Chapter 22
1615 Words
Chapter 22As soon as they passed through the door into a long hall-type of room, Sorenson went to the desk of the officer nearest to the window. He bent down to the man’s ear and whispered a few words.
The officer got up in a shot saying, “Yes, sir, right away.” He rushed along the row of desks lining the windows that stretched the length of the room and afforded a view of the city bustle two floors below. “Carvey?” he summoned, “Would you mind coming up for a minute? And you too, Delgado, the Chief wants a word with you blokes.”
The two men abandoned what they were doing and strode to the far wall where Mark and Sorenson were waiting. The latter made the introduction and once the officers had shaken hands with Mark, the four men made their way back to the Chief’s office on the third floor.
“They say you’re a big shot in the Canadian Agency,” Carvey said to Mark as they were climbing the stairs.
“Is that a question?” Mark retorted coldly.
“No, not really, Agent Gilford, we were told you’ve had your hands full with a Saudi Prince and his fiancée for a while...”
Mark halted on one of the stairs. “Stop it right there!” he groaned. “If you are going to work with me, we’re not going to talk casually about the subjects of our investigations, past or present, in the open air for everybody to hear. Understood?”
Sorenson and Delgado had also stopped two steps ahead of the men, and looked down at them a smirk on their faces. “You’ve always been a bit of a chatterer haven’t you, Carvey?” Sorenson remarked jocularly. “Just keep your mouth shut for now, will you?”
“Yes, sir.” Carvey resumed his climb beside Mark; his eyes fixed on his feet, and followed the others up the stairs.
Sylvester Carvey was a big fellow. You wouldn’t want to mess with him, Mark thought. His big muscles, tapered waist, strong legs and easy gait portrayed a man who was used to workout at the gym on a regular basis. His clean-shaven jaw and closely cropped, brown hair delineated a gentle face. He was not aggressive, just overwhelming. As for Ernesto Delgado, he was the antithesis of his partner. A small, non-descript man, with short, black hair, he was thin and seemed to be light on his feet. He was quick, decisive and sharp-looking. He, too, was clean-shaven but with his Hispanic, olive complexion, he probably had a difficult time keeping the dark stubbles in check.
When they reached Sorenson’s office, the officers and Mark followed him and sat down facing him. He pulled a file out of his desk-drawer, opened it and looked at each man in turn.
“Okay, Agent Gilford, here is what we’ve got on Samuel Meshullam thus far. We know he’s arrived in Sydney seven months ago and since then he’s been living in Manly, on King Avenue to be exact. He’s rented a house on the edge of the reserve...”
“Sorry to interrupt, Chief, but what is a “reserve”?” Mark asked.
The three men looked at the Canadian Agent as if he were a child coming out of elementary school with a bad report card.
“Ah, yes, of course, you’re not used to Strine, are you?” Sorenson said, joining in the chorus of chuckles from Delgado and Carvey.
“What’s Strine?” Mark added another to his first query.
Delgado chortled. “That’s the Australian way of saying we talk funny.”
Sorenson shot an admonishing glance at the officer. He seemed always afraid of someone fraying his authority. “All right, a reserve is a park, generally small and located amid city built areas.”
“Okay, I’m sorry..., please go on.”
Sorenson nodded. “As I was saying, our Agent Meshullam has been living at No. 2 King Avenue in Manly for the past seven months. We only know this because when Ms Kartz was shot, your Chief Gibson, asked us to track him down. However, we didn’t do anything about the man’s presence here since no crime had been committed on Australian soil and we had no evidence of a crime being committed in Canada either. As far as we were concerned, until we were given different orders, we just kept watch on the bloke.”
Mark started to fidget in the chair. “What about now?”
“We believe he’s still there.”
“When did you receive the extradition order or when were you alerted that things had changed?”
Clearly, Chief Sorenson didn’t like to be questioned. He frowned. “On Friday, why?”
“Do you think he would have gone somewhere else?” Delgado asked.
“Depends... It depends on how quickly Meshullam was notified he was up for grabs,” Mark answered, turning his face to the officer on his right.
“What do you have in mind, Agent Gilford?” Sorenson asked, while the two officers turned to Mark as if waiting for him to impart a small piece of wisdom.
“Sir, I’m sorry, but I thought it was obvious. We know Meshullam is a Mossad agent. It would stand to reason then that he was advised of any move we made the moment we made it. We also know that since you’ve stopped us at the airport and that you’ve been talking to Agent Sadir in the meantime, Mossad has informed Meshullam of our arrival or even the purpose of the Prince’s visit to Australia.”
“Let me see..., Agent Gilford; are you saying Agent Sadir is a double agent?”
Delgado and Carvey switched their gazes in unison from Mark to Sorenson, a mechanical gesture that didn’t escape Mark’s notice. These two have been together a long time, he thought.
“Let me answer that with another question. Why would the CIA be interested in the movements of a Mossad agent that’s been dormant for months?”
Sorenson hesitated. “Well, for one thing, Prince Khalid intended to meet Meshullam...”
“You’ve become aware of that fact only because either Sadir or Chief Gibson told you it was the case, right?”
“Hum..., yes, as a matter of fact, it’s Chief Gibson who phoned me and told me that Sadir had met with the prince, and he told me that he was going to...”
“Exactly. Sadir phoned Chief Gibson and between them, they arranged for me to organize the Prince’s escapade. My assignment was to keep Meshullam and the prince alive. We could not stop Prince Khalid or arrest him, so I was to play bodyguard for a while.”
Sorenson looked at Mark intently. “And when the Canadian government realized they were going to be made a scapegoat if the Prince died or if Meshullam was eliminated, they decided to stop the charade before getting in hot water with the CIA. Does that sum it up?” Sorenson needed approbation. The spy game not only didn’t appeal to his sense of correctness but it didn’t fit with his understanding of the way the law should be upheld. No man should have to resort to lying in order to get at the truth.
“No doubt that our agency in Ottawa saw it the same way you do now, Chief.”
“All right, now that we have a handle on the problem, let me hear how you want to resolve it.”
Mark looked at the two agents on either side of him in turn. “First, I’d like to know who my two partners are.”
Delgado shifted in his chair. “What do you want to know?” He crossed his arms over his chest. He was on the defensive. Mark wondered why.
“Not much, really, I’d just like to know if you’ll have my back when things will get ugly.”
“Do you want some sort of reassurance from two decorated officers that they will protect you, is that what you’re asking?” Sorenson didn’t like this line of questioning.
“I guess that’s what I’m asking, yes. Actually, medals and decorations don’t mean a thing to me when it comes to chasing a guy the likes of Meshullam.” Mark turned to Carvey. “How many times have you had the opportunity to use a sniper rifle since you’ve been at MI5?”
Carvey put his elbows on his knees, trying to avoid Mark’s piercing eyes. “Well..., actually, a couple of times on task-force assignments...”
“I see. What about you, Delgado?” The latter looked at Sorenson for help. It didn’t come. The chief’s blank stare was leaving the bloke alone in the middle of the ocean—without a buoy.
“No rifles, just automatics...” Delgado answered ashamedly.
“Okay,” Mark declared, stretching his back against the chair, “I think we’ll go to the rifle range tomorrow...”
“Do you think that’s necessary?” Sorenson ventured.
“Necessary? Necessary?” Mark exploded. “For God’s sakes, Chief, I’m about to face a Mossad assassin and you’re asking me if my back-up needs a refresher course? Come on, guys, let’s be realistic here; or would you want your men to get killed on their first sortie?”
“Calm down, Agent Gilford, we know what you’ll be up against—no doubt—but we could deploy many more than just two men, if that’s what it takes, but right now, what I’d like to know is what you are going to do once we locate Agent Meshullam.”
“IF—and that’s a big if—we locate him...”
“Why do you say that? He was observed just last week...”
“What about today? Do you know where he is right at this minute?”
Sorenson looked embarrassed. “We’ve assumed he wouldn’t move...”
Mark got up and slammed both hands on Sorenson’s desk, bending over it to get his face as close as he could to the chief’s without climbing onto it. As Carvey and Delgado were about to pull him off, Sorenson held up a hand and shook his head to let Mark have his say. “I thought I’d made myself perfectly clear, Chief. Meshullam knows I’m in town. He knows me as he would his own mother, and I know him for what he is.” He sat back down. “I can tell you one thing for sure; he’s no longer in King Avenue. He’s probably moved out of there, the minute he knew we took our flight from D.C.”
Sorenson let out a breath. “And where do you think he’s now?”
“Back in his comfort zone...”
“You mean Melbourne?”
“If that’s where he used to live as a kid, yes.”
“All right..., and just for the record, Agent Gilford, you don’t need to shout in this office! I will not tolerate you raising your voice to me again.”
“I’m sorry, Chief, I’m just tired...”
“I can understand that. Why don’t we adjourn until the morning?” Sorenson got a nod from his two officers as they got up from their seats. “Will you accompany Agent Gilford to his hotel?” He got another two nods. “At 0:900 hrs. tomorrow, pick him up and you three go to the range, understood?”
“Yes, Chief.” That’s all the two men said before they walked out with Mark in tow.
- Writer
