Dead Bishops Don't Lie, page 19
“I don’t know, perhaps another Pistis Sophia member?”
“Who would have access to Mr. Dessault.”
“Yes.”
“Interesting. Anything else?”
“No, not really.”
Hawkins noticed a slight curl in her lower lip. He paused, then said, “How about some coffee?” He rose and asked for coffee from one of the girls outside the conference room. He turned towards Lady Sarah, “Or would you prefer tea?”
“No, coffee is fine.”
Hawkins had set the stage for another of his “making the witness talk” performances. It was all a matter of rhythm, like music. Vary the tempo of your questions, vary the theme, break into a sub-theme, finish with a staccato finale, and the witness will sing your tune, every time. The coffee arrived, and Hawkins poured it personally into the marchioness’s cup. He waited for her to sip it.
“Lady Sarah, I must tell you, as your barrister ,that I have certain reservations concerning our last meeting.” Slow opening.
“Really? I thought it went rather well.”
“Not exactly.” Increase tempo slightly and introduce main theme. “You see, a witness’s credibility, like one’s reputation, is usually an all-or-nothing matter. In our business, one is not half-credible, or half-pregnant. Either one is or isn’t.”
“And how does that apply to me?”
“I don’t think Dulac believed you when you said you hadn’t seen de Ségur.”
“Obviously you didn’t either.”
Vibrant sub theme. “I’m just telling you what I perceived. As your lawyer, what I believe or don’t believe is unimportant. It’s evidence, circumstantial or direct, that I’m concerned about.”
“And if I follow your analogy, Lord Hawkins, that puts my whole testimony into doubt, correct?”
“I’m not saying Dulac is going to appear tomorrow on your doorstep, but time is on his side. If he were to find out—”
“Let’s be clear, Lord Hawkins,” interrupted the marchioness. “I’m not about to confess to something I didn’t do.”
End sub theme. “I’m not asking you to confess to anything.”
“I answered, I thought truthfully, when he asked if I had seen de Ségur lately. I answered no. Of course I see de Ségur. We sit on some charities and corporate boards together. We are bound to meet occasionally, socially for that matter also. In any case, I don’t think it’s a crime to meet a fellow aristocrat, or member of…” She hesitated for a second.
“Member of what?”
“Never mind, it’s not relevant.”
“Frankly, Lady Sarah, you should let me be the judge of that.”
“He’s also a member of Pistis Sophia. At his request, for obvious reasons, his membership is kept confidential.”
“Could he have had the Pistis Sophia letter drafted?”
“I, I really don’t know.”
Hawkins had his information. Time for the finale. “I see. I wouldn’t worry about this Dessault matter. Your being a customer doesn’t involve you in his death, surely.”
“It’s an immense relief to hear you say that, Lord Hawkins.” She rose and extended her hand.
“I’m glad we’ve had this discussion, Lady Sarah.”
“Oh, by the way, I’d like to use your phone. I have some personal calls to make.”
“Of course. Why don’t you use the phone here,” said Hawkins, bringing the phone to the conference table. “Let me know when you’re finished.” He rose and left.
She stood, walked to the door and closed it. She returned to the table and picked up the phone. “I’d like to speak to Mr. de Ségur please. It’s the Marchioness of Dorset.”
Chapter 56
Oleyev’s options were shrinking rapidly. He could make a run for it. The helicopter was in the back, always on the ready. But surely the FSB knew this and wouldn’t hesitate to take him down. A suspect trying to escape had no rights, especially in Russia. Besides, he thought, where could he run to? He was too far from the nearest border. He hadn’t built his empire during all these years of hard work and determination to have it taken away from him by some FSB bureaucrat. No, he would do as always, he would fight, but on his terms. He had connections. He phoned the Ministry of Defense.
“Minister Abramov’s office,” said a voice.
“I’d like to speak to the Minister, tell him it’s Victor Oleyev.”
There was a pause.
“I’m afraid he’s not here. Is there a message?”
Bastard. Like fuck he’s not there. Oleyev slammed down the receiver, picked it up again and phoned the assistant to the Minister of the Interior, his hunting friend. Same result. The FSB have short-circuited my connections. They will pay dearly, he promised.
Suddenly, one of his guards erupted into the study. “FSB are all over the perimeter. They have a couple of personnel carriers at the front gate.”
Oleyev rose from his desk, “How many men?”
“At least forty.”
Oleyev was outnumbered three to one.
At that moment, another guard burst in. “The FSB. They want the gate opened now, or they’ll break it down with the armed carriers.”
“Get me the man in charge on the intercom,” said Oleyev, as he walked towards the dining room.
“Petrov.”
“Are you in charge?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“Victor Oleyev. What’s all this about?”
“We have a warrant to arrest you for the murders of Sergei Vasiliev, Olga Fedova, and Dmitri Antonov.”
“Nonsense. On what evidence?”
“We have Vasiliev’s written confession.”
For a second, Oleyev was shaken. Gathering his wits, “Is that it? Someone planted that. It’s a fake. Besides, I have Nicola Vasilieva. Without her, you have no case. It would be too bad if she died from a stray bullet.”
At that moment, Oleyev heard the sound of helicopters hovering overhead. The FSB wasn’t taking any chances.
“Don’t be a fool, Oleyev. It’s over, there’s no way out. You have three minutes to open the gate.”
Oleyev wasn’t surprised that Petrov wouldn’t back down to a hostage threat, especially with only one hostage. He knew he couldn’t win. Besides, this was the new Russia. One didn’t go into a shootout with the police. Better lose this battle, and win the war. He had done so many times before, he would win again. But this time the charges were serious. He knew he had upset the FSB with the boldness of his move on Lubyanka. This was their retaliation. The FSB had to save face. In Russia, one always has to save face. Probably why my connections have gone sour. A bloodbath would only worsen his case. He had access to Moscow’s best lawyers. No, give them what they want. Plenty of time to call in favors. “Get my guard back on the intercom,” said Oleyev to Petrov.
After a moment, “Yes, Mr. Oleyev ?” said the guard.
“Open the gate. Tell the men not to resist.” Oleyev turned off the intercom, went to his desk, and called Pravda’s editor-in-chief.
* * *
The gate opened and the armed personnel carriers roared up the road in a cloud of fumes and dust, their helmeted occupants crouching behind the bulletproof glass windows. Other members of the FSB Special Task Force clambered over the walls and entered the perimeter.
“Get Vasilieva down here,” Oleyev barked.
As she came down the staircase, he said,“Vasilieva, if you talk…” Oleyev gestured cutting her throat.
At that moment, Petrov burst into the room with three men. They seized Oleyev. Petrov signaled the men to bring Oleyev to the hallway. “Upstairs” ordered Petrov. The men looked puzzled. “You heard me. Up.” He pointed at the top of the stairs.
They dragged a resisting Oleyev, his face white, up the long staircase, past the Murano chandelier, and onto the wooden top floor landing.
“You can’t do this,” yelled Oleyev, trying to free himself. “You won’t get away with this. I phoned them, I phoned Pravda.”
“I’m giving you a better chance than you gave my people at Lubyanka,” said Petrov. He signaled his men to throw him down the staircase. One grabbed Oleyev’s feet. The other two grabbed his torso, and the three tossed Oleyev, gesticulating, head first down the staircase. He catapulted head over heels, hitting the middle steps with his head and shoulder, then tumbling all the way down in a crunch of breaking bones.
“You bastard,” moaned a bloodied and battered Oleyev, looking up at a smiling Petrov.
Petrov ordered the premises searched. All documents were to be brought to FSB headquarters. As one of the personnel carriers took Oleyev, Nicola, and Petrov through the gate, a group of cameramen and journalists waited, blocking the entrance. Oleyev’s Pravda friend had complied, but too late. Petrov stopped the carrier and spoke briefly,
“Yes, we have arrested Victor Oleyev on charges of murder. He tried to escape. You will have a formal press release later.”
“Who is the woman?” asked a reporter.
“No comment,” said Petrov, blocking the camera.
The rest of the FSB men were busy rounding up Oleyev’s men in the perimeter and in the mansion, when a young recruit saw the almost finished painting of Oleyev as Henry VIII.
“This guy’s a megalomaniac. This’ll make a great piece of evidence.”
“You don’t know the Rubliovka set,” replied his supervisor. “Putin has one of these of himself as Francis I of France.”
The recruit’s face reddened, and he continued his search.
* * *
The morning edition of Pravda had a triple-bold headline: “FSB arrests Victor Oleyev for Lubyanka murders. Woman hostage freed. Oleyev claims innocence, says government using him as scapegoat.”
An FSB task force yesterday arrested well-known businessman Victor Oleyev at his home in Rubliovka, for the murders at the Lubyanka prison. Said it has documents evidencing Oleyev is behind the murders. Oleyev affirmed documents are fakes.
FSB’s Sergei Petrov, investigating officer, mentioned he has evidence of Oleyev involvement in other murders. He would not elaborate further.
The article went on to praise the task force members’ courage and initiative. Their efficiency and the lack of bloodshed was obviously alluding to the massacre during the Moscow theater hostage crisis in 2002, where the FSB had been criticized for its ineptitude, resulting in the death of some 200 hostages.
Petrov advised Dulac of the operation’s success, yet Dulac knew that the clock was ticking, that Oleyev’s customers were scrambling to erase any possible connection with him, if they hadn’t done so already.
Chapter 57
Dulac had managed to convince Harris that a meeting with the Minister of the Interior was urgently required. Arriving at the entrance of the Chateau Beauvau, a Second Empire palace of immodest proportions, Dulac could see why Ministers of the Interior liked their place of work. The grand columns, the perfect proportions, the sober décor, all reminded the occupant or visitor of a calmer, more civilized epoch.
As Dulac and Harris entered the complicated security system of gates and sensors, Dulac was reminded of last year’s attack on the offices of the ministry by an Al Quaeda terrorist, whose bomb had fortunately failed to explode.
“Gentlemen,” said the Minister, a gaunt man with a slight limp, as he led Harris and Dulac across the vast office. As they walked towards the desk at the other end of the room, Dulac couldn’t help but glance at the high, wood-paneled walls, their gold trim enclosing insipid pictures of past and present French politicians.
The minister showed them to the small Louis XVI chairs, went to the other side of the immense desk, and sat down.
“Monsieur le Ministre, thank you for receiving us on such short notice,” said Harris. “Mr. Dulac has some matters of primary importance concerning the case of the archbishops.”
“I am all ears, gentlemen.” The Minister looked at his watch. “You have ten minutes.”
“You saw the news concerning Victor Oleyev,” said Dulac. “We have strong evidence that Oleyev is the contract man for the archbishops’ murders. We have a written note from Vasiliev, stating Oleyev hired him and Kurganski to kill Salvador and Conti. We have evidence that the Marchioness of Dorset is involved in money laundering. Her captain was caught red-handed smuggling $5.2 million US dollars into Naples, four days ago. Although she has denied knowledge, we have evidence that she not only knew of it, but that she profited from it. And we have evidence this occurred regularly.”
“What sort of evidence?” interjected the Minister.
“I’ll come to that later,” said Dulac. “At the same time, after every shipment of smuggled money, the Vatican received an almost identical amount of money from the Miranda Group, through anonymous donations. The Marchioness—“
“You mean Lady Sarah Litman,” said the minister.
“Yes. She, the Vatican’s representative Archbishop Fiore, and de Ségur sit on the board of Miranda. At first, we thought that because of the demand letter to the Vatican, someone from Pistis Sophia was behind the murders. Someone carefully crafted an elaborate scheme, leading us to believe they were after four archbishops, named after the evangelists, as suggested by Ms. Dawson. Revenge was the possible motive, as Pistis Sophia had been persecuted through the centuries by the Catholic Church.
“But why would someone within Miranda have the archbishops killed?” asked Harris.
“The archbishops probably got wind of the money smuggling scheme, and were going to go public.”
“Do you have proof of the money being deposited in the Miranda accounts?” asked the minister.
“We’re working on that now, Minister,” replied Dulac.
“What makes you so sure Lady Sarah is involved?” said Harris.
“So far, two pieces of evidence. First, Ms. Dawson overheard a conversation at Isola Rossa between the marchioness and de Ségur, where he apparently mentioned she had to go along with the Pistis Sophia ploy, lest he reveal her smuggling scheme to the authorities.”
“That’s circumstantial,” said the minister.
“Actually, it’s hearsay. We checked her financial statements and those of her captain, Kostas Stephanopoulos. Last year, Stephanopoulos ordered and paid for modifications to the hull of the Eastland, including the addition of a double bottom used to store the money. When asked, the marchioness denied knowledge of this double bottom.”
“Go on,” said the Minister.
“The marchioness reimbursed Stephanopoulos in the form of a fake bonus, at the end of the year, for exactly the same amount of the costs of the double bottom, to the last penny.”
The minister’s relaxed gaze became a penetrating glare, aimed at Dulac.
“I must add that Ms. Dawson overheard de Ségur mention to Lady Sarah, that all was being taken care of and all traces of this business were going to be obliterated.”
“Where did this happen?” asked Harris.
“On Isola Rossa, the marchioness’s private island. We have proof of de Ségur traveling to the island at that time. We think de Ségur could be involved in the archbishops’ murders,” said Dulac. “However, there’s a slight problem.”
“Yes?” said the minister.
“Ms. Dawson didn’t actually see de Ségur at Isola Rossa. She only heard him, as she was outside the room. She later identified and confirmed his voice.”
“Mr. Dulac, what are you requesting from me, or from us?” said the minister, looking at Harris, then at his watch.
“Monsieur le Ministre, I want your support to have the British authorities arrest Lady Sarah for extortion, money laundering, smuggling, and accessory to the murders of Archbishops Salvador and Conti. We’ll require from the French Minister of Justice her extradition to France.”
“Is that all?” the minister said, looking bemused. “That’s a tall order. And what do you intend doing about de Ségur?”
“We’re moving in on the Miranda Group. We don’t have solid enough evidence to press charges. I’ve requested a search warrant for their premises.”
“Mr. Dulac, you mentioned earlier that Archbishop Fiore sits on the board of Miranda. What is the Vatican’s involvement in Miranda?” asked Harris, looking at the minister, then at Dulac.
“Apart from being a shareholder, and being a customer whose properties are managed by Miranda, we don’t know.”
Dulac waited for someone to ask the next question. No one volunteered what was on everybody’s mind, but didn’t dare ask: In the Vatican, how high up did the knowledge go? “Monsieur le Ministre,” said Dulac, “will you contact your counterpart in London?”
“Mr. Dulac, before I do anything of the sort, I must first consult my colleague the Minister of Justice.”
“I understand. But the more we wait, the less chance we have of a conviction,” said Dulac.
“I’m perfectly aware of that, thank you, Mr. Dulac,” replied the Minister, as he rose and closed his attaché case. “I will let you know my decision. Keep me informed of any developments, gentlemen. Good day.”
As Dulac and Harris left the Ministry, Dulac felt a mixture of relief and elation. His plan had worked. He knew that the Minister and the General Secretary were so preoccupied with the politics involved in the arrest of Lady Sarah that they hadn’t dared object to the search and seizure warrant of the Miranda Group.
He knew he wouldn’t get an answer from the Minister quickly. He had to force his hand.
Chapter 58
“What is the meaning of this?” Hugues de Ségur’s outraged voice rang in the corridor, while Dulac and his men invaded the 30th floor of the Miranda Tower.
“We have a search and seizure warrant for Miranda’s finance and corporate books,” said Dulac.
“Why? What’s all this about?” said de Ségur, his face becoming crimson.
“We believe Miranda personnel are involved in money laundering, possibly through the Vatican.”
