The Puppets of Washington Box-Set 1 (Books 1,2,3 & 4)

Chapter 17

Chapter 17As Khalid cleared the gangway leading to the arrivals’ lounge, two men—one tall and muscular, the other a head shorter than his companion with mousy-looking features—came to stand on either side of him. They were both dressed in the regulation-blues.

“May we see your passport, sir?” the short one of the two demanded.

Khalid didn’t know the procedure in this foreign land and didn’t flinch when asked to show his travel documents to an official-looking fellow. “Sure, by all means.” He put down his laptop case and fetched his passport out of his breast pocket.

The mousy officer opened it and flipped through it. “Welcome to Australia, Professor. Would you follow us, please?” He handed the document back to him.

By then Khalid had realized he was the only person, thus far, that had been stopped upon exiting the aircraft. He turned his head, hoping to spot Sylvan among the economy class passengers who were now coming out of the gangway.

“Don’t worry, Professor, we’ll get your friend to join us in a minute,” Mr. Muscle said, a shrug and a smirk accompanying the words.

Already walking in step with the two men, Khalid stopped abruptly and waited for his escorting officers to do the same. When they did, and turned to face him, Khalid deposited both his bags to the floor and crossed his arms over his chest. “Alright, gentlemen, I realize I am only a guest in your country, but since I seemed to have been singled out from among 300 or so visitors, before we go any further, I’d like to know what this is all about.”

The officers looked at one another before answering.

“Just come with us, sir, we can’t have this conversation right here,” Mousy urged, ready to resume his walking.

Khalid’s obdurate stance stopped him. “Oh yes we can, and we will, unless you want me to make a fuss in the middle of this hall.”

The taller officer took a step toward Khalid, manifestly ready to take him by the one arm. “Come, come now, sir, we don’t want to attract attention, now do we?” Khalid’s glare had him change his mind instantly.

“No we don’t,” Khalid heard someone say from over his shoulder. He spun on his heels to find Sylvan standing at his back. “We’ll be going with you—no question—won’t we, Professor?” He smiled invitingly as he flung his bag over his shoulder.

“Oh..., yes..., of course... Lead the way, by all means,” Khalid said, ostensibly appeased. In reality, he was seething. He picked up his laptop and overnight bag from the floor.

The four men walked down a series of corridors and finally filed into a room that looked to be part of the customs’ offices. A lone table and four chairs were the only pieces of furniture in this rectangular room. They sat down. Khalid and Mark put their bags beside their respective chairs while the two officers took off their chequered-band caps in one movement and deposited them between their forearms, which they extended atop the Formica. The four men looked at one another as if assessing the debating camps on opposite sides of the table.

The short fellow broke the silence. “I’m Constable Strickland, Professor.” Khalid clenched jaw remained closed. His piercing eyes did not leave the man’s face. “And this is my partner, Constable Damien.”

Damien’s mocking eyes focused on Mark. “And you must be Sylvan Esteban, or should I call you Agent Gilford?” He paused. “I prefer you with blond hair,” he snickered, his own head adorned of curly, flaming-red hair.

Strickland turned his head and looked at Damien disapprovingly. Familiarities or scorn toward foreigners, were not in his book of rules of behaviour. He returned his attention to the two people across from him. “We know this intervention must seem strange and certainly unexpected to you both, gentlemen, but we have been ordered to advise you of the change of plans.”

Khalid’s anger was not abating. “What plans?” He didn’t like interference of any sort.

“Prince Khalid, please...” Visibly taken aback, Khalid stared at his interlocutor. He hadn’t expected being called by his official title, although he knew their fake identities had been uncovered as soon as he heard Damien identify Mark. “...don’t make this more difficult than it has to be. We’re simply following orders, you understand.”

“And what orders are those?” Khalid barked at his adversary.

“For you to go back to Paris on the next available flight to France, Your Highness.”

At these words, His Highness got to his feet with such an abrupt and violent jerk that the chair fell behind him. “You can’t do that! I’ve got a passport that has a three-month’s visa...”

Mark leaned down, straightened up the chair and pulled down on Khalid’s sleeve. “Sit down...,” he told him as firmly as the circumstances allowed, “...please, Your Highness.” Khalid did.

Strickland, evidently armed of great patience, totally ignored Khalid’s outburst and resumed his explanation. “And you, Agent Gilford, you have been assigned to extradite Mr. Samuel Meshullam back to Canada.”

Khalid’s facial expression changed instantly and dramatically from one of annoyance into one of amazement. Had he been arrested already? Was there something he didn’t know? Clearly there was. But what? “What happened?” His tone of voice betrayed his bewilderment.

“Yes, Your Highness, something has happened and you do not want to be party to this investigation. That’s the reason we’re sending you home.”

Mark opened his mouth quickly—if he didn’t, Khalid would. “Do you mean the fellow is not behind bars yet?”

Showing some embarrassment perhaps, Strickland surrounded his cap on the table with both hands. “We’ve got a warrant for his arrest, but we haven’t caught up with him yet.” He moved his head from side to side as if wanting to relieve the tension in his neck.

“And I’m supposed to wait until you do?”

“That’s the plan, Agent Gilford, and those are our orders,” Damien confirmed. “We’ve reserved rooms for the both of you at the Airport Hotel for the night...”

Khalid had calmed down considerably but his curiosity aroused now, he had to ask, “Would you at least tell us the reason for the warrant?”

Strickland turned to his partner before answering. The latter nodded almost imperceptibly. “Charges of attempted murder on the person of Ms Talya Kartz.”

Khalid let a heavy sigh escape from his mouth, his upper body sagging against the back of the chair. At last, someone was going to do the right thing. He felt relieved as if the burden of the last two years of turmoil had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders. “Thank you, gentlemen...” He left the words hanging in the air, and then added, “Shouldn’t we see to our luggage...?” turning to Mark.

“No need. We’ve taken care of it,” Strickland said, shaking his head. “And..., here is your return ticket to France.” He pulled out an envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to Khalid. “Your flight is departing tomorrow night.”

The prince took the envelope. “Thank you again.” He got to his feet hesitantly. “Oh..., but I almost forgot, my passport..., my other passport is in Washington...”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve contacted D.C. already, and your passport will be at the Hotel de Crillon when you get home in Paris.”

“I see. Well then, I’ll make my way to the hotel...” He grabbed his two bags with the one hand and walked to the door.

Mark, who had listened to the last of this exchange in puzzlement, got up, picked up his shoulder bag, and was about to follow Khalid out of the room when Damien called him back. “I think you might want to remain with us for a few more minutes, Agent Gilford...”

Mark turned around, put down the bag beside the chair again. “...I... I... guess, I should.” He then shot a quick glance in Khalid’s direction. “I’m sorry... I’ll see you tonight then?”

Khalid nodded, and as he was about to place his free hand on the doorknob, Damien called to him. “One of our colleagues is waiting for you outside, Your Highness. He’ll see you through customs and security...”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Still somewhat in shock, Khalid walked through the door and was gone, leaving Mark to sit down again opposite the satisfied-looking constables.