Turkey, and the last came from Albania.’
‘But why pictures of the building? It does look odd. Is there any significance?
‘No, I just kept a stack of cards of the building. I have done since I first visited New York in the eighties. And when Karim went off to Afghanistan I gave them to him with my address written on because I knew that while I might move apartment I would never move my practice.’
‘Do the FBI know your friend was in Afghanistan?’
‘Maybe. They have lists of these things. I am certain.’
‘You’re telling me he fought with the Taleban?’
‘Yes, but he used a nomme de guerre. He had one before he left.’
‘You must expect this kind of trouble. To all intents and purposes he may be regarded as a very likely enemy of the state.’
‘No,’ Loz said with finality. He smiled at Harland once, a brief piece of punctuation that closed the issue. He turned and ordered for them both – caviar, blinis and Kobi beef with spinach. ‘Will you have some wine? I don’t drink.’
Harland shook his head.
‘Good, I’m glad to hear you’re giving your system a rest.’ He paused. ‘What if I told you I was going to be arrested tonight?’
‘I would be very surprised if you had advance notice of that.’
‘It’s a feeling. The pressure has been increasing over the last few days. I cannot be arrested and I cannot submit to confinement. I want your help to avoid it.’
‘Tell me about your friend,’ said Harland, noticing now that nearly every woman in the restaurant had either waved to or was stealing looks in Loz’s direction.
‘We were both sent to Westminster School in London to gain qualifications to go to college in England. Karim was from an affluent family in Lahore – very old, very pukka. I was brought up in Lebanon, though my father was Iranian; my mother had a Druze background. We were outsiders in an English public school so it was natural that we became friends, despite being unlike each other in practically every way. He was wilder, more gregarious, more daring and I suppose more fun. I think we relied on each other’s strengths.’
‘Tell me about these postcards.’
Loz took five postcards from his pocket and laid them out in their order of arrival. Harland examined the images then turned them over. On each there was a short message in an educated hand. The first said:
Greetings, my old friend. I am in Pakistan and hope very soon to be in London. I may need a little help from you. I have good news. I am returning to complete my medical studies, as you always said I should.
The next two were less upbeat and gave only details of where Khan was in Iran. The card from Turkey told how much of his money had been stolen. He still had $400 that his mother had given him and he hoped to use this to get to London. But there were unspecified visa and passport problems.
Harland read them again. ‘They seem harmless enough,’ he said eventually.‘But these days intelligence services are likely to look at them with an eye for codes and hidden messages.’
Loz wasn’t listening. ‘Karim needs my help,’ he said, looking straight past Harland into the melee of diners and table-hoppers. ‘The last postcard, from Albania, was followed by this letter. I assume they read this as well, but there were no signs of the envelope having been opened.’ He withdrew a single sheet of lined paper from his jacket. The letter was signed by a Mr Skender. It told of Karim Khan’s arrest and imprisonment and his transfer to the state security centre in Tirana. The letter mentioned that Khan had made the local TV news in the context of a massacre in Macedonia.
‘I know something about this incident,’ said Harland. ‘The UN has been asked to investigate by the Albanian minority in Macedonia.’
Loz turned to him. ‘I had a friend go through the Balkan news websites – it’s clear those men were murdered. They had come from Turkey. Karim must have been travelling with them.’
‘Then why wasn’t he killed?’
‘Because he knows what to do in such situations.’ He produced a printout of a web page from a Greek newspaper and pointed to a photograph of a bedraggled man, dwarfed between two policemen. ‘That is Karim, though he is barely recognisable. You can see that he is very thin and has been hurt.’ A troubled look swept his face and he reached for the bottle of water. Neither of them had eaten much of the first course, and when he had drained his glass he pushed his plate aside and waved to the waiter.
‘I had the caption beneath the picture translated.’ He handed Harland a piece of white card.
TERRORIST SNARED AFTER GUN BATTLE IN MACEDONIA. Jasur al-Jahez, the man who escaped from Macedonian security forces in a raging gun battle has been found to be a Palestinian terrorist wanted in connection with outrages by the Israeli authorities and also by Syria, Egypt and Lebanon. Jasur al-Jahez, also known as The Electrician, was believed to have died of natural causes eighteen months ago and has not been heard of since. Israel, Syria and Egypt are now seeking his extradition.
Loz took back the card. ‘This is Karim, but for reasons I cannot comprehend they believe he is Jasur. Jasur has killed many, many people. Apparently he split with Hamas in the early nineties and formed a group that assassinated moderate clerics and politicians all over the Middle East.’
‘I have heard of him,’ said Harland. ‘Your friend is in a lot of trouble if they think he’s Jasur.’
‘Now you see why I cannot be arrested,’ he said, placing his hand lightly on Harland’s. ‘I must help him.’
Whether or not something was transmitted in the touch Harland could not say, but he was aware that a part of him submitted very easily with the pressure of Loz’s hands, and something made him try to resist. ‘What can you do?’
‘I don’t know, but I must try. Now I think we should go. There’s a letter on your desk from the Secretary- General. He wrote it before he left and asked me to let him know when it should be released to you. In that letter you will find his instructions.’
‘Does he know about Khan?’
‘Some of it, but he left before I discovered the business about the mistaken identity.’
‘And this letter, what does it say?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Right, I’ll pick it up tomorrow,’ said Harland.
‘Why not this evening? You are feeling better, are you not? We should go now. I have a small bag at the back of the restaurant and we will leave through the kitchens. It has been arranged. I will go first and wait for you at the rear entrance. The bill has already been settled.’
With this he got up. On his way to Sevastapol’s kitchens he paused at two tables, shaking hands and saying hello. Harland noticed how he made contact with each person, drawing a palm across a shoulder, touching a bare forearm or clasping a hand for just a second or two longer than was usual. This casual laying on of hands over, he moved without haste to the kitchens and vanished through the swing doors.
Harland got up a little stiffly and walked through the kitchens to find Loz waiting with small black bag at the rear door. He worked the double lock, moved out into the warm evening and indicated to a car across the street. Just then a man hurried to them clutching one of his pockets.
‘Mr Loz. Federal Bureau of Investigation. Agent Morris. I need you to come with me, sir.’
Harland stepped forward. ‘I’m afraid that’s not possible. This man is in my custody. I’m taking him to the headquarters of the United Nations under the explicit instructions of the Secretary-General.’ He showed him the UN police badge that Jaidi had issued him during an internal investigation six months before.
‘I’ll check this out sir,’ he said, pulling the microphone on his lapel towards his mouth.
‘You do that Agent Morris,’ Harland replied, knowing it would be a matter of seconds before his colleagues at the front of the restaurant came on the scene to seize Loz legitimately. ‘But I have to take this man with me now. It’s a matter of the greatest urgency.’ The agent, who was saying something and pressing his hand against his ear at the same time, put himself between Harland and Loz. ‘Back off, sir,’ he said to Harland. ‘This is a Federal matter.’
‘Go to the car,’ Harland told Loz.
‘No, you stay right where you are, sir,’ the FBI man replied, moving for his gun. Harland clamped his hand
