The Puppets of Washington Box-Set 1 (Books 1,2,3 & 4)

Chapter 11

Chapter 11The weather was cool. The Ides of March had come and gone, yet an ominous cloud of unease hung over Mark’s head. He had taken a cab from the airport to a hotel near Capitol Hill and not too far from where Khalid was staying. CSIS had tracked the prince down to Washington D.C. almost at the same time as the call from Muhammad Sadir had come through. Mark’s instructions were simple, nonetheless very risky, as far as he could see. He was to take the lead and let Khalid follow him to their destination—Sydney, Australia. Once Mark would have made contact with Samuel he would step back and let the prince handle the situation. Mark knew His Highness well enough to foresee what could happen. However, his mission was to prevent the killing of either or both parties in this duel. Eventually, Samuel would be sent back to Israel for Mossad to do as they pleased with their ‘defective’ agent, and Khalid would be free to return to Paris via Vancouver if he so chose.

Apparently, and to anyone outside their Washington enclave, the CIA counted on Agent Gilford to demonstrate to Mossad that whatever their intentions were toward either Talya or Khalid, they were not to make any further attempts on their lives without facing serious and far-reaching reprisals. “An eye for an eye” no longer applied here. Whether they would succeed in persuading such begrudging organization as Mossad to leave well alone, was another matter altogether.

The CIA’s ultimate purpose was quite different, however. They wanted Khalid or Agent Gilford to eliminate Samuel. They could not care less whether the prince died in the process or if there were retaliations to follow on the part of Mossad—that would be the Canadians’ problem.

As Khalid came out of the restaurant after breakfast, he bumped into a young man who excused himself and walked quickly out of sight. It was only when he was strolling through the park across from the hotel that he felt something in the side pocket of his jacket. He thought nothing of it for a moment but then stopped and took the item out of its hiding place. A glimpse at the object told him what it was. He resumed his walk nonchalantly while slipping the small booklet in his breast pocket. He returned to the hotel after completing his morning stroll at an easy pace. He knew eyes were on him.

Once in his room, he sat on the bed and took the document out once again. He looked at it, opened it and allowed a smile to light up his face. The American passport bore the name of Dickson, William; Professor. The photograph was one of a man he almost didn’t recognize at first. The fellow had grey hair and light brown eyes. When he flipped the pages, a small note and a drivers’ license fell out. He picked up both from the floor and read the note. He then tore it to pieces and went to flush it down the toilet.

This sort of game didn’t appeal to Khalid. He had to get out now. He packed his carrying case quickly, went down to the lobby and checked out. Once in the street, he hailed a cab and directed the driver to take him to the international airport, departure level.

Inside he bought a one-way ticket to Ottawa at the Air Canada counter. If for some reason he decided this was not the time to go to meet the subject of his revenge, he would have a fallback position, whereby he would return to Ottawa and from there either go back to Paris or make his way to Vancouver. He had no confidence in Sadir’s purpose behind the words. The hissing snake came to mind again. After checking his luggage on the night flight to Ottawa, he ambled from store to store, made a couple of purchases and sat down for a coffee in one of the cafeterias. He then took the escalator down to the arrivals’ level and went out. He took another cab and this time told the driver to take him to the Hyatt. He registered and went up to his room. An hour later, he was ready. He walked out, cell phone in hand.

Down in the reception hall, he sat down, flipped his cell phone open and dialled Muhammad Sadir. Their conversation was short and to the point; Khalid told the CIA man he was on his way Downunder and that he could find his ‘other passport’ in the desk drawer of his room at the Hyatt. As soon as he closed the phone, Khalid got up from the chair, walked to the men’s room and smashed it under his heel before throwing the remains into the rubbish container.

At 4:00PM, a handsomely dressed executive in his 50s climbed out of a cab in front of the American Airlines departure level, paid the driver, and walked to the business-class check-in counter, an overnight bag and laptop case in the one hand and rolling a brown suitcase behind him.

As he stood in line, someone tapped him on the shoulder.

“I thought it was you,” the young man said. Khalid spun on his heels and stared. “How are you, Professor?”

“Oh, fine...,” the gentleman replied, still stunned, but all smiles now. “...I’m sorry..., but I can’t place you... Your name escapes me for the moment, I’m sorry... Age, you see, it plays tricks on me from time to time.”

“It’s Sylvan, Sylvan Esteban. I was in your class last year at the Sorbonne in Paris...”

“Oh, of course, you were quite annoyed with my expose on dissidence... I remember now... yes, of course... How are you?”

The two men shook hands and Sylvan discreetly slipped an envelope into the professor’s hand.

Then, to the older man’s added surprise, Sylvan bid him a good trip and walked away without another word.

Not wanting to attract attention by calling him back, Professor William Dickson turned away and looked into the envelope, took out the tickets and wondered when he would see Sylvan again. He didn’t know that they were on the same flights all the way to Sydney but Sylvan was travelling economy while the professor was in business class to San Francisco and in first for the rest of the trip.