The Lion's Game (63 page)

“A very long shot. For all we know, Khalil is driving a car borrowed from a compatriot. Even if it is a rental car, his accomplices could use the name Smith if they had the proper ID.”

“But the people renting it might not look like Smith.”

“True ... but they could use a Smith-looking guy, then whack him. Forget the car rentals.”

“We got lucky with the Ryder van in the World Trade Center bombing. Solved the case.”

“Forget the fucking World Trade Center bombing.”

“Why?”

“Because, like an Army general who tries to relive his past successes in a new battle, you’ll find that the bad guys are not trying to relive their past defeats.”

“Is that what you tell your students at John Jay?”

“I sure do. It definitely applies to detective work. I’ve seen too many homicide cops try to solve Case B the way they solved Case A. Every case is unique. This one, especially.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

“Do what you want.” I got surly and went back to my memos and reports. I hate paper.

I came across a sealed YOUR EYES ONLY envelope without a routing note. I opened it and saw it was from Gabe. It said:
I kept Fadi incommunicado yesterday, then went to the home of Gamal Jabbar and interviewed his wife, Cala. She claims no knowledge of her husband’s activities, intentions, or his Saturday destination. But she did say that Jabbar had a visitor Friday night, that after the visitor left, Jabbar put a black canvas bag under their bed and instructed her not to touch it. She did not recognize the visitor, and heard nothing that was said. The next morning, her husband stayed home, which was unusual, as he normally worked on Saturdays. Jabbar left their Brooklyn apartment at 2:00 P.M., carrying the bag, and never returned. She characterizes his behavior as worried, nervous, sad, and distracted—as best I can translate from Arabic. Mrs. Jabbar seems resigned to the possibility that her husband is dead. I called Homicide and gave them the go-ahead to break the news to her and released Fadi for the same purpose. Speak to you later
.

I folded the memo and put it in my breast pocket.

Kate asked, “What was that?”

“I’ll show you later.”

“Why not now?”

“You need some plausible deniability before we speak to Jack.”

“Jack is our boss. I trust Jack.”

“So do I. But he’s too close to Teddy right now.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There are two games being played on the same field—the Lion’s game, and somebody else’s game.”

“Whose game?”

“I don’t know. I just have this feeling that something is not right.”

“Well ... if you mean that the CIA is in business for itself, that’s not exactly news.”

“Right. Keep an eye on Ted.”

“Okay. Maybe I’ll seduce him, and he’ll confide in me.”

“Good idea. But I saw him naked once, and he has a teeny weenie.”

She looked at me and saw that I wasn’t kidding. “When did you see him naked?”

“Bachelor party. He got carried away with the music and the strippers and before anyone could stop him—”

“Cut it out. When did you see him naked?”

“On Plum Island. After we left the biocontainment lab, we all had to shower out. That’s what they call it. Showering out.”

“Really?”

“Really. I don’t think he showered thoroughly because later that day, his dick fell off.”

She laughed, then thought a moment and observed, “I forgot you guys once worked a case together. George, too, right?”

“Right. George has a normal dick. For the record.”

“Thank you for sharing.” She mulled a bit, then said, “So, you came to distrust Ted on that case.”

“It wasn’t an evolving process. I didn’t trust him three seconds after I met him.”

“I see ... so, you’re a little suspicious of this coincidence of meeting him again.”

“Perhaps a little. By the way, he actually threatened me on the Plum Island case.”

“Threatened you in what way?”

“In the only way that matters.”

“I don’t believe that.”

I shrugged. I further revealed to Ms. Mayfield, “He was interested in Beth Penrose, for your information.”

“Oh! Cherchez la femme. Now it all makes sense. Case closed.”

It may have been unwise of me to share that. I didn’t reply to her illogical deductive reasoning.

She said, “So, here’s a solution to both our problems. Ted and Beth. Let’s get them together.”

Somehow I’d gone from an anti-terrorist agent to a soap opera character. I said, to end the conversation, “Sounds like a plan.”

“Good. Now give me the thing you just put in your pocket.”

“It says my eyes only.”

“Okay, read it to me.”

I took Gabe’s memo out of my pocket and sailed it across her desk. She read it to herself and said to me, “There’s nothing much new in here that I shouldn’t see, and nothing that I have to deny seeing.” She added, “You’re trying to control information, John. Information is power. We don’t work like that here.” She further observed, “You and Gabe and some other NYPD here are playing a little game of hide-it-from-the-Feds. This is a dangerous game.” And so on. I got a three-minute lecture, ending with, “We don’t need what amounts to a sub-rosa organization within our task force.”

I replied, “I apologize for withholding the memo from you. I will share all future cop-to-cop memos with you. You can do whatever you want with them.” I added, “I know that the FBI and the CIA share everything with me and with the other police detectives assigned to the ATTF. As J. Edgar Hoover said—”

“Okay. Enough. I get the point. But don’t be secretive with
me.”

We made eye contact, and we both smiled. You see what happens when you get involved with a workmate? I said, “I promise.”

We both went back to our paperwork.

Kate said, “Here’s the preliminary forensic report on the taxi found in Perth Amboy ... wow ... wool fibers found on the back seat match fibers taken from Khalil’s suit in Paris.”

I found the report quickly and read to myself as Kate read it aloud.

She said, “Clear polyethylene terephthalate embedded in the driver’s seat and in the body ... what the hell does that mean?”

“It means the gunman used a plastic bottle as a silencer.”

“Really?”

“Really. I’m sure it’s in one of those manuals on your shelves.”

“I never read that ... what else ... ? Okay, the spent rounds were definitely forty caliber ... I guess that could mean he used ... an agent’s weapon.”

“Probably.”

“Fingerprints all over the car, but no match to Asad Khalil ...”

We both read the report, but there was no conclusive evidence that Khalil had been in that taxi, except for the wool fibers, and that by itself was not conclusive of his presence at the scene. It only meant his suit, or a similar suit, was present. That’s what a defense lawyer said once in court.

She thought awhile, then said, “He’s in America.”

“That’s what I said
before
we learned about the Perth Amboy murder.”

“The Frankfurt murder was a red herring.”

“Right. That’s why we’re not following that scent. In fact, we’re not following any scent. We lost the scent in Perth Amboy.”

“Still, John, we know where he was Saturday night. What can we extrapolate from that?”

“Nothing.” In fact, good, solid clues and verifiable facts often led nowhere. When the Federal indictment was eventually drawn up on Asad Khalil, we could add the name of Gamal Jabbar to the list of over three hundred men, women, and children he was suspected of murdering. But that didn’t bring us an inch closer to capturing him.

We both went back to the papers on our desks. I started at the beginning, in Europe, and read what little was available on Khalil’s suspected murders and other activities. Somewhere in Europe was a clue, but I wasn’t seeing it.

Someone, not me, had requested the Air Force personnel file of Colonel William Hambrecht, also known as a service record, and I had a copy of it on my desk in a sealed envelope. The file, like all military personnel files, was marked CONFIDENTIAL.

I found it interesting that the file had been requested two days ago and had not been part of the original suspect file. In other words, Khalil turned himself in to the American Embassy in Paris on Thursday, and when they realized he was a suspect in Hambrecht’s murder, then Hambrecht’s Air Force file should have been here by Saturday—Monday latest. Here it was Tuesday, and this was the first I’d seen of the file. But maybe I was giving the Feds more credit than they deserved by thinking the file would have been one of their first priorities. Or, maybe somebody was trying to control information. As I had said to Kate, “Think about what’s not on your desk.” Someone had already done that, but I didn’t know who, since there was no request tag attached to the Colonel Hambrecht file.

I said to Kate, “See if you have the personnel file of Colonel William Hambrecht.” I held up the first page. “Looks like this.”

Without glancing up, she said, “I know what it looks like. I requested it Friday, when I got the assignment to meet Khalil at the airport, and after I’d read his dossier. I read the file half an hour ago.”

“I’m impressed. Daddy must have taught you well.”

“Daddy taught me how to get ahead in my career. Mommy taught me how to be nosy.”

I smiled, then opened the file. The first page contained personal information, next of kin, home address of record, place and date of birth, and so on. I saw that William Hambrecht was married to Rose and had three children, he would have been fifty-five years old in March, had he lived, his religion was Lutheran, his blood type was A positive, and so forth.

I flipped through the file pages. Most of it was written in a sort of cryptic military jargon and was basically a précis of a long and apparently distinguished career. I thought perhaps Colonel Hambrecht had been involved with Air Force Intelligence, which may have brought him into contact with extremist groups. But basically the guy had been a pilot, then a flight commander, a squadron commander, and a wing commander. He had distinguished himself in the Gulf War, had lots of awards, unit citations, and medals, lots of postings around the world, was attached to NATO in Brussels, then was assigned to the Royal Air Force Station Lakenheath in Suffolk, England, as a staff officer involved with training. Nothing unusual, except that he’d previously been stationed at Lakenheath in January 1984 until May 1986. Maybe he made an enemy there back then. Maybe he was screwing some local’s wife, got reassigned, and when he came back over a decade later, the husband was still pissed. That would explain the ax. Maybe this murder had nothing to do with Asad Khalil.

Anyway, I kept reading. Military stuff is hard to read, and they write in acronyms, such as “Return to CONUS,” which I know means Continental United States, and “DEROS,” which is Date of Estimated Return from Overseas, and so forth.

I was getting a headache reading acronyms and abbreviations, but pressed on. There was nothing in here, and I was prepared to put the file aside, but on the last page was a line that read: “Deleted Info—REF DoD order 369215-25, Exec Order 279651-351-Purp. Nat. Sec. TOP SECRET.” They never abbreviate Top or State Secret, and it’s always capitalized just to make sure you understand.

I mulled this over. This is what is known as a footprint in the files. Things may be deleted for a variety of reasons, but nothing is totally lost in an Orwellian memory hole. The deleted information exists someplace—in another file marked TOP SECRET.

I kept staring at the footprint, but even Sherlock Holmes’ magnifying glass wouldn’t help. There was no clue to what had been deleted, or when it had been deleted, or what time period it was missing from. But I knew who had deleted it and why. The who was the Department of Defense and the President of the United States. The reason was national security.

The order numbers would get someone access to the deleted information, but that someone was not me.

I thought about what might have been deleted and realized it could have been just about anything. Usually, it had to do with a secret mission, but in this case, it may have had something to do with Colonel Hambrecht’s murder. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Maybe it had to do with screwing a local’s wife.

There was also no hint if the deletion concerned honorable or dishonorable activities. But I would assume honorable, since his career seemed on track until the day someone mistook him for an oak tree.

Kate asked me, “So? What do you think?”

I looked up at her. “I found what’s not here.”

“Right. I already put in a request to Jack, who will put in a request up the chain to the Director, who will request the deleted information. That could take a few days. Maybe longer, though I marked it ‘Urgent—Rush.’” She added, “This file is only marked ‘Confidential,’ and it took four days to get here. They’re not real fast sometimes. ‘Top Secret’ takes longer.”

I nodded.

She said, “Also, if someone upstairs thinks we have no need to know, or if they determine that the deleted information is irrelevant to our purposes, then we’ll never see it.” She added, “Or, it may be relevant, but too sensitive for us to see, and someone else will handle it. I’m not holding my breath.”

I considered all this and pointed out, “Probably the deleted information is not relevant, unless it had to do with his murder. And if so, why is that top secret?”

She shrugged. “We may never know.”

“That’s not what I’m getting paid for.”

She asked me, “What kind of clearance do you have?”

“About six foot, one inch. Sorry, old joke.” She wasn’t smiling. I said, “Only confidential. Working on secret.”

“I have a secret clearance. But Jack has top secret, so he can see the deleted stuff if he has a need to know.”