Face/Mask, page 22
Janus sighed, feeling helpless. He was going to turn the page off, but changed his mind. Instead he touched the first name on the list: Antonov, Grigori. The green-box appeared next to the name and it held the same notation: “Détenu.”
Janus touched the next name down, Antoine, Stéphane. Again, the word “Détenu” appeared. Quickly, barely touching the screen, Janus slid his finger down the list of names. As quickly as the green-boxes popped open, they closed to be replaced by the next one. In each case, Janus read “Détenu,” meaning that virtually nobody was being released on bail.
He’d gone through over two dozen names, and was well into the G’s, when he had to stop and go back. Georges, Lionel, had “Libéré” in the green-box next to his name.
The section numbers were the same as Joe’s, which meant little to Janus. But at least he was out on bail. He continued running his finger down the list and had checked maybe fifty names before he came upon someone else who’d been released.
Two out of fifty detainees got bail. Janus wondered if they’d resorted to Silver’s “tried and true” method. If so, they were clearly among the few who could afford such exorbitant payments.
Bribes. You’re still talking about bribing cops and prosecutors.
Maybe for these two lucky men bribes had worked, at least to get them out on bail. He didn’t know what would eventually happen to the charges against them, but if Silver was telling the truth, they would be dropped. But the great majority of people who were arrested went to jail and didn’t come out again for a long time. And that was the fate he’d be condemning Joe to unless he did something soon.
He considered broaching the topic with Leblanc, figuring that maybe they could go back to the people who ran the dog-fights for a loan, even if it meant paying outlandish interest rates. It occurred to him that if he was going to risk getting the money from an underground source it didn’t really matter who he dealt with. He’d be just as exposed, and just as likely to get into trouble, whether he borrowed money from one of Leblanc’s money lenders or if he went back to Walid.
He decided that if he really was going to borrow this money, if he was going to risk everything he had and go along with Silver’s cockamamie plan to get Joe out, then he might as well go with the lender who didn’t believe in usury.
Sahar sat in her apartment, trying to control her rising impatience at Walid’s habit of making people wait. A mutual friend of theirs had once intentionally shown up an hour late for a lunch date with Walid, and yet still found herself waiting another twenty minutes before he showed.
Sahar took a deep haul on her cigarette, trying to calm her nerves. She stubbed it out in an over-flowing ashtray and lit another one. It had taken her several weeks of agonizing over who to call, before going back to her first and most logical choice. Walid was one of the few “connected” people she knew. He had a hand in everything that went on in their community, and his relationships with administration officials were an open secret.
Despite their long history together she didn’t entirely trust him, aware that the profit motive was what drove him above everything else. But the weight of the tiny chip had become too heavy for her to bear alone and, after weeks of indecision, she’d given in and reached out to him. Now if he would only show up.
She looked down at the Arabic script on a small compact, containing a make-up mirror, that Rafik had given her in another life. On the cover of the silver-plated case her name was spelled in curling, faded letters. The case itself was chipped now, and had turned green years earlier.
She’d placed the electronic chip that Tony Cirillo had given her in this case, and hid it in the back of her underwear drawer. She’d only taken it out once since then, on the day she’d finally worked up the courage read its contents. Then she had put it away again, although she thought about it every day.
Today, after calling Walid, she’d placed the case, with the chip inside it, on her coffee table and sat staring at it, dreaming of how many lives the small piece of plastic could change, for the better or for the worse. She hadn’t been brave enough to take it to any of the local media outlets herself, lest the administration’s many spies and informers had her arrested. Besides, who’d pay attention to a news report coming from an internment camp? It would be censored anyway, and those few who learned of it would dismiss it as so much false propaganda.
That was why she’d called Walid: he had connections that could get this information out to the Canadian and, especially, American public. She knew he’d be careful in whom he approached, in how he proceeded. This was how he’d survived so long.
The buzzer from downstairs made her jump. A quick glance on the com-screen confirmed that Walid had arrived. She buzzed him in and waited, unsure how to broach the subject. She lit another cigarette with shaking hands, before realizing that her previous cigarette still sat smoldering on the edge of the ashtray.
She smoked the second one for a minute or two until there was a gentle knock on the apartment door. The unlocked doorknob turned slowly and Walid Kadri stepped in, wearing an expression of mixed concern and curiosity.
“Sahar, ma chére. How are you today?”
“Please lock the door behind you, Walid. Then come and sit down.”
“You are being very mysterious, my dear. Even your call had me a bit worried.”
“Which is why you rushed over here as soon as you said you would,” she said with a sarcastic tone.
Walid ignored the jibe, having heard its like many times before. After pushing the door’s three deadbolts into place behind him he sauntered over and sat beside Sahar on the sofa. Instinctively she reached for the coffee pot that sat beside the ashtray.
“Would you like some coffee?”
“Oui, merci.”
She poured him some in a small cup then sat back to take a sip of her own. Her mind and heart were racing as she struggled to find the words she needed.
“There’s something on your mind,” Walid said, stating the obvious.
“Yes,” she answered after some hesitation. “I needed to speak to someone who, you know, knows people. Important people.”
Walid smiled, and nodded in appreciation at the compliment.
“I have come into possession of some information,” she continued, “that I think must be made known to the public.”
“By ‘public’ you mean…”
“Outside Laval. Canadians. And Americans. Everyone, in fact.”
“My goodness, this does sound important. It isn’t the date of the Second Coming, by any chance?”
“Please, this isn’t funny. I have not slept well for weeks thinking about this…this information. I didn’t know who else to turn to.”
“You have a connection in the administration, don’t you?”
“Who…?”
“Allen Janus. You haven’t forgotten him, have you?”
“No, of course not.”
“You sent him to me just the other day, did you not? He seemed very nervous, very…tense.”
“I did think of him. But he has many problems of his own. And I don’t think he has the kind of connections that you do.”
“Your continued flattery is always appreciated, ma chère. But I do hope you will satisfy my curiosity, now that you’ve so ably piqued it.”
Sahar took a deep breath then reached for the case and opened it, holding it up in front of Walid’s face. He leaned his head back slightly so that his eyes could focus on the chip that lay on the mirror. His expression showed that he was puzzled by it, but the sarcastic smile he’d been wearing had faded.
“What is it?”
“I can’t tell you where I got it.”
He reached out and picked the chip up with the tips of his thumb and forefinger, holding it closer to his right eye and closing the left as if he were inspecting a diamond for flaws. Then he repeated his question.
“What is it, Sahar?”
“It has information on it.”
“Yes…?”
“About the bomb that was used in eighteen.”
“The bomb?”
“It was an American bomb. Manufactured in the United States by their military.”
“What are you talking about, Sahar?”
“You heard me: the bomb.”
“And you say it was an American bomb?”
“An agent, or operative of some sort…I’m afraid I don’t understand all their governmental organizations.”
“What did this agent or operative do?”
“He provided them with this bomb-” She had to stop mid-sentence to compose herself. Then she reached out and held her hand open, palm up, next to his. He placed the chip into it, then closed her fingers around it, like he’d just given her a token of his love. She pulled her hand away from his and opened it again, looking at the chip in wonder.
“They blamed us for it, Walid. But they were in on it.”
“What are you saying?”
“They killed Rafik and my beautiful daughters, then they put us in these filthy camps and treated us like we were the monsters. It was all part of the plan to keep their fucking war going!”
Walid sat back, stunned, and looked out the window as if expecting to find a military drone looking in on them. Sahar decided to wait while he processed what she’d just told him. She knew it was a lot to take in, but there was no going back, for her or Walid.
After a minute Walid moved forward onto the edge of the sofa and turned toward her to speak.
“Have you seen the chip’s contents?”
“I have. I read the reports.”
“You’re probably mistaken about what they say, you know.”
“I’m not mistaken.”
“It’s all technical jargon. Would you even know what it meant?”
She looked directly into his eyes, and her already-soft voice dropped into a whisper.
“Much of it is very easy to understand, Walid. I am not mistaken.”
“Then it’s a fake. A hoax of some kind.”
“It isn’t. The man who got this information works for Homeland…Worked for Homeland Security. He killed himself…they say.”
“Sahar. Est-tu certaine?”
“Très certaine. This is all true.”
He nodded at her affirmation and paused for a moment before reaching out and squeezing her hand. It was clear to her that he’d come up with some sort of plan.
“Ma chère, this information, if it’s the truth…”
“It is.”
“…is astounding. It quite boggles the mind. But I don’t know if the public is ready for such news just yet.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sahar. If you called me, it’s because you know that I know what I’m doing,” he said, his words coming faster as he got excited. “I assume you have confidence in my judgment.”
“Of course.”
“Then this is not the time to make this information public. It is twenty years old and most of the people involved are out of the picture now.”
“But we’re still in the picture, Walid.”
“Of course, of course. What I’m saying is that the people who did this are no longer around to be held responsible. The question is how this little chip can be put to the best use.”
“That is why I called you.”
“And you did wisely, ma chère. Because even if the responsible people are no longer around this is not the kind of information the administration would want to be made public.”
“You think they’ll try to stop us?”
“Even better. I think they’d be willing to pay us to keep it from the public.”
“Pay? Pay what?”
“That, Sahar, is the question. Pay what? As in ‘what amount?’ Certainly this could be worth millions. Many millions.”
“I don’t understand, Walid. I don’t want to sell it. I want to let everybody know what’s on it.”
“Sahar, sweet Sahar,” Walid said, patting her hand as her father had done years earlier, the time he tried to explain why she could not possibly marry that Muslim mechanic. “The world is a complicated place. You think that in France or Germany they will suddenly free their Muslim populations because of what’s on this chip? You think our own angry young men will accept to be told, ‘sorry, it was all a misunderstanding’? Will our people calmly walk out of Laval tomorrow and buy a home in the suburbs, or will they be filled with rage and thoughts of revenge? What’s done is done, and this will not return things to the way they were. It will cause more turmoil, more hatred among our people, more fear in the Canadians…and the Americans, of course. What I’m thinking of will be of the greatest benefit to all of us.”
She pulled her hand away abruptly and stood up, unsure what to do next. Then she strode to the front door and began opening the deadbolts, while speaking to Walid with her back to him.
“I want you to get out now, please.”
“Sahar…”
“Walid, please leave. What you are suggesting is horrible.”
“Think of the money.”
“I’m not trying to make money from this,” she said, swinging the door open. “I’m trying to help people.”
“You can use your money to help whomever you please. That is how to best use this information.”
“I want to get us all out of these prisons. Most people don’t have friends which let them get in and out whenever they want. Most hardly have proper food to eat or medicine when they’re sick. You hardly even live here, Walid. So you don’t know.”
“But I do know what is going on outside your little world. What you are dreaming of will only hurt people. You can never change what-”
“Stop it! I want you out. Now.”
Walid came toward the door and stood facing her. She realized that he was thinking about using force to take the chip, and she took a step back.
“If I scream, Walid, you know my neighbours will come running. You don’t want them to catch you here.”
Walid stood expressionless for a few seconds, and then he blinked and shook his head, as if waking from a dream.
“Scream? What in the world for, Sahar? We have never fought before, why would we fight now?”
“So will you leave?”
“Yes, of course. Just promise me one thing, please. Before you do…anything, or speak to anyone about this, please let me talk to you one more time. Maybe I didn’t think things through properly just now. You gave me quite a surprise tonight. Let me consider the options, how you can help the most people. You will give me that chance, yes? After-all, you asked me for my advice.”
“Fine. Yes, Walid, I will not do anything without speaking to you first. There is no hurry anyway. Nothing will happen for now.”
“Thank you, ma chère. You know how highly I think of you. It hurts me that I upset you, that you do not trust me. I will work hard to earn back your trust. You will see.”
September 29, 2039:
Once Janus decided that his best chance for getting the money lay with Walid, he had to find place for them to meet. He wasn’t sure there was any point in being discreet but, assuming that he hadn’t given the RCMP enough reason to arrest him yet, he preferred not returning to the Café Liban.
He went back to Sahar the following Thursday, reasoning that if he’d been going there over many months without repercussions there was little likelihood that his next visit would make things worse. He also missed her touch, her smell and even her candid opinions, and he rushed into her arms with a passion he’d rarely displayed even as a younger man.
After losing himself in their lovemaking he eventually recovered his senses enough to tell her that he needed to see Walid again, although he preferred that it be somewhere other than his cafe. She had previously told him that Walid could travel outside of Laval when he wanted to. The corruption of the border guards plus the man’s underground connections meant that the fences were nothing more than inconveniences.
This time, however, Sahar’s face darkened when he mentioned Walid’s name, something Janus hadn’t expected.
“Is something wrong? You don’t look pleased.”
“It is not that, Allen. You don’t really have much choice. But I think you need to be careful with Walid. I do not trust him.”
Janus sat up in the bed and looked her in the eyes, as if expecting to find something written there to explain her sudden change of attitude.
“I don’t understand. You’re the one who gave me his name. Did something happen?”
“No, no. Nothing happened. But you have to remember the things he does, how he makes his living. He often hurts people.”
“Has he hurt you, Sahar?”
She smiled and shook her head.
“No, Walid would never hurt me.”
Janus realized there was some history between Walid and Sahar. A pang of jealousy hit him, and he wanted to know more.
“You and Walid,” he said, “you’re more than just friends?”
“No. We are not…now.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “There have been many sides to our relationship, Allen. When I came to Laval Walid was someone who helped me survive. Perhaps not in the way I would have liked to, but we lived in a time of limited choices.”
“He was your pimp?”
She reached out and squeezed his hand in order to forestall the rising anger on his face.
“Allen. I was not always the successful entrepreneur that I am now. So, yes, when I began he was my pimp. And my lover, in case you were wondering.”
Janus nodded. He realized that it was silly to be jealous of who a prostitute had slept with, even if she meant as much to him as Sahar did. But he wanted to know more about what kind of man Walid was.
“And why did that part of your relationship end?”
Sahar’s face darkened again, and she turned from him. Clearly Janus was forcing her to bring up painful memories, but that only drove him to ask again.
“Sahar, I have no secrets from you. You don’t need to keep secrets from me.”
She turned back to him and her face wore a determined expression.
