Chapter 14When we arrived at the office of the Canadian Security Intelligence Service, in a building located at the edge of the city of Ottawa, Fred met us downstairs, in the lobby. “The name is Fred Gibson,” the man said, and without waiting for a response from his agent or me or Aziz, he added, “I’ll show you to my office now,” turning towards the elevators. He was a big, black fellow, who looked like Louis Armstrong. His English was impeccable, except perhaps for a slight southern accent. He spoke in a decisive and yet gentle tone of voice. Really, I didn’t care about the man’s resemblance or about his accent, or his demeanor. I had only one thing in mind – getting to a telephone and calling Khalid. We hadn’t been able to raise him for several days. “Why?” was the question at the forefr
