“That’s nuts. You know we had nothing to do with any of this,” said Harvath.
“Well, the French have lots of video that makes them believe otherwise.”
“Rutledge has to help us out of this,” demanded Harvath. “Or at least, Tracy. He owes her that much.”
“We’ll talk about the president in a minute,” said Lawlor. “First I want you to take me through everything that has happened. From the beginning.”
Harvath’s old life had sucked him back in so far he couldn’t even see daylight. With Tracy now in French custody, there was nothing he could do to fight it anymore. He took a deep breath, readjusted himself in his seat to help take some of the pressure off of his battered ribs, and started to speak.
CHAPTER 44
METROPOLITAN POLICE HEADQUARTERS
WASHINGTON, D.C.
“There are a lot of photos in there,” said Aydin Ozbek. “Take your time.”
“Nope,” replied Andrew Salam, turning the laptop around. “That’s him.”
“You’re sure?” asked Rasmussen.
“Positive. That’s the man who recruited me.”
Ozbek looked at Rasmussen and then turned his eyes back to Salam. “I know you’ve been through this extensively with the FBI, but we need you to go through it with us once more. We need to know how you communicated with him. When and where did you meet? Did he ever come to your home, your office? Did you ever go to his home or office? All of it.”
“You know who this guy is, don’t you?” asked Salam. “He’s CIA, isn’t he?”
“Let’s just take this one step at a time,” said Rasmussen.
“Fuck
He studied the faces of the men sitting across from him. There was something about all of this that he couldn’t quite grasp. Then suddenly, it hit him. “Holy shit. My handler is your assassin, isn’t he? He and al-Din are the same person. That’s why you’re back here talking to me.”
“We don’t know any of that for sure,” replied Rasmussen.
Salam laughed. “All along, the FBI has been panicked that he was one of theirs and now it turns out he’s one of
“We’re still putting this together-”
Ozbek interrupted his colleague. “The man you ID’d in that photo is Matthew Dodd. He faked his death and disappeared a little over five years ago.”
“About the time he converted to Islam,” offered Salam.
“If what you’ve told us is accurate, then that does seem to fit the timeline.”
“As does recruiting me and setting up the Glass Canyon operation.”
Ozbek nodded, slowly. “Give or take.”
“Then that’s it. You’ve got your proof,” stated Salam. “I’m innocent. You can get me out of here.”
“Identifying Dodd as your handler is one thing. Proving he was, as well as proving that someone other than you killed Nura Khalifa, is something else.”
“But you can help me,” insisted Salam. “If you tell the FBI that Matthew Dodd was my handler, it’ll help prove that I’m telling the truth.”
“We don’t have to tell them anything,” replied Rasmussen.
Ozbek waved him off. Putting his elbows on the table, Ozbek clasped his hands together and rested his chin on his thumbs. “We might be able to help you,” he said, thinking, “but first you have to help us.”
“With what?” asked Salam.
Rasmussen looked at him. “Don’t be stupid, Mr. Salam.”
Once again, Ozbek waved him off. “We’ve got a pretty good idea where Dodd is. We may even know who his target is-”
“Is it Dr. Khalifa?” interrupted Salam. “Was Nura right about it being her uncle?”
“We have reason to believe that Dr. Khalifa is already dead and that there may be another target.”
“So Nura was right,” said Salam, more to himself than to the CIA operatives.
“We don’t know that Dodd killed him,” replied Ozbek. “Not for sure. Not yet. But we believe that there is something larger at play here, and we need to know what that something is.”
Salam looked at his interrogator. “And you think I can help you figure it out?”
“Maybe, maybe not,” said Ozbek. “But you might be able to point us in the right direction.”
“By giving you the same information I gave to the FBI?”
Ozbek nodded.
Despite having been duped by his so-called FBI recruiter, Andrew Salam wasn’t stupid. In fact, he was far from it. “How do I know that you won’t take the information I give you, find Dodd and feed him into a wood chipper somewhere, then deny we ever had this conversation?”
“You don’t really have much choice,” said Rasmussen. “You’re going to have to trust us.”
Salam laughed once more. “Yeah, right. The way I see it, I’ve got lots of choices. I can talk to the FBI, D.C. Metro Police, or wait until I’m finally given a lawyer and then talk to the press. If anybody doesn’t have much of a choice here, I think it’s the CIA.”
Rasmussen was ramping up with a retort, but Ozbek pointed toward the door. “I’ll meet you at the car.”
“What?” replied Rasmussen.
“Let us have some time alone,” said Ozbek. “Go get a cup of coffee or something.”
Rasmussen sat there for a moment in disbelief. Then, with a grunt, he stood and exited the interrogation room.
Once the door had closed, Salam said, “I thought you guys were okay at first, but he’s starting to turn into an asshole.”
Rasmussen’s specialty was operating in the field, not an interrogation room, and Ozbek let the remark go unchallenged. Reaching into his jacket he removed a new digital camera and powered it up. “The last time we were in here you asked about your dog,” he said as he handed the device to him. “I thought you’d want to see these.”
Salam’s face softened as he scrolled through the pictures. “So the police did take care of him.”
“Not really,” said Ozbek. “They were a lot more concerned with ripping your house apart. They were going to put him in the pound, but I got it all sorted out. He’s with one of your neighbors now.”
“Which one?” Salam asked apprehensively.
“The older guy across the street.”
“Who? The veteran with the P.O.W. flag?”
“Yep,” said Ozbek. “Any problem with that?”
“No,” replied Salam. “He’s a good guy. He did a couple of tours in Vietnam. I don’t think he cared for me much when I moved in, but he came around and has always been polite. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Now-”
“What’s your thing with dogs anyway?”
“I’ve got a black lab.”
“Nice dog,” said Salam. “Smart.”
“Yes, they are,” replied Ozbek. “Listen, Andrew, you need to know that the FBI have uncovered e-mails between you and Nura Khalifa as well as some other pieces of evidence that suggest you two were having a relationship.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“The evidence suggests that Nura had met with you to tell you that the relationship was over.”
“But there was no relationship,” insisted Salam. “It was strictly professional.”
