“Why not?”
“Because we’re sloppy. The blind sheik behind the World Trade Center incident was on our watch list of suspected terrorists, but he twice got visas to enter the country because his name was spelled wrong on the application, right?”
“You think if we were tougher, things like Oklahoma City wouldn’t happen?”
She paused. “I don’t know. You can’t stop maniacs.”
Taylor leaned back in his chair, folded his arms. “All right. We noticed that you’ve been doing some deep background investigation into a New York banker named Warren Elkind. That seems a little outside your jurisdiction, unless there’s an OC connection I don’t know about.”
Sarah looked at him penetratingly. So that was it. “A prostitute who happened to be one of my key informants-helped me wrap up a couple of important cases-was killed. A call girl, actually, not a prostitute-in her line of work they make certain distinctions. Anyway, the Boston police have cleared the case, but I’m skeptical, to be honest. It appears that the call girl was hired to steal something-a CD-ROM disk, I believe-from this Elkind guy.”
“What’s the connection between Elkind and this prostitute?” Russell Ullman asked.
“A preexisting relationship. She did bondage-and-discipline sessions with him whenever he was in Boston. She was his ‘top,’ or dominatrix. His mistress. Someone who knew she worked for Elkind must have hired her.”
“What was on the CD-ROM?” asked Vigiani.
“I don’t know. Bank records, I’d guess. Obviously something pretty valuable.”
“But how do you know the call girl was hired to do this?” Vigiani persisted. “You haven’t talked to Elkind, have you?”
“No,” Sarah said. “Not yet. He wouldn’t take my call, actually. The reason I know is that I have it on tape.”
“Really?” Taylor said, hunching forward. “Phone cover on the prostitute?”
“Her answering-machine tape.” She explained how the tape was unerased.
“FBI Crime Labs,” Taylor said with a proud smile. “Best in the world.”
Sarah cleared her throat. “Actually, I had to go outside the Bureau. MIT. We don’t have the technology.”
“You have a transcript?” Taylor asked.
“Better than that,” Sarah said. “I have the tape right here. I had a hunch you’d want to hear it.”
After Sarah played the tape twice, on an old Panasonic that Ullman had rounded up from a nearby desk, Taylor said: “Now we’ve got a transcript we’d like you to take a look at.” He handed Sarah a transcript of the NSA intercept; the three were silent as she scanned it.
Sarah read with puzzlement. When she got to Warren Elkind’s name she looked up, then resumed reading. Once she finished, she asked, “Who’s speaking here?”
“We don’t know,” said Taylor.
“Where was the conversation picked up?”
“Switzerland.”
She exhaled slowly, looked around at the others. “The ‘target,’ as they put it, is either Warren Elkind or Manhattan Bank, or both. Elkind is not just one of the most powerful bankers in the world, but he’s also a major fund-raiser for Israel. A lot of Palestinians would probably love to see him roast in hell.”
Vigiani shrugged, as if to say, This is news to you?
Sarah continued, “And this Heinrich Fürst, however it’s spelled, who’s ‘accepted the sales assignment’-what have you turned up on him?”
“Nothing,” Taylor said.
“Big fat goose egg,” said Ullman. “Under every variant spelling, every homophone, anything remotely close. Nothing.”
“Fürst…” Sarah said aloud. “You know, I do have an idea.”
“Let’s hear it,” Taylor said dubiously. “We’ll take anything.”
“Well, I spent a lot of time, when I was in Germany working SCOTBOMB, looking into timing devices for bombs. I talked to one colonel at DIA-an old guy, who died a couple of years ago-about an attempted coup in Togo in 1986. This DIA guy mentioned, really in passing, the name of someone thought to be involved in the Togo affair. He was a mercenary terrorist who went by the alias Fürst. One of many aliases this mere used.”
Taylor, who’d been massaging his eyes, suddenly looked at her.
Vigiani said sharply: “Heinrich Fürst?”
“Just ‘Fürst’ or ‘Herr Fürst.’”
“German?” Ullman said.
“No,” Sarah said. “I mean, the alias was, obviously, but not the mere.”
“Did you get a true name on the mere?” Taylor asked.
“No. Just that, and a nickname, sort of a nom de guerre.”
“Which was?”
“Well, the guy was good, really good, and apparently as amoral as they come. Brilliant, ruthless, every adjective you can come up with-top-notch in his field. A white South African-rumored to have once worked for BOSS, the old South African secret intelligence service. And some of his admirers called him ‘Prince of Darkness.’”
“Loves kids, dogs, Mozart, and walks on the beach,” said Vigiani dryly.
Sarah went on: “Well, my German’s pretty rusty by now, but doesn’t Fürst mean-”
Ullman interrupted: “Fürst-Prince-oh, Jesus. Fürst der Finsternis. Translates as ‘Prince of Darkness.’”
“Right,” Sarah said. “Just a possibility.”
Taylor gave a lopsided grin. “Nice. I think I’m beginning to understand why all the raves in your file. You’ve got a mind for this stuff.”
“Thanks. I did, once.”
“You still do. Now, if it’s true that our good Prince is really a South African, we should reach out to Pretoria. See what they have on anyone with this alias.”
“I’d-I’d be careful about that,” Sarah said.
“Oh, come on.” Vigiani scowled. “The new South African government is as cooperative as can be. If you think the guy used to work for BOSS, that’s where the answer will be. Pretoria.”
“Wait a second,” Taylor said. “What’s your thinking, Sarah? That it might get back to him?”
“I think we’ve got to consider the possibility-however remote-that certain white South Africans might be the ones hiring Herr Fürst.”
“White South Africans are out of power,” Vigiani said irritably.
Sarah gave Agent Vigiani a blank look. “I don’t think it’s quite that simple,” she said calmly. “Who do you think mainly staffs the South African intelligence service? White South Africans. Anglos and Afrikaners. And they’re not happy about how the rug was pulled out from under them.”
Vigiani continued to scowl. Sarah noticed that Duke Taylor’s brow was furrowed, so she elaborated: “Say we contact the South African service and ask about a terrorist who calls himself Heinrich Fürst. And some group within that service is in fact running this agent for some nefarious purpose of its own. Suddenly you’ve set off all kinds of alarms.”
Taylor grunted. “So if we’re not going the official route to Pretoria, that rules out both State Department channels and our new legat.” The FBI had sixteen legal attachés, or legats, in American embassies around the world, which exchange information with foreign police and intelligence agencies. For years the FBI did not have a legat in Pretoria, because of the sanctions applied by the U.S. government. Only recently, since the election of Nelson Mandela as president, had the FBI opened an office there. “We need to reach out and touch some people. Some trusted, private source.”
“Do we have a paid asset over there?” Sarah asked.