The Aisha Prophecy (43 page)

“Is that job so rewarding? That’s quite a nice nest egg.”

“Persistent critics are labeled apostates. That can be a death sentence, so most flee the country. He confiscates their property and sells it at auction, often very cheaply to his own friends and relatives. Most of the proceeds do go to the treasury, but he keeps a nice commission for himself.”

“A sweet deal,” said Harry.

“For all but the critics.”

“Okay. Don’t touch those when you start redistributing. Leave those balances as they are, down to the penny.”

Sadik raised an eyebrow. “That’s almost a billion.”

“I know.”

“You’re going to keep it?”

Harry Whistler almost smiled. “I have something else in mind. I’ll tell you after Hester gets here.”

FORTY FIVE 

Clew took another call from Tatiana at State. She asked if he’s been watching TV. She said the blast is on CNN and Fox News. She said, “No one’s calling it a bombing so far. Just a mysterious explosion. Four dead, but no identities released. What makes it especially mysterious, however, is that a senior State official was there.”

“Naming me?”

“No, not so far, but they’ve probably heard. The White House sure as hell has.”

“You know that?”

“Not just the White House. Homeland Security… the intelligence services. Haven’t you been checking your voice mail?”

“Been busy. I’ll do that. I’ll get back to you, Tatiana.”

Clew’s cell phone was a Blackberry Pearl. It had a feature called SpinVox that converts voice to text. The idea was to be able to read messages privately without being seen with a phone to one’s ear or to risk having calls overheard.

Clew thumbed a button. The screen displayed a list of the incoming calls that his phone had recorded. He scanned through several, reading only the text. He got to the one from the White House.

He said to Harry Whistler, “All of these just this evening. Every agency you can name. This last one’s from the White House, from the Deputy Chief of Staff. His name is Gerald Stickles. Do you know him?”

“Only of him.”

“Then you know he’s a pompous pain in the ass.” Clew switched it back to voice mail and turned up the volume. He held the phone so that its speaker faced Harry. The voice that came through had the no-nonsense tone of a man accustomed to deference. Stickles felt no need to identify himself. Annoying. The arrogance of power.

“Was this a hit on Harry Whistler? Advise at once. If so, how does he intend to respond? How are Haskell, Bentley and Leeds involved? How is the Bohemian Club involved and where is Howard Leland at this time? Explain the involvement of Sadik of Hamas and Yitzhak Netanya’s Mossad. Ditto this prophecy of Aisha’s second coming. Ditto a considerable sum of money that the Saudi’s seem to have misplaced. Report to me personally, soonest.”

Harry sat tugging at the end of his beard. He asked, “How does Stickles know all this already? I gather that his source isn’t Leland.”

“No, Howard’s lying low until I get back. He’s not answering his phone or the doorbell. Stickles had to have pried this out of someone at State. He had to have been told that I pulled those four dossiers before I met your plane at Reagan. He’d know I took State’s copy of the Bahrain Tribune. He’d know of my interest in the prophecy.”

“His source at State also knew about the money?”

“No. I don’t know how he heard about that. But Stickles said ‘considerable.’ He didn’t say ten billion. If he knew, I think he would have said ten billion.”

Either way, thought Harry, the word seemed to be out. Sadik had said that the Iranians, especially, were gloating. They’d heard that someone claiming to be Aisha’s handmaiden had apparently raided Saudi Charities.

Clew said, “He might not know that Sadik is here. All he’d know is that I pulled his file.”

“Could Haskell have someone at State on his payroll?”

“I don’t like to think so, but he might.”

“Well, I think he’d be remiss if he didn’t. Either way, I don’t want to get back to Reagan and find that my plane has been quarantined. Answer him, Roger. Tell him you’re on top of it. Say you’ll be in his office first thing in the morning to give him your report in detail.”

“What am I to tell him?”

“Nothing, Roger, because you won’t be there. And the rest of us should be airborne by then.”

“If I don’t give them some story, they’ll come up with their own. Stickles needs to look as if he’s handling this thing.”

“They’ll come up with their own no matter what we tell them, Roger. The simple truth is never simple to those people.”

“Simple,” Clew repeated. “You see this as simple?”

A shrug. “I think most of it is easily explained. That’s if we were inclined to explain it.”

Clew frowned. “Are you asking me to stonewall the White House?”

“Uh-huh. And tell Leland that he should as well. This business will not be laid at his door. Tell him that he has my word on it. Tell him further that he, by alerting you, has thwarted Charles Haskell’s criminal ambitions and those of his two accomplices. He’s done his country an inestimable service.”

“Yeah, but what ambitions? What they were planning?”

“Well, you know it’s oil-related. Saudi oil in particular.”

Clew rolled his eyes. “No shit. But what exactly?”

“Roger… whatever. It’s probably dead. It probably died with Charles Haskell.”

“He’s dead?”

“I have reason to believe that he has expired. Don’t worry. He’ll be gone within the hour. You, with my assistance and that of Howard Leland have ended a threat to our oil supply. When do you plan to see Leland?”

“Hold it,” said Clew. “So you don’t know what Haskell was planning?”

“I do. So do you. We’re simply not saying. Whatever it is, you have it under control. Tell them they’re going to have to trust you on that. I don’t see that they’ll have any choice.”

“Except to fire my ass and throw it into a cell.”

“Not a chance. You know too much. They won’t want you to go off and write a book. If anything, you’re more indispensable than ever. They know that you’re their only link to me. And through me, to my friends in the Caspian oilfields. Drop the hint. It will make their mouths water.”

“Yeah, your Muslim friends. Which include Hamas. And which might include a Muslim messiah that you and Sadik cooked up between you. That’s what Stickles will be wondering.”

“Roger, I can’t help what he thinks. You can reassure him, however, on one score. On his question of how I intend to respond, you will tell him that I’ve agreed to stand down pending a green light from you. You’re my control. You have been for years. No, make that you and Leland. Without the two of you holding fast to the reins, my many good friends would be running amok in their eagerness to please me by avenging me. Gerald Stickles might not be safe either.”

“Why Stickles?”

“He says ‘ditto,’ said Harry. “That’s reason enough. No, it isn’t. He’s rude. His voice mail was rude. Don’t let him get away with that again.”

“Don’t let him because… I’m holding the reins?”

“Perception is everything, Roger.”

Hester Lazarus’s car had pulled up outside. Harry got up to let her in. She was a severe-looking woman in her forties. No sign of Make-up, hair practically a buzz cut, no jewelry except for a small Star of David and an oversized, multi-functional wrist watch. She carried a laptop computer of her own and a diplomatic attaché case that had a chain running from it to her waist.

She offered no greetings. She asked, “Where do I work?” Harry gestured toward the library desk where he’d left the dossiers of Haskell, Bentley and Leeds and Bernice’s laptop computer.

He asked, ‘Do you need privacy?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said.

He asked, “How long do you think this will take you?”

“Forty minutes. Maybe less. If you stand watching me, maybe longer.”

He said, “You might have questions in sorting this out.”

She gave him a look as if he’d insulted her. She unchained her briefcase and plugged in her laptop. She ran a cable from that one to the back of the other and adjusted them, side by side facing her.

Clew took Harry aside. “What’s she going to do?”

“Create some accounts. Move some money around. After that, she’ll help Sadik move some more.”

Harry picked up his phone. He punched in the number of Yitzhak Netanya. As he waited, the phone at his ear, he said, “In the meantime, I’ll look in on Elizabeth. Why don’t you and the doctor get some air?”

Outside, Clew gestured toward the garage. He asked Sadik, “Are you at all curious?”

“Not so much. But you can’t stand it. So let’s look.”

Clew pushed the outside button. The door rolled up. Clew was startled to see that the trunk was wide open. His hand darted to the Beretta on his belt. Sadik touched his shoulder. “No, he’s there.”

Sadik produced a small pen light from his pocket. The beam washed over the crumpled mass and came to rest when it found Haskell’s face. His mouth had fallen open and his eyes had filmed over. His expression struck Sadik as a curious one. People die with all kinds of expressions on their faces. Most often, one of shocked disbelief. Haskell’s expression seemed more of a sadness. Sadik remembered his desperate pleading directed entirely at Elizabeth Stride. It appears that she rejected them. Once and for all.

He saw the marks on his face where Elizabeth had kicked him. He could see no sign of blood elsewhere. His necktie was bunched and its knot was pulled tight, but not nearly tight enough for strangulation.

He asked Clew, “The necktie. Was that from your grappling encounter with him?

“I don’t think so. I was mostly on my knees.”

Sadik looked closer. Now he saw some fresh blood. Not much, but it was under the knot. He reached his fingers behind it. They found the fresh wound. He said, “The Black Angel worked with a knife, did she not? Long and thin with a bit of a curve?”

“Yeah, she did.”

“And still does, it seems, when the occasion arises. I can’t imagine what sort of discussion took place beyond the lunacy we both witnessed earlier. But I can imagine her explaining to him why his interest in her would remain unrequited. An inch at a time. This was not a quick thrust. She wanted him to know that he was dying. And why. My guess is that he still would not accept it.”

A pair of headlights washed over them suddenly. They turned to see the gray van approaching from the direction of the gate. They heard Harry’s voice. He was nearing the garage. Harry said, “Our two plumbers will dispose of Mr. Haskell.” He said to Clew, “They’ll steam clean the trunk.”

Clew stood back as they lifted him out and rolled him up in a tarpaulin. They lifted him into the van.

Clew asked Harry, “Will he ever be found?”

“I haven’t decided. I’ll speak to Elizabeth. She might have some thoughts on the subject.”

“Didn’t you just go see her? How is she?”

“I did peek in. I tiptoed back out. She and Kessler are wrapped in each other’s arms, their wet clothing in a heap by their bed. A private moment. Much needed, I think. Let’s get back. We have much more to do.”

FORTY SIX 

On their return to the house, they passed the library’s windows. Sadik was able to see Hester Lazarus. She had papers scattered all over the desk. Her fingers flew over a keyboard. He said to Harry, “May I now know what she’s doing?”

“She’s opening three new off-shore accounts in the names of Charles Haskell and his friends.”

He said, “You’ll recall those top three accounts. She transferring the money from those. Haskell gets three hundred and eighty one million plus a few hundred thousand and some. I forget the exact figure, but it’s down to the penny. Huntington Bentley gets some twenty million less. Sir Reginald Leeds gets three hundred five million and so on and so on plus fifty-two cents.”

Sadik didn’t understand. “They’re getting new accounts?”

“They’re easy enough to open on-line, especially in places like Panama. She has everything she needs in each of their dossiers. Their addresses, their assets, their whole financial lives, plus specimen signatures from their tax returns.”

Sadik’s expression remained blank. “I still don’t get it.”

Harry Whistler said, “Oh, and the prince. She has his formal signature from the suicide note. The prince will be named jointly on all three accounts, but there’s a ceiling on the amount he’s allowed to withdraw. I believe he tops out at fifty million.” He said, “She won’t be long. She’s done this before. Then you can go in and get started.”

“Sorry,” said Sadik, “My brain must not be working. Are you going to tell me why you’re doing this?”

“When she’s done, she’s going to give you the details. The bank, it’s location, account numbers and such. You’ll get the password that’s used for checking the balance, but not the one that’s used for transfers or withdrawals. You, Rajib Sadik, will then contact these three Saudis and tell them that you, through your many connections, have learned who took their money and where it has gone.”

“So that… they will come after Bentley and Leeds?”

“And Haskell. And the prince. But not Rasha. Not now. Apparently the prince put one over on them. He wasn’t as inept as they thought.”

Sadik glanced skyward. “Please be patient with me. Isn’t the prince buried in some California forest or weighted down in some lake?”

“It’s anyone’s guess where they disposed of him.”

Sadik’s eyes had narrowed. “Are you being cavalier or are you pulling my leg? One does not expect whimsy in this situation.”

“I’m just trying to answer your questions.”

Sadik asked, “Do you intend to kill Bentley and Leeds?”

“No, I’m not bothering with them.”

“I see that I must phrase my questions precisely. Why not? No, wait. Answer this question first. What keeps them from denying that they took it?”

“They’ll try. But there it is. Down to the last penny. Your three Saudis will see it when they type in the password. Those two probably won’t live very long. Or the three Saudis won’t. Whoever’s first.”

Sadik was still squinting. “Unless these two give it back.”

“They can’t. They won’t have the second passwords.”

Sadik understood. Or at least was beginning to. He asked, “This method, is it normal for you? I mean, setting your enemies at each other’s throats? It seems to me that I’ve heard this about you.”

“I’ve found that to be a convenience.”

“Nice for you,” said Sadik. “Saves time. Saves trouble. But at the cost of almost a billion dollars? You’d be leaving this money to their heirs.”

“The heirs won’t get it. That money’s only bait. Hester’s setting up an automatic transfer to a charity in the event of their deaths. Don’t ask which charity. She will have invented one. A real one has procedures. It might ask too many questions. Each of their balances will revert to that charity within hours of their bodies being found and identified.”

Sadik touched the fingers of both hands to his temples. “Okay. Simple question. It should get a simple answer. Do we get the money back from this charity?”

“Every dime.”

Sadik had been at the computer for an hour. Harry Whistler had retired into the kitchen to make a few more telephone calls. The longest had been to his wife in Geneva. He’d briefed her on all that had happened. She’d already heard a good deal of it from Yitzhak who’d called her on his own to reassure her.

Reassured, but annoyed, she said, “You couldn’t have called?”

“Not until I could give you the time you deserve. I’ve been rather in the thick of things, my darling.”

“You’ve been there, what… only five or six hours? That’s the last time I let you out alone.”

“Kate, I have the twins with me. And Kessler and Stride.”

“All of whom should be dead from the looks of that restaurant.”

“It’s on TV even there?”

“It’s everywhere, Harry. Never mind that for now. What do you need from this end?”

He’d asked her to prepare for the arrival of the girls and arrange for their transport to the lodge in Chamonix directly upon landing in Geneva.

“Including Kessler and Stride?”

“And one kitten.”

She’d said, “You might have trouble getting out of D.C.” She said, “I’ll have a back-up, unmarked, no initials, waiting at the Baltimore-Washington Airport. I’ll call you back with the details.”

With that, he made a fresh pot of coffee.

Hester smelled it. She came in. “I could use some of that.”

“Help yourself,” he told her. “How is Sadik doing?”

“He has trouble believing that these numbers are real money. It’s not every day he moves billions.”

“But he’s doing it?”

“Yes. How are you holding up?”

“I don’t do this every day either.”

She found a mug. She filled it. “I’m not talking about the money. You look… I don’t know… a little wiped. You okay?”

“Nothing that a hot bath won’t fix.”

She took a sip and placed her mug on the counter. She stepped behind him and began massaging his shoulders. She said, “See that? You’re as tight as a drum.” Her strong fingers worked their way to his neck.

She said, “I could hear you talking to Sadik. I could hear some of what you were saying to Roger. You seemed, as always, very much in control.”

“But?”

“No ‘but.’ You were being Harry Whistler.”

“Being Harry Whistler can be tiring, Hester. In my next life, I think I’d like to be a Shih Tzu.”

“I’d adopt you,” said Hester. “But you’d have to eat kosher. While you’re thinking that over, let’s talk about the money. Up to six and a half billion is going to remain. What does Harry Whistler intend doing with it while he is still Harry Whistler?”

“No idea.”

“So you’re going to keep it?”

“Sadik’s welcome to it.”

She continued her kneading. “Have you thought this out? If Rasha’s father stole it in league with this Haskell, how will you explain how you got it?”

“I won’t.”

“Good,” she said. “Why confuse them with the truth? So it will be assumed that you took it from them, but not before they took almost a billion off the top. You saw to it that another three and a half billion went back where it was intended. What was your motive? Simple decency? Justice? Talk about hard to believe.”

“Hester, I didn’t do a damned thing. This time yesterday, the biggest thing I had on my mind was what I felt like having for lunch.”

“Maybe, but that’s equally hard to believe. Even for me. And I believe you.”

“You want simple decency? It’s in the next room.”

“Yes, Sadik, but through you. You handed it to him. And this will add greatly to his stature in Hamas. Why would Harry Whistler want such a thing? Does he intend to add Hamas to his formidable network? Wrest control from the Saudis? Make his own peace? Then buy up a few miles of beachfront in Gaza to create a Palestinian Eden?”

“Hester… I’m just trying to get through the day. I understand what you’re saying, but I have no control…”

“Sure you do. You’re Harry Whistler. You’re always up to something and you’re always pulling strings. If that’s the perception, and it is; you can’t change it. You might as well make the most of it.”

“Harry Whistler is open to suggestions.”

“Not so much about the money, but if you don’t want it, you could always give it back to the Saudis.”

“Which Saudis?” he asked. “Those who stole it?”

“No, to their treasury. In return for whatever. Sooner or later, they’ll know Sadik has it. You know that they’ll make the first claim on it.”

Whistler shook his head. “What claim can they make? If the remaining money came from skimming and from bribes, it would have come from foreign companies doing business with them.”

“And foreign governments.”

“I know that,” he told her. “This government included. But none of it would have come from Saudi pockets.”

“Might be true,” said Hester, “but the skimmers will want it. Some of them are bound to come after him for it. No one walks away from so much cash.”

“Sure, but how would they account for having it in the first place? This is flight money, Hester.”

“Yes, it is. So the first thing they’d do is take flight. Once safely abroad in their flight money havens, they’d start looking for a bargaining advantage. They’ll start looking for something to trade.”

She was right. It was true. He had not thought this out. That “something to trade” would be Sadik’s wife or daughter. They’d have to go into hiding.

“Your advice?”

“Get rid of it. Give it away. Okay, not to the Saudis, but give them a disk that shows only the names and the current cash balances. That keeps some of the skimmers from coming after you because the royals will have had them beheaded.”

He nodded. “More than likely. And the money?

“To charity,” she answered. “Sadik’s on a roll. Let him tell the Saudis and let him choose who gets it. If it all goes to Muslims, how upset can they be? Charity’s one of the five pillars of Islam. Sadik’s smart enough to let them take credit. They might even sweeten the pot.”

“That region could use a few more doctors like Sadik.”

“And new medical schools. If that’s your preference, tell Sadik.”

“Hester, that’s just a thought. They could use almost everything.”

“I know that,” she told him, “but your instincts are sound. All we hear about are profligate sheiks and emirs. For millions of Arabs, their idea of wealth is having children who live past the age of five.”

“Which brings us back to doctors,” said Harry.

“Sadik would need a great deal of organizational help. Not Hamas, though. Hamas would limit its charity to its own turf. Don’t your companies endow a number of foundations that give educational grants? Sadik’s own wife went to medical school on a grant from one such in Jordan.”

Whistler said, “She competed. She got one of only six.”

“Only six,” said Hester, ‘and we’re talking thousands. Ten thousand new doctors from poor Mideast families. All they need is the smarts and the desire. I changed my mind, though, about strictly Muslims. I’d include a percentage of Christians and Jews, whatever that percentage is where they live. That way, it’s not so much Muslim as Mideastern. I’d try for a quota, half men and half women. You won’t get that many women, but try. In return they must all pledge five years of their lives working with the poor where they came from.”

He smiled. “I’m so glad I thought of this, Hester. What are some of my other ideas?”

She slapped his shoulders indicating that the rubdown was over. She crossed to the opposite side of the counter and pulled up two stools facing his. She climbed onto one of them, turned her head, and called out, “Sadik. It is time for a break. Come sit with us in the kitchen.”

Whistler started to rise. He said, “You don’t need me to sell this to Sadik. Do it. It’s decided. It’s time for my bath.”

She planted her elbows, her chin in her hands. She said, “Sit. New subject. The prophecy.”