Death of a Pawn: A WMD Companion Short Story

Chapter Four

Alberto Nisman asked the taxi driver to let him out three blocks from the US embassy. As he walked through the empty streets, enjoying the early morning summer sunshine, he sighed to himself. How long had it been since he’d taken a day off, a real day off? Not just a day away from the office, a real day without work occupying his mind. Try as he might, he could not remember. Ever since his divorce, it seemed like the only satisfaction he could gain from life was through work, but lately even that had started to feel hollow.

Alberto paused on the corner and drew a deep breath with his eyes closed. He let it out slowly, trying to clear his mind and his lungs at the same time.

Only a few more weeks. Once I deliver my report to Congress, my work is done.

He shook himself. When this investigation was finally put to rest next month, he would take a vacation with his daughters. Just the three of them, on a beach somewhere… yes, he would do it. After giving seventeen years of his life to this damned investigation, he deserved it.

Alberto jaywalked across the Avenida Colombia, arriving at the main gate of the US embassy with a new spring in his step. The US flag flapped gently in the light breeze, high above the heavy, black iron bars that surrounded the compound. At the window, he slid his identification under the bulletproof glass. Security guards at the US embassies around the world were usually locally hired personnel, always with extensive background checks.

“You may proceed, sir,” came the reply from the guard — in Spanish — as he buzzed Nisman through the first gate and into the portico entry area. After his briefcase was X-rayed and he’d passed through a metal detector, he was buzzed through a second secure door into the embassy compound itself.

“Mr. Nisman, it is good to see you again, sir.” Jane Carver approached him with her hand outstretched, speaking in perfect Spanish. Although she only appeared to be in her mid-thirties, Alberto knew from their previous meetings that Buenos Aires was her fourth embassy assignment. In the beginning, he’d had reservations about this woman acting as the liaison with the Argentinean legal authorities. In their first meeting, she admitted she’d never even heard of the AMIA bombing before she was given the liaison assignment.

His concerns proved unfounded. After taking time to understand the impact the bombing had on so many Argentinians, she became an expert on the topic. More than that, Jane Carver became an advocate for him.

Jane coordinated official meetings with the FBI Liaison Officer, who traveled to Buenos Aires every couple of months for coordination with Argentinean authorities on a host of issues besides the AMIA investigation, such as drug trafficking, terrorism, and money laundering. But it was her close — often unofficial — association with the CIA Station Chief that yielded results for Alberto.

He could use some good information today.

They exchanged pleasantries as Jane led the way to the conference room. She walked quickly with long, athletic strides, and he set his pace to match. The conference room was located away from the consular section, where it was unlikely they would see any other Argentinean citizens. It was not a crime for him to be here, of course, but it was prudent for government officials of Nisman’s stature to keep a low profile in dealing with the Americans. Tensions between Washington, DC, and Buenos Aires were not terrible, just not overly friendly.

They took seats at the conference table and Carver offered Nisman some coffee and Danish, both of which he promptly accepted. It was only 8AM. These Americans start work far too early in the morning.

Carver poured coffee for them both, then pulled ten file folders from her bag, none of them very thick. Carver handed him half the folders, and stacked the remaining five in front of her in overlapping style. Nisman opened his briefcase and pulled out his legal notepad and two pens — one black, one red.

“Shall we start with Rabbani?”

Nisman nodded his head. He scanned through the details of Mossen Rabbani’s file, marking an item in red here and there, circling items in black ink elsewhere. Rabbani had been the Cultural Attaché at the Iranian embassy when the AMIA attack happened. Nisman had seen all of this information before. His report was due in only a few weeks, and Carver’s insistence on this meeting had raised his hopes that she had something new for him.

“Ms. Carver, this is helpful, thank you. I’ve seen the files on all of these men before. Can you tell me if there is any new information? Anything that might solidify the connection between Iran and our current administration here in Buenos Aires?”

She toyed with her coffee cup, not meeting Alberto’s gaze. Jane was normally open with him, sometimes almost too direct in her remarks. This was most odd.

“Ms. Carver? Jane? Is there something wrong?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Nisman, this is all we have. You must remember, this case is very old. What we call a ‘cold case.’ I’ve been directed to tell you that we believe your pursuit of Iranian influence in these matters is the right path, but we’ve given you all the information we have.” She was spinning her coffee cup now and still would not meet his gaze.

Alberto opened his briefcase. “Well, thank you for your assistance. I do appreciate America’s continued interest in helping Argentina solve this crime.”

He had closed his briefcase and was about to stand up when Jane Carver reached across the table and clamped her hand on his wrist. She leaned close to him and dropped her voice to just above a whisper.

“There’s more,” she said, “but I’ve been told to stay out of it.” Alberto noticed the warm brown of her eyes and the redness of her lips. Her breath still smelled of the coffee they’d drank together.

“We’ve received unofficial word that you may be in danger. It’s just chatter, but it’s a concern. The sources are such that we don’t want to share the information with your intelligence services.”

Alberto felt his mouth go dry. He licked his lips. Death threats went with the job of special prosecutor, but Jane seemed so earnest, so concerned for his safety. “Where? Where is this ‘chatter’ coming from?”

Jane’s grip on his wrist tightened. “I can’t tell you.”

Alberto jerked his hand away. “What am I supposed to do with that? There’s ‘chatter,’ but you won’t give me details?”

Jane’s face softened. “I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. “I could be fired for what I’ve told you already. Alberto, you know I respect you and the work you’ve done.” She bit her lip and moved even closer. “Don’t trust anyone.”

It took the entire taxi ride back to his office to get his nerves under control again. Normally, death threats were intercepted by his ten-man security detail. It was rare for him to receive direct intelligence about someone wanting to do him harm. The fact that Jane had seemed so concerned added to his unease.

Diego was waiting in his office with Alberto’s laptop.

“Diego,” Nisman said, “you are a sight for sore eyes. How was your date last night, my friend?”

Diego broke into a smile as he prepared to launch into his latest sexual conquest. Alberto once told his friend he was dating virtually through Diego. The broad smile faded when he saw Alberto’s face. “What’s the matter?”

Diego Lagomarsino had been on Nisman’s team for years as a technology specialist. Officially, he worked to protect their IT system from intrusions, a vital role in such a high profile investigation. Unofficially, he was Alberto’s tech consultant. Nisman, at fifty-one years of age, was right at that buffer zone between those who could easily adapt to new technology and those for whom technology was nothing more than a confusing jumble of apps and acronyms. Alberto was determined to be one of the adaptable crowd.

More important at the moment, Diego was his friend. Alberto considered telling the younger man about the encounter at the US embassy, but he decided against it. Instead he forced a laugh. “It’s nothing, Diego. Just a rough morning. I need to get to work, my friend.”

Alberto shooed Diego from his office and lost himself in his work. The tension from the morning meeting with Jane had all but receded when his phone rang. He picked it up on the second ring.

“Nisman.”

“Alberto, Jaime here. Can we meet for dinner? Tonight.”

Nisman sat up at Jaime Stuisso’s abrupt tone.

“Certainly. The usual place?”

“9PM.” Jaime hung up without another word.

Alberto stared at the dead handset. They’d agreed Alberto’s phone was probably bugged, but the brevity of the call — and Jaime’s tone — set off more alarm bells in Alberto’s head. He took another deep, cleansing breath, remembering Jane’s warning.

Jaime Stuisso, a senior intelligence operative in the Argentinean Secretariat of Intelligence, had been one of Nisman’s most trusted sources of information on the Iranian connection to the AMIA bombing. Stuisso’s information had helped Alberto make the final critical, incriminating connections between the Argentinean government and Iran.

What he’d found took his breath away — and made him sick to his stomach. Rather than trying to bring the Hezbollah operatives and their Iranian backers to justice, the government of Argentina was offering to cover up their past involvement in the AMIA bombing in exchange for a trade deal. According to Stuisso and at least partially corroborated by the Americans, Foreign Minister Timerman had offered to lift the extradition requests for the six wanted Iranian officials if the Iranians would agree to an oil deal. It made perfect sense. Argentina needed oil, and Iran needed cash to offset the international sanctions that were strangling her economy.

Quid pro quo.

Alberto could still recall the feeling when he’d finally pieced the puzzle together. Exultation, fulfillment at being proven right after all this time, and deep betrayal that his government would allow those responsible for the AMIA bombing — which had killed eighty-five citizens — to go free.

His despair had turned to anger when he dug deeper. Something in Stuisso’s file bothered him. Alberto followed the money trail and found evidence of $23 million in Iranian bribes for President Fernandez de Kirchner. Corruption. Of the highest-ranking politician in Argentina.

Before he’d scheduled his meeting with the congressional committee for Monday, January 19, 2015, he checked and rechecked his sources. His case was rock solid. Still, the thought of accusing the highest official in the land of bribery and conspiracy to subvert international justice made his stomach twist in knots.

I’d better be right about this.