“You think he’s really going to bite? People who live in homes like that usually don’t cave in to the government without a fight.”
“My guess is it’ll beat where his next home might end up being.” She put down her coffee and slung her case over her shoulder. “Ready?”
They took another cab back to Mayfair. Chesterfield Mews was a couple of blocks from Hyde Park. They got out a block away and waited on the street, keeping an eye on the posh white Georgian. Hauck looked around. It didn’t appear anyone else was watching the house. They agreed that if they didn’t see any signs of activity they would knock on the door.
It was important to catch al-Bashir off guard away from the office.
A short time later the front door opened. Naomi nudged Hauck to look. Two young boys stepped out onto the limestone landing. They had dark, Middle Eastern features and were maybe around seven and five. The older one had on a striped Manchester United soccer jersey. The younger one was in a David Beckham T-shirt and sneakers. They could have been kids from anywhere. Following after them was an attractive thirtysomething woman in jeans, a baseball cap, and a hooded cashmere sweater. An expensive purse was slung over her shoulder.
She waited at the red door, holding it open. Soon after, a man came out dressed in khakis, a red knit shirt, and leather driving moccasins. He had short, dark hair and wore wire-rim glasses. He held a soccer ball in one arm and the lead of a King Charles spaniel with the other.
He looked like any dad taking his wife and kids out on a Saturday-afternoon stroll.
Naomi nodded. “That’s him.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
The al-Bashirs walked a couple of blocks toward Park Lane. It looked like they were heading into the park. The dog pulled the dad along and the kids went ahead, the older one tossing the soccer ball.
Hauck and Naomi fell in behind them.
The mom taking her kids’ hands, they crossed Park Lane, which was bustling with traffic, and headed into Hyde Park, London’s largest. It was a beautiful weekend afternoon. The park was packed. Couples strolling or on blankets. Street musicians playing. Young couples with strollers. Kids kicking soccer balls around. Lots of dogs.
Al-Bashir and his family walked along the path. The older boy started to play keep-away with the soccer ball; the younger one whined. Their mom kept after them, urging them not to bother the pedestrians and take their game onto a field. Marty al-Bashir let the dog wander onto the grass, sniffing some others.
Hauck and Naomi followed about fifty yards behind.
At some point al-Bashir’s cell phone rang, and he handed the spaniel off to his wife. The call took only a couple of minutes.
When he hung up, Naomi said to Hauck, “Let’s go.”
They went up to him just as he was about to rejoin his wife. “Marty al-Bashir?”
Surprised, he looked at Naomi. “Yes.”
She took out her ID. “My name is Naomi Blum. I’m a federal agent with the U.S. Department of the Treasury. Would you mind if we talked?”
“Talked? Here?” He glanced at his wife, looking both confused and a little irritated. “It’s a Saturday, Ms. Blum. I’m with my family. Why don’t you call my office and-”
“It’ll only take a few minutes,” Naomi said. “I’m sorry about the interruption. But I think it will be worth your while.”
Hauck heard a bit of a tremor in her voice and knew Naomi had to be nervous. This was a big fish, and how she finessed the situation would mean everything.
“It concerns a friend of yours,” she said. “Hassan ibn Hassani.”
The annoyance in Marty al-Bashir’s expression suddenly shifted to concern.
“I can come Monday with an agent from the Exchequer, if you like. But I don’t see how that’s preferable…”
One of the kids called out, “Dad, c’mon, see if you can score…”
“I’ll just be a minute.” He waved back. “Start without me.”
His wife came over, a bit concerned. “Marty, is everything alright?”
“Of course everything’s alright. These people just need to ask me a few questions. I’ll be right along.”
They moved down the path to a small grove of cherry trees, the Wellington Arch behind them. “Alright.” He turned back, not hiding his annoyance. “You’ve got five minutes, Ms. Blum. What is it that couldn’t wait until Monday?”
“This is Ty Hauck,” she said. “He’s a partner in a security firm in Greenwich, Connecticut.”
Al-Bashir nodded dismissively, not offering his hand. “Okay…”
When it became clear that that was about as formal a greeting as they were going to get, Naomi said, “You know Mr. Hassani, do you not?”
“I don’t know. I may. The name is familiar. What does it matter anyway?”
“To refresh your memory, Mr. Hassani is a native Bahraini who is a principal in a number of businesses. Among them a United Arab Emirates firm named Ascot Capital Partners. I believe you have some experience with them at your firm.”
“Yes, yes, I know the firm.” Al-Bashir rolled his hand impatiently, shifting his gaze back and forth from Hauck to Naomi, trying to read what was in their eyes. He glanced at his watch. “So what? Can’t this wait?”
“You should be used to this kind of interruption to your weekends, Mr. al-Bashir.” Naomi met his eyes. “It was on a Sunday, the eighth of February; you took a call from Mr. Hassani. From Dubai. The subject matter was all very vague, of course. Investment strategies, the worrisome market…” She opened her satchel. “I happen to have a transcript of that conversation if it will help.”
“I don’t need a transcript,” he snapped. “I still don’t see the point. Mr. Hassani and I shared a business conversation. A private conversation, to be exact. How in the world are you in possession of-”
“Mr. Hassani is a person of interest for several matters related to U.S. national security,” Naomi said, cutting him off and squinting at him. “And as such, unfortunately, Mr. al-Bashir, so are you.”
The Saudi’s eyes grew narrow. He took off his glasses. “I don’t understand…”
She stared at him unflinchingly. Hauck was impressed. “Did you know Mr. Hassani was a figure who had attracted the attention of the United States government, Mr. al-Bashir?”
“No.” The Saudi shifted on his feet. “I did not. He is also a person who has helped facilitate a six-billion mezzanine financing tier from the king of Bahrain for one of your largest banks.”
“Mr. Hassani has also brokered sales of weapons from Chechnya that have found their way to the Taliban in Pakistan. He has siphoned money for the Islamic American Cultural Foundation, a sham organization that has set up madrassas that train terrorists all over the world, some right here in Britain, and is on the terrorist watch list.”
“Terrorist!” The Saudi blinked nervously. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Al-Bashir’s wife moved closer. “Marty, is everything alright?”
“Yes, everything’s alright, Sheera,” he snapped, his mood shifting. “Stay with the boys. I’ll be there soon.”
Naomi said, “Getting back to that conversation, Mr. al-Bashir, directly after it, you altered the investment strategy of your firm, did you not?”
“What do you mean I altered our investment strategy?”
“The very next day, Monday, February ninth, your fund began liquidating most of your financial interests in the United States markets. In fact, across the globe. Just to be clear, you’d call those interests sizable, would you not, sir?”
“Yes, of course, they’re sizable. We’re a significant fund. But whether or not you say it was a result of any conversation-”
“In fact, you began shorting the stock of many of the largest financial entities in the market. Citicorp, Goldman, Bank of America, AIG…”
“I’m not sure of the exact date.”