“Right. And in all honesty, I don’t think so.”
“Why?” Holmes asked.
“Three things. First, the weapon used was small caliber, 22 or maybe a.25. A deadly enough weapon, obviously, but in my experience terrorists tend to overdo it when it comes to weaponry. A.22 isn’t overdoing it.”
“Maybe,” Holmes said, “but terrorists are assassins, and the.22 is perfect for assassins.”
“True. But that brings me to my second point. The shots aren’t from an assassin, they were fired by someone far less skilled. None were heart shots, let alone head shots. There was no kill shot at the end. Honestly, Senator, whoever was on the other end of that gun was no pro.”
“And your third reason?” Holmes asked.
“The mutilation to Elserdi’s shoulder. Maybe even the fact that she was killed, too.”
“What do you mean?” Taylor said.
“If she was related to a terrorist group and was planning to use Maxwell to infiltrate the embassy somehow, I don’t see why the pair of them would end up dead before that plan had been realized.”
“Fair point,” Taylor nodded.
“And the mutilation. That’s the work of someone with a personal interest in the girl, or what she stands for. Not a ruthless terrorist executing infidels.”
“What kind of personal interest?” Taylor asked, waving in his secretary.
Hugo paused as she placed a tray bearing a silver coffeepot and cups on the table between the men. When she’d closed the door behind her, he went on. “My guess is she had some sort of tattoo there. Somehow he took offense to it and slashed it up. What I don’t know is how the killer knew about the tattoo. That’s what makes me wonder about a personal connection between her and the killer.”
“Like a colleague in a terrorist cell,” Holmes said.
Hugo shrugged. “Maybe, but I don’t think so. Perhaps when we get the autopsy report and can look at the crime scene photos, we’ll know more.” He turned to Taylor. “Do you know if those are coming our way?”
“I’ve asked,” Taylor said. “We’ll have to see how cooperative they are.”
“I have to say,” Holmes said, frowning, “and with all due respect, I disagree. It seems too far-fetched that this woman from a Muslim country would happen to hook up with my son, my son who was about to start work at the embassy. And then they wind up at a famous cemetery, near the grave of a famous American, and are shot dead. I just can’t believe that’s all chance.”
The three men looked up as the door opened and Tom appeared. He’d been gone from the apartment when Hugo woke that morning, and apparently he’d been busy because he looked pale and tired.
“Sit down, Tom,” Ambassador Taylor said. Hugo noticed that Tom and Norris Holmes barely nodded at each other.
“I chauffeured him from the airport,” Tom said to Hugo, as if reading his mind. “OK, folks, some news. Our little Egyptian turns out to be from a little farther east than she claimed.”
“Saudi?” Taylor asked.
“Keep going,” Tom said. “Her real name is Abida Kiani, and she hails from the fair city of Karachi.”
“Pakistan?” Hugo said. “So her passport was a fake.”
“And not a very good one,” Tom said, nodding. “Although it was good enough to get her past a French customs officer. She must have guessed he’d not look at an Egyptian passport held by a pretty girl as hard as he would a Pakistani passport in the hands of, well, pretty much anyone.”
“There you are,” Holmes said, sitting forward. “Surely that changes things. If she’s not a terrorist, why does she have a false passport?”
“No idea,” said Hugo.
“So you agree this could be terrorism-related?” Taylor asked, looking directly at Hugo.
“Not really,” Hugo said, his voice low. “And I know you don’t want to hear this, Senator, but I really don’t. I think there will be another explanation for the fake passport, and I think the embassy connection is just a coincidence. I’m sorry, but in my opinion your son’s death was a tragic and senseless act of violence. One that was, essentially, random.”
Tom held up a hand. “Not random, actually.”
All three men turned to look at him, and Hugo spoke. “What do you have?”
“The man she traveled here with. Well, we don’t have him, but we know his name. Mohammed Al Zakiri.”
“Means nothing to me,” said Hugo.
“I know what it sounds like to me,” Senator Holmes said.
“Your xenophobic inclinations would be right,” Tom said. “He’s on several terrorist watch lists. He’s the son of a fairly prominent mullah in Pakistan but has been out of circulation for a year.”
“Out of circulation?” Holmes leaned forward. “What does that mean?”
“Terrorist training camps, is that what you’re thinking?” Hugo asked.
“Not just me, but the good people I work for,” Tom said. “They’re pretty sure. He’s graduated from being a religious nut to a fanatical terrorist.”
“Al-Qaeda?” Taylor asked.
“Or Taliban. Sometimes hard to tell the difference,” Tom grimaced. “But as best we can tell, individuals are being recruited and trained and then come over here, and by ‘here’ I mean the West, in ones and twos, for nefarious purposes. Either to gather intelligence or to commit acts of terror, depending on the individual’s background. Given Al Zakiri’s educated upbringing, I’m guessing he’s in the intelligence field.”
“How come the French missed him at the airport?”
“The same way they missed the girl,” Tom said. “False passport.” Tom looked at the faces around him. “And just so you know, we’re now looking for an Egyptian-born Frenchman by the name of Pierre Labord.”
Chapter Six
The four men sat in silence for a moment. The only sound came from the far corner of the room, an antique clock whose old heart ticked with a steady, hollow beat, a gift from Hugo to the ambassador last Christmas.
Senator Holmes was the first to speak, but his voice was a whisper. “My boy. He got in their way. Those goddamn terrorists killed my boy.”
“Ambassador,” Hugo started. He kept his tone formal, knowing that Holmes would not like what he had to say. “I’d like us to remain open to the possibility that this is a terrible coincidence. I know how it looks, with this Al Zakiri connection, but I just want to point out that the murders themselves, they look unplanned and personal. All I’m asking is that we keep an open mind.”
Taylor nodded but beside him Holmes stood, his face reddening. “Bullshit. My son was killed because somehow a terrorist found out who he was. I don’t know if he lured him to that place, using the girl, but it sure as shit makes sense. The son of a high-profile American murdered near a famous American’s grave, in one of Paris’s busiest tourist destinations. How does that add up, Mr. Ambassador?”
Holmes stood for a moment longer, panting and looking hard at each man, then sank back into his seat, spent.
Hugo watched Tom, waiting for him to react, knowing that Senator Holmes was right, on the face of it, but curious to see Tom’s take. While Ambassador Taylor would have to mollify Holmes, the ambassador would know that Hugo and Tom’s friendship wouldn’t influence the CIA man one whit. Eventually, Tom spoke.
“Right now it doesn’t matter who’s right and who’s wrong. The simple truth is, if we treat this as a terrorist act we get more resources from our people and more cooperation from the French. We need both of those things to catch this fuckhead Al Zakiri and, if he didn’t kill your son, we can use those resources to get whoever did.”
Tom held Hugo’s eye. They were thinking the same thing, but neither wanted to say it, not here and now: We’ll also get a whole heap of pressure and interference from politicians, and maybe jobs as traffic cops, if we don’t find Al Zakiri.