The Bottom Falls Out
Chapter 42
The other dead body was easily identified as belonging to Rashid Misfer Al-Hajiri, a senior Bhutari official in the country’s intelligence and security service. It didn’t take much sleuthing since his true passport was found on his person. A quick call to his secretary in the capital of Dhara determined he was traveling outside the country and she didn’t know when he might return. The answer was never, although that fact of life wasn’t mentioned.
As to Vlad, his house was searched top to bottom and several items of interest were found by Jabbar and his officers. He had two passports with his likeness; one in the name of Tomas Becker, a Maltese, and the other Robert Armstrong, a Canadian citizen. Both were excellent forgeries in my opinion and my opinion carried some weight when it came to such things.
The Diplomatic Security Service was responsible for investigating passport and visa fraud. It was the bread and butter underpinning for the law enforcement powers of the organization. The service also had two special agents assigned to Interpol in France to round out an international team of document researchers and examiners. Their job not only included detecting fairly mundane instances of fraud, but, more importantly, terrorism linkages through the use of fraudulent documentation. So, simply put, Vlad’s forgeries didn’t stand up to my scrutiny. I had a keen eye for trivialities and minutia having served my entire career in the State Department. I also had a keen ear for bullshit working in the same capacity.
However, the most important find was Vlad’s laptop computer containing hundreds of documents relating to his nefarious activities. A number of emails was especially damning for the Bhutari government, implicating it in the conspiracy. It was a virtual treasure trove of incriminating information. The team had hit pay dirt and it would be impossible for Bhutar to deny its complicity in the scheme to manipulate the price of oil. Moreover, it would clearly show its undeniable support for Islamic terrorism. Its goose was now well-cooked, so to speak, and its foul deeds about to be exposed to the world. It couldn’t duck the forthcoming revelations since they would be the mother of all gooses or, perhaps, geese! Revenge, in this case foie gras, would become an eviscerating dish for those outraged by Bhutar’s actions. It was best served cold according to the knowledgeable pundits.
Pet and I were ordered to stay a few days longer to wrap up any loose ends and soothe any feelings we might have inadvertently hurt in our dogged pursuit of Vlad. There weren’t any as far as we could tell. Instead, we spent most of our time at the hotel pool lounging and basking in the glory of our success.
It was a great feeling to be on top of the world for a change. Too bad I couldn’t get a damn drink though. I was starting to experience alcohol withdrawal symptoms for lack of my White Zinfandel. However, the Marlboros tended to keep the edge off, so I got by, but I was grumpy as hell and tried my best not to take my addiction and DTs out on Pet.
Pet was now off the well known hook with her SVR masters and could return home with her head held high rather than dragging her tail behind her. I’d go home to Jersey Briggs berating me about my expense voucher and a lecture on wasting good taxpayer money. I knew the drill: no kudos, only complaints. Things don’t change much in the Diplomatic Security Service, including him….and me too!