Read WASHINGTON DC: The Sadir Affair (The Puppets of Washington Book 1) Page 53


  Chapter 52

  Van Dams did not intend to accuse Prince Abdullah of anything until he had all of the facts in hand. Why did the prince felt responsible for Ms. Kartz’s shooting? That’s what he wanted to know. There was nothing in his dossier that indicated any more than a long friendship with Sadir. There were a few phone calls prior to Slimane’s death, but nothing that would inculpate the prince in any way. The meeting between his nephew, Prince Khalid, and Sadir in Washington was much more important, yet there had not been any reports officially filed regarding that particular encounter. Sadir had advised CSIS in Ottawa of the prince’s intention to go after Agent Meshullam of his own accord. At the time, Van Dams himself had been kept in the dark until Gibson informed him that the Australians were issuing a warrant for Meshullam’s arrest.

  Van Dams shook his head. If it had not been for Ottawa making the decision to have Meshullam apprehended and extradited back to Canada, he would not have been aware of Sadir’s wilful involvement, and their operations in West Africa would probably have petered out naturally. Besides, Mossad was not keen on re-opening the case. Even if they thought they had made a mistake to trust the Arab fellow, they would not have admitted their error. Van Dams knew from long experience in dealing with Israel that it was better to let sleeping dogs lie. They hated being wrong.

  Van Dams needed more information. He called Cameron Sheffield and asked him to bring Thomas Peterson to his office—on the double!

  After checking that Thomas had gathered every surveillance file and any intel he had on Sadir, Agents Sheffield and Peterson made their way to the Deputy Director’s office. They knew they were in for a grilling.

  Sylvia knocked, opened Van Dams’s door, and let the two agents walk in. “Agents Sheffield and Peterson,” she announced.

  “That’s fine, Sylvia,” Van Dams told her, getting to his feet. “Hold my calls for a while.”

  “Yes, sir.” She closed the door on the two men.

  “Let’s have a seat at the table, shall we?” Van Dams stretched an inviting arm to the small conference table and chairs located in a corner of his large office.

  The two agents took a seat side by side, facing the Deputy Director. They deposited the files in front of them and put down a flash-drive beside them.

  Van Dams eyes rested on the item. “Is that a compilation of the surveillance on Sadir?”

  “Yes, sir,” Sheffield replied. “We didn’t have time to make hard copies yet.”

  “Okay. What can you tell me about Prince Abdullah?” Sheffield and Peterson looked at each other, apparently undecided who should respond first. “Okay. Agent Peterson, let’s start with you. What have you discovered about Sadir and his relationship with the Prince?”

  “Between Agent Sadir and…”

  Van Dams shook a hand in Thomas’s face. “Let’s get this straight, Peterson; Mr. Sadir is no longer an agent of the CIA. You got that?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry.” A contrite expression came across the young man’s face. He hated making stupid mistakes.

  “Go on then...” Van Dams looked at him intently.

  “Mr. Sadir and Prince Abdullah exchanged a few phone calls before Slimane’s death and after that, nothing from the Prince.”

  “Was there other communications between Sadir and someone else after Slimane’s elimination?”

  “Yes, sir. One call in particular, in which Sadir described how Slimane was killed,” Peterson replied.

  “And when did that conversation take place…, but more importantly, who initiated the contact?”

  “I believe Mr. Gibson contacted Mr. Sadir from Vancouver, where he just arrived after Ms. Kartz’s shooting.”

  “Do you have a record of the conversation?”

  Sheffield opened one of the files. “It was actually a visual IM link-up and we recovered the text.” He handed the Deputy Director a sheaf of paper.

  “Let’s see...” Van Dams read.

  Gibson— Good evening, sir. My name is Fred Gibson of the Canadian Security Intelligence Service. I’m sorry to intrude on your schedule, but we thought you might be able to help us.

  Sadir— Ah, yes. My friend, Abdullah, spoke of you, sir. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. How can I be of assistance?

  Gibson— Well, it’s just a matter of confirming what you told Prince Saif Al-Fadir today. I gather you’ve found a body in Flint that fits the description of Mr. Ben Slimane.

  Sadir— Yes, we did, Mr. Gibson, but we found out more than that... Does the name “Mossad” means anything to you?

  Gibson— Yes, I am quite familiar with this organization. Are you telling me that Slimane was a Mossad agent?

  Sadir— Yes. That’s the conclusion we reached when we identified the body that had met with a sudden accidental death in Flint.

  Gibson— How was he killed?

  Sadir— The van he was driving rammed into a tree—reported as a simple road accident actually.

  Gibson— Was the vehicle tampered with?

  Sadir— The forensic team is still on it, but as far as we could tell for now, the steering wheel locked on him when he tried to turn the corner down the street where he lived.

  Gibson— But that was a gamble... Whoever tampered with the steering mechanism wouldn’t know he would hit that particular tree.

  Sadir— Quite right you are, sir, but since he had been shot as he took the turn, the tree was perhaps the only thing that prevented him from creating a major accident.

  Gibson— Are you saying he was shot in the middle of an intersection? Unbelievable!

  Sadir— Quite. Yet, if you know anything about Mossad, they plan everything they do down to the smallest detail—and they don’t make mistakes.

  Gibson— I see. What about his identity? How did you determine he was Mossad?

  Sadir— That was a deduction on the part of my colleagues—but one that led us to his true identity. His real name was Ishmael Assor. We matched his face quite easily, once we had an inkling as to his affiliation.

  Gibson— I will not take any more of your time, sir, and I would expect to receive a report about this when I return to Ottawa.

  Sadir— Absolutely. I’ve already talked to your contact here in Washington and once we’ve completed our investigation, you should expect to have the report on line, even before you leave Vancouver.

  Gibson— Thank you, and if someday I can return the favour, let me know.

  Sadir— By all means, I’ll do that.

  Van Dams raised enquiring eyes to his two agents. “So…, it appears that our Mr. Sadir identified Mossad as the party responsible for Slimane’s elimination. He also released Slimane’s identity, which he should not have done. Then he describes the accident as if he was there...”

  Sheffield nodded. “And I seem to recall that he promised to send a report of the incident, but he never did—not that we are aware of anyway.”

  “Have you confirmed with Ottawa that they never received a report?”

  “No sir, not yet,” Sheffield replied.

  “Do that... after we’re done here. Then can you check if you have a record of the conversation that preceded this one where Prince Abdullah, I presumed, asked for details about Slimane’s death.”

  Thomas looked up at his supervisor before he answered. “I don’t think we do, sir...”

  “Look for yourself...” Van Dams handed the sheet of paper back to Thomas saying, “Read the opening lines.”

  Thomas did and shook his head. “Yes, you’re right, but I don’t think we’ve got any conversation from Prince Abdullah and Sadir...” He shuffled through the file. “But…, I think we’ve got something about Prince Khalid calling Sadir at about the same time.” He scanned through a couple of the record sheets and finally found what he was looking for. “Here it is, sir... It’s the Four Seasons’ number in Vancouver... where the call was initiated.” Thomas handed Van Dams the one page recording.

  Khalid— Ah, Mr. Sadir. How are you, s
ir?

  Sadir— Fine, thank you for asking. How is your uncle?

  Khalid— He’s actually sitting beside me in my suite at the Four Seasons in Vancouver and we both feel very sad at the moment.

  Sadir— I’m sorry to hear that, Your Highness. Is there anything I can do?

  Khalid— Perhaps, Mr. Sadir. We would like to know if you have been advised of Mr. Slimane’s death.

  ... Silence...

  Sadir— I have received information to that effect, yes...

  There wasn’t much after that,” Thomas said. “Sadir simply confirmed their agent was dead but didn’t give Prince Khalid any further explanation.”

  Again, Van Dams handed the sheet back to Thomas. “It seems that Sadir observed procedures during that conversation—for once.” The Deputy Director pondered for a moment. “Okay. There doesn’t seem to be anything in these records showing us why Prince Abdullah should feel responsible for Ms. Kartz’s injury. So, we’re back to conjectures... The same as we’re nowhere with knowing how Sadir maintained contact with Mossad…”

  “Not quite,” Thomas said. “If I may, sir?”

  “By all means, Peterson, what’s on your mind?”

  Thomas grabbed the flash-drive. “I’d like to show you what I mean.” He got up, went to Van Dams’s computer and sat at his desk. Sheffield and the Deputy stood up and followed the young technician. They stood behind him. “Here are the two IM communications that Sadir sent to Agent Lypsick before he went to Flint.” Thomas clicked on both files.

  As soon as Van Dams began reading, he grabbed the back of the chair, swivelled it and glared at the now terrified agent. “Why on earth didn’t you show us this before now?” he roared. “Do you know what this means?” Thomas shook his head. His lips quivered but no word came out of his mouth. “Well, let me tell you; because of you keeping this information to yourself, I’ve spent thousands in sending our Mr. Sadir on a wild goose chase along with Agent Lypsick. If I had seen this before, Sadir would be behind bars today.” Van Dams shoved the chair around brutally. “Get out of here, the pair of you! And don’t come back until you’ve got an entire file of these communications.”

  With shaking hands, Thomas closed the files and unplugged the flash-drive. He then followed Sheffield out of the Deputy Director’s office.

  On their way down the stairs, Sheffield was seething. He hated being put in a culpable position when he didn’t know what he would be accused of beforehand. On the landing between the two floors, he grabbed Thomas by the one shoulder and pivoted him as if he were a puppet. “Look. I’ve had it! Van Dams is right; why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

  Thomas hung his head and looked at the flash-drive in his hand. “I couldn’t.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Sadir’s got me cornered.”

  Sheffield stared. “I think you better give me more than that, buddy, because I’m not going to shove my career down the drain for someone who tells me he’s been cornered.”

  Thomas raised pleading eyes to his supervisor. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

  Sheffield held the young agent’s gaze for a few seconds. He could see Thomas was in trouble. “Okay, let’s get a printout of the flash-drive for the Deputy and then we’ll get out of here for a while.”

  “What about the meeting with the prince—don’t we have to be there…?”

  “After what you put him through this morning, I don’t think he’d want to set eyes on you for a long while.” “I’m sorry, Camy...” Thomas was truly sorry, in fact. Showing the two communications to the Deputy had been his way to come clean without anyone knowing that he had done so.