She was heavy, but not fat. Her round face was kindly and loving. Hannibal saw that her son had inherited her obsidian eyes and dark wavy hair. Her skin was maybe a half tone darker than Hannibal’s, but to a casual observer this could be the result of beach time rather than genetics. In some way he could not define, she reminded him of his own mother. It may have been the smile.
“Ma’am, I am very sorry for your loss,” he said, using the words he learned in the Secret Service. “I don’t know what you want to know most, but I will gladly share all I do know. I hope you won’t blame our nation for your son’s misfortune.”
“Don’t worry,” Mrs. Barek said. “Our two governments have a long history and this certainly won’t affect it. Did you know, Mr. Jones, that the Kingdom of Morocco was the very first country to recognize the new United States in 1777?”
“I didn’t, but it’s good to know. It’s good to have old friends. I wish I had known your son better than I did.”
He fell silent again, and Mrs. Barek stared at his face for a time. He wondered if her formality, and the ice breaker history lesson, were all avoidance behavior for her. She sipped from her teacup, then said, “Mr. Jones. Would you please honor me by removing your sunglasses so that I can see your eyes more clearly as you speak?”
Had he been rude? As Hannibal thought about it, it seemed obvious that he had, but wearing his shades was a habit. He apologized, pulled his glasses off, and tucked them into an inside jacket pocket. Mrs. Barek noted his eyes and nodded.
“I see you are not entirely a son of Africa yourself,” she said.
“No, ma’am. My father was African American but my mother was German”
“You speak of both in the past tense,” Mrs. Barek said. “You too have known loss.”
“Yes, ma’am. But to survive one’s parents, while painful, is natural. We are not meant to survive our children.”
This time he was certain that her smile was just like his mother’s used to be. “You are very kind,” she said. “Now, please tell me about my son’s death.”
Hannibal examined the portrait of some Moroccan ruler in a military uniform while he gathered his thoughts. He was grateful that this woman was patient. He wanted to get the story right the first time and there were other people’s feelings to consider in addition to hers.
“Here’s what I know,” he said, placing his palms together on the table with his fingers pointing toward her. “Your son apparently entered the country some years ago illegally. Using some very well forged papers and an apparent gift for storytelling, he enrolled in the University of Virginia.”
“I had such plans for Hamed,” Mrs. Barek said. “But he did not want to attend the private school I wanted to send him to, and he wanted to see the world. So, he ran away from home, ran away to America.”
“From all reports he did well academically,” Hannibal said, wanting to say something positive. “But perhaps he was concerned that he would be found out if he stayed in one place too long. He transferred to Howard University. His transfer kept him in touch with a professor he met at UVA who had befriended him. The professor was also an African native. Algerian in fact.”
“This is Dr. Jamal Krada,” Mrs. Barek said.
“Yes ma’am. I didn’t realize you knew of him. Anyway, your son changed his name then, and claimed Liberian citizenship to deepen his cover. Later, when he returned to the States he changed his name again and, I think with Dr. Krada’s help, passed himself off as Algerian. But I’m getting ahead of myself. A couple of important things happened while he was a student at Howard. First, he met and fell in love with a Russian girl named Viktoriya Petrova. When she dropped out of college he got a part-time job at the Russia House here in the city, where her family socialized. There he met a money launderer for the Red Mafiya named Boris Tolstaya.”
Mrs. Barek made a dismissive noise by puffing air through her lips. “This is an evil man. I cautioned Hamed when he came home. But a woman cannot choose her son’s friends.”
“Well, Mr. Tolstaya involved your son in his schemes, which involved moving cash out of the U.S. and effectively making it disappear through the use of foreign banks.”
Mrs. Barek slapped a palm on the table. “This is when Hamed came home. He was a new man, ambitious and smart. Mr. Jones, I would not normally reveal so much to a stranger, but I feel that the more you know, the more likely I am to get to the truth. So you should know tht I used what influence I had to move Hamed into a diplomatic position. But then, on a scheduled trip back to the United States he disappeared again.”
“Right,” Hannibal said. “I figure he must have purchased false documents in advance. He left home as Hamid Barek headed for this building, but he arrived as Dani Gana from Algeria. He also arrived with a quarter million dollars. Someone killed him for that money, but I don’t know who.”
“Did he suffer?”
“Ma’am, the murderer shot him twice with a small-caliber handgun.”
“But was it quick at least?”
Hannibal felt he owed her the truth. “I’m sorry, but it was not quick. It was mean and amateurish. After being shot once, your son left the house he was in, apparently to lead the killer away from his wife and the money, which he had withdrawn from the bank. This was money that Boris Tolstaya had given him to launder. It appears that his only reason for returning to the United States was to win this girl he was in love with. The girl, Viktoriya, would not marry him without her mother’s blessing. He stole the money from Tolstaya to show his prospective mother-in-law how prosperous and successful he was. I believe now that he intended to take his new wife home with him.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Barek said. “I appreciate your frankness. However, I’m afraid you are wrong on one point. My son is not a thief.” Her face was set in stone. It was like staring into the visage of the sphinx.
“I’m sorry ma’am, but where do you think he got such a sum?”
Her black eyes burrowed into Hannibal’s. This was what he felt when he faced her son days ago. When she spoke, it was clear that it was to be the final declaration on the subject.
“I do not know. He is gone now, and cannot defend himself or explain his actions. But I know the money was not stolen because my son was not a thief.”
Hannibal thought maybe he understood. There was the truth and there was the truth. Whatever was said about Hamed Barek after this conversation would become the truth. She was now the childless woman of a childless son. His reputation would live as his only legacy forever and would represent his family forever. Hannibal sat back and sipped his tea. Her eyes were hard but they were also pleading. He had to stand his own obsessive dedication to the truth against her obsessive dedication to her family’s public image. Plus, he knew that offending her would end his chances of getting any further information from her. When he spoke, it was with unusual delicacy, stepping through a minefield of words, looking for safe footing.
“It could be,” he said, “that matters have become confused. After all, Hamed Barek was an honored member of your foreign service. It could be that in fact an Algerian named Dani Gana stole money from the Russian mob. But somehow your son was killed for that money. If the funds were recovered, this mystery could be put to rest.”
Mrs. Barek nodded and smiled, the sphinx transformed to Mona Lisa. “You are unusually wise for such a young man. But still, you don’t know all. Hamed was not killed for this money. This money is not lost.”
It took Hannibal a moment to wrap his brain around her words. “You?”
She smiled again.
“How?”
“A large package arrived at my home, delivered by diplomatic courier. American bills, one hundred dollar denominations, totaling more than two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Hamed sent the money home through the embassy.”
“Yes, but Viktoriya…” Hannibal cut himself off. Viktoriya had implied that Hamed/Dani left with the money after he was shot or that the killer took the money. But did she ever actually see a suitcase full of cash? A few thousand on top of a duffel bag full of clothes would have looked the same to her. Hamed may have kept that much for show money, and simply led her to believe that he had all of it with him, rather than tell his new bride that he had sent his fortune home to mama.