A Long December (33 page)

“Hardly. But I know how you feel since September. We used to feel the same way about the IRA. But, no. We weren’t able to make any connection to a truly functional terrorist organization. The People’s Freedom and Reform Movement’s counterfeiting activities were directed toward some lunatic scheme to destroy our economy by printing up false securities and bonds, in fact. There were many, well, holes in their approach to that.”

“Okay,” said George.

“Their source of income, at the time we had them, was by making their services available as protestors. They were for let to anyone, actually, but they seemed to have a decided preference for any demonstrations against capitalists in general and the European Economic Union in particular.”

“So, that’s the part about ‘other suspected offenses of a subversive nature,’ then?” asked George.

“No, that part’s a direct reference to a stack of Kalashnikovs we found in their flat. We were unable to discover just what it was they actually intended to
Jo
with the things. There was no ammunition present. Our Mr. Skripkin denied any association with that part of the scheming. They all did, at first. We filed charges on four of them for the weapons. Mr. Skripkin’s fingerprints were found on several of the weapons. He was on bond, awaiting trial, when he fled the U.K. He would have been deported eventually, at any rate. We didn’t feel a loss. Interestingly enough, we came up with a dead trace on the Kalashnikovs. Chinese manufacture, originally. Turned up next in Libya, in fact. Then, if I remember, Spain. No routing available after that. So you might have a connection to bona fide terrorists through the weapons, but it would be tenuous at best. And, truthfully, I wouldn’t have the vaguest notion which direction you’d even start, over there.”

“And cold, to boot,” said George.

“By the way, would you mind telling me your interest in him? You obviously have his latents at hand.”

“We have him in custody here, on a state charge of conspiracy to commit a murder.”

“Really? He actually went through with it, then?”

“He sure did,” said George. “He was five feet from a man who was murdered execution-style. Near contact shotgun wound to the head. He’d helped bind and restrain him.”

There was a chuckle from Blythe at the other end. “Yes, I’d say that was a conspiracy, indeed. Well, it’s nice to hear that Mr. Skripkin has come up in the world. I’m glad you have got him.”

“We also have a fair link to a more authentic terrorist group. We can keep you posted on that.”

“Excellent.”

“Did he say anything to you about being wanted in Russia?” asked George.

“He did, but we weren’t able to confirm the information. That,” he hurried to say, “shouldn’t be taken conclusively either way, you understand. Even today, they have some things they don’t tell us on inquiry. The Russian mafia, as an example, isn’t always freely acknowledged in communiques.” There was humor in his voice.

“Did you know Skripkin personally? Have you met him?”

“Oh, yes. Indeed I did know him. I conducted the interviews with him, and with some of his friends.”

“Was he such a compulsive liar then, too? “asked George.

“Oh, my, yes. Yes, indeed. Quite the ladies’ man, too, according to others.”

“Still is,” said George, grinning at Hester. “Look, we’ll let you go now. Thank you very much for the information.”

“I’m sorry there’s not more. If you do turn up anything you need, though, be sure to let us know.”

“Just a sec…could you forward a list of his group in London?” asked George. “The names, and if you have any idea where they are now?”

“I’ll send a complete list just as soon as we can pull the files.”

Hester held up a note.

“And…and, can you tell us anything about a Vladimir Nadsyev, in connection with Skripkin?”

“Just a moment… now, there’s a name I haven’t heard since…but yes, Vladimir Nadsyev was living in the same flat with Skripkin, now that you mention it.”

“Skripkin refers to this Vladimir Nadsyev as his boss. Can we believe him on that?”

“I don’t believe I can verify that either way,” replied the Metropolitan Police detective. “I can check for you.”

“Please,” said George. “We’d really appreciate being able to verify some of what he tells us.”

That produced a chuckle in London. “Would you be so good as to send a photo of him telling the truth? We’d very much like to see that one.”

“It looks like everybody agrees Skripkin’s a liar, then,” said Hester, when George hung up the phone. “So, just what do we believe?”

That was the real problem. We had a major step about to be taken by several federal agencies, because Volont believed he had seen through the lies. Thus far, we had confirmed that he
was
a liar. We had no specific information as to just where the lies actually crept in. We really needed to talk to Linda Moynihan.

SINCE WE COULDN’T TALK TO LINDA
, we did the next best thing. We talked to Skripkin again. This time, things were a little different.

As soon as he saw Hester, he smiled and said, “Hello, lady agent. I dream about you.”

“It’s the jail food,” said Hester. “Trust me.”

“Deputy,” he said, acknowledging me. “And who is…?”

George said, “Special Agent Pollard, FBI Counterintelligence.”

Just a tiny flicker of surprise showed on Skripkin’s face. “How do you do.” He was definitely more alert.

“Just fine,” said George. “You know you have the right to an attorney…”

After the second Miranda, George just leaned back in his chair and said, “You’re a very interesting fellow.”

“Thank you.”

“As soon as I heard that you were wanted in Russia, I thought I’d like to talk with you sometime.”

“I am glad.”

“Then, when I found out you were really wanted in the U.K., I thought I’d better talk to you right away.”

“What is this U.K.?” The tension was back.

“You lie too much to be of any real use to us,” said George. “Maybe the English will want you back. I’ve talked to someone who knew you when you lived in ‘a tatty little flat in Lambeth.’ With your friends the Kalashnikovs.”

“I do not think I want to talk any more with you,” said Skripkin.

George began rummaging through his file folder. That was my prearranged signal to ask a wild-card question.

“When did they start to call you ‘Cheeto’? Way back then? Or is it more recent? “We’d decided that was to be tossed into the line of questioning because I remembered that Hector had referred to one of Rudy’s acquaintances by that nickname. It was a question that could serve two purposes. First, if Cheeto wasn’t Skripkin, it might be just enough to distract him and cause a little worry about what false information we had about him that
he
hadn’t supplied. A liar always wants to be in control of the lies. Second, if he was Cheeto, then he could worry about what truth we knew about him, and just where we obtained it. For us, there wasn’t a downside.

“Who told you that? “It was an indefinite response.

I put on my reading glasses, took a paper out of my folder, which happened to contain a bunch of throwaway teletypes regarding God knew what that I’d pulled off the dispatch desk, and pretended to read. Keeping my head slightly down, I looked up at him over the top of my glasses. “Three days ago, when you came up during an interview,” I said.

I had a feeling that he was a lot less accustomed to getting evasive answers than he was to giving them.

“Three days ago? “asked Skripkin.

“The day Rudy was shot,” I said. “That was three days ago, wasn’t it?”

He didn’t answer.

I gave as genuine a chuckle as I was able, all things considered. “I’ll bet that all along, you thought it was
Linda
we were looking for, didn’t you? “I mean, it was Linda, of course. I never said it wasn’t. But he sure as hell didn’t know that.

Like they say, silence is golden.

I figured I was on the right track. “Well, you’re sure right about one thing. You really don’t know much about women. I’ll bet you also thought Rudy was the only one she told about the two of you.”

“You are such a smart person…who else did she tell, then? “I had to give him credit, he didn’t give in easily.

We’d talked about this beforehand and had decided that the second, and last, wild card we had to hit him with was the name of Mustafa Abdullah Odeh. We’d agreed to make it an indirect reference, to be used by any of the three of us, at our discretion.

“I can’t give you the name of the other person she told,” I said. Dangle the worm.

He leaned back, beginning to smile.

“But I can tell you that the other person subsequently told one…one”—and I looked at my bogus folder again—”told one Mustafa Abdullah Odeh.” I looked up and was able to watch the blood drain from his face. When you’re on a roll, you might as well go as far as you can. “And I guess he’s pissed,” I said. “From what I’m told. You happen to know him?”

The question produced a first, as far as my history of interviews went. Skripkin got a funny look on his face and just said, “I must use rest room. Hurry, please.”

He was serious. Hester hit the buzzer on the desk, and a jailer stuck his head in the room.

“He’s gotta go,” she said. “Rest room.”

Skripkin was on his feet and halfway to the door before she finished speaking.

As our suspect disappeared down the short jail hallway, Hester said dryly, “Think he might know him?”

“Nice job, Carl,” said George. “Volont’s going to be sorry he missed this.”

It was fifteen minutes later that Skripkin finally reentered the interview room. He didn’t look too good. We went at him gently at first, with Hester taking the lead. He told her that Mustafa Abdullah Odeh was a very bad man. As if we didn’t know that. He also told her that Mustafa Abdullah Odeh was the boss. Just that simple. As far as Skripkin knew, Odeh was the source of the plan to spray the meat at the Battenberg plant. He was also the source of anything that Juan Miguel Alvarez, aka Hassan Ahmed Hassan, had needed or had thought necessary to complete the mission.

“Like what?” asked Hester. “Money?”

“Money. Yes. The spray cans, too. Weapons. For security of the operations.”

“Is that where the shotgun came from?” she asked. “The one that was used to kill Rudy?”

“No. That one was purchased by Hassan at a store. For hunting, he said.”

“Okay. Do you know which store?”

“The tools and things store in Battenberg.”

“You mean the hardware store? “she asked.

“Yes. That is the one.”

Hester made a note. “Hassan didn’t happen to get the spray cans filled there, too, did he?”

“No, no. Those came UPS to sweet little liar Linda. She brought them to us. That way,” Skripkin said, “they go to U.S.A. citizen. No questions.”

This was turning out to be a really productive day.

About that time, Skripkin began having second thoughts. I suspect the picture of himself locked up in either a state or federal prison and being stalked therein by one of Odeh’s associates was beginning to loom large. Or maybe he was just tired of urgent bowel movements. Either way, he suddenly decided he needed to talk with an attorney. From that point on, we could not question him without his attorney present.

   Finding him an attorney presented a problem. As soon as the local attorneys found out there were going to be Iowa felonies, federal felonies, and the possibility of extradition to the U.K., they all refused to represent him. They said it was “outside their expertise.” We had to go to a judge, and she had to
order
one to talk with him. It was a lot of fuss for nothing, as the appointed attorney just told Skripkin to shut up until he was able to talk to a good Federal Practice attorney, and then submitted his bill. But it had to be done.

We were happy, though. We had a good start at getting Linda Moynihan charged with a federal felony for aiding and abetting foreign terrorists. That was a good. All we had to do was check with UPS, see when the package was delivered to her address, see where it had come from, and tell her the bad news as we handed her a federal warrant. No wonder she’d wanted guarantees of both immunity and protection.

Harry put it rather succinctly when he said, “Your girl Linda probably don’t know enough to save her ass, just enough to get herself killed.”

“I wonder,” said George, “if she knew what was in the package?”

“I’ll bet she had an idea,” said Hester. “Maybe not exactly, but close enough to count. The picture I’m getting of her, she tends to find those things out.”

IT HAD BEEN A LONG DAY. HESTER, GEORGE
, and I got back to Iowa at about 9:15
P.M.,
and had been at the Nation County Sheriff’s Department, mostly wrapping up the reporting for the day.

George had held a briefing for the swarming media, along with Iowa and federal health officials who provided the technical details of what was becoming known on the networks as the “Kosher Killings” case.

Hester, Sally, and I had watched George’s briefing live from the safety of the dispatch center. We all groaned when the “Kosher Killings” headline was flashed on the screen. George, on camera, had no idea about the label until we told him afterward. We played the tape back for him. He’d been speechless.

We were still talking about that when Judy Mercer, KNUG’s bureau chief from Iowa City, buzzed the outside door and asked for admittance to the sheriff’s department. We could see her on the exterior camera. She was alone. That in itself was unusual. I couldn’t remember ever seeing her without a camera operator in tow.

When the duty dispatcher asked her the purpose of her visit, over the mike at the door, Judy replied, “I’d like to speak with the officers who’re working the meat poisoning case.” I think the fact that she hadn’t referred to “Kosher Killings” was the deciding factor in letting her in.

George, Hester, and I ushered her into the jail kitchen. I put on a pot of coffee, and we listened to what she had to say. To her offer, actually.