Case overview: Scotland Yard investigates death of billionaire spy.
The body of a mysterious Egyptian billionaire was found below his Mayfair flat just weeks after accusations that he had spied for Mossad. The death is part of an ongoing investigation by a new team of Scotland Yard detectives.
The death of Dr. Ishraf Kerwidi is now being overseen by Scotland Yard’s elite Specialist Crime Directorate. Dr. Kerwidi, 62, a chemical engineer, businessman, and a former security adviser to President Sadat, died on 13 December 2008 after falling from the balcony of his large flat in Central London. He has been described by intelligence sources as the “most infamous spy in the Middle East.” Kerwidi had worked closely with security agencies including MI6, the CIA, the Mossad, and the KGB.
One witness has told Scotland Yard that in the moments after Kerwidi’s death “two large men of Slavic appearance,” both wearing suits, were seen leaning over a balcony ten flights above his body as it lay twisted and sprawled on a public sidewalk.
Several witnesses told Scotland Yard that they had observed the men seconds after Ishraf Kerwidi’s plunge to death. “I saw two men standing on a balcony,” said one woman, a Briton. “They were doing nothing, just gazing down. Their calmness struck me as highly suspect. An Indian lady was screaming in the garden. People were rushing around trying to help or call. But these two men were just watching. They seemed pleased, then turned and left.”
Family members were highly critical of the police investigation into Ishraf Kerwidi’s death. The shoes he had worn on the day he died had disappeared from the inventory of Scotland Yard detectives. The shoes were deemed to be crucial because Ishraf Kerwidi would have had to step into a plant pot and climb over an air-conditioning unit to have jumped over the meter-high patio rail. If he had done so, material such as soil from the plant pots or paint would have been left on his shoes.
Ishraf Kerwidi suffered from leg disfigurement from a previous attempt on his life (See CIA Ishraf Kerwidi/5-23-04; attempt on life via car bomb). His widow insists her late husband could not step into the bath without assistance. She also has informed Scotland Yard that her husband warned her three times that he might be murdered. Detectives from the Specialist Crime Directorate have recently been to Rome and Geneva to interview other potential witnesses.
Police have not ruled out suicide. Ishraf Kerwidi had a history of heart problems. He moved to Britain after Sadat’s assassination in 1981. Yet Israeli sources maintain that he was murdered by Egyptian intelligence officers for being the Jewish state’s most important agent in the run-up to the Yom Kippur War in 1973. Egyptian commentators claim he was murdered by Mossad as he prepared to expose Israel’s secrets in an explosive book.
The investigation is currently headed by Rolland Fitzgerald of Specialist Crime Directorate.
Resolution: An inquest was due to be held last month but was suspended because of ongoing investigations. A spokeswoman for the Metropolitan Police admitted that the shoes worn on the day of his death had disappeared, but declined to comment on the family’s complaints.
“The reason the investigation has been handed over to the Specialist Crime Directorate is because it is a complicated case and followed a review of the file in January,” she said.
The door opened. William Quintero came back into the room and sat down. He sat for several minutes as Alex finished reading the final file. She made special note of the Scotland Yard investigator in charge of the case. Then she looked up from the file, closed it, and handed it back.
“So what do you want from me?” Alex asked.
“We need to apprehend Michael Cerny before he passes information on to his Russians.”
“How do you know he hasn’t already?”
“We don’t. But our theory is that he hasn’t completed his transaction yet, or he and his Russians wouldn’t still be in Egypt.”
“What’s taking so long?”
Quintero shrugged. “Conventional wisdom? Cerny and Moscow are haggling over the price. Once they’ve agreed, there would probably be a cash transfer as well as a transfer of highly classified information.”
“Why not exchange them both electronically?” she asked. “Isn’t that how it would be done these days?”
“Not at this level,” Quintero said. “There would be internet fingerprints all over anything that traveled across the web. Strange as it sounds, it’s now cleaner with cash and all the information stored on a powerful flash drive. This all assumes that this is what Cerny is doing.”
“And you’re not sure?”
“We think,” Quintero said. “It’s gone as high as the director of the CIA.”
“Must be a pretty fancy bit of information that he’s peddling,” Alex said.
“Must be,” he agreed. “Questions?”
“A ton of them.”
“Fire away.”
“Why me?” Alex asked. “If Cerny was here at the CIA, surely he had a boss. A case officer. You have people who were closer to him to track him down. He must have worked with someone.”
“Most recently, he worked with you,” Quintero said again, avoiding the question.
“Not to pick out the flea feces from the pepper,” she said, “but I was his subservient employee. So who was his boss?”
“He never had the same boss for any two operations,” Quintero said. “It’s very possibly you who knew him best.”
“You fellows certainly run a sloppy operation sometimes, don’t you? Eventually, you’re going to need to have some woman sit on the top floor and straighten up your various messes.”
“Again,” Quintero said with a sigh, “I’m here to help clean it up. Same as you. None of the principals who initiated this remain with the Agency. They’re all sport fishing in Florida by now. How’s that for a reward for burning millions of taxpayer dollars?”
“Typical,” Alex said.
“I can’t say I disagree with you,” Quintero said. “Look, that’s why we’re asking you to work with us.” Quintero paused. “You’re one of the few people who has actually met Michael Cerny. Cerny came to us when we wanted to act against Yuri Federov. He was a special consultant with a heavy background in Ukrainian affairs. He seemed a good risk.” He paused. “Speaking of Federov, I’m told you’ve been in touch with him.”
“That’s correct. He’s in New York for some sort of medical treatment,” she said. “I’m not sure that he’d be of much use right now.”
“But you’re not inhibited from asking, correct?” Quintero asked.
She thought about it. “Probably not.”
“Good,” he said, with an air of conclusion. He stood up from the table. “Now, you’re with us on this, correct? You’re officially on this assignment?”
“I’m with you,” Alex said. “As long as I have the option of calling some of my own shots while I’m in the field.”
“You’ll be working with a team in Cairo,” he said. “We have one of our top Middle Eastern people there. A man named Bissinger, whom you’ll meet at the embassy. He’ll direct you to your field contact. The field contact is known only by his code name. That’s all I can tell you here; you’ll be thoroughly briefed when you get there. You’ll have the latitude you’re asking for, though,” Quintero continued. “You’ve earned it, and you’ve demonstrated that you use it prudently.”
“Then I’m on board. Perhaps against my better judgment.”
“This whole Agency operates on people going against their better judgment. Maybe it should be called the Counterintuitive Intelligence Agency.”
“What about passport? Identification? Weapon?” Alex asked.
“Before you leave here today, give us a name and birth date that you’re sure to remember. We’ll have new IDs operational within twelve hours. Have some new pictures taken before you leave here today. Pick them up tomorrow. You’ll get a new weapon at the embassy in Cairo. I’m told they’ve got quite a collection.”
“Cool,” she said with an edge.
“Have a name that you might prefer?” he asked. “For the new IDs?”
“No,” she said. “Surprise me.”
“Really?” he asked. She had just surprised him.
“We’re inclined to give away subconscious clues to a real identity when we choose our covers,” she said. “If someone else picks a name and identity for me, I’ll learn it. But at least it won’t give away anything.”
“Very well,” he said, rising from where he sat. “How’s your arm?”
“Still attached to the rest of me.”
“Good. Keep it that way.” He led her to the door. “Now. There’s something else you should see. Follow me,” he said.
“Where are we going?”
“Private TV screening,” he said. “Foreign television, a special show starring one of your favorite people.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Alex and William Quintero walked down a quiet corridor of mostly closed doors, a few with names on them-but primarily numbers. Quintero spoke in a low voice.
“How much do you know about Vladimir Putin?” Quintero asked.
“I know he’s the former Russian president and still pretty much running the country,” she answered. “Sort of a neo-Stalin for our times.”
“That would be Vladimir Putin, yes,” Quintero said.
“Well, I read the newspapers and speak Russian,” Alex said. “So I know more than your basic citizen but less than your experts. Or maybe I know more than your experts when they’re having a bad day. How’s that?”
“Pretty good,” Quintero said. “And I give you an
“Sorry,” she said.
