnesses, because it was forbidden by Sharia Law for men to question a woman without her husband or male family acquiescence. She also performed many of the administrative functions and had a working knowledge of Arabic. She was a slightly overweight, 35-year old brunette, with horn-rimmed glasses.
Scott was the third member of the team. He was a lanky 5’10”, and had been a policeman for five years. He held a degree in criminal justice and wanted more excitement than a police beat could provide. At 28, he a junior investigator and still learning the ropes.
Pete rounded out the team.
A representative from a local law firm met them in the blue-roofed terminal after passing through Customs. “Please, come this way, I have a boat waiting.”
They carried their luggage back out into the tropical heat and to the nearby jetty, where boats were shuttling travelers to various islands and atolls.
“Just like a taxi stand,” Pete mused.
The investigators got into a shuttle boat for the two-kilometer open-water transit. The dark blue water was slightly choppy but with minimal swells.
Cathy noticed Pete’s sea legs appeared just slightly less stable than the others, which she attributed to his prosthetic.
Within 10 minutes they were dockside, piling luggage into a Traders Hotel van for the short trip to the Malé hotel.
Entering the lobby, Don faced his team. “We’ve got four rooms on the fifth floor so street noise shouldn’t be a problem. It’s 9 AM. We’ve all had a long trip, so I propose a few hours sleep.... Without it, mistakes happen.”
“No kidding. Twenty-nine hours of travelling and a 2 AM start. I ache from sitting so long.” Pete arched then twisted his back.
“Man up, Marine,” Don said dismissively. “What did you expect? A direct flight from Dallas to the Maldives? Most flights go via Qatar, and I don’t see a lot of travel between it and Dallas either.”
Pete continued flexing. “Ever get blown up? It makes the muscles a little stiff.”
“Got your point. Sorry, I wasn’t very sensitive,” he said sarcastically. “Remember, you wanted in on this.”
“No harm, no foul.” Pete smiled.
“We’ll meet down in the restaurant at 1 PM,” Don instructed.
Once in their rooms, sleep came immediately.
Down in a corner booth, Don had paperwork laid out and a pitcher of ice water and five glasses. A local was sitting with him. Cathy was the last to join them for lunch.
“Guys, this is Mohammed,” Don started. “He’s an attorney from a Malé law firm we’ve retained to help with local matters, including ensuring we stay within Maldivian and Sharia Law.”
“I am please to meet you.” With a broad smile Mohammed extended his hand to each. He was 28, about 5’7” and, as a young lawyer, was very excited to be working on a case of international significance.
“Please order lunch,” Don said. “As soon as we’re done, we’ll be moving.”
While waiting to be served, Don started the session. “First thing, we’ll go to the BTO café and interview the waiter. Cathy’s a pretty fair sketch artist among her various talents. We’ll see how accurate our sketches are. Maybe we’ll pick up some details. She’s also a good photographer, so will be taking video and still photos as the investigation progresses. From the café we’ll go to the Palace and see if anyone there recognizes the woman. Mohammed has gotten the list of employees and their work schedules and locations for the time in question. He’s made arrangements to interview those who were working during the time of Mr. Heyward’s and Middleton’s visit. We’ll also talk to their security head.”
Don passed out packets. “Here’s a clipboard and map for each of you. And here’s a GPS tracker for each. Every interview, every point of interest in this case will be date-stamped and location-tagged. This should help track our steps, and that of the defendants. Clear?”
They all nodded.
“As you can see, we’ve highlighted the path both said they took when on this island. We’ll walk it later today. Any questions?”
The food was delievered at that time. “Let’s eat.”
One hour later they had walked the half kilometer to the BTO café.
Mohammed showed the pictures of the defendants, and the two sketches to the waiter.
Mohammed turned to the team. “The waiter say he was here when both men ate here. He also remember the woman.”
The team got excited.
“Ask him if he had ever seen her before that day,” Don said.
“He say he not worked at this café more than six months, and never before this, had he seen her. Few women come alone.”
“Did she say anything to the waiter?”
“He say she say nothing, and he say this not usual.... She point at menu to show what she want. The waiter thought it strange that tall western woman be here alone and not talk. But when one of the men ask her for Tabasco, she pass it to them and start to talk.... The waiter took some offense that she would talk to westerners but not him when she order.”
“Can he tell us anything else? How accurate is the sketch? What did she order? Which way did she come from? Which direction did she go? Has any customer or acquaintance mentioned her?”
“He say this sketch”—he pointed at Art’s rendition—“is good but most westerners look alike. He remember her order tuna and bottle water. He think she go east, and the men go south. He say the news only mention men murder government official. No one mention a woman.”
“All right, next we’ll go to the Palace.”
Within 15 minutes they wer
e in the Palace conference room. The guard who had been on duty that day was nervous as the westerners watched the interview. The head of Palace security also observed, but said nothing.
“The guard say he remember the woman,” Mohammed said as he would ask a question in Arabic then translate.
The team members’ eyes lit up.
“She come and present a card saying she have appointment with Hassan,” Mohammed continued. “She went inside and they talk in conference room for 30 minutes.”
“The timing puts this just before the lunch at the café,” Don said. “Continue.”
“The guard say she carry a large brown leather bag that look most full.”
“Did he see what was in the bag?”
“A note by Hassan tell guard to let her in without go through security check, so he not know what in the bag. The guard also say, she left and the bag appear empty.”
The guard started talking again. Mohammed translated, “There is more. Guard say Hassan leave three hours later with briefcase. Ten minutes later he return with briefcase and shopping bag. He remember Hassan smile much.”
“Has the guard ever seen the woman before that day?”
Mohammed turned to the guard, and back to the group with the response. “Guard say yes. He remember her last year, but not which day. Woman carry leather bag then, also.”
“Bingo!” Pete said.
Don frowned disapprovingly.
Pete pulled back a little, “What?”
“Wait until we’re alone before you start commenting,” the attorney admonished.
After interviewing Palace officials for an hour the investigative team stepped outside.
Mohammed reported, “No one else ever see this woman, or know how Hassan got money for boat. Two of his co-workers say he tell them his family save money for boat and it belong to clan. They gave me copy of photo from his desk. It show Hassan in front of boat.”
“How long has Hassan had the boat?”
“One say Hassan have boat 3 years.”
The investigators walked to the far corner of the Palace garden and sat down. Don looked straight at Pete. “Now we can evaluate what we have.”
Don turned to the others. “We’ve established she exists. We’ll call her the name she gave the defendants—Maria....”
His index finger touched the map. “Maria walks to the Palace, for at least the second time in two years. Hassan’s banking records suggest a much longer timeframe, perhaps as much as eight years. We need to find out if he paid cash for the boat, how much he paid, whether there’s a loan, and whether any family members contributed.... Maria is passed through security by Hassan. She carries something to him and leaves it for at least the second time in two years. She has lunch alone, runs into the defendants. They tell her about sea level data being manipulated...she gets defensive. They tell her about Hassan being nervous and about his boat...she wants their business cards. She leaves – likely eastward. She possibly comes back in three hours, gives something to Hassan who meets her outside the Palace. He is happy, suggesting a gift or money has changed hands. He goes back to his office. Three hours later he takes his boat and heads north. One hour later it blows up. Are we missing anything?”
“So she tells Hassan to take something, which is the bottle, somewhere. The bottle likely is the bomb,” Scott said.
“Perhaps he was delivering a bomb, and knew it, but it went off prematurely?” Pete asked.
“Possibly. The PETN explosive in the bomb is very sensitive,” Scott added.
“Do we know exactly when the bomb exploded?” Pete asked.
“Yes, because the boat’s clock stopped, why?”
“I’ve got some experience with IEDs. Bombs can be set by timer, or by wireless, or by conditions. If it were a timer, how would she know when to set it? He might have gone to the boat at any time. If it were wireless, how could she be close enough to set it off if the boat was traveling at 40 knots and the exact path wasn’t known?”
“Maybe it was linked to GPS?”
“That would be pretty complicated for a bomb that may have been built in a short time. Didn’t you say they used the bottle that came with dinner the night before?” Pete asked, his eyes glancing at a busboy’s tray of used dishes.
“Yes. So what’s the answer?” Don asked.
Pete’s fingers were tapping on the table. “What if… a timer was set…wirelessly?”
“So when the boat leaves or passes a certain point, the timer starts?” Scott asked.
“Exactly,” Pete replied. “What if we find out the distance he traveled and use the boat’s speed, and count back the time in regular intervals, say, every five minutes?”
“I get it.” Don smiled. “If he had to pass a certain point where the bomber knew the wireless signal had to trigger the timer, we have possible locations. Let’s see, I’ve got the boat’s specs here… its max speed is 40 knots. Weather was good, seas fairly calm. The boat debris was found here, about 46 nautical miles away.”
Don marked the chart. “Marking the path every 5 minutes gives us 3.3 nautical miles.” He proceeded to mark the path. “At exactly one hour before the explosion his boat was here, just south of North Malé Atoll.”
“What’s in the direction Hassan was heading?” Pete asked.
Scott used a straight edge and charted a course. “Not much of anything. Palm Island Resort on Guradu Island is about 63 nautical miles away in that direction, and there are hardly any other settlements in the general area. Mostly unsettled coral reefs.”
“So the only reason to send him north is to ensure he passed a certain point,” Pete surmised.
“Or to help ensure the boat was recovered by keeping it in very shallow water,” Scott added.
“So where was the person waiting for him to pass?” Cathy asked.
“That’s now the question,” Pete stated.
“Good work team.... Time to check the area,” announced Don as he stood up. “First we’ll take the docks. The only way on or off is from them, and I think it’s safe that the north docks hold the most promise.”
The five investigators canvassed the area. They spent the late afternoon and early evening walking the docks and talking to local fishermen returning with their catches.
Four hours into the search, they sat down at Independence Square, a park in front the Maldives Administration building.
Drinking a Coke, Don recapped, “So, our witnesses confirm the woman came off a very expensive 20-meter tender at the Fish Market pier earlier that day and walked inland, then was picked up about six hours later by the same boat.”
“And other witnesses say a boat matching the description dropped a man off for 20 minutes, motored offshore, and picked him up at the same point. Could be he was delivering the bomb,” speculated Scott.
“The timeline becomes more defined,” Don stated. “There’s a time gap here. For the three hours she waited for the presumed bomb to be delivered. Where’d she go?”
“And who owns the tender?” Pete asked. “It certainly wasn’t a water taxi.”
“There were a number of yachts here because of the UN conference,” Scott added.
“It would have to be a really big yacht to hoist a 20-meter tender. Any stick out?” Cathy asked.
“Let’s ask some of the water taxi pilots,” Don decided.
An hour later they were back at the park, again drinking more Cokes.
“Swanson’s yacht?!” Scott said excitedly. “Man, that’s going to be hard to investigate.”
“That’s what all the boat captains say. His megayacht, the Spider, was keeping station about six nautical miles out, right where the backtracked one-hour point would be. So we have the means, and the opportunity. What’s the motive?”
“First off,” Don jumped in. “We don’t know Alexis Swanson was involved, even if it was someone on his boat. We’ve confirmed he was flying to Europe on his private jet when this all happened. We need flight manifests. Who came to the conference
with him, who left on his jet, who stayed.... And then we’ll consider motive. If, and this is a big if, Swanson wanted to kill a high-level local official, who benefits?”
“How about we put up some posters in the general area and see who recognizes her?” asked Pete.
“Good idea. Mohammed, call your office and have a hundred posters made. Have witnesses call a number at your office. Any positive hits, have them call you, and we’ll start interviewing tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
“I’m going to make a call to the States...we’re done for the day,” announced the lead investigator.
Jim Hancock picked up the telephone. “Hancock here…. Hi Don. How’s it going down there?.... I’m glad he’s a help.... Seriously?.... That’s great.... Wow, so it is a conspiracy...” The senior lawyer’s eyes widened, “Are you kidding me?!.... Motive? I don’t know. I’ll have to check with our client and a few others.... Keep me updated, but from now on use only encrypted email. And Don? Be very careful. That guy’s connected... everywhere!”
Jim hung up the telephone and sighed. Tom’s stepped into a snake pit, and may drag us down with him.
He picked up the telephone and dialed. “Tom? This is Jim Hancock, sorry to disturb you. Can you come to my office in the next half hour? I’ve got some good news, and some bad news.”
Hancock’s secretary opened the door. “Mr. Heyward is here.”
Tom stepped into the law office. The legal team was there stoically evaluating him.
“I see everyone’s gathered. How’s Pete doing down there,” Tom asked nervously.
“Pete’s doing great,” Jim said. “He’s a big help to the team and has provided some real insight. Have a seat.” He motioned to a chair.
Tom sat, showing obvious relief. “So what’s the good news first?”
