“Are you sure?” he asked. If their roles were reversed, he wouldn’t want to back down.
“It’s for the good of the investigation, so yeah, I’m sure.”
Impressed at her willingness to sacrifice her pride, he nodded.
Phone to his ear, Malouf returned and went to the open laptop on his desk. He put on gold wire-rimmed glasses, propped the phone between his ear and shoulder, and started typing. He talked condescendingly to a Henry on the other end of the line in much the same way he’d spoken to Kiley. Maybe he was just an equal opportunity jerk.
“I’ve got it.” He said good-bye without thanking Henry.
Malouf must pay his guards well, as there seemed to be no other logical reason why the guard who’d escorted them had worked for this man for so long.
Malouf laid his phone on the desk and brought the computer to the table. “What is it you want to know?”
“The container arrived a few days ago and sat at the port since then. It’s scheduled to be moved here for storage tomorrow. Is it normal for a container to sit at the dock like that?”
“Normal? No, but not unheard of.”
“Is it scheduled to remain here, or what is the disposition?”
Malouf stared at his screen and frowned. “It was to remain here until the thirteenth, then be shipped back to the originating port.”
Two days after the anniversary of 9/11, lending credence to Evan’s theory about the terrorists planning a return trip. Evan might get this, but Malouf seemed to be in the dark.
“You look like you think this is odd,” Evan said.
“It is most unusual. It would not have been unloaded at the dock or here, so why send it out only to return?”
Evan knew the reason but obviously wouldn’t share it. “How did the shipment originate, and who placed the order?”
Malouf glanced at his computer again. “It was an online order placed by a Haval Barzani.”
Evan was surprised he gave up the shipper’s name. “So, if I wanted to ship something with your company, I could create an order online like this Barzani guy did?”
Malouf raised his gaze to Evan. “You would need to have an approved account to do so. I doubt you would have the financial backing to be approved.”
Though the guy knew Evan was speaking hypothetically, he had to get a jab in. “Barzani has this approval.”
“Correct.”
“Has he shipped with you in the past?”
“Let me check.” He typed on his computer. “Yes, he has been a customer for some time.”
“Exactly how long?” Evan asked.
“Since 1992.”
“Does Barzani work for a company, or is he an independent shipper?”
Malouf squinted at the screen. “He’s a licensed ship broker with a container-chartering focus. His company is independently owned.”
“What’s a ship broker exactly?” Evan asked.
“They’re specialist intermediaries or negotiators, if you will,” Malouf replied. “They consult between shipowners and charterers who use ships to transport cargo. They also work with vessel buyers and sellers.”
“I’d like a printout of all of Barzani’s prior shipments with your company, along with his contact information.”
Malouf crossed his arms. “That’s not something I’m willing to provide.”
