“We’ll find out, I promise you,” Savich said.
“How long do you think we can keep this quiet, Dillon?” Sherlock asked.
“There were no bystanders with cell phones, so who knows? Our team is out there, loading the parts onto a flatbed truck to haul it to Andrews. Would one of them talk?”
Ruth said, “It is a fascinating story, so we probably won’t keep it quiet for long.”
Savich’s phone pinged a text from his laptop. “MAX found the three Sikorskys. One of them is housed near Langley, not five miles from CIA headquarters. The owner is Ammar Aboud, a wealthy Syrian, part of Syrian president Bashar al-Assad’s inner circle. Aboud’s family is big in shipping and banking. Aboud handles most of his family’s foreign business dealings. I’ll bet he’s here, in the U.S.” He shot a look at Elizabeth, who was standing next to Sherlock, nearly vibrating with excitement.
Sherlock said, “A wealthy Syrian? Whatever would a wealthy Syrian want with Elizabeth? What can it mean?”
Rome rubbed his hands together. “Let’s visit Mr. Ammar Aboud and break the news to him his prized antique helicopter is scrap metal on a flatbed. I doubt he cares about the two men.”
Elizabeth said, “I wonder if he’ll give something away when he sees me.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Dever’s Café
Hyde Park, London
Friday morning
John Eiserly’s agent Khaled Aziz closed his brolly when he stepped under the awning of Dever’s Café and gave it a good shake. Dever’s was an old coffee shop near Parliament favored by the more liberal members of the House of Commons. He looked inside the large glass window and spotted Imam Ali Ahmad Said sitting alone in a corner booth. He walked into the always crowded café toward him, a smile on his face. He didn’t know what the young imam wanted because he hadn’t told him when he’d called him the previous evening. Ali Ahmad Said had said only that he should come have coffee with him. Khaled’s mind raced as he walked toward the imam, his palms sweating. Had the imam asked to see him to tell him he’d been found out? Probably not, or he’d either be lying dead in a filthy alley or floating in the Thames.
The imam waved him to the seat across from him. A young man dressed in Dever’s signature red and black wove his way through the tables and took Khaled’s order of tea. Khaled waited respectfully for the young imam to speak. Khaled saw no anger in his eyes, no hint of why he’d wanted to see him here,of all places. Could it be the imam had asked to meet him because he’d finally noticed him, heard good things about him? Well, why not? For the past six months, Khaled had been an ardent worshipper, always respectful and admiring, speaking only when spoken to. At the mosque, Ali wore his traditional loose white robe, the jalabiya, and his feet were always bare for public prayer because it would be disrespectful to pray with something on that had a taint, like the sole of a shoe. But today, at Dever’s, Ali was a fashion plate—Savile Row black slacks and jacket, white silk shirt, alligator loafers and no socks on his narrow feet. His beard was neatly trimmed, his hair finely barbered.
Ali said in his quiet public-school voice, “Khaled, my friend, thank you for meeting me here. Dever’s is one of my favorite cafés in London.” Khaled knew that, of course; he knew just about everything about Imam Ali Ahmad Said from the dossier Mr. Eiserly had provided him.
“I’ve never been here before. It’s quite impressive.”
Ali nodded toward the window. “It is always raining in London, so very different from Syria. Have you adapted to it?”
Khaled followed his gaze to a relentless drizzle that had turned London gray. He said, “My parents brought me to England as a small boy, so I have few memories of Aleppo, only of feeling a warm sun on my face and seeing beautiful mountains. I grew up near York, and it rains as much in Yorkshire as it does here. Do you know I heard this café has been here for nearly two hundred years? It’s difficult to imagine how they stayed dry in London in those days.”
Ali smiled. “Yes, imagine walking through all that mud and filth. It’s difficult to comprehend. When it rains my father grumbles and curses, says he wants to go home to Ar Raqqah. My mother, who adores Harvey Nicks, merely nods her head, knowing his complaints will pass.”
As Ali continued to speak of the mundane, Khaled felt his tension ease. Ali was either an excellent actor, or he had no idea Khaled was an officer with MI5.
After Khaled was served, he put one teaspoon of sugar in his cup and sipped his tea. He sighed in pleasure.
Ali said, “Khaled, I have a favor I wish to ask of you.”
Khaled’s heart kicked up. “Of course, Imam.” He set down his teacup and bowed his head in diffident silence.
Ali sipped his favored bitter coffee, set down his cup, and said in his deep, compelling voice, “The mosque’s accountant, Rehan al-Albiri, wishes to retire. I have made inquiries and learned you have an excellent reputation at Culver and Beck. I ask you to consider working with Rehan until you are familiar with his accounting system and then assume his duties. You will have assistants to do your bidding, so for the most part, only your professional oversight is needed. You will not have to leave your position at Culver and Beck, which, I know, is very rewarding financially. You will be well rewarded financially by the mosque as well.” He paused, took another drink of coffee, said slowly, “I’m told you believe in the old ways and that your Arabic is fluent.”
So the imam had verified the legend created for him by Eiserly’s people at JTAC, and it had held, or Khaled wouldn’t be sitting here. JTAC suspected the aged accountant Rehan al-Albiri had for many years been presiding over two vastly different sets of books, only one submitted to HMRC, the other recording the real sources of the mosque’s funding and outgoing sums to support jihadist groups. Khaled doubted he’d be trusted with seeing the real books anytime soon, if at all, but there was a chance he could find them once he took Rehan al-Albiri’s place. Did one of his promised assistants know all about the second books? Rehan had been an intimate of the former imam for many years, and he was a wily old fox. MI5 could never find direct evidence against him, so Rehan stillwalked in the sunlight, when there was sunlight in London.
Khaled let only excitement show on his usually austere face. He raised shining dark eyes to the imam. “It would be my honor, Imam. I thank you for your confidence in me. If you wish, I will resign immediately from my firm.”
Ali waved a graceful hand. “No, no, there is no reason for you to leave your position.” He took a final drink of his coffee, stood, and came around to shake Khaled’s hand. Khaled quickly rose to stand with him. “Welcome, my brother. It will take some time for Rehan to show you his system, a bit different I suspect from the one you use in your English firm.”
Ali straightened his beautiful jacket, picked up his brolly from the seat, and suddenly looked mildly embarrassed. “Ah—I have one other favor to ask. I would like you to meet my parents, and my younger sister, Adara.” To Khaled’s astonishment, Imam Ali Ahmad Said fumbled with his brolly and didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Adara has, ah, seen you at the mosque and particularly wishes to meet you. I know, perhaps you believe her forward, but my parents have indulged her, allowed her to participate in Western ways, as they do themselves, even encouraged her education. She took a first at Oxford, reading Middle East studies. Would you consent to dine with us this evening?”
Khaled remembered seeing the imam’s sister standing beside the imam’s dark green Bentley in front of the mosque, waiting for her brother, a pretty young woman dressed in tight jeans and a cashmere sweater, her black hair falling in long waves around her face. Their eyes had met briefly and she’d smiled and given him a little wave. He’d smiled back. Her wanting to meet him was a surprise, and he had to admit to a bit of male pleasure. He was certain Eiserly would tell him meeting Adara could be useful. “It would be my honor, Imam. With regards to my new position, shall I come to the mosque to meet Rehan?”
“Yes, that is what he would prefer. You may phone to set up a convenient time for both of you.”
