Authors: Haggai Carmon
"Until your head was on the chopping block, they thought that you
could provide them with a much-needed service."
I touched my neck. Then I turned to Laura's interrogation again.
"What's your mother's name?" asked the interrogator.
"Edna Higgins."
"Is that Edna Norma Higgins born in Kansas in 1935 to Emily and
Harold Higgins?"
"Yes."
"And you are her only child?"
"Yes."
"And where is your mother now?"
"In a nursing home in Topeka, Kansas. What are all these questions
about my mother? Is she okay? Has anything happened to her?" asked
Laura in a concerned voice.
"Laura," said the interrogator in a stern voice, "I think it's time for some
truth here."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm afraid your mother is dead," said the interrogator, "and she's been
dead now for five and a half years. She died of cancer and you arranged
for the funeral."
Laura burst into tears. The interrogator didn't seem to be affected. "So
the blackmailer couldn't threaten you with killing your mother, because
she was already dead."
Laura wiped her tears. "I'm sorry I lied, but I was blackmailed. My own
life was threatened. I added my mother to the story when Dan caught me
in France and then I just stuck with to make it more believable. I didn't
know what he had already told you. I just didn't know what to do."
"Do you have Baird Black's address?"
"Eleven twenty-nine Hillside Avenue, Brooklyn, New York."
"That address is in Queens, not Brooklyn."
"That's the address he gave me. We always met at my place, I never visited his apartment."
"Do you have his phone number?"
The interrogator dialed the number Laura gave her. She gave the
receiver to Laura to listen; I guess she'd tried that number earlier. The
recording said that the telephone was not in service.
"Well," said Laura, "actually I used to call his cell phone number, but I
don't remember it."
I turned to Hodson. "His real name could be Robert Meadway; it's the
same name that appears on the power of attorney used at the bank to
deposit and withdraw the million dollars as well as on the Citibank credit
card I saw in France. That means he has some ID with that name."
"Go on."
"If Laura called him using her mobile phone. I can help you with the
number."
I pulled a piece of paper from my pocket. "Write that down. It looks
like a New York cell phone number."
"How come you have that?" asked Hodson.
"While we were trying to break the code in my apartment, Laura suddenly went outside, ostensibly to smoke a cigarette. I saw her through my
window talking on her cell phone. But when she returned, I didn't smell
any tobacco on her, although I'm very sensitive to that odor. That night,
she left her purse in the living room. When her phone beeped to indicate
the battery was low, on a hunch I pressed the REDIAL button and wrote
down the last number she'd called."
"Good thinking," said Brian.
"No, good training," I said. "Didn't you subpoena Laura's phone records?"
"We did, but there's nothing there. Laura told us earlier that the blackmailers gave her a cell phone and ordered her to use it only to call them,"
said Hodson.
"Where's that phone now?" I asked.
"She said they took it away from her," answered Hodson.
"Did she give you the number?"
"She did, but it led nowhere. The phone they gave Laura was stolen
from an old lady who never realized it was stolen and therefore didn't
report it until we came to see her. She said there were no charges on her
phone bill so she thought it was somewhere around her house."
"Weren't there any calls?"
"There were so few and the charges were so small that the old lady
didn't even notice them."
"A dead end," I concluded.
They nodded.
"But if the number I just gave you is indeed Robert Meadway's, he
must have called others using his phone. You can get the records."
"Right." Hodson pressed the intercom and asked the person at the
other end to run a check on the number I had given him.
Laura, meanwhile, was drinking water from a plastic cup.
"Let me tell you something," said the interrogator. "Your lie about the
threats on the life of your now dead mother is minor in comparison with
your other lies."
"Where else did I lie?" Laura sounded defiant.
"About your motives and the extent of you involvement in telling your
alleged blackmailers about Dan Gordon. You'd better come up with the
truth."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," insisted Laura.
"Okay," said the interrogator calmly, "let me play a short recording. You
are the major player; costarring is Mr. Zhukov." She pressed a button on
the phone and said something we couldn't hear. But soon a recording
came on.
A dial tone, then a series of ten beeps.
"Hello?" came a voice in heavily accented English.
"This is me. Is he in?" That was Laura's voice.
"Hold on."
`Da," said a voice.
"Boris?"
"I can't make it tonight. Gordon has asked me to come to his apartment."
"For what?"
"He promised to show me something. It could be connected to
Lipinsky. He's been working on it with NYPD."
"Destroy anything he finds on that. If necessary, I'll destroy Gordon
also." I could identify the voice as Zhukov's.
"Boris, please let me run things the way I understand is best for your
interests. What about your promise?
"What promise?"
"You said you'd transfer me an additional quarter million dollars. Last
night I logged on to my bank account in Luxembourg and the money
wasn't there."
"It will be, don't worry."
"I'm afraid you'll be the one to worry if the money isn't there by
tomorrow. You know I can be bad, and I can be even worse. I can have
the book thrown at you. Don't get me started."
"Okay, check your account tonight."
A dial tone.
"I'll be damned," I said. "Not only wasn't Laura blackmailed by Zhukov,
she in fact blackmailed him." I thought the situation hilarious, but given
the serious faces of the people in the room I kept my mouth shut.
Everyone was stunned but Hodson. "Zhukov was under a federal surveillance for some time," he confided, "but for budgetary reasons we
didn't transcribe the recordings until this week. You heard what we found.
I understand there are additional recordings."
"What do you say to that?" the interrogator asked Laura.
"I want a lawyer," said Laura.
The interrogation stopped and Laura was taken from the room. We
returned to Hodson's office.
"What about Zhukov?" I asked
"Let me call Agent Burton. He'll give you the interesting details," said
Hodson, pressing his intercom.
A tall young agent wearing a blue suit and eyeglasses came into
Hodson's office.
"So you're Dan Gordon," he said. I couldn't tell whether that was said
appreciatively or not.
"Tell him about Zhukov," Hodson urged with a grin.
The agent cleared his throat. "Tim Kelly, an FBI special agent in my
team, approached Zhukov's table at a crowded fancy restaurant in Coney
Island, Brooklyn. He kept shoveling beef stew into his mouth but was
otherwise very gracious. He confirmed his identity to Kelly, with his
mouth full, and invited him to sit and have a drink. Kelly had backup
with him, of course, and Zhukov ordered more chairs for the table.
"But Kelly told Zhukov that he'd have to come with them. Kelly never
introduced himself, but no introduction was necessary. I think Zhukov
knew exactly who we were. He'd been through it before many times. But
usually it was only a matter of hours before his lawyer got him out. `Indict
him or release him,' Nathan King used to challenge our agents when we
would come to pick up Zhukov. Of course, it was always `release' because
the witnesses for `indict' tended to suffer amnesia where Zhukov was
concerned. Better that than an obituary.
"But this time it was different. Five other agents carrying shotguns
stood near the club's exits. Tim repeated that Zhukov must come with
him, and that there was a warrant for his arrest.
"`Can't I finish my meal?' Zhukov asked.
"Kelly was respectful but unyielding. Reluctantly Zhukov followed him
to the car outside with the other agents circling him. When the agents left
with Zhukov, two stayed behind to make sure no one left until Zhukov
was in the car. But I heard that the diners pretended not to notice what
was going on.
"`What's the charge this time?' asked Zhukov mockingly.
"`You're in deep shit,' said Tim Kelly. `This time, you're not getting off
that easy. National security charges aren't something the court takes lightly.'
"`National security?' Zhukov feigned surprise. `What do I have to do
with that?'
"`You'll soon find out,' answered Tim.
"Zhukov was emotionless as they handcuffed him and shoved him into
a waiting car. As had happened many times before, Zhukov was taken to
the Metropolitan Correctional Facility behind the Federal Court House
in downtown Manhattan. Following routine, he was brought to a windowless interrogation room on the second floor. But this time, Zhukov
could sense the seriousness of purpose. The detectives had a somber look,
and although they were polite, they didn't even try to play the nice guy.
There were no jokes. I'm sure he felt the shift," concluded Burton.
"And that was enough for Zhukov to cooperate?" I asked. Odd that
Zhukov, the hardened criminal, should have gone soft.
"No, not at all. We let him stew in his own juices, so to speak," said
Hodson in self-content.
"Meaning?"
"After telling him what he could expect for aiding and abetting terrorists, he plea-bargained. He was looking at life without the possibility of
parole in a federal maximum-security prison, like the one in Marion,
Illinois," explained Burton.
"What does he know about Marion?"
"We took him there for a visit. We showed him his future cell, six feet
by eight, which is hardly big enough for his potbelly, not to mention his
ego. He was told that prisoners like him are kept in solitary confinement
for twenty-two to twenty-three hours a day. There are no standard vocational, educational, or recreational activities. Physical contact is prohibited during visits. Phone calls for prisoners generally cannot exceed ten
minutes a month. No group dining, exercise, or religious services are permitted. Prisoners are shuffled through remote-controlled electronic
doors to their destination, without ever seeing another human being,"
Burton said.
"I guess he got the message," I said in appreciation.
`Quickly. He asked to sign an agreement immediately, even without
his lawyer present. We couldn't allow that, but it was all done in two days. He told us about the transactions with the Slaves of Allah, the
money transfers, everything."
"Did he tell you also about my kidnapping and the ordeal in the desert?
Or had that slipped his mind?"
"In fact, there were several things he said he didn't know. First, he told
us he'd thought that the Slaves of Allah were a political group fighting
the French over the French government's refusal to allow Muslims a
greater cultural autonomy in southern France," said Hodson.
"And you believed him?" I asked.
"Of course not, but we let him continue with the charade because we
wanted him to dig his own grave deeper."
"So what else did he say he didn't know?"
"He claimed he had absolutely no knowledge about the plan to kill hundreds of thousands of people by spreading a deadly virus," said Burton.
"What about me? He must have been the one who gave my name to
the Slaves of Allah; I was kidnapped the day after our meeting."
"He confessed to that. He simply wanted to preempt your investigation. He told the Slaves of Allah about you, as Neil McMillan, and said
you were a sleazeball from the Seychelles selling information on their
financial affairs to the CIA. He hoped the Slaves of Allah would kill
you," said Burton. "He didn't tell them he knew you were Dan Gordon."
"Remember the envelope you left for Eric at your hotel's reception?"
asked Brian.
"Yes, there was a number, most probably a telephone number, I'd found
in Zhukov's room. There was something else on that note written in
Russian. Of course I remember," I said.
"It's a cell phone number that the French police seized when they
arrested Saed Safe-Eldin, later identified as the ring leader of the Slaves
of Allah in southern France. We believe Zhukov called him to take care
of you," said Eric.
"So you tied Zhukov to Safe-Eldin?" I asked
"Yes. We showed that scrap of paper with the phone number on it to
Zhukov during his interrogation. He then implicated Saed Safe-Eldin.
They are now trying to establish his connection to Iran. We have intelli gence, but not evidence, that he took his orders from Tehran, but we still
need more. However, Zhukov's testimony, together with additional evidence we and the French had, will put Saed Safe-Eldin behind bars for
the next millennium."
"I still don't understand: Why didn't they kill me when I was their prisoner?" I asked. "Not that I'm complaining."
"They had bigger plans for you. First, you were going to solve some
money-transfer problems, and then they were going to put you up for sale
on the trade-in market. We believe that they were waiting for an outcry
to erupt when you disappeared, and then ask for a hefty ransom. But
when no ransom demand was made, we became concerned about your
safety. For national security reasons we could not let the media know you
were missing."
"What about my children? Didn't they raise hell when they realized I
was missing?"
"They contacted David Stone when they didn't hear from you. David
asked them to be patient. A few days later they started pressing, so we
brought them here," said Hodson. "I explained to them that for your
safety they must keep quiet, and that we were doing everything we could
to find you."