I was trying to keep my mind off terrorists and murders and Jake Grafton. Even so … A glance at my watch got me going.
A half hour later I hailed a taxi on the main street a block from my building. The hackie spoke English, the taxi was clean, and he knew how to get to the address I gave him.
If prostitution is the oldest profession, then espionage is the second oldest. Man’s desire to know other folks’ secrets is certainly as old as the desire for sex. And every spy needs a handler, so he — or she — came along at the same time as the spy.
The case officer, or handler, is the spy’s contact with his world — the world he grew up in or the world he chooses to serve, for whatever reason — when he is in enemy country. In addition to putting the spy in place, supplying him with the tools of the trade and telling him what information to get, the case officer must be the spy’s emotional support, his anchor, his source of strength and resolve. Some spies need more moral and emotional support than others, but all of them need some of it. Providing it is the case officer’s most important function; without that support, the spy won’t be very effective or stay in place very long.
As Eide Masmoudi’s and Radwan Ali’s case officer, Jake Grafton met with both men periodically, as seldom as he could, yet as often as he thought they needed him, and whenever either of them asked for a meet. Communications went through the courier, Kerry Pocock, who was a regular visitor to Harrod’s gourmet food department.
One might think in this day and age cell phones would be the communication method of choice, but they weren’t. People would see the agent talking on the cell phone, which recorded every number called or received. Sooner or later a suspicious person could examine the phone. However, both men did have cell phones, and both had memorized emergency numbers to call, just in case. But once they called one of those numbers, they had to dispose of that phone immediately.
Spy-handler meets were dangerous. London, and all other European capitals, were buzzing with Muslims, most of whom were not religious extremists or terrorists in any sense of the word. Yet since the villains looked like everyone else, one had to make sure the meet was as private as possible. In addition, it had to fit into the spy’s day and lifestyle in a way that wouldn’t arouse suspicion.
Jake Grafton and Eide Masmoudi were meeting today in one of the men’s rooms at Harrod’s. MI-5 supplied a van and tradesman’s coveralls, which I donned. I parked the van in the back of Harrod’s at the loading dock, off- loaded my service cart with mops and pails and signs, and went inside.
I started in the men’s rooms on the first floor and worked my way up in the building, keeping an eye on the time.
I was in a third floor men’s scrubbing out a toilet when Jake Grafton came in. I went out into the hallway, made sure my out of service signs were prominently placed and got busy scrubbing the door. Two minutes later Eide came down the hallway. He was a little guy, maybe 130 pounds, with dark skin and big eyes and black hair. Although he was wearing trousers and you couldn’t see them, I knew he had a set of really big balls. Our eyes met, I nodded once, and he went into the men’s room.
As the minutes passed, I worked on that door, then began mopping the hallway. Spilled some water to give me something to work on.
People came to the end of the hallway and looked at me and the out of service signs and went away. I usually glanced at them, then pretended to pay no attention. The customers were wearing coats, usually, and Harrod’s employees were not.
I got the floor clean and stopped to inspect it. By golly, here was a career possibility for me if the spook business ever went south. Then I dumped more water on the floor and set about mopping it again.
Jake Grafton listened to everything Eide had to say before he produced a computer-generated picture of what Abu Qasim might look like. “This man — have you seen him?”
Eide took his time studying the picture, a three-by-five on photo paper. “Perhaps,” he said. “A man in the mosque, last week. Then again …”
Grafton pocketed the photo and produced a small bottle with a screw cap. It held about an ounce of liquid. He held it so Eide could see it. “Some evening, when the sheikh is dining in the mosque, I want you to pour this in whatever he is drinking.”
“He drinks only water and tea.”
“Whatever.”
“What is it?”
Jake Grafton took a moment before he answered. “It’s a chemical that will combine with another chemical that is already in his body and cause his heart to stop. The two chemicals combine into what the chemists call a binary poison.”
Eide was dubious. He didn’t reach for the bottle. “Is this stuff poisonous?”
“Not unless you have that other chemical in your system, and you do not. Nor does anyone else who could be reasonably expected to eat at the mosque. Al-Taji does. The chemical in this bottle will kill him.”
“Where did he get the first chemical?”
“During his trial he drank water, along with the other people at the defense table. The first half of the binary cocktail was in the water and was absorbed into the fat cells in his body. It is still there, and will be for some weeks before it becomes inert or is flushed from his system.” And this second chemical will combine with the first?”
“Yes. By itself, it’s harmless. Also tasteless. You could drink all of it and it wouldn’t harm you. This amount is enough to treat about ten gallons of liquid. It will only prove fatal to someone who has that first chemical in his body. Together they are a binary poison.”
“If an autopsy is performed, will this poison be found?”
“Very doubtful. Conceivably it could be, but only if the toxicologist knew precisely what he was looking for.”
“You are asking me to kill Sheikh al-Taji.” That wasn’t a question but a statement.
“Yes.”
Eide Masmoudi searched Jake Grafton’s face. He knew al-Taji was a terrorist, a killer who plotted murder of the innocent — he had been writing the reports for Grafton. Masmoudi believed men like the sheikh perverted Islam, insulting the Prophet and everyone who believed. Even worse, they betrayed Allah.
“To pervert the holiest of holies is a great crime,” he whispered. Still he did not reach for the bottle. He stood there staring at it.
“If you use this,” Jake Grafton said, “you and Radwan will have to leave the mosque.”
“That wasn’t the original plan.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Jake admitted, “but I’m the case officer, and I can change the plan. I’m changing it. These people are beyond paranoid— they’re criminal psychopaths. They’d kill a dozen innocent people hoping that one of them is guilty. Hell, they’d kill a hundred, just for the publicity. I don’t want you and Radwan to take a risk like that. If you agree to use the poison, you two are out of there. As fast as your feet can take you.”
Eide Masmoudi was a very brave man. He took his time framing his next question. “If this poison, this binary chemical, works as you say it will, al-Taji will merely have a fatal heart attack. Is that correct?”
Grafton replied, “The doctors tell me his heart will probably stop while he is asleep.”
“He isn’t the only villain in that mosque. The place is full of throat-slitters and holy murderers. They pervert Islam. They make it into something evil, a crime against man and Allah.” He searched for more words, then said, “They’d kill the queen of England if they had half a chance. Anybody. They’d murder anybody who’d get them in the newspapers.”
Jake Grafton nodded. “And they’ll kill you if you give the slightest hint — the tiniest hint — that you are scared or worried or have something to hide. They’ll kill you believing that if you’re innocent you’ll wind up in Paradise, so your murder really isn’t a sin. Isn’t that right?”
Eide acknowledged that Jake Grafton had stated the case correctly.
“So if you take the bottle,” the admiral continued, “you and Radwan are leaving.”
Eide eyed the admiral. “You’re the case officer. I take the risks.”
“Don’t fuck with me, kid. I make the rules and give the orders. You’ll bleed same as everybody. We’ll use you later on something else. We’re not retiring you — you’ll get your chance to make a difference. There’re thousands of these sons of bitches out there running around loose, and we need all the help we can get. Now tell me, yes or no?”
