The Garden of Betrayal - Lee Vance [116]
“Rashid was an agent of the Israeli government?”
“We don’t talk about things like that,” Shimon replied solemnly. “But I can tell you that he was an Israeli citizen. The medical examiner here just released his body to my government. His will stipulated that he be buried in Jerusalem.”
“At Har HaZeitim,” Ari added quietly. “The Mount of Olives.”
“I heard the State Department was involved,” I said, feeling stunned by the magnitude of Rashid’s deception. He’d been a confidant of almost every influential Arab leader for the past thirty years. “The OPEC people must be going crazy.”
“They ripped his office in Vienna to pieces.” Ari snorted contemptuously. “And a team of Saudi security people tried to kidnap his secretary.”
“Helga?” Helga was an old friend. “Is she okay?”
“Not to worry,” Shimon assured me, leaning forward to pat my knee. “Someone tipped off the Austrian police. She’s fine.”
“It’s hard to believe. Rashid always seemed completely dedicated to OPEC.”
“Rashid was dedicated to moderate pricing and production policies that promoted stable economic growth,” Shimon said, shrugging. “Policies that are good for everyone, producers and consumers alike. You of all people should understand that.”
“Until there are shortages,” I said, thinking of the Saudi production data that Rashid hadn’t had time to discuss with me. “Then it’s every man for himself, with each drop being auctioned or allocated for political purposes.”
“True.”
I wanted to ask what Rashid had thought of the Saudi data, but the shoot-out at the motor court was still foremost in my mind. There was only one reason for Shimon and his men to have been there.
“You were at the motel because you were following Smith. You killed his men to avenge Rashid’s death.”
Shimon squinted at me. I felt a flicker of the menace he’d projected earlier, mixed with something I couldn’t identify.
“Mohler went to the motel to meet with you. Why?”
“I barely knew him,” I said, realizing why Ari had grabbed me at gunpoint. Rashid had died in my presence, and I’d been seen meeting covertly with a man linked to his killers. Shimon wanted to make sure I wasn’t secretly in league with Mohler and Smith. “I’d broken into Mohler’s computer system and learned he was committing financial fraud. I threatened to blackmail him, because I wanted to learn who he was working for. The only name he gave me was Smith’s. I’ll tell you everything, but first I have to know: Who was Smith working for?”
Shimon glanced at Ari, face impassive, but it was enough for me to place the undercurrent I’d sensed a moment earlier. Confusion. Shimon didn’t know what I was talking about.
“The man with the scar,” I explained. “He was using the name Smith.” My words seemed to fall into a vacuum. I looked from one to the other. “You know who I’m talking about, don’t you?”
“We’d never seen him before today.” He pointed to the electronic equipment over his head. “It’s your good luck that we were monitoring local radio communications and overheard him talking to his men. And that we travel prepared.”
I was suddenly equally confused. If the Israelis hadn’t been hunting Rashid’s killers, then what had they been doing at the motel? The facts shuffled and reassembled in my head, the answer unexpected.
“Mohler. You went to the motor court because you were following Mohler. Why are you interested in him?”
“I’d prefer you answer the same question for me,” Shimon said curtly. “Why did you break into Mohler’s computer? And what makes you believe this man Smith was involved in Rashid’s murder?”
We both knew something the other didn’t. Regardless of his civility thus far, I was willing to bet Shimon didn’t play well with others and that he wouldn’t think twice about pumping me dry of information and then dumping me.
“Terms first. I tell you what I know, and you tell me what you know.”
Ari produced a gun. Shimon was silent for a