The Garden of Betrayal - Lee Vance [119]
“Back up a minute. Mohler funded the Nord Stream attack. So, if we’re right that the attack was sponsored by the French, then Mohler was working on their behalf.”
Shimon nodded.
“But Theresa Roxas gave me the false Saudi data, and the most obvious reason for someone to want the data circulating is to make Senator Simpson our next president. Simpson’s campaigning on a bigger U.S. presence in the Middle East. Which is diametrically opposed to what the French are trying to achieve.”
“Maybe Mohler and Roxas are working for different people,” Ari suggested, his tone troubled.
“Unlikely, because they were both involved in the murder of this man Munoz, Roxas as his girlfriend, and Mohler as the agent for Petronuevo. All of which raises the question of why they’re pushing different agendas.”
I opened my eyes. Shimon and Ari both looked uneasy.
“There’s a knot we haven’t unraveled yet,” I said, thinking out loud. “We still need to figure out who Smith and Roxas really worked for. Senator Simpson, the French, or some third party.”
“My people can look for Roxas,” Shimon volunteered. “But we have limited resources in this country. We found you only because you paid for your hotel room with a credit card. Unless she does something similar, it could be difficult.”
My credit card. Shoot. Smith must have discovered my location the same way. I felt like an idiot. I glanced down at the hole in my pants. The police had likely gotten tired of waiting for me at my apartment building. If Wayland had run my records as well, he’d have men waiting at the hotel. I still needed to ditch my shirt and wash my hands.
“Don’t bother,” I said, making an effort to put the complication from my mind. “Roxas isn’t her real name, and the cops already have Interpol on the case. I have a better idea—two, in fact. First, Mohler’s offshore accounts. I know the banks and the numbers. If you can tie the accounts to their owners, we’ll know a lot more about his operation.”
“What country are the banks in?” Ari asked.
“Caymans.”
“That should be doable.”
“Great. Second, Mohler told me he had trouble with the SEC, and that someone made his trouble go away. I’d like to know who his lawyer was.”
Shimon rubbed his jaw, looking thoughtful.
“Because the lawyer had to be paid.”
“Right. The difficulty is that Mohler got off, which means that his records were sealed. You have any influence at the SEC?”
“Not directly,” he said hesitantly. “We have friends in the local community who might be able to help, but I’m reluctant to get amateurs involved. They get excited, and excited people talk. We prefer not to attract attention.”
I decided not to voice the observation that machine-gunning people in parking lots was a bad way to keep a low profile.
“I know someone who can help,” I volunteered, recalling that Walter wanted to meet with me. Walter had influence everywhere. There had to be some way I could persuade him to use that influence on my behalf. “Someone who doesn’t get excited, and who doesn’t talk. I can go see him right now, but I have a couple of small problems I have to deal with first.”
“Such as?”
“The police are looking for me. They might be at my hotel. I need to change clothes and wash up before they find me. And I have to talk to my wife,” I added, realizing how concerned Claire must be.
“Relax,” Shimon said, smiling, as he patted my knee a final time. “We’re good at dealing with problems.”
41
We drove from the Lower West Side, where we were parked, to Times Square. Ari left the truck to shop while Shimon connected me to Claire on an untraceable line. There were advantages to hanging out with spies.
“It’s Mark,” I said, when she answered. “Everything’s fine. I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch.”
“Thank God,” she replied, sounding shaken. “I’ve been so worried. Where are you?”
“Not on this line.” Shimon had made clear that untraceable didn’t mean untappable. Anyone could be listening at Claire’s end. “I’m sorry.”
“The police were just here,” she said, lowering