“I’m pleased to meet you,” I said. For about an hour I told him about the magazine, asking questions I thought would be expected of a business manager coming to a new country to set up operations. His answers were somewhat vague, and were mostly characterized by the sentence, “Don’t worry, I can arrange it, I’ve got contacts.” One would wonder why “contacts” were necessary for simple things such as incorporating a company, renting an office, or leasing a car. The impression I received of Ahmed was that he was more a “fixer” than a lawyer. I had no evidence, but I had the distinct feeling I could steal horses with him, if the price were right. I realized of course that such a quality could go in the opposite direction as well. I had to make sure to play this right.
He then brought up the matter of Albert Ward. “I understand you’re looking for him?” he asked.
“Yes, he was a very good photographer, and I’ve got an interesting assignment for him-that is, if I find him.”
“I’ve got contacts,” he said. “Would you be willing to pay for the information?”
“Well,” I said, “what do you have in mind?”
“It may cost up to $1,000,” he said, surveying my face for a reaction.
“That’s too much,” I said. “We don’t need him that badly.” He wasn’t about to let go, and I knew it. The bean counters in Washington would be all over me if I spent that much money on a tip that might be dry and covered with sixty generations of spider webs.
“What were you thinking, then?” he said.
“No more than $250,” I said.
“Maybe $400?”
“No. $250. If the information is accurate and I find him, I’m willing to pay $100 more as a bonus.”
The following morning I woke up by the ring of my mobile phone. “Good morning, Mr. Van Laufer. This is Ahmed Khan.”
“Good morning,” I said, rubbing my eyes and looking at my watch. It was almost nine. I had overslept.
“I’ve got information about Albert Ward. Can I meet you in my office?”
“Could you come to my hotel? I need to be here to meet some people.” In fact I had no such plans, but I didn’t trust Ahmed, and the idea of going into town just to meet him didn’t seem right.
“Sure,” he said. “I can meet you at twelve thirty.”
“Good,” I said. “Meet me at the Dynasty Restaurant at the hotel.”
CHAPTER TEN
Ahmed Khan met me at twelve fifteen as I was crossing the lobby to buy a newspaper. We sat at a table in the corner. I looked at him, waiting for the news.
“Albert Ward left money in his bank account at the Peninsula Bank,” he said. I was motionless.
“How much?”
“Around $2,000.”
“So?”
“He never came back for it.”
“I see,” I said. Ahmed Khan was selling me recycled information he had probably received from Rashid.
“The last transaction he did at the bank was to buy Iranian rials; he used $200 to purchase them.”
“So he went to Iran? Then I guess I’ll have to give up on him.” I was acting indifferent, but in fact this information made my heart go ballistic.
Ahmed wasn’t deterred. “I think I know where he went.”
That certainly aroused even more interest, but I wasn’t about to show it, or the price would go up immediately.
“Where?”
“To Tehran.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve got sources.”
I wasn’t about to cross-examine him over that. He’d have to give me something better for my $250, and he knew that.
“Do you have an address in Tehran?”
“Yes.”
“Current?”
He hesitated. “I don’t know, it could be. Please remember, Mr. Van Laufer, that he went to Tehran twenty years ago. He may have moved since.”
“So what good is it for me to have a twenty-year-old address? I need him now.”
“I can make some phone calls,” he said. “OK, please go ahead. I’ll be around.”
Ahmed called me in the afternoon. “I have developments,” he said. “But I’ll have to pay my source $300, and that will leave nothing for me.”
“What’s the information?”
“I’ll know more if you agree to pay the $300, and the $250 for me.”
“OK,” I said in feigned surrender. “Fine. Ward is really a great photographer.”
“I’ll come to night for the money,” he said.
“Well, you’ll have to bring the information as well. It’s not my personal money, it’s the magazine’s, and I must account for it.”
At six thirty Ahmed appeared, unannounced. He was excited. “I think something strange has happened,” he said.
“What?”
“Albert Ward arrived in Tehran on an invitation of Professor Manfred Krieger, who headed a German archaeological team for its excavation work in Tal-e Malyan. There were rumors of buried golden treasures of the Parthians and the Sasanians.” He went on and on. A class in history is usually interesting, but not at that moment. However, it was no time to demonstrate my impatience.
“How long did he work for them?”
“They signed him up for three months and paid his first month’s salary of $500 in advance.”
“Why would they do that?”
“I don’t know,” he said candidly, and it was the first time I believed a sentence he said. “This was shortly after the Islamic Revolution, and as an American he was probably afraid to go there, or at least to go and not be paid. So maybe this is how they made him come.”
Again, it seemed to me that Ahmed’s information had come from the same source: Peninsula Bank, and Rashid, its manager. I smelled a rat.
He brought his head closer to me, as if telling me a secret. “I think he was lured to Tehran for an entirely different reason.”
“Oh?”
“The money he received from the German archaeologists didn’t come from Germany.”
“So? Why is it important?” I said casually. “They could have paid him from their account in Tehran.”
“They could have. But the money came from Lugano, Switzerland.”
“This is too much detective work,” I said waving my hand in dismissal. “I’m just trying to help my magazine. Maybe I should let this thing go.”
“As you wish,” he said, clearly disappointed. “But if I were you, I’d look deeper into it. There might be a story behind it, although not for a magazine about wildlife, but for a news magazine. You could investigate it and end up with an interesting story.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that after Ward left Islamabad, there were three attempts by the transferring bank in Switzerland to reverse the money transfer and get the money back, claiming that the transfer was made by mistake.”
“Did the bank in Islamabad ever return the money?”
“No. Since it was already in Ward’s account, there was no way of doing it without Ward’s consent or a court order. And neither was obtained.”
“I see,” I said, trying to figure out how these bits of information fit into any of my theories. When I didn’t respond, Ahmed tried to ignite further interest in me. “Do you know who the bank that made the transfer was?”
“No. How would I know?”
“Al Taqwa Management, a Lugano-based financial institution.”
“Who are they?” I asked, although the name rang a bell.
“All I know is that they have ties to terrorist organizations.” “Oh,” I said. “I should stay away from this matter then.” Ahmed gave me a long look. “OK, then can I have my money?”
I gave him $300. “Please sign a receipt,”
He quickly wrote down a receipt on a blank piece of paper. “I’m giving you only $300 because you didn’t give me a current address, but still it’s more than the $250 I promised you.”
Obviously he didn’t like that, but I threw in an incentive. “If you find him, I’ll still be thankful. Anyway, we should talk about the main reason I came here, the incorporation of a company to publish our magazine. I’ll call you this week.”
Time to go back to the embassy. This matter was getting into areas outside my original assignment. I called Ned Applebee.