Chapter 25: Men in Black and Blue
All in all Clare got about half a day’s work done, four hours anyway, not half of her usual day’s work, what with driving to Charleston, being attacked by Ali, filing her statement with the sheriff, and talking to the reporter. The next day she expected to accomplish a lot more. And would have but for the visit from two men she thought of as “men in black,” except their suits were actually black and blue, respectively. FBI and CIA. They came together, which Clare thought was unusual. She had the idea that even the federal government had trouble getting the agencies to coordinate their work. She took them back to her office.
They introduced them selves as John Gibbs and Raymond Marsh, black suit/blue suit, FBI/CIA.
Clare repeated what she’d told the sheriff and Clench, all about Ali’s attempts to steal the helmet, leading to his attack on Clare; her meeting with Jennifer Ebrahim to find out more about the helmet and decide whether or not to give it back; Mrs. Ebrahim’s disclosure that her husband had died in a suicide bombing, as the bomber, in Iran in April.
“So are you here to pick up Ali?”
“No, the local police have jurisdiction,” said the FBI man. “We talked to him already. What we’re going to do is investigate the mosque in Akron Mr. Ebrahim goes to.”
“And we’re going to look into his foreign contacts,” added the CIA man.
“Could we see the helmet?” said the FBI man.
“It’s in a bank safe deposit box. It was in the bank here, but I was afraid Ali might try to rob the bank, so I put it someplace else yesterday. Especially after hearing about his father’s suicide bombing. I thought he might try bombing the bank. Although if he really wants the helmet itself, I don’t suppose he’d take a chance of destroying it.”
“We’d like to examine it.”
Clare bit her lip.
“Would you give it back to me? I think it has only sentimental meaning for Ali. Of course not all of his sentiments should be encouraged. But I don’t suppose there’s any sort of code or vital messages hidden in it. And if it had an explosive it would have blown up by now.”
“Of course. No explosives.”
“Well, if you’ll give it back to me when you’re done with it.”
“What bank is it in?”
“I could go with you and get it out.”
“You could. Or you could just give us the key to the box.”
Clare assumed that if she refused to let them have the helmet, they’d find a legal way to get access to the bank deposit box, so there was no point in dragging things out.
“I’ll want a receipt. And I want to go talk to Sheriff Matheson first. You want to go with me or wait here? I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“We’ll wait.”
“You can wait in the café across the street, if you want. Have some of their pie. It’s good.”
They agreed to get pie while Clare locked her office and pointed them toward the café before walking to the sheriff’s office.
“Hi, Sheriff Matheson. I see you called the FBI and CIA. They act fast, don’t they?”
“What?”
“One of each showed up in the shop a few minutes ago. Together. Said they’re going to investigate the mosque Ali goes to, and also his foreign contacts. I suppose that means checking out his phone and his computer. You got his phone. Did you give it to them already?”
“No. I did call but … what are their names?”
“Um, John Gibbs and Raymond Marsh. Came down from Cleveland.”
“Really?”
“They said they already talked to you, or maybe they meant Ali, so I just told them more or less what I told you. They don’t want Ali, they want to examine the helmet. I told them it wasn’t in the Greenline bank anymore.”
“Nobody talked to me or to him. No one’s been here. I called in my reports yesterday but haven’t heard back. Didn’t think they’d be so slow.”
“Well, here they are.”
“Yeah, here they are. But where are they? They did not talk to me.”
“In the café.”
“Let’s go over there and you can introduce me.”
When they got to the café, there was no sign of either man.
“Maybe they went to the john,” the sheriff said.
Jeanette said no one like that had come in, but she saw two men in suits get in a car together and drive away.
“What the hell?” Sheriff Matheson pulled off his hat and scratched his head. “John Gibbs and Raymond Marsh, huh? Which one said he was FBI and which one CIA?”
“Gibbs was FBI and Marsh was CIA, I think.”
“They show you ID?”
“Uh, no. After yesterday, I just assumed … I did think it was unusual that they would travel together.”
“Well, it might could happen. But I don’t think they were who they said they were. They said they talked to me, which they didn’t. No IDs. And now they’re gone. What did they look like?”
“Oh, dark hair, both of them. Maybe sort of Mediterranean looking. Sounded like they could have been from the East. I mean New York, Boston, New Jersey.”
“I don’t suppose anyone got a license plate number. Why would you. I’m going back to make some more phone calls. Did you tell them which bank you moved the helmet to?”
“No, not even the city.”
“Have you told anyone else besides me and Clench?”
“No, I don’t think I did.”
“Don’t.”
Clare went back to her office and locked herself in. This incident increased her nervousness quotient by maybe 50%. Ali’s direct assaults didn’t really bother her much, but this was something else. Creepy. Who were those guys and how did they get here? Did Ali make his one phone call? To whom? They might have tried to kidnap her and force her to take them to the bank. She pulled out the revolver she kept in her office now. She had one gun in her car and the rest at home in various locations. She’d better start remembering them from now on, after all the trouble she’d taken to get licensed to carry.
Why would they want the helmet anyway, if it was just a family heirloom? Maybe it reflected on the honor of Iranians everywhere, or at least Muslims. But Clare knew from her online research that many Indo-Persian helmets were in existence and resided with collectors, museums, and antiquarians of all kinds. No one was trying to steal all those, were they?
And she told them what Jennifer Ebrahim had told her, that her husband blew himself up in Iran. Maybe that wasn’t known at their mosque, but Clare thought that odds were they all knew it. So presumably Jennifer was safe. She ought to call her.
“Hello, Jennifer? This is Clare Bower.”
She explained about the phony FBI and CIA men.
“Would they be men from your mosque, trying to get the helmet?”
“I don’t know why anyone would want to do that. And without seeing the men I wouldn’t even guess.”
“Well, they were both sort of medium height, and looked like they could possibly have been from the Middle East, but no foreign accents, and of course I didn’t suspect they were not who they said they were until they disappeared.”
“Hm. I don’t have any idea.”
“You’ll let me know if anyone unfamiliar talks to you?”
“Sure.”
“And there’s something else I wanted to ask you about. I hope I’m not being presumptuous, but I was wondering if you intend to continue running the carpet store. Or Ali?”
“I haven’t decided. It’s mine now. You know, I’m not sure Mo knew what he was going to do before he made that last trip. He didn’t make a will, for instance. He could have left the store and everything to Ali, but he didn’t have a will, so I inherited. I don’t think I’ll keep the store because I certainly don’t intend to go back to make those buying trips to Iran and Turkey, and I wouldn’t send Ali to do it. So I’ve been thinking about selling but haven’t done anything yet.??
?
“I thought I could make you an offer for the carpets and any other things you might have to sell.”
“Oh. Well, why not? Let me talk to the lawyer, the one who handled Mo’s business affairs, and get back to you.”
“OK, thanks. I’ll call you if I hear anything else here about Ali. And I’d appreciate it if you’d keep me informed about anything you find out up there. I have a feeling we’ll be hearing from the actual FBI and CIA.”