Death of the Falcon

Chapter 11

I still hadn’t dropped my gun or raised my hands, but Abdul left Sherima’s side and walked over to take the Luger away from me. There was little I could do at the moment except let him take it. If Candy pulled the trigger on me, there was no hope for the sobbing woman whose head had slumped forward on her breast. Her world was shattering into a billion pieces, and for her, physical pain was forgotten. The raw creases that the ropes had cut into her wrists and splayed ankles was no longer nearly as brutal as the process of her life disintegrating — a process that had begun when she’d been forced to leave the man she loved and her children.

“Now, if you will just move over against the wall, Mr. Carter,” Abdul said, gesturing with my gun where he wanted me to go.

Playing for time, I asked him: “Why don’t you let Candy tell Sherima why she sold her out? You’ve got nothing to lose now.”

“Nothing but time,” he said, turning to order the gunman on the cot to come and guard me. As the man picked up his automatic rifle and began walking toward me, he paused to look down at his dead companion. Rage crossed his face and he raised the rifle threateningly and pointed it at me.

“Stop!” Abdul commanded, still speaking to him in Arabic. “He must not be killed with that weapon. When everything is ready, you may use the pistol which you used on the ones upstairs.”

Sherima lifted her head to look at me questioningly. Apparently, she had been kept outside until the Sword’s men had disposed of the CIA’s resident agents. “There’s a ‘nice young couple’ dead upstairs,” I told her. “At least, the lady next door described them as nice.”

“They were spies for your imperialistic CIA,” Abdul snarled at me. “We knew all about this house for some time, Mr. Carter. Selim here,” he continued, nodding toward the man at the desk who had gone back to his paperwork once I was disarmed, “was quite helpful on that score. He is attached to security at the embassy, and once had to escort Shah Hassan here when our illustrious monarch was in Washington to get his orders from his masters in the CIA. That meeting lasted almost six hours, and Selim had ample opportunity to memorize the layout of the house. For spies, they were not very clever; Selim was even permitted to stand guard outside the secret door to this room and see how it operated while he waited for Hassan.”

“The Shah never took orders from anyone!” Sherima snapped at her former bodyguard. “I remember him telling me about that meeting when he returned to Sidi Hassan. The CIA was briefing him on what was going on in the rest of the Mideast so that he could protect himself from those who pretended to be our friends while they were making plans to take the throne away from him.”

“Who besides you and Hassan believe that fabrication?” Abdul said smugly. “By the time we are finished, everyone in the Arab world will know of his treachery and how he let himself and his people be used by the imperialist war-mongers. And how he became their running dog, thanks to you”

When Sherima’s attractive face showed a big question mark, Abdul gloated. “Oh yes, my lady,” he said, walking back to her side, “Didn’t you know? You are the one who so clouded Hassan’s mind that he could not determine what was best for his country. You used this evil body of yours to inflame him with passion so that he could not see who his true friends were.” To emphasize his point, Abdul reached out and stroked Sherima’s breasts and thighs salaciously as she tried to twist away from his torturous caresses; pain from her coarse bonds and nausea from his barbaric touch mirrored in her face at the same time.

“Then, when you had made Hassan your love slave,” Abdul continued, “you began to pass on to him the orders from your masters here in Washington.”

“That’s a lie!” Sherima said, her face flushed again, this time from anger rather than embarrassment at what her former servant was doing to her body. “Hassan’s only thought was of what was best for his people. And you know that is true, Abdul. He trusted you as a friend and often confided in you, too, from the day you saved his life.”

“Of course I know it, Your Highness,” Abdul admitted. “But who will believe that when the world sees the evidence Selim is preparing here — evidence that already is waiting to be handed over to the mighty Shah when we send word of your death at the hands of the CIA.”

Sherima gasped. “You intend to kill me and blame it on the CIA? Why should the Shah believe that lie? Especially if you are going to insinuate that I worked for the CIA.”

Abdul turned to me, saying, “Tell her, Mr. Carter. I am certain that by now you have figured out my plan.”

I didn’t want to reveal just how much AXE knew of the Sword’s plot, so I merely said, “Well, they might try to convince the Shah that you were killed because you had decided to expose the CIA’s operations in Adabi to Hassan and the rest of the world.”

“Precisely, Mr. Carter!” Abdul said. “I see that you people in the Executive Protection Service have some brains, too. We had assumed that you were little more than glorified bodyguards, good for nothing better than to stand outside embassies and consular offices.”

The Sword didn’t know it, but he had answered a big question that had been on my mind since he first had said he was expecting me at the CIA safe house. He obviously didn’t know about AXE or who I really was. I looked over at Candy, who had been standing silently, still holding a little gun in her hand during the entire conversation between Abdul and Sherima.

“I guess I have you to thank for telling him who I am, Lovely,” I said. Her face was defiant as I continued, “You use that body of yours pretty well to get what information you want. Thanks.”

She didn’t reply, but Abdul chuckled and said, “Yes, Mr. Carter, she does use that body of hers well.” From the way he sneered as he spoke, I realized that he, too, had experienced the delights of Candy’s love games. “But, in your case,” he went on, “it was not uncontrollable passion that influenced her. You were treated to her pleasures as my guest — at my instructions. I needed to know just where you fit into the picture, and once she discovered that you, too, were in the employ of the capitalists’ government, I decided to include you in my plans.”

“It was my pleasure,” I said, speaking to Candy rather than to Abdul. “Tell me, Candy, the man on Sherima’s balcony — was it an accident when you drove my knife into his throat? Or were you afraid that he was going to talk and tell me that the Sword was on the Watergate roof, too, directing the abduction attempt on Sherima?”

The big hazel eyes refused to look at me, and Candy still didn’t speak. Abdul wasn’t nearly so reticent, however. Satisfied his plot to destroy Shah Hassan was going to succeed and that there was nothing standing in his way, he seemed almost eager to discuss every facet of the operation.

“That was very clever of her, wasn’t it, Mr. Carter?” he said condescendingly. “I heard about it when I came down to Sherima’s room to see what had gone wrong. That was when I told her to keep you occupied for the rest of the night while we made off with Her Highness… excuse me, Her ex-Highness. Imagine, that old fool of a hotel detective thought he could stop us. He walked right up and wanted to know what I was doing at the door to the suite at that hour, flaunting his hotel badge as though I were a peeping torn.” He didn’t add the obvious — that he wouldn’t have had to kill the old man — Abdul was, after all, recognized as Sherima’s official bodyguard.

“Unfortunately for him, that may be just what he thought,” I said. “He didn’t really know what was going on, only that he was to protect the lady from being bothered.” That had been our mistake, I admitted to myself.

Sherima, horrified by all that she had heard in the past few minutes, once more demanded of her old school friend, “Why, Candy? How could you do this to me? You know that His Highness and I both loved you. Why?”

The question finally got through to Candy. Eyes blazing, she said scornfully, “Sure, Hassan loved me. That’s why he killed my father!”

“Your father!” Sherima exclaimed. “Candy, you know your father was slain by the same man who tried to kill the Shah. Your father saved Hassan’s life by sacrificing his own. And now you do this to him and me.”

“My father didn’t sacrifice his life!” Candy was almost shouting, and crying at the same time. “Hassan killed him! He pulled my father in front of him to save his own lousy life when the assassin came at him. I swore that I would get even with Hassan when I heard about it, and now I’m going to do it”

“That’s not true, Candy,” Sherima told her passionately. “Hassan was so surprised when that man broke into the palace reception room and went for him, that he just stood still. Your father jumped in front of him and got stabbed. Then Abdul killed the assassin.”

“How do you know?” Candy shot back at her. “Were you there?”

“No,” Sherima admitted. “You know I was with you at the time. But Hassan told me all about it later. He felt responsible for your father’s death, and then responsible for you. You—”

“He was responsible! He was a coward and my father died because of it! He just couldn’t face up to telling you the truth, because then you’d know he was a coward, too.”

“Candy,” Sherima implored her, “my father told me the same thing. And he wouldn’t have lied about something like that. He was your father’s best friend, and—”

Candy wouldn’t listen. Interrupting Sherima again, she yelled, “Your dad was just like mine. A company man first. And the oil company couldn’t afford to have his people know that Hassan was a coward, or they wouldn’t have supported him. Then the precious company would have gotten tossed out of the country. Hassan lied and everybody who worked for the oil company backed him up.”

I had been watching the Sword as the two girls argued, and the smirk on his face raised a question in my mind. Candy didn’t sound like herself, I thought. It was almost as if she were repeating a story that had been told to her over and over. I broke in to ask a question of my own. “Candy, who told you about what happened that day?”

She turned to face me again. “Abdul. And he’s the only one who was there who had nothing to lose by telling me the truth. He almost got killed by that man that day, too. But he wasn’t a coward. He stepped right up to that crazy assassin and shot him down. Hassan was just lucky Abdul was there or the man would have gotten him right after my father.”

“When did he tell you about it?” I asked.

“That same night. He came around to see me and to try to comfort me. He just happened to let slip something about what really happened, and I pried the rest of it out of him. He made me promise not to tell anybody what the Shah had done. He said it wouldn’t be good for the country at the time if everybody knew that the Shah was a coward. It was our secret. I told you everyone has secrets, Nick.”

“Enough of this,” Abdul suddenly said sharply. “We have much to be done here. Selim, how are the papers coming? Are you almost finished?”

“Five minutes more.” It was the first time the embassy official had spoken since I entered the room. “I have used the code book we found upstairs to prepare a report that indicates Her Highness — the former Queen — has informed her superiors that she no longer believes that what the CIA has done in Adabi is right, and that she regrets helping them all this time. She has threatened to expose the CIA to His Highness and to the press of the world.”

“What else?” Abdul demanded.

“The paper I am completing now is a coded message instructing the people in the house to dispose of Sherima if they can’t change her mind. They are to make it look like an accident if possible. If not, she is to be shot and her body disposed of in such a manner that it never will be found. In that event, the message continues, a cover story will be released saying that it is believed that she has disappeared because she fears the Black September movement is going to take her life. The other paper is ready too.”

I had to admit that the Sword had worked out a setup that was certain to put the CIA — and in doing so, the United States government — on the spot with Shah Hassan and the world in general. I was thinking about the potential ramifications of the scheme when Candy suddenly asked me:

“Nick, you said you were expecting me. How did you know? How did I give myself away?”

“On the way out here, I remembered two things,” I told her. “First, something that one of the men who followed you and Abdul to Potomac this morning had reported. He had watched when Abdul stopped at the gas station, and both of you used the phone. That reminded me that I asked you if you had had a chance to hear whom Abdul called or see what number he dialed, when you phoned me later at the Watergate. And you said you hadn’t gone into the station with him. But you had, my dear. Only you didn’t know that someone had seen you do it and had reported it.”

“So those were men from the Executive Protection Service following us, Mr. Carter,” Abdul said. “I wondered about that, but I have not had enough experience in this country to be able to recognize all of the various undercover operators. But I did not think one of them had risked getting so close as to watch us in the station. I thought they waited around the curve until they saw us swing back onto the road.”

“Where you drove slowly enough for your men in the camper to reach the ambush point,” I added.

“Exactly.”

“You made two calls, Abdul,” I told him and he nodded in agreement. “I know the one was to the men in the house here, who were holding Sherima prisoner— after killing the man and woman. Who was the other call to… Selim?”

“Right again, Mr. Carter. I had to tell him that I would soon be picking him up. After Miss Knight and I staged our little charade in Georgetown for your benefit so you could be lured directly here.”

“Then your call had to be to a cab company,” I said, looking at Candy. “You had to arrange to have a cab right at the boutique so you could make your fast exit and be sure to get away before that girl followed you outside to ask any questions.”

“Correct once more,” Abdul said, not letting Candy answer me. He wanted to be certain that he got all the credit for planning the whole setup. “And it worked, Mr. Carter. You are here, as planned.”

I wanted to deflate him a little, so I said, “Actually, that bit with the cab was what got me thinking about Candy and the many coincidences that involved her. Only in movies does someone run out of a building and get a cab right away. It’s like the hero always finding a parking spot just where he wants it. Anyway, I remembered that it was Candy’s idea to take that little walk around Georgetown, and that she insisted on spending last night with me while Sherima was abducted. Then I recalled the phone calls at the gas station, and everything fell into place.”

“Too late, I’m afraid, Mr. Carter,” Abdul said. He turned to the man at the desk who had started to pick up his papers and tuck something — the CIA code book, I guessed — into his pocket. “Are you ready, Selim?”

“Yes.” He handed the Sword several slips of paper that he’d been working on, and said, “These are the ones which are to be found in the house.” His leader took them, then held out his hand again. Selim looked at him for a moment, then sheepishly handed over the code book from his pocket. “I just thought I should take care of it,” he apologized. “There is always the chance that when the police come they might search you and it would not be wise to have it in your possession.”

“Of course, my friend,” Abdul said, throwing a beefy arm around his shoulder. “It was good of you to think of my safety. But I will worry about that and, at the same time, I will remove any temptation from your path. There are those who would pay much to get their hands on this little book, and it is best that the money comes directly to me and our glorious Silver Scimitar movement. Is that not so, Selim?”

The little document forger from the embassy nodded quickly in agreement and seemed relieved when the Sword relaxed the bear hug he had around the man’s shoulder. “Now, you know what you are to do?”

“I will go directly back to the embassy, and then—” He stopped short, looked startled and asked, “What of the car I was to use? And Muhammed who was to bring this Carter here? What has happened to him?”

Abdul turned to me. “Ah yes, Mr. Carter. I have been meaning to ask you about Muhammed. I assume he suffered the same fate as our friends from the Black Liberation Army in Georgetown. And the others.”

I was just about to answer him when I saw the questioning look on Candy’s face and decided that she didn’t know about “the others.” Thinking back on the trio of Japanese who had been lying in wait for us at Great Falls, I had another revelation and tucked the idea away for future use. “If Muhammed is the man who was waiting outside my room, he was detained. He asked me to tell you that he would be late. Very late. In fact, I don’t think he’ll make it at all.”

Abdul nodded. “I suspected as much,” he said.

“Candy, were you watching when Mr. Carter arrived as I instructed you? How did he get here?”

“I saw him get out of a car that he parked around the corner,” she said. “It was a Vega.”

“Again, as I suspected,” Abdul said, bowing to me. “It seems we have much to repay you for, Mr. Carter, including bringing our car here so that Selim can return to the embassy.” He held out his hand. “May I have the keys? Reach for them very carefully.” He gestured to the killer with the automatic rifle, and I saw his finger close slightly on the trigger.

I fished the key ring out of my pocket and started to throw it to the man with the rifle. “No! To me,” Abdul said quickly, alert to any suspicious move on my part. I did as he instructed, then he handed the car keys to his man Selim, saying, “Continue with your instructions.”

“At the embassy, I am to wait for your call. When it comes, I telephone the police and say that you have called me from this address, saying that you have found Her Highness murdered. Then I radio His Highness of what has occurred.”

“And how did I get to this address?”

“I sent you here when it appeared that Her Highness was missing. I recalled that His Royal Highness once had me take him to this house to meet with some Americans, and I thought that perhaps Her Highness had come here to visit her American friends. And I know nothing more about whose house it is, or anything.”

“Good. Do not forget a word of what I have told you, Selim,” Abdul said, patting him on the back. “Go now and await my call. Mustapha Bey will pick up the car later and return it to the rental agency. Park it in the lot near the embassy and tell the attendant someone will come for the keys.” As Abdul flicked a switch inside the hideout similar to the one on the post outside, the heavy door swung open again. He had a final word for his man after checking his watch. “It is now six o’clock. You should be at the embassy in half an hour and we should be finished here by that time. Expect my call between six-thirty and six-forty-five. Allah be with you.”

“And with you, Seif Allah,” the traitorous Adabian official said as the concrete panel closed again, sealing us in the soundproof room with Sherima and me staring certain death in the face.